Western Perimeter, Ujax Forest

When Reit raises his hand high in the air and looks around, our expedition comes to a halt, "We're here, I reckon. I can smell it, just barely."

Taking a sniff of the air, I just barely catch a tinge of damp earth now that he's pointed it out. Wouldn't be surprised if he has as much or more Perception as me, since as a crossbowman, he doesn't need too many stats to make his weapon work for him, even if it is of garbage quality, but hitting that one shot is more important because of it.

Either way, I guess that's the sign we're here, then.

"Our first stop will be at the foot of Topaz Hill, then we'll head straight south to Prospector's Rest to find some Goldmoss Deer," Reit explains, "Don't wander off, don't eat anything off the ground and keep either me or Dusty in sight range if you don't want to get lost."

"Understood," I draw my sword, "Weapons out and form up, people, be prepared to fight at a moment's notice. No breaks 'til they give us the all-clear."

At the edge of the treeline, it's really no different from any other densely wooded forest, but as we progress further in, and what little light bleeding through the leaves of the branches above fades into nothing, that impression shifts dramatically. Even so, the edge of Goldmoss is still nothing spectacular save for the lack of light and the pervasive smell of damp earth as the clacky soil squishes beneath our feet, until the titular moss makes it's presence known a ways ahead of us, clinging to the floor and treebark in thick clumps that illuminate the area like a bright oil lantern, throwing shadows against the treetrunks and larger rocks that make up the terrain. It's moments - places - like this which remind you of the fantastical nature of Merrow. I smile a little in spite of myself.

"Kinda wish I could take a recording of this," Windy mumbles, before shaking her head, "Oh, right, I can. Forgot for a second I'm not in Paris anymore."

"Try not to get distracted," I remind her, "As is often the case, just because it's pretty doesn't mean it isn't dangerous."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't be such a killjoy, boss," Windy complains from inside her helmet, "You can't say you're not just as impressed."

I demur, "I've seen more awe-inspiring places, but it is quite beautiful in its own way, yes."

Travelling further and further into Goldmoss, our progress slows as the ground becomes softer, stickier and all-around more moistened, not unlike walking on treacle or wet cement in some places, the ground sucking at our boots as we attempt to lift them. Moving with haste in these conditions promises to be a challenge, and the fragrant smell of damp decay is also intensifying, making breathing too deeply through the nose an unappealing exercise.

In the distance, a shining mound of discoloured Goldmoss comes into view along our left flank, presumably the Topaz Hill that Reit mentioned. Clearing my throat, I call ahead to him, "Is that Topaz Hill over there?"

"Yeah," Miss Coates calls back, slowing down, "We're not gonna try climbing it or anything. Ya'd just sink right in and suffocate if you did - it's not as firm as it looks, almost like a great big chunk of gelatin that thing. Might even be some kinda slime monster just chillin' for all we know, so don't go prodding it."

"Lovely," Windy mutters, "A hill that eats people. As if walking around here didn't already have chills going up my spine."

"Just goes to prove my earlier point about this place being dangerous," I respond back, a little leery of the landmark myself now. If there is a monster underneath all that moss, I don't recall any information about it, but I doubt it'd be a pushover at that size - easily a city block from a casual estimate.

"How much further to our next destination?" I call ahead.

"'bout 40-50 minutes? Not much between us and Prospector's Rest, terrain-wise," Reit answers, "Hey, Dusty, could you speed up a bit and scout ahead of us for a while? We're overdue a monster sighting, and that's got me nervous."

"Yeah, sure, just...ugh, gimme a minute. I hate walking through here, has my legs feeling all weird," Miss Coates whines, kicking her legs out, "Picked Kon to be different, didn't realise that I'd be drinking with my goddamn feet. Place tastes like actual shit."

"Suck it up, Dusty," the pathfinder calls back, before pausing, devolving into cackling, "Wow, I didn't even come up with that on purpose."

"Keep laughing, shitty elf, you're in axe throwing distance," she threatens, giving him the middle finger.

"Try me, bitch," Reit taunts.

"Cut it out you two," comes the bored voice of Mr Fathom, "Focus."

The bickering pair go silent at the scolding from their boss, and after the minute is up, Miss Coates runs ahead, kicking up chunks of half-rotten vegetation and mud as she goes, until she can no longer be seen through the ocean of tree trunks, even with the illumination of the Goldmoss.

---

 

Upon Miss Coates' return, her expression is less than enthusiastic, "Got a small problem - A group of Goldmoss Shamblers."

I frown, recalling what I know of them. They're like a quasi-sentient plant creature that's assimilated with the Goldmoss in the subregion, a bipedal mound of tentacles and a huge jaw, they're Level 13 monsters and travel in groups of three to six, attacking by beating their victims to death then swallowing the corpse after it's started rotting.  Very resistant to blunt damage, physical projectiles and lightning-element damage.

"How many?" I enquire. If it's three or four, we can manage it, but more would be more effort than it's worth.

"Four of them," the tracker grumbles, "We'll have to take a detour."

I reject her, "No need. We can handle it."

"You sure about that? They're way stronger than Dire Wolves - attacks just seem to bounce off'em," Miss Coates voices her concern.

"Yes, we can handle it," I affirm, "Their damage is should be fairly low, even if their durability is higher than average to compensate."

Pretty sure that's the case, at least. Early game monsters that tend towards an extreme end up having to sacrifice in other categories to make them fair. It's not until past Level 60 that you start regularly running into enemies that ignore that convention, and before then it's usually reserved for boss fights.

That isn't to say that they can't have gimmicks in spite of that, as no monster is created equal, so some caution is required.

Miss Coates looks behind me to her boss for confirmation. Mr Fathom breathes in deeply then sighs, "If Silver says they can do it, let them try. Shamblers aren't particularly fast runners or observant, so we can still run away if things take a turn for the worse."

"Have some faith," I smile, "Miss Coates, what kind of terrain and visibility are we dealing with?"

"Nothing special, plenty of light off the Goldmoss," she supplies, "They're about two minutes ahead."

"We can work with that," I muse, then throw my head back, "Jade! Angelus! Jupiter! We've work to do, come up front!"

"'sup?" Jade asks casually.

"We've got a pack of four monsters up ahead - very damage spongey, from the sounds of it," I inform the team, "Windy can handle three, I'll handle the other one, Jupiter and you will focus them down one at a time, starting with Windy's."

"You sure you can handle one by yourself?" Angelus questions.

"Yes, though the marshy soil might lead to me taking more damage than I otherwise would," I warn him, "Oh, and Jupiter, try not to use your AoE spells just yet, just focus on burning down one of them quickly."

"Roger that," the mage acquiesces, "You sure though? I'd get more mileage for my MP out of multi-targeting."

"I'm sure, just use Arcshots," Splitting the focus like that won't do Windy any favours, as she lacks the ability to grab the attention of a group and maintain it efficiently. Definitely something to look into remedying in the near future, given that she's our only tank at the moment. I can take some of the pressure off her, but I'm a poor substitute for someone dedicated to the role and the further we progress, the harder it'll be for me to do so - I may be a Skirmish Tank, but I'm not about to start soloing the main boss.

I heft my Terrorsteel Horrorblade, "Just be mindful of the poor soil conditions, you won't be able to do a lot of dodging around."

"Mhm. The whole forest better not be like this, or I'm gonna have trenchfoot by the time we leave," Windy complains, "Lead on, Miss Dusty."

"Just call me Dusty, like everyone else," Miss Coates shrugs, turning on her heel and marching off.

---

 

Approaching the small clearing where the Shamblers are, the smell of decaying plants increases enormously, accented by the stench of rotting flesh and old blood. Getting flashbacks to a monster lair that was in the sewers of an ancient city's ruin.

"This smells fucking awful," Jupiter gripes, holding his nose, "And I thought it was bad before."

"Dead bodies'll do that," I point out, "And Goldmoss Shamblers are carrion feeders - albeit proactive ones."

"Lovely," the mage responds sarcastically.

"Don't know why you're complaining, you don't have an enhanced sense of smell," Jade mumbles, face scrunched up like she just bit into a lemon.

"At least you don't turn into a sloppy drunk when you run out of MP," Jupiter snipes back.

At the perimeter of the clearing, we observe the clearing from behind the trees. The Shamblers are motionless and almost indistinct from the thick layer of Goldmoss that covers the ground, but the twitching of the tendrils attached to their bulky frames, tipped with barklike orbs, put the lie to that perception.

Noting the Shamblers' positions, I turn to the team, "I'll Bullrush to the one in the back, Windy, tag the other three then call which one you want to be focused down. Jupiter, Jade, follow her call-outs. Dusty, make sure that your group stays in the treeline. All clear?"

Receiving confirmation, I ready my sword, mark my target and take a deep breath, "Attack!"

The tip of my boot scrapes and smears the loose mud, and at once I accelerate with several bounding strides to the heap of Goldmoss, sword trailing along through the air and slicing straight through the creature's passive tendrils before it even realises it's under attack. Without it's primary method of attack, the danger it poses to me decreases dramatically.

I smirk, feeling a little better about my combat potential now that I have an actual Class. Momentum isn't the most powerful passive at the moment - in fact it's pretty awful - but it'll increase in potency as I keep utilising it, so I may as well make a start now.

Pulling back my sword as the creature roars with anger if not pain - I'm not sure it even has the capacity to feel it - and impotently tries to tackle me from a resting position, flytrap-like mouth gaping wide to bite with the rows of thorny teeth lining it's throat. Circling around the slow-moving monster, I hack away with a heavy chop into it's flank, activating Brutal Strike at the last second to avoid the accuracy penalty, tearing a massive chunk out of it's midsection.

-205

It's defence, however, is absurdly high, cutting the expected damage in at least half, the damaged area quickly sprouting a weave of gleaming yellow tendrils to knit itself together. Hm, didn't hear anything about them having regenerative ability, which could be annoying if it regrows the tentacle hammers.

Stepping back, I squint at the remains of the tendrils, and note that they are steadily lengthening. Fantastic.

While I can't prevent it's regeneration without dedicated abilities or knowing enough about the monster to pinpoint a source for it, I'm strong enough even with it's tough nature to overpower the regen through continuous attacks. Unless it has some sort of immortality, reducing it's HP to 0 will prevent it from healing itself.

Just need to kill it before it's tentacles grow back.

Congratulations, your party has defeated a Goldmoss Shambler!

Awarding 1120 experience.

That's their first down. Good.

Abandoning the steady approach, my blade bites chunks out of the creature as I circle around it's bulky frame, staying behind it as much as possible. Step. Cut. Step. Cut. When the tendrils grow to a point that it desperately tries attacking me with the considerably less dangerous untipped ends, I jump to the side and swing upwards, severing the closest and damaging the other, bringing the Horrorblade around my body to slam into the bulk of overgrown moss.

Congratulations, your party has defeated a Goldmoss Shambler!

Awarding 1120 experience.

Congratulations, your party has defeated a Goldmoss Shambler!

Awarding 1120 experience.

Looks like they took down the next one a second faster than I got through my one, likely due to Windy having more chances to attack. Excellent.

Turning around, I inhale shallowly to avoid tasting or smelling the air as much as possible, then charge at the remaining Shambler, cutting deeply into it's exposed back with another Brutal Strike, staggering the creature forward and giving Windy a chance to ram her shortsword in it's gut three times without retaliation, then blocking a swift blow from it's tentacles and slicing a huge gash into it with Reprisal, ending the creature instantly.

Congratulations, your party has defeated a Goldmoss Shambler!

Awarding 1120 experience.

Huffing, then coughing from the stench, Windy shakes the ichor from her sword, sheathes it and wafts away the rancid air, "And on this day was there a great victory for dental hygiene. Christ, their breath reeks."

"Nice work, everyone," I praise them, cleaning my own sword before putting it away, "How're we looking for health and MP?"

"Still good to go," Angelus salutes with his wand, "Only needed four Minor Succors."

"Saved my MP when I saw you finish off the one you were fighting, so I've got some still in the tank," Jupiter drinks a mana potion, then pulls a face, "This tastes as bad as this place smells. Silver, you're killing me here with these craptastic potions."

"Level your Wisdom, then," Angelus reminds him, "Your mana pool is trash, and that accessory we got isn't a complete solution."

"Yes, dad," Jupiter rolls his eyes, "I'm gonna. Still need to kill like another 16 of these things before I get more attribute points to spend."

The members of Wolf Hunt look reluctant to approach, likely because of the smell, but Mr Fathom approaches regardless, outwardly unfazed by it, "Impressive. Is this the power of a Class?"

I waver, "More to do with our gear and stats, if I'm honest. The abilities afforded by a Class are more like a...multiplier or an accelerant of that."

"Still, it's heartening to know that these creatures can be harmed and killed. While they've never been able to catch one of us, our ranged attacks didn't do more than a few single digits worth of damage to them," Mr Fathom sighs, "Is it worth taking their carcasses?"

I nod, "Ought to be. Don't know what they're worth exactly, but a Butcher'd get some alright Alchemy ingredients off them, I imagine. Say, you get one, we get three?"

"I believe it was 70/30, not 25/75," he points out, then raises his hand in denial before I respond, "I'm not about to start an argument over it. Just one will be fine. 5% isn't that much."

Accepting it, I half-shrug, "If you say so. What sort of experience did you all get off that?"

"1120 experience per, all told," Mr Fathom admits, "A few of us passed into our next Level off that fight alone."

Ah. Right, they still get full credit. It doesn't get nerfed until the hotfixes following RotA, where party members judged as non-participants only get 50% of the total. 'Bus driving' gets revisited a couple of times over the next couple years in patches until they settle on a policy.

Until then, Wolf Hunt are going to have the ride of their lives.