HAHA IM LATE, but Monday release to make up for it.
The end is coming.
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)
There's something afoot in The Resistance.
I can feel it in the air, a discontent... a low muttering of anxiety and skittishness that wasn't there just a day before.
I... I don't pretend to understand the psychology of men - especially men who far outstrip me in age and experience, whose knowledge and methods are far above mine, but even I can feel the crackling discontent in the air. The mob is growing restless, I know what happens when mobs grow restless. My education did not touch much on history, but I've read enough revolutions to know mobs can do tremendous things. Mobs have killed kings and mobs have torn down nations. They are fickle and powerful, like great lashing dragons who are just as prone to destruction as they are to be appeased.
And right now, there's a dragon in the room. I feel it stirring, brewing, behind the listless eyes of the thousand resistance members muttering in the packing district below me. This has become a bit of a routine ... to become invisible and prop myself up on the eaves, observing the people in an attempt to learn their mannerisms. It's far more interesting than my textbooks (although I know it is not good to boast, even The Archmage was impressed with my knowledge of the arcane. Surely I am competent at my current level) and I've spent many hours laying in this exact spot, my cheek pressed against the smooth wood as I do my best to decipher the cacophony beneath me into intelligible conversations.
(What did Braelor say? ...Yharim's found us?...CC Agents in the tunnels beneath...)
(It's just misinformation... an attempt to crush morale...)
(The Goblin Commander is sending all of his officers out of The Fortress... the coalition is becoming skittish... have not seen cultist warriors in many days... they fled?)
(Yharim himself will strike?... Impossible... there is no hope...)
I sigh once more, lifting my hand to run it sloppily through my hair. It's very odd being invisible. I've poked myself in the eye many times in an attempt to scratch my nose, or wipe something from my cheek - but have since gotten used to it. Above, beams of cold, white light fall from a grey cloudy sky, illuminating everything in a pale even light. The weather does not often effect my mood, but the chill and the tension leads to a somber yet anxiety-ridden atmosphere. It rankles my nerves and although nothing is happening at all, I am conscious of my heartbeat pounding against my sternum.
(What are you going to do?... have a little family down south... I came to fight because I heard about The Terrarian... but I haven't seen him)
(The Terrarian? It's all bullshit... I hear he's dead... There was never a Terrarian to begin with...)
The chatter from below is loud in my ears, echoing throughout the enormous room and intermingling with the clanking and clanging of cargo processing. The activity below was a truly odd sight to behold. No fewer than a hundred men were manning a series of massive hooks, which hauled up loads of boxes and containers from the barges that traversed the subterranean river. What were they talking about now? Me? The Terrarian? I narrow my eyes and flop myself sideways along the eave, such that I'm draped over it like an article of laundry. It doesn't matter if I look ridiculous if nobody can see me.
(You think it was a lie? There are soldiers that say they've seen The Hero fighting on the front lines!)
(I saw him! He wears black armour and rains fire from the sky!)
(Are you sure it was him, though? There are lots of powerful warriors, but they can't do shit to Yharim if they can bleed and die... the only way to know if A Terrarian is real is to watch him die and come back. The Resistance can trick us easily by dressing somebody up.)
(Braelor is noble! He would never lie to us!)
(Then hang your life on those words and stay here to die with him! Yharim is coming to destroy this place, and nobody will escape alive!)
I don't exist? I scoff, indignant. Some part of me wants to run down there and appear in the midst of these naysayers just to see their shocked expressions. But, of course, I'm not impulsive enough to do so. It hurts my pride a bit that the resistance members think I am only a story - but I suppose that means I've done a good job laying low. Besides... the Resistance doesn't know my face (The Lunatic Cultist has vanished my helm, such that it looks like I go bare-faced everywhere, claiming it is much less conspicuous).
Such a thing might also get me murdered by Braelor... and although I know I won't respawn in The Crimson should I die, death is still an intensely uncomfortable experience. I will do my best to avoid it at all costs.
So I swallow my pride and shut my eyes, perking my ears to glen more information from the conversations below. There are so many names and places mixed into the conversation that oftentimes I feel I am listening to a different language entirely. What is this 'coalition' and why is it so important? Who is Calamitas? And Draedon? And Yhar-
Oh... That man in golden armour?!
The one even The Archmage feared? The mention of whose name made the old man go pale in terror? I've met Yharim... he nearly snapped my neck and terrified me so badly I saw that flash of gold in my minds eye for days. He was coming? He was coming here? I... I cannot fight him. I will most certainly die should I face him again!
And suddenly, I too am caught up in that fear... the fear of the mob wells up and envelops me. The terror of those below me tickle my brain. The anxiety. The Uncertainty. What if Yharim really does come? What will happen to me then? Will The Archmage be killed? What of The Lunatic Cultist? I have... made some friends and a few enemies in the Jungle, my very first human connections. What will happen to The Bandit? And The Steampunker who so merrily took me about The Jungle? I can see it now... everyone and everything that has any meaning, crushed beneath the heel of that golden boot.
And suddenly... I'm back on that crimson plain.
Alone, and bereft of everything.
Staring across a wasteland as my enemies roam about searching to tear me to pieces.
I stand up and I leave, my eyes wide and my mouth dry. There's a sinking pool in my gut and I suddenly want to go hide in my room. Should I go find The Archmage? Should I go share my heart with the one who opened his home to me? Should I find The Cultist, who gave me breath and returned my magic? perhaps it is better I continue to hide until the flashes of gold fade from my vision?
The voices below echo mournfully as I escape through a cracked window, my icy wings whistling as they catch the stirring air. Where am I going? I'm not sure at all... I need to leave. Every sinew in my person is crawling. All my nerves are alight. As I bolt, voices follow me like accusations to cowardice. But right now-
(Yharim won't come!)
(He is and he will. The Scouting teams have found us. If you want to live, we need to run.)
(The Hero will fight Yharim!)
(The Hero's dead!)
(I believe in him!)
(Then die with him...)
(the hero is-... fraud... )
(...just a-... fake...)
Maybe I'm a fraud.
Maybe I'm a fake.
I'm the 'Hero' but I'm a coward. I thought my strength was great - but my enemies are far greater than I. Is this what it means to be 'The Hero?' To be the Hope of The Resistance? Will I face down enemies I have no chance to defeat and watch my world shrivel and fall to pieces? These men have placed their faith in me, but they don't know who or what I am. Their expectations are heavy on my mind... Indeed, even The Archmage called me his hope - did he not? Does he want me to fight Yharim too?!
I'm scared... shit... I'm scared...
I don't know. I don't know. Things are things crawling over the backs of my eyes. Black, screaming terror. Deadly flashes of gold. They're chasing me, so I beat my wings. My pulse hammers in my throat so I flee.
I must run.
I must hide.
Things have... taken quite the turn for the worse.
It was already impossible to hide the fact that Yharim's troops have found them. The bodies were not discovered by The Brass, but rather some of the janitors that were cleaning the lower tunnels of The Stronghold. Of course, the servants had immediately told everyone in earshot, letting the news spill free before The Resistance Leaders even knew they needed to conduct damage control.
The Coalition leaders were already skittish with the disappearance of 'The Hero' (The Archmage's work, no doubt) and now that they have news that the base is not only compromised, but also a target for a strike by The King himself?! It is only a matter of time before the armies split apart once more and the battle is lost. United, The Resistance Coalition had a chance, but scattered they would be helpless before the Imperial Army.
What a pity. The war was already lost.
Humph... just when we moved everything here...
The Sea King muttered sourly to himself as he stood in the presence of his fallen deity. The Moon Lord, who lay slumped up, chained to the great marble columns, nearly filled his minds eye for how tremendous he was. The Sea King had come to love being here, gazing upon the one who first gave his race life. The great old one who built his great city, and the god of all R'lyehnians. The Moon Lord had raised that city, and he could raise it again. When Cthuhlu woke from his slumber, all the things taken from him by the hand of The Brimstone Bitch would be restored... The world would be filled with The Dreaming One's dark terror, and all would bow before his awful, majesty.
"Ahehyee hogn't h' ygor ng h'mggoka mglagln, hafh lw'nafh'nahor l' f'orr'eog"
But before The great god could subdue the earth, The Sea King must protect him in his unseemly and vulnerable state. Yharim was coming here, and by no means would Amidas allow the tyrant to destroy all the careful work The Cultists had done to rebuild the deity. He must seal this room a dimension away... to consolidate the doors and knit together space and time. The earth seemed to reverberate and swell as the scrawled arcane runes pulsed and reverberated with eldritch power. The air shook and became compact, shrinking down and down into a small stone tablet upon which the face of the terrible god was carved.
The Celestial sigil would hide The Moon Lord until it came time for his release upon the earth.
*Ring...Ring...*
*Ring...Ring...*
*Ring...Ring...*
*Ring...Ri- CHACK*
"WHAT?!"
The Zoologist was in an absolutely dreadful mood. Last night, she had stayed late at the Laboratory because the team was hard at work trying to revive Specimen N-79 and N-80, only to fail because their circulatory vessels could not handle the strain the body placed upon them. No amount of blood thinners did anything. 79 and 80, despite boasting a great deal of physical prowess, simply collapsed after their first few attempts at using their mammoth strength. Another set of failures.
Another passing day with no results.
The Zoologist wanted to sleep, but that infernal Emergency Phone was going off. With two and a half hours of sleep under her belt, The Zoologist stumbled out of bed and night fell upon the landline with fury. She yanked the speaker off the halter like she was yanked out somebody's throat and smashed it against the side of her head with such violence, that when her adrenaline faded she would find she had bruised her temple quite badly.
Irregardless, she was ready to rain death and hell upon the poor soul who dared to disturb her sleep.
"... Z-zoologist, isn't it? After so long, I c-can still recognize your voice."
"Who do you thin-"
The Zoologist blinked and paused mid yell. Hold on... she recognized that voice. It's been a long, long time but she knew it. The voice of her mentor when she was first inducted into the ranks of Draedon's scientists. One of the most skilled engineers to ever be born in The Empire. Two years ago, she disappeared - supposingly kidnapped considering the signs of struggle in her residence. Over the months and years, The Zoologist came to accept that The Mechanic had died, but -
"Mechanic?! You're alive! No... no, are you perhaps an imposter? Who are you!?"
"My C-codes... M-match them, you'll know it's me."
The Zoologist, the sleep banished from her eyes, quickly glanced at her encryption gear to confirm the codes. She was, however, already convinced. The person on the other side of the comms sounded like the Mechanic, she spoke like The Mechanic, and she was willing to confirm her information via Cipher. The Zoologist cleared her throat and nodded.
"Go on."
"G423:K8435:8DF1:MR86"
A perfect match, although The Zoologist knew it'd be. A grin spread across the fox-woman's face and she excitedly sat back on her bed.
"Mechanic! It's been so long! What happened to you?! Who kidnapped you?"
"Y-you wouldn't believe me if I t-told you... The Lunatic Cultist struck a d-deal with The Resistance and they h-had me working on a skeleton from an e-eldritch god. I yearn for the d-day Lord Yharim tears The C-cultist's head from his shoulders.
The hate in The Mechanic's voice is so real, The Zoologist cannot help but fall into a grave silence. She merely nodded along.
"But enough of that... I have come upon a specimen that should be of g-great interest to you and Draedon. A CC Agent f-filled me in on your current mission. Creating a T-terrarian? Incredible... B-but I need your help collecting the s-sample. C-can you provide an e-extraction team? We are on The Crimson Border, Coordinates..."
Braelor: you're... not a very nice young man
Faze: (flips the bird) And you're not a very nice old one.
I'm speedrunning chapter writing.
Sorry I was day trading for a week :0