What another chapter what's happening 0.0
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine's 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: Galeforce (Ichor Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(1/11): Voodoo Doll
Health: (400/400)
It was... an affront.
A hideous affront.
Somebody out there was mocking him, he could almost hear their scornful giggles tickling the tips of his ears. Hell he was so angry he could cry. He wanted to leap about and scream at the sun. He wanted to split himself open and bleed all over the grass...
But none of that would do him any good.
It didn't matter if he burned this entire forest to the ground, the weight in his guts would still remain. He had killed every animal in the forest yesterday, and still, that shackle of lead refused to fall away. It was a burden bound ironclad to the sinews of his heart, and violence did naught but distract him from it.
"Who. Are. You?!"
And The Terrarian, immature as he was, was eager to distract himself. This imposter stood in front of him - it's eyes squeezed shut, and its face scrunched up all nervous-like as his blade pricked its throat. It emoted the same way The Guide used to. It had that same head of sandy hair. Its voice was of the same cadence and pitch. It huffed and breathed the exact same way...
And... and when The Terrarian first laid eyes on the imposter, he was shocked to the bone. He was so utterly startled, he hardly knew what to do with himself. There was joy - yes. An initial rush of dizzying elation, but it was immediately tempered by a sense of disbelief and a deep, smouldering anger.
When The Terrarian charged "The Guide" into the gates, knocking the wind out of him and making him gag - he hadn't done so unintentionally. He wanted it to hurt. When he clung too tightly to his ribs - he knew exactly what sort of bruises and abrasions he was leaving on the skin beneath. It was a strange sort of emotion, a violent jealously. A protective obsession.
But...
But this wasn't The Guide.
It was a mockery.
Somebody was playing with his heart.
And if The Terrarian would show violence to those he loved, how much more would he rage against those he hated? For indeed, the moment that foreign scent hit his brain - he knew the man standing before him was not The Guide.
And if he wasn't The Guide, if he could give no explanation for his actions, if he could not lift the weight of sorrow from his shoulders - he was as useless as the rest of the dead animals The Terrarian had left in his wake. With a well practiced stroke, The Terrarian angled his blade at The Imposter's jugular and flicked his wris-
"Agh! S-stay back!"
...
*thud*
He dropped his sword.
It spun out of his grip and tumbled to the grass.
His stomach churned as he stood there, pale and frozen, his arm outstretched like a mannequinn's.
He wanted to keel over and vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach to expel. A hot tear slid down his cheek.
("Uh...")
The Imposter sounded just like him. It had his voice, and when that voice spoke The Guide's last words, it... it made him want to dig a hole and bury himself. The Wall had done this too, didn't it? It'd created hideous guide-heads whose necks were nothing but a long gullet and whose featureless maws were filled with gnashing razor teeth. They too had cried and screamed those words at him... "Stay back! Stay back."
...
Light buzzed overhead. The blueish-fluorescent light made everything beneath bright and banal. The Guide Imposter had slid down the gate so it was sitting with its back against the wooden doors. It was still cringing from behind its fingers, and only ventured out to snatch up the blade that now lay on the grass between them. Only then did it stand to its feet and back out of his field of vision. The Terrarian didn't turn to watch it vanish inside one of the houses.
It... didn't really matter, didn't it?
With a low sigh, he produced The Guide's singed voodoo doll and glared at it - taking in its familiar scent.
He hated it. He hated all it represented.
But it was he had left.
So he pressed it to his throat and walked out into the wood.
Where he would once more attempt to drown his sorrows in blood.
*splash*
*slop*
"Haaah!"
She hated breathing water.
Even though she was well aware that her supplemental gills would activate the moment she was submerged, that didn't mean her lungs didn't scream at her as they were filled to the brim. There was a reason she hated that she'd been given the attributes of a fish rather than, say, a tiger or a lion or some other comparatively impressive creature, but alas. She had survived this encounter due to her augments. It wasn't the time to complain about them.
That damn Experiment... what's gotten into him.
The Terrarian had always been a bit prone to violence, but killed less and less with The Guide holding his leash. In fact, as far as The Party Girl could recall, the last time he actually murdered anyone was when The Merchant died, and even then - nobody was exactly sure what had happened. The Terrarian probably killed him, but the fact that he had done it in the dead of night and disposed of the body spoke volumes of how far he'd come from just... blatantly cutting people down.
Which was exactly what he'd done to The Mechanic.
Thank goodness that snooty bitch had sent her memo to Draedon's office before getting herself beheaded. If they got the message - The Mechanic even insisted she spoke to Draedon's lad assistant- she should be welcomed as soon as she arrived at The Capitol Laboratory - so long as she had The Experiment bundled up for delivery. She and The Mechanic had several ideas for exactly how to capture The Terrarian. Trap him, ambush him... ultimately, they decided the best thing to do was to drug him. Some time ago, The Guide had mentioned that glowing mushroom spores had blasted The Terrarian into the fifteenth dimension in the middle of a confrontation with a fungal crab. Neither of them could confirm such a statement, but they thought they'd try it anyways. Even after a long conversation with The Witch Doctor, The Mechanic only had time to obtain a single syringe filled with paralytic agent infused with glowing mushroom extract before her head was separated from her body.
Tch... Why the hell did he attack? There's no way he discovered our plot. He couldn't discover his way out of a paper bag.
"Urk-"
The Party Girl coughed the water out of her lungs as she heaved on the lake's pebbled shore. She was certain she was dead. All The Terrarian needed to do was hop in the water and cut her down. But he didn't, which wasn't nescessarily unexpected considering how vain he was about his clothing. He contented himself with sniping at her with his bow until he hit her in the thigh and a cloud of blood issued forth.
She played dead and... the dolt bought it. He left - leaving her alive and with a burning ichor arrow sticking out of her leg. For once, she was thankful the bolt had cleared straight through her. Only a small amount of that toxic yellow substance entered her bloodstream and most of what did floated out in the cloud of blood. Still, she still felt weak and groggy from the residual ichor rampaging through her system. She would live... probably. But she needed to hunker down and rest. Then, she could continue on her mission.
Piece of shit Experiment...
The Party Girl spit curses from between her teeth as she wobbled up onto two legs. Damn, Ichor hurt badly! But as a survivor of Draedon's experiments, she was well acquainted with pain. She would survive, just like she survived everything else. With her eyes fixed steadily on a tall oak, she slowly made her ways towards - and up its trunk, managing to nestle into the boughs - just as the undead began to stir the undergrowth.
There were no zombies near The Mountain Lake.
According to legend, their ranks had been slain on the pebble beach - all that shambled unto those shores fell into a bloody, stinking heap until the underground had no more corpses to yield. Each night, they stumbled in search of meat. Each morning, the slain were magically burned to a fine white ash. The wind picked up the residue and scattered it over the lake's surface, and to this day - the water's surface sparkled with that layer of thin snow.
The Mountain Lake would had long become a retreat for nomads and hermits. The strange statue in the centre of the lake - adorned with ever glowing lights - was a symbol they meditated upon. The place flourished for the lack of rot in the soil, great trees stretched to the sky. Animal of all types wandered the wood. A place where the nights were safe, for the undead were not allowed to sink back into the dirt to rise once more. It was a small oasis, held in secrecy by those who lived there, and walled off on all sides by craggy cliffs. There was only one means of access... a tunnel.
Now, legend had it this tunnel wasn't the crass, natural type filled with stones and debris, with dangers and perils.
Rather, it had been intricately carved with careful hands.
It was a straight tunnel, cutting eue east, straying not a millimetre from the sun's path. The floor was granite, yet smooth as marble. The walls too - smooth and straight, as if measured with a plumbline and polished to a glowing perfection. Blue torches lit the way, torches that burned and burned and never went out. They gave no heat as they flickered upon their fastenings, but reflected so brightly off the shining walls the entire channel glowed with eerie light. It was an ethereal tunnel in the wilderness - whose door would open only to enlightened beings and whose end landed in a small paradise. No creature or animal stepped foot in the glowing tunnel. No bear made it its den, nor bats their hide... but the door which not even the most powerful of yetis could smash down, would yield to the touch of a child.
Such were the legends of the mountain lake. The tales told by nomads and hermits...
But the truth-
That tunnel was evacated by a single man.
A pale man, who wore rags over his armour. Whose skin and hair had been streaked in ash and dirt. He was so muddied, one had to peer closely to see the myriad of strange glowing tattoos peppering his skin, or the striking dragon eyes that burned in his head like candles in a dark room. He was tireless as he built, effortless as his small copper pickaxe cleaved through stone after stone, through ore and clay and dirt and gems. If one observed him, they would find his movements uncanny and weightless... but of course, nobody was present to pass judgement.
The pale man would install a door there, on the snowy mountainside, then continue east - making a beeline for the tall spires of The Empire's Capitol.
Faze: lmao bro why are you playing with a doll? Lemme see that - *snatch*
Bitch: *goes nuts and bites him*
F: AHHHH*!
Guide(OG): *flies across the room and slams into a wall*
So Faze changes his vanity pretty often cuz he's disguising himself.
Bitch wears the same clothes every day. Same Vanity - Winter cloak, horned helmet (Hydrothermic actually, the melee one iirc?) dye the armour with reflective metal dye.
Faze is just loki's set. oh, btw I have all the character art in the discord server. I think the link was on chapter 70 idk. Its an art stash and also lots of stupid talk for other ppl with Terraria fanfics. join if you like.
ty happy soon new year.