Born a Monster

520 Natural Gas

Salt, as a spice, could be imbued. It had no nutritional value of its own, much as it is critical to life, but could be enhanced to have a single point.

Dust, dirt, and rocks... not so much.

I considered, briefly, taunts that I should have evolved the digestion of the earthworm, that allowed it to eat soil. Or those of rabbits to eat their own dung.

Moisture saving measures, as well. The ability to lick moisture from my eyeballs, for example. There were several cunning desert creatures with evolutions that would help me to survive.

And, as I’ve pointed out before, all of those required biomass.

Now, there was one plentiful source of nutrients in the Armpit. In two words, human beings. Each human being was about a hundred fifty to two hundred pounds of good nutrition. And I had, while living with goblins, eaten human flesh before. I wasn’t above eating those already dead, when I had to.

I wasn’t anywhere near that desperate yet.

Besides, the day was young.

[You have 12/135 required nutrition for today.]

.....

Damn it! I refused to die such a pathetic death!

[Nutrition required for next level of Omnivore: 1920.]

Sure. Thanks, System.

As we reached the sixth hour, about halfway through our shift, people began to collapse, immobile, due to a lack of fatigue. The guards struck these unfortunates with waves of pain until they passed out. I noticed that the guard in back used only rating three strikes, while the one nearer the other side of the line used rating fives.

“Bastards have a mean streak today.” Wiry said. “Using smaller pain strikes to make it last longer.”

That earned him two consecutive strikes from the nearer guard. “We lost a guard yesterday from trying to channel too much magic at once.”

Tall snorted, which earned him a strike.

I cleared my throat, which earned me two strokes, neither of which were more than a passing sensation.

“I notice... urg... neither … ah... of you...”

“SHUT UP, slave! Just! Shut! Your! Mouth!”

Okay, it wasn’t my fault neither of them was tapping the latent mana of the mine. <1 >

The downside of this should be obvious; each pain wand only held a certain amount of power. I blinked, but realized the truth of the matter. The guard behind us had three wands, one of which was already depleted.

“There isn’t enough power in the guard’s wands to maintain this method of discipline.” I said.

“You believe that,” Tall said, “and tell me if you feel better when they resort to using flogs.”

“Why not whips?” I asked.

“Not enough room in these cramped spaces to use a whip.” Wiry said.

I salivated, but swallowed what I could.

“What are you DOING?” Wiry asked.

“I’m thinking of the taste of leather.” I said.

“Well, you’re an odd little...”

But I’ll never know the word he would have used, for there was a great commotion toward the front.

“Oh hell.” said Wiry.

“Pull AWAY!” yelled Tall. He yanked on the chain connecting us.

“Pull away from WHAT?” I asked, giving Wiry a lighter version of the tug.

He came willingly, as did those before him.

“This way!” yelled the rear guard, “This way to the surface!”

“What are we running from?” I asked, suddenly getting jostled and pushed.

“Gas!” Wiry exclaimed. “They must have hit a pocket of gas.”

I sighed, but made haste. We, the diggers, all escaped with our lives, dragging the two who had provided us with our salt. The guard nearest our front didn’t come out that day.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Well, none of us get fed.” Wiry said, squinting at the descending sun.

They did have us march by a raised area of scree (loose stone), where we dropped our debris, and they did take from us our tools and our cups. And then, they looted our inventories again.

“What are they looking for?” I asked.

“Anything that can be used as a weapon.” Tall said.

“Or spare salt. Sometimes, a new person will try to smuggle some out.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s that and clothing.” Wiry said. “We don’t have a lot else to barter with.”

They marched us past the latrine pits, where we paused just long enough to finish that bit of business. “What do we wash with?” I asked.

“Dust.” Wiry said, placing a healthy dose between his buttocks.

Turns out there’s even a skill for that, which I didn’t have.

We were then filed into a cell, four guards there to supervise as single people were unchained from the group and fastened to secure rings in the walls or floor. There were two dozen of us, but never more than two to a single ring. Many rings only had a single prisoner chained to them.

“Please.” Someone said. “I haven’t eaten in two days.”

“Well,” a guards-woman replied, “Then you’ll put in your work tomorrow.”

From the direction of the mines came a booming noise.

“Starting on it early, then.” Tall said.

“Starting on what?” I asked.

“When gas is discovered, those of us closest to death are given torches. Those poor sods have to go into the mines, and when their torch changes color, they hurl it.” Wiry said.

“Most of the gas pockets burn, but when there’s enough of it in one place, it explodes.” Tall said. “With luck, they’ll collapse the section of the mine the gas is leaking into.”

“And without luck?” I asked.

Wiry shrugged and leaned against the wall. “Longest since I got here, it took them two and a half days, and killed twenty two. The mine we went back into wasn’t the same mine we’d left behind.”

Tall scratched his belly. “You, at least, are new here. You’ll feel bad, but you won’t begin actually Starving for a week or so.”

“It’s not the damage nor the Might penalties that kill most.” Wiry said. “It’s the physical conditions that get most people. Ah, at least we get water in a timely manner.”

But no, it wasn’t someone coming to bring us water. “We need six.” the guard said.

Nobody responded.

I sent a group invite, cursing myself for not thinking of it earlier.

“There’s one.” the guard said, pointing at me. “Five more, body detail.”

“Come friends, not all at once.” he added.

“If you have a cart to haul the dead,” I said, “I can do it all at once. From what I’ve heard, we’re just dumping the bodies on the ground and letting the ghouls have them?”

“You’d do that?” the guard asked. “Expose yourself to not one but six dead bodies?”

I shrugged. “What diseases are the other five going to carry that the one doesn’t?”

The guard spun his keys. “I suppose that works.” He unlocked me, and led me to where six bodies lay in various states of soiled.

A bit of shouting produced a mason’s cart, and soon we set off away from the setting sun.

“You have a lot of muscle for your size.” the guard said.

“For that, you may thank a fu dog called Kumanchu,” I said, “a beast who loved his wine.”

“I’ve been warned against you.” he said. “You may serve, but your demeanor is not of one used to service.”

“I command only myself.” I said, “And I find that often only those I command are willing to do what chores must be done.”

“What a sad attitude.” he said, after an uncomfortable pause. “No wonder the Unknowable Father has exiled you to the Armpit.”

“And what did you do,” I asked, “to be assigned here?”

He shrugged. “Nothing more than being willing to listen to another man’s wife.”

“Nothing more?” I asked.

He adjusted his belt. “I did have my temptations at the time, but I am still young, and still a man, so I maintain that I have acted properly.”

“Oh?” I asked. “And how long are you assigned to guard the likes of myself?”

.....

He squinted into the lengthening shadows. “Be quicker about it, else neither of us will survive the night, and that will not matter.”

I took a look over my shoulder. “We’re far enough from the camp that they won’t need to see what happens tonight.”

He shook his head. “It must be far enough that the ghouls don’t think of snacking on the living after consuming the dead.”

A sudden movement off to the right had him snap his head around.

“It’s a beast.” I said. “Some manner of flightless bird.”

“Oh. Queezal.” he said, suddenly not interested. “Do you have some manner of sense that detects beasts?”

“I do.” I said.

“That ridge up ahead. We roll the bodies down that.”

I blinked. “There is a lack of animals in that area.”

He sucked air through his teeth. “It might be all right. Continue walking.”

“It’s not all right.” I said. “But it isn’t ghouls.”

A boar hunting spear appeared in his hands. How had THAT fit into his inventory?

“Gnolls.” he said. “I hope you can fight with those claws.”

“If I have to.” I said.

Looking at the number of bows the gnoll hunting party had, I hoped otherwise.

<1 > Not that military folks are the best at magical disciplines. There are numerous permutations of this, for example adepts tended to do poorly in martial matters.

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