when you cant bury the hatchet so you bury the hatch instead
- the pale king, probably
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Image Description: An icon, not unlike a Byzantine one, of the Pale King with some attendants. The Pale King is the most prominent figure against the shining gold background, his gleam composing a long neck wrapped in cloth, and a face not unlike a man’s -- long, thin-nosed, with a neutral frown and almond eyes -- and his crown rising out of circle pearls and teardrops in four mouth-hooks. With four of his hands he holds a black egg.
His attendants wear grey escoffions and are also wrapped in shapeless pale robes -- though theirs have the more subtle colors of mortality. One attendant holds up the King’s robe, and the other two carry the soon-to-be Pure Vessel’s helmet and their sword. Wrapping around the image is an arched border, with decorations of geometry, curling trees, and insect’s wings in gold, emerald, and ruby. End ID.
king-worm, wonders-granter
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(short) I was given Awareness to feel shame and pain.
There was loss. And then darkness. Then a incredible pain inside my being with a hot light so strong it blinded me of anything or any memories.
A forceful crack in my blind darkness showing actual light peering in, and then more cracks till I was forced out by a pale hand, grabbing a appendage that felt close to my darting eye.
“Feel Blackwyrm, come to have a mind and see the shame of your lost battle, the cripple of your being and the disgust you show me your existence to be.”
The emotion and pain I felt was so strongly and awful. It overwhelmed me much that in no time my eyes start to pour, and I couldn't voice right to make the sensation stop, letting out only gurgles and whimpers instead.
I was brought to feel only the pain of my malformed being and the raging shame of my lost war.
I don't think he intended me to survive. The Pale being dropped me in my carcass and I could barely move from all the pain. But I couldn't let go.
I started mindlessly munching my old corpse to nourish me back to health. I was able to go deeper and try to form again with all that I had.
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The more and more I think about the pale king from hollow knight, the more and more obsessed I get about him. Like. He’s a Wyrm who found a civilization of bugs without thought, created and looked after by the Radiance (a moth sun god), and decided to shed his Wyrm form into one more like those bugs without mind, and the Pale Light shed from his new form gave them mind and thought, and with it the bugs went from worshiping the Radiance to worshiping the Pale King. In part because he did give them a wondrous gift, and in part because he didn’t want them worshipping anything else. Not yet. And then he builds his Kingdom of Hallownest, and comes to care for his people. He marries the White Lady, a Root (tree) and Pale Being of fertility, and attempts peace with the other civilization, Deepnest. People are making pilgrimages to Hallownest, research is being done in the Kingdom, technology is advancing with the Trams and the Crystal Peaks and the buzz saws. Everything is thriving.
And then it happens. The Infection.
A disease spread by dreams, the Pale King is trying to find a reason, a way to stop it, and then it is revealed. The Radiance, the Old Light. A higher being of light and of dreams. A being with one failsafe rebuttal. Void. So he experiments. He makes the Kingsmolds and the Wingsmolds, but they aren’t strong enough. They can’t hold an Old God. And an idea strikes him. A horrible, gruesome idea. He tries everything he can to not use it, not attempt it, but nothing is working. His people are dying with his name on their tongues and in the end, there is nothing left to do.
He must finally have children. And he must throw them to the Abyss, to the Void, to die. And to get stronger. The children of Wyrm and Root would be strong, yes, but they would be exploited by a god driven by rage and powered through dreams. They could be nothing. And so they had to go.
But that wouldn’t be enough. He needed to protect this eventuality, this Vessel, from those Infected. People sent to Her realm, who could protect wherever his child this Vessel went. He could only think of three. The most loyal, Lurien the Watcher, the most resourceful, Monomon the Teacher, and the most vicious, Herrah the Beast.
When Herrah wanted a child, he said yes. What else could he do?
And so he waited. One child Vessel would arise, and follow. Proving themselves numb to the hell they were born into, and the anger they should feel at the reason why. Many saw him and lunged. Many nights he mourned those he watched fall off the edge. Many mornings he locked those nights away.
And then one just watched. It watched its own sibling dangle from the edge, and it followed as the doors shut soundly behind them.
And the Pale King tried to stay strong. For his people, for his Kingdom, he would not see this as his child. It is not. It will not be.
No mind to think
No will to break
No voice to cry suffering
(He tries to forget how they screamed when they fell)
One day, one day the Vessel stands aside him. It’s peaceful, and he looks at it. It looks back. A moment, just a moment, and the Pale King imagines if it was different. He looks away.
The Vessel grows, his and Herrah’s child is born (her name is Hornet, she likes to run around the castle), and now is the time.
It is sealed. He will not think of them if he can help it.
He sees Hornet. He is reminded of why she is here, how she is here. He knows he fails by her. He doesn’t know how to do it right.
And then he hears it. The screaming. And he cries
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hey what if the things in the dream realm do memory-damage. like you go to the pale white mind palace of the vanished king and you reach out to touch a buzzsaw.
it cleaves not into your flesh, but into your mind. foreign memory tearing through; the shredding sorrow and self-hatred cutting deep, despair dragging you down-
you flinch back. it hurts.
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