second rune; death; video

[deadelfwalking]

 [When the feed starts, the netbook's camera shows you a view of the forest floor.  A deer carcass lies among the grass and twigs, and it's obvious that the poor thing did not have a clean death.  It's in the advanced stages of decomposition, even though the blood around its body is red and fresh.  The camera does not linger on this image for more than a few seconds; it pans upward, to show Koltira's face.

 He's standing over the deer, holding the device in one hand, holding Byfrost with the other.  Agony creases his expression: his jaw is clenched, his eyes narrowed, every muscle in his pale, sallow face is taut with pain.  The guttural growl of his voice occasionally rises in octave as he talks, as though something is beating the shit out of him from the inside.]

Were we brought here to fight for something, or to waste time reliving the past?  Send.  Us.  On.  A mission.

[He stabs the tree next to him with Byfrost, and the sword glows sickly green; the tree bark begins to decay rapidly, as though it's practically melting.  Diseased fumes pour out of the bark, forming a nasty miasma around Koltira's body.]

I need a battle. [he hisses, and blood trickles from the corner of his mouth as he bites down on the inside of his cheek.]  Now.

Comments

[healplz]

[ All perfectly beautiful, and Ashraf trusts none of them. Of course, he wouldn't trust them even if they'd been created by someone else—a guy from a desert just never gets too familiar with large bodies of water.

He nods, holds a while longer, and resumes his slow hike. ]

I will, shortly.

[deadelfwalking]

[becoming irritated.]

What are you doing, exactly?

[healplz]

No more than I'd promised. [ scopin the area, bro. There's like a billion places to hide bodies that he could have missed from his original warp in! ]

[deadelfwalking]

[HE WILL FIND NOTHING, because there isn't anything to find. Meanwhile, Ashraf's shuffling--and his heartbeat--are aggravating the fuck out of Koltira. He struggles to keep hold on his chosen anchor, exhaling slowly to ease the tension in his muscles.]

If you come 'round again, bring me some scotch.

[healplz]

[ The continued nothing-out-of-order is making a pretty good case for the rest of his stroll finding more of the same, and Ashraf is beginning to feel a little ridiculous for conducting it under scrutiny. So he pauses, looking over the water to Koltira again. ]

...Do you drink? [ Maybe a stupid question, but not really one he'd considered before. He'd just assumed the dead would be past things like alcohol. (A theory Bariyan would soundly disprove, if Ashraf devoted any real thought to it.) ]

[deadelfwalking]

As often as I possibly can. Vendel'o eranu. It has some effect.

[he hopes you aren't a teetotaler as well, Ashraf, though he would hardly be surprised.]

[healplz]

[ He's not sure about that mystery language—the name of a drink, maybe?—but he's... actually considering it. That's stranger than anything else about this conversation. He's still for a little while longer, then turns wordlessly to disappear into that same circle of bright white light.

Scotch isn't all that expensive. He can spare the money for a bottle. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira mutters again in Thalassian as Ashraf goes.]

Shorel'aran.

[healplz]

[ It's about twenty minutes before he returns, and when he does, it's to exactly the same spot he'd first arrived in. And this time, with a bottle of scotch held at his side, almost out of sight. He's a little embarrassing to have it, really.

He eyes the ice, then Koltira. ]

Is that secure?

[deadelfwalking]

[he's more than a little surprised that you actually came back, guy. Koltira indicates himself and the plate armor he's wearing with a 'What do you think?' kind of expression.]

However, if you're worried.

[he gestures at Ashraf with one hand, and the same ice-roses that were under his own boots now start forming beneath the priest's. Grats, you can walk on the water, too.]

[healplz]

[ He eyes it with absolutely no trust at all, then edges out. When he doesn't immediately fall through the ice into the water, he walks with a little more purpose and feigns a little more confidence.

This is a terrible idea all around, he's thoroughly convinced. He watches Koltira steadily as he approaches, looking grimly resigned. Not quite the appropriate expression to come bearing a gift, but there it is. And when he's as near as necessary (and not a step closer), he stops to hold the bottle out. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[Despite the misgivings, the ice is as sturdy as any other piece of ground. Koltira eyes Ashraf as he reaches to take the bottle. He hasn't had a drop in days and he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, but Ashraf's obvious recalcitrance is still getting to him. He says, lightly.]

I realize that I'm dead, but this isn't a funeral, you know.

[healplz]

[ No, but it should be. Probably not the appropriate thing to say, but it's definitely on his mind. He glances away, clearing his throat awkwardly. ]

Would it disturb you to remain for a few moments?

[ Man, the Church would excommunicate him for this. Hanging out with a dead guy is definitely not in the teachings. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[He was waiting for Ashraf to say it, honestly, as it's always been clear that he thinks it. Oh, well. He drinks deeply from the bottle and then sighs. It's a start.]

Do as you will.

[The church ain't here, buddy! You're in a whole new world.]

[healplz]

[ He nods, hesitates a moment more, and slowly sinks to sit on the ice. More of a crouch, as if ready to leap up again at any second, but it will do. He's quiet for some time, watching anything but Koltira, until he finally dares a glance over. ]

Your world, within the VR... [ He wants to make that a question, but isn't sure how. "Explain that" seems a bit harsh. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[he's about halfway through this bottle already, and even though it's not nearly enough to have much of an effect, he's still enjoying the bright, momentary flashes of fire on his tongue. Koltira stays focused on the drink as he responds.]

Yes? What of it?

[There's a lot he could explain. The memory itself? The circumstances that led to it? Azeroth as a whole?]

[healplz]

[ Wow, that dead guy can drink. He takes just a half a second for a startled glance down at the bottle, then remembers the point of his almost-question. ]

What happened in the true version of it?

[deadelfwalking]

[it's easy when your blood has the consistency of sludge! He meets Ashraf's gaze.]

Exactly what you've already concluded, I imagine. I was marching with the Scourge. I killed the girl. We destroyed the village ... and then moved on, away from the fire, to destroy almost everything else.

[healplz]

[ Okay, hearing things like that is not making it any easier to stop mindlessly hating Koltira. He looks a little sick for a moment, but nods. ]

How did you come to... overcome that?

[deadelfwalking]

[he could have dressed it up a little more, but the truth is the truth. He doesn't see any point in running from his sins.]

The Lich King created us, owned us, controlled us. He had power like unto a god. Our enslavement to his will was total. I felt nothing for the people I slew while I was in the Lich King's grasp, because everything that made me who I was did not exist. It was forcibly locked away, and I instead became an instrument of this wretched monster's designs.

[his voice grows hateful and bitter as he keeps speaking, rough with the memories. He takes another long swig from the bottle.]

The Scourge devastated Quel'thalas. They poisoned the Sunwell, the source of our strength, our magic. When Arthas--the Lich King's vessel--was done, only a small fraction of my people remained alive. And they-- [well, that was a story for another time. He stops, glaring at the ice, his free hand a clenched fist. He knows he hasn't fully answered the question, but he needs a minute. God, he hates Arthas. Even talking about him fills Koltira's mouth with rage.]

I died defending my homeland. I gave my life for my people, and then the Lich King used me--and many others--as a tool of his destruction.

But then there was a certain battle.

[he pauses for another drink. Man, he needs to get more of this stuff.]

[healplz]

[ He listens closely and carefully, his nervous agitation slowly fading as he does. No monster would talk like this, surely. The Church talks only of destroying demons and undead, not of meeting undead that repent for their condition and their past deeds. Does that make Koltira different? It... seems to, but he's reluctant to admit it, even to himself.

When he finally glances away and down, it's not for avoidance's sake. ]

Which battle?

[deadelfwalking]

The Lich King ordered us to take a particular chapel, a sacred bastion of the Holy Light. The Argent Dawn, a group of priests and paladins who dedicated their lives to ending the Scourge, were our opponents. The Scourge forces numbered nearly ten thousand; the Dawn had mustered only several hundred. Victory seemed assured.

[another pause to drink. This bottle is nearly finished.]

Our leader was a man named Darion Mograine. He had a cursed sword, called Ashbringer, but as the fight progressed, he found it more and more difficult to wield the weapon. The church stood on the holiest ground, and Ashbringer was originally forged to destroy the very undead who now held it.

Rays of Light burst forth from the ground. Our forces were suddenly decimated. The great paladin, Tirion Fordring, emerged from the chapel and spoke to Highlord Mograine about what he had become. Mograine and the rest of us were then suddenly lost in visions of the past.

[his posture relaxes, the energy and tension draining out of him, replaced with an enervating sorrow. He stares at the ice, his voice soft.]

I saw my younger brother, Faltora. His spirit called to me ... trying to remind me of my former life. Trying to bring me back. Urging me to break free and do what was right.

[Koltira looks away, because he can feel the slow, sure machinations of his body, the film of tears trying to rise to his eyes. None of that here. Especially not here.]

[healplz]

[ He's quiet still, listening and watching both. It sounds like one of the stories the Church would have told him as an acolyte, full of noble heroes and fabled weapons. Except, of course, the teller of it in this case is on the wrong side.

But the pain in it is obvious, and he can't summon the loathing that he ought to be able to feel for Koltira.

Softly: ] Did it work? [ Is this the story of how Koltira broke free, or does it get worse still first? ]

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira nods.]

The Lich King appeared, announcing that the entire battle--and everything that had lead to it--was all a ploy to draw Fordring into the open. But then Highlord Mograine threw the Ashbringer to Fordring, and in his hands the sword was purified. We watched as the Lich King fled in the face of such holy power.

Our chains shattered at this sight. Our wills and minds were restored to us, and Fordring welcomed us back. He suggested an alliance between the Argent Dawn and ourselves, devoted to seeing the Lich King defeated. Mograined reformed our order as the Knights of the Ebon Blade and agreed.

We had all done terrible things, unforgivable things, and the weight of them was unbearable on our newly freed minds.

[one last drink, and the bottle is done. He sets it down beside him on the ice.]

But we neither asked for nor expected forgiveness. We knew--I knew--that the only thing we could do now was turn our power against our creator, re-direct all of the rage and hatred he had instilled in us and throw it back at him. All we could offer was retribution.

[staring out across the lake, grimly.] And so we did.

[healplz]

[ Retribution in place of forgiveness isn't usually anything Ashraf would encourage, but in this case, he suspects there would really be no other way. He'd seen the memory, the horrors committed within. And that Koltira asks for no forgiveness for it speaks profoundly. ]

Thank you for telling me.

[ It's not usually polite to go about demanding people's dark histories of them, after all. He glances to the side, trying not to fidget and only mostly succeeding. This part doesn't come naturally at all. ]

...Would you accept an apology?