Mimickyn

Not so innocent chests!

AN ANGRY DRAGON

Finkri'ilar returned carrying a wagon filled with his treasures. The band of thieves, claiming to represent some paultry ruler whose domain this supposedly was in charred dead heaps. He could not leave his lair for a good hunt or spend time with the lovely Styra'flaym without these.... these VERMIN crawling in and pilfering his trove. It was more than time he did something about them, once and for all.

— Xerchan's History of Dragons

Finkri'ilar tried traps but they caught all the thieves and the vermin would eventually figure them out and avoid or disable them. What he needed was a trap that could move when it needed to, hide its true nature, and lure the vermin in close to trigger it. For over a century he experimented with all sort of magics and materials until one day he finally did it! He made the first mimic.
Setting this new trap, the dragon pretended to leave his lair then crept back in the dead of night to hide and wait. Four days later, a small force with a wagon arrived. They, of course, ran up to the chest all eager to see what was hidden inside. Suddenly, it snapped open and a tongue lashed out at the nearest thief. Wrapped by the slathering apppendage, the vermin failed to escape before being hauled to the toothy maw. In a moment, the thief was devoured. The mimic belched, chuckled toothily at the remaining thieves and coiled its tongue to ready another attack. The remaining thieves fled the lair.
Delighted his new trap worked so well, Finkri'ilar set about making more. The crafting of each took years so it was another one hundred years before he made enough for him to feel confident his trove was safe. Finally, he could rest.

OLD FLAME

Styra'flaym came by, waking him from his twenty year nap to let him know she would be laying their eggs soon so he needed to tend to her. Finkri'ilar offered the safety of his lair to which she flung up her snout. Where were his hatching rookery chambers? Did he spend the last two hundred years digging them to perfection? Having no satisfactory answer, he left his lair in the protection of his mimics and left to tend to Styra'flaym in hers.
During his visit, he made more mimics for her lair, both to protect her trove as well as their dragonlings. Another hundred years passed and he finished crafting the mimics. She thanked him then made him leave. The dragonlings were more than half grown and capable of defending themselves well with no need for both parents to protect them.

MIMICKYN

Finkri'ilar returned to his lair. His trove was still there and, feeling well pleased, he rolled in his riches letting the coins polish his scales. He was about to curl up for a nap when something caught his eye. There were dozens of.... coffer mimics sitting about beside the bigger chest mimics. Muffled squeaks came from a corner. Going over to investigate, he found a tiny mound of coins shaped into a nest. Four tiny trinket boxes sat within it. One of them opened in a squeaky little yawn and Finkri'ilar sucked in a breath. Baby mimics? His mimics could reproduce? How was that even pos-
The dragon looked about his trove carvern, studying every mimic. There were twice as many chests than he had made and one of then was bigger than the others. It was the size of a crate and perched near his finest collection of jewels. It looks like the first one he had made except .... an ornament adorned its lid. An ornament shaped like a crown!

He went to that first mimic. It opened up with a toothy smile.
"Hellooos, bosss."
"Since when can you speak?"
"The thieves speak so much and I learned." It pointed its tongue to Finkri'ilar's library chamber. "I reads, too."
"Just who do you think you are?"

The dragon demanded as his mind raced.
"I am Nimrot, King of Mimickyn. I makes more of us."
"How?"
The great chest reached into itself and took out a tome filled will the dragon's notes on making mimics.
"I fixed its so we all makes more."

For decades, Finkri'ilar found lairs and dungeons all around Pangorio for his mimickyn. Eventually such travels became too much and he retired into his lair. By the time the old age took the dragon, none but the mimickyn knew where his lair stood.
Nowadays, Nimrot rules the mimickyn from with the old lair, a place kept secret and sacred to all their kind. Brave mimics have slowly begun to wander the world to explore, learn, and devour ill-fated thieves.

by BLASfemia8145

An adult mimic is shaped like a chest and stands about 2.5 feet tall (76.2 cm), 2 feet wide (61 cm), and 3 feet long (91.4 cm) and weighs about 50 pounds (22.7 kg).
A rare few get much bigger but only after having lived about 300 years.
How they reproduce is unknown though it is known that they do. Juveniles are the size of small coffers. The youngest begin life as mere trinket boxes.
Each mimic has a great maw that can deal terrible bites and gleefully will swallow its victims whole if possible.
They weild a great tongue as a weapon and an arm. These tongues tend to be forked very near the base and can often seem to be two separate tongues should a mimickyn decide to use both at once. These tongue do regenerate but it takes some time, which is why they tend to use only one fork at a time.
The most interesting thing about these creatures is their ability to turn into objects. From tables, to chairs, to urns or most anything that is not a living form.
Most terrifying, though, is the fact that they can learn. Some have become great fighters or even wizards! Beware!