The Unknown Arrival

{{#ifeq: |User| Metamor Keep: The Unknown Arrival | Metamor Keep: The Unknown Arrival}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: |User| Metamor Keep: The Unknown Arrival | Metamor Keep: The Unknown Arrival}}| ]]
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 {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}} | | 
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     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}|{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}| ]]
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     Author: {{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}} |
     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}|{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}| ]]
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   {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}} | | Authors: ' | 
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   {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}} | |
     Authors: {{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}} |
     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}|{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}]] 
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Icon	Metamor Keep story universe

~~ Chapter One - A Campside Revelation ~~

"Another late night," the man breathed, as he walked down the road from Midtown to Metamor Keep. "No horse to ride in on, no fanfare, no party. The same, old Metamor Keep I left 50 years ago. If only this blasted journey could go faster without my being noticed." The man, who for the purposes of this story shall be called Vikedal, had been walking since the mountain pass Giftum; the weather delaying him and killing his horse. "Ever since I reached the coast," he said, "I've had nothing but rotten luck. One storm in a hundred years, and it chooses to appear precisely when I enter the pass. Maybe our weather mage can tell me why."

As he continued down the road, his oh-so-cheery disposition caused many to take pause, wondering why this man, who seemed to give many the impression of the groundskeeper of the Keep, one not seen for 50 years, seemed to be so downtrodden. The few who happened upon him looking forward along the road immediately caught his eye, and as he locked eyes and nodded to them, as he did every stranger he met, they would miss a step along their path, noticing the long slits and fire-red coloring he had for eyes, and hurry along to their destinations. Of course, this would cause the man to again lock his eyes at his feet, and silently curse the long misunderstanding of dragons outside the Keep.

As the sun began to set a few miles down the road, he lit a small torch and continued along his way, stringing his bow for good measure. After it became too dark to see more than a few feet in front of the torchlight, he decided to settle and camp along the road for the night, in a small clearing just off the side of the path. He meticulously unloaded his small heap of belongings, digging through his pouch for his flint and tinder, and grabbing his water pouch, before heading out into the woods to find water and firewood. As he was collecting his wood, however, a small crunching of leaves caused him to take pause for a moment, remaining dead still as he listened for, but could not find, the source of the sound. He continued collecting the remainder of the wood he would need for the night, and headed to a nearby creek to fill his modest water pouch.

Again, a small crunching of brush, and a snapping of a twig, caused him to go into an alert mode, listening for even the faintest breathing over the burbling of the creek. Again, however, he found nothing, and continued to fill his pouch, corking it when it was full to the brim and heading back to where he had set up camp. He cleared a small area for a fire pit and set up the fire, sparking it slowly, cursing the wind all the while, and wishing he was back in the Keep, where he could simply torch a fire into existence. Stealth, however, dictated that he keep quiet. This part of the land wasn't exactly known for its friendliness towards dragons. He finally caught a small ember, and shortly had a decent-sized fire going, and let it warm up as he pitched his small one-man tent.

Reaching into his rucksack, he pulled out a small metal container labeled, "Food". As he dug through it, the smell of heavily preserved and salted meats sliced through the air like a knife, and made him recoil slightly. "Well, at least I can refresh my supplies when I get back... and hopefully with less salt this time. I suppose that's what I get for asking someone who doesn't know me and expects me to sail back to Metamor to prepare my food..." As he pulled out a small wire holder, and set it and a skillet over the fire pit, he again, heard a crackling of leaves, this time looking immediately at it and seeing a small shadow in the darkness. Making sure he had his bow and quiver within reach, he called, "you may as well get over here. It's cold out there, and you look hungry."

As the figure approached the clearing, it appeared to be a thin man, appearing in his mid-30's and almost six feet tall, stumbling a little on his approach. "Guess you caught me then. You're better than I thought." he laughed, "If I'd known that I would have tried harder." Vikedal replied a bit shortly, "My specialty is in stealth, but it wouldn't have taken someone of my skill to catch you just then." He sighed and gestured towards the fire, "You might as well join me, I've got more meat than I need." The man seemed to accept this as an answer, for the moment, and approached the fire, choosing to seat himself on a stump a little farther from the fire than was comfortable. As Vikedal threw two hearty slabs of meat on the skillet, they loudly sizzled and began popping, and Vikedal quickly grabbed a small screen from the sack behind him and threw it over the meat.

The man thought to himself, "I wonder if he's skittish about magic. I suppose I could pretend I have none, but it may get awkward. Perhaps a small test?" and he pulled a small canteen out of seemingly nowhere, plain to Vikedal's sight. Vikedal didn't even flinch at the sudden appearance of the bottle, and the man raised an eyebrow at Vikedal. "Not many would be that comfortable if something had just appeared in front of them, Mr...?" he trailed off, waiting for a response. "Vikedal's the name. Just Vikedal, and I've got my reasons," he said, looking up for the first time at the man, revealing his fiery red eyes, and subtly using a small amount of magic to see the man's aura. "Ah, um... I'm Kit. Kit Calico, but most just call me Kit," he said, looking down slightly before continuing, "Umm... could you stop looking at me like that? It sorta itches..." "Most don't like me looking at them, something to do with my eyes." Vikedal said, looking away a little embarrassed. "Call it my mark of shame outside of... my home." "And where is that," Kit inquired. "For the last fifty years, an uncharted continent far to the west." "Fifty years? You don't look nearly that old." Kit replied a bit suspiciously. Vikedal snorted. "Says the wizened, ancient 30-year-old mage," he snapped back sarcastically.

Kit just laughed. "True enough," he said, moved on. "So, you do know magic?" Kit asked. "A fair bit," he replied, "but I rarely use it outside the-- my home, and even less so out here. We aren't the best understood of creatures." Kit looked at Vikedal inquisitively at the mid-sentence pause, but, for the moment, dismissed it and said instead, "Pardon my asking, but... 'We'? Aside from the eyes, you look normal to me." The word 'look' was emphasized a little, but not noticeably so. "Yeah," Vikedal replied, "aside from the eyes, I'm trying to look as normal as possible. However, I've learned through the years that as cliched as it sounds, normal is overrated." As he reached into his bag to get a fork and turn the meat, Kit said, "Overrated as it is, you still haven't answered my question." "Hmm... True," Vikedal said, "Alright, fair enough. I'm a dragon."

Kit paused mid-breath with the water canteen still in his mouth as he stared at his fireside companion. After a moment or two he resumed drinking, and re-corked the canteen. After he swallowed he said a bit thoughtfully, "Well I must say I didn't see that one coming. Although I suppose it does explain some things..." Vikedal looked at the mage cautiously. "Things? What things? I didn't think anything was giving me away." Kit froze in place, eyes wide as he tried to come up with an explanation. "Umm... well.... the eyes!" he said, grasping at the most obvious oddity available. "And your age! You look no older than I do, but you speak of fifty years as a casual thing." Having found an explanation, Kit visibly calmed down. With a panic attack like that there was no way Vikedal would believe him, but he had a cover to stick to now if pressed.

"I'll take that as 'it's personal' and leave it at that; got it," he said, eyeing Kit curiously, "although don't freak out so much. It's not like I'm going to kill you or anything; it's that impression that makes humans hate us already!" As he turned the meat, he noticed that it was approaching rare and heating fast, so he pulled his chunk off of the skillet and asked, "How well do you want it?" "Medium rare'll do," Kit said. As he cooked the meat a little further, he asked Kit, "Just what are you doing out here anyways? It's not like I'm obvious from the road or anything." "I just like to travel," said Kit, "And I wanted to see how long I could go without you noticing me. I didn't last very long did I?" "Not in as many words, no," he said, laughing a little and pulling the meat off of the skillet onto another plate. Kit nodded, "But mostly I was just curious. You seemed odd and I wanted to know more." Vikedal thought about that for a moment but decided to ignore it as under the 'personal' thing. Instead he withdrew from his bag another set of cutlery and handed it and the plate to Kit. "I'm afraid I don't have much for seasoning. A little fresh pepper, that's it," Vikedal said, setting the small pepper pouch next to him and getting up to kick over the skillet and holder.

As he sat back down onto his log, he looked at Kit and said, "I hope you don't mind," as his face and head pulled and shifted into a dragon-like snout and ears, and he began digging into his meat. "It's easier for me to eat this way." As he began to eat his slab of meat, Kit stared in fascination for at least five minutes as the dragon-man continued to eat. As he finished, he looked over at Kit, oblivious, and said "You should eat that before it gets cold." Kit nodded mindlessly and started to lift the first bite to his mouth, but continued to stare until Vikedal had finished eating, hitting his cheek once or twice before finding his mouth. Once Vikedal had finished and shifted back into a more human form, Kit payed more attention and finished as well before looking back over and asking "You're heading for the Keep, aren't you?" Vikedal looked amazed, and said "How did you know that was my home?" Kit smirked and waved his fork at Vikedal triumphantly. "You said something about appearing normal in your home, and the only place where people look like you is the Keep!" A confused look crossed Vikedal's face. "What do you mean, 'Look Like Me', I'm one of the only dragons at the Keep!" Kit smiled, as though a bolt of lightning had struck in his head, and said "50 years, that's right. You'll see." As Vikedal opened his mouth to continue further, Kit silenced him with a dismissing wave of his fork and said, "Trust me, you'll find out. Call it my little surprise. I just came from there."

Vikedal nodded uneasily, accepting the answer for the time being. As he began to unpack his belongings that he'd need for the night, however, he noticed one small problem. "Uhm, Kit," he began, looking down at his belongings, "My tent only has room for one." But as he turned around and looked, he saw a rather colorful two-person tent that seemed to shift color as he watched. "I've got it covered," Kit replied. Vikedal turned and placed his blanket and straw pad inside the tent, and hung his bow and quiver on a small loop inside the tent at the top. "Why do you always have that bow within reach," Kit asked curiously. "It's my only weapon that I'm skilled with. I mean, I have knives and such in my traveling cloak and in my tunic, but I was never very skilled with a knife. I really only mastered the art of the bow." He was, as always, understating the truth. He could defend himself well enough in close combat with a knife or dagger, but when he had throwing knives or a bow, he could easily hit a target at 100 meters with a knife, and easily 300 meters or more with a bow.

"Neat," Kit replied, while still setting up his own tent. Vikedal went over to the fire with his blanket, and set it down so that it was curled about a foot away all around the fire pit. As Kit turned and saw him setting up his blanket, he muttered, "Why did I never think of that?" "What," Vikedal said, cocking an eyebrow at him, "You never thought of warming your blanket on a cold winter night?" He sounded a bit surprised as Kit didn't seem to be stupid. "Well, never around a fire," Kit said," I always just warmed it when I curled it around me or with magic. Your way seems better and more efficient." That made more sense to Vikedal so he continued, "A kindly stranger along the road back near Sanctuary, North of the Great Barrier Mountains, taught me that one." Kit's eyes widened a little at the mention of it, "Sanctuary? Wow, you do get around." "I've had time to get pretty much everywhere around Metamor." Kit's eyes widened even more at that. "Everywhere? Just how old are you?" Vikedal sighed at the mention of his age, and began ticking away on his fingers, "Let's see, The elves were in the Keep when I found it.... well, I stopped counting at around two hundred and fifty thousand years, so... that makes me around three hundred thousand, give or take a century or two."

"Wow, you're practically ancient!" Kit exclaimed with amusement before looking over at Vikedal and catching a glare from him. "I'm not that old. For my species, I'm only about thirty or so." "Well, I guess that makes you a wizened, ancient thirty-year-old, now doesn't it?" Kit replied, smiling. "Touchè," Vikedal said, laughing. As Kit crawled into his tent, Vikedal went over and put all of his equipment in the back of his tent, then retrieved from his rucksack a large, square piece of normal-looking green cloth. However, as he threw the cloth over his tent and hammered down pegs into the corners, Kit noticed that the cloth seemed different.

Upon closer inspection, he realised he could see Vikedal, on the other side of the tent, through the cloth. "An invisibility cloak?!" Kit exclaimed. "Not really," Vikedal explained, "Just a piece of fabric that mimics the surrounding environment. Not invisibility, per se, just for hiding." "Mine does that too if someone gets too close, but it just blends in. Yours is just awesome!" Kit said admiringly, looking over the cloth again. Vikedal snorted, "Yeah, but if someone's really looking for you, they'll find you under this anyway. It just helps keep thieves out of my stuff while I'm asleep." Vikedal retrieved his canteen and put out the fire, then crawled into his tent, saying, "One more day. one more day of travel to the Keep."

Falling asleep, however, proved harder than it should have been. It started with thinking about Kit's comment. Soon, that grew to the, "I wonder if something happened," the, "maybe dragons invaded the Keep," and the ever-cheerful, "what if everyone there is dead." Eventually, he did fall into a light, albeit fitful, sleep. As he awoke the next morning and crawled out of his tent, he looked around and saw that Kit was gone. "Sneaky bugger... I'll have to catch him next time he comes to the Keep." As he rolled up and packed his tent and supplies, he heard the noisy bustling of caravans nearby. "I guess I wasn't that far from the road," he thought to himself, taking a drink of water before throwing his gear onto his back and chewing thoughtfully on a bit of dried meat. Walking back onto the road, he found himself a bit more cheerful, but even that was quickly extinguished as people saw his eyes again, and their hurried whispers only reminded him of how much he wanted to be home.

Preceded by: None

The Unknown Arrival{{#if:The Unknown Arrival| (First: The Unknown Arrival)}}

Succeeded by: None