Smoulderglop

"The smoulderglop is a fine example of how gods combine things that shouldn't ever go together. It's an ooze that smoulders, a puddle that sizzles, and a hazard to boots everywhere. Studying them is straightforward enough: you approach carefully, observe from a safe distance, and write down how it just ruined your afternoon."

— Professor Wendell Fizzwick, A Compendium of Slimes, Sludges, and Other Unpleasant Puddles

 

Slurpppppppp

  If there were a competition for "Most Misleadingly Adorable Name of the Year", the smoulderglop would win it, probably by default after devouring the other contestants. A blob of fiery indifference, it oozes through the world with the energy of a creature that knows it's simultaneously the least and most intelligent thing in any given room. This is largely because it is the room, after about ten minutes.   A half-molten pudding, glowing faintly like a dying ember, with the occasional flickers of flame rippling across its surface. That's the smoulderglop. It doesn't so much move as it does obliterate the concept of "stationary". It leaves a trail of molten terrain behind it, which, contrary to logic, tends to smell faintly of roasted chestnuts. This has led to the ruin of many a curious adventurer who, upon catching a whiff of seasonal cheer, decided to investigate the bubbling, fiery blob creeping toward them.   Scholars are divided on what, exactly, the smoulderglop wants. Some say it's a force of elemental chaos, aimlessly meandering through existence, occasionally incinerating the odd wizard or woodland village just to spice things up. Others, particularly those who study the philosophy of fire, claim it has a purpose as ancient as time itself. They usually stop claiming things shortly afterward, typically in a burst of claim and a plaintive "Oh, not again!"  

Sloooooooorp

  The smoulderglop, to its credit, doesn't appear to harbour any specific malice. It doesn't need to. Its mere presence is catastrophic enough. It burns not out of hatred but out of the fundamental truth that it is fire, and fire must burn. Efforts to contain it are largely ineffective, as no prison can hold something that instinctively melts bars, walls, and on one memorable occasion, an entire volcano.   There is one curious aspect to the smoulderglop's behaviour that often gets overlooked (mainly because the people observing it are busy trying not to die): it seems to enjoy warmth. Not heat, mid you, just warmth. It has been spotted lurking near hearths, nestling close to campfires, and once, alarmingly, attempting to squeeze itself under a particularly large teapot. This has led some to speculate that the smoulderglop is, at its core, a lonely creature. A very dangerous, very flammable sort of lonely.   Adventurers are advised to keep their distance, not least because nothing ruins a hero's career like being remembered as "that chap who got eaten by a pudding with a temper."