a knight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
willfilled) wrote2022-08-09 12:46 am
willfilled) wrote2022-08-09 12:46 am
memories
For future memshare shenanigans.
TO WRITE:
path of pain (room 4)
Hornet 1
Hornet 2/kingsbrand?
Quirrel (final)
abyss climb
a dance with Grimm
Cloth
Myla
TO WRITE:
Hornet 1
Hornet 2/kingsbrand?
abyss climb
a dance with Grimm
Cloth
Myla
the path of pain
You turn around and do it all again. This time you mistime the whole cycle and fall into the thorns while trying to bounce off of the first set of spears.
Again. You get to the third set, and to the spinning sawblade after, but another mistimed jump means the sawblade after that cleaves you in two.
Again. Another mis-timed jump into a blade.
Again. A jump takes you too high, into the thorns covering the ceiling.
Again. Again. Again. You throw yourself into the gauntlet over and over, waiting just long enough for your charms to heal over the leftover damage from each attempt before starting your next one. The pain is excruciating. The pain doesn't matter.
You want to know. You want to see. The pain doesn't matter, because the silent, screaming desire to understand why—to drag your "father"'s most hidden secrets into the light—burns more than your aching body ever could.
Eventually, you reach the end.
You don't know how long it took. Time had joined pain as something that didn't matter, your focus narrowed down to the simple purity of learning the pattern. Every ounce of your being is on the next step to take in the dance of blade and thorns, then the next, then the next— and with a shock like waking up you realize you're almost there. There's a gap in the thorns ahead, the one you've only made it to a few times, the one you can feel at your core is the last step, and you bounce-flap off the last saw and lunge through—
—and you drop.
And you land— directly between two of the king's hard-hitting guard-automata. Because of course, of course it isn't over. Of course he'd put one last guard on whatever secret he hid away here.
There were no benches on the path here. If you're defeated, you'll have to do the entire thing over again.
Desperate, aching, you throw yourself at the closest Kingsmould and dive, shamelessly spending every last drop of hoarded SOUL on spell after spell. You shred through armor— take a scythe to the face with a shell-shattering boom when you mis-time your invunerability— pull out your nail as you run empty and turn, bracing yourself... only to be faced with empty armor and puddle of evaporating void.
They're both dead. You're still here.
And beyond the room with its intricately carved Seal, there's light. You walk forward into it, and stare at— ]
the blue lake
All you have to follow is a single, offhanded comment and a hunch—a hope—but apparently that's enough. You trot into the cavernous room housing the Blue Lake... and there, sitting at the shore, is Quirrel. He stares out over the luminous water, either completely oblivious or (more likely) politely ignoring you as you implode with the force of your own relief.
Your approach when you make it is hesitant, if not tentative— you know he doesn't blame you for what you had to do to his Madam Monomon, whatever she'd been to him, but the ache of regret over it is so strong that it's impossible not to think it might live in his heart as well. But when you approach, he turns and smiles to see you, just as he always has— still with an echo of the exhaustion he'd worn after giving up Monomon's mask, but somehow also still full of the same wonderous joy you'd seen in him every other time you'd crossed paths while exploring.
"Again we meet, my short friend. Here at last, I feel at peace. Twice I've seen this world, and though my service may have stripped the first experience from me, I'm thankful I could witness its beauty again.
Hallownest is a vast and wondrous thing, but with as many wonders as it holds, I've seen none quite so intriguing as you."
You have no words for the feeling that wells up in your chest, your head at the fondness in his voice. You know a farewell when you hear one— and he's solved the mystery of his relationship with Hallownest. For all that the kingdom might have meant to who he used to be... who he is now is an explorer. An adventurer. Despite what the tablets scattered throughout the land claim, there are kingdoms to explore beyond Hallownest. His own adventure doesn't end here.
Unlike yours.
But before you can try to figure out how to untangle that feeling, how to respond, he laughs.
"Ha. My flattery returns only silent stoicism. I like that. ...I like that very much."
His dear, creaky voice drops to something shy of a whisper, as he turns back to the glow of the lake.
"...Incredible..."
Desperate, unwilling to let that be the last words you hear from him and full of some ache you still can't quite name, you pull out the familiar weight of the Dream Nail. It whispers to you, and when you pull back and strike with its insubstantial blade at Quirrel's unprotected back, his thoughts do too:
All tragedy erased. I see only wonders...
...you can't take that from him.
You can't try to ask him to stay.
There is only one thing you can do.
Quietly, you settle down next to him, and share one final moment enjoying the beauty of the dead kingdom together.
the white lady
Her body is relatively small, but her grasping roots and crown of branches glow with bright power against the darkness of the grotto. They wind their way through the ceiling and walls and floor to make their way outside— and you'd seen the vast bulk of them from outside, but hadn't known what they were.
Now you do.
Hesitantly, you approach. It isn't until you lay one tentative hand against the bindings wrapped all around her that she starts, and opens milky eyes to peer in your direction.
"Oh! One arrives. Far it walks to find me. Did it seek my aid? Or did the path carry it by chance to so pertinent a place? It is true. True, that you were awaited. No. Perhaps that is inaccurate. True one like you was awaited.
...I have a gift, held long for one of your kind. Half of a whole. When united, great power is granted, and on the path ahead, great power it will need."
More light twinkles into being, as she gathers her strength together. It coalesces in one blinding pulse— then drops to the ground, and you hesitantly step forward to pick it up.
It's half of what looks like it might be a charm, all swirling carved lines with hollowed out eyeholes like the ones in your mask. Something in your chest tightens at the resemblance, and you carefully tuck the thing away so you don't have to keep looking at it. You look back up to the White Lady, instead, and she hums.
"Within my roots, the weakening of the Vessel I plainly feel. Only two obvious outcomes there are from such a thing. The first is inevitable on current course: regression, all minds relinquished to that pernicious plague.
The second I find preferable, and would seek your aid in its occurrence— replacement."
...you knew the request was coming. It isn't a surprise. But hearing it still makes you feel like that tightness in you is crushing something vital past repair.
"I implore you, usurp the Vessel. Its supposed strength was ill-judged. It was tarnished by an idea instilled. But you. You are free of such blemishes. You could contain that thing inside. ...I'll offer fair warning. The Vessel may itself be weak, but it is much empowered by that force within. To claim its role requires strength of some magnitude. Prepare yourself well before attempting the task.
Prepare well, but don't dally. Were the Vessel to break prematurely, that plague would unleash with rage and power built of ages chained."
...finished with her plea, her warning, her eyes slide shut again, and she falls silent.
It seems there is nothing else she wants from you but the purpose you were birthed for.
Your mother has nothing else to say to you.
the laboratory (timestamps: 0:46 - 1:01)
This... is where he worked. This is where he made those things— prototypes, maybe. Or maybe he just preferred having empty things to do what he wanted over asking real people to do it.
...Maybe at the end of this, you can find out which.
In the center of the room, illuminated by the only ray of light coming from the outside, is one of the tablets engraved by the king's hand. Like the others you've found, the words on it light up with a sound like a soft breath as you approach.
You trace the curves of the letters, and read:
But yours is potential, eternity potential, force that could deny Time.
VOID, harness shall be placed upon you."
Something cold and full of serrated edges tightens in your chest.
You're not sure the anger is entirely "yours."
no subject
More welcome than that, however, is the person sitting at it. Quirrel leans casually back, one arm propped over the back of it as he looks out the window overlooking the City— watching the rain come down, but even without any acknowledgement you know that he knows you're there. A swordsman of his experience had to have heard you land, and so you don't bother warning him before scrambling onto the bench at his side.
His only response is to chuckle as he tilts his head toward you, and rearrange his nail so you don't sit on it (and so that he can still draw it easily). Patient as ever— and kind, as he waits for you to settle and tilt your head at him before he speaks.
"The capital lies before us, my friend. What a sombre place it seems, and one that holds the answers to many a mystery. I too have felt the pull of this place, though now I sit before it I find myself hesitant to descend. ...Is it fear I wonder, or something else that holds me back?"
...Fear? You doubt it. His caution comes from prudence, not cowardice. But at your continued silence, rather than elaborating he cheerfully goes on:
"The city looks to be built into an enormous cavern, and the rain pours down from cracks in the stone above. There must be a lot of water up there somewhere. ...I suppose, if the cave roof stayed strong this long, it should hold for us. Before I leave this Kingdom, I'd like to see where all that water comes from. What a sight it must be!"
A mild pang of misgiving goes through you at that— but more than that, there's anticipation. Your paths keep crossing in unexpected places; little moments of beauty and camaraderie you hadn't expected to find in the Hallownest's ruins. Maybe wherever that water gathers is another place you'll end up meeting. ...Maybe you can find it, and show it to him rather than merely being an audience for his own discoveries.
You think you'd like that very much.