Born a Monster

Narrator: Wa Fenya

Lord Xho Pien removed the cowling on the owl’s cage with a flourish, like a street magician performing a trick. The owl, perched where it could gnaw at the bars of its door, was not impressed.

It was a striking bird, decorated with zig-zags of white among a predominantly grey plumage.

“We are in luck!” Lord Xho exclaimed. “If memory serves, this owl is extremely rare.”

He began flipping through his book excitedly, muttering about how he would have organized it better.

“Soo, which of us is the Hunter class?” Lady Kismet asked.

“Why do we need someone with that class?” Hoo Long asked.

“Ability to track beasts?” Lady Kismet asked. “We ARE planning to let this owl go, and see if it flies to one of the Nine?”

.....

One who was not observant might have noticed the owl pause for half a moment, then renew its attack on the door with renewed vigor.

Pharmacist Hwa Song placed a ball of loosely rolled twine on the table. “We tie both its legs with this, and follow as closely as we can.”

“Why both legs?” Gun Nong asked.

“We don’t have reason to hurt the poor animal, unless we intend to eat it.”

This time, the pause was notable. The owl’s head spun almost faster than the eye could trace. He blinked at Hwa Song, and then went back to gnawing. Gnawing at the latch of the door, this time.

And, I noticed, making progress at escaping.

“Here we are!” Lord Xho proclaimed, placing the book on the table. “The Grey Monarch, a breed known for its high intelligence, and suitability both as a chi partner and an arcane familiar.”

The pharmacist, Lady Kismet, and Hoo Long all crowded around the book, competing to glean something from the words before Lord Xho could tell them verbally. Nonsense.

When the owl made its move, springing against the door and taking to wing, I was ready. Unfortunately, so was the owl, biting me with a ferocity I hadn’t expected.

“Nyagah!” I shrieked, missing a wedge of flesh from my right hand, the back of that meaty area between the thumb and forefinger.

“Close the windows!” ordered Lord Xho. “Don’t let that avian escape!”

Of course, the other patrons, being a mixture of the wounded and the ill, took no such action.

Before he could even think of telling us so, myself, Hoo Long, and the Lady Kismet were in pursuit. We should not have bothered; in the twilight of the near dusk, the owl was silent and all but invisible.

Worse, it could fly over tents while we could not. The third time we lost line of sight, we did not regain it.

“Damn that bird.” Hoo Long muttered. “Lord Xho will not be pleased.”

“Lord Xho can suck the loose hairs off my tail.” Lady Kismet said. “Did any of you see him so much as stand up? Lady Wa, how is your hand?”

“It is only four points of damage; there is still time for us to get a good night’s sleep. The wound may last a week or so, but the health points should be back by the time the sun returns.” I said.

If, I thought to myself, Pharmacist Hwa knows his trade. I’d use salt and ginseng; I was curious to see what bandage he would recommend.

We spent a few minutes on a spiral search pattern, returning to the Blue Boar when that turned up, as expected, nothing.

“A pity.” Lord Xho said, when we returned. “I suppose all of us underestimated the intelligence and guile of that animal. If it is bound by life force or arcane trickery to its human master, we can safely assume that it will return to her before the dawn.”

“We should get some sleep, then.” Pharmacist Hwa said.

“Many things should have gone better this day.” Lord Xho said. “Perhaps we can learn more tomorrow, with fresh brains to examine the agent’s belongings.”

I doubted that, but after a meal and a bath, I couldn’t disagree.

Running, it seemed, was getting us nowhere. Perhaps it was time to walk.

#Narrator: Sister Yoshi

Update: Fourth day of summer, Little Monitor

In spite of the cat-noble’s assurances, Little Monitor continues to heal at the rate of one health point per day. So far, there is no indication of spiritual, emotional, or mental decay, and at least his coma is not getting worse.

Captain Feng has approved for Monitor to receive as much hay as he can eat, which turns out to be a monstrous six bales in a given day, four meals of a bale and a half each. I admit being skeptical of the existence of a System Stomach, but I can explain no other way in which he could eat a volume larger than himself.

We had seafood today, and Kang Shi fed Monitor the emptied shells. He crunched them between his teeth (which in spite of their coloration appear stronger than the rot the dark gray suggests) and swallowed. Somehow, he managed to do this with only minimal laceration of his throat and no obvious bleeding.

I would have expected a greater amount of feces, but it has not yet arrived. Nurse Hanta has charge of the patient, her report is attached.

PATIENT REMAINS A REPTILE. PATIENT REMAINS UNCONSCIOUS. PATIENT BEGINNING TO SMELL LIKE A SEWER DRAIN, BATHED PATIENT. FELLOW SOLDIERS AMUSING THEMSELVES WITH PATIENT’S EATING REFLEXES. FECES IN NORMAL AMOUNTS, SMALL BALLS LIKE A RABBIT OR DEER RATHER THAN HUMAN. LIKELY DUE TO HIGH-FIBER DIET.

These reports are not her fault; Nurse Hanta is one of those who learned verbally, and came by her literacy later in life.

I shall continue to observe the case, at least until they remove him to one of the Support Companies.

#Narrator: Manajuwejet

See, the gods think we’re all idiots. Don’t know what a mask is, or how it works. It’s not arch-magery or architecture. I might not have the raw power to build one, nor even detect the difference between a mask and the entity themselves.

What do you expect me to say? For the most part, the gods did godly things, which only rarely affected my own means of survival. When their paths intersected mine, I stepped aside, or burrowed under, and only sometimes let them carry me in their astral wake. Usually because I was going that direction anyway, but yeah, sometimes because I wasn’t paying attention and just got swept along.

In any case, it rarely happens. Nine times out of ten, AT LEAST, when a “god” speaks to a lesser being like myself, it’s one of the servitors in a mask, acting the role of the god, serving as messenger for the almighty.

Sobek was haughty, and self-centered, and loud, and thus those wearing his mask were like that also. So yeah, fat lot of difference from where I scurried along.

“So, yeah. Unless you want to burn a miracle, he’s down for an entire month.”

“A month?” Sobek-mask asked. (At least, I hope it was a mask. Me being un-squashed is a good indicator that it was.)

“Yeah, when the moon grows to full and then shrinks back to nothing.”

“Another delay? ANOTHER delay? Mortals are supposed to be a mix of things, not merely excuses and Sloth.”

“He’s doing his mortal best, but at the end of the day, he’s still mortal.”

“He shall REMAIN mortal if he continues dawdling. The level of his service is inadequate. Please tell him this from me.”

“Sure, when he recovers enough that he dreams again.”

The eyes of Sobek narrowed. Not to slits, but maybe enough to keep out almonds. “He DARES to defy his obligation to be available? TO ME?”

“Look, your greatness. The kid has been trapped inside a castle, in a siege. It was only a matter of time before one of the enemy heroes just ripped him apart like a rag doll. Kid’s tough, he’ll pull through. But again, mortal limits.”

“Mortal EXCUSES. There’s a war. There’s a plague. My mother and father just died. I tried preaching your words to the Thebans, and they have thrown me down this well. Annoyances. They LIVE in that mortal world until they do not; you’d think they’d have a better sense of what is and isn’t possible in it.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s kinda my point, you see...”

“No. I’ve been able to tell mortals to make me temples, and the worship is already flowing in by now. I’ve been reasonable; a small shrine with enough worshippers to keep that shrine stable. TELL HIM that either he supplies the faith and worship agreed, or I’ll find another, more direct way of getting sustenance from his soul.”

“Okay, when he starts dreaming again in a month or so, I’ll do that.”

“Why can’t you do anything BEFORE THEN?”

“Because brain damage. Brains? The things mortals think with. His has severe damage. He can’t dream. No dreaming, no dream guide.”

“I can smell the power on you. You could do this thing if you wanted.”

“Nope. I’ll carry the healing miracle to him if you get me one, but my power is mine, and the rest is Sekhmet’s. Your sisters, not yours. You think she’s spending any of HER power so that you can have a minor shrine out where there aren’t even Numerians? Have her tell me that herself.”

“Insolence. Go away, nearly mortal spirit.”

“Okay. See you in a month or so.”

“His next report is due in ten days!”

Whatever.