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.”
