God of Gnomes

by Demi Harper

  Logic – and perhaps some ancestral dark elf instinct – assured me this was simply how life worked sometimes; nature was brutal, and there was nothing I could do about it. Deep down, I accepted the truth of this. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t glad when all four badger cubs eventually found their way back to the Grotto and under the care of Granny and my gnomes.

  After much persuasive nudging and nipping of the other three cubs, the first badger – whom I decided to name Bruce, just because – led the way back down the tunnel. When he reached the hole he’d dug into the Grotto, he backed out, bottom first, and then slid down the earthen wall, his claws raking the packed dirt and shredding protruding roots to ribbons as he slithered to the ground.

  The second badger carefully followed suit, but the third misjudged its entrance and instead tumbled from the hole, roly-polying down to the ground and then shaking itself off as though it had meant to fall that way all along. The fourth, and smallest, simply launched itself heedlessly out from the hole, landing on top of the third so that they both went rolling in the dirt again.

  As the badgers made their less than dignified entrance, a troop of gnome workers went scurrying over to intercept them. It seemed Granny had anticipated Bruce’s return; my enterprising denizens clutched an assortment of (presumably) tasty snacks for the stripy-faced animals. Most of these ‘snacks’ appeared to be insects of one kind or another, nuisances plucked from the mushroom patches and delivered to the badgers’ eagerly waiting mouths rather than tossed into the stream by the farmers like usual.

  Before long, the four cubs were sucking on slugs and gnawing on beetles, chewing caterpillars and crunching snails – much to Granny and the mushroom farmers’ delight, and my faint disgust. When they were done with those, the badgers bumbled off in separate directions to explore the rest of the Grotto. They were each pursued by several gnomes, studiously attempting to steer the animals away from causing accidental damage to their carefully built structures.

  As the baby badgers blundered around, tripping on their own feet, sniffing their new surroundings and generally causing adorable chaos, I couldn’t help but marvel at the effect their presence was having on the gnomes. Construction progress was delayed – in fact, it all but ground to a halt as the workers took in these new black-and-white novelties – but the boost to my denizens’ morale was worth it. This was the first time I’d seen any of them smile since the battle.

  The smallest badger seemed determined to introduce itself to each and every gnome it encountered, individually. I watched with what I realized was amusement as it shambled up to my shrine to greet Gneil.

  My disciple had ceased his work on the statue and was simply shaking with ticklish laughter as the cub first gave him a thorough sniffing, then licked his face and neck, and finally chewed his sleeve inquisitively. Gneil tentatively scratched the badger behind the ear; the creature bumped against his hip, imploring him to give it more attention. Similar sights could be seen all around the Grotto.

  Binky the spider watched all this warily from the ceiling, like a house cat perched on a tall surface following the introduction of a new family dog. I felt much the same way; in spite of the badgers’ positive effect on morale, I waited to see for certain whether these new additions would help the Grotto, or harm it.

  It turned out I needn’t have worried. The badgers settled into life in the Grotto as though they’d been born there. The presence of eighty-four shabbily dressed gnomes and a giant spider didn’t seem to bother them one bit.

  As the days passed, it quickly became apparent that the cubs were growing healthier. It was only a matter of days until their ribs no longer showed, and not long after that until their clumsy toddling gait grew into a distinct waddle.

  This was probably at least partially related to the amount of time they spent truffling among the mushroom beds and shroomtree patches, gobbling up slugs and other pests and generally making themselves surprisingly useful. It seemed the little omnivores were a mushroom farmer’s dream.

  The badgers were also surprisingly energetic. When they weren’t eating or begging for attention from the gnomes, they were playing among themselves, jumping and climbing on each other and tussling boisterously. It was also apparent that they adored attention, which was fortunate, since the gnomes clearly delighted in lavishing it upon them.

  Granny in particular would spend hours hobbling from cub to cub, wielding her bone comb like a weapon and determinedly currying the ticks and tangles from the badgers’ coarse silvery coats.

  After the first few days’ indulgence, the cubs were persuaded to adopt a more active role in the tribe. Granny, along with a few of the builders, had rigged a makeshift harness using strips of hide taken from some of the old village’s tents.

  Displaying the characteristic innovation Ket had so admired, my gnomes used a combination of food and praise to persuade each badger to take a turn in the harness, letting them become accustomed to its weight and feel.

  At first the animals scratched at it, bit at the straps, and even rolled onto their backs to try and dislodge the unfamiliar leathery passenger. However, a distraction of insects and cuddles soon had them ignoring it, and eventually even welcoming its embrace.

  After that, it was a simple matter of patience and repetition to acclimatize each cub with a different route: between the brickyard and the creche, the brickyard and the barracks, the lumberyard and the creche, and the lumberyard and the barracks. Finally, the gnomes were able to alternate using the new pack animals to haul bricks and lumber to the two major buildings under construction.

  Aside from a few issues with getting them to cross the bridges rather than simply drag the building materials through the stream, the badgers took to this work – and its insectile rewards – like ducks to water, and their contribution sped up the remaining construction on the creche and barracks considerably.

  Aside from the animals’ tendency to chew everything in sight – the harnesses, their handlers’ clothing, each other’s ears – they were turning out to be a rather useful addition to the tribe.

  And it didn’t stop there. On the third day after the badgers’ arrival, Jack and Elwood ran shrieking from between the stalks of the shroomtrees. Seeing the lumberjacks’ distress, Bruce, the largest badger, immediately stumbled over to investigate. My stomach dropped when I saw what he’d found: a whip spider.

  The arachnid’s long slender limbs and appendages spread like thin black cracks across the stalk of one of the shroomtrees. It was unusual to see one here in the Grotto; whip spiders generally favored the darker, moister environment of the deeper caves. Which was lucky, because their attacks were extremely venomous to most small creatures unlucky enough to encounter them. Like gnomes – or baby badgers.

  Before I could even think ‘Don’t eat that, you idiot!’ Bruce the badger was snuffling curiously at this new oddity. The spider twitched, then Bruce’s nose dislodged its flimsy grip and knocked it to the ground. Weak grip. Exactly why I spliced them with cave-climbing fish, I couldn’t help but think smugly.

  To my great unease, Bruce continued to harass the whip spider. I winced as it raised its eponymous appendages in warning. One strike from those, and the little badger would find itself in immense pain, possibly paralyzed – maybe even fatally so.

  Bruce lunged forward and snapped his jaws around the spider. The whips lashed out once, twice, three times, before the deadly arachnid’s carapace crunched beneath the badger’s pointed teeth. I waited sorrowfully for the cub to begin seizing and thrashing in the throes of the toxin, realizing too late its mistake.

  But aside from a few flinches, Bruce carried on eating without any sign that the spider’s final attacks had affected him.

  Relieved but thoroughly puzzled, I pondered this. Then I remembered who – and what – I was, and used my Insight ability to analyze Bruce’s blueprint.

  Badger

  Mammal.

  Omnivorous.

  These hardy animals are equipped with
short legs and long claws for digging, enhanced mandibles for strong bite grip, and a thick skin. Furthermore, mutations in certain neuromuscular receptors work as a natural but effective protection against most venomous stings.

  Natural protection against venom. Huh. I’d have to remember that next time I created more god-born creatures. It would certainly be a handy trait.

  When the whip spider had been fully devoured and sent to the pits of spider hell – or at least the badger’s stomach – Bruce waddled back out of the shroomtree patch to a hero’s welcome. Elwood flung his arms around the badger, while Jack fondled its ears and appeared to be telling Bruce some version of what a brave boy he was.

  Seeing the gnomes adopt the orphaned cubs like this sent a reluctant warmth along the cockles of my non-existent heart. Ugh. This ‘good god’ stuff was a soppy business.

  The gnomes weren’t the only ones who’d taken to the Grotto’s new residents. Binky had overcome his suspicion, and had (somewhat bizarrely) taken it upon himself to foray beyond his hole in the ceiling, up to the surface, and bring back bits of twig and leaf clutched in his pedipalps.

  Rather than return to their sett – where their mother’s body had already disintegrated thanks to my Sphere’s accelerating influence – the badger cubs had taken to nesting in a patch of dirt near the wall they’d originally come through. Binky would scurry over to the badgers’ new nest, deposit his leafy prizes, and then scurry away again as fast as his furry legs could carry him.

  So bashful, I thought fondly.

  I assumed the badgers didn’t mind the spider dumping crap in their bed. They didn’t seem to hate it, at least, and snuffled about, nosing the new additions here and there before turning in circles and finally plopping themselves down to sleep.

  The overly friendly smallest badger – whom I’d decided to name Flea – had made a game of bounding after Binky each time he departed. The cub would whine plaintively, nostrils flaring wildly, short legs scurrying in a desperate attempt to make friends with the giant spider. Binky would scale his thread up to the safety of the ceiling just in time to avoid being pounced on, but it was a close thing every time – almost as though the spider were deliberately indulging the cub’s game.

  I was so distracted by Binky’s strange yet endearing behavior that I almost failed to recognize the ding from my Augmentary announcing the completion of a new building. It was followed almost immediately by another ding.

  The creche was finally complete, as was the barracks.

  I could finally begin training my gnome army.

  Forty-Six

  Militia

  To my delight and immense relief, the ‘warrior’ vocation was now available for selection, so the first thing I did was assign it to the two Faithful gnomes who didn’t already have a vocation. They trotted off toward the barracks. Then I also reassigned all six of my brickmakers. With the creche and the barracks both completed, I’d have no need of bricks for the foreseeable future, and I figured I should spend our efforts in defense rather than construction.

  After all, there was always a chance Grimrock would renege on our agreement; or, if not, eventually grow powerful enough that his Sphere of Influence would overlap the Grotto, leaving him free to send his own god-born horrors after my gnomes. Or maybe the Guild would turn out to be hostile toward me after all.

  Basically, I wanted my gnomes better able to defend themselves. Just in case.

  I followed the brickmakers-turned-warriors to the new barracks. I was eager to see them begin their training.

  The barracks was a large rectangular building. From above, it was easy to see that there were two main parts. The center of the building was dominated by an open-air yard, clearly meant for sparring, while the roof-covered perimeter would house the warriors when they weren’t at practice, freeing up space in the gnomehomes. My new warriors filtered through the doorway, disappearing from my sight for a moment before emerging in the open air of the yard.

  As part of the building’s design, the builders had whittled sticks of shroomtree stalk into blunt practice weapons, equipping the barracks with its own non-deadly arsenal.

  The eight new fighters had each picked up a one-handed wooden weapon and were now standing around, looking uncertainly at one another. One of them gave his weapon an experimental swing back and forth.

  The others saw this and followed suit, then immediately stopped when one of them received an overly enthusiastic clout to the back of the head. The hapless victim rubbed his head and scowled at the perpetrator: a slightly older, heavyset woman who looked about as apologetic as a thundercloud. She grinned humorlessly at him, then poked him in the chest with her weapon. He staggered back with a yelp.

  The female gnome rolled her eyes and muttered something. She turned to the other gnomes, hefting her wooden blade in challenge. A male came forward meekly, holding his own weapon with two scrawny hands but looking surprisingly determined. He swung his sword at the larger woman, who blocked it clumsily; the two weapons collided with a clack. Both gnomes stepped back, looking a bit astonished. I mentally shook my head. This was going to be a long, long process.

  As the other gnomes paired up and the gentle clack of practice swords grew more rhythmic, I decided to leave them to it for a while. Hopefully they’d have improved by the time I checked back later.

  By this point, the fourth gnomehome was also complete. This meant there were now regular accommodations for up to forty-eight gnomes. Given that the barracks could also house up to forty warriors, and the creche as many children, we had more than enough living quarters for our current population of eighty-four.

  This meant I could definitely ease up on construction for a while, and just focus on those buildings that were essential. On that note, I promptly re-vocationed six of my builders as warriors. They went trotting off toward the barracks, backs straighter than I’d ever seen them. Their pride was gratifying, but after witnessing the other warriors’ starting skills, I made sure to keep my expectations suitably low.

  The remaining four builders I retained and set to building the armory – a simple workshop requiring only a lumber-plank framework and a few workbenches inside. Our new warriors – dubious though they may be – needed proper weapons and armor, after all.

  For ease and practicality, I situated the armory on the far side of the stream, on the opposite side of the barracks to the lumberyard. The four builders immediately set to work, harnessing Bruce the badger and using him to help clear the allocated area of large rocks so they could begin laying the armory’s foundations.

  Then I had an idea. I’d once managed to convert multiple Faithful gnomes by assigning them dwellings. Now that I’d re-vocationed twelve of my workers, there were a total of twenty-four available spaces inside the four gnomehomes. Was it possible that I could use that to convert even more?

  There was only one way to find out.

  I selected twenty-four gnomes – including Swift and Cheer, my inept and resolutely non-Faithful former scouts – and assigned each of them to a gnomehome. In my Augmentary, the white symbols surrounding each home began to glow, indicating that the buildings had reached their capacity. I hurried over to the old village to witness the effect on the listless gnomes there.

  ‘Yes!’ I cried as, one by one, they began to worship. The glow of the newly Faithfuls’ green auras spread until the shabby tent village was lit up like a glowworm colony. My plan had worked: all of the gnomes to whom I’d just allocated dwellings had now joined the ranks of my Faithful.

  Well, almost all of them.

  To my great vexation, Swift and Cheer stubbornly remained unmoved. Their arms were folded, and the green aura was still distinctly absent from their scowling forms. I frowned down at them crossly. Why couldn’t they just behave for once?

  Still, twenty-two out of twenty-four wasn’t bad. I promptly assigned the warrior vocation to the twenty-two newly Faithful gnomes, who all hopped to their feet and proceeded toward the barracks in droves. By my count
, there were still four places remaining in the barracks out of the available forty, so I also made Swift and Cheer into warriors, despite their lack of Faith. They rolled their eyes and dragged their feet, but nonetheless followed in the other warriors’ wake.

  Feeling rather smug by this point, I immediately assigned the final twenty non-Faithful gnomes to the accommodation that had just been freed up by the new warriors. I was very close to god tier eight now, and I sat back and waited for the next surge of Faith to push me over the brink.

  This time, though, there was no mass worship. Instead, the gnomes from the old village hauled themselves to their feet, gathered their belongings and trudged toward the nearest bridge, no doubt heading across the stream to their new homes.

  Why hadn’t they become Faithful? I’d given them proper homes, damn it! Surely that was better than the shabby tents they’d been dwelling in this whole time?

  I couldn’t help but imagine Ket’s reprimanding tone. ‘They probably saw what happened to the last group you gave homes to. Remember what I said about denizens and your own motivations, Corey. You can only cheat the system for so long before it begins to cheat you back…’

  Gods, I missed the nagging little sprite. I hoped she’d be pleased with my recent progress, wherever she was.

  Turning my thoughts away from Ket, I randomly assigned two more of the non-Faithful gnomes the warrior vocation. The barracks was now full.

  Out of curiosity, I tried to do the same for some of the other gnomes, but the warrior vocation was now grayed out. Looks like the number of warriors can’t exceed the barracks’ capacity. That was inconvenient, albeit predictable.