Hello and welcome to Metamor Keep, Noir! I will
be providing running commentary as I read this so
you can get my first reactions to everything.
At 07:17 PM 7/13/2016, [email protected] wrote:
Standing outside the gates of Komley, William
Pernese shaded his cinnamon colored eyes from a
late March sun. The day was calm, making the sun
feel a little bit hotter, and even at this early
time in the morning one could feel that it would
be a beautiful day. It's too bad the eighteen year old man could not enjoy it.
A stylistic note: you used a contraction to start
the last sentence but then did not contract
'could not'. I'd use "couldn't" to make the
sentence flow better. Contractions are
introduced for a reason, If you want to
emphasize the sentence then avoid the
contractions; otherwise use them as that's how we speak.
In fact he was feeling almost mutinous, seeing
as he had been forced to join this trading
mission his cousin cooked up. His parents idea,
of course, to make him stop trying to join the
military. His one dream, to fight amazing
battles among his brothers-in-arms, like Captain
Kaltro in the town guard. His parents, though,
wanted him to become a glassblower.
At age eighteen, if they wanted him to be a
glassblower, they would have long since
apprenticed him off and he'd be a journeyman by
now (or nearly so if he's been slacking off).
Tradition, how he hated that word, for the
second son to uphold his father's honor and
become an apprentice. It didn't matter how much
pride his father showed when William proved to
have a knack for shaping glass, it was what he'd
wanted after all, it didn't matter how William felt.
Ah, so his father is already a glassblower!
Looking moodily at his leather-clad feet in the
sandy brown dirt, William's sullen thoughts were
interrupted by his cousin's loud voice.
âWe begin, gentlemen!â Betan proclaimed,
spreading his arms in a grand gesture William
found over dramatic. âAfter planning this trip
for three months the time has come to make a
small journey for big profit! In just under five
days we will be in the cursed valley of the
demon-beasts.â He took a pause to meet the
gazes of them all, William last, âBut fret
not, we will only stay long enough to make a
bargain. After that we will all be richer men.â
William snorted quietly. A soldier didn't need
riches, he needed a blade, good boots, and a
strong arm. Patting his new iron knife, the
young man felt just a little better...And it
really was going to be a beautiful day.
Actually, it was very expensive to purchase good
gear for fighting. There is a reason that
nobility dominated the mounted ranks for centuries.
A large man, the largest in the group at a full
head above William, spoke up at this point with
a heavy accent. âMister Pernese, what of this
curse? I have heard it turns grown men into
children, warriors into mad fanged demons, and goodly women into succubi.â
Betan shook his head, âThe curse transforms
people, but my father assures me that as long as
we don't stay inside the valley too long we will
be fine. The people there are godless monsters,
but they still need goods and trade to survive.
Apparently they can still reason like people.â
I guess in the first ten years since the Curses
were cast it will take a very long time for people to think otherwise.
âWhat about pay?â This from a pale thin man
in dark clothing and a hooded cloak to William's
left. He was standing away from the rest of the
group a little, he made the others uncomfortable.
His cousin smiled, though it was clear he wasn't
very happy with the dark man's company, âI
have given you a stipend for supplies. As I
said, once the journey is complete you will
receive payment in full...plus any expenses for
a celebration when we return.â
The dark man only nodded, William stared at him
until his black eyes raised, and William looked
away. The stranger made him uncomfortable.
âAnything else? No?â With this Betan
gestured to their guide, a short fat man with a
small dark goatee, who bowed briefly and scooped
up his travel pack. He started away, Betan close
behind with a spring to his step, the rest filing behind.
William scooped up his own pack with his right
hand and grasped the pack mule's lead with his
left. Trailing in the back of the group, he
watched the swish of the dark strangers cloak as
he walked, thinking forlornly of his room in Sorin and its lovely sea breezes.
He hadn't wanted to come on this trip; it'd been
his parent's last-ditch effort to prevent him
from joining the militia. Ship him off with
Cousin Betan on his first solo trading mission.
Betan's father, Uncle Vince, had organized the trip and given them the idea.
So here he was trudging through the countryside
with four strangers and his headstrong,
overconfident, butt-head of a cousin on a boring trading run.
So far so good with the setup. William's
annoyance is well portrayed. I'm sure most of
the trading missions to Metamor are uneventful
and don't end up in TF; we only write about the ones that do. ;-)
At least the two mercenaries Betan had hired were interesting.
The tall one's name was Dorian, thick as an old
oak tree, but pleasant enough so far. He wore
only a simple cloth vest and pants, no shoes,
and a scary looking notched greatsword poked
over his left shoulder under his pack. His long
blond hair and beard were uncut, which give him
a wild looking face, but his easy smile sort-of
ruined the tough-guy he appeared to be at first.
Walking beside him was his half-brother,
Haliard, who was a darker shorter mirror of
Dorian. Though the man didn't look half as wild,
with his hair pulled back into a braid and his
face shaven, he looked every bit the soldier. He
seemed a very observant man, only spoke when it
seemed important, and otherwise was apparently a decent man.
The last sentence is awkward. The three phrases
don't really go together very well; you also used
'seemed' as an adjective twice and used 'was
apparently' at the end. I can tell you are
stating it that way because you are talking about
how Haliard seems to William. You can make the
sentence have more impact if you actually phrase
it from William's perspective, like this: "He
struck William as a decent man, very observant,
and who preferred to keep quiet, only speaking when it was truly important."
Then there was the dark man, known only to them
as Cal, and he was asked by Uncle Vince to be
Betan's bodyguard. He was a thin, pale man with
a pockmarked face and shifty black eyes. He'd
been the one who inspected the mercenaries
before allowing Betan to hire them. He was unpleasant but necessary.
The last man in the brown robes was a guide
hired in Komley. William didn't know his name
yet, as he was only hired that morning, but he
belonged to a travelers guild who guided
explorers as well as merchants to various areas
of the country. He hadn't seemed happy to get
the job, though it appeared that his guildmaster
may have given him this assignment as a punishment.
All of them had been given a choice to join this
expedition, for whatever reason, except for
William. Five days traveling with his cousin,
three heavily armed strangers, and an overweight
guide who clearly wished to have refused the position.
Other than that one sentence above, this makes
for a nice introduction to the members of the group.
With a long-suffering sigh, William pushed these
thoughts from his mind. It was looking to be a long trip.
***
The last five days had passed far more
pleasantly and quickly then William had first
imagined. Cal had begun to scout ahead for the
group and had come back twice to warn them of
some danger. They had been forced to go around
it, costing the party almost a day's travel
time. He rejoined them at night where everything
was broken down and watches were chosen.
What sort of danger?
Being the pack leader, a fancy way of saying
âthe guy who watches after the food and cares
for the mule,â it was William's job to have
last watch, mainly so that things were packed,
quietly, before setting off that morning.
I'd write "before setting off each morning". It
just flows better. But I like his aside about
his role there. He has a bit of a bitter sarcasm, this William.
Fortunately, the mercenaries were much more fun
than it first appeared. After camp had been set
up they would share stories of their adventures
and the strange places they had visited. It had
almost made the trip worth it for William, who
Dorian had apparently taken a liking to, which
also made a great deal of difference.
Haliard did not seem to care much about his
brother's new friend, though the man would often
interject to correct some of Dorian's wilder
claims or stories. The blond warrior took this
in stride, pretending to have forgotten or else
admitting he'd been âtrying to spice things up,â and never did they fight.
Betan, on the other hand, was constantly having
quiet arguments with Cal. Neither man seemed to
have much like for the other, so when he wasn't
arguing, Cal stayed cold and quiet. His cousin
had always been stubborn, it wasn't a surprise
to William that they had become lost somehow
when Betan had put his foot down. As
Tradesmaster he had the right to supersede the
others, so they had been forced to go east
around Midtown to avoid the crowds and market.
None of the detours or the fights bothered the
youngest man, who had to grudgingly admit he was
having fun, but being lost so far from home was not sitting well with anyone.
The goal was to approach a town called Jetta
from the southeast, without passing through
Midtown, and save a day from the trip. This did
make some sense, though Cal argued hard for a
stop in Midtown, and they continued on well into the night.
Jetta is a nice little farming community. They
were building a watch tower in my one story where I spent some time there.
Just after a stop for supper, with the sun
already low on the horizon, they had spotted a
sign warning them that the boundary of this
valley's curse lay near. Discussing this
briefly, the guide (who went by Samual) spoke up
to let them know that Jetta is very close.
They walked for about two hours, the sun had set
by now, and a light fog had settled on them.
With the torches lit they continued, met up with
Cal, then came upon the edge of a forest. Within
a few confused moments it was decided that they
should stop for the night while Samual checked his maps.
With the mule settled for the night, at the edge
of the forest, William approached the brothers
for the customary story. As per usual all six
bedrolls were arranged in a protective circle
around the packs. With the warm spring night a
fire was both pointless as well as dangerous, so
the brothers and Betan were sitting on their
bedrolls, while Samual sat apart with a hooded
lantern and poured over his maps. The only
sounds in the creepy fog were Samual's muttering to himself.
Cal stood a short distance away, gazing into the
tree line, arms crossed and tense-looking.
Dorian looked up as William approached; he
smiled, though this time it didn't reach his
eyes, âHey buddy. Sorry, but there won't be
any stories tonight.â He motioned towards the
bedroll and William sat down. Shortly the three
men were continuing a conversation they'd been
having all evening: How had they gotten lost?
The conversation was fairly repetitive, not to
mention boring, and William's thoughts wandered
aimlessly. Though this had been an interesting
trip, he missed his bed at home, not to mention
the salty air from the docks. Being lost now
only made it worse and William realized how homesick he felt.
Bittersweet thoughts of his family filled his
mind. He missed them all, from his stern but
loving mother, to his father's quite smiles, and
even his stupid little brother being so serious
all the time. He'd spent so much time dreaming
of being a great soldier that he had never
considered what it meant to leave home. It was
this sobering reflection that he drifted off on, frowning slightly.
I really like how these last two paragraphs turn
William fully into that young man he is. At
first he is frustrated that he cannot be a
soldier, and now he realizes how much he loves
his family and does not want to leave him, only
now recognizing what being a soldier would mean. This is a nice touch!
***
Soon enough something prodded William's side
hard, Cal's cold voice hissed from somewhere
above him, âWake up you miserable piece of
dung! Arm yourself and keep your eyes up.â
William rolled over blearily, removed his
hunting knife from the tangle of his bedroll,
and stood up rubbing his eyes. He blinked at the sight before him.
The fog had thickened so that the trees were
barely perceptible; the mule looked like a
shadow in the white mist. By its motion beside
the tree to which it was tethered, and the small
noise it made, the animal was clearly upset about something.
With the six of them standing around their gear
with weapons drawn, William came fully awake
with a trill of fear riding his spine. âWhat
is it?â He whispered to Haliard on his left,
watching the fog with wide eyes, âBandits? Wolves?â
Haliard shook his head, but Dorian answered
quietly from the other side, âThere was a
strange noise just a moment ago...listen.â
At first there wasn't anything to hear, then
through the white cover came a noise none of
them had ever heard before. It sounded like wood
or bone being banged together, except it came
very rapidly, a sound no human could hope to
recreate. Right as the first one died, an
answering clatter came from somewhere else, but
direction was hard to figure through the blanket of fog.
âWhat is that horrible noise?!â Samual
asked, terror in his voice, âIt gives me chills.â
â...Chills?â Dorian spoke barely above a
whisper, just before another staccato burst
sounded, âTeeth...it's teeth banging together.â
And it was, the mental image fit perfectly, but
it didn't take away the eeriness of the sound
that continued to increase in pitch and number
around them. Time seemed to carry on slowly as
the chattering quieted again, everyone shifted
nervously about for what felt like hours, then
they jumped as a loud scream split the air.
You've definitely got our attention now!
âLook!â William pointed with his right hand
at where he'd tied the mule. It was now
thrashing on the ground as if fighting for it's
life, except there wasn't anything to fight.
They watched it, cringing slightly as it
struggled, completely transfixed. After a few
more seconds it made an awful noise and flopped
into stillness, a dark lump on the ground.
'Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!'
The noise came from behind them, making them all
spin with a sharp intake of breath, but nothing appeared in the mist.
âThere!â Betan shouted, pointing off to the
right and making them spin again.
âWhat?â Dorian asked tensely
âI saw a shadow, in the mist,â Betan replied
in a choked voice. âIt was some kind of animal, a big one.â
Cal snorted, âIt's the fog, makes things look
bigger the they are. It's probably just a pack of wolves, or wild dogs.â
âWild canines don't make that noise,â
Haliard stated calmly. He stood between Betan
and William, each hand holding a curved sword.
âWhat does?â William ventured, his knees shaking.
âI don't know,â came the reply from Haliard.
William didn't understand how he could stay so calm.
âDaemons!â Samual squeaked, âGods preserve
this mortal coil, if I should die let my soul be lifted into etern-â
âShut up, you sniveling coward!â Cal spat,
âNo god wants to save your worthless hide.â
He then sheathed his short sword to ready his hunting bow, notching an arrow.
âOkay, whoever you are, come forth so I can
kill you!â Cal snarled, âI want to see the whites of your eyes.â
You're doing an excellent job building the
tension here! The snivelling and the sneering both are perfect touches.
Silence reigned for several long seconds before
the clacking started up, seemingly from all
around them. Shadows began to materialize from
the fog, a dozen shadows standing on four legs,
each one was at least the size of a large dog.
They began to growl menacingly between bursts of
clacking, the largest of them stood opposite
Cal, and they stopped right outside the group's
ability to make out any other details.
âI told you,â Cal muttered, âcursed
dogs.â With this he drew back on his
bowstring, sighted down the arrow, and let fly.
William heard the 'twang' as the bowstring
released, then almost immediately a meaty thud,
followed by a shallow hissing noise. He turned
in time to see the large shadow advance, to
Cal's shock, and come within easy (not to mention uncomfortably close) sight.
The thing was the size of a mountain cat, though
it was shaped like a greyhound. That is where
the nightmare began. It was pitch black from
snout to tail with very little fur, the body was
bony and it's pitch black skin looked oily.
Where the bones weren't showing beneath its
glossy skin it had well defined sinewy muscle
bulging under the surface. Starting at the top
of its head was a ridge of long stiff hair that
stands up all the way to the base of it's tail,
which was long, ropy, and thin.
Watch your tense here. Also, that's a pretty
grisly looking beast there! I'd definitely be
scared out of my wits if I saw it!
Its face was the most horrible.
It looked to be canine in shape but it was as if
all the flesh had been burnt off, leaving a
blackened skull showing through. There were no
ears, just holes on the sides of its head, but
two luminescent white eyes peered at them with
cold hatred. The thing's maw had no lips,
letting the row of sharp, yellowed, fangs be
seen in all their terrible glory. Even as they
watched, transfixed, it let out a low snarl and
began clacking its teeth rapidly. An arrow
protruded from the side of its throat dripping a
thick black blood that seemed to smoke as it hit the air.
âHellhounds,â Samual breathed, barely containing his fear.
Terror seized William, he almost dropped his blade, he couldn't do this.
The last phrase should be separated by a semi-colon or period.
âNot a hellhound,â Cal said, shaking his
head without taking his eyes off of the monster.
âWhat is it?â Dorian and Haliard asked in unison.
âI don't know,â Cal returned through gritted teeth.
Meanwhile, William's bowels felt like water, the
young man was shaking so bad he bumped into
Haliard. The mercenary caught his eye, nodding
encouragement, and Dorian spoke from the other side, âsteady there.â
Dorian's voice brought back memories of the
brief lessons William had learned about
knife-fighting. Though he still felt unsteady he
took a breath and shifted into a fighting
stance, blade held defensively before him.
â'atta boy.â The large warrior said without looking.
As if frustrated with the distraction, the
beasts advanced, they tightened the ring so the
companions had to stand almost shoulder-to
shoulder. Just to the left of the largest one
with the arrow in its neck, another one advanced
further with a snarl, only to be snapped at by
its brother. Then the large one made a noise
that sounded horrifyingly close to:
âMine!â
Samual let out a whimpering cry of fear at this
and dropped his quarterstaff, instead opting to hide midst their belongings.
Cal dropped his bow to draw the short sword
again, making a 'come get me' gesture with his
other hand at the beast. He was rewarded with a
low snarl followed by a chorus of clacking jaws.
Suddenly the thing vanished, without making a
sound, and Cal had a few heartbeats of confusion
before the beast materialized right inside the
reach of his outstretched arm. He let out a
startled cry as it bore him to the ground.
For William, time appeared to slow down to a
crawl. He watched as Cal struggled beneath the
evil hound thing, grunting, crying out in pain,
then watched the rest of the monsters begin
attacking as well. Many of the other
creatures...blinked like the first one, some of
them just charged. It felt like hours, fighting
the beasts, being bitten a dozen times, hearing
the others as if far away crying out. In reality
it was maybe two desperate minutes.
The end of the fight found William alone, buried
beneath Dorian's bulk as he'd tried to shield
the young man from one of the larger beasts, and
fighting for his life with the same beast that
had just finished off his companion. Desperate,
tired, one arm trapped under the strangely
bloodless corpse atop him, William could only
gasp in the things fetid breath as it tried to
rip his face off. He had his only free hand
around the thing's throat to stop it from
killing him, the teeth snapping so close to his
face he could feel the concussion.
A nice way to move the action forward without
showing everyone else dying. Although given the
investment we had in each earlier, it does seem a
shame to see them all die so quickly.
Just when a sob broke from William's throat, as
he prepared to let the monster end his struggle,
a bright flickering light washed over him. The
beast above him froze mid-snap, its pale eyes
looking at something he could not see from his
position, and it stopped trying to kill him for a span of several heartbeats.
A roaring noise followed by a blast of
heat...then the thing was gone with a yelp.
There were several yelps, snarls, and other
noises, before the night fell quiet once more.
William let his hand fall into the wet grass,
suddenly aware how badly he hurt, and stared at a fog-free sky full of stars.
The flickering light moved, washing out his view
of the sky, and something very bright forced him
to close his eyes for a moment. Squinting up,
William was unsure what he was seeing.
At first it was just a bright wash of flame seen
through his eyelashes, then it...dimmed enough
that he could make out a vague human shape. It
appeared to be a man, made out of rolling
flames, the man was hard to look at directly,
but it had a definite human shape. There were no
features to the Pyre-man, but somehow William
knew it was looking at him, and he wasn't scared of it.
Pyre-man kneeled in the grass beside him, the
damp grass hissing, then paused as it flickered
briefly, growing dimmer. It reached out one of
its hands, plunging it through Dorian's unmoving
chest, before William could cry out in weak protest.
He felt the flame limb enter his chest, it
didn't hurt, and he looked at the Pyre-man's
face in confusion. The face was much easier to
gaze at, it had dimmed from a blaze to a
flicker, giving him his first glace at its
expression. It looked...scared? In pain?
Impossible to tell for sure, as the fires that
continually rolled over the features made them difficult to read.
I actually had an idea for a villain called The
Burning Man one time. The bit about the fire
rolling over his features here reminded me of
him, although I can see already this is not a villain per se.
Briefly, William felt something tug inside him,
it wasn't a physical sensation, but he felt it
all the same. It was a very queer feeling, then
something spoke to him from inside. It was more
like listening to thoughts than hearing words, and also strangely intimate.
<=Do not fear me...=>
âI...I don't,â William stammered, âYou saved me.â
There was a pause where the Pyre-man regarded
him, <=Drove them away...they will return...no
time=> The thoughts seemed weak somehow; they were getting harder to grasp.
William nodded, âI don't think I can move.â
Flickering, the thing dimmed again briefly, <=We
are...dying...wounded...together...survive=>
I am very curious why this Pyre-Man is dying; I
suppose we will learn eventually why this bonding was necessary for him too.
Swallowing hard past his dry throat, William
shook his head, he didn't want to die, âI don't understand.â
It pointed first to him, then to itself, and
shook its head slowly, <=separate...dead.=> Next
it made a fist, <=together...strong.=>
âHow?â William asked in a whisper.
Pyre-man leaned in close, dimming further so his
âfleshâ became speckled with ashes, <=bond
with this one. Be one...not two.=>
Whatever connection the flame creature had made
was weakening it further, causing blackened bits
to show through the flames of its body. Somehow,
through the connection, William felt its grip
slackening. Even so his body was cold and heavy
despite the proximity of the living fire, he
felt like sleep would be so blissful. He had to
fight to make his thoughts connect.
âPlease,â the weakness of his voice scared
him, âI don't want to d-.â William swallowed, unable to utter the word.
The flame being appeared to sigh and collapse
inwards, giving William the frightened
impression that it had died, but as it collapsed
it grew brighter until a little ball of fire
drifted down the flame arm still inside him.
He could feel it the instant it touched him, his
whole body warmed, then burned until he gasped
in agony. It felt as if his very self was being
burned away, but the burning subsided into a
comfortable feeling. He became acutely aware of
his body and the warmth spreading to every tinniest piece.
Without knowing how long he lay there, absorbed
in a feeling of comfortable oblivion, eventually
he was forced to surface from the bonding. He
felt decidedly strange, sort of disconnected
from, yet still bound to, the waking world.
He kept getting disparate flashes of memories,
both being his own somehow, and he could not
untangle them. Trying to puzzle them out gave
him a headache, he spent long seconds trying to
recall what a headache was and when he'd last
had one. With his mind foggy, putting the
wondering on hold, he turned his attention to his aching body.
Vaguely, he remembered the man named Dorian atop
him. Images came to him, the blond man grinning
widely, stories shared by firelight. Sorrow
claimed him at the same time as curiosity as to
why this human had been so important. Wiping his
face, his fingers came away damp...how odd.
He regretted having to shove and wiggle his way
out from under the corpse, then lay in the
scorched grass for a bit to gather his strength.
He felt this was very inefficient but, as there
was not a nice hot fire nearby, he stood up eventually to look around.
He stood in a patch of burnt grass beside a dead
man, who was currently smoldering, and there
were three other corpses nearby as well.
Something about those four dead men bothered
him; he could not think what, though he supposed
if it had been important, he'd remember.
Instead he searched through the trampled bags in
the center of the area to find a large bag of
trailfood, a handful of golden metal discs, a
small fragrant leather pouch that seemed
important, and a wooden chest slightly bigger
than his outstretched hand. These things he
gathered into a haphazard bundle, swung them
over his shoulder, and began to walk away into the woods.
The merging has left him disoriented and
apparently unsure of who he even is anymore. I
wonder how closely the identities of the two
beings have melded and how much the confusion in
the mind reflects that. Very disorienting for
us; as a reader I hope that William will be able to remember himself in time.
***
Days passed in a sort of blurry fog. The man
didn't think he was particularly injured, but it
was as if he had two conflicting thoughts about
everything. Like catching himself staring at a
perfectly normal tree in complete confusion one
day. These moments were disturbing, to say the
least, so he did his best not to think about
them too much. Luckily time appeared to help his
condition, as these moments of conflict grew shorter in duration and strength.
At one point he felt a strange...something
settle over him, causing him to panic. Running
didn't seem to make a difference; he didn't know
what it was, though it made him afraid as well
as uncomfortable. Whatever it was didn't ebb or
go away, it clung to him like cobwebs, and it was a constant presence.
The Curse strikes!! I give you credit for
subverting the usual 'visit to Metamor, get
injured and so you have to stay and get Cursed'
trope. This disorientation and merged
personality business is definitely a first!
Over the next week he felt random pains,
particularly in his joints, as well as bouts of
itchy patches on his skin. He knew he was
transforming; he couldn't miss the thick soft
black hair on his arms, or the way the lower
half of his face slowly pushed out. He'd ditched
his damaged shoes a while back after they
stopped fitting properly; eventually his shirt
went, too, after it became more of a nuisance to wear.
This was a nice way to show the transformation
and his befuddled shrug about the whole
matter. It's just this thing happening to him,
not that he really knows who 'him' is anymore.
Growing tired easily was also a problem; he was
running low on food despite the foraging he'd
done since starting this venture, so he often
had to take a seat for an afternoon doze. It was
in one of these dozes, lying with his back
against a tree, that he heard a voice. At first
he thought it was one of the nightmares he
suffered, before waking, but this voice sounded
way too polite for such a thing. Upon opening
his eyes he came face-to-face with a dark brown
reptilian head with copper colored eyes looking right at him.
He let out a manly scream of shock, shoving the
packs, much lighter now, at the gargantuan snake.
I think we'd all be a bit startled too!
Letting out a noticeably human scream of
surprise of its own, the snake reared back
itself, raising its arms to protect its face.
Arms?
The partially transformed man stared up from his
spot on the ground, leaning back on his hands
with his legs splayed before him, eyeing the
half-human half-serpent. It seemed to be doing the very same thing.
âWhat?â He asked, intelligently, his voice a rasping croak from disuse.
âWhat?â The snake lowers its arms, seemingly
confused. Fourteen feet long from nose to blunt
tail, it was mostly covered in small tightly
packed brown scales the color of milk chocolate,
with its broad under-scales a light creamy
yellow. It wore a skirt-like dark orange cloth
around its middle where the waist would be on a
person with a single strap holding it up over
one shoulder. Strapped around the top of the
garment was a medium sized pack resting against its spine.
âI'm sorry if I scared you,â snake-man said,
âI was passing by and saw you lying here....I thought you might be hurt.â
He stared up at the thing for a second before
responding, âAre you a cursed human?â
It paused for a few seconds, a forked black
tongue popped from its mouth briefly, âYes. I
was a cursed human, but I'd prefer the term
'morphed' to 'cursed.' It's more polite.â
Softening his posture, the snake morph offered a hand to help the man up.
I already like this snake man. I loved him
popping his forked tongue out briefly like
that. And I love him having that pack slung
around one shoulder too. He seems like a good
sort to check on a guy who appeared hurt!
A moment passed where he sighed, then took the
snake's cool, dry, hand and accepted help to his
feet. They both mutually, silently, gathered the
scattered items and replace them into a
manageable bundle. After that they stared at
each other in a sort of embarrassed moment of quiet.
Breaking the moment by rubbing the back of his
scaled head, the snake spoke first,
âListen...this is an awkward question but you
do know you're partially transformed yourself?
It looks like you've been out here for a while,
the cur-I mean transformation, is already pretty far along.â
He looked down at himself with a frown.
His legs and feet had already mostly finished
becoming digitigrade as well as being covered in
long black hair. All except for the bottom of
his feet, which were tipped with very bright
orange fur. His hands were mostly normal but
they, too, had begun showing signs of growing
thick black pads. His torso was in various
stages, sort of like a patchwork, of conversion
as there were places one could still see pale
skin beneath. A tiny tail-nub poked out over the
top of his breeches, covered in orange-tipped
fur duskier that that on his feet flowed all the
way up his back and across both shoulders.
Strangest of all, his head had transformed in a
patchwork manner, giving him a sort of
frightening visage. The top right half of his
face still appeared human, with one cinnamon
colored eye, a shock of wheat hair, and an ear
still apparent. The rest of his face was in
transition, though. One triangular ear, somewhat
stunted, was almost to the top of his head. His
muzzle had already started showing itself. His
nose changed by flattening out, his teeth
becoming larger, and his left eye had gone a shocking shade of bright green.
Very nice description of his transformation not
quite complete. How exactly, though, did he see
his own face or see his own eye colors?
âIt doesn't matter,â he gave a shuddering sigh.
Concerned, the snake man reached out, patted his
shoulder, then looked curiously at his own hand.
He then placed his hand on the man's forehead, âYou're burning up!â
Confused, he put his own hand to his head,
âReally? I feel fine.â His stomach chose
this moment to growl very loudly. The blush
could still be seen on the human side of his face.
The snake regarded him a moment, tongue flicking
out, âHere.â He reached behind him, his head
rotating inhumanly (if that word could even
apply anymore). He soon produced a package
wrapped in paper. Undoing the twine revealed a
sort of large meat pasty wrapped in cabbage leaves.
Offering the food, the snake nodded, âI was
saving this for tomorrow's lunch but...I think I should get you to a healer.â
Sheepishly taking the bundle, the young man dug
into the pasty before answering, âThanks.â
Regarding him curiously again, the snake placed
its hands on its hip-area, âWell maybe its
just me being cold-blooded but...I still think
you should come to the keep. I can tell you from
experience, it will be easier if you can see
others like us. It helps to know you can still
be happy. Besides, we're supposed to bring lost
morphs we find to the keep, to get them sorted.â
âI suppose I don't have many other choices, do
I?â He asked, offering back the half-eaten
pasty, âYou can finish it. I don't want to eat all of your lunch.â
âNo!â The snaked waved him off, âNo,
you're fine! I'll go hunting tonight for us; you
can finish that while we walk.â With this he
turned swiftly and literally started to slither away.
I wrote a snake character one time who admitted
he didn't even remember what it was like having
legs anymore, so used to slithering he'd
become. I like this snake man too, and how
helpful and generous he's being. I also note
that there does seem to be an internal heat to
William-merged; the fire being is gaining its
strength back, or is it their strength now. I'm sure we'll learn more.
Hustling a bit, the man catches up, careful not
to step on the snake's large tail. They made
steady pace through the trees, headed north,
both of them rather quiet for a time. It didn't
take too long before he was finished with the
pasty, unconsciously running a large tongue over his lips to sweep up crumbs.
âSo,â the snake asked suddenly, âWhat is
your name? Mine is Psylaphen.â
That seems an appropriately serpentine name.
âI-â he paused, unsure, âI don't
remember.â This was only partially a lie, as
he could remember being called William, but he was also
called something else, too. Trying to reconcile
both sets of memories often left him confused
and sad, so instead he'd chosen to be someone new.
This sort of thing makes me feel as if William
has died and this other being with his memories
has risen in his place. Now I know why may folks
felt saddened by my story "Under a Blessing of Ashes".
âHmm,â Psylaphen mused, eyeing him. âWell,
as most of the others come to the keep on a
stretcher, I guess you can count yourself
lucky.â As he spoke he slid right over a
fallen tree, which the former human had to walk
around. Upon seeing his crestfallen face on the
other side, the snake bowed its head slightly.
âSorry. I don't mean to make fun of you.â
The man shook his head.
âWell,â Psylaphen began, rubbing the scales
at his throat, âwould it be rude if I gave you
a name? At least until you remember yours,â he amended quickly.
Meeting those slitted pupils, the former William gave a weak smile.
âHow about,â Psylaphen looked him up and
down a little, then pointed at him with a triumphant nod, âNoir?â
âNwar?â He scrunched up his brows.
âN-O-I-R,â the serpent spelled out, âI
read it in a book at the keep once. It mean's 'black' in another language.â
Looking down at himself, he let out half a
chuckle, âYou'd literally name me for my
fur?â It was a strange thing, to have to
consider a name for yourself, but given
everything that had happened so far...maybe
something so simple and exotic was just what he needed.
âIt was a first attempt!â Psylaphen said,
somewhat defensively, âGive me-â
âI like it,â he decided. âIt fits.â
Taken aback, the reptile reared up a bit, then
dipped down in a small bow. âWell, Noir,â he
says with amusement in his voice, âIt's nice to meet you.â
Bowing back stiffly, Noir matched the smile
heard in the snake's voice, âNice to meet you, Psylaphen.â
âYou can call me Syl,â he explained. âCome
on. We have a long trail ahead.â
As Syl the snake morph started to glide off, the
newly dubbed Noir took a deep breath of warm
air. Letting it out slowly, he allowed some of
the tension bleed away. He was alive, he wasn't
alone, and he didn't have to focus on things
before the bonding for a time. Starting anew
felt right, a new chapter to start...
He'll have to come to grips with who he was at
some point. I am sure we'll be interested to see
how that turns out. For your first Metamor Keep
story I'd say you did a fine job. You've
captured the flavor of the setting, managed to
create some interesting characters who we want to
see more of, managed to put your readers through
several different emotions as they read the
story, and really only have a handful of places
where an awkward sentence really stuck out at
me. Please, keep on writing and I look forward to more from you!
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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