What kind of giant-man do you want to be?

Returning to his character sheet, Mal mused on his four free points - two Attribute points, and two Skill points. For attributes, did he want to shore up his weaknesses, or lean more heavily into his strengths?

No. That’s the wrong question. The real question is, which choice will make the greatest improvement to my life? Going from 6 to 8 Charisma will certainly be a bigger jump than from 24 to 26 Strength, but if I never use Charisma, the points would be wasted.

Let’s look at skills. I have three weapon skills. I use Thrown Weapons all the time, but that already went up naturally and probably will again. I fight Unarmed almost as often, but only because I don’t have a good weapon. If I had something that fell under Maces and Clubs, I’d much prefer to use that than my hands.

Mal frowned at the memory of his fight with the winged cat. I never want to have to wrestle with an angry ball of teeth and claws again, he thought. Levels in Unarmed would be useful if everything goes wrong, but I’d rather keep them from going wrong in the first place.

Intimidation. I’m ruling that out too. It goes up on its own, and besides… that’s just not me. I’m not a “brute” that goes around threatening people into doing what I want. No matter what my Character sheet says.

That just left the Craft skills. To be able to make things that he could be proud of, that could make his life better - and the lives of his future minions - that’s what he was most excited about. He could put his skill points into crafting skills and his attribute points into Dexterity, and really try to go as far as he could with the art of creation. Or he could focus on combat. If he did that, he would probably take one level each in Thrown Weapons and Maces and Clubs, though the attributes would be a tough choice. Dexterity only helps to hit with melee weapons, since Throw Anything let him use his Strength for accuracy with thrown weapons.

Two choices, two paths to travel down. It wasn’t a serious commitment, he knew that. There would be other level-ups, other opportunities to advance different aspects of himself. But something about this decision felt important. This would be the first time he had ever spent free points, had ever purposely directed his growth.

The combat option was the safe option: the need to hunt and defend himself were never going away, and if he failed at combat he’d risk losing his levels, his new Intelligence buff, and at least some of whatever he’d managed to craft, gather, or trade.

Compared to that, the crafting option was - he grasped for the word. Aspirational. It was the power to build the kind of life he wanted to build. He could build weapons and armor to protect himself, and he could build tools that would let him make the simple, beautiful things - like a soft bed - that made life worth living.

A small smile grew across Mal’s gray, craggy face. He knew what he was going to choose. He’d always known, deep down. This was a chance to grasp the life he’d always wanted but never dared dream of. He wouldn’t let himself falter on the first step along the path.

He increased his Dexterity from 9 to 11, and Craft (Stoneworking) from 1 to 3. He’d considered splitting the skill points between his two Craft skills, but he currently had no wood (or bone, which fell under woodworking), and plenty of stone. He would do what he could with stone for now, and when his next level-up came - which he hoped would be soon - he would be able to train Woodworking if it seemed important.

Now, Mal knew that he had at least two more windows to go through, each possibly as big and important as the Character window, but he had been staring at windows all morning. His eyes ached. His stomach rumbled. And perhaps most importantly, he was itching to try out his new levels in Stoneworking - not to mention his little steel hammer. The rest of the windows were going to have to wait.

The first thing he did, as a concession to the part of him that felt guilty not choosing combat skills, was make a club. Out of stone, obviously. He actually ended up making two, both of them in the classic narrow-ish-handle-gently-bulging-out-on-top shape. The first one he made trying to imagine using it against the swordsman from yesterday. He wanted to be able to block or parry, and then take advantage of openings to strike himself.

That first club turned out to be surprisingly small. He was strong, but also large, and rock was heavy. The club didn’t feel fast enough to block or parry until it was less than twice as long as the steel hammer (which looked like a child’s toy in his hands).

Stoneworking success! You have created:
Small stone club, weapon (club). Common. Average attack speed. Damage: Strx1 bludgeoning.

Successfully making a common item on his first try made him grin. His level up decisions were already proving their value. But as he swung the club around in the air he realized something. If his weapon could block and parry, it could also be blocked or parried. It wouldn’t be easy, as even a “small” stone club was much heavier than anything else he would expect to go up against. But blocking and parrying really weren’t among his skills, or his Skills. His Dexterity was probably still lacking compared to any dedicated warrior. There might be times when he would want to use his first club, but thinking again about the fight against the big human defender, a new weapon design came to him and he immediately began working on a second club.

Stoneworking - Applicable skill, +30%. Tool bonus, +10%. Dexterity Bonus: +20%.
Final work speed: 1.7x

Working with stone had never been this easy. Mal tapped away with his little steel hammer, and soon-

Stoneworking success! You have created:
Large stone club, weapon (club). Common. Very slow attack speed. Damage: Strx3 bludgeoning.

Mal smiled, again successful on his first crafting attempt. With an effort, he hefted his newest weapon and proceeded to swing it around. It was so heavy that, even as big as he was, he had to brace himself and swing very slowly to avoid getting pulled off-balance by it. But he would get used to it, and most importantly, it fit his fighting style.

When he was fighting the swordsman, he didn’t block or dodge. He also didn’t try to sneak his attacks past the guard of his opponent, or strike when his opponent had left an opening. No, he took the hits he needed to take, and focused on pummeling his opponent, betting that he could demolish his opponents defenses - and body - before his enemy’s hits could do the same to him. He was strong and he was durable, and with a weapon like this, it would only take a few hits to batter his enemies into submission.

His stomach growled again and he looked at the sun. Probably noon, or just after, he thought. Time to go hunting again. But before that, he needed to manage all the junk he’d left strewn around his little nook of a cave. He experimented with the two loot bags - which, once empty, had turned into a burlap sack and a leather backpack - and learned a few things. First, one container could go inside the other, but only if the first container was empty. He couldn’t fill up the four-by-four sack, then put it inside the six-by-six backpack. He just got a 'dee-oo' and an error message. But when he put a large container in his inventory, he got a very exciting message.

Do you want to equip leather backpack?

Doing so, because of course he tried it, replaced his modest two-by-two inventory with the much larger container’s space. The container itself disappeared. Just as there had been no evidence that the adventurers had been weighted down with bags and backpacks, Mal looked (and felt) just as unburdened as before - no “leather backpack” to be seen. The backpack did appear in the first slot of his new expanded inventory, but that left, um... 35? 35 slots. When all his life he'd made do with four.

Mal almost put everything in his personal inventory, but then reconsidered. If he died - perish the thought - he would lose everything he carried with him. And he wanted to come home with resources, particularly the results of his hunting, which would be much easier if he left home with his inventory mostly empty. In the end, he brought his two clubs, five throwable rocks from his stockpile, the lit torch, and the rope. Putting everything else into his stockpile:

Mal’s Lair - Stockpile
20x rough stone
1x burlap sack
book (unidentified)
9x candles
1x candle (lit)
10x parchment
1x fountain pen
1x jar of ink
1x steel hammer (small)
2x loaves of bread
2x dried mutton

Before he left, his stomach growled again and he decided that he wasn’t going to go hunting while hungry if he didn’t need to. He polished off the bread and dried mutton, then set out downhill once more. He took a different route today, because he had more than just hunting in his plans. As he walked, he kept an eye out for predators and prey alike, as well as suitable stones to add to his collection of “throwin’ rocks.” Soon, he reached the beginnings of a forest. He stopped well short of the treeline and confidently turned to follow it as if walking a route he had taken many times before. All of a sudden, he froze. There ahead of him was a deer. A doe, venturing to the edge of the forest to munch on the young shoots that flourished there where the sunlight was bountiful. The doe hadn’t seen him yet. Mal silently withdrew a throwin’ rock from his inventory, calloused fingers curling around it expertly, and he carefully drew his arm back for a throw.

His prey noticed him the moment his arm whipped forward, and immediately it bounded into the safety of the undergrowth. By the time the rock landed with a crash of ripping leaves and whipping branches, the doe had already disappeared into the depths of the forest.

Shards, Mal cursed. Well, can’t expect just one level to change everything. The forest was generally not Mal’s friend. The lack of sightlines kept him from fighting at range unless he was here outside the treeline, and his ashy skin tone - while helpful in the rocky foothills and the mountain itself - made him stand out among the greens and browns of the woods. Plus, his size and notable lack of agility made him a lumbering oaf in the forest. His feet seemed incapable of doing anything other than crashing through the undergrowth. Potential prey always had plenty of warning to get far away before he even had a chance of spotting them.

Though, with a few more levels, he mused thoughtfully, who knows how things might change. Maybe I'll be the first ever goliath ranger.

It was with dreams of the future on his mind that Mal finally arrived at his destination: a goblin village. Sometimes trade partners and sometimes just a nuisance, he didn’t go out of his way to spend time with them and he certainly didn’t depend on them for anything - but he could depend on them and their little village to always be there.

Until today.

DEE-OO. He heard the error tone and the sound of high-pitched arguing as he approached what had always been the site of the goblin village, an assortment of ramshackle huts that probably fell down and had to be rebuilt fairly often. But today there were no huts, just piles of resources like sticks and grasses, some of which had individual goblins banging on them with rocks, while others lounged around and criticized, slinging elaborately ridiculous insults at each other.

“You doing that wrong! And you have big stupid ears. No, you still wrong. Wrong and slow, like a… a big floppy-eared squirrel!” Then the goblin proceeded to puff his face up like his mouth was full and scrabble in the dirt on all fours while simultaneously trying to use his hands on the side of his head to indicate big floppy ears.

Yup, these were the goblins in all their ridiculous glory. Chaos, noise, and chaotic noise. Everything was perfectly normal. Everything, that is, except that there were no huts. Just piles.

“Hey! Hey, big gray guy coming!” called out a goblin who was just sort of standing around. Maybe he was on watch? Of his fellows who heard him, most shrugged. A few hid, and one dove into a pile of sticks and started rooting around, tossing things indiscriminately over her shoulder as she did so, causing a few of her neighbors to complain and send some new invectives her way.

“Hey big gray,” greeted the goblin who had first seen him approach. Most of the goblins were dressed in skins worn as loincloths or togas. A few wore scavenged clothing, filthy and torn. This one had what looked like a pair of underwear strapped to him like a pair of baggy shorts. Oh, and every part of him from his knees to his elbows was covered in a thin layer of dried mud, the brown covering up the green of his skin.

“Hey little green,” Mal responded as he came to a stop. “What’s going-”

“Not green,” the scout interrupted.

“What?”

“Not green,” he repeated, pointing to his dirt-covered skin. “Brown.”

“Uh, okay,” Mal said slowly. “Brown. So what-”

“Not little either.”

“WHAT.” Mal raised his voice and the cacophony of petty squabbles silenced in an instant, leaving only the clattering of the goblin still digging through her pile for gods-knew-what-reason. “WHAT. IS. GOING. ON.” Mal finally finished. Blank stares informed him that perhaps he needed to be more specific. In a more civil tone, he continued. “Where did your huts go? And don’t you have a chief? Where is he?” There was no chief in sight. They were always easy to spot, usually having a hat or something so big and overburdened with feathers that it threatened to fall off its bearer’s head.

“Shaman, not chief. She deep in forest. Took ‘prentice to go look for-”

“AHHHHH!” The goblin digging through her pile had finally found what she’d been looking for. A stick, indistinguishable from all the others that she held above her head like a spear. As she raced towards Mal and the scout, yelling what Mal assumed was meant to be a battle cry.

Mal cocked his head to the side. “What… what are you doing?” She didn’t answer, and just kept screaming, “AHHHH!” When she reached Mal, she jabbed at him with her blunt-on-both-ends “spear.” It struck, doing absolutely nothing to Mal, but it bowed sharply before springing out of her hands and landing on the dirt. His attacker’s response to this was to come even closer, swinging haymakers with her little green fists.

Mal put his hand on her head to hold her at arm’s length. His arm, which meant she was almost an entire one of her body lengths away from him. “No, really, what are you doing?”

Still swinging, the goblin responded, “Invader! Defending village from big. Scary. Invader!”

“I’m not invading. I’m a friend. I’ve been here before.” Mal took a closer look at the little green bundle of fury.

Hair varied widely among goblins. The scout (who was still standing nearby, casually watching the scene) was bald. The angry girl had a kind of black, wavy mohawk. It looked pretty cool. But now was probably a bad time to compliment her hairstyle.

“Are you- hey,” Mal effortlessly foiled an attempt to get past his hand, and kept talking. “Haven’t you met me before? I was here…” Mal trailed off. How long had it been?

“She just fully joined tribe. Don’t think she ever met you. You not visit in a while,” the scout cheerfully reported.

“I’m! Right! HERE!” hollered the grown young woman in a fit of rage, and she grabbed Mal’s hand and started trying to bite him. He quickly lifted his arm, but she just came with it, and acrobatically bent her body to wrap her legs around his forearm before sinking her sharp teeth into the meaty area between his thumb and forefinger.

“OW! Gods damn it!” Mal pried her off with his other hand, then held her above the ground with two hands, pinning her arms to her sides. She cursed and kicked her feet as she dangled.

“So,” he turned back to the scout, ignoring the kicking and screaming woman he was holding. “What were we talking about?”

“Oh! You, uh… you ask what going on?”

“Yes. What’s with all these piles? Aren’t they supposed to be huts or whatever?”

“It’s the dee-oo,” one goblin called out mournfully from his position pounding fruitlessly at a stack of sticks. “No more huts. Only dee-oo. Shaman say she go fix.”

Translating goblin was a trial even when they were speaking common. “You’re trying to rebuild your huts…” They nodded. “...but you’re getting an error. The ‘dee-oo.’ Why? What does the message say?”

The scout looked at the goblin on the pile and they both shrugged.

Mal sighed. “Okay, let me try and I’ll tell you what it says.” It was at this point that he realized the goblin woman, still in the air, had stopped struggling and had been listening. “You fix village?” she demanded.

“I’ll try,” Mal replied slowly. “I’m going to put you down now. Don’t attack me ,” he warned. He gently lowered her to her feet and removed his hands, and when she just glowered at him, he shook his head and walked over to the talkative goblin perched atop one of the piles. This one had a head of very short, frizzy hair, and a single flat seashell tied to a piece of string around his neck. He offered Mal the palm-sized rock he had been using to pound on the sticks. Mal just removed his “small” stone club from his inventory, startling the goblin so much he fell backwards and rolled off the pile onto the ground with an “oof.” Mal started tapping with his club.

Building materials detected. Building: Tribal Hut. Build?

Mal cocked his head. He’d never seen a window like this before. Or maybe he had but had never known? He agreed, and the window was replaced with an empty progress bar. No instructions. Looking around at the goblins pounding haphazardly, he reached out to gently tap the pile with his club. The first sliver of the progress bar filled in, in addition to:

Woodworking - Applicable skill, +10%. Tool bonus, -20%. Dexterity Bonus: +20%.
Final work speed: 106%

Of _course _goblin crafting didn’t need any thought or finesse, just pounding. Mal got into the zone, and after what seemed like no time at all, the progress bar had finished.

DEE-OO. The disappointing tone echoed out, causing multiple goblin groans. But Mal was more interested in the message that came with it.

Woodworking failed. You have not claimed this land. You cannot change it. To claim land, find a Claimant Crystal.

Well, shards. These little greenskins weren’t going to be able to rebuild their homes until they got one of those crystals.

And that meant they had to farm adventurers until they got one.