Born a Monster

Type: Introspection, Social

When encountering any hardship in life, there are five basic reactions.

The easiest is denial, to simply ignore the problem. In the case of the war, this would be suicide.

The most instinctive, at least for me, is avoidance. Either running away or hiding. With the sea the way it was, and me rapidly running out of alternate forms, this option wouldn’t work for too much longer.

There is negotiation, or joining sides with the problem. This is the sort of things in stories, where the knight and dragon sit down for a long chat and realize there is a mutually beneficial solution to their problems.

Another favorite of stories is overcoming; the hero just grabs some ancient weapon or other and just smashes or stabs or otherwise resolves the problem, forever. A common variant of this was what I thought had been going on, where one divides the problems into smaller problems, and then fixes the issues one at a time.

And there was endurance. To accept that one cannot fix or overcome or avoid a problem. To, with full knowledge, just put up with the pain of a problem. To grapple with it, but to know that there would be no solution.

And this last one seemed to be what had actually been going on.

.....

For over a season, the guards had been locked in battle with the inmates, by whatever name. Did we still have two thousand defenders? Depending upon our casualties, we might be winning.

But the very existence of the nine, and their attempt to strike at the emotions of the admiral, said that Lord Xaodong didn’t think he could win a conventional war.

If so, and if most sieges ended in victory for the surrounding army, that meant that the inmates had issues that we weren’t aware of.

The sorts of issues that took longer than a season to show up.

Or had they? The Liberation Army had reacted quickly to Lord Ding’s slaughter of their civilians. Lord Ding had indicated that this was a major, if immoral, victory. Which... didn’t agree with the math of the situation. Just the population of Second Ramaul, and the portions estimated by Lord Ding...

“Only a very small portion of the inmate population is actually here.” I said.

The implication... No, there were multiple possible reasons.

But the one that seemed likely was that Lord Xaodong just didn’t have the support of anything beyond a small portion of the population. His own forces... were they divided between keeping us bottled up and keeping the rest of the island in line?

And more to the point, were his forces noticeably thinner, now that he’d sent so many to the Ricelands for harvest?

It was exactly the sort of question that I couldn’t answer, not while trapped in the middle region. And quick questions revealed a whopping fifty silver in fees to draw up a new set of identification papers. This was much more than the fourteen copper coins that I currently had.

So... Kismet and Madonna currently resided in the outer zone, and Gamilla in the inner one. So, first obstacle. I needed to earn roughly forty nine silver... and not starve while doing so. I needed to do so without the papers that proved that I was a citizen.

I rubbed my human eyes (well, solid black eyes in my human face) with the heels of my hands. How had I forgotten to ask Kismet for help getting new papers?

Why had I turned down... well, okay, I wasn’t eager to join some unknown fool. I had a known axeman to get back to.

Nothing about my quest for Sobek required me to be here.

My quest for the elementals... seemed to have been accomplished. When had THAT happened?

Stupid System logs.

And the diamond... I had no emotional attachment to that. Or, I realized, to Whitehill. Those assholes... might actually have become productive citizens of the Red Tide Empire. It wasn’t likely, but it was certainly possible.

Damn. We owed creditors for our ship, which wasn’t salvageable. Something I needed to consult Gamilla on. But that wasn’t something we’d be settling while still on the island.

It would have been easy to just declare it hopeless and broken down in tears and all that. I hadn’t noticed that helping anyone else, so I didn’t.

Hrm. I could make a few copper a day by salvaging random wooden junk, but how would I feed myself?

Okay, defer the gaining of coin. How would I get food?

“That one?” a guard said to another.

“I think so. What color eyes does he have?”

I tried to rise nonchalantly, to walk away.

“Hey, boy.” the guardswoman said. “How would you like food and coin?”

“Honored ma’am, when something seems too good to be true, it often is.”

“Your service has value.” the other said.

“Oh.” I said. “If sir is seeking service, the nearest house of willow women that I’ve discovered is this way.”

“Ah-ah, what my companion is saying is military service.” the guardswoman said.

“I... I was not born of that caste, honored ma’am, and have no identification papers.”

“No papers?” she smiled at her fellow, who smiled back at her. “What if that were not a problem? What if we could get you a BATH, and then FOOD, and then the papers, and at the end of that a job?”

“I would ask why you would show such kindness to a stranger.” I said, preparing to run.

“Because we get paid.” said the male guardsman. “For every person we recruit. More if they get assigned to the outer walls. We’re here because your performance during harvest week suggests you have a high Might score, also a bonus for us.”

“Idiot! We agreed never to tell the marks!” the female said.

“And this pay, it is enough to cover the cost of papers?” I asked. “What other costs might it cover?”

“Your share?” the woman asked. “Not much more. Boiled leather breastplate, wooden shield, and a basic weapon. Sword or spear. Nothing fancy.”

“And shoes.” the man said. “Boy’s going to need shoes, to perform military duty.”

I sighed. “Is there a higher bonus if I agree to assignment on the outer wall?”

“No,” the woman said, “that is implied with wall duty.”

In the end, I was only able to negotiate for an extra knife and shield. Conwoman has a variety of social skills that I just didn’t have defenses against. Something I needed to work on in the near future.

The contract was simple; military service until the end of the current siege. “I don’t see where I can pick which section of the wall I would be assigned to, honored sergeant.” I said.

“How does the Dusk Gate sound?” the sergeant offered.

I made a thoughtful noise.

“Because that’s where we need soldiers the most. That’s where you’re going, whether you like the assignment or not. Might as well get the volunteer bonus.”

I re-read the contract. “How do I terminate employment after we win this siege? I would hate to think this is a literal termination.”

“It’s a process called mustering out. In your case, paperwork, perhaps half a day’s worth, and a final set of meals. Save your coins, young one, you’ll need them.”

“I am also bothered by the phrasing of this paragraph, here.” I said, tapping the contract.

“Boy, there are things worse than death. If the enemy puts you into such a state, you’ll want to die, trust me.”

Well, I didn’t trust him, nor my recruiters, but I didn’t see anything in the contract itself, so I signed.

[New obligations: Military Duty. Serve at a duty station specified by your sergeant until the end of the current conflict.]

Wait. Conflict, not siege? How had I missed that?

“What are you looking for, now that you’ve already signed?” the sergeant asked.

“My System thinks this is for the conflict, rather than just the siege.”

“It is a two page contract.” the general said. “I noticed you never read the back of the first page.”

I did so, with growing realization and dismay.

Of course. Because nothing in my life could just happen and be good.

I suppressed my desire to scream. Ability of my superiors to change assignment. Military discipline and standards, to include military tribunal. And the kicker, ability to extend the assignment until “the pacification of the island’s inmate population”.

Laughing gods!

At least the contract specified pay, and standard rations (reduced as needed for military reasons). I interpreted this to mean the same half rations as everyone else was on.

If I’d been thinking, I’d have checked military regulations. Eighth Swordsman rank was expected to have four Might, three body mass, and no more than third level. Half rations meant eighteen nutrition a day.

So. Back to the original problem. I needed a hundred thirty five nutrition a day. Double stomach storage was eighty servings of hay or grass, and three nutrition each was nearly double what I needed. Unfortunately, that was two bales of hay.

One bale of hay, the same cost of my wages...

But it wasn’t. I wouldn’t be getting champion wages, but those of an untrained soldier.

So... I needed to prove myself a valuable soldier, without raising suspicions that I was a shape-changer who had been exiled under penalty of death.

And I needed to do that before I starved to death. Charming.