ENTRY 007: ONE MAN'S TRASH IS ANOTHER MAN'S GARBAGE BIN

Dear Diary,

You’d think I’d recognize a mimic by now. But in my defense, the guy who pawned it was very convincing, and I was too busy trying to swat a rogue dust sprite out of the rafters.

The chest looked ordinary enough at first glance: weathered wood, brass hinges, and a sturdy lock. A classic adventurer’s chest, the kind you’d find in a dungeon and immediately loot. The customer—an exhausted-looking drow with a bandaged arm—plopped it on my counter and said something about “bad luck” this and “needing gold” that. (I’m sure you know the drill by now. I certainly do.)

I should’ve asked why he looked like he’d just lost a fight with a porcupine, but business is business. I gave him twelve silver pieces for the chest, figuring I could polish it up and resell it to some overeager adventurer. As soon as the rogue left, I hefted the chest toward the backroom—and that’s when it bit me.

Yes, bit me. Teeth, right where the lock should’ve been. I dropped it immediately, and the thing skittered across the floor like a giant wooden spider, snapping its oversized jaws and growling like an angry dog.

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The mimic spent the rest of the day causing chaos. It knocked over shelves, chomped through a stack of inventory lists, and growled at anyone who came near it. At one point, it tried to eat my broom (the regular one, not the enchanted one), and Korgath had to wrestle it free before it swallowed the whole thing.

By evening, I was ready to throw the mimic into the river. But then something unexpected happened.

While I was cleaning up the mess it had made, the mimic crept toward me, sniffing the air—or whatever it is that mimics do when they’re curious. I tossed a crumpled piece of paper at it, figuring it would attack. Instead, it snapped up the paper, chewed it noisily, and then burped out a perfect origami crane.

I started tossing more trash at it—apple cores, broken quills, bits of string. The mimic devoured it all and spat out something different each time. It was bizarrely efficient at recycling. By the end of the night, my table was finally rid of useless items (that, and some important documents I threw at it without thinking).

So now, the mimic lives in the corner of the shop. I’ve lined the area with straw to keep it happy (and to protect the floor), and it eats anything I toss at it. Leftover scraps, broken items, even old receipts. Customers seem to think it’s some kind of novelty trash bin, and honestly? I’m not correcting them. If they’re willing to pay me to feed their junk to a mimic, who am I to argue?

I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’ve found my favorite employee. It doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for breaks, and cleans up after itself. If only the broom and Korgath were this cooperative.

Yours in profit,

Garren