[Mkguild] Mark's story - Part 4 (1/3)

[Prof]

Well,
well, look at the calendar. Is it already that late? *cough* 
I
hesitate to count the months since the last part made it to the mailing list,
but at least it’s done and part 4 seems ready to go. 
 
Again I
have to thank Charles, who not only helped me with lecturing and suggestions,
but wrote most of Kindle’s parts. I can only hope a tad of his dedication rubs
off on me one day. 
 
And of
course I hope you all enjoy it ^_^
 
 
PS: I’m
open to suggestions for a better title. It’s still kind of a placeholder, although
way better than the working title: “Of cats and mice” (ugh). 



_____

October 6th,
707 CR
 
 
Of Dreamer and
dreams
 
 
A good
dozen of them had made it through the breach. I don’t know what they had
expected. Surely they hoped for weak resistance, believing our forces too far
stretched to allow reserves. 
 
Well, my
brothers and I are standing here to prove them wrong. 
 
Only a
few of us against them. Experienced, battle-hardened mercenaries in heavy armor
facing us: unarmored men in simple garbs. Like me all of them members of the
orthodox wing, true to the word of the founder, Armin the pious, to never use a
weapon on the holy ground the academy was built on. 
 
I see it
dawning in their eyes, overshadowed by helmets and ventails: they’re as good as
dead. 
 
We don’t
intend to give them time to act. Our greatest advantage is speed, we use it. 
 
Gusts of
flames and overheated steam lashing out from my left and right side. Brother
Camiel and Brother Devon from the fire aspect are striking first, disrupting
our opponents’ formation, making openings for the rest of us. 
 
My first
adversary knows what he’s doing. Calmly he’s waiting for me to make the first
move, to intercept my attack with a swift counter, trusting the greater reach
of his sword. 
 
I block
the sharp steel with my left bracer, hidden under the sleeve of my tunic. The
man’s leather gloves discouraging me from sending a shock through the metal of
his weapon, instead I fill the steel of my bracer with energy; invoke in it the
power of a mighty lodestone.
 
Like
glued on his blade now clings to my arm and with a jerk of the same I sweep it
to the side, out of my way and almost out of his hand. Clearly I surprised him.
But instinctively he tries to cover the gap in his defense with his shield. To
no avail. It’s not his head or chest I’m aiming at. It’s the bright patch of bare
skin between the arm armor and his shoulder protection. 
 
A slight
touch with my right hand there, a not so slightly deep tap into the academy’s
energy well and his movement stops, as every muscle in his body cramps
suddenly. Literary petrified for one eye blink, until I let go and he’s falling
to the ground. 
 
What
follows is a kaleidoscope of horrible, violent images. That stops turning as
the enemy retreats. 
 
In the
relative silence that falls on the walls and buildings of the academy, there’s
not a single cheer audible. We all know they will be back soon. Better prepared
and with greater force. 
 
No time
to linger around and muse. The wounded need someone to aid them. Also the dead.
 
One Hour later…
 
I found
a shady place beneath the leaves of the only tree left in the garden, the rest
felled for building timber. Eager for an opportunity to rest my weary flesh I
sit down there. 
 
The
extend of my exhaustion occurs to me when I feel a mild touch on my shoulder,
seemingly only a second after, waking me with a start. I fell asleep! And
there’s still so much to do.
 
“Easy, Brother
Master. You have done quite a lot today. I just wanted to ask you if you are
thirsty.”
 
It’s Brother
Grandmaster Marcellus, prelate of the earth aspect. One of the highest ranking preceptors
of the academy, handing me a bowl with water. And it doesn’t matters how bad I
had needed a moment of rest, after more use of elemental powers than healthy
for me. Just looking at him makes me feel guilty. Every bet he had not a single minute of
relaxation. Not even the time to wash his hands or face. 
 
After
the enemy tore a breach into the east wall, Marcellus practically
singlehandedly held them up until Brother Master William and Brother Conrad
could raise it again. The Grandmaster’s robes were in tatters, but under the tears
his skin showed not a single scratch. His body, attuned to the very bedrock of
our home, isn’t easily harmed. 
 
The same
goes for his endurance, one could tell. Never one of those who deemed simple
handout below their dignity, he had equipped himself with bucket and bowl to
tend the parched throats of his brethren. 
 
I
gratefully accept the offered refreshment, gulping it down greedy. 
 
“Not so
hasty, Brother Master, there is plenty left”, the Grandmaster assures me. 
 
And
again. The first time I might’ve just imagined things. But now I’m sure I got
it right. “Brother… Master?”
 
“At
last, I almost thought I would have to say it a third time”, he smiles. “These
are the last days of our community”, he declares, reading in my expression I’m
unable to follow. “Although there will be no more promotion ceremonies in the
great hall, today you fought hard and with great skill. Worthy being called a
Master. It may be not much worth, but in my eyes you are a true Brother
Master.”
 
It may
not, for me this means a lot, though. Never mind we’re probably all dead soon. 
 
Marcellus
offers me a second bowl. I accept. Lost in thought I look at my reflection in
the water…
 
*****
Dustin
starts up from his sound sleep. His crisis-honed senses rising to full
attention in an eye blink. A noise had woken him, one of the troubling ones. 
 
Not
quite certain what is happening, but a careful man after the events of Winter
Assault, he softly shakes his wife awake. “Be quiet”, he whispers in her ear,
holding a little hand over her mouth. “Something’s not right. Stay here, I look
around.” 
 
Almost soundless
he slips out of the bed and takes his favorite knife from the nightstand.
Unsheathing it, he calls up the beast and shifts into half-wolf form. Anyone
who might estimate a family of children an easy target had a nasty surprise
coming his way. 
 
On
silent paw pads the wolf boy sneaks though the open bedroom door into the
living room. Pitch-black darkness fills the apartment. Not really a problem. In
his wolf form, Dustin’s eyes weren’t that good anyway. Nevertheless, his now
heightened senses of smell and hearing made more than up for it. 
 
Just,
the only noises perceptible are Tamara, slowly opening a drawer on her
nightstand; and the soft breathing of Andrei and Lucy from their own room, easy
to hear through the half-open door. A little perplexed he’s testing the air,
but no unusual scents either. Had it all been a dream in the end?
 
There!
Unmistakably someone is also opening a drawer, more like ripping it out of its
case. And then scattering its contents all over the floor. 
 
Dustin’s
head whirls around. It came from Mark’s room! It isn’t like the big cat to make
such brouhaha in the middle of the night. Sometimes you’re not even sure he’s
in there. Could it be really a burglar?
 
His
chaps are sliding up to reveal small but well-kept and very sharp teeth. He all
but formally adopted Mark into his household. The slightly moony morph is a
part of his family! On Winter Assault he had to stay in wolf shape for three
full days to keep his secret. Some people in the Keep still knew “David
Redfield”, later named “Redhand”. Whoever was in there, if he had hurt Mark, he
was about to find out where that nickname came from!
 
Gently, gently
he lifts the latch. Thank the gods Mark never locks it. With the first crack
open, the light of a single, lonely candle falls into the living room. Good, a
little light makes it easier to aim, the knife in his hand spinning around
until he has it by the blade, ready to be thrown. 
 
He risks
a peek through the crack. After a moment he opens it wide, not believing what
he’s seeing.
 
Mark
sits on the floor, naked (never bothering with blankets or even a nightgown),
his fur a tangled mess. The content of his desk drawer, his priced drawing
supplies careless strewn around. Styli, brushes, quills, pens and he in the
middle. With a piece of charcoal he’s furiously scribbling into his notebook.
The look on his face one of plain desperation. 
 
Now
Dustin can hear him muttering, under his breath, jittery and short-winded:
“Can’t let it slip. Can’t let it slip. Can’t let it slip...”
 
The
knife falls from numb fingers. Weapons aren’t necessary here. But what else? It
practically causes Dustin physical pain to see his friend in this state. But he
does not dare to approach him, out of fear the snow cat would lose the thread
he’s so frantically trying to hold tight. 
 
Suddenly
Mara is on his side. Quietly she shakes her head and guides him back into the
living room, where they sit down in uneasy silence.
 
*****
 
It’s
gone.
 
Finally
I find the resolution to admit it. For a single, fleeting moment I was more
than I am now. I had a connection to an entire life that happened before I woke
up on that clearing. To a man with a name he didn’t give to himself, to a man
with old friends, comrades, duties, maybe a family. And a purpose in life. 
 
It’s
gone now and I am only Mark Dreamer again. 
 
I set my
notebook back to the floor where I’m sitting. A crude drawing spreads over one
of the pages. It’s a human face, that much is discernable, but smeared so much
from sketching, erasing and re-drawing, it’s almost impossible to tell which
gender. Let alone ethnicity. It’s taunting me, showing blatantly clear my
inability to capture the fast-fading image in my mind. My original, ordinary,
un-cursed humanoid face, reflected in a bowl of water. 
 
A spike
of red hot anger hits me. The book lies already on the floorboards, so I throw
the charcoal piece against the wall. No, I won’t cry, I refuse!
 
I get up
and snatch my kilt from the drawer. I need to go out, breathe some fresh air
and clear my mind. A door had appeared some when during the night, next to the
piece of furniture. This happens sometimes. Usually it leads to one of the
hallways (but in at least two occasions to a closet). It is a hallway, thankfully. I don’t want to risk walking into Dustin
or Mara and explain the ruckus I produced. 
 
Aimless
I wander through the keep; there’s no better place for it, though. 
 
After
some time, maybe an hour, I start to notice a pattern. It’s seldom the keep
actually blocks your way, but it likes to plant hints, if it wants you to reach
a certain destination. Unobtrusively, but very persistent. 
 
The same
door, again and again. So I stop to take a closer look. It’s too nice for a
storage room – and too small, the latch at a similar high like the ones in
Dustin’s apartment. A small door for a small person. Another age regressed
keeper maybe, or one of the short animal cursed – or both, like Kiba. It’s not
the little coon boy’s, though. The carvings on the frame are different. 
 
I
hesitate to knock, it’s in the middle of the night, after all. But, would Lady
Kyia really play me such a prank? Aw, what the heck, the worst that could
happen are some harsh words. Without further delay I knock. 
 
*****
The echo
of my quick knock fades only to be replaced by the scuffling of shorts claws -
definitely a short animal cursed then - followed by the faint ruffling of cloth
and a suggestion of metal against metal.  The steps come from deep within,
and I tense as I wait to see who Kyia wishes me to meet.  The door swings
inward without delay, revealing an interior lit only by the lantern carried by
the keeper within.

Already expecting a short animal, I had been looking down as if I were
conversing with Dustin while walking through the Keep.  I have to look even
further down to reach the head of the Keeper before me.  Standing perhaps
a little over three feet tall, with large, round ears, big black eyes sitting
on either side of a long triangular snout that ends in a wicked array of
whickers and two very noticeable incisors, while behind him a long, lightly
furred tail danced just above the masonry, is unquestionably a mouse.  He’s
dressed in evening linens and draped in a rich blue robe with a silver threaded
sash tied about his middle.  He’s carrying the lantern as high as he can
with the flame as dim as possible, nose twitching as he regards me.

"Who are you, oh knave, to interrupt my studies?  It is a beautiful
night for watching the stars and perusing old charts.  Now you've gone and
made me ruin my night eyes." His tail flicks to one side and he set his
free paw on his hip, while his head tilts ever so slightly to one side as he looks
at me. "So then, speak up!  Who are you and to what do I owe the
pleasure of your visit?"

!DSPAM:4f84b766172151804284693!
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