《Fantastic Advancement》


 1 - A Rude Awakening

    It''s not every day you go to sleep in a warm, comfortable bed and wake up the next morning naked, sore, and in a forest that couldn''t have been within a thousand miles of where you lived. This part of my current circumstances, at least, I understood. Naked? Check. Awake? The mild headache and breeze confirm that I''m not dreaming, so again check. Oak trees -- or something like oak anyhow -- when I live in a desert? Yeah, something''s rotten in the land of Denmark.


    The thing that really drives the point home that I''m not in Kansas anymore, Toto? That would be that I''m seeing some kind of HUD display like in a first person game. That and the very clear two moons in the blue morning sky. One reddish-brown, the other white and crescent. I''d read all sorts of stories like this over the years so I knew exactly what I needed to do, in very short order. It''s patently insane but so is the situation I''m in so either I roll with the punches or I just lay down and give up. Only one of those options is acceptable. If I''m being pranked or hallucinating somehow I''ll just have to wait for that to become clear. In the meantime:


    "Status!"


    ¡­


    "Menu!"


    ¡­


    Okay so scenario one is a bust. Next up. Let''s focus a little more on this HUD I''m seeing. There''s a long bar with a centered 0 at the bottom of my field of view, with a transparent human body image in the upper right. There''s a bar on the vertical left with red, green, and blue vertical stripes. I''m not punching myself to check that one out but a quick bout of jogging in a circle causes the green section of the bar to shorten towards the bottom. So that''s Stamina, then. Red, Green, Blue. Fairly standard stuff. When green means stamina blue usually means mana, which implies magic.


    I sit down in a comfortable and relatively bug-free nook in the roots of a larger oak tree and start to meditate, seeking some inner energy or to absorb world energy or whatever, calling on my past years of martial arts training (which I''ve not practiced in over a decade. I''m no schlub but I''m hardly a Bruce Lee either. In a real fight I''d exercise the time tested Robin Style: bravely run away.). I recall enough of my old training and chuuni style of thinking to try the qigung exercises I''d learned before I accepted that none of that stuff was empirically sound¡­ and I give it long enough that I''m now sitting in shadow. Thirst starts to get the better off my concentration and I accept it''s not gonna happen. Maybe that blue bar is just a glitch, or it means something else. I decide to just ignore it for now.


    Okay. Next up. Have to accept that I''m on my own wits here, in what would appear to be late spring by the number of leaves on the trees. I have no idea if I''m the only human being on the planet. If I''m even on a planet. It''s almost certain that if I encounter anything that has language and makes tools that I won''t be able to communicate. Though the fact that I recognize grass and oak trees and millipedes means I''m probably in familiar evolutionary territory. The HUD means there''s likely exceptions to that assertion. In any case, I''m not going to last very long if I stay where I am now.


    I do an immediate surroundings check to see what''s potentially useful in the vicinity of where I woke up. As I do, to keep my mind busy, I keep an eye out for saplings that are between thumb and wrist thickness. There''s a few nearby, though I can''t tell what kind of tree they are really; the bark is green but the leaves are completely round. Finding one with few branches, I bend it over with a foot and start whacking against the base with a relatively flat river rock I found. No idea what kind of stone, except that it''s grey and a little weathered. After a few minutes -- mostly because I''m keeping an eye on my green bar to ensure I don''t wear myself out, I have a decent walking stick.


    Next up is collecting the loose stones and sticks I''ve found and building a recognizable feature so I can have a hope of finding this spot again when I inevitably leave to go find food and water.


    Walking stick in one hand whacking away at undergrowth to keep a clear path, and that smooth stone in the other, I begin to make my way in what I have decided is a generally northerly direction -- based on the way the shadows grew over me during my second failed experiment at understanding my newfound circumstances. So hey, at least I got something out of it. My progress is fairly slow as blazing larger oak trees with a river rock isn''t exactly easy-going, but it''s not like I''ve got a GPS to work with, here.


    ~~------------~~


    Welp. The inevitable has happened. My fool self managed to not pay enough attention and cut my shin on something sharp. A thorn of some kind of bush. It was bleeding badly enough that I had to hold my hand down over it and press an oak leaf against it as the best I could do bandage-wise, cursing up a storm as I did. Afterwards I noticed two things. One: that red bar inched downwards minutely, and second -- the body "map" showed a bright orange-yellow spot on the same shin. No idea what to make of that. Both an overall health and a localized injury display? Useful I guess but usually overkill.


    At least it wasn''t worse. But I''m going to need some kind of protection if I''m going to keep on keeping on. Not that I have any clue what that might be or how to make it.


    I keep on trekking north for about as much further as it was before I got cut on that thorn, before I finally realize that the orange-yellow spot is completely gone. No idea how long ago that was, but I carefully peel away that crusted-on oak leaf and discover I can barely see a scratch. On the one hand -- mixed signals much? On the other -- at least I don''t have to worry quite so much about dying from minor injuries.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Come to think of it, why am I not thirstier than I am? It''s starting to get annoying, sure, but I''m not aching of thirst despite far more exertion than I normally engage in. Gah¡­ file under worry later. For now, this trekking through deciduous forest thing isn''t helping me very much in finding shelter, let alone water or food. Time to up the ante. And by up I mean that literally. I climb up the tallest tree I can find nearby, as far as I''m comfortable going without having to break the three-points-of-contact rule. It gets me far enough to see over most of the trees in the area and allows me to look for breaks in the canopy. It''s a long-shot but I definitely see what looks like a small rise to the east that''s near what I hope to be a medium stream or small river. There''s another of these super-oaks near there too. It''s a destination, though I have no idea how long the day is here or how long it''ll actually take me to get there.


    Still, a goal''s a goal.


    ~~------------~~


    I feel like I''ve been walking for hours, and I can''t really tell how much daylight is left. But there''s definitely not a whole lot left. I''ve been periodically climbing the smaller trees in order to orient myself correctly towards the larger tree, using my trusty flat rock to scrape blaze marks on the trees I pass. Good thing to note: always make sure you do both sides of the tree you''re blazing, but only in the "direction" of travel. Don''t do a full ring: you want to be able to spot the marks easily on both the way to and the way from your destination.


    I''ve kept a weather eye out for any more of those thorny bushes, and I''ve actually been collecting broken-off thorns from a few as I went. Seriously, the thorns are two inches long. I''m sure I''ll get some use out of the bastards at some point. Tried to look for dry moss or loose bark as well, but haven''t really had any luck there. Not looking forward to trying to make my first fire. I''ll still try for it, though.


    When I get to the second "super oak", I decide I''ve gone far enough without having a solid look around. I climb up again in the afternoon light and take another look around.


    Jackpot. There''s five small-medium streams that are feeding into a pond with crystal-clear water. No sign of an exiting flow but the other side of the pond appears to have those oak trees growing out like mangroves.


    "Huh. Didn''t think oak trees grew that way. Probably don''t. Meh. Checklist time! Shelter: can probably make a lean-to out of this here uberoak. Water: clear, flowing, and copious. Best I can do for now. Food: I''m guessing there''s fish in that pond I can trap. Even if I can''t make a fire people have survived on raw fish before. Fun, fun!"


    Yeah, I''m talking to myself. Yeah, it''s forced optimism. Fight me, me. Come at me.


    I look around the effectively-a-clearing around the oversized oak -- seriously, they''re four or five times taller than the other trees in the area, and there''s no way any sapient foresters don''t use them for landmarks if they exist.


    Speaking of things that may or may not exist, where there''s a HUD and super-healing, there''s almost certainly things that go "bump" in the night. My original thought of setting up a lean-to is now in retrospect seeming less than stellar as ideas go.


    Unfortunately, I haven''t a lot of great options, here. I do find a spot where two roots as thick as I am wide meet and arch up a little, though, as they meet the tree itself. Between them and a bunch of broken dead limbs from the tree I''m able to drag in place, I manage to make an area that requires a bit of effort for me to crawl into. A little creative post-holing with my walking stick and I have reinforced those limbs a little further. To do any better than this I''m going to have to see if there''s different plants down by the pond I can use: the ground-cover here is all low leafy stuff, no grasses or vines.


    A short trek down to the water later and I''ve tasted the sweetest fluid I''ve ever imbibed¡­ and hopefully won''t kill me. Fun times. I do notice a few glints in the seriously crystal-clear water and some sizeable rocks. Fish, crawfish¡­ reeds. Grasses. Over in the "mangrove" area there''s plenty of the stuff. The shore of the pond''s rocky but gets sandier the closer to the mangroves you get. My toes squelch as I make my way through to the reeds, collecting dead grasses and reeds as well as live/fresh ones, all in one giant double-armful of material.


    I get all the way back to my makeshift tree-hovel before I realize I should have also made a fish-trap, as there''s basically no chance in hell I''ll successfully spear-fish anything this week. Remembering what little I''d learned from watching survival shows on science channels, I start sucking on some of the live grass just to have flavor while focusing on getting my shelter finished.


    I''ve never made rope grass before, but a half-remembered YouTube video guides my hands as I start twisting a thumb-thick bunch of grass together. A few false starts later and I''ve gotten the basic idea of it down, and it goes far quicker than I''d thought. The length of the pond grass and its overall stiffness, I''m hoping, will let me bind together thigh-thick branches to make a decent wall and roof over my root-nook so that I''ll be safe in case something wolf-sized decides it likes the smell of human meat.


    I even manage to put together what amounts to a ramshackle door with a "latch" -- it''s just an upright tree stem in a hole surrounded by pounded-in rocks and wrist-thick branches bound together with grass-rope, with a loop on the inside that I can stick my walking-stick through and wedge in place against the roof, but it''s better than an open hole.


    The whole thing takes up most of my remaining sunlight to build, but it does actually have enough space for me to stand up and move around a little in, so I''ll call it a win. The ease with which I made the grass rope even gave me the idea of trying to make a hammock since it''s clear I''m not going to get a fire tonight and I''d rather risk going hungry than getting some fish parasite, so I need to do something with my time. The end product there is¡­ not the best. I wind up working into the night on it, thanks to a third, larger moon providing enough light to see by. What I finally wind up with is far from comfortable -- loose bits of grass poke out at me and there''s a few spots where the cross-twine just breaks -- but it''s a hell of a lot better than sleeping naked in the dirt. And it certainly keeps my mind off of the sounds I hear outside of my hopefully wolf-proof hovel.


    The upshot to that kind of stress, though, is that it makes it easy not to stay focused on how hungry you are.

 2 - A Sense of Achievment

    I wake up to the distinctly unpleasant feeling of something fuzzy on my nose.  In my half-awakened groggy state I swing a half-closed fist at it with some force, and that''s when I wake up completely and realize that what I''d just knocked off was some sort of tarantula-like spider.  It''s also when I scream like an eight year old girl upon, well, seeing a spider the size of one''s own fist at less than a head''s distance away.


    The ensuing tumble of panic results in my being unceremoniously tumbled from my crappy hammock, eyes wildly scanning for the unwelcome intruder or any of it''s minions.  I find only its corpse, and that''s when I notice a gold-green glowing mist -- just a faint trace of one -- flowing from it to me. That bar with a zero at the bottom of my HUD immediately fills two thirds of the way from the left to the right, and I take further stock of what my HUD is showing me to reveal that there''s a sickly purple-red mark on my upper chest / collar area in the body display.


    I point my finger in the direction of the spider and yell, "Did you bite me you little fucker?!", and smash it with my trusty rock one more time just to be sure it''s dead. I try to look at myself in that area but can''t actually see anything, as the angle just isn''t to my advantage.  It is, however, now daylight out and as a result I find the confidence to make the trip down to the pond to see if I am indeed short for this world.


    Slightly out of breath, I''m careful not to block the morning light as I face eastward towards the pond and examine myself.  What I see isn''t¡­ a great sign. There''s a purplish-red swollen lump, around two clear puncture marks, but no angry red streaks or blackish pustules or yellow seepage or anything.  So I''ve definitely been affected by some kind of poisonous bite, and definitely worse than a simple bee sting, but I didn''t just encounter a giant recluce or something.  I''ll just have to keep an eye on it and hope super-healing works on venomous bites as well as thorn scratches.


    In short order I''ve taken care of the usual affairs of morning ablutions as best I can given my technical sophistication is currently "a hole under a log and out of smelling range", calming down as I notice that there''s a mild aching from the eight legged bastard''s bite but it''s not getting worse.  The drop in adrenaline finally hits me and I decide that it''s time to get some food in my stomach.


    Most of the morning is consumed in the three separate fish traps I set up.  No idea if any of them will even have the slightest hope of working, but the basic idea of a fish trap is fairly simple:  find a spot where fish are likely to go, and then make it really easy to go one way into a confined area from that spot. I then spend a couple of hours trying to find tubers or roots to add into the mix.  I''m doing this on a decided hunch: that the HUD will make it easier to tell if something is poisonous on account of how the spider bite was a different color than the thorn scratch. Because ultimately that''s the only meaningful difference I can detect between the two.  Happily, as it turns out, whatever super-healing I have now does work on asshole spider bites.  I actually find something that looks a bit like a fairly sad carrot or maybe a radish, and it passes the skin rub and tongue-touch test pretty readily, so with a gimlet eye on my HUD I take my first bite of something digestible in a day and a half.


    It¡­  actually it crunches a lot like an over-raw potato. It tastes a little oily, and even as hungry as I am is unpleasant.  But it''s not sour, and the HUD gives me no warning signs. What I''m doing is still reckless, but right now my primary thought is that maybe it''ll go down easier it if baked along with some pond fish.


    But therein lies my next challenge -- actually starting a fire.  My efforts at tinder-spotting yesterday were useless but today I am more determined.  Plus there''s dried-out reed fluff and I can scrape oak bark for shavings with a sharp-ish rock from one of the streams.  I even manage to make a grass-twine bow to get a friction source to get going. It''s still mid afternoon, and I''ve gotten very, very acquainted with the relationship between my green bar and how exhausted I am.  Seriously, eighteen tries just to get a small spark, only to blow too hard and put it out. It only takes another three attempts at exhausting myself afterwards to avoid making that same mistake again. My next few moments, not gonna lie, a little manic.


    "I have made fire!  Behold, the awe and glory of technology!  I am become Vishnu, destroyer of worlds!!!".  I''m so caught up in my pyromaniac glee that I completely fail to notice my experience bar flashing before my eyes.


    The textual popup that comes next, however, definitely gets my attention.


    << Congratulations!  By altering your environment to suit your needs and the construction and use of a tool comprised of multiple components and materials, you have acquired the racial feature:  ''Technologist''! Construct or designate a research station to progress down this path, and learn more! >>


    Oh.  Oh, this changes everything.  But first ¡­ grilled pond "trout" and carrotato a la chateau hovel.


    ¡­ So, it turns out those carotatos actually do taste better when baked/grilled.  Probably not so much when charred and a little burnt, but I''m hardly in a position to claim expertise here.  Speaking of lacking expertise, the damned popup tease gave no hints or menus or what-have-yous for actually doing that "constructing or designating" of research stations.  And to make matters worse, I''m running out of daylight again and my little shelter needs a serious pick-me-up if I''m going to avoid being spiderbait again¡­ or worse.


    I cast that gimlet eye again at the shelter I had made for myself.  It was barely tall enough to stand in -- if you were near the tree-side that is; it loses half of its height on the way to the side with a door.  There are gaps in spots of the wall and roof I can stick my closed fist through. It would have absolutely no chance of keeping out rain, or wind.  I was maybe too focused on the whole "lions and tigers and bears!" thing yesterday. But. It''s at least a decent beginning.


    I head on back to the patch of waist-high grass and reeds and proceed to once again make grass rope.  This time, however, it''s so that I can carry a heavy bale/bundle of bound reed and haygrass -- I''m calling it haygrass -- back by slinging it over my shoulder. This gives me plenty of material to work with on fewer trips and after what can''t be more than three hours I''ve added tied-down thatching to the roof of my little hut.  I''ve also gathered a bunch of river rocks and mud and piled them up against the exterior wall except where my door is. That, I wove reeds into, to make a hopefully effective spider barrier against.  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Granted, it now makes my tree home much darker now inside, but c''est la vie.  My only lightsource now is fiery in nature and until I can make a chimney/fireplace¡­  I''ll take dark over suicidal.


    By the time I''m completely done with the door, the fire I built is almost burned down.  I seem to recall something about checking or banking fires so they''ll be re-stokable the next day but I''ll be damned if I actually know how to do that.  On the off chance it might work, though, I toss a pair of logs into the cinders and try to cover them loosely with loose dirt.


    I go to bed my second night in this new world very exhausted, very naked, and slightly hopeful.


    ~~------------~~


    My third morning on this alien rock is ¡­ well, better than the second.  No spiderzillas, yay! Hammock falling apart ¡­meh. No live cinders in the firepit outside the hovel, ugh!  Cold leftover baked fish for breakfast¡­ at least I don''t have to worry about starving to death now.


    I sit down by the cool firepit and for the sheer convenience of it start scratching bullet points down in the dirt next to me with a stick, listing priorities for myself.  They look a little something like this:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Naked == bad.  Grass kilt? Need Better.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Hovel. Chimney? How?</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Foooooooood.  Plant carrotatoes. Others.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Research! How?</li>


    </ul>


    I won''t even claim to have been caught entirely off-guard when the last item disappeared and I got a HUDful of bold popup again.


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked:  Paleolithic Era. >>


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked:  Mesolithic Era. >>


    << Requirements met. Specific tech field unlocked:  Primitive Deciduous Survival. >>


    I just about blacked out, however, with the sheer amount of information that I suddenly knew.  How to knap flint like a pro.  How to make charcoal. How to tan leathers and hunt game. How to weave cloth from greatoak bark fiber. The naturally edible berries, nuts, bugs, and tubers around the forest -- and those edible with processing. Centuries -- no, dozens of centuries -- of cultural techniques and know-how accumulated by entire populations, poured into my head all in a matter of seconds.


    The instant I got my head back together I knew exactly what I needed to do. I would not go another day in free Willy mode, damnit!   I was so focused on achieving that noble goal that I practically didn''t even notice how auto-pilot it felt to climb the tree my hovel was built against high enough to find the suppler bark, strip it only from younger unforked branches, and begin the process of properly hand-separating and weaving the fibers into a burlap-like fabric. It should have been unsettling to instantly become as skilled as an expert who spent the entirety of forty years performing this task, but¡­ compared to everything else I''d already been through?


    I was going to have pants, damnit!


    ~~------------~~


    Okay, so scratchy pants are going to take some getting used to in the absence of smallclothes.  But to simply not be naked for the first time in three days?  Yeah. It''s the little things you miss. Like warm, plentiful, and tasty food.  That won''t slowly poison you like carrotatoes will unless you smoke them and then boil them.  Traitor carrotatoes.


    Still, crisis averted I suppose.  Speaking of crisis averted, those little unlocks have given me a hint as to how I can advance further.  Now that I have cultural background relevant to the history this system seems to be based around, I understand what I did earlier.  Tribal lorekeepers were also fire tenders, and the act of trying to figure something out next to a kept (if cold) fire?  That triggered the research station "designation". Right now I''m working on the hypothesis that demonstrating knowledge of some sort advances research unlocks, which then fill in the gaps.  My little hovel and fish traps were "tall" conceptually, so I got a "wide" info money shot right to the cerebellum.


    From here, I''m pretty sure I can easily pick up neolithic, but crossing into the Chalcolithic or Bronze ages is going to be¡­ tricky, without access to the means to actually build stuff from those eras what with the whole "not having access to mines or resource trading partners".  I can only hope that the tech tree is more flexible than that. I''ll have to futz around and see if I can get "hidden" unlocks. Maybe ¡­ hmm¡­ worth a shot?


    I sit my non-bare ass down before the now-properly banked firepit and begin the process of creating a "proper" set of tools for myself, including a knapped and wood-handled stone hatchet made by splitting a small oak sapling of suitable size, tamping down the flint head, and then binding it in place with greatoak fiber¡­  no, I''m calling it burlap ¡­ with burlap cloth bindings quadruple-knotted to guarantee it won''t slip.  I repeat the process for a pair of blunt throwing hammers and a hunting/fishing spear.  I then scrawl with one of the giant thorns on oak bark next to the fire a picture of a recurve bow and another of a stone cottage with windowpanes and a small stepped garden.  I scribble about tera preta and kugelculture fertilization for the farming, and add a bullet point that just reads "carrotato cultivars -- how soon?"


    << Requirements met. General tech level unlocked: Neolithic era. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked:  Primitive directed agriculture. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked:  Primitive sustainable agriculture. >>


    I smile viciously as I feel to be starting to get a sense of this whole thing.  I once again attempt to meditate and perform those qigong exercises I had before to no avail and then scribbled down again about needing a way to sense mana and utilize it.  The response I got next was¡­ well, it was better than nothing at all, but at the same time not.


    << Arcanism level


    not attainable for races with Technologist trait without exposure to Eldritch entities of at least arcanism level  <Classical Eldritch Investment> or equivalent. >>


    Not even slightly ominous. That can only end well. Everything is fine.

 3 - Growth Mindset

    So.  A full week of being on this bizarre -- and likely Lovecraftian -- hell-rock and life was ¡­ alright.  The only thing keeping me marginally sane at this point was also, frankly, likely also the very same thing that will drive me completely bonkers, assuming I wasn''t not already there.  An assumption I was just not willing to make at this point.


    I was worried, before, about how much further I could advance that Technologist "racial feature", and how I might unlock other features, especially after that Arcanism "nastygram".  It sort of stood to reason that the earlier or simpler technologies might be easier to unlock -- like the lower experience levels of  RPGs -- given that''s standard fare for gaming venues; as you get more advanced it gets harder to keep advancing. How that worked with the General tech levels, though, was rather headache inducing.


    I''d spotted the underlying flaw with advancing the "ordinary" way right off of the bat, though:  there are steps that simply cannot be traversed by solo actors. The Eldritch Awakening thing just confirmed I wasn''t locked into one path, but as par for the course it didn''t give me a new path forward once I reached the stumbling block of the Chalcolithic/Bronze eras.  I not only did not, but could not gain access to metals with the means currently available to me. At least, not enough to actually go any further, and even then not without immense amounts of tedious effort that might not even succeed.


    So instead I just kept trying random thoughts that popped into my head.  And I''d had a little success there, albeit not all in ways I''d even want to succeed.  For example, the Primitive Sanguinism unlock.  I now knew all there was to know about how to bleed on stuff.  Yeah. Except that actually does things.


    By leaking out one tenth of my total blood -- which it turns out my "health bar" seems to be -- onto a batch of ten to fifteen carrotatoes, I could force them to be fully grown in the same amount of time it would take me to heal up;  about a third of a day. So at least now I wouldn''t have to scrounge so much for food, right? Of course I had to take that a step further with my Primitive directed agriculture.  Three generations a day, a dozen trials per generation.  It took six generations to tame the silver fox. Plants, it turns out, are somewhat more recalcitrant.  After twelve generations I was maybe a quarter of the way there. I''d doubled their size so their taproots were now half-again the size of an ordinary carrot and quartered the poisonousness of their wild breed.  They were still oily and not exactly pleasant, and I was still working on a monoculture. In a month''s time? Yeah.


    The sanguinism thing I could just accuse of being related to my funky healing ability.  The kind of quality-of-life adjustment that comes with having a built-in HUD display as a stone-age primitive.  What absolutely did not work for me however was the knowledge and expertise that came with the General tech level:  Early Stonepunk era.


    I mean, how I got it was bad enough.  It had come when I threw that damned spiderzilla into the firepit to, y''know, achieve the only way to be sure. Or, rather, the next day when I discovered that its exoskeleton had not burned in the fire, but had melted and obtained a consistency similar to copper.  Wondering what to do with that aloud by the firepit dinged my brain with all manner of utter nonsense.


    The upshot of which was that I was now systematically hunting down every last spiderzilla in reachable vicinity in order to obtain their sweet, sweet, "chitinite".  Which -- it''s as crazy as it sounds -- if one happens to melt first and then toss in any other animal''s bones, will give you "ossium". And ossium? Ossium is stonepunk for bronze.  It''s like being trapped in a real-life version of modded Rimworld, damnit. I never picked up actual materials science but I know enough to know that bone does not melt. Let alone alloy with chitin.


    Whatever.  I may be degenerating into gibberish delusion but at least I get to be a little more comfortable about things now.  Having a proper postholer and spade has made farming much easier. I''ve even gotten a recurve bow with an ossium leaf spring because of course what animal you get the actual bone from affects the ossium alloy.  I got to unlock Basic Stonepunk Armaments as a result of that creation.  Which in turn also began to inform me of the tiering framework my oh-so-helpful system uses:  basic is better than primitive. Who knew? As much as I don''t want to admit it, I''m going to wind up making myself an ossium scale breastplate and bracers at some point.  Even though the stuff literally looks like shaped bone out of a Lovecraft novel.


    It''s not all bad, though.  I''ve got that fireplace in my hovel now.  And a proper door, with an ossium latch handle and deadbolt.  Did I mention that I''ve been systematically expunging those spiderzillas?  Because as it turns out¡­ I apparently had found myself in the position of needing to literally farm the bastards.


    Which would be how I had come to in turn find myself sitting in the canopy of yet another greatoak, attempting to carefully expunge the life of a mature female spider without also killing the egg pouch attached to its abdomen.  The idea here being to sequestrate the various eggs into separate containers and allow them to hatch near enough to detect each other, and killing off any that make aggressive moves. This clutch being merely the fourth of many I''d need to pull this off.  Honestly I couldn''t even tell if I should be happy about my Sanguinism working on the physics-mocking arachnids.


    Anyone who ever told you that it was impossible to miss a stationary target the size of a cat as an expert marksman from less than twenty feet away, by the way, never anticipated the cat like object being in the shape of an ambush spider.  Only thing that would make the shits worse would be if they could somehow fling their silk around like a weapon. Which they can''t, by the way. I checked.


    It took me three shots to kill the momma nightmare fuel before I could get one in that counted¡­ because my target was currently inbound directly to my face on a straight trajectory.  ¡­ Yeah, she was big one, alright. Damn was I glad these things aren''t eusocial.


    Once I had the corpse and its cargo secured in my burlap carryall bag, I took the opportunity to look around out over the canopy again.  Still not much really worth seeing. What looked like another, larger, pond or lake in the southwest. It would be a day or so''s solid hike to get there.  Three days'' hike for the me that first woke up here and didn''t have expert-level navigational skills. Either way, not really worth the effort except as a possible fall-back in case something goes very pear-shaped in hovel town.


    ~~------------~~


    First thing I did once I got back from my little trip to the westerly greatoak was to set the latest spider''s corpse in the stone crucible I''d created in order to melt it down.  I still had some rabbit bone I could use to make enough ossium to replace the arrow heads I didn''t bother to retrieve. The meat would be going to the spiderlings I was rearing in this little experiment of mine.  I''d worry about the number of animals I was killing off but considering how I''d also killed one of the more profligate predators in the area, it was almost like a deer-hunter thing. Kill off all the wolves and the deer will feast themselves into famine.  Only here it was rabbits and rats.  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I had yet to find any big game trails but my survival knowledge told me that there were bears and wolves and some kind of big cat in these forests.  Honestly I wasn''t too worried about them at this point -- the fencing and fire smell would keep them away and if not, they were much poorer at dodging than damned spiderzillas.  Looking at my little patch of carrotatoes reminded me, however, that my domestication projects could take much longer than I really wanted, so while I tended the firepit, I wrote down some thoughts about how the sanguinism stuff might work a little better for me.  I knew that it seemed to work on the healing properties of my blood but was that really all it could do? Old myths of the properties of blood make it clear it inherits or passes on traits. Could I do something similar, here? Take for example the degree of domestication I''ve put the carrotatoes through and do, maybe, some sort of alchemic essence gathering from their juices to catalyze my blood into that direction?  I would need equipment obviously¡­ I drew out on the scrap bark sheet a depiction what I was imagining an alchemist''s lab to be for a while and was starting to get a feel for the concept when I got a special delivery all my very own.


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Basic sanguinism. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked:  Primitive alchemy. >>


    I¡­  really should have expected this.  The new information hit me with migraine intensity right in the ol'' pineal gland, and I couldn''t really say it was all that surprising. Just¡­ extensive.  What was surprising, however, was that much of what I was learning seemed to be lumped into three real categories:  the ''conventional'' alchemy, a.k.a. the ancient precursor to chemistry; the ''Stonepunk'' alchemy, which was honestly more just weird than really bizarre;  and the ''obviously incomplete data that will kill you if you try it'' alchemy.


    I at this point found myself with a great deal of information to sort through but the happy news was that it all came together -- the directed agriculture, the alchemy, and the sanguinism -- to make what I was trying to accomplish feasible in days rather than weeks.  Most of that time spent, of course, on constructing a laboratory. Eldritch abominations help me but this was going to push me into the Middle Stonepunk era, wasn''t it. There was just no way that couldn''t happen. I mean¡­ this thing I was going to build would look like it came out of the Flintstones almost. Or more like a Conan movie.


    The things I do for creature comforts like regular food that won''t kill me, medicines for diseases, and a way to protect myself in case I''m attacked by the goblins or orcs or bugbears or whatever the hell I was convinced had to also be out there.


    ~~------------~~


    It wound up taking me two full days'' worth of effort to make the new alchemy shack. The construction of the building itself was relatively rapid, actually -- I had built it as a fairly basic square, directly opposite the firepit from my hovel.  Even the part where I used more stone than wood in its construction somehow managed not to take that long. One of the odder benefits of the Stonepunk tech tree was an uncanny knack for knowing exactly how to choose when and how to place stone or chisel it to get exactly the right shape from anything built with it.  I was certain for example that hand made stone wheels were never actually used for carts or wheelbarrows, yet I knew how to make them to a better performance than even an ossium-bound wooden wheel¡­ and quicker, too. The stone geared windmill I built adjacent to the alchemy lab was a particularly ''inspired'' touch, though.  I''d needed some reliable form of ventilation for the brewing area so of course the correct answer is physics-mocking river rock derived gears.  At least the actual fan blades were burlap on wood.


    The interior of the lab was, of course, quite well lit all things considered.  Even though I knew exactly how and why the polishing techniques I used on the limestone rocks I''d chosen as diffuse reflectors for the basic sconces I had installed worked, a small corner of my mind refused to believe hand-executed techniques using bone could accomplish what I was seeing.  And seeing it all put together almost had me wanting to move my hammock into the lab instead of the hovel.


    The only challenge there would then be that there wasn''t enough room inside the lab for just that, what with the stone desk and chair, the stone alembic and ossium brazier and piping -- for the heat transference of course. The ossium cauldron tucked away in a separate corner with a stone wood-burning furnace to heat it, itself represented several dozen dead spiderzillas, a feat worthy of celebration in my mind.  The fact that the cauldron could only be used for more basic reactions and brews was offset by the fact that they would be able to be done comparatively speaking in bulk.


    It was a thing of beauty, however, to draw out the alchemic "essence" of domestication in my carrotatoes by neutralizing the carrotato essence with it''s negated feral tubers'' essence.  Said final result honestly looked like little more than a milky-white sludge in its reflectively polished granite vial when I finally separated it, but the results truly spoke for themselves when I applied the first batch to the latest generation of carrotatoes.  The twelve new tubers I produced roughly half a day later were almost indistinguishable from orange potatoes, and were completely non-toxic.


    If anything I was a little surprised the process worked as well as it did, but considering I''d just gone through two full days of "tinker fugue", I wasn''t going to complain about finally having a staple food source.  The next bit would be tricky, though -- domesticating an obligate predator into a docile farm animal. I''d need to mix things up with the domestication essence and the closest I could get to "herbivore" essence from the rabbits I was still trapping for feeding purposes to the juvenile spiderzillas.


    Yeah.  I''d need to tech up before trying that one for real.


    I went to the firepit with my sketchbark in hand and immediately received a prompt I was worried I would receive:


    << Research station insufficient.  Please designate new station. >>


    At least I was prepared for this. I walked back into my newfangled stoneage genetics wizardry lab and sat down by the as yet unused second desk, furthest from the entrance.  On the work area there was a trio of comparatively thin reed-paper stacks bound by rings of ossium, a glassy-finished granite vial containing a mixture of fish-oil and charcoal, an ossium-tipped quill, and a large clay "scratch" slate, with a wooden ossium-tipped carving stylus.


    I began writing out my thoughts about the potential uses for clear quartz and directed/stored light as I understood it from the little was available in the Early Stonepunk Era infodump.  How it could be harnessed via reflectors for cooking, how it could be used for long-distance communication using grown-quartz emitters and Morse code from towers or especially tall trees.  I began writing about how mirror-finished precision quartzite gears could perform superior mechanical power transference, and even sketched out a full windmill-backed water pumping solution.  It would rely on shaped quartz solar concentration to fully disinfect a small water tower without ruining its natural alkaline balance.


    It wasn''t, however, until I began to transfer these sketches into the reedpaper books that I began to receive the notifications I had anticipated¡­ and then some.


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked:  Middle Stonepunk Era. >>


    << Requirements met. Specific tech field unlocked:  Basic Deciduous Survival. >>


    << Requirements met. Specific tech field unlocked:  Standard Deciduous Survival. >>


    << Requirements met. Specific tech field unlocked:  Basic Alchemy. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Primitive Quartzite Manipulation.>>


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked:  Late Stonepunk Era. >>


    << Requirements met. Specific tech field unlocked:  Standard Alchemy. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Basic Quartzite Manipulation. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Primitive Optics. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Primitive Sanitation. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Basic Sanitation. >>


    << ¡­ >>


    I fell to the cobblestone floor as the wave of information overwhelmed me, a groaned half-expletive escaping my lips just before I blacked out.

 4 - Creative Solutions Yield Creative Problems

    I had no idea how long I had been lying on the floor of my new alchemy laboratory before waking up, excepting that it was now fully dark and the various light sources I''d set up were now burnt out.  I did know, however, that I was intentionally holding off on processing the sheer volume of information I had just forcibly memorized as a result of my use of the new research workdesk.


    "Should have known better, man.  Why in the hell did you hold back on upgrading?  Of course you''d get more unlocks or delayed unlocks at the upgraded station.  It''s like you''ve never even techtreed you nitwit! Now what the hell is Quartzite Manipu¡­ oh.  Oh well that''s just broken. Daddy likey."


    I''ll summarize for the remote chance that somehow my mental diary reaches the hands of someone who doesn''t already know:  the Stonepunk tech base is an odd one in that unlike later "punk" techtrees, it mostly doesn''t have any opportunities for outright magitek.  Oh, there''s stuff that honestly should not work in there, but it at least wears a domino mask when doing that stuff and pretends to be mild mannered physics by day.  There''s one (or two, depending on how you look at it) major exception to that claim, however, but it comes with some limitations and challenges. See, if the Early Stonepunk era is defined as being the bronze age but with weird bone shenanigans instead of bronze, then the Middle Stonepunk era would be defined as a sort of late classical era.  Better ossium formulations by including "essence" (thus taking on the role of iron or steel), stone gear systems that could do what Romans or early Medieval monks did with wooden gears, and a very faint smattering of customized domesticated animals and plants. But the Late Stonepunk era? That''s defined as being closer to the Industrial Age. Almost a sort of bridging gap with "more conventional" steampunk ideas.  You''d expect highly customized animals doing manual labor like tilling fields, or perfect voice imitation messenger birds smart enough to go to a number of destinations, leeches that actually eat diseased blood and tissue but nothing else¡­ that sort of thing. The "one" exception mentioned earlier? It was what I had accidentally focused on in my ''research'': the use of quartz crystals to manipulate light. It''s important to know that this couldn''t be done to the extent the Computer age accomplishes, but ¡­ it could come fairly close.  And the reason for that, is that it''s not actually quartz.  It''s "crystallized essence of quartz" -- AKA quartzite.  This in turn lets the rocks shape and to some extent interact with or control the "essence" of (mostly visible) light.  And that gets you Morse code flashlights, street lamps, disinfectant beams, quartzite ovens¡­ crystal heat ray guns¡­


    In case you missed that last one: stone age light weapons.  Yeah. Ones that recharge by being left to bask in the sun, basically.  Of course this is an outright violation of the laws of physics, which is where the Stonepunk alchemy emphasis again comes into play.  Because as it turns out? The "essence of light"? Not that far from "proper mana".  I still couldn''t be a Wizard, Harry.  But¡­ maybe, just maybe? I wouldn''t need to look on the face of Yog-Sothoth to dabble my toes in those waters someday.


    For the time being, however, one thing was absolutely certain:  men who can build laserguns do not live in dirt hovels.  Time for an overhaul.  Well first time for a bath, then a meal, then some proper sleep in my hovel and then an overhaul, because as it turns out I''d been building up quite a bit of infrastructural technical debt by trying to speedrun past the Stonepunk stuff while holding my nose at the whole affair when I could have been relaxing in style.


    ~~------------~~


    The first thing I did once I''d taken care of the utterly basic self-care I''d been subjecting myself to up until this point was to actually complete the project that induced my moment of head-meets-floor enlightenment:  those damned spiderzillas. With my newfound improved comprehension of the role alchemy plays in the Stonepunk technology tree, I found it far easier to isolate the ''herbivore'' trait from rabbits -- by a process of intermediary steps involving the essence of the domestic carrotato as a catalyst, basically.  This then mixed in nicely with the essence of domestication and¡­ it still required four full forced generations to get the desired changes to stick.


    Once it was done, however, I found myself in the possession of pig-sized herbivorous arachnids with about as much going on behind their oversized black soulless eyes as a cow that had entered catatonia due to chronic PTSD. I still wasn''t about to eat anything resultant from the things, but at least from now on it would be easy a pie to get ahold of chitinite. I did, however, keep a very well contained small population of the feral variety in case I ever again needed "pure" spiderzilla essence.


    After seeing the end result of my abomination against nature, I felt that I had the seed of a proper workhorse for future projects I might have. Like trained workspiders for hauling things for me or tending the carrotato and other crops I would eventually start to grow in my little abode.  Their ability to travel vertically may be stunted compared to their feral cousins, but I could easily shrink a gardener variety back down and take advantage of quartzite to start vertical hydroponic farming. Because I could. And because some inkling in the back of my head kept telling me that I really ought to start consider those goblins and bugbears I''d been dismissing from my thoughts due to having seen no signs of anything like them.


    To get all of that done in a reasonable timeframe however would require multiple cartload hauls of stone from the pond, and I was done doing that labor myself.  I took one of the stolid spiders and with a bit of rope tied it to my handcart, using the remainder of the rope as a lead to pull it into following me. The sheer convenience of not having to worry about how much the cart was weighing was an immense relief to the whole process;  getting river/pond rocks back up near the greatoak took half the time to haul twice as many as before.


    I felt a little remorseful, almost, at taking down the hovel once and for all, but it had done its job diligently and it was time for something¡­ better.  Allowing myself to slip back into the builder fugue, I trusted in my new if bizarre architectural skills to construct me something far better than what I''d had before.


    ~~------------~~


    Okay.  Just how long was I ''under''?  My old hovel was a regular triangular shape with about twenty feet on each side.  I was now looking at a two-story cottage with a stairway where my hovel used to be leading up to the entrance, which was built into the greatoak.  I mean¡­ there''s just no way this only took one day to accomplish.  Not with just me and some truly dumb muscle.


    Even if I am now the proud owner of a set of black-ossium quartzite power tools. When did I even¡­  well that''s a little scary. Reviewing my own memories informs me that fugue-me had apparently decided that being trusted to know what to do included using "experimental" essence tonics on myself, allowing for increased speed, strength, stamina¡­  I appear not to have slept for five days, and will very much need to crash soon. My poor red bar is hovering at about one-third full. But at least none of those tonics appear to have had lasting transformative effects. And hey -- heated jacuzzi tub.  Okay, fugue-me.  You win this round.


    It''s the next morning by the time I take a look around my little base to see what hath been wrought.  I''d apparently focused mostly on upgrading the home, but I also definitely followed through on the water tower and quartzite "street lamps".  The quartzite security fencing and interior ossium barbed wire is an interesting touch for the farm area, though. Not as nice as actually having interior lighting again. Just being able to wake up without eyestrain was one of those quality-of-life things that you notice immensely when you get it back after losing it. Flushing toilets you feel the absence of throughout and notice it. But switchable interior lighting? That only hits you when you have it back.


    Seriously, two floors ¡­ oh and a root cellar.  A temperature controlled root cellar because of course there¡¯s an infrared-absorbing quartzite crystal in there shining softly as it radiates that same energy as visible light.  ¡­ Why would I build a spare bedroom though? I get the main room, the kitchen/dining area, and the currently bookless study. But two bedrooms each with their own separate dedicated bathroom?  Fugue-me, what were you thinking? Eh. Can¡¯t fault a guy for acts of blind optimism as defiance of the void. Plus, heated jacuzzi tub. Many sins can be thus forgiven.


    On to the day.  Carrotato plot was apparently growing rather nicely.  Made an attempt at diluting the ¡®ordinary¡¯ usage of sanguinism to affect more tubers at less comparative cost. No real way of measuring if it worked or not, but the idea of not having to cut myself so often -- even if with a razor-sharp ossium blade -- sure did make the idea attractive.  He¡¯d check on the plants in a few hours either way.


    Cattle spiders¡­ check. Nine females, three males, just as expected.  All chewing the grass in their pen with slow, vapid expressions.


    Water tower ¡­ sitting at 20% capacity. It¡¯d only been operational for two days so that¡¯s actually a net gain of 10% per day. Call that a wash.  I found myself at a bit of a loss as to what to actually do so I decided to try to organize my thoughts and gather the reed-paper ¡®books¡¯ so as to see if there were other potential avenues of advancement I¡¯d been overlooking.  It would also afford me the opportunity to test if I could only have one research station at a time.


    Turns out, there were actually four or five ¡®books¡¯ comprising three dozen pages each, each of which were only half filled, really.  What really surprised me, though, was that what I found written in those pages was far more organized on its own than I recalled writing -- yet I clearly recall writing each bit of it.  Yet another smoking gun in my ever-building pile of existential crisis nightmare fuel, no biggie.


    Might as well carry these over to the shelves in the cabin regardless.  As I do, the quality of the reed-paper honestly starts to annoy me. Stonepunk schizotech has an answer to HVAC but can''t produce better information storage?  I call haxx. But the thing of it is, as matters currently stand my oak burlap is the finest material I can hope to make proper paper with, as the processes for woodpulp are too complex and I don''t have any other cloth material as a reliable supply right now.  None of the solutions at my immediate future disposal tend to indicate a chance at changing that. It keeps boiling back to the same issue, the issue that''s driven me into the spidery schizotech arms of the Stonepunk Eras: a lack of manhour resources.


    I really ought to do a better survey of the forest to locate other potentially useful resources, rather than simply rely on my albeit effective survival skills, as they don''t really tend to mesh with what my other knowledge finds potentially valuable.  I got the Stonepunk unlock by melting a goddamn spider after all.  My survivalism was entirely silent on the possibility of that even occurring.  While I do get some built-in hints as to how to advance in this tech tree I''m climbing, they really aren''t consistent let alone ubiquitous, and it''s not like I can even review logs or list requirements for items I''ve already unlocked.  But between Sanguinism, Quartzite Manipulation, and Stonepunk itself it''s quite clear that there are entire hidden subtrees I could use to improve my lot.


    So.  How should I go about surveying the forest?  Going in person seems a waste of the exercise.  I''ve already been concerned about my security here so¡­ guard dogs?  Train them to trigger quartzite tags when they encounter something dangerous, let them roam relatively freely, and train them to try to ''retrieve'' anything unfamiliar?  That''s a fairly high workload for simple animals, and waaay too high for my cattle spiders as it is also against their new non-aggressive nature. So what I need is a highly intelligent pack animal whose loyalty and imprinting I can exploit to cover the gaps of only partially applying the domestication essence to them.


    On the surface this puts me back at square one -- except for a few key points of fact.  There are birds in this forest; more importantly there are birds I recognize. I''ll want a sedative tincture to capture a few.  Unlike the spiderzillas, blackbirds are merely assholes to anyone the aren''t bonded to, rather than a crawling menace. The thing about blackbirds is, they''re clever enough to not just be tool users, but also to be tool makers.  They can also be trained to marginally understand human language, as well as developing intense pair bonds.  What they aren''t, however, is intimidating enough on their own to stop intrusions. But I didn''t need that capability from them.  What they did have is more than enough for me to start with.


    What I didn''t have was anything I could actually use as a sedative for them.  At least, not without traipsing through the forest myself again. To quote a certain duster-wearing Chicagoan:  "It never rains, but it pours.". Time to arm up. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    One of the true oddities of the Stonepunk tree is that despite the manner in which ossium is generated, most of the work in producing it is done in an alchemic lab rather than at any kind of proper forge.  This has its advantages and its disadvantages. One advantage is that most of the work in making any given piece is done through casting rather than hot forging, meaning that once you''ve generated a cast you can keep reusing it.  A disadvantage to this however is that true bronze metal is strengthened by the hot forging process in a way that ossium just never can be. And unlike bronze or later metals, once ossium is cast it is ductile but only to a certain point, whereupon it will shatter rather than shear, just like natural bone.  This is why the use of Basic Sanguinism is a tech prereq for Late Stonepunk Era:  the development of black ossium.  By extracting the essential strength and durability of a sample of ossium it''s possible to infuse that into another sample during its creation.  This is, mind you, a hot process and requires the destruction of an equal mass of ossium to produce, but the end product is roughly analogous to wrought iron rather than bronze.


    So that''s what I spend my afternoon generating enough of to create a sort of half-plate half-scale chest and upper arm piece for myself, utilizing the accumulated rabbit hides I had acquired in the last couple of weeks to create the underlying jerkin. It was interesting to see the sanguine infusion of ossium essence that I reinforced the patchwork leather shirt with before sewing in the black ossium pieces turning the hide a greyish black, from its natural light brown.


    Hmm.  Leathercrafts¡­  the thought tickles something in my "lizard brain" but I don''t know why or what.  I don''t have enough leather to do my full arms as well, let alone my legs but I can and do spend my time sewing and stitching the infused rabbit hides to make bracers and boots for myself, as I also attach black ossium guards there.  Before showing up in this insane place I probably would have balked at the idea of wearing a "Roman kilt" but now all I can think of is the difficulty of needing to use infused burlap to silence the material and my thankfulness that ossium clunks like stone rather than clinks or rattles.


    Next up is a quartzite heat pistol.  What I wind up crafting bore more of a resemblance to a sawed-off shotgun or double-barreled arquebus than a modern handgun, though.  The black ossium barrel surrounding the alchemically-grown quartzite was necessarily polished to a very fine glossy finish on its interior.  It would also be barely any better than one of those hand arquebuses, if push came to shove. The lack of an effective lasing medium or focal lens means the thing would have at best a fifty foot range; and while it can fire twice in a go, it required a full minute to accumulate enough light and heat to discharge again.  Faster on a hot day, but as much as a quarter regular speed in winter and halved at night or in the dark. And of course the fine fitting necessary made swapping crystals ineffectual.


    I would carry two of them strapped on via a burlap bandolier.  This left room on my belt for a proper black ossium saber with a rough wooden sheath and a recurved dagger of the same material.


    The last item I made was perhaps something of a cheat, as it was based on what I could recall of electromagnetism:  a quartzite-infused ossium compass. It seemed to work alright but was a little shaky overall on its polished granite beveled pivot.  I wouldn''t be able to navigate truly long distances with it due to its inaccuracy, but it would save me from needing to blaze so aggressively.


    Putting all of this together took up the entirety of my crafting time for the day, barely leaving me a chance to check in on my carrotatoes and confirm that the diffused approach actually did work, but took twice as long per plant.  Which was just fine, since it still netted me half again as many as three growth infusions would have. I was getting awfully tired of carrotato as a side; one part of my ambition was to find new edibles to work with.


    I made a point of strapping on every piece of gear I made as soon as I finished it, today -- on the premise that I''d need the practice moving around with the weight.  As such it was only when I doffed everything to prepare for the evening that I noticed that I''d barely felt the weight over the day. I made a mental note to try to find some bog iron somewhere in the forest and compare its weight to ossium -- because it was either this stuff weighed far less than it ought to or all the exercise I''d been doing in my fugue state had drastically increased my body''s strength.  Of course, since I had no way of cracking open my stats sheet -- assuming I even had one -- I had no way of knowing.  I certainly didn''t seem to have put on or off an immense amount of weight or muscle from what I could remember.


    ~~------------~~


    Getting to sleep that night was still easier than normal as I probably was still a little deprived from my five-day-long fugue bender.


    If anything, waking up the next morning was even easier.  I was riddled with anticipation as I slung all of my gear on, including my white ossium recurved bow.  I hadn''t felt there was any point remaking it as it was already plenty capable of delivering an arrow where I wanted it.  The bow itself was small enough to be slung across my back in my quiver along with the twenty arrows I had.


    And just like that, I took my first steps back into the deep forest I had taken for some time.  Overall the new kit had me feeling like some kind of Roman pirate, but considering I was literally wearing magical bone and glowey crystals I decided to give the swashbuckling punk-punk thing a pass on the complaints department.  What I was looking for was basically anything I could safely harvest live samples of that would allow for the expansion of my farm and the creation of my not-yet-existent alchemical garden. Just a few basics would do, really, considering just what I could pull off with sanguinism trait manipulation.  What I was especially on the lookout for was medicinals, however, as any numbing or pain relieving plant could be plausibly adapted to a sedative for use on the blackbirds.


    Of course I could just kill a few of them but honestly I wasn''t thrilled with killing animals as sub sapient as hares, let alone something arguably demisapient.  Spiders can go fuck themselves though. Those I''ll twist and execute like the soulless bastard I pretend I am. So instead, onward into adventure! And morning gloom as I half-randomly wander in a generally circular pattern for a few hours around my home, marking out distinctive locations and approximate distances as best I could on a hide map to fill out my visual of the land around my new home. I do find a kind of berry bush that my survival knowledge informs me is great for constipated people though, and while I do take a few clusters of its bunchberries I also make a special point to wipe my hands clean because no.  I also find a few more bunches of feral carrotato and grab a couple just to keep a "control" sample around. The big win though comes when I come upon a fallen ''regular'' oak and find it festooned with shelf fungus and something that my knowledge tells me are "glow beetle grubs". Which, I mean, with all the various kinds of random crap in my head now how could I be faulted for overlooking the sheer potential these things could have for me? Their larval state basically did the job termites do back home: chewing up wood and getting usable energy out of it. With some refinement that process could potentially get me flammable oils. The same thing being something I recall researchers focusing on back on Earth: being ethanol from wood by studying how termites digest it.  And the adults? Bioluminescence. A self-sustaining light source not dependant upon the sun or fire. Only drawback is that my Stonepunk knowledge tells me these beetles cannot produce chitinite, so I''m stuck with the spiders still. I made sure to collect a dozen or so grubs into my white ossium sample jars, as I had no clue which were male or female.


    The shelf fungus on the other hand, my survival knowledge told me was one of the very few naturally edible fungi in the forest.  I already had plans to improve on that but this would be invaluable to my winter survival. By the time winter came around, I would make certain these guys were better than truffles.  An absolute must yoink, would absolutely purchase again. 4.5 out of 5 stars.


    By the time noon rolled around and I chowed down on my smoked carrotato lunch (don''t knock it ''till you try it), I decided that I needed to change up the biome a little and headed back towards the creeks that fed into the pond.  I figured the microbiome of the stream banks would be a good place to look for different plants. I especially kept a weather eye out for anything my existing knowledge didn''t recognize, as that would be my best bet for some hitherto unknown breakthrough.  One reason I had traditionally avoided the creeks though is that if big game of any kind was going to be anywhere in the forests it would be nearest to water. And I certainly didn''t want to face that kind of threat with a bow and a pointy stick.


    After what felt like about another hour of wandering and filling sample jars of varying sizes and marking locations on a hide map of interesting objects or where I found a given sample number, the babbling flow of water was joined by another sound: crunching rocks.  Crunching rocks behind me.  I carefully and slowly started moving my less-visible from behind arm upwards towards one of my heat pistols as I otherwise kept entirely still.  The crunching sound hadn''t been immediately behind me but it couldn''t have been more than twenty feet. With any luck, it would turn out simply to be something having fallen from the tree canopy above, but worst case I was about to be attacked by a hungry whatever-passes-for-a-wolf-or-cougar around here.


    I could feel the tension in my muscles starting to want to rise even as my swordsman knowledge from Basic Stonepunk Armaments and Standard Deciduous Survival both screamed in my head that I needed to stay relaxed in order to have the best possible reflexes.  After a heartrending few minutes that were more likely a few seconds, I felt my hand grip down on the pistol.


    I rapid drew and whirled around, trying to be ready for anything.  Operative word there being "trying", as what I set my eyes upon was not some cat or canid.  Nor, thankfully a bear. Or some blithe herbivore. No, I was now face to face with what looked like an enlarged cross between a porcupine and a raccoon.  With very large, very sharp teeth.


    A drooling raccupine with very large, very sharp teeth.  One that was now launching itself somewhere between a leap and a scamper at me. A tiny corner of my mind recalled the Face Spider Incident and clamped down on the rest panicking.  My heat pistol already in my hand, and already aimed in the right general direction, I adjusted slightly and pulled the first of the two triggers. There was an intense flare of bluish light where the breach or lock of an ordinary gun would be, and for a moment I was convinced my crazy schizotech knowledge had just lead me to fire a weapon that emitted Cherenkov radiation.  Implying I had been just dosed with a lethal amount of ionizing life-mocking but physics-respecting alpha particles.


    However, the following kick-back from sheer thermal bloom from the pistol throwing my arm out of alignment and away from my chest knocked me out of that.  The impact on the raccupine could not be undersold. Where before I was confronted with a literally bristling fifty or sixty pound drooling abomination, now I was facing -- and easily dodging -- a smoking charred and milky-eyed abomination while the air filled with the scent of bacon.  I quickly moved my second finger into place within the second trigger guard as the damned thing hadn''t stopped moving yet, only to realize that its movements were nothing but death throes.


    I drew my black ossium saber and with a sharp two-handed overhead downward thrust, severed its spine just below the cranium.  I then also collected some samples from its body, as I had still yet to accomplish my mission of the day.  A few uncooked bristles, a claw, a square of hide, and a vial of its blood -- that sort of thing.  Shortly before I finished I noticed the heat pistol give off another Cherenkov blue flash, and in a calmer state recalled that quartzite emits that glow when releasing a burst of energy -- and upon reaching full capacitance.  My gun was now reloaded, and I was now convinced from direct experience that it was an effective and unstealthy weapon, but unlike traditional firearms did little in terms of stopping power.


    An important lesson for which I had to admit a debt to this clearly too-lean raccupine.  Since I had no real way to carry the thing back, I took my hand trowel out of my sample bag and dug a shallow grave away from the stream in the soft and loamy soil, basically just pushing the soil back over it.  It wouldn''t keep the body from being found but would inhibit the scent enough not to draw anything else while I was nearby and that would be enough.


    Doing all of this while staying on extreme high alert in case raccupines were pack animals did my nerves no amount of unkindness, but I was out here for a reason and ultimately my preparations had paid off completely:  I was never in the slightest bit of danger in the encounter, and I learned that there were in fact larger predatory animals in the area. And that at least sometimes, raccupines are solitary predators. Yay me, learning all the things.


    It wasn''t until later in the afternoon when I found a micropond worth investigating that I found a blue-green cousin of sphagnum moss half in and half out of the water that I didn''t recognize and, as I went to collect a sample cutting at it with the dagger to collect up with the hand-trowel, I suddenly noticed my green stamina bar dropping slightly as my eyes were watering from a distinctly astringent scent.


    I knew at that moment I had hit the jackpot I was looking for, as whatever volatiles it was releasing had a definite effect of also making my nose go numb and my HUD flickered a barely-there blue-purple over the center of the face of the anatomic display.  The moss''s built-in defense against being eaten or cut was to release a numbing vapor of some kind. Barely enough to produce an unpleasant tingle on the gums, likely, but the stamina draining effect could make smaller animals or bugs vulnerable enough to being eaten by larger predators that the moss was probably avoided by most things in its natural habitat.


    Hardly world-shattering.  But in my hands with directed sanguinism cultivation?  I had my solution to the problem. With a satchel bag that was over two thirds full, I attempted to use my compass and map to cut straight across land back to my home, as if I got the directions correct it would save me a solid mile of walking back.  I did wind up having to double-back about a tenth of that distance as a result, but for a first attempt without proper triangulation tools? Fairly impressive.


    It seemed the System agreed with me when I went to review my logs at the research bench and sort away all of my non-living samples before attempting to reproduce the environment my living plants and bugs were found in without allowing them escape containment, as when I did review all that, I received a number of popups:


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Primitive Navigation.>>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Basic Navigation.>>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Primitive Pharmaceuticals. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked: Basic Pharmaceuticals.>>


    << Congratulations!  By collecting and recording events and locations of your environment to suit your needs and the consistent preservation of discovered phenomena in their natural state, you have acquired the racial feature:  ''Archivist''! Construct or designate a records station to progress down this path, and learn more! >>

 5 - Compounded Interest

    The next morning came and I found myself once again wishing I actually had the means to produce a more comfortable cloth than oak-fiber burlap. Or, for that matter, a better mattress than straw-stuffed burlap. It was still a damned sight better than that dingy hole with the grass hammock though. I would have considered putting time and energy into that topic today but frankly considering how productive yesterday''s escapade was I rather doubted I''ll have the time. Especially considering the fact that since I''d now confirmed there are human-threatening predators out there, I really had to vamp up the manor and install some sense of defenses beyond a simple ossium barbed wire fence with the occasional quartzite flare lamp.


    The scope of all the regular maintenance tasks needing doing was also really starting to eat into my stress-levels too. Simply put, I needed help. There was only me, but that doesn''t mean I was necessarily completely out of luck.


    As I was going about watering and pruning and grow-stimming the farm and garden (including the grass in the cattle spider pen), I had found myself mentally perusing all the various techniques and practices I had access to for quality of life stuff. The simple truth however was that almost all of it was either useless to me, because it only offloaded the manhour costs onto someone else or I was basically already doing it. I wasn''t willing to start downing tinctures like my fugue building state would, though; there was simply no knowing the long-term impact on my psyche except that it couldn''t possibly be good. Plus, even if I did, it would largely just be robbing Peter to pay Paul anyhow; I had basically slept through two full days after binging on stamina tonics for five. Oh, the amount accomplished in that period was still damned impressive, but I suspected that had as much to do with my fugue-state''s efficiency and focus as anything else.


    No, what I unequivocally needed was an extra set of hands. Or five. And right now, I only had access to the one set and that was that. But there was one thing I remembered from old Earth that I could maybe -- just maybe -- accomplish that might just help me out of this jam. With that thought in mind I started making my way over to the alchemy lab and began collecting samples of probably the vital element in this task: myself. Strands of hair, saliva, blood, a bit of cuticle skin ¡­ pretty much every fluid or substance that might contain the specific essence of myself went into the essential cauldron for rendering down and extraction.


    The process wound up creating a kind of foggy tan tar in a decently sizeable flask, with enough essence to hopefully permit three or four trials of what I was about to do. I honestly had no idea if it had worked the way I wanted or not, given I couldn''t perform several of the refinement steps I wanted to perform, but there was only one way to really know if I''d just wasted half of my morning. To get there would require that I extract eggs from a female fish and from one of my cattle spiders and use the two to infuse an unfertilized egg with an essence negation of the source species altogether, infuse my own essence, and then spam it with that old sanguinism growth magic.


    What I wound up looking at when I completed all of these tasks was¡­ I don''t know exactly what I was expecting but it certainly fit the general description of a "grotesque diminutive creature". With the basic torso and head of a human attached to the abdomen of a spider, but with the legs growing from the side of the torso as they normally would a spider, the human arms apparently taking the place of the chelae, the twelve pound cat-sized monstrosity looked up at me with expectant eyes. And a damned text popup.


    << Requirements met. Specific tech field unlocked: Advanced Alchemy.>>


    I wait impatiently for the visual obstruction to fade.


    "Can you understand me?" A hissing groan was followed by the thing leaning back on its abdomen so it could face me well enough to nod.


    "You know what you are?". It again groan-hissed and nodded, otherwise showing absolutely no initiative to move or wander around.


    "Move over to the research bench, and use the stylus to write out the word for what you are, and what your purpose is.". The blank -- almost docile -- faced creature jumped off of the alchemic bench, picking up the stylus with both diminutive hands and resting the length of the stylus against its shoulder, used both hands to gracefully guide the stylus over the wet-clay scratchpad. When it finished, there were two rows of text, the first with one word and the second with two.


    "Homunculus."


    "Obey Maker."


    I couldn''t help but smile inside as I read those two lines. I did however at least try to avoid the standard Evil Overlord error of not checking how loyal his minions were by following up with a third question.


    "Is there something you want or need? Something to make you happy?"


    Scribbling of stylus on clay -- which honestly looked a little like those massive kanji scrolls you see sometimes in martial arts films -- and then there was a third line.


    "To obey Maker is the best!"


    Well. I can work with this. "Would you mind if I made you a few friends? To help with the work?"


    "Maker makes. Homunculus obeys. To obey is the best."


    Yes. Yes I can work with this. God help me¡­ or actually maybe not, here, given what Eldritch gods are usually like ¡­ I might even start to find the things cute. Like people who own pugs.


    "Come then. Clean the equipment while I prepare more samples."


    ~~------------~~


    Late afternoon comes by and I now have four eerily identical alchemical abominations. While they aren''t particularly strong, and despite their diminutive size aren''t any better than I am at fine work, they are capable of using pretty much any knowledge I myself possess that their body plan can permit them to perform. With tools designed for their use, they will become even more useful over time I''m quite sure. In the meantime I task one to gathering and cooking a meal for all of us and in general doing domestic butler/maid duties, one to begin the job of domesticating and increasing the edibility of the shelf fungus using the batch alchemy equipment, the third with the process of domesticating the numbing moss with the fine work alchemy equipment, and the last with crafting tools and equipment scaled to the homunculi.


    I, in the meantime, start to work on improving the physical defenses of my manor. With the cart and a cattle spider to haul it, I once again go to the streams to collect river rocks. I do note that I have to wander much further to find any of measurable size as compared to how easy they were to find before -- I''m starting to run out of the easy supply and will need to do something¡­ more in the future. In the meantime I take another decent span of time filling up the cart and hauling rocks back to dump them strategically around the clearing beneath the greatoak I''ve built my home against.


    As I dump my fourth payload I can''t help but note that I''m describing time more and more fuzzily. I have access to springs and gears, why haven''t I made a clock? It would certainly help organize my mess, and since I now have minions I should probably do something to facilitate their coordination since I''ve noticed they have no inspiration or agency of their own. Without orders they''ll just sit there and die. But in the meantime they are damned useful, and I needed to take advantage of the time I had left in the day to get serious headway completed with the building of better defenses. Which means schlepping as many sizeable stones as I could up around the manor.


    By the time I finish with hauling rocks, the house is cleaner, literally, than it''s ever been -- even the chitinite-and-cobblestone flooring is shining spotlessly. There''s a pile of diminutive quartzite power tools, their tiny ossium attachments shining bleached-white in the sun, and hauling rickshaws with homunculus-sized harnesses attached. Mechanical arm extenders. All neatly piled up and sitting in the sun. There''s a small bank of thigh-thick logs next to the carrotato patch with fat white wafers growing from them drag marks showing the logs had come from beyond the canopy line. There''s even a small faux pond out behind the alchemy lab in the designated garden area with what appears to be, of all things, a miniature stream flowing into a shallow pool, with the stream bed clearly lined on both sides with the blue-green moss. I can''t help but note that it''s actually quite attractive as landscaping features go.


    I do notice a few minor points of concern, though -- the pool very likely isn''t a planned feature given by how it lacks a stone lining and I notice disturbed dirt going in a straight line from where the stream starts to the water tower. Which means that I would have to be careful about monitoring for out-of-bounds task errors with my new help if my suspicion was correct.


    In walking over to where the garden homunculus -- for some reason the very notion of naming them just felt gauche, like naming your left thumb -- was still collecting samples of the moss and comparing the numbing potency by dint of how much of its stamina it lost when collecting from that patch, I got a clearer picture of how it was all arranged. And honestly? I felt a little foolish for not having previously thought of implementing irrigation of some kind into the farm before. Even the Egyptians managed to work that one out. Still.


    "Homunculus. This stream for the numb moss. The water is building up in that pool. I have decided that I rather like this feature here, and as such -- I am extending your task. You now need to ensure that what you''ve built in order to complete your task will require as little maintenance as possible if I should reassign you elsewhere. In this case, for example, that pool needs to be dug deeper, lined with small stones to prevent erosion, and to have an overflow pipe installed that will ensure it drains into the pond. Stop work on refining the moss until those tasks are complete. Thank you."


    Huh. I just channeled my inner Evil Overlord a little, there. Eh, no harm, no foul. Next up is the toolmaker. Without further ado I instruct him to make a proper toolshed between the house and garden that doesn''t block the exterior entrance to the root cellar. Said toolshed was to have a homunculus entrance and a human entrance, and all tools and handcarts should be stored in labeled locations.


    I leave the shelf farmer alone except to indicate he should also work the carrotatoes. I don''t see any harvest yield from the shelf fungus -- that name is horrid, I''m calling them shelfruits -- I don''t see any shelfruit yield around so on a hunch I check out the root cellar. The soft glow of the cooling quartzite crystals shows the walls have been dug out or tamped back into racks, and while the bottommost tier is empty, there are neat little stacks of shelfruits on one side, with them getting smaller and yellower as you go back, and the rack above has organized carrotatoes. All in all there''s probably about fifty or sixty of the things -- which if I had to survive on them alone would last me a grand total of half a week.


    I reach down, pick up the oldest and youngest of the fungus I can spot, and take a small bite of the shelfruit. It''s¡­ honestly it''s a bit like tofu. The flavor is extremely mild and there''s hardly any texture to it at all. It''s perhaps a little ¡­ leathery-er? It takes a little effort to sink your teeth in, but there''s no crunch to it. I try the original shelf fungus, for comparison, and immediately regret it. I practically chipped a tooth, it was so dry. And there''s a weird dirt/metal aftertaste.


    I silently collect the shelf fungus and decide to toss it to the rubbish pile. Or maybe the cattle spiders will eat them. I certainly wouldn''t be. I can''t help but be amazed at what a round or two of the domestication essence could accomplish. I mean, it''s literally cast-from-hit-points magic but damn.


    Heading up the stairs through to the kitchen entrance to the root cellar, I find my fourth homunculus sitting by the stone-and-chitinite stove, patiently waiting for my arrival to take the meal he¡¯s prepared for me off of the low heat. It¡¯s the first meal I haven¡¯t prepared for myself in ¡­ I don¡¯t actually know exactly how long I¡¯ve been on this god-forsaken alien rock, but it¡¯s definitely been at least a couple of months. Words cannot begin to describe how true the aphorism about how meals you don¡¯t prepare for yourself taste better than ones you do. I mean, it¡¯s still just pond trout and carrotato but I haven¡¯t had anything actually resembling non-grilled food in months. I practically cry tears of joy at the fish-and-herb soup set down in front of me, even as I start soaking up the broth with the carrotato flatbread. Tears of joy. The manliest.


    ~~------------~~


    The next morning I discover that I have made a terrible mistake of biblical proportions, as I roll over in my semiconscious state and find four arachnid abominations staring at me with too-human eyes in utter stillness as they cling onto the wall of my bedroom. I freeze in terror for a brief moment before the adrenaline clears the fog of my pseudo-inebriated state.


    ¡°Okay. New rule. Homunculi do not go in the bedroom unless fulfilling a specific duty or order. Now. Out!¡±


    They nod in silent unison and in equally perfect silence -- or do I imagine hearing the pitter patter of tiny tarsial claws as they make their way back down to the living room? In any case, I¡¯m alone and riding the wave of the smallest bit of terror in the ¡­ apparently slightly overcast ¡­ morning. Hrm. Another note: how good is the charge on my quartzite gear? Can the fully solar-powered stuff like the water tower still do their jobs without full sunlight for more than a day? Something to figure out later. For the time being I step into the attached bathroom and turn on the shower while I brush my teeth as gently as I can with the spider hair toothbrush. A gentle scraping of the enamel later I step under the chitinite showerhead and bask in the sensation of heated water, wishing I had proper soap instead of just scrubbing myself with a hand brush. But hey -- it beats scrubbing myself with sand in the pond.


    Once I¡¯m dried off I head down the stairs and point at one of the homunculi to order him to reheat some of that soup and flatbread one that had been made last night, enough for the lot of us. I don¡¯t really even know if homunculi need to eat or if they actually eat human food, but there¡¯s only so many magical bullshit assumptions I¡¯m willing to make without evidence so ¡­ food for all. By the time I finish my meal I have no idea if they enjoyed theirs or not but they did actually eat something. Between the four of them they ate about half as much total as I did, and a quick confirmation check informs me that this was the first meal any of them had eaten. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I lay out the orders of the day after that; one homunculus is to continue with the general cleaning and maintenance duties of the buildings, as well as meal prep. One is to focus on farming -- this time working on basic domestication of herb plants, and the one that worked on the numbing stuff yesterday is to work on the garden and sample collections in general. I don¡¯t know how much longer those glowbug grubs can keep; my knowledge doesn¡¯t really extend to the exact maturation cycle of the critters. Only whether they¡¯re harmful or edible. (They are edible, in fact. But¡­ no.) The fourth will act as a gofer for me while I start constructing an actual wall around the perimeter of the manor¡¯s clearing. Or, more precisely, as I allow myself to go into another builder¡¯s fugue in doing so, with the intention of having a low stone wall acting as the base for a log palisade around the manor, with four equidistant gates and one in the direction of the pond.


    The result of that intention is mostly what I''d thought up in advance, and reviewing my recollections of what I''d done in that automatic state is largely what I''d expected. Though what I didn''t fully anticipate -- but maybe should have -- was that I would send my "adorifying assistant" to whip up a batch of stamina tonics again. I know the things are close to an alchemical equivalent to caffeine, but I don''t particularly like just how many I seem to chug in that state. It is pretty hard to argue with the results, though. I''d gone through and cut down a series of trees with a quartzite power saw, and my helper used a smaller one to strip off branches as I went, shaping the trunks or branches that were at least the thickness of my thigh but no more than half again that for later use, both of us dosing as our reserve energy depleted from overworking ourselves. The result was what was basically a manic dash to operate, with near perfect teamwork and every step seemingly performed by an absolute expert. The cutting took up the entirety of the first day and night but the logs themselves were left to cure for the rest of the second day as I''d moved on to pile up the ten to twenty pound rocks into place while using mud as a mortar due to simple expediency. The stones would be placed by me and the homunculus would slather the mud to join them, while I left post holes the correct distance apart for logs to be inserted down and tamped into place.


    The actual stone wall wound up taking the rest of the afternoon, while positioning the logs ironically went faster as I had the homunculus literally feed me tonics or hold quartzite lights in place so I could see what I was doing, as I''d worked entirely through the night without slowing down in the slightest. The next afternoon was when I''d come out. A two and a half days went into building up the new wall, and while it had some gaps, they were largely due to the rope bindings that kept the tops of the logs bound together as though they weren''t also held by two feet of length beneath the surface and another two feet of stone wall. The tops of the logs themselves were another six feet taller than that, making the defensive barrier far higher than visible height. Even if those raccupines were decent climbers it was unlikely they''d be able to cross that kind of wall.


    The wall itself had the gates I''d wanted, alright -- logs bound with white ossium frame on a chitinite-and-granite bevel for ball-and-socket hinges, with four ossium bars that could be rotated into place in a manner akin to how bank vault locks worked. The mechanism was smooth enough that even my homunculi could use it -- meaning I could actually leave my home base and have it be locked up at least while I was gone.


    ~~------------~~


    Having extra peace of mind while sleeping is always a good thing. Not having to manually re fluff the straw mattress I slept on because of an adorifying house maid was¡­ at least comfortable. Sleeping an entire afternoon and evening after a fugue-state stamina binge -- again -- would have left me grouchy for quite a while if I didn''t have that jacuzzi-style bathtub. I''d soaked for quite a while in there while letting the stiffness of days work it''s way out of me, and as I vegged out I let my mind wander.


    Having minions now to do tedious tasks is a total life-saver. I''ve avoided the tedium of domesticating two additional plants and kept everything in working order while completely focused on another task. But as useful as they are, they are quite limited in total capacity. There''s no way they''ll actually be able to fight for me, for example. Not anything bigger than a regular spiderzilla. They just don''t have the body strength and I have no knowledge that hints at changing the shape or body size of a homunculus. I''d used the eggs of domesticated pig-sized spiders in their making but got minions the size of their feral cousins. No real logic to that one that I can understand but as with so very many topics since I arrived in this bizarre place -- I''m channeling my inner Elsa and just Letting It Go.


    Still, as much as a classic heroine can inspire sanity-preserving measures, maybe I can draw inspiration from another heroine. Maybe it''s time to see about abusing my Late Stonepunk Era knowledge and giving the little guys something like Ripley''s power loader? I don''t have any current knowledge for prosthetics or anything, but I do have quartzite motors, tension springs, and infused blackleather for cabling. I can come up with something.


    Or, rather, I can take the plunge of producing another pair of homunculi and have them come up with something by trial and error design approaches. And then I myself can focus on planning out what I want to do next. I gather myself together and greet my arachnid minions for the morning.


    "Alright, you lot. One of you will continue with the general house servant duties as usual. One of you will continue with the farming, and one with the tending of the samples. The fourth of you will be performing two projects today: I want those pond reeds domesticated, and you''re going to work out how to make reed-fiber cloth. No more of this hand-woven stuff. And make sure to develop a strain that produces a lot of fluffy tuft material, too. Pillowtop mattress get!". I pumped up my hand into the air with my last sentence before shooing my faithful if silent companions to their various assigned tasks.


    Growing the next pair of homunculi takes far longer than the previous ones, and I notice that my blue mana bar dips precipitously when they awaken. A quarter of the way for the first one, and after two more hours of alchemical puttering about the next takes up half of my by then long-since recharged little blue bar. So it would seem there''s some sort of mana-backed connection between myself and my minions, and there''s a soft cap on how many I can have. Because this can''t get too easy, now can it?


    Once the two new arachnoid mini-me''s are up and running I describe in loose terms what I expect them to accomplish, and that includes constructing a machine shop for them to actually work in. I get the sense that I''m going to start going through a great deal more bone than I had been going through as a result of both their experimentation and the end product of what I want them to make, but that''s not actually the end of the world, as I actually have a planned solution to that issue as well, though it will depend on what I suspect to be the last of my "unallocated minion slots" to actually create: expanding the pool water feature is already required for the domesticated reed farming. But next up would be domesticating some fish from the pond sail that my entire food-chain would be contained within these walls.


    As I set myself down to the task of creating my seventh adorable abomination, I found myself starting to develop a growing headache as I attempted to perform the growth step of the me-imbued blank spider eggs. (For whatever reason, a minimum mass of eggs was required for this, with all of them consumed in the process.). It was nearly as bad as some of my worst migraines I used to get back on Earth, and surely enough was timed to that blue bar being completely emptied.


    A dose of the numbing moss juice to the temples and forehead helped greatly but the underlying ache didn''t go away completely for most of the afternoon, and my stamina being at "half-mast" the whole time didn''t help matters at all. Still, the last of my spiderling homunculi did successfully grow, completely identical to the rest. Once it finished bursting from its slimy-gelatinous shell, I immediately tasked it with gathering and cultivating three varieties of the "trout": one to grow larger and have tougher scales (as they apparently counted as bone enough to qualify for making ossium, if of low grade), one to simply be meatier and more flavorful, and another to be the " base" feral stock as always.


    By that point most of the day had gone by so I decided to check in on the machine/tinkering workshop the new pair had built for me. I was mildly surprised at how well-made it was, actually. Much like the exterior walls, it was built with loose stones and mud mortar, with moderately sized and smoothed branches tied together with rope and greatoak bark tiling. Almost exactly the same construction as the alchemy shop, in fact. The pair of windows had simple shutters of the same construction as the roof, which made the whole setup a little¡­ exposed to the elements, but being able to air it out was probably more important given what it was for.


    Upon actually entering the single-room stone-walled hut, I found the pair working on what I could only describe as exoskeletons. I knew immediately that there was basically no possibility of the setup being useful for me: the materials and power sources I had access to were only barely useful for the homunculi, and at that simply because it would take them from being as weak as kittens to being able to manipulate things with the strength of a large toddler. The whole setup appeared to consist of six finger-length quartzite crystals that were embedded in a harness of blackleather. Each crystal, by dint of the vibration it consumed its charge for and that being cleverly attached to a stone gearwork mechanism that converted the vibration into mechanical action, would wind the ossium clock springs of the arm it was attached to. This in turn gave the four walking legs and two manipulator arms the motive juice necessary to operate. The arms themselves only had open/close gripping and were essentially little more than power-assisted puppets for the homunculi¡¯s actual human arms, but for most things that would be more than enough to get the job done.


    The whole setup rattled and clicked with the ticking of clocks as it operated, but compared to their utter silence before, I rather preferred it this way. The two of them together were working on the construction of more of the -- damnit, I guess I could call them clockwork harnesses -- for the rest of the homunculi, plus a few spare parts it looked like because these things would definitely require regular maintenance. I could see that while the clockwork harnesses gave the little guys much more total strength and load bearing capacity, they sacrificed somewhat in total speed to accomplish that: the harnesses could only move at one consistent speed and while that was triggered by and mimicked their natural movements, it couldn¡¯t be sped up or slowed down. Worse still; the actual movements could only be sustained for two hours or so before the springs would simply wind down too much and need to be recharged again after another hour of waiting. So again, my adorifying minions wouldn¡¯t be fighting any battles for me anytime soon in these things, but they weren¡¯t going to be doing that for me at any point anyhow so it washed out even. After ordering the two in the workshop to deliver and equip the other homunculi as they finished the harnesses for each, I moved on to review what else had been accomplished for me that day.


    Going into the root cellar next informed me that I should have been a little more clear about how I wanted things arranged, as one of the empty walls was now stuffed with reeds of gradually growing dimensions -- the most recent in the stack were easily mistaken for proper bamboo, in fact. Immediately adjacent to the faux bamboo was just one giant pile of fluff, looking much like someone had decided to shred a hundred stuffed animals and left the stuffing behind in some sort of plushy massacre. These were things that definitely did not belong in the root cellar, but I had not designated an actual storage area for them either. Since they were harvested from plants, into the cellar they went. I muttered to myself about how ¡°the logic checks out¡± but just moved on, since there wasn¡¯t enough fluff there to do more than make a decent-sized pillow and I didn¡¯t have enough leather or non-burlap cloth to make said pillow¡­ and I definitely wasn¡¯t going to make another one out of oak burlap. What definitely belonged in the cellar and that I was quite happy to see was the tripling of stores of both shelfruit and carrotato, meaning that without the output of any of the still growing products I now had roughly two to two and a half weeks¡¯ worth of food supplies. With the small assortment of herbs and a dedicated cook to vary up the offerings, that meant I was starting to look at a diet that wouldn¡¯t bore me to tears anymore.


    Checking out the farm area showed that the patches of shelfruit and carrotatoes were now twice the size they had been before I built the wall. I also saw that just out of sight beside the outside entrance to the root cellar was now an overhanging lean-to built against the house, where a small assortment of smoked fish were hanging from grass-rope ties. The interesting part there was that I hadn¡¯t specified how the domesticated fish were to be stored and it¡¯s clear that the minion working on that task had just followed a default value that required some sort of storage. Including their smoking. Of course, I could see that this also included the ten or so fish that had been developed for their scale and hide, but c¡¯est la vie.


    This ¡°default storage methodology¡± assumption was only reaffirmed when I went back behind the cabin itself and found the four-foot-tall loom next to a few boiling pots each with a heat emitting quartzite crystal pointing down into the water, and crude spinning wheel that my homunculus assigned to weaver duties had been working on throughout the day. As I watched, passed reeds through boiling water to soften them up, and then rolled them against a graded chitinite surface until the long fibers within were separated. It then added those fibers to a second pot and when it was full started fishing out the fibers from a third pot, now looking much finer and a lighter brown in color. It then carried that bundle of fiber over to the spinning wheel and with its tiny almost kitten-sized hands started twisting the fibers while pushing the spinning wheel¡¯s foot-paddles with its two forelegs. The process was actually quite efficient and created a fine thread. That went on for a while until it had a full spindle, and as I watched it connected that spindle up to a shuttle as it already had more of the same thread hooked up into the loom. The process it went through was complicated from there, but when it was done it would have another four or five foot long and one foot wide ¡°bolt¡± of what I could not distinguish enough from linen to call it anything else. I say another because I saw rolled up adjacent to the loom another four or so of those bolts. Things were starting to come together for me, finally; I was finally starting to feel like I was back in some sort of civilized livelihood. Come tomorrow I would finally evolve beyond this burlap material and start having proper clothing again. Clothing that didn¡¯t force one to ignore every possible inconvenient itch under the sun.


    It wasn¡¯t until I went to sit down for a spell in my two-story cabin that I realized that I had received exactly zero prompts throughout the day for any of my activities. I immediately made a ¡°bee-line¡± back to the alchemy lab and began writing on the research bench there of all the things that my minions had done for me that day, sketching out their activities with charcoal drawings in ¡°action shots¡±. I made a special point to diagram the clockwork harnesses and the methods they were using to transfer motive power on demand from the tension lines which triggered spring-assisted switches in turn. I also dedicated an entire book to the processes of using the loom and the items I recognized there -- warp, shuttle, loom¡­ and so on. Once I¡¯ve finished going through about ten books¡¯ worth of all of these things, calling for one of the homunculi to transfer the books over to the library in turn, my field of view is filled with a series of pop-up messages as I¡¯d hoped would occur.


    << Requirements met. General tech level unlocked: Early Clockwork Schizotech Era. >>


    << Special Requirements met. General tech level unlocked: Chalcolithic Era. >>


    << Special Requirements met. General tech level unlocked: Bronze Era. >>


    << Requirements met. General tech level unlocked: Primitive Biopunk Era. >>


    Wait. Bronze age unlocked and I¡¯ve never even smelted copper, let alone tin? How does that ¡­ huh. Oh. Oh goddamnit. There¡¯s been copper ore in those streams the entire damned time. If I¡¯d just tried melting various rocks I would have gotten there ages ago! I was literally looking at a small clump of the ore that I had used as a wall-building material because I couldn¡¯t tell bornite from granite before. This means that somewhere along the path of those streams is a seam of ore, and where there¡¯s copper there¡¯s usually proper iron as well.


    I can¡¯t even bear to think about how annoyed I am by the prospect of having essentially cockblocked my own conventional tech-advancement through simple lack of disciplined experimentation, so I unhappily go to eat my evening meal as prepared by the housemaid homunculus -- this time it¡¯s a wrap of herbs, chopped sauteed shelfruit, and reheated smoked trout, all in carrotato flatbread like a burrito. It occurs to me that I also need things to drink besides just plain water. There¡¯s a few tea options that immediately pop into my mind thanks to my Basic Deciduous Survival, and I recall that I never worked out de-poisoning those clusterberries.


    Nor, for that matter, have I actually captured those blackbirds like actually kicked off my great adventure before. Ahh, well. Another day another dollar; that can be tomorrow¡¯s problem.

 6 - Materialistic Accumulation

    I wake up as gracefully as can be accomplished given my sleeping arrangements being what they are, and after my morning ablutions make my way downstairs, hearing the clicking and ticking of my waiting homunculi. Seeing the seven little mutants in their clockwork harnesses and their diligently obedient faces picks me up way more than it ought to. I even notice that one of them -- not that I can even tell them apart -- has already prepared a meal for me. Just shelfruit hashbrowns sprinkled with different herbs, but it¡¯s warm and pleasant. I need to find some sort of oat or something. There¡¯s plenty of grasses around but they don¡¯t really seem to go to seed the way I¡¯d need for rice or oats. Maybe ¡­ hrm.


    ¡°Alright... today I want one domestic worker as always, one farmer and one gardener. I want one of you working on creating bolts of reed linen using an upsized loom now that you guys have reasonable reach. I want another of you creating burlap bags to better store the stuff in the root cellar. I want another of you to work on cultivating a domesticated grass. Focus on the seeds being large and plentiful. We¡¯re going to need a lot of this so it should have double the farm-plot space as the carrotatos and shelfruits. The last of you will be domesticating the clusterberries, and building a juicing station and barrels to store them in. This will all begin once all seven of you have completed building a dry-goods warehouse adjacent to the greatoak and connected via tunnel to the root cellar. Also; new general rule: if there isn¡¯t already a building to house the work or product of work for whatever you¡¯re doing or making, there needs to be one. This obviously excludes ¡°naturally outdoors¡± things like farming. Got it? Okay¡­ break!¡±


    My minions scatter off in a whirring and clicking chaos that somehow manages to come across as orderly. As they do, I set myself to extracting the numbing moss¡¯s essence of exhaustion and, well, numbness. The basic idea here being to create a tonic that I can deliver via splash over a couple of blackbirds in order to capture them and work on extracting from them their essential intellect. My Primitive Biopunk knowledge tells me that once I have the essence I can use a similar method to what I used on the homunculi and basically culture it in vats. That will be ¡­ useful.


    The work of actually creating those growing vats requires imbuing quartzite crystals with basic sanguinism ¡°grow/heal¡± essence so that they can accumulate natural or directed light and redirect it down with a low-grade ¡°grow and be sustained¡± beam of energy. What I wind up with after most of a full morning¡¯s work is little better than an infrared lamp over a bunch of petri dishes, but not having to go through the full process of extracting essences in the future will be a life-saver for repeated work, like the domestication essence that I use as a testing option for the system. My little guys will be able to simply scoop up essence from the correct dish and let it regenerate rather than have to go through multiple alchemical steps to obtain it from the raw source. That should speed up the work significantly.


    I also extract the stamina-negating essence from the numbing moss into another dish, clearly labelling both by way of scratching out the essence name on the side of the stone dishes before placing them on the new shelf under the grow-lights. The stuff doesn¡¯t exactly accumulate instantly, but after a few hours the amount I have left over after harvesting for my knockout potions should be enough to make four or five more of them.


    I quietly gear up in my ¡°adventuring¡± gear, again looking like some kind of swashbuckling steampunk pirate, but this time carrying a pair of easily broken clay vials. The nice thing about the knockout potions being drawn from that numbing moss is that the enhanced volatiles will disperse their scent through the air and even if I don¡¯t directly hit the birds they should still wind up falling asleep. It doesn¡¯t take me long, once I go out the pondward gate, to find a small cluster of the birds roosting on a tree. What takes a little longer is tying one of the vials to the front of an arrow so that I can fire said arrow at the branch the birds are on. I don¡¯t want to get too close to the little bastards; they can be vindictive when they are messed with. I¡¯m banking on their simply not having evolved in tandem with human or tool-using beings to fail to associate the arrow with me.


    I miss my first shot wildly due to not having the balance correct and not guessing the distance I can fire the arrow correctly, but luckily the vial was sturdy enough that when it landed in the soft dirt it didn¡¯t break, so I still have another two shots left after that first one. The second still largely misses -- I don¡¯t get any of the tincture itself on any of the birds, but one of them actually winds up hopping closer to where the vial had broken to investigate it, and winds up essentially chloroforming itself out of the tree. This, for me, is a wild success.


    I quickly dash forward, scoop up the fallen bird, and make a sprinting run back towards the manor even as what seems like half a murder caws and chases after me. I¡¯m careful to carry the little guy in the crook of my arm so as to avoid injuring it as I run and squeeze myself through the gate, but the focus on getting away from the birds causes me to fail to think through the fact that animals that can fly can, well, fly over walls.


    I¡¯m screaming about Alfred Hitchcock being an asshole even as I make a mad dash back to the alchemy lab while trying to cover my head from the buggers. Once I¡¯m in, their pecking and pestering at the windows and door of the shed takes an annoyingly long time to taper off -- and I¡¯m fairly convinced it only happens when one of my homunculi ¡°checks in¡± to see if my shouting had been about changing my orders. One thing¡¯s certain: blackbirds really do not care for giant spiders. I cannot claim this doesn¡¯t endear them to me.


    I¡¯ve never actually extracted essence from anything living that wasn¡¯t myself before, and I¡¯m not altogether certain how to go about doing it with the blackbird without injuring it before I finally decide to give up on that agenda and simply start whipping up a sanguine healing tonic to feed to the critter after taking sufficient samples to get what I¡¯m after. Once I get that taken care of, I sit down to start attempting to extract from blood and quill samples what I¡¯m after from the bird, and despite what I¡¯m expecting to begin with the process of identifying the exact traits I¡¯m after for extraction is actually quite intuitive. After alchemically rendering down the blood and feather scrapings together, the fluids seem to part into a colorful mixture in the cauldron and I just know which blots to extract with the pipette to get the essences I¡¯m after. Specifically; the intelligence and social behaviors. After giving it a little thought I realize that it¡¯s a synergistic overlap of the Standard Alchemy and Primitive Biopunk knowledge. As I realize where that synergy is coming from I also notice that my mana bar is filling back up -- and I hadn¡¯t even noticed that the process of extracting those essences from the lavalamp-like psychedelic fluid filling the alchemical cauldron had cost me MP in the first place, though given the sheer intensity of concentration necessary for it I can hardly claim that is surprising. I take special care to start culturing more of the essences as there¡¯s so little to begin with and I don¡¯t want them getting contaminated.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Once I actually heal the bird, it shows signs of starting to wake up so I carefully give it a small dose of knockout tonic again, and now that I¡¯m finished with her I arm back up and climb up a tree near where I originally found her flock and set her down on a branch to recover on her own, hopefully in familiar enough territory that she can go back to her life without incident.


    It¡¯ll take a little while for the tiny essence samples I¡¯ve acquired to actually grow into a sufficient size, so I spend that time making larger clay pots to use as grow-vats for what will become my security ¡°dog¡± workforce. The most difficult part in that all things considered is that each one will require its own dedicated grow-light focused inside of the vat, and the process of infusing sanguine growth essence into quartzite is delicate and therefore not really amenable to any kind of bulk operation. By the time I¡¯m finished with the production of the clay jars and their blood-red quartzite lamps, I check on the intelligence and socialized essences and decide that there¡¯s enough for maybe three attempts at what I¡¯m about to do.


    For this work I intend to return back to the stock spiderzilla, and after a bit of fertility-inducing sanguinism get a clutch of healthy egg-sac from a female. This process is made infinitely easier now that I have access to the knockout tonic, mind. Bringing the egg-sac back with me to the alchemical lab, I physically remove a small group of four or five eggs at a time out of the several dozen in the sac and begin the process of infusing them with the intelligence, flocking, and domestication essences. I also add just a bare drop of my own and homunculus essence to the mix on momentary thought. Each of those three small groupings of eggs are then left to slowly mature in the growvats. It¡¯s my hope that by not using my sanguinism directly in maturing them they won¡¯t count against my mana cap. They also won¡¯t be connected to me as completely as my homunculi, but by having included my own and the homunculus essence I should automatically get instinctual acceptance as part of their ¡®flock¡¯.


    After this, I scribe down everything I¡¯ve done throughout the day back at the research bench -- sadly this fails to unlock anything -- and carry the new journal back over to the study¡¯s library. Rather than sit around and watch my minions work -- and let me tell you, it¡¯s surprisingly soothing to watch a bunch of adorable horrorbeasts clanking around in walker exoskeletons like mutant Tachikoma -- and head over to the weaving area. I snort when I find that it¡¯s actually a tent made of burlap. This won¡¯t do long-term but for now it adds ¡°color¡± to the place so fuck it. After looking around and seeing that there¡¯s sufficient tools and workspace to do what I intend to do, I head over to the dry warehouse -- much more ruggedly constructed -- and pick up a pair of bolts of reed linen. I can tell they were made today because they are as wide as the previous loom was tall. I then proceed to allow myself to go into fugue-state again with the intention of sewing up a set of three sets of shirts and double-layered pants, with scalehide elbow and knee patches for durability, as well as proper boxers. On the assumption that this won¡¯t take all that long to complete, I also decide to set up a proper pillow and mattress for at least myself, using the collected reed-tuft as a ¡°pillowtop¡± stuffing.


    When I come back from the fugue I find that surprisingly this time what I made was exactly what I¡¯d envisioned, though the mattress wound up being much more like a bedroll due to not having enough of the tuft stuffing material. Still, laying that over the straw-and-burlap mattress will give me the most pleasant sleeping experience I¡¯ve had in months, so I¡¯m not going to argue about it. Rather than sit around and closely investigate my memories of the fugue state, I simply enjoy the feeling of well-fitted non-scratchy fabric -- especially given that it¡¯s been getting hotter of late during the days and the linen is much lighter than the burlap ever was. It actually feels weird to have sleeves again, though. But hey, I¡¯ll get over it.


    Heading down to the back wall of the alchemy lab where I arranged the growvats, I crack open the seal on the first just enough to investigate what¡¯s inside, and find myself bombarded by three fist-sized furry spiders. In their juvenile eagerness they escape through the crack rapidly and crawl up my forearm with their abdomen waving to show their joy.


    I should really be worried about the fact that I both am not bothered by the babies crawling over me and have intuitive understanding of what their behaviors mean. Somehow, however, I¡¯m not. I had originally intended to harvest the first generation I¡¯ve created to try to make a more sophisticated generation but after seeing the sweet little things I just can¡¯t bring myself to do it, and instead crack open the other three seals as well, netting myself a total of 13 of the spider pups.


    It isn¡¯t until I start feeding the little things on live fish that I notice that their forelegs actually have what appear to be multi-jointed tripartite claws rather than what spiders normally have. My mind immediately fills in that this is a product of the influence of my own essence being added into the mix that produced them, and isn¡¯t all that surprising. It will be, however, useful in that it means -- however basic and undeveloped -- these little guys could be trained to be tool users. Watching as they voraciously dig into the fish I¡¯ve given them -- one trout to a pair -- I nod to myself in affirmation that despite their increased domestication compared to the feral spiderzilla, they still have the aggressive instincts of a predator. This is critical to my plans for them. Leaving them to their vicious repaste, I make my way over to the pond-side gate after gathering up a sampling of the enlargened reeds and another bundle of burlap, and start to dig out and construct a basic den for the little guys. Once they fully grow they¡¯ll need more space, but that will come later. After finishing my construction I return back to the lab, where my new miniature murderbeasts are lazing with ¡°the itis¡± after consuming their first meals. Picking up the dessicated fish corpses and moving them over to the designated rubbish bin for later cleanup, I carefully avoid disturbing the little things as I bring them over to the temporary den -- den or nest? I¡¯m going with den -- for them to sleep in properly.


    No real idea if they¡¯re truly going to work out as I hoped, but at the very least I¡¯ve now got my own small pack of highly social subsapient tool-using giant spiders to train into a guard force for my home. My Primitive Biopunk knowledge tells me that they¡¯re going to wind up growing to about 15 to 18 or so pounds when fully mature. Slightly larger than ordinary spiderzillas and my homunculi but not incredibly so.

 7 - Assessing Options

    After somewhat careful consideration I decide, the following morning, that it would be best to use sanguinism growth acceleration to mature the hunting spiders into full maturity early while all of my homunculi and I are assembled near them.  While this will leave them immature developmentally, that can be offset by having a couple of homunculi spend the day training them to basic obedience. Stay, fetch, follow, attack -- that sort of thing. It will also serve as a true test of how well the intelligence and sociality traits have ¡°taken¡±, given that the first time I tried to imbue domestication in spiderzillas it took four generations to get where I needed it to. This does, however, have the side effect of cutting down the number of menial minions available for work down from seven to five.  Not the end of the world, really, considering how effective they¡¯ve been at the tasks I asked of them.


    Case in point: my root cellar now has a couple of small casks with a rather tart berry juice filling them.  I¡¯ll need to work out a way to sweeten the stuff at some point, because the sample I tried was rather like sucking on a sour lemon and that¡¯s just really not my thing.  Going from ¡°here¡¯s a couple of berries that give you explosive diarrhea¡± to ¡°here¡¯s a couple of casks of sour lemon berry juice¡± is an impressive task to accomplish in a single day.  Reduced in total options, I set one of the minions to regular maintenance as always, but have one split attention between farming and garden maintenance, have a third work on reorganizing the library and adding cataloging because I¡¯m starting to have enough books now that it¡¯s difficult to remember where I put what, a fourth split its attention between producing more linen-cloth and improving the storage of my foodstuffs, and as an experiment I have the fifth start writing out the logs of what I had accomplished in the last couple of days while I instead helped the pair of homunculi in training the hunting spiders.


    Over the course of the day I discover a few things about said hunting spiders.  First, they are indeed quite imprinted on me, and to a lesser extent on the homunculi.  Second, they take to training far better than I¡¯d anticipated, as though they have some sort of instinctual understanding of English. Third, they are incredibly aggressive when it comes to actually attacking something.  My best-educated guess is that the domestication process actually shaped their natural predatory instincts rather than eliminating them.  While ordering one to ¡°kill¡± one of my homunculi caused the hunting spider to instead look back at me and hiss in what I knew to be a whine of confusion and pleading, when I instead gave it a bit of untreated rabbit hide and said ¡°hunt¡±, not only did it launch itself up into the air and then crawl over the gate to get to the woods outside, but so did all twelve of the rest of them. It was barely an hour later when they all came back, five of them with rabbits in their chelicerae. That was ¡­ remarkably efficient, actually.


    Interestingly, while the rabbits were not alive, they were also not dessicated.  Not knowing exactly what their dietary needs would look like, I decided to cut the rabbits up after ordering the hunters to drop their kills, and proceeded to distribute the cut up products to each of them. As un-threatened as I was by the hunters themselves, I could not say the same about their feeding habits.  The process was anything but attractive, and I knew then and there that I would largely be allowing the critters to feed on their own.


    Now, when I originally set out to try to create a pack or flock of intelligent and violent but obedient animals, I had done so with the intention of having something that could effectively play the role of guard-dogs for my home. Seeing what I had managed to produce, I decided that it would be worth the effort to see how far down the rabbit hole of their being capable of tool use I could go, and with that thought I left the two homunculi there to continue the hunters¡¯ training and made my way over to the workshop where I proceeded to start working on some gear specifically for the hunters.  Namely, barbed spring-loaded ¡°punch¡± daggers that would be strapped to their forelegs in a manner that they could use their foreleg manipulators to trigger them without losing their general use of said claws, blackleather barding for their bodies and legs, and also -- and this is where I entered more questionable territory but based on how intelligent they already seemed to be I was willing to risk it -- a single-shot quartzite heat-beam weapon that would be mounted on the abdomen section of said barding, positioned such that by raising its abdomen and lowering its head it could fire the weapon by pulling down on the wire cord that would be tied to its chelicerae.  After a few moments¡¯ thought, I decide to add a small reservoir of knockout tonic to the punch daggers, allowing them to work as non-lethal poison injectors. I only manage to make the equipment for two of the hunters before I am confronted with a text popup.


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked:  Early Biopunk Era. >>


    << Requirements met.  Special tech level unlocked: Basic Directed Agriculture. >>


    << Requirements met.  Special tech level unlocked: Standard Directed Agriculture. >>


    << Requirements met.  Special tech level unlocked: Basic Sustainable Agriculture. >>


    Huh.  Hadn¡¯t expected an increase in the sustainable agriculture thing but I suppose the grow lights would qualify for that purpose.  There¡¯s still plenty of daylight left, however, so I decide to allocate what¡¯s left to another fugue-state for constructing the barding and gear for my new magical murderbeast companions. Who were adorable and not at all terrifying or malignant. Honest.


    ~~------------~~


    The next day passed largely in a similar manner to the previous. I spend more time training up my hunting spiders along with a pair of homunculi; this time I dedicate effort to having them train to patrol the area around my palisade wall in groups of three or four, lead by one of my homunculi.  They practice coordinating fire with the heatbeam weapons -- a kind of training that has me whipping up bulk batches of sanguine healing tonics until they get the proper knack of arching their abdomens enough to avoid getting caught in the thermal bloom of their own weapons, as well as practice in using the punch daggers.  They take much more to the punch daggers than they do the heatbeams, though that has to be because of how much more natural it is to attack something by striking it than by pointing your butt awkwardly at it. I did try to keep the weight of the barding down as much as I could due to having the sense that the hunters were more ¡°dexterity¡± than ¡°endurance¡± builds -- their apparent natural tactics were more ambush pack coordination than sticking it out.


    I did get one rather pleasant surprise, though, when I lost track of one of the hunters only to find it actively assisting the farming homunculus by digging at matured carrotatoes and carefully placing them next to the little guy who would then add them to the rickshaw-cart.  This was behavior I should have anticipated after seeing how easily they took to the tools I had given them, but still managed to be blindsided by. After witnessing this, I started breaking up the hunting spiders into two groups of three with a training homunculus each, and the others in groups of two or three to assist the others by pulling rickshaw carts or the like as directed by the homunculi, with any left over to be left to their own devices to do basically whatever.  So not only do I now have proper active defenses to go with my passive ones, I also have delegation of duty by allowing my workers to work and have extremely basic tasks performed under supervision.  Stolen story; please report.


    Given that the hunting spiders are so eager to assist the homunculi in their assigned workloads, I revise the orders of all of my homunculi to try to train the hunters to do whatever basic tasks they deem the hunters capable of learning to do.  It¡¯s largely not much more than monkey-see monkey-do, but this will expand the capabilities of my home even further than the homunculi could in the first place. To the point where I start to have moments where I feel like I could just sit and watch the sun with nothing important to do, rather than race against the clock to fit as much as I possibly could into every single hour to stave off boredom, terror, and mental breakdown from discomfort.


    It¡¯s late afternoon before I decide to take a stab at revisiting something from my day-long field-trip and take a look into what I could accomplish with those glow beetles.  As it turns out, in the time I¡¯d been ignoring them, they¡¯d fully matured from their grub state and were clacking around in the chitinite terrarium that my homunculi had been keeping them in.  This wasn¡¯t that much of an issue; there was plenty of room in it for them along with the other few other animal samples that were in the garden. Of the dozen grubs that had pupated, I only had ten that were still alive. The corpses of the other two were still in there, largely dessicated. They didn¡¯t seem to have any kind of mildew or fungus or anything, so I couldn¡¯t really say why they had died. Perhaps it was simply a product of their maturation, or maybe they had some sort of traumatic insemination as a species?  I really just didn¡¯t know.


    The thing that I found really interesting about glow beetles was what my survivalism lore told me about their potential use in fire starting. Apparently, if you soaked glow beetle lymph into shredded wood fibers or dried grass, it would hold a burn a lot longer than would otherwise be the case.  Having not actually seen the phenomenon myself I didn¡¯t really know how that stacked against flammable oils or waxes, but it definitely held a kind of potential that I very much wanted to explore. So over to the essence extractor these little guys would get to go, once I¡¯d used my sanguinism fertility trick to force the ten left to produce viable eggs within the terrarium, and again to get their eggs to develop into the grub state.  From ten adults I got seventy grubs. Killing the adults and removing fifty of the grubs, I took the collection of critters over to the alchemy lab and began sorting through the essences of the species, trying to see what I could recognize and what I might find useful.


    I spend the day puttering about with the various traits of the glow beetle, just trying to get more experience with my apparent intuition about traits and how to separate or sort them by sight. Trying to get a sense of whether there¡¯s any specific action that has a mana cost associated with it and whether there¡¯s variation in the mana cost, and that sort of thing.  I do manage to learn that the first time I identify a specific trait, it has a cost of about one tenth of my mana bar. But thereafter each time I identify that trait, if I try to ¡®narrow it down¡¯ there can be a fluctuating cost associated with it from either none or so little I can¡¯t notice it, to a quarter of my mana bar if I¡¯m somehow exceeding what the animal the trait is drawn from can do.  There seems to be an inverse relationship, thus, between the mana cost and the total amount of a specific essence I can extract. By way of example; the bioluminescence essence cost me perhaps a twentieth of my mana to extract from the cauldron I rendered down the ten adults from, and so little I couldn¡¯t even notice from the rendering of the grubs -- yet I got about three times as much of it from the grubs.  I set aside a trait dish for future use of the bioluminescence, as I had all manner of ideas for what it could be used for given how reliant I was on natural light for much of what quartzite could do. On the other hand, getting any ¡®flammability¡¯ at all cost me three quarters of my mana bar when I tried to extract it from the grubs, and I got barely a few drops of it. After setting it aside in its own petri dish I then went on to attempt to make a ¡®flammability tonic¡¯ just to see what it would do.


    Now that was a fun experiment.  By which I mean I had apparently invented a form of self-immolating kerosene.  Just add contact. I might have been a little bit more successful with that than I had planned.  Unfortunately, it didn¡¯t seem I could actually reduce the intensity of the tonics by diluting them: they either worked completely, or not at all.  So I would have to go back to the infusion of essences into critters approach, but to be honest that was probably better anyhow because it didn¡¯t tie up alchemy lab time to create.  Plus, it gave me the opportunity to attempt something I hadn¡¯t actually tried out before -- modifying an already-living organism with essential infusions. I could easily do organisms during gestation, but adding infusions wasn¡¯t something I¡¯d tried out before.  So I slaughtered one of the male cattle spiders on the premise that I still had another two males and that would be plenty to ensure the next generation grew correctly, and proceeded to render it down to its base essence. The next step was actually the inverse of what I normally did: rather than trying to sort the essences, I had to fuse them.  Normally, the alchemical rendering process created emulsions. After a few minutes of sitting there staring at the self-sorting psychedelic colors in the cauldron, I stumbled upon the idea of using a ¡®neutral¡¯ catalyst to essentially act as a binding agent and thus turn the emulsion into a solution. Having long-since set up a second rendering cauldron up, I drew a sample of the domestication essence into the cauldron and began the process of converting it into its own negation, as I used to need to do before I developed the extraction technique.


    Afterwards, I re-added an exactly equal amount of the domestication essence once again into the cauldron, this time with a vapor hood over the secondary cauldron which would capture the released alchemical vapors from this reaction and rather than allow the vapor hood to simply vent the gas outside, had it pass through a pipe that would percolate it through the cattle-spider essence emulsion, to which I had added the ¡®flammability¡¯ essence.


    I had to repeat this process three or four times to actually get all of the essence in the primary cauldron to fuse together, but once it had, I had myself a cauldron full of the essence of flammable cattle-spider.  Using that as a reagent for the trusty old sanguine healing technique on one of the female cattle spiders was the next step based on what I was hoping to accomplish, and ¡­ well, I managed to not set the farm on fire, when the spider I was targeting converted itself into a living fireball.


    Which at least means that in general principle, I was onto something.  From there it was just trial-and-error to get a working solution down. Apparently, I needed to add a negation essence of the fused-base type while simultaneously adding the new type in order to prevent the kind of ¡°exciting event syndrome¡± from reoccurring.  Well, that and to reduce rather more than I¡¯d anticipated the amount of ¡®flammability¡¯ I was introducing, by first fusing it with the hemolymph essence and then fusing it with the base, so as to have some kind of control over where in the resultant animal the new trait would occur.


    By the time I was done I had gone through two full generations of cattle spiders, and had to re-grow the grass in their pen six times.  But what I got at the end was overall worth it. Rather than simply tossing out all of the cattle-spider except for their chitin from now on, I¡¯d be able to press and filter their hemolymph in order to obtain something I couldn¡¯t really tell apart from lamp oil.  I didn¡¯t really have a specific use for this yet, but the targeted trait engineering would certainly come in handy. I was rewarded with something I very much anticipated when I finally recorded the process I had gone through for sorting into the library, though.  One separate description of the mana costs and another for the trait rearrangement process.


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked: Middle Biopunk Era. >>

 8 - Conflicted Development

    The next few days were largely iterative on what I had already accomplished thus far. I created a version of the shelf fungus that was smaller, harder, and bioluminescent, which would act as a source of overnight charge for the grow lights maintaining the archived essences. I added a second room to the alchemy lab, and dug out a basement for it that went the length of both. The second room would contain the growth vats. The basement would contain the essence archive, which I already knew was going to get more and more extensive.


    Growing the quantity of the flammability essence by extracting it from a few generations of cattle spiders was easy enough, and inverting it in bulk just as straightforward. Using that essence as a stain for the palisade came next, and went far quicker than actually making the palisade itself. I had a trench dug out around it as well, and filled with chitinite barbed caltrops, with clockwork retractable wooden bridge installed to cross it more easily.


    Throughout that whole time, I had my guard-patrols also sketching out superior maps, blazing trails to more interesting destinations they found. I had cobblestone paths laid down throughout the manor, and even extended one down to the pond. Laying down the cobblestone was done in a slight arch, with small open rain gutters on either side. The root cellar got a clockwork sump pump, even. All the major work areas got additional drainage emplaced, in fact -- including the dens for the hunting spiders, of which I now had a grand total of thirty five. I had even found a way to keep eggs of many more in a kind of biostasis in a special growvat -- I''d found a kind of parasite in a soil sample that went into dormancy like ticks and created a tonic to store the eggs in from it. The tent for the weaving workhouse went as well, replaced by another cobblestone shed. The reason for all of this was that my deciduous survivalism was hinting to me that summer storms here could be quite prolonged and intense.


    I had to admit that when I was installing the caltrops in the defensive trench I thought about letting it become a most instead, but the idea of that much stagnant water nearby had resulted in my installing a sump system for the trench instead. This would also probably keep the area inside the manor walls from getting too mired, on top of whatever rain protection being under the shade of a greatoak would provide anyhow. I had just one last piece of preparation I would need to make, however, and that was one that would require me to make longer trips than I''d ever initially anticipated.


    The thing about chitinite and ossium is that they are no more conductive than their non-alchemical equivalents. Which is to say, they make great resistant material. This however was a problem for anyone who had the goal of creating lightning rods to protect his buildings. I could and did treat the roof shingling with the anti flammable stain, but that wouldn''t actually prevent the concussive force of a lightning strike from doing damage. And as of right now, I could scrounge the pond and streams for rocks with a moderate copper content and smelt it, which would actually be easy enough -- but that in and of itself was actually the issue. It was too easy. I would need a metal whose melting point was high enough to not do an impression of a hot candle on a tin roof when struck and neither copper nor bronze were to to the task.


    So I had to resort to doing some longer-range prospecting. By having a single homunculus handle both the garden and farm area with the help of a small cadre of hunters, and another handle all maintenance/cleaning work in the same way, and one last one to work on recording and sorting activities and techniques and information about the c samples I''d archived, I was able to free up two in order to do roving defensive patrols around the base, leaving me with another two to accompany me as I went on what would be the longest trip I''d taken since establishing the manor grounds as my home base.


    The only real challenge there was that the clockwork harnesses the homunculi used to get their labor done were both too slow in general and required too-long of intermission breaks for me to tolerate. So I had to come up with a solution to the problem. It took me the better part of five days -- while all the rest of what I''d described above was completed -- to work out how to make bronze from copper and black ossium. But once I did, I had a proper metallic material to work with, and one I believed to be more potentially useful than ordinary bronze in certain ways, as it received alchemical treatments very well and that in turn allowed me to create significantly superior clock springs than I previously had access to. They were roughly twice as strong and could release their tension both more quickly and more slowly. That, and I could make actual drawn wire with it, thus replacing the clockwork harnesses'' current leather straps with black-bronze cables, allowing for a more efficient transfer of power.


    The end result of those five days was an upgraded version of the harnesses that had the ability to operate continuously for up to six hours at normal usage (and three at ''vigorous'' speeds of a light jog) and still only required the one hour to recharge. Less if spare quartzite crystals could be swapped in. Sadly, the total efficacy of the harnesses wouldn''t help me, still, as the materials I had access to just couldn''t bring the necessary ''oomph'' to the table. Not yet, anyhow.


    Even with the upgraded clockwork harnesses, my homunculi were still not exactly useful in an actual fight, but good enough to make the kind of journey I had in mind feasible. Especially as they would only have to be leading teams of two hunting spiders each as they pulled load bearing wagons behind them. It was actually rather impressive just how much weight the teams could pull in those wagons without slowing my pace down at all. Between the two wagons they were able to haul about two times my weight. Three times if I was willing to swap out the hunters on pulling duty every few hours. Not that I was bringing quite that much with me out: a tent and cot, portable stove, bedroll, some basic supplies, and four days'' worth of food. I could have carried that in my backpack. And of course clockwork drill hammers and black ossium spades and prybars. Part of the reason for getting away traveling that light was that I was going to mostly follow the streams as both navigational aids and water sources. Since I''d discovered there was actually copper ore in the rocks I''d been using for construction, it stood to reason that somewhere upstream, I would find indications of a seam, and generally speaking where there''s a seam of copper there''s other ores as well. My primary hope was that I might find zinc or tin or even silver as well as concentrated copper, but what I was really holding out hope against was finding iron ore.


    I knew, however, that there would be none of the above with any appreciable amount within a day or two''s travel which was why this expedition. (If push came to shove I had a couple carefully preserved dormant carrotatoes and shelfruit that I could extend my food supplies with quite a lot further than just the amount I was bringing already preserved.)


    Leaving my minions with their various orders for the duration, I took my leave of my new home for my extended trip fully kitted out myself and in the company of twelve hunting spiders and two homunculi, all kitted out to their various normal standards. I pity any raccupine or bear that should stumble upon my little arachnopirate crew of misfits.


    ~~------------~~


    Nine days. I followed that stream and the tributaries I encountered, checking for indications of more or less presence of minerals for nine friggin'' days. After the third day I started padding our food stocks as planned, unwilling to give up until I had made a real effort at determining the viability of any mining efforts. We must have managed fifteen kilometers a day, though that actually consisted of more like thirty as a result of the not-infrequent doubling back and spot-checking potentially likely outcroppings. It wasn''t until after nine entire days that I found something that really pushed the envelope and made me rethink the nature of the geology of the environment I was now within. About a hundred kilometers away from home, still in that interminable oak forest, I found a damned geothermal vent. It wasn''t exactly hot enough to produce actual steam, and sending out scouting parties to search for other vents didn''t result in any hits, but this one had a hot spring with a pond roughly the size of the pond back by the manor. This was¡­ well, infuriating.


    There were a few reasons why I felt that way when I found the heated natural water feature. Most of the heavier mineral ores tend to be found near volcanic activity, and short of an actual volcano nothing says "volcanism ongoing here!" like a geyser or hot spring. They only happen, after all, when there''s a magma pocket near to the surface. This is all well and good, but there''s a somewhat major issue here: where there''s hot springs on the surface there''s almost always pressurized water channels in the rocks below, or pockets of noxious gases. Meaning that exactly where I need to mine is also exactly where I can least afford to be doing it.


    Unless, of course, I''m willing to potentially sacrifice some homunculi or other worker animals. I''ve already gotten the hunting spiders, and I''ve found other kinds of insects in this world. My mastery of biological tinkering is now to the level that I can selectively target things¡­ hmm. I really should have been paying more attention when Sterling was instructing me how to get ants, apparently. After all -- If I can''t find caves, and can''t mine them out myself¡­ I can always just grow them. Yes. Okay¡­ time to pack up and return to base. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    During my interminable trip home I begin thinking about the various things I''ll need to pull this frankly insane stunt I''m planning off, and it is quite extensive. I''ll need some variety of ground ant, of course, to work with. I''ll need to increase their size dramatically -- though happily giant bugs seem biologically feasible in this world -- and I''ll need to develop a way to direct their work for me. I''ll also need some way to let them easily/readily cut through or simply shape stone but I have ideas there. I''ll also need a better solution to cross-cut through the forest to navigate back to this place because hiking three hundred kilometers to travel slightly less than one hundred is an absolute fool''s game. Especially if, apparently, I''m going to be needing to do it with great frequency. This is a point that¡¯s driven home by the delays produced by the fact that I¡¯ve nearly overloaded the two carts with potentially viable ore samples from the small initial lead tunnels I and my homunculi dug out just to prove the viability of the site for future excavation.


    Due to not needing to backtrack constantly, the nine day trek to the spring wound up only taking four to get back. Had I been able to properly go cross-country it would have taken far less than that. When I finally did get back I discovered my home to be in largely the same state I had left it in. Happily, it seemed that my orders to my homunculi had been received as being for the duration, as I had intended. Still, though -- their lack of inspiration or non-procedural creativity showed itself in small ways. The farm and garden were no larger than they were when I had left -- including the oatgrass. The pantry, when I checked on it, was much fuller, and the carrotato and shelfruit were properly bagged, but the oats were just piling up loosely. The alchemical essence library had multiple samples of the same type in storage -- most of which were ones I''d almost certainly never use, let alone frequently enough to use a dozen times in a single stretch. The library had multiple days'' journals that were literally identical -- because the same things had been done in them. The general house duty work had always included meals so, since I wasn''t there to eat them, they just got thrown away. The dry goods warehouse at least had twenty or so amphorae of cattle oil to go along with the multiple baskets of dried and crumbled pre-rendered chitin, with fish scales in baskets adjacent to them.


    The list of little signs of the homunculi''s lack of overall "creative spark" were numerous beyond even all of that, but at least they didn''t just stop all work while I had been away. The next few days after my return consisted of my brainstorming how to solve my little mining issue while simultaneously arranging for the cleanup of my minions'' labors. It had become clear to me for example that my clockworks needed to be made superior, and that the actual bronze I was now able to make would be a scarce resource until the mine was properly established. And by established I meant something far more impressive than a single 45% hole a yard in diameter that went a hundred feet down. The primary challenge there, however, was that I simply couldn''t rely on any solution I worked out to get me workable materials in anything like the timeframe I needed. Even if I relocated my home to the hot spring, by the time I was established, the rains and summer storms would have come.


    So, I decided to double down on the techniques I did have access to. While setting my scouting patrols to try to find me some viable ant queen to begin the bioessence notification I''d need to actually make a go of the mining project, I also had my other minions revamp my home setup. Proper clay mortar with chitinite lacquer was put into place wherever possible on the stone walls, to make the joins more-resistant to weather. The bark shingles were in batch replaced with baked clay tiles coated with the same chitinite lacquer. And all the while, I spent my time puttering in the alchemy lab, trying to find answers to some of the questions I had about how this world I was in worked, or simply make progress with my mining ambitions.


    It had, oddly enough, taken my scouting minions another week to find a viable ant colony to harvest. Well, like with the oaks and blackbirds I was going to call them ants because they seemed close enough. Some of the aspects of the biology of this world''s ecosystem really didn''t make any sense to me at all. I mean, ants are everywhere back on Earth. The role they play in any forested ecosystem is utterly pivotal. Yet here, they''re apparently quite rare. Instead there were lots of beetles and some kind of short-lived fruitfly or gnat whose reproductive cycle occurred just about every season, causing most exposed decaying vegetation to get covered in near microscopic grubs or larvae for a couple of weeks that hectically digested it the way ants and fungi normally did back home. I''m sure I was getting the specifics wrong, here -- I largely only knew how to survive in this forest, not the biosciences behind how it all stayed together. It did explain why there were so few mushrooms though.


    Regardless, as the summer heat began to grow closer and closer to its full potential I finally began to make progress in some of my experiments. For example, it turned out that there was in fact an "obedience" element to the domestication trait my hunters had been imbued with. It seemed to be the result of the mixture or mingling of the intelligence and domestication traits. More interesting, however, is that I could after culturing an entire growth vat of obedience essence, extract -- though only in vapor form -- the essence of certain commands specifically. In and of itself that wasn''t very useful, but it certainly hinted at future possibilities of imbuing programmed behaviors into animals. I also had the inspiration of using the captured vapor of the command or behavior essence from the mining ants to try to allow directing their behaviors, as I recalled that ant colonies used scent marking to form complex behaviors "bottom up" from simple ones. The behavior-vapors could allow me to influence the swarm logic of the colony as I wanted.


    At least, that was the initial idea. As it turned out, as tested in eight generations of mining-ant development, that concept could work, but only in a very basic and labor-intensive way. The whole point of the thing was to develop a largely fire-and-forget solution as I would be deploying them several days away, and having to constantly extract and lay down vapors at that distance just wasn''t ever going to be cost-efficient. So I''d instead wound up having to direct my energies towards a different direction. I knew that imbuing the entire species with higher order intelligence wasn''t exactly a great idea, as the numbers that ant colonies normally developed meant there was just no way I could actually see them all trained into obedience even if I lived directly among them -- and the idea of allowing that kind of intelligence to go feral was one whose ecological impact was frankly disturbing -- but I eventually wound up having to give up on the direct swarm behavior manipulation and instead try to find a different route to getting what I wanted, so I finally stumbled upon the idea of caste development.


    It took quite a few rather intense mana headaches to get the "caste" essence from my labrat ants, but once I had it the rest just sort of gelled. A given ant caste developed by being exposed to certain stimuli while in the pupae stage, and while normally a colony only had three or four castes I could exploit the targeted essence infusion to introduce new ones, and even influence how often they would emerge. So I did just that, introducing a "brain" caste to the experimental colonies after having increased the species'' average size from a few millimeters to a few inches in order to have the minimum mass to even have a chance at this working at all. The brain caste wound up having heads that were as large as the rest of their entire body at first and couldn''t really do much of anything as they could barely move, but they did show evidence of heeding my verbal and hand signal commands as intended. I wound up needing to enhance the brain caste''s ability to emit controlling pheromones and introduce "directional" ones to the general command-set in order to get the brain caste any utility at all.


    This began to stretch the limits of what I could accomplish just in my lab so sectioned off an as-yet unused portion of my manor''s defended area for further development and after another round of domestication and size increase also invested the ants'' digestive enzymes with an anti-stone essence and tested to confirm that they would, in fact, burrow into rock; and further increased their mandibles'' durability by infusing it with that essence of ossium, as well as increasing their proportionate mandible strength. And not only did they do so, they did with far greater efficacy than I had anticipated. With some guidance from a training homunculus, the brain ants wound up directing the worker caste to chew out chambers and tunnels large enough for me to squeeze my way through, and even reinforce tunnels by using their digestive juices in a way I hadn''t anticipated, by literally fusing loose rock together. They otherwise dug through solid stone the way regular ants could through loose soil, each individual ant able to dig quickly enough that their work was visible in its progress.


    I found myself enthusiastic enough with the idea of this that I decided to start planning out a complete overhaul of my manor''s infrastructure. The enzyme fusing solid stone was something I just hadn''t foreseen and it could be entirely ground-breaking. I could literally use the ants to construct buildings better than concrete -- and with ossium rebar could go the extent of reinforced stone. This wouldn''t let me make glass skyscrapers but I could move into the architectural design recognizable in the modern age, certainly. At the very least, I deemed the mining ant project an overall basic success. Enough of one that at the cost of a permanently allocated pair of homunculi, and a dedicated batch of twenty new-grown hunting spiders to assist them, I felt that it was time to establish my first remote colony. A mining colony of a colony of mining ants, defensive spiders, and supervisory homunculi. Despite not having a feasible means of transferring ore back and forth just yet, I could at least rely on the homunculi to comprehend the goal of "build a self-sufficient and weather-tolerant base to the same standard of the manor. It should also be usable as a backup home in case something goes wrong with the manor. Direct the mining ants as needed to facilitate construction, and storage of ore. Maintain the base for long-term use. Smelt any ores you locate as best you can using heat quartzite forges." I would have to rely on written reports and orders from there, but that wouldn''t be too horrible overall.


    The mining colony would be a long-term feasibility project as well as a potential source for metals for further advancement along the various tech trees. I could at least appreciate that some of the lessons-learned in preparing for it had implications for my manor as well; especially in better time-management approaches to the homunculi. I would from now on be able to simply write out on a slate the tasks I wanted accomplished on a given day and expect them to follow manuals of instructions for the parameters of those tasks without needing to endlessly repeat myself as to how things should be done.

 9 - Fault Tolerance

    It had occurred to me that over the last month, I had made basically no tech level progress of any kind.  While some of that could be attributed to the inevitable ¡°sigmoid slowdown¡± that you always see in game systems -- where the early advancements come cheap and easy and later require ever greater accomplishments to achieve -- the fact is that I hadn¡¯t obtained any tech level advancements despite having done a positively huge amount of research and exploration. I had to attribute this to almost all of that research being on ways to use what I already knew about, or specific implementations of that knowledge rather than any kind of material advancement in know-how.  I had to assume that whatever the tech-levelling system was, it didn¡¯t actually operate on any sort of ¡°research point¡± mechanic nor have some sort of ¡°breakthrough¡± mechanic. It really made very little sense overall; my best guess about it was that by achieving some indication in the eyes of the system that I already was operating at some technological level, it would fill in all the missing blanks of expertise for what the people of a civilization ought to know to live at that level.


    That¡¯s not to say, however, that I hadn¡¯t advanced in any sense of the word with what I¡¯d done. I couldn¡¯t let myself fall into the trap of thinking that advancement only came in the form of bolded text pop-ups. That way lie being a tool of the system rather than it being my tool.  I had learned a few things in that period of time, actually. For one I¡¯d learned more about how the isolation of specific traits in the alchemic arts was related to mana consumption; and further that there was a logic to how ¡®spiritual¡¯ or ¡®conceptual¡¯ something was and how ¡°dense¡± it was in alchemic recipes. Meaning that there was an absolute upper bound to what I could hope to accomplish with the current model of my Biopunk knowledge¡¯s progression path and its ability to engineer behaviors in organisms.  At least¡­ there was if I stuck to what that knowledge told me of how to accomplish things. I was making a special point of writing down certain thoughts somewhere other than my research station, just so that I could follow up with them later. I mostly phrased it all as recollections of things from back on Earth; stuff like computer games I¡¯d played and books I¡¯d read.  Specific things I¡¯d recalled from news articles and family events. Stuff that would help me to hold onto the way of thinking from back on Earth, and maybe sort through from time to time to have ideas about how to proceed.


    An example of what that kind of progress could look like was my trying to observe how long it took to recover from complete mana depletion in various places or during various activities. I already knew that I couldn¡¯t unlock the ¡°arcanist¡± trait for whatever reason, but as I now had abilities that depended on the use and recovery of mana it behooved me to learn as much as I could about it.  As a result, I had stumbled upon a realization that, honestly, I should have seen coming. Namely -- quartzite crystals, as part of their formation process, absorb ambient mana. Or, at least, something about their being formed reduces the rate at which I can recover mana even if I myself am not directly involved in the formation of said crystals. Given their clearly magical nature this shouldn''t have really surprised me at all, and mostly it didn''t, but in a way it did -- because I never experienced any kind of mana drain when creating the crystals and as of yet I had believed that all of the magical things I was pulling off required some investment of magical energy from me in order to do it.  But somehow, in at least this one case, that wasn''t true.


    This opened up possibilities for me that I honestly hadn''t considered until now.  Up until now, I thought quartzite crystals had an alchemical relationship with light and heat, absorbing and emitting it.  I thought that their ability to tremble or rattle was a sort of piezoelectric thing from flawed crystals emitting photons too quickly.  What I didn''t think was that there was actual mana involved in the phenomena, and now that I knew it was there, I had hopes for learning more about the nature of the world I was now living in. After all; if you can observe something in a medium, then that implies that you can also measure it in a quantifiable manner.  There were also implications of the relationship of mana costs in alchemy to how "conceptual" the trait being worked with was. It occurred to me that since I first learned of the existence of the crystals I hadn''t really tried anything in terms of integrating any of my other knowledge of crystals into the mix. I''d only tried to work with quartzite and took it for granted only quartzite could be made, and that what I was using quartzite for was all it could do.


    So, while I spent time waiting for reports back from my new colony, I kept mostly everything in a maintenance cycle of growth according to my needs, stockpiling supplies I could now harvest, and basically preparing for "what comes next", whatever that might be.  By way of example of this, I had the mining ants'' digging enzyme harvested into sealed wooden barrels for later use and application in construction, going so far as to allow it to be seeped into the mud mortar of my existing buildings to create better joins. I used ossium rods as rebar to deposit fused-gravel to create a concrete analogue for new construction or support columns, and got a second basement layer connecting most of my buildings together, as well as a balcony for the second floor of my house.  The alchemy lab, workshop, and warehouse all got second levels as well, not that I particularly had anything with which to do with them right now. The mining-ant tunnel chambers underneath the farm were dedicated to grow-vats that were being used for my crop plants and the cattle spiders, as a backup method of harvesting them. It seemed more effort to work, but the real trick was seeing if the ants themselves could be trained to maintain the vats, and it was certainly true that just in terms of total biomass the ants were a huge investment compared to everything I''d had before.


    In the meantime, I myself spent my time puttering around with the quartzite crystals, trying out various ways of stretching my limits as it were with them.  I had a lot of failures, a few of which made me quite glad of the fact that my labs weren''t, for the most part, flammable. As a result of the first few such failures I found a use for the lab''s second floor:  I had a "remote" lab setup constructed that used clockwork arms to manipulate things rather than sit in the "hotseat" myself. It was slower going but it beat singing my eyebrows -- or eyelids -- off. Or losing a homunculus.  They might not have minded being treated like disposable, soulless, tools but there was simply no way I was going to bring myself to treat them as such.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    There were a few successes, however;  I got deeper insight into what was causing the limit on the growth size of the crystals, on why they had to be either in absorb or emit mode (and it did have something to do with the pressure on them, as I''d thought), and even on the impact of mana availability on their formation.  I even got System''s acknowledgement of this when I wrote of it at the research table, advancing me to Standard Quartzite Manipulation¡­ but not when I wrote of it beforehand at the library/study desk.  The implications there were tickling a corner of my brain but I didn''t really know what it was.


    The quartzite infodump largely told me more of the same with regards to what I had already learned.  I had already figured out how to double the final size of the grown crystals, and could infuse them with sanguinism growth and healing essence.  The idea of adding rarified alchemical essence vapors to the crystal growth process was something whose technique I now knew implicitly like the back of my own hand.  The biggest new item however was the notion of fibrous quartzite. It was incredibly delicate and more so the longer it was, but at short lengths could "sap" one crystal to deposit to another.  That is to say, I could now link one or more crystals together, though this was an "always on" connection.  I could have a single heat-absorbing crystal over an open flame for example be connected to a crystal that absorbed heat and emitted light, and connect that to a third crystal that absorbed light and produced tremor motion (as tremor crystals didn''t or couldn''t absorb heat while in motion).  There would never be a need for a recharge phase. Splitting a single charging crystal to connect to two or more could also be done.


    With this discovery I immediately saw the potential benefits for my homunculi''s clockwork harnesses, as the fibrous connections could allow them to use the faux kerosene as a primary fuel for always-active operation at an even higher level of operation.  One that might even permit light combat duty (read: the ability to run away from things or punch something with a knife in a manipulator arm and have it actually hurt). I set one of my five local homunculi to that task while I explored further potential use of the new crystals in understanding the nature and/or behavior of mana.  I wound up creating several "novelty" crystals as a result of this -- infusing them with various vapor-essences that didn''t really seem to do anything, even as I "knew" they wouldn''t. I was more interested in whether the "useless" crystals still had the same mana absorption penalty that useful ones did. What I learned was that the mana cost was indeed higher¡­ unless I had just used my mana to work with whatever essence was stored in the crystals.  Was there some sort of "flavor" or "transformation" of mana? I wasn''t sure.


    ~~------------~~


    My next series of experiments proved to be much more useful.  Given that the crystals actually had some relationship to mana that didn''t come from me, I had the brilliant idea of attempting to alchemically render down my quartzite crystals and see if I could thus determine from the process new information from the interaction of different "tech-trees" that they wouldn''t have given me just from the straight info-dumps I gained when unlocking a tech level.


    As it turned out, I in fact could gain new insight that way.  I learned for example that the older a crystal was, the more "crystalline" it was; a fresh crystal could do X amount whereas a crystal near its end of life could do X plus another tenth or so.  Or, rather, I learned why this was so, when the material structure nominally didn''t change at all during the entire working life of a crystal. And it boiled down to the relationship they had with mana.  The older the crystal, the less "quartzite" essence it had and the more quickly I could regenerate mana nearby the cauldron I was rendering it down into. This was good news, as it meant that I could now definitively state that my quartzite crystals were in fact storing mana, though I was still stymied by the notion of actually shaping or storing it in any meaningful manner beyond what the crystals already did.


    At least, I was until I stumbled on the thought of my bioluminescent shelf fungi which I was using for underground lighting. Or, rather, investing quartzite essence into them.  Turns out, what happens is that they grow a light sand-like layer around themselves early on and don''t mature enough to reach another generation. That sand furthermore didn''t seem to really do anything more, either.  My alchemical analysis showed it to basically just be regular quartz. A good find if I ever discovered myself to be running out of the stock material, not that I believed I would be anytime soon. On a hunch, however -- and because I really didn''t have any other paths before me -- I tried a few more approaches, eventually trying to hybridize the sand fungus with light essence.  This, unlike my previous uninteresting results, actually caused the development of a crystalline fungus. As in, it appeared that the entire organism was made out of crystal, and it glowed lightly.


    More importantly, unlike quartzite, I could shave off pieces of it without the whole thing breaking apart completely.  I could even grow a second generation of the new, bizarre, plant. I was entirely flying blind here with regards to what I was doing in terms of if I was even making any progress towards my eventual goal until I tried capturing the spores of the crystal fungus in strips of moist linen while under the influence of a growvat''s light crystal, drying out the linen, and thus getting a resultant powder that I could "shake out" of the linen.  In itself that again wasn''t all that useful but given what I already knew about quartzite absorbing mana during its growth phase, I figured the spores had to be more sensitive to the stuff than the grown fungus and that I could maybe observe some specific trait for this when rendering them down alchemically. And I could. It about knocked my ass out from the pain of sheer mana burnout, and it took me three times as long as normal to even start recovering my mana pool when I finally isolated the damned trait, but I got ahold of a "base mana interaction" trait essence.


    When I saw that, as a bio essence trait, I could even culture it for further accumulation without having to repeat the process I had thus far gone through to get more of it, I wound up laughing hysterically at having tricked this damned planet and its system into getting a workaround.  So what if I couldn''t manipulate mana like a wizard, if I could make minions or tools that could do it instead?


    The news I got the next day after, when I finally "came up for air" from my research and bothered reading the activity reports from my homunculi, actually managed to put a serious damper on my good mood.  My damned mine was under siege. By elves.  Fucking bark-and-vine wearing goddamned wood-elves.

 10 - Vectors of Communication I

    ¡±My Lady.  We have found what we believe to be the source of the disturbance in the balance of ishuar here in the Treatied Wilds.". The man kneeling before her was someone she had known since childhood.  A lifelong family retainer, he was in some ways as much a parent to her as her actual mother and father.  His silver-blonde hair and almond complexion were the only real indications that this was untrue; for those of the alfar who were not blessed with Rishuata''s Gift could never rise above their castes to become nobility.  It was unfortunate, but by the time she was in her middle age, her third parent would have been dead for so long that not even dust would remain of his bones. Nobles, being part divine, simply had greater longevity and wisdom.


    It was with that wisdom, perhaps, that she beckoned for him to rise up.  "Come, Trisaldan. Must I again remind you in private to call me simply by my name?  Is it truly so hard just to say, ''Annaka''?". Her face may have been stern with displeasure, but the smile in her eyes put the lie to it.


    "You know, I believe it is, Milady." Trisaldan at least reverted to the less-stiff manner of address. "I believe it is at that.  Especially given such¡­ frankly strange¡­ news. The men have never seen or even heard of anything like it. At first we thought it must be an intrusion into our lands by outsiders, and in truth upon first seeing from afar the ¡­ location, we thought ourselves correct.  But when we scouted out the place more closely, what we found there seemed more likely animals than any kind of people."


    Annaka pursed her brown-red lips and gave some thoughts to this.  "But wait. You say it seemed to be the work of outsiders? If it were mere animals, why would you believe such?  Whatever the disturbance, we simply find the animals and purge them before the ishuar is further destabilized and the wilderness runs rampant."


    "Ahh.  Perhaps it might be easier to simply show you than merely describe it, milady.  You know the flame spring? The one used as a common waypoint for emissaries who make their way beyond the Treatied Wilds? It is there.  Perhaps if you opened the wooded eye and saw for yourself you would understand our confusion.". Trisaldan''s tone was hesitant at the suggestion that she might expend her Gift in such an apparently frivolous manner, but she couldn''t help but note a sense of greater trepidation in his voice as he spoke.


    Annaka, daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Third March and Warden-Diligent for the Alfarhame Wood, squared her shoulders with the dignity and command presence that Trisaldan himself had taught her as a child.  And with a surety in her voice that showed she trusted him completely, she laid out her orders. "Go, then, my Warden, and gather up the scouts who have seen this place and its changes with their own eyes. I shall awaken a scrying pool and you and they will share your insights of what it is Rishuata shows us."


    ~~------------~~


    The process of awakening a scrying pool -- even a temporary one -- was never easy on the Gifted who performed the act.  The drain that came with it would stress even the most experienced of ishuata.  There were, of course, tricks to ease the pain of it;  simply bearing out the headaches in a dark quiet place was among the easiest.  It was for that reason that most alfar believed that scrying pools had to be formed under the roots of a great tree.  It wasn''t actually true, though it was less stressful on a great tree than any other. It was less lucky that she had placed their base camp beneath the canopy of such a tree than it was purely tradition, but Annaka wasn''t one to complain when tradition proved legitimately useful.


    In this case, over the last few hours, she had touched upon the ishuar flowing within the great tree, causing it to gradually take new shape as she sung her inaudible song to it, carefully keeping the harmony gentle and soft.  It of course took longer to work the ishuar in such a manner, but they were hardly in an emergency and it would lessen the strain on both the tree and upon her own mind.  By the time she had finished, the pool rising from the small wide bowl formed in the root structure of the tree was glowing softly with the light blue light that always came with the concentration of ishuar.


    Quietly, respectfully, the yeoman caste wardens came to line up around the pool, knowing by the collected glow that she had finished her work.  Their timing was the impeccable product of generations of tradition and familiarity with their task, and as they finished assembling the pool''s glow took on a new light as it emitted mists, and within those mists a translucent image began to take shape.


    As it did, Annaka immediately began to understand Trisaldan''s confusion, for what she now saw within the mists was by all rights best described as a stone-walled hamlet.  The buildings adjacent to the firewater spring were regular in construction, had windows indicating they were two or three floors high, and appeared to be made entirely of a single material.  It wasn''t until she looked closer at one of the incomplete buildings that she noticed something that truly confused her as to the scale of what she saw, as well as to the sheer implication of it.  The village was being built by ants. They were somehow making stone buildings as though they were shaping soil or was, with layers of stone melting into those already present at a pace that was visible to even the most impatient watcher.


    She couldn''t help but hiss through her teeth as she realized that the individual ants had to be the size of her hand.  "Warden Trisaldan, I see your counsel is as valuable as ever. I fear what might come of disturbing a nest of beings such as these unprepared.  What strange intellect, I wonder, might drive them to mimic beings of speech in how they grow their nest, though? It seems almost a shame to purge such a wonder."


    Trisaldan shook his head slightly.  "I fear this is more horror than wonder, My Lady Diligent.  Look, here, you see? There is another kind of creature here. Some kind of spider, larger by far than the ants  And it carries objects we know not, on a harness that requires tool-making to bear. Yet we have seen no tool-makers in this place.  Only lower creatures such as these."


    Annaka began shifting the perspective of the scrying mists, trying to see if there were more she could learn given the closer vantage point.  "Curious. If I did not know better, I would say that this area here is some kind of plainsman''s farm. But it is far too small for the purpose, and those plants¡­ I have never seen them before.  Though perhaps that grass is like theirs? It is shorter and greener, but still."


    The small group continued their quiet discussions over what they saw before them in the mists for some time, until one of the scouting party leaders came dashing into their vicinity, clearly panicked and struggling to keep his voice low.  "Wardens! We are attacked! The creatures from behind the wall, they have struck at one of our watch posts. It¡­ three of our men are dead, struck down as though burned by fire, yet there are no flames, no charred woods or grasses. It is unnatural!"


    The head Warden under Annaka turned his smile-line creased eyes towards the yeoman woodsman under his service. Trisaldan¡¯s words were as steady as they ever were, regardless of the circumstances. ¡°Calm down, son. Take a deep breath. We¡¯ve got this. You¡¯ve got this. Now. Report.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The lowcaste yeoman visibly gathered himself and began to explain what had happened. ¡°It was those strange great spiders.  There were maybe two dozen of them -- there were three or so for each one of us. We barely had any warning -- they were utterly silent until we heard the clicks of those strange tubes turning on.  Then there was fire everywhere. Calden, Yaksir, and Tellin all failed to dodge in time and got hit. I can¡­ I can still smell ¡­ it. Them. By Rishuata... ¡° The woodsman swallowed again, before steeling himself. ¡°Whatever those tubes are, they must have only been able to work once.  After that, the spiders launched themselves at us all. It was uncanny, seeing them in action. They were clearly working together, but the eight legs never do that. Still, we were ready for them, and they were only spiders. The five of us left must have cut down twice our number before the things even got in range of us, as our spears¡¯ reach was so much greater than theirs. We would¡¯ve gotten all of them if they hadn¡¯t been wearing some sort of hardened leather. I swear they actively sacrificed themselves to get a chance at us.  And they got that, alright. Only Telmar and Jalin came back with me. The damned things had these ¡­ at first I thought they were growths or maybe some sort of buckler, on their forelegs, but when they got in reach of Mintar and Alden, these sharp spikes suddenly came out and stabbed into them. They fell on the spot -- I¡¯ve never seen such a potent poison before but it had to have been something like that. Just the smell of it was making me woozy. I called an immediate retreat; there was no way we could¡¯ve won in those circumstances.  I stayed last to stave off the creatures and make way for the others and that¡¯s when I saw ¡­ it. One of the creatures wasn¡¯t like the others.  It had the body of a spider, and was only slightly smaller than the others, sir, but where the face should¡¯ve been it had the upper body of an alfar. It had some strange frame of blackened bone around it, too. I ¡­ I¡¯m afraid I just fled completely then. After seeing what its minions could do I couldn¡¯t bear to stay and find out what it could do.¡±


    Annaka sat in silence along with the other lead Wardens in her troupe.  They had known that trying to face the creatures in their bizarre imitation of the home of civilized beings would be problematic, but after hearing how well the creatures fought against some of the finest warriors of the Alfhame Wood, it was clear that they had underestimated the problem. Five of eight gone, and that against a mere two dozen beasts that somehow had weapons of men. There would be hundreds, if not thousands, of those ants within and Rishuata only knew how many of those spiders. And if those spiders had fared so poorly only because they¡¯d never confronted Alfar woodsmen before, this could be very ugly ¡­ very ugly indeed.


    ¡°Trisaldan. There¡¯s clearly some sort of intelligence at work behind this imbalance. We must pull back until we can create hardened observation posts. Warn the woodsmen of the nature of these weapon bearing spiders and their master, and send word back home -- we need more men. We¡¯ll simply have to hold out and contain this problem until we have enough amongst us to deal with the threat properly.¡±  Her voice rang out clear amongst the collected Wardens as she issued her orders to bunker down. This was as much for the benefit of the shaken yeoman woodsman as for her officers.


    More quietly, she spoke directly to Trisaldan directly.  ¡°I do not understand what is at work here, my friend, but I shall have to invest heavily of my ishuatar arts to ensure the imbalance is contained fully within that village.  Still, I find it telling that despite how aggressively those spiders fought, they did not follow the rest of that watch post. Perhaps if we pull back further they will feel less threatened by our presence.  I¡¯ll have to make up the difference with detecting wards -- I¡¯ll need you to get a discrete action to gather the bodies of those spiders and our men¡­ assuming the intelligence managing that place hasn¡¯t already done so.  Make it happen, my old friend. The balance of the Wood depends upon it.¡±


    ~~------------~~


    The worst part of the news I had received about the literal siege being laid upon my remote colony was that by the time I got that news, four days had already passed.  To make matters worse, my minions upon my standing orders to stave off apparently hostile life within a certain radius of the home had attacked the wood-elves watching the colony, and of course had experienced rather heavy losses amongst the hunting spiders as a result.  The upshot to this, of course, was that they had actually captured two of the elves alive -- as per another of my standing orders to obtain and analyze potentially interesting organisms -- and were even now keeping them in the research garden, likely in an ossium and stone cage.  All this in a written report delivered to me via scrollcase carried by a solo hunting spider that made its way to me by the marked path cross-country through the woods between my manor and the mine-colony.


    What this all told me was that I had to triple-time it over to that colony before I managed to wind up declaring a state of war with a people I had never even laid eyes on myself, and that time was especially fleeting.  Over the last month since I had established the remote colony, I had had my minions map out the intervening areas and blaze a cross-country trail that significantly cut down the total distance, but I myself had never travelled over the rough terrain. This had already proved possibly life-saving given the urgency of the situation I now faced. Still, I brought a full two dozen of my hunting spiders with me, with orders to the remaining homunculi to seriously beef up the defenses of the main home. This would include having the mining ants start breeding up soldier-caste ants just like the colony would be doing, and increasing the total number of hunting spiders well past the one hundred mark. The new spiders would be poorly trained but at least their equipment was simple enough to make. They¡¯d just have to remain paired or tripled up with properly trained hunters to hopefully make up the difference.


    I¡¯d never relied so heavily on my travelling skills before, nor tried to do so while fully kitted out as I was, but somehow I managed to force-march my way cross-country through the forest without losing my way.  Mark one up for the homunculi¡¯s thoroughness, I suppose. Well, that and the fact that I was bringing the very same ¡®courier¡¯ spider with me that I had gotten the report from the mine-colony through. It was frustrating to limit myself to a steady jog when the urgency was so high, but I simply could not risk arriving alone and my hunting spiders¡¯ ability to follow me was largely relegated to their leaping from tree-branch to tree-branch at what was for them an almost hectic pace. They did, however, clearly pick up on the hectic urgency and worry I was radiating, as they literally bristled with protective fury around me as I laid down to rest overnight.


    I managed to make the five-day journey in a mere three days, though I couldn¡¯t speak much about the comfort of the trip. Timing it so I approached the vicinity of my mining-colony near to dark was the greater issue, but there was absolutely no way I was going to try to break the siege to get into my hot spring base -- even with my escort -- in the light of day. That was just asking to get an arrow or spear or whatever to the back of the head. Ain¡¯t nobody got time for that. As I snuck my way towards my base I felt my skin crawling like someone was watching me, and that prompted a mad dash towards the gate that thankfully one of my pair of homunculi at the base was watching for my arrival at.


    I say thankfully because I noted my hunters turn and take a defensive stance against an approaching group of the elves that I hadn¡¯t even noticed, so quiet were they.  It takes a hunter to spot a hunter, I suppose. For all that, I still felt the solid thud of an arrow against my back shoulder -- it didn¡¯t penetrate the black ossium plate there, thank goodness -- even as I yelled out for the gate to open immediately and for my guards to follow me.  It was probably a bad decision tactically, but I have to admit that their loyalty had won over my heart a little. I did order them to fire at the elves to give us cover enough to make it through the gate though. It probably didn¡¯t do much of anything given the effective range of the weapons, but at the very least it prevented the elves from closing in -- damn were they fast -- before almost all of my escort made it through.  I did lose a few to arrows hitting at an unbarded joint of the legs, but out of the two dozen that had come along with me, only four got too injured to follow me through the gate.


    I simply had to thank my lucky stars that the elves decided trying to cross the caltrop-laden and anthole-riddled pit to try to get across the stone wall with its murderslots and parapets wasn¡¯t worth the almost certain loss of life that would ensue to get me once I¡¯d had the gate closed behind me.


    This was going to be a rough ride.

 11 - Vectors of Communication II

    After taking a small breather once I was safely -- or at least relatively safely -- within the walls of the mining colony, I took visual stock of what had been done without my presence.  I had to admit that I was pleased to find that pretty much everything was, by and large, arranged as best as I could hope. Given, I had worked out most of the kinks of working with the homunculi or rather through them by now, and the whole encampment was essentially a lot simpler than my home manor, if for no other reason than that it was all built from scratch according to a written and sketched out schematic, as opposed to the significantly more organic approach I¡¯d followed with the manor¡¯s setup -- and therefore was far better suited to the innate nature of my homunculi -- but even so it was certainly a damned sight better than it would have been if I¡¯d tried to do something like the place even a month earlier. In total it had about half the surface area of my manor to work with, but it also didn¡¯t have the greatoak getting in the way of the layout. Yes, there was the spring, but that honestly was hardly even a quarter of the total area as an obstacle to construction.


    I made my way to the prison cells where the two wood-elves were contained and on the off chance that there was like in many isekai stories some sort of translation effect, I tried to make myself understood to them.


    ¡°So. I¡¯m terribly embarrassed about this -- you guys understand me in there? Yes? I come in peace?¡±


    What I heard back was something that sounded like someone had decided to take every hard consonant possible out behind a woodshed and beat it until it learned not to touch the vowels¡¯ daughters.


    ¡°Ah, yes. Yes. I totally hear you, my man. Well, let¡¯s see if we can¡¯t get you a little more comfortable in there at least. This is going to be the long route I can see.¡±


    Great. Of course this had to be done the hard way. Like every other goddamn thing since I came to this alien rock, I was forced to feel my way blind and fingerless through this thing. Well, I wasn¡¯t going to get anywhere with preventing the wood elves outside from eventually coming over those walls in numbers and burning everything I¡¯d accomplished down to rubble -- or whatever they did -- unless I could at least basically communicate with them, so this just couldn¡¯t last.  I called up one of my homunculi from there and ordered it to show me where the log of the last eight days¡¯ events were. I would be burning the midnight oil on this one: my arrival had without question kicked the timing into overdrive. My other homunculus, I ordered to direct the mining ants into digging a tunnel directly south and below the soil-line, large enough for me to crawl easily through so that if the worst came I could have the ants and hunting spiders make a forlorn hope defense while I made my escape. This was definitely going to be ugly.


    After a few hours of reviewing the journals from since my last regular report from the homunculi stationed here, I found that it appeared that they had actually made some small progress deciphering the language of the elves. Even stranger, what I read actually seemed to click in a way that was rather disturbing, as I immediately intuited without even questioning it a specific sounding of everything I was reading.  I¡¯d long since learned not to question things with regards to how learning was done on this world. Maybe it was just a product of how many tech level infodumps had been pushed into my brain that I was starting to actually get more flexible with learning new information? As the least existentially horrifying option I could think of for why I was getting this intuitive sense, I decided to just roll with it as I tested the ideas that intuitive sense was telling me after reading the homunculi¡¯s case-study style reporting.


    Deciding not to head back to their cells empty-handed, I grabbed the bedroll-tops of the mattresses within the house, and the blankets there.  It wouldn¡¯t be much but it would at least begin to establish that we could potentially engage in peaceful relations.


    Knocking on the cell of the larger of the two elven spear-warriors in my care, I called out ¡°Hello? You safe, understand?¡±


    It was clear that the elf understood me but his response was too rapid-fire for me to reciprocate. ¡°I, healthy? You, healthy?¡±


    It seemed to dawn on him that I was struggling with his words, as he slowed down. ¡°Hello? You [¡­] want?¡±


    There was more there I hadn¡¯t grasped, but it was progress.  ¡°Hello! Safe. I... ¡° Damnit. I said the next part in English as I just didn¡¯t have the words. Hopefully he would grasp what I was trying to do, if not what I was saying as I did it.  ¡°Here. A gift for you, and your friend. From me, to you.¡± With those words, I drew four of my hunting spiders forward and had them station themselves at the door to his cell as I opened it enough to feed the bedroll and blanket through. It should be better than the smooth and cold ossium floor of his cell.


    Repeating the affair with the other man¡¯s cell, I got basically the same results.  But -- this was in fact progress, and meaningful, as I had somehow managed to convey across that I was at least trying to speak to them in their language, and therefore did not actually know it.  At this point they were clearly mostly resigned to their status quo and just didn¡¯t have the fight to swear or curse at me, though I wasn¡¯t going to give them an inch to use to escape with even so. It did make them less than verbose, but it was still something to work with.


    As I walked away from their cells after giving them the bedrolls, I had one of my homunculi remain out of sight of both men with a book and quill in order to take notes on the actions and soundings of the things they said, in order to try to advance my understanding of their language as best I could come morning. I already had made far more progress there than I honestly had any right to hope for, but that didn¡¯t change the urgency. I had to figure out how to communicate to them that I wanted to broker a peace between our two sides.  I had to.


    ~~------------~~


    I did actually manage to sleep through the rest of the night, if fitfully.  Still, I almost certainly got a better rest than the men I was holding prisoner, and wasn¡¯t that something that was a gift that kept on giving.  After reviewing the logs of the night, I found that the two had in fact attempted to communicate more. And I once again found that strange intuition guiding my understanding, as I picked up a couple of words here and there. Or at least I thought I did.


    As I set about my morning activities, I made a point of queuing up my homunculi to create more heat pistol weapons, this time more like double-barreled full-length shotguns rather than the 1700¡¯s style arquebuses I carried. My hope was that I could have a few of them mounted at the gates and switch between them should the worst come.  I knew that any real fight that came down to it would turn into a bloody melee slogfest between the spiders and ants and those spearmen, which would go fairly badly given they could almost certainly just stand off at range and fire down arrows at range except for the defenses I had in place, but that was planning for a fight where a breach had already happened and that just didn¡¯t sit well with me.


    It was at this time that I was truly feeling the pinch of the limited number of properly intelligent minions, as even with how clever the hunting spiders were, I simply couldn¡¯t have them man turrets or something like that -- it was just outside the scope of what their intellect could manage. Still; they did have some stand-off capacity and I had far more pressing concerns at hand than trying to micromanage my two homunculi in their work. All I could do was continue to ramp up the sheer numbers I had, and hope that it would be enough to stave off any attacks long enough to work out a better solution.


    The most obvious of said better solutions would be to actually get to a talking peace with the elves, and that depended desperately on my getting enough of their language under my belt that I could at least convey a request for parley. To that effect, I was the one who brought them their food in the morning. Nothing fancy, just scrambled shelfruit wrapped in carrotato flatbread, and water.  I sat down with them showing that I was clearly partaking of the same meal. We ate in silence, and once all three of us had finished, I began the morning¡¯s attempt at understanding them.


    ¡°Hello. I Vincent. You?¡±  I pointed at my chest as I said my name again. ¡°Vincent.¡±  I then pointed at him, with an obvious mask of questioning on my face.


    ¡°Alden. [...] Alden.¡±  I had to guess that the bit I didn¡¯t quite get meant ¡°My name is¡±. Hooray for context clues.


    I then pointed at the other man, repeating the process.  ¡°My name is Vincent. You?¡± I knew I didn¡¯t get the pronunciation correct, but hopefully it only came across as a thick accent rather than some profound death curse upon his family, his house, and his water clan. Or whatever.  I couldn¡¯t be certain I hadn¡¯t with the scowl the man glared at me with, but he did eventually say something so I¡¯d take it as a win.


    ¡°Mintar.¡±


    ¡°Alden,¡± I said as I pointed at the larger man, and then at the smaller man and said, ¡°Mintar¡±, and then at myself and said, ¡°Vincent.¡±


    They nodded and repeated my name.  So. Basic greetings. Progress. Yay!  I then proceeded to sit there for a short span and made a point of trying to use what little vocabulary I actually had with them, though that barely managed to be better than ¡°yes¡± v. ¡°no¡±, ¡°please¡± and ¡°thank you¡±, and ¡°are you injured?¡±.  They did eventually wind up saying a few things that I had to guess at either meaning ¡°why are you here¡± and ¡°will you release us?¡± -- things along those lines. I wasn¡¯t really sure, though. For whatever reason, that odd sense of intuition that I¡¯d picked up on earlier just wasn¡¯t kicking in.


    After a while of not making any real rapid progress with teach each other our languages -- not that there really could be in the circumstances -- I eventually returned back to the mine colony¡¯s library to write of my progress.  Sadly there appeared to be no such thing as a language tech-level, as none of it triggered any textual popups. I did, however, as a result of writing things out, experience a series of ¡°after the fact¡± eureka moments as I put things together in my head more clearly and felt that I had a better understanding of their vocabulary.


    This was clearly not an ordinary thing so I sat down to think about it and came up with the conjecture that maybe it had something to do with that ¡°archivist¡± racial trait I had -- I had to date not seen any indications that it actually did anything, but now I was in a position to clearly assemble knowledge of a non-technical nature and was discovering that by organizing it in a library I was actually achieving a deeper mastery of it than I really ought to have. Hrm. Maybe I could advance the process further?


    I returned back to the men, this time with a lab kit in hand. ¡°I ¡­ not hurt ¡­ you. You are safe.¡±  I repeated this statement even as I shone a sanguine healing quartzite crystal at Alden and myself, made a show of scratching myself and having the light heal it, and then went extremely gently and under the direct watchful gaze of six hunting spiders as I cleaned the blade off thoroughly and then used it to scratch the man very lightly.  Still, despite his attempt at stoically bearing under the clearly alien behavior I was evincing he hissed lightly in pain at the scratch.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    This of course set off Mintar.  This just would not do, so I ordered as best I could in their language, ¡°Alden, tell Mintar you are safe.¡±


    He looked at me strangely but I made a show of pulling his scratch into the light of the healing quartzite, which was clearly foreign to the man as he was entranced by how quickly his scratch healed under it.  What Alden did wind up saying was something I couldn¡¯t make heads nor tails of, but then he looked me directly in the eyes and said slowly as though to a child, ¡°Mintar, I am safe.¡±


    Whatever it was he actually said seemed to calm Mintar down, as the smaller man settled back down from trying to rattle his cell again.  As I left the cell, I left the healing crystal in the cell, filling it with its gradual and soft red light. I then proceeded to repeat the process, and as I set up the softly glowing reddish crystal I noticed that Mintar was actually presenting his forearm in the same manner as Alden had.  Well, that answered at least some of the question of what the two men had said to each other at least. I still went through the process of making a show of how the light functioned before taking the second blood-sample from the two men. And hey, I managed to learn that Mintar was much more pain-tolerant than Alden, despite being noticeably the smaller of the two. Never judge a book by its cover, I guess.  I walked away from the two men¡¯s cells in quiet contemplation from there.


    ~~------------~~


    What I was about to do, with those samples, was something that was incredibly reckless.  But I didn¡¯t really have much choice.  I knew, from my hunting spiders, that when I embedded the essence of ¡°me¡± into an organism, they carried some of my knowledge and language.  I also knew that most of the essences I could make, I could also make tinctures out of. So it stood to reason that I could advance or bypass some of the process I was going through by extracting and archiving the language part of the ¡°elf¡± essence that the two men carried, as my alchemical analysis gave me an intuitive understanding of the essences I extracted.  And I would absolutely do that, too. But what I was also going to do was something that was far more reckless: I was going to attempt to extract the ¡°intellect¡± part of the ¡°elf¡± essence, and from there extract the ¡°communication¡± part -- and create from that a tincture, that I hoped would allow me to at least temporarily just know their language. Enough to ask for peace talks. If I had any choice to do something else, I would.  But there was an hour to play things safe and turtle down, and there was an hour to be bold and take reckless chances.  And now was the latter of the two.


    It took me most of the rest of the day to complete the extraction and refinement process until I managed to create a tincture from most of the essence I had extracted.  I did of course take the liberty of setting aside a culture to grow further as I certainly wasn¡¯t going to get many chances to take physical samples from elves to do this further. Leaving the mine colony¡¯s lab behind with the tincture in hand, I made a show of walking calmly back towards the men. I stopped while I was still standing far enough away from their cells, and very visibly downed the tincture in their presence.  I didn¡¯t really feel anything different happening, but I supposed that was actually a good thing all things considered.


    I then made an attempt at communicating with them again, very carefully not thinking about what language I was speaking in just in case that helped.  ¡°Hello, warriors. Can you understand me?¡±


    Alden looked up sharply at me and was startled. ¡°You¡­ how? You do not speak our tongue!¡±


    I looked back at him. ¡°The thing I drank. It ¡­ contained the essence of your words. It will wear off. We do not have very much time, so I will be brief.  I do not wish to fight you. Any of you. I wish peace. Do you understand me? I wish peace.¡±


    Mintar was the one who spoke next, his face unbelieving. ¡°If you want peace then why did your ¡­ creatures¡­ kill our people?¡±


    ¡°I was not yet here. They acted ¡­ on instinct.  To protect, defend. I ¡­ regret? No, I am sorry. I do not wish to kill.  Will if I must. I did not want this. Not any of this.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t want this,¡± Mintar continued, ¡°Then why don¡¯t you just go back where you came from!?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t.  Don¡¯t know how I got here. Woke up naked, lost, and alone in the woods. Built up all that you see.  Please. If I release you to your people, will you¡­ will you ask them to send someone to make peace?¡±


    Neither man responded, for quite some time. Which was frustrating as I could almost feel my comprehension of their language fading from my mind. It was clear that what I had said, had clearly disturbed them far more than they had anticipated.  Eventually, Alden nodded at me.


    ¡°If you send us, I will speak on your behalf.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ your words are leaving me again.  Where I come from, is a phrase. ¡®Trust, but verify.¡¯ I will trust you.¡±  With that, I made a sharp motion to my hunting spiders and made a semicircle around me, even as I had my nearby homunculus -- that had again been recording the whole conversation down, especially my side of it -- open up their cells.  Under the watchful gaze of my hunting spiders, I walked before the two men towards the gate I had made my way into the base the evening before. With an easy motion, I unlocked the gate and extended the clockwork bridge that created a path over the trench. Opening the gate just enough to allow the two men to squeeze their way through, I motioned with my hand.


    ¡°Go. Be safe.¡±


    I had no idea if I was signing my own death warrant or obtaining a new lease on life, but I would far rather err on the side of trusting in rational behavior on the part of clearly reasonable people than have to live with hostile paranoia.  It was also plausibly true that after three months of effectively total isolation, I simply hoped I could have someone to talk to again.


    ~~------------~~


    Annaka  watched stoically through the mists of the scrying pool as the strangely attired alfar-like man barreled his way through her ishuatar warding circle, after being alerted to the rushing approach of more of the strange spiders and the moderately-skilled foreign woodsman making their way towards the encampment.  More intrigued by the timing than anything else, and unable to fully commit any men from watch-posts in the time frame involved to properly lay down a complete trap to capture the stranger, she did have Trisaldan¡¯s selected elite attempt to harry the man and his escort. With any luck a well-placed arrow would down him and they¡¯d finally get some answers about what in the world was going on with this place.


    While her men did in fact make it in time, she was quite surprised to discover that their arrows were largely ineffectual against either the spiders, or the man.  Glancing shots from the bowmen just completely failed to penetrate the black leather the spiders wore, and they were too small and nimble to reliably be hit by more direct shots.  The man himself they did actually manage to hit in various places on his torso, but the only shot he even seemed to notice was on his shoulder -- and even that arrow simply failed completely to penetrate the material it was made out of.  It seemed to be blackened bone, but that made very little sense given how well-shaped it was and the sheer strength of it.  Unless he was somehow wearing shaped dragonbone armor, it simply couldn¡¯t be what it seemed.


    Unlike the previous incident between the spiders and her men, this time none of her men had to face direct attack by the creatures. In fact, when the strange cousins of the common great tree spider appeared to want to turn and assault the warden elites, the alfar-like man made some command noises and instead most of the spiders simply turned and ran by his side.  The few that did stay behind fired their strange tube weapons before running on themselves, though the range was too great to do anything more than make the men of Trisaldan¡¯s uncomfortably warm. It did, however, give her an opportunity to observe the gate and bridge that opened eerily smoothly and quickly as the man ran towards the wall of the colony. Whoever he was, he was very clearly expected. Given the sheer urgency with which he approached the place, he also had little interest in making a fight of his entering the place.


    Also unlike the previous encounter between the wardens and woodsmen under her command and these strange spiders, this time nothing came to collect their fallen.  Over the remainder of the evening that followed, the senior Wardens under command would make a great fuss over trying to understand what they had retrieved. The three spiders and their equipment were giving them as many questions as they were answers.  They¡¯d learned that the tube-weapons weren¡¯t truly single-fire weapons as they¡¯d thought but instead used some unknown crystal to influence ishuar somehow, collecting ambient heat until it could be forcibly released in a single direction.  The recharge period was too slow to be reusable in a quick fight, but over a prolonged period would have to be accounted for.  The black leather itself appeared -- of all things -- to be common stream trout hide, or related to it anyhow. It was too thick, too resilient. It also resisted heat and didn¡¯t burn. The weapons on the forelimbs of the spiders worked with some unknown mechanism, having the same kind of ishuar influencing crystals in them but behaving very differently.  But that wasn¡¯t the end of it. The spiders themselves ¡­ while superficially they looked like common great tree spiders, up close the differences were much more apparent.  Their heads were far larger. Their forelegs had tripartite, jointed, claws -- like they were somehow changing to develop the ability to use tools already, and then this alfar-like man had perhaps taught them how? Or made the tools?


    More questions than answers.


    While her senior Wardens puzzled over the meaning of the devices these spiderlings were equipped with, Annaka herself turned back to the mists of her temporary scrying pool, attempting to observe the man at work.  And it was through this effort that she came to discover both disturbing and encouraging news. The news was the same: that the men, Alden and Mintar, that all had assumed were dead -- that they were in fact alive.  The disturbing aspect was that they had been captured by those spiderlings, meaning they were far more intelligent than any had given credit for, even with their use of the tools seen thus far.  The encouraging part was that she had watched as the alien man handed her two woodsman bedrolls and blankets, meaning he was clearly concerned with their comfort.


    This would later be reinforced as she scrutinized his behaviors, watching as he clearly attempted to speak to her men.  While it was profoundly difficult to induce the mists to convey sound as well as sight, it could be done, though at the cost of a great amount of ishuar flowing through the ishuatar who channeled the effect.  In this case it was absolutely worth the effort, as she was able to witness the man¡¯s attempts at obtaining the language of her people.  While she had never seen it done before, she had heard of the gnomon¡¯s alchemical practices and when she saw the alien collecting blood samples --  those red crystals were astounding -- she was next able to witness a singularly masterful series of exercises of alchemical arts that she knew was more advanced than anything the gnomon had ever done. This was corroborated when, after merely downing a single tonic his entire days¡¯ manipulations enacted, heard the man in exactly the same accent as the yeoman lowcaste ask them to request parlay on his behalf.


    The additional piece of information that the man was apparently single-handedly responsible for the disturbance of the ishuar in the Treatied Wood was as confusing as it was alarming. Whatever the case, the man was clearly trying to do right by all involved and couldn¡¯t be blamed for guard animals doing their duty. At least¡­ not enough to demand his death, when that demand would clearly cost far too much more blood to enact.  Who knew what the beasts under his control would do if he were executed?


    Peace talks, were what he had asked for.  Peace talks were what he would get.

 12 - Trading Tokens

    It wasn¡¯t even half a day later before a group of nine elves started making their way toward me. The one in front -- I couldn''t really be sure but it seemed that the elf was female, was calling out to my base with their hands held clasped together and their arms stretched forwards.  It had been long enough for me to whip up a hopefully longer-lasting tonic of communication with them -- it''s not like I had a time release compound or anything, but if matters got worse I could fall back on my knowledge of their language as I''d obtained as a result of further review of the conversation I had held with the two prisoners. Once again I found the experience of that sixth sense of knowing when my notions were correct somewhat unsettling but I had too much evidence of it being effective to discount it.


    Downing the latest of my tonics, I called out to them.  "That''s far enough! Come no closer! Announce yourselves and your purpose here!"


    An older man started to take a few steps forward before having his path blocked by the female elf, who called out with a voice of clear command.  "Annaka, daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Third March and Warden-Diligent for the Alfarhame Wood, has come before you! Come out, that we might make parley!"


    Well.  That sounded awfully important, especially for little old me.  "No offense, Miss Annaka, but where I come from there''s an old saying. ''Shooting the messenger.''. I''m not stepping one foot where your archers can take a shot at me.  You and your men with you can lower your weapons and come on in. When I see you''ve disarmed the gate will open."


    There was the inevitable ruckus amongst them as the others clearly weren''t thrilled about the idea, until ''Annaka'' made a very visible show of disarming herself, saying something I couldn''t hear due to the distance between us, causing the others to follow suit.  As I saw them hesitate with their belt knives, I decided to throw them a bone and with a wave of my hand, my homunculi opened the gate for them.


    Their approach from there was at what one could only describe as a "stately" pace.  Whoever this girl was, she very clearly had a place of prestige or command, as it didn''t take a genius to see that they were all taking their cues from her.  Once the nine of them made their way in, I couldn''t help but notice the presence of both Alden and Mintar amongst her escort party.


    They fanned out into what I assumed to be some military style presentation with Annaka at the front with the aging man behind her.  She began to make introductions, and before she got past the first one, I cut her off. "Look. I don''t know how long I''ll have your tongue this time and I''m not willing to waste time with pointless pleasantries.  It''s clear you lot are upset with me and mine. Explain why."


    The girl -- and now that I got a good look at her I could see that was exactly what she was, as she looked to be about the age of a college student -- was startled by my words.  It was clear that she was very much unaccustomed to being spoken to rudely. She recovered quickly enough, at least. A point in her favor. "I¡­ very well. Your presence in this forest, this ¡­ town? ¡­ of yours, sir Vincent, it is unbalancing the ishuar.  We Wardens are tasked with maintaining that balance.  We therefore were sent to discover what was creating that disturbance and determine what was to be done.  When we saw this place as an infestation of foreign beasts, we thought it necessary to cleanse the place for the good of all, before wildlings began to react to it.  But now that it is clear that you have built this place¡­ I must ask, how could your ishuata be so irresponsible as to fail to contain your abode?"


    "Ishuar?  Ishuata? Am I already losing your language?  I do not know these words. Explain them to me, quickly.". I motioned for one of my spiders holding my language tonics in its foreclaws to bring it over to me.  The solitary critter making its way to my side was clearly unsettling to the group, as their hands went to grasp at their absent weapons.


    The young elf noble girl looked at me askance again, her eyes clearly doubtful for a moment before she seemed to realize something.  "You don''t actually know our words.  The ishuar ¡­ it is all around us. In all things, and of all things.  It is in the spirit and the mind, but is not strictly of either.  The ishuata are those who are attuned to it and can adjust its flows.  You must have ishuata, to make such weapons as you yourself are carrying." She pointed at my heatray pistols.


    It took me a few seconds to puzzle that one out, before I realized she meant mana, and mages.  "Oh. I think I understand. No, I have only me, and¡­ I have no eldritch awakening. I cannot shape your ishuar."


    She was puzzled by this response.  "But you make tonics as the gnomon do, yes?  Have those who taught you this art not told you of the flow of the ishuar?  Where do you come from, anyhow?"


    At this point I was beginning to sense a theme, but I couldn''t let myself get distracted.  "I taught myself the arts you see in use. I woke up in this forest of yours a few months ago, naked and alone.  The place I come from¡­ it has no ishuar.  No System.  Only what is made by hand and tool. But now is not the time for confusion or deliberation.  I''m telling you good folks now that I am here to stay and am uninterested in abandoning either of my settlements. But I am willing to try to find an agreeable compromise where you lot don''t have to worry about me as a neighbor, nor I you.  From the sounds of it, the crux of the issue is that I was polluting the environment somehow without noticing and the stink of that is what drew you to me. Is that about the gist of it?"


    Annaka''s nose scrunched up as she made an effort to understand what I was saying.  I had intentionally tried to lean on my Earthisms to see how the tonic translated them, as I wanted to prolong the impact of the next tonic by not needing it so much due to already knowing much more of their language.  However, after a moment of thought, she nodded.


    "Alright, folks.  I don''t really have guest facilities enough for all of you, but I can have that taken care of shortly.  In the meantime, please send some of your men out to let the rest of your people know we''re making progress.  Now, my mastery of your language is almost used up, so please forgive me for just a moment."


    I turned and snapped my fingers, and my two homunculi made their presence known.  One was holding a tablet recording phonetically all of what was being said, and I used the space provided to provide as much translation as I could remember.  I still only had my own alphabet to work with but that was another matter for another day. I then quickly wrote out instructions and a diagram for a tent and cots to be provided for my newfound guests, with bedding for all to be made.  To my other homunculus I issued orders to prepare a banquet meal of the various goods I had access to. If I was going to do this "playing at diplomacy" thing, it was best I did it to the best of my abilities. A few minutes later I had my hunch about the Archivist trait corroborated when I suddenly found myself able to recall nuance and linguistic depth to the conversation I''d just had that I had no reason to understand before.  It would appear the language tonics really did work on the basis of filling in gaps, and that was absolutely something I could make great use of.


    I also took the opportunity of directing my homunculi into action to give my guests time to discuss things alone for a moment, as I believed that doing so would help them to at least present a unified front to me, and thus reinforce any agreement we eventually reached. When I finally did leave the library in my study alone, walking past the scent of complex if quick meals cooking, I found my guests staring at the ants assembling the temporary building that I''d planned on being quarters for them overnight if the need arose.


    Hearing me approach, Annaka''s man spoke to me, and my tonic-free ears comprehended enough to know he was asking me how I was controlling the creatures.  Rather than waste energy on the issue, I downed my second of three tonics currently on hand, this time far more confident in my ability to sustain the effect now that I properly understood its function.  "I do not so much control them as train them. Do you see, there, and there? The ones with the significantly larger heads. They are a different¡­ caste? Yes, caste. They possess enough intellect to be trained to voice and hand signals, and are obedient to me and mine.  It is those ''brain'' ants that then direct the others'' behaviors naturally. The system has its limits but within them, is highly effective at doing what I need them to do."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Forgive me, but¡­  you claim you are not ishuatar yet you mold living beings like clay.  I do not understand this." The older man made no hint at subtlety with trying to probe me for information.


    "Ahh.  Just a second.". I walked away briefly and came back with one of my smaller  biopunk growth vats, crystal and all. "Do your people have anything like this?"


    He studied the proffered stone jar with the pink-red glowing crystal in its lid, and shook his head. "This looks ¡­ I do not recognize this.  Is it more of that gnomon potion making?"


    "After a fashion.  I combined the alchemy with sanguinism to create these works."


    "Sanguinism¡­ You use blood arts!? But only the Cabalites do this.  How are you not taken by the blood rage?". The older man stepped back, his eyes wide with fear.


    "I do not know these Cabalites.  Nor do I know of any reason for madness or frenzy to affect me.  I''ve been pretty careful with stuff but sanguinism doesn''t seem to have any cognitive effect."


    The elf shook his head.  "No, of course. But to obtain sanguinism is to be touched by Chal''tesh, the orken god of madness, hate, and blood.  How could you use the art so much without your mind being torn apart by his visage?"


    "Huh.  Gods are Cthulhubeasts here, huh?  Good to know. I have never seen any spirits or gods, not since I came to this place.  And there weren''t any to see back where I come from."


    The middle-aged elf shook his head in wonder at my statement.  He clearly didn''t know what to make of me. Nor, for that matter, did I know what to make of him.  Was I to believe that my HUD and all I''d learned from it were somehow unique to myself and my creations?  If so, at least I could rest slightly easier knowing I had access to its benefits while they did not.


    After a few moments of being left alone while everything was set in order, Annaka approached me again, with an almost mischievous grin on her face.  "I smell the scent of food being prepared from within that stone cabin of yours. I do so hope you''ve prepared enough for all of us. I couldn''t help but notice how varied your farm is for how small its size, and also that I recognize none of the things you grow.  Nor even the fish in that little false stream you''ve got flowing. So many interesting things here! Much to discuss. Now, where are we to eat our meal?"


    It would be too tight a fit for all of us to eat within the cabin, so I had set aside space within the tent for basic bound-linen cots to serve as seats before a low woven-reed and chitinite-hardened table for the food itself to be served on.


    I had to say that watching giant-headed ants place plates and bowls under the supervision of a clanking spider-homunculus was¡­ unsettling.  But it got the job done, and quickly at that. I sat myself at the head of the table, with a place set at the opposite end for Annaka, with the others on side seats.  It was obviously not how etiquette was done amongst elves, but I fell on my usual method of dealing with things outside of my control: channel my inner Elsa and just Let It Go.


    "What you see, princess, is what you get."


    "And what is all of this, then, Sir Vincent?". Her voice still had that somewhat playful edge to it.


    "There''s a few things here.  The larger bowls contain a whitefish and herb with shelfruit soup, and besides that is crushed carrotatoes with a light clusterberry glaze.  Next to that is a rice flatbread. Next to that is sauteed shelfruit. The last option is a grilled redfish steak. I''m afraid I don''t have much in the way of complex cultivars or dietary selection, here -- mostly I''ve left my homunculi to get creative with presentation and method of preparation.  Over time, I will of course diversify but to be frank I''ve largely been more concerned with basic nutritional balance than true dietary luxury. For drinks, I have only diluted clusterberry juice and pure water."


    The girl''s face scrunched up again before she spoke.  "Ahh¡­ sir, if I understand you correctly, three of the items you are serving are poisonous.  Are your people especially immune to such things?"


    I shook my head.  "I have no way of comparing between us, but ¡­ no. I have a method of removing the poison from plants and animals as part of their domestication process.  It''s based on what you call gnomon tonics. I use the term, ''alchemical trait infusion.''"


    She repeated my words under her breath carefully, with a look of great concentration, before continuing on.  She made a show, before her men, of taking at least a single bite of everything laid out -- though based on her choices I had to guess she was a fan of the tartness of the clusterberries and didn''t care x much for the shelfruit.  No accounting for taste, I suppose.


    I cut the ice on the negotiation while the meal was underway, something that visibly upset Mintar before Alden rested his hand on Mintar''s forearm and stage whispered, "He doesn''t know our ways."


    Rather than let that bother me, I barrelled on through.  "I want to thank you for actually making an effort to try to agree to a peace with me and yours, Annaka.  I''ll admit I don''t really know how to solve the basic issue between us right now, but I do believe I can perhaps get us partway there.  I''m going to guess that you and yours are worried about the impact I''m having on your environment. I actually agree. I''ve been as careful as I can -- for example, the ants I use; they can''t grow new colonies on their own.  Once the queen dies, the rest will die off in time as well. My spiders, they barely lay three or four eggs per year, rather than the hundreds their progenitors produce. But now you tell me this ishuar is also a problem, and I can''t address it alone.  I''m hoping you have people who handle that sort of issue for your own towns and that I could either pay for their services or learn to reproduce their efforts myself with their aid.  Is this amenable to you?"


    Annaka sat in silent thought for a few moments before nodding.  "My men and I have been discussing what we know of you and your circumstances, as well as what you have told us of yourself and your actions.  If the legends which your story is so similar to speak truly, you are¡­ far more gracious and considerate than most seem to be in your position.  We can work out the specifics later, but I must ask -- if only to lighten the mood, why did you build here?  Surely some other location would be more suitable?  By a natural pond for example, or in a proper clearing "


    I snorted in humor.  "I did build elsewhere.  This place only exists, as a secondary colony, so that I can obtain the metals that almost certainly are deep below us."


    Her men''s eyes narrow in concern, even as she herself allowed herself an admittedly pleasant sounding laugh.  "There, you see, Trisaldan? I was right all along. If we had simply smashed through here we would have had a war on our hands.  We never saw all there is to him."


    The older man begrudgingly took a single golden coin out from his belt and handed it over to the elven noble, muttering under his breath something about her having been taught too well.  Whatever it was he said, I could hardly mistake the affection that passed between them for something else. Turning back to me, Trisaldan finally spoke up from his quiet table manners. "If I may ask, Vincent, how far is from here that you built your other home?"


    "Oh¡­ hmm.  As the crow flies?  About four days on foot for me.  I''d wager five or six for you lot, given your shorter stature."


    The older man nodded.  "That''s¡­ quite a distance.  You say you chose this place specifically because you believe you''ll find metals here?"


    "Metallic ores almost always coincide with the presence of volcanic activity, such as the hot spring here. Now.  I can feel my mastery of your language slipping again, so I want to bring up one last topic before I lose the ability, even if it''s unpleasant.  My guard spiders were doing their duty in protecting my home from what they believed to be an invading force. But I find I deeply regret the loss of life of your people.  I do not wish a burden to develop between our people, and have learned you do not have the means to master sanguinism as I have, let alone the later arts I mastered based on it.  Therefore, as reparations for the deaths of your three men, I am willing to offer you three of my healing-light quartzite crystals. Place them in open light but near places you bring your sick or injured, and within a day or two any injuries or illnesses which can be survived will be healed as though they never were."


    I turn and face Alden and Mintar.  "Is this acceptable to you?"


    They turn and face Annaka, looking for guidance. She nods, poorly hiding the pleasure at my offer in her eyes. And with that, the basic shape of the agreement between us is struck.


    A weight I hadn''t even noticed was lifted from bearing down on my shoulders.

 13 - Adjusting to New Realities

    Amusingly, of the seven who had decided to remain within my base overnight, two -- Annaka and Trisaldan -- had decided to avail themselves of my guestroom while the other five chose to use the temporary housing I''d set up for them. Having a cot rearranged for Trisaldan to sleep in the guestroom was easy enough, but the commentary that Annaka gave upon seeing the full setup of the room itself was, well.


    "What material is this mattress made of, Vincent? It is so soft! I feel as though I might sink in just laying on it."


    "I bred a common marsh reed to produce much more and thicker fluff than it does feral, and thanks to the double-layered linen it is relatively easy to contain. It''s not the best for padding but it''s a damned sight better than simple straw which was my predecessor option. And if you''ll notice, I''m actually still using regular strawgrass for the greater portion of the mattress beneath the bedroll top.¡±


    ¡°Linen? That¡¯s what you¡¯re calling this fabric?¡± She actually poked at the bedroll surface with a finger.


    I shook my head with a suppressed chuckle ¡°Oh, yes. It¡¯s made from the stalks of the marsh reeds. I can have you shown the process at some point if you like. For now, I suspect you¡¯ll also find the washroom somewhat different from what you are accustomed to as well. Just ¡­ try not to use up all the hot water, eh? It¡¯s on a shared reserve.¡±


    ¡°Hot water? Reserve?¡± She turned to look in the direction I was pointing at, and actually dashed off in curiosity, turning on the hot and cool water one at a time and then both. She then looked with that scrunched up face of confusion at the water and actually sniffed it. ¡°I do not understand. The ishuar is so¡­ dulled ¡­ in this. It is as though it were dead. But how could water be dead without also carrying decay?¡±


    I blinked at her statement, and in my defense so did her escort or servant or lieutenant -- whatever, so did Trisaldan. ¡°I¡­ the water is purified. Cleansed of contaminants both sedimentary and living.¡±


    She turned to look at me, her curiosity now something more analytical. ¡°You ¡­ consider living things to be unclean? But then why do you make so many new ones?¡±


    I quirked an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, princess. People get diseases in a number of ways, but one of the more common is by having the living beings that are too small to be seen that are all around us wind up someplace they don¡¯t belong. As much as we depend on them to be healthy, if those same beings that we carry in our guts for example -- should they wind up in our blood, it could very quickly kill us. This is why gut wounds are so very often more fatal than others, even if they appear to be equally severe at first.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating. We ishuata of course know of such things, but for you to know of it without sensing the ishuar at all -- the path your people took to knowledge must have been a very curious one indeed! Very well, sir Vincent -- I shall try to respect your home during my stay here. We shall discuss more in the morning.¡±


    Apprehensively, I left the pair to their own devices, but not before setting a homunculus to try to listen into the room and raise an alarm if they make any hostile moves. I also barred my own bedroom¡¯s door before settling down to sleep for the evening. I had never had an easy time of sleeping when not in my own bed, and despite the room being so similar in design and dimensions to my bedroom back at the manor, the different scents and stiffness of the mattress made an impact on that. Turning down the cover over the lightcrystal to a bare ¡°night-light¡± minimum and trying to focus on simply emptying out my mind of all thoughts about how close I¡¯d come to the brink over the last few days took some effort, but eventually I nodded off.


    ~~------------~~


    When I awoke in the morning it was to the sound of my bedroom door rattling against the cross-bar I had put in place. In a panic, I rushed to don my weaponry, leaving the saber and pistol unsheathed as the rattling of the door became all the more insistent. Carefully sliding it aside, I allowed whoever or whatever was at the door to pull it open while placing the pistol at waist height.


    I was quite annoyed when it turned out I was aiming well above the head of my own clockwork-harnessed minion. I glared at him to convey my sense of irritation only for it to groan-hiss at me with a mild amount of urgency and point down the stairs in the general direction of the kitchen.


    ¡°I am not awake enough for this.¡±


    I followed my faithful clanking arachnid companion down the stairs and discovered to my chagrin that one of Annaka¡¯s warriors was apparently trying to use my cooking equipment to prepare their morning meal. They were of course doing it all wrong, as evinced by the fact that the shelfruit was on the verge of filling the cabin with smoke as they were literally using my lampoil as cooking aid.


    I rushed over and grabbed the skillet that one of them must have brought with them -- it actually seemed to be made directly from some form of extremely hardened wood, of all things -- and tossed the wasted materials into the sink, pouring water over it.


    ¡°That was not food! You almost burned this house down, you fool!¡±


    It wasn¡¯t until I settled down the cooking utensils and got out of my homunculus¡¯s way that I realized that I¡¯d actually said that last sentence in what I believed to be perfectly fluent ¡®alfar¡¯ as their language¡¯s word for themselves -- and their language -- was pronounced. One of my homunculi must have made a point of transcribing all of my last night¡¯s conversations into the library overnight, as my un-assisted mastery wasn¡¯t that good before. Improving, yes, but good enough to not realize I was using it until after I had already done so? Nowhere near so much.


    Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, I turned and looked at the soldier or warrior or whatever and, pointing at the pot of oil he¡¯d carried into the room, followed that up with more. ¡°This is not for cooking. It is only for making fire. It burns, and cannot be eaten.¡±


    His response was all too classic as it was very clearly that of a young man trying to defend his actions even though he now knew he¡¯d made a mistake. ¡°But it is oil. What good is oil if not for food making?¡±


    I didn¡¯t even bother dignifying his response with one of my own. I had said what I needed to say on the topic, and just started shooing him out of the house with the wave of both hands like I was warding off a bumbling dog or pig. As I dislodged my unintentional potential arsonist, it occured to me that the other five men outside might be similarly engaged in odd shenanigans due to poor assumptions.


    Walking over to their tent, I called out in a no-nonsense tone. ¡°Oi! You lot. Touch nothing that isn¡¯t yours. You want something, ask for it. Do anything else, I¡¯ll knock your upside your pointy ears. Got it?¡± I didn¡¯t give the others a chance for a response from them, either, as I went back inside the house and reviewed my library for any further potential insights into their language as I waited for my minion to finish his cooking for myself and my guests.


    I must¡¯ve lost track of time, somehow, because the next thing I knew I had the princess¡¯s ear flicking against my hair and her nose over my shoulder. Ignoring how I jumped in surprise, she barreled through the moment in a blatant focus on satisfying her own curiosity. ¡°Is that in your language? How curious. Here, what does this say?¡± She pointed at a random bit of text.


    ¡°It¡¯s a ¡­ the sounds of your words. Then my words, the same.¡±


    ¡°A translation? But how do you write our words without¡­ our words?¡±


    I nodded in affirmation, even as I repeated the new to me -- at least, new to me without the tonic -- word. ¡°A translation, yes. I sound it out. All word-sounds have a written form. Not just words, but sounds. It is not always perfectly accurate but ¡­ hmm. Perhaps¡­¡± I crack open an alfar-to-english dictionary that is resting in a shelf adjacent to the working desk, and show her the first few pages, where I sound out the lettering on the alfar side, then say the English corresponding word. ¡°You see? It is also recorded this way.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°How clever! You are full of interesting ideas.¡± She nodded to herself in affirmation. ¡°Now¡­ before you go to prepare meals for us this morning, my Trisaldan tells me you have used the Cabalite blood arts in your domestication of things. I would like to see it, with some of our own food stocks. Can this be done?¡±


    I nodded again in affirmation, trying to conceal how exciting I found the idea of obtaining more diversity in my food supplies. ¡°I need seeds, or living roots; nothing already dead. But ¡­ yes, yes it certainly can be done. What did you have in mind?¡± She pulled a soft brown-leather pouch out from where it was tucked into her belt and tossed it to me. Opening it up, I saw a small collection of nuts and partially dried berries. If I didn¡¯t know any better I¡¯d say three of the nuts are the acorns I have yet to find in any of the trees in this forest.


    I guess I¡¯d needed worthy challenges -- I should just be glad that I found one that didn¡¯t scream telekinetically in my head. I smiled bemusedly at what I was about to do, even as I stood up and said with confidence, ¡°Follow me, Annaka. Though I fear that this will take some small amount of work to get done properly. In the meantime, I¡¯ll have one of my homunculi prepare a basic meal for all.¡± Said meal would consist of a carrotato flatbread wrap around herbs, rice, and sauteed shelfruit -- otherwise known as a breakfast burrito minus the cheese. It¡¯d get the job done, but seriously though. I miss cheddar. Oh, and eggs. Oh man I need to figure out eggs.


    ~~------------~~


    Heading over to the lab with the small audience in tow, I checked to make sure that I had at least three of each of the items in the little pouch that the noble alfar girl had handed to me. ¡°I did not exactly plan this space out for an audience, and it is all quite delicate work. There¡¯s no real risk or hazard to it, but it could be spoiled quite easily and it requires quite a lot of focus. So please -- only those that need to be in here, be in here while I work?¡± The five curious lookie-loos all grumbled their consent before only Annaka and Trisaldan remainer in the lab with me. A thought struck me as they began to make their way out. I downed a communication tonic to be sure I could successfully convey the idea ¡°Actually -- if this is to be our first exchange, I would appreciate it if a few of you would be willing to spar with some of my hunting spiders. No lethal moves, just exposure to each other¡¯s way of acting. Any of you who agree -- I¡¯ll have a decent spear made for you per my best specifications, and it will be yours to keep. Both while on my compound and once you make your way beyond.¡±


    The grumbling immediately ceased, and I could see that Trisaldan was conflicted by his desire to once again be armed and his desire to stay by his princess¡¯s side. I cut the conflict short by making him another offer. ¡°Trisaldan, Annaka -- I¡¯ll have swords much like my own made for you two. A gift of appreciation that you chose peace rather than the blade.¡± This mollified the man rather more than I¡¯d anticipated.


    The easiest of the items in the pouch were her berries. There were a handful of them, and sorting through to find which were the most viable for my needs was the work of a mere moment or two. I set aside several and began the process of rendering them down into their psychedelic essential components. Both Trisaldan and Annaka heeded my warning to remain silent, though I noted at one point Trisaldan grabbing her shoulder even as her mouth began to open. While the down-rendering began, I stood up and headee towards a latch door to enter the basement of the laboratory, which was only moderately well-lit by the cooling light crystals and the growth lights which kept the isolated essential samples from decaying in their petri-dish like containers. The container I was after was relatively early, as the domestication essence was one of the first I had obtained and isolated. It took me almost as long to allow Annaka and Trisaldan down and then escort them back up as it did to actually obtain the domestication essence. I could see the question clear on her face but I avoided answering rather than focusing on what I needed to handle next. With great care to avoid accidental contamination of the container as I made my way up the chitinite step-ladder, I placed it down next to the alchemical cauldron and began to methodically isolate the major traits in the berry to learn what I could about it. The mana cost was relatively minor as I was just going for largely ¡°general¡± traits.


    As I¡¯d expected, the alfar people hadn¡¯t done much in the way of genuine domestication to the berries, but it was also true that they needed -- normally -- to still be succulent in order to successfully mature into a bush. Although, now that I looked closer, a bush wasn¡¯t quite the correct term for what kind of plant these berries grew from. It would be better described as a branching vine, or creeper. Curious. So I¡¯d need to have a scaffold created to grow these things but ¡­ in all honesty, that was probably the better option. Introducing the domestication trait to the ¡­ hm. These would be significantly sweeter than the clusterberries, so I guess I could call them exactly that. Sweetberries. Introducing the domestication trait to the sweetberries would probably require a few generations to get it to anchor down properly, and since I was largely putting on a show for this anyhow I figured I might as well get on with it.


    Once I had successfully drawn the revised sweetberry essence into the remaining three partially dried berries, I grabbed some reeds and rope from the warehouse and found an empty-ish area near the shelfruit plot. Laying down the reeds in a criss-crossed manner with rope binds, I placed the three dried berries roughly equidistant from each other but adjacent to the trellis, and proceeded to enact the earliest of my sanguinism rites -- as simple as it was given that it amounted to little more than bleeding on the plots of ground I had buried them in. After a moment¡¯s thought while that was going on, I decided to see if adding a growth crystal to the mix would accelerate them further. It wasn¡¯t like they were going anywhere. When I turned around, I saw that the group of elves were all watching me with widened eyes.


    ¡°What?¡±


    It was Annaka who responded. ¡°This¡­ what you did. We felt it. That is what you call your sanguinism? You bleed on the crop and thus it grows? That¡¯s all there is to it?¡±


    I shook my head in negation. ¡°Well, visibly maybe. There¡¯s a ¡­ way of thinking? Yes, a way of thinking that is necessary along with it as well. A cognitive component.¡± I found that there literally wasn¡¯t an alfar way of saying either the words ¡®cognitive¡¯ or ¡®component¡¯. Interesting. ¡°Anyhow, give it about a quarter to a third of the morning and the bush should be mature.¡±


    ¡°But ¡­ it takes two years for a trellisvine to fully grow. And with this, you see it done in the slightest fraction of a day?¡± So they call it ¡®tellisvine¡¯, huh? Eh, when in Pointy-Eared Rome, I guess.


    ¡°The process won¡¯t actually be complete for another three or four rearings from the fruit, actually. It needs to be repeated at least once more, with those berries that best fit what we want from them, before it can be called even minimally completed and the truly domesticated cultivar is produced from the semi-feral trellisvine berries you brought me. I suspect you¡¯ll find what I do with the acorns far more interesting, however.¡± I dusted off my knees as I stood up from the reed trellis and made my way back over to the lab as I spoke.


    The princess once again made that scrunched up face of concentrated curiosity -- one thing was for certain, her education hadn¡¯t included diplomatic training. She was bad at holding things back habitually. ¡°Howso? What, will you grow them as the seeds of grass?¡±


    ¡°Hardly. It needs to be a woody plant. No, I was thinking it would be a good hybrid cultivar of your trellisvine, in fact, to have one that produces clusters of acorns instead of berries.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Heh. She looked about ready to facepalm, like she had maybe looked into a bag labelled ¡°dead dove¡± or something. I can even visualize her saying to herself, ¡®I don¡¯t know what I expected¡¯.


    The process for the acorns is relatively quick, though I was getting rather excessive in the amount of mana I was expending in each individual trait I had to isolate in order to get down to the point of the seeds for the oak trees the acorns would grow into. I did also find some hints at greater dormancy than other crops I had access to had, but that wasn¡¯t my focus at the time. I found myself taking my time and breathing through the headache as it developed, until I could swap out the trellisvine berries with the acorn exterior. Strictly speaking, the new vine would be sterile, as the seeds of the berries couldn¡¯t successfully grow through the acorn material. But simple cutting/splicing with regular trellisvine berries would do the trick, though it did mean each unique generation would have to go through the same alchemic process rather than simple manual selection.


    As the group watched me repeat the process for the new acorn-vine, the barest shoots of the first were already starting to grow up. I noted once I repeated the sanguinism process, however, that Annaka was literally praying over the first vines I¡¯d planted. I didn¡¯t really think anything of it until I noticed how the vines were wrapping themselves around the trellis almost as if someone were manually optimizing the growth-path of the plants. It was then that I clued in that maybe there was something going on here, given that the elves all had clothing and armor made out of kinds of bark or woven vines. She¡¯d already said she was an ishuata, and I¡¯d simply absorbed it without comment as meaning some kind of mage. Seeing what I was now seeing, I began to get the notion that an ishuata was probably what I would call a druid.


    Damn but I wished I could actually sense or feel mana and get an idea of what was going on there, beyond the visually obvious. But sadly, it just wasn¡¯t meant to be. No amount of mental contortionism could get me any sensation of what she was doing. Frustrating as this fact was, it wasn¡¯t new information, just reconfirmation of old. Just Let It Go, Vincent. Just Let It Go.

 14 - Axioms of Authority

    After my little shows of the morning, I took the follow-up liberties to personally work on the weapons I¡¯d promised the elves.  In a certain light, this was a rather huge step of trust I was exerting. In another, at any given time I had no fewer than five of my hunting spiders ready to attack any of the elves in my base, and was always escorted by at least a pair of them myself directly. I knew without hesitation that they¡¯d sacrifice themselves for me without even needing to be ordered to do so -- such was the loyalty my biopunk knowledge had instilled in the creatures.


    Although, I wasn¡¯t entirely stupid -- I did only make the weapons out of white ossium. Well, white ossium and chitinite-reinforced bamboo-reed for the spear shafts. It wasn¡¯t necessarily as strong as a true hardwood, but it made up for that in spades with its sheer flexibility, and as long as it was relatively well cared for it should last pretty much indefinitely.  I was interested to see how the elven warriors¡¯ fighting style would adjust to the use of the more-flexible weapons. A chance that I didn¡¯t even really have to wait all that long for.


    I suspect that the most impressive aspect of the ensuing sparring match between the elven spear-warriors and my spiders wasn¡¯t the coordination or speed of my spiders, but rather the complexity of the orders I was able to give them and the speed with which they learned afterward.  At the very least, my hunters¡¯ capacity to learn was something that outstretched even my own imagination. After a few bouts they went from three being knocked out of the fight for every four that participated, to losing only one for every elf they knocked out. It was actually pretty intense to see my hunter¡¯s learning curve when it came to play-fighting.


    I could see that I¡¯d need to start including basic training of my spiders against myself wielding a spear as part of their overall training regiment. At the very least, I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about training each one individually; even the ones that merely witnessed the spars showed significant improvements. I would have been more shocked at this if I didn¡¯t know just how intelligent birds could be. I recalled having watched videos, back on Earth, of crows actually making tools in order to obtain new tools to get at the food they wanted. Two tiers of separation.  In primates only chimpanzees and gorillas exhibited that level of intellect outside of, well, humans.


    If only I could find some way to actually capture and transfer memories from one organism to another, I could rely far more heavily on the hunting spiders to do general work that right now only my homunculi could perform.  But I currently lacked the means to make such an improvement, and I certainly couldn¡¯t do so while playing escort and diplomat to Her Leafiness. I was thinking about the possible ramifications of how intelligent I had really made my hunters when I realized that Trisaldan was looking at me expectantly. I hadn¡¯t even noticed he was talking to me, before.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry -- could you repeat that?¡±


    Trisaldan shook his head in what was clearly a common gesture of chagrin. ¡°I said -- this is an interesting weapon you have crafted for Lady Annaka and I.  Few of the alfar have such weapons; the materials we work do not lend themselves to such, and trade is always fairly limited. Would you care to give a demonstration of its use?  So that my men can be more familiar with how such weapons are wielded.¡±


    I sighed, dusted my knees and forearms off, and squared off my shoulders in his direction.  ¡°Certainly. I assume you wish to pit your skills against my own? I won¡¯t insult you by offering you better armor than you now use, but if we¡¯re doing this I will certainly don my own then.¡±


    Trisaldan merely nodded his assent, his eyes showing neither hesitation nor malice.  Whatever he was playing at here, I had the gut feeling that it wasn¡¯t a bid to, well, gut me like a trout.  This was confirmed even further when he asked for leather or linen wraps to blunt the blades. My knowledge of weapons that I had gained from my tech levels demonstrated to me how to properly wrap a blade such that it could be used for training purposes without ruining the balance, and it was clear he had a similar degree of knowledge in the topic.  The thing that was curious about that fact was that it meant he had a lot more familiarity with swords than his statement had led on -- though to be fair the only real surprise there was that he''d claimed he didn''t have much knowledge of them.


    With little fanfare, we settled down in a relatively cleared area to begin our sparring session.  I thoroughly expected to get trounced, as all the weapons knowledge in the world didn''t compare to actual experience using them.  Color my surprise, then, when I decided to exert myself enough to put a small dent in my stamina pool and the result was that I almost immediately knocked the weapon out of Trisaldan''s hands.  It was as if he had been moving in slow motion. I just stood there, looking at my own blade with more than a little bit of shock.


    This had to be a trap.  He had to be baiting me.  There was simply no way I was that good with a blade.  I waited for him to pick up his sword again, and let him make the first move.  This time, I tried to limit myself such that my exertion drained no more stamina than I regenerated.  The result was still that visible "slowdown" effect but I felt like I was moving through molasses as well.  Still, I found it fairly easy to try to pay attention to his center mass and his eyes, as my knowledge informed me I should.  When he began an over arm downwards sweep, I stepped in his range and elbowed him back, bringing my own blade across my body to land on his upper arm.


    Had our blades not have been blunted, it would have been a strike that could have disarmed him -- literally.  He grimaced at me but his eyes were, if anything, smiling.  I found myself less and less sure of myself.  After another four more rounds I finally allowed myself the lull of only dipping into my stamina when attempting to change my actions, figuring that it would give me time to think in a fight but let me recover stamina all the same.  Something had to be very wrong with my assumptions, though, as I saw that even though I was still breathing no heavier than I had been all along, Trisaldan''s chest was practically heaving.


    I raised my hand up, at that point, and called out, "Do you seriously not have stamina?  You know, the green bar?"


    The elves all looked at me with a puzzled expression. "What do bars have to do with stamina?", Annaka queried after a few seconds.


    Oh.  Oh dear.  It couldn''t be, could it?  I had to confirm. "Annaka¡­ what do your people see when their eyes are closed?"


    Her reaction was just vexing, as she actually hopped into the air and clapped her hands like a schoolgirl winning a prize at the county fair.  She even ran over and hugged Trisaldan, stage whispering loudly enough for me to hear, "On my watch, old friend! On my watch!"


    I was seriously getting annoyed, now.  Letting my peevishness enter my voice, I spat out, "Would somebody explain to me what the hell is going on?"


    Annaka, of all things, laughed at me.  It wasn''t exactly mean spirited but it didn''t sit well with me.  Before I could further express my annoyance, she raised her hands in a placating gesture and began to do just as I had asked.  "The signs were not entirely certain, Sir Vincent, but your story is not too dissimilar to ones we have heard of over the centuries.  Strangers delivered to our world through means they do not understand, with strange gifts and abilities. The one thing the stories all agree upon is that the strangers all have visions that only they can see; visions tied to their feats of great strength or talent.  The races of this world call them Voidborn.". I literally heard the capitalization of that word.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    I narrowed my eyes at her.  "And these Voidborn, they are causes of celebration?"


    Her smile faltered and she nodded at me.  "Rarely. Very often they are mad, callous beings that slaughter indiscriminately.  Or attempt to subjugate all around them to their will. Ones such as you -- who simply seek to build and live in peace?  It is considered a sacred duty to respect such Voidborn, for surely they have been delivered to us by the gods themselves to fulfill their plans."


    Well.  I¡­ cannot say I had been expecting that. "Okay, this is totally going to become a ''thing'' now, isn''t it.  Are you people going to start, like, having temples in my base? Because I''m not okay with that.  Just this morning one of your men practically blew us all up because he didn''t know what he was screwing around with.  I know I agreed to let you lot have ishuata near me to make sure I don''t destroy the balance of nature or whatever, and if we''re being honest I do like having company again, but¡­ I don''t like people getting all up in my shit.  You can make your treehouses or whatever next to my places, and we can do the trade visits, but I don''t want you lot within my walls permanently. A man can only take so much."


    Annaka nodded her assent.  "All perfectly reasonable. May we call upon your guardians to protect the places we grow as well as your own?"


    I blinked at the request before realizing that my hunting spiders were certainly more expendable than any number of spear-elves.  "I don''t have a problem with that¡­ so long as the training sessions continue."


    She smiled winsomely at me, and I could already feel the headache growing behind my eyes.


    ~~------------~~


    After another round of sending out a pair of spearmen to have another pair be sent back in, just to reassure the elves outside of my base that all was well, I decided to leave the damned point-ears and their holy vows or whatever to themselves for a bit and check on the state of the mines below.


    Heading over to the slag pile where the mining ants were leaving most of their debris, I started sifting through it to see if any chunks of material stood out as particularly "unmelted", as those would most likely be the ones with the most mineral value as I understood it.  I was particularly hoping to find chunks with a red or dark grey hue. After a few hours of sorting through the rubble, my homunculus finally made an excited chirp at me and pointed at a heap of dark rust-stained chunks with clear marks from having been worried away at by ant mandibles.


    I pumped my fist into the air at the knowledge that I was about to make my first advancement in quite some time, if all went to plan.  I gathered up the material, which was almost certainly iron ore, and headed to the workshop with a cartload in stow.  Meanwhile, my homunculus was calling upon the brain ants to start retrieving more of the red indigestible rocks.


    One of the things I recalled from back on Earth was that the process for obtaining the iron from the red-colored ore was that it was much harder to do than for copper or tin.  It melted at a much higher temperature and as a result required more fuel to produce the necessary heat. One of the things I recalled about this, however, was that ancient blast furnaces had a difficult time getting made correctly without cracking in the process, but I had a few cheating points in my favor there.  To that end, I had long since sent over from the manor a working schematic of a blast furnace design for my homunculi to have constructed using ossium-rebar and "antcrete". The only major problem with the design as I now saw it was that it had the "old" model of heat crystals, before I''d worked out the fibrous conduits to connect crystals together.  But that was an obstacle of only a short redesign and I''d need to wait for the ore to go through the black ossium crusher to be reduced to sand anyhow, so I could entirely double-task it.


    The biggest issue before me was that I had no idea how much crushed charcoal I should add to make proper steel.  I knew there were different processes involved, different carbon values to make different kinds of steel -- and unfortunately I wasn''t going to be able to get ahold of manganese any time soon so I was even further limited in what I could do, here, but that was just a matter of experimentation once I had the basic proof of concept at hand.  And that experimentation was something I would need to do quite copiously anyhow considering how heavily I was now reliant upon the alchemical and biopunk tech trees. Even as I was working on installing the new, enlarged, crystals and their connectors, my head was filling with visions of rock outcroppings in the ant colony where special cultivars of shelf fungus grew with various metallic sheens in the subtle light blue of the heat-transferring crystals that managed the temperature of the caves.  Magical mineral mushrooms, because why the hell not? Nothing else about this world seemed to entirely play by the old rules I knew, so why should I?


    But to even get to that point, I would first need to successfully produce said metals.  And to accomplish that, I needed to get this blast furnace to successfully melt the iron ore I had successfully obtained and pour it into molds.  The combination of the six heat crystals constantly pouring the energy from the oil braziers directly into the concentrated column of the three blast furnaces I had took more time than I would have liked to get to the point I was after, but get there it did.  I felt like a bad chef constantly checking to see if his water was boiling. But as the ground up red sand -- and in two of the furnaces charcoal as well -- began to literally glow under the immense accumulated heat within the confined space, I felt a burgeoning sense of excitement.  It was beginning to work!


    It must have been an hour later that the sands actually melted enough to be poured out.  I had no real idea how the removal of the slag would work out, but on the premise that it would be lighter than the iron I had set aside inflammable-treated black ossium scoops to sift or divert off the slag as the melt ran through its channel into the molds I had prepared for the purpose.  Looking at the eye-searing yellow-red glow of the fluid in the nine total separate ingot molds I had prepared, I felt an immense sense of pride at having accomplished what I was looking at. That sense of pride was mildly diminished when I took the ingots to my alchemical lab for analysis and realized just how many impurities were left in the metal, and that none of my approaches had made decent steel in any appreciable amount -- but thinking realistically I hadn''t really expected my first run through at this to even work a quarter so well as it did.  Re-armed with the new alchemical essences at hand to try to further reduce the impurities and improve the specific qualities of the steel I was after -- including a treatment for resisting oxidation for both, as well as establishing both a stronger but less brittle steel and a more brittle but far harder steel to go along with the cast iron, I gave the alchemic infusions a go in the blast furnace along with the smelted metals, and was far happier with what my second round of alchemical analysis told me. Enough so that I recorded the processes and my thoughts on how to utilize the materials in all manner of devices.  I also made a point of trying to graph out the differences I had noted in the types of steel I had generated along with the projections I could anticipate for other types, along with the possibility of using the new metal for machine purposes as it was far more flexible than my ossium. After stowing the new texts away, I finally got the messages I was hoping to get.


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked:  Iron Era. >>


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked:  Early Classical Era. >>


    << Requirements met.  General tech level unlocked:  Middle Clockwork Schizotech Era. >>


    You''d think, after so many times of having gone through this, I would have thought ahead to place a pillow or something to catch me when I fell as I blacked out from the information overload.  But¡­ no. No, I apparently had too much love for the traditional faceplanting onto the cold stone floor.

 15 - Establishing Trusts

    After waking up from my entirely dignified and not at all uncomfortable position, I found myself thankfully isolated in my lab, and without an audience.  Turning around to dust myself off, I made a mental note to actually have a padded armchair or something put in place at this bench rather than the backless stool currently in place as a seat.  There was no way that my most recent impromptu sleeping session was actually going to be my last. Still, the information that had flooded my head made the albeit unwitnessed humiliation worth it. So very, very worth it.


    A lot of people believe that iron was a major game-changer from bronze when the art of ironworking was first discovered.  The historical truth was that this was not exactly so much the case as the common perception would have one believe. It wasn¡¯t until the discovery of steel that the advantage of iron over bronze was completely and unilaterally clinched. Before that, it was iron¡¯s availability and comparative ease of production that won out. For the first few hundred years of the iron age, iron was generally speaking softer and slightly weaker than the best bronze.  But bronze, requiring alloying and special techniques, was harder to produce. It was this reason alone that made iron weapons and armor a clincher in the history of Earth; when you had ironworking, it was easier and cheaper to equip more of your troops with it.


    Steel, on the other hand -- steel was known for a very long time but only able to be produced in a very laborious manner.  That''s not to say that it wasn''t made to extremely high levels of quality, however. Anyone familiar with so-called Damascus steel knows that.  Similar techniques were used in producing the traditional swords for the feudal lords of Japan. But the simple truth is that the steel production techniques of contemporary industry produced a superior steel to all of that folding and refolding, and it did so at vastly greater quantities.


    What I had now discovered was that not only could I utilize the frankly magical alchemical essences to produce steel in a manner far more like the modern model than in the ancient -- no true surprises there, I was anticipating that much -- but that this opened up a number of technical options that just weren''t available to me before.  There were a great number of niche discoveries the Romans made back in classical antiquity that were left to fester or rot in obscurity largely because they either had exactly the opposite problem from what I had -- too much manpower as opposed to too little, too little fuel as opposed to being surrounded by a continent-spanning virgin forest, etc., etc. -- or else because they felt it a good idea to conceal it in order to help preserve the awe of their mystery cults.


    I could appreciate the drive to prevent other cultures from obtaining technological secrets as much as the next guy, but not even using them for anything more than impressing the yokels¡­  I couldn''t accept that. I wouldn''t. A great example of what I was talking about was something called the aeolipile. This was a little toy that was created sometime between 250BCE and 100BCE.  No one really knew exactly when. What was known was that no one would advance the basic concept of it for two thousand years.


    What was the aeolipile?  A proof of concept working steam turbine.  An honest-to-god steam turbine. And in the history of Earth, it was never anything more than a basic curiosity;  a toy for clever scholars. Oh, there were decent practical reasons why that was the case -- it couldn''t produce any appreciable torque and they had no way of transferring its rotational momentum to something more practical -- but these were the same people who invented the undershot water wheel for use with lumber mills, who literally wrote the textbook on pneumatics and hydraulics, who invented the first water pumps and even used them for putting out fires, who invented indoor plumbing and sewer systems.  It was a problem they absolutely could have solved if they had simply wanted to.


    And the other major problem -- fuel efficiency -- was one I already had a major cheat for, in the form of my heat-transferring quartzite crystals.  So, yes. I could already see a number of ways I could potentially make use of steam turbines, however profoundly primitive in design. The real issue that came along with attempting to use them, however, was the same one that I kept on butting my head against with all of my paths to progress:  manpower.


    Not just manual labor, mind, but mental labor.  There was only so far I could get with the supervised rote execution that so much of my current model for operation was based on.  Oh, having my homunculi act as task-masters for the hunting spiders and brain ants absolutely took great advantage of the fact that the minions being supervised had the necessary intelligence to operate basic tools and even communicate tasks with as many as a dozen steps -- and by having groups cooperate under diligent supervision by truly sapient beings such as my homunculi, huge amounts of work was getting done.


    But there was an upper bound to the amount of supervision any one homunculus -- or I -- could do, and unfortunately that wasn''t a problem my newfound comprehension of all the nifty tricks of the Classical Era actually helped me with.  The reason being, the basic automatons and mechanical solutions offered by that era had no complex logic, and instead depended on thinking beings to know when to pull a given lever or push a certain button or whatever.  These things, however simple, were still judgment calls and that required a degree of intellect that was simply beyond any of my minions except the homunculi.


    Now, in the most immediate sense I had two extremely bad solutions and one merely entirely unacceptable solution to this problem.  Firstly: I could engineer a sapient minion race with human-equivalent intelligence.  This was ethically indistinguishable from creating a slave species, and I was by no means ready to become a true slave master.  The homunculi were bad enough and I was constantly checking on them for signs of desire for independent existence -- signs they had never yet exhibited. The next option was absolutely no better:  use my biopunk knowledge to enslave elves with some sort of controlling parasite. But that''s the same ethical dilemma just from a different angle, so again hell to the fuck to the no on that. Lastly, I could hire elven servants to do the work for me.


    Now, on the surface that didn''t seem so bad, but there was something in my gut that told me it would only end badly.  I had already seen how much training would be required to prevent the elves from blowing up the place, and that was before my most recent tech upgrades.  It would be a constant labor to keep them up to speed with each iteration of future developments and that rather defeated the purpose. I was already going to have to "child proof" my bases so that visitors couldn''t screw anything up for me as it was, I did not want to have to deal with that as a 24/7 -- or however many hours there really were in a day on this rock -- issue in all areas rather than just the visitors'' areas I would be creating.


    No. If I was going to solve this problem it was going to be not by obtaining more-intelligent minions, but by obtaining more-intelligent methods of directing their behaviors.  The only question now was -- how in the devil was I going to accomplish that? No obvious or immediate answers presented themselves to me, excepting that I wasn¡¯t going to get there by following up on the techbase I had already acquired. I would have to go further afield from what was tried and true of the historical progress on Earth.  Happily, however, I now had a potential means of learning about what was possible there so that I wouldn¡¯t be stumbling blind and deaf in the dark quite so badly in that path.


    ~~------------~~


    As I left the alchemical lab where I also collated my ¡®research¡¯, such as it was, I found that it was rather well into the night. This was not all that surprising, as I had probably been passed out on the floor of the lab for quite a while as my brain adjusted to the new volumes of information being dumped into it -- it seemed that the amount of knowledge each ¡°General¡± tech level conveyed was getting broader and broader, which did make a good amount of sense after all -- but nevertheless it put a damper on my original intention of querying Annaka and her men about the possibility of how one might utilize mana to communicate intentions or directions, as it was so clear to me that she had been doing somehow to the trellisvine shoots the day before. That line of questioning would simply have to wait -- but in the meantime I could at least implement a few of the things that my most recent technological acquisitions made feasible.


    I didn¡¯t have a great deal of iron or steel to ¡°play around¡± with, but I honestly wasn¡¯t going to need all that much to do what I was planning.  And since it was fairly far into the evening anyhow, it wasn¡¯t like I would have a great deal in the way of interruptions or distractions in the way of my getting it done.  The new information in my head included better clockwork mechanisms, ones that could depend upon the improved materials available to me now that I had access to true steel -- but also ones that allowed for a certain amount of logical operations. Adding power to a mechanism from more than one source depending on how much pressure was applied to an activation switch, for example, as opposed to simply having on/off as a strict boolean value. Why this mattered at all was that I could make significant improvements to the clockwork harnesses for my homunculi -- to the point where I could even contemplate beginning to make clockwork harnesses for my hunting spiders, as they would actually be meaningfully useful in combat conditions.


    This was a degree of advancement I had been aiming towards for some time, and while it didn¡¯t exactly solve any of the problems currently facing me, it was something to focus my mind on given that I would have to wait several hours until morning came.  The redesign work for the homunculi¡¯s clockwork harnesses themselves wasn¡¯t all that laborious: largely a matter of replacing certain materials with others -- like replacing blackleather ¡®tendons¡¯ with proper steel cables -- or allowing for additional components and the complexity that represented, such as the variable-pressure switches that would allow for multiple movement paces, if not exactly outright leaps and jumping. It would also allow for finer motions with the manipulator arms, permitting them an easier time of performing more-sensitive work at higher effective speeds.  Nothing incredibly revolutionary, really, but all put together it was a marked improvement over what their harnesses currently permitted.


    I intentionally held off on attempting to follow up with any designs based on the aeolipile, however, as I knew that getting too far down into that rabbit hole would do me no good whatsoever right now.  It would only frustrate me to get to barely scratch the surface and yet accomplish nothing from it. So, instead, I optimized the existing harnesses to use a small number of direct low-heat oil lamps -- burning from a shared reservoir -- to provide the kind of power needed to properly wind the increased number of clock springs that the new generation harnesses would require.  A feat made possible thanks to the fibrous quartzite I could now make that allowed energy build up and discharge to happen at the same time.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    I barely managed to finish the first prototype, however, before daylight finally came around.  And with it, the rousing of the princess and her guard. Well, most of them anyhow -- it came as no surprise to me whatsoever that her men were still sleeping in shifts while in the tent I''d set aside for them as a temporary barracks.  Equipping one of my homunculi with the new design was relatively simple enough to do, even for another of my homunculi. Lighting the flames and checking the fuel level were things that, for now, needed to be done by someone/thing other than the one wearing the harness, at least not without great difficulty.  This was a design flaw that I would need to work around when I had more time to think it through. In the meantime I had far more important things to worry about. Such as getting cleaned up and ready to be presentable to the elven guests in my home.


    By the time I was finished making myself presentable, I found that the homunculus that had been preparing today''s morning repast was also the one wearing the upgraded harness.  I could already tell that the improved manual dexterity had made a meaningful contribution to its ability to get things done in a timely fashion, as I honestly hadn''t expected it to have our meals completed by the time I was ready to come back downstairs -- yet it clearly was, as it was even setting places for everyone.


    As I trundled on to the eating area in the temporary barracks, I found myself slightly less ill at ease with the presence of the elves.  Having the basic foundation of a meaningful peace agreement between them and myself had allowed me to set aside a great many of my fears.  I was still worried, mind you -- there were a couple hundred elves out beyond my walls -- but after the time they''d already delayed I didn''t have to fear quite so much about being under prepared for them should they actually make a go at taking me and mine down.  That and the albeit minimal explanations I had received made it clear that they were perhaps just as motivated as I was to have things work out. Though I did have quite a few questions.


    Questions that I managed to pick up on the fact, yesterday, that they very much preferred not to discuss over the meal itself.  Not knowing what the point of us all eating together was if we weren''t actually going to discuss anything, I still did so simply because the places had already been set and because it just wasn''t worth fighting over.  The meal was as simple as any my homunculi had prepared for me thus far, though the addition of the trellisvine berries as a glaze for the crushed carrotatoes was quite welcome; in a lot of ways it reminded me of maple syrups from before I arrived here.  I''d only be halfway joking if I said I''d be willing to kill for a decently caffeinated tea or something, though. Oh, I''d managed to work out some herbal teas that at least gave me water with flavor, but something that could properly put some hair on your chest?  Nothing doing. Even the stamina tonics just weren''t the same.


    Once the meal was finished and my homunculus was directing ants to take care of the earthenware plates and chitinite cutlery, I began querying the princess and her entourage with some of the things that I was most curious about getting answers for.


    ¡°So, Annaka, Trisaldan -- I¡¯m curious; how do your people actually navigate in this forest? It can¡¯t be all that easy. Do you keep maps? Are there special paths you follow?¡±  I kept my face as close to politely blank as I could manage.


    The elves before me, however, smiled with a not entirely subtle pride.  It was Trisaldan who answered me. "We have little use for such things. While those of the Wood do not all share in Rishuata''s blessing, we have been in her grace for long enough that it has become something even the least of us is sensitive to.  We know by the rhythm of the winds in the trees, by the light of the moons through the canopy of leaves, by the whispers of the great trees -- it is by these things that we know where we are and where we must go. I take it you are more like the plainsmen, then?  Only following the routes you have come to know deeply, seeking landmarks that you find familiar?"


    I shook my head ruefully.  Of course the point ears all have a little of the druid in them.  What else could I expect? "After a fashion¡­ after a fashion. I have my means of making my way through the forests.  It helps that my hunters are so capable of finding scents, for example."


    Trisaldan nodded in understanding.  "We use scent tracking beasts ourselves¡­ though ours are far less cooperative than yours."


    Interesting, but unsurprising.  ¡°Your methods of animal rearing are probably more ¡®conventional¡¯ than what I use, unless certain assumptions I¡¯ve been making about your ishuata gifts are inaccurate.¡±


    ¡°Assumptions?¡± Annaka asked with her almost omnipresent curiosity, her eyes locked onto me in a manner reminiscent of a hawk eyeing a particularly plump rodent.


    I repressed a grimace as what I was about to discuss was dangerous territory for me, still; I couldn¡¯t know how they will react. ¡°Well. I saw your ¡­ I suppose the best term for it would be ¡®effort¡¯ over the trellisvine, shaping the vines¡¯ growth to more suitably match the trellis they were growing against.  Tell me; is that a difficult art for your ishuata? Is it only plants that you can ¡®direct¡¯ in such a manner?¡±


    Annaka shook her head. ¡°No, simple acts like that do not require a true ishuata to accomplish. Anyone who trains enough with the innate sense of ishuar can learn such things. As to only plants¡­ well. We ishuata have the talent to accomplish more complex things.¡±


    My eyes narrowed as I took in what she had just said. ¡°Complex, how, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Those who enjoy Rishuata¡¯s blessing are able to utilize the flow of ishuar itself to accomplish feats that we have been told by the plains-people are what they call ¡®common miracles¡¯. I do not know if you have the understanding for such things; we heal, we see what is unseen, we receive insight from Rishuata, and even imbue ishuar itself into objects that can no longer obtain its flow through more mundane means. We can smooth the balance of ishuar such that wildlings do not become enraged by a disturbance, or lay down barriers of ishuar¡¯s flow that allow us to know of things crossing them.  Truly powerful acts of the ishuata can even repel wildlings from crossing such barriers.  Such are the arts of the ishuata.¡±


    I sit in silent contemplation on that statement for a while.  ¡°You speak of an innate sense of the ishuar. You also say that it does not require someone to ¡°actually be¡± an ishuata to work with that.  I am curious -- is this something that can be taught? Or is that something that is proscribed?¡±


    Annaka shook her head with a small smile.  ¡°It is long known that ishuata cannot teach non-ishuata to touch on or guide their inner sense of the ishuar.  But Trisaldan here could tell you -- there are some arts that are common to all of those of the Alfar Wood.  It is not ¡­ entirely forbidden for us to teach these arts to those not of the Wood; but first I would ask -- why do you wish to know of such things?¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Real talk? To avoid pissing your people off in the future. You would never have come out here looking for me or mine in the first place if I¡¯d known how to not upset whatever aspect of the ecology it is, exactly, that produces your ¡®imbalance¡¯ of the ishuar.  I had believed I was already taking sufficient steps to avoid irrevocably harming the environment around me, but then you folks showed up and I learned that I couldn¡¯t even notice a form of damage I was in fact doing.  And that? It doesn¡¯t sit well with me. The place I come from ¡­ it took my people far, far too long to realize that we needed to be more than mere stewards of the environment around us. We call forests like this one, back there, ¡®old growth¡¯.  There are almost no ¡®old growth¡¯ forests anymore. They were gone before we understood what we were even doing. Now that I find myself in a new place, a new world?  I see no reason to make the same mistakes as my forebears.¡±


    Annaka and Trisaldan shared some silent glance with one another, expressing thoughts that I honestly could not even hope to glean the meaning of.  Eventually, Trisaldan nodded -- more to himself than anything else, it seemed. ¡°Very well. I believe Lady Annaka feels we have taken up enough of your hospitality in general, Sir Vincent.  With your permission, as you seem interested in learning to sense the ishuar, I shall act as your tutor for a time, so that you and our people might have an easier time of knowing peace -- the better to avoid further bloodshed between us.  Her Ladyship will return with the Wardens to the Alfar Wood, until such time as a better spokesman for our people can come and establish better relations between us and your creations.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow.  ¡°I understand we¡¯ve been hashing out a basic agreement, and I once again have to thank you for being willing despite everything to even entertain the idea of peaceful rather than bloody means of resolving our issues but -- I have to ask. Why is it that you are dealing with me so simply? You¡¯re clearly bending over backwards to make things easy with me. Why?¡±


    Annaka was the one who responded:  ¡°Voidborn almost always grow in strength along lines established very early in their time after their arrival.  Your first actions were to convert the very wilderness itself into a tool for building wealth, prosperity, and civilization for yourself.  If we were to go to war with you, you would turn to war. A Voidborn who can project force beyond himself and perhaps even turn the very Wood against us?  That is the edge of the blade. But on the other hand -- A Voidborn that in a single season has created wonders that we had no access to before and is willing to trade them with us?  Such beings have created empires out of kingdoms in the history of this world, Sir Vincent. Why should we waste such an opportunity?¡±


    My shoulders slumped and my head nearly slammed against the table in frustration as I realized that this entire time, they were looking at me as a goddamned golden goose.  I couldn¡¯t help but groan under my breath, ¡°Oh god. Politics. Of course it¡¯s politics and ambition.¡±  I turned my gaze back upwards, to speak through clenched teeth, ¡°I will make this clear here and now: I will be no one¡¯s pawn.  When you go back and make your reports, you get that perfectly clear. I will be my own man, or none.¡±


    She merely nodded with that mischievous grin and began to issue orders to her men to decamp. Trisaldan, in the meantime, slapped his hand across my shoulders and shook his head. ¡°Be grateful, Sir Vincent, that you only dealt with one of the youngest of the ishuata caste. A true elder would¡¯ve had you trimmed like a hedgerow in hours.¡±

 16 - Forging Paths

    I''m fully aware that Trisaldan is being left with me as something of a trust exercise.  I''m also fully aware -- because for some reason it hasn''t exactly dawned on the elves that my homunculi understand as much of their language as I do -- that they''re leaving a full hundred of their men encamped in the Woodward (their wording) direction from my mining colony, half a day''s travel away.  This will actually work out well for me as it will let me know how far they generally travel in a single day.


    What I''m not entirely aware of is exactly what I''m going to do with Trisaldan himself.  I need to get back to my manor at some point, but if I bring him with me I''ll be exposing the location of my only other "installation".  Not that I need much more, at this point, than a dormant ant queen, a couple dozen hunting spiders, and my homunculi -- and whatever the spiders or my homunculi can carry without being encumbered anyhow -- to be fully started up again inside of a month.  An amount of time that is below their threshold for noticing me. Especially if I can actually learn enough about their ishuar or some mana interaction application to suppress my "magic pollution" enough to avoid their notice.


    On the other hand -- the way they talk about it, if I keep going the way I have been, I''m going to start attracting monsters or "wildlings" or whatever.  And chances are, elves are a whole lot friendlier than whatever such things might be. The notion of battle-testing my hunters properly had a certain amount of appeal to it; I hadn''t expected quite so many of my hunters to get taken out in their first fights, nor had I expected them to be able to improve so much with proper training.


    It was the thought of training that ultimately settled the question for me:  my hunters back at the manor have had exactly no chance to acquire any of it, and Trisaldan was supposed to be here to help me learn stuff anyhow so chances were that, as the equivalent of a sargeant to the Alfar Wardens, he was pretty good with a spear and he''d want to practice his technique as well.  So, back to the manor it would be.


    But first, it would serve me to settle affairs up here at the mining colony, since the ants actually found ores and were instructed to explicitly gather additional ore more than a day ago. With that thought in mind, I headed back to the waste pile the ants had been accumulating out of debris from their tunneling, to see if any more material had been dug up.  After no small amount of sifting through sediment and sand, I did manage to find more of the reddish rocks that I now had a better understanding of. There was enough of the material at hand to produce maybe another twelve or so ingots of the size I was producing -- call it another sixty or so pounds'' worth of iron or steel. This was a useful haul for a single day''s production, but I had no real way of knowing just how much longer it would be before the vein that was being extracted would dry up.


    I also couldn''t afford, if I were to implement the technologies of my "tech up" into the realms of iron and steel, to only have this one source of iron.  I had ideas about this but would need to see them through back at the manor rather than here. To that end, I''d only be smelting about three quarters of the material gathered since my last effort.


    It was while I was in the process of feeding the reddish rubble into the rock grinder that Trisaldan finally "found" me.  With a gruff sort of curiosity in his voice, he asked me about what I was doing.


    "The red rocks you see are iron ore.  I have a way of extracting the metal without needing too much manual labor, but it works much better when the rock ore is reduced to the consistency of sand."


    The elf "sargeant" squinted at me.  "If sand works better, why not just use sand?"


    It''s easy to forget how different the background of the elves is from my own.  They learned germ theory before they learned how to forge iron.  It would be nonsensical if literal magic wasn''t involved. While lifting up the last payload of rubble into the hopper to be ground up, I answered the man.  "You ever hold up small grains of river sand close to the eye? You notice how light gets through it easily? That''s because that sand is made of a form of quartz.  So when you melt it down, all you get is molten quartz glass. That''s got its uses, mind, but what I want is iron.  And so I need to use a kind of sand that''s made of iron.  Like this."


    I sifted my hand through the ruddy stained sand that had come out of the grinder when I last ran it.  "Now¡­ the biggest problem you have when trying to get the iron out of this is that there''s other stuff in here, too.  So what you need to do is get it hot enough that the materials all perfectly melt, and then let the differences in their fluid densities sort them out so that when you pour it into molds, you can separate the materials." I hardly even noticed that I had to switch back to English to say the words "density" or "material".  I imagined that I''d be giving the point-ears a rather large number of loan words, when you get down to it.


    " I¡­ see¡­ "  Trisaldan''s response was the kind that nearly transcended language.  He was clearly just agreeing enough to let the conversion continue.


    "It''s like¡­ you ever see oil spill on water?  See how it floats on top of the water even after you shake it up?  That''s because a water skin filled with oil will weigh slightly less than the same water skin will weigh when filled with water.  It''s a very small difference -- but it''s enough. Just a moment, it''s going to get rather loud for a bit -- let''s step outside of this room." I turned on the clockwork rock crusher and let it get back to doing its thing, as I gathered up the filled basket of red sand.


    Without pausing, I made my way over to one of the blast furnaces, and began to pour the sand into the heating chamber, pointing out various components as I went -- knowing all the while that there was very little chance Trisaldan would actually grasp everything he was seeing, let alone being told. If he could learn enough to merely operate the furnace properly, that would be enough to tell me something about how this system I now had interacted with the world, so it was worth the effort.


    After setting the furnace to another round of heating, I went back to the alchemy lab and requested Trisaldan to start grinding lumps of charcoal into dust with the grindstone I''d installed for just that purpose.  In the meantime I made a point of measuring out the alchemic essences I had culturing that would be needed to get the higher grades of steel I was actually after, as I intended to finalize the design of my homunculi''s clockwork harnesses to the newly upgraded model.


    While doing this, I kept up the conversation the man had started.  "The part we''re doing now, though -- it''s a bit harder to explain. Much like how tea or dye mixes into water without separating, the charcoal you''re grinding can ''dye'' iron, and much like how tea has different properties than just water, steel has different properties than just iron.  There are rules about how much charcoal or other additives to mix you want -- just like with making bronze out of copper -- but that''s too complicated for me to want to explain."


    Trisaldan nodded, finally.  "How did you come by all this knowledge?  You said there are no gods where you come from, so how could your people develop such wisdoms without a source of wisdom?"


    Well, that wasn''t the slightest bit disturbing in the least.  "The hard way, Trisaldan. We learned through accident, trial, and by passing on the wisdom of one generation to the next by written or oral tradition. I gather it''s different for you alfar?"


    The warden grimaced.  "Without a god''s blessing, mortals who seek wisdom often find their minds possessed by wildling or demon spirits.  That is the way of things: to seek knowledge one has not earned is not forbidden, but definitely unwise."


    I couldn''t help but scrunch my face up in thought at that.  "Wait. Doesn''t that mean my learning your techniques of interacting with ishuar is dangerous?"


    The man nodded.  "Yes, and no. The ishuar in many ways is like a tool; one is generally speaking most at risk when first learning to use it.  It is of course true that learning the ways of the ishuar is irrevocable, and that without guidance one relies largely on luck to avoid ill fates, but we of the Alfar Wood know most such hazards, and how to avoid them.  Our uses are to an extent limited by the safeguards we have learned, and there is of course a price even so -- but to wield such minor arts as I might teach you, it is safe enough.  So long as you do not do the equivalent of, say, sticking your genitals into that sand-making machine of yours."


    I couldn''t help but snort in laughter at that assertion, remembering an Earth saying about unclear instructions and getting stuck in things.  "I see. Well, no rest for the wicked. Let''s get this done, my good man.". I stack up the additives to the ore for the latest round of steelmaking before heading back over to continue my work, the alfar joining silently behind me, his eyes burning a hole in the back of my shirt.


    I spent the better part of the remainder of the day working on not merely shaping the steel ingots I¡¯d acquired as needed, but also tweaking the design for the new clockwork harnesses slightly as the prototype¡¯s usage had revealed certain limitations in the operation of them. Not the least of which being that they needed fuel gauges to demonstrate the fuel level without needing to cease what the homunculus wearing it was doing.  Ironically, a gauge was once again one of those things that wasn¡¯t actually all that difficult to pull off -- assuming you could rely on the transference of fine-grade small amounts of rotational energy over a distance -- something that steel cabling could do nicely but materials I¡¯d previously had access to largely couldn¡¯t. That same trick -- transferring small amounts of rotational energy over a larger distance than direct gearwork transfer -- allowed a harness-wearer to ignite the lamp wicks largely unassisted. I¡¯d even added a lever in easy reach of the homunculi¡¯s natural arms that would allow for the opening of the fuel reservoir so a homunculus could add more oil unassisted as well. Unfortunately, all of this fine work meant that the manufacture of new harnesses would be much slower than the ossium harnesses had been -- while the previous generations were less flexible in operation, that flexibility came with a cost of complexity in manufacture.  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    A microcosm of the way increasingly sophisticated and powerful technologies required ever-larger amounts of intellectual labor in order to be kept afloat, really.  Once I¡¯d finished the tweaks on the prototype and the manufacture of the second steel clockwork harness, I left the homunculi back to their own devices and checked in on Trisaldan who, despite his better intentions otherwise, had simply gotten bored watching me draw steel wire and braid it painstakingly into cable after cable, adding alchemical treatments depending on whether I needed it to be stronger or more flexible based on where it would be installed.


    The elf was practicing with one of the reed-bamboo spears I had made for the princess¡¯s crew, actually play-sparring with three of my hunting spiders as he did. He seemed to actually be enjoying himself. Should¡¯ve known he¡¯d wind up being a ¡®pet¡¯ person. Well, at least my hunters would benefit from the additional practice/training. I watched him silently for a short bit, allowing him to judge for himself when he had finished his training cum playing around.


    When he finally wound down and caught his breath in what I could only describe as a ¡®professional¡¯ manner, he turned to face me, with the butt of the spear resting parade-style against his foot. ¡°Yes, Sir Vincent?¡±


    I glanced him over, repressing a shake of my head at the subtle cues he seemed to be displaying that indicated he at least was ¡®slotting¡¯ me into his social hierarchy somewhere above him but below his princess. ¡°We¡¯re about done with all we can get done here for now. As it¡¯s later into the evening, why don¡¯t you go and inform your people out beyond my walls that we¡¯ll be making a trip to another of my places starting tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll likely ask me why this is happening, sir.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s simple enough.  This place was only ever meant as a means of gathering the ore you helped me work with today. It was never meant as a long term residence. That would be my ¡­ house? No, I use the word ¡®manor¡¯. It means¡­ like a village, but for a single wealthy family?¡±  My mastery of their language had the oddest gaps sometimes. Seriously.


    Trisaldan quirked a light-brown eyebrow at that. ¡°¡®Manor¡¯, eh? We do not have a word like that. Should be interesting to see. It is also considered better to learn the ways of the ishuar while deep in the Wood rather than surrounded by the things of man, anyhow -- so that is well.¡±


    I merely nod, and leave Trisaldan to his devices while making my own way back to the small cottage that I was using as a home-away-from-home to take my evening meal and sleep away the evening.


    ~~------------~~


    Come the morning, I found my homunculi had already prepared all of the materials I¡¯d need for the trip, including a pair of the four-spider team-drawn wagons loaded down with both ore, ingots, and samples of the additives I¡¯d derived -- as well as written reports to collate together back at the ever-increasing-in-scope library I was maintaining back at the manor, as well as basic supplies like a proper tent, bedrolls, and cooking supplies.  There was even a potted trellisvine with a spliced acorn-vine growing from it. I found it amusing that as I was also bringing Trisaldan with me, I could be said to be bringing samples of everything I¡¯d developed in my short stay here at the mining base.


    Upon opening the gate, I found that Trisaldan was accompanied by two other elves as well; ones I had not actually met before. Judging from the way they were attired, however, they seemed to be lower in rank than he was.


    ¡°Greetings, Sir Vincent.  It won¡¯t be an issue that my fellow wardens do not feel comfortable with me leaving in your company alone, I hope?¡±


    I shook my head without even needing to think about it. ¡°If this thing where we trust each other is going to work, it¡¯s got to go both ways. Just ¡­ make sure that they know not to stick their genitals in things they don¡¯t recognize, hey?¡±


    The two men standing behind Trisaldan look like they can¡¯t figure out whether to be confused or offended before the senior warden takes the indecision from them by actually laughing aloud at this.  ¡°Do you know, sir, that might very well be the first joke you¡¯ve told since I first met you?¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ well hell, you seem to be correct, Trisaldan. And of course as is the way of my people, it¡¯s a dick joke. I¡¯m suddenly very glad that nobody from back home will ever find out about this.¡±  I rubbed my hand against the back of my head ruefully before moving on. ¡°So, I wasn¡¯t planning on bringing sufficient supplies or anything for more than just the two of us. So your men will need to fend for themselves until we get to our destination -- and that¡¯s going to be a four or five day journey. I don¡¯t see much in the way of supplies over there. They got enough for that?¡±


    The youngest of the three elves present smiled -- if briefly. ¡°We¡¯re good to go, Sir Vincent.¡±


    If anyone was going to be competent nature-survivalists it would be friggin'' tree-hugging point-ears.  I should have known who I was talking to. I covered up my embarrassment by making a point of marching along, calling out orders to my hunting spiders to fan out in escort of the group and the ones hauling the wagons. I noticed, as they did so, that the younger pair of elves looked on at the hunter''s display of coordination with a certain amount of unease.


    "Something bothering you lot?"


    The two shook their heads almost in unison.  "It''s just -- seeing so many feral wildlings acting with such cooperation and obedience is unsettling, sir.  I served during a bloodmoon in the outer guard at Valensir''s Glade. There was much loss of life in that month."


    I at the same time wanted to know more and to not pry into what was clearly a dark memory.  "Forgive my ignorance but -- is Valensir''s Glade one of your cities or something?"


    Trisaldan actually flashed a look of gratitude at me, however briefly, before taking up the conversional slack.  "It''s one of our smaller settlements, closer to the Treatied Woods and as a result fairly isolated. They are known primarily for their acorn production; there is an ishuata family there that specializes in fertility and fecundity."


    The implications of what he had not said were rather telling.  "I see. So your people depend heavily on acorns as a staple of your diet, then.  That sounds rather similar to the Iroquois back home, actually. They were similar."


    "Were, Sir Vincent?"


    I grimaced as I made my way through the old growth forestry, checking for blaze marks and familiar objects as I went.  "The Iroquois died off centuries ago, when my ancestors came to live near them. Our peoples had been isolated from each other for long enough that the Iroquois could no longer resist the diseases of my people.  This was before we understood such things."


    The three of them were taken slightly aback by this.  Eventually, Trisaldan spoke up again. "You did warn us that your ancestors made several mistakes before learning better.  I assume this was one?"


    I considered, briefly, casting my world''s history in a brighter light than it really deserved.  But honesty in my dealings had done me well enough thus far, and I saw no need to stray from that path now.  "That would be¡­ a very generous understanding of events. Yes. It was far from the last of such things. Though truth be told, I might be focusing on such things to make myself feel better about the fact that I''ll almost certainly never go home again."


    There''s a hitch in the conversation at that, before I looked at them bemusedly.  "It''s not as though I have anything to draw me back there. In a number of ways, being here has been an improvement on my lot in life.  Whoever or whatever brought me to your world at least was polite enough to choose someone who wouldn''t miss much of what he was losing. Though, between you and me, one of the things that drives me these days is getting back some of the creature comforts.  Like cheese. And stiff caffeinated teas. I''m so very glad I was never a coffee drinker, though. The withdrawal headaches would likely have driven me mad as a hatter." I''m bemused that I managed to get through that entire statement without having to resort to dropping in any more English words than I had to.


    The personable back and forth I''d set as the tone for our journey became three backdrop of further conversation. I learned a great deal more about the elves and the world as a result, on that first day at least.  For example, no one really knew the total number of gods in the world. They all seemed largely localized in some way, or else sufficiently highly specialized that despite having a presence in a wide area they were very niche regardless.


    The elves for example almost exclusively worshipped -- or perhaps revered would be a better word -- Rishuata.  From what I could gather, her actual priesthood was best described as being something like shrine maidens back home:  there was no formal structure to it, saving that third daughters or sons of ishuata families often wound up devoting themselves to some family shrine to Rishuata herself, with those sometimes being opened up to serve the needs of lesser castes who might seek out their goddess''s advice or blessing for some affair or another.


    Interestingly, their relationship with their goddess otherwise was both aloof and intense.  It was almost as if they hoped that by anticipating her desires they could avoid her direct intervention, while benefiting from being in her good graces.  And those benefits were to say the least, interesting.  The goddess gave her shrine-tenders foresight over things like possible blights against their food crops, incipient droughts, and more significantly inspiration for how to address such challenges.  And it was very clear that this was coming directly from the goddess. On the one hand, the benefits of such an arrangement were obvious: who wouldn''t want a consistent and effective resource for advice and guidance towards prosperity and away from suffering?  On the other hand, the goddess''s advice only ever came in the form of interactions with environmental events, and she was utterly silent outside of that.  Which wasn''t really a problem for a society attuned to such a lifestyle, but¡­


    It was immediately apparent to me that the wood elves were in a developmental trap.  Yes, their relationship with the goddess was obviously symbiotic, as their service to her needs was rewarded with their prosperity, but at the same time they had no internal drive to become more than her worshippers.  To the point where after thousands of years of existing as a people under her guidance, they''d never even properly developed agriculture, let alone learned to work metals.  All of the creative energies of their society were bent to anticipating the desires and ambitions of a single immortal, unchanging, entity.  As point-failure sources go, it was at least a robust one.


    I knew better, though, than to say as much to the three elves making their journey with me.  And it wasn''t exactly all that bad: even if Rishuata disappeared overnight they''d still have the ishuata and their long-lasting lifespans and all the gifts they brought to their society -- so any breakdown would likely be a gradual transition to a new lifestyle rather than a Chinese firedrill-themed Apocalypse.  Still, I began to get a greater appreciation for what I might offer their society in a manner to make them appreciate having me around.

 17 - Updating Beliefs

    After the second day of travel, Trisaldan and the other two -- Eildan and Orelme, as I finally learned their names were -- decided they felt comfortable enough with me to begin the process of teaching me how to interact with the ishuar. There were some surprises for me in this process. The first and foremost being that it was very apparent that this was not an internal process, and that meditation apparently had nothing at all to do with it. Instead, Trisaldan would call out what appeared to be at random moments for me to "pay attention, now", and would review with me once an equally apparently random amount of time had passed what I had observed with my senses.


    It quickly became apparent that he was less interested in the more obvious senses like sight, sound, and scent -- and more interested in things like whether I felt disoriented or any other more ineffable experiences. He''d even slapped me on the shoulder a couple of times when I tried to turn my attention inward when he called out, saying "What you''re seeking cannot be found within you, for it is not there." This was all very frustrating compared to my preconceptions of how learning how to do magic was supposed to work -- but then I supposed that was rather the point; if it worked anything like how I had previously imagined, I would have gotten somewhere with that¡­ probably. Some corner of my mind kept reminding me about that "nastigram" that I''d gotten the last time I tried to do the generic isekai mana manipulation thing.


    It was to my great annoyance that I didn''t realize until halfway through the morning of the third day that I could probably make the whole process go faster by having Eildan call out at random intervals for me to pay attention to my senses just like Trisaldan was doing, so that I had a closer baseline of action that was similar to whatever the older warden was trying to get me to notice. Over the midday rest, I even managed to explain the request to them in a manner that made it clear that they actually thought it was a decent idea -- but one they''d never actually thought of for teaching this sort of thing before. Chalk one up to the spirit of scientific endeavor: there''s a reason we have control groups in studies.


    That afternoon and early evening, each time Trisaldan called for me to "notice", I tried to rule out anything I could also have noticed when Eildan called for my attention. Since it wasn''t anything obvious like the sound of leaves rustling, or changes in light level, or temperature or humidity shifts¡­ that left me focusing on the sort of thing that was far, far more subjective.


    I mentioned once or twice a sense of being watched, or of being accompanied by something. The sort of feeling you usually get when you''ve just watched a horror movie and have to go to the restroom or kitchen in the dark -- like your brain is preparing you for a jump-scare of seeing a clown''s face out of the window as you pee. Only, more generic; not from a place of fear. Trisaldan smiled and nodded but neither confirmed nor denied that was what I was supposed to be ''feeling''. The bigger challenge, however, was now that I had begun to notice this not-alone-ness, I sometimes began feeling it even when Trisaldan didn''t indicate I should. I even caught a whiff of it a couple of times when Eildan called me to my senses.


    The fourth day, we actually started going slower than the previous two -- this was entirely my doing. I felt like the training exercises of our trip were starting to get somewhere, and to be frank the experience of developing a new skill entirely unaided by any aspect of the System was in a strange sort of way exhilarating even though it was frustrating. I began trying to see if there were some other way I could narrow down this sense I seemed to be developing, throughout the course of the day. I tried all manner of things, including trying to get a feeling of what sort of company it was, or if its position changed as I moved.


    I did get a bit of a glimpse after twenty or so attempts at differentiating the kind of "presence", but I still had no real way of knowing if it was in my head or not. The only real solid hint I had to go on was the six of those times it was because Trisaldan was the one who called my attention to it. In those cases, I knew it would have to be something I associated with nature -- the scent of pollen in spring, the warmth of summer in grass fields, the astringent sting on the eyes of pine sap, the color green or brown, and so on.


    I wasn''t at all sure I was getting anywhere until suddenly, in the middle of the afternoon of the second day of my sensory-training, I felt something just click. I didn''t know if I had reached out to it, or if it had reached out to me -- but all of a sudden I was completely and entirely certain that there was something directly beside me. It somehow felt exactly like a seedling breaking through soil from an acorn, but parched for water.


    Without even thinking about it I touched that feeling with my thoughts in exactly the same way I would when seeking to understand a given alchemical essence, and just as with my alchemy, I found my mana bar depleting. The difference being, however, that when I tried to stop, that feeling somehow didn''t let me.


    Trisaldan suddenly was there, grabbing my shoulder and yelling in my ear. The complete shock of which startled me away from my focus on that seedling-sensation and back onto him. By the time that happened, a full quarter of my mana bar had been depleted. I noticed, however, that Trisaldan was smiling at me, as were the other two.


    There was something harder than I had anticipated behind the middle-aged elf as he spoke to me in quick, clipped tones. "By Rishuata, I''ve never seen someone find the ishuar so quickly! And to develop so strong a bond with the first you connect with, it''s quite impressive. But quickly now, Sir Vincent, you must contain the connection in your thoughts, or it will grow into them fully. For some they imagine a wall around the sensation, for others they tie it to some other experience or even to an act, like holding a certain rock. This is essential, sir: I can only constrain the new connection between yourself and the ishuar for so long. I can''t give you the answer for this, you must work it out yourself.". His voice got more urgent as he went on. "The one thing you mustn''t do is try to push it away. Only sorrow comes from this, both for you and it! Contain, but do not reject."


    I nodded, stunned at his forcefulness, waving away my hunters that were bristling with irritation at how aggressively the apparently older man was laying hands on me. I thought briefly about his words and realized that I''d had my conception of what ishuar meant wrong all this time. Or maybe it was better to say that my understanding of what mana was and how it worked was what was flawed. Or both. In any case, what I was "connecting" to wasn''t to some passive field of energy. It was to something that existed entirely within that omnipresent energy. To, for lack of better terms, a nature spirit. One that was now, apparently, attempting to possess me. But that I was supposed to contain rather than reject. But how was I supposed to do that?Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    After a few moments, an idea hit me: connecting to the spirit had been remarkably like "knowing" alchemical essences -- and doing so consumed mana from my reservoir. Which, if there were spiritual entities that were comprised entirely of mana, meant that I had been literally expending portions of myself just like I was when using sanguinism. And just like with sanguinism using up blood, if I wanted some fluid to be in my system but not contaminate my blood altogether, then what I really needed was some way of having this spirit''s mana resident within my own mana but separated from it. In the case of blood and other fluids, that was how the blood-brain barrier worked.


    But mana was conceptual, not physical. So what could be the conceptual equivalent of a blood-brain barrier or fluid cyst membrane? I was stuck on this thought for what felt like an interminable period of time before I realized that my alchemy experience actually already gave me part of the answer to my dilemma. What I needed wasn''t a barrier, per se, but a sort of mental "filtering" loop that would isolate and strain out the ishuar-ness of my mana and my me-ness of my mana, concentrating the ishuar-ness back into itself just like I did with my alchemy.


    Conceptualizing myself as another vat of psychedelic fluids, I concentrated on the isolation of what I now understood to be a nature-spirit, focusing on condensing the rest of my mana such that the spirit would essentially "rise to the top" like oil on water. I wasn''t so much visualizing this -- the visual metaphor clearly wouldn''t cut it -- as trying to re-frame my existing experiences to being applicable to this new dilemma. Again, I found that I lost all sense of time as I focused on feeling out my own mana''s essential makeup with the senses my alchemic experience had given me.


    I could not have said exactly how long it was until Trisaldan clapped his hand on my shoulder again and said, "Well. That was certainly a unique experience. You don''t do anything in a familiar manner, do you. I can see that you''ve contained the ishuar quite well, as its presence no longer grows in intensity within you -- but I haven''t the foggiest how you''ve managed to do so while leaving it so¡­ loose. Like a cloud around you, but yet connected. You''ll have to tell me what you did; I''m sure it will be enlightening."


    I looked up around me and noticed that while it was deep into late afternoon, I had completely lost track of how late it had been before I got myself voluntarily possessed by a nature spirit unwittingly. It certainly felt like the whole process had taken several hours, but it couldn''t have been more than just one.


    I realized as I looked around me, however, that a great number of things now seemed intuitively obvious that clearly weren''t before. Like how old the trees around me were, and that everything around me was "properly" natural -- it was an almost homey feeling -- except in the direction of my manor, which felt like there was an itch in my head. Further thought exposed that it was the spirit within me that was reacting in that way, and with that additional realization I began to grapple with which sensations were the spirit''s and which were mine. The ease with which I could now tell trees apart, for example, was one of those things I could definitely get used to in terms of its aiding my navigation in the more "trackless" parts of the forest. Finding my way back through any stretch of forest seemed like it would be as easy as navigating the neighborhood I''d grown up in. It wasn''t that I had some compass in my head giving me my bearings so much as I just knew where everything was in relation to everything else.


    All in all, I would have said that this whole "getting a little bit possessed" thing wasn''t actually all that bad, so long as I could get a better handle on the differences between the thoughts the ishuar was putting in my head and what I was "normally" thinking. Which truth be told was hardly the worst existentially numbing thing I''d grappled with since coming to this new world. The only thing that really worried me was that I could now see that my mana bar had a small portion at the top that was a deep forest green instead of the blue I was familiar with. That was a little troubling.


    ~~------------~~


    The following day was if anything even slower-going than the day before. Trisaldan kept checking me over to make sure that whatever I had done to contain the spirit in its process of possessing me was stable and not likely to fall apart. The poking and prodding by his ishuar was rather annoying, especially as he kept asking me to do random things or try to feel various emotional states to check for different kinds of instability.


    The part that was actually kind of awesome, though, was where under his guidance he had me try to feel the spiritual presence of the plants and wildlife around us. In so doing, I discovered that there was actually quite a good deal more of the latter than my earlier jaunts through the forest had led me to believe. Turns out, there''s an entire ecosystem of critters with varying degrees of presence with ishuar and they were rather adept at vacating the premises as we approached. The rabbits or hares and the spiders I knew about. That there were far more raccupines than I''d thought however was quite the surprise. If I had to guess, the solitary one I''d found was injured and starving and that''s why it made for me.


    Getting a feel for what the spirit within me enjoyed doing and getting it used to what I wanted it to do was another process altogether. After carefully picking up a clod of dirt with a few blades of grass, for example, I was able to push my mana through the spirit and into the grass, causing it to grow on its own into a strand of rope -- a process that went faster when I added my sanguinism blood letting into the mix. Just that one act cost me about half of my mana, though.


    Still. Little tricks like that were things I could pick up further over time, and I hardly needed to be out in this forest just to learn them further. With a little prodding on my part, I convinced the three elves to up the pace to make up for the lost time training me on this little voyage, and with that, we were back at my manor after just under another day. My ishuar at first was unsettled by how different everything was, but it didn''t take long for it to adapt to my way of thinking about the manor as safe and more importantly, under my control. It was good to finally be home. I could only wonder if the elves knew what my real motivation for wanting to learn how to work with ishuar was, if they would have decided I wasn''t worth the risk of allowing to live. After all -- just because I wouldn''t use what I was planning to create on a person, didn''t mean I couldn''t. Strictly speaking, I¡¯d need to make two creations for the plan to work, but the design of a new ant caste was probably the simpler of the two as I¡¯d already done that before.

 18 - Sensitivity of Scale

    It wasn''t until I had actually sat down for a proper meal back in my own kitchen / dining room that the "high" of actually having some kind of magical ability wore off and I realized just how insane what had happened to me was. The damned elvish sergeant had even told me what the risks were of what I was doing.  I just hadn''t clued in because I was so confident I understood how things worked, that I was on top of learning how to handle living in this new world of mine.


    And I had been so very, very wrong.  So¡­ ignorant.  And worse, the elves ¡­ no, the alfar, had no way of even thinking that I didn''t know what I was getting myself into.  I take I the talk, after all, and sounded oh so confident as I did. Talk about your double illusions of transparency.  It was enough to make me want to pull my hair out. Especially considering¡­ what I had done, letting myself get possessed by a nature spirit¡­  unless I missed my marks again, based on what Trisaldan had told me, there was no going back. ''Once a door is opened, it cannot be closed again'' after all.


    Once my meal was finished, I finally stopped putting off the obligatory next step of recording what I had done during my trip back at the research bench, almost dreading what I was certain was going to occur.  I, as it turned out, was only half-right.


    << Requirements met.  General arcanism level unlocked:  Primitive Eldritch Awakening. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific arcanism field unlocked:  Internal Mana Awareness. >>


    << Requirements met.  Specific arcanism field unlocked:  Primitive Spirit Awareness. >>


    Huh.  No "trait"?  But the prompts read "arcanism" levels, not "tech" levels.  And no infodump of new information? I sincerely didn''t know what to make of any of this, until I checked in in my homunculi and found that they had also clearly -- somehow -- gathered ishuar of their own.  Which they had most certainly not done before I had recorded my experiences and added them to the library.  Even the timing on that was a little odd. Every tech level I had unlocked had done so when I "researched" it, immediately.  But they had also all come with new information filling in the blanks of what I''d demonstrated understanding of. Here, no filling in of blanks but I did get pop-ups, which hadn''t ever happened before.  This was frustratingly inconsistent!


    And the worst part of it all was that I had no one to vent that frustration at.  There was no way the alfar could meaningfully contribute to a discussion on the inconsistent nature of my System for the simple reason that I was almost certainly the only individual they''d ever met who actually had one.  Let alone the cultural background of Earth necessary to grok digitized systems and logical operations. For fuck''s sakes, these people literally lived in trees. Yes, they knew things about this world but their very lack of comprehension of the background I was coming from was how I wound up getting partially possessed by a nature spirit in the first place.  As much as having company that could actually talk was pleasant, and yes there were clearly benefits to what had happened to me, this was the cooking oil incident all over again.


    It just wasn''t worth the risk.


    It was with this thought in mind that I made my way to where the three alfar had overnighted, as my manor wasn''t properly set up for that many guests.  "Did you lot sleep well enough?


    Trisaldan smiled easily at me, his eyes looking up to the greatoak''s canopy.  "I still find it difficult to believe that you built all of this in but a single season, especially so close to one of the great trees of the forest.  Living so close to one¡­ It''s no wonder the ishuar responded so easily to you, Sir Vincent."


    Looking up at said tree for myself, I could understand the alfar Warden''s meaning.  My newfound awareness made it clear why greatoaks grew so much taller than others. I wasn''t sure if the tree had a spirit of its own, or if it was just "flavoring" the mana around it, but I could feel the natural ¡­ for lack of a better term, presence coming from the tree.  It occurred to me at that point that I''d never really done any alchemical analysis of the trees around me.  Somehow, I''d simply taken for granted that they were what they seemed to be. Yet another of many unspoken assumptions.


    That very awareness, however, was also what made it clear why the alfar Wardens hadn''t come to the manor even though it was overall larger.  The greatoak''s presence was masking the disruption from my works. Not completely, but the majority of it. I knew then and there that I would have to reassess everything in my manor, all the things I had created to date, as the disruptive nature of my farm on the flow of ishuar presence was like a minor itch in the part of me that now housed that nature spirit, but I sure as hell wasn''t going to give up on being on the path of technological progress just because of some spiritual taint being irritated by it.  Not when I could apply my know-how in some manner to address the issue instead.


    I shook myself, very minutely, out of my reverie, and spoke to my alfar companions.  "Alright, gentlemen. The homunculus beside me will assist you three in getting set up with accommodations.  It understands your language as well as I do but will not be able to communicate directly with you except through hand signs and grunts, unless you care to teach it your written language.¡±


    Eildan, the scarred of Trisaldan¡¯s bodyguard-companions, looks at me with a slightly confused light in his eyes. ¡°But won¡¯t you need its services for your own ends?¡±


    I laughed softly, waving off his concern in a gesture that I hoped conveyed the dismissal was a friendly one. ¡°I have another four here at the manor above and beyond that one. I assure you, I¡¯ll be able to make do.¡±


    Orelme¡¯s jaw dropped a little at my casual statement. ¡°Seven¡­¡±


    I grimaced at that number. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯d have more but ¡­ something told me going that far into mana exhaustion was a bad idea.¡± The three looked at each other, a glance I was rapidly coming to understand meant, ¡®Vincent is missing something again.¡¯  I took a stab at the dark on it, holding back a sigh as I did. ¡°Let me guess. Most alchemists never manage more than one or two homunculi, if they ever manage to make one at all.¡±


    Trisaldan nods his affirmation in silence.  As that silence stretches out, I take it as an opportune moment to simply move on from the trio, and settle back down into getting some actual work and progress done.  Aside from the new iron design for the homunculi¡¯s clockwork harnesses, I hadn¡¯t gotten anything done in the better part of an entire month -- I could almost feel the need to get progress locked in place itching at me, and it was for certain a stronger drive than any signals from my ethereal stowaway.


    ~~------------~~


    The first thing I settled down to do was to actually use the steel ingots I¡¯d procured to set up lightning rods with steel cabling for my buildings, as I¡¯d originally set up the hot-spring colony for in the first place. Given the amount of material I had to actually work with, I felt that it was the best bang for the buck, as it were.  Especially since I didn¡¯t really know how much longer I had before the proper rainstorms came on beyond knowing vaguely that they were, in fact, coming. Each passing day was, on average, warmer-feeling than the day previous.


    Given the small number of buildings I actually had, and their relatively small size compared to how large I was used to buildings being back on Earth, I wound up only using up about three ingots total out of the twelve I had brought back with me. The rest of them would be used for more ¡®interesting¡¯ purposes.  I set about scavenging live samples of pretty much everything I could in the area around me that I hadn¡¯t already alchemically analyzed. My intention at this point was to create a much broader library of traits to work with as compared to what I currently had in stock.


    One particular material that got more emphasis would be the steel and iron I had at my disposal, as I had special hopes for that. The goal there was to isolate as many ¡®relevant¡¯ traits as I could, as well as keeping an undifferentiated essence for culturing. I didn¡¯t have a direct means at the moment of reverting an inert substance back to its non-essential form, but that didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t work one out in the future¡­ or cheat through my Biopunk knowledge somehow. After all -- I literally had crystalline fungi growing in vats in chambers beneath the farm area. Would it really be that much more difficult to start growing iron mushrooms?


    Another was myself. I had already been culturing an ¡®undifferentiated¡¯ sample of my own alchemical essence, in case I ever needed to replace a homunculus.  But I went through the process of refining that very same essence from its ¡°raw¡± materials again, and attempted to use the very same negation process I¡¯d used in the past to obtain an antidote for the numbing moss, just to see if the ishuar possession had somehow altered my essential makeup.  This resulted in an hour of my time spent on very carefully measuring proportions to exacting detail, only to wind up with a cauldron literally filled with no essence at all. Which at the very least was reassuring in the sense that it meant that whatever the nature spirit was doing in its new cozy little ethereal ¡°me¡± cottage, it wasn¡¯t altering ¡°me¡± in any way that the tools at my disposal could detect ¡­ yet.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I went on trying to isolate specific traits for various aspects of myself, however, as my mana recovery rate permitted. After my trials with learning the alfar¡¯s language, I knew that I could isolate out the essential aspect of things like ¡®communication¡¯, so it stood to reason that things as abstruse as that could also be teased out, however headache-inducing that process might be. After seeing what happened when I introduced my own undifferentiated essence in a certain portion of a spider¡¯s body when I created my hunters, I knew that it had to be possible to back-hack the process as it were, and isolate those traits from my essence more directly.  Most of what I was after, however, was locating three specific traits. The first was plausibly the most important to me, but also the easiest as I had the best grasp on what it was: tool-use. If communication could be an essence that could be made into a tonic and through it enable the rapid mastery and adoption of another language, then it stood to all reason that things like tool-use could also be ¡®extracted¡¯.  My success in this wound up costing essentially all of my mana in one go, even after first isolating my general intelligence which also took up my full mana amount.  It was clear that I was playing at the very edges of what my alchemical Biopunk knowledge permitted.


    But that was where I needed to be if I was going to make any progress at all. Especially with what I needed to do next.  I knew that my homunculi had been effective in serving the needs I had for them; they were faithful beyond question and while they could not exactly anticipate my needs, the use of generalized written agendas and basic practice with interacting with them had made up for so much of that gap that I barely noticed it anymore.  But they just weren¡¯t enough. If I was going to make any serious progress in moving forward, I needed to be able to make actual use of more-complex mechanisms. Take proper advantage of the Biopunk knowledge of growth-vats and so on to properly verticalize and get production density that I couldn¡¯t get now. Have more-effective combatants, so that I would actually be able to interact with the alfar from a position of strength rather than just being too much of a nuisance to kill off given my previously unknown ¡®Voidborne¡¯ status.


    Simply put, I needed to have minions that worked smarter. I¡¯d managed to get a little bit of that through the ¡®brain¡¯ caste of the mining ants -- and their cooperation with my homunculi certainly was working far better than I¡¯d anticipated.  But the tasks that the individual worker caste ants could execute even under brain ant supervision just weren¡¯t sufficient to the kind of on-the-spot judgements that a truly technological society needed its workers to be able to make. This was a problem that my mind had been chewing at for some time. A part of me wanted to think that even without the interactions with the alfar, I would have found a viable solution -- both practically and ethically speaking.  It would¡¯ve likely taken me a great deal longer than I would¡¯ve liked, but I almost certainly would have accomplished it. In the meantime, however, the alfar and I had met one another.  I had been possessed by a minor ishuar, and there was no point avoiding the potential benefits this could grant me.  A couple of the things I¡¯d tested out during my playing around with the interaction with plant life that my bonded nature spirit granted me was how many individual plants I could interact with, and whether or not I could get feedback from them.


    As it turned out: I could manage several plants simultaneously as long as I didn¡¯t need them to force themselves into doing things they wouldn¡¯t readily do under normal stimuli. And while there wasn¡¯t much in the way of feedback, I got the distinct impression that this was a result of the plants not having much in the way of feedback to give.  Trying with a greatoak for example gave me a sense of warmth and wind for the entirety of the tree -- and wasn¡¯t that an exercise in sensory overload. Not so much from complexity as from sheer quantity. I didn¡¯t even need to be in direct line of sight with the tree in order to continue the sensory connection with the tree.


    To the alfar, this was little more than a navigational aid; connect to a few greatoaks and you¡¯d always have absolute certainty of your relative position compared to them. But for me? It would serve a purpose much, much, more useful.  That use would take shape in the form of my attempts at recreating a kind of fungus from back on Earth.  One named, specifically, Ophiocordyceps unilateralis.  I¡¯d been fascinated by the very concept of the fungus back on Earth, which is basically the only reason I knew its name so well.  It did something very, very interesting. Mushrooms grew in soil, and shelf root fungus grew in wood. But Ophiocordyceps? Ophiocordyceps grew in bugs.  And more interestingly: it controlled their behaviors.  The exact methods by which it did this were not exactly certain, but that was fairly irrelevant to me.


    So the second half of the day that Trisaldan and his companions spent setting up accomodations for themselves and I spent in my bioalchemic lab?  That was spent almost entirely on stretching the limits of what I could do with my alchemic and Biopunk knowledge.  Not so much going into ¡°new frontiers¡± tech-level wise -- I was certain what I was going to do wouldn¡¯t actually advance me in any meaningful sense as far as the System was concerned -- but instead, pushing the limits of what I already had under my belt in the practical sense.  Closing up the tech-debt gap as it were.  I went through generations of my crystalline shelfruit, reducing the size of it, and removing the ¡°wood¡± trait from what I believed to be its mycelium, to replace with what I believed to be the ¡°brain¡± trait of ants.  It took me nine generations of tweaking before I got an acceptable hit. Each generation had consisted of between thirty and sixty trial cases. It was a scattershot approach but it was the best I could do given the means I had access to, and while it was tedious it was also effective. Or, at least, effective enough to get the job at hand done.


    Just modifying the crystalline fungus however, wouldn¡¯t be enough.  I needed to make a caste of ants that would actually be acceptable for use as the hosts of said fungus.  It was unavoidable that the fungus itself would routinely kill its host, so I was unwilling to use the brain caste as a base. Instead, I settled on the worker caste of ants as the base for the new ¡®generation¡¯ that the mining colony queens would need to produce for me.  This new caste would be much larger in general, and would have the tool-use trait embedded in them while doubling down on the ¡®domestication¡¯ trait. I especially focused on introducing that trait to their mandibles and forelegs. The end product was a docile creature that hardly had any initiative of its own, even less somehow than the usual worker ant.  But what it lacked in that regard, it more than made up for in the fact that its forelegs and mandibles were fully prehensile.  I had never imagined what an ant with antler-like opposable thumbs on its mandibles would look like before, let alone one that also had them on its legs in the form of tri-clawed feet, but on that day I got to see what such a body-plan would look like.  At a full two feet in length, no less.


    It didn¡¯t live very long. I managed not to slap myself across the forehead when I remembered that ants didn¡¯t breathe the way even spiders did.  It took some digging, and a few dives into headache territory, but I did eventually manage to transfer into ants the ¡®book lungs¡¯ that I half-remembered, half-rediscovered from my spiders, along with a diaphragm taken from my own essential anatomy to facilitate the dispersal of oxygenated hemolymph through my minions. I hadn¡¯t really anticipated the hemolymph changing in color as a result of importing these traits, but that just went to show that what I was doing shouldn¡¯t be strictly understood as genetic engineering from Earth. This was a far more ¡°surgical¡± process but it did mean a total replacement was necessary for the ant colony: I needed to grow a new queen altogether to take the place of the old in order to get the new anatomy and caste deployed.


    All of this effort felt a great deal like building castles in swamps. But the end result was something I found quite acceptable:  tool-using minions with no indications of having any thoughts of their own. Ones that could be infected by behavior-controlling fungi.  Fungi that I and my homunculi could in turn control through our bonded spirits, with exceedingly little effort. There would of course be limits to the number of manual-caste ants that could be directly overseen at any given time, but more ¡®routine¡¯ tasks could be installed in the albeit limited memory trait imbued into the controller fungi.


    I spent the remainder of my time before heading to sleep that night using my spirit connection to my new biological abominations to direct them to construct new clockwork harnesses for their own use. These would be the ¡°old¡± style, unfortunately, as I simply didn¡¯t have enough steel to work with¡­ but as I installed the manual ants into their harnesses the work went that much quicker.  My limit in directing manual cast simultaneously was only five or six, given the need to constantly context-switch, but -- as I had hoped -- I was able to get more-complex sensory feedback from the ants themselves through the controller fungus¡¯ connections inside their brains.


    Taylor Hebert, I was not: I would never control Biblical Plagues of swarms this way. And getting used to compound vision and antennae-based smelling was going to be a challenge. One that was oh-so-very worth it in terms of how much this expanded what I could potentially do.  Especially since each of my homunculi could do the same as I was now doing. That might only factor out to fifty or sixty total manual caste ants that I could have tasked to do complex labor, but compared to the seven minions I had previously?  Oh yes.


    When I passed out on my bed that evening, it was with a newfound sense of anticipation of what I could accomplish moving forward that I hadn¡¯t had in pretty much the entire time I¡¯d been on this new world.  Finally, I was getting into territory that I would legitimately be willing to call ¡®civilization¡¯.  After all -- it was the other side of what I could do with the manual caste that was really interesting.


    I could now automate.

 19 - Of Automate And Escalation

    I spent the next two or three days in the fugue state of building upon the new infrastructure I had access to.  The manual caste ants were ¡­ programmed was the best word I had for it. They were programmed to perform any and all menial or repetitive tasks around the manor.  Or, rather, their fungal controllers were. This included "caretakers" or tenders that would go around to the idling manuals and transfer their fungal bodies to new manuals if the infection had done too much damage to the ant''s body, but otherwise would take care of the cleaning and feeding that the manuals were too passive to do themselves.  The task-specific manuals would idle until some trigger would cause them to take action. This might be anything from stock material being fed into a hopper, or a simple water clock knocking to indicate a certain interval had passed. As long as no individual task had too many steps in it, nor took more than a few moments to execute, the controllers'' memory capacity was sufficient to the job.  The workshop, the growvats, and the farm all were thus completely freed from direct observation by either myself or my homunculi. The manuals under direct control of the homunculi were even able to perform alchemical and archival work, digging down into the subterranean chambers made by the mining ants to expand the essence archives and create specific library sections, leaving only a "tagged" catalogue on the surface with a dedicated librarian homunculus set to retrieve volumes via controlled manuals.


    What I hadn''t really anticipated was that the brain castes would start taking uninfected manuals for their own uses as well.  Somehow they worked out a signaling system whereby the far smaller brain ants would ride manuals as mounts, doing their own supervision of construction and excavation work, or participating in surface farming work tasks beyond what the automated manuals were performing. At least, I thought it was only surface farming until I checked the subterranean tunnels and found the little buggers had actually begun collecting deadwood below ground to grow their own shelfruit with.  Two distinct events of creative initiative from the brain caste. Going for the hat trick there was the fact that they seemed to even be making their own crude tools for the manuals to use in order to so whatever jobs they had in mind. Not things, mind you, that would even qualify as middle paleolithic, but definitely things like bent sticks to drag other sticks in place more easily, or the like.


    A part of me wanted to show the brain caste how to make twine from grass, or sharpen wood stakes with fire -- just to see how far that rabbit hole could go.  The larger part, however, was more than a little concerned about what might happen if the species I''d created ever went feral. It would never be a problem for me, due to their genetic loyalty, but I was hardly the only person in this world.


    Case in point, Trisaldan himself was approaching me. He had a demeanor about him that I could only correlate to someone dealing with an unstable animal that they were trying to ensure stayed calm. "Vincent!  You''re¡­ yourself? We tried talking to you for the last few days but you had this blank look on your face and you just ignored us. Are you¡­ well?"


    I snorted derisively at his concern.  "Yeah, that''s the first time you''ve seen me like that, eh?  It happens. I let myself fall into a focus on tasks and get things done.  I only really do it for larger jobs."


    Eildan, standing behind Trisaldan, was the one who spoke next. I wasn''t sure if I was imagining it but I heard a touch of shakiness to his voice. "Larger jobs?  Is that why the ishuar here are so much more¡­ disturbed than when we arrived? What did you do?"


    I grimaced at that, having hoped it was merely my own increased sensitivity to things.  "Yeah¡­ I guess that was me after all. Unfortunate, considering how damned useful it is.  I''m going to have to find ways to mitigate the impact of the things I do sooner rather than later, I guess.  Quite¡­ unfortunate. But then this itching in the back of my skull is quite the motivator to play nicely with the forest, eh?"


    I glared mildly at Trisaldan as I said that last bit to make it clear to him that I understood his motivation in not properly warning me about what getting infested by a nature spirit would entail.  Though if I were being completely honest, the benefits were certainly outweighing the costs by a solid margin so far. He smiled vaguely at me as though to indicate he wasn''t worried about my ire, but didn''t take the bait to respond to it.


    The ''disturbance'' that Eildan had mentioned was something that I didn''t pay any heed to while in my fugue state, any more than any other forms of discomfort.  But I did experience it nonetheless, and as a result I could gauge roughly what had been causing it. It was funny, really, how it seemed to work out. Things on the surface or at the soil level seemed to have more of an effect, but even if it were down in the ant tunnels, it still seemed to have some impact -- just more subdued.  And it seemed that just about everything I made had that effect, to some degree.  Beyond that, the patterns were more predictable.  The more ''mundane'' something was, the less of an effect it seemed to have.  This even extended to my many-legged minions; naturally born and grown spiders had the least impact, worker and soldier ants after that, and vat-grown manuals with controllers the most.  To the point of the controlled manuals now making up that lion''s share of what I could only call "spiritual pollution".


    This was, to put it mildly, a problem.  A compounding issue being that I had no decent means of resolving it.  I knew that ishuata could somehow contain the pollution so as to avoid issues with ''wildlings'' coming to wreck my shit, but that wouldn''t resolve the issue of the damned itching in the back of my head.  Yes, that was still at a level that I could just grin and bear it, but that didn''t make it at all pleasant to experience. And it would only get worse over time as I advanced technologically.  No, merely containing the pollution wasn''t going to be anything more than a band-aid for me.  Especially since it would leave me wholly dependant upon the alfar to implement it, as from what I understood there was no way to become an ishuata short of being born to one, which¡­ yeah. Not an option.


    So that left me with trying to remediate the issue on my own.  The only hint I had that this might in fact be possible was the fact that the closer I got to the greatoak, the less severe the effect of the pollution on me, corroborating my previous guess about the tree emanating nature mana somehow.  It would appear that if I could somehow copy that effect, I could possibly mask the signal of my industrial buildup and avoid further issues.


    Trisaldan waved his hand in front of my face.  "Sir Vincent? You dazed off again. Are you sure you''re alright?"


    I let a flash of peevish annoyance into my countenance.  Only a flash, though. "Damnit. Sorry, just thinking about ¡­ things." I hitch in mid-speech, but pick up again before continuing on.  "Actually -- I have questions for you. Walk with me for a moment, would you? I''ve questions for you lot."


    The trio of alfar appeared hesitant but followed me regardless.  "Of course, Sir Vincent. What would you like to discuss?"


    I continued on, setting a somewhat leisurely pace through the more scenic sampling garden''s path and along the faux stream.  "You''ve mentioned the concept of ''wildlings'' a few times now, and while this seems to refer to the spiders somewhat, not everything I''ve learned about your world is adding up with what you describe.  For example, the spiders I''ve found out there seem to prefer to live near these greater trees, which suppress or inhibit disturbances to the ishuar, but they are drawn to those imbalances? I''d appreciate clarification."


    The not-quite-aging alfar nods to show he''s heard me, as he contemplated how to answer my question.  After a relatively brief moment, his answer is about as good as I could really expect -- more questions arising than he resolves, if not for lack of trying.  "The great spiders are the least of the wildlings. It is true that wildlings are drawn to disturbances, but that tends to balance out to the severity of the disturbance.  Different wildlings also often have different reactions to imbalances or disturbances. No one has ever, to my knowledge, actually developed a solid explanation as to why or how this all fits together.  As Wardens, our typical training is to maintain as low a profile as we can, while acting as a first line of defense and understanding to the things that occur." He let out a half-sigh before continuing.  "The thing you must understand is that unlike the true Alfarhame Wood, the Treatied Wood is¡­ feral, in a sense. Rishuata''s touch is the strongest here of any of the gods'', but even she is not absolute, in this place.  The wildlings are beings that ¡­ well. In a sense, you could say that they are a response to that absence. Or perhaps that they create it. Certainly wildlings are well-described, usually, as godless. Though from time to time we find there are beasts that ¡­ are godlike in some ways¡­ amongst them.  This never ends in anything but sorrow and fire."


    I took my time trying to parse that, even as I used my new connection to the controlled manuals to transcribe as best I could word for word what Trisaldan was saying.  I''d have one of the homunculi parse it later for proper reference sorting. "I see. Maybe. If the spiders are the least, what are the biggest?"


    The alfar sargeant set his eyes to mine squarely. "Does your homeworld know of the great winged serpents? Beings of godly but worldly might, that hunger and horde and rain fire?"


    Oh.  Well of course the top of the monster pile is dragons.  What was I even thinking? I mentally facepalmed. "Ahh¡­ as myths. Yes. We call them ''dragons'', I think.  The myths sometimes call them great mindless monsters, and sometimes call them the wisest of all beings. They sleep for ages and ages, and are rare and old. Sometimes they are said to have breeds distinguished by the color or type of their scales, with the metallic scaled as benevolent if arrogant, and the chromatic -- red or blue or green or black or white, and such -- scaled as vile and tyrannical.  Sometimes they are said to be tied to the land, as living embodiments of its health or vigor. We on a similar page here?"


    Trisaldan nodded in response.  "None have risen in the living memory of even the oldest of the ishuata, so I could not say as to the specifics, but¡­ yes.  Much of what you say seems to speak of similar beings.  Curious that your children''s stories should so suit our world but bear no truth at all in yours." He eyed me with something similar to both curiosity and suspicion.


    I didn''t have the heart to even begin to dive into Heinlein''s World-As-Myth hypothesis, let alone anything similar to it.  I divert that train of thought as best I can. "Something brought me to this place. If our worlds were utterly separated, I wouldn''t be here now.  It''s not impossible, then, that stories of this place made it back home somehow. Perhaps your gods even sent us dreams to prepare Voidborn for arrival here."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I pulled myself up at my own words.  It was¡­ actually a fitting conjecture. Rather excessively fitting, in fact.  I''d have to find out about the Voidborn who have come before me. The alfar claimed that at least some of them haven''t been total murderhobos.  Perhaps they may have left messages or legends or something behind? Something to dig into, at least. Having remote telepathically controlled minions was just so damned convenient when it came to taking discreet notes about this sort of thing.


    Actually¡­ were my communications with the manuals discreet? I''ve never directly sensed the spiritual activities of the alfar ''minders'' I''ve been saddled with, but that only means that I haven''t done so.  I had to assume they are better at it than I am. By far. Yet another thing for me to try to work on. Hrm. I had my manual make a note to have the homunculi try to ¡®tap into¡¯ one another¡¯s communications with their controlled manuals.


    I would need to improve on my messaging/queuing systems, too.  Chalkboards maybe?


    I mentally shook myself out of being caught up in my thoughts -- again -- and continued with the alfar trio.  ¡°Nonetheless¡­ Eildan -- if you wouldn¡¯t mind, I would appreciate it if you would head into my library and recant your experiences with the wildlings during this ¡®blood moon¡¯ event to one of my homunculi there. I would very much appreciate it.¡±


    The man naturally seems somewhat uncomfortable with the idea, but nodded in affirmation after a glance from Trisaldan.  Not wanting to be that kind of off-putting, I elaborated on what my goal was. ¡°In fact, I would appreciate it if each of you would spend some time each day with one of my homunculi in my library, and just recant in your own words experiences that you find both completely normal and very unusual from your personal experiences.  Nothing that you¡¯d consider ¡®important¡¯ information need be shared. I don¡¯t need, for example, descriptions of the layouts of your Warden fortresses or secret tunnels to the bedrooms of your ishuata or anything. Just whatever you¡¯re willing to discuss.  Amusing anecdotes, stories you¡¯re fond of telling -- whatever. Consider it a way of paying me back for all the food and material I¡¯ve been allocating on you guys.¡±


    Orelme -- the most silent of the trio -- finally has more confusion than even his apparent stoicism can handle. ¡°Stories? You ¡­ you want to be paid in stories?  That¡¯s just ¡­ what are you actually getting after, Sir Vincent?¡±


    I smile and shake my head gently.  ¡°The best possible trades occur when both sides are convinced that they¡¯ve ripped the other off; when all parties to a trade have given away something they do not value at all and in exchange receive something they value highly.¡± I can see Orelme is no less confused, but there¡¯s perhaps a glimmer of comprehension in Trisaldan¡¯s eyes.  But I continue on regardless. ¡°The simple fact is -- especially as time progresses -- you alfar have little I might want when it comes to material things. By comparison I have surrounded myself with the fruits of labor -- and have the means to expand out what I have acquired even further. And this gap will only grow with time. But that¡¯s not the same as saying you have nothing I might want. I want, for example, to learn about this world and its history.  And you folks are a living connection to it through which I can tap into that vast wealth of knowledge. So¡­ to you, your personal experiences and ordinary upbringing; these are things no one would ever consider paying for.  To me, they represent a treasure trove that I would rather enjoy acquiring. So; a trade. Food and lodging for your tales of living and history. We can discuss further from there. Fair?¡±


    The three wander out of immediate earshot of me and in a brief discussion seem to come to a conclusion that my request is at least harmless enough to indulge.  I didn¡¯t bother actually listening into it, even though I likely could have had one of my ¡®minions¡¯ close enough to them without their realizing to do so. I had no way of knowing just how sharp their nature-senses were, and on top of that it was just downright impolite.


    ~~------------~~


    As much as the simple automation of my manor was ¡°of the good¡±, the fact remained that I was still in a relatively vulnerable position with regards to everything that was out there in the world.  While the manor and the mining colony both now had a hundred or two hunting spiders as defensive retinues to go along with the defensive walls and even more six-inch-long soldier ants to swarm any potential attackers, the fact remained that I was short on defensive capacity.


    I¡¯d made the classic mistake when setting it all up -- namely; of expecting my last conflict to be representative of what future conflicts would be like.  Now that I had some sense of the potential scale of things that might meaningfully threaten me in the future, I couldn¡¯t afford to repeat that same mistake.  I needed better defenses.  And even with as much as I¡¯d accomplished with communicating with my controllers and their manual hosts, one of the major threats I had to take into account was betrayal by the alfar. Which was admittedly something of a catch-22: I couldn¡¯t prepare too well against them, for fear that appearing to target them would induce their hostility.  I didn¡¯t really know a damned thing about how large a society they were, or how militant they were, nor even what their actual military capabilities were.  All that I knew was that with nearly forty of my hunting spiders, I was able to fend off a dozen of their wardens while losing over half of my spiders to the attempt¡­ and that they had at least enough wardens to spare a few hundred of them to surround my mining colony.


    Well, I knew that they also had ¡°Marches¡± and at least three of them. Unless they did something with March numbering that was similar to how Earth¡¯s navies numbered their fleets. But that really wasn''t helpful.  I did, now, know that to date I had basically only prepared for some of the least possible threats against me as well. The simple truth was that nothing I''d built to date was going to help me in the slightest if an honest to god dragon decided to be pissed off at me, and that very likely that was going to remain the case for some time.  Even with all the weirdness and shenanigans I''d pulled off, I was no more secure than a small village would be. That needed to change.


    I had a number of possible routes I could take to accomplishing that goal.  One thing I couldn''t really bring myself to do, however, was completely dismiss or retire my hunting spiders.  From their first creation they''d been entirely faithful, and I wasn''t enough of a bastard to just ignore that. At the same time, however, even with all the advancement I''d made, there were just too many of the critters for me to be able to use the in vivo methods of modifying an organism I''d acquired from my Biopunk knowledge to date.  That wouldn''t stop me from making an "elite" breed, however.  This would necessitate a sort of tiered response in how I organized them, but that wasn''t really all that much of an obstacle.


    It was with this thought that I found myself perusing the trait bank my minions had been fleshing out for me, trying to find inspiration for what more I could accomplish.  Further domesticating the spiders was right out, as was making them vegetarian -- I needed their predatory instincts as part of their basic function. But with what I''d learned from the ants, there was now room to select for a significant increase in total size.  I''d be able to increase them from being the stature of rather large cats to, say, the size of a medium dog breed. I already had the traits to support that, seeing as the primary obstacle to that scale of growth was how well the critters could breathe, an obstacle I had previously worked around.


    In addition, normally spiders don''t have mandibles to go along with their chelicerae, but with any luck I should be able to push my trait modification abilities enough to introduce the manuals'' prehensile mandibles to my new guardian breed.  And if I was going to do that, I might as well also push the communication trait of my brain ants into the mix as well.  After all, I''d be wanting small groups of guardians to be escorted by larger numbers of hunters in most cases, and I''d need them to at least be able to communicate "danger", "friends", or "interesting" to my homunculi. What I needed more than anything else, however, was a smarter breed of defender.  Adding the manual caste''s tool usage trait and the brain caste''s communication trait would help significantly with this. Being able to communicate short, simple, sentences would be even better -- and that was something I could certainly accomplish.  I would be pushing hard against the boundaries of what I was comfortable creating, however, in terms of total intellectual prowess. My target was something about as smart as a dumb gorilla. That could be taught rudimentary sign language and be instructed in the use of implements but not have the wherewithal to self-organize.  I¡¯d of course need to develop some sort of sign language for them, but that was something that could pay further dividends with the brain caste starting to use the manual caste to similar purposes. Something to explore further might be improving the symbiosis there.


    Last thing I needed was to unwittingly star in Planet of the Spider-Apes.


    The process of using controlled manuals to organize all of these things together was a bit odd.  A bit like patting your head while rubbing your stomach at the same time. It took a great deal of concentration¡­ until it just didn''t, like when it just clicks in your head how to ride a bicycle.  This made the total process of everything I was doing much easier to fully pull off, from the collection of a viable egg-sac from the hunters'' nest to the introduction of the various traits in each of the eggs contained within.  This was going to be the most expansive single modification I had made to date, and ironically it still wouldn''t qualify as something that expanded my tech base.  I was just using what I could already do, not delving into unknown depths.


    Stranger still was splitting my focus between not merely the biomodification work, but also the mechanical designing.  I would not be equipping my new guardians in a manner similar to what the hunters had -- they would be capable of using more-complex equipment and due to that complexity I could fit them with superior gear.  No mere punching daggers, but retractable curved daggers and collapsible buckler shields. Dual burn pistols, since they were enough larger than the hunters that the crystals could recharge without interfering with one another. More complex still would be a clockwork repeating dart rifle. Mounting it all on their barding and training them in the usage of these tools would be a challenge -- and there were of course limitations such as the inability to reload ammunition in the field, which could be offset by the number of darts loaded during deployment -- but one that would be worth the effort.


    As I leaned more heavily into orchestrating the controlled manuals into doing this work, it felt more and more akin to what I would imagine orchestrating a symphony might be like. Some corner of my head started feeling the rhythm or harmony of what I was doing, timing things better and better.  I did notice my mana dipping slightly as I worked, but careful pacing of my activities was able to match to the regeneration rate and avoid falling into ¡®oh god my eyes¡¯ territories of headache.


    It was interesting to see my manuals fitting the pieces all together onto the first of the new guardians to be fully matured under the sanguinism invocation of three of my manuals sacrificing themselves completely -- they just didn¡¯t have the health capacity to do more. There were more manuals where those came from -- no great loss.  The final product of all the work I¡¯d put together was something that I could almost palpably feel the danger coming off of. Watching it go from stumbling under its first steps as it adapted to its own body, to carefully mimicking the controlled manuals as they attempted to teach it the symbols and phrasing I¡¯d settled upon, to then turning around and teaching the next of its own kind the very phrasing I¡¯d first trained it with -- all in the matter of a few short hours ¡­ in a way, it was both exhilarating and terrifying.  I knew I would be creating something far, far closer to a truly sapient existence with the guardians. I also knew that I would never be completely comfortable with the ramifications of what I had done unless I had real control over it all. The partial domestication trait and my own trace essence in them ensured their loyalty to me, but just how far could I really press that?


    I would need to carefully manage the guardians. I couldn¡¯t treat them as simple slaves -- they would need to be given comforts and education fitting their intended role in my growing culture. Yeah. Nothing could go wrong with this plan. Nothing at all.

 20 - Barbarians At The Gates

    I really should have realized, as I was training the first nineteen of my guardians over that first week after I created them, that they were not the only ones who would learn from my efforts. I knew that their learning so quickly had to be a byproduct of the process by which they matured under the influence of the sanguinism rituals, and their sharing that sliver of me-ness that meant they must share in my own ¡°archivist¡± trait. The rate at which they acquired their albeit limited vocabulary couldn¡¯t have come about any other way -- I¡¯d worked out roughly a thousand word-signs for them in that time, with the assistance of my homunculi. And it was that last bit that really should have been the warning sign to me about what I was in for, but even so -- my homunculi actually taking uninstructed initiative on something was just not something I had anticipated happening at all. Bloody adorifying little bastards took it upon themselves to create their own version of Amslan.


    Effectively inventing a full language from the extremely limited version I was using for the guardians, with proper grammar and syntax. Worse still, because they mimicked the method I¡¯d used to learn the alfar language, I found myself picking it up without even realizing it. Which of course led me to the current situation.


    [Master. Your morning meal is ready.]


    [Master. The overnight tally of produce is completed. The ants¡¯ farms are showing signs of increase productivity. Permission to help them develop better growing methods?]


    [Master. The guardians are coming along nicely in their accuracy training with the dart rifles.]


    How in the absolute bloody fuck does someone manage to sign with a butler-ish tone of voice in a language that they made up? Waking up to find the homunculi signing at the controlled manuals I was linked to, thus allowing me to actually comprehend three entirely separate conversations at once was far, far too much for pre-caffeinated me to handle. Without even really being fully aware of it, I signed back at each of them through the manuals: [Not now. Later. Food first.]


    It wasn¡¯t until I¡¯d gotten halfway through my meal of bland oatmeal and trellisvine-berry juice that I realized that I¡¯d had a full conversation with my homunculi without even being in the same room as them. One that they had initiated. Well, at least I would have meaningful conversation partners from now on. The last of the three homunculi to report to me had touched on a topic that I was probably most-concerned about out of all of my apparent options. Namely: the training of my new guardians in tactics for combat. It turns out that the dart rifles that I¡¯d created for the medium buggers was hardly competitive with modern military uses.


    A Girandoni air rifle would be a better weapon -- though admittedly not by all that much. Like the 17th century air rifles from Earth, the dart rifles had a roughly effective range of about 30 meters, and could be relied upon to fire up to ten rounds before needing to recharge. Unlike the air rifles, they recharged without input from the wielder thanks to the cheating shenanigans of Quartzite, but still took about a couple of minutes to do so. So a firing rate of about five rounds a minute. Not shabby, but the magazine could only carry forty rounds, and they¡¯d need assistance to swap out a magazine. Not something that could be done in the field. I¡¯d still take the standoff capacity that offered over the 2 to 3 meters of the burn pistols. Thinking about this, I had a controlled maual make a note that at some point I would really have to try to figure out how to add significant forward momentum to the heat energy released by the burn pistols. No idea how I would do that -- but the thought was there nonetheless.


    Much more fun was had in observing Trisaldan and Co., as they tried to interact with my new guardian-spiders. Seeing them sitting on a log nearby as they ate their meals even as I worked on teaching the guardians to helpfully correct one another on their aim was worth the price of admission as it were. I¡¯d even sent one of my controlled into earshot of the trio, to see if I couldn¡¯t make out what they were discussing. If they were going to openly spy on me, it felt completely fair to spy on them in turn.


    Orelme was stage-whispering to the others when I finally had my controlled manual in position. ¡°Sir Trisaldan¡­ I¡¯m still unsure about Lady Annaka¡¯s plan in all this. The Voidborn keeps churning out more and more ¡­ things. How can it be this easy for him to do? By Rishuata, these things talk. Yes, it¡¯s hand-sign, or whatever, but ¡­ this isn¡¯t natural. At the very least, don¡¯t you think we should warn him about the possibility of a reflex event creating an undercyst?¡±


    Trisaldan barely shook his head -- if I hadn¡¯t been looking for it out of the corner of my eye, I wouldn¡¯t have seen it. ¡°For all we know, Sir Vincent himself is already creating one. We just don¡¯t know what having so many wildlings -- albeit ones of his own creation -- will do when it comes to the imbalances. Worse; what if our warning him of undercysts causes him to try to create one in the same way he¡¯s been modifying the simple great spiders? Look at them. I¡¯ve managed to pick up their signing, or at least a little of it -- it¡¯s quite simplistic. But they use it with one another. And while it¡¯s true the weapons they wield are of his making, little is stopping them from making their own. Any of them could be the equal of even the best of we Wardens. Imagine what we might face if they were to go feral. Or, worse still¡­ what might happen if he were to similarly ¡®adjust¡¯ an undercyst for his own purposes. Young Eildan here won¡¯t even go near those ant-tunnels. And I can¡¯t say I blame him. No, it¡¯s better that we have our Wardens find any signs of undercysts that might develop near Sir Vincent¡¯s villages and manage them ourselves. It¡¯s best he not know. See that it stays that way, sons. After all; undercysts have always been equal part wealth and woe for those who find them in time. Better that we profit from them and him.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but nod to myself. I¡¯d had some idea that they were holding back something from me. After all -- so was I. But I couldn¡¯t jump to conclusions that their holding their cards close to their chest meant that we were inherently at odds with one another. What I absolutely could do, however, was try to get more from them than they would get from me. Though in my defence, anything they did get from me wouldn¡¯t really diminish me all that much. It would never pay off to think of all of my ¡®secrets¡¯ as things that had to be kept at absolutely all costs. The simple truth was that the multiculturalism of Earth had almost certainly trained me in being more adaptable to the idea of foreign mores and modes of thought than their largely monocultural upbringing would make them. Which was a fancy way of saying that if we merely broke absolutely even in information exchange, I would still come out on top for the simple reason that it would be easier for me to use what I learned than it would be for them to use what they learned from me. As long as I kept advancing technologically, that was.


    After a while of continuing the accuracy training of the guardians, I felt it appropriate to switch over to some other aspects of their training. I had to be very careful to respect the fact that I was creating a full-on culture with these creatures, and not just instructing clever ¡®reskinned¡¯ dogs. They might not have the capacity for a complex culture, but it was developing into one none-the-less. Which is part of why I paid so much attention to the critters as they developed. Their games and manner of resolving conflicts would need to be managed. It was a project that I had my homunculi work with me on planning out as best we could; mimicking a loosely military hierarchy, with adjudication of recognized disagreements necessary for the rankings to shift. Those who simply tried to directly act out on immediate aggressions without properly challenging were seen as ¡®too weak of will to be worthy¡¯, and so on. I wanted proud and disciplined barbarian savages, not wild rabble. And I did everything in my power to shape their mindset accordingly.


    Having the ability to observe their behaviors without being physically present -- through the Controllers and my spiritual ¡®infestation¡¯, as well as just careful snooping by the homunculi -- certainly reaffirmed to the guardians that I was worth heeding, as I was pulling off a relatively decent impersonation of being all-knowing. I wouldn¡¯t be able to keep it up forever, but during their developmental period I needed to play that part with them to reaffirm the ingrained loyalty I¡¯d engineered into them. After all; thinking beings make their own decisions and can twist any belief around on its head to suit themselves if they feel the need.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Over the course of the rest of that week, I got a few more hints from Trisaldan and Co. about their holding things back. After having realized that there was definitely something being held back, I had my homunculi that were being the recipients of storytelling sessions also use their own communication with the controlled manuals to give the alfar chances to appear to be unobserved by the homunculi while speaking, with a special effort to try to recall microexpressions. This wasn¡¯t a topic I could really have said I knew much about before arriving on this new world, but given how the Archivist trait seemed to work I was able to get a basic enough understanding of the topic to spot more obvious ones. Surprise, fear, anger, disgust, happiness, regret, contempt ¡­ I was sure I wasn¡¯t as effective as an actual trained expert at spotting them would be back on Earth, but just having figured out what they were in general was a working advantage I wouldn¡¯t want to do without.


    ~~------------~~


    It was only once I had a proper ¡®retinue¡¯ of my new guardians that I decided to actually confront Trisaldan and Co. over what I¡¯d managed to put together since I started paying closer attention to them. Maybe it was jumping the gun, but I just didn¡¯t have it in me to play anything remotely like a game of cloaks and daggers or silly buggers in general with anyone. So I made a point of inviting the trio to join me as I began to direct the mining ants through their brain caste with the aid of one of my homunculi and its controlled manuals to start digging a subterranean tunnel between my manor and the mining colony. The largest issue for planning it out had actually been avoiding negatively impacting the rather massive root structure of the greatoak tree at the center of my manor itself¡­ but that was something the ants themselves were already quite accustomed to dealing with.


    ¡°So you see, gentlemen -- the Quartzite crystals themselves will get deposited at fairly regular intervals. Three varieties of crystal in total. One to wind the clock-springs with those flat bladed gear wheels, as you see over there -- those actually serve a fairly important purpose of ensuring continuous airflow within the tunnel, as there will of course be living beings passing through with fairly great regularity. Semi-regular vents and drainage will be powered the same way¡­ simple angled flooring and side ravines to sump stations with screw pumps handling the extraction of water. The next type, the larger dark crystals you see over there -- the ones with the fibrous growths running along them to the other crystals -- those absorb ambient heat. It¡¯s why the tunnel feels much more chill than it otherwise should be. We¡¯re well below the permanent temperature line just by being entirely below the bedrock line. And of course the third type are the most obvious, as seen with the light-blue glow in their fixtures. They¡¯re also the most common/numerous of the crystals. I had intended to just have the light crystals absorb heat directly and use the thermal inclines disrupt airflow enough to handle the whole system ¡­ but as it turns out the absorption/emission rate of heat from just light transfer alone would¡¯ve stabilized it all at some point, so the ventilation shafts turned out to be necessary as well.¡±


    I was rambling, as I walked along. I knew I was, and I was fairly certain that they knew I was as well. At this point I was also fairly certain that they couldn¡¯t actually sense anything that I was getting from the controlled manuals -- which meant that I could watch them without them knowing I was watching. More than a little useful, but also quite puzzling. They had to be better than I was at interacting with ishuar. I didn¡¯t have an explanation as to why they couldn¡¯t, and I wasn¡¯t willing to guess until I had evidence to support a conclusion.


    It was through the eyes of my controlled manuals that I knew that the younger two were sharing uneasy glimpses with one another as they made their way through my ants¡¯ almost absurdly rapidly growing tunnel. There were dozens of the six-inch-long workers chewing through solid rock like it was soft clay, taking huge chunks out even as other workers under the watchful gaze of brain-caste ants and their manual-caste mounts were directing the placement of ossium rods to be emplaced in the tunnels to act as structural reinforcement.


    The tunnelling rate was going about as quickly as I could honestly have any right to anticipate: thanks to the nature spirit possession event I had a solid idea of exactly the correct direction to the mining colony, and thanks to the dozens of worker caste ants cycling through the tunnel proper, they were digging out a tunnel of maybe twenty feet across and fifteen high, at a speed of perhaps twentyfeet an hour. Fast enough it could be watched, slow enough that it would¡¯ve felt at least a little bit like watching paint dry if there weren¡¯t so many different moving parts to it all. Of course, barring any obstacles at this rate it would take the ants the better part of a yearto dig the entire tunnel from the manor to the mining colony -- and that was with digging occurring from both directions at once. The speed was best-described as breakneck for them -- even after only a couple of hours I could already see that a few of the worker caste were dying of overexertion or exhaustion as a result of the labor. But that¡¯s what they were for. The colony had workers to spare. And more where they came from.


    In the meantime¡­ ¡°Orelme. Eildan. I can¡¯t help but notice that you two seem uncomfortable with what you¡¯re seeing here. Is there something you¡¯d care to share with me about that?¡± I turned as I was speaking so as to face the trio, my face carefully schooled as best I could to be open and inquisitive but non-hostile. Just someone concerned for his fellow ¡­ thinking ¡­ being.


    The glare Trisaldan gave them wasn¡¯t even hidden as he spoke up on their behalf. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that, no, Sir Vincent. Just that ¡­ this amount of rapid construction. Have you always been capable of this?¡±


    I thought for a moment about his question, making it apparent that I was considering how best to answer. ¡°Since shortly before you alfar found me. Though I¡¯ll admit that this is ¡­ look, there. You see that ant? How it seems to be shaking? Exerting themselves to this degree is, well, it shortens their lifespans. Work themselves to death. This rate of labor isn¡¯t something they can do non-stop without repercussions. A colony would need to ¡­ I guess the best way to say it is to build up reserves. I can facilitate that of course, and have done so for the purpose of getting this done. But it¡¯s not something they¡¯d do on their own without being directed like this. But that¡¯s hardly surprising, now is it? I mean, you¡¯ve toured the growth vat chambers and the trait archives and the unused chambers they¡¯ve dug. Are you entirely sure it¡¯s not something else that has you folks concerned? Perhaps it¡¯s where I¡¯m now having them dig, as opposed to just how fast they dig? You weren¡¯t, oh I don¡¯t know, planning on setting up your outposts between my manor and the colony or sitting on something that might show up there, were you?¡±


    It was at this point that Trisaldan clearly clues in that the jig is up; that I¡¯d figured out they were hiding something from me. You would have thought he would¡¯ve gotten hit with the cluebat before I got them surrounded by my minions in an enclosed space with no real route of escape. But apparently the fact that I myself was unarmed and unarmored aside from a single burn pistol carried on its belt holster set them off their game. The warden-sergeant made a show of spreading his hands subtly out and away from his sides. ¡°Ahh. You¡¯re a more crafty man than you come across, Sir Vincent. Does it matter to you that we sincerely meant you no ill will?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t be certain, as he was quite disciplined at schooling his features, but aside from the brief flash of fear or maybe surprise there was also maybe a tinge of regret? I could¡¯ve just been reading what I wanted to see into it, but at the very least I didn¡¯t see anything that overtly contradicted my beliefs.


    I made a show of nodding appreciatively. ¡°Actually -- yes. Yes it does matter. I¡¯m not so arrogant as to believe I get to live in this world and act without taking into consideration the lives and livelihoods of those who have been here for their entire lives. But at the same time¡­ Trisaldan, I want to make myself extremely clear. I do not appreciate being screwed around with. I had enough of that back in my old world. There, I was ¡­ just another faceless peon. Nothing special. There was no such thing as special. Here? Here I am building up. It¡¯s nothing remotely like what I could have ever anticipated, but I¡¯ve had a taste of that kind of autonomy and I¡¯m not about to give it up just because some bunch of assholes have decided that I¡¯m too close to them to go around uncollared or untamed. I¡¯m my own man, Warden, and I¡¯m going to stay that way. You get in my way? I will go around you. You tear down everything I¡¯ve built around my ears? I will rebuild. Faster, better, stronger -- and you won¡¯t have gotten everything I had in the first place. And while I probably won¡¯t bother hunting you down, I will make it one of my little pleasures to render your entire existence without merit or worth. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me. Deal with me straight, and even if we have disagreements I¡¯ll at least hear you out and honor your forthrightness. Play little games and shenanigans with me and I will burn the heart out of you. Have I successfully conveyed my stance on this?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t until I finished speaking that I realize that my voice, in the cavernous space, has raised up in volume rather significantly. I wouldn¡¯t call it shouting, but ¡­ it was certain that even the hard of hearing wouldn¡¯t have a problem picking up my words. To say that I¡¯ve allowed a hint of anger into my tone would be an understatement. And here I hadn¡¯t really realized that I was even angry with them. But that was the way it always was with my temper -- showing up when I least expected it, and very often when it was least useful.


    The alfar warden trio, meanwhile, had backed up a little further. Trisaldan had surreptitiously placed his hand on the hilt of the ossium blade I¡¯d crafted for him. He nodded once again at me, to affirm he had in fact heard me. I had to give the man credit for the fact that he had managed to wrangle the other two with him into his stance of caution absent fear. It was actually quite admirable.


    ¡°Good. Now. Why don¡¯t you good fellows join me back in the cottage while I have a homunculus prepare us some tea -- or would you prefer trellisvine berry juice? -- and you three can tell me all about ¡®undercysts¡¯. And anything else you think might be relevant for me to know.¡±


    I don¡¯t even bother looking back at them as I make my way back out of the tunnelworks. I have enough eyes in there to see that they are following me at a respectful enough distance¡­ and to give me a sufficient heads-up if they try to do anything stupid. Though if I have Trisaldan pegged right, that¡¯s remarkably unlikely to happen.

 21 - Playing Chess With Pigeons

    I was beginning to really loathe the feeling of realizing that I should have anticipated something. The local clue-by-four retailer must¡¯ve been doing some sort of buy-one-get-one-free bargain or something. Because as soon as Trisaldan began going into depth about what an undercyst was, I started getting a real solid sense that I knew where this was all going.  Hearing the description of how undercysts and wildlings were related drove the last nail in the coffin on the dead horse¡¯s corpse, and then burned the coffin at sea in a proper Viking funeral while it was at it.


    Undercysts were dungeons.


    The bloody alfar had intended to steal a march on me and start farming the dungeon that would form as a result of the chaotic spiritual energy slash anti-natural pollution that my buildup had started to produce.  Apparently, when that energy reached a certain concentration in a local area, through some process that the wood elves at least didn¡¯t understand, that energy would bind somehow to a rock or just a crevasse or something and begin to grow as a sort of spiritual cyst in the ground.  As it grew, it would ¡®feed¡¯ on the pollution energy and over time grow. The more of the ¡®chaos energy¡¯ it received over time, the bigger it could get. Somehow -- maybe as a process of digesting that energy? The details were murky -- that cavern-system would start to spawn wildlings. The older or larger the dungeon, the more exotic and potentially powerful the wildlings might become.  If they got too powerful, they might spill over and start raiding the local countryside, seeking concentrations of that energy that had spawned them the way a lizard might seek a sunny rock.


    So of course, to prevent that kind of desolation, dungeons were conventionally raided by whatever village or population happened to be in the area. The problem there though was that without wildlings -- monsters by any other name -- the cyst would start to go out of control somehow, possibly even spawning massive numbers of creatures or an exceptionally powerful one. So one had to be careful to only cull back so many of the critters at any given time, for fear of everything going nuts on you.  Worse still: since this was all happening as a result of local stimuli, if some random source of ¡®chaos energy¡¯ were to spill over from somewhere else -- a dungeon might spawn a raid event while your dungeoneers were actually within it.


    There were, however, stories that some of the exotic wildlings might have some harvestable body parts that might be useful in creating potions or talismans or the like that might somehow empower those that partook of them.  Trisaldan himself had been on numerous raids on the dungeon of the capital city and while he¡¯d found a number of adventurers who claimed to have benefited from such, he never saw anyone doing something that couldn¡¯t be explained by good equipment, solid training, or simple talent.


    Still. It was an interesting concept. Not one I¡¯d be willing to risk my own hide over, mind you -- with everything already on my plate it was just damned foolhardy to throw away everything I¡¯d built just so I could take up a new and exciting career as a filth-covered vagabond murderhobo. I still recall the exact moment I put on linen underclothes after wearing burlap for more than a month.  I should give up that kind of luxury and comfort for a mere rumor that I might level up or something? To anyone suggesting that was a good idea, I could only say: pull the other one; it has bells.


    Still, though; when I told Trisaldan to not worry about any potential interference on my part with regards to their plans to camp on the spawn point of any dungeons that popped up in my vicinity, I felt no small amount of vindictive pleasure in the sheer confusion that was plastered across Orelme and Eildan¡¯s faces at my utter and complete disinterest in exploiting any such phenomena directly.  Even Trisaldan was perplexed when I told him that I¡¯d even be interested in providing a certain amount of logistical support to any groups that intended to lay up camp for that purpose.


    It was rather obvious to me -- the only really useful elements I might get would be from purchasing the odd wildling corpse from the adventurers, or renting out hunters or guardians to accompany any groups that went danger-spelunking.  That last would even be a double-bonus for me for the simple reason that my minions would gain combat experience that would facilitate my defenses further. But to the wood elves somehow my reasoning was utterly alien. I chalked that up to a lack of study of the economic sciences.  Couldn¡¯t really expect much in the way of mercantilism or capitalism from people who lived off of acorns and fought using bows and spears when you get down to it. Even if they did have arcane forces at their beck-and-call.


    ~~------------~~


    The pot of tea on the table around which the four of us were seated -- myself on one side, the three alfar on the other -- was long since cooled off by this point.  The sheer volume of information and personal experiences the trio had related to me with regards to the history of undercysts as they understood them was rather remarkable. Trisaldan in particular seemed to take it as an excuse to wax nostalgically about former compatriots in his more adventurous days before becoming something like Annaka¡¯s personal aide-de-camp.


    ¡°... He was a thing to behold.  We used to rag on him so hard about how much of a waste of his coin it was to purchase two blacklances. I remember, Janel used to tease him about overcompensating with fancy spears to make up for the one he ¡®clearly¡¯ lacked in his britches. Nobody was laughing that day, though. Bloody bastard proved us all wrong, on that day. Stood his ground in the tunnel even as that thing shredded his spear-wielding arm into bloody chunks, drew his second spear with his free hand and stabbed it in the throat and made it choke on the bones of his own hand. Even pulled it back on top of himself to block the tunnel¡­ gave the rest of us the only chance at a fighting retreat we were going to get. We should have all died in that ambush. Saved our lives.¡± The Warden-sergeant made a show -- however legitimate -- of wiping a tear from his eye at the memory of a long-fallen companion.


    We had at this point been discussing the various elves¡¯ war-stories of their time served in the undercysts.  The more interesting thing to me was less the exact details of the individual creatures they¡¯d faced -- and that was saying something considering how few details their stories shared in common between them -- but rather the little things in the way they related their stories tied much of it together.  The way that it was just assumed by them that joining the Wardens was something that only adventurers could do; the way that they described their childhood training from their parents for their ¡®time in the trenches¡¯. The way that they described the rare instances of ishuata joining them down below.


    Things they didn¡¯t even realize they were telling me, if you got right down to it.  More about the unthinking assumptions and beliefs about their stations in life. These were men who were born to soldier or ex-soldier parents and expected their own children -- should they have any -- to be the same. Orelme had even mentioned passing down his trusty dungeoneering spear to his brother as a good luck charm to his brother¡¯s daughter, as she was soon to come of age.  Apparently it had been in the family for over five hundred years. And never used except by adventurers getting their dungeon-raid on. There was never a chance I would actually recall all of this if I¡¯d just been sitting there myself, and having a homunculus in the room transcribing their words down as they spoke them would¡¯ve been a touch gauche. So instead I made a point of exercising my multitasking capacity by using a manual to sign to a homunculus acting as scribe the words of the alfar as they took tea with me. Not a system without flaws, but it was a good practice exercise for stretching my mental limits as it were, so I couldn¡¯t really complain about it in the long run.


    Ultimately, however, it was time to redirect the conversation into broader territory.  I waited for Trisaldan to finish recanting the most recent of his experiences in the varied and storied career of  dungeon raiding, and once it became clear that he was about to start in on another one, I raised my hand to show I wanted to say something again rather than silently observing-slash-listening to them.  ¡°Gentlemen¡­ thank you for telling me about your experiences. Now. I know I haven¡¯t previously shown much interest in the topic, but at this point I¡¯m beginning to get a sense that it might be rather more important than I¡¯d otherwise been thinking.  What can you tell me about the ¡­ damnit, how do you say ¡®geopolitics¡¯ ¡­ the nations and peoples of the lands in the areas that surround my home here? Other than your own Alfarhame Wood, that is?  Why do you call this area the ¡®Treatied¡¯ Wood?¡±


    There¡¯s a somewhat pregnant pause before Orelme starts to speak, only to be silenced by Trisaldan raising his hand if only slightly to indicate he intends to speak for the trio.  ¡°Sir Vincent. Much as I don¡¯t want to rouse your ire with us, there are some things we of the Alfarhame Wood just do not speak of, unless we can help it. It¡¯s ¡­ just not done. But I can already guess that merely saying as much to you doesn¡¯t mean a thing to you -- you don¡¯t share our sensibilities and there¡¯s not much reason why you should.  So ¡­ please forgive my companions and I for not really discussing this topic in detail. By now I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed that we of the Wood have a singular relationship with the ishuar.  What you may not fully understand is that this relationship comes from the bond between the ishuata and Rishuata herself.  These woods are hers. We are merely the servants that tend to them. The embodiment of her will in the material and transient realm so that she might ¡­ thrive, I guess, is the right word.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Trisaldan paused for a moment to sip at his tepid tea.  A corner of my mind signed to one of my homunculi to have a new pot brewed; I had the sense that this would be a longer conversation than I had anticipated. ¡°We arrange the affairs of the material world as best we can in alignment with her nature, or will.  This fact is most true in the Alfarhame Wood; her presence is never entirely absent there. One cannot help but always know that she is present, that you are touched by the grace of something far greater than we mere mortals. It was her will that created the forests here.  I mean this in the most literal of senses; the lands that now border the Treatied Woods and the Alfarhame Wood within them -- they used to be much closer to one another, according to the oldest of tales. With each passing generation the Treatied Woods expanse is that much greater, yet the travellers and merchants who travel it claim that the towns and cities beyond it have never had to relocate.  I¡¯ve heard the legends the ishuata teach, and they say that this growth is much slower now than it was in the time when the Alfarhame Wood itself was founded.  When Rishuata claimed us as her children.¡±


    He let that statement sink in fully before continuing. I was struck, as he did, by how matter-of-fact this statement was.  It wasn¡¯t a thing of reverence, or of origin myths -- not exactly. It was more ¡­ King Charlemagne than King Arthur, to the grizzled yet unscarred wood-elf.  ¡°This begins to get into the territory of conversation that just isn¡¯t discussed. What came before we were touched by our Goddess.  Before we were¡­ whole. Or, more precisely, the fact that there are those who still live, out beyond the forests, that did not join the Pact.  That did not become alfar.  They are -- they are our greatest shame.¡±


    I quirked an eyebrow.  ¡°Old hatreds die hard?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Because of what happened to them. What was taken from them.¡± Trisaldan drew his breath in, slow but harsh.  ¡°There are those beyond the Treatied lands who use the ishuar as I taught you to do.  But without the aid of one who bears the blessing of Rishuata, the bond is ¡­ usually much more dangerous, to form.  But there are those beyond the Woods who covet that blessing. And find ways to bind ishuar to relics of our cousins who have passed.  Over the years, or centuries, our cousins beyond the Wood have had to either fully purge themselves of their kinship to us -- either by binding themselves to some other God, or less savory practices -- in order to protect their families from what would be done.  There are a few communities, like the Sun-touched Ones, or the High shen, who thrive. But for most? Their lack of power has made them¡­ chattel.¡±


    I could only nod to affirm that I had heard what was said.  After a few moments, though, a consequence of his statements began to sink in. ¡°Wait. So ¡­ ¡®Treatied¡¯ Woods.  ¡®Relics¡¯ of those who have passed. You mean their remains, not their possessions, I take it? And these are ¡­ what¡­ used to ensure better crop yields? You¡¯ve fought entire wars just to not be used as fertilizer?¡±


    Trisaldan and the others just lowered their eyes.


    I gathered myself together, rather than let my vague nausea at what I was hearing grow further.  ¡°Okay. That¡¯s just ¡­ well. I guess I can¡¯t even be all that upset about some of my other guesses about you folks now.  I knew that you folks were isolationist for whatever reason; back on my old world we had a concept that I suspect is similar to what these Treatied Woods are to you lot.  We called it ¡­ gah, again I can¡¯t find the right words. It was a no-man¡¯s land where neither side would be allowed to develop in. A buffer, to prevent conflict through simple distance between sides.  I had been wondering why you people weren¡¯t that upset with my presence here.  One of the ideas I had knocking around in my head was that you were totally planning on using my being here as a ¡­ proxy, or natural hazard, or something like that, between your home Woods and whoever or whatever was outside of these lands.  The main thing I worried about was your trying to play a game my people call Let¡¯s You and Him Fight.  Where you redirect someone else¡¯s antagonism onto an innocent third party and take advantage of the chaos to your own gain.¡±


    I locked eyes Trisaldan, as if I could will my distaste for that thought to be conveyed through pure psychic force. Who knew -- maybe it could be, in this world.  ¡°If that were to happen, I would be¡­ annoyed. And I guarantee you, you do not ever want to see what happens when I decide to release self-replicating weapons of war.¡±  I paused to ensure I had control over my tone of voice. I was in dangerous territory here -- I knew that for all the personal impressiveness of what I had built, I would lose a raw numbers game right now. And, very likely, an ¡®exotic tool¡¯ game.


    ¡°If, however, you simply want a powerful entity between you and someone who wants to collect your children¡¯s bones as trophies, who isn¡¯t interested in doing that, as a way of just having greater distance?  I¡¯m game. But that doesn¡¯t mean that I¡¯m your tool. Or your weapon. Or your hero.  I¡¯m just me. I do want what I want and I do not want what you want. Where our interests coincide, I¡¯m happy to know you.  Where they do not -- as long as neither of us gets in the way of the other, I can live with that. One thing I do not want is to have to fight anyone if there¡¯s another way to get what I want.  I want to learn about this world. I want to ¡­ to build up upon what I have gained. To¡­ learn. I¡¯m happy to let you alfar gain from that process. But only as long as I run the show. You lot have your way of doing things and I have mine. They are already extremely different -- and the thing of it is, I have my eyes set on accomplishments that I very likely expect you folks can¡¯t even begin to comprehend.  You didn¡¯t even know what steel is, let alone how to create it.  I couldn¡¯t even begin to explain to you what a logic circuit is. Or a Babbage Engine.  Hell, I don¡¯t even know how to make them myself¡­ yet. But I¡¯m going to. Come hell or high water, I¡¯m going to.¡±


    Even as I said the words, I knew that it was strange for me to be so motivated.  I never was, in my old life. It was almost disturbing as I thought about that fact.  Since coming to this new world I was driven in a way that I had never been before. It wasn¡¯t just the building trance-fugue mental state that was the extent of how much I¡¯d changed in the months I¡¯d been on this planet¡­ and the hell of it was, the most disturbing aspect of that realization? I did not care.  Given the choice of going back to who I was on Earth, and who I now was? It was not even a contest.  In a strange sort of detached but absolute, cold, clarity -- I knew that I was bordering on some kind of monomania.


    Something that was the product of more than merely isolation and attempts to stave off boredom or existential horror by throwing myself into my work and exploration of the rules of this new world. Something that I couldn¡¯t even bring myself to genuinely be upset or worried about despite knowing how incredibly dangerous it was to develop that kind of mental state.  Sitting there, staring at the three alfar who were staring at me in kind, a lump formed at the bottom of my stomach in the form of an absolute and total certainty that my change in personality was irreversible.  And the hell of it was, Trisaldan himself had warned me: Voidborn go insane.


    All this time, I had thought myself immune or safe from that effect.  But I wasn¡¯t. And perhaps that was part of why he¡¯d been so willing to teach me how to get myself possessed by the nature spirit.  Complementary forms of madness, maybe? A way to delay my degeneration at least. One thing was absolutely certain, however: I now had yet another problem to pile onto the growing list of issues that I would need to resolve.


    Weakly, I decided to take a few steps back from the intensity of tone I¡¯d allowed to slip into my words previously.  ¡°So¡­ speaking of things I want to learn about. One of your fellow wardens, back at the mining colony, mentioned the fact that you folks use cooking oil.  I was wondering -- where do you get it from?¡±


    Eildan tittered weakly at my attempt at humor.  His response, however, was like nails driving into my temples. I was once again hit by a massive clue-by-four.  ¡°We press acorns.¡±


    Face met palm.

 22 - Normalizing Good Behavior

    The controlled manuals under my own and my homunculus''s direction were doing a rather fervent impression of a living avalanche, as they worked on assembling components made of freshly-cast ossium.  Meanwhile, the middle-aged wood elf standing by my side kept squinting at their activities, as though he couldn''t see what was so significant about what they were doing.


    This was all the more remarkable given the fact that I had already told him, in basic terms, why I cared so much about it.  An explanation that clearly hadn¡¯t sunk in, given his repetition of his last statement to me upon seeing me walk at an urgent pace into the workshop already bustling with many-legged activity.  ¡°Just how much cooking oil could you possibly need for tools?¡±


    I smiled ruefully.  ¡°Lubricants diminish the impact of friction on the transference of mechanical energy, which in turn increases the efficiency of the system. Vegetable oils tend to react to heat breakdown by converting into greases meaning they retain some efficacy even under high stress operation, and simultaneously are oxygen non-permeable meaning they act to reduce the rate of oxidation on exposed surfaces. For finer components, this can make the difference between proper function and breakdown of the entire machine.¡±  My voice is distracted as I speak -- I¡¯m largely focusing on directing my ant minions as they assemble the oil presses I was having them construct in order to cut through the acorns I had been growing largely as an alternative foodsource.


    The best part was that the leftover crushed acorns could still be used to make flour for flatbreads or kibble for my various minions.  The reason I was really so excited about what I had just been informed of was truthfully what I''d told the bemused sergeant. Well, it was more the implications of that truth, really.  Power transference over multiple gears in complex systems is inherently lossy in nature. Without friction, one object moving cannot pass motion onto another, meaningfully. But that same friction tends to convert motion into heat, stressing components, causing them to wear out more quickly, and more importantly each loss to friction compounds on each previous loss.


    There''s a reason why even medieval hand carts needed to have lard spread over axles.  And why modern cars need motor oil.


    Having access to proper lubricant -- even if one not as durable as modern synthetic oils -- opened up a slew of possible uses for my clockwork schizotech.  It also meant my current uses of quartzite power tools would be all that much more efficient. Most of the uses I could get out of a decent mechanical lubricant would be niche, really, considering how most of the things I was making recently seemed to be biological or ¡®simple¡¯ machines rather than things like the clockwork harnesses my homunculi were using.  But a solid part of why I had been so limited was because I did not have the means to make machines that would be worth the effort¡­ and lubrication was an element of that.  To make any kind of useful mechanical devices I needed a few things. First, ready access to decent materials with which to build them. This was a big part of why I wanted that mining camp so badly: steel has its association with modern technology for a very legitimate reason.  Second, I needed the means to repair or maintain the things made from those materials. It wasn''t enough to simply make them: if I needed to completely replace a part after only hours of use, then there was no point in having it at all. Third, I needed a way to power the machines.  For small, hand-held scale things I could use quartzite for that. But quartzite doesn''t really scale well. Those smelteries I''d made thus far were only able to use it effectively because they were permanent fixtures, and relatively airtight. That, and I wasn''t really relying on the quartzite itself for power there so much as I was transferring it.  This would work for other processes, but not for portable or self-moving machines.


    Still, though. Having a decent oil lubricant -- and the greases I could produce from it -- would go a very long way towards unlocking future technologies.  As well as resources. To date I had yet to really do much with the most ubiquitous of resources at my disposal, except when I built my palisade. Everything I had structurally was made of stone or ossium.  A major reason for this was that I had no real way of processing lumber. Can''t make a sawmill without dealing with high revolutions per minute, or the friction that generates. Can''t make planks without a sawmill.  Can''t make furnished wooden goods without planks. And so it goes.


    Trisaldan''s voice again broke me out of my reverie.  "Okay, I guess. But your reaction seems to indicate this is some major breakthrough.  I''ve seen enough of what you''ve made to know that you use different tools than we do, and they make your work easier.  But with all of these¡­ servants ¡­ you''ve got, hiow much more can you really accomplish by just giving them better tools?"


    I blinked at his statement.  It was just so¡­ how exactly does one go about enlightening someone from what amounts to a sophisticated hunter-gatherer culture on the potential societal impacts of the machine age?  I finally realized that he was thinking I was planning on using this stuff to make better quartzite handtools and maybe a better clockwork harness model for my minions.


    And to be fair, I would definitely be doing just that.  But it went so much further. Lumbermills, railways, flour mills¡­ electrical generation¡­  all the things electricity permitted¡­ yeah. This was too big a conversation.


    I allowed myself the briefest of sighs.  "I ¡­ you''ll just have to see it. It''s a big deal.  Not in itself, but it was a missing ingredient. And a big one."


    He looked at me in a way that indicated he was skeptical but also confident I would surprise him.  Which I had to admit was only fair.


    ~~------------~~


    Training -- or programming, really -- another batch of controlled manuals to process all of the acorns I''d been growing using the new machinery, as well as upping the amount of acornvines I was growing, took most of the rest of that day.  I could, and probably should, have left the work to my homunculi, but I just wanted to do it myself. It felt good to be making progress in a way that completely made sense, and bought me time to think about what I would do next.


    I was at something of a sort of crossroads, in a number of senses.  I was finally in a position to feel like I had a basic grasp on my newfound lot in life; I knew enough about the challenges I was likely to face to have an idea of what to do about them; and I had an array of options for how to build upon what I had.


    Some of my choices I needed to make were easier than others.  My neighbours, the alfar, were¡­ well. I could''ve been dropped into far worse circumstances, as these things go.  I didn''t trust the alfar as a people any further than I could throw them. They were almost certainly justifiably xenophobic, which meant that their natural inclinations towards outsiders would at the most generous be to exploit them, and at worst to repel them.  I''d begun walking that uphill battle, and given how I was situated it wasn''t like I could afford bad relations with them indefinitely. But I equally couldn''t afford to drop my guard with them. Not as a culture. So deepening my ties with them was going to happen, had to really -- but I wasn''t ever going to put myself in a position of relying on their largesse for my well-being.


    Throwing a bone to them of letting them have at any dungeons my development produced, so long as I could also monitor said dungeon''s progression¡­ I could leverage that for a lot of mutualism.  That''s the easy choice.


    The harder choices were more complex.  The biggest of those right now was¡­ everything I built produced a certain amount of the pollution that made those dungeons in the first place.  This meant that at least for now, I''d need to be choosier about how I developed. This would have long-term ramifications on the kind of infrastructure I built up and as a result would shape what I could accomplish.  So did I really want to go down the tried-and-true path of the technologies I knew from Earth? I could easily advance more rapidly just by "researching" things I already knew, and there was plenty of that road I knew at least basically how to unlock, still.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I was also in a fairly decent place, I felt, to continue to build upon the novel technologies I''d discovered since coming to this world.  Biomodification and crystalline energy transfer technologies had absolute limits I knew I had only scratched at the surface of given what I was already capable of.  Committing to deep-diving that path could be endlessly fascinating¡­ and who knew what I could accomplish?


    Lastly, there was the revelation of what Arcanism fundamentally was.  This was the deepest mystery to me thus far, and I knew that its capabilities were deep in "here there be dragons" territory.  It would be the hardest and frankly most dangerous path to progress in. But a certain part of me kept thinking, "no risk, no reward".  After all: if you can choose to be a wizard, you must choose to be a wizard.  Anything else was just plain lunacy.  Only problem was, based on what the point-ears had told me, so was going down that road uninformed.


    This, really, was the choice I''d been staving off when I actively avoided building the aeolipile.  And while, yes, there was absolutely value in closing up my tech-debt, and building up what I already could so that when I expanded further in tech trees, I would have the resources to use what I learned¡­ that only took one so far.


    I was reaching a time limit on what choice to make, if only a self-assigned one.  Happily, there was a way to make that harder choice a little bit easier. To date, I was largely constrained informationally about the world by what the alfar would tell me because of how endless the Treatied Wood seemed.  But now that I knew in general a direction to go in order to exit the forest, it made sense to get some long-range scouting done. And I had a plan on how to do exactly that.


    Said plan was taking the shape of the creation of yet another caste of my mining ants.  It was a touch more different than the others in that I was not planning on adding natural triggers for its development within the colony.  Overall aside from that this would be one of the simplest changes made yet. All I was doing was creating a sterile male ant. This might not sound like a major thing, but the advantage for my purposes was actually fairly significant:  male ants could fly.  It was with this trait in mind -- and the addition of a controller fungus to allow me to use the males'' senses myself -- that I could hope to use one of my homunculi as a dedicated long-range surveyor and scout.


    The idea was to see how far exactly it was to the edge of the forest.  And from there how far to the nearest inhabited location. I couldn''t really use the ants for making contact -- a group of three or four six-inch long flying insects showing up out of the blue could only be taken as a threat in a world that had monsters after all -- but I could certainly attempt to learn more about the world as a whole.  Maybe even passively pick up conversations, assuming the alfar and any people I found spoke a language in common. Granted, the odds there were low, but the alfar''s language had to be closer than English.


    I couldn''t help but chuckle a little as I thought about the fact that even with the force multiplication of my controllers, I was still feeling the pinch of the limit I had on the number of homunculi I had the ability to create.  It was, in a way, ironic; I was getting by just fine when seven total minions before, and now that I had more like forty, I still felt like it just wasn''t enough. Even with that number only doing tasks I hadn''t automated away, like with the farming and growth-vat maintenance, clothing and paper making, and so on.  Here I was at the point of setting aside resources for long-term projects like the connecting tunnel and long-range scouting, and I still felt like my capacity was severely constrained.


    But hey -- at least I could finally make a decent soap to get clean with. Well, once I had one of my minions get the right combination of acorn oil and lye together that is.  Ugh. So many projects, so little time. It was enough to drive a man mad ¡­ yeah, not a thought to be focusing on given recent revelations.


    So.  The sterile male ants.  It took the better part of half a day to get them just right.  You''d think it would be quicker given how small a change they were, but no.  I''d needed to isolate anti-fertility myself because none of my minions had sufficient mana to accomplish it themselves.  And then it turned out that something about ants made infertility create worker drones. I''d needed to go through another three iterations to get the balance right;  I needed to target the anti-fertility to only the gonads of the ant. But I got my flyers, even if they required biomodification from stock each time they were made. Given their purpose-specific nature, that wasn''t really that big of a deal.  I did, however, make a batch of the flyers, in hibernation-stasis. I even sent off a batch to the mining colony. I figured they would make decent emergency messengers -- a flyer could make a one-way trip without resting in roughly a day. It would die of exhaustion in doing so, but that wasn''t really a problem. The whole point of making the ants the way I did was that they would be largely disposable. Only the brain caste and queens were important.


    ~~------------~~


    It was with my new cartographer busily transcribing what the new flyers were seeing to a halfway-decent regional map that I turned my attention to a new task.  Something I didn''t really trust my minions to work on. Or, rather, that I didn''t want to trust to them, even though the odds were fairly high overall that my homunculi would gladly volunteer if asked if they would like to do so -- a fact I wasn''t at all comfortable with due to the notion that I''d be asking them to for certain die, but for uncertain results.


    So I found myself in the position of trying to accomplish a means of having my cake and eating it too:  I needed, if it were even possible, a way to grow a sufficiently sapient critter as to work out how to develop a spirit bond like I''d accomplished with my ishuar, but sufficiently nonsapient as to not be the moral equivalent of human sacrifice. I had some ideas in that regard, but I wasn''t at all certain it was going to even have a chance at working.  The biggest reason I thought it might was the success I had in creating the Controllers'' ability to transfer/retain memories for their current manual host. Program a Controller once, and every successive manual it infects would carry out the programmed tasks. This was acceptable because the manuals themselves were as close to brain dead as I could make them.


    And it was the manner in which Controllers interfaced with the manuals that made what I was hoping to accomplish next even feasible.  It would mean yet another iteration on the ant species to alter one of their castes -- along with the fairly tedious effort of modifying the existing members of the caste in question for the sake of uniformity if nothing else, but it should be worth it:  copying the mycelial nerves of the Controllers into the mandibles of the braincaste so that they could directly interface with the manuals that had taken to using as beasts of burden themselves. By having a Controller programmed with the knowledge of how to get possessed by a spirit, and a little communication work, it should be possible to use the manual as a networking bridge between the Controller and the braincaste.  There were three most likely outcomes here, each with a varying level of acceptability:


    First, I might not actually get what it was I wanted at all, beyond the basic interface improvements between the braincaste and the manuals, which itself should significantly improve the productivity of the ants in general.  Second -- and this would be the best outcome -- they might successfully interface with the Controllers as well, thus allowing the braincaste to get the manuals to undergo possession of various spirits without risking themselves, thus allowing me an aggressive expansion of cataloguing which spirits were affiliated with what phenomena and uses.  Third, they might be able to interface with the Controllers as well but have to risk themselves directly.


    While even the braincaste ants would be what I''d generally refer to as subsapient, I still wouldn''t feel right sacrificing upon the altar of repetition to appease the great god Scientific Rigor.


    The worst part of this all being, beyond differentiating between the first and latter two outcomes, I''d have no way of knowing which of the three outcomes I had achieved even when I finished upgrading the ants as a whole -- which ironically I could automate away thanks to the very thing I was now working with, once I finished making a basic prototype that was.


    A not so trivial part of me was less than okay with the fact that I was crossing a moral line with this step.  But at least I wasn''t using my Guardians for something like this. With any luck some variant of spirit I could bond with after all of this might let me start training them in similar bindings.  Because tool-using caveman-like two foot tall (while on all eights) giant spiders should have voodoo powers too, if only to round out the "Oh god why?!" quotient.


    Never let it be said that I lacked in my completionist chops.

 23 - Interrupted Gratification

    I didn''t see much of Trisaldan and company for the next few days.  I was too busy shoring up everything I had to do more than pass meaningless pleasantries as I went about my daily routines.  I was, as always it seemed, stretching myself thin with a sort of hectic pace that I never would have matched back on Earth. There was always so much to do, to focus on, and thanks to my Stamina reserves I was always at the peak of energy levels. This would tend to drive anyone onwards, but even so -- even with the assistance of my seven minions and the many hands of the manuals, I was well into my limits just keeping everything in motion.


    I felt ever increasingly certain that I wouldn''t be thrilled at all with how the coming rain season would treat me and mine, so I had my homunculus minion that was overseeing the tunnel production take the extra steps of rearing up another four ant queens and associated drones, to install them maybe once every twenty kilometers along the path between my two installations.  This was something of a risk, given I hadn''t actually ensured the ants themselves couldn''t go feral, but without the growth lamps nor access to shelfruit any feral colonies wouldn''t be able to populate at even an appreciable fraction of the rate my tame ones did, nor would they be able to sustain themselves in larger numbers without noticeably stripping the food sources in their vicinity.  Still, I''d want to eventually set up patrols to ensure no colonies were forming unsupervised in the future. But that was tomorrow me''s problem, and tomorrow me had damned well better be better off than today me or I would be quite wroth.


    The point behind adding those additional hives was less about speeding up the digging of the tunnel -- though it would have that effect -- and more about having a gravelled and drainaged surface route between the mining colony and the manor, as that could be done in a matter of days.  Well, weeks, but the point stood. The hope being that the ants would be sufficient to patrolling said surface route against possible stray or nomadic wildlings and aggressive animals in general, as well -- ensuring the supply route between the two end points doesn''t get cut off should one of these undercysts form somewhere between my two bases, as now seemed quite likely given what I''d learned from my pointy-eared guests.


    In addition, I was also taking steps to draw more alchemically-treated iron wire from the stocks being sent over, in order to have it properly installed as lightning rod lines before the storms came.  Not knowing the actual heat tolerance of the metal I was working with, nor how much would actually be needed -- I just knew thanks to my Deciduous Survival "tech" that the storms would be intense, and fairly frequent -- I was perhaps going overboard on the side of caution with this setup.  But better to have and not need than to need and not have. After all -- what if there were lightning-breathing dragons or something in those storms?  This whole world was apparently a bit of a death trap like that.


    And that pleasant thought brought me up to the next item that was taking up a significant portion of my time:  training squads of my Guardians and Hunters to work together on standardized patrols around both my manor and the mining colony.  That, and trying to design better defenses for both than the largely passive arrangements of the dry most and antcrete wall. The major flaws I could foresee in my arrangements were that I had no meaningful standoff capacity beyond short range.  My current strategy was to rely on anything attacking the walls being swarmed in high numbers of warrior ants, while my hunters and Guardians burned anything that got to the actual walls. Which¡­ wasn''t really all that bad a strategy, assuming it worked.


    But it did have limitations, in that it would only really work well against moderate numbers of middling sized creatures, and ones without strong defenses against soft attacks.  Anything like a tortoise or with tough scales, or like an elephant, and they''d push through. Anything with numbers much like what the alfar could bring against me would be able to pull a pincer maneuver; draw out my defensive creatures in one area and sneak through in another.


    So that''s what I focused on trying to design solutions to.  I already had dart launchers; stationary gatling-style ones affixed to guard towers could be manned by Guardians easily enough.  With their larger size, they could even draw on multiple flame-fueled clockwinder crystals to have a higher rate of fire, and a larger effective range with a larger dart -- more like a crossbow bolt, maybe firing once a second instead of once every five seconds like the dart launchers on my Guardians'' harnesses.  Having one such tower at each gate should help against any larger critters that might show up.


    I''d also set up spring and pulley catapults to launch a sort of incendiary grenade -- basically just oil-soaked reed fluff surrounding a small heat crystal with an impact trigger, surrounded by a simple pot of oil.  Pot bursts on impact, heat crystal ignites fluff, fluff ignites loose oil. Training brain caste ants to reload and fire the pots was easier than I''d thought it would be. I intentionally didn''t use Controllers to ensure the alfar couldn''t sabotage the catapult operators.  They''d have lousy aim, but given that I made three of the things for each gate, and that they had more range than anything I''d yet made¡­ I wasn''t too worked up over the issue. They would be most effective in scenarios best described as "target rich environment" anyhow.


    I considered more complex schemes like automated clockwork pickets or adding stabbing mechanisms to the walls, but nothing I could really come up with seemed to be anything more than a gimmick or else would require too much manual intervention to work well, and those were detracting enough that I decided it wasn''t worth the effort.


    ~~------------~~


    Another thing I worked on during that interval -- and yes, it still struck me as odd that I was able to split my attention to truly multitask via the Controlled manuals under my, well, control -- was something I''d had to try very hard to ignore not having real access to all this time.  Soap. Now that I had access to the basic ingredients, all that was left was working out effective methods of actually making it. Happily, this wasn''t something I was completely clueless on; my "conventional" Tech Era knowledge having built up to the Classical Era, I had knowledge of various methods of ancient soap-making.  The real challenge came in implementing specifics in my exact circumstances and that would work out will with my toolbase. And that wouldn''t leave me smelling like roasted acorns.


    Of course, I had to kick that up a notch or two from there just because I knew from my old world''s experiences that I could take things a step or two further and make specialized soaps for different purposes, though in the here and now I couldn''t rely on the chemistry knowledge of my old world, not because it wouldn''t work here, but because I didn''t remember enough of it to unlock it here.  Which, mind you, I had tried to do. My archival library now contained a graph with a rather more complete Periodic Table than I''d anticipated being able to fill out, in fact, though there were still gaps there that irked me.


    More to the point, however, I was able to work out some decent alchemically based solutions to be able to produce a passable laundry detergent, shampoo, and basic hand/body soap.  This in addition to the more Classical era lye-based Castilian soaps which honestly were harsh enough for use as floor cleaners. Recording all of this work for the library, in fact, netted me something I had hoped to gain but hadn''t focused on for some time.


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech level unlocked:  Standard Sanitation. >>


    I didn''t even get a meaningful headache as a result of the new information pumping into my skull!  Though I did realize that I''d need extra methods for properly sterilizing relevant surfaces, something I''d ironically completely forgotten about, which lead to my next bump up.


    << Requirements met.  Specific tech field unlocked:  Basic Optics. >>


    Why the optics?  Simple enough -- I''d run some experiments with prisms to confirm that UV light was still a thing here, and so that I could create UV Quartzite lamps for the relevant areas.  The kitchen and my alchemy labs got minor overhauls, and I had to program new manuals to ensure my food stores were kept free of infestations with the new methods I now had access to -- though really there''s only so much one can do with an icebox and a root cellar. But still. Principle of the thing.


    ~~------------~~


    It happily wasn''t until I had more "free time", a week or so later when all of this was done, that I was instead able to personally focus on my new Arcanism research project -- which had netted me very little in the way of results, despite having resulted in the deaths of five braincaste ants in rather surprisingly gruesome ways, as well as three braincaste that had successfully managed to bind an ishuar to themselves which at least demonstrated that the project could, in fact, do what I wanted¡­ if not with as little moral cost as I''d hoped, though the braincaste ants really didn''t seem to mind the cost from the little I could successfully discuss with them using the sign language.


    I said "happily" there more because I was finished with the improved defenses before the alfar contingent not only returned, but followed the gravelled (and somewhat antcreted) path from the mining colony to my manor.  There were, this time, six hundred of the wood elves. Six hundred.  And I could see, thanks to the longer vision of the drone ants I had patrolling the manor, that this time they clearly had someone who was a "dignitary" of the sort that Annaka wasn''t.  So a bigwig. Great.


    I started hastily signing to my minions via the nearest Controlled manuals to them.[Get the welcome wagon out. Time to make a good impression. Try not to spook the point-ears.]


    [Master. I obey.]Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    [Master. I obey.]


    [Master. Stand down defenses?]


    Well.  That was odd.  Unprompted creative thought in a homunculus?  I''d been trying to encourage it but I had no idea how well it was working.


    I didn''t hesitate for a second in my response. [Not for now. Keep them sharp but don''t get trigger happy. I''m getting prepared to meet them. I''ll take care of informing our guests that someone''s coming.]


    You never think about little things like how someone might emote with sign language until you witness it, but I could literally see the chirpy happiness in my homunculus''s next words to me. [Master. I obey.]


    With that bit of unanticipated enlightenment out of the way, I made my way to the impromptu training ground where Trisaldan et.al. were practicing in a group formation against a pair of Guardians and six Hunters.  The overall tone I saw was actually surprisingly playful, and equally surprising was the fact that my Guardians'' more basic signing was actually understood not only by the Hunters, but also to an extent by the three alfar.  Sadly, I had to interrupt their play.


    Waving my arm up in greeting as I walked up to the trio, I called out with a casual tone to my voice. "Ho there, friends. I was wondering if you knew whether we were expecting friends any time soon?"


    Eildan and Orelme planted the butts of their spears in the dirt beside themselves as they shook their heads in denial.  Trisaldan, however, muttered something under his breath with a displeased look on his face. With a more carrying but still quiet tone, he asked, "Any chance you can describe who it is?"


    I nodded, as that was an entirely fair request, and proceeded to close my eyes and describe what I was seeing through the scout ants.  There were roughly five hundred of what were fairly clearly wardens like the three next to me, but they were also clearly playing escort to an entourage of roughly eighty individuals who seemed to be subordinate to twenty more that were dressed in much finer looking arrangements of fine-woven leaves and grasses, a pair of which -- one male and one female -- also seemed to have some sort of ornamental wooden armor that was more grown than shaped.  It even still had its bark. The real oddity was that it was clearly ornamental -- it covered shoulders and upper arms, but not the chest or stomach, for example. The gauntlet the woman wore didn''t cover her fingers at all but did the back of her hand. And so on.


    Trisaldan nodded to me in a sharp manner.  "Well, that''s pretty blatant, then. You''re about to be host to the Lord and Lady of the Third March, and ¡­ by the sounds of it, likely the Duke to whom they answer. I suspect there''ll be a few trader barons as well in there. I ¡­ feel it''s only appropriate to warn you that all twenty of those you described are likely ishuata."


    I smiled gently.  "Well then. They''ll be here at their current pace in about¡­ I really need to make better timepieces, damnit -- oh, sometime just past noon. You''ve got time to get yourselves cleaned up and presentable.  I''ll be back out myself once I''ve done the same."


    With that, I walked off towards my little house nestled under the big tree that I have come to truly consider my home, keeping my demeanor far calmer and assured than I in truth felt.  This was going to be a whole thing. I just knew it.


    ~~------------~~


    It struck me as I scrubbed down under my shower, while simultaneously observing my homunculi setting up the series of tents outside of my walls and the platters with the various meal offerings my comparatively limited range of food sources could with clever purpose be engineered into, that I had actually climbed a long way towards the proper comforts of civilization.  There was, of course, no way I could host all six hundred of my approaching visitors. I''d be lucky if my arrangements could handle a tenth of their number.


    But even that much was, frankly, impressive as all hell for a guy who less than four months earlier had woken up naked and alone in a forest on a planet for which he had no name.  The whole getup I was observing being deployed reminded me rather heavily of depictions of travel camps meant for Roman nobles. Which admittedly was the point of the exercise -- but that made it no less impressive considering it represented a rush order assembled from the various materials I''d stockpiled to date, and didn''t even put an irretrievable dent in said supplies.  Well, excepting the burlap used for the tarps and floor mats on which rested (descaled fish-hide) leather rugs but even then I had plenty more where that came from. I did have to resort to using oil lanterns inside the tents, though, as I didn''t make a habit of leaving light crystals lying around in spare enough to use them except as highlights.


    And so that was the scene that my unannounced guests marched upon in a rather impressive formation -- myself standing before the gate to my manor, with dual over-sized tents on either side of the antcreted roadbed that approached said gate, with the fifty-foot-tall towers on either side of the gate visible behind the twenty-foot-tall stone walls. In formation with me were my four most formidable Guardians, each with a pair of Hunters crouched beneath them.  I myself had chosen to forego any visible armor, though I was wearing the blackhide vest under my shirt and had my heat pistol and black ossium cutlass clipped to their places on my belt. I stood square-shouldered and leaning ever so slightly back to make it clear that I knew what was going on and was supremely confident about what was happening. I was nothing of the sort, but letting them know that from the outset was just asking for trouble I didn''t want and definitely didn''t need.


    I''d timed things so that I would be standing waiting for the approaching contingent just before they came into line of sight -- easy enough to do considering their formation march slowed them down enough to pull it off.  It took them another half an hour or so to reach decent earshot. Bloody grandstanding.


    Worst part of it was that I knew I''d have to reciprocate to be taken seriously, so I had to go bombastic. Calling out with a clear and ringing voice, I spoke to them despite the distance. "Hello, Alfarhame contingent! Be welcome on my lands, and you come as guests!  Begone, if you come for foul purpose! Declare yourselves, and be known to me!"


    And with that I''d established that I was considering this area to be my "turf".  Would go over like a lead balloon if they decided to really push the issue, but I needed a starting point to work from and "friendly but territorial" gave me wiggling room.  Didn''t change the fact that I could very shortly be needing to flee for my life -- while I trusted the loyalty of my minions and critters, discounting the ants they were outnumbered in total, and at their best they weren''t equal on a one-on-one basis.  The defenses would help but¡­ I couldn''t stay holed up in the manor indefinitely barring stranger developments. Which¡­ granted¡­ I could probably achieve. Given long enough.


    After a few moments, however, one of the Warden types was sent ahead of the rest, making his way with a moderately long loping jog until he was halfway between my home and the army at his back.  "We are the core Wardens of the house of the Third March of the Treatied Woods. We come to more formally establish relations with you, Sir Voidwalker. The Lord and Lady grant you the honor of housing them and escort in your finest accommodations for this period."


    It was going to be one of those days, I could see.  "Your honor means nothing to me. You get what accommodations you brought with you.  Anything else you want from me, you ask nicely for it. But I can at least shelter some of you from the sun, as these tents demonstrate.  You lot likely will want to gather reports from the trio you left behind with me. I''ll be sending them out, soon enough.  Oh, one other thing: do not camp on the stone path. It is for traveling, not resting. My pets are very dutiful and might just get upset with you if you block their way."


    My voice was fairly calm, with the exception of the bitterness I injected into the mention of asking nicely for things.  Regardless, I could see that my response had confused the elf. He seriously seemed to think that I would jump at the idea of having the nobles take over my damned house and leave me in the cold.  A house I''d built with my own two hands. Surreal.


    Regardless, the Alfarhame Warden trotted back to his little army, and I signed to one of my guard Guardians, [Send out the elves].


    The seventy pounds of spider and armaments signed an affirmation back at me -- more like a salute than any actual words, but the meaning was there -- and skittered silently back into the compound, returning shortly with Trisaldan and company. I made a point of only mildly glaring at him, just enough to carry my meaning.  "That lot seem to have some unproductive ideas about how we''re going to work out being friendly, Trisaldan. You''ve been around me enough by now to at least give them a good sense of what attitudes will piss me off. I''m sending you three off to them so that they don''t screw the pooch. I know they''ll want you to tell them everything you can that you''ve learned from and about me, including how defended this position is, so¡­ by all means, do so."


    He grimaced a little at my words. "You won''t think ill of us for it?"


    I laughed easily.  "I''m counting on it. Always have been.  Word to the wise, though -- I''ve been intentionally holding back on some things I can do. Things that¡­ well. Magics of steel and steam, you might say. Just as versatile as what I''ve done with flesh and plants. I have my reasons, but¡­ I can do it all in hours if I must."


    His eyes widened at my last "parting shot", as the implication that I could double down on the things I''d already shown them sunk in.


    It was a bit of a bluff, which he didn''t have the means to know¡­ but there was a seed kernel in it if truth.  I didn''t have the knowledge for the more arcane or magical sides of steampunk lore, but the designs for steam turbines alone would unlock a fair amount of new technologies.  Of this I was quite certain. While I¡¯d been avoiding it if for no other reason than that I could expect a ¡°Era¡± tech unlock of that level to floor me into unconsciousness for who knows how long and I wasn¡¯t enough of a masochist to enjoy that prospect, I also knew that if it was what I had to do in order to maintain my personal independence, then that was exactly what I¡¯d do. Barring extreme capabilities I simply couldn¡¯t counter at all, the defenses I currently had in place would at least be enough for me to get through that unlock, should things break down into true hostiliy.


    The thing of it was, I was sure Trisaldan at least knew that I was willing to go to that level if that was what it took -- and that he would report this back to the Alfar nobles. While this would reveal a great deal of my overall capabilities to them, which my inner OpSec-savvy self was crying over, the fact was that at the level of knowledge the point-ears had about me, any increase in their understanding of me could only benefit me -- what I needed now more than my ability to lay traps and surprise them was to get them to comprehend me and my ambitions.


    I watched Trisaldan and friends make their way across the antcrete-paved stone roadway I¡¯d had created back to their own people with a mixture of trepidation and determination. This next step would make or break my ability to stay here. But one thing was for certain; there¡¯s no such thing as putting a genie back in a bottle. My period of living as fully independently as I had been was officially over.