In the curtained shadows of his resting place, the Troupe Master bides his time. A dead Kingdom is in no hurry for the Ritual, and the Ritual is in no hurry for its summoner. The Heart beats the slow and somnolent pulse of the interlude.
Kin pass the meantime steadily, sweeping and checking and double-checking and occasionally pitching small, fiery rehearsals. Until the Ritual is complete, the Troupe idles.
Until it does not.
All at once, every single member of the Grimm Troupe freezes and looks up - at each other, or at the middle distance, suddenly alert. The Nightmare's Heart skips a beat.
And then it thunders. The Troupe Master's eyes snap open, and he vanishes from his perch in a wash of flame.
There is nothing quite like a wake-up call through Dream. There is even less like one from a being that swallowed a god. To have such a thing brush so dangerously close will not stand. The Nightmare's Heart must perpetuate, and for this the threat of extinguishing must be addressed.
Elderbug staggers back in horror as a rush of scarlet flame spears past him and through Dirtmouth, and pitches down the well. At the bottom, Grimm lands in a perfect acrobat's crouch amid a roll of flame and pauses, motionless, for only a moment. The Heart knows: that way. He pushes off, driven by something not quite as mindless as instinct but with all the same force.
The Knight has few warnings in very short succession. The cold, Void-charged air presses up against a sudden bank of warmth from the east passage - and then something beyond there displaces in a snap, in a similar way that it does for a Dream Gate.
A shape bursts from the residual flames just a platform's length away, eyes burning like the embers of the dead Kingdom and wings coiled into a lance-like point, and rushes.
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syntheid
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Date: 2023-04-02 08:26 pm (UTC)In the curtained shadows of his resting place, the Troupe Master bides his time. A dead Kingdom is in no hurry for the Ritual, and the Ritual is in no hurry for its summoner. The Heart beats the slow and somnolent pulse of the interlude.
Kin pass the meantime steadily, sweeping and checking and double-checking and occasionally pitching small, fiery rehearsals. Until the Ritual is complete, the Troupe idles.
Until it does not.
All at once, every single member of the Grimm Troupe freezes and looks up - at each other, or at the middle distance, suddenly alert. The Nightmare's Heart skips a beat.
And then it thunders. The Troupe Master's eyes snap open, and he vanishes from his perch in a wash of flame.
There is nothing quite like a wake-up call through Dream. There is even less like one from a being that swallowed a god. To have such a thing brush so dangerously close will not stand. The Nightmare's Heart must perpetuate, and for this the threat of extinguishing must be addressed.
Elderbug staggers back in horror as a rush of scarlet flame spears past him and through Dirtmouth, and pitches down the well. At the bottom, Grimm lands in a perfect acrobat's crouch amid a roll of flame and pauses, motionless, for only a moment. The Heart knows: that way. He pushes off, driven by something not quite as mindless as instinct but with all the same force.
The Knight has few warnings in very short succession. The cold, Void-charged air presses up against a sudden bank of warmth from the east passage - and then something beyond there displaces in a snap, in a similar way that it does for a Dream Gate.
A shape bursts from the residual flames just a platform's length away, eyes burning like the embers of the dead Kingdom and wings coiled into a lance-like point, and rushes.