The late afternoon sun, beginning its slow descent towards the horizon, cast long, elongated shadows across the hillside as ProlixalParagon stepped out of the cave entrance. The cool, crisp air of the Soohan countryside was a welcome change from the damp, earthy confines of the forgotten dungeon. He paused just outside the shadowed mouth of the cave, his glowing eyes blinking against the brighter light, taking in the familiar sight of the overgrown foliage that concealed the entrance. The surrounding shrubbery, a mix of tough, low-lying bushes and taller, spindly plants, rustled gently in the light breeze.
Behind him emerged Marx, the goblin’s weathered green skin looking paler than usual in the natural light, his single hazel eye scanning their surroundings with practiced vigilance. He leaned heavily on his newly crafted crutch, the mana-powered prosthetic moving with a more confident grace than it had earlier that morning. A slow grin, however, stretched across his face, a testament to the unexpected discoveries within the dungeon.
Kaelthari followed, her towering mulberry-scaled form momentarily filling the cave opening. The delicate golden chains draped between her impressive markhor horns chimed softly with her movements. She ducked slightly as she exited, her gaze sweeping the area with the calm assessment of a seasoned warrior. Havryn, his six-fingered hands clutching the torch that had illuminated their subterranean path, was next, the flickering light now seeming almost feeble in the afternoon glow. He extinguished the flame with a practiced twist, a wisp of smoke curling into the still air. Bringing up the rear with her customary silent grace was Ralyria, her pale, elegant features reflecting the fading sunlight. The faint whirring of her internal mechanisms, usually inaudible, seemed slightly more pronounced in the quiet of the hillside.
ProlixalParagon turned, surveying his small company. A shared sense of accomplishment, mingled with a touch of weariness, was palpable amongst them. The initial tension of their descent into the unknown had eased, replaced by the knowledge of the secrets they had unearthed and the dangers they had overcome.
“Well,” Marx grunted, adjusting his grip on his crutch, his gaze flicking towards the west where the sun was beginning its final plunge. “Looks like we timed that about right. Wouldn’t want to be caught out here in the dark again.”
Kaelthari nodded in agreement. “The journey back to the encampment should be made before nightfall thickens.”
ProlixalParagon’s rotating ears twitched, catching the distant sounds of the Soohan village – the faint murmur of voices, the occasional bark of a domesticated animal. Yendral’s Hollow was nestled in the landscape some distance to the east, and the Vermillion Troupe’s camp lay on its northern edge, near a gently flowing stream. Their trek would take them down the hillside, across a stretch of open ground, and then towards the welcoming lights of their temporary home.
He sheathed his own dagger, the familiar weight a comforting presence at his side. “Agreed. Let’s make haste. Lyra and the others will likely be wondering about our progress.” He felt a familiar pang of concern for the elder and the rest of the troupe, a sense of responsibility that had grown during their time together. He also carried the weight of the quest they had received from the spectral tinkerer, a new purpose that added another layer to their current journey.
Havryn, ever practical, began leading the way, his sturdy frame navigating the uneven terrain with a surefootedness born of experience. Marx followed, his movements more fluid now that his prosthetic seemed better integrated. Kaelthari moved with a quiet power, her presence a reassuring shield against any lingering threats. Ralyria glided silently beside her, her internal sensors undoubtedly still processing the data from their time in the dungeon.
ProlixalParagon brought up the rear once more, his glowing eyes scanning their surroundings as they descended the slope. The air was filled with the sounds of the late afternoon – the chirping of unseen insects, the rustling of leaves, and the distant calls of birds settling down for the night. The clean, sharp scent of salt and sage, carried on the gentle desert wind that occasionally reached this far east, mingled with the earthier smells of the Soohan countryside.
As they walked, ProlixalParagon’s thoughts drifted back to the mysteries of the dungeon. The sealed stone door, the spectral master tinkerer, and the blueprints they had acquired all pointed to a deeper significance to this forgotten place. He pondered the puzzle box and the intuitive way he had manipulated the crescent symbols. Could it indeed be a manifestation of his inherited traits, the Scholar's Apprentice perhaps granting him an innate understanding of ancient mechanisms? It was a question he would need time to consider further.
He also thought of the two downward passages they had chosen not to explore. A faint current of cooler, earthier air had wafted from the right-hand tunnel, hinting at further secrets hidden beneath the hillside. He made a mental note to return to the dungeon at a later time, perhaps with a better understanding of what lay below. The lure of the unknown within Ludere Online was a powerful draw, a constant reminder of the vastness and intricacy of this digital world.
The path they followed was a well-worn track, likely used by the Soohan villagers and the occasional traveler. As they cleared the steeper part of the hillside, the colorful vardos of the Vermillion Troupe came into view in the distance, clustered near the edge of the village. The sight was a welcome one, a beacon of familiarity and safety after their delve into the ancient darkness.
ProlixalParagon could already imagine the relieved faces of Lyra and the others upon their return. He looked forward to sharing their discoveries, the tale of the spectral tinkerer and the blueprints they now possessed. The discovery of the dungeon and the anticipated influx of Soohan warriors had created a ripple of anticipation within the troupe, offering a degree of security against any potential pursuit from Draggor. Their successful exploration, despite the initial setback of the sealed door, would likely further bolster their spirits.
As they drew closer to the encampment, the familiar sounds of the Vermillion Troupe became clearer – the low murmur of conversations, the gentle nicker of their beasts, and the occasional burst of children’s laughter. A sense of peace settled over ProlixalParagon, a quiet satisfaction in having faced the unknown and returned safely with his companions.
ProlixalParagon nodded slowly at Kaelthari, his rotating ears settling into a position that indicated thoughtful consideration. "Kaelthari Voss," he began, his voice carrying a hint of the dry rustling tone common among Fennicians, "we would be… pleased to have your company back to the Vermillion Troupe's camp." He paused, then added, "I am certainly willing to put in a good word for you with Lyra. She is the elder of our troupe, and ultimately the decision of who travels with us rests with her. However, your… presence and your stated desire to contribute are certainly compelling.".
He tilted his head slightly, his luminous eyes, the white of which contained swirls and patterns of rich black, studying the towering Cataphractan . "If you don't mind me asking, Kaelthari, given your obvious martial skills and the nature of your class – 'Obsidian Warden,' a defensive tank/melee class that fuses shadow magic with stone, creating nearly indestructible armor, growing stronger the longer you stand in battle – why the interest in joining a traveling troupe of performers and artisans rather than, say, seeking employment with a hunter's guild or an adventurer's guild?" He gestured to the bardiche strapped to her back. "Your weapon alone speaks of considerable combat prowess."
Kaelthari shifted her impressive weight, the golden chains draped between her markhor horns chiming softly. Her molten gold eyes met ProlixalParagon's, holding a steady, earnest gaze. "While my class, Obsidian Warden, certainly lends itself to a more direct path as a warrior or guardian, several factors make such a path… challenging for me," she explained, her deep voice resonating slightly. "Firstly, I have no noble lineage to speak of. Within many societies, and I suspect even within guilds that might otherwise value strength, such lack of standing can be a significant impediment to advancement and even acceptance."
She continued, her gaze flicking briefly towards the ground. "Secondly, the Obsidian Warden class, while offering formidable defenses, comes with certain inherent drawbacks. The melding of shadow magic with stone that grants our resilience also tends to make us… less agile. Our movement speed is often slower than other combatants, and the mana draw for our skills can be quite high, requiring a deliberate and sometimes prolonged engagement to truly leverage our strengths. This can be a disadvantage in more mobile or fast-paced encounters, or when trying to secure more… fleeting forms of employment."
Finally, she met ProlixalParagon's eyes again, a hint of something akin to resignation in their depths. "And then there is my name," she stated, the unusual moniker 'Ash Between Stars' carrying a certain weight. "It is… distinctive. In a world where first impressions often matter, an unusual name attached to someone of my… appearance can lead to unwanted attention, suspicion, or simply difficulty in being taken seriously outside of a purely combative context. Joining a more established group like your Vermillion Troupe, with its own reputation and community, seems a more… stable and potentially fulfilling path for me to make my name known through deeds, as I mentioned, rather than solely through the expectations or limitations that might come with my class and circumstance."
Marx, who had been listening with his single hazel eye narrowed in contemplation, grunted softly, adjusting his weight on his mana-powered prosthetic leg. "Speaking of classes not entirely fitting the initial impression," the human interjected, a wry twist to his lips, "while I've been focused on the finer points of wood carving since joining up with the troupe, truth be told, my… original calling, shall we say, leans towards something a bit more… fiery." He tapped a calloused finger against his chest. "My class is 'Ember Reaver'. A warrior who harnesses destructive fire magic in close-quarters combat. We tend to use our own life force to fuel the flames, which makes us powerful, but also," he chuckled darkly, "dangerously self-sacrificial."
He gestured with the hand, the nimble fingers that could coax intricate shapes from wood now mimicking the flicker of flames. "The typical Ember Reaver prefers dual-bladed scimitars or flame-infused gauntlets. Me? I've always been partial to a good pair of knives." He subtly shifted, revealing the hilts of two well-worn daggers at his belt, a familiar sight to ProlixalParagon. "Old habits, and all that. Still find they suit my… particular brand of close-quarters engagement."
Havryn, who had been observing the exchange with his weathered green skin showing a quiet competence, finally spoke, his large, expressive eyes considering the group. "Regarding classes," the goblin stated, his six-fingered hands resting near the sturdy mace leaning against a nearby surface, "at this juncture, my designated class is that of a Hunter. While the Hunter class is typically associated with ranged weaponry such as bows, crossbows, and primitive guns, and can specialize in hook swords and traps, my personal preference and current armament lean more towards this mace." He gestured to the sturdy, blunt weapon. "Proficiency in different weapon types within a class is not uncommon, as each weapon type and subtype often has a corresponding skill that must be ranked with use. Perhaps at a later time, I will dedicate more focus to the bow, aligning more closely with the typical Hunter archetype, which often prefers stealth, tracking, and ranged precision. However, for the present, this mace serves me well in close quarters."
“And you?” Kaelthari asked, glancing between ProlixalParagon Ralyria.
He gave a wry grin. “She doesnt have a class yet as far as we know but I’m a Tinkerer. Useless in a straight fight. At least on paper. Early levels, it’s traps, gadgets, things that go click and catch your fingers if you’re not careful. Not much use when a dungeon’s falling down around your ears. But it’s mine.”
Kaelthari nodded slowly, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. “Guess you lot and I are more alike than I thought.”
Chapter Seven continued…
The late afternoon sun, now a molten orb sinking towards the horizon, cast long, attenuated shadows from the figures descending the hillside. ProlixalParagon led the small group, his white fur, marked with intricate swirls and patterns of rich black, catching the amber light. Behind him, Marx navigated the uneven terrain with a newfound confidence, his mana-powered prosthetic leg swinging in a more natural rhythm, the newly crafted crutch providing occasional support rather than a constant necessity. Havryn, the goblin, moved with his characteristic sturdy gait, his six-fingered hands occasionally fiddling with the head of his mace, a silent testament to his readiness despite his preference for creation over destruction. Ralyria glided with her customary silent grace, the last vestiges of sunlight reflecting off her pale, elegant features, the almost inaudible whirring of her internal mechanisms a subtle counterpoint to the rustling of the surrounding foliage. Towering above them all was Kaelthari, her deep mulberry scales shimmering in the fading light, the delicate golden chains draped between her impressive markhor horns chiming softly with each deliberate step.
As they cleared the final rise, the encampment of the Vermillion Troupe came into view, nestled in the gentle hollow. The colorful vardo wagons, each a unique testament to the troupe’s artistic spirit, were beginning to glow with the soft light of shielded lanterns. The familiar sounds of the troupe preparing for the evening – the murmur of voices, the gentle clinking of cookware, and the soft strumming of a distant lute – drifted towards them on the cool desert breeze. The children they had rescued huddled near one of the larger wagons, their small forms silhouetted against the warm light spilling from within.
ProlixalParagon felt a familiar tug of concern for the troupe, a responsibility that had deepened since joining their ranks. He also carried the weight of the unexpected quest bestowed upon them by the spectral tinkerer within the dungeon. He glanced back at Kaelthari, whose imposing presence was undeniable. He needed to speak with Lyra, the elder of the troupe, and vouch for the Cataphractan’s character and potential contribution.
As they drew closer, ProlixalParagon subtly gestured for the others to slow their pace. He wanted to approach Lyra first, to prepare her for Kaelthari’s arrival and express his assessment of their new companion. He noted Lyra’s elaborately painted vardo, its lunar motifs already catching the faint glow of the rising moon. She often sat near it in the evenings, her silver fur a beacon in the twilight.
Leaving the others a short distance away, ProlixalParagon moved with a quiet purpose towards Lyra’s wagon. He could see her silhouette within, the warm light of an oil lamp casting long shadows on the painted canvas. He paused at the entrance, the familiar scent of pipe tobacco and dried herbs wafting out. He took a breath, the dry, rustling sound of his own kind a familiar comfort.
He gently tapped a clawed paw on the door flap. After a brief pause, Lyra’s dry, papery rasp of a voice called out, "Come in, young one.".
ProlixalParagon slipped inside, his glowing eyes adjusting quickly to the warm, enclosed space. Lyra sat on a low cushion, leaning against her gnarled staff, her golden eyes, filled with ancient wisdom, regarding him with a gentle curiosity. The air in the vardo was still, carrying the faint, hesitant whispers that occasionally emanated from the deactivated form of Ralyria, who lay resting against one of the walls, her metallic sheen dulled in the lamplight.
“Lyra,” ProlixalParagon began, his voice carrying the slightly higher and melodic tones characteristic of his Fennician nature, “we have returned from the old dungeon.”
Lyra inclined her silver head. “I sensed your return. And… you are not alone?” she inquired, her gaze holding a knowing glint.
“No,” ProlixalParagon confirmed. “During our exploration, we were joined by another. Her name is Kaelthari Voss. She is a… Cataphractan.” He watched Lyra carefully, noting the flicker of something unreadable in her ancient eyes at the mention of the race, a people associated with the Kingdom of Soohan.
“A Cataphractan,” Lyra repeated slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “Their kind are not often seen traveling with the… free peoples.”
“Indeed,” ProlixalParagon agreed. “She encountered us near the dungeon entrance. Her path, it seems, has led her away from her own people. She seeks… her own name, her own purpose.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She possesses a strength and a resolve that proved… useful within the dungeon. And more importantly, Lyra,” he continued, meeting her golden gaze directly, “I believe her heart is true. She expressed a desire to… perhaps travel with the Vermillion Troupe.”
Lyra’s gaze remained steady, her silence stretching for a moment that felt longer than it was. She had a way of observing, of seeing beyond the surface, that ProlixalParagon had come to respect. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but carrying the weight of her experience.
“The troupe is a tapestry woven from many threads, young one,” she said, her gaze drifting for a moment towards the sleeping forms of the rescued children. “Each thread, no matter its color or origin, must contribute to the strength and beauty of the whole. We have taken in goblins, those cast out and misunderstood. We value the heart, not just the heritage.”
She looked back at ProlixalParagon, her golden eyes sharp. “Tell me of this Kaelthari. What did you see in her that warrants bringing her into our fold?”
ProlixalParagon recounted their brief but eventful journey through the dungeon, Kaelthari’s willingness to face the unknown dangers alongside them, her quiet strength, and the genuine desire she had expressed to find a place for herself. He emphasized her respect for the group and her eagerness to learn.
Lyra listened intently, her silver ears occasionally twitching. When ProlixalParagon finished, she was silent for another long moment, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance.
Finally, she sighed softly, a dry rustling sound. “Unexpected allies can indeed be found in unforeseen circumstances,” she murmured, echoing her earlier conversation with Saelith. “Bring her forward, young one. Let me look upon her myself. The road ahead is uncertain, and strong hearts are a valuable commodity.”
A wave of relief washed over ProlixalParagon. He offered Lyra a respectful nod. “Thank you, Elder. I believe you will find her worthy.” He turned to leave the vardo, a renewed sense of purpose guiding his steps as he went to fetch Kaelthari and introduce her to the wise leader of the Vermillion Troupe. The setting sun painted the desert sky in hues of orange and deep purple, a dramatic backdrop to the unfolding story of the nomadic caravan and the unlikely alliances forged on the fringes of a digital world.
ProlixalParagon exited Lyra's vardo, the warmth of the lamplight momentarily clinging to his white fur before dissipating in the cooler evening air. He carried a sense of relief, Lyra’s initial reservations about a Cataphractan joining their ranks seemingly tempered by her wisdom and willingness to consider individual merit.
He rejoined Kaelthari, Marx, Havryn, and Ralyria a short distance from Lyra’s wagon, the fading sunlight casting long shadows that danced around their forms. Kaelthari’s impressive figure, her mulberry scales still catching the last vestiges of the sun’s glow, stood out even in the twilight . Marx leaned on his newly crafted crutch, his single hazel eye observing the encampment with a quiet intensity. Havryn fidgeted subtly with his mace, his goblin features shadowed in the dimming light. Ralyria remained still and graceful, a silent observer in the gathering dusk.
“Lyra has agreed to meet you, Kaelthari,” ProlixalParagon announced, his Fennician-tinged voice carrying clearly in the stillness . “She is the elder of our troupe. Her wisdom guides us.” He gestured for the others to follow as he began to lead Kaelthari towards Lyra’s elaborately painted vardo, its lunar motifs now beginning to shimmer faintly in the light of the rising moon .
As they approached, Lyra had emerged from her vardo, her silver fur gleaming like moonlight in the growing darkness. Her golden eyes, sharp and perceptive, rested on Kaelthari’s towering form as they drew near . A subtle stillness fell over the immediate vicinity as the elder of the Vermillion Troupe and the imposing Cataphractan came face to face.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Lyra,” ProlixalParagon began, stepping slightly ahead, “this is Kaelthari Voss. Kaelthari, this is Lyra, our elder.” He offered a respectful nod to both women.
Lyra’s gaze remained fixed on Kaelthari, her expression unreadable. She was a figure accustomed to assessing individuals quickly and accurately, her long life having provided ample opportunity to hone this skill . Kaelthari, for her part, met Lyra’s gaze with a respectful stillness, her magnificent markhor horns and the delicate golden chains adorning them catching the faint light.
“ProlixalParagon speaks well of your… strength,” Lyra said, her voice the familiar dry, papery rasp . “Strength alone, however, does not a member of the Vermillion Troupe make.” Her gaze flickered briefly to the rescued children huddled near one of the wagons .
“Elder Lyra,” Kaelthari’s voice was surprisingly soft, a low rumble that resonated with an unexpected gentleness. “I understand. I do not seek to impose. I… seek a purpose beyond what my lineage has dictated for me. I wish to see this world, to earn my own measure, and when ProlixalParagon spoke of your troupe, of your travels and the bonds you share, it resonated with a desire I did not know I possessed.”
ProlixalParagon stepped forward slightly. “Lyra, Kaelthari proved invaluable within the dungeon . Her ‘Obsidian Warden’ class provided a formidable defense, and her resolve never wavered even in the face of unknown dangers. More importantly, she showed respect for us, for the children, and expressed a genuine desire to contribute, not just to take .”
Lyra’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, studying Kaelthari intently. “You speak of leaving your own people,” she stated, her gaze unwavering. “That is a significant decision. What has led you to this path?”
Kaelthari hesitated for a moment, a flicker of something akin to pain crossing her scaled features. “My… path within my own society was not one I could walk with an honest heart,” she finally said, her voice low. “I seek to define myself through my actions, not through the expectations of my name or my kind.” She met Lyra’s gaze directly. “ProlixalParagon offered me an opportunity, and I hope that you will consider allowing me to prove my worth to your troupe.”
Lyra remained silent for a long moment, her gaze sweeping over Kaelthari’s impressive form once more. She observed the genuine sincerity in the Cataphractan’s golden eyes, the quiet strength that radiated from her even in stillness. She then glanced at ProlixalParagon, noting the earnestness in his glowing gaze.
Finally, a soft sigh, like the rustling of dry leaves, escaped Lyra’s lips . “The road ahead is long and often fraught with peril,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “But strong hearts and willing hands are always welcome if their intentions are true. The Vermillion Troupe has sheltered many who were considered ‘other’ by the wider world .”
She looked directly at Kaelthari. “Kaelthari Voss, you seek to travel with us, to find your own name amongst strangers. I have heard the words of the one who vouches for you, and I have looked into your eyes. For now, you may travel with the Vermillion Troupe. Prove to us, through your actions, that your heart aligns with ours. Prove that you seek to contribute to the tapestry we weave, not tear at its threads.”
A hint of a genuine smile touched Kaelthari’s lips. She inclined her impressive head in a gesture of deep respect. “Thank you, Elder Lyra. I will not fail your trust.”
ProlixalParagon felt a wave of relief and a quiet satisfaction. He had trusted his instincts about Kaelthari, and Lyra’s wisdom had allowed for a chance to welcome an unexpected ally into their fold.
Lyra’s golden eyes remained fixed on Kaelthari, her expression a study in cautious assessment. Kaelthari met her gaze with a respectful stillness, the golden chains on her markhor horns glinting in the growing darkness. The air held a moment of quiet anticipation, the weight of Lyra’s judgment hanging gently between them.
As Lyra began to speak further with Kaelthari, her dry, papery voice a low murmur, ProlixalParagon subtly shifted his attention. The immediate tension of the introduction had eased, and the familiar sounds of the Vermillion Troupe preparing for the evening began to filter through the air. He noticed a small group of children gathered near one of the larger Conestoga wagons. Lantern light illuminated their faces, a mixture of goblin children, their multifaceted eyes wide with anticipation, a few Fennician kits, their bushy tails twitching, and even a couple of Soohan elf children, their slender features betraying a more reserved curiosity. He even glimpsed the mulberry scales of a young Cataphractan child amongst the group, a surprising sight that spoke to the diverse individuals the Vermillion Troupe seemed to attract or shelter.
His ears swiveled, picking up the faint sounds of music – perhaps Elara tuning her lute or another member preparing a simple melody. The aroma of the evening meal, a hearty stew seasoned with desert spices, began to drift through the air, a comforting and familiar scent. He saw several members of the troupe tending to cooking pots over crackling fires, their movements practiced and efficient.
Among the children watching with particular intensity was a small goblin boy, one of the five rescued from the ravaged caravan in the salt flats. ProlixalParagon remembered the fear in the child's wide eyes and the way he clutched his sister. Now, however, a flicker of something else caught ProlixalParagon’s attention. On the center of the goblin child’s forehead, visible in the lantern light, was a faint, dark marking. It wasn’t a scar, nor did it appear to be a natural skin pigmentation. It was an intricate, almost geometric shape, too deliberate to be random. ProlixalParagon’s glowing eyes narrowed slightly in momentary curiosity, a fleeting thought that it might be related to some cultural practice or perhaps something more unusual. However, he consciously chose not to react, keeping his expression neutral and his observations to himself for the time being. The child seemed engrossed in whatever was beginning to unfold for the entertainment of the gathered youngsters.
After a few more moments, allowing Lyra and Kaelthari to continue their initial exchange, ProlixalParagon offered a polite cough. “Elder Lyra, Kaelthari,” he began, his voice carrying a respectful tone. “If you will excuse me, the discoveries from the old dungeon have been… quite thought-provoking. I find myself eager to review some of my notes and… sketches while the evening progresses. I trust you will find much to discuss.” He offered a slight bow to both women, his marbled tail swaying gently.
Without waiting for a response, ProlixalParagon moved away from the immediate vicinity of Lyra’s vardo. He didn’t have any literal notes or sketches with him at that moment, but the image of the ancient blueprint he had found in the spectral tinkerer’s workshop was vivid in his memory. He sought a relatively quiet spot, perhaps near the flickering light of a shielded lantern a short distance away, or perhaps even slipping inside his usual resting place within one of the Conestoga wagons.
Once settled, ProlixalParagon focused his mental energies, recalling the intricate lines and symbols of the blueprint. He mentally unfurled the fragile parchment, tracing the strange diagrams and annotations with the eye of a budding Tinkerer. The inner light that seemed to shimmer within the unusually dark ink intrigued him. He pondered the purpose of the various components depicted, the flow of energy or materials they might have facilitated. He considered the spectral tinkerer’s words about the workbenches and the quest to find them. Understanding this first blueprint felt crucial to unlocking the secrets of the others and fulfilling the spectral being’s request.
In the background, the sounds of the Vermillion Troupe continued. The children’s excited laughter punctuated the air as the performance began – perhaps a simple puppet show, a recitation of a well-loved tale, or even a demonstration of some of the troupe’s juggling or acrobatic skills. The mingled aromas of the cooking stew and the dust of the encampment filled the air, a familiar and comforting backdrop to his mental work. He could occasionally hear snippets of Lyra’s dry rasp as she continued her conversation with Kaelthari, interspersed with the Cataphractan’s surprisingly gentle rumble.
ProlixalParagon remained absorbed in his mental study of the blueprint, the diverse and vibrant life of the Vermillion Troupe unfolding around him, a silent testament to their resilience and their ability to create moments of joy even in the uncertain world of Ludere Online. The faint, unusual mark on the goblin child's forehead remained a fleeting curiosity, a small detail noted but set aside for potential consideration at a later time, his immediate focus now firmly on the mysteries held within the ancient Soohan schematics. As he studied them pieces began to make sense, the knowledge seeming to click into place, while other pieces only gave him a headache the longer he stared at them. With a sigh he set the schematics back in his tool pouch and opened his stat sheet.
The familiar translucent shimmer of his character sheet materialized before ProlixalParagon’s glowing eyes, the crisp white text standing out against the dimly lit space he had found within a relatively quiet corner of the encampment. The sounds of children's laughter and the distant strains of Elara’s lute formed a comforting, if slightly distracting, backdrop to his internal deliberations. The tantalizing fragments of the tinkerer’s blueprint still danced at the edge of his awareness, mixed with the dull throb that had prompted him to set it aside for the time being. He noted the notification indicating one unspent attribute point and one unspent affinity point, the rewards of his recent, albeit somewhat bewildering, level up.
His thoughts drifted first to the attribute point. His journey so far had highlighted a few key areas where improvement might be beneficial. As a Tinkerer, Dexterity and Intelligence were likely his core attributes. Dexterity would aid in the intricate manipulations required for crafting and potentially improve his reaction time in any unforeseen skirmishes. Intelligence, on the other hand, would enhance his understanding of complex schematics, like the one he had just been studying, and potentially unlock more advanced crafting recipes as his skill grew. He also couldn’t entirely dismiss the importance of Agility, which had proven useful in navigating the traps within the dungeon and evading the Dustshade Revenant. He had already allocated attribute points to Dexterity and Intelligence in the past.
He briefly considered Strength. While not traditionally a Tinkerer’s primary focus, his recent experience hauling the log in Oakhaven and even the initial exploration of the dungeon had suggested that a modicum of physical resilience could be useful. However, his current focus lay more in understanding and manipulating the intricacies of the world around him, aligning more closely with mental and manual dexterity than brute force.
Given his immediate goal of deciphering the tinkerer’s blueprints and potentially recreating some of the lost devices, Intelligence seemed the most logical choice for this attribute point. A sharper mind would surely aid in unraveling the complex designs and understanding the flow of mana within them. Furthermore, his background as a Scholar's Apprentice suggested a natural inclination towards intellectual pursuits, making an investment in Intelligence feel thematically appropriate. With a mental affirmation, he allocated the attribute point to Intelligence, watching the number beside it tick upwards, a subtle sense of mental clarity washing over his digital consciousness.
Next, his attention turned to the more enigmatic affinity point. The concept of affinities was still somewhat new to him, the passive skill description for "Elemental Affinity" providing the basic understanding of elemental power and resistance. He had previously invested an affinity point in Metal, a choice driven by the obvious synergy with his Tinkerer class. He had also intuitively chosen Soul, a more esoteric connection that had resonated with his experiences with Ralyria and her burgeoning sentience.
Considering the blueprints he had just examined, he pondered if a different affinity might offer immediate benefits. The diagrams appeared to involve intricate mechanisms and the manipulation of some form of energy, which he assumed to be mana. His existing affinity for Metal seemed relevant to the mechanical aspects, potentially enhancing his ability to work with metallic components in the designs.
He briefly considered other elemental affinities. Fire and Lightning might be involved in some of the more advanced mechanisms, but without a clearer understanding of the specific components and their functions within the armor blueprint, choosing an elemental affinity felt like a less informed decision at this stage. His existing connection to Soul also felt potentially relevant, given the spectral nature of the tinkerer and the seemingly magical properties inherent in his creations.
Ultimately, he decided that further diversifying his affinities without a clearer understanding of the blueprint’s requirements might be premature. His initial investment in Metal aligned directly with his Tinkerer specialization, and his intuitive pull towards Soul had already proven significant in his unexpected interaction with Ralyria. For now, continuing to explore these nascent connections felt more prudent than branching out into the unknown. He resolved to hold onto this affinity point for the time being, wanting to gain a deeper understanding of the tinkerer's designs and perhaps even consult with Lyra or other knowledgeable members of the Vermillion Troupe before making a further commitment. The blueprint itself might offer clues as to the most beneficial affinities for a master Tinkerer.
Player Name: ProlixalParagon Level: 5
Class:tinkerer
Subclass:None
Profession: None Specialization: None
Currently Active Title: -
Most used Skill: -
Alignment: -
Health: 130/130 Mana: 114/114 Stamina: 72/72
Points Earned: 0
Reputation:
-OakHaven - 10
-Vermillion Troupe - 75
-Pella - 0
-Marx - 20
-DustReach - -100
-Yendrals Hollow - 0
Attributes:
Strength:10 Constitution:11 Dexterity:15 Intelligence: 16
Wisdom: 10 Charisma: 11 Piety: 0 Luck: 10
Karma: 10
Combat:
Attack: 10 Accuracy: 5 Agility: 15 Speed: 8
Critical: 0.21 Endurance:8 Focus: 10 Defense:10
Magic Def: 10 Armor:0 Hygieian Meter: 10
Affinities:
Earth: 0 Water: 0
Fire: 0 Air: 0
Blood: 0 Soul: 1
Celestial: 0 Abyssal: 0
Lightning: 0 Ice: 0
Metal: 1 Wood: 0
Currently Equipped Gear:
Worn Leather armor (Durability: 7/45)
Tinkerers beginners tool set (Durability: 22/45)
Low grade iron dagger (Durability: 8/25)
Makeshift trash Caltrops (Qty: 31 Pcs)
Marx’s Woven Cuff (Durability: 45/45) (Accessory — +1 Dexterity, +5% Mana Efficiency)
Active Status Effects:
Abilities:
-
Titles
-
Passive Skills:
-
Feats:
-
Character Background:
Fennician, Scholars Apprentice, [Hidden]
Inherited Traits:
Lunar Reflexes , Unrooted Identity , Magical Burnout, Knowledge Retention, [Hidden]
Currently active Quest:
-
With the attribute point allocated and the affinity point deliberately held in reserve, ProlixalParagon dismissed his character sheet. A quiet sense of satisfaction settled within him, mingled with a renewed curiosity about the challenges and discoveries that lay ahead. The headache from studying the blueprint had subsided slightly, replaced by a spark of anticipation for when his increased intellect might allow him to decipher its deeper secrets. He adjusted the leather satchel containing his tinker’s tools, the precious blueprint nestled safely within, and turned his attention back to the vibrant life of the Vermillion Troupe, the sounds of laughter and music a comforting reminder of the community he had found within this extraordinary digital world.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows from the weathered outcropping where the Vermillion Troupe had made a temporary camp. ProlixalParagon sat a little apart from the main bustle, his white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black clearly visible in the dappled sunlight filtering through the sparse foliage. His rotating ears occasionally picked up snippets of the troupe's activities: the creak of a vardo wheel as someone adjusted its position, the low murmur of voices as elder Fennicians exchanged stories, and the softer laughter of the rescued children playing a makeshift game near Ralyria, whose metal-forged form remained a silent, watchful presence. He observed Marx near one of the Conestogas, his broad shoulders hunched as he seemed to be inspecting the sturdiness of the wagon. The Soohan elves, having guided them thus far, lingered at the periphery, their dusk-hued skin blending with the shadows, maintaining a wary courtesy.
ProlixalParagon idly ran a gloved finger along the worn leather of his belt, his gaze sweeping over the familiar yet ever-fascinating microcosm of the Vermillion Troupe. He had assisted with the unpacking earlier, his enhanced digital strength proving surprisingly useful in maneuvering heavier items. A sense of quiet contentment settled over him, a feeling of belonging that had steadily grown since he had unexpectedly found himself traveling with this vibrant caravan.
His attention was drawn as Lyra detached herself from a small group of elder Fennicians who had been conversing near one of the elaborately painted vardos. Her silver fur gleamed in the sunlight as she moved with a deliberate, if slightly slower, gait towards him, leaning slightly on her gnarled staff. Her golden eyes, filled with the wisdom of countless journeys, held a thoughtful expression as she approached. In her free hand, she carried a small, steaming bowl and a piece of flatbread, the simple offering suggesting a purpose beyond mere sustenance.
"ProlixalParagon," Lyra began, her voice that dry, papery rasp he was beginning to recognize, the sound somehow both frail and carrying an undeniable weight of authority. She paused a moment, her gaze sweeping over the resting members of the troupe before settling back on him. "I thought you might appreciate something warm. The desert evenings can hold a surprising chill, even after a day such as this." She extended the bowl and bread towards him.
ProlixalParagon rose to meet her, accepting the offering with a respectful nod. The warmth of the bowl radiated through his gloves, and the aroma of spiced vegetables and herbs filled the air. "Thank you, Lyra. That is most kind." He took a bite of the flatbread, its slightly chewy texture and earthy flavor a familiar comfort.
Lyra nodded, her golden eyes still observing him with that thoughtful intensity. Instead of moving on, she lowered herself slowly onto a nearby patch of sand, her gnarled staff resting beside her. She settled with a soft sigh, her silver fur rustling like dry leaves. The movement indicated that this was not just a casual offering of food, but the prelude to something more significant.
A moment of comfortable silence passed as ProlixalParagon took another bite of the bread and the fragrant steam from the bowl swirled gently in the still air. The distant sounds of the troupe continued their gentle rhythm, a backdrop to the unspoken seriousness that seemed to emanate from the elder Fennician. Lyra’s gaze drifted towards the horizon for a moment, her ancient eyes seeming to take in the vastness of the landscape, the endless stretch of sand that held both danger and the promise of new destinations. When she finally turned back to ProlixalParagon, the golden light in her eyes held a deeper intensity, signaling the beginning of the private word she had sought.
Lyra's words hung in the air, the weight of the Vermillion Troupe's decision palpable. ProlixalParagon listened intently as the elder Fennician, her silver fur gleaming even in the dimming light of their encampment, laid bare their intentions to journey to the continent of BaiGai. The reasons she outlined resonated deeply with his own observations of their experiences on Varethis, particularly their recent unsettling encounter in Dustreach with Lord Elmsworth's harsh decree and the underlying prejudice they faced. The prospect of a land with more caravans, suggesting a greater acceptance and perhaps a stronger sense of community for those who lived outside the rigid structures of kingdoms like Draggor, was undeniably appealing.
Lyra’s invitation for him to join them carried a warmth that settled comfortably within ProlixalParagon. The fact that many within the troupe now saw him as one of their own was a testament to the bonds they had forged since his unexpected arrival. He recalled the Red Fox Caravan's initial welcoming nature and how the Vermillion Troupe had extended that same acceptance, embracing his unique appearance and his willingness to contribute. Lyra's own words on the matter, such as "Troupe's for those worth having, not those perfect by someone else’s measure" after he advocated for Marx, echoed in his mind, underscoring their inclusive philosophy.
The continent of BaiGai, with its promise of more caravans and less ingrained hatred, presented a compelling vision for the future of the Vermillion Troupe. Their nomadic lifestyle, their reliance on trade and performance, would likely thrive in an environment where they were not constantly viewed with suspicion or subjected to arbitrary laws. The memories of the tense inspection by Lord Elmsworth’s guards, the fear of being unjustly accused of hoarding, and the overall feeling of being outsiders in Dustreach highlighted the challenges of remaining on Varethis. BaiGai offered the hope of a fresh start, a place where their vibrant culture might be met with greater understanding and appreciation.
For ProlixalParagon, Lyra’s invitation posed a significant decision. His initial foray into Ludere Online had been marked by a desire to understand this new world and his place within it. He had gravitated towards the Vermillion Troupe, initially the Red Fox Caravan, drawn by their unique way of life and the kindness they had shown him. His interactions with Lyra had been particularly insightful, offering glimpses into Fennician culture and traditions. He had also taken on a degree of responsibility, particularly concerning Ralyria, the reactivated automaton who had found a tentative place within the troupe. Marx, the newly recruited woodcarver, also represented a connection and a responsibility.
The prospect of journeying to a new continent alongside the Vermillion Troupe held a certain allure. He had grown accustomed to their rhythms, their strong familial bonds, and their resilience in the face of adversity. Continuing with them would offer a sense of belonging and the opportunity to further immerse himself in their culture. However, he also had his own path to consider. His initial directive, however vague, had been to explore and report on Ludere Online. A journey to BaiGai would undoubtedly offer new experiences and information, but it would also take him further away from the regions he had initially encountered and the potential for uncovering other aspects of the game world on Varethis.
ProlixalParagon considered the weight of Lyra’s words. He had indeed taken on burdens since joining the troupe, from assisting with their escape to helping Ralyria and advocating for Marx. He had come to genuinely care for the members of the Vermillion Troupe, and the thought of parting ways was not one he entertained lightly. Yet, the pull of the unknown, the inherent curiosity of a scholar, and the potential for uncovering more about the larger world of Ludere Online remained strong.
Turning to Lyra, his white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black clearly visible in the firelight, ProlixalParagon’s Fennician-tinged voice held a note of sincere gratitude. “Lyra,” he began, his rotating ears attentive, “this is… a significant decision, and your invitation… it means more than words can say. The acceptance I have found within the Vermillion Troupe has been… unexpected and deeply appreciated.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “The hardships we have faced here on Varethis, especially recently, have made the appeal of a more welcoming land like BaiGai clear. The promise of a stronger community and a life less burdened by prejudice is a powerful one.” He looked around at the faces of the elder Fennicians nearby, their expressions carrying a mixture of hope and weariness. “I need to consider this carefully, Lyra. The bonds we have formed are strong, and the journey we have shared has been… transformative for me. Allow me some time to reflect on this generous offer and the path that lies ahead.” His response acknowledged the gravity of the situation and his deep connection to the troupe without committing to an immediate answer, recognizing the profound implications of such a significant journey to a new continent.
