The city-states of Zaun and Noxus had their similarities and their differences, the streets of Zaun filled much more with shameless merchants and exhibitors of the Black Market, most of whom fail to have it live up to its "Black" name. The line of illegal trade itself was as hidden and secretive as it was prohibited. Common Zaunite citizens could easily find one selling their often dangerous items and materials, from Shimmer to magically enhanced explosives of a magnitude nearly reproducing the Hexplosive Expert's destructive abilities himself. Noxus was a city-state of nearly-chaotic order, but order by power. Zaun itself was led by its citizens, the chaos they spread throughout "Mother Zaun" showing their creative prowess proudly to band together as a city-state. No true 'order'.
"It is still a city-state of fools."
Among Noxian citizens their foreign visitors would walk with cautious steps. Each feared one wrong move would initiate rivalry, and soon enough one powerful enough would simply destroy those that angered. Not all were so cautious; or needed to be. Through busy Noxian crowds a silhouette seemed to shift through light itself, yet transparent, the visibility of any object only slightly distorted. The figure was short and small yet moved quite quickly, shifting from one crowd to the next. Only Twitch, the Plague Rat was capable of this; perhaps few others accepted into the League could best him.
Twitch was no more frightened than he was calm; and he was nearly never so. Keeping his own mind from revealing his presence within the shadows was a chore that the rat could not finish even if his life were on the line. With quick scampering Twitch made his way towards the darkened fortress they called "Darkbourne Hold". 'Avoid every guard and remember the plan', the rat told himself, but this almost never was heeded. Even now, after the second time Twitch would find entry into the heavily guarded castle, he felt tempted to simply find somewhere to "acquire" cheese.
Guards lined the entrance pathway and gates, mere annoyances in the Plague Rat's eyes. He would wait for when the time is right, slipping right through the large gated barrier while one was occupied with their own entry, his silhouette passing by without a glance from any of them; then once more, with the "pretty, pretty front doors" that Twitch deemed necessary to stare at for at least a moment.
"Imbeciles."
Twitch muttered only one word as he passed one of the ironclad guards, almost too loudly. Each lengthy wall inside the fortress caught the rat's stealthy eye, stretching farther than he imagined a hallway could. The entry hall's ceiling was nearly out of his sight. This was no time to be sightseeing; after all, this was his second 'visit'.
With lightened steps Twitch scampered towards the other end of the entry hall, passing every hung painting and decor that he tried oh-so-much to ignore. The smells, the scents! There was the scent of a finished feast that lingered through the air, causing his nose to twitch uncontrollably. It angered him, infuriated him! "Shut up..!" The Plague Rat spoke to his own seemingly swollen nose, trying his best to keep quiet; luckily there were none around to hear his words.
Entering the main hall was simple enough. Soldiers occasionally passed by, unknowingly walking right past Twitch's body, sometimes only by a hair. The rat's scent went unnoticed as well in his hidden state. He sniffed about as quietly as possible, locking on to his target's scent; possibly to kill, to annoy. With any possibility, it would be insane.
Twitch turned and scampered off on all fours towards a nearby hall, almost as if his nose had tugged him along eagerly. His rather large feet tracked somewhat of a light dirt trail of his own unkept hygiene along the ground, barely visible by the human eye; one would need to inspect such a thing purposefully to notice. The hallways upon hallways were becoming tedious to traverse, yet finally, the scent had grown to its strongest; a door that led to the Darkbourne Hold Study. Who knew of the immense amount of books that would be held inside, and apparently, Noxus' power-bearing leader itself, Swain.
"Wait, WAIT! What if...yes. I know what this is. This is a trap. Swain is a 'Master Tactician"..! Certainly-" Twitch stopped in his tracks, a hand only barely laid against one of the Library's doors.
"...JUST GO IN YOU FOOL, it's just one old bird! Besides, how could it POSSIBLY be a trap? No one knows you are here! If it IS a trap, simply shoot him in the knee and leave."
A voice rang throughout Twitch's stinging mind, as if he were scolding himself, almost pressing into the door too hard. The large door slowly opened while the other remained stationary, the shadow that accompanied it helping to keep the Plague Rat hidden from within. It stopped within a quarter of its path, leaving room for Twitch to peer around the opening with his head. Surely Swain wouldn't notice a thing.
At least, if he hadn't heard Twitch talking to himself, instead of simply thinking.
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 7, 2013 0:25:05 GMT -5
Hands folded over his cane, red eyes gleaming through the semi-darkness--echoed by those of the hellish bird at his shoulder--the Master Tactician stood staring directly at the spot where Twitch stood. Whether or not he could actually see the rat was uncertain. He did not look amused.
When he spoke, his voice echoed with grim derision, rang out through the massive domed library, foreboding: "Twitch." He took an uneven step forward. "What do you think you are doing."
Twitch nearly squealed at the top of his tiny lungs-when compared with a human at least-, only held back by his inability to say just about anything for the moment. He resisted every urge to jump and yell from being so surprised, starting to gain opacity and fade in from the shadows. He'd been looking up, straight into Swain's glaring eyes; though Swain seemed to be looking off elsewhere, as if he had no idea where the rat was.
Swain was standing right there. Towering over him, as most humans did.
"HOW DID THIS -IMBECILE- SEE ME!?", the rat thought.
His pupils shrank to the point where they were nearly nonexistent. The aura of his odor around him began to grow in as he lost the cloak of the shadows, tainting the air bit by bit, stronger as he remained in sight (to an extent, anyway). Twitch's mind raced with malicious thoughts, 'KILL HIM NOW' it said, 'HE WILL KILL YOU IF NOT'. He expected differently. He expected a perfect plan as always, and as always, it did not go according to plan.
"Oh! Yes, yes," Twitch took a nervous step or two out of the doorway and back into the main hall, allowing Swain the freedom to step forward as he pleased. His hands fumbled over each other, fingers lacing and dancing around one another, improvising as best his insane mind could.
"Swain, what a coincidence! I was simply having a little walk through your home and wondered, 'where would the old, bird-man be in such a place'. Here you are!" Multiple giggles came from him, a failed attempt at holding in his own nervousness, or the excitement of the situation starting to interest him. Twitch's elbow poked into the specialized crossbow holstered nicely at his side, inside of his bag with many other trinkets. Any more of a panicking state would most likely influence him to use such a thing against anyone in the castle...even if it were unnecessary.
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 9, 2013 16:29:08 GMT -5
A flash of his blazing gaze illuminated the darkness. Though it did not follow the rat as he backed away, Beatrice craned her neck after him, following his every move. The Master Tactician's grip on his cane tightened, the veins in the back of his gnarled hand bulging. By the state of the desk behind him--strewn with books and scrolls, a wet fountain-pen, an open inkwell--he seemed to have been in the middle of something. Interruption did not suit him.
"You are not simply having a walk, Twitch," he said. His eyes narrowed to slits. "You are trespassing on government property--on my property. An infraction technically punishable by death." His tone was calm, even, but he took a crooked step forward to punctuate the gravity of his assertion. "So I hope you've a good reason why you should be an exception to the rule."
Twitch's two ears flicked once, then twice, a confused look forming on his face. He'd either forgotten the concept of privacy and prohibition, or simply forgotten how to care about it. After countless 'incidents' and accusations of thievery, the Plague Rat was already forbidden from traveling to any other city-state-including Noxus-yet trespassing alone was a crime he could be punished for here and now.
Twitch's eyes moved from one part of Swain's body to the next, eyeing obvious signs of his crippled state and even taking an interested look at his cane; but only one sight truly caught his eye. He began staring only at Beatrice and only into the bird's crimson-set eyes, three of them on each side of its head. The fumbling in his hands had stopped now, as if taken completely by what he saw; yet his eyes now moved to Swain's once more.
A glow formed around Twitch's eye-sockets, encompassing them in a dim crimson-filled mist; the same color that could be found in the Master Tactician's irises. It quickly began to vanish, returning his eyes to their iris-less form.
"You know, I haven't broken anything on your 'property' at all; nothing! Though I can't say the same for...Renekton, can I?"
With a smirk the rat spoke confidently, looking up for a moment while giggling to himself.
"He didn't seem to care much for your home, yet you make him your toy. Yes? As for death, no. What would the League say if they knew you were to kill one of their 'premiere' champions, hm?"
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 9, 2013 21:42:33 GMT -5
A sinister smirk twisted the Grand General's withered features. With a practiced somatic gesture, he sliced the air. Purple runes glowed around Twitch's feet. The stone and carpet morphed, rose up as talons and clamped themselves firmly around the rat's shrouded body. Crimson eyes now locked upon the outlined form of the unbidden beast. "Need I remind you that you are out of the jurisdiction of the League?"
The Master Tactician's caneless hand began to glow green; a beam of sickly energy connected with his prisoner, illuminating him from stealth. Swain's hand trembled slightly as power coursed through it. Under the Ray of Enfeeblement, the rat's body froze, powerless to resist. "And I daresay you have broken something." In a flash of green, the general clenched his fist. Twitch's body numbed, slackened, and Swain's imposing form seemed to intensify in imperious power as the intruder's energy flowed into him. "My concentration."
From the shadows themselves, three assassins materialized around the rat, completely shrouded. Silent. "Renekton is a guest in my household. He is free to do what he pleases with the property I have allotted him. You, by contrast, are unbidden." His eyes flashed as his sinister growl rang throughout the library. Still, he smirked, squaring his shoulders as his prisoner's lifeforce flowed into him. "Seize him," he commanded.
At his order, the mage-assassins bore down on Twitch's illuminated form, held him firmly as the talons retracted and the floor returned to normal. "You place a measure of importance upon yourself, rat. Yet," he mused, "who's to say that the summoners know where you are? You entered my castle by stealth, which seems to imply clandestine intentions. Would summoners know where to look? And furthermore," his smirk widened to a grin, making his grim features even more frightful, "would they care? Somehow, I don't think you'd be as sorely missed as you presume."
The green light faded and Swain folded his casting hand over his cane, but the weakness in Twitch's body remained--as did the empowered stance of the Grand General. "Take him to the dungeons until I've decided whether or not I'm feeling benevolent. Strip him of all his belongings. Bind him." The Grand General shifted his weight, prepared to return to his desk and his work. "Pray that I devise a use for you, Twitch. Perhaps as a tasty morsel for my Culling Blade."
Post by Master of Shadows on Mar 9, 2013 23:43:40 GMT -5
The assassins held Twitch with iron grips, resistance was completely and utterly futile. Twitch's insignificance seemed to grow as the assassins lifted him clear off the ground, his small form a light load for them. A slight respectful nod was made to Swain before the assassins began carrying out their duties. They carried the rat out of the room and into the long corridors, filled with paintings and art.
The men carrying Twitch did not pay attention to his smell or anything for that matter, they walked with purpose in an almost robotic way. They marched their way through the maze of hallways in the hold, intent on reaching the dungeon. Their footsteps were silent, they seemed to make almost no noise no matter what they did.
The air seemed to become thicker as they neared the dungeon, the elaborate decor of the hold became simple and practical. The area seemed to become damp as the group made their way down to the bowels of the hold. The shadows were deep and almost seemed to move, they acted as if they had a life of their own. There was little light down in the dungeons, no hope, no happiness, only sorrow in the form of whimpers from broken prisoners. The torches that were scattered around offered little and only added to the eerie feeling of the dungeon. Twitch's smell was almost nothing compared to the smell down here, it reeked of decay and dampness.
They brought the rat to an open area with a table in the center, they slammed the creature down on it quite roughly and began removing all his belongings. They tore off his jacket and placed it on the table, careful not to spill any harmful concoctions. All weapons were taken from him, his rings removed, everything, the rat was stripped down to his disgusting unwashed fur. The assassins did this with a particular roughness and almost aggressive style. After he had been stripped they literally picked the rat up and tossed him into a smaller cell. They were on him in seconds once again, shackling his limbs to the wall, he would have barely any room to move, his arms held above his head. The chains were very tight around Twitch to make sure that he couldn't escape.
A single assassin stood outside the door, listening intently to the rat, making sure no one got in or out.
Shadow people follow him everywhere he goes. Looking over his shoulder, the paranoia flows.
"YOU IDIOTIC LITTLE PEST! NOW look at what you've done-can't you do anything right!? No, no...when does that happen? No? Yes? Never! You should have stayed in your filthy home, creating your vile potions, suffering in the waste of your brethren. Now what are you doing? Hm?
ARE YOU LISTENING!?"
In a flash his vision returned. Previous events seemed to last a lifetime, the scars and bruises made felt as if they were severe. In mere moments after encountering Swain, the Plague Rat was taken in hand by seemingly spectral soldiers. Twitch's mind was completely blank at the time, nothing could have prepared him for such an event. And yet he couldn't have asked for such a thing; complete silence within the confines of his own mind.
It was a divine thing. At the wrong time.
Swain's words were only a faint memory to him now; but 'dungeons' rang clearly through his mind. The 'insane old bird-man', as Twitch called him, now had him bound tightly in chains, possibly to be tortured soon enough. What would they do to him? What kind of torture could they possibly inflict on him? ....A bath was out of the question. No, that was beyond torture-it would be worse than MURDER! Twitch's head shook back and forth, both to rid his racing mind of the thought and snap himself out of his mentally disturbed state; inevitably to no avail.
Who was that speaking to him, insulting him? Was it one of the figures that so roughly tossed him into his current imprisonment like a used up slave? Or possibly Swain, toying with his mind? When was the last time he had consumed a barrel's worth of cheese!? Too many questions to ponder!
And yet suffering awaited him.
Twitch's head now lowered, unable to move much at all within his bindings. Such aggressiveness from his earlier captors took the breath from him, bruising and wounding parts of his body, making them weak. There was to be no struggling, and with slight shifting, he noticed his apparel and equipment were completely missing. The darkness of the area only worsened his sight and sanity, torches hung along the walls only barely lighting their surroundings. The scent of his prison was reminiscent of his sewer home; just without the bed of sewer water, slime and toxins created from various fluids and waste of Zaunite origin. His own smell the rat couldn't even notice.
Coughing once or twice, Twitch did not move. His limbs stopped weakly, allowing the shackles to keep his body uncomfortably erect and his arms held upwards together, simply letting his eyelids drop as much as they could. There was no escape. And not a clue as to what Swain had in store.
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 10, 2013 16:14:43 GMT -5
A sound echoed out through the dreary halls, quiet at first, but drawing ever-nearer. Footsteps. The tick-tack-tick of stone on stone. The uneven shuffle of boots. The dainty rhythm of stiletto heels.
How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? Days? Time seemed to stand still in the dungeon, punctuated only by the steady drip, drip, drip of condensation into murky puddles on the floor. Finally, the footsteps drew nigh the rat's cell. Two silhouettes emerged into the bleak half-light. The outline of the Grand General's military ensemble, his hellish fowl, the gleam of his crimson eyes, made him easily recognizable. At his side, a second form, feminine, graceful, stood in dignified silence.
"Open it," Swain growled. Silently, the shadow-mage strode forth and unlocked the grate. He pulled it back, allowing the two shades to cross the threshold. Blazing eyes narrowed at the prisoner's shackled form. "Twitch," came the Grand General's imperious bark, "Wake up."
Post by The Deceiver on Mar 10, 2013 16:21:22 GMT -5
"He smells as awful as he looks. Are you sure this is not carrion?" the Deceiver cooed at Swain. Her staff in hand, she lowered it and prodded Twitch's stomach. "He seems listless. Lifeless. Tsk. How much of a shame would it be if I made this rodent into Beatrice's num nums?"
LeBlanc pressed her staff harder onto Twitch's ribcage. If he did not squeak or react soon, within seconds bones would bruise, and then break.
Pressure was building up well in the filth infested tomb of insanity he called his body and mind. Not only that, but his mind never seemed to cease with its own insults and rapid mentioning of his terrible situation. Twitch's head was hung over in a state of mental and physical exhaustion, having not eaten or drank in some time; though time was lost within the prison that held him.
How LONG had it been? The minutes seemed to be hours, hours to be days, DAYS to be YEARS! And yet he had not a clue how much time had really passed.
Twitch went insane-more insane than usual-, illusions faded into his eyesight of fountains, waterfalls of cheese and cheesecake, all sorts and varieties! The poor Plague Rat could only salivate at such a thought, hoping a meal would come to him soon. Giggling came from his maw at random, volume increasing and decreasing with every new thought he processed. Slowly Twitch's eyelids opened once more, weakly feeling something prodding his torso area. It seemed to push in farther and deeper, starting to cause some sort of pain; it was nothing compared to the mental pain these events caused him.
Each press in forced a light, weakened squeal out of him, as if he were an oversized and overused squeaky toy. The rat's eyes were reddened and bruised and his pupils shrunken with insanity, the rest of his body seemed even more unkept than usual. His belly ached and growled only to feel as if it were caving in on itself, begging for any sustenance to fill the void; combined with his squealing, it would seem to any others he was in pure agony.
Twitch's head began to rise in an attempt to view anyone and anything around-only barely able to use the energy he had. Vivid colors of purple and yellow filled his sight, to one end was a staff belonging to Leblanc, shoved into his ribcage area. The other figure was much harder to be seen in his state, made only more difficult by the poor lighting of his prison. A weakened sniff or two and a look into the eyes that pierced his sight confirmed it; Swain had returned.
The rat spoke not a word, not yet-he could only breathe out somewhat deeply between each of his squeals, managing to keep his eyes fixed on Swain, and only Swain. And yet, he managed to form a grin.
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 10, 2013 23:49:31 GMT -5
"It is alive enough, matron," the Grand General responded, his head tilted in bemused observation of his captive. Despite the dire nature of its circumstances, it smiled. Perhaps its mind had collapsed in its brief confinement; perhaps it had collapsed long ago. Either way, the rat's half-conscious state did fine to suit his purposes.
Beatrice clucked in disdain for the listless Plague Rat, turned up her beak in disgust. The Master Tactician smirked, spoke directly to the subject of his fiendish familiar's derision. "You're lucky, Twitch. I've thought of something for you to do."
Multiple things could be said in a situation such as this, most not very much more helpful than the last. Twitch's mind began to play a game of Response Roulette to determine what would spew from his maw, whether he wanted it-or anything at all-to be said or not. The rat raised an eeeyyyyeee...(?) as his gaze was locked onto Swain and Beatrice, whom he assumed was mocking him; the assumption made for almost all he saw, heard and spoke to.
"I am...not your mindless pet, like some helpless rat in a cage...!"
Twitch nearly spat out his words, an angered squeal forced behind his voice, extreme distaste expressed with the mention of a caged rat. His brethren may have been mindless and pet-worthy, yes, but the Plague Rat was to change all of that. He believed his kind had been tortured long enough by living in their own waste and feeding on the scraps of those that made them suffer. But what option did he have? Swain could simply have him killed with no retaliation or consequence in mind for doing so.
Infuriating.
There was more to become of something like this. The thought of dying by an old, crippled bird struck him easily and quickly, making his head lower once again in shame. To serve such a man would be embarrassing, a scar upon his soul for an eternity; but death by his hand would be much, much worse. He and his entire kind would be helpless to years of torture once again, all because of him. For the moment, Twitch was simply glad his mind began to agree with the safest option.
"What is it you want...that your new toy can't do."
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 11, 2013 21:59:35 GMT -5
A wheezing chuckle resounded in the darkness, derisive, cruel. After a few moments of sadistic humor, the Grand General's silhouette let out a hacking cough, shifted its weight, smoothed a few disheveled strands of hair back into their usual arrangement and spoke aloud: "I beg your pardon, Twitch. That is precisely what you are."
He took a crooked step forward, his gnarled features illuminated by a sliver of moonlight, a twisted smirk upon them. "What do I want from you? You'll soon find out." He folded his hands over his cane and cast his blazing gaze in the direction of The Deceiver.
Post by The Deceiver on Mar 11, 2013 22:58:44 GMT -5
LeBlanc's perfect visage cracked, her lips curling in disgust for a scant moment. She released her grip on her staff, leaving it standing despite having no support and knelt down in front of the Plague Rat. Her eyes looked up at Swain, matching his gaze. She looked down at the plague rat and cooed, "Shh sh shhh...dear, this is not going to be painful."
Her hands reached over to the sides of Twitch's face, LeBlanc's eyes narrowing. "That would mean you can give what you are about to experience a form of context that you can conceptualize."
LeBlanc's hands rested on Twitch's head and...nothing happened. The Plague Rodent would feel the skin on his forehead start to split apart of its own accord, muscle and skin loosening from one another as some magical force proceeded to methodically scalp him. The pain would be blinding, of course, but it would not kill him.
Exposing his skull, the Deceiver reached over and grabbed the base of his skull, magical energy surging from her finger tips. With the precision of a surgeon, she started to trace runes and glyphs onto the actual bone itself. Slowly and surely, over the course of an hour, LeBlanc weaved her spells. Each time a runic glyph was completed, it would be signaled by a jolt of an odd sensation.
Not quite pain, but it seemed to attack the very soul of the rat, locking and interlacing with his spiritual signature. Pain, pleasure, anger, sadness, happiness, all the experiences and emotions of a sentient being would rush out in euphoric bursts, to assure that the rodent wouldn't die from the procedure.
Once she covered every plausible inch of Twitch's skull with her magic, she reached over for his eyes. Plucking them out, she held them by the few muscles that were attached at the base of his eye sockets. LeBlanc held the rat's right here, letting it roll about in the palm of her hand, and unfortunately giving him decent view of her chest, while she worked more runes into this eye socket. The Deceiver would repeat the procedure for the other eye, and one would assume she was done.
LeBlanc traced a circle atop his skull, tapped it with her finger, and removed an entire section of bone, revealing Twitch's brain. It was still oxygenated, it did not look it was exposed in any way, yet her delicate, silky fingers drumming away at it with more runes would tell Twitch that yes, she was performing brain surgery on him.
And he was aware of it the entire time.
It was another three, agonizing hours of her meticulous work before she replaced the bone back into its proper location, and hovered her hands above Twitch's head. A final surge of violet, violent magic ripped out and roared from the runes, removing their appearance completely, as though she had not spent so many hours performing this procedure.
LeBlanc's fingers twitched, allowing the muscle to scamper back onto the skull and firmly lock itself back into place. It would seem her work was done, but not yet.
Her delicate fingers once more seemingly strummed with with his muscles, weaving and plucking at them, sending magic and creating runes and auric patterns that quickly interwove themselves into his musculature. This was another hour of work.
Eventually, his skin was reformed, and Twitch looked like nothing had happened to him. LeBlanc stood up and clasped her hands together.
"Jericho, dear, a bowl of antiseptic. Please. And some fresh flowers, his smell is finally getting to me."
The Deceiver rolled her head, the strain in her neck setting from the delicate procedure. She cooed at the Grand General, "Step one is complete, dear. Two days of recovery, one day of checkup to assure the magic has interwoven with his soul, and then step two: The heart."
LeBlanc snapped her head downwards, glaring at Twitch. She hissed at the rodent, "I hope you enjoyed that, you disgusting little creature. To think something could smell as bad as you, I have smelt fertilizer for my flowers better than you."
The Deceiver stepped away from Twitch and waited patiently for the antiseptic, and something to clear the horrid smell that offended her nose so.
Last Edit: Mar 11, 2013 23:10:23 GMT -5 by The Deceiver
Welcome to Maelstrom, Original Characters, Summoners and Champions alike. We are a divergent setting roleplay forum for the ever-popular MOBA by Riot, League of Legends. This means we are based in Riot canon, but your characters' actions can have a real, lasting impact on the world. Together, the Maelstrom community endeavors to bring the League of Legends setting and characters to life through collaborative storytelling and meaningful development. We welcome you along for the ride.
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