Everyone on the expedition felt their eyes drawn upwards by the roaring ball of golden fire. Someone whistled. It was big, bright, hot and above all extremely powerful. Eventually it died out, its mana expended. A momentary hush fell over the group, broken only when James clapped a hand on Azrael’s shoulder. Azrael staggered, his knees threatening to give away, his collarbone groaning from the pressure.
“I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks”
“Fight me”
“No”
James grinned broadly.
“Ice against fire. Will be good fight.”
“No”
“Then later.”
A polite cough from beside them interrupted the two and Azrael found a dwarf standing beside them. The dwarf looked at him with respect, awe and a bit of a stink eye.
For a moment Azrael looked at him blankly, before realising that earlier, when something was tapping him on the shoulder it wasn’t metaphorical, but quite literally this dwarf trying to get his attention.
“My Lord, it seems we have arrived at the end of the journey, unless you wish to continue?”
Azrael turned to the front of the boat and saw that the dwarf was right. The river ended. Not literally, but figuratively. The singular river highway they had followed up until now split into hundreds of smaller branches, enveloping marshy islands growing tall with reeds. The river had become a swamp. To the west the ever-present mountains met the endless swamp in domineering cliffs.
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“Charming” Azrael commented.
“I wonder if there’s anything worth fighting in there?” James asked, as conversation started back up amongst the expedition. Some were still putting away weapons that they’d drawn when Azrael had suddenly stood up.
Azrael wasn’t particularly inclined to find out, but apparently Durkov thought differently, steering the barge into the largest channel with a weary grin.
“Only one way to find out.” The dwarf said with a grin.
Durkov, it seemed, had taken Azrael’s silence as permission to do as he chose. Azrael didn’t comment. Afterall, he was just piggybacking off of their expedition.
Ten minutes in and Azrael was regretting not saying something. It stunk. Honestly, he’d expected swarms of insects to be the most annoying thing that they’d encounter, though images of giant mosquitoes, submerged vine monsters and hostile lizard people did cross his mind.
Instead, it was the peaty smell of decomposing reeds and plant matter that got him. Monsters he could handle. They would at least take his mind off his ever-present motion sickness. Instead, the nauseating smell only compounded to make his situation worse. Rotten eggs was the closest smell he could think of, but even that didn’t fit quite right.
There was a rustle to their left, the reeds bending unnaturally. Azrael held his breath, silently signalling to James and one of the other dwarves. They readied their weapons.
The movement paused, before there was a quiet *plop* sound, halfway between a wet squelch and a bubble popping. The movement continued, bending reeds as it slowly made its way towards them. James stabbed his massive sword into the marshy island, pushing the barge a little further away. The movement paused, taking a second, then resuming again. Azrael thought he saw something green, though whether that was the green reeds, the green grass that grew on the marshy islands, or a green hostile opponent he wasn’t sure. It was too small to be a lizardman, so he imagined a poison wielding marsh goblin slowly trying to sneak up on them.
The reeds parted and he held his breath, ready to strike.
With a final roll and a wet squelch a gelatinous mass of murky green gently rolled itself out of the reed. James brought down his blade.
“WAIT!”
Solid metal and pure force were stopped dead, mere centimetres from the top of the creature’s head.
“We’re keeping it” Azrael proclaimed as he beheld the glorious sight. The others gave him quizzical looks, while the expedition members on the other boats had all risen, weapons raised and were wondering what was going on. Azrael didn’t care, his gaze focussed purely on what was in front of him.
It was a slime!