Book 5: Chapter 21 - Of Mice & Men (RAW)

Chapter 21 - Of Mice & Men

She hated the sun by day—too bright by far. She hated herself even more for the envy she felt toward what she had come to love. Everything came too easily to him, including her own regard, and that knowledge cut like a knife. Had it been a one-sided fancy, she could have let it go—a passing indulgence for idle moments. But he loved her, nearly as much as she loved him.

Yet he loved her for all the wrong reasons. Not for her family or her wealth, nor even for the sharp blade of her mind, as she wished someone would. No—he claimed it was her smile that made her the most beautiful thing in the world. And she hated him for it, and hated herself for feeling that way.

- From the journals of Eloise de Laney circa 366 AC.

I bent low over the cringing creature, that gaunt, ratlike monstrosity trembling at my feet. Casting Sage’s Sight, I watched the information coalesce into view, each line of text burning itself onto the back of my eyelids.

Janazan - Entropic Giant Rat [Evolved] (High Priest lvl.17)

Health: 246/246

Stamina: 32/37

Mana: 3/13

Mana: 6/13

Proselytize (lvl.5)

Plague Bolt (lvl.3)

I frowned. Two separate Mana pools. Two heads, two Mana reserves—some ghastly mutation, perhaps. Its fur was patchy, streaked with oily filth that wafted a choking stench into the already blood-soaked air.

“Janazan?” I ventured, letting the syllables roll off my tongue. At once, both heads quivered as if in a rapture.

“Just as-as it was said, He knowss! He knowss!”

The creature’s raspy, double voice grated, echoing against the walls. And then, like a swarm of living shadows, the other Entropic Giant Rats squeaked and hissed in unison, their shrill chant crescendoing into an almost deafening roar: “He knowss! He knowss!”

It chilled me. Could these rodents truly be the same foul brood Larynda and I had inadvertently spawned in the Sewers? My blood went cold at the notion. Had we created a monstrous rat race in our wake?

“As you say, we are Janazan,” squealed one of the heads, voice hitching in nervous excitement. “We-we are Jan and Zan. Janazan we are. Blessed are we for finding you. Glories will come—they will come!”

A frenzy spread through the mass of matted fur and gnashing teeth as a chorus of squeals, chittering, and vile praise thundered in the ruined hall. The words “Glories will come!” rang out over and over, and a creeping annoyance replaced my initial fascination.

Just as I opened my mouth to silence them, Janazan raised its heads. Sightless eyes turned in my direction. A wet squelching sound emanated as the creature moved closer, and a rancid odor assaulted me.

“Your wil-will… Father. What do you wish of uz?” he hissed, each syllable punctuated by a twitch of his sagging whiskers.

I paused, assessing my options. A vast legion of rats would be… problematic, to say the least. Yet it could also be a weapon, if directed properly. But how to keep them out of sight? They were too weak for direct conflict—Janazan’s level alone betrayed that. Still, I could send them away… let them grow and gather strength beneath the world’s notice.

The decision crystallized in my mind. Words spilled from my lips before I realized I was speaking, as though another presence within me guided each syllable.

“Beneath,” I pronounced, voice grave and echoing. “Search the dark and shadows beneath.”

A shock of calm energy rolled through me. It felt right, like a river surging around a boulder. I pressed on, letting the command ring with authority. 

These words… they were not entirely mine.

“Go below, my children. The surface world is not yet for you. Descend into the Mother’s Dark and multiply. Kill in my name those who dwell in the Great Below. Slaughter them. Feast and grow strong.”

A collective sigh of delight rippled through the horde. Filthy paws pounded on the blood-spattered floor.

“Yess! Yess!” they shrieked, voices crackling with fervor.

“Be silent,” I snapped, letting that hollow resonance tighten around the words. “Go now and heed my will.”

The chamber dropped into an eerie quiet. Even the scuttling of rat claws seemed hushed, as though they dared not scrape the stone too loudly. Janazan—both heads—bobbed forward. I grimaced as its fetid body sidled up to me.

“It has taken us many years to find yous, Father,” he said, proffering five ghost-white seeds in a mangy paw. “Take these seeds of Kakapuna. Summon us when the time is right.”

They looked more like embryos than plant seeds. In response, I cast Identify:

Kakapuna Seed 

Health: 5/5

“You will-will know,” the other mouth chimed in, its tone somehow more sinister. “Throw the seeds of our Covenant upon the ground, and we will come. We are the people who remembers.”

“Good,” I replied, taking the seeds and pulling away from the reek of his matted fur. “Now go… be more, be the many.”

At my command, the swarm dropped onto all fours as one, flowing out of the hall in a writhing tide of unholy fur. Their scattering footfalls sounded like sewage sluicing away, leaving behind only the wide-eyed, horrified survivors. Those pathetic humans—so close to becoming the rats’ next meal—barely believed what they had just witnessed.

I stood rooted to the spot. The odd trance-like fervor that had seized me began to fade, leaving behind a blurred sense of… inevitability. The voices whispered that it was unimportant. Yes, unimportant. And I agreed.

Gilgamesh needed to wait.

All things considered, matters had turned out for the best. After all, who would listen to the ravings of a soon-to-be slave or indentured servant over the heroic conqueror who had just seized this city for the Sultana?

The truth—my truth—remained hidden. And the rats, the rats would grow like festering cancer deep within the bowels of the earth.

***

The Salahaem soldiers and a herd of servants cleaned up after me—a sordid task that tested even the most battle-hardened veterans. I had left an abattoir in my wake, though not entirely of my own making. For a paltry two hundred and fifty experience points, this side quest had barely been worth the trouble.

By Idris’s estimation, I was owed nearly five hundred gold pieces. What had once been a fortune now meant almost nothing. Without real entertainment, what else was there to spend it on?

Thanks to my high Constitution, I barely felt the effects of strong drink. As for women, once I stopped putting them on a pedestal, they were easy enough to come by. Naira had said no—but in a way that suggested she meant to “try harder.” Some women could be like that. Zariyah’s mother, for instance, reminded me of a tree grown in darkness: gnarled and twisted in its desire to reach the light.

I instructed Idris to deposit my entire share into the account the Necromancer had set up for me at the Exchange. It had already grown to a considerable sum and continued to earn substantial interest. The Vizier assured me I could draw lines of credit from any Al-Lazarian bank across the continent.

As for the surviving chattel, they were sent to various Houses—Minor and Great alike—to demonstrate the consequences of defying the new order. One of them was an old acquaintance: Ahmed Alim, a former captain of the City Guard who, by all accounts, had married into the House I had just destroyed. There was hate in his eyes, probably due to the fact that I had just killed his son, which felt like a small measure of justice—balance returned to the cosmic scales.

In time, I would become a man of great means. A good war, a profitable conflict, would hurry things along. I looked forward to the day the seas receded and I could reap my rightful bounty.

***

New Quest: Find the Temple Knight Cordelia de Aserac [Yes/No]

With the first rays of rosy-fingered dawn came a fresh command, emblazoned across my inner vision. I had not received a Quest in some time, and this one felt significant—enough to align with my goals and desires. Very well, world. I accept.

The Quest did not specify that I must find Cordelia personally, so I decided to send my minions in my place. With the looming conflict against the Mer, I could not afford to leave Al-Lazar to wander the desert. That was where Cordelia had apparently gone to preach the Light of the Faith among the nomadic tribes.

As soon as I accepted it, I dispatched Imani to gather my faithful. I pictured Cordelia there, languishing upon the sands. It had been five years for her since our last parting. For me, perhaps mere weeks or months. I wondered if the Grace of her Goddess had shielded her from the sun’s ravages. Perhaps her beauty had remained unmarred.

As for Elwin, he would reappear when it suited him—if he was still alive. I hardly cared. He had always been a fair-weather friend, loudly proclaiming his loyalty one day and vanishing the next. He was the opposite of Enkidu, who had died for me, his faith unbroken to the last. Another black stain I carried in this world, another debt I felt was owed to me by the cruel beings who called themselves gods.

They say the measure of a man is found both in his enemies and his allies. With gods my enemies, and taking note of my actions, perhaps I was indeed worthy of the title of “great.” The notion made me laugh, amused at my own hubris. I was self-aware enough to avoid being consumed by narcissistic pride. To achieve my final victory, I had to keep my feet firmly on the ground.

Enough. I had a flock to address. Over the last weeks, the faithful had multiplied. They had assembled in the street outside the Begonia’s Shade until they became a surging mass. With a flourish, I strode through the doors. My armor—black plates trimmed with ornate gold—caught the late morning sunlight. 

I paused for a moment, removing my helm and letting the warmth of the sun caress my face. My voice rang out in the hush, its power amplified by a Strength that coursed through every muscle, even my vocal cords.

“Faithful! You who have been spared or made whole again—your sins, your debts, remain unpaid!” I shouted. A ripple moved through the crowd, excitement mingling with fear. “I have meditated on the truth of the Goddess, and she has granted me a vision!”

A collective gasp rose, as if they inhaled in unison. I felt their devotion, their eagerness for purpose. It was almost intoxicating.

“A maiden must be found, with hair of fire, lost in the deep deserts. She is the holy woman Cordelia de Aserac—blessed of the Goddess and bearer of one of the sacred swords, the Weight of Justice.” I let the name hang in the air. “My place is here in Al-Lazar, defending against threats from within and without. Therefore, I call upon you, the faithful, to undertake this most holy duty!”

I swept my gaze across them, taking in their varied expressions—some awestruck, some nervous, others aflame with fervor. “Go forth. Find her and bring her to Al-Lazar. The Goddess wills it! The Goddess wills it…”

And then, for effect, I added some of Imani’s words, words that stirred their hearts to near frenzy. “Allaha Akbara!” I shouted, pumping my fist into the air.

“Allaha Akbara!” The crowd roared in response, their voices blending into a single primal cry. Despite knowing it was half a lie—knowing I did not truly believe my own words—a part of me felt a small lifting of the heart.

No, I would not be so foolish to believe my own lies. I quickly tamped down on this small feeling of temporary relief. There would never be acceptance, only struggle and defiance.

You have gained 1 Charisma.

I had to force myself from laughing as the world rewarded me.

Eagerly, the people broke apart in waves, hurrying off to gather supplies, spread the word, and form groups to brave the desert sands. They left with purpose shining in their eyes, the sense of a grand mission to fulfill. I watched them go, a smile on my face. They were so very small in the grand scheme of this world—ants, scrabbling in the dust at my command.

Or perhaps rats.

Dance for me, I thought. Dance and bring me Cordelia. Many would die in the desert sands without a Water Mage like Larynda to guide them. Yet I cared nothing for their survival. In the end, it was all about completing the quest. The Goddess does not will it, I mused, the corner of my mouth twisting into a wry smile.

I willed it. And that was more than enough.