Beginner’s Unluck

Chapter 1 - Learning Curve

When noble elves celebrate their coming of age on their twenty-first name day, they are drafted for two years of randomly-selected civil or community service, to help them build connections with their subjects, and gain real-world experience. Some act as farmhands, some jurors, some chefs. Some take apprenticeships with sorcerers, blacksmiths, or other masters. Others are assigned to join guilds, keeping towns safe from monsters and delving into dungeons for treasure and research. One such elf was Florian, a lithe young man of the lower house Albus.

Florian had never been a fighter. He was always more apt to the arts, including those of sorcery. His magic was beautiful, the spells he cast truly a sight to behold. Healing spells came exceptionally easy to him. On the day he turned twenty-one, the castle was alight with excitement. Most expected him to get chosen for a sorcery apprenticeship, or as a medic. The boy was a talented artist, so some proposed he might get chosen as a royal court sketch artist, or even a sculptor. Perhaps a gardener, his mother suggested. He had a rampant green thumb. When Guildmaster Henryck arrived, they thought he might be appointed to a position as the local guild’s emergency medic, or even a beast master or researcher. The scroll he held proved otherwise.

FLORIAN ALBUS II IS HEREBY SUMMONED TO JOIN GUILDMASTER HENRYCK AS THE GUILDMASTER’S APPRENTICE. FLORIAN SHALL ACT HENCEFORTH AS AN ADVENTURE GUIDE, PROTECTOR OF THE TOWN, AND FOREST GUARDIAN.

Florian was dismayed. He wanted to protest— Guildmaster’s apprentice, that HAD to be wrong, he was completely unsuited for it… but there were no mistakes. Particular skills could sway the assignment, but.. it was an opportunity to rise to the challenge and prove himself. He knew that. So he stood, smoothed his nameday garb, and bowed.

“It would be my honor and pleasure to join you, Guildmaster. I merely hope I don’t displease you.”

The Guildmaster, a tall, grizzled gentleman, smiled warmly. “I thank you for your courteousness. I expect to see you on the morrow.”
—
As expected, the next morning, Florian was sent off with momentous fanfare. The Guildmaster greeted him courteously, and brought him to his own private chambers. Before he had a chance to adjust, he was brought into an armorer’s tent, where he was fitted with a beginner set of armor and gifted an old training sword.

It was time for his first diagnostic assessment. The Guildmaster wanted to know if he could fight. The answer was no, but it had to be confirmed. The Guildmaster had to see it firsthand, to know how to guide Florian’s improvement. Florian was brought into a shallow section of woods, and the Guildmaster gave him a firm nod before walking away. Florian was terrified. He heard noises, soft, squelching, like something was coming closer. And then he laid eyes on slime. It was slime all around him. He knew incantations, sure, but none that would do him any good. He didn’t have a staff, he didn’t have anything but the useless beginner’s sword that the Guildmaster had given him. This was a test, and Florian knew it. He wouldn’t be in danger if he failed, but he’d be punished, he had heard that much from older elves. This was how the Guildmaster determined his worth, at least for the time being. He had to think. The slimes were closing in on him. He turned to run, to put some space between him and them while he figured out a plan, but when he lifted his leg to take a step, he found himself on the ground. A slime had wrapped a tentacle around his shin. He tried instantly to pull free.

Slimes were a low-level threat, but nobody had taught him that the more you try to wriggle away, the more insistently slimes will attach themselves to you. It was slowly crawling up his body, now, and soon it had him completely captured, still moving up. He had failed, nearly instantly, and now he just had to wait for the Guildmaster to get him. He sighed. Being engulfed in slime felt strange, like being under a cold weighted blanket made of jelly. He felt like he was being compressed. He wasn’t being eaten— he knew that. Slimes only really ate flora, but they were intensely curious creatures, and would latch onto anything that moved. But he panicked when it started inching over his face, opening his mouth to yell. To his surprise, he could breathe, but… slime filled his mouth. Oh, lords. The kind of mistake only a true amateur could make.

The taste wasn’t unpleasant, but it was thick in his mouth. Spitting did nothing, biting was similarly useless. It was inching towards the back of his throat, and he gagged as it went down, coughing, nearly forgetting to actually try and breathe. It reached his stomach. Florian had never been taught the reason slimes would attach themselves to humanoids — to breed. Slimes reproduced asexually, and required a host to assist them.

Florian finally remembered how to breathe around the slime. He was gaining bearings on his body, but he felt so weak, so compressed. Moving didn’t do much, the slime held him firmly. The Guildmaster wouldn’t let him be harmed for real, but this was humiliating. He clenched his fists. He couldn’t close his mouth, slime now insistently pouring down his throat.

Florian realized with rising panic that his stomach was— full? His new adventurer’s garb— he could feel his stomach starting to press against the leather plate. He was full, and still filling up. It felt weird— foreign, and warm. He could feel that he was swelling. It felt so… unfamiliar. Sure, there were instances when he’d forgotten his manners and overindulged on pigeon pies, cookies or other delicacies, but it never felt like this. He groaned, discomforted. The leather of his armor started to creak as his stomach continued to fill up. Looking down, he could see it begin to bulge. The pumping was insistent, leaving him no choice but to keep swallowing it down, and Florian noticed that the more of the slime that entered his stomach, the less restrained he was becoming.

It would be over soon, he thought. He could feel the slime pouring in with each surge, his gut pushing out a little bit farther each time. He felt the leather strain, and after a particularly difficult swallow, it burst, freeing Florian’s newly formed potbelly. He was still slim, objectively speaking, but he felt huge. His overfull stomach stuck out disproportionately, tight and stuffed. By the time that he was completely free, he felt like he was going to burst, groaning and leaning backwards. At least the other slimes were backing off now, slinking back into the shadows. Florian’s hands scrambled for his stomach, attempting to rub away the tightness inside him. All he received, though, were upset rumbles, and he felt pressure building before his stomach started bloating out even further. The slime was expanding inside him. Strangely, it stopped hurting, but the sense of horror and discomfort still remained. He just felt so… full. He watched as his stomach rounded out and spilled forward, the slime giving an odd sense of softness. It.. wasn’t bad. He really should try to stand, though. He had no idea where the Guildmaster was, but he knew he was being watched from somewhere— he wasn’t going to come get him. Florian had to make his own way back.

Grabbing and pressing uselessly on his stomach, Florian staggered to his feet. The weight of the slime inside his stretched-out gut strained his belt, and that soon burst as towell. It was really an embarrassing state to be in, but the Guildmaster couldn’t be shocked. Another thing he hadn’t been told was that humility was often the first lesson that elves learned in these apprenticeships. What better way to humble a species with such pride in their sleek appearance, their small appetites, than to fill them up to bursting? So it was with a warm smile that the Guildmaster received Florian, shameful, shaking, bloated.

“Welcome back.”