Born a Monster

488 The Crowd

I whirled and spun and kept my shield up.

Or maybe I’m getting ahead of myself? I was in what was technically a jacket and trousers of leather, minus a few critical pieces. And the boots were just never going to fit right without some shapeshifting that I just wasn’t (yet) able to do.

“Get him! Kill the [Censored]!” one of the citizens shouted, trying to poke me with a short and blunt chunk of metal. I mean, seriously. If you’re going to try killing someone with near a dozen of your friends, at least take the time to properly care for your weapons.

And... MAYBE... bring someone with two or three levels in a “kills-people” type class.

“Keep near me!” Bigni shouted.

“No!” I replied. “Learn to watch your backswing first.”

“Your loss.” he said, smashing his shield into one of the human’s mouths.

Oh, had I not mentioned that? Although encouraged by a hobgoblin in red and orange robes, bordered in yellow and inlaid in black, of the dozen only six of them were hobgoblins. Four more were humans (probably from Whitehill), and two were goblins.

“Get the black eyed!” the priest exhorted. “Death to the corrupted!”

.....

One of the attackers lost their footing, and I slashed him along the scalp. I didn’t have time to look at the color of critical that was, being too busy blocking at the time.

It was just how the fight was going; they’d close in, strike, and then step back. Two of them were actually good at that manner of skirmishing; others were learning. And the rest? The rest were...

Well, we only got to kill four of them (two hobgoblins and two humans, if it matters) before the others just weren’t there. They backed off, kept backing, and then turned to flee.

The priest tried to grab one, and was pulled off his feet.

Bigni was closer, putting a foot into the man’s lower back as he tried to rise and then putting his weight into it.

Bigni was many things, but light was not among them.

“Heretic!” the priest screamed. “Traitor!”

“YOU attacked us.” Bigni said. “Watch whom you are calling what.”

But he didn’t, so I clonked him good on the head with the pommel of my blade.

“What?” I asked, “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“A blow like that can kill a man.” he reminded me.

I sighed. “He’s still breathing.”

“And whom do you propose asking questions of, to learn why we were defending ourselves?”

“You’re right.” I said, clenching the shoulder of one of the fallen. “I suppose we should just cut off the heads and...”

“Don’t cut of my head, sir!”

Bigni coughed, coughed some more, and then hacked up half a mouthful of blood. “Loki’s itching ballsack!” he said. “I thought that one was dead.”

“No, please, sirs.” our captive begged. “I’ll tell you anything; ask me your questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

“What’s this about the corrupted?” I asked.

“It’s your eyes, young sir. Mangorn said... oh, yes, that one is Mangorn.” he said, indicating the unconscious clergyman. “He says they’re the same eyes as the unholy one has.”

“Something we’ve all noticed, I’m sure.” Bigni said.

I shrugged. “So they’re not normal for human eyes. They’re still the same color as when I was born. Some people are born with red or purple, and I’ve seen one who had silver. I still have not a single point of Taint within me.”

“Meaning no insult, young sir, but that isn’t what Mangorn said. He reminded us that divine casters have ways of detecting Taint. Said he was an authority on the subject. That we had to kill you to lift the curse.”

“What curse?” I asked.

“Ugh. Don’t encourage him.” Bigni said. “We’ll be here all day.”

“What curse?” I asked, pulling him to his feet.

“Hey, ow!” he said. “I’m talking, I’m talking. You don’t have to be so harsh.”

“So talk.” I said.

“And then you’ll let me go?” he asked.

“Bigni?” I asked.

“Leave me out of this.” he said. “Other than the honored Flame Priest, here, I don’t care one way or another.”

“I suppose.” I said. “Curse. Now.”

“The curse that’s making the food go bad.”

I snorted. “Age and outdoor storage are what’s making the food go bad.”

“See?” he said, “That’s what I said.”

“I’m starting to care whether he dies or not.” Bigni said.

“No, no, no! Wait!” our captive said. “I’m getting to it.”

“Get to it faster.” I said. “We’re both riding on adrenaline, which cuts the patience deep enough to kill.”

“I said...”

“Just cut him.” Bigni said.

The captive took off as though his boots weren’t crushing his feet.

“You let him get away.” Bigni said.

I shrugged. “We’ve killed enough, and wounded most of them. Are you sure we can leave the priest laying on his face like that?”

“He came for your life, you just going to put up with that?”

“Seems better than being known as a slayer of the faithful.” I said.

“Heh. You can learn, young soldier.” Bigni said. “So what were we talking about?”

“The merits of cheese as a part of trail rations, I think.”

“No, not merits.” he said. “Cheese is the superior trail ration. Even Captain Brittani says so.”

Ugh. I rolled my eyes, but at least kept my mouth shut. As Bigni had said earlier, it could have taken all day.

“So what do you think of the captain, anyway?” I asked.

“I’m not certain what you’re asking, unless it’s the sort of thing that gets you killed for saying.” he warned.

I discovered you can’t wave your hands dismissively with a shield held in one and a sword in the other. “I’m just saying that Ragnal has his motivation for serving the captain, specifically. Do you also have such a reason?”

Bigni squinted. “The general sees that I get paid. What more reason does a soldier need?”

“None, I suppose.” I admitted. “I just... it seems like the champions all hang out at the higher ranks.”

“Gaining rank takes years of time.” Bigni said. “Becoming champion level takes years of time. Might as well admit that gray hairs are responsible for both.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” I said, convinced there was more to it.

I made the mistake of sheathing my sword.

It was like a signal to the surrounding troops.

“Oh.” Bigni said. “This could be bad. Stand ready.”

They flowed from the tents, a tide of soldiery. They had been watching, and now they came forth. Mostly citizens, but the unmistakable upright gait marked a few as trained soldiers.

“Murderers.” a woman spat at us.

“Do not engage.” Bigni said, slowly, calmly. He led off to the right, and I followed.

“They’re trying to just walk away!” a man called.

“You there. Halt!” called a soldier.

“I,” Bigni replied, “am not in your command. For one, I out-rank you, soldier.”

But anger is not often swayed by logic, and the screaming voices drew the curious. It was like a disease...

I made a System query.

[You have slain eighty eight of one hundred soldiers. Quest incomplete.]

Huh. Twelve to go. I ground my teeth.

“What is this commotion?” the voice was calm, but clearly audible. An extension of amusement flowed across the crowd with it.

[You have resisted a rank two emotional attack.] my System informed me.

“Heh.” said Bigni. “I guess the priests do have their moments.”

He advanced through the masses, which he parted with glares and a simple wave of his hand. His tabard, over the armor, was a red flame on black background. Beneath the flame, a rain of blood drops.

.....

“Or it could be an inquisitor.” Bigni said.

“Inquisitor Malkin, to be precise.” He took a slight bow.

Malkin... I’d heard that name before. Literally, it meant cat. The implied demeanor of that cat... his mother must have hated him. Then, I remembered that in the Covenant of the Thorn, one was given a new name when an adult joined the faithful.

He had only the one guard with him. “Tigrin?” I asked.

Bigni shook his head. “Look at the eyes. That is no longer your friend.”

Tigrin’s eyes were orange, flickering, lit by an internal source.

“Mystic Vision.” I said, applying Death when it was the most readily available of my mana pools. And I know what you’re thinking, and you are right. It was something I knew I needed to get out of the habit of doing, even as I did it.

The curse rested on and inside his mind. Intertwined, the sort of curse that normally required the consent of the one cursed. It was both beautiful and horrid, that curse. And it didn’t just affect his eyes.

It was a golem, made of the flesh and mind and soul of Tigrin.

Abomination is the word for such magics.

Not-Tigrin smiled. “Pale worm.” he said.

Malkin’s demeanor changed instantly, his smile being replaced with something similar, but more sinister. “So... this is one of those my pupil worked with.”

He cracked his knuckles. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Hobgoblin feet are shallower and wider than human ones.

From what I thought of as the northern tribes, migrants who crossed into and out of the Khanate seemingly at will.