The late afternoon sun, already beginning its slow descent behind the dense canopy, cast long, fractured shadows across the forest floor. Leaves, in hues of deep emerald and fading gold, rustled softly in a gentle breeze that did little to dispel the lingering humidity. The air, thick with the earthy scent of damp soil and decaying foliage, was a welcome change from the stale, mineral-laden atmosphere of the temple. Yet, a palpable tension still clung to the small group as they trekked deeper into the unfamiliar woods. The unexpected and vicious attack by the robed figures they now knew as Voidwatchers had left an unsettling mark on their already weary minds and bodies.
ProlixalParagon, his silver fur still bearing faint smudges of dust from the temple’s depths, led the way, his rotating ears constantly twitching, scanning for any renewed threat. Kaelthari, despite her imposing size, moved with a surprising degree of quiet grace, her bardiche held loosely but ready. Marx, his brow still furrowed with suspicion, trailed close behind Kaelthari, his hand instinctively near the hilts of his wood carving knives. Ralyria glided silently at the rear, her pale features impassive, though ProlixalParagon sensed a heightened level of awareness in her subtle shifts of posture. Arelis, the newly christened paladin of Dedisco, walked with a newfound, if somewhat uncertain, confidence, his hand resting on the hilt of the darker-hued temple sword. PillowHorror, as ever, moved with an almost feline fluidity, their chakram spinning idly in one hand, their sharp yellow eyes darting about with an air of detached amusement that ProlixalParagon found both intriguing and vaguely unsettling.
The silence that had followed the abrupt end of the Voidwatchers’ assault stretched taut between them. It was ProlixalParagon who finally broke it, his Fennician-tinged voice carrying a note of genuine inquiry.
“PillowHorror,” he began, turning his head slightly without breaking his stride, “those… Voidwatchers. You seemed… less surprised by their appearance than the rest of us. Do you know anything about them?”
PillowHorror’s chakram slowed its rotation, the smooth metal catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. They gave a soft, almost languid shrug. “Know of them? One tends to encounter various flavors of zealous opposition when one pokes at slumbering deities.” Their tone was casual, as if discussing the local wildlife.
“Zealous opposition to… Dedisco?” ProlixalParagon pressed, his luminous eyes focusing on the Quang Monk. The speed and ferocity of the Voidwatchers’ attack, coupled with their cryptic pronouncements about preventing a return, suggested a deeper, more organized resistance than mere happenstance.
“Indeed,” PillowHorror purred, a hint of a smile playing on their lips. “Dedisco, the Pale Tide, the Eclipsed One… not everyone is eager for the tides of balance to shift. Some prefer the comfortable stagnation of the status quo, even if that comfort is built on lies and suppressed truths.”
Marx snorted, his single hazel eye narrowing. “Sounds like you’ve tangled with these types before.”
“Let’s just say,” PillowHorror replied, their gaze flickering towards Marx, “that when you start clearing away the dust of forgotten ages, you tend to stir up the creatures that thrive in the shadows.”
Arelis, who had been listening intently, spoke, his voice still tinged with the fervor of his recent transformation. “They spoke of preventing a return, of preserving the ‘Vigil’.” He frowned. “The priest at Lidos’ temple… he mentioned nothing of any such opposition.”
“Arelis, little initiate,” PillowHorror said, their tone laced with a hint of condescension, “the priests of the sun-crowned god tend to have a rather… selective memory when it comes to the deities they supplanted.” “The Vigil they speak of is likely a doctrine crafted to maintain their own dominance, to keep the old powers dormant. Dedisco’s return would upset their carefully constructed order.”
Kaelthari, her molten gold eyes fixed on the surrounding trees, rumbled softly. “They moved with purpose. They weren’t just some stray bandits.”
“Precisely,” PillowHorror agreed, their chakram spinning once more. “They are likely adherents to a specific sect, one dedicated to keeping Dedisco in his… current state of repose. They may call themselves Voidwatchers, or something equally dramatic. Zealots tend to have a flair for the theatrical.”
ProlixalParagon considered this. The idea of a hidden conflict, a silent war waged over the fate of forgotten gods, added another layer of complexity to the already intricate world of Ludere Online. He recalled the armorer in Oakhaven’s nervous warnings about cults and the Eclipsed One. Perhaps these Voidwatchers were connected to those whispers.
“Do you know how widespread they are?” ProlixalParagon asked. “Are they likely to be a persistent threat?”
PillowHorror shrugged again, a gesture that offered little in the way of concrete information. “Their influence will depend on how deeply Dedisco’s name is etched in the forgotten corners of this land. A few scattered fanatics, easily dealt with. A more organized network… well, that could present a more persistent annoyance.” They paused, their yellow eyes glinting with an unreadable light. “Time will tell, little fox. Time always does.”
As they continued their trek, the forest began to thin, the dense trees giving way to more scattered growth and the tell-tale signs of past habitation. Crumbling stone walls, overgrown with moss and vines, peeked through the underbrush. Broken archways, their intricate carvings eroded by time and weather, stood as silent sentinels of a forgotten age. The ruins of the ancient village, where the Vermillion Troupe had sought shelter, were coming into view.
The air here carried a different feel – a sense of stillness, of echoes of lives long past. ProlixalParagon could almost feel the weight of history pressing down on them. In the distance, he could make out the familiar shapes of the vardo wagons, their colorful painted sides a vibrant contrast to the muted tones of the ruins. A thin wisp of smoke curled lazily into the evening sky, a comforting sign of the Vermillion Troupe’s presence.
As they drew closer, the familiar sounds of the camp – the low murmur of voices, the gentle nicker of pack animals – reached their ears. Relief, a tangible weight lifting from his shoulders, washed over ProlixalParagon. They had made it back. They were safe, for now. The mysteries of Dedisco and the threat of the Voidwatchers lingered, casting a shadow over their journey, but for this evening, the familiar embrace of the Vermillion Troupe offered a much-needed respite. He quickened his pace, eager to share the strange events of the day and seek the wisdom of Lyra in navigating the uncertain path ahead.
PillowHorror came to a halt just at the edge of the denser trees, where the forest began to open up towards the more broken terrain that hinted at the nearby ruins. The last rays of the setting sun slanted through the leaves, casting an ethereal glow on their figures. PillowHorror turned, their sharp yellow eyes sweeping over ProlixalParagon, Marx, Ralyria, and Kaelthari. Arelis stood slightly apart, still radiating the unsettling aura of his newfound allegiance to Dedisco.
“Well,” PillowHorror purred, a hint of their usual amusement returning, though it was now tinged with a certain finality. “It seems our paths diverge here, for the moment.” Their gaze lingered on ProlixalParagon for a fraction longer than the others. “It has been… enlightening delving into the past with you all.”.
Arelis, who had been watching PillowHorror with an almost desperate intensity since pledging himself to Dedisco, stepped forward. “PillowHorror,” he began, his voice still carrying a raw edge, “I… I wish to go with you. I have made my vow. My path is now with Dedisco.”.
PillowHorror turned their head slowly, their yellow eyes assessing Arelis with a cool detachment. “You are willing to forsake all that you knew?” they asked, their voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of something ancient and powerful.
Arelis nodded fervently. “They forsook me,” he said, his voice filled with a bitterness that resonated with his earlier pronouncements about the gods abandoning him. “Dedisco… Dedisco offered me purpose.”
A faint smile touched PillowHorror’s lips. “Purpose has its price, little paladin. Are you prepared to pay it?”
“I am,” Arelis affirmed, his gaze unwavering.
PillowHorror gave a small nod of acceptance. “Very well. Your newfound devotion may yet prove… useful.” They then turned their attention back to ProlixalParagon, their expression shifting slightly. “ProlixalParagon,” they said, their voice now carrying a note of something akin to a direct address between fellow members of ‘Waffles’. “Should you find yourself in need of… assistance, or should you stumble upon further remnants of Dedisco’s… influence, do not hesitate to contact the guild.”. “The channels are open.” They gave a subtle inclination of their head, a gesture that held a weight beyond a simple farewell. “Remember the name: Waffles.”
With a final glance that encompassed Marx, Ralyria, and Kaelthari, though their words had been directed at ProlixalParagon and Arelis, PillowHorror turned and began to move deeper into the woods, Arelis falling into step beside them, his figure already seeming to carry a more purposeful stride. The two figures soon disappeared into the shadows beneath the trees, leaving ProlixalParagon and his remaining companions standing in the fading light. The air seemed to shift, the subtle tension that PillowHorror’s enigmatic presence had brought now replaced by a different kind of uncertainty. The revelation of Dedisco, the Voidwatchers’ zealous opposition, and Arelis’s dramatic shift had left a new layer of complexity to their journey back to the Vermillion Troupe.
The last rays of the setting sun painted the western sky in hues of lavender and rose as ProlixalParagon, Kaelthari, Ralyria, and Marx finally emerged from the thinning woods, the ancient ruins where the Vermillion Troupe had made camp now fully visible in the growing twilight. The familiar shapes of the vardo wagons, their colorful painted sides now muted in the fading light, were a welcome sight. A few lanterns had already been lit within the encampment, casting warm, inviting pools of light against the encroaching darkness. The usual sounds of the troupe settling in for the night – the low murmur of voices, the gentle clinking of cookware, and the soft nicker of their beasts of burden – drifted towards them on the cool evening air, carrying a sense of normalcy that was a balm to their weary spirits.
As they drew closer, the figures within the camp became more distinct. Lyra’s silver fur was easily recognizable near her elaborately painted vardo, her head turning sharply as she noticed their approach. Elara’s vibrant red tail flicked with what seemed like anxious anticipation as she hurried towards them, her movements mirroring the worry etched on the faces of several other troupe members who had noticed their return. The younger Fennician kits and goblin children, their earlier playfulness likely subdued by the approaching night, peered out from behind the wagons with wide, questioning eyes.
Lyra’s usual calm demeanor was tinged with a noticeable anxiety as ProlixalParagon and his companions reached the edge of the encampment. “ProlixalParagon!” she called out, her voice carrying a note of concern despite her efforts to remain composed. “You’ve been gone longer than anticipated. We were beginning to worry.”. Elara reached them first, her red fur slightly disheveled, her warm brown eyes filled with apprehension. “Is everything alright? We heard… things in the woods.” Her gaze flickered towards the darker treeline they had just emerged from, undoubtedly recalling past threats and uncertainties.
Marx grunted softly, leaning slightly on his newly acquired crutch, his single hazel eye surveying the worried faces of the troupe. “Ran into a bit of trouble on the way out,” he admitted gruffly, but then added with a hint of his usual dry humor, “but nothing we couldn’t handle.”
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Kaelthari’s towering form, now fully visible in the lantern light, likely drew concerned glances from some of the younger or newer members of the troupe who were not accustomed to her presence. Her mulberry scales shimmered faintly in the flickering light, and the delicate golden chains between her horns chimed softly as she shifted her weight. Her presence, while a reassurance to ProlixalParagon and the others who had faced the dungeon with her, might have been a source of unease for those who remained in the camp.
Ralyria glided silently to ProlixalParagon’s side, her pale features serene but her internal sensors undoubtedly registering the heightened concern within the troupe. She offered a subtle nod to Lyra, a silent acknowledgment of the elder’s worry.
ProlixalParagon stepped forward, his rotating ears flattening slightly in a gesture of reassurance. “We are unharmed, Lyra,” he said, his voice carrying a note of weariness but also conviction. “We encountered some… unexpected resistance near the dungeon entrance. However,” he continued, meeting Lyra’s golden gaze directly, “we dealt with it. And we ventured back into the dungeon.”
A collective murmur of apprehension rippled through the gathered troupe members. The word “dungeon” itself likely carried connotations of danger and the unknown, especially after the recent discoveries related to "the old ones".
ProlixalParagon raised a hand slightly to forestall their concerns. “We proceeded cautiously,” he explained. “And we… cleared it.” He emphasized the last word, hoping to convey the sense that the immediate threat from within the ancient structure had been neutralized. “There are no creatures left within the accessible levels,” he stated firmly, recalling the emptied chambers after their encounter with the Mana Originating Beast and their subsequent retreat.
Marx seconded his assessment with a nod. “Empty as a beggar’s purse,” he added, his tone leaving little room for doubt. “Whatever was down there… ain’t there no more.”
Kaelthari offered a low rumble of agreement, her molten gold eyes sweeping the surrounding woods as if to confirm their words. Her imposing presence and the quiet confidence in her posture likely added weight to their assurances.
Ralyria, though silent, offered a subtle affirmative tilt of her head, her internal sensors having undoubtedly provided her with data supporting their claim of a cleared dungeon.
Lyra studied their faces, her sharp golden eyes searching for any sign of deceit or lingering danger. The weariness in their expressions was evident, but so too was a sense of having accomplished their task. After a moment of consideration, a subtle easing of the tension around her muzzle indicated that she accepted their assessment.
“If that is the case,” Lyra said, her voice still carrying a note of caution but with a hint of relief, “then we shall remain here for the night.” She glanced around at the ancient ruins, now bathed in the soft glow of the rising moon. “This place… feels old, but perhaps now, undisturbed.” She gave a small nod, her decision made. “We will post extra sentries, nonetheless,” she added pragmatically, her gaze sweeping over the surrounding darkness. “Better to be safe than sorry.”
A collective sigh of relief, quieter than their earlier apprehension, passed through the Vermillion Troupe. The prospect of a relatively safe night’s rest was a welcome one after their long day and the unsettling encounter in the woods. The routines of preparing the evening meal and settling into their vardos for the night resumed, the earlier anxiety now tempered by the reassuring words of ProlixalParagon and his companions. The colorful lanterns cast a more comforting glow, and the low murmur of voices carried a less worried tone as the Vermillion Troupe prepared to rest within the ancient ruins, trusting in the word that the darkness beneath them had, for now, been silenced.
As night deepened around the ancient ruins where the Vermillion Troupe had settled, the familiar and comforting rituals of preparing the evening meal began to unfold. Lantern light cast warm circles on the dusty ground as Nara, often assisted by the older children, began to organize cooking pots and retrieve provisions from the Conestoga wagons. The promise of a hot meal helped to soothe the lingering tension from their earlier return and the enigmatic departure of PillowHorror and Arelis. Soon, the savory scent of stew, likely seasoned with herbs and spices they had acquired during their travels, began to waft through the air, mingling with the faint earthy aroma of the ancient stones. Flatbreads would soon be baking on heated stones, their golden surfaces adding another layer of comforting fragrance to the evening. The communal act of preparing food was a cornerstone of the Vermillion Troupe's strong familial bonds.
While some members of the troupe busied themselves with the immediate tasks of cooking, gathering firewood, and tending to their beasts, ProlixalParagon’s mind remained occupied by the events within the now-cleared dungeon. The encounter with the remnants of Dedisco’s power, Arelis’s unsettling allegiance, and PillowHorror’s cryptic farewell weighed on him. He knew he needed to speak with Lyra, the wise elder of the troupe, and share the details of what they had encountered beyond simply stating the dungeon was safe to camp near.
He observed Lyra for a few moments, noting her silver fur gleaming in the lantern light as she offered quiet directions to some of the younger Fennicians helping with the meal preparations. She moved with a deliberate, if slightly slower, gait, leaning on her gnarled staff, her golden eyes occasionally scanning the perimeter of their encampment with her characteristic vigilance. He knew she often preferred to sit near her elaborately painted vardo in the evenings, its lunar motifs now beginning to shimmer faintly in the growing moonlight.
Waiting for a natural pause in her interactions, ProlixalParagon approached Lyra respectfully. “Lyra,” he began, his Fennician-tinged voice carrying a note of the seriousness he felt.
Lyra turned her golden gaze towards him, her expression calm and knowing. “Yes, young one?” she replied, her voice the familiar dry, papery rasp, now softened by the settling peace of the evening.
ProlixalParagon gestured subtly away from the immediate bustle of the cooking fire and towards the relative privacy of Lyra’s vardo. “Might I have a word with you? In private, if you don’t mind?” he asked, echoing her own words to him from a previous conversation.
Lyra studied his face for a moment, her sharp eyes discerning the underlying concern in his luminous gaze. A faint nod was her reply. “Come, then,” she murmured, turning and moving towards her vardo, her silver fur a beacon in the dimming light.
ProlixalParagon followed closely, his rotating ears twitching as he took in the familiar details of the encampment – the comforting sounds of the troupe settling in, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows, and the anticipation of the evening meal. However, his focus remained on the conversation he was about to have with Lyra, the weight of the dungeon’s secrets pressing upon him.
Lyra gestured towards the low cushions inside her vardo as she entered, the air within carrying the comforting scent of dried herbs and aged wood. She settled onto her usual spot, leaning against her staff, her golden eyes now fixed on ProlixalParagon with an unspoken invitation to begin.
ProlixalParagon sat opposite her, his white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black clearly visible in the warm glow of the lantern hanging within the vardo. He took a slow breath, gathering his thoughts before recounting the more significant details of their time in the dungeon – the unsettling presence of Dedisco’s remnants, Arelis’s dramatic pledge, and the cryptic nature of PillowHorror’s departure and their connection to the guild ‘Waffles’. He knew Lyra’s wisdom and experience would be invaluable in understanding the potential implications of these events for the Vermillion Troupe.
Lyra listened intently as ProlixalParagon recounted the unsettling events within the dungeon. Her ancient golden eyes, usually so full of knowing wisdom, held a flicker of something akin to concern mixed with an unreadable contemplation as he spoke of Dedisco’s lingering presence, Arelis’s unexpected declaration of allegiance, and the cryptic departure of PillowHorror and their mention of the guild ‘Waffles’. The details, especially those pertaining to the nature of the power they had encountered and the motivations of these individuals, were likely unlike anything she had encountered in her long life leading the Vermillion Troupe.
When ProlixalParagon finally finished his account, a thoughtful silence hung in the air within her vardo. The gentle sounds of the troupe settling in for the night – the low murmur of voices and the distant strumming of a lute – drifted in from the outside, creating a stark contrast to the weighty matters they had just discussed. Lyra leaned back against the cushions of her vardo, her silver fur catching the faint light of the lantern, her gaze seemingly fixed on some distant point beyond the canvas walls.
Her initial reaction was not one of immediate understanding or definitive pronouncements. The information ProlixalParagon had shared was complex and touched upon forces and allegiances that were largely unknown to her and the traditions of the Vermillion Troupe. While they had faced dangers aplenty in their nomadic life – harsh weather, hostile creatures, and the prejudices of the settled folk – the subtle machinations and ancient powers hinted at by ProlixalParagon were of a different nature entirely.
However, overriding any immediate confusion or uncertainty was the trust she had come to place in the young Fennician who had unexpectedly joined their ranks. From his initial arrival with the Red Fox Caravan to his willingness to share their burdens, and his quiet acts of kindness and courage, ProlixalParagon had consistently shown himself to be thoughtful and to act in what he believed to be the best interest of the troupe. She recalled his advocacy for Marx, his assistance to Ralyria, and his general willingness to contribute to their well-being. His return from the dungeon with Kaelthari, and his clear assessment that the immediate dangers within had been neutralized, further solidified her belief in his judgment.
After a long moment, Lyra turned her golden gaze back to ProlixalParagon, a soft sigh escaping her lips, a sound like the rustling of dry leaves. “Young one,” she began, her voice the familiar dry, papery rasp, now softened by a weary understanding, “what you have told me… it is beyond the usual troubles we encounter on the road.” She paused, her gaze searching his. “But I have learned that the world holds many things unseen, and that sometimes, the path ahead requires us to navigate shadows we do not fully comprehend.”
She nodded slowly, a gesture of acceptance of his account. “I trust that you did what you felt was necessary within that place, and that your decisions were guided by what you believed to be in the best interest of the Vermillion Troupe, as they have been before.” Her words carried the weight of her acknowledgment of his past actions and her reliance on his character.
Despite her trust, Lyra recognized the potential significance of the information ProlixalParagon had shared. The mention of ancient powers and secretive individuals or groups like ‘Waffles’ could have unforeseen implications for their future. The Vermillion Troupe, while self-sufficient and resilient, was also vulnerable in a world filled with larger, often indifferent, forces.
“This Arelis,” she continued, her brow furrowing slightly, “their allegiance… to ‘stone and god’… and their connection to this dungeon… it bears a troubling echo of the ‘old ones’ Saelith mentioned near Yendral’s Hollow. And this ‘Waffles’… a guild you say? These are threads we must try to understand, lest they become tangled around our feet.”
Lyra then outlined her plan to seek further information. “While the immediate danger within the dungeon may be passed, the knowledge of what lies beneath our feet, and the individuals connected to it, cannot be ignored. I will reach out to others,” she stated, her gaze becoming more determined.
ProlixalParagon listened attentively, his rotating ears focused on her words. He understood the interconnectedness of the nomadic communities, the way information often traveled along the caravan routes and through shared gatherings.
“The Red Fox Caravan has many branches, and we often cross paths with other troupes along the established trails or at the larger settlements like Pella. Among the elders of these other families, there is a wealth of knowledge, stories passed down through generations. Perhaps someone among them has encountered similar whispers of ancient powers, or heard tell of individuals aligning themselves with such forces.”
She explained her intended approach. “As we continue our journey, I will watch for opportunities to send word with trusted travelers heading in directions where other Red Fox branches or allied troupes might be found. Discreet inquiries can be made, couched in the form of old tales or cautionary legends. We will listen for any resonance, any mention of similar events or individuals.”
Lyra acknowledged the inherent difficulties in this approach. “It will not be swift, young one. News travels at the pace of a cart and the trust between travelers. And we must be careful not to reveal too much, lest we draw unwanted attention to ourselves.” The recent unsettling encounters, including the pursuit by Draggor guards and the attack by mercenaries, had made the troupe acutely aware of the dangers of attracting the wrong kind of notice.
She also considered the possibility of seeking information at larger gatherings or trade hubs. “When we next reach a significant settlement, I will make discreet inquiries amongst those I trust – other caravan leaders, respected artisans, even some of the more grounded merchants who have long-standing ties to the traveling communities.”
Lyra’s plan was one of cautious and indirect information gathering, relying on the established networks and the wisdom of the nomadic community to shed light on the mysteries ProlixalParagon had uncovered. It was a testament to her understanding of their way of life and the resources available to them beyond the confines of settled society.
“In the meantime,” Lyra concluded, her gaze returning to ProlixalParagon, “we will remain vigilant. We will trust in the strength of our troupe and the bonds we share. And we will continue to move forward, carrying this knowledge with us, and seeking understanding as the road unfolds.” She gave him a small, reassuring nod. “You have done well, young one. Rest now. The night is upon us.”
