Xangô POV: Day 50

Current Wealth: 1 silver 47 copper

I wasn’t actually entirely sure how to start a heroic speech. Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly a hero. I’d seen plenty of movies, though, and read a few books, graphic novels, and played through video games. I was familiar with a vague set of behaviours that tended to strike people as impressive and larger than life. The major problem was that they also tended to kill the person who acted them out, unless he had superpowers. I basically didn’t, so being the real deal was sadly out of the question.

My pause to think wasn’t long, though. The mind works quickly under pressure, particularly the pressure of half a hundred eager faces aimed in its direction, and my mind in particular was plenty fast.

“My name is Xangô,” I declared, “Xangô…” Fuck, a last name, what was our name. “Belahont. These are my brothers, Solitaire and Beam.” I gestured at them as I named them, and eyes turned to each of them in turn. “We’re here to help all of you with your undead problem.” Faces seemed to relax slightly as they beheld us all.

One thing that definitely helped the illusion of heroism was that we did actually look the part, at least for now. We’d gained a lot of muscle during our frantic weeks of training in Jhigral, and though our money was starting to run low, we’d still been eating well enough to maintain it for a while. That, and the fact that none of us were less than four or five inches above the average peasant’s height. We might’ve resembled demigods to these people.

Maybe not. One of them was certainly not as daunted as the rest, stepping forwards with sharp eyes as she stared me down. She was a tall woman, and remarkably dark skinned. For this part of the world. Her tone was still a great deal lighter than mine, but she wouldn’t have been out of place in the middle east back home.

“And what are you charging for your help?” She demanded, voice all but confirming my observation. Her accent had that deep-throated, scraping note that I recognised as, in this world, belonging to Vitonnia.

That was strange, Vitonnia was a good thousand leagues southeast of where we were now. She was very far from home to be living in some dog water Eregarn village like this, and very, very grumpy to be receiving help for it. Still, I’d won over hostile clients before. The trick was patience.

“We’re charging a sum of however much you can spare.” I replied, calmly. “We need to eat too, sadly, and we need funds to do more good. But for now that’s of no concern, because we’ll only be collecting our payment if you and us band together and manage to keep ourselves from getting chewed to bits by undead, hm?”

She didn’t seem convinced, but most of the people around her definitely were, muttering happily amongst themselves as she took a step back, still eying us balefully. The woman seemed…Oddly frustrated. The old man was speaking next.

“They’re mercenaries.” He declared. “And they’ve managed to kill trolls before, so I think we can safely trust them to help us deal with some rotters!”

I ignored the hollow, worried feeling his blind faith had growing in my gut. The people, now, were grinning openly at the man’s testament, some even going so far as to applaud our presence. I couldn’t correct that. We needed an attitude like that if everyone were to make it through this.

“So,” The man continued, turning back to me, “What are you going to be doing first? Sunset should be in around twelve hours.”

Which meant I could safely take about eleven to prepare, I considered his question, then turned to Solitaire and Beam.

“Any idea-”

Solitaire was cutting me off already, practically screaming his question.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Do you have any animal shit?”

I must say, I have seen people stare harder at my friend than the town did then, but not often. It took a few seconds for someone to reply.

“...The barn floor should be…Uh…Crusty with it?”

Solitaire nodded, sharply, and started marching away.

“Bring me someone clever.” He ordered. “In the absence of that, bring me all the people who know what sulphur are and I’ll vet them for usefulness myself.”

Eyes turned to me, questioning, and I had to resist sighing. Give Solitaire a time limit, I supposed, and he’d invariably decide that being polite doesn’t make the cut on his list of priorities. I gestured the people after him with as gratuitous a nod as I could manage.

“I thought he said explosives wouldn’t be very useful here.” Beam whispered, I turned to him and tried to convey my own confusion as well as I could, without tipping the audience off.

“They’d still be better than nothing, if he can make as much as last time.” I noted. “We couldn’t buy enough ingredients, maybe we can find them.”

“Uh, excuse me sirs,” Came a voice from behind, I turned to see it was the old man we’d followed here. “Thank you again for, you know, volunteering to help us, but can I ask what you’re planning to do exactly?”

It was a valid question, and fortunately we’d all discussed it well in advance on the way here. Solitaire had, thanks to his antisocial personality disorder, been preparing to defend a position from hordes of undead for most of his lifespan. I didn’t trust anyone else I’d ever met, spoken to or seen evidence of existing more than him to get us out of this situation. Which meant that the optimal thing, as I saw it, was making sure everybody else did what he said, too.

And that was where I came in. These were people, I knew people, and all I had to do here was make those people thought I knew what was best for them.

The only thing that made this different from the standard dealings I’d learned from my dad, of course, was that I actually did know what was best for them this time. But that isn’t the sort of thing one says out loud.

“My brother, Beam, will be practising combat drills with your people. “Spear thrusts, that sort of thing.”

He eyed me like I was a moron.

“You realise I was a sword fighter, right?” He snapped. “And sometimes a martial artist, but never a spearman. I don’t know the first thing about spear fighting!”

Fortunately he had the prescience to keep his voice low as he said it, and I did the same.

“You can thrust, right?” I demanded. “And you know how to parry, how to control a weapon, there should be some overlap.”

Beam hesitated, and I slapped him on the shoulder.

“Well there you go, then!”

Before he could argue further, I turned back to the group.

“Furthermore, my other brother, Solitaire, will help you with your defences. Believe me when I say he’s studied methods of siege warfare that haven't even been invented yet.”

It might have been a bit much, because more than one of the people turned sceptical- even among those who’d been happy to see us. Still, I didn’t expect to win them all over right away. One night. Give them one night to see what we could do, and they’d trust us by the end of it.

Either that, or they’d all die, and us along with them. The silver lining of that eventuality was that nobody would really be in a place to care. I thought it best to avoid it in any case.

“Alright.” I called out, clapping to recapture the attention I’d sensed slipping away in my pause. “Everyone get moving, quick march, Beam will be training you and I need to catalogue the resources available so we know what to use.”

Best way to take power is to get everyone too busy enough to notice, as my father used to say. Besides, having a comprehensive list of materials would make it easier for Solitaire to violate the Geneva Conventions.

Say what you will about terrified, starving pre-industrial peasants with PTSD, but they were remarkably quick about hopping to obey. For the most part. The tall Vitonnian woman who’d given us shit was still just standing at the back and glaring, but a sizable enough fraction of the others were desperate enough in helping out. I watched them diffuse through the village, darting into buildings, storerooms, clearing out the crowded streets with remarkable ease. Something about the sight was oddly…Inspiring.

But I didn’t wait to enjoy it for long before marching on to my own work. I’d have to be quick, after all, if we were going to survive this.