Born a Monster

I took her proffered wrist, touched my lips to her wrist, gave a light flick of my tongue. Surprisingly, not poisoned.

“You are extremely forthright and polite for an assassin.” I said.

“Thank you.” She replied. “I have taken the liberty of preparing tea. Lavender, my personal favorite.”

“Are we toasting something?” I asked.

The governess looked horrified. “One does not toast with tea.”

“My apologies.” I said.

The Tarantula just sat there, looking amused. “I made the same mistake... when I was a child.”

Not all truths need to be spoken, I reminded myself.

.....

“Might I ask why, Miss Tarantula, you feel the need to kill me?”

“Well, mostly because you traveled with a devil. I suspect the monkey, as you and your wife passed testing by the local clergy.”

I blinked. “So, you want to kill me because of a monkey I no longer travel with?”

“Precisely. Your sins are not recognized by law, and not punished by the church. I must be the judge and executioner. I’m sure you understand.”

I sipped my tea. “The taste is surprising, and I admit, non-poisonous.”

The governess sipped her tea, while the Tarantula giggled. “As if I would use such crude methods to finish you.”

“I must admit, I am surprised to be found guilty just by association.”

“Many are, but no. I have my means of identifying those who must die. You, sir, are most certainly on that list.”

“I presume we’re here to talk on neutral ground?”

“Just so. I want you to have a chance to confess your sins. Why send a soul to hell if it need not end up there?”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “So, my options are to either confess to a church I don’t worship, or to die at your hand?”

“No, no. I’m not being clear. I want you to take care for your immortal soul, but I’ve no interest in it. I only care about your mortal life, specifically in that I intend to end it.”

I moved the rubbing to my eyes. “And this is what, a sportsman’s warning?”

“If you want to view it that way. I move by rules, you see. Self-imposed, I’m afraid, but rules nonetheless.”

“May I guess these rules are why we are talking now?”

“Indeed. I prefer to hunt strong individuals, at the peak of their powers.”

“I won’t reach that peak for another few decades, yet.” I said.

“Oh, I’m not waiting that long. Other monsters to kill, and all.”

“How long are you waiting?”

“How long will it take you to recover from that nasty poison?”

“You’ve poisoned him?” the governess asked.

“Me? Of course not. That green-skinned buffoon.”

“Farlaine.” I said.

“Yes, he struck at you just before I myself was going to. A simple strike to break your spine so you couldn’t run away, a painless coup-de-grace... and then that pinche stepped in and messed you all up.”

“He DID do a credible job of trying to kill me.”

“Yes. But that final blow, the one to the arm? How did you kill him with that blow? As blows go, it wasn’t that lethal. Oh, he may have bled out eventually, and the pain may have knocked him out... but it really should not have.”

“My System told me it was an orange critical.”

“Then your System is wrong and stupid! There is nothing inherently lethal in the way or location you struck him.”

I shrugged. “Maybe Farlaine has some insight that I do not.” I said. “I wish you luck in your seance.”

“A seance? Me? How scandalous. No, I just thought that you might know. Are you telling me that was dumb luck?”

“I was trained by Gerald the Blade, of Whitehill in the Tidelands. It’s not a blow he taught me, and all that I know of anatomy says you’re right. At worst, that blow should have only crippled his arm. Yet, it WAS an orange critical for four times damage.”

“Yes, but to which organ? Thrusts to the lung or liver or intestines might have such effect, but... not to the muscle of an arm. I mean, there’s not even a major nerve center there.”

I shrugged. “I admit not to understand the working of Systems well enough to answer that question.”

“Hm. Pity.” She sipped her tea. “Well, then there are two other matters which I’d like to discuss.”

“Let me guess at one of them, and say that barring further incident, I’ll be back at full sanity in day or so.”

“Indeed, that was the first matter. As to the second, I should like to accompany you until I manage to kill you.”

“...”

“I can tell by that open jaw that you don’t understand.”

I shrugged. “Even you must understand that this is not the norm of things.”

“Oh, of course not. The number of times people have accepted and then violated the terms of our agreement is beyond count.”

“Our agreement?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just that most people agree to it.”

I could understand why most people did that; I was sorely tempted to hurl the cup of tea at her, draw my sword, and just take my chances. Instead, I took a sip of tea. In my defense, it really WAS very tasty tea. “I suppose I can at least hear this offer.”

“The way I reason it, I can hunt you in one of two ways. Either I can pull out all the stops, including poison and traps. But that way is messy, doesn’t always kill your target. Or, I can spend a good deal of time getting to know you and your habits, and strike at a time when only you are at risk.”

“Why would you do that, knowing that I or my comrades would try to strike you down?” I asked.

“Oh, because by the ancient laws of hospitality, I can then kill the lot of you wholesale, and not worry about collateral damage.”

I kneaded the back of my head with both my hands. She SEEMED sincere in her reasoning, and it all fit... it was just also incredibly wrong. “I reserve the right to kill you during the attempts upon my life themselves.”

“Oh, of course. You wouldn’t be a true man if you didn’t.”

“You understand that what I and my companions do is inherently dangerous?”

She laughed behind her hand. “My understanding is that you are locked in port until the spring storms end. What makes you think that you’ll live to see danger again?”

“Well... Possibly I won’t. May I ask why someone as... accomplished as yourself needs that level of access to me?”

“Oh, it’s not a need. It’s just a part of the way I work. Part of my internal code, you might say.”

“Well, having to live without knowing whether you’re going to attack me at any given time doesn’t sound like a stress-reducing way to live.”

“Is it any less stressful knowing that I’m out of your sight and thinking of ways to kill you?”

“Well, it does have the comfort of distance, and knowing that if I see you...”

She blinked, and her eyes were green. Not like emeralds, but that luminescent green of the fae. She shook her hair, and auburn curls became golden, then white, then blonde, and back to red. She placed her hands, one inside the other, changing skin tones with each hiding. She ended back at her normal coloration.

“That’s just what I can do without taking time to name my abilities, or using a full invocation. If I don’t want you seeing me, you won’t.”

“With those abilities, why didn’t you just infiltrate my group?”

“Because,” she said, “I want access to YOU. I want to learn how you think, how you process your emotions. I want to learn what it is that makes Rhishisikk, adventuring ambassador, tick. I want to peel back the skin you show to the public, and understand what vile gears are actually at work underneath. I want to truly know and revile you before killing you.”

She shrugged. “While trying to kill you in the meantime, of course, shall we say one attempt per week or so? Random intervals, of course, determined at my whim.”

“So... once a week, or else just anytime you feel like it?”

She smiled. I’d seen that smile on Kismet, on Madanna. I KNOW I’VE WON, that smile said.

I sighed. Some truths need to be told. “With the understanding that I’ll be defending myself, most likely in violent ways designed to kill you.” I extended my hand.

“Excellent.” She said, shaking it. She moved to clasp it with the other hand as well, then jammed the needle into my wrist.

[You have been poisoned. Level 6 hematological poison detected.]

“This counts as my attempt for this week, then.” She said amiably.

I could already see that she and Madonna were going to get along swimmingly.

This is possibly a mistranslation. Literally, hombre varonil translates into “manly man” or “macho man”. The cultural implication is that of a heroic, courageous man, who laughs at danger and lives a life without regrets.