Born a Monster

549 Roped

Lest you wonder, the rope held me securely until dawn. Yes, yes, get your laughter out. All of it. Go ahead.

I wasn’t laughing, and not only because my mouth was securely shut.

It turns out that any attempt to put a binding into inventory...

[You cannot place yourself into your own inventory.]

Which raised more questions. Could I put another person into my inventory? Could I smuggle myself into the inventory of another? How did air get to people inside a System inventory?

But, just as someone who wasn’t me couldn’t remove the rope just by sticking it in their inventory, neither could I. There were Stealth class benefits that boosted Agility/Flexibility/Contortion/Escape Artist, a skill that failed miserably.

“Stop that.” one of the sentinels said, as I dislocated my thumb. “You even try to shapeshift out of those bindings, and we’ll stomp on your head until it’s an entirely new shape.”

So... what sorts of things had I been putting off?

There were a bunch of level two Shaman powers I’d been putting off going through.

.....

Yeah, I didn’t expect any of them to help when I was turned over to the Throne tomorrow. If they had even a clue how much more skilled I was, which... yeah... I’d killed their faux axe hero. I wasn’t getting a trial by combat.

Not that I’d do even a fraction as well. I had a grand total of thirteen serious injuries, and that was only counting the physical ones.

[Your emotional state has changed. Emotional State: Bored.]

Wow. Thanks, System.

A quick query told me I had a grand total of seven development points. That didn’t tell me anything. My cultivation methods had (as usual) hundreds of points... if I could figure out what each pool could actually be used for.

<System. List. Cultivation XP. Five Highest. Sort. Begin.>

[Servant of Hell Quest Pool: 140 points.]

[Soldiery: 38 points]

[Political: 33 points]

[Theology: 28 points.]

[Fishing Pool: 26 points.]

[Medical Treatments: 26 points.]

Okay, so I flagged dismissal on the quest pool; abilities purchased even partially with those points would only help me while I was on a quest for one of the hells. Not exactly my top priority.

I missed her. She was mean and cruel and mostly heartless. Still...

<You cannot restore life to a being whose soul has been destroyed. You which you perceive. without link the majority of their body.>

Ugh. No. Dismiss. That was a series of quests in itself.

Okay, Soldiery. My pain tolerance was maxed out for my Might level. I had no need to shout loudly, or stand at attention unmoving for hours. Marching...

Ever tried laughing while muzzled? Trust me, takes a lot of the fun out of it.

Yeah, marching. Technique, speed, endurance (flag for later)... Balance with weapon drawn, ability to use ridiculously large weapons...

Tactics. Strategy. Leadership. Logistics. Morale.

[Stand With Me]

[15 points: Emotional Control Burst: Courage: 2]

[-5 points: Only while you stand in equal or greater danger]

[2 points per UPD.]

That... wasn’t useless. It didn’t specify combat only.

There were stances and titles and exertions. Frivolous abilities that let me fight from horseback, or doubled the range of my sling stones, or...

Wait, DOUBLE?

[10 points: Doubles the range of your sling stones for ten minutes.]

[2 points per UPD.]

Now before you get confused, my System didn’t mean the child’s toy, the y shaped pole with a stretchy tendon across the top. It meant the long loop of leather that helped you hurl rocks.

I ground my teeth. It wasn’t like I was in a hurry; I flagged the ability for later reference.

Not all of the abilities were noble; there were ones for ransacking houses, and setting structures ablaze. There were mental and spiritual shields against the horrors of war.

[Never A Nightmare] sounded promising, but paled in comparison to abilities from my Dreamwalker class.

<System. Abilities. Filter. Only Abilities that can feed from two or more of the listed cultivation methods.>

[50 points: Inherently Principled. You cannot be forced, compelled, or motivated to violate your code of honor.]

Wait...

<System. Abilities. Comparison. Inherently Principled and Truthspeaker Oath.>

[Ten point discount. Also Reinforces Truthspeaker Oath.]

Reinforces? How did you reinforce something so absolute? What did that even do?

Still, CANNOT implied an actual immunity.

Whatever. I could sell it back at half cost if it turned out to be too much of a liability.

By the gods, ASK YOUR SYSTEM WHAT YOUR CODE IS before doing this; it might not be what you think.

In any event, it didn’t snap into effect. It wasn’t like a curse or oath. It was more... the things I cared about took on a shade more importance. Other things became as emotional shadows, things I now didn’t care so much about. Less colored glasses for the soul, and more like a light wrapping of see-through cloth.

I was bound, and that. Would. Not. Stand.

I applied strength from all my limbs, and blew out my Achilles tendon on my left ankle.

Even as I screamed, the Sentry kicked me in the head. “What did I say earlier?” he asked. “Stop that ruckus.”

Know your code BEFORE you become unable to violate it. I might not have recognized my code, but my System did. I was able to stop that ruckus.

What I wasn’t able to do was just let it go.

With Shaman XP, I purchased Silent Invocation.

<Spirits of ember and flame, heed my call, consider request. I am...>

Another kick to the head, this one scoring an ORANGE critical and leaving colored lights flashing in my eyes.

“And no magic, either.” the Sentry said.

I dismissed the invocation, my petition unspoken.

Yes, I’d intended to burn the ropes off of myself.

Wait, if they knew without Mystic Sight I was using magic...

<Spirit Sight.>

I know. So much stress over second level Shaman abilities, and a first level ability was the one I was using.

It was a Chain Spirit, not surprising for guards, and it was strength six, and unfettered. What I mean was, it wasn’t bound by any manner of pact, oath, binding... nothing.

<What do YOU get out of this?> I asked it.

<Me? I do this because is my purpose. Go ahead, Truthspeaker. Tell me you’ve committed no crimes, and I’ll let you go. even help you.>

<I cannot do that. I have committed crimes.>

It radiated [Happiness] at me. <Well, keeping criminals contained is my purpose. I’m actually good at it.>

<And what if I could convince you those holding me were also criminals?>

<They aren’t trying to go anywhere.> it replied.

<Pity. Rakkal, lawful ruler of these lands, could probably use your service.>

<I’ll keep that in mind for when this job fails to satisfy my needs. Thank you.>

<What name should I pass along to him?>

<Oh, Truthspeaker. Stop lying to yourself. An entire nation of people wants you dead.>

<For how long? Three, four years now?> I asked. <I don’t like my odds, but I haven’t given up on survival, either. Are you custodian until execution?>

<Nope. Once you transfer to the invaders, you’re not my problem.>

<We’ll see. I’m not as impressed with their level of competence.> I sent.

How do spirits manage the emotional equivalent of a shrug, when so few of them have shoulders?

.....

<Impressed or not, in your position I’d be struggling to figure out how get away from them, rather than us.>

<Hrm. I’ll take it under consideration.>

And I did. The spirit could hold me here by itself. It knew fatigue, but didn’t need to sleep as often as humans did unless it strained itself. With the guards to do physical things for it, it might as well have been in a lounge chair with a pitcher of iced tea.

With the sheer number of severe injuries I had, why had I thought this was a good idea? Yes, yes, hindsight.

So... there were priests of the Forge with the convoy. What could they possibly be bringing that required...

Oh. They would know the basics of the defenses at Rakkal’s Glory when planning this invasion. Either that, or they had learned since arriving. With magical communications... no, they’d still be arriving in a week at earliest.

Whatever they were sending priests to escort, it was something they wanted to keep secret, even from their own army. I could hold a small campsite in my inventory. What they were carrying probably wasn’t as large.

Cripes. I could carry a fully assembled catapult or scorpion inside my inventory. With a little expansion...

No, focus. Focus.

It wasn’t enough to just stop the caravan. I had to figure out what divine nastiness they were planning on, and stop or neutralize that, also.

I almost thought, for a moment, that meeting the Forge members might not be a bad thing.

Nope. It takes too little effort to slit a throat. Or, for example, to stab someone in the heart. Or cut off a head. They weren’t STUPID, odds are they were going to kill me, or keep me unconscious until they could get me to the army.

So my options were death or death or death or death, unless I came up with a plan.

Okay. It wasn’t like I didn’t have time.

<You 8 120 have health remaining.>

Good thing I had time; it would have to be a superb plan.

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