Your head hurts. A little as if someone had placed it in a vice several hours ago and had begun gently, slowly, tightening it. Both noise and light make it worse.

Hangover III: 3:22:21

This condition will downgrade each time it runs its course, and applies a penalty equal to the square of its level to all skills and attributes. Hidden, secret methods may shorten this condition.

You're sprawled on the rock around the edge of the pool. Two kobolds lie to your left. Jack and... Sienna, by the looks of things. Each of them has one hand on the ladle.

You remember... a civil war? The Church of the Ladle Returned and The Democracy of the Ladle Reborn hand ganged up to stop the coup of the Grand Navy...

You really shouldn't have gone back to the mess hall to convince your mooks to gather resources tomor- this morning. Sapphire and Feathers had returned to the party. They can be very persuasive when they gang up on you.

You shake your head, and immediately regret it. A low groan escapes your lips as the world spins around your head. A tongue like sandpaper flops out of your partly open mouth as you shut your eyes in an attempt to make the spinning stop.

Not only does it make the spinning worse, you now also know what the floor tastes like. And by extension, goblin feet. You retract your tongue with a grimace before your eyes alight on the glittering water just a few feet from you. You can solve two problems with one drink. You manage to get one leg under you before you become aware of a pressing issue.

Something is pressing down on you. Not heavy enough to restrain you, but there is something on your back.

With no small struggle, you get a second leg under you, and with the help of a third, get to your feet. The thing on your back falls off two a fleshy thumb and a cry of pain that trails into a snore before it's half over.

On the floor by your side, slumped in a position that could charitably called Downwards Dog, or less charitably be called 'Passed Out On Her Face With Her Ass In The Air' is... either Sand or Notch-Ear. You crane your neck over the sleeping goblin. It's Notch-Ear. You can tell because of the notch, in her ear.

Your brain feels fuzzy, until you're distracted once more by the taste in your mouth. Water.

You make it to the bank of the pool and bend your head to drink, in time to see a most unexpected site, considering the state that every seems to be in.

One-Eye, one of the two surviving males from Feathers' original tribe, walking unaided and apparently untroubled by a hangover from the direction of the goblin caves. He gives you a respectful nod when he meets your eyes, before bending and using a wooden bowl to lift water to his mouth.

You only manage a few more gulps before the water sours in your stomach and you're forced to focus on your breathing to avoid regurgitating it. When you open your eyes again, you see One-Eye regarding you with some amusement, although his features school themselves quickly when you send him a glare.

“How-” the water rolls again and you take another deep breath before you can continue. “How are you not on the floor with the others?”

You distinctly remember that the grizzled goblin had been Chief of the Tribe of the Ladle Lost for a while, and had drunk his share.

He shrugs. “Have cure.”

Your stomach nearly rebels. “Give it to me. Please.”

Is it your imagination or does he look... scared? Apprehensive?

“You no like. No good for leaders.”

You're taken aback. A potion or something that only works for monsters without the boss subtype maybe?You could believe it. The gods were easily cruel enough to deny advantage to monster leaders, after all.

“Would it kill me? Or just not work?”

“No, no kill. Would work. But you not be happy.”

“Would I be less happy that being hungover for the next nine hours?”

One-Eye nods slowly. “You make point.” He stands and walks over to you, skirting slightly , and not looking you in the eye. You'd be suspicious but if he was going to betray you you'd almost welcome death right now. You'd be back soon and wouldn't be hungover. You're ninety percent sure that would violate the gods rules about killing yourself for advantage however.

“Shut eyes. Relax body.”

Yeah he is definitely going to kill you. Except... he's unarmed, and less that half your level. Genuinely curious now, you shut your eyes and make a conscious effort to relax yourself. You feel his hands, small but tough and riddled with callouses, against your chest. He takes a deep breath.

He shoves you, in the chest. You overbalance, try to correct yourself but your legs are getting in the way and then-

Splash.

COLD. That's cold! Oh gods who turned the temperature down? The icy water feels like knives hammering through your temples. The shock makes you open your mouth and frothing water rushes in, making you cough and splutter as you thrash yourself back to the surface.

Your face finds air, and you heave your lungs, panting and still coughing up water. In front of you, now looking far more apprehensive than before, One-Eye is stood where you were when he pushed you.

“Hangover?”

It takes you a moment to realise what he's saying, and longer still for you to open your menu while treading water.

Hangover I 2:59:34

Your head does feel a lot less fluffy, you realise. And your stomach has calmed. You consider pulling him into the water with you, or sending a wave at him with your wings. But he was only doing what you asked of him. He even told you that you wouldn't like it.

And with the new floor effects, your minions opinion of you directly benefited them.

You swallow your pride, along with a bit more water, and clamber out.

“You were right. I didn't like it, but it worked. Thank you.”

After a moment, he bows slightly to you, and vanishes back towards the caves, full bowl of water in his hands.

That felt... good, you decide. Not the water, although the much diminished hangover is certainly helping with your good mood. Just... being better than expected.

The smile hasn't left your face by the time you reach the mess hall... Although you might need to rename it to Tavern now. The smile only grows when you see what awaits you there.

You chuckle. The noise seems to be enough to rouse Mercy enough for her to open one bleary eye. She goes to raise her head, but her weak movement is stymied by the layer of drool and split ale that is currently sticking her cheek to the table. All she manages is to raise a shaky middle finger in your direction and a grunted

“Bugg'r orf.”

Oh the wonder of not being hungover around people who are.

You move past her as her eyes flutter closed once more, and poke your head into the kitchen.

Empty. Perfect.

Clutter Room

Room Type: Kitchen

Size: Small

Cost: 5 Animus

With no Charlemagne in there currently cooking, this should be fine.

You hesitate. That was a dangerous thought.

Please, Fate, don't fuck me over now.

You hit accept.

The room performs the now nearly normal hiccough, rumbling as stone and wood sprout. Goblin-proportioned barrels and cupboards grow from the floor along the north and south walls and long selves ring the upper reaches of the room. A ladder pushes up from the floor even as another section drops away to reveal a shallow, coal filled fire pit, which ignites with the soft whump of displaced air. More barrels, larger and held horizontally, slot into the walls in the short corridor between the tavern and the kitchen, with wooden spigots leaving little doubt in your mind that they are for alcohol. Several iron skewers burst forth over the fire, falling into wooden supports at perfect roasting height, and then with a noise like a gong being struck a great iron cauldron pops into existence, settling on four clawed feet above the coals and reflecting their dull glow across the floor.

For a moment, everything seems stable, until a final belch echoes in the air, and a stream of water pours from nothingness, keeping up until the cauldron is around half full before cutting off. A handful of simple looking stone and iron tools rattle into place around the room, and then everything falls still.

You nod. That was a kitchen. Clutter seems back up to form after the lacklustre showing in the Grove. Maybe groves don't, overall, tend to have much clutter?

You pause and think over the first floor.

Was there anything left to do? There was the blank pillar room, but you still don't know why you made that one. Its' purpose has never been clear to you. Maybe you should take it down, replace it with-

Was there anything left to do? There was the blank pillar room, but it's not time to finish that yet. Best to leave it for now.

You sway slightly on your feet.

There was the training room? But baring the stone spike that you're not sure how to remove, left over from the magical barrage at the end of Mhæri's raid, it already functions just fine. From what you know, when Feathers and Sapphire got back before you from your last excursion, they spent some time making improvements there manually, using the workshop. It already has weapon racks and training dummies. And using Clutter on a large room would be expensive, if all you got from it was a few benches or a few more weapons.

You swap your clutter interface for your loot one, and hover over a few things as you wander around, trying to get a feeling for what things you can use it on. You have exactly eighteen Animus left, or one poor and one common drop.

The barrels, shelves and even cupboards in the kitchen all give a positive reaction, so you burn five animus on a poor drop for cupboard against the far wall. It rattles for a moment, as if something was moving inside, which makes you almost reconsider opening it, but you're a Boss Monster dammit! No mere food is going to beat you!

Unless it's a bug.

Before you can stop yourself, you throw the door wide, readying yourself to unleash flaming hell on whatever is inside.

Instead of unleashing chitin on yourself however, as soon as the door opens the loot drop triggers, popping a small loaf of bread into existence. You fumble the catch, and the loaf bounces off the floor.

That's fine... You weren't hungry for more floor food this morning anyway. You put the bread back in the cupboard. Or at least attempt to. The door doesn't open, instead a familiar pop-up floats away from the handle.

Resource node (1/1), Party Entry

Poor, Food

Drops: Bread, ????

Well then. Probably best if you don't do that to too many cupboards. Your cook would be very annoyed if he couldn't store anything, no matter how valuable a siege-proof food source would be.

You place the bread above the loot point, on the counter, and reopen your loot drop menu. The tavern seems devoid of possibilities at the moment, but the Arena gives you the Weapon Stands.

One Good weapon spawn coming up then.

You pause, and carefully remove the handful of training spears currently occupying it.

One Good weapon spawn, and not loosing anything your minions worked to create coming up!

The clattering of wood on wood announces the arrival of the loot, and you're honestly curious. The bone pile needed to be destroyed to get loot, the cupboard opened. Both times the actual loot was hidden. How would a weapon rack – barely more than a few planks of wood – hide the loot?

It won't, as it turns out. A short axe, obviously sized for smaller races, sits alone in the rack. You're somewhat disappointed, until you use perception on it.

Resource node (0/1), Party Entry

Common, Weapon

Drops: ????, ????, ????

What do you mean '????'? It's an axe! I can see it!

But no matter what you do, you can't get your perception to focus on the axe itself. Impatient, You reach out and grab the axe, pulling it away from the rack. A tiny fanfare erupts.

Resource node (1/1), Party Entry

Common, Weapon

Drops: ????, ????, Common Enchanted Weapon

You turn your perception to the axe itself.

Axe of Cleaving (Common)

This axe is especially effective against multiple opponents, suffering minimum loss of momentum while passing through things.

You snort. Perfect. A weapon especially designed to butcher your minions with maximum efficiency. Fuck the gods, really.