Hellooo! Only a bit late this week. Hope you enjoy. :) :)

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: (300/400)

He slept like a dead person.

His previously strong pulse went so faint, it was barely perceptible - even if The Guide pressed his fingers against his jugular. His breath was likewise so subdued it was hardly there, and The Guide could swear he had stopped breathing entirely at least three or four times throughout the night. The Terrarian's skin tone was always a bit gray and ashen, but since he was always running around, The Guide never realized just how deathly he looked until he was laying still, limp and unconscious. The Terrarian looked like a fucking corpse and it was scaring him silly. There were several instances where The Guide became so terrified he had really died, he'd shouted, shaken, and even slapped The Terrarian in an effort to wake him. Yet no matter what was done, the almost-man simply wouldn't open his eyes...

Breathe... breathe... Come on buddy, you're gonna give me a heartattack...

The cold early morning arrived, tentatively laying a thin film of fog over the compound as it crept across the land from the east. As it wound its way through the dense underbrush, around the tree boughs, up the retaining wall and across the clipped lawn, its light fell on The Guide's exhausted, hunched figure seated at the edge of his bed. The Guide raised tired eyes to herald the day, and sighed heavily as he slumped back into the the bedframe. Was it already morning? Had he spent the entire evening fretting and panicking over the maybe-corpse laying still as death on top of his covers? He had thought he would be relieved when The Terrarian came back to him, but The Guide could clearly see what The Sea King meant when saying The Slayer was 'incomplete'. Legends had it that Terrarians were deathless. Not that they couldn't die, but that death gave way to life immediately. All the old memories The Guide was now privy to (and was slowly making his own) indicated a true Terrarian would re-spawn immediately, hardy, awake and ready for combat.

But when The Slayer arrived he was so weak he could scarcely breathe. His muscles were soft like jelly, clearly having yet to strengthen for movement. His eyes were mid-development, the pupil yet to separate from the sclerea. When The Guide opened his mouth, he found The Terrarian's teeth were a ring of white nubs, still coming in from beneath the gums. Indeed, The Guide was seeing a side of his companion he'd never seen before - and it was extremely stressful. Yes, all his previous scars had vanished - and any weathering the elements had done to his skin had been reversed (frankly, The Terrarian's 'newborn' skin was so delicate, The Guide was afraid it'd rip if he so much as pinched it). Even the fingers he had lost to The Nurse and Amidas had re-appeared! He was whole once more... but what good was being whole if he was scarcely alive! Had he fallen asleep, even though he had never slept before? Perhaps...and The Guide was fearful he'd never wake.

Its just like the first night... when I found him in the magic circle...

Yes, just like back then. Scarce breathing, a faint pulse, unable to be woken until the sun rose high into the sky... would The Terrarian wake once more? Maybe he had died for real last night and just his husk made it back home? What did the Lunatic Cultist do! Perhaps perform some wicked enchantment? Perhaps seal his soul in a bottle? Maybe The Guide had imagined The Terrarian reacting to him that night on the red-brick patio... and he'd been talking to a comatose body the whole time!

He definitely moved... he grabbed my shirt. He definitely did...

He craned his neck to look down upon The Terrarian's unconscious form. There was a cold feeling in his stomach as he reached down and took The Slayer's hand in his own. He squeezed it - but there was no response. Not even the twitch of a finger. Whatever The Terrarian had managed to do last night, he wasn't repeating it... perhaps The Guide really had hallucinated the entire thing?

Shut up...

Hallucinations or not, he couldn't give up The Terrarian. No matter the justifications, nor the reasons, nor any argument he posed to himself, he could neither accept nor dwell on the idea The Slayer was really dead. He sighed once more and brushed his thumb lightly over The Terrarian's forehead, resting his palm against the almost-man's feathery head of hair. He lifted one of the eyelids - the pupils were still malformed, but slowly correcting themselves. He parted the lips - the teeth had come in about halfway. The body was still breathing faintly but it was far more consistent than before; the heartbeat was still erratic but strong enough that The Guide felt it wasn't on the brink of just stopping. Besides, he didn't think he could continue to watch The Terrarian for much longer without his heart cracking or dropping from fatigue - whicever came first. He wobbled to his feet and spoke over his charge's unconscious form.

"Don't die on me, okay? I'll be right back."

"..."

No response. Even if The Terrarian was awake, he probably wouldn't respond to that. He'd probably stare at him all embarrassed from behind that slatted visor. The Guide chuckled briefly before stumbling into the hallway and slumping his way down the stairs, his footsteps loud against the hardwood. Everything hurt. His back was sore from bending over for the past... eight hours? heavens. He planted his hands on his hips and stretched his shoulders before tripping over the edge of the carpet and collapsing into the living room couch. He blew a raspberry against the leather sofa and shut his eyes. He was exhausted, but at the same time too high strung to really sleep. What he needed right now was a coffee and something to eat. But all there was was a pile of softening apples, water, ale and healing potions. Should he go hunt rabbits? Meat sounded good right now, but then again, The Guide didn't think he was in any state to go stalking through the forest...

Maybe The Party Girl has got something...

Ah... The Party Girl, The Stylist and that strange lizard man... the remaining occupants of The Compound. So far, both pink-haired women had caused minimal trouble. It was The Witch Doctor that was an unknown. The Guide's external memory kicked in and provided him information on the lihzard race. They were a group of jungle creatures that were savage, yes, but evolved and improved themselves at such a rapid rate, the highest caste easily boasted intelligence far above the average human. They had their own special brand of dangerous and powerful 'Voodoo' magic that could do things previously thought entirely impossible. Indeed, there were rumors that their own king - The Tyrant Yharim, was one of these! (but uttering such things aloud would surely land your neck on a chopping block.)

So although The Guide wasn't the type to go out and socialize to distract himself from his troubles, he knew he had to at least greet the newest members of The Compound - otherwise he may find himself embroiled in another 'domestic' conflict. This 'Witch Doctor' had the potential to be either a drooling idiot reptile, or a powerful and intelligent ally. The Guide must make an effort to introduce himself in order that he did not stand in his way. His plan was almost complete. He must ensure it finished smoothly. He had already gotten so far... The Crimson Eye was dead, as was The Brain, as were The Worms... only The Wall remained.

And when The Wall was killed - And The Guide could only pray The Terrarian would have strengthened enough to kill it.

But until then, he could not rest.

He would not lay down to sleep until his task was finished... because once the wall was slain, he would sleep and not wake up.

And so, The Guide - with flint in his eyes, drove himself to his feet and trudged towards the front door.

*Shhiing*

*thump*

The Archmage blinked and quickly stood to his feet as the sound of ironclad heels hitting glassy floors reverberated through his castle. With uncharacteristic haste, he clapped his book shut and commanded it be stashed away before purposefully striding out of his library and into his drawing room - the place The Hero had subconsciously determined to be his 'home'. It was a little odd - to say the least - that The Hero had chosen the drawing room as his place of residence instead of - for example, a bedroom. It was a rather public location, but it was there that The Hero spent most his time, either reading, discussing magical theory, or simply laying around and waiting on the icy couches. A normal person would have undoubtedly craved the more private rooms in the towers above, but clearly The Hero could not be judged against normal standards. He was an exceedingly unique existence, and - for the most part - The Archmage observed his behavior with curiosity rather than judgement.

"Hero!? Hero!"

But this time, The Archmage could not help but be angry with his young charge. The boy had been gone for... two entire days without a single word to him! Searching The Dungeon should have taken no less than an afternoon, so when The Hero failed to return after two entire days The Archmage began imagining the worst. Of course, The Old Sorcerer knew The Hero was exceedingly powerful. He was well aware that most threats were mere nuisances to him... but it just so happened that Yharim was prowling about, and Yharim would likely be sending his troops in search of them. The Imperial machine was a terrifying one. Their information network and technological advancements were a sight to behold. The Archmage knew he was not safe if The Tyrant was looking for him. Indeed, with each passing moment that he remained here (encircled by The Sea King's eldritch magic) he half-expected Yharim to come bursting through the ceiling.

"You pigheaded imbecile! Where have you been, young man! Have you any idea how worried I was? What in the bloody hell were you doing!"

And so, perhaps it was reasonable for him to be anxious and snappy. Even so, The Hero had clearly come unprepared to be yelled at. He had appeared just a moment ago in the living room, all brimming and bouncing with energy with a great smile pasted on his face. He had shed his pheasant's disguise and was once again dressed in his signature black and red armour - sans his helm. He had a number of sheafs of parchment rolled up in his arms, and the moment he caught sight of The Archmage, his eyes lit up in excitement. Evidently, he was eager to share something with him - but The Archmage cut him off in anger before a single word could leave his mouth.

"Arch-"

"Did I not explicitly tell you to return as soon as possible?! Time is of essence, yet you spend two days frolicking about doing heavens knows what! Did you not take my instruction seriously, Hero?! Have you so little respect for this old man that you choose to rebel against my advice? Tell me - what could have been so important that you had to spend two days out, without a single note to me?! Hmm?"

The Archmage did not shout often. He was normally quite softspoken and did not usually allow his temper to get away from him. After all, what was the point in getting riled up over the things one didn't care about? It was because he had lived so long that The Archmage made a point not to emotionally connect with... anything. Over his long years, he had seen everyone he ever loved grow old and die. Even his own children, and his children's children...

But the Archmage made an exception for The Hero. He was A Terrarian. A deity walking the earth - and in this case, and infant deity who was still bumbling around for his place in this world. He was odd in a likeable sort of way. He was terrifying, but also terrified. He was the destroyer of thousands, but he himself had suffered a thousand deaths. He was well versed in destructive magic and showed great intelligence in a number of very complex topics - but still stared, enraptured, at the intricacies of snowflakes, or the petals of wildflowers. Dangerous and naive. Innocent yet wise through suffering. At one time he had been pompous and prideful yet had been humiliated so completely by the cruelties of this world The Archmage did not think he would ever stop nursing that deep and crushing trauma. Indeed, The Hero was a tragic figure. It was almost as if he had, at the age of merely one month, been forced to drink to the very dregs the cup of this world's despair. Betrayal, abandonment, disappointment and pain... he had experienced it all to their utmost severity.

"..."

And it was because he could still stand up afterwards, that The Archmage had decided he would commit himself to him. It had been many years since he had taken an apprentice, and in most cases - the learner would be privileged to call The Archmage his teacher... but not this time. This time, The Archmage counted himself an unworthy chaperone to a Terrarian. The boy was already a magical genius. Perhaps it was a combination of his natural wit and whatever hellish tutoring program The Lunatic Cultist had forced the boy through. He needed no help executing spells and the like (although The Archmage had yet to see him perform any magic... his knowledge of theory was quite satisfactory) - instead he needed advice in making friends. He needed to be comforted in the face of danger. He needed a place to feel safe and welcomed. He needed a place to call home.

"...I'm... sorry Archmage."

So, of course The Archmage did his utmost to provide everything The Hero needed. Indeed, he hadn't shown affection for anything for the past hundred years, and had much to lavish on the boy. And lavish he did, he was pleased to do it. He remembered with fondness the moment the moment his icy prison cracked open and The Archmage stumbled out of his prison, only to nearly trip over The Hero's limp body. He remembered what The Hero looked like. That broken, corruption riddled form bleeding freely into the white snow, his vital fluids stained and clumping with that horrendous purple cancer. He was unconscious, but even so - there was no peace in his face. He was a broken soul, a desperate, abandoned one which strove to survive against the most dreadful of odds.

And watching that very same person heal, and smile and laugh. To watch him rest and cry in relief. To watch him grow and his curiosity pique so he stared in wonder at the cloudsea or the beauty of the jungle. To listen to him as he burst through into the library to tell him something extremely pedestrian - like "Archmage, did you know plants could be grown in pots without a homeostasis spell!". All of it was endearing in a mundane sort of way, and The Archmage could say with certainty that he cared deeply for the boy.

Which is why he was now shouting at him.

"Are you sorry, Hero?! I know you are young - but you cannot be irresponsible. Your enemies are great and terrible. I would not see you captured and destroyed by them. I beseech you, young one. Listen to me and heed my advice! How else would you avoid such a terrible fate! It was already a miracle you weren't killed by The Tyrant! Do you seek to test and provoke him further?!"

"...no, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

The Hero seemed to shrink beneath the tongue lashing. His joyful expression stuttered and froze in shock. His bright eyes became downcast as his face fell. The Hero never really spoke loudly, persay. His voice had an ethereal quality to it, seeming to come from everywhere at once such that he was perfectly understood no matter the distance or the background noise. Even so, right now he sounded small - perhaps even a bit panicked. Did The Hero even pick up honorifics in an attempt to appease him? The Archmage shook his head and huffed heavily into his pipe. He sat heavily in his ever-present ice chair and motioned for the sheafs of paper The Hero was clutching to himself as if his life depended on it.

"Enough. Time is sort. Pass me those documents. Take this pen and help me carve the runes."

The Hero leapt to obey, quickly walking over to unload the parchments on the coffee table. His happy expression had turned sad, and the sadness - for fear of breaking into tears, had disappeared behind a steely mask. In truth, The Archmage wasn't as angry as he made himself out to be. He knew his words would hurt The Hero, but he got the sense The Hero needed a healthy dose of reality. It was all well and good for him to bungle around and play, but not with The Tyrant's eye trained on them. Surely imperial spies were inching closer and closer to their location with each passing minute. Surely the great eyes in the sky were roaming the land, in search for his magical signature. Soon enough, Yharim would find him... but before he was captured or killed, he would do one final service for his last student.

He would move The Hero's spawn point out of the cursed crimson land.

"Let us hurry. Night is falling. There is much to do. Fetch my arcane ink from the office. Go, go!"

(rapid footsteps)

What a pity. What a crying shame that The Archmage's days were numbered so. He would have been glad to accompany The Hero for years to come. Indeed, he was dreadfully curious to see the things he would do. The heights he would reach. The power he would grasp. The Archmage wanted to see The Hero kill The Tyrant. He wanted to watch his hope - for indeed, The Hero was his hope - strike down his despair... but he knew he wouldn't see it.

He knew Yharim would put him in his grave long before The Hero reduced that monster to ash.

"Hurry! Hurry! come on now."

"I'm coming!"

This was the least he could do.

Perhaps it was the last thing he'd do.

Slayer: haven't you heard? Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves

Faze: What a stupid fucking quote. I am killing way more than two people

S: huh

F: starting with you

Guide: gdammit

Eyooo. im gonna be in a world of hurt trying to draw a timeline of this when ch 125 comes around. I think I have my days and nights mixed up TT_TT

I hope you all have a beautiful day. Yall are kings and queens and don't you forget that.