As he walked towards the time clock, he passed by a group of beta testers near the doors leading to the testing labs. Their red wristbands were clearly visible.
“...and then the Blightscale Naga just vanished into the water,” one of them recounted, their voice laced with lingering frustration and a hint of awe. “The poison debuff almost took me out before I could reach the nearest safe zone.” This tester's experience echoed Bennett's forum research on the dangerous creatures in Ludere Online.
Another tester added, “I’m still completely lost in that hidden archive. The riddles in there are practically impossible to figure out.” The mention of hidden and cryptic quests resonated with the deeper mysteries Bennett had read about on the game forums.
A third voice, one Bennett recognized as belonging to an omega tester he’d often seen heading towards the blue-banded labs, chimed in, “I almost got petrified by a Jadefang Basilisk in the bamboo forest earlier. Its venom is no joke.” This aligned with Bennett’s knowledge of creatures found in the Soohan region.
As Bennett overheard these snippets of their gameplay, a familiar longing washed over him. He began to daydream about what he could be doing in Ludere Online as ProlixalParagon, his Fennician Tinkerer avatar with white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black.
He imagined his lithe and agile digitigrade legs, similar to a fox’s, carrying him swiftly through a moonlit forest, his large, expressive ears twitching as he evaded the Blightscale Naga's venomous strikes near sunken ruins. He pictured himself, with the clever and adaptable nature of a Fennician, cleverly deciphering the cryptic riddles in a hidden archive, his intellect allowing him to unravel ancient secrets. He even envisioned a tense encounter in a dense bamboo forest, carefully avoiding the gaze of the Jadefang Basilisk, his chosen Tinkerer class allowing him to craft a quick escape using a small mechanical device or a cleverly placed distraction. According to the sources, a Tinkerer is a hands-on inventor capable of crafting unique weapons and constructs to aid in battle.
With a quiet sigh, Bennett reached the time clock and swiped his wristband. The small green light blinked, officially marking the start of his night shift. Turning towards the janitorial supply closet, the weight of his responsibilities settled back upon him.
He retrieved his cleaning cart, its wheels emitting a soft squeak as he pulled it along. On the neatly organized shelves, the familiar array of color-coded cleaning supplies awaited him. As he gathered his equipment – the microfiber cloths, the spray bottles for various surfaces, and the vacuum cleaner – his mind still lingered in the virtual world he had briefly touched. He wondered about the other corners of Ludere Online, the lore he had barely scratched the surface of, and the adventures that awaited if only he had a red or blue wristband instead of brown.
Driven by a potent blend of guilt over his unauthorized access and an exhilarating yearning to immerse himself once more in the vibrant world of Ludere Online, Bennett attacked his cleaning duties with an uncharacteristic fervor. The looming deadline of the investor tour added a layer of urgency, transforming the mundane task of tidying into a race against time. His movements through the second-floor offices were a flurry of controlled motion, each swipe of the microfiber cloth and emptying of a wastebasket fueled by the lingering sensation of his Fennician Tinkerer avatar’s digitigrade legs propelling him through the digital forests. He could almost feel the phantom twitch of his white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black as he navigated the rows of desks, the memory of the beta testers' tales of daring encounters – the vanishing Blightscale Naga, the petrifying Jadefang Basilisk – serving as a tantalizing glimpse of the adventures he craved. The sterile air of the office seemed a pale imitation of the rich, sensory tapestry he had briefly experienced.
The employee break rooms, usually a landscape of discarded remnants of late-night coding and testing sessions, became his next target. He attacked the sticky surfaces with renewed vigor, the discarded energy drink cans and crumpled snack wrappers no longer just litter, but tangible evidence of the immersive experiences he was denied. As he wiped down a table, he imagined his Fennician avatar, known for its clever and adaptable nature, perhaps tinkering with a newly crafted device, the ingenuity of his chosen Tinkerer class allowing him to devise solutions to challenges far more engaging than sanitizing countertops. He fantasized about the potential of his Tinkerer skills, capable of crafting unique weapons and constructs to aid in battle, a stark contrast to the cleaning supplies in his hands.
Moving through the reception area, Bennett’s senses were heightened, his gaze darting around to ensure he maintained the illusion of dedicated work. The soft glow of the empty receptionist desk and the neatly arranged magazines were attended to with practiced efficiency, yet beneath the surface of his actions lay a palpable anticipation. The low hum of the building, usually a monotonous drone, now seemed to resonate with the promise of the D.I.V.E. pod waiting in the storage room, a silent invitation to return to the digital realm.
With a growing sense of urgency, Bennett strategically directed his cleaning cart towards the less frequented corridor leading to the storage area. Each step was measured, his ears attuned to any approaching footsteps or voices. The memory of discovering the misplaced pod unit during his last unauthorized session spurred him onward, the image of its sleek, black form a beacon in his mind. His brown wristband, a symbol of his janitorial role, felt like a temporary barrier, soon to be exchanged for the immersive embrace of the pod.
Reaching the door to the storage room, Bennett’s heart pounded a quickened rhythm against his ribs. He paused, taking a deliberate breath to compose himself before glancing down the empty hallway one last time. Satisfied that he was unobserved, he raised his wrist, the familiar brown plastic feeling alien against his skin in this clandestine moment. The green light of the access scanner blinked obligingly as he swiped his band, granting him entry into the cluttered space. The air within the storage room was thick with the musty scent of disuse and forgotten equipment, a stark contrast to the sterile cleanliness he was employed to maintain. Yet, amidst the shadows and stacks of discarded items, the smooth, obsidian silhouette of the D.I.V.E. pod unit stood out, a silent and beckoning gateway to the vibrant world where he could shed the skin of the overlooked janitor and once again become ProlixalParagon, the white-furred, black-swirled Fennician Tinkerer, ready to explore the mysteries of Ludere Online. The soft, almost imperceptible hum emanating from the pod was a siren song, pulling him towards the possibility of further adventures beyond the familiar walls of Alluring Realms.
With a final glance around the dimly lit storage room to ensure his clandestine actions remained unseen, Bennett approached the sleek, black D.I.V.E. pod. Its smooth surface felt cool beneath his fingertips as he reached for the access panel. With a soft hiss, the side of the pod slid open, revealing a comfortably contoured interior bathed in a soft, internal luminescence.
Hesitantly, then with a surge of anticipation, Bennett stepped into the pod. The cushioned seat conformed to his body, offering a surprising degree of comfort compared to the hard chairs in the Alluring Realms break rooms. The air inside carried a faint, sterile scent, tinged with the almost ozone-like aroma he had noticed before. He settled back, his gaze drawn to the integrated helmet that rested on a cradle at the head of the pod.
With a deep breath, a mixture of nervousness and excitement churning within him, Bennett reached for the helmet. Its smooth, cool plastic felt strangely futuristic in his hands. As he carefully positioned it over his head, a soft click indicated it had locked into place. The internal lights of the pod dimmed slightly, and the world outside vanished, replaced by the close confines of the helmet's interior.
A familiar automated voice echoed in his ears: "Initiating neural interface connection." A series of diagnostic lights flickered within the helmet, accompanied by a low, rhythmic hum that resonated through his very being. He could feel a subtle pressure as the helmet adjusted, the sensors within making contact with his scalp. This was the cutting-edge VR technology he had only read about, now directly engaging with his senses.
A login screen materialized in his field of vision, the familiar logo of Ludere Online emblazoned across it. A text field awaited his credentials. With a surge of rebellious excitement, Bennett focused his gaze and mentally typed ProlixalParagon. The virtual keyboard responded fluidly to his thoughts, the letters appearing crisply on the screen. Below the username field, a password prompt appeared. His fingers twitched slightly in the real world as he recalled the password he had chosen during his previous unauthorized session and mentally entered it.
A brief pause followed, a moment of held breath as the system verified his credentials. Then, the login screen dissolved into a swirling vortex of colors, pulling him into the digital abyss. The sensation of weightlessness returned, his consciousness momentarily adrift in the liminal space between the real and the virtual.
Then, the familiar welcome message echoed in his mind: "Welcome to Ludere Online, ProlixalParagon. The world awaits."
The darkness behind his eyelids dissolved, and he was once again standing in the vibrant, dappled light of the tutorial forest surrounding Oakhaven. The earthy scent of damp soil and the chorus of digital wildlife flooded his senses, a stark and welcome contrast to the sterile environment he had just left behind. He could feel the familiar white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black of his Fennician Tinkerer avatar, the lithe agility of his digitigrade legs, and the subtle twitch of his bushy tail. A wave of relief and exhilaration washed over him. He was back.
Stepping out from the edge of the clearing, ProlixalParagon, his white fur containing striking swirls and patterns of rich black shimmering in the afternoon sun, moved with a light, springy gait towards the cluster of simple wooden buildings that comprised Oakhaven. His large, rotating ears twitched, taking in the sounds of the village – the rhythmic thud of a hammer, the cheerful clatter of voices, and the playful yaps of the scruffy dog he had seen earlier.
He first approached the building Blair had pointed out – The Crooked Tankard. It was a sturdy structure made of roughly hewn logs, a plume of smoke curling invitingly from its chimney. The sound of boisterous laughter and clinking mugs drifted through its open doorway. ProlixalParagon made a mental note of its location as a potential source of local gossip and perhaps even quests.
Across the central clearing, he spotted a smaller building with neatly stacked firewood outside and the faint aroma of baking bread wafting from within. A middle-aged human woman with flour dusting her apron stood in the doorway, chatting with a young boy. Assuming this was the village bakery, ProlixalParagon considered that such a place might offer sustenance or even information about local supply lines.
Nearby stood a more substantial building with a sturdy wooden door and small, barred windows. A sign depicting a stylized hammer and anvil hung above the entrance – clearly the village smithy. This resonated with his chosen Tinkerer class, and he wondered if the smith might have knowledge of crafting techniques or be in need of unique materials that a clever Tinkerer could provide. He remembered the armorer he had spoken to during his previous, albeit dream-like, visit and considered if this smith might have similar insights into local affairs or the Red Fox Caravan.
Further along, he observed a simple wooden structure with various tools – rakes, shovels, and scythes – leaning against its walls. An older human male was tending a small patch of vegetables nearby. This appeared to be the village farrier or general handyman, likely involved in the day-to-day maintenance and agricultural aspects of Oakhaven. He might possess practical knowledge about the surrounding lands and its resources.
He then noticed a slightly more ornate building near the center, the one with the small steeple and stained-glass windows depicting celestial symbols – The Village Chapel. He recalled his previous conversation with the kind-faced priest and the wealth of information he had shared about the different deities – Ilmas of Soohan, Nakruer of Draggor, and Onthir of the Red Fox Caravan – as well as the whispers of the Eclipsed One and the Lunar Empire. He decided to approach it again, knowing the priest was a valuable source of lore.
Entering the quiet chapel, he found the priest tending to a small shrine. "Greetings again, traveler," the priest said with a warm smile, recognizing ProlixalParagon. "Did your explorations of Oakhaven prove fruitful?"
ProlixalParagon inclined his head, his large ears swiveling respectfully. "Indeed. I am curious about the wider world. You mentioned Soohan and Draggor. What is the nature of the relationship between these kingdoms and this region?"
The priest sighed gently. "Oakhaven is somewhat removed from the direct conflicts of the larger kingdoms. We are more concerned with the balance of our own small community. However, we are aware of the tensions. Soohan, ruled by their God-Kings, lies to the east, a land of ancient traditions and powerful magic. Draggor, to the west, under the stern rule of their king and the watchful eye of the priests of Nakruer, is a more martial society. There have been skirmishes along their borders for generations."
ProlixalParagon’s white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black seemed to absorb the dim light of the chapel as he listened intently. "And the Red Fox Caravan? They seem to operate outside these established kingdoms."
"The Red Fox Caravan are wanderers, followers of Onthir, the god of nature," the priest explained. "They value the wilds and often act as intermediaries between different settlements, though they keep their own counsel. Some say they have ancient ties to the original inhabitants of these lands."
He then idly inquired, "Are there many different races that one might encounter beyond Oakhaven?"
"Indeed," the priest replied. "The world is diverse. You will find humans in most regions, as you have seen. But there are also elves in Soohan, the more bestial races in other territories…"
ProlixalParagon’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of lore. He thanked the priest for his insights and left the chapel, his gaze now more informed as he surveyed the small village. Oakhaven, despite its tutorial designation, held echoes of a larger, more complex world, and he, as the curious Fennician Tinkerer, was eager to uncover more of its secrets. He continued his stroll, idly interacting with other villagers, asking simple questions about their daily lives, the local flora and fauna, and any unusual occurrences, his large, expressive ears always alert for any hint of deeper lore or potential adventure. He knew that even in this seemingly peaceful starting area, the seeds of greater understanding could be found.
Continuing his exploration of Oakhaven, ProlixalParagon, his white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black shifting subtly with his movements, approached the human woman outside the bakery. The warm scent of freshly baked bread was enticing.
"Good day to you, kind baker," ProlixalParagon said, his voice carrying the slightly melodic lilt attributed to Fennicians. "Your aromas are most delightful. Might you have need of any assistance in your work today?"
The baker, still dusting flour from her hands, looked at him with a curious but friendly expression. "Well now, that's a kind offer, friend. Truth be told, my wood supply is getting low, and my son here isn't quite strong enough to haul much from the woods yet." She gestured to the young boy beside her. "If you're strong enough to bring back a few good logs, I'd be happy to compensate you with some fresh bread and a bit of coin."
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ProlixalParagon’s large ears perked up at the mention of coin and the possibility of gaining experience through physical labor. "Hauling wood would be no trouble at all," he replied with a slight wag of his bushy tail.
The baker pointed towards the east. "Follow the main path out of the village, and you'll come to a small copse of trees. Just take what you need – enough for a few days of baking should suffice."
"Excellent," ProlixalParagon said, feeling a surge of satisfaction at securing a potential task. "I shall return shortly."
Next, he made his way to the village smithy, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoing invitingly. He found a burly human man, sweat beading on his forehead, shaping a piece of iron on the anvil.
"Greetings, master smith," ProlixalParagon said respectfully. "Your work seems demanding. Might there be any tasks a nimble individual such as myself could assist you with?"
The smith stopped hammering, wiping his brow with a leather-clad hand. "Hmm, now that you mention it, I am running low on coal. The mine is a bit of a trek, and it's always good to have an extra pair of hands to help load the cart."
ProlixalParagon recalled reading about mining as a profession in the game. While he hadn't chosen that path, gathering resources seemed like a fundamental skill. "I would be happy to assist you with that," he offered readily. "What is the compensation for such labor?"
"I can offer you a few silver pieces and perhaps a newly crafted tool, depending on how much you're able to bring back," the smith replied.
"That sounds fair," ProlixalParagon agreed.
"Lead the way to the mine, and I shall do my best."
As he continued his rounds, ProlixalParagon approached the village farrier, who was tending his small vegetable patch.
"Good day, sir," ProlixalParagon said politely. "Your garden looks well-tended. Is there any assistance I could offer you in exchange for some experience or perhaps a few coins?"
The farrier leaned on his shovel, considering the Fennician. "Well, now that you ask, the fence around my garden has been needing repair. Some of the posts have rotted, and the local wildlife has been getting in and nibbling at my crops. If you're handy with repairs, I could certainly use your help."
"I am quite adaptable," ProlixalParagon replied, recalling the Fennicians' renowned adaptability. "I would be happy to mend your fence. What would be my reward?"
"I can offer you some fresh vegetables and a bit of silver once the fence is sturdy again," the farrier said.
ProlixalParagon nodded. "An agreeable arrangement."
By the end of his inquiries, ProlixalParagon had managed to secure a few potential tasks: hauling wood for the baker, gathering coal for the smith, and repairing the fence for the farrier. While these seemed like humble beginnings, he understood that every little bit of experience and coin would be valuable as he ventured beyond the tutorial village of Oakhaven. His white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black seemed to gleam with a newfound sense of purpose as he set off to complete his first tasks in this new world.
With a determined nod, ProlixalParagon, his white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black rippling slightly as he moved, headed east along the main path out of Oakhaven, just as Emmarie the baker had directed . He soon reached a small copse of trees, a mix of deciduous and coniferous varieties, their branches swaying gently in the breeze .
He approached a fallen log that looked like a manageable size. Instinctively, he reached out with his paw to lift it, expecting it to be relatively light. However, he was surprised by the unexpected weight that strained his muscles. A mental notification, though not explicitly a game system message, flickered in his awareness: Strength: 8. He recalled during the character creation process that he had prioritized dexterity and agility befitting a Fennician Jester, likely at the expense of brute strength .
A slight grimace flickered across his fox-like muzzle. Hauling even a few good logs was going to be more challenging than he had initially anticipated. He remembered the agility and speed he had felt moving through the forest earlier , a stark contrast to the leaden feeling in his limbs now.
Despite the unexpected difficulty, ProlixalParagon’s inherent determination, perhaps a reflection of Bennett's own resilience, kicked in. He had accepted the quest, and Fennicians were known for their adaptability and resourcefulness. He would find a way to complete it.
He tried a different approach, attempting to roll a smaller log towards the village. The uneven terrain and the log's weight made this a slow and cumbersome process. He then considered breaking off smaller branches, but Emmarie had specifically asked for "good logs".
Taking a deep breath, ProlixalParagon resolved to use what strength he had efficiently. He found a log that, while still heavy, seemed to be the smallest of the suitable options. He gripped it firmly, his claws providing purchase, and with a grunt of exertion, he managed to lift one end. His muscles protested with a dull ache.
Slowly and deliberately, ProlixalParagon began to drag the log back towards Oakhaven. Each step was a small victory against his perceived physical limitations. He focused on the task at hand, his white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black occasionally brushing against the undergrowth as he persevered, determined to earn the fresh bread and coin promised by Emmarie the baker.
Despite the strain, ProlixalParagon continued his slow trek back towards Oakhaven, the heavy log bumping awkwardly against the ground with each labored step. Just as a bead of sweat, though purely a sensory input of the immersive environment, trickled down his temple, a crisp notification flashed before his eyes:
A surge of satisfaction, mixed with a hint of surprise, coursed through him. So, even mundane tasks could lead to improvement! He momentarily paused, the weight of the log still pressing down, but now with a slightly less oppressive feel.
Almost immediately after the first notification faded, a second one appeared:
ProlixalParagon considered this information. It seemed the game encouraged a variety of methods for character progression and prevented stat grinding through repetitive actions. This aligned with the idea of a rich and expansive world where exploration and questing were likely key.
Intrigued by this sudden improvement and the limitations imposed, ProlixalParagon decided to check his overall status. With a mental command, a translucent window shimmered into his vision – his statsheet :
Player Name: ProlixalParagon Level : 1
Class :tinkerer
Subclass :None
Profession : None Specialization : None
Currently Active Title : -
Most used Skill: -
Alignment : -
Health : 110/110 [R:10] Mana : 110/110 [R:10] Stamina : 55/55 [R:11]
Points Earned : 0
Reputation :
-OakHaven - 0
Attributes :
Strength :9 Constitution :11 Dexterity :11 Intelligence : 10
Wisdom : 9 Charisma : 10 Piety : 0 Luck : 10
Karma : -
Combat :
Attack : 10 Accuracy : 5 Agility : 12 Speed : 8
Critical : 0.21 Endurance :8 Focus : 10 Defense :10
Magic Def: 10 Armor :0 Hygieian Meter: 0
Active Status Effects:
Abilities :
Titles
He noted the updated Strength stat now displayed as 9. It was a small increase, but a tangible reward for his effort. He scanned the rest of the sheet, familiarizing himself with the various attributes and combat statistics. As a Tinkerer, his initial stats seemed balanced, though perhaps leaning slightly towards Dexterity and Intelligence, which would likely benefit crafting and manipulation skills.
With a renewed sense of purpose, fueled by the tangible progress, ProlixalParagon hefted the log once more. The extra point of Strength, while subtle, did seem to make the burden slightly more manageable. He continued his journey towards Oakhaven, his white fur containing swirls and patterns of rich black swaying with his determined movements, now even more resolved to complete this first task and see what other avenues of growth this intricate world offered.
A mental command brought forth a shimmering, translucent window within his vision – his statsheet. Within this ethereal display, he could perceive a detailed breakdown of his current capabilities. He noted his overall health, a reserve of vital energy; his mana, a wellspring for potential arcane endeavors; and his stamina, a measure of his physical endurance, currently somewhat depleted from his efforts. The core attributes were listed, and he could see the newly improved Strength now registered at 9. He recalled the ease with which he had traversed the forest earlier, a testament to a likely higher Dexterity. The current difficulty with the log now made the lower Strength score starkly apparent. He observed metrics for combat prowess, such as his potential to strike, his accuracy in doing so, his inherent quickness, and his raw speed. He also noted figures representing his resilience, his mental focus, and his capacity to withstand both physical and magical assaults. An empty section denoted the absence of any active detrimental effects currently impacting him.
Dismissing the statsheet with another mental command, ProlixalParagon refocused his attention on the weighty task at hand. The game’s clear indication of training limitations emphasized that his journey would require more than just brute force. He would need to explore the world, undertake tasks for its inhabitants, and perhaps even discover a particular calling to truly flourish.
With a renewed sense of resolve, invigorated by the tangible evidence of his progress, ProlixalParagon once again heaved the log forward. The slight increase in Strength, though perhaps imperceptible to an outside observer, provided a subtle but welcome easing of the strain. He continued his determined progress towards Emmarie’s bakery in Oakhaven. Although his form was likely becoming coated with the dust and detritus of the forest floor, his concentration remained steadfastly fixed on his destination. He envisioned the reward that awaited him – the fragrant, freshly baked bread, a small but meaningful return for his current labor. This initial challenge, though strenuous, had yielded valuable insights into his inherent limitations and the underlying systems governing this intricate world, knowledge that would undoubtedly prove useful as he ventured beyond the familiar confines of the starting village. The remaining path to Oakhaven, while still demanding significant effort, now felt like a purposeful stride towards a deeper understanding and the promise of future endeavors within Ludere Online.
With a final, weary surge of effort, ProlixalParagon staggered into the small clearing where the inviting aroma of baking bread hung heavy in the air. The humble building, clearly Emmarie's bakery, stood before him, its windows glowing warmly in the late afternoon light. The log, his heavy burden for what felt like an eternity, dragged slightly as he approached, leaving a furrow in the dusty ground.
The door to the bakery, a simple wooden slab, stood slightly ajar, and the sounds of gentle humming and the rhythmic thud of something being kneaded drifted out. ProlixalParagon, his limbs aching and a fine layer of forest debris clinging to his form, nudged the door open with his shoulder, still careful not to drop his cumbersome cargo.
Inside, the air was thick with the comforting scents of yeast, warm flour, and something sweet and fruity baking in the oven. Behind a sturdy wooden counter piled high with golden-brown loaves and delicate pastries stood a woman with flour dusting her apron and a warm, welcoming smile on her face.
"Oh, hello there, dearie!" Emmarie exclaimed, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the sight of ProlixalParagon and the hefty log he carried. "You must be the one who offered to help with the firewood! That's a fine piece you've got there."
ProlixalParagon, his breath coming in slightly ragged gasps, managed a polite nod. "Yes, good baker. I believe this is sufficient?" He gestured with a slight tilt of his head towards the log, his voice a little strained from the exertion.
Emmarie chuckled warmly. "Sufficient? It's more than generous! Thank you kindly. My old bones aren't what they used to be for hauling such things." She bustled out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. "Now, let's get that off your hands, dearie. You look like you've wrestled a bear for it."
Together, they maneuvered the log towards a woodpile stacked neatly near the hearth. The weight finally lifted, ProlixalParagon felt an immediate sense of relief, a tangible easing of the persistent ache in his muscles.
Emmarie turned back to him, her smile still bright. "Now, for your trouble. As promised." She reached under the counter and pulled out a generously sized, still-warm loaf of rustic bread, its crust a deep golden brown and smelling wonderfully of herbs. "Fresh from the oven just a little while ago. My special rosemary and thyme."
ProlixalParagon felt a genuine sense of satisfaction as he accepted the warm loaf. The simple reward felt significant, a tangible result of his effort in this new world. "Thank you, Emmarie. It smells delightful." He cradled the bread carefully, its warmth seeping into his hands.
"You earned it, dearie," Emmarie said with a nod. "Don't be a stranger now, you hear? Always happy to have a helping hand, and always plenty of warm bread to go around."
With a final grateful nod to the kind baker and the precious loaf of bread in his arms, ProlixalParagon, despite his lingering fatigue, felt a sense of accomplishment. He had completed his first task in Oakhaven, a small but significant step into the vast and intricate world of Ludere Online. The warmth of the bread and the satisfaction of a job well done provided a welcome contrast to the earlier strenuous labor, solidifying his growing immersion in this digital reality.
Clutching the remnants of the rosemary and thyme bread, its warmth a pleasant memory in his paws, ProlixalParagon finished his simple meal upon the moss-covered stone. The afternoon sun continued its descent, painting the village of Oakhaven in hues of amber and gold. He rose, brushing away the crumbs, his glowing eyes thoughtfully scanning his surroundings.
He recalled the priest's advice to explore Oakhaven and glean valuable information before venturing further . He had already learned much about the deities and factions and the history of the land. However, he also had a more immediate task at hand. Earlier, he had spoken with Borin, the village farrier, and accepted a quest to repair the fence around the grazing pasture.
With a renewed sense of purpose, ProlixalParagon set off towards the farrier's workshop. The rhythmic clang of metal that had drawn his attention earlier now served as a directional beacon. As he walked along the unpaved path, the air grew thick with the familiar scent of hot iron and the comforting presence of horses. He could now see the dilapidated section of the fence Borin had pointed out – several posts leaned precariously, and sections of the wooden railing had fallen away, leaving gaps in the enclosure.
Reaching the open-sided workshop, ProlixalParagon found Borin still working at his forge, the rhythmic hammering filling the air. The large, placid horse stood patiently nearby, its occasional soft snort adding to the ambiance. ProlixalParagon approached respectfully, pausing a short distance away until Borin finished shaping the piece of metal he was working on.
As the farrier plunged the hot metal into a bucket of water with a hiss, he looked up, noticing ProlixalParagon standing there. "Ah, back again, are you?" Borin rumbled, wiping his brow with a leather-clad forearm. "Ready to tackle that fence, then?"
ProlixalParagon inclined his head, his bushy tail giving a slight wag. "Indeed, Borin. I have finished my meal and am prepared to assist you with the fence repair. Lead the way, and I shall do my best."
Borin grunted in satisfaction, resting his hammer on the anvil. "Good on ya. The posts and some spare wood are over by the shed. I've got a few tools you can use. It's not brain surgery, just good old-fashioned elbow grease. Come on, let's get to it before the light fades completely." With a nod, Borin gestured towards a pile of rough-hewn timber and some tools leaning against a small wooden shed, signaling the start of ProlixalParagon's fence repair quest.