Born a Monster

Chapter 201

201 Servant of the Axe, 101 – Fallen God

Chapter Type: Background

There were two people fighting a duel on the docks when we got there, all finery and frills and fencing.

“Has the Daurian trader been through recently?” I asked.

“Oh, they’re fighting to see which of them gets to treat that strumpet to a day of their company.”

“No,” I said. “the Daurian freighter. Has it been through recently?”

“No, but it’s not unusual for ... by the gods! You’re a lizard!”

I blinked at him. “I suppose so. Since you want to talk about the duel, any clue who the participants are?”

“Two fancy highborns with too much time and too little respect for critical hits.”

“They do happen with more commonality than I’d like.” I realize I’m biased, having suffered my proportionate share of them.

.....

He went back to watching the duel. I circled around to talk to the strumpet. “Miss Elizabeth.”

“Oh, ambassador with the impossibly long name that starts with R. What brings you to our fine port today?”

“I was here to talk to the merchants of the Daurian colony. What brings you down to the docks?”

“Oh, you may have a long wait ahead of you.” She said.

I tilted my head at her.

“Very well. I find myself in need of a new spyglass. I had come down here intending to get a spare from one of the vessels, but letting one of these two young ones buy it for me will also work.”

I blinked. “So, they’re fighting to see which of them does such a favor for you?”

She sighed. “No, they’re fighting for what they think I’ll owe them afterward. Oh, well struck!”

“They don’t seem to be fighting in earnest. Like it’s a contest over cuts.”

“Very much so. Three points is supposed to be a victory, but right now it’s four to three in Randal’s favor.”

“You know them?”

“Of course not, we travel in different social circles. But if they don’t know that, who am I to argue?”

“And what if the victor is too cut up to go shopping with you?”

“Oh, I doubt very much that will happen. Guide your vision to the right.”

“What am I looking for?” I asked. “Never mind, I see them. So, if they break the code duello, the guards arrest them?”

“Not in the least, since they broke the law just by drawing swords on each other. Were I to wager, I’d guess they know whose children Randal and Harlan are, and are debating whether they even can arrest them.”

“They seem to be betting on the outcome.” I said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. They’re both good defenders, but they go for the flashy attacks rather than the quick ones.”

I blinked. Humans were just insane. “Wait, so they both want this but they want to look fancy while doing it more?”

She rubbed a beat of sweat from her cheek with her thumb. It might be fall season, but nobody had told the sun to back off yet. At least, not anyone whom the sun would listen to.

The docks suddenly exploded with clapping, and cheers, and grumbling bystanders handing over coins. “Oh, it looks like young Randal has won.” She said, moving forward to console the loser and reward the victor.

She made it look easy; I could watch the actions, and know they were theater, and yet it just seemed SO NATURAL that I couldn’t work up any objection to the matter.

Such is the difference between one Charisma score and four.

#

From Upslope, that region atop the cliff, I could see how busy a port Boadicea’s Girdle was. Lacking the funds for a telescope, I instead spent fifteen minutes adjusting the muscles of my eye, the thickness and shape of the lenses.

Once I had my bird-sight developed, I could see that none of the ships carried a flag of the Daurian empire, green and yellow diamonds behind a golden lung dragon. Jade and amber, the two magical crystals common in that realm. Well, not the entire realm, but I didn’t know what the province names were, let alone how the economic web of Dauria worked.

I made my way to the church building that housed the shrine to Xistos, and another to his angel, Cassandra the Hangwoman. The property was surrounded by a cold-wrought iron fence, designs worked in beneath the spikes on top. The ward to keep out spirits was powered by something channeling through the spire on the roof. The defenses were strong, and layered like those of a castle.

A rather flashy spirit alarm began going off when I crossed through the open gate, proceeding down the walkway toward the front double doors. I was almost glad I didn’t have Mystic Hearing; that was probably equally annoying to all senses.

“YOU! SPAWN OF TITANS!” boomed a voice. It was a male voice, perhaps a young teenager. “BEGONE! YOUR EVIL IS UNWANTED HERE!”

“But the sign on the gate said ‘Enter and be welcome.'” I said.

“IN HUMAN LANGUAGE, FOR HUMAN GUESTS. THAT MESSAGE WAS NOT INTENDED FOR YOU, NOR FOR YOUR KIND.”

“Thank you, for at least being honest in your bias.”

“YOUR THANKS POLLUTES THE AIR! ALL PRESENT HERE DESIRE YOUR ABSENCE MORE THAN YOUR FAKE POLITENESS.”

I finally caught sight of the source, a tiny flicker, like a candle. So it WAS visible, just drowned out in the daylight.

“I AM A CHERUBIM, OR CHERUB. I COMPEL YOU TO LEAVE THIS PROPERTY, IN THE NAME OF MY MASTERESS CASSANDRA THE HANGED WOMAN, AND IN THE HOLY NAME OF XISTOS.”

he cast.

It was a good bit of theater, if one wanted to convince the rubes that the name of a god itself was striking a demon, or in this case, a Titanspawn.

[You have taken twelve points of Bludgeoning damage. After armor, four points have been received. You have 36/40 health remaining.]

It may not have done much damage, but the impact sent me backward onto my tail, my feet into the air.

As I attempted to rise, he cast a Gust of Wind. Not strong enough to knock me over, but that lawn was filthy with debris that pelted me.

“FOR THE THIRD AND FINAL TIME, BEGONE! THIS PROPERTY IS FORBIDDEN TO YOU, AND THOSE WITHIN ARE SAFE FROM ALL HARM.”

“FOOL! I MAY BE A SERVANT, BUT I AM NOT YOUR SERVANT!”

“A SHORT TIME ONLY.”

“Agreed, a short time only.”

A quick glance told me that a man with a paunch in red livery was already looking out the front of the church.

I pulled out a bag of honey glazed walnut pieces and began snacking. It was a two pound bag, about eight servings. I like to think the gentleman would have come out without the offer of snacks, but...

In any case, he did come out, in a red field marshal’s hat, and a loose shirt and pants rather than the formal deep gorge jacket (coming down to mid-thigh in the front and down over the boot-tops in the back, vest, and tight pants required when performing his formal duties.

“Please forgive Roman. He is noisy and brash, but he does take his duties here seriously.”

“These are good traits in a guard.” I said. “Are you endangered that often?”

“Oh, no, no. Unless you count that awakened rabbit that likes to nibble on our garden. May I have a seat?”

“Yes, please do. Honey glazed walnuts?” I’d been trying to eat them slowly, but what I held out to him was less than a third of the bag.

He took it with a smile. “Very courteous. What questions can I answer for you?”

“How does faith work, exactly? I understand the basics of how it is generated by strong belief, but how does that become mana, and at what rate to gods transmute that into divine energy for miracles?”

“Ah, well, I’m not privy to the rates myself, but I can help you a bit with the process.”

“Please and thank you.”

To summarize, belief, prayer, suffering, and sacrifice all generate faith, of different flavors or aspects depending upon the specifics of the event. At this level, faith was equivalent to mana.

At a ratio of more than a hundred to one, faith could be converted to divine energy, but only through the use of Cosmic skills, normally closed to all but Hero-level mortals.

This energy, which went by different names, was effectively the tin piece of the deities, if tin pieces were edible. For the deities could wield massive amounts of these energies, but the larger the wield the larger the deity needed for it, and the more energy they needed to hold themselves together.

But that is where the walnuts were almost gone and dark clouds began forming.

“Oh, I guess I’d best be inside.”

“Thank you for your time, sir.”

“Centurion Brandt. Since the times of Flavian the Sword Hero, who brought us the faith of Xistos, those entrusted to the care of a hundred worshippers are granted the title of centurion. And good day to you, sir.”

Don’t go back to look it up. Manajuwejet had let it slip that ratio was one hundred twenty to one. Those numbers, twelve and one hundred twenty, keep showing up. Not a coincidence, but also something deserving of its own separate book.