[ it is an unfamiliar sight: creatures of all kinds, content to hold one another's hands and drink in the warmth of the fire. a so called peace, uninterrupted and true.

he doesn't want to believe it. he had not asked his soul to be rekindled, nor did he find himself deserving it; it was an objective judgement, righteous and true. still, he is here, suited in his armor, a sword at his side.

his form is awkward, bordering boyish; in this moment, you're liable to mistaking him for a young man as opposed to a former eldritch lord of the night. but it's difficult-- to be around people, in their natural element again. to be human. he sits at the fire, a glass of wine in hand. ]

Saint John's Eve? [ he questions, in equal parts curiosity and condescension. ] It had been unknown to me-- that humans still partook in such revelry. [ a shake of the head. ] I suppose, even amidst the sands of time, they remain unchanging. 'Twas not a protest... [ an inkling of a smile. ] More a comfort, even in these foreign lands.

[ a raise of his glass as the fireworks burst into vision, splotches of reds and cyans and yellows tearing through the night sky. a pinky raises-- ]

Would you ask that I scrawl your name into those stars, my dear?

[ somehow, the offer is entirely earnest. ]

[ the hills are lush with greenery, reminiscent of another time, another place; it strikes nostalgia with him, and he attempts to outrun it with every passing second, lest he regress into the sad, pathetic dog that he is.

so it's time to carry a wife. he stands before you, shoulders proud, arms outstretch. ]

Should you find yourself in need of a suitor-- I would be honored to carry you, as my wife. Marital arrangements shan't be necessary. Let us play the part, if only for this moment.

[ he smiles brightly, features benign, taking this completely seriously as his arms remain outstretched. no, it doesn't matter if you aren't a woman, how you look or what your stature may consist of; he is still saying this to you. ]

[ it is in a former knight-- and lord's nature to extend a dance to those straggling along the sides. oersted bows in a eloquent and fluid motion, paying utmost respect. ]

My child. You appear to be what one may call "bow legged". [ why is he insulting you, bro. ] 'Tis my duty, as the arbiter of sin and most abominable horror to taint these pure lands, to aid you as I might. Please, allow me this dance.