Born a Monster

“Husband,” Madonna said, “The Black Hound is weighing anchor.”

I sent group invites to Gamilla and Kismet, accepted the one Madonna had sent. She sighed into an embrace.

“You are inadequate as a biological source of warmth. Grow larger and hotter.” she said.

“My transformations don’t work that way.” I said.

“Then infect yourself with a fever, or something.”

Gamilla said.

I threw part of my new cloak over Madonna, and sent a visual of the Black Hound.

Gamilla said.

.....

Madonna said.

Kismet said.

Kismet dropped.

Madonna sent. While she sent this, her hands sought out and massaged a particular muscle in the back of my shoulder.

I asked.

“So harsh.” Madonna said, snuggling into my shoulder. “They aren’t wrong, though. Let us get below and rest.”

She permitted herself a slight shiver.

“It is early afternoon.” I said.

“Then a short nap with a blanket around us. An hour, no more.”

“All right.” I said. The sloth points rebounded from my sin armor.

In the hammock, bundled tightly in a new cotton comforter, it was easy to fall asleep... after Madonna had. I wasn’t about to be helpless and awaken all trussed up to be turned over to the Black Hound, and discover some loophole in our contract let her replace me with another master.

So far as I know, no such loophole existed, but who knew what ideas she’d gotten in six months away from me?

Whatever her ideas, her actions were fairly honest. She sprawled inside the blanket, bringing as much surface area into contact as she could. Instead of trying to nudge me into action, her breathing slowed and became regular. And then, she was asleep.

I was most of the way there, myself, when Captain Wyvern barged into our room with the barest of knocks. “I demand to know what your business is with the Black Hound.”

“So far as I know, we have no business with him.”

Finally warm, Madonna made a plaintive noise, and resumed sleeping.

“Well, you will soon. He is in pursuit of us, and will catch us within the hour. I recommend you sharpen whatever weapons you have, don your armor, and brush up on your combat tactics. His crew outnumbers mine, you see, and they’re a nasty bit of work. The only things of value on this vessel are you and your women, and I’ll gladly trade them away to protect my own.”

And then, he was gone. I stretched out, just wanting to sleep. It was as though...

No, not just as though. I located the root of the curse, and blasted it with raw ice mana.

Madonna woke up.

“Who has cursed us?” she asked, suddenly awake.

“It looks like one of yours.” I said. “All flames and summer and dancing. The difference is you’d never make a curse that sloppy.”

She looked over the remnants. “Too much lust. It wasn’t the work of any of us. But I agree, definitely a female.”

“We’ve less than an hour. I’ll wake Gamilla, you can wake Kismet.”

She snorted. “Might I dress, first?”

“Fine.” I said. I did take a minute or so to put my own clothing back into sorts.

I knocked on the wall separating our room from Gamilla and Kismet’s. If I’d been thinking, I’d have remembered our room arrangements earlier.

I then moved to knock on their door proper.

“Go slather yourself in duck sauce and swim with the sharks!” Kismet shouted.

“The Black Hound is in pursuit, and means to have us as his prisoners.”

“Ugh!” Kismet said. “I blame YOU. This is YOUR luck. Stupid snake-ass ...” the door muffled the rest of her complaint.

A fully dressed Gamilla opened the door a crack. “How long?”

“Within the hour. I’ve dealt with the curse, but I doubt that’s his only safety net. Captain Wyvern is willing to turn us over to ensure the safety of his crew.”

She took a long blink, wiped her eyes. “This is among the reasons I like being in port. My spear is still sharp, they’ll not take us lightly. Give us ten minutes, we’ll meet you on the deck.”

“Mngnoo.” Kismet said. “Fifteen.”

“Ten.” Gamilla insisted, closing the door.

I made my way to the deck, where two conspicuous things were happening. Captain Wyvern was on the aft-castle, one of his crew waving out the flag language. And his wife and number two was on deck, managing the preparations to put a rowboat overboard.

She waved me away as I approached. “Give us three minutes, and then we’ll be ready to put you lot over the side.” she snapped.

There seemed little point in arguing.

“So that’s to be that, then?” I asked.

“This was a fool’s errand to start with. I don’t feel bad for you. Reap what you’ve sown, ambassador.”

Kismet asked.

Gamilla said.

Madonna said.

Except that they weren’t. We found ourselves with a broadside of crossbows, held by men of skin colors from pale Vernice to islander brown. They were, without exception, in a good mood, some of them drooling and stroking themselves in anticipation of what they’d do to the women... or possibly even to myself.

There was one woman, tall enough to rest her breasts on the shoulder of a man in purple velvet, with a hat so feathered it might sprout wings and fly away. “Ambassador, I have a few questions for you, and the Hound here assures me that his crew is up to the task of dealing with your retinue. I’d tell you this doesn’t have to be unpleasant, but, well...”

“My crew has had nobody to amuse themselves with for days.” the Black Hound finished. “Come aboard, let us play. We shall lower a rope. One by one, you shall tie it around your wrists, and we will lift you to the deck.”

“Or,” he said, “My men can make a mess of you, and we’ll haul you aboard unconscious, and much the same thing will happen to all of you.”

“Madonna?”

“Husband? Tell me you’re not thinking something utterly stupid.” Within her hands, orange flames already licked her palms.

“Tell me you can get the line of them.” I said.

“I am Blacksoul Madonna.” she replied.

“Rhishi, no.” Kismet said.

“I have a counter proposal.” I said. “Face me in single combat.”

He flicked a hand forward, and there was a thunderclap, and a cloud of dark smoke that partially obscured him.

[You have taken a RED critical for times eight damage on a base of eight points...]

[Champion point expended, you have 4/5 champion points remaining.]

[You have suffered an ORANGE critical for times four damage on a base of eight points, for a total of thirty two piercing damage. After armor, you have received twenty six damage. 54/80 health remain.]

[Heartstriker blow! You are suffering...]

[Severe Injury: Damaged Pericardium will be ignored.]

And, big surprise, there was bleeding.

“I accept, of course.” the Hound roared, to the cheering of his crew.”

“You fool! I paid for him to be taken alive!” the woman shrieked.

He shrugged. “You’d have killed him anyway.”

While they did this, I dug into my own flesh, but the bullet (for now I know what that was) had lodged well inside my rib cage, tier two tissues serving as little barrier.

I was strapping my shield to my left arm when their bowline suddenly exploded in a wall of flame.

“Damn it, Madonna! Single combat!”

“They were going to fire anyway!” she shouted back.

Mountain goats have powerful leg muscles. People with Might five have powerful leg muscles. And kobolds have level two muscle, which... But you get the idea.

It still wasn’t enough to take me up to the deck, even though I nearly upended the boat leaping from it. But it could and did carry me partway up the rope, perhaps two thirds of the way.

Close enough to smell the sulphur, and the smell of cooking bacon.

.....

“Fires of HELL!” Madonna screamed from beneath me.

“Don’t just stand there, you buffoons! KILL THE MAGE!” the Hound bellowed over the chaos on deck.

But then, I had a hand on deck, and pulled myself over the railing.

I found myself smiling. We’d done this once before, when we’d first met Madonna.

“Slumber!” the woman shouted, unprepared for the Taint in the deck to reach for her. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed.

I activated.

“Come get me, you ball-less sea dogs! I’ll show you for the bitches you truly are!”

And then, I was beset by enemies.