"Are you pissed or something?" Hild asked, making no effort to help Lorelei to her feet. "Every time I look around, you're back on your arse!"
"Look, I have a debuff running, okay?"
The Valkyrie stepped backwards as if suddenly worried whatever was wrong with Lorelei was catching. The glow of a summoned Skill appeared around her. "The fuck you say?"
Lorelei levered herself back to her feet. "It's from the Skill I used to down the Chimera. It's not got much longer to run, but it's making me more than usually unlucky at the moment. Look - " She shared her Stat screen with Hild, enjoying the flash of irritation in the woman's eyes when Lorelei's higher level was smacked into her face.
"Fuck's sake," Hild said, clearly unimpressed. "So, you're even more useless than usual?"
"I mean, I'd politely remind you which of us was recently largely responsible for defeating a Raid Boss. But I guess your wider point holds. Right now, I'm not firing on all cylinders."
Hild dismissed the shared notification and put her hands on her hips. "Well, just make sure you don't fuck things up for the rest of us." She turned to go, then paused and looked back,
"There's nothing there about why you're stumbling about like a smack addict."
"If you wouldn't mind," Lorelei said through gritted teeth. "I think I might have enough to be going on with."
*
The trek leading towards the cavern of Crookshollow had started innocuously enough - especially considering the rather doom-filled beginning to their journey. However, it quickly became apparent that the landscape was more than just unfriendly—it was actively hostile. The giant yew trees overhead grew thicker and more twisted as they went. As Lorelei was already experiencing, the ground beneath their feet was uneven, and from the moment they’d entered the woods, every few steps, she had been stumbling over a hidden root or sinking ankle-deep into a patch of mud that squelched hungrily as if it were considering swallowing her whole.
“This place is bloody awful,” Chrissy grumbled. “I’ve spent more than my fair share of time in festival fields, and I have to say, Glastonbury '97 was way more pleasant.”
“I’d take a Coldplay set over this any day,” Kris’s voice was barely audible over the sound of his own boots sloshing through yet another puddle.
Steffan—busy consulting his Guide and Map—suddenly raised his hand, bringing them all to a halt. “We’re getting close to the edge of the Cursed Cavern. So, from everything I can see, we should be on the lookout for sentient puddles of acid.”
Michael, who had been on the receiving end of the Chimera's
“Sentient puddles?” Kris said, glancing back the Necromancer. “You mean to say that some of the puddles here have evolved and now spend their time pondering the meaning of life before they dissolve your feet?”
Steffan shrugged. “Not so much. It’s more that they tend to move towards any heat source and consume it, which, in this case, would be us.”
“Lovely,” Zorrobar muttered. “So not only do we have to worry about where we step, but we also have to worry about the water trying to eat us.”
“Just what we needed.” Hild moaned. “Murderous puddles. What’s next? A river with anger management issues?”
“I wouldn’t joke about that,” Steffan said, his tone far too serious for anyone’s comfort. “From what my Guide is sharing, it appears this place has a habit of turning bad jokes into worse realities.”
As they pressed on, the path grew even narrower and the canopy of trees more densely packed. The fog that lurked on the ground thickened, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Lorelei tried to shake off her growing feelings of paranoia, but it was impossible. Branches seemed to lean in closer as they walked, blocking out what little light was left, as if the forest was trying to choke them, to suffocate them in its damp, fetid embrace. Suddenly, there was a splash from behind them, followed by a curse from Hild.
“Fucking hell, what is that?”
Lorelei spun around to see Hild standing in the middle of a large puddle of what could only be described as liquid hate. The water—or whatever it was—bubbled and hissed around her feet, sending up tiny tendrils of steam that curled in the air.
“Don’t just stand there!” Hild snapped, her voice strained as she struggled to pull her feet free. “It’s trying to melt my boots!”
Steffan was already accessing his Guide; his brow furrowed in concentration. “That would be one of the sentient puddles I mentioned. They’re drawn to body heat, so it’s best to avoid standing still for too long in one spot.”
“Now he tells us,” Hild gave one last, desperate tug that sent her stumbling backwards, free of the puddle but minus one boot, which was now slowly dissolving in the acid. “Great,” she said, glaring down at her ruined footwear. “This really is the quest that keeps on giving."
Lorelei suppressed a laugh. It wasn’t that she found Hild’s predicament funny—well, not entirely—it was just that in the face of everything else they had to deal with, the sight of the mouthy bitch hobbling on one foot was almost making her feel warm towards karma.
“Maybe the puddle’s passing comment on your foot hygiene?” Zorrobar quipped, earning a glare from Hild.
“Laugh it up, firebug,” she shot back. “You’re next if we come across anything that hates flashy robes.”
“We should keep moving.” Steffan said, keen to break in to the squabbling. “The Guide says these puddles tend to travel in packs.”
“Packs?” Michael and Michelle asked at the same time, a note of incredulity in their voices. “Puddles don’t form packs.”
“These do,” Steffan said, his tone grim. “And they’re not just mindless blobs of acid—they’re smart. They know how to hunt.”
“Brilliant,” Lorelei said. “Hunted by puddles. Can this day get any worse?”
The ground beneath them began to tremble, sending ripples through the surrounding puddles and shaking loose bits of dirt and rock from the trees. There was a deep, guttural rumble from somewhere beneath their feet.
“Ah, there it is,” Zorrobar said, his voice laced with false cheer. “Well done. That’s the sound of things getting worse.”