[ Bariyan grimaces, more out of habit than anything. He tries not to look. He fails. His eyes flick down -- nothing yet. The sword's still in him, and the cut is clean. Bariyan hasn't bled in centuries. The only thing that runs through his veins nowadays is whatever magic it is that keeps him alive.
Something that is cousin to Koltira's own curse, he imagines.
His hands wrap around the edge of the runeblade, instinctively, edges biting into his palms. He fixes his eyes on Koltira again. Gods, he is not looking forwards to seeing this thing ripped out of him. ]
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Something that is cousin to Koltira's own curse, he imagines.
His hands wrap around the edge of the runeblade, instinctively, edges biting into his palms. He fixes his eyes on Koltira again. Gods, he is not looking forwards to seeing this thing ripped out of him. ]