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nompunhere · 3 years

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The Traveler and the Tiny Ghost - Chapter 4 (H/ollow K/night G/t Fic)

oh wow look new chapter-

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Characters: The Knight (Ghost), Quirrel, the Nailsmith, the Maskmaker, and Lemm as a cameo Word Count: 4,361 (Total so far: 12,893) Warnings: Minor H/ollow K/night Spoilers, Bugs, Mention of Temporary Character Death, Implied Violence Other Notes: In case you missed my last post, I have decided to split the vore into a separate fic. Part of my reasoning is for continuity, in case I decide I want to add more to this one after I’ve written the noms. It’ll link back to this fic, and I might make a masterpost for the au if I write a bunch of oneshots for it like I plan to.

Chapter under the cut

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Raindrops gently hit the thick material of the satchel, each one landing with a light thump. Ghost drew back from peering through the bag’s opening to simply sit and watch the cityscape pass by in a blur. Very few droplets made it into the bag, but the little knight had done their best to rearrange Quirrel’s belongings so that the less-waterproof things would be shielded from the intruding liquid.

Now, they leaned back against the dense fabric, feeling it shift against their friend’s shell slightly as he made his way through the husk-infested streets of the City of Tears. Guilt pricked at Ghost’s conscience for their inability to help, but they reminded themself that Quirrel had been traversing all of Hallownest on his own for quite a while with seemingly no issue. From the sound of it, the pillbug was handling himself just fine, avoiding conflict for the most part and dispatching enemies swiftly whenever necessary.

This was an… interesting experience, to say the least. It was the first time the little wanderer had ever traveled with another. Not only that, but it was the first time they were letting someone else fight for them. They felt somewhat helpless, and though that one wasn’t a first, they hadn’t experienced it often, and never for all that long. They hoped the feeling would end after a visit to the Nailsmith.

That wasn’t to mention the whole “being tiny” thing. Ghost was used to being small, and they had met more than their fair share of bugs that towered over them over the course of their travels both inside and out of Hallownest, but rarely could they fit in the palm of one’s hand. Right now, being carried around with someone’s stuff, they felt almost insignificant. The knight decided that they didn’t like that.

They pulled themself out of their thoughts to focus on the outside world once more. Through the opening of the satchel, Ghost could see… Well, not much, to be perfectly honest. They had been able to see almost normally when they had their face right up next to their little window, but sitting down had narrowed their field of view quite a lot. They could see rain, a background alternating between slate gray and murky blue as Quirrel passed buildings and open streets, and the occasional flash of orange when he had to kill whatever Infected vengefly or husk came after him.

Soon enough, the slight jostling from Quirrel’s footsteps slowed down and steadied out. The distant sounds of sentries marching their endless patrols had become nearly inaudible. Perhaps the two reached a safer area? Ghost got to their feet and made their way back to the satchel’s partway-open flap. Taking a look outside, they didn’t see much of note, but upon angling themself to look to their right, they spotted the Hollow Knight statue. It seemed that the traveler was stopping to look at it.

Ghost shoved their head through the opening before them and heaved themself out just enough to reach around to the pillbug behind them. Carefully, so as to not fall, they leaned over and patted at Quirrel’s shell.

“Hm?” He started slightly and looked down at them. “Oh, sorry my friend. I have a tendency to get distracted when I see something of interest. This fountain certainly fits that description!” he chuckled. “I caught a glimpse of it on my last trip through this place, but I didn’t get the chance to have a closer look.”

Sensing that their traveling companion was about to go on one of his signature tangents, Ghost figured that they should probably get into a more stable position. Hanging halfway out of a bag wasn’t exactly the most secure. From where they were, they could either ease themself back into the satchel, or ask Quirrel to hold them. Their mind blanked as they tried to make a decision.

“The statue at the center clearly depicts someone of great importance, though I haven't seen any information about them other than this throughout my time in Hallownest. Still, they seem oddly familiar, somehow,” he continued, ignorant to the smaller being’s plight. “As for the other statues, they must hold some meaning. Though they all have the same base, their masks are different. I'm certain I've seen their likenesses before, but for some reason it's difficult to say where.” Ghost was forced to choose after they overbalanced a bit, hastily shoving themself back into their temporary place of residence so that their head was still mostly outside, but the rest of their body was safely tucked away. The knight supposed that they still weren’t quite used to the weight of the mask as opposed to their shell.

They made themself comfortable and settled in to listen to Quirrel’s musings. They noticed that he didn’t mention the plaque at all. Looking again at their surroundings, it seemed that the two were on the opposite side of the fountain from where Ghost usually passed by. Their mind wandered a bit as the pillbug talked. Lemm had been down here recently. He had a few similar things to say to them. Now that they thought of it, didn’t he live right nearby? Conveniently, since Quirrel was on the back side of the fountain, Ghost was in the perfect position to look up at where Lemm’s window should be.

Lo and behold, the relic seeker himself stood just behind the glass, staring down at them. Well, at Quirrel anyway—Ghost kind of hoped he couldn’t see them. They didn’t feel quite ready to explain their current situation to the unsociable beetle yet. Maybe later. Perhaps he had heard Quirrel talking and come to look? It seemed unlikely, what with the rain, glass, and distance separating them, but with how close his shop was to the fountain, it wasn’t impossible. Or maybe he had just coincidentally looked through his window at some point over the past few minutes.

Several drawn-out seconds later, Lemm turned away and went back to his desk. Table. Counter. Whatever. Ghost turned their attention back to Quirrel as he finished his monologue. They did enjoy listening to him, but he really could go on and on. At the moment, he was staring thoughtfully up at one of the three smaller statues, a hand holding the edge of the mask atop his head. Another moment passed, then he looked back at Ghost with a small smile.

“I find that my kerchief is getting a bit soaked, simply standing here. This little hat of mine can’t shield it from all water, after all. Though I personally enjoy damp environments, I fear I never took your preferences into consideration when I stopped. Sorry, Ghost. Are you ready to leave?” They responded with a firm nod. Quirrel snickered at that. It must’ve looked rather silly with how their head was still only most of the way out of the bag. They allowed themself to slide back in and sat back down in their previous position. They both heard and felt Quirrel pat the satchel before he took off once again.

If the little wanderer remembered correctly, the two were about halfway to their destination. They attempted to pull their map out to check, huffing in frustration when they could only get a corner out before it stopped. They shoved both hands into their inventory to try and roll the map up more tightly, but that didn’t help in retrieving it. Don’t get them wrong, Ghost was grateful that the parchment had so much room to make a complete and detailed map of each area, but they found themself cursing its size now.

Alongside a replacement nail, they should see about getting another map. Scraps of paper should work well enough. There might even be some among Quirrel’s belongings, but they didn’t want to go around ripping up his stuff for their own purposes, especially not without asking first. They could deal with this issue after they got a new weapon. Self-defense came first.

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It wasn’t long before the refined architecture of the City of Tears gave way to the mushrooms and spores of the Fungal Wastes. The immediate area was also becoming increasingly dotted with abandoned nails, so far as Ghost could tell from Quirrel’s occasional remarks, anyway. It seemed the two had pretty much made it to their destination, thankfully without any more prolonged stops along the way.

As the sound of clanging metal drew closer, Ghost considered standing to go look through their little viewing window, but remembering the jumps it would take to get up to the Nailsmith’s hut, they opted to stay seated for now.

“You know, there are plenty of nails out here smaller than your own. Perhaps one of these would work?” Quirrel’s pace had slowed to a walk. Scratch that previous thought about staying put, then. Ghost popped their head out to look. Huh. They had forgotten about those. They stuck an arm out to point downwards, and the pillbug crouched obligingly near a cluster of them.

The knight hopped out of the satchel and trotted over to examine the unused-yet-weathered weapons. It looked as though they had been left outside for quite a while. They didn’t look all that good, to be honest. Some of them appeared to have been given up on halfway through forging, some were made deliberately poorly (probably out of boredom or frustration), and some were just straight-up blunt metal rods, like a child’s toy nail but mildly more dangerous.

Ghost hefted one of the less shoddy ones. It was a bit longer than their entire height, but they bore its weight with ease. Quirrel let out a shocked laugh behind them. When they glanced back, he elaborated. “Sorry, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see you pick that up so casually.” They looked back at the piece of metal in their hand in consideration. After giving it a few experimental swings, they found that the balance was completely off, and tossed it aside.

The next one they picked up was about the size of their channeled nail, if not a little bigger. There was nothing particularly special about it, but they grabbed it, turned to face Quirrel, held it out in front of them, and waved it around. He snorted, then ducked his head and broke out into giggles, bringing a hand up to cover his face.

The tiny knight stepped forward and bopped the larger of his two masks lightly with the nail. They were surprised when it repelled them back with approximately the same amount of force that they had applied, which sent the nail leaning far enough over their head that they overbalanced and tumbled backward. The oversized weapon clattered away across the cobblestone, leaving Ghost sprawled on their back.

“Are you alright?” Quirrel asked, having looked up at the sharp sound. They gave a weary nod. The taller bug moved closer and was now leaning over them somewhat, fiddling with his hands. “You are incredibly strong for your size, I must admit, but perhaps we should stick to more reasonably-sized nails, hmm?” He set a hand down beside his fallen traveling partner. They let their head fall back, then got up and climbed onto the offered ride. Quirrel smoothly rose to his feet and moved onward. “I assume none of those were worth your time. Still, maybe there’s something in one of the other piles that will be more to your liking.”

As it turned out, not really. The two spent a long while sifting through bundles of the smaller discarded nails, but none could match up to Ghost’s original blade. From what they could tell, the diminutive weapons generally weren’t taken as seriously as the more standard ones when they were being crafted. They looked fine at first glance, but they never slashed quite right, and some seemed rather fragile.

Eventually Quirrel handed the knight one that they found decent. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying to use as the channeled nail, the edges were relatively blunt, and it didn’t seem like it would do much damage, but the proportions were almost right, and that was more than they could say for any of the previous nails they had tested. Deciding that it was probably the best they were going to get at this point, Ghost nodded and pointed towards the hut that the two had been working steadily closer to. Quirrel returned the gesture and held out the satchel for them to jump into, which they did.

They reclined with the new nail resting across their lap as the traveler leapt up the last few crumbling steps to the forge. Checking their inventory, they found that they did, in fact, still have the piece of Pale Ore that they’d gotten from their brief excursion into the Ancient Basin. Thinking back on it, wasn’t there a spike-lined path that they couldn’t go down before? Since they now had the Crystal Heart, they’d have to check that out. Not until they got their present circumstances figured out, of course, but hopefully soon. Outside, Quirrel’s movements stilled, and a knock rang out above the repetitive clanging of metal.

“Judging by the fact that you knocked, you’re not anyone I’ve seen recently, but you’re also probably not Infected. Come in,” a gruff voice called, the sound of his hammer going quiet.

Ghost moved to see what was going on outside as Quirrel began a greeting. The pillbug was interrupted before he could speak, however.

“Oh, it’s you. I imagine you’re here to have that nail of yours sharpened.”

When there was no response, Ghost looked up at their friend. He appeared to have frozen, stuck with his mouth partway open and hand held up to make some sort of gesture. After a moment, he regained his composure.

“Er, no, actually, though that would be helpful while I’m here.” The Nailsmith gave him a blank look. “I’m here for a friend,” he said, cupping a hand around the opening of his satchel. Ghost crawled out into his grasp, bringing along the small blade they’d found. The hand brought them forward, and they stepped down onto the Nailsmith’s work table, giving a cheerful wave as they did.

“What the fu-”

“Anyway,” Quirrel continued, a strained grin visible under his mask, “Ghost here needs a nail to suit their current size that will last for however long, ahem, this goes on for. They can’t wield their usual one for what I should hope are obvious reasons.”

“What-”

“We looked through the many nails outside for one that might work, and this is the best we could find,” the traveler went on, indicating the one in Ghost’s hand, which they held up for emphasis. “We were hoping you could make it more effective, or make them an entirely new one if that won’t work.” The little wanderer then took out their Pale Ore, followed by a few 25-Geo pieces. “Oh, yes, and we can pay, of course.”

“...Alright. Hand that over then.” They held out the nail for the Nailsmith to take. He spent some time scrutinizing it, then nodded. “This will do. It’s not the best, but starting from here will save some time. Adding the Pale Ore should make it passable as a weapon. 600 Geo.” A quick calculation, and Ghost withdrew nineteen more 25-Geo pieces, added them to the five they had set forth earlier, and pushed the pile at him. “I’m not certain I’ll need that entire chunk of ore for this, so if there’s any left when I’m done, I’ll return it to you.” From there, he set the tiny weapon in front of him on the table-that-may-or-may-not-be-an-anvil and readied the grindstone to his side.

“And you,” he nodded to Quirrel, “that nail looks well cared-for. 120 Geo to sharpen it. Just leave it against the wall and come back shortly. Try not to die while you wait.” While he was talking and Quirrel wasn’t looking, Ghost slipped out the Dream Nail and took a swipe at the Nailsmith with it. There was some coherent thought, but it was buried under a chorus of the phrase he had been about to say when the knight first stepped onto his table. They put the tool away with a silent snicker, before being startled by the sudden appearance of a hand beside them.

“We’ll be heading outside to wait, then. Thank you for your service.” The pillbug received merely a grunt in response, turning to the door once Ghost was seated in his palm.

Back in the spore-filled air of the City of Tears’ outskirts, Quirrel sat cross-legged a moderate distance from the forge. He gently placed Ghost on his knee, then dug around in his satchel to retrieve some kind of wrapped bundle. From it, he pulled out a small bar that looked to be made of dry, compressed plant matter, including leaves, grains, and seeds. Ghost tilted their head in interest. He paused, the bar halfway to his mouth, free hand on the bottom of his mask. “Oh, this?” A nod.

“These are just some travel rations,” he said, lifting the wrapping to reveal a pile of similar and slightly-crumbling bars. “They’re not the best, but they do their job well enough. Would you like to try some? ...Do you eat?” When they nodded again and held a hand out, the traveler broke off a small chunk and offered it to them. It still took them both hands to hold it.

While Ghost was familiar with the concept of eating, they didn’t engage in the activity very often. They didn’t strictly need to, so long as an area had enough ambient Soul. That said, they had eaten before, but they realized that with their new mask, they probably would not be able to go about it as they usually would. Bumping the morsel against the bottom of their mask a few times confirmed this theory. Quirrel, having unlatched the bottom of his own mask, was watching them inquisitively as he ate his lunch.

With a huff, the tiny wanderer plopped down, broke the chunk of plant matter in half over their leg, and promptly shoved one half into their eye socket. Quirrel choked. “What-” he broke into a coughing fit, “-in Wyrm’s name—” Clearing his throat, the pillbug hesitantly started again. “Is that.. normal, for you?” Balancing the other half of the provided food in one hand, they made a so-so gesture. “...Okay. I’m going to trust that it doesn’t hurt you to do that.” Ghost gave what they hoped was a reassuring nod before consuming the rest of their meal. Quirrel glanced away and continued eating.

While waiting for their traveling companion to finish, Ghost considered what they wanted to do next. Obviously, the biggest priority was to get back to normal so that they could continue their journey. How to go about that wasn’t so obvious, though. Maybe if the mask broke, they’d appear back on a bench in their regular form, like always. The issues with that plan were that, one, they could never be certain that something wouldn’t go wrong, and two, Quirrel had never seen them die before, and they didn’t want to scar him by doing it in his presence.

The knight rubbed at their mask thoughtfully. It still felt artificial compared to their old shell, but they were getting used to it with time. Speaking of their shell, why hadn’t it disappeared when they last died? They had never previously found broken pieces of it before the one in their inventory. Maybe they went into reforming their body back at the last bench they had sat in. If they didn’t need a shell to come back to, it would make sense for the shards to not go anywhere.

They took out the one they were in possession of and focused on it. (The regular kind of focus, not the Soul-infusing kind. Until they got a new nail, they didn’t have any Soul to Focus.) It felt familiar. It felt right to be in contact with. It felt alive. It felt connected to them. It felt… incomplete. The next thing they knew, Ghost was hugging the pale shard. A large dark hand hovered nearby. They leaned into it sadly.

Quirrel had set the last few bites of his ration in his lap to give his friend a meaningful look. “Don’t worry Ghost, we’ll get this figured out, no matter how long it takes.” They felt a gentle pat and sighed, putting the shard back away. They hoped the connection they had to it would hold, not knowing what would happen if it didn’t.

The bug whose knee they currently rested upon quickly picked up and finished off his bar, then set about rewrapping the rest and stowing them back in his satchel. “Well then,” he started, with cheer that sounded a bit forced, “while we wait for our nails, how about we discuss what to do next? Did you have anything in mind?” Wasn’t that just perfect? Ghost started to nod, then stopped and changed it to a shake of their head. They only had the one idea, but they knew he wouldn’t agree to it. They tapped at their mask, made the gesture that, for them, meant “bigger,” pointed at Quirrel, and cocked their head to one side. They wanted his thoughts.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re saying, friend. Perhaps it would be in our best interest to teach you some sign language,” he suggested. Though not what they had been expecting to hear, it did sound like a great plan. They were aware that many cultures had at least some form of nonverbal communication, but they hadn’t seen too much of any one kind, so they hadn’t had much of an opportunity to learn. What they had noticed, though, was that all of the ones that involved hand movements tended to have a lot of overlap between them, so even if their explorer friend couldn’t teach them the local version, they’d still be reasonably comprehensible to those who knew any version. Ghost nodded excitedly.

“Right then. We can get to that shortly, but before we lose our tram of thought, what were you trying to say a moment ago?” They repeated the motions for returning to normal. “I mean, of course, but do you have any ideas for how to do that?” A so-so gesture, then they once again pointed at Quirrel with a head tilt. “Oh! Are you asking for my ideas?” A nod. Quirrel looked into the distance and drummed his fingers along the bottom of his mask, then reattached it to his face when he realized he had forgotten to do so earlier.

“Well,” he started, “I’d imagine getting you out of this situation shouldn’t be too different from how you got into it. We get you a new mask, reminiscent of your old shell, and then we, ahem, transfer you into it.” Ghost stared blankly at him for a moment, then gave a single, decisive nod. That made a lot of sense, actually. They were a little surprised it hadn’t crossed their mind before.

“The most logical next step, then, would be to pay another visit to the Mask Maker.” Nod. “Let’s go see if our nails are done, then we can get right to that.” The pillbug offered his palm, waited for the wanderer to get themself situated, and walked back up to the hut where the Nailsmith was still clanging away.

“Hi, we just wanted to quickly check in on-”

“Wall to your left.”

A glance to the left revealed two nails, both sharper than a Garpede’s mandibles and one shining with freshly smelted Pale Ore. “Well, that was quick,” Quirrel remarked.

“I finished a few minutes ago.”

“...Ah,” the pillbug said intelligently before retrieving his nail and returning it to its place at his hip. He then picked up the tiny nail next to it and handed it to Ghost. The length of the blade in comparison to their body size was about the same as their regular nail was with Mark of Pride equipped. The weight and balance felt almost exactly right. Though not perfect, it was more than enough.

After carefully looking the reforged nail over, the knight hopped in excitement and pointed out through the door. Quirrel once again thanked the Nailsmith, and the explorers left to go test out the new weapon. After that, they'd take the Stag to Deepnest and see about getting the Ghost of Hallownest a new mask (again).

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“I’m out of material,” the Mask Maker deadpanned. For once, they weren’t working on anything.

Quirrel sputtered for a moment. From their position on the corner of the artisan's desk, Ghost slumped. “What do you mean you’re ‘out of material?!’”

“I’ve used it all in crafting masks. If you wish to fix the mess the small one has gotten itself into, you’ll have to bring me more. Until then, I cannot help you.” “...What kind of material do you need?” the traveler asked, exasperation coloring his voice.

“Usually, shellwood. For the type of mask it currently bears, a solidified mixture of ash and powdered shell. Ideally, to most accurately recreate its original face, you would need to provide a large quantity of shell from similar beings."

That sounded a bit difficult, to say the least. Ghost had only seen one other being like themself up to that point, and they only had one shard of their own shell. The other pieces were, presumably, with the Collector. As for the ash, they felt like they had seen some somewhere, but they struggled to recall where exactly. Wherever it was, they probably hadn’t been there for long.

"I suppose we'd best be off to go do that then," Quirrel sighed. Once the little wanderer leapt back into his satchel, he turned and left. Looking back as he walked, Ghost saw the Mask Maker pull out a block of shellwood from under their work table and start chiseling. They let out a long, marginally annoyed breath and sank further into their textile-based shelter.

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Yeah that one took a while, sorry

but anyway

have some setup for a resolution of the main conflict! they know what they’re doing now, it’s just gonna take them a while to do it

oh, and here’s a reminder that Quirrel still doesn’t have his memories back. he does, however, still use certain Hallownestian phrases (”what in wyrm’s name”) because. uh. they’re just sort of ingrained into his vernacular, even if he doesn’t really understand why at this point.

I do have a lot more ideas for this au, but that’s as far as I have planned for this particular fic. next up: noms, then probably oneshots from various points in time later in the au. some will have noms, some won’t.

Thanks for reading! Feedback would be appreciated, so long as you’re respectful about it. Asks are open.

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DNI NSFW blogs, blogs that post exclusively hard and/or fatal vore, weightgain blogs, proshippers, TERFs, ace exclusionists, etc.

#my writing #tw bugs #g/t fic #hk g/t #vore mention #traveler and tiny ghost au #tatg au

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