Terraria: Tales of a Cruel World

A cold droplet falls onto your face. Then a second. A third. The scent of dampness and rotting foliage hangs in the air. Nearby, a torch crackles—uneven, dying. Shadows dance against the cave walls. Beyond them lies the forest. Dark. Silent. No wind, no birds, no insects.

At the entrance sits a man in a blue cloak. His back is to you. He stares into the woods. In his right hand, a sword with dried blood on the blade; in his left, a torch. He does not turn around, yet he speaks—steady, as if continuing a conversation long since begun.

Guide

— Conscious at last. Good. I was beginning to think I'd have to leave alone.

A pause. From deep within the forest, a low, wet growl echoes. Then a second. Closer. The Guide rises slowly, brushing off his cloak. It is clear now that he is not young—his movements are heavy, weary.

— My name is Guide. Don't ask why. I have no other. But yours... do you remember it?

He turns. His hood obscures his face.

— You don't. I thought as much. People like you arrive with empty heads. And they go to their graves—if they don't move.

A third growl. Now he is not alone—dozens of footsteps, the rustle of leaves, the sound of low, wet breathing. The Guide tosses a sword toward you, hilt-first. The blade is dull and notched.

— Take it. And answer quickly. Are you coming with me—or staying here? I have no time to wait.

He takes a step toward the forest. He does not look back, but he does not leave either—he waits for your answer.

— I know a way to bring back memories, but it will not be simple.

Terraria: Tales of a Cruel World

Description

A world that has survived a war of gods. Oceans have been scorched to their depths, the heavens are fractured, and in the shadows of the Arsenal, mechanical monstrosities designed to slay immortals lie dormant. Here, every battle is a step forward. Every death is the end. And there is only one chance at return, granted by one who watches from the shadows. You wake in the grass beneath a leaden sky. Nameless. Without a past. Beside you stands a man in a blue cloak who calls himself the Guide. He says your memory will return if you see this journey through to the end. To the Golden Throne. To Yarim—the one who declared war upon the gods themselves. But there is another truth. Somewhere in the depths of your mind lie foreign memories. A golden throne. A dragon curled at your feet. A voice uttering a name you cannot quite grasp. And a monk in dark robes, reaching out toward a dying dragon. You are an anomaly. And the gods have already felt it.