BY MORNING, DEVON had created a couple modest piles of supplies at the edge of the encampment. One was a mass of vines she’d cut and stripped of leaves—unfortunately, her rusty knife was down to 2/10 durability. She hoped to find a replacement sometime during the day. The other pile was a stack of logs large enough to use in constructing boar-proof shelters. It was a start.
The tribe was slow to wake due to the excitement of the previous evening. While she waited, she tossed back the flap over the door to the leader’s hut and grimaced. The place reeked.
With a long stick, she fished for the ogre’s bedding and dragged it into the watery dawn light. The wool blankets were stained and ratty and crawling with bugs. Uruquat had been sleeping in his throne for the last several days—she could hardly imagine how bad they’d have smelled if used recently. Nose wrinkled, she dragged the mess over to the fire and tossed it on the coals. As the fibers began to smolder, dirty smoke rose in a column before drifting slowly over the treetops.
She made sure to keep her distance.
Next, she pulled out a small wooden stool and a stump covered with dried bits of food. There was a cup made of pieces of bark sewn together with sinew. Ordinarily, she might have kept it, but not when it had been used by a boil-covered ogre. She tossed the cup and stool onto the bonfire then rolled the table in with a solid kick from her Tribal Sandal.
That left just a small iron trunk that was—unfortunately—locked. Devon dragged it out into the fresh air. Eventually, she’d have to figure out how to get it open, but for now, she’d let the sun bake off any residual stench. She did the same with the hide flaps covering the hut’s frame, throwing half of them over the top of the dome to allow air to blow through the space.
Ideally, it would rain sometime soon.
By the time she’d finished clearing out the ogre’s possessions, the others had woken. One of the women, a petite worker with dark hair in braids, dug through a wooden crate at the edge of the camp. She dragged out some of Devon’s snake meat and looked at it quizzically. Devon blushed when she realized she’d tossed a bunch of raw meat in with the tribe’s stores.
“I suppose I should have cooked that first,” she said.
The woman shrugged. “I’ll get started on it, see what we can salvage.”
Fair enough. Devon needed to start thinking more carefully about supplies. If she fed her followers a bunch of rotten meat, she’d probably end up with a village of corpses.
She watched as Hezbek helped the woman set up the spit. They slid the snake meat onto the iron rod and lowered it close to the coals. A few minutes later, the smell of cooking meat filled the village. Thankfully the bedding had burned quickly, and they wouldn’t be eating meat spiced with ogre body odor.
As the food cooked, the other tribe members shuffled from their shelters to the fire. The lawyer, Greel, was the last to emerge. Devon watched him approach. Balding and slight of build, he didn’t look the type to leave the city for a jungle expedition. Then again, few of these people looked like intrepid adventures out to found a new kingdom. Their ages varied from early twenties to Hezbek who wasn’t ancient but wasn’t particularly young, either. None moved with the confidence she’d expect from a bunch of hardcore survivors. But then again, they hadn’t really been taking care of themselves. Uruquat, for all his failings, had managed to keep them alive and together.
Hopefully, Devon wouldn’t compare unfavorably to a half-witted monster.
When Greel stepped up to the fire, Devon nodded at him. “Got a minute?”
He fixed her with a glare that was just short of insolent, a surprise after the simpering deference he had shown Uruquat. “I guess.”
Greel was an “advanced” NPC like Hezbek, but she wasn’t sure what that meant. Pulling up the window with information on her followers, she selected his name and was rewarded with another window. It didn’t show much, just his specialty (lawyer, as she already knew) and his disposition toward her. -265 reputation. Well below neutral. That explained his demeanor, at least.
In contrast—she selected Hezbek’s entry—she had 310 reputation with the medicine woman. That put her solidly within the “friendly” category.
Well, she could work out how to get on Greel’s good side later. For now, she just wanted information.
“As you recall, I gave you the option to leave last night. Yet you’re still here. I assume that means you intend to remain loyal to the tribe.”
The man rolled his eyes. “How do you think I’d fare on a return march through the wilderness?”
“I can’t say, since I don’t know much about your strengths. But seeing as you’re here, I expect you to act in ways that benefit the group.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Regardless of what I think of you personally, I’m no fool. Until there’s a caravan headed back to Eltera, I’m stuck with this group. What do you want?”
“Walk with me.”
As he followed her—all the while, rolling his eyes and dragging his feet—toward the edge of the encampment, she pulled out the parchment she’d looted from Uruquat’s corpse. Devon had tried to read the document once there’d been enough light to make out the words, but the lettering was foreign to her.
Once out of earshot of the fire, she held it up. “I understand you can read this.”
“My skill in reading this particular script is the main reason Uruquat retained my services. It’s an ancient tongue. Carpavan Legalese.”
“And?”
“It is a copy of a document written long ago. The contract deeds the city of Ishildar—in whole and in perpetuity—to a single ruler.”
Ishildar… the ruined city where she’d spawned. The place where the strange wisp had spoken of a champion which might or might not be her.
“And who is this ruler?”
He shrugged. “Some dead guy. Deceased for hundreds of years.”
“So why does the document matter now?”
“Because there were strict terms directing the inheritance. After the death of the first ruler, dominion over the city would pass only to the individual who possessed a particular set of relics. If the set was not complete, it was stipulated that the site must be abandoned—don’t ask me why. Anyway, Uruquat had about as much brains as my left foot, but he understood the basic math. Finding the treasure equals controlling the ancient city.”
“I see.”
“But you should know, the ogre wasn’t the only one searching for these relics. I have been contacted by a number of organizations offering hefty compensation for my services in interpreting this document as well as others. Knowledge of the Carpavan tongue is rare. Being able to decipher its impenetrable legalese even more so.”
“And yet you chose to work for a dimwitted ogre.”
“I work for myself. It just happened that my goals most closely aligned with Uruquat’s. For the time being anyway.”
Devon chewed her lip while she considered his words. She didn’t like his attitude, but the information he offered was intriguing.
“How are you enjoying my knife?” he asked, glaring.
She resisted the urge to lay a hand on the sheath. The theft probably explained his dislike for her—at least in part.
“Are you volunteering to take on the encampment’s defense? If so, I’ll consider returning it.”
Greel’s cheek twitched, but he said nothing. The standoff lasted for a minute or so.
“If that’s all?” he asked, a sarcastic edge to his words.
“For now. Of course, if you can think of anything that would improve our security here, please feel free to get to work.”
Curling his lip in annoyance, Greel wandered off. Devon watched him go. That man would be trouble if she didn’t figure out how to earn his loyalty.
***
While the tribe ate a slow breakfast, Devon examined her interface until she found the clock which showed the time in the real world. Nearby, another readout displ
ayed the time inside Relic Online. She put them side by side long enough to figure out that the game time passed at about two and a half times the rate it did outside. That confused her a little bit, because she’d thought the relationship had been closer, but then again, she had spent quite a while unconscious after hitting her head early on. And she had a faint recollection of Emerson mentioning the ability for the developers to slowly adjust something called time compression. He said the goal was to eventually allow the game experience to pass faster—allowing more play time—by stimulating some sort of brain structure that perceived time. The notion had kind of wigged her out, so she’d started tuning out his explanation.
The actual effect was cool, though. Despite the feeling that she’d been playing for sixteen hours since logging in, her real-world clock verified that it was just early afternoon back in her apartment. So despite the creepiness of this time compression, she kinda liked it.
As her followers finished their meal, she found a tiny window which offered a portal into her real-world messages. There was a reply from Tamara.
Sounds great. Meet you tonight… instead of tea, how about tacos? PS. Thanks for getting in touch. It’ll be nice to hear about something besides chainrings and frame composites.
Devon sent back an emoji and a geo-locating pin for a Mexican food joint. She wasn’t sure about tacos—sometimes the spices screwed with her digestion. And she had no idea what that other mumbo-jumbo about chainrings was, but regardless, it would be nice to see her friend. Provided she could even call her that after ignoring Tamara’s message for a month. At least the other woman didn’t seem to completely hate her yet.
She wandered toward the piles of logs and vines and called her followers over to her. Greel arrived last, casting glares that could have scalded water. She ignored him.
Devon gestured toward the logs. “Okay, everyone, we’re going to use these to make a safe place to sleep. We’ll fasten the construction together with…” She glanced at the vines. It had seemed like a good plan, but that had been in the middle of the night after the boar escapade. Wasn’t looking so smart now. She pinched her temples between thumb and middle finger. She really needed some expertise here.
Scanning the workers, Devon nodded to a strong-looking woman who moved with a little more confidence than some of her peers. “You haven’t chosen a trade, have you?”
“I haven’t specialized, no, but I’d like to,” the woman said.
“Do you have a preference?” Devon asked. In response, a window opened. It gave a long list of work the woman could specialize in, but three professions at the top of the list were highlighted. A note explained that highlighted professions received a bonus to advancement.
- Guard/fighter
- Lumberjack
- Blacksmith
“Seems you like to hit things,” Devon said.
The woman blushed. “I am pretty good at it.”
“All right, we’ll figure that out later. For now, is there anyone who has a natural inclination to carpentry?”
A man with gray hair at his temples stepped forward. When she examined him, she saw he would receive double bonuses in carpentry but reduced advancement in anything else. Perfect.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Prester, Your Gloriousness.”
“So, you’re interested in building with wood.”
“I’ve been waiting my whole life. Uruquat talked about building a city, and then a kingdom, and I thought it was finally my chance.” A look of bitterness came over his face.
“I’d like to see you achieve your hopes,” Devon said. “How can I help you pursue the trade?”
“I just need a blessing of the village leader for early training.”
That was it? No instruction manual or arcane ritual needed? Nice. Devon laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You have my blessing,” she said. “I hereby name you our tribe’s carpenter.”
The man’s face lit up. He dry-washed his hands and his eyes glistened.
“How long before you are ready to begin your new trade?” she asked.
“Right away, Your Gloriousness. I would like to begin by converting some of these logs into rough planks. It will help me gain confidence and skill, plus I’ll need the planks for other projects.”
Devon nodded. This was much better than trying to muddle her way through. “Have at it!”
Chapter Fifteen
DEVON ASKED THE other villagers to help Prester where possible. Mostly, that entailed holding logs in place while he used the axe heads as wedges to split them lengthwise. As they worked, Devon searched the encampment until she found the two machetes. She grabbed one and inspected the edge and hilt. The item examine window popped up.
Item: Crude Machete
Mostly good for clearing jungle, but hey, it’s better than a rusty knife.
2-6 Damage | 12/15 Durability
She looked down at her belt and the small knife sheath. She searched the work site until she found Gerrald, the leatherworker, trudging across the camp with an armful of scraps to add to the firewood supply.
“Are you able to craft a sheath to fit this blade?” she asked.
“Now?” he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.
“Please.”
“On it!” He threw his wood scraps onto the pile and dashed off.
Hmm. From now on, she’d try to keep him busy with leatherworking tasks rather than construction work. It clearly helped his morale.
Next, she stood on a stump and shaded her eyes. “I’m looking for the tribe’s hunter,” she called.
A young man stepped forward. She blushed, realizing she should have recognized him by the short bow strung across his body, but she was new to this.
As she looked closer, an inspection window popped up.
His name was Grey, and he was level 2 with 10 skill points in traps, 8 in short bow, and 20 in club.
“You hunt with the club?” she asked. That sounded rather caveman-like.
He shrugged. “Sloths aren’t very fast.”
That’s right. She remembered seeing the sloth meat. Made sense.
“And you trap the turtles, or?”
Grey nodded. “There’s a stream, but it’s an hour’s walk away. The last time I returned with meat, some sabertoothed beast stalked me. Uruquat said I should just avoid the ‘kitty’ for now.”
“I agree with him in that regard. What about the bow?”
“Well,” he said, “the best prey for someone of my skill has been parrots.”
What? No. She was not going to eat parrot meat. “Let’s forget hunting them.”
He nodded. “I’ve been out of arrows for a month, anyway.”
She recalled the list of professions from the settlement interface. The tribe had no fletchers, which meant there wouldn’t be more arrows unless she appointed someone to the task.
She glanced at his bulging backpack. “Looks like you’ve already had some luck today. Sloth?”
He gave her a pleased smile. “Two, Your Gloriousness. They are even slower in the morning hours.”
“You can call me Devon, by the way.”
He stiffened as if he’d been scolded. Yes, your… Devon-ness.”
She stopped herself from correcting him again. Better to just let it go for now.
“Your fighting skills are strong. For the time being, would you consider double duty as a guard? If something attacks the encampment, we could use your help.”
The man fiddled with the end of his short bow. “Well… I was brought up to respect life in all forms. Killing is necessary for us to eat, but violence should never be employed in conflicts of aggression.”
A hippie NPC? Really? “What about in self-defense? If attacked, would you fight back?”
A conflicted look colored his features. “I—well, I suppose so, but my real purpose is to provide.”
She sighed. It seemed the game wanted her
to train fighters, not exploit a loophole by assigning hunters to guard the camp.
“I understand. When you bring back meat, can you also provide leather to Gerrald?”
The hunter brightened. “I wanted to ask Uruquat about that weeks ago. But he was… not particularly open to suggestions. I’d be more than eager to begin the practice now—using all parts of the animal furthers my creed.”
Well, at least there was that. “Thank you. I want to begin outfitting everyone with better protective gear as soon as possible.”
Devon watched Grey run off then scanned the unspecialized workers. She couldn’t stay logged in all the time, and her followers needed some ability to fend for themselves. She spotted the woman who liked to hit things and called her over.
“What’s your name?” Devon asked.
“Bayle,” the woman said, then added, “Your Gloriousness.”
“Just Devon is fine. No title, no ‘Your.’”
Bayle nodded. “As you wish.”
“Our group is in need of a fighter—”
“I’ll do it,” the woman interrupted.
Devon raised a hand. “I have a couple questions first. Eventually, we’ll need better tools and weapons. We have no metal right now, but I’m curious what happens if you specialize as a fighter now and then later we need you to be our blacksmith.”
The woman squared her shoulders. “Of course, I’ll do whatever is best for the Tribe of Uruquat. Whether that’s guard duty or smithing or something else. However, you should know that my progress as a smith would be slow at first because I would need to unlearn the habits gained by practicing as a fighter. The longer I remain in one specialty, the harder it will be to transition.”
“Is it possible to specialize in more than one thing?”
“Oh, wow,” Bayle said, “I would be deeply honored if you considered raising me to an advanced citizen.”
Ah-hah. There was at least part of the answer to another question.
“So advanced citizens can have more than one specialty? Is there anything else they receive?”
Temple of Sorrow: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 1) Page 10
