Happy thanksgiving yall!
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Infernal Rift, Stormfront Razor
Acc(10/11): Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Celestial Emblem, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf.
Health: (425/500)
Armour: Victide Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: Tendon 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: (400/400)
He'd been too impulsive.
Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed his annoyance to turn into violence. The Terrarian didn't usually have difficulty controlling these smaller temper tantrums, but after last night's Revelation, he made the express decision not to. 'The townspeople are expendable', he had told himself 'I can dispose of them whenever I want' he had assured. But clearly, this laissez faire mentality had landed him in hot water - and he really should have anticipated it.
(You are out of control, Slayer! What is wrong with you!)
Why hadn't he been more careful?! The Guide surely would've caught him sooner or later - and although The Guide, at various times, had instructed him to dispose of specific individuals, The Terrarian was well aware his companion was of gentle constitution and was rather bothered by violence in general.
Perhaps that was soft of him. Perhaps it was a sign of weakness or even cowardice... but it was precisely because The Guide was always so genteel, so level-headed and so accommodating that his admonitions stung like brazen whips. The Terrarian, even at such a tender age, was no stranger to being reviled. He was well aware of the things The Townspeople said about him. He had been plotted against. He had been the subject of murder attempts. He'd been called an animal. He'd been called a monster.
But that entire heap of insults was nothing compared to the bitter disappointment that was now carved into The Guide's face. Truly, The Terrarian hadn't ever felt quite so ashamed of himself - and he wasn't exactly sure why. Indeed he had killed hundreds, no, thousands of creatures in his time. Some were sentient, others were not. The Guide, mostly, didn't seem bothered enough to comment on it; The Terrarian had likewise continued to slaughter with a clear conscience. After all, hadn't The Guide given him this name? Surely he wouldn't have been christened 'The Slayer' had he not been born to kill.
"Slayer, What did you do?"
And so, why was it that The Guide, his Guide was so wroth with him? The man's scowl was accentuated with his sullen complexion and exhausted demeanor. He looked like a wound up spring, under so much stress he might snap at any moment. Thin, wiry and still smelling strongly of death and fire - his tawny coloured hair was mussed and stuck up in all directions. Had he not been wearing a clean, pressed set of clothes - he could easily be mistaken for a member of the walking dead.
And, the man who looked about ready to drop dead from stress and fatigue was expending the little energy he had to shout at him... and it felt awful.
The Terrarian couldn't say he was necessarily surprised. Some part of him had a murky sense as to why The Guide was angry with him. He generally didn't like when creatures that looked similar to himself were killed... but, most creatures didn't simply revive at the end of the day! He had killed The Merchant - perhaps, but if he came back tomorrow morning, did he ever really die? By calculation there was no loss of life. How could anyone claim he had 'killed' when his victim was living, breathing and walking around?
"Slayer!"
...
The Terrarian squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath. His logic was... probably faulty in one way or another. He was certain if he presented his argument to The Guide, it'd be poked full of holes and dismantled. But ultimately, logic didn't mean too much to him. He had - quite upsettingly - come to realize he was more of an emotional creature than he had originally thought. He found himself driven by the winds of his heart, and he had no choice as to where his heart fell. If he was bound by guilt, he could do nothing about it. He could argue with himself. He could try and assuage that gnawing remorse eating his bowels with reasonings and distractions - but he had never once succeeded in killing the beast. It controlled him, and he hated it.
This is... becoming unmanageable.
But what could he do? Was this all The Guide's doing? Perhaps, but he couldn't do anything about that either. He didn't know anything. He could see neither the problem nor the solution. How helpless he was! He could brazenly face down every creatures in the caverns, but could not even manage himself. The Terrarian fidgeted, rubbing the stumps of his missing fingers, as his still feeble brain struggled to process these nebulous concepts. Control and Madness? Authority and subjugation? Ah, when did life become so convoluted? Things used to be so simple.
...
If... If only These Townspeople hadn't come to his compound! Yes, this must be somebody's fault - and surely these uninvited visitors were to blame. They had manipulated The Guide. They had probably manipulated him as well! Some of the townspeople were harmless, yes - even helpful! but the vast majority had been dangerous. It was not only for his own sake that The Terrarian had disposed of The Merchant, it was for The Guide's sake as well... probably.
The Merchant could be evil too...
Was it unreasonable to assume The Merchant would be just like his predecessor? They looked the same. They had the same appearance. The fulfilled the same function. The other Merchant had led an insurrection that cost The Terrarian two limbs and his pride. He had worked in tandem with Amidas to craft that spell which had cast The Guide to the very brink of death. The Terrarian had no love for The Townspeople. He would happily kill a thousand of them for the sake of The Guide. They were only two people that mattered. The rest of the world could burn, and he wouldn't lift a finger to help.
"...Are you ignoring me?!"
And so, he was (tentatively) justified by his devotion. It didn't matter what anyone thought, he would not stop protecting what was his. Was this not a good use of his power? Was this not a pure and noble cause? to preserve and protect the things he loved? Indeed... But...
But the guilt in his guts was heavy.
He hung his head beneath The Guide's scorching gaze, unable to meet those eyes even from between the gaps in his visor. Who was it that had he so gravely insulted?! The Guide. The Guide who was always by his side; the one who have given him everything he now had - perhaps he'd even conceived him! How small he felt. Although he stood a few inches taller than his senior (due the the elevation of his armoured soles, mostly) The Terrarian felt like an insect beneath a magnifying glass. He could not escape wheresoever he went.
Not trusting himself to speak, he remained silent.
*Clack*
There was a sharp noise as The Terrarian's slatted visor was flipped up, exposing half his face to the heat of The Guide's glare. He averted his eyes, but per usual - The Guide saw straight through him. He spoke again, but this time - the signs of anger had been mostly been reigned in. He had lowered his voice to speak in the slow, serious tone of a disciplinary parent - but could not hide his underlying snarl. He re-posed the question.
"Slayer, why? The Merchant, now The Party Girl... What's gotten into you?"
How could he answer that question?! The Terrarian knew that nothing he said would satisfy The Guide. Fighting hard to keep his composure, he led with his carefully prepared lie... something he would very quickly come to regret.
"I... did nothing. He left on his own."
"He left?!"
The Guide scoffed incredulously. All of his patience dissolved in an instant. His brow was suddenly dark, and his lips twisted into an even more pronounced scowl. He hissed; The Terrarian cringed. "The Merchant decided to go play tag with zombies in the middle of the night for no reason at all?! Nonsense! Don't lie to me!"
"I didn't-"
At the beginnings of a denial, The Guide narrowed his eyes and seized him by the muff of his winter cloak, his fingers hooking into the pristine white fur like the talons of a hawk. He was clearly insulted by the lie. Did he take it as an affront to his intelligence? Perhaps, but The Terrarian was far too terrified in that moment to really consider it. In the moment The Guide had grabbed him, he reached up and snapped down his visor - holding it down over his face with both hands, simultaneously blocking his gaze and also shielding him from any other 'attacks' The Guide might otherwise levy against him.
He repeated his mantra in a small voice. The Guide, having been lied to, was uninclined to forgive him so easily.
"He left... in the middle of the night."
"Oh, Did he?! Are you sure you didn't drag him out?!"
"No, I mean y-yes-"
"..."
There was a long moment of silence between them. The morning sun seemed to be oblivious to the tension tight in the air. It cast it's merry rays down through the rustling green canopy. The wind blew westwards, carrying in it the scent of iron, blood, dirt and feral war. The Party Girl had long disappeared into her assigned housing unit. She would likely not come out until she felt it safe. The Dryad was still dormant, her essence was slow and pulsed like a weak heartbeat. The Terrarian wasn't sure what had tired her so - but she was likewise peripheral. The important one was standing on the doorstep of the first house, her mouth hanging open and her bright pink, freshly laundered hair pinned up in a design so intricate that The Terrarian didn't know what to make of it. She was the naked woman he had confronted last night who had traded a false testimony for her life. It was now that The Terrarian would make use of her. He lowered his hands to briefly make eye contact with her. Her expression changed, and he... well, he was never good at reading people, but he hoped she understood what he required.
(Slayer! Why did you kill that innocent man?! Don't you know that's wrong! How could you have done this-)
His brains sloshed in his skull as The Guide shook him by the collar of his cloak, angrily berating him. The Terrarian put up minimal resistance. His mind had flown elsewhere. The Army was nearly upon them. He heard the footsteps of a hundreds stout soldiers flattening the forest floor. He could hear the faint clanging of swords in their scabbards. He could hear the noise of arrows rattling in their quivers. There was bloodlust in the air - he could smell it. There was an army coming... they had come to wage war, and they were nearly upon them.
And The Guide was still here, standing in the open, ripe to be taken out by a wayward arrow or a thrown mace.
For a brief moment, The Terrarian forgot all about being terrified of His Guide, and became terrified for him. He shrugged off The Guide's grip and seized him by the wrists. The swift movement shocked The Guide, and he looked quite ready to attack him for his impudence. The Terrarian interjected before he could begin a lecture.
"Guide! Guide, they're coming!"
"I don't care who's coming, you're not getting out of this so easi-"
*thunk*
An arrow landed on the ground near their feet with a hearty thud. The sound seemed to take all the breath out of his verbose companion's lungs. There was another pregnant silence before The Guide shook his head and cast him an annoyed look, as if this invading army was merely an interruption.
"We are not done, young man."
He muttered, before quickly sprinting towards the nearest shelter - The Stylist's house. The door closed with a thump. The bolt was fastened. There was a screech as a bookcase was shifted to barricade the entrance.
...and The Terrarian breathed a sigh of relief.
When the goblins came crawling over the walls, mouths foaming and eyes bloodshot with frenzy, he was truly thankful to see them.
...
(rustle)
...
(crack)
...
...
Light.
Icy, clear, blue, glowing. It stabs me in the eyes and I quickly shut them as they begin to water. Coldness bites into my bare flesh. Frigid sparks dance over my skin, pricking like shocks of electricity as they flow into my wounds and freeze the gnawing pain burning there. In response, Adrenaline swells in my veins, stirring me to a panicked violence - but... but I can't move. My muscles have been arrested. They lie slack and rigid here on this icy table ignoring my terrified mental commands. Once more, I open my eyes to squint into the brilliant light.
"Awake now, are we?"
A deep voice interrupts my increasingly hysterical internal monologue. Its crisp and clear as glass chimes, and for a moment - I'm doubtful if it's human at all. Concerned, I try to lift my head to locate the source of the voice, but my neck muscles don't respond. I strain my eyes to my left, and am rewarded with the blurry outline of a figure. He's seated at my side. The sparks that are flickering all over my body originate from his outstretched palm. His face is strange - I can tell he's very old, but something about him looks preserved - as if he'd been encased in ice for a long, long time. His hair and long beard are white and covered in ice, his skin is pale and covered in frost. His eyes are a light, glowing cyan - not unlike the colour Cryogen emitted as it charged at m-
Its... Cryogen?! Ah! I survived!? I won!?
I try to speak, but my lungs refuse to provide the necessary air. I made do with a pathetic squeak and The Mysterious man chuckles.
"Apologies, young man. With warriors such as you, one can never be too careful. At best, your kind won't sit still. At worst, you attack everything around you. Please, bear with me for just a moment longer, The Corruption has taken a deep hold on you and has nigh liquified your innards. Although your natural regeneration is astonishing, I'm even more astonished you're still alive after that bloody mess."
He must have seen my brow darken, and responds with another laugh. The noise is like the sound of icicles tinkleing against each other. Its a strangely ethereal noise, and I let my adrenaline ebb into exhaustion. The magic is doing its work. I can feel the Corruption in me slowly freeze and die. With every passing moment, I am aware of my bones and muscles mending - my organs regenerating and slithering into place. The little stings of frostbitten electricity are certainly unpleasant, but I'm sure I'm no longer in danger. I shut my eyes once more.
To my left, The Mysterious man continues.
"... although I do wonder, what compelled you to traverse through that corrupted land before doing battle with my cursed prison? You are either very stupid, or very unlucky... Regardless, you may call me The Archmage, and I am very grateful to you, young man. After a hundred years, you have set me free. Pray tell, did somebody send you, if so, who?"
I blink my eyes open once more and am surprised to find the frozen hold on my jaw has slackened and my diaphragm has been released. Only then do I realize how drained I am. The Archmage didn't need to restrain me at all. I would barely have been able to move anyways. I flop my neck to the side to look at the man I'm speaking with. His eyes are cold, but there is a peculiar kindness about him. With much difficulty, I draw a breath and wheeze out an answer.
"The Resis...tance. Bra..aelor. H-he sent me."
The Archmage looks momentarily surprised, then scrunches his face in a grudging sort of understanding. He sighs. His breath is bitterly cold and causes goosebumps to rise up all over me. It's only then that I realize I've been stripped down to nothing... but I don't have the mental energy to get too worked up about it.
"Well... that's surprising. Braelor? I wonder why he didn't simply come on his own. Was he, perhaps, testing you, Young Man?"
The cold air numbs my lungs. I can barely make out my words.
"Braelor... he sent me ... to kill... me. Suicide... Mission"
There's a long pause. The Archmage's impressive eyebrows lift and he regards me with a silent doubt.
"Young man, what do they call you?"
"H-hero."
"Hero, are you not a Terrarian? You seem to have the qualities of one... ah, perhaps you have not yet died. But I can assure you, that for one such as you, death is nothing but an inconvenience. Surely Braelor knows this."
I shiver, partially from the cold, partially from the seething malice I sense from my Doppelgänger. I guess my face must have twisted into something dreadful, because the Archmage immediately drops the topic. Does he know where my spawn point is? Does he know it's in the very depths of hell? If I want his help, I must disclose my predicament. The Archmage said he was grateful, did he not? perhaps he will lend me whatever clout he possesses... because although I've survived my death sentence, I am by no means in good standing with The Resistance.
I struggle to sit up, and to my surprise, find my torn abdominals to be almost completely healed. My tattoos didn't fare quite as well, many of the patterns were broken with lacerations and had become useless. With trembling hands, I produce a spare change of civilian clothes and Braelor's letter. The Archmage takes the letter and respectfully turns away as I wrestle with my pants.
...
Even with clothes, it's still intolerably cold. I cling to myself and take the opportunity to look around. I find myself in a castle seemingly carved entirely of intricate ice. Overhead, a large sparkling chandelier looms like a crystalline deathtrap. The walls are also made of thick, frosted glass-like ice. All of the furniture is likewise made of the same material. The building seems to emit light from everywhere - that same cyan color that flashed before my eyes as I faced down Cryogen. Is... is this Cryogen itself?! Am I inside that icy castle?!
"Braelor did this?!"
I blink from my musings as The Archmage's voice rings out around the Castle's tall interior. His growl is low and dark. Clearly, he hadn't had the best relationship with Braelor before - even less so now.
"How many others has he used me to execute over the years! That impudent brat! How dare he!"
The Archmage turns to me, cold fury boiling in his eyes. Suddenly he seems much more formidable, and I'm grateful to have him on my side. He looks me over, nods in approval, and continues in a gentler tone of voice, albeit not much gentler.
"Well, Hero. I'm unsure if Braelor told you who I am, but of all the wizards of the land, I am by far the oldest and most wise. Every magician of any significance has clambered at my doorstep to learn from me, even The Tyrant himself! Yet Braelor dares to use me as a dull instrument of execution?! How insulting!"
It's... strange to hear somebody aire grievances so similar to my own. Somehow it reawakens that pugnacious spirit within me and I nod enthusiastically - although the motion could have easily been mistaken for a set of particularly violent shivers.
The Archmage sighs.
"Yet The Resistance is where I must go if I am to oppose Yharim. What a kerfuffle."
The Archmage raises his eyes as I respond with another bout of frantic shivers. A wry smile lifts his impressive moustache and he chuckles once more. He reaches out and presses the tip of his gnarled finger to my forehead, and suddenly - the sensation of cold vanishes entirely. I blink and cautiously unfurl from my heat-conserving crouch. Did The Archmage just hijack my nerves? Was the cold actually gone, or could I just not feel it?! I give him a confused look. He grunts and sits opposite to me on an ornately carved chair before allowing any questions. It is only then that I realize I've been laying on an icy coffee table.
"What did you do?"
"Cold Resistance. One of the ancient elemental spells. You may mimic it's effects with a Warmth potion, but the original -permanent- variant is much more powerful. I suggest you add it to your collection of body art."
I look down at my hands and arms. The goosebumps have vanished, as have many of the tattoos. I have ample space to draw all over myself if I need to practice.
"Archmage, will you teach me?"
"Naturally, but first -"
With the signal of the Old Wizard's hand, The Castle lifts beneath us. I can see the murky shapes of jagged mountain peaks fall as we rise into the sky. Then, we begin to fly - faster and faster, until we reach a constant velocity. My curiosity gets the better of me. I leap off the coffee table and dart over to a section of clearer ice to ogle the fantastic scenery. A flaming sunset over a sea of clouds...
Amazing...
It stretches as far as I can see, touching one curve of the earth and reaching to the other. I can see the peaks of mountains poking through like wave-tossed islands. I can see the colours of flame reflecting and refracting off the roiling clouds. Birds skim the surface of those puffy waves... Indeed, I have only read about such majestic sights. I'm completely enraptured by the peaceful beauty laid out afore me.
The Archmage allows me some time before interrupting. He does not appear annoyed. In fact, he seems to find everything I do to be mildly amusing. Honestly, it does bother me a bit. But what can I do? By age, I'm technically an infant. It's unreasonable for me to expect myself to be as well adjusted as those many hundreds of times my senior.
Still, I am deign to be childish. With much difficulty, I drag myself from the window. I must have looked quite disappointed, because The Archmage reassures me.
"Hero, I've lived a thousand years and I never tire of The Cloudsea. But come, there will be ample time to admire it later. Tell me everything you know about the current Resistance matters. We must carefully plan in what manner we will present ourselves to The Resistance which has dared treat us so poorly.
Slayer: Don't touch me!
Merchant: Awww, who's a cute little honeybun?!
S: (thinking) I will castrate you
Guide: Merchant, I don't think you shoul-
*Slayer suplex's The Merchant, snapping his spine*
S: GET FVKING DUNKED ON
Nurse, from the woods: HELL YEAH BITCH
G: Ayo wtf.
-DukeDaniel (much love my man)
NOTES: FAZE MADE A FREN uwu. Slayer to Goblin Army as he's cutting them down: 'you guys don't know how grateful I am to you, yall just saved my life.' (gets stuck with an arrow to the skull), 'Super grateful guys. I'm really glad about your timing.' Guide is the big scare kekw