Vee and the others cursed, stomping and flailing and swatting. They had stumbled upon a swarm of Lesser Slimes, which was not really that far outside of expectations, given what everyone called this forest. It certainly wasn’t their first time encountering slimes here either. However, it was their first time encountering a swarm like this.

The Lesser Slimes were all tiny little blobs of mildly corrosive gel that jiggled and bounced and moved about, mindlessly eating. A bored house cat could easily kill one. But right now Vee and her party were surrounded by hundreds of the things. Grix was happily stomping away, his feet messily ending several slimes with each step. Trella was kicking and flinging them away, disgust evident on her slightly vulpine face. Sil and Sul grumbled sullenly and lashed out, stomping and kicking, and smashing them with the butts of their pole arms.

Objectively, they probably would have recounted this scene later at the tavern and laughed uproariously, had they not been so forcefully reminded of the presence that watched them in the forest. A booming roar split the air not far from them, cutting in and out. It sounded like nothing so much as sinister, primeval laughter. The expression of malicious mirth caused their blood to run cold.

Smoothly, they moved into a proper defensive formation like they’d always practiced, with Vee and Trella at the center, and the fighters surrounding them. With the former mood of annoyance mixed with amusement having been shattered, they slaughtered the remaining slimes with cold efficiency, gathered the cores, and made haste to return to fort.

That evening, more rumors spread amongst the adventurers about that great booming laughter, which they all attributed to the Devil of Slime Forest. Several groups had seen it now, and although many of the broader descriptions of it coincided, many of those first hand witnesses argued vehemently with each other over drinks about finer details.

Vee and her group sat around a table in the in, somberly listening to the arguments.

“It had wings, I tell you! Wings with feathers as black as the midnight of a new moon!”

“Pfft, wings? At least three witnesses have seen it carrying a club made from the bone of a giant. It couldn’t carry a club if it has wings!”

“Me and my partner seent it! It had it the horns of a ram! And skin what looked like flint!”

And so the arguments carried on, until one somber man spoke up. His voice resonated through the tavern, drawing attention. “I saw it clearly. The details matter not, but there is one thing I will never forget. Its eyes looked like those of a man’s, and it stared me down as it brazenly snatched up the stag I'd hunted. And those eyes stared at me with contempt, as if I were nothing before it, not a threat at all. And I knew it was right.”

I was a bit disappointed after I hunted down the last dire bear in my forest. There were still a handful of trolls here, but they were not yet something I could beat without an overwhelming situational advantage. Aside from that, the next strongest predators were some of the older chimeras. Chimeras don’t prey upon each other, or even fight except occasionally over food.

It was time I started to range further from the place of my birth. To the southwest was where the humans came from. When they retreated from the forest, they hid inside a big nest with walls made of wooden logs. Beyond that nest was a range of wide open plains with the occasional rolling hills. In the other directions, the forest gave way to mountains. Since the humans were weaker than me, I’d need to climb into the mountains to seek out strength, or maybe even see what was beyond the mountains.

Lately, the weird part of my mind has quieted down a lot. It still insists that I don’t hunt the humans, and seems to get irritated when I take from them. But they are weak. It is my right to take what they cannot hold. They are lucky that I allow them to flee and do not claim them as well.

My form continues to shift, reflecting what I eat, gaining and losing aspects, but my body refuses to give up its bipedal shape. I don’t mind at this point.

My face still stained with the blood of the last dire bear in the forest, I finally set forth into the foothills of the mountains.

After the first day of my trek, I was annoyed. Trolls were more and more common as I progressed toward the mountains. This was not what I needed. Still, I pushed onward.

I did find some interesting new things to eat, at least. One was this tall white horse that moved with great speed and grace. It had a single horn sticking out of its head. I had hoped it would make me faster, so after I split its skull with my club I devoured it, flesh, bones, horn and all. However, the only change I noticed was that my own magic aura seemed to become a bit denser. A pity.

A few days later, I found the goblins. I observed them for a time. I didn’t know what they were at the time, and although they vaguely resembled the humans, their behavior quickly dissuaded me from the notion of them being related. They seemed to live in constant fear of the trolls and each other. They were vicious little bastards, and as far as I could tell, there were a lot of them in their deep cave warrens.

Their behavior reminded me of the vermin of my forest. How they would scavenge and prey opportunistically on each other. Out of curiosity, if nothing else, I ambushed a pair that had gone out to check their hunting snares. They tasted foul, and they were weak. I tossed aside the half eaten remains, and for the first time ever wished I could vomit. They were definitely not worth the effort of hunting, much less finishing.

Well, at least I thought so until I saw a large winged reptile snatch a handful of them up from a roving patrol during my wanderings. Maybe I wouldn’t hunt them for myself, maybe I could use them to attract worthier prey…