The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

Elbrinth, deep within the bowels of the world, was naturally devoid of sunlight. Yet the ancient natives, through magic and artistry known only to them, had cultivated queer crystals from the soil which glowed with emerald light in perpetuity.

At every stone room and cubic corridor she had been brought through, Essine had seen such crystals affixed in place, giving a path for her monstrous captor to take her through.

Occasionally she peered beyond the halos of light, into the darkness beyond. Even to a kobold, born and raised in caverns and tunnels, that darkness was blacker than any she had seen. She stared into that primordial darkness and felt fear in her gut. But there was something else to the atmosphere of the place that stirred and churned in her fur. Her magic responded to this place and made her itch.

Eventually she had been dumped in a great steel cage, in a room lined with weapons and strange sculptures. She had seen many goblins on the way in, and even now heard their chattering and growling. With her hands tied behind her back with rope, she could only sit and stare at Askyr and the floating masked figure at his side.

"You did well," Lord Bleak said, his voice low and strained.

Askyr shrugged. "Wasn't much of a challenge. Damn shame the mimic wasn't there already. I was looking forward to puling him apart."

"You will have your chance."

"Well. We have the bait." His serpentine eyes turned on Essine and she jerked back in her cage. "Do we need her alive?"

"For now, Askyr. Magic like hers? It is too rare not to use," the masked man replied. "You may go."

The mutant nodded slowly, but his gaze did not leave Essine. He glowered at her, and Essine shuddered at the cold cruelty that shone in his slitted pupils. He turned and stalked away, footsteps echoing into the darkness.

Alone, Lord Bleak floated across the room with his cloak trailing behind him. "Apologies. I asked him not to be too rough in retrieving you, but the grafting process tends to leave the subject's mind a touch... unbalanced."

"Grafting?" Essine asked warily.

"Alchemically infusing the essence of one lifeform to another. Difficult, dangerous, but the results are usually worth it." He turned slightly, masked face angled toward her. "I hold no grudge or disdain toward kobolds, you can relax. If you do as I ask, and do not make things difficult, you will not be harmed. Nor will Coin. I want him to work with us."

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That earned a scoff of laughter from Essine, who cast her eyes away from him. "You do not know Coin. He would never work with your ilk." Certainly not after abducting her, Essine mentally added.

A strange, rasping chuckle rose in Lord Bleak's throat. "There's so little you two know. I seek to make a world of true freedom, a world for the downtrodden. Your ilk included."

Essine frowned, pinning her ears flat to the sides of her head. "And how many must die to make your better world?"

"As many as needed." He floated away, through the cavernous door, and two goblins entered the room to keep watch on her. Essine stared warily at her captors and then sharply glanced away.

No matter what, she told herself, she would not sit idle through this ordeal.

Leaving her to her devices, Lord Bleak's path took him through a few other chambers, passing myriad other goblins and misshapen grafted things. Elbrinth had become an ideal locale to work from. Not only for the devices they had uncovered from the depths, but the shifting corridors and labyrinthine structure would make it very hard for any foes to reach them.

Hasty footsteps pounded his way from the darkness, frantic in their speed, but Lord Bleak barely slowed his motion, not even as a harsh human voice called out to him: "Bleak! Have you lost your damned mind?!"

He wordlessly entered a large dark chamber, followed by a burly and dark-skinned man. Ganos had been the man to show the hand cannon off for the first time, and had a long history as a Brotherhood leg breaker. Now he looked nearly purple with rage.

"A bombing in the capital? Velasco's people have gone berserk. We're getting reports of our men being massacred by Manticores in boltholes across the kingdom! Most of our veterans are dead, same with the new recruits who haven't already cut and run! We're nearly all goblins now!"

"Oh?" Lord Bleak asked tonelessly. He made for a workbench, lifting a black cube in an unseen hand. "Well, we knew there would be losses. It was inevitable. But with the fear instilled in the general public, it will render them panic-stricken and sloppy in their defences."

Ganos stormed around his, narrowing his eyes with vicious intent. "We fell in behind you for your strength and resources. But all we've done is massacre settlements and arm monsters! Even the man you got beside Velasco failed in his job?"

"Ah. Poor Handel. Couldn't follow through, in the end."

"Take this seriously," he hissed, trying to round on Bleak's side. "After this... after all this.. do you think we could recruit any sane man to our cause? We're pariahs. Monsters!"

"Nonsense. Only the other day we had two new goblin warrens join us, and a cluster of ogres."

"Goblins and ogres! Damn you, we're not building a kingdom for their lot! They're tools, re-establishing the Brotherhood with a puppet king on the throne, that was the goal!" Ganos hissed.

"For you, perhaps."

Ganos shifted, now uneasy, and stared warily at the cloaked figure. "What do you mean?"

"I believe, Ganos, that the time has come where we have reached a stage of irreconcilable differences. A shame." Something unseen swirled around Ganos, the air shifting and rippling around him. Then, in an instant, he was crushed into a great sphere of bloody raw meet, splattering chunks and streams of gore onto the stony floor.

His remains landed with a wet thud, and Lord Bleak resumed his studies.

"Idiots," he muttered. "Gadz, Rooka, get in here and clean the mess up."