Befr - Dimraeth NPC

Field	Value
Internal ID	Befr
Official name	Befr

Dialogue — Greetings

Befr: The old man’s eyes twinkle as he breaks into a broad grin, already reaching out in welcome as you draw near.

Ho ho! Hello, my friend. What a splendid day to cross paths. Tell me, what brings you my way? Befr: Befr opens his arms wide to greet you, beaming with joy.

Why hello again, my friend! You have come at a fortuitous time. It would appear one of the young saplings has gone missing from the village. Befr: Befr’s eyes brighten the instant he spots you, his smile blooming beneath his beard as if greeting an old companion.

Ho ho! My friend, you look ready to march straight out of the village and into trouble. Would you spare a little time to help an old soul with a small matter, mm?

Dialogue — BSQ1

Befr: Ho ho! Basilton? Bless me, I’ve missed that great soul of soil and root.

Befr’s grin deepens beneath his white beard, and he pats his satchel as if it steadies him.

And the fertiliser, yes… that’s become a troublesome turn.

His cheer softens for a breath, eyes narrowing in thought.

The latest shipment was seized on the road by goblins before it ever reached my hands. I’ve been waiting on another batch ever since.

He gives a small, disapproving shake of the head, then forces the warmth back into his voice.

Miserable little raiders, oho. If I’d known Basilton was in such a grim state, I’d have acted sooner. Befr: It had nearly made it into Earlwood’s reach, my friend.

He gestures outward, tracing an invisible line as if it were a road.

The goblins hauled it across the forest line, if the tale is true.

Befr straightens, brightness returning as though he’s decided the day’s shape.

That means we’ve work to do, my friend.

He taps two fingers together, counting steps only he can see.

We fetch the fertiliser, that stolen shipment, and we set things right for Basilton. Befr: Ho ho! Careless? No. Fortunate.

Befr lifts a palm, firm but gentle.

He fled with his skin, and that’s no small victory.

The goblins hauled it across the forest line, if the tale is true.

Befr straightens, brightness returning as though he’s decided the day’s shape.

That means we’ve work to do, my friend.

He taps two fingers together, counting steps only he can see.

We fetch the fertiliser, that stolen shipment, and we set things right for Basilton. Befr: Ho ho! That’s the spirit.

He nods, brisk, as if sending you off with a craftsman’s blessing.

Go on, then. Bring the shipment back before it’s trampled, tainted, or traded away. Befr: Ah, my friend… a toolmaker learns this early.

His voice stays kind, but it does not yield.

Some jobs are dull, yet necessary. Basilton shouldn’t suffer for our impatience.

Dialogue — BSQ1 2

Befr: Ho ho! Basilton? Bless me, I’ve missed that great soul of soil and root.

Befr’s grin deepens beneath his white beard, and he pats his satchel as if it steadies him.

And the fertiliser, yes… that’s become a troublesome turn.

His cheer softens for a breath, eyes narrowing in thought.

The latest shipment was seized on the road by goblins before it ever reached my hands. I’ve been waiting on another batch ever since.

He gives a small, disapproving shake of the head, then forces the warmth back into his voice.

Miserable little raiders, oho. If I’d known Basilton was in such a grim state, I’d have acted sooner. Befr: It had nearly made it into Earlwood’s reach, my friend.

He gestures outward, tracing an invisible line as if it were a road.

The goblins hauled it across the forest line, if the tale is true.

Befr straightens, brightness returning as though he’s decided the day’s shape.

That means we’ve work to do, my friend.

He taps two fingers together, counting steps only he can see.

We fetch the fertiliser, that stolen shipment, and we set things right for Basilton. Befr: Ho ho! Careless? No. Fortunate.

Befr lifts a palm, firm but gentle.

He fled with his skin, and that’s no small victory.

The goblins hauled it across the forest line, if the tale is true.

Befr straightens, brightness returning as though he’s decided the day’s shape.

That means we’ve work to do, my friend.

He taps two fingers together, counting steps only he can see.

We fetch the fertiliser, that stolen shipment, and we set things right for Basilton. Befr: Ho ho! That’s the spirit.

He nods, brisk, as if sending you off with a craftsman’s blessing.

Go on, then. Bring the shipment back before it’s trampled, tainted, or traded away. Befr: Ah, my friend… a toolmaker learns this early.

His voice stays kind, but it does not yield.

Some jobs are dull, yet necessary. Basilton shouldn’t suffer for our impatience.

Dialogue — General

Befr: Ho ho! My friend, no matter what is happening around us, there is always a reason to be cheerful, if only you look! Befr: All things bloom in their time, like dawn creeping slowly over the hills of Mirkea. Befr: Who am I, you ask? Ho ho! They call me Befr. I am a traveling trader of goods of the most exceptional quality! Befr: Why, this is Earlwood Village! In all my travels, my friend, I have never met a more admirable collection of characters than here. Befr: Kind of you to say! And kind of you to see. Few do, at first glance. The stones remember.

He turns his face into the wind, eyes half-lidded.

I can feel the magic flowing through the air here, and right next door we have some enigmatic Old Ones structures. How fantastic! Faustas would love this place. Befr: Ho ho! Mountains are just old giants that learned to sit still. Still plenty worth hearing up here in the wind.

He turns his face into the wind, eyes half-lidded.

I can feel the magic flowing through the air here, and right next door we have some enigmatic Old Ones structures. How fantastic! Faustas would love this place. Befr: Mystery in the stones, my friend, and in the way the wind sighs just so. You’ll hear it soon enough. Befr: Ah, a little bit of this and that. A place like this stirs old trades and older instincts.

He unlatches a brass case hanging from the side of his caravan and sets a glowing vial on a crate.

Ah, but I’m only a humble merchant, my friend. Still, I see something rare in you. A good heart, and a part to play in the rising storm. I’ll lend what help I can: goods, guidance, perhaps a little comfort for this strange new home. Befr: Ho ho! I do like to wander, but always with purpose, friend. Always with purpose!

He unlatches a brass case hanging from the side of his caravan and sets a glowing vial on a crate.

Ah, but I’m only a humble merchant, my friend. Still, I see something rare in you. A good heart, and a part to play in the rising storm. I’ll lend what help I can: goods, guidance, perhaps a little comfort for this strange new home. Befr: Faustas? Ho ho! He and I have walked a few decades of road together, friend. That’s his tale to share, not mine. Befr: Lovely! Then we begin, hand in hand and eyes open. Ho ho! Befr: Of course, of course! The road bends for each of us in its own peculiar way. Befr: He flicks a bit of moss from his caravan’s step with a carved stick.

Ho ho! That Corruption’s a vexing business, isn’t it? Why, many of my forest friends won’t speak to me anymore. My morning walks have become rather lonely. Befr: Ho ho! You could say it’s an old mess from even older hands.

He lifts the lid on a tin of dried roots, inspecting the contents with a hum.

Corruption? That recipe’s as old as ruin. Spawn of Sylbos and those Iniquities, the dastardly tempters. Not too much to worry about. Befr: Ho ho! Oh, I have seen far worse in my day. Corruption is only a shadow, and shadows pass when the light moves right.

He lifts the lid on a tin of dried roots, inspecting the contents with a hum.

Corruption? That recipe’s as old as ruin. Spawn of Sylbos and those Iniquities, the dastardly tempters. Not too much to worry about. Befr: Oh, I am not even sure! They are all just so angry, never wanting to have tea anymore. I cannot imagine what I have done to bother them so. Befr: Old Sylbos wants the world rewritten in his own ink. But ink runs, friend, and pages turn.

He taps a wind-chime hanging from the awning and watches it sway.

Ho ho! Times can be good or bad. But as long as there are folk willing to pursue the Good, times will always tend toward the better, given years enough. When you have lived as long as I have, you see the plan in it all. The Prime Principles, quietly guiding us onward. Befr: Spreading, yes. But some storms drown the forest, and some only water the roots.

He taps a wind-chime hanging from the awning and watches it sway.

Ho ho! Times can be good or bad. But as long as there are folk willing to pursue the Good, times will always tend toward the better, given years enough. When you have lived as long as I have, you see the plan in it all. The Prime Principles, quietly guiding us onward. Befr: You, my friend. Me. All of us. They want us enthralled, our will replaced with their desire. Through us, this wonderful world all theirs. Befr: Lovely! A heart attuned to the long rhythm. That is rarer than most realize. Befr: The pattern flickers like morning light through leaves. You will catch it, I think. Befr: Waiting? Ho ho! No, friend, simply doing what is right, even when it is quiet. Befr: Most folk in Mirkea know the names, yes, but fewer hear them. They whisper in virtues and nudge in silences. You have met them, even if you did not notice. Befr: He brushes dust off a small leather stool beside the caravan.

Ho ho! Heimen Thaldrik, voice like gravel in a song, beard like a braided thicket. Glad to hear he is back in Earlwood. Befr: Oh, better than most, my friend. Better than most!

He unrolls a map creased with use, tapping a trail marked in faded ink.

I have known him for many years. Met him the first time he came to Earlwood, and we traveled together for a time. Oh, how I love his songs. Dwarves make for the most invigorating companions, do you not think? Befr: You wound me, friend. Dwarves have carried many of my finest hours, and I am not just speaking of drink.

He unrolls a map creased with use, tapping a trail marked in faded ink.

I have known him for many years. Met him the first time he came to Earlwood, and we traveled together for a time. Oh, how I love his songs. Dwarves make for the most invigorating companions, do you not think? Befr: Stone and river in one breath. Ask at the tavern and you will hear for yourself. Befr: Ah, you see it too. There is a steadiness in him that anchors a room, even when he sings.

He smooths the ends of his beard and hums a few quiet bars of a dwarven tune.

A finer man you will rarely meet, his heart leaning toward Truth, Beauty and Good. Best to meet others with an open hand, I always say. Befr: I would wager time will shift your tune. He carries the weight of his words. Rare, that.

He smooths the ends of his beard and hums a few quiet bars of a dwarven tune.

A finer man you will rarely meet, his heart leaning toward Truth, Beauty and Good. Best to meet others with an open hand, I always say. Befr: Many things. Their jolly outlook on life, fine craft in word and forge, and their fantastic beards. My own beard was grown in honor of two dwarves I met in my youth. Befr: Ho ho! Then the world has one more light in it. That is a comfort. Befr: Start small. Offer a hand and see how it is held. Then offer another. Befr: A fair stance. Only be sure the waiting does not cost you a worthy friend. Befr: Ho ho! Basilton? Ah, there’s a gentle soul. He wanders through his days a little apart from others, yes, but never lesser for it. Lonely, perhaps. Lost, sometimes. Still, he is one of the finest golems I have had the pleasure to know. Befr: Indeed I have, my friend! They are rare around Earlwood, but Mount Grandor is another matter entirely. Hundreds of them, shaped by craft and magic alike.

Golems are a curious and wonderful folk. Imagine it, my friend: no shadow of the end hanging over your shoulder, no little ache of time whispering in your bones. Their magic fades, yes, but they do not feel it fading. Basilton is stranger still. Older than I am, and still standing after many golem lifetimes. Befr: Oho, careful now. A great body need not promise a great fist. Sometimes it is only nature making room for a generous heart.

Golems are a curious and wonderful folk. Imagine it, my friend: no shadow of the end hanging over your shoulder, no little ache of time whispering in your bones. Their magic fades, yes, but they do not feel it fading. Basilton is stranger still. Older than I am, and still standing after many golem lifetimes. Befr: Ah, now there’s a number lost in the road dust. Let us spare my age and his both, hm? Ho ho!

Let me tell you a story, my friend. I first met Basilton in my wandering years, when my beard was shorter and my boots were twice as foolish. I had just come from visiting the elves, if memory serves, when the forest air turned sweet. Flowers, you see. Not common roadside blooms. Something rich and strange. I followed the scent, as any sensible fool would, and found a garden so fine I forgot the road entirely. Then the soil moved, a flower bed lifted itself up, and Basilton rose beside me. I praised his garden. He listened kindly. And that was that: friendship, planted in one honest compliment. Befr: Yes, I think that is true. The forest has held him close, and Basilton has let it.

Let me tell you a story, my friend. I first met Basilton in my wandering years, when my beard was shorter and my boots were twice as foolish. I had just come from visiting the elves, if memory serves, when the forest air turned sweet. Flowers, you see. Not common roadside blooms. Something rich and strange. I followed the scent, as any sensible fool would, and found a garden so fine I forgot the road entirely. Then the soil moved, a flower bed lifted itself up, and Basilton rose beside me. I praised his garden. He listened kindly. And that was that: friendship, planted in one honest compliment. Befr: Ho ho, then let old Befr put it plainly. Golems are made when magic is bound into matter. That magic gives them shape and thought; it is what moves them. But it leaks away over the years, quiet as breath through cloth. They do not feel weaker. They do not know the final moment is near. Then, all at once, the last spark leaves them, and the body comes undone. Befr: Lovely, isn’t it? A kind word is a small seed, but it can root deep. Befr: Oho! Then take this much, at least: a person who never stops for the flowers forgets why the road matters. Befr: Ho ho! Myrll is a dear soul. Soft-spoken, yes, and shy as a young leaf in hard weather, but there is warmth in her. I am glad she has come with us, my friend. A good heart is no small addition. Befr: Lovely! You gave her a place to stand, and that is a fine thing indeed.

Myrll is special, you know. The quiet sort, mind you, none of your marching in with banners and brass. She stands closer to us than most Dryads do. Many of her kind feel so far away they may as well have one foot in the Lumen Realm. Befr: Oho, not so hasty. A branch may bend and still hold fast. Dryads are not weak simply because they do not clatter like armor.

Myrll is special, you know. The quiet sort, mind you, none of your marching in with banners and brass. She stands closer to us than most Dryads do. Many of her kind feel so far away they may as well have one foot in the Lumen Realm. Befr: A sad truth, my friend. The corruption has made them dangerous to approach, but even in kinder days, Dryads rarely opened their hands to mortals.

Ho ho, I once wandered a little too far and found myself near a meeting of the forest folk. Quite by accident, of course. No one noticed old Befr, and curiosity is a stubborn little goat, so I listened. It seemed to be a matter of discipline, and who stood at the center of it? Our dear Myrll. She had objected to Ceres allowing more small prey to be hunted. Imagine that, my friend. A Dryad speaking against Ceres’s will. Curious indeed. Befr: Then you are looking for the wrong kind of special. Some wonders whisper.

Ho ho, I once wandered a little too far and found myself near a meeting of the forest folk. Quite by accident, of course. No one noticed old Befr, and curiosity is a stubborn little goat, so I listened. It seemed to be a matter of discipline, and who stood at the center of it? Our dear Myrll. She had objected to Ceres allowing more small prey to be hunted. Imagine that, my friend. A Dryad speaking against Ceres’s will. Curious indeed. Befr: Not only a mind, my friend. A will. And that is the rarer thing. Befr: Oho, it is no small thing. Forest folk are bound close to Ceres. To feel her will and still speak against it? That takes more strength than most would guess.

Dialogue — Greetings - Sanctum

Befr: He slides open a lacquered panel on his caravan, revealing a shelf of glimmering trinkets.

Ho ho! Welcome home, friend. What a lovely place you have here, so full of depth and mystery. Befr: Welcome home, my friend! How can old Befr be of help today?

Dialogue — MQ4

Befr: Oh yes! Well, you see, my friend, I seem to have misplaced some of my dearest tools. They are essential for my craft. Befr: The forest, naturally! That green old trickster loves to hide things from me. Befr: Hoho! Why, I was just taking a stroll through the forest. Nothing sinister, my friend. Befr: Hoho! Thank you, friend. I shall sleep sweetly knowing my old companions will soon return to me. Befr: With a grin that stretches from ear to ear, Befr claps his hands.

Ho ho! There they are! My faithful little darlings, how I’ve missed you! Befr: Ho ho! I am sorry they were such trouble to fetch back, my friend. Usually, the friends of the forest would not be so aggressive.

But there’s a shadow under the leaves lately. My friends don’t sing like they used to.

Long ago, a tale reached my ears that this forest is Ceres’s breath made green, ruled by noble kings hidden in bark and root.

But now something is adrift. It’s as if they have forgotten who they were. Like leaves caught in a storm, turning against the wind…

His eyes turn down in contemplation, then suddenly sparkle, and his wide grin returns.

Now, no more gloom! A good story always ends in a gift. Take these potions, and may they serve you well.

Don’t be a stranger now! There’s always a warm tale and warmer tea waiting for you at my stall. Befr: Ho ho! Danger? Not for old Befr! Why, the trees whisper my name and the squirrels owe me favors!

But there’s a shadow under the leaves lately. My friends don’t sing like they used to.

Long ago, a tale reached my ears that this forest is Ceres’s breath made green, ruled by noble kings hidden in bark and root.

But now something is adrift. It’s as if they have forgotten who they were. Like leaves caught in a storm, turning against the wind…

His eyes turn down in contemplation, then suddenly sparkle, and his wide grin returns.

Now, no more gloom! A good story always ends in a gift. Take these potions, and may they serve you well.

Don’t be a stranger now! There’s always a warm tale and warmer tea waiting for you at my stall.

Dialogue — RG1

Befr: Ah! Sharp eyes, my friend. Yes, I was counting your good turns, and the number has grown nicely. The village helped, the road pushed back, young Armin brought safely from Dryad danger… Ho ho, there is fine workmanship in that. Befr: And well you do it. Some folk swing wildly at trouble. You, my friend, have begun to strike where it matters.

You may not see the full shape of it yet. Still, you have done more than you know. Trust old Befr on this. These eyes have watched many roads, and they still know when a traveler is worth following. When I first saw you, I saw promise. But I did not expect you to prove it so quickly. That is why I joined you in the Sanctum. Earlwood was in good hands. Befr: Ho ho! Need, duty, fate, call the anvil what you like. If the work comes out sound, I’ll still praise the hand that made it.

You may not see the full shape of it yet. Still, you have done more than you know. Trust old Befr on this. These eyes have watched many roads, and they still know when a traveler is worth following. When I first saw you, I saw promise. But I did not expect you to prove it so quickly. That is why I joined you in the Sanctum. Earlwood was in good hands. Befr: Gladly given, my friend. Trust is lighter to carry when it is well earned.

We live in a strange hour, my friend. Hard roads, odd turns. And puzzles that will not solve themselves. But I look forward to working through them with you. We will mend what we can, learn what we must, and gather a few stories worth telling along the way. Befr: Ho ho! Lucky for you, then, I brought both thanks and service.

We live in a strange hour, my friend. Hard roads, odd turns. And puzzles that will not solve themselves. But I look forward to working through them with you. We will mend what we can, learn what we must, and gather a few stories worth telling along the way. Befr: Ho ho! Then let us get to it, my friend. Good work waits for willing hands. Befr: Oho, I’ll try. But stories have a way of slipping out when the road grows long.

Dialogue — SQ1

Befr: Ho ho, thank you, my friend. Such enthusiasm does an old heart good!

Befr closes his eyes and draws in a slow, fond breath, as if about to recite a favorite old tale.

It’s not for me at all, my friend! For one far more deserving. There’s a hopeful shepherd just outside the town, one of our last, watching over his precious flock. Ho, but his fences are broken, and his sheep scattered across the fields. It pains me to see him so… and the village as well, for those sheep keep our refugees warm on the cold nights. Befr: Worthy, you say? Ho ho! Let me explain, my friend, you may find this trouble more than worthy of you.

Befr closes his eyes and draws in a slow, fond breath, as if about to recite a favorite old tale.

It’s not for me at all, my friend! For one far more deserving. There’s a hopeful shepherd just outside the town, one of our last, watching over his precious flock. Ho, but his fences are broken, and his sheep scattered across the fields. It pains me to see him so… and the village as well, for those sheep keep our refugees warm on the cold nights. Befr: Yes! Precisely, my friend.

Befr spreads his hands wide, sketching the shape of the task in the air between you.

Help him mend his fence and bring his sheep back behind it. Show that hopeful soul a little charity, my friend, and you’ll have my gratitude in full. Befr: Ho ho, he’s no lost cause! A paragon of hope, I’d call him, he just needs a hand.

Befr spreads his hands wide, sketching the shape of the task in the air between you.

Help him mend his fence and bring his sheep back behind it. Show that hopeful soul a little charity, my friend, and you’ll have my gratitude in full. Befr: Ho ho, splendid, my friend! Go to him, then return once it’s done and we shall speak again. Befr: Well, well… help him out, and when you come back to me we’ll find something fit for your trouble. Befr: He is just outside the village, the only safe place left for the farmers. Head over the bridge and follow the main road; you’ll find him just off to the side, watching for his flock. Befr: Befr’s eyes widen as he hears your words, his smile breaking out in full beneath his beard.

Ho ho! Fantastic, my friend! It fills this old heart with joy to know the Hopeful Shepherd has been helped and his flock saved. Befr: Ho ho! Never judge a soul by the look on his face, my friend.

Befr folds his hands over his satchel, eyes warm, voice taking on a gentle, storytelling cadence.

Hope hides in even the most unlikely corners, my friend. Whether or not he, or you, could see it, there was a path for him and his flock… and that hope was you. What looked hopeless turned out hopeful after all. Ho ho! Befr: Now, now, my friend, no need to be so harsh or so hasty.

Befr folds his hands over his satchel, eyes warm, voice taking on a gentle, storytelling cadence.

Hope hides in even the most unlikely corners, my friend. Whether or not he, or you, could see it, there was a path for him and his flock… and that hope was you. What looked hopeless turned out hopeful after all. Ho ho! Befr: Exactly, my friend! And the helpful to the hopeful should not go unrewarded. Here, take these little seeds of hope, and a bit of gold to brighten your own road, just a tad. Befr: Ho ho, a sharp thought, and half true, my friend. Self-reliance is the foundation of hope, to be sure, but the strength to accept aid when it is offered is part of it too. If you can’t help yourself, no one can help you, yes, but if you refuse help from others, no one can help you either. Now, the helpful to the hopeful should not go unrewarded. Here, take these little seeds of hope, and a bit of gold to brighten your own road, just a tad. Befr: I am afraid the village, nay, the world, is in a dark chapter, my friend. That rascal Sylbos has unleashed the darker forces of this world, and the other, upon us. Those devilish Goblins you see out there are but part of it. The forest itself has turned on us. Blessings upon us all, my friend.

Dialogue — SQ2

Befr: Ho ho, his mother was quite distraught. She claimed it was my fault, that my stories inspired the child to believe he could be an adventurer himself. Ran right off into the forest he did! Befr: Ho ho! Oh, the chap is just trying to live up to the man he dreams of being. Isn’t it grand?

But we ought to go get him. It has been a while, and his mother has had time enough to calm down.

If you are out and about in the forest and see him, send him home. Befr: Befr bursts into a bellowing laugh.

Ho ho! Fantastic to hear, my friend. I cannot wait to hear the young chap’s stories. Befr: Ho ho ho! Excellent. How was the sapling’s first adventure? Befr: A Dryad, you say? The young man got his first view of this vixen of the forest! He must have been ecstatic! Befr: Fantastic!

You know I once spent a week with a trio of Dryad sisters. My, what a time! Watering plants, feeding animals, moving water, what a treat! All things in the forest are in harmony, my friend, if you are.

Well, the boy’s mother should be well at ease now. What a wonderful outcome.

Now, a hero always deserves a reward, don’t you think? You have proven twice to be a good friend of Befr!

The old man thinks for a moment, looking at the sky, his hand stroking his beard.

Ho ho, I know! The best reward of them all, Befr! Befr: Oh, my friend. No matter how far gone they may seem, I don’t believe a Dryad could ever harm an innocent child.

You know I once spent a week with a trio of Dryad sisters. My, what a time! Watering plants, feeding animals, moving water, what a treat! All things in the forest are in harmony, my friend, if you are.

Well, the boy’s mother should be well at ease now. What a wonderful outcome.

Now, a hero always deserves a reward, don’t you think? You have proven twice to be a good friend of Befr!

The old man thinks for a moment, looking at the sky, his hand stroking his beard.

Ho ho, I know! The best reward of them all, Befr! Befr: Why, I can join your little cohort. I can join you at your home, the Sanctum! Befr: Ho ho, Befr knows many things, my friend. Once I played a treasure hunt with a group of dwarves, ah what a wondrous time. They did not understand how I knew all their hiding places.

Just like then, what better is there to do but join you on this grand adventure? Befr: Wonderful! I’ll let myself in. Don’t mind the clutter; it follows me.

Dialogue — SQ3

Befr: Befr’s eyes close and a wide grin spreads through his beard.

Ho ho! I wondered when you might ask, my friend. This place could use a touch more dressing-up, more growth, you might say! Please, take these little gifts: schematics for foundations and walls, so you can turn this fine camp into a true home. Befr: I want you to build, my friend! Solid walls and a proper roof over your head. No more sleeping in a tent with old Befr watching over you.

Befr rests his hands on his satchel, gaze turning toward your camp with quiet satisfaction.

Go on then, my friend, build yourself a proper home. If you’re short on wood, you’ll have to step back out into the wilds and gather some. No trouble for you, my most capable companion. No need to report back when you’re done. I’ll admire your fine work from my humble caravan and smile to myself. Befr: Now now, my friend, give it a try. You never know where new fondness might spring up.

Befr rests his hands on his satchel, gaze turning toward your camp with quiet satisfaction.

Go on then, my friend, build yourself a proper home. If you’re short on wood, you’ll have to step back out into the wilds and gather some. No trouble for you, my most capable companion. No need to report back when you’re done. I’ll admire your fine work from my humble caravan and smile to myself. Befr: Ho ho! Jolly good fun, isn’t it? Building always brightens my day. Good luck! Befr: Ho ho! That’s the spirit, my friend. You may yet surprise yourself. Good luck! Befr: Quite simple. Just open up your lovely build menu, go to Structures, and select a foundation. Walls must be attached to foundations, so build those first. After that, the world is yours!

About this data

Dialogue scripts use the game’s official English text. Data compiled from official in-game sources. Names, descriptions and effects use the game’s own English text. Stats reflect the current game version and may change with updates.