boxfullofzeroes | voicetest the voiceless

voicetest the voiceless

They're not dead.

Less dead than they'd felt, at least. Their shell doesn't normally take so long to reform.

Then again. Their shell doesn't usually break of their own violation as they ascended in a boiling rage, ate at least one realm, a god, and all the Godseekers.

(That last point is debatable, actually. There's some odd sense, deep under their...shell? Void? Wherever they once stored things like Isma's Tear, much deeper now...that the sea-mind is still there, sluggish and held in a stasis. They're already adjusting enough, and they don't seem to be dying or trying to kill them, so that problem is neatly sorted as 'for later'.)

They push their body to stand. Their horn clangs uncomfortably loudly against the grate they've apparently woken up beneath. They're somewhere in the Royal Waterways. A quick check of the map--or, not so quick, as it takes time to locate where it had been--shows they've risen about halfway through, closer to the City of Tears than the White Palace. They'll go to the Stag Station in the City Storerooms next.

So they think. Complications arise on the way.

The Infection is gone, leaving dead Flukes, Pilflips, and Hwurmps in piles enough it takes time to force their way past. Their body seems too small. No, their body is fine--there's something wrong with perception itself. That will take time to adjust to.

Then, they discover the Monarch Wings now stretch and warp when used, twisting around the nearest pipes after landing before the Knight forcibly calls them back. Shade Wings, they decide to call these.

Once they're high enough to hear the rain above, they realize a noise they'd ascribed to water running in the distance is, in fact, something swirling behind their mask. Many somethings. All the fragments of Siblings with enough self left, staring out from their eyes. It's disconcerting.

By the time they actually get out of the Waterways, they're using their Shade Wings to grip ledges and drag themselves up, with those holding onto things better than their own arms are with the Mantis Claw.

The Knight faceplants awkwardly onto the floor of the building Lemm's shop is in. If the City is the same as below, there's little left to try killing them in the area.

They'll just take a moment here, thanks.

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"Ah! Good! Obviously. I'd be no use in-" Just his mistake to talk over their second line, but he stops in his tracks as soon as he reads the first part of it. "Oh..."

He'd had a concern there that something might be expected of him - it would have been setting him up to fail. It's a relief this isn't the case. More than that... The Knight is just telling him. Because they thought he'd like to know.

What.

Lemm attempts to rally his usual level of acrimony and only half-succeeds.

"Well. Correct. The Hollow Knight lives, that's relevant to my-" not to his work, he already agreed on that, can't use that as a get-out-of-jail-card "-to me."

His posture closes in a little, and he looks away - it's very foreign to say exactly what's on his mind, and he obviously doesn't like the way it tastes.

"It is relevant to me. But you didn't have to tell me a thing. I'm just someone who spent too long staring at a statue."

The Knight simply taps their last two lines.

They know. They're capable of keeping secrets by nature--by design. And they choose not to. Lemm's partly put-on harshness is not the same as unnecessary, pointed cruelties. They have no wish to keep it as a potential shock for later. They've found they can trust him with their words, and they trust him with this much.

"...Get well, then. Or - no, don't pass that on. Urgh." Eyes locked on the writing, Lemm rests his head against his hand, and one finger taps his forehead as he thinks on how to explain himself.

The Knight has a lot to handle. Lemm's got nothing to offer but stories, and none of them have ever been his. He would like to be part of something. It's a mean little thought, that.

"I won't breathe a word," he says simply.

The reassurance is appreciated.

Perhaps Lemm can meet their sibling one day. They won't taunt Lemm with that, however. They don't know how long that recovery could take, or what their wishes about visits and travels might be in the open future.

For now, the Knight slices off the bit of paper they'd wrote on and quietly tucks it away. The rest of the paper remains--they'd rather not waste a limited resource that belongs to someone else.

Now. They sit up, attentive. They're ready for other questions.

Right. Things are moving on, and thank goodness. Lemm takes a firm grasp of the part of him that's getting invested and holds it underwater until it stops moving.

"...I guess," he starts, a little wobbly, "if you aren't running off, we have some time to work. I'll be back to citing you as long as it suits."

Luckily he's prepared a mental list to fall back on. Makes it easier to steady up.

"Monomon the Teacher. Tell me what you know."

Moving on, before one of them tries to discuss further than needed.

Monomon...they don't know much about the Dreamers. Enough to know she's a more complicated one. They swirl the tip of the quill around the inkwell for a moment, thinking. (They add a mental note to check the Archives again. They'll likely forget, but it's worth a try.)

Monomon the Teacher. Apparently head of the Teacher's Archives. Dreaming inside, guarded by countless Ooma and Uoma, Charged Lumaflies, and one giant intelligent being similar to the former creatures, known as Uumuu.

Decided to enact additional protection. Used some sort of spellwork on her mask that left her impossible to reach with the Dream Nail alone. Her head and upper body appeared to be missing/intangible?

The mask was entrusted with Quirrel. They draw a loose sketch, adding Monomon's mask atop his head last.

I do not know their exact relationship. He holds her in great esteem. He took the mask and left Hallownest, losing most memories in the process. He returned around when I did with just as little understanding of his origins here, though it seems some came back over time, or were buried and surfaced(?) We met periodically in our travels through Hallownest.

Quirrel said she "called" him for that reason and believed she may have "called" me as well. (This was not the case.)

Monomon explicitly desired for for the Seals to be broken, discovered through the Dream Nail after the mask was returned.

Edited 2022-11-17 22:44 (UTC)

Lemm's finger taps restlessly on the desk as he reads whatever they're putting down a bit faster than they can write it.

"The see-through things? Unpleasant to look at and to touch..." The mask talk gets a slow nod. "I saw that one pass by, I think. Very conversational." By Lemm's disapproving tone, he probably didn't reciprocate. But he has something to impart here, and as soon as the Knight looks like they've come to a stop he holds up a hand - or rather holds it over the paper since that's what they're looking at.

Lemm takes up his quill and, daringly, puts his pen to their paper at last. He underlines 'do not know their relationship', and does nothing else.

"You wear one, Knight." Lemm finds he doubts that they have the context, somehow, so he swiftly continues so that they can. They ought to. "A face is something to address, first. If you've none of your own, putting on a mask gives a bug something to look at. Taking up someone else's..." He is careful with his words, more than usual. "...You carry them with you, and you do it on purpose. I never asked him, mind you." He points his nib at the underlined bit again. "Keep it that way unless he talks first."

He moves swiftly on from that advice.

"Monomon saw the truth first, then, I'd wager, or else she broke first. Somehow I doubt it was the latter. But you're writing in present tense," he points out, and taps the page with his non-quill hand. "She lives, too, then?"

Edited 2022-11-17 23:54 (UTC)

They lean back to give Lemm room, staring at his underlining thoughtfully.

They weren't planning on pressing; they rarely need to bother. Like they told Lemm prior, many trust them, or don't worry about their presence enough to shut their mouths when they would with others. They have some doubt that Quirrel would act so massive-mandibled now, knowing so much more than before about her, and some about them. They'll just have to wait if there's a chance.

But that isn't why Lemm is telling them this.

After he speaks the rest of his piece, the Knight stops to set a paw on their mask, resting beneath one eye. The one where their biggest sibling mask had had shattered under the Radiance's strain. The side their Lost Kin's missing horn had been snapped off, well before they stumbled across their corpse.

The Knight dips their head.

I believe so. The Archives were locked recently. She or Quirrel had to have done that.

Herrah the Beast is alive in Deepnest, still acting as Queen over its few survivors with Hornet's assistance. She's had much recovering to do after waking. Monomon could have similar problems.

Their brief mask-touch reassures him he was right to speak up. Nothing worse than telling someone something they already know. Except not telling them something they don't, maybe.

"Two of the Dreamers live," he recounts. "The Hollow Knight lives. The Lord of Shades emerges from obscurity and haunts my shop. Weavers are still in Deepnest. Next you'll be telling me there's a bug waiting outside to take back his real estate."

Lemm shakes his head humourlessly. Learning this information is valuable, but it also means there are more sources for the work he's doing. Which means:

"I'm going to have to speak with them, aren't I. It's a fine mess I've gotten myself into."

They doubt at least that, and shake their head to indicate as much. Not many City survivors, unless this turns out to be Sly's shop from the past. They'd prefer that not to be the case.

(No matter they're the Lord of Shades and that he set down his Nail, he destroyed them more times than they'd like to admit in Godhome. They'd rather not get into a dispute.)

Hesitation, looking to Lemm with their quill hovering over nothing. They...don't know if he should. It's still unsafe, and they inform him of such.

Deepnest is unwelcoming. They're still few in numbers, trying push against the Mantids. Their collective health is lacking and they will likely be defensive.

I do not know about the Archives yet.

He's quick to emphasise: "I don't mean right now! Just how foolhardy do you think I am?" Besides, it's a terrifying prospect. Herrah the Beast. Sounds like she might eat him. Maybe he'll send a letter.

Lemm heaves a sigh, though, and resigns himself before the Knight can talk him out of it. (Still kind of hoping they will, but alas, some things must be done.)

"There are other pieces to Hallownest's past than just yours, unfortunately for both of us, and now I know they can speak for themselves. If you're wanting a proper account I'll need to make some visits." He looks vaguely unhappy about it. "Besides that, Monomon's a Teacher. No doubt if I present this wrong I'll find a copy of my work on my doorstep, torn to shreds and put back together with red ink."

The Knight is still skeptical. That's good to know, though.

You act annoyed as though you're about to go over without notice. I thought I should make sure. The ruins

--are why he's in Hallownest in the first place. He had to have gotten down here somehow.

Lemm should be fine. They don't need to be...concerned.

They awkwardly waver, considering crossing out the start of the sentence. It's too late. The words are already there. Irritation and embarrassment spikes their writing into something a little more messy.

--are particularly dangerous where Cornifer couldn't reach.

"I'm not stupid." Hackles are up, a bit! Lemm folds his arms. "And I told you I don't go in for idol worship. It's good advice, but I'll go where I like. Not you nor that stuffy stick-in-the-mud up in Dirtmouth can do a thing about it."

...He knows he's being petulant, and missing the point. Too late now. Just like the Knight, the words are already out. Old habits have him cranky even when there's serious business afoot.

"You act like you think I've never left my shop."

They could, and they barely refrain from pointing that out, because he knows they probably wouldn't. They don't want to ramp up old anxieties about the Lord of Shades.

Elderbug worries. I think that's somewhat sensible of someone in his place. Was Dirtmouth just him when you arrived as well? While they're trying to move away from their own concern, the curiosity behind the question isn't false. They don't know how long Lemm's been here. With the strange stasis keeping the likes of Hornet and Nailsmith alive (setting aside Quirrel), it could be far longer than they've previously thought.

...No answer-back? Lemm is almost too surprised to stay peeved. He stiffly nods.

"Just him. I've never been back, but the mapmaker stopped by a little while before you did and let me know he'd be about. Bought a journal off him. I think he'd rather have sold me his work."

Well, he has now, technically, with the Knight as go-between. Cornifer might wonder who it was for unless they told him - and that suits Lemm well enough.

He's not quite done being salty, though. "Ordinary bugs like C- the cartographer and I are capable enough."

Irritation rises above their own unexamined feelings. If Lemm insists on not moving on, the Knight will oblige. Cornifer had gotten through plenty of Hallownest--and he'd been hiding and terrified of being eaten in one of the places Lemm wants to get more information from.

I found the corpses of other bugs who must've thought the same. A lot of them made it far. I sold some of their journals to you.

He narrows his eyes. "And? Why do you think I read them so carefully? You learn what killed the first nine bugs to walk in somewhere and you're probably not about to be the tenth!"

Deep down he wants to remind himself they're well-meaning, but he can't just let it go, not when he can feel his pride sizzling at the idea they might think he's fragile. (And he is when compared to a grand shadowy Lord. What must he look like to them, really?)

"If you're the type to go looking for relics, you don't last long if you don't have common sense. But you don't go looking at all unless you're prepared to take the risk. Understand?" He makes an irritated sound and flickers a hand dismissively. "You obviously want the story told, and I want to tell it properly. I'll do what I have to. But I won't stick my foot in an Aspid's nest."

The air is crushing.

The Knight is looking at Lemm. After the utterly dismissive gesture, the Knight is not seeing Lemm. They're seeing--seeing a cicada warrior who boldly, brightly greeted them as soon as they crossed paths and who they rescued from her own mistake and desperate terror by complete accident. They're seeing the first being in Hallownest who fought beside them gored through. It's really everything I could have ever hoped for--

It's not the same. She wished for that. Lemm does not. But Cloth is another body among bodies among bodies.

Apologies for not wishing you like everybody ELSE in this fucking kingdom

They were going to keep going. The quill drags off the paper in a sharp, ugly line. They need to leave. They need to leave.

They need to LEAVE.

The world explodes in black.

The Shade Lord crashes to the ground no great distance from the smithy.

Edited 2022-11-18 12:30 (UTC)

"Well, there's no need for that-" Lemm begins, already thinking yes there is, you know there is

and - the sudden cry of shock is silent, because it happens at the same time as a Void explosion that knocks things off shelves and Lemm off his seat and makes his hearing ring very strange. It is like the world ended very briefly and came back.

Lemm dimly registers their last note when it flutters down and lands on his face.

He is thinking about everything they've told him all at once.

"C-cruel," he mutters, and shakily tries to pull himself up by the edge of his desk. A final journal rolls off the edge of a shelf and thuds noisily against his horn on the way down. "Ouch! Cruel, that's what you are. You knew everything and you still couldn't... couldn't help yourself."

A beat. He's upright, more or less. Unsteady is fine. Some papers float to the floor.

If he doesn't go now he's deathly afraid he never will, so Lemm staggers to the door and looks for dark.

Edited 2022-11-18 15:39 (UTC)

It wasn't only Cloth. Cloth was...happy. She was, missing her Nola, proud of her end. That was a kind of peace. They disagreed she should have found it, but that peace was hers. They Knight could grasp their composure if it was her alone.

The Journals were meant as a point. It was a good point. It tears open jagged wound that pours memory. There were so many bodies they'd passed by with only distant pity. With the bugs encamped at Kingdom's Edge, smothered in ash, final miserable thoughts about how they were trapped--someone yet bowing to an Idol in Crystal Peak, still only thinking of their King--down the well just beneath Dirtmouth, one who must've been a former resident, only thinking about how they were almost home, never to make it up the final length of chain--

Here, now, on the platforms they traversed to get to the Nailsmith. Many corpses were curled up there before they ever passed through, ones somehow dead in ways the Dream Nail couldn't pull a last memory from.

Their emotions fragment and echo, the Knight at the forefront and their Siblings reflecting it back, the whole of the Void roiling and overwhelmed.

The Lord of Shades is an agitated mass where the landscape of the City began shifting to the Fungal Wastes'.

At the bottom of the lift, Lemm has to pick a direction, so he picks the one that's colder. The air still feels oppressive along that way, in some barely-conscious gut feeling that probably comes from some innate primal sense rather than from any logical thought.

He mutters to himself the whole way, his balance still unsteady with his head pounding like that. Mostly it's poisonous little jabs aimed inward, prodding at himself and demanding to know - first of all - why he thought he was getting away with it? Then why he would want to! To them. Of all people, to the little - to the Knight, to the Lord of Shades, to - to the little wanderer and (his insides turn sick) to the others, wasn't it, too, really?

What a piece of work he is.

His mind is hazy and his thoughts are turned so hard inward he almost stumbles straight into a curling pool of black. Lemm just barely staggers to a halt at its edge.

He'd meant to say something when he found them, but Void in the throes of grief is not a sight even Lemm is numb to, he needs a second, he can't see this and think, he needs to run actually, he needs-

-it's not about him.

"Knight?"

Those were small faces they hadn't known, dying alone and left without the natural dignity of rot. There was Cloth, still, who they can't forget. There was Tiso, arrogant, oriented perfectly to his goal. He made it where he wanted, and it still killed him before success. It likely would have killed him after.

So many dead where they couldn't reach without shattering themselves. The wilder passages lined with spikes and their victims. Empty shells of who fell great heights and lacked the wings or bodies that could take the landing. Camps and trails and tiny groups walking to the same fate.

The muddled shape of Lord of Shades is surrounded by Nails, jutting up from the ground like grave markers. Imperfect tries. Possibly true monuments, when there was anyone left to bother.

Lemm. Lemm is here, again, again.

A mess of a head tears its way from the center of the mass. They are close, too close, building-size face looming above a common bug, claws sinking into the path on either side.

He's taking a risk, isn't he. Face this monster, face a so-called god, face a terrible thing that devoured Higher Beings and ate realms and killed their way through the ruins long before they could do any of that, all for the sake of collecting relics and history for himself.

Edited 2022-11-18 22:13 (UTC)

He's thought about taking one up before. A Nail, that is. He thought about it when he moved in, and again when the Nailsmith... moved out. I'm mean enough without one, he's always maintained, half-joking, never meaning quite that. Well.

"Knight," he tries, again. His head is pounding.

There was a pile of written attestations on his desk, most of which now lie strewn about his empty shop. He found them perfectly trustworthy back then, because a little wanderer wrote them. He is looking at the Lord of Shades.

Lemm holds the two tightly in his head and, finally, forces himself to see both.

As the vast dark volume of the Lord of Shades presses in, Lemm's hand reaches blindly for the nearest Nail handle.

...And he leans on it, heavily, and presses a hand to his forehead as he stares up at the vast darkness and at those eyes daring him to say something.

"Grubby little wanderer," he dares. "I haven't been very responsible."

Edited 2022-11-18 22:47 (UTC)

They loom. Look at him, risking. Look at him, holding a blade they don't know if he could even lift if he tried, could hardly bite into their shadowy not-shell. Look at someone who could go and fall and die, under their claws, anywhere, and nobody would go looking.

...Nobody but the Knight. Now. If they weren't aware, or the cause. Lemm would have been nothing not so long ago. Another body, another loss, another soft regret lost in a kingdom mired in them.

Dirt and stone creak beneath giant claws. Their form shudders.

No movement beyond that. They're listening.

Nobody would look for him. Lemm has never expected anything different. That's the trouble.

"You as good as warned me." His hand tightens on the handle of the discarded Nail. "No one's ever been responsible."

His posture wilts just a notch. He's not holding the Nail because he thinks to take it up. The thought has not crossed his mind today. It is a very real worry that he might buckle in the middle of this and he has important things to say.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm not very good at it. Come back."

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begrudging respect!

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