Dirk just listens, and nods apologetically, his expression confused. All he manages to say is: "thank you," before following you to the supply tent.

When you maneuver through the crowd to the other side of the compound, the supply tent is much as you remember it: a large, shapeless mass of blue canvas, dimly lit and filled with tables, barrels, and crates. You get in line, and reach the front after a wait of only a few minutes: the clerk, an elderly gnome with thick glasses and wispy, white hair, looks up from his desk. "What can I help you with?" he asks.