MBGSP Chpt 6 thru 10

Here's the rest of the initial drop advance chapters. I hope you enjoy reading them, but be sure to check them out on Royal Road as well since I often post notes offering extra insight into my planning, characters, and world-building.

Chapter 6 - Sticky Stone Pokies

I stopped, looking around the clearing. Most of the goblins were busy with small projects, hammering rocks to make tools or straightening poles or winding cord.

The hunting party.

I looked off in the direction they’d charged hours before. I’d had 34 members in the morning when we’d all piled out of the mound. What had I been thinking, sending them off to hunt wildlife with knives. And only six of them. My desire to multitask for efficiency had just cost the lives of four of my tribesmen, and the fates of the remaining two were unknown.

If I was going to be their king, I couldn’t be the kind of king who just took advantage of his people. This was going to need a rescue party, and I was going to be on it. And we weren’t going in with simple stone stabbies. I took the poles, the knives, and the cords that the idle goblins had been working at and made my first advanced weapon by splitting the pole and wedging the knife in, before binding the whole thing with sappy bark.

<Goblin Technology unlocked: Sticky stone pokies>

Within a few minutes, we had 15 of the simple spears, so I split the remaining tribe in half and took 14 members while leaving the rest to gather more raw materials. I would carry the final spear. But, looking down, I wasn’t sure of my ability to fight on these legs. They were a far cry from my bladed athletic prosthetics of my former life. They still needed a lot of improvement before I could do anything remotely athletic in this one. I pulled 2 more goblins to act as the litter carriers, and I would be moral support and shout orders from the back. That was kingly, too, right?

This time I brought extra cord and tied it around the litter. I had wanted to improve this, today. But now it was an emergency and there was no time.

“Onward!” I ordered, pointing my spear in the direction the hunting party had left. It wasn’t difficult to follow their progress. Hell, the National Park Service could have used a batch of these guys in every forest in North America to keep the trails clear. We charged out, following the hunting party’s trail (and expanding it with our passing). What I hadn’t realized was that while goblins are great at climbing up cliffs, they don’t even bother to climb down. Our charge carried us directly over the cliff face in a perfect parabolic arc. And this time, I was screaming right along with the goblins.

<Good thing you’re immune to fall damage.>

Shut up, HAL!

We crashed down into a valley, landing head-first to break our falls. Once we were upright again, we retrieved the litter from the tree where it had stuck. Then we pulled the spears out of the ground (OSHA would have had a fit) and we were back on course. We turned right and twisted around for a bit before settling on a path vaguely in the direction of the moon. This part of the woods was so crisscrossed with goblin trails that I never would have found the right one. I just had to trust that my goblin friends knew where they were going.

We passed by a small, startled pack of some sort of creatures that looked like a cross between a boar and a skunk, and then shocked a flock of large birds to flee. I noted where some of the feathers fell for later, but we were past in a flash.

This time, when we reached our destination, I managed to hold on to the litter. We stumbled over a creek and into a clearing where I spotted our two surviving goblins up a tree, squawking what I had to assume were the goblin equivalent of profanities down at… well, I’d never seen a creature like that. It had claws and facial markings that reminded me of a three-toed sloth in that they were long and hooked, but that’s where the similarities ended. It had a squat face with sharp teeth in a protruding snout, and what looked like an armored hide covered in a stoney material that covered from the top of its head down to its wide, stubby tail. It snarled up at the stranded hunters and scrabbled half-way up the tree before falling down and rolling back to its feet.

<Careful.>

“System? What do you know about this thing?”

<You might want to let this one go. It’s level 10.>

Never!

It dwarfed us, but in reality it was probably the size of a great dane, or maybe a small black bear. Of our fallen brothers, there was no sign except for some blood and tufts of blue fur on the foliage. Besides, we were armed.

I waved my spear forward. “Attack!” I shouted. “Spears forward, stay together!”

I had pictured the goblins marching in rank, stone spearheads leveled as they closed in on their foes. I don’t know why I thought that, given the evidence. As one, our company lurched forward, spears waving overhead as they screamed.

The stone-hide sloth thing turned at our war cry, locked eyes with me, and snarled before charging in. Up on my litter, it must have thought I was the biggest threat (or the most delicious meal). Suddenly this seamed like less of a rescue party and more of a suicide mission.

 It was faster than its size and bulk (and slothy features) would have suggested, and before I knew what was happening, the first wave of spears were airborne, knocked aside by those long forearms. The second wave at least got their spears down, and one even had the brilliant idea to throw his. But stone met stone, and the spears bounced off as the diminutive goblins didn’t have the strength to penetrate the thick hide. Still, the stone-sloth came on. Shoot. Maybe the system had been right!

“Plant the butts of your spears!” I said.

The last row of goblins stuck their spears in the ground, squawking as the stone-sloth leapt at them. My litter-bearers panicked and dropped the litter in favor of hiding behind their own stone knives, and I toppled to the ground.

<Goblin Technology unlocked: Sticky stone pricklanx>

I rolled over and pushed myself upright. The sloth had thrown itself over the last rank, not understanding or not caring about the spears. Which, to be fair, did not seem up to the task of penetrating even the underbelly. But its weight had bowed the spears in almost double. Even as it struggled to reach the last rank of goblins with its claws, its hind toes left the brush. Almost as one, the spears straightened, snapping back to their original position.

<Goblin Technology unlocked: Sticky flex-a-pult>

Unfortunately, physics dictates that an object in motion retains its trajectory. The stone-sloth’s rebound had sent it straight over the heads of my company and it was headed straight for me at an alarming speed. Its arms windmilled through the air and it opened its mouth in a surprised howl.

I’m sure I screamed myself. I fumbled for the spear and hoisted it upright, turning my face away and clenching up just as the stone-sloth fell. By God’s grace or sheer luck, the spear was at just the right angle to wedge itself in the stone-sloth’s open mouth and the creature’s bulk did the rest of the heavy lifting. Blood splattered across my face, and then the entire weight of the creature fell on me.

<Tribe size reduced to 29>

 Had I not been a goblin king, that impact would have killed me. But while passing fatal damage might keep me alive (at the cost of another member of the tribe), my Head of the Snake skill did not transfer pain. I wheezed as the bulk of the thing crushed me, flattening my head against the forest floor in a most unpleasant way. Every bone in my body felt pulverized, and I heard multiple snaps. Which, I realized thankfully, were just my prosthetics. Small mercies. Well, not for the poor unfortunate who took my fatal hit. With the tribe down to 29 members, thus far I’d been a net negative on their well-being.

My rescue squad wasted no time rolling the stone-sloth off of me and helping me back to a sitting position. I couldn’t stand without prosthetics, but I was content to watch as the goblins celebrated, hooting and hollering at the sloth. They kicked and punched at it, cheering, and then hoisted me up. Even by sheer accident, I’d dealt the killing blow.

“Hell yeah! Looks like meat’s back on the menu, boys!” I raised my arms up to cheer with the rest of the rescue squad but winced. I was still a bit tender from my near-death squashing. “Let’s take this thing back to the village.”

A rustling in the tree the stone-sloth had been trying to climb took my attention, and I saw the face of a badger poke down from the foliage. I stared at it, and it stared at me. Did badgers typically climb trees? It seemed odd to me.

“How did you get up there?” I asked.

It stared at me a moment in shock. “Holy Rava! A talking goblin!” he replied, clearly startled.

“Holy hells, a talking badger!”

The badger disappeared back into the tree, and then a pair of squat, wide legs in leather trousers dangled down. Apparently, the thing was only badger from the waist up. Below that it was… I hesitated to say human, because the thing was only half-again as tall as I was, and several times wider. But it dropped down holding a large, leather satchel, which it slung around its shoulder.

Some of the other goblins approached, to which the badger-man flinched away, but I gestured them back. “Be good. I don’t want you biting our new friend. He’s not food.”

The badger really surprised me then by pulling out a pair of small brass spectacles and peering through them at me. So, someone in this world had metal-working and crystal grinding. That was important to know.

“Oh dear. You really are a goblin! And no mask at all.” he said. He reached in his satchel again and withdrew a small, bound journal, licking his finger and thumbing through the pages. “You would not happen to be a goblin king, would you?”

“Who wants to know? I asked.

The badger shut the book and bowed deeply at the waist. “I’m terribly sorry! How rude of me! I’m called Roofus, level 20 scholar, free-trader, and fey-touched. May I have your name?  Do you have a name?” he raised his snout, suddenly excited. “I could give you one for free, if you’d like.”

I opened my mouth to say Chris. But was I still Chris? Chris had died on that rocket, reaching toward an unattainable goal—an opportunity only made possible by the untimely appearance of a billionaire’s genitals. Nah. Chris was dead, and this time we really were going to the moon. And we’d do it without NuEarth, and with goblins. I needed a name befitting a pioneer.

“Apollo,” I said. Classic. Smooth. “Of tribe… um… Apollo…”

Not so smooth.

“And yes, I am a goblin king. Though I haven’t been one very long.” I thought for a minute. I hadn’t heard another human’s—well, you know—voice in almost two days. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. “Would you like to come to the village for dinner? I promise you won’t be harmed.”

Rufus pushed his spectacles up his snout. “I daresay I’d not be much a scholar should I refuse! Besides, the stoney devil tried to eat me! It only seems fair I should return the favor.”

I grinned.

Chapter 7 - Rufus

It took a few minutes for the rescue squad to get poles and cordage sorted out. Eventually, they realized they’d need 2 poles and 8 goblins to lift the stone-sloth. But the heavy creature significantly slowed our progress back to the village—slowed for goblins, anyway. It was still a breakneck pace by any measure. Curiously, we didn’t reuse the trail we’d made coming down. The pathfinders just cut a whole new trail wherever they please. Rufus traversed along with us, sometimes on two legs, sometimes loping on all four. I could tell he wasn’t used to the pace, but slowing down seemed to be the one instruction my tribe couldn’t understand. Goblins only had two states. Asleep, and gotta-go-fast.

We made it back to the bluff by late afternoon, just before the sun slipped behind the huge moon. I’m not sure how the goblins managed to get the stone-sloth up the crag—despite having actively watched them do it. Rufus managed as well, so I suppose badgers could climb after all. Once he’d climbed fifteen or so meters, though, he was completely winded.

He took in the hilltop copse and once again donned his spectacles. “Fascinating. I must say, there are few who are privy to the inner workings of a goblin crag. At least, few enough who don’t end up split between those two piles, I imagine.”

I followed his gaze to the bone and scat mounds, and then beyond to a village quite different from the one I’d left that morning. The goblins who had remained had transformed the clearing, processed a great deal of the raw materials on their own, and had scattered the results with little regard for organization or structure. The lean-to shelters which dotted the bluff were facing every which-way without regard for direction or spacing. One of them had even been woven through that of a neighbor.

Most of the goblins had also started using needle and thread to repair their own clothing. a few had gone out hunting and brought back small game, as well. And, despite my orders, I spotted one of the plump little bomb-fruits sitting next to one of the shacks.

“It’s not much, but it’s home.” I looked Rufus up and down. “I have to say, for such a dangerous situation, as you’d describe it, you seem quite at ease.”

Rufus looked down at me. “I know a learned voice when I hear one, and a learned companion does not kill without cause. Besides that, you have already saved my life once. I’m not sure how I can serve to repay you. But I am well traveled and have tales of many places.” he pulled out his journal again. “And this is your tribe, yes? I had thought goblin kings were myths, yet here you stand. And all the myths agree that the king has the absolute loyalty of his tribe. Where all myths agree, there is truth, wouldn’t you say?”

“Perhaps,” I said. “You’ve been lots of places in this world?”

A glimmer in Rufus’ eye struck me then, and I realized my mistake. I’d as much as admitted I wasn’t from around here.

“Aye. In this world, yes. I’ve seen the Crystal Halls of the Deep Dwarves, the Other-wood where the Fae play cruel jests, and the cities of men where ships sail to the horizon and beyond.

“What’s beyond?” I asked.

“We are. I’ve come to the newest frontier to uncover its myriad mysteries.”

I eyed the badger-man’s satchel. “Well, Rufus, if you’ve got something in there that can start a fire, we can talk over a haunch of your would-be devourer.”

Rufus did indeed have something. Two small somethings, in fact. Two small bottles that when their contents mated, a small flame appeared. Interesting. Not least of all the vials—glass, again. That meant furnaces and glassblowing. As for the fire itself, that wasn’t anything super mystical. There were a number of two-part chemical reactions that would cause instantaneous combustion on Earth. But, considering the makeup of the bomb fruits and the fact that I’d been reincarnated into a goblin body, oh, and that one of the tenets of technology here was literally impracticality, I had to assume the local periodic table differed somewhat as well. But there were at least people who knew it.

Rufus coaxed the flame to a decent burn that would eventually reduce down to a bed of smoldering coals. In the meantime, he glanced at the dubious pond, and pulled a round bottle out of his satchel. Glassblowing. He uncorked it, and the sweet-sour smell of beer wafted out. Distillation, fermentation science. He took a long pull and seemed to recover much of his stamina. He offered the bottle, but I’d never been much for warm beer, so I thanked him, but politely refused. Besides, either one of two things would occur: either this body would be the lightweightest lightweight that ever got smashed off one drink, or the anti-toxin ability of the goblin race would negate the alcohol entirely.

While we waited, two of my goblins presented me with a stitched poncho, what was left of the hide from the clifford. I pulled it on to much cheering, and directed the other goblins to mount the de-skinned rock-sloth carcass on a spit and frame it over the fire where it could be turned. Since the goblins would be too short to turn it normally, what with the size of the fire and the size of the sloth, I set up a sort of cross-bar, so that a goblin could jump, grab hold, and his weight would draw that section vertical, to which he would then slide off and the next goblin would jump and grab the next bar parallel to the ground.

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sticky cooky-spit-spinner>

Rufus watched me with curiosity, taking notes in his journal, as well as some rough sketches. He seemed comfortable enough on the ground, but I sent a pair of my goblins to gather leaves and moss to begin lining the floors of the shelters.

When I retook my seat next to him to watch the rock-sloth cook, I was the first to break the silence with an admission.

“I know little of this world,” I said. “I was born only days ago, and though I was born with the knowledge of many things, none of it pertains to the land in which I live. If you feel you want to trade for saving your life, then trade me honest answers.”

“A dishonest answer is no answer at all, but a lie,” said Rufus. “I feel I play a dangerous game, treating with a goblin king. My curiosity gets the best of me, but the myths all agree on something else about you.”

“What’s that?”

“That your appearance heralds a time of strife and danger. Goblins present little danger in the grand scheme of the world because they all pull whichever direction strikes their fancy. A goblin king has their loyalty and can point them all at a common goal. He is a unifying force with a powerful tool that, left unchecked, has the potential to be a blight upon the land if he sets his eyes on the world at large.”

“I assure you; my designs are entirely self-centered and I have no desire to be anyone’s blight.”

Rufus slapped his thighs. “Ah, well, since that’s settled, what of our world do you wish to know?”

Chapter 8 - Of Our World

“You really don’t want anything in trade for this information?” I asked. “They say knowledge is power.”

“Ah,” said Rufus. “But a question is an answer. You cannot take without first giving. I have a skill that tells me if your question is genuine or meant to mislead.”

That was some Philosophy 101 stuff right there, but he was right. Every question I asked revealed my ignorance of something. And when I started asking of things of which I should have no knowledge, which I intended to, well that would reveal something else entirely. If he was telling the truth about that skill, it told me two things: other people had access to this world’s skill system, and I should definitely not lie to Rufus in case he had other skills to separate truth from falsehoods. I decided to start small.

“What’s the name of this world?

“Rava,” said Rufus. He nibbled at the sloth haunch and withdrew a small brick from his satchel. He rooted around for a moment, but I handed him a stone knife and he used it to scrape what I presumed was salt onto the meat. “That’s what the dwarves—my people call it.”

“You’re a dwarf?” I asked.

“Wilds-marked. Fae-touched, if you prefer. The sign of the wanderer. But yes, my countenance is that of a beast—though I am not one, unless you get a few more of these in me,” he lofted his bottle. “We come and go as we‘re driven by whim, one foot in the wilds and one in civilization. We’re seen as lucky, by some, oddities to others.”

“You mentioned dwarves before. You also mentioned humans.”

Rufus nodded. “They call the world Enclova, which translates to Skyclad. You see, they only view the world as the surface. The dwarven word, Rava, acknowledges the world below, as well as above. But you should hear what the orcs call it.”

“What do the orcs call it?”

“Kelembog. It means ‘to be trampled beneath our feet.’” he nudged me with an elbow. “Tells you all you need to know about orcs, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does.” I had little desire to meet one. I watched as the fire popped and fizzled, considering how to phrase the important questions. And then just decided to go for broke.

“Are there computers in Enclova?”

Rufus tilted his head down. “Computers? Those who practice arithmetic and figures?”

I waved my hand in a circle. “Not people, things. You might call them thinking machines, or logic engines.”

“If there are, they are surely the demesne of wizards, who are not to be trifled with.”

I nodded. I had less desire to meet a real wizard than I did to meet an orc. “What about internal combustion engines?”

Rufus’ furry brows climbed. “My word, what a horrific thought!”

“No, no,” I said. “It’s a way to turn heat and pressure into motion using fuel that burns rapidly. It can be used to turn a wheel, or move a plow, or even push a ship without masts or sails.”

“In all my travels, I’ve not heard of such a thing,” said Rufus. He tapped his lips with a claw. “Though I once saw an eastern contraption that used the steam from boiled water to spin a puppet.”

“So, steam power?”

“I suppose that would be one term for it, yes. I have seen artifices of wound spring, as well.”

“Clockwork?”

“Clocks were the least of it.”

This was not entirely unexpected. All indications pointed to this being a pre-industrial land.  “How about flying machines?”

“How hard can you throw?” laughed Rufus. “Apollo, if the Gods want a person to fly, they mark him with wings.

“What shape is the world?” I asked next.

Rufus pointed to the prodigious moon. “The same shape as Raphina. As round as a pot-belly.”

Raphina. My final destination. Fine, I knew about a few technologies already, like glass grinding and ship-building. There were a few others that might become important. “Firearms, grenades, cannons, and explosive powder?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of such things, except for a trip across the sea where I watched a powder that burned swiftly and in strange colors.” Rufus made a show of thumbing through his journal. “It seems as though I should be the one asking you questions. I am not living up to my end of the bargain, I fear you will feel.”

“No,” I said. “It’s important to determine what means and methods are available, as well as what aren’t. The land is called Rava, but where are we now?”

Rufus flipped through his journal to a rough sketch of an island. Though, since I couldn’t tell the scale, I couldn’t say whether it was the size of Hawaii or Australia. “Lanclova,” said Rufus. “Shadow-clad. The untamed land under Raphina’s watchful eye. Many nations have laid claim because there are fortunes to be made here. Natural treasures, remarkable plants, new knowledge, strange natives, and fantastic creatures abound. Its enticing mysteries are eclipsed only by its myriad dangers. Few are equipped to penetrate its depths.

Definitely Australia, then. Or, at least, this world’s version of it. “But you can?”

“Badger,” he said, as though that should be explanation enough. “Allow me a question, as well. How do you know of sciences that have not yet come to pass?” asked Rufus.

“Like I said,” somewhat dishonestly, “I was born with the knowledge of many things. Much of what I’ve just mentioned I will eventually build. But, to do that, I’ll need time and tools.”

Rufus laughed and slapped me on the back. “You will build a machine that flies through the air? I do not mean to sound rude, o’ king. I am sure you believe it. But you are sounding quite like a wizard yourself, with these claims. And even goblin kings cannot work magics.”

“Your doubt is fair,” I admitted, looking at the village. A small sleeping mound had already formed from the goblins who took their sloth rare. The rest were waiting for dinner and working, since my technology skill had passed them the benefits of cooked meat. We were slicing it off a bit at a time as the exterior cooked, like shawarma. There was no way my tribe would have the patience to wait for the whole thing to roast through.

I whistled for two of my goblins and pointed to the carcass. “Bring me the claws.”

They moved to obey, and went to work sawing and pulling until they’d worked the large, hooked claws out. They brought them to me. I held them up to Rufus. “What do you see when you look at these?”

Rufus took one and examined it. He applied twist and flexed it to check its strength and handed it back. “Sturdy. Flexible. Light. Perhaps it would make a good knife.”

“Let’s make a wager, Rufus. You’re a trader, yes? Return in a week or two with some essentials to trade. If you’re not convinced, I can do what I said at that time then I will answer any question you have about high technology and where my knowledge comes from and give you anything within my meager power to give.”

“And if I should lose this wager?”

“A brick of that salt would go a long way, and perhaps some jeweler’s tools.”

Rufus scraped his claws across his furry chin. “Jeweler’s tools. You’re not wanting to set gemstones, I am thinking. Very well. I’ll make a trip to Habberport, five days northwest of here at the coast—that is the port of a human king’s expedition. In 10 days’ time, I’ll return and see the truth of your words. Or not.” He raised one eyebrow. “You know, I could always lie and say I’m not impressed, even if I am. This is not a good bargain for you.”

“I don’t think you’re the type to do such a thing,” I said. “But even if you are, perhaps in 10 day’s time, the reappearance of a friendly face would be worth it on its own.”

“It’s lonely at the top,” said Rufus. He gestured around. “Metaphorically and vertically.”

He pushed himself off his haunches and dusted off. “Well, if I’m to return in 10 days, I should walk through the night. I suppose I’ll take my leave.”

“You don’t want to stay and rest?” I asked.

Rufus offered a sheepish grin. “Perhaps I’m not ready to trust the rest of your tribe. Not yet. But badgers are nocturnal, didn’t you know?”

“I did not,” I admitted.

“Aha! perhaps there are some things I know that you do not, after all!” He looked up at the sky through his spectacles. “You’d do well to learn of the day and the night in Lanclova. Each holds its own danger.”

I called for my litter-bearers, since I hadn’t had time to repair my legs. The north-facing slope was shallower, but still too steep to descend unassisted. I called over for some cordage and was only slightly surprised when the two goblins on either end of the line careened over the side, snagging a tree behind them. If goblins could blush, I probably would have had the reddest face watching Rufus record what he saw in that leather-bound journal. The two goblins reached the end of the line, and rather than letting go, they swung inward and collided with each other.

<Technically, it counts.>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Gobby counterweight>

Oh my stars. How was that a technology? But as soon as I thought about it, I realized the applications were nearly endless. Goblins were natural climbers, and what was weight at the top of a bluff if not a bucket of potential energy waiting to be utilized? They were certainly willing enough to hurl themselves off of it at the slightest excuse.

But that would have to wait for another day. Rufus took the rope in his hand and eased himself down the slope. The goblins at the bottom switched to one of the lines, and since Rufus outweighed both of them, he was able to slide down while the Goblins rode the line back up, grinning and hooting. The badger-dwarf waved when he reached the bottom, and I waved back along with the two counterweights.

Once my newest friend was out of eyesight, I returned to the village. 10 days. There was a lot of work to be done. But first, the tribe had eaten, and lethargy was starting to take over.

Chapter 9 - Perks

<The majority of your tribe is well-fed for the first time.>

<The majority of your tribe is sleeping comfortably for the first time.>

I squeezed my eyes shut, not exactly remembering how I’d gotten to the bottom of the pile yet again. But the window persisted.

<Procreation bonus granted. Tribe has increased to 35 members>

<Increasing your tribe size has unlocked a new Goblin Variant. You may select one of the following: Hobgoblin sentry - a larger, stronger, nocturnal goblin skilled in defending the village -or- Goblin taskmaster - a speech-capable goblin capable of supervising independent tasks and transferring skills to assigned goblins.>

The taskmaster, obviously. Scale early, scale often. More efficient workers early meant more realized gains over time. Plus, speech-capable? I might not have to wait for Rufus to come back to talk to someone after all. Maybe some more martial goblins would have been smart for the added security, but sometimes you gotta risk it for the biscuit.

<Unsurprising. 2 taskmasters have been added to your tribe.>

I dug myself out from under the sleeping pile and pulled on a new pair of the sticky stilts I’d had the goblins make for me last night. That done, I walked to the edge of the bluff to relieve myself. There’s something satisfying about whizzing off a cliff. When I returned, most of the other goblins were dragging themselves out and waking up, scratching their bare bellies, and meandering around the village in their typical morning stupor. I spotted two that were slightly larger than the others, with a bit more cunning in their eyes. I whistled and waved them over.

“Oy, boss,” one of ‘em grumbled. The other said nothing, though she had the subtle wider hips and bust that I think denoted female goblins.

I looked between them. “Shouldn’t you both be able to talk?”

They shared a glance. The first one spoke again. “Oh, she can talk. Jus’ not the type to yak on.”

The first taskmaster had an accent right out of a bad British crime movie. “I see. Alright, well, I suppose you’ll need names.”

“Wossat?”

“Something to call you by, to set you apart.” I pointed to the first. “Buzz,” and then to the second, “Sally.”

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Names. Don’t get too attached.>

Buzz raised his hand in a sloppy salute. “Right, boss.  Wos onner agenda today?”

I sighed. There was so much work to do, it was hard to prioritize. But having two independent thinkers would go a long way towards making sure I wasn’t spread so thin. I wondered what other industrious variants would be available as the tribe continued to grow.

“Buzz, you’re on fire duty. I want you to have a few goblins mess with friction fires. Spin sticks against a piece of wood til it makes a coal, then blow on it. Iterate on what works”

Buzz cocked his head toward the other taskmaster. “Wot about Sally?”

“We need to hunt more of those stone-sloths, but spears aren’t going to cut it. I want to start collecting bomb-fruits and storing them at the base of the ridge. Dig holes for each one, so that if one explodes it doesn’t trigger all the others.”

Buzz looked at Sally, then back at me.

“You sure she’s the same variant as you?

“Sally’s onnit, boss. Trust.”

“Good,” I said.

I left them there and went to the supply pile. Knives and spears were all well and good, but they weren’t the only tools in an engineer’s arsenal. What I wouldn’t give for a 3D-printer.

After sending out another two hunting parties, I sat down with the three primary materials for sticky-stone tools and started to make the essentials. It looked like there was actually some new rock mixed in with the shale that was harder and sharper. Flint, I had to assume. I started knocking off chips and soon got the hang of it.

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Twisty-cord>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sticky-stone spade>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sticky-stone hammer>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sticky-stone augur>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sticky-stringy driver>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sticky-stone hand-saw>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sticky-stone cleaver>

Twine was the simplest compound invention. Really, just twisting two of the homespun strings together made them many times stronger. I needed the extra robustness for the abuse the rest of the tools would likely suffer during their use. The spade, the cleaver, the saw, and the augur as well.

The stringy-driver I was especially proud of. It was technically belt-driver for manually powering rotary tools, with a loop of string attached to a small bow. When wrapped around a sharp stone that could be pushed into a surface and spun, well that was a simple drill with infinite uses. I’m pretty sure this was close to a fire-making method, as well, just with wood in place of the stone augur.

It wouldn’t be long before that technology propagated through the tribe. But I was still missing a major primitive material crucial to the upcoming projects I had in mind, in that I needed clay. With clay I could make molds for reproducing complex parts. But I also needed some way to transport it. I pulled together a collection of smaller, flexible sticks and set to building a lattice.

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sticky-wicky basket>

Thankfully I had minored in underwater basket-weaving in undergrad.

Chapter 10 - The Clay Wars

With my basket complete, I got carefully to my feet and waddled over to the main part of the village. Buzz and Sally had taken most of the tribe to work on their tasks. I could see Buzz’s goblins all working at a variety of variations on the vague instructions of rub two pieces of wood together. Some were downright worrying, as a pair of them were sawing a pole back and forth against the trunk of a tree. Normally that wouldn’t be worrying, but goblins are so go-go-go, I think they might have actually been able to saw through the thing, given enough time.

One or two of the projects actually had a small bit of smoke rising from them. Well, that’s how development works. There’s a lot of trial and error, and the more you can iterate, the more you can discard failed solutions and focus on narrowing in on the right answer. Having the goblins feel things out was definitely slow than reaching into my own pool of knowledge, but for things I didn’t actually know how to do, it would be a useful tool. I needed more tribe members.

There were about 10 goblins still left in the village, idling or scraping at the stone-sloth hide. Though, with that heavy, stoney skin I wasn’t sure what we were going to use that hide for. It was much too heavy for a goblin to wear.

I threw some poles and twine and small bones in my basket I took the rest of the goblins with me. Together we threw ourselves down the cliff. It wasn’t so bad, if I could convince myself I was sky-diving. Unfortunately, that did little to sooth every human instinct that clung to my new body telling me I was about to die.

My legs managed to stay on, which was an improvement. But then, I was starting to get the knack on securing things with the home-made cordage and I’d taken the time to re-tie them with the improved twine.

Once we picked ourselves off the ground, I gathered the goblins around. “I’m looking for clay. It’s like mud that stays wet, even when everything else is dry. It’s soft, pliant, and sticky. Usually near water.”

One of the goblins squawked for my attention and began to chitter. He picked up his spear and headed out into the forest. With the second-generation sticky stilts, I was able to keep up a little better, even though the goblins had traded their knives for flint cleavers that they used to whirlwind through the underbrush like ninjas on cocaine.

We tore through in the meandering trail-blazing fashion I was growing accustomed to, when we reached a clearing that had a wide, slow bend in a creek. And there, just behind the trio of stone-sloths, was a patch of pristine, red clay.

Wait a minute.

Before I could tell them to wait, the entire group of 10 goblins charged in, weapons waving. The largest stone-sloth took both notice and immediate umbrage. It roared and charged, bowling through the collective and swiping its claws, snapping spear shafts and shattering cleavers.

<I bet a pair of hobgoblins would have been handy right now.>

Shut it, System! I had to think.

<Your tribe has decreased to 34 members.>

“Retreat!” I shouted.

The goblins began to fall back, large stone-sloth snapping at their heels. Luckily for me, he seemed more interested in staying between us and the other two than in pursuing a meal. Family group, perhaps? Matron and cubs? Patriarch and mate plus offspring?

We made ourselves scarce in the clearing and I waited until I was sure the bane of goblin existence wasn’t following us before I called a halt.

The remaining goblins panted and wheezed with the effort of the escape. Several of them keeled over face-first into the dirt while I considered.

“Does anyone know of any other clay deposits?” I asked.

Forlorn eyes turned toward me, and I put my little furry hands to my temples. That was it, huh? All right. “Wait here,” I said.

I crept back through the woods alone, since stealth is apparently a foreign concept to goblins. When I caught sight of the clearing, I climbed a tree to try and get a better view. It was definitely a sloth lair. I could spot a crack in the rocks where they were coming in and out of. Not only that, but both creatures made frequent trips to the clay pit in order to slather the material on their own hides, which made me think that the material on their backs wasn’t stone or calcified skin at all, but long-cured clay.

This was a problem. It meant stone-sloths (clay sloths?) natural habitat involved clay deposits. We barely scraped by against one of these creatures, and it had killed half a dozen goblins in the process. I had hoped they were rare creatures, but it seemed like clay might also be rare, and reasonable to assume these beasts likely stake their claim on deposits.

I sat in the tree and watched them for a while. Eventually the largest one wandered off, but the second largest stayed to watch the cub. The clearing was never deserted.

Climbing back down from the tree was noisy and hap-hazard, and I only realized at the bottom that I could have just thrown myself off of it. Still too much of those human instincts. I didn’t know if that was a bug or a feature of this new life, but I’d have to overcome it if I wanted to utilize the full breadth of the few benefits granted to permanently level 1 goblins.

I wanted that clay. But three stone-sloths and goblins don’t mix well—at least, not well for the goblins. I needed time to plan.

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Fire carousel>

That sounded… terrifying. I tried to imagine the implications of Buzz putting together various combinations of the tools I’d unlocked in the morning to come up with a device of that name, one which apparently produced fire. But, the number of tribe members didn’t drop, so as long as the village was still standing, I’d consider it a win we desperately needed.

Clay would have to wait, for now. I didn’t like that that was the case. Clay opened up a lot of possibilities—the least of which was making reusable molds to mass-produce parts. But we at least had fire. Progress is progress, but I needed rapid iteration. And I needed a plan to deal with the sloths.