Noticing the subtle shift in his stance, his parents' voices tinged with a rising tide of alarm, questioning what was amiss. He instinctively grasped his chest, sensing the transformation within as the skill reached its new milestone. With a reassuring gesture, he raised his hand, signaling for a moment of patience as he steadied his breath.
Upon accessing the skill's interface, the new description unfolded before him, detailing the evolved powers of the Mantle of the Winter Wolf. The words on the screen seemed to pulse with the same mythical energy that now surged within him, heralding the dawn of a new era in his journey as a Wolf Lord.
Visage of the Wolf (Mythic) - The path of the Wolf Lords is a sacred journey, reserved for those unwaveringly devoted to their purpose. This mythic skill, when invoked, allows you to embody the essence of the wolf, a mantle revered across the ages. As the Visage of the Wolf, you stand on the brink of a new destiny, initiating your journey down the illustrious Path of the Wolf Lords. The effects of this transcendental transformation remain shrouded in mystery, awaiting the chosen one to unveil them.
Effects:
* Mantle of the Winter Wolf: As you advance in your mastery, your resilience grows to match that of the enduring winter wolf. Your skin becomes tough, granting you enhanced resistance to the biting chill and physical assaults. Your steadfast vigor is not only a boon to your own survival but serves as a beacon of determination to those around you. Allies in your presence find their stamina bolstered and their resolve steeled, allowing them to engage in battle with renewed willpower and reduced fatigue.
Sinclair straightened up from his half-bent posture, and as he did, the onlookers who had risen from their seats took in the visible changes with wide eyes. Sinclair, who now perpetually bore his wolfish visage, showcased a striking transition in his appearance. His hair, previously of a singular shade, now boasted a gradient of white at the tips, blending seamlessly into the black toward the middle of his biceps. The effect was akin to a hood of frosted hair laid gently upon his shoulders, visible even amidst the casual drapery of his town attire.
"Please, there's no need for alarm," he reassured the room, a light-hearted tone threading through his words. "An unexpected skill enhancement took me by surprise, and with it came some... aesthetic updates. The good news," he continued with a chuckle, "is that this mantle grants all in my vicinity increased vigor and determination."
The assembly relaxed, their concern melting into murmurs of relief and curiosity, pleased that their comrade was unharmed.
"If there's nothing more, let's proceed with our tasks," Sinclair declared, keen to resume the day's agenda.
The group dispersed, returning to their respective duties, while Turgrin approached Sinclair, ready to follow him downstairs.
Together, they descended to the atrium, where Sinclair selected a discreet yet accessible location near the main entrance. He navigated his System interface with practiced ease, activating the option to manifest the portal. The moment he positioned the holographic template over the chosen spot, a brilliant flash enveloped the area. When the light receded, a stone pillar, standing five feet tall and adorned with intricate etchings and gleaming golden runes, stood proudly—a new monument to the power and mystery of their world.
Sinclair beckoned Turgrin closer to delegate the new responsibility. With a few taps on his screen, he officially designated Turgrin as the Curator of the training system. His parents, meanwhile, collaborated with other elders in the background, refining the rewards system and updating the quest boards with additional information and new quests Sinclair had recommended.
Turgrin, now engrossed in the list before him, nodded with a sense of understanding and purpose. "I'll select two skills to experience firsthand, which will give me a clearer insight into the system's nuances. After that, I'll coordinate with everyone to manage access," he affirmed. No sooner had he spoken than he became absorbed in his task, his focus unwavering.
Sinclair observed Turgrin's deep concentration with a sense of appreciation. Despite the mage's idiosyncrasies, his competence was invaluable. "Thank you, Turgrin," Sinclair said, even though he suspected his words went unnoticed. Turning towards the exit, he braced himself for the road ahead. Time was pressing, and he was eager to regain lost ground.
Stepping outside, Sinclair faced his companions, his expression apologetic. "I must apologize for my abrupt departure. The urgency of the moment overtook me, and I neglected to inform anyone of my leave. For any concern I caused, I am truly sorry."
Chewy's response was immediate and understanding, yet laced with a playful reprimand. "You've got a world of responsibilities, but that means we'll have to watch you more closely. Honestly, it's like trying to corral a herd of cats!" Leia added, her tone teasing yet underscored with concern. Her jest elicited a ripple of laughter, lightening the mood as they prepared to accompany Sinclair on yet another chapter of their shared saga.
Sinclair's laughter resonated in the open air, a light moment amidst the gravitas of their duties. "Where did that come from?" he asked, amusement still coloring his voice.
Leia's response was quick, a hint of pride in her voice for picking up the local idioms. "I overheard some of the humans using the phrase. Given the context, it seemed fitting."
"Nicely done," Sinclair commended with an approving nod. "Now, it seems we have quite the journey ahead, and time isn't on our side. Are you both prepared to leave?" he inquired, his tone shifting back to the matter at hand.
He was confident in their readiness; after all, any essentials they might have missed could easily be procured from the system shop along the way. Sinclair's question was more a prompt, a signal that the time had come to embark on the next leg of their unpredictable journey.
As Sinclair was about to set off, a sharp rapping sound drew his gaze upward. Through the pane of a second-story window in the Town Hall, he caught sight of his parents, their faces alight with encouragement, waving him onwards. He returned the gesture with a smile, then pivoted southward, the trio moving in unison towards the Southern gate and the adventure that awaited.
Each departure from Wolf's Run brought a distinct sensation, a mixture of nostalgia and anticipation. The settlement was thriving, and Sinclair felt a surge of pride at the thought of its burgeoning future.
With the gate shrinking behind them, Sinclair threw down a playful challenge. "Alright, you two slackers. Did you enjoy your nap? How about we race to Raven's Watch? We'll do a quick check there before we continue on."
Leia raised an eyebrow in playful scrutiny. "No skills involved? Just the raw speed of our legs?" she inquired.
"That's right. First one to slap the front gate wins," Sinclair confirmed with a competitive grin.
Chewy, ever the strategist, posed the inevitable question with a mischievous glint in his eye. "And what, pray tell, is the victor's bounty?"
Sinclair opened his mouth to ponder a fitting reward but found himself speaking to empty air as Chewy, seizing the moment of distraction, darted off towards their target. Leia's laughter was the only signal before she too sprinted away, a blur against the landscape.
"HEY! No fair!" Sinclair's feigned indignation echoed across the fields as he burst into a sprint, the thrill of the chase invigorating him.
They were soon dashing side by side, their speed turning them into a whirlwind that whisked over the land. They leaped over fallen logs, skirted around trees, and brushed through thickets, leaving a wake of fluttering leaves. To the woodland creatures, their passage was a thunderclap of motion, a fleeting shadow that left behind only the thrum of racing hearts and the wonder of what had just passed.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Sinclair's laughter was the soundtrack to their spirited race, a melody of mirth as they weaved through the forest. Each time he edged ahead, his companions would cleverly team up to block his path, giving the other the chance to surge forward. Their minds were alight with friendly banter, telepathically tossed back and forth, enriching their shared joy.
In what felt like the blink of an eye but was, in reality, a swift 20 minutes, they approached the village overseen by Jarl Hrondir. The wooden gate of Raven’s Watch loomed ahead, becoming larger and clearer as they neared.
Sinclair unleashed a final spurt of energy, his muscles coiling and releasing with every stride, determined to outpace his playful adversaries. But Chewy, with a cunning dash, slipped in front, causing Sinclair to stumble in his rhythm. Seizing the opportunity, Leia sprung forward with her advanced agility and collided with the gate sending enough force to cause tremors through its sturdy frame.
The resounding boom of her impact stirred a wave of alarm within the village walls, with villagers mistakenly bracing for an invasion. Regaining his composure, Sinclair shouted, "Hey, down here! Apologies for the ruckus—it's just us from Wolf's Run."
He stood there, chest heaving with deep, hearty laughs, arms raised overhead to ease his breaths. He had raced nearly at his peak without the aid of magical enhancements or the comfort of his gear for a span that could easily be twenty or thirty miles—distance estimations had become a tricky matter since the world had altered so dramatically, a skill that had never been a necessity in his former life.
Sinclair called up to the gate guard with a clear, authoritative voice, instructing him to fetch either Bjorn or Hrondir. "We'll wait right here," he added, assuring the guard of their intent to stay put.
In just a short time, both Bjorn and Hrondir appeared, their faces a blend of smiles and subtle lines of concern. "The guards reported your rather brisk arrival. Is all well?" Bjorn questioned, his eyes searching Sinclair's for any sign of distress.
"Everything's fine, truly," Sinclair reassured them with a casual wave of his hand. "We're en route to a distant quest and thought to drop by for a quick greeting. How are the new settlers adapting?" he inquired with genuine interest.
"Minor hiccups, as anticipated, but nothing alarming," Jarl Hrondir responded, his hand sweeping toward the welcoming openness of the gates.
Sinclair peered through the entrance, noting the gathered crowd within, their gazes fixed on him, a buzz of whispers rising and falling. He caught snippets of conversation as residents shared tales of his deeds and contributions to the region with the newcomers.
"I appreciate the offer, but time presses us onward. I'll make a point of accepting your kind hospitality upon my return. How does that sound?" Sinclair's tone was apologetic, yet firm, the weight of his quest evident in his demeanor.
"That's perfectly understandable," Hrondir replied, his voice warm. "Safe travels to you, my friend, and may your journey be swift." With a gracious step back, he gestured a farewell, extending his well-wishes to Chewy and Leia as well, who received them with nods and smiles before the trio resumed their pressing journey.
Setting off again. They plowed through the trees. Not having anything more than the occasional game trail they made their own trail. Trees whipped by and bushes were crushed underfoot. The details of this forest had changed some since Sinclair had last seen them. They used to be more just large stands of Pine trees. Now there were towering hardwood trees
Crowned Sentinels
Type: Hardwood Resource
Lore: Deep in the heart of the Eldergrove Forest stand the Crowned Sentinels, ancient hardwood trees revered by time and legend. These towering giants, with their sprawling canopies and bark as tough as iron, are said to have stood watch over the forest since the dawn of ages. Legends whisper that the Crowned Sentinels were once guardians, transformed by an ancient druidic ritual to serve as eternal protectors of the forest's secrets and sanctity.
Their leaves, a vibrant green even in the harshest of winters, are believed to contain mystical properties, sought after by alchemists and sorcerers alike. The wood of the Crowned Sentinels, dense and almost unyielding, is coveted for its unparalleled strength and durability, making it an invaluable resource for crafting artifacts of great power and resilience.
But to harvest from these majestic beings is no simple feat. It is said that only those with a pure heart and noble intent can approach the Crowned Sentinels without incurring the wrath of the forest spirits. Many have ventured into the depths of Eldergrove seeking the Sentinels' bounty, but only a few have returned, bearing tales of whispering leaves and watchful eyes amidst the ancient grove.
"Hey, do you two have any idea why I received such an extensive lore section and a wealth of information from analyzing those trees, unlike the ones back home?" Sinclair posed the question to his companions as they journeyed.
Dark Eye +2
Leia promptly offered her insight, "It's likely a combination of your lore-gathering skill and the uniqueness of those trees. The ones back home probably don't possess the same special qualities."
Chewy chimed in, agreeing with Leia's assessment, "Sounds plausible to me. I think also you are normally in such a hurry that you don't let it give you more information. Taking the bare necessities and moving on."
Sinclair nodded, accepting their theories, and continued on their path. He diligently examined their surroundings, recording any noteworthy details and marking significant spots on his map for future reference to benefit the town upon his return.
As they ventured deeper, they encountered numerous creatures lurking in the wilderness. However, these beasts seemed instinctively wary of the trio's formidable presence, keeping to the shadows and avoiding direct confrontation. Sinclair took the opportunity to analyze any creature they came across. His goal was clear: if a creature offered valuable experience, they would engage; otherwise, he would employ his intimidating aura to scare it away. So far, none had warranted a battle, allowing them to proceed unimpeded on their quest.
For the next 12 hours, their journey unfolded in a relentless rhythm, punctuated only by brief pauses to explore intriguing findings. One such instance was a small, remote village, ominously shadowed by a large jungle cat on the prowl. Acting swiftly, they neutralized the feline predator, which was poised to strike, and subsequently informed the villagers of the danger they had been facing. The settlement, exclusively inhabited by humans seemingly from Earth, was quaintly named New Hope.
Located a strenuous eight-hour run from Raven's Watch, Sinclair realized that any immediate help for New Hope was impractical, given the distance. After discussions with the village leader, he opted to set up a limited-access teleportation link, a provisional measure until he could better assess and integrate the community. The village, home to around seventy individuals, appeared vulnerable with an alarmingly low average level of skill and defense.
Before making his presence known, Sinclair had reverted to his human form, conscious of the potential fear his other appearance might incite. He hauled the fallen jungle cat into plain view, corroborating his story. The village leader greeted him from atop the fortification walls.
"Howdy, welcome to our piece of the new world. My name is Chris Winder. What have you got there, stranger?" Chris's voice carried a distinct Texas twang, and he was accompanied by a few others, each armed with rudimentary weaponry.
Sinclair glanced up, offering a friendly, reassuring smile. "Just a little gift," he replied playfully. "Seems you were about to receive an uninvited visitor. Thought I'd lend a hand with the welcoming committee." His tone was light, a subtle quirk to his lips and a wink directed at Chris.
Chris's laughter rang out, hearty and grateful. "Well, it looks like we owe you a big thank you. What can we do for you?" he inquired, his demeanor open and appreciative.
"I lead a town a few hours from here, home to about 500 people. I'm currently on a quest, but I couldn't help noticing your precarious situation. You do realize that most creatures out here are way beyond your level, right?" Sinclair posed the question with a blend of concern and straightforwardness.
Chris scratched his head, a gesture of acknowledgment mixed with resignation. "Yeah, we've had our share of losses before we caught on to that. This spot was assigned to us, and breaking free hasn't been an option so far."
Understanding the gravity of their plight, Sinclair felt compelled to extend a helping hand. "I can offer you a way out. If you align with my town, I can establish a teleport link here. Those who aren't fighters can relocate for safety, and we can provide support with people more suited to handle the local wildlife."
Chris's expression wavered, torn between gratitude and a deep-seated independence. "We really appreciate the offer, but we're not too keen on the idea of being under someone else's rule," he admitted, visibly struggling with the decision yet recognizing the offer as a lifeline.
Sinclair's response was assuring. "Under my leadership, you'd maintain full autonomy. The rules are simple and fair: no killing other humans unless in self-defense, support other settlements in times of need, and strive to become stronger. I have no desire to be a tyrant. Just one more thing: you need to be accepting of half-humans and other races. I won't tolerate any of the old-world prejudices."
As they conversed, a woman's voice, firm and commanding, rose from behind the wall. "Chris, if you don't accept his offer, I swear I'll take matters into my own hands!" Her words, laced with urgency, underscored the seriousness of their situation and the potential lifeline Sinclair offered.
As Chris turned to face the source of the sharp remark, a sigh escaped him. "You're right, as always, Mom," he conceded with a mixture of resignation and relief. "Sinclair, we'd be thrilled to accept your offer. Please, come in."
Sinclair mentally noted the familial dynamic with a hint of amusement. 'Mom,' he mused silently, finding a touch of warmth in the term. His chuckle was light as he stepped through the gate. "Oh, and don’t be alarmed by the two wolves following me. They're part of my team," he called out, signaling Chewy and Leia to join him. Their arrival elicited surprised gasps from the onlookers, taken aback by the size of the animals.
Chris descended from the walls to greet Sinclair more formally. He was flanked by several individuals bearing a striking resemblance to him. "Family?" Sinclair inquired, nodding towards the group.
"Yes, we were fortunate enough to be together at a family event when the System took over, keeping us united," Chris confirmed, extending his hand for a firm handshake.
Amidst the introduction, Sinclair felt an insistent tug in his core, the quest's call growing louder, suggesting proximity. Time was of the essence.
"I regret the haste, but time is not on my side," Sinclair apologized. "I'm embroiled in an urgent quest that's becoming increasingly critical. Could you show me a suitable location for the permanent placement of a teleportation crystal?" His request, though direct, carried an undercurrent of urgency, reflecting the gravity of his mission.
The promptness of Chris's actions mirrored the urgency in Sinclair's request. Leading Sinclair to a central spot within the village, Chris indicated an area that seemed as fitting as any for the teleporter.
Efficiently, Sinclair accessed his menu, navigating to the market section to select the teleportation device. With precision, he positioned it at the designated spot, watching intently as the crystal materialized, casting shimmering reflections around the modest village square.
Next, Sinclair integrated the newly placed crystal into his network, ensuring its seamless operation. "Do you want to keep the name 'New Hope' for this location?" he asked, a part of him silently hoping for a more imaginative choice.
Chris, with an affirming smile, nodded without hesitation, cementing the name. Sinclair, despite his internal sigh for the lack of originality, saved the name and promptly dispatched a message through his network. He called for his father and General Valthorn to bring a small response team, curious to see their reaction time to this unplanned request. Now all they had to do was wait.