Transition chap
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury(Unusable), Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Celestial Emblem, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
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: (250/400)
The Party Girl had just finished doing... whatever she'd been doing, and despite that she was now sitting below the gondola - staring keenly at the sky - The Stylist dared not ask what the hell was going on.
She was well aware what that blazing insignia on The Party Girl's back meant. CC. Clandestine Corps. Those bunch were famous for being deadly and ruthless, so The Stylist kept out of the way. If she interfered, she was certain The Compound's other pink-haired woman would have no qualms about killing her. The Agent had been running around, wiring up the place with all sorts of explosives, tripwires, charms and booby traps. Everything looked sharp and dangerous, and the myriad of triggers laid all about The Compound essentially kept her locked down. She could not remember exactly where The Party Girl put all the pressure plates, so she dared not step foot outside...
What a pain.
Normally, this would be completely fine if The Stylist had decided to stay in her own house. But now that she was no longer running for her life, her... more unsavory habits had re-surfaced. Instead of staying properly in her place, she had taken advantage of The Guide's absence and began snooping.
hmm... is it in cipher?
Obviously, this wasn't something she was proud of. She knew it wasn't good to muddle through other people's private things... but she was bored. There was nothing to do but to sit and recover her strength, and given The Guide and The Monster Knight had gone on expedition, she might as well look to educate herself. Perhaps she would find something useful to help on her mission! Yes, that was a noble enough cause. Her little brother had gone missing many months ago, and with a war going on, she absolutely needed to find him. The news that Mom and Dad were dead and buried had arrived to her many months after the fact, and now, there was nobody to take care of that little fishmonger kid. He was only twelve, for goodness sake, so as soon as she heard the news, The Stylist scraped together her savings from her little salon in The Capitol city, hired a team, and set out.
tch... bastards all deserved to die... I worked hard for that money...
Well, obviously, she had been scammed. The team she had hired were a bunch of amateurs, because after only a few days they found themselves half dead and webbed up in a giant Spider's cave. Had The Monster Knight not appeared and burned everything, The Stylist too would be mixed in with the stinking liquified slop on The Spider Cave's floor. Despite his supposed goodwill towards her, The Stylist had no affection for him. The Dryad likewise had saved her life, but The Stylist had no intention of following through with the last request The Tree Monster asked of her. Once she was back to 100%, she was going to leave and continue looking for her brother.
But, in the meantime she was injured and underequipped. She needed to be supplied; she needed resources. The Guide didn't look kindly on her, so she was unlikely to get anything out of him. Maybe she could just ask The Monster Knight directly - even though he terrified her... but maybe she could use this book as leverage? (In hindsight, a terrible idea - but she was simply searching for a reason to steal it.) She was a bit of a kleptomaniac anyways.
She didn't steal anything big, of course. Just little interesting things. Little trinkets. She got a thrill out of it... She didn't do it compulsively, of course. That was a great way to get her hands chopped off. But when she was bored, she always found herself stealing little, insignificant things. Stuff nobody would miss. Hopefully.
So odd... nothing like I've seen before.
But this might be the biggest thing she'd ever stolen. This... very odd notebook was written in a constantly changing cipher she couldn't make heads or tails of. It was filled with all sorts of intricate drawings, newspaper clippings, pressed flowers and herbs. There were diagrams of all sort of different things here, and all of it was quite intriguing - moreso because The Stylist couldn't read it. It probably belonged to The Guide. Of the pair, he was the more bookish type. The Monster Knight was always on his feet hammering away at something, and most certainly wouldn't have the time to sit down and write this.
I can't read it here... I need to go back to my own house...
The Stylist might have some shameful habits, but she wasn't stupid about it. If she was going to steal The Guide's journal, she definitely wasn't about to be caught. With the deftness of skillful hands, she picked up the hefty tome, did her best to stuff it down her shirt, and waltzed down from The Guide's bedroom and out across the trapped field.
The silence is making me nervous.
I will not boast and say I have any solid understanding of human behavior. Such pride, such puffing of the ego, was the hubris that led to my first downfall. Although I often feel the temptation to sit back and praise myself, I resist it. I remain on guard. Instead of assuming my expedition crew is now both loyal and indebted to me, I observe them to shocking effect. For when My Teacher rescued me from a thousand deaths by worms, I was certainly grateful - if not terribly rattled. When I awoke in The Archmage's castle, alive and my wounds bound, I likewise treated him with whatever warmness I could muster... but these men and women? Even those who I now tentatively call friends? They stare at me from a distance. Their eyes accusatory. Their mouths pressed in thin, tense lines. What a mystery. What is the meaning of those somber, suspicious expressions? I would be far more comfortable if they were all milling about, loudly praising and thanking me for saving their lives... and frankly, this is what I assumed they'd do.
This... is odd. Is something wrong?
But they aren't. They just glare at me. Their gazes prickle the back of my neck; I can smell the suspicion rolling off of them like the scent of old mildew. Even The Steampunker, who has always been so bright and cheery, follows at a distance. She stares at me with wide, almost accusatory eyes from the back of the crowd. I tried to talk to her, but she barely responded. I tried to talk to the others, but they recoil as if they'd been struck. The Bandit is unconscious over somebody's shoulder. Would she treat me the same?
...
And so, I find myself marching along in utter silence - leading the group as we retrace the paths we took into The Jungle. I am physically walking ahead of the others, but I don't feel as if I am leading anyone. Instead, I get the sense I am a prisoner walking ahead of their warden. Did I... did I do something wrong? I turn the events of the day in my head, but cannot discover where I was at fault. It frustrates me, but I know now is not the time to lash out. I was sent here to gather allies, and was sure I was accomplishing my goal - but it appears my plans have fallen flat... and I don't even know why.
*shff... shff*
I draw a deep breath. The air is musty, filled with smoke and steam. High above, the afternoon is turning to night. Those brilliant golden beams have darkened to orange. The Birds have nested away; the chittering of insects swells and falls like a chorus. As I look, I'm filled with an odd sense of melancholy. As I walk, the unease lodges in my gut like a stone. I ponder the day's events over and over in my mind.
How pathetic.
How sad that I find more joy in the presence of enemy monsters, than amongst those who I sought to be allies with. Did I not tremble with excitement and anticipation as The Great Plant swelled before me? Yes, The Battle was difficult... but I would do it again. The taste of victory is sweeter than honey. The rush of adrenaline when I struck the killing blow... it made me feel alive like I've never felt before. Fighting. Fighting... It's terrifying, but I can't say I hate it. And dissecting the corpse afterwards? Its a bit of a gruesome concept, but also intensely interesting. There is some primitive part of me that oozed dopamine as I scraped the Life alloy from Plantera's core, or strapped together those long vines into a grapple or quickly manufactured a horrible thorn-toothed mask (I'm going to scare The Archmage with this)...
But instead of celebrating victory, I'm here - with my infant brain, trying and failing to discern the intentions of my seniors. I quickly grow frustrated. I twist my lips and flare my nostrils as I glare into the darkened paths. Am I not being treated unfairly?! How much must I do to simply become allies with these people? I have saved their lives twice, and with each successive good deed I do, the more hostile they grow towards me. Should I attack them instead? Maybe they will love me then!
Annoying!
I was told The Resistance wanted The Hero... because I am The Hero, am I not? I cannot use my name for fear of Braelor - but I have not changed. I am just the same. Although I don't have my magic, I'm still formidable, am I not? Nonsense.
But I can't get angry. I can't lash out. I can't panic. I need to be calm and go back to The Archmage and inquire of him where things went wrong.
In the meantime, I watch, observe and eavesdrop. I walk far enough ahead of the group that they imagine I cannot hear them. Only then do they begin muttering under their breaths, I listen carefully to catch every word that falls from their lips.
(...yeah, she says she think's he's Yharim's agent, like CC...)
(...What does Bandit say? She was with him when the giant plant attacked?)
(A normal person can't take out a Queen bee in one hit, I've never seen anything like that in my life...)
(I heard that Draedon's experiments can do stuff like this. The Resistance doesn't have super-soldiers.)
(... That scout, he died when Queen Bee stepped on him. But when it tried to bite Faze in half - he was completely fine! Not human at all...)
(Tavernkeep got killed too... maybe Faze really is CC- trying to infiltrate us?)
(If he were a spy though, why would he be so flashy?... Maybe just stupid...)
(We need to inform Statis and Braelor...)
...
The utterance of that cursed name causes all my nerves to alight. I grow tense and tremble. I snarl.
I bolt.
And thoroughly demurred, I flee to The Archmage's castle.
He was... terrifically confused.
What in the world just happened? It felt like somebody had seized hold of his brain and shaken it into mush. All his memories were jumbled up with things The Terrarian was quite sure he hadn't experienced. Who were these faces of men and women and children? He wasn't sure. The moment he directed his mind to focus on them, they slipped from his grasp. The memories fading until nothing remained but the feeling of loss.
(Hey, Slayer - get up here. Let's go)
"Gggghh..."
He scrabbled to retain them. He strained to remember everything he had 'seen' in that rush of electricity. So many memories he could hardly comprehend their sum. So much knowledge he might have, in a single stroke, erased the weakness of his ignorance. Alas! As he fought, the opaque rage that filled his head prevented him from truly digesting that knowledge. The adrenaline of battle blocked out everything except for the enemy before him. The flood of thoughts - even if they effected him for just a moment, flushed everything out his head. He felt empty. Nothing remained except for a deep sense of confusion. He was dizzy. He was trembling. He wasn't sure who he was anymore, nor what he was here for, nor what he wanted. Why was he kneeling in this horrible stinking pond, elbows deep in the fleshy entrails of a tremendous brain? It was as if instinct alone were telling him to tear out all manner of tissue samples... which he did - almost compulsively.
"Slayer? Are you okay?"
He froze. Somebody was calling from behind. 'Slayer' that was familiar. It was probably his name. Yes. This person was calling his name urgently. There was no hostility in his voice and he smelled familiar. The Terrarian stood to his feet and craned his neck to look up, viscera dripping from his hands and soaking into his grieves.
"Collect the Tissue samples and blood orbs and lets go! We need to make a gravitation potion and head to the Sky Islands. The longer we stay in The Crimson, the more likely some horrible creature is gonna crawl out and kill us. Come on!"
It was a familiar voice too. Clear and convincing. A tongue of silver. The sound rang around the chamber before piercing his ears and stirring him to obey. Just... what was going on? Why was he taking orders like this? Just who was this person? Was he supposed to listen to him? The Terrarian called out in response.
"Who are you."
"Who... Slayer? What sort of question is that?! I'm The Guide!"
"Oh."
"Please don't tell me you forgot everything!?"
Well, thankfully not. If The Terrarian couldn't hold onto the new knowledge expunged by The Brain before it was killed, he would at least fight as hard as he could for what was rightfully his. The shadows of memories reformed as his mind righted itself. The Guide. The Compound. His Array of weapons and potions. The Townspeople. The Crimson ... his brain slowly pieced things back together as he waded through the bloody pool and began to scale the chamber's steep wall. Before he reached the top, a man popped out to look down over the ledge. He had sandy coloured hair and a careful face. One hand held a torch, the other extended to grasp him by the rim of his breastplate and - with a heave - he was dragged up, over the ledge.
*scraaape...CLACK*
The sound of the jagged rocks scratching long lines into his lovingly burnished armour made him wince. It didn't matter. It was already so filthy, it wasn't worth salvaging. His cloak was likewise in miserable state, saturated through with rancid blood and eaten at the edges with stomach acid. His plume? It looked like a dead plant. Still, The Guide had no problem getting handsy. The man seized upon him, flipping up the slatted visor to look him in the eyes, then grabbed him by the horns to turn the rest of his brains into scrambled egg.
"Slayer... do you remember who you are? Do you know who I am? Why are you here? What's your mission?"
It was really a blessing that throughout The Terrarian's short life, he had only eaten a single thing (which had since been absorbed by the mysterious workings of his body). Because if he were a normal person, the wave of nausea would have most certainly caused him to spew his breakfast all over his companion. He managed to choke out a series of grunts, which convinced The very excited Guide to unhand him, and struggled to a sitting position. He blinked and sighed before looking back towards The Guide.
"I won."
"Indeed you have. But you're not finished yet. The Worms, then The Wall. You want them dead too."
"...?"
"You don't remember? You said you hated The Wall! You would stop at nothing to kill it!"
"I... Yes. I remember."
In truth, The Terrarian didn't remember at all, but The Guide said it with such earnestness it was impossible not to believe him. The Terrarian nodded slowly as he digested this new input. Why did he want to kill The Wall? He didn't know... he couldn't even remember what The Wall was.
"Good. I'd be terrible if you'd forgotten."
The Guide nodded, the gleam in his eyes growing every slightly more sinister. Odd. The Terrarian thought as he considered his companion. He knew this man. He knew The Guide was much older and much wiser than he. He was also faintly aware that he and The Guide were currently engaged opposite to eachother in some sort of conflict, but could not clearly recall what it was. Something about a massive flower. Something about a castle. He... well, the recent bout of head-shaking had left him quite confused. At this moment, he wasn't sure if he could even trust himself.
The Guide interrupted his thoughts. He dropped his train of thinking to listen.
"Good job. Anyways. You might be a bit confused after what The Brain just did, but the effects shouldn't be permeant. Give it a bit of time and you'll be right as rain. But although the past is important, its important to retain what happens in the present as well. Stay focused, okay?"
A long, tense silence. The Terrarian furrowed his brow and lowered his eyes to carefully introspect. His concentration was broken as The Guide began fiddling with something loud and rattling in his knapsack. How annoying! He felt himself grow tense and frustrated before bursting aloud with his inquiry.
"Guide... What did The Brain do to me."
A brief pause. The Guide maintained a bland, unsettling smile. He didn't seem scared, nor the least bit intimidated. In fact, he continued as if he hadn't heard anything at all.
"In any case, did you know there are islands floating high in the sky? We can reach them by flight, or by potion... or even by good old fashioned rope climbing. There are many interesting things to be found there - but only, of course, if you know where to look. Thankfully, I know there's one right nearby. Ten thousand feet in the sky, yes, but nearby nevertheless. Come on now. Chop-chop."
The Guide turned to lead the way out of the cavern. His steps confident and sure.
And, perhaps against his better judgement, The very confused Terrarian followed.
Slayer: My Brains feel like scrambled eggs
Guide, holding whisk: Let me help you with that
Tell me if you can guess what happened to The Guide. :)
ty love review *mwah*