The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

There was a distinct atmosphere of unease in the Venture manor in the days that followed. Coin departing for parts unknown, being sparse on any details for where he was going or why he was leaving at all, had naturally left everyone worried.

Though, they took at least some vague comfort in the notion that Coin would be fine. He had survived everything else thrown at him, after all. The benefits of being a smart mimic.

In the meantime all they could do was go about their business to keep the mansion and Coin's Commerce afloat.

"I don't see why I have to do this," Varis said, glancing to the box of mixed vegetables in his hands."If you wish to live at the Venture estate during our time in Sentinel, without paying rent, you will contribute in other ways," Illyana replied. She carried two larger crates in her arms, and did so without a hint of difficulty.Domajor, leading the group, spared them a quick glance. "I really don't need the assistance, you know. Not that I am unappreciative, but it is very against the grain for houseguests to contribute to my duties."

"No harm in it though, surely?" Illyana asked, managing a faint smile.

"Only to my principles." And to his reputation in the Manservant's Guild, once word got around about all this.

Essine offered him a small smile. "You should be more willing to accept aid. It is not a sign of weakness, or a slight against your abilities. It is simply kindness, being extended to you for all the good you do for others in turn."

"And I feel awkward about being waited on, hand and foot. Reminds me too much of home," Illyana added, a small shudder racing down her body.

Varis rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, being a rich girl in a wealthy elven kingdom. How truly awful that must have been."

"We were not... 'rich', exactly," Illyana replied, her eyes darting aside.

Varis frowned deeply. "Doesn't sound like you were poor, Illyana. Never known a poor person to complain about servants."

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"Well, not everyone is quite as lazy as you," said Illyana.

"Oh..." Varis adjusted the crate in his arms, rolling his eyes skyward. "I don't know if 'lazy' is the right term. I prefer to consider myself 'feline.' A very adept hunter who can, nevertheless, relax and be at ease when not hunting."

"Couch it in fancy language if you wish, Varis, laziness is laziness."

"Yes, well, pardon me for wanting to relax a little during our time off and-"

Domajor spun about suddenly, his eyes wide, and set about scanning the rooftops that flanked them on either side. That same anxiety quickly filled the other three, who examined the area above them as best they could.

"W-what is it?" Essine asked.

"I..." Domajor frowned. "I had a feeling we were being watched. As if some unbridled malevolence was staring right at us."

"I felt it too." Illyana had reached for the blade sheathed on her back without even realising it, her body operating solely on instinct.

They fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances. What worried Essine most was that even Domajor seemed to be worried. "Come," the butler eventually said. "We should hurry back."

The scales itched something fierce.

That was the first thing Askyr had realised when he first woke from his alchemy-induced coma. His body ached in a myriad of alien ways, the new growths of his body unlike anything he could describe. And when he looked upon his reflection, saw his new serpentine eyes and the black scales that protruded from what had once been his skin, he understood the cost of what had had agreed to.

And yet, after experimenting with his newfound strength, he understood that it was a necessity.

Alas, all that time spent recovering, and his quarry had apparently left on the seas for parts unknown. He would be back, no doubt. But what to do until then? Stalk his allies, examine his home, and wait for an ideal moment to strike.

According to some of their spies, Coin had actually kissed the rat. The thought alone had spread a good deal of gossip among more upper crust society. And given how inseparable the two were, Askyr did not believe they were mere rumours.

For as much as humans spurned kobolds, it was not unheard of for rich gentlemen to endure kobold prostitutes or mistresses. The situation was likely similar for those two. And who could say what depraved, perverted desires a mimic would have?

And, Askyr thought as he stroked his chin with two clawed fingers, that was likely the mimic's weakness. Most men would go after their concubine if she were stolen from them. Indeed, losing Elijah DiVenture had put Coin on the warpath before.

Askyr grinned, exposing rows of sharp yellow fangs. He emerged from the chimney he had been hiding behind, the wind tugging the end of the dark robes wrapped around his disfigured body.

"Yes," he hissed. "Bait." Forming words was still difficult with his misshapen mouth, but he would get their eventually. There was no challenge Askyr could not meet with enough effort.

"Catch the rat. Use her to... draw the mimic in... bait." A hissing chuckle rose in his throat as he watched Essine and her friends wind the way deeper into the city. "I'll keep the rat alive... just so he can be there to watch her die."

Coin took someone he loved from him, so he would gladly return the favour.