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

[baelfyr]

The Lord of Shades on the defensive - no, fleeing! ...That won't stand, either. The Heart is too riled, and by now it has become just as dangerous to let them go as it is to finish things here and now. The Lord of Shades would have a grudge by now. Would come back and find him, find the Heart, when he least expected it.

No, this must be done, though he is not so foolish as to suspect it will be over quickly.

Grimm drops to the ground, wings falling back into place to cloak him neatly, and permits himself only a second to gather his wits before pressing onward and giving chase.

They move fast. But they think slower, and he sees his chance.

Oh, this would be terribly unfair even in the Ritual's bind, not that he hasn't resorted to it before - but the stakes are high. Grimm catches at his wings and twirls and vanishes in a flare of red.

...There is a notable delay.

Then the air right where the Knight is standing twists and sears with heat, and Grimm displaces their physical body with a painful crack.

[focusedvoid]

They've been fighting somewhat fair. Using upgraded abilities beyond what they had prior, but fair. It's only when red-hot shell slams in and breaks their own that they realize that was foolish.

Their mask splits. Their Siblings silently shriek panic as the Knight does the same in frustration.

The theory briefly posited to Lemm is proven; they do not wake up on Dirtmouth's bench with their Shade left behind. Grimm has made the absolute worst choice in how to finish them off.

The Lord of Shades in full tears free of the pale, wrapping black and black and black in layers around his body. Deeper, elsewhere, tendrils of thorns wrap around fabric tubes--no, stitched-together veins. This is enough!

[baelfyr]

Another success, thinks Grimm. Thinks the Nightmare King. Thinks the Heart, even, in the tiny span between expecting at least a moment's respite and being terribly wrong.

Fear is the Nightmare's domain, and it rules that domain in absolute. But that does not mean the Nightmare cannot fear, and it terrors -

Grimm in the physical is clutched by shade and panics. Spells fizzle, either in the mind or against the Void, and he cannot get away, cannot fulfil the role into which he was cast -

The Nightmare's Heart pounds in frantic arrhythmia, lightless Void coiling up the seams. They might as well be squeezing, even if they aren't. Nothing should reach so deep. Not past the vessel and the King, and speaking of -

Nightmare King Grimm has been pacing the arena. Nightmare King Grimm stills and freezes. What the Lord of Shades does to Grimm does the same to his mind, and in that arena thorned Void coils in whether they mean it or not. The King retreats, slowly, towards a corner.

Every fraction of the Nightmare fears.

Grimm, in the present, fears least.

Ignoring the pound of the Heart, ignoring the gravity of the King: quite deliberately, Grimm suddenly hangs still.

[focusedvoid]

The Lord of Shades is a lashing orb of tendrils. In the core of it all, Grimm is tiny. It would take almost nothing to smother him.

The Knight is aware of this. All the Siblings are the same.

A multitude of the latter demand it; the former lightly bats them off. Since their Shade Soul absorbed his attack rather than parrying it, a part of them was already braced for the urge to snuff him out. Them. All of it.

They needn't. It's frightening he did this, yes, but not very. This isn't the first battle they'd lost in surprise--and they haven't lost at all. See, while significantly displeased, they're still here. The Knight, the Shadelord, the Void, the Siblings: all fine. This is victory enough.

At Grimm's sudden stillness, the blanketing Void slowly unfurls itself until he's held only in a cage of claws.

They raise those four limbs level to their face. The eyes of the Void, all of it, all of them, examine Grimm and further in. They haven't killed him just doing this, have they?

The thorny tendrils stay in place in the Dream...the Nightmare Realm in steady warning, sharp shadows hissing where they lay across seams--pressing in enough to just barely make them burn.

[baelfyr]

The Nightmare Heart's wrenching and pulsing would not break loose of the cling of Void alone. Without the vessel and the Ritual it is immobile, vulnerable - it can do nothing but demand of the vessel, and the vessel does not move.

Slowly, the beating of the Heart retreats. And Grimm stays still.

Still. Even as the Void's clutches pull him closer to those pale eyes. Grimm softly lolls forward, like a doll. His eyes are open, but he won't look. He allows the Lord of Shades to hold and examine.

It is when things settle - when the Heart reluctantly, anxiously beats to a slower rhythm, and his captor is convinced he is done, that Grimm dares to tilt his head just slightly, and angles a curious, squinting glance up at the Lord of Shades. Like a bug peering cautiously up at a too-bright lamp.

He hangs in their grip, quiet and deliberate, and watches up at them deferentially to see their verdict.

Troupe Master Grimm has decided to yield.

[focusedvoid]

Grimm does not speak first.

Strange. No, but it's fair. He's trapped. But...then...then they need to first. The Knight is lacking in easy ways to write, even if they let him loose, and they're not sure they want to.

Again, going slowly but firm, they reach, and attempt to present their query: a slow pour of primarily confusion and annoyance.

But the Lord of Shades is, too, the Lord of Dreams, once connected to the King of Nightmares from a realm once whole before being torn in half, and they connect far more than they intend. While their honest emotion-as-question is given, Grimm and the rest of him are flooded by an undercurrent beyond what they realize.

Their annoyance is strong, at Grimm and at their close quarters. They can fit as they can fit just about anywhere, but parts of them are spilling through barrels and wheelbarrows. They could just knock them aside, but then Greenhorn can't explore them with Lemm later, and hello Greenhorn, Godhome must be less interesting for everyone right now. There's likely nothing in them, there was always just rotten food when they broke them with their Nail. The cargo lift's weights are bumping against the back of their head and the whole thing could come down on top of them if they catch, so they won't catch. They can go back up, but then they'd have to melt a bit and funnel it while holding Grimm, and that could go poorly. Grimm is very small? Of course they they knew they were massive like this, but, but, but, Lemm was small, but they never held him, and the Soul Tyrant's corpse was small, but it was a corpse. Myla was small, but she's small even when the Knight or the Siblings are right beside her. Grimm is warm and alive and holding him like this is a new kind of disconcerting. He was taller, enough the Knight was genuinely somewhat intimidated the first time they met. He killed them a significant number of times later. As he's locked in their claws they could still do some sharp prodding him for their deaths, now and before, and that impulse is cast aside even as it forms. Countless Siblings, too shy to rise from the darkness in physicality, pepper Strongest Sibling Knight at the head with a constellation of indignation and intrigue. What was he doing? What is he actually? A Higher Being, a Troupemaster, but what's a Troupe? That's less important than the ambush, they can discuss that later. The Heart's not so loud. What's the Heart? The Higher Being. Later, later, they're just glad they can't feel it thrumming through--the Knight's mask, where is it? Half on the stairs, easily felt with a few Siblings glancing, but where's the other part? If it fell all the way down to the spikes...it'll be fine, truthfully, but spikes are still spikes even if they can't be damaged as they currently are. With their luck it will be anyway, but they can have a little hope.

Reflecting none of this outwardly, the Lord of Shades carefully adjusts their head. They're leaning on their elbow-joints, holding him level with their face as they wait.

[baelfyr]

The Heart tells him there is danger, still. The Lord of Shades has them all in the powerful grip of Void and there is little he can do about it. Thorns about the Nightmare arteries, thorns about his mind, about his body - they could squeeze, and it would be done. Fear lances through him again.

But the Lord of Shades does not crush the life out of him, as Grimm suspected they might not.

What lances through him next is - too much, too much and the heartbeat rises again, demanding that he struggle as the waves of thought are pushed over him, the Nightmare will drown in it -

- Troupe Master Grimm is sometimes the most valuable asset of the whole Nightmare when it comes to matters of rationality. He braces and lets the ocean of questions and curiosity and probing wash over him, despite the urge to resist once again. That would do no good. The Heart got them into this mess. Grimm has some idea of how to get them out, because underneath all of that he thinks he caught...

...Yes. There. Confusion. With some difficulty (small? He is small, in comparison, he supposes) Troupe Master Grimm holds onto that and tells the Nightmare King firmly: look. (Could destroy him, snap him in half, and doesn't. He's quite grateful.)

The Nightmare King catches on, and presents that confusion to the Nightmare's Heart for consideration. (The Heart - yes, master of the Nightmare, Higher Being, he does the mental equivalent of nodding along.) Relieved, Troupe Master Grimm plants himself firmly in the present and works on the more immediate problem.

"...An honest defeat," he struggles out loud with some difficulty, feeling rather overwhelmed, "and I believe some misunderstanding has settled on all of us. But first - if you might permit us room to think...?"

Diplomatically, Grimm presses back against the torrent of thought, finally putting out some resistance in the hopes of getting their attention. He will answer, and they might straighten this out - if they can stop flooding him.

[focusedvoid]

It could be a trap, but that consideration is barely rotting cobweb--unlikely, unlikely, he's still in their claws and in the Crossroads they know better than he does. Possibly. If he can see what Grimmchild sees, that's not much of an advantage. Though it likely looks different now. They've cleared it from how disgusting it had become, even if it's in ruins yet. Grimmchild attacked too many of the exploding husks, so they weren't equipped during the Infection's height about this place. They should have. Perhaps this is about how they've left them right next door to the Troupe's tents for so long. Doubtful. It's enough to unfurl flecks of guilt anyway. Perhaps they should take the Weaverlings for an outing. And the Hatchlings. There are fewer threats for the Hatchlings to die to. It was uncomfortable when they first equipped them and will be more now after so much time with Siblings. They don't crack in the way masks do or leave their own shades, but they don't enjoy the memories of it and wouldn't want to see it in realtime. They should just show them off inside Dirtmouth. Inside the Knight's house. Myla would like them. Their Siblings get restless enough to stay watching this, more than only Greenhorn should be out. Even if it's scary. It's not scarier than Godhome. They can easily make it in their house, or in the tunnels they visit. It wouldn't be so terrible to go on a family trip, of sorts, would it? There are dark empty places all through Hallownest if they want to keep from anyone. Myla's nice, Myla wouldn't mind them being there. There's less dust to play in, yes, but there are cushions and they can bring in loose soil or something else. There must be better options than dirt.

All this passes through their mind and link quickly. Mildly frustrated confusion bleeds into further confusion and drops into alarm, as the Lord of Shades realizes just how much Grimm is getting. Not the details, though the Knight instinctively pushes their Siblings' thoughts back first since they're just so many, but that it's significantly more than they meant.

The connection is lingered on long enough to pass apology for that, and, specifically, only that: they are not apologizing for holding him and the Heart as they are for the sudden attack. More still gets through than they want here, that they're not terribly angry, but it certainly threw off what they were going to do, and maybe they should just stop making plans. They're not going to. They have obligations and they still haven't gotten Elderbug his leaves--

Silence.

[baelfyr]

It is so much, but now the Heart has something else to work on, resisting the push to struggle and lash out and resist-resist-resist is far more manageable. He waits.

And, ah, what he finds in the meantime is valuable! Even their furtive guilt is a reassurance; that there has been a misunderstanding indeed, for them to still consider the child. They would surely not, if they intended the flame to be extinguished. (A flicker of amusement rises from him amid the rush at the thought of Grimmchild being kept out of trouble.)

And other children, of sorts. It is a fascinating glimpse of personality, even if it is being projected at him in suffocating waves. Well, there is rather a lot of the Lord of Shades to go around. A lot of Shades. Children, too, clamouring at a sibling for answers, but Shades.

...Steady. He suspects they are... amateur at this. Whoever taught them to share this way has not done a very good job, if they were taught at all, and he can be patient while they orient themselves. It's not like he's going anywhere.

They will perhaps feel some small measure of reassurance from Grimm at the realisation that they've been oversharing.

"No harm was done by it, friend." Easy for him to say that now, with the Heart so distracted by what is rapidly becoming recognised as a mistake. "In fact it is a relief. We might more easily come to understand this as... an accident," he tries, as courteous about it as he can manage. "On both our parts, it seems."

Silence, suddenly, but for the uneasy thrum of the Heart. No longer having to weather the onslaught of thought, Grimm goes far more relaxed in their grip.

"Very much obliged. It is a delicate operation to bare the mind so! A lack of finesse is to be expected, and may be honed with time."

Now... He inclines his head very slightly, unable to move the rest of him enough to bow.

"I must profoundly apologise," he offers, and the Nightmare's Heart finally, finally releases him from its death grip on the situation as things begin to make sense. "Might I be correct in my suspicion that your will was misread?"

And - because he is far more used to such things, and does not wish even slightly to come across as thoughtless of their requirements here: Grimm offers them a smaller, more polite little mental nudge. They might still share, if they can manage to do it carefully.

[focusedvoid]

The reassurance is accepted, albeit with an edge of stung pride. It seems genuine, and even if it isn't entirely, they recognize it as a peace offering.

The Shadelord's head mirrors his little bow. He's correct that they're lacking finesse, and the Knight recognizes in other context, this reading wouldn't bother them so. This was not a pleasant situation to go through. And with how he's acting now, an accident is seeming a more reasonable explanation than sudden malevolence.

Their will? What does their will have to do with his attacking--?

Several pieces finally snap into place.

The tendrils in Nightmare don't quite let go yet, but they ripple until the thorns are gone, leaving them smooth. In Hallownest, their claws shift until Grimm is cupped between a set of hands rather than caged.

Several thoughts are passed through, one at a time, drops of black into red rather than a full-on torrent.

Their will was unrelated to him. (Accidentally attached, despite themselves: the general concept of oh no.)

They had been reaching up into Dirtmouth for someone specific, without considering Grimm or the rest. (Attached: rising embarrassment and memory of Myla, sitting on their couch and on Godhome's bench, humming.)

To their understanding now, it must have seemed as though they were trying to...drown or eat them? (More embarrassment, alongside vague hypothetical wondering of what would happen if they actually did so. Would they have the Nightmare Realm somewhere next to Godhome, or--?)

That was assuredly not their intention. (Myla again with Grimmchild fluttering between them, and the Knight standing between the Grimmsteeds, peering up at the Troupe's main tent with mild amicability.)

They're displeased by this attack, to be certain, but are unlikely to hold a grudge. Particularly if his mistake was caused by theirs. (Yes, they're annoyed, and they're going to stay that way for a time despite this mostly being their fault, but that's the Knight's irritation, not a Higher Being wanting to erase someone else.)

[baelfyr]

The shift in how they hold the Heart and the vessel captive is more than welcome. (No longer caged, yes, but as long as the Nightmare's Heart remains in their grip, so does Grimm. Still a captive audience, if not physically restrained.) The Nightmare's Heart settles into a far steadier rhythm.

Grimm mildly accepts the pieces he is given - especially the Lord of Shades' discomposure about the whole thing. It is an immeasurable relief to know this situation is indeed salvageable. That they had not intended to consume the Flame at all.

"Yes. I see now."

He is free to do so, so Grimm offers them a proper sweeping bow this time and remains in it as he speaks. The mistake was his and the Heart's - it is right that he offers the proper amends for the disturbance. (Disturbance it was, not a battle in the true sense, because a battle implies each side to be at least somewhat matched.)

"How lamentable! We would never have hastened into such a skirmish had we known the truth. Your attempt at convening with this bug -" Myla, though he has not been formally introduced and politely does not use her name "- reached far further than you intended."

This they seem to have realised. He straightens up and offers a more complete explanation.

"Such a broad cast of presence was taken for a challenge, I'm sorry to say. That you would make a show of laying claim to this stilled land would not be so grand a stretch. None would contest the territory. We, however," pushed forth: the Troupe, himself, the Nightmare's Heart, "did not take well to the risk of being counted within it."

They had all rather thought the Lord of Shades was making a show of possession, and possibly an example of what fate might be visited on the Nightmare after. Isn't this terribly awkward. He impresses this upon the Lord of Shades, and: he and the Heart both are terribly sorry for the inconvenience - it is just that they were woken from the interlude rather convinced the Ritual was about to be abruptly brought to a permanent end.

There. A very clear explanation, in exchange for which he direly hopes they will let go of his master.

[focusedvoid]

A reasonable misinterpretation.

They send apology in return, and the Lord of Shades bows their head deeply to the figure in their hands. (For this, they wonder bitterly why Higher Beings are so unpleasant. Not the Nightmare's Heart in particular, but all the rest, for giving others natural expectation for possessiveness and cruelty. Seer, Grimm, even Lemm at the start--)

Lightly smoldering tendrils pull away from Nightmare veins and evaporate.

As well as a few Shades' forms and sets of eyes, startled by suddenly being visible and disappearing a little too late not to be seen. The Knight angles disapproval back into the Void--what were they even doing there, in another's dangerous territory? Just looking is a poor reason.

Another thought, set forward, pulled away, put forth again: less formal sense of apology, followed by the assurance the Knight's starting to find customary. They hold no ill will despite this, will not try to kill Grimm or the Nightmare's Heart even through further insult or attack--though this has an edit, of as long as they don't try to do anything unpleasant to their Siblings or people here without provocation. They don't expect this to be a problem, they're only putting it out for straightforwardness' sake. Higher Being to Higher Being, as it were. (Here, the general concept of fucking Higher Being nonsense. Pale King, Radiance; the White Lady talking in measured displeasure about Grimmchild. Sour consideration of if they should claim Hallownest as their territory officially...but they don't want to. They're the King. Maybe that's enough. A thought without seriousness that maybe they can shove the White Lady out of her gardens and make her do--something, anything.)

[baelfyr]

There is a deep discomfort in the way things have played out today. The Lord of Shades being profoundly more powerful than even the Heart had expected; the feeling of Void in Nightmare that had not been invited nor should have found a way in; the ease at which a probing attempt had been wildly misinterpreted and how close he might have come to sealing his own fate.

The moment the Heart is freed and no trace of Void remains, the Nightmare's Heart sinks back into the unknown of whatever deep place in Grimm's psyche it channels itself - though only when the visiting Siblings are gone. Grimm himself whirls from their hands and reappears on an eye-level cargo platform, with a clank at the sudden weight. It would be too implicit of trust they do not quite have, or else just simply improper to remain standing there, held - the Lord of Shades is not a stage, Godhome notwithstanding.

The apology is met, accepted, and responded to with another of his own. There; it is a good thing to know they stand on (relatively) even ground again. He is not one for grudges either.

"Perhaps it goes without saying, but it ought to be said: we wish you no ill will despite our altercation. I hope this changes nothing of our Ritual together, my friend. Its conclusion yet awaits."

And - well, that is a lot to unpack, isn't it?

The Higher Being nonsense thoughts are promptly returned to sender, untouched and without comment, as if he simply did not hear. How foolhardy it would be for a vessel of the Nightmare's Heart to open a discussion like that.

"Too, we wish nothing of your kin, nor of those who choose to plant themselves in the ash of the Kingdom tilled. Our business is with you, Summoner, and the last remaining embers of what was." Perhaps there is some fundamental misunderstanding of the Troupe? It would be one he is quite familiar with; at once the concepts of fallen civilisation and lingering essence and Ritual are vaguely offered up. These are the point. Harming anyone uninvolved would not be.

He does not press the reminder that he is still waiting, in regards to the Ritual. It would be unwise. They are quite clearly in a bad mood. The rest of those thoughts are picked through, instead.

"I could not speak on the Pale mother, her presence so obscured - but if I were to indulge in fancy," and this is a dangerous thing to say, but he would like to humour them just this once - they have earned it after he so rudely challenged them as he did, "whatever your will, you will have it done."

Not that he's one to comment on who would win in a fight, or anything so crass! However. He doubts very hard that the White Lady would be capable of resisting anything the Lord of Shades wanted of her, after witnessing their power firsthand. (Put forward: respectfully, this stays speculation, and between us.)

[focusedvoid]

The Lord of Shades flows upward and settles more comfortably away from the lift's counterweights.

And once again they were giving away much more than intended. The air hangs heavy as they pare their thoughts as much as they can, sent in staccato bursts.

Late to Ritual, apology, intentionally void of explanation, draped in faint guilt and webbing. No harm from Grimm, Troupe. No harm to Grimm, Troupe.

No harm to Grimm, Troupe from most. Warning as to others, Deepnest and Mantis Tribe need avoiding (They slip here, realizing that's likely foolish to think he couldn't fight or flee even if he wanted to. He's still incredibly powerful. He did kill them, technically, and where's the rest of their mask--)

Wait, stop.

Silence.

Apology.

Deepnest, Mantis Tribe attack-defend, not being a threat-threat to Grimm, Troupe. No expectation for his striking first.

"A lack of finesse is to be expected, and may be honed with time." Errors, theirs in reaching and sending. Skilled in Nail, natural in Void, unskilled in Dream, practice practice. Far away from Grimm, Troupe now.

Lord and King are forced titles. Distasteful. No tyrant no king no god. Even when such would solve problems. Even when holding dislike, even much of it.

White Lady insulted them-Knight, them-Vessels, them-Siblings (abandoned shades and forced pure broken cruelty). She can't help, won't help, no tyrant-king-god force help. Care not strongly. The Knight dislikes politicking. Higher Being politics look worse. This is just wish. Tiring, frustrating. They would simply like Higher Being functions to be another's problem, hers, anyone's. Nail, silence, walking away better.

[baelfyr]

Grimm follows in a flicker and settles into parsing their intent, now that there is less meandering and more careful, stunted concept. He maintains a healthy distance perched on the edge of another lift. They may not need to be facing each other for communication this way, but it is polite.

First: "You misunderstand, friend. There is no due haste in completing the Ritual. I wished only to clarify that you would still attend to it." The Heart's eagerness is not for the Summoner to worry about, not until and unless one might show signs of lingering forever.

A nod at the understanding of mutual disarmament. And a slight shift in the way he's looking at them, when their thoughts turn to warning him of potential threats in Hallownest. Amusement, free and easily shared.

"There is much here that may yet pose a threat, but Deepnest and Mantis folk need not factor." And I will remain by the Ritual until its end. But I thank you for the thought.

Another nod; he can tell they are unskilled in Dream - this is not shared - what is shared is a faint sense of encouragement. They have managed much already, and especially with the Dream Nail and with their child, the Lord of Shades will doubtless have plenty of opportunity to learn of Dream and Nightmare both.

(Perhaps they might hunt for their mask together, though a brief flicker of memory, from Grimm's perspective, is sent to show that he saw it break, and not where it fell.)

Grimm feels that the next part strays rather more into the realm of the personal. He thinks for a moment - neatly keeping whatever thoughts he has to himself. Outside of their dance, the two of them are as strangers. But he found himself charmed by this summoner, and intrigued by the being they have become now.

"Each Higher Being differs greatly," he carefully points out. "That you aspire to cast aside the mantle of titles and tribute is unusual, but fair." He carefully picks out the title they seem much keener on - it is easy enough to tell by the way their thoughts feel around it. "Who you are as the Knight will prove counterweight to who you all are as the Lord of Shades, if the two differ much at all." Certain things have to be kept in balance. A familiar phrase to them, perhaps.

Grimm steps to the edge of the platform and looks down, as if he might see the remnants of their mask lying somewhere below.

Quietly: "I find waste of youth unpalatable." An innocuous thing to say, and it might stay vague if not for the way his thoughts neatly hang it on their explanation of their Siblings. "Now is not the time for such discussion, nor am I an optimal choice for it."

[focusedvoid]

Offer, information, with another chipping of of guilt at their continued avoidance: he's completely free to travel. If he isn't rushing them. They could go find him later. More easily now, since this? No need to stay in the tent--unless he needs-needs to, for safety? Or truly wants. They do not insist.

The encouragement is acknowledged, just as the reassurance was before. It's easier to accept as genuine this time.

As are his words. The Knight and the Lord of Shades are the same, technically, but different in power and emotion in a way that's difficult to reconcile. But they will. Practice, practice.

It's supposed to be context. Further misinterpretation would best be avoided. The point: they will not make any do anything just because they are capable of it. Causing Grimm further discomfort was not intended.

The one half of their mask was swept up by tendrils, roiled up until they look away from him and at it, pinched between two claws. They sink back down and start reaching around to feel for the other. Grimm can assist in searching, if he likes. (What are they going to do with it? Can they heal it from outside? Strange to look at it this way. Even death didn't half it any other time except for upon Ascending, and they can't remember what they did to fix it. They'll have to--) There are Hot Springs nearby, eastward, should he need or want healing or relaxation.

[baelfyr]

Free to travel where? His task is where the tents are pitched, and the Ritual abides. Even now he should be sleeping, waiting. Safety - and want are not relevant.

Nothing forced, no discomfort meant. Any godhood does not matter regarding that, at least. "The feeling is mutual, friend."

Due diligence to the Knight-Shadelord, though, is relevant. Grimm eyes the half-mask, and watches them lower. He then steps forward and directly off the platform and drops like a stone - he disappears shortly before the bottom, and reappears on the ground in a lick of flame with all momentum gone. For a while he picks around barrels and nothing is sent back their way as he searches, though their thoughts are clearly getting through just fine.

Eventually: "I will check the lower floor."

(Fleeting and easy to miss: curiosity, as to what the Hallownest springs might be like. Then he's gone and the thought is aborted.)

Grimm returns shortly with the pale second-half of the Knight's mask cradled in his hands, leaping up from below without the familiar flash of fire. (What reaction the flame might have with their deadened mask is likely none, but he has known stranger and it's wise to take no risk.)

There is absolutely nothing ceremonial about the way he offers back a dead-not-dead god's splintered mask. It is just a lost thing being casually returned. He already serves a Higher Being and, he feels, has met plenty. (The Nightmare King unhelpfully does not weigh in when he probes.) He waits.

[focusedvoid]

They can find him for the Ritual. Again, no insistence, only information; they aren't barring him, if there's any lingering concern about territory nonsense. (Attached, a small sliver that they can't imagine staying in one place for long even to sleep.)

They melt and stretch around their former arena with far less speed. It has to be somewhere, and if Grimm can't find it, they're sure they will; they're not going to storm around and possibly catch him in them.

They meet him halfway down a wall, plucking the other piece with a similar lack of ceremony.

They stare at the halves.

Now what?

They pull back until they're on flat ground, putting the pieces together and--wrapping a tiny tendril around it, and then slicing through that tendril. It stays solid and keeps the parts in place. Some of it crawls along the crack, pinning them together further.

They push Soul into it, Focus inversed--and while it flares in a glow, nothing else. The crack is still there.

Grimm isn't given so much attention now, other than their pulling the puddling black nearest to him inward first. The Lord of Shades folds and squeezes, smaller, smaller, smaller, curling up into the empty neck hole of their mask--

--and despite their concentration, the holding tendril snaps.

The halves launch across the room. The Lord of Shades bursts back into existence, scrambling gracelessly to catch them before they slam into walls.

Alright. Perhaps they should...go to the Springs and soak them in the water directly. They incline their head in that direction before ignoring the floor and tunneling through the air on the way.

[baelfyr]

Ah, but the Troupe wanders as the Knight has. Amusement, again, and wholly unclarified.

Grimm comes to watch the attempted reunion of a ruined mask. He doubts, but again, anything is possible...

He flinches minutely, little more than turning his head slightly away.

...Not this, apparently. This is not the confident cast of a Higher Being who knows what they are doing, it is the fumblings of an inexperienced god simply hoping. (The Nightmare King supplies: it had not been entirely unlike watching a creature climb into a sea-shell. If more explosive.)

"You may not -"

They are already rushing. Grimm glances skyward, at the overhead platforms and the corner that would lead him back to Dirtmouth, and - while he does not sigh, the sentiment is there. He folds into fire.

Grimm will meet them wherever there is space; he is not about to materialise in solid earth. They might, however, notice a fleeting presence following along with them now and then, in the clear air of the tunnels.

(Sleep is the usual pattern here, but they beckoned him. Of course he will attend.)

[focusedvoid]

As a strange silent bug, and later, an supposedly-empty Vessel, they didn't care what others assumed of them. This isn't particularly changed beyond not wanting to be seen as automatically territorial.

Grimm watching them fumble is mildly embarrassing, but unimportant in the long run. If he decides they're a fool, finds entertainment from it, then he does. Feeling him following as they flow towards their goal, they suspect he just might. (They hadn't meant to beckon, only indicate their next move, now that they've shut the link on their side.)

They startle an Aspid and pause for just a moment as it flees, noting how it glows brownish-green, and that's the most eventful occurrence. The journey is hardly long.

Fortunately, it's empty.

The Knight generally kept to the edge of the Hot Springs when standard size, but there's much more to them further in. The tips of their lower tendrils test the water as they drift above, absorbing familiar comfort as much as Soul, slowly angling to the odd carved faces in the back. This area is more than deep enough to submerge their giant claws, holding their mask together.

They try, again, to Focus outward, at it, in it.

The water around their wrists light up in flashes, briefly defying gravity to start crawling up their arm. Not what they were aiming for, and doesn't fix the problem when they stop and check the crack.

They stare, displeased.

If it was fixable once, it must be again, and that keeps them from launching headfirst into panic. The Lord of Shades twines around the nearest carving, feeling the waterfall flow down their back as they consider their next step.

[baelfyr]

Grimm unfurls back into himself at the doorway to the Springs, glancing around with some idle curiosity as he steps inside.

"How picturesque." A fine opportunity to sightsee, not that he hasn't seen such a thing before. He comes to the water's edge and watches the Lord of Shades skim the springs.

No time like the present. Grimm steps in up to his knees - with a pause, to appreciate the way Soul floods up against Essence, unneeded but pleasant - and his wings drag theatrically behind him as he wades deeper to investigate. He has a sense of what they're trying to do, and it would be interesting if they succeeded. He remains a skeptic.

Correctly so, he thinks, as yet again their attempts fail. He had been going to warn them, before they'd rushed off.

Grimm stands at a fair distance, up to his waist in Soul-laced water with his wings pooling around him on the surface, and his breathy voice echoes eerily off the stone.

"Forgive me for the unsolicited advice, friend, but such things are deceptively difficult." He peers at it, and looks appreciative. "Fine craft and unique caliber it is, and a part of the wearer in a way many are not. You might do well to seek an expert..."

[focusedvoid]

They pass through another, staccato and dry: True. They weren't sure. They had to make a try. But the Pale King is dead. He would be most reasonable as resource.

Why doesn't the water hurt Grimm?

The Lord of Shades lightly twitches. That wasn't the Knight's thought at all.

There are a pair of eyes buried in their tendrils around their shoulders, staring at Grimm suspiciously. Or perhaps the light emanating from the water itself.

Water hurts fire, doesn't it?

[baelfyr]

The Pale King also isn't here to defend his claims to fame, so an idle comment won't go wrong.

"It may be encouraging to remember his was not the only hand in many of his endeavours."

Grimm's attention snaps immediately and accurately to the source of that thought, scarlet eyes locked on the half-hidden Shade for a brief moment as he registers who and what this is.

Oh. Certain contexts aside: how delightful.

"Ah! What burning curiosity yours must be to chance the spotlight..."

A glance at the Shadelord, and a courteous little nod - he takes no offense, they are permitted to ask! - and Grimm reaches out a hand, palm-down as if to telegraph that he is not about to aim anything at them. A loose ball of flame gathers in it, and he promptly lowers his hand into the water with a sizzling, roiling hiss. The flame goes out.

"You are of course correct. But not all things are as they seem, and your kin sets a marvellous example." A poor explanation - and quite deliberate.

[focusedvoid]

He can't mean the White Lady. No, he could, but they'd hope he wouldn't after telling him of their dislike. Though pride is less important, here. The Knight at the head mulls this over.

Though not before informing Grimm he doesn't need to answer anything he'd rather avoid, since he's likely to get more questions.

The little Sibling follows the movement, fascinated by the demonstration of what they've only seen in shared memories. Indignant when he stops.

Void hurts Light, Light hurts Void. Water hurts fire. The fire didn't hurt the water. Grimm's standing in it just fine. Isn't he made of fire? Shouldn't he have lost his legs?

[baelfyr]

(The response: Naturally. He will keep his secrets.)

At their continued confusion, Grimm bares the faintest hint of a smile. He may have chosen to be vague on purpose. He wades another couple of steps forward, and gives a sweeping gesture up at the Lord of Shades.

"Ah, but while your kin may be so in this form, in another they are not simply of shadow alone. The proof may lie shattered, but proof it is still."

Gentle, and offered-out rather than pressed into them, he shares this with the little Sibling - and the Lord of Shades: a view down at the Knight as their small and whole-masked self, standing unharmed beneath the bright red spotlights of the Ritual ring with their white horns gleaming.

"A face worn on the outside belies the nature within."

More vagueness, more confusing manners of speech. Grimm does so like to see a young one think.