Getting into the meat of what Algor’s story will turn into with some revelations from the monks who do the bidding of the gods….
The snow whipped around Prince Algor’s head as he pulled his fur vest closer to his body. His slime was near frozen out here in this tundra.
Ahead Toron peered off into the distance through his spyglass. “Well, Al, it looks like we’re on the right track to the northern pass if we can chart this trail. Going to be hard with a squadron of Shocktroopers on our tai-”
Algor cut him off. “So, basically easy breezy right, buddy?” the Prince said with a smile and a repressed shiver from the slime-freezing cold.
Trekking out here in the tundra was a far cry from where they had been three days ago, nice and warm back in Slime City. they had been reveling at a royal feast when the talk turned to legends. Sir Skaladon shared a story his grandfather had told him about the fabled Northern Passage. A trail through the Teeth of the Gods which would lead to the lands ringed by the mountain range. This land, supposedly filled with strange sights and mysteries, had cast its spell on many adventurers. Those who tried to find it either never returned, or came back as blabbering lunatics telling tales of beasts made of living rock.
Algor took this as a challenge. His mother’s endless search for lost artifacts and civilizations had rubbed off on the prince. It only took a couple days of intense badgering to convince Toron to join the expedition.
After gearing up, the pair headed out from Slime City to the Teeth of the Gods mountain range, but after half a day’s travel by slug, they faced a choice. Either cutting far to the east to avoid The Dark Citadel or hugging the edge of the Vallorian Jungle along the outskirts of the Tengkorak Village. Algor, ever the picture of an adventurer, opted to take the hard route through enemy territory, and it would have been fine if they hadn’t nearly collided with Shocktroopers training in their Doomfighters. An entire squad of the nimble aerial vehicles buzzed in the sky over the scrubby grasslands leading to the mountains.
Algor urged Ziggy on as the slug quickly zipped around the targets the Shocktroopers had been using as blaster bolts scorched the surrounding ground.
The prince pulled his ray pistol out of the saddlebags and fired off a shot towards the fighters. It struck one in the left wing thruster, causing the plane to spin wildly out of control before crashing into the jungle with a loud explosion and a plume of smoke. The three remaining fighters grouped up into a triangle formation as they circled to concentrate fire on the fast-moving slug.
Toron pulled a small, circular object from inside his body and looked at Algor. “Fire into this!” he yelled as he tossed the orb into the air. It exploded into a colorful burst of green smoke as Algor fired a volley of shots from his pistol into the cloud. Another fighter spun to the ground, creating a large gash in the dirt as it skidded to a stop and exploded. The smoke from the wreck masked the Slime’s escape from the Shocktroopers.
Ziggy made his way into a small clearing at the edge of the jungle bordering the mountains and came to a stop. Algor and Toron hopped off. “Ok buddy, you head back home, and take the long way through the jungle to avoid those Troopers,” Algor said as he scratched Ziggy’s neck. The Slimes grabbed their gear from the saddlebags, and the Slug nuzzled Algor before slithering off into the jungle.
Hearing the buzz of the fighters in the distance, Toron said, “They won’t stop until they find us, Al. So we better get moving to the cover of the mountains.”
Now, three days later, the going had been tough. A massive blizzard rolled in, and several avalanches had cut off any chance of turning back. Finally, after another day’s travel, Toron spotted what looked like a path between the towering mountains that blocked their path. “That must be the Northern Pass ahead, Al!” he exclaimed as he lowered his spyglass. “Another half day’s journey, and we should be there,” Toron added as he collapsed the spyglass and stuck it inside himself. Sure enough, by midday, they were out of the mountains and on flat ground again. A path stretched before them right between the mountains.
As they approached a booming voice echoed throughout the rock walls surrounding them, “You shall go no further!”
It stopped the pair in their tracks as dozens of strange rock creatures wearing fur pelts and wielding clubs suddenly surrounded them. Each creature had a single gem as its eye. Algor instinctively gripped the hilt of the sword tucked into his belt.
“Friend, you will not need weapons here,” a creature nearly naked and different from the others said with his hand held up. He seemed to be made of glowing rose quartz, and a soft hum buzzed out from him. It was comforting somehow, as if it were forcing you to listen to its words.
Algor relaxed his grip but kept one hand on the sword as he replied, “We wish no harm. We merely wish to pass.”
This seemed to upset the glowing one as a frown crossed his craggy face “That my friend is something we cannot allow, but please let us continue this conversation inside the walls of our Abbey where it is warm and safe,” he said with a gesture towards a tunnel leading down into the mountain.
Algor looked at Toron suspiciously. “What do you think, buddy? Should we go into the warm, dark tunnel with these guys?” he asked, letting go of his sword.
“Well Al, they’ve got us vastly outnumbered, and a nice warm abbey sounds a lot better than a snowy mountain pass to me,” he replied before adding “You fine gents wouldn’t be the kind of abbey dwellers that brew ale would you?”
This made the glowing one smile. “Yes, my friend, we would be just that kind of abbey dwellers,” he chuckled as he started off towards the tunnel.
The tunnel in the mountain took them deep underground to a massive grotto. A welcoming blast of warm, humid air quickly made them forget the chill of the mountains. Small pools surrounded by thick vegetation covered the floor, with small paths snaking their way through. Large orbs hanging from the many pointed stalactites dripping from the cavern’s ceiling produced light for the plants and the persistent drip, drip, drip that could be heard. In the center sat a large stone abbey with a massive bell tower. A loud bong rang from the bell, which reverberated across the entire hall and blanketed the area with a calming wave of peacefulness.
Descending the rough stone steps carved into the cave wall, down into the grounds of this abbey. More of the creatures appeared from hiding places behind rocks and bushes.
The glowing one raised his arms and exclaimed, “My friends, this abbey houses the Hands of the Gods, a holy order of monks. You will find no quarrel here as long as you promise to listen to our warning about venturing any further on your chosen path.”
“By all means, sir, we will heed any warning you have,” Algor replied, following the glowing one into a large dining hall. Servants brought out platters of food and giant flagons brimming with ale. Toron quickly grabbed the ale in front of him and looked around, impressed.
The glowing one surprised him when he spoke, “Toron, you wonder what the purpose of this Abbey is, my friend?”
“How did you know that?” the Slime asked.
Once again a smile crept across the glowing one’s face “It is one of the many abilities the gods have blessed me with friend Slime, but please allow me to explain while you enjoy your ale,” he said nudging another flagon in Toron’s direction.
“Millennia ago, the world of Jalldoon was new, and the gods were young. They crafted a race of beings to do their bidding. The Hands of the Gods order of monks. Made from the planet itself, each bore a precious gem in place of an eye. I led this order as the Voice of the Gods. They speak to me directly.” He stopped and took a long sip of ale.
“The gods speak to everyone, though. Don’t they?” Algor asked.
The Voice chuckled, “True, but they speak to me of their plans, and we carry them out when need be.”
“That is impressive, as is this ale,” Toron said, taking a deep swig.
“Thank you,Toron,” the Voice held his ale up before taking a sip.
“Alright, so what does this all have to do with the Northern Pass?” Algor asked.
“An excellent question. As Jalldoon quickly filled with new life, the gods segregated a portion of the planet to keep some of the stranger and more deadly beings from running roughshod over the planet. This portion of the planet was ringed by mountains that touched the skies, and a magical barrier kept the area contained. The only way in or out is the Northern Pass, and we hold the key.”
Algor stretched his arms over his head. “That explains the warm welcome then.”
“Yes, Prince. We built this abbey at the center of the planet. There are tunnels allowing us to reach almost anywhere in the world in little time. Our primary goal is to watch over the entrance to this segregated portion of Jalldoon, letting nothing in or out. The Hands have protected this Northern Asylum since the dawn of time, and will continue to forever. Now do you see why you must not venture there at this time, Prince?” the Voice asked as he finished his story.
“My mother searched this world for most of her life. She loved ancient things and spent most of her time researching them. She disappeared years ago. Did someone take her to this asylum? I need to investigate this area,” Algor pleaded.
The Voice’s face became grim. “Young Slime, you will have your chance at the North soon enough, but for now you must focus on your own little corner of Jalldoon. The gods say war is imminent. Baron Dracktholme and Master Boshak are building a substantial force as we speak. You must lead the charge against them, Algor. You must push these madmen back. If their kind gain power, we will all be in darkness.”
Algor searched for something to say, coming up empty.
The Voice sensed this and reassured him, “Never fear, my friend, you’ve some time yet. When the ultimate battle comes, you’ll have plenty of friends at your side. This much I know, and the Hands will always stand by you when you need us. Now, I suggest we finish our ales before Toron drinks every drop in the abbey.”
Algor and the Voice stayed up late that night, talking long after the other Monks and Toron had gone to sleep. During their talks, Algor learned much of the history of Jalldoon that the Slime Elder Magi had left out or not known. Dark secrets that eclipsed the knowledge contained inside the Slime Tablets of Creation even. Now, a new mission, assembling a team of heroes to protect Jalldoon, weighed heavily on the young Slime.
The Voice laid a stony hand on Algor’s shoulder. “If you ever have need of us, just whistle this tune,” he said, making a swirling whistle, which Algor copied. “Yes! Exactly like that!”
In the morning they walked the two Slimes to the entrance of the tunnel that would bring them out a short journey from the entrance of Slime City. Toron, having hit the ale a little too hard the night before, was thankful for not having to return through the mountains. Despite the pounding in his head, Toron felt a spring in his slime.
Algor, however, felt uneasy. His hand trembled slightly at the information placed on his shoulders as the two Slimes made their way home.
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