<html><head><style type="text/css"></style></head><body><div style="font-family:times new roman,new york,times,serif;font-size:12pt"><div>Written rather long ago, but never posted. I really do need to go back through all of my writing and see what's made the list and not... *heh* Without further ado, Ryx. ---<<>>--- <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///G:%5CUsers%5CRyx%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///G:%5CUsers%5CRyx%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///G:%5CUsers%5CRyx%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><style>  </style> Metamor Keep<o:p></o:p> Cycle of Journeys<o:p></o:p> Late May, 707cr<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> Requiem of Vengeance<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p>                 His trials were many and sometimes painful, Vinsah cum Elvmere considered with a wince as he took another step.  His quest, his pilgrimage, both one and the same, was duly made afoot as She, his Mistress, had bade him.  A bright, shining angel in his dreams, she had given him his nom de guerre, presented him his mask long before he had been graced with the black mask of a raccoon, and even put him upon the holy journey he found himself making, paw after sore paw upon the long road from Metamor, his new home, to Yesulam, his old.<o:p></o:p>                 Yet there were times he truly regretted her geas that, upon the track of his journey, he not ride horse nor carriage nor cart but bore himself on his own two paws.  Now was one such time of painful regret.  An hour before he had trod upon one of those long, distressingly sharp thorns that unlucky travelers are wont to find with their feet while out walking.  It had pierced the stout leather of the simple sandals he wore and sunk deep into one of the likewise travel-toughened paw pads with sudden, sharp agony.  Malger, the lecherous minstrel who served as guide and master to Vinsah’s guise of apprentice minstrel, had called it the Thorn of the Accursed, or Torturer, tree as he removed it.  None of them knew the name sages or herbalists gave it, but Malger’s title was apt enough.  The puncture did not bleed, or swell overmuch, as it was not deep, but it made continued walking extremely painful.<o:p></o:p>                 But he did continue, in dogged perseverance to his quest and Her geas, on foot.  Only one summer ago, only a mere six months ago, he would not have been able to take another step.  Soft, he had been, pampered by his place and power.  Now, no longer Bishop, nor Patriarch’s right hand, nor even fully human despite the illusion disguising him, he had toughened up like the pads of his pained paws.  And so he continued.  For Her, his enigmatic dreamtime apparition, and Hum, Eli, whose holy house Vinsah feared was in a truly sad condition following Akabieth’s assassination.<o:p></o:p>                 For Her, but who or what was she to receive his adoration and almost-worship?  An angel, one of Eli’s servants sent to guide him from his despair after his friend and mentor’s untimely death?  She had come to him before that event, she had revealed his mask and name weeks before the disaster that trapped him at Metamor, turning him from elderly, balding Bishop Vinsah to the much younger, furred creature he was now.  A raccoon.<o:p></o:p>                 Egland had not received any such dream guardians or prophecies, so he explained when Vinsah asked him through oblique conversation.  Poor tortured Bryonoth, now a woman, had stalwartly refused to speak of her dreams.  Thinking of Egland, and what he had learned of the once quiet, taciturn Knight, Vinsah found himself looking toward Malger who walked alongside his mount a short distance ahead, talking quietly to Murikeer.  The illusion guised pine marten was a freely admitted hedonist with no regard as to the gender of his paramours.  He had taken Egland under his wing for a time, ostensibly to help him learn anew how to play his viola with the changed hands his manifestation of the curse had given him.  But what else, Vinsah mused disturbingly, had they shared?<o:p></o:p>                 Malger, that confounding and shockingly blasphemous (at least from Vinsah’s Paltidor viewpoint) creature, who journeyed with him despite having such radically different ideology, who owed heart and soul to his own dream mistress, Nocturna.  Was that Vinsah’s dream guardian, something not entirely of Eli’s providence, if at all?<o:p></o:p>                 Something else, even?<o:p></o:p>                 He remembered that he had asked once, but he could not precisely recall when.  Time, or his perception of it, was mutable in his dreams of Her.  His first question, some short time after she had first revealed herself to him, had been, “Are you an angel?”  She offered only a calm negative shake of her head then, and a brief answer.<o:p></o:p>                 “Ah’wei.” She had said.  I Am.  Nothing more, no elucidation upon that simple statement, leaving him reeling and confused, lost and not understanding what she meant.  She Was, but what then was she?<o:p></o:p>                 Much later he had asked anew, “Are you a being of the Pantheon, of the Lightbringers?” Diffidently he had faced her, fearing an answer that might shake the very foundations of his Faith.  “Are you Nocturna?”  A goddess of dreams, nightmares, and omens.  An apt simile, once he had learned more of what Nocturna’s ethos was from the jocular Malger Sutt.  She had offered laughter at that question, but not condescending in its tone or regard, and a shake of her head.  A sense that he was a child again, having asked an adult a particularly exasperating question.<o:p></o:p>                 And once more, her answer.  “Ah’wei.” I Am.<o:p></o:p>                 That simple statement of its own, without admission of being Angel or Daedra, had still given Vinsah’s lifelong faith a solid shake.<o:p></o:p>                 Ah’wei, an ancient phrase in the language of the Sondesh.  When Muhaam had climbed the lost mountain of fire, Dai’shul, and witnessed the veiled presence of Eli he had asked, Who are you?  What are you?  He had received only that answer; I Am. Ah’wei.  And nothing more.<o:p></o:p>                 When Muhaam led the freed slaves of Sondesh into their exile across the sea they had adopted a new tongue, divesting themselves of any lingering traces of their oppressors in all but the oldest of texts and histories.  In that new tongue His proclamation Ah’wei became El’ai, eventually Eli. Only in the Cantacle of Exiles, and then only in the most ancient of archival texts, was Ah’wei still penned.<o:p></o:p>                 And She Was, yet there was nothing about her that gave him a sense of Eli’s indwelling aura.  She Was, but altogether different from his presence, yet Vinsah felt no conflict of faith, for Eli was still the center of his Faith and belief, a Faith she never questioned, countered, or gainsaid.<o:p></o:p>                 “Ah, you are in luck my good apprentice.” Malger called out, distracting Vinsah from his thoughts and pain.  He limped to a halt and the dapple gray mare, Hedda, carrying their supplies drew up to a stop with her nose at the back of his neck.  “Our travels for the day will be shorter.”  With one hand he beckoned Vinsah forward as he and Murikeer turned to look ahead down the trade road once again.  Favoring his pained paw he strode forward until he stood between them.<o:p></o:p>                 A short distance ahead the forest opened into a broad clearing and on the far side Vinsah saw three huge, gaily painted wagons.  One was in the process of unhitching its team of eight huge cart horses as they watched.  “A traveling carnival?” he asked as he lifted his sore paw and rubbed the pad with his fingers.<o:p></o:p>                 “A menagerie, by the looks.” Malger said as he resumed walking.  “I’m sure they won’t mind some company on the road for a night.  We’re not, after all, murderers and highwaymen.”  Murikeer kept pace, the reins of his black mare loosely draped over his shoulder.  Vinsah rearranged his sandal and limped along with them, three horses jostling together in their wake.  “A warm fire, decent food we won’t have to hunt, skin, or cook, and some news about the south road will do us quite well for a night.”<o:p></o:p>                 “For the price of a song.” Murikeer quipped humorously.  Vinsah felt the illusion-clad youth’s unseen tail brush his arm and paid it no heed.  They had all, to include the horses, grown quite used to the occasional invisible touch of a tail when they walked close together.<o:p></o:p>                 “Ah, many of them, don’t you doubt.” Malger laughed as they crossed from the forest shadows and into the slanting sunshine of mid afternoon.  They were half way across the glade before one of the wagon tenders noticed them.  After a few moments of study the man gave a short whistle and returned to his work.<o:p></o:p>                 Marvelous Maxamillian’s Magical Menagerie of Magnificent Monsters was painted in brilliant blue lettering across a field of yellow scrollwork.  All around it were depictions of rare and fantastic beasts and Vinsah noticed that no few of them had the appearance of humanoid traits.  A bipedal fox, a bear wearing glasses and holding a great book, a striped horse holding a violin and dressed in dancing veils.  He noticed Murikeer’s long look at the paintings as well while Malger’s attention was taken by two armed and armoured men who appeared between the wagons.  One, a young muscular man, carried a spear with a long, tapered blade almost as long as the shaft itself.  The clean, polished metal gleamed brightly in the sunlight.  The other, older and black bearded, held a sword in his beefy hand, its well honed edge gleaming as brightly as the spear.<o:p></o:p>                 “Is the hospitality of the road so far gone?”  Malger asked pleasantly with a nod of greetings and a pointed stare at the sword.  “We’re but weary travelers on our way to Silvassa, and the Festival of Song.  Malger, I am, and these two louts are my apprentices, Elvmere and Murikeer.”<o:p></o:p>                 The swordsman sheathed his sword with an efficient motion and shrugged.  “Lotta strife in the air, minstrel, talk o’ war and bloody raiders across from Pyralia.” Beside him the youthful spearman couched his lance skyward as the trio drew nearer.  “Yer boy has the look o’ a Yesul.”  Dark, heavy browed eyes glanced toward Vinsah from a face masked by a heavy, though neatly trimmed, black beard.<o:p></o:p>                 “Indeed he does, soldier, an exotic face to draw the rubes.  Parents were merchant types from some city named Abeef in the Holy Land.  They were put up in some dandy fine homes in the trade district of Isenport, but fell down on their prosperity and now you see where their heir ends up.”  Malger explained as he stopped before the two guards.<o:p></o:p>                 “Abaef.” Vinsah supplied blandly.<o:p></o:p>                 “Ah, you see?  Strange tongue, those Yesulites, very strange.  Now, the one-eyed lad’s all Midland stock, from up north.  He were an apprentice mage ‘til he drunk himself out of grace with his sorcerous master.” Malger snorted derisively.  “And now I’ve got him, just so long as I can keep him sober.”<o:p></o:p>                 The older guard grunted.  Turning, he led them between the wagons.  “Scars on ‘is face’r pretty fresh.  Old master take a bit o’ justice from his drunken arse?”<o:p></o:p>                 Malger carefully lead his mount over and around the tangle of guy ropes and wagon yokes while the spearman fell in behind them. “Oh, no, that he lost killing the man who murdered his intended.”<o:p></o:p>                 “To bad fer ‘im.  ‘Orses’r picketed over there under the trees if ye care t’ mix yers int’ the lot.  Keeps ‘em upwind ‘r they’re like to spook at wot they smell or ‘ear.  Lot o’ strange noises’n smells comin’ from the beasts ‘ere.”  Indeed, the redolent reek of caged animals was sufficiently potent to cause their noses to wrinkle and whiskers to lie flat as they passed between the wagons and across the center of the circle they made.  The guard smacked the side of one wagon as they passed and a growling moan responded from the other side.  A wooden awning was lowered down on the side of the wagon, denying them a view of the beast within.<o:p></o:p>                 There were thirteen wagons in all, nine which held the creatures of the menagerie, two carrying supplies and pavilions, and one for the master of the show, Maxamillian.  The guard led them between two more wagons on the far side of the circle and once more into the forest.  Another camp was being erected in the shadows of the trees, consisting of the common laborers of the troupe.  Soldiers, wagon tenders, grooms, and the half hundred other laborers of the menagerie were gathered there tending to the needs of the wagons, horses, men, and yet to be seen beasts.<o:p></o:p>                 After seeing the various artistic depictions of strange beasts Vinsah found himself most curious to see them.<o:p></o:p>                 “’Is magnificence’ll be about a bit later, ‘im and ‘is ‘re up in ‘is wheel’ouse enjoyin’ their day an’ a meal with th’ Lightbriner priestess come from Asi’el.” Explained the gruff guard as he watched the trio unsaddle their mounts and prepare a small portion of the commoner’s camp for themselves.  Asi’el was the name of the town a short distance further south that Malger had first set as their goal for that night’s stay.<o:p></o:p>                 “Lightbriner? Why’d you not set up closer to town?”<o:p></o:p>                 “Hin Osrin, I think were her surname.  Great fat old gal, but a good face.  Lord o’ Asi’el say ‘e not want the beasts withina league o’ ‘is manor ‘r folk.  Got no love fer th’ show, ‘r ‘is magnificence, one’r th’ other.” The man shrugged, “I be Grimmarn, by th’ by, these be me men.” One hand waved toward the soldiers milling about. He hooked a thumb at the young spearman.  “An’ me boy, Trei.”<o:p></o:p>                 Malger gave the young man a nod of greetings.  “His magnificence?  Hardly complimentary.”<o:p></o:p>                 Grimmarn shrugged again.  Down among the wagons a chorus of loud, coughing roars, bellows, shrieks, and other sounds less identifiable began as handlers went about doling out food.  “Ye’ll see when ‘e comes out t’ show the Lightbriner ‘is collection.  Struts like a cock in a ‘en’ouse ‘e do.  ‘Im an’ ‘at coterie o’ lickboots as follow ‘im everywhere.”  The burly guard turned and spat into the dirt.<o:p></o:p>                 “Such love.” Malger said, watching as Vinsah and Murikeer unloaded the pack mare.  Though they performed the same menial tasks every day Malger always watched them.  His instruments were fragile and precious, after all.<o:p></o:p>                 “Ain’t there?  Ah, ‘e pays damned well, as not much ‘ere fer bandits t’ sack so they usually jus’ let us be.  But ol’ Max, well, ‘e treats ‘is common smallfolk like most nobles do; rough when ‘e take note o’ ‘em, ignores ‘em like vermin elsewise.”<o:p></o:p>                 “He employ you long?”<o:p></o:p>                 “Nae.” Grimmarn looked up as a whip thin ranger trotted up.  They exchanged words briefly and then the ranger wandered away.  “’E ‘ires new swords each year, from up Ellcaran way and therebouts.  One year ‘e ‘eads down along th’ coast, th’ next along th’ mountains.  To Tournemire an’ likely Whitestone Tower this year, an back t’ Ellcaran sometime come spring.  One year, all ‘round.”<o:p></o:p>                 “Long journey.” Malger took the flute in its sleeved case as Murikeer unpacked it and handed it across to him.  He tucked it in the loop of his belt where he most commonly carried it, like a third sword on his hip.<o:p></o:p>                 “Aye, twice’s long’s a caravan down’n back, but four times the pay.” Grimmarn grinned, brown teeth flashing amidst the thick black thatch of his beard.  “Food, hai?  An’ song.  Fellows be glad t’ ‘ear music as made by a minstrel wot not be havin’ fur.”<o:p></o:p>                 Malger blinked while Murikeer and Vinsah looked up on surprise, briefly arrested in the middle of preparing their camp.  “Without fur?”<o:p></o:p>                 Grimmarn hooked a thumb toward the wagons.  “Ye’ll see.”  The three travelers looked at each other dubiously as the bearded guard commander led them back toward the thick of the commoners’ camp and introduced them. Their questions and curiosity were very shortly thereafter buried in performing for their bread and ale.<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p>                 Two hours swept by in a seeming eye blink and the sun was still in the sky, a hand span above the western tree line, when Grimmarn announced that Max was to show the menagerie to his visitors.  Malger and his troupe were ushered away from the raucous gaiety they had raised in the commoners’ camp and led over to the wagons.  Grimmarn pointed across toward the huge wheelhouse where a knot of people, peasants and minor aristocrats by their look, were gathered.  “Over there, ‘e’ll be comin’ out in a bit.  Dun like fer us road swords t’ be ‘angin in the eaves, so to speak, so I’ll jes’ stay back ‘ere wit’ me folk while ye join th’ show.  Don’ worry, ‘e only asks a penny from towners, this camp a road camp, not a show.”<o:p></o:p>                 Malger laughed and nodded as he made his way between the wagons, dodging ropes and yokes, and led his two ‘apprentices’ across toward Maxamillian’s wheelhouse.  They discovered that he was already out, baiting the crowd with a great speech about the trials in securing the unique monsters of his menagerie.  The three stopped at the back of the crowd, not wishing to test Murikeer’s illusion spell too closely by actually trying to mingle.  They were shorter than most of the people present, as a result of the curse.  They seldom were terribly conscious of that fact, until they found themselves in crowds as now.  The tallest of them was Malger, at almost five and a half feet of wirty acrobatic flexability.  Malger and Vinsah were almost of a same height, just shy of five feet not counting the ears which were not visible under their illusions.<o:p></o:p>                 So they waited at the back of the crowd and merely listened for they could not see the showman himself.  He was a powerful speaker, that much was immediately and readily apparent.  His audience was rapt and drawn in close about him, so far that while only numbering a score plus a few they served to completely prevent those orbiting the crowd from getting very close.  As Malger and his retinue approached the crowd moved, shifting and flowing away from the wheelhouse to trail the speaker’s moving voice toward the first of the huge wagons.  Two men stood nearby, ready to raise the heavy wooden awning at the proper time.<o:p></o:p>                 “Lords, ladies, commoners of all ages, listen and discern the nature of humanity.  In this, my most marvelous menagerie of magical monsters I, the master of beasts, shall reveal to you the great lengths to which man will attempt to improve upon himself, and in the end utterly fail.  What I have gathered here to be witnessed by your eyes, unseen by but those most brave souls not fearful of caged beasts, are the monuments of avarice and pride, of power used to the point of corruption.  I offer you beasts such as you have seen before, but in ways that you have never before seen them, touched by magic or other practices too base to bear mentioning.”<o:p></o:p>                 Malger chuckled quietly and shook his head, prompting an inquisitive glance from Vinsah who stood closest.  Murikeer was looking off toward one of the other wagons.  “He’s a showman, this fellow.  I can sense the lineage of a True Bard in his voice.”<o:p></o:p>                 “A True Bard?”  Vinsah asked as they followed the crowd.  Through the throng he spied the Lightbringer priestess and could not help but blink in amazement.  She was a great, immense woman who may have stood close to seven feet tall had she been on her feet.  As it was her great size was comfortably ensconced in a huge wheeled divan being drawn by a single heavily muscled man garbed in little more than sandals and a breechclout.  Four guards paced along beside the divan, keeping the peasants at a safe distance.  There was a small group of aristocrats, by their dress, likewise gathered around some ancient nobility in their midst, creating three completely distinct groupings around the barking showman.  All three little knots of humanity gathered closer as they approached the first wagon, stealing what little view there was from the shorter travelers behind them.<o:p></o:p>                 “There’s power in his voice, magic.  Instead of spells, though, they use their tales and music.”  Malger explained as he listened for the first introduction.  With such a small collection the barker would have to draw things out if he expected his crowd to linger overlong.  Since they were not a paying group, though, he might be moved to hasten things.  “Not great, earth moving magic like our young friend’s, but powerful nonetheless.”<o:p></o:p>                 “To the south of this land there are others, and across the vast sea beyond the journey of many months lies yet another entire land of strange and wondrous creatures.  There are peoples in this distant place who have lost their grasp on civilization, which they once held before your ancestors put stone upon stone in these fair, temperate forests.” The showman spoke, hardly above a conversational tone but his voice traveled easily to every ear.  “In their long slide into barbarous ignorance they turned to the once lost worship of the qualities of beasts, turning to the creatures of their own land to find merits greater than their own, strengths free of human flaws, and a feral oneness with Nature that they had put aside during their long rise to dominance.  They’ve been called Skinwalkers, tribes that don the skins of their prey as totems, but who’ve been said to actually become the creature that their tribes venerate.  In that southern land there are many chimaeric tribes, embracing bits and pieces of this creature or that creature, taking on their furs like you or I would don cloaks or leggings.  Yet do you consider that some of these peoples may go too far?  Might try to slip into the skin of some beast or another a little too much in mind and heart until one day they awaken to find that they’re stuck somewhere in between?”<o:p></o:p>                 At the speaker’s cue the two wagon tenders hefted stout poles, fitted them into recessed pits on the underside of the awning, and with practiced ease lifted it up and propped the side of the wagon open to reveal the creatures within.  The crowd gasped and surged back, pushing Malger’s little group a little further away from the wagon even though they had yet to see what manner of creature was captured within.<o:p></o:p> </div> </div> !DSPAM:4c393f4a156681804284693! </body></html>