Born a Monster

She sent me a picture of two dead bodies, and the PAIN of a wound in her side.

I needed to learn healing magic; too many people around me were getting hurt.

I sent her an image of Igrun Sivert.

Her tail wagged.

I sent her the System links to record experiences.

She stood on all fours, practically vibrating with energy.

.....

She sidestepped an arrow.

I watched her Shroud herself, dodging while running. I couldn’t have done that; not against that many arrows.

Cussing and shouting, the thanes (or erlshields, if you want to be picky about rank) came out of hiding, those with bows or crossbows firing rapidly into the night.

“Svein, Odmund, look.” Tomas Istre knelt, pressed the ground, and raised a gloved hand. “Blood.”

“Aha.” Said Odmund, “It bleeds, and that means we can still kill it.”

“The morning will be better, when we can see the trail.” Svein said.

“I and mine will start now, then, and see how far we can follow the trail by torchlight. One of you two can relieve us in the morning.” Tomas said.

“I will take dawn, and you can take the late day.” Odmund said.

“I will take the dawn, and YOU can take the late day.” Svein responded.

Come the dawn, both of them were leaving.

I decided not to waste the opportunity. “Madonna, have you and Kismet sworn household oaths?”

“I have, perhaps Kismet as well. What are you thinking?”

“Evil thoughts. We have a few hours without thanes or huscarls. That means just the Jarl and his relatives.”

“And the womenfolk who are trained in the combat arts.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, let it be safe for them this time, and then when their guard is lax, THAT is the time to strike.”

“I’m not a big fan of waiting.” I said.

“Well, why don’t you set your magical creature brain to defeating their magical defenses?”

“Are you and Kismet safe?” I had seen and heard things, that made me think women were... not treated with the same respect they were in the Tidelands.

“We are both property of the Lady Ingrid. While she protects us, we are safe. Well, as safe as we want to be. I want another soul, poor Thane Roarson’s ghost is just ... not holding together.”

“So you didn’t actually get his soul, just his ghost?”

She shrugged. “Improving as I go.” She said.

#

Well, my day was pretty boring. I picked up a lumber axe, sized for an adult, trekked off into the woods (which yes, were over an hour’s walk away), located dead trees, and chopped them up for firewood.

Oh, and if anyone tells you they made a wheelbarrow right on their first go, or even on their first day of trying, send them my way if they need a job. It was a lot like making a boat with handles and a wheel, which is near impossible to make round with just an axe.

So my contraption kept me productive, but I could tell I’d be working on improving it.

That first day, I only delivered two loads. Lady Ingrid was not happy, until I explained that there was an entire rest of a tree out there, I just needed to gather it.

“This primitive cart, is there enough wood there to make more of them?”

“Easily one, perhaps two.”

“The craftsmanship is beneath what I’m used to, but clearly better than nothing. Make the carts, we’ll pay coin for the firewood.”

It was after the evening meal, which was a thick porridge of unidentifiable greens with little chunks of hardened meat, before I got to call up my Mystic Sight and view the wards. They were new and strong, and actually quite thorough, punishing thieves as well as those who would shed blood. The longhouse was protected from water, fire, lightning, and to a lesser extent even axes and arrows. To call the great hall a fortress would be exaggerating, but it was hardly just a house.

And to the spirits, it WAS a fortress. Thick walls, a hearth line that extended across the full range of emotions, from the waking world into dreams, and allowing the spirits of the dead egress but not ready access. It protected against scrying and detection (inside the walls; the hall itself was lit up like a beacon in Mystic Vision), and even tried to scrape off curses as people entered. If the mystic defenses had a weakness, it was related to that.

The house being on a leyline, or font of earth-power or dragon-power or natural chi, or whatever other way you know of such things, it didn’t even require human power to run.

All of this had been built in just a month? Even with the runes from the previous ward... this was an impressive work. I truly wish I’d been aware to experience it being made.

Kismet and Madonna were visibly upset by my report.

“We were hoping for something more like a solution, Rhishi.” Kismet said.

“For example, something that turns the wards upon each other.” Madonna said.

“For that, I would need runic tools. Runestones aren’t just lying around untended.” I explained.

“Pity that runes can’t be carved into wood.” Kismet said.

“True, if only we knew a Lumberjack or a Carpenter.” Madonna said, “Perhaps even someone with both classes.”

Their looks toward me were not kind.

“BEFORE we get Seamstress or Weaver, or whatever crud class one gets from these spinning wheels.” Kismet said.

#

Well, there are reasons why one hires a professional Mason to build houses from stone or brick. For similar reasons, one should rely on professional Enchanters and Alchemists and Runesmiths for the tools of their trades.

It wasn’t just a matter of time, infusing magical powers into physical objects is just dangerous. At least the way I was doing it.

I’d just broken my third rune of mankind when Blackfur stepped out of the shadows.

said a bundle of black puffball, walking in from the scrub brush.

Blackfur snarled at her children.

I sent.

I began with the tale of the lagoon, of my own brothers and sisters, of how we behaved without a parent to guide us. When I got to the Day of Frenzy, I sent them pictures from my memory as well.

It took two hours.

asked one of her daughters.

sniffed Puffball.

One of them looked sad, his tail drooping between his hind legs.

cried another daughter.

And to me, Blackfur sent.

It was a crew of four women, with the wheelbarrow I had made. Oh, and they definitely had their own ideas of what was wrong with them, and how they could be improved. Some of them I could do, the others... I had a long way to develop before some of the others would be real.

“How are the gardens doing?” I asked.

“Stay AWAY from the gardens, o devourer of all. They are the province of womenfolk and the providence of the entire great hall. As the herbs and vegetables mature and ripen, that is as we pick them and use them, and not before.”

Well, I had a stomach full of nicely digesting wood chips, so I couldn’t very well defend myself. So, we loaded up the wheelbarrows (I had one close enough to completion to hammer together and use) and made our way back.

And then a second load that I did solo. Tomorrow, I’d need to find a new tree. I scattered wood chips to mark the path. I didn’t want it to become a fixture of the terrain, but just in case.

#