Legacy 6 (1/2)

The construction work for the new Slyth family home was trudging along on schedule. The site was prepped and the foundations were already being laid, despite it being only a week or so since the project started. Of course, that wasn’t all that surprising considering there were Druids capable of moving entire fields’ worth of dirt with but a wave of their hand. There were no such people here, though. The only people working this site were a small army of Architects, Laborers and Carpenters.

Well, them and one generously proportioned house mimic. Having heard that Homer belonged to none other than the Keira Morgana made the workers approach it with wonder and excitement rather than the suspicion and wariness one would expect. The Hero of Chaos’s popularity had only gone up when her part in the Collapse investigation was made public. The government was once again using her as propaganda, completely omitting the fact that the Sandman and his minions had allegedly done most of the work.

Not that Homer understood any of this, of course. The sentient shack had always been a massive coward despite its size, and being left ownerless and abandoned for over four centuries had not helped its disposition. It would have never even attempted to get close to civilization if not for Boxxy outright telling it to. Homer had some apprehensions at first, especially given the nasty bump Fizzy had given it, but it ultimately decided to obey the wishes of its new owner.

The same owner that was currently visiting the gargantuan house mimic’s new stomping grounds.

“Oh, Miss Morgana!” the forewoman in charge called out to her. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

This one was a dwarven Architect from Azurvale’s Stone District, and the one responsible for designing the mansion commissioned by Elias Slyth. Which wasn’t to say she didn’t get her hands dirty. Her brown-and-gray overalls, work shirt, gloves and safety goggles all made it clear she was here to do work, not just scribble plans on a paper. Her long ginger hair was tied in a braided bun so as to avoid getting in her way, and the freckles covering her face gave her a very homely ‘village girl’ vibe.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Kindbraid,” Keira returned the greeting. “I’m just dropping by to see how Homer is doing.”

“The big lug’s doin’ fine, far as I can tell. Tried to make himself useful by helpin’ out, but honestly? He’s become somethin’ of a disturbance.”

“Want me to scold him for you?”

“Nah,” the dwarf waved her hand, “you got it all wrong. It isn’t even his fault, it’s the dumbasses I gotta supervise that are the problem. They keep feeding it construction materials and messing around with it on the job.”

It was why the project was moving along on budget and according to schedule even though Homer helped with some of the heavy lifting.

“Wait, what do you mean by feeding it?” Keira cocked an eyebrow. “As far as I could tell, it doesn’t actually ‘eat’ things.”

“Yeah? Then how do you explain that?”

Kindbraid jerked her head to the side, in the vague direction of the corner Homer was in. What used to be a cozy run-down two-story cottage now looked more like a villa. It still had two floors, but had gone up noticeably in volume. It had also ‘Leveled Up’ aesthetically, with decorated beams and walls, fancy windows, fresh paint and spacious balconies. In simpler, Boxxy-er terms, Homer’s shininess had gone up dramatically in the few days since the shapeshifter had last visited.

Still, while this development was pleasantly surprising, the house mimic’s wellbeing was hardly why Boxxy was here. It had merely dropped by to ask whether any more of Tol-Saroth’s living furniture had shown up, which didn’t seem to be the case according to Kindbraid. Disappointed at having wasted its time coming here, the shapeshifter spent some more time making small talk before heading back to Keira’s house.

Looking out for house mimics lured in by Homer’s presence would normally have been Drea’s job, but Boxxy had judged that tailing and keeping an eye on Rowana was more important. Its primary XP factory liked to go on walks with some of the mimics, which the deceitful creature imagined would attract the wrong kind of attention. The stalky, kidnappy, headache-inducing kind of attention.

Boxxy acknowledged the fact that it was perhaps being unnecessarily cautious when it gave that order, but as it was about to find out, its paranoia had been somewhat justified.

“Master, I’ve caught… something,” Drea notified it.

“What ‘something?’ Give me details.”

“A flying book with eyes and teeth. It was following Rowana around while she was checking out some books from a library.”

“Is it a house mimic?”

“I don’t think so, it’s far too vicious.”

The way her captive snarled and thrashed about as it failed to escape her webbing made it obvious this creature was nowhere near as docile as the average house mimic.

“Should I kill it?” the webstalker asked.

“Not yet. Bring it to the dungeon so I can interrogate it.”

“Which one, Master? The graveyard or the tree?”

“Tree.”

“Right away.”

Upon entering the Dryad’s Domain several minutes later, Boxxy was able to see this ‘peeping tome’ for itself. It appeared to be an old, thick, leather-bound book bearing the title Beginner’s Primer to Maggots. As one might expect from a mimic, it was completely indistinguishable from the genuine article by sight alone. However, the way it had been glued to the dungeon wall with a wad of stalker webbing made it clear this was no ordinary book. Well, that and the fact that Boxxy’s Eyes of the Dead God revealed it was a creature named Booker with 183 HP.

The shapeshifter was just about to reach out and grab the thing when a large, yellow eye with a vertical slit opened up on its front cover.

“Weeeeell now,” a deep, drawn out voice emanated from it. “If it isn’t the biiiig baaaad Saaaaandman.”

“… You know who I am?”

Boxxy wasn’t currently wearing that particular disguise. Or any other, for that matter. It had opted to show itself in its natural hylt creeper form. Therefore, being instantly identified by its alter ego had been somewhat surprising.

“How could I noooooot?” the vexed volume groaned. “You and that stuuuupid caaaaat have been a pain in my spine ever since you moooved into tooooown.”

“What stupid cat? You mean Keira Morgana?”

“Who eeeelse?”

“Why would a book have issue with a beastkin adventurer?”

“I just want to live a quieeeet liiife, and having a crisis magnet like a Hero of Chaos around is nothing but baaad neeeeeews.”

“Uh-huh. And what idiotic complaints do you have about me?”

“Just looook at me,” it wriggled fruitlessly against the webs. “I kneeeeew this sort of thing would happen if our paaaaaaths crooooossed.”

“But how did you even recognize me? I’m not exactly in uniform, so to speak.”

“I didn’t. I just made an eeeeducated gueeeeess.”

And Boxxy had given itself away with its response. It was a classic trick, but it was nothing of consequence. After all, the shapeshifter wouldn’t have brought Booker here if it planned on letting the babbling book go in the first place. Especially since it was fairly obvious that this thing wasn’t just another house mimic.

“So who are you, really?”

“Wouldn’t you liiiiike to knoooooow?”

“Mhm. That’s definitely the sort of arrogant response I’d expect from a beholder. And given your drawn out manner of speaking, you’re most likely a chronicler. Which, in turn, suggests that you are none other than Tol-Saroth’s former familiar, who’s currently inhabiting the body of one of his house mimics.”

A somewhat bold leap of logic, but anything seemed possible to Boxxy considering what and who it found beneath that graveyard.

“… I have noooo ideeeea what you’re taaaaaalking abooooout.”

Though it would seem the demon-possessed tome wasn’t going to fall for its own trick and unwittingly confirm the other side’s accusation.

“Maybe not, but I know someone who does.”

Boxxy then mentally called for Xera, who was busy tending to an alraune seedling. Though a lot had happened since then, the shapeshifter had not forgotten the deal it had struck with the dryad Alderis - a flower-girl for the traitorous treant called Yule. That sorry sack of timber had been Reggie’s accomplice in the causing of the Collapse, and a loose end that Boxxy wanted to silence for good. It honestly wasn’t getting much out of that exchange since the old ‘ganger capo had disappeared without a trace, but earning the favor of another dryad was hardly a bad thing.

Besides, Snack was the one doing the actual ‘gardening’ involved, and Boxxy had no qualms about wasting months of her time on such a low-priority task. Right now, however, it needed the former succubus at its side, and the perverted demoness was more than happy to respond. She appeared next to the shapeshifter and in front of the sentient book with a barely audible pop. She then wasted no time in practically wrapping herself around the hylt creeper.

“Is it time for you to gouge out my pussy yet, Master?” she asked hopefully.

“Not quite.”

Boxxy grabbed her by the neck and casually choke-slammed her into the ground, much to the djinn’s delight.

“I’d like you to meet my new friend here,” it directed her attention to the webbed up book with the giant eyeball.

“… Who’s this worthless piece of shit supposed to be?” she asked with a pout.

“That’s myyyy liiiine,” it groaned back at her.

“Wait, I know that stupid voice!” she exclaimed, rising to her feet. “Aren’t you that old faggot’s personal bitch? Y’know, the one he had cleaning up all his messess and was routinely used as a punching bag? What was your worthless name again? Thorn-shit or something?”

“Fooor the laaast tiiime, it’s Torzessirth!”