Born a Monster

216 Servant of the Axe – Week of Snows

Chapter Type: Character Development, Time Jump

I wasn’t about to infect the crew members for experience; but since the rats on the vessel weren’t Aware (I would wonder about that later)...

It wasn’t just experience toward Lifeshaper, though. I had to wonder what sort of people worked on things like Plaguewalker until it was a class. Or who thought up enough variants of Evil Eye that it became a compound ability.

It wasn’t all evil experience, if there is such a thing. On some days, I would learn something about Carpentry or Shipwright. I even gained some experience in a class called Hermit, during three days that a particularly long torrent of wind and rain kept me stranded in the drydock.

And it turns out that even normal rats had a society, of sorts.

I had to balance my experimentation with my normal duties, lessons from the women, and tending to the new shrine, and the nature around it. (But mostly the never-ending invasion of leaves and twigs.)

Oh, and don’t try setting up a large area warding by yourself. It’s more complicated than a house, and I tired myself out repeatedly setting up and removing the interlocking wards. In the end, I settled for smaller wards around the prayer tablets (which themselves needed constant maintenance) and a spot where the river deposited loam into a sandbar/soil peninsula.

Had I wanted to become a priest, I could have meditated in that area. But, as I didn’t have enough time for everything I’d already taken on, it wasn’t a regular part of my divine regimen.

Speaking of regimens, it had taken a week for my pineal gland to recover enough to stop bothering me. This is time after the serious injury had healed.

.....

In any case, my days became routine; I would wake or be woken before dawn to fix breakfast.

I would feed mommy rat, who became increasingly fat and easily distressed. I learned from a vendor of pets that nervous creatures like birds needed to have their cages hooded, and so I moved her from my wicker box to a proper and spacious cage, hooded.

After that would come regimens both physical and mental. I ran most days before or after a storm, as being out during a storm was still not something I enjoyed.

Madonna and Kismet had various social and sword lessons, and endless linguistic puzzles.

On days when everyone was trapped in the inn, I was roped into doing mid-day snacks. At least we had rations for those, although my fatigue meters didn’t appreciate that.

The afternoons were either tapping on days when I could go outside without risk, or financial and mercantile lessons from Gamilla on days when I couldn’t.

Oh, and shrine maintenance. On days when I tended the shrine, I would do both my mystic regimens there.
The late afternoon was cooking; I would try to put something new into each day, and had learned not to be late, unless I wanted to find the oven buried under stew pots. There were endless biscuits and breads and muffins; some enterprising soul had purchased a yeast culture, which we trimmed mercilessly.

After each meal, I fed momma rat, who seemed to love grains and dried vegetables. She also had an unending need for water; I tried to keep her cage cooled when I could replace my Air mana, but have to admit I was a terrible host in that respect.

Before bed, I would perform my mystic regimens, if I hadn’t already done so in the afternoon. On nights when I had, there were reading lessons or worse, puzzles in accounting.

For every night of lucid dreaming, there were four of the mundane. Manajuwejet, on the nights of the new moon just before the Festival of Snows, seemed impressed with my progress on the shrine.

“It’s not peopled, yet, but I can see the work you’ve put in. Thanks, kid. That makes reporting to Sobek so much easier.”

#

The Neonen, depending on the region of their nation, celebrate either the Festival of Snows, or the Festival of Gaia’s Sleep. In Neo Esteban, the decorations tended to be simple things, easily packaged and moved inside should a storm rage through.

Other than that, it was a festival week. Momma rat, perhaps knowing the fortuitous time, gave birth then. I mistook the initial impression of PAIN to mean that my flooring had given her a splinter again. Wire mesh floor, while athletic, just... I wasn’t a sadistic host, just not a good or attentive one.

I set her cage up close enough to a theatrical stage to get a good view, but kept the cover blocking the direct sunlight. Of my titles, I had learned that Hunter bothered her most, and Herbalist the least. I know, I would also have expected Shaman, but it wasn’t so.

I made the mistake of answering questions, and found myself surrounded by children, as though the tiny mother’s burden were an entertainment stall; I guess for that night, it was. I had to adjust and expand my Mystic Sight to accommodate second tier mana, such as Life mana.

And no, I didn’t recognize, then, just what an accomplishment that was. I just moved the points from Mystic Regimen over to pay for it, and watched, fascinated, as six new rat pups were born into the world.

Two boys and four girls, if it matters. I debated naming them, but since rats reach adolescence at six weeks, I didn’t want to get overly attached.

Rat momma lay there in something resembling afterbirth exhaustion, licking her babies clean. Against the protests of the other observers, I folded the shade back over the cage and called it an early night.

The original plan had been to hook up a second cage, a purchase that Gamilla still hadn’t forgiven me for. It had its own feeding and watering area, an exercise wheel, and the bottom floor was a maze. I checked the shutters again, to make certain that I could keep the new children safe. At this point, the cage took up the greater part of my desk.

Gamilla knocked on my door. “Ambassador. We need to talk.”

“What has Madonna purchased NOW?” I asked, making my way to the door.

“No, ambassador. It’s Farlaine.”

“Farlaine?” That was the name of the other diplomat, clearly a pseudonym he had taken to better fit in with Furdian society. “Has he come to visit us?”

“No, ambassador. He sents legal summons to accuse you at court for using his title.”

“How did that message even arrive during the storm season?” But I could not deny the letter, written in crisp Furdian script, with the governor’s wax seal at the bottom.

“Sea Dog’s Respite. Built with a narrow draft and four anchors. Must have started at the beginning of next month.”

“Ah, then they knew we wouldn’t be responding.”

“Actually, ambassador, they’re expecting you to board and sail north with them tomorrow.”

No, I decided. No, there was too much going on for THIS nonsense. “Don’t let the others know until after I’ve penned my reply. It may not deserve much decorum, but I can at least be politic about it.”

So, I scrawled out a quick note explaining I’d be there after the storm season ended in spring, and made my way through the rain to the docks. I’d have wagered they wouldn’t actually leave in the morning, and I’d have lost that wager.



That was the winter of El Grande, or the Big One, a boar of unusual size that took offense to someone being in the deep south woods where his drove foraged. He never made it to the town’s outskirts, and rumors that he was eating living flesh never really caught. He killed two, may have been responsible for another, and kept the doctors who treated serious leg injuries well employed.

Perhaps it is impolite to say, but given the nature of the foragers, I was usually rooting for El Grande.

I never did get around to looking to see if possibly he was sentient, and so far as I know there was only the one hunting party sent out with all the success you’d expect from a group without an actual Hunter, and water canteens filled with ale.

My wilderness expeditions were centered around the shrine site.

There were regulations against logging, so I had to go with large wooden shields to make shelters for the prayer stones. I made my report to Manajuwejet at the full moon before the babies had opened their eyes.

Another might have mistaken them for blind; I noticed the twitch of their nostrils, the way they would brush things with their tiny whiskers. Like me at their age, they used senses other than sight to navigate their environment.

It was the end of December, that first month of winter, when it finally happened.

[New class earned: Lifeshaper, level one. 100/300 XP to level two.]

[Lifeshaper accepted as primary eldritch class.

Congratulations! You are now CHARACTER LEVEL ONE.

1000 Development points awarded.]

[You now have 1018 development points.]

I...

WHAT!?