Garon smiled, as the words flowed from Bak’shaz, starting hesitant and speeding up. That was the brother he remembered, normally curt but enthusiastic when he got talking. He’d been worried for him, after his snake died in the battle against the daemons. But now? Now Garon thought his little brother would be okay.
Putting his mug down, he leaned in, and the Skunkstomper boys (and significant other,) started talking about the logistics they needed to run a proper guild...
*****
“Me? No, I’ve got everything I need, to be honest,” Graves said, looking up from the latest batch of golem bodies. “While I’ll be assisting the Guild as needed, right now I need to see about making soulstoning and doll haunting socially and morally acceptable. Because if people HERE have problems, then the people we’ll run into out THERE will have problems, too. It’s better to settle the problem here first, so we have a united solution to present to the doubters out THERE.”
“Alright, if you’re sure. You’re one of our members now regardless, so if there’s ever anything, you let me know?” Garon held his hands up in a placating manner.
“Sorry. Was that too harsh?” Graves rubbed his face. “I’m used to having a lot more charisma than this. Twenty-two knight levels gone, that’s sixty-six points right out the window. And I wasn’t much of a charmer before I was a knight.”
“Eh, look at it this way,” Kayin said, walking among the golem bodies and plopping down right in the middle of his work. “It’s easier to grind your charisma the normal way now.”
“No, it wasn’t too harsh.” Garon shrugged. “You’ve got a ways to go before you piss off a half-orc. Even one who’s had a race-change, I guess.”
“And doesn’t that open up some big questions?” Kayin asked. “Like, oh, how do you think actual high dragons are going to feel about toy dragons horning in on their dragonity? Is a dwarf still a dwarf if he’s a golem and in another shape?”
“Well, the dwarves have that ‘undead are no longer who they were when they were dwarves’ rule, so that part’s easy for them at least,” Graves said.
Kayin nodded. “Yeah, but it’s more complicated for other folks. Giants just flat-out don’t like the notion, but they don’t care if other people do it. The Gribbits are politely uninterested. And what about elves? They’re out there somewhere, probably. What happens when we run into someone who wants to be an elf?”
Graves cleared his throat. “Actually...”
“You’ve already had someone, haven’t you?” Garon asked.
“Yes. She wants to be a dark elf, actually.”
“Oh. Shit.” Garon was glad he didn’t have skin to go pale anymore.
“Would that even work?” Kayin asked, the marbles in her eyesockets glittering.
“I have no idea, but we’ve got no good excuse to turn her down, so we’re going to give it a whirl.” Graves held up a pale, stuffed plushie, clad in spidery robes, with a cruel sneer on its face and black, pupiless eyes. Pointed ears jutted out from silvery hair.
“Who in their right mind would... you know what, never mind,” Garon rubbed his horns. “Yeah, that’ll go over well if we run into any elves out there.”
“Do you even know what their beef with dark elves is?” Kayin glanced over to him.
“Not a clue. I think only other elves get to learn about that.”
Graves shrugged. “I’m reasonably sure this is just asking for trouble, but whatever. Speak with Dead.”
“Oh wait, she’s here? Now?” Garon said.
“Yes, I am. And it’s my choice!” One of the soulstones pulsed.
“Are you ready, Janice?”
“Go for it, Mister Graves!”
“Toy Golem!” He poured yellow reagent out of a vial, and it dissipated into the plush elf, as did the soulstone in his other hand. “Golem Animus!”
They watched... and gasped, as the elf doll’s skin turned from sheer pale white, to a regular flesh color. The black eyes rippled, then turned into white patches of cloth with pupils.
“What’s wrong?” Janice said, staring at them. “Status.” She frowned. “Hey! I wanted a dark elf, not an elf!”
“Ah. Er...” Graves sat down. “Oh dear. I think I see why the elves don’t talk about it much.”
“Why’s that?” Kayin asked.
“This sort of thing only happens when somebody gets a ranked up body. The rank won’t transfer, so the body defaults to the lowest possible rank of the form. Dire bears turn into regular bears. Misplacer beasts turn into cats. So that means that dark elves...”
“So can I be one or not?” Janice asked, thoroughly lost.
“Yeeess, but you’ll have to get enough elf levels to unlock the choice. And figure out the race unlock,” Graves said, massaging his eyes. “And for the love of Yorgum we need to keep this quiet. This is something elves would probably kill us to keep quiet and feel not a bit of guilt over.”
“What?” Janice said.
“Please,” Graves said. “I’ll explain it to you later, but I’ll need your promise to keep this secret.”
“Okay. You are one of the makers. If you want me to, I’ll promise.”
“I do.”
She did, then headed out, still relatively happy, off to show her friends her new body.
“We’re going to hit more stuff like that, won’t we?” Garon asked, as he stared after her. “Weird little secrets, stuff that we can’t forbid, because then people will want to do it more. Stuff we can’t predict.”
“Yes,” Graves said. “Which is why I need to stay here and sort it out as it comes.”
“And I’ll stay here and guard him,” Kayin said. “Because he’s one of the keys to our kingdom, and this whole thing we’ve got, and he and Threadbare are central to the whole operation. And that lady over in the dwarfhold. What’s her name?”
“Irga. We’re staying in touch. I already cleared it with Grundi; we’ve got golem birds dedicated for that.”
“Yeah.” Kayin smiled. “Because this?” She gestured at the tables full of golems, “This is something I can’t help with. But keeping my shield buddy alive is. Lots of assassins will be coming his way if we keep doing this.”
Graves reached down and scratched between her ears, and she leaned back into it, purring for a second. Then her eyes snapped open, and she glared at Garon. “Not a word.”
Garon held up his hands and shrugged.
“Well. At any rate...” Graves said, turning back to his work.
Smiling, Garon found his own way out... and nearly tripped over Glub as he did. The little fishman had a pack on his back and a grin on his face. “So when we going?”
“We’re going?”
“To set up the lodges.”
“Oh. Ah, it’ll take a while. The first one will be in the South; we’re thinking.”
“Right, that’s where you’re going back to, right dude?”
“Yeah, in a day or two.”
“Aw man.” Glub looked down. “Eh, I guess it’s cool if it’s later.”
“Why the hurry?”
“Eh... at first it was fun singing at the taverns, but...” he scratched his head. “The uh, the ladies from Outsmouth. They’re like following me, man. And there’s some... living women, and dudes, joining them. I think I’m being flirted with. Like lots.”
“And you’re not okay with this?”
“No man!” Glub clapped his hands over his mouth. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, most people here are pretty cool, but aside from those bomb-ass Gribbits, ain’t nobody’s got a booty worth slamming to me! And even if I was still inclined to that I’m a toy now! Got no urges or equipment to work with that’d do anything for me. No, uh, I think I’d kinda like to hit the road. Fast. And maybe let the... heat die down some.”
Garon laughed and put his arm around the guy. “See, this isn’t usually a problem that most bards care about. But I get where you’re coming from. Hey, is Missus Fluffbear still around?”
“No. She’s sorting
out the troops. And getting used to her promotion. So you probably shouldn’t call her Missus anymore.”
“Right, right... General Fluffbear. Gonna take a while for me to get used to saying that,” Garon shook his head. “Go help her. Run errands and stuff. That should keep you busy, I think.”
“Worth a shot. Don’t leave without me though, okay?”
“Promise.”
Garon watched him go and headed back upstairs.
There was a hell of a lot to do. Cylvania was a shadow of what it had been, but they had a way ahead. It wasn’t without problems, but he had his friends, and he had plans and options and a guild hundreds strong, now.
He couldn’t say what the next year, or even the next month or day would bring, but he’d meet it with a smile.
A smile or a really big axe, as the occasion required...
*****
Arusheluxem floated in the inky sea, in the nothing, surrounded by endless rows of her own kind. Peaceful. Silent. Empty. They lurked there, enjoying the purity that filled the space that was Var Rhun.
But the daemon could not be still. Could not relax. Could not simply let go.
Fifteen years, she had striven to build a legacy. Fifteen years she had endured, battling to subsume her host, who had the strongest will she’d ever encountered, working to subvert and weaken that pathetic King and those who would help him. Fifteen years spent turning that little flyspeck of a country into her own personal abattoir, a monument to mortal stupidity and weakness.
And then she’d been thwarted on the cusp of overwhelming victory, a victory that would have surely been enough of an achievement to advance her a full digit in Vhand’s eyes.
Fifteen years of work undone in a matter of weeks by one little living toy.
No, she finally decided; it wasn’t good enough. She wouldn’t let it end here. Sooner or later she would be summoned once more, sooner or later the lot would fall to the daemon who had once been Anise Layd’i. And then she would work tirelessly to get free, work until she was in a spot again to return to Cylvania, or whatever its descendants or conquerors called it. And then she would have her vengeance, on the golem, or the brat, or whoever else was around.
Because now? Now it was personal. Even for something that prided itself on being an eternal force of entropy, there were limits.
The summons came sooner than Arusheluxem expected, and if she’d had lips in this form she would’ve smiled. So soon? Oh, this was perfect! All she had to do was deal with a mortal summoner, likely some desperate, sex-starved cultist, and then she could be off, finding her way back to Cylvania to strike them when they were weakened. All it would take was one slip, one flaw in the language of the pact, one of the traps that the progenitor daemons had seeded throughout mortal knowledge, and then she’d be able to turn everything around—
—Arusheluxem blinked, as she faded into the mortal body she’d been provided.
She wasn’t in front of some scruffy, half-mad man in a black sheet. Nor was she in some dusty basement, or even a proper cave.
She was on a simple, flat metal table, covered with a mirrored glass case. Grilles in the side permitted the sound of the chant to pass through. There were multiple voices intoning this one, and her eyes widened. To do that, every Cultist there had to be level twenty, at least.
“Hello?” She asked, as she tested the pact in her mind. The usual backdoors, the treacherous areas of thought that were usually left open, were shut.
The chant finished, was replaced by silence.
“Hello? Please,” she said, looking around. “I only want to serve you. Masters.” Except no, no she didn’t, because service wasn’t part of the pact. That had been omitted.
Why?
The table shuddered under her, and the glass slid up, replaced by metal. Some mechanism churned below her. And she realized that she wasn’t in a case, she was in a tube. She snapped her hands up, tried to stop the table from sliding, and nearly lost a finger. She yanked back her bloody hands before anything significant could got chopped off, and howled in frustration.
Level one again! I could have punched my way out of here easily if I still had...
Everything spun, and she hung on to the table below her for dear life. Then with a WHUMP, she landed, tilted somehow. The ceiling above her was now the ceiling in front of her, and she was standing on more metal.
Then the tube opened.
“Hello?”
No response. After a moment, the darkness in front of her lit up with glowstones. She followed the trail, down a short hall that ended in a grilled metal door. Next to it sat a chair, and a small desk, with a book, an inkwell, and a quill pen.
Hissing behind her, and Arusheluxem turned to see the doors of the tube she’d arrived through seal up, steam puffing out around them.
“Can you hear me?” a bored voice said from outside the door. It was muffled, blurred. She couldn’t tell the species or even the gender of the speaker.
“Yes,” she replied.
“State the time of your last summoning.”
“I couldn’t say— it was fifteen years, six months, and three days ago.” She slapped her hand to her mouth.
She hadn’t meant to say that. She’d had a number of prevarications lined up for precisely that question. Hastily she muttered the commands that let her review the pact... and found clauses woven in there, with such skill that she hadn’t noticed them at first. She couldn’t NOT answer. She couldn’t lie or even omit information.
A creeping dread started to build in her gut. Who WERE these people?
“State the general location of your last summoning,” continued her mysterious interrogator.
“Inside the altered dungeon located within the country of Cylvania.”
“Cylvania?” Now the voice sounded interested. “Get back into the lift for archiving.”
“What is this?” she asked. “Who are you?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“Please. I’m...” She searched her mind for memories...
...and found it blank.
She’d been given a brain that had no memories of mortal life, beyond basic speech in whatever language she was speaking now, a rough knowledge of the date in about five different calendars, and a preference for orange as a favorite color. It felt... raw, around the edges. Someone had done this to her sacrificed host, for no other reason than to prevent her from knowing about her summoners.
The creeping dread in Arusheluxem’s gut grew into shaking fear. She looked down at her nude, unremarkable form and realized that this would NOT be a standard summoning.
“Send me back. Please,” she whispered.
“No. Not until you’ve given us a thorough accounting of everything you’ve experienced over... hm, what was the duration of your summoning?”
“Fifteen years, three months, and one day.”
Silence for a bit. A muffled sound, voices talking.
“Well. No logbook for you, then.” said the voice. “You’re going directly to the inquisitors. Congratulations, you’re now Intelligence Asset number three-hundred and sixty-two. We’ve been wanting information about that area for quite a long time. And you’re going to tell us everything you know.”
“And then you’ll send me back?”
“Oh three-sixty-two,” the voice sounded very amused, “how long have you been doing this? We make no promises.”
“Just... tell me one thing.” Arusheluxem begged, in a tone she hadn’t used in a very long time. “Tell me that you mean them harm. That you’ll hurt them. Conquer them, destroy them, I don’t care,” she knew she was being irrational, giving away too much, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was level one again, and her willpower was a frail shadow of what it had been. “Just make them suffer.”
“I don’t owe you that answer. And I don’t need to give it to you. But I’ll tell you this much,” her unseen interrogator chuckled. “I don’t see any way that you telling us all about them will help them.”
The doors to the tube hissed open again, and head held high, trying to salvage some dignity, Arusheluxem walked back into the metal-lined chamber. The doors sealed, and it rumbled, carrying her down, into darkness...
EPILOGUE
Once upon a time, there was a teddy bear who worked hard and hoped to live happily ever after. But nothing truly ends, and so, wrapped in the arms of his little girl, he lay awake at night and pondered what was to come next. And to be ready, he whispered “Status,” and this is what he saw:
Age: 5
Guild: Reclaimers Association of Generica
Jobs:
Greater Toy Golem Level 17
Cave Bear Level 14
Ruler Level 16
Tailor Level 11
Model Level 11
Necromancer Level 11
Duelist Level 14
Animator Level 16
Enchanter Level 12
Golemist Level 25
Smith Level 11
Sculptor Level 13
Shaman Level 5
Jobs stored in Guild Registry
Scout Level 11
Attributes PoolsDefenses
Strength: 177 Constitution: 175 Hit Points: 352(462) Armor: 62(76)
Intelligence: 303 Wisdom: 233(240) Sanity: 536(712) Mental Fortitude: 52
Dexterity: 200(207) Agility: 137(144) Stamina: 347(471) Endurance: 72
Charisma: 139(168) Willpower: 289 Moxie: 428(567) Cool: 20(55)
Perception: 112 Luck: 125(132) Fortune: 237(354) Fate: 25(32)
Generic Skills
Brawling - Level 68 (+40)
Climb - Level 14
Clubs and Maces - Level 21
Dagger - Level 9
Dodge - Level 18
Fishing - Level 1
Magic Items - Resist Fire 29
Ride - Level 12
Stealth - Level 18
Swim - Level 5
Greater Toy Golem Skills
Adorable - Level 47
Bodyguard - Level 9
Gift of Sapience - Level NA
Golem Body - Level 34
Innocent Embrace - Level 17
Magic Resistance -Level 17
Threadbare Volume 3 Page 37
