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cyclicalaberration · 3 years

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Unrecorded Histories

Eret is a historian. The server changes so fast that events get forgotten in less than two months sometimes, so trying to preserve it was crucial. Historians are few and far between nowadays, griefing and abandonment and time decaying all documents.

They have only known one other, but he is highly specialized, knowing more about the wastelands of 2B2T than any has cared to know in decades, as the warzone was under constant change.

Recording history is hard on many servers, but it feels that the SMP is harder to record than most. Few people remember more than a decade back, and most information is lost faster than that with the amount of times old builds have been griefed. Eret has been around a long time, and they are still learning new things.

It’s ironic that the one dedicated to preserving history cannot remember their own.

They remember a city of four, they remember white eyes. They remember the smell of spruce wood, coal dust and ozone. They remember the squelch of netherrack, redstone particles, gold. They have always hidden their eyes. They didn’t use to hide their eyes. Conflicting accounts. They remember thunderstorms.

They remember being loved, they remember dancing. They remember singing, and spinning, and laughing. They do not remember more from before the SMP.

They have no problem remembering the smp, the horrors, the hurt. They have no problem remembering the torment. They do not remember the life they led before.

They sit upon the pedestal in their castle, staring as the redstone particles dance. They and Foolish have been searching for weeks, to no avail. They don’t remember. The netherrack is warm beneath them, and it pulses every once in a while. They don’t remember. They don’t even know what they are.

Their glasses sit in front of them. They stare at their reflection, blank white eyes staring back at them. Nobody reacts well to their eyes, only Foolish. Decay creeps up their fingers again, the withering lingering as their hands, their cheekbones, their chest, burn. They have never died to a wither, but they have the lingering effects of one who’s withered a thousand times over. Their joints creak and they massage their hands.

They don’t even know what they are. A hybrid, certainly, but they don’t know what their other half is.

“Okay, now he’s just Herobrine,” echoes through their head, Philza’s first reaction upon seeing their eyes. They can’t shake that name.

They shove their glasses on their face with shaky hands, gloves hiding their ashen fingertips, and clip their cape on, gold clasp gleaming with the crest of their kingdom, a kingdom near dissolved. Their crown sits unworn. They don’t need it where they’re going.

“Eret! Old pal! What brings you to my temple?” Foolish drops the sandstone he was moving, turning to face them, rows of teeth betraying nothing but excitement, emerald eyes shining. The gold beacon on his pyramid spins, and Eret takes a deep breath.

“Hey Foolish.” Foolish’s face falls, and he shrinks down so they’re the same height,

“The withering bothering you again?” Eret nods. There was no point in denying it, the ash was creeping out from under their glasses. They massage their hands again, ignoring the burning in the middle of their chest, the pain where their glasses press on the withering skin, but that wasn’t why they’re here.

“That’s not why I’m here. I just-.” They flinch as another bolt of pain shoots through them, but this time it doesn’t fade. Their face burns and itches and screams in agony, and when it pulses again, they bite their tongue so hard it bleeds, the taste of iron filling their mouth. They’re blind with pain. Their eyes burn, their face burns, their hands burn. They try and speak and they start to cough, each cough sending more pain shooting through their body.

They are sitting down when they can think again. They don’t know when that happened. They can see again shortly after, unimpeded by sunglasses. Foolish is crouched in front of them.

“Old pal, that isn’t phantom pain! That’s active withering! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Withering- usually isn’t that bad.”

“Withering- Withering has a lot of long term consequences! In most mortals, repeated withering can cause cataracts, loss of joint function, temporary paralysis, night terrors, insomnia- Eret, how many withers have you fought recently?”

“I don’t remember- twelve? Maybe? Twelve I’ve used for beacons.” Foolish’s jaw goes slack, and another, smaller, spasm of pain shoots through them.

“Have you properly- of course you haven’t. Foolish, foolish, of course they were gonna be rediscovered-”

“What are you talking about?” Eret looks up at him, trying to climb to their feet on shaking legs. Foolish offers them a hand and they take it, leaning on him.

“Remember when I mentioned the wither cult? We tried to stop it from happening again, destroyed all information we could get our hands on. We were young and stupid, and of course it’d be rediscovered in this area. Lets see if I have the stuff to take care of this-” Foolish’s hand hovers just over Eret’s ashy cheek, just under their eyes- “You just stay here, I have to look for my supplies.” Foolish helps them to sit on the tail of his snake statue, and starts to dig through his chests, muttering quietly.

“There’s not much I can do to keep it away until the withering retreats, but this should make it hurt less, and send it away faster.” Foolish pulls out a tube of what looks like homemade burn cream, but darker, and wipes it over their face, letting them massage it into their hands. “Is there any other decay I should know about?”

Eret nods, dropping their cape and gesturing towards their back. Foolish hisses.

“How long?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Drink this.” He hands them an instant health potion, and then a glass of milk. “Can I help you with this?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, you really outdid yourself old pal. I thought you might’ve learned your lesson, but you really haven’t changed that much.”

Eret smiles, and Foolish stands up and steps back, handing them back their cape. “I have another potion after this, but until the decay decreases, I don’t think there’s much more we can do. So let’s get to the bottom of this memory loss then.”

Herobrine is a god. He is a god with empty eyes. He is a god who floats. He is a god who builds. He is a god of fear. He is older than the nether. He saw wither skeletons with their flesh still tied to their charred bones. He saw the river that flowed through the soulsand valleys. He saw the nether in its prime. He is older than Prime. He is older than XD.

He strips trees of their leaves, leaving them twisting, skeletal husks in the dead of summer. He is a mischievous god, a vindictive god, an evil god, a god of chaos. He saw the monuments when they still saw the sun, unflooded and unguarded, still worshipped at. He saw the temples worshipped at, he saw the mine shafts dug. He saw the fortresses built, the strongholds the last ditch effort to avoid the devastation.

He is older than the end.

He is old, and he got bored. And boredom makes gods antsy, makes them stressed, makes them bored. Bored gods are dangerous gods. And Herobrine had been bored for centuries. So it was to be expected that upon his first contact with another being, he caused mischief. He was a bit vindictive, perhaps.

But Steve grew used to him, and Alex grew exasperated, and he grew fond of the adventurers. He couldn’t scare them any longer, and eventually they grew fond of him as well.

Eventually, in their travels, they set up a base. And he built. Alex and Steve would hunt, farm, explore, mine, but he would build. He built cities, villages. And sometimes, sometimes he would strip forests of their leaves, but only if he was extremely, extremely bored.

Finding a child in the nether was the strangest event in a few centuries, but that didn’t say much. Finding a godling was.

He named it Eret. Alex was confused, Steve was adoring, Herobrine would die for them.

Eret grew slowly, as godlings tend to do. They were smart, and fast, and at some point they set out, exploring new areas of the world, and they returned, a totem of death in tow. Eret and Foolish, as he had been named, were close. They were ever so close, and ever so chaotic. Herobrine laughed, when the angel of Death visited to tell him that his kid was interfering with the Blood God’s business.

Alex was less amused. Steve found the whole thing rather endearing.

Eret was home for a while, telling them about a time traveller they met, when they were summoned. They were there, and then they were not, and he had no idea where they went. Steve said they’d be fine, Alex sent out letters to everyone they could think of, and Herobrine sent a letter to Foolish.

Foolish sent him back a letter, saying they were fine, saying they were alive, in a land of XD’s making, a land where he had no power. He didn’t know it would affect their memory.

Eret shakes their head, the sand hot against their skin, in shock.

“I- I don’t remember. I’m so sorry, Foolish.”

“You will. In time, you will, I promise. We will figure this out together, old pal, on my word, I will help you. And if you don’t remember, we’ll make new ones. Now,” Foolish slides a disc into his jukebox and bows to them, extending one hand. “Let’s start here. May I have this dance?”

#Long post #Eternal duo #dream smp fic #dream smp #the eret #Foolish Gamers #Foolish G #Wither Lore #mic writes

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