Born a Monster

349 Wary Dolphin

Plotline: Main

Type: Social

When the vessel arrived, it was small, and square rigged. At the time, I couldn’t tell you who had built her, but I know now that it was Furdish inventor Jana Velossa, working off what she had been told were Numerian designs.

It was crewed by Norvik... and by people with distinctive green to grey to tanned brown skins, built tall and broad and muscular. Uruk. People from my homeland. And yes, indigenous to other places as well.

So, eventually, our colonists had arrived, or at least the military force to get humans used to looking at other peoples. In the backlash after the latest draconic age, the slave races took to diminishing the numbers of their former masters. Then, the humans began a near-genocidal campaign against the other races.

And then, after two generations of war, it suddenly stopped, and populations regrew, the remaining monsters pushed out to the edges, giving the people room to behave as the monsters had.

A month had passed, and Sobek had decided that my new quest would be to slay as many agents of the Raven’s Feather as I could discover, and send the Feather home with a defeat.

It was more vindictive than I had been planning on being, since above all I wanted to know why strangers were trying to kill me. Not that it was anything new, but these particular strangers hadn’t met me, at least not that I knew about.

The first of the storms of winter had arrived a month or so ago, rearranging the topsoil and the foliage that kept it in place. The official ceremony was still a week or so off, but the Daurians were planning to make it a big one, doubling as the official peace while their troops ‘subdued the rebellious elements among the populace’.

.....

Thankfully, my companions were not to be among that element. Kismet was packed, Madonna was seeking the proper servants, and Gamilla had little enough TO pack. In terms of things, each of us had less than we’d arrived with, although Madonna had her Ermine Cloak, part of the panoply that was crucial to her quest.

So far as I could tell, we were all eager and glad to be off the prison island of the Daurians. For that matter, so had multiple thousands of Descendants, although since they left in Cult of the Octopus vessels... Anyway.

The recently rebuilt baths had guards around them, to keep me from contaminating them with my presence. It was a wise move. Although I didn’t gain any [Envy] from looking up at them, I did miss the ability to bathe.

Somehow, standing in the cold, cold rain just isn’t the same sensation.

There were guards around my companions as well, when they emerged. Although recent food surpluses had removed the need for rationing, each of them looked lean, skinny. Thinner.

But Kismet seemed full of energy, and Madonna wary (as though this ship might also be burned to the waterline and sink), and Gamilla...

Gamilla looked just horrible.

“Are you okay, Gamilla?” I asked.
“I’ll be better once I can no longer see this place.” she said. Then, “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I’m just using my Reticule to...”

She struck me. Not the way Kismet would, but the way a fellow Pankratios might.

[You have taken eight points of Bludgeoning damage. After armor, you have taken two points. 78/80 health remain.]

“You LEAVE ME ALONE!” she screamed. “I survived for TWO SEASONS on that hellhole, and you were NOWHERE NEARBY.”

“Okay.” I said. “I’ll give you your distance.”

“You’ll give me my life back. I am leaving your service, sir.” she replied.

“Could you wait until we pay back the Spiro family?” I asked. “I’d rather that debt is cleared all at once.”

She spread her arms at waist level, a challenge among the Uruk, not the dismissive spreading of hands the Daurians had accustomed me to. How had a hobgoblin picked up that body language? From Narces?

When had he ever taken such a pose? No, focus. Gamilla was speaking.

“What plan could you possibly have?”

“Danton the Black, pirate admiral, commands three ships.” I said.



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She viewed the members of the Wary Dolphin, our boat. “Strapping lads, but I wouldn’t pit them six to one or more against even the sorriest pirates on the seas. And these islands seem to draw in athletic seafarers. Some more veteran than others.”

“And what if we could turn his crews against him?” I asked.

“Ha, pirates love only coin, which we have none of.”

“But we have the log books.” I said. “Of your mercantile genius.”

She scrunched her face at me, but said nothing.

Kismet punched me in the back of the kidney. “More words, less staring.”

Gamilla raised a finger toward Kismet. “I can fight my own battles, young woman.”

“Never said otherwise.” Kismet said.

“Okay.” I said. “Gamilla, how much profit could you make with three vessels? Do you think it’s more and for less risk than Danton is making them?”

Her eyes flickered with life again. “Enough that I might be able to sway Danton on the idea as well.” she said. “I’ll need paper, inks, quills. UGH! And information most of all. My market figures are seven months out of date. Curse you for ever bringing us here.”

“We got what we need.” Madonna said. She was wearing her trophy. “But let’s be away from here sooner rather than later.”

On that much, we agreed. I had to swim alongside the longboat so that the women could have all their bags in one load, but I honestly didn’t mind. It had taken all my willpower not to plunge into the sea and swim to greet that ship the moment I saw the speck of her on the horizon.

As we approached, we saw the burn marks along one side of the prow, the frayed and broken side netting where clawed things had clambered up from the ocean, seeking to make meals of the crew. Gods, to replace the social challenges of this land with things I could strike and kill!

I saw the warning signs, and did not care. Each of us was a champion, and each could pull our own weight on the seas. And, as Gamilla had said, the crew...

Laughing gods, the crew was in tatters. Barely covered wounds, people missing eyes and fingers, people limping or walking hunched... they’d been through something ugly, and just in the past day or so. There were sharks that kept their distance, but I noticed they didn’t stray far from the Wary Dolphin. Yesterday, then.

Because of course, nothing ever went smoothly in my life.

But the effort of hefting luggage on board was soon done, the crew moving the bags into the hold with proficiency.

“It is normal,” a woman said, “to greet the captaine when coming aboard her vessel.” a woman reminded me. She was blonde, her hair swept back into a stern braid. Over the left half of her face, she wore a leather half mask that looked less rugged and stern than the half of her face that was showing. Her eyes were a shade between cerulean and that of the sky. Save for the stiff way she moved, she might have been a Valkyrie candidate.

I bowed my head. “No offense was intended, captaine. My companions and I are eager to have this island over our horizon.”

“That friendly, are they?” She spit over the railing.

“They are polite enough, when not busy killing each other.” I said. “Once that civility drops, though... We’ll just all be eager to be rid of this place.”

“Mister Tibbs!” she shouted. “The ambassador wants to be rid of this place. Oars into the water!” And to me, “We’re short on rowers, at the moment. Can any of your companions manage an oar?”

I flexed my arms. How long had it been since I’d properly exercised? I’d stopped gaining XP on my Physical Training Regime, maybe some time on an oar was exactly what was needed to shake loose of that plateau. “My companions need their rest, but I’m willing to give it a try. How hard can it be?”

She chuckled at me. “I’ll ask again tonight.” she said.

It was hard. Not in terms of raw effort, I had more than adequate muscles for that. It was, instead, a matter of the precision in which the oar needed to move. Only so far up, turn just so to clear all but the edge from the water, forward at a speed that didn’t collide with the oar ahead or behind. Down just so far, that all the edge of the oar was in the water, back at speed and force that was uniform on both sides.

And then repeat, repeat, repeat.

Damn you, Fu Dog Kumanchu, but thanks, also. I wouldn’t have developed my muscles so quickly if not for your compulsion.

Oh, and another thing of note. Bards will sing tales of people chained to their oars, but that wasn’t the case inside the Wary Dolphin. The Norvik had other uses for slaves; this manner of brutish, boring work was reserved for the strong. For volunteers, many of whom also had recently treated wounds.

During a break, I tried to whip up a point of Healing mana, but I had a muscle cramp at the wrong time, and the mana flowed out the nearby oar portal and into the ocean.

But the important part – we were finally away.