His two Hogs – Prof decided to name them Sausage and Bacon – were busy digging up the roadside and eating some kind of mushroom. Just out of curiosity, Prof took a look at the earth-brown small things. Actually, his vast knowledge about [Herbology] and [Alchemy] (both at a whopping 70% or so) triggered, and he just knew, the shrooms were called Booze Fungus, and it was possible to make anti-poison potions out of them. Or drugs and booze.


    Of course, most people processed them into happy-making stuff. It was probably more… profitable that way.


    What would happen, if two huge Hogs with enormous Endurance ate a lot of mushrooms, that were wildly known to make you happily drunk? Or high? Probably nothing, right?


    Well, not exactly. If Elephants could manage to get stiff drunk from eating overripe fruit, majestic hogs could do the same with dedicated mushrooms. The two Hogs may or may not heard about the challenge, but decided to participate either way.


    They not only completed it but overachieved the goals in a spectacular way.


    Sausage was just standing with a goofy grin on its face (how a multiple hundred-kilo Hog managed to look like a demented piggy from Mousecorp… No, Prof didn''t want to go there), slightly swaying, and participated in Ardakia''s version of climate change with generous clouds of methane. Bacon managed a few steps, before falling over, snoring.


    Barely a day on the road, and Prof''s extremely advanced vehicle had already broken down due to engine trouble. It was fantastic! On Earth, it was possible to get the wrong fuel into the tank, but as the example showed, it was possible on Arkadia too!


    Well, he probably should have put a few Skill Points into [Animal Handling] or [Animal Husbandry], but with how few Skill Points he got for the few Level Ups in the last few months, it was understandable, that he had to bolster other, more important Skills first.


    Not.


    While Prof was very good at a few things (killing and looting stuff, and knowing, how much the looted stuff was worth), he was more or less useless in a lot of other things. Not just the smelly and hard profession of digging soil (either above or below ground), but… well… almost everything.


    Repairing stuff? Setting or finding traps? Sneaking around? Opening locked locks? Investigating? Tending to livestock? Driving? All things, he would (or should) pay someone else to do.


    While Sharpclaw could solve some issues, like… folks not having enough sharp pieces of metal in their backs, there still was a marked Skill-deficit in the party in certain areas. For example [Cooking] – Prof already dreaded the month-long track, eating only camp rations – or, say, not moving a hogwagon along in a way, that almost guaranteed to terrorize other participants.


    Or explain to Hogs, that they shouldn''t eat funny shrooms.


    With having no other choice, but to make camp until the Hogs sobered up, Prof made it back to the overlook. He took a seat and started to sketch the view – months ago, he got the impression, that practicing on his own could net him a few Skill Points. He already had a full notebook with drawings – even he would peg them as… crude. Mini called them interesting and funny torture devices and a crime against Undeadity (or Humanity, Elvenkind, Greenskins, Reptilians, and any other sapient species) after she stopped laughing and asked for a few of them.


    As for Skill Points, he indeed got some. Two, to be precise.


    If he didn''t throw a few Levels worth at the problem, it would probably take a few years till he reached a level, that was above cave paintings or the average grade-schooler. Weren''t Systems designed to allow everyone to excel in even the most obscure fields just by existing?!?


    Certainly not on Arkadia.


    The local Administrator obviously believed in rewarding effort, liked realism, and was – in Prof’s opinion – an utter moron.


    After an hour of fruitlessly trying to capture the natural beauty, Prof was approached by Mini.


    “Oh, now you draw porn?" she asked while looking at his newest picture.


    “It’s the gorge with the waterfall and the bushes, not porn!”


    “Sure, sure. But looking at it from here, there is quite a similarity to…”


    “Don’t say it!” Prof interrupted. However, after having it pointed out, he had to concede, the drawing could indeed be misunderstood for something else. He tore the page out quickly, to be burned at the earliest possible instance.


    “Anyways, the Hogs sobered up enough to only sway slightly. We are good to go!" Mini informed him. Prof wasn''t exactly sure, driving with Hogs under the influence was exactly a good idea, but on the other hand, keeping a straight line was already almost impossible. So, probably nothing major would be different.


    He was wrong.


    For some fluke of the System, Arkadia, or Hog physiology, Prof actually could keep the line, without the driving force behind the wagon wanting to go place. Ehmm… other places than Prof wanted.


    That went well for an hour or two, but from one minute to another, the Hogs went from “slightly drunk” to “massively hung over”. Keeping them under control was still easy, but the velocity fell even further. An elderly Greenskin woman even overtook them. On foot.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    “Hey, Prof! I have a fantastic idea!” That wasn’t a… comforting prospect. Did she want to organize an orgy in the middle of nowhere? Kill something, because she was bored? Did she want a mirror to look at her magnificent self?


    “Feed the Hogs more mushrooms! Or let them drink your booze!”


    “NO!!! Why would I do that?!?”


    “Cause you could control the Hogs better when they are drunk?"


    “I get that. I meant my booze! This is good stuff, not the swill I’ve got from the Elves!”


    “Oh, that I can understand. That paprika-stuff is actually quite good. Hmmm… That leaves the shrooms. Get your shovel and start digging!”


    “That’s quite close to [Agriculture]. You know, I’m not exactly good with that.”


    “Digging up fungi isn''t [Agriculture]! I think it''s [Herbology] or [Wilderness Survival]. Or [Gathering]. And if you use the shovel as a weapon [Polearms] or [Makeshift Weapons]. One or the other. I don''t think, anyone would use a shovel as a weapon."


    “You know, these short shovels back home were excellent close-combat weapons…”


    “Daggerssss better weaponssss.”


    “But the tools could be used as axes, hammers, oars, or even frying pans!"


    “Can ssstab well?”


    “Well, not exactly…”


    “Sssssee? Daggerssss better!”


    Sharpclaw was obviously right. A thingy, that was purpose-built for stabbing folks in the back was immensely better at doing that than a common tool. Prof had to concede the point, even if he felt, multiple uses for the same tool was a better choice. Besides stabbing, what were daggers good for? Not overly much.


    Prof parked the wagon at the side of the road and started looking for Booze Fungus. After another hour, of pocking around in the underbrush, he was fed up with the whole quest. He did find a few edible mushrooms, some fruit, and a discarded kettle with a hole in the bottom, but no shrooms to fuel the Hogs.


    “Come on! Give the Hogs booze!” Mini urged.


    “Definitely not! Wait a minute! You had fun watching me drive, why the sudden interest in quick and straight travel?”


    “You bumbling along was fun for a time, but it starts to get boring. If the Hogs are drunk, we could quickly reach some sort of civilization, where I can have a snack and have fun.”


    Of course, the resident Vampire wanted to have a “snack” and “have fun” – what else could it have been? Her taking pity on Prof for his non-existent Skills, or worrying for innocent random travelers on the road?


    However, Prof put down his foot. No Hog would drink his expensive and excellent booze, even if that added extra traveling time and significant danger to random strangers.


    The issue solved itself by nightfall – as every problem did if ignored long enough. They found a small village not far from the main road, and small villages out in the boonies everywhere in all the multiverses were known for a few things. Namely, kids, whose parents were close relatives, general distrust towards strangers, unmarked graves for sassy (or richer-than-the-locals) strangers, and finally, cheap booze.


    “How can this humble village help you?" a local Hob asked them. Prof pegged him – based on his slightly better clothes – as some kind of leader. Since everywhere in Greenskin lands, there were three leaders for everything, he was probably either the Chief, the General, or the President. Or, since it was a small village, the Chiefling, Corporal, or Major.


    “Dear Village Co-Leader” Prof started to flex his Gentleman muscles. Co-Leader was the polite address, if the exact function wasn’t known “We would like to acquire a few kegs of your excellent alcohol. The cheapest one.”


    “Oh, I see.” the Co-Leader answered. Prof may or may not have imagined him eyeing an empty plot of land, the right size for a random unmarked grave.


    “Would it be possible? We would be on our way."


    “It certainly would be possible! It wouldn’t be excellent, not to engage in commerce with strangers, just because they are Pinkskins or Reptiles!”


    “Or technically dead!” Mini clarified.


    “Or undead, naturally. I have a cousin, who is undead too, we certainly don''t have anything against undead!" Well, magical weapons didn''t grow on trees, so the locals most certainly had nothing against the undead.


    “That is comforting. I wouldn''t have thought, excellent Greenskins would participate in Speciesism!" Prof continued to be polite. Be polite in the morning, and you won''t get poison into your lunch, as the saying goes.


    “Save for those red-wearing Treehuggers!” the Co-Leader clarified. Prof could get behind that statement. Elves were most certainly un-excellent. Pay fines and taxes! Piss off, or we kick you in the teeth! Bureaucracy! At least they had non-ugly architecture…


    “That is, it would be un-excellent to send strangers out into the night! Come! Let’s share a meal and drinks! We can discuss trading later!”


    Random villagers out in the boonies inviting you to eat and drink at their expense, while they may or may not be eyeing strategically placed shovels, should constitute red flags… no. Red banners, you won''t even see on communist rallies!


    Prof wasn’t overly concerned, though. They were marginally almost-trained apprentice adventurers (with Mini being a marginally well-trained master), so they probably could depopulate the whole village, if it came to fighting. Also, poison wasn’t a danger either. Mini was immune to everything (that included, to her chagrin, booze), and Prof had quite a high Poison Resistance - plus his anti-poison trinket. And Sharpclaw didn’t drink.


    The villagers were real Greenskins, and so excellent hosts. It wouldn’t be excellent to invite someone to their funeral and then only serve scraps! Of course, they wouldn’t feed the choicest and last pieces of their meager pantry (winter was coming, after all), but Prof found the spicy chicken soup and piping hot dog steaks with sharp paprika as a side dish quite tasty. The paprika booze was even more excellent – the hottest version, he had the fortune of tasting. The eating music, however, was… lackluster. Prof got used to the excellent musicians in the big cities, foremost Mythrillhead. A small village simply couldn’t compete.


    All the locals wanted in return was gossip. Without an established news network to dispense tightly curated and carefully phrased information, the best source for any news was random travelers.


    As the night progressed and the booze flowed, Prof told about the latest slime campaign, the upheaval because of the new music, and even some prices and general gossip, he picked up.


    Close to midnight, the Co-Leader got up from the table.


    “All right, let me get a shovel.”