i'm out of my head; of my heart; of my mind [ open ]

[respired]

Who: Koltira Deathweaver (respired; you
What: Investigating, fighting, lurking
When: First half of the event
Where: Olympia + environs, particularly the Edrathe Ruins
Warning(s): blood & guts 'cause this one's nasty



I. SEARCHING;

[ Koltira wasn't present for the bomb itself, but he sure as hell saw that recording. He doesn't have any particularly loyalty or attachment to Olympia, and he doesn't know the specifics of the conflicts at work here. At present, he also doesn't care. He sees the situation as a two-fold opportunity, both for justice and blood.

So, a few days after the incident, he's in the city, and he's on the lookout. He starts with the Market district, though that feels a little obvious. What fool would return so near to the scene of their crime? But some fools like to admire their handiwork, and the tense quiet of the bazaar provides a good atmosphere for gloating. He stalks the streets, fully armored, cloak billowing, expression forbidding. Not someone most people would grant an interview, innocent or otherwise. But he's not relying on eyewitness testimonies. Instead, he has other senses, he has sight beyond sight: keen ears, sharp eyes, and a sensitivity to any kind of magic.

He examines the alleyways and the vendor stalls, he eavesdrops on hushed conversations, he tries to find some whisper of dissidents. He looks for signs: secret graffiti, suspicious packages, the lingering scent of a spellcast. Fragments of broken weapons. In the Entertainment district, he ducks into the theaters and the brothels, he lurks in the dark corners, he listens and he waits.

He gets a few leads, but nothing concrete yet. He walks around, eyes open, steps careful. If he spots someone who looks like a fellow refugee, he may stop them, ask them what they've seen. If they're noticeably ill, he will definitely stop, with a look on his face like 'What are you doing out here, frail living thing?' ]

II. FINDING;

A. ENTERTAINMENT DISTRICT;

[ It's evening in the Red Light district, and Koltira's running. Through observation and information, he's finally tracked down a couple of fugitives, and he means to ensure that they don't escape. The night crowds are thick and the air is heady, even now, even in this time of fear and doubt--perhaps because of it. Koltira pays no mind to the flesh on display, having eyes only for a particular couple trying to slip away from the edges of the throng. He follows them to a less populated area, a deserted street lined with older buildings and shops, half of them deserted.

The man stops, scowling, as Koltira approaches. He knows he's been marked. He nods to his partner, and her hands crackle with electricity.

"We won't go quietly," the man says, as fire burns in his palms.

Koltira leers. He can't help it. They're so close, and it's been so long. The fight club does not satisfy; most of those battles end before either side draws much blood. It's a mere stopgap. But this, here? This could be the real fucking deal.

He speaks softly, advancing, drawing the sword from his back. ]

I hope you don't.

B. NOBLE DISTRICT;

[ This one had been hiding out as a servant. He has no magic, no extraordinary powers at all--except that he's incredibly fast, and he seems to have an endless supply of knives. Koltira's chased him to a park, but he's having a little trouble pinning the guy down. Mostly because, up until this point, they'd been racing through private manicured gardens and carefully landscaped lanes, places that were not necessarily populous but which could not be destroyed with abandon. The park, too, is a cut above the rest of the city, and Koltira is loathe to make too much trouble in this strange city.

But he's out of patience. ]

Enough.

[ He levels his sword at the man, and ice bursts from the blade; at the same time, iron chains erupt from the ground, ice-coated and unyielding. The man twists in surprise as he's rooted in place--he finds himself suddenly unable to even reach for his knives (some of which have grazed Koltira in the pursuit; black blood trickles down his cheek and throat as he walks forward, sword still brandished). ]

Your people have spread disease and fear. Perhaps you wish to know what that feels like.

[ The runes on his sword shift, turning from blue to red. The earth beneath the fugitive begins to churn and boil, and a choking red mist spills out all around him, rising and bubbling virulently into the air. The fugitive breathes in sharply: a mistake. He screams as his body begins to decay, as his skin dries and crinkles, as patches begin to slough off the bone.

Koltira closes his eyes. He looks like he's listening to a symphony. ]

III. LURKING;

[ The work is done, for now. Koltira's out in the Edrathe Ruins, sitting beneath the great shadow of a statue. He's made a sparse camp here, consisting mostly of a bonfire and a bedroll. He sits beside the fire, stoking it, surrounded on several sides by the decayed bodies of dead monsters. There's something else shuffling in the darkness behind him, making incomprehensible growls as it dumps firewood here and there, but the darkness is too profound to see the thing clearly.

If someone's out here--whether just passing through, whether wandering in sickness, whether on the hunt for hiding fugitives--Koltira stares at them as they pass. His cold eyes glow bright blue, and his expressionless face suggests that you have possibly come to the wrong neighborhood. ]

Do not make any sudden movements.

IV. WILDCARD;

[ Koltira's primary objective is hunting down Shady Man + friends, but he'll be all over the city over the next few weeks--as well as haunting the ruins like a fucking cryptid, of course! Grab me on plurk @ runehallow if you'd like to hash out anything else, or just go for it c: ]

Comments

I

[ayes]

[You isn't sick, per se. However, one might be forgiven for thinking that, given that she looks like she's on her last legs, pushing a wheelbarrow full of linens through the street and stumbling on the cobblestone repeatedly.

The truth is that she's just exhausted, really. She's been up since sunrise trying to help, trying to feel like she's not useless. If that involves wearing her shoes out carrying stuff all over the city, she'll do that.

But she hits a cobblestone the wrong way going downhill, causing the wheelbarrow to sharply turn to the side.] Whoa-- hey--! [You says, trying to wrestle it back upright and not have it fall, but gravity is working against her. This may be a prime opportunity to help.]

[respired]

[ Koltira's ears flick towards the sound of her shouting, and he's by her side in a hot (cold) second. He grabs the wheelbarrow first, hefting it back into position, and then holds it still while he stares at her. Eyes glowing, unblinking. ]

What are you doing?

[ayes]

Gah! [She shouts at his sudden appearance, taking a step back though (somewhat admirably) not letting go of the wheelbarrow handles.

This man is... unusual. His glowing eyes make her uneasy, as is the intensity of his stare.] M-me? I was just bringing fresh linens to the doctor's.

They're going through a lot of them, if you haven't heard.

[respired]

[ If he senses her discomfort, he doesn't respond to it--nor make any effort to adjust. His eye sweeps her up and down, then he looks to the wheelbarrow itself. ]

Do you have a ways to go?

ii a.

[lahaine]

[ From within the darkness of the narrow alleyway, a flourish of cloth. Boots heavy with the plate of armor came to an abrupt halt as a familiar smell and sight seemed to pique the slightest of interest in her. Fire? How quaint. There was no fire that scared her, why would she ever be frightened of something she herself could control.

She had stumbled upon this place on her trivial quest of “helping”, per her Master’s request (at least that was what she told herself.) While she had no real personal investment in this quest, she was bound to a contract - and that meant that she was going to help. It was merely an added bonus that she could murder.

Ah, it was just too bad it was already too late for these people who had decided to put up a fight. She wondered if these were the type of people who would cry out for their God in their final moments, only to be purged by the flames. How terribly ironic. How terribly…disgusting. In a lazy show of force she would brandish La Pucelle in one hand, the dark blade dimly illuminated by the sparks of flame as she drew it from its sheath. In her other hand her own conjured flame.

Eyes glanced over to the man who also seemed to be prepared for battle. They seemed to have a similar goal, and while not usually the best team player, she didn't seem to mind right now. An immoral smirk upon her face and clever quip dripping from her lips, she addressed him: ] Christ, don't let your only flare be your nostrils.

[respired]

[ He eyes her, his implacable expression unchanging. If her insult aggrieved him, there is no sign; instead, he lifts a hand as one of their attackers sends forth a gout of flame. A dome of dark, crackling energy rises around the two of them, and the flame crashes against it, uselessly--its power absorbed. The man steps back, momentarily off guard, and in the moment Koltira swings his sword in a wide arc, sending a frozen wave of ice in advance of his strike. The ice runs up against the two terrorists in so many glinting spikes; one stabs the man through the leg, another just barely misses impaling the woman directly.

She cries out, and bolts of lightning coalesce in her hands, spitting forth as she races at both Koltira and Jeanne. ]

Stay in the barrier, stranger.

[ He advances as the lightning whips towards them, his jaw set. ]

Or do not. As you like.

[lahaine]

[ Was he trying to play the hero? Disgusting.

About to protest, she was halted by his other directive, or lack thereof. His blithe attitude on the manner of her arrival was something she could appreciate. There was no overbearing need to protect, no real questions asked. It was straight to business. She could almost venture to say that she liked that. Though it wouldn't save him from her quips in the future, it seemed to placate her for now.

Her wild grin was never removed from her face as she exits the barrier. She felt no fear for her life. Even as the air grew charged with static and lightning raced towards them. If anything, it almost seemed like she was having a bit of fun. ] Ha...hahahahah! Don't you know anything?! Water conducts electricity!

[ Such an obvious schoolyard science fact, and one that she was aiming to make their opponents undoing. While this stoic man seemed to wield ice, she was of fire. Casting her flames at the path of frost he had created, she reduces the ice to flows of water, just in time for the enemy woman to electrocute herself within them - at least, if she didn't stop her assault path. ]

[respired]

[ Koltira had seen battle zeal like this before. Some death knights look on their bloodlust with grim resignation--such as himself, usually--but others embrace the curse. Glory in it. Revel. She seemed like someone strictly in the latter camp.

The woman does not react in time. She screams as her own magic fries her veins, crisps her skin. She staggers back, clutching her arm--now marked with a tattoo like a branching tree, now hanging limply at her side. Her partner cries out, rushing forward, a tremendous jet of flame pouring from both of his palms. He leaps at Jeanne, aiming to encase her in a sphere of fire.

'Fire with fire!' he shouts, and Koltira just shakes his head. He reaches forward, sending shadows racing along the ground. These rise up, grab at the man, encircle his throat. He chokes in place before Jeanne, his legs kicking, clawing at his throat. Flames extinguished.

Koltira waits to see what she will do. ]

II-B

[baguablade]

Stop!

[ A sharp cry as Cain approaches, his soft footfalls turning to pounding steps as he runs. He skids a little on the dew-damp grass but keeps his feet. He has his sword drawn, and he brings it down with a sharp ring of steel on steel, to no effect, on one of the chains in an attempt to break it.

His eyes are burning — not fear of Koltira, but for the man's life, even though the "m" tattoo on his wrist is still visible, not yet touched by the decay. ]

You're killing him!

[ Clearly, Cain expects Koltira to care about that detail.

[respired]

[ Koltira glances towards Cain, his eyes piercing, his hand outstretched towards the suffering man. His victim's doubled over, gasping, blood dripping from his mouth. He screams like he's in the worst pain he's ever felt. ]

Yes. As he deserves.

[baguablade]

What could he have done to deserve this?

[ A sharp demand, Cain's voice gone cold as he turns from the chains to face Koltira instead. He keeps his sword raised and at the ready, balanced on the balls of his feet — poised to attack. ]

This is torture.

[ A fact that Koltira is obviously well aware of. And yet Cain doesn't want to believe that Koltira can make someone suffer so easily. They may have met briefly, but the man who'd made a path across the sea in glittering ice hadn't seemed so cruel. ]

Lurking like lurkers do

[deathstiny]

[Needless to say, while there is a mystery to solve, Wrathion would not be far behind. In this case, he lags a little because of his obvious sickness (which hardly suits a creature of his blood). He has been horribly pale and breathless all day, but that hasn't stopped him from trying to find the culprit of all this. He is fueled by anger, though the anger is slowly burning to uselessness.

He spots the bodies before he spots Koltira, and it dawns on him rather swiftly that he would probably find it challenging to fight in his present state, even if he was certain that his magic would outdo most foes. Perhaps it was time to go find somewhere to hibernate after all.

But first, he'll sniff back some snot and hold himself as dignified as possible while drowning in sickness.]

At the present, I would not make much of a meal for your friend there.

[He is definitely watching that shadow and he WILL set it on fire if it gets too close. Spend enough time in Northrend and the presence of undead ceases to bother you.]

[respired]

[ The ghoul just grunts in response, as if to say it begs to differ. But it remains committed to its tasks. ]

Have you fallen ill, Black Prince?

[ Koltira's tone is neutral, neither reverent nor disdainful. He leans forward, his face made ghoulish by the fire's shadows. ]

You should not be ranging in the wild, if so.

[deathstiny]

Do I look ill to you? Don't answer that.

[Wrathion finds a surface to lean on as lethargy reminds him that he has already overtaxed himself.]

I was born in the wild. It is where I am best suited. Besides, I couldn't possibly sit still like this. A cure must be crafted. Immediately.

[Though an inn and some drinks sounded great right about now.]

ii a

[judicia]

( Anders has, for the moment, given up on trying to heal the sick and ailing that were filling up Lysa's clinic. He feels terrible for it, of course, but with Justice roaring back to life after hearing about the bombing, it was all Anders could do to keep himself together and, more importantly, to keep himself from snapping and otherwise terrifying his patients.

So he takes to the streets, wandering from district to district with only one goal in mind: to find the ones responsible and make them pay. He doesn't have any leads, yet, but he's keeping his nose to the ground for anything out of the ordinary. Something that would draw suspicion.

Or something that would draw attention, such as the taunting voices he hears echoing out from an old, abandoned street. He approaches the group cautiously, his hand reaching back and curling around his staff, brandishing it just in case someone wants to take an early, metaphorical swing at him. )

Two on one's not very fair, you know. Do you fools always play this dirty? ( He gives a small glance toward the elf. Hope you don't mind. )

[respired]

[ The man turns to Anders, sneering.

"With scum like you?" Flame crackles high in his palms, a jet that grows in strength the longer he concentrates on it. He throws his palms outward, towards Anders, sending that long tongue of fire right for him. "We sure as hell do."

Koltira quickly steps in front of Anders, Byfrost brandished. A glimmering shell of green light encases him, and the fire lashes against it harmlessly--absorbed, neutralized. ]

You will meet justice on this day.

[ He's holding his greatsword with one hand; with the other, he reaches out, sending forth a whip of shadows. This whip grabs not the man but the woman, who'd been readying a bolt of electricity for the both of them. It twists around her throat, chokes the words and breath from her mouth. Koltira flicks his wrist, dragging the woman in close. She only just barely misses the lancing strike that follows, thanks to a sudden crackling around her ankles, a burst of enhanced speed. A clever use of magic.

He glances at Anders. ]

I will deal with her. Kill the man.

LURKY LURKER LURKING

[moneytwin]

[ That he was able to notice her, even when practiced in stealth and mindful of her approach, means that either Vex is slipping. Or he's almost as observant as she is. The fact that she can feel the onset of illness, fever spiking her body temperature, is..well, probably a contributing factor.

She'd seen signs, of foot traffic, of battle with beasts and the spilling of blood. The smell certainly carried, too, but she hadn't expected...this. As it is, she freezes when addressed, brown eyes staring back from under the hood of her cloak of elvenkind, arrested by those strangely glowing eyes moreso than the decaying corpses.

She does not yet reach for the familiar curve of her longbow, pressed against her back. But she can feel one hand twitch, instinct wanting to send it behind her. ]

..Is there a problem, stranger?

[respired]

Not yet.

[ His tone is mild, neutral. The ghoul shuffles behind him, grunting softly, still gathering and stacking bits of wood. Its jaundiced, bloodshot eyes glow in the darkness as it turns to look at the visitor, though it has no particular reaction to her presence. It just keeps on working, its shock of stripped, straw-colored hair swinging against it rotted teeth as it moves. ]

But my friend here is sometimes easily startled.

[moneytwin]

Friend..?

[ Every hair on the back of her neck stands as the strange bloodshot eyes glow in the dark, and she looks back from Koltira to the ghoul, then back, then to the ghoul again. ]

[hissed, quietly] What the fuck.

[ She's seen zombies before. She's, uh, 'liberated' equipment from a necromancer, no less. But this looks, feels different. Vex rather doubts that the swordsman here has any interest in 'nature's candles' and the like. ]

Seriously. What..the hell kind of friend is that?

2b

[agradecido]

[Zevran, dressed in his own black armor, follows along on the rooftops above, though at an increasing distance. Whoever these two are, they're quite fast. He's not sure what this is about, but his own curiosity leads him along, racing along gutters and leaping over alleys and onto balconies until they finally, finally, come to the park. It's not quite as nicely put together--this is no one's private residence, but a public place, though it's somewhat deserted here in the night.

From the rooftop of a smaller building close by, Zevran was primed to jump down and assist whomever it was that he thought would be in the right here when all of the spellcraft started happening, and he stopped, ducking down flat against the tiles. His heart was still racing from the chase, breathing hard as he watched--

Well, he isn't quite sure. He's never seen that sort of magic before, but surely it's nothing good. The caster's voice carries in the open space before his victim's screams cut through the night, and Zevran watches as the man seems to rot in fast forward, rooted to the ground with ice. Some sort of acid cloud, maybe?

Brows knit tightly as he watches the two men, one in agony, the other seemingly enraptured by his victim's pain. No, he's not going to intervene in this. Best to stay out of sight.]

[respired]

[ Koltira, for his part, remains completely focused on what he's doing. Enraptured, even. The man's suffering will not be swift: he kneels in the choking mist, clawing at his throat, paralyzed both with pain and fear. Even if he could move away from the decay seeping into his bones and blood, he's too wracked with terrified spasms to move. His skin turns to paper; blood trickles from his burning eyes. A few more minutes and he's likely to collapse.

Koltira's happy to wait. ]

[agradecido]

[If he'd been familiar with the old saw about train wrecks, that's probably what he'd draw a comparison to--the sort of thing one can't quite force oneself to turn away from. It's morbidly fascinating, like watching someone succumb to the Blight in the span of a few moments instead of agonizing days or weeks. There's a cold sweat forming at the small of his back.

He really should leave while everyone's distracted, but the part of him that habitually courts danger wants him to stay through to the end, despite knowing how this will most likely end. The hesitation costs him time, but if he's lucky, he can stay hidden until this is done, and then slip back into the shadows.

At least he's too far back to be noticeable--he thinks. He doesn't know how well Koltira can hear.

It's almost over, at least, and then they could both be on their merry, separate ways.]

i.

[latkje]

[ Nash is also scouring the streets for information, but he's slightly more subtle about it. He wears his armor underneath his clothes and is apparently unarmed. He's spent the morning fixing children's toys, listening to merchants complain, and warding himself from the sickness. It hasn't been productive, if he's honest— he isn't— but he has marked one suspected evildoer and tracked him into the thinned crowd of the Market district.

Nash weighs his options— he'd like to avoid open confrontation, but he didn't want to let the suspect get that much further.

Then he sees Koltira, glowering in an alleyway, decked head to toe in dark armor, pale as the moon at midnight. He gets an idea, shoves his own hands into his pockets, and starts to whistle obnoxiously, hoping to get Koltira's attention without spooking away the mark. ]

[respired]

[ Koltira's long ears ain't just for show. They twitch at the high-pitched trill of Nash's whistle, and Koltira turns towards the noise, his teeth already gnashing. His own search has as yet proved fruitless, and that frustration bleeds into his tone as he stalks over to Nash. ]

Stop.

[ He is not a man of subtlety or stealth. ]

[latkje]

[ Nash doesn't exactly pride himself on not buying full into all of his country's prejudices— it's been useful, professionally, to keep an open mind. But every elf he's ever met has been aloof and unfunny.

And "elf" is the word he'd use to describe Koltira. Strange in complexion, maybe, but about the right shape.

He stops whistling. ]

I think you have me confused with someone else.

[ His palms are open, but his hands are gloved. ]