Anything can be useful, it is figuring out the way to make it so that is true skill. So keep track of your hoard in both your mind and soul. It must be a part of you for you to best use it.

-From Vocationals: 7:9-11

The neonate wrenched the knife out of the second eye she had ever ruined with a sharp jerk.

Something soft splattered against her chest. She looked down to see a bit of One-eye’s brain, and something inside it wriggled. She hissed and swiped it off of herself, thinking it was a wriggling worm, but she couldn’t be sure in the flickering light of the bag.

She moved away from the corpse, feeling the need to scrub herself clean, and only then did she look up at the Provider. Lowering her arms, letting her scales return to their greens once more. She didn’t run, but she didn’t get closer either. She was doing everything she could to make it clear that she was not going to fight Tok.

Unless he tries to kill me.

She blinked, surprised at the conviction in her Instinct’s voice. It was probably because she had directly competed against a more physically capable opponent and won. This was most definitely one of those times to not listen to her Instinct, or at least temper its confidence. Luck had played quite a bit in the confrontation.

I don’t know if One-eye counted as a true challenge because of its madness anyway.

Kill is a kill. I took its life.

She shivered again and couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or disgust.

Tok’s eyes moved to the hand that held the knife, then glanced over to the gravesite. She followed the Provider’s crimson gaze. One-eye’s fall had scattered the skull and the objects that had been buried beneath it into the mud.

The heavy wooden figurine was clearly in the light of the bag, spattered with the dead broodmate’s blood.

They looked at each other once more. As his red eyes shifted back to her he made a strange gesture with one hand. Something flowed across her, invasive, from outside her.

No! What!

Begone!

He was casting a spell! She hadn’t done anything wrong! The whole of her mind struggled against it stubbornly, one hand coming to her head. The force pressed harder, then with a sensation like the flick of a snipbug’s tail, it settled in, making space for itself. Her mind felt tight, but not uncomfortable.

“Was this the one killing the others?” Tok asked, eyes watching her intently.

She glared up at the Provider, still rubbing her temple. “What did you do?” She hissed. This wasn’t right, what had he done? What spell? And why had-

“Answer the questions neonate, ” He growled, and she felt herself take one step back away from him.

Lightning flashed, lighting the natural armor of his scales, red eyes glowing.

“Is this… the one… killing the others..?” He hissed, his stance changing, starting to lean forward, clawed hands slightly open at his sides.

The deliberate pace of his words was like the river.

Unstopping, unyielding, and uncaring if it smashed you against the rocks hidden in its bed. A tone of command.

Respect. Her Instinct hissed slowly.

I… yes, he deserves it after all.

“Yes.” she said simply, shaking her head against the fuzzy something that had invaded her thoughts, “At least he claimed as much. He said voices told him to. Said that there were headaches. That he got power from them.”

Tok’s eyes narrowed, and the interrogation began. He was relentless, asking her for every detail, and she relayed what she could. It felt like a test, like if she answered wrongly, she would be obliterated. She remembered his crushing grip, how he had popped that python, and chosen not to do the same to her later.

“So you dug up this grave then. Were you planning to keep the items?” He asked, and she paused.

Lie! Survive!

She wanted to lie. She tried to lie. Several times. But every time she did her throat closed up, locking the words in her lungs. She tried yet again, and her throat grew painful as Tok’s eyes narrowed even more.

“Yes!” she admitted, the word bursting out of her, shouting the confession as the truth returned her ability to breathe.

“And what gives you the right to take such things from the dead?” He asked slowly.

She paused, noting the lack of prefixes in that question. A test? She was tired of stupid tests! She was worthy.

“The dead have no need for these things!” She snarled.

Tok blinked at her, and she forced herself to moderate the prefixes of her own words, going pale with apology, “I… I do. I have need of them. There are rules to this trial, but there is room for interpretations, is there not?” She glanced up before having to look away again.

He stared at her.

The rain poured down, diluting One-eye’s blood as it soaked into the mud. The Provider was contemplative for a long time.

Finally, he hissed, “This is true. Well reasoned, little one,” and she could feel as the fuzziness left her mind.

He bent down and picked up the corpse. “Do not waste this boon,” His one red eye, large as her skull, shifted to the knife, then to her, “Such actions in the world of the smoothskins are not acceptable. At least most of the time.”

What does that matter?

Did she want to travel? She looked at the knife. There might be more things like the blade out there. She gripped it tight.

I want a name.

Good. Survive. Think later.

Tok looked down at her, then pointed with a mighty claw at the hole in the ground. “Replace Gix’s skull. You owe… her… that much.” And with that he headed back into the trees. Lightning lanced across the sky above, casting his broad back in sharp relief as he tossed the rotting corpse of One-eye into the river.

A waste. Her Instinct growled.

Too rotten to eat. She remembered the weird wriggle in the brain matter and shuttered. And full of dangers.

She was still pondering what he had meant as she was replacing the gravestone. What did she owe Gix? She had looked into the hole and pulled out a sheath for the knife, which she had collected and placed in the bag with the wooden figurine.

I guess I would be dead now without her. She looked at the blade one last time before sheathing it.

The bag still flickered and glowed sporadically in the rain, but she found that if she wrapped it in the tattered clothing, it obscured most of the glow. It was difficult to do, as if there was something pushing the clothes away at first. Eventually it stopped, accepting the covering.

Idiot. It is dead. A bag.

Then why did it suddenly let me wrap it?

Maybe its magic is broken?

She shrugged, accepting it for what it was. A pointless mystery for another time.

The knife she held in one hand, its matte coloration making it just another shadow in the dark as she returned to her den, her main focus being to get back and rest. Not trying to make noise, but not creeping along as much as she had been.

Let them all know I am still alive. She gripped the hilt of her weapon.

Dominance! Yes!

If any of the others were still awake anyway. She was done fearing them.

Tok’s response had made it clear to her that she could defend herself with lethal force and that she had been wrong. It was actively hunting the others that was taboo. That knowledge made her feel bold, almost hoping some of them would.

Let’s see them deal with my new claw, let them try to call me a runt now!

She’d hand out a few more personal names, just like she had for One-eye. Her grip tightened on the matte black blade. They had all picked on her, chasing her off more than any of the others. They had been relentless. They had beaten her, scratched her, insulted her.

Was a target then. The bluntness of her own Instinct stung more than she expected.

But she was dangerous now.

Truly dangerous. Her Instinct made her grip the knife.

No. Not just because of that.

She had been forced to struggle more than any of them, and now she had everything she needed to start catching up. She knew real danger, real hunger, real weakness. And she knew how to overcome all of those things now. Or at least, better than the others would. The trial was shaping her into a weapon far more deadly than any blade.

And the rest of the brood best be wary of me.

Yes! Thrive!

She shouldn’t let her victory go to her head, and cut herself off there. She continued through the rain to her den.

Pride is one thing, but overconfidence is a death sentence.

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Her Instinct hissed happily.

Eventually, completely exhausted, the neonate got back to her log. She threw the bag in and clambered after it, finally out of the rain.

She shoved all the sopping wet things all the way to the back, planning to deal with them in the morning. She chewed up more leaves, smearing them over all her wounds, enjoying the feeling of languid quiet that filled her.

More. Her Instinct begged, and she decided to indulge a little.

She looked at the bag, then reached into it and pulled out the little figurine of Haan-Kezk. With a claw she dug out some of the log in the back, eating all the grubs she found, making a little shelf for the idol.

“Respect.” She hissed, shifting to paler hues for a moment in deference, “Same to the whole of the pantheon.” She would need to eventually get idols for all of them. She did not like the idea of being dedicated to just one.

Even if Haan-Kezk al’Shezd is… an appealing patron.

She thought of her extasy, killing One-eye. Hot blood spraying forth. Those final twitching death throes.

She shook her head and curled up, not liking the direction her thoughts were going. It took some time for her to finally fall asleep, but when she did, she didn’t dream at all.

That next day, she set about gathering some more of the healing herb, having used the last of it when she returned.

Don’t want One-eye’s corruption to spread.

Her Instinct gave a grunt.

The rain had lessened, though it didn’t stop. Luckily her den in the log was at the peak of a hill, so most of the rain didn’t get into it.

Most of it. Her Instinct grumbled.

It brightened up as soon as she plucked more of the leaves.

Can’t be much, I need to take stock.

Leaves! Now! To rest! Recover!

Her yellow eyes shifted, then became transfixed. She pounced, the black blade plunged down, and the ferns and underbrush shook violently for a moment before going still. She had pinned a newly hatched caiman to the ground. The point of her knife right between its eyes.

No. She pulled the knife out and flipped the small creature over, the blade piercing its hide as if it wasn’t even there. I have work to do.

She ripped out the intestines, gorging first on the liver and heart before she started to peel the flesh off of the corpse. The thought of soon having a fire to cook such catches only made her more ravenous.

Need a nest first.

Once her herb collecting was done, back in the log, she chewed the leaves up into a poultice, now well practiced at treating herself. The neonate forced herself to spit out the juice this time, much to her Instinct’s dismay. Her cuts stung, and she could feel that she was bruised all over, so it was a difficult choice. But she had work to do.

She needed to change how she competed with the others. To ramp things up. To get payback. She put a few more leaves into her mouth.

Her Instinct rumbled with pleased hues.

Share knowledge of leaves? Her Instinct speculated as she pressed the chewed leaves into the slice on her face along her snout.

She paused her application of the medicine. What benefit could that possibly have? To give the others the secret of how to heal themselves? She needed them to die off before her, not stay alive for longer.

Could be that there are others not as strong willed as I…

She felt her face shift to the golden yellow of agreement-pride for a moment and she nodded, though that statement was a bit rich coming from her Instinct. She continued smearing the herb poultice where it was needed, and kept spitting out the juice.

I should evaluate first. Try and see if there are any that look like they would be more susceptible to their desires than the others.

Yes! Cull the weak!

Hide it from those that would resist the temptation of recreational use. She couldn’t have them finding out. Infection was also a weapon to be wielded.

Challenge the strong!

She would have to figure out a way to determine that though.

Later.

The list of things she had to do had gotten a bit long, so she set that thought aside and thought about which things could be done quickly.

Inventory. She nodded to herself, grabbing Gix’s bag.

It had stopped flickering and glowing with floating shapes around it once it had gotten out of the rain. She pulled it closer to the entrance to get some more light, wanting to see what was inside it. What she found was strange.

The largest item that was inside was a heavy rectangular object, clad in black leather that had a unique smell that she did not enjoy when she inspected it. Sharp, earthy, but not the same as soil. It burned her nose.

An unnatural smell. She couldn’t categorize it.

She wondered if the smoothskins had many things that smelled like this.

Probably. Her Instinct growled.

She turned it in her hands, lifting up one of the sides. Thin pale brown leaves fluttered through her claws, rustling. Dry.

It was only then that she noticed that all the items inside were surprisingly dry.

Perhaps that is the magic of the bag? Keep things within dry? She wasn’t sure.

Focus!

The strange leaves were covered with strange markings that she couldn’t make any sense of. They had a smell to them as well, as she let her tongue flicker close to the shapes and other marks.

Words. She realized. Another language. Some looked a little familiar to her, but not enough to guess at their meaning.

Dead weight.

It could have a use.

Part of her was tempted to get rid of it.

Might be able to figure it out later. She decided. Besides, it is mine now.

That shut her Instinct up, and she set the thing aside.

Continuing, she tossed out some long rotten food, nearly retching as soon as the smell hit her. It was fuzzy with mold, and she had to climb out and scrub her hands with some sandy dirt outside the log before continuing.

Next were three delicate earthbone hooks and line.

Fishhooks! Her Instinct chimed in.

The neonate set the hooks and line to one side and reached back into the bag. She pulled out four thin pieces of earthbone, coiled into little bundles. They were fine enough that she could bend them. There was also a set of seven stout pieces which curled into loops at one end and were pointed on the other.

A rope or vine might fit through those loops.

Wire. Her Instinct named the thin pieces, not having a word for the others.

After that, a translucent container filled with a viscous dark amber fluid.

Honey? Her Instinct shifted into her eyes hopefully.

She pulled the strange squashy wooden stopper out, sniffing the contents, her tongue flickering out. She hissed and replaced the plug as she was assaulted by another bad smell, gagging. It was sickly sweet, sharper and harsher than the leaf filled rectangle by several degrees. Some of it dripped onto a claw, and she hated how slick it made her skin.

There was another container, a different shape but made of the same translucent material. The liquid inside it was black and watery. She opened it, and it smelled like almost nothing. Dipping a claw in she gave it a taste, and immediately had to spit it out.

Horrible! She hissed as she saw that the liquid had stained her claw and scales black. It didn’t take long to dry, and it was then that she realized it was the same scent as the markings in the weird leaf-rectangle.

With both liquids inedible, she dug out another little nitch in the wall of the log, placing them into it so that they didn’t take up space in the bag, doing the same with the strange rectangle of leaves.

Dry enough there.

The next thing she pulled out was a useless feather, so she tossed it after giving it a good smell.

Then three smaller bags, one with another stopper that looked like it might hold liquids though it was empty. The other two were tied shut with strings, one smaller than the other.

The smaller one held hard flat earthbone disks, forty two in total, some white, some orange, and some yellow. All shone even in the dim light of the monsoon, and there seemed to be several kinds of each.

She held them in her hand, appreciating the patterns. The weight of them. Some had holes in the center, that she looked through on a whim. And a few had alien faces on them, hideous and yet noble in side profile.

Do all smoothskins look like this? Why are their jaws so weak? How do they eat?

Still others depicted the sun, moons, and stars. And all of them, in one way or another, had strange symbols.

What purpose do these have? They weren’t big enough to be good throwing weapons. Maybe a handful at a time? But why earthbone? And why throw away something so shiny and bright? Something that could hold a blade?

And still they fascinated her. Their gleam, the chime they made against each other, how smooth they were. This earthbone was appealing too, but in a different way than her knife. Ornamental rather than practical.

She spent a long time looking at the pretty earthbone disks, but she eventually put them back in their bag and tied it once more.

The other bag held earthbone spheres, and as she held one up she could see her face, distorted and stretched in it.

She took some time examining herself. It was the first time she could really observe her own visage, but quickly became frustrated by the lack of clarity.

She wanted to see herself, what the trial had shaped her into. Her wounds. Her eyes. The patterns she could make, especially the red and black one she had used to frustrate One-eye.

It was all for naught though. She could see herself, but it was a distorted image, not a fair representation of herself.

You aren’t done yet kiddo. Be patient. Even I have to be patient. Anyway… back to these bricks. Three thousand and fifty-five will be… hmm… Derek. Three thousand and fifty-six will be Alphonse. Three thousand fifty-seven will be Margret.

She tossed the sphere back in the bag angrily. Just need to find a flat piece of earthbone when this is done.

Her Instinct grunted.

The spheres were much less interesting than the disks, despite this novelty. Each one was the same as its nestmates, except for the few that had gone a bit brown with the earthbone-moss.

What could these possibly be useful for?

She felt something like a shrug from her Instinct, and tied that bag shut.

Both of the smaller bags went back into the larger one, if only to keep the earthbone-moss from spreading further.

She picked up the black blade, pulling it out of its dark wooden sheath.

She could now see in the brighter light of the day that it also had symbols pressed into the leather wrap of the handle. Finer ones.

Maybe it too is magic?

Some of them were similar to the floating symbols that appeared around the bag in the rain. They didn’t glow though, nor did the ones on the blade. The earthbone disks seemed to be decorated in such symbols as well, so maybe it was just an aesthetic choice of smoothskins?

Just decoration. She decided, like the flourishes carved into the idol of Haan’Kezk.

So long as the blade cut, she was satisfied.

She tore into the last bit of the caimen, pleased it was small enough for her to crunch through the bones.

She sliced the tattered clothing here and there so that she could more easily add it to her bedding in the log. She wadded one piece into a tight bundle for her head to rest on as well. She swallowed as she did, not quite full.

There. Now, time to hunt.

Kill! Feed! Fishhooks!

She grabbed the fishhooks and line, heading out into the rain again, using a snare to sling the sheath of the knife at her waist as well.

The neonate had to blink as some of it got into her eyes again, keeping her blade drawn for now. She’d see what she could hunt, then make her way towards the river. After that she’d sweep around to the grove of pillarwoods, collect some materials as well for her future shelter.

She set out, excited, ready to hunt down some prey. She shifted the color of her scales, blending in, and heading towards the center of the island.

It wasn’t long before she found that the river had just about completely overflown the banks through the center of the island. It didn’t look too deep, but the current looked powerful, little eddies pressing against the cypress trees.

Her Instinct clawed at her belly as she climbed up one to cross the muddy waters below. Fishhooks!

She was just starting to unwind the line, looking for something to bait the hook, when there was a loud splash. Too loud to be a fish.

She was halfway up the tree before she realized, wanting to get a good look at whatever it was. To see if it was an opportunity or a threat.