FlakMaster
The Destroyer
Good day, The Master of Flak here.
I am here to present you with literature that I will work on throughout the coming times. A story that focuses on the game that created this community, but twists it into what I intend to be a much more realistic, or otherwise justified, take on the Terrarian universe. From previous experiences with writing, this will undoubtedly become a long read, formatted in the typical yet simply structured way we all read from standard material in the real world. That is all I will say out of the story here, I shall let it speak for itself of what it is. Except for the title, which can give some light as to what is to come.
I am here to present you with literature that I will work on throughout the coming times. A story that focuses on the game that created this community, but twists it into what I intend to be a much more realistic, or otherwise justified, take on the Terrarian universe. From previous experiences with writing, this will undoubtedly become a long read, formatted in the typical yet simply structured way we all read from standard material in the real world. That is all I will say out of the story here, I shall let it speak for itself of what it is. Except for the title, which can give some light as to what is to come.
Darkness is something feared by most. Something avoided at all cost in pessimism of the corruption and chaos it can bring. A blindness that can only be imagined by those that have yet to experience it fully as nothing but torment. Whole clans rebel against it as if it is a force that can be tackled. An entity that serves the role of an antagonist in the war of all civilisations for the hope of ever-lasting prosperity.
It is also something that is greatly misunderstood. While most eagerly continue to babble about how they must repel against such a non-existent threat, others take praise in what it offers. It seeps with mystery; a magnet to the curious. Though it is linked to chaos, strength is rarely achieved without struggling through said chaos. And, most importantly, it is the first thing in life that all life experiences. An overwhelming sense of confusion, chaos and pain. Out of all of that, there is a certainty that all can settle on. That certainty is life; the act of living. The soul becomes aware of its existence.
And today, I revisit that experience.
______________________________
What crowds my thoughts is the fear of agony. But my mind becomes disappointed, as I feel only small outbursts of stings that are inconsistent in timing. It is as relieving as it is unsettling, as I can do nothing but hunt for justification on why I lack the pain from the wounds I suffered earlier. They were no minor wounds, either. Half of my face got scorched and my left arm was torn beyond the point it can recover. Heck, nearly all of my left half suffered from an explosion. My chest suffered the worst from that specific impact; I could barely breathe after that strike.
I nearly go into instant panic, as I realise that I am not breathing whatsoever. Although not breathing would mean death, it does not make sense for me to be in clarified thought while not inhaling, so I discover myself quickly settling. Yes, the souls of the dead can think as I do now, but not in this place. No, it is simply an impossibility, not under the influence of the 'Master'. Or, as I like to call it, the bastard I wish to see suffer. No, do not think of it, not now. This is the wrong time to do so, as I need to become fully aware of the situation first.
But why do my ears sense nothing? Well, there is the echo of pebbles falling. And I definitely hear some sort of quiet energy buzz or flame sparks...maybe. My senses presumably need a bit of warming up to get back to the pinnacle of performance. However, that is not the sounds I expected. I was seeking the sound of desperate battle, gunfire, clatter of metal, explosions, or at least some voices that signifies life! Nothing. Nothing at all. It does not speak good news.
Deciding it is best to get a bit comfortable before I test my limits, I wait for a short period of time. I expect something new to happen, but all remains constant. I have yet to open my eyes. No, just my left eye. My right was definitely blown away cleanly. It still baffles me how I survived such numerous strikes against me. In all fairness, I was never in direct harm's way for a good amount of time. I just managed to catch stray bullets here and there and hugged the boundaries of the damage radius of the rockets that were shot at me. My armour absorbed most bullets so they didn't deal permanent damage, but there were a few that got past and penetrated all biological matter in the way. There was little I could do about the fiery wrath of explosives; they're something not to be underestimated.
I attempt to open my eye and my muscles respond. Not optimally, but the feeling is there. However, at the same instance, I sense a flare of energy flush into my head. I recognise the energy instantly; it is undoubtedly magical. Sight does not come to me gradually, but in an instant, as the supply room I am trapped in surges into view. Strange, everything here seems to be in a different hue of colour than I remember it being. What bewilders me even further is the realisation that took too long for me to discover; how can I see in a room with no source of light in it whatsoever?
The room I gaze upon generally looks the same as it was the last time I saw it. The doorway that should be in front of me is completely collapsed. Everything else is relatively untouched, surprising for being in a massive stronghold that became a war-zone. Plenty of ammunition for all sorts; big bullets for the marksman rifle that I keep close to me, smaller bullets for the faster types of weaponry, very few rockets, shotgun shells, some close-quarters weaponry when hostiles approach hugging distance and a few other unimportant things. All of these supplies are neatly placed on carved green brick shells (the same material that the whole stronghold is composed of) that occupy the wall opposite the collapsed doorway. Other details include the slightly comfortable seating that I was resting upon on both sides of the room, with tables neatly arranged symmetrically.
And then comes the most shocking sight; me. My body dimly emits a strange dark red light where my blood should flow. The light is barely visible on the majority of the right side of my body, however the left it is much more potent. The same part of me which got damage severely, presumably beyond repair. All of it...it is magical energy. It flows slowly throughout me, mimicking the action of blood transportation. Speaking of which, I lack the beat of my heart. That and not being able to breathe? I think I know where this is going.
For now, I come to being able to move. My arms are satisfactory in that category, though I have yet to test my legs. They twitch fine, so I give it a little more oomph and they start to kick a little bit. I somewhat feel as if I am regaining mobility in a few minutes, however it must have been a good hour or so since I woke up. Next level is trying to walk. I trust my balance on both my legs for a brief moment, but they give way quite quickly and I retreat back to my seat. I reckon a few more attempts and it will be fine. Second attempt, I push a little too hard and end up planting my face on the table in front of me and I am welcomed by a loud thud. Third time's the charm is what they say, so I repeat the procedure. Turns out that saying does not work for me, as I only repeat my mistake. The next time, I just decide to try to stand straight to get a grip of balance.
After maintaining my position for a good minute, I feel like I am back into the rhythm of balance. First step...works fine. The next, same. After the third time I consider the results, I decide to give up analysing my movements, as I clearly have my legs back into their movable state. What I do take notice of, however, is the ever-so-slight throbbing of the magical energy within me as I move. This room lacks a perfect mirror, so I resort to the polished table that I walked around for a rough glimpse of a reflection. I jolt slightly at the image before me; it turns out to be more than a satisfactory reflection.
I was right when I thought that that explosion ripped off a lot of my left side, as my ribs, the edge of my pelvis, parts of my skull and leg bones are visible. Past the parts of the armour that remain attached to this side, of course. Most of the skin has vanished, rotted away or something, I can feel the difference between my healthy and destroyed side. Any that remains has matched the same colour as the bones.
My right side is almost fine, apart from a few spots here and there that have holes in. Apart from that, I still have most of my tough hide-chainmail armour covering it as if it is ready to see another battle. But I cannot stop looking away from what remains of my left. It is absolutely ghastly, seeing myself in this form. The most unsettling part is my left eye, or what has replaced it. A blob of red light that has shaped into an eye. That kind of explains why I can see in darkness.
I find it hard to believe that I am not dead. But I'm definitely not. If I were, I would simply have no skin after it completely degrades and I would be controlled by a different form of magic. I know, because I have seen the way those bodies moved about before they offered to put a few holes into me. They didn't emit anything of the sort that I feel at this instance. They weren't quite skeletons, as some people assume they would be, but that is because they weren't long dead. Their biological matter doesn't degrade instantaneously, after all. The energy that flows through me right now is literally replicating what blood does, so I can take relief in the fact that I differ from them.
Words cannot describe the disbelief I am in. I cannot believe it worked! Coming across some knowledge of how to redirect magical energy (also known as mana by wizards) to fill the purpose of life sustainability? I thought I was reading absolute crap. But I had to try it, as death by blood loss was otherwise a guarantee. It all seemed to work so well, but I am fully aware of the requirements that were there.
It required an immense amount of potential in magic, something that is a rarity between people. Not a 'one-in-a-million' scenario, just not common. It also has to be done at the precise moment when death is approaching. This is when the energy can replace the functions of the body. It's extremely risky and most aren't willing to risk it. And then comes the fact that it constantly drains mana supply, so anything I try to do from that supply will either not work, or take a heavy toll on my well-being.
There is also the problem that while it can grant 'eternal life', it does not mean that it is impossible to die. Heck, I am even more susceptible to death now, because I cannot use magic to assist me. That is not a massive issue, as I was never big on being a fully-fledged wizard. My rifle has always been by my side. I have heard stories of similar successions of this 'magical revival', however it was never appreciated by the clans I have come across. I heard they usually hunt down the abomination.
What greatly concerns me is how much time I have been dormant. Enough time for the battles to stop, not to mention parts of my body to rot away completely. Months? Years? I cannot even begin to guess. But none of that matters much. What is most important is that I am still kicking. The Master knows not of my presence yet, otherwise I would have its tormenting words constantly gouging at my mind. I am, however, prepared for when it does find me. I have seen its tricks, its tactics and its practises. It may have convinced everyone to kill each other in the Stronghold so the Master can have its precious necro-army.
It will be painful when the Master tries, but what it does not realise is that my ever-burning fury is directed to it. And since I am the last one here, there is no one to back-stab me. There is only one place to focus my rage on. And that is the Master's skull, or preferably the groin, if it has one. Why am I so convinced that it cannot beat me mentally? Well, how can it convince me to do anything else but die, when 'anything else' does not work to its favour? And the last thing I want to do is die. Even if I am accursed with fractured senses and strength, there is still plenty of adventure left to indulge in.
The Master may have eliminated the squadron that I have been with for years, but it has yet to kill the last of them; Flak, the Mercenary that refuses to die. And the fact that it left me alive is probably the biggest mistake it has ever made...
It is also something that is greatly misunderstood. While most eagerly continue to babble about how they must repel against such a non-existent threat, others take praise in what it offers. It seeps with mystery; a magnet to the curious. Though it is linked to chaos, strength is rarely achieved without struggling through said chaos. And, most importantly, it is the first thing in life that all life experiences. An overwhelming sense of confusion, chaos and pain. Out of all of that, there is a certainty that all can settle on. That certainty is life; the act of living. The soul becomes aware of its existence.
And today, I revisit that experience.
______________________________
What crowds my thoughts is the fear of agony. But my mind becomes disappointed, as I feel only small outbursts of stings that are inconsistent in timing. It is as relieving as it is unsettling, as I can do nothing but hunt for justification on why I lack the pain from the wounds I suffered earlier. They were no minor wounds, either. Half of my face got scorched and my left arm was torn beyond the point it can recover. Heck, nearly all of my left half suffered from an explosion. My chest suffered the worst from that specific impact; I could barely breathe after that strike.
I nearly go into instant panic, as I realise that I am not breathing whatsoever. Although not breathing would mean death, it does not make sense for me to be in clarified thought while not inhaling, so I discover myself quickly settling. Yes, the souls of the dead can think as I do now, but not in this place. No, it is simply an impossibility, not under the influence of the 'Master'. Or, as I like to call it, the bastard I wish to see suffer. No, do not think of it, not now. This is the wrong time to do so, as I need to become fully aware of the situation first.
But why do my ears sense nothing? Well, there is the echo of pebbles falling. And I definitely hear some sort of quiet energy buzz or flame sparks...maybe. My senses presumably need a bit of warming up to get back to the pinnacle of performance. However, that is not the sounds I expected. I was seeking the sound of desperate battle, gunfire, clatter of metal, explosions, or at least some voices that signifies life! Nothing. Nothing at all. It does not speak good news.
Deciding it is best to get a bit comfortable before I test my limits, I wait for a short period of time. I expect something new to happen, but all remains constant. I have yet to open my eyes. No, just my left eye. My right was definitely blown away cleanly. It still baffles me how I survived such numerous strikes against me. In all fairness, I was never in direct harm's way for a good amount of time. I just managed to catch stray bullets here and there and hugged the boundaries of the damage radius of the rockets that were shot at me. My armour absorbed most bullets so they didn't deal permanent damage, but there were a few that got past and penetrated all biological matter in the way. There was little I could do about the fiery wrath of explosives; they're something not to be underestimated.
I attempt to open my eye and my muscles respond. Not optimally, but the feeling is there. However, at the same instance, I sense a flare of energy flush into my head. I recognise the energy instantly; it is undoubtedly magical. Sight does not come to me gradually, but in an instant, as the supply room I am trapped in surges into view. Strange, everything here seems to be in a different hue of colour than I remember it being. What bewilders me even further is the realisation that took too long for me to discover; how can I see in a room with no source of light in it whatsoever?
The room I gaze upon generally looks the same as it was the last time I saw it. The doorway that should be in front of me is completely collapsed. Everything else is relatively untouched, surprising for being in a massive stronghold that became a war-zone. Plenty of ammunition for all sorts; big bullets for the marksman rifle that I keep close to me, smaller bullets for the faster types of weaponry, very few rockets, shotgun shells, some close-quarters weaponry when hostiles approach hugging distance and a few other unimportant things. All of these supplies are neatly placed on carved green brick shells (the same material that the whole stronghold is composed of) that occupy the wall opposite the collapsed doorway. Other details include the slightly comfortable seating that I was resting upon on both sides of the room, with tables neatly arranged symmetrically.
And then comes the most shocking sight; me. My body dimly emits a strange dark red light where my blood should flow. The light is barely visible on the majority of the right side of my body, however the left it is much more potent. The same part of me which got damage severely, presumably beyond repair. All of it...it is magical energy. It flows slowly throughout me, mimicking the action of blood transportation. Speaking of which, I lack the beat of my heart. That and not being able to breathe? I think I know where this is going.
For now, I come to being able to move. My arms are satisfactory in that category, though I have yet to test my legs. They twitch fine, so I give it a little more oomph and they start to kick a little bit. I somewhat feel as if I am regaining mobility in a few minutes, however it must have been a good hour or so since I woke up. Next level is trying to walk. I trust my balance on both my legs for a brief moment, but they give way quite quickly and I retreat back to my seat. I reckon a few more attempts and it will be fine. Second attempt, I push a little too hard and end up planting my face on the table in front of me and I am welcomed by a loud thud. Third time's the charm is what they say, so I repeat the procedure. Turns out that saying does not work for me, as I only repeat my mistake. The next time, I just decide to try to stand straight to get a grip of balance.
After maintaining my position for a good minute, I feel like I am back into the rhythm of balance. First step...works fine. The next, same. After the third time I consider the results, I decide to give up analysing my movements, as I clearly have my legs back into their movable state. What I do take notice of, however, is the ever-so-slight throbbing of the magical energy within me as I move. This room lacks a perfect mirror, so I resort to the polished table that I walked around for a rough glimpse of a reflection. I jolt slightly at the image before me; it turns out to be more than a satisfactory reflection.
I was right when I thought that that explosion ripped off a lot of my left side, as my ribs, the edge of my pelvis, parts of my skull and leg bones are visible. Past the parts of the armour that remain attached to this side, of course. Most of the skin has vanished, rotted away or something, I can feel the difference between my healthy and destroyed side. Any that remains has matched the same colour as the bones.
My right side is almost fine, apart from a few spots here and there that have holes in. Apart from that, I still have most of my tough hide-chainmail armour covering it as if it is ready to see another battle. But I cannot stop looking away from what remains of my left. It is absolutely ghastly, seeing myself in this form. The most unsettling part is my left eye, or what has replaced it. A blob of red light that has shaped into an eye. That kind of explains why I can see in darkness.
I find it hard to believe that I am not dead. But I'm definitely not. If I were, I would simply have no skin after it completely degrades and I would be controlled by a different form of magic. I know, because I have seen the way those bodies moved about before they offered to put a few holes into me. They didn't emit anything of the sort that I feel at this instance. They weren't quite skeletons, as some people assume they would be, but that is because they weren't long dead. Their biological matter doesn't degrade instantaneously, after all. The energy that flows through me right now is literally replicating what blood does, so I can take relief in the fact that I differ from them.
Words cannot describe the disbelief I am in. I cannot believe it worked! Coming across some knowledge of how to redirect magical energy (also known as mana by wizards) to fill the purpose of life sustainability? I thought I was reading absolute crap. But I had to try it, as death by blood loss was otherwise a guarantee. It all seemed to work so well, but I am fully aware of the requirements that were there.
It required an immense amount of potential in magic, something that is a rarity between people. Not a 'one-in-a-million' scenario, just not common. It also has to be done at the precise moment when death is approaching. This is when the energy can replace the functions of the body. It's extremely risky and most aren't willing to risk it. And then comes the fact that it constantly drains mana supply, so anything I try to do from that supply will either not work, or take a heavy toll on my well-being.
There is also the problem that while it can grant 'eternal life', it does not mean that it is impossible to die. Heck, I am even more susceptible to death now, because I cannot use magic to assist me. That is not a massive issue, as I was never big on being a fully-fledged wizard. My rifle has always been by my side. I have heard stories of similar successions of this 'magical revival', however it was never appreciated by the clans I have come across. I heard they usually hunt down the abomination.
What greatly concerns me is how much time I have been dormant. Enough time for the battles to stop, not to mention parts of my body to rot away completely. Months? Years? I cannot even begin to guess. But none of that matters much. What is most important is that I am still kicking. The Master knows not of my presence yet, otherwise I would have its tormenting words constantly gouging at my mind. I am, however, prepared for when it does find me. I have seen its tricks, its tactics and its practises. It may have convinced everyone to kill each other in the Stronghold so the Master can have its precious necro-army.
It will be painful when the Master tries, but what it does not realise is that my ever-burning fury is directed to it. And since I am the last one here, there is no one to back-stab me. There is only one place to focus my rage on. And that is the Master's skull, or preferably the groin, if it has one. Why am I so convinced that it cannot beat me mentally? Well, how can it convince me to do anything else but die, when 'anything else' does not work to its favour? And the last thing I want to do is die. Even if I am accursed with fractured senses and strength, there is still plenty of adventure left to indulge in.
The Master may have eliminated the squadron that I have been with for years, but it has yet to kill the last of them; Flak, the Mercenary that refuses to die. And the fact that it left me alive is probably the biggest mistake it has ever made...
17 years ago
"So...number 6 of the infamous 'Terror Squad'. Marksman of the group; the one that puts down entire armies with frightening efficiency. Armoured to the teeth when bunkered down, your enemies are known to have purposely avoided your line of sight in hopes of closing distance for a better offensive point, only to meet the rest of the group, which are better fitted for close quarters combat. Same background as the others; plenty of information about the tasks your group have carried out and almost nothing beforehand."
"Except, a close member of our legion tells me plenty about you, Flak, the same person that highly recommended your squad to me for carrying out the tasks we set."
"Yeah, Ras has a hard time keeping his mouth shut, the little rascal." The Silver Archmage chuckles at my light insult to my childhood friend. She is a small, slim individual draped with white robes, so the only details I have made out of her looks is her smooth but delicate face with strong blue eyes. Quickly after my words, her stern gaze returns and she continues flipping through the pages of my records. Not one that I composed myself, instead what others have summarised. Apparently we are famous enough to be given that treatment.
The room we are both seated at is quite warm. Very basic with its wooden aspects, the walls a fine brown, simple cushioned chairs and a huge amount of books contained in large bookcases that face each other in the opposite sides of the room. Otherwise, it is quite comfotable. This room is the headquarters of the scout ship that is currently sailing to an island that I am told holds a great level of secrets. And with that much mystery, presumably comes a great sense of danger. Which is why the Terror Squad was asked to assist.
We are but a mercenary group that have little use for currency; we only seek a good life. So, our rewards are often a nice place to rest with plenty of brilliant feasts. Other luxuries include knowledge and tactics, or even upgrades to armour. While we excel at weaponry, we always wanted to stay as mobile as we could, so armour was never a priority. Besides, the whole 'kill before you're killed' philosophy takes place with the Terror Squad. I must admit, however, that it is always nice to be prepared for the odd time when one of us do get injured.
"I must be honest," the Archmage says, only giving me eye contact a few seconds after she spoke, "A good amount of people seem to find the way you undertake your orders...immoral."
"They're all the same people that fear us," I shrug, "I do what I can to get the job done. If the dozens of clans we've helped out wanted their rivals or enemies overrunning them instead, then they should never have sought out help. Besides, why is that a concern of yours? You're the Archmage of part of the Silver Legion, not the Crimson."
"And the common ways of the Silver Legion," she replies with strong clarity, "Is our hunt for knowledge and justification. I mean no harm at the end of the day."
"Of course," I laugh, "Just pointing out a little irony for no reason."
"Yes, that seems to be where your name comes from," the Archmage hums as she flicks through more pages, "Overly cynical and critical is what many see you as." I do not feel like making a counter-statement to something that is true. That and I am in belief that being such a prick, as some people say, makes me spot errors that none would find and prevents me from falling into traps that many others dive in as my trust is only given to those that would never dream of inserting a knife through my throat. So, that comes to only five souls that I share trust with.
The Silver Legion too, maybe. They are the more peaceful of the three main groups of magically talented individuals. They are often mighty curious and delve into expanding possibilities and creating further theories. It is interesting how well they get along with the scientific folk way up in the Northern Kingdom where I once lived. The Silver Legion has the strongest presence there, only because the Northern Kingdom is vastly superior in technology and have no need for a military or governmental body that practises magic.
Countless times, the Terror group is asked what weapons we use while we are exploring comparatively primitive settlements. That is what advantages the Northern Kingdom have; their weaponry. It mainly consists of advanced bullet weaponry (not the pathetic musket tech) and rockets, which is why the place I once lived has never ever been directly attacked. With strong fortifications and weaponry, any that try to attack the Northern Kingdom in the snowy mountains are literally asking to be shot in the head...five times.
The Crimson Legion is vastly made up of mages that practise magic for the purpose of combat. They form a good amount of the military in kingdoms scattered across the globe, mainly due to the convenience of not requiring to upkeep advanced tech and being able to deal with threats consistently, no resources required. It is a dangerous world we live in, so advancements in technology rarely happens because of how secluded most cities are from each other. With the firearms that my squad hold, we sometimes have to rely on travelling merchants from the north or skilled smiths to re-supply our ammunition. At the same time, however, we have learned to become incredibly efficient with our shots.
I have always found any of the members of the Crimson group to be arrogant and shady. Truth be told, I believe that most of them seep jealousy of our weaponry, which is understandable. I would be a bit uncomfortable being around someone I do not trust that can kill me before I realise their intentions. Still, at the end of the day, we never get along with them. Same story for the Silver group, but for different reasons. They do not appreciate the belligerent behaviour of the Crimson Legion, naturally, because the Crimson and Silver are pretty much polar opposites in general personality.
And then there is the Burgundy Legion. I honestly know little about them, as they mostly deal with politics and more social aspects of the world. They are very fond of gimmicky magic, for the purpose of entertainment. From what I have heard, the Burgundy group is mainly consisted of normal folk that are more wealthy and successful in life, then decide to turn to magic for a bit of fun because of the spare time they have. Everyone has some level of potential for magic, some more than others, it just needs some training.
Generally speaking, the Crimson Legion highlights strong individuals, or otherwise those with a fiery passion for battle. The principle is very similar to that of a knight. Their minds are not necessarily weak, however they cannot hope to mentally compete with the Silver Legion, just as the Silver cannot hope to physically compete with them. The Silver group are very fond of strong mental capacity. That which cannot be tamed easily, or at all, and always follows a very independent line of thought. This is why they have come to be knowledge-seekers.
A few minutes of silence passes, with the Archmage wandering in her thoughts. Eventually, she gently slides a good amount of books and paperwork aside and turns to face me.
"I asked the others this, so I will do the same to you," she says, with a great level of seriousness in her tone, "I hope you realise by assigning your group as our number one on this task, you are going to be the first we come to for any difficultly we come across."
"That's what the job description listed," I chuckle, but then come to a realisation, "You pondering whether we might bail when the going gets tough?"
The Archmage tries a few words, as her lips are in motion, but no words come out. She is trying to be nice, but is struggling to come up with a pleasant way to put her thoughts. I decide to cut her off regardless, response readied.
"Trust me, friend of a friend," I smile, "If something becomes so risky or dangerous that it causes us to abandon you, then I would strongly advise that you also retreat from this mission." Her face lights up in response to my words. I am baffled as to why.
"That is precisely the same thing that your leader, Terror, told me," the Archmage says.
"That's what happens when you spend a few years with someone that is almost never wrong," I grin, "You start to think alike."
"Speaking of which," she quickly responds, "May I ask, out of curiosity, what your purpose is in your group? You seem to have the same equipment as Terror does and do the same..."
"There's a difference between a sniper rifle and a marksman rifle," I cut her of, "That, and she is more of a surveyor. She is the one with her sight on the whole of our surroundings. None of us can match her ability to know the environment and situation. She can also put down hostile at ranges I can only dream of achieving. What I do? I'm more of a suppressor; difficult to engage while I have my line of sight at their direction." I rarely bother explaining this kind of knowledge to most individuals that ask, because a lot of the time none of them can comprehend it. An archmage of the Silver Legion? A little different.
"Is there anything else you need to know?" I ask her, "Why you're interviewing us is beyond me, as you've already assigned us to be the alpha in offence."
"Alpha in offence?" she replies with a bewildered expression,
"First in line, the strongest ha..." I pause for a second, wondering whether she is understanding anything I am saying, "It's just northern talk, is all."
"Well," the Archmage coughs briefly, "I just thought it would be best to have a slight understanding of whom I will be placing a great level of trust with." For a high-end mage of a legion, she does come across as quite a shy yet graceful individual at times.
Behind me erupts the sound of swinging doors, followed by the familiar grubby face of Ras. He wears the same white robes that the Archmage does, however he lacks the hood. Ras has always been a tall person, towering above me when we were children. Both of us never cared for looks, always prioritising other things, so he has a good quantity of curly, silver hair with a short, scruffy beard to match. His pale skin is not the smoothest, nor does it look like he let a vulture tear up his face. I almost made that happen once. Long story.
"Is there a reason for this interruption, Ras?" the Archmage scowls at the lumbering fool, as I like to call him. It sounds a bit harsh, but we have always followed a constant trade of joke insults and petty remarks.
"Definitely," Ras pants, "We have a pirate ship tailing us. Terror, I think she's called, says they have 'hostile intentions." I let out a faint sigh. I did not feel up to fighting today, but the Archmage gives me a joyous smile.
"Time to prove the legends that I have been told," she says.
"For a life-or-death situation, you're being awfully calm about this!" Ras continues to babble.
"Would it be better if I ran?" I laugh, "I'll make sure I run into you on the way." He does not seem amused, only because he is being frantic and panicky. I get to my feet and hastily walk towards the door, past Ras, and a burst of sunlight strikes me. My friend decides to follow, forever being curious at finding out what his friend does for a living after not seeing him for a decade.
I come out to the central of the ship. It is not that large; it is a typical wooden ship that has two masts with sails attached. A bridge connects the two masts together. The back end of the ship has the steering bay, whereas the front lies the headquarters (which I only just got out of). Underneath is the supplies, hammocks and whatnot. The people that occupy this ship is split into a small group of four Silver Legions, a dozen kitted knights which alternate between the role of ship management and military and then my group; the Terror Squad.
(to be continued when I can spare more time to write)
"So...number 6 of the infamous 'Terror Squad'. Marksman of the group; the one that puts down entire armies with frightening efficiency. Armoured to the teeth when bunkered down, your enemies are known to have purposely avoided your line of sight in hopes of closing distance for a better offensive point, only to meet the rest of the group, which are better fitted for close quarters combat. Same background as the others; plenty of information about the tasks your group have carried out and almost nothing beforehand."
"Except, a close member of our legion tells me plenty about you, Flak, the same person that highly recommended your squad to me for carrying out the tasks we set."
"Yeah, Ras has a hard time keeping his mouth shut, the little rascal." The Silver Archmage chuckles at my light insult to my childhood friend. She is a small, slim individual draped with white robes, so the only details I have made out of her looks is her smooth but delicate face with strong blue eyes. Quickly after my words, her stern gaze returns and she continues flipping through the pages of my records. Not one that I composed myself, instead what others have summarised. Apparently we are famous enough to be given that treatment.
The room we are both seated at is quite warm. Very basic with its wooden aspects, the walls a fine brown, simple cushioned chairs and a huge amount of books contained in large bookcases that face each other in the opposite sides of the room. Otherwise, it is quite comfotable. This room is the headquarters of the scout ship that is currently sailing to an island that I am told holds a great level of secrets. And with that much mystery, presumably comes a great sense of danger. Which is why the Terror Squad was asked to assist.
We are but a mercenary group that have little use for currency; we only seek a good life. So, our rewards are often a nice place to rest with plenty of brilliant feasts. Other luxuries include knowledge and tactics, or even upgrades to armour. While we excel at weaponry, we always wanted to stay as mobile as we could, so armour was never a priority. Besides, the whole 'kill before you're killed' philosophy takes place with the Terror Squad. I must admit, however, that it is always nice to be prepared for the odd time when one of us do get injured.
"I must be honest," the Archmage says, only giving me eye contact a few seconds after she spoke, "A good amount of people seem to find the way you undertake your orders...immoral."
"They're all the same people that fear us," I shrug, "I do what I can to get the job done. If the dozens of clans we've helped out wanted their rivals or enemies overrunning them instead, then they should never have sought out help. Besides, why is that a concern of yours? You're the Archmage of part of the Silver Legion, not the Crimson."
"And the common ways of the Silver Legion," she replies with strong clarity, "Is our hunt for knowledge and justification. I mean no harm at the end of the day."
"Of course," I laugh, "Just pointing out a little irony for no reason."
"Yes, that seems to be where your name comes from," the Archmage hums as she flicks through more pages, "Overly cynical and critical is what many see you as." I do not feel like making a counter-statement to something that is true. That and I am in belief that being such a prick, as some people say, makes me spot errors that none would find and prevents me from falling into traps that many others dive in as my trust is only given to those that would never dream of inserting a knife through my throat. So, that comes to only five souls that I share trust with.
The Silver Legion too, maybe. They are the more peaceful of the three main groups of magically talented individuals. They are often mighty curious and delve into expanding possibilities and creating further theories. It is interesting how well they get along with the scientific folk way up in the Northern Kingdom where I once lived. The Silver Legion has the strongest presence there, only because the Northern Kingdom is vastly superior in technology and have no need for a military or governmental body that practises magic.
Countless times, the Terror group is asked what weapons we use while we are exploring comparatively primitive settlements. That is what advantages the Northern Kingdom have; their weaponry. It mainly consists of advanced bullet weaponry (not the pathetic musket tech) and rockets, which is why the place I once lived has never ever been directly attacked. With strong fortifications and weaponry, any that try to attack the Northern Kingdom in the snowy mountains are literally asking to be shot in the head...five times.
The Crimson Legion is vastly made up of mages that practise magic for the purpose of combat. They form a good amount of the military in kingdoms scattered across the globe, mainly due to the convenience of not requiring to upkeep advanced tech and being able to deal with threats consistently, no resources required. It is a dangerous world we live in, so advancements in technology rarely happens because of how secluded most cities are from each other. With the firearms that my squad hold, we sometimes have to rely on travelling merchants from the north or skilled smiths to re-supply our ammunition. At the same time, however, we have learned to become incredibly efficient with our shots.
I have always found any of the members of the Crimson group to be arrogant and shady. Truth be told, I believe that most of them seep jealousy of our weaponry, which is understandable. I would be a bit uncomfortable being around someone I do not trust that can kill me before I realise their intentions. Still, at the end of the day, we never get along with them. Same story for the Silver group, but for different reasons. They do not appreciate the belligerent behaviour of the Crimson Legion, naturally, because the Crimson and Silver are pretty much polar opposites in general personality.
And then there is the Burgundy Legion. I honestly know little about them, as they mostly deal with politics and more social aspects of the world. They are very fond of gimmicky magic, for the purpose of entertainment. From what I have heard, the Burgundy group is mainly consisted of normal folk that are more wealthy and successful in life, then decide to turn to magic for a bit of fun because of the spare time they have. Everyone has some level of potential for magic, some more than others, it just needs some training.
Generally speaking, the Crimson Legion highlights strong individuals, or otherwise those with a fiery passion for battle. The principle is very similar to that of a knight. Their minds are not necessarily weak, however they cannot hope to mentally compete with the Silver Legion, just as the Silver cannot hope to physically compete with them. The Silver group are very fond of strong mental capacity. That which cannot be tamed easily, or at all, and always follows a very independent line of thought. This is why they have come to be knowledge-seekers.
A few minutes of silence passes, with the Archmage wandering in her thoughts. Eventually, she gently slides a good amount of books and paperwork aside and turns to face me.
"I asked the others this, so I will do the same to you," she says, with a great level of seriousness in her tone, "I hope you realise by assigning your group as our number one on this task, you are going to be the first we come to for any difficultly we come across."
"That's what the job description listed," I chuckle, but then come to a realisation, "You pondering whether we might bail when the going gets tough?"
The Archmage tries a few words, as her lips are in motion, but no words come out. She is trying to be nice, but is struggling to come up with a pleasant way to put her thoughts. I decide to cut her off regardless, response readied.
"Trust me, friend of a friend," I smile, "If something becomes so risky or dangerous that it causes us to abandon you, then I would strongly advise that you also retreat from this mission." Her face lights up in response to my words. I am baffled as to why.
"That is precisely the same thing that your leader, Terror, told me," the Archmage says.
"That's what happens when you spend a few years with someone that is almost never wrong," I grin, "You start to think alike."
"Speaking of which," she quickly responds, "May I ask, out of curiosity, what your purpose is in your group? You seem to have the same equipment as Terror does and do the same..."
"There's a difference between a sniper rifle and a marksman rifle," I cut her of, "That, and she is more of a surveyor. She is the one with her sight on the whole of our surroundings. None of us can match her ability to know the environment and situation. She can also put down hostile at ranges I can only dream of achieving. What I do? I'm more of a suppressor; difficult to engage while I have my line of sight at their direction." I rarely bother explaining this kind of knowledge to most individuals that ask, because a lot of the time none of them can comprehend it. An archmage of the Silver Legion? A little different.
"Is there anything else you need to know?" I ask her, "Why you're interviewing us is beyond me, as you've already assigned us to be the alpha in offence."
"Alpha in offence?" she replies with a bewildered expression,
"First in line, the strongest ha..." I pause for a second, wondering whether she is understanding anything I am saying, "It's just northern talk, is all."
"Well," the Archmage coughs briefly, "I just thought it would be best to have a slight understanding of whom I will be placing a great level of trust with." For a high-end mage of a legion, she does come across as quite a shy yet graceful individual at times.
Behind me erupts the sound of swinging doors, followed by the familiar grubby face of Ras. He wears the same white robes that the Archmage does, however he lacks the hood. Ras has always been a tall person, towering above me when we were children. Both of us never cared for looks, always prioritising other things, so he has a good quantity of curly, silver hair with a short, scruffy beard to match. His pale skin is not the smoothest, nor does it look like he let a vulture tear up his face. I almost made that happen once. Long story.
"Is there a reason for this interruption, Ras?" the Archmage scowls at the lumbering fool, as I like to call him. It sounds a bit harsh, but we have always followed a constant trade of joke insults and petty remarks.
"Definitely," Ras pants, "We have a pirate ship tailing us. Terror, I think she's called, says they have 'hostile intentions." I let out a faint sigh. I did not feel up to fighting today, but the Archmage gives me a joyous smile.
"Time to prove the legends that I have been told," she says.
"For a life-or-death situation, you're being awfully calm about this!" Ras continues to babble.
"Would it be better if I ran?" I laugh, "I'll make sure I run into you on the way." He does not seem amused, only because he is being frantic and panicky. I get to my feet and hastily walk towards the door, past Ras, and a burst of sunlight strikes me. My friend decides to follow, forever being curious at finding out what his friend does for a living after not seeing him for a decade.
I come out to the central of the ship. It is not that large; it is a typical wooden ship that has two masts with sails attached. A bridge connects the two masts together. The back end of the ship has the steering bay, whereas the front lies the headquarters (which I only just got out of). Underneath is the supplies, hammocks and whatnot. The people that occupy this ship is split into a small group of four Silver Legions, a dozen kitted knights which alternate between the role of ship management and military and then my group; the Terror Squad.
(to be continued when I can spare more time to write)
Last edited:
