Post by The Deathsinger on Feb 22, 2013 19:43:46 GMT -5
February 6th, 23 CLE 2:15 PM Noxian sewer system
A solitary, robed figure floated over the copious amounts of waste that filled these tunnels, it's path only illuminated by what little light managed to find it's way through the storm drains in the streets above. Of course, in a city like Noxus it would be hard to believe that this being was alone in this place. Rounding a corner in the maze of tunnels making up the sewer system, the robed being found itself at the point of a rapier. It's wielder stepped forward into the light, revealing a roguish man of Ionian descent, clad in light armor and bearing handsome features.
"Well, now. What have we here....An ex-summoner, perhaps? Or just a little mage, lost and alone?" The man chuckled lightly as he pressed the tip of his rapier slightly harder into the robed figure's chest. "Well, I'm hardly keen on allowing anyone to pass through my territory without due payment....So, what will it be? Your gold...or your life?"
The robed figure offered no response, it's features obscured by the darkness of the sewers. After a minute's pause, the rogue grew impatient. "Death it is, then." He plunged his rapier into the robed figure, a killing blow to any mortal man. And yet the robed figure remained stationary, as if completely oblivious to the presence of his assailant. The rogue gawked in bewilderment as the robed figure floated silently forward into the light, revealing it's skeletal visage.
"Perhaps you should ensure that your victim's heart still beats before you stab it." The robed figure suggested in a dry, raspy tone. "You were entertaining for a time. Rejoice: I impart to you the greatest gift I can offer." The robed figure raised a skeletal hand towards it's assailant, who had long since realized that he was far outmatched, and was now fleeing for his life down the sewer tunnel. "For only in death one find the true meaning of life." The robed specter finished, releasing a bolt of dark energy blacker than the shadows themselves towards the rogue, killing the poor soul instantly. If the robed specter had lips, it would be smiling. Another piece in the puzzle had fallen into place...The perfect means of entering the city, found and obtained in one fell stroke.
February 9th, 23 CLE 4:32 PM Uptown Noxus, in the tavern known as The Meadman's Hideaway
The tavern was particularly busy that afternoon, Noxus' grand triumph coaxing many of the citizens into a celebratory mood. However, at least one of those present was not here to celebrate Noxus' victory. A Ionian man clad in browns and greens, bearing a mop of brown hair and blue eyes. Overall, he would be considered handsome were he not almost deathly pale. This man was here, if the flyers he had posted around town had done their job, to meet potential employees for a grand exploratory endeavor in search of a relic of the First Rune War. His preferred employees would be those of an adventurous sort: people willing to risk their life and limb for a gratuitous sum of gold coins, and a cut of any profits found during the expedition. They should be arriving any minute now...
(Open to anyone who might be interested in a good, old-fashioned dungeon crawl.)
Gragas awoke in an alleyway near the tavern, exhausted. Drool hung off the rim of his mouth, and his eyes were filled with sand. A cawing of a nearby crow made him open his eyes a bit wider.
"*Hic* Where..." Gragas could not finish the thought, as he had a massive hangover, and was very fatigued. He suddenly jolted up, cracking a few bones slightly. "Oh dear!" Gragas hoisted his large figure up, and noticed a nearby newspaper. He hastily picked it up, and looked at the date.
Februray 9, 23 CLE
"Wot!" Gragas burst into an uproar. A week and two days! He was asleep for a week and two days! The Rabble Ruser tried to recollect the events proceeding him awakening in an alley of Noxus. Naturally, none came to mind. However, he twisted his neck, and spotted the tavern.
Inside, many Noxians were chatting about successfully capturing The Burning Vengance, when Gragas burst inside, flipping a table over in the process. He spotted the Ionian, and screeched to a halt in front of him. The Rabble Rouser took a deep breath, then began talking. "IwasasleepinanalleyandIwokeupanditsaweekandtwodaysfromnow and could you buy me a round?" Gragas said the last part slower, and a lot more relaxed.
((Deleting my post in the Sona thread in order to do this,couldn't figure out anything to go from there.))
Post by The Deathsinger on Feb 23, 2013 0:19:18 GMT -5
Naturally, Gragas caused quite a commotion as he barged into the tavern so suddenly, drawing the Ionian's attention. His eyebrows rose as the Rabble Rouser said his piece. He thought a moment, before nodding and waving over a waitress. "Get a round of your finest ale for myself and the honored Champion, will you?" He motioned for Gragas to sit as the waitress filled a mug of ale for each of them. "So, my dear friend, are you up for a little taste of adventure?" the Ionian asked.
Gragas's eyes lit up at the prospect of this. The most adventure he'd had in the past month was passing out in Noxus for a week, and waking up with a huge hangover and no recollection of the entire event.
Gragas took a huge swig of the ale, and slammed it down on the table, causing the foam to splash over the top of the mug's rim. "Adventure, eh?. I'm up for it! As long as there's payoff for me, both in money and booze!" Gragas proceeded to belch very loudly, which turned a few heads with quizzical expression in his direction.
The Rabble Rouser sheepishly smiled at the people who stared at him, then continued talking to the Ionian. "So, what's this adventure of yours? Freljord? Zaun? Dare I say, Ionia?" Gragas winked, guessing the man's heritage.
Post by The Deathsinger on Feb 23, 2013 1:01:21 GMT -5
The Ionian chuckled lightly at the Rabble Rouser's antics. "Rest assured, you will receive due payment...and perhaps another round of ale or two after we return." He took a swig of his own ale before leaning in over the table to discus more sensitive matters.
"Actually, it's just south of here. Not far from the Great Barrier, there's a crypt that some say dates as far back as the Second Rune War." The Ionian explained. "The only problem is, it was the final resting place for several Noxian necromancers, and as such the potential treasure inside is heavily guarded. I myself am little more than an archaeologist who dabbles in magic here and there...But a big, strong champion like you should be able to deal with a few skeletons, right?" He gave Gragas a good-natured pat on the bicep and waited for the rabble-rouser's response.
"Of course I would be, you madman!" Gragas bursts in to laughter, receiving more strange looks from a wider group of people. "Skeletons? Nah, if I can handle champions like Lux, Katarina, and Anivia ((these are actual champs Gragas counters in game, just for that small bit of realism)) then I can surely handle a couple skeletons no problem!"
It was often a point of pride for Sylvia Monteclaire, the Mistress of the Gladiatrix School to prove that her girls were not just merely for show, but were all blooded and lethal warriors; resourceful, competent and unflinching in any challenge. Whenever rival houses challenged her ego and claim, she made it a point not only to point out the latest scandal they were involved in, but also to prove them wrong- by sending a Blood Bride on an ‘adventurer’s’ errand.
The Meadsman’s Hideaway
The Noxian noble Sylvia always had a dress for every occasion, and a gathering at an Inn for mercenaries called for a leather tunic, hardened boots, a rich, dark cloak and hidden weapons. As a Noxian native, she could make her way over to the tavern with little trouble.
Alongside her was Caerys, more popularly known as the Blood Bride Vermillion. The gladiatrix also wore a cloak, though her face and head were clear for all to see- it was all about publicity and attention, and quite a few heads turned to see that an Arena idol was here among the common tavern rabble.
The arrival of the League’s Rabble Rouser had elicited hushed speech and caused many to hide their drinks, but the arrival of a local starlet elicited cheers, recognition and wolf whistles. Sylvia ignored them, and asks each gathering of grizzled mercenaries and dark, hooded figures about the notice she held in hand. She hissed liked a viper at any man who attempted to touch Caerys or herself, if only because they had not paid for the privilege, rather than any genuine concern of her slave’s dignity.
She approached the heavily concealed figure and the very rotund league champion. “Greetings, master Gragas, and stranger... as all the other gentlemen have denied claim to this mission, I would assume that you are the proper sponsor of this endeavour?”
Post by The Deathsinger on Feb 23, 2013 14:38:48 GMT -5
The Ionian returned a lighthearted, if a bit awkward, chuckle. "Well, I am glad you can handle yourself. Is there anythi-"
His sentence was cut off by a loud outburst of cheers, applause, and cat-calls which heralded the arrival of a hooded figure, accompanied by the gladiatorial sensation, Blood Bride Vermilion. Of course, there was little doubt who the woman under the hood was...and this suspicion was confirmed as the Matron of the Blood Brides made her approach. "Ah, Lady Sylvia Monteclaire, and the famed Blood Bride, Vermilion. A pleasure to make your acquaintances. Please, sit..." He offered the two women seats at the table before continuing. "Yes, I am indeed sponsoring and participating in this little expedition. I take it you have read my flyer...?"
"Well, we wouldn't be here now would we if we didn't read it? This is a matter of reputation more than gold, but any and all Marks are welcome addition to the house." Sylvia explained with a most high brow and posture, as she explained her participation in such an undertaking. She took a seat, but Caerys remained standing until the matron told her to.
"I am loaning Vermilion here to be part of your expedition, for reasons that can be easily guessed at. As her mistress, all her earnings are, of course, immediately the property of the gladiator school, and no, I am not holding anyone responsible for her survival. It is my wager after all." She declined to order a drink from the passing bar maid, and in short order removed Caerys's cloak.
Men turned to see what the Bride was wearing this time, but were sorely and vocally disappointed that Sylvia favored practical adventure dress for the gladiatrix over her showy, revealing arena outfit. Caerys wore a full body tunic, as well as one side having bladed armor. She had a backpack of field supplies, and carried a two bladed impaler glaive, much like what she used in the arena.
"Are we agreed then? I assure you she will be fairly useful."
"Hello there, handsome!" Gragas said to Sylvia, slipping slowly into intoxication. He snagged the drink that she declined, swallowing ti in one giant gulp. He then let out another signature belch of his, grinning in satisfaction.
As the two conversed, Gragas scanned the bar, when suddenly, a memory popped into his head from the previous night... never mind, it was a week ago!
Gragas noticed the supply barrels stacked along the wall of the bar counter, and remembered that on the night he passed out, he was retrieving such supplies. However, he didn't remember anything else.
He turned back to the two who were just finishing the conversation. "Of course, I would be glad to have her accompany me on this ad*hic*venture." He took another gulp of the ale at his side, grinning stupidly once again.
Post by The Deathsinger on Feb 24, 2013 2:06:46 GMT -5
"I'll be sure to protect your investment, and I'm sure that you will find a pleasant return." The Ionian replied. "I'm sure you are all wondering who I am by now... Dorian Kael, archaeologist and novice mage." He nodded slightly. "And I'm sure she will be most useful..." He then addressed the two who would be traveling with him. "Is there anything you will need before we set off? I'm sure the three of us will be adequate for this little expedition."
"Give me a moment..." Sylvia pulled Caerys over to the corner, then fiddled with her collar a bit. Then she handed the Bride over to the group.
"There... a month should be long enough. Perhaps if you finish early you can even go sight seeing, dear." Sylvia giggled to herself slightly. On Caerys's neck was a display that counted down one month. She gives her slave a pat on the cheek and a kiss, as well as a parting smile, as if seeing her off. She looked at Dorian and shook his hand, as well as give him a friendly peck on the cheek.
"Ihope you succeed then. I'll be seeing Vermilion in a month, alive and well or headless. Farewell! ...oh, and one more thing, I thought you might like to have this back temporarily..." Sylvia handed Caerys a simple leather belt, and the Blood Bride quickly took it and wore it. The noblewoman left the Hideaway, leaving the warrior with the duo.
Caerys looked at them both, a slight smile on her face as something of hers had been returned to her. "I am equipped with all I need to travel and explore... I too pray for the success of our endeavor." She eyed the mage, a bit more comfortable with his kind as she came from a troupe of witches. She looked up at the Rabble Rouser as well.
"...I am sure we can find ways to synergize our combat skills as well, mighty one." She said. She had seen Gragas hurl those heavy barrels every now and then... she began to think of how she could use that to her advantage.
"An archaeologist, eh? Welllll, *hic*, bones are nice tew..." Gragas was now fairly intoxicated, although he had definitely gone farther. His high tolerance to alcohol had made it so that it took 3 or 4 drinks just to get him a little bit tipsy, however, he had already gone pass this line, and all it would take to get Gragas to his golden state of non-sobriety was one more drink.
One. More. Drink.
Gragas proceeded to turn to Caerys. "Combat...mhhhhh, yes, combat. Fist and another fist...hehehehehhhhhh." Gragas had a childlike twinkle in his eyes, as he giddily smiled at the woman. Gragas eyed his drink, then stopped once more. He figured he didn't want to ruin the chance at adventure so early, so he restrained himself.
"Sooooooo, can we go tomorrow, then?" Gragas asked the archaeologist. "I wanna smash some skeleton face right in....or somethin along those linesh..."
Post by The Deathsinger on Feb 24, 2013 19:06:09 GMT -5
"Thank you very much, Lady Monteclaire, and I'm sure she will be back by then." Dorian replied as she shook his hand and gave him a friendly peck on the cheek. His skin seemed to be colder than that of an average person, but that could be easily written off for a number of reasons.
"Well, I am glad you are prepared." He replied to Caerys, then eyed Gragas for a moment before addressing the Rabble Rouser. "...Yes, we'll set off first-thing tomorrow morning. You should get some rest...Perhaps sleep off your drinks." He turned back to Caerys. "You can do what you wish until then...I'll pay for your room, and a for Gragas as well." The Ionian smiled. "We have a grand adventure ahead of us...Who knows what could be down in that crypt, hm?"
Caerys nodded to Dorian, finally able to relax her posture and sigh once Sylvia had left. She would have done alot of things now that she was left unsupervised, but the matron ensured to completely wear her out during the day with extra sparring.
"No... I am most tired from the day's training. I believe I shall retire early to have better energy tomorrow."
She immediately went upstairs to her room, leaning her glaive against the wall, placing her light flail on the table and hanging her belt and sheathed knife on the bedpost. Her backpack was left on the floor, as she stripped out of the awful, glove-fit arena battle dress. She had included on her purchases more practical adventuring attire, something that resembled her ensemble as a gypsy when she had come into the city. A loose, dark red blouse, leggings, a gypsy's skirt, comfortable walking shoes, even a bandana to hold her hair.
She danced about in it for awhile, finally relieved at being able to wear normal clothes and dress as her heritage's sake. And yet, as she came to a pause before a mirror, she saw all too well the changes Sylvia had wrought on her. The pale, smooth and unblemished skin replacing the tanned traveller's, the flat, straight dyed hair that replaced the wild, wavy raven hair, the make up, the physique of a warrior-temptress... a far, far cry from her origins, one that served a painful reminder of how she had changed- from a free beauty, to a beauty in the depraved eyes of a cruel Dominatrix.
She lay on the bed, closing her eyes and holding back her tears. She was going to travel tomorrow, like she had in her pilgrimage... but she was not free.
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