Peace talks (invite only)

“A delegate?” Kiersta mused, “Perhaps I am paranoid, but the last discussion I attended was full of deceit and ulterior motives.” The understatement rang false through the foggy air, a harsh reminder of the betrayal the betrayal only moments ago. It still wasn’t clear to her what these parties had stood to gain in such a broken armistice. Neither the Ruined King nor Jarvan the fourth were fool enough to believe their unyielding demands would be met. Did they plan to destroy each other in this open warfare? To end in a single battle the unending war that threatened to consume them both? Or perhaps it was the captive herself who drove them together, the only Demacian who seemed to understand the magnitude of the dangers they faced.

Kiersta shook her head to clear her thoughts, “No, you’ve already come so far, King of the Shadow Islands. Join us at the Institute that your will need not be diluted through the voices of others. Certainly we can see to your injuries along the way.” To allow the ‘delegation’ to retreat after an honorless attack was a folly unimaginable. Despite the glamor she wove upon her words, she had no doubt the king would see it for what it was: the League would not stand by idly while evil nursed its dark designs it the shadows.

Kiersta started slightly as she felt the half dragon’s tortured conscience brush against her own. She turned halfway to watch the healers’ progress, not allowing the concern to show upon her countenance, “Perhaps we might avoid lasting damages in the midsts of this terrible misunderstanding.”

Kiersta’s eyebrows shot upwards as the undead king spoke of the summoners’ power, seemingly unaware of his own situation. Could it be that power was all the man could still think of, his flaunting displays nothing more than an attempt to prove he had awakened? She raised her gaze to the shadowed fire of Hecarim’s visage. Both she and the king knew that he was beaten in his own treachery, and couldn’t be allowed to go on his way. Did he truly mean to send the centaur as a prisoner in his place?

She still knew next to nothing of this king, his motivations and goals as much in shadow as the rest of his kingdom. The Widowmaker had spoken of an incompatibility between his power and living land, but not how he may corrupt the earth he touches. There would have to be some other way. The persona she wore melted away at the king’s refusal, a cold hardness overtaking her voice, “You have given you word before as king of the undead, and proven it corrupt as the flesh you wear. I have no reason to doubt the Shadow of War’s honor, but speaking with your voice will not be sufficient.”

With Shyvana’s condition stabilized, the healers beckoned for Garen to lift her crumpled form from the ice and begin their trek back into the icebound skiff. She would remain weak, the summoner’s power enough to close her wounds and pull her from the brink of death, yet only time could tell if their ministrations could heal the damage to her soul. As they approached the skiff, six more summoners emerged from the depths of the ship to array themselves upon it’s deck. They stood silent sentinel to the proceedings upon the ice, little more than a reminder of the strength that lay in wait.

“No, I’m afraid it is your presence that we will require until such a time as our negotiations are complete,” Kirsta continued, her eyes lingering on the centaure despite the fact that she addressed the king. “Hecarim is welcome to accompany us on our journey toward the mainland. We will deal with the particulars of your… condition as they arise.”

Kiersta raised an eyebrow at the Ruined King’s flat refusal. Did he really think himself in a position to make his own demands? She smirked as he continued, shaking her head at his lack of understanding. “Inflexibility is the doctrine of a dying world.” She waved a hand toward the shattered and bloodstained ice, “We’ve seen enough of what it wreaks today. I know not how long you’re slept or what you know of our role, but the Institute stands for something that transcends the wars of the living nations, and those are the very terms that we must discuss. The land itself need play no role.”

At her coaxing, two of the summoners upon the skiff stepped forward onto the ice, their heads held high and proud. One a skilled healer, his strength still untested by the fallout of the discussion. The other was well versed in combat by fire, determination blazing in her eyes: Kiersta knew they would be able to hold their own should the fickle king prove false once more. “Where the Shadow of War would choose to tread is his decision alone, but should he grant his word, I offer my my own to his care.” She turned toward the centaur, the mask of impassivity fully covering her features, “I trust they are well able to repair what damages you have sustained in this engagement.”

Despite the strong facade she presented, the drain of magic, lethargy of blood loss and strain of deliberation was beginning to wear upon the high councilor. She hoped that the objections would finally cease that she might retire to a modicum of rest: no doubt the king required no such sleep, though at the very least attempts to repair himself should keep him busy for some time. There were many in the world who might take the easy path forward: to speak with force to overpower and kill in the name reach their goals. Many have already given up on the Institute and her dream of peace, but so long as power remained in her hands, she would press forward her own way. With luck, this devastation could become the first step in the right direction.