Wood Gathering

Grashok sat back against the rough stone of his cave’s new entranceway, taking in the list of options before him. The pop-up menu hovered mid-air, filled with a sprawling number of possibilities, though many were greyed out, either locked by lack of resources or with cryptic messages he couldn’t quite understand.

Build Options:

Expand Dungeon (Small Room): Greyed out—Insufficient Resources

Expand Dungeon (Large Room): Greyed out—Insufficient Resources

Expand Dungeon (Corridor): Greyed out—Insufficient Resources

Trap Corridor: Greyed out—Insufficient Fame

Living Quarters: Greyed out—Unknown Requirement

Minion Quarters (Various): Greyed out—Unknown Requirement

The only option not greyed out was a small, simple one at the bottom: Stockpile: 1/5 Resources. When he tapped on it, a sub-menu appeared showing the meagre list of what he had gathered:

Stone x 10

Ore x 2

Wild Roots x 3

Darkthorn Berries x 5

It wasn’t enough. He needed wood, more berries, and other things before he could even begin considering his next moves.

Frustration welled up inside him. How was he supposed to know what he needed if everything was so obscure? It wasn’t as though he had ever built a dungeon before. The faintest notion of trial and error flickered in his mind, and he realised he’d have to venture out again. He couldn’t sit in the cave, hoping the answers would come to him. He needed to gather more resources if he had any hope of figuring this out.

He glanced down at the wolf cub, still curled up beside him, its tiny body rising and falling gently in sleep. For a moment he considered taking it along, but instinct told him the little creature was safer here.

Grashok stood slowly, careful not to disturb the cub. From the corner he pulled the scraps of blanket he used for bedding and draped them gently over its small body. The cub stirred, gave a faint yip, then nestled deeper into the warmth, its tail twitching once before settling.

He lingered a moment longer, watching it sleep, before turning towards the mouth of the cave. The forest beckoned. He needed wood, and he vaguely remembered seeing various plants scattered across the forest floor, though he wasn’t certain what they were good for. Only one way to find out.

With a final glance at the small bundle curled beneath its blanket, he stepped out of the cave.

The forest was dense and ominous in the dim light. Each snap of a twig or rustle of leaves set Grashok on edge, his ears twitching at every unfamiliar sound. He kept low to the ground, moving as quietly as he could, but his heart pounded in his chest as he ventured deeper into the undergrowth.

As he came across a cluster of twisted trees, he brought up the gathering menu, trying to work out what he was supposed to do. A sinking feeling crept over him—his claws weren’t exactly built for harvesting wood, and he had no proper tools, just as it had been with stone and the dungeon entrance. Hesitantly, he reached out to a nearby tree, lightly tapping on the bark, unsure if it would even register.

A familiar pop-up flashed before his eyes:

Resource Detected: Tree (Common)

Harvesting Resource?

Skill Penalty: -40%

Tool Penalty: -30%

Dexterity Penalty: -10%

Grashok grimaced. Not good. He tapped the tree again, hoping for better luck. With each successive tap, the progress bar crawled forward at a glacial pace, every swing slower than the last. Penalties flashed with every attempt, mocking him

Skill Penalty Active

Tool Penalty Active

After what felt like an eternity, the bar finally filled, and a small log popped out onto the forest floor.

You have gathered: 1x Wood (Common)

“That took forever,” he muttered, wiping his brow. If every resource demanded this much effort, it would take him all day. But he had no choice. If he was to grow his dungeon, he needed materials. At least the thought of the cub waiting for him—tail wagging, eyes bright—made the grind feel less bitter.

He wandered further into the forest, scanning for useful plants or smaller trees he might harvest faster. Spotting a patch of thick bushes, he bent down to gather what berries or herbs he could find.

Resource Detected: Darkthorn Berries (Uncommon)

Harvesting Resource?

Skill Penalty: -20%

Tool Penalty: -10%

The penalties were less severe this time, and after a few cautious attempts, he managed to collect several small clusters of dark berries.

You have gathered: 3x Darkthorn Berries (Uncommon)

But time was slipping by. Grashok felt exposed in the forest. Adventurers could appear again without warning, and other monsters prowled these woods as well. He looked around, scanning the treeline nervously, and it suddenly struck him just how much time he had spent out here. He needed to be careful.

As he pressed deeper into the forest, he spotted a clearing with some fallen logs. It was a good find. He quickly made his way over and began tapping them to harvest more wood.

Resource Detected: Fallen Log (Common)

Harvesting Resource?

Skill Penalty: -20%

Tool Penalty: -20%

Two more logs popped into his inventory after a few painstaking minutes. His wood supply was finally starting to look more respectable. Just as he was about to move on, something unusual caught his eye—among the wood chips and leaves, a small gleaming chunk of ore poked through the soil.

You have found: 1x Ore (Rare Drop)

Grashok blinked at the notification, a thrill of luck stirring in his chest. Ore was far harder to come by than wood or berries, and this was a valuable find. He pocketed it carefully, paranoia prickling at the edges of his mind.

The light was dimming, shadows stretching long across the ground. The forest grew more menacing with each passing moment. But as he turned back towards the mountain path, the thought of the cub waiting for him—curled in its blanket, safe in the hall—made his steps lighter.

By the time Grashok reached the cave entrance, dusk had already draped the forest in shadow. His heart hammered in his chest, every rustle behind him threatening to reveal an adventurer on his trail. Yet the trees remained silent, and at last he slipped inside without incident.

The wolf cub greeted him with a burst of joy. It spun in circles, leapt clumsily into the air, and bounded towards him, tail wagging so hard its whole body wriggled. A happy yip escaped its mouth as it jumped at his legs, licking at his hands with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Grashok froze for a moment, startled by the sheer energy of the welcome, then laughed—a rough, genuine sound that echoed through the stone corridor. Something in his chest eased, the tension melting away.

Still smiling, Grashok bent down, lowering himself to the cub’s level. The little wolf pressed eagerly against him, nuzzling into his chest with scrappy fur and boundless energy. Its tail wagged furiously, and when he scratched behind its ears, it yipped in delight, licking his knuckles with sloppy enthusiasm.

Laughing, Grashok sat down against the wall, the cub immediately clambering into his lap as though it had claimed the spot for itself. He rubbed its head and shoulders, feeling the warmth of its small body pressed against him. For the first time, the silence of the cave felt alive rather than empty.

The cub darted away suddenly, pouncing on a loose stone fragment. It pawed at it clumsily, then looked back at Grashok with bright eyes, tail wagging expectantly. He chuckled, picked up the stone, and tossed it lightly across the hall. The cub bounded after it, tumbling over its oversized paws before proudly dragging it back. They played like that for a while—Grashok tossing, the cub chasing, both of them sharing in a new, carefree joy.

Eventually, the cub curled up beside him, panting softly, content to rest against his leg. Grashok reached down once more to scratch its ears, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Returning to the cave no longer felt like retreat—it felt like coming home.

Only then did he bring up his inventory. It wasn’t much—but it was progress. He knew he would have to go back out gathering again in the morning; the dungeon demanded more, and his meagre stockpile would not last.

For now, though, he allowed himself a pause. From his pouch he pulled the handful of darkthorn berries he had collected. The cub perked up instantly, tail wagging as it padded closer, nose twitching at the scent. Grashok chuckled and offered a few. The little wolf took them eagerly, chewing with exaggerated care, its tiny jaws working noisily as juice dribbled down its chin. It sneezed once, startled by the tartness, then looked up at him with wide amber eyes, as if asking for more.

Grashok shared the rest, eating slowly while the cub pawed at his knee, licking its muzzle between bites. For the first time, the simple act of sharing a meal felt like more than survival—it felt like companionship.

When they were done, he gathered the scraps of blanket and spread them across the stone floor. The cub circled twice before curling up at his feet, tail tucked close, eyes fluttering shut. Grashok lay back, the weight of exhaustion pulling him down, and for once the silence of this hole in the mountain was not oppressive.

Together, they drifted into sleep—hobgoblin and cub, wrapped in blankets, the faint warmth of shared company warding off the cold.

The next morning, the menu greeted him again—still mostly locked, still frustratingly vague. His stockpile had improved, but not enough.

Grashok sighed and stood.

The cub was on its feet instantly, tail swishing, eyes bright.

“No,” Grashok said, then paused as the cub tilted its head, nudging his leg insistently.

He hesitated. The forest was dangerous. But the thought of leaving it alone—of returning to an empty cave—sat wrong with him.

“Stay close,” he muttered at last.

The cub yipped happily, running in circles around his leg before darting ahead, then back again, as if it had been waiting for this moment.

They moved together through the trees. Grashok remained tense, alert to every sound, but the cub’s presence changed the rhythm of the forest. It sniffed the air, bounded through patches of undergrowth, and returned often, spinning in excitement as though proud to be part of the journey.

When he stopped to harvest another fallen log, the cub sat nearby, watching with bright curiosity. When berries were gathered, it pawed at the ground, tail wagging as though it had helped.

Further along, Grashok noticed a patch of tall, reed‑like plants clustered near a stream. Their stalks were fibrous and tough, bending easily but refusing to snap. Curious, he tapped one, and a pop‑up flickered before his eyes:

Resource Detected: Wild Reeds (Common)

Harvesting Resource?

Skill Penalty: –15%

Tool Penalty: –10%

The penalties were lighter than before. He pulled at the stalks, breaking them free with effort, and soon a small bundle lay in his hands.

You have gathered: 4x Wild Reeds (Common)

Grashok frowned thoughtfully. The reeds were light, flexible, and might serve as bindings or weaving material. Not as immediately useful as wood or ore, but still something new—another step towards understanding the strange mechanics of his dungeon.

The cub, meanwhile, had discovered the reeds on its own. It pounced on one, dragging it across the ground like a prize, tail wagging furiously. Grashok chuckled, letting it play before gathering the rest.

Before leaving the stream, he crouched low, scooping a handful of the cold water to his lips. The cub bounded over, lowering its head to lap eagerly at the current, splashing its muzzle and sneezing when droplets tickled its nose. Grashok allowed himself a smile at the sight, then dipped his battered hide flask into the flow, filling it until the leather bulged. Corking it tightly, he slung it back at his side.

With the cub bounding alongside him, he pressed deeper into the forest. The ground was littered with old trunks and half‑rotted branches. Grashok set to work, tapping against the nearest log until the familiar progress bar appeared. Each strike carried more purpose, as though the little wolf’s enthusiasm spurred him on. Wood trickled steadily into his inventory, each completed bar a small victory.

When he whistled sharply and the cub bounded back without hesitation, something unfamiliar settled into place inside Grashok’s chest.

Trust. Trust in someone else.

They returned to the cave together as night fell. The cub stayed close, pressing against his leg as they crossed the threshold. Once inside, Grashok glanced at his inventory and, for the first time, felt a flicker of satisfaction. The day’s gathering had been far more successful—wood stacked neatly, berries tucked away, and even a bundle of reeds added to his stockpile. Progress.

The cub bounded in uneven circles, its paws skittering across the stone floor, too tired to keep up the pace but unwilling to surrender to sleep. Grashok crouched low, extending a hand. The little wolf darted forward, nipping gently at his fingers before collapsing against his palm with a soft whine.

He chuckled, scratching behind its ears, feeling the scrappy fur bristle beneath his claws. “You’ve got spirit,” he murmured, half‑smiling. Talking to a wolf cub felt absurd, yet the way it pressed into his touch made it feel strangely right. The cub yipped once, then rolled onto its back, paws batting at the air in clumsy invitation.

Grashok obliged, giving its belly a careful rub. The cub wriggled happily, tail thumping against the stone, before finally tiring and curling against his leg. Its warmth seeped through the scraps of blanket, a steady reminder of life and trust.

With a low sigh, Grashok stretched out beside it, pulling the blanket over them both. The cub nestled closer, its breathing evening into sleep. He lay back, tucking the blanket around them both, and allowed himself to drift off with the cub at his side.