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Scouting with Fabulosa and Yula gave me a better sense of the deep forest. Some trees grew to gigantic proportions, and one trunk matched the width of our roundhouse. The dense canopy made me wonder how watchtowers could see through them.

We swept back and forth until Fabulosa suggested we finish our patrol along the forest’s edge to the lake, past the spot where I’d seen the young gargasaurus.

Along the way, Yula approached a small tree.

“Dees is good wood for crossbow and ballista. Only for strongest archers.” Yula stared at Fabulosa when she spoke, sparing me not even a sideways glance. I couldn’t tell if she meant to insult, instruct, or encourage me, but it made me jealous.

We could harvest the wood because no one laid a claim on axes that day. As the dwarves erected the smithy, no workers chopped down trees. Felling timber for the watchtower meant the crew would monopolize the camp’s axes, so it seemed a perfect time to cut and clean branches for bow wood.

“Green devil bows are not for outside. Een rain, goblin wood snap, and string ees worse.” She held up a section of our newfound timber. “Dees wood ees good wet or dry. Humans from west will see.”

Fabulosa pointed to her head. “In Belden’s archery class, they taught us to keep our strings under our caps in the rain.”

“I remember someone mentioning that, though we never shared the same instructor. They taught me to use hemp or linen for strings. They mentioned orcs using something else.”

“We use torodon gut for string. Good een rain or sun.” Yula patted a small pouch. “I have more een case of snapping. You will carve bows, and I teach real archery class, yes?”

Fabulosa and I grinned and nodded.

We retrieved the axes from camp and spent the rest of the day harvesting enough wood for over 20 longbows. Yula even planted limbs to grow more trees, and we returned with inventories full of logs, stems, and branches. Our scouting trip met success in every way except one—we found no alternate source of stone. For the foreseeable future, Hawkhurst’s hard granite provided our only quarry.

At camp, Ally’s new project overshadowed the promise of better bows. She started an idol of Forren, and the dwarves speculated when she’d finish carving it. The ultra-hard granite slowed her, and none of Maggie Hornbuster’s quarrying advice sped up the process. When Ally gave up, Maggie took the mantle and worked on the stone block. Chipping sounds became regular evening background noise.

Although the lack of charcoal diminished its significance, the dwarves finished the smithy. Rory and Fin made promises to make things. The dwarves made it a game to challenge them with requests. After thoughtful strokes of his beard, Rory declared whether he could or couldn’t make specific objects. Applause, laughter, and cheering erupted whenever someone stumped them.

Rory and Fin requested tools and materials whenever the forge needed something. Charitybelle needed larger sheets of vellum and parchment for blueprints. Rocky wanted cooking equipment. Maggie needed a magical item to quarry Hawkhurst rock. After the word leaked about a list of needful supplies, I fielded requests from everyone. The sheer number of wish list items made me wonder if another contest broke out to see who could make the most.

News about a trip to Fort Krek broke after Fabulosa invited Charitybelle to join her, but she refused to leave her camp—a rejection that relieved me.

Charitybelle proposed that Fabulosa and I go, which I vetoed because I didn’t want to leave her.

The matter settled until Fabulosa played a trump card. She announced she’d go alone. The three of us spent the better part of an evening arguing, offering compromises, but in the end, Charitybelle and I gave up.

Fabulosa did whatever she set her mind to. Sometimes, she possessed no sense of caution. Perhaps this unguarded approach explained her formidable combat acumen. Instead of prudent planning or disciplined practice, she threw herself at problems.

In a last person standing competition, one might think the prospect of one less player might appeal to me, but I’d reversed my philosophy since leaving Belden. Alliances were crucial for mutual survival. Losing Fabulosa to high-level monsters only weakened us.

In bed, I left my map interface visible to see incoming enemies. If something woke me, I could immediately see the source of the danger. I searched for sources of danger or reasons for Fabulosa not to risk the trip, but I saw nothing.

The following day, when the officers gathered for a quick meeting, Fabulosa returned to the subject of venturing off on her own. “You reckon Fort Krek might be closer than Basilborough?”

Ally, Greenie, Fabulosa, and I watched Charitybelle’s expression to see if she resigned to accepting Fabulosa’s departure.

Charitybelle returned my gaze. “Our best research in Belden produced only an incomplete atlas of the continent, so I don’t know.”

I shrugged.

Fabulosa wasn’t backing down, but the only thing worse than embarking on a dangerous trip was doing so for nothing.

At last, Charitybelle shook her head. “We don’t even know how big Fort Krek is. It could just be a FOB—a forward operations base. If it’s just a wooden frontier fort, occupied only by soldiers, merchants might not want to or be allowed to travel there.”

I turned to Fabulosa. “How do you plan to swim the river? The current is slow, but it’s almost a quarter-mile wide.”

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Fabulosa bit her lip, and I relished in a small victory. “Fighting the river might not be in the cards. I could ride a log and float across Otter Lake.”

I raised an eyebrow at Charitybelle. “Otter Lake?”

Charitybelle gave me a guilty and bashful grin. It seemed an awfully large body of water to call Otter Lake, but I couldn’t resist her when she smiled that way.

Fabulosa crossed her arms. “If you lovebirds don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my death-defying journey for critical supplies.”

I ignored Fabulosa. “If we named the lake Otter Lake, what do we call the river?”

Greenie pointed to the north. “The goblin name is a mouthful, but the orcs call it the Orga. It derives from their word for the tallest mountain in Miros. The mountain feeds the Orga’s headwaters, which flows to us between the Bluepeaks and Doublespines.”

Ally chimed in. “Humans and dwarves call the same mountain Grenspur, but few have seen the river.”

With a shrug, I seconded the motion. “I like Orga. And it nods to Yula’s contribution to our settlement.”

I half expected my girlfriend to argue in favor of naming it after another one of her animal friends, but she nodded in agreement. “Grenspur River has too many Rs—and the orcs found it first. Let’s go with Orga.”

Fabulosa huffed with her hands on her hips. “Okay, great—now that we have names for everything, Couldn’t I float across the river or Otter Lake on a log or raft?”

Charitybelle wrinkled her nose in doubt. “But what if you bring back recruits that can’t swim?”

I nodded. “Or what if you need to bring something back on a horse and cart?”

Fabulosa chewed her lip. “A wagon might be difficult from either direction, but I see what you mean. So, that points me back toward Basilborough.”

I preferred her to take baby steps. “I hate to say this, but at least we’ve made the crossing. It’s safer. We haven’t even explored the East. If it’s all forest, you could be a mile away from Fort Krek and not know it.” I turned to Greenie. “How much development lies eastward?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say.”

The goblin’s reply echoed how the game’s interface worked. Once someone traveled to a location, cartographic details appeared on their map. Players could always return to a place once they’ve been there. It made navigating to previously explored areas foolproof, but searching for something specific involved luck or survival skills much higher than ours. Heavy forests and hills blocked visibility.

“If y’all want me to haul supplies by my lonesome, I’ll need the void bag.”

Everyone turned to me to gauge my reaction.

I nodded. “Yeah, I figured as much. The problem is our food, equipment, and supplies are inside. Our meat will eventually spoil, so you can’t leave for long. Maybe a week or so.”

Ally considered the problem. “We could hunt or fish for chow, no?”

Fabulosa shook her head. “Fishing is out. Yula says the lake is deep and muddy, but I don’t know about upstream. She’ll find some game.”

I stiffened. “But that means Yula won’t be around if the vargs return.”

Fabulosa shook her head at my point. “You’ll have to stick your neck out at some point, Patch. I’ll try to be back in, say, eight days. Without encounters, it’s at least a three-day journey each way.”

Ally nodded. “We could chow from our inventories—stretch it to nine or ten days if need be—we know how to toil without grub. We only risk a low work output.”

The words sobered Fabulosa in the seriousness of her quest. She nodded solemnly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

As the owner of the void bag and Dark Room, the decision ultimately rested in my hands, and all eyes fell upon me.

I unwound the magical rope from my waist and handed it to her, along with the void bag. “Just try to be careful with them.” These counted as my most valuable possessions and gifts from Mr. Fergus. Handing them over to another contestant involved a substantial risk, but what else could I do?

Entrusting this powerful magic item forged a bond between us, so handing over a hefty amount of gold seemed trivial. I counted out 50 cylinders from the worm lair—enough to purchase a small estate. Fabulosa wouldn’t run away with the loot. Unfortunately, she could get in over her head, and if something knocked her out of the game, I would never see my items again. Worse yet, they could fall into the hands of an opponent.

“Just one cylinder should be enough to purchase everyday items and food. You can use the rest to buy yourself something good. Buy magic items—or anything useful.”

Ally patted Fabulosa on the back. “As long as ye can haul fast, dear. Remember, food won’t preserve outside of inventories for long.”

While Fabulosa hugged me in appreciation for the gold, Charitybelle reiterated her desire for immigrants. “If you find anyone who wants to join us, that would be crucial. It’s a given that Hawkhurst needs to grow. Make sure you invite anyone looking for elbow room. You could escort any takers or schedule a later date for immigrants in need of time to pull up roots. We only short a couple dozen more citizens to bring Hawkhurst to level 2. More guards would be good.”

Fabulosa rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. But I’ll only have a couple of days, right?”

“I’m just saying that it would be good to entice people to join us.”

“Wrangling muscle won’t be worth spit if y’all starve to death before I return.”

Fabulosa’s speedy return would be critical in several ways. Besides bringing back food, equipment, and supplies, her return would raise morale enough to boost our construction efficiency. It also proved to others the feasibility of a safe passage to Basilborough.

Charitybelle envisioned the long-term success of the settlement, and with her patience, we could get there. Before manifesting her dream, everyone in Hawkhurst needed to believe a caravan route could happen.

After resolving the logistics of the trip, everyone returned to their daily routines. Fabulosa and I spent more time with Yula in the woods. Unlike the previous day, we covered little ground. Instead, we stayed close to the dwarves who felled trees for lumber.

Today’s work efficiency dropped seven points to 82 percent—an expected development. Every morning, I grew nervous that a fresh crisis might diminish our progress. Checking the interface for the work crew’s efficiency felt like starting my old car back in Atlantic City winters. I cringed every time the engine turned over, never knowing when the heap would finally die.

Celebrations no longer compensated for the camp’s near lack of everything. While no one forgot about their recent escape from the goblins, it became clear the honeymoon was over. Every day’s passing meant folks settled into the reality of subsistence living. Once citizens stopped worrying about wolves and goblins, we hungered for simple things like rice, clean blankets, and soap.

Based on this morning’s math, deflating morale would dampen our efficiency by another 15 percent by the end of the watchtower’s construction—taking four days, not three, to complete. Gone were the halcyon days of assembling roundhouse prefabs. Now, we built everything from scratch.

Charitybelle and Greenie tag-teamed Fabulosa about memorizing what she could and couldn’t promise to newcomers. They drilled her over every potential question until her patience ran out.

I put my lettering skills to work, drafting parchments that declared Hawkhurst’s intent to open a new trade route. Fabulosa could distribute them to local merchants and post them to the public.

Part of Fabulosa’s mission included spreading the news that our West-East road offered duty-free passage. None of us thought this would attract other gamers, since trade routes weren’t quest-worthy pursuits, but NPCs oppressed by tolls would be another matter. Attracting them would be a quick way to level our town and unlock a juicy new mandate.

Aside from Ally’s spooky spider story, we felt reasonably sure anyone with a Dark Room could make a safe crossing alone. We couldn’t say the same for lands across the Orga River, but that involved adventures for another day.

Burdened with everyone’s wish list items, Fabulosa left with much fanfare, well wishes, and goodbyes the following day. She warned us the crossing might take longer with recruits in tow. Part of me considered recruitment more critical than fresh supplies. If Hawkhurst didn’t grow, we wouldn’t survive.