I'll Follow You into the Dark (Blade)

Content Warnings:

Tight spaces underground. Claustrophobia. Spooky mist. Digging through meaty roots that try to grab ya! Ummm.... High pressure crushing body and forced to be weapon when want to be a beeeg stronk lady!

Note from Ruby: Blame Chris Clairemont for this chapter.

Dolls don't dream. I should not have been able to hear it. A private, internal conversation. Yet... my own perversion, the heart they held in their hand acting as a conduit, caused me to be a silent witness. I... cannot accept it. I won't. No matter what it takes, I'll bear the weight of all the evil needed to keep them here for as long as they desire. Why don't Dolls dream? What part is different? Dreaming is linked to the rust. I had thought Verbess was being metaphoric. Should have realized it is unflinchingly literal.

I squirm my way out of my love's sleeping arms, and pad out of the Spire. Need to think. Need to find a solution. Adaline is my first thought, and just as quickly dismissed as an option. This... isn't something I'm willing to burden her or any of mine with.

I check on them anyway, climbing up the vines on my Spire to the balcony where Adaline rests peacefully, slip into the disaster zone Calix calls a bedroom to find him slumped over strange diagrams on his table, head downstairs to the art studio Primrose and Nettle made together to see them fast asleep, tangled together by an entire skien of brightly colored yarn.

I sneak out the underground passage before they know I'm there. Start... looking. An old monster like Yselda would keep certain things hidden. I know her type.

Not near her own Spire. No. One of the distant tunnels is most likely. As far as possible to the edge of the Estate without surfacing. Arrogance and laziness go hand in hand.

She had dalliances though, and fifteen Spires is more than an unnecessary extravagances. It's... possibly a distraction? What is being hid? There has to be more to both dollcraft and the butchery they call fleshcrafting.

I extend my senses. Start looking for signs. The Glyphs of Arafel's Chains, if Elevar's suspicion and my own understanding are correct, they should be somewhere.

Hints here and there. Not quite as I remember. Too vague and worn to make out the directions mentioned, so I wander. Deeper into these tunnels. I suppress my fear, with this prosthetic frame I can get out, no matter how far down I go.

I find a... gouge carved into the passageway and nearly pass it by at first before I realize that it goes down. Maybe a shortcut. There’s a cloying miasma here. It's odd. There shouldn't be such amounts outside of a cemetery or an active battlefield. Doesn't matter. If I can't find any of her secrets, I can at least reach deep enough to commune. Speak with Dämmerung after our long silence. I've never been particularly faithful, priest and fool are the same word in my first language. By the same measure, only a fool scorns and fails to pay due obeisance to a Divine that has granted them so much. I continue following this passage, twisting and curling downwards like a worm.

The next tunnel has more vines, leaves and creepers replacing the thorns of higher levels, overtaking some slabs while leaving others alone. Not deep enough yet. Have to go further, to where Nomos has never touched. The tunnels creak, settling and adjusting like a... beast in hibernation.

The Spire will tend to itself? There were once forests. Real forests, not these imitations. These... Vines and trees that regrow much too fast and why? Why all the Spires in the middle of this abomination of a jungle. wh... It finally comes to me in a flash as I lock my ousia around myself in a solid bubble and dive into my driftdream library. The tunnels…

NO NO NO THIS WAS NOT THE DREAM. I panic, flooding all my connections, Adaline deliberately excluded from the communication system, and I beg [Help me. I didn't know.]

A pause... and nothing.

No reply. I run. backtracking the way I came as fast as the Frame can handle.

My instincts scream at me to dodge, an impossibly fast strike coming towards me yet... nothing, no impact. just the miasma stirring where the strike would have originated from. After the third time, the fear is supplanted by rage and I stop, shedding the seek frame for my Warlord form.

"I am no Vermin for you to toy with! I am Xafra, and you will submit or die, be you Mortal or Divine." Bluster and bravado, but with the Blasenplage to supplement my own harvesting methods, I can split, sever, and devour more significantly anchored souls.

I don't incant yet, I stand waiting, wanting to see if there is an intelligence behind this.

A pause... and the mist stirs a touch. Seems to pull back and-

A pitter patter of soft footsteps and I glance back to see... Primrose?

My Doll sways at the far end of the tunnel. "Mistress." She whispers, sleepily and begins to approach.

I activate my new technique with a whisper. "Pestherold" and sweep a soul-reaving tentril towards her head. If it's actually Primrose, she won't even notice let alone be affected.

She doesn't even flinch, while the mist about her buckles and seems to crack under the weight of my working. My Doll simply... walks right up to me, reaches out to take up a wrist. "C'mon Mistress.”

I sag with relief. "How did you get down here, darling?" letting her pull me along.

"Dolls sleepwalk sometimes. Get lost. Need to lead them from..." A great yawn interrupts her, causes her to slow even before it settles. "Nightmares.”

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"Oh... I wasn't... sleepwalking. Was looking for something and..." I stop. Stare at her. "What do you mean by Nightmares, Primrose?”

"Bad dreams. Mhm." She tugs, but only gently. "Used to scare this one and the others. But even... even the old Mistress had them sometimes. Made this one not worry, but... told Dolls to keep watch for others that might slip away and need to be brought back up. She promised the Nightmares wouldn't hurt her Dolls. Only little thieves and sneaks.”

The mist stirs about us. Kept away by my Ousia field but... lurking. Prowling like a curious beast at our heels.

"But... I had heard that dolls... don't dream." My mind is screaming at me to kill her, stop her from talking whatever it takes, to embrace ignorance instead of whatever knowledge I seek.

She huffs, tugs again while narrowing eyes and pursing lips to think. "Dolls aren't supposed to dream. If a Doll starts dreaming it is becoming defective. Will end function soon. The old Mistress promised this one that this is okay because the Nightmares that lead into the tunnels don't belong to this one. That only if this one Dreams and doesn't come down here is this one to pester her.”

She's a shepherd... She's safe. okay. okay. I walk with her some more, thoughts racing. There's something I'm missing. External Nightmares. What are they? How are they? A... Cursestorm? But... those rarely linger where they are cast or last so very long. The feeling here is old, not as old as me, but... not young by any reasonable measure.

As we turn the corner, I get a flash of horrid insight that I need to test. доверяй, но проверяй. I reach out to Primrose, [Dear, can you hear me?]

[Yes Mistress.] She responds wearily. And both our words seem... off. Not muffled but... a strange tint to the reply. Like from inside a small space.

I begin to put together the pieces. "I need a moment dear.”

Primrose turns to give me a tired, almost pouting, look. "It's... the Old Mistress told this one not to get lost, or let itself be distracted when leading another.”

I turn to the miasma in consideration. "Would you join me? Become part of the many and escape this place? There is... peace to be found, more than oblivion. Or, If you choose, I can end you. Return you to the Vast." I use my Ousia to speak in all my tongues, a hundred languages, a thousand timbres, including both Yselda's Tone, and Namtars Voice.

Primrose tumbles backwards into me, shivering and shaking and whimpering as she clings to my massive form.

[Wurzelriss] I hear an all too familiar voice echo back. Causing the miasma to churn and writhe, like some great sea beneath a storm. The energy about us gathers and compresses and cracks, then a whip-crack of a shriek from far away and... The floor splits open beneath me.

I spin and lock eyes with Primrose, sending a massive spike of Ousia-laden information into her along with a simple message. ::I'll find my way back:: and launch her away from me. At least she's safe.

And I fall.

I land sooner than expected in salt water, a massive space stretching out to a bleak horizon. It feels like I entered one of the old Slipways but no... I look up and see starlight, the glow of sun along one horizon.

The area is sparse, odd trickles of Physis from above along with the rare dribble of Ousia. The ground is... Iron. Seamless with stones scattered about. but... I pick one up, a blank spot to my senses and I understand.

I let out an unhinged cackle as I hold this piece of Moonstone. Not Waste, not to me.

"Oh Nameless mother, bless me as I add your flesh to my own." I offer up a quick prayer before swallowing the treasure whole and reaching for another.

I gorge myself on Moonstone, separating it into mundane rock and ore and the true thing, the thing I've never had access to but learned about in the old tales of the H.A.G., Lunargent.

As I spew out the mundane, the glow of the sun erupts from the far horizon and begin to weep Nomos over the waters, adding the Twin father's boon to the fall of energy.

That's... enough for now. Must find my way out.

I start walking, stretching my senses around for any sort of marker.

My time sealed trammeled my patience. Not long after I begin, I stop to think.

I've been transported somewhere, either outside or inside. The floor makes the first unlikely, the sky the second.

I alter my eyes, a high crime that I haven't committed since the first days of having an Anthroparion form. I switch them for those of a hunting avian, to better pierce the veil of distance. And... the stars are motionless in their light, the suns silent in their weeping, behind it all... a texture?

"If the heavens are made of linen, then I am the Fifth Divine." I mutter. So I am inside. Do I go down, or try and learn to fly before ever reading about how?

Instinctively, I change my eyes back to the mark of my status.

"Fine." I shift a hand into my spearhead, point and wings honed sharp as a razor, and stab down into the iron, to test its thickness.

The impact only chips at it, and wears away my edge. Fuck. Good quality metal. of course. Need to... reinforce myself in the future.

I look up again. What if... they're not as far as they seem, just small? I crouch low, and with a burst of Ousia and Physis, leap as high as I can.

My ascent is rapidly interrupted by the ceiling, just shy of six times my height. I bounce off and tumble back down into the water.

Shaking myself off, I prepare to try again. Less of a boost, and need to be ready to grab hold. felt like... woven wood? Once more, I crouch and leap, this time, planting my fore and hind claws into the ceiling like some sort of demented lizard. From here, I can tell that the stars are constructs, weavings that emit Physis and Ousia. A fountain of sorts?

I hesitate to destroy this place. It may be of value. Instead I begin to burrow my way upwards, using my upper arms and my legs to anchor me as the other four arms begin to carve a hole in the wood.

It... takes time. I carve at this wood, it's almost as hard to chip away as iron. Just... Where the metal is hard and steady this is almost stringy. Like chewing tough meat away… Might as well.

I pull a piece into my mouth, try and analyze the composition. it's not wood, not in function, clearly closer to muscle. But... wrong. Grown like plants. Burns Nomos, but with channels for Ousia and Physis yet does not need them or burn them to grow. Abomination.

I reactivate my Pestherold to line my digging claws, see if it can help carve through easier and prevent the slow regrowth that has been frustrating me.

With it, I carve in, and it speeds my process a bit, making the roots brittle and eliminating the debris but... not enough to be cost effective. The amount of Ousia and Physis I get in return doesn't balance. Then... something changes. The ceiling stops its slight shifting just as I'm about to change my position.

I try to pull free and find my claws stuck, Nomos-filled roots coiling around them. With irritation, I slash free and move each one in sequence, continuing my path inwards.

The roots around me fill faster and faster with Nomos, nearly glowing with a dull yellow light, trying to grip me and pull me inwards. I go, but on my terms, continuing to slash and dig my way upwards, out of this strange place.

A voice thrums, Seemingly buried deep into the Roots above me. Muffled by the layers but... the Ousia makes syllables audible. [Wurzelriss]

The roots before me begin to retract, revealing a tunnel of tarnished but seamless reflective surfaces, devoid of all roots. Behind her, the roots try to heal and close the hole I've been digging. The roots are no longer grabbing and instead are more... supportive. Twisting to form gripping or stepping nooks.

Acceptable. I enter this tunnel, whatever it is. Immediately the pull of Dämmerung shifts and the ever downward force is to the side and not behind, and in the second it takes me to reorient, a snap echoes from behind and... The passage to the roots disappears.

The chamber I'm in is… relatively long, but not very wide. It’s some sort of tube made of iron mixed with moonstone, only slightly reflective. As I walk towards one of the ends, the odd ambient light shows its origin, strange somewhat familiar glyphs reflecting off of the surfaces. Dollification magic maybe, more complicated than anything I've studied. The symbols keep getting brighter as the room fills with miasma. Is this a conversion chamber or something? Hilarious. good luck you fucking monster, I'm the progenitor.

I wait and see what it will do, confident in my immunity.

The miasma doesn't stop at a reasonable level, but instead over the next few minutes continues to build more and more, compressing against me, cooling the room to freezing. Eventually, the pressure starts to be even too much for me, pushing my Ousia field down to nothing while my bones threaten to collapse and I... surrender, shifting back to my spear form. Blind. Inert. sealed away in a long forgotten chamber with miasma so concentrated that no living thing could survive. Fool. Arrogance is always my downfall, isn't it…