[Mkguild] Elvmere's New Duties (1/2)

[cokane8116 at aol.com]

Hello,


   Sorry for the delay!





Good story so far!   What's the old line? The more you sweat in peace the less you bleed in war!


   He is so confused. So many ideas he is dealing with.




   Chris
   The Lurking Fox

 

 

 

-----Original Message-----
From: C. Matthias <jagille3 at vt.edu>
To: Metamor Keep <MKGuild at lists.integral.org>
Sent: Fri, May 4, 2018 2:42 pm
Subject: [Mkguild] Elvmere's New Duties (1/2)


I've had this done for a little while but I was hoping Raven couldprovide a review of it.  I have not heard back from him so I'm goingto share what I have and if he gets back to me we'll make corrections.

Metamor Keep: Elvmere's New Duties
by Charles Matthias

1/2

June 16, 708 CR


First principles. The world existed before I was.

Elvmere ducked beneath a spinning wooden arm and then jumped over itsbrother aimed for his shins. A second later he did so again as thetraining machine spun. He grit his fangs together and sucked in quickbreaths through his black nose.

The world is intelligible. I can know things and these things can betested. There is truth and it cannot change. A changed truth is not atruth at all.

The bar swung for his head and Elvmere ducked low before jumping. Therhythm had not been hard to master; after two weeks of grueling traininghe no longer collapsed on his bunk with the other acolytes with bruisedshins and brow. Now he could spare a moment to gather his thoughts andtrain them too.

It is the measure against which I must find my place.

Jump, duck, jump, duck. His body was wound like a spring and just asloose.

Nothing can both exist and not exist. It either is or it isn't. Onceit is it will always be, only its state of being can change.

Elvmere felt the lower bar brush his tail and the brief touch madehim hesitate a single heartbeat. He hissed under his breath as he ducked,and then tripped as the lower bar swinging back around clipped his paw.He thrust his arms forward to roll aside but bounced from the edge of thespinning platform and landed on his back staring up at a blue-liveriedmule with a lop-sided ear and sardonic expression.

To wit, the bruise on my ribs did not exist a moment ago.

“Well, Acolyte,” DeMule remarked with a braying laugh. “Your besttime yet. You dodged forty-three passes this time. Back to Tamsin forsword practice. You'll try this again in an hour.”

Elvmere pushed himself up and offered the other trainees waiting theirturn on the machine a hopeful grin. Some chuckled at the raccoon's lateststumble while others returned the encouragement. Most were young enoughto have just undergone their first change while a few were the laststragglers from Bradanes. A few were older come in need of a refresherbefore their annual patrol duty. A handful, like Elvmere, were acolytesof the Temple fulfilling their assigned duty.

At the beginning of the month, Celine informed him he would be spendinghis mornings training for combat until DeMule felt he was ready for hisfirst patrol. Every able-bodied Metamorian was required to go on patrolat least once a year and acolytes of the Temple were no exception,especially one as hearty as the youthful raccoon. The fact he had neverbefore used a weapon was no excuse, and both Celine and the Lothanasa hadassured him nothing in his past would alter their expectations ofhim.

Other than his vow of silence regarding who he'd once been.

Whatever uncertainty he'd felt from the other acolytes when he joined theOrder had been assuaged by six months of communal living and serving. Therhythm of life in the Temple had its variations, but each day began withprayers and ended with the nightly sacrifice. His only interruptions werethe occasional visit from his traveling companions Malger and Murikeer.Malger's last visit had been to inform him of a long journey toSondeshara and say goodbye – they had sung an impromptu traveling songtogether before the marten took his leave.

Murikeer visited not long after to inquire after his training and, aftersecuring Celine's permission, took Elvmere for a short jaunt through thenearby forest to help the raccoon see Artela in all her splendors. Theskunk's obvious devotion and gentleness as he touched each tree and bushand whispered of each animal surrounding them lifted his spirits andfilled him with marvel. Artela'kema had been only three days before, andso already heady with the ancient ritual, Elvmere had felt praise for thegoddess come easily to his tongue. He'd felt a sudden urge to shrink tohis feral form and, leaving his brown acolyte's robes behind, climb upthe nearest tree to see, listen, and smell the forest the way her wildchildren did. Later during the evening prayers he wondered if he wouldhave done so had Murikeer not been there.

But as Elvmere lay waiting for sleep to claim him, he fought tears forthe faith he had lost.

I exist, or else I could not perceive any of the universe. But I didnot bring myself about. “You're almost there, Elvmere.” Ashort-furred young man dressed as a guard of the Temple in smoky-graylivery with the twin cross emblazoned across the front smiled to him. Thesmile lifted his protruding, heavy snout enough Elvmere could see theshort, sharp teeth beneath it. Elvmere had seen creatures like this onlyonce before on a mission to Eavey in Sonngefilde, but Metamor's cursesdrew from all across the world for its inspiration.

“Another two weeks, eh, Tamsin?” Elvmere asked as he practiced thestretches DeMule had showed them. The tapir shrugged and lowered hissnout.

“Perhaps. I think you'll get it sooner.” Tamsin flicked his large earsout to either side of his head and turned the practice sword over in hismostly human-shaped hands. “I'd prefer a Summer patrol; I don't havethick fur like you. You know how winters are.”

“Aye,” Elvmere admitted. His second winter at Metamor had been spent inthe Temple; he'd could only notice the change by observing what theLothanasi coming to worship wore.

“Well, let's get started. DeMule is watching!” Tamsin offered the secondsword to Elvmere. Even though both were fashioned from strong oak, theraccoon felt sure they would be nothing more than kindling before the daywas done. He scratched his claws across the surface, green eyeslost.

Something brought me into existence. Something before me. Not myparents or theirs.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and blinked. “No daydreaming, Elvmere!Lutins won't wait for you to finish praying, eating, or well, you know!”He chuffed at himself and Tamsin's reluctance to swear. He'd heard farworse from Malger and had long since stopped flinching.

He stepped back and lifted the sword the way he'd been shown, trying tokeep his attention on the tapir's face, hands, and shoulders. Tamsinshifted back and forth on his big three-toed feet, swaying the sword tipfor a few seconds before jabbing at Elvmere's chest. He stepped back andswung his sword down making a solid crack.

“Good, your reflexes are improving,” Tamsin said as he flashed anothersnout-lifted grin. Before Elvmere could acknowledge the compliment, thetapir swung in from his left again. Elvmere gritted his fangs and heldtight.

Something brought all of us into existence.

“Ow!”

“Well, keep your eyes on me!” Tamsin laughed and stomped back a pace.“Now, come at me.”

First principles will have to wait. Dokorath, help me learn to defendmyself!

It was a long morning.

----------

By noon-time Elvmere felt at least three new bruises along his arms andsides. It was his fewest yet. He half wished he'd asked Malger andMurikeer to teach him on their journey through Sathmore, but he could nothave foreseen his service to the Temple then. He followed after Tamsin asthey returned the practice swords and gathered their brown acolyte robes.Even inside the castle with its cold stone walls they were too hot todare put them on. The gray tunic and breeches of the Temple guards woulddo for now.

“You are a good swordsman, Tamsin,” Elvmere noted as they left DeMule'straining hall. “I can tell you are going easy on me.”

“Of course,” Tamsin replied, patting him on the shoulder. “We may beabout the same age, but I've been swinging a sword since I was six. SoI've...” He looked at his fingers and took a few seconds to count,“fourteen years on you!”

“It cannot be a good idea to send someone like me on a patrol.”

Tamsin shrugged, and turned his long head toward the raccoon. “We do itall the time. Usually your first will be down south. Less chance ofexcitement. Once we've had the patrol you won't have to come to trainingevery day. Unless Celine says to.”

Elvmere felt a sullen dread at the thought. “She won't, willshe?”

Tamsin chuckled. “Probably not. But then again.” He scratched under hischin and lifted his snout as if smelling out his thoughts. “You're youngand in good shape, and beastly too. Not many of us acolytes have thosenice claws. I'm jealous; I bet Dokorath himself is jealous!” They shareda light chuckle before the tapir shrugged. “I'm surprised she didn't sendyou sooner.”

“She had her reasons, I'm sure. The last two months I've been in thearchives or with the musicians.”

“And good! You really learned from the Dreamwalker?”

“Malger. Aye.”

“The life of a wandering minstrel didn't suit you?”

Elvmere looked away for a moment, surprised to see they had not yetreached the familiar entrance to the Temple. The strange power of theKeep to reshape itself never interfered with the inside of the Temple andit startled him on his first outing when he discovered it anew. Now itseemed to be prolonging their way back.

He liked Tamsin hin'Feros. Though he could not admit his real age, hisbody in appearance and in the many impulses and passions it experiencedwas close enough to the tapir's own. There were only three other maleacolytes touched by the animal curse: Christopher who was locked in theform of a feral bear, and two others who had served since long beforeThree Gates. With Tamsin, much like with Murikeer and Malger, he felt theage the Keep had made him. The tapir's earnest nature and genuinedevotion made it easy to like him. He was Elvmere's first friend amongthe acolytes.

“Suit me? For a season or two it did. But not for the rest of my days.And why are you not a warrior or scout for Metamor? You couldbe.”

“I was,” Tamsin admitted, turning to look at the ceiling for a moment. Hemade a sign with his fingers Elvmere recognized as the spiral of Akkala.He then patted his side and right leg. “I was badly injured during WinterAssault. I would have died. But Akkala healed me. Her gaes was to serveas an acolyte and strengthen the Temple for a year. My year is up but...”He lifted his prodigious snout again and laughed. “I fell in love withlife at the Temple and so I stay.”

“Besides,” he added, nudging the raccoon in the ribs. “I still go onpatrol, and help other acolytes like you manage their martial duties! ButI get to do so much more now, and help the Lothanasa with all therituals. Much better than the life of an ordinary scout.”

Elvmere smiled to his friend and took his turn to pat his friend on theshoulder. “It might be why Akkala chose to heal you; so many were dying,and yet she choose you.”

“She healed many more than me, but aye, maybe so!” Tamsin looked down athis brown robe for a moment, small eyes fixed as his fingers tracedacross the rough folds of fabric. His nose swelled with a deep breath ashe pulled it over his head. “Time to share the Light, Elvmere.”

Elvmere could only nod and do the same as the tapir.

All things happen for a reason.

----------

The raccoon and tapir normally enjoyed a meal together after returning tothe Temple but the time of fasting for the Day of Dedication was uponthem so they were only permitted a little drink. Once finished they weresent their separate ways; Tamsin to his daily training in magical artsand Elvmere to a few hours of copying in the Scriptorium. There was notime to remove the heavy, gray guard-of-the-temple livery and change intolighter underclothes, and so in the stuffy Archives he soon began pantingand every few minutes had to wipe the sweat from his palms onto his robesto keep from staining the ancient manuscripts.

Still, he enjoyed a chance to learn the history of the Pantheon, theirprogeny, their dealings with man and the rise of the Lothanasi. There wasa cosmic sweep to the events so different from what he'd learned as aPatildor in his first youth. At times he felt as if he pored over tomesof some ancient civilization of men and at others their celestial naturewas manifest so powerfully he felt smaller than a beast in comparison.What startled him anew, and what he found with each new day he savoredmore, was how like he and all his friends the Pantheon seemed. They hadfeelings, motivations, struggles, victories, and suffering too. Each ofthe gods writ upon a canvas of ages the struggle of mortal life and thedepth of goodness it could overflow. 

And perhaps, he noted with a hint of doubt, they showed weakness too.Against the sweep of time there seemed mistakes. Elvmere chuffed athimself for the thought.

I cannot measure the gods the way I measure myself. I do not seenearly as far as they and must be humble.

Elvmere wiped his paws on his lap again and blinked, eyes returningto the page. The warm glimmer of an enchanted stone – one of eight giftedhim by Murikeer – made the letters clear and crisp. He rolled the quillbetween his claws as he read the next line. Carefully he dipped the quillin ink and copied each word. The language was difficult to decipher as itwas an ancient form of Suielish common in the glory days of Sathmore athousand years ago already fallen into disuse in the eastern extent ofthe Empire by the time of the Patildor. But he was able to discern along, arcane ceremony where an ancient goddess of the arts, Sakkan, sworefealty to Kammoloth to save her sole surviving worshiper.

He copied a few more sentences before he was forced to wipe the sweatfrom his paws again, as well as dab up a bit of drool from his panting.Elvmere grimaced as he stretched and then massaged the bruises along hisside and arm. The soreness lingered but he was growing used to it.

Kammoloth, King of the Gods. To whom all in the Celestial Realm oweallegiance and who created the Lothanasi to mediate between god and man.But there are other gods. What is a god? A being surely, but of whatnature? Sakkan is not Aedra, not like Kammoloth and Artela and the rest.Yet she is of the Celestial Realm. What is it? How many more Celestialbeings abide there? 

How do they relate to Eli and Yahshua? What is it the Lothanasi call Him?Geshwa Onequion. Hirasoth. What does this name mean?

Elvmere tapped the end of the quill to his nose and stilled hispanting as he watched the ink dry. Even his tail fell still at his feetas his mind wrangled with questions.

There were other gods worshiped by mankind before, perhaps by theElves as well? What of the Lutins, Giants and Dragons? Do they have godstoo? Will all of them bend the knee to Kammoloth one day?

But the Patildor claim, and I believed for so long, they were the onetrue faith and all others are false. And I have done things with my ownhands, driven out terrible evil, in Yahshua's name. There was powerthere. But there is power in Kammoloth and his court too. 

How do they relate?

“Acolyte Elvmere!” A boy's contralto sundered his pondering and madehim jump in his seat. “Are you transcribing or are youperspiring?”

Elvmere blinked and with chagrin realized he'd been panting onto thequill. He dried the haft on the sleeve of his robe. “Forgive me, MasterWeiland. I was pondering what I had just read and...”

A youth of about thirteen also attired in the brown robe of a LothanasiAcolyte stepped from behind him with a critical glance, hands claspedbehind his back, a scroll tucked beneath his arm. His short blonde hairwas peppered by Archive dust; Elvmere could smell old vellum and ink onhim as if he too were a tome preserved in the ancient library. He tappedhis boot with the impatience of a schoolmaster.

“What room are you in boy?” Elvmere did not know how old Weiland trulywas and had long ago stopped wanting to correct anyone about his own trueage.

“The Scriptorium.”

“And what is it Acolytes are assigned to do in the Scriptorium?”

Elvmere sighed and chuffed, eyes lowering to Weiland's feet. “Copying theancient texts.”

“Indeed.” Weiland gestured to the stack of parchment at Elvmere'sstation. “And just how much have you managed today?”

He sighed, and scuffed his claws on the stone. “Half a page...”

“Hmph. You are usually more productive. What is on your mind,Elvmere?”

Elvmere cast a glance at the tome, the words and illuminations decoratingthem, and then back to the senior acolyte. “I was reading as I copiedand... and it made me think. I was wondering about Sakkan and who she is;she is not Aedra, and yet she serves them in the CelestialRealm.”

“And directs the Muses,” Weiland added, a warmth touching his words. “Themuses who bring inspiration and help us know the stories of old passeddown to guide us.” Elvmere could almost hear the lilt of a tale rush tothe man cursed to be a boy; on a few nights as he lay in his bunk withburnt flesh of the evening sacrifice and the bitter pungency of theincense still in his nostrils, Weiland had told a few of those stories toacolytes fighting sickness or tending an injury to soothe them. Elvmereliked those stories; Malger had told many tales on their journeys, buthis always seemed to end with some salacious or malicious twist.Weiland's always had some message to lift the soul higher and make itstrive for the better.

“And the Muses are the daughters of Samekkh and Velena,” Elvmere added.The thought of the gods having children no longer scandalized him thoughit did perplex him.

“Do you know the stories of Sakkan? Perhaps the Brave Tailor and theFlies? Or the Titan and the Wheat? How about the Fisherman and the Maidof the Sea?”

“I... I have never heard of any of those tales. I know what I read here,the histories and the legends. I...”

Weiland scoffed and Elvmere saw him roll his eyes. “Half of knowledge! Ifeven half. History and legends have much to teach us, but the gods intheir wisdom give us stories too, and Sakkan is caretaker of thedaughters who bring them to us. Wisdom is their gift, Samekkh's gift.Knowledge without wisdom is a sword without a handle, dangerous to touchand of more harm to its wielder than to its enemies.”

Elvmere kept his muzzle shut, waiting for the senior acolyte to pronouncewhatever it was, punishment or pearl, his diatribe was building upto.

“You will finish your duties here, boy, and I will speak to Celine aboutseeing you are properly trained with the Stories when your other dutiesallow. You are too clever not to know them and be able to recite them forothers. A bit of wisdom would do a young man like yourself some good.”The boy turned the scroll over in his hands as if it were a switch afather used to discipline unruly sons. “Now, back to it and try not topant on the manuscripts this time.”

“Aye, Master Weiland!” Chastened, the raccoon sat back down, dipped thequill into the ink, and resumed copying the letters.

Over his shoulder as he left, Weiland offered one more critique. “Andnext time, Acolyte Elvmere, change out of your guard tunicfirst!”

The raccoon leaned over the text, grunting as he drew each character. Hedid not even spare the time to read them.

----------

Celine found Elvmere on the way back to the men's sleeping chambers – heintended to doff the guard tunic beneath his acolyte's robes forsomething lighter. The Head of the Acolytes divined his intent and shookher head. “Never mind about the guard tunic, Acolyte, you will need itagain in a few hours. Next time change before heading into the archives.I am surprised at you.”

“I did not realize how overwrought I would become. Forgive me, MistressCeline.”

The girl's eyes were firm but there was a touch of humor at the edge ofher lips. “Master Weiland spoke to me of his idea for your training. Youwill apprentice under him... after you return from your patrol withTamsin. For now, you will continue your military training and will beginto serve as temple guard this night. Tamsin will help you adjust. Now,off to your duties. I will see you in another hour for your musicaltraining.”

Elvmere nodded. “As you wish, Mistress Celine, I will do it.” What elsecould he say?


His next round of duties were by far his least favorite – helping cleanthe Dove room. He'd spent his first three months as an acolyte tendingthe doves used in the nightly sacrifices. He filled their dishes withseeds, poked his claws into their nests to count their eggs, and cleanedthe droppings filling their cages and the nearby floor. The stench clungto his fur even after he'd bathed, and for weeks after he'd beenreassigned to the Archives in March. After the plague had left Metamorhe'd been given a variety of duties in the Temple, and one of them tookhim right back into the Dove room every week. One hour each week to helpwith cleaning, a task everyone participated in because it was the foulesttask in the Temple.

The only solace Elvmere had in the duty which rankled his nose was itgave him time for thinking. As he checked each cage amid the cooing andturning of heads to watch him, he tried to draw back what he had begunduring sword practice.

First principles. The world I know through my senses is real andprecedes me. It is the measure against which I must understandmyself.

He inserted a claw into one of the cages and flecked his jowls when adove pecked it to keep him away from her nest. Three robin-bright eggsnestled there. He gave his pecked finger a lick before wrinkling his nosein disgust at both taste and scent. A few minutes in the room was all ittook; he hoped there would be time to bathe later.

My senses tell me some things are good and other things are bad. Theydid this even before I became part raccoon. The vitality and intensityonly have changed; the nature of what I perceive has not. What we senseis real; only the accidents of our perception may very given strength andskill. It is up to my intellect to interpret those sensations intosomething intelligible; a well-formed intellect will conform to reality;an ill-formed intellect will mistake its own will for reality.

Elvmere bent down on hands and knees, tail flicking from onesandal-covered paw to another as he began to scrub bird poop from thestone floor with a rag. His whiskers backed against his jowls and hetried to keep his nostrils pressed tight. The miasma slipped throughanyway; his empty stomach clenched.

A well-formed intellect will seek to understand. Truth is truthwhether we like it or not. It's why I'm here now.

Elvmere grunted and glanced at the white-feathered bird staring backat him. In a week or two its blood would spill when the Lothanasa or oneof the other priestesses would sacrifice it; its flesh would burn in thefire pit in the center of the Temple. The sacrifice was part of the lifeof the Lothanasi Order Kammoloth created to govern man's relationship tothe Aedra.

There were once animal sacrifices in Yesulam too, but all of those ceasedwhen the Patildor won the city in the decades after Yahshua's death uponthe Yew. He'd spent decades thinking the practice barbaric and a sign ofthe errors of the Lothanasi. How fitting his first task was to tend tothese birds. He knew it had been meant to humble him who had once been atthe side of the Patriarch, but it did so in more ways than one. It wasLothanasa Raven's way of reminding him it had been his ways in error nottheirs.

Do you really believe so?

Elvmere scrubbed harder and turned his gaze from the bird.

The Aedra are real. Even Akabaeith believed it. He would have beenLothanasi too had he been but sent to Sathmore instead ofPyralis.

But he was not sent to Sathmore.

He wanted me to stay at Metamor. He wanted me to be here. All my stepsled me here. My companions along the way... aye, I do believe in thegods. Kammoloth is King of the gods. Samekkh the Wise. Artela theHuntress. Dokorath the Warrior. Dvalin the Warden of the Sky. Velena theBeautiful. Akkala the Healer. Yajiit who warms the Earth. Wvelkim whogoverns the Sea. Why shouldn't I be faithful to Kammaloth and to thePantheon? My Lady...

Elvmere slowed his scrubbing as a smile played across his snout. Heshrank a little in his attire and the rag slipped from his fingers as histhumb shifted along his hand until they were a beast's paws. In his mindhe could see his Lady's smile and felt her comforting presence. She hadwelcomed him home with pride and delight in her gaze when he'd spent hisfirst night in the Temple as one of its acolytes. She had comforted himin all his agonies most every night he spent in Metamor. This place wasmore home to him than anything he'd known in Yesulam and in time he feltsure the Temple would be more revealing to him than anything he'd learnedfrom the Patildor.

One of his sandals fell from his paw and he chittered in surprise. Hisbody swelled back to its normal size and proportions as he reached behindand pulled the sandal on again. 

I am too comfortable in my feral form. I shouldn't be comfortable as abeast.

Acolytes were given one day a week free from their Temple duties solong as they were present for the dawn prayers and the evening sacrifice.Elvmere, when not in the company of other acolytes on some errand inKeeptowne, had wandered the halls or gardens of Metamor as a normalraccoon. He half expected to find himself curled tail to nose on his bunkone morning.

I need to stop hiding from the world.

And myself.

Elvmere sighed and moved to the next cage to resumescrubbing.

I am still a Bishop of the Patildor – the Ecclesia. The raccoon childwho gave me the message for Lothanasa Raven assured me so. And I do stillbelieve Yahshua is the Son of Eli. I do still believe He died and roseagain. Do I truly believe in the Pantheon?

His claws caught on a bit of mortar and a grim chuckle filled histhroat.

A moment ago I was afraid I was too used to being an animal. I believein the Pantheon for the same reason I believe in Yahshua – the witness ofothers who have seen. Malger has met Nocturna. Murikeer has met morespirits and creatures of elder days than I can count. Nylene knows andloves them more intimately than she knew – or loved – me. Many of theacolytes here have seen the gods or their messengers within these lastyears. I have my Lady who has guided me to this place. Aye. Of course Ibelieve in them. Of course I will serve them.

Elvmere leaned back on his haunches and picked at the mortar stuckunder his claw. His tail tucked around the side and then flicked backwhen it felt the damp stone he'd just cleaned.

I only do not know what they are and to whom my ultimate faith mustlie. I must learn. I must listen. I must think.

He glanced about the room and the half-dozen more cages he needed totend before reporting for his musical training. “Later,” he murmured tohimself. “Too much to do.” The raccoon acolyte resumed scrubbing,counting eggs, and avoiding the pecks. There would be time later.

----------

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

Charles Matthias 

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