Helooo~

Armour: Brimflame

Weapon: Winter's Fury(Unusable), Stormfront Razor

Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)

Health: (500/500)

Armour: Aerospec Armour (Ranger)

Weapon: Galeforce (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis

Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Frostspark Boots, Luxor's Gift, Ocean Crest, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, Bundle of Balloons, Harpy Ring, Aero Stone, Skyline Wings

Health: (400/400)

The Terrarian was quite opposed to travelling to the site of the battle. Granted, it could hardly be called a battle at all! Although he had watched it unfold from afar, it was clear the fight was entirely one sided. A Battle? no. A beating, maybe a slaughter. Total, feral domination. He could sense the man's vast power prickling his skin from miles away.

Who is he?

The Man in Red... what tremendous strength he wielded! The earth trembled when he stepped foot upon it. The skies rippled like waves in a pond. It was as if the whole sum of nature was attuned to that man. As if he was the epicentre of the very earth he walked on. He flew about on wings of ice; from high in the sky he pummeled his enemies with steel and sparks. Until this very moment, The Terrarian had never met a single entity more powerful than himself. He had comforted himself in this, saying 'Although I am young and foolish, at least I am hardy and strong'. The feats of The Man in Red didn't invalidate this by any means, but were extremely discouraging nevertheless.

And so, he didn't want to go to the site of slaughter...

But he did anyways.

The Guide demanded it.

How happy he had been to build his new armour and fasten wings to his back! Yet, the first long distance flight he'd conduct was not some joyous sortie above the clouds, but rather in transit to observe the achievements of one more powerful than he. Of course his mood was sour, but he kept his visor down and his mouth shut the whole way. In times past, he might have grumbled and made his opinion relevant, but ... something about The Guide had become untrustworthy. Why? The Terrarian could not remember. It was as if that great shock had wiped something exceedingly important from his mind. His own faulty memory had become a great source of frustration.

Why can't I remember.

What else had he forgotten? He could not know. How exhausting...

And so - he erred towards caution. He did his best to guard himself and shot as little as possible to his now-untrustworthy companion. Yet despite his efforts, The Terrarian was sure he was seething disappointment everywhere. At this point, all he wanted to do was go home and take refuge. He wanted to lose himself for a little. To occupy his mind with something simple, straightforward and enjoyable. He wanted to trim the grass. He wanted to varnish the wooden floors. He wanted to stoke the fireplaces. Perhaps he'd replace the carpets and tend to the herb garden The Guide had helped him seed...

(tch... stinks worse than usual)

But instead of returning to his little emerald patch in the woods, he was here. Here in this miserable stinking place, his heels sinking in the fleshy land, his nostrils assaulted by that odious stench. The Guide had insisted on coming and he had obeyed. On his newfound wings, he landed in The Destroyed village to began their search. He walked by the light of his night vision potion; The Guide groped abound with a torch in hand. They crossed through the centre of the town hastily. Over the strange patterns cut in the fleshy earth and into the deep gulley where The Man in Red had disposed of The Worm's remains. The Guide wrapped his jacket about his face as he forged ahead to carefully study a torn cyst in the ground. He muttered to himself.

(yup, that's a Perforator Cyst alright... he really did kill them after all.)

The Sun had long dropped over the horizon, sparing them it's orange rays and plunging them into a deep, dreadful darkness. It was a thick darkness, like suffocating velvet, like the pressure of the abyss. There was nothing to be seen, but even so - The Terrarian could feel tremendous invisible entities slithering blindly in the dark. Gaping mouths peeped and muttered eldritch nonsense from burrows deep below. Killing The Brain must have done something to this land. Destroying that tremendous mind had plunged The Crimson into madness...

(That's good ... next, The Wall. The Crimson is almost defeated...)

And the eyes of the hills were all fixed on them. The Trees bared their teeth at them. The grass clung to their ankles as if to bury them where they stood. Creatures bungled about aimlessly, their organs dragging along behind them as they rapidly morphed into unrecognizable things. Their words were babble and smothered to silent whispers. The moon was blood red and cast no light. Monsters swarmed in the night. When he breathed, he tasted putrid blood.

(Hell of a night for a blood moon... We'd better go.)

The Terrarian raised his eyes to the take in his vile surroundings. He stared at the deep grooves plowed in the land. A blade had done this, he could tell by the sharpness of where the land split. It wasn't a tremendous blade either - just a normal one, but thrown with such incredible force it cracked the ground into chasms. Where the blade struck, the land blackened as if it had been struck by lightning.

Terrifying power...

The Man in Red had wielded this flashing blade. From far away, The Terrarian had heard the concussive thunderclaps of lightning pulverizing The Crimson Worms. Scraps of the tremendous creature lay all about them, shredded to fibre, demolished to nothing but ground meat. Indeed, The Terrarian had killed monsters before... but not so completely! The Man in Red had not killed The Worms out of some desperate necessity... he had done it recreationally. This was child's play to him...

How disheartening.

The Terrarian raised his eyes to the sky and twisted his nose at the bloody moon. What foolishness this was. Why was he so upset seeing someone much more powerful than he? The world was surely vast. Naturally he wasn't born the strongest...Was he jealous? Probably. But more likely he was unhappy that The Man in Red was so far out of his league. He knew instinctively that he would lose should he ever face that man in combat. The very thought of it sent a chill down his spine. Was he not called 'The Slayer'? But The Man in Red was more fitting of that title than he.

...

The crunch of The Guide's footsteps on the burnt ground broke The Terrarian out of his introspection. The man was wearing a wide smile on his tired, careful face. His mop of sand-coloured hair was unkempt and sticking every which way. He was quite happy to touch all manner of disgusting viscera with the mittens The Terrarian had provided him. He gesticulated with his bloody gloves as he spoke.

"All good, Buddy! Our mystery man killed The Worms for us. Did a great job too!"

The Terrarian bristled at that, but The Guide was too busy admiring the carnage to notice. He continued to babble on.

"Let's head home. We can rest up then head to the underworld."

The Archmage couldn't help but be worried. He had always known The Hero had a rebellious streak (after all, that was what got him in trouble with The Resistance in the first place) and was certain it would crop up from time to time. Until now, The Hero had been fairly pliable - his ornery nature somewhat assuaged by gratitude, but it was only a matter of time that he went off and did whatever he pleased. Such was the nature of Terrarians... they were intelligent, but uncontrollable.

And so, when The Archmage called for him and The Hero hadn't recalled immediately, The Old Man assumed the boy ignored him to go was carousing about in the wilderness. Perhaps he'd land himself in some unsuspecting backwater town and terrify them with strange antics. Maybe he ate a plethora of poisonous mushrooms and would come home to puke his guts out. Maybe he had committed genocide against the local population of monsters, or built a little hut for himself at the seashore, or uprooted up a mountain, or dug a tunnel straight into The Underworld, or...

(shiiing)

*thud*

Ah, well, it appeared The Archmage would find out just what The Hero was up to in short order. Some part of him had feared The Hero wouldn't come home at all, but it to his great relief, those fears were unfounded. If The Hero simply cut and run, chances were that Yharim would find him... and who knows what horrors the Fell Tyrant would inflict on the boy! Surely things far more terrible than death. The Resistance was well aware this entire war had started because of The Hero. His birth was the signal of hope for all who opposed Yharim's imperial rule, and his life was the flame which The Tyrant would stop at nothing to extinguish.

I cannot imagine how The Resistance managed to make their own Hero their enemy! This is surely the fruit of some gargantuan hubris.

With a deep sigh, The frosty old man stood to his feet and made his way to his alchemy table. His workshop - as he liked to call it - was nothing less than a distillery, a Bunsen burner, a number of volumetric flasks and a great deal of measuring instruments which were used to make the more complex potions. He was was worried his brewing skills may have deteriorated after a hundred years of being trapped in that cryogenic prison, but his most recent project had come out so perfectly, he had named it after himself. With a great deal of pride, The Archmage picked up 'Permafrost's Concoction' by its glass wings and strode into the drawing room. He spoke aloud, greeting The Hero before ever rounding the corner.

"Hero, I dearly hope your adventures were worth the heartache I suffered in your absen-..."

The Archmage quickly stifled the rest of his greeting as he laid eyes on the man clinging to the couch's ornately carved leg. The Hero was seated on the floor, gasping for breath and trembling quite badly. He stared straight ahead of him, his eyes wide and his face as red as a beet. His throat was badly bruised and covered in small abrasions - as if somebody had seized The Hero by the throat and squeezed. But who could do such a thing?! Braelor, perhaps. Calamitas? The Lunatic Cultist maybe? Statis was not prone to such theatrics...

(haah...haah...)

The Hero was breathing quite heavily. The Archmage approached him warily, careful to make his presence known. Right now, The Hero looked like a terrified, cornered beast. Nothing good would come from startling him. He placed down the concoction and kneeled to match The Hero's eye level. Even so, those wide dragon eyes stared straight through him - as if transfixed on an unseen enemy.

"Hero?"

Those eyes wavered briefly towards him, but his shaking only became more violent. It appeared something extremely traumatic had happened and The Hero was still in the midst of processing it. He needed space. He needed time. Although The Archmage was intensely curious as to what had happened to his charge (if Braelor did this, it spelled trouble. If it was a member of the Imperial forces, that spelled even more trouble) he respected The Hero enough to leave him alone. He stood to his feet and moved to leave the room.

"W-wait! Please! Don't go! Don't leave me alone!"

The Archmage froze, surprised as The Hero began pleading frantically with his turned back. There was a certain brokenness in his voice, a desperation, a betrayal. Had something like this happened before? What sort of hardships had this tender shoot weathered until now? Ah, although The Archmage utilized ice magic to great extent, he was by no means cold-hearted. He quickly returned opposite to The Hero's couch, summoning his chair and his pipe as was his custom. His reward? The expression of unabashed relief on The Hero's pace face.

"Dear boy, there's no reason to be scared. You're safe here."

Of course, The Archmage couldn't be completely sure whether they were safe or not, but saying so would likely throw The Hero into hysterics. That was neither useful nor pertinent. He peppered the Hero with several more assurances before the man appeared comfortable enough to speak. As he did, The Archmage watched with interest as the bruises and lacerations on The Hero's face faded to nothing.

"What ails you, Young One?"

The Hero shifted, scraping deep grooves in the ice with his armour, before drawing a shaky breath to answer.

"H-he said he will find me. He was so strong. He was too fast. I-I didn't stand a chance. He grabbed my neck. He could have killed me, but he didn't... and... and-"

The Hero's breath was becoming quick as he began to hyperventilate. He leaned his head back against the seat of the couch and stared at the ceiling, doing his best to calm himself and steady his trembling hands. The Archmage took a long draught from his pipe before requesting clarification.

"He. Do you know 'his' name? Describe what you saw. What does this 'he' look like? I grant it isn't somebody you recognize."

The Hero shook his head. He resumed in a much more even tone of voice.

"Nobody I've seen before. He was a man, no, rather a monster in the shape of a man. He wore mechanical golden armour and had bright scarlet hair. There were lights embedded in his suit that glowed blue, and..." The Hero lifted his head to look him in the eye. "He even said your name! He seized my by the throat and said your name. I... Archmage?"

Evidently, The Archmage had gone increasingly pale as The Hero worked his way through the explanation. The person The Hero had described... who else could it be but The Tyrant himself! Had Yharim, having touched The Hero, sensed The Archmage's cloaking magic on him? Must be. The King knows I've escaped my prison!

But what more, The Tyrant hadn't killed the boy. Perhaps he knew exactly what sort of enemy a Terrarian was. Killing him would only earn his ire. No, instead Yharim had opted to terrify him, to track him, and to destroy everything that could help The Hero reach the heights of power necessary to contest The Tyrant's throne. Truly, King Yharim, for all his shortfalls, was an uncontested in battle strategy.

"Archmage? What now! What does it mean?"

And The Hero, sharp as ever, had interpreted The Old Sorcerer's pallid demeanor to mean something very bad. He was right, of course, but although it was appropriate to panic when The King was after you, it wasn't necessarily helpful. The Archmage stood swiftly to his feet and plucked up the concoction he had slaved over for the past day. He handed it to The Hero (who held it gingerly, confused). He returned to his seat.

"Listen to me, Hero."

He didn't need to ask twice. The Hero paid him rapt attention.

"The flask you are holding in your hands, I am giving it to you so you may cheat death... but only once. You will need it where you're going. The man that attacked you is King Yharim. He is by far the most powerful person in the land, and although you were helpless against him - both he and The Resistance know full well you have the potential to dismantle his reign. You are the only thing that threatens The King. I had intended to keep you hidden longer, but alas... he has seen you. He can recognize your aura."

The Hero's eyes widened in a panic. He unconsciously reached up to touch his throat with his armoured gloves. He made admirable effort to keep his voice steady, but the fear showed through clear as day.

"A-archmage. If so, can he track me? He knew your name when he touched me. Can he follow? And if so, how can I be saved? I cannot defend myself against such a foe! Will I live a fugitive?"

The Old Man sighed deeply. He shook his head and looked sadly upon the pale scrap sitting on his living room floor. Destiny had dealt The Hero a harsh hand. His trials until now had been arduous, but the path ahead would be even more grueling. A Terrarian was a creature that ran on hope. So long as he wished to stand, he could. So long as he wanted to fight, fight he would. They were behemoths, but even behemoths could be ground down to nothing. King Yharim had terrified The Hero. He would strip from him all of his resources. He would kill everything precious to him... and when it was all done, would The Hero still have the will to fight?

Or would his spirit be broken.

And their hope extinguished.

The Archmage pressed his lips together. He steeled his eyes and folded his hands over his long beard. He addressed The Hero gravely.

"Young One... do not become paralyzed by fear. The King will seek you by tracking the protection spell I have cast upon you. I must remove this. I will sever any link between us. Take that-" The Archmage pointed at the flask in The Hero's hands. "And go southwest, to The Dungeon and The Sulfurous Sea. Search thoroughly for The Cultist's blueprints of summoning circles. You must find the one you were summoned with. Only then may we move your permanent spawn point, and only then will you be free to battle without the fear of death. Go Quickly!"

The Hero climbed shakily to his feet and vanished The Permafrost's Concoction - equipping it in his invisible inventory. He looked confused and lost, but regardless moved towards the doorway. Before passing over the threshold, he turned to look back. There was an odd look on his face, his voice was very soft.

"Archmage?"

"Yes, Hero?"

"If Yharim cannot track me by your spell. Won't he simply search for you? He's imprisoned you for a hundred years... surely he can find you again... and when he does..."

The Hero petered out and bit his lip. He stared at The Archmage as if begging him to say something contrary. Alas, The Boy was simply too smart for his own good. The Archmage puffed his pipe and watched The Resistance's sparkling lights through the glassy windows. After a while, he broke the silence. He made his voice curt - intentionally ignoring the question The Hero had posed.

"Don't dwell on these things, my boy. There is little time. Make haste. Go!"

"What do you think, Cultist?"

The small armoured figure planted his elbow against the stone table and sighed tiredly. His demeanor sagged. His eyes were bloodshot beneath the sweeping plates of his helmet. Evidently, this was a man doing his best to hold the coalition together... something that had becoming increasingly difficult since Braelor left for The Front Lines. Statis was an old and wily soldier, but he was an assassin, not a political leader. He gritted his teeth and raked his eyes across the two others sitting at the table. There was a frustration in his voice as he muttered over the report prepared for him by his team of closest advisors.

"This 'Faze' Character is surely The Hero. White hair, tattoos, pale with eyes like coals. He killed a Queen Bee in a single strike, then The Guardian of The Jungle shortly after. There are no CC Agents of this calibre. We have reports that Draedon is busy trying to make soldiers as powerful as Terrarians, but there have been no successes. Faze and The Hero. They are one and the same."

*splash...plop*

Statis winced as The Sea King flopped out of the glorified bathtub they had built for him (a temporary measure, The Sea King had insisted upon it because they were spending too much time in the meeting room) and slithered water all over the marble floors. His voice boomed out as he approached the table, taking his place beside The Lunatic Cultist.

"Yes, but you cannot tell our troops Our Hero is a spy employed by Yharim... such a thing will be suicide. Besides, It matters little if they're the same person. We must catch both of them. The Hero must be brought back under The Resistance Wing. This 'spy' must be dealt with. Cultist, you suspected The Archmage has custody of The Hero?"

The Man in the bird's mask nodded his beak.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Somebody is shielding The Hero from my scrying. More likely it's The Archmage, but it's also possible The Hero managed to make his way to The Imperial Army and their mages are performing that function. I seriously doubt he would be sent back here as a spy though. It's not like Lord Yharim to do something so odd."

"..."

The Sea King nodded and held his snout in his gnarled hand. Statis glared at them both from beneath his helmet. Something was fishy about these two... as if their hearts were not entirely with The Resistance. As if this battle was simply a means to an end. Still, what could the old soldier do? His troops were still on the front lines, wearing thin as they skirmished against the Imperial behemoth. He could not afford to push away The Cultist and his army of of mages, nor Amidas and his many admirers. They needed The Hero here, and fast.

"Fine." Statis sighed and leaned back in Braelor's seat (a seat that was far too large for him) "We will discover the details once we catch our mystery man. I will put a bounty on the head of this 'Faze' - Amidas, please direct an armed laison to negotiate with The Archmage. We must not allow him to oppose Resistance interests. He has already dealt us a blow by tarnishing Braelor's image... we must be keen to defend against him. Cultist, go-"

The Vulture-headed mage raised a hand and shook his head, interrupting Statis's instructions.

"Statis, I cannot go. My sources tell me somebody that may be The Hero is near The Crimson Border. I must not miss this opportunity to retrieve him. I will be gone for a few days. Good Day sirs."

Slayer: *angry*

Faze: Why angy?

S: T^T

F: oooh u jelly

Slayer: (sees Faze) Holy shit this guy is terrifying, I must hide from him

Faze: (sees Yharim) Holy shit this guy is terrifying, I must hide from him.

Okay so for the second part, In the Terraria game, you essentially have two spawn points. One is a temporary one usually denotated by a Bed. You can left click the bed to re-spawn there when recalling/dying. However, if the bed/room is destroyed or you remove the temporary spawn, you will respawn back at your original spawn point - that is - the place you appear when you first come to the world. This generally cannot be moved with out TEdit.

So essentially, Faze set his temp. spawn in Archmage's living room (Slayer temp spawn is on his patio) both of their original spawn points are where they were born. Inside the magic circle in The Guide's destroyed village. When Guide yelled at slayer (while they were getting shot at in like ch 30, by Arms dealer) that 'this isn't your home anymore' he caused him to subconciously remove that spawn point and appear in his original spawn ie) middle of crimson.

This is also the reason Faze is so scared of dying. He is a mediumcore character and does not have access to his weapons etc... after dying. if his original spawn is in the crimson, 'dying' means endless torture. essentially what happened to him after braelor killed him. Arch wants to move that original spawn point to somewhere more friendly so Faze can fight & die without fear (lol)