The dungeon heart watched as team NPCS departed and mentally sighed. One might think their absence would grant some free time to pursue the many projects he had lined up—magical experiments to craft new spell combinations, alchemy sessions, designing artifacts, breeding chimeras, or devising new traps. But alas, that was not to be. A growing list of prompts and warnings concerning his village demanded attention.
He had already built a healer’s hut at the village's edge, staffed by a female duskgnome whom Ulmenglanz had trained in basic healing techniques. Still, it barely qualified as the dedicated healing structure necessary to reduce the chance of disease spreading. He'd also trained a few duskgnomes in basic alchemy and set up a separate alchemy lab. Fortunately, they were a dream to train. Motivated, talented, and with several racial bonuses that sped up the process. Once they stocked the hut with basic healing potions, antidotes, anesthetics, and remedies for common illnesses, it should suffice.
The children had settled in well, thanks in part to the games and toys he’d crafted. Items that had recently appeared in his treasure menu. He suspected a moderator had updated the list to reflect his new sanctuary dungeon status, which was quite thoughtful. Naturally, the kids adored the fluffles, the cat-sheep chimeras he’d created. He’d already made three of them, and any more would likely bring the entire dungeon to a standstill, with everyone too busy petting them to do anything else. He paused, considering a new idea. Could he weaponize their purring? Perhaps amplify it into a sleep-inducing attack? What if he leveled them up? He could use a fluffle to lure delvers in and then... maybe have it explode? There were alchemical poisons that caused whoever consumed them to detonate. The recipe was, of course, secret and forbidden, but maybe he could reconstruct it? He made a note to check this line of thought later.
Plumbing remained a work in progress, plagued by constant manual repairs. For some reason, a few drains were perpetually clogged. In frustration, he decided to declare them as dungeon traps, hoping to utilize Automation feats to handle the menial work.
Trulda had initially feared the villagers might need a mind healer to prevent PTSD after their long and harrowing escape. He'd never encountered such a concept before and, thankfully, it appeared the refugees had suffered no lasting psychological damage. He ticked "potential mental damage" off his to-do list and moved on to the next prompt.
Food was still an issue, but after Weylan’s last shopping spree, he could offer a more diverse menu. Mushroom farms were set to begin producing next week, and the duskgnomes had already tasted his latest creation: the ratpigs. A roaring success he was particularly proud of. Getting the fat distribution just right within the muscles had been no small feat. When the thin slices of sizzling ratpig-bacon hit the pans, the aroma nearly caused a riot as every duskgnome in the village converged on the kitchen. Malvorik had barely managed to prevent the dungeon’s rat monsters from joining the frenzy.
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Some villagers had timidly requested ale, but he’d promptly shut down any notions of domestic alcohol production, opting instead to buy a few kegs through the bathhouse. He’d need to keep a mental eye on the alcohol consumption. He couldn’t have a bunch of drunk duskgnomes running around in the dungeon, could he?
Speaking of the new entry building, he’d been nervous about how things would fare without Trulda or Weylan regularly supervising the staff. Weylan’s idea of dressing up duskgnomes as small humans had seemed ludicrous at first, but after two gnomes matured and took on the thief class, they gained access to acting and disguise skills, as well as the rarely used racial disguise feat. The twins, Korrm and Herrgylly, had been mortified on their first day as 'Ken and Susi,' but the staff welcomed them warmly. The bathhouse had been understaffed for years, and the erratic appearance of new management hadn't inspired much confidence until Weylan presented them with the now-famous spell foci for cleaning and mending. Apart from trivializing basic maintenance, the bathhouse now also offered an express cleaning service for wealthier merchants. Malvorik had temporarily halted the sale of dungeon access tokens, preferring to only allow delvers inside while team NPCS was on standby—just in case.
Next on the list: education. Then there was education—or rather, the lack of it. He had built a schoolhouse, but with only one elderly, half-deaf matron to run it, Lore skill learning, research, and education suffered from an embarrassing penalty. He did not have the time or intention of teaching himself. He had done more than enough teaching in his former life. He had enjoyed it once, but by the time he retired, he was thoroughly tired of endlessly explaining the simplest concepts over and over again. He was at a loss for how to fix this problem, and it remained a frustratingly unresolved issue.
Trade and foreign relations were currently grayed out—thankfully, no issues there at the moment. As long as Weylan was out, there wasn’t any trading going on. They hadn’t yet decided if they wanted to let the duskgnome twins sell any artefacts in the bathhouse. It would probably draw too much unwanted attention.
Resource management statistics fluctuated wildly between perfect and atrocious. He provided necessary equipment, utensils, and clothing, but the village had no stores, stockpiles, or significant production to speak of yet.
Crime statistics were perfect. Nothing to do there.
Environmental impact statistics had appeared once, but vanished with a note that too many revenants had been triggered by that thematic.
Entertainment was scarce. Aside from the recent public viewing of delvers, there was little else in this area. Sometimes the duskgnomes gathered for some singing and dancing, but he had no idea how to provide anything else. Maybe an artefact to play music? Some books? Yes, books. No one could resist a good book! He’d make a list for Weylan to buy. Or maybe he could send Korrm?
He looked at his log and saw several new prompts. He sighed. He certainly wouldn't get bored.
He involuntarily felt out with his mind towards his dungeon-fairy and familiar, but Selvara was out of reach.
< I know you can’t hear me, but may Golgoroth speed your journey.>