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The trembling figure locked her stance in a corner of the cavern, the ever-coming dread shivering her beyond control. Dark, cold, scared, alone, hopeless, forfeiting her whole well-being to the crushing fear of world’s nihility, swallowed in a regretful sea no living nor unliving being could escape from. Regrets she ought to dispel for world’s redemption.
Then hunger settled in, her skittish legs approaching the leftover egg, appendages grasping it as avid mandibles bit down the morsel, the rancid taste embracing the system. However wasted it may’ve been or distasteful its flavour was for anybody she’d known (especially Jinn), it managed to soothe back her stomach and mind altogether. In and out she breathed, senses coming back to order, the shambled thoughts under her thumb’s control.
Closer to the weak strips of warm light threatened by the incoming wind, creaked the door, allowing the entrance of such small a bug and strange a being, for it seemed not to seek communication other than reaching for her barely on its legs, offering her an egg to pay her services and, as if it were anything, simply leave. And as customary, swaying on trembling legs, the nail a walking-cane, head down lead-weighed, eye sockets devoid of the even void its being was made of, unstable, each little flinch sending a hunch of its arcane nihility urges. Folding the stained cloak the present was made manifest in a delicious stench, the hollow stomach voicing its needs harder on her shell. «I can return your regrets to you, if you share your delicious food with me,» she said like last time, like always, and, as customary, could not the sentence be finished as the sorry bug handled the meal closer, eyes pleading, hands struggling.Gathering on the centre of the room, positioning along the design on the floor, following suit the procedure, she fulfilled its request, Void sipping from those same chalk signs, little by little, the particles merging as one. She retreated in the safety of the familiar darkness as its own regret killed the flames and was stricken true by the owner, consumed by the latter.And as customary it left, business done, candles off.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She wasn’t liking it one bit. In fact she would’ve pretty much appreciated to be back on the familiar shroomy ground; not the same one which treacherously collapsed on itself as she was just going back on her track, abandoning her in the unfortunate devilish pit, aching legs and bruised back. Straightening her stance, using her club for support, she gazed up, up, right up where the fall started. Too far up, though, as the neck was ungently shrieking back to her, her salvation a little spot of clear light and flying spore, its frame of uncaring debris. Was this cave underneath all the Shrooms Land, such a colourful territory simply a one fatal trap?
Cloth groaned, hand on brow, the other one stretched along the side of her back, scolding her naivety; for her quest she should have and
had
to be prepared for anything she would’ve encountered. She kept going, hoping for another way back to show itself, legs dragged, ground unsafe.
She wouldn’t like it one bit as skittish debris allowed passage to scratching critters, their burning stinging bites aiming to her appendages as they lunged and hopped with those devilous many many too many little legs. One reached her elbow and the other got crushed by her club, as the first followed its partner, thrown down by the harsh movement of hers, the bony tooth cracking the dirtcavers’ chitin. And yet, she felt the unsafest she’d ever been, even the walls unreliable due to the inconsistent texture. Or perhaps it was just her paranoia.
She expected many things as she actually processed the consequences of her day-dream intention to journey away from home in seek of Nora after their… departure. Dealing with plagued husks was by then the obvious in such a wasted kingdom, however ending them only to hear the dry chitin controlled as a puppet by hyperactive and alien and
wrong
movements was just too much to handle, the reanimated back to its corpse condition after tripping from the platform, ending in a lake of starving teeth.
Nora, help me.
She thought, desperately to be listened to amongst scratches, hisses, shrieks.
She didn’t expect it as a figure appeared, more akin to an actual living being, the shape suggesting familiar safety and comforting warmth and happy memories and undying longing to reach them. One foot closer and a dozen further. «Wait, WAIT! NORA!» Cloth begged, running, running out of breath, running faster, sturdier, resolve renewed, pushing away enemies, traps, obstacles, any bug on the way (one was calling her back?). «SLOW DOWN!» and yet Nora didn’t seem to hear her plea, keeping going on with her business, accessing a culvert and never looking back. She ran painful steps on condemned floor, collapsing on dusty spikes. A wail escaped her, stopped by paranoiac hands and desperate sobs. Carefully exiting the hole, sitting on the ground regaining breath, mind racing down, she tended and mended in gauze the most urgent injuries. How idiotic of her, following in desperation a paranoid delusion; this is not what an adventurer would do. Lucidity restored, on her loyal club she proceeded to follow the luminescent fungus to lead the way back to the surface.
She didn’t like it one bit. This nest is no place to die.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Thorax hadn’t always been called under the moniker of
Poggy
if not until recently. Curiously enough, once he was known to be one dishwasher of the
Pleasure
restaurant: at the peak of its success it used to be a very fine business self-indugently visited by vendors, nobility and officials (even the Watcher at times), there to enjoy the company of the songstress Marissa’s coaxing voice and to be served cornucopiae filled to the edge with flowers and fruits from the luxuriant Royal Gardens and generous Unn’s domain, the tastiest fungi cultivated in the Spore Lands, trays of maskflies, alubas, questionable bluggsacs; anything the privileged mouths named was hastily ordered in shouts in the kitchen rooms, prepared by the dashing machine and brought back up to the elevator, to the silence of serenades and rumours.
If the cooks had the luxury to rest, nourishing themselves with their exquisite looking leftovers and the guests consumed the meal in fat chats and tipsy business, little Scrawny Thorax had no chance to stop, running from shelves and burners to the washbasins, the sauce on the cookware swiftly caressed by a finger then licked by a starving mouth; his hyperactivity grew even more at the loud shared plate’s clicking, silverware’s purpose and jaws’ munching both from upstairs and that same room. Restless in the wait which often took a couple of hours if not more, fidgeting in placing the dry ladle, he was awoken from his reverie by the swing of the doors, servers weighted down by the withdrawn tablewares, a relieved gasp released as released was it all was on the shelf: loads and loads of cutlery dripping with oil, glasses of unsparkling cider, and plates and trays of wasted food, a few luckily even seemed to be untouched. He proceeded to clean them one by one, both jaws and hands at work. For 30 geo per week. The eaten uneaten made it worth it, his stomach at least less hollow than earlier in the day.
Until a plague broke out. Many promises were vowed by the Royals and for a time they worked: despite the many casualties amongst the commoners, huge for the poorest people, who corpse, who thin air, somehow the curse had been contained. Or at least the City knew none of it, for activities and business were almost back to normality, takings still affected by it, his salary now down to 10 geo, the uneaten even less, chefs tight-fisted in quantity.
Until another wave followed, a blow from which the Power could not help but desist, leaving no track of themselves behind but an agonising kingdom, bugs clueless of their lords and tomorrow, closed gates. From then on, Thorax and the kitchen personnel had never walked on those god’s forgotten roads, invisible from the kitchen rooms, insignificant from the diners room.
The
Pleasure
business was open only for the finest untainted gentlebugs who decided to take residence in the seven-stores House, large rooms away from the filthy zombies. Guests were still served, the ingredients from the ever scarcer supplies. Until no food was in the kitchen, secured in the voracious nobles’ stomachs. Not even a lousy tiktik stew could be prepared, not a simple glass of cider would’ve been drunk.
Cooks’ purpose is to serve food
, repeated one baron. And so it was chosen: the menu would be renewed for ingredients directly available: cook personeel was served with what little was left, then the slenderest would be served to nobles, its stiff chitin thrown to the farm, gaining substance. Hostility smothered previous friendly bonds and professional respect.
«Cooks’ destiny is to placate hunger,» a baron recited at each execution, a mantra to himself, «whatever the cost.» The neck broke, hemolymph in a bowl with the empty shell, its contents spilled as insatiable beasts attempted to have priority on others.
Until Thorax’s arm was blocked from getting the blood, tossed up by the baron, the decapitated head placed in a tray. With an analytical look he got inspected as he received a nod. «You. This way.» And follow he did, reaching the diners room, natural light reaching the fine
succulent
cutlery and
flavoured
plates. «Sit here,» the baron instructed in a spicy breath.
And sit he did, as the tray was placed alongside him and the other guests, who turned disgusted as the lean meat was scalloped in thin bloody oily
tempting
slices.
Thorax couldn’t care any less of the dead coworker, of the colleagues-to-be-meal, stomach speaking on his behalf as two portions were now on his plate, for eating was to survive and being big, juicy, fatty, oily and wanted was to live.
He was eating. He didn’t care.
He was Poggy Thorax. He would live.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Stirs, wails, kicks as if still unhatched from the harsh egg, soundly whines came from the Pale Gift’s comfy nest. Herrah sighed, slumber heavy on her legs, fatigue weighing on her arched back; the foggy head, sick of yet another sleepless night, tempted her to not intervene. Savage or Beast or completely exhausted, she heeded not such inane thoughts: soon the child was lifted from their nest by slender yet monstrous appendages, rocked back and forth, then brought to the kitchen to be fed.
The child rubbed the cheek against her torso, the sobs soothed in her fur, while she was intent on searching for a Garpede’s plate in the supplies. Herrah still had a hard time to believe her eyes witnessed such little a creature to manage to devour an entire portion as their very first meal, now a midnight snack, the peculiar bottomlessness apparently due to wyrm’s genes, as the Worm had testified. Mayhap she should’ve actually listened to Midwife’s suggestion to reserve some spare food for the Child to reach by themself, however unsettling the idea appeared all in itself.
«Here, love, here have some Carver.»
However, this time, at the approach of food, the child struggled, whiningly refusing the mother’s encouragements and words.
So no hunger, was it?
The spiderling loved to make a fuss when hunger got to their voracious belly, cold to their young chitin or simply boredom to their infantile mind. And yet, there was a strange quality about them,
body language unknown even to the inexperienced mother, their stance rigid, trembling and not freezing, paws fixed over their pale mask’s sockets…? They should develop eyesight in the next two moults, how could they hurt? Herrah placed the hybrid on the shelf as she zoomed closer, inspecting the severely covered spot, the child’s relentlessly sealed eyes. She touched the cheek, receiving a vigorous head-shake, no vocal responses, though.
«Child? My child? Are you hurt, injured? Show me, p-please.»
They resisted and she didn’t insist, rather evaluating the best options.
Call Midwife
and that was customary for serious issues. Was it, though? Such uncertainty was driving her mad. Hastily reaching the door of the room, Herrah called back from duties a devout and sent it in search of Midwife. «It’s very important, please.»
«No need to clarify any further, Your Highness,» the subject quickly saluted before departing.
Before Herrah could even start to ponder what to do in the wait, a loud, prolonged cracked wail lured her back inside, paranoia just mentally begging the child to stop. And as wished, the webcomb they loved to chew when upset appeared on the ground, right next to her third left leg: scooping it up, going back to where she left her spiderling, she found herself staring at her crying spawn, hands close, but not on the mask, covering a candle’s flame on their right while frantically rotating the head left and right, chirping, clearly
looking
for something. Could they? Already?! Herrah approached carefully, movements as relaxed as her efforts allowed her, her own mask slightly lightened by the wax’s energy. The child stared at her with functioning eyes, the curiosity of a youngster so unaware of the world around them.
Her own breath trembled, sipping the warmth the flames could provide her. «Child.»
And as she said it, the Child’s eyes sparkled of happiness, cheerful, blessed to see their own mother, swinging their arms up and down, wanting to be scooped up and rocked about and cooed on.
She could not refrain from laughing, hugging the child and bringing them to her bed– They can see her, they can
see
.
They buried the head on her fur, the candles nearby upsetting their sensibility. However, unlike earlier and their despondent endeavour, they climbed up, up until clay they found, analysing with such mesmerising eyes her six own. They hugged it as little, calm breaths were heaved.
The smallest creature defeating the Beast
; that’s how Midwife defined it, laughing her deepest laughters and smiling her sincerest smiles at the display.
«If you’re so willing in the middle of the night,» Herrah kindly retorted, «you may then blow off the candles and keep hilarity to yourself as the child needs no trouble while sleeping.»
«Of course I will, dear.»
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The White Saviour’s Offering
The maiden awaited, once on her side, now no beacon nearby, claimed down below by quests and trophies. Glared she did disgusted at the well, her shell tightening of grief.
And in instinct sense she did the pale glow ascending the chains no more bound to. Marked the cloak of the lowly dust, the white saviour moved forward on ever high sharp horns. Beside her they arrived, producing from the filthy cape a mere flower of a gleaming white. So alike them.
The damsel admired the gift, speech stolen by such gracious display, their shy hasty composed retreat robbing her of living air. So refined to tend on all bugs’ needs.
So gentle a hero. So perfect…
'The Grey Prince' Chapter 193
Faltering disk, the free rotting petals the nightstand littered in regret. Memories and aches had the wronged maiden’s heart, embraced in sorrow and mourning from a time thought forgotten.
In such a fragile state intervened the grey prince, assisting her and sweetly demanding motivations of such a dreadful state. No words needed to be provided as the prince eyed the guilty flower’s stem shamefully hazarding to exhibit itself, bare of its ridiculous crown.
"My Queen, cry not for lowly a weed as it could not stand a chance to your unending beauty and your infinite blessings!" The prince swore, wholly trusting his judgement.
So loyal a heart. So comforting…
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Méria, bag heavy on his back, assisted the struggling mother, tipsy limbs, not enthusiastic at the idea of being helped.
«I can stand on my own, thank you very much!» A spit, bitter. «Do I look like a rotting husk, son? Ummh?!»
«Mother, please–»
«I'v’d enough, stop treating me like a–! A… How are they named? Well! Anyway! I’ve been handling all by myself for ages no problem–»
«Please listen, mother,
please
,» he begged, «it’s time.»
«Time for–? O-oooh.» She was enlightened, then pondered. «Wait, what was it again–»
«The pilgrimage–»
«Right, right!» She reached the meridian nearly useless, the window pitch-black, dead sounds, the Oria breeze just woken up from deep slumber.
«Well, then? Waiting for mommy to carry you?! Come on, we have to–»
«Mother, I’ve already prepared everything, water, some fruits, your herbs and the cane. We just have to go.» A plea, silent.
«Oh.»
He sighed, heavy, hand stretched toward hers. She followed suit, expectant, insistent. «The cane. Hand it to me.»
He did.
From the small village in the Surface to the Crossroads’ entrance for Greenland it couldn’t get worse as, despite all the accessibility systems for a comfortable traffic, tons and tons of fellow pilgrims unorganisedly slowly proceeded, as his mother stubbornly preferred in staying on herself, almost lost amongst the crowd. To make matters even worse, when finally reaching the sign, the old lady-bug expressed her wish to journey up to Unn’s Temple. «It’s been a long time since I last paid Her visit. You have no idea how grateful I am to Her and the Pale Lady, Mothers of earth and life. Without them you would have only dreamed of being fed in childhood!»
Despite all odds, they were not the only pilgrims to reach the Greeny Church, many whose blood was Mosskin, contemplating the House or the acidic lake. Méria, though, just tended to the mother’s aching knees as she hissed at each touch nor word.
«
Don’t
say it.»
«What?»
«You know exactly what I mean, you and your
I told you so
, just stop making fun of me already.»
«Mother, I
care
about your well-being. But was it worth–»
«You dare to question?! Of course it was worth it, anything is worth the visit! She will bless our farm and crop.» She then prayed, language unknown, even to her, sounds overheard by hushed, mixed, melded words from the neighbours. «Have some respect and be grateful for once!»
He sighed and prayed.
«Can I ask you something, mother?»
«
You
… just did… it… …now…» She gasped in fatigue, sitting, almost lying, on the bench available in the stag station named after the Queen. Savouring more than devouring the canteen and casket, unlike her voice suggested, as if life depended on it, she restored her strength. «So much better… I’ve almost forgotten the toil my knees have to pay for visiting Arkol–»
«Mum, he–» Méria stopped, swallowing the mournful saliva, «we’re not here to visit him.»
«Oh? Then what was all this trip for, sweet heart?»
«The… the pilgrimage, for the farm–»
«Oh yes, yes! May the Lady and Unn bless– did we–?»
«We did visit Unn and we prayed at the Green Lake.»
«Stupendous, perfect. Be a good child and sit here, have some rest, we can’t reach the Royals with all sweat and mortal issues to tend.»
«About this,» he interjected, enlightened, «we could’ve, you know, used the elevator room deep in the Crossroads or the stags–»
«WHAT?!» She screamed, outraged. «Have you seriously thought– Oh oh, poor sweet, little child…» she cooed, mockingly.
«No king and no queen compels anyone to travel this long for a single simple wish–»
«You really didn’t get it, I see.» She murmured, disappointed. «Sweetheart, we have to show devotion through fatigue. Would you believe in somebody who would reach you with no gift?»
«If they cannot afford it, yes.»
«And who used no energy to reach you, through the easiest road possible, no sacrifice whatsoever?»
«If it’s convenient for them, then yes. Look at how much you lean on your cracked knee–»
«It’s not cracked!» She objected, offended. «And no wonder you live with nobody else! You must be
so
ungrateful!»
«Really? Is that why you skipped the other resting point in Greenland? You wanted to work your knee
that
much?! To show respect destroying yourself–»
«Pfft, you’ll
maybe
understand it all at the gods’ gratitude.»
«How would they know?!»
«Mérian, they’re GODS!»
«And as gods aren’t they supposed to
know
our devotion already?!»
«Watch your tongue, brat! Blasphemy, that’s all you’ve been saying to me! Shame on you! Now just hand me some water already.»
A breather and he fetched the water and some herbs. «The medicine, mother.»
«Thank you, you are so caring.» She replied, nonchalantly. «Thank you for making your old mother's one wish come true. I love you, my child. Nobody would've accompanied me but you.» She whispered, sweet and caring.
And he, as if nothing happened, shook, the grip on his breaded meal tighter and tighter.
Surpassed the Fungal Region and the ending sign, the two merged back to the crowd as, walking through the bridge for the City, dozens were the guards stationed on the sides, right at the side of the gates a bulgy armour, the well-known Hegemol the Mighty’s statue protecting the City Crest. Surpassed the entrance, accessing a shady hallway, the low ceiling almost claustrophobic with the crowd oozing all about, they finally reached true humid air, the roof now far and partly sheltered from the leaking Blue Lake, the scaffoldings suggesting the still work in progress.
«Oooooh! Look, look, look at that, son!» She gasped, pulling his arm, breathless at the imposing buildings and open-air businesses, here and there to offer the worn-out pilgrims warm food, the curious visitors souvenirs, cards and idols depicting the gods. «Look at that tower! So so tall! Does somebody really live there?»
«It’s the Watcher’s Spire–»
«Well, this Watcher sure has a ton of flights to take.»
«I would guess there are elevators–»
«What even are those?»
«They’re for–»
«Uuuh, look at that curtain, would you?»
«Mother–»
«Wouldn’t it look so nice in my bedroom?»
«Mo–»
«Twenty five hundred geo, what a price–»
«Mother, the pilgrimage!»
«Oh, oooh right! T-then let’s move on! We cann’t make the Queen wait longer!»
Not that they could get any faster, the queue to the descending elevator yet to be swallowed by the bridge to the Palace Grounds.
He sighed at the tug cloak, focusing on the Pale Beam below and at the query to propose.
«Follow me in the gardens so to show you the way plants wish to be handled.» She led.
The lady-bug obliged, thanking with a low bow the outstretched tendril the White Lady was offering, together.
And so was Méria alone, devoid of his charge, relieved and longing to be heed by the Pale God.
He
turned, His gaze leaving the Wife's departure and boring his, as a whisper voiced in Méria mind, a tone he thought he'd almost forgotten, reminiscing him the beginning of times, the cooling warmth of caring, the embrace of a present parent. «Each season,» said He, «as you've visited Us, never you brought, alongside your mother, a question of your own. What query troubles your Soul to such a near-breaking point? Focus and ask sincerely.»
Méria didn't need to ponder, having constantly reminded himself that all the way to the Palace Ground, all the years along. And yet, words shyly refused to word themselves, improper in the shape, shameful towards such Being.
«Be not shy and do shoo your insecurities. This is a place of welcome, thoughts to be thought and expression to be expressed.» He insisted, composed as ever, invulnerable, secure.
«I–» Méria self consciously stuttered, swallowing down and refreshing the mind, focusing. «My King, one thing is tormenting my mind and I wanted to ask about it.» Tongue clicked, at a loss, repressing blows and blasphemies. «You see, my mother is elder and in a poor state of mind: she doesn't hear nor understand, she won't think properly nor… nor remember what has been told literally three seconds earlier and she won't read the situation– My King,» a stop, «I
am
grateful for such gift the Thoughts you've granted us and I know my mother is not the first nor last with a failed mind but– Why? Why does a divine and perfect gift have to expire?»
At the question posed the Beacon stilled, hands leaving the other's sleeve, six wings half spread, bristling against the palest room. And with a breath,
He
spoke.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
«Ready when you are, Herrah,» a reassurance, dozens of nods, patient of their Queen’s response. And waiting they had to, the massive arachnid scrutinising the noisy, invasive bugs,
so
oblivious of being watched by skilled predators, going on with their unknown last moments left.
Despite her crabby temper which she deeply despised, Herrah couldn’t just wait to have her jaws on any head of those filthy Worm’s workers and engineers, who were buzzing about distances and measures, indicating materials’ locations and placements, with all probability, if not certainly, already imagining to call
Deepnest
like they would name a simple, anonymous
fucking
street.
Shaping sharp needles, her stance suggesting an incoming sprint, the multitude behind her followed suit, fists wielding spares, fangs drawing venom, hungry of lymph and violence, expectant of her signal. «Let’s get the parasites’ heads,» she hissed, the weapon’s swing leading the way.
And the horde moved fast, longing, reaching rails and metals and crowd, welcomed by thrown screams, pitiful crawlings, worthless prayers, bloody sprays, limp bodies. In the span of a few moments, the hundred-worth of bugs gripped, eaten, beheaded, the skittish survivors aimed by a piercing, right in the ribcage, dropping dead. As dust blown by a breath, so was the silence, restored, free of foreign presence.
So easy, too easy
, thought the Queen of Deepnest: far and wide was the Pale King known for his ingenuity and arrogance, apparently distinct from his species and, by extent, his minions’. Could his ego have clouded judgement, deeming her Tribe unworthy of the slightest prudence?
Wasn’t he also so adamant to spread knowledge of words as his tools, civility his way of execution? And yet no thing he communicated to her, who had gotten aware of the ordeal by the several reports from the near subjects, disturbed by clobbers, screeches and chirrups, firstly thought to be from yet another unwelcomed carvers’ nest.
And what was even
for
, in the first place? It was an incentive for the Mantis Tribe, their jail keepers, to reach the silk’s core, as the East-facing failed tram chamber suggested?
Explanations she demanded. Pissed of the possible following scenarios playing in her mind of common burning blight, a blueprint was fetched from the dusty ground, alongside a head, whichever head, untainted of vengeful fangs, proceeding the pointless rails’ purpose.
She wasn’t liking any of this and she swore he surely would not, daring, eager to put another insolent bug back to his place.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Another slumber at the morbid silence, another awakening at the weakened lightbulb, the low-pitched buzz demanding its periodic check.
As the Pale Retained reached for the resources, the right hand, leaning on the bright glass, beckoned the light’s source, starving blightflies spread on the surface, seeking comfort in friendly warmth. A hidden drawer was pulled, filled its insides with dried carapaces, summoning the blightflies, relieved now to be allowed to feast.
They stirred, pulling sleeping muscles, moving blocked legs, aching, unused to the still new lifestyle. In a moment the beacon enlightened back to its peak intensity, far and wide through additional surfaces reflecting the same light, blinding the room like one of the Palace, the window’s framework casting a King’s crest.
How long were they there, stuck in the smallest penthouse and with no chance to rest, swimming in white energy, bulb glistering, spreading to even unreachable folds?
Tame the Sea
, they reckoned being told by its addressor, the Pale Monarch, the irrevocable order marked inside their mind, a mint breath against the temping voices of exhaustion.
They could not recall the timespan passed from former responsibilities to lighthouse keeper, dates a remote memory, the blightflies’ meals uncounted.
They could not tell the amount of times such a crisis swayed their faith in His will, fate uncertain, motive unknown.
Tame the Sea with Our Candle. Allow it no rest, comatose to the Depth’s venom.
This they only knew and no else was needed.
The sea called back and they denied.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Then sharpest thunders and harshest rains, now farthest land and unpeopled space. In the narrowest cave a mask, golden, followed by two pairs of claws, stiff, the whole body buried in debris, safe from the winds beyond. And the compass, for the longest time silent, louder and louder each day the journey advanced toward the South, humming the never ending breath of Gods.Gods, true Gods, powerful Higher Beings, willing to accept foreign worship from castaway mortals.
She prayed, whispering hymns, and hoped, dreaming of temples. To unknown Beings, of uncertain futures.
Any land to cross, any wishes to follow, rituals to devote, life to live.
Anything to seek, find and ascend.
Anything to laud, remember and be remembered by real Gods.«May They not forsake Us.»
And the Sea rippled, gentle.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He sat, rearranging the stool, testing the appropriate gap from the easel on his right, the dry tip touching the canvas. He stretched his back, a hushed breath then a shudder, maybe inner turmoils or just humid chill. He sighed, telescope and hand gripping firm, lens and eye reaching closer. And, as his eye was open, so was the display of a vast sea pouring down down, endlessly for endless was the source above. He pulled back, the same view projected on the ample windows on his sides, back and most likely on the streets were he down there.
Loudly motionless, cruelly lifeless.
Horror at the display and numbness at the awareness.
His beloved city was dying as he kept staring at it, helpless and worthless, waiting for the call of his utmost duty to reach his Spire, until he would be the Dreamer. In due time.
Ruthlessly colourless, impossibly shapeless.
Pain at the thought and resolve at the reminder.
No benefit he found in depicting such grim event in Hallownest’s history, amongst the infinity of golden, enlightened centuries, a mere moment of grief. Bound to be forgotten.
Uniformly inconsistent.
Not that he wanted to remember the city in sorry state, let alone for it to be remembered as such, the glass washed out as were any longing for painting.
The following Watchers will see brighter days.
Arranging the stool back to its former position, he left for the elevator, leaving behind the canvas, thought forever empty.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Descending the bubbled lands below the wild forest, carefully not bothering the lazy yet lethal tentacled creatures swimming all around, Quirrel reached the final ground, the air less and less saturated of jellish plasma, back to its distinct musky taste, as the verdant glow on the left suggested.
And yet, on the right, a sign drew his attention, for one living soul seemed to have ventured this far to reside, let alone open a business, as the fossil-like white drawing on the wood stated.Victim to his own curiosity, Quirrel decided to go check, eager to discover such a poor (or crazy?) bug. Past the dark hall of spiralised rocks, another sign pointed to the ground, carrying even more geo on the surface.
«It sure was a long journey to need another direction,» he joked, back stretched to regain relief from the trek. Extending the gaze beyond that point, though, amongst moisty bubbles and pointless lampposts, he saw the lone individual, an apparently old lady bug higher than him for the bore heavy bulgy carapace, wearing a pair of glasses, tending on her slim stand.«Hello there, wanderer,» the stranger greeting him as he was getting closer, eyeing the nail’s point to the floor. «You appear to be a keen hunter of glory and skill, yet torn from tiredness. Wouldn’t it be a tragedy if a fearsome beast were to get the better of you, alongside your hard won geo? They are much more secured with me in my vault!» She patted the carapace, then cringing at the gesture.«I’m an explorer, actually, and luckily for the both of us no threatening foe is nearby,» he replied, «may I rather ask your name, gentle bug?»«Uh? It’s… Millibelle,» she responded, somewhat clueless. What a funny individual, indeed, earlier so eager to speak and now so hesitant to talk. «And I’m a banker, here to provide service to wanderers and travellers and what have you–»«A bank? In dead Hallownest? Do these ruins sustain any economic system still, beyond civility and your services so much departed from the living village on the surface?»«Sir–»«Are there actually any customers?» He continued, mind storming fair questions. «Do you provide services for free or by a charge? And what would geo be worth down here anyway–»«SIR–»«No need for formalities, Millibelle friend. Simply call me Quirrel,» he conceded, arm stretched, fingers spread.«... Quirrel ,» she frowned, refusing to recognise the gentle gesture, tension along all her back and slim fragile limbs. «I have a business to tend to. Do you actually have any need of them?»«You mean as a bank, don’t you?»«... Yes .» She forced through her lungs the sound, delayed for just a second, the trembling dissipating in the whisper.«Sorry but I own only a nail and eagerness to satisfy, so I have no geo with me and am not in seek of any at all.»« THEN– ,» a breath, two breaths, «why did you reach my business?»«No motive in particular other than my own curiosity,» a scratch on his chin, «and I can tell it’s asking for more lands to just be explored,» he straightened his posture, trying to reach her height, to no avail. «Have to bid my departure now and wish you for the best one would get in a lost canyon,» he added with a hidden smile.And leave he did, not waiting for an exchanged farewell never to be executed, so hurt was the dolt scammer, anyone failing to such bait the biggest idiot to be alive in so unforgiving a ruin.
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Light be reached through our praying
Forever grateful, devoted on Your Being
Your presence our essence, Your gift our breath
Bless the faithful moth, of such bliss worth
Nature be free of their wrong saying
Never wasted, revered on as deserving
Their deviance Your menace, their waste Your death
Curse the forgetful moth, of such bliss unworth
Safest wings, warmest dreams
From hurt, from loss
Your comfort and embrace
Mother, nest, true life
Many names, one answer
To any struggle a cure
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Amidst the silent air a bug, in the empty space a step. A raw sack was dragged through many pulls and pauses, fatigue and desperation never letting go of the upset untainted mind. Then a stop took longer, no strength collected as her back further crouched, knees unreliable, the foggy gaze attempting to read the tablet, failing over and over, first looking at cold ore, then seeing infected pustules. A shake of her head, the vision no more, the holy statue the new apparition, of real ore, true edge, His pointy crown still distinct against the darkest environment despite the dizzy paleness.What a merciful god He was, a mindful, considerate and generous Higher Being, of ample grants and little reward demanding, for each subject’s accomplishment was a success of His gift, its use just enough to satisfy Him.That was the motive so great a following He gathered as welcomed they all were of His care and blessing.That was the motive so many of her likes He attracted as they all must’ve begged for a sign, any sign at His simulacrum. Now them all dead. A true servant gives all for the Kingdom, and the loose round fossils were testament enough. Let Hallownest's Pale King relieve you of your burden, those eyes rolled by dissatisfaction impossibly louder.The heavy amount of stolen geo dove in the drain, a ripple against black tears and intoxicating particles as the rocks sank deep down in the nothingness, one with the bottom, their purpose wasted. Her grip on the emptied bag collapsed as she attempted to establish a hold on the fountain’s ored brim, stiff limbs shaking from extension, still eyes wide in pure horror, projecting last moments of helpless bugs tripping in one of the many puddles from above, inhaling water into the system, living life forgotten. A slap on her cheek, the memory no more, comrades’ corpses littering the holy room as tears appeared in her vision, blindly reaching for the farthest side, opposite to the Fountain.So much death in so many forms, so much sorrow in so little time, doom delayed to their thought safest, their actual weakest.«…ple…please–,» a choke, a breath, existing against all odds taking its toll. And rising her heavy head she did meet the stoned shape, corrupted, like anyone and anything in a collapsing world. Crying, like His lost children.
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Snores, stirrings, tossings and whines. Then loud never ending whimpers as the Deepling woke, shivering in the silk nest, diving into the blankets to cover unfamiliar darkness with familiar blackness.Forever vigilant was the Midwife as she approached, scooping it up, rocking it back and forth, rubbing the back of its head and patting the top of it, calming the child like last time, like always. «Shh… Mimi is here,» the murmur followed by the fetching of a rag ball, instantly bitten into by trembling jaws.Few chews happened, then a longer one signalling the end of the wave of panic. Troubled fangs stayed parted, hissing, the loose fibre promptly removed by swift pendages.« Theeere you go, sweetie,» she caressed the pained side, easing the muscle. Another of her arms (many, so many she had at her disposal, so efficient) reached for the forgotten blanket, enveloping the child like a cocoon. «How do you feel now?»«Goo…good,» the whisper somehow embarrassed, sinking the big head under the softness, to no avail.«Don’t be shy and pray tell,» at least this time , she silently begged, its weakness her job, for the child was having trouble sleeping for way too many nights.It pondered, like always, until it spoke, finally, with one lone word. «The– there was… mama ,» a sob, tighter, «but it was dark and she went away and it was dark and scary and then–» it stopped, cooed on by caring lullabies.She rocked further the small child whose distress yelled “protect”. The little orphan had been found in the darkest tunnel as it screamed for the parent’s presence, unaware to be calling for a fake, closer and closer to the nosks’ lair. «Let me tell you a story, dear, would you?» It refrained from answering, cringing in the pathetic display. «There is no shame in being scared. In fact many adults get scared! It’s not a children’s thing, nor immature in any way: fear if anything helps being safe. This story I'm about to tell you is remembered by the oldest for the youngest and so on, just to tell you how important it is.»The premise somehow gained the attention of the child, curious of what could be adults’ most secret fear, such secured information about to be one of its knowledge.«In the deepest and darkest sides of our Great Nest lies a grave danger,» she started, using her long favourite storytelling tone, charming and magical, «when a lost bug gets completely lost in the still-unfamiliar tunnel-way they may see someone they’re fond of, a person they’ve been waiting for no-god-could-tell and as they get closer and closer…» the voice slightly louder, «that person goes for its way, deeper and deeper and deeper in the earth’s heart and they’ll follow it, together losing themselves into the nowhere,» the whisper barely spelled.«W… why does this happen?» the child chirped, eager to receive the answer, so projected into the story.Midwife pondered for a little moment. «It appears to be a common belief some luring monsters attempt to prey on lonely, lost bugs, taking shape according to the victim’s most loved being, making them see things that are not there. However, sweetie,» she hugged it, «we’ve got you covered and I’ll tell you how to tell if you’re seeing a known person or a false image from your mind. Do you wanna hear it?»It vigorously nodded.«You sure look like the determined one. Well, it’s fairly simple, actually,» she snickered, «as they realised these pictures cannot voice words and it appears they do not respond in any way to any prompt. So a system was invented, in mutual recognition of two living bugs: as they both would raise their limb and land it on their own left cheek,» she instructed as it followed, «they would gaze at the other’s eyes intensely and they both, counting up to three…» it spelled the numbers. «“Will you return my toy?”»It starred, jarred by such sentence. «It can’t be true!»«Oh, it is! And it's not all!» She tugged the cover, rocking the small cocoon on her impressive torso, all the while tickling the Deepling’s smallest one, right under its biggest head.It won’t take long for it to experience another moult. How long from Deepling to Deephunter, then in unforgiving wilds of roaming nosks?But it was laughing, and crying in joy, free of earlier despair and with one new knowledge in mind, bound to be bequeathed.