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[ hello barge, this guy looks pretty spiny, and furthermore, slightly not alive, what with the sickly pallor and the pale, glowing eyes. when he speaks, his voice bears a strange echo, dark and otherworldly.

he frowns, one long brow arched. ]

I suppose this is more or less preferable to a torture chamber.

[ a pause. ]

Koltira Deathweaver, death knight, of the order of the Ebon Blade. I'd say it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but..

No matter. I'll be certain to make myself of use.

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[He simply nods, but his face belies a feeling of sorrow. He knows, he knows his people suffered at the hands of that butcher. Sylvanas had been nearly enough to remind him, but now, another had joined them.

He, too, looks away, for a moment, and nods sadly.]

I see.

I suppose you did what you were able to. Many lost their lives.

[His father, included. A man he was never properly able to grieve for.]

There is no shame in it.

[He should have been there, and it haunts him. If he had not been in Dalaran, he could have helped, could have fought alongside his people.

But he wasn't there when they needed him. Reminding himself of that is like ripping open a wound.]

[ koltira hadn't expected this. he isn't prepared for this, he doesn't want this -- how could he have ever expected to see his prince again in this place, to speak with him, and be reminded so vividly of quel'thalas, the bright blur of scarlet and gold in the prince's robes a lurid reminder of silvermoon, in all of her beauty and glory.

it's almost as if he can feel his chest tighten at the thought of it.

no shame, he says, and yet koltira will not believe it, cannot believe it. he will always, always be ashamed. with an expression like stone, koltira forces away the waves of guilt and crushing anguish; weakness is not a thing he can display, not especially before the sun prince. ]

.. Mm. Nonetheless, it is what it is, and I am what I am. There is no going back.

Perhaps not.

[He knows that much, to be true. In all honesty, this is easier than seeing him in person, than having to abide that strange stillness he noticed in Sylvanas. To have to feel something cold and dead in his presence.

And yet, his heart twisted knowing that this one had died defending their home. He was another casualty of the war- and worse, he had been denied the sweet finality of death. He had been made a puppet for the butcher's amusement.

Despite his differences, and despite those that may have considered him a traitor or led astray...he loved his people. Everything he had done, every small part of his soul he severed and traded away, was for them.

Some part of him died as the trees withered in Quel'thalas. The scar carved into the land mirrored one in his soul.]

We have little here. Sylvanas Windrunner is here. The rest, as much as I can surmise, are human.

The butcher, Arthas, is present, as well.

[ if koltira had a beating heart still, he is certain that it would have stopped short, and immediately leapt into his throat. arthas? here? and sylvanas? koltira is always cold, but his skin feels almost too tight with it, as if it is crawling over his body, prickling, suffocating him. it was not so long ago that he saw her, after all, and heard the threat in her voice as she called forth the portal, hooked him cruelly, and dragged him to the dark bowels of the undercity.

and arthas..

for all of his self-control, koltira is visibly shaken, unnerved, and coldly furious. his luminous eyes widen with shock, his expression slack, then immediately tense again as he grits his teeth. ]

Arthas? You must be mistaken, my prince, we saw to it that he -- he was --

[ no, it's not possible, it cannot be. after all they had done to see him punished, to see him brutally slain and force fed his just desserts -- ]

.. it cannot be.

[This was new information. He had ideas about his place, as one might when they are more accustomed to the dealings of the Nether and its whims. Other worlds are brought here- other times are hardly a stretch of the imagination. After all, Arthas has been here for some time.]

You saw that he was...?

What, exactly?

[There's an odd pulling at the corner of his mouth at the very idea.]

Was he defeated?

[ kael'thas seems pleased, but koltira is anything but. it was his greatest triumph, helping to see to the lich king's fall, assisting in ridding azeroth of his noxious, hated presence for good - it gives him no pleasure now, to speak of it, knowing that he is here somehow.

koltira grits his teeth. ]

Killed. Within his own halls.

[Pleased, indeed. There's an odd mirth to his voice, and he feels...

...happy, somehow.

It's as if a weight that had settled on him lifted somewhat. Nothing too great, but something, still.

In his cruel joy, he's nearly blind to Koltira's own discomfort.]

I see.

Well, I suppose justice came for our people after all. Though I had no doubt it ever would.

[He nods.]

You've done well, Koltira.

[ you've done well..

these words would have held such meaning, only a handful of short years ago. before the destruction of quel'thalas, before he lost his life and became this .. this thing. before he killed so many innocents while under the thrall of a cruel master, a master who should have remained dead.

koltira's expression is hard, but his eyes are.. sad. deeply anguished. but he does what he can to keep it from his voice as he inclines his head again.. ]

It matters little now, it would seem.

[He nods slightly, and looks away.

They have lost much. Far too much, in fact. It was never fair. In his youth, he held onto the vain hope that things were fair and kind when you were good and just.

The world had taught him how very wrong he was.]

So it would seem.

[He falls silent for a moment, and then nods.]

Come to me, should you need anything. I'm afraid that, here, I have little to offer, but I will do what I can.

[ far too much indeed, so much so as to have nothing at all. even his life has been robbed from him, and what does he have left? what remains? only cold, hollow emptiness in his hands; if only he possessed thassarian's optimism, perhaps he could try to find a path, to find a place to belong, to see the good in things again.

instead he only goes through the motions, for what reason even he cannot say.

the prince's reply has him unsettled; who is he to warrant such attentions? to be deserving of the help of the prince that he has failed? koltira's brow creases, and he nods sharply. ]

My thanks. You have my blade in return, for what it's worth.

[ as if it could ever make up for the loss. ]

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