The Butchering

Having arrived late to the event, Rose hurries through the risers, pushing her way through the crowd. A few hands shove her back, but she ignores them- she's here to put her suspicions to rest.

After a few flights of stairs, she's reached the third row of risers, and manages to threaten her way to the front. The presence of the guards prevents a great deal of her threats from being carried out- and, for once, she appreciates them. Usually, guards are chasing after her, in hot pursuit of her hands or her life, but today, they were a comforting presence.

I just hope this won't confirm what I thought about the Butcher of the Sands... but maybe Riven was right, and it'll be just a typical show.

Rose sighs, and brushes back the hair from her face as the Noxian anthem starts. She straightens up a little- which is a feat, given how her armored corset affects her posture. As grim as the rendition is, it's always given her something of a sense of pride. While she was growing up, especially during all the bullying, her parents would comfort her by talking of the ideals of Noxus- it doesn't matter what people say about you or to you, so long as you have the strength to prove them wrong.



As the massive beast steps out, Rose gasps, and in her surprise, speaks her first thought.

"Oh, hell..."

Well- at least Noxus has a bit more power on its side now, but- the Institute's going to know it was us that got Renekton out! Or did he escape on his own and come here...? Either way, that'll be their suspicion. She bites her lip. What does this mean for the rebellion?

As she looks out over the crowd, and over the gory spectacle that's about to begin, the student pauses to think. What does the rebellion mean for me? My fathers... they lost their jobs because of what Swain's done, but if he's really the Master Tactician, he'll know that something needs to be done about jobs for Noxian summoners.

Rose tucks her hands into her coat pockets, and the man next to her grumbles. "Not too interested in the spectacle?" She hears him clearly, but pretends not to notice.

I don't really know... why I stepped up. I suppose it was Talon- something in the way he spoke moved me, I guess. Riven's speech was stirring, I admit, but without the corruption, and the malice on the streets, how will I get away with stealing?

As the man moves closer to her, she elbows him slightly, her hand slipping from her pocket. I don't have the money to pay my rent without taking things occasionally, much less the money to train in the skills I could get work with. The man tries to get a little closer, and she looks down at the gladiators. "You're sure interested in the show now, sweetheart. What, don't you like me?"

After shoving him away with her shoulder, lifting his wallet in the process, she moves away. The guard perks up a little at the opportunity of violence, but when none occurs, they go back to standing around, looking bored.

After spending so long sequestered away in a chamber beneath the arena, Renekton found the sunlight that greeted him to be irritating, to the point that his blood temperature likely spiked by a couple of degrees. Regardless of the aggravation, it was immensely pleasing to see the looks of dread upon the faces of his five hundred opponents. A feral grin crossed his bestial features for a moment before the demigod hefted the monstrous blade provided in one arm, his rough tongue slowly dragging across his rows upon rows of teeth.

The spectators all about the stadium cried out with raucous cheers, clearly thrilled at the spectacle of an otherworldly gladiator blessing their city-state with its presence. If it was carnage that they sought, they would not be disappointed. Straightening up, Renekton let loose with a deafening roar to bring down the heavens, bringing a reign of silence to the stadium for the time being.

"So," Renekton began with a voice like gravel, surveying his morsels with a savage glee. "Five hundred mongrels for the chopping block. I may even exert myself."

Without waiting for some manner of formal signal, Renekton dropped low to the ground before hurling himself forward with a feral roar, the cry of a predator closing in on its prey. The frontline of the gladiators barely had time to cry out in dismay before he was upon them, sweeping his blade from side to side. As it had in his tests with it over the course of his wait, the serrated edge clove through the armor of those it met and sliced neatly into the soft flesh beneath.

Battle, carnage, death: these were what it meant to truly live. It was a feeling Renekton had not been able to experience for years, to wade into battle and rend apart any who stood against him. The League's battles were hardly what he would call 'satisfying'. Those battles were not pitched combat, just a number of simultaneously glorified duels. The battle in the arena, however, was entirely different.

Renekton's bestial heart sang as he rent multiple opponents asunder with a circular sweep of his weapon; he thrilled at the snapping and crunching of bones as a spearman brought himself far too close to the demigod's gnashing jaws; a feral rush flooded his being with every kill. Some in the front-most tiers of the stadium might have heard a grisly sound: the savage laughter of Renekton as he rent flesh, mail, and bone alike. The very world would tremble before him, as the very world would be beholden to the true might of the Butcher of the Sands. Yes, they would all know his fury, that they would be able to react with appropriate terror when he grew bored of the leaders of Runeterra. In time, it would be they who would stain his blade crimson.

Screams of terror. Shouts of fury. The roar of an enthusiastic crowd. Six men were felled by the first swing of Renekton's weapon: cleaved in twain by the sheer might of the crocodilian demigod, the precision of his pristinely crafted crescent blade. A chant began to sound in the stands, growing in participatory volume until the words it comprised were clearly apparent, "Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!"

Crimson eyes bored down at the spectacle, observing The Butcher in uninhibited combat for the first time. He felled the first of the soldiers with ease. But these were half a dozen gladiator slaves. Unsurprising. Swain continued to survey the monster's battle movements, one hand upon his chin, his gaze shrewd. Then the voice of a girl interrupted the study of his latest prize. His eyes flashed over her in mild irritation when she addressed LeBlanc.

LeBlanc watched the ensuing fight with some curiosity. She had only heard of accounts of the Butcher's power unleashed, when he interrupted the League match and gunned straight for Nasus. Although this was essentially cannonfodder for him, to see him unrestrained was almost...Beautiful.

Carmilla interrupted LeBlanc's thoughts. She looked over and smiled at the girl, "You may, dear. What is it you wish to ask me?"

LeBlanc's smile only widened. She reached over and tapped Carmilla's nose lightly. To Carmilla, it would feel like an ice cube was tapped on her nose, the smell of sweet flowers lingering after.

"Quid pro quo, dear: What for what. You tell me something, I tell you something. Why are you under Vladimir's tutelage? What will he do for you that you cannot achieve on your own?" The Deceiver leaned back into her seat and stared at the girl, almost not bothering to watch the main event going on.

Vladimir had been watching the main event when Carmilla arose from her seat. He didn't think much of it until she started to speak to the Deceiver. His head turned slightly as LeBlanc dodged Carmilla's question, predictable. Then, Carmilla dodged LeBlanc's question, all the while Swain's face looked as if he was getting more irritated by the second. Hoping to save his apprentice's image in the general's eyes, he quickly got up from his seat and walked behind his pupil, a heavy hand coming down on her shoulder.
"Carmilla, perhaps it is not the best time to ask this sort of question. Perhaps after the main event has ended you can ask the Deceiver your questions."

He brought his head down next to her ear as he whispered in.
"Sit down and be quiet."