Hello! Hello! Yharim Chap :)
Armour: Brimflame (Vanity- CAU Robes)
Weapon: Lashes of Chaos, Undine's Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, TerraSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
The Old Wizard was no dottard.
At least he didn't fancy himself as such. In his heyday, he was an esteemed member of The Magical Academy - not a genius in his craft (not like The Archmage or The Lunatic Cultist were) but nevertheless a stalwart pillar of this country's magical community for nearly three hundred years. He had seen ten generations flit before his eyes. He had seen the leaves shrivel and bloom anew over and over again. He had watched The Sun's eternal march across the sky for three centuries, and he had observed mankind for just as long. He was no dullard. He understood the inner workings of mankind. He knew the types. Some could be pushed around and intimidated with violence. Some were so concerned about imaginary judgement, they could be manipulated to do all manner of things they disliked. Some were pigheaded and stubborn, and one needed soft words to assuage and direct them. And others were entirely intractable in word and deed. Unconvinced of everything in their perceived selfishness.
And, although The Wizard would daren't say he 'knew' The King... he indeed knew this about him.
He was prideful. He was perceptive. He would not tolerate a slight, because he took everything personally.
And if The Wizard wanted to see tomorrow, if he wanted to see his great, great, great, great, great-grandchildren this Sunday, he knew he needed to say exactly what The King required of him. The Old Man sighed and gingerly stood to his feet. His bones felt brittle - and had he failed to magically reinforce them at the moment of impact, he might have just shattered when he hit the floor. Alas, he would much rather be nursing a back-ache for many weeks to come than laying dead before the furnaces of the torture chambers.
(Now speak Wizard... tell us the truth about your 'Terrarian'.)
The Page's annoyingly pompous voice shrilled out and grated upon his old ears, snapping him back to the present - kneeling on these cold marble floors. It was terribly cold within The Hall, the chill of The King's Presence seeping through skin, then muscle and bone. The Wizard could swear each of his breaths were thunderous as they echoed about the high, intricately carved ceilings. Murals depicting The Sky stretched from one end of the ceiling to the other, and the plaster was intersparsed with beams of very real sunlight which filtered through tremendous stained-glass windows.
On any other day, The Old Wizard would have appreciated such beauty and craftsmanship, but today-
"Reveal the deception that you dared to participate in!"
The brat's nasally voice was truly an amazing thing. It filled a man with raw desire: a dual desire to bludgeon The Page to death, and to tear off one's own ears. The Annoying Page was dressed more like a clown or a joker than anyone of honorable rank - and filled the silence was huffing, glaring, and flourishing his scroll as if he were in some sort of performance. He appeared to relish his position to yell and snap at men and women who far outranked him in knowledge, power and stature.
Pathetic sort.
It really was a wonder that The King would tolerate such a peacocked little brat, but then again - criticizing The King's taste was also quite illegal. Had Yharim chosen him as a spokesperson because he was so insufferable? The Wizard wouldn't put it past him. Ah- best not to be plagued with these distractions when standing before The King. The Wizard banished the thought from his mind and roused himself. He folded his hands before him and offered a stiff bow before spewing today's chosen Imperial propaganda - of course, without implicating himself.
He took a deep breath and shifted his robes into something halfway presentable. One did not look their best after being quite literally dragged halfway across The City.
"Your Royal Majesty and all our esteemed Lords, I beg you lend me your ear - for I speak the truth."
The shuffling and mutterings died down as The Wizard's voice echoed about the room. Even The Annoying Page was content to glare in silence.
"Throughout my many years as The Cultist's teacher and confidant, I have advised and assisted him in accomplishing many magical feats. How could I refuse his requests? Such was my duty, for at the time, he was The Head Mage of this Great Empire. Assisting him was akin to serving The King himself! Many years ago, he came to me and requested I help him discover the method to summon the most fearsome of beasts... 'A Terrarian'."
The Annoying Page interjected.
"And did you?!"
The Wizard rolled his eyes (internally, of course) and did not respond. Instead, he spread his arms and looked about the room to those that might be his benefactors.
"Far be it from me to question The King's Mage, for in times past, many dangerous and terrifying magicks have been used for the benefit of this Empire. I did what was asked of me... I worked with him to create a summoning for something close to what a Terrarian would be - at least in appearance. Months later The Cultist defected and, to my great horror, 'The Resistance Terrarian' was born."
A swell of muttering arose amongst the people. The King lifted his hand but slightly, and it died down to silence in an instant. The Wizard continued.
"Yet be assured, The Resistance Terrarian is by no means a true Terrarian. It is a simple mockery of one - a magical amalgamation which boasts abilities similar to The Terrarian of legend. But rest assured, it is by no means immortal. It is simply-"
A chair clattered backwards onto the marble floor as The General of The King's army stood to his feet and barked out, interrupting The Old Wizard mid-sentence.
"How do you mean, Wizard?! The Resistance Terrarian is said to be immortal! Undying! That the jaws of death find no purchase on him, and he is said to rise again and again no matter how often he is killed! Rumors don't start from nowhere, Old Man. If a hundred-thousand claim he is deathless, then why should I believe you?!"
There was a murmuring of agreement as the query was raised. Several lesser war counselors stood up and shouted the same question at him, their voices overlapping like a bunch of first year school children who thought they knew more about the arcane than The 300 year old professor. Without thinking very much about it, The Old Wizard began to treat them as such. With the wave of his hand, he cast an amplification spell and - with an accusative jab of his gnarled finger, shouted The Upstart General back into his seat.
"Why?! Because I am it's architect, good sir. I created it to have the appearance of a Terrarian and the unwashed masses believed me! Have you so much faith in the thoughts of those rebellious famers and peasants? Do you take their word over the Terrarian's creator?! If you cannot see the deception whilst it is being explained to you, then - I dare say - you make a very poor General indeed! See clearly! Do not make a fool of yourself in The King's Court, young man!"
(...)
Stunned silence.
Even The Annoying Page gaped at him like a fish out of water.
The air seemed to echo with tension - of violence balanced with fear. The General was red-faced and fingering the hilt of his blade, glancing nervously between The King and the Old Wizard which dared insult his honor. The feathers atop his helm were ruffled like that of a confused rooster. So too were The King's entire war cabinet, they stared at The King and silently pleaded for The Wizard's head... but-
"Ha! Hahaha!"
But The King Laughed.
A great booming sound which filled the hall before fading to nothing. After another long moment of paralyzing silence, The King addressed The Hall. The mirth in his voice was still present as he did.
"Sit down, General. I've brought The Wizard here to give testimony concerning the problem he's made. You will esteem my guests and listen carefully to what they have to say."
The General dipped his head and swallowed hard. After a moment he gave a curt bow and sat back down. The members of the war cabinet sheepishly followed suit. There was none who dared even utter a peep as The King stood from his throne to address those in attendance.
"Men of The Empire, hear me. I intend that those in my court to be informed about our 'Great Enemy'. Until I made this discovery, I too believed The Lunatic Cultist had produced a True Terrarian. I am sure all of you are privy to my countermeasures."
The room was filled with nodding heads. The King paused, then continued.
"I no longer need to research countermeasures against Terrarians, but now that it has already begun, I will not waste this opportunity. We will not deny The Terrarian so the rebels hidden in my ranks will reveal themselves. They will see hope in this false idol and gather together and make revolution. It is then I will stamp them out. I will cleanse the streets of my city in their blood."
"..."
The King sat back down. He tilted his chin to indicate towards The Wizard to address him. He languidly turned his palm skywards.
"Wizard. I have killed The Hero. I have snapped his neck with these very hands... yet he still lives. How is it so?"
"Your Majesty." The Wizard responded, playing the game just as he'd been told. "The one you killed was one of many, and still many remain, roaming about - terrorizing the landscape and fighting amongst themselves. Nobody could be faulted for mistaking one of these things for the other, for each of these creatures are perfectly identical, from their abilities to their magical signature. They may attack settlements or claim mountains for themselves... much like wild dragons do-"
The King interjected. His voice was grave.
"And much like wild dragons... they must be hunted down for the peace of my country... But such a thing is no longer of top priority. Men of my court, I speak a royal decree. Listen well!"
The Annoying Page flourished a feathered pen and a scroll. He scribbled as The King's voice echoed across the hall.
"This deception will remain a secret. Let the masses believe The Resistance Hero is a Terrarian. Watch carefully as they seek their false savior and report to the Clandestine Corps when they gather. My subjects... you are dismissed."
The Labs beneath The Imperial Palace inspired all sorts of mixed feelings in the minds of the peoples. Some (damn treehuggers, the lot of them) hated the very concept of technological advancement, claiming the evils it produced far outweighed the medicines and convenience such research could accomplish. Others simply balked at the sheer human cost the research entailed (naturally, human test subjects were needed for all manner of experimentation. Such was simply the way of things). And The Zoologist - to a certain extent - agreed. Draedon's Laboratory was a grotesque place.
*blub...blub*
Not grotesque in that traditional manner. The Lab wasn't a dark dungeon filled with rotting corpses, or some horrid lake filled with rancid spew... No. The Laboratories were shining white, perfectly sterilized, perfectly organized, and oftentimes lit with blazing white lights so not even the slightest of shadows remained. Yet even so, in the dark of night, when the labs were cold and quiet and there was none to keep her company but the slow hum of the water filter and her fourth cup of coffee, The Zoologist would stand upon the balcony overlooking her many hundred experiments, and find herself full of loathing.
*hmmmmmm*
Of deep, repressed self loathing.
Of inane guilt (why should I feel guilty?), of illogical mourning (these men and women are now serving a far higher purpose. They should feel honored.), of wild hysterics, (You are amongst the greatest of scientists! There is no need for this!), of utter, crushing revulsion!
Because look! Look at what she'd done! A hundred warped creations! Men and women filled with all manner of terrible fluids, their limbs amputated and replaced, their minds bound with incantations and curses, their genetic code scrambled until it was little more than perverse spaghetti... and if they were living by the end of it, they were the lucky ones. A hundred living specimens, a hundred thousand dead ones. Why did this have to happen?! If only Draedon had decided to just capture The Terrarian instead of using The Twins to simply observing it, they might not be in this situation! They might not need to 'make' a Terrarian after all! All of this death was unwarranted. Unnecessary. Why?!
Because...
Because her hypnosis was wearing off again.
Her hypnotist must have done a shoddy job during their last appointment, and The Zoologist was going to call her first thing tomorrow. Frankly, she disliked the very thought of being dependent on... anything, but dire problems required dire solutions. Ever since she took this job and had to not only see, but participate in all sorts of things commonly considered atrocities - she had subjected herself to many hundreds of rounds of hypnosis. Through willful mental manipulation, she had managed to toss veil upon veil over that pesky, annoying thing called a 'conscience' so she could just do her damn job. Hell! She had worked hard to get here. She'd studied like a slave. She'd worked herself to the bone. She had beat out her competition... and now that she'd arrived at the very pinnacle of the scientific world, by no means would she give it all up because she felt a little guilty about all the people she was killin-
"Tch-"
There it was again! These illogical words that inspired Guilt. Bad, bad bad. Her psychologist had instructed her to remove this kind of language from her mental vocabulary or she'd start spiraling again. They quickly led to these sorts of detrimental intrusive thoughts. Hell, if the hypnosis wasn't wearing off, she wouldn't have even been able to think about the world 'kill'!
*Blub...gurgle*
The Zoologist sighed and, after tottering back from the balcony and back to her desk, slumped into her chair. The action caused her glasses to shift down her nose, and - in a rare show of indifference - she allowed them to slide off her face entirely, and to the floor. She didn't want to see any of her experiments in close detail right now. Without the comforting haze of hypnosis, she feared her heart couldn't take it...
Even the King was upset with us for our performance that night... if only we'd captured The Terrarian, His problems would have been solved and we could scrap project Nephelim. Maybe we could do something less horrible like... heart transplants or something...
Project Nephelim...
The aberrant joining between 'angels' and 'creatures'.
It curdled her long numbed heart.
The Zoologist shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut.
Her appointment with the hypnotist couldn't come soon enough.
What is this?
Is it fear?
This sense of obligation? This sense of danger if I dare to disobey? He's standing there on the lower floor, looking rather bedraggled and upset in his frayed blue robes and the cracked porcelain mask. Indeed, he hardly looks intimidating at all... yet he speaks to me, nay, he commands me with such an overwhelming sense of authority, it chills me to the bone. It's cold; authority like an iron rod, intractable and wielded against me like a bludgeon. He has absolute rights over me. He is utterly convinced of it, and from the moment I was born, and despite how I raged against the idea, I was convinced of it too.
For My Teacher is not merely my teacher.
He is the man who brought me into this world.
He'd never said he could take me out.
He had never threatened as much.
But when his voice grows curt and his breath become annoyed and he begins to count to three, I can sense the threat. It's a veiled threat, merely implied. The looming promise that something dreadful is in store for me should I remain obstinate even a single moment past 'three'.
"Three!"
"Okay, okay!... I'm coming..."
His snipped voice echoes through the air and I'm filled with panic. I obey, and immediately feel the sting of defeat. What is that threat? What am I so afraid of?
Death?
Nonsense. For although death is painful, it's struck me down a hundred times. And each time it struck, I was raised to life anew. Of course, it's torture, and of course, I despise it... but at this point, the threat of one more death is scarcely a threat at all. It is a painful and unsavory procedure of which I've come to know intimately.
No.
This is something else.
Something that sits in my head and whispers discouragements to my heart. Something that lays heavy upon my shoulders like yoke. Something that drags at my heart so each of my steps is sheepish and leaden. It makes me feel small and useless and pathetic. An utter failure. A disappointment. It tramples upon all my achievements until they're nothing but powdered rubbish. It crushes my pride and leaves me hollow. It's something only My Teacher makes me feel...
*thump...thump...thump*
"Faster, Child."
".."
I briefly glance up to see the eyes behind the mask piercing through me. There is no softness in his gaze, no appearance of mercy nor understanding. He is cold and scathing and I instinctively halt at the bottom of the steps, refusing to draw any closer. There is disappointment in those eyes. The sneering look of derision which is painful from strangers, but so very poignant from one's creator. I dare not gaze into it too long, lest it leave another wound on my soul.
The Cultist is clearly annoyed by me. He huffs and waves his hand at me. His words come out as a snap.
"Boy, come here. Stop wasting my time."
"..."
I don't have any words to say. I merely swallow hard and force a spring into my step as I close the distance. There's a tension in the air, as if the odd-sides of magnets were being forced to draw near to one another. By the time I've arrived at the tip of the porcelain beak, I'm afraid the very space between us will snap and shatter.
*tsk...tsk*
He observes me then clicks his tongue. I can feel those hard eyes roaming over me and all I can manage is staring at the floor and trying to breathe. Why am I so nervous? I don't know, and I'm not in the right state of mind to do any serious introspection. Instead, I scramble, searching for anything to take comfort in. Outside, the breeze blows over a field of wildflowers, the delicate yellow petals dance and sway beneath the glorious blue sky across which clouds wander. I can hear insects buzzing. I can hear leaves rustling. I can hear the deep creaks and groans of the old wooden structure shifting beneath my heels. A bird twitters in the sunligh-
"Hero. Have you encountered The Witch?"
I flinch and glance up into that scornful gaze. My Teacher is demanding and answer and makes it clear I will not avoid this question again. I briefly consider lying to him - anything to get him off my back - but banish the thought. Should he find I had tried to deceive him, how much more of a disappointment would I be? Already I've failed in nearly everything he'd asked of me. At the very least, I'll tell the truth ...well, half-truths.
I speak, and my voice is small. I hate the sound of it, but it works well enough in testing his reactions.
"I fought her clone... and I killed it."
"Oh?"
I can tell The Cultist has raised his eyebrows from beneath his mask. His voice is full of dripping venom and dark sarcasm, and every syllable lashes me like a whip. In the past, such rhetoric would have stirred up my rebellious spirit, caused me to puff out my chest and march about, proclaiming how I knew better, and I knew it all and I will go do whatever I like! But now... well, now I've realized just how cruel and dark and terrifying this world could be. Such boastful rhetoric is for the naive... and I've seen and experienced too much to dare say such things again.
So, I merely stand here, eyes glued to the ground, and eyes wide open - praying the breeze dries the wetness forming along my eyelashes. I set my jaw and stare into the floorboards as My Teacher's stinging words linger upon my ears.
"Nothing else happened? You didn't slay some Ancient God, or murder your way through the city, or steal any of The King's priceless artifacts? After all, you left here swearing revenge on The King, did you not? Were you successful? Did you make The Tyrant beg for mercy, or did you simply scamper around his city like a rat - sticking your nose everywhere it doesn't belong?"
The Cultists sneers. He's gesticulating wildly as he rants.
"Are you telling me that this damn scoundrel, who always manages to get himself into the worst trouble imaginable has not encountered the real Witch? Has not faced down Draedon's machines? Has not got his face on wanted posters, plastered all over every city corner? Ho! To be frank, in this you've exceeded my expectations. Perhaps my lot isn't so bad after all!"
I blink and, by instinct, nod mutely. After a second, I realize I had done all of those things - but don't have the courage to tell him.
Of course, The Cultist finds my silence suspicious. He narrows his eyes and - with a linen gloved hand - grabs my chin and lifts it, forcing me to meet his eyes. He glares at me for a few terrible moments before letting me go. My gaze goes right back between my toes.
"No..." He ponders while considering me. "If killing Calamitas' Clone were the only thing you did, you wouldn't come to me with such a dismal look on your face and stinking of death and brimstone. You also wouldn't be wearing the robes of my old university. For as much as I'd like to believe you're only here with that sour expression because you overwatered my flowers and tried to revive them via necromancy - the fact you look like a guilty dog tells me hell would sooner freeze over. Now..."
My Teacher folds his arms over his chest and raises his chin, as if readying himself to receive some awful news.
"Tell me what happened to you, Hero. Tell me in full."
He sounds a bit tired at the end of his tirade. This is how My Teacher is. Explosive, but his anger is short. His gaze no longer burns so harshly. The tapping of his foot against the floorboards no longer so insistent as it is resigned. I work up the courage to meet his eyes and clear my throat.
"I... I did meet The Witch."
The tapping stops. The glare intensifies. Quickly, I try to assuage the situation and find myself speaking far more rapidly than normal. The words come tumbling off my tongue and I know I'm making a fool of myself.
"But she didn't notice me! Not in the slightest. A-and The Ancient God was no god at all! Only a strange stone golem made of terracotta and covered in blood. And the posters are jus-"
My Teacher presses one hand against his forehead; the other, he raises in the universal request to 'be quiet'. I quickly acquiesce and watch him as he turns around and walks a few paces before collapsing into a rickety chair. He watches me from his seat and sighs. He reeks of disappointment.
"Child, you-...tch."
I smell it, and the cloying sensation claws at my throat. I press my lips together and stare at the ground. Once more I am reminded of those terrible days... those days I ran about, fleeing defenseless from those horrible worms. How I struggled and fled and fought and screamed all to no avail... until My Teacher arrived to fetch me. Yet when he did, my relief was met with coldness, and my need for comfort was met with sharp words. Cruelly I was brought up, and cruelly I was abandoned. Perhaps, in me, My Teacher sees nothing but failure...
"..."
The Cultist looks tired. He rests his head on his palm and continues to lecture me. His tone is familiar, reminding me of those days so many weeks ago where I'd done nothing but study beneath My Teacher's tutelage. Back then when I had yet to make an enemy of my creators and lived a comfortable, yet squalid existence beneath Braelor's boot. The memory is bittersweet, yet... It is something I could never go back to.
"This is ... no small matter, boy. Men have collapsed at her mere presence alone, if not killed outright! Can you fathom what would have happened if you'd fought her? Your body would certainly die, there is no question about that, but Calamitas is a skilled Necromancer! What if she had torn your soul from your flesh? What if she had raised you from the dead before you could resurrect? Child, The Witch is dangerous! If I knew you'd encounter her, I would never have directed you towards The Capitol!"
He's quite upset, but although his words prick like thorns, they've lost their venom. Quickly he stands up and walks a circle about me before laying a palm between my shoulder blades and muttering an incantation. With a burst, cleansing mana swirls around me, purging something from my aura before it dissipates. I feel suddenly lighter, as if I'd be striving beneath a weight for so long, I'd forgotten it'd existed.
"You damn troublemaking brat... Forget dying, what about your mind!? Who knows what Calamitas would have done to you if you'd been captured?! If you'd faced her in your current state, you very well might've returned to me a drooling vegetable!"
He reaches out to swat the back of my head. I dodge instinctively, but my quick reflexes only earn me more of My Teacher's ire. With an annoyed huff, he strikes at me again, but before I can flinch away, magic seizes hold of me, freezing me in place just long enough for The Cultist to smack me twice. I yelp in surprise, but The Cultist's ranting drowns me out.
*slap-slap*
"A vegetable! Do you hear me?! Heavens, Hero. If I didn't know you better I'd think your head was full of rocks. Perhaps you're playing the part of an invalid already!"
Truth be told, I'm becoming rather annoyed, and getting smacked in the skull knocked all of the fear out of me. With a pout, I begin to argue.
"I can't imagine my mind collapsing. I'm not a mere huma-aaah!"
Worms!
They're flying through the air, pink and wriggling and thrown from the hand of My Teacher. I see them. And They see me, and immediately, I feel them crawling all over me, biting me, gouging my flesh with their scything teeth and dousing me in that lurid burning ichor. Everything suddenly burns, and I shout and leap backwards, crushing through whatever brittle furniture that remains within the old tower - and, had not the worms immediately vanished upon touching the ground (only now do I realize they had been illusory) I might have burst through the exterior stonework itself.
"Well then? Are you so mentally sound that you won't heed my warnings?"
My Teacher crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at me, but I'm far too shocked to hear a word he says. Worms! Horrible miserable deadly things! They've vanished but the thrill of terror leaves me aghast. How cruel of him! How cruel of My Teacher. He would know better than anyone how terrified I am of these things. I screw up my face and stare up at him - yet instead the scorn I've come to expect, My Teacher suddenly looks uncharacteristically concerned. He crosses the distance and kneels down to my eye level. He rests a hand on the shoulder.
"Don't throw a fit, Hero. Breathe deeply. Calm yourself. It is but an illusion."
"..."
My heart is pounding against my sternum, and I fight to steady my breathing. After a long while, I seize hold of myself and spring to my feet. Anger rises within me. Shrouding my vision in red, and lighing hot coals beneath the soles of my feet. My eyes are burning, and, with far more violence than is necessary, I smack off The Cultist's hand. I whip about and roar at him.
"What the fuck!"
"Relax, It's-"
"Teacher! You! ... tch!"
I have no words for him. My mana is itching, writhing and itching beneath my skin and buzzing in the tips of my fingers. It wants to burst forth with violence - and if I wish to avoid a battle, I mustn't stay here. I need to get out!
I turn towards the door and storm out. March into the forest, leaving a trail of smashed wildflowers in my wake. Behind me, I hear The Cultist shouting after me.
(Hero! Seize hold of yourself! You mustn't allow your emotions to run roughshod! Come back and listen, Hero?! He...)
Faze: Hey MK, wouldn't it be funny to flood The Capitol with thousands of gallons of lava?
MK: Oh... oka-
Yharim: No! Bad! *smacks MK with newspaper*
MK: T-T
Fatass chapter ayyy. leave rev I love yall