[Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars V. Ascensum (a)

[C. Matthias]

I know I promised I would begin posting Pars V at 
the beginning of May.  Sadly I did not make as 
much progress as I would like during the last two 
months.  That however has been fixed and now I'm 
back on track.  So let us continue!  Note, this 
will not be as long as the last part was.

Recall that scenes set in 724 are 16 years after the current timeline.

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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx

Pars V: Ascensum

(a)


Wednesday, June 23, 724 CR


Though his adoptive father had bade him not to 
seek out Nocturna in his dreams, Charlie did not 
simply give over to the witless sleep enjoyed by 
almost everyone else. There were many who could 
walk the path of Dreams, some with more facility 
than others, and many of those Nocturna employed 
to safeguard the dreams of those who knew nothing 
of the dangers that lurked within their own sleep.

Most were safe from them in any regard, unless 
the Dream was a powerful one. Such would call to 
those who Walked, either for Nocturna or with 
other intentions that drew Hew servants to them 
like crows to carrion. But even untouched by the 
shadowy realm of Dreams all were open to any who 
sought them out directly. And, thus, Charlie 
sought and Walked unremarked through many dreams. 
To him they had the passage of time, though to 
the outside world they were fleeting. Looking 
into a dream from outset to dénouement would take 
but second even if, within the dream, perception spanned hours or even days.

True to his Duke and his charge, Charlie stepped 
into the dreams of the visiting princess once she 
had finally sought her slumber. He followed her 
through some dream of the banalities of her day 
upon the Steppes in the shadow of the Vysehrad 
mountains, though all who populated that dream 
were animorphed in some way or another. Into this 
Charlie saw her thoughts turn toward Bryn, 
standing atop the towers of the mountain fortress 
keep her family would winter in. He could not but 
chuckle at the strange juxtaposition of Bryn 
standing there with noble bearing next to one of 
her old brother's finest warhorses. The 
comparisons were frank, but humorous. Charlie 
slipped from the dream, finding no ulterior 
motivations therein. Only the confusion, fears, and curiosity of a young girl.

Into the dreams of her brother and guards Charlie 
wandered, finding most dreaming images the same; 
tame or ribald and every concept between. He 
discovered that there were three spies among the 
King's guard but their duty was to observe and 
report, nothing more. Charlie did discover that 
one of the King's stewards' apprentices was among 
his retinue for altogether darker reasons and 
lingered there longer. A simple whisper of loss 
had the young man scrambling in haste through a 
trunk of fancy garments for the tiny leather pouch of poisons.

Charlie captured those thoughts, and had the 
pouch abruptly release its contents into the 
man's face. That so frightened the poor man that 
he lurched awake, banishing the dream. He would 
have some difficulty finding sleep for the rest of his night.

Briefly he sent his thoughts toward the mithril 
mines of the flanks of the nearby mountains, to 
all who slept there, instilling a sense of 
something missing, but nothing kindled at his 
nebulous caress of so many dreams. The thief was 
either drunk from the festivities or not yet asleep.

He kept his dreaming mind active, but at every 
turn from Dream to Dream he had to force himself 
to turn away from the addictive draw of his 
sire's dreams. Often he found himself standing 
atop a shadowy hillock surrounded by standing stones and turned purposely away.

----------

A touch upon his shoulder roused him to lamp 
light brightness and he squinted his eyes against 
it. “Your father asked that you be awakened with 
the mistress, Charlie,” Hogue said quietly, 
almost apologetically, before turning away and 
taking with him the unpleasant brightness of the 
witchlit lamp. “I have laid out a robe and hose 
for the dawn. Which of your raiment do you wish for the day?”

Charlie grunted and sucked his tongue, roughing 
it against the roof of his muzzle a few times 
before licking his whiskers. Slowly he levered 
himself up. “What is the hour?” He muttered, 
ending with a huge yawn. Beyond the open window 
all was dark save for a single torch on a distant wall.

“The sky is blueing, sire. Perhaps an hour before 
full dawn above.” The sunlight would take another 
hour beyond the lightening of the sky above to 
full day before it touched any of the buildings 
of Euper. “Andelwyne will be laying out the first meal in a quarter hour.”

“Thank you, Hogue. I can dress myself.” Charlie 
turned to drop his paws off of his overlarge 
feather bed and cast aside the covers. “Please 
lay out the dark blue for me. I am not in tourney 
today so can more dress to my station.”

“As you wish.” Hogue stopped at the door to set 
the lantern upon the entryway table near the 
frame. He cast Charlie an anxious glance. “Are you well, sire? Yesterday...”

Charlie chuffed and waved a hand toward him 
lazily. “I acted nine times a fool. Worry not, 
Hogue, I have taken no injury nor overmuch wine.”

“Very well. I was merely concerned. Wagging 
tongues and all.” He dreaded to think of the 
rumors that his body-servant must have heard. In 
a more timorous voice, Hogue asked, “Did you 
indeed truly cause injury to the Baron?”

“I did, yes. I have that and more to atone for 
today.” Hogue had almost drawn the doors closed 
before Charlies looked up from a long 
contemplation of his own long-toed rodentine feet. “Ahh, Hogue?”

The youth – forever so only two years past when 
the Curse stopped him from aging any further – 
paused and leaned back through the opening. “Sire?”

“Could you send word to Maysin, if she is in the 
household, that I wish to walk this morn? And 
that she attend me so garbed? I believe that she 
has an entourage wardrobe befitting my blue?”

“She is and does, sire, and I shall convey your 
message with her wardrobe.” His servant's eyes 
narrowed. “You are not riding in your family's processional today, sire?”

Charlie grimaced and shook his head. “Not this 
morn, no. See to my message.” With a bob of his 
head Hogue withdrew and the door quietly thumped closed behind him.

----------

Charlie ambled into the dining hall while the 
house staff was laying out the place settings and 
stood to one side to wait rather than get in 
their way by taking his seat. Misanthe, unlike 
most of the upper class folks that Charlie knew, 
would be wroth with anyone who put themselves in 
front of the house staff for their own 
convenience when things were being prepared. 
Suria, still rubbing her eyes, yawned with a gape 
of her dangerous wolf muzzle. Her white teeth 
gleamed in the bright light of the hall. The 
outer doors had been opened to the morning 
breeze, filling the hall with the scent of 
Metamor – often not the most pleasant of things, 
considering the multitudes of people and species 
inhabiting it – but far less offensive to the 
nose than the harbor breeze of Sutthaivasse. The 
stench of tanneries and fisheries there would 
often leave those on the high ridge above the 
city closing their seaside shutters.

“Morning,” She growled upon completion of her 
yawn, tightening the sash of her robe needlessly. 
“How do you prefer to be boiled, brother mine? Slow, or a quick scalding?”

Whiskers twitching in a brief moue Charlie could 
only shake his head, “As swiftly as might be 
possible.” He admitted with a sigh. “Mother was 
still so wroth?” He almost reached up a hand to 
rub his cheek where she had slapped it the prior afternoon.

The young she-wolf laughed in a half-yip and 
bobbed her head. “Oh, dear, yes! She simmered the 
day through, waiting for you to return home from 
wherever it was you fled after laying your sire’s breast open.”

“I sought him out.” Charlie admitted, stepping 
out of the way as a trio of kitchen staff emerged 
from a side hall to begin laying out the morning 
meal. Owing to the possibility of considerable 
hangovers the meal was a light one; breads and 
pastries with small meats and fingerling 
vegetables steamed to Charlie’s preference. “We talked.”

Suria waited for the cooks to lay out the table 
before crossing to her chair. Charlie followed 
and helped her scoot it back to the table before 
going to his own. “Was he terribly injured?”

“Not such that could not be mended – albeit with 
stitches, unfortunately. He shall scar, I fear.” 
He could still see the rivulet of granite running 
the length of his sire's chest. He would not 
compound his mistakes of yesterday with breaking such a terrible confidence.

“And did you apologize for your appalling lack of 
chivalry?” A new voice cut in, smooth yet sharp, 
which brought their attention back to the door 
from the residences. Misanthe did not so much 
enter a place as sweep into it with an unbound 
urgency to be and do. Charlie rose with a bob of 
his head and moved to help her with her own chair 
as he had with his sister’s. The staff 
efficiently began laying out their fares as each preferred.

“For that, yes, mother.” Charlie affirmed 
modestly as he returned to his chair. “And the 
Baron forgave me, ascribing the injury to a weakness of his own shield.”

Misanthe scoffed with a sharp look, “Would that 
it were not being battered with all the violence 
of a petulant child at tantrum he may not have to 
make such a claim.” She shook her head and took 
up her chalice, holding it steady as one of the 
staff poured at her side. The scent was nothing 
more than that of milk. “And then storming off in 
pique, leaving all gaping behind you while your 
mount stood at the end of the list forgotten.” 
She sipped, then leaned forward, lightly placing 
the chalice back down. Charlie poured his own 
milk, as was his habit. He would much rather hear 
her sharp words than feel the sharp strike of her 
paw. “Were she but a horse such would not be 
remarked upon, but she is a member of this 
household and deserves far better treatment, Charlie.”

Again the young rat could only nod his head in 
assent, “I have quite humiliated her before the 
entire tourney crowd, yes, and mean to make some 
manner of apology this morning. I shall, in all 
due grace one who is being – punished, walk to 
the tourney field today, denied use of my mount by my wrathful parents.”

Misanthe’s russet brows rose and her ears pinned 
forward, “You would abandon her again for a 
second day?” She growled warningly. Charlie held up a placating hand quickly.

“No, mother. No, I shall not leave her here 
awaiting my wish. I have asked that she be garbed 
to be my retinue today, not mount. She will be 
given leave to enjoy the day as her own, as well, 
once I reach the festival grounds.”

“That is a start.” Misanthe conceded. She wagged 
a finger at him admonishingly, “Now, be sure not 
to tender her any coin beyond her norm. That 
would be – unseemly. It would give the impression 
of purchasing forgiveness rather than earning it.”

Charlie nodded and nibbled a stalk of steamed 
asparagus freshly gathered from the Keep gardens. 
“No, I full well intend to earn recompense for my 
poor behavior, on all accounts. I have yet to 
fully understand my sire’s motivations, which is 
the root of the anger I directed to him 
yesterday, and as yet have not fully come to 
grips with his choices. But we are speaking, and 
he has much to tell of – that night.”

Misanthe slowly chewed a bit of fowl that had 
been roasted the previous day and then left in a 
cold box to chill that it be better morning fare. 
“Ahh. Indeed. That night changed many things, but 
also set in motion events that would affect your 
life, young man. Full well to find some 
understanding of it and set aside this childish 
petulance you hold toward him. Your dam is nearly 
as furious as I, you should know. I believe, when 
last I saw her, she was seeking out a willow branch.”

Charlie winced and his tail tucked down against 
the back of his chair at the thought of that. He 
had only experienced a switch once, after 
unwisely making too rough with a horse, by the 
stable master under direction of his father. He 
had never again mistreated a steed, or any other 
animal, and avoided the mere thought of any 
transgression that might mete out a re-application of that stinging punishment.

“I will
 present myself at the Matthias pavilion 
before going to the Hassan seat, then.” He 
sighed, not looking forward to the Lady Kimberly’s anger.

“See that you do.”

Misanthe had no more to say after that and 
Charlie felt a measure of relief. Suria glared at 
him for a moment as if irritated that her brother 
hadn't been more thoroughly chastised, but her 
irritation with her brother could never last.

Charlie glanced at the empty seat at the head of 
the table for a moment and cautiously changed the subject. “Where is Father?”

Misanthe dabbed the end of her snout with a 
kerchief to clean it and then replied, “Your 
father is seeing to some private arrangements 
with the Duke and will rejoin us in time for the 
procession.” A procession Charlie had already 
announced he would not participate in. “Now, do 
eat something this morning, Charlie. Something 
more than that asparagus you've nibbled to nothing.”

Breakfast, while prepared well as always, was 
tasteless to Charlie but he put himself to the 
task of finishing it lest he receive another 
rebuke. Suria and Misanthe exchanged idle talk 
about the wares that they had seen, gossip 
overheard from their visitors and local nobility, 
and the unexpected victory of the rat Goldmark 
over the Long Scout lutin Keleficks as the last 
fight of the previous day. Even as he forced 
himself to finish a slice of toast with raspberry 
jam, his ears lifted to listen with sudden interest.

Apparently, when Keleficks made his first sortie 
against the Rat – who entered battle in the form 
of a rat’taur as large as a stout pony – 
Goldmark’s block was so powerful that it sent the 
Lutin’s cudgel rebounding with enough force to 
knock him out entirely when it struck him in the 
brow. Charlie found himself laughing to the point 
of breathlessness as Suria described it. No few 
of the house staff had also been among the 
audience and offered remarks of their own, as was 
the wont for free speaking in the Sutt house, 
that only compounded the hilarity of the all-too-brief engagement.

In due course Misanthe finished her meal, her 
pace matched almost perfectly by her children. 
One of the notes of diplomacy that Malger had 
instilled in them; never finish before the Host 
of a given meal, but do not tarry such that they 
are waiting for you to finish so that they might 
progress to the next course. Charlie bowed out as 
gracefully as he could under the cool regard of 
his mother and humorous teasing of his sister so 
that he could dress for the day.

----------

Returning to his chamber he found Hogue and the 
young rat Peter – Charlie’s sibling by blood but 
not surname – chatting in the residence hall just 
outside the door to his chambers. Peter was 
holding the rich blue raiment that Charlie had 
chosen for the day draped over both arms while he 
and Hogue regaled each other with the 
entertainments they hoped to enjoy once they were 
released from their morning duties. Not far away 
a pale Lutin, standing slightly taller than Peter 
but shorter than Hogue, smiled as he quietly 
listened. He carried two weighty tomes, freshly 
fashioned of buttercream hued leather and likely 
as yet to be scribed with the doings of the Sutt 
household though in which Charlie’s recent 
escapades would find themselves penned, in his wiry arms.

“Hogue, At’fek, Peter.” Charlie spoke warmly as 
he approached, managing to pronounce the Lutin’s 
name in a passable approximation of his native 
language. Aside from being the House scribe the 
Lutin was also their translator when diplomatic 
needs took them north of the Dikes to High Chief 
Keletikt’s kingdom. Though aging, the elder 
Shaman-cum-High Chief still held the Lutin 
nations firmly in check. He had successfully 
implemented a regimen of teaching among many of 
the older tribes so that the youth were learning 
their letters and numbers along with their 
land-lore and hunting. Raiding continued, but 
only from outlying unaffiliated tribes and at 
such a reduced rate that a single raid was enough 
to earn comment even to the Duke’s ears rather 
than an accumulated report given by Patrol-master Sir Wolfram.

“Master Charlie.” the Lutin bowed with a smile. 
Holding the two weighty tomes up slightly by way 
of excuse he made his way past them down the hall 
toward the main rooms and, ostensibly, the library.

With a wave of his hand Charlie bid the youth and 
young rat precede him into his chambers.

“Charlie!” Peter gasped ebulliently, full of the 
infectious energy of the truly young, even as he 
carefully laid out Charlie’s garments, “Someone 
told me that the mages are going to put on a 
special show after the final tilt, today.”

Charlie nodded and drew off his robe. Hogue 
quietly took it from his paw with an eager glance 
of bright eyes as he smiled at his lord’s younger 
brother, his own enthusiasm for the performance 
of magecraft tempered only by his duty to his 
noble charge. “Yes, Peter, I would expect that 
something of that sort would occur, as it does 
each year. This year moreso as we are 
entertaining outlander Royals as well.” Hogue 
helped him out of his shirt and breeches, leaving 
him unabashedly naked before the two. Such was 
not in the least unusual; Charlie had been 
attended by his two body servants since he was 
younger than Peter’s age. They had seen him in 
every state of undress imaginable, healthy and 
ill, bruised from training or rather dizzy from 
too many cups after a long night entertaining 
guests. Peter, being his brother, paid no heed 
either way. There was scarce little privacy in 
the Matthias house with so many other brothers 
sharing a single room so seeing his brother unclothed was nothing unusual.

And, in the privacy of his own chambers, Charlie 
felt no overwhelming stir of modesty. After so 
many years he had lost that shyness.

Peter deftly plucked the buttons loose along the 
front of Charlie’s doublet, inspecting the 
threads to ensure that all were sewn securely. 
“Yes, but I was not able to attend last year.” He 
pouted, glancing up briefly, “Nor the year before that.”

Standing with his arms slightly raised and his 
tail curved safely to one side Charlie stood 
still to let Hogue quickly run a brush across his 
short, smooth pelt to dislodge any loose fur or 
snarls left by sleep. “You were ill last year, 
Peter. And too young by far the year before, and 
living in the Glen besides.” Seeing his younger 
sibling’s discomfiture at having missed out on 
the previous festivities Charlie slipped the 
topic onto another tangential track smoothly. 
“What mages will be performing, did they say?” At 
a light tap on his shoulder Charlie turned and 
settled into the chair that Hogue drew back from his desk.

“The grandmaster’s wife and two other skunks, I 
was told. They will be working some grand display for the Duke and his guests!”

“Kayla?” Charlie arched a brow and twitched a 
scalloped ear back toward his brother though he 
faced the mirror, and thus saw Peter by his 
reflection. “That is Grandmaster Rickkter’s wife, 
a skunk. Murikeer and Kozaithy would be the other 
two skunks.” Charlie held still while Hogue 
sorted what passed for the rat’s hair to get it 
properly coifed, though there was scarcely enough 
to bother with such diligence. Like pretty much 
every other rat of the Matthias lineage his head 
was swathed in the same short fur as the rest of 
him, if ever so slightly longer from his brow 
following a line between his ears and downward 
along his spine to fade into the general lie of 
his pelt slightly north of his tail. “Likely 
adept Jessica will attend, then, if the skunks 
are. It seems that their efforts transcend the 
political maneuvering of the damn guilds.” A 
decade past the mage guilds had come to a falling 
out and established three separate guilds 
focusing on different aspects of magecraft, yet 
each claimed to be the master of all schools. The 
internecine politicking drove the Duke’s advisor 
on magical affairs, Murikeer, to distraction on a 
monthly basis. Luckily the more powerful mages; 
Grandmaster Rickkter, his wife Kayla, the Adept 
Jessica and the Khunnas skunks had eschewed any 
allegiance to the guilds and, thereby, kept them 
in check with non-insubstantial threats of dire 
consequences if their bickering got out of hand.

Hogue, for once, said nothing throughout the 
conversation, allowing brother to speak to 
brother while he carefully selected a few bits of 
jewelry from the box in which Charlie kept such 
things. The metals of most jewelry tended to 
stain the rat's fur so he seldom wore any at all, 
though he kept plenty on hand for ceremonial 
occasions. For his ears he chose small studs of 
silver and azure, three for the lower rim of each 
ear, facet cut to catch the light whenever his 
ears moved, a fourth stud set below the others 
was graced by a slightly larger polished oval 
emerald. About his neck he draped a mantle of 
braided silver and pale blue sapphires that would 
complement his wardrobe and a torc of sculpted 
silver that fit snugly, each end adorned with 
deep green emeralds resting at the points of his 
clavicles. His fingers were adorned with similar 
combinations of silver and blue, with the middle 
finger of each hand sporting a ring of silver and emerald.

After adorning his charge with a thief’s dream of 
silver and stones Hogue and Peter both helped him 
into the form fitting, impeccably tailored blue 
hose and equally snug doublet that was buttoned 
up the front and tightened via laces up the back 
to show off his physique. He found it 
unpleasantly uncomfortable for any length of time 
but did have to admit that, in combination with 
the hose of fine cotton, made him cut quite a 
striking figure. Lace adorned wrist and collar, 
creating a nest of white in which the silver and 
gems of the jewelry nested against his fur as if 
displayed within a jewelry box lined with brown 
felt. Charlie slipped on matched cuffs of silver 
and sapphires at each wrist and, glancing into 
the overburdened jewelry box, deftly lifted a 
last item. This he secreted up the sleeve of his doublet.

Due to the snugness of the doublet Charlie’s arms 
had their movement constrained considerably, lest 
he tear out the stitching at the shoulders and 
underarms, so Hogue had to help him into the deep 
blue velvet surcoat with its plush sleeves and 
high, lace collar. He would remove it before the 
day was too far along, for it would be unbearably 
warm by mid-day, but for the introductions of the 
morning it would show fine comportment and refinement.

Charlie had to snort at himself in the mirror; he 
looked every inch as much the fop as his father, 
and rather intensely disliked it. The tailors 
left him little room to move as his father did 
and he would have to remedy that the next time 
they came. Malger could dance easily in his full 
attire, and fight easily with one sword or both 
without tearing the seams. For a few hours, at 
least, he would suffer the sacrifice of extravagant wealth in good grace.

Doffing a rogue’s pointed hat that rested neatly 
between his ears he flicked his fingers down the 
upturned sides to the point above his muzzle with 
a deft flick. Hogue chuckled and plucked a small 
cluster of pheasant feathers from a small cubby 
to one side of the wardrobe to slip into the 
feather notch along the right side of the cap. “A 
perfect ensemble, Milord.” The youth said with a 
bright smile, carefully adjusting the long 
feathers of the cap and lace about Charlie’s 
throat to best affect. “You cut quite a dashing figure.”

“Of a rat in motley.” Charlie quipped, shifting 
his arms to test the limits of his motions. Peter 
pranced over from the far side of the room with a 
belt of gleaming white leather tooled in the form 
of running stags. From it dangled a sheathed 
poniard similarly tooled. Charlie held his arms 
up slightly as his brother looped the belt around 
from behind and cinched it snugly about his waist.

“Charlie, we are all beasts in motley at 
Metamor.” Peter admonished in a moment of clarity mature beyond his years.

“Not all.” Hogue admonished with a brief chuckle, 
tapping Peter between his pale pink rodent ears 
with a single fingertip, “Though he is right. You 
are no mere jester, Charlie, dressed in 
extravagant motley. You’d turn the eyes of even a 
human who still thinks us demons out there as you are now.”

“For my silver if naught else.” Charlie tugged at 
the lace of his sleeves and regarded himself in 
the mirror one last time. “But, that as it may, 
it is the last day of the summer festival, a bad 
day for maudlin thoughts.” Snugging his belt 
comfortably about his hips Charlie raised his 
arms to clap both of his helpers upon their 
shoulders, “Hogue, the day is yours as you wish. 
If you see Jackson remind him that he is to 
prepare my chamber for my return this evening. 
Peter, see if the Lady has any tasks for you to 
complete. I will see myself to the gates.”

“I delivered wardrobe and message as you asked.” 
Hogue reminded him as the three of them made for 
the door, shooing Peter out first.

While Peter scampered off to see if Misanthe had 
any more requirements of him Charlie waited for 
Hogue to close the door of his rooms. Other 
servants would be along, likely within moments of 
their departure, to return the chambers to their 
pristine state awaiting his arrival before they, 
too, retired to the festival. “Thank you, Hogue.” 
Reaching out, Charlie clasped his hand and shook 
it as they turned toward the main hall. “Good 
man. I’ll see you on the morrow, then?” Charlie 
had been trained by some of the best cutpurses 
Malger could convince to tutor him, as well as 
Malger and Misanthe who had both, for differing 
reasons, learned the sleight of hand tricks of 
thievery in the years of their youth. While he 
was pumping Hogue’s hand his other was deftly 
pilfering into the small coinpurse dangling from 
Hogue’s belt to add a few more coins to the youth’s collection.

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias
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