Ogre Tyrant

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 30 – Opportunity in disaster – Part One

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 30 - Opportunity in disaster - Part One

The tremors continued well into the night. However, by dawn, the world had grown quiet and still once more. As bad as the tremors had seemed, the dust storm was worse. To avoid breathing in the dust that billowed in through the open doorway, I had to double wrap my lower face with my headscarf and improvise something similar for Mors. Making sure Mors’s was both protected and still capable of breathing was an especially difficult task due to his unique physiology.

With only two thin slits for a nose, Mors’s large head had an almost fishlike lower jaw and a large sagging sack devoid of muscle in place of his throat. The latter was what caused me the most grief. Tying the cloth too tight and I would choke the unconscious Daemon to death, tie it too loose and it would slip right off. By the time I was finished, I had just about wrapped his entire head just to ensure the cloth wouldn’t slip.

I felt a profound sense of relief when the light of the sun began filtering through the doorway. Getting to my feet, I warily made my way outside to assess the damage to the village.

I wasn’t the only one up and about either. Stone Well warriors were patrolling the village and checking in on the barricaded homes. Some were resolved with a simple exchange of words, others with a quick inspection, and in a few rare instances, the unconscious residents were hurriedly carried to the hospital.

After doing my rounds, I was surprised to find that none of Stone Well’s buildings had collapsed. A few showed signs of mild to severe cracking, but were otherwise intact. Similarly, the well was just as I had left it, albeit covered in loose sand.

The scene outside of Stone Well’s walls was much different. While not as severe as I had expected or imagined, the landscape had changed drastically. Stone Well was now isolated atop an almost perfectly circular mesa that had to be at least a couple of hundred feet off the ground. There were other mesas farther out in the distance, but none nearly so unnaturally perfect as Stone Well.

The moat around the village was still intact, although the far wall of packed dirt and stone had all broken away, leaving the moat exposed on its outermost side. Reluctant to take credit for saving the village, I found exposed roots on the outermost edges and realised that Mors was very likely the only reason the village was still standing.

Returning to the well, I cleared away all the dust and debris and then removed the ropes and tarpaulin. As I had expected, the well’s water had been drained dry, most likely to fuel the expansive growth of the root system that now held the mesa together and prevented it from collapsing during the earthquake.

With no water in reserve and nearly twice as many more people to care for than yesterday, there was no room for hesitation or procrastination. Decisiveness was required in order to stave off a panic.

Knowing that Izsa’s daughter, Ezha, was a Pact Binder, I made heading for their dwelling my first priority. With Mors out of commission, we needed another Druid in order to reclaim water from dead monsters.

Making my way to the Flowing Water’s quarter of the village, I sent a quick quest to Gric so he was made aware of the Daemon we would need and the importance of the summoning being made.

Izsa did not need much convincing, even volunteering herself and her warriors to serve as escorts for her daughter while securing the monsters for reclamation.

Accepting Izsa’s offer, I made my way to the storehouse next and appropriated all the rope they had. While I assumed the spiders could probably climb up and down the face of the mesa with their riders, I sincerely doubted they would have the stamina for making the trip with any more weight than that. Besides, we needed the spiders in prime condition since we wouldn’t be able to bring the boars or birds without considerably greater effort. Rappelling down the side of the mesa was already going to be hazardous, there was no need to risk even more lives than absolutely necessary.

With one of Izsa’s warriors, a Warlock, volunteering to go first, I tied a serviceable harness around his legs and waist and then replicated the harness on myself to then show how to untie it once he reached the bottom.

Confident that the warrior wouldn’t break his neck, we lowered him over the side and continued feeding him rope until it fell slack. After receiving the signal, a loud trumpeting on one of the slavers horns, I tied a large knot in the rope to mark the length, and then we drew the rope back up.

As I had guessed, the drop to the ground was about two hundred feet, which meant we had enough rope for five volunteers to be lowered at a time.

While we measured out the ropes, the Beast Trainers and their spiders began scaling the mesa, although not as I had expected them to. Rather than climb, the Sand Stalkers simply attached an anchoring line of webbing and then slowly descended to the ground. The webs did present a hazard to those who would be rappelling down, so we had to gather them up before anyone else could descend, but it was good to know how quickly the spiders could reach the ground in relatively peak condition.

Using the hulking boar as an anchoring point, we began lowering warriors in groups of five, including Osa so he could begin organising the hunting of monsters on the ground. After lowering eighty warriors in total, it was now Izsa, Ezha, and Kestrel’s turn.

“You're sure?” I asked Kestrel for the final time as I tied the harness around her waist, giving her one final out.

Kestrel set her jaw determinedly, “I need to check it out,” she insisted, “I haven’t read of any instances of collapse that even come close to this sort of scale. The higher-ups will definitely want to know more about what is happening.”

Clarice snorted and rolled her eyes as she continued wiping down Dhizi’s scales. Clarice had wanted to go exploring as well, but Dhizi had adamantly refused to approach the ledge, making it clear she wasn’t capable of a sheer downward vertical climb. In fact, the more Clarice had tried insisting, the more vocal Dhizi had made her objections, hissing and roaring in a mixture of panic and anger. This behaviour was another sign of the Beast’s relatively high intelligence and independence. Unlike the boars and spiders, Dhizi still exercised a certain level of autonomy despite her bond to Clarice.

The final slot for the trip downward was taken by Osa’s mate. As a Surgeon, she would be responsible for providing first-aid to anyone injured during the hunt.

Clarice and I had both packed our retinues full of warriors and hunters at Osa’s request. The general idea was that even if we were out of Exp sharing range of the group, they would still level up much faster than otherwise.

After lowering the final group, I left Clarice in charge of keeping an ear out for the Slavers horns which would signal that the hunters and warriors wanted to return. I would have preferred to stay on standby myself, but I needed to make myself known to the Chiefs of the Sand Walker’s and Fire Dancer’s.

With enough time having passed for people to overcome the worst of their fears, the streets were now relatively crowded as everyone began seeking out and checking on their relatives.

A large crowd had gathered around the well and olive tree, which I could already tell was going to cause trouble. After drawing closer, I could see the familiar form of Jergal standing before the well and viciously emptying the water jug above his head with dramatic flair as dust poured out of it. “SEE?! SEE?! OGRE BRINGS DEATH! DROUGHT WORSE! WE DIE IF HE STAY!” Jergal roared instantly.

A half dozen warriors with hate-filled expressions on their faces nodded in agreement and joined his side, “OGRE NO STAY!” They chanted in a ragged chorus, much to Jergal’s relief and excitement.

However, despite some murmuring from the crowd, no one else seemed willing to join Jergal’s side. The recently arrived nomads didn’t understand enough to choose a side and were warily keeping out of it altogether, slowly disappearing into nearby alleys or disappearing into nearby houses.

To my surprise, the core resistance to Jergal seemed centred around the elderly storehouse keeper, Fadwa. Other elders and warriors alike made a point of gravitating to her side as she squared up against Jergal. “UNGRATEFUL!”

*Slap*

Jergal staggered.

“SPITEFUL!” Fadwa’s accusing shout carried far in the silence.

*Slap*

“IDIOTIC!” Fadwa swung her hand again but Jergal intercepted her arm and held it tight.

*Slap*

Fadwa caught Jergal in the ear with her other hand, much to the crowd and Jergal’s surprise. “Chieftain Tim brings water, hope, LIBERATION!” She all but screamed into the warrior’s face, “Jergal? Jergal brings lies! Treachery! ENSLAVEMENT! Jergal desired Kelal, suddenly Abul enslaved?! TRAITOR!” Fadwa screamed and raked the nails of her free hand down Jergal’s face.

Staggering backwards, Jergal nearly fell into the well. “You challenge Jergal?!” He roared incredulously, throwing the old woman backwards. “Choose champion! Jergal no want kill crazy elder!” Although the naked hate in his eyes begged to differ.

As much as it reassured me to see the warriors by Fadwa’s side standing by her, this was better not left to chance. I was only halfway through the crowd when both Jergal and Fadwa spotted me at roughly the same time. “I will be your champion elder Fadwa,” I offered, my words carrying far in the relative silence of my sudden appearance.

Jergal paled and the warriors beside him began to edge away towards the crowd.

“I will fight as your champion against Jergal and those warriors who side with him!” I declared more loudly, making it crystal clear that the opportunists wouldn’t be getting out of it so easily.

“I accept!” Fadwa declared hoarsely, her eyes filled with righteous anger.

Upon hearing Fadwa’s acceptance, the crowd began clearing the village centre and packing into the side roads and climbing atop the buildings to secure vantage points to witness the confrontation.

Making my way over to Fadwa, I stripped down to my pants, not wanting my new clothes to be damaged or stained. “What are the rules?” I asked while stretching and limbering up.

“Fight, fight until dead or surrender,” Fadwa hissed as she continued to glare at Jergal.

I was a little surprised by that, “You would let him just surrender?” I asked.

“Surrender exiled,” one of the other elders explained grimly.

That seemed more fitting of a brutal monster society.

“Need weapon?” One of Fadwa’s supporters asked, offering me one of his sharp curved knives.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I graciously refused the weapon and cracked my knuckles for dramatic effect. I wouldn’t need a weapon for a fight this one-sided. Even seven on one, I wasn’t expecting more than scratches or some shallow cuts.

Huddled up on the opposite side of the village centre, it was obvious that Jergal was trying to put together some sort of plan.

Walking out into the cleared space, I waited for some sort of signal that would begin the duel. Seeing that I had the time, I decided to take the opportunity to try to provide some reassurances to the villagers and any nomads who might still be close enough to listen.

“The well is currently dry,” I admitted truthfully, “Mors used the water within to save our lives, to spare Stone Well from the disaster that came so close to consuming it during the darkest hours of the night.” I tried to project my voice as best I could manage without actually shouting and I at least appeared to have everyone's attention. “Hunters and warriors from the Stone Well and Flowing Water tribes are hunting monsters for water reclamation even now! Soon, the water will begin to flow and refill the well again! I swear to you!” I vowed.

The crowd all turned their attention to the well expectantly.

Surprised that I could inspire such trust, I found myself looking towards the well too, but more because everyone else was doing it rather than expecting anything to happen. However, to my immense surprise, water was slowly trickling from the root overhanging the well. Wondering at the timing of it all, I felt Mors attempting to bridge a connection with myself and two other Daemons.

<Was that you Mors?> I asked with a hint of amusement at his choice in dramatic timing.

There was a sense of amusement from the other participants in the link. <No Overlord. I am still too overdrawn. It was Lord Qreet who redirected the water.>

<Minion Mors informed me of the ‘situation’ in the village, Overlord. And I thought it would be best to consolidate your authority given the fortuitous opportunity.> Qreet’s reply was accompanied by the same sense of amusement shared by the other Daemons, making it obvious that they were all aware of what had been accomplished in regards to timing the waters return. <The root network has many redundancies. Do not worry, fresh meat is expected soon.>

<Wait...You are draining the tree’s roots right now?> I asked for clarification.

<Oh yes, Overlord.> Qreet replied sincerely. <Minion Mors efforts were exemplary given the unknown extent of the danger, but there was a substantial amount of...wastage in redundant supports.> She seemed genuinely impressed with Mors, which was rare to see from Qreet and Gric, they usually adhered strictly to the hierarchy and only paid compliments upwards.

Mors seemed equally surprised, and more than a little embarrassed.

<Overlord!> Senn announced her greeting excitedly. <My Pact Bound’ have secured many soulless and are directing more towards the Settlement! There will be food and water in abundance!>

<How are there so many monsters?> I asked and then almost immediately realised the answer.

<There seems to be no underground for the soulless to occupy, so the Labyrinth is spawning them above ground!> Senn replied excitedly. <Such interesting gene sequences…> The female Daemon added almost dazedly.

<Overlord! Your ritual combat is starting!> Mors abruptly severed the connection.

The mental link hadn’t robbed me of my senses, but it had dulled them somewhat, so I appreciated Mors cutting the connection for me.

Jergal and his supporters were on the move, three stalking to either side while Jergal slowly approached from the middle. It was obvious that he wanted me surrounded and that made sense as a general hunting strategy. However, I suspected Jergal was underestimating me due to the fact that I chose to fight them all unarmed.

While I was not looking forward to harming or killing them, I knew that dissension would cost more lives down the line, and outright traitors would cost even more. Recalling how displeased Jergal had been when we rescued the hunters and the chief’s nephew, it wasn’t difficult to imagine him as an opportunistic traitor whose schemes we had foiled with our untimely arrival.

Wanting to make an example of Jergal, and hoping that it would make the others surrender without the need for further violence, I calmly walked right into Jergal’s trap.

To his credit, Jergal seemed to suspect something was wrong and slowed his pace, his expression of concern mounting with each step closer we came to one another.

“RAA-” A warrior came charging from the left flank, leaping into the air with his knives held in a traverse grip, intending to drive the blades into my chest, back or neck.

*Thump*

I casually backhanded him in the gut, winding and sending him flying back towards his companions. Landing prone, he attempted to push himself to his feet but collapsed to the ground again and began hacking up blood. With how hard I had hit him, there was every chance I had ruptured his stomach, liver or one of his kidneys. But the immediate appearance of blood suggested that I had probably broken a rib and punctured a lung. In either case, he would now die without treatment he was no longer entitled to.

Marking all seven as traitors, I ejected them from the alliance and blinked away the crimson notifications.

I began walking towards Jergal again, grim determination mounting in my mind as I reconciled the violence against the man's foul deeds. Jergal had made no attempts at refuting Fadwa’s claims, immediately attempting to resolve the issue through a violent confrontation he believed he could not lose. He couldn’t have made himself seem more guilty short of confessing outright. I had no sympathy for a traitor who would sell his own people into slavery.

Jergal faltered and began to back away, “KILL NOW!” He barked anxiously to his remaining supporters.

After hesitating for a moment, four of his five remaining supporters rushed me more or less at the same time.

Deliberately turning my back on the three lunging from my right, I threw a right-handed jab at the rightmost warrior now in front of me.

*Crunch*

My jab was lower than I intended and caused my fist to impact against his chin and collapse his lower mandible, spilling broken teeth into his throat and all but guaranteeing his death and my fists momentum continued into his trachea. Thrown backwards and onto the ground, the warrior gagged, gurgled and gasped as blood and broken teeth spattered out of his broken mouth.

The warrior on my left awkwardly leapt backwards as I clumsily attempted an uppercut as a follow-up. My right elbow still hit something behind me as the pivoting motion jackknifed my elbow backwards.

Almost immediately afterwards, I felt a cascade of light impacts against my back, each accompanied by a lingering caress before being withdrawn. Assuming they were the knives, I was almost disappointed by the fact that they didn’t seem capable of even inflicting so much as a paper cut.

Raising my left arm to shield my eyes I spun to my right and lashed out with my right arm.

*Crack*

The closest warrior had attempted to leap backwards out of range, but my knuckles caught him in the side of the head and crumpled him to the floor like a ragdoll.

Blinking away the kill notification, I lowered my left arm and began stalking towards the other two warriors who had successfully managed to disengage.

I could see the terror in their eyes, smell their fear.

“Exile!” One howled and threw down his knives.

“E-Ex-” The second began to stammer.

*Thump, Crunch*

I rushed forward and kicked him in the stomach before he even came close to dropping his knives, sending him crashing backwards and into a wall. I needed to establish a precedent, one no one would forget.

“Exile!” Shrieked the warrior from somewhere behind me, his surrender accompanied by two soft impacts against the ground.

Turning my attention to Jargal again, I found him staring wide-eyed at the bloody ruin of the warrior I had kicked into the wall. He didn’t register my presence until it was too late.

Taking a firm grip on his throat with my right hand, I took hold of his right arm just below the elbow and began to pull.

As much as Jergal wanted to cry out, to scream, beg for mercy, or surrender, he couldn’t.

*Thump, Thump Thump Thump, Thump*

Jergal tried slamming the knife in his left hand into my abdomen over and over, accomplishing nothing more than making me feel a little uncomfortable or ticklish.

*Riiiipop*

Jergal’s right arm came free at the shoulder and I threw it to the ground.

Seeing a desperate swing of his knife coming for my right eye, I dropped Jergal to the ground. However, before he had the chance to surrender, I coldly stomped his right thigh.

*Crack*

Feeling Jergal’s femur break underfoot and judging by the sheer volume of blood loss from his shoulder, I could tell he didn’t have long to live, whether he surrendered or not was largely irrelevant now.

“Ex-Exile…” Jergal panted weakly, his face contorted in pain as he pulled a small vial from his clothing and downed the contents. The blood loss from his shoulder lessened considerably, and then stopped.

A healing potion? That sort of thing existed in this world?

Roughly patting Jergal down, I found three more small glass vials and took them as my prize alongside the near completely empty vial, which I carefully restoppered. “I accept your surrender,” I growled menacingly and then turned my attention to the crowd, “They will be lowered out of the village and are never to return! If they attempt to return they will be put to death!” I barked savagely and pointed back towards the ropes we had already set up earlier.

A number of eager volunteers gathered up the surviving exiles and began stripping them of all belongings while dragging them towards the ropes.

“You allow Jergal life?!” Fadwa demanded bitterly once she traversed the crowd.

I shook my head and motioned for her to follow as I ducked into her storehouse. Refusing to speak, I pointed to the open door and waited until the incensed elderly woman lowered a heavy rug over the entrance. “They will not survive the hour,” I promised coldly, much to Fadwa’s surprise.

I had seen it happen far too many times in movies and T.V., and wasn’t going to make that same mistake, not when it was basically guaranteed to result in even more innocent people being killed and caused to suffer.

Mentally reaching out for Mors, he readily invited me back into the mind link with Senn and Qreet. <Can you invite Fadwa as well Mors? She is the elder who runs the storehouse.>

<Of course, Overlord.> Mors agreed happily and a few moments later Fadwa nearly jumped in surprise.

<This is a mind link. A means of speaking with your mind rather than your mouth.> I explained patiently while miming along to show it was me who was talking. <The mind link is one of the ways the Daemons like Mors communicate over long distances.>

<Hello, elder Fadwa.> Mors transmitted a feeling of welcome and assurance.

<Mind talk?> Fadwa experimented, moving her lips along with the words.

I nodded. <Just like that.>

<Why say Jergal will not survive?> Fadwa asked. Feeling somewhat intimidated by the alien connection to her mind, Fadwa didn’t feel confident in being as insistent as she was in person, although I could plainly see the distress on her face.

<Senn. Three traitors are being lowered to the staging area below Stone Well. Make sure every one of them dies. If possible, make an example of them while keeping our part in it a secret.> The order made me feel dirty, but letting the traitors live was far too great a risk. Far better to be ruthless now than mourn innocents later.

<As you command, Overlord!> Senn replied eagerly.

<Overlord?> Qreet effortlessly parted the mind link to give us relative privacy. <The hunters have secured a number of flying soulless that would prove useful to the roles of other Daemons. May I have your permission to have them summoned? Garn’s activities as Scout would benefit from the alternative form of movement in particular.>

<I will inform gric to allow them one summon each.> I conceded, knowing that granting some of the Daemons the ability to fly could prove incredibly useful in the future. <But make sure securing water and reinforcing our position takes priority where necessary.>

<As you command, Overlord.> Qreet agreed obediently and then severed the connection.

“I am not a fool, Fadwa. I know that letting those exiles go exposes the village to needless risk. They had a chance to deny your allegations, but they wanted to subvert justice through their assumed superior strength, and once that failed, exile,” I explained coldly, knowing that she would at the very least inform a few of the other elders of the truth, or something close to it.

Fadwa had overcome her shock and nodded in agreement, “Better dead,” she agreed bluntly. A few moments later though, her expression wavered, “Exiled leave mates, leave children…Bonds broken.”

“What is done for them normally?” I asked, unsure of what point she was trying to make.

“Challenge winner, take mates. Other families take children,” Fadwa explained a little hesitantly.

“Absolutely not,” I refused point-blank. While the concept of a harem might appeal to some, Lash was all I needed and wanted. “Find them new mates, and make sure the children stay with their mothers.” Allowing the children and spouses of traitors to live was another risk, but it was a line I wouldn't cross. As of this moment, I had no way of knowing or proving their complicity in the traitors’ actions. So they would be carefully watched to mitigate the risks.

Leaving the storehouse, I stopped by our borrowed house to stow the potions and then headed for Uday’s temporary residence. The village centre was packed with people again, only now they were boisterously discussing the trial by combat and miraculous refilling of the well currently in progress.

A pair of Stone Well warriors had taken it upon themselves to impose a sense of order around the well, making sure that people took turns filling their small drinking pots of water and moved along in a timely fashion. Far from abusing their authority, I was pleased to see one of the warriors fill a drinking pot for a bow-backed elder who would otherwise struggle to reach the water streaming from the root over the well.

The nomads occupied the majority of the queue to the well. Which made sense given that Stone Well and Flowing Water had steady access to water right up until the catastrophic collapse and were likely well watered. On the other hand, the Sand Walkers and Fire Dancers had almost certainly been travelling hard for who knew how long before reaching Stone Well as they desperately outran the quakes.

Delaying my visit to the chief, I conscripted some warriors and had them hang sheets above the street to shield those waiting in line from the sun. It wasn’t much, but it would help keep people a bit more level headed for longer.

Chief Uday’s temporary residence was smaller than the one we had commandeered as a hospital, but was still quite large. There were six warriors posted outside of the front door and judging by their comparatively strange clothing, I assumed four of them were from the recently arrived nomads. The Stone Well warriors recognised me immediately and opened the heavy carpets hanging over the large entrance so I could enter. The nomad warriors stared warily at me as I passed, but otherwise made no hostile actions.

Chief Uday was sitting atop a small pile of cushions on the far side of the room and was joined by what looked like five Fire Dancers and two Sand Walkers. A large plate with olives was set in the middle of the gathering with four large pots of water and smaller drinking cups set nearby. Engaged in quiet conversation amongst themselves, they did not immediately notice my presence.

“Chieftain Tim!” Uday straightened on his pillows but did not get up, “Join us, sit!” he motioned to a particularly large pile of larger pillows beside him.

Not wanting to be rude or needlessly make a poor impression, I bowed my head in recognition of the invitation and patted down my pants before crossing the room to take a seat on the bed of pillows. Despite being made of silk, the pillows were not particularly comfortable due to limited options for stuffing. Still, they were more comfortable than sitting on the bare floor or rug, so I was grateful for the consideration.

Now seated, and not as light blind, I could clearly make out that the two Sand Walkers were a man and woman, and that the Fire Dancers were all women save for one large pot-bellied Desert Orc with a great bushy grey beard.

“Chieftain Tim, introducing Chief Forgut Fire Dancer,” Chief Uday pointed to the elderly orc with the bushy beard.

“Is now like Far-Gut, yes?” The elderly bearded Orc joked and playfully slapped his belly to the combined tittering and dithering of the surprisingly age-appropriate women by his sides.

Chief Uday waved his hand dismissively and then motioned to the Sand Walker, “Introducing Chief Aisha Sand walker.”

The female Sand Walker, Aisha, bowed her head respectfully and then the gesture was then repeated by her male companion.

“Everyone, eat, drink, talk,” Chief Uday clapped his hands and motioned to the olives and large pots of water.

“Is very manners for Ogre, yes?” Chief Forgut commented loudly as he gratefully accepted a small bowl of olives from one of the women I assumed were his wives. “Mmm, is good, is interesting flavour!” He declared as he chewed an olive.

The word made me flinch and I did my best to keep my reaction to a minimum, although I was quite certain just about everyone had noticed except Forgut himself.

“Chief Uday say Chieftain Tim gifts Classes, food, water, safety for joining clan?” Chief Aisha asked pointedly

“That is true,” I confirmed, “So long as you and your people do not break our laws and swear the oaths of secrecy and loyalty, I will do my utmost to provide for you and your people in return. Some of my people have already been teaching the Stone Well Classes so they can better care for themselves.”

“I have seen,” Chief Aisha confirmed, “Shamans have returned to Stone Well, provide great safety from disaster.”

“Actually, while Hessin is teaching new Shamans as best she can, this Ward protecting Stone Well is special. It is provided and maintained by myself and the Labyrinth and will persist indefinitely so long as enemy tribes are denied entry and the people within live.” I tried to explain the Settlement system in an easy to understand way that would be more accessible than the half-hour lecture I had given Uday.

Despite my intentions, it still took close to a half-hour of explanations to satisfy both nomad Chiefs.

“Why share?” Chief Aisha insisted suspiciously.

“Strength in numbers,” I replied bluntly, “I am strong enough that most people would simply wait for me to leave first, then cause trouble. But if there are more people as strong as I am, then the trouble makers, thieves, Slavers...they will never get their chance.”

My deliberate reference to the Slavers struck a nerve, as I had hoped it would. Even though both the nomad tribes had much larger numbers than Flowing Water, the broken families had still been easy enough to spot. Whether they were lost to the Slavers directly or as a result of losing their Shaman, the nomads were scarred.

“My terms are not unreasonable, and my laws are almost identical to your own in spirit. Should you wish to continue your nomadic lifestyle, I will not stop you, but I will insist that you take what innovations and advantages I can offer you to better keep your people safe. You have seen our beasts and I am sure I don’t need to explain the many advantages they offer to the life of a nomad or living in the village. I want a future for our children, so if you have any misgivings, then speak them out loud so I can set them to rest.” Lash had been on my mind a lot lately, not least of which was because I missed her, but also because of anxiety over becoming a parent with our first child.

“Sons, daughters, grandchildren…” Chief Forgut’s voice ached with grief, “Many lost…” The elderly Orc’s wrinkled hands began to tremble violently, “Never again!” Chief Forgut growled into his beard.

Chief Forgut’s vow was mirrored in the intense and mournful gazes of his wives as they held one another for support.

“Fire Dancers join with you!” Chief Forgut swore, “For children’s future!”

Chief Uday nodded, “For vengeance,” he added grimly.

Everyone’s attention turned to Chief Aisha, impatiently waiting for her answer. Unphased, the young Chief remained deep in thought. “All Classes shared?” Chief Aisha queried critically.

I nodded, “There are specific conditions for unlocking a number of Classes that can make them difficult,” I cautioned, “But with the exception of three, which we don’t have the means to unlock, and the Slaver Classes, which are forbidden, all other Classes will be made available to whoever wants to learn them.”

Chief Aisha carefully considered her options again and then nodded, “Sand Walkers join you,” she agreed, “Grow strong again, return to sands.”

I had figured at least one of the nomad tribes would want to return to their traditional lifestyle at some point, so eventually losing the Sand Walkers static force wasn’t something we couldn’t plan around. In fact, if we could construct robust sand sleds for the Sand Walkers and train a decent amount of their warriors and hunters to become Beast Trainers, they might become a solid contributor for the elusive Sand Striders.

After all, the Sand Walkers would just be returning to their nomadic lifestyle, not leaving the alliance. So they would continue returning to Stone Well for trade and the mothers moon. Or I assumed they would.

I spent another three hours doing my best to explain how the promoted positions and Settlement worked. I made sure to specifically mention how important literacy was for making the most of what the Settlement had to offer, specifically for unlocking Classes without being mentored.

Unsurprisingly, all three Chiefs wanted the promotion to Underlord, but I had to disappoint them for the time being by explaining how Osa was promoting military leaders to better protect the village in the transition period. Depending on how many people each tribe brought into the alliance, the Chiefs would have the opportunity to earn those promotions after choosing and unlocking their own base Class or Classes first. This seemed to calm them somewhat, especially when I pointed out the additional unlocking requirements the custom Classes required in order to activate.

Leaving the Chiefs to their discussion on arranging long term accommodations for each tribe and expected contributions towards the village, I decided to spend the rest of the day exercising.

Reflecting on the trial by combat against Jergal and his collaborators, it occurred to me that my proficiency with most weapons wasn’t as big a problem as my low Agility and poor flexibility. Somewhat fortunately for me, I remembered a number of exercises my wrestling coach had taught me that would probably do the trick if I kept at them long enough.

Deciding to take it a little easy to begin with, I shortened a rope and spent an hour getting into the rhythm of jumping rope again. I was too preoccupied with avoiding tripping over my own feet at the time, but once I finished up I realised I had accumulated a small crowd of young adults, teenagers and kids.

Some were trying to copy what I had been doing but were having problems due to their ropes being too long.

Tying a couple of their ropes together and adding my own, I had two of the young adults begin swinging the rope and jumped in for a few spins before jumping out again. The kids were bright enough to pick up on the game and took it from there. I regretted having commandeered so much rope earlier.

Balancing out my jump-rope exercise with pushups and squats, I went for a run around the village, making sure to retrieve my clothes from where I had left them earlier. Finishing the run back at our borrowed home, I changed clothes and set my sweaty ones out on the terrace to let the sun kill off the worst bacteria.

Exercising spontaneously has always been easy for me, especially weight or strength training. What was hard was sticking with it long term. Being huge had never been a personal goal of mine and being able to maintain a high level of muscle without needing to exercise hadn’t helped my motivation. Dislodging the blubber covering that muscle had been the priority, which meant dieting, which tanked my desire to exercise even further.

Waiting by the ropes to the staging area, I grew restless and decided to get a closer look at the situation down below.

Tying a harness around my waist, I had the warriors on watch take hold of the rope while I climbed down.

Reaching the bottom, I was a little disappointed to only find Qreet and Kestrel in the immediate area.

The staging area itself was dominated by an immense pit of vegetation at the bottom of the mesa. I could see the constricted and desiccated remains of different monsters, but was unable to identify any of them for certain.

“Overlord,” Qreet bowed in deference, “Do you have need of me?”

“Just curious,” I reassured her, “I wanted to see how things had changed for myself.” Despite the fact that Stone Well was now on top of a mesa and a few hills and other mesas in the distance, I actually didn’t see much of a difference. “Has Osa discussed plans for a more accessible route to the village?” I asked curiously.

Qreet nodded, “Several, Overlord. He wanted your advice before making a final decision. I can summon Overseer Osa if you wish,” she offered.

“Let Osa know I am here, but not to rush,” I agreed, “ I’m not going anywhere any time soon.”

Kestrel lowered her spyglass and waved in greeting as she jogged over, “Another group of hunters is on their way with another drop-off,” she warned Qreet. “Besides those giant bats and spike-covered lizards, not much has changed,” Kestrel observed with a hint of concern.

“That’s a bad thing?” I asked.

Kestrel shrugged, “The bats are big, but not big enough to be a threat unless they swarm. The spiked lizards are tough, but the hunters don’t seem to have problems taking them out either, and some Beast Trainers have already caught a couple for corpse hauling duty and face tanking the Sand Stalkers.”

“So what’s bugging you then?” I insisted.

Kestrel let out a long sigh and looked out over the horizon, “There still isn’t any sign of something that could have caused that collapse, which means it could happen again, or worse.”

While I doubted the collapse could happen again, Kestrel had a point in that whatever caused it could still cause damage to Stone Well. “The lizards might be responsible,” I suggested, “I have seen them tunnelling on the third floor, and with this drought, there is no vegetation holding the soil together. Given enough time, the lizards may have dangerously hollowed the underground out until something triggered a mass collapse.”

Kestrel shrugged but didn’t seem convinced.

With the return of the hunters Kestrel had spotted earlier, I got my first look at one of the giant bats. Unsure of what I had really expected, the giant bats looked almost identical to flying foxes, a breed of fruit bat. Only, they had a more feral, mangy appearance and a mouth full of sharp teeth. As a monster, I didn’t think the giant bats were all that dangerous. Without particularly sharp claws on its feet or wing gripping fingers, the damage it could inflict would be minimal.

With the sun beginning to set, the teams of hunters remained in the staging area after delivering their kills. I tied harnesses for anyone who wanted to return to the village and blew the horn so they would be pulled back up, but most hunters remained below. Most hunters seemed content to socialise with the other hunters in the meantime.

Noticing a change in how Qreet handled the corpses compared to Mors, I decided to take a look at her status to see if it was a result of her personalised Leadership Class Daemon Fenlord. True enough, it seemed to be the case.

[(Class Ability: Preeminent Domain): Siphon mana from enemy Spells and Abilities within range. Must be within the boundaries of an Allied Settlement for the Ability to activate. {Willpower} increases the intensity of Effect.]

[(Class Ability: Environmental Superiority {Swamp}): Within {Swamp} environments, MP expenditures are made more efficient and stats are increased. Passive MP regeneration is increased while within {Swamp} environments.]

[(Class Ability: Vegetative Awareness): Gain limited perception through plantlife in an extreme radius. Expending MP temporarily increases the range of effect.]

[(Class Ability: Rampant Plant-Growth): Expend MP to significantly accelerate the growth of plants in an extreme radius. {Willpower} allows greater control over the effect.]

[(Class Ability: Summon Swarm): Expend MP to create a swarm of invertebrates under your control. Size, stats and complexity of the organism dictate cost. {Willpower} allows greater control over the effect and reduces MP cost.]

[(Class Ability: Cursed Fetishes): Expend MP to impose a Curse on the immediate area or enemies who interact with or come within range of the {Focus Item}. {Willpower} makes the Curse more difficult to dispel. Maximum number of {Cursed Fetishes} is determined by {Willpower} (0:3)]

[(Class Ability: Booned Fetishes): Expend MP to bestow a Boon on the immediate area or allies who interact with or come within range of the {Focus Item}. {Willpower} makes the Boon more difficult to dispel. Maximum number of {Booned Fetishes} is determined by {Willpower} (0:3)]

Compared to Mors, Qreet was definitely working on a noticeably larger scale, although she seemed to struggle somewhat with her control. This wasn’t an issue for reclaiming water and nutrients from the monster corpses, but it did raise the question of whether Mors might be a better candidate for any undertakings requiring more precision.

My overall impression of the Daemon Fenlord was more in line with a swamp witch or hag than a Druid at this point. Bestowing curses and summoning swarms of insects was pretty different, but I had to admit that the Class overall seemed quite versatile. I sure as hell didn’t want to be on the receiving end of any of those Abilities.

“Overlord!” Osa was with one of the last groups of hunters to return, “Our hunt proved mosst bountiful!” He declared happily.

“I noticed,” I replied with a smile and gave him an approving pat on the shoulder. “Have you decided on a more permanent means of access to the village?” I asked curiously.

“Ah, well…” Osa rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Do you have some options you have narrowed it down to at least?” I pressed.

Osa nodded uncertainly, his lack of confidence lowering my expectations further. Crouching down, Osa began sketching out a rough cross-section and top-down view of the mesa side by side. “Wallss down below come later,” he hissed and sketched out a skirting wall below the mesa. “Ramp is too big, ladders too tall…” Osa continued listing off his ideas and sketching them out in the dirt. His best suggestion was a ramp that circled the mesa in a gradual decline from top to bottom like a corkscrew. But even that solution would be very time consuming to implement and to use. Osa even suggested the idea of rebuilding the village below, but surrendering the high ground so easily seemed like a waste. Especially since the Totem’s protective radius was centred from the well up on the mesa, leaving little room below for a sturdy wall and a replacement village.

Impressed that Osa had at least given the issue a great deal of thought, I offered a more practical solution. Elevators.

*****

Tired from the long walk, Jacob still didn’t understand why the tax and registry officials had been so anal about him selecting a second name. After all the fuss, he had allowed his wife Jena to choose for them, so now Jacob, Jena and their four-year-old son Sam now had the second name Meadows. While not a particularly Masculine name, Jacob found he rather liked its association with his being a beekeeper.

Ten full wagons were allocated for their bees and their hives, demonstrating the importance the village held for Jacob’s profession. After all, without bees there would be no flowers, which would mean no crops to balance out the villagers’ diet, or stave off starvation in lean years. There also wouldn’t be any honey or wax for candles, but those were products typically reserved for the nobility.

When his village had been ordered to evacuate, Jacob and his neighbours had done so with the reluctant enthusiasm of those who knew full well what the alternatives would mean. With the rumours of war growing ever more frequent, nameless villages like theirs would inevitably be razed by one side or the other attempting to deny resources or some perceived advantage or another. So evacuating early was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing, in that they would keep their lives, a curse in that almost everything would be left behind and put to the torch to deny the enemy.

Jacob had experienced four evacuations in his lifetime, so he had recognised the differences early on. The soldiers overseeing the evacuation had all been children of farmers or were from small villages like theirs and knew exactly what the villagers did and did not need. Despite this familiarity with what was necessary, the soldiers and their commanding officers had demonstrated extreme leniency in allowing each family a certain portion of allocated space for mementos, keepsakes and other family heirlooms that otherwise had no other practical value.

The most profound difference was how each man, woman and child, regardless of how old or how young they were, were taken aside and made to swear oaths of loyalty and secrecy. It had not made much sense until the officers began disappearing people and wagons en masse. Although initially panicked and disoriented, by the sudden change in location, Jacob was relieved that whatever had happened, his son and wife were still by his side.

Officers had called for silence and that was when Governor Felix, a dashing figure of a man in well-kept armour and a reassuring smile had explained where they were and exactly what would be expected of them. Jacob and his neighbours would be the first colonists of his colony located deeper in the swamp.

As the governor had explained it to them, efforts were already being made to turn the swamplands into rich farmland and a protective barrier was already in place to drive away wild monsters. Every man and woman of enlistment age would be expected to participate in militia exercises during the week, but would otherwise be allowed to do as they please within the confines of the law. Schooling would be provided for all children at no cost to parents, with the bill to be paid by the governor himself. Literacy classes for adults would be offered once a week as well at no cost.

Each villager had then been provided with a small vial of silvery liquid and then been told to drink it. After doing so, they were each then handed a strange pebble and told to eat it. When they hesitated, the governor reassured them that this was the standard procedure for all colonists to help them acclimate to the nascent dangers of the labyrinth. Put at ease, Jacob had volunteered to go first and was surprised when strange coloured pages of writing appeared in front of his eyes.

A nearby officer helped coach Jacob through what he was seeing and what it meant. Days later, Jacob still couldn’t quite believe it. Ascended, made superior to regular men. As much as he wanted to doubt it, Jacob had felt the difference on the long journey.

“Do you think they will have the right flowers?” Jena asked worriedly for the umpteenth time since they left Port Gidian.

“Don’t know love, we’ll have to wait’n see,” Jacob replied almost mechanically, although it was a concern he shared as well. The wildflowers they had convinced the soldiers to bring with them for the bees were far too few to sustain them over a full season, even assuming that the flowers transplanted into the soil without issues.

“Heard the soldiers say they have a witch or some such that can grow anythin,” Jacob’s elderly neighbour Dale commented from the back of the wagon ahead of them. “Makes whole orchards o’ trees spring up overnight!” He barked with a near manic zeal.

Jacob didn’t blame old Dale for his desperate belief in the rumours, after all, his family had been hit the hardest. Dale, his sons and their wives had cared for the village’s apple orchards for generations. Each time old Dale evacuated the village, he would just about entirely lose his livelihood. Trees took years to grow and only cuttings could be taken with them. The soldiers had been incredibly accommodating in allowing Dale’s family as much space as they needed for the cuttings, but Jacob could tell it was more out of sympathy than anything else. They even converted two wagons into seedbeds for the cuttings.

Jacob felt bad for old Dale and his family. Not just because of what they had lost, but because of how interconnected their livelihoods were. Dale needed Jacob's bees to pollinate his apple trees to bring them to fruit, and Jacob’s bees needed Dale’s apple flowers to help them make enough honey to last the winter.

Although trees had seemed a little sparse in the swamplands on either side of the road, Jacob wasn’t nearly as worried for the foresters as he was Dale’s family. The one upside of the village being evacuated to form a new colony together, was that at least they could come together as a community and make sure Dale’s family had work and food to put on the table until their trees had a chance to grow again.

The convoy arrived at the outskirts of the colony in the late afternoon, and Jacob could hardly believe his eyes.

After days of monotonous travel through the swamp interspersed with the soldiers putting down wild monsters, the rolling grasslands ahead of them seemed like a dream. Or it would have been if Jacob hadn’t rather quickly noticed the absence of flowers.

Leaving the reins with Jena, Jacob hopped down from the wagon and was about to go looking on foot when Sergeant waved him down.

“Is something the matter?” The Sergeant asked helpfully.

“They said there would be flowers,” Jacob explained, trying his best to remain calm and not think about the mass starvation of his bees.

The Sergeant stared incomprehensibly back at him for a moment before seeming to realise something, “Oh, you’re the Meadows family, right? The beekeepers?”

Jacob nodded.

“Not to worry sir, a special parcel of land has been set aside for your family and the...Rubygrove? Family?” The Sergeant paused to think for a moment and shook his head, “The apple farmers,” he amended apologetically. “I can lead you there now if you like? Just make sure to stay within the marked areas at all times and stay clear of the briar walls. The barrier keeps the wild monsters out, but it can’t protect you if you stray outside.”

“Lead away m’boy!” Dale cheered excitedly from his wagon, having apparently overheard the conversation.

Jacob agreed as well and then Sergeant arranged for a detail of soldiers to accompany them off the road and away from the convoy. They weren’t the only ones either, groups of soldiers were forming up next to other families' wagons and leading them off in different directions, although most continued on the road for the time being.

After travelling for around ten minutes, the sergeant called them to a halt and pointed to the distant briar walls separating the grassy fields from the swamp beyond. He repeated his earlier warning with the addition that militia drills would involve patrolling the inner periphery of the settlement and occasionally require fighting monsters under the supervision of soldiers.

The area had been staked out with rough approximations matching the dimensions occupied by Jacob’s old house and the field they had stored their hives in. Similarly, the open space beside theirs was marked out for Dale’s family home and their orchards.

The Sergeant made it clear that the soldiers were there to help and that they only needed instructions on how to do so.

Dale immediately set most of the soldiers to work digging holes at fixed intervals for his orchards, while his sons and their wives began pitching the tents that would serve as their homes for the immediate future.

The Sergeant reassured them that wooden sleepers would be provided for temporary flooring within the next couple of days after the mill was up and running, and carpenters would be arriving later in the week to assist with building permanent residences. He stressed that the homes the carpenters would help build did not need to be as conservative as those Jacob and his neighbours had left behind. The Sergeant insisted that the governor wanted the first wave of colonists to build larger homes that could be both fortified and temporarily house other families. The first was a precaution erring on the side of safety, while the second was stressed as being neighbourly for those who would follow.

Neither Jacob nor his wife Jena saw a problem with this since the governor was covering the expense and providing the majority of the labour. After all, for a little more work they would have a better-made home than the one they had left behind.

While directing the soldiers how best to move the canvas and linen-covered hives, Jacob’s heart nearly broke when he realised half the hives were silent. The best spin he could put on the situation now was that the remaining hives would have that much more food to go between them.

“Hrm...Weak…” A feminine voice growled from somewhere behind Jacob.

*Crunch, Crunch, Crunch*

To Jacob’s horror, a dark-robed and cowled woman with long claw-like fingers was picking at the dead bees stuck to the outside of a hive and eating them.

“What are you doing?!” Jacob cried out in horror. Did this person have a death wish? Very few people would get more than a welt if stung by a bee, but eating them was pathologically insane.

“Sir!” The Sergeant called out in warning and ran hard to place himself between jacob and the crazy bee eating woman, “Please just step back, everything will be fine, just give me a chance to explain-”

“Needs?...Flowers? Hrm....” The woman picked up another dead bee between her sharp nails and put it in her mouth.

*Crunch*

“Efficient...Could be better…” The robed woman tapped the hive thoughtfully and then began making her way towards one of the wagons containing the wildflowers.

*Crunch, Munch, Crunch*

Jacob turned his attention to the Sergeant and tried to find the words to express his outrage and concern that such a crazy woman was being given free rein without the soldiers taking so much as the least amount of effort to stop her.

“Sir, everything will be fine,” The Sergeant assured him, “Our esteemed guest has a special Class and insights that will see you and your neighbours back on your feet, you have my personal guarantee! You just need to remain calm.”

“What do you mean stay ca-” Jacob’s voice caught in his throat as vibrant wildflowers began gracefully erupting out of the ground from around the robed woman, and bees the size of his knuckle began flooding out from beneath the hood of her robe.

It seemed like Dale was right. The army had a witch after all...