ᴋᴏʟᴛɪʀᴀ ·sᴜɴsʜɪɴᴇ· ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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driftfleet2015-03-18 10:25 pm
respired) wrote in driftfleet2015-03-18 10:25 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Koltira Deathweaver
Broadcast: fleet-wide
Action: the Marsiva
When: Early March 17
[The sensation of waking is strange and unfamiliar to Koltira; he can't recall the last time he slept, or even fell unconscious. He rises slowly, flexing his plated fingers. His armor, freshly polished and repaired, gleams darkly under the stark light of the hospitality deck. As he stands, Koltira checks himself for injuries, injuries that were very present at his last recollection. He presses a hand to his side -- nothing. He touches his neck, and finds the recently shredded flesh mostly intact, but he still comes away with a smear of black-green ichor on his palm.
As he fully wakes, the old familiar pain shoots through what remains of his nerves. But he's smiling, sort of. His lips are slightly parted, anyway, showing sharp teeth; the look of an escaped prisoner.
Koltira runs his tongue over his canines. His deep, gravelly voice has an unearthly reverb to it, as though there's a ghost echoing everything he says.]
Whoever you are, my thanks.
Broadcast: fleet-wide
Action: the Marsiva
When: Early March 17
[The sensation of waking is strange and unfamiliar to Koltira; he can't recall the last time he slept, or even fell unconscious. He rises slowly, flexing his plated fingers. His armor, freshly polished and repaired, gleams darkly under the stark light of the hospitality deck. As he stands, Koltira checks himself for injuries, injuries that were very present at his last recollection. He presses a hand to his side -- nothing. He touches his neck, and finds the recently shredded flesh mostly intact, but he still comes away with a smear of black-green ichor on his palm.
As he fully wakes, the old familiar pain shoots through what remains of his nerves. But he's smiling, sort of. His lips are slightly parted, anyway, showing sharp teeth; the look of an escaped prisoner.
Koltira runs his tongue over his canines. His deep, gravelly voice has an unearthly reverb to it, as though there's a ghost echoing everything he says.]
Whoever you are, my thanks.
no subject
Zhas.
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My kind are called death knights.
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[...yep. that's... all he says. what a talker.]
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then i'm out of questions.
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[Good talk.]