Chapter 6 - Slugfest

Back at the notice board, Fey decided to pick an NPC-given quest to minimize the chances of coming across and having to interact with weirdos (when someone like Arwyn thinks you’re weird, you’re weird). She scanned the lists for quests within her level: everything from slimes at level one to water sprites at level eight. The monsters’ movement speeds inevitably increased with their level. Nooo… I don’t want to die…, Fey thought, being melodramatic. Though the monsters were probably fast enough to inflict damage, they were of a diminutive size and were unlikely to cause more than scratches or bruises. Just as she was about to prod her weak-minded, pain-intolerant self into accepting the inevitable acquisition of injuries, a posting caught her eye: Clear Giant Slugs from Pine Grove. She had not paid it any attention before because the slugs were level ten. However, since their movement speed was so low, Fey was confident she could avoid any attacks and leisurely inflict damage, eventually defeating them even if it took a longer period of time than normal. Following the directions on the post, Fey headed towards Pine Grove, expecting a straightforward and easy quest (eventually, she’d learn better).

Pine Grove was deep in the forest, so deep Fey lost track of how long she had been walking (well, she would’ve if the system clock hadn’t told her it’d been exactly an hour and fourteen minutes). She passed mobs of various plant- and animal-based monsters, but none attacked (thank cow[i]), so she moved on without fighting. As she travelled deeper into the forest, the trees became larger. Alarmingly large. Really, really big. At first, Fey was impressed with the wonder and majesty of nature, but after the trees continued to grow in size, she started suspecting that they could not possibly grow that large in real life. What happened to 99% realism? Rawr. (Really, she was just annoyed that she kept tripping over or having to climb over enormous tree roots. However, as her dexterity did increase, she couldn’t really complain.) I really need to get a mount. A horse? A unicorn? Maybe something winged? With those pleasant imaginings to occupy her (whiny) mind, Fey finally reached Pine Grove.

Seeing her destination, Fey was confused. It appeared that she was standing in a large, circular clearing. Uh, isn’t a grove supposed to be full of trees? Then her eyes focused on a dark object in the middle of the clearing. It resolved into a tree trunk; the entire clearing was just the space beneath its enormous branches. Okay, this is going from ridiculous to physically impossible, Fey thought, exasperated.

“Greetings, adventurer.” The voice came from directly behind her, causing Fey to jump and spin, startled (no girly screaming for our brave heroine). An aged, wise-looking elf had appeared, with long white hair and clad in a white robe, perfectly fitting the ‘wise sage’ stereotype. “Have you come in response to my request for aid, or have you some other business here?”

“I came to help with the… slug problem,” said Fey, unable to think of a sophisticated way to mention slugs and feeling like she was failing at the whole role-playing thing (not that any of her previous conversations were all that medieval-sounding).

“Yes, the parasites plaguing the Pine.” Ah, so that’s how you say it. Though the alliteration is a bit much. “As you can see,” he said, pointing, “many tens of them infest the tree, leeching its vitality away. Destroy them all, and you shall be rewarded with the Guardian’s Blessing. Fey’s gaze followed the line of the sage’s arm to the huge pine (Pine) tree; all around the base of the trunk were giant slimy spots, which she assumed were slugs. So many. Ugh. *internal sigh* Might as well get it over with.

With a respectful nod to the sage and a (corny) “I will do my utmost to complete this task”, Fey strode towards the Pine. And strode some more, muttering about the ridiculousness of its size. When she was finally within touching distance of the trunk, Fey was able to inspect a giant slug up close. There was not much to see. They were large, longer and wider than Fey herself, and very slimy, their tan-grey skin covered with a mucous ooze. Other than that, they were fairly featureless, with no visible eyes, mouth, or any other visible appendages or organs. Fey could see (slimy) dead, blackened bark at the edges of where the slug touched the trunk. Being very slug-like, the creature did not appear to be moving very much. Inspection over, Fey had to confront her dilemma: how to kill this creature with nothing but a dagger, a slime, and a mushroom…

Well, let’s see what the mushroom can do. Fey picked Magic up, pointed him cap-first at the slug and commanded, “Spore!” hoping that it would get poisoned or some similar status effect, and eventually die.

Uh… If there hadn’t been a system notice, Fey would have thought that the attack had failed for all the difference being asleep made to the slug. Fey tried again. “Spore!”

“Spore! Spore! Spore!”

After yelling “spore” about twenty times, the slug was asleep, paralysed, and slowed, Spore had failed about seventeen times and levelled up, and Fey was exasperated. Let’s move on to plan B, shall we? Seeing how slimy (and gross) it was, she did not want to touch, or have her pets touch, the slug. That left the dagger. Dubiously, she drew it. It did not look long enough to do more than to pierce the slug’s skin. Maybe if I hit a vital spot? She aimed the dagger at one end of the slug, where she guessed the head to be (it could also have been the hind end; she couldn’t tell the difference) and stabbed down, producing a wet squishing noise.

A sort of spasming twitch ran along the slug’s body:

but otherwise, nothing happened.

Maybe the other head? Orienting on the other end of the slug, she again plunged the dagger down (*squish*). Again, the dagger did not appear to cause the slug any real harm. Instead of blood, slime that appeared exactly the same as that already coating the slug oozed out of the cuts that she had made. *Mental sigh* Did I really expect to kill a slug by going for its brain? It totally doesn’t need its brain. If it even has a brain; maybe it only has a basic central nervous system, like a jellyfish or a starfish. Unfortunately, Fey knew very little about slug biology; her high school curriculum focused almost entirely on mammals, particularly human beings (any reader who claims that humans are not animals may now put down this story and go attempt to communicate with fungi or plants, depending on which kingdom they prefer to belong to).

There has to be a way to kill this thing. The heart, maybe? Fey did not know where the heart would be, either. She randomly picked a spot between the two ‘head wounds’ she had inflicted and stabbed again. Getting annoyed at the lack of results, Fey stabbed repeatedly in different spots, muttering, “Die, you stupid slug.”

On the fifth or sixth stab, Fey finally got some results. Upon stabbing down, the slug convulsed particularly violently. Smirking with satisfaction, she noted the position of the vital spot before pulling the dagger out (she didn’t really care which particular organ she was hitting). This turned out to be a fortunate decision. As soon as Fey withdrew the dagger, the slug exploded, showering her with slug slime.

In the face of extreme ickiness, Fey acted sensibly. Instead of immediately squealing, “EEEEEEEWW!” like most silly girls, she carefully wiped her face clean, making sure it was out of her eyes, nose, and mouth. (There was a coin stuck to her forehead, which she carefully put away.) Only then did she screech, “EEEEEEWW!” so loudly that a flock of birds several hundred metres away was startled into flight.

(Hidden in a lookout spot, the sage chuckled.)

Adding injury to insult, the system notice chose this moment to announce:

The thought of dying from poison put Fey into a panic until she checked the status effect:

Doing the math: Ten damage?? What is the point in going through the trouble to code such a lame status effect? It was all too much; the shock and disgust from the slime explosion combined with the unnecessary panic from the weak poison effect to fill Fey with angry, violent energy. She loosed a cry halfway between a shriek and a roar, one that sent fear into the hearts of every creature that heard it and warned them to run.

Unfortunately for the slugs, they did not have ears to hear or legs to run away quickly enough (*doomed*). Racing to the nearest slug, Fey struck repeatedly, not bothering to look for vital spots in her anger. When the slug finally exploded, Fey ran to the next, and the next, and the next. It was not until she had killed all twenty or so slugs within reach from the ground did she stop, panting with exertion, to survey the carnage. A few seconds later, as if even the system notice were intimidated by her excessive violence (in reality, it was because it was hard for the system to translate her abnormal actions into code), she was informed:

The abilities seemed fairly self-explanatory, but she looked at their descriptions anyway:

Well, that explains why it took so many hits to kill those – slugs. (Fey just refrained from swearing)

Nice. Attack initiative was a measure of aggression, of how likely a monster was to attack without provocation. Low-level monsters usually had an attack initiative of 0 (never attacked first) so that newbies (n00bs) would not be swarmed and die. Low-initiative monsters would not attack unless the character was much weaker and passed extremely close. High-initiative monsters would attack everyone in the vicinity, even much higher-level players who would most certainly kill them.

In addition to the newly-learned skills, Fey had decimated (in the sense of destroying approximately one-tenth) the slug population, all the ones within reasonable reach from the ground, and one that was not. How did I get the one all the way up there? she wondered, looking at the splattered remains of a slug a good three metres (that’s ten feet for you weirdo Americans) above the ground. Fey was tall for a girl, but not that tall. Did I jump? Did I throw something? (We’ll never know, as the irresponsible author never bothered thinking through the logistics of this feat before inserting it into the story. Bad author.) Dismissing the question, Fey looked for her pets (she was getting a weird feeling from not having a weight on her head and her foot).

“Amethyst!” she called. Fey heard a (cute) squeak and followed the sound to her wayward companions. They appeared to be playing in the (poisonous) remains of a slug. Aww crap. Can pets die of poison? Even as she watched, Amethyst opened her mouth – “No! Don’t!” – and ate some slime. Gah!! Eeew. Instead of dying from the toxins, Fey was surprised (as always) by the system notice:

So… Amethyst will secrete the most recent poisonous stuff she eats? Or the most poisonous poisonous stuff? (that double “poisonous” is not a typo, despite what spellcheck thinks). Fey gingerly picked Amethyst up by the bubble, where she dangled, slug slime dripping to the ground (that’s some non-stick coating slimes have). When the slime stopped dripping, Fey poked it to check for residual poison (*sway cutely*); satisfied that Amethyst was clean, Fey placed her on her head. Magic did not appear to have similar non-stick properties, so Fey simply told the mushroom, “Come along,” and walked to the base of the tree directly below a surviving slug, where she considered her next course of action.

Her decision was fairly straightforward: as she had no ranged weapon (she could throw her dagger, but she’d probably miss and maim herself as it fell back down), she had to climb up to the slug. Fortunately, the ridges in the tree’s bark were proportional to its size, more than deep enough for her to wedge her feet into. Jamming her feet into a crack (belatedly realizing that she could possibly be ruining her virtual boots) and pushing up with her legs, she climbed the several metres to the slug. Again, there were no obvious markings signalling a vital spot, so she randomly stabbed about its middle until it spasmed. Grimacing, Fey turned her head away before withdrawing the dagger, protecting her face from the ensuing slime explosion. This did not prevent her from being poisoned. Bearing the state stoically (as in, she expected it, not that she didn’t complain), she moved on to the slug above it.

On her way up, she noticed Magic bouncing along beside her as if the tree trunk were the ground. Does he have some kind of suction cup? Fey plucked the mushroom off the tree to examine his underside (it was round and white and fairly suction cup-less). She put him back on the tree. He stuck. She picked him up and put him on the tree, headfirst. He rolled ‘upright’ (as in, perpendicular to the tree and parallel to the ground) and stuck. The tree was not big enough to generate a gravitational force such that the frictional force between Magic and the bark could counter the gravity caused by the earth, but apparently Magic did not know that. Fey just shook her head and climbed on.

It took Fey about forty minutes to kill the rest of the slugs, most of that time spent climbing about the tree. She was repeatedly poisoned by the slug slime, until finally:

Eventually, with slime all over the tree and her clothes, Fey dropped to the ground. Before she could start looking for the sage, he appeared at the edge of her peripheral vision.

“Well done, adventurer.”

“As promised, I will endow you with a Guardian’s Blessing,” the sage continued, raising his hands and beginning a chant. As he spoke, a glowing, translucent flower that rather resembled a butterfly appeared between his hands. The glow began as yellow-gold, but deepened into violet. Rather like a butterfly, the flower drifted towards Fey in a roundabout fashion, shrinking and brightening as it went, as if it filled less space with more intensity. By the time it reached her, the butterfly-flower was a very bright spark about the size of a fingertip. Gently landing near the outer corner of her left eye, it flashed once and transformed into a tattoo-like marking where it had landed (not that Fey could see this) and infusing her with a sense of well-being.

“You have been made known to the Guardian of the Forest,” said the sage mysteriously. “While in the forest, the Guardian may lend you strength.”

Not really understanding what had happened, Fey just said, “Thank you.”

Formalities over, the sage’s face suddenly transformed with a warm, teasing smile. “I am Jerendal,” he said.

“Well met,” Fey replied. “I am called Fey.”

“I will remember that name,” he said. “It is not often that I see an adventurer driven to battle-rage by slugs.” His smile grew into a chuckle as Fey looked away, mortified. Son of a – he saw that? When she looked back, Jerendal had disappeared again, while the ghost of his chuckles still echoed around the clearing.

Still not worth that much embarrassment.

Footnotes:

[i] reference to Big Bang Theory, when Raj said “I swear to cow” as a joke about Hinduism