Playing God 11

Playing God 11

Charlie Foxtrot

We left Sunspear from the main gate. Judging by the looks shared between Andrey and the guards, I had a feeling that he was here to make sure their princess didn’t run off again as much as for her protection. Admittedly, I thought it was an understandable concern, even if it made me chuckle. Maybe, if Doran annoyed me enough, I’d offer Arianne a Gate to Highgarden so she could proposition the Tyrell heir directly.

The Shadow City did not in fact live up to its name. I didn’t know what I was expecting, maybe an underground complex of labyrinthine tunnels more akin to an anthill than a city. Or a dwarven stronghold in which people saw the sun once a month. Whatever the case, I was disappointed. The city got plenty of sunlight despite being situated at the foot of the hill Sunspear was built on. 

In fact, calling it a city at all was a bit dishonest. Though it was the closest thing to a true city in Dorne, it was still rather sparsely populated by modern standards, with barely fifty thousand people total according to Nymeria. That was only a tenth the size of King’s Landing. 

These people were spread out across the three layers of the Winding Walls, the only large structures to be found within the city. Their quality of life was even worse than I’d imagined. Most lived in dirt hovels rather than proper houses because wood was expensive in Dorne.

Nymeria led us out from the Threefold Gate into one of the sidestreets. The streets were narrow, thinning out like arteries into capillaries. Occasionally, they’d open up, forming small squares around communal wells.

I made a note to return later and discreetly purify the wells. Though I was no medieval scholar, I knew that bad water quality was one of the major contributors to plagues. Just because I was uninterested in their worship didn’t mean I couldn’t offer them this much.

X

We ended up at a crowded bazaar. There were dozens of vendors, most of whom didn’t even have stalls. They set up rugs on the street, displaying their wares and calling out to any passersby.

According to Nymeria, many cities had streets dedicated to certain professions, such as the Street of Silk in King’s Landing, which was for whores. However, the Shadow City was a much more organic beast, with only places like bakeries isolated for fire safety reasons, and even then, only enough to ease the mind from panic to mild concern. The markets therefore sprouted up naturally as people had need.

Most of the wares I saw were of fairly poor quality and it was clear to see that they preferred function over form. Rather than luxury goods like spices, wine, and silk, these were people selling the necessities of life. I saw potters, textile merchants, and tanners selling rolls of leather. I found them all fascinating.

I buzzed from vendor to vendor like a bumblebee, doing my best to commit it all to memory. Much like the servants at the castle, these people lived lives I’d never know, with their own joys and hardships. I didn’t feel an overpowering need to help better their lives or anything. It was more of an academic curiosity, a part of my desire to explore.

“How much for that cup?” I asked one vendor.

He had a set of clay cups and bowls on display. I’d stopped here because unlike several other potters, this man’s work was remarkably consistent, with each piece looking like part of a set rather than something thrown together for immediate practicality.

He’d also bothered to stain his pieces before firing, though with what, I didn’t know. Whatever it was, it left charcoal-gray, leaf patterns in the pieces, simple but pleasing to look at. I thought a few cups would go well with my tea.

“Eight cop–” he started. Then, he saw my company. I saw his eyes dart down to the mail shirt under Andrey’s cloak, then up again to the admittedly very attractive young ladies. We obviously had money. “Ahem, a silver stag, milord. See the leaf patterns? They’re a family secret, they are.”

I hummed with consideration. I knew little of currency here, but Arianne’s scoff gave me an idea of how badly I was being ripped off. “They look lovely. How about half a stag, but I will purchase six of your cups? They need to be the same size, of course.”

“H-Half a stag!” the vendor gasped with exaggerated outrage. “Milord, you would beggar my family! The stain comes from a secret recipe! Just getting the materials is an ordeal!”

“That might be true, my friend. You surely know more about pottery than I. However, I noticed that these are unglazed. I will have to go home and cover them in glaze if I want them to last.”

“Glaze? As in glass? You’ll not find such wares here, milord.”

“That is extra time I will have to put in to ensure these cups are fit for my table. Three stags and eight coppers for all six of your cups.”

His eyes gleamed as he caught on to what I was doing. This was the fine art of haggling, that timeless tradition that transcended dimensions.

“Good lord, I cannot be responsible for what you do once you leave my store,” the vendor said, continuing to haggle even though I suspected I was being grossly ripped off. “I can accept no less than four stags total.”

“Nay, four stags is still too much for just six cups. See there? The feet are uneven.”

“I will give you four stags if we can wrap this up,” Arianne cut in with a huff. She tossed the coins to the vendor, who snatched them out of the air with the speed of a viper. “Come on, Charlie. Surely you’ve got better things to do than waste time haggling.”

Sighing, I collected the cups. I was having fun, too. But alas, none of my companions seemed to see the humor in this. I wrapped them up in cloth and put them in a sac before tucking them beneath my cloak so I could discreetly shove them into my inventory later.

“You know, I was about to make him drop his prices,” I said with a pout as we walked away.

“You can wish up whatever you desire. The idea of wealth means less than nothing to you,” the princess pointed out. “You can’t convince me you actually care for your coinpurse.”

“It’s not about saving money, Arianne. It’s not like it’s my money anyway. I simply enjoy engaging with people within the context of the lives they live.”

“Whose money is it then?” Garin asked.

“Oberyn’s of course. He gave me a small coinpurse because I didn’t have any of the local currency,” I said. In exchange, I gave Ellaria a paper crane with a minor blessing attached to it. Nothing life changing, just a bit of good luck that would last a week or so.

We had lunch at a popular cookery shop, one that clearly catered to a higher level of clientele. Our meal consisted of a pork and sage sausage and a roll of brown bread. The sausage wasn’t as good as the ones served in Sunspear, but I enjoyed the coarser bread here because of the added texture, enough to buy the recipe for a large chunk of the coin Oberyn gave me.

We didn’t stay long after lunch. There admittedly wasn’t much to see and Tyene and Arianne grew tired of the walk. I figured I could return by myself if I wanted later. For now, my curiosity was satisfied.

X

Our return did not go unnoticed, especially as I’d dropped the glamor. I was now “Master Fox” again, mysterious sorcerer friend for Prince Oberyn.

And, as it turned out, a certain knight-to-be’s white whale.

“Face my spear!” Elia Sand roared. Or really, squeaked. She charged forward valiantly, toy spear tucked under her arm. To her credit, the blunted wooden point was leveled squarely at my solar plexus. Alas, her adorable warcry revealed her ambush too early. 

I swept my tails behind her knees and butt while cradling her neck and back. My tails carried her off her feet effortlessly so I could wrap her in a fluffy cocoon. I plucked the toy from her hand and handed it off to Nymeria. “You know, carrying your spear underarm like that is poor form if you’re not on a mount.”

“She knows,” Nymeria groaned. “I’ve told her that a dozen times already. She’s just stubborn.”

“Well, it’d be great form if I had a mount,” the eleven year old girl pouted.

“But you don’t. You should learn to use a spear on your own feet before you think about jousting, sister.”

“I do, but that’s boring. And jousting looks so much more fun.”

“That does not mean you should charge at father’s guest. Your boredom is not an excuse.”

I laughed before pulling the young girl close. I ruffled her hair just to watch her pout. “I don’t mind. In fact, how about this, Elia. Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal? What kind?” Elia asked suspiciously.

“You do everything your sisters tell you to. If you do, I’ll go riding with you.”

“You will, foxy?”

“I will.”

“Charlie, you can’t ride a horse,” Arianne pointed out, not incorrectly. “You flew here.”

“I never said anything about horses,” I chuckled. So saying, I cast a quick Beast Form on myself. A pillar of azure flame covered me, only to expand with my body. When the flame faded, I stood as a pure, white fox, roughly the size of a small pony.

Beast Form was essentially a self-polymorph that was common to “were” types of heteromorph races. Dragonoids, werewolves, and of course, kitsune got the racial talent for free. Although, to be fair, most kitsune didn’t use it nearly as often.

A big part of this was the tendency for kitsune players to gravitate towards magic of some variety. With the excuse of “You have no thumbs,” the devs locked away every non-racial spell in this form. In exchange, my physical attributes were buffed by fifty percent of my Special attribute.

Given my Special exceeded the 100 threshold, I couldn’t complain overmuch. This was effectively my version of Momonga’s Perfect Warrior, and one of the major reasons I opted to become a half-caster monk. Like this, my physical attributes could easily rival a top-tier frontliner, albeit without their own selection of broken martial skills.

I shook my head, tossing my luxurious fur back and forth. “How’s this? Care to be the very first fox knight, Elia?”

The young girl’s eyes shone like stars. She buried her face into my side and let out a high-pitched squeal that I was pretty sure I only heard because I was a canid.

“That… You’re a fox,” Garin said, voice hollow.

“Yes, the tails were a good clue, I thought.”

“No… You’re a fox now…”

“So I am.”

“Is this… normal… among your people?”

“Yup. Anyway,” I turned to Nymeria and Tyene. “Think Oberyn will let Elia ride me?”

“He would,” Tyene said with a wide grin. “I wouldn’t mind a ride, either.”

“No!” Elia said, digging into my side. She did her level best to choke me out with her scrawny arms. “My mount! Get your own!”

“Share, Elia, I command it as your princess,” Arianne said wryly.

“You only want to ride Charlie yourself.”

“And? So will uncle.”

I watched as the cousins bickered. I had a feeling showing them this form may have been a mistake. And, not fifteen minutes later, my fears would be confirmed. Oberyn arrived and demanded that I give him a ride first, to make sure it was safe for his daughters, of course.

After that, the floodgates were opened. I gave little Elia a ride, then Arianne and each of the sand snakes in turn. At that point, I figured I may as well let Garin and Ellaria ride me too. Then Daemon, Oberyn’s former squire, because he was drawn in by the hubbub.

The only one who refused was Andrey, who muttered something about knightly dignity before stalking off. He didn’t like me much, and not because I was rude to Arianne like I’d first thought. After spending all day with them, I learned that he was in love with the princess, and felt threatened by the attention she lavished on me.

I… found myself not caring much. He was doomed for disappointment in the end. After all, if Doran wanted to wed his daughter to the young knight, he would have done so already. Seeing as Arianne was quite fed up with local suitors, she clearly had no romantic interest in him.

That was neither here nor there. The important part was Elia, the Little Lance. She and I came to an agreement: A full day of studying, in exchange for “knight training” under me, so long as I remained in Sunspear. 

I had a feeling her tutors would find her a far more dedicated student from now on.

X

A few days later, I sat across from the two princes of Dorne in the Spear Tower solar. It was a big office on the ground floor that Doran typically did his work in. It had a big, cedarwood desk that commanded the room, and I was pretty sure Doran’s seat was elevated somewhat so he could look down at whoever was seated across from him.

I found the whole thing somewhat humorous. It was the same tactic that executives had in the modern and post-apocalyptic world. Seeing it in this backwards, medieval society reminded me of how similar humans were, no matter the tech level.

Oberyn, seated to his brother’s right, had a mischievous smile on his face, as if privy to a secret only he knew. On the other hand, his brother wore a heavy frown, full of complicated emotions that he was trying very hard to hide. It made him look constipated.

To be fair, Doran had an excellent poker face. I just happened to have superhuman senses. I could see his face twitch, the microexpressions as clear as if they’d been blown up and written in the sky via colored smoke.

I didn’t blame him. Every ruler had that thing, that crossroads moment that defined their rule and cemented their legacy for good and for ill. For Doran, my mere presence was it.

A fox. A sorcerer. A god. How he reacted to me, how he negotiated with me, would be the thing that people remembered about him.

It was hilarious. It was like a prank that I didn’t even intend, a comedy that wrote itself. Doran, this supposed political mastermind, had been driving himself spare over the past few days, and all because I simply chose to exist in his vicinity.

A part of him wanted me gone. He hadn’t said anything, but I wasn’t oblivious. Already, I could hear the septon grumbling. The maesters, too. Those two old fuddies got upset when I healed a horse’s broken leg yesterday, saying something about how magic always had a price and whatnot.

The larger part of him saw me as an opportunity. I’d told him how little I cared for political games, but he hadn’t taken that too heart. Or rather, I didn’t think he could stop seeing people as resources.

“I hear from my maesters that you are a capable healer,” Doran began. He leaned forward slightly, setting his goblet of watered down wine aside. People drank the stuff not for flavor, but because water quality was suspect. Or, it had been until I started dropping purifying spells in the well every morning.

I nodded agreeably. My ears flicked with casual disinterest. “That’s right. I am a healer without peer. Was there something you needed healed, oh prince?”

“My daughter says you can heal my gout.”

“I can heal all things. Even death is but a small nap for one such as I.”

“Spare me your mummery, Master Fox,” Doran said with a small scoff. “A man of means has no need to exalt himself.”

I smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. “Of course. Let us negotiate then, Prince Doran. What will you give me to fix your gout?”

“I will offer you four hundred gold dragons. That is more than enough to make a man wealthy all his life.”

“Create Greater Item,” I uttered. Motes of mana gathered in my hand. In seconds, I had a gold bullion, nearly as large as my forearm. “Arianne did not lie to you. I can create all mundane objects I am familiar with. The purer the material, the simpler it is. Try again.”

The two brothers stared in shock. Oberyn had seen me fly alongside his horse before, but this was the first time I’d simply created something in front of them. I could practically hear their minds overheating from the implications. 

It wasn’t just the creation, it was the gold. After all, this world relied on the gold standard as the medium of exchange. This singular ability, barely a drop of mana for me, had the potential to upend their entire society.

“A-Are you a god?” Oberyn asked softly.

“I am Charlie Foxtrot, the Inari Okami. I am the god of foxes. Never once have I hidden the truth from you. You’re the ones who decided every other word out of my mouth must be a jest.”

Doran looked for something to offer me before settling on what I’d asked for before. “Spices. I can give you more spices.”

“Once again, I must refuse. I have the samples I require. I can simply create more, or grow my own.”

“Then… What do you want? Why are you here, oh god of foxes?” he asked. Doran spoke like a Catholic priest who’d been told Zeus was actually the guy upstairs.

“I told you. I am here as a tourist, simply to see the sights, delight in your culture, and make friends. That too was the truth. As for what I want… Hmm… I suppose you don’t have much to offer. How about land?”

“Land? Dorne has little land to give.”

“You have plenty. I didn’t say I wanted fertile land, just land.”

“Much of that is barren desert with no one on it.”

“That’s perfect. Unoccupied land is even better. However, it is mine,” I stressed. My tails flared out behind me, bathing the room in a whisper of a whisper of my power. “This is not vassalage. I owe no taxes. I have no obligations to Dorne. Any land I claim shall be mine to the end of days.”

“That is preposterous. My vassals would rebel if I did such a thing,” Doran protested.

And he was right to. I would have thought less of him had he agreed immediately. This was medieval society. Generational wealth was very much still based on land. Even if that land was a barren dost bowl, it still counted towards a house’s image of power.

If House Martell lost a big chunk of its land, other houses would not see Doran as a shrewd negotiator who gave up worthless plots in exchange for healing. No, they’d see a weak man who selfishly threw away his family legacy. They’d see vulnerability, especially since Doran’s healing didn’t actually benefit House Martell in the long run.

“Then make the land small,” I replied with a carefree shrug. “Your gout isn’t worth that much anyway and I am an honest fox. Enough land for a small farmstead will be sufficient. You offered me four hundred dragons. Surely that would be enough to pay for a farm under other circumstances.”

“It would…” he trailed off cautiously. He opened a drawer and pulled out a map of Dorne, just the southern tip. I saw Sunspear, the Water Gardens, and the River Vaith, all to scale. “How much land would you demand for my healing?”

I hummed in thought. Truthfully, I didn’t know much about the economic worth of land in Westeros. “A lot” was about where my estimation began and ended. I pointed at the Water Gardens. “That. I want as much land as in the Water Gardens that you’re so proud of. That seems fair to me.”

“That is far more than four hundred dragons can buy. You said gout is a simple thing to treat.”

“Oh? Then you should have started with that. Fine, show me what four hundred dragons is worth.”

He did so, marking it out with a sliver of charcoal. Calling it a tiny stain on even this partial map of Dorne would have been generous. The Water Gardens themselves weren’t very large to begin with. “Given that you insist on not paying taxes, this is what that land would be worth.”

“It’s a wasteland. You physically can’t use that land anyway. Double it. Then, double it again because though gout might be a small thing to me, I am the only one who can provide this exclusive service.”

“Six hundred and a thousand dragons,” he muttered angrily. “Are you looking to make a fool of my house?”

“And then double it again,” I shot back with a shit-eating grin.

“And why this time?”

“Because I do not doubt that you will attempt to use my claim for your ends. Having an okami of my power and skill bordering your lands will itself be deterrence and leverage against your enemies. I am counting this as well.”

“It is hardly a benefit. Your magic will bring about many enemies. Already, the septon whispers against me.”

“Deal with it. Or shall I go elsewhere? No, you cannot tolerate the slightest possibility that I might aid a rival house, or worse, a vassal. You wish to keep me nearby, to monitor me, and perhaps to gain my favor later.”

“You think highly of yourself.”

“I do not. If anything, I have a perfectly clear measure of my worth, no more and no less,” I replied placidly. “I am looking to negotiate with you. It is a game, is it not? It is not my fault that I hold the better cards.”

I could see the exact moment it hit him. This wasn’t truly about the land. This was about the process of bartering itself. In essence, I was punishing him for our first meeting, when he tried to place me under House Martell’s debt. He wanted to treat with me using clever wordplay, so that was exactly what I was doing.

I had no intention of beggaring his house, of course. I rather liked most Martells. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t drive the point home in my own way. The land was not much, about two-thirds the size of the Water Gardens. Yet, it was land House Martell was foregoing, now and forever. It would be a stain on the map of Dorne, a permanent hole on every map for his vassals and descendants to point to.

Finally, Doran gave me a single, sharp nod. He drew out a section, no doubt the worst of the land under House Martell’s direct control. “As you wish. This land is yours, barren of greenery and people. However, it shall be yours only when I can walk up to the Spear Throne on my own feet.”

I clapped my hands with exaggerated joy. A wave of my hand and it was done. None of that “mummery” to be found, as he’d wanted. “Delightful. Go to that fancy throne of yours now, Prince Doran. Then, get that contract for me by dawn.”

Author’s Note

Canonically, both Lupusregina Beta and Sebas Tian have a beast form, werewolf and dragonoid respectively.

Also, I recently learned that a tiger has an average level of 8 in Overlord. This would make sense, as a tiger is a mundane animal with zero magical enhancements. But, it’d also mean that Oberyn, Jaime, Gregor, etc. would arguably be lower than level 8.

Ninya, that little girl in the Swords of Darkness, is a second-tier caster, making her ~level 8-14. The Swords of Darkness would not be fodder in Westeros. They would be a hyper-elite sellsword company, a four-man army. I find this hilarious.

Animal Fact: The Texas horned lizard has a unique defense mechanism: It flexes its facial muscles, filling its sinuses with blood. It then ruptures a set of thin membranes beneath its eyes, shooting pressurized blood like a water gun up to four feet away.

Apparently, it can exsanguinate up to a third of its own blood supply and still survive. For comparison, a human can safely lose ~one pint, which is why blood banks will draw that much when you donate. That is about 10% of an adult’s blood supply by volume.

It’s not just a WTF moment for predators, either. Because the lizard’s diet is predominantly venomous insects (harvester ants), its blood tastes foul and can irritate the sensitive noses of wolves and coyotes.