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]

[ 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?

[deadelfwalking]

[well that jolts him out of the sad-spiral that was about to get itself going. He raises an eyebrow.]

For what, exactly?

[healplz]

You are... not what I accused you of.

[ oh watch him squirm, apologizing to an undead. It shouldn't be so hard to just say "you're not a horrible monster like I kept insisting you were, and I'm sorry for being a dick", but oh, it is. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[Is this the real life? IS THIS JUST FANTASY? He has an impulse to be a huge asshole and make Ashraf say it again, just to be sure, but he's just so, so exhausted. Instead, he stares dumbly for a moment, before shaking his head and laughing a little.]

Well. Thanks for that. [he picks up the bottle of scotch, peering into it to see if there's any left, because wow. But no; it's well and truly empty. He shakes it.] And for this, as well. You'll have to try some next time.

[healplz]

[ Great, and Koltira just takes it. He almost wish he'd forced a less half-assed sorry out of him, because now Ashraf gets to feel bad about the shitty apology, too. ]

Perhaps.

[ Drinking with a dead guy seems a little ill-advised, even if this isn't one that will be ripping out the throats of innocent bystanders any time soon. He pushes himself back to his feet. ]

I will leave you to your solitude.

[deadelfwalking]

[The truth is that Koltira's not even sure he believes it. An apology is one thing, but will future actions bear it out? He can't say. He shrugs off the return to coldness; it's more in line with what he expects, at any rate, and lifts the empty bottle in farewell.]

As you like.

[healplz]

[ He begins to teleport away, but pauses. After a brief hesitation, he waves a hand to align a silent blessing with Koltira. Useless, as he's not in battle, but still soothing and rejuvinating, as well as part of his customary greeting and farewell.

And then he's gone, vanished into that white light. ]