The first pale light of dawn, still hesitant and weak, filtered through the sturdy canvas of the Conestoga wagon, painting the interior in soft, muted greys and blues. ProlixalParagon stirred amidst the familiar scent of tightly woven desert fabrics, a faint stiffness in his digitigrade limbs a lingering reminder of the previous night’s brutal defense of Yendral’s Hollow. The air within the wagon, usually carrying the communal warmth of sleeping travelers, felt cooler, quieter, tinged with the unspoken tension that had settled over the village after the Mana Originating Beasts had been driven back.
He blinked slowly, his luminous eyes adjusting to the dim light. He remembered the chaos, the sudden eruption of monstrous forms from the chasm that had inexplicably opened, the desperate fight to protect the vardos and the villagers. He recalled the feel of his dagger in his paw, the sharp sting of near misses, the raw urgency in Lyra’s commands. The memory of Seron, the usually stoic Soohan sergeant, fighting alongside them, bloodied but resolute, flashed through his mind.
Pushing himself up carefully, ProlixalParagon noted the other occupants of the Conestoga. Several of the younger Fennician kits, who had been pulled into the wagon for safety during the attack, were still deeply asleep, their small forms huddled together for warmth and comfort. Their soft fur, in shades of cream and russet, rose and fell with their gentle breaths, a fragile picture of innocence amidst the lingering threat. Nara, the warm brown-furred Fennician who often tended to the children, was also stirring nearby, her large eyes opening slowly, a flicker of concern still present in their depths.
A quiet sense of responsibility settled over ProlixalParagon as he watched the sleeping children. He had come to feel a genuine connection to the Vermillion Troupe, their resilience and their unwavering care for one another having woven a strong thread of belonging within him. The thought of them being harmed, especially the young ones, had fueled his actions the night before.
With a deliberate effort to be quiet, ProlixalParagon moved towards the open canvas flap at the rear of the wagon. The cool morning air, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and the metallic tang that seemed to cling to Yendral’s Hollow since the chasm had opened, greeted him. He slipped out of the Conestoga, his digitigrade paws making soft contact with the dew-kissed earth.
The encampment was slowly coming to life. The colorful vardos, usually vibrant against the landscape, seemed to hold a more subdued aura in the aftermath of the attack. Figures moved with a quiet purpose, tending to the tethered beasts and the remnants of the hastily extinguished perimeter wards. The usual cheerful banter was absent, replaced by hushed conversations and worried glances towards the dark gash in the earth that still marred the western edge of the village.
ProlixalParagon stretched, easing the lingering tension from his muscles. He scanned the surrounding area, his rotating ears picking up the murmur of Soohan voices and the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The architectural style of Yendral’s Hollow, the slender, gracefully curved structures blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings, seemed almost fragile in the face of the previous night’s onslaught.
As he turned, his gaze fell upon Lyra. The elder Fennician stood near her elaborately painted vardo, its lunar phases catching the nascent light. Her silver fur gleamed with a pale luminescence in the early morning, and her golden eyes, sharp and knowing, were fixed on him. She leaned slightly on her gnarled staff, her posture conveying both weariness and an unwavering resolve.
Lyra’s expression was thoughtful, the usual dry amusement that often played around her muzzle absent. She watched him approach, her wise eyes assessing him with a careful intensity. A silent question hung in the air between them, the unspoken acknowledgment of the shared danger they had faced and the uncertain future that lay ahead.
“ProlixalParagon,” Lyra began as he drew near, her voice the familiar dry, papery rasp that carried the weight of countless journeys. “May I have a word with you, young one?” Her gaze flickered briefly towards the distant chasm before returning to him, a deeper concern now evident in their golden depths. The events of the night had forged a new layer of understanding between them, a bond forged in the crucible of shared peril.
Lyra turned as ProlixalParagon approached, a soft rustle of her fur accompanying the movement. Her golden eyes, filled with the wisdom of countless journeys, held a gentle but resolute quality. “ProlixalParagon,” she began, her voice the dry, papery rasp he had come to recognize, a sound like wind whispering through desert grasses. “I wished to speak with you before the full light of day settles upon us.”
He nodded, his rotating ears swiveling slightly, attentive to her words. The events of the previous night, the emergence of the horrors from the forgotten dungeon and the subsequent defense of Yendral’s Hollow, still lingered in his thoughts. He wondered what new developments Lyra wished to share.
Lyra’s gaze drifted towards the east, where the first sliver of the sun was beginning to paint the sky with hues of orange and rose. “The attack last night… it changed things,” she said, her voice low, as if sharing a closely guarded secret. “Soohan’s border held, thanks in no small part to Saelith and his warriors. But it served as a stark reminder, if any were needed, that nowhere is truly safe.”
She paused, her golden eyes returning to meet his. “We have been discussing our path forward, the elders and I. The whispers of BaiGai, the continent across the Great Ocean, a land said to be more welcoming to those who do not fit within the rigid structures of places like Draggor… those whispers have grown louder. The decision has been made, ProlixalParagon. The Vermillion Troupe will journey to the coast. We will seek passage on a ship and set sail for BaiGai.”
ProlixalParagon absorbed this news, the implications of such a significant undertaking rippling through his thoughts. The journey across the Great Ocean was a daunting prospect, a leap into the unknown even more significant than their flight from Draggor’s lands. He thought of the conversations he had overheard, the hopes for a new beginning on a different shore.
Lyra continued, her expression softening slightly as she spoke of the small goblin child whose destiny had become intertwined with theirs. “And Vrek… he has made a decision as well. After the events of last night, after seeing the darkness that clings to him, the mark that draws such unwanted attention… he wishes to undergo the ritual. Seron’s scroll… it offers a chance for him to be free, to grow without the shadow of a divine burden.”
A wave of understanding washed over ProlixalParagon. The ritual offered a potential path to normalcy for the child, a chance to shed the mark that had made him a target. He recalled the weight of that scroll, the hope it represented, and the selfless act of the Soohan sergeant.
Lyra’s gaze became direct, her ancient eyes piercing through his thoughtful silence. “And what of you, young one?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of the warmth he had come to associate with her. “You have traveled with us for a time now. You have shared our burdens, offered your strength, and shown a kindness that will not be forgotten. Will you join the Vermillion Troupe on this new journey? Will you sail with us to BaiGai?”
The question hung in the cool morning air, the weight of it settling upon ProlixalParagon. He looked out across the awakening encampment, the colorful vardo wagons beginning to stir with the routines of a new day. He thought of the bonds he had formed with the members of the troupe, the resilience and camaraderie he had witnessed. He considered Ralyria, the reactivated automaton he had helped to find a place among them. He thought of Marx, the woodcarver who had recently joined their fold, his quiet strength a testament to the enduring spirit of those who had faced hardship.
His initial purpose in Ludere Online had been one of observation, a desire to understand this intricate world. He had gravitated towards the Vermillion Troupe, drawn by their unique way of life and the unexpected sense of belonging he had found within their ranks. The journey to BaiGai represented a significant departure from his initial explorations on Varethis, a new chapter in an already unpredictable adventure.
His gaze returned to Lyra, her silver fur a steady presence in the growing light. Her question was an invitation, a recognition of his place, however recently forged, within their nomadic family. The road ahead, whether on Varethis or across the Great Ocean, was uncertain. But the thought of facing that uncertainty alongside the Vermillion Troupe, sharing their stories and their burdens, held a certain undeniable allure. He knew he needed to consider the implications, to weigh his own desires against the commitments he had begun to make. The dawn of a new day brought with it not only the promise of a long journey but also the weight of a significant decision.
ProlixalParagon stood for a long moment, the gentle sounds of the awakening encampment forming a quiet backdrop to Lyra's pivotal question. The prospect of sailing to BaiGai, a distant continent whispered to offer respite from the prejudices of Varethis, hung heavy in the early morning air. He considered the journey they had already shared, from the initial chance encounter with the Red Fox Caravan to the shared hardships and unexpected camaraderie he had found within the Vermillion Troupe.
His gaze drifted towards the colorful vardo wagons, each a testament to the troupe's vibrant artistic spirit. He thought of Elara’s lively melodies, the hushed stories Nara shared with the children, and the quiet competence of Havryn as he worked with his tools. He remembered the playful energy of the younger Fennicians and goblins, their laughter a fragile melody against the often-harsh realities of their nomadic life. He had come to value the sense of community he had found amongst them, a feeling of belonging that had taken root unexpectedly.
The image of Marx, the woodcarver he had recently helped, flickered in his mind. Marx, who had agreed to join their ranks, represented another thread in the tapestry of his connection to the troupe. Leaving now would mean parting ways with the old artisan before he had truly found his place among them. And then there was Ralyria, the reactivated automaton. He felt a sense of responsibility towards her fragile awakening, a desire to see her find her own path within the supportive environment of the troupe. Lyra’s offer of care for Ralyria had been generous, further solidifying his sense of their interconnectedness.
The attack on Yendral's Hollow the previous night served as a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked on Varethis. The journey to BaiGai offered the promise of a safer haven, a place where their unique way of life might be met with less suspicion and hostility. He recalled the prejudice they had faced in Dustreach, the oppressive decree of Lord Elmsworth, and the constant awareness of being outsiders in a world that often viewed them with disdain. BaiGai represented a chance for a new beginning, a place where the burdens they carried might finally lighten.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
He also considered his own initial purpose in Ludere Online. He had come to observe, to learn about this intricate world. Traveling to a new continent would undoubtedly offer a wealth of new experiences and information, fulfilling that initial directive in an unforeseen way. While exploring the regions of Varethis he had already encountered held its own allure, the opportunity to witness a significant journey, to understand the challenges and triumphs of starting anew in a different land, was a compelling one. Furthermore, his experiences with the Vermillion Troupe had become more than mere observation; he had become involved, offering his assistance and forming genuine connections.
The prospect of Vrek undergoing the ritual to remove the divine mark also weighed on his thoughts. The child's journey towards a more normal life resonated with ProlixalParagon’s own sense of protecting the vulnerable within the troupe. He had witnessed the fear and uncertainty that the mark had brought upon Vrek and the troupe. If the ritual offered a chance for him to grow without that burden, then the journey to BaiGai, and the troupe's continued support, would be all the more crucial for the child's well-being.
Turning back to Lyra, whose ancient golden eyes held a patient and knowing gaze, ProlixalParagon felt a sense of certainty settle within him. His time with the Vermillion Troupe had become more than just a temporary arrangement; it had evolved into a meaningful connection. The burdens they carried were becoming his own, and the hope for a brighter future in BaiGai was a hope he now shared.
A soft rustle of his white fur accompanied his movement as he shifted his stance, meeting Lyra’s gaze with a steady resolve. “Lyra,” he began, his voice carrying the dry, rustling cadence of his Fennician heritage, “you speak of a new journey, a chance for a fresh start. The hardships we have faced here, the shadows of prejudice… they are not easily forgotten.” He paused, his rotating ears swiveling slightly, taking in the quiet stirrings of the encampment around them. “I have found a measure of belonging amongst the Vermillion Troupe, a sense of community that I value deeply.”
He drew a slow breath, the cool morning air filling his lungs. “The road to BaiGai will undoubtedly be long and fraught with its own challenges. But the thought of facing those challenges alongside you, alongside Marx, Ralyria, and the others… it feels like the right path.” A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. “Yes, Lyra. I will join the Vermillion Troupe. I will journey with you to the coast and sail with you to BaiGai.”
A subtle softening spread across Lyra’s ancient features, her golden eyes gleaming with a quiet understanding. A faint nod, almost imperceptible, acknowledged his decision. “The threads of fate weave in unexpected ways, young one,” she rasped, her voice carrying a note of warmth. “Your presence has been a steady light in our travels, and your willingness to share our journey to a new shore is a welcome comfort.” She leaned slightly on her staff, her gaze drifting once more towards the rising sun. “The path ahead will be long, but together, the Vermillion Troupe will face whatever burdens lie between blade and a new dawn.” The decision was made, the early morning air seemed a little brighter, and the promise of a new chapter for the Vermillion Troupe, with ProlixalParagon at their side, began to unfold.
The decision to pack up in Yendral's Hollow, following ProlixalParagon's decision to journey with the Vermillion Troupe to BaiGai, was undertaken with a sense of cautious anticipation rather than the hurried retreat they had experienced leaving Dustreach. The early morning light filtered through the slender, gracefully curved structures of the Soohan village, casting long shadows across the clearing where the colorful vardo wagons were nestled near a gently flowing stream. The air carried the faint, clean scent of pine and a subtle hint of salt, a whisper from the nearby salt flats.
As dawn painted the eastern sky with soft hues of rose and gold, the members of the Vermillion Troupe moved with a practiced efficiency born of their nomadic lifestyle. However, the usual vibrant energy was still somewhat tempered by the recent mana beast attack on Yendral's Hollow. While a fragile peace had settled, a sense of vigilance remained in the air.
The colorful vardo wagons, each adorned with intricate paintings, were being prepared for the next leg of their journey. Canvas coverings, recently cleaned of the dust stirred by the earlier skirmish, were being adjusted and secured. The familiar routines of nomadic life unfolded as the troupe prepared to break camp in the welcoming, yet still slightly unfamiliar, surroundings of Yendral's Hollow.
Their wares, the vibrant fabrics, dyes, and detailed embroidery that sustained their travels, were being carefully stowed within the vardos and any accompanying wagons. The musical instruments of the Silver Echoes, if part of their larger caravan, would have been placed in their protective cases, ready to fill new audiences with melody in BaiGai. The props and costumes for their historical reenactments and morality plays, which had recently served as a brief source of amusement for the Soohan children, were being packed away with their usual care.
Marx, the newly accepted woodcarver, would be securing his tools within the vardo that ProlixalParagon had arranged. His presence represented a new addition to the troupe, a testament to their willingness to embrace those in need. The thought of a fresh start in BaiGai, with the companionship of the troupe, likely brought a measure of hope after his difficult circumstances in Dustreach.
Ralyria, the reactivated automaton, would likely be made comfortable within Lyra’s vardo for the journey ahead. Lyra's agreement to care for her highlighted the compassionate nature of the troupe. Her silent presence, a blend of the mechanical and the nascently aware, added a unique element to their preparations.
Lyra, the elder of the Vermillion Troupe, oversaw the packing with her characteristic calm, her silver fur gleaming in the soft morning light. Her golden eyes, however, might have held a hint of the weariness from the recent attack and the decision to embark on such a significant journey. Her dry, papery voice, when she offered instructions, remained steady, a source of reassurance for the younger members of the troupe. Nara, her warm brown muzzle often showing concern for the children, would be ensuring the younger Fennician kits and goblin children were settled and ready for travel, perhaps sharing quiet words of comfort after the unsettling events. Elara, though her red fur might still carry the memory of their troubles in Dustreach , would be contributing with her usual efficiency, perhaps humming a soft melody as she worked.
The beasts of burden, accustomed to the rhythm of travel, were being harnessed near the gently flowing stream that bordered their encampment. The oxen and any sturdy steeds they possessed were being readied to pull the heavy wagons away from the welcoming embrace of Yendral's Hollow, towards the distant coast and the uncertain journey to BaiGai.
The presence of Soohan elves and the more imposing Cataphractans, who had come to Yendral's Hollow following the discovery of the nearby dungeon, added a unique backdrop to their departure. Some of the Soohan warriors, clad in practical leathers and bearing a variety of weapons, moved with a quiet purpose through the village. Their interactions with the Vermillion Troupe had been marked by a wary courtesy. The shared experience of the mana beast attack had perhaps forged a fragile understanding, but the two groups remained distinct.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the Vermillion Troupe's colorful caravan, bearing the marks of their recent stay and the promise of a new beginning, stood ready to depart from Yendral's Hollow. Their packing was a blend of routine and the anticipation of a significant voyage, a departure from a place that had offered both refuge and a reminder of the dangers of their nomadic life. The scent of pine and salt lingered in the air, a final farewell from the Soohan border village as the Vermillion Troupe prepared to embark on their journey towards the distant shores of BaiGai.
As the Vermillion Troupe prepared to depart from Yendral’s Hollow in the full light of day, the evidence of the previous night’s violent intrusion was starkly apparent. The slender, gracefully curved structures of the Soohan village, which had greeted them with a quiet courtesy upon their arrival, now bore visible scars of the mana beast attack. Several dwellings showed splintered wood where the creatures had lashed out, and patches of disturbed earth marked the locations of the fiercest clashes. The gentle stream that bordered their encampment seemed to flow a little muddier, perhaps stirred by the chaotic movements of the battle.
The colorful vardo wagons, usually radiating an air of festive transience, now seemed slightly subdued, coated with a fine layer of dust kicked up during the frantic defense. Canvas coverings, some bearing minor tears from stray claws or impacts, were being secured with a more pragmatic diligence than usual. The beasts of burden, though rested, moved with a weary patience, their breath misting in the cool morning air, a reminder of the exertion they had endured.
The members of the Vermillion Troupe moved with a quiet efficiency, a blend of their practiced nomadic routine and the lingering sobriety following the attack. The usual cheerful banter was muted, replaced by hushed conversations and concerned glances exchanged between family members. The younger Fennician kits and goblin children, who had played with a fragile hope the previous afternoon, now clung closer to their kin, their wide eyes occasionally darting towards the darker shadows of the village. Nara, her warm brown muzzle creased with a quiet concern, ensured the children were settled within the wagons, perhaps sharing comforting words and ensuring they had water and some dried rations for the journey. Elara, her red fur perhaps still bearing faint traces of dust and worry, helped secure the wagons with her characteristic efficiency.
Lyra, her silver fur catching the morning light, oversaw the departure with her usual calm authority, though a deeper weariness might have been etched around her golden eyes. Her dry, papery voice, when necessary to direct the preparations, remained steady, a source of reassurance for the troupe. Marx, moving with a more confident stride on his newly crafted mana-powered prosthetic leg, carefully stowed his woodworking tools, his single hazel eye surveying the damage to the village with a grim understanding. His presence amongst the troupe, a recent development, served as a quiet reminder of the kindness and inclusivity that defined the Vermillion Troupe. Ralyria, the reactivated automaton, remained a silent presence, likely secured within Lyra’s vardo for the journey, her pale features serene despite the recent conflict.
The Soohan elves, whose border settlement had become a temporary refuge, observed the troupe’s departure with a reserved courtesy. Some of the warriors, clad in practical leathers and bearing their elegant weaponry, stood near the edges of the village, their narrow faces reflecting a quiet vigilance. The shared experience of defending Yendral’s Hollow against the mana beasts had perhaps forged a fragile understanding between the nomadic troupe and the settled elves, but a palpable sense of difference still lingered. Saelith exchanged a brief, formal nod with Lyra, a silent acknowledgment of the events that had transpired and the separate paths they now followed. The Cataphractans stood as imposing figures, their dusk-blue cloaks a stark contrast to the Vermillion Troupe’s vibrant colors, their presence a reminder of the larger forces at play in the region.
As Lyra gave the signal, the vardo wagons began to roll, their wheels crunching softly on the dusty paths of Yendral’s Hollow. The colorful caravan, a familiar sight in the varied landscapes of Ludere Online, moved slowly past the damaged dwellings, a silent testament to the unexpected dangers that could erupt even in seemingly peaceful border settlements. ProlixalParagon, having played a significant role in both their arrival in Yendral’s Hollow and their defense against the mana beasts, likely walked alongside Lyra’s vardo, his rotating ears scanning their surroundings with a lingering caution. Their destination, BaiGai, lay eastward, a journey that now carried the weight of recent events and the uncertain future of their nomadic life. The air of Yendral’s Hollow, still carrying the faint scent of pine and the more recent metallic tang of mana beast ichor, gradually faded behind them as the Vermillion Troupe continued their journey, the rising sun casting long shadows of their colorful wagons across the recovering landscape.
ProlixalParagon, sitting in the back of a conestoga wagon, tapped on the log out option and watched the world fade around him.
