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respired) wrote in
futurology2016-02-26 08:41 pm
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video | un: deathweaver
[ Koltira's in the sunny courtyard, standing beneath one of the trees. Shadows and light play across his face, throwing the cold, icy glow of his eyes into stark relief. He's wearing greaves and boots, but only a plain, black tunic otherwise (and the skull-shaped ring that serves as his communicator). Byfrost, as ever, simmers darkly on his back.
He doesn't speak right away, as though he's suddenly lost his nerve. Truth be told, he's not sure how to begin this. The middle part is clear, and the end bit, too, but ... he exhales. ]
My name is Koltira Deathweaver, if you did not know it before. I have hurt a number of you directly, and in so doing, hurt others indirectly. Some of us have spoken, though not all. I will try now to explain myself.
[ He leans back against the tree, uncomfortable. ]
My second name is not a family name. It is an epithet, forced upon me as undeath itself was forced upon me.
[ He gestures to his eyes; his sallow, bluish, cracked skin. ]
I earned [ this word he spits, disgusted by it ] the epithet during long years of enslavement to a will that subsumed my own. The Lich King ordered my death; he remade me into one of his knights. And though I broke free, and though my brothers and sisters rose up against our former master, his mark on us remains.
[ He taps his foot on the grass. ]
We call it the endless hunger. It is a curse--of blood, of flesh, of whatever unholy foundation holds our wretched bodies together. Hunger is perhaps the best way for you to understand it, though it is not for any typical food. We were made to be machines for war. We were made to cause suffering. If we fail in this, we suffer ourselves.
The pain is ever present, albeit manageable. For a time. But if we--if I--do not give in to the hunger's demands, the pain grows. Worsens. It becomes wracking, all-encompassing.
[ He holds up his hand, curling his fingers slowly into a fist. ]
Imagine starving to death, and yet being unable to die. Your body is past its breaking point, but it does not break, because it cannot.
[ His nails dig into the palm of his hand. Black blood trickles down his wrist. ]
Instead, you break. As we do. If I ignore the hunger for too long, I descend into madness. A blood-seeking hysteria. Such was the state in which some of you found me.
I do not tell you this as an excuse. Only as an explanation. I deeply regret what I have done, and I am sorry. You need not forgive me. I do not expect such. If you would rather I keep my distance, I will honor this wish.
[ He pauses. ]
I wish I could end this by telling you that it will never happen again. But that would be a lie. It will. I cannot cure this curse. I can promise only this: when I feel the madness taking hold, I will give due warning. You will be able to spare yourselves, and you will know that if you see me--you must run.
He doesn't speak right away, as though he's suddenly lost his nerve. Truth be told, he's not sure how to begin this. The middle part is clear, and the end bit, too, but ... he exhales. ]
My name is Koltira Deathweaver, if you did not know it before. I have hurt a number of you directly, and in so doing, hurt others indirectly. Some of us have spoken, though not all. I will try now to explain myself.
[ He leans back against the tree, uncomfortable. ]
My second name is not a family name. It is an epithet, forced upon me as undeath itself was forced upon me.
[ He gestures to his eyes; his sallow, bluish, cracked skin. ]
I earned [ this word he spits, disgusted by it ] the epithet during long years of enslavement to a will that subsumed my own. The Lich King ordered my death; he remade me into one of his knights. And though I broke free, and though my brothers and sisters rose up against our former master, his mark on us remains.
[ He taps his foot on the grass. ]
We call it the endless hunger. It is a curse--of blood, of flesh, of whatever unholy foundation holds our wretched bodies together. Hunger is perhaps the best way for you to understand it, though it is not for any typical food. We were made to be machines for war. We were made to cause suffering. If we fail in this, we suffer ourselves.
The pain is ever present, albeit manageable. For a time. But if we--if I--do not give in to the hunger's demands, the pain grows. Worsens. It becomes wracking, all-encompassing.
[ He holds up his hand, curling his fingers slowly into a fist. ]
Imagine starving to death, and yet being unable to die. Your body is past its breaking point, but it does not break, because it cannot.
[ His nails dig into the palm of his hand. Black blood trickles down his wrist. ]
Instead, you break. As we do. If I ignore the hunger for too long, I descend into madness. A blood-seeking hysteria. Such was the state in which some of you found me.
I do not tell you this as an excuse. Only as an explanation. I deeply regret what I have done, and I am sorry. You need not forgive me. I do not expect such. If you would rather I keep my distance, I will honor this wish.
[ He pauses. ]
I wish I could end this by telling you that it will never happen again. But that would be a lie. It will. I cannot cure this curse. I can promise only this: when I feel the madness taking hold, I will give due warning. You will be able to spare yourselves, and you will know that if you see me--you must run.
no subject
I should kill you now.
no subject
[ He's contrite, but he would still defend himself. He ain't about the afterlife for the undead. ]
no subject
[Gilgamesh hums, and despite his words it's a more neutral sound than judgmental. Thoughtful.]
What do you live for, Koltira Deathweaver? Why breathe when you admit yourself to be an abomination? Answer honestly.
no subject
[ He could be a jackass and point out (as he vaguely recalls Gil did, though most of those encounters are already being sliced to ribbons in his memory) that he doesn't, in fact, breathe at all.
If anyone had asked him this question a year ago, he would have an instant answer: to kill the Lich King. To have his revenge. But he's got that.
And now? He thinks of Sylvanas's torture chambers, waiting for him should he ever be sent back. He thinks of the punishments he's already endured, and why. ]
I live now to make my own choices. To be free.
private;
[But if Koltira pays attention, the tone seems almost self-damning. As if he meant to say we instead of you. He brushes past it quickly, and there is a pause on his end. He's drinking, of course. Though he's also weighing his options, and to that end, he switches the feed to private.]
Let us say someone was amenable to providing you a distraction from this hunger. What then?
no subject
[ Or he can try, anyway. Sometimes--like right now--that person seems impossible to reach. ]
... what do you mean?
no subject
Interested?
no subject
I would be. Tell me the terms.
no subject
[Once again, it could easily be read as a criticism against himself. But once again, he does not explicitly refer to himself as so helpless, much too proud, much too stubborn.]
Come to me and show me your potential. Test your blade against me, whenever you feel such ugliness rearing its head. And I will exhaust you, and I will sate you, and I will quell this beast that lives inside. This I do for a very specific price.
no subject
Warily: ]
What price is that?
no subject
[...really, Koltira couldn't have thought it would be that easy. Even without a visual one can practically imagine the coy little sneer that's just woven itself all across his face. But despite his tight-lippedness it's reasonable to say the price would be substantial.
After all, Gilgamesh was still considering slaughtering him in the street, just because he could and because the King of Heroes does not forgive so easily.]
Remember my name and remember my face. When that hunger approaches once more, pursue them. Then I will know you answer me in good faith.
no subject
You must suffer, Gilgamesh. Pain must be exchanged for pain.
no subject
[There's no room for misinterpretation here. He's all but inviting it.]
no subject
(Well, he does want to. But he doesn't want to want to.) ]
... as you say.
I agree to your terms.
[ Even if one is an unknown variable. Desperate times, though. ]