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Coming home to Hawkhurst changed my impression of the place. The town hall made it feel more like a village than a camp. I congratulated Charitybelle while we walked past the second roundhouse’s construction site. “You wanna give me a tour of the town hall?”

She grinned and nodded with infectious enthusiasm.

Iris and Fletcher settled their guild along the northwest tree line. It rested where we almost built our first roundhouse near the charcoal mounds. They liked the idea of being closer to where the Basilborough route emptied into the meadow, and their proximity to woodland dangers didn’t faze them.

Iris and her mercenaries hit the ground running. As soon as they unpacked, they began chopping wood for their structure. We left them to their labors.

We led the horses to the barn. After unpacking the carts, there wasn’t room for our mounts between the brewery equipment, wagons, and animals. Fabulosa delivered the cloth and accessories to the tailors, who wrapped them in canvas to protect them from weather damage. The dwarves and I unhitched the wagon and untacked the horses, giving Charitybelle the enviable job of handing out supplies to everyone. Citizens hugged and praised her with every resource, item, or ingredient—and she soaked up the appreciation with promises to order anything Hawkhurst lacked.

When Charitybelle returned from the tailors, she and I carried her drafting table to the town hall. With the crew hauling timber, Hawkhurst looked depopulated, aside from a few people busy with specialty jobs like cooking, farming, and blacksmithing. Aside from exchanging friendly waves, we didn’t distract them from their tasks. Everyone had evenings to socialize.

The town hall’s single-room structure centered on a kitchen area with two fire pits. Two tall windows faced the east, overlooking desks occupied by Ally and Greenie. They reviewed the build order for the forge as we entered.

When we left weeks ago, the forge build order fed the camp’s gossip circles. If left to his druthers, Rory would pound out nothing but weapons and armor where his artistry could shine. It took coaxing and nagging, but Ally triaged the town’s list of repairs. They involved little things like making buckles and clasps for the tailors, strengthening the harnesses for the torodons, and creating chains.

Rory complained that forging cooking chains wasn’t worthy of his talents. He and Ally ultimately agreed he could make arms in the evening if he devoted his daylight hours to Hawkhurst’s prosaic concerns.

Ally and Greenie’s reception provided an amusing dichotomy. Ally smothered us with maternal embraces as we excitedly caught her up with our news. Greenie bowed and shook our hands with his typical one-shake curtness. He observed accommodatingly, and his only unsolicited comment concerned Charitybelle’s new costume, which he described as “appropriate.”

As we spoke, I studied the furniture’s craftwork. The benches resembled those in the roundhouse, but their finish rivaled the smoothness of modern furniture, except they didn’t feel cheap or spindly.

Everything looked elegant and sturdy. The hall’s main room had benches and tables arrayed around its center. A podium stood at one end of the building, flanked by two tables with a dozen chairs—not benches, but chairs with backs! If I hadn’t spent weeks in the wilderness, I wouldn’t have thought chairs counted as a luxury, but having something to lean against felt decadent.

Ally winked at me when she caught me admiring the chairs. “With solid tools, we can craft better seats. I’ll wager these high-backers will be easier for ye long-spiners.”

The kitchen appeared no less impressive. Unlike our custom-built roundhouse, the town hall didn’t feature a chimney. Instead of a brick-and-mortar backbone, the smoke drifted to the high ceiling and out of a hole in the roof.

Its kitchen provided the heat from the building’s center. Pots of food hung from bars over firepits. Prep tables encircled the firepits, and rows of dinner tables surrounded the cooking area.

Rocky prepared to roast vegetables on a tray I’d not seen before.

I turned to Ally. “Rory can make scullery?”

Ally shook her head but answered in the affirmative. “He can if ye force ‘em. It’s almost easier to do it yerself.”

Blane laughed. “Tis true. Every word of it! Rory wants to make weapons, and he’s tough as tungsten on the matter. But ol’ Ally hammered him to her purpose. She threatened to use his forge herself! He’s so radge about anyone touching his forge he relented on the spot.”

Ally raised an index finger. “The strongest stock needs but a gentie touch.”

Bernard huffed and rolled his eyes. “T’wearn’t nuthin’ gentie about it! Ally makes you hot enough to pour ye into any mold she likes.”

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The brothers shared a hard laugh before leaving us to our “guvernin’.”

We spent the next few hours catching Ally and Greenie up with the guild discussion. Sitting down on anything but a horse felt great, and we spoke until dinnertime. My legs felt as sore from riding as if I’d walked from Basilborough—albeit in different muscles.

Charitybelle and Greenie did most of the talking while everyone else listened. We spoke about Hawkhurst developments, such as removing the colliers from work detail to chop wood for another batch of charcoal.

Ally delivered the sad news that two of our sheep had disappeared, distressing Murdina Aleswallow so much that she unnerved the rest of the village.

Fabulosa looked sorry she’d missed the chance to go with her. “That explains why Yula lit out of here.”

I spotted people milling into the town hall doorway for dinner. “I realize everyone is excited about getting tier 2 buildings. The dwarves will finish the roundhouse tomorrow, but our next two projects should be another barn and a storehouse.”

No one objected.

As the Sternways and the mercenaries entered the hall, Rocky offered them bowls of soup and refreshments. When the rest of the camp milled in, the number amazed me. Lloyd entered last. He and the Fort Krek soldiers followed the dwarves into town after hauling the last load of wood for the second roundhouse.

Our return to Hawkhurst provided a cause for celebration, which meant we broke out the ale. We consumed four barrels in an evening, enough for a few glasses per person. The noise in the town hall astonished me. The building’s height kept the smoke out of reach and augmented acoustics. It surprised me to see how many people we’d amassed. Months ago, when Charitybelle first asked Fabulosa and me to sit on Hawkhurst Rock about her idea of building a castle, we thought she’d gone crazy. The place grew so quickly that the brew we’d brought back from Basilborough wouldn’t last long.

When Charitybelle and Ally went to the podium, people clapped and cheered. A few silly shouts for Greenie rang above the din.

Since the kitchen lay in the building’s center, Ally asked Rocky to keep down the noise while the speakers addressed the crowd. It gave him an excuse to sit down and relax for a while.

“Patchy, Fab, get up here!” Charitybelle excitedly beckoned us to join her. My palms moistened in a flop sweat over standing in front of everyone. But it wasn’t worse than Charitybelle calling my name and drawing me from the margins.

Fabulosa and I left our seats and stood behind her with nervous smiles.

The hall projected Charitybelle’s voice over the tumult. She thanked everyone for their diligence and introduced our new members from Grayton. “First, I want to thank everyone for putting together this town hall. It looks gorgeous.” She paused for a round of applause. “The big news is our trip was successful. We cleared out the spiders and will have lots of commercial interest in Hawkhurst’s cross-continental trade route. A second roundhouse lets everyone have permanent bunks instead of rotating spots. Instead of interrupting a work routine for a citizenship ceremony, we’ll take the whole day off. It’s a holiday!”

The town hall erupted in cheers.

“And our thoughts are with Yula. She couldn’t join us tonight because she is investigating our missing sheep.”

Angus cupped his hands and yelled. “Ye mean, she’s hammering the scat out o’ the culprits!” The hall enjoyed a hearty laugh.

“There will be extra work assignments tomorrow to prepare for our holiday the day after. We’ll commemorate our town hall, although we’ve broken it in already.”

Peels of applause welcomed the news.

“We will formally receive our new citizens when we induct them into Hawkhurst—raising our population to 57. Hawkhurst will become a level 2 settlement and get another mandate!”

More applause and cheers for our chancellor filled the hall. “Greenie! Greenie!”

Charitybelle continued before things got too boisterous. “And from what Iris reports, her mercenaries from Fort Krek and Grayton are keen to follow our patron deity, Forren!”

After more cheering, Charitybelle motioned for Fabulosa to take the podium. “But tonight, Fabulosa will tell us how we killed an arc weaver that stood in the path to Basilborough. Fab knocked it off its perch!”

Fabulosa looked as awkward as I felt whenever I talked publicly. She gave her account of the arc weaver takedown, describing its lair and the monsters we’d faced while the audience murmured. Some gasped at her story.

I blushed when she praised me for kiting the troglodytes. They might not have been so impressed if they’d known zombie trogs rated half as dangerous as living versions.

I didn’t have to say anything, but Fabulosa led a round of cheers for “the L.T.’s heroics,” making my embarrassment worse.

Charitybelle hugged me in appreciation before she retook the podium. To my horror, she beckoned me forward. “Apache, why don’t you tell us how you faced down the gnolls in the Bottoms?” She turned to the crowd. “It’s the roughest area in the Tenderloin, the roughest district in Grayton!”

I thanked Charitybelle for her exaggerated acclaim, but I downplayed the incident. Being from one of the uglier areas in Atlantic City, I didn’t enjoy sensationalizing slums. Poverty didn’t hold an adventuresome mystique with me.

After describing the big, scary gnolls, I again addressed the crowd. “The coordinates might lead to another dungeon and maybe a magic treasure.” I let the words sink in, allowing my audience to discuss the mystery. “And now we have the location. What do you guys say? Do you think we should investigate a secret that orcs, gnolls, and kobolds will die for?”

Everyone raised their fists and cheered.

“Do you think your Guv can do it?”

The room roared with enthusiasm.

I turned to Charitybelle. “If that’s what the crowd wants, we can’t let them down, can we?”

Fabulosa nudged Charitybelle. “He’s gotcha, hon.”

Charitybelle rolled her eyes but smiled and shrugged.

Before, my companions showed only mild interest in checking out the coordinates. Fabulosa’s possession by the naga had caused her to miss much of the excitement, and the loot and experience weren’t great. My close calls in the subbasement of Our Lady of Balance convinced me I shouldn’t go alone.

If we honored our side of our agreement, Charitybelle would have to live up to hers. Besides, the game should be all about dungeon crawls—and going to one raised her standing in the competition.

When the meeting ended, I pulled her aside. “Are you okay with going away for another adventure?”

My girlfriend nodded and smiled. “I guess so. Besides, it’s the first rule of gaming—anything we can pry loose is ours.”

Fabulosa, who had been watching us, fist-pumped the air. “That’s the spirit, C-Belle.”

“But first, I’m planting my flowers.”