Tsaersha the Traveler

Well, the roads here certainly aren't too terrible......

Hopefully, everything keeps moving to smooth sailing, and there aren't any further troubles. I'd hate to have to stop just because some beastie got at the wheels again....

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Hi! Welcome to the RP blog for Tsaersha, a Hollow Knight/Silksong OC that's been floating around me, Mod Kitty/Mod Cat ( @kitty-da-insane ) head for a while. Saw the chaos going down on Pharloomblr and had to join in.

It wasn't as often as he would like.

But tonight, he managed it.

He hoped that this would be the dream where he saw the Unyielding Light once more!

But it was not.

He did see Essence. He did see... Er... Doorways? Doorways.

"Do one of these lead to Her?" He asked, quietly.

And that is when he spotted a bug.

... He could recognize what those wings were. They reminded him, vaguely, of his own.

In fact, in general, this bug reminded him of himself in ways he could not quite express.

"HELLO THERE!" The brightly glowing moth shouted. "I AM LOOKING FOR THE UNYIELDING LIGHT!! HAVE YOU SEEN HER?!!?"

He then glanced at the Essence particles.

... He could just absorb them, but he decided that if this was actually the mind of the bug he just greeted, that would be a terrible idea.

He turned his attention back to the bug that reminded him of him, and said, "READY FOR MY ARRIVAL!"

With that confusing statement, he flies closer. Perhaps that is what he meant by his 'arrival.'

@apollodisthehalfmoth

*Tsaersha did not think herself a creature surprised by much anymore. At least, from her still slightly recollection, she assumed such. After all, the big memories had all come back in quick recall: traveling to Pharloom, her wagon breaking, settling in, finding the rootlets, Snowmoon season and Cloverday spent with friends and family, The Archivist's summons and so on.*

*And of course the event that had landed her here in the dream realm, the Grimmkin. That was still a sore spot, but well, she was picking herself back up from it.*

*Still, her rosy eyes found the shape of the strange flitting upward on wings hale and whole, green rather than her own lilac flecked. Yellow gold too was their flickering light, but they drew closer, closer still.*

*He was a firefly. A firefly, like her. But not quite. Hybrid too, that had to be.*

*She hadn't ever encountered another firefly outside her mother, rare as they had been. And she certainly hadn't encountered another hybrid half like herself either.*

*He had called forth to be ready for his arrival, and so Tsaersha pulled back slightly from the ledge to allow him to alight, trying her best to be as friendly as she could even with the overall strangeness of the situation.*

*ȶֆǟɛʀֆɦǟ*

*†§åêr§hå*

*tŞคērŞhค*

*ꪻᦓꪖꫀ᥅ᦓꫝꪖ*

*Tʂαҽɾʂԋα*

*𝐓𝐬𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐚*

*That was her name, that had to be it. C'mon, Tsaersha, pick yourself up, Tsaersha. You've been brave, Tsaersha, now keep being brave. Keep being brave, Tsaersha.*

*Her claws had squeezed the younger's once, and then with a sort of rush, a wind, she closed her rosy eyes, and the world seemed to shift in more clouding essence.*

*She opened them again to find herself overlooking an endless expanse of golden sky, swirling clouds above and below broken only by drifting platforms climbing up high above to the even brighter heavens. But Tsaersha could not fly, not truly. Her scorched wing shifted against her back, the memory singed within her carapace along with the fall. But instead of dread came the remind she'd picked herself back up once. She could again. The reflective pool from far, far before was gone, and now with it clarity.*

*She blinked. And indeed she blinked out, a flicker light as ever, the platform she'd been on gone beneath her feet, another in its place. A doorway to the unknown, to a dream beyond, not of hers but a wander's wild heart was ever curious.*

*"Make haste," her clumsy tongue had formed, claws still pressed to to the windowpane overlooking a memory of a city she had never been to. "Make haste," had been the words, and come on ȶֆǟɛʀֆɦǟ, you've never spoken such aloud before, something is borrowing your tongue-*

*The smaller mothlet blinked a moment, quiet, awed, perhaps even spooked by the stranger that looked similar to her. The child's one ruff fluffed out before little claws smoothed it back down, her dark gaze adverted.* "I don't know what that means, but that sounds like something Mama used to say..... 'cept meaner....."

*The elder firefly wasn't quite listening. "Make Haste." She couldn't linger her, couldn't tarry. This was not her leyline, not her timeline, not where she should be.*

*Her hallowed thoughts then latched onto the word 'Mama'. A mother figure her mind now could see better, a woman cynical and half starved, eyes that steadily grew more blue with lifeblood's taint. A mother the older girl had knew well, scolding echoing even now ("Arrogant child! Questioning your betters! You won't last long in the world, ȶֆǟɛʀֆɦǟ!" The slap had stung even then, harsh and uncompromising). And that fragment of a name, it swirled more, ȶֆǟɛʀֆɦǟ, ȶֆǟɛʀֆɦǟ....*

*She pulled herself away from the window, looking down at the younger girl before her. Her, yes, undoubtedly, but where a timeline split, where she had their sire's hand to raise her rather than all of mother's cruel words. But her tongue was her own now, not the phantasmal questions placed there beyond her understanding. She knelt before the girl, her freckled claws taking the younger's with care.* ".....I... Sorry.... You are fine. You are wonderful.... Your Papa sounds wonderful."

*A breath. Her head felt clearer. Still not quite there, but better. She had to keep moving onward, it not before this.* "I have to make haste, I think.... I can't stay here.... I have people who need me too, friends and family.... Just like you have your Papa."

(To both the baby and adult Tsaersha)

*A strange thought, a strange weight to those words, looking out over a city she has never seen from above, in a realm made of essence of dreams ever fractaling around her.*

*The little girl beside her froze, little fluff puffed out, perhaps the same for hidden wings. Tiny claws clamped together over a heart that had always and will always beat too large within fragile shell. Those dark little eyes went downcast, down through the window that had to be an echo of a world she came from, down to a crying city wetted from tears.* "....I.... Papa needs me though... And Jeeves... When I wake up, I'll be with them. And Papa says somebody should watch everything too, when he's- when he won't be around anymore......"

"But my Papa has to live forever!" *The girl squawked, frantic in that declaration, looking back to the elder familiar stranger.* "He'll just.... He'll just be taking a long nap, maybe.... And maybe he'll wake up occasionally to play too.... And it'll be okay and there won't be orange light anymore....."

*Back within the dream realm, the twisting essence and the stone under claw that had emerged from the seemingly endless reflective pool, the unnamed wandered was tugged forward more by her smaller self of a past not quite her own. The question was a natural one, both curiosity and wariness, one born from the well trod path to always, always prepare ahead.*

*The smaller hybrid - half moth, half firefly - paused a moment more, swirling dreamcatcher essence having shifted to blue, the sound of rain tapping around them, yet not seen, thousands of taps of typewriter and keystroke paging notice after notice, tale after tale. Vague shapes were outlined in the mist, yet the girl didn't seem too concerned.* "My playroom! It's like my playroom when awake, but it's better than just wandering and getting caught by the scary orange light, right?"

"C'mon, miss ma'am!" *Once more, little slate claws pulled upon her wrist, pulling her further forward. Polite too in her earnestness, a trait the elder felt she had too, although never thought it'd be used on her.* "Maybe you'll be less lost too if you come see!"

*So the older bug let herself be dragged along, her rosy eyes searching the shadows, the silhouettes looming forth from the spectral clouds. C'mon ȶֆǟɛʀֆɦǟ, keep your head on straight, that same not quite name paired with a almost well spoken statement, another shard to her fragmented thoughts.*

*From out of the mists came shapes, yes, and then underfoot came softness. Weaver silk rugs over planking, metal inlays for stability for great, grand window, rain trickling down the glass in a slight, steady drizzle. A child's playroom, yes, a rocking stag sat in a corner, a small little table scattered with wax crayons, a tiny nest bed made with blankets of all colours, the whole scene lit with a blue light from the above windows. A well off playroom, from someone who certainly was not lacking in funds. (Another memory flitted through, more tangible this time. A rainy city in twilight, stone carved streets and puddles so large that splashed under claw. Mother's scolding, always scolding before before dragged along to the gates.)*

*The older firefly felt her feet carry her further in, further toward the rain speckled panes. Perhaps this was a flicker of a waking world not her own, familiar yet not. Her claws pressed against the glass before looking down and oh. Towers and spires and buildings far below, all bathed in the mournful blue light and the pattering of rain, the streets below lost to mist and very faint dream essence. This had to be the tallest spire around, perhaps, high above a life she had only known and scraped through.*

*Tsaersha's little ones had always been a lively bunch. Mostly. With the loss of their home and the disappearence of their mother, they'd become rather morose, although trying to take on optimism much like their guardian had, to always make the best of a bad situation. The older boys,Neeko and Mio, had been relieved to not be in charge of the younger ones, yet still stepped up anyhow. At nine cycles a piece, they both did admirable in the intal crisis of keeping everyone together, even if they themselves were small and scared. Even now, much like Tsaersha, something about the mantle of responsibility still settled on the boys' little shoulders, even if Arkus was there to help them.*

*The rest of the children seemed okay, although a bit skittish with fire. And who could blame them, their home reduced to cinders. Small, sweet things, still innocent, but Tsaersha raised her kids to be curious, to be perceptive, even if she wasn't there. And well, they still bunched together, buddy system drilled into still hardening chitin and root.*

*Wexle had latched onto his leg as her cooked, little vines cinched tight. All of the children had gotten clingy, but little nonverbal Wexle wasn't certainly one of the clingiest to Uncle Arkus, always within close enough distance to touch and cling if needed. While the other three rootlets weren't as bad, even then, a hug went a long way, and none ever tried to let go first.*

*Arabella, the youngest, little moth-bee, seemed to be the least affected by the tragedy. At least, on the surface. For someone just barely four cycles, she seemed surprising insightful for a toddler, speaking of dreamcatchers and weavies and charms, how her mother would come back. And while no one wanted to crush her hope completely, the others certainly didn't have that same optimism for Tsaersha's safe return, even if Arabella affirmed it. There had been scorch marks, no body (which could have burned to cinders too for all anyone knew), and just the knowledge of someone who would do anything to protect her kids. Grief wasn't a linear or kind thing, but even relentless hope could be read as denial.*

*Here they were now within the walls of Arkus' home in Shellwood. Shadier and a little more chilled than the beloved moss grotto below, yet still safe. Still with someone they trusted. Mio - clever boy - had set up a little board game between the other roots, Annis, Sycamore, and Teribeth, little Terri's glasses sliding down her snout and having to be pushed back occasionally. Neeko had been looking over the wood carvings, Arabella hanging off his cloak like a wild thing, antennae frilled out as she rambled. Neeko too was a bright boy, the half-firefly having enjoyed tales of brave knights and heroes. With Tsaersha gone, he'd almost seemed to press harder into those tales, having peppered Arkus with questions, lingering on weapons. Grief too coloured him in a different way, how strange that one so young already blamed himself, that if he were just stronger, bigger, taller, or braver he could have prevented this. He had a good heart, a bit reckless, but perhaps one day too he'd be a good knight in the stories, even if said patience was being tested by his much younger sister-niece.*

*Another question that slipped out, one that she'd thought about yet hadn't voiced yet, not til now.*

*Royalty. The word too rolled off her wild traveller's tongue, a word she didn't ever speak, never crossed paths with (thousands of paths of essence of other times and places deigned otherwise).*

*Yet the younger not quite her only gave a giggle like it was a foolish question, and maybe it was to a child of six cycles, one who'd been given a place safer than what the elder recalled through ghostly thoughts.* "Myeah! Papa works really closely with His Majesty! I've only seen him from a distance, because Papa tells me to hide, but he's kinda short. Papa also says I shouldn't say that and it's rude, and I should think before I speak."

"Mama also said that before she dropped me off at Papa's house. She said I talk too much," *The mothlet deflated slightly, so incredibly expressive before picking back up her ramble.* "You look kinda like Mama did, but you're prettier and brighter colours! And you have a ruff like Papa and I. Do you hate brushing it too? The brushes are too prickly!"

*Perhaps another dumb question given how eager the child had latched onto her. Lonely children didn't care about stranger danger, she knew this. She'd been that way once, small and cold, out under a wagon wheel with a mother whose face swam out of focus before she could latch onto it. How dreadful it was, yo not truly recall anything but vagueness.*

*Yet the little one only gave a soft hum, still tugging her new bright friend along on little claws that splashed through the endless pool of the realm.* "Mmm.... Kinda? There aren't a lot of other grubs to play with unless my aunties bring my cousins to visit, since Papa babysits a lot.... He says I'm better behaved than my cousins most of the time. But they haven't visited in a while....."

*The question was put of her mouth before she could stop herself, nameless bug of flickering light. It was a dumb question, the child had already said so once in her rambling. And if this child was an echo of a past that never was - or a past at least she hadn't experienced - of course her sire was a moth.*

*The smaller mothlet let out a chirp, almost violently nodding her head as she kept guiding the elder forward, essence clouds in pale blue mist parting before them.* "Yeah! Papa's a moth, but nobody knows it but me, and my aunties and cousins, and maybe His Majesty..... But he wears big cloaks like mine, and covers his eyes and so when he's working the other bug don't bother him."

"Are you a moth too? What happened to your wingie? It's all ragged."

*She blinked once. Twice. Rosy eyes watching the smaller self with confusion. The answer was probably so, if her foggy thoughts could be trusted, not that she had any frame of reference of what being a moth meant. And maybe her smaller self didn't know either. Still, she nodded her head once.*

*It was a question that had flittered through her awareness before this younger self of hers had barreled on with all the eagerness of lonely child. It came to her mandibles now, not quite herself still pulling her forward.*

*The child only looked back with shining, dark eyes, little claws insistent.* "It's the palace! Everyone knows about the palace! It's below the city! And that's where the knights live, and the king and the queen!"

*The little girl puffed out her little chest, tiny wings perhaps shifting under that oversized cloak.* "My papa works with the king a lot! Sometimes His Majesty visits, and Papa says I have to stay quiet and out of the way. I don't know if His Majesty knows about me, but Papa only started taking care of me two cycles ago....."

(To the baby)

*Once more, the question came out of her own confusion, word there before she could think of it. But the firefly didn't fight the question either, hoping too to glean her own answer.*

*The smaller mothlet gave a little shake, oversized blue cloak shifting as she kept tugging the older big forward.* "Yeah! This place appears when I take a nap! Papa says almost everybody can see it, but moths like him and me and Auntie Lyly can all move and do things here!"

*This younger girl halted in her steps a moment, a shiver going through her before she kept tugging the older forward.* "We should keep moving though! Papa says if there's golden light, it's bad, really, really bad, and so we have to stay away from the light..... Papa also says we're not supposed to tell others either, and Papa wears a big cloak and hides his wings too, since he says it's safer if nobody knows he's a moth...."

*Again, the words came before she could think of them, the question a simple one as her claws brushed over that mothlet's antennae. Strange, her voice speaking, yet not her words, yet maybe they were.*

*The echo of herself, this child, only smiled, latching onto her wrist with all the sense a child would, small and trusting. Dark, round eyes reflected back at her, the reflection a stark contrast.* "I'm going to be six cycles!"

*The little girl chirped again, still holding onto the elder's wrist as she tugged her slightly forward.* "Papa says he might get me my own paints for my hatch day, so I can have some and not ruin his. He's a really, really good painter, my papa, but he doesn't paint as much anymore. He says it's because of work, and meetings and all the visitors that keep coming in and out or the trips back and forth, but he says when my hatchday comes we can paint together!"