The most brutal game. (Closed RP)

The Grand General slid his queen diagonal the king. He could not claim her to defend himself, for her double stood waiting on the back lines in a metaphorical echo of her real-life counterpart's signature illusion. Swain lifted his chin, crimson eyes ablaze. "Check."

Backed into a corner created by his own bastion of protection, the king was helpless to retreat as Swain slid his second queen across the back line beside his first. "Mate," came his hoarse conclusion of their game. The Grand General offered a civil nod to his opponent, a polite acknowledgement of Singed's efforts: "Good game."

He did not rise. Instead, his gaze wandered out from the balcony, over the rainy city below. He laid one gnarled hand over his cane and watched as the storm steadily subsided, as the rain slowed to a steady trickle. The chess board of the world must be approached with the same efficient strategic prowess he had demonstrated in their game. This meant that all his opponents' pieces must be accounted for. "Singed," The Master Tactician rasped. "You will get me a solid report on Piltover so that we may initialize our endeavors as soon as possible." Bushy brows raised in punctuation of his address. Because of his deal with Marcellus, because of his proximity to the nation in question, because of his own cunning, because of his connections, The Mad Chemist was surely the best suited man to oversee this necessary task.