Shifted

Ben looked at his car's clock quickly. It was almost twenty after five, and he was already back in Shelburne. He'd made excellent time from work today, as per normal. He was going to go see his girlfriend, but she had family plans and wasn't home. So instead he decided to spend the night at his big brother's, who lived just down the street from her. Theodore, or Ted as most of his friends called him. He lived in a small single floor apartment building his parents owned. It was five apartments total. Ben slowed down as he came up on James street, and turned left. He drove down, and swung a left at the end of the street, into the small parking lot for the apartments. He simply drove his car to the far left corner, parking it there, parallel to the buildings. He threw it in park, and quickly turned it off, got out, and locked it up. He looked up and saw that his brother's van was already here, parked as it usually was, perpendicular to the buildings, as far back as possible on the right side, from the road.

Ben quickly popped open his trunk, grabbed the grocery bag and the twelve pack of Coca-Cola he had in there, and then closed the trunk. He walked down the path, past the first building to the door of the second one. He opened it and stepped into a little closet sized entry, with three doors. The one in front of him led downstairs to the basement, where the laundry machines were. The one on his left was another tenant's apartment. The one on the right was his big brother's apartment. He knocked, and declared himself as he stepped in. "Hey ginger!" he yelled smiling.

Ted looked up from his chair, and smiled. "Crazy bastard, how was your day?" Ted rose, and embraced his little brother. Ted was twenty-five years old, six years older than Ben, the youngest of three brothers. Ted himself was indeed a ginger. He had short hair, and a full scruffy beard. He had brown eyes, and a reasonably fair complexion. He had his fair share of freckles as well. He was well built, close to six feet tall, probably about two hundred pounds. He had a bit of a belly, but not very much of one. He was wearing some dark green cargos and a grey sweater.

Ben put the case of pop in the fridge, and took out the pizza pockets from the grocery bag. Inside was also a pack of powdered doughnuts and bag of salt and vinegar chips. He quickly shed his large green wool trench coat, as he responded to his big brother. "Not too bad, it was surprisingly quiet today at work, how about yourself?" Ben himself had changed his look when he realized his ridiculous long hair was unfortunately preventing him from getting a job. He was about the same height as Ted, maybe an inch or so shorter. He had short light brown hair, and compared to his brother, a clean shaven face. There was a little stubble growing in, but it was nowhere near as prominent as his brother's. He had pale green eyes, and a fairer and slightly more 'baby' look to his face. He was probably close to a hundred and sixty or so pounds. He was wearing some black track pants, and a faded green t-shirt. He moved off into the kitchen, and took a can of pop from the case, as he got a plate out and put two of his pizza pockets into Ted's microwave.

Ted smiled, as he sat back down to his computer, going back to what he'd been looking at. "Not bad at all, it was surprisingly light today, first time all week, thankfully." He quickly scanned the page of the document he had open, and not finding what interested him, moved onto the next one. As he continued scanning, he heard his microwave beep, and heard his little brother grab his food and turn around. He chuckled, for he knew what was coming already, before Ben even leaned down and asked, as he was reading over Ted's shoulder. They did this very often.

Ted's computer setup was most definitely awesome. He had a full out armchair set up, and a forty inch or so monitor, along with a really awesome computer. The internal specs weren't exactly top of the line, but they were real close. Ben scrolled what his brother was reading. "Ahh," he said, chuckling "More undead traits, working on your necromancer I would assume?" he asked, as he sat down on the couch right beside Ted's computer.

Ted nodded, but also replied, "Not so much the necromancer character himself as much as his skeletal champion. Trying to figure out exactly how awesome I can make him at level six." The brothers were of course talking about Dungeons and Dragons, the game they and a fair number of their friends played.

Ben nodded, as he logged onto League of Legends on the other computer. It had a setup very similar to Ted's and belonged to Ted's roommate, Luke. He looked at Ted, and asked, "You up for a few games?"

Ted had him wait a few moments, as he made a couple of small alterations and additions to the word document he had open for his necromancer. Then he logged into the game, and the brothers proceeded to sit back and play a few rounds.

As the night wore on, they played and chatted about random things, everything from Dungeons and Dragons, to random trivia. It was about midnight when they finally stopped. They hadn't done to bad, having won four of the seven games they'd played. Ted logged out and nodded to his brother, who spread out on the couch. "I'm off to bed little brother."

Ben nodded. "Night Teddy" he said, smiling.

Ted chuckled. "Goodnight Ben." He moved off to his bedroom, and after stripping down to his underwear, he got under the covers of his bed, turning off the lights. Normally sleep would not take him to quickly, but tonight it was oddly almost instant. Unbeknownst to Ted, his brother was experiencing the same thing. The pair flicked the lights off and laid down almost simultaneously. Within moments, both were sleeping peacefully.

But as they drifted off, both heard a female voice, the most beautiful melodic voice they'd ever heard, in their minds. "Tonight, you see what can be. Your brother and friend from the north can make it a reality. But first a taste, to whet your appetites for an adventure." As the voice stopped, they both fell into a deep sleep, and into their own deep dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The young halfling orphan eyed up the market stalls, watching for his chance to lift some food. He had his eyes on a nice big juicy apple, and beside it a fresh baked loaf of rye bread. His stomach growled hungrily, urging him on. He took one last look, took a deep breath, and moved in. He quickly picked up both, smoothly, attracting no attention. As he moved off into the crowd, he heard the stall owner start calling for the guards, raising a ruckus. "I've been robbed, I've been robbed!"

Kotaro thought he was home free, as he went to turn out of the crowd and into an alleyway. But his hunger got the better of him, and he started eating the bread. Some man who heard the merchant turned and saw the halfling and pointed and shouted, "There's the thief!"

Kotaro cursed, and started running down the alley. He knew he was going to get caught, but wanted to buy time to try and eat the evidence. He wolfed down on the bread, as he ran from alley to alley. He heard the guards behind him. He turned to see they were gaining, and in the split second, someone or something tripped him. He hit the ground, and caught off guard, couldn't force himself into a roll. He tried to scramble to his feet and keep running, but he felt the cold touch of steel as one of the guards got to him, and placed his spear point against Kotaro's spine. The threat was obvious, but the guardsman felt the need to emphasis. "Move and I'll end your life, sneakthief, I swear it."

Kotaro looked up cockily into the guards eyes. As he did so, he saw a man in the shadows move off. He turned and winked at Kotaro, and held a finger to his lips. The young halfling didn't know what to make of the man, he didn't have time to get a very good look before the other two guards came and blocked his view. What he did see, however, was a black cloak, and an odd hat, with a red and a white feather coming off of it.

Marcus, the officer of the three, picked up Kotaro, looking at the small halfling. He was skinny for his kind, and young obviously. About three feet tall at this point, and maybe ninety pounds. He was lean, and almost looked half starved. His messy light brown hair was ridden with dust and what looked like lice. Marcus was disgusted, but also sorry for the lad. The youngster also had strange pale eyes, a grey blue. His face wasn't healthy either, pale and very bony. It was obvious the boy was an orphan from his clothes as well. He wore essentially a chopped up potato sack for a shirt, and his legs were covered only by a pair of tattered brown cloth pants. He had the hairy feet of a halfling. His arms were covered in scabs and bruises, and it was obvious he had been caught doing this before, but by shop keeps or their security. The young halfling was lucky he'd been let off with only beatings, some of the hired help for these merchants were known to be pretty vicious about thieves, sometimes taking fingers or even hands.

It was at that moment, however, that Marcus noticed that Kotaro was missing his pinky on his left hand. He winced, now even more sorry for the poor kid, but he had a job to do. He hauled the boy up, and quickly tied his hands behind his back. Then he held his shoulder. "What's your name, lad, and how old are you?"

Kotaro looked at the man asking him these questions. He didn't look like the other guards, he seemed a more reasonable sort. So Kotaro decided to do this silly dance one last time, and see where it ended him up this time. "My name is Kotaro Scath, and I'm twenty years old, sir."

The man nodded. "Well Kotaro, my name is Marcus, and I'm afraid we have a problem," he said, gesturing to the half eaten loaf of bread on the ground, and the apple. "You deny you stole these?"

Kotaro shook his head, and took the tact he always did. "I don't sir, but I was hungry. I hasn't eaten in almost a week, sir, surely you don't begrudge me that little bit of food?"

Marcus looked at Kotaro and couldn't see any dishonesty, so he smiled. "I wouldn't but the merchants would. The man you took this from worked hard to bake that bread and naturally feels he should be compensated. He also paid the farmer for the apples, so feels he should get fair compensation for it as well. I can't argue with him, for it is a reasonable enough request. Now apparently he says you are well known to be a little thief, but no one seems to want to do anything about it. This particular merchant however has demanded justice. You said you are twenty yes?"

Kotaro nodded. "Just turned twenty 'bout three months ago sir."

Marcus nodded thinking quickly, for he knew the merchant would soon be here with a crowd, demanding some kind of response. By halfling standards the lad was still a child, as their live's could span two centuries. "Do you have any living family here in the city?"

Kotaro shook his head. "Me mom died nine years ago, the Fire Fever got her. Nearly got me too, hence my eyes. They were a bright blue, but the heat and sickness changed 'em, sir. Never met me father, he was killed before I was born, apparently he was a fighter of some kind. What's to be done with me. Am I to be jailed, or lose another finger, or a hand? I won't fight, just get it over with so I can get on with trying to get by."

Marcus nodded thoughtfully, and his mind worked quickly as he heard Baldwin's calls for justice, and the cries of his entourage. As the merchant rounded the corner and called out "You caught him! Most excellent, well done men!" Marcus all of a sudden had it. He remembered an old friend of his, who willingly took in street urchins such as these. Not a proper orphanage, more a school, one that this seemingly fearless young halfling would probably excel at.

Marcus smiled, because he saw just the man he needed in the crowd. He was a rather short skinny man, probably only about five feet tall, and maybe a hundred and ten pounds. But he moved with a swagger, a confidence. He wore a fine black travelling cloak, and fine black silk pants, as well as brown leather high top boots. He wore a grey silk shirt, loose fitting as was the style of Longreach at this time. But underneath it was a thin shirt of chain, made from silvery mithral links. It had been a gift from one of this man's many adventures, a gift from a dwarven ally. He carried a cane, about three feet long. The top unscrewed however, and the top six inches was actually the intricately designed hilt of a fine rapier. The man's also wore fine black leather gloves. Underneath the chain shirt, he wore a layer of fine black silk, and to top off the look, a black bolero. It was much like a top hat, but shorter and rounded instead of flat topped. Coming off of it on the left side at a jaunty angle were two feathers, one red and the other white. The man himself had silvery grey hair and a soft face, his light brown eyes welcoming.

His name was Hanzo, and he had been quite the dungeoneer and scout in his youth, having made his fortune by offering his services to adventurers. He was also no slouch with a blade, although his real talent had been with throwing knives. He carried no less than four at all times, even in retirement. It was just part of who he was. Marcus nodded at him, looking at him questioningly.

Kotaro looked up, and recognized the man, because of the hat. He looked like the man who had tripped him up. The young halfling had no idea what was going on, but knew something was up, so despite all his desire to start yelling and cursing at the short old man, he didn't. Instead he stared at the man, almost glaring with anger. The man simply smiled and gestured with his hand toward the guard holding Kotaro. The young halfling sighed, awaiting his punishment.

Marcus smiled, happy at the affirming motion, for it meant he wouldn't have to punish the poor lad. The large stall owner Baldwin Holian stepped up. Despite being near seventy, he was a ferocious physical specimen. He was a simple man, big, strong, not necessarily the smartest, but he was fair and had brilliant business sense and iron principles, although the stories said he had a bit of a temper. Some rumors said he might have a bit of orc blood in him, and in truth he never really denied them. He also, however had a strong sense of justice, and a taste for harsh punishment. "So, Sergeant..." he said, obviously waiting for Marcus to introduce himself

Marcus smiled, "Please Master Baldwin, the name is Marcus, no titles are necessary here, we're all friends. I'm simply doing my job."

Baldwin smiled and the large man looked down on even the almost six foot tall Marcus. "Fair enough, Marcus, call me Baldwin." the men shook hands and Baldwin continued. "I see you caught our little thief. I've no doubt he told you a wonderful story of being a starving orphan, and by the looks of him, that I do not doubt. But the fact remains, he robbed me. If he'd have asked, I probably could have spared a coin or two, or a loaf even. But instead he chose to steal. So how will he pay for his crime?" Baldwin looked over Kotaro, and his eyes locked on the missing pinkie on Kotaro's left hand. "I see our little thief has been caught at least once. Even losing a finger hasn't seemed to deter him." Baldwin turned to Marcus. "I suggest a very public removal of two fingers, here and now. To be fair the boy may pick them himself, but it would seem one is no lesson."

Marcus paled a bit, stuttering unable to come up with an answer. In desperation he looked to Hanzo. Hanzo winked at Marcus, and proceeded to step forward. "Baldwin that will not be necessary this time, for the boy will no longer be a menace. I hereby offer to take him into my scout's academy." Marcus breathed a sigh of relief, as Baldwin turned, and blinked, at a lose, obviously trying to word his reply. Hanzo ignored the struggling merchant, and moved to the young halfling, peeling off his right glove. He flourished his right hand, and knife appeared. He sawed off the ropes, and tightly gripped Kotaro's left wrist. As he cut the ropes, he leaned over and whispered into the halfling's ear, "Today's you're lucky day, Reges Quickhand smiles upon you. But now is the time to keep quiet and just trust me to lead."

As he finished cutting the ropes he continued his explanation. "This youngster has shown remarkable stealth and reflexes for one so young. The only reason anyone caught him today is because his appetite got the better of him. I can teach him the skills and trade to make a living besides thievery with those traits. Adventurers and adventuring parties are becoming more prominent again, and as such, a demand for skilled scouts, stealthy with the skills to open doors and locate traps, is rising. Such a trade would not be amiss for this lad, he seems to already have the natural knack for it, along with the brazen courage. Look he's not even flinched or shown fear at the concept of losing two fingers!" Hanzo smiled, and finished off, "So, to that effect, I wish to hone his skills."

Hanzo turned to Marcus, "Of course we will need to go down to the barracks and fill out all the proper paperwork, that goes without saying. And I'd expect that taking in another student requires me to update my income and tax information, although he will not be able to pay me, I'll of course still fill out the necessary papers."

Marcus nodded. "Of course Sir Hanzo, we can do that presently, if you wish."

At this point, Baldwin interjected. "Hanzo, you liar, you're 'school' is nothing more than a house for thieves. Your 'students' are thieves and swindlers all, and I won't stand by and watch you take another one. This city has enough problems without yet another well trained thief running around!" At that point the big man stepped forward, fists clenched.

Hanzo's eyes went narrow, and the jolliness left his face. Quicker than anyone could blink, his rapier was out of its cane-sheath, and the blade was against Baldwin's throat. "My pupils are not common street criminals, and do not steal, sir. They work for adventurers, and in their off time play games and tricks of sleight of hand. They make no secret of their skills, nor do they swindle and lie about the games. For some reason, people still always insist on trying to best them. It may not be nice, but it is not dishonest, nor is it thievery. So I respectfully ask you to stand down in this matter."

Baldwin gulped, but after a moment, just cursed and took a step back. He moved off down the alley, back towards his stall in the market square. Hanzo smiled as he winked at Kotaro. At that moment, Kotaro realized throughout that whole sequence, Hanzo had never let go of his wrist. He'd done all of that with one hand, and his left hand at that. The man was obviously right handed, for Kotaro could feel that hand had the calluses of a swordsman. Yet this Hanzo had done all that with his left hand, his off hand. Even young Kotaro understood, to a degree, how impressive that was. Kotaro blinked, not too sure what to expect as the crowd dispersed. But he was curious enough to let this play out without complaint. With the guard, Marcus, leading the way, he was led off into the street, towards the barracks.

Suddenly, the world around Kotaro seemed to start spinning, and reality started sucking Ben back in. As he slowly was pulled out of this intriguing dream, a female voice rang in his mind, "That is but a taste, the true chance for an adventure will soon be among you. Your brother from the north will offer it to you. All you need do is accept it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The young orc rose, growling as he wiped the blood from his split lip, looking at his opponent. The older orc smiled and grunted. "Come Alexcek, surely that love tap didn't finish you." Alexcek shook his head, and rose quickly, setting himself up in a boxing stance. His opponent smiled. "I thought not, no son of mine drops that quickly. You say you want to be part of the next war party. Prove your worth. Let's see what those fists are made of."

This tribe of orcs was an odd bunch, for many of them didn't fight with weapons. They fought with their fists. Clan Ironfist, they were well studied in using their fists as deadly weapons, but like any other tribe of their kin, fought more wildly then with any discipline or skilled art to it. They just basically tried to swing harder than their opposition.

But whilst that was true for most of the clan, it wasn't true for the chief or his sons. He and his sons fought with roots in a style long dead, a discipline that had been the orcs alone. Ironfist, a style that had been in the tribes history for centuries, their namesake. But the last true monks of that order had died almost three centuries ago, so the practise had watered down to a point where it was now just the bare basics. It wasn't much more than simple blocks and a handful of other strikes other then punching your opponent in the face. But it gave the males in the chief's bloodline a slight edge, a little something more. That basic training, however, wasn't enough for Alexcek. He thirsted to know more, and had expressed his desire multiple times to his father. His father found it silly, and useless, so much so that he had hit Alexcek for bringing it up.

Over the past three months, however, Alexcek had pretended to be a perfect orc son. Bloodthirsty, hungry for battle and plunder. He'd taken part in two raids on small farm families so far, and had even killed a man. He felt no guilt for his actions, for the man had attempted to strike first. He did however feel some guilt for the actions of his kin as a whole. He felt that something was terribly wrong with how they lived. He knew there was. But to find it, he first needed to survive until he could figure out where to look. He was close now, very close, but something was missing. That meant doing as his father and chief bid, and pretending to be like his kin. So he would continue to do so, until he fit the last piece of the puzzle together, whatever it might be.

He rose to his full height, and the pair got ready again. They were inside the privacy of Chief Olag's personal tent, so they wouldn't be disturbed, and could go full out. Olag smiled as he looked at his oldest son, his pride and joy. Alexcek was about seven feet tall, and about two hundred and eighty pounds of tough orcish muscle. Like all his kind he had dark green-grey skin, and two small tusks coming out of his bottom jaw. He was well armored in a suit of iron full plate, which bore many nicks and scratches already from both practise and true battle. Although sometimes amongst the orcs, those were one and the same. His fists were calloused and already crisscrossed with scars. He had two strange features that made him stand out from his kin. First was his hair. It wasn't the dulled black that most orcs had, it was more of a deep reddish orange. Secondly was his eyes. They were a sharp and bright blue, almost like pools of water.

Still despite all his odd traits, Olag had to be proud of his son's accomplishments. The young orc had already proven a tough and able fighter, and also tactically aware and smart, which was a rarity amongst the orcs. He smiled, for although his son was a great fighter already, Olag figured he could still do with some toughening up, hence this little sparring session. Not to mention he could use a little more blood on his hands, but that would come in time. Trading season was just around the corner, and that meant soon the caravans would be coming along the eastern road, through the Balin Crags, and the Ice Road. Given that fact, soon enough there would be tougher and richer prey to be had for their raids. That would be Alexcek's true test.

Alexcek looked at his father and saw the parent he was supposed to look up too. His dad was big, almost six inches taller than Alexcek. He was in his fifth decade, surprisingly old for a chief of a warlike people. He was tough, his black eyes showing no hint of mercy. His hair was jet black as well. He probably had almost thirty pounds of muscle on Alexcek. He wore a burnished iron breastplate, and simple black woolen pants. Like Alexcek, he also wore iron boots. His father's hair was short, and well kept. Olag's fists were much like Alexcek, big, and crisscrossed with scars. They could have been brothers as well as father and son. But although his father should be who he looked up too, he couldn't.

He respected Olag, it was true, but only as much as one respects the authority that held his life in his hands. It wasn't real respect, for although Olag was strong, in Alexcek's opinion, the old orc was also weak. In the same way that all his kin were weak. They had forgotten their past, and now used it to justify rape, and murder and pillaging. To Alexcek's thinking, that didn't seem like it was how their ancestors would have done things. Although it was how most orcs acted, the stories of old had always said that Clan Ironfist had been different from the others of their kind, in some very crucial way that had made them enemies.

Yet now, that was no longer the case. They were the same, just slightly better trained. It just didn't add up in Alexcek's head, and he was determined to solve the mystery. He was pretty sure he knew how too, but he needed to wait until he could get into the cave again, for winter froze the pond over tight, and although winter was almost over, it had yet to thaw out. He had found an old monk's meditation chamber, in a small air pocket cave inside the rocks underneath the pond just to the south of his tribe. Inside had been a pair of gauntlets, that he still had yet to take for himself, and a book. He had but ten pages left, and had almost figured out what and where it was he was looking for. But those last ten pages held the end of it, the last part of the story of Azila, his ancestor. The book was dated almost two hundred years ago at the beginning, and it told of Azila's journey from a little monastery to this location. But it also had told of how the way of the Ironfist, and the tenets and techniques of the order had been spread out, and hidden, for the purpose of keeping it from being used for ill.

Alexcek wished to follow the spiritual path that his ancestors of old had followed, although he also wished to carve out his own adventure. He had bigger dreams and goals then being some orc chief of some tribe. He wanted to see the world, to be involved in adventures and explorations.
But for now, he had to settle for what he had, until he could get into the cave one last time. It wasn't all bad, the opposition for sparring was at least worthy. He smiled, and roared, rushing at Olag. His father smiled and responded in kind, yelling to his son "Now let's see if you really have fists of iron!"

As the pair clashed, however, the scene started to fade for Alexcek. Slowly Ted was sucked back into reality as he woke up. However as the scene faded, he heard the female voice in his head. " That is but a taste, the true chance for an adventure will soon be among you. Your brother from the north will offer it to you. All you need do is accept it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As Ted woke up and gasped, he heard a simultaneous noise from out in the living room. On a whim he had to ask. "Ben did you just have a really odd dream?" he called out.

Ben called back, "Yes, what about you?"

"Yes I did. Did yours end the same way mine did?" Ted replied, as he rose and quickly checked the time. It was nine in the morning. So he put on pants and stepped out into the living room, sitting on his armchair.

Ben looked at him, "With a female voice...?"

Ted nodded, "Going on about how this didn't have to be just a dream." Ben nodded and Ted leaned back, confused. He wasn't normally one for supernatural stuff, or anything of that kind. But this was really strange, too strange. It couldn't be just coincidence. Logically, the chances of him and Ben hearing the exact same voice and waking up at the exact same time, to that voice saying the exact same thing, were slim to none. He looked at his little brother, who just shrugged.
"Ted," Ben asked, "When exactly are you getting Keon?"

"Monday evening after work, why do you ask?" Ted replied, wondering where he was going with this.

Ben smiled, "Because if these odd dreams were more than just dreams, that's when we will find out. After all, Lindsay is north of us, and we willingly call Keon brother don't we?"

Ted thought about it for a moment, and chuckled. "Fair enough, so basically you're telling me I shouldn't worry about it until then should I?"

Ben nodded. "Exactly, big brother, exactly. Now shall we figure out what we're going to do for breakfast?"