Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 10, 2013 20:18:54 GMT -5
It had been at least a week since the Grand General last set foot in his own room. In the corner of the suite, a smashed antique looking-glass served as a reminder of his previous visit. He wore a navy robe, a white ascot pulled up over his nose. The wicked raven that usually perched upon his shoulder was absent, perhaps out delivering a letter. Without his usual mantle and breastplate, the general looked distinctly wan, frail. He allowed the door to fall closed behind him, fighting to keep his eyes open as he dragged his slippers across the carpet. Sleep. How long had it been? In fits of mania, the days and nights sometimes bled together. He could not remember the last time he'd laid in bed.
But tonight his aching body allowed him no option of refusal.
As he approached the four-poster bed, his gaze fell upon the form of a woman already curled beneath the covers, her violet hair spread out over the pillows. Matron LeBlanc owned her own estates--not to mention the room that was always prepared for her in Swain's own manor, should she care to visit. Yet here she lay, asleep in his bed.
Surprised, the general knit his brows. A dull ache for the passions of years past settled over him. He briefly wondered how often she did this while he was away--working feverishly over the High Command table by candlelight, buried behind books and scrolls in the library of Darkbourne Hold, out of state on official business. He laid his cain against the nightstand, sighing as he seated himself beside her.
"Evaine," came his whisper. In an uncharacteristic expression of tenderness, he stroked her arm with the back of his hand, vaguely hoping that she were not yet sound asleep.
Leblanc rested peacefully, her chest rising and falling lightly; the only thing between her skin and the air a thin silk sheet. She did not awaken at his touch, though her breathing did change slightly, and she rolled onto her side, taking his hand and cradling it close in her slumber.
She spoke out loud indiscernably "Jer... Rose, wi..." she let out a lengthy yawn "...eady" tusseling her indigo blue hair across her shoulders as she dozed.
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 10, 2013 22:33:27 GMT -5
Swain frowned. He left his hand in her grasp for some moments, appreciating its warmth. Then he straightened up, drew back the sheet and clambered under it. He felt relieved to share his bed, though his guest had come unbidden. Perhaps her presence would dissuade the voices, temper the nightmares. Perhaps her warmth would offer some comfort, even if from the other side of the bed.
He lay on his back, not bothering to remove his robe or ascot, folded his hands over his chest and quickly drifted off to sleep.
When the bed was displaced Leblanc woke with a start, gripping the sheets and holding them to her bare breast she sat straight up, firing a bolt of energy blindly in front of her. The thought of Swain coming to his own chambers was so farfetched that she had sooner predicted an intruder; her exposed back was chilled by the night air, and her shadow cascaded across the mountain of sheets on the bed - silhouetting herself against the moonlight window behind her.
She saw the form of Jericho Swain, already snoozing as though he was asleep before his head had even hit the pillow; she slid over to him, and wrapped herself in his arms as she turned back to face the moon, closing her eyes and drifting back into the twilight.
Post by The Eternal Nightmare on Jan 10, 2013 22:45:09 GMT -5
And as the Grand General succumbed to sleep, the shadows on the wall began to move. Slowly, they streched across the floor, rising upwards upon reaching the edge of the bed. They would briefly form two pupil-less pure white eyes before crawling into Swain's ear. As they entered into his subconscious, any sort of dream he may have been having would twist into a horrid nightmare as Nocturne browsed through his mind for a certain memory: the location of General DuCouteau.
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 11, 2013 1:45:15 GMT -5
A memory. A blur of memories. Dirty feet. Dusty street. Whitewashed walls and trumpet calls. Too distant. Not here.
Intruder.
Pyres, raging fires. The smell of melting flesh. A silent vigil in memory of those fallen. Not here.
What is your business here, shade?
Chemicals. Disease. Children screaming, running in the streets. Metal monsters. Acid slime barrage. The infuriating order to stand down. Ionia. Not here.
This is not your domain.
The kneeling form of Boram Darkwill, bound and gagged. A scepter in the night. An upward swing. Choking. The splatter of blood. Interesting. Not here.
Return to your own abyss.
A dungeon, crooked, twisted by the subconscious so that its corridors went on forever--or faded gradually into nothingness. A winding staircase. Uneven footsteps. Here.
The Grand General walked with purpose, step, step, cane, down into the prison's recesses, his red eyes blazing in the darkness. Water trickled down the walls along paths of black mold, glistening by torchlight.
At the end of the passage was a cell. At the rear of the cell hung a man, shackled to the wall, his head bowed. His hair and beard were so unruly they obscured his face. Swain waved his hand, barking, "Open it." The cell seemed to slide open of its own accord; he stepped inside. There were no other figures in the general's memory, only the prisoner and himself, facing off between the shifting walls of this nightmare dungeon.
The prisoner spat upon the floor.
"Manners," Swain cautioned.
"What do you want, Grand General?" the prisoner growled.
"You know full well what I want."
The prisoner laughed, shaking the hall with his hatred. In the distorted dreamscape, echoes of his mad cackle seemed to resonate for hours. "Look at you. The 'master tactician.' Butting your head against a brick wall."
In a swift upward motion, Swain swung the stone head of his cane into the prisoner's jaw. His eyes flashed with malice. He spoke through gritted teeth: "Tell me Darkwill's secret."
The prisoner laughed again, despite the blood now dripping from his chin. "It would make no difference, Swain. You'll be slain by your successor--just as he was." The hairs on the general's neck stood straight. "I've nothing to lose," growled the prisoner. "Nothing to gain. You've put me in the perfect position to refuse you. Should have thought it out better."
Swain narrowed his eyes. "You could gain a swift and painless death," he said coldly.
The prisoner grinned. A single green eye peered up at the Grand General through a part in his matted hair. "Or I could watch you suffer alongside me."
A roar of fury. A sheet of feathers. Echoes in the underground corridor.
Not your domain. Not your business. Be gone.
Swain sat upright in bed, gasping for breath, clutching his chest. He shoved LeBlanc from his arms. "No!" His red eyes bulged in the darkness. "Get out! Get out of my head!" He took two fistfuls of greasy black hair in his hands, pulling his scalp taut as though hoping to wrench the memories, the haunting presence, from his mind.
Evaine rolled away from the General during this conniption, Sitting up to look at him as he pulled his hair out "why?" she retorted, eying her nails to see if any had snapped in the tussle; "it's nothing I haven't seen before."
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 11, 2013 2:22:26 GMT -5
His chest heaving, Swain was silent for a moment before turning to face her. The white ascot had slipped down his nose, exposing patches of rotting flesh. His whole body trembled; he finally spoke through gritted teeth, "Dress yourself, woman. And get the hell out of my room."
Leblanc narrowed her eyes briefly, more in amusement than anger. "I'll give your space, Jericho. But you would do well to remember your place." She ran a slender hand over his face, only just pausing upon the raw, blackened skin before she vanished in a puff of purple smoke.
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 11, 2013 6:28:13 GMT -5
The scent of sulfur and the matron's heavy perfume hung in the air after she'd vanished. The echoes of her touch, her empty eyes, swam in his head--but they were distant, dim, as though they came from another realm entirely. The general had no thought to spare for her disapproval. Echoes of his dreams still seemed somehow realer than the world around him.
Darkness hung like fog about his head. Even the demon's voice was faint.
Let him tell the boy: we'll kill the boy... Child's play.
Noxus.. Sivir remembered this place far too well, they did not listen to her when she was against the invading Ionia.. and they paid the price. However, some time had passed.. and she assumed that the stop of the assassins coming to her was a sign of change.. a pity, she did enjoy using them as cannon fodder.
The Mistress smirked a little under the hood that shrouded her blue eyes, her cross blade rested on her back. It was no news to her that Swain had pretty much taken over Noxus, and she wondered.. maybe there would be work for her.
Sivir wondered throughout the city, though it did not take her long to find the Tactician's household. The guards were suspicious of the Mistress, and halted her advance "..You have some nerve, Mistress" Sivir smirked and threw back her hood of her "bandit" outfit, revealing her long, jet black hair that fell flawlessly down her back. "I am not here for a fight, surprisingly" though, she could easily have her cross blade in hand in an instant. The guards looked between each other and moved out of the way.
"Very well.. but if you dare strike at Swain, your head will be mounted on the wall" Sivir narrowed her eyes at the simpletons, tempted to strike them down where they stood, but decided against it. Instead, she continued up the steps to the entrance of Swain's domain, grabbing one of the big brass knockers, and letting it fall hard against the door, a loud clang echoing across the air
Sivir then crossed her arms, and awaited the Tactician's appearance.
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 11, 2013 20:10:15 GMT -5
Next morning.
Morning already. So much for rest. The Grand General's mind still reeled from the previous night's assault. He could not remember the details of the dream, but a sinking feeling lingered as he rose, donned his military mantle, fastened his hair in its clasp.
Downstairs, he sat at the head of a cherrywood table. The maids greeted him with tea, croissants, a tray of fruit, but the thought of food repulsed him. When the maids had retreated from the dining room, he pulled down his shroud, pressing marred lips to the warm teacup. Then there came a knock at the door.
In the foyer, a formidable butler, looking awkward in his coattails, drew open the front door. At first he looked surprised. Then he offered a bow, recognizing Sivir's jet hair, her signature boomerangs. He looked questioningly to the guards behind her. "Why, Madame Blademistress. Have you.. business with the Grand General? I was not informed."
"Do forgive my.. intrusion" Sivir responded "It has simply been a while since one of your hired goons tried to hunt me down.. no doubt there is someone.. new, in charge" The Mistress uncrossed her arms and let them fall to her side "I figured a face-to-face meeting was in order." Sivir looked back to the guards then to the butler "May I speak with the Grand General?"
Post by The Master Tactician on Jan 11, 2013 20:37:15 GMT -5
The butler's eyes grew wide. "I.. I'll go and inquire." He bowed, retreating quickly down the dim corridors of the manor.
Two Raedsel replaced him on the threshold. "Your weapons," one of them barked, the eyes upon his helm glowing faintly in the morning sun. Behind the blademistress, the other two Raedsel ascended the marble steps, positioned themselves behind her, blocking her escape--just as the two before her blocked her entrance into the mansion.
Sivir narrowed her eyes at the guard barking at her before she took her giant blade and thrusted it into the guards hand. "Watch how you speak to me.. or you'll find your tongue removed.." Sivir said, crossing her arms as she glared at the armed men before her
Welcome to Maelstrom, Original Characters, Summoners and Champions alike. We are a divergent setting roleplay forum for the ever-popular MOBA by Riot, League of Legends. This means we are based in Riot canon, but your characters' actions can have a real, lasting impact on the world. Together, the Maelstrom community endeavors to bring the League of Legends setting and characters to life through collaborative storytelling and meaningful development. We welcome you along for the ride.
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