#subservio

[nohrianlance]

subservio replied to your post: A young man, gallant and noble in demeanor, stands...

// oh silas…. honey….

// limstella is a strong, beautiful person. silas never stood a chance

[sonofanohrian-blog]

@subservio

Continued from here.

An odd refusal met the boy. The woman could’ve just said she wasn’t hungry. Though, Dwyer wasn’t one to scrutinize someone’s dialect. It was not in his place to question it. Heaving a sigh through his nose, he set the plate down next to him as he settled beside the party’s other spectator. Really, it was here where the crowd was just the right distance away to observe without being dragged into the heart of the festivities.

His eyes met her briefly before they began to tail a young couple, strolling with their hands intertwined.

“It’s too loud... I’m merely here to be a servant, making sure everyone has their fill of food or whatever.”

He then focused his attention on the other beside him, “You don't seem to be here to socialize either. It’s not really my place to ask, but... what brings you to this event?”

[nohrianlance]

A young man, gallant and noble in demeanor, stands off to the side. He appears practical, someone who might be able to provide answers to the questions that the extravagance of the festivities have begun to raise in Limstella's mind. “Is this festival not simply a waste of resources?” they ask earnestly. What other purpose could something so ostentatious possibly serve?

Silas can’t help but stare at the woman in front of him.

She’s short, to Silas at least, but everything about her makes his heart stop. Her golden gaze is arresting, to the point that he barely realizes that she asked him a question. Silas forces himself to look away from her and clears his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Uh,” he begins, tongue-tied and foolish, “well, that’s one way to look at it. I don’t think it is. When it comes to celebrations, it’s reasonable to go all out with them.

“Where I’m from, celebrations as grand as this are impossible to hold. Food and resources are too scarce. A feast like this could feed our capital twice over.” Dinnertime has come and gone but food still remains at the long tables, each dish arranged carefully as if they were a work of art. And if each dish was a work of art, then the entire feast was a prince’s gallery.

“Everything here is so beautiful and bright.” Silas looks at Limstella as he says that, for her beauty makes the entire castle pale in comparison. “All these flowers and decorations, and all the smiling people. I’m glad I could experience this, even if it’s just one time.”

[ebredux]

A fun evening creating this for a friend . Slowly , methodically , working her body till she breaks .

This is just 1:30 of a 12 minute audio file (posted with permission).

[pheraescourage]

💍- "Lord Eliwood." To find Marquess Pherae's son amidst the many unfamiliar guests comes as some surprise to Limstella, and had their paths not crossed, they would not have sought him out to speak. "Fear not. I intend you no harm now that my master is dead." They remove a ring from their finger and hold it out to him. "It appears that offering something of value is a customary gesture of good will. Take this."

From Forging Bonds: Gift Exchange meme.

💍- “Lord Eliwood.” To find Marquess Pherae’s son amidst the many unfamiliar guests comes as some surprise to Limstella, and had their paths not crossed, they would not have sought him out to speak. “Fear not. I intend you no harm now that my master is dead.” They remove a ring from their finger and hold it out to him. “It appears that offering something of value is a customary gesture of good will. Take this.”

In an instant, the pleasant warmth that had fostered inside him faded, leaving behind nothing short of a feeling of dread. Ebony hair…golden eyes. No, it couldn’t be. It’s impossible! But there they were. The morph that had always been at Nergal’s side…Limstella. Subconsciously, Eliwood stepped backward, making no attempt to hide the look of horror in his eyes. He was in too much shock to compose himself. His pulse immediately elevated and for once, the talkative man was speechless.

Images of the past flooded the back of his eyes. Countless innocents, dead. His father’s death. The morphs that had been slayed by his own hand; even Limstella themselves. Their last words, at least, what he had thought had been their last words, echoed in his mind. That they were not human. The self-awareness that they are nothing more than an unholy creation. Yet here they were, attempting to make peace.

His ideals and emotions twisted in his chest, fighting for dominance. In his rational mind, he believed that Nergal had manipulated countless in his corruption to obtain his greedy goals. That it was only sensible that the morph followed him only until his death. Yet, his heart was still wounded in the aftermath of it all. He had spent countless days healing. He had thought himself recovered, but being faced with such an unexpected connection to his past left him feeling vulnerable.

Limstella had extended a hand out towards him and had he not been so focused on his tangled thoughts, he may have recoiled out of precaution. They presented a ring. 

Finally, he found his voice, and words stumbled out of him weakly. He felt faint.

“How…?”

[ravensnruin]

There is a comforting aura of darkness around this person, the signature of one familiar with the dark arts, and Limstella gravitates naturally to them. At first they simply stand silently nearby, but Limstella notices that the guests mingling in the castle speak cordially with one another when not engaged in one of the many activities available throughout the grand halls. It seems nonsensical, but still they try: "... These flowers will be dead in a week."

There's something about her question that prompts the Plegian to laugh, half in surprise and half out of sheer delight. Probably, it's in how it resembles his own occasionally morbid conversation starters to an uncanny degree, except this is his first time being on the receiving end. And oh, how it just tickles him.

"You're absolutely, positively, one hundred percent right about that! Unless they preserve them with a few handy dandy spells, I guess, but that seems like a waste of energy to me. Everything dies eventually! It’s the natural order of things." Far from seeming upset about the idea, Henry is enthused, comfortable with the knowledge that death's sweet release comes for everyone, no exceptions.

(If only he knew.)

The caw of a crow hopping onto his shoulder alerts him to an oversight - one he corrects at once. "Oh! My name's Henry, by the way. Yours?" He’d take better stock of her in a second or two - he's still, at present, a fraction preoccupied with her greeting, and with how wonderfully out of the blue it had been. He’d have to remember it for later use.