“My six month old daughter is better at sharing than you.” Mark hissed, snatching the tool away. “No more power tool privileges. Grab a hammer.”
The new guy, Mark hadn’t even bothered learning his name, sulked and slunk off. His brother, always a hassle when they hired families, scowled. “Who put you in charge?”
The woman next to him, built like a bear and twice as quick to anger, sniggered. “The foreman?”
“I mean.” The brother ground out. “Why is he in charge? I got ten years on him.”
“Good for you.” Mark dismissed. “Now back to work, or you join your brother in using a hammer.”
“My cousin.”
Was it? He shrugged. “Don’t care.”
The giant woman moved over, lifting the sledgehammer with a touch too much enthusiasm, and bumped his shoulder. A friendly gesture. “I’m Bella. I like you, big guy.”
An insult to his weight? She was taller than him by about a head. “Thanks.”
The last member of his crew pulled the metal door free, snipping a stray wire and dropping it with a wave. Mark shouted to get his attention over the noise. “Go report to the forman, he’ll get you some proper work.”
The Mexican walked off, not bothering with a reply. The cousin started complaining the second he saw. “Why’d you fire him? He was doing good work.”
“I know.” Mark sighed, begging the universe for ten minutes of silence. “That’s why I sent him to the foreman. He, unlike you, doesn’t need a babysitter.”
----------------------------------------
“The council requests your presence.” Kreek said, knocking on the door. Lust sniggered at his laboured sigh, rolling out of bed and leaving it feeling empty.
‘How quickly we get used to things.’ Out loud, he said. “Coming. And this better not be another ‘we need your opinion on something that is literally our job to decide’ meeting. That got old the first seven times.”
“The beds are worth your sacrifice.” Lust promised, finishing with her armour. It never ceased to amaze how deceptively quick she moved, out the door before he could come up with something suitably sarcastic.
“I feel used.” He complained, on the not inconsiderable chance she was still listening. “Just here for you to get your boost. Like a piece of meat, really.”
No reply came, Mark struggling with his socks and pulling up his status. It was something he had been doing more of, lately. Feeling stagnant, although none but Lust knew that. “Status.”
Name: Mark Dallton Class: Gluttony Level: 15 (24/260) Class skills (6):
Adaptable(enhanced) - Physical changes when eating, boosts def skills?
Durance - Buff timer times two.
Strong Stomach - Eat anything.
Consume - Anything eaten feeds well.
Cure - Five meats max, forty eight hours instead of three.
Uncaring killer - Better fighting with weapons, boosts attack skills?
Hunter - Better hunter, more damage to prey. Boosts hunting skills?
Prepare - Meat expires after a day, if prepared.
General skills (1):
Bought skills:
Pain tolerance: level 5 (maxed)
Dodge: level 5 (maxed)
Hunting: level 5 (maxed)
Throwing: level 5 (maxed)
Footwork: level 5 (maxed)
Pugilist: level 5 (maxed)
Crafting: level 5 (maxed)
One with Stone: level 10 (maxed)
Punch: level 5 (maxed)
Kick: level 5 (maxed)
Counter: level 3
Useful skills:
Spear fighting (locked)
Club fighting (locked)
Knife fighting (locked)
Sword fighting (locked)
Quick reaction (locked)
Redirect (locked)
Fire tolerance (locked)
Water tolerance (locked)
Wind tolerance (locked)
Earth tolerance (locked)
Inspiring speech (locked)
Resolve conflict (locked)
Useless skills:
Rock fighting (locked)
Bone fighting (locked)
Foraging (locked)
Farming (locked)
Skinning (locked)
Campfire cooking (locked)
Stonemasonry (locked)
Woodworking (locked)
Tailor (locked)
Tool crafting (locked)
Weapon crafting (locked)
Sneaking (locked)
Building (locked)
Carrying (locked)
Scouting (locked)
Bracing (locked)
Barter (locked)
Fire making (locked)
Bribe (locked)
Blackmail (locked)
Coerce (locked)
Feature: Kill and eat, eat and survive.
Equipment:
Cestus of the Pugilist. Rattle bone, rupture flesh.
Leather armour. Durable.
Mail armour. Durable.
Plate armour. Durable.
Ring of the Glutton. Enhances Adaptable.
A pleased hum escaped his lips when the equipment tab was still there, a recent addition. Getting it to stick had taken days, and even then it had the tendency to disappear overnight. It appeared to have caved to his stubbornness.
‘Why did I ever let Lust talk me into getting those resistance skills.’ He bemoaned, his eyes flicking up and down the page. ‘And no combination for kick, punch and pugilist. At least the last few weeks have been good for levelling skills.’
Ignoring the several useless ones, most of which he’d gotten after Lust had somehow convinced him to try and unlock them, he pulled the door open and found Lust leaning against the wall. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He drawled, as if they hadn’t spent the night. “Sleep well?”
She grinned, waving him onwards. “So-so. Kreek seemed nervous, so that’s probably not good. Pride’s been sighted, maybe? I bet he has his own army by now, giants and all.”
“He better fucking not.” Mark shot back, a smile spreading. “Or I’m blaming you. No, wait, I’ll revoke those footmassages you like. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Honestly, Gretha getting a class for that was wasteful to begin with.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Glaring, and ignoring how that was something he could very much actually do, she turned. “Get that combination you wanted yet?”
“How’s the search for chocolate going?”
They bickered as they walked, Mark having to step around more and more children as they got to the centre of the village. “Christ, Glut. Maybe not the best idea to take all restrictions off their reproduction.”
“I did not.” He countered. “I simply told the council that was a decision they should make on their own.”
She rolled her eyes. “And you didn’t know what they were going to decide. Right.”
“Exactly. I think politicians call that plausible deniability.”
They got to the structure holding the council, more a large house than anything official. First Builder Heistima had put some effort into making it look good, though, and he had to admit it worked. Even if it had been an unnecessary drain on limited resources.
A worried feeling pooled in his gut when Lust followed him inside, getting worse when the large table, normally covered in maps and propositions, was cleared. All seven of the council members were present, another rarity, and Lust leaned against the door as he stepped forwards.
Kreek spoke for all of them, Mark’s Ghukliak not nearly good enough for this sort of thing, and his voice had a sombre tone to it. “We have debated long, and though we have discarded much of the old ceremonies, we have decided.”
Yara, the outcast turned farmer turned cult leader, stared at him with near religious fervour. Mark looked away. “When our species was young and golden, we elected a Warlord to lead us in times of strife. To decide absolute where a council would debate, to lead armies where discipline was paramount. One of the seven has never held this title, and when they appeared our laws decreed they never would.”
Killara looked satisfied, and the horrid thought that she out of all of them pushed for this made him more apprehensive than anything. “Then we fell, our species cut down to scavengers and slaves, and the old must make way for the new. The system, denied to us, has awoken through the power of the Glutton. Already our young are unlocking it through deed and worth, to rise above our ancestors.”
He suppressed the urge to stop this madness, knowing it would do little good. Lust had known, the wretched woman. “So we elect you Warlord, to hold the veto absolute, and trust our future to your hands. Kneel, Gluttony, and rise to never kneel again.”
----------------------------------------
Lust watched Gluttony kneel, his face an apathetic mask, and when he rose the seven goblins kneeled in turn. ‘A less brilliant woman would think this silly.’
Seven goblins, coming to her navel, kneeling before a man they’d known for a fortnight. Kreek’s grandiose speech undercut by wooden walls, the spartan decorations. But she could do the math.
How in two weeks their numbers had doubled. How in three months those young would be grown, raising their own. The seven silly goblins wouldn't be so silly when they commanded ten thousand awakened soldiers. And her lover, a word that made him cringe and brought her great joy because of it, would hold absolute power over all of it.
It was funny, really. The less he wanted it the more they seemed to heap on him. And he wouldn't deny them when they asked for help, because it wasn’t who he was. It made her grin, sometimes, imagining what would become of this. Still, he did look somewhat displeased with her.
“You knew.” He said, making her shrug. The council had turned to other matters, as if nothing had happened, and it left him free to drag her outside. “And you didn’t tell me, because you knew I would try to stop it.”
She swallowed her first reply, hearing the spark of actual annoyance under his accusing tone. “I did. You wouldn't have been able to, and it would have weakened the moment. This is important to them.”
“I know that.” He shifted, her eye catching the innocent looking pouch on his hip. It made her both jealous and nervous, knowing how much power was contained within. “A warning would have been appreciated.”
A grin stretched over her face, patting his shoulder and slipping behind him. “Now where would be the fun in that?”
Disappearing like that still hadn’t gotten old, disappointment radiating as Glut turned and walked away without a word. Following him was fun enough, it would kill time until their next hunt, and to her surprise he went to the children’s hut.
Calling it a hut was perhaps a misnomer, the building almost as large as the council house, and when he walked up he was almost immediately mobbed by smaller goblins.
“Hello.” He spoke, his Ghukliak hesitant and accented. The children threw dozens of corrections his way. Glut smiled. “I speak.”
She snorted, anticipating the day when she would reveal she could already speak flawlessly, but was interrupted from her daydream when he moved inside. Lust wasn’t inclined to follow, too big a drain on her skills to avoid so many erratic children, and turned.
Finding Yara still at the council house was a surprise, the woman usually preferred her fields, but it worked for her. The goblin bowed lightly as she appeared. “Mighty Lust.”
“Yara.” Her tone turned amused. Her class letting her learn language as quickly as it did wasn’t a surprise in hindsight. She couldn't seduce someone if they couldn't understand her. “You have got to tone it down, girl.”
“I don’t know what you’ve talking about, mighty Lust.” Yara deflected, her eyes roaming. Lust followed her gaze, seeing she was looking at a group of others. Her acolytes, no doubt.
“Sure you don’t. Look, I’m all for making Glut uncomfortable, I really am, but if this keeps up he’s going to stop being nice. It won’t be Kreek kind of making an effort to disband the cult you’ve got going on. It’ll be Glut coming in and dismantling it, wishes be damned. He’s got this thing about religions, probably some childhood trauma, and while he’s fine with others following one you making him the center won’t fly.”
Yara shifted, from a meek servant to one filled with conviction. “He is the one. It is foretold.”
“Sure.” Lust agreed easily. “I’m not saying stop, I’m not that stupid, I’m saying be more discreet. Channel all that energy into something productive, like tending your farms. You're up to, what? Two dozen? Growing food will grow your numbers, you know that.”
The goblin didn’t seem convinced. Lust sighed. “Alright, I’ll be direct. Worship him all you like, it'll be funny if nothing else, but keep him out of it. If you must display your zealous loyalty, do so by fighting in his name. Support his wishes in the council. But I’m warning you, Yara. If he runs out of patience, you will be disbanded. If you start demanding things from him, you’ll deal with me.”
She leaned down, looming in just the way intimidation told her to. Yara cringed back. “And I’m not a fraction as nice as he is.”
----------------------------------------
“I need a break.” Mark complained, signing the piece of paper. “And that speech made me think there weren't twenty forms to fill out.”
Kreek smiled unrepentantly, exchanging the form in front of him with another. “I believe it was you that ordered me to build an administration.”
“And here I was thinking being named warlord would grant me some respect.” He grinned, the goblin huffing. “But that’s just me, I suppose.”
“That’s the last one.” Kreek confirmed, instead of replying. “Congratulations, you are officially the first Warlord in eighteen hundred years.”
Mark squinted at him. “Are you making that up? How in god's name did records survive for eighteen centuries?”
“Me, and my predecessors, were good at our job.” Kreek dismissed, handing Hera the bundle of paper. “Get that locked up.”
Mark stood, cracking his back and waving. “Cool. I’ll go see Wrath, maybe take her to see the floating rocks. Keep an eye on everything?”
“That is my job, yes.”
Leaving the house and breathing deep, dodging errant children as he did, he went to go look for Wrath. With luck she was still here, lurking about, but if not he could always see if Sloth and Greed wanted some exercise.
He found the giant of a merchant first, bartering merrily with a sour looking goblin. Greed nodded as he passed, smile firmly in place, and Mark waved. ‘He’s doing well. No surprise there.’
What had once been a hastily cleared house was now a proper store, the only one in the village, and Greed was more than happy to barter and trade for anything and everything. From the report’s Kreek had given he had the tendency to underbuy and oversell, but not much more than he’d done with the group before.
The value of being able to get what they needed couldn't be understated, so he wasn’t going to complain. The mountain of a man was the only reason they could expand as they were.
To his annoyance he came across Sloth before Wrath. A quick word with one of Wrath’s watchers told him she’d just return from a hunt, so she was probably still around.
Sloth was healing, as was her habit, and the dozen injured warriors surrounding her saluted as he passed. He waved them off, bowing his head when Sloth waved him away in turn. He’d do more harm than good, there, but he was surprisingly happy she’d been able to find something to do.
It was worrying how she stagnated without fighting, but it wasn’t his place. Not yet.
Then, finally, he found Wrath. It struck him how little she cared about her appearance, covered in dirt and dried blood. It made for a stark contrast with her armour and weapons, laying beside her with the gleam of a recent cleaning. “I’m going to take a look at one of the floating rock things, take some of the new awakened warriors. Want to come?”
“Yes.” She stood, strapping her armour on with speed that made him suspect she’d taken a skill for it, and fell in step as they walked. “Your warriors train diligently.”
Mark raised his eyebrow, surprised at her initiating conversation. “I agree. Another few weeks and they’ll surpass level ten. Shame about their features, but I suppose we’ve been spoiled on that account.”
It had been a disappointment. Learning Farmers got little more than a sense for good soil, how Hunters only got some instinctual knowledge about tracks. Warriors were better, their feature granting them innate understanding of weaponry and armour, but still. Nothing like their own.
“Power comes not from skills.” Wrath said evenly. “Hell, skill comes not from skills. Mentality is all. Some are fighters, some are not.”
She looked at him, tilting her head. “Some thrive, others shatter.”
Mark didn’t have a reply for that, and arriving at the barracks gave him a good excuse not to. He pointed to a ten strong squad sparring, overseen by captain Killara. “Take. Hunt.”
The captain snorted, barking at the goblins. They paused, collecting themselves and lining up. He only barely followed her short speech, translating in his head. “Follow his orders. Die to fight, protect to die.”
He didn’t like how she’d just essentially told them to die to keep him safe, but it was progress. The goblins ran inside, Mark waiting patiently until they came running back out with their gear.
Their sergeant, Osnir, was the first to return. He berated and hurried, but to Mark’s satisfaction there wasn’t any physical abuse going on. Good.
From there they made their way out, Mark breathing easier as they left the village behind. He didn’t hate the work, necessarily, but hunting was something he’d come to love. Fresh air and some good prey, giving a squad of warriors some experience to ease his guilt at the same time.
The thought made him pause, Wrath’s unhurried stride overtaking him in moments. When had he begun to feel guilty about taking time off?
The goblins had paused along him, Osnir approaching. “Problem?”
Mark shook his head, the goblin clearly relieved and hurrying back to his men. ‘Relieved because nothing is wrong, or because he doesn’t have to talk to me?’
Wrath kept walking, uncaring she was leaving everyone behind, so he waved his hand. Catching up wasn’t hard, the goblins in good shape despite being so young, and the woman grunted as he rejoined her.
He cast them a look, coming to recognize the marks of youth. Full grown, over the last two weeks, but still young.
The sergeant was one he’d awakened personally, back on his second hunt with them. A veteran, as much as that term seemed wrong to apply. They had legends, stories, but what great military they’d once possessed was lost to history.
Idle musings kept him busy as they walked, Wrath’s conversation topics ranging from talking about battle to asking how he preferred his meat. She was trying, that was clear, but Mark was getting the feeling she wasn’t all that good at the social niceties long before they came to this world.
“Please tell me to fuck off if this isn’t any of my business.” He waited for her to nod before continuing. “But why did you follow Pride? It can’t be because he beat you in a duel.”
She looked sideways, shrugging. “Why not? He beat me, I followed.”
“Why aren’t you with him still, then? Off to whatever he’s doing?”
“You beat him.” She said, slowing her speech noticeably. Probably thought he was stupid. “So now I follow you.”
Mark frowned. “We never actually fought. Him and me, I mean. I did fight you, that one time.”
“It was a good fight.” She agreed. “And he did not have to fight to lose. He doubted, he delayed and feared, so he lost. A fight is mental as much as physical, for Pride more than most.”
“His power makes him stronger the more confident he is, if I remember correctly?” She nodded, her gaze snappening to the right. Two deer disappeared, Wrath’s disappointed face turning back to him.
“Yes. He was not confident he could beat you so his power weakened. His power weakened, he got less confident. He lost.”
“So if I ever lose, you’ll go with whomever beats me?”
A shrug, but no answer. He left it there, putting one foot in front of the other until they got close enough to their target a rather noticeable problem came up.
“Can anyone fly?”
The rock, easily clearing the tallest skyscraper he’d ever seen, swayed gently as it spun. A gulf fifty feet wide separated them from it, dropping down far enough he couldn't make out the bottom. Even if they could, somehow, clear that there was nothing but smooth rock to hold on to.
The voice coming from behind made him jump, hand dipping to his pouch. The goblins did much the same, Wrath lifting her axe.
“Humans. Goblins. No climb. Sacred.”