“Hey, Blondie!” A distorted British voice called. It reminded Grian of someone else who’s familiar- but oddly different. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him to not know someone on this new server, after all.
The winged hermit looked up from the boats to the mountain covered shores of the main island and spotted a stranger in red armor that he hadn't met yet in this strange new world… His armor was similar to Xisuma’s, as well as his voice actually...
“...Yes?” The British hermit tilted his head curiously at the new man. “Are you talking to me?”
“Ugh, yes, you. Who else?! You are licherally the only one in the nearby area right now.” The horned stranger strode down the mountain. “You are the new hermit the stinkin’ admin invited, yeah?”
Grian nodded after a brief pause, and the Xisuma look-a-like continued to speak, “I’ve heard you’re a big fan of shenaniganry, aren’t ya? Interested in some advice?” Grian, dumbfounded, continued to nod. “Well, mind going for a walk? The weather is too nice to be wasted in the shadows of some mountain.” The red armored individual held out his claw-like hands, and the hermit took them, almost without hesitation.
Not that Grian had much of a choice, actually... Something about the stranger was charming and made him easy to listen to.
Not-Xisuma pulled him up onto land and let go of the hermit’s hand. As they climbed the steep mountain- with the stranger walking with an awfully lightweight pace, despite the heavy armor he was wearing- the other spoke once again, “Don’t you think the server is a little too quiet, Grian? Don’t you think it is in need of some… Chaos? Just like your old home, don’t you remember all those pranks you did? How much fun you had?”
Grian stopped for a moment- Nevermind the fact that he somehow knew about his life before Hermitcraft in Evo, or how he suddenly knew his name- he had a point! Maybe that was what he needed to truly fit in with the hermits… It could probably ease him of homesickness as well.
The horned one took the air wielder’s silence as a sign to keep speaking, “Well, what do you think? Personally, I think something small would work… a tag game perhaps- Drat.”
The stranger abruptly stopped talking, as a look of rancor briefly appeared on his face as if something just died nearby, and as quickly as the expression had come, it left once again. Grian didn’t have much time to process the sudden change of mood before the silence was broken by a very similar voice to the red stranger- this time- he recognized it.
“Grian? Whacha doing out here alone?” The more familiar British voice replaced the formerly twisted voice. The winged hermit turned around, surprised to find the green armored version of the one he has been talking to. “N-nothing much really… Hey, do you guys know e-” Grian turned around once again to where the horned one once was, only to find he was replaced by air. “...each other?...”
“...Grian?? You good dude?” Xisuma asked in a concerned tone, “If you aren’t feelin’ well, we can go to the Guardian Temple another day.”
“No! No… Uhm.” Grian coughed a bit, “Anyways, by any chance do you know someone that looks uncannily like you? He had red armor instead of your green one, and he had horns… Huge horns!” The Air wielder made exaggerated motions in the air, mimicking what he had seen.
The admin’s face turned up as he tried to suppress a laugh, and snorted before letting it out and spoke in breaths. “So you’ve met Evil Xisuma! Glad he made an impression on ya, at least.” X’s laugh died though, but his smile was still bright without his helmet to obscure it. “Don’t worry about that scumbag, he can’t cause much harm! Out of curiosity though, what did he say to ya?”
“He wanted to see a tag game of sorts, I suppose? I mean... it sounds fun, doesn’t it? This Evil Xisuma guy seems to have some good ideas once in a blue moon.” Grian thought for a bit, “I might actually just go ahead and start one.”
“You aren’t wrong, that does seem like a swell idea, get some things on the server startin’, at least!” X agreed, “Well, feel free to start this tag game then, it certainly has my approval.” The admin spoke, as he picked up a boat from his inventory, and held it in his arms, “Evil Xisuma and potential tag game aside, shall we get going to the Guardian Temple, then?” He asked the new hermit, and energy bubbled up in Grian once more, excited to finally have some dark prismarine at his disposal.
Element: Wind!
A true bastard of an element, just like it’s user. It is temperamental and often rebellious, making it hard to control.
No real weakness. His element’s temper is really his only downfall.
https://justpaste.it/ElementalHermits
-His wings are originally purely feathered, but once he got his hands on an elytra, he mixed them together for better control and the ability to fly longer
-W/o an elytra, flight becomes more of a tiring task
These new people on the island are hard to get a grasp on. Too bad the wind is going to force Grian into every social interaction possible.
Grian paced around the wooden deck of his ship. His footsteps echoed off of the walls, muffled by the water that clogged the wood. The walls felt too closed in. His skin itched to escape to the surface above the water, fly around the empty landscape that once was only a few days ago. He heard the sound of water rushing in his ears, the sound of his footsteps, the sound of dolphins distant. He felt trapped under the ocean.
Chest heavy and head aching, he plopped down on the stairs, putting his head in his hands, thinking about everything that head happened within the last few days.
The portal on the respawn island swirled sickeningly at him every time he visited. No one was around anymore, spread across the world as soon as they appeared. He watched them spread from afar, having run off as fast as the wind once his heart rate went too fast and his head started to spin. He ached to go talk to them but he couldn’t.
The weeks he spent alone in this world tugged at him. His only friends were the animals strolling the land and the whispers in the wind. He had heard it whisper of something new but he ignored it. The nervous energy the week before they arrived was pushed to the side.
He felt a fleeting bit of excitement at the thought of more people to talk to, other than the whispers in the wind. That excitement got dampened with fear.
They were too close-knit he told himself. There were too many. They were loud. They didn’t like him. They had their own things to do.
But he knew he was wrong. There was space for him, some of them head even tried to talk to him before he flew off. He was loud, he was energetic, and he saw them goofing off every single day.
Instead of face his actual fears, he hid under the water where the whispers of the wind wouldn’t urge him to make a connection with the people who had suddenly shown up on the little island he thought was his. The wind knew what he was scared of.
“They aren’t like pets or memories,” the wind whispered to him when he left his ship. “They aren’t going to leave.”
Grian refused to believe that. There was no proof they wouldn’t leave, he would tell himself. He could wake up one day and they’d go back through that portal and he’d be left with just the wind and the animals.
It was better not to make connections that could just disappear.
He was getting claustrophobic so quickly. He couldn’t stay down here forever. Reluctantly, he got into a small boat in the basement of his base and rowed into the dark ocean that surrounded him. He hated the feeling somewhat, being covered in cold water as the whispers of the wind carried him up. He felt a push and shove towards the mainland as he surfaced.
He grabbed hard on the oars of the boat as he felt the wind push him roughly through the water, ruffling and drying his feathers as he attempted to gain control over where he was going. It threw him towards land, salty sea air plastered into his hair, pushing against his back as he tried rowing the opposite direction with all the strength he could muster, which wasn’t much compared to the force of his element on his side.
His eyes were screwed shut, using all his might to push himself along. He felt his heart in his throat as the front of the boat slammed into shore. The force at which it threw him tossed him out of the boat and onto the sand. The wind lightened up quickly, but it had done its damage. Grian slid across the shoreline, sand cutting into his hands and the side of his face as he tried to stop himself from going too far. Sand caught in his hair, in his sweater, in his wings. His shoulder hurt from impact and he had no clue where he was.
He pushed himself off of the sandy shore and open his eyes. They stung slightly from the salty sea air around him, slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep. His skin itched terribly and his sweater was covered in sand, sticking to where the wind had yet to dry it. He looked over to where his boat was. It had turned completely over, upside down in the sand two feet from the water. The oars had gone flying, one next to Grian where he had dropped it and the other ten feet down the shoreline.
He stood up and assessed where he was. Probably somewhere in what the others on the island called the shopping district. He already saw a few shops popping up, built quickly for how little time these people have been here. He looked down at his sweater, covered in sand and sea water. The wind brushed up against him lightly, an apology as well as trying to dry his clothes.
“Just leave me alone,” he grumbled quietly
He took the sand covered sweater off and walked towards the water, ignoring how his t-shirt was also sandy in some parts. He knelt by the water and started to wash his sweater in it, hoping that it wouldn’t be covered in sand forever. Halfway through cleaning it, he felt a presence behind him. He didn’t want to deal with the whispers in the wind right now, his eye twitching in annoyance.
“I said leave me alone!” he exclaimed, turning at the waist and looking up towards the sky.
As he finished his sentence, he actually saw what was behind him. Instead of the ever-present wind pushing against him, it was one of the newcomers to the island. Of course, they were in the shopping district. Grian stared open-mouthed in horror as his eyes met those of a “hermit.” Someone wearing a suspenders in the middle of the summer and with something red covering the cuffs of his dress shirt.
“Are you alright?” the person said after a time.
Grian’s entire body felt cold. He hadn’t seen this person before. As much as he had been watching the hermits from afar for the past few days, this one hadn’t shown his face. That was a problem. He had a game plan for most of them come to any interaction. Doc he would end up running. Scar he would give a quick wave and hello before flying off. Stress he was forced to engage in small talk for five minutes (hence why he stayed out of the ice spikes). He didn’t know what this new person was like.
It was fight or flight.
He was choosing flight.
He quickly took off, brushing off the sand that had stuck in his wings. The sweater flying out of the water splashed the unknown man with a splash of seawater and salt, ruining his clothes somewhat. Grian disregarded upsetting the people who he didn’t care about upsetting (he kept insisting that he didn’t care like if he said it enough times it might be true) and started to fly down the shoreline.
He only got so far before the wind hit him harshly in the other direction, a change of mind of what was on his side only seconds ago. He tried to push past it, bracing himself as he went against the strong winds that made it hard for him to even see. Unable to see and working with all his might against the wind for the second time that day, he felt something clip his wing.
Grian cried out, falling back into the sand as his wing curled inwards in pain. He tumbled head over heels, everything pulling inwards as to not injure himself further. He stopped rolling a couple of feet down, covered in sand once more and his sweater somewhere in the sand out of reach. He brought his wing close, looking over the sandy feathers in disappointment.
He bent it slightly, pressing on the area where it hurt. Nothing felt out of place, nothing was broken in the hollow bone. He was lucky, but it still hurt like hell. If luck was serving him right, he sprained it. His heart dropped to his feet as he realized he couldn’t fly. The wind was blustering around him, a whirlwind that ruffled his feathers and hair. It picked up sea water and swirled around him.
He heard footsteps coming closer and tried to push them away. He heard them falter, the tornado pushing them away. Determined, the person pushed through into the eye of the storm where Grian sat. His face stung, salt water coating it as it swirled around him. He closed his eyes in pain and to protect them from the whirlwind he created.
Something thumped in front of him, making him jump, opening his eyes to the person who was so insistent on their approach. It was the man in the suspenders. He was saying something but it was hard to hear over the wind and water rushing through Grian’s ears. Panic was setting in quickly, spiking as the man touched his injured wing.
The wind concentrated in the tornado shot out towards the man, sending him sprawling backward in the sudden burst. The thump was audible, along with the pained groan.
“Don’t… don’t touch me,” Grian said quietly as he lied to himself.
It took the man a second to get back up. He was only blown about two feet away. He stood up and walked over again. He crouched down in front of Grian, closer to the injured wing than he was to the rest of him.
“Can I see it?” he asked politely, nodding to the wing.
Grian looked between him and the wing, looking like a scared puppy. Slowly, he moved his wing outwards, hesitant to get any help. The man looked at it for a bit, seeing the swelling that was already starting around the joint.
“May I touch it?” he continued.
Grian nodded, though he shifted slightly, ready to run. Gently, the man started to inspect the wing, moving it slightly to see where the sprain was without putting too much pain in the actual joint.
“Can you relax it?”
He did as told and let the joint relax to it natural state. The man held it in place, digging through his pocket for something. Out of the pocket, he pulled a red tie. Quickly, tightly, and securely, he wrapped the tie around the sprain, keeping it in place.
“There,” he said with confidence. “Just take it easy and it should heal up in no time.”
Grian looked at the wing, stretching the joints that weren’t sprained, examining his wing. His brow furrowed. How long would he have to wear this? How long would he be unable to fly?
“What’s your name?” the man said, standing up and brushing sand off of his dress pants. “I heard there was a new guy but nobody could tell me who you were.”
“Grian,” he said, standing up. He looked around for a second, trying to find where his sweater went.
“I’m Mumbo,” the man responded.
Grian spotted his sweater in the sea, about fifty feet out. With an annoyed expression, he pushed the wave closer, scooping under to lift the sweater along with it. A sizable wave formed, carrying the sweater to shore before the water waned once more into the sea. He picked the soaking piece of clothing up, grimacing at the sea smell it carried.
“Water?” Mumbo asked.
Grian raised a brow, almost dumbfounded. He pointed to his wings, and then gestured outwardly and tilting his head. Mumbo took a breath in like he was about to say something, but then stopped himself, nodding and looking somewhat embarrassed.
“Thanks, by the way,” Grian said, willing himself to talk.
“Oh, no problem!” Mumbo exclaimed. “Don’t want anyone seriously hurt around here.”
Grian’s brow furrowed. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Right. Well, thank you, again. It’s good to know someone’s looking out for me.” It was a low blow at the wind, but Mumbo wouldn’t know that. “I’ll be sure to stay away from flying for a bit.”
“Have a nice day!” Mumbo called, rushing away to do other things around the shopping district. “Don’t hurt yourself!”
Grian waved slightly, summoning a wind to dry off his sweater. As he put the warm clothing back on, he considered that maybe connections wouldn’t be horrible if it was more reliable than the whispers in the wind.
[Mainly Grian; slight mention of Iskall, Joe Hills, Xisuma, and Doc]
A prequel to “The Problem with People”. Featuring Grian first meeting the hermits. For Grian, he hasn’t seen any other people, and has spent weeks alone in the new world, what will he do when suddenly new people come pouring in?
It was a normal, wonderful day.
It was dawn, a brand new start of a day. The brit pranced around the newly discovered island, who had just parked his roughly crafted oak boat onto the shore. Grian has been exploring for a good while now, it was just him in this world, and while it has been a bit too quiet for his liking, his element kept him company. It was the second day of exploring, and his wings have been a bit tired out, so he had temporality traveled by boat. The island he was on was considerably big, big enough for him to explore for a while and get some food on before he moves on. And so far? He had found a cute rabbit, and some sheep on the island he can shear for wool.
Grian was just quietly minding his own business. Suddenly, a portal began to materialize, the rabbit jumped out from the blonde's arms, startling him. He turned and looked around in all directions, all the other animals began to run as well. He finally rests his sight on the portal, as it lit up with an eerie purple light, voices can be heard from the other side.
Something within him was telling him to run, his element was telling him to get as far as people, that they were better safe than sorry. But Grian's natural morbid curiosity nailed him to the wet, ocean brushed grass. As the voices from the portal become more vivid and clear, he was becoming more and more unsure of what he was supposed to be feeling: Fear? Confusion? Excitement? He had no idea. His wings enclosed behind his back, almost as if to make him feel safer, he retreated behind a small hill.
A gloved hand reached through the portal.
Grian jumped, taking a step back, pressing himself against the dirt blocks. He could feel his element slowly becoming more and more hostile, as the once peaceful wind on the island became wilder and constantly changed directions. As the first person showed up, Grian observed them, he hasn't noticed him yet. The stranger had a helmet that was similar to a gas mask, with a dull green suit. He was the only one to show up through that portal, almost to scout things out. Grian watched him, as he walked back into the portal to do something, Maybe to Inform? But inform who? He felt a chill up his spine, he didn't like the idea of his little own bubble in the world being popped, but it was people! Better than talking to his own element for social interaction.
The wind changed directions just to slap a leaf onto Grian's face, almost as if to tell him to shut up.
Grian snickered, he left the hill that was hiding behind, much against his element's will. He approached the portal, almost tempted to go through it himself. The brit swatted at the purple portal matter, to test it was really real or not before he was greeted with a wave of people coming out from the portal. Grian squeaked, and in reaction to the sudden release of strong emotions; the wind picked up and became strong enough to push everyone back into the portal.
He quickly picked up a piece of paper that was left in his boat and scribbled something on. The blonde threw it into the portal, hoping for the best as he waited for any kind of response, he can't just lose people like this, anyone is fine, anyone other than just his own element.
At last, the helmeted lad had poked his head through the portal again, Grian immediately stood up from sitting, admittedly still frightened. But more or so less now.
He spoke in a British accent, a hint of apologeticness in his voice. "I'm deeply sorry for that, really sorry if we scared ya, didn't mean it." Before quickly going back into the portal to bring out the rest of the people, some of them Grian had recognized from the first attempt to enter from the portal.
Grian mentally prepared himself, but he was definitely not expecting anything like this.
All the new people, at this point, was just circling him. Grian held his arm uncomfortably, "...Hi? I suppose..." He squeaked.
The first thing someone had immediately done was throw one rose at him. Cool, I guess.
Grian picked it up, and but the rose in his hand.
"...Right, so who are you exactly?" A man with a heavy Swedish accent questioned, he would have laughed at that accent if it wasn't for the fact that multiple people are staring at him.
"Erm, I'm Grian?"
Before he could reply, another person pushed the Swedish out of the way. He wore a blue shirt and had a shaggy hair cut, and seemed kind. Grian relaxed a bit but was still very wary.
"'lright, howdy!" He began. "Joe Hills here. 'scuse their rude manners, we don't get new hermits very often, y'know?" This Joe says with a faint southern accent could be heard, however not as heavy as the former.
Grian stretched his wings out of nervousness. This was all very much a shock, "Hermits? What are you all going on about? Am I going to die?" He rambled. Obviously, very confused.
"Uh, right, X, can you explain?" Someone had said, the one with the helmet turned towards the blonde, he was previously staring at the portal. Focused on something else. He moved his attention away and onto Grian, and sighed. He took his helmet off out of respect and held out his hand. "Nice to meet ya, the name's Xisuma, mostly everyone calls me X for short." Grian took out in wariness and shook it.
Someone started to chat in the background.
"Hold up, shouldn't we be more careful? Last time we let some random stranger in it was Evil X and we all know what happened-"
"Come on dude, Evil X wasn't that bad, he only mildly burned up the place!"
Grian ignored it and focused on Xisuma. "So, understandably, you must be really confused right now." He started. The winged brit only nodded in response. "The group here, including me, call ourselves hermits, and collectively, our adventures is called hermitcraft. Of course, you are here before us in this world, so that means you were meant to join us. Although, you did push us back towards the portal with your element. That was kind of rude of ya."
The air shifted a bit.
"E-erm, it was really not my fault?"
"What do ya mean it wasn't--"
He was starting to get really uncomfortable with the situation, Grian considered flying away at this moment, it was too much. He quickly turned around, begging his element to work with him, and jumped off a small cliff and flew off.
Summary: Mumbo’s mole duties are finally addressed.
Doc’s grip on his arm is sudden and tight.
“We need to talk.”
His voice is menacingly low, and Mumbo can feel himself getting charged from Doc. ‘Oh, this isn’t good,’ he thinks as the German practically drags Mumbo out to the battle field. He doesn’t put up much of a fight, but it’s still difficult not to stumble with Doc’s quick pace.
Ren is waiting by a seemingly stable chair once Doc and Mumbo are there. He also doesn’t look pleased, but his gaze is a bit softer than the charged man dragging the redstoner.
Mumbo is virtually thrown down into the seat. Doc’s glare is sharp and Mumbo can’t keep eye contact for longer than a couple seconds.His eyes turn to Ren’s, a bit pleadingly. Ren doesn’t offer any consolation.
He’s been found out.
“Uh. Well, what’s this,” Mumbo laughs nervously. He doesn’t know what to expect.
“You know what this is,” Doc’s voice is hard as steel and as cold as it too.
Mumbo gulps. He hears pistons move under his seat and suddenly he’s falling. He hears the shatter of a splash potion and feels the effects of poison. His yelp of surprise is a bit late and is cut off with him hitting the ground.
‘A trapped chair, huh? Clever,’ his thoughts run rampant but this is one that sticks out. He’s surrounded by apparent never ending grey. He sits up, brushes his shoulders and straightens his tie. Might as well look as presentable as possible for what’s about to happen.
“Mumbo...” Doc’s voice comes from out of the grey and Mumbo can barely pinpoint where from before the man is standing in front of him in the small space. Ren follows silently. He still looks sorry, but he doesn’t say anything.
Mumbo turns to Doc. “Did you really think you could hide from us, Mumbo?” Doc has his hand on his trident. Not a good sign. Mumbo’s hands clench into fists at his sides. It doesn’t take a psychic to tell he’s scared.
Doc gives Mumbo a smile. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small book. The so-called “Mole Orders” from G-Team he’d given to Ren. Doc holds it out to Mumbo and the suited man hesitantly reaches out. He takes the book and flips open to the page of writing, obviously scrawled by Mumbo’s hand. The smudges of redstone on the page doesn’t help much either.
He sighs as he closes the book. He clears his throat and says, “Well, you see, G-Team--” he says the title with a forced tone of distaste “--they asked me to make some traps on the battle grounds, so I told you about it- how I’ve made the traps- to warn you not to use them so I could gain your trust-”
“I think,” Doc interrupts, “that your ‘double agent’ duties are more.. triple agent duties, no?” His smile is wide and very fake. His trident is by his side now, and there’s small arcs of electricity flickering between the points.
Mumbo gulps again, feeling sweat gather on his brow. He risks a glance away from Doc to Ren, who looks more confused than anything. He’d just gotten back from taking care of urgent repairs in the HRN to have Mumbo blabbing about some “mole duties.” It makes sense that he’d go to their leader.
Mumbo curses himself in his head. ‘I was never cut out to be a mole in the first place,’ he frowns in real distaste for himself and the situation. He eyes Doc’s trident warily. The electricity arcing between the points is still there, now consonant with no flickering. His eyes flash up to Doc’s, and they do not look pleased at all.
The hair on Mumbo’s neck stands up with the electricity coursing through the air, and he has no doubt that Ren’s hair is too. He takes a step back, almost tripping over the chair and his back hits a wall. The space is even smaller than he’d thought. He’s trapped.
Ren visibly tenses with panic as he watches the scene unfold. Doc takes a slow step towards Mumbo, his hand gripping the trident tighter, his dark eyes boring into Mumbo’s wide ones. There is no smile on his face now.
-----
“Hello!?” A high-pitched British voice calls from above. Mumbo almost falls in relief.
Grian’s here. He’s safe.
Doc stands up straight and his trident stops sparking. He looks extremely dis-pleased by this timing. “Stay. Here.” He points at Mumbo with a scowl. Mumbo flinches back, not wanting to be shocked. “Don’t come out until I tell you to.”
Doc leaves as quickly as he had first shown up, Ren lingers for a moment to give Mumbo a sorrowful look. Mumbo glares in return. Ren wasn’t expecting that response apparently, as his eyes widen in shock before he scampers off with Doc. Seems Mumbo can be scary when he wants to as well.
There’s faint conversation from above. Doc had put on his happy façade again from what Mumbo could hear. He suspects Grian doesn’t know why he’s been called here by the opposing team’s leader yet. This will be disappointing on both ends.
He hears their steps on the ladder. He stays put. The last thing he needs besides Grian being disappointed in him is Doc snapping and frying them all.
He listens to them chat for a moment longer before Doc’s voice rings out, “Mumbo!” That must be his cue. He schools his face, takes a breath and walks through the fake wall, trying to be prepared for whats sure to come.
He’s met with a face of such disappointment that it stops him in his tracks. His line of a mouth is replaced by a small frown. He hesitates to move any further than he has.
He doesn’t know which side to stand on. They’re equally unwelcoming.
Grian starts to sigh but cuts himself off to help stabilize his tall mustached friend. Ren had pushed him.
“Oh, Mumbo,” Grian let’s his sigh out and turns to Doc, knowing what the German wants. Payment.
Mumbo stands quietly behind Grian as negotiations are made.
