Sinclair is allocated a secluded spot to recuperate while a crew is dispatched to sanitize the recently cleared mine path. Making do without the luxury of a shower, he retrieves water containers to cleanse himself and his two cherished animal companions, Chewy and Leia. The pair wag their tails, reveling in the affectionate grooming.
City Lord Garret saunters over, an air of solemnity surrounding her, and takes a seat next to Sinclair. Another advisor trailing behind her, standing at a respectful distance, seemingly content to observe for the moment.
"I've been monitoring your accomplishments," Lord Garret begins, a thoughtful expression gracing her features. "It's astonishing, really, how you manage to wield such capabilities despite being so fresh to the system. Even more intriguing is your choice not to expend points on leveling up. You're an enigma, Sinclair."
Pondering her words for a moment, she leans in closer, lowering her voice as though to share a secret. "I've decided to entrust you with a matter of great importance. Clearly, you're no ordinary System initiate. I have a reason to believe you could be pivotal to our ongoing efforts."
The gravity in her eyes solidifies Sinclair's understanding that whatever task lies ahead is of dire consequence. With a silent nod, he signals his readiness to heed her summons, preparing for the weight of the responsibility she's about to unfold.
City Lord Garret takes a moment to gather her thoughts before laying out her proposal. "We have a vested interest in the stability of that mine, as you might imagine. You've already done much to clear it, but we suspect that the source of the problem lies deeper within. Handle it for us, and we can offer some substantial benefits in return."
Her eyes lock onto Sinclair's, clearly evaluating his reaction. "Since Midgard was a realm we could previously access, we've discovered that we can indeed return via the portal here in Svartalheim. If you manage to fully secure the mine, we intend to send troops through the tunnel, open up the cave entrance on your side, and establish an outpost. This would facilitate trade and communication between our realms."
Intrigued but not yet committed, Sinclair raises an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.
"We're also willing to assign a couple of guards to patrol Wolf's Run," she adds, "provided you're open to setting up a sort of embassy for us there. Think of it as a mutual exchange program. You'll gain access to some of our knowledge, training resources, and technology. In return, you can sell us your surplus resources at much better rates than what the System offers. Trust me, the System's prices are quite exorbitant; one quickly learns to reserve them for particular necessities."
She sits back, letting the weight of her proposal sink in. It's a lot to consider, but the potential benefits are enormous—economic, strategic, and educational. Both realms would have much to gain from such an alliance. "So, what do you say, Sinclair?" she finally asks, locking eyes with him once more, looking for his verdict.
Sinclair leans back, absorbing the magnitude of City Lord Garret's proposal. "Before we shake on it, I've got one condition. If we're going the formal route with a signed document, can we draft it in plain language? No legalese or intricate clauses. Just straightforward terms that anyone can understand."
A smile tugs at the corners of Garret's lips. "You dislike the convolution of legal jargon as much as I do? You're a man after my own heart. Agreed, it will be as plain-spoken as possible."
Nodding, she turns to introduce the figure who has been standing silently behind her. "This is Elric, my chief advisor and the person I'd like to appoint as our ambassador to Wolf's Run."
Elric steps forward, nodding respectfully towards Sinclair.
Returning the nod, Sinclair says, "If that's the case, I've got no objections. But I'll be heading back down into the mine shortly. You said you could offer some assistance; would it be possible to gather some supplies? I have a list."
Sinclair rattles off a concise list of items—torches, basic medical supplies, some additional weaponry, and a few other essentials. He's well aware that the deeper reaches of the mine could pose unforeseen challenges.
"We'll see to it immediately," City Lord Garret assures him. "Take a couple of hours to rest and recuperate; you'll need your strength."
"Sounds like a plan," Sinclair replies, content that they've reached a mutually beneficial agreement. He glances over at Chewy and Leia, his faithful companions, as if confirming they're okay with the arrangement too. Satisfied, he prepares to rest up for the challenging journey that lies ahead.
Guided by one of City Lord Garret's guards, Sinclair is escorted to a nearby troop barracks. Inside, a satisfying meal awaits him, accompanied by a comfortable cot for his rest. As for Chewy and Leia, soft and plush rugs have been laid out on the floor, providing them with a cozy place to relax.
Sinclair seizes the opportunity to catch a couple hours of sleep, physically and mentally preparing for the task that lies ahead in the treacherous depths of the mine. After a restorative slumber, he awakens, taking a few moments to stretch out the stiffness from his muscles. Checking on Chewy and Leia, he decides to let them continue their restful sleep. He clears some lingering notifications on his System interface, knowing he's got another hour or two before they'll have to set out again.
Exiting the barracks, he wanders through the stone-laden streets and stumbles upon what appears to be a local eatery. He observes patrons sitting at stone tables, engaging in lively conversation as they enjoy their meals. Intrigued, he makes his way over. The bartender, spotting him, hurries over to greet him.
"Ah, you must be Sinclair! News travels fast. We've all heard of your recent accomplishments. Congratulations!" The bartender beams with enthusiasm. "If you're hungry, our specials for today are fried stone fish with potatoes or Coravox steak accompanied by fresh vegetables. Which would you prefer?"
Feeling the pangs of hunger, Sinclair smiles back. This is exactly what he needs before embarking on his next adventure.
Sinclair laughs at the similarities, basically it's fish and chips or steak and veg. He figures that if they are eating it here he should be able to, Sinclair nods at the bartender's raised eyebrow. "One of each, please. And a mead to go with it."
He had mead before at a local Ren Faire and was excited to try it here as well.
"Quite the appetite you've got there. Coming right up!" The bartender hurries away to prepare Sinclair's orders.
When the food arrives, Sinclair is taken aback by just how delectable it is. Each bite is an explosion of flavor that he hadn't expected. As he savors the meal, he makes a mental note to ask Garret—now on a first-name basis—if she'd consider sending a culinary envoy to Earth. There's a definite market for this level of cuisine back home.
Feeling satiated but not overindulgent, Sinclair stands up, leaving a few coins on the table as a tip. As he strolls back towards the shopping district, he notices he has a tail—specifically, one of the guards from yesterday trailing discreetly behind him. With a casual hand gesture, Sinclair motions for the guard to join him at his side.
"Might as well make friends," he thinks to himself, smiling at the prospect of building connections in this strange, yet increasingly familiar, world.
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"Name's Reinar," the guard says, offering a firm handshake as he falls into step beside Sinclair. "I've got to say, you've made quite an impression around here."
"Thanks, Reinar. The feeling's mutual; you all have been very welcoming. Listen, I was wondering where I could get some decent boots—something more than just common footwear. Got any suggestions?"
Reinar's eyes light up at the question. "Ah, you're in luck! My uncle is one of the best magical artificers in the area. He specializes in enchanted gear. If you want boots with special perks, he's the guy to see."
"Sounds perfect," Sinclair replies. "Do you mind leading the way?"
"Not at all, follow me."
They navigate the bustling streets, eventually arriving at a well-kept shop that exudes an air of arcane mystery. The sign above the door reads, "Thrainn's Enchanted Wares."
As they enter, Sinclair can't help but be impressed by the array of magical items displayed around the shop. From glowing swords to intricate pieces of armor, the craftsmanship is impeccable.
"This is Thrainn's place," Reinar says with a touch of pride in his voice. "You'll find what you're looking for here."
The atmosphere in the shop was thick with an almost tangible sense of disdain. The elderly Dark Elf, known as Thrainn, seemed to weigh Sinclair's worth with a dismissive glance as he entered.
"Uh, hi there," Sinclair attempted to break the ice. His greeting was met with an unyielding grunt from Thrainn.
"This is Sinclair, the Wolf Lord," the guard— who turned out to be Thrainn's nephew Reinar— interjected. "He helped fend off the attack earlier and will be venturing into the mines later."
At the mention of Sinclair's recent heroics and upcoming mission, Thrainn's stern face shifted, ever so slightly. While he didn't become talkative, the grunts that followed were notably less aggressive.
"So, what do you think you need?" Thrainn finally spoke, his question hanging in the air like an enigmatic riddle.
Sinclair paused, finding the method of choosing gear peculiar. "Well, I've got set pieces for most of my equipment. The plan is to eventually have a matching set, which means replacing my arm guards and boots. But for now, upgrading my common boots seems the most urgent. They offer no special attributes."
Thrainn seemed to digest this information, his eyes narrowing as if assessing the validity of Sinclair's request. Then, with another of his less aggressive grunts, he turned away and began to rummage through the mountains of magical artifacts and gear cluttering the shop.
Thrainn meandered through what appeared to be a labyrinth of eclectic piles, each stack containing a cornucopia of mystical items, from weapons to armor to odd trinkets. His weathered hands danced from pile to pile, seizing objects only to scrutinize them and dismiss them back into a different heap.
Finally, he unearthed a pair of knee-high moccasins that seemed to meet his unspoken criteria. With a grunt that sounded almost pleased, he laid them out on a nearby workbench.
Not content, he plunged once more into the menagerie of magical items. This time he emerged holding a pair of boots that would make Captain Jack Sparrow green with envy. Leather, with exaggerated folds and straps, they were the quintessential pirate boots. He tossed them beside the moccasins.
His next find was even more surprising. He pulled out a pair of knee-high laced sandals, resembling something right out of a Roman centurion's wardrobe. With a final grunt, he placed them next to the other two options on the bench.
Sinclair eyed the trio of footgear, each exuding a charm and potential power of its own. Thrainn's grunt was as much a question as any words could have been: "So, what'll it be?"
Thrainn guided Sinclair to a wooden stool, a series of grunts accompanying each instruction. After helping Sinclair try on each pair of boots and observing him walk around the cluttered shop, the old artificer seemed to come to a mysterious decision. "Two hours. Come back," he said, his voice as gravelly as one might expect from a man who communicated mainly through grunts.
Sinclair exchanged puzzled glances with the guard, who was now smiling broadly. Opting not to risk further unintelligible interactions with Thrainn, Sinclair followed the guard out of the shop.
"So, care to fill me in? What was all that about?"
"You're in his good books, believe it or not," the guard chuckled. "The last person who requested a custom item was practically hurled out of the shop. Thrainn is, well, not exactly a people person."
Shaking his head, Sinclair marveled at the peculiar customs and characters of this world. "Well, if being in his good books means I get some quality gear, I'm not going to complain."
"Ah, you'll get more than quality gear, you'll get Thrainn-crafted gear. That's another level altogether," the guard assured him, still beaming.
Taking the guard's words at face value, Sinclair decided to simply accept the good fortune for what it was. After all, in a land as unpredictable as Svartalheim, one learned to appreciate the small victories.
Wandering through the labyrinthine market, Sinclair took mental notes and even jotted down some ideas on a scrap of paper. The intricate layout of the shops, the way transactions were handled, and the various exotic goods on display fascinated him. His parents would love to hear about the nuances of Svartalheim's trade practices, he mused.
A couple of hours later, he returned to the restaurant where he'd had lunch, ordering two sizable steaks to go. "One for each of my furry friends," he told the bartender, who chuckled and nodded, accustomed to adventurers pampering their companions.
Balancing the tray carefully, Sinclair entered the barracks where Chewy and Leia were taking their well-deserved rest. As he opened the door, he watched their noses twitch, the delightful scent of cooked meat filling the air. They got up, tails wagging, clearly anticipating a tasty meal.
"As soon as I pick up my new boots, we'll be ready to tackle whatever's next," Sinclair said, setting down the tray and watching the wolves eagerly devour their steaks.
Turning to the guard who had accompanied him earlier, Sinclair gave him a nod. "Could you send a message to City Lord Garret? Let her know we'll be ready to move out once I have my boots."
The guard quickly relayed the message, likely through some magical means, and returned a thumbs-up.
Everything was falling into place. New gear, well-fed companions, and an intriguing alliance on the horizon. Sinclair couldn't help but feel that, despite the challenges and oddities of Svartalheim, things were starting to look up.
As Sinclair walked toward the store to pick up his boots, a messenger intercepted him, slightly out of breath. "Sir, the City Lord said she'll meet you at the gate later."
Nodding his head Sinclair continued on to pick up his new boots. Mentally shooting a message to Chewy and Leia to meet him at the wall when they are done eating.
Upon reaching the shop, Sinclair found it eerily empty. His eyes landed on a pair of dark green boots displayed on the counter, accompanied by a note. He observed the foreign runes etched on the boots, momentarily puzzled. Then, his language skill kicked in, translating the runes to "Wolf Lord."
Glancing at the guard standing nearby, Sinclair remarked, "Looks like these are on the house. I wouldn't argue with that, would you?"
Chuckling, the guard shook his head. "If Thrainn left them for you, best not to question it."
Eagerly, Sinclair analyzed the boots. Forest Dragonstride Boots was an interesting name. Not wasting anytime he stored them and equipped them instead of his old plain boots. As they contoured to his feet, he couldn't help but feel a surge of agility and endurance flow through him. "Ah, Forest Dragon Skin," he muttered, "that is really comfortable stuff."
The guard looked intrigued. "Really? What do they do?"
Sinclair pulled up his information screen, scanning the item's stats and special abilities. "Apart from boosting agility by 16 points and endurance by 18, they've got this 'Fleet of Foot' enchantment that basically makes you faster. And 'Traceless Step' feature minimizes the chance of leaving tracks."
"Sounds like a perfect fit for where you are headed," the guard said, impressed.
"Absolutely," Sinclair agreed, taking a moment to admire the moccasin style Thrainn had chosen. "He even went with the style I had liked the most—moccasins. They are not just comfortable but they look really cool too."
With a grin, Sinclair took a few test steps. The boots felt like a second skin, lightweight and extraordinarily comfortable. "I can already tell," he mused, "these boots will make all the difference in the world."
As he exited the store, Sinclair felt as if he were descending deeper into the heart of the mountain, his steps resonating harmoniously with the natural rhythms of the cavernous world around him. It was then he knew that these boots were destined to be an integral part of his underground journey.
As he jogged towards the gate to meet up, Sinclair couldn't help but reflect on how everything had been progressing for him lately, especially as he approached level 24. Just two more levels, and he would finally have the opportunity to evolve his race. The anticipation of what this transformation would entail filled him with excitement. If he ever had a moment to catch his breath, he resolved to seek out someone who could provide more information about this significant milestone.
As Sinclair approaches the gate, he's greeted by City Lord Garret, who stands at the helm of a small task force. "We'll establish a forward operating base at the first significant junction in the tunnels," she informs him. "Should you require assistance, make your way back there, and we'll do our best to provide support."
"Understood," Sinclair replies, nodding his approval. He takes note of the supplies the City Lord has arranged for him and, with a quick mental command, transports them into his storage device. 'Thank goodness for this thing,' he thinks, grateful for the convenience of the magical storage. Otherwise, carrying all this would be nearly impossible.
With little fanfare and not one for prolonged farewells, Sinclair nods once more to the City Lord. "Thank you for the supplies and support. We'll do our best to secure the area for your team."
Garret returns the nod, her eyes revealing a blend of trust and worry. At her signal, her troops start preparing for their mission, moving in sync with practiced ease.
Turning on his heel, Sinclair strides through the gate, Chewy and Leia eagerly trailing behind him, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead.