Author Topic: Noname: A MK Story  (Read 17348 times)

Geo Holms

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on: November 07, 2009, 11:57:15 PM
Don't quite know about this. I wrote this while in Estonia this summer. Got caught up in the flurry of college when i got back and promptly forgot to carry it on. I do have more of the story in mind...and I might change a few scenes in the future. But for now, here is the rough draft of what I have so far.

Meet Noname, a con artist with identity issues...



Noname pulled the last strap tight and stepped back to see his progress. Small travel bag, umbrella, drab shirt, vest, wool pants, dark cloak, a nice amount of gold hidden in faded leather boots. That settled his processions, besides the odds and ends throughout his cloak and mentioned bag. The weapons had been pawned off and the cart, lonely without them, left to find companionship elsewhere.

One week scouting. One week selling. That's how the deal went. Metamor had a few more quirks than the average endeavor, but he'd played this field before. He knew the limits. In. Out. Simple. Even his formerly black mop of hair was now a dirty blond, and his facial hair was reduced to a bit of ill-shaven scruff. All bits of paunch and warts and other traits were stored away for future mixes. Sir Leppersop was gone. He would be Noname until he allowed a new identity to infect him.

Noname smiled. He picked up the bag and slipped out the door. He slipped everywhere, in, out, over, under and through places, lives, attention, never leaving proper tracks. Metamor had been a nice change of pace. To play not only men but beast, who could practically smell the lies that shifted through the frigid air.

The mist of air being snorted out by a massive elk in full winter coat (and winder Metamor Keep uniform too) would make any con shiver, Noname decided. He played the ungulate well, complete the sale of harpoon and steel polish. Would have been nice for the elk if the harpoon was actually made out of steel but … that was the game. Selling that child a war ax had been a highlight. Noname smirked as he slunk down the in corridor avoiding the form of a drunk skunk and a brooding female in hunting leathers, puffing a pipe.

Yes, Metamor was a strange swath of the world, but not a place to stay. Even a person such as himself, who did not believe in place's legends and myths, found his sense of reality shifted by merely coming here. He needed to leave. Casually. He looked over tavern as he came down the stairs and paused. A flash of Metamor Keep uniforms and gnashing jaws. He kept moving down. No hesitation. Move. Confidence.

Noname whispered this word. One of the soldiers' ears, a grizzly bear, twitched an ear in his direction. Noname hit the bottom of the stairs and dived under a table before he could see if the gaze followed. How did he even know if they were coming after him? Three big beasts from the Keep coming after him? No, that sounded just like the sort of men to be send after him. He started scampering. It was a talent he picked up as a young beggar scamp. He weaved around around table legs, people legs, fuzzy paws, stopping only when a pair of heavy hooves he recognized as elk stalked past his location midway into the room. If anyone noticed his undertable route, they were either too drunk or disinterested to raise alarm. He hadn't heard any bellowing for his person, yet.

A tap on his shoulder. His breath caught. “Nice evasion tactics.” Noname turned to find a rodent snout, whiskers, and bright eyes sharing the table he was currently under.  “But you ought to know. If they are looking for you, they have your scent.”

“Thanks. That's the fun.”

He held out his hand, the rat morph shook it, while nibbling on a hunk of unidentifiable foodstuff. Nothing quite like shaking a rodent paw. Noname flashed a smile, wavered, then asked, “That uniform. You're part of the Keep forces?”

“Off duty.”

“Ah, wish me luck.”

The rat saluted. “Sure thing.”

Noname moved on, filing away the face and words, and the knowing smile he could swear were on that rat's maw. Towards the door. Table by table. No fear. The scent of fear lured attention. First lesson in being good at being confident. Particularly when animals were involved. Almost to the door. Just the final few steps. Step forward. Raise up. And walk. To. That. Do–

“HEY, YOU!”

Only a bear could boom with a voice like that. That phrase was one of Noname's more popularly used titles. But Heyyoo just never sounded right as a name except when used in exclamation.

Noname did the classic thing. He turned around and stuck his tongue out. Then he ran. It was the little details of the getaway that mattered.

Snow did not help. Only when he exited did he know that he was going to be trying to escape in a blizzard. And then one knows that there is at least two species in pursuit that are built to pursue in a blizzard if necessary, they usually panic. Noname kept positive and took in his options. There was a reason he picked the inn. For one, it was on the edge of town. For another, he had planned out various escape routes depending on weather. For instance, there was a bridge, obvious choice...so...

A howl. Despite himself, Noname looked back. Framed in the tavern door a wolf stood. A rather big wolf. So...they send the massive winter animal squad to get him. Nice. Why couldn't they send one of their ladies...or a kid...something more...unpredictable? Later on, Noname would discover the mistake in such a hope, but this was not the time. He lengthened his stride and headed towards the bridge. Snow crunched, wind whipped into his face, fingers numbed, he wondered why they hadn't caught up yet. He kept looking back. Between the white flakes swirling and engulfing dark, he couldn't tell. He should be by the bridge soon. He kept his breath even. No need to freeze the lungs. Not far and then he could...

A wolf's furred arm came into view, face level. A classic in stopping a good paced run. Everything went black upon impact with the well choreographed clothesline technique.

O   O   O

Noname awoke in a muzzy state of mind, for he was neither in a muggy or fuzzy state, more of a strange mix between the two. He let himself fall into a balanced sound of a groan sigh as he clenched his hands against the sheets. Sheets. He clenched them the other way and came in contact with the blankets above him. The moments scampered back to his mind, the fleeting details of the plan until one blaring thought that he must reach the bridge and...

Halfway out of the bed without his skivvies, sheet twisted about him like a toga, and  he saw an unamused figure sitting on a chair next to the bed,. The unamused figure, Noname noted, was of a canine persuasion, Metamor Keep uniform, and the air of authority about the furred face.

“Sit,” the canine creature ordered.

Noname, due to habit, took the room in. Obviously an infirmary. He remembered the wolf's arm. He felt his sure to be broken nose only to find it not broken. He sat and got back under the blankets. The irony of being told to sit by a canine was not lost on him. A normal person would ask where he was, who the canine was, what had happened and so forth. Noname did not. He preferred finding out for himself. He waited. The canine was obviously not a dog. Not a wolf either, as the example from the tavern could attest. Obviously not a fox, either gray or red. Ah, wait, lanky, pointed features, tan to black colorations, a scavenger of some sort...jackal? Noname prided himself in such threads of knowledge as species identification and traits. He himself was more a figure of traits rather than stable form, so it was nice to be aware of how many sorts of beast, both human and animal, there could be.

The jackal cleared his throat. “Glad to see you have finally woken up.”

The word “finally” stuck Noname's mind and slimed its way down to his consciousness. As far as he could tell, he was in the Keep, and if he were in the Keep, he was still in Metamor, and if he was still in the proximity of Metamor.... He noticed his hands looked like his hands. So...

The jackal spoke again, “My name is George, I am the Commander of Metamor Keep, and I am here to inform you that a great many residents in and around the Keep would like to teach you of the many and varied definitions of the word 'disembowelment.' Only through my merciful leadership have I convinced them otherwise.”

The word 'merciful' was not anywhere near the word that Noname would have given this jackal from the tone in the words. He darted his gaze over the room. He noted both entrances were guarded, one by what appeared to be a caribou and the other by a mouse with a wicked looking spiked flail it rocked lazily like a pendulum. Both stared back at Noname, who waved. George seemed to have been waiting patiently for him to turn his attention back.

“Any questions?” George said, looking down at a scroll in his paws, running a claw down a list as if tracing transgressions.

“Why am I in trouble?” Noname asked, face the picture of innocence.

George flicked an ear. “Quaint,” he said, “Sale of flawed goods.”

“Oh, is that all?”

The jackal stood and he walked forth to the bed. Through the corner of his eye, he could see the guards tense. George leaned down so that his whiskers were almost touching Noname's face. “So, you think that the sale of faulty weapons is a trivial matter. You see, weapons are dangerous devices meant to protect one from the ever vigilant reign of Death, and so people place much trust in weapons, whether they be sword or club or bow or spear. Soldiers live and die by the blade of a weapon and let me tell you, that if a weapon breaks in the prime moment of survival, neither tooth or claw may block that moment of terror of trust broken when it happens. So let me say this: if anyone ever falls because of the faulty of one of your wares, you are no better than a murderer.”

The jackal straightened. “And that is all.” Then, a certain look passed over George's features, of an expression that Noname couldn't quite catch from the angle of the muzzle. “Perhaps, not all...” He opened the scroll, squinted at the parchment, glanced at Noname, and handed the roll of parchment over. Noname rolled his eyes and took a look. The speech had been well done and all, almost made him feel guilty. Almost. But really, Noname was a soul that it took more than someone to proclaim him a murderer than phase him. He had been called much worse and colorful names in his run. He read the parchment. He read it again. He made a face.

“You have been unconscious for nine days,” George stated impassively, “and at this point, you may be wondering why the curse you have been told about as not taken effect upon you. Being as you are, you may not know of the details of the curse or perhaps believe that it is a fluke of illusion. I can stand here as testament that it is not.”

Noname rose a brow. “This is a list of animals,” he said.

“And I've been told one case of gender reversal and two cases of age regressions.”

Noname stared at the jackal, for the first time with actual perceptible and palpable emotion. “Wait, this rubbish curse had already affected me...multiple times?”

“No, actually. I have been told that it is one time, only its final stability is in question.” The jackal grinned, “Amusing really, you've had an audience from time to time. When you were in a wolverine form the dream motions were, for lack of a better word, cute.” George barked laughter as he started walking away.

Before he could think, Noname called, “What? That's it? What's going on here?”

“Only time shall tell,” George said, not turning back, having a very devious sounding sing-song in the tone. Noname swore that the jackal's tail was wagging as the caribou opened the door to let the commander out of the room.



Geary

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Reply #1 on: November 08, 2009, 12:25:01 AM
Awesome story! Can't wait for the next part!

Geary: That means you get a companion for four levels, then it gets an upgrade.
Draykin: A very PAINFUL upgrade.
* Digital_Vulpine eeps, since the rules don't specify that I'm exempt from the psychic link that Wizards have with their familiars. o_o;
Geary: GET YOUR PET DRUNK.


Geo Holms

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Reply #2 on: November 09, 2009, 08:49:08 AM
Why thank ye. This story has been sitting unused for four/five months...but who knows. I might surprise ya.



Geo Holms

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Reply #3 on: November 09, 2009, 08:13:44 PM
Quite uncertain of the progression of the tale and characters so far. But I'm still testing the waters.

O   O   O

Noname lay on the bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling of wood paneling. He didn't quite know what to think. As long as he remembered, his life had been careening down a mountain slope, jumping from ledge to ledge, sliding along the edge. Along the edge of what, he didn't know, and he hadn't let himself stay on one ledge long enough to look over into the abyss below. At rare moments, while bound up or tied to s stake, he'd had a brief chance to reflect upon it, but soon enough he was unbound again and off to the races.

Now, he might have actually fallen into the abyss, into the complete unknown, because he had no idea where he was going to land.

Particularly when he saw the snout in the lower part of his vision. He opened his mouth, it moved up. He felt it. The whiskers tickled his pawpads. He scratched it with a claw. Noname rose and went through the motions. He had changed while in his reflective haze, his entire psychical being different, longer, sleeker. He licked his nose. Now that was weird.

Not quite as weird as he expected though. Though, what was he supposed to expect. He looked about the room. Curses, no reflective surfaces. Well, he knew his arms and legs were of a sable fur, his body was a light brownish, and he a long body, complete with twitchy tail. Only one option. He sunk his shoulders and plodded over to the caribou.

Noname gave a weak wave. The caribou nodded back. Now what was he supposed to say? He rubbed his muzzle. So much easier when he was under a persona, selling wares, making out contracts, playing with words towards a certain devious means. Now, here he was, no longer human, trying to talk as...himself.

Himself. Noname didn't like the sound of that. Still, what choice did he have? There was no game to be played. Yet. Ooo. The possibility appeased him.

“Sorry to be a bother, but what am I?” he said, letting the words tumble out in as level of a tone as possible.

The caribou eyed him. Noname tried not to flinch. “Oy. Robert, what do you think this hellion is?”

The mouse at the other door squinted. “Let me get a look at that tail.”

Noname lifted his smock and twitched part of his spine that hadn't existed a few minutes ago.

“Considering the mask of fur on his face, I'd say a polecat of some kind. You know, type of wild ferret, eh?” the mouse said.

Noname chewed on this information. Weasel type. Shouldn't he have found this more disturbing. Would this one be permanent. If that George fellow was to be believed, he had been other species too. What did that mean? Admittedly, his knowledge on the Curse was limited at best. But...

“Ah-hem,” the caribou interjected. While Noname hadn't been paying attention, his paws had clutched onto the hilt of the caribou's broadsword, and were in the process of pulling the shiny thing. Shiny. Well, he just wanted to take a closer look. It sorta sparkled if the sun hit just right and it made his heart beat a little faster and he really just wanted to have it a little while so...

Noname stopped himself. Where had that come from? Oh. He put on a guilty face and pulled his paws off the sword handle, backing away. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” the caribou said, nonplussed from the attempted stealing, “Instinctual actions are completely normal for a newly cursed subject. Can't tell you how many times I've had to keep from charging intimidating predators.”

Noname nodded. Civil caribou. He made it his policy to not let himself take note of the qualities of people he spoke to, either good or bad. In the long run, it never made sense to bother, especially because he never even knew them in the long run. Noname shuffled lives like cards, and with them all the people he met shuffled away with them.

That brought a thought. “You don't have some sort of writing utensil, do you ur...what's you name?”

“Montgomery, call me Monty. As for your request, perhaps Luke over there as something.”

“Right ahead of ya. Just nibblin' out a point for ya,” the mouse, Luke, called, chewing on some sort of black stick. It turned off to be a charcoal stick, freshly sharpened, as evidenced from the mouse's blackened incisors. Noname murmered thanks and returned to the bed. This wasn't quite what he expected. Wasn't he supposed to be roughed up by now? He expected at the very least to be mauled a little. Then again, he glanced back at Luke. He could smell a slight tingue of...fear on the air. To be sure, the mouse would not think twice of laying Noone out with that flail, but the simple matter was that Noone was a polecat, and if he remembered correctly, they ate rodents and so... Metamor was a twisty locale indeed. How did anyone go on about here without going made with the details?

He pulled out the scroll and set to work.

O   O   O

Soon enough, next to each of the labels, he had scawled a name and occupation, so that the list roughly read as so:

Unknown (Begger Boy) – Child
Reginald (Accountant) – Squirrel
Lackaday Takern (Beer Trader) - Shrew
Loridor Copper (Gem Evaluator) - Mole
Ms. Rosetta (Matchmaker) – Woman
John Ritanoose (Executioner) – Wolverine
Happy (Fortune Teller) – Child
Carrage (Undertaker) – Monitor lizard
Harkens Senderjay (Wares Seller) – Polecat

Noname finished reading these aloud from the foot of his bed. He still remained a polecat. He then spoke vaguely towards the guards. “Strange. These are may past scams...ur...identities used in my business. Each with their own personalities, stories, and occupation. Of course, none of these people actually existed except for the brief time that I portrayed them. But, I'm so rarely myself...I'm not even certain who I really am, so how can the Curse decide on whom to curse?”

Monty quirked a brow. Noname didn't know caribou even /had/ brows. “Well...what's you name again?”

“Noname.”

The brow quirked further, but he continued, “I've been in the Keep for a long while, and I've seen plenty of strange things, but if there's one thing I do know, the Curse is a wildly unpredictable thing.”

“Everything has a pattern,” Noname said, “Creatures, the seasons...sometimes its harder to see than others, but everything goes a certain way. Everything can be manipulated.”

“Like you tricking Keep guards into buying faulty weapons,” Monty said, a layer of ice on the words.

“Yes, quite.” Noname said, then grasped his muzzle. Oops. Oh, and he'd thought they'd been getting along so nice, Noname reflected.

Monty's jaw clenched. “Noname. You seem like a nice person, on the surface. Very congenial and kind...but as Commander George said, I'm not certain you understand the levity of your situation.”

Levity. Nice vocabulary. Scary in a way too.

The caribou clicked his hooves. “Well, perhaps its about time for you to get some fresh air.”

“Aren't I under confinement?”

Monty smirked. “In a sense, perhaps. We're just going to being you on a little stroll. Meet some friends of mine would /love/ to meet you.”

Was this caribou flashing a devious grin? Oh, crud. Noname started scrambling back. What had he said? Had he made a mistake in his wordings? He was just doing the same thing as...he...usually...did. Which was try and gain trust to find an opening in the situation for his own twisty ambitions. But was he? Well, yes. Of course he was. That was the instinct of a con artist for you.

“Luke, get some armor for this weaselly fellow. I believe he is going to need it.”

O   O   O
« Last Edit: December 02, 2009, 06:02:23 PM by Traxer »



Virmir

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Reply #4 on: November 12, 2009, 09:43:12 PM
Awesome, Traxer. [:)

I was going to complain about the multiple curse thing until I read part two and understood what was going on.  And I must admit that's a pretty original spin on things with the multiple con-artist personas and all.  Very nice.  Looking forward to the next part. [:)

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Reply #5 on: November 13, 2009, 02:48:36 PM
Quote
Unknown (Begger Boy) – Child
Reginald (Accountant) – Squirrel
Lackaday Takern (Beer Trader) - Shrew
Loridor Copper (Gem Evaluator) - Mole
Ms. Rosetta (Matchmaker) – Woman
John Ritanoose (Executioner) – Wolverine
Happy (Fortune Teller) – Child
Carrage (Undertaker) – Monitor lizard
Harkens Senderjay (Wares Seller) – Polecat
?

Noname finished reading these aloud from the foot of his bed. He still remained a polecat. “There are three more identities on the list. Each with their own personalities, stories, and occupation. Of course, none of these people actually existed except for the brief time that I portrayed them. But, I'm so rarely myself...I'm not even certain who I really am, so how can the Curse desultory on whom to curse?”
I don't get this part. Are these the changes he went through while asleep after hitting the wolf's arm? If so, why do they have names/jobs/personalities/stories?

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Geo Holms

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Reply #6 on: November 13, 2009, 05:29:20 PM
I don't get this part. Are these the changes he went through while asleep after hitting the wolf's arm? If so, why do they have names/jobs/personalities/stories?

Yep. Noname took the list that George left, and placed this information in. They have all that information because as a con-man he conformed to different personalities over the course of each scam he pulled (which usually consisted of posing in a certain occupation).

And don't think this doesn't mean you won't see those species in the future.  ]:P

Thanks very much for reading, peeps. I bet I'll give stuff to properly complain about later.  ];)
« Last Edit: December 02, 2009, 04:44:18 PM by Traxer »



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Reply #7 on: November 13, 2009, 08:14:34 PM
Oh minor quibble I forgot to mention.  Sometimes you call him "Noname", and sometimes "Noone".  I personally prefer Noname because "Noone" looks too much like the incorrect combination of "no one", which drives me crazy whenever I see people write it. [;)

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Reply #8 on: December 02, 2009, 12:34:06 PM
Ah, here is part 3 and it just keeps getting stranger. I thank the comments I got on the e-mail list which suggested something about souls. I took that idea and ran with it, because it gave a nice explanation. If the explanation makes sense in the least, I'll leave it up to you. Any input or suggestion would be greatly welcomed...for I'm going out on a limb here. I'll also see if there's anything in me for a part 4 to this tale. Not quite certain at this point where Mr. Noname shall end up.


Part 3

"The best darn blade you ever laid eyes on," Noname said, rubbing a finger across the flat of the sword.

In truth, he doubted this, yet crossed-eye female and wolverine male who were his audience let a gleam appear in their eyes. This could have been the reflection of the sword, though Noname knew better than that. He knew the flash of interest when he saw it, he was a spinner of those looks, and getting that look was the toughest part.

He continued his spiel, keeping his focus on not scratching at his fake beard. He stole glances at the wolverine from time to time, musing at the claws. Sure, it also had on a thick leather jacket and spear strapped its back, but the claws were the unsettling thing. In all his travels and selling of 'quality' wares, he didn't see many wolverines, or animals of this sort. This was a strange part of the land where this sorta thing "just happened" and Noname was never one to let little details like a customer being a large animal standing on two paws be a deterrent.

The woman was merely frayed and soggy. An archetype which towns the country over were plagued with.

"How's the balance?" the wolverine asked, in a deep, pounding voice.

Noname had expected something about "if it could cut through a deer carcass" but he took the inquiry in stride. He balanced it on his palm, "Impeccable balance, my good sir." He kept vague, just hoping that confidence would be properly settled in his trained tone.

"And what's you name again?" the wolverine asked.

Not a good question. Noname could not sense that there was suspicion in the wolverine's demenior. Then again, he didn't know what to look for. Snarling, perhaps?

"Sir Leppersop, Merchant of Weapons and Wares," Noname stated, flashing a grin dripping confidence. He didn't really know his name. As long as he remembered, he had been spinning up new ones. Every new ware, he usually changed over his identity and papers, unless problems arose in midrun and he was figured out. He had been going through the pattern for so long, flipping off item after defective item, putting on disguise after ingenious disguise, he forgot who he was before he had done this. He only had a rough outline of what he really looked like. Ratty brown hair, long and pointed features, lanky limbs, and smoky gray eyes. All these could be changed in moments to whatever his fancy. Anything to keep from being himself and on the move. "Noname" is what he called himself in his mind, and it was the closest had had to a real name, and he liked it that way.

This appeared to appease the wolverine, who sniffed, then waved a paw for him to carry on. Noname couldn't keep his eyes off the claws, and wondered how long he could keep flipping, before someone saw through it all, and gutted him

The wolverine bought a claymore. The woman bought a saber and a cutlass. Noname hurried off, to sell a few more blades, before heading off before said blades broke.


O   O   O

Now, in the present, the wolverine didn't gut him as much as full out punch him in the nose.

Blood dripped from Noname's ferrety nose. It seeped into the sable fur of his paws, which tried, and failed, to stifle the flow. Despite this, he gave a grin up at the wolverine, and with a nasal voice, said, “Guess I deserved that, eh?”

The wolverine cracked his paw with a flex.

Noname felt lucky. As least the fellow hadn't used his claws. Or worse, used those jaws to rip him a new one.

A new one of what, he didn't want to consider.

Monty was bringing him around to meet various Metamor denizens, and with each new introduction, the caribou's flourished description of Noname's devious deeds gained more notoriety in the narrative. There was something to be said of his flair, that was for sure. Still, the conclusion of each introduction did not fare well in his opinion of the story in total. He was certain, that under the fur, each kick, punch and bite was causing much bruised discoloration.

Soreness flared when the caribou slapped him on the back, “Ah, you were a busy weapons dealer those few weeks, weren't ya?”

“Apparently,” Noname sighed. He swore that since word got out, there were actually people seeking him out to give him a good one, whether he had sold them a weapon or not. The child who had kicked him in the gonads had been notably below the belt. The words of George echoed in his mind. Was what he did really all that bad?

True, the beasts who injured him didn't appear to have any extension of anger past the first hit. After that, they gave their names, tipped their helmets, and were on their way. Noname had expected more of a haunting grudge, or at least longer bits of pummeling.

By this time, Noname believed he would have taken one long bout of pummeling instead of this drawn out game of introduction and pow. He wanted to ask if they were done yet...but if they were done, that didn't necessarily mean that they would go back to the bed, it meant the unknown.

Which is when they went out into the courtyard.. With the fur, the cold didn't quite hit him, except for a little nibbling on the nose which caused his whiskers to twitch. His paws crunched on the snow. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the white and when they did, he stopped. Along one end of the court yard, perhaps a dozen figures stood, each fiddling with something in their respective hands or paws. Something quite and round shaped. He turned to go back inside, just in time for the door to slam and latch. The caribou smiled and waved from the window next to it. Noname gaped.

He looked back at the figures. Vaguely familiar as more customers. How many bloody blades had he sold? He whipped the back of his paw on his nose, trying to rub the dried blood that now tickled his nostrils. Noname gave a weak wave at the figures. They waved cheerfully back. He looked for an escape. So, arches, walkway, right across, if he could get there, he could get to the door at the Southwest corner and...

Impact. Off his feet, he whirled, limbs flailing, body bending about, and he landed on all four paws, cocked and ready. This startled him. He had fully expected to land on his snout. He stared down the figures. Snowball arms went back. He tapped into the parts of his mind he had been trying to push away. The edges that had put those “shiny” thoughts into his mind earlier. What was it called? Instinctual residue? Let's see how it works.

The next moments flowed together. His body flowed with it. Every bend his spine was capible of, he used to its greatest extent. He spun about the snow. Backwards, forwards, sideways, letting his body react to the snowballs aimed at him. At the same time pushing himself towards the arcs. He felt himself becoming a blur, a snowy fuzzsnake following the ley lines of chaos. It was a thrill he had never quite felt...except when conning. He could get used to this.

Until he started the change, that was.

Snowballs kept flying as his swoops turned jagged and his body twitched, shifted, and flowed. His running became awkward and crooked over the snow. He heard cloth ripping and felt digits extending as they grappled forward, membranes accompanying their growth, until he was actually catching the air. As he was in a fragmented state of mind, his inner-polecat taking care of his motions, this incarnation of a new creature, took hold of the instincts, as flatten nose, fangs, and ears expanded.

Before he could even figure how what he was, he had managed flight, his wings pulling him up, towards the dusty clouds of a gloomy winter day, over the courtyard, forth, to freedom and...

The snowball hit him, hard, across the head. He tumbled out of the sky, hitting a stone wall before landing in a snowbank, a mix of fur and wings.

O    O    O

“A bat,” the mage said. At least, Noname thought he was a mage. The dark cloak, the murmuring under his breath, and magic runes seen at a glance sketched in the notepad, sorta gave Noname that impression. He really couldn't even tell what species the creature was, due to his faded vision and a well-placed hood, but he felt it was impolite to ask.  Noname couldn't even recall if the mage had given a title. Ah, he would just plod forward.

“No really? I wouldn't have figured out that myself...considering the wings and all,” Noname said.

“No need to be snippy,” the mage said, paws waving the air over Noname's body, “You are not in the position to be talking back to anyone at this point.”

“You mean there's more people who want to hit me? I didn't sell that many weapons in this place.”

“I'd be more scared of the status of your soul. You do have one, don't you?”

Odd question. Noname never considered souls that much. Souls were part of the unknown while Noname stuck with the certain, played with real factors that affected real things. Anyways, if he thought about souls to much, he always figured he would start thinking about religion and then he would start thinking about a moral system outside his own. He didn't want to bother with new morals, those were troublesome in the life of a con artist. Once he started getting morals, all of his actions with halt having that sense of fun.

“Why?” Noname asked. A good response to anything. It either made the opposing force fumble, or it made an undesirably truth to come forth. No matter how much of an echo the response came over through his now oversized ears.

“Your aura is decidedly muddled. Very hard to read, and I'm not certain why that is so. I'm pretty certain you are not a demon, but you seem to have...something off with your soul. This might require a second opinion. Monty gave me that list you filled out and it intrigued me. So, as a con artist, you took on these identities, correct?”

“Of course, that's how I played the game...no offense,” Noname added, wary of being hit for his flippancy again.”

“And what, may I ask, comes after Senderjay.”

Noname tried rubbing his chin, but just ended up putting his wing over his face. That reminded him out disoriented he felt laying on the bed like this. With the wings and his body shape and... “Hey, sorry to impose, but, could I hang from that wall sconce, please. I think it would let me think clearer.”

Monty came forth, and lifted Nonone up so his could latch his feet onto the sconce. He took the time to bop Noname. “Nice try escaping back there.”

“I was not escaping. I don't know why you always assume the worse of me, Monty. We started off so well,” Noname said, trying for some genuine innocence. It was hard being genuine with just a con-man front and the words felt off as they left his maw.

“Just be glad I'm still good at making snowballs with hoofs,” he said, wiggling his odd digits.

“Ah, nice aim then.”

The caribou rolled his eyes and moved back to the door.

Noname stretched his wings out, then folded them about him. It felt snug. He turned back to the mage. “After Senderjay must have been...the bait dealer, Mr. Vlad Black. Quirky fellow. Fixated on bug harvesting with his special fertilizer. But worked perfect in that fishing community. Complete lured them in to take the bait, pardon my pun.”

The mage squinted at Noname. “Excuse me, you speak about Mr. Vlad Black as if he were a real person.”

“Of course he was,” Noname said.

The mage's mouth opened partway then closed. This happened a few times, as if he were trying to catch some words that wouldn't quite emerge. “You mean, in a confidence man sense. That you made him real, correct?”

“Oh yes. I did that. But he was also a real person. You did look through my pack, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“You found the scroll compartment, correct?”

“...no.”

The mage clicked his claws at Monty. He could easily hear the mage request that the pack be brought immediately. Ah, these ears were more useful than he thought. He didn't know the significance of this, but it was fun seeing the mage's tail twitch. The mage began to pace, never taking his eyes of Noname. Noname stared back, with eyes half lidded.

“What is on this scroll, exactly.”

“Nothing interesting, actually, but it does hold the secret of my success. I value a good cover, but the tricky part is playing out a believable cover by just a matter of throwing together details. You need to have a foundation of legitimacy about you. That's why that scroll has been so useful over the years.”

“But what is it?”

“As I said, nothing much. It just an exhaustive account of a town from a couple centuries back. Lays out every single resident of the town, what they were like, what they thought, what their occupations were. It's a con-man's dream to have such a solid resource to play off. I've just picked one of the people referenced and played the part as best I could.” Noname knew he should be feeling more wary of giving away all his secrets. At this point though, what did he have to lose?

The pack arrived and the mage patted about it until he found the scroll. He carefully pulled out the yellowed parchment and unrolled it. He stared down at the rough writing. “Where did you find this?” the mage said, at a whisper, not looking up from the inked words.

Noname gave an upside down shrug. “As I recall, it was one of my earliest scams. Not a very inspired one. An old man dropped the scroll and I picked it up. So it goes. I'd learned to read from one of the more sane fellows at the orphanage. I got the idea to be a beggar boy from reading about one in there. My career started from there. You're really interested in my life story, aren't you?”

“Not exactly,” the mage said, scrolling further through the document. “I may have heard of the town this came from.”

“Famous town?” Noname inquired, not certain of the grim expression on the mage's face.

“More infamous. Rumors say that this town, Northcrest, was wiped away by the rage of a dark wizard. Some say they were sent to burn in the underworlds, some say they were sent to paradise, and yet other say their souls are stuck between worlds, never to find peace.”

Noname didn't like the sound of that. He repositioned himself on his perch. “What does that mean?”

“The Curse may not be predictable, but it is fairly consistent. One thing that is certain, when it choose a fate for a soul, it sticks with it.”

“Does it have to do with my various identities?” Noname asked.

The mage rubbed his chin. “On a normal circumstances, I wouldn't believe that to be so, and even now, I do not believe it so. The problem lies is that you may have unwittingly found yourself a magically charged document with highly bombastic consequences.”

Noname did not like the use of “bombastic” in that statement. He used his wing to gesture the mage to continue.

The mage took a breath. “The Curse usually affects a soul, and considering the circumstances and the evidence, over the course of your quote-unquote 'career' you may have taken on the souls of those figures you played. Have you ever felt yourself getting lost in an identity, doing things without thought?”

Noname gaped. Every. Single. Time. He had always assumed that was how he played the game. Completely putting himself into the part, playing every detail down to twitching his nose or scratching of an ear. Every part fell so natural until he wasn't even certain what his actual reaction would be if he were not playing the part. He stared at the mage a long time.

“There's one other thing. You said in Metamor your name was Leppersop, correct?”

Noname nodded dumbly.

“How many identities are you before you get to Leppersop?”

“Ur...one more.”

“I have a worry. You see, with all these souls that have gathered around you, I am not getting a clear reading of a central soul, to the point of which, I am not certain if it either hidden, or damaged, or just not there. Feeling for souls is an imperfect procedure, but you must understand, you are in a dangerous position. I am not sure what will happen once you get past Leppersop. Since so far it seems that each form is the soul of a person you've portrayed...I'm not certain where it shall all stop.”

“What does that mean?” Noname didn't really want to ask.

“Either you end up with final, solid, version of the Curse...or you shall wink out of existence. Have a nice day.”

« Last Edit: December 02, 2009, 06:03:02 PM by Traxer »



Jonas

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Reply #9 on: December 02, 2009, 04:09:28 PM
Yip! Must know what happens next!

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Stormkit

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Reply #10 on: December 04, 2009, 08:32:19 AM
Wait, wait, wait... that was YOU?! Wow, totally didn't realize ^.^;

Glad you were able to figure something out to make it actually able to fit into the storyverse though. I really do wonder where the poor fellow will end up, though for the sake of the more established people liable to heart attacks, whatever happens in the end, don't make it TOO easy for him to change from one to the other :p

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Reply #11 on: December 04, 2009, 09:38:10 AM
whatever happens in the end, don't make it TOO easy for him to change from one to the other :p

Yes, yes, couldn't agree more.  And don't at all feel afraid to draw this out and deny the plot quick resolution.  Conflicts like this can be used for great storytelling and character development (and the development in this case would be MOST interesting).  In fact in this case I'd go so far as to suggest that Failure is the only option.  

But enough of me and my inchoherent blathering, have fun writing this thing!
« Last Edit: December 04, 2009, 09:43:40 AM by Radioactive Toast »

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