The Beast Tamer's Unwanted Nursery

The Gathering pack

The silence of the shop was short-lived. Veydran had barely finished sweeping the last of the glass shards into a pile when a sound—a wet, rhythmic slap-thwip—echoed against the front door. He paused, the broom hovering mid-air.

"Did you hear that, Coal?" Veydran muttered, glancing toward the counter.

The dragon tilted its head, its ember-colored eyes narrowing. Another slap-thwip followed, then a dozen more, like rhythmic, gelatinous footsteps pressing against the wood.

Veydran dropped the broom and scurried to the window, peering through the small, dust-streaked gap in his curtains. His jaw dropped. "Oh, you have to be kidding me. Is that a slime migration?"

Outside, the street was cluttered with at least a dozen translucent, blue-hued slimes, all pulsing with a soft, bioluminescent light. They weren't just passing by; they were congregating, their rounded bodies pressing against the storefront as if pulled by a magnetic force.

"Why are they here?" Veydran hissed, turning to the dragon. "I’m an apothecary, not a watering hole for ambulatory puddles!"

Coal let out a trill of amusement, scurrying across the floor to press its nose against the glass. The slimes responded, their bodies flattening into gelatinous pancakes against the pane.

"Great. They're social," Veydran groaned, his hands flying to his hair. "If the neighbors see this, they’ll think I’m running a waste-management facility for the sewers. I need to get them away from the glass before someone calls the watch."

Before he could reach for the latch, a heavy, familiar pounding shook the shop walls. It was the rhythmic, iron-shod cadence he had grown to dread.

"Veydran!" A voice boomed from the street—the unmistakable, gravelly roar of Sergeant Thrain. "Veydran, open up! I’ve got three complaints from the baker next door about strange, glowing blobs blocking his delivery cart. If you’ve got another mana-leak, I’m locking you up for the night!"

Veydran’s blood ran cold. He scrambled toward the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Sergeant! No! No leaks, I swear! It’s just… a delivery error! A shipping mistake!"

"A shipping mistake?" Thrain barked, his voice muffled by the wood. "Open the door, lad! Let’s see what kind of ‘mistake’ glows like a swamp lantern!"

Veydran looked at the slimes, then at the dragon, then at the System interface that had just chimed a frantic, red alert.

[NOTIFICATION: ENVIRONMENTAL INSTABILITY]

[The Abyssal-class presence is drawing local minor magical entities. Containment required.]

"System, give me a solution! I have a grumpy sergeant on one side and a pile of hungry, sticky monsters on the other!" Veydran whispered frantically.

"Veydran! I’m counting to three! One!"

"I’m coming, I’m coming!" Veydran shouted, his fingers dancing over the screen. He selected 'Gravity Anchor' from his minimal inventory. "Just… move aside!"

He pulled the heavy wooden bar from the door, bracing himself as he cracked it open just enough to wedge his shoulder in. Sergeant Thrain stood there, his face flushed with irritation, his hand hovering over his sword hilt. Behind him, the baker was pointing a flour-dusted finger at the cluster of blue slimes currently stuck to the glass.

"Explain," Thrain growled, his eyes darting to the slimes. "What are these things?"

"Uh, they're... experimental cleaning agents!" Veydran offered, his voice cracking. "Bio-luminescent scrubbers! They, uh, they respond to mana-residue, and I’m currently testing them for the Merchant’s Guild. They’re very high-demand!"

Thrain squinted, leaning down to poke one of the slimes with the tip of his scabbard. The creature wobbled, emitting a pleasant, musical chime. "Cleaning agents? They look like oversized jelly-molds, Veydran."

"They're a prototype!" Veydran insisted, his pulse racing. "Very sensitive. If you scare them, they, uh... they liquefy. It makes a terrible mess. I was just about to bring them inside for the evening cycle!"

The baker scoffed, crossing his arms. "They're blocking my alley, boy! My cart can't get through. I’ve got loaves cooling, and I don't need your ‘scrubbers’ melting on my wheels!"

"I'm moving them! Right now!" Veydran grabbed a nearby heavy-duty bucket and, with a desperate flick of his wrist, activated the gravity anchor. A low hum filled the air, and the slimes—feeling the pull—slithered toward the bucket like water being poured into a funnel.

Thrain watched, his brow furrowed. "That’s… that’s a lot of mana for a cleaning tool, Veydran. You sure you’re not messing with stuff you shouldn't be?"

"Guild standards, Sergeant," Veydran said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You know how they are. Always sending me the weird stuff."

Thrain sighed, rubbing his chin. "Keep your 'scrubbers' off the sidewalk. One more complaint, and I don't care how many guilds you’re working for, I’m hauling you in. We’ve got enough trouble with the street-kin lately without you adding to it."

"Of course, Sergeant. Sorry for the trouble!" Veydran backed into the shop, slowly closing the door until he heard the latch click.

He leaned against it, gasping for air. The bucket in his hand was now overflowing with blue, pulsating jelly, and his shop looked like a natural history museum gone wrong.

"Okay," he panted, looking at the ceiling. "We have a dragon, a thunder-wolf, and now a dozen slimes. My shop is six hundred square feet, and it's currently holding enough apex energy to level the city block."

Coal, the dragon, hopped onto the counter and chirped, looking at the slimes with interest.

"No, don't look at them," Veydran snapped. "We need space. Actual, physical space."

He looked at the towering, cramped shelves, then back at the empty, vaulted ceiling. "System, show me structural upgrades."

[CATALOG: HABITAT EXPANSION]

[Vertical Integration Units: 200 Gold]

[Reinforced Hanging Cages: 50 Gold]

"Two hundred gold?" Veydran felt his soul leave his body. "That’s everything I have left from the last sale. If I do this, I’m penniless."

He looked at the slimes, which were already starting to climb the walls, leaving trails of sticky, glowing residue on his expensive parchment stock.

"Fine. Take it. Just give me some room to breathe!"

A sudden, jarring thud echoed through the room. Suddenly, gravity seemed to shift. The ceiling widened, and shimmering, translucent platforms began to materialize, locking into the walls like crystalline shelves. Iron cages, enchanted with floating runes, descended from the rafters.

Veydran scrambled to herd the slimes into the cages, his hands moving with frantic precision. "Up you go. Yes, yes, I know it’s crowded. You’re going to have to learn to share!"

Within minutes, the shop was transformed. It no longer looked like an apothecary; it looked like a vertical terrarium. Coal was perched on a mid-level ledge, Spark was nestled in a hanging cradle, and the slimes were safely tucked into the highest, reinforced glass spheres.

"There," Veydran whispered, dropping onto his stool, his legs trembling. "Horizontal space preserved. Sort of."

The shop was quiet for a moment, the only sound the faint, harmonic buzzing of the creatures above. Veydran stared at the floor, his head resting in his hands. He was exhausted. He was broke. He was, by all logical metrics, failing at life.

Then, the bell chimed.

It was a soft, cultured sound—the chime of someone who didn't knock, but waited to be acknowledged.

Veydran groaned, lifting his head. A man stood at the door, but he wasn't a guard, a researcher, or a merchant. He was draped in fine, dark velvet, his cloak pinned with a brooch shaped like a silver hawk. His posture was impeccable, his face etched with the weary sophistication of someone who had seen too many royal balls.

"Veydran Korralis?" the man asked, his voice smooth and resonant.

Veydran stood up, smoothing his apron, his eyes darting to the overhead habitats. "That’s me. We're currently closed for... inventory adjustments. How can I help you?"

The man stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the rafters, lingering for a heartbeat on the blue glow of the slimes. A thin, knowing smile touched his lips.

"I am Othven Rask," the man said, bowing slightly. "And I have been told that you possess a certain... unique talent for sourcing the difficult."

Veydran’s heart skipped. "I'm just a merchant, Master Rask. What is it you're looking for?"

Rask walked toward the counter, his eyes sharpening. "I am in need of a mount. Not a horse, and certainly not a mule. I need something that can handle the shifting currents of the Borderlands. I heard a rumor that this shop is the place to find creatures that the Guild hasn't even classified yet."

Veydran felt the gaze of the dragon above him. He looked at Rask, the man’s expectations a heavy weight in the air.

"I don't sell mounts," Veydran said, his voice steadying.

"Everything is for sale, Veydran," Rask replied, his tone chillingly soft. "For the right price, of course. I have a long journey ahead of me, and I’m prepared to be very, very generous."

Veydran stood his ground, the silence in the shop growing, filled only by the hum of his newly installed vertical habitats. He was penniless, he was being watched, and he was currently sheltering a collection of entities that would get him executed.

"I think," Veydran said, meeting the noble’s gaze with a hard, unyielding look, "you’ve come to the wrong shop."

Rask didn't leave. He simply smiled, the look in his eyes promising trouble. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve come exactly to the right one."