Born a Monster

“Gamilla,” I asked, “What is the current status of our crew?”

“Those that remain are causing problems at the inns and nearby taverns.”

“Restless, then. How many of them remain?”

“Perhaps twenty percent. If I hadn’t already paid for both inns, I’d consolidate them into the one.”

“What is the exact number?” I asked.

She rifled through her papers, slapped one onto her table. “There. Last week’s accounting for who is here and what they did in the old crew.”

I browsed the document. “This... is sad. So all of our crew with a full year or more experience has left us?”

“Anyone with skills useful to another vessel has left for that vessel.” She confirmed.

.....

“Gamilla, Harvest Week is next week. When in Spring will the repairs to the Outrage be completed?”

“Six to eight weeks, but we’ll still be in harbor until the spring storms break.”

I sighed. “That ship is a useless waste of lumber without a crew, to include captain and officers.”

“Every captain who has a right to be is already in charge of a ship.” She said.

“Then we may need to make do with the best among those without such a right.” I said.

She made a chewing motion, like she wanted to spit. “I know who that is. Just give me until winter. There must be better options.”

I sighed. “I have a potential lead on where we can get a better captain, but I’ll need twenty gold pieces and passage to Dauria.”

“The Daurians only trade through New Boadiccea, the Manoran port.”

“So, you’re saying I need to get my message to them sooner, rather than later. What do we know about them?”

“Dauria claims to have an empire larger than the rest of the known world combined. More people, more resources, more production, more magic, just more of everything. So, they tend to be arrogant sots.”

“Culture has a loose caste system; nobles, farmers, warriors, merchants. Families squabbling over status, and the hope of getting a higher caste. Struggling with the reality that they might get kicked out of their current caste for a lower one.”

“Wait.” I said. “Farmers are a higher caste than warriors?”

“Yes, and it’s not just farmers as we understand them. Pearl divers, miners, lumberjacks – anyone who gathers resources from the land is a Farmer to them.”

“Anyone who gathers, does that include those who locate the resources?”

“No, those who find but don’t harvest are merchants. But, foresters, who just plant trees, are farmers. I’m unclear where that line is, myself.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Okay, I’ll learn that from an expert, then. How are they going to see me?”

She raised her fingers, counting them off. “You have no blood ties to their ancient first emperor, so you’re not going to be a noble. You don’t produce anything from the earth, so you’re not a farmer. You aren’t a member of a recognized military, so you aren’t a soldier. That makes you the lowest caste, a merchant. Until you act like... like yourself, and then you’re a barbarian, or outsider.”

“What if I presented myself to them as an outsider?”

“Then they wouldn’t speak to you at all. Understand that their ship only carries one or two merchants, and those are the only ones who speak to the rest of the world.”

“So, I either present myself as a merchant, or give up any hope of contact with Dauria?”

“Any PEACEFUL contact. Yes.” She said. “And honestly, it should be Kismet or I who presents ourselves as the merchant.”

“Because you have higher Charisma scores?”

She looked at me like I’d asked how many horns a unicorn had. “Because Dauria, from the empress on down, is a matriarchy.”

#

[System Error]

I tried a few other variants, such as Female and Woman. Dang it, I could transform into entirely other species. I KNEW I could become a female. The differences weren’t THAT much, compared to other changes I could already do. My System was just... being doltish.

Well, there was another set of evolutions, so I queued three of them, and set the level 2 eyeballs to develop. Gods, just a few weeks ago I’d been at maximum biomass storage, and now I was down to under three hundred.

My blubber layer had grown back in nicely, though. I was sweating worse than most humans, and still my breath was hot and humid. Summer is not the season to grow a layer of blubber for.

I spent at least an hour swimming, as my Physical Exercise Regimen had reached 30/30. Of course, my system hadn’t mentioned that, nor the fact that my Mystical and Psionic regimens were also waiting for a breakthrough.

For physical, swimming, an activity that combined cardio and muscle exercise.

For Mystical, I had to meld mana into compound types, primarily Life and Protection, with an occasional Celestial Heavens.

For Psionic, I needed to make messages with context. Not just ideas, but feelings, sensations... The sort of thing that I’d had to do to communicate with Blackfur. Somehow, it only counted if I did that for no less than forty minutes a day.

And although you’d think I could just increase my fatigue meter, mana pools, and psi points with that training, it just didn’t work that way, and my System was just not helping me with increasing any of those.

Gamilla was pushing herself to the limit just making money; the coins I had sent north with the diplomatic packet hadn’t helped that in the least. Kismet and Madonna were off on the first of their three spa weeks, also not helping the budget.

So that left me, alone, to endure lessons on Daurian language, and customs, and religion. Oh, and more about tea than I ever wanted to know.

Tea crossed the boundaries of caste; it was part of their religion, their commerce, and even how they communicated. There were ten tea ceremonies, two for each element. Yes, they used the five elements mandala of Earth, Metal, Water, Wood, and Fire.

Anyway, there were only two of those ceremonies I was able to learn. One for greetings among merchants, and one for when a mutual friend had died.

“What do you know about reincarnation?” the old man asked me.

“It’s a load of bunk?” I guessed.

“Not to the Daurians. Part of their religion is that there are only so many souls in circulation.”

“Okay, I’m a bit confused about circulation, but I can understand limited if large numbers of souls.”

“All right, now realize that those souls go through stages, an elemental cycle for souls, if you would.”

“Yes, everyone goes through the stages of life.”

“No, no. Life is only three of those twenty stages, and sometimes two if you die before growing old and wise.”

I blinked. “So, souls go through a cycle that lasts two thousand years?”

“The Daurian religion believes that the entire cycle lasts between ten and twelve thousand years.”

“But the Daurian empire itself is only eight thousand years old.”

“Ah, yes. Also correct.”

“I notice that gives them two thousand or so years before they are proven to be mistaken on this point.”

“A matter of faith for them. They look forward to the return of their founding souls, for the empire to be reborn and to take the rest of the world, as it should.”

“Sounds like exactly the thing that the Legendary Heroes are summoned to prevent.” I said.

“It would be. If anyone knew where any of those legendary weapons were.”

I sighed. “I’ll head off your next questions. Yes, I believe the Axe wielded by Rakkal is the Legendary Axe. I don’t understand how it is that he’s the first to wield a weapon without being summoned to it...”

“He’s not, but go ahead.”

“Wait, he’s NOT?”

“Not even close. It’s been happening since the First Men made those weapons, oh... eight, nine millennia ago? Not a lot of history known before that. In fact, all of the legendary weapons were made to be wielded by the First Men themselves. It wasn’t until the first rejection that the summoning of heroes began, and it wasn’t commonplace until the rise of the Shadow Mother.”

“Wait, what? I’d heard the Shadow Mother was the reason they made the weapons.”

“Not even close to the truth. But tell me, would you rather learn about the weapons, or about modern Dauria?”

“Modern Dauria,” I said. I’d like to say that’s the moment I felt history slip away from me, but I had no such insight. “I’ll take the weapons history later. Some time next year.”

“I’ll be happy to teach you.” He said. To get ahead of myself, he caught a case of wet-lung that winter and died. But not knowing that then, I proceeded along my immediate line of questioning.

“The weapons figure into Daurian history, too, don’t they?”

“Indeed, they do. Let me tell you that story.”

#