#₀₉. 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 ☾ short.

[0fconquest]

moonlight creeps inward, spills across tediously placed brick and mortar like a familiar set of arms. the moon embraces the earth with a chilled kind of warmth, a melancholy soul snaking through even the most tremulous of shadows in a shimmering, white-blue light. in the easy splash of her rays, he idles from corner to corner, sweeps across the broad expanse of floors with an unnerving calmness ; as reflective and ethereal as the surface of the water curling up against the shore not quite so far away. white-gold cape once battered and bloody, then burned to ash amongst a hefty bed of flowers, dusts clean and untouched by the cruelty of the world at his ankles still clad in ornate irons and time-softened leather - more so, right eye remains intact, no longer plucked and gored from the concave of his skull after the nature of war in all of its broad stroke cruelty makes itself known across the sharpness of his features.

death, truly, is not so bad. it is cold, and on occasion, abysmally lonely - but, in some degree, it is more forgiving than life. the gates of eternity are a wondrous place to stand guard, the idle usher of drifting souls and the thundering tone of the god he'd so adamantly served under chosen king.

chosen king, a funny kind of thought: never confirmed or denied in divinity, perhaps anluan hadn't so simply asked -

" ñuha jorrāeliarzy *. "

high valyrian had been a mostly confusing language that he had only dipped fingertips into during his time among the living, keeping tongue somewhat tangled for the purpose of lavishing the traditions, the ancient nature, of another's bloodline. perhaps silly to some, anluan had been adamant to cherry-pick whatever endearing terminology he could find amongst the idle chatter of what felt like idle targaryen tongue.

with a blink, a breath, a whisper - he spills across the floor in shades of iridescent, soul bared (almost quite literally) to aurane in what feels to be the only part of castle not tensed with the uncertainty of battle.

death, truly, is not so bad ... especially not now.

" i have missed you dearly. " the velvet of anluan's voice is but waves along shore, and despite the shimmering nature of his state, there's a moment in which the chilled pass of his hand is almost solid ... as if given a moment of solidity to touch along the other's chin. it is far from a lie: the elf has missed few things of the living beyond his sister, and really, the man poised before him - the way he all but literally curls around his companion like an onset of mist is telling of such.

and perhaps it is selfish, to seek company beyond the living world, but he has never once been allowed selfishness - and what was death but new beginnings ?

" i will wait for you, here. " amongst the moon's idle embrace, the shimmering calmness of water, the idle chatter of bugs and owls. form cranes, the air draws icy with the heaviness of his presence, mouth quite literally ghosting along his companion's in an easy kind of kiss. " and you will walk with me. "

stolen kiss. @absolventiia

[0fconquest]

war is an odd beast when children are involved, or so he believes is common for those who do not grow up accustomed to its cruelty, immersed in pantheons devoted to its cause. a son slain would call for the blood of an opposing child. (an accursed tradition he'd witnessed attempts at first hand on occasion.) retaliation was rarely calculated, casualties would stem far beyond the notion of family divided. " i do not offer advice, only violence, i fear. " jaw remains set, eyes settled on the other as he pours over books and ruminations of times gone. " a son for a son. the blood shed will bring inevitable consequence if one doesn't act. whether such action is rooted in countermeasures or examples, that is up simply to your family. " stare finally lifts from the other, flickering along window - the breeze outside is inviting and foreboding all the same; regardless of how one chooses to respond, the castle walls will come to know blood. " anticipation only brings negligence, and it will be a pestilence if left unchecked. "

@absolventiia, continued.

[0fconquest]

" mortals wage wars, gods wage wars, to believe ourselves above a violence seemingly burnt into our existence is particularly odd, no ? " hands collapse behind back, aloof nature is missing in the steady set of his jaw. " if it is grand conflict they seek in response, i ask only that i may demonstrate such. " with or without blessing, really.

open, mutuals only.