The deal. (Semi-open)

Darkbourne Hold

She'd performed to standards, the eastern gate fleet's lieutenant-general. No. The eastern gate fleet's general. She saluted, chin held high in pride as she was dismissed with a gruff, "Forever strong."

"Forever strong," she echoed, her plaited hair swinging behind her as she left the room. The Grand General listened to her retreating footsteps, the echo of the escorting Raedsel's heavier boots. He lowered himself into a chair, buried his face in his hands.

The Arrow will serve us well. His capture was... fortunate.

The general leaned forward, folding his arms over the table, laying his face upon them. He spoke to the floor. "I ride for the Institute tomorrow." He paused, sweat beading on his forehead, then added, "Everything will change."

For the better. We know this. This is what we want.

"For the better," he repeated.

A heavy knock rattled the room's door, shaking the general from his reverie. "Grand General? There is a visitor approaching the castle." came the bemused voice of a guardsman.

"Don't talk to me from the other side of the blasted door." Swain snapped.

The door to the room swung open. "Sorry, general, sir," said the guard. Despite having been reprimanded, his tone was still light and amused, as though the nature of his news was humorous, absurd. "It's the Outlaw, of all people. Malcolm Graves. He's waiting outside the gates."

Swain quirked a brow. The second time in two days that an unexpected champion had come to call. "What does he want."

"I don't know, sir."

Swain glared. "Well. Find. Out," he intoned impatiently. The guard hurried from the room, down the twisting stairs and out across the estate to meet Graves at the iron gates.

Yet another guard marched down the path, his crimson cape streaming behind him in the wind. When he reached the iron gates, he disregarded the presence of his fellows, speaking directly to Graves, "The Grand General would know your purpose, Outlaw. What business moves you to seek council in Noxus under cover of night?"

The hulking Raedsel leaned in, the eyes of his helm aglow. "Remember your place, Outlaw. You are in the sovereign state of Noxus, and you will abide by our customs. The general asked after your business. And no one sees him armed. I will ask you again, what is your business here?"

The guard grunted in reply, then turned on his heel and left, barking back to his fellows. "Watch him. Cut him down if he tries anything."



Another knock rattled the door. This time, Swain got to his feet, red eyes blazing in annoyance. He took up his cane and limped across the carpet, seizing the doorknob, throwing open the door so that it slammed into the wall beside him. He said nothing, merely fixed the guard with a withering stare.

"Grand General, sir." The guard snapped to attention. "I apologize for the repeated interruptions. The Outlaw claims to have a proposition that would interest you, sir. He gave no further information." The guard paused, seeming to grow uneasy as he dropped from his stiff salute. "And he refused to give up his gun."

Swain quirked a brow, folded his hands over his cane. His voice was calm and measured, but a note of warning escaped his gritted teeth. His ever-present raven fluttered from the table onto his shoulder. "Please. Tell me what you are good for if I even have to fetch the door myself."

Intent upon remaining poised in the presence of his chief-of-state, the guard lifted his chin, replying, "I understand, general. Shall I escort him from the property?"

"No." Swain narrowed his eyes. "Bring him into the reception hall--where I can personally annihilate him for wasting my time."

With another salute, the guard hurried down the hall.

Listen first. He would be easy to control.[/font]

Swain growled as he closed and locked the door behind him. "I don't need another brainless lackey."

One with a face. One with a name.[/font]

The general grunted, turning to limp across the hall, down the stairs and into the foyer. He came to a halt between two impressive pillars in the entryway, rested his cane on the marble floor before him and waited for the guards to deliver his unruly guest.

(( The voices in my heeeeeaaaaad? .-. ))

The macabre architecture of Darkbourne Hold seemed an imposing backdrop for this meeting, its vaulted ceilings barely reached by the flame of candles sparsely spread throughout the foyer. There was no other source of light. The shadows cast on Swain's face made him appear all the more haggard, all the more twisted and sinister. He did not move to invite his guest further into the hold.

The general's eyes narrowed to slits. A gravelly answer came from behind his shroud, "I was not sleeping, Outlaw. But I am a very busy man. And I do not have time for the trivial this evening. So I'll ask you once: what do you want."

Swain's face remained impassive. His red eyes wandered from the outlaw's bearded visage to the shotgun still hoisted over his shoulder. "I've no use for a soldier who can't follow orders, outlaw." It was not a dismissal, but a test, carefully worded. His gaze met Graves', bored straight into him, studying, assessing, contemplating...