“I still say this creation would have been much improved had you taken that gentleman’s fine right leg with you rather than leaving it attached to his otherwise uninspiring torso.”
“Are you still going on about that?” Sean asked, leaning down to affix another haunch of skytortoise to the lower half of the man-sized golem they were constructing. “I told you we’re not going to be just ripping legs off of random passersby for no reason.”
Gel indicated his agreement with a nod of his crimson whip, though the slime immediately invalidated it.
“Now if they give us reason, then we can absolutely rip them off.” The slime dissolved a previously smoked section of skytortoise into himself from the nearby table. “Mmmph, so good. It’s like I can taste the unbearable wait inside the meat. We need more of this. Or all of it, I’m not sure. Where was I? Oh, right. Reason first, then legs for days!”
The omnomicon let out a long, refined sigh. If it were a human, Sean felt like it would be rubbing its temples in slow circles.
“The reason is that this golem would be far more ambulatory. Far better able to meet our future needs if you were to utilize a superb specimen in its creation, rather than the merely passing-grade leg you have acquired.”
“Can’t we just change it out later?” Sean asked, reaching for the dune eagle jerky one of the people they had rescued had gifted them in thanks. “Besides, you said the more varieties we add, the more diverse its capabilities will be. We’ve already got human in there.”
“Not without great expense.” The omnomicon said with the air of someone repeating something for the interminably slow. “A golem’s functionality and future growth–if any– are set by the circumstances of its creation. You would have to disassemble it entirely and build it again.”
“So yes, we can, is what I’m hearing.” Sean rolled his burning orbs inside his skull as he finished with the dune eagle jerky. He checked over the list he had written out earlier, and then grabbed a hunk of blueish-green ‘vinoco’ meat, which Gel had explained as essentially a rabbit-ox hybrid that burrowed large tunnels underground. Can’t wait to see what one of those looks like.
There was another expansive sigh inside his mind as the cursed cookbook reluctantly
acknowledged his point.
“You know, I do not understand where this aversion to using the enlightened as ingredients comes from. They’re uncommonly delicious and exceptionally abundant in population centers such as this.” The omnomicon said after a long silence. “Besides, are they not your main source of sustenance? What care is it of yours if a few go missing? They are just food. Prey, and delicious prey at that. You can already walk among them without notice, and I have more than a hundred ways to cook those furry little ‘guards’ padding around if they do take umbrage.”
Sean remained silent as the tirade continued, and for a moment so did Gel. When it got no immediate response, the cursed bookbook carried on.
“Your silence is both profound and concerning.” Gel began to say something in their defense, but the omnomicon interrupted him. “No, I do not need the details. It’s been two weeks now, and neither of you have made any attempt to eat the abundance of free-range or caged enlightened despite many being within easy reach. I assume you have your reasons, just tell me true: are they, or are they not on the table? Metaphorically and literally speaking.”
“Of course they are.” Gel said, sounding instantly offended. The slime pointed his crimson whip at the laid-open book, where detailed instructions and sketched diagrams laid out the creation of a ‘multi-meat helper construct’. “I’ll have you know there is nothing that is not on my metaphorical table. If it can be consumed, then I will eventually consume it.”
“We’re just not… indiscriminate about our meals.” Sean supplied, cutting in before his friend had a chance to start ranting. “We’re selective. We’d rather wait for the right meal at the right time than waste energy attacking randoms and ruin all the effort we spent getting here.”
The geladin slapped a skinned eel ‘necklace’ onto their would-be golem, adjusting its position carefully to make sure it lined up with the omnomicon’s diagram.
“Besides,” Sean continued. “How many of your former owners have lasted even this long? You’ve got a pretty potent curse, can’t imagine too many are lining up to trade their own flesh for every meal.”
“You would be surprised.” The omnomicon replied dryly. “But I take your point.”
Silence reigned for nearly half an hour after that as Sean carefully added layer after layer to the construct whose torso was quickly starting to look like one of those doner kebabs from back home. Only before it was cooked, and with about two dozen different varieties of meat. Gel had been more than a little concerned that they were spending so much on something he wouldn’t be allowed to eat, but Sean had pacified him by simply buying two of everything.
He had then sweetened the deal with the promise that should they ever run out of use for it, Gel could just eat the golem. After that, his omnivorous friend had been fully onboard.
“Are there certain species of enlightened you prefer?” The omnomicon asked, clearly not done with the subject. “The owlen make fantastic skewers you know, and there are a dozen simple ways to make a manwich. Fennekians are easier to layer into a pie than most, and lizardkin meat is, of course, exceptionally receptive to the right sauce on a proper grill.”
Sean was about to ask if ‘manwich’ meant what he thought it did, when he was interrupted by the appearance of an unexpected prompt. A swift gust of wind accompanied by the sound of jingling coins swept through his mind. The prompt’s borders were a long series of buildings stacked next to one another, whereas its interior was–
Dervash?
You have slain the former owner of this building, and have now occupied it unchallenged for long enough to count it as your new lair! The region immediately contained within this building, its grounds, and the additions below it are now yours to rule! May profit rain down upon you, Merchant Sean of Cultivar’s Curiosities!
… what!? Sean stared at the prompt before him, a bloody chunk of jackalope dripping slowly through his hands onto the floor. ‘Merchant Sean’?
As had happened with the giants, this prompt was swiftly replaced by another. Its visuals were the same as before, but the sound that accompanied it was that of a quill scratching across parchment. A sound that became ever so slightly more ominous as he read.
As this territory lies within the claimed lands of another ruler, your claim upon it may be challenged by them or their designee for the next seven days. Due to a boon chosen by the city of Dervash, you may as an alternative agree to abide by the terms set forth by the city of Dervash within the next seven minutes.
Note: Due to an unknown boon chosen by the city of Dervash, if you do not agree to their terms, designated city representatives will receive notifications of the challenge you have now issued to their rule.
The ‘challenge’ we issued? Before he could process the implications of that, a third prompt appeared. It unraveled like a parchment in his vision, revealing a list of terms, or more accurately, a contract. One between himself and the city.
Sean quickly skimmed through it, appreciating the fact that he could actually read the contract despite the fact that he knew it hadn’t been written in English originally. The terms were, honestly, not that bad. Reading through it, he quickly discerned that there had to be limits to the terms this ‘boon’ Dervash had allowed them to set. There were no restrictions on what he could do, for example. Everything was related to the building itself, and the grounds it was on.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Which makes sense. Since it was all a bunch of administrative nonsense, like seeking permits if he made certain changes to the shop or its grounds, and what taxes he had to pay on goods– Sean mentally agreed. Not like we plan to sell anything anyway, and we can’t give the city guard a reason to come by and inspect the shop.
After he agreed, a new prompt appeared. It was similar to the others, but like those he had received for Giants’ Hilltop, this one finally came with the heraldry of trumpets.
As the recognized ruler of this territory by all who dwell within it as well as the overall ruler of the territory it resides in, the ambient mana of these grounds is now more responsive to your desires! You have gained the unique bonus of this store, though know that it may change should substantial changes to its purpose and/or mana composition be made. Additionally, all those you designate as staff who remain within this building or its grounds for a substantial period of time now receive the following boon, Malediction Merchants: Negative social effects of convincing someone to make a poor decision are greatly reduced, and have a chance to be reflected on the individual who made it instead.
‘Malediction Merchants’, huh?. Sean liked the sound of that, even if it made him feel like they should be hiding horns or cloven hooves from potential customers.
“Gel, did you see that?” He asked his friend, who was still deep in conversation with the omnomicon about whether adding owlen meat to a dish counted as giving it wings.
“Huh? Did I see wha– oh.” There was a pause as the slime rapidly read through the prompts he himself just had. “Oh! Oh-ho-ho! Talk about an unexpected bonus. We have a lair now! What’s a lair?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. The prompt is a bit different from the one we got for Giants’ Hilltop.”
“I’m as new to this stuff as you are.” Gel admitted, before the both of them turned to stare at the omnomicon.
“What?” The cursed cookbook said, in a tone of utter disinterest. “Do not ask me what a lair is for. I am a repository of culinary knowledge. I can lead you to the most divine tastes you have ever imagined, but if it doesn’t bleed, sear, or slice then I have little interest in it.”
“Fair enough.” Sean said, turning back to the meat-golem he was making and adding the jackalope chunk for its ‘face’. He was still surprised that was actually a thing here, and finding a live one was still on his list of to-dos. If only to get back at his uncle for making him hunt for one so long as a child. When he was done patting the still partially fuzzy meat into place, Sean asked another question.
“It said we now own: ‘the building, its grounds, and the additions below it’. Do you think it means whatever it is that’s locked up in the sewers below this place?”
Sean had occasionally felt the slow yet steady heartbeat of … something below the shop, though despite Gel now having the man’s memories the slime hadn’t had any more information on whatever it was. Either Cultivar hadn’t known about it, or Gel simply hadn’t gotten those memories in the transfer. Sean was betting on the latter.
“Probably!” Gel said with excitement. “Whatever it is, it’s probably delicious. We should try to break in again. See if the lock stands up to our new lair authority.”
“Last time we tried that, you got bored in like… minutes.” Neither Sean nor Gel had been able to do anything to the lock on the sewer grate above the strange heartbeat, despite their best efforts. The slime couldn’t even squeeze through the grate itself, as there was some kind of invisible barrier preventing him from making it through.
“Hey, that crocodile wanted to be eaten and I will not apologize for it!” Gel shot back.
“Uh-huh. I doubt our new ‘lair authority’ is going to let us just command the lock to open.” Sean said, reaching for what looked like one of the final few slabs of meat the recipe called for, a single cut of rare white tiger. “You can’t just order the world around and expect it to move.”
“I wish we could.” Gel sighed. “That would make getting everything we want when we want it so much easier. We’d never have to wait!”
“Speaking of waiting, when are we going to take all those seeds and plants and stuff back to the giants?” Sean nodded his head in the direction of one of the other rooms, where they had been storing materials to bring back to Giants Hilltop whenever they found something that might be useful. There were no actual food supplies in the room yet, both because Sean wasn’t 100% sure how far their funds would go, and because he doubted Gel could resist the temptation if they had an open stockpile nearby. “Those guys looked hungry when we left.”
“As long as we make it back before winter, they should be fine.” Gel said after a moment’s consideration in which Sean was fairly sure the slime was delving back through memories. “There’s still a lot to hunt out there, so we have time.”
“Alright,” Sean acknowledged, before moving on to the next discussion item on his agenda. Golemcrafting apparently made him chatty. Likely because there hadn’t been anything ‘difficult’ about it yet, apart from layering the ridiculous amount of meat they were using in the proper locations. “Where are we on Auntie Ta’s quest? That wardrobe she wanted.”
“The armoire?”
“Yeah.”
“According to the scroll she gave us, we’re supposed to pick it up from some place called ‘The Knotty Bench’.” Gel said, reciting the information as easily as if the slime had read it that morning. “One of Cultivar’s assistants, Margen, knew of a furniture store by that name. It’s in another section of the city we haven’t gone in yet because I have absolutely no memories of food being sold anywhere near it.”
“Alright, let’s put that on the board to handle tomorrow.” Sean said, making an executive decision as he set the last pieces – the long, thick slices of scorpion meat – onto the chained-together metal hooks that were to serve as the construct’s arms. “What about her other request?”
“Haven’t seen anyone wearing those dreadful boots.” Gel shuddered, as if the very thought of the shoes were the same as digesting a heap of salt to him. “I’ve seen a few snakeskin blue high tops, but none had the right hazel accents. One pair even had soft-amber instead, if you can believe it. Amber! With that shade of blue? It was hideous, but if we went after everyone who abused the base principles of fashion in this town we’d have a lot more legs for this golem right now I can promise you that.”
“So, we need to do more active detective work on that front.” Sean said, summarizing. “Make that a tomorrow-thing too, then.”
“Done!” Gel said happily, before the slime’s crimson whip leaned over their work all but trembling in anticipation. “Now, are we ready to finally turn this marvelous morsel into our MOB?”
“Our… mob?” Gel had put a special emphasis on the last word, but Sean wasn’t following.
“Well, it needs a name.” Gel said in what the slime likely believed was a very reasonable tone. “So, I like MOB! Meat Ornamented Behemoth. It’s perfect. ”
“What about Meat-Operated Behemoth?” Sean suggested. “It is running entirely off of meat, after all.”
“It better not run anywhere, not without us.” The slime asserted quickly, before turning to regard the omnomicon. “So how about it, book? The meat’s in place, what’s next? I want to see my future meal move!”
“The next part is simple.” The omnomicon said in a dark, amused tone that fit unreasonably well with its cultured accent. “We already have the seasonings and embellishments, so that will be easy enough. It’s the last step that may prove… tricky. At least for you.”
“‘Tricky’?” Sean echoed, turning to face the book as well. “How so?”
“You have to give it life.” The omnomicon said, and a flicker of… displeasure resonated up through Sean’s left hand at the statement. “Which should be interesting to see you accomplish, geladin.”
“Oh.” Sean said, as a wave of instinctual revulsion rose up from within him at the very idea. It was sudden, and overwhelming. To the point he actually had to fight down a surge of cold, inexplicable rage. Like the omnomicon had just asked him to shoot his own dog. “Hmm.”
“That uh, may be a problem.”
“Hah! It is not true life that you are giving it.” The omnomicon explained, and Sean felt his inner revulsion fade a half degree at its words. “As amusing as it would be to see you try– I can’t tell whether the very idea is more absurd or perverse– the ‘life’ I am referring to is not ‘life’ as you seem to understand it. Constructs, even those of the culinary variety, are formed primarily via an infusion of astral mana blended with that of order. The ratios are quite specific, of course. Here. Observe.”
The omnomicon flipped to the next page, and even curled one of its corners to point directly at a series of what Sean assumed were numbers in a list. Gel had been translating for him, and he had been working on his words and characters, but these may as well have been mud to him.
“I can’t read that.” Sean deadpanned.
“Not to worry, I can!” Gel said, before brightly announcing. “Ooh, yes! We get to go shopping again!”
“What for this time?”
“Ingredients.” The omnomicon said with both dark humor and meaning layered in that single word. The book stared up at him, as if its hunger equaled Gel’s own. “We will need… more.”