[ The face in the feed here is kind of the face Vanadi had presented at the Masquerade ball, with makeup over his scar and black hair dye. Except this time there's no need for dye in that full, long black hair, and his perfectly unblemished complexion seems a little better-fed.

He also has no idea where he is and who he's addressing with this thing, but hey, when has that ever stopped him? ]

Charming place, really. The decor isn't bad, for a human establishment. But this... [ He lifts his red mask into sight, one fine black eyebrow cocked at it. ] The owner of this is welcome to pick it up at any time he or she likes. It's not bad, I suppose, but really, it's not quite a match to kitrian style.

And if it isn't yours, you're welcome to pretend it is as an excuse to see yourself over. Some drinks, a few CDs, and this place could be considerably receptive to a good time! [ Insert a totally charming smile right here. ] Don't be strangers, hmm? It will never be claimed that anyone of House Vadarta was anything but hospitable!

[Koltira just doesn't know what happened. One minute he was sitting down, taking a break, peeling an apple--and then, suddenly, abruptly, he was here. He had not even heard someone mutter a spell, though he could see Merriel practicing on the lawns just beyond the temple's terrace. Perhaps something had gone astray. Something had definitely gone awry.

He's in some kind of woods, that much is clear, but he has no sense of them as he does in Quel'thalas. The trees feel foreign, damaged, sick. The dark sky roils with clouds, and the wind is a sharp, cold bite on his neck. He takes a few steps in one direction, then a few in another, and then he finally notices the other Koltira's tablet--blinking and murmuring on the ground. Koltira picks it up, presses some buttons.

The video eventually clicks on. The face it shows the network is familiar, but still markedly different than what anyone might remember of Koltira Deathweaver. His skin is healthy, sanguine tone; fair and free of cracks. An easy smile (albeit somewhat bemused) marks his handsome features, and while his eyes are still blue, they lack the cold fire of undeath. This is the blue of summer morning, warm and inviting.

His armor is something else, too. The video shows part of it--it's polished plate, pale blue and worked with ornate gold filigree. He has a broadsword strapped to his back, and the jeweled hilt mimics a stylized set of phoenix wings. A far cry from the dreadplate, from the ominous Byfrost.

When he speaks, his voice is friendly and smooth, lacking any of the guttural scratch it suffered from in undeath. Because, of course, this is Koltira before all of that.]

I have to say, this is the strangest scrying device I've ever seen. If it even is that; I suppose I could very well be talking to myself. But it does seem like something is transmitting.

[he shrugs. Well, anyway.]

If anyone can hear me on this, could you let me know? My name is Koltira, by the way. I'm usually guarding the temple An'owyn, but I think my friend Merriel may have tried a teleportation spell on me and gotten it a bit wrong.

[He beams, winningly.]

I'm sure it will all sort itself out eventually! But, in the meantime, I need to find my way out of these dreadful woods. Any help would be most appreciated.

[ooc: PRETEND HIS EYES ARE BLUE in these icons ...

ALSO LIZ TOLD ME TO POST THIS. SO I DID.]

( his faint, faint, faint memories of exsilium allow him to remember how to work his tablet easily enough; so much so that he assumes he was just that clever in his ability to figure out how to use a new, somewhat antiquated device. his voice is calm enough when he speaks, bored, just this side of sounding utterly disdainful. )

If you were looking for a ransom, then you should've done more research before kidnapping the first teenager in sight.

( this isn't entirely true, of course; there's his connection to mr maverick, but that's not very common knowledge. anyway, it's not like he's about to blurt out being somewhat adopted by one of the most influential people in sternbild to a potential kidnapper. )

Since there isn't anyone for you to demand it from, anyway, this is a waste of time for both of us. Should you really be giving away computers, anyway?

( this is incredibly stupid and such a waste of his life. whoever's on the other end of this device is going to have to suffer his scorn in all of its teenage glory. he doesn't care.

and there's always his hundred power, if it comes down to it.

after a moment, an attachment will appear: attached: ouroboros.png

yes he drew that, fight him.)

If that mark or its name means anything to you, I want to know.

 [ The voice speaking doesn't exactly match the 15 year old kid who's usually talking.  It's gruffer and more sardonic than the kid's ever was. ]

Guess it's my lucky day.  Got dropped right back in here with all my memories intact.

[ Most of them anyway.  He's fuzzy on a whole lot and trying to sort through all this new shit makes his head hurt, but he won't let on to it.  He considers reaching out for a minute, maybe trying to address a few people from those memories who might still be there.  He doesn't. ]

Since I'm here, might as well do something I've never done before.  Where can a guy get a decent drink in this shithole?

[ When the video feed flickers on, it catches the girl from an extreme angle. She comes into clear view as she holds up the tablet and frowns at it.

The face is familiar, but there are differences. Thin always, she's too skinny now; her eyes are almost too big on her face. Her hair is a little longer and raggedly cut. Her clothes, a once fine page's garb, have turned to rags.

Sitting on the ground, Arya turns the tablet over. Her legs and the ground come briefly into view. She tosses the tablet aside with a frustrated sound. Enjoy that shot of the sky. Well. Clouds. ]

This is all stupid.

[one of the few, if vague, things that Frodo remembers from his time before in Exsilium is how to work the tablet. The hobbit on the video is a tween, voice a bit higher than before and a mischievous look to his eyes.

He's leaned down, as if forming a conspiracy with all those on the network; whispering (loudly still) with possible partners in crime, if you will]

Has anyone got a list of what the kitchens around here serve? Or what times they find themselves the busiest? This is very important!