Savage Divinity

Leading soldiers is a lot of work.

It’s not all training drills and motivational speeches, or logistics and tactics either. Much of the effort which goes into leading soldiers isn’t obvious at first glance, but once Daxian pointed out all of my retinue’s deficiencies, I felt like a complete moron for not seeing them first. Mixed units, dwindling discipline, and piss-poor formations are the most concerning issues, but there are a plethora of other minor matters of contention I need to deal with the immediate future.

Like my drunk of a hundred-man commander for one. Oh Jorani, what happened? You were doing so well before, and now this?

“... and thus enabling your retinue to react to ambush or sabotage in the most optimal manner, whether it be to counter-attack or fall back to defend our supplies.” Looking up from the formation he drew in the sand, Daxian asks, “Shall I move on, or do you require clarification, Sir?”

I don’t like him much. It’s not his bare minimum of respect or his harsh criticism of how I do almost everything, grating though it may be. I get it, he’s a former Major reduced to serving in the retinue of a grossly incompetent Warrant Officer. He doesn’t want to be here any more than I want him around, but we’re both stuck with one another due to circumstances beyond our control. Doesn’t mean I have to like him, and while I must admit he’s not the trumped up, over-hyped, pretty-boy, toy soldier I took him for, my initial plan remains unchanged.

I intend to treat Daxian like garbage until he runs home crying to daddy, because I don’t want either of them around Pong Pong.

I admit, it’s not a great plan, or even a good one, but what else am I supposed to do? You don’t refuse an Ancestral Beast, doubly so when he knows a big secret. Even though I haven’t seen Blobby in a month now, it doesn’t change the fact that GangShu kept quiet about him. I owe him for this, but if I tell him to hit the road and go take Imperial Orders, it’s entirely possible he blabs about it and I get black-bagged and forced to give up my Heavenly Droplet. I’m guessing GangShu and his Ascendants are the ‘powerful allies’ the Legate was talking about, but what he doesn’t know is that they’re not here to help me. I’m just the most convenient excuse GangShu could find to avoid following Imperial orders, and maybe also because he hopes I’ll find Blobby again and keep him safe from Anathema.

I hope that happens too.

I feel kinda bad about abusing Daxian just because I don’t want him or his sexy daddy hanging around, but I’d feel worse if I liked him more. I mean, who calls themselves ‘The Virtuous’? “I have no questions,” I say, “but let’s continue this discussion after dinner. Report to Mister Rustram as his aide and bodyguard, and inform him to arrange an officer’s meeting in two hours.”

Shock and disbelief give way to smouldering anger as Daxian processes my command. Yes, that’s it. Give in to your rage and refuse this assignment, then go into hiding with your daddy and his friends. They’re around here somewhere, but I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of GangShu since Mahakala’s death and I’d like to keep it that way. Unfortunately, instead of flying off the handle and spewing a torrent of insults and obscenities, Daxian diplomatically replies through clenched teeth. “I am to be your second’s aide? You would be better served utilizing my tactical and martial expertise in a command position.”

“You’ll take whatever position I tell you to, soldier.” Is it wrong to enjoy this so much? “It’s not a decision I make lightly. I’m merely a figurehead and I try to stay out of the way while Mister Rustram runs the retinue. Keep him safe and show him the ropes.” Seeing Daxian’s confused gaze, I explain the idiom, “Teach him and keep him alive so I don’t have to step in and mess everything up. Mother knows how we made it this far, but he’s in over his head and so am I. Your guidance in the command tent is more valuable than your spear on the battlefield, and your help will be much appreciated.”

Oops. Too polite. Curse my good manners!

Though still unconvinced, Daxian nods and marches off to harass poor Rustram while I whisper an apology to my second-in-command. Finally free to unclench my butt-hole, I heave a sigh of relief and turn to Lin with a smile, reassured that Pong Pong’s presence has gone unnoticed for yet another day. Most days he’s happy to sleep in Mama Bun’s embrace, but he’s recently grown restless of his comfortable lifestyle and insists on swimming with the quins and Ping Ping in plain sight. I tried to explain the dangers, but communication is still an issue. He’s intelligent and learns quickly, but at the end of the day, he’s still a turtle. Telling him to remain hidden didn’t work because Pong Pong doesn’t hide from threats.

He seeks them out and destroys them.

Thankfully, his... unique status isn’t apparent at first glance, or even second or third. So long as he refrains from smashing someone with his Aura or performing any Heavenly Energy shenanigans, he’s no different from a regular, run of the mill turtle, albeit a beautiful one who swims faster and jumps higher than a turtle his size should. Sick as I am of having an anxiety attack every time Daxian shows his face, my options are limited. King Pong does whatever he pleases, so I can only pray he goes unnoticed and doesn’t recognize GangShu and the Ascendants as his attackers. Should they come to blows, I’m not sure which side would emerge victorious, but I do know I don’t want to be in the vicinity when it happens. I say ‘when’ because it’s only a matter of time before things go horrifically wrong. Even if they never notice anything strange, GangShu has some means of tracking Pong-Pong. While it may be awhile before he goes back to hunting for Heavenly Droplets, I’ll have to choose a side eventually.

Oh who am I kidding? I pick Pong Pong because he’s too damned cute, but also because my primal attraction to GangShu’s chest hair makes me extremely uncomfortable.

Putting my worries aside, I resume cooking dinner for Taduk, Lin, and Luo-Luo. I should thank Charok for igniting my love of cooking, because without his patient and careful guidance, I’d never have discovered how immensely soothing it can be. There are rules laid out to follow, but enough leeway to allow for creative exploration. It’s meaningful work with a clear purpose, and when everything is said and done, I have something to show for all my effort, something I can share with my family and whoever else I so choose to.

Which makes it a hell of a lot more satisfying than most of the things I do on a daily basis.

That said, I can’t keep burying my head in the sand. Daxian’s right. My retinue is a mess and it’s largely my fault. I knew Rustram was busy training with Mom and I didn’t do anything to help. Bulat and Ravil were probably holding things together, but then I assigned them to lead the Death Corps and didn’t promote anyone to take their place. Tack on the constant stream of festivities taking place in and around Nan Ping and I’m surprised my soldiers have yet to start a brawl or incite a riot. I need to get everyone back into fighting shape, or else the Defiled will chew us up and spit us out.

Granted, I’ve got a lot on my plate, like losing Blobby, self-diagnosed multiple personality disorder, my cast iron venture, multiple assassination attempts, social and political dealings, my reduced personal strength, but... uh...

I forgot what point I was trying to make...

Right. I’m in over my head, and could use a tonne of help, especially in regards to my Martial Prowess. Akanai and Baatar left for deployment the morning after Mahakala’s death, and Yan left the day after without dropping in to say goodbye, so not only have I yet to reveal my plethora of mental issues to my family, I couldn’t ask anyone for help about my Keystones. Taduk is the worst person to ask for Martial advice from, and while I considered coming clean to him about Baledagh, it’s easier said than done. I’ve tried to bring it up on multiple occasions, but every time my voice catches in my throat and I come up with some stupid excuse to keep quiet.

It’s fine. I’m dealing with it. I’ll wait until everyone is together again and then I’ll only have to make my confession once. Easy peasy.

After a pleasant dinner in which Luo-Luo remains uncharacteristically quiet, I set out to have a word with Jorani before the officer’s meeting. On the way over, I pass by an impromptu sparring area where Sahb and Neera trade blows. Stopping to watch the show, I’m taken aback by how much they’ve improved in such a short time, their practice weapons a blur as they match each other blow for blow in a lightning fast flurry of exchanges. Impressive as they are, even more impressive is Dastan and Ulfsaar’s match nearby. Though yet to land a blow or even touch blades, Ulfsaar remains calm and pursues his opponent with methodical cunning, building momentum with every swing and denying Dastan the chance to take the offensive without accepting a disastrous trade. Unperturbed, Dastan runs circles around his stronger, yet slower opponent, avoiding the barrel-chested half-bear’s attacks by razor-thin margins while searching for an opening to exploit.

All in all, he’s doing better than I would. Number One Talent in the Empire? What a joke. I’m not even the Number One Talent in my retinue.

Of the five Experts in my retinue, each one has progressed in leaps and bounds since our time in Sanshu. In contrast, I’ve done worse than stagnate, I’ve regressed. While I’ve made plenty of headway with Keystones in my Natal Palace, I’d be lying if I called it progress. Since I received my deployment orders shortly after regenerating my hand and foot, I haven’t had time to test my Keystones in a combat situation. Truth is, I’m scared to test them out because I know Keystones are a sub-par replacement for Baledagh, because he was a Keystone on steroids. Not only did his existence allow me to multitask, it also helped with a plethora of issues both in and out of battle, like my crippling fear of death, my stark disconnect from this world and everything in it, not to mention my natural skepticism of all things mystical.

No need to compare your progress with anyone else. So you suffered a major setback, it’s no big deal. The important thing is you got back up and persevered. We each walk our own path along the Martial Dao, one step at a time.

Wishing I could join them for a spar and work off some of the rust, I leave my Experts to it and head towards Jorani’s yurt. There, I find Ral standing guard outside, not relaxing or waiting, but literally standing guard, his burly frame blocking the door as he surveys the area for threats. Noticing my approach, his eyes go wide with alarm and he knocks repeatedly at Jorani’s door, an obvious signal to whoever is inside, and I can probably guess who and why. Greeting the simple-minded half-dog with a friendly, if strained, smile, I say, “Hey there Ral. Is Jorani inside? Can I talk to him?”

“Err...I dunno.” Torn between loyalties, Ral’s hangdog look is enough to break my heart, his eyes wet and tail still.

“You don’t know if he’s inside, or you don’t know if I can talk to him?”

“Um... Both? No, the first one. Yea. Right?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Leaning close, I force the gentle giant to look me in the eyes. “Tell me the truth Ral. Is Jorani inside?” A small, almost imperceptible nod is all I get, but it’s more than enough. “Is he drunk?” A whimper, but no nod this time. “Move aside please.”

Standing firm, Ral whispers, “Are you gonna hang him?”

“What?”

Straightening up, Ral repeats his question. “You gonna hang him? Chey ses that’s the penalty fer getting drunk on duty. Jor’s my friend, I don’t wants him to hang. I ain’t gonna fight you, but if you wanna hang him, I ain’t gonna move.”

I’ve said it before, but Jorani must be blessed to have a friend like Ral. I’m a little jealous.

Swallowing my anger and disappointment, I take a deep breath and exhale before answering. “I’m not gonna hang him, Ral. Promise. Now move before I lose my temper.” Despite standing almost twice my height, Ral is frightened by the prospect of dealing with an angry me, so after a moment of hesitation, he opens the door and steps inside. Reeking of vomit and sour sweat, Jorani kneels over his chamber pot and empties his guts while Chey keeps his head from falling in. Her lips pursed in grim acceptance, the buxom, short-haired half-dog considers her options, her fingers twitching as she considers drawing the dagger tucked in her boot. “Stand aside,” I warn her, both touched by her display of loyalty to Jorani and the lack thereof to me. “I’d hate to lose two officers in one night.”

Defiant to the last, Chey asks, “Ye gonna hang ‘im?”

“I probably should, but I won’t. When did this start?”

Chey shrugs, and for once, I’m in no mood to appreciate it. “He been like this ever since the shindig down at the Winery. Left whole and came back broken. Won’t say a peep about why either.”

“Can’t say.” Words slurred and almost beyond comprehension, Jorani rests his head against the chamber pot’s rim, which is disgusting for so very many reasons. “National Sec– hic – curity. Real hush-hush.”

Unable to bear the stench, I step out and call my Death Corps escort over. “Take him to the latrines to sober up, then bring him back for a chat. Gently, please. Chey, Ral, you stay where I can keep an eye on you.” Unable to sit still, I busy myself airing out Jorani’s yurt, opening the roof and fanning the door until the interior is filled with breathable air once more. Thankfully, the Death Corps were diligent enough to bring the vomit-filled chamber pot with them or else I’d feel pretty stupid wasting all that effort, so I light a fire and search for a clean place to sit down.

Fifteen minutes and one furious cleaning session later, the Death Corps return with Jorani in tow. Sober as a judge, the half-rat has enough sense to look ashamed, but wisely keeps silent and takes a seat across from me. Gesturing for the Death Corps to leave, I spy a concerned Ral and Chey standing outside the door as it slams shut. Alone with Jorani, I let the silence work for me while studying his sombre expression. Though I would never call him handsome, Jorani looks particularly wretched today, the dark circles and heavy bags beneath his eyes contrasting sharply with his pale, wan cheeks and rose-tipped nose. Bereft of the haze of alcohol, his clear eyes tell a tale of torment and misery, though tinged with a hint of relief. It’s like he wanted to be caught, and perhaps he did, making this all a not so subtle cry for help.

“What happened at the winery, Jorani?”

Surprised by the lack of anger in my voice, Jorani nervously shakes his head. “I ain’t supposed to say. Legate’s orders.”

“If I followed orders all the time, I’d hang you for dereliction of duty.”

Flinching at my cold logic, Jorani sighs. “Fair enough.” Taking a deep breath, he launches into his tale with a faraway look. Though seated across the table, his mind is a hundred kilometres away as he relives the harrowing ordeal of how he saw a Defiled Ancestral Beast dismantle three Heroes of the Empire, peak Experts and Living Legends alike. He tells me how the experience robbed him of courage and instilled terror in its place, and where he once held hope now only had despair. “She toyed with them,” he says, still unable or unwilling to believe it. “Whole thing weren’t nothing but a game to her. Should’ve seen it from the start when lifted thousands of kilograms of dirt to make her entrance, but even then, I believed we could win.” Looking me in the eyes for the first time, Jorani asks, “When faced with so much power, how are we supposed to make a difference?”

“Most nights, I ask myself the same question.”

“And the answer?”

I shrug, wishing I had a better one for him. “We don’t.”

“Ah.” And with that, I watch the last vestige of hope and courage drift away on the wind as Jorani deflates in defeat. “Then ye might as well hang me fer all the...”

In the flickering firelight, the shadows coalesce around Jorani as he waxes on about how useless he is, but I only listen with half a mind. The other half is busy trying to comprehend what’s happening before my eyes as the light darkens and air thickens around him. My vision blurs for a moment and I blink to clear it away, only to realize there’s nothing wrong with my eyes. It’s the world itself which turns hazy and indistinct, but only the area directly around Jorani as the rest of the room remains clear and distinct. My belly protests in discomfort as I focus on the anomaly, my skin crawling and hairs standing at the loathsome sight before me. It’s not Jorani, but something around him, emerging from him, yet the person in question seems wholly unaware of the abominable happenings around him. As if stretched beyond breaking, the fabric of reality snap back into place and everything is as it was before.

Except now, a Spectre haunts Jorani’s mind, born of his resignation and misery.

Well... That’s... disconcerting.

“...And no need to worry about the old rat bastard, he won’t shed a tear. I ain’t nothing but a sorry excuse to him, but I can talks to him first. Actually, I’d very much like to talk to him first, the old bastard got a few words comin’ to him, he do.” Jorani’s eyes burn with anger as he rambles on, wholly unaware he just gave birth to a disembodied phantom of negative emotion which is now egging him on from within. “In fact, I’d -”

“Quiet.” Outraged by the interruption, Jorani holds his tongue, though barely. Still not sure what to make of this, I reach over and palm his head, obscuring his vision as I devour the newborn Spectre with ease. Drained by the seesaw of emotions raging through him, Jorani shudders with its passing and slumps down and almost passes out, taxed by the cleansing despite being host to only a single Spectre. Putting the metaphysical developments aside, I tell Jorani, “Hand over command to your second and report to latrine duty until further notice. You think you’re the only one who’s afraid? There will always be someone stronger, but that doesn’t mean you give up the fight.”

Standing to leave, I stop and try to think of something to say, something I’d want someone to tell me when I’m wallowing in the depths of despair. “Sanshu looked hopeless until Hangman Jorani arrived to stem the Defiled tide. His efforts kept the city alive long enough for others to join the fight, and in doing so, saved millions of lives.” Giving him time to let my words sink in, I look him in the eye and continue, “You still live and breathe not because I’m afraid of GangShu, but because I want Hangman Jorani fighting at my side. Let me know when you find him, will you?”

“And if I can’t?” Jorani’s voice is barely more than a whisper, his spirits low despite the cleansing.

I can take care of supernatural manifestations of anger and despair, but I can’t do shit about plain old depression. “Then let me know and I’ll send you somewhere safe. I won’t force you to fight Jorani, but I could use your help.” Closing the door behind me, I shake my head and keep Ral from going inside. “Give him some time to think.” God, I hope he doesn’t kill himself. “But uh... stay close, just in case. He’s had a rough time.”

Now... what the fuck happened back there and how can I make it stop?

Chapter Meme