The village looked almost complete when Bradley and I arrived. "I'm afraid Kyle's old house isn't vacant anymore," I apologized as we reached the wellspring hill. "There's two brick rooms under that house, though, if you like."
There was a black-and-red sword in the weapons chest, forged from glowing crimtane, strong but brutish. "A blood butcherer," said Bradley as I held it up. "One could call crimtane the marrow of Cthulhu's bones, the richest part of his strength. Certainly, a threatening blade."
I shuddered. The hilt felt greasy in my hand, sticky on some parts and slippery on others, as if the sword was coated with congealing spots began to play across my vision. "I... I don't think I'll use it," I said weakly, dropping the sword into the chest and slamming it shut. "I mean- I'm sure it's good, but-"
I broke off. I'd expected Bradley to lecture me on the importance of improving my equipment, perhaps shake his head disapprovingly. Instead, he just stood there, grinning. "Well, it's your choice, since you're the one using them," he pointed out.
Bradley was different from Kyle or Jack; I felt as if we were on the same level. He didn't wake me up in the morning, but he was there to greet me when I came downstairs for breakfast. He wasn't a teacher. He was a friend.
"I don't see the point in overwhelming you with information," the guide told me. "But whenever you want a chat, I'll be here to answer your questions." And indeed, we had many conversations, especially as I explored the tunnels over the next few weeks.
Most of the chests that Rose had brought to the surface were made or gold. There was one chest, however, that was stained green and coated with cobwebs. I kept this chest by the underground river, usually to store gravestones.
One night, I found out where it came from. In one of the deepest caverns, I discovered a small pit in the floor. Most of the caves had been fairly well-lit, you see; Rose almost always left at least one torch behind, and I would add others. The cave beneath the small pit, however, was pitch-black, impossible to see.
I held up a torch.
Pale, bulbous forms with long, hairy legs; they climbed the black walls, clicking and whispering. Horrified, I stared down into the spider nest, crisscrossed with strings and sheets of webs, cluttered with dangling silk pods and webbed corpses. Wall-creepers scrambled around each other, crawling over tangled webs nd discarded bones.
I sealed the entrance with rocks and and never went there again.
I resumed work on my floating island. Something Rose said was bothering me... She'd suggested building an arena. Why? For future invasions, she said. The goblins had left, but they would return. It was just a matter of time.
I intended to convert it into a shelter, an airborne city where the others could hide during future invasions. Rose had already replaced the long rope with a long chain. I just needed to expand the island until it was large enough for housing units.
Twice, I ran out of dirt, and had to gather more from Alabaster, coming upon a life crystal on the second time. I recall that life crystsl vividly because I saw my first underground cabin-the sort with planked walls and wooden beams-not long after. The architecture, though simple, impressed me.
The floating island soon became ten times its original size, no longer a tiny floating slab of dirt. Soon, I had a floating mass of land with a flat surface and a jagged underside like a dragon. I spent a day constructing support posts under the island to prevent its collapse.
Bradley kept everything running peacefully in the village. I was particularly grateful to him.
My new silver plate armor had the unnerving look of a templar knight, but was too bulky for me to simply cover with other armor. Take this," said Ahirom, handing me a scroll. "This will allow you to cover your armor with more aesthetically pleasing garb."
The scroll contained a spell that not only concealed inner armor within outer armor, but distributed its weight over my body evenly instead of concentrating it downward, without compromising its strength. Using the scroll's magic, I melded the silver plate armor to the inside of my lead chainmail.
With a new platinum sword in hand, I headed out to find the Dungeon, following the ghost-figure's advice-the advice of someone who I was beginning to suspect was not a ghost at all. Climbing over the west hill, I crossed the lakes and entered the tundra, stopping to rest at the snow-tower.
"Careful!" snapped Guido as I entered, almost knocking over a bucket of white paint that he'd left by the front door. I'm not sure why it would bother him if white paint spilled on the floor, which was made of compacted snow bricks anyway.
Into the tundra, through the snow-caves; I crossed several lakes and entered the woodland on the opposite shore, staring down into a bowl-like valley. There were more rivers here, more running streams. Trees towered high over my head.
I was growing tired; but I couldn't sleep out in the open, not with zombies roaming. Even if the ghost-figure saved me from death, I'd fought too hard to come this far just to wake up in the grass-cave again. At the foot of a small but steep hill, I dug a small underground room and sealed the top with living wood for the night.
At noon the next day, I discovered the Dungeon. Crossing one final lake, I climbed up onto the shore, staring at the giant ruin towering over me, weathered blue bricks with majestic columns that were easily three times my height, perhaps more.
I saw an old man with long, shaggy hair and a white beard wandering around the columns at the entrance-the one Faye and the ghost-figure had spoken of. His eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep, every step straining. Could this frail old man really be Skeletron in disguise?
Suddenly, he spun around to face me. At once, I was taken aback by his gleaming red eyes, penetrating and intense. With surprising agility, he rushed at me, grabbing my neck and forcing my face up. I was so astonished that my sword clattered to the floor.
His harsh eyes studied me, scrutinized me, scanning me for something. Then, scowling, he released me, leaving me gasping. "Another young idiot, thinking the treasures within are his to take," he spat bitterly, looking away. "I cannot let you enter-unless you free me of my curse."
I stared as he stumbled away. His last few words felt flat, dismissive, as if the notion of me breaking his curse was ridiculous. "Wait," I called as he put one hand on the dungeon's door. "Are you cursed by Skeletron?"
He shuddered at that name and glared at me, his hand shaking. "Your curiosity will be your undoing," growled the old man, his eyes flashing. "The god of the undead has claimed my body as his shell. I am beyond saving."
I was hesitant; the name of Skeletron had induced terror in my homeworld. But this was what the ghost-figure told me to do, after all, right? "What if I fight him?" I persisted. "I'm sure if I defeat Skeletron, your curse will be broken."
His hands curled into fists, his fingers bony and pale. "My master cannot be summoned under the light of day," he snapped. "Leave this place. Go home. You can do nothing for me." And he went inside, slamming the door behind him.
Above the entrance, I caught sight of some books lined up on a shelf. Using my new emerald hook, I climbed up to the books and retrieved them.
These books became some of my most precious belongings. They contained a wealth of information on Terraria... its inhabitants, its perils, its rewards... and I eagerly read them until night fell.
Some pages told of familiar phenomena, described the effectiveness of various weapons. Others were alien to me. I first saw what the Dungeon Guardians looked like from a picture in one book. The ghost-figure's warning had left a mark on me, and I dared not enter the Dungeon without the old man's permission.
As for Skeletron himself... Always, he chose an old man as his host, his slave. He had a hold upon the land that the Eye of Cthulhu couldn't hope to match; he was inextricably tied to the innermost fibers of Terraria itself. And yet-he was not invincible. He could be bested...
Consistently, I found references to a fearsome entity dwelling in the Underworld. King of Demons, Lord of Hell, Infinite Hunger; but always, always they stopped short of its true name. And in the section where this entity's information ought to be, I found only a torn-out page. And yet... the entity felt familar...
The Underworld... That was right. Rose had said, at some point, that she'd literally tunneled into Hell. I don't believe I wrote about that moment in earlier entries-I can't remember when it happened or what I was doing. But she'd brought back a hellforge with her, hadn't she?
It was evening-it was time to face Skeletron. As the moon rose into the sky, I put away the books, readied my sword, and knocked on the dungeon door.
The door creaked open, and the old man stared at me. From the books, I knew the proper phrase to summon Skeletron. "Invoke your curse," I told him firmly.
His face went pale, his red eyes glowing. "You pathetic fool!" he shouted at me. "You cannot hope to face my master as you are now."
"Invoke your curse," I repeated, pointing my sword at him. "Awaken, Skeletron!"
Gripping the wall tightly, the old man shuddered, spasming forward. His veins bulged, his skin shriveling. Then, with a terrible shriek, his bones-Skeletron's bones- ripped out from his body with sickening pop, rising into the air.
Lord of Necromancers, God of the Living Dead; Skeletron towered above me, a giant skull with a pair of skeletal arms bound by shadows. The night air took on an eerie, tingling chill.
"You have trespassed upon the realm of living death," whispered Skeletron, his voice like the rattle of dried bones, the creak of old joints. "May you become dust again..."
My platinum sword couldn't scratch him; my boomerang did nothing to stall him. His bony hands grabbed for me as I grappled up to the ceiling; his fingers sliced through my greaves like tinfoil, the pain penetrating straight to the bone.
"What chance do you stand before a god?" rasped Skeletron as I hit the floor, blindly flinging knives toward his voice, sinking them into the ceiling. "What power has life against death?"
The old man had been right. I was not ready. Gasping, I managed to uncork a flask of red potion, drinking it down; but already, his hands swept me up and flung me aside.
Struggling to my feet, I tried to flee; but I had barely reached the pavilion's edge when Skeletron came crashing down through the ceiling to crush me, his skull whirling like a turbine.
Scrambling to the door, I hurried inside the dungeon. No guardians emerged from the walls. I lifted another healing flask to my mouth, but again, a wave of nausea came over me. Panicking, I patted my pockets for my knives as Skeletron emerged from the wall.
Jaws clicking, Skeletron descended upon me, his sockets vast and empty. Skull whirling with blinding speed, the god of the living dead crushed me with an awful crunch.
As I drifted back from my body, every nerve still screaming with pain, I stared in horror as Skeletron's hand reached out for me, fingerbones slowly closing in on me.
Then, down below, I saw the ghost-figure, swimming up from the darkness toward me. I saw a ball of blue light drift up from his shoulder. At a twitch of the ghost-figure's hand, jets of light flashed from the sphere, striking Skeletron's skull repeatedly.
Screeching, the undead god recoiled from the ghost-figure, drawing back his hands. Shaking his head fiuriously, Skeletron turned and fled into the dark.
Floating up to me, the ghost-figure took my hand, and led me away...
This was the hardest revival for me yet. I still felt the cold chills of Skeletron's aura when I woke in the grass-cave, his grating voice. Feeling ill, I stared down at my hands. It was morning.
Once again, I had escaped death; my body had miraculously been restored. And yet, I didn't feel like some sort of magical being who could escape death again and again. Every cold tingle on my skin, every bone-nudging touch assured me that I was very much mortal.
Outside the cave, I found a young woman with magenta hair and a dark pink top. She wore a black skirt and knee-high striped socks; she had glittering eyeshadow and lipstick. I was tempted to walk past her, but she was blocking the doorway. "Who are you?" I said hazily.
She gave a toss of her hair. "The name's Fantasy, but you can call me honey," she said softly, breathily. "They call me a party girl, and for good reason." She patted the gray bricks. "Is this your tower? It's perfect... for just the two of us."
Unamused, I placed her residence flag in the room next to Bradley's.
A/N: The aforementioned books are based on the Terraria Gamepedia Wiki.