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the throne? no, it was the table again. it was flirting with its destiny of being flipped over in a fit a rage.
even without being able to see the carnage, it would still be satisfying.

Lan never said she was good with directions she had people who did that for her.

The search felt fruitless, this stumbling in the dark. To the runner it felt high impossible to find the throne again.

Until Jing felt its heavy gaze again, like a beacon in the dark it called and he moved to greet it. the curvature of the armrest that was distinctly it and not an annoying sharp cornered table.

It still wanted to have its Name called and with the piece of paper from the book and the fluid from the fountain, it was time.

There answer felt simple to him now, it was what they cherished, the collection of hodgepodge miscreants. The word was written in wet paper, the lines stroked by his own thumb and left on the seat of the throne.

Wait no she was definitely going to break his fan.

Yup.

In the end, it wasn't really so strange to be without sight.

Sure, she couldn't make out anything and had no idea of where she was going in the slightest, but that was okay, really. In the end, having no sight, on top of no hearing and no voice, seemed oddly fitting for the situation they were in. They were only shadows of other people, after all. They hadn't been their own person ever, really. How long had this been going on? She couldn't even tell, anymore, but she didn't care.

It was time to figure out where she was, and more importantly, what The Voice was.

She didn't care about whatever it said. None of that mattered.

It surprised her when she nearly smashed into a chair.

It was so cool, cool to the touch and hard to really. She didn't enjoy it, and instantly took her hand away, glad that she was wearing gloves. What was more eerie, though, was the fact that it felt like someone was eyeing her. She couldn't see if anyone was, unable to see herself, but it felt like someone was gazing into her soul, insisting that she be gone with his eyes and not any words. Of course, if any words were said, there was no way they would ever be heard by the deaf, mute, and blinded Nkosazana.

She moved her fingers around in her gloves, before moving forward to touch the chair once again. The way it curved out, it felt long, much like how the sensation of a throne might feel. It was very large, expanding up and towards her head and yet outwards, leaving a very large, comfortable seat for whomever declared themselves the king of it. Who was The King? Was this ... where The Voice sat himself?

A nervousness shot down her spine. This was it. Had she actually found him? Had she found the one that had been tormenting her and those around her for so long, making them fake and taunting them with promises of being alive and staying alive if they collected miasma, if Nkosazana mined her own kingdom, if Nkosazana battled for people she didn't even know and wouldn't pretend to understand...

It was strange, though. When she touched the seat, she found it was empty.

Alarmed by this, and wondering then, truly, who was gazing at her, she bent down to her knees, moving to investigate the rest of the chair for any clues as to what was looking at her and, perhaps, what was there. That was when her fingers found the words Call My True Name. Call? She couldn't speak. That was a bit ridiculous. She also couldn't snort enough air out of her nose to ... wait...

This was metal. Metal fogged.

Nkosazana leaned down, pressing her body against the floor to get herself on the same level as the base of the throne. She needed a name sufficiently evil, a name that suited something with black and white pillars and odd legends and strange relics like swords made out of pure light and thrones made out of pure whatever ... was this the throne they were speaking of in that myth? Mm. What was a name suited to such things, because that was what the legends hinted at--a Voice that could once control all of them, and now wished for control of all of them back through finding the true king. Their pride made them believe they were the best, and that they should have control instead of a once great king.

It sounded like an old story, really. She knew plenty of old stories, but there were only so many that suited such a collection of things all together.

With that, she breathed onto the base, fogging up the metal.

And so she wrote.

Mordred

Zoobey

When Lan hit her hip on the table that time? She screamed. But like a tree falling in the forest, nobody could hear her, (probably).


(Maybe.)

Candace moved to crawl on her hands and knees, doing whatever it took to get away from her mysterious attacker. At one point she lifted her head and smacked it against the underside of the table. s**t.

Well, at least the considerable size of the table could hopefully be her savior.