BECMI Chapter 33 – Warrior and Human

The big Northman flushed, touching his ribs, where he could still feel the impact of that club. “Yes, if you’d been that little warrior leaving his farm, you’d have been mangled like a hanging pig.” I reached out, and the ogre’s crude hacked tree trunk of a club, standing in the corner and taller than I was, flitted over to my hand. I looked it over, then at him calmly. “One hit. All your ribs should be shattered. I saw it. I think most of us here did. You lived right through it and kept on going as if it were nothing much.

“That, my valorous Northmen, is the magic of the Warrior’s Road. That is Soak, and you all have it.” I paused for a moment, just so they could contemplate that.

They swallowed under my cool glare.

“A Warrior gets somewhere between one and eight Hit Points per Level along the Warrior’s Road. Here’s where Luck, Fate, Fortune, and the gods come in, because you have absolutely no say in how much you get just walking along the Road. I think you’d all agree that you’d much rather have eight than one.”

Grunts of acknowledgment. The more they had, the tougher they’d be, right?

“But guess what? If you step to the side of the Warrior’s Road, and tread the Human Road, you

The numbers of that Heroic Fifteen filled in under the not-so-impressive fellow.

9/9 made 18, versus 5/6 adding up to 11. And the difference rapidly grew larger, especially when Constitution popped up, and the extra Health appeared at Levels 4 and 7.

There at the end, the ‘normal’ Fifteen was sitting on a whopping 5 and 63, for 68 Hit Points. It was a big number, and he could survive massively more punishment than before, and actually more than anyone other than me in this room.

The Heroic Fifteen? He had 39 Health and 129 Soak, for 168 Hit Points! Well over twice as many!

It was no wonder he looked so much more impressive!

The warriors there stared at the numbers, looked at the difference.

“Bjorn, you’re the boss here, so you’re going on the sacrificial plate,” I informed him as he flushed. “I’m going to you, and everyone is going to see your numbers, not some nameless image. Then I’m going to put your brother next to you, so you can see how you compare.”

Both of them grit their teeth at the thought of magic probing into them, but nodded reluctantly.

I flipped up the basic Stat line behind me, with their names on top, as the rest of the faded away.

Both of them were Fighter/8’s, Human/1’s. Bjorn’s Stat line was Strength 16, Dexterity 12, Constitution 16, Intellect 10, Wisdom 12, Charisma 13, and Hit Points 70.

Hargold was the slightly bigger of the two, with Strength 17, Dexterity 11, Constitution 15, Intellect 9, Wisdom 14, and Charisma 12, and Hit Points 59.

“So, does this pretty much match what everyone has observed and measured of them?” I asked them, as much testing their perceptions as informing them. “Hargold’s stronger, makes sense, he’s bigger. Both of them are pretty average as far as nimbleness goes, certainly nothing like Master Guyven over there, or myself.” The rake grinned, nodded his head, rolled his brimmed and feathered hat down his arm with the motion, flung it into the air with a twist of his wrist, and it landed back on his head smoothly. “Bjorn has more staying power in a fight, so he likely lasts longer than any of you.

“Bjorn has nothing special in the way of wits, but he’s not an idiot nor a fool, while Hargold actually gives pretty solid advice from time to time. But when you look to a leader between the two, you look to Bjorn, and don’t lie about it, he’s considered your boss, and Hargold follows him. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it, and your band has accomplished great things with the teamwork and brotherhood you’ve all shown.”

“Now, here’s what your numbers SHOULD look like.”

Two new sets swung to either side, and jaws dropped a bit.

Both of them should have been sitting on a 20 Strength. Hargold’s Constitution should have risen equal to his brother’s.

And instead of 70 and 59 Hit Points, they both could have been sitting at a damn cool 121! Almost as much as both of them put together!

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“There is a limit the Immortals have put on mortal Stats,” I informed them all calmly, and even the somewhat reluctant priest was leaning in to hear more. “You cannot have a base Stat higher than 20. The Immortals will not allow it. The only way to exceed that is with magical items granting you greater than mortal power, such as the famous Girdles of Giant Strength.

“You can gain no more than eight hit points from a single Fighter Level, plus your bonus for being tough as nails from a good Constitution score. That is the same with Health from a Human Level.”

“But the Warrior’s Road does not allow you to improve yourself, your base Stats. It allows you to increase your skill in combat, your Attack Bonus; your Soak, your ability to last in a fight without your fighting ability being affected; and to gain Skill and Weapon Masteries as you gain experience.”

I frowned again, severely, and they all grimaced. “So, would someone mind telling me why you don’t have any great skill with your weapons?” I asked archly, folding my arms and staring at them all. “That is why I sparred with you, just to see how good you all were with your weapons.

“Men of Frokki, I am gravely disappointed with you.” I shook my head slowly, and they all dropped their gazes under mine. “Yes, you know it, too. You saw it as soon as those soft southerners took their turns.

“Master Horn is an Expert with the longsword. Master Guyven is an Expert with the rapier. Master Buck is an Expert with the shortsword. Even Master Hanvol, a soft scribe and man of letters, is Skilled with his staff, loathe though he might be to use it.”

I snatched up , spun him lazily around my fingers, and blew through some exchanges like a cheerleader spinning a baton, the speed of it chuffing at the air and clearly audible to all of them as I spun my Weapon around. They’d all gotten to experience just how fast and deadly I was with it, and not a few of them swallowed on seeing just how blurringly fast I could move it.

Yeah, it was only +7 Attack Bonus, but it was still faster than any of them, and the Mastery bonus on top of it was a crushing +6 more to hit. I was brutally dangerous with my Staff, even before magic came into the equation.

“What is the explanation for the lack of skill with your weapons, Master Bjorn?”

His face twisted. “We’ve, we’ve not had a decent master to train under, Lady Edge! We would have had to travel across half of the Holds to find a decent instructor, and we didn’t have the gold to pay him if we found him!”

I held up my hand sharply, cutting him off. “Master Buck! What did I start this lesson with?” I pointed at the alert hyn.

“One Level a day. One point of Soak a day. One point of Health a day. One Mastery of Weapon or Skill a day!” he recited promptly.

I pointed back at Bjorn, who flushed.

The Stat line of him behind me rolled out Weapon Masteries (2), gained at Four and Eight.

The improved image of him instead read ‘Expert: Battle Axe’.

He flushed again, as did Hargold when the same happened.

“Step onto the Human Road. Call upon the magic of your ancestors. Earn their attention. Learn all the lessons they have to teach. You have to pay for their attention in time and attention and battle, instead of time and gold from a mortal teacher, but your ancestors are always with you, and battle is always before you!

“The gods will not let you or I become something superhuman, but the Human Road will allow you to become the BEST of Humans!” The image behind me of that normal warrior and his heroic other self reappeared. “It is your choice! You can be a man, or you can be a MAN!”

“This, this will work for women, too?!” a voice in the back rose up over all the murmuring going on.

There was a flicker of changing lights, and two pictures of Gruna rose up behind me, with two different lines of Stats.

She was a northern shield maid, plying bow, spear, and shield, as was the other woman, Igvild, who’d I’d rescued from the dead. The difference between the leanly-built, toned woman seated in the back, and the muscular and filled-out woman with the muchly-advanced Stat line glowing with vitality was almost eye-popping to some of the men, and the hunger in the eyes of both women wasn’t hard to see, either.

The calls for everyone to see what they would look like weren’t far behind, and even the skinniest and rangiest of them were impressed by what happened if they could earn Levels and put four to six points of Strength on.

They were all generally Fours to Fives, with Hammer Ogvier a Six and a bit overworked keeping everyone alive, and the two brother Eights unchallenged leaders among them.

One by one, I went through their Levels, including the four southerners, who all being Sevens with skill in Weapons were arguably more dangerous than the Skifnersons, which was rather embarrassing to both Eights. Everyone got to see their Stats, got to see where their Stats could improve now, and what they might become in the future.

When Hammer Ogvier spoke up, his face was stern, and probably only I could tell that he was dealing with some internal struggle. “This, this is not the way of Donner, Lady Edge!” he challenged me, but carefully. He knew his men would back him, and was also pretty sure I could kill the lot of them without much trouble.

“It most assuredly is, Hammer Ogvier,” I repudiated him immediately, making him redden. “Who set the strictures on the Warrior’s Road? The warrior Immortals, of course. Do you think Donner did not walk that road to its end?

“But certainly you have tales of Donner’s prowess and might, even as a mortal! Did you think it was all because he was just born a perfect Human all those years ago, and the rest of you are just dogs and lice compared to the bear he was?” I asked archly, and tied his tongue before he could answer.

“Magic is absolutely fair in this matter. It takes time, experience, effort, and battle to advance along a road… ANY road. None of this is free. None of this is easier. But it makes your foundation so much stronger, your core ability greater, and allows a warrior to tap warrior’s magic to improve themselves, to draw on the power of their ancestors, stand before the gods, and declare that they are MEN!”

The image of himself, and the self he could be, rose behind me, and the fellow, at thirty summers easily the oldest and most weathered of the Northmen, flinched at the sight of himself staring back with piercing, knowing eyes, tall and strong and crackling with the wrath and power of his Patron.