ushernet Three ideas, one tale, and a question.
Three ideas, one tale, and a question.
Apologies for the delay in posting the chapter. I had an appointment today and didn't expect it to take so long, so I didn't set a timer.
Next chapter: January 13th.
As always, if anyone wants to read 3 to 7 chapters ahead or just support me, that’s possible through my (P)(A)(T). If not, I still thank you for reading! Thank you so much!
As always, have a good night and enjoy the reading!
(P)(A)(T)/CalleumArtori
[...]---[...]
POV: Selina Steamhord
I was scared... For a moment, I was scared...
Devas looked different, that much was obvious, but it wasn’t just his appearance. Sure, the stubble gave him a more mature look, and the longer hair tied in a bun added to that, but the real difference was in his eyes.
He had always been calm, his face relaxed, his gaze tranquil yet playful, as if simply observing the world around him was enough to pass the time. I had seen him like that several times during the few breaks we took in WinterHord and even within the city itself, just sitting and admiring the scenery.
But now, it seemed like more than that. He still had the same calm look, the slight goofy smile that seemed permanent, but something in his eyes felt focused. Not on a goal—no, that didn’t feel right—but rather, he reminded me of a contractor who had just decided to accept a mission.
A traveler who had chosen which path to follow.
... Then we started talking about what had happened over the past month.
Devas had analyzed the storm quickly. I wasn’t sure if he had come through it. Dylan and I had debated how Devas managed to return to the kingdom—teleportation, perhaps?—but we never reached a conclusion. Maybe he ran all the way from WinterHord, or maybe he simply appeared near the kingdom. It didn’t matter.
We told him what we had discovered about the storm surrounding the kingdom. It wasn’t much, even after all the time we had spent researching it, but every piece of information was useful. With Devas here, I was confident things would finally move forward. He was our Big Leader... And they did.
Devas laid something on the table that no one had noticed before. We had interrogated countless travelers, and Aunt Helena had assigned many people to question them in search of any information about the storm: the rain reeked of blood and rot.
The look in his eyes when he said that was as if he were recalling something unpleasant. Devas was never hard to read, not when he trusted you. I had seen how differently he acted when speaking to a stranger versus a friend. It was a stark contrast.
Dylan and Gilbert were the first to recall the "farm" Simon had mentioned. My thoughts were scattered at that moment. Robyn seemed lost for some reason, probably because of the Big Leader’s presence.
The explanation was quick: a farm, no one apparently alive, and bloody footprints leading into a silent forest. All very normal, of course—it wasn’t, but the story was one we had reviewed countless times. Devas listened silently, his brow furrowed as if trying to remember something similar... And then Gilbert mentioned the eyeless corpse.
... That’s when I became scared.
I was scared for a simple reason: for a moment, Devas was scared. His eyes widened, his pupils narrowed—my entire focus was on him. I could see his muscles tense, the fingers of his right hand twitch as if ready to grab something, a weapon, or perhaps something else...
This man, who had enough mana to break my glasses—a feat I still needed to bring up with him, considering they wouldn’t break even if I stared at a Mana Stone mine. This man, who had fought that abominable deer head-on in that storm. This man, whose very presence seemed to lighten the atmosphere, making everything feel safer... This same man was scared.
Devas was scared...
... And then he wasn’t.
Devas scanned the table so quickly I barely saw his eyes move. I wouldn’t have noticed at all if I weren’t so focused on him. He looked at everyone—Robyn, Dylan, Gilbert, and me. And then, for some reason, he was no longer afraid.
“Do you know what this is?” I asked reflexively. My voice came out unbidden, a whisper, as if seeking validation for something. “What caused it? The storm?”
Devas blinked, his eyes back to normal. No narrowed pupils, no fear, just calm and seriousness. I didn’t sigh in relief, though I wanted to. I heard Robyn do just that beside me.
“I have an idea of what might be causing all this. Three, actually,” Devas replied after a moment, drumming his fingers rhythmically on the table, his voice calm.
He turned to Dylan, who was using his innate ability. His eyes glowed a soft blue, his serious expression contrasting with his usual tone. Devas asked, “Blood Moon. Have you heard of it?”
The confusion in my ‘cousin’s’ gaze was evident. He shook his head.
“No, I don’t recall reading about it in any record or book, whether in the kingdom’s library, the mansion’s collection, or the Order of Guides.” His eyes glowed brighter for a moment before he frowned and sighed, rubbing his temples. “No, nothing.”
“Is that normal?” Devas gestured to Dylan. “You looked like you were in pain.”
“I’ve been using my innate magic a lot these past few weeks. I’m trying to pace myself.” Dylan brushed off the Big Leader’s concern. “I assume this Blood Moon involves the moon, obviously, but what exactly?”
“Something like a solar eclipse, but lunar, happening every so often?” I suggested. Devas frowned briefly at something I said but didn’t respond before Gilbert spoke.
“Full moon. Is it like a full moon?” His voice carried a tone just shy of urgency. His eyes were fixed on his daughter. “Could this affect Robyn?”
Robyn looked at her father, realizing what he meant. The two of them, along with me, turned to Devas. He regarded Robyn for a moment before answering.
“... I won’t lie, it could. Her curse activates at its peak every full moon, doesn’t it? From what little I know, the Blood Moon should be considered something similar.” He explained before raising a hand as Gilbert was about to speak. “But it shouldn’t be anything beyond the usual. Of course, we won’t leave it to chance. I have something I think might help.”
Gilbert visibly relaxed, despite Devas not offering a guarantee. Robyn was stroking her tail, running her fingers through the fur as she stared pensively at the table.
“But to answer the question... I don’t know. I don’t know how the Blood Moon forms, why, or how. I’ve never seen one in person and hoped I could keep it that way.” He sighed. “I’ve only read about it or heard stories. Not even that, really—just fragments and stray lines.”
“Same as the Deerclops?” Dylan asked beside him.
“In terms of tales?” Devas clarified. Dylan nodded. He continued: “Yes... partially. I had almost concrete information about the Deerclops, but the Blood Moon?... I’m not so sure...”@@@@
No one interrupted. It was clear he wasn’t done. Something about his next words sent shivers down my spine.
“You can tell a Blood Moon is out when the sky turns red. There is something about it that causes monsters to swarm,” he recited, as if recalling the words exactly.
“The sky turns red...” Dylan murmured. “The red lightning?”
“Not just that,” Devas corrected. “Everything turns red. The clouds, the environment... I like to think it doesn’t, but even the rain and river water become blood. Peaceful animals become aggressive monsters, and monsters become almost demonic...”
I swallowed hard. “Alright, a disaster in every sense. Great.” I tried to joke, to lighten the mood, but it didn’t work. I took a sip of soda—something I needed to ask Devas to sell me—and continued: “How do we stop it?”
“How do you stop the moon from rising in the sky?” Devas gave me a sidelong glance. My lips twitched. I refused to state the obvious answer: we don’t.
“We kill the moon.”
He huffed before chuckling. “That’s one way, yes. But I don’t think it’s possible at the moment...” At the moment?
“We can’t kill the moon, fine, it’s too damn far away anyway, and going there would break my old back. So what do we do?” Gilbert grumbled, glancing at Robyn before turning to Devas. “What’s the plan, Devas?”
To be honest, the answer was obvious. Devas closed his hand and gestured toward the clock on the wall with his thumb.
“One night. We survive that one night.”
[...]
POV: Devas Asura
With the topic of the Blood Moon off the table, the atmosphere lightened — if only slightly. Of course, Dylan didn’t forget what I had said.
“You mentioned three theories about what might be causing this storm. The Blood Moon omen is one. What are the other two?” he asked.
I scratched my beard. I’d probably shave it later, maybe cut my hair too. “Do you remember the mind-control matrix from Jille Village?”
“The one the goblins tattooed onto the bodies of—” Dylan’s eyes widened, his skin turned pale, and he had to grip the table to steady himself. He whispered: “Crimson...”
“Blood and rot" I repeated what I’d said earlier.
“I think we’re missing some context here,” Selina snapped her fingers twice. Gilbert looked just as confused as she did, and Robyn nodded in agreement.
“What’s Crimson?” the fox-woman asked, tilting her head to the side. The way her ears twitched and shifted slightly reminded me of Blake. “Not the color, I imagine. Is it magic? A ritual? A name?”
Just hearing the name a second time made Dylan look ready to either vomit or faint — maybe both.
A burst of crimson red filled my vision, courtesy of the stream overlay, followed by a message appearing through the thick smoke.
[(MOD)GeniusBillionairePlayboy]
And this name resurfaces... Come on, DS, we’re as lost as your companions there. Shed some light here!
(Iron Man emote holding a flashlight, illuminating a red, fleshy plant.)
I remembered the Deerclops relic description: “If the world had a difficulty, it would be something beyond 'Master.'”
... No way I was buying that The Corruption didn’t exist here!
Now, either the book and its author lacked that information, which was very possible, or The Corruption's existence was being concealed for some reason... That second option sucked, and given everything happening and how Terraria seemed to work—where everything moved to utterly annoy me—it was probably the case...
One thing at a time... One thing at a time...
"What’s the third idea?" Robyn’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"Huh?" I turned to her.
"The third idea. You said you had three theories about what might be causing the rain. What’s the third?" she repeated, her tail swaying behind her as she held another in her hand.
If I were wearing a hat, I’d tip it to her muscular control...
"The third possible cause is something I hope it’s not," I answered and fell silent.
"... That’s it?" She blinked. "No explanation?"
"In this case, it’s better not to."
"Any reason for that?" Dylan asked, drawing my attention. "You can’t tell, or you won’t?"
"More the latter than anything. Or rather, I think I shouldn’t." I hummed. "Ignorance is bliss, ever heard that saying?"
"I think I’ve heard something like it..." Dylan murmured thoughtfully. Gilbert looked off into space for a moment before focusing, as if recalling something.
"Is it like the story of the young sleepy fisherman?" he asked.
I blinked. "Never heard that in my life."
"Me neither," Dylan added beside me.
"Same here," Selina chimed in.
The only one who seemed familiar with the tale was Robyn, probably because Gilbert had told her before. The old merchant looked grumpy for a second before scoffing.
"Uncultured. But fine, I love telling this story." Robyn sighed, and Gilbert continued.
"The story of the sleepy fisherman, also known as the distracted or arrogant fisherman, is something I’ve heard since I was a kid. Almost everyone in Blue Harbor knows it. Phillip loved telling this story, and I picked up the habit from him."
"Phillip?" Dylan asked.
"An old angler who used to visit the orphanage where Simon and I lived as children. He was like an uncle to us, though I’m pretty sure he was actually related to Simon. The two looked way too alike for it to be a coincidence," Gilbert explained quickly before falling silent.
A hoarse hum rumbled in the old merchant’s throat as he massaged his Adam’s apple with two fingers, almost as if prepping for an opera. After five seconds, he began:
"I’ll tell it as a warning, so listen well... There’s a monster in the sea’s waters, almost as clever as any person but cruel in a way only a monster can be. Its favorite prey was Terrarians, maybe out of spite or something else. But one thing was certain: it relished the taste of fear and despair...
"The monster would always lurk beneath the waters, usually at dusk, when the moon faintly lit the sea. It hid under the hulls of ships, boats, small kayaks, or rafts, but never attacked immediately. Instead, it toyed with the waves, stirring them gently, creating noises, tremors, and ripples to frighten whoever was the unfortunate soul above the restless blue mirror of the ocean...
"Then, when the victim was thoroughly terrified, searching for whatever might be causing the disturbances in the waters, they would inevitably glance at the sea. And in that very moment, from where there had been nothing before, a pair of eyes would appear. Sometimes yellow. Sometimes blood-red. Perhaps black with orange specks or even a glowing green. No one could say for sure—no one had lived to tell...
"When that happened—when the Terrarian locked eyes with the monster—it was the end. A single attack was all it took, and the creature would retreat to the depths, sated, its teeth dripping crimson."
Gilbert looked around the table, as if ensuring everyone was paying attention. And they were. I knew that every 'fisherman’s tale,' 'legend,' or 'fable' had a kernel of truth—especially in a world where the monsters of such legends could very well be real.
Any information was useful...
Dylan loved learning. Just spending time with him made that clear. A new story was something he would absorb with all the attention he could muster, as he was doing now.
Selina had her chin resting on her hand, listening intently to Gilbert's words while sipping casually from a bottle of lemon soda—the flavor that seemed to have become her favorite among all she'd tried.
Robyn was the least interested, likely because she’d heard this story dozens of times. Even so, she kept her focus on her father’s words.
"One day, a young man, already an adult, set out to fish. Confident in the way only someone in the prime of their youth could be, he ignored the warnings of other fishermen. 'Nobody fishes at night?' he scoffed. 'Cowards, I say. Superstitious old men. I’ll take advantage of the darkness and solitude of the waters and return with a net so full no man could carry it in his arms.'
"The young fisherman, arrogant, woke up early, announcing to everyone what he planned to do. He ignored the warnings, joined in bets about his return, and puffed out his chest at every young lady he encountered. He departed just before dusk, with the sky bathed in orange light, his humble boat aglow. Out at sea, when darkness fell, the only light besides the faint strands of moonlight came from his small lantern. He began to fish...
"In the first minutes, he caught nothing. Perhaps bad luck, perhaps lack of skill—maybe both. Time passed, and fatigue set in. Yawning and sleepy from waking so early and showing off all day, he didn’t notice the unusual sway of the waves. Less than an hour later, he was snoring loudly, oblivious to the tug of his fishing rod or the anomalies in the sea.
"In the morning, as usual, the young fisherman woke, his lantern long extinguished. He returned to the village with a sheepish face, having caught not a single fish. However, his reception was far from what he expected. There were no jeers, no laughter—only shock. 'How did you survive the monster?!' was the question. 'No one who goes out at night comes back!' was the exclamation.
"The young man, quick-witted, invented a story. He told of a fierce battle and a miraculous escape, describing a sea overcome by colossal waves and black clouds—thus justifying his lack of fish. Many believed him; after all, he was alive. Even the skeptics, though unconvinced, chose to let it slide...
"In his arrogance, he basked in the glory and proclaimed even more boldly, 'I will return to the sea at night. This time armed. If I faced and escaped the monster once, the second time it will be in my net—not the fish, if it dares disturb me!'"
Robyn chose that moment to interject, finishing her father’s tale with one final line:
"The remains of his boat were found the next morning, stranded on a nearby shore. Broken and stained with blood splatters, still fresh despite the wood having dried under the sun. For the moon and the sea had devoured his body...”
Gilbert smiled at his daughter's conclusion before coughing and taking a sip of water. "Damn, talking so much wore me out. So, critiques?"
"Story or narration? The first is a solid eight—conveys what it needs to. The delivery falls short a bit, but I’ll give it a seven," I said, teasing. Gilbert laughed, unbothered, and tipped an imaginary hat toward me in mock reverence.
Beside me, I heard Dylan mutter, "Ignorance is bliss... I think I understand what that means now."
"Young idiot doing stupid things. Nothing new there," Selina quipped, closing her soda bottle and leaving it on the table. She pointed at me. "Is that why you won’t tell us? Our 'fear' will make the 'monster' come after us?"
How to explain this shit?...
"Yes and no," I sighed. "I don’t even know if this secret I’m keeping is really necessary. I’m making some assumptions based on similar stories." Fuck H.P. Lovecraft and his whole fucked-up universe. Fuck that damn eye and the thing on the moon..
"But, in summary: yes, it’s something along those lines. If you knew about this thing, it would probably affect you in some way. More mentally than physically."
An assumption? Totally. But better safe than sorry. Fucking abomination...
"And you? If that’s the case, won’t this 'monster' affect you too, or is it already?" Robyn asked, concern evident in her voice.
"I’d rather it not show up, to be honest," I said, suppressing the shiver running down my spine. "But don’t worry—I’m confident it won’t affect me. I’ve got some pretty strong mental defenses."
Besides me being more resilient than average, and my Spiritual Realm being solid, I had a backup: The Stream and my title. Whatever that damn eye was, it wouldn’t mess with my mind...
...At least, that’s what I hoped.
"Alright, we’re weak mortals with fragile minds, and our Big Leader is tough. I’m happy not to worry; don’t know about you guys," Selina clapped and grinned.
"Big Leader?"
"You’re the Big Leader," she said, pointing at me, then at Dylan. "In your absence, he’s the Small Leader. Makes sense, right?"
It did, but I chose not to say so aloud. Dylan tapped my shoulder.
"With that part of the conversation wrapped up, I have a question," he said cautiously, almost as if asking for permission. "But I’m worried it might be something very personal to you..."
I patted my chest confidently. "Go ahead. Don’t worry about it."
"Are you a Fae?"
"Now I’m the one who’s worried."
What the hell had Dylan been smoking?...
[...]---[...]
Well, to the chapter!
This is a conversation chapter, and the next one should be similar, with a reunion and everything, catching up and theorizing possibilities and plans. Devas still needs to talk to Alalia and check on other things, like the Dungeon in Terraria, before he starts moving, wherever he decides to go, no spoilers.
Well, I won’t drag this on too long. Good night and happy reading!