Slime Knight

Once upon a time, there lived a Knight. He lived and laughed with the Villagers, who knew him as a strong and kind warrior. As one of the Local lords' favorites, he is often called on to help assist problems where they lie. One day, he was requested by a Lord, unaware of the task ahead.  As he reached the castle entrance, the guards gave him passage. Picking up his pace the Knight made his way into the Lord's throne room. As soon as the Knight saw the Lord, staring at him with expectant eyes and rustled silk robes, he took a bow.

"My Lord. It is an honor to be summoned."

"You may rise, Sir Matthew. There have been attacks on travelling merchants. We believe the perpetrators to be Orcs. These she demons, violators of will seem to prefer more highly valued plunders.  For this we wish for you to safeguard a trade caravan. A band of mercenaries will also accompany you on your journey. You will leave in three day. May the Gods be with you."

"Thank you, my liege. You can rest assured these Orcs won't have even one piece of that caravan."

The Knight made his way home, a quaint abode to prepare for the journey.  His provisions would last a day or two. On his back his trusty shield and long sword. Before he left for his journey, the Knight made his way to Chretien, a town Blacksmith.

"Fancy meeting you here."
"Why would I not meet such an old friend of mine?"
"What do you need of me? Has your blade dulled?"
"That, and to be wished some luck."
"Your blade I can mend. The latter you're better off finding a woman for that task."
"You should know better than anyone that it's not possible for someone like me."
"And you should know I don't believe that for a second."
Chretien sharply replied while mending the blade.
"As a knight you have status, and power. Never before in my life had anyone not wanted one or the other. Your blade is as good as new. Stay safe."
"Same to you, old friend."

The Knight made his way to the Caravan. Days had passed and not a single Orca to be found. For his company of mercenaries, he did not care much for.

"Knights are loyal to the end, mercenaries loyal only to coin.” he thought to himself.

One day, before they could head to their destination, the trail headed deep into the woods. Everyone, the Knight, mercs and Traders all knew trouble was afoot. However they pressed on, the forest is bordered by mountains and deserts leaving them only that single trail. Ever so cautious the group kept a brisk pace, weapons ready for any sign of aggression. Every twig snap and rustle seemed to house an enemy. Then, out of nowhere, an Orc ambush. Well, as much as you can call of bunch of screaming she-beasts stealthy.

"To Battle, mercenaries, it's time to be worth your price."
"If we weren't, we wouldn't be standing here in the first place. Men fire at will."

The Knight charged towards the enemy Orcs with Sword and shield in hand. The mercenaries responded in kind. Bolts from crossbows whistled through the air as swords clashed against armor. The Knight bashed one Orc to the side, and then slashed another to the chest. The mercs put up a good fight, dropping the Orcs like flies with steady aim and hoarse curses. Before anyone knew it the fight was already over.

"These Orcs, don't know the concept of surrender to they?"
"They also don't know when they're outmatched, Sir Matthew. Dammit, we're low on bolts."
"Merchant, are you safe?" yelled Matthew.

"I'm quite fine, thank you very much. A little rattled, but I expected this much. Wait, Sir Matthew, you're bleeding. Wait here; I'll have my healer treat your wounds."
"I assume me and my men will have the same treatment?"
"You assume correctly mercenary. How could I forget your men's valor?"

After a brief interlude they reached the next town without a single incident.

"Thank you for protecting us, Sir Matthew, and thank you mercenaries."
"The least you could do is remember our names."
"I shall then, Yeorik."

Sir Matthew and Yeorik's band returned back to the plains. But there was something wrong. The grass fields were all scraped, revealing gashes of earth.

"I don't like this."
"At least whoever did this is gone-" and off the head of a mook.
"The hell?! A whole Orc band? Men, to arms!"
"Dammit, we can't fight them all!"
"Sounds like the complaints of a dead man."
"In your dreams."

Each crushing mace and blood rending gash seemed only to reveal another Orc. Out of ammo and stamina, it was only a matter of time before Yeorik's men fell en masse.

"Dammit men! There are only five left, keep it together!"

And then Sir Matthew was shot in the shoulder by a stray arrow. In the midst of the fighting no one noticed that he was being dragged into the underbrush.

Yeorik opened his eyes, and saw the glowing lichen lacing the ceiling of some cave.

Where am I? Sir Matthew inquired. Where were Yeorik and his band? In his frantic efforts to rise he noticed the soft gravel that he laid on, the painful blooms that pierced his bandaged right shoulder,  and the little slime that laid by his side.

A Slime saved my life eh? Sir Matthew thought to himself. But Sir Matthew soon noticed the Slime acted strangely. Morphing from its blob shape tendrils spurned from its skin. The tendrils thickened in shape and resembled limbs, and what was once a blob turned into the visage of a little girl.

The girl jiggled with her core dully shining from what little light existed. She stood up, hugged the knight's tarnished waist and said "F. Fath. Father?"

The knight was speechless. This monster, not only save his life, but also thinks of him as a father? How peculiar.

I should watch my tongue. I may be in an absurd place, but I am still a knight. Sir Matthew thought.

"Young Lady, I'm afraid to say I'm not your father. I am merely a knight. Tell me, did you bring me to this place?"

The Slime Girl nodded her head.

"And did you do this to my shoulder?" Sir Matthew gestured with his shoulder.

The Slime Girl nodded again.

"How do you know of the healing arts?"
"People, walk here. Learn from them."
"I see. Little lady, what is your name?"
"I have none."
"That is a terrible thing. A lady such as you without a name is like having a flower but know not what it is called. Little lady, what do you wish to be called?"
"I don't know. Could you? Give me name?"

Drat. I should've been more considerate. Sir Matthew thought to himself.

"Very well. I shall call you Glesni. Is that all right with you?"
"Gles, ni. Glesni. I'm Glesni."
"Lady Glesni, would you be as so inclined to lend me a hand out of this cavern?

Glesni reacted rather harshly, and proceeded to hug the knight tighter, as if pleading for him to stay.

"Lady Glesni, do not worry. You could come with me if you wish."

Glesni, in a reluctant manner, pulled away from the knight, at least enough for him to stand. Keeping a hold on Sir Matthew's waist shirt she pulled him to the cavern entrance like a child dragging a parent to a festival.
“Chretian!”
“Ah, Sir Matthew, it is so good to see you alive and well. You almost gave me a scare.”
“It was only lucky shot from an Orc. It was not my best moment. When I came to this little girl came in and gave me aid, could you believe that?”
“What little girl?”
“Glesni, it is impolite to not greet someone you have just met. And Chretian, you might have to look down.”

Chretian bent over his iron and saw Glesni, a little slime girl in robes.

“G… Greetings, Forge Smith, Chretian. It is a, pleasure to, see you.”
“That’s much better Glesni, you’ve improved considerably.”
“Thank you Sir Matthew.”