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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They think to look up, and find a few broken bars where there might've been a place for spotlights. Not much otherwise.

No voice to cry suffering, rises suddenly, with bitter amusement: wrong, as everything else.

They can poke behind the bar later.

The Knight pats their mask again where no mouth is and waves for Lemm to step back.

He does, without fuss - even though he looks confused for a moment. He knows they aren't about to start singing.

The list of other things they could be about to do is not short.

Lemm is getting practice in at taking their cues; he backs up and stands himself at more of a distance, behind one of the tables. He also looks faintly curious.

Soul coalesces; their body blurs into black, and the numerous howling shrieking faces burst into being as they always have--though, unknown to the Knight, they're larger and significantly spikier.

The sight is impressive, and the thundering noise is more, rattling the bar and the bars above. The latter catch on the end of the spell and a few snap loose; it's barely an effort for the Knight to dash off the stage in a dodge.

They land on the floor, smug to themselves. Look at that spellwork.

Edited 2023-03-05 16:58 (UTC)

Lemm lurches backwards and knocks into a table, one hand grabbing at the edge and the other clutching his chest. Safe to say they scared the hell out of him!

...Also safe to say he recovers fast, because he heaves a relieved sigh that ends in a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.

"Is that what that noise was!" It had sounded the same when they'd chased off the Goam, not that he had been looking in the right direction at the time - it's a hard noise to mistake. "You're so loud! I'm surprised you haven't shattered a window."

Lemm comes up by their side once he's certain nothing else is about to fall on them, and the Knight may be pleased - he looks very impressed. After a moment examining the damage, he plants a hand acknowledgingly on their head.

"Certainly more pithy than O Towers Of My Heart, I'll give you that."

This time a show of fear is met with more amusement rather than anxiety mirroring back.

They were going to bow, but Lemm settles his hand on their mask first. They reach up to pat-pat-pat his wrist instead, and nod vigorously under his claws: the Knight's shattered many a window doing this.

Ruffled he may be, but it's generously outweighed by the novelty of seeing their spells in use. Lemm almost forgets his usual reminder:

"You won't be doing that in my shop." (It's tacked on without much fuss. He knows they won't. He still has to say it!)

Satisfied, he turns to scan the room one last time, unable to stop himself thinking of the damage they're obviously capable of doing versus the times they've reeled it in. Which are many, if he's reasonable.

"I'll have to think of somewhere I don't mind you wreaking some proper havoc. Might be interesting to see, as long as it's not taking history with it."

They nod--of course they won't--and amble vaguely towards the door, although they take a moment near the bar.

There's not a lot to interest them, so they absently push bent bits of cutlery around and pick up a few spare candles in thought.

There aren't many places without history that are also safe to go full-spell dangerous. The Blue Lake? They've likely knocked all the stalactites that were already dangerous loose.

--The Knight could potentially use some of these candles as gifts, if nothing else. They tuck a couple smaller ones away.

Lemm leaves them to their fiddling, arms folded and idly watching, but not intently - from the outside, he looks like he's barely paying attention. None of his private thoughts usually show on his face, at least not the important ones.

The shout, though. Now that he's seen it - well, the spell looks violent, but he suspects it was reined in very well. He knows he's dealing with the Lord of Shades, that it perhaps could have been far more destructive. There was a thunderous tremor to the floor when the Soul Sanctum shattered. He's making some connections here.

...Hm. And it's not a bad hm, for the advocate for delicacy and historic preservation.

Lemm unfolds his arms and goes to the door, which leads to a curling iron ramp that leads gently to ground level again. There is a park down there, across the street, still heading west. Last stop, maybe.

Lemm will be holding the door when they're ready, pretending to be interested in the decor he's seen more times than anyone else alive.

The candles smell sweet, imports of wax from the Hive in ages past, though the Knight can't know. They're just thinking of lights, and how dull everything looks under lumafly-light; most places beyond Hallownest don't have them.

Dirtmouth, at least, might have a few appreciators. They don't have illusions of much below. Fire is orange, after all.

(The Radiance, they drowned and died to inside Dream and out, but the cold light of the White Palace hooked into their mind worse.)

They scavenge a couple bowls and cutlery, chosen for sturdiness over looks, and flutter back to Lemm's side.

They pause. A park. It's only natural a City would have such, but--hm. They wait for Lemm to lead the way again.

The Knight has some taste, is what he observes. He's not one for candles himself. A lumafly's light is steadier to work by and less damaging if it's knocked. He... does understand that's rather not the point, usually. (Also, they are picking up eating utensils. For other people. Good.)

The park is quite small, and mostly paved; an iron-wrought roof of a sort arches overhead like a canopy, designed to look like leaves, though it's not solid and does nothing to keep out the rain. The pavings make swirling patterns that meet in the centre to make the usual Hallownest crest, and here and there are stone-lined shapes of damp earth that used to be planted beds, once upon a time.

There is nothing in them but dark earth now, except in a far corner where some dull-looking fungi seem to have endured, and thrived, and taken over most of the earth in that corner and a wall.

Lemm takes a meandering path towards a decorated bench, under a trellis still sporting the withered remnants of whatever was growing on it. There's a sign here - Please do not feed the Maskflies.

A tarp of sorts has been draped over the top of the trellis, and the bench is as dry as anything gets in the City of Tears.

"Not in a rush, are we?"

This park is dead as the rest of the City, anything worth admiring long gone. It's still rather pleasing to walk through, compared to the endless stone and metal of the rest. And there don't seem to be any spikes.

That there's no need to fly around here isn't important. It's the principle of the thing.

...Maybe they can snap a few off the lifts. The Lord of Shades is strong enough for that, and it's an absurd hazard anyway.

What would one feed Maskflies, they wonder, glancing the sign over before immediately settling onto the bench. Their map requires updating.

Lemm contentedly takes that as a no, and sinks onto the bench beside them.

There are no Maskflies here now, or anywhere in the City of Tears that he's actually seen. Just Vengeflies, which will apparently live almost anywhere and eat anything that moves. Lemm suspects these things are related. Shame. He'd have taken great satisfaction in disobeying that sign.

"Not much to see, now," he admits. He points up, though he's a little distant, doesn't seem to mind if they're paying attention or not. They have their map. He has his chatter. "Solid ironwork though. Surface plants, not your typical underground root cover. Might explain why there's nothing left in the beds, they planted things that didn't belong and rotated them out when they died off. S'the kind of thing you do when you're a groundskeeper in a city like this, showing off."

He's quiet for a time, staring up at the metal canopy, and then leans back against the bench and sighs, folding his arms over his chest and letting his gaze drop to the floor in front of him.

"Bugs would write about it sometimes. Took their friends here, their partners. Their children. Even the Watcher was said to pass through here on his rare way somewhere else, and that's got to have been on purpose because the bridges don't connect straight."

Another pause.

"Always liked reading about that kind of thing. S'domestic. Makes a change from all the struggling and strife and whatnot."

If there park has echoes of the past, rain on iron drowns it out.

The map is getting complicated. They write in tiny glyphs to fit the names of the places they've passed through, and finish it off with a bench pin.

The Knight's thoughts wander towards the White Lady and her Gardens again. The map is put away with some force, and they tilt their head towards their friend instead. His voice drowns that out just fine.

They have little to respond with, there. But they're here, and listening.

He didn't bring them here so he could be interesting at them, they're both figuratively off the clock. He's not worried about being interesting. But the listening is a nice bonus. He finds himself looking at them, now and then, like they're engaging in the conversation. None of this is the point, he just - can't keep quiet.

The rain on iron is the point.

"There's a record in a sentry's journal..." ...Yes, he'll tell this one. "About breaking up a fight here, just outside that park gate. A proper brawl, if you can believe it - some inebriated noble came down from the Glasswing and picked a fight with a commoner. Got himself headbutted into the Waterways so hard his antenna broke. Nasty business."

Lemm doesn't seem like he thinks so. He fidgets with his beard, looking very faintly amused.

"The commoner had, ah, mismatched horns, that's all that was said. Apparently they ran off quick enough they got away with it." A pause. Lemm glances at the Knight, somewhat conspiratorially. "There's still some graffiti on the outside of the park wall, scratched into the stone. Little picture of a bug with a snapped antenna falling in the canal. Don't think he lived that one down."

They listen. It's interesting, what he says. It's interesting because it's Lemm who's doing the telling, on top of this story being genuinely amusing.

The Knight carefully doesn't look at the top of Lemm's head.

They look in the direction of the gates and pats the bench, metal noises less jarring than damp void-paw clapping. They would've judged it as well-deserved even without the explanation.

It might have been entertaining. He hopes it was. There are limited things you can do with a historical anecdote, if you're not the one interested in it. They are patting the bench, they are not looking at -

"Heh."

He looks away, the laugh unintentional. Alright then.

"Aye, aye, we'll be leaving that way. The closest bridge by the Royal Quarter is out there."

Their map is getting complicated because it is a wider, broader view. His, at least the mental version, is of the Capital, and mostly just that. He doesn't have to consult his paper version.

They'll keep an eye out for that carved graffiti. Clever. It was a miracle that Marissa's survived, but there could be plenty of cut-in little doodles and words hidden around the City they never stopped long enough to notice.

A moment of pause before the Knight slips off and takes a side-step to the sign. This one's shellwood, not stone, weathering the endless rain only in the relative shelter of the tarp and iron.

They poke one claw in and scratch in a pair of shapes. Two curves underneath four lines, two branching in a small split and two even with little notches on the end.

He stands when they do, strapping his bag more neatly around his shoulders and squaring himself to move on.

But they're picking at the sign, and he should scold them for scribbling at something so old. Should.

Lemm comes to peer at what they've done, after they pull their paw away.

He draws back, and fidgets at his bag.

...Were here, maybe? A roll of satisfaction almost knocks him off-kilter.

Pleased, but quietly so, Lemm plaps a hand on the etched little bit of graffiti and stifles another laugh at the thought as he turns away and starts walking. Nothing he can do about the look on his face, though.

They flick a single splinter away and smugly nod. They knew he'd consider their action defacement, and they were fairly certain he wouldn't say a thing about it. Look at that, they're right.

The Knight moves a little ahead this time. A few times they poke at the dirt to reveal more dead roots, just in case there's something hidden. Once they find a 25-geo piece buried that they offer Lemm, before going off to properly look for that little bit of street art.

They are right. Lemm scritches claws against the side of his face as they walk, some sheepish idle motion he thinks he can get away with.

The geo is flagged off with an easy head-shake and a flap of his fingers. As far as he's concerned, any geo found is part of their escort payment, and has nothing to do with him. All part of the deal.

The little scraped drawing might be hard to find, if Lemm didn't catch them looking for it and come to point them right to it. It's small, something drawn into a single brick, with an unsteady hand around some tool not quite meant for etching. It is distinctly cartoonish. Amateur. Total nothing, if you're a scavenger.

Lemm snickers quietly at their shoulder.

They tuck it away for politeness' sake. It's not as though they need it. Perhaps they'll leave it somewhere in his shop later.

The Knight nearly goes right past it, Lemm's guidance definitely required.

They'd somehow been imagining something serious. The novice sketch is very amusing. They set their paw beneath it in appreciation through time: tragedy happened here, but so did something small and silly, quietly immortalized as much as anything can be.

Lemm... gives in to the urge to flick their horn, very lightly. Mischievous. ... It feels wrong as he does it, but better again when he reminds himself he is not going to be in trouble - they know him, it wasn't hard, they won't misconstrue. Right. They won't.

And yes, it's silly, it's a tiny detail of a whole history written in stone, but it's good because, not despite. Small details colour a history, make it real again - ah, none of this is spoken out loud.

Lemm turns and goes to wait by the nearest bridge across the Waterways, looking oddly cheerful for someone about to head to a graveyard.

Whirling, the Knight swipes a paw through the bottom of his beard. Revenge.

And then they fall back into step.

They wish they could somehow share the little sketch. Perhaps, if they need guide someone through the City themselves, they'll make a point to show it. Maybe even Hornet. She won't care, but the thought of her squinting at it in confusion is highly entertaining.

--They'll need to stop once they're out of the rain and actually write out their letter. The walk's relaxed them enough it'll be easier.

"Aye! Paws off! I just got it clean." This and him flapping at their paw means very little given how much Lemm is smirking as he says it. Again, teasing that goes down well.

He's in a far better mood, anyway. By that, and by getting to sit in a dingy little park with a friend, as simple as that is.

Lemm leads them east through the streets at ground level, his pace liesurely enough that he can point out little features of the city on the way without having to stop for them. The route will take them to the eastern edge of the Royal Quarter and then into it from the back, heading towards the elevator by way of metal steps and walkways - service routes. It's much drier once the way takes them indoors.

They could take the Stag. Lemm will let them steer him that way, if they prefer. He is currently erring on the side of saving his nerves. They only just got settled.

Lemm's pointing is appreciated. The Knight had seen a few of those features from a distance, but they'd never had reason to stop and look. It's good to learn.

There's no need to call the Stag for this. King's Station's elevator will work well enough, and they've committed to walking on top of not wanting to stress Lemm. Particularly not before meeting someone.

The only steering they do is under an alcove with as little water dripping as possible, pulling out a fresh paper. For Seer, they write on the last one. This might take a few minutes.

And it will. They need a little while to work out tactful avoidance of the Radiance, at the very least.

Greetings, Seer. I am the Knight, and I apologize for not visiting you lately. I thank you for your assistance and rescue before, and the Dream Nail, which has saved me many times. I have new recent information to give, and a request for assistance.

-I've united with the Void and grown powerful through dreams
-I met with Godseekers, foreign to Hallownest looking for gods to "attune" with
-They have their own Realm, Godhome, where they do this through battle to find a God of Gods to worship
-I defeated their challenges and they have determined that to be myself, the "Lord of Shades/Shadelord"
-(I still prefer the Knight. You may call me whatever you wish)
-I do not know what I am doing as a Higher Being yet
-I am inexperienced with dreams despite wielding the Dream Nail and my Godseeker-given title
-(They are a strange people.)

I’ve accidentally pulled a bug into Godhome/the Dream Realm when I was attempting to rescue her. The Colosseum of Fools had used her as battle fodder. I removed her from them rather violently and she appears partly trapped in Dream, but not entirely. She is unharmed physically and I brought comfort to her after some fumbling in Godhome, so she is doing better on that front, but is still stuck halfway.

I would like to ask if you have any input or advice.

Eventually, they hold it up to Lemm for a look-over.

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