Playing God 6 (Patreon)

Playing God 6

Charlie Foxtrot

“Izanami no Mikoto gave birth to Kagutsuchi, the god of fire. However, so hot was the newborn god that he immolated his own mother,” I said solemnly. It was an old tale, one that had been adopted into YGGDRASIL’s canon by the devs.

“How horrible,” Tyene gasped, only partially feigned. She had a face that reminded me of a porcelain doll, innocent and wide-eyed, and she’d obviously had some practice playing into those assumptions.

“Is this supposed to be a lesson about the dangers of power in the hands of a child? Or a literal infant?” Arianne asked with a dismissive sniff. “A tad on the nose, don’t you think?”

“That’s not where the story ends,” I told them. “Izanagi no Mikoto, her husband, was furious with his newborn son. Blinded by grief and rage, he beheaded his own son and cut him into eight pieces before scattering those pieces across the land he’d made. But, being the god of fire, Kagutsuchi did not simply die and rot away. Those eight pieces became eight volcanoes, blazing atop mountains that spewed fire and smoke.”

“Is that how your people believe Valyria came to be? I think Valyria was supposed to have more than eight peaks though.”

“No, not Valyria. Japan, or Nihon, my home. It is a cluster of large islands, so large that some have multiple mountain peaks. Altogether, I’m pretty sure they cover as much land as Westeros. The northernmost regions are covered in snow and the southernmost regions are sunny and warm.”

“Where is this place that was made from the corpse of an infant god?”

“East,” I said, “far, far to the east. It is often called the Land of the Rising Sun, for it is the first land that the sun shines upon each day.”

Tyene looked disturbed at the story whereas her cousin seemed fascinated. The blonde shifted uncomfortably atop her horse. “Why? Why do you worship a kinslayer god? Why do you live atop the proof of his crimes? Is such a god worthy of worship?”

“He is not worshiped,” I told them quietly. Both the contents of the Kojiki and the lore it inspired in YGGDRASIL were stories I could recite by heart. “Though he is revered for the creation of the world, such was his crime that he relinquished his heavenly throne and went into self-imposed exile.”

“Then why tell us this story? Why tell anyone this story? You said it was one that even children in your homeland grew up hearing.”

“It is a reminder that even gods are not infallible. It is how death came to the world, how just as the gods pioneered life, they also pioneered death. It is a story of immense tragedy and grief, and the way such poisons can twist even the most exalted of us.”

“They are sober lessons to teach children, Charlie.”

“Tell me then, what sorts of stories have you grown up with? Don’t the priests of your gods teach children using similar tales?”

“No, don’t say that,” Arianne groaned atop her own horse. “Tyene is the most pious of my cousins. She can recite the Book of the Maiden better than any septa, and thrice as dull.”

“You lack faith, cousin,” the blonde said, eyes twinkling.

“I love you, cousin, but if I have to hear the tale of the dove once more, I might die of boredom. Besides, you only put on the faithful act to annoy me.”

“Lies and slander. I am a faithful follower of the Seven Who Are One. I would be delighted to teach our foreign guest of the wisdom of the Seven.”

And so it went. Storytelling was the favored pastime of travelers and we had much to tell as we followed the River Vaith.

I told the girls stories about YGGDRASIL and the myths the devs appropriated for their game. My own part in those tales made their eyes go wide, though they mostly dismissed them as eccentric storytelling.

My claims of godhood and immortality went dutifully ignored by Tyene. Just as well, for otherwise, she’d probably have been obligated to try to stake me through the heart. Medieval society had not been forgiving nor tolerant in my old world; I somehow doubted Westeros was any different.

In return, they told me about Dorne and the stories they’d heard growing up. Arianne tried to marvel me with the beauty of the Water Gardens. Tyene had numerous stories from her time with the Faith. But they both could agree that the greatest stories of all were stories of their uncle, Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper.

The tales of his daring travels were entertaining, if only for the way their eyes lit up. To these young girls, those stories must have been as thrilling as stories of superheroes. Except, of course, they knew a hero in real life.

We swapped stories until eventually, the sun began to set and they had no choice but to set camp.

The two hadn’t been entirely brainless in their endeavor. Along with the sand steeds they’d stolen, they’d also acquired some basic supplies such as a tent, sleeping mats, and dried rations.

The tent was a crude affair, probably purchased discreetly from one of the smallfolk to not arouse suspicion. It was made of coarse fabric stretched over wooden poles, more of a lean-to than a proper tent. Or, I could only assume that was the idea.

In reality, it became quickly obvious that these girls had no idea what they were doing. They tried to drive the wooden pole into the dirt and got, maybe, an inch or so into the ground before their scrawny arms gave out. They then got the bright idea to use a low-hanging branch from a tree near the riverbank, only to find they had no other pole nearby to tie the cloth to.

Meanwhile, I leaned against Tyene’s horse and watched. It was hilarious, kind of like a pair of kittens trying to figure out how the pet door is supposed to work.

Finally, Arianne got fed up with doing “peasant work” and glared at me. “Do you allow women to do menial labor where you come from?”

“Of course. Do you remember what I said about Izanagi no Mikoto relinquishing his throne? His successor, and still the queen of the gods, is Amaterasu Okami, his eldest daughter,” I said glibly. 

“Truly? A woman can sit on the highest throne of your faith?” she asked, far more interested in my stories now. Which, given what little I recalled of her circumstances, seemed fair.

“Yup. Some of the strongest people I know are women.”

“Well, a little help would be appreciated anyway.”

“But you two are doing so well,” I cooed encouragingly. I dug in my inventory and pulled out an apple before taking a bite. “Try again. I’m sure the twelfth time’s the charm.”

Tyene dropped the rugged cloth with a sigh of frustration. She turned to me, doe-eyes wide and endearing. “Please, Charlie? Can you help us? We’d be very grateful.”

I tossed away the apple. “See, princess? In polite company, we do not demand, we ask.”

“Are woodland creatures ‘polite company’ now?” the shorter girl sniped back. “Besides, I’d like to see you do any better.”

“What makes you think I can’t?”

“You’re dressed like a pampered princess. I should know,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

I laughed in good humor. She must have been incredibly popular with the people if she could jest like this. Beloved by many, yet scorned by her father, what an odd puzzle this one was turning out to be.

The desert wind blew through the river basin and the girls clutched tightly to their coats. I remembered reading somewhere that nights in the Sahara could dip well-below freezing. If Dorne was anything like that, then these girls could actually freeze to death, or catch something serious.

I briefly considered taking them back to the Explorer’s Refuge but decided against it. As funny as it would be to introduce a pair of medieval girls to the wonders of modern plumbing and hot showers, the Refuge was just that, my sanctuary. If I ever permitted another inside, they would be treasured friends and cherished lovers, not random strangers.

Besides, camping would hardly be a hardship. After all this time, “roughing it” for a night sounded like a pleasant novelty. 

Seeing how I was unwilling to abandon the girls to the elements, I kicked the ground. The earth shifted according to my desires. The Ame no Nuboko was used to stir the primordial sea and raise up the earth. Being its wielder, I had an unmatched affinity for both elements, an excellent complement to the typical kitsune fire.

Three walls rose up, almost as tall as a man. A slanted roof formed above, creating a shelter from the desert winds. With a wave of my hands, wisps of flame settled along the two corners, providing light and warmth. I closed off most of the fourth side, leaving an opening the girls could walk through.

“Lay your bedrolls there, you two,” I chuckled. “I will watch over you.”

They stared at the impromptu shelter, then the glowing wisps. As Tyene explained, the Faith taught that magic had died out entirely with the last dragon of the Targaryens. Seeing evidence to the contrary, beyond my inventory alone, must have been deeply unsettling.

I left them to their crisis of faith. I headed off to the side, so that the wall of the shelter would hide the crackle of the flames, and dug a fire pit into the riverbank. This way, the girls would be able to get a good night’s sleep while I kept the fire lit. I then raised three stools near the fire and prepared a table to the side.

Aiming at the table, I intoned, “Heroes’ Feast.”

My mana surged out and saturated the tabletop. For a sixth-tier spell, the cost was rather steep, just as heavy as changing the weather. Then again, I was making matter from my mana alone, and that without the prerequisite knowledge on my part.

I’d tried making an apple using Create Greater Item once, and though that spell was a higher tier and far more versatile, the apple emerged tasting like cardboard. Clearly, this spell sacrificed versatility in exchange for doing the heavy lifting when it came to food creation.

I got the impression that I could direct it and I likened it to filling out one of those menu orders at a sushi place. I most definitely planned to experiment with it in the near future. But this time, I allowed the magic to act as it pleased.

My jaw fell to the floor as a feast worthy of the spell’s name materialized. The centerpiece was a suckling pig with an apple in its mouth. Roasted quail, meat pies, and a dozen other dishes I associated with the medieval era materialized out of thin air. The aroma of the feast was impossible to miss and the girls poked their heads out in short order.

“A heroes’ feast? Are we heroes now?” Arianne said coyly, trying to play off her shock.

“It’s the name of the spell, a complex bit of magic which turns energy directly into food,” I explained gently. “Any who eat of this are cured of all poisons and diseases. For a day, they shall be immune to much the same.”

“All diseases?” she asked sharply. I could practically see her mind swirl with possibilities, no doubt wondering how she might convince me to use this for her benefit.

“I said that, yes.”

“What of gout?”

“You’re a little young to have gout, young lady. Now come, eat.”

“C-Can any of your kind do this?” Tyene asked hesitantly. “It is… hard to believe…”

“Most can. Plenty of human mages can do this as well.” It was only a sixth-tier spell, which meant anyone beyond level 42 could learn it if they chose. It just so happened that most clerics favored more immediately useful spells than this.

“Human mages? Like the warlocks of Qarth?”

“I have no idea who they are. But I suppose, yes, if they ever received proper instruction.”

“How about us?” Arianne questioned, eyes hungry for more than just the food. “Is it possible to teach us magic?”

I eyed them with a bemused smile. Such hunger, and she was only bound for disappointment. “Not quite. Humans live such short lives, I’m afraid. Plenty of wizards and clerics spend their entire lives mastering spells of far lower difficulty than this one.”

“Are you kitsune inherently better at magic?”

“Many would say so. I cannot deny that my kind possess certain, natural advantages. For a human mage to get anywhere at all, they often must start young. Preferably, they would also be from a lineage of mages, with knowledge passed from parent to child that future generations may build on the shoulders of giants.”

“That… That is no different from a squire’s training then.”

“Indeed. Magic is an art, no more and no less. And like any other art, time and dedication are the truest teachers. Now come, children. Eat.”

“I still can’t believe you are as old as you claim. Eight hundred years, really. That’s more than twice as old as the Conquest.”

“I am older still. I said a kitsune obtains a tail each century that he has been alive, with a maximum of nine tails. As such, a nine-tailed kitsune such as myself is at least eight hundred years old,” I explained patiently.

It was true. As far as YGGDRASIL lore went, I was the very first player to reach the kyubi class, and therefore the very oldest of my race. I’d lived for millennia, experiencing the stories that would go on to form the fables and legends of future generations. 

We ate. The two were initially cautious of the food, especially the faithful Tyene, but their stomachs won out in the end. Soon, they were happily trying every dish and comparing the quality to works made by Sunspear’s finest chefs.

“Tell me something, princess,” I said as I nibbled on a perfectly roasted and glazed parsnip. “Why do you run? Did you not have everything you wanted in your father’s house?”

She’d claimed it wasn’t any of my business before, but I was an ever-curious fox. And, like so many others, she could be plied with delicious food and a warm fire.

Of course, the plum-flavored sake I’d introduced her to helped. She claimed it was her new favorite drink, almost as good as the finest Dornish reds. Which naturally meant I’d have to find myself a cask of this “finest wine in the world” to see for myself.

As it turned out, Arianne was a bit of a lightweight. She embraced the Dornish stereotype to a tee. She was flirty, free-spirited, and a boisterous lover of wine. I didn’t know if it was the cozy atmosphere or the emotional weight of her troubles, but she was more willing to satisfy my curiosity after a few glasses.

“Father seems intent on selling me off to men old enough to be my grandfather,” she spat bitterly. Tyene’s hand found her cousin’s and squeezed comfortingly. “I am the eldest! Dorne has always honored the eldest’s right to inherit! Whether I have a cock or not, Dorne should be mine!”

“Have there been many ruling princesses?” I asked gently.

“Many! Just as many as there have been princes! Our founder was a woman! My own grandmother, father’s mother, held the power in Dorne! And now, father seeks to abandon tradition in favor of my brother, Quentyn.”

“So you ran away.”

“So I ran away. I… I love father. I love my brothers, both of them. Why does father hate me so? What does he see that is so lacking in me?” she said morosely. Tears welled in her eyes as her voice broke into quiet sobs.

Clearly, she’d already been disinherited. But surely, if she’d done something stupid enough to warrant being overlooked for the throne, then she’d know what she’d done wrong. She struck me as a willful young woman, but not oblivious.

“What does your father have to say about this?” I prodded gently. “I am led to believe that tradition is very important to your people. Have you not asked him why he made such a decision?”

“No! How can I? How can I, when he is so intent on giving me away? All my suitors were as ancient as you! All of them as foreign to Dorne’s sands as you! It is the lot of daughters to marry for alliances. Should that be my lot as well, then fine!” she spat. “But I am being given away like cheap cattle, to houses that can provide nothing but platitudes, to seats of power far from Dorne.”

“Arianne,” Tyene whispered comfortingly into her ear.

“If I must be sold like a broodmare, then so be it. If I cannot have Dorne, then so be it. I will have a kingdom of my own. I will head to Highgarden and present myself before Willas Tyrell,” she finished bitterly. “He will not resist my charms. No man can.”

Fat tears streamed down her face. She truly believed that her own father wanted her gone. She believed she had nothing left to take pride in, and so took pride in her body.

I watched as her cousin comforted her. I’d pressed too far, or perhaps voicing her dissatisfactions aloud was what she needed most. Either way, I apologized, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place to ask.”

“Hah! A stranger shows more care for me than my own father, Tyene.”

She drifted off to sleep while leaning against her cousin. I helped Tyene carry the princess to her bedroll before vanishing the rest of the feast.

I sat there, staring at the fire. Hearing Arianne’s story had triggered a few more memories in me. This little excursion would not be her tragic end. She did have a role to play in canon.

I remembered why she hadn’t been very popular. She was the “whore princess,” the girl who tried to sleep her way into power by manipulating the knights around her. It was a book-only thing, but she probably made the already complicated War of Five Kings even more convoluted.

Did she do it just to spite her father? She was on her way to Highgarden, which I could recall was the seat of one of the most important houses in the Seven Kingdoms. At this point in time, she was clearly willing to give up Dorne if it meant getting another kingdom.

So what changed? When did she decide she wanted Dorne at all costs?

No, stupid question. She’d no doubt get picked up by Oberyn in a day or two. Her plans thwarted, she must have lived with a great deal of bitterness and resentment when the War of Five Kings rolled around.

I was sure there was more to it, but the details eluded me. I doubted they’d matter much now that I was here anyway. If I wanted something in this world, it was mine, plain and simple. There was that ice zombie problem up north which was the big bad that got hinted at for years, but I doubted even they would give me a hard time.

Fire was… kinda my thing… Short of gods, a phoenix, or an elder flame dragon, there really weren’t many magical entities who could compete with a mature kyubi in that regard.

Besides, that was years away. This world was more or less my sandbox. I could do anything to anyone. The only thing deterring me was my own morality, and the drop in karma that could affect some of my more esoteric spells. I’d rather avoid that if possible.

I gazed into the crackling flames. Absentmindedly, I tossed in a few twigs and watched them ignite. The question was, what did I want?

I wasn’t sure. The Iron Throne? Hah! As if, I’d rather have my perfectly comfy pillow any day.

Well, I couldn’t deny that I did feel for Arianne. She obviously wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but she’d also clearly been wronged. If nothing else, she was at least due an explanation from her father. Was that enough to make me act on her behalf?

No, I decided. I wouldn’t shake Doran down for her. I’d refused to serve Louise, an extremely promising mage, just because she’d turned on the waterworks. Arianne wasn’t any different. Pity did not necessitate a response.

In the end, did I have to want something? This world, the story’s plot, was driven by men and women of ambition, of eyes that sought more than their mouths could chew. What was wrong with not wanting anything?

That sounded pleasant. I, Charlie Foxtrot, was a fox who wanted nothing. Fishing. Reading. Seeing the world and experiencing its many cultures. These things sounded far more interesting to me than playing kingmaker. I decided that I would accompany these girls, keep them safe until they returned to Sunspear.

And then, then Doran Martell would owe me an undeniable favor. After that, I’d just have to play things by ear. Foxes were, after all, known for our whimsy.

Author’s Note

Reject the game of thrones. Embrace spontaneous camping trips with strangers. I’m sure if or when I’ll get around to the plot, or maybe Charlie will just fuck off to Essos or something, but for now, slice of life. Really, y’all should know me by now.

Heroes’ Feast is an actual, sixth-tier spell in D&D 5e that is learnable by druids and clerics. Seeing how Maruyama based his novels on D&D and the kannushi is a Japan-flavored cleric, I decided he could have this spell.