Oakengrove had returned home a lot faster than Saea expected, faster than anyone at the home tree expected. Worse yet, when did return, he locked himself in his room for three days straight. On day four, Saea wanted to break the concern that lingered like stale air over the tree’s residents. She walked up the spiral staircase to the top of the tree, stopping a few feet short of Oakengrove’s door. She could hear him pacing. His walk was more like heavy-footed stomping. She pressed a hand to the door and pushed it open.

She peeked into the room and saw him staring back at her with his big brown eyes. “Sorry to disturb you,” she said meekly. “Everyone’s worried about you.”

Oakengrove turned his gaze away, looking out the only window he had in the room. He took a deep breath and spoke bluntly, “We’ve been awake for only a few months, Saea. I haven’t even seen snow yet, and the world wants me dead.”

Saea fell silent. She didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She kept her distance, but lowered her head sympathetically.

Oakengrove took a seat on a magically grown chair. It groaned beneath his weight, but it held firm. “I don’t understand it. There’s a piece to this puzzle I’m missing, something that explains this hatred towards me.”

Saea approached him and melted into a blob on the floor at his feet, a more relaxed form that she only used in his presence. “Is there anything I can do?”

He put a gnarled wooden hand on his ivy beard and stroked it. The motions helped him think. He was still waiting for Falcher to return from Huma and Simadger was abroad as well. The idea of sending his people out to act as spies had value to it, but there was a risk, a very big risk of death. The Dracolich encounter haunted him relentlessly. If something so powerful could hide in plain sight, then he could no longer guarantee his or their safety. Despite that, he couldn’t afford to sit around and wait for the army to arrive and summarily execute him. “There is something I could have you do. The lamia was in league with the Basars and although he acted rashly and independently, they feared retaliation from me. While I could easily cut the head off the monster, there are five hundred heads that need to roll. Then there’s Rykensvik, the country south of us.”

Saea perked up and reshaped into a human form, down on one knee. “I’m at your service, master.”

“This is going to be risky as shit, but I need you to play spy for me,” he commanded. “Head down to Rykensvik, the city of Anslo specifically, and start making connections. Your safety is paramount to the task at hand. If it gets dicey, get out. If you’re cornered, consume them should it come down to that. Otherwise, build connections, get information, and keep me notified of any military movements.”

Saea bowed her head. “Yes, Oakengrove. I will do what is necessary.”

Saea did not know how to interact with humans. Coming down from Oakengrove’s room, she bumped into Frida, who was on her way up with a rucksack of tools and parts. “Frida, do you have any spare clothes?”

The lizardfolk puffed her cheeks momentarily. “Ones that’ll fit you? Probably.” She motioned for Saea to follow and led her up to her room. Frida spent the summer building furniture for everyone, and she stored most of the prototypes in her room. The dresser was a six-drawer, five-foot-tall hunk of wood plankings slapped together painfully, crudely. Frida unevenly filed down the drawers to a size that left a quarter inch gap on all sides and they stiffly slid on a singular wood rail. She yanked the drawer out to its hard stop and started shuffling through some clothes. “I don’t know what you like style-wise. Most of my stuff is functional; cargo pants, smith aprons, junk shirts I don’t care about, the simple stuff.”

“I just need to look normal?” She posed it more so as a question to herself. Saea never wore clothes, slimes lacked a rigid enough body necessary to wear some. She also lacked the feminine features that would allow most to see her as a woman. Anyone outside Oakengrove’s circle would see a featureless and vaguely human-shaped slime. “What counts as normal?”

Frida inhaled sharply through her teeth. “Y’know what? Androgynous it is,” she said, pulling out some of the more intact pieces of pants and shirts. Laid out on the floor were a pair of olive green cargo pants, an off-white baggy short-sleeved cotton shirt, a brown vest with thin darker brown striping, and, to top it off, a triangular leather cap topped with a feather. The earthy tones heavily contrasted her blue-green slime colors, and the leather cap obscured her artificial hair. “Does it come in other colors?”

Frida looked back at the drawer. “Do you like black?”

By the end of the wardrobe hunt, Saea settled with the brown colors as those looked the best on her.

“So, what did you need these for?” Frida asked.

“I’m heading to Anslo, a big city south of here,” Saea said, giving Frida a quick rundown of her mission.

The lizardfolk had been cooped up for months and wanted to get out and see something other than her own forge and crafting tables, which made Frida envious. She crossed her arms and raised a brow. “The human cities? To this Rykensvik that Khar mentioned? Does he not realize how dangerous that is?”

“Pfft,” Saea scoffed. “I look human enough, don’t I?”

Frida rolled her eyes. “You better be highly charismatic to convince them you are.”

“What about gloves?” She looked down at her exposed hands.

“I got bulky heat-resistant blacksmithing gloves but I need the only pair I have,” she said. “Besides, you can’t finesse anything in those.”

Saea adjusted the cap and stretched out her gelatinous hair, bringing it to waist length. “How do I look?”

Frida shifted her weight onto one foot and rested a hand on her hip. “Let’s get you a sword, at least. I know, I know, magic caster, but you’ll fit in with those adventurers we keep seeing with one at your side. And,” she emphasized the word, “if one of them tries to rough you up, just point the tip at them, they’ll back down.” She had a spare short sword in a leather sheath resting in her room. It was also a prototype sword, a test weapon to get a feel for the tools and smithing process again. “It’s rough looking, but it still can remove a head if needed.”

Saea took the sheathed sword and affixed it to her belt. “It’s so weird wearing all of this,” she commented. “Why is this normal? Oakengrove doesn’t wear clothing.”

Frida smirked. “I wear it to protect my scales. I may be a lizardfolk but forge fire hurts. Ciez wears chain mail directly on the skin, or at least used to. That took some serious explaining to get the concept of chafing through that thick skull. The humans, though, and probably most of the people outside here, wear it because it’s normal for them to. Some will change their styles and colors to express themselves better. I know a lot of these countries are against nudity and I don’t blame them. I know some wear it to keep warm or to avoid getting sunburnt.”

Saea played with the collar of the vest, getting a feel for the thin cotton. “So weird.”

“Get used to it, sis,” Frida said, slamming the drawer closed. “You’re gonna be in those almost every hour of every day you’re in the cities.”

Transit down to the nearest human settlement was handled by Kateda. The centaur was relieved it wasn’t Ciez on her back. For the most part, the trip down to the outer edges of Gelwood was quiet. Saea hopped off from Kateda’s back and gave her a hearty pat on the side. “Thanks for the ride,” she said with a cheery smile.

Kateda reached down and flicked the hawk feather in Saea’s cap. “Take care of yourself. I don’t want to find out you’ve been diluted into a river. I’m never too far away should you need anything.”

Saea nodded. “Oakengrove already told me to steer clear of trouble. Besides, I have a plan and I’m ready.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Kateda snorted at the slime’s eagerness to step out into the field. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” she said, turning about to head home. “Oh!” she called back over her shoulder. “Bring me a snack when you come home.”

Gelwood was a rural farming town of a thousand residents. The rolling fields tucked away the town, several hours away from the next town. The residents of Gelwood used rough timber and thatch to build most of the town, while the nicer homes had a cobblestone foundation. Nearly all the houses were single storey and rectangular, most with some sort of fence notating property lines. Farmland surrounded the outskirts of the town, with crops that were primed for harvest. Whole families, some seemed to be four or five generations large, were out in the fields beginning their harvest.

Dirt trails sneakily streaked out from the town’s center, one of which was active, with loggers and oxen towing their fresh cuts for the season. Saea chose the less traveled trails into town. The walk-in was a unique experience for her. She walked amongst the town’s residents as if one of their own and few batted an eye towards her. Kids were running around with sticks, big hoops, and other toys.

Gelwood was the first stop on her trek down to Anslo, and she was hoping to hitch a ride. The center of town was a loose collection of market stalls, wells, and houses. At the head of the market was a cobblestone tower three floors tall with a hallway-like attachment hanging off the backside. It had large stained glass panes on the tower, looking in every direction, and on its third floor, beneath a tiled roof, was a brass bell the size of an ox. Someone dressed in orange robes was reaching for a rope that was attached to the bell. With several hard tugs, the bell swung side to side and clanged with a loud ring, signifying the top of the hour.

Saea counted the chimes beneath her breath, “…Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.” The chimes stopped, marking it to be the eighteenth hour of the day. Her gaze looked up at the bell tower. “His arms must get tired from that,” she mumbled. The bell chimes also marked the closure of the daily market, it seemed, as many of the stallholders began packing up their unsold goods into crates to be loaded back onto their carts. That’s when she saw a batch of familiar faces. Strolling down the streets was a band of seemingly merry travelers comprising an orc, a human, a nirillin, a tasaki, a raccoon-kin, and a raton. She stopped in her tracks and watched them pass.

Dmahdi was in casual garb and was visibly excited to be home. “Fuck them gnolls. Ricky, we’re never doing that again.”

Roshka looked down at his paws. “I’m inclined to agree with our muscle. We were well over our heads with that quest.”

Roderick held up his hands in a half-hearted effort to show defeat. “I know, I know. You all badgered me the whole boat ride home. Go get some rest. I’ll give the Donards the news.”

The tall human waved off the group of companions and headed down towards the large tavern. Saea intended to follow, but something small and heavy collided with her. Her gelatinous body bounced and jiggled, knocking the small and heavy object backward. It was a solid gold-plated sphere. From the center, a tall multi-segmented pole stood up, and from it split a pair of arms and a metallic face that resembled nothing familiar to her. It had a set of glowing blue eyes and no mouth, all on a stretched, banana-like head.

Saea leaned in closer and poked it in what she thought was the nose. “Hello?” She asked, confused and concerned.

“HAI,” screeched a metallic feminine voice.

Saea jumped backward several feet and fell onto her butt. She drew the sword from the scabbard and shakily pointed it at the weird metal device.

The metal sphere also panicked and flopped onto its back, feigning its own death.

A moment later, Roderick came walking back, “Brina!” He shouted. “What are you doing?” He then noticed the panicked person on the ground with a sword drawn. “Oh, shit. Sorry. The machine is a bit temperamental but it is safe. Here,” Roderick said, offering a hand.

Saea took his hand. However, her lack of physical structure in her body caused her to blob around it instead and cling to him like a jar of honey. She stood up with his help and stared directly at him.

Roderick’s gaze turned to his gloved hand, which was encased in a layer of viscous slime. “You can let go…” he said, concerningly slowly.

Saea snapped her arm back to her side. “oh, uh, sorry. The—,” she stuttered over her words, trying to put a name to whatever the metal sphere was.

“The rolling ball? She’s a construct, dwarven make. Apparently, it belonged to the Donards.” Roderick explained. The confused look upon the unusually colored person in front of him made him want to elaborate. “The barkeepers just over there?” He pointed to their tavern. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you before, have I?”

Saea shook her head. She tried to echo a human enough voice but her nervousness made it gurgle and reverberate, “Saea.”

The dwarven construct known as Brina up righted itself and held out a mechanical hand. “A pleasure to meet you.” The construct mimicked a gurgling noise instead of repeating her name.

Roderick eyed the construct. “I don’t think it heard you correctly.” He then grabbed Brina’s outstretched hand. “Come on, you need to get fixed.”

The construct spherical base continued to roll like cartwheels and it followed Roderick’s guiding hand.

Saea looked to where they’d come from and there was not a villager in sight. She then turned and followed the human and the construct to the tavern. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

The man huffed, surprised by his lack of etiquette. “Roderick. You’ll have to forgive my lack of decency. I just returned from a trip overseas.”

Saea’s step perked up. “Oh? Where from?”

“Shikao, more specifically to the United Dwarven Kingdom.” He replied. “If you’re planning on traveling, I’d steer clear of the southeast part of the continent.”

“Why’s that?” The slime girl asked.

“Gnolls. Monsters, the lot of them,” Roderick scoffed. Approaching the tavern, he released the construct’s hand and pushed the door in. “Honey! I’m home!” He shouted over all the other patrons. Both of the dwarven women stopped to stare at him. “You will never believe who I found.”

Their eyes widened as the construct rolled in. “Salutations, Kathanac, and Jodi. I am Brina,” the screech in the construct’s voice was toned down enough to let intelligible words out. “I am a construct servant of the House of Donard.”

Jodi was holding a giant serving platter when the two walked in. She set it down on the bar and cautiously walked towards the construct. Kathanac set down her cooking utensils to follow. Both of them slowly approached the metal machine. They shared glances between each other and the machine, and in sync, they said, “No fucking way.”

Roderick folded his arms with pride. “Truth be told, the other dwarves had her in storage and turned off because of what the gnolls would do to her.”

The pair of dwarves also noticed a stranger lurking behind Roderick and Brina. “And who is this third behind you?”

Roderick threw a glance over his shoulder. “Oh? This is Saea. Brina bumped into her and gave her quite a spook.”

Saea waved timidly from Roderick’s shadow.

Jodi smirked and waved her hand, motioning for Saea to come inside. “I’ll take care of our newest guest, Kathy, get ol’ Ricky here top shelf.”

Kathanac turned to Roderick, “Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

Jodi led Saea to the bar and had her take a seat. Saea scanned the room. It was filling up with people, and it smelled like grilled meat. The ambient lighting was dim to not damage people’s vision and the whole place looked like a trophy room with dozens of hunting trophies mounted to the walls. Saea looked towards Roderick, who had taken himself to a corner booth. The dwarf, known to Saea as Kathanac, had a giddy hop in her step as she made her way over to him. In her hand was a large glass bottle filled with a dark liquid and two glass cups in the other. The dwarf took a seat, poured them both a glass, and began chatting.

The grinning tan-skinned dwarf broke Saea’s focus by placing a large mug of cheap-smelling beer in front of her. “So what is a slime creature doing in town?”

The blue-green slime stared at the drink. “Passing through to Anslo,” Saea replied.

Whether the dwarf believed it was a different story. Her brows furrowed for a moment. However, the demands of the tavern pulled her away with a call for more booze.

Saea downed the mug of cheap booze in a single swig. The yellow coloring mixed into her blue-green, skewing the color tint altogether. Seeing no need to linger, she hopped down from the bar stool and made her way towards the exit, taking one last glance at the human. He was talking to the dwarf, but neither had a smile anymore. The dwarf’s head was in her hands and visibly crying.

The next day came with a bright autumnal sun and a thin mist sat low within the city. Saea had found a place to camp in secrecy for the night and emerged from it once the sun was officially above the horizon. Taking a quick stroll down through the market, she made her way to the stable on the southern edge of the town. A large carriage hitched up to two horses was embarking with the townsfolk. Saea approached and merged into the line, boarding the carriage with no one batting an eye. For the ride, she kept her head down but a few minutes in, everyone was looking at her confused. It was a painfully awkward and slow ride.

The carriage made several stops in other remote towns before reaching Anslo by the day’s end. Disembarking from the carriage, she took inventory of the surrounding sight. Anslo was a densely built-up city. Most of the houses were three or four stories tall, many of them having their ground floor repurposed into shops. The intercity carriage dropped her off at the city’s outskirts at the stable and cart barn. The city wasn’t a walled settlement like she thought it would be, and this made getting inside a lot easier. A brisk walk down the main road got her touching shoulders with everyone she was walking past.

City chatter was loud and overbearing. To a point, she could barely think. She hadn’t been gone for even a week and she already missed the peace and quiet of the home tree. “Make Connections,” she mumbled to herself repeatedly. Then she saw something familiar, ‘Adventuring Guild’ written on a sign in runes. It was a sign that hung over a job board where a collection of armor-clad warriors had gathered. Then she had an idea. “If I can get in good with the adventurers of the city, I’ll have a hundred connections by the month’s end,” she said, slamming a fist into her palm in an eureka-like fashion. “I’ll register with the guild and join their ranks.”

And so she did…