Born a Monster

Chapter 25: Born A Monster, Chapter 25 – Graveyard

Born A Monster

Chapter 25

Meet Nastyman

Helados struck at the crouched Nastyman, his knife blade held in the pinky side of his fist. But without even appearing to dodge, Nastyman moved his foot.

He DANCED. Nastyman just danced on Helados’ side, using the groaning of his rib cage as music. At least this action took Nastyman further from us.

“Oohoo!” He dodged an arrow, making it look like he was playing. “Tsk. Shadow Escape.”

Black Snake was at my hip, radiating HATRED and FEAR.

.....

“You won’t always have friends around you.” He called from behind a tree. “Later, Kismet!” His laughter cut out abruptly, with the mystic sucking of another shadow portal.

Adara was unstringing her bow, a quizzical expression on her face.

“Double guard until dawn!” I needed a better name for Boiled Leather, who was approaching behind Adara. In the noise of the disturbed camp, I couldn’t hear either of them.

Kismet was clinging to my left side, and trying to back-peddle us both into our lean-to.

“Shh. He’s gone for now.”

“He’ll be back. He’ll be back.”

“I think we’re safe from him in the group.”

“We aren’t safe FROM the group.”

“What have you told me about pumas?”

She sniffled, and I stroked her back slowly to calm her.

Adara and the other approached Helados, who was lying on his unwounded side.

“Gustavian, what do you see?”

“Lotta magic, but no effect. Like he’s just infusing his teeth, with no intention of actually doing anything with that energy.”

“How bad is it?” Helados asked.

Gustavian shrugged. “You’re not off drover duty. Shouldn’t even be in the yellow portion of your health bar.”

“Stay still, Helados. Living blood, hear me and accept my request. I am Adara the Silver, and ask that you remove yourself from this injury. Cleanse Wound.”

The blood violently removed itself from Helados, spattering onto the ground.

“Now, hold that bandage against the wound.”

“Ahh, great hairy balls of Apollo!”

With deft fingers, Adara wrapped the bandage in a wrapping of linen. “That is a mix of comfrey and garlic and salt. It will aid you in recovery.”

“At the cost of serenity!” Helados complained.

“And?” Gustavian asked. “For someone who just got stomped by a night mage, you’ve only got light wounds. Muster some of that serenity, and say thank you.”

“Thank you? What have I to be thankful for? Aren’t we supposed to be safe in camp?”

Adara stood, turned, and seemed to drift away.

“Don’t worry none.” His grin radiated menace, not humor. “Everyone is going to be safe in this camp from here on out. Everyone.” He winked at me, possibly because Kismet was not meeting anyone’s gaze.

Gustavian wandered off to speak with Anston.

Helados propped himself up on one elbow. “This isn’t over.”

Kismet stopped sniffling, and turned to face him. “It’s over. Not just for tonight. Touch me again, and I’ll take my time flaying the skin off that hand.”

“Rhishi, let’s get back to bed.”

“Okay.”
I actually had to invoke Slumber on her, but she didn’t resist.

#

Enter Dream is something that requires the consent of the dreamer, or at least not their forbiddance.

In her dreams, Kismet towered over me, a feline princess clad in silks that covered but did not conceal her form.

“Rhishi!” she called, sweeping me upward to be level to her eyes. “Is that really you?”

“I should be asking you, Kismet.”

“Shh. This is my mother, as I remember her. We lived like this, in a tower of stone, the savanna visible just beyond the city wall.”

“You don’t need to remember right now. This place still lives in your memories, and here in your dreams.”

“I choose not to remember. The end, I remember the love and feeling safe, and being able to watch people from-”

Something hissed from under the bed.

“Don’t worry; that can’t come out if I don’t pay it any mind.”

“Put me down and I’ll deal with that.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“I do.”

She put me down, and I wandered over to the bed. Sweeping the covers aside, I got my first good look at Nastyman’s face. It was something like a goblin, but with a more human nose and smaller ears.

It wasn’t Nastyman, though. It was more like Nightmare of Nastyman.

The invocation was as simple as it was old, and may even be the basis of Dream magic. “It was only a dream.”

And Nastyman was gone. I returned to the windowsill, and clambered up on the edge.

“So, what were you saying about the people?”

Kismet got a good night’s rest, and awoke vibrant with life. For my efforts, I hadn’t even healed. If I haven’t mentioned it before, Dream magic is often draining, and even the most experienced of shamans need to take a break and just sleep eventually.

But there was water to fetch for breakfast, and canteens to fill. Then there was the making and eating of breakfast, which was a serving of oats and salted fish, coated with more butter than could possibly have been good for us.

Putting tents away properly has always been more difficult for me than setting them up. It’s an exercise of patience and precision, often knocking dirt or sand off even while compacting and tying it.

I never did learn what Helados said to his fellow drovers, but they were deliberately not careful with our supplies. Nothing broken, just a silent warning.

Kismet ignored that warning, and I followed her lead.

It was harder for me to focus that day. Lack of sleep had stuffed my head with cotton, and even my System seemed sluggish.

But we survived. Part of the day a pride of plains-cats marched parallel to us. But then they scented easier prey and were gone.

It was the third day when I learned where we were going.

Outside the ruins of a city abandoned by manfolk, surrounded by a fence of bronze, there were a series of stone buildings and gravestones.

Kismet looked nonplussed. “That’s the Graveyard of Hattan? It doesn’t look so fearsome.”

#

By torchlight, any graveyard or catacomb looks more fearsome. Kismet stood near Gustavian, and I was just behind the swordsman.

The work seemed straight forward. There were skeletons, on whom Crushing weapons like maces and hammers were used; zombies got swords and axes.

The mercenaries would wait until the adventurers got the attention of the undead, and then moved in from either side.

When there was a ghoul leaping from rooftop to rooftop, Adara would plant an arrow in it.

There were sometimes skeletons that remembered some warrior ability or other, or those that retained just a bit of magic, but the adventurers just made the whole process look easy.

By day, we slept to keep the same hours the undead did. I was able to forage full stacks of garlic, mandrake, and aconite into my inventory. There was no shortage of grasses, seeds, nuts, and grains.

I passed on looting the crows nests for eggs; there were a lot of crows, and all of them seemed to be watching me.

It took two days to clear the grounds, and then they began checking mausoleums. Most had intact and locked doors, and these were left alone. The others –

Well, we lost two of the guardsmen, who decided that daytime was a good time to plunder without the adventurers. Diamond swore the idea was Cudgel and Oscar’s, but her story of how things happened was just too convenient.

“That will not stand.” The swordsman said. “Show us this mausoleum.”

When we arrived, he said, “You stay outside, torch, keep me between you and the ghoul.”

“Yes, sir.”

.....

“Philecto Amor. Phil for short.”

“Yes, Sir Philecto.”

He found the door unlocked, and was through.

It was busy eating, crouched but facing the door.

Philecto swung, and one of its arms was flung into a corner.

Gustavian ran around the edge, and rammed a short sword into the ghoul’s neck. It died with a horrified expression on its face.

There wasn’t enough nearby wood, so we dug a small pit inside the fence, and piled a cairn of stones atop them. Anston lead a prayer, and had nice things to say about the deceased.

On the third night, there was a barrow wight. It spat a cloud of maggots and flies, affecting me with Nausea. But the adventurers and enough soldiers piled around, and it died screaming under the tide of swords and axes.

We spent part of the next day compounding garlic with light doses of mandrake to stop the spread of tomb rot the breath had infected some of us with.

All told, it was five days of work. There was no lich, no necromancer, just a lot of low and medium powered undead. Oh, there were other things, like amoebae and deathstings and carnivore moths, but nothing that broke the pace for more than a minute or so. The adventurers had their party, the soldiers had two of theirs, and none wanted Kismet or I.

What they did need us for was keeping a tally of undead put to their final rest. So we kept the skulls and bags of heads, and made tally marks when we were back at camp.

Sixty two skeletons, thirty four zombies, four ghoul dogs, six ghouls, and one barrow wight.

And then we were walking back to town, the majority of the carts filled with grave goods.

#

There were Uruk (Orcish warriors) in the hills, clad in metal plates over chainmail. There were more of them than of us, but not double our number.

“You speak goblinoid?” Philecto asked.

“Learned from goblins.” I confirmed.

“Come, then. Be my translator.”

“You don’t speak goblin?”

“Of course, I speak goblin. They don’t need to know that.”

The Uruk had their own accent, but it wasn’t that different from the goblin’s.

“Hail, friends of the Black Fist tribe. My name is Philecto Amor of Narrow Valley. We are sorry if we are intruding upon your lands. We need only so much as our feet cover, and only for so long as it takes us to pass through.”

“Give us those carts, their contents, and your women. Then you may pass in peace, keeping your arms and armor.”

“Don’t be greedy. These are dangerous lands, and we will gladly give you one part in ten of the value of the goods for you to protect us until we reach human lands.”

“You will give us one part in four, and one woman, and we will escort you to the edge of our lands.”

“Let me explain why that will not happen. You don’t know me, and you probably don’t know Gus down there. But that lady is Adara the Blue. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?”

The Uruk snorted. “That is unlikely.”

“Tell them you’re a Truthspeaker.”

“And is that Adara the Blue?”

“I know that is who she claims to be, and have seen her bow up close. I can verify it is not of common wood, but cannot swear that it is heartwood from an elvish albino tree. I have seen her strike ghouls with it in mid-leap, from a distance of forty seven human paces.”

The orc scratched the bottom of his chin. “It is a good day to die, but perhaps it is better to return home with our boars burdened with loot. For one part in ten, we will escort you off our land.”

Philecto clasped a fist to his heart, and extended the open hand. The Black Fist did the same, and they shook hands.

At the border, there was much squabbling over exactly how to assess the value of the loot, so we made camp just outside Black Fist territory.

But while there were threats and posturing and much shouting, the Uruks eventually accepted their share, and departed peacefully.

And that was how easy adventuring with the premier adventurers of Narrow Valley was.

Alas, our next adventure was – different.

#