vi. video. unseelie locked. night of the 7th.

[vrykolakas]

[News has reached the front lines. The Brucolac has rubbed his face clean for this broadcast, but his pupils are blown, blood drying in his eyebrows, and he hasn't taken off any of his armour.

He looks like cold hell.]

Those at Caer Scima who got out. The Ninth Spire has room for you; if you need to avoid the sunlight, the cellars are ready. Blood, food, medical aid, a place to sleep, whatever you may need. Go via fairy ring, or else follow the Criostal down to where it meets the sea.

I can't meet you. [He grits his teeth, rubs at one brow with a spike-gauntleted hand, sounds like he's furious at himself for it.] Needed at the front lines. Give me some days. Until I return, my captains have orders to take you in and treat you well.

Comments

[selfimage]

And anything that is knocked down can only be built better. Dire times, perhaps.

[ as a new face, this is all very telling to him. they've already had their victory, why tear everything down? it leaves him almost as bitter as he might sound. his tone was lighter in battle. ]

Let them be damned.

[ he adds, before he can say anything to that. ]

Don't die yet. You're good company. That's hard to come by.

[vrykolakas]

[His lopsided grin flashes a fang.]

Trying to lash me to this mortal coil with sweet words and sheer stubbornness?

I died centuries ago. Whatever happens, I've long since had it coming.

[selfimage]

I could even write a few enticing lines of fine poetry if you're still debating an axe to the face. [ he says with cadence and the flippant wave of his dark nailed fingers that's supposed to make the offer all the more desirable. ]

Mister Had-it-Coming. [ inserting pointed look here. ]

[vrykolakas]

I'm more often known as the Brucolac.

[selfimage]

Mister the Brucolac, then.

[vrykolakas]

It'll do. What do I call you, swordsman?

[selfimage]

More trickster than swordsman, but as you've seen I'm no slouch with a blade.

[ he says lightly, tipping his head. ]

Loki of Asgard.