Henlo

Armour: Brimflame - UnequippedWeapon: Winter's Fury(Unusable), Stormfront RazorAcc(10/11): Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Celestial Emblem, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)Health: (500/500)

"Oh Dearie... where do you imagine you're going so late at night?"

The Blessed One glanced up at her, he wore flint in his eyes and a snarl on his lip as he wandered about The Compound packing things for travel. It had been, perhaps, a day or two since The Dryad snatched him from the jaws of death - and he looked much healthier than before. His skin had lost that deathly pallor, but his demeanor remained gloomy and dark. The young man was dressed for travel, forgoing his pressed shirt and slacks for a set of heavy leather boots and an overcoat. He looked quite strange all wrapped up like that, but is wasn't his wardrobe The Dryad was concerned about.

"Dear, you aren't thinking of doing anything dangerous, are you? You're far too intelligent for that I would think."

"..."

The Guide didn't answer her, only regarding her with a pointed contempt before returning to his task. He was packing some basic survival equipment and a great manner of invisibility potions that The Terrarian undoubtedly must have created for him. There was an aire of desperation about him as he hurried around The Compound. It was late afternoon, and it appeared he wished to put the remaining hours of sunlight to good use. Where was he going? The Dryad felt that she knew, and she had set her heart on stopping him. She rustled out once more, speaking sternly to him with the noises of nature.

"Blessed One. My roots cover this compound from end to end. Nothing is said that I do not hear... Do you take my words lightly? Why do you wish to venture into The Crimson? You must not die lest the world fall to ruin. If you will not live for yourself, then live for millions who rely on you."

The Guide didn't honor her with an answer. Ever since finding that The Dryads were responsible for the blessing in his lineage, he seemed to be ill disposed towards her. Initially, The Dryad didn't quite understand why he wasn't pleased with the important role he and his family played in the preservation of the world, but after much deliberation - she came to the conclusion that his ungratefulness stemmed from selfishness. Human tended to be this way. They didn't care for the greater good. They couldn't tolerate sacrifice. They looked out for themselves and themselves only - and because of this, The Dryad had no compassion for him. Compassion was wasted on the selfish.

"Darling, are you so foolish that you will throw away your life? And for what? What has The Crimson have to do with you? Cease this foolishness. Simply live your life and procreate as your ancestors did. This is the role destiny has given you. Why do you refuse to fulfill your function?"

The Guide appeared so greatly offended by her words that all he could do was stare up at her and tremble, speechless. His eyes went wide and he seemed to be so utterly flabbergasted he couldn't make a sound. After a moment, he repeated her words in a whisper as if they were the most reprehensible noise to ever grace human ears.

"My... my function?"

"Indeed."

She nodded and reared up, causing the ground to rumble as she unfurled about The miniature Castle. Her branches, digits, vines and leaves reached out to wind along the retaining walls - wholly encompassing her side of The Compound in a way she imagined was quite intimidating. She had slept for a long while after 'blessing' The Stylist, but had woken when she found a great deal of 'nutrients' had suddenly been buried nearby. She quickly decomposed the mass grave and found herself feeling quite fresh afterwards... and quite ready for confrontation. She boomed out over the small man standing beneath her, her many iridescent insect eyes furling out like satellite sheets to observe him from all angles.

"I had revived you for this purpose, so you would live and keep the world safe - as your ancestors had, and how The Dryads had before you. I have even gone through the trouble of preparing that pink-haired woman for you to mate with. Have you created any children yet? It is imperative that you do so as quickly as possible. In fact, if you insist on going off and killing yourself, then at the very least create some offspring first."

"You- You prepared What?! What the hell are you talking about?!"

This bit of information caused The Guide to break his stunned silence. He bared his teeth and barked up at her with fiery eyes, his tiny little body raging and seething with selfish ambition. In a pathetic show of anger, he tossed his pack to the ground and stomped his feet. He hollered up at her, and she was quite certain she saw foam well up in the corners of his mouth.

"You! What are people to you! Just toys? Objects for you to use at your discretion?!"

The Guide, even when spitting mad, still remained as sharp and intelligent as ever. He responded to each of her statements in order, yelling and screaming and winding himself so full of rage he looked like he was quite ready to burst.

"If you and your fucking Dryad buddies didn't place a curse on everyone I've ever known, I wouldn't have anything to do with The Crimson! But," The Guide's voice turned vicious and sarcastic. "You blessed me. I'm not as stupid as you think, Dryad. I've seen Hell; I've seen The Wall. I'm going to do everything in my power to avoid going there. So no. I'm certainly not going to sit here, happily and quietly until I get old and die, and I defiantly am not going to bring more poor souls into this world to further your plot!"

The selfish little creature was seething. His motions were aggressive and his eyes burned like dark coals. He huffed and snarled and shouted at her, yet unbeknownst he him - he had begun sagging to one side. It appeared the heat of his wrath did well to temporarily overcome the airborne sedative she had released into the air, but one could only resist their own chemical functions for so long.

"And why do I care if the world is safe if I'm suffering a fate worse than death?! And not just me, but everyone I love! I won't take part in your plot. I'm going to kill The Crimson or die trying. We killed The Eye already. We'll take The Worms and The Brain... Then the... The Wall, and if you get in my... if you get..."

He gesticulated as he spoke, but his movements had grown sluggish. His speech began to slur and his eyelids started fluttering as he fought to stay awake. He seemed to realize things were amiss, and also that she was responsible. When she reached out a tendril and wrapped it about his waist, those dark eyes became beady and hateful. He tried to dig his soft nails into her vines, but his strength had long been stolen from him. All he could do was flap his tongue.

"D...Dryad I'll kil-... yo-"

She rumbled, looking down upon him condescendingly.

"Kill me? Perhaps you will. But you will certainly kill me before I let you kill yourself, O Blessed One. How unfortunate that you happened to be such a spectacularly selfish member of your species. Although I cannot claim I'm particularly surprised. Alas, Sleep now, my dear... If I cannot talk sense into you, perhaps The Terrarian will see reason. He loves you, you know. I wonder how he will react to your suicidal intentions."

"No-n..."

He glared at her from behind drooping eyelids. He struggled and flailed weakly, putting a valiant effort to dislodge her loose grip on him. He even managed to yank one of her leaves off, as if injuring her would change her mind. There were many emotions mixed behind those eyes: terror, sadness, wrath and betrayal... but sleep overcame him and his consciousness fled. The Dryad twittered as she laid him gently in the grass. What would she do with him? Could The Terrarian be convinced? Perhaps - perhaps not. She could put The Guide into a coma - although it would be troublesome to find somebody to care for his unconscious body. She pondered carefully as she withdrew, pulling back her great vines and leaves until they disappeared into the Miniature castle's small opening. She would wait.

She would be patient. She wouldn't do anything rash. The Terrarian was still outside The Compound. He had beaten a strange looking goblin unconscious and was carefully looting the body. He would come in soon enough, and she would make her decision then. She had time, she thought. She had lived a thousand years and she was convinced she'd live a thousand more.

He was a strange one.

She hadn't expected Resistance recruits to be... normal, persay. Revolutionaries were rarely normal. The normal people were living quietly, fearfully beneath the thumb of The Tyrant - and they didn't mind. They had no appetite for freedom, and were certainly not willing to shed blood for it... but even for a Resistance member, he was strange. She didn't think she'd ever seen somebody so utterly otherworldly.

Is he... a ghost, perhaps?

A great throng of them were all bundled up in The Castle courtyard being vetted for entrance. The sun was low on the horizon, casting the icy mountains in a pale orange light. The sky was darkening by the minute, and the air was so bitterly cold, each of them could see their breath crystallizing on their eyelashes. The high castle walls were built of unforgiving gray brick - cold, intractable and brutal in their construction. The structures stood regal and bold on the mountaintop, shielding the small group of, perhaps thirty, recruits from the worst of the howling wind. To the east of The Resistance Stronghold stood a castle made entirely of ice. They heard it'd appeared only yesterday, but The Bandit was not privy to the juicer rumors that circulated about the Resistance troop. They were only recruits.

"B-bandit... look!"

Recruits that were used to the warmer temperatures of the south. The Bandit had spent many years leading their small resistance troup against the imperial officers in her small corner of the country. They had enjoyed mild success where they were, but could never shake the feeling that their valiant efforts were merely annoyances to the empire at large. After hearing of The Hero, this 'Invincible Terrarian' The Bandit had rallied her troops and traveled north, dodging patrols, sleeping in the open and sometimes fighting for their lives. Finally they had arrived... and had been waiting the entire day in the courtyard to be registered and processed. She was well aware why they were standing around, freezing their toes off in the bitter winter - but that did little to ease the chilling sensation of cold. The Resistance didn't want Imperial spies in their ranks. They had a rigorous vetting processes they put recruits through before admitting them, and it appeared that department was understaffed. The result of that logistical nightmare was a group of tired, hungry and freezing soldiers (who were mostly underdressed for the weather) all huddled together like penguins, and dreading the sub-zero nightfall.

Well all of them except for one.

That strange one.

"B-oss...do you see t-that loon?"

"Who, the one with the tattoos?"

"T-that's the one... it's cold enough to f-freeze my nose clean off, and he's d-dressed for summer. Touched in t-the head I reckon."

The Bandit wasn't the only one to have noticed him. One of her subordinates leaned over to chatter into her ear. The Steampunker was a young scrap, bright eyed and full of boundless energy - even if her lips were blue and her hands were shaking so violently it looked like she was wielding a jackhammer. She cast a sideways glance at The Strange Man and wrapped herself ever more tightly in her studded leather coat. The Bandit likewise looked over and, at that moment, realized their entire guerilla troupe was looking oddly at the strange man... likely because they were all on the brink of losing digits to frostbite, and he was standing about quite comfortably in a pair of leather sandals.

Does he feel the cold?

It wasn't just his lack of reaction to the elements that set him apart. He was also dressed oddly. The clothing he wore was torn and ragged, but it was quite clear they hadn't been damaged by wear and tear, but rather intentionally - as if with a sharp edged blade. It looked as if he had donned a manufactured costume designed to mimic the attire of a standard resistance recruit. That was strange enough, but even more strange was his demeanor. He had stood amongst them all day, not speaking a word to anyone, not producing water to drink nor sustenance to eat. He appeared to be observing everyone around him very keenly, as if he had never met anyone else before - but for all his study, he still didn't know what he was supposed to do with himself. He had spent a great deal of time staring at the sky, then at the ground. Currently, he was watching the sunset with something approaching boyish wonder in his eyes.

The Bandit muttered back.

"Not crazy I don't think... why don't you go talk to him? He looks lonely."

"No!... Okay! Bandit, let's g-go together."

The Steampunker hooked an arm over her elbow and tugged, her eyes alight with curiosity and her teeth chattering in the chill. The Bandit sighed but followed. The cold had done nothing to dampen The Steampunker's enthusiastic spirit. She was the type of person to fall in love with everyone she met. She loved everyone. Everyone loved her. She was the darling of their resistance troup, and a masterful metalworker in her own right. There had been many instances where her inventions and connections had gotten them out of tough spots... and perhaps, If The Steampunker made a friend of this Strange Man, it would be beneficial for the group as a whole.

Hm...

The Bandit sized up The Strange Man as they made their way out of the throng of huddled bodies. Was he worth becoming allies with? He was certainly an abnormal existence. Sometimes these outliers proved beneficial. Sometimes not. The Strange Man saw them approaching from where he stood and stared them down - his eyes burning like live coals and his face in indecipherable mask. He gave off a strange air, as if he were not a man, but rather something looming, dreadful and enormous. Twisting white markings poked out from beneath the hem of his shirt and the edges of his sleeves. Tribal tattoos? Magic circles? The Bandit was unsure - she was not learned in such disciplines.

He was interesting though. At least The Steampunker thought so. Ah, the frolicking of the young.

Her excited companion chattered a greeting.

"H-hello! I'm The S-steampunker, n-nice to meet you!"

The Strange man blinked at her. His appearance was somehow familiar, but The Bandit was sure she hadn't seen him before. He was between young and old; between boyish and handsome. His appearance was not particularly striking - but something about him was so utterly foreign, she couldn't help but regard him with a strong sense of suspicion. This person... this entity, he wasn't a human. She knew nothing about him, but she was already keenly aware that he was a being set apart, a creature that far surpassed humanity.

"The...Steampunker."

At her greeting, a strange expression flitted across his visage - something between panic and curiosity. He repeated her name slowly, his fiery gaze staring through them as if he were doing calculations or translations inside his head. Was he considering whether to attack or not? Perhaps, and satisfying one's curiosity was not worth one's life. At any moment, something could burst out of his human skin and consume them. The Bandit seized her starstruck companion's shoulder and yanked her back, just as the man loosed his tongue and uttered a bunch of nonsense.

"Greetings Friend, does everything fit at the crotch?"*

"..."

"..."

There was a long moment of awkward silence. The Steampunker couldn't help but emit an amused snort, which The Bandit quickly stifled with a palm over her mouth. The Strange Man blinked at them hopefully, and when they didn't respond to his very odd greeting, became ever-so-slightly flustered. His brow furrowed as he tried once more.

"Fellow... mortal, this air is nice to breathe, don't you agree?"

The Steampunker couldn't help it. She pulled The Bandit's hand from around her face and laughed merrily. She waved a hand at him - (a motion which he, quite amusingly, mimicked) and continued to engage him despite her senior's low protestations.

"Sure, this air is pretty nice to breathe. Absolutely freezing, just how I like it. You could also say, 'hello' you know. That works too!"

The Strange man tilted his head as he regarded her. He crossed his arms across his chest and his brow darkened in concentration. Now that he had shifted, The Bandit could clearly see the myriad of tattoos that peppered his skin through the generous tears in his clothing. They were magic circles of all shapes and sizes, drawn sharply in white ink and filled with all sorts of unreadable arcane text. The man's skin was quite pale - so the markings weren't painfully obvious, but they nevertheless caused The Bandit a fair bit of distress. Just who was this man? Some sort of cult member?

A very well spoken cult member, perhaps.

The Strange man responded. His voice had a strange quality to it that overlaid all the background noise. They knew he was speaking only because they saw his mouth moving, but the sound came from everywhere at once. If they weren't discussing something so pedestrian, The Bandit would have dragged The Steampunker away long ago.

"'Hello'? That's it? Is that not too colloquial for a first greeting? I'd assume something like this is requires more formal language."

"F-formal? Aw, g-goodness! I guess you're not from the s-south! Do northerners all speak a-all snooty like that? From w-where did you learn commontongue?!"

The Steampunker laughed once more and leaned further into The Bandit - clearly regretting having moved to the outskirts of the penguin huddle. The Bandit remained guarded, observing The Strange Man through narrowed eyes. He didn't seem to notice. All of his attention was focused on this little social interaction.

"Oh, the common... tongue." Clearly he had no idea 'Commontongue' referred to the language he was currently speaking. "That's... rather difficult to... explain?"

"Aw. I-I can't imagine that. Nobody's just b-born knowing the language... W-who raised you?"

There was a brief silence. The Bandit could almost see all the little brain cogs churning away behind The Strange Man's eyes. He was silent for just slightly longer than what was socially acceptable, then answered with a fair bit of trepidation tainting his otherwise perfect monotone.

"That would be... I suppose," he hesitated, "My parent."

"Parent? Your mother? Father?"

"Male. He could be classified as a Father."

"Oh, is that so!"

The Steampunker remained cheerful despite the great myriad of odd things this Strange Man had said. Perhaps it was because he didn't seem dangerous, or more likely she just liked the way he looked, in any case, it was clear she was eager to do anything to take her mind off the miserable cold. She giggled - her laugh made even more tremulous with the chattering of teeth- and breathlessly exclaimed, "I bet he's handsome too."

Another brief pause. The Strange Man's expression did not change.

"He indeed has a pair of hands."

"..."

"And both of you have hands. The three of us are together handsome."

"Pwahahaha!"

The Bandit felt the corner of her lip twitch at The Strange Man's deadly serious response to being flirted with. The Steampunker was much less restrained in her reaction, and laughed so hard she started coughing. The Strange man was visibly confused with them and looked taken aback. His skin was very pale, so the slight flush of embarrassment and indignation was clear on his face. It was obvious he didn't much like being laughed at, and The Bandit - having ascertained he was no significant threat - was quick to put his mind at ease, lest he attempt something rash.

"Don't mind her. What's your name young man? You can call me The Bandit. We're from the Southern Isles."

The Man's eyes lit up at the mention of the foreign destination. He began rattling off information as if he was reading from a geography textbook.

"The Southern Isles? I've read of them. The archipelago 20 kilometers off the great fjords. It is said they are home to a great number of colorful birds and Jeweled Tortoises. The economy is straggling and primarily consists of commercial fishing and tourism."

The Strange man finished with a hint of self satisfaction in his voice. Perhaps he didn't often engage in this sort of menial small-talk, because he didn't seem to realize he'd done nothing to further the conversation. The Bandit, however, wasn't annoyed. She found him a little bit awkward, but overall, harmless and strangely innocent.

"...yes. That's right. The Southern Isles. We've come here because of The Hero we've heard of. We are quite excited to finally be part of the movement which takes down The Tyrant... and your name? Did you also come here to see The Terrarian?"

"Ah-...uh."

The satisfaction wiped off his face so quickly it was almost jarring. His entire - rather impressive - frame tensed and seemed to shrink ever so slightly, as if he were hunkering down to defend. Although his expression was flat and neutral, the rest of his body language was so expressive it was quite difficult to miss that the question made him quite nervous. He had unconsciously begun to scratch at his second finger with his thumbnail, easily drawing bright red blood, which ran down his fingertips and stained the snow crimson.

"Oh-"

The Steampunker had abandoned all standards of personal space and was quite shamelessly pressed up against her superior to steal her body heat. She had finally stopped laughing and was now focused on shivering and rubbing her hands together. She breathed into The Bandit's ear in a voice so low The Bandit could barely understand her.

"See, h-he bleeds red. Human e-enough but just not fazed by t-the cold. Can't he join u-"

"Yes, That's my name."

The Strange Man interrupted them in a loud voice, and both women flinched to attention. He looked directly at them, offered a grimace that could be interpreted as a smile, and nodded. The wound on his hand had healed almost immediately, but his fingertips were still stained red. He quickly rubbed the blood off on his artificially ragged shirt and planted his hands on his hips, looking rather embarrassed with himself. The Bandit narrowed her eyes.

"What's your name."

"Fazed."

"Fazed?"

"er..." Another brief flash of panic flitted over his face, and he quickly amended his statement. "Faze."

"..."

The Steampunker breathed in sharply, and glanced to look at her. Was The Strange Man able to hear their low conversation from that distance? Obviously he had - otherwise he wouldn't have snatched a word from their private musings to use as his name. The Bandit returned the concerned look and narrowed her eyes at The Strange Man.

*Clang-Clang*

But just as she opened their mouth to confront the obvious lie he was trying to feed them, the bell over the fortress gate pealed out, ringing out over their heads and muting all of their conversation. A guard called, giving orders through a speaker.

"Alrighty all of you... we don't want ya to freeze tonight, so everyone through the gate and into the barracks! Our kind leader Braelor doesn't want any of you to die so move yer asses!"

"Ah. it's time to leave."

'Faze' appeared to be quite relieved their conversation had been interrupted by the announcement. Evidently he had put a great deal of concentration into their social interaction, and his demeanor indicated he was quite pleased with his performance. He didn't smile, but his motions were all aglow until he heard the name of The Resistance leader - that name which inspired hope in so many of the freedom fighters.

hm.

For in that moment, a glowering shadow fell over his face. His previously innocent and curious eyes now burned with the intensity of a rumbling furnace. That odd feeling he gave off - a feeling he was far more than he appeared to be - increased a hundred-fold. For a split second, all who laid eyes on him were filled with a paralyzing dread. The Bandit had looked. The Steampunker hadn't- then, in a moment, it was over.

"Come on, move, move, move!"

The crowd began to move like nothing had happened at all; The Bandit pondered The Strange Man she filed into the castle. Faze, despite being tall enough to easily stick out of the crowd, had gone entirely missing. Who was he? What manner of creature was he? And what was his purpose here... why did he look so murderous when he heard the name 'Braelor'.

Imperial Agent? maybe..., She thought as she and her men bunkered down for the night. What a strange character this 'Faze' was. He was well learned in many respects, but infantile in many others. She could not tell his age by his appearance. He looked young and old at the same time. He was harmless and innocent in one respect, but she still remembered that great looming presence of an entity beyond human reckoning. This Faze... He looked like he had seen hell, and was both willing and able to deliver rain it down upon his enemies.

The Bandit was troubled by these things and that night, laying in her bunker, she decided she would take matters into her own hands. She would discover if he were one of Draedon's experiments, or perhaps a new brand of Clandestine Corps agent - and, if necessary, fight to protect The Resistance from him.

Dryad: You should make some babiesGuide: sorry I just had one like a month ago and I've got my hands full.D: The Terrarian doesn't count. he's not your actual son.Slayer: Wait... I'm adopted?G:... erm.

A phrase in german. "Servus Havara, wie getsch, wie stetsch? Alles fitt im schritt?"

Hello friend, hows it going? Everything fit at the crotch(also meaning how's it going)?

bumpkin talk apparently. I am not responsible for the German. ask co-author about it.

Sorry for wait lmao. hope everyone is having merry Christmas.