Slime Time
Posted: Thu Jul 06, 2023 8:34 am
122 Searing 86th
The Midden wasn't exactly the kind of place anyone would want to be. For Ivar, it was more a necessity for those that ventured there than a choice. Sure, it smelled pretty bad, like a weird mix of rotten food and the kind of things people tossed when they didn't want them anymore, but there was also a certain charm to it.
This was his first time Ivar had ever ventured into it. He’d been drawn a rough map of how to get to a certain shantytown and his goal was to meet someone there. For his trip he’d gone through the trouble of buying a katana in case teleportation didn’t work for whatever reason. His goal was to conserve his aether as much as possible in case he needed it for an emergency.
He took a moment to look at his new weapon. He had never owned a proper weapon before. His hands clenched around the handle, feeling the coolness of the handle, the basic design of the guard. It was a pretty neat weapon all things considered and he could hardly believe it was his.
Despite the excitement of having a weapon of his own, he couldn't shake off the feeling of nervousness. He wasn't trained to use a sword. Heck, he wasn't trained to use any weapon. All he knew was teleportation, but there was a thrill in trying something new, even if it was as dangerous as a blade.
He took a deep breath to comfort himself as he descended further into the sewers. The path was uneven, a combination of discarded objects and slimy walls. Every step he took echoed, creating a strange symphony of sounds that was both eerie and strangely comforting. He had the katana unsheathed, the weight of it was a comforting presence in his grip.
He found it hard to believe that anyone could possibly live down here in such conditions. He’d worked low end jobs before and he’d always found it at least possible to survive, especially if sharing a home with his parents. Were people down here simply incapable of doing labor? Were they all crazy?
The deeper he went, the more challenging it became. He stumbled a few times, his feet slipping on the wet ground. He held onto the katana tighter, feeling his hands already start to get tired of the strain. He had to adjust his grip a couple of times when the blade almost slipped out of his hand. He cursed softly each time, berating himself for his clumsiness.
All of a sudden he heard a squelching noise. He froze. He tried to think about all the possible dangers that it could be. He had only heard stories about the creatures that lurked down here and some of them were dangerous enough for him to start blinking in the opposite direction. Upon further inspection he saw that it was a slime.
He didn’t know much about them aside from their appearance. This one was small, no taller than his knee. Ivar found it kinda cute, if one could call a blob of green goo cute. It moved slowly, sliding across the damp ground. Ivar watched it curiously, his grip tightening on his katana.
The slime didn’t seem to give a fuck about his presence. It inched towards a dead rat and once it reached the carcass it absorbed it into its gelatinous body. He supposed that they were not the most intelligent creatures. His instinct told him to just move along but he had a katana, and he was in a mood to bother the slime.
He approached the slime cautiously. The katana felt even heavier when he thought about swinging it. He took a swing. The katana cut through the air, slashing at the slime. It was harder than it looked. His hand shook from the impact, and the slime barely moved. It was like slashing a bag of water. He grimaced, taking a step back. He had to try again.
He struck the slime again. And again. Each time, he got a little better. His hand didn't shake as much. He got used to the weight of the katana, the force needed to cut through the slime. But it wasn't as easy as he had imagined. The slimes were tricky, almost gelatinous if he had to put a word to it. They made it hard to slice it as intended as they moved unlike any creature he’d ever encountered before.
He kept swinging his katana, experimenting with different angles, different strengths. He was bad at it. But he didn't give up. He was stubborn like that. He’d long since killed the slime and was now working on aiming at the chunks that he’d sliced off. He was woefully unaware that there were other slimes around and closing in on him.
It wasn’t until he felt resistance when he tried to lift his foot did he realize that a slime had snuck up on him. He turned his head and his heart sank when he saw a handful of slimes behind him, all bigger than the last. He stared in horror as the slime at his foot started inching closer and enveloping more of his lower leg.
He shoved his katana right into the small slime and yanked his foot out. He started running and slipped on another slime that was hard to see in the darkness of the sewers. He scrambled back to his feet and tried spotting the katana that’d slipped out of his hand. He blinked over to it and scooped it off the ground before a slime could get to it.
“These slimes are getting out of hand. Who would have thought there’d be so many of them?”
He was getting tired. His arm ached from the repetitive movements. He had underestimated how hard it was to swing a katana. But he was making progress. He could feel it. He was hitting the slimes more often, his swings becoming more accurate. It was small progress, but progress nonetheless.
Ivar eventually blinked away and sat down to take a break. According to the crudely drawn map he had, he wasn’t even close to reaching the shantytown. He assumed his best bet would be to try to make his way back out. Doing so would be as simple as vaulting back home and next time he could simply vault back to his current position.
He set his katana to his side and dug through his bag to retrieve some jerky that he’d brought for food and a flask that was filled with water. He thought about how good the slimes had been at serving as target practice. They didn't fight back in the traditional sense. They didn't judge him, didn't laugh at his failures. They were perfect for him.
"These slimes, they're odd. They're all squishy and wobbly, like a bowl of green jelly. When they move, they kind of ooze and crawl, it's weird to look at. Their surface is shiny, like they're always wet. But the strangest part is, they don't have any eyes, or a mouth, or anything really. They're just a blob of... slime. But they react to me, they can sense me somehow. And when I cut them, they don't bleed, they just split. It's fascinating, really. But also kind of gross. I wonder if there’s any money to be made killing them."
He hadn’t been observant enough to notice any of the slime cores. He’d always been too focused on cutting and trying not to get caught off guard. He decided that he would call it quits here instead of trying to venture further into the midden. It was hard to motivate himself to do anything physically strenuous when his exhaustion was hitting him in full force. So, he sheathed his katana and meditated for a while until he could find a tavern he had his mind on. Then, in an instant, he was there.
The patrons near him were startled at his sudden arrival, some nearly knocking over their drinks. The bartender, a burly man with a large, bushy beard, scowled at him.
"Oi, you can't just come in here covered in slime! You're going to make a mess! There's a well round the back. You can use that."
Ivar glanced down at his slime-covered clothing, then back at the bartender. He honestly hadn’t noticed just how filthy he was. He actually thought he was pretty clean compared to most things in the sewers.
"Sorry about that. I’ll get out of here."
He opted to vault back home, wash himself as best as possible and then vault back in a much cleaner state. He took a seat with some people he knew who were grinning at the fact that he’d been yelled at. It was only after chatting with them did Ivar learn that slimes had cores that had value. He’d have to make sure to collect them next time he tried making his way to the shantytown.
The Midden wasn't exactly the kind of place anyone would want to be. For Ivar, it was more a necessity for those that ventured there than a choice. Sure, it smelled pretty bad, like a weird mix of rotten food and the kind of things people tossed when they didn't want them anymore, but there was also a certain charm to it.
This was his first time Ivar had ever ventured into it. He’d been drawn a rough map of how to get to a certain shantytown and his goal was to meet someone there. For his trip he’d gone through the trouble of buying a katana in case teleportation didn’t work for whatever reason. His goal was to conserve his aether as much as possible in case he needed it for an emergency.
He took a moment to look at his new weapon. He had never owned a proper weapon before. His hands clenched around the handle, feeling the coolness of the handle, the basic design of the guard. It was a pretty neat weapon all things considered and he could hardly believe it was his.
Despite the excitement of having a weapon of his own, he couldn't shake off the feeling of nervousness. He wasn't trained to use a sword. Heck, he wasn't trained to use any weapon. All he knew was teleportation, but there was a thrill in trying something new, even if it was as dangerous as a blade.
He took a deep breath to comfort himself as he descended further into the sewers. The path was uneven, a combination of discarded objects and slimy walls. Every step he took echoed, creating a strange symphony of sounds that was both eerie and strangely comforting. He had the katana unsheathed, the weight of it was a comforting presence in his grip.
He found it hard to believe that anyone could possibly live down here in such conditions. He’d worked low end jobs before and he’d always found it at least possible to survive, especially if sharing a home with his parents. Were people down here simply incapable of doing labor? Were they all crazy?
The deeper he went, the more challenging it became. He stumbled a few times, his feet slipping on the wet ground. He held onto the katana tighter, feeling his hands already start to get tired of the strain. He had to adjust his grip a couple of times when the blade almost slipped out of his hand. He cursed softly each time, berating himself for his clumsiness.
All of a sudden he heard a squelching noise. He froze. He tried to think about all the possible dangers that it could be. He had only heard stories about the creatures that lurked down here and some of them were dangerous enough for him to start blinking in the opposite direction. Upon further inspection he saw that it was a slime.
He didn’t know much about them aside from their appearance. This one was small, no taller than his knee. Ivar found it kinda cute, if one could call a blob of green goo cute. It moved slowly, sliding across the damp ground. Ivar watched it curiously, his grip tightening on his katana.
The slime didn’t seem to give a fuck about his presence. It inched towards a dead rat and once it reached the carcass it absorbed it into its gelatinous body. He supposed that they were not the most intelligent creatures. His instinct told him to just move along but he had a katana, and he was in a mood to bother the slime.
He approached the slime cautiously. The katana felt even heavier when he thought about swinging it. He took a swing. The katana cut through the air, slashing at the slime. It was harder than it looked. His hand shook from the impact, and the slime barely moved. It was like slashing a bag of water. He grimaced, taking a step back. He had to try again.
He struck the slime again. And again. Each time, he got a little better. His hand didn't shake as much. He got used to the weight of the katana, the force needed to cut through the slime. But it wasn't as easy as he had imagined. The slimes were tricky, almost gelatinous if he had to put a word to it. They made it hard to slice it as intended as they moved unlike any creature he’d ever encountered before.
He kept swinging his katana, experimenting with different angles, different strengths. He was bad at it. But he didn't give up. He was stubborn like that. He’d long since killed the slime and was now working on aiming at the chunks that he’d sliced off. He was woefully unaware that there were other slimes around and closing in on him.
It wasn’t until he felt resistance when he tried to lift his foot did he realize that a slime had snuck up on him. He turned his head and his heart sank when he saw a handful of slimes behind him, all bigger than the last. He stared in horror as the slime at his foot started inching closer and enveloping more of his lower leg.
He shoved his katana right into the small slime and yanked his foot out. He started running and slipped on another slime that was hard to see in the darkness of the sewers. He scrambled back to his feet and tried spotting the katana that’d slipped out of his hand. He blinked over to it and scooped it off the ground before a slime could get to it.
“These slimes are getting out of hand. Who would have thought there’d be so many of them?”
He was getting tired. His arm ached from the repetitive movements. He had underestimated how hard it was to swing a katana. But he was making progress. He could feel it. He was hitting the slimes more often, his swings becoming more accurate. It was small progress, but progress nonetheless.
Ivar eventually blinked away and sat down to take a break. According to the crudely drawn map he had, he wasn’t even close to reaching the shantytown. He assumed his best bet would be to try to make his way back out. Doing so would be as simple as vaulting back home and next time he could simply vault back to his current position.
He set his katana to his side and dug through his bag to retrieve some jerky that he’d brought for food and a flask that was filled with water. He thought about how good the slimes had been at serving as target practice. They didn't fight back in the traditional sense. They didn't judge him, didn't laugh at his failures. They were perfect for him.
"These slimes, they're odd. They're all squishy and wobbly, like a bowl of green jelly. When they move, they kind of ooze and crawl, it's weird to look at. Their surface is shiny, like they're always wet. But the strangest part is, they don't have any eyes, or a mouth, or anything really. They're just a blob of... slime. But they react to me, they can sense me somehow. And when I cut them, they don't bleed, they just split. It's fascinating, really. But also kind of gross. I wonder if there’s any money to be made killing them."
He hadn’t been observant enough to notice any of the slime cores. He’d always been too focused on cutting and trying not to get caught off guard. He decided that he would call it quits here instead of trying to venture further into the midden. It was hard to motivate himself to do anything physically strenuous when his exhaustion was hitting him in full force. So, he sheathed his katana and meditated for a while until he could find a tavern he had his mind on. Then, in an instant, he was there.
The patrons near him were startled at his sudden arrival, some nearly knocking over their drinks. The bartender, a burly man with a large, bushy beard, scowled at him.
"Oi, you can't just come in here covered in slime! You're going to make a mess! There's a well round the back. You can use that."
Ivar glanced down at his slime-covered clothing, then back at the bartender. He honestly hadn’t noticed just how filthy he was. He actually thought he was pretty clean compared to most things in the sewers.
"Sorry about that. I’ll get out of here."
He opted to vault back home, wash himself as best as possible and then vault back in a much cleaner state. He took a seat with some people he knew who were grinning at the fact that he’d been yelled at. It was only after chatting with them did Ivar learn that slimes had cores that had value. He’d have to make sure to collect them next time he tried making his way to the shantytown.
