Born a Monster

It was when I was laying on the table, stuffing bits of food between my teeth, when one of my fellows decided to have a go at me.

“None of the rest of us have a tail!” she shrieked, laying both hands upon it. “Why do you get to have one?”

She put a foot against my buttocks and pulled.

[You have taken twelve points of Blunt damage; after armor, six points have been received; you have -4/80 health remaining.]

I heard the orderlies react, her screaming almost as loud as mine as their whips struck her.

[You are at negative health, and will experience a period of unconsciousness.]

Sure. Not for the reasons I had planned, but I could use the time...

#

.....

Pain is an odd thing. It usually knocks me out when it accumulates, but in this case it was waking me. Someone was dragging me by the neck brace. Someone with hands made of meat.

Nurse de Rollo. So this must be day four or five after my return, since my biomass reserves were at empty again.

“You little SHIT. You poisoned my food.”

I chuckled. “Nurse, I merely seasoned my food to my unique tastes.” I said.

And yes, that was true. Many poisons of rating two or less had a minimal effect upon me, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral. And many of them had powerful, pungent tastes. Some were even sold as spices by the dwarves.

“You’re going to eat every last bit of that food.” he said.

“You mean the parts you haven’t eaten? I’ll guess the drumstick was the first to go.”

“Oh, you’re eating what’s left of that drumstick.” he said, dragging me into a room that reeked of stagnant water. “But we’re going to start with THIS. What is this crap, petroleum?”

“Is that the Black Blood of the Earth?” I asked. “You don’t want to feed me that.”

“Oh, but I so very much do.” he said, unscrewing the lid, yanking my jaws painfully open, and pouring it directly into my throat.

I swallowed, twice, but spilled some of it. I got enough, though.

Each culture has its unique blend of healing potions. The common ones, like the woodsman’s potion, had an hour long timer, and required a full day’s nutrition to work. The good ones? The good ones didn’t have those limitations.

I couldn’t afford one of the good ones; the Black Elixir took four hours to kick in, but it worked for eight hours, delivering two days of healing. Best of all, it required none of the food that Nurse de Rollo forced down my throat.

He must have been truly out of sorts, I thought, not to realize that I eagerly swallowed everything. Even the packet of saffron. Then, his own intestines gurgled.

“We’ll continue this when I get back.” he said. And we did, but while he was gone, I eagerly reached into the backpack, and moved a small leather sack into my inventory. Not that I couldn’t digest the contents, but that particular mix of salt, silver powder, and chalk dust?

I had plans for that.

I had six stomachs, five from my System’s Omnivore, and one just because everyone has a stomach. There were stacking concerns in the virtual stomachs, of course, but as the person buying the food I’d taken that into consideration.

“What is this crap?” he asked, pulling out a handful of pale stalks.

“That would be hay.” I said. “The kind fed to...”

He began stuffing my mouth with handfuls of the stuff. I ate it.

There are grades of hay, you see. Some are fed to beasts of burden, and others to warhorses. Although, to be fair, most of their meals are of oats and barley and such.

“And now, you rotten bastard, now I’m going to put you back into your cell, to suffer as I have.”

“You’re getting awfully personal, nurse, over a matter of some mineral salts.”

“You knew I’d eat that food.” he accused, already dragging me. Really, I could have walked. It would have been so much less stress on both of us.

“I suspected.” I said.

“Well, the joke is on you.” he said, “because YOU have made an ENEMY. An enemy, do you understand? I will never forgive you.”

I bit back my reply. Things were going too well.

He flung me roughly into my cell, and I found my own way onto my leather slab. Who knew? Two layers of leather between my head and the floor was more than double the warmth of just one. Or maybe it was the warmth spreading slowly from my belly, like a tree branch growing in reverse to my heart, and then back out to the rest of my body.

Such as I could, I slept, trying to not wake every time a bone in my snout relocated.

In the morning, I pulled a butcher’s knife from my inventory long enough to remove the head brace. I wasn’t completely healed, and I was missing more than a few teeth.

My face, my snout... I ran my tongue along the roof of my mouth. The healing wasn’t completely done yet, but it was serviceable. And, for the first time in over a week, I had over twenty health.

I was fatigued, as though I hadn’t slept at all. But my vision, when I blinked, cleared briefly.

I called the dusk flavored mana of Death into my eyes. The amorphous pool of Madness was... gods, that thing could swallow me if it had physical form beyond the blackness under the floor tiles. It did no such thing, but I got the sense that as I was looking at it, it was looking back at me.

I blinked and looked away first.

I didn’t HAVE to confront it, I told myself. All the plan needed was a day, perhaps two.

And then the plan came entirely undone.

“All hail the mighty PAWN.” screamed one of the chess masters. “Pawn, pawn, pawn, pawn...”

It started with just the two of them, but then it spread. Hands were slapped on tables, on walls. Even the armless patron of children stomped his feet.

And the Madness... the Madness pulsed with every cry.

One of the orderlies had fled toward the offices, and the others had unfurled their whips. Two of them stood side by side, like a stopper to bottle us in. Three others lashed about with their whips, demanding silence.

As if whipping people ever caused less noise.

“PAWN, PAWN, PAWN.” they kept chanting. The piece was no longer visible, but they kept at their ritual...

Because that was what it was. A ritual. I sat there, realizing that the triad weren’t the only people attuned to the Madness. There was a competing cult, of madmen and madwomen. And the plan, as I said, came apart at the seams.

I just couldn’t... could I? Could I just kill the three of them, and leave the rest... like THIS?

“You brutes!” one of the patients screamed. “If I had a weapon, I’d...”

I pulled a mining pick from my inventory, and placed it in his hand. It was one of the smaller variety, a single handed pick. But it was sharpened, and steel, and new. The patient looked down at it, turning it to reflect the light differently.

I had expected him to attack, but instead he hefted it high. “Pick!” he screamed, in time with the chant, “Pick, pick, pick!”

The orderlies wasted no time; one struck his whip around the raised arm, and the other two forced him to the ground, wrestling the pick from his grasp.

Behind them, eight other picks scattered to the floor, hurled from my inventory. You see, weapons don’t normally stack in inventory. But a single inventory slot, or space, or box, however you want to envision it, can hold multiple objects of the same type, provided they are small enough. You can, if you have the development points, even increase this number, just as you can expand the “width” and “height” of your inventory.

“Anyone who TOUCHES those ends up in the cracker!” one of the orderlies shouted.

For three instants of time, the chant began to falter. For three instants of time, nobody moved toward the tools I had provided.

In the fourth instant, Jax pounced. “Don’t just be cracked!” he shouted. “Crack THEM on the skull!”

“Don’t you dare!” the orderly screamed.

Jax dared, striking off part of the orderly’s shoulder. Then, shit-throwing woman had one. She assaulted the two at the entrance. One tripped her, and she flailed uselessly at his ankles.

The Madness awoke, breathing itself outward. It settled mainly in its favorites, but also...

[You have resisted exposure to Taint. After sin armor, zero points of Taint received.]

I hardened my will, my Vanity (then my strongest sin rating), and still little pieces of the Madness wriggled in.

More zeroes, adding up toward one.

Yes, I know it’s the Crafter. My sage tells me to use the word pawn, that it will be more recognized by a wider audience.