I felt drowsy like I had overslept and just woken up from a long nap. My vision was blurry and I had yet to fully remember my purpose. I did recall having a purpose, it was certainly something very important to me.
I looked down noticing the tiny desk, probably for some tiny creature. Little books laid on the table were cute, not like the small fluffy critter cute but definitely cuter than witches. Witches were… well… not ugly, but I didn’t think they were very cute. I was a minority with that opinion though. My siblings found them adorable with all their warty noses and pointy hats.
I looked closer at the messy desk that probably should’ve been dusted off a while ago. It had seven ornate little legs that kind of looked like dragon heads if I squinted. Or maybe they were turtle heads. I couldn’t bend my rigid head far enough down to get a good look at them.
If I ever had a desk, I’d make sure my stuff was neat and tidy. If I didn’t, I was sure I’d become frustrated and smash the desk into dust. I didn’t want to do that, not with all the cute little books I’d have on top of it.
Most of the books on the table were closed and talked about things I just didn’t understand. I had no idea what Physics or Alternative Spell Theory were about, let alone whatever gibberish was written on their pages. I was excited when I saw the Spell Construction book. I didn’t know what spells were but I had done a lot of construction. I even got second in the tribe building contest, only losing to Bog who had tiny delicate thumbs since he was adopted.
My excitement for that book diminished when I opened the book only to find dreaded math gibberish and fancy words that didn’t talk about construction. I did feel cheated by the cover, but it didn’t make me mad enough to punch the table. I only punched a hole into the ceiling.
It was a thick mahogany table with a varnish that I had only ever seen humans use. I did quite like the look of varnish and would definitely use it on my desk if any human ever told me how they made it.
As I focused back onto the table, I noticed a letter underneath one of the books I was certain was written by a lunatic. I wanted to know what was written on the paper. It wouldn’t hurt anyone if I read it. Sticks and stones do break others’ bones but words don’t really hurt, after all.
I used my fat rocky thumb to carefully push the book that was over the letter off the desk and onto the tile floor beneath me. I was lucky. The worded side of the letter was facing upwards. I always had trouble turning paper with my large fat uncoordinated fingers, so I was glad I didn’t have to risk breaking the desk in order to flip the thin elusive paper.
“Dear Magus Wallard,” was as far as I got before a flood of memories came rushing back to me. MASTER. The word resonated through my mind. My jagged mouth opened and let out a large gasping noise. As I looked around the room, which was all void of my master, I realized just how much I missed him. At that moment, I began to cry. It was an ugly cry, but all golems had ugly cries. It just was who we were.
I bellowed and bellowed. I cried my lungs out. Even water was coming out of my moss. It was truly a sad few minutes, but eventually, I gathered my senses. Crying never helped anyone, or at least certainly no golem. I figured crying might help a ferret, or possibly a witch. I had to admit witches always looked cuter when they were crying.
The letter read:
Dear Magus Wallard,
It has come to our attention that various ethical issues in some of your recent studies need to be addressed by the wizarding board. While I understand an absence can cause numerous issues to arise in a wizard’s manor, meeting with the board takes precedence. Your assigned date by the board is the 23rd of May of the year 1239 of our risen lordship Comantop the Third. The meeting will be held in Summervale at noon. Don’t be late. If you’re late, the court will continue with the hearing with or without you.
It was hard to decipher the letter’s true meaning out of context but I did have a few takeaways from the letter. One, I had a master I had forgotten. The very person who had given me my purpose. And two, that Magus Wallard had traveled to Summervale. I knew after reading the letter that it was my duty and always my duty to protect the manor and its belongings. Well maybe, most of the manor’s belongings. I wasn’t perfect after all.
I squeezed through the large arched door on the opposite side of the room. It was big enough to fit most golems, but it wasn’t exactly a comfortable fit. Most doors weren’t made with golems in consideration. The corridor was roomier than the small office I had been in. The walls were covered with paintings of old men who were somehow related to Magus Wallard but I’d never met any of them. The dust had covered most of them, leaving their faces grey and blurry.
I thudded across the hallway, taking my time to look at the many little features that marked this home as my master’s manor. If I continued down the path I was going, I was going to enter the cafeteria area where Master and his staff would eat smelly fuel. While I had never tasted the food, it was always a mystery I found riveting. It was the only sense other than magic that I didn’t have.
I decided that today would be a wild and exciting type of day and popped the cafeteria doors open. I jumped out of fright as I saw an unfamiliar humanoid figure sitting behind one of the long tables with many seats. These tables looked sorta like the desk except they were thicker, longer, and didn’t have the ornate turtles or maybe lizards on their feet.
As I gathered my senses and roared at the intruder who was eating my master’s food and being somewhere I was certain he didn’t belong. I stuck my arms into the air because I had learned quickly that this would usually intimidate humans.