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"Hi! I had a blast drawing Cinnabar and Hyacinth for you. I hope you enjoy the art and have a wonderful holiday season!
p.s: the quote says "You are my sun, my moon, and all of my stars." I thought it'd be fitting for them :D"
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Howdy, happy stagbells. Honestly I loved all your prompts (I'll probably hit you on Artfight next year, I adored Artem - what's your handle?) but the artwork of Hornet and Ghost was so great I ended up drawing a bunch for it. Who will win: Hornet trying to dress Ghost in dark colors to avoid attention or little Ghost wanting to wear red like its cool big Sister? Anyway I love your au and it immediately made me go: wow, Hollownest has a lot of curtains (I cut an image from the batch of Hornet stealing some from the City of Tears). Have a lovely end of the year!
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Here's your little guys! I absolutely ADORED these character designs and loved drawing them in all their beautiful details. Happy Holidays!!! :DDD
The delivery Hornet is carrying is no heavier than any of the others that she’s brought up to Songclave. It’s become a habit to bring them supplies more frequently after she had to rescue young Sherma from Whiteward in an effort to make sure no other pilgrims would go through such an undertaking for basic medicine. She watched as Tipp and Pill loaded the bundle with a small assortment of salves and balms, along with plenty of bandages and splints at her advice after she had seen the sorry state of a handful of pilgrims who had been attacked by a grand reed.
Regardless of such, she is near enough to her final destination that the annoyance of carrying it has been fully mitigated, and no damage has come to the bundle yet. She is sure the rest of the journey will be smooth enough as to cause no real issue to her.
Entering a long hallway in the Choral Chambers, she is pleased to hear the echoing voice of the Second Sentinel. She sees it soon after, fighting against a handful of haunted choristers and reeds, with an enthralled pilgrim or two already dispatched and lying limply on the marble floor, hemolymph puddled beneath them.
Typically she would aid and join the battle alongside the machine. She sees no good reason for it to fight alone, nor would she wish it too, especially after having seen the chamber in which the decommissioned corpses of its kin rest. But with fragile cargo on her person, and the high risk that an attack or two of the Sentinel’s could hit her before it acquaints itself with her presence in the fight, she chooses to linger by the sidelines, watching and waiting for the haunted bugs to fall. And they do, in quick succession, even without her interference.
When the battle is said and done, the cogwork creation turns to face her. Despite its utter lack of visible expression, it seems almost relieved to see her, its body language going beyond just the crossed blades and bowed head that she has begun to expect from it. Now, its eye lights are zeroed onto her, its focus absolute, where it would usually cast its gaze down or do some rudimentary scan of the room. “Pleased, is th-this Sentinel, to see the Hunt-Hunt-Hunter in Red well.”
“Know that I feel the same, friend, but I see more than just simple happiness in the way you carry yourself. Has something gone wrong in this place that needs my attention?” She hopes it’s nothing urgent, if there is anything at all. The ever present weight of the delivery makes her want to continue pressing towards Songclave as quickly as possible, both to aid the people huddled there and to be rid of the burden of carrying it around. She’s lost far too many similar packages during her ascent to the Citadel, much less inside it, and she wishes to not have to make the trek again wherever possible, both for the sake of the couriers and their surely meager supplies to give and for the people who need them to get them in a timely manner. There is not room for failure, and as such there is no room for waiting.
But she appreciates the Sentinel’s company, in the rare instances it will stay in one place and indulge her in conversation. The fact that it has not run off does make its intentions clear enough, though. Of course it needs her aid, and, for it, she will oblige any request it could desire.
“Protected, are the voices within-in the eternal Citadel. Safe, are this Sentin-tin-tinel’s charges.” It takes a step closer to her, only confirming her theory that it is in need of something. “A request has b-been asked of this Sentinel re-re-regarding the Hunter. To see her safely escorted t-to the First Shrine is its goal. Two figures wish to-to-to make acquaintance with her, it sur-sur-surmises. Friends, not foes. Query: Shall we p-proceed onward?”
This gives her some pause. She’s not been made aware up until now of anyone trying to get into contact with her, nor can she think of anyone who would want to, at least for friendly reasons like the Sentinel says. She’s made plenty of enemies who she can imagine would seek revenge—should that end up being the case and the machine’s presumption proves to be false, she will not be shocked— but allies? The idea is curious enough to have her wanting to investigate further. And the convenience of the matter doesn’t shock her, either. She still needs to finish this delivery of hers, and the Second Sentinel is offering to act as an escort, which will minimize the risk of the shipment being destroyed.
“Very well. Lead us forward, friend.” She gestures in the direction of Songclave with her needle, and finally it breaks its formal bow, joints clicking as it does so. Immediately it begins the trek, leaving her to pursue it. She follows diligently, running to match its marching pace.
As expected, whenever danger crosses their path it will spring into action, killing the haunted quickly before snapping back onto the route, hardly sparing a glance back to her. She expects nothing more, having seen on many occasions the same behavior, so baked into its programming that she is certain it must have done this for its entire existence. She appreciates efficiency, and the Sentinel’s behavior is no different, even if other bugs would see it as poor manners to run so far ahead without even looking back. To her it is respect. It knows she will keep herself safe, should the worst come to pass and she is attacked. All she sees is that its actions make the trip through the Choral Chambers quick. They arrive at the entrance to Songclave in no time at all.
The Sentinel stops just before entering, keeping itself far enough away from the doorway into the outside that it is bathed in shadow. She presses onward, nodding her thanks as she passes it, knowing well they prefer to skirt on the edges of the village, and takes a cursory glance out into the settlement. Nothing seems out of place initially. The pilgrims seem as they usually do, all huddled together in prayer and song, or at least conversation. But the Caretaker seems fixated on something within the First Shrine itself, and she doesn’t see little Sherma anywhere.
She approaches the Caretaker, the patter of her footsteps enough to draw his attention before she’s at his side. He meets her in the middle, eyes narrowed. “Well look here, bellringer! Your actions bring more people to the shrine day by day! And these few makin’ a spot for themselves in the shrine itself!”
“I have directed no new bugs to seek shelter here. If they have come, then it is of their accord, not mine. I came only to bring more supplies initially, and was told by the Sentinel that I was sought after. Would you know anything of this?”
They exchange the supplies as he retorts, “Bah! These two certainly do seek you, though that does bring me some surprise. You have made odd acquaintances in your time, Old One. They are made of that which is deep and old, swirling below our world. Their presence alone has made the shabby pilgrims of this place all nervous, but that’s what old powers will do, I suppose…”
Hornet stopped listening after he described their makeup, moving past him and to the shrine’s entrance, entering immediately without even a cursory glance. She knows of whom he must speak of. She knows she does.
She hurries inside the shrine, casting her glance across the room until her eyes land on three figures near the back: Sherma, playing a song on his chimes, facing away from her, and her siblings, Hollow and Ghost. Both of their heads turn to face her when she enters, likely drawn by the noise, but they still for just a moment when their eyes meet. The world seems to freeze, other than the boy’s song. Until she darts forward, breath hitching in her chest. Ghost dashes to meet her, crashing into her and nearly knocking her off her feet. They clamber for a hug, half-climbing her body to wrap their arms around her neck, tarsi kicking from pure excitement, she can tell. Hollow is slower to rise, heaving itself up off the ground, leaning against the wall to aid itself. She hardly lets it get any further, carrying Ghost in her arms to meet it where it is, and it sinks down to its knees, opening its arm to join the hug. She presses into its chest, one of her arms going to wrap around its thorax, the other holding Ghost aloft.
Sherma seems a little lost during all of this, his song petering off to an awkward stopping place as he looks at the siblings. “Ah! Hoy, Red Maiden! You know these two pilgrims?”
She hardly looks back at the boy, holding onto both of her siblings as tightly as she possibly can, heart thrumming in her chest. It’s impossible to believe her senses. She can feel and see and hear them, but it all feels so far away. It’s been so long, too long. She couldn’t put her joy into words if she tried. Shakily, she draws a breath and replies: “We do know each other, it is true.” She tilts her head just enough to look him in the eyes, “Little one, these two are my siblings, Ghost and Hollow. While I doubt they have come here on a pilgrimage, they have come from very far, traveling across the wastes to see me found,” She looks up at Hollow, a smile forming on her chelicerae, “and I am very happy to see them both again. We were separated by unforeseen circumstances, and I apologize for not having found my way home sooner. But I am glad you have come to find me.” She’s not sure when she stopped speaking to Sherma and began speaking to them. She’s not sure it matters. Both of them squeeze her tighter, and she does the same.
Still seeming no less confounded by the situation, Sherma leaves, nothing more than a polite goodbye signaling his exit. Hornet hardly notices, eyes shut contentedly. She’s fully leaning onto Hollow, shoulder sagging. Ghost squirms out of her arms, tugging at the hem of her cloak, then at one of the Feyforn’s feathers that’s been sewn in. She glances down at them, then at what they have in their hands. “You are curious about the changes to my outfit?” They nod, plucking the feather fully loose, running their hand through to soft bristles. “It is a very long story, one I will be happy to indulge the two of you in. We have found each other at an opportune time.”
Hollow loosens its hold on her, and she sits at their side, Ghost sitting before her, and she recounts her tale. The choristers who stole her away from Hallownest, the journey through the wastes, the seals breaking on that cage she was trapped in, ascending the kingdom all the way to the Citadel, the enemies she fought, all of it is recounted in as much detail as she can muster. By the end of it, the night-cycle has begun, a warm quiet falling over the township outside the shrine, the pilgrims fast asleep. Hollow hardly looks more awake itself, head leaning back only to snap upright and to attention once more. At her story's conclusion, she leans into them. “Should you need to rest, simply do so. I will keep watch to ensure our safety, and we can discuss our proceedings tomorrow.”
Ghost shakes their head, pointing to her, then putting their hand flat by one of their eyes, fingers pointing up, before closing their digits towards their outstretched thumb. “You sleep.” Hollow nods its ascent, loosely wrapping its arm around her shoulders.
“I have very little need for such an indulgence, you both are aware of this—”
They cut her off, almost pushing her so that she’s lying down, curling up by her side, then repeating their signs from before. “You sleep.”
“I—” she sighs, a fondness she had almost wrung herself clean off creeping up on her once more. “Very well, if you insist upon it. You are lucky I have deemed this place safe enough for such a thing, but any time after this we shall rest in Bellheart instead. I have a temporary residence there that will serve such ends far better in the future.” Even with her exasperation, she pulls them close to her, and they bury their head into her chest. Hollow remains sitting up, but leans back against the wall fully, its hand enough to blanket Ghost fully and to partially cover Hornet.
There is nowhere else she’d rather be than here, she determines. Nowhere else she’d call home but with them.
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Happy holidays! Here are some siblings playing in the snow ❄️ Grimmchild came along too - if only to help everyone stay warm! I hope you have a lovely holiday full of happiness and fun!
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"Happy holidays! I hope you're having a good one! It's always great to get an excuse to draw the sibling trio doing anything, and I really needed an excuse to draw something extra soft this year. Thank you for letting me just go for something cute, I hope you enjoy!"
