The Albionic Chronicles Part 1

Bound In Iron

As the ship gracefully glided into the tiny harbour of Portland, Sylvester and Bilo emerged from their cabin, eager to begin their adventures on the shores of this new land. With their belongings in tow, they joined the throng of passengers disembarking from the vessel, each person disappearing into the streets of the small town.

However, as they stepped onto the cobblestone quay, a chill wind greeted them, sending shivers down their spines. The autumn weather in Maine was far colder than anything they had experienced in the temperate climes of Albion. Sylvester and Bilo exchanged a knowing glance, realizing that their plans to seek out the Adventurers Guild would have to be postponed. Survival in this unfamiliar land meant acquiring suitable attire to brave the biting cold of the approaching winter.

With determination etched on their faces, the duo set off into the bustling streets of Portland, their eyes scanning the myriad of shops and stalls for any sign of warm clothing to shield them from the unforgiving elements.

As Sylvester and Bilo roamed the quaint streets of Portland, their eyes caught sight of a tailor's shop nestled along the main thoroughfare. The shop's window displayed an array of finely crafted coats, their rich fabrics and furs shimmering in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. With a shared nod of agreement, the duo pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The tinkling of a bell announced their arrival, prompting a flurry of activity from the small goblin attendants who scurried forward to greet them. One goblin, slightly larger than the rest and adorned in a patch workapron, approached Sylvester with a toothy grin. In a thick Mainer accent, he boomed, "Will, will, will! Lock whot we git here! We'll get ya byes fitted right up, we woll!"

With practised efficiency, the goblins bustled about the shop, fetching coats of various styles and sizes. After a few moments of bustling activity, the ringleader goblin presented Sylvester with a magnificent jacket lined with plush polar bear fur. The craftsmanship was impeccable, and as Sylvester slipped it on, it enveloped him like a second skin, providing both warmth and protection against the biting chill of the Maine air.

The goblin tailor extended his hand expectantly, prompting Sylvester to inquire about the cost .With a sly grin, the goblin jabbed his palm and announced, "Ferteen."

Drawing on his experience from previous dealings and foreign exchanges, Sylvester retrieved seven gleaming gold pieces from his pouch and placed them into the goblin's waiting hand. The goblin's eyes sparkled with delight as he hurried behind the counter, the clinking sound of coins filling the air as he deposited the payment into a waiting jar.

With wide-eyed wonder, the goblin tailor pulled on Bilo's shirt, gesturing for him to ascend a small pedestal beside a waiting ladder. As Bilo took his place atop the platform, several other goblins scurried around him like busy bees, each wielding a measuring tape with expert precision. With swift and coordinated movements, they took every manner of measurement imaginable, ensuring no detail was overlooked.

Meanwhile, another goblin, perched nearby with a notepad in hand, diligently recorded each measurement as it was called out. Like a well-oiled machine, the goblins worked in perfect harmony, sizing up Bilo with practiced efficiency. Finally, the note taker peeled off a sheet of paper from his pad and handed it over to the boss goblin, who inspected it with a critical eye.

"No, no, no," the boss goblin corrected with a gruff tone, shaking his head. "Say bye, we ain't got a coat for ya, gotta make 'un." Bilo let out a weary sigh, glancing around the shop as he asked what materials they had available. With a snap of the boss goblin's fingers, another goblin scurried out from the back room, arms laden with a colorful array of fur swatches, each labeled with its respective animal.