Born a Monster

535 Manitou

Let me briefly explain where a Manitou falls on the spirit scale, as it’s more than just a power thing. Yes, Manitou are usually force four or above (the average of their statistics by your System, usually). My reticule told me that the spirit of that hill was a seven, but I can count on one hand the level of faith I have in my System’s numbers. It can’t even...

Ah, but I’m letting myself get distracted. Manitou are powerful spirits, but it is more than that. There is a matter of an injustice, usually by mortals, that turns the spirit hostile. Not a passing anger, but an ongoing rage that can last for generations.

And this one seemed angry at me, in particular.

<I can sense your anger.> I sent. <Have I in some way offended?>

<As if you don’t know.> it huffed.

<I am a Truthspeaker.> I said. <I literally cannot lie to you.>

<So you say now. But your actions betray you.>

<Which actions?> I asked.

<You must already know!>

.....

<And yet I don’t.> I said. <I only think I’ve been on this hill long enough to cross it before now.>

The spirit wrenched my head, and then my body, around to look at the valley below.

<THERE! > it sent to me. <There lie the corpses of your slaughter!>

<The farmlands?> I asked, but that wasn’t quite where it was pointing me.

<There were three.> it sent. <Three baby forests, barely new to the world. And you butchered their corpses for your meaningless bloodshed!>

<I didn’t... graak...>

Had I done that? I didn’t remember doing anything like that. At worst, I used my Carpenter skills, and skills from what would become my Industrialist class to... to help make the lumber yards more efficient. Lumber yards that had cut down living and dead trees alike, and left only raw stumps behind.

<I... I had a hand in doing that.> I admitted.

<Did you plant new trees to replace those cut down?>

I shook my head. <I told them... but they did not listen.>

<Did YOU plant even a single new tree?>

Crap.

<No. I did no such thing.>

<Did you...>

<I did not even try.> I sent. <I know better. I knew better, then. It is a betrayal of my duties as Shaman. the requirements Land, and did not attempt to meet obligations.>

A cold wind howled downward from the heights, filled with rage and vengeance.

<You admit your crimes?>
Gods. But what could I do? Truthspeaker.

<I acknowledge my crimes. I they were> I took a breath. <I... I admit should be punished.>

<You will accept punishment.> it sent. <This way.>

For fifteen, possibly twenty minutes, it marched me closer to where the kobolds had carried their fallen leader. I feared the hill spirit meant for them to splatter my blood across its face.

<Here. > it sent. <This gulley. Long have I filled it with rocks, spiders and scorpions blood drinking shrubs. You will hurl yourself head first down this gully not attempt to stop. Should your tumble be halted, you shall stand only long enough body again downward. Until reach the end,>

<This shall be your trial, a trial of endurance.> it informed me.

<Oh. > I said. <Okay. >

<You speak the words, but your body hasn’t...>

I flung myself into the steep furrow in the side of that hill, and stopped counting my waterless dives at the fourth one. Dawn had touched the top of the hill before I came to rest, bloodied, at its foot.

<How is it that you do not die?> the spirit asked me. <I can see how your neck is twisted.>

I did not try to hide my pain from my sendings. <I am very flexible.> I gasped and wept openly. <My skin and flesh are resistant to damage, I can take much more damage than most people. Still... That was painful; am both wounded injured.>

It still raged, but was not entirely unsatisfied. <I abide by the rules most ancient. I have named a punishment, and you accepted it. Go forth, sin no more.>

<WAIT. > I sent. <The murdered. Did none of their seeds land on fertile earth?>

<Man most mortal, do you not have eyes? Go, look for yourself among the graveyard of your own actions. See what horror wrought.>

[You have 44/120 health remaining.] my System reminded me.

I also had two [Fractured Vertebra], a [Broken Finger] on my left hand, a [Shattered Knee, Right], and (of course), a [Concussion, Level 2].

Go ahead, check your own System. See how hard it is to get one of those at anything other than the basic level. I’ll wait.

As if to add insult atop the injuries, [You have failed to get a night’s sleep. You have lost six Sanity and six Serenity. You have 62/80 Sanity and 14/40 Serenity remaining.]

Wait. I had what?

I went about the question in other ways, but the numbers did not change.

Like the merciless force of nature it was, the Sun rose over the Dagger peaks, shining its warming light upon my body, and especially right into my eyes. Damn the Sun!

Moaning, I rolled left. There were uncomfortably sharp rocks there. Maybe right?

Nope, more rocks.



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Technically, where I was is called a scree. It was a bed for stones and the crushed remains of unlucky animals.

I slipped many times before getting to the lip of that depression. Level 2 Concussions were clearly nothing to laugh at.

I blew what blood I could out of my nose, coughed up more from lungs and stomach. I swayed for a bit... and then I was ALMOST fine.

I couldn’t put too much weight on my right leg, and couldn’t support myself on my left leg alone. A pair of invocations of [Meld Wood] upon some broken branches, and I had an ugly but serviceable cane.

By then, I could hear the horse. It was steady, and approaching, and easily seen (being roughly six times my size). It was mostly white, but with hooves sporting black coloration almost to the knee, and a patch of brown about its left eye.

Upon its back, a hobgoblin rode. His metal armor was black, which I saw later was a combination of soot and tar. The tip of his lance was slightly bent, its tip dull from repeated impacts. It was still serviceable, if in desperate need of a better cleaning.

He rode his horse to a distance of forty paces, where he stopped.

“I suppose I owe my scouts an apology. I had told them that you were a kobold, and yet here you are, the Heretic himself.”

“Heretics are people who practice wrong.” I responded. “I sir, am a Heathen. My god is not yours.”

I pulled a shield out of inventory, and almost strapped it to my arm. The sun is merciless, its light revealing things I would have been happier not to know. I tossed it aside, and found the next shield more intact.

He chuckled. “We, also, have had problems with termites. They seem to infest this land.”

I shrugged. “Too many stumps, left in the ground for too long. Dig them up, burn them. Your termite problems should be easier to deal with, afterward.”

We both let our gaze turn toward the nearby lower hill, covered with its stumps, though I suspect we had different thoughts on our minds.

“I’ve half a mind to end you, heathen or heretic, right now.” he said.

“That half of your mind is foolish.” I said. “Bit, bridle, saddle, but no stirrups.”

<It’s rude to point, you know.> the horse sent.

<I was indicating the saddle. Your rider says he’s thinking of charging with that lance his.>

The horse neighed and spat. <It is effective.>

<Really? How does he stay in the saddle?>

<Excuse me!> the rider sent. <WE are having a discussion! Leave my horse out of this.>

The horse pawed the ground. <That’s not what we agreed. I am the hell NOT your horse.>

“Do the two of you need a moment alone?” I asked.

“No, of course not.” said the rider.

<If you wouldn’t mind, thank you.> sent the horse.

“How dare you!” he snapped. “I am your rider, and you...”

<RIDE THIS, ASSHOLE!> the horse said, rearing up hard enough to cast him to the ground. <Good luck finding another gullible horse. I’m done with your shit.>

And then he took off east by southeast.

“It always amazes me how fast they can move when they want.” I said. “It puts my own sprinting speed to shame.”

“AH!” he said, failing to rise. “Damn you, my hip is cracked. I won’t be able to walk for at least a week.”

I smacked my lips together. “I’d offer to make you a cane, but in the distance, I can see two squads already coming for you.”

“If you have any loyalty to your own nation, you’ll see me dead before they can get here.”

I snorted. “My people taught me rules on who gets killed, and when, and how. Besides, I can’t eat a full person; killing you would waste good meat.”

.....

“You don’t know who I am.” he said, as I turned away. “You will wish you had killed me today.”

“Maybe after you heal.”

I limped off before the troops arrived.