He checked the quest marker that had appeared on his new map. It indicated a location just outside the city walls, to the west. With a shrug, Pag started moving towards the nearest gate, his new Pyroclasm robes swaying slightly with each step. The feel of the adept-grade fabric was a significant improvement over the tattered prison garb, and the subtle warmth emanating from them was a welcome change from the chill of the Arcane Core training grounds.
As he walked, Pag glanced at the developer message he had received directing him to take the short break… “stretch your legs kid.”. He rolled his eyes. Clearly, the developers were aware of his less-than-smooth entry into the game. He wondered if they were also aware of the whole "Enemy of Soohan" situation or his brief stint in the penal colony. Probably. It seemed like nothing went unnoticed in Ludere Online.
Reaching the western gate, Pag saw a steady stream of players and NPCs moving in both directions. Soldiers clad in Draggor colors marched outwards, their shoulders hunched against the biting wind, while merchants and travelers bustled inwards, seeking the relative safety of the capital. He noted the variety of races, their boots crunching on the packed snow. He still hadn't quite gotten used to seeing such a diverse population, a far cry from the mostly human faces he encountered in his real life.
Following the quest marker on his map, Pag moved through the gate and onto a path largely obscured by drifts of snow. The countryside outside the capital was a landscape of white hills and snow-laden forests. The air was frigid, carrying the sharp scent of pine needles and frozen earth, a stark contrast to the smoky tang of the city’s forges. He could see his breath with every exhale.
He kept an eye out for any signs of his assigned team. The quest description was sparse, offering no details about who he would be working with or what their plan was. He hoped they would be more competent than his previous ill-fated party in Thalin's Forest. The memory of the ephemeral shades and the terrifying explosion from "Dimitri Eidolon" still sent a shiver down his spine, a feeling amplified by the icy air.
The quest marker led him further west, away from the immediate vicinity of the capital. After about fifteen minutes of walking, his boots sinking slightly into the deeper snow, he spotted a small group of figures huddled near a cluster of large rocks dusted with white. Three individuals were gathered together, their cloaks pulled tight, seemingly waiting. Could this be his team?
As he approached, he could make out more details. One was a heavily armored warrior, the metal of their armor looking frosted, wielding a greatsword. Another was a nimble-looking archer, their quiver showing a dusting of snow, and the third was a cloaked figure leaning against one of the snow-covered rocks. Pag felt a flicker of apprehension. He was a newly minted Pyroclasm, still getting the hang of his abilities, and his teammates looked significantly more experienced and better equipped for the harsh winter. He hoped he wouldn't be a liability in this frozen landscape.
Taking a deep breath, Pag moved towards them, the hem of his new robes brushing against the snow-covered ground. “Uh, hello?” he called out, trying to sound more confident than he felt, his voice a little tight in the cold air. “Are you… my team?”
The heavily armored warrior grunted, shifting the weight of their greatsword. Snowflakes clung to the edges of their pauldrons and the fur trim of their helmet. "Could be," they said, their voice muffled by their helm. "Are you the sparky one they sent?"
The nimble archer, whose movements seemed to leave hardly a trace in the fresh snowfall, straightened up, a gloved hand resting on the fletching of an arrow in their quiver. They had a lean face, partially obscured by a fur-lined hood, with eyes that seemed to constantly scan their surroundings. "If you mean the one who throws fire, then maybe," the archer said, their voice crisp and clear despite the cold.
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The cloaked figure finally straightened, pushing themselves off the snow-dusted rock. The cloak was thick and dark, offering little clue to the person beneath. A hand, clad in a simple leather glove, emerged to push back a fold of the hood, revealing a face with sharp features and eyes that seemed to hold a knowing glint. "You'd be Pag, then?" they asked, their voice a low murmur. "The orders mention a Pyroclasm adept joining us."
Pag nodded, a little surprised they knew his name. "That's me. Pag." He shivered slightly, even through the warmth of his new robes. The wind was starting to pick up, carrying with it fine needles of ice. "So, you're... the team?"
"For the 'War Bells' quest, yes," the cloaked figure confirmed. "I am Ellen." They gestured to the armored warrior. "This is Borin." Borin gave a curt nod, the metal of his armor clinking softly. Ellen then indicated the archer. "And this is Faelan." Faelan offered a brief, almost imperceptible nod in return.
"Right," Pag said, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. At least they seemed to know what was going on. "So, uh, where are we headed?"
Ellen consulted a map that shimmered into existence in their gloved hand, its translucent surface illuminated by a faint blue light that cast dancing reflections on the surrounding snow. "The designated location is further west, towards the foothills of the Greyfang Peaks. There have been increasing reports of Lunar Empire patrols and supply lines moving through that area".
Borin hefted his greatsword, the polished steel gleaming dully in the overcast light. "Our directive is to create havoc. Disrupt their movements, sow confusion, generally make their lives miserable".
Faelan nocked an arrow, the movement fluid and silent. "The quieter the havoc, the better, in my experience."
Pag frowned slightly. "Havoc? What exactly does that entail?"
Ellen lowered the map. "Disrupting supply convoys, setting ambushes, maybe even taking out key personnel if the opportunity arises. The goal is to weaken their presence in the area and divert their resources."
"And the 'War Bells' part?" Pag asked, still feeling like he was missing something.
"It's a codename," Ellen explained. "It signifies a priority for disruptive actions. The higher-ups want the Lunar Empire to feel our presence, to know that they are facing resistance even outside the main battle lines."
"Right," Pag said, a spark of anticipation flickering within him despite the cold. Creating havoc sounded more appealing than his previous experiences in Ludere Online.
"The snow will make tracking easier for us, but it will also slow our movement," Faelan pointed out, their gaze sweeping across the white expanse. "We should move with caution."
"Agreed," Ellen said. "Borin, you take point. Faelan, keep to the flanks. Pag, stay in the center with me. Use your… abilities… as needed, but try to be discreet. We don't want to announce our presence prematurely."
Pag nodded, feeling a surge of adrenaline. This was it. His first real mission since the disastrous tutorial and his even more chaotic "introduction" to the world. He pulled his Pyroclasm robes tighter around him, the subtle warmth a small comfort against the winter chill.
With Borin leading the way, his heavy footfalls crunching through the snow, the team began to move westward, leaving the relative safety of the Draggor capital behind. The wind howled softly through the snow-laden trees, a silent prelude to the quiet war they were about to wage. Pag followed Ellen, his hand instinctively twitching with the barely controlled power of his flame magic. He hoped he wouldn't accidentally set the snowy landscape ablaze. He also hoped that this quest would somehow lead him closer to finding Mark. The thought of his missing friend was a constant undercurrent beneath the surface of his virtual experiences. As they trekked into the wintery wilderness, Pag focused on the task ahead, ready to create some "War Bells" level havoc for the encroaching Lunar Empire.
