Eyo
Armour: None
Weapon: None
Acc(0/11): None
Health: (213/425)
Armour: Victide Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: [UNUSABLE]Mandible Bow (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Sailfish Boots, Luxor's Gift, Ocean Crest, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, Tsunami in a Bottle, Frog Leg, Aero Stone, Shield of the Ocean
Health: (350/400)
It was sobering to watch the trees denigrate.
Those beautiful rustling leaves which danced in the rays of the sun, casting on the ground transparent glowing shadows - ah, he could scarcely bear to leave them. He could still feel the gentle sunshine on his skin. The blue sky was breathtakingly lovely, as deep and pure as he remembered it... but already he could see it no longer. The sun was shrouded in pungent smog, the heavens concealed under a veil of fetid vapour. It made his heart ache. It made each step painful.
Yet he walked.
He left that lovely, lush land and returned to these stinking mists, the place that was infested with thorns and thistles. He left behind the sweet, stirring breeze that was such a stark contrast to The Crimson's odour, it was like honey to his tongue. How he trembled and wretched and gagged as he once again subjected himself to the Crimson stench. But regardless, he continued onwards, forging his way back into The Crimson borderlands, back along the paths to his now-ruined home.
And as he walked, he could clearly see the progression of corruption in the trees. He watched the leaves become pale and brittle, forgoing their vibrant green for a sickly white, flecked with strange, pulsing veins. The trunks as well, strong solid wood becoming blackened and feeble, the bark rapidly mottled into an ashen gray. The trunks and roots curled up and in on themselves, as if the trees were cringing at the taste of corrupted soil.
It was no wonder that they did.
The Terrarian was well aware what lay beneath the thick mat of scarlet grass. He knew that blood ran over and under the land. The blood of men curdled with the burning ichor of the gods. It was a deadly concoction, seeping into every living thing and warping them into a creative diversity of monsters. He had tasted that blood. He had smothered himself in it. He knew it very intimately, as for a time, it even flowed in his own veins! The wicked blood had hijacked his body to swell and grow, drinking his blood to produce fleshy cysts, additional organs and eyes embedded in his guts. After cutting himself free from that horrendous suit, it still pursued him - for it was of him. Those were his limbs, his eyes, his bones. The strange creature, his own despised offspring, wanted to be whole with him once more, but-
...
But of course, he had mercilessly blown it to pieces as it struggled in the water. He had hurled dynamite at it until it was reduced to nothing but a wriggling mass of meat mash. It had meant him no harm. He was aware that it hadn't hurt him despite his very overt attempts to stab it to death (perhaps it recognized him as part of itself, The Terrarian hadn't a clue), but despite it all, he hadn't a single iota of pity to offer his own flesh and blood.
And not even for his severed arm, which after much effort, had now returned to his side. He had looked forward to this moment with great longing - the chance to once again be made whole! To repossess the power he was born with. To once again wield his bow and to dominate whatever dared to stand in his way... To once again become useful, and to earn his keep...
But alas, his hopes were merely empty air. He'd found his arm... but it was dead. It would not re-attach. Even when he opened a hole on his shoulder stump and jabbed the thing in, it would not take. It merely dangled limply and uselessly before falling to the ground. To imagine this was his hope? This was his chance for redemption?! How utterly unsatisfying. How morbidly depressing.
And now, I've truly lost everything...
How discouraged he was when he saw it dangling limply in The Party Girl's grasp. When he received it from her, he instantly knew something was amiss. The skin was of sickly pallor, as white and stiff as a corpse. There appeared to be some sort of strange activity upon its skin. Skin and muscle growing and being consumed at the same time, flesh rotting and healing simultaneously. A wound opened of its own volition; the laceration was healed. The skin began to necrotize, then it was made whole. There wasn't a single moment where The Arm didn't sport some horrible malady, only for it to vanish and be replaced by another injury. The Terrarian had studied it closely, but for the life of him could not discern what causing the gruesome phenomenon.
...useless...
He sighed bitterly and fixed his eyes on the path before him. He could only see, perhaps, thirty meters ahead before the smog obscured his eyesight, but he knew these paths well. He had walked them with The Guide, back when this place was beautiful. When he thought back on that time, he was filled with a sense of yearning. He wished for this place to be beautiful once more... he wanted The Guide back.
If only he were alive, everything would be so much better.
The Guide hated silence. He would fill it with random talk, boring lectures, interesting ideas, unsolicited information... in the beginning, The Terrarian found it quite annoying, but now he missed it terribly. Walking in silence was was walking on glass... and those shards were digging deep. Although he carrried the sleeping Party Girl on his back, he was still very much alone. Why was it that such misfortune had befallen him? Why must he face it with his own failing strength? Was this simply how life was? Merely a collection of hardships through which one must struggle through?
...
Perhaps, but he would not think further on these existential matters. It made his brain hurt, and he was neither mentally nor emotionally equipped to deal with them. Had The Guide been alive, The Terrarian would have sat down with him and shared his heart, but alas... there was no one there for him any longer. He had no advocates. He had no friends. He was alone now.
An ignorant child, crippled and flailing, tossed to and fro in the winds and the waves.
Not unlike the 'offspring' he'd left in bloody chunks on the lakebed.
I'm going to die! I'm going to die! I'm going to di-
My breathing ceases, I can hear my breath shudder to a halt. A rattle tears from my throat. I know it's the end.
S-strong! Incredibly strong!
My vision flickers and goes dark. Inky blackness blooms across my sight, blotting away the man who had effortlessly slaughtered me. I... I hate him! Yet I am terrified of him. The Titan, Braelor! I hate him with everything in me, but my heart shrinks at the very prospect of standing before that scythe again. I've lost, completely and utterly. I was a fly, swatted away by a giant. I was killed not because I was a threat, but because I'd been annoying.
It hurts.
Hot shame runs wet down my cheeks. How humiliating to be slaughtered like a goat and paraded about for all to see! I can hear snickering from the crowd, their murmurings, their mutterings. Some laugh at me. Some click their tongues in pity. Some sigh in disappointment. They're judging me. Me! These worms dare cast their opinions on me?! I
Is this the taste of defeat? How bitter it is.
How far it reduces a man.
It makes him a worm.
Stupid! Gghh-
I'm almost grateful when the darkness swallows me. Velvety, prickling blackness consumes my body, spreading all about, dissolving me, digesting me. I feel as if I'm falling to pieces! My legs are gone! My hands! My throat! I'm dying!
I try to scream, but there was no air in my lungs. There is only darkness and that blade. My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth and sticks there, disobedient and unmoving. I taste rubbery flesh, blood and that glowing scythe at the back of my throat. That blade... Braelor's blade, entered from under my ribcage, shattering and destroying everything in its path as it sliced upwards. It ravaged my insides until the blade pierced my windpipe and then my tongue. I can still feel it embedded there. The pain is unbearable. I've never felt such pain before. I cannot resist it; I cannot fight it. All I can do is suffer.
Every moment feels like an eternity. The pain is killing me. Its eating away at me. Its destroying me. I'm going to vanish, I'm going to disappea-
...
...Then my brain stopped.
The thoughts simply vanished from my mind. Suddenly, I was floating in a deep black pit. I looked up to see an infinite emptiness above; I looked down into an infinite emptiness beneath. How long had I hung there? I couldn't know. It felt like an instant and a thousand years. The emptiness was predatory; it exerted great pressure upon me, crushing me, squeezing me as if to shatter me to dust... but I couldn't feel it. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. I was just there...
I'm dead.
*THUNK*
"Haaaah!"
Everything panics. My body gasps for air, sucking in the... horrible taste of rotting flesh with a frantic hunger. Every muscle in my body strains and flexes, flailing about in a momentary hysteria. Oh no, no no! Am I dead?! What's happening?! I clutch my chest and cry out, fingernails scraping on bare skin. Tears run from beneath my eyelids and I'm filled with the compulsion to flee- but where to? No, I must overcome these base instincts.
Every muscle in my body twitches. Every nerve ending fires, but I ignore it all. I take deep breaths, sucking in the fetid scents with a grim determination. I musn't panic. I have seen what happens to men and armies when they panic, and would not subject myself to a similar fate. My heart hammers so loudly against my ribcage that I'm afraid it will burst. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait. I need to handle this first...
Okay...
okay...
phew...
My breathing becomes even; my heartbeat slows, yet I still keep my eyes squeezed shut. The ground beneath me is warm, spongy and damp. I feel fluid pooling up from where I am depressing the fleshy substance. Something is slowly shifting against me, but for the moment, it doesn't seem to be aggressive. I can feel something sharp pricking my cheeks but I consciously ignore it. I ignore everything, for at this moment, I am afraid for my psyche. I had never faced danger until now. I had never been thrown into an unknown place before. I need to take things slowly in order to maintain my bearings.
Okay... okay...Good.
First, Who am I?... I know who I am. I'm The Hero. I had just been killed by The Figurehead of The Resistance. I had died... The blade had torn through me - bisecting me easily. My heart had been obliterated. My lungs crushed into pulp. My innards had become outers. My organs had spilled to the floor. I had certainly died, but now, I'm alive. My heart is whole; I can feel it beating. My lungs are restored; I can feel the breath in them. The pain of my great wound is gone, all I can feel the wetness of the stinking liquid prickling and pooling around me. I can smell and taste the vile odour of necrotized flesh, but the flesh is not my flesh, the blood is not my blood.
Yes, I'm certainly alive.
But where am I?
Perhaps I've been collected, wrapped up and thrown into the bathhouse? Perhaps I'm in a morgue. Maybe My Teacher has me in some sort of healing capsule? Likely. From the way the air hits my skin, I know I've been stripped naked (for treatment, I suppose) and the air is far too stale for me to be outdoors. I sigh and begin to speak before even opening my eyes.
"Teacher, surely you could have chosen a more pleasant smelli-"
...
The words die on my tongue.
Because My Teacher isn't here.
I'm alone.
Alone in this strange, ghastly land.
I blink and glance around. Where is this? I'm laying on my side, my cheek pressed against... against what looks like grass, but of an strange scarlet hue. Is... is this natural grass? I've only read of grass being green, sometimes blueish, and yellow when it was dead and dried... but never red, and never of such offending odor. What was this fluid pooled about me? Blood? But not fresh. Rancid. Blood mixed with a strange yellow substance that prickled and burned wherever it touched my skin.
I sit up, and the ground squirms, motile, around me. Is... This is not soil. There is blood running on the ground. Blood, and veins, and arteries. Skin, muscle, tumors and fatty deposits risen in great lumps. Organs of men and animals. Lungs on trees, billowing away. Thornbushes with eyes. Teeth growing in the ground. What is this place!?
I stand to my feet, noting the scratches the grass left on my skin and the rashes from the burning ichor. They heal almost immediately, so I'm not worried. I poke at my chest a few time - where Braelor had pierced me with his blade - but there was no evidence of injury whatsoever. I suppose that is one thing I should be thankful for...
I... I suppose I've been given a second chance? But where is this?
The landscape lays before me like a panoramic hellscape. I see the corpses of giants and dragons. Ancient skeletons killed eons ago. Killed by what? Perhaps the land itself? There is no doubt in my mind that this place is very much alive, alive and malicious. The earth is red. The sky is gray. The very sight fills me with uneasiness. Where is this? Why am I here? Was I sent here? And if so, for what purpose?
Hell...
The word appears in my mind.
Yes, I've read of hell, but only briefly. Hell is a place of punishment.
Did... Did Braelor send me here to punish me? To"Teach me a lesson"?
Everything within me curdles in disgust. Am I here to suffer punishment? Am I supposed to stay here until I become repentant and return to mindlessly obeying the orders of The Resistance? I can feel my face twist into a snarl. My hands start to shake. Liquid rage wells from my chest and fills my head... How dare they!
I scream it aloud in a rather childlike manner. It doesn't make me feel much better, but perhaps it's better than keeping it bottled up. I throw back my head and hollar. I shout. I scream. I stomp my feet. I kick at the fleshy ground until it peels away, revealing the dirt beneath.
"GOD DAMNIT! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN!"
The Land recognizes my presence now. I've drawn its attention with the racket I've been making... but I don't care. If I had my wand, I would have obliterated the weird flesh that covers this place already, but alas - I have only my hands and feet. Not even my armour or the civilian clothing beneath. How annoying. If only there was a way to channel mana throu-
...
Huh?
How strange.
Perhaps my small tantrum wasn't entirely pointless. The Crimson flesh had peeled away where I had attacked it. The slab of skin was disgusting, pulsing and bleeding everywhere - but, although it was interesting to look at, I wasn't concerned with it.
What was concerning was the imprint beneath.
Lines were cut in the hardened dirt beneath the parasitic outgrowth. Sharp lines, and quite legible as well! I knew what this was. My focus is offensive magic, but, naturally, I've also studied summoning spells - albeit briefly. This... this is a summoning circle.
And... and I've appeared in the middle of it!
What in the world!
Quickly, I grab hold of that squirming flesh and rip it off the ground, revealing more of the circle's text. What's this? Ein Terraner ... knächten sie alle zu finden... Dunkel zu führen und lebende Opfer ewig zu binden... I can't make out all the words. Living... Sacrifice? Cost of... The words are smudged, and some of the characters I still do not know the meaning of. Yet what I am certain of is that this is My Teacher's handwriting. Undoubtedly so. This summoning circle is the work of his hands.
Why have I appeared in the middle of it?
I-
I Am...
Am I a summoning?!
Am I made of the lives of humans? Humans?! Those insects! How many humans was I worth?! Where are the bodies!? Am I a mere creation that was manufactured, planned and bartered over? Are the people upon whom I look so scornfully upon actually my creators? The idea causes me to tremble. Questions fly through my brain. Who am I?! Where did I come from! Am I a commodity that was bought and paid for? No wonder The Resistance dealt with me with such a sense of possession. Perhaps they had commissioned me. Perhaps they own me...
Nonsense.
I belong to no one.
My origins are the past.
I am not beholden to dealings that took place before my birth. I will strike out on my own now. I will travel. I will be free...
Yet, my curiosity gets the better of me. There is no harm in reading the rest of the spell, is there? I walk to the next portion of the Circle's text and begin to tear apart the fleshy covering, ripping through the strange cyst-like outgrowth that pulses, but this time - the land retaliates. Ropes of sinew lash out, binding my ankles to the ground. Teeth rise up and clumsily strike at me. I curl my lip. How annoying. Its enough that I need to suffer sharp fangs and thorns piercing the soles of my feet, but now the land wants to eat me? Nonsense. I kick away the binds. I demolish the cyst. There is nothing this land can do to me, it is far too weak. It cannot harm-
*rumble*
I blink. A shiver goes down my spine. Did the ground just shake?
The land grows still.
The air grows close and stale.
And in the distance, I see great worms, plunging towards me.
I turn.
I run.
Hero: Speaking Magic language- Junge ich sag dir, du hast so nichts drauf
Resistance members: Thank you for your blessing, Hero
Guide: What did you guys get in your yearbook?
Party Girl: 'Prettiest Smile'
Golfer: 'Nice Personality'
Slayer: 'Most likely to start a bar fight'
Faze: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'
bro so Hero be like, "damn after getting killed i feel so bad... i feel like a worm"
the perforaters be like, bitch i heard that
;0