The great wheel spun, spitting off golden sparks. I watched as it rolled to a halt, resolving from a blur into a stone wheel carved with alcoved segments. When it finally clicked stopped, a statue of a pigheaded god stood before me, holding a treasure chest rich with gold and jewels.

The statue had actually animated and taken a step forward before the whole wheel lurched, and suddenly turned so that another segment faced me. This one was shabby, a faceless statue with a plain wooden box.

So it was safe to say the gods were still mad at me.

The statue set the box down at my feet. With a satisfying click the lid swung open. Within was a small, furry creature with long claws and a face like a white mask. A sloth. The gods had given me a sloth for my prize.

I was thinking some very interesting blasphemies as the void and the wheel faded out.

[https://i.imgur.com/okCjs7y.png]

Morghul sat uncomfortably in the little temple, an owl perched atop his head. There were owls everywhere. Small, large, spotty, white-faced, every kind of owl was hopping among the pews, most of them sneaking tidbits of food from the crowd. The one sitting atop Morghul’s mane of greying hair was thankfully a small one, a little round ball of snowy floof.

“Morghul!” He was tackled suddenly from behind, dainty arms the color of coffee wrapping around his shoulders. Sky blue tattoos in a mysterious picture-script wound up from her wrists to her elbows.

“Aye, girl. S’been too long.” Reaching up the dwarf patted his favorite priestess on the head. She was barely taller than him, with dark hair cut in a bowl around her hidden face; even he’d never seen her without the owl mask of she wore.

“So?” She asked. “What is it this time? You never stop by unless it's business.”

“I guess I don’t. This time, it’s a Dungeon. Right beneath the city I’m hearing, and it was bound at one point, so it might be the sort that holds a grudge.”

“Mhm.” To his surprise, Strix only nodded. “My owls told me something like that. I’ll be ready to go in the morning.”

“How do they know so much, Strix? I’ve never understood.” Morghul raised a finger to pet the little owl on his head, smoothing over the soft feathers around its neck. It pecked him.

“Oh Morghul, it’s not about what you know, it’s about who you know.”

[https://i.imgur.com/okCjs7y.png]

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The sloth happily played with its toes as I got down to serious business. Aurum had refused the emerald Shard, and I wasn’t going to give it to this ridiculous creature, which left me with few choices. I would have to make a new creation to carry the Shard.

At first was I was envisioning an altered viper, possibly two-headed or with a scorpion’s sting; then an even better idea came to me.

I shaped a man out of earth and mud, a crude golem with club-feet and enormous, four-fingered mittens for hands, a shapeless blob of dirt for a faceless head. Izzis was my hands. He pressed the gem into the center of the dirtman’s skull like a cyclopean green eye and scurried back.

Nothing happened.

I poured energy into him now, pushing four threads of purest Mana into the earthen statue, one through each limb. They connected together at the gem, a circulatory system for crude energies. With a jolt and a shudder the dirtman came to life and took a step forward.

He left half his foot on the ground.

I winced, pushing more Mana into him, into the stuff of his body. I altered him to be more elastic, better glued together, altering his flesh to something between clay and stone that was pliable enough to make some clumsy shuffling motions but still tough enough not to crumble apart with each step. When that proved to still leave him somewhat crumbly, I hit upon a stroke of genius. I planted fungus on his back, shelves of broad mushrooms the color of teak, and drew their roots through the whole of his body, anchoring his muddy flesh together to keep him from falling apart.

In the end, I had made a very simple golem, a man-shaped clod of earth covered by colorful displays of spore and fungi. I named him Adamant.

And as I did, a wave of exhaustion hit me.

[ Minor Fungal Golem (Flawed Core of Jewels) ]

Born of mud and tangling roots, this golem is slightly sturdier thanks to the colonies of fungus that live in symbiosis. Having been given a Shard, it boasts a small understanding of the world around it, with the potential to grow and learn.

Attempt to create a Name has failed.

You lack the Arcana to maintain more than two Names.

[https://i.imgur.com/okCjs7y.png]

Adamant, dammit. Adamant Adamant Adamant. I would name him, even if the gods wouldn’t acknowledge it, and I spitefully chanted the name as the brief dizzy spell wore off.

I had the option of taking this new golem type as a Schema. I considered, but in the end dismissed the idea. Without the ability to control them directly they simply wouldn’t be very useful. The mind I felt through my link with Adamant was murky, muddy. He had the kind of thoughts you’d imagine a particularly intelligent stone having; he mostly remarked on how pretty the gardens were.

So at least he had taste.

I had a few other options. The centipedes that guarded my Sanctum had spent days being steadily empowered by its Blessing, becoming more and more poisonous. I could make them larger and more deadly yet. Or I could take a shot at making a more intelligent rat for Argent to lead into battle.

But no, I had a perfect idea for how to use that Schema Slot.

The sloth glanced up from lazily picking moss from its fur, perhaps sensing my plans. I could have chuckled.