silvermoon city; directly following the fall of the lich king

[deadelfwalking]

 [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.]

Comments

[cockmaster]

Hey, watch it! -

[The not actually that urgent shout comes from directly behind Koltira and his mount, where a blood elf is obviously having a difficult time putting the brakes on his hawkstrider. The bird even takes a snap at Bloodmist's rear - he's yanked back before anything connects, luckily for him - before dancing to a restless stop a few feet away.

The rider hops off the mount without further delay, casting a glance over one shoulder at Koltira as he goes to untie a pack from the saddle. He doesn't sound mad, maybe even a little entertained, but definitely a lot cocky.]

Maybe don't park your horse in the middle of the road, next time?

[arcanepower]

[The death of the Lich King is a cause for celebration among all the peoples of Azeroth, but not all the people are celebrating. With Arthas dead, that just leaves all the other problems that need to be dealt with. The magisters still do their political samba around the ruling council and the regent-lord, and the apprentices do their own dance around the magisters, attempting to curry favor.

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.]