Born a Monster

405 305 – Baby Steps Are For Babies

My first combat test was on spike-throwing day. How could I forget? In the morning, instead of the obstacle course, they pulled us to a line of cages on the other side of the field. In each cage was a goblin.

Let me be clear, a goblin adult. Armored in mixes of leather and chain and plate, but fitted to each goblin. Before the cage, the goblin’s weapons. Mine had a cleaver and and butcher knife. I’m not certain whether they were trying to be kind, or perhaps to test my knowledge of goblins.

Those who have read my earlier work know that goblins tend to be self centered and violent. This means that in addition to cooking skills, the cooks have enough combat skills to protect from small groups.

They might as well have given me a champion with an arming sword.

“Two throws, and then we open the cages.” Bitaxes said. “Each goblin has been promised their freedom if they can kill you. Begin.”

My first throw hit the bars of the cage and deflected away; the second I threw at his chest, but he flinched and it scratched his ribs. The Tunnel Warden behind the cage stomped on the foot pedal that released the front side of the cage.

Before it had stopped bouncing on the ground, my opponent had his blades, and was coming at me in Blade Dance stance. It’s a low stance, one blade held offensively, the other for parrying.

With surprising strength and agility, he bounded forward, as though to land on my head. I managed to intercept him with my shield, which I swept off to my left. Instead of going that way, he threw himself to my right.

I turned my sweep into a spin, quickly enough to block that cleaver, a streak of metal that seemed to part the very air it traveled through.

.....

He was faster, and frankly better at offense than I was defense. That didn’t happen too often, but I had two advantages; firstly, once I “accidentally” let him disarm my fighting spike, my attack skill outclassed his defense. Secondly, I had twelve points of armor to ... whatever he had. It wasn’t enough.

Well, that, and my hit point total must have been much higher.

In the end, I was bleeding, yes, but only slightly. My left calf muscle was cut perhaps three inches long and a half, maybe a third, deep. So... no running or acrobatics, but he ended up prone, trying to keep the blood from spilling out of his side.

“Back into the cage with you.” I told him in goblin.

You see the numerous errors I made in just that moment. As I reached for him, he struck at my face with a small flensing knife he’d been concealing until then. Instead of flinching back, I lunged forward, snapping at him with my jaws.

Remember those venomous fangs that cost me so very much biomass? With barely a shriek, the cook was down, and expired two deep breaths later.

I spat and coughed and spat; deep goblins did NOT taste better than their surface counterparts.

“What the HECK was that?” Bitaxes asked.

“Brass sergeant, that was a poisonous bite, brass...”

“NOT THAT!” he exploded. “Why did you not finish him once he was down? How did MERCY work for you?”

Oh, crap.

The Duhric peoples, being literally made of living stone, find their underground world a place of harsh truths and bitter cold realities, most of them bad. This is where they prosper, where they thrive, and they don’t manage that by thinking the way the surface peoples do.

I mean, this was slug-worthy blunder, and when Bitaxes’ throat grew sore from yelling at me, there were other Tunnel Wardens there to pick up the slack. For over an hour, I was yelled at, lectured to, threatened, and even pleaded with.

Never show mercy, the message came through loud and clear. Goblins are not people, but only groks, was the subtext.

“In fact,” Bitaxes said, “There are only three things you’ll find in the wild tunnels. Yourself, your brothers, and countless savage enemies. If you want to survive, there is NOTHING ELSE. Do you understand me?”

“I hear your words, brass sergeant.” I said.

He glanced at my leg. “You bleed too easily, squishy. Go to the healer, see what she can do for you.”

Our healer was a dottering fool of a woman named Kasithma. She was an expert in fixing her own kind, and could channel the Earthlife (which actually had some effect on fleshly beings, such as myself). Her ability to hold two pieces of flesh exactly together was legendary, but when we could we left the stitching of wounds together to my hands.

“My life will become so very quiet once your armor arrives.” she said. “Do you think that will be soon?”

I shrugged. “The artisans of your people seem to work quickly.” I said. “I can only say what my coin-keepers tell me; it will get here when it is finished, and not before.”

“Huh.” she said. “They know exactly when it will be delivered; they’re just making it a torture for you.”

“I don’t feel particularly tortured.” I said.

“Then the sergeants aren’t doing their job properly. But come, back to the sergeant with you and send in the next.”

Gormvol was next; he’d been matched with a goblin miner, and had cracks over much of his torso and left arm. Beside him, his armor was neatly stacked.

I returned in time to aid the cleaning, as another, larger cage was rolled in.

MUCH larger.

Rock trolls are described by Ervid as slightly larger, lumpier versions of ‘normal’ trolls. All due respect to Ervid, he clearly never saw one himself.

The monster in the cage was three Rhishisikks tall, forged from living stone. It had the distinctive troll nose, and several ‘warts’ that looked to have been scraped down. This one had four eyes, a set of black atop a set of white. It had one massive ear on the left side of its head, and scar tissue showing where the other had been on the right. In fact, it was covered in scars of various types, and traces where others were vanishing.

“Picks!” Bitaxes shouted. “For this next combat, you will need your picks! DUNG BEETLE! WHAT IS THAT GIANT DISHPLATE ON YOUR ARM?”

“THAT IS A SHIELD, BRASS SERGEANT!” I shouted back.

“THAT IS A BIG, FLAT TARGET, BEGGING THE TROLL TO STEP ON IT AND SNAP OFF YOUR ARM. TAKE. IT. OFF.”

From inside his cage, the troll observed us all. His expression seemed serene, almost slightly amused.

Darnguth nudged me from behind. “Baby steps are for babies.” he reminded me. “Get rid of the shield. You won’t have one with you in the dark tunnels.”

The SEVEN HELLS I wouldn’t; if I had to, I’d expand my inventory enough to carry an extra stack of them. But, my mouth dry, I put the shield back into inventory.

“Elder candidates, you know how to handle this, younger follow the elders.” He may have called begin, but once he pulled the lock-pin on the door, the troll slammed it open, pausing only long enough to heft the cage in both hands and bring it down upon those nearest him.

The cage itself warped with every strike, but those who fell remained fallen.

“Aw Bungus!” Bitaxes screamed. “It’s armed! Armed troll! Everyone, BRING IT DOWN!”

With a laugh, the troll swept at another row of students, knocking four of them flying. Then, it turned on our instructors. Together, we swarmed it. One of the sergeants had a pick stuck into its buttocks, and was clinging on as the troll spun and danced.

The instructors ducked and dodged, and rolled to new positions only to resume their attacks. With a sound like a breaking gong, the cage flew apart, the discarded piece now an obstacle for us. Beneath it, two of our members and one trainee were caught.

With a howl of glee, the troll pounced upon that piece of cage, shattering two of those trapped below. It was... imagine that you were trying to learn anatomy by having people fired out of a catapult onto the pavement nearby. It was like that, only with living stone and being spattered by the black blood of the earth.

Well... the troll wasn’t intact by then, either. But neither did it seem to be slowing down, or even limping slightly. In fact, it seemed to be enjoying itself.

I had an idea. It was a bad idea, but it might work.

I pulled my shield out, held it so that light reflected into the troll’s eyes, and loudly activated: “Taunt!” I held the shield high, praying that it would hold.

When the blow fell, it felt as though an entire slab of bedrock had struck my shield. My shield slammed downward, bending my back into shapes that it probably ought never to take.

[You have taken 96 points of Bludgeoning damage; 56 points have penetrated your block. After armor, you have received 48 points of damage. 12/80 health remain.]

Then, it struck me again.

In its natural form, it is proper to capitalize it, the Black Blood of the Earth. When used by the living, it is a less primal form, and thus not capitalized. And no, not petrol oil or liquid Taint, although both are also black fluids.