Summoning Kobolds At Midnight: A Tale of Suburbia & Sorcery.

"Wooh. Tittly bit nipply up here." Jeb muttered as he shook off the small dust of snow on his shoulders.

He glanced towards the woods west of the lodge. He huffed into his hands and rubbed them together before heading towards the Game Warden's cabin. A simple peek in told him what he already knew, the Trap Master nor the skirmishers remained aboveground.

Not surprised though, he thought. He was not only used to this sort of cold during the winter season, but given his "exotic" fortitude odds are he could also walk off a blizzard if he had the mind to. Then again, he could probably walk off a lot of things but that doesn't mean he's in any hurry to prove it.

He was even less surprised to find the guns no longer in the cabin as well. He briefly considered heading back and grabbing a rifle to hunt with. But after a moment decided not to. It'd be a waste of ammo when he apparently had the power to curb stomp whatever may come his way.

If not? Well, then a rifle wouldn't make a whole lot of difference then would it, he thought as he walked past the cabin and into the woods. He was a touch hopeful in easy game. Maybe some deer still out for some last minute grazing before the frost gets too bad. Then again, owlbears and manticore aren't exactly indicative of that prospect. Yet that was what he was just familiar with. There's all sorts of stuff that could be lurking out here that wasn't in some game book.

Jeb walked on as a thought struck him. So far what he's seen is from fantasy. But they're obviously not fantasy. Flesh and blood, not ink and paper. But that did beg the question. How did those fantasy writers know about the kobolds, dwarves, and such? Folklore sure, but it's gotten to the point that some game book is more accurate than some centuries old story. What was that saying about coincidences and such?

Jeb shook his head. That was too big thinking that he really didn't want to dwell on now. Especially if he considered folk like Lovecraft or Howard's monsters potentially being real rather than fiction, weird or not. Hell, if what he's been told is even half true, he wouldn't look out of place in a Lovecraft novel.

"Yeah. I'm goin' to avoid that train o' thought like the plague." Jeb said to himself and continued deeper into the woods in search of... something. Anything really that he could fry up for the dwarves. At best? Venison. At worst? A very snarly turkey.

So Jeb walked, and walked, and walked. About the only thing he's even seen or heard has been the odd bird or squirrel alerted to his presence. Tracks for anything else has been scarce. Which sucked, cause snow was pretty good at preserving tracks at the best of times. But with the weather the way it was, anything even remotely promising was half filled in and covered.

Then he found something that was like a flash bang in the middle of the night. A trail. He should've been glad for the chance to get this over with and head back to warmth and out of the cold. But it was what could've left the trail that made him... something other than glad.

For one thing, a creek of thick translucent slime at least a foot deep and five wide snaked its way through the dusting of snow on the ground. Wherever the slime met snow it turned into a thick sticky sludge. As evidenced by the various small dead animals that thought it safe to cross only to drown in said slime.

"Ok. Found somethin'. Now the question is, do I even want to find whatever the hell left this?"

He had two theories. Either a snail or a slug. Neither he was really in a hurry to hunt and ATTEMPT to make something even close to edible out of. While he was sure the kobolds wouldn't mind some escargot he wasn't sure offering up a slab of slug would be considered a good gesture of friendship or apology.

"Given my luck it'd prob'ly kill 'em." He muttered as, seeing his prospects of finding anything else slim, followed the trail of slime.

He followed the trail for far longer than he thought he would've. Either this thing was fast or it's been out here for some time. Given it was more than likely a snail or slug he was betting on the latter. Which also meant it was more than likely a snail as well. Something big, slow, and basically passive? It'd been eaten by a bear if it hadn't already.

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"And that's blackjack." Jeb said as he rounded a crag and found the slow yet massive shelled form of his prey.

Yup. It was a snail, he thought as he eye-balled the large chromatic shell covered in pieces of what appeared to be a mix of jagged stone, moss, crystals, and the odd impaled skeleton on said crystals. He watched as the dark green body of the snail slowly inched forwards as it continued on its way to what seemed to be a berry bush.

He watched as the mighty mollusk's eyestalks drifted about as it's almost rabbit-like face pressed against the wilting greenery of the bush. Jeb heard more than saw as the snail started to scrape against the bush with its tongue.

Jeb, seeing it distracted by the sweet bush, stalked over to it. He glanced at the lazy eyestalks now and again, but if the snail noticed him at all, it didn't consider him a threat. When he neared the shell, he placed his hand on the cold piece of armor. With a tap he felt just how thick it was.

"Jesus, it's like solid stone. Where'd you even come from?"

Even speaking aloud didn't seem to bother the snail as it continued to feast on the berry bush. Jeb, forgoing subtly, stepped back and examined the shell. While he was sure the snail didn't care that he was focused on the shell, he'd bet money if he took a step or two closer to the head it'd duck into that bunker of its pretty damn fast.

But no shell meant no way to hide. He glanced down at his hand in thought. Stone didn't seem to bother those claws of his very much. Let's see how a snail's shell fares, he thought as his hand shifted into a dark set of claws. He ran a single one over the shell, testing it out. A shrill shriek echoed out as it left a scratch against some sort of purple crystal. But nothing more. The snail didn't react.

With a shrug, he threw his arm back and thrust it into the shell. Stone crumbled and fell. Bone turned to dust. Moss dried and disintegrated. But the crystal? It remained whole. Other than the mark his strike left on the crystal itself, whatever his power did to stuff just... didn't.

So he tried again. He wound his arm back once more and struck. Same thing. Everything around the crystal portion of the shell crumbled to dust and ash. Even the shell itself dried and flaked away. But the strange purple crystals remained unaffected by his power.

Oh there was a noticeable crack in it from raw force, but whatever the crystal was made of didn't so much as dull from his Eldritch power.

"Huh. That's new."

A sentiment the snail shared as it ceased its meal and quickly retreated into its shell. It's now compromised shell. Jeb, aiming around the crystal, plunged his claw into the chromatic shell and heard a pitiful shriek not unlike a rabbit come from the hole in the shell.

With a twist of his wrist, he gutted the snail. The shell fell apart as his power ate away at it before all that remained was a sticky mess of dead snail, and a pile of those strange purple crystals. Curiosity getting the better of him, he reached down and picked up a shard about the size of a remote.

It didn't glow. It didn't hum. It looked like plain old amethyst. With a thought though, he sent just a sliver of his power into the crystal, similar to what he did for the runes. He watched as the purple crystal turned cloudy with a dark ink color before seeming to crystalize. The once near flawless purple crystal was now webbed with black threads throughout.

"Neat. Wonder if Chief would like this or know what it is." Jeb said and grabbed a few more handfuls of the crystals and stuffed them into his pockets and pack before turning to the snail carcass.

"Now how the hell am I supposed to get you back?"

Jeb shook his hand to get rid of some sticky bits of snail as he walked around the carcass. While he could carry it, he really didn't want to be covered in snail slime. He was already running low on clean clothes, he needed to stretch what he had out otherwise he'll be toughing out winter with the kobolds buck nekkid.

He hummed and huffed in thought as he glanced at the corpse and back towards the direction of the lodge. Then a creative thought struck him as he glanced down and felt a pull in his gut as darkness spread around him. With barely more than a thought, he summoned thorned vines from the darkness that shot towards the soggy mess of a corpse. Looks like he won't have to get sticky after all, he thoughts as the vines wrapped and impaled the snail.

For about three seconds. Then the spongy flesh of the snail gave like butter and his vines retreated into the darkened earth once more. Leaving him with an even messier mound of slimy flesh to deal with.

"Well, so much for that idea."

Jeb sighed and let out a groan as he realized he wasn't going to get out of this unscathed. Or at least his clothes weren't. He grumbled and cussed as he walked over to the mess of slimy flesh, cursing as thick slime and mucus stuck and filled his shoes as he was forced to walk into the pond of muck the snail's body left behind.

"Fuck my life." He cursed as he put his hands on the corpse that had the feel of a soggy Twinkie.

"Hope this works." He muttered and with a thought and nay a sound, appeared back in the lodge.

He peeked open an eye only to quickly close it again as a wet *splat* sounded out as the corpse fell beside him, sending thick mucus flying around and covering him and the surrounding three feet of snowy grass and sycamore bark. Well, at least it worked, he thought as he tried his best to get the thick slime off of him. To no avail. He let out a huff through his nose as he didn't dare open his mouth for risk of getting what felt like cold thick snot in his mouth.

He left the carcass, already attracting the eldritch flies due to the stink of it as well as curious murlocs and their little crawdad companions. Some took curious little bites and chunks, but the thick mucus and not-entirely-solid texture made anything more difficult, leaving them to get a mouthful of snail before heading back to the docks for only slightly less sticky rotted fish.

A dip into the freezing cold water was, thankfully, better than it sounded as the dark water washed away the mucus. Leaving him gunk free. Though he was now wet, and cold, and wet. But not sticky anymore! Which was better in his book. He turned around and made his way back to the snail as a couple of curious salamanders poked their snouts out of the burrow entrances to see what new treat was available.

Unlike the murlocs, the salamanders didn't seem to mind the mucus and weird texture. A snap of crimson jaws and a hissing noise came from the two as they started to feast before eventually retreating into the warmth of a burrows. Leaving Jeb with another problem. How was he supposed to cook a snail?