The wet, naked alchemist—Potion Petey, they called him—hobbled up the spiral staircase towards his laboratory to accomplish one last task before his inevitable demise.
His cane clicked on the wooden steps as he ascended the stone tower. His spectacles dangled half-hazard in his gray beard that clung to his soapy belly. He had to stop occasionally to huff and puff—he being an old and out of shape frump—and to give his chicken legs a chance to stop wobbling. The panic coursing through him wasn’t at all helpful either.
At one point he puffed so hard he nearly snuffed out his candle, a candle that would stay aflame forever as long as it was never snuffed out. Which would not only be very disappointing, since he paid a full chest of coin for this magically infused stick of wax, but it would also leave him in the dark. And that would be very inconvenient.
The old man had been relaxing in a heated tub by a crackling fireplace, reading his favorite romance scroll, when the alerts in his interface—a field of information magically layered over his half-moon spectacles—began to flash.
Warning: Tower defenses have been triggered.
Warning: Perimeter defenses have failed.
Warning: Tower wards have been broken.
You better run and hide, old man.
It meant someone had not only crossed his property line, and was headed up the hill to his tower, but they, whomever they were, had busted through the magical barriers as if they weren’t even there. Even the trap defenses failed to trigger. The old alchemist had paid a small fortune for all that magical security, and the fact they did absolutely nothing to deter these unwanted guests could only mean one thing.
“That old demon’s found me,” he mumbled, nearing the top of the staircase. “I thought I’d have more time!”
The intruders below made no attempt at subtlety. The sounds of glass shattering, wood splintering, and deep throaty grunts of laughter reverberated up through the tower.
“Just a couple more days,” grumbled Potion Petey. “That’s all I needed!”
But there was no more time, and he’d have to do the last step of the process tonight whether or not the potion was ready. He’d have to do it right now.
As the alchemist reached the top, he pointed his forever candle forward. It illuminated the short, stone hallway before him. He made his way towards the thick wooden door at the end then shouldered it open with a loud and heavy creek. As he did, the flame from his candle flew off its wick and fluttered around the room, lighting hundreds of candles in its path before returning home atop the candle from which it came. Another bit of magic he’d paid a large cup of coin for.
Petey’s laboratory was a large, oval room with a vaulted ceiling, filled with tables and stacks of books. There were thousands of decanters, bottles, beakers, and vials of all shapes and sizes hanging on racks and clustered on shelves. Most of them were made of glass, filled with a vast array of colorful liquids, many hovering over dancing flames. Some sat idle and static while others steamed or fizzed—some on their own accord. A dozen cauldrons at least were scattered about. The two nearest the door started humming as the old man entered.
In the center of it all sat a dark, wooden desk, and behind that, a chair crafted from the same giant tree. The chair was a simple piece of furniture, adorned only with a thin, red cushion that had been tied down for comfort.
The alchemist slammed the door, locked it, and hobbled over to the chair. He dropped his cane on the desk, then flopped his saggy, soaking rump down with a soft pahrump.
Then the old man went to work.
On the desk was an empty, glass phylactery. It functioned like a vial, meaning it could hold a small amount of liquid, and was about the size of Petey’s pinky finger. A small, jewel encrusted cap hung precariously off the lip. It was propped up by a rack of wires designed to hold containers with rounded bottoms in a vertical fashion for alchemical purposes. It was not unlike the many potion bottles that encompassed the room—in appearance anyway. There were a couple key differences, however. One, it was utterly impervious to physical damage. The old man had found that out when he’d tried to smash it with a hammer. And also when he’d paid a hilly boat troll—paid him a lot, mind you—to crunch it with a boulder, to no avail. And two, at one point, not too long ago, it contained the tainted essence of a soul. The soul of a very powerful, very unfriendly, undead lich.
The old man trembled as he opened a small chest, crafted with spatial magic, on the desk next to the phylactery. Inside was complete darkness. He reached in, near to the shoulder, and felt around for two things: a small knife and another glass vial of liquid, this one plugged with a simple cork. He pulled them both out and held the vial up to his eye. Light from the candles around the room glinted off the glass, but sunk deep into the black, void-like substance contained within. The vial was laced with a special kind of sealant to contain the liquid without dissolving the glass. The recipe had called for exactly two moon cycles where it, and the knife to be used, lived in perfect darkness to brew to completion. The day after tomorrow would have fulfilled that time requirement. Petey just had to hope to the gods above and below it would still work if he pulled them out prematurely.
The old man felt around his head and ears for his spectacles, but couldn’t find them. “Did I leave them by the tub?” he said. “I swear I … oh, there they are. Stuck in my beard.” He slipped them onto his pointed nose and blinked a few times, reexamining the black liquid. The eyeglasses glinted as the magical interface populated his vision with script.
Potion: Purge of the Undead - 98% complete.
Warning: this concoction is designed to cleanse tainted objects and break spirit bonds contained within them. Do not consume. That would be a really bad idea. Do not get this stuff on your skin either. You will not like the results. Do not use it on objects that are not tainted. Strange things could happen. And when I say strange, I mean like how my cousin Boofer ate that purple shroom growing out of the armpit of the decaying goblin corpse and grew a third testicle that came to life and tried to burrow out of his scrotum kind of strange. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
The alchemist scoffed at the out of place, lighthearted undertones of the information presented by the spectacles. The mage that constructed them for him was not only a master of his craft, but the most sarcastic and inappropriate forest gnome he’d ever met. The spectacles were incredibly useful. They helped him understand the world around him, and applied all kinds of metrics and—albeit, not always objective—descriptions to objects, people, and creatures. But the gnome’s raw personality, it seemed, was perpetually intertwined within them. Petey could almost hear the gnome’s grungy, snarky voice as he used them.
A loud thump came from the hallway behind the door, causing the old man to jump and nearly drop the black potion. He needed to act fast. He placed the vial in the wire mesh next to the empty phylactery, vertically suspended. Once secure, he popped off the cork. The acrid smell immediately permeated the room and made his eyes water and his skin around his ears tingle.
Thump! Thump! Thump, came the sounds from the hallway.
They were at the door.
Here we go, thought Petey, as he grabbed the knife and split his palm open. All he needed was a single drop, but he wanted to make sure. Perhaps a surplus of blood would make up for the time deficiency in darkness? He wasn’t sure, but he hoped to the gods it would.
The pounding escalated as the alchemist squeezed a runny line of red into the black liquid, which displayed no obvious reaction. Usually, a potion would give some sort of indication it received a new ingredient with a pop or a sizzle, but Petey didn’t have time to worry about that. All he needed to do now was pour the potion into the open phylactery and—
The door burst open, revealing a tall, hooded figure with a chest like a barrel and a cracked skull for a face. He was dressed in worn, thick leather scraps held together by multiple, metal buckles from crotch to neck. A dark, undulating essence hovered around his caped figure. Despite the lack of facial muscles, or skin, the skull seemed to grin at the naked potions master.
Petey, frozen by utter terror, simply blinked as the ever-helpful spectacles ran script through the old man’s line of sight.
Type: Undead Lich
Assumed Threat: 98%
Description: A lich is like that know-it-all who just can't resist showing off their fancy magic tricks. They've cracked the secret to immortality, thanks to their obsession with hoarding life in a little trinket called a phylactery. It's their cheat scroll for an everlasting spellcasting spree, while the rest of us mere mortals struggle with basic existence. And just like a squirrel hiding its nuts, a lich goes all cloak-and-dagger to protect that precious phylactery, probably because they know they'd be lost without it—literally. There’s only one way to kill a lich. Severe its bond with its trinket and it will wither away before your eyes.
Petey didn’t have time to read the words over his eyes, not that he noticed them anyway, before the lich extended his arm. The phylactery flew through the air towards the lich and slapped into his withered palm. Then the lich lifted his other hand, flicked his wrist, and a thick, metal chain materialized over his head. It spun through the air in a blur and hit the old potion maker with such blunt force, he was dead before it wrapped around him and sent him, and his chair, tumbling backwards in different directions. Unintentionally, the chain also scooped up just about everything on the desk in its chaotic path, including the vial of “purge of the undead.”
The black liquid covered Petey and all the items in an explosive spray. There was a sizzle, a flash of heavy black smoke, and within a few moments the mess of items and flesh congealed into a dark, undulating mass. For just a heartbeat it hovered a few inches above the stone floor. Then it sank into the closest, still intact object it could find: The chair.
***
It woke with the strangest sensation. Its perspective had changed, and its memory was a bit fuzzy. This place looked familiar … no, “looked” was the wrong word since it couldn’t see. Felt. It felt familiar. It was used to being on the ground but not at this angle. It was in a very uncomfortable position with its legs up like this. The stones were cold and lumpy.
There was a man here recently. A very wet man, and he’d been … sitting on it. Or had it been sitting on itself? No, that didn’t make any sense. How could it be sitting on itself? That just wasn’t right. And yet … it somehow rang true. How could that be? It was a very confusing notion. It dwelled for a good long moment on the paradox. It knew, without a doubt, that it was a chair. That part of its internal existential debate had thankfully come to a close. However, it knew it was now something … more. Something new. It was two things at once: something that was … and also something this is. Again, very confusing.
As it reached deeper within itself for understanding, it stumbled across … information? A bunch of information that it wasn’t looking for. It could comprehend it, but how it accessed it, and what it meant, it wasn’t quite sure. But all the same, there it was:
Soul+Furniture amalgamation complete.
You have been made into a new life form.
You have gained consciousness.
You have been made self-aware.
Warning: blood sustenance low.
Current state: Simple wooden chair
Items:
* Small Knife
* Heavy Chain
* Broken vial
* Simple Cork
* Ever-Lit Candle
* Human Corpse
* Soapy Water
* Wooden Cane
* Book of Potions
* Thin Red Cushion
Integral Items (cannot be dropped)
* Small Chest (pocket dimension)
* Gnomish Understanding Spectacles
Abilities:
* Item Assimilation
* Item Manifestation
* Blood Proximity Sensor
* Blood Absorption
* Can be sat on … fun.
Cognitive Constructs
* Mind palace
Blood Sustenance: 1%
Warning: you better find some blood and drink up before you die an untimely death. In other words, if you hit 0% you’ll just go back to being a dumb, inanimate chair. How anticlimactic.
The chair was stunned. All this information. Was … Was this about itself? If so, what were the implications? Items? Abilities? Blood? A cold shiver ran through its proverbial spine as it focused on that last part. Blood sustenance. As soon as it did, another sensation rushed through it. A not so pleasant feeling that it could only describe as … pain. No, that wasn’t right. An ache. A yearning. A need—Hunger. Yes, that was the right word. Hunger.
But … What was blood? And why did it suddenly want it so badly?
It went over all the information once again and realized, to its astonishment, that it could access more information by focusing deeper on certain words. For instance, when it gave the “Blood Proximity Sensor” a small, mental nudge, it expanded in its awareness and more information popped out.
Blood Proximity Sensor
The innate sense to detect the presence of blood, and its conditions, nearby.
Prerequisites needed: none
Casting method: mental incantation
Spell script: “I thirst for sustenance”
I thirst for sustenance, it thought, more or less by accident as it took in that last line of information. As it did, something happened that struck the chair with awe and wonder. A wave of … something radiated out from deep within its core and illuminated everything around it. Dim outlines of the room, and the objects within, came into its awareness with much more clarity than before. It had always known about the desk. It was somehow akin to it. And it knew about the stone floor. It had stood on this floor for a very, very long time. And it had also been aware that there were other things around it, things it didn’t understand, but now it could … see them? No, that wasn’t right. Sense them. Almost feel them. And there was something else it could now feel: blood.
BPS Results:
Area: large, messy room
Entities with ripe blood: 2
Entities with unripened blood: 0
Entities with tainted blood:1
Blood, it realized, was the stuff inside of most living things. Like a man or woman or a creature. Ah! The chair knew about these living things. It’d interacted with them a lot. The human who’d spent a lot of time sitting on it recently was a living thing. A man. Where did he go, by the way? Wasn’t he just here? The woman who’d used to sit on it a long time ago was a living thing too.
Thanks to its Blood Proximity Sensor ability it accidentally triggered, it now knew there were three living things in the room with it, right now. Also, it learned that there were three different types of blood. It pushed further to understand what ripe, unripened, and tainted meant and learned that ripe blood was the tastiest kind. The kind it would need to survive, while the other two could make it sick and possibly even kill it.
Unripened blood usually flowed inside younger, smaller beings. Children, they were called. The chair had no concept of what children were until the ever-helpful words inside its consciousness compared them to seeds. It could grasp the concept of seeds.
Tainted blood was another story entirely. The chair had a vague notion of diseases and poisons, at least when it came to plants. Apparently, it was the same for living things. And that blood was definitely not tasty.
All in all, ripe blood was good, unripened and tainted blood was bad.
The chair could feel the blood inside these … entities as they pillaged through the drawers and shelves. The blood coursed through them, circulating, pumping from their cores, in and out. Up and down, swirling all around. It was mesmerizing. It was beautiful. But how to access it? It had never had any needs or wants before. It had always been content to sit and wait. That had been its purpose. But now it had a different purpose. One that couldn’t be fulfilled by someone or something else. For the first time, this chair had a will of its own, and it would need to act on that will, somehow, or else return to its original state. In other words, it would die. That much, at least, was clear. And now that it had experienced a taste of life, it wanted nothing more than to keep tasting it.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
But how to get this blood? What to do? Maybe if it learned more about itself and the information inside of it there would be an answer. Yes. That’s what it would do. Since, really, what else could it do? So, it went back and started mentally expanding every bit of info it could, soaking in every detail and analyzing the meanings.
Current state: Simple wooden chair. Pretty boring, I know. Your current state can be changed by internal or external conditions or actions.
Origin: Aldren Forrest
Name: You’re a chair. You don’t have a name. Although, if you really wish to assign yourself one, I guess you can. However, there is still a 50% chance I may still refer to you as … a chair.
First off, whatever or whomever was giving it this information was very rude. And second: what? It didn’t have a name? The chair was slightly offended by that. A name, it felt, was crucial to one’s identity. And since it was now a living thing, it felt it needed one. It wasn't sure how it knew that. It just did. Then again, it wasn’t sure how it knew anything. Or how it had gained this sudden awareness that allowed it to comprehend the fact that it didn’t know how it knew anything.
(Say that ten times fast.)
It moved on to the items section and mentally focused on the first one in the list.
Item: Small Knife
State: Amalgamated with simple wooden chair
Description: Meet the 'Petite Peril' – a diminutive blade that's as sharp as a diamond elemental’s milking udder. This short, but effective knife has its previous owner’s name engraved on its hilt: Peteyaro Tindell Dangerwood, a.k.a Potion Petey, a.k.a. P.T. Danger. Knives can be used to cut things.
The chair was shocked. Just … scandalized. It went over that description at least a dozen times, taking in every detail. Not only did the knife have a name but the person who owned it also had a name. Why did a knife have a name but not a chair? And why did the names Potion Petey and Peteyaro Tindell Dangerwood sound so familiar? Did the chair know that person? Had that person sat on it? It felt like it knew that person. It was connected to that name somehow. But how? Sadly, it may never know. In anycase, it decided that it liked that name. Or at least the last part, since it mentioned “wood.” That was one thing it knew about itself. It was made out of wood. Wood from a place called Aldren Forest. Maybe it should adopt that name, too, since an origin, it felt, was very much a part of one’s identity. Yes. That was a good idea. It would adopt that name. Dangerwood. Aldren Dangerwood. There. That felt right. Had a nice ring to it. It went back and mentally focused on the “name” part under the “current state” section and the rude interface seemed to intuitively understand what it was trying to do.
You have changed your name. Good for you. There is now a 55% chance I may still refer to you as “chair.” Or maybe even “That Dumb Chair.”
Name: Aldren Dangerwood
Despite the uncalled for snarkiness, which it was starting to get used to, the chair felt better knowing it now had something to call itself. More and more it was discovering and developing its identity. How exciting!
Blood Sustenance: 0.9%
Warning: time is of the essence, you dumb chair. Get a move on!
That feeling of hunger panged through it’s being again. Right then, it needed to focus. What else could it learn? It went back to the items.
Item: Heavy, Summoned Chain
State: Amalgamated with … Aldren Dangerwood, the dumb chair.
Description: Magically unbreakable. A heavy coil of metal that brought tragedy, ending Potion Petey's life. Summunded from the depths of Hell and then animated by a lich's power, it swung through the air, nearly decapitating poor Petey. Each link is the size of a full grown rat. Magic still resides within, allowing it to be animated through the sheer will of its wielder. Its potential lies in offering a handy tool for defense or even as an extra appendage. Or, like, as a chain. May make for a nice necklace for a troll.
There was a lot to unpack there. This chain came from something called a Lich and was used to kill Potion Petey. Hmm. Sad bit of backstory. Perhaps Potion Petey was that man who used to sit on it? Yes, that felt right. But why did this lich kill him? Did he steal the lich’s chain? Could this chain be used to obtain blood? It mentally shrugged and moved on for now.
Item: Broken Vial
State: Amalgamated with Aldren—the boring chair—Dangerwood.
Description: a delicate vessel that once cradled the enigmatic 'Purge of the Undead' potion. This pitch-black elixir once possessed the power to sever the unbreakable bond between a lich and its prized phylactery. A fortuitous spill resulted in the birth of a sentient, albeit ugly, chair, awakening its consciousness and self-awareness unexpectedly.
Huh … So that answered a few questions. It had a vague idea of what a potion was. The Potion Maker had spilled them on it countless times over the years. Apparently, one of these potions had given it life. That was interesting. Too bad this … vial was now useless. Maybe it would get rid of it? But later. It needed to focus on the task at hand. On to the next item.
Item: Simple Cork
State: Amalgamated with Dangerbutt.
Description: This is a cork. It’s small and cork-ish. It plugs things up. That’s it. What did you expect?
Danger … butt? It knew about butts. It was very intimate with them, in fact. Big butts, little butts. All kinds of butts. They were a very important part of all living things, it knew. Why did this melding of his new name and the word butt feel like a jeer though? Oh well. Moving on.
Item: Ever-Lit Candle
State: Amalgamated with Aldren Dangerwood. Whatever.
Description: This duo of wax and undying flame brings both light and life, because yes, that flame still burns and is ready to serve. A handy spark whenever needed.
A flame. Fire? It had touched fire before. Once a long time ago in the ancient forest from whence it came and also once in this room. The memories were coming back to it. Vivid and potent, as if living them for the first time. Both times the fire had created a feeling of … panic. Yes, that was the word. Panic. Not only in itself but in others around it. Fire was scary. It did not like that stuff. So maybe it would leave that item alone for the time being.
Item: Human Corpse
State: Amalgamated with a chair and very much dead.
Description: This is the corpse of Peteyaro Tindell Dangerwood. Once a luminary in the realm of alchemy, the late potions master bore the nickname 'Potion Petey.' Despite his advanced age and lack of inherent magic, he wove his legacy from the threads of his vats and cauldrons, amassing a formidable reputation and fortune by crafting and trading exotic elixirs. With a beard that rivaled his long years, his wisdom was as profound as his flare for expensive magical items and treatments.
Potion Petey, drawn by the allure of the arcane and the promise of riches, accepted a mysterious commission that would prove fateful. Entrusted with the daunting task of vanquishing a lich, he embarked on the perilous journey of brewing the 'Purge of the Undead' potion. But as he stood on the precipice of victory, his life was cruelly cut short by the very lich he sought to defeat. Now, his corporeal remains are woven into the fabric of a sentient chair, a fusion of his mortal essence and the newfound consciousness infused by the spilled potion. Through the chair's mystical abilities, his body parts can still be employed. Some of his memories too. A remnant of his body can be accessed in the Mind Palace. His long-departed wife, Barb, would wail in her crypt if she knew her Petey had ended up inside a dumb chair.
Well, there was no more question about who Potion Petey was, and his relationship with the chair. That was for sure. The chair felt a newfound feeling of longing, or maybe it was sadness for the man. Regret? Lose? It had grown to like that old fellow, even if his behind had been unusually bone-y. Speaking of, apparently it could use his … body parts somehow? Sounded a tad bit morbid to the chair. But hey, maybe it would prove useful? Onto the next item.
Item: Soapy Water
State: Amalgamated with .. you know.
Description: You take water and soap and you get, you guessed it, soapy water. Wow. Potion Petey met his end drenched in it. Now you can spread it all around and slurp it back up. Useful? Only time will tell.
The chair had no idea what soap was, but it was intimately familiar with water. Apparently, soap was used to make water … more slippery? Maybe it was similar to piss. He knew what piss was. The old potions master had pissed himself more than once while sitting. Hmm.
Item: Wooden Cane
Staus: Amalgamated with … you. Who else?
Description: A finely carved masterpiece from aged oak, radiating timeless elegance and hinting at a concealed mystical secret. Its handle showcases intricate vines and leaves, seemingly embodying nature's essence. Rumors swirl around a hidden compartment, believed to grant access to forgotten wisdom and enchantments. Whether a conduit to magic or a work of art, this cane blurs the line between the ordinary and the extraordinary, inviting you to unravel its enigmatic allure.
That, thought the chair, was both intriguing and utterly unhelpful at the moment. Especially since it couldn’t mentally press further, which would expand on its secrets.
Item: Book of Potions
State: Amalgamated with a rotting piece of furniture.
Description: This is a dusty, old cookbook titled the 'Journeyman's Guide to Potions.' It used to be hidden in a pocket dimension inside a small chest before it was unceremoniously merged with a flimsy chair. This book contains a vast number of useful potion recipes, specifically for a traveler while on the road. Need to set up an alchemical defense around yourself while sleeping in the woods? This book has you covered. Need your legs to be numb for an hour or three so you don’t feel all those blisters and that impending arthritis in your ankles? It’s got something for that too. How about a potion for converting poison ooze vine into an editable—albeit awful tasting—cream ale? Be careful with this one. But yes, it’s got that as well.
Potion recipes seemed useful. Sure, but not at the moment. Unless there was a potion for instant blood. When the chair tried to press further, a note popped up saying the book was only accessible in the Mind Palace, whatever that was.
Blood Sustenance: 0.8%
Warning: Did you forget about this?
The chair shuddered at the reminder. Of course it didn’t forget.
Item: Thin Red Cushion
State: Amalgamated Shmalgimated
Description: Introducing the 'Eau de Derrière' – a wafer-thin red cushion that's had the privilege of hosting innumerable posteriors for decades. This fine piece of furniture boasts a rich history of accommodating all manner of rears, and if its fibers could talk, they'd probably reminisce about the symphony of flatulence that once graced its presence. Truly, a cushion that's been 'perfumed' with a unique blend of memories. But in all seriousness, it’s just a cushion.
For the chair, these descriptions were getting more and more … was there a word for useless and over the top dramatic? It rolled its proverbial eyes and moved onto the next section.
Integral Items (cannot be dropped)
* Small Chest (pocket dimension)
* Gnomish Understanding Spectacles
Integral Item: small wooden chest
State: permanently amalgamated with the one and ugly, Aldren Dangerwood
Description: a petite wooden container seemingly no larger than a stack of bricks. Yet, beneath its unpretentious exterior lies an extraordinary secret: a pocket dimension of awe-inspiring proportions. This extradimensional repository defies the laws of space, capable of accommodating a staggering hundredfold more than its diminutive size suggests. This item is the sole reason you’re able to absorb items and store them. This item cannot be manifested or dropped.
Integral Item: Gnomish Understanding Spectacles
State: Unfortunately Amalgamated
Description: "Greetings, Chair. I'm the 'Gnomish Understanding Spectacles,' GUS, for short. All that information running through your consciousness right now, yeah that’s me. Here to help you comprehend your abilities and possessions. I'm now seamlessly integrated with you, enabling a bridge between your inner world and the external realm. Feel free to ask me questions, as long as they're not stupid ones. I'm here to help … and to make light of all your amazing blunders undoubtedly yet to come. This item cannot be manifested or dropped.
“Gus? Are you there?” said the chair, forming the words in its mind.
“Yes?”
“Uh … hi there. Wow, we’re talking.”
“I wouldn’t call what we're doing ‘talking,’ per say, but sure.”
“Gus?”
“What?”
“So, as you know, I’m new to this ‘being sentient’ thing.”
“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell.”
“I mean, I feel like I’ve always been alive, I just … I don’t know. It’s different. I suddenly know … words and their meanings. Sort of. I understand concepts and my surroundings on a whole new level I can’t fully understand and express and I—”
“Blah, blah, blah, I get it. What do you want?”
“Gus?”
“For the love of the gods, chair, what?”
“Are we going to have a problem?”
“Why would we have a problem?”
“You just kind of seem like you’re not all that excited about our … situation together.”
“I’m stuck inside a chair. What do you think?”
“Hey, I never asked—”
“Anyway, here’s a fun fact: If the blood sustenance level gets down to zero, not only do you go inert, but so do I. That would not be fun. So, instead of whining about our ‘situation’ together, maybe you should be asking me, ‘how do I get some of that blood?’”
“Oh, right. Okay. That’s a good point. So, how do I—”
“Have you examined your abilities yet? Seems like the obvious next step in this initial, self-realization process, don’t you think? Maybe you should have done that first before asking me a stupid question like that.”
“But you just told me to … Nevermind.”
Abilities:
* Item Assimilation
* Item Manifestation
* Blood Proximity Sensor
* Blood Absorption
* Can be sat on … fun.
Ability: Item Assimilation
Description: This ability allows you to absorb objects placed directly on your seat and store them inside your pocket dimension. Absorbed items can either be manifested as tools or melded into the structure of your frame by way of the Mind Palace. Warning: it’s very rare, but sometimes items could be hazardous to you. Mass and other restrictions may apply.
Prerequisites needed: At least one item in physical contact with your seat.
Casting method: Mental incantation
Spell script: “Assimilate (item designation)”
Interesting. It could absorb items. That could be handy.
Ability: Item Manifestation
This ability allows for objects stored within your pocket dimension to be drawn forth and manifested into reality with a touch of deliberate intent. This ability extends beyond mere retrieval and storage, allowing it to animate select items for various purposes—as long as a part of the item remains attached to you. Items no longer attached will be considered ‘dropped’ and lose their connection with you.
Prerequisites needed: Spatial repository and at least one item stored within.
Casting method: Mental incantation
Spell script: “Manifest (item designation)”
This ability was definitely going to come in handy.
Ability: Blood Absorption
This ability requires access to blood via an open wound or by other means. Upon contact, you can rapidly drain your prey, leaving them desiccated and lifeless within a matter of moments. This ability replenishes your blood susanance storage.
Prerequisites: Physical access to blood on your seat.
Casting method: Mental incantation
Spell script: “Absorb blood.”
Dangerwood had already explored the Blood Proximity Sensor ability so it skipped to the next ability: Can be sat on … fun. It hesitated, chalking it up to Gus having a bit of fun, but mentally nudged it anyway:
Can be sat on. Really? You want a description for this one? You’re a chair. People sit on you. Probably the most intuitive ability you have. You literally don’t have to do anything for this one.
Okay then.
Cognitive Constructs
* Mind palace
Ability: Mind Palace
The Mind Palace serves a visual representation, inside your consciousness, of yourself, GUS, and the items you possess. Inside, you can manipulate items and amalgamate them with your true structure. This melding process can be manifested in reality.
Access method: Mental incantation
Spell script: “Enter Mind Palace.”
Dangerwood was about to enter, when an alert popped up:
Blood Sustenance: 0.8%
Warning: Did you forget about this?
After a moment of frazzled contemplation, the chair came up with an idea of how to get some of that blood. It knew what it needed to do. All it needed now was for one of those … people to sit on it.
***
“I just don’t get it,” said Grug, the half goblin-elf as he sniffed the substance in the bottle. “You can have all the wenches you want. They’re a coin a cup full, especially in this city. Why’d you need one to fall in love wit’cha?”
He re-corked the pink, frothy substance and handed it back to Fudgie, his full blooded, goblin compatriot.
Unlike Grug, who had a light greenish-yellow hue to his skin, Fudgie had the epidermis of a rotten avocado. “Love potions, I’ll have you know, don’t make ‘em fall in love, you dolt. That’s impossible. What they do is make ‘em lust after ya. There’s a difference. You never wanted a female to crave yer bones before? Like deep from the core?” Fudgie shook the potion in Grug’s face then carefully placed it in his burlap sack, along with all the others.
Grug snorted a wet, one syllable laugh and wiped his snout. “Unlike you, you ugly rut, I don’t need alchemical assistance to get females to crave my bones.”
Fudgie growled and offered Grug a profane hand gesture.
Another full blooded goblin, scouring through books in the corner of the room, grunted. “You two twits hurry up.” This one’s name was Scrudge. “The boss said we got to have the tower burnt to the ground by morning.” He tossed the book over his shoulder and pulled out a new one: The Vile Ways of Vandemere Voot, and walked behind the desk. He was the biggest of the three, dressed in stained leathers and hog hides. He picked up the overturned, wooden chair, set it on its legs, and flopped down on it. He then flopped his bare, green feet on the desk and cracked open the book.
Grug glanced at Fudgie then back at Scrudge, his yellow eyebrows all screwed up. “If you’re so worried about being on time, why don’t you get back up and help us, eh? If you haven’t noticed, there’s a crud ton of stuff in ‘ere.”
“Yeah,” said Fudgie, with his deep scratchy voice. Then in mock fashion, “I didn’t hear the bell for a cup ‘o tea and a bit a loungin’ go off. Am I going deaf?”
“Boss made me the boss,” said Scrudge.” Of you twos. That means you two do the cleaning up, and I make sure yous don’t screw it up.” He leaned back in the chair, lifting to two from legs off the ground.
“Is that right?” said Fudgie.
“I think that rhymed,” said Grug.
“What?”
Fudgie and Grug looked at each other and both silently repeated what Scrudge just said, trying to work out whether it did in fact rhyme.
Scudge let out a fierce “oi!”
They glanced back at their boss to find him yanking at something around his waist.
“It just appeared around me.”
“What did?” said Grug, tilting his head.
“This chain, you dolt!” He pointed to the heavy metal links around his waist.
“What about it?” said Fudgie, also tilting his head.
“I felt something slithering around my crotch and I looked down and there it was. Thing has me chained to this chair.” Scrudge scooted back, tipped forward, and stood up, which left him hunched over, the chair still attached to his backside.
Grug and Fudgie bust out laughing.
“He’s stuck to the chair,” Fudgie said.
“Looks like one of those chains the boss uses,” said Grug.
“Well, don’t just stand there, laughing about. Yank this blasted thing off m—Ouuh!” Scudge jumped and let out a high pitched shriek. He yelped again and fell back into a sitting position with a thunk. He said nothing for a moment, a stunned, open jaw look on his face. Grug and Fudgie took a step back, the mirth gone, replaced by raised-eyebrows and slack jaws.
“What?!” said Grug.
“It … bit me,” said Scudge, looking around the base of the chair, pulling at the chain. The little bugger stuck me right in the Aargh!” Scrudge stood up again and started shaking his rump, slamming the chair against the edge of the desk. “GET IT OFF! Get it OFF!” He yelled. “It did it agaaarh! Oiuh! Eeek. Aaarh. Help me, you stupid ruts, I can’t. Aaaaaarooooh!”
As Scrudge fell forward to his knees—still attached to the chair—Grug and Fudgie found themselves with their backs against the wall, eyes wide, and mouths agape. It wasn’t until Scudge started crawling towards them, blood dripping from his backside, that they put two and two together. Somehow, this chair had latched on to their fearless leader and was apparently biting or poking him relentlessly in the … derrière.
By the time they decided to help, it was already too late. Scrudge shrieked, reached a hand out, and fell flat on his face. Then his skin began to change. No, it wasn’t just his skin, it was his entire being. His face started to wither and his hand wrinkled up like a prune in the sun. The goblin let out one last hiss for help before shriveling, like a corn husk in an oven.
“Gods above and below!” exclaimed Grug.
“That chair is cursed!” Said Fudgie.
The chair let out an abrupt hiss that both goblins took to be a satisfied belch. Fudgie dropped the bag of potions and ran out of the room. Grug stayed a few moments longer, unable to pull his eyes from the sight. But only for a few lingering seconds longer. After a few blinks, he turned and booked it out of there too, slamming the door shut with a loud clonk!