It's Not the Wind ((Open))

The crowd diminished, soldiers retrieving corpses that had not been thrown over the ramparts to a grand pile right of the heavy iron gates; others returning to their primary posts or simply returning to bed. The massive pyres diminished one after the other; their illumination quelled by the numerous mages that had arrived on scene. The brilliant yellow flames that once licked the torched skeletons of men sacrificed had given out; blackened bones crushed beneath boots as the corpse pile continued to grow almost unchecked. The commanding officer in charge of the East gate sunk to his knees- completely pale. His worries put to rest as his second in command drew her blade; ridding him of his troubles with a single fluid motion.

As the rank and file scurried about to clean up the mess; the more decorated Noxian magewarriors and their auxiliary counterparts had aligned themselves into two lines along the primary path towards the upper levels of the Noxian city. The gold trim on their emerald armour glimmered in the rising sun as they raised their weapons. After extending their armament as far into the air as possible; the two lines lowered the bladed weapons- the clash of tempered steel against its kin as the Partisans collided nearly ten feet in the air. A shining steel ceiling as the Grand General and his guard passed them on their way back to whence they came. The warriors slammed their free hand against their chests; a dull ringing sound reverberating as 60 armored fists clashed against their breastplates perfectly in sync. The leader of this particular company initiated another action as the Grand Tactician neared the halfway point of their vibrant display; a sole voice in the night.

"Forever Strong."

The rest of the platoon, too, followed suit with the chant as another pyre was ignited towards the ground level; feeding off the remains of Noxian soldiers to supplement it's luster- cleansing the dead and turning all to ash.