Post by The Master Tactician on May 16, 2013 20:57:41 GMT -5
May 3rd, 23 CLE
The Master Tactician slammed open the door to his office, his eyes ablaze with crimson fury. Beatrice took flight from his shoulder to perch atop a nearby bookshelf, that she might overlook her master with an avian mixture of concern and intrigue. Swain's right hand gripped his cane, as always, with a necessary deliberation that had become characteristic of his movements. His left hand, trembling, gripped a thick manilla folder.
In a few uneven--though purposeful--strides, he crossed the room, depositing the package, which flipped open to reveal a shining, bloodstained dagger atop a stack of printed parchment. He drew back his chair, then rounded the seat to lean his cane against the desk. Then, slowly, arduously, he lowered himself onto the cushion. Alone, he made no effort to disguise the grimace elicited by the pain that racked his shriveled form. Even this simple act was taxing. How had it come to this?
With a determined grit of his jaw, he inched the chair forwards until it was comfortably situated before the desk. He began to sort through the reports, scowling heavily, setting the dagger aside. The Grand General was expecting a visitor to arrive at any moment--if he valued his life and station, at least.
Post by Andre Bleakwood on May 16, 2013 21:25:14 GMT -5
Andre was never so frustrated as he was when dealing with Urgot. Andre also held the latest reports from the wall. Besides his wanting to get the summoners on the Wall and at full efficiency, everything was going well. His engineers were working as they had been trained, constantly finding a weakness in the design and adjusting and adapting.
Nice and tidy. No back talk. They did the job that was asked of them only asking if they could make it work better. Just the way Andre liked it. This is why he did so well in defensive engagements, was his command of his territory, forcing enemies to fight where he wanted them too and preventing thoughts of retreat from entering the minds of his men.
Urgot challenged him and threatened to upset the structure of his command, and thus weaken his control. The control he needed to stay in his position and protect his country. Andre would not allow it if he could.
He arrived at Swain's office, knocking thrice on the door and entered with a salute when admitted into his General's chambers. After his salute, he went into attention. He was, of course, disarmed, but he wore his black chainmail he always wore.
"You asked to see me, sir." Andre stated as an enlisted man would say to an officer (which was just about the nature of the relationship in Andre's eyes).
Post by The Master Tactician on May 16, 2013 23:15:37 GMT -5
"I did," the Grand General rasped, fingers drumming before him on the desk. His tone was not heated, but somehow the even nature of his address seemed more ominous than another man's raised voice. Crimson eyes illuminated the pages before him. "I expect your report." With a trembling hand, he lifted the bloodstained dagger from his left and placed it on the foremost part of the desk. Bony fingers retracted with purpose and interlaced themselves on the desk before the Master Tactician. His blazing gaze never left his High Commander's face.
"And an explanation," Swain continued dangerously, "for the breach at the northern border." A moment of silence, nearly painful in its pronunciation, passed between them before the Grand General continued, "What in the name of Noxus is going on."
Post by Andre Bleakwood on May 18, 2013 10:12:34 GMT -5
Andre's face showed a hint of anger before restoring itself to attention and he extended the reports towards Swain.
"All is well on the Wall except that the summoners are not at full capacity yet, which I hope to address when there is nothing else of note to speak of, sir.
As for the incident on the Northern Wall, I have very little idea of what has happened on that front. I heard we lost two men and that someone or something got past the garrison. Sir, the North was the last place I expected anything from coming in. Whatever this thing is, it is stealthy and fast. I doubt it is here for no reason. Sir, I apologize. My men should know how to detect assassins trying to get past their watch. They should have seen the intruder and stopped it. Your orders regarding disciplinary actions towards myself and those on the North Wall?"
Post by The Master Tactician on May 21, 2013 21:58:57 GMT -5
Heavy silence encroached: a smog of admonishment pressing in. The Master Tactician's impassive mask never faltered, but his crimson eyes held Bleakwood's gaze, boring deep into the High Commander's own, luminous with foreboding fury. Swain said nothing in response for several suspenseful moments--until finally the tension was broken by a sharp knock upon the office door.
Luminous eyes snapped from Bleakwood's face towards the source of the noise. "Enter," came the Grand General's growl.
Without a moment's delay, the door swung open and eight imposing Raedsel guards marched over the threshold. They assumed formation at Bleakwood's side, saluted and stood at attention, awaiting their commander's orders.
Swain took up his cane. Slowly, his jaw grit behind his shroud, he pushed himself to his feet. Cane, step, step, he rounded the desk, crimson gaze still ablaze with grim intent. "Follow," he snapped to the nine occupants of his office.
Without a backwards glance, he strode from the room and down the hall, the clack of stone on stone echoing ominously through Darkbourne Hold.
Post by Andre Bleakwood on May 21, 2013 22:25:33 GMT -5
Bleakwood was rather confused as to what was going on.
What was so important that Swain would interrupt the 'dressdown' and drag Andre along?
Andre followed the Grand General, falling into step with the Raedsel guards without thinking. Well, the worst they could do was kill him. He had enough honorable service to be granted a quick death if the time came. Andre prayed that day would never come, but it was always a possibility in Noxus.
Post by The Master Tactician on May 23, 2013 22:42:04 GMT -5
The twisting higher halls of Darkbourne Hold were oddly quiet, carrying echoes from the busier floors below high into the domed atrium--carrying the heavy thuds of nine pairs of military boots in perfect time. On the party walked, their pace slowed slightly by their leader's limping gait, down the corridor, beneath countless stonewrought arches.
Presently, the procession came to a room at the end of a corridor, from which an undulating purple light radiated out beneath the door. The Grand General stopped abruptly, folding his withered hands over his cane, and waited for one of the Raedsel to step from formation and draw open the door before him. He stood straight, chin held high in dignity despite his sickly tremor, as the purple light from within the chamber broke free, casting a long, ominous shadow behind him.
Inside the room, twelve summoners--men and women of Bleakwood's own brigade--stood in a wide circle chanting, apparently preparing a ritual. Purple runes spread and glimmered on the floor in a circular pattern. A noise like rushing water filled the chamber: the sound of accumulating magical energy. Cane, step, step, the Grand General hobbled over the threshold, stepped past the summoners and took his place at the circle's far edge, crooked feet positioned upon a runic symbol--one of ten that lined the luminous design. The eight Raedsel followed suit, each marching to his own symbol and coming to attention. This left a single space in the inner circle for general Andre Bleakwood.
The Master Tactician's blazing gaze snapped to his officer, the premature lines on his face intensifying with irritability. "I'm waiting," he said coldly.
Post by Andre Bleakwood on May 23, 2013 22:51:41 GMT -5
Andre hesitantly entered the circle.
Andre's body outwardly showed his discipline as he stood as rigid as an oak. His mind was racing and his heart was beating faster than Andre was willing to admit. What was this? What the hell were they going to do to him? Death from an enemy was honorable, but death from a superior was one final mark of shame that could never be erased. There would be no redemption or penance. Only the black.
Ionia never held this much fear in his heart, nor did a swift execution from Swain. This seemed much worse.
'Why am I in the middle?' He thought to himself and the possible answers frightened more than a little.
Post by The Master Tactician on May 24, 2013 0:40:04 GMT -5
As soon as Andre's boots touched the designated rune upon the floor, the sound like rushing water became deafening. The luminous purple circle began to hum and spin. The summoners began to chant, their hoods drawn down over their faces as they initiated the ritual. Lightheadedness washed over those in the ring like a torrent of rain--but despite this, the Grand General maintained his grim resolve, jaw clenched behind his shroud, crimson eyes affixed firmly to his High Commander's face. The group's vertigo culminated in a blinding flash of light. Their bodies appeared to dissolve into showers of sparks.
Miles from Noxus proper, inside a darker room which smelled strongly of mortar and ash, the ten men materialized inside a circle of summoners. An identical luminous runic design shone beneath their feet for just a moment before the perimeter of summoners dropped their hands, bowed low and marched from the chamber. Swain straightened his military ensemble. A slight sweat beading on his forehead, he glanced around for Urgot, who would be arriving any moment.
The Master Tactician spoke not a word to Bleakwood, but hobbled past him towards a blueprint-laden desk. His Raedsel guards assumed strategic positions around the room, poised to act on behalf of their commander should anything go awry. Swain leaned back on the cherrywood, closing his blood-red eyes for a moment as the dizziness from their teleport subsided. He left Bleakwood standing in the center of the room alone, as though on trial, as they awaited Urgot's arrival.
Post by The Headsman's Pride on May 24, 2013 5:08:43 GMT -5
Metallic echoes resounded across the hallway leading up to the chamber. A single black leg gilded with golden lines pushed the doors open, and Urgot stepped through. He had come as soon as possible when the Grand General requested his pressence, but his motives were unknown to him; but he could have guessed that he was not pleased. Any sort of fear or contemplation vanished from his mind when he saw Bleakwood alone, frightened and nervous in the middle of the room. Urgot's lips would've curved into a sadistic smile, if he had any. Instead, he bowed his head at him, trying to remain polite. Bleakwood.
With a slow pace, his hydraulic legs ferryed him towards Swain, bowing his head as he approached. Forever strong, Grand General.
Post by The Master Tactician on May 24, 2013 10:04:43 GMT -5
As Urgot drew abreast with Bleakwood, the Grand General snarled, "Stop," his lined face grim, his aura radiating cold fury over the pair. Shrunken shoulders rose and fell with every breath, admonition seething from the general's core. And at his shoulder, Beatrice cawed, her cry like a dirge of doom for those accused. The Raedsel guards stood silent, at attention: unmoving sentinels along the edge of the room.
"You are going to tell me what the hell is going on, why I am receiving rumors of dissent and why, in the name of Noxus, summoner forces are not yet at full capacity." Swain spoke through gritted teeth. His voice, a dangerous rasp, rang so strongly with derision it sent chills down his audience's spines. "You are going to tell me why it was necessary for me to come hundreds of miles from my own duties to ensure that you are doing yours." The Grand General punctuated this final admonition with a purposeful shift of his gaze between the two subjects of his ire, as though to indicate he was equally revolted by the conduct of both.
Post by The Headsman's Pride on May 24, 2013 11:26:43 GMT -5
The general's rumbling, almost daemonic voice stopped Urgot right in his tracks. His legs clicketed on the ground, turning him around to face Swain, and his respirator flared up with a green tingue, letting his unearthly voice fill the room. I apologize for the delays on the summoner barracks, Grand General, but those rooms require magical calibrations and preparations on the magi's part. Since Bleakwood decided to retire his 100 summoners, we've been working at a third of our regular speed.
Post by Andre Bleakwood on May 25, 2013 18:49:39 GMT -5
Andre simply kept his stance at attention, albeit having a difficult time in the after effects of the teleportation.
Urgot's remarks however had Andre turning on the corpse with anger written all over him. "I told you I wanted summoners done first. I gave you an order and made it clear that if you did not do as I said I would not leave the mages I brought with me as having them there to not work on the wall is a waste of time and I could place them elsewhere in the meantime while you get your shit together. You spat in my eye. You have not shown me ANY respect and if you were not a champion of Noxus and the Grand General's friend I would have you gutted like a fish!" He shouted, and then realizing he let his control slip and returned to attention, facing Swain.
Post by The Headsman's Pride on May 26, 2013 5:23:08 GMT -5
Urgot merely turned his head towards Andre. But your summoners were working, Bleakwood. Summoner chambers were simply not the top priority, but their magical prowess has allowed us to continue the Wall's construction at breakneck pace.
You would have known this if you had payed any sort of attention to the project, instead of spending your days inside your tent, wishing for my demise.
Post by Andre Bleakwood on May 27, 2013 14:35:30 GMT -5
"I came to the wall for two days. I told you to report any change worth noting. I told you the Summoners were to be made a priority and you ignored my orders. Finishing the mage's quarters would allow the wall to be strengthened magically, allow more mages to be on duty, and thus increase your pace tenfold. You would know this if you were fit to command an operation such as this as opposed to almost executing princes or fighting on the Fields of Justice." Andre stated coldly, albeit with a hint of fire underneath. He remained at attention.
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