deathweaved

[deathweaved]

koltira being plagued by the shades and the suggestion not everyone was tormented by ghosts he's just specially unlucky like that kills me (on brand tbh)

[deathweaved]

world of warcraft: death knight 

 thassarian thinking about koltira  (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡

[deathweaved]

" There's this dream I have, sometimes ... Lordaeron, golden and green. Skies bluer than the sea. Scent of rose petals in the air. " His laugh is hollow, but what sound can they make that isn't? " Always end up in the Plaguelands, regardless where I fell asleep. Dunno which is worse --- waking where the paladins haven't yet restored, or waking where they have. "

ic asks always make me happy ily ♡

— @acherys

He remembers watching the sunrise with his brother, sometimes. It isn't a clear memory; sometimes he thinks they watched it from a tall spire at home, and sometimes he is convinced it had been no more than Eversong's tall trees. Most of his life is no longer easily remembered, and there is so much about Faltora he has forgotten. Koltira knows, however, that it wasn't something that happened routinely, but that it was special when it did.

Zoen makes a habit of it, he has noticed. And sometimes he joins, when he seems not to mind the company.

There is no preamble to the tale of her dreams, yet the moment she speaks Koltira turns to listen. It's easy to forget, sometimes, that they are a patchwork quilt of different origins; if death had a way of making differences meaningless, the Ebon Blade's bond only further coalesces the unity, race and language as irrelevant as factions and former allegiances.

A part of it lingers, sometimes. It did, in him; in not abandoning thalassian entirely, in having sought Quel'thalas before any other place. He will not assume it is the same for the Deathlord, at least not in the same way. But there are some things death does not erase — they would never have been freed otherwise.

His arms rest upon the balcony, weight supported by it, and his head turns to the rising dawn once more. "Must be truly terrible regardless, if paladin presence doesn't make it considerably worse," The dour humor of his words is not callous, but sympathetic; there is not one among their number without scars from terrible deeds. Tragedy followed them from the start, otherwise they would not be here.

"Have you been to Lordaeron, after death?" It would not be the same, of course, but he understands the longing — the desire to thread once more the ground of what had been home. Perhaps his line of thought is wrong, but it seems harmless to inquire when she spoke of the dream so willingly. A wry smile as Koltira glances at him once more. "Other than to save prisoners from the Undercity, that is?"

"Perhaps the better option would be to see it with open eyes from the start," he offers. "Just a thought."

[deathweaved]

i’m okay with fictional men becoming unhinged over the loves of their lives actually 

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considering his role in the horde (and, personally, i tend to think of in adhering to the idea of him being the first death knight to join it as thass is for the alliance), koltira probably can speak most of their languages, if not necessarily well. thalassian is his mother-tongue, and he held on to it greatly (he will speak to bloodmist in thalassian, he'll talk to other elves in thalassian if that's their preference) and it's definitely? a language he uses affectionately also. amidst the horde, he uses orcish as default, and he can communicate in the other horde languages also. when it comes to the alliance, i suppose the thalassian-adjacent he can pick up, and i think he'd know common too (in life, even, considering he was a farstrider, they worked with the alliance, etc). with that previous knowledge and his time in the undercity, he'd handle gutterspeak well enough. but despite his reminiscent tie to thalassian, deathspeak is the default to those who also use it.

[deathweaved]

@necroarchy replied to your post “”:

Ebon Blade standing around shittalking the living in Deathspeak

​koltira will translate wrongly if anyone in the horde asks what they were talking about

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<Koltira's eyes widen.> There are only two things in life that interest me, peon, and neither of them involve translating a Scourge tome for you.

the things that interest him in wotlk era: revenge against the lich king and a secret second thing (his boyfriend he hasn't seen in a while because they went to opposite factions)

[deathweaved]

koltira was always 100% sure thass would come and get him out of the undercity and that was. very important for him to not lose hope

[deathweaved]

Beyond Thassarian, how does Koltira get along with the other Knights? Any friends, rivals, enemies?

always accepting asks!

— @acherys

i think he gets along with the others well enough, for the most part. he is, pardon for the word choice, very chill. sure, koltira is prone to brooding and being gloomy, but that's. baseline dk behavior. he's not open in the sense of like, being willing to let others know him, sharing his struggles or anything of the sort. but i can see him being quite friendly in general, striving to make others feel welcome in what manner that may be possible. it's just something he never lost entirely, even in death — both the sense of humor and the innate friendliness. and it's why, i think, he's so promptly welcomed back in the ebon blade despite his prolonged absence.

which is also relevant on the topic of friendships. developing bonds under arthas' control is suggested to simply not be the standard, though it's obviously still possible, albeit not likely. i don't think anyone got as close to him as thassarian, obviously, and i think whatever friendships he had there would have been second guessed to an extent when they're initially freed. not that they weren't there or that he renounced to them or refused to see friends as that; more so that there's this confusion about feeling and how to deal with that when they're just allowed freedom, which only doesn't get in the way of his certainty towads thass because their bond was too strong for that. it's all part of why he didn't feel the belonging, initially. i consider it to be a mix of several things, from clinging to what he had in life now that he could choose for himself again, to not expecting the knights' unity would last beyond the quest for revenge, and that's just the start. by which i mean to say he likely had friends in the ebon blade, but he distanced himself from them a bit by leaving to join the horde and whatnot.

considering he isn't around acherus proper for a time but is the first death knight in the horde and remains involved with the faction until sylvanas sends him to gay baby jail, i can see him having closer friendships with other dks that were developed in their time together serving the horde. he also probably got to strengthen friendships during the northrend campaign to a smaller extent, because by that time there was still too much vengeance on the brain (and shadow ghosts) for him to deal with.

so, generally speaking, i think he gets along fine with the other knights for the most part, and that he'd always have been welcoming and helpful to those who needed it. which is not to say there aren't people he dislikes or who dislike him. being friendly doesn't mean he gets along with everyone, and though koltira isn't prone to picking fights, competition is not beneath him, nor is being mean-spirited on occasion. actual enemies in the ebon blade i don't think he'd have. maybe he dislikes someone who also dislikes him, but ultimately koltira would see none of them as actual enemies — not unless they turn against their other brothers in some way. and i suppose i don't need to say it but i will either way: this is of course the case with anyone who harms (or tries to, the attempt is enough) thass. then they'll have his enmity forever.

i'm sure much like we have orbaz being homophobic and/or xenophobic blatantly condemning thass for caring for koltira (and speaking in a way that's more derogatory towards koltira himself tbh) there are other people who might take issue with him being the way he is, or holding on to life prejudices or whatever. but quite frankly i think he doesn't care and would lean towards just keeping his distance in those cases. it's possible some of them do think he should have been left behind for his weakness (in both occasions he was captured) - and i feel that may get under his skin more, but i do think this sort of thing seems to be? more of an exception.

rivalry is very possible, specially if it leans more on the friendly rivals sort of thing. he can be very competitive, and he would enjoy it, even, having someone to engage in this sort of contest that would also push him to improve. but honestly i'm just speaking in general lines because all i said here is subject to change and i haven't considered individual dynamics that much to speak of them. he'd like mograine, and i already said he'd most definitely like zoen too. thalanor was also a farstrider who died during the scourge invasion, and that alone is reason for me to say they're probably friends (maybe even before death! idk). but yeah i don't think i have lots of specifics to offer when it comes to relationships.

[deathweaved]

gay

— @necroarchy

[deathweaved]

unfinished thasstira piece from like right when shadowlands came out

[deathweaved]

when patroclus said “i will never leave him. it will be this, always, for as long as he will let me” and when sam gamgee said “don’t go where i can’t follow” and when bucky barnes said “i’m with you till the end of the line” and kaz brekker said “i would have come for you. and if i couldn’t walk i’d crawl to you” and orpheus said “wherever she is that’s where I’ll go” and castiel said “i’ll go with you” 

[deathweaved]

"No more apologies, then." Their feelings truly should not be seen as reason to apologize; he does not feel guilty for them. If anything, that is but a manifestation of still present trepidation, relearning to walk this path, to understand letting another so close could still be a source of good. There is so much in their shared existence one may see as truly a reason to express regret. He remembers demanding (insofar as offering reassurance could truly be a demand) similar from Thassarian, when this unlife was new and the weight of his past deeds weighed on him heavily. He could not have done differently, Koltira had pointed out. Those were not burdens he should be damned to carry. There was nothing to apologize for. There is nothing to apologize for now, either. 

Thassarian has ever been more certain of the way forward than him, a fact obvious when one compared how they had dealt with newfound freedom. His choice had been taken with considerable uncertainty, even as he left his beloved's side for the first time in years. It had not been right, though perhaps he had needed to see it for himself — to learn whether or not there was a place for him with his people, if he could ever belong as a defender of Quel'thalas once more. The Undercity had been sought solely as a remedy for the ache of not belonging.

Thassarian had often been in his mind. Not just back then, but all throughout their time apart. "I doubted at times others would be willing to help," Something changed in them, he thinks, when the knights were freed from Arthas' control. There was plenty to unite them; and though the Ebon Blade may not be known for its kindness, their unity relied on more than the will of a master. Koltira had doubted it would last (a thought he considers with something akin to shame, true though it is), that it would survive the absence of the bond forged by the desire to make the Lich King pay. It did. He is glad of it for more reasons than simply having a place to return to, now. "But never you."

"It was always a matter of time," The affectionate tone remains, even if the words themselves are not quite the kindest. His smile is; there is no sharpness in it, no desire to harm. Koltira forgets what it is like, to be conditioned to it, if only for the moment. "You would certainly be foolish enough to break into the Undercity to get me out."

He cannot say there wasn't a day he, too, did not think of his most beloved; not with it being entirely true. There are days he barely remembers, one blending into another in the sameness of it all. There are others he wishes he could forget, when the haze of the endless hunger cleared and he was left to witness the remnants of his loss of control. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath he needs not take, but that still eases him somewhat. What grounds him further is holding on firmly to Thassarian's hand. Koltira is not averse to what they are, to the fact blood, violence, and pain are paramount to their existence; it is something else to be reduced to just that. To be made a mindless creature, tormented to the point of hysteria, so desperate for another's agony, so deranged by his own that nothing less than wanton carnage would suffice.

"Say, do you think we have time to take them for a ride?" A way to change his train of thought, more so than the subject. It gets under his skin with surprising ease, but Koltira fights it back (what he had been through would not define what is now, he vows, determined not to linger on the thought). Bloodmist huffs with what may well be indignation after he speaks, as if the idea of being reunited with his rider without being taken to the field offended him. The sound helps, too. 

Koltira knows with the Legion invading there is much and more to be concerned with, but they are free for the time, and the restlessness that bubbles within him would likely be soothed by venturing outside. Killing demons, if they come across any, is not the worse of prospects either. "You heard him. I fear Bloodmist may gore me if this reunion isn't everything he wants it to be." 

It had never been difficult for Koltira to soothe Thassarian. Even in Quel'thalas, when he should have been completely dominated by another’s will, and should have known no hesitation, Koltira knew the words to make him take pause, to let him live another day. Even within the clutches of the Scourge, it was Koltira’s safety that brought a temporary lull in his fury, recognized even by the other knights. It is so now, in the gloomy halls of Acherus, a body long stiff by the processes of death relaxing just a little more, growing softer in Koltira’s wake. Temperance had always been strangely present in him after death, but it felt far easier now, having Koltira back, a very part of himself restored in the process. Thassarian would have undoubtedly flung himself at his captors, given the proper chance, but the desire for vengeance is pale in his presence.

“You need not apologize, Koltira. My Koltira.” He is apologetic himself. Secrets were scarcely present between them; they had no place. Words unsaid had done enough harm for a thousand life times, as far as Thassarian is concerned. He would not ask Koltira to do anything but speak his mind. As deeply as his chest aches to think of what he had endured, as if his very heart still lie in its center and bleed for him alone, he is grateful to hear of these things. To know Koltira feels secure enough to tell him them now. He lets their noses brush, as closely as their faces rest, tentative but unquestionably affectionate. He does not need to hear that word aloud from him to understand — was every little thing he said not an expression of it, in so many more syllables? Was his very existence here, unbroken by the Forsaken for the very fact he could not let go of it, not proof of it? He cannot help but smile, not a trace sardonic. He lifts his chin a moment, pressing his chilled lips to Koltira’s forehead, imparting a gesture long thought lost.

I love you, too.

The Scourge had not robbed him of that. The Forsaken could not extract the very same from Koltira; nor did time’s flow dull the sensation, as it seemed to do to so many others, in the interminable afterlife defiled and made to walk the earth.

“Not a day passed I did not think of you.” And there were no words truer than that. Thassarian never took a rest from seeking out any way to restore Koltira’s freedom, to bring him back to the Ebon Blade — nor did he ever doubt that Koltira should still want such a thing, even when he knew that the Dark Lady’s methods would be less than merciful. Perhaps it had been foolishness that kept him so wholly certain that Koltira would remain steadfast, but if that had been so, he was happily, bitterly a fool. The same bond that kept either of them from raising their blade to the other, that had gotten them into this mess in the first place, would preserve him. He had to believe that Koltira had known it, too. That he had known Thassarian was coming for him.

[deathweaved]

i don't think koltira is really old. by elf standards he was probably young. but he's still older than most other dks 100%

[deathweaved]

You're grounded

you're not my dad

[deathweaved]

Understanding the reasoning behind the Banshee Queen's actions never made them easier to bear, nor had it led him to more willingly accept punishment. It had been some form of hell, to be subjected to that for years on end, to suffer an attempt to have his will subjugated after acquiring freedom from another master. Koltira, of all people, is not blind to the violence and cruelty the leader of the Forsaken is capable of. But he cannot hate her as he hated Arthas, even now.

The anger is evident in Thassarian's demeanor (a mistake to speak of it; though he holds it back, says no word to contradict him, it does not take a keen observer to see the rage simmering). He, of all people, would know how to read his dearest companion. Thassarian's jaw is set, his gaze flickering with the harshness of bitter winter. Koltira does not doubt he would have ended Sylvanas Windrunner himself, if he could.

Yet Sylvanas was never the important part (is that not the very reason she turned on him so viciously?). The Dark Lady is brought up at all merely to say she had seen the truth of the matter perhaps before Koltira himself realized it. There was no room in his heart to place anyone or anything above Thassarian; if it depended on his ability to sincerely harm him, Andorhal would have been gladly lost to the Alliance for he refused to strike first.

Koltira closes his eyes as well, as they stand so close, foreheads pressed together. "I wouldn't call it wisdom," He retorts, a wry smile of his own. Wisdom would have been not to join the Forsaken at all. This was but the pragmatic understanding of things: the reason for his imprisonment was not unfair, for he would always fail to match the devotion expected of him. That was for one person alone — the one who holds his scarred hands so tenderly, now, the one who moments ago was so enraged on behalf of his suffering.

Thumb caresses Thassarian's hand lightly, as soothing a gesture as he can make without breaking their contact. "Your feelings are justified. I simply understand the reasoning, as I understand I would have died again before they succeeded in ripping from me what I feel for you." He doesn't say the words (they feel as if made to shrivel and die in the tongue of the damned, even when the feeling itself has found its way to bloom, persistent against the most hostile environment). He doesn't need to. Thassarian knows; and would any proof be greater than what he had already endured? "They didn't understand. I barely believed it possible, for a time. Saying you bring up the best in me doesn't feel accurate," A brief pause - there is so little in him he could sincerely name good, after all. "But it is here because of you."

Lips curl into a half-smile, this time. "Forgive me the sentimentality. After everything, I feel I can indulge it a little. I just - missed you greatly, Thassarian."

“Not too much trouble,” Thassarian is quick to reply — he won’t hear of it. His desire to protect Koltira, as base to him as instinct now, was borne of nothing but genuine affection. He had been driven by guilt in the past, for any number of things; it was not difficult to feel remorse when there was plenty an atrocity he had commit by Arthas’ hand, as one of his first creations. Yet, while Koltira’s death was among them, shame had no place in the part of him that the other knight occupied. He had long grown out of it, long since learned to take Koltira’s forgiveness and their bond as truth. When he acted on his behalf, it was for the sake of devotion. “Not for you.”

The sound of Bloodmist’s stirring is not entirely foreign to Thassarian, as stoic as he usually is. The quality of it is different than it has been in many years, all the same. Not the defiant displeasure of a beast separated from the only hand truly capable of soothing it… a reunion, rather. In the gloominess of the stables, the chargers are hard to miss, eyes ablaze and hooves leaving scores of unnatural, gleaming frost on the ground. But it is the connection between rider and steed that truly draws them together again, unable to mistake any other for their companion. Thassarian watches the homecoming with a fondness, at least until Dusk nudges her way into his space, making certain he doesn’t forget to say hello to her, too. A Lordaeron draught horse, heads above all but the tallest peoples of Azeroth, disregarding the mare is no easy task. He rests a hand beneath her jaw in greeting, allowing Koltira a moment to speak with Bloodmist in what was once their shared tongue, before that of the dead. Her velvety nose finds its way partially buried in Koltira’s hair once he addresses her, a welcoming snort leaving it dusted in minuscule crystals of ice. She is often surprisingly gentle, once suited for tending a homestead. It is little surprise she and Thassarian get along so well.

He hardly needs the thanks Koltira gives him. He did not think twice about keeping Bloodmist here, keeping them all together, so that when Koltira returned — and he would return — he found his family awaiting him. Still, his own touch finds his face for a brief moment, admiring the glimmer of frost on his skin (thank you, Dusk), before Koltira speaks his mind again. As little as he likes to hear of the Dark Lady, at least, if not particularly in the context of his dearest intimate, he would never interrupt, nor disagree. It had been Koltira’s imprisonment, his pain, his suffering. And still, his poise in the matter was unmatched. It was the least Thassarian could do to listen. He understands, in some way, too. Sylvanas Windrunner had been Koltira’s Ranger-General, just as Arthas Menethil had been Thassarian’s prince. The former seemed a champion to her new people, unlike the latter. The Forsaken were her children. He never found fault or strangeness in Koltira returning to her, opposed though the Alliance might have been to her.

And perhaps Koltira was right; his pragmatic understanding of what had happened and why makes sense even when the very name has Thassarian’s hackles raising. Had they each intended to be soldiers of their respective chosen factions, it seemed little to ask of them to remain loyal. But it was impossible. Death had changed them. And nobody had come for Thassarian, none had locked him away in an attempt to break him like an animal. The Alliance did not punish him, but still he was loyal to Koltira first. Never would he raise a hand to him, not truly, not after the first time in Quel’thalas. The glacial vapors from his gaze flicker in agitation, his jaw locks in place. How the Banshee Queen could posture as anything but the spitting image of that which she claimed to rebel against, when she had done this? To one of her own, to someone who had followed her in life and now in death? No simple time done for a battle Koltira had not even lost, but to put him in chains for years, to torture him —

The anger rising in his throat is only tempered by the gaze Koltira levels him with. It was that thoughtful understanding again. More than that, it was Koltira’s devotion. Thassarian was incensed, yes, but only for his sake… and he could not stay so frenzied when he spoke so softly to him, doing away with the unpleasant part, the bitterness wedged in his chest plucked away and his nerves stripped bare. He comes close again, but it is only to gently press his forehead to Koltira’s, closing his eyes, acquiescing. He keeps both of his hands in his own.

“You are wiser than I can hope to be, Koltira.” His smile is a little wistful, but not without tenderness. He is not sure he will ever be able to forgive this, forget it, and he is not sure the thought will ever stop invoking a fury in him. But he saw no need in furthering his poor companion’s grief. It was enough, now, to be together again. “…and I am fortunate. That all you have endured…” was for me. Was for us. For years on end.

[deathweaved]

but also even though he doesn't belong with the elves anymore, i do think on occasion he will speak thalassian bc. there's just something about speaking in your mother tongue.