Weylan drew a pentagram in the dirt at the garden's edge, mumbling unintelligibly. Darken watched him suspiciously. “That really invokes the guardian spirit of your store?”
“Of course. A guardian spirit of great power and wisdom.”
Selvara, in crow form, flew out from behind a building and landed in the pentagram.
Weylan bowed deeply. “Grant us your assistance, black shadow of the deep skies.” Selvara nodded regally, then fluttered onto his shoulder, looking down majestically at the group of three.
Darken scowled at the orderly rows of low herbs, which made the crisscrossing trails of destruction in the garden stand out starkly. “I spent five silver pieces on the guild’s monster snail brochure. It said salt water would hurt them. But it didn’t work at all.”
Weylan glanced questioningly at Selvara, who nodded and connected with Malvorik. They were too far from the dungeon for Weylan to speak to the dungeon heart directly, but as his familiar, Selvara could.
Selvara whispered to Weylan, who turned to Darken. “What kind of salt did you use?”
“Just salt from the grocer’s store.”
Weylan nodded knowingly. “I thought so. You should’ve used sea salt.”
“What difference does it make? Salt is salt.”
Weylan raised his hands in mock despair: "Oh, you ignorant fools. Salt from underground mines has entirely different alchemical properties than salt from seawater. Only sea salt has the strong drying effect needed against snails. But we don’t have time for shopping now.”
As they walked, Selvara whispered in Weylan’s ear, “How did you know that? Malvorik is thrilled you got it right. Did you secretly study one of the alchemy books?”
Weylan stumbled slightly but recovered, and didn't let anything else show as he whispered very quietly, “Is that really true? I just made it up.”
Darken’s eyes flickered left and right as he verified the information with his alchemy skill, then he cursed, "Crap. I could’ve figured that out sooner. I have apprentice-level alchemy through the art of Dark Ayurveda. Now let me do some magic...” He took a small box from his backpack, placed it on the ground, and opened it. Over his shoulder, Weylan saw padded compartments with small vials. Darken took out a tin container with a tube and a cylinder across the front under the top. A handle of a movable rod protruded from the tube's end, and the front end tapered into a point.
Darken unscrewed a cap on the cylinder, filled it with liquids from some of the vials while muttering to himself, then reassembled it and stood up. “Now let’s see if Dark Ayurveda can defeat these monster slugs.” He held up the syringe. “Curse of Rukshana!”
Fleetfoot rolled her eyes. “Yes, a treatment for oily skin will surely help.” She swung a hand axe menacingly. Weylan’s raised eyebrow went unnoticed as he asked, “A small splitting axe? Aren’t you going to use a real weapon?”
“My knives don’t do much against these critters. I don’t have anything else. We’re not yet an experienced group of heroes with an arsenal of weapons for every task.”
The warrior Bernd tightened the straps on his round wooden shield, looking impatient. “Can we go now?”
Everyone lined up. Weylan surveyed the flat, coverless terrain. The only building was a two-story farmhouse with a roof extending almost to the ground, covered in wooden shingles and dotted with small mounds. Monster snails, each as long as a human forearm, covered with dark gray shells, perched on the roof.
Bernd took the lead. “Well, those beasts won’t surprise us this time.” He turned to Weylan, who still stood calmly and unarmed. “The snails use the roof to gain speed. Looks like sledding, if you know what that's like. They zip down on slime tracks, jumping from the roof to the ground and across the garden. Don’t think soil or vegetation will slow them down—they glide on a thick layer of foaming slime. Above all, watch your feet. I know you didn't need to fix anything on our pants or shoes earlier, but that's only because we had to replace them completely already.”
Weylan glanced at his magical assassin shoes with concern, then shrugged, pulled out a box, and removed a metal rod as long as his leg from the Bag of Holding area, with a leather-wrapped end and a crosswise metal piece. The warrior looked at him, puzzled. “A golf club?”
“9-iron. According to bardic tales about the legendary hero WoodsTiger, the recommended weapon against small, low attackers. Apart from a scythe, but I’m not practiced enough to use one properly.”
Bernd called over his shoulder, “Everyone ready?” He stomped off without waiting for an answer. As they approached, they heard a soft smacking noise throughout the garden.
He walked cautiously, drawing his sword, then dropped to his knees at a knee-high bush and struck. His blow severed the surprised snail in front of its shell with a smacking sound. A snail two steps ahead turned its stalk eyes on him. At the point where its body disappeared into the shell, a mouth opened at the top, emitting a surprisingly loud trumpeting cry. Bernd jumped forward, taking another swing. The snail began to move, but not fast enough. When it realized it couldn’t escape, it retreated into its shell. The blow glanced off the round shell, leaving a long scratch. Fleetfoot leapt forward and struck wide with the hand axe, splintering the slug's shell with a crack and silencing another trumpet squeal.
Weylan kept an eye on the roof and was not disappointed. Snails slid down, slime foaming from their undersides. In the garden, snails moved aggressively from all directions.
He grinned. This was just like in the bardic tale of WoodsTiger against the swarm of ironshell-turtles. He fondly remembered growing up with those tales about the great hero and his team: the Sportsmen. Jordan of Mike, the lanky giant who threw exploding leather balls into the midst of his enemies; Baking Boris, who wielded a slicing net on a grip to decimate hordes of giant howling-mosquitoes; and Bruce, son of Lee, the dwarf martial artist who could spin-kick the head of an elf. The bards never explained why his lips never synced with his words of wisdom.
The snails neared, so Weylan positioned himself, holding his steel rod with both hands, left hand higher on the handle, right hand below. Aligning his body with the nearest snail, he swung the stick backward, his upper body turning in harmony, the stick rising smoothly in a wide arc. His weight seemed to shift, his body coiling like a spring ready to release. Weylan’s left arm stayed straight while his right bent, a motion both fluid and controlled.
Then, with a swift, powerful motion, Weylan swung the stick downward, striking the snail with a sharp, clear sound, sending it flying. He quickly readied his stance for the next attacker. It really was true. The 9-iron concentrated a lot of power into a small spot, ideal for targets close to the ground.
The second snail that reached him still had too little run-up to pick up any real speed, so he hit it without trouble, shattering its shell and hurling it three meters through the air, where it lay dazed.
Two more slugs approached from the other side. Darken pumped the handle of his syringe, then pushed it back in. A jet of brownish oil mixture hit the snail over its stalk eyes and front foot, darkening and cracking the skin. The snail's advance halted abruptly as it curled up in agony and disappeared into its shell, which rolled a few meters away. The next snail only received a splash on its shell, which it ignored, continuing to move forward on a foaming trail of slime. The slit of its mouth became visible on the underside, spraying a greenish substance, likely in response to Darken's brownish drying solution. Darken whirled around in panic, shielding his face. His raised hood covered his head, taking the hit and starting to smoke all over his back.
The snail zoomed past him, aiming for Fleetfoot's feet. Bernd, vigilant, kneeled and slammed his shield into the ground in front of it. The snail slapped against it with a wet sound. Before it could recover, Bernd struck it three times.
Meanwhile, Weylan pursued his opponent, finishing off the stunned snail with vertical blows from his club.
Enemy defeated: Acid Snail (Level 4): 12 XP
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
As he looked up from the squashed pile, he noticed a group of three snails approaching from the house, faster and larger than the others, each over half a step long. “Watch out! Here come the big ones. Get ready!”
The three revenants lined up. The snails seemed intent on running them over and sliming them with acid foam. Weylan quickly looked around, considering his options. If the revenants fell, he'd still have enough time to escape. He put away his metal club; these beasts were too large for it. His magical swordstaff was too distinctive to use here—anyone hearing a description and meeting him later would know he’d been there. With his ordinary short sword, he aimed to cut off a snail's eye and then retreat.
Something black fluttered from a bush, flying quickly toward the snails’ path. He recognized Selvara even before she used her new spell. A cone of sparkling blue light emanated from her as she crossed the snails' path. Two were caught in the effect, while the third, slightly behind, was missed. Instead, its slime froze as it crossed the frost line, toppling over and retreating into its shell, rolling wildly through the garden.
The other two, while not directly harmed by the frost, found their slime frozen. They could barely move for a few heartbeats, their stalk eyes blinded by ice.
They dashed erratically between the easily dodging fighters. The warrior rammed his shield into the side of one slug with his full weight behind it, knocking it over. Weylan thrust his short sword into the side of the slug's shell, gray blood oozing out.
The other received a load of Dark Ayurveda directly into its breathing hole and an axe blow to the side. Snorting and gasping, it dashed into a low berry bush, where it got stuck while the revenants finished it off.
Weylan and Bernd also dispatched their opponent easily. Weylan glanced at the low XP, noting that monsters below his level earned him even fewer xp when he fought together with others.
Opponent defeated: Acid Snail (level 4): 6 XP
The revenants ensured no other enemies were nearby and sighed in relief. The warrior grinned. “Ha! Level up! The attribute point goes to strength, like the others. Feat... Protective Sprint. I’ve been looking forward to this one.” Weylan approached him, trying not to sound too curious. “I don’t know that feat. What does it do exactly?”
“I can sprint at double speed to move between a group member and an attacker. It also makes it easier to block attacks with the shield. Perfect for a tank.”
Weylan still didn’t understand why revenants chose water tanks as a symbol for masochistic fighters, but at least he knew what the warrior meant. He refrained from questioning the other revenants, who stared into space, when the warrior suddenly became serious. “Wait! Close the menus. We haven’t received quest completion confirmation.”
Weylan flinched as something moved in his peripheral vision but saw it was only Selvara, who perched on his shoulder again. Smaller snails scurried away from the garden, making pitiful moaning noises.
Darken watched them, frowning. “Fleeing opponents count as defeated. If we attacked them now, we could gain a few more XP, but then they’d stop and fight back. Not worth it.”
The warrior attached his shield to his back. Weylan scanned the area. Something felt off. He had only given out or taken part in a few quests so far, but the level of difficulty had always been quite clear. This quest had seemed too easy, even considering it was the group’s second attempt and they had already defeated a few monsters previously. Furthermore, they hadn’t received a completion message. This could only mean one thing. He tapped the warrior. “Ahem... You do realize the second round is about to start?”
“What?!?” Bernd quickly strapped his shield back on his arm. “What do you mean?”
“They were all level 3 and 4 monsters. Too weak for this quest’s difficulty. That means there’s a second wave coming.”
The last snails had left the garden. A deep trumpeting sound echoed through the area. On the far side, a huge monster snail emerged from the bushes, a step and a half long and almost as high with its shell. The blueblack shell glittered metallically, and its otherwise soft body was covered with similar metallic scales. It held its stalk eyes close to its body, with two more stalks protruding from underneath, ending in hollow tubes.
The revenants stood up again as Weylan took a few steps behind them and nudged Selvara with his head. “Do you know anything about them?”
Malvorik quickly identified the attacker through Selvara. She quietly relayed, “It’s a giant ore-slag-snail. They usually live near on the spoil heaps of iron mines or near smelters. In the wild, they’re found near above-ground metal deposits, living symbiotically with acid snails to…”
“I don’t need a lifestyle summary right now, just how to kill it.”
Selvara was silent for a moment while she communicated with Malvorik. Then she continued: "They are practically immune to acid, fire, and light stabbing weapons. Their armor is like cast iron, but their shell is more fragile. Strong crushing weapons like blacksmith’s hammers or two-handed maces are recommended. The tubes under their eyes spray acid in a narrow jet over a surprisingly long distance.”
Weylan relayed the warning just as the snail turned and fired a jet of acid. The group, which had just been standing close together, scattered. The green spray missed, but everyone except Weylan got a few drops. Smoking spots ate through armor and clothing.
Selvara flew over the giant snail, emitting another frost breath, which had no effect.
The warrior used a feat to ram shield-first into the side of the slag slug, then deflected another acid blast but causing no real damage. The thief crept up, using the warrior as cover. Two quick knife thrusts struck the thinner edges of the shell, penetrating finger-deep but not enough to hurt the monster. It began to turn, aiming its acid spray at the thief.
Darken ran up from the other side, panting, and squirted the rest of his Dark Ayurveda mixture into the breathing hole. The snail stumbled briefly, its forward motion faltering, then belched and accelerated.
Weylan retreated slightly, thinking feverishly. The earlier opponents were too easy, but this final one was clearly too tough. He was missing something. He pulled his hood closer and muttered, “If only we had more heroes...” The quest giver symbol glowed faintly red through his hood. He skimmed the quest giver menu and cursed. “Cofefe’s tiny grabby hands!”
Selvara landed on his shoulder. “What’s up?”
“The quest is scaled to the highest participant’s level.”
“Aren’t they all level 4? This creature seems too fierce for a level 5 opponent.”
“I’m level 6.”
Selvara whistled softly.
Weylan continued: "The snails are deliberately a little weaker than the group. The quest requires the heroes to defeat them easily with a little preparation and then face the final boss as a real challenge. A snail monster with the heroes' highest level plus one. So, level 7 here."
Selvara let out an involuntary caw: "Golgoroth's mercy! It's going to kill us! In a dungeon, a level 7 monster would be an opponent for a group of five heroes at level 5 to 6. The leap from level 5 to 6 is massive—from apprentice to journeyman. You haven’t even selected all your feats, and your equipment is still apprentice level. The others still have starting gear, no better.”
Weylan quickly took off his backpack, placed it in front of him, and pulled out the merchandise box. His hand hovered briefly over the compartments before he pulled out a leather pouch with a fist-sized opening. “Darken! Over here!”
Darken rushed over.
“Do you have any more poison?”
“I have a Dark Ayurveda mixture meant as a weapon poison, but it’s useless if we can’t pierce the armor. I was about to give it to Fleetfoot so she can repeat her maneuver."
Weylan shook his head vigorously and held the bag wide open. "Dump it all in here!" he yelled.
Darken didn't hesitate, pouring the contents of his bottle into Weylan’s bag. Weylan snapped it shut, gave it a quick shake, and sprinted off. The ground blurred beneath his feet as he charged through the dense bed of herbs, narrowly dodging a sizzling jet of acid that sprayed from the massive snail. He darted past the creature, already feeling the heat of the acid hissing behind him, but the snail had just fired and couldn’t muster another blast yet.
As Weylan sped by, he opened the bag, gripping it by the bottom. He trailed it behind him, leaving a path of sharp-edged metal shards scattered across the ground. The caltrops, designed to always land with at least one spike up, glinted menacingly under the dungeon's dim light. The relentless snail slithered right over the deadly trail. The poison coated metal shards bit deep into its soft underbelly, causing it to writhe in pain.
Seizing the opportunity, Weylan drew his non-magic shortsword from the scabbard on his back. He had seen the thief try this earlier, but where daggers had failed to cut into vital organs, his sword would reach deeper. He lunged forward and drove the blade into the narrow gap where the snail's shell met its vulnerable flesh. The creature recoiled, screeching in agony.
Then, with a swift motion, Weylan kicked off the ground and landed on the snail’s back, just behind its stalk eyes. The creature's mouth opened wide as it reared up in pain, exposing its breathing hole. Weylan didn't waste a second. He plunged the sword deep into the opening, feeling it tear through the snail’s insides. The beast thrashed violently, its screech cutting off into a wet, gurgling sound as it tried to retreat into its shell.
The warrior lifted the snail’s front while stabbing its unprotected underside. Dozens of crow’s feet were already lodged there, inflaming wounds with poison. The thief struck vulnerable areas from the other side.
Darken waited until the snail opened its mouth to bite Bernd, then squirted another load down its throat. The mouth snapped shut, foam drooling out with a strong vanilla scent. Darken crowed, “Feel the power of Dark Aromatherapy!” Green liquid sprayed from both tubes, but even the few drops hitting the revenants only foamed and intensified the vanilla smell.
The fight lasted a few more moments, but the outcome was clear. The snail fell over on its side and stayed there.
Opponent defeated: Giant Ore-Slag-Snail (Level 7): 21 XP
Weylan easily threw himself down in time, took a few steps back and picked up his box, and watched the revenants celebrate and discuss extracting valuable parts from the snail. He returned with a clipboard, paper, and pencil. “So… combat support against a level 7 enemy, monster lore advice, general quest advice, two dozen crow’s feet, weapon wear and tear, preparatory repair and cleaning… That’s another 23 gold and three silver pieces. I’ll round it down to 23 gold because you’re so nice.”
The warrior stared at him for a moment. Then he laughed, snorting and giggling. As soon as he had calmed down, he answered: "Okay, that's fair. Without you, we would have had to leave again. Looks like the voice of the world is pleased too, the reward’s higher than advertised.”
Quest: Slugs plague the dwarven garden (complete)
Reward per participant: 75 gold pieces and 50 XP.
Weylan glanced at the message and whistled through his teeth. A total of 89 XP for him and 298 gold pieces for the dungeon treasury. A great result for an afternoon where he hadn’t almost died for a change. He collected the agreed gold and handed over the repair spell-focus. The three revenants said their goodbyes. Bernd slapped him on the shoulder. “We stay at the Dryad Queen’s Inn. When your store’s active again, let us know. If you ever want to join a group of heroes, you’re always welcome.”
Weylan looked at him, unable to find the words for once, so he just nodded and left.