Everybody Loves Large Chests

Ten ominous and deep gongs reverberated through the streets of Valona, marking the local time as four hours past midnight. It was when most of the city-state’s nosferatu population got off work. With the productive part of their nocturnal routine out of the way, the pale-skinned people typically turned to more leisurely pursuits. Many took to the streets on their way to various venues of entertainment. Some chose to simply enjoy the gloomy weather and long nights that the encroaching winter brought with it by taking a walk. Others gathered to celebrate the end of their shifts in one filthy pub or another. There were also those that chose more high-brow pastimes, like visiting the theater or betting on the bloodhound races.

However, that night held a surprise event for Valona’s citizens. A disturbingly bizarre creature brazenly walked the city streets. Its central mass was as big as a room and shaped like a nightmarish treasure chest. Its maw hung open, showing off its terrifying and chaotic array of mismatched teeth. Spikes of bone and bloodthirsty eyes dotted its frame at random. Its monstrous bulk was supported by six tendrils of disgusting muscle while four more blade-tipped tentacles invaded the space around it. The way its features kept spontaneously rearranging themselves was quite unnerving, but far from the creature’s worst aspect. The abomination practically radiated revulsion and horror. It did so with such intensity that any commoner that beheld its terrible glory was at risk of succumbing to madness as their mind buckled under its oppressive aura.

Thankfully for the nosferatu of Valona, they were already a bunch of lunatics by enlightened standards. They did not feel fear, but awe. They were attracted instead of disgusted, and flocked together in droves rather than scatter in a wild panic. Their warped sense of aesthetics led them to perceive the eldritch abomination as the single most beautiful thing they had ever seen. They looked at Boxxy the same way Boxxy looked at Fizzy’s new frame, including the ‘breathtaking’ part. Men, women, and children alike either wept or fainted from the overwhelming excitement. None of them even seemed to notice the three demons walking alongside the shapeshifter.

The masses were also hesitant to get anywhere near Boxxy and, for the most part, gave it a wide berth of several meters. They did so mostly because they felt unworthy to approach it, but there was some instinctual self-preservation mixed in as well. The few exceptionally unstable individuals that dared invade the abomination’s personal space were instantly decapitated, skewered, bisected, or flattened. Nobody seemed too bothered by these fatalities as those were all magnificent ways to go by nosferatu standards. There were even those that were inspired by the gruesome deaths they had seen. These few would later go on to establish a cult following that would revere the incomprehensibly magnificent creature for generations to come.

As for why Boxxy was passing through Valona, that was because it was following a straight path from the desert towards the mountain where Arisha resided. The city just happened to be in the monster’s way. It could have easily gone around, above, or even below the place, yet it chose not to. There was no grand plan, spiteful malice, or petty revenge that motivated Boxxy’s actions. Quite the opposite was true. The shapeshifter was so dismissive and apathetic towards the nosferatu that crossing through their civilization felt no different from taking a stroll through a forest populated exclusively by baby squirrels.

After stomping its way through the city, and leveling a few buildings in the process, Boxxy continued along its predetermined route. It cut through a forest by cutting down everything in its path and ascended up short the mountain about twenty kilometers northeast of Valona. The sun was already rising by the time it reached the peak and the mansion that resided upon it. It wasted no time with knocking, manners, or other such distractions and approached the impractically tall front doors with the intent of busting them down.

To the shapeshifter’s mild surprise, the estate’s main entrance stood wide open. It passed through without breaking its stride and entered the main hall. Artwork of various kinds decorated the spacious chamber’s tall walls and ceiling while a vibrant red carpet covered most of the marble floor tiles. The decor gave the room a sense of opulence and grandeur one would expect to see in a royal palace. Although, since this was the residence of a true-blooded nosferatu, all of the paintings and sculptures on display were superbly disturbing. Some of the pieces on display were so offensive that even Drea was creeped out by them.

Boxxy didn’t even seem to register the grotesque imagery on display. It only cared about finding Arisha and probing her for answers, but it couldn’t see her. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“Oh, hello Boxxy.”

It could, however, hear her voice echoing through the halls.

“Glad to see you made it back from the Festival,” she called out again. “I’ll be down as soon as I make myself decent, so give me a few minutes.”

The good news was that the nosferata did not have difficulty recognizing the shapeshifter. The bad news was that ‘a few minutes’ seemed an unacceptably long wait.

“Get down here immediately,” the shapeshifter shouted, “or I’m going to turn this interior into an exterior.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get your tentacles in a twist.”

A black, oily substance seeped through the ceiling tiles and fell to the floor in several large globs. The dark ooze formed a small puddle that seemed to absorb all of the lights in the room. The mysterious substance then stood upright and swiftly took on the shape of a person. The liquid shadow peeled back to reveal skin as smooth and white as porcelain. A whole lot of skin, actually. Arisha had just gone to bed when her visitor alarm went off and she hadn’t been given the chance to change out of her sleepwear. The only thing she was wearing was a partly see-through black negligee, its frills decorated with skull-shaped patterns. One of her hands held a glass of blood-red wine and the other was rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“This better be good,” she grumbled. “As much as I enjoy company as entertaining as yours, there’s only so much I’m… willing… to… toler…”

The bloodlord’s words trailed off into a stunned silence as she beheld the eldritch abomination in front of her with her own eyes. She managed to maintain her elegant demeanor and stoic expression, but it was clear she was just as taken aback by Boxxy’s presence as the commoners. What made her fascination obvious was that, after a few moments of total silence, a spray of blood gushed out of her nostrils and stained her pale chest in a splattering of crimson red. Rather than clean up or excuse herself, Arisha’s next move was to give the shapeshifter a thumbs-up while uttering a single word.

“Nice.”

“… What?”

Boxxy’s dumbfounded question subjected the woman to the creature’s dreadful voice and momentarily amplified its panic-inducing presence. Unlike Stain, however, Arisha was a single-minded double-Ranker, and a Level 100 Warlock at that. Someone of her mental and physical fortitude could completely ignore the passive mental assault. She just chose not to, as her nosferatu sensibilities perceived the monster’s voice as oddly charming rather than unsettlingly creepy. It also served to wake her from her awestruck stupor.

“Oh, dear me. It seems I’ve made a bit of a mess,” she finally noticed her explosive nosebleed. “My apologies. It’s been so long since my heart skipped a beat that it, ah, overreacted.”

Arisha made a few wavy hand gestures and every last drop of her spilled blood jumped right back up her nose with a nasty ‘shlorp’ sound.

“There we go,” she smiled, looking refreshed. “Now then, I assume because of your apparent urgency that this isn’t a social call?”

“Indeed. I have come to ask some important and difficult questions of you.”

“Go ahead then. I shall answer as best I can.”

It was the least she could do in exchange for witnessing the creature’s exquisitely grotesque form.

“What is the meaning of life?”

“Well. Depends on who you ask, really.”

The noblewoman responded instantly and casually, as if she had just been asked about the weather.

“I’m asking you,” Boxxy insisted.

“Yes, I noticed, but I’m afraid my answer won’t be to your liking.”

“Try me.”

“I’ve not a clue. There’s no way someone like me would know what the ultimate goal of all life is, or whether it has one in the first place. All I can say for certain is that I maintain my own existence because I do not wish it to end. If I go, all the memories I’ve built up - pleasant or otherwise - would disappear along with me. That is something I absolutely cannot allow.”

“I… see…”

The shapeshifter was rather taken aback. It hadn’t expected anything in particular from Arisha, but that response struck a little too close to home. In retrospect, it seemed as if she had either gone through or, more likely, was still dealing with the exact same issue that was plaguing Boxxy. The nosferatu bloodlord’s general disposition was a mix of gloomy, bored, and tired. It was only when she was drinking or engaging in some sort of game that she looked energetic, and even then that only lasted for a short while. Granted, Boxxy didn’t know her all that well on a personal level, but from what it recalled her default state of being was eerily close to how the abomination’s depression manifested itself. If that was the case, then it was no wonder why her point of view was so similar to that of her monstrous guest.

“Would you mind awfully if I asked something in return?” Arisha spoke up, breaking the awkward silence.

“I guess not,” it consented after another brief pause.

“Why ask me, of all people?”

“You’ve lived long, have seen much. I hoped you had figured something out. If not the whole picture, then maybe part of it.”

“Oh. Oh, my. You flatter me,” she put her hand up to her chest. “I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”

“It’s not just you, though. I got an entire list of beings like you.”

“Do you, now?” she raised an eyebrow. “Mind sharing some of the names on it? I’m quite curious who you consider to be my equal.”

“Might as well. Let’s see. First up were my familiars and their agent, but their point of view was too… immortal.”

“Oh, that’s right. Those three were there.”

Arisha tore her eyes off of Boxxy for the first time since their reunion and glanced at each of its demonic escorts. Kora stood a few steps to the left of her master. She was picking her nose, scratching her neck, yawning widely, and clearly not paying attention to anything being said. Drea, on the other hand, was listening intently. She could not be seen, but Arisha could sense her clinging to the ceiling directly overhead. As for Xera, her attention was split between the conversation and one of the sculptures on display. It was a piece titled ‘The Rapture of Trafalgar’ and depicted a naked nosferatu male that had been impaled ass-to-mouth by a very large barbed spear. The artist responsible for this rendition had been none other than Arisha herself. She had recreated the excruciating moment from memory and in exquisite detail. She wasn’t quite sure what drew the ex-succubus to that particular carving, but looking at her lascivious grin made the noblewoman wish that she never found out.

“After that I tried asking my dryad,” Boxxy continued, drawing the nosferata’s attention once more.

“I think you mentioned her before. Her name was… Amibia?”

“Ambrosia.”

“Quite. Let me guess - she said something about spreading her seeds and whatnot?”

“Yeah.”

“Ugh, those plant types are all the same,” Arisha rolled her eyes. “I hope my name shares more fabulous company than that on your list.”

“Stain was on there, as was the Sage of the Sands. Neither were all that cooperative, though. Oh, I also tried to find Vuzil.”

“Vuzil? As in, the White Death? In the Pearly Dunes?” she asked skeptically.

“Yep.”

“I take it you did not succeed, what with you being un-disintegrated and all.”

“No, I did actually find him. Sort of. Did you know he’s dead?”

“Say what?!” the nosferatu exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah. Has been for over a thousand years. His bones are what created the desert.”

“There’s no way! That’s incredible! Hohohoho!” she laughed haughtily. “So all those furry bastards down there have been living in misery and fear even though the elder isn’t alive?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all year! Serves those savages right! You do know they all reek of urine, right?”

It seemed as though Arisha was about to embark on a long tirade about her prejudices against the beastkin.

“I still haven’t given up on talking to an elder dragon, though.”

Boxxy didn’t particularly want to hear that, so it tried to keep the conversation on topic. Something about the polite and pleasant tone of the noblewoman’s voice made it want to talk things out with her. Though she couldn’t offer any new insights, sharing its troubles with someone that truly understood them was… nice.

“I have one of my minions looking into how I can contact Hadros,” it added.

“Ah…” the nosferata paused for a second. “I trust you realize that-”

“It’s a bad idea, yes, but I don’t have a lot of options.”

“But you do have other options, yes?” she inquired.

“Yeah. I can also track down whoever is running the Phantom Auction.”

“No, you don’t want to do that,” Arisha shook her head. “Trust me, you’re wasting your time. All those people care about is making money. Any big questions you ask them are gonna be about that.”

“You have a point there.”

“Who else is on your fantastic itinerary?”

“Uh, not much beyond that, actually. Just the exiled dwarven king and the Boneshaper for now.”

“Oh, him? He’s great fun. Magnificent sense of humor, and surprisingly good drinking company. You’d never think he’s like that, given his reputation.”

“Who? The exiled king?” Boxxy asked dubiously.

“No, Geigar. The Boneshaper.”

“He has a name? And, you’ve met him?”

“Of course.”

“How, though?”

“All of us old ones get to know each other eventually. Live long enough, and you’ll cross paths with all kinds of exceptional individuals, and not always by choice. The world’s not big enough to house all of us without our egos clashing.”

“So I’ve noticed,” the monster agreed. “What’s he like, though? The Boneshaper?”

Boxxy had heard much of the lord of the Blighted Lands. He was known to be a brilliant strategist and tactician, a ruthless conqueror, and was assumed to be immensely powerful on a personal level. However, very little was known about the man behind the myth. Even his appearance was a mystery. If the shapeshifter was going to converse with the enigmatic figure about important topics, it needed more information about him.

“Hmm… Actually, I can’t really say,” Arisha looked down at her glass. “Geigar was a huge goofball when we last spoke, but that was before the whole Percepeia thing happened. I honestly thought he wouldn’t go through with it, that he didn’t have it in him. ‘He’s too kind-hearted,’ I thought. Then again, perhaps that’s exactly why he was able to bring himself to subjugate the giants.”

“Hold on, kind-hearted?” Boxxy interjected. “Are you sure we’re still talking about the Boneshaper? The one who slaughtered an entire civilization and turned their home into a lifeless wasteland?”

“Oh, yes. He had to do- Has done terrible things. I’m sure it tore him up inside, but the destruction of Percepeia was necessary if the world was to survive. Many say they’ll live or die for a cause, but how many are willing to sacrifice their own soul and an entire nation for theirs?”

“Were the Percepeians planning an invasion or something?”

“What, those jolly softies? Not a chance,” Arisha scoffed. “They were too busy going blind from all that sun-staring and star-gazing to be a threat to anything but the closest beer keg.”

The few giants Boxxy had encountered certainly seemed to fit that stereotype.

“That was precisely the issue, though,” the nosferata continued, her tone grave. “From what Geigar told me, the giants’ obsessive study of the cosmos had attracted something from the void - a race of voracious bug-like creatures from another world. Voidlings, he called them. They would arrive on Percepeia aboard a massive meteorite, its insides filled to the brim with their number like a mountain-sized egg. If not for Geigar preparing the continent for them, they would have multiplied out of control and swarmed over the entire world until it was picked clean of all life.”

“And you believed him?”

“Of course not. A ridiculous story like that? There’s no way it could be true. Or so I thought, until I saw them for myself.”

“You did? When? And how?” Boxxy demanded.

“Oh… About… eighty years ago? Eighty-five? Somewhere around then. I decided to pay Geigar a visit, you see. Wasn’t going to stop him or anything, I just had nothing better to do and wanted to see whether he was as delusional as he sounded.”

Arisha paused to take a sip of her wine before continuing the story.

“He didn’t meet me in person, but he had one of his minions show me around in his stead. He was some bland, forgettable dullard. I think his name was All-star or something. Anyway, he took me to a tremendous crater at the heart of the continent. There, buried underneath the thickest cloud of Blight the world has ever known, I saw the voidling egg. I felt the countless lives within, and the bizarre blood that ran through them. They were dormant, and likely still are to this day.”

“Dormant? As in, not dead? And not undead?”

“Indeed. Those aliens do not abide by the laws of our world and are incredibly resistant to the magic here. Even the undead plague cannot destroy them, only weaken them.”

“Can’t this Geigar just, y’know, kill them while they can’t fight back?”

“I’m sure he tried, but it’s not that simple,” she shook her head. “Those things have wrapped themselves up in an impenetrable cocoon of crystals. I tried my hand at cracking it, but could not make so much as a scratch no matter how hard I hit it.”

“So are they all just hibernating until the Blight clears?”

“That seems to be the case, yes.”

“Then what’s the Boneshaper’s endgame?” Boxxy asked the big question. “Please don’t tell me he thinks he can keep them there forever when all of civilization considers him a threat.”

“I cannot say for certain. My best guess is that Geigar hopes that a force powerful enough to dislodge him from his throne of corpses will be able to defeat the voidlings for good once they get loose.”

Boxxy fell silent as it digested this information. Part of it wanted to just disregard the whole conversation as an elaborate ruse by Arisha to mess with it. However, she wasn’t the type to spread misinformation of that magnitude. It wasn’t that Boxxy trusted her, but it couldn’t see what she would gain from this deception. It was also possible that, even though the bloodlord sounded sincere, she had been misled by the Boneshaper. He was cunning, resourceful, and ruthless enough to lay claim to an entire continent, so he was surely capable of spinning a plausible tale to excuse his actions.

Actually, now that the shapeshifter was thinking about it-

“Why are you telling me all this so freely?”

“Who knows?” Arisha showed a melancholic smile. “I suppose I just felt like sharing one of the many terrible secrets I have chosen to live with.”

And now Boxxy also had to bear the burden of that knowledge. The thought that some alien super-bugs could randomly show up and devour it along with all of its shinies was not a pleasant one. Worst of all, the shapeshifter might’ve inadvertently caused that outcome to occur sooner rather than later. The Steel Crusade that was going on halfway across the world at that very moment would not have been possible if Boxxy hadn’t sold that golem transformation device to Orrin. It briefly considered whether it was better to sabotage the endeavor to maintain the status quo or to join up and do its part to ensure the survival of its world, and by extension itself.

Its disturbed mind then immediately jumped to the conclusion that what it did had no actual meaning or impact since the world would end eventually, regardless of Boxxy’s interference.

“How is this supposed to help my depression?” it grumbled aloud.

“Ah!” Arisha gasped lightly, then bowed her head. “I apologize, that was thoughtless of me. It did not occur to me that that was what you were dealing with.”

“Hrn… It’s fine. Even if it feels bad, I prefer to be aware and prepared than to die in ignorance.”

“I see. No wonder you’ve survived so much,” she chuckled lightly. “I am curious though, in what way would questioning all of us living relics make you feel better?”

“Well, if I knew the purpose of life - my life, specifically - I can stop obsessing over it and get on with actually living.”

“Why are you obsessing over something like that, though?”

“That’s just how my mind works, I guess. I need to see this through or I’ll never stop feeling terrible.”

“What is it you feel terrible about?”

The shapeshifter wasn’t expecting to be questioned in turn. It had to pause for a few moments while it formulated its thoughts and emotions into words.

“It’s the unbearable feeling of futility, that nothing I accomplish will matter in the grand scheme of things. That nothing of me will remain. That, no matter how long I am here for, I’ll always be infinitely small in the face of eternity.”

“Ah. Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” the bloodlord said with a sight. “I, too, have been forced to confront my own insignificance as well. Many times, in fact. But tell me, what happens if you do manage to get an answer to your big question?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that tomorrow you learn that the purpose of life is to invent a machine of some kind. The universe didn’t know how to make it, so it created us to figure it out in its stead. What would you do with that knowledge?”

“I… Uh…” Boxxy hesitated.

“Haven’t thought that far?”

“Y-yeah.”

“So then, how can you be certain that uncovering this great mystery will bring you happiness?”

“I… I’m not. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I don’t know what else I could do. Doing something has to be better than doing nothing, you know?”

“Even if that ‘something’ has you take incredibly stupid risks that might not pan out.”

“Even then, yes.”

“Alright, I think I understand,” Arisha nodded sagely. “I can’t say I agree with your decisions, but I get where you’re coming from. In fact, I’ll do you one better than simple sympathy. If you’re willing, I can introduce you to someone who just might be able to help you.”

“Oh? And who would that be?” Boxxy asked, clearly intrigued.

“My good friend, Botty.”

“Who or what is Botty?”

“Why, it’s ‘Whoever Resides at the Bottom of the Bottle,’ of course.”

As she said that, the scantily-clad beauty conjured a silver bottle of her tantalizingly tasty Ethereal Vintage, which hovered gently in the air next to her.

“In other words, let’s get completely wasted!” she merrily suggested.

It wasn’t as if Boxxy was opposed to the idea of sampling that divinely delicious beverage again, but it failed to understand something.

“How is that supposed to help me, exactly?” it asked pointedly.

“What, you’ve never been black-out drunk before?” Arisha raised an eyebrow.

“No… Actually, yes. There was that one time,” the abomination recalled. “It happened after I tried a magical drink called Thunderbrew Prime Ale.”

The alcoholic beverage in question was laced with the elemental energy of lightning, every shapeshifter’s Bane. This special flavor allowed it to cut right through Boxxy’s considerable fortitude in a way that affected it much more severely than anything else could, even Arisha’s Ethereal Vintage. The monster knew nothing of what exactly it had done while intoxicated, but it vividly remembered the chaotic aftermath. It hadn’t touched the stuff since then because it hated not being in complete control of its own actions.

“Hmm, that’s dwarven stuff, right?” Arisha tapped her chin in thought. “I believe I have some of it in the cellar.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yes. I’m quite certain it’s down there. Three whole kegs, maybe even four.”

“I thought ale wasn’t your thing.”

Boxxy couldn’t help but feel somewhat suspicious of the convenient coincidence.

“It isn’t, but I like to be prepared. I never quite know what guest will drop by at any given time, and I would be a poor host if I couldn’t offer them their libation of choice. As such, I have a rather extensive variety of alcohol on standby.”

For instance, she had a crate full of gnomish vodka in case a merchant buddy of hers popped in even though Arisha personally found that stuff to be a disgusting abomination that should never have existed. One might think that would make it delectable instead, but a nosferatu’s backwards sense of aesthetics didn’t extend to their taste buds.

“Makes sense, I suppose,” the abomination conceded. “I still don’t see how inebriation is supposed to help me unlock the secrets of the universe.”

“Ah, that part’s simple. If you’re trying to look at life from various perspectives, you should absolutely consider Botty’s point of view. You would not believe what wisdom you’ll unleash when you’re smashed out of your gourd.”

“Huh…”

Boxxy seriously considered her suggestion despite its familiars’ telepathic protests. Though the nosferata had spoken in jest, her words had some truth to them. Some individuals turned into completely different people while under the influence, and Boxxy was one such case. Though it doubted whether Drunk-Boxxy was capable of figuring out some intrinsic truth about the state of being, there was a non-zero chance it could do so. It was also worth considering that the Thunderbrew Prime Ale might not have as pronounced an effect on it, given how much the shapeshifter had grown since it last tried it.

“So, what do you say? Care to have a drink with this old lady?” Arisha winked playfully.

“Sure, let’s have a crack at it,” it finally agreed.

If nothing else, getting completely drunk seemed like it would be significantly less self-destructive than chasing after an elder dragon.