Over the next couple of days, we cleared the soil from the worm room and finished harvesting the cylinders. We exited the now-familiar tunnels, relieved that we could focus on above-ground activities with the rest of camp.

  Being underground for so long didn’t bother Angus, but Fabulosa and I decompressed in the grass before trekking back to base. Resting in the center of the bowl-shaped lawn, we enjoyed the overcast sunlight and chilly winter breeze.

  “I wish New Jersey winters were this mild. There’s nothing colder than a beach town in deep February.”

  Fabulosa shook her head in disbelief. “Winters in Marshall are like this. I’m at sea to how you Yankees put up with months of snow.”

  The chill helped keep the worm hide from rotting. The skins curing in the sun seethed with flies but didn’t smell bad—a sign we could use them for leatherworking. I grabbed one segment, rolled it up, and stashed it in my inventory. Though thick and rugged, the flexible hide would make for solid armor.

  Yula appeared in the camp when Angus, Fabulosa, and I returned. Her presence promised good tidings. The huntress could have easily thrived on her own and not gotten bogged down with the petty affairs of our mismatched community.

  The orc’s scouting reports bore good news—she found no other goblin patrol paths or sizable footprints. The ward worm had kept humanoids and large creatures away during its tenure as the region’s world boss, so our claim to its territory conflicted with no local predators. Yula cautioned that roaming monsters still presented problems.

  The camp gathered orderly piles of lumber, thatched roof sections, and stacks of bricks. The resources looked too much for just a roundhouse and smithy. Either I’d misunderstood the size of the roundhouse, or we had leftover building materials.

  The prevalent dinnertime discussion revolved around tomorrow’s foundation ceremony. Charitybelle and Ally arranged a two-keg celebration to kick things off, and everyone looked forward to our settlement’s formal commencement.

  The formality around establishing a settlement wasn’t ritual—in gaming terms, settlements counted as crafted items whose recipes required at least five free citizens and a flag. Ally explained the mechanics to Charitybelle while Fabulosa and I toiled in the mines.

  Charitybelle appropriated a piece of green fabric for a flag. Using my writing stylus, she sketched a hawk’s silhouette flying over a crenelated castle wall for the camp’s symbol. Hawkhurst’s official heraldry looked like a little kid drew it, making it even more adorable.

  Someone repurposed a 12-foot leg bone from the karst caradon into a flagpole. Maggie carved a hole out of Hawkhurst Rock for the pole to serve as a base.

  Ally told fireside stories about how she and Brodie had founded their settlement up north years ago. Anyone with at least five followers could stake a claim for an unsettled piece of land, acquiring a new skill called governing.

  Charitybelle, the principal founder, needed a second, me, to serve as a lieutenant. If we designated a construction site as the camp’s official project, it received an efficiency bonus, manifesting in good fortune, refreshed laborers, focused thinking, and efficient use of materials. Building construction rates depended on our settlement bonus, morale, and manager’s skill rank.

  Ally boasted she could give a 120 percent bonus, but we didn’t know if those numbers were as vital as they sounded. If the game jinxed worksites that built multiple structures, we’d have to erect only one building at a time. I wanted to ensure the roundhouse raising went as planned.

  After Ally left for bed, I turned to Charitybelle. “Did you offer Ally the position of lieutenant governor by any chance?” The dwarf-to-human ratio seemed like she would be a prudent candidate.

  Charitybelle blushed, then nodded. “Ally turned it down. She and Brodie failed to secure their previous settlement, and her people had paid the price. She said the dwarves would follow anyone who treated them well. That’s when I thought of you.”

  I nodded in appreciation.

  “Ally requested we name Forren as our settlement’s patron deity. She says if we did, the dwarves would never leave. She even claimed Forren might attract a few more dwarves.”

  “What is she a god of?”

  Charitybelle shook her head. “I didn’t want to be rude and ask.”

  I recognized Forren’s name from Mother Marteen’s library, but I couldn’t remember what notes we’d made about her. The book we’d made in Belden materialized in my hand after retrieving it from my inventory. I paged to the chapter on cultural findings.

  I knew nothing about city management, but choosing a patron deity sounded important. What sort of bonuses did gods bestow on their followers?

  The proposition conjured visions of bonuses to magic research, item creation, and defensive buffs. I imagined lunar and nature deities showering us with blessings and war gods joining our side of a battle.

  I pointed to her name under our list of gods. “Here we are. Forren—is the Beloved Hearth Mother. She celebrates the joys of a happy home.”

  “Oh.” Charitybelle didn’t offer anything more encouraging to say. Her frown would have been comical were it not for my disappointment.

  The community had become Charitybelle’s ersatz family, so I could see where a Beloved Hearth Mother might fit into her scheme. But if deities gave divine boons to their followers, I hoped for something more than fertility rites filled with flowers and home-cooked food.

  Charitybelle shrugged. “We can think it over and decide later. I didn’t promise Ally anything. It’s just that she mentioned Forren as her preferred deity.”

  I acknowledged the news with a noncommittal grunt. At least we didn’t need to make this decision today.

  I turned my attention to the dripping, savory worm kebabs, which tasted better than they sounded. Someone should come up with a better name.

  I sopped up the juices with biscuits someone had made in Rory’s forge. Baking them had been a covert operation, one which Rory discovered. The blacksmith’s threats entertained us all evening. The flour we’d hauled from Belden wouldn’t last long, so everyone enjoyed the biscuits—even Rory.

  After breakfast the following day, everybody trekked a half-hour south with the carts to the edge of Hawkhurst Rock overlooking the lake. The romantic setting seemed like a place to plant a flagpole and stake our claim on the world.

  Ally and Charitybelle decided building near the tree line increased our risk of danger. The trees provided cover for invaders, and we needed to maximize our environment for defense. Besides, building by Hawkhurst Rock meant we wouldn’t need to haul rock.

  The crescent of Laros, the largest moon in Miros, loomed above us as we leisurely followed the carts south. Flagpole components topped off the stacks of construction supplies. The cloth wrapping around the long caradon bone made the flagpole look like a giant paintbrush dipped in green paint.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I noticed someone had lashed a curious ring carved at the top of the pole. “Why is there a wooden hoop on the flagpole?”

  Charitybelle smiled at my question. “The dwarves carved it for me.”

  “What’s it do?”

  Charitybelle’s wink amplified my curiosity. “You’ll see.”

  The wooden ring topping the flagpole wasn’t the only mysterious object. Beside the flagpole rested a cloth-covered stone I didn’t recognize. A piece of twine prevented the cloth from flying away in the stiff winds coming off the lake.

  Fitting the flagpole directly into the stone meant it didn’t need a base or anchor. Angus had already fashioned a decorative base in Hawkhurst Rock, so the stone block’s purpose puzzled me.

  With her back to Otter Lake, Ally Ironweave kicked off the assembly with the remembrance of a fallen friend. “We dedicate this founding to dear Brodie Anvilhead. Without his leadership, many of us would nay endure captivity.”

  Ally untied the cord that held the cloth over the mysterious stone. It bore chiseled words—In Memory of Brodie Anvilhead.

  After a moment of silence, Ally continued. “We’re grateful to Mags for hewing this grand monument and everyone toiling to establish a home. We’re also thankful to the orc and humans who authored our freedom from the gobbers.”

  The congregation applauded loudly.

  “And we look forward to working with wee Greenie, who also suffered incarceration by his kin.”

  Hearty applause crested at the mention of Greenie’s name. Several rowdy dwarves clapped and yelled out at volumes usually reserved for sporting events. “Greenie!” Cheering his name caught on. “Greenie!”

  The goblin gave a single nod. Greenie’s unduly dignified gesture for such raucous enthusiasm only encouraged the rabble-rousers to make more noise.

  “Greenie!” The dwarves chanted his name. “Greenie!”

  I raised my voice over the tumult so the goblin could hear me. “You see, my friend? You have a lot of fans.”

  Greenie cringed. “Ah—yes. Quite so. A great many, it seems.”

  After the jokesters quieted, Ally introduced Charitybelle and me before stepping aside. Charitybelle waved instead of trying to compete with the roars of approval. The female dwarves whooped so loudly that the presumptive governor blushed.

  Standing between Charitybelle and the flagpole base, I joined in the boisterous approval. I wasn’t the only one enjoying my girlfriend’s embarrassment.

  After thanking everyone, Charitybelle addressed the assembly. “By now, everyone here knows that our plans don’t end with survival. We intend to thrive. We intend to prosper. Hawkhurst will become the first foothold on Miros to join the East and West in peaceful trade.”

  After light applause, Yula added an amendment with a shaking fist. “And Great Governor Charitybelle will crush all who oppose her!”

  “Aye!” screamed the revelers. More shouts for Greenie erupted, but the sensible contingent shushed them into a semblance of decorum.

  Charitybelle reclaimed her rhythm and command of the crowd. “It will be a safe harbor for anyone seeking to build a new life for themselves and their loved ones. These are the ideals to which we raise the Hawkhurst banner!”

  Everyone cheered as Charitybelle stepped forward to reach the flagpole. A bunch of us helped her raise it off the ground. The moment it touched the base in Hawkhurst Rock, I received a game prompt.

  The skill-acquisition alert preceded an interface window sent from Charitybelle. It produced a familiar crafting prompt that appeared before an item’s creation. In it, the settlement counted as a crafted object, requiring the confirmation of two players.

  The interface window froze time.

  I almost approved the settlement matrix before spotting the yellow core from the bat-thing, socketed into the creation window.

  Yula planned to use it to craft armor leggings. Cores made newly created items stronger and empowered with unique abilities. Perhaps I had something to learn if this homeless orc considered our settlement more critical than her armor. Yula valued a home more than magic items.

  My mom and I drifted from one rathole to the next until she dumped me with her sister—a household that took me in only out of obligation. My aunt had never welcomed me there. Retreating into public libraries may have served me in childhood, but life wasn’t about hiding in one’s comfort zone. I needed to grow, which meant taking risks and embracing the present.

  Charitybelle staked her claim with this flag, an unmistakable symbol of commitment. What better opportunity would I have to grow than taking that jump with her? I belonged somewhere for the first time in my life, and I would not waste the chance to embrace it.

  This settlement recipe needed a little more pepper.

  I removed Yula’s yellow core, slipped the red core into the interface socket, and waited for Charitybelle to accept my change.

  When Charitybelle accepted my edit, the window closed, and time resumed. We aligned the flagpole with the base, dropping it in with a heavy thud. A fanfare of invisible trumpets sounded above us while everyone cheered with upraised arms.

  Charitybelle and I received titles on our nameplates for Governor and Lieutenant Governor of Hawkhurst.

  Charitybelle wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you, honey. I love you so much.” After a tight squeeze, she relaxed her arms. She turned to her bird and cried over the noise. “Go, Chloe, now! Just like we practiced!”

  The hawk launched from a nearby rock and landed atop the flagpole, her talons tightly gripping the carved ring on its apex.

  The wind caught the flag’s fabric, popping it open and wiggling the pole as it waved. Chloe extended her wings for balance and squawked in protest.

  A prompt appeared in my interface.

  My inner geek shivered with excitement—using the ward worm’s core on the town felt like an active decision. The old Apache, hunkered down in a newbie zone, might have hoarded the core, saving it for a day that might never come. Staying in Belden had been a prudent, sensible move, but it didn’t feel like I’d joined the battle royale. I’d become a part of something and put worries about wasting a precious core behind me.

  Our wilderness journey made me want to seek out more adventures. A quarter million dollars could secure a college education, but exploiting rules to win wasn’t the same as earning it. Pulling the troglodyte off Fabulosa and saving the caravan from the giant worm felt like steps in the right direction. It felt good to play the hero, and I wanted more of it. I didn’t want to miss opportunities if The Book of Dungeons offered a new life in a fantasy world.

  From this point forward, I would be the author of my game—not NPCs, not my allies, not my fears. If I won college money, it would be by my hand.

  Starting a base camp felt like a positional shift in the game. After constructing a roundhouse and smithy, I pondered what our settlement might build next. Predicting the community’s needs wouldn’t be easy for someone accustomed to being an outsider, but it felt like another opportunity to grow. Every day offered new challenges in The Great RPG Contest.