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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     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}|{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq:  |User| Vikedal | Vikedal}}| ]]
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     Author: {{#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.

~~ Chapter Two - The Rules ~~

As Vikedal continued along the road into the valley, he passed the outpost and signal tower that marked the entrance to Metamor Valley, and sighed, knowing that from here on to the rest of the keep, most people wouldn't go into a frenzy over a dragon walking along the roads. He didn't, however, morph back into his more anthropomorphic form for many reasons, chief among them being that he didn't want to attract much attention. As he passed the outpost, however, he heard from behind him a commanding "Halt," that caused him to take pause and turn to face the guards.

As he turned and looked, he saw three guards, two female surrounding a male, quickly walking towards him with their hands on their sword hilts. Smiling, he recognized the Keep's Crest stamped into their armor, and visibly relaxing once he recognized it. as they came closer, he dropped his pack, and with it, his bow and katana. He quickly tied his cloak around his neck, however, to hide the various sheaths of throwing knives and daggers located on his shoulder and behind his back on his belt. Once he dropped his visible weapons, the Guards relaxed as well and approached with a cry of "Hail!"

"Hail," Vikedal replied, greeting the guard with a firm handshake. "What can I help you with today sir," he smoothly asked the guard. "We couldn't help but notice the, erm... impressive... collection of weapons as you walked by. Where are you headed, if I may ask, and why alone?" "I'm headed home," he replied calmly, dodging the question slightly, "and it's been awhile since I was last here. I left alone, and I return alone." "Fair enough," the male guard replied, "but where, might I ask, is home?" Vikedal looked up, making eye contact with the guard for the first time, and a quizzical look crossed his face as a flicker of recognition crossed all three of the guards' faces. "The Keep," one of the female guards stated. "Good guess," Vikedal replied, lifting his hand and shifting it into his anthropomorphic talon-styled hand. The guards visibly recoiled as he did so, one replacing her hand on her sword. He quickly shifted his hand back to normal, while nonchalantly moving his other hand inside of his cloak and placing it on the hilt of one of his throwing knives.

The male guard, however, waved his hand at the other guards, and as they turned and headed for the outpost, Vikedal removed his hands from his knives. "You may continue home, traveler, but be forewarned, there are mysterious curses acting in the valley presently. Any human, half-human, or anyone in a human form, who stays for more than about two weeks is likely to be transformed." "How much resistance can I expect from guards in the remainder of the valley?" "Most will probably inform you about the curse and ask you for the length of your stay and where, with the way you look." "Well, That can be easily fixed," Vikedal replied, closing his eyes and shifting into his anthropomorphic form, and smiled down at the guard when he finished. "I wanted to make a quiet entrance, but I suppose it can't be helped. Thanks for the warning." "No problem. Enjoy your trip, and safe travels." Once the guard turned to leave, he shouldered his pack and reattached his weapons, turning north and heading towards the Keep.

~~ Chapter 3 – Sneaking In ~~

As he made his way northward into the valley, he noticed several small things missing since the last time he had come. There was an unnatural silence hanging over the valley, almost as though the entire valley had lost a dearly loved one. As he walked by a house, however, he heard a tremendous BANG and turned to look. Seeing the shutters quivering, he realized that his draconic appearance must have frightened the occupant back inside. ‘Or perhaps,’ he mused to himself, ‘he’s gone to get something to defend himself with. In either case, I think I need to be a little more discreet in my approach. But how?’

After a short distance, he paused as his stomach rather loudly voiced its objection about being empty. “Always you slowing me down,” he said, and noticing where he was, decided to head to the eastern wall of the valley, to a relatively unknown cave on the wall. Approaching the wall, he looked for, and shortly found, a small arrow scratched into the rock pointing up. Next to the arrow, there were many small furrows in the rock, making it look as though the rock had infuriated a rather large bear. As he looked up, he sighted the medium-sized cave about 15 feet up. Stepping back, he smiled and lobbed his pack up into the cave, followed closely by his sword and bow. He then crouched and leapt up to the edge, flapping his wings once for good measure, and scrabbled into the cave.

Looking around, he saw that the cave was very similar to how he had left it. The fire pit in the lowest section of the cave, near the entrance, was filled with water, which he quickly set to fixing by pouring a small bag of powdered clay into. As he waited for the clay to absorb the water, he pulled out his fire making supplies and his cooking stand and began to make his selection of food. He scooped out the clay and threw his tinder and wood in, and with a few choice words had a roaring fire. Cooking his meal to his usual consistency, he threw it on a cold skillet and ate it in peace, silently wondering just what the curse was. In any form but his purely human form, he was a dragon, and had a dragon’s blood. More likely than not, he would never find out what the curses were, and whether they were reversible.

He quickly finished his meal and took a swig from his water skin, debating exactly how to find out about this curse. Sure, he could take the easy approach; walk in with sword in hand and demand answers. However, he learned over the years that asking cursed peoples about the specific nature of their curse required tact and understanding, something most people believed a dragon doesn’t have. Running out of ideas, he doused the fire and began packing his stuff away pausing as he fingered a reflective silver cloak inside his pack. “Hmm,” he thought to himself, “that could work.”

Quickly digging to the bottom of the pack, he pulled out a white gown and the shiny cloak. As he threw his sword and knives into the bag and dropped the bag to the ground, he thought to himself, ‘I hope that nobody will recognize Lady Nora…’ As he looked down and chanted, the changes began. He found the changes pleasantly surprising each time, and never quite got used to it. His gold scales began to soften, still retaining a peach-like glow to them, and receded, revealing soft, caramel skin. The scales on his tail, however, remained, taking on instead a white and silver tone. He began to feel his pants fall a little, even as his thighs widened to compensate for the collapsing waist. Pausing for a moment, he shuddered as she felt her manhood change, and then let the transformation resume, flowing and shaping her legs, arms, and face into a more human, female figure. An itching caused her hand to move up to her scalp as silver hair grew in quickly, flowing like a river and stopping at just below shoulder length. Feeling a slight pushing, she quickly unlaced the front of her shirt as her chest grew, eliciting a moan from her as it rubbed and pushed against the inadequate confines of her shirt. Finally, the growing slowed and stopped; her chest rounded out at a fair 38DD.

Sighing, Lady Nora stripped out of her old clothes and tied the supports of her undergarments on. Stepping into the gown, she gently slid her tail through the hole in the back. Curling her tail around in front of her and holding it with both hands, she breathed to herself, “I never do get used to that.” She slipped into her silver cloak and tied the lapel in front, leaving the hood down for the moment. On a whim, though, she covered her tail with the cloak. Quickly tossing her old clothes down near the bag, she leapt out of the cave, cloak flowing behind her, and landed gracefully and silently next to her bag. Packing the remaining clothes in the bag, she quickly made a hand motion and the bag disappeared into her own pocket dimension. She bent down and picked up the bow and quiver, latching the bow onto the quiver and tying the quiver around her body. As she made her way back to the main road, she smiled, lending a friendly glow to her face, and hoped that nobody would recognize her in the keep.

~~ Chapter Four – Finding Answers ~~

After making sure her bow was wound tight, she sheathed the one knife she kept under her cloak, and walked up the road to the Keep. Stopping at the gate to the killing grounds, she knocked on the gatehouse door and said, “can I get through to my home?” A muffled scrabbling was heard and she withheld a look of surprise as a man who could only be described as the offspring of a cheetah and a human opened the door. He smiled and said “You seem pretty human for living here. Plan on staying long?” She politely shook her head and replied, “Just a few days longer. I’ve only been here a day, and I have been informed of the curse.” “Alright, feel free to pass,” he replied, “the inside door should be open.” “Thank you,” Nora replied, smiling politely to the guard, and followed him as he opened the smaller door in the gate.

After passing through, she allowed herself a quiet sigh, and mumbled to herself, “I wouldn’t have guessed… maybe he was affected differently? What if the curse affects everyone differently? Will it change me?” After walking through the inner gate, she decided to find someone who knew exactly what the curse was about, and how those affected were changed. “…Guess this explains Kit’s surprise,” she laughed to herself quietly.

Making her way into the village square, she immediately noticed several things different from her parting trip 50 years ago. It was a lot quieter in the square, despite the vendors shouting their wares. There were many more anthropomorphic humans walking the square; many with weapons. Of the adult humans left, there were many more women than men, and there were many more children, as though a large percentage of the village had simply grown younger. The Keep stood its ever-present guard as when she had left. ‘Not much changes about a castle that has lasted over 5000 years, I suppose,’ she thought to herself.

Deciding to do a little research, she headed towards the south gate to the Keep, stopping as the gate guard blocked her way. The guard, who appeared as a female vixen morph, said, “Who are you, and what’s your purpose in the Keep?” With a charmed smile and polite tone, replied, “I’m Lady Nora, and I’m here to use the resources of the Keep’s library and historian.” Nodding, the guard stepped aside to let Nora pass. As she entered past the gate, she had a sneaking suspicion that something wasn’t quite right. As she turned and stared above the gate, she couldn’t quite figure what it was. Suddenly, it clicked. The stone immediately around the gate was a different shade than the stone around the wall. Something had broken clean through the gate. Turning back to the castle, she decided that it was about time she found out what.

Finding her way through the castle wasn’t impossibly hard. The layout hadn’t changed much since her last visit, but remembering specifically which room went where and through what corridor was a little tricky after not having your memory refreshed in 50 years. With a little work, however, she managed to get to the Keep’s library relatively uneventfully. After a quick scanning of the Index of books, she quickly located a small stack of recently-written history journals and headed to a sequestered corner of the library to crack them open. After a quick scanning of the Index of books, she quickly located a small stack of recently-written history journals and headed to a sequestered corner of the library to crack them open.

Finding anything about the curse was easier said than done. After Nora had run through half of her pile of books, she let out an explosive sigh and, slamming the current journal she was on shut, got up and walked over to a window. Rubbing her eyes, she muttered to herself, “Doesn’t anyone here update those blasted books?” As a hand reached up to tap her on the shoulder, she turned quickly to meet it and the person it belonged to. “Who might you be,” she asked the fox morph. “My name’s Fox Cutter, and I’m the one who updates those blasted books; the Keep’s Historian.”

“Oh,” Nora replied, “sorry, I didn’t think anyone was listening to me. However, if you’re the historian, I suppose you’d be the one to ask about the curse?” “Correct,” he said, smiling, “what do you need to know?” “Start from the beginning. I’d like to know exactly who caused it, how it works, what its effects are; everything.” As they moved back over to her table of books and seated themselves, Cutter rubbed his chin and replied, “The cause was easy. An evil wizard who went by the name of Nasoj assaulted the Keep, nearly overrunning it. As a distraction, he launched three curses at our three entry gates, each one with a different effect. One gate caused a gender switch into an… over-endowed… member of the opposite sex, with no control over their sex drive. At another gate, anyone there had their age regressed to that of a small child. And at the third gate, everyone was changed into an animal. There was some bleeding of curses into other gates, so some were affected by two curses at once. Do you follow me?” “I think so,” Nora replied carefully, “Three gates, three curses.” Nodding, the historian continued, “Yes, and thus the name, The Battle of Three Gates. Anyways, moving onto your next question, we’re not sure of precisely how the curse works. There are some theories, and some experimentation was done, although rather unconventionally, but we still have no idea. We’ve been able to counter the curse to some degree, but as you can see, the regressed can only attain an age of 14, those transgendered can’t return to their normal gender, and those changed into animals can only become partially human. I’m sure you’ve seen the effects firsthand; those affected by the animal transformation are especially obvious. For some odd reason, the curse lingers over the entire valley now. Anyone here for longer than two weeks changes rapidly, and from what we can tell, once the changes begin, there’s no stopping them.”

“Is that all,” Nora asked, after listening with rapt attention to the entire story. “That’s about the gist of it,” he replied, “details about the battle are easily bought from those who were in the battle.” “What’s the price,” Nora began to ask, but smiled wryly as she did so, “right, free drinks.” Smiling, Cutter nodded. “Alright, I suppose that’s what I came up here to find out. Thanks for your help,” she said, smiling warmly towards him. “Feel free to ask me more anytime. I practically live here,” he replied. She picked up her pile of now-useless books and carefully shelved them where they belonged, much to the watching librarian’s delight. “Thanks,” she said to him as she walked past the desk. “Thank you,” he replied, “and have a good day.”

Preceded by: None

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

Succeeded by: None