Dungeon Noble - Squire

As much as Jake wanted to spend the time relaxing, he was eager to convert the wood into Wyrdgeld.

Leaving the others to recuperate in their own way, Jake took his branch and headed over to the Trading Post near the centre of the settlement.

The Trading Post had the least amount of foot traffic going in and out, but from the little Jake knew, that was to be expected at a low-tier Dungeon.

The Trading Post itself was fairly squat and generic-looking, with a large sign hanging at the front of a set of scales. The only interesting thing about it from the exterior was the sizeable loading bay at the rear of the building.

A bell jingled overhead as Jake opened the door, and a voice called out a greeting from somewhere in the rear of the store, giving Jake a moment to glance around at the interior.

Unlike the other stores Jake had gone into, the Trading Post had nothing on display, instead having something more like a waiting room, with plenty of chairs along the wall and two doors, one opposite the entrance and one off to the right.

“Good morning,” an older man with short grey hair and a well-kept beard emerged through the door opposite the entrance. “Welcome to the Trading Post. Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I was looking to sell this,” Jake held the branch up, feeling a little unsure of how exactly this worked.

“Ah, from the Dungeon?” the man asked, waiting for Jake’s nod before motioning to the door on Jake’s right. “Let’s take a closer look.”

Jake followed the other man into a small room with two chairs and a simple wooden table, taking a seat opposite the older man and placing the branch on the table as he did.

“Let’s see,” the man said, reaching out to rest a hand on the piece of wood before nodding slightly. “A low level of Wyrd. I’d judge this at the common rarity of Wyrd-infused wood. I can offer you twenty Wyrdgeld for it.”

“That works for me, thanks,” Jake said, his eyes widening slightly as the other man held out a hand and wisps of grey energy emerged to form a neat stack of Wyrdgeld.

“Twenty Wyrdgeld, as agreed,” the man waited for Jake to nod before taking the branch and moving it off to one side. “Is there anything else?”

“Is it possible to deal in Ingar here?” Jake asked, more out of curiosity than anything. He still had a few of Ingar stashed in his room at the inn, but most Classers seemed to deal solely in Wyrdgeld.

“We can’t accept other coinage, I’m afraid,” the older man said with a shake of his head. “It’s illegal for the unascended to deal in Wyrdgeld, so it’s our policy to not deal in Ingar to prevent any potential workarounds. Besides that, there’s no set conversion rate, so this prevents any issues there.”

“Wait, does that mean everyone around here is a Classer?” Jake asked with a frown. All of the prices he’d seen were in Wyrdgeld, after all.

“Not everyone, no. Most people are, though; it makes it easier on everyone involved. Most folks in settlements like this are retired Classers or those with non-combat Classes.”

“So, how do you know if someone can deal in Wyrdgeld or not?” Jake cocked his head to one side, thinking of the stores he’d seen in the city. None of them had done anything to show they were run by a Classer, retired or not.

“You check the soul of anyone you trade with; that will show how strong they are, and that’s an easy indicator.”

“Oh, right, good point,” Jake said, flushing a little as he realised how obvious that was. “What do you sell here, by the way?”

“Well, the Trading Post is a multinational organisation that buys and sells dungeonous materials, by which I mean anything gathered from within a Dungeon. Fruit, wood, metal, meat, hides, the lot.”

“But I didn’t see any stock. How do people know what you have?” Jake frowned, trying to figure out how it would all work.

“In the last few years I’ve been here, I’ve not sold one item,” Sven said with a good-natured chuckle. “Little places like this lack the crafters and Wyrdweavers that live in the cities. I could still order in for you, but most folk will head to the city to buy things.”

“So you’re just here to buy things from the Dungeon,” Jake said thoughtfully, nodding a little as he got a grasp of how it worked.

“Exactly, we’re not quite as ubiquitous as Ivaldi, but he was the inspiration for what we do,” Sven said, chuckling a little as he mentioned Ivaldi.

“What do you mean about Ivaldi?”

“Oh, of course, you’ve only been to the one Dungeon,” Sven said, tapping his fingers on the table before shrugging. “It’s not exactly a secret, I suppose. Everywhere you find a Dungeon, you’ll find Ivaldi’s store outside it.”

“Like the Trading Post?”

“No, not really. When I say that you’ll find his store there, that’s what I mean. Every Dungeon has its own branch of Ivaldi’s store, and he’s in each and every one of them,” Sven said, his smile fading as he leaned in and continued in a softer tone. “There are things out there that make little sense, and Ivaldi is one of them. My suggestion is to steer clear where possible. You shouldn’t meddle in such things.”

“I don’t understand,” Jake muttered, trying to wrap his head around what Sven had told him. He’d felt the power around Ivaldi when he first met him, and the strange architecture of the store put it apart from everything else, but it was a big jump from that to what Sven was describing.

“Perhaps I was hasty in explaining this,” Sven said, grimacing as he sighed and got to his feet. “Apologies if I’ve shaken your preconceptions. I’ll leave you with your thoughts, but if you have anything else to sell or any other questions, please visit.”

Jake felt a little dazed as he mechanically thanked the other Classer and left the store, trying in vain to work out how one person could be in so many places at once. The alternative, however, was even more concerning.

Jake looked up a few minutes later and found himself outside Ivaldi’s store, the gleaming metal and glass structure shining brightly in the midday sun.

Curiosity quickly outweighed his hesitation, and Jake entered the store.

“Jake Khesh, be welcome in my domain,” Ivaldi said, emerging from the darkened passageway at the rear of the room to take his usual seat, one hand pulling the stool into sight from the darkness.

Jake’s new knowledge burnt into his mind as he saw everything Ivaldi did with a new light; memories surfaced of how the merchant was always able to simply pull whatever he needed from storage that was just out of Jake’s eyeline.

Ivaldi’s dark eyes seemed to study Jake before the big man chuckled and reached down to produce a wax-sealed bottle and a wooden container. “Please, join me as a guest.”

“Thank you,” the words were like dust in Jake’s throat, but he walked over as Ivaldi placed a second stool on Jake’s side of the table.

Ivaldi took out two mugs and pushed one over to Jake, breaking the seal on the bottle and pouring out a familiar golden liquid. “You seem ill at ease. Have you come for advice?”

“I had questions, actually,” Jake knocked back his drink in one, feeling the pleasant warmth flood through his body and give him the courage to ask his questions. “About you, about your prices.”

“Ask your questions,” Ivaldi poured himself a measure and took a small sip. “I promise no answers, though.”

“I was told that you have a store at every Dungeon. Is that true?” Jake went straight for the one that was messing with his head the most.

“To most, I would answer evasively, if at all. However, you are still adrift in this unfortunate situation, so I will be more specific. No, there is not a store at every Dungeon. What you will instead find is an entrance to my domain.”

“Like how the Dungeon moves you when you go through a door,” Jake said, glancing at the shrouded passage behind Ivaldi and realising how similar it looked to the interior of the doorways in the Dungeon.

“To an extent, yes,” Ivaldi said, inclining his head slightly with a small smile.

“But how are there no other people here then?”

“A larger question than you realise. Suffice it to say that you have just a small amount of my attention right now.”

“Are you even human?” Jake barely breathed the question.

“So few people ever find the nerve to outright ask me that,” Ivaldi laughed merrily, the shop echoing with his amusement. “No, Jake Khesh, I am not human, nor have I ever been. It is a poorly held secret amongst those who have been delving for some time, but please do not spread this knowledge without thought.”

“So, what are you?”

Ivaldi set down his cup and frowned at Jake, shaking his head a little. “A rude question, one that I will forgive in this instance.”

“I’m sorry, it just caught me by surprise,” Jake apologised, not wanting to anger the person responsible for supplying all their gear.

“Your apology is accepted, though I would advise you to be more mindful of your questions when a guest within another’s domain.” Ivaldi filled his cup and took a sip before motioning towards Jake. “I am sure this is not why you came here, so please, ask your question.”

“I wanted to know why,” Jake said, trying to put all his confusion into a workable question. “Why do all this, why sell this equipment, and why so cheap?” Jake asked, questioning how the store was run even more now that he knew that Ivaldi wasn’t human.

“I have my reasons,” Ivaldi said, his mirth fading as he leaned forward to fix Jake with his gaze. “You are a long way from being able to survive meddling in the business of Dungeons, though I know your Patron is pleased with your progress.”

Jake wasn’t sure quite how to react to that, so he simply nodded. It was more than a little confusing why Ivaldi would hide his reason for doing this, but not the fact that he wasn’t human.

Ivaldi refilled Jake’s mug and wordlessly pulled out a fresh pack of gear for Jake, setting it on the table for him.

“Thank you,” Jake finished his drink and took his gear, his mind still awhirl with new information.