[OPEN] not a spell gonna be broken with a potion or a priest

[deadelfwalking]

Date & Time: RIGHT NOW (that is to say, the afternoon of June 1st)
Location: Initiative training rooms
Characters: Koltira, perhaps yourself
Summary: Big dead elf guy swings big scary sword. Scary sword leaks black miasma all over the place.
Warnings: Pls do not touch the miasma. Or the elf. Honestly, you really shouldn't be here at all.


[Koltira hasn't seen much of anyone for the last few days. Although the events on that doomed other world had staved off the edge of his bloodthirst, he's now facing another problem.

Well.

He's not so much 'facing it' as he is 'doing his best to ignore it through strenuous physical exertion'. For once, he's not using Byfrost in his training; he's instead battering an enormous sandbag with his bare hands. This requires more effort than it seems, as Koltira must focus on his strikes in order to prevent slamming the sandbag off of its hook and into the wall. He punches with discipline, with restrained force, but even that is slowly wearing a hole in the leather.

He's dressed down, too: his long, pale hair is drawn into a ponytail and he's out of the armor, wearing just a black tunic and pants.

The sword is still there, though, as he cannot be out of its proximity for very long. It's propped up against the nearest wall, oozing shadows so thick they're almost--almost--tangible. The miasma crawling up and down the sword's blade had intensified following the battles on Elmer's world, and the sword's murmurings--usually soft and rudimentary urges to keep fighting, keep bloodletting--have recently become more hostile and complex. He's not sure what's going on, though he has a few ideas.

Ideas he would rather not contemplate, honestly.

Hence: the punching bags.]

Comments

[obliterating]

[He had walked down here to practice for a bit. As much as the fighting on Elmer's world had helped to silence the clawing in his soul to kill, he had felt a bit out of practice.

No one else would have really noticed, a half misstep here, a parried attack there, but Thassarian knew. He was getting rusty. He wasn't a prideful man, but he wasn't worth much if he wasn't practiced with his swords.

He's wearing plain, tan pants and one of his new shirts. He is reaching for a practice sword, when he hears someone else here. A peek around the corner, and there's a half-smile when he recognizes the man.]

Brother. I didn't expect to see you here.

[He doesn't note the sword for the moment, but something seems a little...off.]

[deadelfwalking]

[He doesn't notice Thassarian at first, but his attention snaps to when he hears the word 'Brother' fill the room.

With a wan smile, he replies:]

No? I must keep my skills sharp, just like anyone else.

[obliterating]

[He nods, and the smile spreads a little on his face.]

Take your blade, we'll see how sharp those skills are.

[Where is Byfrost, anyway? He looks around and...

...what the fuck??????

He looks at the sword, then back to Koltira, and then to the sword again. When he speaks, it's a bit hesitant.]

Koltira, is...is everything okay?

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira's expression sours. He's never unhappy to see Thassarian, of course, but he's not keen to discuss this problem. Or any problem. At any time.]

It's fine.

[He punches the sandbag as if to punctuate the statement.]

[obliterating]

[He doesn't look so sure, but.]

You know- you can talk to me if something's wrong. I...wasn't there for you, before. I wish I had been.

[But he knows there's nothing to be done about it, now, and that there's nothing he could have done, then, if Koltira didn't call for him.]

[deadelfwalking]

I didn't ask for you to be there.

[AND HE'S NOT ASKING NOW. Another punch, but this one is a little too rough. The sandbag's leather seams tear slightly.]

[obliterating]

[If he breathed, he'd sigh. He steps over and holds the punching bag still, standing slightly behind it to one side, and watching Koltira.]

No, you didn't, because you're a stubborn ass.

You don't have to suffer alone, Koltira.

[deadelfwalking]

[He winds up for another blow, but then Thassarian is there. Koltira maintains his position as he replies--his muscles tense, his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth a grim line.]

You need to get out of the way.

[obliterating]

[He doesn't want to. He really doesn't want to leave Koltira...but part of him just wants to turn around and walk away sometimes. Koltira wasn't the easiest man to deal with all the time, but Thassarian had a lot of conflicting feelings toward him.

Above all of it was probably the feeling that he couldn't leave Koltira to be alone. But what of this place, then? Koltira had been doing just fine without him. Better, even, than back in their world.

He moves, but only slightly, enough to not be blocking his path, but still watches him.]

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira delivers his punch, his expression sour with irritation.]

Don't worry about it, brother.

[obliterating]

One of us has to worry about you.

[He makes a slight face at him, pursing his lips and glancing sidelong at Koltira.]

[deadelfwalking]

It's not necessary. If I had a problem, I would tell you.

[except probably not, though.]

[obliterating]

...because you've done a really good job of doing that so far.

[He runs a hand through his hair, irritated.]

You have to let people help you, Koltira. You don't have to do all of this alone. People care about you. I do.

[deadelfwalking]

[He would have vehemently denied that several months ago. His entrance into Exsilium was pretty messy, and he's hurt a lot of people--if unwillingly--during his time here. But it's at a point now where he can't deny that these same people have forgiven him, again and again and again.

That's just all the more reason not to involve them in any of his troubles, though.]

... I understand that. But I can handle it.

[obliterating]

If you say so, brother.

[He look at him, and his expression is a bit different than the cold impassiveness that punctuates his words. These matter, and they matter because he means them.]

I trust you.

[Foolish, perhaps, but he couldn't force Koltira to let him in. He could only be there waiting patiently for the door to open.

And he would wait, no matter how long it took.]

[hornedomen]

Koltira?

[His voice came out weaker than he intended. It had been a while since he last saw Koltira outside of a mission. It nearly felt strange. He approached him for a closer look.]

How are you feeling? Were you hurt in the battle?

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira doesn't hear Ico at first--he's too absorbed in beating the hell out of the sandbag. But he does eventually feel eyes on him, and he stops, turns toward the boy.]

Ah--Ico. I sustained injury, of course, but that hardly means anything to me ... [He frowns, rubbing the back of his neck.] What about you?

[hornedomen]

I'll be okay.

[His wounds had mostly healed by now. It was remarkable that none of his injuries were serious.]

Koltira... [His voice trailed off. Byfrost caught his attention. He stared at it while thoughts crowded his mind over what he should say next.]

[deadelfwalking]

Good. [He thinks that's that, at first, but then he notices the uncertainty--and the direction--of Ico's gaze.]

What is it, boy?

[hornedomen]

It's worse now.

[It brought back a vision from the past, darkness so thick that it dripped into a pool like pitch. He shook his head, but this was not an old nightmare.]

The darkness is bigger.

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira glances at Byfrost, then back at Ico. He shakes his head.]

It's not your concern.

[hornedomen]

[He sighed.] Okay, Koltira.

[He closed his eyes. What else could he do? Koltira had told him that he would handle it if it became a problem and Ico trusted him. He grabbed his shield and he felt the surface of it. Its appearance had changed.]

Will you train with me?