Last minute chapter on friday what?
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
Armour: None
Weapon: None
Acc(0/11):None
Health: (400/400)
They are instructed to travel by night. Even in the bitter cold of The Northern Mountains, they are not allowed to move during the day for fear of revealing their location to the naked eye. This is standard procedure, of course - but that doesn't make the task any less arduous. CC Operatives are the only members of Yharim's rank and file that boast a complete immunity from all forms of magic - which naturally include scrying, divining and locating spells. The only way to locate a team of Agents is to see them. They don't trigger magical traps. They don't show on mana radars... they are inert to the best types of detection magic, and thus - although each CC Agent is a deadly force in his (or her) own right, they are primarily spies. Not Warriors.
But tonight, each and every member of Squad #403B wishes they were in the heat of battle, rather than wandering up the side of a freezing mountain in pitch darkness. The day isn't really much warmer... but at temperatures where their snot freezes in icicles across their lips, any heat is welcome. Still, they don't even think about shirking their duties. The path of laziness ends kneeling over an execution block. So when night falls - the five of them crawl their way out of the snowbank they've dug into an igloo and hobble around covering their tracks. Only then do they begin trudging through another one of those miserable blizzards that seem to blow relentlessly over these accursed mountains.
And if one were to watch the group braving the elements with such doggedness, they'd imagine Squad #403B were on some grand mission to some grand destination. And truly, the members of the group have been trying to convince themselves and each other of exactly that, if only to motivate themselves to wake up the next evening. For, much to their annoyance, although they had a 'destination' (The Resistance Stronghold) they had no idea where it was. Were they on the brink of discovering it? Was it a thousand miles away? Was it tucked into some pocket dimension? Did it even really exist?
Apparently, Central Command didn't have straight answers to any of these questions, and decided the best course of action was brute force. Teams #400-450 have all been instructed to just... wander vaguely northwards until they bumped into something compelling. Perhaps this is what made the mission so grueling. It was day... 15 already, and there was no guarantee they were even in the correct section of the continent. They had travelled from the comparatively comfortable southern regions (searching for the bounty on a defected CC Agent codenamed: The Party Girl) up north through the forests, the tundra, and now... the steely mountains. And with each step they took, the more demotivated they became.
Indeed, perhaps they were even entertaining thoughts of defection themselves! (Of course, they would never say it - but it was on everyone's mind) Ever since this new 'Resistance Hero' has appeared, The King has been going so batshit, he drove everyone around himself halfway insane with ridiculous orders and grueling work. There were even rumors that Draedon - The Capitol's great mechanic - was holed up in his laboratory with some project, and wouldn't even speak to The Tyrant. The King's mania was slowly tearing The Empire's upper echelon apart, and if lowly CC agents could already smell it - than how far has the rot already advanced?
(furious winds)
But unbeknownst to them, tonight, Squad #405B would be hailed as heroes - and martyrs.
For it isn't long after scaling the mountain, bearing the blustering winds as they slowly inch their way up the lead rope, that their team's pointman raises the signal to halt. The group is all to eager to obey, none of them necessarily knowing why they've stopped until the crackle of a radio pierces through the howling wind.
*Kzzzt- T-team #403B reporting to central w-with findings. At the p-plateau at (8*42'67.6", 7*30'31.5"), we've discovered a powerful m-magical barrier blocking our path. Entering now... Note this area for f-further investigation. Over.*
*Confirmed Team 403. We will provide backup shortly. Move into target.*
*Roger*
Another hand signal. They move robotically to enter the magical barrier - each slipping through like ghosts through the mist.
And so, in silence, in the dead of night, begins The Battle of The Resistance Stronghold.
"Guide... what are you doing..."
The Slayer's monotone seemed to blend out of the shadows. It was a ghostly, almost mourning sound that carried long in the slow evening breeze. The sky above darkened with dusk, the pale pinks and oranges of the sunset slowly dying like cooling embers. The rustling of the trees, which under the light of day was a lovely and wonderous noise, became almost threatening as dark rushed upon them. Insects began to chitter. Owls began to hoot. Stars emerged from beneath the cloak of day to sparkle in the sky above.
And beneath the setting sun, The Guide was slowly, methodically, exhaustedly brewing a strange potion. He briefly glanced up to watch The Slayer slip onto the now slightly-overgrown field, his bare feet soundless as he crossed the yard. He was dressed in civilian clothing. A simple set that mimicked the clothing The Guide had first put on him after finding him unconscious so many weeks ago. He had removed his blindfold and seemed to be using his eyes effectively. From how he walked, it appeared he was mostly, if not wholly recovered from... death, and seemed to be perfectly comfortable with the idea of reviving. This wasn't necessarily unexpected after all. For the entirety of The Terrarian's life, he had seen people die, and raise to life again. This wasn't a odd thing in his experience, so The Guide tried not to make a big deal of it. At this point, the less questions that were asked, the better. He didn't need The Slayer finding any curiosities to be fixated by while they were on the most important mission The Guide would ever embark upon. Sometimes people just raised to life after dying? Sure... whatever.
The Terrarian would have ample time to ponder these secrets after he was dead and gone. Right now, The Guide's time was short. There were black tendrils in his mind. There were vanishing stars printed on the backs of his eyeballs. Runes and inscrutable whispers plagued the corners of his vision. This was the influence of The Wall... and The Guide wanted to be aware of himself when he finally roused himself to destroy it.
*tmp*
The Guide felt The Terrarian stop a few feet behind him to observe him. What was the almost man thinking? Was he thinking anything at all. Frankly, The Guide wasn't in the mood to entertain him, but did his best anyways. He blinked in a vain attempt to shake the sleep from his eyes before twisting to straddle the bench he had dragged up to The Alchemy Table. He yawned and offered a lopsided, and probably not-very-convincing grin.
"Preparing for your battle with The Wall. Need Water Walking potions... and obsidian... and-"
He gestured to the bottle of blood orbs he had The Terrarian gather from The Brain of Cthulhu.
"They can be turned into almost any potion. Fascinating reagents I must say. Originally discovered by blood mages that foolishly worshipped The Crimson. The whole lot of them were eventually eaten by the monstrosity, taking their horrid arts with them to the grave. Well... until me, I suppose. We just need to heat them to the correct temperature and they can mimic the magical properties of the herbs we typically use in potion brewing... it's a bit arduous, I have to admit, but we'll need a lot of these. Wouldn't want to risk falling into Lava in the underworld, would we?"
"..."
The Terrarian remained characteristically silent. He stared - his thousand yard gaze seeming to looking straight through him as he waited for something. The Guide simply met his gaze. He didn't have the energy to play any of these guessing games today. After a moment, The Terrarian speaks. When he does, The Guide notices his teeth have fully grown back in.
"The Night has fallen, yet you do not sleep... I will brew the potions. You must rest. I will not have you handicapped when we fight The Wall."
The Guide blinked as The Terrarian climbed over the bench to sit beside him. Was he behaving more assertively than usual? The Guide didn't blame him. He probably looked like all kinds of shit after not sleeping for three days, and was well aware he should be curled up unconscious somewhere. Was The Terrarian trying to communicate this without explicitly saying it? Look at you... all grown up now, and trying to be subtle.
The Guide couldn't fight the small smile turning the corners of his lips as he scooted over, allowing The Terrarian full reach of all the reagents scattered across the table. He carefully observed everything for a long while before picking up the blood orbs and adjusting The Alchemy table's various knobs and settings with a natural deftness - as if he'd been brewing potions all his life. Of course, The Guide knew this sort of thing - like smelting armour - was one of The Terrarian's innate abilities. Still, it was a wonder to watch such a potion The Guide had been slaving over for the past half hour be completed to perfection in mere minutes.
The Guide chuckled darkly before brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He yawned once more and stood to his feet, nearly collapsing for the blood that rushed to his head. Before turning to go, he reached out to ruffle The Terrarian's hair - in that moment, not noticing that almost-man freezing -and then relenting- under the unexpected contact. He behaves as if he were offended.
"Is this your way of saying 'You look like shit, old man. Go the hell to sleep?'"
The Terrarian turned to look at him, his eyes slightly widened in the beginnings of panic. He was clearly a bit unused to hearing The Guide use profanity, but was comforted by his wry grin. After a moment, he twisted his nose and shrugged.
"Yes."
"You little brat."
The Guide wrapped his arms around The Terrarian's head and gave him a hearty squeeze before pinching his cheek and planting a kiss on his temple. The Terrarian actually squeaks before putting down the reagents and making a grab for his elbows. The Guide chuckles again before letting him go. He hurries off the patio before The Terrarian can levy any retaliation in his direction. Is that a blush colouring The Slayer's nose? Maybe. He'd think about it later. The Guide lifts a hand to wave as he plods across the lawn towards the silken sheets that await him. The Terrarian watches him go as if he'd grown a third arm.
"Good night, Slayer. I'll see you in the morning."
"... G-goodnight. Guide."
Steampunker: Faze, I... I love you.
Faze: As a friend?
SP: *looks away* ... no.
F: As a MEGA BEST FRIEND?
SP: jfc
Shorter chapter this week because I've been slacking after july 4th ahhh,
I wasn't gonna write a chapter this week but decided the streak was important.
Hope yall enjoy.