The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

Coin awoke feeling as if he had been crushed into a fine pulp by a boulder, after which said pulp was set ablaze and left to sizzle. A pained wheeze of breath escaped him as he slowly tried to force himself upright. Darkness lurked around the corners of his eyes, his mouth bone dry. His dream, or nightmare, or premonition... whatever it was, it was fading into a distant memory that he could only barely grasp.

Save for one word that engraved itself upon his brain: Colony.

"Easy lad, easy, don't force yourself," Elijah said, hurrying to Coin's side. A strong hand settled on his shoulders, and Coin felt himself sinking back into the pillows that had been set up beneath him.

"What happened?" he mumbled. His jaw ached, his lips and tongue flatly refusing to cooperate with each other when it came to forming words.

"One of those bolts you took had some nasty poison on it. You're damn lucky to be alive. But... It was touch and go for a while there." The old man looked gaunt, and it seemed it had been some time since he got a proper night's rest. "Come on, drink some of this."

A waterskin was pressed to his lips, and Coin was too weak to protest. Cool water filled his mouth, dispelling some of the unpleasant taste he had been stuck with. He wheezed as the skin was pulled away.

Poison was something mimics rarely experienced. Usually the people they were fighting were too busy trying to wrestle out of crushing jaws to bother with coating their weapons with the stuff. And many people erroneously assumed that mimics were inorganic, and so there was no point trying to poison a creature with a hide of wood or stone.

Elijah reached over, wiping some sweat from his brow. "Damnation lad," he muttered as he pulled back. "You had me worried something fierce. If you'd died after saving all our arses, I don't know how I'd cope with that."

"Couldn't let 'em hurt you guys," Coin murmured. He closed his eyes for several moments, trying to ease some of the pain in his head. "Is everyone... everyone okay?"

"Aye. All well and good. You kept us all safe," Elijah assured him. "You've been out for two days, but nobody has come after us in the meantime. From the look of things, we should be safe to make for Sentinel again."

Coin nodded stiffly. Some good news, at least. Not that it dulled any of the pain that still pulsed through his muscles. "We can hit the road tonight," Coin said.

"You need to rest more."

"N-no I'm fine. The longer we stay in one place-"

"Lad," Elijah's grip on his shoulder was firm but gentle. "You're barely recovered at all. We'll talk about moving when you can stand on your own two feet again."

Coin knew he was in no position to argue, frustrating as the thought was. He sighed and turned his head to one side. "Fine." If Elijah thought they were safe enough for now, then he was probably right.

He turned his head toward the window, illuminated by murky afternoon sunlight. From where he lay, he could just barely make out the edges and peaks of nearby buildings. They'd reached a town?

"Where... are we?" Coin eventually asked.

"Ah, well, just... an abandoned town known as Charnyll. It's not exactly a pleasant place, gives me the creeps if I'm being totally honest with you, But beggar's can't be choosers, and it's kept us safe," Elijah replied, slowly scanning their surroundings.

Now that his eyes had better adjusted to the light, Coin got a better look at the room. He spied the thick coating of dust on the distant surfaces, the chips and cracks in the floorboards, and the scorch marks on the edge of the window. This whole place, from end to end, was a damn wreck.

Still, as Elijah had said, it wasn't as if they were rich in options when it came to shelter. And this certainly beat being chased by a gang of maniacs on horsebacks.

The two men were quiet for some time. And in the perpetual, choking silence of Charnyll, said quiet was almost deafening.

Then, eventually, Elijah spoke up. "Lad... what are you?"

Coin snapped awake, much of his prior sluggishness melting away. "W-what do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean... well look, I always thought there was something a little bit off about you. Just sort of a feeling I got from the moment we met. Things like your strength, your magic, some of the odd things you say..." He sighed and leaned against the nearest wall. "And I overlooked it all. Because, as strange as you are, I could tell you have a good heart."

"R-right," Coin replied. On the plus side, the pain in his body was much harder to focus on. The down side was that he was being racked from head to heel in a cold sweat.

"But when I went to change your dressings earlier, there was basically no trace of your wounds. I've seen crossbow injuries in the past, they don't... vanish like that," he said. He furrowed his brow and glanced away. "And then I saw your flesh... writhing."

Coin swallowed hard. He gripped the blanket tight in his hands, until his knuckles paled. He could lie, he supposed, or at least try to lie. But what would he even say? What could he say?

Elijah reached over, settling a hand back on his shoulder. "Whatever you have to say, it won't change things between us. But I just want to know the truth," he said in a soft tone.

He believed the older man. Trusted him in a way he didn't with anyone else. But to tell the truth... it still took a lot of effort.

He took a deep breath through his nose to try and calm himself. "I'm a mimic. A mimic that got transformed into something more than just a man eating monster."

Before he knew it, he was divulging the entire story of his life to Elijah. Those years spent scuttling in the darkness of the ruins, fighting off goblins and adventurers. The sudden chance encounter that evolved him into what he was now. And how fear had held his tongue all this time, well aware how most people would react to his true nature.

Elijah remained mostly silent throughout, his expression stony, only asking a few fleeting questions throughout Coin's tale. Then, once he was finished, he simply nodded. "This changes nothing."

"It... doesn't?" Coin had expected he'd be cast out for his dishonesty. Or, worse, that the old man would want to kill him. Now he was just bewildered.

"I'll admit, your tale is a lot to take in. But some things about you make a lot more sense to me now," he admitted, letting out a breathy laugh. "But, you know how I am. I don't care what a person is. Merely how they act. And you've often acted well with me."

Coin smiled despite himself. An immense sense of relief slowly washed over him, until he was sinking back against the pillows. Even the pain in his muscles was much weaker now. "I was... afraid to tell anyone. I only told Essie because she saw me changing shape. And now you."

"Mm. I can't fault you for being cautious about it. Many men would think poorly of you if they knew the truth. And, for the time being, it should remain a closely guarded secret," Elijah explained. He paced about the room, each step kicking up a small trail of dust. "Still, it's a remarkable story. I've travelled far and wide and never once heard of a smart mimic. First time for everything I suppose."

"Well that or the world is full of smart mimics and they're just better at hiding themselves than I." He meant it as a joke, though the more he thought about it the more interesting the prospect sounded.

Few things could be stranger than the talking gorilla wizard.

"So what do we do now? You're really... fine with me being what I am?" the mimic asked.

"Like I said, it changes nothing. You're still you, lad. And I'm determined to keep you as my apprentice," Elijah replied. The two shared a smile as Elijah made for the doorway. "Now, get a bit more rest. I'll have Essine bring you something later."

Elijah's footsteps creaked on the floorboards, growing increasingly distant. Alone with his thoughts, Coin closed his eyes and breathed a small sigh of relief.

They were still far from safe, he knew. There were bound to be more people on their trail, hunting for the casks of black powder in their possession. Not just Fatty Broadfellow's underlings either. Leona would likely crop up again, and those swords of hers would shift in their direction if she knew they had no intention of paying Valle Irons.

And then there was the strange atmosphere of Charnyll to worry about. Now that he was awake, for the most part, and aware of his surroundings... this abandoned town made him feel beyond uneasy, like a cow standing around in the middle of a slaughterhouse. Even the air smelled wrong to his sharp nose.

The ruins he'd been born in were downright comfy in comparison.

They'd be back in Sentinel soon enough, he told himself. And then he could finally relax.