voicetest the voiceless

[focusedvoid]

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.

Comments

[capitalcurator]

Rustier than they realised. This probably isn't what they mean, he's almost sure they mean with a Nail, but there are certain times they've seemed... off. Now isn't the time to bring that up, either, he decides.

Anyway, he brightens up considerably at the prospect they've just presented.

"A Great Knight... You found where one lived?" Lemm turns with a little too much enthusiasm to examine his shelves, as evidenced by a small wince. "I was on the verge of making those five my focus before you came along. Ah, you do know how to get a Relic Seeker's attention! Yes, we'll go there. It'll be a grand sidetrack while we - acclimatise."

As the headache ebbs, his filter's coming back in force. Still, he can't keep the approving note out of his voice. "What a guide you're turning out to be."

[focusedvoid]

The Knight bows as grandly as one can sitting on a counter. While their certainty as guide was somewhat shaken, their capabilities as explorer never has been, and they're only to practice and improve the former.

They recall his fascination when selling the Hallownest Seals. They're also fairly certain they recall he doesn't know their names, so that won't alleviate the itch of not grasping it. They're uncertain where they could've even heard it.

The Grey Mourner, I called her. Her Mansion is just as grey. She was still around as a spirit(?) and tasked me with bringing a flower to her mantis lover's grave.

They think to draw a sketch of how she looked like when they met. Something, again, itches they've missed a detail. Perhaps further exploration will jog their memory.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm studies the drawing carefully. But there's no flicker of recognition, as much as he wishes it were as simple as having seen her depicted somewhere. It's still more than he's ever had to go on.

"A Great Knight lovelorn, eh? Hallownest's full of hidden tragedy."

There's not much in the way of sympathy in his voice. He may have been stricken with something far heavier upon hearing the Knight's own secrets, but this is far more removed. It's much easier to maintain some emotional distance from history when it's not colliding with him in the present.

"Already you've uncovered more about the five than anyone left behind. Have you any clue why their legacy would be as buried as it is? Did the... spirit tell you much?"

[focusedvoid]

The Knight feels sympathy for the Grey Mourner and the Traitor's Child, certainly. They wouldn't have worked so hard, dashed themselves to pieces just getting to her grave if they did not. Still, they hardly expected Lemm to lean in to that tragedy.

Headshake. She was preoccupied with mourning. Her lover was one of the Traitors, or brought with them as daughter of their Lord, and hidden away in the Queen's Gardens. It's a difficult area to go through even without a diseased tribe trying to kill intruders.

Hesitation as an idea sprouts.

They have no fear of meeting others. When necessary, they have no issue of expressing what they truly want. Lemm is still the only in Hallownest who's gotten full communication from them.

They'll have to expand that eventually, as they have no plan to leave Hallownest any time soon. Another recluse in one of Hallownest's remote places would be reasonable practice in this case.

I can try to find one Great Knight that survives and question him in your stead. You wouldn't want to meet him, the Dung Defender. You kicked me from your shop when I wore the charm I got from him.

('Got'. They stole it after it fell off him, but there's no need to claim guilt.)

[capitalcurator]

The Queen's Gardens... He's seen evidence that they exist, but making the trek to sightsee never interested him quite enough to dare. Sounds like it was probably for the best.

For a second, Lemm looks appropriately shocked to hear that a Great Knight is still living. And then he reads the rest.

"The..." Dung Defender. Say it. "The Dung - that's what that awful smell was? I thought you crawled through something!" Several connections are made in quick succession. Despite the jolt it gives his head, Lemm's face drops despairingly into his hands. "The Waterways," he groans. "Say no more."

It's his luck that the discovery of a living Great Knight would be... like this. As much as history must be gleaned and he would love to be the one to glean it, the Knight is quite right.

Muffled by his hands, he says as much. "...I'd appreciate the go-between - there's no doubt in my mind he has some valuable stories to tell. I'll give you a few questions to pass along sometime." The first one on his mind is why!? It will not be on the list.

[focusedvoid]

They feel very, very slightly bad. Just barely. It's a good thing they aren't quite capable of smelling.

I can go put it on and return, to give you a chance to get used to it. They tilt their head at him innocently.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm's head jerks back up. He looks mortified for all of three seconds. How can he possibly talk his way out of this -

"- Oh, you-!" His expression drops into annoyance and he flicks their paper sharply enough to make a snapping noise. "Barbaric. Go and join your spirit friend on that stage, since you're such an aspiring comedian!"

[focusedvoid]

Got him. They playfully smack Lemm's fingers with the paper right back.

I suppose I did crawl though something. In fact, a great amount of something. The Royal Waterways are quite spacious for what they are.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm reels back and flaps his whole hand at their paper this time, repeatedly, at arm's length.

"Urgh! Stop it! Nauseating information that not a single bug in Hallownest or beyond needs to know - least of all me!" He finishes batting away their words and presses that hand to his forehead instead. "It's no wonder I've a headache, noxious little brute that you are. Bring any of that with you into my shop - or near me ever again, and you will find out how much a Wanderer's Journal weighs."

[focusedvoid]

I only meant the acid, I've no idea what you're talking about. How could you question the lord of shades intentions

No, sorry, they can't keep going. The Knight can't physically laugh but they can give up, dropping the quill to put a paw on the side of their mask.

[capitalcurator]

"Uuuuuuuugh."

This noise is growled through both hands, because his face is firmly pressed into them again. Lemm dully considers sticking out an elbow and shoving them off the counter.

Instead he just smooths his hands down his face and folds them under his chin, fends off the embarrassment - this is easier because, unusually for him, it feels like he's in on the joke - and sighs.

"Amendment to the record: heretofore 'Lord of Shades' hereafter to be referred to as 'Sewer-Dredging Menace' throughout; refer chapters two, five, and six."

[focusedvoid]

Give them another moment.

Or several. Give them several. They need to get their swirling glee under enough control to pick the quill back up.

Only sewer-dredging menace? There can be more titles to add to the stockpile. The Relic Seeker Tormentor. The Stag Frustrater. The Obnoxious Thief of Geo. To a great collective, the Great Hallownest Annoyance.

[capitalcurator]

Alright, that's it. Lemm irritably snatches up a pen and scoots their paper closer to himself.

His usual quick scholar's scratch doesn't make its appearance - his writing now is slow and unfamiliar, and more than once he second-guesses himself. The shape doesn't look like it's anything until it just... keeps going. The same strokes are written over in smaller symbology and yet more insinuation of form is scratched into existing dried ink with the edge of the pen.

When Lemm is done he slides the paper back to them with a very smug flourish.

More or less it reads... nearly every title they've put, at the same time! But not very well. It is very badly translated and condensed into one very complicated-looking symbol with a lot of very glaring mistakes in it. Arcane information works none-dimensionally and was never meant for paper, and Lemm's not remotely close to fluent to begin with.

All this for a joke.

"I propose we replace your Brand," he suggests.

[focusedvoid]

They watch upside-down with amused confusion until he's about halfway done, and then they're rocking back, simply incredibly, incredibly amused. The Knight can't can't read it as Lemm can, but they'd looked at the Arcane Egg a few times even before they opened it.

The Knight makes a show of staring at their Branded palm thoughtfully, and then their empty one, before going back to the paper.

It's rather complicated for my small paws. I fear it might not fit.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm is a little smug from his Arcane-copy triumph. And the headache is waning just enough to trick him into calm. And the silliest boundaries have already been established.

Lemm poises his pen, ominous.

"We'll make it fit, then."

He lunges for the Knight's un-branded hand and - mindful of the point - begins an extremely just-for-show attempt at drawing the same thing again right onto them.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight startles by freezing, though they relax quite quickly.

He gets a chance to make a lot of lines, at the least. Enough to make a mess, though it's near-impossible to see on their soft black shell.

However, it might be more visible on Lemm. This, they cheerfully try to find out by yanking their paw away and slapping down onto the bit of beard draped closest to them.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm does not care how the lines turn out. He'd expected more struggling, anyway. This is frankly an abomination of a translation and would make sense to no one -

The ink smears so well down the hairs of his beard that Lemm's initial hands-off shock reaction hangs there for a solid moment.

His head tilts up from looking at the very stained bit of his beard to stare so, so darkly at the Knight.

His expression doesn't change, but his wrist flicks with perfect penmanship. The inked quill's nib spits a beautiful arc of ink right across their pale mask.

[focusedvoid]

The Knight pats around where it hit in absolute outrage. Outrage, they tell you. How dare he do what they have done.

Clearly, something must be done about it.

They raise their paw dramatically, challenging with a sharp point to his face.

And then they scoot over to try pushing the entirety of their stained mask right against more of his beard.

[capitalcurator]

NO. THIS RISK WAS NOT CALCULATED.

"Gah!"

Lemm flails suddenly, instinctively trying to pull back and only succeeding in dragging the whole thing deeper into Ink Smear Problems.

He drops the pen and grabs the root of his beard like the end of a carpet and shakes. His other, by now very ink-blotched hand lands on the Knight's head and attempts to shove them loose, totally uncoordinated now. "Get off! You little - get off! I'll - OFF! Off with you or I'll stick you with an Idol so help me I will do it!" Flailing struggling etc please not the beard.

[focusedvoid]

No need for violence, Lemm, the initiator of the violence thinks, mirthfully wishing they could simultaneously be doing this and write.

The Knight is yanked along a little before rolling off where they'd scooted onto a bit of the beard. They stand and dart backward, fended off and terribly threatened by the power of his shove.

They've got a wildly smeared handprint directly between their horns. Their mask is covered in bizarre shapes of ink where the individual hairs made lines. Put all over a surface that certainly was never meant for being written on, they can feel little parts of it dripping.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm immediately takes the edges and spreads his beard to examine down at it like he's evaluating a swatch of cloth.

It is stained. There are smudges all over, but more notably there is a rounded, un-inked edge of a part-circle where some ink around their eyehole imprinted.

"This won't come out," he tells them, so urgently and seriously. "This won't come out, I'll be stuck with - Knight! You've-"

He looks up, finally, at the absolute mess of a Vessel standing on his counter with a mess of a wet, ridiculous handpainting on their mask.

Lemm tries to stop snickering and it just makes it funnier - he breaks. One fist pressed firmly to his mouth to try to stifle it like a cough (wholly ineffective) he turns away, wracked with laughter and doubled over his counter.

[focusedvoid]

For half a moment, they feel a true stab of concern. Perhaps they shouldn't have pushed quite so far as nearly tackling him--

--Ah, no, it's fine. Lemm is cracking as much as they have.

They clap twice, which only makes the mess a bit worse, leaving a small spatter over the counter's surface. A fine piece of art, a fine performance.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm is curled into himself like he has any chance of just commanding himself to stop. As it fades just enough for him to get a proper grip of himself, the little flickers of ink from the Knight's applause hits the surface and his hand clamps quickly across his mouth like a safeguard. It nearly sets him off again.

It's a long time before he trusts himself to speak.

"This," his hand comes to rest between the Knight's horns, and a thumb begins trying to smudge off some of the ink "is the L-Lord of Shades, you see, long may they... Aha. I demand compensation for the damages, you little mischief."

[focusedvoid]

Mostly inexpressive as always, they nevertheless manage to radiate an aura of smug. This nonsense has gone swimmingly well.

At Lemm's touch, they keep mostly still, although it feels like he's making the mess worse. They don't much care either way. It's only ink.

They do, however, tip their head very, very slightly in query. What is the Lord of Shades to pay with for this (enjoyable and absurd) mess they've made?

[capitalcurator]

He is definitely making the mess worse. The ink has already mostly sunk into his beard, but on the Knight's mask it's taking a much longer time to dry - his thumb just smudges it everywhere. If he were a slightly more childish bug perhaps he'd give in to the urge to paint something funny for them to find in the mirror later.

He retracts his hand and turns to feel around on a shelf.

Lemm could take advantage of the opportunity to have them to read-over his current draft or something, but that would be straying this visit dangerously close to work. They get a joke answer instead. "Maybe I'll draft you as my personal janitor. How envious d'you think the others might be to hear I have a Higher Being tidying up after me?"

A cleaning cloth is retrieved, and summarily flicked into the Knight's face. Catch.

"Then again we've established you've a talent for making a tremendous mess! No, I should clear your debt this time for my own sake, I think."