Eryndor navigated the winding streets of the slums, his eyes scanning the crowded alleys for any sign of trouble. He had been in the city for a few days now, and he was starting to get the hang of things. But as he turned a corner, he spotted a figure huddled in the shadows, clearly in a state of distress.
The man was dressed in dark leather armor, and his face was obscured by a hood. But as Eryndor approached, he saw that the man was wounded, his armor dented and his cloak stained with blood.
"Hey, are you okay?" Eryndor asked, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The man looked up, his eyes squinting in pain. "Please...help me," he gasped. "I've been ambushed...by a group of thugs. I need to get out of here...before they come back."
Eryndor hesitated for a moment, but something about the man's desperation struck a chord. He nodded, and helped the man to his feet.
"Come on, let's get you out of here," Eryndor said, supporting the man's weight.
As they stumbled through the streets, Eryndor couldn't help but wonder who this man was, and what he had gotten himself into. But he didn't ask any questions, he just focused on getting him to safety.
Finally, they reached a small, cramped tavern deep in the heart of the slums. The sign above the door read "The Black Cat," and the air inside was thick with smoke and the smell of cheap ale.
The man gestured for Eryndor to follow him, and they made their way to a corner table. As they sat down, the man pulled back his hood, revealing a scarred and weathered face.
"Thanks, kid," he said, his voice gruff but sincere. "I owe you one. My name is Arin, by the way."
Eryndor nodded, his eyes wide with curiosity. "I'm Eryndor. And...um...what do you do, Arin?"
Arin chuckled, wincing in pain. "Let's just say I'm a...collector of sorts. And I think I can help you out, kid. You seem like someone who's looking for a leg up in this city."
Eryndor's eyes lit up. "Really? You'd do that for me?"
Arin nodded, his eyes narrowing. "I'll do it because you helped me out of pity, kid. And because I think you've got potential. But don't think this is a handout. You're going to have to work hard to prove yourself."
As Arin spoke, Eryndor noticed that his eyes seemed to gleam with a knowing intensity, and his words seemed to carry a weight that went beyond mere gratitude. And then it clicked - Arin wasn't just any ordinary citizen. He was a rogue, and a skilled one at that.
Eryndor's heart raced with excitement as Arin began to speak, his words painting a picture of a world Eryndor had only glimpsed. A world of shadows and stealth, of locks and traps, of secrets and lies. And Eryndor knew that he was ready to learn.
But as they talked, Eryndor also realized that he wanted to familiarize himself with the game before leveling up and taking on quests. He didn't want to rush into anything without knowing what he was doing.
"I appreciate your offer, Arin," Eryndor said, his eyes scanning the tavern. "But I think I need to get a feel for the game first. I don't want to rush into anything without knowing what I'm doing."
Arin nodded, his face expressionless. "I understand. It's smart to be cautious. But let me ask you, kid. What do you know about the game so far?"
Eryndor shrugged. "Not much. I've been exploring the city, trying to get a feel for things. But I don't know much about the mechanics or the rules."
Arin leaned forward, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "Well, let me tell you something, kid. This game isn't just about leveling up and completing quests. It's about strategy, stealth, and cunning. It's about knowing when to take risks and when to play it safe."
Eryndor nodded, his mind racing with questions. "What about the different classes? I've seen rogues, warriors, and mages. What's the difference between them?"
Arin chuckled. "Ah, kid. That's a whole different story. Let's just say that each class has its own unique abilities and playstyle. Rogues are stealthy and agile, warriors are brutal and fierce, and cunning.