[It takes some finagling--Koltira's not unfamiliar with certain advanced technologies, but he's rarely interacted with anything of this complexity up close--but Koltira eventually manages to recreate the place he's looking for. Fortunately, it's a mostly simple terrain. Northrend is a frigid, desolate land, buried in snow, spiked with tall, frozen mountains. In some places, the ground is hard-packed snow; in others, it's pure, shimmering ice. Certain areas are split open, as though rent in two by a sword, and something wretched and ancient whispers from the chasms left by these wounds.
But to make it familiar, to remind him most powerfully of where he's been and where he's come from, there's one other detail in this simulation.
It's some distance away, looming over the skyline, but it's hard to miss nevertheless: Icecrown Citadel. The fortress glows with the same unearthly light that shines out of Koltira's eyes. Gargoyles and colossal skeletal monstrosities wander around the citadel's fortifications, and an atmosphere of menace pervades the area. The citadel's towers stab the sky; its very design is a challenge to anyone who might approach it.
But though some horrors remain, the citadel now is largely empty. The Ashen Verdict, an alliance between death knights and paladins, had seen to that.
Koltira sits now among the tundra, one leg folded over the other, staring straight ahead. There is silence here; there is cold; there is peace. Pain throbs in every muscle, but at least here there is no temptation.
For now.]
waystations;
[Koltira requires almost nothing in this life. But he does need something to do. Someone to hurt. He paces the waystation, aggravation clear on his typically inscrutable face. He has a problem, and if it's not solved soon, the consequences will be difficult for everyone to bear.]
VRD | waystation | ota
[It takes some finagling--Koltira's not unfamiliar with certain advanced technologies, but he's rarely interacted with anything of this complexity up close--but Koltira eventually manages to recreate the place he's looking for. Fortunately, it's a mostly simple terrain. Northrend is a frigid, desolate land, buried in snow, spiked with tall, frozen mountains. In some places, the ground is hard-packed snow; in others, it's pure, shimmering ice. Certain areas are split open, as though rent in two by a sword, and something wretched and ancient whispers from the chasms left by these wounds.
But to make it familiar, to remind him most powerfully of where he's been and where he's come from, there's one other detail in this simulation.
It's some distance away, looming over the skyline, but it's hard to miss nevertheless: Icecrown Citadel. The fortress glows with the same unearthly light that shines out of Koltira's eyes. Gargoyles and colossal skeletal monstrosities wander around the citadel's fortifications, and an atmosphere of menace pervades the area. The citadel's towers stab the sky; its very design is a challenge to anyone who might approach it.
But though some horrors remain, the citadel now is largely empty. The Ashen Verdict,
an alliance between death knights and paladins, had seen to that.
Koltira sits now among the tundra, one leg folded over the other, staring straight ahead. There is silence here; there is cold; there is peace. Pain throbs in every muscle, but at least here there is no temptation.
For now.]
waystations;
[Koltira requires almost nothing in this life. But he does need something to do. Someone to hurt. He paces the waystation, aggravation clear on his typically inscrutable face. He has a problem, and if it's not solved soon, the consequences will be difficult for everyone to bear.]