At last, I am able to meet with Drolick, and his face remains as craggy and crotchety as ever, the lines carved into his face from long decades of his pure stubbornness protecting his people. My memories say that he was an old man when first I met him, some twenty years prior, but the only change in his face (the only part of him that I can see) is that the hairs of his beard and head have faded from silver to a pure white. He seems hale and hearty, though I would guess he was nearing a century of age, something unheard of in humanity outside of the Veratocracy, and even there he would be considered an elder.
“There’s nothin’ I want to say about ‘em.” Is his only response to my questions about the Primogenitor Swarm’s pilgrimage past his city. Additional polite requests for information are wholly ignored, and intrusive prying gives me no further answers either. Though he tries to dismiss me several times, I am able to keep near him long enough to wear him down.
“They were… reasonable enough.” The words obviously cost him something to say. “Nothin’ like humans, or even any other people or beastkin. Still, they’re people. Don’t cross ‘em. “ Then, disregarding my further questions, Drolick stomped out of the room and I didn’t see or hear from him again for my several month stay in Shandr.
-From the seventeenth entry of the epistolary travel journal of Kayuktuk the Landlocked
My dreams were familiar, seeing myself surrounded by foes on every side, my claws and fangs blunt even though I fought to pierce my foes with all my strength. No matter how I tried to channel my magic, nothing worked, not [Quaking Claw] nor [Crippling Cry], and with every movement I made, I simply sunk deeper and deeper into the invisible mire I found myself in before every one of my motions seemed to pass only in slow motion, my fingers splayed wildly and my jaw spread wide open to snap at anything nearby.
“If you must choose, choose violence!”
The mantra echoed around my mind, and as I focused on it, I could feel my claws sharpen and more easily cut through the invisible object that held me back, my fangs slicing mercilessly through the somehow thick air. Then, I saw little Trai, fighting valiantly to hold her large head up to look at me. Her burbling giggles washed over me as her jaws spread wide in a smile, and as she leaned in to cuddle against me, her trusting warmth tucked against me. The feeling of the small, delicate infant in my arms roused me from my turbulent dreams, and as I opened my eyes, I could feel Trai cuddled against my chest, her snores high and contented. As I looked at her, I knew.
I would choose violence to protect her. I would choose massacre to help my people. I would become a monster that as a human I would have nightmares about. And I would do so without regrets to protect her, my unborn children, and my people. Yet…
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Violence wasn’t the only choice. If I’d chosen total massacre when Sybil had led Tieran to challenge and defeat me, I’d have slaughtered my greatest confidant and supporter before she’d ever had the chance to become what she was. If I’d chosen wholesale slaughter whenever any group of creatures stepped before me, then the Veratocracy would be far from my only enemy, and I could be sure that our journey to Nievtra would be impossible.
“If you must choose, choose violence.”
But when I needn’t choose… when it wasn’t thrust upon me, could I not choose wisdom? Diplomacy? Patience? And what of economic reprisal? Social? Spiritual? Was I cut off from those options due to the circumstances of my birth?
Be wise. Be strong. Lead. Protect. Kill. Conquer.
The words from Nievtala shook me, and I could feel my heart begin to thrum powerfully in my chest, my pulse so strong that poor Trai’s head shook with every one of my frantic heartbeats. The iron taste of blood filled my throat as my body seized up and rebelled against the brief touch of my goddess’s immense, divine presence and mind. Though I still hadn’t changed my vision from the more mundane to thermal perception instead, I could see a slight dribble of blood from my snout beginning to flow out and threatening to fall over the infant in my arms.
I fought to stabilize my mind and body alike as I turned my head and allowed the coursing blood to fall freely onto the ground behind me. As I slowly gathered myself from the fog of sleep and reeling confusion from a divine message, my eyes fought to see what was around me. In front of me and on the other side of Trai laid Sybil, her breaths coming in a slow, steady cadence and her tail wrapped protectively around us both to keep Trai safe within the walls of our bodies. Behind her laid Shemira and Took, Shemira snoring loudly while Took laid so silent and unmoving that I almost thought her dead.
Be wise. Be strong. Lead. Protect. Kill. Conquer.
All along, I’d thought of Nievtala as the goddess of conquest and violence, of massacre and death. Perhaps I should have focused more on her domain of victory, for I felt a greater kinship from the divine promise when I thought of leading my people with wisdom and power. Yes, being an all-consuming force of violence and conquest would lead to victory, but victory could be just as well achieved with the strength of mind and command. The thought resonated with me, though I knew deep in my heart that this was somewhat of a willful departure from what Nievtala originally was worshipped as, the bloody goddess of victory through conquest.
Even so, I would lead my people to a new, greater golden age, one where my eventual death would not begin the downfall of the Keel, of my nation. Somehow, I knew that the foundations of Old Nievtra had collapsed under its own ambition and core weaknesses, and I would circumvent those.
For now, though, I could hear faint splashing coming from the edges of the island, and I could hear Foire’s deliberate steps approaching. As I forced myself to stand, Trai quietly whimpered and reached out for me, or for my warmth I supposed. Sybil, without waking or hesitating, curled her tail forward to gently sweep the infant towards her, where she offered the soft flesh of her throat as a pillow to the little one. Trai settled onto her new bed with a couple squeaks of approval, and as I smiled and watched, Foire’s whispered voice cut through the silence.
“We’ve spotted the creatures.”