beyondthedoor | CLOSED; ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ?

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@azeroth

CLOSED; ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ?

CW: everything

Silvermoon.

A city of light, yet where the fire is brightest, the shadows grow longer. Even now there are warlocks who train and lounge with their demons just out of sight. There is no longer any kind of Naaru being drained of its holy energy, but the marks of that terrible imprisonment remain. There are some blood knights who believe strongly in Lady Liadrin's vision of penance and there are some who do not.

Lady Dawntreader-- middle class by birth, but granted that title because of skill more than vaguely noble lineage-- is sent to deal with an unruly death knight threatening the border of the city. She is told to use discretion, as it is one of their own. If that means knocking him out and imprisoning him until he feels better then that is what she will do. That is what she is expected to do.

It's not her usual job. She has worked as a healer and medic since the Argent Crusade called for help in Northrend. Silent but effective, no one can doubt her gifts lie in compassion and the use of the Light. But, healing often begins by cauterizing wounds. She also fills that job well. She carries a gleaming shield with her and a sword carved with blessings of protection; she will never hesitate to guard the innocent.

It is very late and dark on this side of the wall. She must be near one of the old runestones. The birds are still, the wind follows suit. The only sound is the faint rustle of her plate armor and robes as she walks, one hand on the pommel of her blade. She knows she is being hunted. In the absence of a candle, she extends one hand and calls for the Light, and it provides a warm shimmer that extends to the rest of her body like a gentle tulle cover.

She says nothing, but keeps her expression gentle, welcoming. Perhaps the reports were exaggerated and this death knight can still come to his senses. She hopes that is all it takes, but she knows she might have to fight.

Light preserve them both.]

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Koltira should never have returned to the city. He should have stayed in Northrend, and for a long time he did, even after the Lich King's fall. Scores of undead still roamed the tundra, their jaws eager, their claws reaching for anything that might stray too close. Someone leashed their wills--Koltira can feel this, see this--but they needed to stay culled.

But, for better or worse, he had declared himself as a member of the Horde, and the Horde had called on him. Plenty of undead roamed the sickened forests of Quel'thalas, but their numbers were thinning, now. They were far from their former master, disorganized, easily picked off by the greenest adventurers. Koltira's presence was redundant.

He began to lose focus. He began to feel pain as he hadn't felt it in ages; in years. Not since he was purposefully deprived during his time in the Scourge, as a test, as discipline. His hold on reason frayed. He was nearly to breaking.

He stalks the outskirts of the city, now, looking for something. Someone. Anything that can breathe or scream or struggle. He will not be pacified.

She was not fully warned that she might encounter a death knight in a frenzy. Garnet is not an expert on such things, but she knew they could occasionally lose control and become a threat. She had with her some rope so that she might take the troublemaker into custody. Most people, when confronted with a paladin, would fight a little bit and eventually give in. It was better to get help than to risk grievous injury.

But the death knight she sought does not approach her immediately. If anything, she sees him first-- a shadow behind trees. Something catches in her chest; she recognizes the Light calling to her, to help some poor suffering soul.

She doesn't draw her sword. It remains sheathed at her side. Still holding her lantern spell in her hand, she lifts the other hand to her lips and whistles sharply in order to catch his attention. Her lips are drawn into a tight line, but there's still no sign of aggression from either party. She's nervous, yes, but that's a far cry from fear.

She must try negotiation. Garnet extends a hand toward the shadows, her head canted slightly as she beckons him to reveal himself.

Koltira emerges without prompting. He needs no call; he can hear Garnet well enough. The breath in her lungs; the blood in her veins. Her body, alive and vibrant, nourished and empowered by the Light--it draws him forth as no word or gesture can.

"Leave me, paladin," he snarls. His face is already dark with blood. Dried smears of gore mark his armor, and his runeblade shimmers wildly, its runes shifting in random, lurid patterns. Koltira leers at Garnet as he approaches. Byfrost's red-caked blade drags along the dirt, digging a rut in the soil. "Lest you feel you can bear the consequences."

Her breath catches in her throat as the light scatters, bringing forth only the worst and darkest features of the death knight she was sent to save. He might be beyond saving, he's obviously lost it. She's never seen a runeblade do that before. She doesn't respond with words, but with the hardening of her expression. Pointedly, she places herself between Koltira and the direction of the road. Her meaning is clear: she is there to protect the people from whatever danger he might pose.

It's with great regret that she realizes what must be done. There is no way to dismantle him without a fight. And if she should lose-- well, she's not going to think about that right now. She can't. She lifts her shield from her back and finally calls her sword from its scabbard. It's a fine sword of elven make with its own blessings of protection inscribed in the steel, and it hums gently in her mind like paladin weapons tend to do.

She isn't a waif by any means, but even a bystander would know this fight was anything but even. This is Koltira Deathweaver and she's realized it far too late.

So much for backup.

Koltira doesn't have the faculties for an honorable fight. He watches her draw her weapon, sneering. Pain throbs between his temples, pain bad enough to cloud his thoughts, to dull his minor empathy down to almost nothing. He throws his hand out towards her, palm open, and a shadowy lash bursts forth. It cracks through the air as it comes for her throat, comes to grab her and yank her to Koltira's side.

Garnet has fought death knights only a few times. She never enjoys the feeling of dark magic wrapping around her body and controlling it. It feels invasive and wrong. But she is battle-hardened to a degree and doesn't drop everything when she's yanked unexpectedly. Instead, she immediately covers herself with her shield, hoping to use the momentum of being gripped to ram into him and maybe knock him off balance.

Of course she's starting with the non-lethal things first. This is a valued warrior of her homeland, twisted as he is. If she can get him to snap out of it or... something, then no one else needs to be hurt, least of all Koltira himself.

Koltira absorbs the force like a mountain. He does stagger, slightly, but not enough to let go of her, not enough to ease his vice grip on her throat even a little. He grabs at her shield with his other hand, trying to rip it away, to cast it somewhere off into the forest.

"You won't need that anymore," he growls. Icy power coats his palms, and frozen crystals begin to form at Garnet's throat, her ankles, up and down the length of her arms.

Her breath slips into the night. She calls to the Light and feels its presence, calm and warm, and she is also calm and warm. Koltira grabs her shield and it's gone but she still has her sword, still has her soul. Her right hand surges forward, bringing the glowing blade down... and then it stops, frozen, as her arm is locked into the ice.

That wasn't part of the plan. She's getting nervous now and uncertain and perhaps a bit fearful. He can surely taste it. She huffs silently-- not crying out, as she is decidedly mute-- and wriggles as much as she can. The ice is biting cold on her bare skin. She regrets not wearing full plate for this.

Her bright eyes shift to his. There is defiance there, yes, but also concern-- for him. The fight isn't over yet. Koltira still has the potential to get himself killed, if not by Garnet's hand then by someone else's, and that would be terrible.

Koltira doesn't even register her emotions, gentle or otherwise. He sees only a woman, alive, vital, her blood hot and her heart beating wildly in her chest. He sees what is denied to him, what will always be denied to him. He sees these things, and he craves them, with a violence that must be satisfied.

Koltira grabs Garnet's sword hand, and, while she is frozen, attempts to wrest the weapon free of her grip.

Garnet huffs more and struggles against her bonds but to no avail. She can't keep her grip on her sword without leverage, not when she's restrained like this. She feels the panic rising, the fear clutching her heart with cold talons, her breath coming up short--

-- and then she lets it all go. The Light washes over her again and for a moment she has some inner calm. If she's to fight without weapons, she'll have to wait until he releases her, which he is certain to do if he actually wants to hurt her. Probably. She gives herself over to the goodness of the universe and accepts what will come. It's the only way she knows how to deal with anything since the loss of her voice.

She stops struggling. After a moment she opens her eyes and looks at him, calm and ready, as if this is a game of cards and she is not being held against her will.

Your move, her look says.

Koltira's grip on Garnet's wrists tightens into a vice. His fingers, imbued with unnatural strength, squeeze the delicate bones of her joints until he hears them crack. Not quite fracture, though. Not yet.

The more he looks at her, the more familiar she seems. A vague sense of a name ghosts through his mind, but he can't quite catch it; it slips away from him, quick and nimble as a fish.

"You have one chance, crusader," he says. "One chance to turn away from this foolish enterprise."

He squeezes.

"Beg me to release you. Beg me, and I will."

She grimaces slightly at the squeezing, but no sound comes out. Even if she could beg, running away would only guarantee that some hapless adventurer would become his next victim. No. It stops here. Death is very likely, and she knows that. The smart thing to do would be to take his offer, return to Silvermoon and then fetch reinforcements.

But she cannot. She mouths the same words: I cannot. Can't speak, can't leave him. She steels herself for the inevitable, whatever that might be.

He tried. That thought does come to him, a whisper in the back of his mind, faint but present. He tried to warn her, and she took no heed. In his present state, he takes it not as compassion or courage, but as defiance. Angrily, he throws her, slamming her down to the ground, and jams his armored knee into the center of her chest. He starts to tear at her, at the bindings of her breastplate and her tunic and her tabard, at whatever his frenzied hands can find.

With him actively trying to hurt her now, it's easier for her to move. She still possesses some strength. While she ought to be scandalized that he's ripping off her plate armor, she feels her hands are being guided by the Light. Her gloved fingers brush his arms-- there's no way she can grab them and hold them, he's too strong-- and then she moves to his face, glowing hands cradling his cheeks like a caress.

For anyone else, this might be a soothing gesture, something that would calm even the angriest beast and heal its soul. But she's never tried it on a frenzied death knight before.

His gauntlets catch on something so small and delicate as to be overlooked: a gold chain bearing a garnet, with her name engraved around its setting. This is what makes her hesitate, what makes her breath catch and her heartbeat surge in a panic. This precious, tiny thing with her name on it, given to her by a very dear friend. Momentarily distracted from her healing, she tries to grab it and save it in the palm of her hand.

He's not consciously aiming for anything in particular, especially not after her Light-limned palms touch his face. The heat is searing, and agony wracks his limbs, worse than the pain already stabbing at his every nerve. He screams when she touches him, and he grabs at her wrist as she tries to protect the necklace, slashing at the thin skin with his armored claws.

The necklace itself he doesn't seem to see or understand, except as some kind of obstacle. He tugs on it until the chain shatters, and then he tosses the pendant away, into the dirt.

He throws it and it is gone, ripped from her grasp and lost to her now. And yet, that act only hardens her resolve. His claws rip through her gauntlets-- more luck than strategy-- and she knows she is bleeding, but she pushes that aside, everything aside, to focus on the task at hand.

So the Light does burn him. Like any undead. She supposes she should have known that, but in her naivete, she thought she could calm him down. She stops trying to heal him and instead tries to get her knees between them, so she can possibly roll out from under him and fight. If nothing else, the tall armored boots she wears beneath her skirt will serve her in this regard.

His senses alight on the blood--the scent of it, raw and savory and metallic. He grabs her legs as she tries to roll away, pressing his claws up beneath her knees, scraping at the greaves.

"Be still," he growls.

But--for once--he can't hold her. When she kicks him, her boots land squarely against his chest. It's enough force to knock him back, though not far. He's up again instantly, his runeblade dark with death runes. The ground begins to churn. Mist, red and virulent, rises from the soil.

He's up and so is she. Her sword is closer than her shield. She seizes it quickly and faces him, the Light alive within her once more; it makes the prayer etched into the steel that much more prominent. Blood trickles through her torn gauntlets but the Light quells the pain for now.

Wings made of light appear at her back, illuminating the darkness. As the mist congregates at their feet, she mouths a silent plea. The air around her shimmers as the Light grants her a bulwark for this final fight. Garnet gazes at him not with rage or determination, but only sadness... and then she flicks her sword.

Her boots barely touch the grass as she charges, blade searing the air and seeking his armor.

The Light is always with you. She remembers.

Koltira meets her sword with his own, parrying the strike, though he winces in pain as the Light burns his senses. Its very presence is anathema to him; to look upon it sickens him, as much as decay roils the guts of the living. Energy, sallow green and wretched, swirls around Byfrost. Its runes skitter violently along the runeblade's surface as Koltira presses his attack, his weight, against Garnet's.

Their weapons howl as they clash, belying the rage Koltira feels as he just keeps striking, drawing back, striking, hacking away at her without sense or mercy. He understands only that he is suffering, that she is alive, and that she can help him. That her screams can help him; her blood; her moaning; her flesh; her wet hot tears. Her heartbeat is already wild in his ears, and he would have it for his own.

To her credit, Garnet doesn't fall immediately. Koltira is incredibly strong. There is no doubt he became a commander by his own skill and power, rather than hapless circumstance. She meets his frenzied blows with calm parries and tries to trade a few blows in herself, but she is at a disadvantage without her shield. The only hint that she might be losing ground is the way her heels dig into the dirt, creating deep gashes where the fight pushes her backward.

A flash of light. Her shield dissipates, as her energy is not limitless, and she is sent flying into the trunk of an oak. Her sword spins and clatters far out of her reach.

I have lost. Not that she expected to win, either, but he's barely got a scratch, and there is still blood on her gauntlets. Her own blood. She wrenches her eyes open to look at her attacker but her vision dances and shudders, forcing her to shut them again.

Koltira approaches slowly, savoring the moment. The blood smeared across Garnet's mouth, her wet eyes, her failed, limp limbs, her body crumpled in defeat. He draws close to her, and kneels down, reaching to grab her by the chin.

"Open your eyes," he hisses, digging his nails into her jaw. "Look at me."

She sucks in a breath, her shoulders heaving. She's exhausted. There is no flicker of the Light when he grabs her chin, just bright fel green as she fights to keep her eyes open. She doesn't whimper or beg, though there are many questions in her expression. She probably won't walk out of this alive. She doesn't have to ask that one, at least.

Her fingers trembling from exhaustion, she raises her hand and brushes some hair from Koltira's eyes. It's a maternal gesture. If only she were stronger, she could end his pain. But now she has to pay for it. They both do.

The gesture startles him; unseats him, if just for a moment. It's delicate, and intimate, and utterly contrary to the violence he's expecting. For a few brief seconds, his eyes go wide: lost and despairing, their deathly glow overwhelming the whole of his face and expression.

"What are you playing at, woman?" he says, tightening his grip on her jaw. Feeling the bone fracture under his fingers.

She thinks she can't be imagining that expression, a flicker of soul in an otherwise violent and crazed creature. She would like to answer, wants to answer, but he is bruising her jaw and then worse. Tears well up at the corners of her eyes from the pain. She whispers, more breath than voice, "Forgive me." She forgives him, too, but saying that would come off as self-righteous.

Her breath comes fast but she tries again to speak. If he will listen, even for a moment, she has to try. Hopefully Koltira still has his elven hearing. Her words are slow and halted. "Please, do not... harm... anyone else. Only me."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

CLOSED; ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ?

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