Day 46
Your World is 12% Corruption and 8% Hallow
The ancient spirits of light and dark have been released
…
On the day Alvin defeated the Wall of Flesh, he released Tweed from his curse - and Tweed couldn’t recall a time he’d seen such a stupid desicion.
Oh, being actually alive was nice and all, but it wasn’t who Tweed was anymore. He didn’t want companionship, good food, or the rustle of leaves in the wind. He didn’t want a nice house, a beautiful view, or the warmth of the sun on his back. It’d been six hundred years since his curse was enacted upon him, and in six hundred years, a fellow could change a lot.
He now preferred the screaming and wailing of demons to the crunch of leaves on the ground. He preferred the shouting and yelling of the undead to the small talk of the normal people. He preferred the smell of rotting flesh to the smell of freshly dug dirt. He preferred the hot, burning fumes to the cool breeze. In fact, just about the only thing he preferred about this place compared to the underworld was the ability to go anywhere, explore everything, and see new things. But even in that he was even limited to exploring as far as he could during daytime and returning home, because Alvin didn’t want him to die and see the underworld so soon after being freed of it. Secretly, Tweed had already thought about it several times.
Tweed glanced up at the sun and snorted. If there was one thing he hated about the overworld, it was the sun. It wasn’t that the sun was harsh, too bright, too warm. Tweed had spent the last several hundred years in a land so bright and warm it made the sun seem pathetic. It wasn’t the glare it produced, or the attention it brought. It wasn’t the position it had, or the rays it shone down.
Tweed hated the sun because it was lazy.
The sun was large, and it was strong. It could certainly handle of pressure of being on 24/7. But, instead, it opted to rest nine hours of the day and let the moon take over responsibility. Nighttime was fine, certainly, and Tweed often enjoyed taking strolls through the grasslands during the wee hours of the day, when everything was still nearly pitch-black. He didn’t even mind the monsters that came out at night. He’d had over six hundred years of experience handling himself in Hell, quite literally. The zombies, the eyes, even the new wraiths and possessed armors, were rather pathetic and easy for him to deal with. But the sun resting gave the moon nine hours. Nine hours to wreck havoc with the land, to grow more powerful, to let the Moon Lord do as he saw fit. There were few beings Tweed trusted less than the Moon Lord. And the sun, despite being fully capable of stopping it, was doing nothing.
Now, the Moon Lord was probably the most powerful god Tweed knew of. Tweed had seen some impressive things in his time. A monster that rested inside planets, devouring them when awakened. A man cursed with the task of guarding a specific place, and granted the powers of a god to do so. He’d seen an awful lot, and he’d fought an awful lot. So far, nothing came close to the insane power of the god of the moon. The more the sun rested, the more power the Moon Lord gained.
He still remembered the glory days of his youth, when he and his buddy Maelor would raise swords together, cheering each other on as they “fought the good fight.” Maelor had lasted long after Tweed was cursed and sent to the underworld. From what Tweed understood, he’d actually lasted longer than most of his friends and family. So long, in fact, that he’d become incredibly scared to die. Maelor had apparently made a deal with the Moon Lord: followers and doers of his every bidding in return for immortality and insane magical power.
The last time Tweed and Maelor had met had been over two hundred years ago, when the Moon Lord sent him on a mission to the underworld and they had happened to run into each other. They’d talked, but there wasn’t much to say. Tweed’s life had had the same pattern every day since his arrival, and Maelor said nothing except praise about the Moon Lord and his new position. He’d become the leader of the insider group, he’d said.
The insider group were strong bunch, constantly worshiping the Moon Lord and praising his symbol. The key thing about them was that they had to die before the four pillars of the moon appeared, and the Moon Lord couldn’t be fought directly without those pillars out of the way. Tweed hated the Moon Lord with a burning passion, as he had ever since the Moon Lord cursed him. But he was nowhere near strong enough to take him on.
But now, he suddenly realized, he knew somebody who was. Somebody who was easily manipulated, and hungry to prove himself the best. He’d fight every challenge that came his way. If anybody could kill the Moon Lord, he would be the one to do it. The only hiccup with the plan was that Tweed didn’t know where the Moon Lord’s cultists were. They could be anywhere in this world. He paused and pondered this before another memory sprang up.
“We’d like to move into the dungeon,” Maelor had told him, “but there’s the spirit of an ancient god in there, and the rules of the gods say we can’t kill him or take his space. If only we could move him out or something.”
Well, Tweed reasoned, what’s one more god?
He abruptly turned back and began waving and shouting the moment the house came into view.
“Alvin! Oh, Alvin! Have I got a story for you!”
So, the last 3 days, I just said "screw it", and decided to just do Moon Lord, with my friends
). I waited until the last day so still a little too much.. so I finally made this!
