I believe slimes may be the most diverse monsters. Let alone having a variant for each element – both primary and secondary – slimes have multiple for many, such as the rock, iron and sand variants for the earth element and the flying, gas and transparent slimes for the wind element.
It can be said that no matter what environment you are in – plains or mountains, tundra or volcano, or even out at sea – you will be able to find slimes if you look hard enough. Honestly, with this unique adaptability and ability to self-replicate, if they had even an iota of intelligence they would have dominated the world.
Luckily for us, they’re probably the stupidest monsters in existence – well, apart from a few of them. But they halve their intelligence every time they split, so no worries there!
-An unknown scholar
(POV Jakin)
I jump nearly half a meter from shock as a face appears upside-down in front of me, grinning wildly. He flips to the ground, laughing and clapping his hands as he looks in glee at my face, which is no doubt shining red with embarrassment. “Haha! Short man jumped almost half his height!” He says breathlessly, his bare chest still heaving with mirth.
“I’m not short! I’m a member of the Dwarven Race!” I retort instinctively.
“Dwarven race? Who is making the all the dwarves race? That’s mean!” He says, frowning, before he bursts into a smile again. “But races are fun! Let’s have one now! One-two-three-go!” He belts out, dashing off into the forest.
A second later, a voice drifts back towards us. “Slowpokes! Slooooooooooooooooooooooooooowpooooooooooooooookesss! Hurry up, or I’ll win!”
My jaw drops in incomprehension.
“We better follow him quick. He might know a way out of here.” Xiltroth adjusts Aaron’s position and jogs off into the forest, closely followed by Boaz. Unwilling to be left behind, I quickly follow after them.
“But he’s clearly loopy!” I protest.
“Maybe. But I’ve never seen someone with the upper body of a man and the lower body of… I don’t know, a sheep? A goat? It’s almost as if he’s the result of love between a human and a goat beastman, but I’ve never heard of a half-breed that comes out like that.” Wonders Xiltroth.
I didn’t even notice… he had come and gone before I had time to react.
We run as fast as we can through and around the trees, following his distant shouts of ‘slowpokes’ and doing the best we can to stay together. After a few minutes of this, we slip through a gap between two trees, their tops intertwined to form a sort of natural archway.
“BOO!” His face appears in front of me again, poking out his tongue and opening his brown eyes wide. This time, I just manage to keep a straight face. “Aww… you’re no fun.” He groans, flipping to the ground again.
Thankfully, he doesn’t dash off again this time, so I can get a good look at him this time. He isn’t wearing anything, but from the waist down his entire body is covered in jet black hairs, conveniently obscuring his nether regions from the world. Instead of feet, he has cloven hooves – definitely a goat’s.
Oddly enough, his hair is green and almost… puffy. It looks almost like a treetop, apart from the long goat horns that curve gently backwards out of it.
“Who are you?” I ask, but he ignores me and trots away. Without any options, I follow him. He’s our only lead to a way out of here – this place is unlike anything else we’ve seen here so far, and he was able to get to it easily.
Stepping in between the spreading roots of a huge tree, he disappears from sight. I step around them as well and see him lying on a bed of leaves concealed between the roots. He’s fast asleep.
A hint of anger flashing through my mind, I stoop down and shake him roughly. He shrugs me off and turns over the other way, so I shake him again. He sits up and glares at me. “Hey! Can’t you see I’m sleeping here!”
“And I have a friend there who’s dying, so I don’t give a damn!” I explode. “So if yeh’d kindly show us how the hell yeh get out of this place, we’ll leave yeh to sleep however long yeh want!”
He lies down again, and I’m about to try and initiate forceful persuasion when he points to the opposite side of the clearing and says, “Feed him one of the purple mushrooms.” He yawns. “It’ll cure the snake-cat poison.”
The hell is a snake-cat!?
“Jakin, he’s gone blue! I don’t think he has much time left!” Shouts Xiltroth, hands shaking as he kneels next to Aaron, completely at a loss as to what he should do.
“Purple mushroom!” I bark, sprinting across the clearing. “Goat man says it’ll help!” Reaching the edge of the clearing in seconds, I frantically look among the tangle of roots for a purple mushroom. Spotting some, I tear them from the ground and sprint back towards the others.
“Are you sure? That looks more poison than cure…” Boaz’s voice trembles slightly.
“It can hardly make this worse.” I say grimly, dusting off some of the dirt and crushing them in my gauntleted hand. “Open his mouth.”
Xiltroth opens Aaron’s mouth, and I drop the weirdly coloured pieces of mushroom into it. I try to poke them down his throat, and after a second my efforts are rewarded as he swallows. We wait with bated breath for something to happen.
Aaron’s skin quickly changes back to its normal tone, and he makes a confused expression. Suddenly, he opens his eyes and spits bits of purple everywhere.
“PLEH! Pleh, pleh!” He sits up, spitting repeatedly with a look of disgust on his face. “Oh god, that’s horrendous!” Scraping at his tongue with his fingers for a second, he quickly gives up and starts tearing up the grass, stuffing it into his mouth under our shocked gazes. After chewing for a few seconds, he spits out a ball of green and purple goop. “What the fuck was that? Wait, why do I suddenly feel fine?”
“Err… Purple mushrooms?” Boaz says, taking off his helm and scratching his chin.
Aaron pauses. “Why does nothing make sense anymore…” He groans.
“We fed you purple mushrooms which cured you, but apparently they also taste terrible.” Explains Xiltroth.
“And how did you know that would work?” Aaron asks.
“The goat man told us.” I say.
“Goat… man?” Aaron stares incredulously at me. “Look, someone just explain to me what happened since I got poisoned. My memory’s spotty.”
(POV Aaron)
“…And so I made yeh swallow the purple mushrooms, and yeh suddenly got better.” Jakin finishes.
“…Why do all the interesting things happen while I’m out…” I sigh, turning my head to get a look at this place. Apart from the singular opening, the perimeter of the clearing is bordered by huge trees, twisting around each other or just growing so incredibly close that there isn’t a single gap.
Unlike the rest of the forest, various flowers, ferns, mosses and of course, mushrooms grow around the edges of the clearings. But none of them look ordinary – strange colours and patterns run along them, leaves in wholly unnatural shapes…
Wait… these can’t all be magical herbs, can they?
I don’t suppose we could… nah, it seems to be the goat man’s place, and we wouldn’t be able to sell them or use them, even if we do take some.
“So where is this goat man?” I ask.
“Sleeping somewhere over there, as far as I be knowing.” Responds Jakin, pointing to a spot among the tree roots nearby.
“Right… can I have my stuff back?”
“Be our guest.” The twins immediately start unloading my armour, weapon and pack onto the ground. After a few minutes spent sorting it all out and suiting up, I’m battle-ready again. Annoyingly, the metal on my greave where the snake bit me is still caved inwards, and it scrapes against my leg whenever I move.
Taking it off again, I give that section a few solid whacks with the hilt of a dagger until it’s mostly flat again. Then I put it back on.
I hear a yawn and turn towards the sound. A pair of horns rises into view above a nearby tree root, followed by an oddly coloured afro, then a head and shoulders. He looks blearily at us, then walks out towards us.
“A satyr?” I say in surprise.
“You’ve seen people like him before?” Xiltroth asks in surprise.
Oops. I can’t exactly say that I know them from Greek mythology. Greek mythology doesn’t even exist here, as far as I know. “No, I’ve only heard stories.”
“What, do they only live in forests or something?” Asks Jakin.
“No clue. I didn’t think they existed until just now.”
The satyr walks up to us – and proceeds to whack Xiltroth over the head with some sort of short, misshapen tree branch. He raises it again and proceeds to wallop Jakin on the noggin in the space of time it takes for Xiltroth’s face to twist in pain, the two impacts sounding almost simultaneously.
But by the time I take my mace from my belt, the satyr has already turned and walked away again. The strangeness of the situation leaves me wondering what exactly I should do, for a moment. But he isn’t continuing hostilities, his arm moved too fast for me to catch and both Xiltroth and Jakin seem to be uninjured, although in quite some pain.
“What in the blazes was that?” Groans Jakin, taking off his helmet and tentatively running his fingers over his head to check the extent of the damage. The helmet has a sizeable dent.
“Ow. Ow, ow, ow ow.” Repeats Xiltroth through clenched teeth, grasping his head.
“You two alright?” I ask.
Jakin looks at his fingers. “I’m not bleeding. Should be right.”
“I’m going to have a massive headache after this…” Xiltroth groans, holding his head in his hands.
They’ll be fine. I turn my head to see the satyr disappearing among the roots of that tree again.
“What now? Do we stay here and hope he’s less angry the next time he wakes up, or take our chances in the forest?” I wonder aloud.
“Hmph. Only took us, what, two days out there fer one of us to start dying. Least this one we can reason with.” Grunts Jakin.
Xiltroth looks uneasy at staying around someone who just bashed him, but it’d be going back to running around blindly once we walk out of that arch. He doesn’t take much convincing.
“But… the Satyr’s sleeping again, right? What do we do in the meantime?” He asks.
“I say we follow suit. Don’t know about you, but I’m knackered.” I fetch a blanket from my pack and lie down. “I’m fine with third watch onwards. G’night.” I black out within moments, slipping into that nebulous unreality that is the world of dreams.
I open my eyes and look at what is in front of me. A nondescript hallway with a carpeted floor, lined on either side with numbered doors. Not unlike the hallways of a hotel. The edges of my vision blur slightly, and as I look away and back again I see that the doors have different numbers from before.
Lucid dreaming is an interesting experience.
A world free of morality and responsibility, where anything and everything can bend to your whim. You can be whatever you want to be – a superhero, a pirate, a king, or even a dragon. You can feel the wind slipping through your hands as you soar through the sky, and in those few indescribable moments your ability just makes so much sense that you resolve to try it out in the morning. You can climb a ladder using a single finger or crumble walls with a punch from across the room.
Conjure up wonders of art and artifice that boggle the mind and enrapture the soul. Music you never want to forget, images you wish you could paint and scenery you can only hope exists somewhere in the universe.
In a way, that’s what makes it so tragic. Inevitably, you do forget. The heights of extasy and exultation and the depths of fear and panic the likes of which you can only experience in some contrived situation from the minds of angels or demons is, in the end, just a passing fantasy.
A passing fantasy…
Opening the door on my left, I sidestep through without a glance and tumble into a nightmare… those delightful tragedies.
I wake up in a cold sweat to the sound of music softly making its way through the clearing. At its source is the satyr, perched upon a low-hanging branch which gently sways as he strums the strings of his instrument.
Unstructured and free-flowing, his music does not follow a particular melody, nor do sections repeat themselves. Like the musician himself, it is somewhat wild and irregular, infused with the sounds of nature.
Within it I hear the breath of the wind, the gurgle of creeks and the whispers of the forest in a strange yet soothing melody. Somehow, I find myself waking up and growing more and more relaxed as I listen, and I can almost feel the blood coursing through my every vein.
I feel like I can run a marathon without breaking a sweat. Two marathons, without much difficulty. Startled by my own body, I look at my hands in confusion. My right hand is still covered in a gauntlet since I fell asleep in my armour, but I can see the palm of my left through my self-modified leather glove, which I did in order to be able to use magic more conveniently.
It looks somewhat different than usual, but I can’t quite pick it, so I strip off my glove and inspect my now bare hand closely. To my astonishment, I spot an almost imperceptibly dim blue glow emanating from my hands.
…Water mana? But, how? From where?
There isn’t any mana around me that I can see, and for a while I just look around fruitlessly for the source of the magic that’s somehow enhancing me. That is, until I notice that the mana pulses along with the ebbs and flows of the satyr’s music.
…Magical music. Honestly? I think I have a general understanding of how the magic of this world works, and then it throws something like this at me! From what I know, this is impossible. Plain and simple, it doesn’t work. But it does. But it shouldn’t. But it does. Why does it? Obviously, what little I know about magic is incorrect.
I stare in awe and confusion at the satyr as he plays an impossibility, thoughts whirling through my mind as I try to make sense of this upheaval, this unforeseen revelation. I don’t get very far. I know now that this can be done, but not how. Is it something about the music? Something about the musician? The instrument? Does it only work with water mana, or can the same be done with other elements?
…Is there anything else magic can do that I don’t know about?
As I’m overcome with questions that I can’t answer, I notice the music has come to a close.
“That was impressive. Even in the best of times, music be a rare thing, but with the war going on… I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be hearing it again, especially in this forest.” Exclaims Jakin.
“Yes,” agrees Xiltroth, “although it sounded different to what I’m used to, it was quite good. And did you notice the magic affecting us? He must be quite the accomplished magus.”
Boaz nods along silently in agreement.
Ignoring the three who apparently know very little about both magic and music, I walk closer to where the satyr is sitting on his gently swaying branch. Craning my neck to look up at him, I call out. “Hello there! Thank you for telling my friends there how to cure me.”
The satyr looks down at me and idly swings his legs. He says nothing.
Err, okay. Introductions then. “I’m Aaron, an adventurer.”
He continues to look silently down at me, swinging his legs.
“And your name is…?” I ask awkwardly.
“…They called me lord.” He replies finally.
I start to say something, “Lo-” but he interrupts me. “I never liked that name. Call me Ash.”
“Alright Ash-” I say, before he interrupts me again, scowling. “No, that’s a terrible name. Willow. Willow is a much better name.”
“Wi-” I start half-heartedly.
“On second thought, that’s even worse. Maybe Franklin.” He says, interrupting me happily.
“…Franklin?” I ask. It’s just so abruptly different from the first two that I can’t help but ask.
He nods. “I knew a Franklin once. But then again: that’s his name, not mine…” He muses, stroking his goatee. Clapping his hands together, he says, “I have it: Cheese.”
“I’m not calling you cheese.” I state, and his face falls.
“But it’s delicious!” He protests, but I shake my head firmly. “Fine, you meanie. It’s Glade.”
“…Glade?” I ask hesitantly.
“Yes.” Glade nods.
“You aren’t going to change it again?” I ask to confirm.
“No.” Glade shrugs. “Not today, at least. Probably.”
“Alright. Good.” I sigh. “Glade, how did you do that earlier?”
“Ah yes,” He says, “Music. Probably the best thing your peoples have ever created. Although, cheese might come close…” He muses thoughtfully.
Cheese is pretty good. Wait, that’s not what I asked. “No, I meant the magic. How did you do that with magic?”
Glade slips off the tree branch and lands easily on the ground. He shows his instrument to me – it must be the strangest instrument I’ve ever seen. It has the basic shape of a lute, except instead of being made of carefully crafted and treated woods, it seems to have been made of a section of a tree branch or root, complete with smooth bark. Only thing is, I can’t see any spots without bark that could indicate where it was separated from the rest of the plant. The strings are an odd glistening silvery white colour and seem so thin that I can scarcely believe they can be pulled taut without snapping.
Glade plucks a string, producing a clear note. The faintest of shines arises from my skin for a short moment before it fades away again. “Like that.” He says.
“Yes, I see that you’re doing it through the music, but how do you do that?” I ask.
He plucks the same string again.
“But how does it work?”
He plucks it again.
“…Can you do it with any other elements?”
He nods.
“Can you show me?”
He shakes his head.
“Please?”
He shakes his head again.
Frustrated, I ask, “Why not?”
“Because blue is prettier.”
I slap my face in exasperation. “Can you please explain how you do it?”
He plucks that string.
“And… we’re back to here. Is there anything special about the string that lets you do the magic?”
He shakes his head and plucks the string in question.
“Is there another way to do it?”
That string, he plucks it. And shrugs.
“Why does it even work? As far as I know, most types of magic work exactly like they would in nature, except that you can control them.”
He shrugs again. “Whoever told you that is an idiot.”
I imagine the expression on arch-mage Jamison’s face if he knew he’d been called an idiot by a goat man who runs nude through the forest. The thought is amusing. Still, said goat man does seem to know his stuff. Even if he won’t tell me. Sadly.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly. “I don’t suppose you could tell us where to find food?” I ask sheepishly.
Glade raises an eyebrow. “Ask nicely.”
“Please?” I say.
He shakes his head. “Not me.”
“Who, then?” I ask curiously. There are others in this forest?
He smiles mischievously and trots out of the opening in the clearing. I’m about to follow him when I remember exactly where we are – the others are still chatting, and if I leave them here, I might not see them again. I stop moving, and his shadow vanishes into the forest.
