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]

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.

[focusedvoid]

...They guess.

In the background, quietly for they're amplifying their little sibling, Knight remembers: a face, a face, to define, to focus, to exist. The Wyrm wasn't as alone in making them as they initially thought. The Mask Maker knows much.

To Deepnest for a visit next.

In a while. The waterfall is soothing, and they're not being expected. No need to cut this brave Sibling off in a rush.

And they are brave! Even though they're hiding in the dark still! This light is still light and it can be dangerous. They don't have any face-shell like Strongest Sibling Knight anymore. And Grimm's shell looks so thin. Just one Sibling could wrap around one of his leg a lot of times!

[baelfyr]

At that, he laughs. It's low, breathy, and rasping - in another context perhaps reminiscent of a ghost story, but in this one it's tinged surprisingly warm and genuine. Apparently he is no more immune to childish whimsy than the next person.

"Brave you are, to think of snaring Troupe Master Grimm! I tell you appearances are deceptive, and your answer is to conceive a plot of entanglement!" He knows full well this is not what they meant by it, but this is an easy pivot into playfulness. Grimm leans forward, peering up at them in conspiracy. "Fearless! In a murkier venue I am not so certain I would escape your watch."

Presented for review: the concept of tag. (A game, a chase, with roles and a victor.) With a twist. (Grimm, mid-leap, with a coil of Shade triumphantly clinging to his leg.)

[focusedvoid]

Oh. Yes, they are! They'd get him and they'd eat him! Such a skinny leg would be easy to take!

No, no, none of that talk, games aren't for that, games involve holding back (a red cloak dancing, Needle lethal but laughter holding back Nail), and all that's already settled.

But they'd win! They'd win all the way!

That's not the point of games. Games are for fun.

Technically. It's possible to get far too into it, dangerously so, but--

Alright. The Knight does a mental equivalent of taking a shoulder and guiding Sibling's thoughts, along with their own, elsewhere. Surely they have other questions. Such as, what is the Troupe? The Knight knows of circuses. Fireworks, freakshows, blade juggling. Does his do any of that?

Their Sibling, as if that's the most dangerous on the list, zeroes in on blade juggling. Their eyes travel down until they stare from the Lord of Shades' upper arm. What!

[baelfyr]

Another laugh, though this one is wisely not accompanied by further talk. Taunting the little one into play makes work for the Lord of Shades. Still - they seem to get the concept, even if Grimm has no intention of following up on it.

Ah, the golden question: what is the Troupe? He'll let that one sit. There are more important questions. Like ones about knife juggling, for example.

"Many of the Kin are skilled in juggling staves and batons - aflame, of course - and we have a knife-thrower in our ranks. The Troupe's talents are many, and diverse."

Visualised for them: arcs of bright scarlet fire dancing in a dimmed arena, and briefly, the gleam of daggers.

A pause, here. This next part does carry a hint that he would rather have omitted. Grimm decides it is worth giving them a warning - it's only fair, with the little Shade so interested.

"Alas, we find ourselves soon to commence the closing act of the Ritual. If your curiosity burns for the Grimm Troupe's other performances, it would be wise to prioritise." ...Catch another show first.

[focusedvoid]

The Lord of Shades doesn't need to be deliberately quiet as they are, as Sibling immediately fills both their minds with an imagining of the Knight's true dance with Grimm, just in darkened Godhome, with Siblings floating around the stands to see the blades and flame play.

Not that they'd just be doing it for fun! They'd be watching him too!

The Knight isn't sure if they can bring the rest of the Troupe into Godhome. Better to keep it to the tent. If Grimm's willing to. If they can even try. They're often busy; Siblings are nervous.

But they can just see through the Knight's eyes, like always! That's fine!

[baelfyr]

A flicker, then: they get the mental equivalent of a respectful nod from the Nightmare King himself, just as Grimm nods in person. The feeling of this is distinct from the other shared thoughts only in that it is bigger, like brushing up against the shape of something more.

It's only fleeting. And to the Lord of Shades, surely a drop in a bucket.

The idea of taking the entire Troupe into Godhome is met with polite disapproval, or something like it.

"I hesitate to deny you, friend." A cagey and diplomatic way of saying the rest of the Troupe does not belong in Godhome. Whether this is for their benefit somehow or by lack of merit he does not clarify.

"But the Troupe will gladly perform for you here in the physical. It would be our honour to entertain." He fixes his gaze on the little Sibling again, lightly challenging, as one ever might be to a child. "We especially look forward to your keen appraisal!"

[focusedvoid]

They don't want the Troupe in Godhome either, if mainly for embarrassment's sake. The idea of Godseeker calling misinformed praises to Grimm and Divine and Brumm leaves the Lord of Shades shaking their massive head, and sinking by increments closer to the water. Sibling's eyes slide back up to their shoulder. A few more appear on the edges of tendrils, peering at Grimm and the Springs before winking back out again.

Well, they're going to! ...Right?

...Right. When things aren't quite so busy. The Siblings are sure to remind them, yes?

Yes! They will!

And! Who was that! They nudge the memory of the Nightmare King nodding and him in his arena in front of the Heart, too, like a curious crowd member poking a curtain. That one!

[baelfyr]

The metaphorical curtains remain closed; there's no further trace offered of anything deeper than Troupe Master Grimm. He's amused by their curiosity regardless.

Grimm swishes both hands through the water as he turns to wade back towards the edge, dragging a furrowed wave and his floating wings behind him.

"My apologies, little shadow - and the rest! I have no doubt the Lord of Shades could wring out whatever information they liked, but I must ask for patience. It is an unusual thing indeed for the summoner to be so well-acquainted with me before the denouement."

He pauses at the edge of the spring, and glances down and to one side.

"I suppose there is no reason to hurry back with the summoner thus occupied," he reasons. "The show cannot go on without both roles filled..."

Then he turns, settles down, and stretches out in the glowing water with his back against the side. His spindly arms unfold to rest languidly along the fringe.

And, finally, asks the question he wants to ask.

"How fares our child in the interim?"

[focusedvoid]

The Sibling is tugged back. This success is only partial--but while they were truthful they won't force any to do anything as the Lord of Shades, there was nothing about the Knight not using more mundane measures.

The whole of them loosens from the statue and melts, half-literally, into the water.

Sibling can't truly squawk indignation, but they echo a good substitute through their heads, rushing to the very tip of a tendril still drifting lazily above the water. Hey! They're not getting in there!

The Knight is distracted by the sensation of water spilling over their head and face. Something...is wrong? Something...?

No, something is strange, but right: the Lord of Shades has no mask, and so no holes in their face for water to pour into. They revel in it, even as they listen to Grimm's voice carry through the springs, bringing a prickle of guilt along.

Thoughts, carefully packaged: they're fine, the Knight believes.

Images, a scene: Myla, Grimmchild settled on her lap as she stares vacantly under bright lights. Grimmchild, circling their head as they add pots to their shelf. Myla, more animated, chatting with Iselda in their home again, Grimmchild stretching across her and partly onto the Knight's lap on the couch, as they both listen to discussion about the toxicity of cinnabar. Myla's using their back as an armrest. The Knight briefly reaches out to pat them, and is bemused when their paw is grabbed by careful fangs and pulled back before they can tuck it inside the blankets. They put their paw between Grimmchild's horns again and leave it resting there.

Their assistance was enlisted outside of being deadly companion. Is this acceptable?

[baelfyr]

It's not every day one meets a god made up of many, at least not if acolytes don't count. The little shade's reluctance to take a dip despite the Shadelord's nonchalance is endearing, in a distant sort of way.

The Lord of Shades melting into the pool... Frankly, that much is pleasantly ordinary, and he has no qualms with it.

The information shared with him is met at first with caution, and then there is a brief, faint flicker of something like pleasant surprise, or warmth. He is not entirely detached. There is something to the thought that the child is being cared for properly - he could not have expected better, and didn't.

"It is -"

...Can they hear him under the water? What part of Void listens? All of it, or some? He gives a hum and beacons his thoughts instead.

"...It is not for the Troupe Master to decide how the fire is built," he informs them, choosing his wording carefully and giving very little away beyond that initial moment. "But I am permitted to voice my approval. A promising beginning if I might say so, friend of mine." There is meaning in the last three words.

[focusedvoid]

They couldn't answer how if he asked, but they hear him. And the water, falling onto them from above, bubbling around them from below. It's soothing, where Grimm's scorched voice can't be.

They don't protest his thoughts. They can keep learning by experience.

Sent back: concern, in a few layers, some shoved to be poorly hidden beneath others. The highest and most important, considering his words and Grimmchild. They're grateful he approves. But would his input be unsafe, somehow?

[baelfyr]

Grimm tilts his head, speaking to the Lord of Shades in full even as he has nothing else to look at than the poking horns and slip of a Sibling. (His expression is curious, but reserved - the idle watch of an uninvolved party from across a room.)

He supposes the concern has merit. The situation being as it is, they know far more about him than the average summoner. Normally he wouldn't have given one cause.

Grimm gives a slight mollifying gesture with one hand, not that he expects them to see it. In his position on the edge he looks profoundly comfortable, though someone with his command of a room tends not to look uncomfortable anywhere.

"I am permitted my opinions, of course." He folds one leg over the other, wings unfurling red in the water either side of him. "But to try to manage the summoner's role would strip the Ritual of meaning - and, too, would be futile. Ours in creation; yours in cultivation. The die is already cast."

Admittance on some level that he expects no hand in Grimmchild's future. His thoughts feel strange, there, for the briefest moment before they are pulled back beneath his wing. With his command of Dream and Nightmare it is possible but unlikely that this was an accident.

[focusedvoid]

Dryly: they had not quite expected to be a single parent.

Less dry, genuine: Would he like to? Offer opinions, suggestions, not quite managing? They're busy. They're busy. Learning. Fixing mistakes. Their own. Others'. Grimmchild...falls by the wayside, at times, and Grimm would know what they might want and need more than the Knight. They aren't joined as they are with Siblings, after all. (The tendril holding a pair of suspicious eyes sways above the water, sloshing from side to side of black as well.)

Unease is kept at bay, wrapped under their primary concern and genuine exhaustion that they're busy.

Brumm had muttered to them about invisible chains and their own lack of Master, and while they'd never quite forgotten his words, they'd--been busy, then, too. They listened enough to put the Ritual off. They hadn't enough to chase him where he requested.

[baelfyr]

In response: indifference, though it doesn't seem to be meant in an unkind way. It is simply that most do not expect that. Or anything else - broadly speaking, life is unpredictable, and moreover Grimm cannot apologise for the nature of the Ritual.

He is not detached, until he is. Grimm's responses now are scrubbed scrupulously clean of suggestion or deeper thought - except for the fact that he hopes this is reassuring information.

"The Kingdom's embers glow within, and the child will become whether or not you make it your work to fan that flame."

More gently, and this time laced with a small measure of approval for the memories they shared with him by way of explanation:

"What the child may become is an infinite realm of prospects. I find I rather like those prospects as they stand!"

[focusedvoid]

The Lord of Shades lifts their head, still under the water, just enough for their own eight eyes' glow to be distinct from the richness of Soul. Grimm is a black-red blur somewhere to the side.

They are...somewhat assured. And somewhat frustrated. They're looking for an answer to a question they can't ask. But--they really are busy, and the Ritual is something they can put on pause. They can observe the Troupe more later; mask and Myla are higher priority.

Sent very carefully: they are grateful he thinks so, but still, that was not their full query. Does Grimm want to?

[baelfyr]

Grimm's gaze fixes right on them, which they will likely feel as a prickle a lot more than they'll see through the ripples.

"I am afraid my answer remains elusive, Knight." And confusion, this time. Bared. Foreign, coming from him, but for this they should know things are... complex. They have earned that right.

Grimm is quiet for some time. He tilts his head, evaluating.

They are a Higher Being, and he a vessel for his. But they are - or are usually - a vessel, as well. They are not so dissimilar, in ways perhaps unprecedented.

Perhaps there is no sense in not sharing such things. Grimm has limited time, after all.

...Fine then. The Lord of Shades is given a small insight at the very least: a small package of information, in a rush, like the overlapping whispers of a Lore Tablet but harsher and more tangled and more filled with burn and chill in equal measure.

Given the same context, would one make the same choices? Is it not fairer to allow room for change, for error, for growth, in ways unforeseen and unplanned? If you, Knight, were to be given reign over another self, would you want the same grudges, the same fears, the same joys, or would such encouragement lock out the chance at a clean slate? Would that not be what was deserved?

Grimm has shifted, to sit cross-legged with his hands folded in his lap. It was neat and concise enough, even if it lacked years of nuance.

"Rumination has not granted me an answer, and I cannot in good faith grant one to you."