The "genuine" wizard fixed his eyes on Eric, as though trying to pierce the young man's exterior and glimpse something hidden within.
Still, something about the man felt strangely familiar.
"I am Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey. That's what people who know me call me," the wizard finally said, his voice calm and deep, tinged with something ancient.
Eric, the young human lord of the land, had definitely caught his attention.
While Gandalf was mildly surprised, he wasn't exactly alarmed. After all, he was a wizard, a proper one—which usually meant he had lived long enough to have seen all sorts of strange things.
And in his long travels across this world, he had wandered strange lands. What was one more?
Still, something about this young man... he was different.
"Eric Starfell," the young man said, offering a hand. "Adventurer. Of sorts."
"An adventurer?" Gandalf lifted a bushy brow. "You look more like an architect or perhaps even a lord."
Eric smiled. "Lord might be a stretch. But I do dabble in architecture."
As he spoke, his gaze slid upward.
'Huh. Thirty hit points', Eric noted. 'Figures. Though with someone like him, I wouldn't be surprised if that bar was locked with admin rights.'
He straightened up and gestured toward the tall iron gate behind him. "Well, it's hardly polite to keep a guest at the door. Care for a tour?"
"Ah, yes! That sounds quite agreeable," Gandalf said with a nod and followed him through the iron gate.
The wizard's eyes immediately began to roam, taking in every detail.
Paddocks filled with livestock, an expansive stable complete with troughs and hay bales, and fields brimming with ripened crops. It was autumn, the perfect time for harvesting, and the yield looked promising—vibrant, golden, heavy with grain.
Gandalf nodded with mild approval. Then his gaze drifted further.
That anvil setup looked oddly familiar. Had he seen it somewhere before?
His eyes widened. Over in the corner stood an enchantment table, pulsating softly. Ancient runes shimmered around it, floating lazily from the nearby bookshelves and converging at the tabletop.
Fascinated, Gandalf stepped closer.
"I can sense a peculiar kind of magic here…"
As if reacting to his presence, the enchantment book on the table sprang open on its own, pages rustling as they flipped toward a glowing inscription. Gandalf blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
"It's for enhancing gear," Eric explained with a grin. "Adds magical properties to items."
He glanced at the wizard's staff.
"Yours looks a little weathered. Want me to enchant it for you?"
Gandalf raised a brow. "Enchant? As in, imbue it with magical energy? Hmm… yes, I would be most curious to see that."
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Gandalf felt an odd sense of familiarity with this young man. Something deep and ancient stirred within him, like a forgotten memory, perhaps even before Middle-earth.
Almost without thinking, he handed over the staff, keeping a steady eye on Eric, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of something hidden.
And of course, Eric's invisible "title list" immediately triggered a new inspection.
Gandalf nodded again, confirming the young man's moral standing: not an enemy of free folk, friendly to elves, decent rapport with rangers… even on good terms with dwarves, somehow.
This one might be worth watching.
He'd need to visit the nearby settlements after this—surely, rumors must be floating around about a fortress suddenly appearing. You don't build a citadel out of nowhere without someone noticing.
While Gandalf mused, Eric turned back to the table.
[Solid Wooden Staff] — Attack +5
'Not bad. For a stick, that was almost as strong as a stone sword.'
'Would probably rattle a few skulls if it came to that.'
Eric examined the staff carefully. He wasn't in a rush. He was, however, expecting something.
"…What's wrong?" Gandalf asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
Eric snapped out of it. "No. Just… it's a very unique staff."
Gandalf nodded solemnly. "It's been with me for a long time."
Eric sighed inwardly.
'That's not what I meant. Where's my 'new module unlocked' notification? Is this even considered a magic staff?!'
The staff rose slowly into the air. A soft glow enveloped it as the lapis disintegrated into motes of energy and swirled into the wood.
Enchantments applied: Unbreaking III, Sharpness IV
Eric plucked a Sharpness V book from a nearby chest and slapped it on for good measure.
Now the staff had +8 attack damage. Stronger than most basic swords.
He handed it back to Gandalf, who took it in both hands. The moment he did, the staff shimmered faintly. He gave it an experimental swing.
The air practically parted before it.
"I can feel it," Gandalf murmured. "It's sturdier now… and sharper. You've turned it into a proper weapon."
He gave a rare smile. "Thank you, young… Eric. This will make my journey far easier."
The wizard paused, clearly debating whether to call him "lord," "builder," "enchanter," or "wandering anomaly," but gave up in the end and just used his name.
"I'm glad it's of use," Eric replied, pleased.
His domain might be large, but truth be told, much of it was still under construction. Many plots remained unassigned and several zones were just bare patches of land.
So, showing a guest around didn't take too long.
And yet, at every turn, Gandalf had a story to share.
"Ah, potions? There's a fellow in the forest back east who dabbles in these as well. His concoctions are mostly for healing injured animals, though occasionally they turn your hair purple."
At the Nether Wart nursery:
Gandalf raised an eyebrow at the eerie red stalks growing from patches of soul sand.
"Nether wart," Eric confirmed.
Gandalf knelt beside the soil, frowning.
"Where I come from, this kind of sand is found only in cursed swamps to the east. Places haunted by the dead, where phantoms drag the careless into the muck."
'Relax', Eric thought. 'Here it just makes you hover like a helium balloon.'
"Forgive me," Gandalf said aloud, "but this looks… mildly sinister. You're cultivating potion ingredients in a medium made of… well, souls."
He gave the wart another skeptical glance.
'Reminds me of necromancy.'
Still, he didn't object. Gandalf merely raised his brows, shook his head, and moved on.
That was his way—curious, cautious, but rarely confrontational.
But when they arrived at the Nether Portal, all of that composure shattered.
Gandalf stopped dead in his tracks.
Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open.
The obsidian frame shimmered with otherworldly energy, humming like a deep heartbeat. Flames licked at the edges of the violet vortex.
"This…" he whispered.
A thin ribbon of smoke curled into the air as the fire in his pipe flared to life.