Chapter Text
Having lived in Dirtmouth for as long as you have, you’ve seen many strange people come and go. Most who pass through this quaint town eventually decide to explore the underground of the kingdom of Hallownest. They call themselves hunters, as you’ve heard. You understand that these hunters have many reasons for their travels, ranging from knowledge to glory.
But of all the faces you’ve seen, you’ve rarely seen them return.
That’s the way of the hunt, you suppose, but that doesn’t make it any less depressing to see.
Dirtmouth isn’t as lively as it once was. Most of its residents have gone underground for one reason or another, leaving the small town in a state of abandonment. What is left is a few occupied houses, a couple of shops, a Stag Station that has been locked for quite some time now, and a deep well that acts as an entrance to the fallen kingdom below.
You refuse to go near it, though you can’t say the idea of picking up a nail and fighting your way through the catacombs hasn’t crossed you before. The desire to explore, to see something new, to learn about the world you inhabit is hard to ignore. Sadly, you’ve seen what it does to people. You refuse to become another number. There’s not much for anyone in Dirtmouth, but what you do have means a lot to you, so you do your best to stay in one piece.
Though Dirtmouth may not look very inviting, it is home to you and a handful of others. You live alone, but you would consider all of the residents to be your friends. Elderbug is an older man who tells you interesting stories of the past, as he has seen the downfall of this kingdom. Sly is a ruthless businessman who runs the only multipurpose store in town. He actually sold you your baking supplies when you moved in, saying it was an old set from a friend of his, and that he would love to pass it on to someone who would take care of it (for a price, of course). Finally, Iselda and her husband Cornifer run the map shop. Iselda is your closest friend and confidant. The two of you hang out almost everyday. Cornifer is curious to a fault, always exploring the once thriving kingdom, but he is just as sweet as his wife.
Business in the map shop is rather slow, so Iselda usually invites you over for tea or breakfast while the two of you talk. While cartography isn’t a very lucrative business in this town, Iselda’s happy that Cornifer gets to do what he loves, even if she spends most of her time worrying. He does visit as often as possible to drop off fresh maps and share stories of his travels. They make enough to make ends meet, at least. Plus, you keep her company, so at least it’s not boring. You do hope that he’ll take a break from his work soon, as it’s been nearly a month since his last visit.
You’re currently sitting in the shop, sipping on tea and chatting about various topics. Not much happens in Dirtmouth, which is why the return of a familiar face was surprising.
”Bretta’s a nice girl,” you comment. “She’s lively, you know? Shy and whatnot, but she kept spirits high.”
Iselda nods, “Is it wrong of me to admit that I thought she was dead?”
You shake your head, “We all did. Whatever is down there… it’s ruthless.” You won’t let her story give you hope that others may return, though you are happy to see your neighbor again. “She’s lucky that someone was there to save her.”
”Someone fierce, too, by the sounds of it.” She doesn’t seem to fully believe Bretta’s tale. You laugh quietly as you go to sip your tea, contemplating the authenticity of Bretta’s story. She’s been known to stretch the truth quite often, but how much of her story is a lie? For someone to break her free from the wreckage underground… they would have to be immensely strong.
“Have you ever thought about exploring?” You suddenly ask and Iselda sighs.
”I put my nail down a long time ago, but Corny insists on mapping every edge of the kingdom. I admire him for that, but… I can’t see myself living that kind of life again.”
”Right… yeah.”
Iselda shoots you a questioning look and you shrug.
”I’ve been in Dirtmouth awhile… Something new would be exciting, but it’s a wasteland down there.”
Iselda nods in understanding. “I could give you more advanced fighting lessons, if you’d like. But I’m not going anywhere near that old well.”
That seems to satiate you for the time being. She’s taught you the basics, just in case, but if you ever want to do any real exploring… you’ll have to learn more than the basics. You thank her and continue sipping on your tea.
There’s a lull in conversation as the two of you finish up your tea and snacks. It’s a familiar silence. Not at all uncomfortable, but you do find it sad how quickly the two of you run out of topics most days. You desperately want to talk about more to avoid having to return to your empty house. Honestly, you should be used to this feeling by now, but it doesn’t sit right with you on most days.
The silence is suddenly interrupted not by someone’s voice, but by a series of loud noises from outside. You jump embarrassingly high off of your stool at the sounds, tripping over your feet and landing on the floor. It’s hard to describe what you heard in your frazzled state, but if you had to compare it to something, you would say it was like opening a parachute, followed by a chorus of footsteps. Definitely more people than there are in Dirtmouth.
Iselda rounds the counter to help you stand. You can tell it surprised her, too, but not nearly as much as you. She barely has time to ask you if you’re alright before you’re heading for the exit to investigate. You miss the hesitant look on her face. Her eyes glace to her mounted nail. She grabs it before following you out the door. Whatever that was, she feels it cannot be good, but she can already tell that it has intrigued you.
Everyone in town crowds a large, dark red circus tent. The front is opened with flowy curtains and a group of bugs that you do not recognize emerge from the peculiar structure. They ignore the crowd to continue setting up their tent. You watch as a large, mantis-like woman makes her way into a separate, smaller tent. She creeps you out the moment you lock eyes- you could have sworn she winked at you, too, but you weren’t too sure. The rest of the group look over their tent carefully, most likely making sure it is secure, before another two bugs take seats in front of the entrance. They appear to be steeds of sorts, but surely you would have heard them approaching? How did this group even get into town?
The atmosphere is eerie. The dark colors don’t do much to make it appear inviting, though you’re unsure if it is supposed to be inviting. They look to be some sort of circus or theater act, but their overall vibe is slightly unsettling.
You take a cautious step back as the group turns to address the town. A tall bug stands in the middle, his bright, scarlet eyes scanning the crowd, as if looking for someone.
”Greetings,” he finally says, bowing as he does so. The gesture is most likely supposed to be kind, to show he doesn’t mean any harm, but his stature and raspy voice negates all of that. It sends a shiver down your spine. “We are known as The Grimm Troupe. We hope that we are not being too disruptive.”
Despite the rasp, he has a rather elegant way of speaking. Mysterious, but intriguing. You suddenly want to know everything. What exactly is the Grimm Troupe? Why did they decide to inhabit Dirtmouth of all places? It’s strange, you know you should be fearful, but it clashes with your curiousity. Nothing happens in this town. Both a reason to stay cautious and to learn more.
”Whoever summoned us may come meet me inside.” With that, he bowed once more, and disappeared into the entrance of the tent.
You vaguely pick up on Elderbug’s angry mumbling, too lost in your own head. “Why must these grotesque strangers intrude on our peaceful little home?”
Why… why indeed.
The rest of the townspeople make their way back to their homes, besides Iseda, who stands next to you. When you turn to her, you can see she’s on guard. She has the hilt of her nail held tightly in her hand. You almost jump- you haven’t really seen this side of her, though you know she’s a capable fighter when it comes down to it. When her eyes meet yours, however, she sighs and crosses her arms.
”I’ve seen that look before. It’s the same look Corny has when he’s discovered a new place to map.”
“Can you really blame him? This is…” You trail off, unable to find the words, but feeling that you’ve made your point. This is what you need to do.
She sighs again, though it’s not out of annoyance or anger. “I do understand. I won’t stop you from being curious, but just be careful. Remember what I’ve taught you.”
You nod firmly. resolute in your decision. All of what she taught you rushes to the forefront of your mind and sticks itself there for the time being.
You take a steadying breath, “I’m sure I’ll be alright, but if I don’t return soon, come look for me.”
Iselda looks into your eyes for a moment longer, finding nothing but unwavering determination and hope. You should be afraid, but it is comforting to know that you’re confident. She lets you go with a nod and a simple pat on your shoulder before she retreats to her shop.
That just leaves you and the billowing tent.
You take a slow, cautious step forward, though you attempt to keep an air of confidence. If there was something in there that wanted a fight, you weren’t going to appear as prey.
There’s music coming from inside- a haunting circus melody that got louder as you drew near. Another addition to the overall creepiness of the tent, though you’re still unsure if that creepiness is intentional or not. Even so, you press on.
Once you enter the tent, after hesitating to cross the threshold for a minute longer than you would have liked, you’re faced with a dimly lit hallway. It expands to an even darker area, with the music getting louder as you pass through. You focus your attention on anything else to distract yourself from the looping music.
The inside looks less like any normal circus tent than the outside does, with a pattern covering the fabric that resembles the face of the bug who had introduced the group to you. You’re not sure he shared his name, but you do remember he said they’re called the Grimm Troupe. You wonder if he’s the… ringmaster? You’re not sure what the right term is in this case.
You find it difficult to make out much else without proper lighting, that is, until you run into something. Or someone, you think. The music stops then, this bug being the source. You stumble a few steps back and barely have the time to apologize before he says, “Mrmm. You called us? Speak to Master.”
Your eyes widened at that. Master? That sounds way more terrifying than ringleader. And what does he mean by called? You certainly didn’t “call” anyone here. You swallow. Did you accidentally summon this group with your wishful need for adventure? He begins playing again, ignoring your bewildered stare.
You step past him, determined to find the bug who talked to you outside. So far, they haven’t given you any reasons to be afraid, but that doesn’t stop you from being really creeped out.
So, this is it. Your final chance to turn back. Your mind is reeling now, weighing the pros and cons, trying to make sense of the situation. You want to experience something new so badly, but what could be the consequences of that?
It takes some internal encouragement, but you finally move to exit the hallway, if only to escape the bone chilling melody. You walk through another set of curtains that lead into a large, seemingly empty room. It was also poorly lit by dim, red lanterns, giving you the impression that you weren’t seeing the full scale of the space. You could just barely make out some rows of seating above a tall ledge…
It’s elaborate. Beautiful in its own way, but you don’t allow the interesting architecture of the tent to let your guard down. There’s someone you have yet to see since you’ve entered and you move carefully throughout the space to avoid any unpleasant confrontation.
Once you’re about halfway into the room, the loud clanging of metal startles you and you yelp. You turn around to face the source of the noise. The ornate metal gate that fell is certainly out of place in this tent, but you are more focused on the fact that you are now very well trapped inside. When you spin back around to hopefully find a back entrance, you’re met with a loud crack and billowing red smoke. You let out another startled noise as the tall bug of mystery appears in front of you. His eyes are wide in the smallest bit of surprise as your outburst, appearing concerned more than anything.
You retreat backwards towards the locked gate, falling into it in a panic. You’re breathing heavily with a hand over your pounding heart, your mind racing. So much for being confident and brave.
He approaches you carefully, as if not to startle you again. Slowly, he kneels in front of you and reaches out his hand.
”Are you alright?” He asks quietly. You notice the rasp from his voice is gone.
You still have to tilt your head up to properly face him even when he’s kneeling. You swallow, untrusting of your voice to respond as you’re still shaking slightly. He continues, holding out his hand patiently, “There’s for you to fear here. I’m assuming you weren’t the one who summoned us?”
You bit your tongue, as you now feel you have plenty to fear, but you aren’t going to bring that to attention. It seems he presently has no ill intentions, so you don’t push your luck. Instead, you shake your head, answering his question about “summoning.” The quiet stretched on as he waited with his hand held out for you. It took you a long moment, but you pushed past your hesitation to take his hand and let him help you to your feet. While you regained your balance, he stood to his full height, and you noted just how much taller than you he is. It made you dizzy, having to look up at him.
”I am Grimm,” he introduces himself after a long, almost awkward pause of you gawking at him, “I am the Master of this Troupe. The ringleader, if you will.” As he spoke, he let go of your hand to bow. The gesture puts you somewhat at ease. It makes him appear more gentlemanly than scary.
You offer him your name once you feel you are able to respond without stuttering and pause to think of something else to say. Eventually, you settle with, “I just… live here.”
His eyes bend in a way that makes it look like he is smiling, “Very well met! Would you care to tell me what it is like living here?”
You’re taken aback by his genuine interest, but try as you might you can’t come up with an answer that sounds satisfactory. “I guess Dirtmouth is… safe. But it’s not too interesting. Our most important landmark is the Stag Station in the middle of town, but it’s been out of commission since before I arrived.” Your response was simple and slightly choppy from how you were even now trying to calm your nerves. Grimm’s interest was piqued, however, and he was almost able to ignore the fact that you were still shaking.
“Why don’t we get more comfortable?” Grimm’s waves one hand upward, lifting the gate while simultaneously snapping his fingers on his other hand. A round, metal table with a similar design to the door appeared. It looked pristine, the dark coating of paint unchipped and unblemished. It kind of reminds you of a tea party, as silly as it sounds. In one swift motion, Grimm appears behind you to pull out your chair for you. He waited for you to sit down before seating himself. His bright eyes look you over expectantly from across the table. He seems so intrigued, you find it kind of endearing.
“What do you want to know?” You decide to play along, a little more interested in the conversation now that you’ve calmed down.
“What compels you to stay if you find it so uninteresting?”
“Like I said, it’s safe and comfortable. This kingdom is not as wonderful as it once was. Also, I have friends here that I’m close to that I like seeing. It's home, as simple as it is.” Once you’re satisfied with your response, you ask your own question, “Why does this interest you so much?” You almost cringe at how rude that sounds and you worry for a moment about how he will respond.
“I’m never in one place for long. At first, I had no interest in the ongoings of the outside world other than what pertains to the Troupe, but I’ve developed an appreciation for culture.” Then he paused, shaking his head slightly, “But enough of that, you’re my guest. What would you like to talk about?” He placed his elbow on the table and leaned his head into his hand, coming in closer to listen to you speak. In that split second, your brain made the decision to trust him. For now.
For what could have been hours, you weren’t too sure, you spoke to him about your life in Dirtmouth, about the things you do to keep busy, about Iselda and her husband and the other townsfolk. Now and then he’d answer some questions about himself, but he kept his answers relatively short, preferring to talk about you since “you’re the guest, after all.”
It’s odd being able to talk to someone new, but it’s a nice change of pace. With Grimm around, maybe your simple life in Dirtmouth will start to change.