#like what Grian let him do was directly against the rules
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Do you guys think the reason Scar always got tasks that made him a villain and prevented him from teaming up with people was because Grian let him reroll when he failed and then got others to help him complete his hard task?
Like a prove your worth situation or something. Prove you can succeed without the help of others as you were meant to.
#secret life#secret life smp#gtwscar#gtws#goodtimeswithscar#grian#like what Grian let him do was directly against the rules#ig watchers ain’t let that slide#skull emoji
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Has anyone considered how none of the winners in the life series actually get to survive past the games.
Grian killed himself immediately after killing Scar. Scott is killed by a command after winning. Pearl dies at most a second after Scott kills himself. Martin is the only one who survives after winning and even he runs out of time.
The games aren’t meant to be survived, even the winners fall victim to the death that plagues the server.
None of the victors go against this. Except Scott and Martin.
Scott is killed almost immediately afterwords. He’s killed by Grian (I think). Grian is a watcher. Wether he left or betrayed them doesn’t matter. He still has the power and knows the power of the watchers. He knew that Scott wouldn’t die after his victory. He knew Scott would move forward and try to save them.
The watchers don’t like Scott.
This would cause them to hate him. To despise him. To make is so that the games would never be kind to him again. But then Grian kills Scott. He uses the power he once abandoned to save Scott from the watchers wrath.
So maybe the watchers don’t like Scott but they approve of him. He got one of their own to use his power again. They would favor him but they’d let him be. It’s why Scott and Pearl survived as long as they did even if they didn’t team up. The watchers left them alone because Scott was part of the pair. In limited life Scott was doing the best he could and very little went wrong for him. He managed a crazy bucket clutch with the entire server trying to kill him. The only thing that went wrong is him being boogeyman first and even then it just meant he had more time.
It’s also why Scott couldn’t win double life. That would get rid of any good will the watchers have for him.
The watchers want Grian back in their ranks. And so far Scott is the only one that got Grian to use his power.
However Martin doesn’t play the game as he’s supposed to. He betrays everyone and in the end doesn’t play fair. He wins but in the cruelest and most desperate way he could.
Martin also dares to live after he’s won. He dares to not abide by the rules and die. Yes he does die eventually but he had an hour left on his timer. An hour, no winner has lasted that long. What if Martin is doing so badly right now because in that hour he did something. He challenged the watchers or maybe used that time to find something on the server in an attempt to free himself and his friends.
What if he did something so that the watchers couldn’t kill him. They’d have to wait until his time ran out.
They’d hate that.
It could explain why he’s doing so badly now too. Yes Martin might share the canary curse because of him attacking Jimmy but what if it’s more than that. What if the watchers are getting directly involved with everyone because of Martin. What if Martin found something in that hour in limited life? What if he’s so close yet so far to ending the games?
The watchers would hate that. They’d try to stop him.
And what better way then to further control everyone then by putting them against each other with a secret.
I also like the idea that Scott is using his good will with the watchers to learn more about them and try to stop them. During limited life the watchers began to notice so Martin who may or may not have known what’s happening gets involved.
#scott smajor#trafficblr#inthelittlewood#pearlescentmoon#grian#watcher grian#secret life#just a thought#canary curse#limited life#double life#third life#last life
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I think it's time for me to share a big headcanon I have about life series. And also some totally fanmade made up lore. It's mostly for people who are just interested in my vision. My... perspective if you will.
Grian is not a Watcher.
Okay, a big thing to say in this fandom, but bare with me for an explanation.
Watchers are ultimately what is called collective consciousness or the mind hive. Because they meant to represent every viewer and observer behind the fourth wall. They meant to represent the crowd, the people who judge the losers and hail the winners. Within the collective there's no place for individuality and singular voices and ideas, it's the mass, the ones who's louder, who echo through the most hearts are the ones who have a voice. And I generally divided them in great twos: the tragedy and the comedy. Those who look and cry and those who watch and laugh. Those who is connected to suffering, pain and grief and those who connected to thrill and excitement, pure joy. Who I appropriately called "Gloom and Glee" - the two polar opposites of emotion spectrum. The strong emotional extremes.
The very reason I think that Grian is Not a Watcher is because he still he has his individuality. If you haven't noticed that about him, he generally has a disdain for people telling him what to do and think. He has a strong will and strong character, he knows who he is. He is simply isn't compatible with the nature of the Watchers like a collective that would take away his personal freedom. It goes strictly against everything he holds dear and what he always fights for. Remember he was SUPPOSED to watch, but he /doesn't/, something unexpected happened. He refused.
BUT, he has made a contact with them, they attempted to consume him and it changed him. Not really mentally, he still has his individuality and freedom, importantly he has his choice (why I will elaborate later). This contact took away some part of his perfect humanity and borrowed some powers of the Watchers. He cannot live without strong emotions now, be it his or someone else's. He starves without attention, without explosive emotions and drives him up the wall. It gave him new look, which he isn't fond of (besides the wings) and pretends it doesn't exist (not like anyone noticed). He has special vision that lets him see rule breaking, the loopholes through the rules, to spy on people, he doesn't need glasses anymore. But he isn't thrilled about this. And he needs emotions. So many of them. And then. He got an idea. He can create a situation where emotions are at their extremes all the times. That is how the Life Series were made.
Yeah, another important point of my headcanon is that Life Series is a murder game that belongs to Grian, not Watchers.
Remember how it's important that Grian still has his choice? Yes, well, the Watchers do Not have a power of choice. Watchers is a mind hive with only one purpose - to watch. They can never, and I mean Never be the active party, they are a passive observer, it's against their nature. They have their power of suggestion, the power to persuasion (which is what I believe is happening to Martyn, but this is not the point at all rn), the power to watch over the rule breakers. But under no circumstances they can choose the outcome or create a situation. The audience that watchers the actors preform their play cannot impact the actors or the play directly, they are here to witness it happen. It's the People, the PLAYERS, who have an active choice and a voice. Watchers incapable of creating a scenario, a world with it's rules and win condition. Those killing games are made by Grian - a player with a power of active choice.
After the first one - Third Life - was over Grian never felt more alive than ever, even if he himself was overwhelmed with pain and grief of his own. He hoped it would be enough for forever, but it wasn't. He started to get hungry again. He tried great many things to satisfy it in other ways, but nothing hit him, he felt dull, not real. Then he thought of a new spin for the old game and he attempted it again, and it went even better. But the guilt he felt was even worse, feelings of his friends echoed through him, every single one of them and he felt like he was using and betraying them. Which didn't get better when a lot of people didn't show up for Double Life, a season he created in hope it will bring more positive than negative emotions, which didn't worked as well as he hoped it would. And it would happen over and over. He still can't understand why people willingly went to these games if they brought so much agony, that reflected in him. Why are they still with him anyway? What good he is if he just hurts them? But they always come back when he calls.
TL;DR: Grian isn't a Watcher, but connected to them, because of that he needs to consume strong emotions and this is why Life Series exists.
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Kingslayer AU: Chapter Four
I would say this is where the plot really kicks up. Especially next chapter.
\\ Warnings: blood, violence, guns //
Home was quiet under the overcast winter sky. A blanket of snow covered everything in sight. Scott shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered away the chill creeping down his back. It was beginning to snow more heavily as the evening set in on the server.
Winter never faired well with him, it made his hands and knees weak, and stuck him with a near constant headache. Most ailments rendered him bedridden if it was cold enough outside. He hoped he wouldn’t get sick.
Jimmy had hurried them into Scott’s home quickly after entering the walls. It wasn’t really Scott’s anymore as both of them had been sharing the space for quite a while. There was evidence of each of them strewn about.
It could do with some cleaning but the clutter made it feel more natural.
Safer, perhaps.
Scott took his shoes and jacket off. He left them near the door so no muck would get tracked into the house. It was cold inside from a week of being neglected, not a lamp had been left on after he went to see the Sand People.
One glance at his bed proved to be the nail in the coffin. He climbed into the loft and lay down, his head hit the pillow and he was out.
*****
Water trickled across the ceiling. It dropped down and landed on Scott’s cheek. Plunk Plunk Plunk.
Scott blinked into awareness and looked for the source of his awakening, only to find that it was completely dark. Panic surged through him and he sat up quickly only to hit his head on a hard surface. His hands flew out in surprise and hit two stone walls.
“What,” he breathed.
The floor beneath him was damp from perpetual rain seeping into the cell.
“No,” he whispered repeatedly.
The darkness was suffocating this time, he couldn’t calm down, he knew he’d run out of air eventually. Maybe the lack of oxygen was finally making him go crazy, imagining the walls were getting closer and closer. Scott pushed himself up against the corner and hugged his knees to his chest.
The water that woke him up seemed to flow more like a waterfall now. It hit the jagged floor and slowly approached the corner Scott had decided to glue himself to, but it didn’t stop. The water only grew deeper and deeper. He was too tired to even care. Death seemed like a more peaceful option then trying to escape.
He would drown in his tomb alone, and they would get away with it.
*****
Scott’s eyes flew open. This time not to a completely dark stone tomb, but a softly moonlit bedroom. His bedroom.
A weight from behind him made itself known.
Jimmy must have gotten into bed with him earlier that night. The covers were pulled over both of them.
Scott turned around and leaned into his sleeping husband’s arms, taking a few moments to assure himself of his surroundings; and that he was safe at home.
Sensing that his night of sleep had been cut short, Scott meticulously unwrapped himself from Jimmy’s arms and replaced himself with a pillow.
His socks masked most of the noise he made as he exited the room and partially closed the door behind him. It was deathly silent when he unhooked his coat (the one he didn’t ruin) from its place on the wall, equipped his boots, and slipped outside.
The contrast of warmth from inside to outside made Scott’s eyes water. His hands were safe inside his mittens when he brushed some snow off his front steps and sat down.
It was a bit windy outside, breeze funneled through the valley and into the Hobbit town. It bounced off the hills and dissipated into the air. Scott wished he’d brought his telescope so he could admire the sky, which was clear at the moment. A lonely band of the Milky Way sliced across the cosmos to the west.
Stargazing always filled him with a feeling of yearning. He couldn’t remember why, or even when it had started, but ever since he found himself on this server with borders and rules he felt out of place. Not just in the way he looked, but being grounded for so long. Scott had trouble understanding the ways of this world. It was obvious that he didn’t quite fit.
The snow had died down since they arrived hours earlier, nobody had cleared it for a while so it was near shin deep. Every inch of the landscape was buried, including the entrance to their enchanting room, and all the flowers that would typically adorn the forest floor.
Something was wrong.
Scott couldn’t put his finger on it. Coming to alertness, he scanned the scenery like a hawk until he saw it.
Footprints.
Fresh. Footprints.
Directly in front of his home, they came right up to the first step and no further. There was multiple sets fanning out across the lawn area. He could see all three sets from his perch.
Scott froze with fear. Someone had paid a visit in the middle of the night while they were asleep. He wondered why, but he knew.
He was about to get up and lock himself inside when he felt something step on the creaking stairs right behind him. Scott’s eyes flicked to the side for a split second before he instinctively stood up and attempted to flee down the remaining steps, but he didn’t make it.
A hand instantly wrapped around his forearm and wrenched him backwards, he fell into an armored torso. A gloved hand clapped over his mouth, and an arm snaked under his own to render them paralyzed.
“It would be in your best interest not to scream Major,” a terrible Scottish accent made itself known. Scott nearly rolled his eyes.
Of course, this dramatic fool had to come and ruin his night. One thing was for certain, he was not getting kidnapped again.
A sharp object poked at his ribs.
“Just a precaution,” someone said in a falsely apologetic tone. No doubt it was Skizzle.
That meant that he was being immobilized by Martyn. He should have known really, that man followed the Red King anywhere. Upon the ladder’s orders, he escorted Scott down the steps and across the snow stricken grounds, just next to Jimmy’s “house” that they’d mainly been using as storage for the odds and ends that didn’t fit in Scott’s place.
The hand was removed from his jaw and he jolted his head away with a mirthful expression. He fixed his eyes directly where he assumed Ren’s were beneath his sunglasses; which he was wearing in the dead of night. Asshole.
Skizzle stood next to Ren with an imposing posture, as Martyn had a free hand to hold his own weapon with. The weapon being an enchanted diamond axe which he held with a sort of pride.
“You know,” Ren began, “I must give it to you Major, that escape you pulled off was impressive,” he spoke in an unbothered manner and ground his foot upon a rock somewhere under the snow.
“Why are you doing this, Ren?” Scott cut to the chase. He was uninterested in games.
“You aren’t even a red lifer. You can’t kill me,” he added.
Ren scoffed. He adjusted his glasses, “and who exactly is policing that rule?” he said with a knowing quirk of an eyebrow.
“Grian?”a beat passed, “you?!” he began to laugh to himself. Skizzle and Martyn joined in momentarily.
“More green lifers have killed people than red at this stage, so don’t get on me about that,” he said.
“These are my walls,” Scott pointed out.
“That’s funny, you didn’t seem to have much respect for our walls earlier did you,” Martyn said close to Scott’s ear. He pulled away.
“Can I at least be let in on why you’re picking on me of all people?” Scott asked with no enthusiasm.
“Don’t tell me you went on and forgot that Timmy dearest is responsible for the deaths of myself and Skizzle,” Ren shot back, leaning into the other’s personal space.
Everyone looked between each other, “among other things,” Ren added.
Skiz nodded in agreement and sent a meaningful glare towards Scott’s house, where a dim light was on in the bedroom.
Scott’s mouth hung open in rueful shock, “that’s what all this is about? It was an accident,” he shouted. Which earned him a light punch in the side.
“Be quiet,” Martyn warned.
“You know he didn’t mean it! He was sorry and you know it. The only reason you’re even here right now is because it was an accident. Don’t do this to him,” Scott half pleaded but he was more angry.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. You’re buddy buddy with the people who want to kill us too. Hmm, maybe you are familiar with the term ‘covering our bases’?” Ren added.
“This isn’t all about your perfect little life Major,” Ren dropped the accent and took Scott by the front of his jacket.
“Things are going to change around here for all of us, and it starts with your Timmy paying his dues,” he said.
Scott’s face pulled into a scowl. He thrust his head forward vigorously, the plastic CRACK of Ren’s sunglasses on impact split through his ears as he saw the “Red” King stagger backwards.
Before his goons could decide their next moves Scott lifted his foot up behind him quickly, glad he’d decided to wear his heavier boots on a whim as they collided with an unfortunate set of unmentionables.
The owner of the unmentionables keeled over. He all but threw the axe out of his hands, which Scott graciously took for himself. He tore himself free and swung around, bringing the back of the axe down on Martyn’s bowed head. Purposefully omitting the sharpened blade from the equation.
Skull met stick with a loud THWACK; and Martyn’s body went limp. The Hand fell on his side into the snow with a muffled thump.
Scott admired his work for a moment and considered it even for the lingering purple bruise still on the side of his own face.
There was no time to waste though, he turned back to the remaining members of Dogwarts with a new feeling of control.
Ren’s face was still buried in his hands. No doubt sporting a wicked nosebleed from being head-butted. His glasses were nowhere to be found. Somewhere in the deep snow.
Scott’s attention turned to Skiz now. Who was in battle position.
It was not a fair fight by any means. The Red Army was decked out in their signature crimson dyed armor (not great for sneaking around but they weren’t much into that) and their iconic shields which Scott thought were a bit ugly.
Nobody was immune to quick thinking though. Even with all that armor, a man can’t be immune to a kick in the nuts.
Skizzle made the first move. He pushed off his heel and swung his sword vertically in Scott’s direction. The ladder, shieldless, jumped out of the way. Skizzle regained his composure and ran after him like a blood sniffing shark. Scott ran away from him in as dead a sprint that can be achieved in knee deep snow, letting his pursuer gain some momentum before he sharply turned around and plunged his axe blade into the thick wood of Skiz’s shield.
The aforementioned momentum caused Skiz to keep moving while his Sheild was ripped from his arm attached to the sharp blade of Scott’s (new) shiny axe. Both of them fell over in the snow.
Wanting to get the jump, Scott staggered to his feet and sat on top of Skizzle to keep him on the ground. They pushed back and forth with their respective blades until Scott was thrown off the other, who immediately slashed his sword at him but missed by a hair.
Scott rolled away clumsily with the shield on his arm and used the handle of his axe to stand up just in time for another barrage of slashes that audibly cut through the air. Scott blocked them with his shield and with the hilt of his axe, managing to repel his opponent for enough time to get his share of hits.
“You’re using the wrong side of the axe, man!” Skizzle pointed out after being beat a few times with the non-lethal side of Scott’s weapon, which he was using his armored forearms to fend off.
“Would you rather me use the other?” Scott replied.
They went back and forth in a struggle to gain control of their respective fights, of which had seen them travel to the corner of the Hobbits’ walls where two hills flattened out and created an amphitheater with a perfect stage in the center.
The metallic clashing of weapons filled the area, Skizzle managed to wrap Scott in a chokehold, the shield had been thrown to the sidelines amongst the struggle, with a blade growing ever nearer to his throat. Scott held off the oncoming sword by brute strength alone, his hand braced against his opponent’s forearm and shook with the effort.
“This is it for you,” Skizzle strained, “no more games,” he said.
Scott answered with a war cry. He knocked the other’s chest with his elbow and threw both of them forwards a bit, just enough to wriggle free and get away from the blade. While Skiz wasn’t guarding his midsection, Scott jabbed the handle of his weapon into the space between Skiz’s chest plate and armored leggings.
A breathless cough was all that came from the man behind him, followed by a drawn out whine, then a satisfying thud and the clunking of armor as it fell into the snow.
There was no place to celebrate his victory however, when a very angry, bloody nosed king strode up to the crime scene. Ren’s expression told Scott that he wasn’t a fun target to play with anymore. Tougher than he looked, perhaps.
The leader of Dogwarts trudged menacingly up to Scott, who made to raise his weapon but instead was greeted by a fist in his face. The force threw him to the ground, where Ren’s heavy red boot descended upon his chest. A blade sliced into the hard ground next to Scott’s ear. His axe was yanked from his hands and thrown somewhere behind them by Ren.
“Alright Major. Perhaps I underestimated your capabilities,” Ren practically spat, “It’s a shame really. You would have been such an attractive addition to the Red Army,” he said with a mocking sadness.
“That was supposed to be your sales pitch?” Scott strained.
Scott could feel rivulets of blood flowing down his face from his nostrils, it seeped into his mouth and tasted like he’d eaten iron shavings. His hands were clasped around Ren’s ankle and foot, trying to alleviate the stress that was on his rib cage. He liked being able to breathe after all.
“You’ve clearly proven too much for my army to handle,” Ren jerked Scott by the front of his shirt, as if he was the one to blame for his army’s failure.
“But I digress. I guess I’ll kill you now,” the Red King smiled down at him with a devious grin, and shoved him harshly to the ground.
Scott could see that his eyes were a striking yellow, set back in his head a bit so that they were perpetually shadowed by his eye sockets. Strands of white and brown hair fell around his face, and his right ear twitched upon his head.
His vision was swimming dangerously close to blacking out as Ren hoisted his weapon, a glimmering diamond axe with a gold accented handle, above his head. Scott shut his eyes and prepared for the cold hard inevitable when a loud POP ricocheted off the amphitheater walls. Followed by a dull plunk.
The axe fell from Ren’s hands like it was knocked away. He jumped like he’d been startled. His eyes were blown wide, and Scott thought he might look scared.
Ren raised a shaky hand to his right shoulder, turning it a bit so he could see, he gently touched the surface of his arm. His fingertips came back covered in a layer of blood.
He began to slowly turn around, Scott sat up on his elbow to follow his line of sight.
Standing in the entrance to the amphitheater, in the snow that had been disturbed by the previous altercation, was a furious looking Jimmy.
His hunting rifle was still raised and aimed at the Red King, smoke poured from the barrel and floated into the frigid air.
Ren stood up and faced Jimmy, an out of place smile gracing his countenance.
“Well! Looks like we have a full party now, I was wondering when the special guest was going to show up,” he teased.
“Your little friend here put up quite the fight,” Ren took Scott by the back of his hood and lifted him out of the obfuscating layer of snow.
“You just don’t stop talking do you,” Jimmy said sternly. He didn’t move an inch, and his finger was poised on the trigger of his father’s old gun.
Ren had stopped talking. He resorted to staring down his nose at the other man.
“Get out of my walls, Ren,” Jimmy demanded.
“Now hold on dude, we’re not finished here,” Ren prefaced.
“No, I think we are done here!” Jimmy raised his voice.
“You’re going put him down right now,” he ordered, “take your men, and leave my home,” Jimmy yelled.
“Or what?” Ren asked, although it was more of a last ditch effort than a promise of more to come.
“Or I aim for your head next time,” Jimmy deadpanned.
Ren chewed his bottom lip pensively, seeming to consider his options before rendering himself rightfully defeated. He nodded curtly, and tossed the battered Scott at Jimmy’s feet. He strode over to Skizzle and kicked him encouragingly in the side, gathering him up and then going to retrieve Martyn, whom he had Skizzle sling over his shoulder.
The Red Musketeers vacated the Hobbit’s walls, going through the door they broke down on the way in. Jimmy kept his rifle trained on them until he was sure they weren’t coming back. Then he turned back to Scott, shakily flipping the safety of the rifle back on.
“Scott,” Jimmy called out, “hey, can you hear me?” it was too familiar.
“I’m fine,” Scott assured; but his husband wasn’t having it. He took the other’s face in his hands gently and assessed the damage.
“I think you have a concussion,” Jimmy observed.
“I think I could have used your help a bit earlier,” Scott joked, but Jimmy didn’t smile, “I mean I knew you were a heavy sleeper but this is ridiculous”, he added.
Jimmy helped him up and he wobbled a bit before taking in the scene he’d made. A clear path of action stretched from the front door of Jimmy’s house to the Western Wall where the amphitheater was. Some of the snow was red with blood.
Jimmy took Scott’s arm and pulled him into a half embrace, “let’s go back inside. You’re freezing,” he whispered.
“Wait,” Scott said.
He started sifting through the snow, eventually pulling out the axe he’d stolen from Martyn. Ren had retrieved his and Skiz’s weapons before leaving. He held it up and flipped it over in his hands a few times gleefully. Then, he trudged over to Jimmy’s front door and found Ren’s discarded shades under some red stained snow. The right lens was cracked down the middle, hairline fractures branched off of it.
He held the sunglasses up for Jimmy to see with a proud grin, waving them around in the air.
“How’d you manage that?” Jimmy asked, dumbfounded.
“I went like BAP!” Scott articulated as he pretended to head butt Jimmy to demonstrate, “and they must have come right off! Look at that, a perfect trophy,” he bragged.
“You know, I didn’t question why he wasn’t wearing them because I didn’t think that even he was enough of a dick to wear sunglasses in the dead of night,” Jimmy said.
“Now, inside,” he pointed to the door.
#kingslayer au#half the server is in this one boys#3rd life smp#3rdlife#3rdlife smp#scott smajor#solidaritygaming#rendog#inthelittlewood#skizzleman#cas types
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watch and learn: chapter 1 (rewritten)
[ Also read on AO3! ] [ You are here! ] [ Chapter 2 ] [ Chapter 3 ] [ Chapter 4 ]
---
A seemingly endless storm roared throughout the sky, the rain pattering loudly against the ground, faint echoes of thunder rumbling throughout the server…
Yes, tonight was a night were Mumbo could never seem to succumb to slumber.
Perhaps it was because the sky itself was awake, or perhaps it was because the occasional flashes of lighting startled him back to full awareness, but on nights like these, Mumbo simply could not fall asleep.
Although, Mumbo thought, perhaps the storm was only surrounding Hermitville? Perhaps, if he went over to his base back on the main island…
His mind was made fairly quickly- after all, anything was better than trying to fall asleep and failing for hours on end.
Slowly rolling himself out of the creaky bed, which had not been worn down in the slightest, Mumbo blindly placed a spare redstone torch down upon the floor, rubbing his tired eyes as he suppressed a yawn.
He reached towards his elytra that had been half-hazardly draped across the floor, strapping it on slowly as to not pinch himself with any of the clips.
Stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders, Mumbo peeked into his inventory, humming silently to himself.
Pulling out a splash potion of night vision, he squinted his eyes in anticipation as he threw the bottle against the floor. The powder quickly rose from its place on the ground, coating his body with chemical-scented particles, his eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the potion’s effects.
Stumbling out of the cozy house he had made for himself in Hermitville, Mumbo shivered nearly instantly as he exited the miniature base- it felt like a blizzard rather than a thunderstorm, in all honesty.
He tried to pay it no attention, quickly firing a rocket to propel him into the sky, and towards the watchtower that held the village’s nether portal inside.
He was wringing his now drenched hair out when he saw it in the corner of his eye.
What was it, exactly? It looked almost like a winged person, crouched upon Scar’s floating castle that loomed above Hermitville- and they were staring directly at him.
Mumbo’s breath hitched in his throat, flinching as the coldness crept up his neck, nearly suffocatingly.
Had he not applied the potion of night vision, he likely would not have spotted the figure, whose wings sprouted largely behind their back.
No one on the server had wings that appeared as such- only elytras, and even then, they held the appearance of butterfly wings, nothing more…
A blink of the eye, and the figure was gone without a trace.
Mumbo never flew by so quickly throughout the nether before- though no matter how swiftly he traveled towards his own nether portal, he would not have been able to catch the spying eyes that trailed after him, glinting mischievously as though they had found a piece of prey.
---
Mumbo was more than glad to have made it back to his base in one piece- after all, he had looked a strange entity directly in the eye and ran away immediately after.
The storm was now nothing more than a measly sprinkle of rain, the atmosphere much more welcoming.
Rubbing his eyes, Mumbo exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, shivering from his cold, damp suit that clung to his skin uncomfortably.
“Ugh, now I need to change, too…” He complained to nobody in particular, sneezing after barely a second’s notice- twice, in fact.
Although, just as he was about to tread off to his room and change into a comfy pair of sleepwear, the temperature dropped. His breath escaped his lips in a white, foggy mist, the water that clung to his outfit nearly freezing over.
“Bless you,” An unfamiliar voice behind him whispered, sounding amused and beguiled.
Without even thinking, Mumbo swung himself around, elbowing the figure directly in the face, wincing as a loud crack! echoed throughout his base, accompanied by a yell of pain.
Mumbo took several steps back, heart pounding in his chest. His arm, which had made contact with the person, felt nearly numb, succumbing to a chilling, brumal cold.
The figure itself appeared to be that of a man, gowned in a deep purple and neon-purple accented dress that ended at his knees, with lighter purple wings draping wistfully across the floor. He wore three silver necklaces, black fingerless gloves, and black leggings- a recurring symbol in neon purple accented the outfit mysteriously.
“Wh-who are you?!” Mumbo yelled, reaching for his communicator instantaneously.
Like a bolt of lighting, the figure snapped his head up, gazing directly into Mumbo’s eyes menacingly.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll put that communicator down and let me talk,” He hissed, making Mumbo halt in his tracks, eyes widening in diluted fear.
“O- Okay, okay…” Mumbo replied, his voice shaky. He raised his hands to rest open-palmed beside his shoulders in surrender. “Oh gosh… What… What do you want?”
“Ah, now that’s much better, see?” The figure hummed, a polite smile growing on his face. “My name is Grian! Or Empire, if you’d rather call me that… So sorry for the scare.”
“See, I was sent down here into this world for some menial task… I haven’t quite finished it yet, but erm… Well, no one was really supposed to see me. Understand?” He murmured, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “So I’d super-duper appreciate it if you kept your mouth zipped.” He grinned, swiping his fingers across his mouth like a zipper.
Unable to speak, still in shock with his heart beating loudly against his chest, Mumbo nodded wordlessly.
“It isn’t really anything personal, you know? Rules and regulations, all that sort… I’d hate to destroy the, erm, inhabitants of this server if word were to get out about me being here.” Grian hummed, the same small, polite smile never leaving his face. “Oh, but who knows? Perhaps we’ll talk again very soon…”
“Bye-bye for now, Mumbo Jumbo!”
In mere seconds, the figure leaped into the air and flew away into the sky itself, leaving behind nothing but a single, purple feather.
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#hermitcraft#hermitcraft au#hermitcraft fic#watcher grian#grian#hc grian#mumbo jumbo#mumbo#watch and learn#wal#hermitcraft fanfic
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