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When Tango is shoved through the portal with the two other hermits, he expects to appear directly where Tommy is.
Apparently, however, Xisuma had neglected to mention that all three of them would end up in completely separate places on this weird server. It’s cold, similar to his base, except it’s a bitter cold. Not the type of cold that makes you want to wrap someone up in blankets, but rather one that feels angry and harsh, an unforgiving environment.
Snow whips at his face, clawing at his skin until it feels rubbed raw, and every single step feels like he’s taking a thousand. No wonder Tommy is so weak and tired, Tango thinks absentmindedly, trudging through the snow with slow steps, if he had to deal with this every day. It’s like some sort of apocalyptic wasteland or something!
Every footprint he leaves in the crunchy powder immediately fills up with snow again, covering his tracks with frightening ease. Tango doesn’t remember the last time he experienced a winter this harsh, if ever.
Soon enough, however, he sees a faint light in the distance, and as he makes his way closer, he sees a small shed next to two wooden houses that seem to be interconnected. The lights are on in the houses, and Tango doesn’t want to risk being spotted in case something happens.
So, with careful and precise motions (and unbelievably thankful for his giant robes), he reaches the little shed-thing. It looks to be a small house with a tiny fence, although it looks almost pathetic next to the houses. Sure, the houses are small, but they’re well-made, and incredibly cute.
Tango takes a step inside the tiny house to see that it’s… well, it’s absolutely hideous on the inside. The carpet is rough and worn, most likely from constant pacing and not enough vacuuming, and an ugly mixture of red and green that makes it look like Christmas ate too much Taco Bell.
It’s no warmer in this shed than it is outside, but at least there isn’t snow whipping at his nose constantly, so Tango pulls out his communicator.
Etho: looks like we’re separated!
falsesymmetry: I’m inside a giant crater. I’ll send my coordinates, and we can meet up here.
Tango: sounds good! I’m in a shed in the snow.
Etho: i’m next to a beach, lots of driftwood, an old tent. i think this might have been where Tommy was exiled.
Tango frowns at his communicator, but when False sends the coordinates to where she is, he figures he should brush off the snow on his robes and get going.
That is, until he sees what looks to be a tail similar to his own in the corner.
Oh no! I’ve been found! Quick, make up an excuse!
“Hey,” he says in an attempt to be friendly, stretching out the “y” by an uncomfortable amount, “it’s really cold out there, so I just decided to pop in here for a sec. Sorry about that! I’ll be out of your hair in no—”
“You got my signal.”
Tango is interrupted by a voice, low and deep yet also shy and hesitant, like he isn’t quite sure if they deserve to be speaking.
What was once a tail is now an entire… person?
Their body is split down the middle, half black and half white, with one red and one green eye, cat-like pupils narrowing and dilating at the sight of Tango.
Yeah… sometimes, being scary-looking doesn’t benefit Tango, especially when people’s first impressions of him are burning flames and shark-like teeth.
They’ve got some similar traits, though, like pointed ears and the tail with the little fuzz at the end, and the other person seems to notice as well.
“Sorry, I—I sent out a distress signal. When it showed Tommy died, and then logged out, well, I was relieved. So relieved, honestly, I—I was proud of him. I knew that anywhere would’ve been better than here, and knowing that was enough to push past… um…”
They falter just then, wringing clawed hands together nervously. They’re incredibly tall, wearing a tattered and ruined suit with a red fur cloak over it, like Ren’s royal cape. Despite how tall and spindly they are, sort of like Mumbo but inhuman and taller, they seem meek.
“What’s your name?” Tango blurts out.
Yeah, he should be focused on saving Tommy, but this poor guy seems just as traumatized as Tommy was when he first arrived, just in a different way.
And, who knows, maybe he can convince him to come along?
The person’s mouth opens, like they weren’t expecting that question, and their tail flicks nervously, a beating metronome of fear and tension. “Ranboo,” they eventually say, choking a bit on the words.
With careful, measured steps, Tango walks up to Ranboo and gently grabs their shaky, clawed hands with his own.
“Are you friends with Tommy?” he asks.
Ranboo nods.
“Do you know where he is?”
Ranboo nods again, tears brimming in their multicolored eyes but not quite spilling.
“Will you take me to him?”
Ranboo opens their mouth to respond, refusing to look into Tango’s eyes, and a pathetic whimper slips out of his throat.
The tears spill out, sizzling on their skin and opening up scarred wounds, blood mixing with the tears in a toxic poison that just makes the watery acid pools fall faster. Little vwoops and chirrs click out of their throat, sounding oddly like an Enderman, and Tango feels just as lost as he was with Tommy.
Well, not really.
With Tommy, he could crack a joke and ease the tension with a practiced tease, causing the boy to double over in loud, screeching guffaws.
This person seems… fragile.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Tango asks, quickly wiping the tears and blood off Ranboo’s face with a swift but gentle hand.
Ranboo takes a deep breath, carding their claws through long hair, and they eventually stare just above Tango’s forehead. “Tommy means a lot to me,” they murmur, as though this some sort of hushed secret that can be heard over the howling wind outside, “but I—I don’t choose sides. That’s not what I do.”
Ah, the neutral party. Ever the walking contradiction, aren’t they?
Tango takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. Too many fragile teenagers for me, he thinks dryly, but he tries to give Ranboo the most comforting smile he can muster. “You’re not choosing sides,” he says, “you’re choosing Tommy.”
At that, Ranboo’s pupils dilate just a fraction, and his tail stops whipping back and forth anxiously. Eventually, they crack a small smile, little fangs poking out from their thin lips. “Tommy really needs people like you,” they tell him.
With a determined nod, Ranboo grabs a particularly nasty-looking battle axe from the wall and opens the door. As they turn to look at Tango, their long hair whirls and flows in the biting wind, and they look so different from the stammering, frail creature he just spoke with.
They must really care about Tommy, Tango thinks with a smile, and he follows Ranboo outside of the small shed.
After a few minutes of walking in silence, the flurries of snow stop, and Tango can finally hear his own thoughts over the sounds of the snow. A nether portal sits innocently in front of the two of them, and Ranboo takes a deep breath.
“L’manberg was founded by Tommy’s older brother, Wilbur.”
Tango stays quiet as he stumbles into the sweltering nether, lava bubbling lazily and whispering promises of death if touched by unwelcome hands.
“Tommy idolized Wilbur, always talks about him like he holds the sun in his hands. I never got to meet the guy, but, from what I heard, he was the type of guy who could charm a snake out of its skin.”
When they’re not overthinking things, Ranboo moves with a fluid grace, like they’re barely even touching the ground as they stroll over the burning rocks, voice low and soothing.
“They staged a revolution against Dream—he’s the admin, the guy you’re looking for—and, shockingly enough, won. After a failed election, though, the two of them were banished, and, well… Wilbur took it hard. Started to slowly go mad, disregard all of his honor, and yet Tommy still followed him blindly.”
A small, sad smile graces Ranboo’s face. “Wilbur rigged the country up with TNT, and… well, I won’t go into too much detail, but he’s a ghost now, a shell of his former self. I think he’s nice enough, but Tommy always says he’s like ‘if Wilbur were a pathetic piece of crap without any of his good qualities’.”
Tango chuckles, thinking of the rare few glances he saw of a spitfire inside of the fragile and frightened Tommy. Oddly enough, I can see him doing that.
“I’d tell you the rest of the story, but…” Ranboo casts Tango a sidelong glance as the two of them exit the nether portal into a place with thankfully milder weather, “it’s not my place to tell you.”
Loyal to a fault, Tango thinks, Ranboo must be a good friend.
Outside the porta, Etho and False are sitting in the grass, stiff and uncomfortable, and Tango breathes out a sigh of relief. Oh, thank goodness, other people who can handle the baggage of an emotionally fragile teenager who has gone through—
Oh, wait.
False and Etho are terrible with that.
Tango resists the urge to groan dramatically, and he notices that Ranboo has frozen up. His mouth twitches up in a smile, amused. “What? Did you really think I wouldn’t bring backup?” he teases.
“Etho, False, this is Ranboo. They’re a friend of Tommy’s, and they know where he’s being kept.”
I am going to take them back home with me goes unsaid, but judging from False’s raised eyebrows and Etho’s crinkled eyes, they seem to get the message pretty clear.
“Dream is powerful,” Ranboo says, walking along the creaking wooden path, “he plays dirty.”
Everything seems empty, abandoned, even though there are apparently more people on this server than Hermitcraft, according to Xisuma. Half-baked builds are falling apart at the seams, and the wind whistles a haunting tune, giggling as it tousles everyone’s hair.
“We’re better.” False states, without any room for disagreement, short and blunt and straight to the point.
The hill they reach is simple yet pretty, with a wooden bench, a tree, and a jukebox. The sun is starting to set, a pretty ocean of violet and pink hues, although not quite as nice as back home.
“This is, uh, nice and all,” Tango says, scratching his head awkwardly, “but—”
Ranboo points down and presses a finger to their lips. With careful claws, they pull three invisibility potions out from their inventory, handing them out to the hermits. “I’ll be around if something happens,” they say.
When Tango turns around to thank them, all that remains is a puff of purple particles, and he can’t help but smile. Reminder, Tango: get Ranboo before we leave.
Oh, and give Dream a nice knuckle sandwich while you’re at it.
He deserves one.
Tango turns to face False and Etho, who both wear hardened expressions on their faces, weapons at their sides.
He doesn’t doubt any of their skill in battle, but he knows next to nothing about this Dream guy. He doesn’t know what’s waiting for them underground, or what condition Tommy might be in, and it’s scary.
The other hermits are probably not going to get a wink of sleep until everyone returns safely, and a shaky smile graces his lips at the thought. Yeah, it’ll be okay. If something happens, and they aren’t back soon enough, then this pathetic tragedy of a server will have to deal with everyone.
By the time the others finish, this nasty server would be nothing but a history book.
The thought brings Tango a possessive sense of comfort, and when he looks at Etho and False, he sees nothing but determined gazes and steady hands. Right, he has two of the best fighters on the whole server with him.
The three of them down the invisibility potions at the same time, and then False digs two blocks down into the dirt, revealing what looks to be a long, hastily-made dirt tunnel.
Something in Tango’s stomach churns with dread, and he feels a surge of panic, a need to make haste and just grab Tommy already.
The tunnel feels alive, poisonous, seeping with evil and treachery and everything Tommy shouldn’t be near. It’s venomous thoughts, evil ideas, sickening nightmares and nauseating fake memories.
Please, Tommy, Tango thinks as he drops into the tunnel, just hold on a little longer.
We’re going to get you.
It’s going to be okay.