[There it was. Fear, or something like it. Koltira shuddered at the sound of Bariyan's choked, gasping voice, an involuntary thrill of pleasure running through his muscles. The spells used to create death knights were unique, designed to ensure that even the most gentle of souls would find relief only in cruel, torturous battle. The more an opponent suffered, the greater the death knight's reward. Ordinarily, Koltira feels equally soothed and repulsed by the predilections of his curse, but in this moment he is lost to the pain, desperate to stem it, unable to let go of the man who had so insistently presented himself as an outlet.
Koltira does not appreciate the hand on his wrist. He scowls, but instead of breaking away, his gauntlet--and Byfrost--both glow blue. Ice seeps out from his armor and the weapon's blade, stealing into Bariyan's body, coating his skin. The spell is a disease, a frost fever, meant to slow physical and mental reactions. Let go. I haven't heard enough out of you yet.]
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Koltira does not appreciate the hand on his wrist. He scowls, but instead of breaking away, his gauntlet--and Byfrost--both glow blue. Ice seeps out from his armor and the weapon's blade, stealing into Bariyan's body, coating his skin. The spell is a disease, a frost fever, meant to slow physical and mental reactions. Let go. I haven't heard enough out of you yet.]