The Antiquarians graciously granted me possession of the hot red engine. While the Antiquarians had stated that they saw no usage for it, I already knew its purpose. It, surely, would function as an impressive tool for powering machines of industry, in order to harness the natural resources of the land, and build an economic empire. While the engine appeared to physically be red with heat, in actuality, it was cold to the touch. A strange quirk of the machine, but no matter. According to the Antiquarians, it slowly generated magical essence, which could then be harnessed for basic power structures. However, this primitive world seems to be absent of large industrial feats. As such, who else better than myself to introduce them to this world?
“Chief Officer.” Iskander stands at the flaps of my tent. The walk back to the Gubweh tribe felt shorter than the walk to the Antiquarians’ Hall. “We have news from the scouts, and the workers, too.”
“Well? What did the scouts say?” I prompt Skan. He’s been slowly learning how to report information in a meaningful way. While, initially, I had planned on Lyrie being my secretary and Skan being my effective COO, it seems as though his main skillset is simply regurgitating information, and he’s not all too capable of doing things himself. Perhaps he’ll be a fine secretary.
“The scouts reported some strange movements in the nearby woods, near the PMG well. They think it’s either Purple Armored Man, or maybe the Drapery Wizard. However, Flit and Flott seem more than ready to defend the well. The scouts said it was no more than a few people, so no large scale battle will occur, thankfully.” Skirmishes have begun to grow normalized in this world, it seems. With war, profit.
In my early days as CEO of FunGames, wars in the Middle East had been common. I, personally, had invested heavily into the stocks of weapons industries and other booming technology companies. Eventually, it paid off, and the wars were sources of great profit for myself and some of my friends. In this world, no stock market or trades exist, yet. However, as the Gubweh grow more civilized and capable of fighting, skirmishes and battles will continue to become more common. Metal and other resources are the next step towards profit. So, now for the more important report. “And the workers?”
“They’ve been successful in the first steps of excavation as you outlined, Chief Officer.” Skan smiles with pride. He’s begun to appreciate my plans for this tribe, too, now. The idea of living some idyllic, false life of peace and humility is slowly fading out of reality in this world, and the Gubweh have placed their faith in myself to lead them out of this as the world itself changes as well.
“Perfect. I suppose I’ll head down there with this, then.” I motion to the red gyroscope. “What do you think about the name Red Engine?” It whirrs with magical power.
“Sounds good, Chief Officer!” Of course he thinks so. First of all, I’m the one who came up with the name of the engine, and my marketing skills are one of the reasons I was able to ascend the corporate ladder and become the Chief Executive Officer of FunGames. Secondly, no shit he likes the name. This world is rife with basic, self-explanatory names. So, if I play into it, it’s certain to be popular. Bluewood, Bluesilk, Purple Goop…
“Good. Carry this for me, Skan.” I hand him the engine. It’s light enough to carry on my own, but I don’t particularly feel like doing that. No point in wasting energy when there are far more important pursuits on my schedule for today. I need to get the Red Engine down to the beginning of the mineshaft, and then make my way to the PMG well to ensure nothing malicious is afoot.
We walk with haste down to the cliffside where a number of Gubweh goblins have been excavating the stone. Small gemstones and metals have already been revealed, and a fair quantity of the material has already been gathered into a basic wooden minecart. Amazingly, I didn’t have to explain the concept of rails or wheels to the goblins, they seemed to intuitively understand it as soon as I compared it to the hand-pushed carts they’re used to in the area, anyways.
“Chief Officer!” The goblins salute and look at me as I arrive at the mine. The progress has been slow, but the workers have learned how to fashion picks out of basic materials, using sharper stones and hunks of metal to chip away at rocks. A few use sharp gemstones fashioned to metal rods, but the rarity of the metal rods makes this difficult to produce en masse. Come to think of it, it’s strange that metal rods seemingly exist as a buried resource in these mines, but no matter. They provide a useful handle. I look back at the goblins.
“Good work, Gubweh tribe!” I point to the engine. “This is the Red Engine.” It whirrs with magical power again, as if reacting to that name. “I will be fashioning it to a cart, which will have a drill at the front, and it will allow you all to mine much faster!” The goblins, of course, aren’t being paid based on how much they produce, but rather, on how long they work. This is simply for the bottom line and to boost production itself. A nearby crate sits full of the resources already mined. It’s impressive how industrious the goblins are upon being introduced to the concept of organized labor.
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“Chief Officer Mark.” A lone goblin, standing slightly taller than the rest, with a gemstone where an eye once was, approaches me. This man is, as I now know, Foreman Kizzo. He was initially one of the goblins who fought with me against the Drapery Wizard at Rosehill, and has now since retired from battle after having his eye poked out by a vicious imp. As a reward for his service, I granted him a gemstone fashioned into a fake eye, as well as the position of Foreman at the Gubweh Mine. In his position, unlike the wages of the lower level goblin laborers, who are working for Yummynut vouchers, Kizzo gets to keep 2% of the resources mined from the shafts. Of course, this isn’t because I’m a greatly generous boss, as much as some of the goblins believe this to be so. Rather, it incentivizes Kizzo to ensure that the labor output stays constantly increasing so that he can line his own pockets. The new robes he’s wearing and club at his side tell me he’s been both making a fair amount of wealth from this role, as well as keeping his position at the head of the miners. A recent attack by two wild boars rampaging out of the woods happened recently at the mines, and he had to use the club. The blood still stains it, and I’m unsure of whether he’s simply forgotten to clean it, or has done so intentionally. Either way, I’m happy with the results. “The work proceeds as you have requested, and the drill cart is ready, yeh?” Kizzo smiles.
“Great. Perfect. Put this on it, see how it runs.” I motion for Skan to hand him the Red Engine. The rest of the goblins have already returned to work. As soon as the Red Engine clicks into place on the fastener built for it on the cart, the machine whirs to life, and the drill begins spinning. Marvelous!
Kizzo beams. Unlike most others of the Gubweh, his teeth are actually quite well aligned and clean. He’s quickly become one of my favorites among the goblins. Of course, Flit and Flott, as well as Crutch remain at the top of that hierarchy. The Gubweh himself continues to slip in my personal rankings as he largely fails to adapt to this shifting society. A dark thought crosses my mind, that he might attempt to wrest control from me someday. I don’t want to have to harm him, but if he crosses me, I will not hesitate. Of course, I’m unsure if these goblins have even begun to scheme yet. Though, I am sure, they soon will. “The mines will be running at high speed, Chief Officer!” Kizzo runs to the cart and begins pushing it down the rails towards the stone wall. As the drill hits the surface, it makes a loud buzzing at first, then a few cracking sounds, and then a high-pitched whirring. Finally, after seemingly breaking through the surface tension of the rocks, it begins to crunch, and a few more chunks of stone break off. The drill continues through, slowly, but much faster than the goblins can mine by hand. I feel a smile paint my face. Progress.
“Now, the well, Chief Officer?” Iskander asks.
“Yes. Let us make haste.”
As we arrive at the PMG Well, Flit and Flott rise to attention. I dip my hand into the purple magical liquid, as I typically do when I visit the locale. It absorbs through my skin once again, and I feel my power grow, ever so slightly. A long process to soak all of this in, certainly. I won’t be able to absorb it all myself. After seeing the drill in progress, my generosity knows no bounds. I take two tiny vials from my pocket, gifted by the villagers of Rosehill, and fill each with a shot of liquor’s worth of PMG. “Flit, Flott. Here, for your continued service.” They both break out into huge grins and drink the vials. Seemingly, for the goblins, this is their preferred method of absorption, though when I tried this same technique myself, my stomach was quite upset for a day or two. “Now, for the news. What did you see?”
Flit speaks up. “A strange human, dressed in a purple outfit appeared in the woods nearby. They wasn’t the Drapery Wizard or the Purple Armored Man, because they was a woman.” Interesting. I look at the pair, standing in front of the well. The two of the goblins have begun to grow larger personalities over time, with Flit being more outspoken and Flott being more focused on action.
“A woman, hm? And wearing purple?”
“Indeed, Chief Officer.” Flott speaks. “She ran when we noticed her.” Flott looks as though he is about to say more, but nothing comes out of his mouth. He stares, emptily.
“I see. Hm, this warrants investigation, I suppose.” I look over to Iskander. “Skan, you and Lyrie will investigate this. Go find her. As for myself, I will--” Suddenly, another goblin scout runs up.
“Chief Officer Mark! It’s the Purple Armored Man, he’s back, and angry!” The goblin scout is covered in blood, and shaking. Panicked. Horrified.
I pause, to figure out my words. “What happened?”
“He… He…” The goblin scout shakes in panic. “Lyrie is dead.” He says, quietly. I feel something in my chest rattle, and my heart begins beating rapidly. My palms begin to quiver and suddenly, my clothes feel too heavy and seem to cling to my skin.
“Alright. I’m on the way to help.”