Kaelthari still leaned heavily on her bardiche, the molten gold of her eyes reflecting the flickering light cast by ProlixalParagon’s torch. Marx, his wood carving knives still bearing traces of the viscous fluid from their fallen foe, moved with a cautious limp, his single hazel eye constantly scanning the uneven floor. Ralyria, ever the silent sentinel, had already returned to a posture of vigilance, her spear held ready, though the subtle whirring of her internal mechanisms seemed slightly more pronounced than usual. Arelis, the initiate of Lidos, stood apart, his face pale, the encounter having clearly shaken his faith in the familiar deity. PillowHorror, however, seemed almost invigorated, his chakram spinning lazily in one hand, a satisfied smirk playing on his sharp features.
“Ready?” ProlixalParagon asked, his Fennician-tinged voice low in the stillness. He glanced at each of them, noting their weariness but also a shared determination to continue. The ruin hadn’t fully yielded its secrets, and a palpable sense of anticipation, mixed with apprehension, hung in the air.
No one argued for rest. The nature of the creatures they had just faced, remnants of Lidos’ abandoned faithful warped by corrupted ley-line energy, had instilled a sense of urgency. Whatever else lay within this forgotten place, it was tied to powers far older and perhaps far more dangerous than the surface suggested.
The west passage, the one from which the grinding sound had emanated, remained the only viable route forward. ProlixalParagon raised his torch, its flame dancing erratically, struggling against a gloom that felt denser than mere darkness. A faint, pale luminescence pulsed from the very stone of the tunnel walls in places – the flickering essence of the ley-lines that crisscrossed the ruin. It wasn’t a steady light, but rather intermittent bursts of ethereal energy, casting fleeting shadows that writhed and stretched like living things.
They moved cautiously, ProlixalParagon taking the lead, his rotating ears straining for any sound beyond their own passage. The grinding noise had ceased, but the feeling that the ruin was “waking up,” as PillowHorror had put it, persisted. Ralyria’s earlier observation that the mana levels were surging also lingered in his mind.
The passage sloped downwards, the air growing colder and carrying a more pronounced mineral tang than before. The flickering ley-light occasionally illuminated strange, almost crystalline formations embedded in the walls, their surfaces shimmering with trapped energy. These weren’t the rough-hewn stones of the initial descent or the chamber where they had faced the corrupted faithful of Lidos. The stonework here was smoother, the joins tighter, suggesting a different era of construction.
Kaelthari’s charms rattled softly with each step, the subtle chime a counterpoint to the quiet scrape of Marx’s crutch on the stone floor. Arelis walked with a newfound tension, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. PillowHorror moved with a fluid grace, his chakram still spinning idly, his yellow eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Marx moved with a determined gait, his mana-powered prosthetic leg hissing faintly with each step, and the hilts of his wood carving knives a familiar sight at his belt.
The intermittent flashes of ley-light revealed carvings on the walls, different from the eroded sigils of Lidos they had seen earlier. These were deeper, more angular, almost abstract patterns that seemed to writhe in the fleeting illumination. ProlixalParagon, despite his lack of specific knowledge regarding Dedisco, felt a prickling unease as he saw them. They exuded an aura of immense age, predating even the weathered marks of the sun-crowned deity.
After what felt like a considerable distance, the passage widened abruptly. They found themselves on the threshold of a chamber unlike any they had encountered before. The air here was still and heavy, carrying a scent of dust so fine it felt like a physical presence. The flickering ley-light from the passage entrance did little to penetrate the gloom within, but even in the dimness, they could sense the vastness of the space.
Before them, a massive stone door, seamlessly integrated into the far wall, bore no visible hinges or handles. Its surface was covered in intricate carvings, a tapestry of spiraling lines and jagged edges that echoed the symbols ProlixalParagon had glimpsed in the preceding passage, but on a grander, more elaborate scale. These markings felt profoundly ancient, untouched by the later influence of Lidos or any other power they had encountered thus far.
At the center of the chamber, barely visible in the shadows, stood a raised structure. Even from the threshold, its shape was distinct – a long, low altar crafted from a dark, obsidian-like stone. The air around it seemed to ripple faintly, as if the very stone held a residual power. The markings on the door seemed to converge towards this central point, their jagged lines and spiraling forms hinting at a connection, a purpose.
A hushed reverence fell over the group. This chamber felt different, untouched by the decay and the lingering taint of the corrupted creatures they had fought. It held a sense of profound age, a stillness that spoke of forgotten epochs.
PillowHorror stepped forward, his yellow eyes gleaming with an intensity ProlixalParagon hadn’t seen before. He raised his torch, its light finally reaching the altar. Etched into its surface, unmistakable even beneath layers of ancient dust, was the sigil they had seen earlier, now revealed in its entirety: twisting, spiraling lines coiling around a central void – a hollow circle encircled by jagged, radiating etchings.
“Dedisco,” PillowHorror breathed, the name a low, almost reverent murmur. “The Pale Tide. The Eclipsed One.”
Marx, his wood carving knives held loosely in his calloused hands, stood beside Kaelthari, his single hazel eye narrowed in contemplation of the strange markings and the oppressive atmosphere. His Ember Reaver core, a source of dangerous fire magic, remained quiescent for now, but ProlixalParagon sensed the man’s readiness.
The altar of the forgotten god lay before them, sealed within a chamber untouched by the ages, its ancient markings a silent testament to a power older than the ruin itself. The secrets of Dedisco, long buried and seemingly forgotten, now lay just beyond the threshold.
The small group moved with a renewed sense of caution as they approached the central altar. The air around the obsidian-like stone rippled with a faint energy, and the dust motes danced in the meager light of ProlixalParagon’s torch, highlighting the intricate, spiraling carvings of Dedisco’s sigil etched into its surface . The hollow circle at the center seemed to draw the eye, a void surrounded by the jagged, radiating lines that PillowHorror had identified.
As they drew closer, Arelis, who had been walking with a hesitant step since PillowHorror's revelations about Dedisco, suddenly stopped. His breath hitched audibly, a sharp intake of air that echoed in the heavy silence of the chamber. His pale eyes, wide and unfocused, stared intently at the altar, his silver hair clinging to his forehead with a sheen of sweat.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of awe and a dawning understanding, Arelis gasped, "I… I have been offered… I have been offered a chance… to become a paladin of Dedisco."
The announcement hung in the air, thick with unspoken implications. ProlixalParagon, his rotating ears swiveling to take in Arelis’s stunned expression, felt a familiar prickle of curiosity mixed with a healthy dose of concern. He remembered Arelis’s initial fervent desire to become a paladin of Lidos and the crushing rejection he had faced. This sudden, unexpected offer from a seemingly antagonistic deity was a significant development.
Kaelthari, who had been cautiously observing the strange glyphwork around the pedestal, flinched slightly at Arelis’s words. Her hand instinctively tightened on her bardiche, and the tiny charms woven into her horns chimed softly, a nervous reaction to the unsettling pronouncement. She glanced at ProlixalParagon, her molten gold eyes reflecting a clear unease. The shift in Arelis's potential allegiance felt like another layer of unpredictability in an already volatile situation.
Ralyria remained outwardly still, her pale, artificial gaze fixed on Arelis. Her internal processors likely whirred, analyzing the potential ramifications of this development. She had noted the "wrong shape" and "twisting runes" of the wards surrounding the pedestal, indicating a power other than Lidos. An offer of paladinhood from such a source was a significant data point, potentially revealing more about the nature and influence of Dedisco.
Marx, his wood carving knives still held loosely in his grip, grunted softly. His single hazel eye narrowed, scrutinizing Arelis with a mixture of skepticism and a grim understanding of desperation. He had witnessed Arelis's vulnerability and his yearning for acceptance. The allure of power and belonging, even from an unexpected source, was a siren song he likely recognized.
PillowHorror, who had been observing the scene with a subtle, knowing smirk since identifying the altar as belonging to Dedisco, seemed almost vindicated by Arelis’s announcement. A low, rumbling chuckle escaped his throat, a sound that held a hint of "I told you so." His yellow eyes flickered towards Arelis with a renewed intensity, perhaps seeing in the disillusioned aspirant a potential ally or a pawn in his own enigmatic agenda. The Quang Monk had spoken of Dedisco granting Fire, Water, and Blood affinities, none of them gentle, suggesting that this offer to Arelis would come with its own dark implications and demands.
The weight of Dedisco’s name, "The Pale Tide. The Eclipsed One" , hung heavier in the chamber. The forgotten god, whose temple had been defiled and abandoned, was now reaching out, offering power and purpose to a rejected aspirant of another faith. The group stood at a precipice, the implications of Arelis's potential transformation and their own proximity to this ancient, malevolent power creating a palpable tension in the dust-filled air.
A stunned silence followed Arelis's hushed announcement of an offer to become a paladin of Dedisco. The air in the ancient chamber, thick with the scent of dust and residual mana, seemed to grow heavier with the weight of this unexpected turn.
Then, PillowHorror, who had been observing Arelis with an almost predatory interest, stepped forward, his usual smirk widening into something akin to genuine intrigue. "Well, well," he purred, his yellow eyes glinting in the torchlight. "It seems the old gods aren't entirely without a sense of humor... or perhaps desperation." He paused, tilting his head as if listening to something the others couldn't hear. A moment later, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his sharp features. "Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than the group. "It seems... an offer has been extended to me as well. A change of pace, you might say." He remained deliberately vague about the nature of the offer, a characteristic air of mystery surrounding his pronouncements. After a brief, almost imperceptible hesitation, a decisive nod settled upon his features. "And why not? Change is... stimulating."
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Ralyria, the silent automaton, remained still for a moment longer, her pale optics fixed on the altar. The whirring of her internal mechanisms, often a subtle background hum, seemed to intensify slightly. Then, her head tilted almost imperceptibly, and a soft, synthesized voice emerged from her vocalizer. "Analysis... indicates potential for enhanced operational parameters. An offer... of a more generalized framework... with specialization... in adaptive engagement... has been received." Her gaze shifted slowly, taking in each member of the group. "Acceptance... deemed logical... for optimal threat assessment and response."
Marx, who had been leaning heavily on his crutch, his single hazel eye narrowed as he watched the interplay between Arelis and PillowHorror, grunted softly. He seemed less surprised by the turn of events, as if the strange energies permeating this forgotten temple were capable of affecting them all. He shifted his weight, his hand instinctively moving to the hilts of his wood carving knives . A low rumble emanated from his chest. "Figures this place would be full of... whispers." He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his weathered face. "Been offered somethin' myself. Fits... well enough, I reckon." He didn't elaborate immediately, letting the suspense hang in the air for a moment before continuing in a more decisive tone. "Emberbound Occultist. Seems my affinity for... the fiery arts... can be channeled in… other ways."
Finally, all eyes turned to ProlixalParagon. He had been observing the unfolding events with a mixture of fascination and caution, his rotating ears twitching slightly as he tried to discern the nature of the offers being extended. The palpable energy of the altar seemed to be resonating with each of them in different ways. A soft, almost inaudible whisper seemed to brush against his awareness, a sensation both intriguing and slightly unsettling.
"ProlixalParagon," the whisper seemed to coalesce into a thought within his mind, though no physical voice accompanied it. "You too stand at a crossroads. The path ahead can diverge in two significant ways. You may embrace a new direction, a shift in your very being within this world, offering new strengths and focus... or you may delve deeper into the mysteries of your own origin, the secrets that lie veiled within your very essence."
The choice presented itself clearly in his mind: a potential class change, mirroring what PillowHorror and Arelis had accepted, or the unveiling of the '[Hidden]' aspects of his character sheet, specifically his background and inherited traits. The allure of a new class, with potentially enhanced abilities, was tempting. However, the persistent mystery surrounding his '[Hidden]' background and inherited traits, the "Scholars Apprentice" entry followed by the tantalizing "[Hidden]" tag, had always been a point of intense curiosity for him. The developers themselves had discussed the potential for revealing hidden backgrounds and traits through in-game events.
After a moment of thoughtful contemplation, his luminous eyes narrowed with a spark of scholarly determination. "I have long sought understanding of my own nature within this world," he stated, his Fennician-tinged voice carrying a note of resolve. "While the potential for new paths is intriguing, the call to unravel the secrets of my own being is stronger." He looked towards the altar, a silent acknowledgment of the power at play. "I choose to know... I choose to reveal what lies hidden within me."
The air around the altar seemed to shimmer faintly in response to ProlixalParagon's decision. The intricate carvings of Dedisco's sigil pulsed with a soft, pale light for a fleeting moment. The chamber held its breath once more, waiting to see the immediate consequences of these profound choices. The forgotten god's influence, it seemed, was not limited to mere whispers; it was actively reshaping the destinies of those who dared to tread within its abandoned domain. The path forward for the group had become even more complex, each member now potentially bearing the mark or the knowledge of powers far older and more enigmatic than they had initially imagined.
The shift began subtly, a faint shimmer in the air around Arelis that ProlixalParagon almost dismissed as a trick of the torchlight. One moment, the Soohan elf stood gaunt and pale, his borrowed temple armor looking heavy and ill-fitting. The next, a vibrant, almost unnatural vitality seemed to infuse him. The tremor in his hands vanished, replaced by a steady confidence that radiated outward. His shoulders straightened beneath the dented plates, which themselves seemed to undergo a transformation. The dull, battle-worn metal smoothed and gleamed, the color deepening to a rich, obsidian black along the edges and across intricate filigree that hadn't been visible before. A sharp, angular crest, depicting a stylized shadow, materialized on his breastplate, catching the torchlight with an unsettling intensity.
ProlixalParagon’s luminous eyes, no longer hindered by the "[Hidden]" markers on his character sheet regarding his background or inherited traits, narrowed in fascinated observation. He registered the change not just visually but also as a subtle shift in the ambient mana within the chamber, a darker, more potent current now swirling around the former aspirant of Lidos. Kaelthari’s small charms rattled a more agitated rhythm, and even Ralyria’s usually unwavering stance seemed to possess a fraction more tension in her metallic frame.
Arelis’s sword, the plain, utilitarian blade he had carried with such hopeful determination, now rested against his thigh. But it was no longer plain. The steel had darkened to match his armor, becoming a wickedly sharp expanse of polished black, the edges seeming to hum faintly in the stillness. Runes, etched in a crimson that pulsed with inner light, snaked along its length. The transformation was complete, and the sickly elf was gone, replaced by a figure exuding a dark, dashing, and undeniably rogueish aura. A sardonic half-smile played on his lips, a stark contrast to the anxious uncertainty that had defined him moments before.
“Well,” Arelis said, his voice now possessing a smooth, almost silken quality, the previous thinness entirely absent. He flexed his gauntleted hand, the black metal creaking softly. “That feels… significantly better.” His gaze drifted to the transformed blade, a predatory gleam in his pale eyes. “And this… this is certainly an upgrade.”
Marx grunted, his single hazel eye tracking Arelis’s movements with suspicion. “Dedisco works fast,” he muttered, his hand instinctively tightening on the hilt of his wood carving knife.
Kaelthari voiced the unspoken concern. “You… you are still Arelis?” Her molten gold eyes flickered between the changed elf and the ominous altar of Dedisco.
“Oh, I am Arelis,” he confirmed, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Just… a more… empowered version. Dedisco appreciates those who are willing to seize opportunity where the old gods offer only denial.” He cast a fleeting glance towards the unseen surface and the Temple of Lidos, a flicker of something that might have been regret or perhaps just lingering bitterness crossing his features.
ProlixalParagon noted the confidence radiating from Arelis, a stark departure from the hesitant aspirant he had encountered in the ruins. The transformation was not merely cosmetic; it was a fundamental shift in his very being within the game world. He wondered what price Dedisco demanded for such power, such a swift and complete rebirth.
Before anyone could press Arelis further, PillowHorror chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the stone floor. “Indeed,” the Quang Monk purred, his yellow eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched Arelis’s transformation. “Desperation often opens doors to… unconventional patrons.” He stepped closer to the altar, his gaze fixed on the obsidian-like surface etched with Dedisco’s sigil. “And it seems my own willingness to embrace change has been… acknowledged.” A subtle ripple emanated from PillowHorror, a faint distortion in the air around him that was less visually dramatic than Arelis’s transformation but carried a palpable sense of shifting power.
“An offer of a ‘change of pace,’ you said,” ProlixalParagon recalled, his rotating ears swiveling towards the Quang. “Care to elaborate on the terms of this… new rhythm?” His own curiosity, a core aspect of his Scholar's Apprentice background now fully revealed, was thoroughly piqued. The unfolding events within this ancient ruin were rapidly escalating, the lines between their initial goal and a potentially far more complex and dangerous path blurring with each passing moment. The air in the chamber crackled with unspoken allegiances and the heavy weight of choices made in the shadow of forgotten gods.
PillowHorror’s yellow eyes held a spark of amusement and something else ProlixalParagon couldn't quite decipher – perhaps a hint of shared understanding, or simply the detached amusement of someone privy to secrets others were not. “Perhaps,” the Quang Monk said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate with the ancient stones of the temple. “Perhaps I shall elaborate on this… new direction at a more opportune moment. Suffice it to say, the currents of fate within this forgotten place seem to be shifting in… intriguing ways.” He gave a small, enigmatic smile, his gaze sweeping over the transformed Arelis, the contemplative Marx, the ever-vigilant Ralyria, and finally resting on ProlixalParagon.
Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, PillowHorror extended a hand towards ProlixalParagon, his chakram now resting silently against his thigh. “ProlixalParagon,” he began, his tone now carrying a note of unexpected camaraderie. “You have shown a… certain adaptability in the face of the unexpected. A willingness to engage with the less conventional aspects of this ruin.” He paused for a beat, his yellow eyes gleaming. “Tell me, have you ever considered the… synergistic benefits of a well-structured collective? A guild, as the more conventional players might call it?”
ProlixalParagon’s rotating ears swiveled, processing the unexpected invitation. A guild. His experiences in Ludere Online had primarily revolved around his solitary exploration in Oakhaven, his integration with the Vermillion Troupe, and the small, close-knit adventuring party formed within this dungeon. The idea of joining a larger, more formal group, especially one led by the enigmatic PillowHorror, gave him pause.
He considered his current situation. He was, in essence, working for Dave Smith, tasked with observing and reporting on the game, particularly the unusual sleep episodes and the Vermillion Troupe. His primary loyalty, it seemed, lay with gathering information and understanding the intricacies of Ludere Online. His involvement with the Vermillion Troupe had been a rich source of cultural observation and unexpected companionship. Would joining PillowHorror’s guild, with its peculiar name – Waffles – somehow compromise his connection to the troupe or his observational goals?
On the other hand, PillowHorror was clearly a powerful and knowledgeable player, seemingly privy to aspects of the game world that were hidden from others. Aligning himself with such a figure could potentially grant him access to unique insights, quests, and areas of the game he might not otherwise encounter. The mention of reclaiming a stolen place and waking what still sleeps below suggested a deeper involvement in the game’s lore, something that resonated with ProlixalParagon’s Scholar's Apprentice background. Furthermore, the volatile situation within the dungeon and the evident power of Dedisco hinted at a shift in the established order, and aligning with individuals embracing this change might offer a strategic advantage.
The name ‘Waffles’ itself was… incongruous, a stark contrast to PillowHorror’s ominous pronouncements and the dark atmosphere of the temple. It suggested a whimsical, perhaps even deliberately misleading, fa?ade. Was this intentional? A way to attract a specific type of player, or simply an eccentric choice?
ProlixalParagon’s luminous eyes flickered from PillowHorror’s outstretched hand to the rest of the group. Marx regarded the Quang with suspicion, while Arelis seemed lost in his own contemplation of Dedisco’s offer. Kaelthari and Ralyria remained watchful, their expressions unreadable. Ultimately, ProlixalParagon’s curiosity, his inherent drive to understand the deeper mechanics and lore of Ludere Online, and the potential for accessing new information through PillowHorror swayed his decision.
He extended a paw and grasped PillowHorror’s hand, his fur brushing against the Quang’s surprisingly smooth skin. “Waffles,” ProlixalParagon repeated the name, a slight tilt to his head. “An… interesting designation. While my current affiliations with the Vermillion Troupe remain paramount, the pursuit of knowledge and… synergistic benefits you mentioned is indeed appealing.” He met PillowHorror’s gaze, a hint of a smile touching his muzzle. “Consider the invitation accepted.”
PillowHorror’s grin widened, a flash of sharp teeth in the dim light. “Excellent,” he purred, his grip firm. “Welcome to Waffles, ProlixalParagon. I have a feeling our… collaboration will be quite… fruitful.” He released ProlixalParagon’s paw, his yellow eyes now holding a glint of anticipation. “Now, as for the deeper secrets this ruin holds…” He gestured towards the two remaining passages, the air in the chamber still thick with the aftermath of their recent battle and the burgeoning alliances forged in the shadow of forgotten gods. “It seems our exploration is far from over. I suspect that we near the end though.”