Whoo sorry for late :0 mcuh love
Armour: Victide Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: Tendon 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)
The forest had finally gone silent.
Only the wind blew and the leaves rustled.
The smell of blood was so thick in the air, that even the perfume of the flowering blooms could not mask it. The ghastly thuds of bodies being piled up had likewise ceased. Finally, the battlefield had simmered to nothing. His brethren were no more. Perhaps he hated them, perhaps he looked down on them... but the ties of blood were like iron bands. Because he was a goblin, he was rejected by mankind. Because he was a goblin, he was accepted by that vile and beastlike community. Because he was a goblin, he was now stumbling through the forest - brow wrinkled in rage, lips pulled pack over sharpened teeth. On his back were a supply of Rocket boots and his workshop tools for repairing his trinkets... but at this moment, his mind was on war. He clutched his pack of spiky balls, fidgeting with the pouch's leather cover and breathing out threats and murder. Never in his life did he image he'd willingly use these brute weapons of warfare... but there was a time for everything.
Where... where...
His breath came in short bursts. His head spun with the myriad of emotions ripping through him. He was a worm. He thought he was above everyone else, but he was the worst! He was a pathetic, miserable coward! He had complained all his life about what he had, but he didn't deserve any of it. He had watched silently as the only people who had ever accepted him were slaughtered, and his cowardice prevented him from doing anything about it.
There!
Everything was hypersensitive. The mossy ground seemed to sway beneath his feet - with every step, the world flipped on its head. He could hear every twig snap. He could hear the pattering of the ant. He could hear the owl's feathers shifting against each other. He heard two sets of footsteps. One set belonged to that deathless soldier. The Tinkerer could hear every one of those heavy armour plates clink against the other. He gauged each of The Monster Knight's measured, but suddenly timid steps. It rhythms weren't human. Its heart beat oddly. Its breath was even, so soft The Tinkerer could scarcely hear it, yet when it spoke - the noise seemed to overlay the surroundings.
Ahead of him was a man. A normal man, not a fighter - the weight of his footsteps indicated a light build. He was exasperated. He had finished yelled at The Monster Knight not long ago, and was now huffing and hissing to himself. Was that remorse in his voice? It didn't matter. It appeared that the man held a certain power over that dreadful warrior. They were not far out of sight... a few more moments, and both of them would be in throwing range.
He... The Knight called him 'Guide'... I'll kill him...
The Tinkerer could not hurt The Knight directly. How could he hope to?! All one hundred of their detachment troops had been killed easily by The Monster Knight - and The Tinkerer had a snowball's chance in hell of actually doing any damage. In fact, even if The Tinkerer did manage to defeat him, the pain that inhuman knight would suffer was nothing compared to what he'd inflicted on others. He didn't seem to react to physical pain at all. What incapaNo... he would kill The Guide. From the snippets of conversation The Tinkerer had heard, it was obvious The Monster Knight cared deeply for that man.
I'll kill him... I'll teach that monster what it's like to mourn...
There.
The two of them were walking alongside a heavily fortified wall. The Guide walking ahead - his pace brisk and frustrated; several paces behind, The Monster Knight, who seemed to be staring at him through the slats in his visor. There was a myriad of spikes and razorwire adorning the top of the embarkment - much of which was stained with blood, bits of green flesh and scraps of clothing. The Tinkerer didn't need to look closely to identify whose blood it was. He curled his lip and glared - wide eyed - through his crooked spectacles.
How dare they...
From his heavy pack, The Tinkerer pulled out a handful of spiky balls and squeezed them in his clawed palm. They were small contraptions, but dangerous and easily transported. He himself had worked on their development, but - of course - was given no credit concerning their invention. They were small and smooth when inert - but when activated and thrown, they could burrow, shredding through a man and his armour with all the fury of a starving piranha. Naturally, such brutal instruments quickly became a staple in the Goblin Army's armory.
The Tinkerer fixed his eyes on The Guide and - with an ill practiced aim, hurled a handful of spiky balls at him. With a clack, they activated. Crude, serrated blades burst from within the smooth metal surfaces, spinning and churning so quickly they became a deadly blur. Six of them soared through the air with a whizzing noise. The Tinkerer watched them as if they moved in slow motion... out of the corner of his eye The Monster Knight vanished.
*pheewww - clunk*
Only to reappear in the line of fire. There was no fear in his movements, as if he thought he were invincible. He stood deftly between the spinning deathtraps and drew his blade. Three of the spiky balls landed harmlessly in the grass, throwing up turf and soil before grinding to a halt. Two were slashed aside by messy - but unbelievably powerful sword strokes...and the last one was aimed directly at The Guide's head. The Tinkerer didn't have particularly good aim, but today, the gods smiled upon his efforts towards revenge. The Monster Knight wouldn't be fast enough to block the last spiky ball with his blade. It saw the oncoming danger (The Goblin Tinkerer saw the whites of its eyes flash from within the darkness of its visor) whistling through the air like a bullet. The deadly sphere hurtled at The Guide so quickly, he only had time to widen his eyes in surprise before the blades sliced into his-...
*shlit... splat-thunk*
An explosion of blood. An armoured pointer finger flew out and landed on the grass. There was that sickening, but familiar noise of blades sawing through flesh and then against bone. The Monster Knight had caught the spinning blades and had lost digits for it, but didn't let go until the contraption ran out of power and lay still, dripping in a mess of twisted metal and blood. The uninjured Guide shouted aloud, panicking at the sight of his Knight's mangled hand. The Knight himself seemed much less concerned. He hadn't hesitated in seizing hold of the spiky ball, neither was he particularly surprised with the consequences thereof.
"Holy shit!"
The Knight tossed the now inert spiky ball into the grass then turned its thrower. There wasn't any heat in his gaze. He didn't appear to be particularly angry that he'd just had his hand chopped up. Instead, he leaned forward and vanished once more. Meanwhile, The Guide seemed fixated on the squirming digit on the ground, and gingerly bent down to pluck it up.
"Hey! Your fingers! Slayer! You just lost a finger! What are you doing?!"
In retrospect, this was a terrible idea. The Goblin Tinkerer had always prided himself in being cool and logical - and would oftentimes think back on this incident with a great deal of embarrassment. He wasn't sure why he survived the encounter - perhaps a stroke of luck - perhaps some kind of cosmic prank... but when The Monster Knight vanished and reappeared in front of him - so close, they could feel each other's breath - it's blade wasn't extended to run him through. Instead, that disfigured hand made a fist - and that fist cracked him across the jaw.
*crunch*
Something broke. He felt his brain rattle in his skull. He collapsed in the dirt, entirely unable to do anything after such a terrible blow. It was as if he'd been struck with a mountain! He was helpless as blackness invaded his vision. He felt the loamy peat against his cheek; he tasted blood. A tooth was laying, sharp, on his tongue. His spectacles had been knocked free and he saw the world in blurry shapes. He looked up as his eyesight dimmed.
And cursed The Monster Knight as his consciousness was stolen away.
"Gentlemen."
There was the noise of chairs scraping against the floor. Armour clacked against the intricate marble table that was the centerpiece of The Resistance's war room. It was here where The Resistance Generals shared intelligence and schemed military tactics. Maps were pinned up on the windowless walls. A great fire roared from the end of the room - just loud enough that unwanted listeners would find their efforts fruitless. A great number of small figures - chess pieces with interchangeable labels, sat on the pristine marble tabletop, like a miniature army waiting in the wings of battle.
*murmering*
It was here that these four had come together. Four Behemoths in their own right. Some were Old Heroes. Some were new. Statis drummed his armoured fingertips, fiesty as ever. The old man who headed the espionage and assassination corps was not only incredibly powerful, but had no lacking of loyal men. Across from him, the blazing fire reflected oddly off The Lunatic Cultist's porcelain mask. Despite having covered his face, it was clear he had been interrupted to come here. There was the distinctive smell of chaos and fish about him - as if he were pulled out of one of his strange eldritch experiments.
And smelling even more fishy was Amidas The Sea King (frankly, Braelor couldn't recall if this was his natural odor or not... he didn't think so), that fount of old wisdom who had recounted the odd case of a half-terrarian who had recently died along The Crimson Border. It appeared this had become somewhat of a sore point between him and The Lunatic Cultist, but Braelor had vastly larger problems to deal with. He cleared his throat.
"Thank you for coming here today... I can only assume you are at least somewhat familiar with the events that took place this morning. We have a rather large problem on our ha-"
The Sea King snorted and interjected, his frills rippling all the way down his back.
"What have I told you, Braelor, about being impulsive? Even after a hundred years you still underestimate your enemies. Terrarians cannot ever be taken lightly. With enough skill, one can be on the very brink of death, and still wreck armies! You had allowed The Boy three days to prepare for battle and still expected him to lose because of a corruption virus? This mistake is entirely of your own making!"
"..."
The Titan Commander sighed. His face was hidden by his heavy Tarragon helm, but he was quite certain all those who saw him knew what sort of tense expression he was wearing. The Sea King's reptilian eyelids clicked shut in time to emphasize his words. He tapped his sharp nails against the tabletop as his sizable bulk constantly worked to adjust itself into a comfortable position. A seadragon's tail was not easily squeezed into a chair designed for bipedals.
The Sea King continued. Nobody dared to interrupt him.
"I had faced a pale imitation of The Hero. It was more animal than Terrarian - but was regardless almost impossibly strong. It had slain The Moon Lord's wandering eye with home-made trinkets and abandoned articles... yet you allow your Rogue Hero access to the best The Resistance has to offer to prepare for his fight, and expect him to lose? Sir, with all due respect, these are creatures born for battle. The being you have brought into existence is far more powerful than you can imagine. In a way, he is a god which walks amongst men. I understand you intended to break the Hero's spirit so he would stand against you no longer, but all you have created is an enemy more dangerous than Yharim himself! For your Hero will certainly return, and when he does - how will you face him?"
There was a long silence in the room. The Sea Dragon leaned back and crossed his arms over his golden breastplate. As was his fashion, he had more to say - but would patiently wait for the others to share their thoughts before presenting a plan of action.
The fire flickered.
Statis spoke in a low rasp.
"We must have a Terrarian... whether it be a new one, or The Hero once more. The Coalition will fall apart without one - and if The Coalition falls apart, our efforts are for naught. Cultist, I understood it took many months of experimenting to summon The Hero... how much time to replicate such a feat?"
The porcelain mask shook back and forth. Clearly The Cultist had answered this question many times, and was tired of it.
"It is a roll of the dice. The science of summoning is not exact, and the summoning of a Terrarian is even less so. However, what does the Coalition think of a commander who kills his own subjects?"
There was a glint from within the white vulture mask.
"Although it is true that The Hero will revive once more, it is also true that you, Braelor, have lost your rights as a commander. You are the wedge that will fracture The Resistance Coalition. I know The Goblin Army are not noble by any means, but at the very least they are loyal. They will not tolerate the news of such a fantastic betrayal. After all, The Hero was the hope of thousands of men and women... and you had cast him out to be slain. A new Terrarian will do nothing to ease such doubts."
The Sea King snorted in agreement. The way his hackles rose indicated he was impressed with the Lunatic Cultist's performance. Evidently, The Cultist hadn't spent ten years in Yharim's court for nothing.
Braelor sighed once more. He knew he had made a mistake. The Hero should have never returned. The Archmage should never had been freed... but now that The Archmage had stirred the masses to The Hero's favor with such a flamboyant stunt (no doubt as a political move for his own gain), it was no longer an option to leave The Hero to rot in The Crimson.
The Masses...
Braelor broke the tense silence.
"Cultist."
"Sir?"
The Lunatic Cultist turned towards him.
"Tell me, what state of mind was The Hero in when he came back from The Crimson."
"... not a good one, sir. He was nearly inoperable. Hallucinating. Insane."
"The letter that I penned, it only outlined mission details, not the nature of it. yes?"
"Sir there is no documentary evidence that you intended to send The Hero on a suicide mission."
"And his equipment?"
"Sir, he took a great deal of equipment, brimstone robes, almost everything from the alchemists' storehouse, even-"
Braelor held up a hand, indicating that The Cultist should fall silent. After a moment he cast his gaze to Statis.
"Have your men spread this rumor... that after being briefly disciplined, The Hero was sent to free our powerful ally, The Archmage. The Hero was well equipped, as our alchemist and armorer can testify, but his mental instability led him to his death - a defect we only came to know of recently. We will do all we can to rehabilitate The Hero once we retrieve him. Additionally, due to possible lingering discomfort concerning my supposed 'betrayal' of our Hero, Braelor will step down as Resistance Leader for the time being and partake in battle at the front lines."
There was another pause as each member considered the proposition. Nobody dared to give an affirmative until The Sea King snorted in agreement. He was, after all, masterful at this sort of thing.
"A rumor? Nonsense. We will announce this plainly. That will satisfy the masses, and your presence on the Battlefield will boost morale and strike fear into the hearts of our enemies - although you must be careful to avoid either Yharim himself or The Brimstone Bitch... we cannot have you die."
There was a snarl in his voice as he uttered the name. There was a sizable pause before he continued.
"But what of your Hero? You will not win him over so easily. The Archmage has already sunk his claws into The Boy and will certainly use him as a bargaining chip for his own political gain. The Hero, having felt abandoned by The Resistance, will be easy prey for that conniving old fool. Ah, Cultist... you are The Hero's 'parent', are you not?"
It was evident that The Lunatic Cultist made a face beneath his mask. Amidas looked as if he were enjoying the opportunity to rib his junior and continued in a rather jovial tone.
"Perhaps it is time that you vie for the affections of your 'child'. Clearly he is stronger than you had anticipated. Surely he is now worthy of your tender affections... your success in wooing our Hero will be the cleanest resolution. What do you say, Cultist?"
"... I... will try."
The Cultist spoke from between clenched teeth. The Sea King chortled and addressed the table.
"As such, we once more continue towards our goal. Remember that The Archmage is not our enemy. He wants to see The Tyrant fall just as we do. I will personally handle him. I am certain he can be persuaded to fall into line with our agenda."
Amidas clapped his hands in a distinctively non-dragonlike manner to close the meeting. It was a very strange sight to see. Braelor imagined that soon enough, The Sea King would be wearing spectacles and smoking snuff from a pipe as well, with how much effort he put into to assimilating into life on land.
"Now then, Gentlemen - let us execute this plan... ah, and Braelor."
Braelor blinked in acknowledgement.
"It is safe to presume I will serve as Resistance leader in your absence. You agree, do you not?"
"..."
There was a sudden tension in the room once more as Braelor looked over each person seated at the table in turn. He narrowed his eyes from beneath his helmet and - to The Sea King's chagrin - shook his head.
"Statis will be. Thank you, Sea King."
"... very well. As you wish, Braelor."
As they all stood (slithered from) their seats, and doused the fire - Braelor was struck with a sense of deep uneasiness. He watched as Statis left the room first, then The Lunatic Cultist and The Sea King together... were those two plotting something? Braelor stood to go after them, but stopped himself.
No.
In these trying times, he could not afford doubt his closest allies. If he didn't trust them, there was nobody else he could rely on. Besides, Amidas hated Yharim. They all hated Yharim. It wasn't Braelor who had united them, but That cursed Tyrant...
If he couldn't trust his allies, at least he could trust in their hatred.
"The Labs must always be pristine."
The clacking of her sharp heels rang out over the walkway. Despite the fullbody hazmat-suit she wore, she still felt professional and powerful while guiding Imperial sponsors throughout the facility. After all, this was her first day on the job. It wasn't easy clawing her way up to the position of 'Lab Director' but she had done it. Years of hard work in the field of zoology had earned her a place among Draedon's elite researchers. Her contributions had been especially important in the current projects...
"Not a speck of dust is tolerated. The environment must always be sterile, this is how Lord Draedon requires it. The last person who had failed to suit up appropriately, and thereby brought bacterium into the testing chambers was stripped of his mortal trappings and uploaded into the mechanical husk. Take care not to bump into anything, lest you fall under similar punishment."
The Imperial auditors bobbed their heads in a chorus of fearful nodding. Of course The Zoologist wasn't being entirely serious. Conducting a consciousness transfer was a difficult and expensive process - not something Draedon would do to a rulebreaker. Rulebreakers just became test subjects.
"We are entering the specimen holding section. Please wait until the doors fully open."
A set of tremendous white doors hissed open to reveal a darkened room containing many large glass tanks. Some were empty, belonging to failed experiments whose genetic mixing had left the subject with catastrophic organ failure (terribly common, unfortunately. A waste of precious resources), but two were still alive - although The Zoologist wasn't sure how long they'd hold out. At least they looked impressive. She cleared her throat.
"Here are the first results of Project Nephilim, our initiative to counter The Resistance's supposed 'Terrarian'. These two are technically chimeras, human males that had been genetically mixed with a cocktail of enhancing DNA. Subject Neph1, in addition to our general strength and speed enhancements, has been given the ability to not only heal quickly - but even regenerate limbs and organs! Qualities we took from the Sea Cucumber. Naturally the specimen has magic running through its veins for the purpose of... (etc)"
The Imperial auditors hadn't the foggiest idea what she was talking about, but they all bobbed their heads as if they did. Frankly, if they had a scientific bone in their body, they would have realized that Project Nephilim was nigh hopeless. It didn't matter what sort of concoction they mixed together, they simply could not create a being with all the qualities of a Terrarian, and not have it collapse under the strain of the modifications. Only Neph1 and Neph2 had survived... everything else had died.
It was true that Yharim himself could probably take on any threat that came his way... but although he was supremely powerful, he was also just one man. The Resistance had made a Terrarian! Just one was enough of a threat as is... could they mass produce them? The idea hurt The Zoologist's pride terribly. To imagine that ragtag bunch of dirt huffing idiots did something Draedon could not was simply unacceptable.
But she was giving a tour. She presented a brilliantly fake smile behind her hazmat suit and continued to lie through her teeth.
"They, like The Terrarians of old, look quite similar to you and I - but boast of incredible strength, speed and especially regeneration. This is the first instance where we had attempted to mix human DNA with that of ethereal creatures, even celestial creatures - hence the namesake of the project. A corruption of man, beast and god... I will take questions later, let us continue to the department for organ cultures and harvesting..."
Guide: Your finger! it's moving! Its still moving! Slayer?!
Slayer: *looting The Goblin Tinkerer's unconscious body*
Zoologist time!
So I have some crazy politics in the second section... honestly it's not super duper important, but to make it short: Braelor is gonna step out for a bit. Statis gonna take over. Ammy wanted to be #1. LC has been told to go try and be nice to Hero for the sake of coalition staying together.
leav rev ty.
Also if you were wondering, Slayer is also the character 'John Terraria' in my Terraria X Stardew shitpost fic.
much love