Chapter 287 - Return to Form II
It was an afternoon like any other. The cool spring breeze flowed through the shop’s windows, and its receptionists stood lazily at their shared desk. Adventurers of all experience levels went in and out the door, some drunk, others ready for another long day at work. The traffic was regular, progressing at a fairly steady pace until one supposedly reputable dungeon diver decided to block the front door.
“What the heck is that!?” Sylvia opened her eyes wide as she watched a giant frog squeeze its way through the entrance. The shout prompted not only the other receptionists but also some of the customers to turn their eyes towards the source of her surprise. Despite its size, the magical anuran was not a real monster, but rather a stylized recreation closer in nature to a doll or stuffed toy.
Perhaps because it was somewhat difficult to transport, the plush was filthy, covered in footprints and mud. The person pushing it inside was no cleaner, having tussled with the massive amphibian for however long it took to deliver.
“Fuck if I know,” she said. The speaker was an armoured human warrior. She, Hildagarde of Vel’achkan, was known among the locals as one of the MACC’s regulars. Her party picked up at least three jobs a week, sometimes more if there was no need to travel. Unlike many of the other groups, they were not at all afraid of the more powerful foes that occasionally popped up around the city.
According to Silvia, it was courtesy of their level. They averaged around three hundred—low by Cadrian standards, but fairly high by their Vel’khanese counterparts. They could have easily earned high ranks in the military if they had chosen to enlist, or perhaps made a killing in a dungeon-based city. But they chose neither path on account of their late leader’s wish.
“We found it in some ruins, and we were hoping that one of you girls could take a look and tell us what it’s worth.” The bright green frog almost seemed to grow when it entered the building, standing so tall and wide that it barely avoided the shelves and chandeliers.
“Why the heck did you bring it inside!?” cried the fox. “If it’s that big, you could’ve just left it out back.”
“My bad,” laughed the human. “But I figured this would be the best way to show you how it works. From what we can tell, the damn thing pretty much grows to the size of whatever room or container it’s in. It’s got a pretty big default size too, but it only takes that when it hasn’t got a space to fill.”
“Wait, really? That seems kinda silly,” said the fox.
“It doesn’t seem silly. It is silly,” said her chair. “How does it work?”
“I’m not really sure, but based on the fact that it heals itself, probably the same way as a runecloak,” said Hilda. “We accidentally banged it up a bit when we were dragging it around, and the damn thing’s still in perfect condition.” The human drew her sword and gave it a quick slash to demonstrate. Surely enough, the runefrog saw its wound immediately patched.
“Strange,” said Claire, with a tilt of the head. “An artificer might want it. But it’s difficult to price.” She walked out from behind the counter and looked the giant frog up and down. It stirred something in her chest, a faint violent urge, but it was quickly suppressed. “Nymphetel.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
The elf heaved a sigh as he picked himself off his seat and headed for the infirmary, returning after a few minutes with the resident doctor and information broker in tow. Estelle was hardly in a presentable state. There were bags under her eyes, her clothes were stained, and her hair was as messy as seaweed. It was clear at a glance that she had pulled yet another all-nighter, working on some personal project or other, and her lunchtime nonpresence suggested that she had only awoken when Nymphetel had disturbed her.
“I’m guessing this is what you wanted me to look at?” She yawned as she approached the toy with a series of lazy steps.
“If you could, yeah,” said Hilda. “You think we can sell it?”
“Not happening,” said Estelle. “Doubt anyone’s got the space to store anything that big. Not unless it’s worth its weight in gold, anyway.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Hilda. She produced a small jar from inside one of her pockets and grabbed the stuffed animal’s legs. It didn’t look like it was even remotely possible for the toy to fit, but miraculously, with a few minutes worth of effort, she was somehow able to force it into the container. “That’s the other half of its ability. It can fit in pretty much anything, but getting it in is always a tight squeeze. It’s pretty fluffy too, so I thought it could make a decent toy for some noble kid.”
“I doubt you’d get any more than a silver or two if you sold it as a toy,” said the broker. “Claire’s probably right. Pawn it off on an artificer, and you could get as many as twenty.”
“Twenty!? I could renovate my house for twenty!” Hildegarde’s eyes lit up, and she immediately began pestering the doctor for all the juicy details. “Hell yeah! Take that, Gromp! I knew it wasn’t worthless!”
The pair soon began discussing the details, with Estelle listing off a number of possible buyers and their likely offers and quirks. In the meantime, the receptionists took the opportunity to return to their work—not that there was much work to be done. With a whole four and a half people manning the front desk, it was rare for any given individual to be busy outside of the morning and evening rushes.
“That has to be the weirdest thing anyone’s ever brought in,” said Sylvia. She hopped off her favourite seat and took up a position atop the counter.
Potion-related materials aside, the shop was not in the business of purchasing items from its clientele. But as an information broker, Estelle was often tasked with evaluating the worth of whatever goods were found on the spelunkers’ expeditions. She was not a state-approved appraiser by any means, but her connections allowed her clients to find far better prices than what they would have on their own.
“The singing door was weirder,” said Claire.
“There was a singing door?” asked the fox, her eyes wide.
“You missed it because you were napping.”
“What the heck, Claire! You should’ve woken me up if there was something that weird!”
“Singing doors aren’t weird. They’re quite common where I’m from.” Having wrapped up her business with a customer, Charlotte walked away from her counter and joined the group conversation.
The lich was not purely skeletal, as she had been during their initial encounter. Her bones were certainly visible, but overlaid directly atop her frame was a translucent, phantom body that displayed a humanoid form. Though it could be easily seen through, so too could it be touched; her clothes sat on the phantom flesh as opposed to the bones that lay beneath it.
In that form, her features were clear. She had short black hair, bright red eyes, and a brilliant smile that could easily charm anyone not put off by her visible skull. By Claire’s evaluation, her ears were too small, far closer to that of an elf’s than a centaur’s or faun’s.
“Wait, really?” asked Sylvia, wide-eyed.
“She had at least three on the first floor alone,” said Nymphetel. “Her parents used to teach them obscene songs because they thought it was funny.”
“They still think it’s funny. Last I heard, they were waking up the neighbours in the middle of the night.” It was a response that prompted a laugh from the lich and a groan from the elf, with the pair exchanging a series of matching smiles right after.
“That reminds me! How long have you two known each other anyway?” asked Sylvia.
“Since he still looked like a boy,” said the magical skeleton.
“Oh, shut up,” grumbled the elf. “It’s not like I want to look like this.”
“Wait a second…” Sylvia tilted her head and blinked three times. “I mean your face is a bit girly, but can’t you just like cut your hair? And uhm, wear something that isn’t a skirt?”
“He can’t,” said Claire. “He’s cursed.”
“Oh…” Sylvia blinked. Thrice. “Wait, really?”
The elf brought a hand to his brow. “It’s a long story.”
“That’s okay! We have plenty of time,” said the oblivious fox.
“You’ve got to be…” Nymn mumbled a complaint under his breath and rubbed his temples. “Alright, fine. I doubt there’s any hiding it with Claire here anyway.”
He sat down in a chair, heaved a series of sighs, and finally, with one last hefty breath, opened his mouth to speak.
“It all began in the winter of my eleventh year, roughly six seasons after I proposed to Charlotte. I was out exploring the woods. Nothing unusual, happened a lot when I got into scuffles with my old man.” The words were his, but the voice was not. Looking around in confusion, he found the resident lady with a smirk on her face and a glint in her eyes. “So a bit of background note,” she continued, “my dad’s the sort of guy that represses shit and lets it loose on his family. Awful bastard, really.”
“How do you know all that?” asked the elf, his face twisted into a grimace.
“I overheard you explaining it to Mariabelle when you were trying to seduce her,” said Claire, nonchalantly.
“Nymn!?” cried a mortified lich.
“T-that’s an entirely baseless accusation!” he shouted. “You know I’d never betray you, Charlotte!”
“You’ve cheated on her at least seven times, by my count,” said Claire. “But anyway, on with the story.” she cleared her throat as the elf’s was wrung. “So one time, the old piece of shit was hitting my mum and screaming that he hated how she looked. I got sick of it, jumped him, and ran off when I realised he was gonna kick my ass. Little did I know that I would grow up to inherit his taste for whorehouses. I can hardly believe it myself.”
“Lady Au—Claire! Please!” The elf wheezed as his girlfriend’s eyes formed literal tears of blood, but Claire only stuck out her tongue.
“Uhmmm, Drocksie?” Fortunately, Sylvia was there to keep her reigned in. “I’m pretty sure Claire’s only saying that stuff to mess with you.”
“She is?” The rage vanished from the lich’s face in an instant. Suddenly serene, she looked curiously at the lyrkress, who only returned a vague smile.
“I heard that liches were murderously monogamous,” she said. “And I wanted to see the truth for myself.”
“Oh, whew.” Charlotte breathed a sigh. “Please don’t scare me like that. I was about to kill him and then myself right after.”
“Charlotte,” groaned the elf, as he coughed. “Didn’t we agree that you would always hear my side of things first?”
“And I did,” said the lich. “But your rebuttal sounded like some sort of awful excuse.” She was already back to being mad, albeit not mad enough to return her hands to his gullet.
“So uhmmm, can we get on with the story?” asked Sylvia.
“Fine,” said Claire. “So there I was, smack in the middle of the forest in the depths of wint—”
“There’s nothing to hear,” said Nymphetel in a fluster. “I met the Goddess of the Frozen Wilds, mistook her for a man, and got cursed. Big deal.”
“Cursed to look like his father’s ideal woman,” added Claire. “And with all your exposure to Alfred, I’m sure you can imagine everything that followed.”
“Oh uhmm… wow,” said Sylvia, with one less blink than usual. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know who this Alfred character is, but it probably isn’t as bad as whatever you’re thinking,” said Nymphetel. “I ran away from home before he could get any ideas. That’s how I wound up in Cadria.”
“And he didn’t even take me with him,” complained the lich. “Can you believe the nerve of this man?”
“How awful,” said Claire, with an obviously fake pout. “I can hardly believe that you would give such a terrible gentleman the time of day.”
“Sometimes I think the same thing,” said Charlotte. “But a promise is a promise, and our souls are forever bound.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to entertain his nonsense. For example, you could always…”
Nymphetel could only sigh as the lady stoked the lich’s flames. Claire was clearly doing it for fun, but his beloved was unlikely to notice. The adorably earnest undead would surely take keenly to the ideas presented and spend the next few days treating him in the manner the lady had described.
It was certainly not an ideal development. But neither did he find it particularly distasteful.
He had been worried when the lecherous marquis had foiled all their plans.
But in the end, everything had turned out just fine.
He had to thank Natalya. Her efforts had allowed him to protect her smile.
Chapter 287 - Return to Form II
It was an afternoon like any other. The cool spring breeze flowed through the shop’s windows, and its receptionists stood lazily at their shared desk. Adventurers of all experience levels went in and out the door, some drunk, others ready for another long day at work. The traffic was regular, progressing at a fairly steady pace until one supposedly reputable dungeon diver decided to block the front door.
“What the heck is that!?” Sylvia opened her eyes wide as she watched a giant frog squeeze its way through the entrance. The shout prompted not only the other receptionists but also some of the customers to turn their eyes towards the source of her surprise. Despite its size, the magical anuran was not a real monster, but rather a stylized recreation closer in nature to a doll or stuffed toy.
Perhaps because it was somewhat difficult to transport, the plush was filthy, covered in footprints and mud. The person pushing it inside was no cleaner, having tussled with the massive amphibian for however long it took to deliver.
“Fuck if I know,” she said. The speaker was an armoured human warrior. She, Hildagarde of Vel’achkan, was known among the locals as one of the MACC’s regulars. Her party picked up at least three jobs a week, sometimes more if there was no need to travel. Unlike many of the other groups, they were not at all afraid of the more powerful foes that occasionally popped up around the city.
According to Silvia, it was courtesy of their level. They averaged around three hundred—low by Cadrian standards, but fairly high by their Vel’khanese counterparts. They could have easily earned high ranks in the military if they had chosen to enlist, or perhaps made a killing in a dungeon-based city. But they chose neither path on account of their late leader’s wish.
“We found it in some ruins, and we were hoping that one of you girls could take a look and tell us what it’s worth.” The bright green frog almost seemed to grow when it entered the building, standing so tall and wide that it barely avoided the shelves and chandeliers.
“Why the heck did you bring it inside!?” cried the fox. “If it’s that big, you could’ve just left it out back.”
“My bad,” laughed the human. “But I figured this would be the best way to show you how it works. From what we can tell, the damn thing pretty much grows to the size of whatever room or container it’s in. It’s got a pretty big default size too, but it only takes that when it hasn’t got a space to fill.”
“Wait, really? That seems kinda silly,” said the fox.
“It doesn’t seem silly. It is silly,” said her chair. “How does it work?”
“I’m not really sure, but based on the fact that it heals itself, probably the same way as a runecloak,” said Hilda. “We accidentally banged it up a bit when we were dragging it around, and the damn thing’s still in perfect condition.” The human drew her sword and gave it a quick slash to demonstrate. Surely enough, the runefrog saw its wound immediately patched.
“Strange,” said Claire, with a tilt of the head. “An artificer might want it. But it’s difficult to price.” She walked out from behind the counter and looked the giant frog up and down. It stirred something in her chest, a faint violent urge, but it was quickly suppressed. “Nymphetel.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
The elf heaved a sigh as he picked himself off his seat and headed for the infirmary, returning after a few minutes with the resident doctor and information broker in tow. Estelle was hardly in a presentable state. There were bags under her eyes, her clothes were stained, and her hair was as messy as seaweed. It was clear at a glance that she had pulled yet another all-nighter, working on some personal project or other, and her lunchtime nonpresence suggested that she had only awoken when Nymphetel had disturbed her.
“I’m guessing this is what you wanted me to look at?” She yawned as she approached the toy with a series of lazy steps.
“If you could, yeah,” said Hilda. “You think we can sell it?”
“Not happening,” said Estelle. “Doubt anyone’s got the space to store anything that big. Not unless it’s worth its weight in gold, anyway.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Hilda. She produced a small jar from inside one of her pockets and grabbed the stuffed animal’s legs. It didn’t look like it was even remotely possible for the toy to fit, but miraculously, with a few minutes worth of effort, she was somehow able to force it into the container. “That’s the other half of its ability. It can fit in pretty much anything, but getting it in is always a tight squeeze. It’s pretty fluffy too, so I thought it could make a decent toy for some noble kid.”
“I doubt you’d get any more than a silver or two if you sold it as a toy,” said the broker. “Claire’s probably right. Pawn it off on an artificer, and you could get as many as twenty.”
“Twenty!? I could renovate my house for twenty!” Hildegarde’s eyes lit up, and she immediately began pestering the doctor for all the juicy details. “Hell yeah! Take that, Gromp! I knew it wasn’t worthless!”
The pair soon began discussing the details, with Estelle listing off a number of possible buyers and their likely offers and quirks. In the meantime, the receptionists took the opportunity to return to their work—not that there was much work to be done. With a whole four and a half people manning the front desk, it was rare for any given individual to be busy outside of the morning and evening rushes.
“That has to be the weirdest thing anyone’s ever brought in,” said Sylvia. She hopped off her favourite seat and took up a position atop the counter.
Potion-related materials aside, the shop was not in the business of purchasing items from its clientele. But as an information broker, Estelle was often tasked with evaluating the worth of whatever goods were found on the spelunkers’ expeditions. She was not a state-approved appraiser by any means, but her connections allowed her clients to find far better prices than what they would have on their own.
“The singing door was weirder,” said Claire.
“There was a singing door?” asked the fox, her eyes wide.
“You missed it because you were napping.”
“What the heck, Claire! You should’ve woken me up if there was something that weird!”
“Singing doors aren’t weird. They’re quite common where I’m from.” Having wrapped up her business with a customer, Charlotte walked away from her counter and joined the group conversation.
The lich was not purely skeletal, as she had been during their initial encounter. Her bones were certainly visible, but overlaid directly atop her frame was a translucent, phantom body that displayed a humanoid form. Though it could be easily seen through, so too could it be touched; her clothes sat on the phantom flesh as opposed to the bones that lay beneath it.
In that form, her features were clear. She had short black hair, bright red eyes, and a brilliant smile that could easily charm anyone not put off by her visible skull. By Claire’s evaluation, her ears were too small, far closer to that of an elf’s than a centaur’s or faun’s.
“Wait, really?” asked Sylvia, wide-eyed.
“She had at least three on the first floor alone,” said Nymphetel. “Her parents used to teach them obscene songs because they thought it was funny.”
“They still think it’s funny. Last I heard, they were waking up the neighbours in the middle of the night.” It was a response that prompted a laugh from the lich and a groan from the elf, with the pair exchanging a series of matching smiles right after.
“That reminds me! How long have you two known each other anyway?” asked Sylvia.
“Since he still looked like a boy,” said the magical skeleton.
“Oh, shut up,” grumbled the elf. “It’s not like I want to look like this.”
“Wait a second…” Sylvia tilted her head and blinked three times. “I mean your face is a bit girly, but can’t you just like cut your hair? And uhm, wear something that isn’t a skirt?”
“He can’t,” said Claire. “He’s cursed.”
“Oh…” Sylvia blinked. Thrice. “Wait, really?”
The elf brought a hand to his brow. “It’s a long story.”
“That’s okay! We have plenty of time,” said the oblivious fox.
“You’ve got to be…” Nymn mumbled a complaint under his breath and rubbed his temples. “Alright, fine. I doubt there’s any hiding it with Claire here anyway.”
He sat down in a chair, heaved a series of sighs, and finally, with one last hefty breath, opened his mouth to speak.
“It all began in the winter of my eleventh year, roughly six seasons after I proposed to Charlotte. I was out exploring the woods. Nothing unusual, happened a lot when I got into scuffles with my old man.” The words were his, but the voice was not. Looking around in confusion, he found the resident lady with a smirk on her face and a glint in her eyes. “So a bit of background note,” she continued, “my dad’s the sort of guy that represses shit and lets it loose on his family. Awful bastard, really.”
“How do you know all that?” asked the elf, his face twisted into a grimace.
“I overheard you explaining it to Mariabelle when you were trying to seduce her,” said Claire, nonchalantly.
“Nymn!?” cried a mortified lich.
“T-that’s an entirely baseless accusation!” he shouted. “You know I’d never betray you, Charlotte!”
“You’ve cheated on her at least seven times, by my count,” said Claire. “But anyway, on with the story.” she cleared her throat as the elf’s was wrung. “So one time, the old piece of shit was hitting my mum and screaming that he hated how she looked. I got sick of it, jumped him, and ran off when I realised he was gonna kick my ass. Little did I know that I would grow up to inherit his taste for whorehouses. I can hardly believe it myself.”
“Lady Au—Claire! Please!” The elf wheezed as his girlfriend’s eyes formed literal tears of blood, but Claire only stuck out her tongue.
“Uhmmm, Drocksie?” Fortunately, Sylvia was there to keep her reigned in. “I’m pretty sure Claire’s only saying that stuff to mess with you.”
“She is?” The rage vanished from the lich’s face in an instant. Suddenly serene, she looked curiously at the lyrkress, who only returned a vague smile.
“I heard that liches were murderously monogamous,” she said. “And I wanted to see the truth for myself.”
“Oh, whew.” Charlotte breathed a sigh. “Please don’t scare me like that. I was about to kill him and then myself right after.”
“Charlotte,” groaned the elf, as he coughed. “Didn’t we agree that you would always hear my side of things first?”
“And I did,” said the lich. “But your rebuttal sounded like some sort of awful excuse.” She was already back to being mad, albeit not mad enough to return her hands to his gullet.
“So uhmmm, can we get on with the story?” asked Sylvia.
“Fine,” said Claire. “So there I was, smack in the middle of the forest in the depths of wint—”
“There’s nothing to hear,” said Nymphetel in a fluster. “I met the Goddess of the Frozen Wilds, mistook her for a man, and got cursed. Big deal.”
“Cursed to look like his father’s ideal woman,” added Claire. “And with all your exposure to Alfred, I’m sure you can imagine everything that followed.”
“Oh uhmm… wow,” said Sylvia, with one less blink than usual. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know who this Alfred character is, but it probably isn’t as bad as whatever you’re thinking,” said Nymphetel. “I ran away from home before he could get any ideas. That’s how I wound up in Cadria.”
“And he didn’t even take me with him,” complained the lich. “Can you believe the nerve of this man?”
“How awful,” said Claire, with an obviously fake pout. “I can hardly believe that you would give such a terrible gentleman the time of day.”
“Sometimes I think the same thing,” said Charlotte. “But a promise is a promise, and our souls are forever bound.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to entertain his nonsense. For example, you could always…”
Nymphetel could only sigh as the lady stoked the lich’s flames. Claire was clearly doing it for fun, but his beloved was unlikely to notice. The adorably earnest undead would surely take keenly to the ideas presented and spend the next few days treating him in the manner the lady had described.
It was certainly not an ideal development. But neither did he find it particularly distasteful.
He had been worried when the lecherous marquis had foiled all their plans.
But in the end, everything had turned out just fine.
He had to thank Natalya. Her efforts had allowed him to protect her smile.
