Although the concept of time is meaningless to it, the living ooze has been roused. Firstly by the falling gems, secondly by the fat, greasy man and then, for a few fleeting moments, by the delicious pig.
Of course the gelatinous creature has no understanding of ‘gem’, ‘man’ or ‘pig’, but it does understand stimulus and hunger and it hungers now.
Ironically placed in the lowest floor of the tower to be its apex predator, its role is far further reaching than just to control the rats and insect population. It’s a low maintenance, effectively immortal guard that exists in tandem, but on a more ecological level, with the Gnomish mechanical defences. Defences that are of no interest to it and are also totally immune to its flesh-eating acid. Two defence systems working together in perfect harmony, through mutual indifference.
Though deaf and sightless, the semi-sentient slime spreads itself wide and begins to hunt. Sloshing over the edge of its square, pool-like den, its viscous form stretches out until multiple pseudopodium probe all sides of the damp and dark-as-pitch room. Once it eliminates any possibility of any prey still being present, it gurgles slowly towards the bottom of the rough stone steps and starts to flow…
Upwards!
Nice to know that even if we emerge triumphant from the witches and Briafadel we will have the inexorable tide of the ooze lapping at our ankles. What's the old adage 'I don't have to run fast, just faster than you'
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