Mimic

I never knew exactly why he took me out of that dungeon. There was more gold to be grabbed, more jewels to steal, but he took me. A chair. I think he wanted a memento; he never went on another adventure after that, instead opting to use the riches from his adventuring to build this cosy little tavern with me as a prized seat for guests of honour. The chair from his final grand exploit. A relic of his old life.

I could've eaten him of course. Would have been easy. He had no idea I was a mimic. Spent much of the travels on his back, near him when he slept, all exceedingly vulnerable times when I could have struck. But... to see the outside world after so long? See how much has changed over the centuries? Weighed against a single meal, the choice was clear. And with that, I was just a chair in a tavern.

And it's incredible.

I had no idea how much I was missing stuck in that dusty old castle. There is so much to be experienced, to be seen! I have seen people of races, shapes and colours I never dared imagine. I've learned languages I would have once thought to be simple noise. I've heard tales of love lost and triumph earned. This tavern teems with life, with variety, and I'd not give it up for anything.

Oh and the food! I never hurt a hair on the patrons, but... sometimes they rest a meal on me for a moment or some scraps fall off the table. You might think it undignified, but compared to eating rats and men alike in a dungeon? I was eating like a king, both in variety and in style. There are these little things made of flour and eggs - dumplings I believe - that are simply to die for.

And so I have lived for 33 outstanding years.

But, well, trouble had to come a' knocking at some point. This time in the form of 3 low-life scum who thought the jolly tavern of an old man would make an easy target. They broke the window with a club and poured in, stinking of manure and ill-intentions. Before too long they started pocketing anything that seemed of value. Silverware, glass cups, bottles of spirit... it reminded me of the many so-called 'heroes' I've met back in my day. I could have tolerated it, perhaps, had Eleanor - his wife - not come down to investigate the noise.

"Hey! Who ar-"

She barely got three words out before one of them smacked her across the head with the club he'd been carrying, knocking her to the ground. And with that, my patience was out.

I was rusty. Had not been in a fight for 33 years. But these ingrates might as well have been sheep. The crunching of their bones, the blood splatters on the wall, the screams of pure unbridled terror... brought back memories. Not all good. But... with a past like mine? You're gonna carry that weight.

The adventurer - well, I don't think he'd call himself that anymore with his grey hair and wrinkled face - rushed in with his sword drawn, just seconds too late to see me. He was shockingly spry for a man of his age. Old habits die hard, don't they, old friend? He inspected the room with an experienced eye, noting the blood and body parts but seeing his wife, forgot all of that and rushed to her aid.

"El!" he yelled. "Are you alright?"

She sat up clutching her forehead. "Oh... dammit. The sucker blindsided me," she said and pulled her hand away. There was a fair amount of blood on it.

"Gods, you're bleeding. Here, let me-"

And to both mine and his surprise, she laughed. "Oh come on," she said. "This? This is nothing. I may be old but I'm not decrepit, Mikah. Remember that troll in Lower Durth? Now that was an injury."

He chuckled and helped her sit on a nearby chair. "My... you did a number on them," she said and gestured towards the carnage in the tavern. "Haven't changed one bit," she smiled.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and walked forward, inspecting the bodies, blood, the pattern of their injuries... all leading back to me. A tooth fell off of me with a soft tap on the wooden floor. He approached me cautiously; I felt the heat radiating from his sword, the silver lining threatening a terrible pain should it fall upon me.

And when he got too close, I slipped. I creaked. He gripped his sword tighter but then... relaxed. He looked at the bodies of the brigands and then at his wife - alive and mostly well. His face shifted and cycled through several different emotions before his eyes softened and he sheathed his sword, returning to his wife.

"Come," he said. "Let's get that cleaned up."

"Who were they anyway?" she asked. "Thieves?"

"Think so."

"Heh," she chuckled. "Maybe they were after your 'famous' special chair."

"You know," he said and turned towards me briefly with a smile, "after all this time, I see it more as... an old friend."