The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

"A mimic?" Askyr incredulously asked. He had arrived soon after the meeting erupted into chaos, entering from a tunnel behind a local printing office. Too late to get involved in the chase, but he had seen the results of the unwelcome interruption, and the chaos that had been left in its wake. Naturally, he was displeased.

"I know what I saw," Leona said, knitting her brows in a frustrated glare. "Don't give me that look! I know what a mimic looks like, I've killed plenty of them while treasure hunting for the Brotherhood!"

"I'm aware. But... a talking mimic? Come on now," he said, scoffing and shaking his head. He leaned against the stage, the scent of drying blood and black powder still rife in the air. In the distance she could hear the muffled sounds of men straining, carrying crates through the winding tunnels of the hideout. "They're animals, Leona. Next you'll be telling me that a horse was talking to you."

An irritated growl rose in her throat. It took a lot to frustrate Leona. Treating her like a kid, as the elder Brotherhood members often did, was a sure fire way to manage it. "There were plenty of witnesses in the crowd. I wasn't the only one who saw a scuttling treasure chest!" she shouted.

"Actually, you were." He regarded her with an icy expression, his inner emotions well guarded. "I spoke to many other people. All they saw was a... shape in the darkness. You were the only one who got close enough to see our unwanted guest. That fool at the door barely saw anything other than a fist smashing his face in, so he's been no damn help."

Leona folded her toned arms, regarding him warily. "So, what, you think I'm lying?" she asked.

"That's not..." He gave an irritated sigh and pushed away from the stage, pacing around the dimly lit cavern. "I'm merely... sceptical. A talking mimic isn't possible. If mimics were that smart, they'd be hunted to extinction, instead of being nuisances that lurk in old ruins. We'd know about them, is my point."

"Oh? And what else could it have been?"

Askyr shrugged his slim shoulders, his back to Leona. It was ordinarily very unwise to have your back to Leona, not that those who made such an error ever had the time to contemplate their own foolishness, but he knew he was safe. Not just from his own level of skill, but because his apprentice would never raise a blade to him in anger.

"A wizard using magic to warp their shape, most likely. It's a rare skill, but there are those capable of it. Entirely possible someone using such an ability snuck in here," Askyr reasoned.

"And they just so happened to look exactly like a mimic?"

"It's more believable than an inexplicably intelligent mimic," Askyr replied, halfway turning toward her. "You even said it cast magic at you. Have you ever heard of a mimic using magic?"

Leona opened her mouth again, then promptly shut it. She glanced away, scowling. "It's not impossible," she reasoned. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a corked bottle. "I found this on the floor of the cavern. Think it was a piece of the bastard that got blown off when Deek shot him."

Askyr inspected the bottle as it was offered to him, the corners of his mouth gradually twisting into a puzzled frown. The flesh inside the glass was an indeterminate mass of grey mush, vaguely meaty in texture.

"Whatever was in the cavern tonight... this isn't human flesh, I can tell you that for certain."

"Mm. True," Askyr reluctantly admitted. He turned the flask in his hand, holding it up to the torchlight for a better look. "Might give it over to the alchemists for a better look," he said.

The two fell silent for some time, while Askyr continued checking the glass. Eventually, Leona sighed and folded her arms. "I'm not... I wouldn't... lie about something like this. Not when it comes to Brotherhood matters."

Askyr's strong hand settled on her shoulder, instantly lifting some of the tension she felt. It was a moment that took her back to her childhood, when he had first met her and rescued her from peril. Much of her annoyance and frustration melted away, her fears dulled.

So long as Askyr was here, part of her brain assured her that everything would be alright.

"I know Leona, I know," he said, offering her a ghost of a smile. "I don't think of you as a liar, or anything like that. And I know you did your best to stop that intruder. With how strange the entire ordeal was? I can't fault your imagination going wild."

Leona frowned. "Maybe you're right." But she strongly doubted it.

A chill suddenly rolled through the cavern, making Leona stand to attention. Even Askyr grew stiff, promptly spinning around as the masked, cloaked visage of Lord Bleak floated in from the darkness. In the silence that surrounded him, the noise of a pin dropping would have sounded like thunder.

To say nothing for how frightfully awkward it would be to abruptly drop a pin in Lord Bleak's presence.

The flask floated from Askyr's grasp and hovered a few inches in front of Lord Bleak's mask, rotating from one side to another. Leona had not even known he was still here, given his ability to come and go as he pleased.

The flask vanished into the darkness of his cloak. Then, in a low, strained voice, Lord Bleak spoke. "This changes nothing in the grand scheme of things. We continue our plans as they were originally written."

"Of... course, Lord. We still have sentries on the street but if they see a... a walking treasure chest, they will be quick to act," said Askyr.

"It's not a priority. If we are dealing with a creature that can change it's shape, we'll have no end of difficulty trying to sniff them out. For now we need to focus on clearing this hideout and relocating back to the woodland camp."

Leona bowed. "Of course."

He stood, or hovered rather, near the mouth of a nearby tunnel. "Valle Irons has come through for us. Or, rather, his friend has come through for us. DiVenture's connections are not to be underestimated, getting several casks of black powder from the locals."

"Most of the locally produced black powder from Grafia goes straight into the kingdom's stockpile. To think, DiVenture managed to get his hands on some... the man has a lot of strings to pull," Askyr murmured. "Give it a few days and we can pick up the casks in Sentinel."

"No doubt there will be others seeking to capitalize on the... opportunity. Black powder, not under the watchful eyes of Arcadian soldiers? Aye, people are going to want to get their hands on that. Fatty Broadfellow's gang has a large presence out here, and those lads love their explosives," Askyr said.

It was perhaps hard to imagine a rotund gnome by the name of 'Fatty Broadfellow' as some feared crime boss. And indeed, many people used to cackle at his presence. But after having so many of his enemies torn apart by packs of hungry hounds, or blown to smithereens by black powder bombs, people found him to be increasingly less humorous.

But his existence did little to trouble Lord Bleak. Or, at least, the prospect did not make him change his stance. "Have some people keep an eye on DiVenture and his cohorts when they leave Grafia. Just in case anyone gets any foolish ideas."

"Of course, my lord. But, er, do you wish for us to... take the casks while they're on the road?" Leona asked.

"If you feel it necessary. But there is no rush. Sooner or later, the supplies will be in our grasp. We have nothing but time to kill until enough hand cannons are constructed."

He left them then, floating off into the darkness from whence he came. Once he was gone, Leona exhaled the breath she'd been holding without realising it.

She was loyal to the man, but feared him in ways nothing else could manage. Even the darkest horrors of the Bleak, the skin eaters and bone hounds and horned serpents, gave her little pause in comparison. She had, after all, seen what he was capable of. Knew the strange wisdom that ticked away inside his head. He had, after all, been the man who designed and built the hand cannon in the first place.

Frankly, when it seemed nobody in the Brotherhood had so much as glimpsed him under the mask, Leona had no idea who or what Lord Bleak even was. A demon of some sort, she reckoned.

Askyr turned, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Leona. Take two men and keep watch over DiVenture's wagon when he leaves the town."

The redhead's jaw dropped a bit. "Me? But what about dealing with the mimi-"

He gave her a flat stare that promptly shut her up. Askyr was not a man to shout or roar when he was angry. His anger had a tendency to be as sharp and focused as a spear strike. But there was a venom in his steely eyes that flared whenever he was annoyed. Leona had come to understand that look all too well in the early days of her sword training, where there was little tolerance for youthful clumsiness.

"No more of this mimic foolishness, Leona," he said, shaking his head. He drew away from her and steadily made for the mouth of the tunnel. "We have real problems to deal with. Things being as they are, you won't have to put up with any more mimic nonsense any time soon."