Introduction: Before you start blurting out how you think the Guide is some idiot who wants to make your life miserable before you read the story, I want you to give his life careful consideration. Just put yourself in his shoes a little bit. Here I will show you the life story of the Guide, from his perspective. To show you the sad reality of what he is forced to go through. "The love of light" It all started when the Player created his own world to inhabit. A wonderful world full of life, it's challenges, the pure innocent, and the vilest of evils. Somewhere in there I came in. A human. A human with the sole purpose of being the companion of the Player. I will aid him in the ways of Terraria. I thought, "Light! How wonderful!" The sun was shining. And I loved it! It's warmth on my skin. The light. Oh, the light was glorious compared to the dark abyss of not being spawned yet. I learned today that I love light. The world looked beautiful. Bunnies, squirrels, trees, and... the player! I couldn't wait to fight beside him against the Eye of Cthulhu with my trusty bow, to be a help to him/her in times of trouble. To be a shoulder to cry on, a friend to confide in. To feel loved by the player. I knew the laws of Terraria, I knew that this Player that would be my companion throughout the game would just be right over the hill. I just wondered if he would look just the way I had always dreamed... That long ginger bed-hair, the- Whoa. The player does not look the way I thought the player would. I didn't want to judge harshly, but his clothes were abhorrent, hideous, clashed in almost every way. He had lime green skin like a goblin, and his name of the player. It was so abstract. "ThatsLitFam". Strange. It's as if a bored 9 year old decided to be given the horrifying privilege of character customization. No, I shouldn't think such mean thoughts. He is still the player and I must accept him for who he is. In no time, I would get used to- Look! LitFam (for short) is fighting a slime. He doesn't seem too familiar with the controls, and he is getting hurt. I will take out my bow to help him. I'm not that accurate, but I seem to be helping. Splorsh! The slime was killed by the player! Hoorah! But all the sudden, was that, a dirty look? Of frustrated disapproval? I couldn't stop thinking about this when dusk arrived and the player was working on our house. Oh no. Oh my. He just- deliberately eviscerated a poor bunny. He decided to use his dull copper short sword not to vanquish the enemy, but to take a sick pleasure in taking the life of a bunny. Little did I know, it was all because he didn't like the concept of a puny creature distracting him in his world of self-ambition. LitFam is starting to give me the creeps now. He is nothing like I thought he would be. He stares at me blankly sometimes when I make light-hearted conversation with him, as if he could scroll through my dialogue, looking for some entertainment from me. Again with that look. What was wrong? I wanted to ask the player, but he left. That look... it seemed... like it contained an negative emotion that I wasn't built to understand. I wish I knew. At the moment he seems to be digging a tunnel straight down, using rope to get back up it. He never stopped at anything. He seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go. I hear a song! The player seems to be whistling a foreign tune. Why don't I join him down in his dark hole to join him? I slid down the rope, but then I realized I couldn't slide down ropes. I screamed for what seemed to be minutes until I hit the bottom. I couldn't feel my legs. All I felt was pain. He looked at me. Saw my pain and... smirked. I couldn't move. I felt pain. The player saw my pain but decided to only respond with a smile. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry until he would notice me. But I couldn't. I was paralyzed. The player continued his melody, but this time mouthing the words. "...Of offering to the demon. He rules all. A sacrifice to please the hungry wall A monster only I could fight. Tonight. I burn the love of light." This was all I remembered when I woke up. I woke up in the dull wooden box that the player made for himself. It had a torch way up in the corner. An excuse of a light source just enough to pass the housing query, I figured. Now I know. The player is just a thug. I'm just an "NPC" forced to live with him. I am useless. I would cry sometimes at nights, wondering if he could hear me from his- his "hellevator" as he called it. He didn't stop, he wanted to reach rock bottom. One night he zoomed up his rope with a new fiery look in his eyes. "YES! I found it," he exclaimed. "And soon, will find weaponry beyond imagination. But, what I want most, is the Clockwork Assault Rifle!" He didn't do too shabby of a job of leaving me in absolute suspense. What is he talking about? Maybe I could help him craft it? No... It's not craftable. And then he gave me that look again. But this time he had sadistic glee woven into it. I shuddered. "Don't worry, it will all be over before you know it," he said. I didn't understand, but it felt reassuring. One calm night, just as the sun was leaving the horizon, the player slid down his silly rope with all sorts of gear. What gear you ask? Crimson armor, the bee gun, and all sorts of advanced weaponry. Yes, he beat the Eye and the Brain, and I didn't even get to help him. I'd prefer not to think about it. About the time after dusk melted into night, I felt hot. Sweltering. The heat grew more and more intense until I felt a pain that felt like the weight of the world was smashing my poor body. It started in my toes, and moved it's way to my neck, and then fully engulfed me, transforming me into a burning, melting mess. I screamed and screamed and wailed as loud as I could and curled up into a ball in the corner. All I could do is stare at the entrance of the hellevator with the false hope that LitFam would save me. The pain seemed to multiply by the second. My body seemed to be fine, I couldn't see anything attacking me. But no attack could cause such an atrocity. The pain is still not even describable. Only pure evil could do such a thing, and I was helpless. I felt like my limbs were dissolving as my body melted. And then, nothingness. Pure darkness. Then, all the sudden, I felt as if I had eyes to open. I opened them. Was this a new world? All I could feel was the warm rays of dawn on me. I'm okay! The light of dawn was beautiful. It shined through a small window that the player must have put in the house last night. It was like a sign of something new in this world. Speaking of new in this world, there seemed to be new friends. Pixies, unicorns, wonderful things! But I came to find out, all the player wanted to do was kill them all. He's not even a thug. He is a killer. A heartless killer. Such a huge difference from the player I thought I would get. I don't like the way he looks at me. Just frustrated, or worse. THE look. One day, he looked frustrated. Not because of me, but because of one of his items. "I want the clockwork assault rifle! Not this dumb breaker blade! The clockwork assault rifle is liiiiiiiiiit, dude." Whatever. Creep. Soon, I discovered that all these new mobs weren't a good thing at night. Wraiths would kill me relentlessly. But then it felt like joy compared to what happened next. I burned, melted, and felt pain beyond imagination all over again. It felt twice as bad as the first time. That morning I felt the rays of the sun again, but it didn't feel as good. Every night, I felt the world was a little less real. I saw the player again. I saw his horribly scarred body. I wanted to comfort him but he just pushed me away. "Fair enough. I go through hell and back and you don't care!" I blurted out. That was the first time I said something angry to the player. Everything seemed to go silent. Even the blue jays outside the window of the house were silent. "I don't remember that being in your dialogue. Huh. Well perhaps it will take this many times to get your attitude straight!" He had little dolls that looked strikingly like me on the players' fingers. He held up seven of them. Then he gave me the look. The look of an absolute absence of the light of life. I wanted to return it, but I couldn't seem to contort my face like that. It didn't take me seven more nights to realize that my suffering was the player's doing. On the third, I slit my own throat to avoid the pain. On the fourth I tried running away and hiding. That did nothing. I burned and burned again and again. On the sixth night the player gloriously held his prize. The clockwork assault rifle. His glee at least saved me from enduring another night of burning. But he had a problem. He wanted silver bullets to make his bullets stronger. But he had no idea how to make them. He held up a silver ingot and his bullets, pacing near the furnace, anvil, and work bench. Perhaps now the player would realize that I'm actually useful! I tried nudging him to remind him of my existence, but he pushed me away as usual. But then. He burned me in a way that hurt my heart deeply. He looked up "Silver bullets" in the wiki. I was standing. Right. There. I hate the player. He is nothing but pure evil. I could never escape. So. Can I get an F for the guide? Edit: Sorry if it looks like I keep making edits, I keep seeing grammar issues! No major changes.