GG, Soon.
Armour: Aerospec Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: Galeforce (Ichor Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/11): Charm of Myths, Ankh Shield, Terraspark Boots, Luxor's Gift, Deific Amulet, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, MOAB, Harpy Ring, Aero Stone, Skyline Wings
Health: (400/400)
He was never good at discerning these sort of things.
He was barely human (maybe not even that!) and therefore had little confidence in his ability to "read the mood".
Well, that's what The Guide called it anyways. Reading the mood: "determining the atmosphere of a conversation for the purpose of effective social interaction." The issue was, The Terrarian could scarcely discern the inner thoughts or tells of individuals, much less act upon them! He was so far from being able to employ these lessons, he was rather confused as to why The Guide bothered trying to teach him. Almost every social interaction The Terrarian had engaged in during his short life had come out a disaster. He was just too surly and unmotivated to make anything work. People weren't his forte, and... frankly, they didn't have to be.
Because, as far as he was concerned, he didn't need any new friends.
He had no intention of building any more close relationships, nor find more people to share life with. He only needed one person, and nobody qualified to take his place: The Guide. The man who had greeted him when he first opened his eyes in this cruel and wonderful world. The one who walked alongside him through every victory and every defeat. They bore each other's lives in their hands. They lived each day facing death together. The Guide always looked out for him. He always accompanied him. He was there to encourage and admonish. He was just ...always there - that reassuring presence that ensured everything always went according to plan.
And The Guide had promised never to leave him.
So The Terrarian would do anything for him.
Because he loved him.
He wasn't sure exactly what love was supposed to be, but he knew he cherished The Guide very dearly. He knew he would rather die than to be without him. As far as he was concerned, The Guide might as well be the only person who existed on this earth. Nobody else mattered at all. He was happy around him. He would be happy to be around him the rest of his days. If The Guide was with him, everything would be fine. Perhaps he would face hardships. Perhaps he would be dismembered again, or have his guts scraped out, or maybe his neck broken, or... anything else really. But it would be okay. Because even in the direst of straits - The Guide had always been there to fix things. When he was bleeding out on the acidic shores, beaten and broken by an unknown enemy - The Guide had come and rescued him. This was a man who would never betray him, and The Terrarian had pitched himself headlong upon this foolhardy trust.
Even to the gates death he will not abandon me. He will find a way to make everything right. He always does.
The Terrarian knew this.
He knew it for sure. The Guide has never been wrong.
*hic* (muttering)
But even while he knew this... why did things feel so... wrong?
(...)
The silence was heavy. Thick velvet darkness settling upon them and muffling out every noise until he felt his head was full of smoke and cotton. The flickering flames swayed lethargically like snakes and cast their glowing shadows against the smooth walls. They pulsed in time with that odd tremor in his bones. The tremor of dreadful anticipation, the snores of a tremendous beast. That mournful drone strung his nerves tightly and made the tips of his fingers tingle with pins and needles. It made him still his breathing as if he were a prey animal laying still to avoid detection. The Guide was here... Everything would be fine, but Something... something was coming.
Something was coming, and it would be here soon.
What was it? From whence did it come? Normally The Terrarian had no issue sniffing out a monster, but the essence of this creature was everywhere. As if it was already upon them, slumbering above them and beneath them, encapsulating them such that the moment it awoke, it would swallow them whole.
It will be fine... we do battle tomorrow.
The Guide probably knew what it was (He knew everything, after all)- but had consumed so much alcohol, he had babbled himself straight to sleep twenty minutes ago. Earlier, he was going on and on and on about about some ridiculously intricate topic - and now that he had fallen unconscious, he still continued to mutter nonsense under his breath. It wasn't odd for The Guide to talk in his sleep. In fact, as far as The Terrarian could recall, he always murmered into the wee hours of the morning. It was as if his brain was filled with so much, that knowledge came tumbling out of his mouth like a torrent no matter his state of mind.
"The Dryads did this... *hic*... it didn't have to happen like this"
The Terrarian always made a point to not listen when The Guide sleeptalked. It generally wasn't worth it since it was incoherent anyways, but it also felt like an invasion of privacy. The Terrarian got a sense The Guide would not appreciate him listening in on his thoughts, so he did his best not to. In fact, had they not been deep underground, lodging in a cave - whose far end was a shaft that led straight into the underworld, The Terrarian would not suffer to be here at all.
Because although he loved The Guide, he didn't like to sit still and do nothing, guarding his little makeshift cavern from the wayward burrowing worm, or the number of fluttering bats that seemed to be trying to bash the stone apart with their furry bodies. He was never the type to just sit around, but The Guide had expressly requested he stay here and stay vigilant all night.
So... although he wasn't particularly excited to do so, he obeyed.
"Don't hate me for this, okay? I wish I didn't have to... You'll be just fine."
He sat there, staring into the heart of the fire and listening to the gentle crackling pops of the wood slowly blackening into ash. The cavern was small and unpleasant, but The Terrarian had employed himself to make it reasonably habitable, covering the stony ground in so many knotted silken rugs - the floor sank under their heels. He had walled off their corner of the cave like a pueblo, crafted windows with yellow stained glass and covering the sandstone walls with tapestry just for the sake of doing so. After all, physical resources meant nothing to him. He could have just as easily built this shelter of gold bars or caused the ground to be fitted with diamonds, but he did not like to use such gaudy colours for his homes. He stuck with bricks and wood panels.
"It's not fair... It's not -*hic*- fair..."
To his left was a low workbench and table. There was a cooking pot in the corner that, after having been used, was filled to the brim with an impressive number of empty ale mugs. Not far from it, on the opposite side of the campfire, The Guide was curled up upon himself. He was laying on his side, his back to the flames and his endless stream of rambling filling the air like a low drone. The man's face was different while inebriated (he stank almost as bad as The Party Girl had after her attempt at trying to drain a keg), less sharp and intelligent, and more swollen and covered in drool. To be completely honest, it was both alarming and amusing. The Terrarian leaned over for a slightly closer look-
"...*hic*... I don't want to do it... I'm sorry, Buddy..."
...?
The Terrarian blinked and narrowed his eyes.
He wasn't really the prying sort, but... wasn't that The Guide's nickname for him? 'buddy'? That was... unusual. When The Guide talked in his sleep, he normally didn't address anyone (as far as The Terrarian was aware). For fear of waking the sleeping man with the clanging of armour, The Terrarian stripped off the larger pieces of his battle regalia until he wore only his reinforced gloves and linen shirt.
(shiff... shiff...)
His footsteps were dull thumps as he padded carefully across their little rug-strewn cave - quiet, yet The Terrarian felt as if a thousand sets of ears were pricking up the the noise. His skin crawled. The backs of his eyes tingled. He scanned the room again, and even peeked out the stained glass windows - but there was nothing. It was just him and The Guide, in the silence of the depths... and some creature, who he could not find no matter how carefully he searched.
And to make matters worse, The Guide was far too drunk to notice. His face was all puffy and wet, and initially The Terrarian just assumed he had splashed ale all over himself - until intermittent flashes of grief turned the corners of his mouth or caused tears to leak from his eyes. He muttered to himself, his voice sometimes breaking and cracking. Was he afraid? The Guide didn't cry often. The Terrarian had only ever seen the man crying in pain, and he didn't look injured right now. Was he nervous about the fight ahead? The Guide had never cried from nervousness before. Perhaps he was just drunk?
Odd.
"It's not fair... It's not -*hic*- fair..."
The Terrarian blinked and crept closer as he heard The Guide's voice begin to crumble. He frowned deeply as he realized The Guide was crying quite freely now, heaving unto himself as he soaked the silken rugs beneath him. Tears were rolling off his eyelashes and trailing down his cheeks. They caught the flickering firelight and shimmered like streaks of living gold. His entire body shuddered in time with his drunken sobs, and he slumped over as if he wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.
And, upon close inpsection, the look on his face was not drunkenness, but anguish. Was he hurting? (No) Was he in pain? (Likely not) There was misery carved into the lines of his face. Misery, exhaustion and regret and it struck The Terrarian deep with cords of fear. Why did The Guide look so distressed?! Something terrible must be happening if this man - who seemed to know everything in this world - was sunken into the pits of frenzied despair. Was it the creature they would soon fight?
This 'Wall' that The Guide seemed so concerned about?
It must be.
It must be some terrible opponent. A great sprawling beast which crushed and consumed all that stood before it. What did it look like? Perhaps it was a dragon, or a great stone golem, or a creature made of lava and ash. Indeed, as The Terrarian's thoughts strayed towards his soon-to-be opponent, he could not help but to become excited. That hysterical, slobbering bloodlust began to creep in from the corners of his vision until he couldn't even pretend to be afraid. The Wall?
Was this not the creature that had plagued The Guide for so long? What at relief it would be for him, when The Terrarian finally managed to destroyed it.
And of course he would destroy it.
The Guide had prepared him, so he knew he was prepared. He likewise wasn't the type to make sloppy mistakes while battling. He wanted to see this opponent. He wanted to feel his veins fill with opaque, unfeeling rage. He wanted to relish the punch of adrenaline. To feel flesh give beneath his blade, to watch his arrows blast holes through his enemy. He wanted to go to battle. To fell giants and bring deities to their knees. The Guide had named him 'The Slayer' and he would carry out the purpose he had been given with impunity. And when he faced The Wall - he would surely emerge victorious.
The Guide need not be anxious. Soon, they would be celebrating.
The Terrarian decided he would shake his mentor awake to tell him just that.
I don't... want to do it...
Pathetic.
He didn't.
He didn't want to do it.
He didn't want to end his little, pathetic life.
He didn't want to cast himself into the fire to save hundreds of thousands. He didn't want to give up all the knowledge he had gained and abandon the joys of living. If he did this, he would never again feel warmth of the sun on his cheeks. He would never again feel dew on his ankles or the blades of grass tickling his feet. The coolness of nights were forever stolen from him. The brightness of the day, the whispering breeze. The sensation of paper and silk on his hands and the tightness in his back as he drew a bowstring.
Death.
Everything disappeared in death.
He didn't want to pitch his very soul into dark, to cast everything aside and pin his eternity on the battle prowess of his grown infant. It wasn't that he afraid The Terrarian would fail in his task. No. The Terrarian was prepared, armed to the teeth and as ready as anything to hurl himself into The Wall and tear it asunder. Neither was he afraid that the mental anguish was watching him ... off himself, would effect The Terrarian's performance in any negative manner.
After all, Terrarians were built for battle.
If The Brain of Cthulhu's mental disturbances could not overcome The Terrarian's overwhelming bloodlust, then watching one's parent spontaneously combust would have a similarly negligible effect. They were descending into the depths, and when they arrived.
He would die.
The Wall would die.
A Million souls would be free...
And The Terrarian would be left all alone.
(-uide...)
I'm sorry, buddy.
Guilt was bubbling up in his stony, hardened heart. It had bubbled there for weeks, but only now did it cumulate in something akin to anguish. It was torturous. It was miserable. The Slayer - who he loved like his own child - would stand helpless as he was abandoned for the sake of others. He'd be able to do nothing as he watched The Guide shriek and wither in flames. Would he blame himself? Consider it his own mistake for not protecting him well enough? Possibly. Would he be filled with a misplaced guilt? Or would he realize The Guide had killed himself purposefully... which was better? For all his knowledge, The Guide did not know.
Regardless, he'd be utterly heartbroken.
The Guide knew this.
Each step he took was advancing towards this goal. Each promise he made, every lie he crafted - it was for this very moment. Indeed, when he first laid eyes on The Terrarian so many weeks ago - he had made the decision he would use the almost-man to serve the townspeople who had been sacrificed to fuel his birth. Now, he was making it happen. He was going to break all of the promises he had made. He had promised not to die (The Terrarian was naive enough to believe that one), he had promised to never abandon him, he had promised not to kill himself...
(Guide-)
One more day.
One more day.
One more day living on this world. One more day with the one he'd come to adore as his own child. Everything was going according to plan, but it hurt so much. It hurt so much that his plan ended the way it did. His heart was seizing. His chest was cramped in on itself. His shoulders shook and, when he peeked his eyes open, he found his vision blurry with tears. A cool metallic hand rocked his shoulder with more vigor than was appropriate. A face loomed over him, its expression pinched in worry - those pale eyes staring forlornly at him as if he were a child in need of comfort. The Guide blinked. His voice came out as a croak.
"Slayer?"
He felt his heart quicken as he began to panic.
Why had The Terrarian woken him? What did he hear? What did he see? Did The Terrarian know what was about to happen? Had he accidentally divulged his secrets while drunk on wine and groggy with despair? How would he explain his current state? How was he going to convince The Terrarian to descend into The Underworld if he suspected foul play?
I need to fix this.
The Guide's back was stiff with tension; the vertebrae popped and crackled as he tried to sit up. He failed and unceremoniously splayed back on the carpets. His limbs were far too cramped, his muscles aching with the strain of being wound up. What a mess he was. What a miserable, pathetic mess. He really should die. He had planned to kill himself in front of his own fucking child for who knows how long. That alone was enough to convince anyone he deserved to rot.
Not to worry. Soon, he was going to burn.
"...Guide, don't worry."
The Terrarian was crouched over him, his expression had gone cool and eerily flat as knelt and he gently tugged The Guide upright by the arm. He seemed hesitant and careful, yet also slightly amused. He didn't smile. The Terrarian never smiled, really, but The Guide knew when he was pleased or proud or dismissive from the subtle shifts in his expression alone.
Still, he would never have anticipated The Terrarian tugging him straight into a tight embrace. When he spoke, his tone was proud and certain. He believed every word coming out of his mouth with absolute certainty. Indeed, there was not even the shadow of a doubt in his face nor tone. It made The Guide want to cry all over again.
"Guide, there is no need to be anxious. Soon, we will return and celebrate our victory for I will certainly win your battle."
His brain was lagging behind. By the time he processed those words, his cheek was pressed up against The Terrarian's jawline and those armoured gauntleta were carefully folded in the small on his back, holding him closely. The Guide's breath hitched.
Fuck!
What the fuck was he about to do to The Terrarian?! This month old child whom had known nothing but pain, hardship and labor all the days of his life?!... Steal the only person he cared about. Crush the only one who cared for him. Tear from him everything he had come to treasure. Plunge his world into confusion without remedy. Oh, It hurt. It hurt so badly. He didn't want to do this anymore. He would rather die. But he must move forward. He would carry out his conviction. He would sacrifice himself for those he loved in the past. He would destroy the one that loved him for the souls of a million strangers.
Soon, he would accomplish his goal.
Soon, The Terrarian's world would burst at the seams.
But tonight, everything was still normal. The Guide would be selfish one last time before he cast away his life. He reached up and sank his fingers into the back of The Terrarian's linen shirt, almost clawing at it for how desperately he was holding on. He felt his nails press into The Terrarian's baby-soft skin, but he didn't withdraw - even for fear of drawing blood.
Then he sobbed and he sobbed.
And as The Terrarian did his best to comfort him, The Guide imagined he was being forgiven for all the things he was about to do.
The breeze trembled as it wafted through the imperial palace, rippling and warping through luxuries and magical splendors as silent mages carefully traversed the ornate hallways. All eyes were downcast. None dared to raise their heads - for they were in the presence of the dread tyrant.
"Y-your majesty... the time is nigh. Troops have confirmed The Resistance Location."
"..."
Not a word from the king. He stood in the balcony of his armory, looking out across his city. Looking out over the badlands, the forests, the lakes and the seas... and towards the snowy peaks where his enemies lay. He was clad in gold and rippling red, the garb of a folktale hero - yet all who heard The King's name trembled in fear. He was no hero. He was the King who had conquered this land. None could stand before him. He stamped out his opposition with ruthlessness.
*Clink*
The auric gauntlets rang against each other as The King held out a hand. His sword - lifted with the combined effort of four mages's magical power - was levitated into his grasp.
The wind fell silent.
The sun watched carefully.
As The Tyrant leapt into the air and streaked northwards, splitting the clouds across the sky.
:)
soon.