Born a Monster

Chapter 144: Servant of the Axe, 44 – Huge Hounds

Servant of the Axe

Chapter 44

Huge Hounds

“So, it’s a two month or so delay for her to recruit proper guards. I’m thinking we should either take her offer of wages, or counter-offer for a share of the treasure.”

“Well, Tirinoctu isn’t an island on our map.” Gamilla said. “So, it’s likely to be an older name, or an informal alias.”

“Or we need a better map.” Madonna said. “In any case, I think Dimmihammas and I shall give this mission a pass.”

“Mmm... Why?” asked Kismet.

.....

“I think I’ve got a good idea on that one. Nature grows big, or dire, animals near sources of taint, right? To combat and contain the infection? Any kinda dire animal’s going to be targeting those two specifically.”

“Until we have the Mask Anonymous, at least.” Madonna said. “But for now, yes. It is simply too dangerous, unless you intend to invoke contract?”

I waved a hand. “I swore not to inhibit your mission. Getting you killed would most certainly do that. If you’re not coming with us, can you at least see what you can do with that chest of trade goods we’re lugging around?”

“I’m not Gamilla, but I believe I know how to strike a bargain.”

And so it was decided, that we noble adventurers would protect the laborers while they were about their task. Yay.

There were more than four hounds, although they travelled in groups of no more than four. They didn’t try to communicate, and departed whenever I used thought-speech or sent them thought-pictures.

It was the morning of the second day when one of our hunters, hammock and all, vanished from our campsite. Okopongo, or blessed of Pongo, had brought down a ram-child for the stew.

From the tracks, a set of hounds had snuck into our camp, carried him about fifteen minutes away, killed and eaten most of him. They even cracked his skull open to get at his brains.

Three of our natives decided that was enough, and they were going home. We learned later they never made it back.

“All right, nobody else hunts anything on this mountain.” Miss Turner announced. “We’ve still got two days of hiking left.”

We increased our guard that next night, and there were four hounds right at the perimeter when one of the guards circled camp, and gone on their next circuit. Likewise, there were increased sightings of the hounds as we ascended the mountain.

And then, as we cleared a ridge, there was the clay pit, with no fewer than thirty-two hounds, in neatly arranged four by four squares. Some lounged, some growled, some even looked playful. But all were watching us.

“None of them are responding to thought-speech or images.” I told Miss Turner, “But it’s very clear that they are Aware, if not an actual folk. If forced to wager, I’d place my coin on that latter option.”
“Very well, Ambassador Rhishisikk. Everyone else, take a knee. We two shall go forward and see if there are negotiations to be made. I trust your group can deal with these if things go poorly?”

“Not in the least. Six to one, these folk are capable of killing all of us, and the rest of you as you run. I take heart, though, in the fact that they haven’t.”

She pulled herself up tall, and straightened her travelling clothes. “Well, then. Let’s see if they’ll talk now.”

#

We advanced until the first rank of hounds rose.

“I think we should sit here.” Miss Turner said.

One of the ones in the third row started a howl. It is an eerie thing, to have near three dozen beasts howling in unison.

And then they were motionless, save for one that scratched its ear.

From behind them, concealed by part of the ledge, came a larger one, dark blue in color, perhaps two shades darker than a navy blue, but with highlights of as bright as sky blue, looking for all the world like a third eye in its forehead, and streaks of lightning all the way back to the tail.

Well, I have three marks on my body identical to the Achean letter Omega, so I have no right to comment on the unlikeliness of anyone else’s markings.

He came to the front, and let out a large yawn, stretching out before sitting down. Almost at once, the other hounds began stretching and scratching, one woman turning entirely over to rub her back in the grass.

he sent.

“Oh my,” Miss Turner said, “I actually heard that. Is he speaking Manoran to you?”

I can’t really explain thought speech; the physical words don’t exist. But if you’re familiar with Akashic communication, it’s similar. The thoughts find the words in your mind to express themselves. And I’m sorry, that’s the closest I can come to describing what happens, as inaccurate as that is.

“I understand him, if that’s what you mean. I’m hearing him in Achaen, if the language matters.”



???????????????? ???????????????????????????? ???????????????????????? ???????????????????? ???????? ????????????????????-????????????.????????????

“Do we just think back at him?” she asked.

“Look, what we want to take from the site is of no value to you. And once we have it, nobody else will come for it.”

I asked.

He sent a picture of blackness, gathered from the rotting dead, a corruption that indelibly stained everything it touched.

he agreed.

“But so long as we don’t dig for the treasure, we are free to investigate the graves?” And to me, “Do you see this cave he is referencing?”

“It might be under that overhang, there.”



“We accept your terms.” She said. “I trust you have named and enchanted weapons?”

#

“My rapier is named Pirate’s Woe, but I don’t think it’s enchanted.” Kismet said. She was right, there wasn’t even a residual forge-trace on the blade.

“My spear is Hogslayer, and its enchantments assist in scoring critical hits.” Gamilla said. “I also have the knife, Slay Men Because They Just Suck, but that won’t help against things without vital organs.”

Narces shrugged. “I’ve got a few abilities that let me convert my arrows into various energy types, but nothing enchanted.”

“Well, I have – no! Dimmihammas has Heart’s Protector. That ass!”

“You’ve got your shaman magic.” Kismet said.

“And the magic of a number of hermetic elements. Okay, our job isn’t to kill everything, we’re just escorting Miss Turner. If anyone wants a necromantic blessing, the time is just before we enter the cave.”

Yeah, necromantic. I shouldn’t have asked, but I tried one for myself. “Powers of the dead – whoa!”

The mud behind us bubbled, releasing a foul-smelling sulphureous cloud.

“Ew! Grave farts!” Kismet said, clutching her nose.

“Yes. Let’s try this a different way. Through salt and blood, by lore and will, do I claim this space as my own. I forbid the powers of Taint and chaos, allowing only such forces as I am attuned to access. I deny Taint access in all of its forms. I am Rhishisikk, Truthspeaker, and walker in the Dreamscape, Shaman of the White Skull path of death. I deny this space to all powers of which I am not attuned while the sun still shines upon it. Anti-Taint Ward!”

It wasn’t a proper ritual, not something that I’d prepared and balanced. It was the first time an improvised incantation of mine actually held together.

[New spell: Anti-Taint ward, Protection versus taint: 6. One use per day. Retaining this spell will cost 11 Shaman points, focus here to...]

[New spell acquired.]

There were, of course, more details, and the usual smattering of five to ten XP rewards, all reduced to 1XP. The way I felt, I expected a glow to the circle, or perhaps light spilling from my heart. But there was no visible difference in the world.

Well, there was no longer the smell of grave-farts. Kismet took a curious sniff before joining me inside the circle. The others rapidly joined her.

“Oh, merciful gods.” Gamilla said.

Miss Turner was the last to cross. “Is there any chance that could be worked into a mobile form?”

I shook my head. “Not in the time we have remaining today. It would take research, breaking the ward down to fundamental concepts, and then re-forming those into a mobile protection. But what I can do...”

“Spirits of the dead, hear my request, grant my plea. I am Rhishisikk, Shaman of the White Skull, and walker in dreams! Grant those of us within this circle protection from the restless dead. Necromantic Ward!”

That spell, of course, failed. Necromatic Ward is intended for only one recipient.

“That won’t protect us if we anger the spirits.” I said.

“It’s enough.” Miss Turner decided, raising a torch. “Ignition! We’re burning precious daylight, let’s go.”

#