Born a Monster

The bulk of the supplies took two days to get. “It’s the crew that’s going to take more time.” The captaine said. “I’m tempted to take the ship to the Girdle, but we don’t have the funds to repair her there.”

“Do we have the funds to repair elsewhere?” I asked.

“Only if we take a very risky cargo. We’ll need to swing wide around the dragonwyr, add four days to a week to our journey.”

“Oh, what is the cargo?”

“None of your business. But the risk is, even though it carries us to Neo Esteban. That’s where you wanted to go anyway, aye?”

“Aye.”

Wait, WANTED? I still desired to go there.

“And you’ll be leaving the crew at that point?”

.....

“I have a great deal of business to conduct there.” I said.

“People without coin usually mean a job when they mean business. Any chance I could convince you to remain the ship’s sea-witch until winter?”

“I’m already sworn to my job position; I don’t want to break that oath. So, unless there is a dynamic shift of power, there is no such chance.”

“I thought not. If it helps soothe your conscience any, you really are a terrible sea-witch.”

“I wish you luck finding a sea-witch, captaine.”

“Won’t need luck; there’s a crew idling in Neo Esteban, and they need a sea-witch.”

“I’m not sure how that helps you.” I said.

“If they’re interviewing sea-witches, it means jobless sea-witches are there. We don’t need the best; just someone to last us the rest of fall until the storms move in.”

She was wrong, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

#

It was two more days for the crew, and then we were tacking back and forth against the wind, along our long and winding course.

Our valuable cargo was Khanate silk, mostly white and red, but with all manner of colors. Although there was no diplomatic packet, I guessed this was our silk. A cargo we could sell and pay back our business loan.

It wasn’t just money; it was security and freedom from the stress of worry.

There were skirmishes with a wandering band of fish-folk. There were no casualties on either side, but they cut away our trawling nets (the ones used for fishing off the back of the ship) before they left. And while they forced us to tighten our belts, it was nothing compared to the sense of dread caused by a single green flag.

The flag of Clan Wyvern, and beneath that, a flag of pure black. They were well outside their normal waters; I had no doubts they were there, specifically looking for us, or rather our cargo.

The captaine cursed. “Weigh anchor!” she called, “We’ll not outrun them, and it may be they only want part of the cargo.”

It was a tiny one-masted vessel that pulled up to us, but it was large enough for the silks. There were other things in our cargo, enough to keep the ship going.

I spent a moment in regret; Madonna was probably still in spa month, ignorant that I was even out here. Their ship looked so very flammable.

But I had no illusions of how this crew would fare against half their number of professionals. Apparently neither did the captaine.

“Permission to come aboard?” shouted the Wyvern captain.

“Does it truly matter?” the captaine hollered back. “Be about your business, and then leave us to ours.”

“I am of the opinion that courtesy always matters. We’ll have your silk, and the beefiest six of your crew.”

“Why the crew, when we’re not resisting?”

“Well, the market in slaves...”

“The hell you say! F*ck them up their bums!”

It went badly for us. They had more archers, and a willingness to hurl fishing spears. The gangplank was on our railing even before I had my shield fixed to my arm. I had a heavy cavalry saber in my inventory, but most of the crew were using knives or wooden sticks called belaying pins; they had more people with Flash Step than we had people with weapons.

“Ah crap!” said one of the four who surrounded me. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Not dead, not sorry about it.” I replied, taking a feint at the one on the opposite side.

“What do you know about this feisty one, William?” she asked.

“He’s tough. You gotta go for the head. He can shrug off tier four damage codes.”

Lies! No, wait, the bonus from the gambeson... I guess I could shrug off tiny blows.

“Party up, then. Together we can work up a tier six.”

“I knew you could do that with magic, you mean it works with weapons as well?”

“Well, you’ve all got to train together, but aye.” Said a dirty blonde woman.

“Show me.” I said. “That’s only sixteen points of damage. I can take that.”

“Only sixteen.” Their leader said. “Very well.” She flourished her blade. “Wolf Tactics: Pirate Strike!”

The blades were EVERYWHERE. Literally. Not just from angles they could reach; it was my first encounter with martial maneuvers, called by some the martial arts. Don’t ask me why we didn’t have those in the Tidelands; they very much increase one’s combat potential.

[You have discovered Martial Teamwork abilities, and have been awarded 10 Combat XP. After divisor, 1XP has been awarded.]

[You have suffered a RED critical for x8 damage...]

I flagged one of my abilities (My Shield is My Life, if it matters), and my shield broke apart into sawdust.

[You have suffered an ORANGE critical for x4 damage; you have taken 64 points of damage. After armor, 56 points of damage have been received. You have -16/40 health.]

My last memories of that day are of my gambeson and the shards of my clothing literally flying off of me, and explosion of cloth. Oh, and the following messages.

[Severe injury: Deep cut (x6)]

[You are suffering from Bleeding 5. Diverting all resources toward survival. You will experience a prolonged period of unconsciousness.]

#

I had time to do the math, later. I must have made every. Single. Attempt. To resist that bleeding.

It was still near November when I woke up.

What WAS that? I had been at full health, and used every ability in my arsenal, and I had still lost with barely a contest.

Oh, and Ow.

[You have 5/40 health remaining.]

[Permanent injury: Noticeable scar (x2), healing in progress.]

Healing in progress? From a permanent injury?

Just how durable WAS I?

Not durable enough; every time I moved, a wave of pain washed over my body. If I tried to move my left leg or any of the muscles of my right back, it was worse. My System confirmed those were the locations of my scars.

I was in a bed, and at least on my belly rather than my back. There was a heavy woolen sheet and a lighter cotton one. They were wrapped around me as though I had been wrestling with them; perhaps I had.

My sanity and serenity were also low; I’d have to look into why later.

But most of that day was sleep. Normal sleep.

[Tapping ritual successful. One point of Dream mana acquired. You now have 1/4 Dream mana.]

I took a look around; it was the same room in the inn at Neo Esteban. The same raucous noises were coming from the floor below; the smells I recalled from my time in the Guild.

Someone had given up on laundering the mattress; it was ruined by my occupation and inability to use the chamber pot. Surprisingly, there was almost no lingering smell of blood. How long had I been out?

[Today is October 24, Envyday. You have been unconscious for 33 days.]

I swept my tongue over my teeth; from bits of food stuck between them, someone had been bothering to feed me, at least.

I drowsed until near dusk, when Madonna came to check on me.

“About time you’re awake.” She complained.

“You...”

“Yes, me. You think Kismet cares enough to put up with your vile biology?”

“You are taking swordsmanship lessons.”

“Not a conversation I expected to have when you woke up. What brings this on?”

“Are they teaching you about Martial Maneuvers?”

“Martial Arts? Why would they?”

“Tell me what you know, if you would, please.”

“Are you sure you don’t want another chapter of the Genie’s Desire? We ARE almost done with it.”

.....

“No, I just went from full health to nearly dead in an instant. I need to understand what that was, and how to protect myself next time.”

“Oh, next time? Husband, you have SCAR TISSUE. You can still fight, but you’ll never be what you were before.”

“Do you think you’re the only one who can heal from such injuries? Help me to the window sill.”

“Why?”

“I need to tap the moon and the stars for mana.”

She put two hands under my wounded shoulder and helped me to a sitting position. “Again, why?”

“It is time to talk to a spirit scorpion about vengeance.”

The Guild of Guardsmen, Porters, Drovers, and Linkboys, the organization that shaped nearly a year of my development. They are responsible for my familiarity with the shield, for which I am eternally thankful. I may not have appreciated their training methods at the time, but the skills I learned helped to aid my survival.