Born a Monster

Chapter 151: Servant of the Axe, 51 – Skills to Improve

Servant of the Axe

Chapter 51

Skills to Improve

I sighed, looked at Gamilla again. “No, what I’m asking is WHY is this taking so long? Clearly, multiple people must want to be a ship captain.”

“Do I truly need to give you a System list of what a captain needs to know?”

“Every crew position, for starters. Bosun on up, otherwise, they can’t tell the crew how to improve their performance.” I said.

“Yes, and then fitness, basic health, accounting, appraisal and assessment of the ships parts, basic leadership, both combat and social. Regardless of how many starry eyed applicants think they can start at the top, we need someone who’s come up through the ranks.”

.....

“And none of the current crew are suited to the position?”

“I’m not certain the crew has the capacity to remain a crew; most of the trained deck hands were wiped out. I’m told they limped into port like a crew of drunken lemurs.”

“So, what of current first mates? Over a dozen ships have been through port just this current week.”

“Oh, hey, person we don’t know. How’d you like to betray your captain for a job that doesn’t even start for seven months?”

“Seven months? How can we afford to pay even half a crew for that long?”

“We aren’t. We’re renting adjacent inns, with the crew double-bunked. They get a roof over their heads, and basic food rations. But they know we can’t pay them.”

“And the crew just – put up with this? No, wait. How large of a loan did we take out, Gamilla?”

She slid the accounting book to me. It actually wasn’t as bad as I feared.

“The others must never know. My wife and Dimmihammas in particular.”

“Of course not, ambassador.”

“So what are these trades, here?”

“You’ve doubtless noticed that several goods are overpriced. I’ve merely made profitable orders in other ports. The captains delivering the goods make money, we make money, everyone gets to be happy.”

“Where is sugar produced? I’ve mostly seen maize and coacoa in the fields of the colonies.”

“Part comes from the dragonwyr, and part from Dauria.”

“I thought trading vessels couldn’t enter the dragonwyr because of the Order of the Wyvern.”

“Ah, but the Order of the Wyvern can take goods produced in the dragonwyr outward. As long as they aren’t flying the black, most of their vessels go wherever they want.”

“That’s a pretty nice setup for the Dragon. Does the Order of the Octopus do similar?”

“Indeed. Pirates do need a port to sell their goods at, after all.”

“It surprises me that the governors don’t just deny right of trade to the pirate crews, then.”

“And risk that no merchants would come to your colony? Pirates aren’t the most forgiving of people, and they will target ships from a certain colony just to make a point.”

“Still, if all the colonies came together...”

“Under whose lead?”

“Ah. The governors have to answer to their respective nations.”

“Exactly, ambassador. As do we. So anyway, the price of sugar...”

#

It turns out you can make a substantial amount of money just by staying in one place, if you have information coming in from all the major ports. Not enough to pay our loan off, but more than enough to have the core group train in the skills we’d need.

“I don’t need skills, my hellfire has won every battle we needed to fight.”

“As someone else involved in those battles, other people have different perspectives on what happened.” Narces said.

“Yes, yes, thank you for keeping their grubby little swords off of me.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Dimmihammas.” I said.

“Uhm...”

“Wife, burn Dimmihammas.”

“No! I’m not burning my servant.”

“By. Your. Contract...”

“Resist Fire!” Dimmihammas screamed. “That WAS your point, wasn’t it?”

“It was. Dimmihammas, would you please explain to Madonna?”

Madonna didn’t wait for that. “It’s a petty protection spell, known by any Adept worth their salt. So what? It can’t cancel out all of my power.”

“Kismet?” I said, “...”

“Thorn strike!”

“Agh!” Madonna said, clutching a knitting needle sticking out of her leg, “WHO DOES THAT!?”

Gamilla’s mouth was hanging open, but she caught on first. “Any enemy, really. Distract the mage, and their magic doesn’t help them. You need something that isn’t magic to help you fight when you’re in pain.”

“I have a cutlass and crossbow... except they were stolen...”

“And your skill with them?” I asked. “You keep mocking my magic, but those are mostly backup skills. My warrior class is Pankratios, but how often have you seen me wrestling people into submission? Although my strongest skills are with the shield, how often have I had to fight without it? Survival lies, in part, in ability to adapt in battle, not just in one strong trick. Your flames are impressive, and let nobody tell you otherwise, but no one thing can overcome all situations.”

“But I still get formal sword training, right?” Kismet asked.

I nodded. “If we’re training, then we’re all training in something. Maybe not in the same things, but let’s get our skills up to the par that we’re trying for.”

“I’d like to train with these Air Magic abilities my new bow has.” Narces said. “But that means actually using air magic.”

“I can teach you the basic regimen for expanding your mana capacity.” I said. “But it’s something you do daily, and see progress only after months.”

“And, beg pardon, why didn’t we do this over winter, then?” Dimmihammas asked. “I seem to recall doing virtually nothing for an entire season.”

“During the storm season, yes. If we’re to train in storms, then we first need some way to survive in storms.” I said.

“Uh, boss? That’s hero level stuff.”

I saw Madonna’s smirk.

“Yes, Narces. That’s what I’m saying. It’s time for us to stop fooling around and become heroes capable of accomplishing our goals, in spite of the worst these islands can throw at us.”

Madonna made a top downward stroke with her finger.

“And yes, I acknowledge point for Black Madonna.”

#

It didn’t take long to formalize our choices. Kismet would study swords at the academy and information gathering from Gamilla.

Gamilla and Madonna would train in archery under Narces’ watchful eye. Madonna would learn trading from Gamilla, and Gamilla would learn the languages of the native peoples.

Narces would learn air magic, which is honestly, much harder than it sounds. There is a reason why even in fiction, practiced arcanists are always old.

My education had to cover the most topics, and therefore my schedule was the fullest. In spite of their similarities, arcane, divine, and psychic training all required their own regimen. But those were pushed into the morning and afternoon, to make room for my daytime schedules; music, formal writing, formal speaking, and my bane, public manners.

Honestly, I didn’t need teachers to tell me that I was a barbarian; I knew this already. What I needed to know was how to look like a well-educated barbarian, not just to parrot and mimic the manners of others. My teachers pointed out over a thousand errors just in those first two weeks (not getting ahead of myself), but did little to actually underscore the precepts and principles upon which these rules had been generated.

It was like trying to teach mathematics without an understanding of what numbers were.

But like I said, we placed down our advances, paid for two months, and were just getting started in our studies.

Then the dragon “invited” me to the dragonwyr. I would learn later that he’d actually dictated a letter that was sitting, unread, at the docks of Neo Esteban, just because we hadn’t known to check for it.

“Oi, snake face! You’re coming with us. You can get into the sack, or we can drub you on the head and put you in. What’s your preference?”

I was between public speaking and formal writing, both with ancient women of horrible breath and slightly less horrible teaching methods. I was in no mood for petty thugs. And this, any children reading this, is why you should always make proper introductions, and communicate your intentions clearly.

I squinted and hissed.

“Oh, he sounds like a teapot me mum used to have.” Said the shortest one.

Well, they were good and I had scales. It turned into an endurance match. They said such polite things as,

“The head! Hit him in the HEAD!” and

“Great Mithras, he just won’t go down!” and

“Gods! There’s no jimmies in his groin. Kick him over, kick him over!”

[You have received an ORANGE critical for x4 damage. You have received 32 points of bludgeoning damage; after armor, you have taken 26 points. You are at negative health, and will experience a period of unconsciousness.]

.....

And that, children who are reading this, is why you ALWAYS call for the guard when outnumbered three to one.

“Gods, that’s one ferocious bugger. So glad I had this jerkin enchanted, or my guts would be out.”

“Yeah, that was a right proper scrap. Into the sack with him.”

#

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