Savage Divinity

As the sun rises on our second day in Nan Ping, I celebrate our accomplishments with a nice, long stretch in bed. Things are going better than expected; Baatar and Akanai are living it up in the Magistrate’s Palace, BoShui and Fung have made a name for themselves by defeating two famous young experts, and I have yet to encounter a single assassin. Things are going much better than I expected. I thought we’d all be snubbed or met with outright hostility, but the young Legate seems to have things well in hand. When Han BoHai asked me to curry favour with the Royal Guard Captain and trash talk Central, I thought we’d have to slaughter our way out of the restaurant, but everyone sat back down and finished their meals without so much as a dirty look.

For the first time ever, I experienced the true advantages of power and authority, and damn does it feel good. I can't wait to exert my authority all over Nan Ping.

Cuddling in bed with my goofiest of floofs Aurie, I smile as my fifteen baby bunnies go through their morning routine of running, hopping, and headbutting around the yurt like self-propelled pinballs. Growing larger with each passing day, my bicorn bunnies are almost old enough to differentiate by gender, which comes with a whole slew of problems I’d rather not deal with. As proliferate as they are, I’m probably gonna need to separate the boys and girls before they multiply exponentially and I’m up to my eyeballs in rabbits. Honestly, I’m a little surprised Aurie and Jimjam haven’t started sniffing around Sarankho. They might be siblings, but animals don’t care about things like that. I’m glad Banjo and Baloo are both boys, but their solitary, territorial nature is a whole other issue I'll need to deal with eventually. Then there’s Roc and company, who are utterly fearless around humans and willing to peck, squawk, and steal to their hearts content. Eventually, some angry noble will hunt them down and grill them over a spit if I don’t figure out a way to keep them safe.

Fine. I admit it. I have a pet hoarding problem, but it’s not the worst vice in the world. I just wish they'd stay young and cute forever.

After washing up, I make my way to the foot of my bed and come face to face with a comatose Mama Bun, flopped out on her side atop my clothes chest. Avoiding the messy, milk-stained trap which is her belly floof, I gently stroke her whiskers until she comes awake with a snort. After a languid stretch and jiggly, full-bodied shake, she hops off the chest to feed her babies, revealing the tiny black mass of fur which was previously hidden behind her. Still barely larger than my palm, Blackjack squeaks in alarm and leaps at me, unwilling to brave the chaos on the ground as fifteen bicorn bunnies jostle and shove for a place at the breakfast table.

Comforting him as he burrows beneath my hands, I unleash my loving Aura to soothe his nerves. Although slightly larger than the other bunnies, Blackjack weighs far less than his herbivore cousins and can’t keep up with their rough and tumble ways. The first time I let him loose among the bunnies, he got bowled over and screamed bloody murder. The born predator and future ruler of the treetops had his foot broken by a common, thug of a bunny, which means head-banging, jump-kicking, bunny-play is out of the question. Traumatized by the incident, poor little Blackjack refuses to bond with the bunnies and will only nurse from Mama Bun after all the bunnies are done, like the runty patsy of the litter.

Needless to say, Taduk was not pleased by this brittle-boned, faint-hearted hare. Personally, I have a soft spot for downtrodden and after our unpleasant first encounter, we’ve now become the best of friends. Showering my hand with tiny licks, Blackjack seems determined to win my affection or is possibly reminiscing about how delicious I taste. Who knows. I hope he doesn’t bully his cousins when he gets all swole and buff, or worse... eat them.

Snatching up a random bunny who already finished eating, I plop it down next to Blackjack and Aurie, hoping my big goof can keep the little bun in line so Blackjack can make a new friend. Finally free to get dressed, I pull out the fanciest outfit I own, a blue, satin-silk, high-collar shirt with white pearl buttons and white-fur trim and cuffs. A gift from Taduk, I wore it to Tong Da Hai’s Magisterial challenge and in my ‘duel’ against DuGu Tian Yi. While it suffered a few nicks and tears, seamstress Cierna did a wonderful job patching it up, and while I’ve never worn it again, I pull it out from time to time to admire the beautiful stitching. Three birds taking flight from a pond while a blossoming plum-tree sits in the background, it’s a stunning work of art made by a master who has reached the pinnacle of tailoring.

Or so I thought until yesterday.

My prized silk shirt is practically utilitarian compared to the getups worn by the nobles of Central. Bright tunics peek out from under elaborately embroidered, multi-coloured, wide-sleeved robes, lacking a single patch of unadorned silk as they tell intricate tales of wisdom and courage. Complex hats and hairstyles are all the rage as men and women alike boast a variety of head-gear and hair ornaments, everything from feathered headdresses, pom-pomed hairnets, tasselled crowns, and jewelled hair clips.

It’s got me wondering if I should stick a handful of Roc’s feathers in my hair so I can fit in. Better yet, I could train him to sit on my head like a living ornament. Get on my level Central, though the bird poop will probably ruin the whole effect. Wearing Banjo around like a back-pack is probably a better choice, but his claws will definitely tear the silk.

Jealous as I am of everyone’s magnificent and time-consuming outfits, I can’t say the same for their heavy layers of makeup. I always figured opera actors wore exaggerated and outlandish makeup for effect, but every noble in Central looks ready to step on stage and sing their heart out. Painted white faces and red or black rouge around the eyes is the norm, though others go to much greater lengths to stand out. While individually, most people look downright ridiculous, when they gather in a group, they blend together into a pleasing composite of opposing imagery, like how a collage of dissimilar images and varying colours creates a different, overall impression when viewed from afar.

While the Legate wasn’t quite so ostentatiously dressed, I felt extremely out of place arriving in travel-stained cotton clothes. As the Divine Turtle’s Attendant, I should try to look the part of heaven-blessed hero, or at least avoid looking like a common mercenary. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to properly dress myself in my fancy shirt, pants, and sash, a far more complicated process than clothes have any right to be. Folding up my fancy threads, I pick out a more practical outfit, a brown, fitted, high-collared tunic and pants. I still look pretty fancy compared to my normal loose shirts and baggy pants, but without ornamental embroidery or expensive buttons, it lacks a certain flair.

Whatever, doesn’t matter if I’m wearing plain shirts with bone buttons, I still have my stunning amber eyes to dazzle the masses. I’d like to see the nobles of Central try to copy those, because I look handsome and fabulous.

At least, that’s what Lin tells me and I choose to believe her.

Rescuing Blackjack from the bullying bunny’s attentions, I carry the trembling hare out the yurt while leaving the bunnies to their own devices. After feeding fifteen babies, Mama Bun’s gonna need an hour or two to rest and reload her milk-bags while her babies nap, which gives me enough time to eat and train unhindered. Luckily, Blackjack is old enough to nibble on dried jerky with Roc’s flock, putting his little chubby cheeks hard to work atop Ping-Ping’s head. My terrapin stalker greets me with a beaky smile, though considering how massive her mouth is, it’s more than a little terrifying.

“Good morning.” Dug into a sleeping pit, Ping-Ping’s chin rests on the dirt, perfectly positioning her dark, forward-facing eyes to stare deep into mine. Ugly as she is, I only sense warmth and good-will emanating from her as she gently nudges me for a hug. Happily obliging, I whisper, “Sorry sweetie, I know you want more water but you need to wait until tonight.” Fewer eyes to spy upon my dealings, but her emphatic insistence makes me feel like a drug dealer. I still don’t understand what she loves about the water, nor have any of my other animals shown any changes since I began feeding it to them. Either way, Ping-Ping gets super cranky if she doesn’t get her daily fix and I don’t want to deal with a turtle temper tantrum, especially not when said turtle can crush me underfoot.

Leaving Ping-Ping to chill in the dirt, I enjoy a light breakfast with my family before heading off for my morning constitutional. That’s the worst part about Nan Ping, the flatlands stretch out in all directions as far as the eye can see, so it’s almost impossible to find a sheltered place to poop in. Lacking any other option, I had my officer’s tent set up by the latrines and dug a two meter deep hole inside for my personal use.

Pooping is serious business. Controlling water is merely the first step towards building my personal, indoor, flush-able toilet. If I can’t science the shit out of my chamber pot, I’ll magic it out.

After practising the Forms outside my yurt, I call a mini-meeting inside to discuss the minutiae of leadership with my top brass, Rustram, Dastan, and Ulfsaar. The big bear earned a spot in my inner circle through diligent competence and raw strength, easily the most capable warrior of my retinue, and while Dastan and Wang Bao are almost his match, I can’t really give an Oathsworn slave or former Butcher an official rank. Bulat is still my number three after Rustram, but he’s busy running drills and keeping order in the camp. Every person plays their part in keeping my retinue together, and I’m grateful for their assistance.

Doing my best to look dignified while a horde of bunnies scamper around us and Blackjack nurses from Mama Bun, I stand tall, cross my hands behind my back, and say, “Report.” Gotta work on my image, and practice makes perfect.

Rustram starts off. “Our men are all settled in and the camp well defended. Though we couldn’t find lumber for fences, I improvised and used the lattice walls from extra yurts. They're not the sturdiest walls and the soldiers are sleeping four to a yurt, but they’ll sleep better knowing there’s a barrier to stand and fight behind. We’ve enough dried rations for three more days, but a fresh meal would be much appreciated.”

Mm... kinda makes me feel guilty for going out for dinner last night, but those are the perks of leadership. I should take the family out for lunch, they’ll love it. More importantly, I'll love it, and we don't have to worry about arrogant young nobles ruining everything. “The Legate implemented strict policies to discourage hoarding or price gouging, but we’re still on our own when it comes to luxuries like fresh meat and vegetables. What are the restrictions on hunting or fishing?” How does everyone keep such perfect posture? It’s been like twenty seconds and I’m already hunched over again.

I haven’t gotten around to reading the long scroll of rules, but Rustram and Dastan have it covered. There are oodles of guidelines to keep in mind, but they’re necessary for Nan Ping’s continued existence. If we over-hunt and over-fish the region to extinction, the city will be forced to import food for years while the region recovers. It’s an optimistic view considering the Defiled are probably gonna pillage the city and burn it to the ground in a couple of months, but what do I know?

No no, positive thoughts. We’ll win.

Totally.

Maybe.

I dunno, it's too early to tell.

After half an hour of back and forth, we finally come up with a reasonable plan. First, we send Rustram and Chey into town for fresh supplies, while Wang Bao and Ulfsaar ride north to hunt. The other four officers remain in camp and hold the fort. It’s kinda shitty for the Emperor to order us here and make us pay for food and accommodations, but them’s the breaks.

Once the issue of supplies has been settled, Dastan hands me a bag of scrolls, all with the wax seals still affixed. In response to my raised eyebrow, he smiles and says, “Letters of Challenge. You’re a popular man, boss.”

Ugh. There’s like... twenty of them, do I really look that weak? Maybe I need a beard or something. If only my hair growth formula worked on cheeks and chins. Or maybe I should be like Gerel and go bald. He’s kinda intimidating, I guess, but he's also taller and more intense, which I can't really mimic. “Do I have to respond to each one individually? How does this work?”

“If you accept a challenge, then you pick a second and send them to the duelling grounds to arrange everything. Otherwise,” Dastan says with a shrug, “you burn the letter and ignore the jeers.”

Perfect. “Sound’s great. Burn them publicly and say something about me being too busy looking after the Divine Turtle. Next?”

“A word of caution, boss.” Ulfsaar’s soft-spoken manner belies his ferocious reputation, but he’s a decent sort all around. The bunnies certainly love him, crowding around his ankles and headbutting his boots. Or maybe they think he’s a threat. “Doing so would be unwise,” he says without trying to spare my feelings. “Strength is respected and cowardice spurned. You conquered unworthy foes before the Magistrate, yet sat silent when faced with true challengers, which leads others to believe you were protected by the young magistrate and young patriarch. These challenges are a test, and refusing to fight and offering an excuse will only earn you scorn and stoke their courage.”

“True... but I know nothing about Central’s talents and it’s a waste of time fighting them one by one.” Nor am I brave enough to randomly pick eight and fight them all at once. That’s Baledagh’s thing. “Any suggestions?”

Smiling, Ulfsaar nods and says, “Burn the challenges.”

... “Wasn’t that the plan to begin with?”

“No boss.” Lightly poking me in the chest, Ulfsaar says, “Burn them yourself at the duelling grounds and belittle your challengers. Then, find and defeat Central’s strongest for all to see. This will put an end to their games.”

My people have far too much faith in my abilities. Ryo Geom-Chi and Tam Taewoong didn’t seem too impressive, but they were both drunk and probably unused to fighting without their Spiritual Weapons, while Fung and BoShui have had months of practise without them. Most people forget that Spiritual Weapons are a large part of a warrior’s strength, as the Binding ritual makes it a part of you. At times, it’s like the weapon is guiding you along, teaching you the proper way to kill and fight. Using an unfamiliar weapon is like running in uncomfortable shoes or swimming fully clothed, a handicap which can easily throw you off. Besides, duelling isn’t my strong suit, not when the fight ends at first blood. Most of my prowess comes from my ability to trade injuries and outlast my opponent.

In short, there’s more to lose then there is to gain, so no dice. “Let’s keep that plan in our pocket, should we need it. No sense in ruffling anyone’s feathers unless we need to.” Unperturbed by my refusal, Ulfsaar nods knowingly as if I have a master plan in mind. Crazy bastard probably thinks I’m waiting on a bigger audience or more formidable foes or something.

After seeing Rustram, Dastan, and Ulfsaar out the yurt, I reward myself for completing my occupational obligations with a bunny cuddle session. Unleashing the full strength of my loving Aura, I lay down and giggle while a horde of bunnies hop, flop, and snuggle around me, all ecstatic to be in my presence. I can only target three at a time, but even after my Aura switches to a new target, the bunnies either still remember how it feels or are too dumb to notice it’s gone.

Whatever. This is pure bliss. Fluffy, cuddly, bunny bliss.

Everything comes to an abrupt end as Ping-Ping stands and makes her hunger known with a loud, adorable squeak. Reluctantly packing the bunnies into their saddlebag, I bring them out of the yurt to find a famished turtle impatiently waiting for me to follow. The big girl eats a lot but refuses to go hunting in the sea unless I wait by the beach. It’s ridiculous, but what other options do I have? Lightening myself, I hop onto her back and enjoy the ride as she scurries towards the sandy beach, less than five minutes south of my yurt. Packed to the brim with Sentinels and quins, they all make way for Ping-Ping as she barrels towards them. Hopping off before she reaches the water, I wave goodbye as she heads out for lunch. Pausing before she submerges, Ping-Ping turns and cocks her head, as if asking why I’m not coming along.

Ha, like hell I’m going to swim out into kraken infested waters. I’d rather starve. “Go on without me!” I yell, waving goodbye. “Have fun.” I’m not sure if she understands what I’m saying, but Ping-Ping snorts and heads out into the Azure Sea. Thankfully, the Legate’s fishing rules only applies to people so the giant turtle and our massive pack of roosequins are free to scour the Azure Sea clean of clams, mussels, fish, and whatever else they eat.

Better to take everything and leave nothing behind for the Enemy. If I had my way, I’d burn all of Central and salt the earth in my wake, before going home to the North to hide behind our giant-ass walls.

...I wonder if I can train a quin to bring crabs back? I’m not a huge fan of seafood, but last night, Li Song ordered this delicious, spicy, deep-fried crab which was to die for. Ping Ping usually takes around thirty minutes to eat, helped along by the pack of quins driving food towards her, so after she comes back, we’ll head into town for lunch. While I feel bad for my retinue who are stuck outside the city, I can’t bring myself to choke down another meal of dried meat and hard bread. Things got so bad, I even had a dream of eating Mama Bun, which is a big no-no since Guard Leader would kill me if...

...

Where’s Mama Bun?

Spotting a hairy white blob floating in the water, I choke on my spit and hand my saddlebag of bunnies to the closest Sentinel. “Hold that, I’ll be right back.” Running into the water, I leap over the gentle waves until the water’s deep enough to dive in, reaching the half-drowned Mama Bun in less than thirty seconds. Panicked and afraid, she bites and claws at my hands until I lift her clean out of the water, shocking her into stunned compliance. After giving her time to recuperate, I lower her gently to my chest and swim backwards to shore, consoling the poor, shivering, stupid bunny the entire time. “There’s a good bun-bun,” I say in my sweetest voice. “Everything’s gonna be all right. You must be the dumbest creature alive, yes you are. I have no idea how you survived this long. Why would you run out into the sea if you don't know how to swim?”

Seriously dumb. How am I supposed to keep fifteen more of them alive? I guess I need harnesses. And help, lots of help. This is my life now. Falling Rain, Turtle Attendant and Rabbit Lifeguard.

Oh well. At least she got a bath. The rancid rabbit milk was really starting to stink.

Chapter Meme