:) Guess who's back?!
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine's 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 Br
ain, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
It's grown dark.
Those happy trees transform before my eyes, the merry tones of chestnut and oak become gnarled and black as the sun grows dim and the shadows become harsh. Watching the day turn to night... it's never affected me like this. I had loved the sunsets... but today, the fiery spread of colour makes me bitter. It makes me cold. That pain in my chest grows icy and sharp as I slump against the boughs of a high tree and rest my cheek against the rough bark. Pine needles sprinkle down on me. The sap tangling my hair is sticky and unpleasant, but I don't make any effort to fix my circumstances.
Somehow, I feel like I deserve these small discomforts.
...
I... miss him...
The sunset is the same all across the land.
From here, alone, nestled in the branches of a lonely cliffside tree, to the vast windows of The Archmage's palace - those fiery tones beam proudly across the sky: pinks and reds and majestic oranges shine forth as if to herald the finale of the day. I had fawned over the sunset the moment I first saw The Cloudsea, chattering excitedly about the shapes and types of clouds, the sublime reflections on the ice, the brilliance of the colours. The Old Mage would sit there and puff his pipe beside me, entertaining all my wild thoughts, no matter how trivial. I knew The Archmage had seen ten-thousand sunsets. It was no longer exciting for him to watch the cycles of day and night... yet although the scenery must be all but routine to him, The Archmage watched each and every one by my side. He guessed the density of clouds with me. We traded speculations on whether this day was more vibrant than the last (it always was). He held me with his kindly eyes as I babbled on and on, rushing to and fro from one side of the massive windows to the other and filling the air with whatever spontaneous thoughts came to my mind.
The truth was, The Archmage didn't really care about the sunset.
He cared about me.
...
Dusk settles on the land like a heavy fog, and the earth grows quiet. The twittering of the birds dies and the scuttlings in the underbrush ceases. A new, darker, music rises from the land as clouds unveil a baleful red moon. It sits there in the sky, suspended in the air like the eye of a slain deity - staring blindly down upon the darkness in the land. It looks down at me, and I sense an uncaring presence. I stare up at it and I wrap my cloak more tightly about myself.
Blood moon...
The low hoots of owls ring out at odd intervals, the silence between the sounds nearly as profound as their utterances. Frogs cry to each other in the dark, altogether sounding cold and lonely. The faraway screeches of swarming demon eyes tickle my ears, the cackling of coyotes and jackals makes my skin crawl. Far, far below - the groanings of the rotted undead rise up like a stench. The scrape of dirt and marrow. The wheeze of air escaping fetid lungs.
These... are my companions for tonight. Fitting companions, perhaps - for my heart is cold and rotten.
Because The Archmage is dead...and there's nothing I can do about it.
It's been an entire day since I'd stormed my way out of the Lunatic Cultist's Tower and took refuge in the skies. I didn't know where I was going, I didn't know what I was fleeing - but I flew as if hell itself were nipping at my heels. Rage? Yes, it certainly coursed through me. Self-pity? I had it in abundance. Careening hatred for myself and everyone around me? Yes. Despair as black as pitch to stain my heart and my tongue? Crushing, miserable Guilt? Helplessness, like watching the stars fall from the sky? Mourning? Anxiety?! Loss?!
...
Apathy.
Eventually, simple, utter apathy.
Because The Archmage is gone; there's nothing I can do about it.
There's nothing to be done.
And there's no use crying.
...
Why mourn, anyways? I was alone when I came into this world, and I was completely fine. In losing The Archmage, have I not lost only that which I've gained? I am not significantly worse off now than before. I am powerful. I am free. Free to roam and tunnel and satisfy all of my curiosities... is that not what I longed for? Is that not what I was convinced would make me happy?
...
I sink my chin into my knees and crumble down against the prickly branches. The scent of pine needles is pungent and sharp and I breathe it deeply. In a sordid attempt to raise my mood, I flicker my thoughts back towards some choice joyous memories - but that which was once honey becomes ash in my mouth. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes.
I'm tired.
I'm alone now. Bereft of everything. What did The Tyrant say about me? That I'm a plague? A machine of war and destruction? Is everything I touch destined to collapse? It certainly seems that way.
Who did I spend the most time with? Where is he now? Slain by The Tyrant. What of The Resistance? My Home? Entirely demolished. I've made a mess of everything. Perhaps I really am a curse...
And although The Archmage knew all of this, he still held me close. He lavished me - the curse - with comfort and care. He was concerned for me and about me. He was my close companion, and for that short time I had come to rely on him, I had come to love him...
And now he's gone. The Archmage had disappeared without a trace, and in his absence, he left a darkness far deeper than the goodness he brought me. In an instant, the man became nothing but a jumble of bittersweet memories.
I'm done crying.
I can no longer muster the tears.
But there's an open wound in my heart that burns with searing loss. A black pit that sits in my belly like a cold stone. I want to dig a hole and bury myself. I want to lay down and lose myself in a sea of forgetfulness. I sigh, a loose rattling breath.
It hurts.
It hurts to be a plague.
Far, far worse than anything I could have imagined. Indeed, I would rather forego The Archmage's benevolence if only to avoid this deep despair that threatens to choke up my throat. Is this what is common to man? Is this the inevitable end to all mortals? Even The Archmage, for all his power and magic, has died... swallowed whole by death's great black maw, and in his stead, he left a grief that's so potent, it feels like my heart wants to rot away in my chest.
I cover my head and dig my nose into the crook of my elbow. I press the heel of my palm against my forehead.
It's not worth it.
If I had never known him, if I had never cared for him, or loved him or been loved by him, would I be suffering now? Certainly not. I wouldn't give his death a second thought. If only I had remained untethered, aloof, apart, alone, I would have continued in my merry way, amassing power and working towards...
What was I working towards?
Slaying The King?
...
The moon looms down. Darkness closes around me like cold velvet. I... want to sleep. I need to escape for a little bit. I don't want to think of The Tyrant right now.
I don't want to think of anything at all.
Haah... haah... haah...
Spit. Blood. Harsh breath. Gritted teeth. There was a hammer pounding against the inside of his skull. His stout limbs were leaden. Blood and spittle froze his bushy red beard until all he could taste was that terrible coppery tang.
That Damn Tyrant... damn... damn!
Already, his extremities have gone numb. He had lost too much blood. How many arrows were sticking from his back? The Dwarf officer shivered at that thought and fixed his eyes forward. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to look. The most important thing for him, right now, was to flee as far as he could from the massacre at The Resistance Headquarters.
*crunch... crunch...*
The Frozen ground crunched beneath his heels. The chill of ice was painful though his thinning soles. How long had he been running? Dwarves were a hardy species, but an entire day of trekking with no food or rest had The Demolitionist dreadfully exhausted.
"I... need ta' keep going..."
The Tyrant! Damn! Wasn't The Hero supposed to fight him? Didn't Braelor promise that The Resistance would be invincible once they had a Terrarian?! What the hell happened then!? The Demolitionist didn't know. He gritted his teeth and kept trudging, even as his vision flickered and his brain sloshed in his head. He hadn't the energy to be angry. He knew that dogs were on his trail, and agents not far behind. He was well aware what would happen if they caught up to him. The rest of his platoon had either been mauled to death by the dogs, or swiftly beheaded by Clandestine Corps. The Dwarf officer scarcely had time to mourn them as he fled wildly into the caves.
*crunch... tump*
...
He limped on and on and on, plodding one tired foot ahead of the other as the yelping of dogs echoed through the cavern passages. They were gaining on him. Soon enough, they would catch him, but damn if The Demolitionist wasn't gonna try to escape. He was a Resistance member. His type didn't lay down to die even in the direst of circumstances.
crunch... tump*
...
crunch... tump*
...
...?
The air... did it just change? No, he must be imagining things. It was pitch black all around, the icy drafts of The Northern Mountains were cold enough to freeze the spit off his lips... so where was this warm wind coming from?
The Demolitionist blinked and reached out a trembling hand to touch the cavern walls. To his great shock, they weren't of icy granite, but rather moist, rich soil! Tiny roots tangled in his fingers, lichen and moss brushed his knuckles. Thoroughly perplexed, The Demolitionist raised his eyes and peered as hard as he could into the darkness. He perked his ears to listen for any sounds, any hints as to what had happened to him.
(*chitter...tweet*)
Birds?!
The yipping CC dogs had fallen silent. Warm air seeped down from above where The Dwarf officer could make out the bare hints of sunlight. What in the world? he thought, as he pushed his tired body onwards.
...
He could see light now. A sparkle of giddy day cutting a swath from above. The scent of pine trees and wildflowers. Of grass and fields. Had he died and gone to Valhalla? No, his injuries were still weeping blood. His joints were still screaming with each movement.
He was very much alive, inexplicably having been transported from the frozen northern wastelands to... wherever this was.
Am... I saved?
Adrenaline. Joy. But the joy was tainted by his lightheadedness and the slow leak of blood trailing rivets down his back. Each progressive step was exhausting. The stony knoll seemed to him like an impossible expanse... but up there, up there was his hope. His salvation was waiting for him up in the field above.
He was a Resistance member. He had no bread. He had no drink. His body was falling apart, on the very brink of death... but he had hope.
And The Demolitionist... yes, he could live off hope.
Yharim: ur bad
Faze: (crying, sipping his depresso)
Finally, faze is gonna start his journey as an actual terrarian. :).
