Subterranean Sugarbeast Safari

Much like the alchemist, Magtok also draws back. It's less about conserving resources for a better time and more about switching them out, however. There's some more appropriate bullets for his revolver than the ones he's loaded into it, and it'd be a bit of a pain in the neck to swap them in closer to the action, where gummy zombies are closing in, trying to...I don't know, glop their soft bodies over their heads? Nibble on his extremities? Leak acid on the group? Precisely what kind of threat are these things meant to pose, if any? I suppose we could always nudge one of the goblins in front of a lunging gummy soldier to find out, but that would be a waste of a perfectly good meatshield, wouldn't it? Heck, it'd be a waste of more than one, because the others would certainly rebel if they caught us murdering one of their own for a science experiment. No, it's a fascinating mystery, but solving it isn't that important to us.

I could also just ask Esha, since she's dealt with them before, Magtok thinks to himself, sliding in new bullets and sprinkling an orange powder into his revolver that smells vaguely of blueberries and ozone, before snapping the wheel shut and shaking his head. Nope, better to spend the rest of his life in ignorance than give her a reason to start talking again. Every single word out of her mouth is like knives on the ears, and it's not even the sound of her voice that does it, it's just her choice of words, the accursed nature of her unholy vocabulary and syntax. He steadies his arm and opens fire on a stray sour patch shambler, which neatly lodges itself in the creature's neck and then boils the gelatin around it, liquefying just enough for the head to fall neatly to the ground beside it.