#avesomniainhoramortis

[luminaryofblood]

... It was an ambitious idea of his.

The Lord of Blood had flown from his palace of Mohgwyn, straight to the city of Nokron across the chasm.

In his arm he held an empty pot, bearing his crest.

... The tunnels beneath the palace were lined with pots and jars. Many of which housed his blood. Vessels for the blood that failed to find life. Memorials for dreams that did not reach fruition. Or perhaps a sign of delusion. A mother who yet watched over his eggs that were destined never to hatch, yet still clung to some vein hope. Life would find a way.

He breathed in deeply. Holding the pot closer to his chest, he came to a land upon the broken bridge... He could hear the distant songs more clearly now. Louder. No longer merely a distant echo. But it would seem his presence disrupted them. Whoever they are.

His appearance was unexpected to the ancestral followers... He was like a dragon to them, preying upon their flock. At his presence, they hurried their sheep to safety. But Mohg payed them no mind. He would not be dining on sheep.

... Well. Perhaps one. But he had something else in mind. Something in the ruins of Nokron he wanted to collect.

Husks of Silver Tears...

Silver Tears were made in an age long past. A formless life form made by the denizens of the Eternal Cities in an attempt to create their very own lord.

Or so said Ansbach... The Lord of Blood found a certain intrigue in the notion. In this case, he set out with the idea in mind of creating a body to serve as a vessel.

... He would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. The very idea caused his brow to bead with sweat.

... How many times had he tried simply to create life? How many times had he felt the makings of another soul in his body, only to have it fade away?

... This... Was different... He merely wanted to create a body. One that could - perhaps, hopefully - serve as a suitable vessel for a soul already in existence to inhabit.

... But nevertheless, as he went about collecting the husks, he noted a tremble in his hands.

He was hopeful that this body could serve Trina well.

~

He returned to his domain of Mohgwyn, having collected a good twenty-or-so silver tear husks... And with twenty-or-so silver tear husks at hand, he gathered a good twenty-or-so vacant pots to hold them.

It was something new to try. And he didn't expect to get it right the first time. But nevertheless, he would try... He was emboldened by the flame of ambition, as his brother would put it.

He prayed to the Mother of Truth, filling his first pot with blood, and mixing the silver tear husk within it.

As he expected, the husk did not even take a shape. Simply dissolving in the mixture... The second and third followed suit, simply refusing to take shape.

The Lord of Blood was in a bewilderment... He still had seventeen husks left. But he needed to take care, for the numbers were fast to dwindle.

Over time, he was beginning to make some progress... He was able to make a body using three husks. But it did not last overlong when he drew it from the blood. After a day, it merely disintegrated.

He was beginning to lose hope... Perhaps creating a body for Trina to inhabit was folly. And he was running low on husks. He was down to two...

... It was a silly thought. And perhaps it was a folly of its own. But he added a lily to the concoction of blood. Perhaps to serve as a heart? He did not know. But he had low expectations.

He would have to offer his apologies to her when next he dreamed of her...

[luminaryofblood]

So he very well MAY be the first...! Oh, how the thought sent his heart aflutter!

"... Affection? Endearment? Intimacy?"

There were a thousand words he could have picked that could have filled in the blank that Trina was searching for. But he knew not which was right.

He chuckled...

"... You've gifted me your lilies. And I have welcomed you in my dream... I truly hope that you may find your way to me."

With a breath, he reached down, gently running a finger through her hair... He envisioned her with a bloodrose nestled within her hair; and so he gave her exactly that, for she had showered him with her own lilac lilies. It was only appropriate for him to offer her something in return.

"... I would like to offer you another in the waking world too... My dearest blood lily."

A rippling trill of avian delight left her- being an owl was fun- and she snuggled against his side, looking up at Mohg's wings with wide-eyed wonder.

Oh they were perfect.

"Miquella never welcomed me into his bed," she explained, offhand. He doubly did not welcome her in his body. "and I spent my time with Malenia fighting her nightmares... he and I do use sweet names, but it lacks... something?" She'd never quite put her finger on it. With this for comparison, now, what Miquella offered felt more like court dances. Affectionate, but strictly limited. Very intentional.

Mohg was brooding over one of her pots like an egg, as if what was his and hers to care for could be inseparable, and he had touched her wing. Had Miquella ever even brushed her hair, given her braids?

No. ...maybe she could ask for them?

If she was to be a wild thing, then she would be wild, barefoot with loose hair and rootless in the world. If Miquella wanted to give her braids he could surely offer. But he wanted her away from home. So.

"I am going to find this place in the real world, and see about enjoying a proper nest, and no one shall remove me from it," she declared firmly. "I enjoy your bed very much, and could rest here forever."

[luminaryofblood]

... Damn, all I can picture now is Mohg, shortly after having his soul restored, setting out to the Cerulean Coast to find Trina, and finding her dead at the bottom of that chasm. Fixing a bloodrose in her hair, before curling up around her and sobbing.

[luminaryofblood]

"... Allow me but a sample of your blood."

"Oh, but... I'm not so sure that's a good idea...?"

"Oh, it'll be fine! My blood has been blessed by the Mother of Truth -- whatever poison courses through your veins, my blood shall burn it away!"

"Well... Alright, if you insist...."

*Cue Mohg taking a sample of Trina's blood.*

*IMMEDIATELY keels over.*

[luminaryofblood]

... Now I'm suddenly picturing, like...

Mohg trying to make a body for Trina to inhabit. Using his own blood.

[luminaryofblood]

Mohg, who's heart is heavily guarded.

Yo, he is easily twitterpated. His heart is NOT guarded.

... But man, it's no wonder he fell to Miquella's charm.

Someone who yearns so much for love - to be loved.

I imagine he has an incredibly vulnerable heart, given the kind of life he lived in his youth. Demigod or not, it makes sense that Miquella's enchantment would work the strongest on someone like him.

It's... Honestly no wonder, imo.

[luminaryofblood]

"It sounds as though you were holding your breath, hoping that I would ask..."

He made a sweeping bow before little Trina, before extending his hand.

"My sincerest of apologies, for having kept you waiting..."

Dance! [luminaryofblood]

*She beams widely, immediately twirling into a dramatic curtsy that lets her skirts flare*

Oh, my lord, I thought you'd never ask.

[luminaryofblood]

His chuckle was a soft one. Watching as Trina undid the knots and strings that held her arm bracers together.

"T'is more than what my dear brother has ever worn!"

He circled little Trina eying her from head-to-toe.

"... I'd say the armor suits you well... Even if you do look as if the wind could easily lift you up and take you away."

(¬‿¬) "... Hum... Though I won't deny my curiosity over the armor." [luminaryofblood]

*She laughs softly, fingers deftly plucking at the knots of her bracers*

I don't wear armor much, nor truly need it- but it is a little strange, to walk through bloody battlefields or castle ramparts in nothing but a shift. One must play a little pretend.

*The leather is embossed with curling lily designs, wrapping across thumb and forefinger, and when she finally slides it free the skin beneath is nearly translucent, scarless almost-lilac with the shadows of purple veins, as if petal-fragile. But her nails, in this battle-ready shape, are tipped with gleaming violet.*

[luminaryofblood]

He chuckled, seeing the way she squeaked and tried to hide her face from him.

With a soft coo, he knelt down and nuzzled his nose on the top of Trina's head.

10/10

"Heavens, I'm not even sure I have it within my vocabulary..."

The Lord of Blood paused for a moment, his arms crossed.

"... My dear... You are most fair to behold. But I feel... Your beauty is something that extends past mere appearance... No. You've something special... You've a heart that makes you beautiful."

*She blushes a bright, lurid purple, tries to say something, squeaks, and promptly curls up to hide her face in her own skirts*

You're... very kind. Very kind. I. Oh, goodness. I...?

*She folds her arms over her head like the roof might fall in, a flustered puddle of fluffy hair, voice muffled in her knees*

You're very handsome too. Extremely. Distractingly so.

[luminaryofblood]

"My dear, it is my dream to build an empire -- one that is not confined to the underground. A dynasty, free of the tyranny of gold," said the Lord of Blood.

He approached the camp. And all those within who were merely going about their business came to a halt at the footfalls of their lord's approach, turning toward him, and bowing in reverence.

... It made him feel a sense of sadness. Here they bowed to their lord, but he felt he hadn't quite done enough for them... Mohgwyn was secluded, and there was some peace to be found in that. But it was the notion of... Being cooped up below the earth for all time that scratched him most unpleasantly...

"... It is not easy," said Mohg.

"My shepherds guide the lost lambs above to the grounds of Mohgwyn... But one cannot enter my domain by normal means... War ravages the world above, and I am not without enemies. The only way to enter Mohgwyn is by guidance by one of my shepherds... Or the growing of wings."

"Would you like a town?" she offered easily, like a simple cup of water.

She'd offered before she thought about it really, but- she wanted to get a better look at his knights, his resources. What could he do, what couldn't he? The evacuation from Liurnia had not been fully successful. It would take much more than merely loving Mohg to expose the last refuge of her albinaurics- but she'd already decided that Mohg had better chance at protecting her children than she could alone.

The road to the Haligtree was long and dangerous. Mohgwyn... "How do people get here?" she added on, curious. She remembered a little of the talks surrounding the Haligtree, and the most crucial issues had been food and living spaces. One could not farm in a snowfield. If Mohg wanted a town, they would have to be supplied somehow- and perhaps in that supply route she would find some answers.

How had albinaurics from both Liurnia and the Snowfield ended up here?

[luminaryofblood]

"One of a kind," said Mohg, a hint of a smile bringing a squint to his eye as Trina fussed and straightened his shirt. "Suppose you are right... We all share a common aspect, but I've yet to see one with as prominent a tail as Morgott. Or wings."

He breathed in. Stepping forward now onto the rising platform, at last reaching the heart of his palace. The highest point of Mohgwyn... Ahead lie a great throne -- or rather, something that appeared to be in the shape of a hip born, upon which was gathered grass and leaves. And strewn about at its foot were black feathers.

Approaching his nest, he stopped beside it and gently sat Trina down within its center. And he climbed up after, circling around Trina before at last settling, curled up like some great beast. Setting his arms across themselves, he laid his head down to rest.

"... It is a kindness that I lived, though I did not think it at the time," said Mohg with a certain sorrow.

"The Queen spared our lives, but it was not out of kindness... Not with the hell we endured... Those tunnels were rife with dangers. Disease was rampant. And starvation was a constant... I had taken it as a cruelty, to be spared the knife but given the shackles in its place.

The only thing kind about such a fate was that Morgott was with me... I was a weak child. And he always served the role of the big brother protecting his younger... He always gave me the bigger portions of food. Always offered me the blanket that bore the least amount of tears. Always offered me his tail to cuddle... Heavens, he was such a different person back then.

I'm happy to be alive... But I would by lying if I said I didn't wish our circumstances were different."

He was quiet for a moment, staring over at little Trina beside him.

"... The Mother of Truth sees potential in kindly Miquella... A hero of the downtrodden, of whom the Mother of Truth is the matron of... She sees something in you too."

A huffed breath escaped her, half a laugh, and she looked at him with mild humor. "None like you. You are very singular, my lord." She straightened his shirt collar for emphasis, fussing at the lay of it a little. Mostly for an excuse to have her hands on him in general.

"I have not seen any omen, but I have no reason to think they are not welcome- there are Misbegotten knighted among his ranks, albinaurics. I am not sure, but I think I saw a pest or two...?" All of that was safe enough to say.

But.

"In truth, I have not visited often. My people find refuge there, and so I guide more in turn. As for Miquella... he is kind. He intends many great things for the world, and all its abandoned children. But you must understand, my knight-owl." She looked him full in the eye, too old and too young and so very, very tired. "I am kind when I carry bairns to their eternal rest. Deathbirds are kind when they burn mortals to ash. The queen-mother was kind when she did not shear your horns. I trust Miquella to mean well, and to bend all his might to doing good in this world. But you carry the mark of the Formless Mother, and I have... never spoken to him about gods other than the Scorpion. I would have you send a courier, as Lady Ranni does and as befits a lord- or if you must go yourself, then go with my symbol as well."

Kissing him briefly, she murmured: "I have never had a true knight before, and Miquella knows this. You would make quite an impression on him."

All else accounted for, she would not hesitate. But Miquella refused rest and love and even reason itself, if it stood between him and pinning the Rot like a bug to a card. He was as sharp as he was clever, and she loved him even so- but there was every chance he could talk Mohg into exorcising his Mother with some well-placed words and no room to reflect.

There was every chance Malenia would detect the ripples of another god and simply kill him.

Trina, who deeply appreciated taking room to reflect and had nearly spawned a religion from it, let a lingering thought finally surface. Was there some way to speak to gods? Perhaps through Mohg himself in some form. She was well fed up with the Scorpion's ire- she would rather have the Formless Mother's permission to claim her son, if she could acquire it.

Trina was not a creature of worry. Not for anyone but Miquella. Was this what happened, when one had reciprocal love? Strange terror?

[luminaryofblood]

He laughed at the notion.

"Ahh, were the moon but a gem in the sky, I would. Alas, I am not Radahn," said Mohg.

... What motivated Radahn to take up arms against the stars, he wondered. He looked to the starry sky over Mohgwyn in contemplation, and thought of the night sky, and how the Erdtree drowned out the light of the stars.

Only the stars over Liurnia remained untouched. And the moon remained ever-present, regardless of where one might look up to it.

"... It would be a cruelty, to rob the night sky of its moon," Mohg mused aloud to himself. He shut his eye for a moment, drawing in a breath.

"Ahh, but were my wings strong enough... I would fly through the heavens to seek audience with the moon, and ask for but a vial of moonpowder for you."

He did not know if such a thing were possible. But he liked the way it sounded... A vial of moonpowder for dearest Trina.

He sighed heavily. And he started to think of the next possible thing... And he thought of glintstone.

Glintstone... Perhaps a necklace of glintstone for Trina? Would she like that?

She beamed at him, trilling back. That was an idea. She hadn't sung for him at all, not truly, had she? Something to think about....

Trina booped him on the nose, just because she could, and if she'd had a proper tail it would have wagged. Being awake was tragically limiting. "My knight-owl, you utter charmer, now I wonder if you would pluck the very moon for me. I must have you sing me to sleep, then, for I will certainly do the same."

A home, a bed, a love, her children, songs. Clothes!!! It would take some time to get used to the whole idea, but it was terribly easy to get used to the idea of it all in Mohg's embrace.

Part of her was already imagining some little corner of this place, out of the way, dripping with quiet purple.

[luminaryofblood]

@avesomnia-inhoramortis

X Saint Trina felt the slumber in him like a hound scenting blood, the steady swell of it like fog at dusk. Purpose. Fingertips skimmed gently over his cheek, his horns, the lilies caught in their curls. She could drink him to death- she knew that, now, in a way she hadn't before- but that had never been the point. She gentled her attentions, withdrew root from vein, and reveled in the way Mohg's breath went slow. Oh you poor thing, she thought to herself, smug as a lion. I told you I would find you wherever you go. Would he mind? The question seemed superfluous. Mohg hadn't minded anything yet. And if she wondered, there was certainly one way to ask. She closed her eyes and snuggled close, tongue flush to the wound to both savor and staunch the soft trickle of blood, and followed him under to see where his mind had wandered. The phantom sensations of her body followed her, strangely mortal and clinging. Unfamiliar warmth, unfamiliar pleasure. Both lovely things to carry to sleep. And as for Mohg's body, well. The jellyfish could keep them both safe, and the snow was stained vivid purple around them both. The waking world would keep.

He had surrendered. The sweet oblivion of slumber came washing over him like the ocean waves upon the beach; like a blanket being pulled over his body. The snow would not conceal him, given how hot his blood burned. Warm, and ever purring, even in sleep.

The flesh upon his neck from where Trina drank from him would be most tender on awakening. But it was a tenderness he would treasure.

... Truly. If Trina wanted to drink him dry, he would have been none the wiser given the state he was in. He had understood such a risk. And he had put his trust in her regardless.

He would experience the pain and pleasure, and would live to reminisce afterward... And he would happily invite her to him again.

Who was he to deny a flower its nourishment?

...

... The door to his dreams was open.

... When he said that he would welcome Trina in the waking world and the dreamworld, he meant it. But his dreams were... A cold place. Reminiscent of childhood memories, intermingled with the present. But regardless, they were ever haunted by spirits. Faces unfamiliar, but brought their wrath and sorrow upon him. And he knew not why. Blamed for a crime he had not committed... Just as Marika herself had blamed him.

Alas, no matter how he fared in the waking world, it was always the same... He was stripped of his regalia, and left with naught but tattered rags and golden shackles. Such as it was in his childhood.

Trina did not wake very often, but something- some pain- drew her suddenly and sharply to her garden in the snow, the Apostate Derelict tended by nothing but jellyfish ghosts and the whirling wind.

"Hello?" She might be disoriented, the snow might sting her feet, but she was here in her only chapel, summoned by the taste of misery. Who...?

[luminaryofblood]

He exhaled a low, rumbling purr in response... A chuff. A click of his teeth.

He liked that... She'd been playing the role of saint for how long now. It was a kindness to allow oneself a moment of indulgence - a moment of entertainment. A bird trapped in a cage will yearn for freedom. And she had been kept in her cage for a long time.

She was spreading her wings. And she was loving the feel of the wind against her feathers.

And she left his side, turning and skipping ahead to the trees. And something in his heart urged him to give chase... Like a feline who's eyes are locked upon that one lone, tantalizing string.

He made a start of walking on all fours -- only for his foot to get tangled up on the hem of his own robes, sending him falling flat on his face. But before long he was back up, and he was ready. And he followed after Trina with the intent of catching her.

She shuddered again, looking him in the eye with her own blown wide and dark, licking a drop from her lip.

"You underestimate me if you think I have not craved from the moment I met you." The tilt of her head and the brushing-back of her hair could have been mere challenge, but it bared the long line of her throat streaked with twin ripples of their blood. His red, her purple.

She didn't quite turn fast enough to hide the mischievous little grin, and skipped ahead of him down the slope of the woods.

Perhaps if she teased him enough, they could test how dangerous her blood was in this body.

[luminaryofblood]

"... Heh... Children... So this is what it's like, hm?"

... He supposed he could see that... A shepherd looking after his flock... A mother watching over her children...

... His children, though they were not of his blood... Just as he himself was taken in as a child of the Mother of Truth, born from the womb of Marika as he was.

The forsaken, all of whom were given home...

"... As someone who aspires to have children of my own... Your words... Bring tremendous warmth to my heart."

With a soft purr, he lowered the albinauric back down.

"My dynasts... Though we each are born of different families, I feel kinship... There is a phrase: The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Such words have never rung more truthfully," Mohg mused aloud to himself with a sigh. And looking down upon Trina, he trilled at her hug.

Ahh, but though he had given the albinaurics a good enough sanctuary, it was Trina who was ultimately their mother. Their matron. Their queen. Goddess. Their inspiration... It was she who they came for. It was her affections that they sought. Mohg watched as she bestowed a kiss upon one, and he felt not a trace of jealousy.

In time, the albinaurics did heed her call from before, and cleared out, giving Mohg and her some room at least to navigate. And, rising - once more with a snap, crackle and pop of his joints - the Lord of Blood held out his hand to Trina, and they continued on their way, watched by the albinaurics. They began to croak. One after the other. And before long, the forest and mires were abuzz with croaking.

Nataan was right; they truly were like frogs...

"... Trina, you mentioned they were created by sorcerers," the Lord of Blood started, finally giving in to curiosity. "Is it similar to what went on over in Nokron? With the silver tears?"

Oh she would cry. Sniffling a little with a smile so wide it hurt her cheeks (and wasn't that novel!), she pressed close to lean against Mohg's side, near snuggling him while standing and reaching out to touch the albinauric's forehead gently in a small blessing.

"You called yourself matron, earlier. I can see it now." Burying her face in his robe, she murmured soft and heartfelt: "You are so good with my children, no wonder they flock here."

That said, she finally gave into her impulses and hugged him as best she could, then kissed the albinauric on the cheek briefly, and looked at the whole crowd with her heart in her eyes. If Mohg had nowhere to be she would be hugging every single one.

[luminaryofblood]

@avesomnia-inhoramortis

X Such an invitation did terrible, terrible things to the floral thing she called a heart. Saint Trina, saint and girl, vacillated constantly between existence as a person and a thing. Most often, she lay in the dreaming space between. But this- he offered seeking, he invited taking, play-hunt and game and offering and the memory of dream-fire burned in her mind like a living pulse. She wanted his name. And she would have it, to track him down asleep and awake. The hug was as instant and instinctual as the way her roots crawled across the rend in his robes, arms wrapping around his neck as the smallest portion of him she could reach. Saint Trina closed her eyes and looked, seeking like an arrow for prey, and fed on what she found there. Vicious, terrible nightmares, haunted by ghosts and regrets. The regrets had a name- Morgott, Morgott, Morgott- but it was not his name. Darkness and stone and divine shackles made of finger-script. There was a lack of name here, a hollow place tender and avoided, where the Formless Mother lived. But that was not his name. Despite all logic, there was a taste of gold in him that echoed Miquella and Malenia. Was that...? The roots dug a bit deeper, just to be sure, and returned something half-memory or half-dream: the queen-mother's back, and the silence that followed. The waiting, for someone to say "Mohg and Morgott are my sons, and shall not go," and the silence that followed. The slam of the grate, and silence. She was crying before she realized it, and hugged Mohg as hard as she could manage.

She embraced him. She embraced him and he felt no pain. As the roots slithered, seeking his blood like snakes, splaying over his wound like a hand come to rest over his heart.

... It was an intimate thing indeed, for him to share his blood. It was more than his name that would be found. His memories were ingrained in his blood.

He watched over Trina as she drank, imbibing herself with his blood - little echoes of his past.

The Mother of Truth craved wounds... And for Mohg, there was no greater wound than that of abandonment. From one who was supposed to be his mother.

He watched over Trina. Saw the way her face twitched. How he felt her arms tighten around his neck.

... It was an intimate thing for him. And he brought his hand to a rest upon Trina's back as she wept at his memories.

Trina did not wake very often, but something- some pain- drew her suddenly and sharply to her garden in the snow, the Apostate Derelict tended by nothing but jellyfish ghosts and the whirling wind.

"Hello?" She might be disoriented, the snow might sting her feet, but she was here in her only chapel, summoned by the taste of misery. Who...?