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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

There is a thin line of water steadily dripping from a lower part of the overhang. It's not going to hit the Knight's paper, but it's close enough to bug him. As he comes to a stop, Lemm subtly makes sure he's standing in the way.

He takes a little while to read through what they've put, highly focused as he compares the details in his head. (There is a curious little glance at They are a strange people, but now isn't the time to get distracted asking about Godseekers.)

Eventually he nods.

"Seems about the long and short of it," he confirms. And then he drops his head back in an incredulous sigh. "S'a tale, though, isn't it! It's not as if I've forgotten, but seeing it all written out so clearly reminds you what a mad load of events it's been for you. And I'll bet there's more I'll be hearing today that no bug I've met would believe in their right mind."

Lemm looks back down, this time at the Knight, and gives a concessional little dip of his head.

"Not trying to be gauche. Just - hits me, sometimes. Tricky staying grounded. No, your wording's fine, nice and clear, don't think you've missed anything major she'll need to know... We'll elaborate when she asks, eh?"

To that, the Knight tucks the paper away and flings both paws in the air with sharp nods. They rarely go so far to express something without a blade, but mad load of events is a correct, concise truth. It'll be interesting to see what Seer might have to say about it.

There's no need for Lemm to be quiet this time. Unless Seer and her guests are sleeping, but conversational Lemm isn't that loud, even if he decides to raise his voice over the elevator's rumbling and screeches.

They won't waste time looking at the Dreamers' memorial. They think everyone's had enough of those lately.

Edited 2023-03-09 08:50 (UTC)

He squeezes the rain out of his beard rather thoroughly once they step out of the elevator, having noticed halfway up how much water he's carrying with him by the pool forming at his feet. The rest of the walk is spent running his hand almost obsessively through his beard the whole time, though it does little to dry him out any further and seems to just be a tic he's fallen into.

Lemm does chatter a bit, but markedly less than before. Mostly he just namedrops bugs whose graves he thinks might be up here, and even this filters into purposeful silence when they get close to the Seer's place.

He rallies, in the tunnel. His stride gets a little more deliberate, his shoulders come back just a notch - barely - and the Knight could mistake him for someone who knows what he's doing when it comes to meeting other people, if they didn't know better.

This all falls rather flat when he finds himself standing by a stone grave and following the Knight's gaze up at a rather daunting-looking climb. He had rather neglected to think about this part.

"Hm." A long pause. "Don't, um. Know another way up. By any chance." Is he going to have to... Right. Of course. Any possible way life could make this meeting more difficult, yes.

...They had also neglected to think about this part.

My apologies. I forgot the jumps it takes. Calling her down--would be rude to her, in all honesty. This is going to be a strange enough interaction. Dragging her out of the comfort of her home would make it worse.

At least there's no real hurry. It's not until they got close that they could hear her, so it should be the other way around.

The Knight hops up the first ledge, and pauses expectantly. They're not going to leave Lemm behind.

He sags slightly.

"...Tallest damned front porch I've ever seen," he mutters poisonously, and pulls out the grapple rope.

It is slow going, as it always is when Lemm has to climb up anywhere. There are too many overhangs and nowhere to put his feet, so he just has to haul himself straight up the rope for the most part - he is clearly not pleased about it. And the places he might step have mask motifs on them, beautifully done, dating back to - it doesn't matter when they date back to, he's not using them as climbing aids. Among other things, a Relic Seeker's job is largely to make life difficult for himself.

The Knight may catch snippets of increasingly bad-tempered mumbling on the way up: Kingdom for damned alates and s'an undignified sort of a house visit isn't it and, if they're really trying to hear, put a saddle on you if I didn't think you'd go so damned fast...

The Knight helps where they can with the rope, but it's mostly up to him. He doesn't seem to care for using the masks as footholds, which they don't understand, but decide against wasting paper to argue.

The idea of 'break' doesn't pass through their horns this time. Once they're nearly there, they stop and pat the Whispering Root to give Lemm a few moments. It hums under their paw.

Where he can see, they swipe the Dream Nail through it, and transcribe the clinging concepts. '...Dead remembered.../...Penitent Moth.../...Dreams revered...' The dreams of an area cling to these Whispering Roots, it seems.

He's a little averse to being helped, anyway. They've done nothing to raise his ire here, but when he pulls himself up over the edge of the next-to-last tier, there's a tension to his shoulders when he registers they've stopped. Obviously not for their sake.

...This is flattened quickly, and a disgruntled Lemm clambers to his feet and dusts himself down for the excuse of looking like he's doing something other than catching his breath.

The strange growth is peered at quizzically. Ah. That's why.

"Aye, that... tracks." Penitent. Hm. "D'you think I can...?" Lemm extends a hand at the root and waggles his fingers slightly, asking permission first.

Edited 2023-03-09 19:51 (UTC)

The Knight shrugs and pats it again. They don't see why not.

Nothing they've learned about the Roots seemed dangerous, only strange. Whispering.

...Cornifer found it interesting or unsettling enough to pass it along to Iselda, and they produce one of those pins to show as well. Iselda does good work from descriptions.

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