Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 7, 2013 18:34:16 GMT -5
The twisting passages of the late Boram Darkwill's castle reeked of dust and disuse. Swain usually preferred the familiar halls of his own estate, but these--darkly ornate and imposing, a true testament to Noxian architecture--did sometimes serve their purpose. Clad, as always, in his military garb, the general seated himself at the head of a cherrywood table. Servants entered and left, heads bowed, setting out a many-course dinner in perfect silence.
The room was dim, lit only by the dying embers in the hearth. The curtains, as always, had been drawn against the sun. Swain interlaced his fingers beneath his chin, perched motionless in his high-backed chair as the servants finished their business.
Finally, a hulking guard entered the room, his four-eyed helm glowing through the gloom. He knelt, awaited permission to rise. "What is it," Swain grumbled.
The guard returned to his feet. "Grand General, the guest has arrived."
The slightest of smirks raised the general's sunken cheeks as he replied, "Well, show some hospitality. Escort him.. up." His words were deliberate, punctuated as though they held some hidden message. The guardsman bowed and thundered from the dining room. Swain rolled his luminous eyes as the heavy footfalls retreated down the hall.
Post by Tekun Valos on Jan 7, 2013 18:49:46 GMT -5
Tekun Valos, the man who vowed to himself to take Swain’s head when General Du Couteau had gone missing, was soon to share a dinner table with the man at Swain’s request. Tekun was baffled, but the alternative was dealing with Swain’s honor guard for denying the invitation. Tekun was first and foremost asked to disarm himself entirely. The process took a little bit more than an hour, not due to the fact that Tekun was unwilling to part with his armaments but mostly due to the fact that there were so many and each and every one needed to be accounted for.
With each step, several other armor clad footsteps accompanied him as he made his way into the room with Swain. Four Raedsel guardsmen walked with the Immortal Soldier, whom hadn’t even thought to dress for the occasion. He was a man as large as the guards and judging by the look on his face did not seem to be all that amused or excited that the head of the city state of Noxus wanted to speak to him.
If it wasn’t for the company Tekun would be having for that night, he might have enjoyed it. The architecture, the food that was set up, the location were all things he seemingly had taken a shine to but the fact remained that at the end of that cherrywood table was a man Tekun wanted in a grave. Tekun approached the seat, and set himself at the other end of the table. With his best effort he turned his lips up into that of a smile and about mimicked Swain’s posture.
“…So. What’s this about? Don’t tell me you’re trying to sweep me off my feet or something.”
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 7, 2013 20:01:58 GMT -5
Swain allowed himself a chuckle--not a pleasant noise, but a harsh, throaty wheeze. "No," he replied simply, the bemused expression that flashed across his face giving way to a brooding scowl, a burning intensity. He did not immediately elaborate further. Instead, as his guards took up their posts--standing at attention against each wall of the dining room--he motioned to the banquet upon the table. "Won't you eat? Mutton, quail, roasted yams?" His red eyes remained fixed on Tekun's own as he spoke. Silently, as though they had stepped from the very shadows of the room, several servants appeared alongside the table, each bearing a set of gleaming cutlery.
The general's own plate remained hypocritically empty as he leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his golden breastplate. Perched behind his head, a foul-looking raven held silent vigil atop his chair. "Drink, perhaps? I hear you are a connoisseur of sorts." Then, without pausing for protest or request, he added, "This is about a story--for my... entertainment, let's say."
Noxus' Grand General was not a large man by any means, but especially alongside present company, he looked strangely sunken, decrepit. The dying embers accentuated each line upon his gnarled face, making his expression of manic curiosity all-the-more vile. "Valos, is it? Tell me about the third Rune War."
“Tekun. Jericho.” Tekun corrected him and his piercing cold eyes remained locked with the dying embers of his host’s; the look upon Tekun’s face could only be described as defiant but despite it he cooperated by taking a sample of each of what was within reach of him. His eyes shifted to both walls, where the Grand General’s honor guard was positioned. It was something Tekun took particular interest in; one on each wall, standing at attention. He wanted to know what was where if this went badly; it was always good to have an exit strategy or at least having the comfort of having one.
He made no comment about the empty plate before Swain, but the glance he gave after he sated his curiosity was all the acknowledgement he would give to it. “Whatever they’re serving.” He didn’t care for specifics when it came to drinks.
“I have enough dreams of them. They all blend together and feel the same. Violent shapes moving in the darkness, old and ugly. The sound of men dying and magic off in the distance. And somewhere, there was a woman and child crying. War stories are a cliché Swain. But I suppose nothing is a cliché when it happens to you. ” Tekun paused and made sure he reaffixed his gaze. Swain did nothing without purpose, he wanted something. “Why do you care?”
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 8, 2013 20:34:47 GMT -5
A smirk crinkled the crows' feet at Swain's eyes. The defiance in the other man's words, the unspoken hatred that burned in his expression, his rejection of propriety: all were interesting, perhaps unexpected. The cutlery-bearing servants stood awkwardly by as Tekun helped himself but took their cues and did not fuss over him. One of them hurried from the room, returning a moment later with a bottle of aged scotch. She wiped it on her apron and poured it silently into a tumbler before Swain, then into an identical one before Tekun.
The Grand General scoffed, "It is not the violence or fellowship you shared with your comrades that interests me. It is not the cries of the wounded." He leaned over the table, his expression intensifying as he added, "I want to know what happened to you. I want to know why, more than two centuries later, I am sitting across the table from a man who could be ten years my junior."
In the semi-darkness, the general's eyes remained fixed on his subject's youthful, but scar-marked face: two luminous orbs of obsession.
The amber liquid filled the tumbler to the brim and settled. Now it sat motionlessly within its new container and would likely go untouched. The warrior didn’t look at the drink but properly gave the woman a whispered, “Thank you,” before she left. It contrasted greatly against his mannerisms. He never looked once at the scotch and kept his focus on the embers of Swain’s eyes. They burned brighter with ambition and desire.
“Be honest. I’m just a resource to you. Someone useful. It’s nice you’re covering this meeting with fine food and old scotch but you know just as I do its horseshit.” Tekun’s words were stale and held no emotion. He leaned forward to match that gaze which was the opposite of his own, letting his grow colder. “You are starring at a story with no ending in sight. You should forget what you can’t understand, and focus on what you can do.”
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 9, 2013 9:39:48 GMT -5
This time, the general did not smirk. He narrowed his eyes as Tekun's final words lingered in the air--over the masterful cuisine and two tumblers of untouched scotch. When he spoke, Swain's words were measured, as though barely concealing the annoyance that festered beneath his composed appearance. "This is not a facade, "Immortal Soldier," merely a formality. I've requested a single episode of your voluminous tale--for my own benefit, yes. And surely that is not too much to give."
Swain cracked each knuckle as he spoke, finally folding his hands together over his still-empty plate, adding calmly, "Do not underestimate my capacity. I hope you did not accept my invitation only to sample the bounty of my kitchen--and then deny my simple request." He tsked mockingly, shook his head. "Manners, Tekun. I want the story. And the story I shall have."
Post by Tekun Valos on Jan 9, 2013 18:26:13 GMT -5
“I was “encouraged” to accept when the Raedsel showed up on my door step.” Tekun let his tone grow more warm and casual. His lips upturned into the slightest of smiles. “First off, you should be asking me about the first rune war. Not the third. I fought for Noxus during the last three wars. But my first two were with Demacia.” It was ancient history to him now, but it explained the lack of record on Noxus’ part.
“You see. I was…what? Twenty one at the time. Something like that?” He barely reflected back. He didn’t have the year nor did he care to try to find it. Remembering specifics always caused migraines. “I was on the field with a company of soldiers, one of many mercenaries with them, going from point A to point B. Summoners and magical artillery got in the way. High concentrations of Runic magic were unleashed upon us from a distance and poured like hail from the sky. Blue flashes of light and the world went quiet. When I came around, I was bandaged and propped on a makeshift bed, my body throbbed with a dull pain and all my senses were numb.” He paused and let his eyes fall upon the scotch.
“Most of them died, incinerated or torn apart by the initial launch. Others died shortly after due to complications. Some of them changed. I changed.”
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 9, 2013 22:40:15 GMT -5
Swain's face remained impassive as his guest spoke, his eyes unblinking. At the pause in Tekun's narrative, a single word issued from behind his shroud, bearing a fanaticism so intense it chilled the air: "Where."
Before answers could be given, the door to the room creaked open. The scotch-bearing woman had returned, now carrying a heavily-printed piece of parchment. She paused wordlessly beside the Grand General's chair, respectfully lowering her head until she was acknowledged with a blazing glare, the upward sweep of an eyebrow. Swain snatched the parchment from her and scanned it quickly. The servant kept her head bowed, avoiding eye contact. None of the staff seemed to speak unless spoken to.
Swain thrust the page back into her hands."They can wait," he said. "Do not disturb me again." Though the general spoke calmly, evenly, there was a hint of warning in his command. His blazing eyes seemed to complete the thought: Or else.
The servant kept her eyes on the floor as she received the parchment, bowed low, and then hurried from the dining hall.
Post by Tekun Valos on Jan 9, 2013 23:10:05 GMT -5
Tekun’s expression darkened when he saw just how the Grand General was willing to treat his servants. The look in his eyes and the warning that came with them made his blood simmer. As the woman hurried out he gestured for her to stop.
“Excuse me.” Tekun kept himself well-mannered and pleasant towards those who were serving at the least. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you possibly bring out the finest blue berry pie you have available. I’d greatly would appreciate it.” He gave a warm smile before looking at the Grand General.
“I have a sweet tooth that I would like to sate. Pie is a wonderful thing Swain. Do you have a particular kind that you like? I’ve always been fond of blueberry myself. I think it has to do with the aroma.”
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 9, 2013 23:32:12 GMT -5
The woman's expression was one of stark surprise as she turned on her heel to heed Tekun's request. She curtsied, replying, "Yes, my lord. Right away," then continued from the hall.
Swain rolled his eyes at this inanity. Though he did not appear otherwise agitated, his focus remained obsessively fixed on his initial inquiry. His face returned to its default expression of calculating composure. "Where did this occur. The blast."
As swiftly as she had departed, the servantwoman returned bearing a glass bell-jar--in which sat a perfect, sugar-glistening slice of blueberry pie. Behind her another servant followed with a glass of milk. They set these before the Immortal Soldier, bowing and curtsying in silence, as was expected of them.
Post by Tekun Valos on Jan 9, 2013 23:46:02 GMT -5
“Thank you kindly.” Tekun nodded and kept a warm smile upon his face yet and actually turned to look at both servants before he looked back towards Swain. His eyes had since stopped being so cold. “Patience.” Tekun responded to Swain with an absolute calmness to his voice. “The time for pie is now, Grand General. The past isn’t going anywhere.” He took a fork and cut the tip of the triangular slice, stabbed it with his fork and moved the piece to his mouth. He savored the sweet flavor and found it to his liking; it was truly well done. With a swallow it was gone, leaving only the pleasant after taste. Thankfully there was more and the aroma was ever tempting.
“Delicious.” Once again he looked towards the servants. “Thank you again.” Now that he was more or less done procrastinating, his attention shifted towards Swain.
“Um…somewhere to the East of the present day Howling Marsh. Somewhere between 20 and 50 miles from there.”
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 10, 2013 0:05:24 GMT -5
Swain's eyes flashed at the word, "patience." Few people dared to keep him waiting these days--and with good reason--but his insatiable curiosity won out over his rage. He watched as Tekun ate. For one centuries old, the soldier seemed so young at heart--so commonplace. Perhaps there had been a mistake in the bookkeeping? No. The Black Rose would not have made mention of him if they were not entirely sure...
"But this was centuries ago. Has anything similar occurred since, to your knowledge?"
The giant raven atop Swain's chair issued a screech into the semi-darkness, ruffled her feathers and hopped down to the perch affixed to her master's shoulderpiece. The subtle crimson glow of her six eyes matched the general's, echoed further by the helms of the four Raedsel positioned about the room. The embers in the fireplace had almost died completely before a servant darted over, woke the fire with a practiced hand and added another log to it.
Post by Tekun Valos on Jan 10, 2013 0:24:38 GMT -5
“Runic magic is unpredictable and has the capacity to alter reality. I know of one person and only one other, a Demacian who fought in the second rune war. He now looks like he could pass for Renekton, bigger than me. Red scaled, long lived. He left his city-state in shame and has since gone into self-imposed exile far from here. Other people are unfortunate enough to have their lungs turned to stone or gain extra appendages in addition to losing others.”
Tekun took another bite of his pie and savored it just as he had before.
“There’s a reason why there was a consensus to have it banned. Look at what it’s done to the continent.” Tekun noted the glowing as the room dimmed ever so slightly. The effect it had was unsettling, Tekun couldn't deny that. Even he felt a little put off by it, considering the situation he was in.
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 10, 2013 1:35:25 GMT -5
"As an educated citizen of Valoran, I am well aware of the risks and restrictions," the general snapped. With his withered left hand, he shaded his face against the light of the newly-fed fire. He glanced down at the tumbler of scotch beside him and, with the index finger of his right, began to trace its rim. "I want the location of the most recent similar incident." His burning eyes flicked upwards again, locking with Tekun's. "Do you know it?"
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