by Neven Iliev
“… I don’t … think so?”
“Then that means it’s outside the terms and conditions of your support contract with Demons ‘R’ Us. Sorry, buddy – company policy. I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
“But I saw the same weird thing back when I had Punchy!”
“Punchy? … Oh right, Overlord Nagnamor. You … didn’t summon him again, did you?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I think I would know if I accidentally summoned a giant fire-breathing demon who can cleave mountains, Carl.”
“ … Did you just use sarcasm on me?”
“Sarcasm? What’s that? Is it tasty?”
“Uh, never mind. What weird thing were you talking about?”
“The Skill – it’s all weird and wibbly-wobbly. Just like Punchy’s Status back then.”
“Is it? Hmm … I think I better consult my manager, please hold.”
*Boop*
Ah, there it was again, that oddly soothing music. Boxxy’s fascination with these tasty sounds was the reason it made so many music boxes for Artificer practice. It couldn’t quite get those toys to play a tune this good, though. At the very least they sold moderately well, to the point where the Mimic actually turned a profit on them. And it felt oddly happy to be making something chest-shaped for once, even if it was just a trinket.
*Boop*
“Sorry for the delay, Boxxy. My boss said we’d better make sure there’s no funny business going on, so he authorized me to help you out this one time as an exception. Send me your Status and I’ll take a look-see.”
“Okay. Sending.”
“Got it. And which Skill seems to be the issue?”
“It’s the Aci-square Spray.”
“… What? Do you mean Acid Spray?”
“I guess?”
“Uh-huh … One moment, please. Uh … Hmm … Oh! Yeah, okay, I think I see the issue. You got this thing through some sort of special circumstance rather than unlocking it normally, right?”
“Yes.”
“There’s your problem then. You’re trying to view the information relating to a Job or a Skill that’s outside your sphere of knowledge and understanding. That’s why it looks so messed up.”
“So … this is normal?”
“Well, I don’t know how normal it is for a mimic to have a Skill from another species, but Monster Jobs aren’t too far apart so it’s probably fine. You still understand most of it, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d say you’re good. I’d wager the Skill’s description and whatnot should clear the more you get used to it, so I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”
“Okay. Wait, how come you can see it clearly?”
“Trade secret, my square friend,” Carl said playfully. “Let’s just say the operators here at Demons ‘R’ Us are very well-informed.”
“I see. Thanks Carl.”
“Hey, no problem. Glad you actually had a simple problem for once. And keep in mind, this was a one-time service because of our little arrangement, so don’t bother calling us unless you have a demon-related inquiry. Now, that said, is there anything else I can do for you today?”
“ … Yes, actually. Can I speak with Snack like I do with you?”
“Err … ”
“My familiar. With the skin and the horns. The blue one.”
“Oh, right, the succubus. Yeah, it’s possible, but she’d have to give you her soul number. And don’t order her to tell you her soul number, okay? That could be grounds for contract termination. Especially with succubi, they’re quite touchy when it comes to that sort of thing.”
‘Contract termination’ was a fancy way of saying that the arrangement between summoner and familiar would be made null and void. The repercussions of such an act varied on the circumstances, but generally speaking, it involved either the Warlock or the demon getting blacklisted by Demons ‘R’ Us. Such individuals would be banned from forming new summoning contracts for a period of anywhere between three months to five hundred years.
“I see. I’ll keep that in mind,” responded Boxxy.
“Why do you need to speak to her directly anyway?”
“I don’t.”
“But then … why bother asking?”
“I was just curious if I could.”
“Ah. Will that be all then?”
“Yes. Thanks, Carl. You were a big help.”
“That’s what I’m here for, buddy. Buh-bye.”
“Bye.”
*Click*
The Mimic double-checked its Skill List and noticed that ‘Aci◻ Spray’ was now properly called ‘Acid Spray.’ It would seem those squiggles really were just a problem with its perception of the Skill. The contents of the Skill’s window were still messed up, but Boxxy’s mind already had all the relevant information it needed to spit acid just like those overgrown lobsters. So it decided to give it a try.
First, it grew the relevant acid-producing gland through shapeshifting, placing it at the tip of its tongue. It then activated the relevant Skill, causing the organ to rapidly swell with caustic fluid that appeared out of thin air. After a few moments of charging up, the monster began spewing the dangerous stuff all over the place. The liquid refused to fly farther than eight metres, though, no matter what sort of angle or how much pressure was involved. The acid just sort of evaporated instantly if it got too far away, although it did linger for several seconds if it remained within the Skill’s range.
Next, Boxxy began pushing the limits of the Skill, quickly making a few interesting discoveries. For instance, it didn’t matter how large the acid gland was, where it was placed, or how many of them there were. The amount of liquid produced by Acid Spray each second would not pass a certain threshold. On the upside, it meant the Mimic could shoot jets of the nasty stuff from any part of its body so long as it shaped the necessary organ and angled it correctly.
Still, that acid was quite devastating – something the shapeshifter had experienced first-hand. Being able to use non-physical means of attack without resorting to chanting magic was quite useful, although Boxxy needed to be careful not to get splashed by its own juices. Mimics were far less acid-proof than murk dwellers, after all. Not that being injured mattered much since Mend Flesh would patch things up right away.
Having concluded its business in the marsh and – after forcefully dismissing Kora for whining about her missing limbs or some such – Boxxy made its way back to the outskirts of Erosa. It went into the city through its secret tunnel, crawled into its hideout, summoned both of its familiars for protection, and finally allowed itself to sleep.
Boxxy woke up just before noon the next day at exactly 11:34, according to its tentacle-made clock. Its weekly dose of sleep lasted for almost nine hours as per usual, after which it had woken up feeling refreshed and full of energy. It quickly donned its disguise and set about its daily routine, albeit with a late start. It took to the now familiar streets of Erosa and made a beeline for the Mercenary Guild. It found the place practically deserted, unlike at breakfast. In fact, the only ones present were the dwarven receptionist and what looked like a male elf nursing a headache in the corner.
“Ah! If it isn’t the illustrious Mister Morningwood!” Grog the dwarf called out to the disguised Mimic, and the monster nodded in response.
Boxxy strode up to the bar and sat cross-legged on the floor. This put the two of them at relatively equal eye level. Sensing business was afoot, the bartender put away the notepad he was scribbling on and devoted his full attention to his visitor.
“Late night last night, eh? Ah, to be young … Anyway, what can I do for you today?”
“Quests.”
“Don’t tell me you’re giving up!”
“No. I’m done.”
“Done? You mean you already killed all those crabby bastards?”
Boxxy nodded once again.
“What, even the big one?”
Grog’s ey
es nearly fell out of his skull when he saw the affirmative head movement. “But you only got that Quest yesterday!”
“Late night.”
“Hah. Hahahaha! I see, I see!”
The dwarf let out a short, hearty laugh, much to the chagrin of the elf in the corner still nursing a hangover.
“Hey!” the elf in question called out. “Keep it down, Grog! My head’s about to burst!”
“Ah, sorry Lint. It’s just that Mister Morningwood here has made me a whole lot of gold!”
“Gold?” Boxxy’s eyes shone fiercely when it heard the shiny G-word.
“Oh-hoh!” exclaimed Grog. “Now there’s a look I can relate to! Don’t worry, just a friendly wager between me and some of the lads on whether you’d make it back.”
He smiled widely, making it plainly obvious which side of the wager he had been on. There was more to his good mood than that, though. Grog’s personal opinion of the hard-working Boxxy T. Morningwood had only improved during the past week, so he was genuinely glad to see him return safe and sound. Murk dwellers were deceptively tough to handle for solo adventurers, so there’d been a very real chance even this promising newcomer might’ve been overwhelmed.
“Sure you don’t wanna sign on with the guild after all?” he offered yet again. “You’d make a lot more money if you were a full member!”
Boxxy just shook its head.
“Well, can’t blame me for trying. Anyway, let’s make the Quest completion official, shall we?”
The dwarf reached behind the counter and brought out the Quest Logger, placing the crystal orb on the bar. He then confirmed that Boxxy T. Morning did indeed complete the two Murk Dweller related Quests that had been accepted the day before. He excused himself and went into the back room to prepare Boxxy’s payment as per usual and came out with one heavy satchel and two smaller pouches.
“Here you go, Mister Morningwood,” he said, setting them down on the counter. “Please confirm the amount.”
Boxxy nodded and peeked into the bags for the sake of keeping up appearances. It had already confirmed that the 1,300 GP it was owed was present and accounted for. It was also delighted to find out that it had been given one of the so-called ‘Divine Pieces.’ Those large coins were worth 500 GP each, making them the highest denomination of currency around. More importantly, they were made out of pure mithril. Their borderline irresistible shininess made them Boxxy’s favourite form of currency by far. So much so that it had to actively fight the urge to take the coin in question out of its container and worship it. It just barely managed to hide away its earnings underneath its cloak without making a fool of itself.
“Oh, and this ... ” said the bartender, pulling out a 50 GP coin and sliding it across the counter. “ ... is for being a good sport about that bet I mentioned. I made a killing off you, so I felt it was only fair to give you a little something. No hard feelings, ey?”
“Holy shit!” screamed Lint from the corner. He got up from his seat and started running across the restaurant with his hands in the air.
“Grog’s giving away money! A storm is comiiiing!”
He then promptly ran upstairs, likely to hide under his bed covers.
“Storm? Again?” asked the Mimic with a hint of worry in its voice.
“Nah, never mind him. He’s just being overly dramatic,” the dwarf said dismissively. “Why? Do you not like the storms, Mister Morningwood?”
“No.”
‘Not like’ was an understatement. Boxxy absolutely hated stormy weather. It was almost as untasty as getting covered in acidic spit.
“How come?” inquired Grog.
“Thunderbolts and lightning – very very frightening.”
This was a surprisingly honest answer. Something about those loud flashes of light in the distance really put the creature on edge. Strangely enough, it wasn’t upset by Power Overwhelming in the slightest, despite the Skill covering it in a cloak of crackling energy. That aside, the rain itself caused a different problem. Having so many water droplets passing through its magical perception field confused Boxxy and made it hard to take in its surroundings. Though it wasn’t about to admit such a thing out loud. It wasn’t that stupid.
“Aye, nature’s fury can be a terrifying thing. That typhoon that hit us the day before yesterday was pretty bad. Reminded me of the time I got hit by lightning. Not the small sparks that Wizards and Shamans toss about. I’m talking an actual bolt from the heavens.”
“Sounds bad.”
“Oh, it was. Here, I got the scar to prove it.”
Grog took off his shirt and turned around, showing a red tree-like pattern running down his back. Boxxy didn’t even want to think about how much that must’ve hurt. It was no stranger to being injured, but painful things were painful.
“Barely made it out alive; haven’t been able to hold a sword right ever since,” claimed the dwarf as he dressed himself again. “I’ve been hit by hundreds of Spells in my youth, but none of them were this bad. Take it from me – no stick-twirling pyjama-wearing twinkle-fingers can hope to match the real deal. Though I suppose that old hag Imiryl would be an exception.”
“Imiryl? Weird name?”
“That’s because she’s this big-shot high-elf Wizard from the Ishigar Republic to the north,” Grog said as he began cleaning shot glasses. “They all have funny-sounding names up there. I wouldn’t say that to her face though. Imiryl’s supposedly one of the most powerful Spell-slingers on the continent, but also kind of a stuck up cunt. Terrible temper, too. Not the sort of gal you wanna get involved with. By the way, no offence or anything, but you seem awfully chatty today, Mister Morningwood.”
That was because the Mimic had been steadily working on its small talk over the past week, mostly with Fizzy. Word of mouth was a useful source of information according to Snack, so it wanted to make sure it wasn’t missing out. Its efforts had paid off since it found out about this dangerous-sounding woman called Imiryl. But it had a long way to go. As of right now, it couldn’t hold a conversation for long but had a solid grasp on what constituted a socially acceptable response.
Like for instance, it knew that someone behaving differently from normal could often be attributed to a shift in their mood. Therefore, all it needed to say in this situation was –
“Today – good day.”
“Heh. I’ll say. Not every day you get to pocket a thousand-plus gold, eh?”
Boxxy exchanged a few more words with Grog and left the Mercenary Guild before the conversation became too hard for it to follow. It had to admit, it was strangely fond of that dwarf. He was easy to get along with and his body and muscles were still supple despite his old age. The Mimic was looking forward to savouring his flavour. But before (or even if) such a time came, it had to restock its supplies.
Come to think of it, why was it spending all this money? Surely it could just take what it wanted, right? Now that it had Mend Flesh, couldn’t it take all those crummy guards and loot the city however it pleased? No, those were dangerous thoughts. Its MP was not bottomless, and there were plenty of adventurers around. It understood that tangling with monster-hunting experts out in the open was a terrible idea, but it still hated having to give away its shinies so quickly after getting them.
The Mimic concentrated on the Storage Skill’s mental inventory of what was currently in its pocket dimension. Its money reserves clocked in at 1,704 GP with today’s payment, which was a significant sum but not nearly enough for its tastes. It had also used up most of its healing potions, but at least it wouldn’t need those with Mend Flesh around. Then again, having one or two on hand to give it a burst of vitality was probably a good idea. Insurance just in case it ran out of MP in the middle of battle.
Speaking of which, shouldn’t it get mana restoration potions too? Those certainly seemed like they would be a wise investment now that MP could be converted to HP. At least those were cheaper than their healing counterparts. It would probably be a good idea to look into getting so
me more alchemical oils for its weapons or maybe a few fortifying elixirs. Though short-lived, their magical effects could mean the difference between life and death.
Boxxy sighed deeply as it took a break from its mental arithmetic. How come earning money was so much more difficult than spending it? There had to be a better way to get its tentacles on more numerous (and shinier) shinies.
Since such a method was unlikely to make itself known out of the blue, the Mimic turned its attention to procuring those supplies. It stopped by the same elven apothecary it always visited and bought four blue-tinged potions for 95 GP each. The Alchemist claimed they filled 200 MP per dose, so they would serve very well in an emergency. Boxxy also bought two of the 300 HP potions, just in case.
Surprisingly enough, the old Alchemist gave Boxxy a discount on the healing tonics, knocking them down from 190 to 175 GP each. He even tossed in three doses of medium-grade all-purpose antidote for free. Apparently being a ‘knife-eared twig’ in a mostly human town made it so he didn’t get many customers, so he was quite thankful for Boxxy’s continued patronage. This gesture put the Mimic in a very amiable mood, as it seemed that everything was going its way today.
Next on the shopping list: explosives. They were very handy to have in a pinch and their non-magical nature made them more reliable than the Spell Crystals, though perhaps not as flexible. Boxxy walked idly towards Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets, arriving without much incident. Well, aside from having all the humans staring at it in a generally frightened manner. The Mimic was somewhat used to it by now, but that attention still worried it.
And for good reason too. Evidently, it had caught the eye of one of the city’s guardsmen, who had spent a few days tailing the monster without it realising it was being followed. The guardsman had reported the cloaked stranger’s suspicious activity to his superior, but Snack was able to head the issue off and wipe the relevant memories before the situation got out of hand. It was fortunate Boxxy had allowed her to infiltrate the city guard like she asked, or it might have been made the target of another punitive expedition.