The Hall of Eternity loomed before Velkharion, its grand arches carved from shimmering obsidian and lined with glowing runes of silver. Marcus adjusted Crimson Fang on his back, the weight of the blade familiar and comforting as he approached the gathering spot. The Hall served as a hub for Asgard's greatest adventurers, a place where guilds planned their conquests and alliances were forged. For Velkharion, it was where he would reunite with Kingsalamander and prepare for the upcoming raid.
The large hall was bustling with activity, players and NPCs milling about in equal numbers. The polished floors reflected the glowing sigils above, and every corner buzzed with chatter as guilds coordinated their plans. As Velkharion stepped inside, he couldn't help but draw a few curious glances—his imposing form, a hybrid of Forest Ogre, Dryad, and Elf, combined with the refined armor and weapons he carried, marked him as someone different.
"Velkharion!" A familiar voice boomed over the crowd. Marcus turned to see Kingsalamander, his longtime friend and fellow adventurer, striding toward him with his usual swagger. Kingsalamander was a burly, draconic humanoid with vibrant red scales and a massive glaive strapped to his back. His name floated proudly above him in ornate script.
"Was wondering when you'd show up," Kingsalamander said, his sharp grin flashing. "Noticed you changed your name. Figured you were getting tired of being recognized everywhere you went."
Marcus laughed, his deep voice carrying an edge of humor. "Something like that. Velkharion feels… more fitting, don't you think?"
Kingsalamander chuckled. "Well, I like it. But good luck convincing the others—they might not have the same sense of humor."
No sooner had Kingsalamander finished speaking than the voice of the guild leader echoed across the hall, loud and filled with annoyance. A massive orc clad in heavy armor stomped over, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation.
"This is the guy we've been waiting for?" the guild leader barked, his voice practically shaking the runes on the walls. "A no-name solo player? What kind of joke is this?"
Before Kingsalamander could respond, Velkharion raised a hand, his calm demeanor unwavering. He quickly sent a private message to the guild's Vice Leader—a sly, winking face accompanied by the words, "Play along."
The Vice Leader, a composed and calculating elf named Isharion, opened the message on his interface. He sighed audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course," he muttered under his breath.
"Velkharion was sent by Dawnfyr himself," Isharion declared, his voice carrying the effortless authority that only the Vice Guild Master could muster. "We can't afford to waste more time arguing. The raid in Vanaheim is our priority, and we're already behind schedule."
The guild members grumbled but gradually quieted, their attention shifting back to the raid preparations. Kingsalamander shot Velkharion an amused glance. "You're impossible, you know that?" he whispered.
Velkharion shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "What can I say? I keep things interesting."
With the tension diffused, the guild gathered in the central hall to finalize the strategy for their raid in Vanaheim, a sprawling dungeon filled with ancient ruins and labyrinthine halls. It was a place of legend, known for its lethal traps and powerful foes, but also for the unparalleled rewards it offered to those who dared to conquer it.
Isharion stood at the front, a glowing map of the dungeon projected in the air behind him. The guild members listened intently as he outlined the plan.
"Vanaheim is divided into three primary sections," Isharion began. "The Frostlit Catacombs, the Chamber of Whispers, and the Heart of the Worldforge. Each section is guarded by its own boss, and we'll need to coordinate perfectly to progress without losing momentum."
He gestured toward the glowing map, marking specific points. "Velkharion and Kingsalamander will join the front line, handling the larger mobs and creating openings for the rest of us to push through. Your strength will be critical in the Frostlit Catacombs, where the corridors are narrow, and ambushes are frequent."
Velkharion nodded, his excitement bubbling beneath his stoic exterior. The challenge ahead was exactly what he had been craving—a chance to truly test his abilities. The rewards Isharion listed only added to his enthusiasm:
Swordsman Progression: Rare skill scrolls tied to advanced melee techniques.
Martial Arts Progression: Unlocks special techniques specific to hybrid subclass combinations.
Unique Gear: Items tailored to enhance hybrid-class abilities.
Kingsalamander clapped Velkharion on the shoulder, his claws tapping lightly against the armor. "You're going to love this, man. Vanaheim's a nightmare, but the loot's worth it. Plus, we've got a decent group—mostly." He shot a pointed glance at the still-grumbling guild leader, who was busy adjusting his colossal axe.
As the guild finalized their preparations, Velkharion couldn't help but feel a familiar thrill coursing through him. The path ahead would be difficult, but he thrived on challenges like these. With his newly unlocked Arcane Verdant Mage and advanced hybrid build, he was eager to see how far he could push himself.
Velkharion adjusted Crimson Fang on his back, his name floating confidently above him as he prepared to step into the unknown.
"Let's do this," Velkharion said, his tone sharp with determination.
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