492 Without Torture

“This looks like an odd setup for a torture chamber.” I said, looking around.

The tent was circular, the pole coming down between a double wide cot buried under blankets, these topped with a sheet of translucent silk. On the other side was a wooden bathtub. Not the wash-basins that I was used to, an actual lay down and be surrounded by water bathtub. There were multiple desks, each with a cushioned chair. None of the cushions were filled with straw and hay.

Luxurious, is the word I’m looking for.

“Why would I torture you?” Malkin asked. “I still need that favor.” He stalked over to a side of the tent, and swept aside the cover of a tapestry.

It was me, or rather an artistic rendition.

I was set upon a background of dun and crimson, back to back with the Einherjar, a bare-chested man ogre, face turned and blood drooling from his mouth. Which was... actually pretty accurate.

They took liberties with my anatomy. My talons more resembled knives, my head was shortened to resemble a spade, and the coloration...

Well, things were off.

“What manner of creature is this?” I asked.

.....

“This,” Malkin said, “is a Titan-spawn. A creature that picks and chooses parts from its kills. Its ability to shape shift puts even yours to disgrace. I understand you won’t be able to duplicate a form so... intricate.”

I snorted. “Most of this is common beach iguana.” I said. “Avian cast to the head and talons. Crocodilian, perhaps, for the armor.”

“Kobold, I am told.” he said.

“The eyes... Those are like my own eyes.” I said. “Shark soul.” I realized I was nibbling on my fingers, and stopped.

I took great pride in my form; was it truly so simple?

“It may take a while, but I can assume such a form.” I said. “It is... the sheer number of animals all mixed together is the hard part.”

“Lies.” Tigrin’s remains said. “Selkie can take the form of one animal. He just doesn’t want to see the other tent you have prepared for him.”

I shook my head. “You haven’t looked at humans, at goblins, at Uruk, at hobgoblins, freyr, domugs and elves? Never wondered why so many sentients take the primate form? Different mixtures of features.” I took in a deep breath. “And don’t get me started on dragons.”

“You can do this?” Malkin asked. “You can take this form?”

“With practice.” I said. “And more nutrition than a squadron of soldiers would consume. And... you’ll want a tent of about this size, but without such valuable furniture. My form of transformation is... messy.”

A smile bloomed on Malkin’s face. “Tigrin, let us show our guest the other tent.”

The other tent had been more what I had been expecting. Sturdy metal frame, supporting chains of various sizes. Rack, wooden cocoon, a brazier of pokers and branding irons, dentist’s chair and tools... think of the torturer’s version of the other tent.

“I can have these tools relocated.” Malkin said. “And, as a bonus, nobody will question the screams coming from this tent. And, if you have problems, nobody will question if we return some of the implements.”

“There is,” Tigrin said, “a matter of size. The unholy was ... smaller, I understand.”

Malkin chuckled. “I understand that won’t be a problem.”

Gods, how did he know me so well and not realize I was right there?

I nodded. “Only the more magically refined of transformations are without loss. More likely, I’ll need to bulk up after the number of attempts this will require.”

Malkin took a seat upon the dentist’s chair. “Show us.” he said.

I activated [Transformation] into multiple forms, sometimes stopping in mid-form. After the lizard, the gyrfalcon (which is quite ungainly at human size), and the human again, I was done for the day.

“I cannot do more transformations without more nutrition.” I said.

“That is well.” Malkin said, pulling one of those human-size scrolls from his inventory. “Tigrin, seize him.”

Once-Tigrin moved to do so. I hadn’t been expecting such an assault, but my System knew what to do.

“By Loki’s burning mustache!” I cursed, kicking toward its knee. It took the hit, and made the grab for my throat.

It’s not a bad hold, but it’s not where you start at unless your target is slow or surprised. I circled to his left, trying to put his back to the bathtub.

“Spirits of Loki, hear my prayer.” chanted Malkin. “It is I, Malkin, Inquisitor of the Flame. Strike my target in mind and spirit; deny him his action. Mental Stun!”

It didn’t quite hit me like a charging bison, but it was enough that the Tigrin golem could wrap its arms around my chest and lock wrists behind my back. In a novel, my blood would be slick enough to escape.

Sadly, there are exhaustion penalties, and its Might and Strength matched mine. It wasn’t elegant, but the hold was (for an amateur) done correctly; Tigrin had been better trained than I gave him credit for.

“Please.” Malkin said. “Today is not the day I make you my new puppet. But you do things no mere Selkie can do, thus the scroll. You WILL show me your true form, and by your own truth, you lack the power to resist.”

Oh, crap. Yes, such spells exist, and no, they are not common.

I struggled, and Tigrin golem tightened its grip, actually doing damage and attempting to keep me from breathing.

Human fingernails are not meant for clawing, especially when kept to military trim. Besides, it was armored in chain; I would need...

There was a knife, right there in the golem’s belt. It wasn’t the sharpest, and I didn’t have the mobility for a good thrust. I began the process of seeking chinks in his armor.

“And after I’ve been so hospitable.” Malkin said. Rather than use a spell, he simply walked up, took my arm in both hands, and pried the dagger from my grip.

To the golem, he said, “If it tries anything like that again, kill it.”

“I do so enjoy parts of my job, master.” the golem told him.

“And now,” Malkin said, taking a step away to take the scroll off a desk, “let us begin.”

The spell was potentially old; written in the Itinar language. It rolled smoothly off his tongue, sinuous and weaving. Ugh. All the ways of going about it, and it was a curse of compulsion.

Yes, in retrospect, it was thematically appropriate.

[You have succeeded your save against a rank four domination.]

Ha! Rank FOUR? I know better than most not to put faith behind System numbers, but still! No wonder nobody wanted to use that dusty old scroll.

[You have failed a save against mental domination; you must choose a transformation.]

Case in point. Try often enough, and you will succeed. Or fail.

Let’s see how Malkin liked that. Ass.

At some point in the process, Tigrin released me. I came to my senses some twenty minutes later, looking at a pool of vomited blood with a few fish bones in it.

The red of my skin was duller than a pure blooded hobgoblin, but I’d never spent the nutrition to alter the basic form. Speaking of nutrition, I had neither hair nor fingernails, and was suffering from multiple [Malformed Organ] injuries.

My vision swam, the edges red, and I chose to collapse onto my right side.

“Well.” Malkin said. “That was NOT what I was expecting.”

historical

My stomach made a blurbling noise, and I let loose with one of those long wet farts. Was I feverish?

[Fever: Mild], my System told me.

So useful, my System.

I tried to speak, but what came out did not resemble words.

Malkin was speaking to me, but I was overwhelmed by System requests to sell back evolutions. I would later make a better list of defaults; not the sort of thing to do while mentally impaired. By default, my System wanted to sell back the expensive ones, and I did choose a few of those.

At half price, mind you, so that I’d need to eat like a slime to make the evolution again.

Weeks. I lost weeks, during which time I was an atavistic hobgoblin.

[Emergency Organ Replacement Started.]

I understand, rationally, that expelling the defective organs is the quickest way of starting that process. Having gone through it, I kind of regretted my high pain threshold until I finally passed out.

But damn it to the forge of Loki, I lost enough height (about a year and a half of growth) that it was noticeable. Again, my eye level was closer to the navel of those around me than their chests.

But... I was alive, and I did awaken.

Yes, you may laugh. I’ve seen better appointed rooms, myself. Now, realize this all existed in the middle of an army camped for siege.

A nation of human conquerors, not native to the continent. They ruled over Achea until the Dragon Times, and never regained their full glory afterward.

An evolutionary throwback; broader feet, clumsier hands, and a tongue that just seemed to roll everywhere when I wasn’t focusing on it. Made speaking quite the chore, I can tell you.