Post by The Outlaw on Oct 18, 2013 12:25:16 GMT -5
Graves just stared back at Leona's question, the scowl that was his poker face firmly in place. He couldn't tell her, not if he didn't want something else horrible to happen. He had it just about figured out now - he was neck deep in shit with this curse on him and because of that LeBlanc had him wrapped around her pinky. He was her little marionette, a toy to be played with. As much as he wanted to explain this to Leona he couldn't, but he'd make this right in the end. He would find a way out of this curse she had placed on him and smash all of her little smoke and mirror games! In the end he would have his hand around the Deceivers throat and make her beg and plead and then - Graves' thoughts were interrupted abruptly by LeBlanc's voice in his head.
'Speak of the devil....' Graves thought to himself as the voice echoed, seemingly omnipresent from Graves' point of view. How'd she do this? Could Leona hear it too? Magic? Was it part of the curse? "Shut yer' damn trap!" he said through gritted teeth at LeBlanc's voice, not realizing that Leona would probably be the only one to hear him. He didn't know how any of this shit worked and never cared to figure any of it out. Hokey religions and fancy tricks were no match for a reliable gun at your side in Graves' book. But it made him furious. Her voice in his head, every word she uttered slowly but surely made him furious. Then he saw her appear on the roof of the temple he and was absolutely livid, the hatred and anger almost a palpable aura coming off of the Outlaw.
"I've had enough of yer' god damned magic tricks!" he roared. He deftly moved his neck away to the side of Leona's blade as he grabbed the blade with his right hand, ignoring the pain it cause as it sliced through the glove and into the flesh of his one still human hand. He grabbed Leona's leg that was on his chest with his cybernetic arm and used all the strength it was capable of to throw her off of him. After scrambling to his feet he watched as LeBlanc dissipated in a puff of smoke followed by the deluge of blocks that rushed towards them from atop the temple.
"Aw hell..." Graves muttered under his breath before picking up Destiny and running from the path of the blocks.
Last Edit: Oct 19, 2013 17:56:36 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by The Radiant Dawn on Oct 19, 2013 16:09:37 GMT -5
Leona blinked at Graves' response to her question, or at least, what appeared to be his response. Did he not realize that she was holding a sword to his neck? Did he not even hear the question? She moved the sword closer to his neck, to remind him of his position at that moment. What he said that followed that could not have been directed at her. Was he insane? Who was he speaking to?
Perhaps she should not have thought so much. In the moment she was lost in thought, Graves pushed her sword away from his neck and threw her off him. Leona returned to her feet quickly. Although he had escaped for now, there was little chance he could still use his human hand, having cut it up as badly as he did. She was about to attack him once more, until she heard an explosion, coming from the direction of the temple, following it, a mass of marble headed right for her. She deftly sprinted out of the way of the falling rubble, and focused her attention on the temple. Someone must have been injured in the blast. Assassin or not, she had to help them.
Leona started to run for the temple, calling the power of the sun to herself as she did. The light emanating from her intensified. She briefly glanced back at Graves. He would be wise to escape now, she thought. The Rakkor would have heard the explosions, the gunshots. They would be on their way. They would hunt him the entire time he remained on the mountain, and he would find no mercy at their hands.
Post by The Outlaw on Oct 25, 2013 22:02:21 GMT -5
Blood flowed freely from the open wound on Graves' hand, slowly coating Destiny in a deep crimson red. Any lesser man wouldn't be able to use his hand in such a state, but Graves gave the pain no mind. With his hand sliced up he still kept a firm grip on Destiny with no intention of letting it go, and if he could hold his gun, he could shoot it. What was it LeBlanc had said? Play? 'I ain't got time fer' games...' he thought sourly not forgetting the situation he was in. He quickly loaded another explosive shot into Destiny, he intended to end this for good this time.
Graves quickly pivoted, gun at the ready for Leona and found her...running. She ran towards the temple after giving him a brief glance. It didn't matter why at this point, her back was wide open. He dashed forward as to not allow her to get out of his guns range and pulled the trigger. He wouldn't miss this time. The firing pin made contact with the shell and the primer in the shell exploded, unleashing the hellish inferno of a round from the gun. The shot ripped through the air straight at Leona's exposed back. The high velocity at which the shot traveled would give Leona no time to react. In Graves' mind this was it, if this didn't leave some lasting injury on Leona nothing he had with him would.
Last Edit: Oct 26, 2013 0:24:13 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by The Radiant Dawn on Oct 26, 2013 5:39:38 GMT -5
By the time Leona had heard the shot, it was too late. The bullet tore into her back, the blast afterward only partially stopped by the half armor she wore. She collapsed to the ground, knocked down by the force of the blast. It was odd. She hardly felt a thing. An attempt to move reminded her of the gruesome injury she had just sustained. Mind numbing pain shot throughout her whole body. She arched her head back and opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out. The worst of it subsided quickly, but she was not going to return to her feet on her own.
Leona lolled her head over to one side, and caught sight of the man responsible. Although her thoughts were clouded by pain, there was an action she could yet take. She would not allow him to fire again. The sun's power flowed to her. Her eyes lit up, now featureless, glowing with the sun's energy. Her gaze reflected no expression of her own. It reflected anger, a deep and powerful gaze, as if an ancient power was looking through her eyes. The only warning Graves would receive of the Sun's imminent wrath would be a sudden spike in heat, a growing intensity of the light around him.
Post by The Outlaw on Oct 28, 2013 13:57:00 GMT -5
Graves grit his teeth as the shot connected with Leona, half expecting some sort of dues ex machina. Instad he watched, unflinching, as the explosion engulfed Leona in a fiery embrace before throwing her to the ground. Was that really it? He stood frozen in place momentarily, gun still at the ready for when Leona would get up and come at him again, but she just laid there motionless in a smoldering heap. A trace of panic ran its way through Graves' mind, though it did not show on the surface. Did he mistakenly kill her?
No. He almost sighed in relief when he saw Leona attempt to get up, relieving him of his fear. The guilt of the deed weighed heavily upon him though he had finished LeBlanc's task. He stood there with his head hung in shame for his betrayal of someone who had put their trust in him. However as he stared to the ground he noticed the area around him seemed illuminated almost which peaked his curiosity. As the light intensified so too did the heat and the feeling of imminent danger. He'd seen this somewhere before but couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he wasn't about to get hit by it if he could help it. He dove as quickly as he could to escape the ever intensifying halo of searing light that surrounded him.
Last Edit: Oct 28, 2013 17:53:21 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by The Radiant Dawn on Oct 28, 2013 15:11:09 GMT -5
The sun's wrath followed without delay. For a fraction of a second, the heat and light stopped building. Everything seemed to be still. In the next instant, the force of the sun's wrath descended down upon Graves. Although he had managed to clear the center of the devastating blast of solar energy, it was by no means a contained event. Energy blasted out in all directions from the center of the beam, scorching the ground as it went. There would be no escape from the blast.
Leona felt the energy release, along with it, much of her own energy. She had to call more of the sun's power to herself to stay alert. The blast would not kill Graves, she thought. It had never been her intention. On the other hand, it would surely stop him from killing her. With the imminent threat gone, the Rakkor in Leona instantly began it's furious scolding of her. Turning her back to the enemy? Simply keeping him underfoot instead of disabling him? She could have killed him easily, avoided her injury entirely. No, she thought. That is not who I am. She tried to brush the endless scolding out of her conscious thoughts and try to return to her feet. The pain was agonizing. She let out a gasp, mixed with a cry of pain, falling back down to the ground again. It was of no use. She would have to wait. One of the Rakkor would show up soon, she figured. She turned her head back over to where Graves was, ready to call down the sun's wrath once more, if he decided to come finish her off.
Post by The Outlaw on Oct 28, 2013 18:44:03 GMT -5
Graves felt the searing heat and intense power of the sun descend as he vainly attempted to escape. Unfortunately for the grizzled Outlaw there was simply nowhere he could have gone in the time frame allotted before the solar assault plummeted from the heavens upon him. The blast of power was searingly hot; tattering and burning the clothing he wore and scorching any exposed skin. His now completely exposed robotic arm was even red hot to the touch. He patted out a few small fires that were strewn across the remnants of his now dilapidated clothing.
It felt as though someone had tried to completely cauterize him and though it hurt like hell he was still able to move. Briefly Graves looked back to the scorched earth at center of the blast he had just taken, thankful to have not been caught standing there figuring he would've suffered more than just severe burns. All that was left to do was to make sure Leona thought he had done this all on his own accord.
He made his way over to her body, stepping on her arm that still clutched her sword. From what he knew about Rakkor in general was that they used relics in battle, and that they were most likely extremely rare and valuable. "How's about I just take this here n' we call it even? Don't make a fuss neitheir - I think it's best you save some breath fer' breathin'. Reckon' I ought to thank you though. Fer' bein plumb weak North of yer' ears enough to trust me that is." Graves told Leona, not sure if he was all that convincing as he pried it from her grasp. In Graves' mind being forced to do this by LeBlanc just about sank him to the level of his former parter, Fate, and all he felt towards himself for it was enmity. It was then that he heard shouting and the clamor of plated armor before he saw several Rakkor of the temple rushing towards him over the debris.
"Seems I done went n' worn out my welcome" he said mostly to himself. He wrapped the sword in what was left of his red poncho before tucking it away in the back of his belt. Raising Destiny one more time he fired three canisters to cloud the temple entrance and his escape route in a thick smoke screen. When the smoke would clear Graves would be gone, well on his way away from the ruined Solari Temple and from Mount Targon.
Last Edit: Oct 30, 2013 11:50:59 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by The Radiant Dawn on Oct 29, 2013 5:04:47 GMT -5
Leona gritted her teeth as Graves walked over to her. There was little she could do. She could have tried to kick, punch, or stab, but she hardly had the energy to make such a strike effective. The man stood over her now. A position very similar to the one she had just held him in. She lost the grip on her sword. She snarled at him. There was little else she could do.
"You bastard..." were the only words that escaped from between her clenched teeth. She tried to move her free arm to strike him, but stopped halfway because of the searing pain of the sudden and violent movement. The man took her sword, and began to walk away. Her weapon, one of the symbols of the sun. Was that the reason? He betrayed her for no other purpose than to steal a relic?
To think he could simply walk away with such an object was folly. The Zenith Blade was no ordinary relic. Only the one who the sun chose was allowed to carry it. A voice, deep, ancient, and powerful, echoed in Graves' mind. "The blade you carry does not belong to you.". Within an instant, the blade would become searing hot. Graves would be forced to drop it or everything which surrounded the blade would surely burn.
Post by The Outlaw on Oct 29, 2013 10:26:41 GMT -5
Graves was making his way down Mount Targon at a slow pace, lamely attending to the slice in his hand. The burns all over his body were beginning to bother him some but he kept trudging his way along the mountain path since there wasn't much he could do about them. He'd already put enough distance between himself and the temple that any pursuing Rakkor wouldn't bother continuing their chase...most likely. The immediate thing on his mind was the curse he had upon him. He had to find a way to rid himself of it as soon as possible, if things kept on as they were LeBlanc would probably send him on more ludicrously impossible 'tasks' until he ended up dead. He wasn't about to go out as some sort of forced lap dog to her if he could help it. He still had a score to settle with Fate among other things and LeBlanc was nothing but an obstacle, one that had him jumping through fiery hoops for entertainment. As Graves pondered the best way to go about his situation, doing his best to avoid thinking of what he'd just done to Leona, a powerful commanding voice echoed throughout his head.
"The blade you carry does not belong to you."
'Ain't that just great, now I'm hearin' voices...' Graves thought to himself. As he continued along his way he felt the blade he had stolen from Leona suddenly grow intensely hot. It was quickly burning through the cloth of his poncho he had wrapped it in. He purposefully grabbed the handle of the red hot blade with his wounded hand, cauterizing the slice in his hand while also burning it, and then vehemently threw it on the ground. He took a step back from the weapon cautiously as if it were possessed and looked around briefly expecting something else to happen, though nothing did at the moment.
"No it don't. I reckon' you best go have a chat with that sadistic witch that's got me doin' this a'fore ya' go lecurin' me. So if it ain't too far above yer' bend, stay the hell outta my head!" Graves yelled out at the voice angrily, almost sure he was talking to himself. He was extremely frustrated at this point. He was never a fan of magic but after today's events he was absolutely fed up with all the bullshit he'd been through whether it was magic related or not.
Last Edit: Oct 29, 2013 15:50:23 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by The Radiant Dawn on Oct 29, 2013 15:43:24 GMT -5
To an observer, Graves' action would have seemed comic. Yelling at a sword for a voice he heard in his head, as if it could respond. And yet, it almost seemed as if the sword could answer. After clattering to the ground, the vibrations of the metal in the sword did not fully stop, a constant low hum emanating from it. Almost as if the blade were trying to speak. No voice came forward to answer Graves, from the sword or in his mind. The hum remained.
The Rakkor from down the mountain had, unfortunately for them, come too late to partake in the fighting in which they so delighted. To Leona, it mattered little. It was her own stupidity which had brought about her injury, not the timing of any Rakkor. They quickened in their approach when they saw Leona lying on the ground, the rocks stained red with blood around her. She raised an arm in a weak greeting to them, which they could not be bothered to stop their approach to return. Three of them stopped beside her, the rest rushed on to the temple. A man, an officer, judging by his grander appearance when compared to the other two, addressed her in a familiar Hellenic tongue, the one she grew up speaking. "Are you able to walk on your own, Avatar?" Leona shook her head in response, then added "I will need some assistance.". The man nodded in response, and then without a moments hesitation leaned down and helped her to her feet, supporting her with one arm. His manner with which he performed the act was as impersonal as could be. Of course. He was a Rakkor. He began to lead Leona back toward the temple. She winced with the pain of each step, trying to focus her mind on matters other than the pain. There were few of which were pleasant. "Are there any injured?" she asked the man, after a moments thought. He turned his head to face one of the men by the temple steps, and then cried out "Zelos! Casualties?". The man on the steps replied quickly. " Only cuts and bruises, sir!" Leona let out a sigh of relief. Just cuts and bruises. She almost wished there were more severe injuries, to have felt at least slightly better about being shot while running to assist. A foolish thought. She shrugged it off and carried onward.
The mountain had not lost its personified qualities it had shown during Graves' harsh climb up the mountain. On his way up it had seemed to have done everything in its power to stop his ascent, now it seemed to almost mourn for Leona. The sky was a gloomy grey and it began lightly snowing, like the mountain was crying softy. The atmosphere made his heart sink further into regret for his misdeed and Graves resumed his descent from Mount Targon with his head hung low.
"Get a hold of yourself Malcolm...the sword ain't talkin' to ya'. Can't be. It's just the damned guilt..." Graves mumbled to himself trying to keep a cool head. He could imagine how ridiculous he was being and must have looked shouting at the sword. He took one last brief look at the sword as it laid on the ground, humming as if it were a living entity in its own right. Was it really doing that? No. It couldn't be. He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. Trying to take the sword with him wasn't worth burning his hands off, so he left it on the ground in the middle of the mountain pass. He intended to put as much distance as he could between himself and Mount Targon as quickly as possible as he left, and that's exactly what he did. He turned back down the mountain pass and began to walk away, gusts of cool mountain air whipping around him. The cool gusts felt numb against the burns he had sustained on much of his upper body. He'd have to get them treated eventually. The one thing Graves knew for sure right now was that he could really use a drink.
Last Edit: Nov 4, 2013 2:31:14 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by The Radiant Dawn on Nov 5, 2013 10:55:21 GMT -5
No voice sounded in Graves' head to contradict his blaming of himself for what he had just heard. The blade, however, never ceased its low hum. Even as Graves walked away from it, it still seemed to be trying to speak. However, it would not be the low hum emanating from the blade that Graves would notice the most. It would be a feeling of being watched, intensely, from a direction unknown, as if a pair of eyes were boring into him from nowhere. It would only last as long as the sun yet shone upon him. When clouds came in and the light of the sun no longer shone directly onto Graves, the feeling would stop. Perhaps he would question if it were simply his mind to blame for what he had just experienced. Perhaps he would not.
Leona gratefully sat upon the temple steps when she had reached them. The initial shock of being hit in the back with the bullet was subsiding, and now the full extent of the pain began to seep in. She gritted her teeth and tried to take her mind off of it, even though it seemed as if it were trying to block out the entire world. She carefully reached a hand back to where she was hit to feel the wound, when she pulled it back it was entirely crimson, soaked in blood. She grimaced at the sight. The officer that helped her to the temple was already back to ordering his men about, telling them to gather various supplies or move certain things out of the way. Within a few moments, one of the Solari came running out of the temple with bandages in his hand. He stopped next to Leona, arranging the bandages in his hands for the wound which she had sustained. He quickly set about his work stopping the bleeding with the bandage. After he finished, he placed one hand reassuringly on her shoulder, before saying "The wound bleeds much, but it is otherwise no major concern. We are all glad you are still alive." Leona smiled grimly in response. "Killing me seems to be a difficult task." she said, with a hint of dark humor. The man nodded in reply, looking her over for a moment before he received a sudden look of shock. "Avatar, your blade!" Leona took a brief glance in the direction in which Graves had walked off. There was a faint trail of blood yet visible headed down the side of his mountain, from his bleeding hand. "He will have not gone far with it. We may search later. For the time being, there are more pressing matters to attend to.". The man nodded, and then walked off to speak to one of the Rakkor milling about the temple grounds. Leona returned to thought. Was this the price for trusting others too easily? Some sort of twisted punishment for her trying to help others? A test of her beliefs? She sighed. Nothing was ever simple.
Post by The Deceiver on Nov 21, 2013 1:05:09 GMT -5
As Graves walked, the ethereal form of the Deceiver would start walking in stride with him. "You got the sword? Oh. Oh Malcolm Graves, you wonderful man, you. Up and beyond what I expected from you!"
The intangible hand raised up in front of him, and snapped its fingers. Flesh replaced magic and LeBlanc, or at least what one could assume was her, appeared. She stretched her form, smiled at him, and snapped her fingers once more. Violet magic surrounded his hand and numbed the pain from the burn, though she did not heal it. "Now, some of my associates will be securing the blade in a few moments, but really, I am very impressed with your work. So! I believe I told you I'd tell you a secret, yes? Or a truth? It matters not, truth and lies, secrets and knowledge, far too interchangeable to give a proper definition in my opinion."
The Deceiver showed no fear as she stepped in front of Graves and pointed her staff at him to stop his advance. "Now then: Why you. Why did I choose you, over anyone else? Because I needed a cannon to do a scalpel's job. You are collateral damage embodied: You don't care what you need to do in order to accomplish a goal, you will use whatever methods necessary. Damn anyone who gets in your line of fire, be they innocent, inanimate, man woman or child, you just let your anger take over and you take aim. I want you angry at me. I want your rage to feed you, and why? Well, I owe you two truths, yes?"
LeBlanc started to laugh, rolling her eyes upwards to the skies, she had no fear, no concerns whatsoever. "Because there's nothing you can do! Me telling you this serves my interest! The angrier, the more upset, the more rage filled you are, the more destructive, unpredictable, cataclysmic you become! You will get Twisted Fate, with my help, but no one recognizes you for what you are: A shotgun! That's all you are, that's all you will ever be! Put it in the right hands of someone, and they'll use it properly! Go ahead! Be angry! If you try and fight against me, I can simply pull some strings and make you dance! So, have drinks on me, and expect me to call on you soon. After all, who else will you speak with? Leona? Caitlyn? Fate?"
With that, her laughter started to die down as her image faded. If Graves tried to shoot LeBlanc, her image would would shatter into shards of glass, each one amplifying her mirth.
At the location of the Zenith Blade, cloaked men surrounded it. The footfields of Mount Targon were a well known graveyard of Demacian and Noxian soldiers who had attempted to siege the Rakkor over the centuries, their bones and corpses covered by the elements or decayed in time. However, a shambling creature of death slowly dragged itself towards the four necromancers. Eight feet in height, half of its face missing while having one too many ribcages and three pairs of arms, it was barely held together by magic. The necromancer controlling it muttered ancient incantations while the other three started to weave spells in their efforts to dampen the blade's magic. The monstrosity rumbled over to the Zenith blade, and attempted to pick it up with a skeletal hand. The undead felt no pain, but what were the true limits of the Zenith blade?
Last Edit: Nov 21, 2013 1:06:53 GMT -5 by The Deceiver
Post by The Radiant Dawn on Nov 21, 2013 9:48:17 GMT -5
The effect of the blade on the monster was instant, the moment it's skeletal hand so much as brushed against it. It was catastrophic. The monstrosity was exposed directly to the power of the sun. The energy tore through it, reducing its disgusting pile of assorted limbs and organs to nothing more than a pile of ash. All was silent for a moment, save for the incantations of the figures. The blade began to hum. Not a quiet hum, or a passive one. The humming of the blade conveyed disgust. More so, it conveyed rage. Not the rage of an animal, or a human, but the rage of something ancient, something powerful. Something which had taken great insult to a walking, rotting pile of flesh that a mere man dared order to take something which belonged to it.
The clouds above parted, and sunlight shone directly down upon the figures and the blade. The temperature began to rise, gradually, at first. The snow around them melted. The light glaring down on them intensified with the temperature, faster now. The heat became unbearable quickly, and the light near blinding. The humming was louder now, louder than the words which the figures spoke. They might have sensed a massive spike in magical energy, not from the sword, but coming down from the sun itself. Punishment for their transgressions was imminent, and it was severe.
Post by The Outlaw on Nov 21, 2013 10:25:24 GMT -5
Though he had put a good distance between himself and where he had dropped the blade Graves noticed the rise in temperature. He did not even think of looking back as to what might have caused it because he had a good guess, especially after hearing voices and having an inanimate object spring to life and burn his hand. His pace had not faltered until he heard her speak. LeBlanc.
As she began talking to him Graves stopped dead in his tracks. She was here. Though not entirely, as he soon discovered when he turned his gun upon her and saw it was merely an apparition. The Deceiver made his blood boil as she stood there, lavishing him with false praise he did not care for or want. The way she treated him. it made him feel like a house pet, or a child even and it irritated him to no end. As she fully materialized in the flesh Graves' eye twitched. Could he do it? Would he be fast enough? Would it be that simple? No. It couldn't ever be that easy, not with her. This entire interaction was a probably ruse, one big bluff. If he shot her she would probably disappear in a puff a smoke and he'd still be forced to hear her damned voice prattle on in his head somehow. He spat at the feet of what was 'LeBlanc' to show his distaste for her while she dulled the pain of his burnt hand. He would give her no verbal response, only a death glare.
He was forced to listen as she went on about 'truths' and 'lies' he no longer cared about. She wanted him angry? Fine. She wanted to use him as a weapon? Fine. But by God he swore he'd be the end of her. He would use every ounce of his hate and anger to show her just how cataclysmic he could become. If she truly believed Graves could not and would not do anything about this, The Deceiver would be in for a rude awakening. If he was just a shotgun then he would point himself at her and then pull the trigger. The only dancing he would be doing would be upon her grave. She could use all the tricks, smoke, and mirrors that she wanted and then some. He would back her down to the end of the line where he would finish what she started. In his rage and frustration he threw a punch with his left arm at the now fading image of LeBlanc. He watched her body shatter like glass as the hydraulic fueled strength of his robotic arm kept going and sank his fist into the side of the mountain, leaving a sizable hole.
He would throttle her, slowly squeeze the life out of her, feel her throat collapse and the bones in her neck snap under the strength in his hands as he choked her. He would use her death to send a message, not just to The Black Rose and the rest of Noxus, but to the world. Nobody stabbed Malcolm Graves in the back and got away with it. Nobody would use him as their puppet and then toss him aside when they no longer deemed him 'useful'. Nobody. He would make this happen - Fate be damned, this woman - no, this witch would die first. Until that opportunity presented itself, Graves would be patient. He would go somewhere and get those drinks on LeBlanc and continue to do her bidding because he knew better than anyone that you keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Last Edit: Nov 21, 2013 13:33:35 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
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