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It was a troublesome time of year for the Lord of Leyndell. Worse than any other indeed. In years gone by, decades ago now, it had been a joyous one; a reunion with a sibling long lost, wherein they could lean against one another for the briefest of moments, share their plights and battles. It was a moment of peace in a world eternally fractured, in a land to which Morgott was eternally faced with challengers for the rune that burned in his spirit. For each death he caused, for each challenger struck down and broken, there was that silver lining; that he was not alone. Blessedly, the challengers had died down in recent years; and yet, for so much longer than that, so had his bond with his brother.
Mohg was late, and it worried Morgott deeply. Once he had never been late. Then he had been increasingly late; a full day turned into nearly all, now most. Now it was scarcely half. Morgott feared already what was to come; that his siblings obsession would become a complete one, that whatever monumental task he had been plotting would finally divide the pairs fates forevermore - or perhaps set them against one another entirely. He was not sure which was worse. Morgott suspected at least part of his brothers fate; that his increasing isolation, his unwillingness to part with the other, had begun at the great conflict of the shattering, when Demigod turned on Demigod. Some scheme had been set in those cataclysmic years, of that he was sure.
Of what, he could only worry.
He knew whom had arrived when he heard that tell-tale sound, of dripping blood and something arriving in some force, dragging itself into the world. And there was his beloved sibling; the Lord of Blood, in ethereal presence. He did not even bother appearing in physical form anymore. Morgott utilised such puppet forms for combat alone, in testing the resolve of those who could one day come to challenge him next. That fact remained present in his mind as he leant against his staff, observed the other with a warm look that had once been blazing with love. 'Dearest brother. Thou hath made it at last I see.' He was met with a low sound, a grumbling chuckle that slipped from the maw of his twin.
'Time has slipped away from me once more, Morgott. It is so difficult to keep track of the days where I lay. But I am sure the Lord of the capital would surely not understand such things; for it is only such hated Omen who dwell beneath the lands, no?' A flash of teeth follows, almost a smile yet closer in its use to that of a wolf stepping towards its prey. Morgott only frowned as his brother continued. 'And how is your mighty Capital? Does it still lay floundering in defeat?'
'All lands do, dearest brother. It is a festering world that we live in. Thou hath surely seen the lengths to which the world bends at all moments? It is breaking, dearest brother. There is nothing any Lord can do but beg for its confines to repair once more.' He shuddered, ever so slightly, the remembrance of the death of the Land's Between a horrible thing to lay upon. His gaze focused in on his brother for a moment of hesitation, unsure as to if he was close enough to even share any realities to this unfamiliar thing now. 'The Greater Will's guidance is a difficult thing to ponder. It is alien to us, even to I. To follow it is to accept ones own inability to conquer it. Thou must understand it brother - if thou art not too distracted by thy idle pastimes, whatever they may be.'
Mohg huffed in return, fingers clutching tight around his own staff; an ugly thing, overly complex and yet blunt in its form. 'You still seek to bend me to your way of thought, after all these years. I remain ever so disappointed in your conduct. How many years has it been since our paths became clear to us both? I made peace with your path, the manner to which you decide to take your fate. Why is it that you do so? Do you yet have distrust in grace's guidance, hm?' Another carnivorous grin.
'I am not of the belief Grace has guided either of us for a long time, brother. Perhaps I simply retain more love for thee than thou do I. Imagine that; the Lord of Blood, unwilling to care for flesh and blood above his own whims.'
A scoff. 'Yet the Lord of Leyndell may yet retain his flights of fancy to a God who has ever so clearly abandoned him. Perhaps you fail to please the Greater Will in the manner you think you do. Perhaps you simply placate your own desires with the implication that you are being guided to them. Would that not be ever so miserable of you, dearest brother?'
And there it was; the silence that had come to cover the end of all of their discussions, year after year of recent. Soon Morgott would turn tail and return to his post. Or perhaps Mohg would tire of this conversation first, and disappear back into whatever pit of the earth he had been scheming in for all these years. Perhaps it did not matter.
'I miss our youth.'
It was a thought he had not demanded to be spoken, yet spoken it was all the same. Mohg's face stuttered in its shape; paused then frowned, then glowered, as if Morgott's speech had confounded and upset him all at once. 'Our youth was of imprisonment. Of punishment and torture for what they saw as a curse.'
'It was.'
'And that is something you miss? Perhaps you are a masochist at heart, brother. Perhaps their is yet space for you to learn of the Mother.' A slip of Mohg's fate. Something Morgott, otherwise, would have pursued. But thoughts still brewed to his heart. And he began speaking, before they had truly settled.
'A torturous youth it was; yet our presence then was of siblings, connected even through our difference. Doth thou remember our escape from those accursed fetishes? How ver so similar our minds were in those days. In those first lingering days of Freedom in those festering sewers, we spent them together.' He gestured around him idly. 'And then one foul night thou slipped down to these darkest depths, into this damned Kirk, and thou came out with greater intentions than thou hath ever chose to admit to me. It is then that you began to slip away. Our paths diverged in the months that came after, and it is a time that I will forever remember akin to how one recalls the rancidity of a meal that they were yet unawares of, the disgust of that first bite.'
His siblings eyes were narrowed. Not full of petulant anger, as they were so often filled with, but with cold observation... No, not cold - detached. Purposefully or not, he did not dare to truly let himself hear what was being spoken. Yet Morgott continued irregardless, 'I recall the distance that grew forever further. Thou were never the same - or perhaps thou were more of the same, concentrated, bitter. Doth it matter? It was in that lingering time that I recall truly feeling that I hath lost my brother; with each passing year, a distance further and further apart until here we stand. So separate that I can scarcely recognise you in tone alone. And I miss those days that came before; when the passing of the world was abetted by another's presence. I miss that brief time when the consideration of the Erdtree passed my mind, and my visions and plans involved my brother at my side, guardians begotten to the same fate. Hath thou not dreamt of those nights too, Mohg? Hath thou not dreamt of a union of blood stronger than thou commitment to heresy?'
'. . . Do you know what I recall of those days, brother mine?' Mohg spoke. His words were spat, daggers, jagged and hateful. ‘I recall the naming ceremony that was insisted upon by you alone, in commitment to something you never told me. Yet I know why you chose these names for us in this dank place. Do not think I a fool by reason of my temperament alone, brother.’
Mohg’s anger was visible; his tone, already a growl in its naturality, was now a deeper heavier thing, his tone close to a roar. His spear was tapped down, ringing out in accusation. ‘You seek to pretend. Pretend that we are the sons of another line. You cling to your designations of royalty in your speech, in your goals and dreams. You think in your heart that mighty Radagon would have loved you as he loves his own broken children.’ Morgott’s silence spoke a thousand words; his brother paced forward, closer to his face, twisted in the purest of rages.
‘You lie to yourself, brother. You lie through your teeth. You lie to your nature as Omen, and you lie to the reality of our burden. They would not have loved us. They could never have done so; for we are accursed for our nature. The curse of Miquella and Melania was of their body, not their spirit. We are forever tainted in their eyes. Do not let yourself forget it. It is who you are. All you will be. And nothing; not your post, not your words, not whatever station you commit yourself to in your waking life, will ever change that.' He paused, hesitated for a lingering moment. 'Perhaps, if you had realised this... If you had not been ashamed of being an Omen, of being accursed - We could have been brothers. But our paths differed too much. Too far. Too fast.'
And there was a lingering silence. Both watched one another, in some emotion undescribed, some mixture of a bond unspoken and of a hatred seen. It surprised both - Morgott moreso - when he felt life come into his form, as he burst forward, hands grasping the robes of his Brother's projection, who’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Lies! Thou art depraved, and in thy depravity ye seek to excuse thy nature, our seperation, by merit of birth alone! But thou art a monster of thy own creation, Mohg. Ye may yet find solace in companionship with our fellow Omen, but I desire you to know this, Mohg - Thou have chosen this path, and I will overcome all thou are. I hath proven that it is no curse of birth, no curse of station, but a curse of thy own making. Do not speak to me of shame. Do not speak to me as if you hath ever come close to debating your station in life; thou chose, from your first thoughts, to dwell in hatred. And one day, thou will be struck down because of it. By my hand or anothers.
And he let go, pushing his flesh and blood away. Eyes met one another will at that fire and fury they held moments ago. They shared a long and sorry look to one another; one seeing the other as a traitor, a self hating fool who abandoned all that made him different for the sake of seeking solace in those that hated him, and the other seeing a wretched thing who chose a path of dessication simply because he had felt himself wronged. Both saw a brother, long lost to their own delusions ever so long ago. Neither saw themselves in the other.
For the first time in many a year, both chose to make the same decision; turning away from the other, one dissipating into nothingness, the other clambering from this dank pit to their seat at the throne once more, to await whatever would come for them. And they never met again, so separate in their hatred and their scheming that they could never come together; yet in some cruel twist of grace, it would be the same thing, the same blade, that struck both down. No matter the fate of the world, of their plans and their actions, both were reunited in death.
Forevermore.