“Oh god they’re French.” Mitchell muttered. He had French heritage but had never been a part of the culture or spoken the language any more fluently than mandatory classes allowed for.
The two men - or dwarves, Mitchell corrected himself - were nearly identical were it not for their difference in beards and outfits. The one standing to the left wore thick canvas overalls, while the one to the right was dressed in a tunic with breeches covered by an apron. All the clothing was set in earth-like colours of sage, russet, and goldenrod. Oddly enough, they gave off the impression of being earthy and dirty, though were impeccably clean.
The one with overalls wore his beard tightly wound in a single braid, where the other had beads and rings dotted through an otherwise well-brushed mass that reached to the fellow’s belt.
The one with overalls had a pack slung over his shoulder, the wooden handles of multiple tools spilling forth from the opening. The other led the donkey, who in turn pulled the small cart. The two staggered forwards, muttering to each other. “Allo? Is anyone there?”
Mitchell coughed from his spot up in the scaffolding. “Yes? Who are you?”
The two looked at each other, then the cart-leader gestured the other forwards with an exaggerated gesture. The one in overalls stepped forward twice, then stopped and wavered where he stood. The cart-leader cleared his throat loudly, jolting Overalls out of his stupor enough to continue. “I am Phillipe! Prospector, Miner, and altogether wonderful dwarf! Behind me is my brother Pierre, thoug-”
“My name is Argon, brother. Show some dignity, we’re supposed to live here.”
Overalls - or Phillipe - burst out into chuckles. “Yes, yes, apologies Mr. Guard-Man, I suppose that was false. Phillipe and Argon, the d’Argent twins, here at your service!”
Mitchell blinked. “Argon d’Argent? Were your parents into chemistry?”
The dwarf - now identified as Argon - shook his head, sending his braided beard flapping back and forth. “Non, they were chocolatiers, why do you ask?”
The Page shook his head, making a quick sign with his hand. The two-dozen Legionnaires behind the gate lifted up out of their ready stance, a bristling wall of spears vanishing in almost an instant. Two others gently removed the bracing bar and set it aside, allowing the gate to be opened on command. While this happened, Mitchell continued speaking. “Curious name is all. You two seem to be a bit… Unique. Can I assume you hold memories of life prior to the tutorial?”
“Oui! Many more than it seems you have been alived, Exalted Patriarch.” Phillipe boasted.
“Maybe.” He answered non-committedly. “Either way I was hoping to get me a blacksmith to work some metal. We really need a filing cabinet and I can’t really make one myself.” That, and weapons, armour, and other things he thought better than to speak of at the gates where anyone could be listening.
The two looked at each other. “Erm, forgive the questioning, but is that not putting the cart before the ass, so to speak?”
Mitchell frowned. “How so?”
“Well, you would have to pay for the ingots, then for the Blacksmith, then for the Blacksmith - I’m talking about the building this time -, then for a craftsman or engineer to create the blueprints for the blacksmith to follow.”
Mitchell nodded. He’d already evaluated this. “Yes, but buying the ingots saves me at least 40% off the cost of the standard F-grade storage cabinet.”
“And you need to spend hundreds more on a blacksmith and the materials to train him up to the point of being able to do your work reliably. It’s expensive, sponsoring a crafting profession. We would know.”
Mitchell sighed. Yet another expense - the farms couldn’t keep sustaining all of their growth, at least not in terms of money. From his and Dalton’s calculations, it would take almost a week to get any sort of usable ore, and that’s assuming there was even copper or tin in the Escarpment. “So what you’re saying is that we can’t afford you?”
“No! Not at all. As your town stands now, you could maybe afford to employ a Blacksmith for an hour a day. Luckily for you, neither of us is a Blacksmith!” The dwarf puffed out his chest proudly. “As I said, I am Phillipe d’Argent, Prospector, Miner, and altogether wonderful dwarf. Behind me is my brother Argon, both Pyrokinetic and Artificer.”
Mitchell nodded. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both. You’re welcome to stay in my village for as long as you like, though you may not build a home inside the walls as Aspirants-”
“They will do no such thing!” Dalton exclaimed, his face red from the effort of running as he panted up to the gate. “Good Morning Patriarch, how are you, hope your morning went well, <i>open the damn gates before they get ambushed this is the greatest thing to ever happen to us-”</i>
“Whoa there big guy!” Mitchell laughed. “Our rules exist for a reason.”
Dalton took a second to collect himself. “I insist, Patriarch. Grant them my own citizenship if it’s a matter of capacity, but as much as I have helped you, those two will help you <i>tenfold</i>.”
Mitchell’s eyes widened. Dalton truly had been invaluable, peeling back the veil that covered how the System, Tutorials, and the rest of it worked. “You must know them, then?”
Dalton nodded feverishly. “Yes, for most of my life, now <i>please </i>Patriarch!”
Mitchell thought for a moment. “Very well. Dalton, rise as an Inner Member. Do you promote these Aspirants to Outer Members under your newfound authority? Keep in mind that should they commit any crime, you will be charged as if present, for without you they would not be within our walls.”
“Yes, yes!” Dalton looked genuinely happy at his promotion. “You have no idea how much that helps! Guard, open the gates!”
The Legionnaire’s quickly complied to Mitchell’s surprise. A quick glance through his menus explained it while the soldiers opened the gate. He’d set the military to Outer Members, and as an Inner Member, Dalton outranked the guard. Their new culture stressed listening to the higher rankings, so the military adopted citizenship status into their chain of command. That was something that Mitchell would need to fix soon enough, but for now the list of Inner Members was short enough to not worry, and any Core member could belay nonsensical orders.
Things just never got easier.
<hr>
“Does it ever get easier?” A red-faced, panting Tiros gasped out as she collapsed, her wand slipping from her fingers and falling into the dirt.
Miriam internally gaped at how long she’d lasted, but on the outside kept her face neutral. “The casting itself, yes, the Mana Exhaustion, no. You need to pace yourself, lest you find yourself before a large obstacle and drawing on the last dregs of your stamina.”
Hands scraped at the dirt, desperately grasping for purchase. “Then I suppose I need to train through this too.”
Miriam smiled sadly. “Yes, you will. When your Mana runs dry and you’re not done combat… well, people can die. Even if you do it all perfectly, people can die. We are lucky enough - no, <i>strong </i>enough - that by our power and knowledge entire battles can be turned, hosts of foes routed, and fortifications made invulnerable. To allow ourselves to grow complacent in the face of that responsibility would be akin to murdering our compatriots ourselves.”
A fist formed in the dirt, a pair of arms shaking as they fought against biological processes themselves to <i>push</i>. With what felt like the agony of someone pouring boiling water right onto her brain, the Tiros eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out. Miriam immediately moved forward, turning her onto her side like Sarah had showed her, and sitting down to wait. The rest of her ‘trainees’ had learned to use the dart-wands, a total of 24 Tiros from the Second Century - or rather, the double-First. This one, a particularly stubborn woman, showed greater interest and capability, so Miriam had placed her in charge and committed to extra lessons.
Ezekiel was doing something similar with a different group of recruits roughly the same size, and Miriam smiled when she thought of John’s reaction to having the Second Century be more of a ‘Ranged Attack’ group. They would definitely survive longer. In maybe a week''s worth of days, the Second Century would be finished, and the Third would begin. After John’s reforms, they had discovered that there were hundreds - no, thousands - more soldiers required for a proper Legion.
Miriam considered how she didn’t have that much time.
<b>In the Giant’s Shadow (Quest Type: Personal)</b>
<b>Your settlement is within range of a terrible arcane contraption hidden in the escarpment, and will be irrevocably changed by its activation. Unfortunately, a careless creature has activated it. In 5 days, the land beneath will no longer harbour carbon-based life.</b>
<b>Objectives:</b>
<b>Protect your faction</b>
<b>(optional) Stop the arcane process</b>
<b>(optional) Organize and execute an evacuation</b>
<b>(optional) Defeat the Anchorbeasts</b>
<b>Restrictions:</b>
<b>3:01:22 remaining</b>
<b>Party functions disabled.</b>
Party functions were disabled, but she’d asked George to take a look up there for her, and every day dozens of trees were felled from the surrounding forest. The stumps were hacked apart and burned, to remove any cover for the Raccans. Their skirmishers still flung rocks at those outside the walls from time-to-time, but these were tough legionnaires, and they refused to be cowed back inside the walls.
The point being, she could now see the top of the rocky escarpment ridge, the colossal formation of stone seeming much larger than it had in her memories. The sun glinted off the mineral, giving the rock face a sort of unmoving majesty in here eyes.
Then, far off to the east, another flicker of light - beyond the waterfalls which spilled from the top of the cliff and feel down several watersheds before ending in the river that meandered all the way down to the town. On the other side of this waterfall, nestled against the cliff, she spotted the faintest flash of a reddish light, which vanished immediately and did not return even as she sat and stared at the location for the next ten minutes. She was just about to dismiss it as a trick of the light when caught the flash again, though this time much closer and almost on the very top of the escarpment. It was close to the camp.
Miriam’s curiosity got the better of her, and with a faint <i>pop </i>sound, she vanished, on her way to go explore.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
<hr>
“Alright, sell it to me. I mean, I suppose it’s too late now, but still.” Mitchell rubbed his temples as he gathered the trio of immigrants by the longpit. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye as Kyla slipped in and flashed her a grateful smile that she rolled her eyes at.
Dalton was the first to speak, and from the looks of the other two, they easily deferred to him. Once again, Mitchell wondered just how important Dalton was. “These two are from Tuurth. Specifically, they are a pair of Artisans that our family has sponsored as we quickly learned of their value. While here, their sponsorship is revoked, so loyalties will not be an issue. Right gents?”
The two dwarves nodded in agreement, and Phillipe spoke with an eager nod. “Oui, that is true.”
“Right, but the way you acted out front was like they were made up of S-coins or something.” Mitchell dug deeper. “What’s so valuable?”
“Well, it started with Phillipe. An excellent Miner who picked up a Prospecting subclass - not something to worry about, dual-classes don’t get that option - Phillipe came to the family''s attention when we found him mining in our family''s ancestral silver mine. It’d been abandoned for generations, yet our sentry saw a dwarf emerge with a pack full of ore. We had him followed, and that’s when we found Argon.”
“See, a Miner-Prospector is about an F-coin for a dozen. I imagine you yourself will have hundreds of thousands of them, when this tutorial is all over.” Mitchell’s head spun for a moment before he pushed that daunting reminder away. “However, an Artificer is a Rare class, one that can only be taken by someone who hits the System Age while already E-rank.”
Argon snorted, but didn’t elaborate. Dalton continued. “So while Phillipe was drawing ore from exhausted stone, Argon was using that ore to create something amazing. Did you happen to…” The Advisor trailed off, looking at the dwarf hopefully.
Phillipe cut in. “Um.. well.. Yes. But it’s not that simple!” The dwarf in overalls lifted his hands to stop Dalton’s cheer, while Mitchell grew steadily more confused. “You see, part of our sponsorship was that our creations would belong to your family at the end of the day, right? Well, your sister or cousin or something like that came immediately after you left, to ‘confiscate’ our baby. So we destroyed it.”
Dalton froze in horror. “You what.”
Mitchell slammed his hands against his legs, the metal of his armour clanging loudly. “Alright. This is fun and all, but someone catch me up.” The sound went unheeded.
“Not all of it!” Phillipe exclaimed, ignoring me. “We managed to salvage the co- ouch!”
“Silence, brother.” Argon spoke, before turning to me. “I apologize for my kin’s lack of decorum. We had a tumultuous series of events that led us here. To summarize, my brother and I have a special bond codified by the System. When he prospects for what I need, he’s more likely to find it. When I design my works around his needs, they come out true and efficient. Using this, we developed a machine far beyond what we thought was possible.”
Mitchell nodded, internally praising the promptitude of the more dour brother. “Which was…”
“An Omnifoundry.” Argon replied, the slightest twinkle in his eyes erupting at the name. “Maybe not the most accurate name, but we found ourselves inebriated in our celebration and named it so.”
Mitchell waited. “Am I supposed to know what that does?”
Argon blinked. “No, I suppose you would not. My Omnifoundry is capable of separating any inorganic material into its components.”
Mitchell frowned. “That seems useful..? So like, it’ll sort out grit-grades of sand?”
Argon smirked. “On a molecular level.”
Mitchell’s frown dropped. His entire jaw did. “To what degree? Say I put in some mud, would it split it into water and dirt?”
Argon’s smirk grew into a full smile. “Oh? And what is dirt? What is water?”
Mitchell leaned forward, his mind flying through a list of the resources they had available. “You can’t mean.. It would separate into pure oxygen?!”
“And twice as much hydrogen, yes. Or we could feed some of that limestone escarpment into it, get ourselves some quicklime so you can build some less drafty buildings.”
“I don’t follow.” The Patriarch admitted. “What’s quicklime?”
“You can use it to make mortar, if you have bricks to lay. Alternatively it can be used for concrete, agriculture, pest control, even cleaning.”
“And we just… feed some rock into this thing? Where is it?”
“That is the unfortunate part. At its native E-grade, it was quite the piece of equipment, roughly the size of our cart. Now though… Well, let''s just say it wasn’t the largest thing we brought.”
The plans of harnessing the power of gas, of finding oil and feeding it into the foundry, of using it to dissect poisons and chemicals. It all vanished. “Give me numbers.” Mitchell asked, almost pleading.
“1 kilo an hour.” Argon responded.
“Damn. Is that output or..?” He asked hopefully.
“Unfortunately not. Input.” Argon responded. “I brought enough refractive materials for a nice efficient bloomery I can teach someone to run while it works.”
The Patriarch was getting tired of not knowing what things were. “And a bloomery is…”
Phillipe took over. “Well when you mine iron ore, it’s usually still attached to all that other crap in the rock that you aren’t needing in your iron ingot. So, you burn the shit out of it until the iron all melts from the rock. Then you take that iron bloom, beat it out to remove the slag, and you’ve got some workable wrought iron. That’s typically what starting settlements want first - iron has too many varied uses to be neglected for long.”
“Okay, so it’s like a furnace for ores?” Mitchell tried. “I imagine it would have a larger capacity than the Omnifoundry?”
Phillipe and Argon shared a glance. “Between the two of us, we could create a half-ton bloomery. Keep in mind that would be 250 kilos each of charcoal and iron ore, which would then cook for about 3 hours. We could cut some time out of ingot-making by building a water-hammer to pound out the slag for us. I could run two of them - the bloomeries, that is - but given we’re unsure of the state of the local mine, we jus-”
“We don’t have a mine.” Mitchell admitted.
“The more I hear about your settlement, the more I wonder what you were planning to do with a Blacksmith.” Phillipe shook his head. “Very well. I can prospect out a location for your mine, though I will require at least a modicum of direction.”
“That, at least, is a simple answer.” Mitchell almost sighed in relief. “To the north we have a military camp within sight of the escarpment. We don’t have the means to actually tell what’s in there, but quite a few of the soldiers have found bits and scraps of what I believe to be ore.”
“Do you have a sample?” Phillipe asked, before sniffing deeply. “No, you don’t, nevermind. Well, I suppose I should get to work. Northwards, you said? Are there any further directions?”
Mitchell’s mind immediately jumped to Coyotes, the Khanclave, or a Raccan ambush. “Not quite yet. Our holdings are fairly spread out, and the roads are dangerous until we can spare the men to patrol them. Our First Century is done and active. We’re training the Second to act as guards until John gets his class evolution. We can’t guarantee travel until then, so wait and go with either a Legion detachment or a Core Member. Is there anything you guys could do around here to help out until then?”
Phillipe shrugged and pulled out a prospecting pan. “Extra time in a frontier town beats extra time in a frontier outpost. I’ll be by the river.”
Argon rolled his shoulders. “Show me to your Head Builder. I will assist them in construction efforts until my own skills are needed.”
Mitchell blinked before looking to Dalton. “Do we have a-”
Dalton rolled his eyes. “John is acting as it, and he’s also up north at the outpost. We can figure that out later. For formality’s sake, would you tell us about your skills?”
“I am a Pyrokinetic and an Artificer. I use these classes together to create heat-and-pressure based devices, buildings, and siegeworks. I also enjoy whittling in my off-time.” Argon listed off blankly.
An inkling of an idea popped into the Page’s head. “Okay… Alright, can you check out the walls? My fiancee is an Enchantress and-”
“No such thing.” Argon replied immediately. “Enchanter is a gender-neutral term. If she says her class is Enchantress, she’s lying.”
Mitchell bit back a snicker. “No, it''s just a leftover from our own culture, don’t worry. All of the Core has seen each other''s Statuses. We know who has what class.”
Argon grumbled. “Very well then, I will see to the defences. Ensure my cart remains untouched - your village would need to be sold a hundred times over to replace my Omnifoundry.”
Within moments, a pair of Legionnaires were standing in front of the cart with vigilant eyes.
<hr>
Miriam looked down at the twisted, shimmering mass of almost otherworldly colour. After excavating a fair amount of dirt from the top of the escarpment, she’d found herself looking down at what might have been rock, once, though it now had the dark streak running through it like the fault lines of a shattered piece of prized porcelain. Interspersed in chunks was bits of a reddish grey rock that showed an orangish hue if scratched - she thought it might be some kind of copper - wasn’t it orange?
The black web though occasionally shot through with a wave of shimmering crimson, and after a few cycles of this Miriam eventually hit it with her Scan skill. She found herself surprised at the information revealed - typically her scan was useless save for when magic was involved. It was definitely useful for her Enchanting work, but in terms of excursions from the town, it was hardly helpful until now.
<b>Emberheart Iron Ore (Ore | Rare | E-Grade)</b>
<b>Iron Ore that has been infused with local Fire and Earth energies, reinforcing its structure and giving it an uncanny level of heat resistance. Unable to be forged by mundane means.</b>
That told her a fair amount. Her quest directed her to an ‘arcane process’ and here was some ore that appeared to be sucking up some energy. A few more minutes of excavation revealed that the vein grew bigger further to the north, past the cliff face that looked over the camp. Sounded like a nearby arcane process to her. Casting Earth Dart a hundred or so times to cover up the hole she’d dug, she looked back in satisfaction not five minutes later, her clothes clean and free of sweat.
Every ten minutes or so she would stop, clear out the nearby vegetation and excavate again. The process was slow, but by the end of the day, she finished her fourth and final excavation to reveal a 3 foot wide crevasse that stretched down into the darkness. She even shot a Flare down there, but it was unable to reveal the bottom as the spell detonated and hung in the middle of the crevasse..
More importantly though, either side of the crevasse was absolutely covered in deposits of the dark ore, and she watched as a faint red light erupted from the bottom of the crevasse, scouring its way up the walls until leaching into the ore and presumably dispersing into the rock.
Then, an earsplitting, otherwordly screech echoed up from the depths, and Miriam only regained her composure five minutes later, when the crevasse had been recovered with dirt from a hasty barrage of Earth Darts. She was shaking, and sweating, and her heart hammered like a drum.
Well at least she’d found the way forward.
<hr>
“So you just… drop whatever into the hopper.”
“Oui.”
“And it spits out… this?” Mitchell asked, currently holding a perfect cube of charcoal roughly ten centimeters in size.
“Oui.” Argon answered again. The two stood before the small machine, which in its F-grade form looked like a fancy drink cooler with an extra large and cubical drainage plug.
“So… did you need anything?” Mitchell tried. “To get started that is.”
Argon looked around at the surrounding buildings. “I will need a workshop to artifice. That is my role here, Patriarch. Not to operate the machines, but create them.”
Mitchell nodded. “Of course, we’re looking forward to it. Personally I had an idea for a-”
Argon spat. “If I had a C-coin for every time someone came to me with a half-baked idea, I’d never have to work again.”
Mitchell glared. “Alright then. When you are finally taken to the northern camp, design and build an elevator for us to get up the escarpment with. Let me know if you need inspiration.”
Argon rolled his eyes. “Please. A simple counterweight system would suffice. Doubly so if you plan on using this elevator in a mining capacity.”
“You’d be correct.” The Patriarch admitted.
“How do you plan to extract the stone?”
Mitchell blinked. “Uhm… hit it with a pickaxe?”
Argon blinked. “We will have my brother set up the mine where he deems best based on his Prospecting. He will then decide how to extract the ores and stones. I will not be forced to live on the frontier.”
“So we need to cart the resources back here.” Dalton spoke up from where he was scribbling on some paper.
Mitchell shrugged, still getting used to Argon’s method of speaking. He seemed to jump between topics very often. “That, or expand again, though that’s a bit further in the future. Won’t be a problem if Cliffside is no longer the frontier.”
“I feel the need to inform you-”
“That we only have one more satellite settlement available due to our Level Four Settlement? That we are currently at war with not one but two separate factions that will both impede those efforts? Or that we lack the required population to expand to a new area? I’ve gone over the menus, Dalton. I may not know the nitpicky details, but I know enough.”
Dalton raised his hands in a peace offering. “Fair, fair. I wasn’t insinuating anything.”
Argon huffed. “Mines <i>count </i>towards that settlement limit. I was speaking of my adamant refusal to live outside of the capital. My needs are varied and best met in a hub of commerce. However, the Omnifoundry would be best placed nearer to the mines. Depending on the distance, either at the mines themselves or at this Camp Cliffside you speak of. From there, finished goods could be distributed to where they need to go.”
Task after task. Issue after issue. The list of things that needed to be done was growing, their resources to perform those tasks were not, and more and more the burden fell on his shoulders. He would not allow it to overcome him.
Mitchell glanced from Dalton to Argon and back. “I’ve got a sudden urge to fight something. Dalton, you think it’s time for the Dungeon? I need to knock something off of my list before it gets too long and that’s the oldest issue.”
The Advisor frowned. “Could be. Might take a while to get everyone together. Would you bring the Legion?”
Mitchell shook his head. “Core only. Leave Kyla to watch here and Ezekiel can watch Cliffside. With the Legion, we should be fine to pop out for a day. Get George first - he can get the rest.”
“At once, Patriarch.” The Advisor took off as fast as his vibrant outfit would allow.
Argon grunted again. “It must be nice, having both a combat and a crafting class.”
“Is it still a crafting class when it makes me in charge of people?” Mitchell wondered.
“Tell me that building a settlement is not a form of creation, and I will call you a spreader of lies.”
He didn’t really have anything to say to that. The surly dwarf had a point.