----------------------------------------
I still think the birthing process is rather traumatic, on both ends of it. Twenty-odd lives… no, wait. [Elf], [Catkin], [Bat], [Gnome], [Goblin], different [Elf]…
Eighteen lives and seventeen conscious births, and I still think the birthing process is rather traumatic. Three days later—thank goodness for [Calendar]—I finally managed to wake out of the birthing stupor. I wasn’t starving—my stomach was full of milk and the Traits I had to offset hunger were rather ridiculous. What does it mean when so many Races need a Trait just to improve consumption.
I was in a bassinet. First impression: crude woodworking on the ceiling. With literally unbelievable DEX for a newborn—no, really, at 19 DEX I probably had more than my parents—I shimmied my arm out my swaddling clothes and got a good look at it.
Huh. Either I’m colorblind or I’m red.
----------------------------------------
I was red, it turns out. Not an hour later, and my mother came by for my feeding.
[Demonkin] we were.
And… another language I didn’t know. Sigh. Or, as in most of the language on Breibone, le sigh. This was ridiculous. I mean, I know that Ager is a big place—I done did map the damned thing—but how many languages could the sapient Races really need? I was up to… seventeen, I think? Pretty bad still in several. [Goblinese 5], but that was a dead tongue. [Oavactarian 8] was bad, but I think that was mostly limited to … no, wait, when did I pick that one up again?
[Tyr Trade Tongue 8] was low Rank too, but was actually still in use, though parochially. And [Rural Minnish], the [Minotaur] tongue I had just barely picked up when they threw me out last life.
But, still, seventeen! There’s got to be some limit! I refuse to believe that there could potentially be thousands of languages on Ager.
----------------------------------------
> Ding!
>
> [Dread Tongue] has Ranked up to 5.
Not that I couldn’t learn it fast. Still wasn’t sure whether I had simply acclimated to learning new tongues or if knowing other languages somehow cross-fed into each other. Maybe I’d find a [Scholar] or [Cunning Linguist] one day to explain it to me.
Still, uhh, it’d only been a month. Rank 1 in a language Skill would be enough for baby talk but criminy if it was too early for that.
I mean, I think so? Not too familiar with [Demonkin] maturation rates, but seemed pretty stock-standard for bipedal symmetric elvenoids. And Mom wasn’t too worried about it yet. Heck, I still spent most of my time in that darn bassinet swaddled up when I wasn’t nursing at the tit.
Hadn’t checked myself yet, but Mom did call me her son, so that’s that. That’s one heck of a streak of maleness. Let’s see, [Elf] female, [Catkin] female, [Cave Bat], uh, how do you tell the sexes apart in [Bats]?
----------------------------------------
I got a Name finally! Three months seemed to do the trick.
My personal name is Gur’godor.
That’s Gur, pause like you’re taking a breath, then go-dor.
Intimidating sounding? Actually, I think it means [Maple] blossom water. Which is an… interesting choice. Wait, wouldn’t blossom water be nectar? Don’t these folks know the sap is the good stuff?
----------------------------------------
Distracted, sorry, internal monologue. I like to think of you as my diary as the tedium of childhood goes by. Especially when I can’t really talk without breaking cover. I mean, I could force my growth along, but [Calendar] is showing that it was only twelve months from my death to my birth. So I’m not really in much of a rush.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Anyways, I’ve also got a surname, which is super-weird because we’re freaking peasants. Not [Peasants], but Dad’s a [Woodcutter] (UC), Mom’s a [Homemaker] (UC), and nobody lives within at least a kilometer of us. Must be a cultural tic, but certainly an uncommon one.
Anyways, the name’s Gur’godor Anodson. And yes, Dad is Anod. Not sure what his surname is or Mom’s. Maybe I’ll figure out one day.
----------------------------------------
Five months in and I’m going stir crazy. Usually it’s not this bad as an infant, but something about this body is just… eurgh!
I’m pushing the edge of development to the point that Mom’s started calling me her little prodigy. I’m sitting up all on my own now for a month. And she’s just started feeling comfortable leaving me in the log cabin while she putters about in the garden.
Operation Flight is a go!
Normally I hate flight in a body not built for it. And if it was possible, I really regret fusing together those Skills into [The All Edge *F]. But now’s probably the best use case for it. Sure even at [Demonkin] (L1)—I leveled it since (L1) and (L0) are equivalent when it comes to XP multipliers—I’ve only got seven thousand MP (Ha! I know Dad doesn’t have that. Doubt Mom does.). But I’m fairly lightweight so it should be efficient.
The first day, when I’m fairly sure she’ll be outside for a few hours or until I cry for lunch, I sneak—okay, I’m using [The Clandestine Arts *M] which at Rank 15 is way overkill for my simpleton mother (love you Mom!)—out a window, conjur a flying sword with [The All Edge] which I sit on with my baby bottom, and go on a quick trip upwards.
A kilometer up, and I pause just below the low clouds on this overcast day to take a look at the surrounding landscape. [Due North], [Predator’s Senses *F], and [Cartography] all giving me a map—well, a mental map—of the land. Which is… not great. I don’t have a perfect recollection of the world maps I made, but the little smidget I just mentally drew could map to a thousand locations. Forest, river, village near river for logging, a town downstream quite a ways, and maybe a small city even further away? Some mountains on the northern horizon.
Sheesh. I don’t even have a good sense of what climatological zone I’m in because, you know, only five months old.
This could take a while.
----------------------------------------
On my second attempt, now a week later, I actually decide to sneak out at night. Mom and Dad are pretty fast asleep, so I slip out of the house, and magic sword fly over to the village. It’s nearing midnight and, other than the one [Nightguard], the village is totally silent.
I’m inside the fanciest house—well, fancy log cabin—in a minute, assuming that it’s the chief’s or village head’s or elder’s or whatever we [Demonkin] locally call that position (it’s a minor detail that I certainly don’t care about right now). There’s actually four or five rooms here, and I find something suitably office-like quicker than a [Rooster’s] [Crow].
I don’t actually have any [Thief]-adjacent Skills for locating things of value, but a half-dozen Skills and two minutes later, and I’ve got a basic sense for what’s in the various bits of storage around the room. I ruffle around for hardly ten minutes before I come across a regional—sub-regional?—map.
The village…shit, I forgot to figure out the village’s name. Ugh.
Two minutes later, and I’m pretty sure I’ve matched the curve of the river. We’re in… actually, the village is unnamed. I think. But the town downstream is definitely Ankton. And if I’m reading this right, the small city I saw way off in the distance is probably Panecasa.
Never heard of it.
Shit.
----------------------------------------
The following night—I’m like five and a half months now—and I’m zooming over to Panecasa via flying magic sword. After a long acceleration—these things are not exactly agile—I hit almost a hundred kilometers per hour before I start decelerating again. Even though it’s midnight, and it’s a small city, Panecasa is on a whole ‘nother level compared to Home Village.
Yup, that’s how I’m referring to it now.
As I was saying, Panecasa is on a whole ‘nother level. A handful of taverns are still rowdy, several patrols move throughout the city, and though the gates are closed, a pair of guards remain at each.
A quick sneak into the guardhouse confirms that this is, indeed, Panecasa and I’m not terrible at guessing geography. And I’m soon discreetly floating in the dark over buildings towards the center city where most of the city administration seems to be.
It’s a dark, quiet corner of the city, which is suitably fine. Still, can’t just guess where the mayor’s office is or whether that office even would have a map, and my grasp of [Dread Tongue] is notably lacking in the terms common in city administration or bureaucracy.
Still, it takes me no more than two hours before I’m staring at a map of this country and those countries we border with.
Ah shit. We’re right next to the Celeri Empire.
----------------------------------------