Born a Monster

195 Servant of the Axe, 95 – Away At Last

Chapter Type: Light Action, Conflict (versus others)

Bad news travels quickly; I arrived to find my companions already tied.

“There he is!” Tomas said, pointing right at me. “Arrest and execute him!”

One of the three guardsmen present asked a question I couldn’t hear, but when Tomas nodded they looked at me and grinned.

I may have indicated in earlier writings that town guard are not highly competent; this is not always the case. I just wanted to say that because... these weren’t.

Not a one of them had their stances right. Their leader, possibly a sergeant, had a chainmail shirt with a hood to put over his leather armor.

Now leather armor is hardly useless. Taking four points off incoming damage can save a life. Teamwork saves more lives.

The one with the axe actually charged, roaring out his violent intent. Pretty close to the last instant, I sprang forward, taking the blow on my shield.

[You have taken a YELLOW critical, for double damage; sixteen points of Lacerating damage received. After armor, two points of damage have been taken, 4/30 health remain.]

.....

Oh CRAP! How had I forgotten AGAIN?

Oh, and my shield broke apart into splinters, leaving an almost intact rim to fall to the street.

[You have scored a YELLOW critical for double damage!]

Whatever. I left the sword in his stomach, and ran.

“Incompetent FOOLS.” Bellowed Tomas Istre, and gave chase.

I sighed, tears rolling from my eyes. More skills, more abilities, and what had changed? I was still locked into life and death battles with a fraction of my health points.

Running speed is based on Might; unable to outrun him, I turned, pulling my mace and tool knife from inventory.

At least it was just him, the guards were helping their screaming fellow toward the shops that provided herbal bandages.

How sad is it that I knew exactly where that shop was?

Thomas Istre came upon me, smiling etched into his face. Had that been his expression when he had struck down Willie, or whatever that youth’s name was?

[Healthy (+1 to Might/Health, limit six) costs twenty-one development points. Focus ...]

[Trait purchased. You now have 14/40 Health.]

Sorry, Reticule. I’m still saving points for you, I just need to live to get there.

I tried the same trick, running inside the strike.

[You have been struck by a YELLOW critical for double damage, twenty-four points of Piercing damage have been received. After armor, you have taken 18 points of damage. -4/40 health remain.]

His spear slid right through the ribs and lung on my left side, bringing me close enough that my mace smacked into his helmet with a loud ringing noise. To me, it seemed to fill the world.

[You have scored a RED critical, for x8 damage.]

I tried to figure out how much damage that was; Tomas had a confused look on his face.

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

Well... I tried, at least.

#

[Severe Injury: Collapsed Lung (accelerated healing)]

[Severe Injury: Shattered Rib x2]

[Critical Injury: Damaged Pericardium]

[You have 2/40 health remaining.]

I smacked my lips, clearly tasting the remnants of healing potion and honey.

Where DID the Norvik get all this honey? I think I’d only seen two hives of wild bees on the island, not that I’d been looking for them.

Trying to sit up caused me to cough up a spray of blood. It coated Madonna’s face like freckles. Freckles that dripped.

I collapsed back onto... were these bales of hay? A mat, perhaps?

“Wuug.” I said, or something similar.

“Can you walk?” she asked.

I gasped for air. “Can’t. Breathe.”

“Yeah, grab his other arm, Donna.” Someone said. They were using Kismet’s voice, but I hadn’t heard it that full of worry for a year or so.

Two people hefted my torso, and just walked with me down the road, dragging my knees in the road, as I just ... how could BREATHING be so hard, with one fully intact lung? A lung with evolutions specifically to pull more vital oxygen from the air?

Have I mentioned that the cobblestones weren’t put together at a uniform height? I feel I took that for granted before.

“Oh, thank the devil. Slothful bastards haven’t left yet.” Madonna said.

I wasn’t conscious for most of the negotiation, or the trip that followed. I dimly remember a hammock, and some fool trying to poison me, and another fool who got away with bite marks on a hand that was in places it had no medical reason for being.

And thus did we make it to Vernice, where I added [Feverish] to my list of conditions, kept in the corner of what, in my defense, was not the best built stable in the world.

#

Two days passed like winter molasses, and then my fever broke. Someone must have gotten me some kind of bone, as my ribs were also now under accelerated healing.

It hurt to move. It hurt to roll over. It hurt to just breathe.

And yet if I had to...

[Object not found in inventory.]

What? Well, I hadn’t been looted; my wood axe and cooking kit was there.

I tried to calm down; breathing angry was WAY more painful than breathing slow and deep.

In the songs, heroes in my condition would train for the next battle, if only in the tourney ground of their mind. Or they would think romantic thoughts about their woman, or support themselves with the meat and potatoes of vengeance.

Me? I just lay there in so much pain that I actually felt some of it.

For once, I had biomass; I just lacked the sheer focus to put it to conscious use.

Likewise, mana was running on empty. Either it leaked out, or those energies had somehow been absorbed to apply them toward healing.

[You have 4/40 health remaining.]

Okay, did that mean the former, or the latter? Which decision just let me get back to sleep?

For hours, I would just try to push myself into a sitting position until I passed out from the pain; I’m sure there were other things to do, but my brain wasn’t working at its best.

The next day I was able to sit up, although the feeling of nausea and dizziness, still not strong enough to register in my System, forced me to lay back down. I remember being awake for brief conversations with Kismet and Madonna, and the constant eating of hay directly from the bale.

Hunger joined pain, determined not to let it be the only thing causing me misery. Turns out that when given a whetstone and a pile of dulled blades, I could gradually sharpen them. Dimly, I recognized this was work, and related it to the bowls of tea that would periodically show up.

“How sane are you today?” Kismet asked. “Is that serenity in a nice, positive number?”

“Those two things aren’t the same.” I said, my voice sounding thin.

“Logic, of a sorts.” Madonna said, although I did not see her. I would realize later that she was in the next stall over, but not that particular conversation.

We spoke of the cost of things, and of woodwork that could be done with an axe.

And that is how I passed the next three days, as my body grew stronger. The duel between hunger and pain ended with hunger winning through endurance, and I found myself able, if nothing else, do complete my psionic regimen.

The muscles in my legs were strong enough to carry me, but I lacked the endurance to make it to the far wall and back. Two days later, I was able to walk into the sunlight with the aid of a pair of crutches that I had cobbled together out of scrap and detritus they had brought to me.

I still required their help to make it to the beach, where I would lean against the posts of the dock and do tinker-work, eating sea-kelp and algae as the ocean brought them to me.

Oh, and a hint? Make sure your jellyfish is actually dead before eating it. Even with the toxin resistance I had, having a paralyzed jaw for three hours wasn’t among my top ten experiences that I longed to repeat.

The next day, I joined Kismet and Madonna, doing odd jobs on a maize farm. Separating the grains from the cobb was my favorite, although getting the seeds out of the grains... Well, let’s just say there were reasons the jobs were available, and we were happy to leave.

Perhaps too happy, given that we were working our passage.

#

Don’t worry; I had to ask a trained surgeon to learn what this was, too. I knew the heart was surrounded by a layer of protective tissue. Learning the proper name for that tissue layer split off a section of the heart evolutions that worked only or mostly upon the pericardium.