“It isn’t a diamond, it isn’t a gem,

It’s more like a vacuous mountain of phlegm,

This beauteous, shining, green, faceted fool,

Aims to melt all our flesh and make it a pool.”

— The Ballad of Sir Joe, by “Golden-Voiced” Garbeaux.

“What … in the nine hells … is that,” asked McGrue, stepping back a pace and lifting his ax.

It was a good question, and one that puzzled Aimee as well, “I’m not sure. It ate my light stones.” The cube appeared to be a gelatinous mass of sludge that had somehow attained mobility.

Thankfully, I was a bard, and the bard college had an exhaustive curriculum covering things that might eat you. Bards, being the sweetest of all the classes, were most likely to be eaten, after all, “Uncommon slime.”

“Phew. Well then, let’s get it dead already,” said McGrue, stepping forward. Common slimes were a kind of amorphous starter monster slain in the thousands during adventurer training, tests, and of course low-level adventures, “You guys had me worried.”

The cube of slime reacted instantly, a thin stream, rocket really, of slime shot across the room, trailing smoke. McGrue sidestepped at the very last instant, which was all that kept his head on his shoulders. One of his fake goblin ears, the good one, fell to the ground sliced cleanly in two.

“Gah! That’s no common slime,” shouted McGrue.

“Uncommon,” I shouted back, “Uncommon slime!”

“Non-specific and non-helpful, Gar,” said Aimee. Igniting the Black Baton of Ingus with a muttered word of power, her eyes blazed, “Let's see how it deals with fiery death!”

The death blast power given the Baton’s holder by Ignus the Black burst forth, a jet of swirling black and yellow flame erupted from the head of the baton, striking the slime, spraying the room, and sending it rolling all around like some mad, giant die of death. It absorbed gravel with every tumble, smothering what little flame managed to stick to it. In the aftermath the bizarre aberration quivered with rage..

“Love, it's like 90% water,” said McGrue.

“Yeah, there is no way that should work,” I said glancing down at my trusty rapier. I doubted skewering a thing with no organs was going to be all that useful, “But what will?”

The thing started to slide toward us, gravel catching and tumbling it about on its six sides. McGrue met it in the middle, his ax repelling not it, but the infusion of stone that filled it, “Gabbo, you identified this thing,” He pulled away, barely keeping his weapon, then pushed against the slime with the flat of the ax blade to hold it back, “What did your stupid bard college instructor teach you about uncommon slimes?” He dodged aside, and the cube tumbled past him. Wobbling fiercely, the cube started to chase him, embracing its dice-shape and rolling the bones in order to crush McGrue. Clearly the slime was an obligate carnivore, for it chased the target that had the most meat, “Gabbo!”

First meal at least, “Don’t get eaten,” I riffed as the slime continued to roll after McGrue. Each time it landed on a face, a small chunk of the roof fell into the chamber, endangering both our plan and our lives.

“That college was a waste of money,” said Aimee, holding up the baton and firing off a bolt of black flecked energy that struck the slime, evaporating a fist-sized hunk into stinking green gas. Unfortunately, the slime didn’t even notice, and McGrue continued his combative retreat.

I danced about, evading the melee, “I’m sorry, they didn’t really cover slimes that well because the only kind to be worried about were evolved slimes,”

Finally, after dodging and running for so long, McGrue managed to sidestep, turned and slashed with his ax. A corner, easily a gallon of green goo, flopped to the dirt, the slime tipped over on that corner, which was immediately reabsorbed. “Damn this gross thing!”

Annoyed at its lack of progress, the slime jiggled in place, pondering its problems. Its problems being the humanoids in its lair. Tumbling all over the floor like a giant die playing craps with McGrue was not effective. The giant cube of slime flattened into a rectangle, then segmented its body, sprouting six massive angular legs underneath a crab like body.

McGrue, really all of us, stared up in horror, “Gabbo … What can an evolved slime do?”

I felt breathless, answering in gasps, “It can change its form into a variety of geometric shapes.”

“Gar, you do know what geometric forms are, right,” asked Aimee.

We all backed away slowly as the creature reared up, “Not really … Joe checked me out of the college before we got into earth magic.” I moved more quickly towards the exit, stepping into a hole in the peat moss and falling to one knee, “They have a weakness, but I don’t recall what it is.”

McGrue tumbled away just in time to avoid the crab-like slime’s new appendage stabbing into the dirt where he’d just been, “We’re screwed!” It was faster in this form, twitchy, terrifying. McGrue dashed under two of the legs, severing them, and the thing crashed down.

It thrashed, but rose quickly, its legs reabsorbed. McGrue, however, tucked his ax away, stifling a scream as he looked at his hands. They smoked as the creature’s acid ate at his skin. Aimee cried out, “Sargon,” and joined him as she examined his wounds, but the creature reoriented on her. “Gar do something,” she shouted, aiming the Black Baton of Ignus, and letting fly elemental blasts of lighting, fire, ice, and sparkles. The last attack was not a magical damage type I was aware of, but it did get the slime’s attention.

Weathering her onslaught, It charged right towards Aimee, who somehow managed to fall prone to the side just as the creature ran by. The slime skidded into the earthen wall as McGrue picked her up. “Useless,” grumbled McGrue. “Gabbo, you’re–” He fell, holding Aimee, barely evading as the slime slammed by, hitting the far side of the room. It was really raining dirt clods in the tunnel now.

“Doing great, Sargon,” grunted Aimee, as they both rose up.

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“Uh … guys,” I pointed, calling their attention to the slime. It pulled in several feet, becoming even more crablike as the front half of the shell broke free, exposing two long, globular arms.

“Well, that stinks,” said Aimee. The crab stepped towards us experimentally holding up its new arms in a confusing display of floppiness.

“Those aren’t pincers,” I said, “It’s like it’s trying to copy … us…”

McGrue huffed, losing patience, “It doesn’t need pincers, Gabbo, it’s made of acid,” he tried to flank it, “Aimee, love, maybe we can freeze it?”

“I tried. The icy chunks just pull in and thaw right away.”

“We could bring Joe,” I offered, “His armor is proof against acid.”

“Great, yeah, let’s just throw a zombie at it. Again! Feh,” said McGrue. “Screw that. I’m an adventurer, so is Aimee. So are you. One more try!”

McGrue rushed forward, rolling under a flailing tendril/arm/thing, dragging his ax blade across its underside and hacking off the slime’s entire arm. Aimee followed him up, pointing at the smaller chunk of slime with the baton and muttering an incantation.

“From the coldest point in Miami, to the hottest part of Anchorage, I summon the frost eternal,” said Aimee.

“I don’t recognize those names,” I said.

“Improvisation! But look,” said Aimee, the blast of freezing cold overcoming the smaller chunk of slime which froze totally solid in seconds. “If this thing works anything like other slimes its cells should hold fast and die when its liquid crystallizes. This could kill the monster!”

I nodded; that didn’t sound right but she seemed confident. Holding a slime in a prison cell seemed impossible, but then McGrue went flying. I turned around to see the rest of the furious slime crab man thing directly behind us. It seemed angry.

Slashing with my rapier had every effect I expected, which is to say none. The blade, which gleamed in perfect polished beauty before, was etched in acid as I thrust deep into the monster’s guts. This looked somewhat impressive for one moment before the slime brushed me aside to go towards its tormentor, McGrue. This casual motion caused me to pinwheel across the chamber before being buried in an avalanche of soft, spongy peat. I rose, spewing gross, old, dead moss from my every head hole.

Aimee spun in an artful pirouette, icy spell casting and blasting the giant slime creature with the freezing air from Miami. She’d grown in power, and this was far greater in scale than anything I’d seen her do before. Frost began to form throughout the chamber, snow falling from overhead, and the creature fell still as the great cone-shaped torrent of ice seemed to freeze it solid.

Breathing hard, Aimee held up the Baton, “See? Nothing to it. Just needed to use … every bit of power I had, and steal some from an angry lich turned wraith that wants to rule heaven. Easy peasy,” and somewhere, something cracked.

“Aimee,” said McGrue, reaching out, “No!” The creature’s remaining arm shattered free of its icy casing, enveloping the Baton and Aimee’s hand. She screamed in pain, her blood leaking into the creature. Aimee jerked her hand free, screaming as the skin on her hand peeled away. Snatching her up, McGrue retreated, getting both of them out of harm’s way.

A deep voice burbled out of the slime, “Fools,” it twitched and collapsed back into a ball. Aimee pulled something from her pouch with her good hand, and began pouring it over her melting hand and forearm, rubbing it in, and pink skin quickly replaced the raw, bloody mess.

A glistening shell was forming over the sphere, pits hollowed out, and a mandible form. The slime was forming into a skull, “What have we done,” asked McGrueas he tried to pick Aimee back up.

“No! We can’t go,” she cried, and resisted, and McGrue’s ax spiraled through the air. As it struck an ancient stone slab, long since fallen, it keened metallically.

In response to the noise a ripple ran across the still forming body of Ingus, cracks forming in its shell. I felt a shiver as an epiphany struck me, “Oh … of course...”

“What,” asked Aimee, horrified.

I reached into a pouch, withdrawing a golden chip, “The weakness I couldn't remember. It’s sound. The membranes they form can’t hold.”

“Very helpful … if I still had the Baton! Couldn’t you remember, I don’t know, one minute ago,” cried Aimee.

McGrue scrambled, snatching up his weapon, “Maybe there’s something else I can strike my ax against.”

“I think we’ll be okay,” I said, staring down at the tiny magic thing in my hand. I raised it skyward.

“Foolish mortals. Mere trifles. I’ll finally be free,” Ingus struggled to finish forming, looking like a burning, melting, robed skeleton who’d already lost his legs in some sort of pool. Deformed, it was all too big, struggling for proper proportions. “I don’t know what that was, but you have no weapons that can finish me. None of you are the hero of the realm. He’s dead!”

Aimee backed away from him slowly, “I fail to see how that–” began Aimee as Ingus dragged himself out of his slime pool and toward us.

“Evolved slimes are the most mature form of a slime. First they’re carnivorous puddles, then they gain their abilities, and then they’re highly adaptable shapeshifters,” I held my free hand out to one side and thrust down, a faint strumming issuing forth. “Like all liquids, they conduct vibrations. Vibrations like sound,” a second, more brutal motion, and desolate chord filled the chamber.

I felt it in my bones, so I knew the slime, and Ignus, felt the chord even more. “What was that,” he asked, struggling to aim his Black Baton at me, “What in all the nine hells are you doing, elfling?”

“The more complicated the shape, the more energy it takes, and the more vulnerable they become. What was as invulnerable to harm as the surface of the ocean becomes weak. Brittle.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” laughed Ignus, “I’d nearly conquered your psyche during a brief stroll. Another minute and you’d have been my slave until the end of time! There’s nothing you can do to stop me now!”

“Air Guitar,” I cried, my voice striking all six sides to the chamber around us, stones tumbling down, and cracking Ignus’ shell all over. In my hands formed a shining git-box of glorious light, “Enough facets can be deadly to the creature, even without help,” I grinned, raising my hand on high.

“Wait! We can talk about this. Garbeaux, I can make you king of this world,” cried Ignus, and my hand came crashing down on the guitar, time and again, and a different kind of metallic sound struck Ignus. “No! No,” screamed the skeletal slime, flopping to the dirt, thrashing around as I focused the sound into a cone that etched and tossed slime and stone all around.

“How many facets do you suppose go into sculpting a skeleton in a robe,” I asked my companions as I continued strumming, scattering his acid to splatter against the far wall. Ingus tried to adopt a simpler shape as he shrank, forming into a sphere just to stay alive. Too late. I stopped my guitar solo, the Ignus ball quivered, then popped like a bubble. The Black Baton of Ignus rolled to a stop at my feet.

“I … wow. Where did that come from?” Aimee gestured, using her telekinesis to snatch up the baton, which flew to her hand.

I turned my back to my fallen enemy, and bowed to my friends, “The bard’s college had an exhaustive curriculum concerning creatures.”

“Not what I meant, Gar.”

McGrue eyed me suspiciously, “Yeah, Gabbo, you’re being awful confident and I could swear you were taller just now. You sure you’re not possessed by Ignus or something?”

Aimee tapped him on the shoulder, “No, he’s over there, pouting.” We all looked where she pointed, but McGrue could never see Ignus’ incorporeal form, and I hadn’t touched the Baton recently enough.

My focus broken, my glowing, spiritual instrument poofed out of existence, “I don’t know, guys. The pick was just in my hands, and when I summoned the Air Guitar … it just felt so natural. So right. Like I was reborn.”

“Could it be,” pondered Aimee, “That Gar’s been ineffectual, indecisive, fearful, all because he was a bard with no instrument?”

They exchanged a meaningful look, then spoke in unison, “Nah,” before walking back out of the chamber.

“Guys? Are you serious? But … but I just won the fight. Guys!”

What little sunlight was coming in through the hole in the ceiling dimmed, and a goblin voice angrily rang out, “Quiet down there! We’re trying to build a stage strong enough to hold a giant freak of a goblin.”

My moment of glory denied me, I shrugged, and we retired to our hideout to prepare. We had a day and a half before our plan to end the goblin threat would take place. Everything had to be perfect.