Koltira Deathweaver (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deadelfwalking) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
soulforge2012-09-08 02:58 am
deadelfwalking) wrote in soulforge2012-09-08 02:58 am
silvermoon city; directly following the fall of the lich king
[Koltira hasn't been to his birthplace in years. Even though he identifies as a blood elf, he died with blue eyes, not green. The alienation is therefore twofold, because his people are very different now than when he last left them, and he has been completely transformed, as well. He's not sure what place, if any, he has among the sin'dorei anymore; not sure if they would even tolerate someone--something--like him walking the streets.
Other death knights have told him stories of their efforts to walk in their home cities, of the rotten fruit and spit thrown at them, the threats of hanging. Frightened screams, hateful curses, all of these seemed likely to expect. Some time has passed since the Lich King's fall and the introduction of death knights into the Horde and Alliance ranks, but this doesn't soothe Koltira in the least. In fact, he thinks it makes distrust even more likely: Arthas is gone. What reason do the living have now to tolerate these particular undead?
Even so, he feels a need to visit the city, at least once, now that his task is done. Perhaps it will help him sort out what to do next. Perhaps someone in the city will get the rope, and decide for him. He's not sure he would mind that, either.
He rides up the avenue to the city's gates apprehensively, fully armored, Byfrost secured to his back. He jumps off of Bloodmist, and the horse whinnies in an unearthly wail. Setting a hand on the deathcharger's muzzle, he stares back at Silvermoon's entrance, steeling himself. Now, if ever, was the time to go forward.]
Other death knights have told him stories of their efforts to walk in their home cities, of the rotten fruit and spit thrown at them, the threats of hanging. Frightened screams, hateful curses, all of these seemed likely to expect. Some time has passed since the Lich King's fall and the introduction of death knights into the Horde and Alliance ranks, but this doesn't soothe Koltira in the least. In fact, he thinks it makes distrust even more likely: Arthas is gone. What reason do the living have now to tolerate these particular undead?
Even so, he feels a need to visit the city, at least once, now that his task is done. Perhaps it will help him sort out what to do next. Perhaps someone in the city will get the rope, and decide for him. He's not sure he would mind that, either.
He rides up the avenue to the city's gates apprehensively, fully armored, Byfrost secured to his back. He jumps off of Bloodmist, and the horse whinnies in an unearthly wail. Setting a hand on the deathcharger's muzzle, he stares back at Silvermoon's entrance, steeling himself. Now, if ever, was the time to go forward.]
no subject
Belthazar has taken part in this strange passive-aggressive ritual for several years now. If there is one thing he's learned amongst all the secrets and lore passed down to him, it's that his work never ends. That doesn't mean he can't make progress on his own projects, however. A true master of multitasking, the elf boy walks with his face in a tome about curses; meanwhile, his water elemental carries several wooden boxes beside him. The elemental is sadly non-verbal, or else it might warn its master about getting into a traffic accident on the way to Fairbreeze.
It's too late. One moment, he's engrossed in a depiction of the magical threads surrounding a prison. The next, he's colliding with a solid wall of wicked armor, frozen undead flesh and hooves. He wheels backward, stumbling into a row of planters with a scream.
His elemental waits patiently at the side of the road-- almost expectantly, as if it is used to this.]
no subject
Are you all right, boy? [reaching into the planters to pull him out ...]
no subject
Belthazar has never had physical contact with one of the Lich King's warriors. The supposedly 'good' ones who dared return to Quel'thalas kept their own counsel, so Belthazar had only seen them from a distance. Not that he would've wanted to strike up a conversation with former Scourge servants. His hatred for the creatures who wrecked his homeland is rivaled only by the traitor prince.
Properly righted, he is nonetheless eager to break free of Koltira and shrink back out of melee range. He knows it won't keep the death knight from assaulting him with whatever magic he has, but better not to risk losing a limb first. Or a head.]
I-I'm fine, [the teen stammers, trying to look and sound capable but failing terribly. They both have the deer-in-headlights expression.
He glances at the horse-thing again, then back to Koltira's face. Maybe this is someone important. Maybe it's official Horde business. His mentor would be pleased if he found out something of value. Belthazar should endear himself to this stranger.]
I've never seen a death knight up close before.
[Of course, Belthazar doesn't give a shit.]
no subject
I'm as common an example as any, I suppose. [slight bow.] I'm called Koltira Deathweaver. And you?
no subject
So it is someone important.]
Belthazar Spellscry, apprentice of Magister Dariel. [He doesn't bow.] You're no common example... What did you come here for?