Marius

The faux chest was brimming with satisfaction, its glowing keyhole betraying the infinite joy it felt in having him in its clutches. He got the feeling that, though it was the one covered in chains, he was the real prisoner here.

A serpentine tongue lolled out the lip of its mouth and licked its hinges. The thing was starving, anticipating its next meal. Just like everything else around here then.

"Truth," it said.

What a surprise.

He needed a way to win this game. Then again, what really was the price of winning?

That was a decent question.

"Tell me," Marius began. "Do you really have this ‘Water of Life’ thingy?"

The Mimic bared its teeth through the rusted chains that kept it from fully smiling.

"No."

Marius smirked.

"So much for honesty."

"I gave you an honest answer, thief."

"An honest answer about your dishonesty in setting up this game."

"But I honestly wanted you to play it, and a dishonest promise of a prize was the best way to extract some honesty from you. Which, as I told you, is my true purpose."

Marius rocked back. "Tell a lie to get to the truth. For an evil treasure chest that could kill me with a thought, you’re a shrewd negotiator."

"Oh, come Marius," the Mimic sneered. "Surely one such as you is beyond mere mortal concepts of ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ Surely you understand there’s more nuance to the world and the people that live here than that."

"I think that’s exactly what a being of pure evil would say."

The chest licked its lips.

"Those that talk about shit like 'moral grey areas' tend to be the same folk that are looking to justify genocide, torture, child molestation – y’know, all the good stuff us mortals are known for."

"My my," the Mimic sneered. "This is looking to be an interesting game already."

Marius stared up at the empty dark of the cavern ceiling.

"If you don’t have a prize for me," he said. "Why in the name of Yevua’s jiggling teats am I playing this game?"

Through some means unbeknownst to Marius, the chest managed to spill a tut tut out its lipless mouth.

"One question for one answer, Marius," it said. "Now it is my turn. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Marius said without hesitation.

"Alright," the chest chortled. "I dare you to tell me why you’re in The Everloft."

Marius shut his eyes to the dark around him. With his eyes shut, at least the void before him was his own.

"You’re daring me to tell a truth, huh?"

"A question for an answer, Marius," his opponent giggled. "Do you decline to answer?"

Marius felt the air around him become charged with a kind of static power – the sign of a judgment that was being made, like an electrified sword was dangling just above his skull, ready to fall at his next words.

Uncanny Danger Sense: activated

He could feel it, even if he didn’t betray any hint of his welling panic to his judge, jury, and (apparently) executioner.

GLANCE Channel: Mind Spike

DMG: 3-10 Pts PSY (Target)

PSY?

He licked his lips.

So there literally is a sword dangling above my head. One that could end me with one strike.

The creaking Mimic bulged once in what might have been another gout of laughter.

And you know that I know that now, don’t you?

"I’m here," he began with a gulp. "Because I stole something valuable and got caught."

He felt the force above him waver for just an instant and closed his eyes as he felt the tip of the invisible blade move ever so closer to the hairs that were presently standing up on his head.

"Marius, Marius," the chest sneered. "You are a naughty one. Of course, technically you have answered my question. But you’ve given me so little – so little! That gossip’s hardly juicy. I need details!"

"I guess you’re gonna have to be more specific," Marius smiled back, masking his fear.

"So, you’re going to play my game like that. Hmpf. I suppose I expected as much from a practiced thief. My – look at the sweat dripping from you!"

"My turn," Marius stated, pushing on. "Do I even have to ask? Truth or dare?"

The mimic smiled again, its rows of teeth glimmering once more amidst the dark.

"Truth."

Marius drew himself up.

"What’s PSY?"

The chest licked its wooden hinges. It barely suppressed its childish giggles.

"That’s the question he asks! Oh goodness. It’s like you aren’t even trying to win, my dear little interloper! Ah, but I shall indulge you if only for the sake of a wasted question – it stands for ‘Psychic’, most broadly used in our realm to denote vulnerability, resistance, or indeed immunity to offensive measures of that type."

Marius nodded at that, like he was accepting it.

"Hm."

"'Hm!' he says! Your mastery of language truly knows no bounds, Marius. It’s a wonder you’ve made it this far."

Marius wasn’t listening. Instead, he was doing something so antithetical to his nature that he found his stomach clench with disgust: he was learning.

He was performing his Appraisal again throughout their whole conversation, and he was seeing that, the more he focused, and the longer he kept the thing talking, the more he could discern. It wasn’t the only one gaining from this ridiculous game.

"Huh," Marius murmured. "Ok, proceed with the next round."

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"I plan to, thief," the chest scoffed, suddenly blustering for some reason. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Marius stated.

The chest gave a little bounce of renewed excitement. "Ah, my clever Marius. You think that I cannot extract what I want from you just because I cannot repeat my last question verbatim?"

"Verbatim or conceptually," Marius corrected.

"Hmpf. I am quite aware of my own rules, thank you very much. I was the one that first conceived them!"

I doubt that.

"So you want another dare, Marius?" the chest thundered. "Very well – you shall give me what I want through another means then. Pick up your weapon and carve me a picture into these drab onyx walls."

Marius jumped to his feet and twirled the iron dagger in his hand.

"Alright," he said. "Never was much of an artist, but mama Corbeck never raised a boy that didn’t try everything at least once. What wet dream do you want me to draw up for you on this dull canvas?"

"Something you’re more familiar with than I, Marius," the chest replied. "Draw me the item you regret stealing the most."

Marius puckered and gave the chest a long, hard stare. He knew it was almost giddy – like some sexed-up Tigran schoolgirl.

He turned back to the wall and started carving into the stonework, feeling his blade kick against the hard flesh of the Duskwood’s cavern. For maybe ten minutes the only sounds heard in the blanketed darkness were those of the thief hard at work chiseling and the nondescript humming of the fiendish entity that had commissioned the artwork.

"There," Marius said once he was done, stepping aside to reveal two thin lines joined at their ends by a triangular bauble bearing a crudely sketched eagle.

"My ma’s locket," he explained. "Stole it when I was six, got caught, and took my punishment like a man. Ma locked me up in the pantry for two days with nothing but that bloody locket – said she was teaching me how valuable things are when you end up in jail because your stupid greedy ass can’t help taking them."

He resumed his position, cross-legged beside the chest, chuckling mirthlessly into the void.

"'Marius!' she’d say after she spanked me. 'Are you a magpie or a man?' Heh. The old goat always did have a way with metaphors. But ultimately, I learned a different lesson that day: never get caught."

The Mimic mumbled for a moment, as though it was weighing up his word.

Then he felt the tip of the invisible, shimmering knife fall down from above him, cutting through the dead air of the cavern.

"There is one more lesson you should keep in mind, Marius."

He felt something cut into the flesh of his skull and twist. He fell, limbs scrambling uncontrollably, screaming out and yet seeing nothing but the dark. His hands flew to the back of his head and felt nothing but blood pooling under his skull – he was grasping at thin air.

"Don’t lie to me."

Marius groaned as the pain began to recede. He was certain that a hole had just been torn into his cranium, and he fought to collect himself and catch his breath.

But once again as his hand flew to his head, he found that there was no blood, no ichor, no spewing brain matter. His matted hair was all that was there, same as it always had been.

HP: 6/15

The Everloft evidently wouldn’t let him forget. Even just looking at the tiny numbers in front of him was like watching his life slowly tick away like a macabre clock. He could barely even stand now, but directed his pain and ire at the Mimic that was coming back into view before him.

"You said item!"

A chuckle. Then: "Oh, I apologize, my dear Marius. I assumed you knew that by ‘item’, I of course was speaking generally. I was not referring to a specific material object, otherwise I would have said so. In the future, such confusions are best avoided by asking for some clarification. Life is less painful that way."

Marius licked his lips and clenched his rusted dagger tighter. It was all it took for him not to just take a swipe at it right now. The smug son of a bitch was taunting him like he was nothing more than its Sunday morning plaything.

"Two truths, one lie," it chortled. "And two more rounds to go! I must say, I am feeling ever so confident in my inevitable victory."

Marius breathed deeply and exhaled in the exaggerated manner he’d seen displayed by disgruntled nobles projecting their vaunted sense of superiority over the world. Maybe a good smack in the head really was all one needed sometimes – because he had an idea.

"Confidence?" he snorted. "Pretty big word coming from someone with no brain."

At once he felt the consciousness of the chest fixated on him. No laughter now.

"I beg your pardon, thief?"

"You heard me, chest. I said you’re talking pretty big for a brainless box."

"Brash, boorish, and boring, Marius," the Mimic replied. "Surely you have better tools in the arsenal of your mortal mind than the petty insults of a schoolboy. You think tossing mindless verbal abuse at me will win you this game?"

"I ain’t the mindless one here, chief."

"Hurry up!" it snarled at him, rattling the chains that kept it bolted to the wall. "I warn you – waste my time and you’ll see true darkness."

"Alright," Marius returned with a childish grin. "Truth, or dare?"

"Truth!"

Marius licked lips.

"Do you have a brain?"

"You impudent little grifter!" the chest bellowed. "I should slay you now!"

"So, you reject the question?" Marius asked, closing his eyes and shrugging in a gesture of disappointment he’d learned to imitate well over the years. "Shame. I guess you forfeit this round, huh?"

"Of course I have a brain! I am a sentient denizen of what you mortals so disparagingly refer to as The Everloft and I have been ever since your precious Chainbreaker threw me down here! Furthermore, I have far more knowledge held within my mind than the insignificant sponge languishing within your skull could ever possibly hope to comprehend! Why, there are things I know you wouldn’t –"

A flash of light, slicing through blackest black, and the chest cried out. But not in pain.

Marius smiled behind his hand. The psychic knife had descended. He was sure of it. The chest was obviously unharmed, but that wasn’t the point.

The invisible hand wasn’t some spell it had absolute control over. It was a marker of loss just as much as it was a deliverer of death.

And unlike the judgement provided by the surface world, it was fair.

"H-how?" the chest asked in frustration.

"One question at a time, remember?" Marius smirked. "It looks like you’re a little less sentient than you thought."

Marius wasn’t giving it the satisfaction of an answer. He checked his appraisal again – he’d kept up his watch on the thing and managed to turn up just enough info to help him out:

Morphology: Mimic Seer

HP: 50/50

Morphology: Mimic

WK: PYRO

RES: SLSH, BLDG,

IMM: PSY

The bizarre acronyms were starting to make dumb sense. They were degrees of vulnerability. ‘WK’ he knew must be ‘Weakness’ from the battle with the Mangler. ‘RES’ had to be resistance – it made the most sense. So, ‘IMM’ must denote ‘Immunity’ – and that meant you couldn’t even touch some creatures with certain attacks. It was a bad revelation, but also a welcome one. It was information that he sorely needed. His old tutors, prattling away about their books and scrolls, had at least disseminated some useful tidbits to him. ‘Knowledge is power’ was one of them.

His mind had done the rest here. ‘Psychic’ damage must mess with your head – he’d felt like a stake had been driven through his brain when that aerial knife had pricked his skull. It logically followed that something immune to psychic damage must only be immune because it had no brain to fuck with. Looking at this egotistical little chest, that made sense. This was no random creature given life – this was a Magister of the old days. He said it himself: your precious Chainbreaker threw me down here!’ There was a consciousness there, but no organ to graft it to.

Marius smiled again.

"You remind me of someone I knew a while ago," he said. "He knew how to please a crowd, liked to talk a big game. But when it came down to it, there wasn’t that much going on in his noggin."

"You think yourself clever, thief," the Mimic mumbled. "You must know, of course, that you have no way to truly win here? Every truth I extract from you sustains me for a little longer, and every lie you weave only kills you faster."

"You haven’t asked me if I’d like a truth or dare yet, Mimic. Or, would you prefer Mime? Meme? Mima? I’d hate to refer to you by your appearance alone. Such judgement carries such a negative connotation."

"Truth," the Mimic practically spat. "Or dare?"

"Dare," Marius spat back.

"Alright. Repeat the following: 'I, Marius of Corbeck, do renounce my vows and reject the ways of Azalon. I reject His path, paved with His blessed coals, and count myself amongst the ranks of the pathless walking their ashen road away from the Lord’s cleansing light.'"

Marius’ smile never dropped from his face. He slumped forwards, planting his face in his hands and shuddering with barely suppressed laughter.

"You know, one of the lessons mama forgot to teach me was to never play a game of truth with a mind reader. Weirdly enough, up on the surface that’s not really a major concern."

"I await your answer, Marius."

He looked at the shining keyhole with nothing but weary disdain.

"'I, Marius of Corbeck, do renounce my vows and reject the ways of Azalon. I reject His path, paved with His blessed coals, and count myself amongst the ranks of the pathless walking their ashen road away from the Lord’s cleansing light.’"

The dangling knife did not falter. For now, his skull was safe.

"You surprise me," the Mimic said. "But then, perhaps you think that, down here, your old benefactor cannot harm you. You would be wrong."

"There’s a first time for everything, I guess."

Marius eyed the creature steadily. He now felt that the darkness was encroaching upon his body – penetrating his armor and seeping deep into his skin. He was naked before this little yipping demon.

"Well, my dear Marius," the chest croaked gleefully. "The score is 1-1. I’m afraid you shan’t be prevailing today, and a draw will gain you nothing. You’ll be on your way, and you won’t be surviving in your sorry state. What waits for you down there will take what remains of your head from your shoulders."

"Truth or dare?"

Marius asked the questing with hatred burning on his face. Flushed with real fury, he forgot his smile. He forgot everything while, for its part, the Mimic seemed amused by the question more than anything.

"You sure you don’t want to throw in the towel, my brave little thief?"

"I’m just getting warmed up."

"Really? I must say you look positively finished."

"Appearances can be deceptive."

Both man and Mimic looked at each other with the only eyes they had – both pairs of eyes that had been altered and razed by others without their consent. Eyes that had looked upon worlds that changed before them as they were forced to change with it. Now, their eyes were made only for each other. They each held the unwavering form of the other within their sights with dauntless determination to unmake the challenge the other presented. Yet, they were also present. Focused. In the same way that two con artists instantly recognize one such as them in any confined space, both these entities were recognizing the elements of themselves baked into their opponent.

But, for Marius, their game of words had come to an end. When the prattling casket replied, "Truth", Marius had only one question on his lips.