image [https://i.imgur.com/5hFspy8.jpg]
My meeting with Ida went into the evening, but we covered the minutiae of settlement management, leaving me with mixed feelings about how they’d prospered in my absence. We also laid the groundwork for the logistics involved in open conflict with the orcs. Besides setting communication procedures for town defense, we devised a strategy for halting caravan traffic to avoid catastrophes like we’d made with the goblins.
Overall, it seemed we eliminated the knucklehead issues enough to let me focus on town defense in case my gambit with Uproar worked. He hadn’t replied in 24 hours, so I checked the group chat to see if he’d said anything.
Apache Hey, Uproar, did you see anything interesting today?
Uproar Yeah, I got it.
Fabulosa What’s going on, Patch?
Apache I’m making a move.
Fabulosa Really? Anything I should know about?
Uproar He just sent me a letter. It was a bunch of bull that I’m not falling for.
Duchess Whoa. Check out Uproar. Making moves with the power couple.
Uproar Nah. I’m still doing my own thing. I’m still looking for help if anyone wants to attack Hawkhurst.
Duchess It’s looking like you’re on your own.
Uproar Does anyone know if there’s something like a mobile mailbox? It sucks not being near one.
Bircht I haven’t heard of one.
Uproar confirmed he received my letter but didn’t convince me he dismissed it so handily. If he hadn’t fallen for the bait, he would have spilled more information, possibly turning Toadkiller after me—who seemed to be the alpha among the players. As far as I knew, my location and position as leader counted for the only solid intel shared in the chat. Fear of Fabulosa spooked them away, but appearances could be deceiving.
Uproar mentioned the letter but didn’t relay its contents. Trusting Uproar to keep his mouth shut in chat meant nothing regarding mail. So far as I knew, he’d sent info about me to allies.
My mind whirled over scenarios, parsing and interpreting chat messages for double meanings, looking for patterns and contradictions. How does the saying go? You’re not paranoid if you find evidence.
Ida joined me for a late dinner at the town hall. It cheered me to see the old faces, but many were missing, the colliers and quarry crew among them. The cooking area was a hive of activity, with Mrs. Berling as its queen. She cooked spiced sauces, dripping them over roasted vegetables—quite a departure from Rocky’s culinary approach.
Ida explained the absences in a whisper. “Coal is a valuable commodity, so Archie and his boys eat in the pub—they can afford ale.”
I grunted at the news, still distracted over the social deduction game that The Book of Dungeons had become.
Beaker’s appearance startled many newcomers, but everyone returned to their meal after he settled into his customary nest above the door. It didn’t stop him from asking me if Fabulosa was around every few minutes.
I telepathically answered his questions, reassuring him she would not come. Having my griffon on edge, constantly scanning the room for his favorite person, set my anxieties on alert. Throughout the meal, I counted every missing face as someone who’d left the settlement. Gunney and Freya at their inn on East Shore. Families I’d liberated from Arlington ate in their farmhouses. Angus almost assuredly supped in the public house.
When Rory saw me, he joined us, and I extended my thanks for producing magic items from my core collection.
“’Tis naught, but me civic duty. Forging with cores ranks up me blacksmithing skill. If you can find more cores, consider me the dwarf for the job. Any chance ye snatched another purple?”
“Some luck. Otter Lake both takes and gives purple cores.” I beckoned Fin over and told him that I’d tasked his protégé with the honor of making a trinket. Rory took the news with aplomb, possibly relieved to hear his list of tasks hadn’t increased.
Fin came over to listen, so I recounted my adventures with the lizardfolk, the many-legged turtle, and manitou, giving them as many details as possible about my dungeon fights. Explaining my stay in the ice ended much speculation about my whereabouts. I answered the inevitable questions about the future, explaining we had one more relic to destroy and why we might have to fight orcs over it.
Instead of standing in front of the whole town and broadcasting official decrees, the room surrounded me as I relayed the news. I enjoyed the informal interaction. The rest of Hawkhurst would hear about it in the medieval equivalent of water cooler conversations.
Instead of wide eyes, dwarves raised their cups and saluted my bravado. Even the humans from all corners of the continent applauded the verve. It seemed orcs had become unpopular from their campaign against the elves in Little Arweald. Many wanted a chance to fight, especially the ones who’d missed the goblin incursion.
I couldn’t answer most questions about what to expect, but I said we might pull as many as a few centuries of orc warriors—perhaps even a cohort. Moreover, news of my Digging efforts resonated with the blue-collar population. The room loved a governor who rolled his sleeves to pitch in on the town’s defenses.
The newer folk asked questions about Beaker. They wanted to know how I’d tamed such a magnificent creature, for Familiars tended to be common animals. I explained his behaviors and food preferences. It amused me that no one had asked to pet him.
Eight mercenaries numbered among the newcomers, who spoke about erecting a guildhall near the motte and bailey. They relayed their intention to build tomorrow and solicited me to help them make holes in their compound’s walls. I obliged them, of course, pleased to know that their efforts amounted to the town’s fourth construction project.
It made for a pleasant evening, and I ensured everyone knew they had an open invitation to eat in the great hall. Most seemed content with their current dining facilities.
After breakfast in the great hall, I met Yula at dawn beside the motte and bailey. She showed me the height and pitch she wanted for an earthworks. I followed her lead, alternately channeling dirt into my inventory until it filled and then reversing the vacuum. I piled the soil six feet high beside the newly created cavity.
The ditch’s dimensions surprised me. Yula wanted it to be wider than I’d planned, and she didn’t like how the loose soil fell into it when I created the barrier wall. After spending the morning trying different methods, a dwarf named Baird from the collier crew offered assistance.
“Without a retaining wall, yer just dithering the dirt back to the ditch.”
Baird called a few dwarfs over to fetch one of the flat wooden supports they used to raise blocks along the wall. It looked like a section of fence or a modern skid warehouse workers used to pile inventory. Baird leaned it along the earthworks wall and beckoned me to release dirt against it. After I finished, he pulled the wood away to reveal a flat incline rising from the ditch.
Exhausted, I explained myself. “This doesn’t need to be perfect. It’s an outer barrier to slow down the army. We don’t have time to build retaining walls.”
Baird rolled his eyes as if dealing with a child. “The board isn’t part of the barrier. Ye move it as ye go. It’s a mold. Ye pile the sod against it and move on.” When they pulled the board from the dirt, I saw it sharpened the dirt’s angle and packed the soil.
It felt a little loose, and at such a steep angle, it looked ready to crumble apart.
Baird stroked his chin. “We need to bolster it so defenders atop the breastwork won’t lose their footing.”
Yula stepped forward and cast Vegetable Mutation, the magic she used to disguise our path from the goblin mine. Here, she used it to seed the high walls of the ditch, using the roots to hold the soil together.
After completing another small section, we established a rhythm. I piled enough dirt for several people to stand on the wall, which was much easier to ascend from the inner side. The wall’s apex, the plateau Baird called the breastwork, towered twelve feet over the base of the ditch. Like green frosting on a cake, Yula carpeted the wall with grass.
While the result looked intimidating enough to stop any army, it took much more effort than expected. It amounted to heavy work. Again and again, I emptied my mana pool using Dig and the wooden plane to shape the barrier. The mindless labor yielded barely 40 feet of earthen fortification in an hour.
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After a ten-hour day, we’d completed almost 400 feet. We took extra care to maintain Yula’s standards throughout the process.
The length of a full day’s work satisfied me, and I estimated we had seven or eight days to go before finishing.
One morning in the great hall, Fin greeted me as I ate my breakfast. With another strenuous day ahead of me, I ate extra helpings of potatoes and the sausages that everyone called bangers.
Seeing him in only a few days brought a smile to my face, but it faltered after seeing his expression. “Is everything okay? Is the core alright?”
Fin’s eyes brightened, assuring me everything had gone well with the trinket. He hastily placed a pendant holding an orb so black a better description would be a circle, for the thing reflected no light or glares. Only the metal setting wrapping around the item hinted at its three-dimensionality. A pin stuck from the metal setting, letting someone attach it to their outfit, like a brooch or medal.
Item
Mendacium, The Mutable Pearl
Rarity
Celestial (purple)
Description
Level 60 trinket slot
+20 armor
+20 willpower
The closest living creature within a 10-foot radius ages twice as fast, prolonging the natural lifespan of Mendacium’s owner by the amount of time spent within the radius.
Item use—Owner may alter Mendacium’s description on command without affecting the Pearl’s properties.
Artilith (unique purple) Core Bonus
Celestial Bonus 1 Duplicitous
Celestial Bonus 2 Deadly
Celestial Bonus 3 Dark
Celestial Bonus 4 Empty
The most significant aspect of this strange item came from its insane willpower bonus. Had I invested in dark magic, it would have helped me weave spells on people. More importantly, it helped me resist things like mind control and illusions. This item seemed tailor-made to the Great RPG Contest, where dark magic casters would seek willpower as their primary offensive stat.
This item raised my willpower to 71. Coupled with a willpower potion and my charm of protection against dark magic, I edged into three figures against dark magic—over double my intelligence.
The reason for Fin’s dour look came from its description. As a wearer, it siphoned off life from those around me. For every second I spent wearing this item, it robbed an NPC of its life—a trivial matter for players. This effect meant a great deal to NPCs.
Stealing life from citizens following Forren probably counted as a sacrilege. Taking time away from Ida seemed heartless, especially since she took the stairs so slowly that I already felt guilty for bounding up and down them.
This trinket made me uncomfortable, so I tested its limits. Picking up the object gave Fin a debuff called Life Leeched that doubled his rate of aging.
He arched his bushy eyebrow and took a conspicuous step away from me, ridding himself of the effect.
I shrugged. “Sorry, Fin.”
The item’s activation sold me on its pertinence to the Great RPG Contest. Being able to rewrite the item’s description made it the quintessential bluffing object.
I could appear to be The Pearl of the Deep Sea Dragon, giving its owner +1000 strength. I could use it powerful enough to scare off opponents or feign weakness to draw them toward me. But like any ploy, the description needed to be credible. A bonus of +1000 smacked of incongruity with the rest of the game. Players weren’t stupid, and a description too ridiculous would raise suspicions.
To test it, I changed its description.
Item
Dagger of Unremarkable Properties
Rarity
Rare (yellow)
Description
Level 6 slashing weapon
+1 influence
I held out my hand toward Fin. “What do you see in my hand right now?”
The dwarf crocked his eyebrow. “Naught more than what I gave ye. It’s the pearl.”
“You don’t see a dagger?”
“Nay. But I see the pearl has a dagger’s description, with nary a mention of its bonuses.”
Changing its description didn’t alter its appearance, which limited me to trinket descriptions. Still, I could make game-changing bluffs. It’s a shame I didn’t have this when I mailed Uproar. I could have linked an object that didn’t give away Gladdy’s powers.
Thoughts of linking crazy items to the contest chat channel amused me, but I decided not to play with fire. As soon as someone discovered I could bluff, they’d tell everyone in the contest, basically rendering it useless. No, keeping this under wraps until I had to face an opponent more formidable than Uproar seemed to be the best strategy. For now, I would change it to something innocuous and believable.
Item
Mendacium, The Immutable Pearl
Rarity
Rare (yellow)
Description
Level 5 trinket slot
+2 willpower
But wearing this around the settlement would make me less popular than an Arlington debt collector. Until orcs showed up, stowing it in the Dark Room, where its magical properties wouldn’t affect anyone, seemed the best way to hold it.
I gave Fin an apologetic smile, but he mistook it for disapproval over his crafting skills.
“Ye, know, I can’t control how yer baubles affect me workings, eh?”
“No. I mean, yeah. This isn’t anyone’s fault. We’re toying with dark magic, so we gotta expect certain drawbacks. I’m just glad it doesn’t talk. I’ll wear it only during battles.”
Fin bobbed his head in approval. “Then let’s hope ye prove yer mettle on the frontline.”
I laughed and held up my right hand. “That’s a promise I can keep. Let’s keep this between us. There’s no point in getting anyone riled up about this yet.”
“Suits me, Guv. The fewer people who know that I had a hand in its making, the better. I’ve a reputation to keep.”
I nodded and placed it into the Dark Room for safekeeping before heading out to the meadow for another day of Digging.
By the time we completed the project, the crew could have completed the castle’s last wall and moved to felling trees for the boardwalks and palisade. Yula’s grass coating held the formation together.
I elevated my nature skill to another rank. At this point, non-combat spell casting contributed so little that spamming magic hardly seemed worth it, and the rank increase did not unlock a spell.
As the days passed, I checked the chat group for developments. The chat log had grown quiet. Duchess broke the silence when she noticed three more players dropped from the contest roster.
Duchess Pixie’s gone! When did this happen?
Flagboi Choc and Hoosier bought it, too.
I opened up my contest interface and checked the names.
11 Players remaining
The Book of Dungeons Closed Beta 0.71b
Contestant names
Apache, Audigger, Bircht, Darkstep, Duchess, Fabulosa, Flagboi, Jawbone, Kidvicious, Toadkiller, and Uproar
Duchess Toad, was this you again?
Toadkiller Yeah, I can’t help myself sometimes. I didn’t get a bounty, but the quarter-million-dollar payout will make up for it.
Audigger How many knockouts is that for you, T?
Toadkiller 16.
Duchess Wow. That beats me, but I’m not saying by how much.
Flagboi It can’t be by a lot. Toad has to have the highest kill count, right?
Toadkiller If anyone deserves the top prize, it’s me. If you guys want to call it early, I’m game.
Duchess Thanks, but I think we’ll play it out.
Jawbone Toadkiller is going to pick us off one by one unless someone does something.
Audigger Where did you guys fight?
Toadkiller In two places, both on the coast.
Audigger And which coast was that?
Toadkiller I forget. Tee-hee-hee.
Duchess Hmm. I have a feeling Toad’s got augury or some type of scrying power. There’s just no way he’s finding that many people by luck.
Bircht I doubt it. Those are pretty deep in the light magic tree. Toad is all about dark.
Flagboi Who isn’t?
Bircht I’m just saying anyone commanding a tier 4 demon has got to be committed to dark, right?
While the gang celebrated Toadkiller’s clout, I focused on details. Uproar’s inclination to remain out of the conversation encouraged me to think he’d swallowed my bait. If he were going to make a move against me, his plan would revolve around lying low and avoiding saying anything that might tip me off. He hadn’t written back via the mail system, leading me to believe he had left human lands.
I started digging holes for the palisade no sooner than I’d finished the earthworks. While the process involved more mindless repetition, it felt good to work with others. Manual labor produced immediate results in ways research didn’t. I could admire a day’s progress, satisfying me with tangible evidence I had accomplished something.
The dwarves hewed enough timber to keep me busy. After I created a hole, we flipped a batten into the socket and lashed it against its neighbors. They topped off the fortification with a narrow parapet where archers and pole-arm bearers could stand and repel attackers.
We bolstered the motte and bailey, converting it into a giant gate surrounded by platforms and parapets where defenders would make a last stand before falling back to the castle.
The palisade stood about a hundred yards behind the earthworks and took as much time to build. Because unpredictable spells, items, and siege mechanics might provide the enemy with an immediate breach, we felt two lines of defense provided more resistance than one.
While we erected it, the hoardings appeared along the castle’s parapets. Their pitched roofs looked like one extensive building atop the walls, but its woodwork appeared lighter and more refined than the heavy logs encircling the town.
Orc scouts had seen Hawkhurst months ago—before we started the castle. It amused me to think their reports of undefended buildings would give Emperor Veegor the wrong impression of our battle readiness. Hawkhurst stood ready to fight.