Armour: Titanium Armour (Mage)
Weapon: Infernal Rift; Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Celestial Emblem, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf, Frozen Wings.
Health: (425/425)
Armour: Victide Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: [UNUSABLE]Mandible 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)
Everything was a blur.
She didn't know up from down, day from night. Perhaps it was the stink that was getting to her? Perhaps her blood loss was more severe than she had imagined? In any case, she had spent all night and most of today curled up and snoozing away against soft silken sheets - only occasionally waking to quench her thirst with the many potion bottles piled high on her nightstand. She had recalled asking The Experiment for as many Healing potions he could spare, and (perhaps she was hallucinating?) he had dropped about a thousand all over the living room floor.
I wonder if something happened to my eyes... well the ones a grabbed seemed real enough... where was he keeping all that stuff?
In any case, her sleep was only disturbed by The Crimson stench and a persistent hammering from downstairs. Originally, The Experiment was insistent on burying The Guide "raw" but was easily convinced to build a coffin instead. She wasn't sure exactly why she had bothered to push for this. Perhaps because The Guide had shown her such kindness, she instinctively wished to do him (his remains) well? Besides, although he certainly seemed dead, there was something a bit strange about the body...
Hmm...
But such a thing was no longer her responsibility. If The Guide were somehow alive - in that strange static state he was gripped in, then it wouldn't be long until he died. She was no medical professional, neither was she trained in healing magic. She couldn't do anything about it, so she told herself it was no longer her problem. Having already detached herself from their little skirmish in the mists, as far as she was concerned, her mission was over and she had failed, quite spectacularly one might add. A CC agent to be nearly killed by a group of ragtag Resistance Members then rescued by a civilian? How monstrous. She was going to leave this place and try to block the shame of failure from her memory. She had come here with high hopes. She was sure all of the anomalies of The Compound must somehow be related to The Lunatic Cultist... but alas, It was just another little hellhole. There was nothing of interest to report.
Didn't even get trade routes out of that fucking Dwarf... Hm... wait, maybe he left some documents?
The Party Girl exhaled a long breath and opened her eyes to stare across the room, suddenly filled with a new sense of purpose. The entire house had been ringing with the sound of a mallet on wood for the past eight hours as The Experiment attempted to build a coffin with a single arm. Initially, The Party Girl wasn't going to help him, but the noise was beginning to grate on her. The Experiment was apparently tireless, so if she wanted the horrid noise to cease, she needed to stumble downstairs and help him.
But first... lets look for trade routes...
Perhaps this place would be worth her time after all! The Party Girl pressed her lips together and, with a grunt, rolled to a sitting position. She gritted her teeth and clutched at her knees as the quick movement triggered an onslaught of vertigo. Ohhh, shit... Agh, she was such a mess. She was healing quite nicely, yes, but she was still a mess. She could definitely feel her worst injuries mending as that wonderful healing liquid worked its way through her, but there was a good deal of inflammation that remained - which made everything painful. Her skin was mostly whole, including her subcutaneous scales, but her wrist, her ankle, and the multiple bullet wounds peppering her back still screamed at the slightest touch.
In an effort to turn her attention from her pain, The Party Girl lifted her chin and gazed out the window, desperately making observations to distract herself.
It m-must be midday?
The pale gray light that streamed through the windows did little to light the room, yet the way it touched the smooth wooden floor reminded her of the gloomy days of her childhood. The light itself was dense like cotton, seeming to invade and occupy whatever space it touched. The air too, stinking of death and so dense, it filled her lungs and just stayed there. Scattered on the floor were many, many empty bottles of Healing Potion. She had even dropped many, but there was no broken glass anywhere. Strange, but she was thankful she didn't need to navigate a sea of broken shards.
*thunk...thunk...thunk*
And there, the hammering resumed. She sighed and carefully eased herself to her feet and tottered her way to the door. Despite his initial hostility towards her, The Experiment grew far more docile after she demonstrated she was an ally. In fact, he had held true to his promise to supply her with anything she needed. Bandages, provisions, thirty plates of perfectly cooked lake bass (now that she had time to think about it, that... that was utterly impossible!) he had handed her whatever she asked for without a single word or expression breaking his façade. Ordinarily, she would have tried to make small talk, but The poor Experiment was rather demurred and sluggish, something, she supposed, was to be expected of a creature who was in the midst of burying his creator.
*thunk...thunk...thunk*
As she gingery limped her way down the stairs, she was granted view of a rather pitiful sight. The Guide's body was carefully laid out on the kitchen tabletop. He had been doused in a great deal of healing potion, but they weren't doing anything - not even healing the slightest scratches on his skin. He hadn't changed since she had last seen him. Her thermal vision told her his body was warm, as if he were still living... but he did not breathe and he had no pulse. Was he in some sort of coma? A half alive state? The Party Girl wasn't sure. She gazed at him for a short moment before making her way across the room and pausing to look out the front door.
Whoa... One hell of a coffin.
It was dreadfully foggy out, but assisted with her thermal vision, she could see what that The Experiment, who had thankfully managed to dress himself in some meaningful capacity, was rigorously hammering away at some terrible woodworking amalgamation. It could barely be considered modern art, but the sheer bulk of the thing made it impressive. There were logs stacked up in the field as high as a man's waist. Logs as tall as the trees were high. They must have weighed one ton each, but The Experimented picked them up, manipulated, and snapped them in two as if they were made of weightless foam. It was surreal to see, and The Party Girl once again wondered what manner of creature The Experiment was.
But he clearly didn't wish to speak to her, and she was loath to make herself obnoxious to her temporary benefactor. Still, in her current miserable condition, she was reluctant to search more than she had to. She knew The Resistance had holed up in The Clinic and The Castle, but she wanted to know which house belonged to The Demolitionist. If she could find documents, then perhaps her suffering wasn't in vain, and she could return to her post with her head held high.
The Party Girl hobbled up to The Experiment and startled herself with the hoarseness of her own voice.
"Y-you, where did The Dwarf stay?"
"..."
The pounding stopped and The Experiment turned to gaze at her from behind his slatted visor. She still felt a shiver go down her spine at his unnatural presence, but it was much less severe now that he wasn't hostile. He did seem a bit upset he had been disturbed from his project though, and spun and fidgeted his mallet's handle as she repeated her inquiry.
"ehem," She cleared her throat, "Dwarf? Demolitionist? Where did he stay?"
The hammer came up to point around the compound. The Experiment was clearly a man of few words, but he - thankfully - loosened his tongue to give her these precious details.
"The Fourth House. The Nurse's Clinic. The Hovel in the woods. Amidas' Castle."
"Okay thank y-" She startled, then pointed at The Castle and fixed The Experiment with a disbelieving stare. Her voice came out more fiercely than she'd intended, but if The Experiment cared, he didn't show it.
"What did you say? Who's Castle?"
The Experiment deadpanned at her and repeated his entire statement.
"The Fourth House. The Nurse's Clinic. The Hovel in the woods. Amidas' Castle."
"The Resistance's Sea King? Amidas? That fucking bastard fish fry?! You saw him? Does he look like a fish, some underwater reptile?"
"..."
The Experiment tilted his head at her, clearly not understanding her interest with Amidas. It was evident He wasn't enjoying this conversation as much as she was and turned his back to continue building, one-handed, that abomination of a coffin. He answered her over the din of pounding.
"The Sea King. We took him from The Sea beneath the desert. He is a very large seahorse man, and he asked me to build his throne underwater."
The Party Girl was far too excited for her own good. She staggered forward and grabbed The Experiment by the back of his cloak, forcefully seizing his attention. He flinched violently at the contact and paused to glare at her from beneath his helmet (thankfully, he did nothing more). She shook him.
"Where did he go?! Did he go to The Resistance? Is he still here?"
The Experiment shook her off, now expressing very obvious annoyance with her interference. Still, his voice was as flat and monotonous as ever.
"I don't know. The Guide knew, but The Guide's gone. Leave me. I'm occupied."
Her brain spun. Amidas? That old, slimy Resistance bastard who dared to oppose lord Yharim in his conquest? It was said that he had died nearly fifty years ago! How incredible to her he was alive! But... The Party Girl stared at The Experiment's back. Could The Experiment be lying? Probably not. He had no motivation to lie to her; it was doubtful he even knew how. In fact, he even claimed to have built The Castle with a submerged section specifically at The Sea King's request. The building itself was evidence that The Sea King was alive!
She momentarily considered pestering The Experiment for more information, but decided against it for fear of her own safety. Instead, she fixed her gaze upon the cathedral-like Castle and began limping towards it. Perhaps this place was a hellhole... and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.
How terrificlly strange.
He was... The Merchant frowned as he walked. Hadn't it been midnight just a single moment ago? Now, although the Mist was thick, and the clouds overhead were dark - it was very obviously midday.
And what was this stink! He had fled The Crimson already! Did he get turned around in the confusion? The old man furrowed his brow as he thought carefully. He was having difficulty recalling how he got here. Did something happened to him? He felt as if there was a gap in his memory where a great number of extremely important events took place. It bothered him very much... was he getting old?
Okay... think, think...
He reached to his throat and fingered the golden medallion strung about his neck - that mystical trinket that had, over the years, become his lucky charm. As he walked (seemingly not of his own volition), he patted his chest, then his stomach, then-
Hold on. That's not right!
The memory burst upon him suddenly, the horrors he had endured as he fled The Outpost where he had served as Merchant. A terrible creature had attacked him, a creature borne from the twisting of flesh. Innards became outers; teeth and claws sprung from places they ought not be. One had fallen upon him, piercing through his gut as if he were made of tissue paper. Yes, just a moment ago, he had been badly injured. So badly that he thought he would die! The ichor had burned his insides like fire, and he could scarcely stumble as he crawled towards a strange little building clad in gray brick.
It was there he lay, dying on the doorstep when he heard a young man yell, then-
...
...
His memory ended there. The Merchant was certain something else must have occurred, but for the life of him he could not recall it. How disturbing...
But given his remaining memories were to be trusted, how was it that he had appeared here, in the middle of the day, whole and uninjured, even with all his wares intact in his satchel?
...
And... and he was walking as well. He walked as if under some strange undeniable compulsion. Something was guiding him... where was he going?
Even as he questioned himself, he walked, and walked.
And walked through the dense fog until his eyes fell upon a high, gray bricked wall. Embedded in that wall was a tall wooden gate which pushed open easily beneath his palms.
"What's this?"
My Teacher just looks at me from behind his mask. I can see his eyes crinkle and I know he's clearly annoyed, but frankly, I don't care. I clap my book shut on my lap, plant my elbow on the armrest and rest my cheek on my fist to size up the man standing before me. We often involve ourselves in this sort of glaring contest whenever we come into conflict... I know I inevitably lose, but I suppose it's shameful to give in so easily to something I don't wish to do.
"Hero. Why is it that you are so combative about this? The Resistance simply wishes for you to be as secure as possible. Men have risked their lives delving into the jungle for this fruit, yet will you scorn their efforts?"
I blink at him and scoff.
"Men? Why would I care when people risk their lives for me. I know 'men'. I've fought them and I can tell you they're nothing. A flower of grass which withers in the fire. Clouds without water, carried about of the winds. Ah-"
I snap open my book and quickly flip to the page I had just studied. All of the spells I've learned thus far have been written in an ancient and archaic language, a language I've been forced to learn. I meet My Teacher's eyes and speak the word viciously: "zwecklos, vergeblich. A thousand can die, and it wouldn't make the slightest difference. They're far beneath my notice."
My Teacher sighs in exasperation and takes a seat across from me, his long bird-like mask nearly knocking into one of the stacks of books I had piled up. He places the platter on the coffee table between us and crosses his arms over his chest. I know I'm in for a tongue lashing, but I can't help it. Perhaps its wanderlust. Perhaps this is simply some strange, ingrained compulsion I find myself subject to... but it grates against my nature to be given power. I... It wouldn't be correct to say I enjoy struggling, persay, but to have my power handed to me on a silver platter (I glare at the Life Fruit which sits between us) is distasteful in the extreme.
Unfortunately, its a sentiment I can state, but cannot defend. All I can do is to be obstinate with everyone until My Teacher comes and 'force feeds' me.
"Hero, we do this every other day. Must I repeat myself?"
"I will forge my power on my own. I don't need The Resistance's help."
I know I'm talking nonsense, but I remain stubborn about it. It's not supposed to be this way for me. It should be me, delving into the deep jungles, braving dangers, seeing wonders... and looting the treasures the world has set before me. Instead, I'm treated like a spoilt child, sitting in a library, studying all manner of terrifyingly powerful spells whilst mere soldiers plumb the depths on my behalf. These worthless 'men' are taking my glory. To this very moment, they are doing what I was born to do.
"Hero, do you hold yourself in such low esteem that you would rather dig the sand and swat insects than sit at the crest of a new empire? I have brought you into this world, your birthright is loftier than these mundane tasks. This is what the soldiery is for, child. You said so yourself, they are dust in the wind... and they accomplish these things on your behalf so you can focus on changing history."
"..."
I open my mouth, then close it and make a face. I have never won this argument before, but each loss still stings. I suppose it's tolerable though, since it's My Teacher who bests me. My argument didn't hold up, so I stop speaking correctly and try whining.
"Okay fine, but I still really don't want to eat the fruit. It feels like cheating."
"Once Yharim is defeated, you're free to frolic about in the jungle and play in the mud as much as you'd like."
"That's gonna take forever!"
My Teacher sighs at me. He's the type to never raise his voice, and even though he's really annoyed (I can tell, I've known him all my life) he still keeps a calm demeanor. He picks up the plate and holds it out to me. I glare at him as if he'd just offered me a grave insult.
"It'll take forever because you didn't take advantages set before you. Eat, Hero."
"...I don't want to."
"..."
"..."
My Teacher stares at me with something close to disbelief clouding his eyes. He puts the plate down with a clack.
"I'm going to count to three... One, "
"... wait, wh-"
"Two!"
"Okay! Okay! I'm eating!"
Lunatic Cultist: Hero! I said to eat your fuvking broccoli for heavens sake! Do 'not' burn it to crisp with a spell. I am warning you young man!Hero: *crying screaming*
Lmao Lunatic Cultist is a better dad then The Guide. LC be like, bby eat ur fruit. Guide like, "see that giant floating eyeball? throw yourself at it until it dies. :thumbs_up:
Ohhhh what manner of merchant is this :0
no spoily, but if you've paid attention - you know exactly what's happening.