Hello
:) :):)
Sorry if there are any errors, i wrote this on my phone and i tend to have a more difficult time proofreading in this format.
*rip all my italics got eaten. its fixed now
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury(Unusable), 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: (500/490)
Armour: Aerospec Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: Galeforce (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Frostspark Boots, Luxor's Gift, Deific Amulet, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, Bundle of Balloons, Harpy Ring, Aero Stone, Skyline Wings
Health: (400/400)
The walls are dripping in liquid hate.
It blueish white, glowing and bubbling as it leaks from between the dark green bricks like mortar.
It pools on the floor as a slick, vicious substance. It hovers like fetid mist in the air - a damp stinking rot that fills my lungs with cotton. The darkness of The Dungeon seems to eat bites of my torchlight, carving gouges out of it with its pervading black. I'm fully armoured, but I can feel many thousands of somethings slipping flush against my skin, pinching and biting and gnawing on my flesh. Is it my imagination? I hope so... for I am not at liberty to strip down and check.
It's too quiet...
My heartbeat thrums in my ears. I hear it beating through the soles of my feet as if some massive subterranean drum is mimicking it. My footsteps are loud. Too loud. The air is too still. Occasionally, something chatters and creaks from the depths of the dark tunnel, but I cannot find the source. Things skitter from me as soon as my light touches them. The tail of a rat. The flickering of spirits. A long desiccated skull. A red haired woman chained behind bars, one eye gouged and her face a quivering wreck (I released her, naturally - she flees from me like a bat out of hell)... This place is desperate and malevolent. I can feel suffering vibrating through the walls. Wails of distress shriek from the silent bricks... yet there is no sound.
Be strong, Hero.
I am strong. I am. I must be. Outside, The Aquatic scourge lays butchered on the beach. The Crimson Worms are all destroyed by my hand. I've killed countless skeletons on my way here... but if I'm strong, then why am I so scared?!
Keep going.
I exhale and grit my teeth. I fix my gaze and flare my nostrils as I clutch my weapon tightly, feeling the familiar sheath in my palm. How long have I been in here? How deep have I traveled down these winding dilapidated paths? I cannot fly freely here - the walls are covered in armour breaking spikes. It is dangerous to use my grapple for fear of triggering the myriad of traps in this place. Tremendous swinging spiked balls that fling about, destroying everything in their paths. Dart traps that fire poisoned bolts with such speed it pierced not only my armour, but punched a hole in my calf and out the opposite armour plate. I must tread carefully. This place... it wants to kill me.
Archmage... how am I supposed to find anything in here. I haven't found a single Cultis-
*Thunk*
My thoughts are interrupted by the ominous clank of armour and the rattle of bones. There is something coming... is it another one of those rusted skeletons? Those now-faceless soldiers that were cast into the dungeon eons ago to rot and swell with hatred? Or perhaps the terrifying zombie snipers which although now dead, retain all the deadly accuracy they had while alive. Worse still are the magic users. The mages were bad enough, casting their searing blue fireballs the moment their hollow eyes fall upon me, but what of the inferno mages? I had read of them in my studies. Some fifty years ago, an entire race of brimstone sorcerers were destroyed in a faction war. Most of them perished in the conflict, but the survivors were rounded up by The Tyrant... I suppose I now know what they've become.
*thud...clank...clank...scrape...*
I narrow my eyes and tense up, raising high a lantern I'd plucked from the entrance of The Dungeon to squint into the darkness. I'm at the top of a perilous, winding staircase deep in the bowels of this place, and there's something in the pit below me. The Dungeon is labyrthine, doors and hallways, trap floors and hatches... behind each door is a myriad of others. At the end of each hallway are three more. I've wandered here for... who knows how long, feeling the spirits tickling the back of my neck, being jumped randomly by fresh new horrors. I've killed everything I've stumbled across. I will have no issues returning to the surface for the trail of mangled bones I leave in my wake. It's just that... I feel there's something even more terrible in this place.
Something vast and inscrutable.
A dangerous, overwhelming, maddening intellect.
I can feel it chafe against my bones. I feel it squirming in the deepest depths of darkness. Like some deep dark go-
*CLANK*
I nearly jump out of my skin. What is that? Where is it? In a panic, do my best to pinpoint where the noise is coming from and hurl my Stormfront razor - watching wildly to see what horrors the sparking light will reveal. My blade travels further than I had anticipated, revealing not a pit, but a wide room whose walls are layered in desiccated corpses chained by their wrists. The floor is covered in wicked spikes. The air rings and gargles. My blade embeds itself in the doorframe of the far end of the room and casts its white light on a new enemy.
A knight?
It's a huge figure dressed in heavy armour - as tall as Braelor and just as intimidating. Its armour is not dilapidated like the other denizens of The Dungeon, but polished, hardy and gleaming silver and gold. It bears a tremendous hammer in one armoured hand and a thick shield in the other. Around it's neck is a chain, and the chain is held by...
Ah! Cultists!
The one controlling The Paladin is a small figure dressed in blue and trimmed in gold. It's exactly the same garb My Teacher wears sans the vulture mask. As he raises his head to look at me, so does his undead guardian. What sort of dreadful magic are The Cultists using? Are they responsible for the living dead in this place? Have they been raising an army using the bodies and souls of the poor unfortunates consigned here?
Disgusting.
I am no lover of humans... but no longer do I despise them as I once did. Some might be weak and useless, but The Archmage is a human - is he not? To imagine him being trapped here to be killed mangled and transformed until he was a dog on a chain, a servant of these horrible men in blue robes. Just imagining it causes rage to swell behind my eyes. I bare my teeth beneath my armour and summon my blade back to my hand. My voice comes out far more guttural than I'd expected.
"Cultist scum... Bring me to The Lunatic Cultist's quarters, and perhaps I'll give you time to flee before I begin my massacre."
"Y-you! The Hero! Why..."
The Cultist flinches and drops the chain to the floor. He chatters something before quickly pointing at me and turning tail and fleeing down the hallway he came from. I can hear progressive doors slamming shut as he crawls back into the rat's nest he dared poke his head out of. Disgusting. I spread my icy wings and slowly float to the ground. All my fear is quelled by a righteous anger and a blind rage. I bare my teeth and glare wide eyed at The Paladin. It is soulless... but somehow it seems to understand I am capable of much more violence than it. Still, it prepares for battle, and in response. I sneer at it. I raise my blade.
"I acknowledge your choice, cultists... hide there and relish your last miserable breaths. Tonight, not a single one of you will escape."
(You insolent brat! You dare demand things of me? Truly you must have lost every bit of sense in that brain of yours to dare treat your parent this way. I breathed life into you, Hero. Have I no authority over you! Ridiculous! Paint your grass!? I can hardly-...)
The Terrarian was no stranger to being confused.
Indeed, it could be argued that his entire life had simply been a collection of confusing events. When he first opened his eyes in this world, he didn't know why he was here nor where he came from. That didn't really bother him at outset (frankly, he had assumed The Guide had crafted him out of dirt or something) but the more he thought about it, the more unsettled he became.
The solution? Don't think about it.
Then this sudden influx of men and woman swarming in and taking residence in his Compound? The Terrarian had no idea who they were or where they came from. He hadn't invited them, but they came nevertheless. They were also mostly hostile. Attacking him, holding The Guide prisoner, destroying his beautiful home... What a dreadful oddity! From where did they come from? Why did they come here? They were the only evidence of a massive, complicated world outside of The Slayer's little woods... and the concept made his head spin.
So he didn't think about it.
And just what was with The Guide? Rather, what was wrong with Him? The Guide was the first person he had ever laid eyes on. The Guide had cared for him since the beginning. From where did this deep seated distrust spring from? A bout of insanity, perhaps? The Guide had carefully explained to him that he must continue on his mission to destroy The Crimson even if his more recent memories were all scrambled. Perhaps this sense of suspicion was merely a trick of the mind... or maybe it wasn't. If The Guide wasn't trustworthy- than neither were his words nor reassurances.
Because, after all, wasn't The Guide a little bit strange? Did he not behave himself oddly when crossing through the remnants of his destroyed village in search of The Perforator's remains?
And That Village. So many weeks ago when the ground exploded beneath his feet, tearing off one arm and a leg - why had he appeared in The Guide's village?! What was his relation to it? What was that odd magic circle imprinted faintly in the dirt? Why had everyone here died? Trying to put these pieces together was eye-wateringly difficult for him. He refused to. Firstly, because he could not. Secondly, because he was terrified as to what he'd discover should he succeed. His little island of ignorance was bliss. He didn't want to deal with harsh realities. He wanted to ignore the outside world...
But the outside world had not ignored him.
In the form of an angry fishy-smelling man dressed in blue robes and a bird's mask, the outside world had seized him from the safety and comfort of his home. There was the noise of rushing water, the sound of deep, abyssal emptiness, a flash of blinding light and then - in a imperceptible eternity - he appeared on a dark beach.
(h-h-haak... cough...)
He staggered and fell to his knees, feeling his heavy greaves plop into the loamy sand and begin to sizzle. His vision swam and swayed as nausea slithered through his guts - causing him to ball his fists and grab handfuls of the acidic slags. They... they were burning. They burned him through his thick metal gloves, yet were not hot. Quickly, The Terrarian struggled to his feet and drew his sword, looking around as he did so.
Dark...
In The Compound, it had been noonday... but here it was night! (Was such a thing possible?) His eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness and his world was black. The sky above was starless, the moon shrouded in a noxious mist. The blackness of the night seemed to tremble with the rumbling of the waves as he lifted his gaze to stare at the tremendous green structure on the shores of a burning sea.
*woosh*
(cough... hack)
What a dreadful breeze. The scent was worse than that of The Crimson. The taste of acid and rot. The lashing wind rubbed his throat raw like a thousand stinging nettles. The ground beneath his feet was soft and unstable, it oozed a faintly glowing fluid as it gave way beneath his heels. Ahead, he could hear the roaring of vicious waves pounding against dark craggy shores.
what is this ... where am-
(You disobedient whelp! Don't you know the purpose of your birth? Clearly The Worms weren't enough discipline for you, so I'll teach you a lesson. Perhaps you thought death was the worst thing that could happen to you - but I assure you that that is pure naivety. I have things in The Dungeon that will make you beg for death.)
*thunk*
He had nearly forgotten! He'd just been kidnapped! Ever since searing his lawn, the blue-clothed man had not stopped yelling at him (although his voice was mostly whipped away by the wind).
agh!
Perhaps The Blue Mage realized words were having little effect and decided to make his point physically. The Terrarian could feel his brain rattling around in his skull as his kidnapper seized him by the horn of his helmet and shook him like a ragdoll. Now, this was quite enough. The Terrarian had hardly a clue who this strange man was, nor what he wanted - but he wasn't willing to allow himself to be manhandled any longer. He had been trying to behave himself as civilly as possible (as he was well aware of his penchant towards violence) but clearly this was doing him no good. He made a considerable effort to shake himself free, but-
*thunk*
...What!
His limbs strained as he tried to stand, but The Blue Mage slammed him back to his knees. He scrabbled against the gloved hand gripping his helmet, but despite all his strength, could not even budge a single one of his attacker's fingers. The Blue Mage appear to notice his resistance at all!
What is going on!
How could this be?! Just who was this man, who could do easily subdue him... and not with tricks of the mind - but with pure, raw, power! This was the very first time an overwhelming force had lain hands on him. Prior to this, there wasn't a single person or thing that he outclassed. They had gotten his with explosives and guns, yes, but never in physical strength. This was a moment of shock, and it struck fear into The Terrarian's heart.
(Pathetic, Hero! Have you lost your mind too?! Look how far you've fallen! A Terrarian - Hero, you were the deity of this age! Armies have bowed the knee to you! You would have led the rise of a new empire! Instead, here you are - a miserable scrap. A filthy rag-)
The Mage was strong but his attention was mostly occupied spouting insults. He didn't react when The Terrarian, in one swift movement, unsnapped his chinguard, fell out of his helmet, and rolled clear of his assailant. The Vulture-Headed mage was left holding his helm by it's feathered plume. His voice was an audible sneer that rapidly became a tentative confusion.
(-... What in the world?!)
The Mage ceased to rant and fell silent. Had The Terrarian been paying much attention, he might have recognized his kidnapper's shocked body language and interpreted he had been taken by mistake... but alas. The Terrarian's immediate response had been to produce his sword in one hand and his magic mirror in the other. He bared his teeth and snarled.
"Stay away from me. Stay away from my home!"
"Hold on, you're not The Hero! who are you?!"
"Leave me alone!"
The Terrarian backed up a few paces before swiftly turning his head to glance into his mirror... but the surface was blackened. The mirror failed to transport him. Was this a result of the acid wind? Ridiculous! Thoroughly panicked, he discarded the magic mirror into the dirt and produced another.
"I can't let you leave so soon. Who are you, Knight?"
"..."
The Blue Mage was watching him, dark curiosity sparkling behind those slitted eyes. The Terrarian couldn't see, but he was convinced the man within was grinning behind that mask. Had The Blue Mage done something? Because the new magic mirror he produced was blackened as well.
And so was the third.
And the fourth.
And the twentieth.
The Terrarian had scattered them to the ground in a panic. He tried a recall potion, that did no good either. Had he been cut off? Was he unable to flee? was there no escap-
"There is indeed no escape."
The Terrarian startled. This man could also read his mind? The Blue Mage laughed triumphantly.
"What will you do now, Knight? Cry? Beg? Although you bear remarkable resemblance to him, you're not The Hero... but if you were the one who killed the Goblin Army, then I can still make use of you."
The Cultist's voice was loud through the lashing wind. Rain had begun to drizzle from the sky. It sizzled where it made contact with his armour and burned his face as droplets leaked past his nose. The Terrarian didn't know exactly what was happening, but that was nothing new. Who was this man? Who was 'The Hero'? All of these things were irrelevant.
I need to fight.
The fact remained: he couldn't escape. If he couldn't escape... then he needed to fight. Of he lost, he'd die. If he wanted to live, he needed to win.
*tink*
He tossed his twenty first Magic mirror to the ground and summoned his helmet. He fastened it to his chassis with a click and drew his bow, planting his feet in the soil and watching The Blue Mage carefully. His breath had become short. His nerves became taut. He took aim at the Vulture mask and launched a flurry of arrows... only for the arrows to fizzle out of existence the moment he let them fly from the bowstring. Two arrows. Three. Four. None of those shining bolts reached their target.
The Blue Mage seemed delighted with his persistence. He called out through the driving rain.
"You're not too sharp, are you?! Ha! You're stupid, but at least you're brave. Perhaps it's better to have a dull and docile soldier then a smart and rebellious one. Okay Knight, Ill make you replace The Hero... but first. I must test you. You can't be too weak."
He raised his hand and pointed at The Dungeon. It began to shake and rumble. The Terrarian could make out the faint figure of a skeletal man stagger out into the rain. He twisted and travailed in agony before collapsing. Something began swelling and ripping through his skin. The Terrarian watched in mounting disgust. The Cultist seemed to delight in The Old Man's torment.
"I think you'll find I'm quite skilled in curses. This is one of my favorites. I call it, 'skeletron'. I use it as a party trick... not many appreciate it."
The beach shook wildly as an otherworldly screech split the night. The Old Man was gone, torn to shreds by the tremendous skeletal being that burst from his back, popping him like a gory balloon. Even from here, The Terrarian could smell the coppery tang of blood.
Disgusting.
He clenched his teeth and scrunched his nose at the vile show of unnatural power. Behind him, The Cultist planted his hands proudly on his hips. He motioned towards The glowing skull. Its skeletal fingers digging grooves in the loamy slags as it floated towards them.
"Beautiful, isn't he?... well then. I wish you luck, Knight. Put on a good show."
Slayer: My Dad rescued me from zombies when I was born. He's also mega smart.
Faze: Mine made me stronger than armies. He's a tiger-dad but at least I can trust him.
S: At least my Dad didn't feed me to worms.
F: (PTSD flashbacks) I'm going to strangle you now.
S: *gurgle*
HAHA I'M SORRY I WAS PLAYING VIDEO GAMES AGAIN SO I MISSED A WEEK!
thanks for all the support ;) love you all!
Lunatic cultist just kidnapped someone else's kid whoops. better return him.
Also faze went into the dungeon that afternoon. he's still in there while cultist is bullying Slayer outside.
rip old man.