Post by The Iron Ambassador on Mar 2, 2013 16:47:01 GMT -5
Standing at the door of the meeting hall of the Institute of War, Poppy awaits the arrival of the Grand General of Noxus, Jericho Swain. She had invited the Grand General to discuss certain matters that would help her with two goals. One regarding Noxus's declaration towards peace, one of her past.
She had discussed gaining access to the meeting hall with the summoners of the Institute, and had been granted it. She also requested that the summoners would keep their curious ears away from the conversation she had planned, using the sense of honor she was known to possess to make them believe that there would be no violence in this meeting. Indeed she had no such plans. She just wished... to talk.
And as soon as the Grand General of Noxus would arrive, the meeting would begin.
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 3, 2013 7:21:24 GMT -5
February 28th, 23 CLE
The harsh light of the winter sun reflected off patches of snow spread over the Institute's grounds. Presently, an ornate carriage, gilded and draped in Noxian green, trundled to a halt before the towering steps to the imposing parthenon's lobby. From their posts at the four corners of the coach, Raedsel guards, their helms aglow, descended like statues springing to life. A footman rounded the carriage, drew open the door for the esteemed passenger within, bowed low and awaited his master's emergence.
Slowly, The Master Tactician arose from his mobile chamber. His hand trembled upon his cane as he arduously descended each step, finally alighting upon the gravel drive with a pained grimace. If any of his entourage took notice of their leader's afflicted countenance, they did not dare give it any outward recognition. Even as he took each ascending step towards the columned landing with two feet and a cane, they averted their eyes, fixed their gaze ahead and followed his pace.
Finally, he stepped into the foyer, guards following in his wake, chin held high in dignity despite his crippled gait. Perhaps some summoners cast wary glances upon the Noxian party as they passed through the well-lit halls, pondering the business of the newly-independent city-state here, in the establishment it had abandoned. The Grand General paid no heed to these. Down the hall he hobbled, his countenance inscrutably set--the perfect mask of politician's poise.
There, outside of the appointed room, stood a yordle, blue skinned, a similarly political expression on her face. The Grand General stopped before her, planted his cane in the rug between them and inclined his head ever-so-slightly in greeting. "Ambassador," he croaked.
Behind him, the four Raedsel stood uniformly at attention; at his shoulder, Beatrice stared intently down at Poppy, her luminous crimson eyes an echo of her master's own.
Post by The Iron Ambassador on Mar 3, 2013 9:15:49 GMT -5
Poppy nods at the Tactician, opening the door behind her to the meeting hall and stepping inside.
"Welcome, Grand General. Hopefully you can leave your guards outside of the hall. After all, as much as I hate to part with it... I left my hammer in the care of the summoners.. After the events between yourself and Prince Jarvan during his initiation to the league, they are quite wary of having armed personnel of opposing sides in the same room."
She walks over to the meeting table, having made sure that she was provided with a properly sized chair instead of one of human proportions, and sits down on it.
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 5, 2013 2:40:07 GMT -5
Swain's crimson eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly at her mention of the incident. He made no comment, wordlessly extending his withered hand towards one of his Raedsel. The guard drew out a folder from his belt and placed it into the Grand General's hand with a respectful incline of his head. With two concise somatic orders, Swain bid his entourage take up their posts: two at either side of the meeting room's door, backs to the wall, at attention. Wordlessly, in unison, the Raedsel did as commanded.
His hand trembled on his cane as he crossed the threshold after Poppy. A grimace, a scowl, the grit of his teeth behind his shroud. He drew out the chair across from her, squinched his eyes as he lowered himself tremulously onto the cushion, then laid the folder out before him. The harsh light of the meeting hall intensified his pallor, gave him a ghastly sheen, accented the dark circles beneath his burning eyes, shone off the clamminess of his forehead. He mopped his brow with the sleeve of his military robe.
"You may, Ambassador," he said, interlacing his fingers upon the table.
Post by The Iron Ambassador on Mar 6, 2013 13:24:04 GMT -5
Poppy follows Swain's motions closely, hoping to find out something in his pose about whether he would be truthful or not.
"So, as I mentioned it the first letter suggesting this meeting, I am intrigued about the assassins Darkwill's governing body sent after my father all those years ago.
Considering your declaration towards peace at the meeting here at the Institute a few weeks ago, I was hoping you could perhaps assist me with this. After all, if your dedication is for peace, you surely wouldn't need assassins, correct? They are more of a tool for dissention than peace after all."
She looks at the desk thoughtfully for a moment before sighing at old memories.
"It would be a good sign for myself and through that for Bandle City for your cause of peace if you were to tell me something about them.
Though I will be blunt about this. If you are willing to talk about the assassins, and I find them, I will bring them to justice. They murdered an innocent yordle for creating a helmet. That is like killing a baker for making bread or killing a hunter for shooting an animal to feed his family."
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 8, 2013 7:23:22 GMT -5
The Grand General's posture betrayed nothing of dishonesty. He wore the polished mask of poise for which he was so well known. The only remarkable aspect of his demeanor was the burdensome deliberateness of his motions. He studied her as she spoke, crimson eyes flashing at certain points in her speech. When she had finished, he placed his gnarled hand flat upon the folder and pushed it over the smooth wooden surface towards her.
Wordlessly, he'd watch her as she opened it, one hand brought over his shroud in contemplation of her reaction. Inside were two dossiers. The names upon them read Damien Marquis and Vincent Zeldorin. One deceased, one AWOL. He did not immediately offer an explanation, but sat in silence as she read.
Finally, his gaze affixed firmly upon her blue face, he offered, "General Darkwill made crucial mistakes, Ambassador, not the least of which was his misguided treasure hunt. Those are the men who acted upon his orders. As you can see, Marquis died in the political upheaval that followed Darkwill's death. Zeldorin fled."
He pursed his lips behind his shroud. "Vengeance is yours to seek," The Master Tactician said evenly. "A deserter is dead to me already."
Post by The Iron Ambassador on Mar 8, 2013 19:09:24 GMT -5
Poppy raises an eyebrow at the folder at first. This was... unexpectedly easy. When she saw the insides, it became clear. Of course... a betrayer and a dead man.
"Hmm. I see. At least one of them has felt justice already. When I find this... "Vincent Zeldorin", he will see what he created that day... and it will be the last thing he sees."
She then turns to Swain, her expression as determined and serious as usual as she leans back against the chair with a bit more relaxed fashion.
"Thank you Grand General. You have been most helpful. Is there anything you wish to ask from me? I will do my best to answer any questions... to a certain degree of course."
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 9, 2013 19:50:12 GMT -5
He raised his brows slightly, still, in reserved study of her diplomatic countenance, the seeming satisfaction beneath her composed exterior--perhaps a twinge of surprise at the smoothness of their discourse. But she was a mistress of diplomacy, and he a master of tact. Nothing less to expect than calm civility. "To ask of you, Ambassador?" He offered a polite half-smile.
"To ask of you, let me see." He brought one contemplative finger to his shroud, drummed his others over the table in quick staccato. "How is Demacia these days? Hopefully the shining city has recovered from the Eternal Nightmare's unfortunate escapade. Hopefully the monarchy has taken strides to ensure that such a thing cannot happen again." His face darkened suddenly with purpose; his gleaming eyes narrowed. "Noxus relates to such calamities with empathy."
"These are dark times in which we live. I would ask of you the information that will aid me in defending my people." He paused, pursed his lips behind his shroud. "What is the word in the halls of Demacia? Why did Nocturne strike? Why did he appear with Hecarim? And what," he frowned, "is being done to prevent future such tragedies?"
Post by The Iron Ambassador on Mar 10, 2013 9:15:28 GMT -5
Poppy chuckles slightly. That was predictable. She then looks over to Swain and says with a stony expression.
"Demacia is at is always is. A shining example of it's ideals. Some find them correct, some find them wrong. That will not change anytime soon.
However... the Nightmare. The city has mostly recovered, but the families of the victims will never be the same. I know that from experience. Prince Jarvan has made certain that the gates have higher security than usual and that the city is harder to get to if you plan something against it."
She then taps her chin a couple of times with her armored gauntlet in thought before continuing.
"About the creature's reasons, I have no information. However, Hecarim's words were clear... but I do not trust them. He tried to claim that the Nightmare was there on the behalf of these so-called "Shadow Isles", but I presume he is more likely trying to fool us while he acts to "recruit" the nightmare.
And security has been tightened city-wide to make sure this does not happen again, and Galio is keeping watch over the city from his tower. The Sentinel's Sorrow and I were the first on scene when the news about the Nightmare were heard. The Shadow of War and the Nightmare at first seemed to prepare for a fight... but after simply noting that they would have to face all of Demacia and the Institute of War, they both... fled."
She then shakes her head.
"A sensible decision... more so than I expected from the reckless nightmare. However... about defending your home. All I can say really is... keep those of your forces capable of nullifying magical terror and the effects of the Nightmare ready. If the creature invades... you will need them. But you most likely already have done this, being the tactician you are. Am I correct in this assumption?"
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 15, 2013 18:32:18 GMT -5
His face remained impassive as she spoke, luminous eyes following her speaking movements, watching her face for any trace of ulterior motive. He balled a fist on the table as she spoke of Nocturne's potential allegiance with the Shadow Isles, but other than the bulging vein in the back of his hand, his calm exterior betrayed no hint of his thoughts.
"I have taken the measures necessary to defend my country, Ambassador, and will continue to do so," the Grand General rumbled from his side of the table. "Was there more you wished to discuss? As regretful as I am to cut our discourse short, I've an appointment to be keeping."
Post by The Iron Ambassador on Mar 16, 2013 13:56:47 GMT -5
Poppy nods at Swain, having gathered enough from his face to be quite sure he was being truthful.
No, there is nothing else I can think of to discuss. I should return to my duties at the Embassy as well. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, and good luck with keeping your citizens safe."
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 20, 2013 13:30:26 GMT -5
Two scarred hands upon the table, he pushed himself up from his seat, eyes shut against the apparent effort of the task--then he turned, taking up his cane. Beatrice craned her neck around his head, keeping her crimson eyes affixed on Poppy's face, watching guardedly as her master offered his farewell: the slightest polite incline of his head, an echo of her well wishing. "And to you, in your endeavors."
The Master Tactician made for the door. Kah-tunk, tunk, went the rhythm of his uneven strides over the wooden floor. He paused before the threshold, turning to offer one final closing word, "And may your vengeance grant you peace of mind." With that, he pushed the door ajar and strode out into the hall. Instantly, the Raedsel took up their positions at his side. Silent sentinels clad in their master's colors, looming over passing summoners, they marched down the hall: four broad backs and one hunched, shrunken, but no less imposing.
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