However, Hunting Nightmares Is (Frame 514.5)

Content Warnings:

HI HALLO! So here we have panic attacks. Memories of dead people and infesting worry of depersonilization, burning bodies in memories, altering ones Frame to hunt! Alive walls and hugs you don't want from miasma/fog. stitching magic across ones body to control/limit their abilities. non-verbal things.

It’s… the noise that wakes this one. The sound of a sister in pain, overexerting to the limits of her current functional capabilities. Riven with fear as she sliced a danger from its fuel and called out for others to…

Defend and Subdue… Please.

Then falling into a dizzy and barely conscious state.

In a howl of fury this one Cracks free of Giyar One quicker than even Schatzi can react to. Talons, Fangs, Quills, and two extra eyes splitting free as our form shifts to catch Xafra's spearform.

[Not a threat.]

Then the wall cracks and the Combat Doll flees through a freshly woven exit. Leaving all other standing about in a room of solid and seamless melted... something.

[Sisters… Where is this one? Where is the Threat?] It thrums in curious regard as it peers about the space, stilling as Quills thrum and dance melodies about the space to aid in perceptions and communications.

Xafra rambles in an odd childish voice across the bond. [It was my father. Ate him I guess. Wore his face like some sort of hand puppet. Never would have known if the Inquisition hadn't activated the city dome and done their full house by house sweep. Wonder if it would have gotten me next? Didn't get to bury him. They said the only way to kill ‘em properly is to burn the bodies.]

[This one does not believe there is an active threat, Sister.] Schatzi intones. [Sister Xafra panicked due to poorly chosen words, and put herself in this state.]

Another voice from Xafra comes out, bitter and rough. [I heard that they can use language. Not just mimicry, but can talk through their spores or something. The huge one that killed my brother was directing a bunch of the smaller ones.]

With that this one twists the Quills into a calming melody, considering…

[Sister…You are safe in this one’s talons.] It thrums down the bond to Xafra, drowning their link in the soothing song and words. [Tune yourself once more with the song of now, not the echoes of the past.]

Her mind calms under the weight of this one’s words and song. Seeming to push aside the ramblings of past wounds. [Safe... safe is good. Tired. So... drained. Can't...]

[Then rest, sister Xafra. Let us carry you. And…] This one intones softly while turning considerations to its core and inward sister.

Nearly thrums in delight at what it finds there.

There is still Rust. There was probably never not be Rust, even when the healing is complete. But… So many broken pathways and links to assets are laid clear! Tactics and movements and even Frame alterations are available! Things it could just yesterday only hope to recall if it was ready to endure an influx of Dysfunction and Division to even touch lightly.

And… and other things. Signs of…

[Schatzi, my sister… You… You could always bear this one’s chosen form for as much as it could. Suffered no Rust from it? Could always endure Giyar above 4? Were just… just…]

Trying to limit the rust this one endured as it sparked up the gears and cogs but... also not denying it freedom to be as it desires when awake. A delicate balance of function and maintenance.

It nuzzles into this wonderful sister's muses as it purrs. [Where is the Mistress? What has transpired?]

Schatzi leans back into it. [Yes. I am unsure what transpired, only that Mistress Elevar has determined that... she must become the Blossom of the Estate. She insisted that she would be fine, but this one is concerned.]

This one roils in fury, stepping up to loom over the 'ArtDoll' . “Hold and care for our sister.”

Before she can sputter a reply it has settled Xafra into her grip and is leaving. Easily ticking up to Giyar 6 to move up and out and toward the Mistress' Spire. The Combat Doll lays just outside, staring vacantly up at the weeping suns. As it passes through the entrance this one cants ::Alert/Location/Request:: To Mistress.

No reply.

[She thinks to face Old Nightmares alone?] This one snarls in a manic fury it hasn’t felt since… since that first day it was able to sneak up and into the Old Teacher's Spire to find the Mistress withering under the Garrote.

As it reaches the tunnel entrance below, it finds it laden with vile miasma that even seeps into the Mistress bed chambers.

[Sister, Were we given a command to remain above?] It intones.

[Expectation and request. Not command.]

[It… Desires to find her. Protect her. Calculates this task has a possible success of 56.74% chance if it sparks to Giyar 9 and moves quickly.] This one intones to both Xafra and Schatzi. [But… It seeks your advisements. Will not proceed if the Pack calls it to heel.]

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

And before they reply it shares augmentations and shiftings and other such things it believes will carry the Frame to the place it expects the Mistress to be. Alongside maps of the tunnels it does not remember charting, and initial expectations of resistances that might crawl forth. The raw numbers and twisting considerations it has not been able to weave in so long... And never without the full Pack's Quill Song to tune the workings.

[What does failure mean... here?] Xafra asks, struggling to remain lucid.

[Do... Sister, do you know what Xafra has done? It has taken me a while to fully process as... she did not hesitate to offer without an accounting of the cost to herself.] Schatzi responds privately.

[Spilled forth her own Soul's blood so that we may recover and improve, correct?] It murmurs back to Schatzi without truly understanding or remembering the event but... the new thrumming inside makes it seem unlikely it is wrong. Then it intones to both of them. [Containment, 31.67% chance of Decommissioning and reweaving if the Mistress has failed or... been compromised. But, This one has seen how this Estate Contains. It will take time for it to manifest proper obstacles to stop this Frame. And that is if our Mistress cannot or does not intervene in any fashion. If she wishes this one to join her, it will. If she doesn't, and instructs this place how to stop this Frame... then it will accept whatever punishments she deems appropriate.]

[Not only that, she cut something inside her in half, the Breath she called it, giving us half of it. We can... consume Ousia now. Can face eternity with her! But... she is weakened. Prey for any who would take advantage.] Schatzi continues.

Xafra, in contrast, radiates fear, but does not suggest a path.

[So... Sister Xafra is wounded, and now locked in a cage worse than the Archive our Mistress found her in.] It snarls audibly, but keeps the fury between them. Then a spark of... something ripples through the frame as it considers Schatzi's claim. A sensation it's never felt. Talons and fangs crack and snap in new anticipations as it feels out the...

It cackles over the Bond and shares the Frame's new calculations. [So... Sisters. This one is the fury, and has only ever made one choice it does not regret. So it refers to the Pack. Does it wait, and respect our Mistress will? Or go?]

A pause, then Schatzi intones. [We Go. Swift and silent, Giyar 8, This one will... Shroud us as we travel. Mask our presence.]

This one thrums in delight at the sister’s words. Hungers so deeply to feel the weight and motion of such an intense Giyar with her at its back. But… waits. Turns focus to their newest sibling. [Sister Xafra? Do you consent to this path? This one will not leave a sister behind again unless she agrees with our motions.]

[my fault.... my FAULT, can't lose her... CALIX CAN HEAR THEM] Xafra murmurs back in growing intensity.

It pauses. Considering.... [Hear what? Sister Xafra?]

[Whispers... Calix mutters. Blossom approvals granted. Plantcult nonsense. Not ghosts, not Cursestorm. Not Hag but close. Always murmurs over bond. Don't think he knows how to stop.]

This one thrums more calm focused Quill-song down the bond in offering, [You may see to helping your Doll tune out the Nightmares this place births later, dear sister. But for now this one needs your focus. Go, or Remain?]

A pause in which Xafra considers then... [Go. A Witch must not be without her Weapon.]

The Frame pulses in wordless agreement, Quill songs ringing with fury and delight and fear and hunger and so much more wordless things as Giyar 8 cracks through the Frame. Shattering the slow doubts and considerations of the lower levels into an unstoppable force of purpose.

And then we’re moving.

Before this one can even think to ask, Schatzi is shifting something within the Frame. Growing odd protrusions from the head that act as resonators, picking up the ambient frequency so she can have the Iphodian gears vibrate in harmony using the warmth in our chest as they rotate, effectively hiding us from most other senses aside from sight.

This one can’t help but thrum in delight as they speed through the tunnels. Arriving at the Undercroft and Loom within barely a dozen heartbeats to push aside the curtain and–

Mistress is not here.

The miasma begins to press close, but… not in any deliberate way. Not yet. Barely able to be curious about this oddity within its embrace with these new horns Schatzi’s grown us.

[She is not here.] This one growls in worry as it steps out to look around. [Why? Why has she ventured lower, sister?]

[Uncertain. We must continue then.]

And so we do.

Tunnels grow stranger. From murky stone and root into seamless tiles. Miasma growing so thick to pool and pack itself close. Pressing against the Frame enough that this one has to–

Their chest thrums and seems to grow hot as it melts and reweaves. Sealing itself in. As Mistress might close up her throat if slipping to bask beneath the waters of her bath. Ensuring the fog senses only their shape and not the gifts given within. Soon after, the passages twist and the pull of the below alters to the side. Forcing this one to use talons and clawed feet to dig into the surface of the route it means to take–

And then the beast we sneak through stirs. Fog pressing close. Beginning to nibble and bite and understand that it indeed feels a predator stalking its den. Starts to curl around and beneath to tug and push what it must consider a wayward Doll back toward the upper Estate.

We ignore it, continue to skitter along.

And then it becomes… insistent. Tendrils as hard as limbs of Xafra’s Warlord shape forming to retrain and hold. With a hiss our Quill Song slices through any miasma that would otherwise press close and seek to infiltrate any part of the Frame. Can feel the wretched fog writhe in confusion at this. Just beginning to swirl and hard and–

[Wur–

Scream the Quills on our back, and the resounding pulse of tearing sound rips apart everything in a thirty foot diameter. Miasma, stone, and spell all shred to nothing.

It can only purr in delight at how this great beast shivers at the needle we so easily stabbed up into this thing's claw, leaving it stunned and confused as the Frame scuttles and speeds through this maze of oddly shaped and laid tunnels.

Then the walls begin to melt and pulse, curling into such odd shaped… ‘things’ that rise to bar our path. Not even humanoid. Beasts of odd shapes and edges that make even their new eyes strain to follow their movements. It prepares fangs and Talons and Quills to rip and maim. New core thrumming up to bathe our weapons in strange boiling light that will easily reave and harvest and–

But then, in a snap like some elastic substance, they fall back into the hard stone walls.

And our path is clear as the Miasma pulls back in writhing annoyance. Tunnels turn back to pull the Frame down, and at even greater speeds we soon find the stone gives way to… jungles?

Nothing like the toxic useless mess above. While less vibrant, this place is… soft. Muted.

Above burns a false sun, and static stars that weep Ousia and Physis down upon the frame. Their new core unseals itself, and–

Deep breath.

Tastes almost as wonderful as Mistress blood and marrow.

The Frame proceeds forward with caution, following a naturally woven pathway of marbled stone through this odd underground forest.

[Mistress?] It tries again over their bond.

Nothing.

It is about to snarl in annoyance but… Then its new eyes see her within what looks to have been a long dead tree’s hollowed out stump at the path's end and this chamber's heart. Easily the width of the Spire’s above, edges cracked and twisted to reach up toward the false sun above.

"Mistress?" It murmurs softly and clearly as it hesitates at the dead tree's edge. Eyes dancing over her to see... scars. All across her naked upper body. Woven and patterned with their primary inflection point about her left shoulder and neck. Literally thrumming with Ousia and Physis.

Mistress Elevar does not say a word, only reaches out to pat the root floor at her side. This one obeys, moving forward and clicking the Frame's workings down into Giyar 4 as Quills quiet to melodies of soft worry and protection.

[What... Is this?] Schatzi whispers.

Talons click-clack on the hard-root floor as its eyes dance over Mistress to try and understand what this all is...

Expression is stiff as she refuses to stare at anything but the root floor before her. Soft smile as false as the Weeping Sun above.

It's about to scream with Quill song at what it sees, furious at this violation of the Mistress form and will, already moving to wrap limbs about her as-

But Mistress' right hand snaps up, quicker than it expects, and grips the nearest Quill in a wordless demand for silence. A thing she would only do when this one would wail such loud painful songs she struggled to speak over.

Looking down it sees the six extra tethers she created as adjustable tools now have been tied about the heart of the bond. Intentionally cutting off all inputs and outputs until unwoven. It is about to snarl or hiss or beg Mistress to explain but... Then she releases the Quill and moves herself to sit within the Frame's embrace.

Like how she would need after waking from her worst night terrors.

Except... Within her left hand dances such an odd display. A weaving of light and shapes from her Little Archive. Information it can only just parse out.