Chapter Text
Coyne let out a tired little sigh, sneaking slowly along the road, his eyes firmly fixed on the two travellers heading along the path towards him. The damp crunching of their boots on the stone path leading him through the mist even when he drew far enough ahead that his sharp eyes lost sight of them.
The rain was coming down heavy now, concealing the stealthy rustle of the man's light footsteps on the soft ground. The heavy bout of storms darkening the skies over Yfiria were uncommon for this time of year, a land better known for much more moderate weather. Coyne had heard talk among the people that it was the gods, angry at the world's state of war and decay that had sent the uncharacteristic weather. Coyne himself thought that that this was unlikely. If sending storms was the worst thing the gods had to say in response to the situation, the people should really consider themselves fortunate.
He had been staying ahead of these two men for some time, a pair of merchants, waiting for them to make camp. It was getting late, and he had hoped that they would stop some time before this point so that he could rob them, but they were persistently walking on in defiance of both weather and good sense, and he was getting impatient.
Begging just wasn't doing the job any more.
He sighed a little, running a dirty hand along his side, feeling his ribs, how much they protruded from his flesh. He didn't have long left if he couldn't get just a few more coins.
A silver coin per day.
That was how it had always been.
The price of living for a monster like him. A monster born from the most unfortunate of circumstances; hybridised from a mage under a curse of undying, and a mimic that had taken it upon itself to eat that mage. The curse of undying had taken the two beings to become a new consciousness, neither man nor mimic, and yet both.
It didn't matter in what form the fee was paid. Whether it was twelve copper, one silver, or one gold which could cover six days. Gems, treasures and trinkets were all accepted, valued at 'what a man of reasonable means would pay for them.'
He remembered how the good times had been once, before the war. When he had been healthy and handsome, able to fool arrogant soldiers and drinkers into gambling against him, using his tricks to cheat and win bags of gold. To keep him young, to keep him healthy... to keep him alive.
Those times felt very distant now.
He was a shadow of a man. His skin greying and covered in scrapes, his once handsome face drawn and thin. Once he had possessed a healthy crop of curly auburn hair but now it was thin and the curls loose, badly conditioned. His bony form was clad in ragged brown clothes that had never properly fitted, and time had been most unkind to the harsh material. On his wrists lay two heavy iron bands, studded with smooth, rounded rivets, a souvenir from his mimic side, he could not remove them, as they were as much a part of him as his hands. Sometimes, they felt so heavy he could barely raise his arms, and the worn metal was pockmarked and uncomfortable to wear, showing the same poor condition as the rest of him.
War had torn the land for almost a century, and in its wake, at the hands of foolish men seeking a key to victory, had come disease, a terrible plague that tore the bodies of the dead from their rest and forced them to walk again, doing its bidding. The people of Yfiria, a once prosperous, if divided, land had grown poor, frightened and desperate, with no money to gamble, and less to spare for a skinny beggar such as he had now become. Coyne had quickly learned to be an adept thief, gifted with uncanny speed and the ability to detect gold and valuables from quite some distance through cloth, bags and containers. But finding anyone with anything actually worth stealing was increasingly difficult in these turbulent and dangerous days.
The two men now before the mimic hybrid were traders, and though their wares were basic, and of no immense value, he had heard the clinking of coins in a money pouch like the ringing of a dinner bell. Perhaps enough for another week if he was extremely fortunate.
He continued to move along the track, staying ahead of his target, staying hidden, waiting as darkness fell.
Eventually, their steps slowed on the worn ground, and he heard muttered voices that they should stop for the night. Their cart creaked in objection as they heaved it up onto the slightly more solid mud beside the track, and stopped. There were rustles as they settled in, unrolling bedding beneath the cart, and laying down back to back to rest.
Coyne continued to wait with the patience of a stone.
Only once he heard their breaths thicken with sleep did he move forwards.
He moved slow, maintaining absolute silence, drawing close to them before activating his limited magic, one of the few things inherited from his two part predecessors. One of his green eyes glittered in the darkness, then glowed golden as he used his treasure-seeking spell, glancing over them to spot the coin purse glowing on one man's belt.
He leaned closer, his tongue flicking across his lips as he reached out slowly, and with agonising delicacy, began to work the purse free. He held his breath as he did so, praying that the water dripping from his dark, rain drenched hair, would not fall on the men and wake them.
It must have taken him the best part of ten minutes to loosen the purse, but he was skilled at his art, and used his patience to get his prize safely before stealing away into the night, the object clasped tightly in his hand and rain filling his tracks as he went.
Once he was well away in the trees, he deftly clambered up one, and settled in the branches to tug open the small purse.
Inside was a meagre amount. Seven copper coins, two silver, and a small silver ring set with jade.
Nothing particularly valuable. But better than nothing and certainly worth the trouble.
Moving swiftly, he stuffed the coins into his mouth, swallowing them eagerly, feeling them clink together as they landed against each other in his empty belly.
He held the ring on his tongue for a while, tasting it, rolling it around, adoring the metal's flavour, before finally swallowing it, and settling down to sleep right where he was, wedged in the branches of the tree. That should give him a few more days leeway. He was down to a matter of weeks, so every day he finished with more than he woke up was a major win.
Still.
He was getting worried.
He still had his magic but it had faded to its dregs now. He had to use it sparingly.
If things did not improve soon. The price would be his life.