by Demi Harper
“Hoot-hoot,” my high cleric cooed as he dangled a worm above five gaping beaks.
“Hoot-hoot,” echoed the acolytes as they scrubbed excrement from the sides of my holy box.
“This is an outrage,” I told Ket. Bad hoot-hoots.
Though I wasn’t massively impressed with this new development—particularly the part where the gnomes decided my chariot was the perfect location on which to build the owlets a new nest—I tried to think of it as an investment. The hoot-hoots—no, the owls, damn it—might be useless flea-ridden sacks of feathers at the moment, but my denizens should be able to train them up over time. The badgers had gone from four-legged freeloaders to draft animals and even occasional steeds; the owls would—hopefully—turn out to be just as useful.
Besides, if Ris’kin was okay with them being here, then so was I.
My avatar was handling her injury as stoically as Longshank was dealing with his. Still, I wished I could do something to help compensate for her lost eye. I’d already perused my blueprints carefully, making plans to evolve her with bat-like echolocation as soon as I had access to my mana again.
Since the incident, I’d contemplated switching our schedule so that we marched at night and slept during the day. The gnomes could see just fine at night, and most of the forest’s predators—including tiger owls—were nocturnal; it made sense that we should all be awake and alert when they were. In the end, though, I decided we had a better chance of defending against them from a guarded camp, especially with the non-combatants mostly sheltered inside their tents, than we did when we were all strung out in a line while walking. The latter just seemed to be asking for trouble.
The owl attack had shown that we couldn’t simply rely on the warriors and wagon barrier for safety. To prevent another kidnapping incident—and ending up with even more baby owls—our preparations for making camp became a little more complex. Well, at least for Binky.
At my suggestion, my beloved spider hybrid busied himself each evening constructing a complex net of webbing above the camp. The crowded trees made for the perfect framework, and in less than an hour the camp below was entirely safe from any attack from above. It meant pitching the tents much more closely to one another than before, which caused a few arguments to break out, but I’d rather have my gnomes grumpy and alive than comfortable and dead.
I was surprised when, on the fourth day, Swift and Cheer climbed up and removed Binky’s silken rigging from the branches. At first I was concerned that the sticky threads would damage the skin of their hands. Then I remembered the tanner had made a recent discovery: rubbing lanolin on the surface created a strong, waxy protective layer that let the gnomes handle the silk threads without incident. They could also scrub this layer away again in places where they needed the webbing to stick once more.
Swift and Cheer brought the webbing to Heidi. The tanner paid them in teeth—from animals, I hoped—and the three of them huddled around the stringy material, stretching it and discussing mysterious plans while the rest of the tribe ate breakfast and broke camp. The tanner then joined the clothiers on their wagon, sharing out the silken material and chattering instructions.
And so it was that by the fifth evening of the exodus we had the skynet. No more did Binky have to exert himself after the day’s march; instead, it was a matter of mere minutes for the gnomes to assemble the pieces of their newly portable pop-up web ceiling.
The clothiers’ crafting skill increased to tier 10, unlocking Advanced Crafting and granting additional bonuses to their speed and efficiency when working with soft materials. Swift and Cheer’s Tinkering skill had leveled up to tier 5, and all those involved in the creation process had gained extra levels in Survival.
My warriors, too, had begun taking measures to more effectively deter attacks from the hated sky. After much trial and error, and many incidents involving sticky fingers and lost skin, they managed to weave Binky’s silk into a strong rope, thicker and heavier than that used in the skynet. Tying the end of each rope into a loose noose, they spent a good portion of the subsequent few days’ march flinging their new lassos into the air, practicing their aim. They still needed more practice though, since the only things they’d managed to lasso so far were each other.
That they could so enthusiastically devote their energy to lasso practice while also maintaining their pace was a sign of their increasing endurance. We followed the same routine each day, allowing a half-hour's rest for every three hours of walking. The rest of the tribe were also managing to keep up, though most of them—namely the children and non-physical professions—still took turns riding the wagons.
However, it seemed some not permitted to do so would do anything to change that.
"What on earth...?”
Ket’s exclamation summoned me to the rear of the procession, where the reason for my sprite’s frustration immediately became clear.
The two scavengers had foregone their usual trudging gait. Instead they were picking their ungainly way through the fallen leaves, raising each foot ridiculously high before carefully placing it down again like a pair of newborn deer walking on ice. It was painful to watch.
“I see they’ve found a way to walk even more slowly.” Impressive. “What’s that on their feet?”
"I believe they're sheep's teeth," answered Ket, gritting her own. "Molars, specifically."
A closer look proved my sprite correct. They scavengers had somehow affixed a blockish yellow-white tooth to the bottom of each boot, effectively creating improvised stilts. The obvious upside was that it kept their feet and legs out of the mud. The downside was that they now moved so slowly a slug could outrun them.
“At least they’re practical,” I said. “Sort of.”
“It hasn’t rained for days now,” Ket pointed out. “Why? Why do they need them?”
“Why do Swift and Cheer do anything?”
I had my suspicions. The pair were always glaring at the gnomes riding the wagons in front of them, muttering to themselves as they watched them hop down at the end of each day, while rubbing their own sore feet. I’d also seen Swift attempting to bribe one of the older juveniles into giving up their spot on their wagon. But the memory of the scavengers’ recent boot-based extortion attempt was still fresh in my denizens’ minds, and so the sulky scavengers remained on foot.
I’d have felt sorry for them had they not both been perfectly capable of managing the march and more.
Besides, the wagons were all in use. The one they were currently throwing glares at was full: I'd assigned the builders to work on the raincatchers while we were on the move, and the next wagon along was occupied by the clothiers, who had roped some of the children into helping them craft sturdier garments for the tribe. We essentially had our own little mobile sweatshop.
“You need to be stricter with them,” Ket said. She was still seething with annoyance at the scavengers’ latest antics.
“What do you want me to do? It’s not like I can set them on fire or anything.”
The issue was taken out of my hands when Cheer bent down to re-adjust her bizarre footwear. A small object sailed down from a nearby tree and bounced off the back of her neck. She yelped and leapt upright, rubbing her neck and frowning up at the trees.
When Swift turned to see what the commotion was about, another object was launched from somewhere above. It smacked into Swift’s forehead and knocked her onto her backside. She sat blinking in surprise, an angry red welt rising above her left eyebrow.
Something chittered and squeaked up among the branches. Cheer unholstered her net-shooter—which she’d reclaimed from one of the farmers—and pointed it at the sound. A weighted net—originally designed to help the farmers defend themselves from the dangerous whip spiders that occasionally roamed the Grotto’s shroomtree fields—shot out, disappearing into the branches.
With a rustle of leaves and snapping twigs, a gray shape tumbled down from the tree. It landed in a pile of dead leaves, then proceeded to roll aroun
d, thrashing against its confines and spitting furiously.
The scavengers advanced on the squirrel, and I suspected it would have ended up as a pincushion had Ris’kin not chosen that moment to intervene. My avatar strode up behind the scavengers, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders to bring them to a halt. For some reason she’d brought Gneil along too. He smiled sheepishly at Swift and Cheer.
They sheathed their weapons and watched resentfully as Ris’kin crouched in front of the net. At first the squirrel only increased its efforts to escape, but when Gneil joined her, it calmed almost instantly.
“He really does have a way with animals, doesn’t he?” said Ket admiringly.
“His Animal Handling skill is at rank nine,” I told her.
“I wonder what rank ten will unlock?”
“Probably something entirely useless to me. A ‘woodland cleric’ vocation, perhaps. Or maybe ‘high priest of owls’.”
Still, I tensed when he released the squirrel from its bonds. Assuming it was the same creature that had harassed us while we tried to save the kidnapped child a few nights earlier, I fully expected it to launch itself at my high cleric’s face like a rabid jack-in-the-box.
I needn’t have worried. The squirrel edged its way out into the open, ears twitching, nostrils flaring. Warily, it approached Gneil’s outstretched hand and sniffed the cleric’s fingers. Then it reached out its own paw and placed it on Gneil’s hand.
It moved along and did the same with Ris’kin. Then, to my surprise, it scampered up my avatar’s arm and perched on her shoulder.
Ket’s laughter tinkled out, and sparks rained from her, bright against the growing night. “It seems the tribe has gained another new member.”
“What are we, a traveling circus?” I grumbled.
Satisfied that the squirrel was safe, Gneil hiked back over to where Bruce was being unyoked from the chariot. The badger whined in delight at the sight of him, as though he’d been gone for days rather than minutes. Gneil placed a hand on either side of Bruce’s striped head, lowering his forehead to touch the badger’s in greeting. Bruce tolerated this for an entire second before he broke away to lick Gneil’s face furiously.
The high cleric fended him off and went to check on his acolytes. They were attempting to continue his task of feeding the owlets (accompanied, of course, by the usual encouraging chorus of “Hoot-hoot! Hoot-hoot!”), but were facing an obstruction. A belligerent, black-and-white obstruction.
Every time an acolyte held out a worm to one of the hoot-hoots, Flea the badger would barge in and snatch it away, butting the gnomes aside and provoking indignant wails from the little owls.
Before he could steal another piece of wriggling candy from the owl babies, Gneil took a firm hold of Flea’s halter and led him away, leaving the acolytes to feed their new charges in peace. While they walked, Flea’s head was bowed; this was a badger who was fully aware he’d been naughty and was about to face the repercussions.
From the trunk of a nearby tree, Binky watched them pass. It was hard to tell, but the way he waggled his pedipalps made it seem like he was chuckling.
Gneil led Flea away from the bustling camp and over to where the other two badgers were rooting for insects on the outskirts. They huffed sullenly at him.
Wait. Are they… jealous? Of the owls?
Gneil stayed with them awhile, talking softly to each one as he picked fleas from their ears and combed their coarse silvery fur, and it wasn’t long before the badgers forgot their sulkiness.
Ket’s right. He really does have a way with critters of all kinds.
I wonder if that’s the real reason he doesn’t get along with Longshank. Perhaps Gneil’s natural affinity with animals—Bruce, Binky, the hoot-hoots, and now the squirrel—gives him an aversion to anyone with the scout or hunter vocation. After all, their purpose is to kill creatures, not protect them.
Even now, Longshank and the scouts were out hunting for more food to sustain the tribe throughout our journey. The one-legged hunter still limped, but his experience in the new terrain, along with the cloth padding he’d wrapped around the sole of his wooden leg, meant his stealth skill was no longer in negative numbers.
Still, the prosthetic limb was no substitute for muscle and flesh. Longshank still stumbled every now and then, usually when he tried to move too quickly or turn too sharply, and I was worried this might prove problematic should he find himself embroiled in melee combat. He had a wicked spear arm, but a big part of fighting was footwork, and a stumble at the wrong moment could spell disaster.
He and the scouts were all equipped with slings, but those weapons were generally ineffective unless used by someone trained in their specific use, like Hoppit. After some pondering, I decided the armorer’s next project should be something that would help us compensate for that.
Luckily, I had just the thing in mind.
Thirty-Five
Too Many Cooks
Corey
Advanced vocation unlocked: Bowyer
Advanced vocation unlocked: Woodwright
Yes!
The notifications meant my carpenters must have finished their latest project. I zoomed over to inspect it.
Stonebow
Ranged Weapon
Also known as a ‘bullet crossbow,’ the stonebow is specifically designed to launch stone ammunition rather than the more traditional wooden bolts. Its light weight and easy-to-use loading mechanism make the stonebow a popular choice for new soldiers and trainee hunters, though its range is limited compared to more specialized weapons such as slings and longbows.
There were relatively few slingers among my warriors. Despite how basic it was, the sling was a difficult weapon to master, not to mention dangerous for anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity while training was taking place. Since everyone was in the vicinity right now, we needed ranged weapons that were relatively safe and simple to master, even for those who hadn’t trained extensively in their use.
The new stonebows fit those requirements perfectly. No more wild slinging, rogue bullets or concussions; just ‘point and shoot.’
We’d gotten the blueprint for the stonebows after I’d instructed the carpenters to Upgrade the net-shooters. I’d been pleasantly surprised that I could assign them to work on weapons; I’d assumed that was exclusively the armorer’s domain, but it turned out the carpenters could craft anything so long as wood was somehow involved (though of course the quality would not be as good as with an armorer’s skill bonuses).
The woodwright vocation had apparently unlocked only for Tenon and Dowel, the two most recently assigned carpenters; the original two, Dovetail and Groove, had spent more time repairing wagons than crafting new things, and so hadn’t yet met the prerequisite, which was to have crafted complete objects using three different types of wood.
Meanwhile, I’d instructed our armorer to craft a basic shortbow after she gained the blueprint from inspecting some dried rabbit intestines (which apparently were the perfect material for strings). I’d deemed it prudent to have something with a longer range than both the stonebows and the slings; additionally, the stone bullets both those weapons used as ammunition were more difficult to come by here in the forest, whereas wood for arrows was plentiful.
Crafting the shortbow had unlocked the ‘bowyer’ vocation for Shuck, but I hesitated in assigning it to her. According to the Augmentary, specializing in ranged weapons would increase her speed in crafting those items as well as their overall quality, but at the cost of a penalty to the same things for melee weapons and armor. As the tribe’s sole armorer, Shuck’s skills had developed in balance; she was tier eight in both melee weapons and armor, and now a nine in crafting ranged weapons. The bonuses from the bowyer profession were tempting given our present demand for more ranged weapons for the tribe, but I was reluctant to sacrifice her versatility.
In the end, I left Shuck as an all-purpose armorer, and assigned a second gnome the armorer vocation. Then I set them both to
working on another shortbow. Shuck’s expertise would make the task go quickly, and its completion would unlock the ‘bowyer’ vocation for the new armorer instead. After that, I’d set him to work on making arrows. The sooner we could test our new bows, the better.
After some deliberation, I also filled the position of overseer. Ket had been pushing me to do it for some time now, but when Bekkit explained some of the additional benefits, I finally took the leap and assigned the vocation to Buttress. I was loath to lose her as a builder—the stocky gnome was one of my best—but since the success of our journey depended as much on logistics as it did on military might it seemed prudent to put my most competent denizen in charge.
“I still think Shanky was the obvious choice,” Ket grumbled. “Especially since his injury. He shouldn’t be out gallivanting in the wilds anymore.”
“Longshank is our only hunter,” I reminded her. “Besides, he loves his job. He’d make a decent overseer, true, but he’d also be miserable if he were confined to babysitting all the time.”
As overseer, it was now Buttress’s role to supervise the tribe’s general organization. She got to work straight away, making sure everything the scouts and foragers brought back got distributed to the appropriate places, and that all materials were Assessed by those with construction-related vocations.
The new system had already unlocked a new crafting blueprint for the clothiers, and it was a useful one indeed.
Bramblecramps
Augment (clothing)
A traction device that improves mobility when attached to the user’s footwear. The hooked thorns on the soles provide additional grip, increasing movement speed on difficult terrain.
Prerequisite(s): Clothier vocation, Weaving I
Materials required: Bramble thorns x 5, hide sole x 2
Unlike Swift and Cheer’s ridiculous molar shoes, these so-called bramblecramps would vastly hasten the progress of our exodus… if we were entirely on foot, that was. Given that our pace tended to be slowed by the cumbersome wagons rather than the walkers, it didn’t seem all that prudent to expend my clothiers’ efforts into producing a pair of bramblecramps for every member of the tribe.
