tuck yourself in; you better hold onto your teddy

[deadelfwalking]

Date & Time: Early morn 10/4
Location: Some ways away from the city (eventually)
Characters: Koltira Deathweaver (deadelfwalking ) & Arthas Menethil ( northrend )
Summary: IT'S GOIN' DOWN, SON
Warnings: only tea and crumpets in here

[Koltira is frantic as he searches the streets, his every sense attuned to the task at hand.  He had thought his existence on this island could not be any more complicated, any more harrowing.  And then he saw Arthas's wretched face on the network feed, taunting him, threatening the people of this island.  Koltira cannot abide this.  The traitor prince must be struck down, here and now.  Whatever suffering he endures to achieve that goal means nothing, so long as he can cripple Arthas in some way, somehow infiltrate his defenses to prevent him from immediately unleashing chaos and death on this world.

It takes him nearly fifteen minutes, but he finally finds what he's looking for, standing near the Hold, his expression cold and smug.  Koltira draws Byfrost and approaches.]

You and I have business, Arthas. 

Comments

[northrend]

[Arthas had watched Koltira move about the hold when he had gotten near its edges but had not quite laid eyes upon him. It was quite the treat, watching him jump about like a hunted rabbit, praying it would find shelter before the dog hunting him bared its jaws down on him.

Frostmourne is already drawn, bathed in its sickly ruinic glow embodied by the souls of innocents. His girth might have been imposing to any other person who had not personally dealt with him in the past, but to Koltira it is no doubt just another obstacle in his way.

The Lich King merely scoffs at the Knight's comment.]

Good to see that I will not be disappointed this evening.

[He runs his thumb and forefinger along Frostmourne's center fondly. There's a distinct lack of presence in the back of his head to urge him forward. He'd noticed it shortly after his arrival, and it makes him less quick to strike, though no less aggrieving.

Arthas leaves the sword resting in his palm, but he looks up to Koltira when he speaks. Its that same odd fatherly tone he had used over the network. The tone he had learned from Terenas, when he addressed his Kingdom.]

Your place is with me, Deathweaver. Not them. That time is over.

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira's grip tightens on Byfrost's hilt as he strides forward, his expression an unfulfilled threat, a mask of quaking, uncontrollable rage. He stands before Arthas, the sword held in front of him, and scowls through his clenched jaw.]

No. My place was never with you, Arthas. You forced me--and my brothers and sisters--to fight by your side.

[Unholy power swarms in a green miasma around Byfrost; the runeblade's aura seems different than usual, as if it's somehow grown in inherent strength since their last meeting. Evolved, perhaps. The runes glitter all along the blade, anticipating Koltira's intentions.]

Never again.

no phone stop

[northrend]

[Arthas' interest is captured immediately by Byfrost's aura. He focuses on the sword rather than Koltira to observe quietly, saying nothing for a brief moment before he grins again.]

Your blade has seen some use.

[Only then does he look back up at Koltira, smirking once more. He would have had to kill to obtain such an unhealthy glow, and with all his talk of being seperated from himself, it was satisfying to see.]

You will always be Scourge, Deathweaver. Tantrums and rebellion will only bring more pain to you and those dearest to you.

[Arthas turns Frostmourne comfortably, and the blue aura around it ignites along the stretch of runes covering it.]

You are weak. You will not be able to protect them.

[deadelfwalking]

I have wielded it in defense of this island, and I will continue to do so.

[It's not because he thinks of Exsilium as his home. He doesn't consider the choice between Arthas or the people here, because such a decision would imply that he belonged to one or the other, and he doesn't feel that he belongs anywhere. But many of the people here are good, well-meaning, innocent. He would give his life for them, such as it was, without a thought.

He's prepared for the reality that he might have to do just that.

Koltira takes a step forward.]

I have no one dear to me.

[a lie, but his voice is cold and hard, his expression inscrutable, because he's trying to convince himself that it's true. He knows that he must kill his affection for the people here; must kill his desire to speak and spend time with them. His presence has only brought them pain, and Arthas's arrival worsens the threat tenfold. Koltira well remembers what happened to those he loved in that other city: horrible deaths, engineered as messages to him. Suffering untold, all to provoke Koltira into madness.

He cannot let that happen again.

He takes another step.]

But I will protect them. No matter what it takes, I will.

omg random icon pls

[northrend]

[Perhaps Arthas might have called him out on his lie, once upon a time, when he was more familiar to things like friends and family. But such a statement -- that he holds nothing dear to his heart any longer -- is a statement that the Lich King can accept, thanks to the nature of his minion's being.

Arthas only responds with a soft 'heh' as he shifts Frostmourne to his right hand.]

Come then, dog. I will remind you who's ends you ultimately serve.

[He will wait for Koltira to strike, to gauge the strength of Byfrost.]

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira lunges forward, Byfrost pulsing with unholy energy as he does so. He aims to use his natural agility to his advantage, striking in a rapid, precise arc at Arthas's midsection. The pale green glow envelops Koltira's body as he does this, seeming to imbue him with another layer of unnatural strength.

Koltira's goal is not to go right for the killing blow, but just to get a hit in--to make Arthas angry, and eager to fight. Because Koltira is sure as hell not conducting the rest of this right here outside the Hold.]

[northrend]

[Frostmourne is naturally a large and bulky sword, but Arthas wields it as if it were an extension of his own body. He has to step backward to ensure the blade does not pierce the softer areas of his dreadplate, and there is a loud clang as blade meets blade, the frosty aura of Frostmourne vibrating with the strength of the strike.

Interesting, and yet somehow also troubling if Koltira was no longer flying under the banner of the Scourge. Byfrost had indeed grown in strength. He frowns a little and shoves his weight back into a heavy swing, aimed to either disarm Koltira or at least force him to strike again.

Unlike Koltira, Arthas has no intentions of moving this fight. He might even be hoping for some random person to walk by, so he can strike them down and infuriate the elf further.]

[deadelfwalking]

[Despite the great force behind Frostmourne's parry, Koltira maintains his grip on Byfrost, keeping his stance solid in order to prevent being knocked down. He counters with greater fury, and the ground beneath their boots blackens and decays as he lunges.

A sudden surge of shadow power courses through his runeblade as he strikes, aiming this time to find a crack in Arthas's greaves; to slow, if not cripple him. The shadows roil off of Koltira's weapon in a strange, choking miasma as thin, pale arms reach up from the decayed ground, grabbing at Arthas, trying to keep him in place.

Koltira's mind works even as he executes this move, planning where he'll go, where he can take them that will prevent the collateral damage Arthas is imagining. He came here to prevent destruction--not to sow it.

At least not to the wrong targets.]

[northrend]

[Koltira's maneuver works perfectly, as Arthas had not anticipated Koltira's reactions to be quite so topheavy in sheer force. He turns with Koltira, throwing a heavy fist to meet his face when he moves in to attempt to cripple him. With the desecrated ground holding him in place for the moment, there was no way he could escape the strike in full, so rather than sit and take it, he will strike back in hopes that Koltira will regret coming that close to him again.

He snarls with fury, successfully baited by his misguided steps and the loud abrupt clang of blade meeting dreadplate. Blackened red ichor coagulates out of the wound, but its not enough to stop him -- the wound immediately begins to halt with the flow of gravity as he rips himself free of the arms holding him still.

Frostmourne pulses angrily as he seeks to follow up his punch with a sweeping arc, aiming to hit the knight broadside to stun him rather than attempt to slice him in half. The ground around him turns cold, begins to freeze, the grass sizzling with plague as the corrupting energy begins to bleed from his form.]

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira manages to dodge the punch, somewhat. Arthas's fist glances against his cheek, and the impact is significant, but not enough to slow him down. That strike from Frostmourne does the trick, though. He groans in pain as the blade's broad side slams against his armor, producing the exactly desired effect. Bilious anger rises in Koltira's throat, and his eyes flare in time with the miasma of energy that limns Byfrost.

A copy of his runeblade suddenly materializes, and as Koltira lifts and brings down his blade, the echo flanks Arthas and does the same--both intending to crack open a few more fractures in their opponent's defense.]