[ Glory doesn't usually put a lot of effort into disguising himself. Either people sense the immense amount of magic and decide he's better left well alone or they treat him normally for a stranger who refuses to take his hood off and occasionally wears a strangely shitty mask.
Either way, he's not usually approached by people who have nothing to say to him. So he shifts a little, hands clasped on the table. ]
Can I help you in any way? [ His voice is mellow and sonorous. Friendly. ]
[She pauses for a moment. Squints. Decides even if it's a trap, she can punch him from seated.]
You're rather affable, aren't you? [Maybe it's the light in here, but her eyes to seem to gleam a lot brighter than they should...are they just hyper-reflective, like a cats? Are dhampir just big kitties? ARE THEY????]
I suppose well start with the easy one; what's a lich like you doing in a place like this?
[ He seems a little bemused by Naeva's blunt comment. The eyegleam is...look, he has a part-aasimar under his care and a half-demon half-orc, he's seen weirder in smaller packages. He's not going to make any assumptions, the world is too bizarre for that.
But he laughs, after a moment of surprise, at that very direct question. ] You're straightforward, aren't you! I like that.
I was intending to have a nice day out, actually. [ He's just running errands! He stopped in here because the atmosphere was nice, and he likes being around people. ] I enjoy spending time around people.
[ Glory exudes magic; it's something he can't hide, and that he wouldn't. But magic runs through him differently than it would with other liches; it pours in and out of him, a living circuit. It brings to mind the imagery of flowers blooming and plants growing than something...less lively and more necrotic. ]
[The land of Hallownest was unchanging in its decay. Since the day that the Pale King and the White Palace disappeared, the seeping plague had ruined all it touched. The dead bugs rose to haunt what what left and the living's dreams had been invaded by a terrible light.
Dirthmouth was the only place that could remotely be considered safe for those incapable of combat. However many have been drawn down to the lower areas for riches, fame or the enjoyment of a good mystery.
Or, as it is often the case, death.
But on the high, high peeks of the Hollowing Cliffs something has taken place. A Lantern lit, a carnival called to the dying lands - to the apparent worry and annoyance of the few residents left. The Grimm Troupe has arrived to put on their performance of fire and shadows.
Yet the curious thing is not the Troupe's arrival but the absence of the one who called them in the first place. A curious thing as many times in the past they were greeted by that bug, be it because they knew what they were doing when they called Grimm or they were merely curious as to what they summoned.
That is not the case this time. Grimm was personally rather intrigued by such a change in his endless song and decided to explore the land to see if there truly was no one who called (or intended to respond). It could not be the Pale King - he was far too prompt with such things and did not call the God of Nightmares unless he had a very good reason.
(He was not one for idle chat, sadly.)
Brumm was left in charge while Grimm wandered, shutting down the Troupe for the first time in eons. The song was changing ever so slightly as he took each step.
He teleports within the Ancient Basin, near where the White Palace once stood. Perhaps it was nostalgia that led him here. The Troupe Master had been inside the palace a handful of times and found it beautiful in its own way (and slightly amused at how much he stood out against it).
But now it is gone.
And...strangely absent of creatures infected by the plague. Curious.]
[ In some other future the nameless vessel that lingered here had lit the lantern, had met Grimm, had proceeded with the Ritual. Had escaped the Abyss, had fled Hallownest entirely, in times long past. Had grown, though not in size.
This was not that one.
They remember -- falling. Darkness. Brief flashes of fear. Words, embedded so deeply into what little there was of their memory that it felt like part of their soul. Little else. When they had emerged from the place of their birth at last, it was to a still and quiet place.
They had liked it enough to linger, as much as a little scrap of emptiness like them could like anything much. They'd found a sword, somewhere, but memory meant little to them. Time meant less than nothing. They don't remember where they picked it up.
They chased out those creatures infested with light, at least. They knew that much. Whatever hid inside those shells was an enemy, had stood in opposition to them before they were even born. A grudge forged long ago.
But now there's something different. Someone different? Light, but darkness too.
Long-neglected curiosity stirs weakly in them. Rather than approach with their sword out, as they tended to do for all problems, they hover cautiously in the shadows, attempting to determine whether this stranger is a threat or not.
Sadly, they have learned relatively little stealth, and so they're fairly obvious to Grimm. But they're trying...something. It's newer than anything they've done in a long, long time. ]
[For someone who is more often then not watched by a crowd, it would be hard for Grimm not to notice the pair of eyes on him. The lack of stealth on the other's part certainly does not help matters either.
But as they have not immediately attempted to attack him, Grimm is content to allow them to watch for a little while longer. If it is the creature who has driven off the infected to protect their home and was evaluating whether or not he too was a threat, then it was understandable. A battle, on the other hand, would be another matter. But they can cross that bridge when they reach it.
From a physical observation Grimm is more eye-catching then he is dangerous in appearance. Extremely tall and thin, he does not appear to carry a physical weapon (if one discounts what could be hidden under his cloak...or the cloak itself). But as for the light and darkness within him, the latter largely outstrips the former. Grimm was the least God-like among his "peers" and was the God of Nightmares. There is a great darkness within him, burning like a unstoppable fire...but it is not evil.
A counterpoint to the good dreams one may have, the bad days passed so you can treasure the good days all the more. Fireworks, dance and song.
But that is enough about him, for as the time passes Grimm grows curious about his one bug audience and so he calls out.]
Greetings, my hidden friend. If I am encroaching upon your territory then I apologize, but as you watch my curiosity grows as to who you are. Will you come out?
[He knows where they are but will not force them out if they do not wish it.]
[ The words are -- unfamiliar things. Not just in tone, but the fact they are being spoken to at all. They're used to the skittering and clawing of things sluggishly climbing the walls, the occasional murmur of a bug possessed, but otherwise...
...there's another little spark of interest. A dull flicker of curiosity, drawing them out of their (admittedly poor) hiding place. A tiny, masked figure in a ragged cloak, wielding a cracked nail.
Grimm will recognise them for what they are, a vessel. Not the one spoken of by the Pale King, that was for certain.
They stare blankly at him, stopping some way away. There is the slightest hint of something akin to interest, but little else. It's a dispassionate, almost empty kind of observation. ]
[Oh, now this certainly is curious. Grimm had not personally met the one dubbed the Hollow Knight by the Pale King but he does know of the...."manner" in which they were all made. How could he not as the God of Nightmares, who visited the dead and dying and may have sent a little dream to even this one now and then when they slept?
Grimm maintains the distance between the two of them as he observes. The Vessel may be small and their nail cracked, but it spoke of their strength that not only were they capable of defeating the creatures under the Radiance's influence, they also appeared to have been driven away from this patch of land. This Vessel indeed had the power to drive back the Radiance.
Although, he supposes, that was the point.
The Vessel's stare does not disturb Grimm as he's been on the receiving end of the intensity their creator possessed many times. Still there is that sliver of interest in the interloper of their territory even if it is the tiniest of things. A spark of something.
The question is will it light or will it burn out before it even begins?
Grimm bows lowly before addressing them again.]
Well met, my friend. Were you the one who called us to the dying lands of Hallownest?
[The fact they are indeed a Vessel could be addressed once that is out of the way.]
[ Now that they have something to focus on, the voice, the presence, seems...familiar.
They...
They remember, a little. Their mind, drifting still, buried deep but not crushed, not fully consigned to oblivion, not yet dead. There is a hazy memory of a scattered vision tinged with scarlet fire.
They don't recall what it was they saw, what made them toss and turn in uneasiness, what made them startle awake at the bottom of the Abyss and realise they had survived after all. But the echo is enough to produce more effort in that spark of curiosity, turning it into a weak, tiny flame.
They take a few halting steps forward, apparently to inspect him more closely; there's a hesitant quality to their movements that wasn't evident before.
"Were you the one who called us?"
No, they don't know who he is, or what he speaks of, being called to this place. (Hallownest? Is that what it's called?)
They are being addressed. They...should answer? They should answer.
They shake their head, once. Still staring, but this time there's confusion in it, as if they're trying to figure out who he is. As if they're trying to remember who he is.
[Both the darkness and light of a dream were nothing more then a blank canvas to paint fantasies and tragedies upon. The skill of the artist varied, those who merely experienced their dreams against those who shaped them as they saw fit. Both options were certainly valid - to create something to lull oneself to sleep or throw caution to the wind and see what their mind creates - but those who could not shape their own dreams certainly will notice when their dreams are being manipulated by another's hands.
It is a smooth transition. Even if it is nothing in particular the tiny Vessel is dreaming of, the scene soon shifts to one of red and blue patchwork from floor to ceiling. A tunnel that appears to lead to nowhere in particular and filled with red smoke and heat. The temperature does not obey the rules of reality - it can be like a warm campfire, a raging inferno or anywhere else in-between - but it appears to be controlled regardless, if controlled by someone who apparently cannot decide what it should be.
Discarded on the floor are the familiar lamps that hung in the Grimm Troupe's tents, although the glass is broken and the light is feeble, barely able to light the way forward.
There is not much choice but to go forward, however. There is a strange pull too this realm and a voice calling the Vessel. A voice that they will know - the voice of the one who changed their fate, the voice of the voiceless...what it is, it is up to them.
But beware. This place does not offer the harsh light of the Radiance, the mysterious blur of dreams nor the soothing darkness of the Void. No. This is the shadows and fire of Nightmares.
[ The realm of dreams is something they have always viewed more as an outsider; they dreamed, yes, but of things that happened. Memories they dwelled on, for better or worse. Never something controllable. Never really something they could help (those things were long past, they knew this).
So having a dream this clear and yet this unfamiliar to them is -- surprising. They take a moment to observe their surroundings; they briefly wonder what the purpose of such a thing is, but they don't wonder long.
There is a voice calling them. A flame that once illuminated their long sleep and woke them from dark dreams, reminded them that they could wake up. They remember it.
Perhaps they should be fearful, considering what such a voice represents, but it doesn't occur to them to be.
What is placed in front of them is simple. There is a tunnel. A call to follow. So they do.
They will keep walking until something happens, until something changes. Expectant, rather than afraid or apprehensive or even cautious, of what this nightmare holds. ]
[A lack of fear. A double-edged sword. To approach without fear is good but there is a recklessness without it. Where the Vessel falls is unknown: the former, the latter or those who know how to exist in-between.
Not going to predict, not going to assume. Nightmares connected all, shows the fears within one's hearts. This dice will land where it chooses to and even the God of Nightmares cannot cheat this game.
The tunnel opens to a large circle, lit by the flames clinging to the walls. The obvious exit is blocked by said fire and despite the flexibility of dreams, the flames will burn regardless of the Vessel's perspective. Jumping over them is a no-go either.
There is a familiar crack-bang of the Troupe Master's teleportation but it is not him. Cloaked in scarlet robes the Grimmkin Nightmares stand tall with their staffs, three in total. They watch the Vessel curiously and their dark laughter echoes in the darkness as a macabre tune plays.
They do not speak of what to do, how to escape this room beside simply turning around and going back to where they came. But the Vessel has a voice with their thoughts even if they do not yet know.
[ Fire, light, those things the void within their heart accepted or extinguished. The spark of latent curiosity, stoked into flame.
They step into the room; the rush of heat from behind them makes it clear that there is little they can do to reverse it, to go back. To remain unchanged in darkness.
Their changing, rapid thoughts are locked behind that expressionless mask; they simply observe the Grimmkin for a while, considering their options. Listening, their main method of encouraging communication, didn't seem to have a place here. Writing was something they were only beginning to learn, and it felt wrong to try in a dream such as this.
What is there? What is left? They want to say I don't know what you want, I can't ask. I can't speak. But that, too, seems...it's not wrong, not as wrong as the rest, but it's not right either.
They simply know they cannot speak. It was built into them, part of the mask they were given. No voice to cry out, no speech to express their suffering.
They have never tried to.
They stand silent, for a while, dwelling on the problem, and then they try anyway.
(The voice of the Vessel is the first note of rain, the quiet echo of a droplet returning. The murmur of running water. A barely audible whisper.
The first things they say to another being, the first things they have ever given voice to, are questions.)
Why did you call me?
What should I do?
They don't ask who he is. They already know. But what does he require from them? ]
[No voice to cry suffering, cut off from what Gods and bugs are born with. A right snatched away without their consent but they have found a means of communication with written words. And now they have taken the first step in projecting their thoughts.
Good!, the flames seem to say. The voice that encouraged the Vessel's growth and uniqueness at every turn is the same, regardless of which God stood before them. The presence of the Nightmare King is felt within the very fiber of this world but it was also Grimm's nightmare. They are one in the same, the traveling God of the Grimm Troupe and the God of Nightmares.
But the Grimmkin speak with their own thoughts, quieter then their brethren in reality. An explanation asked is what they were here to answer.]
Our Master is asleep and wishes to show you this.
Our Master is awake and wants you to hear this.
Your thoughts are your voice to use as you see fit here.
[One of the Grimmkin raises their staff and waves it in the air to dismiss the flames. They were not here to stop the Vessel nor test them in any manner. The Nightmare King was amused by puzzles but he was not one to put those who are called or wander into his nightmare through an unending gauntlet to see what happens.
He merely wanted to show them that they had a voice in this place. What will happen next will happen when the Vessel walks through the exit.
Unless they notice the Grimmkin have not said why they are here in the first place and wishes to ask more. They have an answer but it is up to the Vessel to ask.]
[ Regardless of the heat of the surroundings, the fire that lights the strange dream they stand in, that note of approval makes something in them respond.
(They are uncertain of what that feeling is, as of yet. But it's something they want to know more of.)
They look up at the response, head turning as they track each speaker. It feels new, to know that the words that the Grimmkin are responding to are theirs. Not a motion or gesture, a question posed in silence, but a voice of their own.
It's an almost frightening feeling. They know it's not something they're supposed to have; deep in their heart, they feel as if they have broken a rule. But those shackles placed at the moment of their birth aren't enough to stop them from speaking.
They turn to the exit, but before they leave something appears to occur to them, and they look over their shoulder. There was something, left unsaid...
[There is no elegant way to put this situation. It simply sucks.
Grimm cannot rightly say what exactly lead to this situation, only that he had not intended to teleport into a closet of all things. The White Palace had not been built for bugs of his height when it came to its day-to-day accommodations so the closet was small, cramped and very much too small for him to stand in comfortably.
It did not help that said closet was already occupied when he teleported in.
The Troupe Master shifts a little to release the pressure in his arms. He was almost bent completely in half and was bracing himself against the wall as extra support. His role as a performer demanded him to hold poses without moving for a long time but the extra support was so he was not impaled.
If Grimm's height has finally backfired on him, the Pale King's crown was also proving to be a problem. But the main problem was that the door had locked behind them and refused to budge.
He tries not to huff as he looks down at the Pale King.]
Certainly I have been in many interesting places, but I must say this is new.
[ If this had been any other situation, he might have felt the faint flicker of amusement at Grimm's predicament. It was rare to see the Troupe Master taken so off guard by...basically anything.
(Even with his ability to perfectly recall anything he desired, he had still had to actually search for a point of reference. It had been a long time since he had seen Grimm off-balance at all.)
Right now, though, any amusement he could have gleaned from it is mitigated by the fact that he had an experiment to run, and being trapped in one of the closets where he kept equipment was
not ideal, he would say. ]
If you didn't insist on making so many unexpected visits...perhaps this might have gone better.
[ He'd placed snares, more as an experiment than anything else. Always, always tinkering with security, with seals; preparing for the distant future, never really fixed in the present.
It often led to...little inconveniences like this.
(Who would experiment with traps in a personal space that nobody else came to? The Pale King would.
An incomplete seal shines dully in the darkness, clearly visible on the inside of the door.) ]
At least...you have provided some valuable information as to whether this seal pattern works.
[ He taps the closet's doors, to indicate what he's speaking of.
There's a faint hint of tension in his body, in his movements, but that's the only indication he might be irritated rather than just emotionlessly turning the problem over to discover another angle as he always does. ]
[It is true that Grimm was rarely caught off guard. He did not possess the foresight of the Wyrms but he has lived as long as the Radiance and had the advantage of a physical vessel to experience the waking world. There was not much that could surprise him.
What did manage to do so usually was something that should be taken seriously or was like this. Being pulled in a different direction mid-teleportation was....disconcerting. Very few had the power to do such a thing.
But that is the only thing that surprises Grimm. An experiment conducted in a place nobody came to? Yes, it likely was the Pale King's doing. As it was many times in the past, Grimm could see the logic behind the choice in location but...
It was dumb. Really, really dumb.]
You say that as if you do not enjoy my visits, dear Wyrm!
[He is joking and they both knew it. But joking helps a little with the feeling of being caught. Grimm bends backwards to look at the indicated seal, hearing a few joints crack as he does so. He ignores that to observe the Pale King's body language.
He was more expressive when he was thinking, turning problems around his head and seeing those gears move. Grimm has spent enough time to see a little beyond said gears and could pick up on what the Pale King was unconsciously showing.]
So if you have confirmed these indeed work...shall we leave? Or are you looking for a certain something...like a key?
[Is Grimm suggesting that the Pale King does not have one? Yes.]
[ Usually, he would have had an immediate response to the Troupe Master saying something like that. But for reasons known only to himself, the only indication he gives of having heard Grimm's joke is a quiet exhalation of breath; something between a sigh and a huff.
He turns his attention to the seal, not looking at the other bug; tracing its intricacies in his mind. An incomplete seal...he hadn't, in truth, expected this one to work. There were others in his laboratory - stronger, completed, more complex - and he had devised ways to unlock them quickly at need.
This one...would have to be unraveled, unmade. It had no fast solution.
(History will repeat itself. Something flawed and broken, becoming more than it was supposed to be.) ]
This one was incomplete. [ A pause. ] I did not expect it to work.
Unraveling it is a simple task. But it will take a little more time.
[ He doesn't wait for any possible response to that; he simply begins, bending his will to the task.
He doesn't even need to look at the door, but he does so anyway. (It's a learned movement, something that has become familiar to do; turn your head to look, even with an omnipotent will, a mind that can sense in all intricacies whatever is happening before it, because...it feels better to do so, somehow, in some small way.
[Grimm remains as he is while the Pale King gets to work. In this situation he would indeed offer help but this was out of his hands. The things the Pale King created may seem simple on the surface - a toy, a soldier, a seal - but were far more complicated when pried open. In the hands of someone else they likely would irreversibly destroy these creations.
After all, when it came to pure intelligence, the Pale King remained unmatched.]
It certainly works if it is capable of catching me.
[It is a compliment. The Pale King knew just as much as the Radiance that without the Nightmare Lantern it was impossible call Grimm somewhere if he did not wish to be there. Even if was a random quirk of the seal, it still successfully pulled the God of Nightmares where it wanted.
(Something small containing the power to move Gods.)
But when the Pale King begins to work Grimm knows he will not get a response unless something changes or the door opened. It took a crowbar to pull Wyrm from his work and even more to drag him into small talk. So instead Grimm watches the upside-down image of the Pale King at work in silence.
He has absolutely noted that the Pale King has moved to look at the door when he does not have to. Curious.]
[Is this Life Aftr setting? Probably. Don't ask Suga, he just got here.
He's walking the beach with one hand on his sword - one that looks to be made of crystal instead of metal, but it's blue rather than the Peak's pink. When he spots the Knight he freezes for a second.
...They're not the kind of spirit he's used to. But he needed the second to get over the resemblance.
After that, he fishes through his pocket for a memo pad and pen. Suga's a quick writer, if nothing else, so that when (if) they come closer he'll already have a memo card to hand to them.]
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you know why the fuck I'm here
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Either way, he's not usually approached by people who have nothing to say to him. So he shifts a little, hands clasped on the table. ]
Can I help you in any way? [ His voice is mellow and sonorous. Friendly. ]
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Or, rather, she knows that Glory is a lich--Naeva can smell it, can sense it, can feel the ache in her blood that tells her that the undead are near.
But...
Well, he certainly isn't behaving like any lich she's ever met.]
...I have a few questions.
[Information before plan of attack. You can't just charge into everything with a sword, like some people.]
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Not uncommon! Not uncommon.
Please, feel free. [ He gestures. ] Would you like to take a seat, or...? It's your choice, either way.
[ He's certainly very polite. And if he knows what she is, he's keeping it to himself. ]
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You're rather affable, aren't you? [Maybe it's the light in here, but her eyes to seem to gleam a lot brighter than they should...are they just hyper-reflective, like a cats? Are dhampir just big kitties? ARE THEY????]
I suppose well start with the easy one; what's a lich like you doing in a place like this?
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[ He seems a little bemused by Naeva's blunt comment. The eyegleam is...look, he has a part-aasimar under his care and a half-demon half-orc, he's seen weirder in smaller packages. He's not going to make any assumptions, the world is too bizarre for that.
But he laughs, after a moment of surprise, at that very direct question. ] You're straightforward, aren't you! I like that.
I was intending to have a nice day out, actually. [ He's just running errands! He stopped in here because the atmosphere was nice, and he likes being around people. ] I enjoy spending time around people.
[ Glory exudes magic; it's something he can't hide, and that he wouldn't. But magic runs through him differently than it would with other liches; it pours in and out of him, a living circuit. It brings to mind the imagery of flowers blooming and plants growing than something...less lively and more necrotic. ]
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ALSO HAVE A BIRD
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Dirthmouth was the only place that could remotely be considered safe for those incapable of combat. However many have been drawn down to the lower areas for riches, fame or the enjoyment of a good mystery.
Or, as it is often the case, death.
But on the high, high peeks of the Hollowing Cliffs something has taken place. A Lantern lit, a carnival called to the dying lands - to the apparent worry and annoyance of the few residents left. The Grimm Troupe has arrived to put on their performance of fire and shadows.
Yet the curious thing is not the Troupe's arrival but the absence of the one who called them in the first place. A curious thing as many times in the past they were greeted by that bug, be it because they knew what they were doing when they called Grimm or they were merely curious as to what they summoned.
That is not the case this time. Grimm was personally rather intrigued by such a change in his endless song and decided to explore the land to see if there truly was no one who called (or intended to respond). It could not be the Pale King - he was far too prompt with such things and did not call the God of Nightmares unless he had a very good reason.
(He was not one for idle chat, sadly.)
Brumm was left in charge while Grimm wandered, shutting down the Troupe for the first time in eons. The song was changing ever so slightly as he took each step.
He teleports within the Ancient Basin, near where the White Palace once stood. Perhaps it was nostalgia that led him here. The Troupe Master had been inside the palace a handful of times and found it beautiful in its own way (and slightly amused at how much he stood out against it).
But now it is gone.
And...strangely absent of creatures infected by the plague. Curious.]
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This was not that one.
They remember -- falling. Darkness. Brief flashes of fear. Words, embedded so deeply into what little there was of their memory that it felt like part of their soul. Little else. When they had emerged from the place of their birth at last, it was to a still and quiet place.
They had liked it enough to linger, as much as a little scrap of emptiness like them could like anything much. They'd found a sword, somewhere, but memory meant little to them. Time meant less than nothing. They don't remember where they picked it up.
They chased out those creatures infested with light, at least. They knew that much. Whatever hid inside those shells was an enemy, had stood in opposition to them before they were even born. A grudge forged long ago.
But now there's something different. Someone different? Light, but darkness too.
Long-neglected curiosity stirs weakly in them. Rather than approach with their sword out, as they tended to do for all problems, they hover cautiously in the shadows, attempting to determine whether this stranger is a threat or not.
Sadly, they have learned relatively little stealth, and so they're fairly obvious to Grimm. But they're trying...something. It's newer than anything they've done in a long, long time. ]
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But as they have not immediately attempted to attack him, Grimm is content to allow them to watch for a little while longer. If it is the creature who has driven off the infected to protect their home and was evaluating whether or not he too was a threat, then it was understandable. A battle, on the other hand, would be another matter. But they can cross that bridge when they reach it.
From a physical observation Grimm is more eye-catching then he is dangerous in appearance. Extremely tall and thin, he does not appear to carry a physical weapon (if one discounts what could be hidden under his cloak...or the cloak itself). But as for the light and darkness within him, the latter largely outstrips the former. Grimm was the least God-like among his "peers" and was the God of Nightmares. There is a great darkness within him, burning like a unstoppable fire...but it is not evil.
A counterpoint to the good dreams one may have, the bad days passed so you can treasure the good days all the more. Fireworks, dance and song.
But that is enough about him, for as the time passes Grimm grows curious about his one bug audience and so he calls out.]
Greetings, my hidden friend. If I am encroaching upon your territory then I apologize, but as you watch my curiosity grows as to who you are. Will you come out?
[He knows where they are but will not force them out if they do not wish it.]
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...there's another little spark of interest. A dull flicker of curiosity, drawing them out of their (admittedly poor) hiding place. A tiny, masked figure in a ragged cloak, wielding a cracked nail.
Grimm will recognise them for what they are, a vessel. Not the one spoken of by the Pale King, that was for certain.
They stare blankly at him, stopping some way away. There is the slightest hint of something akin to interest, but little else. It's a dispassionate, almost empty kind of observation. ]
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Grimm maintains the distance between the two of them as he observes. The Vessel may be small and their nail cracked, but it spoke of their strength that not only were they capable of defeating the creatures under the Radiance's influence, they also appeared to have been driven away from this patch of land. This Vessel indeed had the power to drive back the Radiance.
Although, he supposes, that was the point.
The Vessel's stare does not disturb Grimm as he's been on the receiving end of the intensity their creator possessed many times. Still there is that sliver of interest in the interloper of their territory even if it is the tiniest of things. A spark of something.
The question is will it light or will it burn out before it even begins?
Grimm bows lowly before addressing them again.]
Well met, my friend. Were you the one who called us to the dying lands of Hallownest?
[The fact they are indeed a Vessel could be addressed once that is out of the way.]
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They...
They remember, a little. Their mind, drifting still, buried deep but not crushed, not fully consigned to oblivion, not yet dead. There is a hazy memory of a scattered vision tinged with scarlet fire.
They don't recall what it was they saw, what made them toss and turn in uneasiness, what made them startle awake at the bottom of the Abyss and realise they had survived after all. But the echo is enough to produce more effort in that spark of curiosity, turning it into a weak, tiny flame.
They take a few halting steps forward, apparently to inspect him more closely; there's a hesitant quality to their movements that wasn't evident before.
"Were you the one who called us?"
No, they don't know who he is, or what he speaks of, being called to this place. (Hallownest? Is that what it's called?)
They are being addressed. They...should answer? They should answer.
They shake their head, once. Still staring, but this time there's confusion in it, as if they're trying to figure out who he is. As if they're trying to remember who he is.
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It is a smooth transition. Even if it is nothing in particular the tiny Vessel is dreaming of, the scene soon shifts to one of red and blue patchwork from floor to ceiling. A tunnel that appears to lead to nowhere in particular and filled with red smoke and heat. The temperature does not obey the rules of reality - it can be like a warm campfire, a raging inferno or anywhere else in-between - but it appears to be controlled regardless, if controlled by someone who apparently cannot decide what it should be.
Discarded on the floor are the familiar lamps that hung in the Grimm Troupe's tents, although the glass is broken and the light is feeble, barely able to light the way forward.
There is not much choice but to go forward, however. There is a strange pull too this realm and a voice calling the Vessel. A voice that they will know - the voice of the one who changed their fate, the voice of the voiceless...what it is, it is up to them.
But beware. This place does not offer the harsh light of the Radiance, the mysterious blur of dreams nor the soothing darkness of the Void. No. This is the shadows and fire of Nightmares.
The God is calling.]
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So having a dream this clear and yet this unfamiliar to them is -- surprising. They take a moment to observe their surroundings; they briefly wonder what the purpose of such a thing is, but they don't wonder long.
There is a voice calling them. A flame that once illuminated their long sleep and woke them from dark dreams, reminded them that they could wake up. They remember it.
Perhaps they should be fearful, considering what such a voice represents, but it doesn't occur to them to be.
What is placed in front of them is simple. There is a tunnel. A call to follow. So they do.
They will keep walking until something happens, until something changes. Expectant, rather than afraid or apprehensive or even cautious, of what this nightmare holds. ]
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Not going to predict, not going to assume. Nightmares connected all, shows the fears within one's hearts. This dice will land where it chooses to and even the God of Nightmares cannot cheat this game.
The tunnel opens to a large circle, lit by the flames clinging to the walls. The obvious exit is blocked by said fire and despite the flexibility of dreams, the flames will burn regardless of the Vessel's perspective. Jumping over them is a no-go either.
There is a familiar crack-bang of the Troupe Master's teleportation but it is not him. Cloaked in scarlet robes the Grimmkin Nightmares stand tall with their staffs, three in total. They watch the Vessel curiously and their dark laughter echoes in the darkness as a macabre tune plays.
They do not speak of what to do, how to escape this room beside simply turning around and going back to where they came. But the Vessel has a voice with their thoughts even if they do not yet know.
Speak to the fire. Ask what needs to be done.]
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They step into the room; the rush of heat from behind them makes it clear that there is little they can do to reverse it, to go back. To remain unchanged in darkness.
Their changing, rapid thoughts are locked behind that expressionless mask; they simply observe the Grimmkin for a while, considering their options. Listening, their main method of encouraging communication, didn't seem to have a place here. Writing was something they were only beginning to learn, and it felt wrong to try in a dream such as this.
What is there? What is left? They want to say I don't know what you want,
I can't ask.
I can't speak. But that, too, seems...it's not wrong, not as wrong as the rest, but it's not right either.
They simply know they cannot speak. It was built into them, part of the mask they were given. No voice to cry out, no speech to express their suffering.
They have never tried to.
They stand silent, for a while, dwelling on the problem, and then they try anyway.
(The voice of the Vessel is the first note of rain, the quiet echo of a droplet returning. The murmur of running water. A barely audible whisper.
The first things they say to another being, the first things they have ever given voice to, are questions.)
Why did you call me?
What should I do?
They don't ask who he is. They already know. But what does he require from them? ]
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Good!, the flames seem to say. The voice that encouraged the Vessel's growth and uniqueness at every turn is the same, regardless of which God stood before them. The presence of the Nightmare King is felt within the very fiber of this world but it was also Grimm's nightmare. They are one in the same, the traveling God of the Grimm Troupe and the God of Nightmares.
But the Grimmkin speak with their own thoughts, quieter then their brethren in reality. An explanation asked is what they were here to answer.]
Our Master is asleep and wishes to show you this.
Our Master is awake and wants you to hear this.
Your thoughts are your voice to use as you see fit here.
[One of the Grimmkin raises their staff and waves it in the air to dismiss the flames. They were not here to stop the Vessel nor test them in any manner. The Nightmare King was amused by puzzles but he was not one to put those who are called or wander into his nightmare through an unending gauntlet to see what happens.
He merely wanted to show them that they had a voice in this place. What will happen next will happen when the Vessel walks through the exit.
Unless they notice the Grimmkin have not said why they are here in the first place and wishes to ask more. They have an answer but it is up to the Vessel to ask.]
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(They are uncertain of what that feeling is, as of yet. But it's something they want to know more of.)
They look up at the response, head turning as they track each speaker. It feels new, to know that the words that the Grimmkin are responding to are theirs. Not a motion or gesture, a question posed in silence, but a voice of their own.
It's an almost frightening feeling. They know it's not something they're supposed to have; deep in their heart, they feel as if they have broken a rule. But those shackles placed at the moment of their birth aren't enough to stop them from speaking.
They turn to the exit, but before they leave something appears to occur to them, and they look over their shoulder. There was something, left unsaid...
You told me why I am here.
But why are you? ]
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apologizes for the delay in response
no worries, it's all good
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Grimm cannot rightly say what exactly lead to this situation, only that he had not intended to teleport into a closet of all things. The White Palace had not been built for bugs of his height when it came to its day-to-day accommodations so the closet was small, cramped and very much too small for him to stand in comfortably.
It did not help that said closet was already occupied when he teleported in.
The Troupe Master shifts a little to release the pressure in his arms. He was almost bent completely in half and was bracing himself against the wall as extra support. His role as a performer demanded him to hold poses without moving for a long time but the extra support was so he was not impaled.
If Grimm's height has finally backfired on him, the Pale King's crown was also proving to be a problem. But the main problem was that the door had locked behind them and refused to budge.
He tries not to huff as he looks down at the Pale King.]
Certainly I have been in many interesting places, but I must say this is new.
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(Even with his ability to perfectly recall anything he desired, he had still had to actually search for a point of reference. It had been a long time since he had seen Grimm off-balance at all.)
Right now, though, any amusement he could have gleaned from it is mitigated by the fact that he had an experiment to run, and being trapped in one of the closets where he kept equipment was
not ideal, he would say. ]
If you didn't insist on making so many unexpected visits...perhaps this might have gone better.
[ He'd placed snares, more as an experiment than anything else. Always, always tinkering with security, with seals; preparing for the distant future, never really fixed in the present.
It often led to...little inconveniences like this.
(Who would experiment with traps in a personal space that nobody else came to? The Pale King would.
An incomplete seal shines dully in the darkness, clearly visible on the inside of the door.) ]
At least...you have provided some valuable information as to whether this seal pattern works.
[ He taps the closet's doors, to indicate what he's speaking of.
There's a faint hint of tension in his body, in his movements, but that's the only indication he might be irritated rather than just emotionlessly turning the problem over to discover another angle as he always does. ]
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What did manage to do so usually was something that should be taken seriously or was like this. Being pulled in a different direction mid-teleportation was....disconcerting. Very few had the power to do such a thing.
But that is the only thing that surprises Grimm. An experiment conducted in a place nobody came to? Yes, it likely was the Pale King's doing. As it was many times in the past, Grimm could see the logic behind the choice in location but...
It was dumb. Really, really dumb.]
You say that as if you do not enjoy my visits, dear Wyrm!
[He is joking and they both knew it. But joking helps a little with the feeling of being caught. Grimm bends backwards to look at the indicated seal, hearing a few joints crack as he does so. He ignores that to observe the Pale King's body language.
He was more expressive when he was thinking, turning problems around his head and seeing those gears move. Grimm has spent enough time to see a little beyond said gears and could pick up on what the Pale King was unconsciously showing.]
So if you have confirmed these indeed work...shall we leave? Or are you looking for a certain something...like a key?
[Is Grimm suggesting that the Pale King does not have one? Yes.]
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He turns his attention to the seal, not looking at the other bug; tracing its intricacies in his mind. An incomplete seal...he hadn't, in truth, expected this one to work. There were others in his laboratory - stronger, completed, more complex - and he had devised ways to unlock them quickly at need.
This one...would have to be unraveled, unmade. It had no fast solution.
(History will repeat itself. Something flawed and broken, becoming more than it was supposed to be.) ]
This one was incomplete. [ A pause. ] I did not expect it to work.
Unraveling it is a simple task. But it will take a little more time.
[ He doesn't wait for any possible response to that; he simply begins, bending his will to the task.
He doesn't even need to look at the door, but he does so anyway. (It's a learned movement, something that has become familiar to do; turn your head to look, even with an omnipotent will, a mind that can sense in all intricacies whatever is happening before it, because...it feels better to do so, somehow, in some small way.
Mortal shells were such strange things.) ]
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After all, when it came to pure intelligence, the Pale King remained unmatched.]
It certainly works if it is capable of catching me.
[It is a compliment. The Pale King knew just as much as the Radiance that without the Nightmare Lantern it was impossible call Grimm somewhere if he did not wish to be there. Even if was a random quirk of the seal, it still successfully pulled the God of Nightmares where it wanted.
(Something small containing the power to move Gods.)
But when the Pale King begins to work Grimm knows he will not get a response unless something changes or the door opened. It took a crowbar to pull Wyrm from his work and even more to drag him into small talk. So instead Grimm watches the upside-down image of the Pale King at work in silence.
He has absolutely noted that the Pale King has moved to look at the door when he does not have to. Curious.]
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was going to tag your oc but then realized I don't know enough to make a starter so instead: knight
He's walking the beach with one hand on his sword - one that looks to be made of crystal instead of metal, but it's blue rather than the Peak's pink. When he spots the Knight he freezes for a second.
...They're not the kind of spirit he's used to. But he needed the second to get over the resemblance.
After that, he fishes through his pocket for a memo pad and pen. Suga's a quick writer, if nothing else, so that when (if) they come closer he'll already have a memo card to hand to them.]
Hello
Where is this