Ack! no wonder this chapter felt like it took so long! It's double the length of most of my other chapters... haha, whoops... but technically I'm not behind, right?
Right?
In response to Anon reviews: (Thanks for reviewing btw! I love you all)
* Concerning Character appearences, I intentionally didn't give The Slayer any defining charactersitics. I did a little bit, he tends to stare through people with 'dead eyes'. He's also of average height and build. People look at him, and see the very definition of 'average human male' - but he moves really weird because he's weightless and freaks everyone out (except Guidy, who's on the cover being angsty.) What do you imagine The Slayer to look like? I'm curious to know.
* His armour, however, is something I will pin down once the Clothier comes around and unlocks vanities. If you need to know, I'll list it in notes. Vanity has no bearing on the story, however.
* Thanks for worrying about my health! I appreciate it. I'll be fine, though. I actually write to relax after work. It's not that laborous for me. I will take a break when/if I need one though, much love!
Armour:
Victide (Ranger)
Weapon: Mandible Bow (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Sailfish Boots, Luxor's Gift, Ocean Crest, Amidas Pendant, Crown Jewel, Tsunami in a Bottle, Frog Leg, Aero Stone, Shield of the Ocean
Health: (350/400)
A low moan carried in the air, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck and sending a scurry of nervous electricity down her spine. She heard her breath rasp loudly in her ears as she groped unsteadily through the undergrowth. A sharp twig brushed against her leg, scraping along the surface of an exposed wound and tearing the scab off with a horrid peeling noise. A trickle of fluid (blood? pus?) rolled slick and warm down her calf. The Stylist trembled and gritted her teeth, doing her best not to utter a sound. There were zombies infesting these woods; if she wanted to survive the night, it was best she remained silent.
… huff… huff…
Everything hurt. The chemical burns that splashed her arms and legs radiated a pain so crippling, she just wanted to lay down on the grass and cry. She had already collapsed on several occasions, stumbling over rocks and tree roots as she staggered her way through the forest. Pebbles, dirt and sharp gravel clung to her open sores, further antagonizing her existing injuries. Even the cool evening chill did nothing to numb the heat of the burns. She felt every agonizing prick… yet she continued onwards with a dogged persistence
Just… just keep moving…
She had to keep moving. She had to get to the tall gate. She had been tumbling around the forest, tricking blood and sweat wherever she went. It was only a matter of time before the zombies caught wind of her scent. In fact, it was a miracle they hadn't yet found her. Unless she found shelter - and soon - the pain of her burns would shortly be traded for the agony of having her flesh torn off her bones.
Come on girl… almost there… you got this...
Panting with exertion, she tottered up to the great gates and shakily placed a palm on the smooth grain surface. She leaned there to rest, waiting for the worst stings of lactic acid to fade from her muscles. She did her best to ignore her blisters, but alas, even the slightest movement caused the scabs that rippled up and down her body to crack and ooze a yellowish plasma. She would feel bad for herself later. Right now, she could hear the crunch of undead limbs scraping along the undergrowth, crushing through fallen leaves, snapping through low shrubs, slowly but surely dragging her death towards her.
Okay… phew, okay… get moving.
The Stylist shook her head and set her eyes like flint. She planted the heels of her hands against the gate and craned her neck to look up at it through the dim lamplight. It was a tremendous thing, heavy, solid and jutting firmly out of the ground like an imposing mountain. Sturdily built of large, compressed hardwood planks and set with cast iron bindings, she could scarcely imagine this door ever falling or crumbling into disrepair. It was as permanent as the stars in the sky, such was the mystical quality that surrounded it. The perfect fortress. Nobody would be able to reach her from within. Not the zombies. Not the spiders. Not even The Destroyer.
The Destroyer…
A chill ran down her spine as she recalled that alien man in the spider caves. If she wasn't so disturbed by him, she might've found the heart to be thankful for his -frankly, daring- rescue. It wasn't that he'd behaved maliciously towards her. Neither was he hideously deformed, nor grossly inhuman (well, perhaps he was but at least his armour was human-shaped). He was strong, yes - but she'd seen plenty of strong men. There was just something foreign about him. Something her base instincts recognized as exceedingly dangerous. Something mindless, beastial and utterly uncontrollable. She was glad to be out of those spider caves, away from the monsters… and away from him.
Don't worry… you'll never see him again…
No - she reassured herself - she certainly wouldn't. Not The Destroyer. Not the spider caves. Hell, she was never going underground again! The only reason she had ventured down into those hellish depths to begin with was she'd been searching for her idiot brother. She'd spent her savings to hire a group of adventurers to find the boy, but before long - the whole lot of them had been ambushed and dragged away by spiders. Everything had been a nightmare the moment she set foot underground. If she survived the night - she was never going beneath the surface again.
I'm sorry bro… I hope you're alright. Big sis has her own problems right now…
The shuffling in the undergrowth was becoming more frantic. The zombies had found her trail and the horde was slowly approaching her from all directions. She could see the undergrowth crawling in the dim light. Breath rasping fast in her lungs, she dug her heels into the grass and braced herself to push the gate with the last of her strength.
Oh god, they're coming… Please be unlocked, please be unlocked.
A ridiculous prayer. Every town locked their gates at night, for what use was a gate if it didn't keep the nighttime nuisances out? Still, The Stylist clung to that strand of hope, rationalizing that if she had magically appeared here - then perhaps these gates would magically open for her. This line of thinking did well to prevent a freefall into fatalistic despair, but now that she was putting her theory to the test - with a horde of zombies at her back, no less - she was beginning to feel the beginnings of panic stir in her throat.
Oh no… please… please open…
And the realization broke upon her - the realization that this could be the end. That she had come to the end of her life flailing and screaming at the very doors of her salvation. That she would die in the embrace of a hundred rotting corpses. She would never see another sunrise. She would never again feel it's warm rays on her skin. That she would never see her beloved brother again - the little fish-loving brat. Tears of panic spilled over her cheeks. Dread rose up her throat. She desperately strained against the gate, praying tha-.
*Creee-*
Oh!
It opened.
The gate opened to welcome her. The hinge slid open at her prompting leaving a gap just wide enough for her to squeeze through. When she did, a welcome sight spilled before her eyes.
Ah- Houses!
Yes, houses. Houses meant people... and food and water and warmth and Light. Was she dreaming? No - her wounds hurt too poignantly. This was real. As real as real could be. Oh thank the heavens. Her tears hadn't stopped flowing, but they were now of overwhelming relief. She wanted to laugh - but the ugly rasp of her throat convinced her otherwise. She grinned involuntarily as she clung to the gate and looked around.
Ah..
An unattended fire blazed beneath a charming wooden pavilion. Steam rose from within a large cooking cauldron. Was somebody cooking in the dead of night? The Stylist's stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten anything for the past three days. She was parched and starving. Her manners all but forgotten, she tottered her way towards the red-bricked patio - longing to fill her belly with anythi-
*clack… thunk*
A noise! The sharp clattering of bricks falling against each other. Startled, she flinched and turned to glance at the far corner of the compound where what appeared to be the beginnings of a small castle wall was being meticulously built. There was somebody there, stacking the bricks atop one another in a complex pattern, but they were hidden behind the structure they had erected. A person! Oh how wonderful. Perhaps they would show her some kindness and bind her wounds. She approached closer and called out into the peaceful silence that had settled thick over the compound… yet, An uncomfortable itch began in the back of her skull the moment the words left her mouth.
"Hello!? I-I'm The Stylist. Sir, would you please allow me to stay for the evenin-..."
*Clack.*
Another clatter. This time, it sounded like the brick was thrown to the floor. In anger? Perhaps frustration? Her spirits were dashed as quickly as they were lifted. Her words petered out as an irrational dread began writhing in her guts. A familiar dread. A familiar figure.
No No!
She knew that silhouette. The strange, warped armour cloaked in a muffed winter cape. She'd seen it butchering creatures wholesale as it walked amongst the flames. She uttered a small cry as she stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet and landing painfully on her behind. The trimmed grass poked sharply into her wounds, yet she didn't even flinch. Her attention was entirely focused, terrified, on The Destroyer.
Is… this a nightmare? Am I dreaming?
Surely this had to be some kind of bad dream, some misery induced hallucination. Why was The Destroyer here?! Had he brought her here? If so, Why? And why allow her to miserably stumble her way through the zombie infested woods when he knew of her physical ailments! Did he find pleasure in making her suffer? Was he simply studying her? What was this place, really? Perhaps the compound only appeared calm and appealing, but was actually the innards of some otherworldly mothership.
I need to get out!
Her thoughts jumbled about in her head. Panic rose in her throat. Her thinking became frantic and irrational. Her movements became instinctual and involuntary. She scrambled to her feet and turned tail, fleeing for those heavy gates that still stood ajar. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she ran, her shoes kicking up turf as she sprinted back into the zombie infested woods.
Out! Out!
Her heels ached as they pounded on the ground. Her wounds burned hotter with each passing moment. Her breath tore raggedly from her throat, straining her lungs and hissing through her teeth. Her vision doubled and she could hear her heartbeat, loud, in her ears. She felt sick - nauseous. Still, she ran for all she was worth, eyes focused keenly on the dark gap in the door. Was The Destroyer following her? He had gone through all the trouble to bring her here. Surely he wouldn't let her go without a struggle.
A struggle?! A fight?! With him?!
She wouldn't survive a battle with that monstrosity. She recalled the mountain of spider corpses he had piled up amidst the flames deep underground. He had destroyed that place utterly and completely, not leaving anything alive in his wake. Those flaming bolts. That flashing sword. She had nothing but a pair of scissors with which to defend herself. She didn't stand a chance. With tears streaming down her face, she caught the gate, grabbing hold of the cold timber and roughly shoving herself through the gap...
Agh!
Only to come inches within a horrifying, rotting visage. A gaping maw filled with broken teeth. Eyes that hung out of their sockets. Skin putrid, green and sloughing off to reveal rancid the muscle beneath. It reached out a mangled hand and seized her by the hair, roughly dragging her through the gate.
She screamed.
A hand from behind her landed on her shoulder. Two cold armoured fingers hooking over her collarbone and yanked her back as a blade flashed down, cleaving the zombie's skull in two. The creature slumped against her, splattering her with a mess of exploded teeth, flesh and gore.
The Destroyer.
She screamed again as she was pulled into the compound. The door to her freedom was shut in front of her with a decisive click. She could hear The Destroyer's breath. She could hear the clink of his armour. She trembled, gripped in the thoroughs of terror.
Her world spun.
Her eyes rolled back into her head.
And everything went black.
He… he was having nightmares.
They weren't his normal nightmares. He wasn't being chased by dogs, or losing all his teeth, or walking around town having forgotten to wear pants. They weren't even of the fresh hellish landscapes that plagued his mind ever since he'd seen his village and villagers covered in fleshy eldritch infection.
No.
These were maddenning, predatory nightmares. Malicious, intentional things whose effects were felt bodily.
They were of 'The Wall'.
He saw it last night in his dreams.
A horrid mass of pulsing flesh and organs which stretched as far as the imagination. There was no end to it. It reached from one end of hell to the other. A tremendous wall of eyes and teeth and eyes and teeth and more teeth. Each eye rolled about in glee and despair. In pain and pleasure. In wrath and rage. Oh, the overwhelming rage. The mouths gnashed their teeth as they babbled cursing blasphemies to deaf ears. Tendrils reached out like hungry snakes, whipping about the fiery hellish depths to seize the souls that were consumed by The Crimson. That Wall… it was a wall of souls. It was no monster. It was very, very human.
For it was made of people.
Millions of them.
He saw it in his mind's eye. That thrashing amalgamation, altogether weeping, screaming, crying, laughing. People. Souls. What of his village? Were they in there? Was it them that were calling to him, snarling and tugging as if to drag him down to join them in their misery. As if asking, 'Why did you get to survive?!'
I'm… sorry.
The Wall wanted him. It wanted to crush his heart. It wanted to pry his ribs apart and scatter them to the floor. It wanted to break him and drag him down into its fleshy folds. It wanted to break free, to burst into the mortal realm through his burning corpse.
He'd fought it all night long - thrashing and weeping in a cold sweat, clinging to his chest and gasping. He did his best to battle off the mental assault - but was never really sure whether his efforts were actually doing anything. Perhaps The Wall was toying cruelly with him? Could it simply exercise it's strange arcane power to crush him as it saw fit? He remembered that time in the pyramid's burial chamber, where The Guide was certain he'd suffered some sort of heart attack. By some miracle, he had survived - and "The Wall" henceforth hadn't bothered him until he barely dozed off last night.
Is it trying to catch me off guard? Can it actually kill me? How… I'm not just imagining things, right?
How it rankled him, not knowing what was going on in his own body. How terrifying, the idea he may one day simply expire on the whim of some hateful, hellish Wall monster. Could he defend himself? He had no clue. Was his life being cut short? It certainly felt like it.
Just… no use thinking about it now… there's work to do...
The Guide shook his head and rubbed at the dark circles beneath his eyes. He hadn't gotten to glimpse himself in the mirror this morning- as Amidas was still living in his bathtub and treated the place like his throne room - but he was certain he looked just as bad as he felt. Yesterday he had convinced The Nurse to let him use her sink and shower in exchange for not telling The Terrarian about the Hippocratic oath, and had gone to sleep feeling relatively clean. But a night of thrashing and sweating made him cringe at his own body odor.
Should I just go dunk in the lake?... haah… maybe it'll clear my head. I wonder if The Slayer is back…
He sighed as he made his way across his living room - past the perpetually burning fireplace - and out the front door. With the creak of a hinge, he stepped out into clearing and took in a lungful of cool, misty air. The sun had yet to rise over the treeline and the compound was cold and dim. The dew on the grass collected on his shoes and soaked into the hem of his pants as he walked. The chill soothed his cheeks, which he'd rubbed raw, weeping, last night.
How embarrassing… I hope Amidas didn't hear me.
The Guide turned to glance at his bathroom window just as the light flickered on. He quickly looked away and grumbled to himself. The Sea King had been his roommate for… almost two days now, and as friendly as The Guide was, he didn't wish to prolong this arrangement. He was going to find The Slayer and actually do some yelling to get him to build some castle - per The Sea King's instructions. Perhaps The Terrarian just needed a solid kick in the behind to snap back in line.
I'll just threaten him with The Nurse… or somethi- eh?
He blinked. Once. Twice. Was that… a castle? Or at least it was the edifice of one. Oh, goody. It wasn't a tremendous structure, but was quite regal - intricately laid gray brick work which outlined a throne room - reminiscent of the one they'd seen collapsed in the Sunken Sea. The Sea King would be well satisfied with this. Hopefully he would make haste to move out of The Guide's bathroom, then deliver the remaining information on how to defeat The Crimson's many derivatives. Finally, things were going according to plan. No butts needed to be kicked. He smiled in relief and waved.
"Oy, Slayer?"
"..."
The man in question was dressed in full regalia and hanging suspended from one of the rafters as he hammered a window moulding into a perfect square. The Terrarian's building process always made The Guide's brain want to melt out of his ears. There was barely any logic to it. When he got a pickaxe and smashed it against a window, the window shattered into a million irrecoverable pieces. When The Terrarian smashed a window, the pane popped out as cleanly as could be. This man could take a wooden mallet to a piece of solid stone brick, and in a single strike - slope it at a perfect 45° angle. It was utterly mind-bending.
Heh, you're ridiculous… but… doesn't he hate Amidas? Why is he so suddenly building?
"I take it you've gotten chummy with The Sea King, Slayer? I'm honestly surprised to see you working on this. It's very nice by the way… when did you speak to him?"
The Terrarian twisted his neck to look at him with his peripheral vision. He looked to be willingly distracted, and didn't answer the question. Instead, he brandished his hammer in a rather comical fashion and spoke in a voice that was just slightly frantic.
"Stay back. You stink."
Was he… nervous? Why? How suspicious. He was no longer being hostile, yes. He was also following directions… but still The Guide furrowed his brow in concern. What's going on with this guy?
"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I'll go in a moment… Slayer, did you talk to Amidas?"
The Terrarian swiveled on his hook to stare at him from behind his visor. He froze there suddenly as if noticing something he hadn't seen before. His relaxed posture jolted into tension. Clearly something was amiss. The Guide frowned and took a quick look behind him to scan the compound. There was… nothing that particularly stood out to him. He turned back towards The Terrarian and made an inquiry.
"You alright, buddy?"
The Terrarian detached from the roof and landed in the grass with a muted thud, before standing to his feet and rapidly approaching him. The Guide blinked and took an involuntary step back. His voice went a bit high with panic.
"... um. Are we okay, Slayer? What now? You're acting a bit weird, you know…"
The Terrarian ignored all of his inquiries. He stopped at about an arm's length then circled him once at radius. The Guide frowned as he felt himself being carefully observed. His mind spun as he watched his companion through the corners of his eyes. The Slayer wasn't behaving himself maliciously. He certainly wasn't threatening The Guide at this moment... but this wasn't normal. The Slayer never avoided questions like this. The Guide crossed his arms over his chest and tried to pin down his companion.
"What's up with yo-"
He was uncharacteristically interrupted.
"Guide. Who attacked you."
"Huh?"
"Who attacked you."
"..."
The Guide blinked then looked down at himself. Was he bleeding somewhere? Maybe he had some visible bruise? His heart was aching and sore from nearly being ruptured, but otherwise he was pretty certain he wasn't suffering anything visible. He looked up to meet The Terrarian's visored gaze.
"How did you know I was attacked?"
"You smell like fire and death."
The Terrarian answered promptly, almost automatically. This was how they normally interacted. There were few pleasantries between them, but everything that passed from The Terrarain's lips was always pure, unabashed truth. The Guide couldn't make the same claim - he had neither promised nor intended to make all his plans known to his Slayer - but still expected what he didn't reciprocate. Was The Terrarian hiding something from him?
That won't do… something's going on about Amidas…
There was the scrape of armour rubbing against itself. The Terrarian extended an arm; a vial of red healing potion appeared in his armoured hand. He proffered it, and The Guide faked a smile to receive it. The Terrarian, again uncharastically eager to finish the conversation, was the first to break the silence.
"When you need me, tell me who attacked you... Excuse me. I wish to complete my project."
'Excuse me'? Now he has manners? What the hell?
The Guide pursed his lips as he watched The Terrarian swivel on his heel and hurry back to Amidas' castle. He promptly cast his hook and rappelled over the roof and into the building, as if eager to avoid The Guide's line of sight.
He's a week old, and trying to hide stuff from -me-?… let's see if you can manage, Slayer.
The Guide shook his head, and sighed. He hated not knowing things. He was a nosy, nosy person. It was a character fault he recognised within himself. Still, although this 'secret' could be as trivial as an embarrassing slip-up, it did concern The Sea King, Amidas, and thereby had the potential to be extremely consequential. And besides… The Guide liked to know everyone's secrets.
First the Merchant's faction… now The Slayer… what a mess… but at least I have this castle building out of the way… and hopefully he's up for killing that Eye Monster tonight… well… first let's get clean.
The Guide yawned, stretched and turned towards the main gate. He knew there was a lake several hundred yards to the east. Perhaps he'd catch some breakfast and spend some time to clear his mind and refocus. He wasn't going to push himself too hard today. His heart felt weak and fluttery from it's night-long battle. Perhaps he'd visit The Nurse and get himself looked at. He also wanted to ask her what she knew about the Merchant's group, as she was clearly quite close with The Arms Dealer. He also needed to-
Huh?
The Guide blinked as he approached the front gate. There was something pink laying crumbled in the grass, just inside the door. Was that-... oh heavens.
"Hey! Hey, miss! Are you alright! Hello?"
Guide: Oy, Slayer. Why were you cooking spiders! The pot is has holes corroded innit.
Slayer: *panick, disappears inside half built castle*
G: Is this what it's like to be the parent of a teenager?
Slayer literally just left the Stylist on the floor, all burned up and walked away. Smh. But he moment he sees Guide achey from nightmares, he's like I have potion 4 u, fren. Wow.
Notes: 1) Guide, per usual, is sharp and catches on to T immedietly. 2) I dunno if you noticed, but Sometimes T takes off certain peices of his armour, but never takes off his gloves. The reason is he has zero callouses and doesn't wanna hurt his hands. He's a week old an has baby skin uwu. 3) T has a really good sense of smell. You know how in Terraria you can see things that aren't in your character's line of sight? (cuz you kinda have this cross section view?) Well I gave him a sharp nose so he's not really taken by surprise by NPCs and some monsters. It's not a perfect compensation, but allow me some creative liberty. 4) Guide is actually not a super great person. He keeps a lot of secrets, but is also in everyone else's business. His goal is to use everyone to his purposes. Let's see if he succeeds lol. 5) I'm worried I won't use Amidas enough... smh. my plot tends to evolve a LOT, so fingers crossed.
Vanity, for those who care. (this will be implemented once we get Clothier, but even then, won't really be mentioned except in passing. In General, it's dark, shiny. Slatted visor & Plume. Furred winter cloak over armour) Armour(DYE): Auric Tesla Plumed Helm(Silver&Black), BloodFlare Body Armour(Silver&Black), Andromedean Legs(Silver&Black), Round Shield(Black), Apprentice Scarf(Reflective Copper), Winter Cape(Reflective Silver), Obsidian Water Walking Boots (Reflective Silver)
Okay! Thanks for all the reviews and interactions everyone. I love you all!
GIVE ME SKITS PLS