by Demi Harper
‘Gnomehome… brickyard… creche…’ I read. ‘I suppose a gnomehome or two would make the most sense. It says here each gnomehome improves the morale and productivity of its occupants, as well as increasing their constitution and extending their lifespan. Hardier, harder-working gnomes sounds like a win to me – and perhaps it’ll help even more of them to “wake up”, as you put it.’
‘Good choice, Corey. And I like your thinking. What are the material requirements for a gnomehome?’
‘Um… hang on… Oh, here it is: 95 wooden boards – ouch, that’s a lot.’
‘It’ll be worth it, though,’ she assured me. ‘Building dwellings for your denizens is essential.’
She watched approvingly as I dragged and dropped the gnomehome template over to the base of my hillock, ready to be constructed.
‘Now, as for the practical considerations: your lumberjacks will chop the wood and then saw it into boards, because that’s what they’re assigned to do, but to turn that wood into houses, you’re going to need builders. Time to assign some – and maybe a few more workers for the lumberyard, too.’
Having seen the effect the finished lumberyard had on Jack, converting him into one of my Faithful, I decided to risk taking my next set of workers entirely from my somewhat larger pool of non-Faithful denizens. I selected four at random and used the Augmentary to assign each of them the ‘builder’ vocation.
One by one, the non-Faithful builders dawdled over to the new building site and began slowly clearing it of rocks and other natural debris. Thankfully, they began working a little harder when Ris’kin trotted over with spades from the mushroom patch, and soon enough the four new builders – three females and one male – were digging the foundations for what would hopefully soon be my first gnomehome.
Meanwhile, Jack and Elwood had already felled another tree apiece, and Twain was on his way over to start lugging them back to the lumberyard. Suddenly seized by an idea, I switched Twain’s vocation from lumberjack to sawyer.
It looked like the yard could handle up to eight workers, so I also surrendered another three of my precious Faithful to join Twain as sawyers. No way was I going to trust any inept non-Faithful with a sharp saw-blade.
I now had two Faithful lumberjacks, four Faithful sawyers, my Faithful overseer Granny, and four as-yet non-Faithful builders. That left me with nine Faithful gnomes who were yet to be assigned a vocation, and a whopping sixty-four non-Faithful currently idling away their days in the village. I decided to leave them to their own devices for now until I could assess the results of my new workers’ labor.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of steady, organized activity. My decision to appoint a total of four sawyers to complement my two lumberjacks proved to be a smart one, as it took twice as long to process lumber into boards as it did to cut the trees down in the first place.
It turned out that one shroomtree could be chopped up into approximately five usable boards. It would likely have been more, except these shroomtrees were in such poor condition that at least a third of their wood was rotten and unusable. Since a gnomehome required 95 boards, we’d need nineteen trees per home.
Each lumberjack could fell around six trees per day, and each sawyer could process about half that amount. That meant it would take just over three days to provide the materials for each gnomehome.
Not bad.
However, our mushroom farm currently held no more than fifty or so shroomtrees. At our current rate of production, the existing shroomtrees would be entirely depleted within just five days.
We were going to need more trees.
When I approached Ket with the new problem, her suggestion was to appoint a mushroom farmer or two. That way, I could construct a second shroomtree farm; the new farmers would use spores from the existing shroomtrees to plant more, whose growth I would then accelerate as needed using, well, Growth.
‘Why can’t I just use Growth from the outset instead of appointing farmers?’ I asked, somewhat confused.
‘You could, but then the gnomes wouldn’t be so self-sufficient. You’re meant to be making their lives easier, not removing the entire purpose of their existence.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ said Ket patiently, ‘the satisfaction of having a purpose – and of a job well done – is part of what’s making their Faith so strong right now. Small miracles will impress them, yes, but giving them a place in the world – and protecting their right to accomplish it – is what will make them worship you in the long run. Eventually, you’ll have little to no need to intervene. The settlement will run itself, and the gnomes will continue to worship you.’
I had to admit, that sounded appealing. But after this latest flurry of activity, it also sounded… boring.
‘Then… what becomes of my purpose?’ I asked, a little self-pityingly.
‘Then, Corey, we expand. But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, eh? Mushrooms first, grand plans later.’
So I assigned two gnomes – one Faithful, one not – as farmers. Then I selected the ‘Farm’ option – which had changed from gray to white, becoming available now that I had the requisite farmers – from the construction tree in my Augmentary. I placed the new farm directly across the stream from the existing one, where the ground was damp and earthy.
The new Faithful farmer trotted obediently over to the shroomtree patch and retrieved Gneil’s long-forgotten spade. Suitably equipped, the farmer then headed across the stream to the new patch of soil. There, she immediately began thrusting her shovel enthusiastically into the soggy ground.
I looked around to see the other new farmer trudging over to the lumberyard. For a moment, I wondered what in the hell he was doing. He was a farmer, not a woodcutter!
Was he confused, or just stupid?
Then he began rummaging through the pile of discarded shroomtree caps. Eventually he emerged, covered in black fibers and sticky dirt, but clutching a handful of minuscule white spores in one tiny, grubby fist.
I waited impatiently for the farmer to plant the spores so I could once more test my Growth ability. While I waited, I took a closer look at the original shroomtree patch. Upon examining the stumps of the felled shroomtrees, I realized with delight that chopping them down did not actually kill them. Rather, the mycelium – the network of roots and such beneath the ground – continued to survive, which meant the mushroom itself would naturally regrow within a matter of weeks.
Of course, right now I couldn’t afford to wait weeks, so the instant the first new spore was planted in the fresh ground, I imbued it with a little Growth – carefully this time.
I kept a constant eye on my mana globes as the first sign of the shroomtree’s head began to push through the damp, freshly turned earth. When it was knee-high to a gnome, I stopped, noting with relief that it had used only a tiny fraction of my mana – barely even worth noticing.
However, the non-Faithful farmer spotted the mushroom and instantly fell to his knees, dropping the spores on the ground, wiping his filthy hands on his filthier toga and then bringing them together in thanks.
Another one joins the flock.
When they’d done planting the rest of the spores, the pair of Faithful farmers instructed the two lumberjacks to begin chopping and hauling away the carcass of the colossal shroomtree I’d accidentally grown on my very first day on the job.
Ah, memories, I thought, recalling fondly the time I’d accidentally almost crushed Gneil and Granny.
At one point in the afternoon, Ket alerted me to the fact that the two non-Faithful gnomes I’d sent to scout had finally returned. The pair trooped up the hillock to my altar, scowling all the while. The first scout carried a dandelion over her shoulder, its yellow florets almost entirely shed. I imagined a trail of petals all the way from here to the surface, and would have rolled my eyes if I’d had any.
The second scout had outdone the first. This one was tugging what looked like a dead mouse behind her. Half its fur was missi
ng, probably from being dragged along the ground by its tail the whole way here, and both its eyes were gone too.
I stared, speechless, as they dumped their finds before my altar.
‘What… what am I supposed to do with these?’ I spluttered finally.
The gnomes didn’t hear me, of course, but Ket replied, ‘I tried to warn you about using control abilities like Scout, but you never gave me a chance to explain. As you can see, non-Faithful denizens have a tendency to go about their allotted tasks somewhat… reluctantly.’
‘They half-ass them, you mean,’ I said, still fuming.
‘Yes,’ Ket agreed brightly.
I should have known. Ah, well. Here goes nothing.
I tried to use Insight on the mouse, to no avail; Insight only worked on living things, and this mouse was very, very dead. I did manage to gain the dandelion’s blueprint, but only after a strained examination of the rapidly wilting flower.
‘Seriously, what use do I have for these?’ I complained. ‘They need to be taught to take their responsibilities seriously. I’m sending them out again.’
‘Corey, I don’t see the point in—’
‘You, and you.’ I selected the two female gnomes and activated Scout again.
My fifth mana globe drained by a third – as I’d known it would – and once again I felt that strange resistance as I attempted to push my instructions into the two scouts’ tiny brains. ‘Bring. Useful. Resources.’
The first scout muttered to herself, then turned and sloped off toward the main tunnel. The second scout remained, frowning down at the useless objects at her feet. After a moment, she shrugged, picked up the dying dandelion, then shouldered it and wandered slowly after her companion – leaving the dead mouse beside my altar. The worshiping gnomes cast horrified glances at the mouse and shuffled away from it as best they could while still remaining on their knees.
I watched the two scouts head toward the tunnel. The one at the rear dragged her feet, stopping every few seconds to rearrange the dandelion balanced on her shoulder.
Swift. I’ll name you Swift, I thought dryly. Ahead of Swift, the first scout could still be heard grumbling aloud. And you… you shall be named Cheer from now on.
As soon as Swift and Cheer had left the Grotto to embark on their next scouting mission, there was a flash of movement from above as Binky abseiled down from the hole in the ceiling. To the relief of my worshipers, he seized the dead mouse with his front legs, then used his rear legs to rapidly ascend his thread once more. Once he was back in his web, he began contentedly wrapping his prize in silk. Had he possessed vocal chords, I suspected he would have been humming happily.
I was feeling pretty damn satisfied myself. Despite the (admittedly unsurprising) setback of the ineffectual scouts, it had been a productive day. Not only did we now have a finished lumberyard – complete with two woodcutters and four sawyers – we also had a mushroom farm extension in progress, as well as four new builders working on their first gnomehome. Not to mention a steady stream of incoming mana from my small group of active worshipers. Ket was right: this was all going to be worth it in the long run.
My gem glowed softly, emitting a cheerful purple light. I didn’t even mind Ket’s teasing about this; I was too absorbed in considering our latest accomplishments – and future possibilities. Perhaps life as a God Core wasn’t so bad after all.
Then my vision began to dim around the edges. I barely had time to register what was happening before a dreadfully familiar voice insinuated itself directly into my mind.
Greetings again, little god.
Twenty
Grimrock
Ugh. Not this guy again.
‘Er… greetings,’ I said reluctantly. Perhaps playing along would hasten the departure of my irksome interlocutor.
I sensed the speaker’s attention roving around the Grotto. My, my, you have been busy.
My instincts prickled as I felt that remote gaze traveling over the lumberyard, the gnomehome-in-progress, the mushroom farm, the laboring woodcutters. The intruder’s scrutiny eventually fixed on the five gnomes worshiping at my hodgepodge altar.
Fascinating, he said dryly. The creatures worship you? How very… novel.
I bristled. Something in his tone set my nerves on edge. He spoke as though my gnomes were no more than bugs, their worship a strange and mildly amusing anomaly in the natural order of things. The fact that I’d felt much the same way just a day or so earlier mattered not.
‘Yes, they worship me,’ I snapped.
All five of them? Impressive.
His astonishment was clearly exaggerated, and my indignation rose another notch. I had seventeen Faithful now, actually, but somehow I didn’t feel like justifying myself to this pompous, presumptuous stranger.
Who does he think he is?
That was the problem, though: I had no idea who this entity was, or what he wanted for that matter.
Only one way to find out.
‘What do you want?’
The speaker sighed. I see you are still failing to show me the deference I am due. A pity. Were you never taught to respect your elders? Your betters?
‘I was taught that respect should be earned, not given freely and without merit. Why should I respect you?’
Why does a cockroach respect the boot capable of crushing it?
Was he threatening me now? The sheer effrontery of him!
‘It doesn’t,’ I shot back. ‘It merely stands its ground and dares the boot to try.’
After a moment’s silence, the intruder began to laugh. It didn’t last long, though.
I have shown you mercy thus far, little god, he hissed, in spite of your previous infractions against me. But my patience is not infinite.
Hang on a minute. ‘What “infractions”? I’ve done nothing to you!’
No? You do not recall slaughtering one of my creatures a mere day or so ago? Imagine my displeasure, he sneered, upon sensing my minion’s life suddenly snuffed out, like a candle flame in a draft. Imagine my surprise when I investigated its death and found… you.
Wait, what?
‘Your minion?’ Was he referring to Cassandria? ‘The human’s death was an accident, caused by one of her own comrades. She—’
Humans? He laughed again. The only thing filthy humans are good for is meat. My minions are far superior. They carry the blood of dragons, you know, and their saurian race has flourished for centuries under my rule.
‘Saurian?’
He growled. It means “lizard-like”. Ignorant fool.
For a moment, I was confused. Then I recalled the red-skinned raiders; the ones who’d seized my denizens, and specifically the one who’d tried to make off with Gneil.
I remembered its yelp as Granny drove the blade of her shovel into its leg, and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction alongside my dismay.
‘You sent those kobolds?’
Of course I did. And you presumed to interfere with their task.
Technically, it had been my avatar who’d brought down the straggler, but I thought better of protesting this – especially when the speaker added, Do not bother attempting denial. Grimrock sees all.
Who is this guy, and why does he keep talking about Grimrock?
Oh.
‘Hang on. When you say ‘Grimrock’, are you talking about yourself in the third person? Only, it’s kind of confusing.’ There was a disgruntled pause, which I took to be confirmation. ‘Look, Grimrock—’
Do not address me, growled the voice. How dare you disrespect Grimrock? You are nothing! Nothing!
I was barely even listening any more; my thoughts were too busy racing to connect facts I should have put together myself much sooner. The implications of this new revelation were only now becoming clear to me. If this entity – Grimrock – sent the kobolds to raid my gnomes, that meant—
‘You’re the red God Core!
This seemed to catch him off guard, or at least shut him up for a few moments
.
You have witnessed my might? he said eventually. Perhaps you are stronger than I suspected. Good. Good.
Before I could ask him why exactly this was ‘good’, he went on talking. I did not come here to fight, little god, nor to frighten you.
‘I’m not frightened,’ I muttered. He ignored this.
I simply came to offer advice, he continued. Heed it well, little god. You gain power from your pitiful worshipers, yes? He did not wait for me to respond. Yes. Well, that power is but a grain of dirt in a mountain compared to what you could be obtaining. I am referring, of course, to sacrifice.
In a sickening instant, I was back once more in that smoke-choked cavern, watching helplessly as my gnomes were put to the knife against a backdrop of snapping kobolds and glowing red fire.
‘You’re suggesting I murder my own followers?’
“Murder” implies malice, little god. What I am proposing is mere practicality. Think of your denizens as naught but tools, for that is what they are. Or resources, if you prefer. Ones you are entitled to exploit as you see fit.
I saw again an image of robed and hooded bodies in a pit; a memory from my life before, just like the flashbacks of the stone city. Back when I was… something other than a God Core. The memory of the dead bodies – my enemies, I somehow knew – disturbed me in ways I could not put into words; in ways it hadn’t when I’d first experienced it just hours before.
These… gnomes of yours are but pawns in the greater scheme of your Ascension, the voice was saying, and I can show you how to use them. In return for your fealty, I am prepared to teach you—
‘I want nothing from you.’
The words were out before I’d had time to consider them. I could almost see the sneer in Grimrock’s words as he said mockingly, Do you really think you’re better than that? Corey?