Born a Monster

530 Witch Doctor

I wish, now, that I had not glossed over the weeks of training required in Dauria for my pupils to reach second level.

Let me explain, now, for those who don’t already know.

At the basics, one hundred XP earns one a first level class. Once one has that, it is two hundred XP for level two, three hundred for level three, and so on. So it is easy for one to mistake that if doing something for the first time is five or ten XP, that this translates directly into twenty, forty, and sixty things, respectively.

Consider two factors: doing easy things is worth less XP, and as one gains in level, so does one’s divisor increase. Not to the level of mine, which added my twelve levels of Inherent Longevity, but it has a profound impact. Most systems throw away fractions, making the gains for the typical event to be five XP, two XP, and one XP, or twenty, one hundred, and three hundred new things.

This both why professionals and adventurers seek out ever greater challenges, and why reaching third level in a class is considered the upper twenty percent or so of that class. It is why champions, let alone heroes, are extremely rare.

And it is why certain monsters, with advantages over the average person, are considered unbeatable by single foes.

I cannot explain why my System let me combine second level mana (such as Healing faith), a task normally reserved for those with two or more levels in a Divine class. But my ability to do so, rather than rely on Blood Magic alone, earned me respect and just a shade of fear from my fellow Witch Doctors.

It was easy to secure the release and safety of Taranda, over the objections of the cooks, who wanted her while her meat was still tender. Honestly, at least the Hyenadae seemed to like their meat aged in direct sunlight for a day or so, a process they believed imbued it with the power of the Sun itself. <1 >

Taranda had a gift for the making, applying, and changing of bandages. I know, that doesn’t sound like much. Let me explain; as I’ve implied earlier, people with Systems are actually quite durable. Negative numbers half their health before they even make death checks, and negative their maximum health to ensure death. This is why people take time to slit throats and hack off heads and such; it’s often quicker and easier than repeatedly hitting a downed foe.

.....

Naturally, recovering only one of those health points a day means that downed warriors can be comatose for two or three weeks, if they take enough wounds. Cheating those restrictions, with bandages, potions, poultices, and spells is an important part of keeping any warriors or hunters useful. (Or at least returning them to where they can be at full health in a mere five days of rest.)

I suppose it is Lifeshaper, and its linked powers to diminish disease, which saved the most of their warriors. Sure, I had the Miko Light, and the ability to brew healing potions, and the ability to brew herbal teas and remedies, to compound multiple herbs into medicines. The ability to cook these into broths and breads and other foods was also useful.

And it was good that I had so many healing abilities; it didn’t take long for the Hyenadae to observe how much, even imbued, I needed to eat. Most normal people need forty five nutrition or less each day. I needed just under four times that much.

“Enjoy the favor of the chieftains while you have it.” Black Hands (formal name Mwarnak) told me. “We might just be eating you tomorrow.”

As my own health was restored over the next few days, I heeded his mockery less and less. On the third day, I finally asked.

“What did I do to earn such hatred?”

He chuckled. “What makes you think this is about you? I hate Karang and Zivid as well, and strive verbally against them daily.”

I sighed, taking in a long blink. “I wish you bathed daily.” I said.

This caused him to break out in laughter, tapping his witch staff against the ground. “There! There! That is the behavior one expects from a fellow practitioner of magic!”
Taranda watched us silently, and whispered when I was close, “You ought not to encourage their bad behavior like that.”

“To them,” I said, “it is our behavior that is wrong.”

“The rainbow viper may change its color.” she said. “But it remains a snake.”

I had encountered lizards which could change the color of their scales between shades of green and brown. I wondered briefly what colors something with the name rainbow in its name might command.

“That sounds very wise.” I admitted.

“Something Masaad taught me.” she said, sweeping her eyes from side to side.

“You are safe here among the wounded.” I said. “Several of them know they owe you their lives.”

“That wasn’t what you told me two nights ago.” she rebuked me.

I shrugged. “A singular event.”

“You called it an attack, then.”

“I spoke my feelings,” I said, “as I do now. We have a week, at most, before most of the wounded are walking again. We have actually lost far fewer of our charges than could normally be expected.”

Her eyes went dull. She’d actually be tending an expectant mother; one morning we’d found her...

Okay, Hyenadae just suck. Her mate had come during the night with a knife, and slit her throat to express his loneliness. And the other Hyenadae had just accepted it.

Taranda had taken it hard. I thought she would forget, eventually. It just turned out to not be close enough to eventually.

“We should find him and slit HIS throat.”



“Are you serious about that?” I asked.

She squinted at me. “Have I ever said anything else? Go ahead, be like Masaad. Tell me revenge is wrong. Tell me to dig two graves. Go. Ahead.”

“Revenge is divine.” I said, “If you serve the right god.”

“Tell me which demon I need to swear my soul to.” she said.

So we spent much of our time together that day speaking of Sobek. That night, we snuck into the house he was staying at and she committed herself to his service. And though one tribe blamed another, and there was much shouting, the most serious thing we saw out of it was a blackened eye and two people with three cracked teeth between them.

“It is bad.” Zivid (known to me as Brown Left, after his left side) finally said. “There is no external enemy, there should be no such strife.”

I blinked. “You don’t think it’s over?”

“I do not.” he said.

I went back to pouring warm stock (made by boiling bones) down the throat of my current patient.

“It amazes me,” he said, “how much mana you can store at a single time, and the number of types. What is next? Will you be pulling water from stones?”

“It might have to.” I said. “We will run out of water soon, otherwise.”

He opened his mouth and closed it in the way his people used instead of nodding. “There are too many people here, and too many slaves. When the purge begins, it will begin with the slaves.”

“Soon, do you think?” I asked. “Perhaps I should ask for my share of the slaves now, before things reach that point.”

He chuckled. “I see you are eager to depart. It has been an honor, to strive against death with your assistance.”

“It IS sad.” Karang White Face agreed. “You will never be of the people, but you would have made a most useful slave.”

“No.” I said, shaking my head. “That is not an option; never again.”

The first time had done quite enough, thank you. That duration was a year and some months out, and then there was the time serving the deities.

And THEN, I thought, then I would be free to explore the world as I saw fit. I was so very arrogant back then.

I didn’t even consider the truth of their words as I walked up to the command post. My first clue that something was wrong was when the sentries drew their weapons upon seeing me.

“I’ll be back among the wounded.” Taranda said.

“No running,” I reminded her, “unless you want some of them to chase you.”

With a yawn, I turned back to the weapons arrayed against me. I opened my arms to indicate them, summoned a short spear from my inventory. “Tell me,” I said, “that this is not what I think it is.”

“This is exactly what you think it is.” Black said.

“It is time for you to face the consequences of your earlier injuries upon the tribes.” Sandy explained.

“There are four of us.” Blondo reminded me.

I strapped the repurposed surface of a tea table to my left arm. “I have a shield.” I said. “I am ready.”

With barely a giggle, they moved to engage me.

Laughing as though witnessing high comedy, a crowd surrounded us.

<1 > Done properly, such a ceremony only takes ten or fifteen minutes. Extending it that much is just... but I am being a magical snob. Moving on.