hello! busy week so late stuff sorry!!
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
The winds that lashed The Northern Mountains was always bitter and stinging. Those great blasts scourged the harsh landscape, picking up shards of ice and smashing them against whatever stood in the blustering gale's way. The sound was as beautiful as it was dreadful. The low, unfeeling howl of nature's indiscriminate power; it ground mountains to nubs with relentless chisels of air. It crushed everything that stood in its way.
The Archmage's castle seemed to pull this icy winds around itself, twisting the wind so it whirled in a cyclone about the deceptively delicate structure. This was surely The Archmage's power, intensifying the wind in a effort to repel the guards Amidas had stationed here. It worked. Whichever poor sod forced to pull 'prison duty' came back from his shift miserable and nigh frostbitten. The whole regiment of them almost fell upon him and kissed him when he dismissed them from their duty. Because ... after Braelor was through with that traitor, there would be no need to guard him any longer.
Sneaky old man... to imagine all of our woes began with you.
It was Braelor's own folly that led to this terrible situation. He had underestimated The Tyrant, he had put too much faith in The Archmage. It was his long history with that old mage that caused him to believe that after 100 years of imprisonment, he would still be loyal to The Resistance cause. He'd been blinded by history. He had failed to see The Archmage's betrayal. Was it merely coincidence that everything started going wrong the moment the frosty sorcerer arrived? He'd claimed that The Hero had freed him, but nobody - not even The Lunatic Cultist - had seen hide nor hair of The Terrarian since his apparent return. It was far more likely that The Hero had vanished somewhere - (perhaps hiding in a hole, or locked up in one of Draedon's Labs) and Yharim had released The Archmage to disrupt The Resistance Chain of Command.
What more, The Lunatic Cultist, who had worked closely with Yharim's military advisors for years, confirmed this was a strategy often used by The Empire. And of course, Braelor believed him. Of all of the men sitting in High Command, The Lunatic Cultist had the most to lose. He had betrayed The King, and he knew if he was recaptured, his death would be long and dreadfully painful. While the other brass members worked to preserve The Resistance out of a sense of duty and loyalty, The Lunatic Cultist needed The Resistance to survive.
And so, although The Sea King and Statis remained unconvinced by The Lunatic Cultist's plea to execute The Archmage, Braelor decided to take the matter into his own hands.
Because The Archmage was Yharim's spy. It was he that was leading The King's troops to The Resistance Headquarters. Nobody knew exactly when the attack would begin - but purely statistics wise, despite everyone fleeing - the place could not be emptied fast enough. The subterrarian tunnels could not support such great volume of evacuees. Not only would a portion of their troops would inevitably be left in to perish beneath Yharim's blade, but after such a blunder, none of the coalition would ever join hands with The Resistance again. The Hero was gone. The Headquarters would shortly disappear. The forces opposed to the empire would scatter and dissolve... and once more, The Tyrant would dominate the land.
They had lost. With this, the war was over.
Braelor gritted his teeth as he climbed the delicate steps leading to The Archmage's castle. He could already forsee their loss. He could see the destruction of everything he had built. He could see the triumph of the one he hated the most.
What could he have done differently? Should he have acquiesced to The Infant Hero's demands? Allow him to take a position of authority over The Resistance and run roughshod over the troops at one week old? No... it wouldn't have mattered. Yharim would have released The Archmage regardless and they would be in the very same situation. Everything started with The Archmage's glorious betrayal. Everything would end as his plan came to fruition.
So before everything was brought to a close, Braelor was going to rend The Traitor's head off his shoulders.
The fortress was in uproar. News broke last night concerning the pile of CC bodies found in the tunnels, and almost immediately, chatter began to spread. The troops became spooked. The armies got skittish and The Commanders, despite all of their promises to fight to the death, spouted heroic rhetoric whilst packing their bags. Everyone was leaving, although they pretended they weren't. The Castle's valuables had all been torn down and pilfered. The rugs, the curtains... even the silverware. Thankfully, The Library had been locked (magically) and the riff-raff couldn't get in to steal the priceless magical tomes Braelor's family had kept for generations.
Those were for him to steal.
The hallways - which earlier this morning were full of looters and fleeing cowards - were now empty. The tapestries and furniture was gone. The sconed lamps and the candlesticks too. But untouched were the tremendous library doors that were more akin to a bank safe than any conventional means of entry. It was a monstrous thing, built of heavy carved steel, and seeming to echo and reverberate with a deep and ancient power. The protection spell that'd been placed upon the door was a powerful one, but The Cultist was far more powerful. It dispersed with the wave of his hand, and immediately, the great tumblers within the steel mechanism clicked into place and unlocked.
creeeakk*
The safe yawned open with a rusty scraping noise, releasing a puff of old dust into the air and spilling the musty smell of old pages and magical ink into the hallway. The inside of the library was dark and well fortified, and looking at it now, The Lunatic Cultist was reminded as to why The Resistance Brass had chosen the place to be The Hero's 'home'.
The Cultist chuckled darkly to himself as he stepped foot into the narrow room. It wasn't a very large place - tiny, actually. Tiny, cramped, dark and full of dust and books. They had locked the Hero in here for days on end with nothing but a small fireplace and a candle for lighting, and the poor bastard was happy about it. He'd been thrown into what would scarcely qualify as a prison and forced to study like his life depended on it, but raised no complaint because he knew too little to realize he was being mistreated. He really was pitiable, that Hero. He was dreadfully talented, yes, but his talents were not to be used for his own sake. He had been created as a weapon with which to threaten The King, and his purpose was to risk life and limb for The Resistance's benefit. He was to be given no autonomy, no freedom, no joy of living, nor exploration, nor victory, nor wandering... He was a Terrarian. A deity walking the earth - but he was also a slave.
A weapon.
And a weapon was useless if it did not obey its masters...
The poor boy - who had such a great spirit of optimism (despite having nothing to really be optimistic about) was abandoned by his creators and cast aside by his teacher. Even the smallest things he took joy in were wrest away. Not only was his pride broken, but his brain had snapped as well - to the point where he was incapacitated by some sort of split personality. The Cultist really didn't expect him to come back after he dropped him off at the edge of The Corruption. Survive? probably. There was no real research on whether Terrarians could die or not, but they certainly didn't live forever (The Terrarians of old had both disappeared under mysterious circumstances). The Hero likely wouldn't die - but he certainly wouldn't come back to The Resistance - right? For him to show his face here would make him either incredibly stupid or incredibly ballsy. As far as The Cultist was aware, The Hero was neither.
creeakkk- thump.*
The Cultist mused as he stepped into The Library and allowed the heavy door to shut behind him. The walls of this place were enchanted in a way that none could teleport in or out unless they had tremendous magical power, so The Cultist was sure nobody was in the room with him. He let his guard down and began to walk slowly through the small room, lighting his path with a shining orb and allowing his thoughts to once more stray to The Hero.
Because against all odds, The Hero was here.
No longer a weapon - for he had passed through fiery trials to shake off those bonds, but now, his was his own man.
It must have been some wild turn of events that The Cultist did not fully understand that caused The Hero to return. When he did, he was stronger than before - wrapped all about with ancient spells and strengthening enchantments. He had re-equipped himself with new armour and weaponry, but had lost the pompous ambition that he seemed to so revel in whilst he sat as The Resistance's figurehead. The boy had grown dreadfully quickly. More quickly than anyone should need to. Suffering a thousand deaths shortly after being born was no small matter. Neither was being sent out on a suicide mission after having been stripped of all his support. The Hero had been forced to stand on his lonesome, and given he hadn't collapsed yet, he proved his mettle.
Hmm... I wonder if he will oppose The Resistance now, not that it matters. The Resistance is already fallen.
Where was The Hero now? The Cultist wasn't sure. After having his Doppelganger sealed away, The Hero thanked him and vanished. The Cultist couldn't even scry for him! Well... it wasn't really that The Cultist had much affection for the being he had summoned into this world. He scarcely had affection for anything at all - especially after his soul had been drastically transformed by his devotion to The Dreaming God. But he was interested in what The Hero was doing. Did he decide to flee and create for himself a little town, like his 'clone' had? (what was the clone anyways?) Did he decide to join Yharim's army to take revenge against Statis and Braelor? Perha-
"Ack!"
thud*
It felt like his brain had leapt out of his skull, did a somersalt, and slid back into his head through his ears when he hit the ground mask-first. How unseemly, for The Great Lunatic Cultist to find himself splayed on the floor in the most compromising manner! Had he tripped? Impossible. He was watching his steps with his usual care. Suddenly angry, The Cultist clenched his teeth and whipped his now-cracked mask about to glare at whatever offending object dare obstruct his path. He opened his mouth to yell at it, before realizing 'it' was a 'him'.
"You damn rotten-...ah, Hero?"
"..."
The Hero was sitting there, staring at him with wide eyes from between splayed fingers. He had wedged himself tightly between a set of bookcases, his arms wrapped about his knees, and his armored legs sticking out as the crevice was far too small for him. Had he employed invisibility? He must have, but for an invisibility spell to be strong enough to fool his eyes was quite impressive. Besides, how did The Hero manage to come into The Library without breaking through the lock? Ah, these questions were inconsequential. The real issue was:
"Why are you here, Hero?"
"... Uh. I..."
The boy tried to pull himself further into the gap as The Lunatic Cultist stood to his feet and adjusted his mask. He turned to look down upon him, only to find his hands were shaking and there were tearstains streaking down his face. The draconic pupils were dilated in something between fear and embarrassment, and his voice was watery and indecisive. Had The Hero come here to cry? It'd be amusing had the situation not been so dire. The Cultist averted his eyes to preserve The Hero's dignity. He cleared his throat.
"Amusing. To quite literally stumble over the one I've been wondering about. Tell me, Child, what ails you now?"
"..."
A long moment of silence, as if The Hero were considering whether he would speak or not. Eventually, he - naive as always, opened his mouth and let his thoughts tentatively trickle free. He spoke into the crook of his arms, but the odd quality of his voice ensured The Cultist heard every syllable.
"I hear rumors that Yharim is fast approaching. I fear he will take everything from me."
His voice echoed oddly in the muffled, dusty silence of The Library. The Lunatic Cultist found a seat upon one of the many piles of books. Much of this mess was The Hero's, when he went halfway neurotic and began reading the non-fiction in alphabetical order. The Cultist had no sympathy for the boy back then. But now, he couldn't help but see a bit of himself in him. He too had been thrown out and abandoned by his teacher. Indeed, the one he had looked to for instruction had even sought to strip him of his magic! The Archmage... I hope he pays.
The Cultist sighed audibly before craning his neck to the dark ceiling. He could feel The Hero's eyes burning into him, but did not meet that gaze.
"You fear death, Child?"
"No."
"What do you fear?"
"That all I've known will be destroyed. My Benefactors and those I've met during my journey. The framework I've grown up in, and all the people I've encountered. I don't... want to find myself utterly alone. The very idea curdles my soul."
Despite the heavy topic, The Cultist couldn't help but smirk beneath his mask. Had The Hero been reading poetry? It seemed that each time they spoke, his speech grew more archaic and shakespere-esque. Perhaps it was just the influence of The Archmage. After all, that frosty old bastard had a vocabulary a hundred years outdated, and The Hero soaked up just about everything like a sponge.
Shall I teach him colourful swear words? Maybe I can give The Archmage a heartattack that way... humph.
The Cultist shook his head as he put aside his fantasies. The Hero was staring up at him, his lips pressed together in a bitter line and moisture staining his cheeks. Perhaps he was a free man now, but he was still young. An infant dragon. A little monster. In the past, The Resistance sought to exploit him for his power, and he was undoubtedly sensitive to that sort of thing by now. The Cultist would try no such thing.
At least not so soon.
He cleared his throat and attempted a poor encouragement.
"That is life, Child. People will come and go, walking alongside you for a time before disappearing. Many of your...friends will have already escaped, so don't fret. We should, however, likewise flee. That is, unless you figure you can fight Yharim."
The look of terror which flashed briefly across The Hero's face was telling. Had he encountered Yharim before? Likely - and the memory didn't seem to make him any happier. At least stirred him to action. He lifted his head, those fiery dragon eyes wide in pleading.
"We should escape? You would take me with you... Teacher?"
The Cultist blinked. It'd been a little while since The Hero called him that, and it was interesting that in this moment, he decided to address him with honorifics. It was an infantile strategy, but The Cultist wasn't opposed to it. The Hero could easily loot the entire library and carry the books with him wherever The Cultist went. Neither was he bad company, and his magical potential was immense. He would likely prove useful in the raising of The Moon Lord, or any other ventures The Cultist set him upon.
So, The Cultist nodded curtly and lied.
"Naturally. I came here to find you, after all. I wouldn't have you suffer under Yharim's regime. We're leaving. Come."
"Did you?! You came to find me?"
The Hero stood to his feet in a tentative excitement. The dour expression on his face faded until it was mostly gone, although the tearstains remained. It was an odd look, but befitting of his situation. To imagine he was now clinging to the one who had so mercilessly abandoned him only weeks ago. He was not doing so out of some ridiculous stupidity, nor misplaced hope - but simply out of fear and desperation. Terrarians were always like this - every fibre of their beings was social. They simply could not tolerate a solitary existence, and the very idea of it caused them tremendous mental duress. The records of old indicated it was apt to drive them completely mad.
So, although The Cultist understood his thoughts, he couldn't help but roll his eyes as The Hero shook off his reservations and began to chatter in more relief than excitement.
"Teacher, where will we go? Perhaps the deserts I've read about? Or the Sea. Underground perhaps? I've seen the Underground jungle but not much else. Do you have a wizard tower? A castle? Maybe a foretress or a cottage? Are we going to The Dungeon? I can help fix it if we are. Ah-"
The Hero stopped talking to catch a stack of tomes. He looked questioningly at The Cultist before he got the message and stashed them away in his invisible inventory. He resumed without a hiccup.
"And about The Archmage-"
The Cultist bristled at the name of his most hated enemy and twisted to looked at the boy. He was about to snap at him, but the look The Hero gave him caused him to hold his tongue. The boy was giving him such a pure look, The Cultist knew it would shatter him if he yelled at him now. I'd be no good if he grew depressed once more and decided to sit and mope until Yharim came and butchered him.
The Cultist did his best to keep the vitriol from his voice.
"What about The Archmage?"
"We must ask him to come with us."
The Cultist glared. He let his voice grow venomous, but The Hero didn't appear fazed. The fear in his eyes had subsided and he held himself with his former confidence. There was a coolness in his demeaner that The Cultist hadn't expected, and he spoke slowly and carefully - as if to ensure his intentions were understood.
"Because, Teacher, when you abandoned me to death, The Archmage took me in. I must bring him. I will not abandon him."
"..."
The Cultist grimaced to himself behind his mask and grumbled.
There wasn't much he could say in response to that. He briefly considered arguing a bit more when the ground rumbled in an ominous manner. The Cultist wasn't certain what it was - but surely it meant time was short. If he wanted to get all these books and flee to safety, he had no time to waste. And besides, maybe he'd get the opportunity to kill The Archmage with his own hands.
"Fine. But first - help me collect the books. We'll fetch The Archmage afterwards."
"Okay!"
Faze: Yeah I have daddy issues.
Slayer: You ain't seen nothing yet.
F: ... bruh, keep it together.
S: No.
Late chapter again, haha.
almost there.
love to all.