"Building a home is not just about walls and roofs. It’s about finding those who can make it feel safe, even when danger lurks outside."— The Tao of Idleness, Book 1, Verse 52.

As soon as Scar and his group agreed to join Lazytown – yeah, I sense I'm going to need a better name for it than that - something shifted in the atmosphere of the clearing. It wasn’t even subtle: these clearly weren’t just desperate, down-on-their-luck vagrants. They had some serious skills, even if their idea of "helping" wasn’t exactly what I expected.

Scar whistled sharply, and the rest of his crew split off with surprising speed for people who looked like they were one more missed meal away from Bob Geldof organising a whole series of concerts in their honour. They moved through my little homestead like a pack of wolves, each one claiming a task before I had a chance to blink. One of them—a wiry woman with a hood pulled low over her eyes—headed straight for the trees, her bow slung casually over her back. A couple of others gathered at the construction site for the Village Hut, adding their efforts to those of my Pixel Workers, whilst the others vanished into the trees, saying something about a nearby quarry and some deer just waiting to be slew. ‘Slew’. That’s the actual word they used. ‘Slew’.

For my part, I just stood there, mouth half-open, watching them.

“Uh… you lot seem to know what you’re doing.”

Scar grinned, the poorly stitched tear tugging whitely at the corner of his mouth. “We’ve been surviving out here long enough to know what needs doing. And it’s not every day you come across the Rogue of Eldhaven, is it? People want to make an impression.”

Ah. Yes. That fucking title written large above me. It did seem somewhat counter-intuitive to be a bad-ass secret squirrel and then have all said bad-assery projected above your head in capital letters. I wondered if there was some sort of ‘stealth’ option I should be checking out. “Yeah, about that . . .”

“Look,” Scar said, staring into my eyes in an intense way that I found both reassuring and also, at the same time, really, really weird as well. “I have no idea who the fuck you are. Your title says you’re an Empire lackey, but the Harbinger came calling, and you didn’t immediately bend the knee -” The Harbinger? Ah, Wanker. I think I liked my name more – “so that gets you a cautious pass with us right now. You also helped kill that fucking alchemist, and that’s a massive tick in the box as far as we are all concerned. We lost more men to his fucking experiments than a whole month of fleeing from Imperial forces when the Easthold fell. But, if you’re asking what makes us feel this village might not be the worst place in the world to lay our hats . . .”

I mean, I wasn’t. I absolutely wasn’t. But I was beginning to think Scar might be the sort of guy who didn’t need other people in his ‘oh-so-important’ conversations. If I was a perennial sufferer of Imposture Syndrome, then this dude had probably never met an audience, a spotlight or a monologue he didn’t like. Maybe I was being unfair, but . . . no. No, I didn’t think I was. Scar had Main Character energy. I realised he was looking at me expectantly. Apparently, I needed to make an approving noise to let him speak at me some more.

“Sure. Erm. Why?”

Scar slapped me on the back, staggering me forward a few steps. “You’d just gained access to vast cosmic power, and your first thought was to build a Medical Hut. That tells us – me – a lot about you. And no ominous title undermines that. We think you've got potential, little man. And we're willing to give it a go to help bring that out of you.”

“Okay. Well, cheers for that. Glad to . . . you know. Not be evil. Oh, and to give you the chance to make me a better person. Looking forward to it. Should be a hoot.” I wasn’t really sure how to explain to him that I hadn’t exactly thought about things like that. Lia was hurt, and I could do something to help, so I did. It wasn’t exactly like I made some massive self-sacrificial gesture, was it? I mean, what else was I supposed to do? Lia . . . Fuck. “Erm, you do know who is in that Medical Hut, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Scar said, eyes shifting to look at the rough outhouse-like building which continued to hum pleasantly. “Lia Jorgensdottir.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“By the Maker, no. That’s Lia Jorgensdottir. She’s literally the stuff of our nightmares. We tell stories to our kids around the campfire of her to keep them in line.”

That didn't seem ideal. “So why are you happy to help me keep her alive?”

“I don't like repeating myself. But this is the first time we are talking, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. Just this once." Fuck me, Scar thought a lot of himself, didn't he? "I say again, you had the opportunity to take control of colossal world-bending powers, and instead, you decided keeping Lia Jorgensdottit alive was your primary option. We respect that. We don’t like it. Given complete freedom in the matter, I’d rather smother her with a pillow and be done with it. But if you chose to save her, and the Maker in his infinite wisdom stayed his hand, then we can too. For now.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

There he was again with the whole ‘colossal power’ thing. I really didn’t feel I’d done any great ‘rejection of vast power’ thing in my interaction with the Well of Ascension. Although . . . now I think about it, it did seem like Balethor had bigger plans for this clearing than throwing up a few buildings and settling down . . .

Scar was talking again. What a surprise. “Besides, if you want this village to last, you’re going to need more than Pixel Workers, aren't you?”

I decided to park the metaphysical considerations for another time. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Good to see I was getting back into my old groove of burying my head in the sand and hoping it will all go away. And Scar was right about the immediate improvement ‘real’ workers were making on things. My Pixel Workers were still plodding along with their slow, mechanical movements, but they were no match for the sudden burst of efficiency Scar’s people brought to the table. Within minutes, the Village Hall had solid walls—just one hour in the construction queue to go, now!—and, somehow, the next building in line—the Storage Shed—was also going up. In fact, it was already starting to look like something serviceable.

Idle Gains: +10 Wood +8 Stone +7 Food.

The incoming resource numbers had massively ticked up, too.

“Don’t get too excited about that,” Scar cautioned when I expressed my happiness at that turn of events. “By accepting us into the village, your support costs will shortly go up, too. You get a little bit of a honeymoon period until those costs kick in, so we're going try to get you a bit of a buffer until that happens. However, until you get this Tech Tree snarf up sorted, this is all going to be borderline as to whether it stays viable. That’s why you need the basics sorted as soon as possible.”

Sure. Raise the stakes again. See if I care.

Scar’s crew worked in near silence, and there was something unsettling about the way they just knew what they needed to do. They were bloody effective, for sure, but it was just a bit too smooth, too practised. Like they’d done this a thousand times before, only in less… peaceful circumstances. I wandered over to where they were quickly assembling the Storage Shed, trying to get a handle on what was happening. One of the guys—a burly man with arms like tree trunks—was hauling stones into place with ease. He didn’t even glance at me as I approached.

“So, uh, you’ve done this before?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He grunted in response, not looking up from his work.

Scar, who had followed me over, chuckled. “We’ve had our fair share of ‘relocations’ over the years. Empire raids. Rebellion skirmishes. You learn to build quick when you’ve got no choice.”

That made sense. But it also made me wonder what kind of life these people had led before finding their way to Lazytown. “So, what’s the deal with the Storage Shed?” I asked, pointing at the half-constructed building. “I’d not seen that as a priority. Why the rush? Surely food would be next,” I said, thinking of the Hunter’s Lodge.

The big man wiped his brow and straightened up. He had the same intense expression as Scar when he looked at me. “Without a place to store what we gather, we’re pretty much wasting our time. Food, stone, wood—it’ll all rot or get scattered if we don’t have a place in which to secure it. Your Pixel Workers can only carry so much about with them, but with this shed, you'll be able to store resources for when you really need them.”

I nodded. Okay. So that was logical. I hadn’t even thought about the storage limit before, to be honest. Clearly, these people knew the game far better than I did. And, even as I stood there, the Village Hal and the Storage Shed took shape even more noticeably. Scar’s group worked tirelessly, their experience evident in every swing of the hammer and every stone they laid. These guys weren’t just good at this—they were scarily good. But as much as I appreciated the help – fucking hell, did I! - I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to their story than they were letting on.

Feeling a bit like a spare cock at an orgy, I walked over to what I was beginning to think of as my ‘Reflection Log’. But I’d barely sat down before the wiry woman with the bow came to join me. She caught my eye and gave me a grin which was very much like a predator baring its teeth. Something about the way she handled the bow with practised ease suggested she’d taken down more than a few targets. It was a bit weird having her sat next to me in silence, so, after a few minutes, I opened the conversational gambit. “So, you’re a hunter?” I asked.

She shrugged. “More like a gatherer. Of… opportunities.”

Her cryptic answer did nothing to ease my anxiety, but I let it slide. For now. She nodded over towards the Storage Shed. “It’s nearly done. That will give you a bit more breathing room when it comes to resources. But this place is still really vulnerable.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but a notification popped up.

Warning: Rebellion Outriders Approaching.

That message shut my gob pretty fucking quickly. I looked towards the edge of the clearing, where the treeline suddenly seemed a lot less comforting. Scar’s team didn’t seem fazed, but I could feel a little note of tension ripple through the air.

Scar jogged over to join me and the woman with a bow. “Fucking rebels. Looks like they’re planning on testing your defences. If they're true to form, they’ll send a handful of riders in first, just to see how you respond. If you make a good show and hold them off, they might back off for a bit. But if you don’t…”

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I opened the Village Interface again, scrambling to check what was ready. The Village Hut was almost done, and the Storage Shed was online, but there was nothing really there I could use to help in defence.

Suddenly, there was the noise of a horn being blown. And not one of those comedy ones. This sounded pretty apocalyptic announcing.

“They’re coming,” Scar growled. “And you’re not ready.”