Thanks for the reviews to everyone who left them! They are lovely to read, and very encouraging. Much love to all of you *heart*
Armour: Victide (Ranger)
Weapon: Barinade (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Sailfish Boots, Round Shield, Aglet, Rover Drive, Crown Jewel, Tsunami in a Bottle, Frog Leg, Aero Stone, Shield of the Ocean
Health: (400/400)
Urg… what…
The Guide scrunched his eyes and groaned. His brain was fuzzy and stuffed full of cotton. The pain radiating his skull was so severe, The Guide was afraid to discover what sort of horrible thing must have happened to him. Gritting his teeth against the tremendous pressure on his skull, he forced his eyes open to stare into the painfully bright torchlight. Viscous liquid trickled down his face, soaking his hair and leaving uncomfortable sticky residue in a pool around his head. Blood? Water? He couldn't tell. He tried to lift his head, but there was somebody... holding his head in place?
What the...
Confused, he glanced up. A hand was plastered against his cheek, pinning him to the floor as a long strip was being wound around his head. There was a cool glint flickering in the firelight directly over his face. Slayer? He blinked the fluid out of his eyes to get a better look at the-... Is that a blade?!
It was.
He nearly pissed himself.
"Ah! Aaaaahhh! Hoooly Craap!"
He went cross eyed. Adrenaline flooded his veins. Kicking, screaming, thrashing, hollering. Pain drowned by panic, he fought for all he was worth, struggling against The Slayer's grip on his skull until - with great difficulty - he managed to worm his way free and bolt to the other end of the room. He nearly bashed himself right back into unconsciousness as he tripped headlong over The Cnidarian's crumbling corpse and was launched headfirst into a house-sized pile of loose coins. If he hadn't managed to shield his face, he might have killed himself right then and there. Gold could do many things. It could buy you influence. It could buy you power. Some say it can even buy you happiness… but - as The Guide would soon experience firsthand - it did not serve as a good cushion for high-speed impacts.
*ka-thud*
"Urghhhh."
"..."
Heavy footsteps approached from behind. The Guide could feel The Terrarian's gaze burning holes in his back, but was too disoriented to do anything about it. Frankly - his concussed brain rationalized - if The Terrarian really wanted to kill him, there wasn't much use in trying to fight back. He was dead meat anyways. The almost-man had just killed an ancient, mummified monster seahorse with the remains of an ancient, mummified monster worm. Hell if The Guide could do anything against that.
"Guide."
An armoured finger tapped him on the arm. The Guide turned to find his companion gazing curiously at him, as if wondering why he decided to injure himself further. Several long strips of cut silk (only now did The Guide realize the blade's purpose) were proffered to him. They were dripping in sticky, red healing potion. He stared blankly at the wad of bandages (his brain was still trying to kick itself into gear) and after a moment grabbed it and pressed it against his forehead, directly onto a rather nasty bruise. It stung.
"Ow."
"..."
The room was silent as The Guide slowly maneuvered himself into a sitting position. Now that he had a moment to catch his breath, he took a quick inventory of his surroundings. They… were in the Pyramid's burial chamber. The seahorse monstrosity had been defending its horde, and was killed by The Slayer. Just as they were about to celebrate their victory, The Guide had fallen and knocked himself out cold on a pile of gold bars. The Terrarian wasn't - in fact - trying to finish him off, but rather was attempting to cover for his idiot mistake.
Nice. Good going. This guy is a week old and you're making him pick up your slack. Get it together.
He uttered a low, bitter laugh and kicked at the Cnidarian's dead body.
"I look almost as beat up as this guy."
There was a clinking as The Terrarian took a seat beside him. The first thing The Guide noticed was - unlike usual - his companion wasn't dressed for battle. He had removed his helmet, his breastplate, and wasn't holding either of his weapons… but strangely still wore his armoured gloves. He was staring across the room, at where he had erected a low workbench upon which several empty bottles had been placed in a neat row. One of the bottles was filled with needle shards. There was a small campfire burning there. How long had it been smouldering? How long was he unconscious? How much time had he wasted?
He groaned and pressed both palms against his forehead, shielding his face from the torchlight.
"That was… pretty darn pathetic."
The Guide hadn't really expected The Terrarian to answer him, certainly not so promptly nor empathetically.
"You are not pathetic."
"..."
The Guide uncovered his face and turned to look at him, but The Terrarian refused to meet his eyes. He stared straight forward into the opposing wall. Was he embarrassed? The Guide chuckled and elbowed him affectionately. It'd been a week since he'd shared camaraderie with someone. He hadn't realized how starved he was for it until now.
"You're too kind, Slayer."
"I'm not being kind."
"... yeah, okay."
The Terrarian turned his thousand yard stare on him. There was hard resolve in his eyes. His voice was slow, measured and grave.
"It was my fault. I shouldn't have let you fall. I am the pathetic one."
"..."
"..."
"pfft!"
The Guide tried to keep it in. He really did. He knew The Terrarian was being completely serious. He always was. But as he looked at the man - The Slayer of Monsters - sitting beside him on a pile of coins, wearing nothing but a pair of armoured pants and gloves, and fretting over him in such a manner. It was heartwarming, but also raucously funny because of how embarrassed The Terrarian was about it. The poor man looked absolutely mortified as The Guide slumped over, choking and wheezing in a poor attempt to contain his laughter.
"A-ahahaha, sor-sorry, hahaha. You're j-just, ahahaha!"
How long has it been since he'd laughed?! When was the last time his heart was filled with joy? So much sorrow in the past week! He'd lost everything! Despair and depression threatening to crush him from every side. He was destitute, without a friend in the world. All he had were the clothes on his back, a grudge that threatened to consume him, and the waste product of his village's 'summoning'.
"N-no, you don't h-have to put on your h-helmet. Pffft! hehehehe."
The Terrarian had begun as a tool to be consumed and despised. Then, he had gained status as something more useful. Something to be coveted for the sake of The Guide's revenge. Then, a deal was struck. They became accomplices, helping each other but with their own goals in mind. Now? The Guide gasped for air and glanced over at The Terrarian, who had donned his helmet to hide his face. The Guide would wager all the money in this room he'd gone beet red.
He managed to choke out a sentence between snorts.
"I-I'm not making f-fun of you. I promise."
"... you are not convincing."
"I-I know, but still."
The Guide leaned back against the wall of coins and fought to bring his hitching breath back under control. The Terrarian had armoured up once more, and was watching him silently from the corner of his eyes. The Guide perceived he wasn't really offended. In fact, his body language said something akin to 'relief'. Did he really think I'd blame him if I fell? Man, sometimes I wonder what's going through that head of his…
The Guide shook his head and slapped The Terrarian on his armoured shoulder, drawing the attention of the man within.
"You're not pathetic, Slayer. You're my friend. You stayed with me when I'd lost everything, and even now - you're here beside me. I'm so glad to have you."
He knew The Terrarian was watching him from behind that visor with eyes as round as saucers. The Guide gave him a hearty shake and grinned.
"Thank you."
He kept his breathing shallow as he slowly crept along the blasted out tunnels. He knew there were dogs following his trail, but the trail of a Dwarf was notoriously hard to pick out while underground. His people were of the earth. They had been borne of it, they made the subterranean kingdom their home. Hardy, resilient, fiercely independent and stubborn, the King hated them. For years, he'd sought to destroy them - fighting skirmishes at the border of the dwarven strongholds. Each time, The Dwarves fought him off. They would not bow to anyone.
Finally, he grew tired of them.
He sent his witch.
Her appearance was terrifying. What sort of warped magic turned a woman into that? She, no… it spewed hell upon their sacred mountain. It blotted out the sun. The earth trembled. Thick darkness covered the land. A darkness that could be felt. Blood red flames rained from the sky, burning, melting, destroying utterly whatever it touched. The wrath of the King had fallen upon them.
And all he could do was flee.
So he fled south.
Guide: Hey, why do you have a bottle of needles over there?
Slayer: To poke into your brain. Had you failed to wake up.
G: haha, very funny.
S:...
G:... you're... you're not joking.
S: No.
Lookit my bby made a friend! squeee
I promise I will move faster, Crabulon soon! I promise!