“Thank you, I’m afraid I can’t give you much in the way of money, but I do have a few potions I created before the fire...” As the alchemist was discussing payment I looked over my tunic, patting out most of the soot from the creases. I was preparing to look over my pants as I snapped back to attention midway through his explanation on what he could give me, “-tion will heal any mortal wound without fail, and give you a buff against injury, but-” In a hurry, I accepted the potion, and rode off without letting him explain the drawback to whatever bright green… goop? That was now in my possession

“Is this even a potion?” I found myself questioning aloud as I examined the bottle. The quote-unquote “liquid” inside didn’t splash and slosh like most potions. In the place of the usual smooth texture was an almost syrupy crawl inside the glass flask entrapping the life-saving broth. I was almost tempted to taste the vaguely slime-like potion, but I instead opted to place it in my ease of access pouch on my tunic. Pushing away from the peculiarities of the potion I arrived at the entrance of the cave me and a few guildmates agreed to meet up at. “Hey, guys!” I called out, hoping to alert the already on-edge adventurers of my presence. “Sorry for taking so long, an apothecary was burning down and the alchemist in charge was trapped behind burning rubble. What kind of person would I be if I just left him there to char?” Reminding myself of the whole, “just escaping a burning building” fact, I started patting down my pants to try and ward off any lingering soot.

Interrupting my pat-down was a chiming in from the tank in our group, Brutus, “So judging from your lack of obvious gains the fire managed to burn down any valuables you could have harvested from your little side-quest?” As he spoke his large frame shook with a hearty chuckle, clearly amused at my seemingly pointless activities. Easily towering over most men Brutus was never one to shy away from ridicule and spoke his mind as if a truth spell was cast on him. His heavy plate armor gleamed in the sunlight, and his large ax was buried at least half a foot in the dirt nearby, if there was one word I could use to describe Brutus, it would be, “Bulky.” But even without his cumbersome gear, Brutus was no easy prey: His amber hair and freckled skin gave off a look of sheer power, and his Orc like arms packed a meaty whack.

“Actually I got a healing potion that we managed to salvage from the cinders,” I countered, proudly showing off the neon-green substance I had hastily accepted from my benefactor. Speaking of myself, I was a fairly average man, taller than a good portion of those I met, but generally speaking average height. I was your everyday starry-eyed adventurer with a slim but firm frame and trusty blade. I could barely be picked out of an average guild hall as anybody worthwhile. In a sense, I appreciated my less-than-bulky build as it gave me the agility I needed to avoid damage in fights, even if it made me appear more androgynous than masculine.

“Doesn’t look like any healing potion I’ve ever seen,” commented Iris, the resident healer, “Mind if I take a look?” The timid mage reached out her hand as if I had already accepted her offer. Iris was a beautiful woman, with clear dark skin and lovely black hair she absolutely captured the attention of both men and women everywhere she went. Her flowing white robes did well to conceal most of her figure, but despite that, you could tell she wasn’t exactly offensive to behold. I caught myself staring at her one too many times, but strangely enough, whenever I indulged on my gaze I found myself feeling… envious somehow. Pushing those thoughts into the naughty corner I snapped back to reality.

“No can do Iris,” I commented with a smirk, “these goods are one of a kind as far as I know and I can’t have you drinking what was described to me as a potent healing potion because it looks funny.” I quickly placed the potion back into my tunic, as to signal it was off-limits. “Besides, even if I did let you inspect it, you’d probably just pocket it like you did the last time I accepted a quest from an alchemist.” I spat, still mad about the “feminine glow” debuff that came with the potion, on Iris it had no drawback, only giving her a literal glow around her body, but more experienced alchemists later informed us that if I had drunk the potion I would have looked much more effeminate than I already am, on top of a mild strength debuff. After a proper thrashing towards the vile pervert, Iris reported the potion made her feel lighter and faster. Of course, I would be mad about that, her style of battle doesn’t even rely on agility.

“I’ll have you know I sacrificed my dignity to drink that!” huffed Iris, desperately holding on to the illusion of innocence.

“Sacrifice my ass!” I sneered back, “you just wanted to see what it did!”

“Cease your bickering at once, we have a job to do,” the all too shrill voice of the party’s spellcaster rang from the entrance to the cave. Stepping out to reveal himself, Isaak, our token mage made himself known. Isaak was a scraggly young man, with a penchant for tearing apart parties with his incessant micro-managing. Any established party had already barred him from entry, so recently he’d taken to solo adventuring or joining rally parties, meant for one-and-done quests. Despite his youth, Isaak had a nasty hunchback and constantly trembled as if the act of living itself was a strain on him. His tattered blue robes hung off his bony shoulders like rags on a banister, but otherwise, he was fairly uninteresting to look at. “If everything goes right we won’t need the potion,” remarked the husk of a man standing before me.

Regaining my composure I laid out what our party was set to do: “our purpose here today is to scout out the den and map it out for the raid later tonight. Brutus, you’re on the front line, Iris, you’re in charge of creating the map, Isaak, you and I are to support Brutus and Iris in case any unexpected enemies flank us.”

“Ahem,” the all too familiar voice of Isaak clawed its way through the air and into my ears, “Why am I not the one creating the map?”

“Because last time you were in charge of the map you left out a room with treasure in it that turned out to be an ambush room,” I replied bluntly, holding back my malice as I recalled how his greed cost the life of multiple guildmates.

Ignoring his mumbled excuses, I turned away from Isaak and motioned for the rest of the party to enter the cave.

The cave scouting went by relatively quickly, in fact, it was a straight line to the nest. Iris’s mapping was formed and sent by the time Isaak was done listing off reasons why his greed was A: justified, and B: not the reason multiple men and women were eaten alive by skeletal thralls. While our party was resting in preparation for the raid, I began to examine the neon green potion stowed away in my tunic’s pouch.

···

Is this… death? Am I dead? Okay okay, I can do this… no, I can't, gods please help me. As I was having my post mortem panic attack I began to recount the events leading up to my unmaking. So, the raid on the den started, and immediately the front line was minced… and… I can’t breathe. The irony of me being unable to breathe while dead was lost on me as I sunk deeper into the proverbial ocean of anxiety. The green hue finally disappeared as my eyes adjusted to– wait, eyes?

It all came rushing back to me, the battle was brutal, and the few survivors that managed to escape were all mortally wounded, including myself. I was part of the flank party which included myself and most of the other roguelikes in the guild, and the immediate evisceration of the front line was more than enough to freeze us in our incredibly agile boots. By the time our unfavorable position reached the front of our mind it was too late, the mere flick of the beast’s tail was enough to reap the souls out of most of us in an instant. I was one of the luckier once, I was only mortally wounded as opposed to killed instantly, it was more than enough time to witness Brutus and the remainder of the defensive line get thrown around like ragdolls, leaving our healers and warlocks to face certain death or teleport out of there; however, Iris had no choice as Isaak had grabbed her wrist before she could reach Brutus’s tattered visage. It was all too much for me, I almost threw my potion at Brutus in a vain attempt to give him a second chance, before I saw the beast’s claws remove any sign that the pile of gore across the room was once my dearest friend. I drank the potion, and slowly I saw my gashed body meld back together. The beast wasted no time in squishing me like an insect after the potion started doing its work, however.

The potion was no joke, however, considering I’m still alive. I didn’t have time to marvel at the wonders of alchemy as I noticed the beast’s sleeping figure, gnawing on what was once the giant polearm of one of my guildmates. My body, seemingly more alert than I, had already begun leaving the den, to the point where I realized my head was backward. Why is my head backward? Like an owl, my head snapped back into position with considerably less cracking than one would expect from a neck unsnapping itself. I looked down to see my signature blue color, but… everywhere, my skin was blue, and not really skin at all

“Why am I a slime?” I asked stupidly. What I really should have been asking was: “Why do I have tits?”