Kaz was nearly shaking with excitement as Griff brought the document around.
“What will Roark name the first mob settlement in Hearthworld?” the Mighty Gourmet asked eagerly.
“The Troll Nation, of course,” Roark said.
Troll Nation
ROARK WAS THE LAST to sign the charter. As soon as he put the final flourish on “von Graf,” a notice opened before his eyes, accompanied by a regal blast of trumpets.
[Congratulations! The fifth and sixth floors of the Cruel Citadel have been upgraded to the Troll Nation, the first mob-ruled settlement in Hearthworld! For creating a world-first, the Troll Nation will receive an extra 1200 Building Points to distribute and 120 new building options. To access building options or begin building your settlement, take a seat on the Troll Nation Throne (formerly the Dungeon Lord’s Throne).]
After a glance at the expectant faces surrounding him, Roark went to the Dungeon Lord’s Throne—now the Troll Nation Throne—and sat. A grimoire appeared opened to a page showing maps of the citadel’s fifth floor and the Keep.
Roark studied the images, so intent that he hardly noticed when a large scaly beast scrabbled up behind him, shoving and burrowing until it was comfortably taking up most of the seat.
By focusing on one spot on the map, Roark was able to bring it closer until it filled his entire field of vision or back it off until he could see the entire floor. Each time he focused on one point, however, a glowing red square bordered the space, and the message [Construct central marketplace here? Yes/No Note: Once you have constructed the central marketplace, it cannot be moved.] appeared.
The marketplace was the most important feature of the settlement, and incidentally, the place that would be most vulnerable to attack should any heroes manage to get in. He couldn’t just make it inaccessible—according to the arbitrary rules that governed Hearthworld, every room in a dungeon had to be accessible. However, as he knew from his Curse Chain teleportation experiments, a portal counted as an access point.
If he put the marketplace far back in the southeast corner, just beyond the river that flowed through the fifth floor, it would already be farther than most heroes ever considered venturing. Add to that walling the entire marketplace off and putting a portal plate outside specifying that natives of the Troll Nation would be transported to a plate inside, and the market would meet the dungeon requirements while also protecting its customers and vendors from raiding bands of heroes. He couldn’t wall it off until he’d built the portal plates, but that was the work of a few hours at most. Until then, he could send a patrol of higher-level Trolls to keep watch for heroes.
He focused once more on that southeast corner.
[Construct central marketplace here? Yes/No Note: Once you have constructed the central marketplace, it cannot be moved.]
With a thought, he selected Yes, then closed the Settlement Grimoire. The ten other senior officers of the Troll Nation were still staring at him.
“It’s up,” Roark said, grinning. “By tomorrow, I’ll have added walls around it to cut it off from heroes, but you should be able to go there now and furnish your shops and buildings. Do what you need to, but I want the marketplace up and running by tomorrow night.” He stood up. “Kaz, I need you to come with me.”
On the way to the smithy, Roark gave Kaz seven single-use portal scrolls and laid out the plan for the Mighty Gourmet’s next diplomatic trip.
ROARK STOOD AT THE northern end of the Troll Nation Marketplace, a slab of steel etched with runes lying ten feet in front of him against the northern wall. He dusted a bit of forge ash from the shoulder of his dark leathers, then clasped his hands behind his back. The light armor was polished to a dull shine, his ghostly pale Jotnar skin nearly glowing against it. His leathery wings ruffled impatiently. Mac had stood around waiting for about three minutes before wandering off to find something more exciting, leaving Roark wishing he could join him.
The sounds and smells of a busy marketplace drifted over to him. Merchants hawked their wares. Meat sizzled. A smith’s hammer rang out—one of the apprentice blacksmiths hard at work in Roark’s absence. But not on Roark’s anvil, if they knew what was good for them.
A forest of colossal phosphorescent mushrooms towered high overhead, lighting the market with their ambient glow, but if he shut his eyes and just listened, he might not be able to tell the difference between the Troll Nation’s marketplace and Averi City’s.
He shifted feet, his wings shuffling again. What was taking so long? The sun was down already. The first Dungeon Lords should be arriving.
From behind Roark, soft music tinkled and the disturbed grass shimmered violet.
“Blasted plant,” Zyra said. “You can’t sneak up on anyone down here without Shadow Stalking.”
Roark smirked. “Were you going to stab me in the back?”
“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,” the Reaver Champion said. Her hood shifted as she sized him up. “Don’t be nervous. They’ll smell it on you.”
“I wasn’t until you showed up. Dungeon Lords don’t worry me. They’re all just overly ambitious Jotnars in different bodies.”
“Then you should know exactly what they want to hear,” she teased, a smile evident in the lilt of her voice.
The Curse Chain rune on the portal plate began to glow blue.
“I’d better get back to my station,” Zyra said. “Don’t make any of them mad enough to kill you.”
Roark chuckled. “I don’t intend to.”
The grass sighed out more tinkling music as she started to leave.
“Zyra?” Roark said. “I’m glad you’re still talking to me.”
For a moment, a leather-wrapped hand slipped into his and squeezed. Then she was gone, leaving a curl of inky smoke in her wake.
A shimmering blue portal opened just above the plate, and a half-snake, half-woman Naga as tall and lean as Roark slithered out. Coppery red scales covered her body from tail to just below her breasts, where they faded gradually to smooth skin of the same color. [Shess the Shrewd], according to her nameplate.
“Welcome to the Troll Nation, Dungeon Lord of the Culling Swamps,” Roark greeted her, his tone welcoming, yet infused with authority. He didn’t bow or even incline his head. He didn’t want any of the other Dungeon Lords getting the impression that he would play subservient to them. They were in his domain, and he was the ruler here.
The Naga looked around with lidless eyes, her vertical pupils barely touching on anything for more than a moment. “I wasss expecting sssomething... bigger. More impressive.”
Roark schooled his features into a pleasantly condescending smile.
“We’re at the outer edge,” he said. “When the rest of our guests have arrived, we’ll go into the marketplace proper.”
Behind her, the runes began to glow again.
“You may want to come this way a bit,” Roark said.
As the Naga slithered over to stand beside him, another shimmering blue portal opened above the plate. A huge, blocky creature made of emerald green beryl shot through with veins of red stepped out, his crystal joints grinding. [Beryl King the Severe] from the Gardens of the Deep.
No sooner had Roark greeted the Beryl King than the portal plate spit out another Dungeon Lord, [Gevaudan the Terrible], who looked to be some type of wolf-bear-man hybrid. The remaining four came through in quick succession. [Ishri the Cunning], an enormous Bloodleech with wings to rival Roark’s and a circular mouth ringed with needlelike teeth; [Rohibim the Deceiver], a Void Djinn whose body shifted and roiled like smoke; [Drokara the Gullet], a Harpy Queen with a scattering of tattered, mangy feathers; and [Ko the Faceless] a Mind Mantid with hanging scythe-like arms and an iridescent plate of chitin where her eyes and mandibles should have been.
When the final greetings had been made, Roark addressed them as one.
“You all traveled here today by single-use scroll, and you’ll travel home the same way. But keep in mind as we tour the marketplace
that if you choose to ally your dungeons with the Troll Nation, you’ll be given a portal plate with infinite uses to transport any of your dungeon’s mobs—yourself included—here at any time of the day or night.” It was like the fountain court in Averi City, though nowhere near as fancy. Yet.
With that, Roark turned on his heel and led them to the lush garden on the outskirts of the marketplace. Nearby stood a shack on chicken’s feet, bobbing almost imperceptibly. On its porch sat the bent little hag in a rocking chair, her Gnarled Root Staff across her lap.
“This is the Herbalist’s Garden.” He gestured to the hag. “And this is our Herbalist, Emala. She sells herbs and ingredients and provides training in Herblore.”
Gevaudan, the wolf hybrid Dungeon Lord, lifted his snout and sniffed at the air.
“Are you growing Fangbane, old woman?”
Emala nodded her wrinkled head. “Seven gold for a pound, Dungeon Lord. Picked fresh before your eyes.”
“How did you come by it? It only grows in the Deathwail Caverns.”
“I get around.” The hag cackled softly, rocking in her chair.
Roark hid his smile as Gevaudan pulled out seven gold and handed it over. The first foreign transaction of the Troll Nation market.
Their next stop was Zyra’s shop. Each individual trainer, master, or merchant in the settlement had been allotted 150 points to furnish their shops with, and the Reaver Champion had set hers up in much the same fashion as her lab in the Keep. Magical fires burned under bubbling flasks, metal tubing dripped strange-smelling potions into tiny cauldrons, and shelves of various and sundry ingredients lined the walls. In deference to the nature of the market, however, Zyra had added a seller’s counter, which she leaned on grumpily as if she’d been in the trade her whole life.
The Naga, Shess, slithered over to a multicolored display of potions and picked up an Ample Health Potion. A calculating expression crossed her face, one Roark recognized. She was realizing that what she held in her hands could completely shift the balance of power in her fights against invading heroes.
“How many of thessse do you have available to purchassse at one time?”
Zyra shrugged. “I have seventy-five at the moment, but they’re nothing to whip up. I also have Sufficient and Modest Health potions for the lower levels, Magicka potions for spell casters, and a lovely assortment of the deadliest poisons in Hearthworld.”
Shess hissed. “A Naga needsss no poison beyond the venom in her fangsss.”
But the serpentine Dungeon Lord continued to admire the Health potions until Roark led them back outside. The smithy was next door to the Alchemist, a bit of settlement design Roark had tweaked himself, bumping the more logical choice of Yevin’s school of magical training across the street.
The Bloodleech, Ishri, seemed especially interested in the armor being crafted. His people used their teeth and parasitic abilities to latch onto and drain heroes, but their bodies were soft and slimy. Easily pierced. Protection from heroes’ weapons would make an immeasurable difference.
By then, they were deep into the marketplace, and the street between both rows of buildings was filled with other merchants Variok had recruited—and the man had been busy. Apparently, he’d sold the idea of the Troll Nation Marketplace as easily as he sold everything else. Brightly colored tents, wooden stalls, and vendor spaces displayed every type of ware anyone could hope to find. The dungeon lords wandered through the aisles, inspecting, touching, and even buying. There was some good-natured haggling, and though Roark briefly worried that the stony Beryl King might upend a table covered in precious gemstones, the incident passed without actual violence.
Always a good sign, that.
When they finished their tour of the outdoor market, Roark led them across the street to the engineering trainer. Nathan, a burly, gregarious man, showed them the gleaming metal weapons and contraptions he crafted. Crossbows, mechanical traps, and even an enormous metal bull.
“What is it for?” the Beryl King asked in a voice like grinding rocks.
“Is for riding!” Nathan said, slapping the bull’s flank. “A mount, for when you don’t want to walk no more, yes?”
“How much weight can it carry?”
Nathan put up two fingers. “Two tons. More than twice what the strongest living mount in Hearthworld carries. And best part? Never tires. As long as you keep feeding wood into firebox, mount keeps going.”
From there, they went to Griff’s outdoor training area to watch him teach a small group of Changelings fighting tactics. All of the Dungeon Lords took special interest when one of the scrawny Changelings, a level 3 Roark had specifically selected because of how close she was to reaching 4, leveled up and Evolved into a musclebound Thursr.
“Our final stop is the Troll Nation Inn,” Roark said, leading them inside. “Where you can order stat-boosting meals prepared by our Troll Gourmet or purchase cooking skill training to bring food to your very own dungeon.”
Kaz shot Roark a nervous smile as their Dungeon Lord party took seats at the long table at the center of the common room. None of the Dungeon Lords looked very impressed by the idea of food.
Until they took their first bite.
HE’S DONE IT, thought Randy Shoemaker as he trailed Roark the Griefer and the seven Dungeon Lords through the mob marketplace. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but he’s done it.
The Trolls populating the place weren’t fighting or killing anything. They shopped, talked, worked together, bought skill training. It was fascinating. They were performing complex actions and having organic conversations that Randy could never have imagined coding them for. It defied all sense of logic or reason.
Why? Why set up a marketplace for mobs, then essentially lock out every hero? It didn’t fit with the modder’s griefing reputation. As far as Randy could tell, Roark had no plans to even tell the other players in the game that this existed. So what was the point of creating it? Money? A modder this talented could write himself in infinite gold. The same went for getting his hands on Unique and Legendary weapons. There was no point to going to all this trouble when you could just code in your own.
Randy shook his head as he followed along behind the Griefer. He was supposed to be following the modder to get answers, but it seemed like everything he saw just left him with more questions.
Wheeling and Dealing
THE DUNGEON LORDS ATE everything Kaz and Mai laid out for them, their faces lighting up with amazement at every new taste and texture. They gulped down spiced meads, ales, and wines, smacking their lips and sighing with pleasure. Even Ko the Faceless somehow made her food and drink disappear, then sent satisfied and impressed messages to all of their minds.
“How is it possible that we have gone our entire lives without knowing we were hungry?” Drokara the Gullet croaked, tossing back a full Lemongrass-Stuffed Buzzfish.
Roark just smiled. He remembered the amazement and excitement that accompanied Kaz’s first taste of food. The inn might very well turn out to be the crowning jewel of the Troll Nation Marketplace.
When at last even Drokara the Gullet was too stuffed to eat another bite, a somber hush fell over the table. The Dungeon Lords looked at Ko for several long seconds.
Roark wondered whether the Mind Mantid was conversing with them telepathically. He drained the last of his flagon and waited.
Finally, the Void Djinn Rohibim spoke.
“We have seen many amazing things, I will admit. This place”—he waved around a smoky arm covered in hazy tattoos of Infernal power not unlike Roark’s own—“is grander than I would’ve imagined. I am among the oldest of the Dungeon Lords, and it is a thing I have never seen. Never envisioned. But there are issues, Roark the Griefer. To travel here from our dungeons is a very dangerous trek, even for ones so powerful as us,” he said, his misty gray-black body roiling indolently. “Our lowest-level mobs cannot even cross the threshold into the outside world. Though this might be a boon to us, it needs to be accessible by ev
en the lowliest members of my dungeon. You mentioned portals, but this is magic I am unfamiliar with. How would this work, eh? Will the user have to infuse it with magick?”
“No, no. Not at all,” Roark replied. “This is another perk of our alliance. I will provide the magick required for you and your minions to access this place. My portal plates are a bit like portal scrolls, except they can be reused an infinite number of times. All the traveler has to do is step on the plate, and they’ll be transported to the corresponding plate here inside the marketplace walls. And because of my class as a Hexorcist, I can ensure that the marketplace is inaccessible to even the most intrepid heroes. It will be safe for every level of Infernal creature, from yourselves to the most vulnerable members of your dungeons.”
The Void Djinn grunted and bobbed his head, a greedy gleam in his eyes.
“Even ssso,” Shess said, drawing out the susurrus. “We Dungeon Lordsss know that nothing isss free. Not in thisss world. You take usss through your market. You tempt usss. Entice usss with potionsss and succulent foodsss. But to what end? Your messenger”—she bobbed her head toward Kaz, who was standing nearby, watching the feast with a critical eye—“he mentioned an alliance, but he conveniently forgot to mention who you would have usss ally against. I would know more. What would you gain from thisss, and what would we would pay for our allegiance to this strange new endeavor?”
Roark offered her a tight-lipped smile. Apparently, Shess the Shrewd was aptly named; she’d seen right through his showmanship and to the crux of the real issue at hand.
“Simple,” Roark replied, maintaining his confident tone. “There’s another dungeon out there, the Vault of the Radiant Shield, led by a man named Lowen. He’s building up his forces for an attack on the Troll Nation. In exchange for giving any dungeon who aligns themselves with us access to our skill trainers, merchants, and crafting, allies would have to agree to help us attack and defend ourselves against Lowen’s dungeon.”
Troll Nation Page 18
