Old Friends, New Family

Momo seems resolved to waiting out the PATCHING window, the priestess deep in her character sheet as you pull your robe back on. Hey, not only is it better made, but it smells nicer too! Cultured Tribes are Best Tribes. Gero seems to have gotten her own robe in the transition, shrugging it on as she hefts her club and moves to join you.

"Feel any different, Gero?"

She shrugs, casting a sidelong glance your way. "Nope. But all I do is hit things with a stick. You're the one with the fancy crap."

When she's got a point, she's got a point. You pull up your sheet, immediately struck over the realization that you're Level Twelve now, a that is freaking ridiculous. A month ago, being a Level Two Mongrel would have made you the Biggest Boss, the sort of Ur-Mongrel that would have been a legend forever in the eyes of all of your packmates.

Paths not taken, and you don't regret it for a second. You'd rather be among equals in a tribe with a future than king of a pile of dead dogs.

So let's see. Ranged Level 4, no shock there. The entry flashes that you've qualified for a Specialization, so you click the option to bring up a dizzying list of, apparently, every ranged weapon in the whole world. Blowgun, Javelin...what, 'Throwing Sword'? Is that for giants who chuck daggers, or for knife throwers with low self-esteem? You've got a bow, you know bows, Kobolds seem to have an affinity for bows, you pick Bows. Next.

Tactician Level 1 still, for real?! You just masterminded a totally asymmetrical battle! You just--! Oh wait, this entry is different now. Where as before you had the subcategory "Pack Tactics", you now have listed "Student of Warfare". Is that because of your Tribal traits, too? Interesting, maybe this is...oh what, you don't even have the Ambush tactic anymore! Cultured Tribes are Occasionally Irritating Tribes.

Leadership 5 has a long way to go to cover up this annoyance. Inspirational has buffed again, and now that the situation has changed it strikes you as much more appealing. A +15% Experience Aura wasn't much when you were in race against time, but as a potentially tribe-wide buff, forever? That adds up. You have a suspicion you'll be more inspirational in the coming days. Other than that, you get to pick one of your existing auras and exchange it for an upgraded version, fun. "Which of my auras should I upgrade, Gero?"

"You mean there's something I could say that would make you not pick 'Cunning'?"

"Am I really that transparent?"

"You've always been an unbearable smart ass, yes."

"You love it."

The big female gives a snort of derision, affectionately throwing a powerful arm around your shoulder. You grin up at Gero, stretching up to give her a quick kiss. She continues to smirk at you as you pull away from her sweet lips, but the wild wagging of Gero's excessively honest tail makes her thoughts entirely clear. "There's going to be no living with you after all this, is there."

"Probably not. Ah, we're here. Moots!"

You couldn't say what impresses you more, the fact that your call caused the hermit to turn away from what remains of the roast boar you left him, or the fact that the skinny old man has picked it almost clean in a single day, all by himself. Either way he seems besides himself when he spots the two of you, slapping his knee and bounding up in glee. "Ehehe! Why if it ain't my right good buddies! Y'all pups're a sight fer sore eyes!"

Gero chuckles as you reach Moots's campsite, clapping him on the back. "How was the boar?"

The old hermit rubs his stomach, eyes rolling back in bliss. "Ol' Moots never knew somethin' so tasty was right around the bend! Oh Lordy, I'll never know how you pups turned out so good, but Ol' Moots won't never forget it."

You glance over at Gero, then raise your eyebrows at Moots. "So Moots. We're not the only kobolds anymore."

The hermit scratches at his head, squinting an inquisitive eye at you. "Eh?"

"I won't bore you with the details--"

Gero cuts in, "Even though he's dying to."

You continue on unbashed. "...but yes, we're a tribe now. And we've taken control of the outpost."

Ol' Moots runs a hand through his beard, considering that. "So then them guards, they're all....?" He makes a complicated series of motions around his throat that you can only assume is meant to imply ****, so you nod. He thinks about it for a moment longer, than shrugs. "Well then let Ol' Moots be the first to give his 'gratulations to the new big wigs of the zone, eh?"

He extends his hand to the two of you, and both you and Gero take the friendly hermit up on the shake without the slightest reservation. You do give a start, however, when a pop up suddenly appears over Moots's head.

Invite to Tribe? Y/N

You share a stunned look with Gero as Moots furrows his brow, unable to see the window floating over him. "What? What's wrong?"

Gero hesitantly speaks up. "It's asking if you want to join us..."

The hermit scoffs, grinning regretfully. "Well sure, Ol' Moots'd love to but --"

The "Y" lights up with a chime, and Moots is suddenly enveloped in a curtain of glowing energy. The hermit can only stare at himself in shock as he flares and flashes, the glow bursting off of his body to leave behind a newly made man. He's still Moots, there's no doubt, but his beard is now neatly trimmed and his formerly scraggly hair cleanly shaved. Even his clothes have changed, the man now dressed in a simple robe just like yours.

The surprises don't stop there. The sparkling glow has enveloped the hermit's camp itself by this point, coalescing around his tent before spreading outwards to reveal what was once sad little blanket thrown over some clothsline has transformed into a cozy little one man hut, chimes dangling from the roof sweetly ringing in the wind that sends the well-worn rocking chair perched on the porch creaking. There's a small vegetable patch off to one side, but the big reveal comes as the glow passes over unused land and leaves behind a large pen where a dozen or so healthily pink pigs happily wallow in the mud.

That ends up being the blow that breaks Gero's shock, the big female rushing over to the pen to gasp at the contentedly grunting animals. "They are so cute!"

You can only shrug helplessly at Moots as he continues to stare wide-eyed at his transmogrified camp. "Er, I hope you always wanted to be a farmer?"

Gero has hopped the fence into the pen, off in her own world as she coos and clucks at the pigs that gather around her fearlessly, making little noises of delight as she gives them scratches. She knows those are for food, right? You glance back at Moots, raising your eyebrows when you see that his eyes are filling with tears. "I...Moots, are you alright?"

The old man sniffs loudly but nods intently as he meets your eyes. "Yes, I...it's just, I'm not hungry."

Gero calls out from the pig pen, utterly covered in mud. "So what?"

Moots shakes his head. "You don't understand. I ain't never not been hungry. That damned quest, Moots always needed to be half starvin'." He reaches out, sincere gratitude shining from his face as he takes hold of your shoulders. "Ya'll pups saved me from that curse. How can I ever thank you?"

You grin half-embarrassedly, patting the old hermit (old pig farmer now, you suppose) on the hand. "You don't need to do that, Moots. You're part of the family now."

Moots's wrinkled face bursts into a grin at that as he sniffs again, wiping his leaking face on the arm of his robe. Still, that does make you wonder. "That is interesting though. What happened to your quest?"

As soon as you finish the word 'Quest', Moots's jaw drops and words begin to spill out. "Moots is plum tired, I'll tell you that! Y'all think y'all might do an ol' man a favor? Them piggies need their veggies to keep'm growing right; iffin ya'll 'venturers'd give'm some of these here cabbages, Moots'd be mighty grateful!"

There's a small chime as a pile of cabbages in Moots' vegetable plot lights up, the pigs immediately beginning to snort and squeal in anticipation. You twist your head towards Gero, the big female already grinning and giving you a nod. "Well Moots, it would be an honor to be the first to feed your pigs."

And so you gather up an armful of cabbages, carrying them over to the pen as Moots quietly approaches his new hut. He runs an almost reverent hand across the arm of his rocking chair, letting out a blissful sigh as he slowly sinks down into it and starts to gently rock back and forth, eyes closed in contentment.

You've never seen anyone so peaceful.