You’d think being an evil, unsettling, completely unnatural monster of the night would have more perks. Honestly, I mean in all the myths where there’s a hero that comes along and kills some gruesome and horrible thing that’s been terrorizing a group of poor hapless bastards, the monster is always doing pretty well for themselves until the guy shows up. They’re normally lounging about in a nice castle or on top of a massive mountain of gold, or sometimes a mountain of gold inside a castle. The point is, they get a moment of peace and quiet before they are eventually and inevitably reduced to a thin stain on the floor of whatever lair they’d holed up in. Is that too much to ask for? Some peace and quiet? I certainly don’t think so, but then what do I know, I’m a monster.

Now, you could argue that those mythological monsters all get to where they are through grit and genuine evil determination, taking what they want when they want. And that’s fair, evil stick-to-itiveness is certainly not lacking in those fables. But, I would argue in return that it is that very same evil try-harding that gets them staved in by the biggest do-gooders around, normally in an incredibly violent, ironic, and lesson-teaching manner. So, by reckoning, if I never actually go full-on fear me and despair, ye mortal fools on anyone within my vicinity, I should be pretty much fine. Of course, that should be the case, but of course, it isn’t. Because the gods hate me.

Alright, it probably isn’t actually that dramatic. It is much more likely the gods don’t even know I exist. If they did, they’d very likely be doing a better job getting rid of me. My real problem is that while I manage to avoid the attention of the more powerful heroes and monster-hunters the world has to offer, that still leaves the virtually unending hoard of not-so-powerful warriors, who, their own lack of experience notwithstanding, want to be the protagonists of their own extensive mythos one day and have to start somewhere. Unfortunately, that somewhere often begins with me.

Which is why, on a lovely Sunday morning when every normal not-monstrous person should still be in bed, despite having done nothing remotely evil whatsoever, I was being chased through the back-alleys of Garrowgreim by a pack, yes, a pack, of bright-eyed young adventurers who had every intention of killing me dead. I couldn’t fault them, really, I was a pretty easy target, and it was my own damn fault they saw me.

Normally, I’m pretty good at blending in with humans, in fact, it's one of the major advantages of being a Shadeling. Sure, I can't be out in the sun too much, I have the magical abilities of a somewhat dedicated human teenager, and I look a bit like a corpse that hasn’t realized its actually dead yet, but I can shapeshift, so at least I have that going for me.

It's not that shapeshifting is a particularly rare talent, in fact, it's pretty common, it's more how it works for Shadelings that really works out for me. With most monsters, changing appearances requires a little more drama than it does for me. Changelings, for example, have to kill the person they want to transform into. Mimics can do it without killing, in theory, but they rarely don’t, and can only change once, then they’re that thing forever. They also rarely end up looking like people, more often they mimic a book or a chest or a toilet seat or something equally underhanded, so as to catch unsuspecting prey. Both of these examples have massive drawbacks, the most obvious of which is that if you look like a person that already exists -or existed, if you do kill them- you have the issue of being recognized by the people that know that person. And then likely killed by them, or the people they pay to kill you. Also while both species are pretty common, they’re not exactly keen on blending into human society. Mostly they’re more focused on fooling a person for the amount of time it takes them to get within biting distance.

Shadelings, thankfully, can just change our appearance whenever we want, however we want, so long as we have the magic saved up to do so. And it's not limited to humans and humanoids either, we can basically look however we want, so long as we have the magic set aside to keep up the disguise. If we very suddenly run out of magic, or at least go past the threshold required to keep the form we currently have, we rather suddenly end up looking as we normally do, which is hideous, pale, skinny, and very decidedly evil. That is what happened to me. Because while I had been focusing on my very limited reserves of magic as I should have been, I lost concentration for half a second when I almost stepped on a cat. That single moment of not holding it together, with my focus instead being on not stepping on that blasted tabby, resulted in me reverting to my usual black-eyed and ghoulish self. In full view of the previously mentioned adventuring party who suddenly became very keen to disembowel me and sell my parts to one of the city's various alchemist guilds. I should have just stepped on the bloody cat.

I’m getting tired of running for my life. Sure, the first few times are exciting, and there’s always a bit of a rush when you give whatever bastard is after you the slip, but by both the Gods it gets old fast. Up until recently, I got chased a lot, like at least twice a month. You’d think I had a reward on my head for the amount it happens. Well, I do, sort of. Not on me specifically, really, it's on Shadelings as a whole.

Specifically our skin, claws, hair, eyes, and et cetera. Basically, if I have it, alchemists want it. And the money is good too. Really good, considering we’re not all that dangerous. I mean, don’t get me wrong we’re unsettling as hell and a bit worrying in large numbers, but we’re not actually that hard to kill. Trust me, I speak from experience. The only reason I’ve made it as far as I have is because when I get the choice between fighting and running, I choose running every time.

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Most other Shadelings don’t last this long, since we start out pretty dumb and basic, mimicking animals mostly. I’m no exception, I think I spent my first few years of existence eating mice and wandering the woods as whatever woodland creature my basic brain felt like. I say I think because that part of my life is generally pretty fuzzy, and my memories are all sort of jumbled together like it was one long night of binge drinking. What I do remember is running. Lots of running. Mostly away from things trying to kill me. That seems to be what allowed me to live this long, some fifteen-ish years. Pretty good for a monster that’s rated a -D in The Adventurers Handbook. Essentially, I’m still alive because even in the most basic, wild parts of my brain, I am a massive coward. Every other Shadeling I’ve ever encountered has been those brainless feral ones, and they’ve always charged at danger like someone rang a dinner bell, resulting in them getting slaughtered by whatever they’re up against.

If allowed to grow and survive as I did, we end up essentially sentient, which would probably make us a lot more dangerous, if it ever really happened. I’m the only Shadeling I’ve ever seen wandering around human settlements, so I don’t think many make it that far. Between our own early stupidity and the fact that every alchemist and his mum want our gooey bits, 99.99% of Shadelings die before they’re capable of mimicking humanoid beings.

Anyway, it's not that I’ve lasted this long because I’m smart. Well not specifically anyway. I don’t outsmart the humans trying to kill me, but I am smart enough to know that I’m better off running like the wind. Normally I’m not that bothered by running, since it happens so often, but I hadn’t actually been chased in the last sixth months at this point, so I was rather out of practice. The fact I hadn’t had to flee for my safety in so long had broken my conditioning. No longer was it a regular occurrence to be suffered through, I had seen the other side of the looking glass, and now I was back where I began, I did not like it. I was already swearing to my future self that I’d be a million times more careful, and that I’d never get caught again. I just wished I could believe myself.

I dashed around a corner and found myself in a deserted square, with multiple roads branching off from its outskirts like strands of a spider’s web. Rather than pick one at random and chance it, I ducked into a dead-end alleyway and threw myself as soundlessly as I could underneath an unattended cart. My pursuers burst into the square a few seconds later, stomping to a halt as they saw the half-dozen different streets before them. I heard them talk indistinctly to one another for a few moments while I tried my best not to breathe too loud, cough, or gag from the smell of whatever was dripping on me from the bottom of the cart.

After what felt like an eternity, they turned around and left. I waited until I heard their footsteps, and a string of loud and unflattering curses directed rather hurtfully at my mother and my character --Jokes on them, I never had a mother--, retreat back up the road they’d chased me down before I even dare to breathe. I paused a few more moments still before I crawled out from my hiding space. I realized as I did that it was a dung cart, currently unfilled but nonetheless stinking of manure and no doubt the source of the dripping. On my new cloak. And me. I vomited into the gutter, pulled my hood up to hide my still unchanged appearance, and stalked off to find a better place to hide while I restocked on magic.

I was lucky. If you could call it luck after being chased through half the city It was still early, and most folks had yet to leave their homes. If there had been more people about, I’d have stood no chance of escape without leaving Garrowgreim and completely starting over. I’ve had to do that before, and it sucks. I hate finding a new city, partially because I’m lazy and hate walking, and partially because it’s a massive hassle trying to find the right sort of place for me to blend in.

Small towns are impossible, there are just too few people, and they're all massively wary of any outsiders, even when you aren’t a monster in disguise. One nosy old lady poking her beak where it doesn’t belong is all it takes, and next thing you know a mob of peasants are chasing you through the woods, fully equipped with pitchforks and torches. I speak from personal experience when I say, small towns are awful.

Big cities, -while good for blending into the crowds- have their own sets of problems for me. For one, most metropolises have their own in-house monster-hunting association to keep their venerated streets clean of danger, and they’re equipped to take on dragons, so they’d make short work of a pipsqueak like me. Plus, the more people around the more eyes are watching, the more likely some random denizen is to notice that I forgot to make my hair get longer, or that my eyes changed because I’m stupid and forgot what colour they’re supposed to be.

Mid-sized towns are the best, especially those in the middle of nowhere, away from borders, the coast, and pretty much anywhere of note. They’re big enough for there to be crowds and strangers passing through, but small enough that none of the bigger guilds really expect any major monster infestations. Naturally, places like that aren’t exactly everywhere, but as a quiet town tucked away from most anything, Garrowgreim had presented the perfect prospective location for me to lay low. That is, it did until some stupid bloody sorcerer moved into the woods north of town about a month ago and started pumping out their own personal army of monsters like they were trying to set the record for most abominations birthed through the horrors of black magic in a month.

So that’s been a massive pain in the ass, considering it brought a whole circus of budding young lunatics out of the woodwork who seem to want nothing more than to throw themselves towards certain death in battle with the nearest shambling horror. As a shambling horror myself, believe me when I say I do not get the appeal.

Of course, I understand the basic motivations. Money, glory, fame, and all that shit, but I seem to be the only one to realize that only the very best, and the very lucky, adventuring parties get to enjoy those sorts of things. The rest get sudden deaths and paupers' graves. Of course, I shouldn’t be talking since I probably won’t even get a burial. I will get the sudden death, that I have no doubts over.