Born a Monster

To be clear, I am not such a martial artist. I found that even Amphibian Lungs won’t keep you from coughing at the sheer force of water as it literally slams its way down your throat. It was an entire day’s labor, literally climbing upstream. Some times Gondon would angle to the left, sometimes to the right, and there were even times when he seemed to take us directly upward into the falling water.

Incidentally, a plate curiass isn’t kind to gills along the rib cage.

Most of my thoughts, such as I had time beyond climbing, pulling out pitons behind me and passing them upward, were mainly of how much I wanted wings. There were birds that dove beneath the waves, that slept on the ocean’s surface. I could... maybe... fly on the wings that I had. And then I would need to look upward, directly into the torrent.

Oh, there were rest breaks, just enough for us to recover fatigue.

Gods! A ledge!

“If you have any food left, now is the time to eat it.” Gondon said. “We’re about to pass through the Fist of the Ocean. Each ounce will feel like a pound. If it isn’t kit or climbing gear, now is the time to toss it.”

In addition, we dispensed with our expendable gear, such as the boot mufflers and firewood.

And then came a section of waterfall that forced itself into my nose, and pressed on my closed eyeballs as if to pop them like grapes. There were times when it bent exposed pitons, or tore them out of the wall entirely. Our rope... it was strong, but not that strong. Our chains... I nearly pulled my shoulder apart by lifting the weight above my head.

.....

It was two hours of climbing against the thumb of a giant; two hours, if that long, but we went through an entire day of fatigue.

Gondon laughed as he made his way nimbly to a section of pipe, as he set his hand upon the lowest rung of the Deep Ladder. “Go ahead.” he said. “Ask me if we’re almost there.”

“I thought the Deep Ladder was over a mile and a half long.” I shouted, barely able to hear myself.

“Larva, the ladder is over two and a half miles long, perhaps more than three. If we hurry, we can be home in time for supper.”

I’d left my System clock untouched; it told a different story. But... the ability to sleep for an entire night, unbroken by guard shifts? It would have been hard not to catch his enthusiasm.

My muscles ached, my lungs ached, and I was learning what twin [Ocular Orbit Fracture]s felt like. It hurt to blink.

And yet, climbing at a forced march, twenty rungs at normal speed, twenty at a sprint... that seemed like a good idea until we reached the first missing rung.

Gondon cursed creatively, and long. He fell, but not far; my helmet and the face below took much of the impact. We stopped sprinting after that, and Gondon checked each rung to be sure it could hold his weight.

The Deep Ladder ended at a metal hatch, upon which Gondon hammered with his fist. It opened into a world of brightness and noise.

“So.” Gondon said. “Those are the Tunnels, where you’re going to live until you die or retire. What was your first impression?”

I yawned and stretched. “Ask again after I’ve had a good night’s sleep. You’ll get an answer more befitting a Tunnel Warden.”

He was still laughing when I was tacked to the ground, and manacles affixed to my wrists and ankles.

“Hey. Hey. What’s this about, then?” Gondon asked.

“Criminal Suspect Rikschitikk is under arrest, and will be jailed pending trial.” replied one of the two beings sitting on my back.

“That larva is a warrior in training.” Gondon said. “He’s ours.”

“He’s accused of child abuse. By the children in question.” said the Guardian.

“Oh. Well, take the outcast to be away, then.” This was said in a flat, disinterested tone.

Perhaps I glanced over that in my review of Duhric law earlier. Duhric law is codified, meaning that there were pre-set punishments for any crime. The most common reaction to that is a ‘But what if’ type of question. The Duhric answer was to codify the exceptions; it was very precise in what did or did not count, and which cases added to which others.

As one might expect, there was a great amount of leeway in disciplining an errant child. However, there was a line, and in dwarvish society one just simply did NOT cross that one.

Remember when I told you that I missed my sibling’s first words? It was Violet, and the words were, “Pain, Stop.”

Within a few hours, they demanded to be let out of the cage-maze I had designed for them. It was good to know there weren’t any actual issues with the Linguistics part of their Systems.

The problem I was in at that time was that they continued to complain. They made demands for more food, for comfortable bedding, and yes, especially for my death. I learned all this from my Guardians as they escorted me to my cell.

“Are you ill, or are you actually laughing?” one of them asked.

“Ah, sorry.” I said. “I just realized that I’ve found one of the few rooms in this entire city with a door that locks.”

He looked at me like I was mad. Not just insane, but that dangerous mad that had to be taken into an alley and stabbed until the person wasn’t a danger again. “I guess I should tell you to enjoy your stay.”

“Remove your armor.” said the other. “Place your belongings into the boxes. You’re not permitted to keep them in the cell.”

A young lad named Dommik went through my inventory. Based on his assessment, we all agreed I should just empty my inventory. Seems that they’d had quite a few very inventive inmates, and weren’t taking any chances with what I could come up with.

“Will I be fed for my stay here?”

“It won’t be that long.” Stern Guard said. “Besides, the way your victims eat, you didn’t feed them very well while you had them imprisoned.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. This wasn’t the time or place to be trying to explain what we were or how much we could potentially eat. And especially not why.

As a people, the dwarvish folk were very, very accepting of other people – so long as those people adapted to their ways. But they are also a very devout people, and most of the gods remembered the Titan Wars with all the fondness of... what sort of medical professional would give the worst enemas?

Yes, yes. I am telling a story and should focus. Gods have a special place in their hearts where they store their hatred of the Titans, and for us, their mortal spawn. Those dwarves who keep a god keep them near and dear to their hearts.

My point is that I hadn’t exactly told them I was a titanspawn. Less so, in fact, than I normally tell people, which I didn’t. Not that I was ashamed of it, but I had enough people trying to exorcise me or burn me at the stake, thank you very much.

And it was especially not the sort of thing that I thought would help me during my hearing. Yes, a hearing, not a trial. Codified law; they already knew I was guilty, and as I’ve stated, there were very few exceptions to the law they’d decided I’d broken.

It was only six hours before I was summoned from the cell. I had no formal clothes, and the guardians didn’t let me wear anything that would identify me as warrior caste. This wasn’t cruelty on their part, nor an attempt to conceal my caste. The law was quite simple; I would be exiled and never again hold status in dwarven society.

My funds were forfeit to my siblings, whom I hoped had been indulging wisely instead of, for example, trying to order exotic animals just to eat them. As I had indicated, I had a not entirely small fortune, but I hoped they regarded that as something to be savored, rather than a challenge to see how quickly they could burn through it.

I should have known that as children, my siblings were in the dwarven commons system. Their access to their funds was limited, the way so many societies limit children.

And criminals, I had time to think while being led to the large slablike block where my hearing was to take place.

As I may or might not have explained, kit is the gear that is standard for a guild, usually issued by that guild, and having a hefty penalty fine if you lose it.

Guardian is an actual military class. I’d say it borrows some abilities from Inspector, some from Sentinel, and some from an armored wrestler class of some kind. Other than being on the wrong side of one of the harshest codified laws I’ve encountered to date, I can vouch for the effectiveness of the class over standard militia.