Born a Monster

521 Diplomacy Goes Bad

“Damn it.” the guard said. “They surround us.”

“I only see six,” I replied, “but four have bows.”

None of this seemed to comfort him.

Gnoll refers to different creatures on different parts of Athal. Some are related; some are not. People sometimes lump them in with beastmen or beastfolk, though this is generally as accurate as lumping goblins, hobgoblins, and uruk into the same lineage.

The gnolls that night were properly speaking Hyenadae, or hyena-men. They walked upright, though they could make better speed on all fours. They were pale like the desert sands, with stripes and spots of dark colors.

“I get a false reading off the slave.” one said to their Spearman. “That, or he is secretly the master.”

“What language is that?” the guard asked.

“Vulf-ven. It’s common to canines, lupines, dog-folk, and the like.” I told him.

And then I yawned. “We’re going to try offering the dead to them in exchange for our lives?”

.....

“What? I mean... yes, of course.” he said.

Their Spearman rolled his eyes. “They yip like puppies. We’re killing them and taking their stuff, right?” <1 >

“Uh, no.” said the shorter one with a walking stick. “Let’s try talking with them first.”

“Father, you always try talking first.”

“Not always.” the father replied.

“What are they saying?” the guard asked me.

“They’re debating whether to talk with us or just kill us.” I said.

“Well, start talking with them!”

I sighed. I had no tie of loyalty nor hospitality to the guard. By all rights, I could have just gutted him there and negotiated with the Hyenadae without him.

Instead, I set my [Truthspeaker] title, and began barking at them. “Your father has survived a number of summers more than you. When you disagree with him, you should ask him why, and listen to his response.”

“I am the War Chief.” the son barked back. “Give me a reason not to add you to that food wagon there.”

“Oh.” I said. “So aggressive!”

Father spoke. “Do not taunt and bait my son. He only has the two wives, and only seven surviving sons between them.”

“You old fool!” the son snapped. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? You’re upsetting them!” the guard said.

“I’m improving the anger they arrived with.” I said. “Trust me, or die.”

“Ugh.” the son said. “The warrior is about to wet himself.”

The father blinked. “We might get quite a bit, and not even have to fight them for it.”

I waved a dismissive hand. “The bodies, of course, we were leaving here any way. Those are yours, with no arguments from the soldier.”

“Maybe he’ll throw you in as well.” the son said, “He IS merely a human. Seems to lack courage.”

Father tapped his staff on a nearby rock. “No. None of that. Once we get to the fighting, you can go into as deep a berserker rage as you want.” To me, he said, “Moving those bodies would be easier with the cart as well.”

“How attached are you to the cart?” I asked the guard.

“They’ll revoke my commission and put me in the Armpit if I just give it away.” he replied.

Hrm. “I have an idea.” I told him. “Just pretend like you’re giving me an order regarding the cart.”

He gestured at the cart. “Do nothing to that cart, you retarded gecko!”

I nodded once and approached the cart. It was made of hard wood, and had an impressive six structure, giving it 120 maximum Condition.

<System. Karateka Ability: Axe Strike, combination. Lumberjack Chop, Chop.>

The shock still reverberated up to my shoulder, the pain clear to the elbow. But one of the wheel pins shattered, and a quick tug removed the wheel itself.

“The soldier says he can’t give you the cart.” I said.

“What are you DOING?” the guard demanded.

“Well, THAT took balls.” the son said. “Can we just...”

The father raised his hand. “With which of you am I negotiating?”

“You already have more meat than you can carry for long distances.” I replied. “Take it. Go. We will not try to stop you.”

He shook his head. “My son is correct; we cannot seem to be weak. We must have more, especially now.”

“I offer you him!” the guard screamed, when I translated that.

Son broke out laughing.

“Are you actually translating that?” Father asked.

“Among other things, I am a Speaker of Truth.” I barked. “I cannot lie to you.”

“And are you his?” the son asked.

I shrugged. “Not really.”

A cruel smile crossed the father’s features. “Tell him we accept.”

I did so.

“And how do I know they won’t kill me as soon as I turn my back?” he asked.

“Why wait? Archers, take the human!” the son said, making a circular movement with his arm.

“Take COVER!” I screamed at the guard.

Besides the trauma of imagining what bows had done to Eihtfuhr, my earliest family, there’s just physics. You can’t outrun an arrow.

Three of them struck him, one in the armpit and one in the throat. The other was a cheekbone graze; he might have survived it if it was only that one, and had a scar the type that women seem drawn to.

“And now,” Father said, “We have one less slave to carry this meat back to camp.”

“I am rash, father, but I am not stupid. Observe.” And then to me, “Replace the wheel on the cart. And then fix the pin.”

“There is no fixing the pin.” I said. “We’d need to replace it.”

He pulled a scrub hatchet from his inventory, threw it at my feet. “That’s almost done for. Can you make a pin out of the haft?”

[Condition: 8/12]

“I can’t swear that it will hold. How far is the camp?”

Father turned his head and spat. “Acheans.”

“Get it DONE. Don’t make it simpler to kill you and take your stuff.”

They descended upon the guard while I worked. They looted him as thoroughly as his coworkers had done to me. And then they began butchering the rest. <2 >

In the end, I needed two of the bowfolk to place the wheel and new pin while I held the cart aloft.

“Well?” the son asked, “Begin pulling the cart. Now. That way.”

“Son! Not so close!”

“Father?”

The father stumped up to me. “Place the axe on the ground and back away.”

I placed the axe head on the ground and backed away.

“Where is the rest of the handle?” he asked.

“I was hungry.” I said. “I ate it.”

Father and son alike squinted at me, trying to see a lie where there was none. Then the son picked up his hatchet head. “You,” he waggled it at me, “are fixing this.”

“I expect the humans will come for their cart, if not for me.” I said.

The Hyenadae all laughed.

“Let them come.” the son said. “Now. Move. That way.”

I pulled the cart that way. Then a hard left, then in a circle around a tree-sized cactus, and then back toward the right. No effort, however, was made to cover our tracks.

Father sniffed at the night air. “Here,” he said, “is where we must leave two of them.”

The son sniffed. “There aren’t enough ghouls. We’re wasting food to leave two.”

“Yes.” Father agreed. “But we leave two anyway.”

.....

They picked the two most putrid, and chucked them off toward our left.

“That is a waste of good cloth.” I said.

“Better that than a waste of life.” Father said. “Have I mentioned I only have seven surviving grandsons?”

“You mentioned, uncle.” said one of the archers.

“Wait.” I asked. “Is everyone here of one bloodline?”

Son giggled. “Just noticing that now?”

It was an unexpected opportunity. I hit each of them with the Reticule as we walked, and with the [Genetic Eye] power from Lifeshaper. Yes, I had to buy extra charges; it was worth it.

“Before you eat me, I should like to meet your grandchildren.” I told the father.

“Let me tell you about them!” Father said.

The son threw a rock at me. Not with his full strength, just hard enough to be sure he had my attention. “SPRINT, you fool! He means it! We’ll have to hear all the stories again!”

With baleful howls, the archers took off at a run. I mean, yes, I could keep up if it weren’t for the cart. Father just hopped onto it. “Let me start by telling you about Angry Ears.” he said.

I slowed the cart to a mild trot, letting the others pull ahead. “He already sounds like a bundle of wrath.”

“No.” the father said. “In spite of the name, and the ears that prompted it, the poor child is gifted with focus and discipline. If he showed any aptitude for magic...”

We reached the camp long before he ran out of words.

<1 > In the Aarken dialect of Vulf-ven, “kill them and take their stuff” is a single verb. It’s what gank would be if you acknowledged that the victim was going to put up a fight.

<2 > By which I mean they went straight to the butchering; there was no attempt to preserve the skin or harvest organs, save that they were immediately eaten