I figured you'd like that scene, Misha!! You can
bet King Pelaeth will know how to defend against
that move in an hour or two. ;-)
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
At 05:31 PM 7/12/2015, christian okane wrote:
Very cool fight scene.
Never mess with a Taur!
Chris
From: [email protected]
[mailto:[email protected]] On Behalf Of C. Matthias
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015 5:32 PM
To: Metamor Keep
Subject: [Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars V. Ascensum (f)
Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars V: Ascensum
(f)
Wednesday, June 23, 724 CR - Morning
In the shadows below the stands Charlie found
the King's retinue standing about the stables in
a rough circle around Pelaeth, now in his full
armor, and the skunk mage Murikeer. While the
steppes king held out his steel and black sword
the skunk traced the tips of his fingers lightly
along the blade, head bowed in concentration.
After a few moments he raised his hands and his one-eyed gaze.
It is done, your Majesty. For the next handful
of hours your mighty weapon will harm none,
beyond the bruise of its weight knocking them on
their rump. The skunk smiled warmly. Charlie
rather doubted, having seen Goldmark, that even
that sizable blade would sit him on his rump.
Pelaeth raised his weapon and gazed upon it
dubiously, for there was nothing to indicate that the mage had done anything.
The group gathered as, above, they could hear
the muffled shout of the crier calling forth the
next combatants. Murikeer passed Charlie as he
left, catching the youth's quizzical gaze. The
magic of making weapons safe was usually left to
lower ranked mages. It's big, it's ancient, and
a family heirloom, the skunk offered while
Horvig saw to the last adjustments to the King's
intimidating wolf armor. I thought it best to
make a show of having Thomas' own court mage do the work.
Just because its size, hmm? Charlie asked laconically.
Murikeer laughed brightly. I would expect that
your father might have something to say about
comparing swords among men, but, well... He
leaned in closer and said in a lower voice, It
is a strange metal, that black, and did not take
easily to magical blunting; perhaps it was
safest that I tend this task in the first place.
And... he leaned back and resumed his usual
voice, perhaps it is best we retired and watch
how he uses it. His remaining eye glinted in
the muted light as he slipped past the rat.
Charlie watched him go while the King's
retainers fell in behind him and they moved as a
well-coordinated group toward the exit of the
stables; men-at-arms leading and bracketing,
King Pelaeth and Horving shoulder to shoulder,
squires bringing up the rear carrying the King's
banner. Since there was no mounted component of
the contest of foot no grooms or steeds were
needed, though the golden-hued steppes steeds
looked on with intelligent curiosity from their corral behind the stands.
Your Majesty, Charlie called, walking swiftly
to fall in alongside the group, though outside
the perimeter defined by the alter men-at-arms.
May I walk with you to the field?
Ah, young Charlie, aye! Come, come, let us
walk. Peleath held out an inviting arm, the
open visor of his helm tilting the snarling wolf
visage skyward. The guards let Charlie slip
through them to fall into step beside the
steppes King. Tell me, lad, what be this ill
will thou didst show the baron yesterday? His is thy blood, am I mistaken?
Charlie winced at the blunt, direct question,
ears and whiskers drooping for a moment. It
is... ahh, your lordship, it is not so much bad
blood as... the confusion of youth. He
shrugged. At the King's opposite shoulder Horvig
kept his gaze forward, only turning his head
enough to scan the surrounding crowds for
possible problems. My sire and my father are
fair friends, but... the issue of my adoption weighs heavily upon my heart.
Pelaeth nodded his head slowly, the polished
silver of the snarling wolf atop his head
glinting in the sun. Ahh, aye. Thou dost know
both sire and father and the why of the choice
doth rear its ugly head to chew upon thy spirit.
Yes, Majesty, Charlie admitted. Ahead the
pavilion at the end of the tournament field came
into view around the brightly colored awnings
and tents of other families and shops. Moreso of recent than in the past.
Thou art upon the cusp of true manhood, lad,
and hath a mighty name upon thy shoulder to
account for thy noble station. But thy blood be
of lesser station, and thou feel unworthy of the
title given by thy adoptive father? He has blood
of his own, unless the winsome red-furred lass
be another so taken into thy House?
Charlie snorted at the thought of the very
human, very down-to-earth King, would look at
his wolfish sister as 'winsome'. It took another
wolf to see that, or one well used to the
variety that was Metamor's animorphed
population. No, Majesty, she is truly of his lineage, whereas I am not.
At the pavilion Horvig and the men-at-arms
stopped, while the King continued onto the
tournament field. Thou art lineage of the title
given, lad. Count thyself fortunate that thou
can know thy sire and dam as well, and by all
appearances before thou didst trounce him, art
well loved there. The broad shoulders rose and
fell beneath the upturned wolf's snarl. Be it
for whatever cause, it doth appear just to my
outlander eyes. Satisfy thyself for having two
families that offer their love. Most hath not
e'en one. My own brother didst leave my family
to join the Magyars many years ago. He hath
become great amongst them, bosom friend to the
scarred mage in my retinue, and between him, yon
mage, and others of their ilk, hath done great
deeds to heal the worst of their people that
there might be peace on the steppes. Their band,
thou dost see, hast not stolen a single mite in
a dozen years. The King paused and then
laughed. Well, at least not without returning
said mite with a stern warning to careless
townfolk on how to keep their wares!
Charlie now regretted his foolishness from
yesterday for a new reason as it had kept him
from learning more of this foreign king and the
many fascinating stories he could tell. I wish
I could hear that story, your Majesty. Do you ever see your brother again?
Every time their band returns to Cheskych. And
a very happy time it be for all in our
families. With that the king raised his
gauntleted fist and slapped down the visor of
his helm. Abruptly the steppelands human became
a snarling silver and steel beast, as much wolf
as the Keepers of that species standing at the
rail of the tournament field cheering him on.
Charlie accompanied the King out onto the
tournament field, shoulder to shoulder, and none
said aught of his unexpected presence. Upon
reaching the center of the field Charlie looked
up at the Marshal of the Field at his podium.
The man looked down at Charlie and offered
nothing more than a nod to acknowledge him.
Turning, the rat made his way toward the far end
of the field from where he had entered,
approaching Goldmark as he went. The rat 'taur
stood nearly two feet taller than he did, taller
than the King himself, and looked at Charlie
with both surprise and trepidation. In his hands
he carried a staff as thick and stout as a wagon tongue, and almost as long.
Why'd you let him stand in for you? The rat,
garbed in nothing heavier than minimally tooled
boiled leather armor, looked past Charlie to the
impressive and daunting human in his heavy armor and snarling wolf helm.
Go easy on him, Goldmark. You're bigger than he
is, and heavier. You have an extra set of hands,
too, Charlie chided as they drew abreast,
tilting his gaze briefly down at the 'taur's
large forepaws. Like all rats they were quite
flexible, intended for pouncing and holding or
clawing at walls. Had they thumbs they would
have been proper hands. Just... think like a
rat, not a soldier. He'll never expect it.
Goldmark chittered apprehensively and clutched
his huge staff. Go easy on him, he says, the
frightened rat quavered, continuing onto the
field while Charlie turned toward the stands nearby. But what about me?
Walking along the inside of the rails defining
the tournament field Charlie made his way to the
front of the shaded stands set aside for the use
of the aristocracy and lower nobility. House
Matthias had a small section cordoned off and,
at that moment, they were crowded with Matthias
rats young and old. The Baron and Baroness sat
in the center, just high enough to see above the
common folk standing in the narrow space between
the stands and the railing. Charlie ducked under
the uppermost rail and the commoners quickly parted to let him through.
Mounting the stands he smiled at the gathered
mob of Matthias and the retainers seated with
them, but Erick's scowl spoke volumes. His
brother and littermate was clearly still
displeased with his actions the day before and
Charlie did not blame him at all. Charles and
Kimberly, however, smiled and waved him to come
join them. Charles moved over a seat so that his son could sit between them.
Hi Mom, Dad, Charlie said, pausing to lean
down and give the Lady Kimberly a warm hug. I
saw that willow switch, Mom. Thank you for sparing me.
Kimberly tittered and wagged a finger at him,
only to produce the same willow branch he had
seen in their pavilion earlier. It had been
propped against the side of her seat where he
could not see it when he approached. Oh, I'm
still more than willing, she chided, lightly
tapping his hip with it. With a laugh Charlie sat down.
You and Misanthe both, Mom, never fear. I may
not escape its application, even yet.
Then behave, Charles groused humorously as the
Marshal of the Tournament took his podium to
look down at Goldmark and King Pelaeth.
What brings you, son? Charles asked in a quiet
aside while the two combatants shook hands. In
his current 'taur shape, Goldmark's huge hand engulfed the human's.
Politics.
Charles turned his attention to his son with a
quirk of his ears and whiskers. Politics?
Charlie shifted his attended as well, nodding.
All witnessed what transpired yesterday, so
it's expected that the rumors of friction in the
Matthias clan will be spreading rampantly.
Leaning back in his chair, his tail curling
about the legs beneath, Charlie rested his hands
in his lap. It's best to put the rumors to rest
before they become problematic, let them see
that there is no acrimony between you and I, or
with the family. He tipped his chin toward
Erick, who had turned his irritated scowl back
toward the field. Though I have much work ahead
of me to assuage the anger of my siblings.
And your parents, young man, Kimberly offered,
though with a smile. Charlie bobbed his head to
that and reached over to set his hand upon his mother's.
With you two most importantly, yes, mother.
Hear ye, hear ye! Before us stand the final
combatants of the Summer Tourney, to vie for the
Crown! A hearty cheer rose up from the crowd
until the Marshal held a hand up for some
restraint so he could continue. His lordship,
the young Sutt heir, has chosen to stand out for
reasons of Honor. In his place the King of the
Steppes, Pelaeth of Vysehrad, has graciously
stepped in. Though he is a stranger to our
lands, he is no stranger to contests of arms,
and we of Metamor will show him our best.
A snicker went through the crowd at that, for
Goldmark was far from the best warrior Metamor
had to offer. Nor, to be truthful, was he the
worst, Charlie had to admit. He would not have
wanted to face the rat 'taur with his daunting
wagon tongue cudgel. While the crowd roared
another hearty, deafening cheer Charlie leaned toward his sire.
Are you well? Charlie touched a hand to his
own breast as he spoke over the tumult. His sire
had donned a high collar and long sleeves so
that no suggestion of any of his scars could be seen.
I would have fared better without the
trouncing, son, but I fare well enough for all
that, Charles admitted with a warm smile. Your sleep was peaceful?
For the nonce, though I have not braced Her,
yet. Meaning Nocturna, whom he had carefully
avoided since their last fractious meeting.
I do not envy you that, Son. Her countenance is daunting.
At times. Charlie turned his attention to the
field as rat and human separated and moved to
their respective posts in preparation for the
Marshal's flag to begin. Peleath drew the huge
black-streaked steel blade from its scabbard
upon his back and made a few practice swings
with the huge thing easily in one hand. Goldmark
clutched his stave fearfully and looked on, his
long tail lashing side to side in agitation.
Raising one arm the Marshal spared each of them
a glance and swept the pennant he held in one
hand downward. Pelaeth let out a mighty roar and
launched himself across the intervening distance
at a sprint, sword held high over one shoulder
with both hands. Goldmark fell back a pace,
visibly steeled himself, and met the clearly
telegraphed sweep of the mighty sword with his stave.
The reverberating crack of sword meeting stout
wood rent the expectant silence like a
thunderclap but the sword was halted in its
swing. Peleath let it rebound and danced to one
side smoothly to dodge the downward sweep that
Goldmark offered in riposte. The crowd let out a
gasping cheer and lapsed into a hushed silence as the two squared off again.
Goldmark certainly had reach on the King with
his massive weapon, keeping the feints of his
blade well away from himself with short sweeps,
each time wood and blade coming together with
the sound of a giant chopping trees. The stave
was certainly stout enough to weather the abuse
without snapping as a normal quarterstaff may
have, but the heavy swings made the entire 'taur's body shudder.
He may last him on stamina alone, Charles
opined as the two circled, each looking for an
opening to score a hit. Goldmakr was not slow on
the parries but he could not follow up his
blocks with any strikes of his own for the human
danced out of reach. With all of that armor on
I daresay the King is at a disadvantage.
With that sword only adding to the exertion,
Charlie added, attention focused upon the
battle. But he's a warrior born and raised to
the weight of sword and armor, just as I have
been. I can carry both against Bryn for almost
as long as he had strength to counter me, and
he's got size and strength and stamina on me.
How do you ever win, then?
Prick him like a mosquito until he loses a bit
of his strength, just as I hope Goldmark can do.
But the rat had other ideas, for the King was
pressing him inexorably back. Due to the size of
the 'taur he could not circle effectively so he
simply pressed directly into the rat's wooden
defense, whacking away at the stave sending
splinters flying. The impacts were telling and,
after over a minute of repeated strikes, the
vibrations so numbed Goldmark's grip that he dropped the staff at his feet.
Pelaeth barked a victorious word and waded in,
but Goldmark swept the stave up in his forepaws,
which did have some manner of grasping ability,
and reared up to his full height. Towering
almost twice the height of the human, with the
staff grasped before him, he strode awkwardly
forward bringing the King up short. The rat
dropped down and leaned his upper body forward,
scoring a quick swat at the snarling visage of
the steel wolf's helm before Pelaeth could
retreat. Taking a couple of quick strides,
dragging the stave with his forepaws, Goldmark reared up again.
And charged forward upon his rear paws with the
awkward gait of a charger en'pesade, forcing
Pelaeth back at a swift trot, his sword out to
parry the awkward swings of the staff. The crowd
roared its approval and stood, the Matthias clan
joining in. Goldmark continued to press his
charge forward with short steps and hops, quickly outpacing the King's retreat.
And then he simply fell forward, his forelegs
and save bearing the sword down while his hands
came down upon the human's shoulders. With the
massive 'taur's greater weight suddenly falling
upon him, Pelaeth lost his footing and fell
backward to the explosive cheer of the
spectators. The tumult was so unbridled Charlie
backed his ears and gaped in astonishment as
Goldmark sprawled his entire body down onto the
King, pinning him ignominiously to the ground.
He cast the stave aside before it became a bar
across the man's breast and used one hand to
swat at the awkward, ineffective swings of the
sword that did nothing more than slap at the barding of his barrel and flanks.
Underneath him Pelaeth squirmed and kicked but
could not marshal enough leverage to make any of
his assaults effective against the bulk of beast
sprawled upon him like a hunting hound upon a
toddler. The crowd roared and, in the High Box
across from them, Charlie could see the entire
retinue of Metamor's nobility and Pelaeth's
sister standing at the rail looking down in awed
shock. Sig's jaws were open so wide a flock of
birds could have nested on his tongue and rented
out his fangs to their friends.
Oh, by Yahshua! Charles gaped, somewhere
between aghast horror at the ignominy and laughter.
After a long count the Marshal took up the
pennant and raised it above his head, calling
the match complete. Charlie could not have
expected the crowd to become any louder, but had
to slap his hands over his ears before the
roaring, whooping, howling cacophony rendered
him truly deaf. Noting the raised pennant
Goldmark raised himself to his legs and backed
up, extending a hand toward the King.
Pelaeth slapped the hand aside irritably and
bounced up, pacing in circles for a moment
clearly in a fit of pique. The crowd slowly
began to quiet wondering if the visiting Kind
was about to become dangerous. Raising a hand
Pelaeth flipped the wolf visor of his helm up
and dropped his hands to his hips to glare at
Goldmark for several seconds, the wary rat watching him with concern.
And then Pelaeth abruptly laughed, loud enough
to be heard over the susurrus of the crowd. I
want him! The King roared, striding to Goldmark
and slapped him loudly upon the shoulder. Never
before have I been so soundly defeated! Truly,
the peoples of this fine Kingdom are warriors to
be respected! The crowd resumed its cheer,
rattling the stands and kicking up a cloud of
dust. Grasping Goldmark's hand he raised it
high. To victory! To... He glanced at the rat
who muttered something. To your champion, Goldmark!
Charlie could only laugh along with those around
him as the crowd took up the chant, Goldmark,
Goldmark, Gold Mark! The Marshal waved his
pennant and tried to regain some semblance of
order but failed entirely. Even as Duke Thomas
and the rest from the High Box made their way
down onto the field the roaring acclaim
continued, much to Goldmark's clear chagrin. He
truly never expected to win, or even make it
beyond the first bouts, yet there he stood with
a foreign King holding his hand aloft to proclaim him champion.
Only when Thomas raised an arm for quiet did the
spectators accede, falling quiet after a few
breaths. As the horse lord began a stirring
congratulatory speech, Charlie chuckled lightly
to himself and looked over the rest of the
Matthias clan his family. His litter-sisters,
Bernadette and Baerle, were both seated on the
other side of Kimberly. Bernadette, the
bride-to-be, sat nearest their mother and caught
his glance. While Erick was angry with him, his
first sister appeared to harbor him no ill-will,
offering him a warm, whisker-filled smile in
return. His second sister Baerle had her eyes
closed and appeared to be praying her beads
besides so did not notice her brother's attention.
His eyes returned to Erick who sat forward a row
and off to one side with some of their younger
siblings. The scowl he'd offered Charlie on his
brother's arrival had vanished in the thrill of
the surprising battle and his ears were turned
forward to catch every congratulatory word from
the Duke. If there was any in his family he
hated hurting more than any other it was Erick.
But Charlie waited while Duke Thomas gave a
stirring speech congratulating not only Goldmark
but the winners of the other contests as well.
Just as Sir Dupré had been awarded the Golden
Lance, Duchess Alberta came down to the field,
and with King Pelaeth's assistance, presented
the Summer Crown to the overwhelmed rat 'taur.
Goldmak stood awkwardly with his round ears
jutting out to the side beneath the circlet of
faux leaves, berries, and golden ivy.
Another round of thunderous applause,
hoof-stomping, hooting, and howling ensued when
the Duke's accolades were complete. Both his
wife and the foreign king made their way from
the field and back to the high box as Goldmark,
his grin triumphant, marched a victory lap
around the field even as laborers rushed out to
tend the grounds. He finally took his leave near
the stands where the Matthias family sat and was
immediately pounced by the younger rats, both
his own children and those of the Matthias
family and a few other rat families living at Metamor.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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