video; un: deathweaver

[respired]

[ Koltira's somewhere near the Edrathe Ruins, standing beside a smoldering fire. His runeblade glistens with fresh blood, its runes pulsing as they slowly drink. Shadows obscure the corpses around the fire, though they seem to be monsters or other wildlife for the most part--deer, wolves, bears, and a few of the more exotic species, too. There's the occasional sound of bones cracking, flesh tearing, like something nearby is eating.

Koltira stares forward, his expression inscrutable, his cheeks smeared dark red. It's been a long night, but he's not satisfied. He's never satisfied. ]

The beasts of this realm do not sate me. They die too quickly.

[ He brandishes the gore-caked sword, raising it in challenge. ]

And the fighting dens are too restrictive.

[ His head throbs. His sense of self--never strong in the first place--feels like a loose floorboard. He's been stumbling through the past few weeks. The past few months, even. Ever since the riots. He scowls, baring vampiric teeth. ]

It's not enough. I need a true battle. One without limits, fought against the living. Fought against someone who can scream.

[ Unholy magic, sickly green in color, swirls around his body, limns his tall frame. ]

I stay in the ruins. If you can offer me a real fight, then come find me.

[ His grip tightens on Byfrost's hilt. He lowers the runeblade as his long ears flick back against either side of his head. His guttural voice cracks slightly. ]

Please.

Comments

text; un: spanglethesestars

[ukase]

Dude, you need therapy and possibly medication.

[If he didn't think he'd be taken to literal pieces - while fun probably not his best plan - he would have challenged. However, he was a normal human.]

I think you need to get a hobby. Have you thought of bird watching? Finger painting?

[respired]

I do not.

[ Ain't no pill for what he's got. ]

Don't be ridiculous.

[ukase]

Hobbies aren't ridiculous. They are fundamental applications of attention.

How about pole-dancing? I hear that is a great mix of strength, dexterity and grace.

[respired]

[ Koltira's not an excellent reader of tone even with the advantage of nonverbal communication. With text, he's helpless--and, given the static crackling between his ears, needlessly hostile, besides. ]

Do you mock me?

[ukase]

Nope. I'm offering non-violent, non-screaming alternatives to your plight.

Nice BBQ by the way. Reminds me of Texas.

[respired]

I carve wood, and work with metal. But such things are not enough.

[ He pauses, because he only grasps about fifty percent of the rest of Brock's response. ]

I don't know of any Texas, but I would hope their meats are not plague-tainted.

[ukase]

So, you work with your hands a lot? Why aren't they enough?

Well, it's Texas, so plague-ridden depends on your definition.

[respired]

[ He continues not to get the joke. ]

The work is a distraction. A stopgap. It does not satisfy the curse.

It merely delays the inevitable.

[ukase]

What curse is that? Constipation?

[respired]

[ FROWN. ]

Your jest is in error. I have no bodily needs.

[ukase]

[Well shit...]

Well, there is your problem right there. You need to blow off steam, pal. Find a gal (or guy, I don't judge) and just... go for gold. You'll feel far less murderous after. Trust me.