Chapter 270 - The Importance of Adaptation (Patreon)

When Pudge first stepped from the clearing, he stumbled at the sight of the village. Regaining his balance, he couldn’t help but stare. Village might have been a misnomer; the settlement sprawled across the entire valley before them. Even with everything as spread out as it was, it was clearly home to thousands of people.

At first glance, the architecture, which was characterized by rough stone and thatched roofs, seemed primitive, save for the towering pyramid standing at the center of the valley. When Pudge gazed upon it, he was gripped by something that reminded him of the Crimson Tower. However, while his companion’s tower had always felt welcoming to Pudge, this pyramid was, at best, ambivalent. At worst, it was slightly hostile.

“What is that?” Pudge growled. The words still felt unnatural in his mouth, but over the past two weeks, his proficiency with verbal communication had grown by leaps and bounds. He still wasn’t altogether comfortable speaking, but he hoped it wouldn’t be long. After all, he wanted to be able to hold a real conversation with Zeke when they were inevitably reunited.

At that thought, Pudge turned away from the sprawling city to gaze into the east. That was where Zeke was. Far away, across hundreds of miles – but he was still there. Alive and waiting for Pudge to find him.

But Pudge knew that if he set off as he was, his chances of making it were slim. Perhaps even nonexistent. No – he needed help. He needed to get stronger. Otherwise, he’d never survive the journey. To that end, he refocused on Flick, the pig-man who’d become his guide over the last two weeks.

Flick snorted at Pudge’s question, then scratched the bristly hairs on his neck. “That’s Kabalith,” he explained. “The only beastkin city in the world. It ain’t as bright and shiny as the elven cities. Nor is it as big as the human towns. But it suits us.”

“The pyramid,” Pudge said. “Feels…different.”

“Noticed that, eh?” said Flick with a porcine grin that further exposed his jutting tusks. “That was here when we settled the valley. It keeps the worst of the monsters away. Nobody knows where it came from.”

“What…is called?” Pudge asked.

Flick shrugged. “No proper name. It’s just the pyramid,” he answered. He adjusted the straps attached to the bulky pack on his back, then said, “Let’s go get you settled, then. You might be in time for the Trials.”

“Trials?” Pudge asked, not budging. His vocabulary might not have been terribly robust, but he knew that word. Trials implied judgment of some sort. “What Trials?”

Flick stopped and turned back to Pudge before explaining, “It’s a Rite of Passage for young bearskin. Five escalating challenges. When you’re finished, you’ll be considered an adult and a member of the Tribe of the Pale Moon.”

“Oh,” Pudge said. That allayed some of his fears. However, he didn’t completely relax. He had seen enough betrayal – from the people in Jariq, primarily – to know that he needed to keep his wits about him. But he also knew that he couldn’t survive alone. In the Radiant Isles, where he was more powerful, he would have been fine. But in this new world, where even those random cat-bugs were a threat, he knew he needed help. He had little choice but to trust that Flick wasn’t trying to deceive him.

With that, Pudge followed his guide down the steep slope and into the valley. As he did, he studied the environment. Trees sprouted here and there, perfectly integrated into the primitive city, and a river cut through the center of the valley. The river itself wasn’t very wide – just a few dozen feet – but it was fast moving and clear. In short, the valley seemed idyllic, with singing birds, pleasing scents, and none of corruption so prevalent in the human cities Pudge had visited.

When Pudge started seeing other beastkin, he was more than a little taken aback. Every animal he could imagine – from wolves to squirrels and everything in between – were represented among the population. The sheer variety was astounding. One thing he did notice was that they were all mammals. No reptiles. No birds. And certainly no fish people.

Pudge asked Flick about the discrepancy, and the old pig-man shook his tusked head, saying, “The beastkin who can trace their ancestry back to the sea would not survive here for very long. They have their own city deep in the ocean. The avians are…problematic. They do not see themselves as beastkin. Not like us. And the reptiles…well, they almost all believe themselves descendants of dragons, and as such, they do not mix with the likes of us.”

“Why?”

As they entered the busy village, Flick explained, “Something you’ll need to understand is that many of the…ah…more civilized races look down on us. The dwarves, the elves, the humans – they refuse to forget our origins. But most of the reptilian races, they look at everyone the way humans look at us. They believe themselves the rightful rulers of this world, and everyone else is either meant to be a slave or a vassal.”

“Oh,” Pudge said. “Stupid.”

Flick laughed, clapping the former dire bear on the shoulder as he said, “Well said! It is stupid. But most prejudices usually are. In this case, though, beware – most of the reptilian races believe themselves to be superior because, at the most basic of levels, they are. They’re usually stronger and faster, with a much deeper connection to their mana. Only the demonkin can boast the same.”

Demonkin. Pudge wasn’t certain if that included him, but he suspected that was the case. What would the old pig think if he knew that Pudge wasn’t just a normal dire bear? Would he still be so friendly? A good question, but one that Pudge had no interest in asking aloud.

For the next few minutes, the pair traversed the city, and Pudge found himself impressed. In some ways, it reminded him of the Radiant Isles’ waystations, like Bastion. But even that was a generous comparison; the beastkin settlement’s architecture was rough, eschewing any aesthetic sense for sheer utility. So, while it looked primitive, Pudge thought its appearance a conscious choice rather than a lack of ability.

Was it a façade? In some ways, probably. But it was more that the beastkin simply didn’t seem to care about that kind of thing.

Or perhaps Pudge was completely mistaken. He could only rely on his first impressions, and those, he’d learned, were often wrong. So, he resolved to simply watch and wait until he had enough information to make a proper judgement.

He snorted. Zeke would have never done that. In fact, he’d have probably already offended someone or gotten into a fight. Instead, Pudge focused on other memories – of Abby, Tucker, Talia, and Carlos – to govern his actions. He was in a strange place, surrounded by people of indeterminate power. Subtlety was a better tactic than roaring a challenge and getting into a fight.

Pudge loved Zeke, but that didn’t mean he had to emulate his reckless behavior.

He followed Flick for a while until, at last, they reached a circular building that, like all the others Pudge had seen, had a thatched roof. Flick said, “Ah, home sweet home. Tomorrow, you’ll challenge the Trials. But for tonight, you can stay with me and my family.”

With that, Flick flung open the sturdy door and stepped inside, bellowing his arrival. A few seconds later, a trio of tiny figures barreled into him, and he dropped to his knees, embracing what looked like tiny version of the beastkin.

Children, Pudge remembered, thinking back to his own mother. He barely remembered her, but Zeke had often spoken of how valiantly she’d fought to ensure his survival. A well of emotion he hadn’t even known was there welled up inside of him. His chest tightened, and his breath quickened.

“Pudge, these are the piglets,” Flick said, hugging his children tightly. Upon closer inspection, the three small creatures differed from Flick in a number of ways. First, they were much smaller, barely reaching the other beastkin’s waist. But they were rounder, too. Chubbier. And their eyes were far too large. “Piglets, this is my friend Pudge.”

“H-hello,” Pudge rumbled, showing his teeth as he tried to replicate the smiles so common amongst humans. That only served to frighten the piglets, and they hid behind their father.

Flick frowned apologetically, saying, “Ah, they’re a bit sheltered. Don’t take it personally.” Then, someone else came into Pudge’s view. “And here’s the eldest piglet, my daughter Sasha.”

Pudge looked up to see another beastkin. She looked similar to her father, but there was something about her that screamed femininity. Her tusks were a bit smaller, and her stature slighter, but even if Flick hadn’t introduced her as his daughter, Pudge would have made the connection.

“Don’t call me a piglet, dad,” she said, dipping her head in embarrassment. Was there a bit of red beneath the bristly, white fur? Was she blushing? Pudge was observant enough that, during his time with his human companions, he’d noticed the habit. But he wasn’t sure if beastkin possessed the same capability.

“I am Pudge,” Pudge introduced himself.

“I’m…uh…Sasha,” she said. “Like dad said.”

“Good, good,” said Flick, straightening to his full height. “It’s very good that you two have become fast friends! Pudge will be accompanying you on your first Trial.”

“Huh?”

Fast friends? Pudge had nothing against the eldest piglet, but he wouldn’t have called them friends. Still, he didn’t object.

“Right – we’ll go over everything over dinner,” Flick said. “Come. I’m starving.”

After that, Flick bent down, picked up his smallest children – one in each arm – and headed deeper into his home. Sasha shrugged, then followed, leaving Pudge to do the same. The interior of the home gave Pudge quite a shock. If the exterior was best described as rustic, then the interior décor would be labeled as comfortable. Everywhere Pudge looked, he saw soft surfaces, well-worn but polished wooden surfaces, and warm lighting. When they reached the house’s common area, Pudge saw a merry fire dancing in large pit in the center of the room. It emitted no smoke, but provided plenty of heat.

The group led him further into the house until they reached a dining area that didn’t look much different from the one in the tower. But where most of the tower’s kitchen was empty, this one was cluttered with bundles of herbs, an assortment of pots and pans, and huge, wood-burning stove that had an attached chimney that shot through the ceiling.

In short, if Pudge had to describe Flick’s home in a single word, he would have called it cozy. And as he looked around, he felt a good bit of the tension he’d carried since his ascension melt away. He sighed, the sound coming out in a low rumble.

The children flinched, but Sasha and Flick just shook their heads knowingly. Flick gestured to a massive slab of wood that Pudge recognized as a table and said, “Sit, sit. I’ll whip something up.”

Pudge did as the porcine beastkin directed, and when he sat, he watched Flick prepare the meal. He used vegetables he gathered from one of the nearby cupboards and herbs he took from the bundles, and soon, he had a giant kettle of some sort of stew simmering over the stove. Meanwhile, Sasha busied herself with setting the table, placing bowls in front of the half-dozen chairs surrounding it. Given that there were five people present, Pudge expected that someone else was coming. Perhaps Pudge would finally meat Flick’s mate.

After a while, during which Pudge busied himself by watching the preparations, the meal was served. As Sasha ladled a healthy portion into Pudge’s bowl, he caught a good whiff of the contents. He was a little disappointed that there was no meat, but he couldn’t deny that it smelled delicious. And without further delay, he leaned forward and buried his snout in the bowl.

“W-what are you…dad!”

“Pudge…”

Pudge looked up to see his hosts staring at him. Sasha did so with a mixture of embarrassment and disdain, but Flick just looked at him with a resigned shake of his head. The elder beastkin said, “I should have expected this. I am sorry, Pudge. I feel like I set you up for failure here.”

“What?” he asked, not understanding.

“What is wrong with him?” asked Sasha.

“Nothing, but –”

“He was eating like a beast!”

“Sasha!” Flick half-shouted, his voice full of authority, cutting off the younger beastkin. “Pudge is newly ascended. Do you know what that means?”

She shook her head.

“No, of course you don’t,” Flick said. “Pudge came from the Mortal Realm. It is brutal, uncivilized place where only the most powerful survive. There is no room for niceties or manners. This young beastkin has been through more in his life than someone ten times his age. He is worthy of respect and understanding as he adjusts to his new life.”

“I…I don’t…”

“It is…okay,” Pudge said, recognizing what he’d done wrong. He had spent enough time with Zeke and his other companions to see his faux pas for what it was. He wasn’t a beast any more, but a person, and he needed to start acting like it. It wasn’t enough to walk on two legs. He had to adapt everything else about his life as well. “I…I should not…I am sorry if I broke…the rules.”

Even getting that long of a sentence out was difficult, but Pudge knew he needed to develop his communication skills. On the journey with Flick, he’d spoken a few times, mostly because he was embarrassed at his lacking skill. But Pudge could see that he needed to change his mindset. When he’d first started imitating the snow leopards back in the mountains, his skills in stealth were nonexistent. However, he’d kept at it, day after day, and now, he’d had that effort rewarded by the Framework. Speech was the same. Certainly, he was lacking now, but that would change. He was sure of it.

Then, he reached down with his massive paws – no, hands – and wrapped his fingers around the wooden spoon. It felt strange; as a dire bear, he’d often used his paws to hold things, but the degree of dexterity in his reshaped hands was both amazing and a little daunting. It was further evidence that he had only just begun to adapt to his new world.

But he would. No matter how long it took or how hard he had to work, he would adapt. After all, from Zeke, he’d learned the importance of persistence and resilience, and he’d taken those lessons to heart. So, with awkward motions, he dipped the spoon into the stew and brought up to his snout.

One step at a time. Today, he would master the spoon. But in the coming days, he would build upon that success until he was at home in his new body as he had been in his old.