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]

[ He stands behind Koltira, watchful. He almost expects the man to leap up and spin around, with this behavior. ]

And the deer? That was no battle. Only mutilation.

[deadelfwalking]

[He manages to sit up, though his expression is contorted, snarling.] Obviously. I have been hunting them occasionally since I arrived, cleanly, and leaving the meat. There are others who spend time here that make use of it.

But that deer ... when I came upon it, I could not restrain myself, suddenly, from using Byfrost's power. I killed the deer, and then felt a flash of pain. One of Byfrost's runes activated, releasing a disease which caused the corpse to decay as it did. That was when I realized I could not return to the city.

[healplz]

[ He's silent for a while, weighing his options. It's incredibly unlikely that he could kill Koltira by himself, and nor does he think he wants to. He's been a comrade, no matter how temporarily. Forcibly restraining him would be difficult, and probably dangerous.

Finally he moves, circling around to stand before Koltira, and says what he'd definitely never expected to hear from himself to an undead man. ]

How can I help?

[deadelfwalking]

[he appreciates the thought, buddy, and talking was a good distraction, but ... he drives his fists into the soft earth, chewing on his lip.]

You can help by leaving.

[healplz]

[ He shakes his head firmly, unmoving. Leaving doesn't seem to be in his immediate future, judging by that solid stance. ]

I'm sorry, that is not an option.

[deadelfwalking]

[He presses his palms against the base of his ears; it looks as though he's trying to crush his own head between his hands.]

What do you want, priest? Are you going to wait there, hoping that I'll attack you? Will that satisfy you? Will you feel better then, after you've had your treasured prejudices confirmed?

Well?

[healplz]

[ His eyes narrow a little, because dammit, having your offer of help refused is kind of frustrating when it'd been so hard to make in the first place! ]

No. [ A little begrudgingly: ] If you attack me now, it will not have been under your own willpower.

[deadelfwalking]

[his sheer irritation at this conversation gives him enough willpower to arrange himself more comfortably; with effort, he assumes a cross-legged position on the ground, laughing at Ashraf's remark, because willpower really is the thing here.] Story of my bloody life.

[he shakes his head.] Why are you here, then? When I called you for help with that sniveling kim'jael of a man, you didn't even look at me.

[healplz]

[ He watches closely for a moment more, then sinks to a crouch in front of him. Koltira might possibly deserve that much, even if the teachings of the Church vehemently disagree. ]

I am here to ensure no one gets hurt. [ Permanently, at least. Which tends to be his speciality. He stares at him steadily, unmoved by the reminder of his behavior last time. ] Will these feelings fade? Or is battle necessary?

[deadelfwalking]

[coldly, clutching his stomach as another wracking pain shoots through his muscles.]

You would have no chance against me. You are only alive right now because I am fighting with everything I am not to kill you.

[he gnashes his teeth, because it would be so wonderful and so easy to rip your throat right out, Ashraf. To tear your skin from its bones, shred the muscles, soak in the blood. And the screams would be loveliest of all.]

The--feelings--never fade. I control them through battle or will, and since it's becoming clear that I will not be sent to battle, I must rely on will.

[healplz]

[ He doesn't flinch or look away, but grips the dark bone of the staff. It's reassuring, somehow. A twisted sort of reassuring. ]

I'm not a warrior, but I'm not so easily killed. [ Oh man, he really hopes he's not just inviting Koltira to lunge at him, or anything. He's going to need a little time for mental fortification, if this actually pans out like he's starting to hope and fear it will. ] My healing has kept me alive through worse than you.

[deadelfwalking]

[Hope and fear? Ashraf, you are the worst. Koltira sneers.]

So you think. But you have. [winces, squeezing his eyes shut; the cold-fire beneath his eyelids blazes, flaring out at the edges. His next words are high-pitched with pain.] No. Idea.

[healplz]

[ Just the fact that Koltira doesn't jump for the chance is what settles Ashraf's mind on the matter. He stands, unfastens his robe, and pulls it off to leave it hanging off of a nearby tree branch. It would be a terrible pain to have to wash and mend such expensive fabric.

He turns to face Koltira again bare-chested and grim, but resolved, and casts a brief round of spells over himself. He's as ready as he'll ever be. ]

Then show me.

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira's eyes widen in shock. What the hell is going on right now? He looks at the robe, twisting in the night wind, and then back at Ashraf, standing there expectantly. He looks away, his breath catching. It's too much. It's just too much.]

Don't-- [he stands up, every nerve screaming with pain, with irresistible demands. Orders he doesn't want to fulfill. He takes a slow, shaking step forward.] Do you revile me so much? Is that what this is?

[he clutches at his head, his gaze sliding back to Ashraf, and moans.] I--can't--run--

[healplz]

This isn't about you. It's for those you might harm.

[ His eyes narrow because, come on now, really. This waiting is killing him. Anticipation might actually be worse than pain. ]

I will attack first, if necessary.

[deadelfwalking]

Self-righteous fool.

[he picks up Byfrost with one hand and lunges, the other hand poised to strangle the fuck out of this guy. Because when you put meat in front of a starving wolf, he has no choice but to eat it.]

[healplz]

[ Though he's willing to be attacked, he doesn't plan on just standing there. He jerks back on instinct, but of course not quite quickly enough. Speed isn't his thing. He feels the hand close around his throat and grits his teeth, a heal prepared but not loosed. He may need to save all the magic he can, if Koltira is as violent as threatened. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[he pushes Ashraf down to the ground and straddles him, not easing his grip in the slightest as he does so. Ashraf's expression alone--the surprise, the clenched jaw--feeds the fire, but it's not enough; not nearly enough. Koltira drives Byfrost into the earth beside them, and the sword glows with an unearthly, dark purple light that washes over both of their bodies.

Growling, baring his knife-point canines, Koltira lifts his empty, armored hand. The black plate gauntlets have clawed tips, which dig deep gouges into Ashraf's bare chest. Koltira smiles horribly as blood wells from the wounds, driving the point of his index finger into Ashraf's hip, where the skin is thin and the bone is close.]

yep no icons for this. SIGH.

[healplz]

[ God, but he's glad he's taken off his robes for this. How many battles has he seen completely ruin them? And that was when stopping by the Prontera Church for a new set was still an option. He slams his eyes shut, fingers digging into the ground, and forces his mind to mundane things.

His robes might end up with sap on them, at worst— metal tearing skin— but that's better than blood. His pants may well be ruined, though— searing pain, spasming muscles— he should probably find a tailor, it's inevitable that he'll run into a battle without a chance to protect his robes.

A little while longer, is the thought he allows himself. Just a little more, and he'll heal himself. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira keeps one plated nail dug into Ashraf's hipbone, slowly flaying the skin, biting into the layer of muscle beneath. He releases his stranglehold, but that's largely because he wants to hear the man gasp and struggle, wants to hear the fruits of his labor. He rakes fresh lines of blood across Ashraf's throat, easily tearing the delicate skin, and then presses his thumb to the lacerations, forcing more blood to the surface.

He leans over, pressing his heavy, armored knee against Ashraf's stomach, and hisses in the priest's ear, low and rough with menace.]

I will tear you apart.

[healplz]

[ The first gasp is purely for air, but the second comes with a moan of pain. He's no stranger to pain, no, it's nearly part of his job description— but it's never been like this. That was the pain of battle, this is the agony of a personal tormentor.

He can taste blood in his mouth, wonders if he's bitten into his tongue, and oddly enough it's the coppery taste that pushes him across the line. He lifts a hand, gestures frantically, and the green, healing light pours across his body. Wounds mend, blood dries, energy replenishes. But that doesn't help the wounds still forced open, and the pain remains, even if lessened.

He forces his eyes open, makes himself stare up at Koltira. There's no sign of desperation, and no intent to escape; just a heavy patience. He knows it must end, and prays it will be soon. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[he murmurs gently.] Mm. Healing yourself? That's hardly fair.

[Koltira presses his palms flat on either side of Ashraf's body. A cold, bright blue glow envelops his hands, and moments later, chains coated in ice form around Ashraf's legs, arms, and neck, binding him completely in place. When this is done, Koltira pricks Ashraf's lower lip as he pushes his thumb into the priest's mouth. The spell flows forth, filling his body and brain with bone-deep chills, seeking to numb Ashraf's mind to the point that further spellcasting is difficult--if not impossible.]

[healplz]

[ No, he remembers this. The spell that had stopped him last time, when he less vulnerable, when he hadn't voluntarily put himself at Koltira's mercy—no. His eyes widen with the first real fear, and he struggles for as long as he's able. It isn't long, as it turns out. Soon it feels as if he can't even shiver.

He's shut his eyes again, and forces himself to test desperately at the limits of the spell nearly constantly. It can't last. None of this can last. The spell hadn't been permanent last time, and soon Ashraf will be able to move again—Koltira can't do that much damage in the meantime, surely.

So he settles to wait for the pain to begin again, ignoring everything from the thumb in his mouth to the icy chains over his body. Testing. Waiting. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[The fear, the struggle, the suffering--that's what this traitorous curse wants, that's what Koltira's plagued blood sings for. But it's not what Koltira wants, and, in truth, he's still been fighting against his actions the entire time. It's why he didn't simply impale Ashraf with Byfrost and watch him bleed out over the blade, or infect him with an agony-and-delirium inducing crypt fever.

He touches his forehead to Ashraf's chest, trembling. He must stop this. He must stop, even though it feels so good, ecstatic, even, and it's only reaching greater heights with each shudder of Ashraf's body. This was as the Lich King designed, how he controlled the people he forced into service and extinguished their sense of self. But he had a choice, goddammit.

Koltira takes hold of the ice chains, crushing them, destroying the spell, and they dissipate. He pulls away from Ashraf, still shaking violently. The glow from Byfrost diminishes, then blinks out.

Koltira sits, stares into the night sky, and does not move.]

[healplz]

[ He flinches involuntarily at the touch against his chest, but— but that's not pain. Only a touch. It makes him open his eyes again, and he watches with a fearful hope. Is that all? Is he really done already? He's silent as the chains are shattered, silent as the feeling comes back to his numbed body.

Finally he sits up, rubbing his chest, and casts a final heal over himself to mend the smaller wounds. He looks, for once, smaller than the tall, stern, solemn priest usually presented. He looks like a young man, not a day over 25, inexperienced and shaken.

He glances over to Koltira, swallows, and forces himself to speak. ]

Has... has that helped?