The Roads of Valoran

Noxian countryside, nearing the Institute, headed for Piltover

It should come as no surprise but the roads had never known the noiseless step of Talon's feet plodding along them for more than the time necessary to kill someone on them. He traveled specifically to avoid them. A word, one single word, of his sighting headed in any direction sent the underbelly of his destination into disarray. Criminal elements existed everywhere, some places above the radar, others below.

It made no difference. Answers were his goal. Blood would be his consolation prize if he didn't get the right ones.

Either way, his feet continued, face nothing more than a steely show of determination and a killer edge. At intervals, his gaze shifted to the road, watching the odd person mill to and fro with some pointless destination, the only one catching his eye being a smaller man walking with purpose directly along a path to the Noxian heart. Talon didn't notice the sneer his face had gained for longer than he cared to ever admit to anyone. The bitterness still lived within him. the hatred.

Make your mark. On them. The words flitted through his distraction as he decided to stop. His focus was elsewhere and he knew it, bending to sit against a tree, shifting his cloak over his body, adorning it with leaves and twigs to quickly resemble a bush. An almost unnecessary precaution with the speed and skill he possessed, though he hadn't gotten ahead on being careless.

Noxian countryside, nearing the Institute, headed for Piltover

Talon's closed eyes remained as such, noting that the voice was not something to be heard, but was something that spoke directly to his mind. A feeling that, as a champion, he was all too familiar with. Still his focus on his surroundings remained unbroken, ready to murder the first person to innocently stumble into his hiding spot.

But this voice... It was different. He recognized it. It was an inhuman hiss. He knew that the property of the voice was what caused his spine to tingle slightly, that it was Nocturne that addressed him. He chided himself for the physical reaction, but spoke regardless.

"What?" Was all he uttered, quiet, harsh. He didn't afford himself rest often, nor did he much appreciate being bothered while he was attempting to calm himself- to refocus his edge. Being caught at all irritated the assassin, being caught off guard infuriated him, though the scorn was directed inwards. He was better than this.

Nocturne's influence. He reassured himself, not knowing or caring if the Horror could investigate his thoughts.

"Then talk. We'll discuss the price once I'm certain it's worth my time." He meant it as well. He had no idea what the otherworldly horror could want with him but he could venture a guess. Talon knew he wasn't a debt collector, but having something like Nocturne sitting in his arsenal would be enough to sway him.

Talon tossed the idea about in his head a few times. It sounded good, most offers did. His thoughts turned for a moment to the missing Du Couteau. He did not miss the man, for Talon hadn't missed something in many a year. He was after closure. He held no love for Noxus, didn't care if he found the General and rocketed Noxus into supremacy or not. He hadn't promised that he would find the man to please either Katarina or Cassiopeia.

"He earned my respect the only way anyone can," Talon thought, "The way I earned the fear of Noxus." With that thought firmly in mind, he made his decision.

"So be it. Do you know the room in which you are kept?"

(( Noooooo, talon wat r u doin.... talon STAHP ))

With that said, Talon stood and brushed his cloak off, shifting it onto his back once more. His fingers flexed around the grip of his arm blade while he stood, looking down at the wicked edge of the steel that was more himself than he was. Thoughts and memories flooded him while his gaze was locked on the weapon. The ache of hunger so prevalent in his childhood, Kayvn's betrayal, the day he learned of the General's disappearance and how he decided he would find the man, alive or dead, the faces of countless people he'd kicked into the gutters of Noxus.

... Noxus. Noxus was not strong. Points within Noxus were strong. People who controlled it, made it dance like a puppet on strings, were strong, but complacent. The bitterness welled again. Noxus had tried to claim his life countless times. It was time they learned what it truly meant to live or die by their own hands. If an ethereal terror was what it took to teach them this, he knew one suited to the job.

His thoughts were replaced with an iron conviction, the grip on his blade- on his very life- shaking from how tightly he clutched it. He would tell no one of what was to come, what he would unleash. The strong would survive. Those who possessed the determination to do anything it took to live. The determination he had shown Kavyn on that fateful day.

He began to move toward his new destination, the layout of the institute being something he had memorized within days of being inducted into the League. He knew the path he had to take. He knew the people he would have to kill, where the doors were, where the crannies he could vanish into were. He knew the strength of the summoners. How their magic had limits, how powerless they would be if caught unprepared, without time to prepare their incantations. He knew where his goal sat and exactly how difficult it would be to get there. He had not failed yet, nor did he plan to start now.

The constant threat of death Noxus had given him every day had been a favor.

It was time to repay them all in full.

((There will be blood, Swain.))