Gathering supplies was easy in some ways, and hard in others.
Meat was easy; though the Great Tomb Cult had no women and was relatively small, it still generated enough conflict – mostly with the Unending Sand Clan to the west, though the Beast of Viol Clan was also aggressive – that corpses were always available. They also farmed, though the grainmeal porridge that was the chief product of that farming was so heavily fermented it was nearly inedible.
The harder part was hydration. The wastes were bone dry as a rule, so any travel that took more than a week would mean having to cart liquid around. I miss having access to real vehicles. A truck would be able to carry something like a year’s worth of water, easy. The Great Tomb’s tech maxed out at metal tools; he hadn’t seen so much as an engine since they abandoned the hovercraft. And putting aside how to carry the stuff, he and Stingy would have to actually stockpile enough in the first place.
Not easy. The shortest path to the Dragon Eater Clan, their destination, would be to go east-by-southeast most of the way, right through a large stretch of uninhabited desert. They would then turn north after they got past Junk Dog territory, and go in through Red Beast Canyon. That’s about a week in a good vehicle. On foot? Roughly ten times longer, at least, so let’s say three months.
But let’s not forget that this is a desert, and the bright season is just hitting its stride, so we’ll be drinking a lot more. I could survive on two cups a day, but Stingy’s bigger and would be carrying most of the supplies. Let’s say eight cups every day for both of us, times seventy days…
They would need two barrels of pure, uncut water. More if it was alcoholic. And this wasn’t the Pit, or even the swamp, where water was always available; Great Tomb got pretty much all of its water through trade, with some raiding on the side, and it was strictly rationed. They couldn’t even buy it by selling Stingy’s lessons, since that would necessitate someone having enough that they would be willing to trade some away.
So there are, broadly, three options. We save up a little bit of our rations each week, and wait a few months; we steal enough water just before leaving; or we go out of our way to hit somewhere with water before trying the desert proper. Option three would mean either Horrible Swamp – currently a warzone – or Greyleaf Forest, which was across a chunk of desert anyway. So option three is going to the bottom of the list. I’ll-
“Hey Cobo, look alive. Boss’s coming over.”
“Hm?” He looked up, shaking off his logistical thoughts to see that the work supervisor was indeed waddling towards them. “Oh. Thanks Brembe.” He stood up and grabbed his pick. Technically he shouldn’t have been taking a break, but it was the end of the day anyway so only the really dickish supervisors would gave a shit.
Unfortunately, Grappa Blacksoil was absolutely a total dick. “I saw that! An extra shift for both of you tomorrow, and I better not catch you boys slacking again!” They both grimaced, their nostrils flaring as the man came near. He smelled absolutely horrendous, as most of the rot-eaters did.
Blacksoil wasn’t weak-weak, but he definitely had eyes larger than his stomach. Cobo looked at Brembe, their eyes meeting as they silently debated – but no, it wasn’t worth it to take the man down a peg. It would feel nice, but would get them in a lot more trouble than just a couple extra shifts mining out blocks of stone to be shipped off.
“Sure thing, boss,” they both said. Blacksoil nodded, and waddled on his way. Cobo always had to stifle a laugh at this point; the man looked a lot like a Horrible Swamp clansman, if you squashed one’s limbs down to half the normal length and gave them a beard and half-way sensible skin tone. Add the protruding gut that consumption of rot tended to produce, and his appearance was ridiculous, like watching a toad try to walk on two legs.
The two miners shared another look, this one more amused, before getting back to the little bit of work that was left for the day. I’ll talk to Stingy about it. She’s been getting antsy to leave, so maybe she’s thought of something I haven’t.
----------------------------------------
“But can’t you make water for us?”
He sighed. “Not reliably, Stingy. You know that.” His techniques still, even after months of practise, tended to produce random effects with every other use. He would try to throw fire, and it would come out as water or mud or something else – luckily Space Ripper and the Quickening seemed to be immune, so he suspected it was just a property of those techniques that tried to make something. “We can’t bet on my techniques to do anything specific.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
She whined, a high note keening from between her teeth. “But we’ve been here forever! And all these guys are coming up to me, looking to fight, but then they go down in one hit! Everybody around here is so weak..!”
Cobo strained to keep his expression neutral. I mean, if you’re comparing them to you, yeah. But they’re still way stronger than me, so do you have to say it like that? “Come on, Stingy. We can tough it out – scrape together a cart, and be on our way in like a month.”
She snorted. “That’s what you said last month, when we started saving. We’ve managed like, ten cups between us.” For a moment she was perfectly still. “What about just taking it? Nobody they have guarding the supplies is stronger than me.”
Yes, but they won’t fight you straight. They’ll raise an alarm, and then you’ll be swarmed. He didn’t say it out loud; truthfully, he was getting tired of this place too. “It… Might be possible. But we’re going to have to plan it out pretty hard.” And if we pull it off, that’s two territories where we’ll be killed on sight. Water is a big deal around here. Stingy smiled, and he couldn’t help but feel his blood pumping at the prospect of doing it. “Okay, I know some of the supervisors that like to take guard duty. I’ll start saying names, you speak up if any of them have fought you before…”
It ended up taking over a week to scout out all the potential targets. They discarded anyone whose techniques were too mysterious, the true elites of the cult who were backed by Oldest Bones himself. That cut their options down to a mere fraction; Bones worshippers really liked guard duty.
That left a handful of pretty-strong guys, guys who would have made Raidboss easy in Junk Dog but who weren’t much out here on the surface. Unfortunately there wouldn’t be any opportunity to knock off the supervisors he really hated, those guys worked the day shifts same as him, but the Great Tomb was a pretty dead-end cult anyway, so he didn’t let it bother him.
As they narrowed in on a date, he found his fists clenching more and more. So what if they’re a little bit stronger than you? Stingy will be there, and people get killed by weaker guys all the time! These rot guys don’t have a true warrior’s grit, I could take them on easy! The slow and easy path isn’t for men like me, so that just leaves the one option!
The only way to live is to eat, so I’ll eat!
----------------------------------------
They went out at night. Stingy had her swords, and him his guns, and they were both weighed down with all the food they could carry. I can’t believe I’d ever miss soldier rations, but unprocessed meat takes up so much more space. Now that he had lived on the surface, he could almost see why the old Junk Dog had decided to stop giving a shit about it; everything was bright, and dangerous, and inconveniently far away from everything else. Maybe the Dragon Eater Clan will be better.
“Cobo, come on! Don’t fall behind!” Stingy’s attempts at a whisper weren’t quite where they needed to be, and he hurriedly caught up before she could wake anyone. They stalked through the Great Tomb, passing altars and catacombs by the dozens as they ascended towards the surface.
They were right near the entrance, right at the final altar, when a strange mood came over him. This is the last time I'm going to walk around down here. The winding endless tombs weren't something he found beauty in, like the proper cultists, but living here for a time had made it familiar. He tapped on Stingy’s shoulder. “Hey. One sec, I’m gonna make a prayer real quick.”
Her head tilted. “Why? Obviously he’s not going to bless us. We're planning to attack his worshippers.”
Cobo shrugged. “It’s not like it’ll hurt.” The Ancestors tended to not really give a shit about the lives of individuals, Oldest Bones even less than the others. Actually, maybe he would bless me for thinning the herd a bit? He’s a weird one.
He stepped up to the altar. The thing was a narrow stem of crumbling stone, with a slab of more intact stone on top. It was adorned with a skull – some animal’s, not a warrior’s – and there was a depression for offerings. He quickly sacrificed a few drops of his blood while Stingy stood watch anxiously. “The One Thing is unstoppable, its victory cannot be halted.” He didn’t venerate the Ancestor, but he could admit that his prayers were pretty evocative. Joeism didn’t have nearly as much punch in terms of dogma.
He was in the middle of turning away, when out the corner of his eye – there was something on the altar that hadn’t been there a moment ago, sitting in the bowl-like depression where offerings were placed. He froze.
Really? I wasn’t actually expecting..!
“What? Why are you- Oh! Is that a real blessing? Wow, I thought this was just a waste of time!” Cobo was entirely too shocked to shush her, even as her voice rose back to its normal speaking volume.
“…So did I.” He carefully lifted the object out of the depression, his eyes filled with wonder. It was a simple stone chisel, worn smooth from use.
“That’s so cool! Oh, but we should go, we’ve still got a bunch of water to steal!” She moved off, and Cobo hesitated a moment before following. He looked back, but the altar had nothing further to offer him. He met the skull's empty sockets, but there was nothing there.
He clutched the chisel tightly as they left the Tomb. Divine providence. Truly, this must be a sign of favour!
…Though I’m not sure why Oldest Bones would send me a Stingy-Eye relic. Seriously, I can feel the bloodlust dripping off just from holding it. Maybe they share altars sometimes?