Vortena

by Neven Iliev

  Not to mention the various anti-shapeshifter practices that survived even into the modern day. While not as rigorous as they had once been, Appraisal checks to verify one’s identity were still widespread, and Scribes were heavily regulated, requiring thorough background checks and various magical safeguards before the Job could be passed onto new applicants.

  For example, all Scribes were required to undergo a bi-annual shock-test, as lightning was the Bane of pretty much every shapeshifting monster in existence. A powerful electric current would not only cause them severe damage, but also paralyse and force them to revert to their base form. Boxxy had experienced firsthand electricity’s devastating effects, and personally felt that such a weakness was not only unfair but entirely unwarranted.

  Its perspective was, of course, an entirely skewed and biased one, as civilisation would have been unable to flourish as well as it had if the world’s monsters had had no weaknesses to exploit. The beasts had greater strength, speed and endurance, meaning that the enlightened had to use their wits and intelligence above all. Information and knowledge were their greatest weapons, which was why the Silent Rebellion could only have ended one way. As cunning as doppelgangers were, they had ultimately been no match for the combined efforts of multiple civilisations.

  Granted, people’s wariness of doppelgangers had diminished greatly since the days of the Silent Rebellion, but the threat was always at the back of people’s minds. Every now and then, tales of a shapeshifter being discovered would circulate, often resulting in city-wide Appraisal sweeps. The checks rarely turned up anything, as doppelgangers were rare and the few that remained would readily abandon their fake identities and run away in order to avoid being discovered. At any rate, they would never again be able to infiltrate civilisation in any meaningful way, as it would be impossible to avoid Appraisals forever.

  Unless, of course, one happened to be Boxxy T. Morningwood. The former mimic was now a Hero, and its Essence Concealment Skill allowed it to deceive the mandatory examinations. It still had to be wary of electricity, but that would likely be a relatively uncommon problem. There was no danger in nature outside of thunderstorms, and only Wizards and Shamans were capable of conjuring lightning with magic. Very few magic items were electrically-imbued due to its unstable nature, and Arclight Artificers like Fizzy were a rarity outside of gnomish lands.

  All things considered, as a weakness it was deadly but nonetheless manageable. Boxxy had therefore decided to seek out magic items that would either provide additional defense against that particular element, or just magic in general. Although it was impossible to completely neutralise a monster’s Bane, it was sure that at the very least there were ways to dampen its negative effects. And such equipment could be easily obtained so long as it was able to integrate itself into a large enough city.

  And therein lay the biggest problem, for in order to successfully do so, it had to act and speak in a manner befitting an actual person. Social skills which Boxxy still needed to practise.

  Thus, the former mimic had abandoned its preferred chesty shape in favour of a young elf just on the cusp of manhood. Its disguise appeared to be about sixteen or seventeen years old, with pale skin, short ginger hair and bright green eyes. To complete the look, it wore a long, dark red robe with a purple eye insignia on the shoulder and carried an engraved but otherwise plain wooden staff with a grey crystal serving as the head.

  It had ‘borrowed’ its new form from one of the adventurers residing in the village of Carran, and had been wearing it ever since its party had happened upon the Imperial highway. Walking on two legs was uncomfortable and slightly irritating, but Boxxy couldn’t complain too much. If everything worked out, it would be spending the majority of its time in a humanoid shape anyway, so it was better to get used to it sooner rather than later.

  As for why, precisely, it had chosen this particular body, that much was simple. Its instincts as both a doppelganger and a mimic had driven it to assume a plain visage that would slip easily from one’s memory. The appearance of a snot-nosed youngster, therefore, was more or less perfect for that goal. The forgettable presence would undoubtedly make others ignore the shapeshifter all on their own, allowing it to easily blend into a crowd. It helped that becoming a doppelganger had vastly improved its control over its pigmentation, otherwise it would never have been able to replicate its new form so completely.

  Of course, it hadn’t relied solely on its own skewed judgment to determine the adequacy of its disguise. According to Snack, Boxxy’s new face was so bland and uninteresting that even she reflexively ignored it, while Arms had stated that it looked weak and easy to push around. Fizzy had simply offered a slightly disinterested ‘looks fine to me.’

  Such mediocre reviews meant that it would certainly do very well in avoiding unwanted attention once they had crossed the border. Putting that assumption to the test was why it had continued travelling along the Imperial highway instead of skulking through the surrounding wilderness. Not only would it allow them to meet and greet fellow travellers, but the shapeshifter could easily eradicate the lot of them with no witnesses should things turn sour.

  And lo and behold, the quartet of monsters had indeed run into a group of people on this fine afternoon. A fancy-looking horse-drawn carriage was traveling in the opposite direction, presumably headed for the Imperial capital to the southwest. It was large enough to accommodate its six passengers with room to spare, with a sizable pile of luggage strapped to the roof. The vehicle’s spotless white paint, gold-trimmed roof and windows and official griffin’s-head crest signified its passengers as people of importance to the Empire. Which would explain the twenty or so heavily-armed mounted knights escorting it.

  Realising that these were definitely not people with whom it should be interacting, Boxxy employed the ‘smile and wave’ strategy as the carriage was passing by. According to Snack, this was a tried and true method for avoiding lingering attention, though she had mostly only said that because her master had yet to kick the habit of constant vapid smiling. As it seemed fixing that would still take some time, she had thought of a way to make it work to their advantage.

  However, the plan apparently wasn’t foolproof. The armed guards, the passengers, the coach driver and even the horses all gawked, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the ginger elf waving merrily at them as they approached. They stared for a good ten seconds before one of the escorts signalled for the entire convoy to stop some fifteen metres from the disguised monster. The man in question had the shiniest helmet and the sharpest-looking spear, so it was safe to assume that he was in charge of the procession.

  “Who goes there?!” he shouted, adjusting his grip on his weapon. “Identify yourselves at once!”

  Boxxy wasn’t entirely sure what it had done to warrant this kind of aggressive reaction. Its first instinct was to rip the nasty human to shreds and feast on his delicious entrails, but it had to refrain. That would ruin the whole purpose of the training exercise, not to mention that it was wary of angering so many tough-looking opponents.

  “Hello. My name is Bo-”

  “Not you, twig!” the man interrupted. “I’m talking about those things over there!”

  It was only when Boxxy looked over its shoulder that it realised its mistake. It wasn’t its disguise that was the problem, but the company it kept.

  “What’s that, pencil dick?!” Kora snapped. “You want a piece of this? Huh?!”

  “Ankles, spine, neck,” Fizzy mumbled, pondering the order in which she would dismantle this rude infidel. After all, Boxxy was her God’s chosen Hero – she could never sit idly by and allow such disrespect. “Oh, maybe shins, crotch then skull would be good too.”

  Xera didn’t say anything, instead burying her face in her palms when she arrived at the same conclusion as her master. She felt like an idiot for not recognising such an obvious flaw in the plan. Looking at it objectively, travelling with a four-armed mountain of muscle, a walking steel statue and a practically
naked buxom beauty would raise suspicion no matter how innocently unassuming her master made itself out to be. Even if she were to disguise herself, the other two simply stood out too much.

  In her defence, however, she had been busy coming up with ways to get the box-brained buffoon to stuff various things inside her, so her goof was entirely understandable.

  And anyway, it wasn’t as though the situation was entirely unsalvageable. She quickly relayed a few telepathic instructions to Boxxy on how best to disperse the tense atmosphere. It was obvious that the knight and the people behind him were nobles, which meant that they were likely self-righteous assholes who wouldn’t know left from right without someone to tell them which was which. All her master would have to do was appeal to their over-inflated sense of self-worth.

  “I beg you to forgive my minions, Sir Knight,” Boxxy said respectfully. “They are rather rude.”

  The man’s gaze returned to the figure before him, with all of his subordinates and passengers following suit.

  “Your minions?! Is a twerp like you really capable of controlling these things?!”

  [Your actions have altered the flows of chaos.]

  The same cryptic notification that had heralded Fizzy’s unprecedented transformation into a golem flashed inside the shapeshifter’s mind. The unexpected and unknown element put the creature on edge, but it succeeded in concealing its unease and forced itself to focus on the conversation.

  “Yes, milord. I may be incompetent, but I can do at least this much. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  The knight raised an eyebrow questioningly as the apparent-elf turned to face the clearly-aggressive demon.

  “Arms. Punch yourself in the face twenty-five times. No holding back.”

  “Aw, man,” Kora whined dejectedly, before proceeding to viciously kick her own ass.

  “The rest of you, bow before the brave knight.”

  Xera and Fizzy prostrated themselves as instructed, and Boxxy itself took a knee in order to pander to the knight’s obvious ego.

  “Humpf. At least you know your place, twig,” the knight admitted grudgingly.

  “It is so, milord. A lowly creature like me would never dare to presume itself equal to someone as great as yourself. Surely your heroic exploits are beyond anything my feeble self could ever dream of performing.”

  These were not, of course, its own words, but the pointless flattery Xera was telepathically spoon-feeding it. And her efforts appeared to be working, if the soldier’s increasingly arrogant attitude was any indication. He was so full of himself that he didn’t even realise that the source of those goosebumps he was feeling weren’t coming from the demon currently pounding her own face but the ‘twig’ that he had so offhandedly dismissed. After all, while Boxxy’s present appearance was far less threatening than ‘Mister Morningwood’ had been, its Butcher of Humanity Perk still put people on edge. It chose to interpret the misunderstanding as a learning experience, as this sort of misdirection was bound to be useful in the future.

  “Very well! Since you have shown humility then I, the gracious Sir Graham Brown, shall spare your worthless life!”

  “I am grateful for such mercy, milord.”

  The knight sneered.

  “If you understand, then step aside, twig! We have more important things to do than entertain the likes of you!”

  Boxxy stood and, without lifting its gaze, moved to the side of the road to give the carriage plenty of room to pass. The man called Brown signalled the stupefied coachman to resume their journey, while the other knights kept a close watch on the still-bowing trio and the fiend continuing to hit herself with enough force to send blood flying everywhere. The well-dressed passengers inside kept gawking at the curious entourage, exchanging unflattering comments in barely-hushed whispers.

  There was also one small boy saying ‘I want one!’ as he pointed shamelessly at Fizzy. A dangerous request, as nobles were known to do exactly as they pleased. Normally, they would not hesitate to attempt to take the steel golem by force just to spoil their child, which would undoubtedly result in Boxxy ripping them apart to feast on their rotten heads. Thankfully for everyone involved, the monster’s unsettling presence appeared to be keeping any selfish inclinations in check.

  Several minutes passed before the convoy was out of sight, and Boxxy silently resumed its trek.

  “Uh, Boxxy?” Fizzy spoke up. “Are you sure you want to just let them go?”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “The humans on the horses would be tricky to kill. The armour stinks of magic and there were a lot of them.”

  Even if it didn’t know their Levels, the enchanted gear alone would have made them difficult to bring down.

  “We could always stalk them and smash their heads in their sleep,” the golem suggested.

  “No need to risk it.”

  “But… but! They disrespected you!”

  “So?”

  “So?! Aren’t you angry? I’m fuming over here!”

  And that was putting it mildly. The pint-sized Paladin was practically raring to go on a one-woman crusade right about now.

  “I’m sure we can crush those guys with ease!” she kept insisting.

  “The soldiers, maybe. But that guy in the carriage was dangerous.”

  “… Guy? What guy?”

  “Master is probably referring to the man with the black beard and the pointy hat,” Xera chimed in. “He may have looked frail, but he was definitely someone well versed in magic. Likely a Warlock himself, given the scrutiny with which he was looking at me and the knuckle-head. That’s not an opponent we can ignore while trying to handle so many tin soldiers.”

  “What she said,” Boxxy confirmed. “You should avoid fighting large groups of people if you can’t take out the magic users first. Like when we first faced Nasty in that tower.”

  “I… see. I guess I shouldn’t just leap into things just because I have a steel body,” Fizzy lamented. “Going to need to work hard on controlling my violent side.”

  Risk/reward assessment was a vital part of intelligent fighting, as some battles were simply not worth the effort and were better off avoided. Boxxy had no doubt that this was precisely such a case. The last thing it needed was to get on the bad side of yet another human who might turn out to be a monster in his own right. Which wasn’t to say that it didn’t have doubts regarding its decision. Those people had looked wealthy, and wealth meant shinies, which in turn meant happiness for Boxxy. However, it wouldn’t be able to enjoy any of that if it was dead, and therefore letting the carriage go had been both the right decision and an easy one.

  [The flows of chaos have returned to their default, causal state.]

  Its Hero Skill had even ceased whatever it had been doing, reinforcing the shapeshifter’s theory that it had made the right call.

  It was, however, still underestimating just how significant even the tiniest action could prove to be.

  Part Three

  A cheap carriage rattled along the cobblestone highway. Unlike the fancy gilded stagecoach that Boxxy had encountered the day before, this was a simple, unpainted wagon with a piece of canvas stretched over its contents. Pulling it along were two green-furred creatures resembling oversized anteaters, easily the size of donkeys, though the creatures known as limeticks were far more capable of hauling ass. The predominantly subterranean beasts were one of the few docile species of magical creatures, often employed as beasts of burden by both dwarves and gnomes since ages past.

  It should have come as no surprise, therefore, that the driver of the old tent-on-wheels was a dwarf – a relatively young male whose brown beard was barely even stubble. He had a full head of bushy hair and small, narrow eyes that looked as though he could barely see beyond his thick, round nose. His build as a whole could be described as pudgy, if one were feeling generous, or a ‘ball with limbs’ if they weren’t.

  The dwarf turned his head lazily to shout towards the interior of the wagon.<
br />
  “We’re almost at Bootsplit, laddie!”

  “Thanks for the heads up, Moron,” the ginger-haired ‘elf’ sitting inside answered.

  “Oh, for the love of- it’s Mornon! More, none!” he enunciated.

  “Not his fault your parents picked such a lousy name,” the steel golem sitting next to the monster-in-disguise pointed out.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Been thinking about having it changed, but I can’t think of anything good.”

  “How about Moron?” Boxxy suggested. “It fits.”

  “Come now, lad. Is that any way to talk to someone graciously giving you a ride?”

  That’s exactly why it fits, Fizzy retorted internally.

  After all, he had to be a special kind of idiot to just pick up random hitchhikers without asking any questions. He hadn’t even batted an eye at the fact that one of them was a self-aware golem and just said ‘Hop on!’ without a care in the world. He could’ve at least shown a tiny bit of interest towards her situation, Fizzy pouted to herself. What was the point of working so hard on practicing her cover story if people weren’t even going to bother asking her about it?

  Then again, judging from the contents of the cart, the guy wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. His luggage was strewn about haphazardly with no rhyme or reason. Crates of food, kegs of ale, several bundles of firewood and other useless meatbag accessories rattled loudly with every bump in the road. The least he could have done was tie them down so they wouldn’t make such a racket.

  Fizzy wasn’t even sure why they had bothered to hitch a ride in the first place. If it was about getting from point A to point B, then they could just as easily have kept going on foot. She could swear that they had been walking faster than these damned limeticks were pulling the cart. Unfortunately, as slow and loud as it was, Boxxy had said that it wanted to ride in the cart, which meant that they were riding in the stupid cart, even if Fizzy had no idea what had caused its sudden desire for social interaction.