by Demi Harper
However, there was one group in particular that would benefit. The scouts traversed much wilder and trickier terrain than the rest on their daily excursions; anything that helped them better negotiate difficult ground would be sure to increase their efficiency and help them bring back even more resources to benefit the tribe.
“You know, speaking of efficiency…” Bekkit appeared beside me. “If you desire your workers to craft multiple sets of a single item, you can use the Augmentary to queue them in rather than assigning them one at a time.”
“Really?” Ket and I both said together.
Bekkit shrugged. “’Tis one of the perks of god tier nine.”
And what a perk it is, I thought as I located the relevant menu and queued in an order for six sets of bramblecramps, enough to outfit Longshank and his team of scouts. Since I hadn’t specified any one worker for the task, all four clothiers pulled on heavy gloves and began sorting through the tangles of brambles amid the component heaps on their cart.
“If you think that’s handy, just wait until your overseer gains more experience,” said Bekkit, clearly sensing my satisfaction. “At advanced levels, you can even pass the responsibility for commissioning crafted items onto her.”
Anything that involved fewer stages of micromanagement sounded good to me—especially since Buttress was already proving herself intelligent enough to make smart decisions. In addition to organizing the scouts’ resources, she even made sure that anything living was placed before my ark, as if somehow intuiting that these were the things on which I could use Insight on. Even Bekkit was impressed by this.
The sprite also pointed out other areas that needed supervision—namely, the preparation and distribution of food. I’d thought the gnomes to be managing just fine; the foragers and scouts brought back raw ingredients, and the civilian gnomes pitched in to make them into stew, which everyone shared.
Apparently, though, this was not the most efficient way of doing things.
Each of the six main traveling groups were made up of around fifteen individuals, usually a mix of adults and younglings. At Bekkit’s recommendation—grudgingly approved by Ket—I assigned the ‘cook’ vocation to one gnome per group. Not knowing what to focus on, I’d previously refrained from assigning vocations to many of the recently matured gnomes, so there were plenty of young, fresh faces, blank slates ready to be assigned wherever they were needed.
As for the other groups—namely Swift, Cheer, and Gneil and the acolytes—Bekkit assured me that they too would be provided for by the chefs.
“Did you choose the, um, portliest gnomes on purpose?” Ket asked curiously as one by one the skillet icon appeared above their heads.
“Of course. You can’t trust a skinny chef,” I told her. Bekkit hummed in agreement.
Six gnomes catering for over a hundred did not seem like enough. But the logic behind it—that one professional was worth ten unskilled workers—made sense. And after all, one thing we didn’t want was too many cooks.
“Too many cooks,” I sang to myself as I pondered my next choice.
In addition to the chefs, I also needed to assign a quartermaster. Similarly to our new overseer, the quartermaster’s task was to supervise the storage and distribution of ingredients and consumables, ensuring rations were shared equally, and that the chefs were operating at maximum efficiency.
After some careful scrutiny of my remaining blank slates, I selected an unusually slender gnome. He was so pale that he almost appeared translucent. His hair was mouse-brown, like Benin’s, and hung in lank strands down to his shoulders like rats’ tails.
I’ll name you Rattail, I thought as I assigned him the ‘quartermaster’ vocation.
Rattail blinked his big, pale gray eyes in surprise and then went to check on the cooks.
“You know, he looks a lot like Gneil,” said Ket. “I wonder if they’re related?”
“It’s a small tribe. They’re all related,” I pointed out. “It’s a miracle none of them have webbed fingers.”
We watched Rattail get to work, critically examining ingredients and taking stock of the remaining supplies of rations.
“Did you choose the skinniest gnome on purpose this time?” asked Ket accusingly.
“Of course. You can’t trust a tubby quartermaster.”
As promised, the chefs proved their worth from the get-go. They rapidly grew skilled at butchering the game brought back by the scouts and at utilizing parts of the animals that had previously gone to waste.
Perhaps I should have made Swift and Cheer chefs a long time ago, I thought, remembering their sheep-brain soup.
The higher quality of the chef-made food also noticeably improved morale, probably because it was now being prepared by individuals with an awareness of how flavors were supposed to work. Our ingredients also stretched further than before, and as the cooks grew more skilled with practice, some days we even had leftovers, which Rattail would order to be sliced and rolled in rock salt to preserve it. That way it could be stored and eaten later on the journey.
After a couple of days one of the cooks unlocked the advanced vocation of ‘butcher.’ I assigned it to him immediately, along with the unimaginative yet memorable nickname ‘Butcher’. After some deliberation, I named the other five chefs as well.
“Really, Corey?”
“What?”
“Swede? Sugar? Spice?”
“Don’t forget Skillet and Bones,” added Bekkit.
“Seriously? This is what you’re naming them?”
“Are you really surprised, given his track record?”
“What’s wrong with my names?” I demanded. The sprites just shook their heads and grumbled in response.
The cooks came with even more benefits than anticipated. Much like the builders could with materials, chefs could Assess ingredients, gaining their basic information blueprints and eventually unlocking new recipes.
They’d already identified the nuts Ris’kin had gathered from her new squirrel companion. They were called ‘furynuts’—which also happened to be what I’d nicknamed our new squirrel, much to my sprites’ chagrin—and apparently their unique properties meant they could be used to brew something called “Fury Juice.”
Fury Juice
(Consumable)
Induces a berserker-like rage. The drinker’s speed, pain resistance and damage output are increased, while their defense and damage resistance are reduced.
Duration: 1 minute
Despite having identified the nuts, the chefs did not attempt to incorporate them into their regular cooking, instead leaving them on the ingredient pile. According to Bekkit, they wouldn’t make use of anything that could potentially cause negative status effects when consumed unless specifically commanded to.
Probably for the best.
This fury juice would undoubtedly have its uses, particularly in combat. A squad of gnomish berserkers led by someone like Hammer would make pretty excellent shock troops. For now, though, I decided to have my cooks focus on creating dishes that would provide the most nourishment and the most useful bonuses to the entire tribe.
Not to be outdone by the advancements of the cooks, clothiers and carpenters, my builders too had made great strides in their work, despite—or perhaps because of—Buttress’s re-assignment to overseer.
One of our biggest problems so far had been accommodation. The gnomes had had the foresight to pack the thatched roofs from the old gnomehomes for the journey, but as we’d soon discovered, they couldn’t be utilized fully without a proper frame to support them, meaning they were less efficient and could shelter fewer gnomes.
The solution had, admittedly, taken some intervention.
Not for the first time since assuming my current position, I lamented my inability to converse directly with my denizens. Instead I was forced to convey impressions of what I had in mind to Gneil and the other acolytes, who then used a combination of repeated explanations and physical theater to try and demonstrate my innovatio
n to the craftspeople.
In the end, I resorted to seeking help from Coll, who’d spent the entire time laughing at my acolytes’ charades. After informing him sternly that we were not here for his amusement, I sat back and indulged in some of my own as the massive human clumsily attempted to assemble the new structure himself.
“No, no—that support needs to fold inward, not outward! Look, like this.”
It was only after recruiting Binky to the cause that the builders finally seemed to understand the concept. One by one, their faces lit up with dawning realization, and they immediately disassembled their previous attempts and started afresh.
Eventually—
Blueprint acquired!
Portahut
It was a thing of beauty. The frame had eight legs (obviously). The ends met and crossed over each other at the top, like the protruding poles of a tipi, but the structure’s shape was octagonal rather than conical. A loose wall of hides was hung over the sides and fastened in place at the bottom, and the rolls of roof thatch could be attached before the entire frame—made from spidersilk and branches—was hauled into its upright position using a clever pulley system.
According to the Augmentary, the new hut could house up to ten gnomes—more than twice the capacity of the improvised tents they were currently making do with, and using the same amount of thatch. I queued in another nine of the portahuts; the prototype had taken two and a half days to complete, but the process from now on would be much quicker now that they were working from a blueprint.
Technically speaking, I didn’t need to construct so many. Ten huts would be enough to house our entire tribe (badgers not included), plenty of whom already had accommodation in the form of our existing tents. But the new huts were sturdier, homelier, and my instincts said that making them available to all would do wonders for morale, not to mention stamina regeneration. I estimated we’d have all ten completed within a fortnight.
By which point we’ll be halfway through our journey.
I brushed off that worrying thought and focused instead on the present. Ket was perched on Coll’s shoulder, and the pair of them looked to be eying the new structure with as much satisfaction as I felt, though I could sense the sprite was unimpressed with its aesthetics.
Yes, the tent’s frame resembled a spider even larger than Binky, but that was just a coincidental part of the design. With the distribution of weight and placement of the pulleys, the whole contraption could be collapsed in moments. When pressure was applied to each leg, the segmented frame would fold in on itself, allowing the rolls of thatch to easily be removed, and the remaining frame to be folded and packed onto the wagons. It would make the process of making and breaking camp each day dramatically quicker, giving us more time on the march. More time on the march meant more distance traveled each day, which meant a better chance of us completing the exodus on time.
All things considered, I was more than satisfied with our progress. Barely a week into the journey and already we were stronger than when we’d started in many ways. The gnomes’ hardiness and ability to adapt were helping them not only endure this exodus, but to thrive on it.
I almost found myself wishing we could continue in this way indefinitely. There was a certain allure to the nomadic lifestyle; without roots, without a stable base. It somehow felt like there was less to lose. It was surprisingly freeing.
Then I remembered what would happen if we failed to establish a new base before the exodus timer ran out.
I’d lose what limited abilities I still had—Double Sight among them—as well as those I was set to regain when I once again got access to my mana, like Creation.
Hell, I might even lose access to the Augmentary’s vocation interface. I’d only been taking advantage of Adjure’s benefits for a short time, but already I couldn’t imagine being without it.
The solution was simple: make sure that didn’t happen.
Time remaining for Exodus: 33 days, 4 hours, 49 minutes
The timer blinked obnoxiously in the corner of my vision, a constant reminder of what we were up against.
It won’t happen, I told it. I’ll make sure of it.
Thirty-Six
Risk and Reward
Corey
As Bekkit had pointed out, Exodus might prohibit me from leveling, but there was nothing to stop my denizens from continuing to grow. And grow they did. Day by day, the craftsmen became more skilled, the workers more efficient, and overall morale was visibly increasing.
Despite this, I found myself growing anxious. The gnomes were advancing steadily, yes, but progress on our journey was less obvious. The environment was changing, but very subtly. Where before the ground had been relatively flat (aside from pesky tree roots that tripped feet and snapped axles), now we were on a definite downward incline. The trees were changing, too. The bright green-orange leaves and molting canopy of the furynut forest were gradually giving way to coniferous spruce and gray-barked cedar. The trees were packed together much more closely here, making the ground damper and the path darker. I found it comforting, though the gnomes seemed somewhat less enthusiastic.
Despite my hopes and the scouts’ efforts, we’d yet to find any sign of entrances to potential new homes. Benin and Bekkit both assured me we were still on target to reach the mountain area as planned, but still. It would be nice to have found a backup along the way. Especially considering we were almost a quarter of the way through our allotted time.
Has it really been nine days already?
Though we were making good time, I still felt anxious. The further we traveled, the further behind we left the certainty of our previous home. Before us lay only the great unknown. What if we couldn’t find a new base in time?
We should try to increase our pace even further just to make sure.
As though the universe responded to my thoughts, a potential solution soon presented itself. We were only a couple of hours into the tenth day’s march when Bekkit spotted something interesting.
“Tracks,” he said helpfully when I arrived at his side to investigate.
They were, indeed, tracks.
What had made them was no mystery. Even I recognized the five-clawed imprints as badger tracks, albeit from a larger individual than the creatures we were familiar with.
Usually, this was something I’d ignore. A lone badger probably wasn’t worth expending our energy on. But our own badgers had proved invaluable to the exodus’s success. Having them pull the largest wagons was the only reason we’d come so far, so fast. Without them we’d be unable to carry half the supplies we had, and the increased burden on the gnomes—most of whom were already encumbered—would have slowed our progress considerably.
Think how much quicker we’d be able to move if we had five badgers to share the load instead of four…
“I’m not sure this is really necessary, Corey,” said Ket when I told her my idea. “We’re doing just fine with Bruce and the others.”
“No, the young Core is correct,” Bekkit said. “We should pursue anything that can increase our efficiency.”
I sensed Ket’s frustration, along with a tinge of worry. “But it’s just one badger. And maybe it won’t want to be recruited. What if it becomes violent? Is it really worth risking the scouts?”
I knew what she really meant was “Is it worth risking Shanky?”
“Back in the Grotto you told me that we can’t coddle our favorites. Risks have to be taken for the benefit of the tribe,” I reminded her.
“This isn’t the same—”
“Ris’kin and I will go with them. With Longshank and the five scouts, a badger is no threat to us, especially one on its own. The reward is worth the risk.”
We weren’t due a rest stop for another hour. I didn’t want to lose momentum this early in the day, so rather than issuing orders to halt, I let the march continue while I rounded up my team for this little excursion.
This won’t take long. And the scouts are skilled enough to find their wa
y back even when we’re on the move. I eyed the disturbed ground behind us. It’s not like we’re hard to track.
“Corey.”
I rolled my eyes as Ket whispered, “Don’t you think there’s something strange about this?”
“I think it’s strange that you’re trying to hamper my attempts to advance our progress. Is that what you mean?”
She sparked angrily. “Since when does he pay attention to the ground? He spends most of his time at the top of your Sphere, whinging about how he misses the sky or whatever. This smells like a trap.”
Honestly, my first thoughts had been along those same lines. Though he’d done nothing but help us, I still didn’t fully trust my new sprite’s motives—or his suspiciously timely arrival.
But Bekkit was confined to my Sphere of Influence, just like Ket. And it was a small enough area now that there was no way he’d been up to anything dodgy without me—or Ket, who’d been watching him like a hawk—knowing about it.
Not wanting to stoke more tension between the two sprites by voicing my own concerns, I said, “I understand why you’re worried, but it’ll be fine. Shanky and the scouts already handled a pack of mole-rats. How dangerous can one badger be?”
I activated Double Sight and slipped behind my avatar’s eyes, shutting out my sprite’s simmering frustration as I followed the hunter’s lead into the trees.
This is so boring.
I found myself almost wishing this excursion was as dangerous as Ket had feared.
For what felt like the hundredth time, we watched one of the scouts crouch beside a scuffed bit of earth. It was tempting to have Ris’kin use her own superior tracking skills and take the lead, but the opportunity to level up my scouts’ skills instead was too valuable to miss. Two of the five had already attained nine ranks in Tracking; since ten seemed to be something of a magic number when it came to vocation skills, I was keen to see what the next rank would unlock.