The canteen of the Necro Market pulsed with life. Smoke and spice from roasted ats drifted across polished stone floors, mixing with the sharp tang of iced fruit juices. Froststone vents hissed softly overhead, spreading cold air through the wide hall. Skeleton waiters in pressed suits, masks, and gloves glided through the crowd with trays stacked high, bowing with uncanny precision at each order. At the center lounge, under the shadow of a great marble pillar, four kobolds sprawled on a bench, their tails twitching as they sipped their drinks.
The biggest leaned back, letting the cold air brush over his ears. "By the dirt, this breeze is cleaner than mountain wind. My scales feel like they’ve never known sweat."
His friend across from him waved a claw lazily. "Back in the swamp, I’d have to dig a ditch just to cool my belly. Here? I sit like a noble and the wind serves ."
The smallest clutched his iced juice like a treasure, slurping the frozen chunks. "Cold water! In a cup! And sweetened too. If my mother saw this, she’d faint dead away."
They laughed, until one nudged the smallest. "Hey, look there—by the entrance."
Two kobolds in vests and bow ties stood at the doors, greeting guests with bright smiles. They bowed to a foxkin family as they walked in, children tugging at their tails.
"Our kin are working here," the biggest whispered. "Serving drinks, greeting guests."
"You think the master’s hiring more living folk?" the smallest asked, eyes wide.
"Bah," another scoffed. "Who needs workers that get tired? Skeletons don’t eat, don’t sleep, don’t even scratch themselves. Those two must be special cases."
"Still," the biggest mused, "better to wear a suit than plow mud all day. Look at ’em—shiny coats, clean paws, and air that never stops flowing."
As they muttered, the smallest spotted a sheet pinned to the marble pillar behind them. It glead pale under the lamplight, smoother than parchnt, thinner than any hide.
"What’s this then? Not parchnt. Too thin. Too smooth."
The four crowded around as he read the neat black letters:
—————————————————————————————-
Notice: Necro Market will close tomorrow for five days of renovations.Reopening will include:
Three additional floors carved downward, tripling available space.
Expanded rchant stalls for rent.
Guest room accommodations for travelers.
New product lines, including:
Ebonhide Atelier – luxury suits, leather shoes, handbags, coats, and wallets. Motto: "Dress for power, walk with dominance."
Threadbare Charm – affordable but stylish clothing for all ages. Motto: "Clothing for every back."
Entertainnt halls for music, plays, and family gatherings.
A licensed gambling quarter with secured table
——————————————————————————————————-
The kobolds’ jaws dropped.
"Three more floors?" one squeaked. "It’s already bigger than my whole swamp."
"And guest rooms!" another barked. "Imagine sleeping here instead of sweating in a hut."
"Luxury clothing..." the smallest whispered. "Ebonhide Atelier. Suits, coats, fine shoes. Do you think they’d make so in kobold size?"
The bigger one slapped his tail against the bench. "Ha! You’d need more than your life savings for one boot. Threadbare Charm’s more our speed—cheap shirts that don’t fall apart after two washes."
They all laughed, tails wagging against the stone.
From the next table, a foxkin rchant leaned back with a sly grin. "Luxury brands in a dungeon. Ha! Only Karl would turn the undead into tailors."
His wife shushed him, smoothing her daughter’s fur. "Don’t joke. If they do sell dresses at Threadbare Charm, I’ll never bother with Hearthglen markets again."
Across the lounge, a ramari trader in a wool vest muttered to his companion, "Guest rooms? That ans caravans can stop here for the night. Safer than the open road. The rent stalls alone will pay for themselves."
His companion nodded eagerly. "And gambling? The nobles will swarm. Where gold flows, so does trade."
A lupen warrior walking past snorted loud enough for all to hear. "Halls for gas, halls for plays. Might as well turn this into a city."
An ursarok sitting with his family rumbled deep in his chest. "Better a city of coin than a fortress of bones. At least here, the food is hot."
The kobolds shared wide-eyed looks, buzzing with excitent. "Guest rooms... gambling halls... clothing for us poor folk."
The smallest squeaked, "This isn’t just a market anymore. It’s turning into a kingdom."
Just then a fifth kobold appeared, carrying a sack of leftovers. He caught them gawking at the notice and smirked. "You dolts just now noticed? It’s been posted all day."
"Five days closed is too long!" one of the seated kobolds moaned. "What am I supposed to eat? Swamp jerky?"
Another clutched his burger like a newborn. "I can’t go back. Not after this."
The newcor barked a laugh. "Then enjoy it while it lasts. Tomorrow you’re peasants again."
Their groans turned into laughter, and their laughter mixed with the chatter of foxkin, ramari, lupen, and ursarok around the canteen. The kobolds were still chattering about the notice when a slurred voice rose from across the canteen.
"Oi!" A lupen staggered up from his seat, tankard sloshing foam onto the floor. His armor clinked beneath his tunic as he waved the mug in the air. "This place sells juice, sells at, sells sweet water... but no ale? No beer? I won’t stop until you bring in barrels!"
Heads turned. So custors snickered, others groaned, clearly used to the scene.
The four kobolds leaned toward each other. One whispered, "You think they’ll allow that? A drunk wolf shouting in the master’s hall?"
The newcor smirked and settled on the bench beside them. "Just watch."
Two skeleton guards in suits and ties glided from the side hall, each holding a polished baton. They walked calmly, not rushing, their masked faces giving nothing away.
The lupen spotted them and barked a laugh. "Ah, my old friends! You think you can toss out this ti? Ha! I’ve got iron under this shirt." He thumped his forearm, showing a glint of tal armor hidden beneath.
One of the skeletons swung lightly. The baton made a sounding thump against the iron plate, and the lupen roared with laughter, chugging the last of his ale. "See? You can’t touch !"
The skeleton tilted its head, then pressed a stud on the baton’s hilt. Blue sparks snapped across the lupen’s body. He yelped, spasd, and dropped to the floor, twitching and foaming while the tankard rolled away.
The entire canteen erupted in laughter and applause.
The kobolds stared, wide-eyed. "Is he... still alive?"
The newcor chuckled. "Alive, aye. He’s done it a dozen tis. He drinks, he protests, they shock him, and he cos back again next week. Custors love it. Folk even buy him drinks just to see it happen."
The kobolds blinked at each other, then burst into laughter themselves. The sight of the lupen being dragged out, twitching and groaning, left them slapping their tails against the bench.
"Only in this place," one gasped between laughs.
"Only in the Necro Market," another agreed.
And so the canteen carried on, food steaming, drinks flowing, and the skeleton staff bowing politely as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
Far above the bustle of the canteen, the 10th Floor of the Necro Market stretched silent and vast. Ninety-seven stone tombs lay in ordered rows, carved from smooth slate-grey rock. There were no skulls or carved bones here — only clean lines, sharp corners, and faint alien symbols etched into the lids. The air was cold, heavy, and without sll.
Karl walked between the tombs, his footsteps echoing softly. His hand skimd over one lid as he spoke. "Strange, isn’t it? We clawed our way out of graves once, and now we’re crawling back in. Skeletons returning to coffins. Irony at its finest." He tapped the slab with a bony knuckle. "Except this ti, it’s not an ending. Just a transition. A nap before evolution."
Leo followed a respectful step behind, his arms folded neatly. His voice was calm, deferential. "If I may, my lord, it resembles what the eastern monks speak of. Rebirth. They claim life is a wheel, one body feeding into the next. You... have simply accelerated the process."
Karl tilted his skull slightly. "Trust you to turn it into philosophy, Leo."
"I only repeat what I’ve heard," Leo said softly, lowering his head in acknowledgnt. "Your vision is what makes it truth."
Rolling along beside them, Eddie’s fra whirred. His screen flashed with a grinning face. "Don’t worry, boss! ( ^▽^ ) While you nap in these fancy boxes, we’ll guard the place. Nobody’s breaking in here."
He gestured toward the far end of the chamber. The Cerberus units stood still in the gloom, each sixty feet tall, plated in dull silver, their triple heads held high. They breathed in unison, tails sweeping slowly against the floor. Passive, yet dreadful to behold.
Karl gave a rasping chuckle. "Comforting, in its own way. Still, I’ll miss the clean look of ribs. White bone has a certain charm. These new vessels will feel almost... ordinary."
Leo inclined his head. "If it pleases you, my lord, you may miss them. But strength, not shape, determines fear. The new forms will serve you better."
Karl tapped his jawbone, then shifted the subject. "What of Libera?"
Leo’s tone grew even more formal. "The assassin reports that the orc brothers have not been received well. The tribe they approached treats them as Bloodtusk raiders. They are camping outside the village, waiting. He watches over them from a distance, per your order."
Karl’s sockets narrowed. "And why exactly are they camping instead of leading?"
"Because, my lord, they refuse to force their hand," Leo explained patiently. "Simon waits for the villagers to co willingly. He offers supplies but does not press them. anwhile, the tribe suffers. Food grows scarce. Argunts spread. So demand help. Others cling to pride. It is dividing them into factions."
Karl let out a low hiss. "If Simon steps in, they’ll hate him. If he waits, they’ll starve and bla him. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t."
"Yes, my lord," Leo said simply.
Karl flicked his hand. "And you ask if we should intervene?"
Leo bowed his head. "I ask only your will."
"No," Karl snapped. "This is their problem. Simon placed the food before them. If they choke on pride, let them. Sotis asking for help isn’t weakness. Sotis it’s wisdom. Pride breeds selfishness. If the brothers want to lead, this is their test."
"As you say, my lord," Leo answered, his tone flat with obedience.
Karl’s gaze lingered on the tombs, then he clapped his hands once. The sound cracked through the still chamber. "Enough of that. Numbers. How many flintlocks in the last four days?"
"Fifty-six, my lord."
Karl’s skull tilted in satisfaction. "Not bad. The beginning of sothing greater."
He turned again, sockets narrowing. "What about Rook’s side? The kobolds in the dark forest?"
Leo’s face tightened. "Illness, my lord. The sulfur smog is worse than expected. Shortness of breath, coughing, wheezing. Cases may grow into asthma, bronchitis, or worse."
Karl’s voice dropped. "Not good. Tell Orkesh and the living employees — remind their kin that the dark forest is poison. We’ll relocate them. Houses, walls, safety near the market. We’ll grow a village. Then a town."
He spread his arms wide, sockets burning bright. "A city born in my shadow. And I’ll call it... New Las Vegas!"
His laughter thundered through the chamber, bouncing off the plain stone walls. The Cerberus units shifted, their heads swiveling at the sound. Eddie’s screen blinked with laughing eyes. "Hahaha! (≧▽≦) The boss and his nas! Always gold!"
Leo bowed deeply, his voice steady. "As brilliant as ever, my lord."
Karl laughed again, sharp and wild, as the tombs stood silent around him, waiting for the dead to climb back in.
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