The entity known as Mr. Igma stirred. The Buyer had entered its range. The… Cobbletown offshoot. Its consciousness rushed to that form, just in time to glare at the Buyer entering its shop.

The Buyer was the most important person in the world to Mr. Igma. Other people would come in and purchase or sell various low-level goods, but the Buyer… they would buy things no one else could. Things Mr Igma couldn’t even remember how it had purchased. The Buyer would also bring exotic wares, strange and wondrous things that Mr. Igma would never have had access to before.

That had been what Mr. Igma had thought would happen, anyway.

Mr. Igma was aware, in the vague way it was conscious of anything outside of its shops, that it was not like others. People would come into its shop, buy, sell, then leave. They would discuss things; generally, the same banal topics over and over again. Their families, political matters, the weather.

Mr. Igma had no family. Mr. Igma was unaffected by politics. Mr. Igma cared not for the weather, for Mr. Igma never left its shops.

Within the central entity that pooled all of the various Mr. Igmas’ experiences, there was a list. It detailed what Mr. Igma could buy and sell, and what prices were assigned to what locations. This list was absolute. The details of this list were carved into its very existence. Without this list, it did not exist.

There were several things on this list that it knew could only be brought to it by the Buyer. Unique items that Mr Igma craved to purchase and then transfer to its core being, leaving its stores once again with only the approved items.

That was the Buyer’s role. That was their function. Mr. Igma’s was to sell to the Buyer. To buy from the Buyer. To fulfill their list.

But, instead, there was something wrong with the Buyer. The Buyer never actually bought anything. They came, argued, moved things about, and items suddenly disappeared. The entity wasn’t sure how. There was something happening, something beyond its ken, and it infuriated Mr. Igma.

Things had run as expected in its Golden Prophecy village tendril. Granted, the Buyer had only bought one thing, but the Buyer had engaged with that particular version of Mr. Igma in a way that led it to believe that they would soon purchase more. But that string was now cut, and when the Buyer had entered the Cobbletown area things had been different, somehow.

The Buyer was tricking it in some way; Mr. Igma was sure of it. And the thought of a creature that existed solely to satisfy Mr. Igma would dare fight against Mr. Igma and defile its list… the thought filled it with rage.

The reason there was no negotiating with the list prices, even when the fate of the world hinged on the Buyer getting a particular item to defeat whoever was ruling incorrectly, was that the list was more important than the fate of the world.

And yet, by some unknown magic, the Buyer was defying the most vital thing in existence. Smirking at Mr. Igma as its wares disappeared around it, selling back only the lowliest of items, taking all of Mr Igma’s daily monies and leaving it bereft until Mr. Clockwork, the mechanical merchant, restocked it each night.

But the Buyer could not keep its tricks up forever. One day, the Buyer would slip up, Mr. Igma would learn their secrets, and restore order and justice to its list. It just had to be patient. And the entity had infinite patience.

So as the facade of the entity glowered sourly at the Buyer in its Cobbletown shop, the mass behind it seethed.

And watched.

And waited.