Spire's Spite

The giant snail’s skin was not the lumpy light grey of its smaller cousins but a bright rust-red riddled with salt-white cracks. Its flesh was slimy and sticky, covered with a thin layer of cloudy mucus. Three thin stalks unfurled from its thick, tuberous body as it left its quartz-coloured shell. The stalks undulated and mustard yellow egg-like orbs slid up their length and swayed this way and that as if searching the area for Fritz. Two long, fang-lined tendrils extended from under the shell and swished through the air skittering off fallen quartz and the tunnel’s wall.

One of the tendrils caressed the ground where Fritz had been just a minute ago, the snail shuddered as it drank in the water. No not the water, he realised, it was a drop of his sweat. It let out a soft, shrill chirrup and pulled its sternum-height shell closer, jerkily following the trail Fritz had inadvertently left behind. With its full body revealed he saw that its eye stalks had stretched to the top of his head in height and its writhing tentacles reached even further.

How do I keep walking straight into these monsters? Fritz complained inwardly. Really, I’m meant to be a scout and yet here I am being hunted down by a bloody snail of all things.

Fritz prepared himself to fight the horrible creature, stilling his jitters with a combination of slow breathing and subtle flexing of his muscles. While clenching his hand he felt his new ring, in his fear he had almost forgotten about the new equipment in his arsenal. The snail approached, slithering closer and closer to his hiding place behind the quartz boulder. Fritz activated his ring and pounced.

As he ran out he pulled on the shifting Power of Illusory Shadow, not bothering to shape it he let it appear over and around the creature's eye stalks, covering them with a sphere of impenetrable blackness.

Its tentacles waved wildly, sweeping the cavern for its unseen attacker and a circular maw of jagged fangs opened in the middle of its mucusy mass. The creature began to shrilly ululate and shudder rhythmically. Fritz felt he shouldn’t be in front of that maw so stepped to the side, almost too late as a white spray of misty liquid geysered out painting the middle of the tunnel and a part of Fritz’s upper arm with white.

The barrier stopped the majority of the liquid spray from coming in contact with his skin, but the invisible bubble still popped within moments allowing a couple of drops fall and foam on his skin. It burnt like flame, no worse than flame, it was agony Fritz clenched his teeth and muffled his scream. He swung his fish blade where he knew the eye stalks to be, he met little resistance as his sword hacked through them. He ducked under a swinging tendril, slicing up with his bone dagger and hewing it in half.

He leapt backwards out of the reach of the other tentacles and saw the three eye stalks fall to the quartz ground, spitting out a thick, frothy, yellow sludge that sizzled on the crystal ground. The smell of both the goo and spray was intense and their acrid, overwhelmingly salty odor choked him. driving him back a couple more paces.

Fritz cursed as he saw three spots on his fish blade rapidly rusting. He sped away from the thrashing tentacles and he hastily wiped the corrosive goo off with his shirt sleeve, cutting the fabric apart in the process. He didn’t have time to check the damage and he found his bone blade hadn’t been affected by the creature's acidic blood. He dropped his fish blade safely behind him, switched the dagger to his dominant right hand and reactivated his barrier ring.

Waiting for an opportune moment to strike, he saw his Illusory Shadow fade away giving him a better view of his opponent. Fritz noticed, with mounting horror, that the frothing wounds of the creature's severed eye-stalks still poking from its slimy body were starting to reform, extending again as new eyes were grown in moments.

The newly formed eyes were still cloudy and Fritz hoped that meant they weren’t fully restored and capable. Clenching his fist around the bone dagger's hilt he charged forward, slipping under another sweeping fanged tendril while calling upon the blade's curse and thrusting its curved tip into the snail's slimy body.

He felt rather than saw the curse strike's cold dirge-like energies wrap around the blade and then seep into the hole he had just stabbed, he pulled the dagger down, splitting the creature open. Fritz leapt back, dodging any blood splatters and out of reach of the now flailing tentacles. He saw the snail’s flesh burst apart from itself like an overcooked sausage and strange unidentifiable entrails unfurled, spilling onto the ground.

Whatever ability it used to recover from injury seemed to be suppressed by the cursed blade’s Power and the creature writhed and shrieked in shrill agony as gouts of foaming yellow goo poured from it. The creature struggled for what seemed like minutes before finally lying still and hopefully dead.

Disgusting.

His upper arm still tingled and burned so he inspected what damage the caustic spray had caused. His sleeve was a mass of holes and his skin was bright pink where it showed through the fabric. Scattered on his raw skin he had a couple of small, painful blisters forming where the snail’s spray had been spat onto him.

There wasn’t much to do for the injury here and now so he put on a grim expression and turned to his fish blade and picked it up. Now that he had the time, Fritz searched his sword for any harm, to his dismay he could see three tarnished spots on the edge of his silvery blade. He seemed to have got most of the stuff off in time but those three small brownish stains still worried him.

“Oh, Quicksilver, unfortunately, I’ll have to refrain from using you on this floor. It’s for your own safety you understand?” Fritz told his blade mournfully.

The blade glittered in accusation.

“I couldn’t bear it if you rusted away, please just stop arguing,” Fritz added affectionately.

Quicksilver glimmered in frustrated acceptance.

Fritz decided to return to his crew, making sure to try and catch any sweat that threatened to drip from his hair and face. He knew it was a fruitless endeavour but he used his remaining sleeve to wipe down his brow and neck whenever he felt the trickle of escaping sweat.

Keeping his eyes open for any signs of snails he continued on, weaving around the fallen quartz carefully and making sure to never touch or stand under the boulders and hunks of cloudy crystal. It was tough going but he made it back without any more incidents, save seeing maybe one or two of the quarts piles shudder as he skulked past. He had quickly left them behind though not willing to tangle with any more of the monsters if he could help it.

He made his way back, signalling Bert with the low to high whistle imitation of a storm hawk. Sid spun bending her bow and nocking a translucent conjured arrow. Bert to his credit stood in front of the bow before she could loose on Fritz.

Sid relaxed in a moment, then looked away guiltily and said “Sorry, Fritz, thought you were a monster, or had brought one with you as usual.”

“I resent that sentiment,” Fritz said in overplayed foppish offence. “For one, how could one possibly mistake the great Sir Fritz for a monster? For two, you can clearly see I haven’t been followed.”

“So you met no monsters out there?” interjected Bert. He did so quite rudely to Fritz’s mind.

Fritz scoffed as if the answer were obvious. They didn’t take the bait.

“Did you find the ambush predators?” Bert asked again this time with a knowing grin.

“I did, but I felled it with a swift slash of my fish- of Quicksilver,” Fritz answered smirking then flourishing his fish blade.

“Okay, okay. Fritz, what actually happened?” Bert said seriously. “A proper report from a proper scout if you would.”

Fritz dropped the smirk and relayed all he had learnt so far about the monsters in the tunnels. He ended his tale with how he had to gut the creature with his bone knife rather than his fish blade and showed off his blistered arm.

“Ouch, looks like that stings,” Sid remarked almost sounding sympathetic.

“More like it burns, it’s like I rubbed a still-hot ember on my arm,” Fritz complained. “I would’ve poured some water on it but there doesn’t seem to be enough around, excepting these trickles.”

“We managed to fill about an eighth of this spare water skin,” Sid stated offering Fritz said water skin.

He took it gratefully and uncorked its neck. “Spare’s?” He asked as he splashed water onto his red and blistered skin. “Where did we get spareaaaaaaaaaaghs!?” Fritz yelled as the lukewarm water wet his injured arm, then he bit down the borderline shriek, clenching his jaws and turning it into a hiss.

It had been far more painful than he expected it to be but the throbbing heat burnt away in a couple of moments.

“We wouldn’t happen to have any healing grease left?” Fritz whined, extracting a careworn look from both Bert and Sid.

“Sorry, used the last of it on you after you kill- fought Steve,” Sid explained carefully.

“Damn,” Fritz sighed, as his eyes leaked from the shock of pain, he quickly caught his tears and glanced around the tunnel making sure there were no snails slithering up on them.

Sid and Bert noticed his reaction and looked around themselves. Luckily there was nothing, for now at least.

“So, the ambush predators are big quartz-shelled snails that track our sweat, spray acid and recover quickly from damage?” Bert asked trying to get all the facts sorted out in his mind.

“Don’t forget the acid blood as well,” Sid reminded, twanging her bowstring in an absent-minded gesture.

“Frankly, I’m envious,” Bert proclaimed sourly.

“Of me?” Fritz said confused.

“Of the snail,” Bert answered earnestly.

“Is it the three eyes or the tentacles that’s got you so worked up?” Sid said slyly. “Or maybe it’s the spray?” She waggled her eyes suggestively. The expression looked so incongruous on her normally sternly cast features that Fritz nearly fell over in shock.

“It’s actually the acid blood but I wouldn’t say no to the spray,” Bert responded waggling his own eyebrows in kind.

They burst out laughing, even Fritz joined in after he had gotten over his surprise. After they had ended their wild mirth and mild giggling Fritz said, “We’ll I hope the snails can’t hear otherwise we’ve just revealed our position.”

They listened but heard nothing save the occasional drip of slightly salty water. It felt good to laugh, the stress had really been building up on them and he hadn’t noticed. Fritz was glad Sid had been the one to ease the tension this time, they were really beginning to act like a proper crew.

“What's the plan on dealing with the snails then?” Sid asked curtly, getting back to business.

“Loose arrows from afar, if they get close Bert distracts and I flank with the cursed dagger,” Fritz suggested. “Oh, and I need to recharge my equipment,” he added.

“You know,” Bert mused, “For once I’d like to have something I could actually beat on without worry.”

“You and me both, Bert. Even Quicksilver agrees,” said Fritz joining his friend’s lament.

After the brief complaining they agreed on the course of action easily and Bert happily opened his pack so Fritz could get at the bull’s heart. With his ring and dagger filled to the brim and near humming with magic he set quietly off down the tunnel with his crew behind him.

Whenever they came close to a suspicious pile of stones or hanging rocks, he had Sid sling them, just to make sure they were what they looked like. It wasn’t long before they discovered their first snail, it was smaller than the one Fritz had killed as its shell only reached his waist.

Sid’s stone bounced off the quartz stone with a telling clunk then a jagged tendril and an eye stalk poked out the base of the snail’s shell. Spotting its attacker the slimy monster unfurled and slithered closer surprisingly quickly. It used its tendrils to drag itself toward them and opened its toothy maw, undulating and preparing to spit its vile spray, right at Sid.

It didn’t get the chance to release. Sid had swapped quickly from her sling to her bow and had loosed a translucent arrow writhed in winding winds. It pierced through the snail's rust-red mass, tearing a hole the size of a fist and shattering as it struck the shell behind. Fragments of the arrow were accelerated by the burst of air from the detonating wind strike and ricocheted. The clear glass-like shards dug into the creature’s soft flesh and splattered its yellow goo haphazardly.

The snail let out a low warbling cry and fled into its shell, shielding and hiding its torn and bleeding body. Its shell clacked down into contact with the ground, leaving barely a seam separating them. Sid let fly another conjured wind arrow, it burst against the shell doing nothing more than cutting a small furrow in its white, stony surface.

“Damn it!” Sid exhaled, “Wasted an arrow.”

“Bert go punch that thing while it's recovering,” Fritz ordered hastily.

“Better idea,” Bert responded dropping his pack and taking out the hammer and chisel out of one of the outer pouches. He sauntered up to the sheltered snail, rolling his shoulders exaggeratedly as he approached.

Bert set the tool to the creature’s shell and infused his hammer with Concussive Blow. He struck the black metal of the chisel and the rippling waves travelled into it, spiking it into the shell and leaving a neat hole where it had previously been.

“Whoops!” Bert exclaimed, his eyes wide in shock.

The creature's shell shuddered and yellow sludge poured from the hole. Fritz expected the wound to close and for the snail to stop spilling its horrid, pungently-salty blood onto the floor but to his surprise the injury kept leaking.

“Smash its shell to pieces! I don’t think it can heal it!” Fritz called out.

Bert grinned, he tucked the small hammer into a vest pocket then his first rippled with roiling, clear waves of force. He, idiotically, punched just below the hole he had punctured, caving in a head-sized potion of the shell but covering his fist with the creature’s corrosive yellow goo as it gushed out of the new wound. He screamed and leapt back, not willing to have his feet soaked in the substance that was now eating away at his skin.

The snail shuddered again and its tendrils and body slid out from the shell limp and unmoving.

Bert shook what slime he could off of his fist and rubbed the remaining clinging and stinging liquid onto his pants. He immediately regretted it, groaning as the goo stained and burned holes in the heavy, white material.

“I just got these,” He groused pitiably through gritted teeth.

“And you lost the chisel,” Fritz observed, striding up to his friend. “Let’s see your hand.”

Bert reached out his arm for Fritz to inspect. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he expected, it was red but there were no blisters or other obvious burns.

“Look’s like it’ll be fine, the blood isn’t as corrosive as the spray, plus it looks like tough skin helped somewhat,” Fritz theorised, hoping his conclusions weren’t completely wrong.

“Still, best not to bathe in the stuff, Bert,” he chided.

“What about the chisel? How are we gonna get it back?” Sid asked, looking over their kill.

“Assuming it hasn’t rusted away in its guts already?” Fritz reminded her.

Bert sighed, stood and walked over to the snail's corpse, then before Fritz could stop him plunged his arm into the shell’s cavity. He hissed and rooted around in the creature’s sloshing and slurping organs.

“Bert, no!” Fritz yelled and rushed to his side intent on pulling him out. When Bert suddenly pulled his arm free, now holding the spike of black then dropping it to the ground where it landed with a heavy thunk.

“Get... me... my… spare… clothes,” Bert exhaled through his clenched jaws and pain-contorted scowl.

Fritz rushed to obey the request, grabbing the ragged clothing from within Bert’s pack and using it to clear the slime off Bert’s arm. He was groaning and hissing in pain as Fritz worked at wiping away all he could. It seemed though that the hurt he sustained was minimal, more akin to a light burn from sleeping too close to a fire than anything too serious.

Bert for his part didn’t seem too concerned about his skin and was bemoaning the large hole in his pants, exposing his silken red undergarments and their crest of a white ship.

Sid stared at the telling crest, recognised it and turned to Fritz in shock, mouth agape, “You really did raid Lord Whiteship’s vault?” She said in a high unbelieving tone.

“What?” Fritz responded surprised at the sudden shift in topic.

“That crest, it’s Lord Whiteship’s” Sid said pointing at the embroidered crest.

Bert covered the hole in false modesty saying, “Don’t look! My purity will be sullied!”

Sid rolled her eyes and Fritz chuckled at the comment.

Sid glared at Fritz waiting for him to speak up and he sighed as if bored of offering such explanations.

“It's not as grand as it sounds, I didn’t rob the vault, merely his wardrobe, specifically his and his lady wife's undergarments closet,” Fritz hedged, running his hand through his sweat-heavy hair.

“Oh is that it is it?” Sid said, her shock and awe fading from her expression.

Fritz frowned, that was still quite the feat, even if he did play it down in a false show of humility.

“Well, it was still quite the score you know, no jewellery, gold or magic items but plenty of silken gowns, undergarments and luxuriously soft robes of other exotic and wonderful fabrics. We made somewhat of a killing selling them to Jastil merchants. And those we didn’t sell we kept, can't put a price on good underclothes. Or I guess you can, but I find them priceless,” Fritz boasted showing off a self-satisfied smile.

Sid seemed mildly intrigued by the statement and was about to ask Fritz something when Bert pants glowed subtly and their holes began to shrink as the fabric of the garment re-knitted itself into its former pristine glory. Even the stains at the edges retreated disappearing as the yellow splotches steamed away.

Bert jumped for joy and yelled out his triumph, “Self-mending clothes! Self-cleaning pants! Look upon my shirt, ye filthy, and despair!”

Fritz and Sid stared in wonder then glowered at Bert’s luck. He smugly grinned at them and tilted his chin upwards, as if he were a great lord disdaining the peasantry.

Fritz felt the overwhelming desire to throw something at that ridiculous face, but unfortunately, there was nothing at hand and he had to settle for raising his arm in a rude gesture. Sid followed suit adding in her own slightly more vulgar variant.

This only made Bert grin wider, and he was about to address them again until Fritz sushed him and rapidly whispered, “Shh, I hear another snail coming.” They fell silent and their faces became serious as they prepared for conflict.

Fritz heard the telltale sound of slurping and sucking that the snail’s movement produced grow closer. With his spare clothes Bert quickly scooped up the unrusted and undamaged chisel, wrapping it up and storing in in his pant’s pocket. Eventually, the rest of his crew noticed the sounds when they grew close enough and prepared their weapons, or lack thereof in Bert’s case.

Time to whale on some snail.