Post by The Master Tactician on Apr 21, 2013 17:56:22 GMT -5
Swain's air remained professional, collected, even as LeBlanc detailed the prince's history and unsavory physicality, though tic of disgust flickered in his cheek as she spoke of the Exemplar's private areas. How dare he insinuate such a thing of her, indeed. The colonel fought his growing urge to gut the boy then and there--but the child was a tool. There lay a plan in place, he reminded himself. His inner rage did not penetrate his poise.
"But of course, madame," came the colonel's concession. "Such impertinence must not be pardoned." The slightest incline of his head, the purposeful blink of crimson eyes, indicated his polite encouragement of her endeavors. His hands remained folded over his cane; his luminous eyes flickered curiously in the half-light of the tent. "I'd brought along some anesthetic to limit the screaming, but perhaps we won't make use of it after all."
The colonel smiled mirthlessly to Jarvan. "Excuse me," he said, inclining his head in mock respect as he strode from the spot toward the mouth of the tent. His caneless hand glowed green as it twisted in somatic arcane motions, slowly forming a barrier of sickly light behind the curtains. The light stretched and spread, a dome of energy separating them from the outside world. If any were to attempt entry, they would find themselves back outside the tent, no matter how many times their feet passed over the threshold. Issued sounds took on a strange, resounding quality. And if the prince were to scream, not a soul would hear him but his captors, he and she, and the fiendish fowl upon Swain's shoulder.
Jarvan scowled as Swain and LeBlanc made a mockery of him. He was not used of being disrespected like this. Anyone in Demacia who dared to slander his name received a swift hand across their face. "Laugh while you can, Noxian scum. Once my father hears of this he will send an army after you. You two will rue this day."
The prince's face reddened as LeBlanc brought up more personal things about his physical features. He sputtered and his feet slipped. The chain around his neck choked him and he struggled to touch his toes back to the ground. Once he had his footing, he took a few desperate breathes. "How... How do you... know these... things." He still hasn't quite caught his breath and coughed. "Did you dis...guise yourself and... sneak into the... palace?" He had another coughing fit. "Did you... violate me?"
Jarvan's confusion was replaced with fresh anger as they spoke of what to do with him next, as if he were a lowly animal in line for slaughter. He scoffed as Swain spoke of making him scream. "I'd like to see you try and make me. I do not fear death." He put up a brave facade, but he was frightened.
He knew these people loathed him just as much as he loathed them. His heart began to race while he thought of what they would do to him. Leblanc's words from before echoed in his mind. He imagined this woman ripping out his eyes with her claw like nails.
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 21, 2013 19:21:28 GMT -5
LeBlanc started to giggle like an adolescent girl. "Disguise myself? Violate you? Me, violate you?" She strutted close to the Prince. Her finger twitched and she brought it up, prodding his belly. A warm fire would start to gather, he would feel as though butterflies were gathering in his stomach, his muscles becoming more gelatin as his knees became weak. "Consider that the closest concept to pleasure I will issue you. I have no need to violate you, dear. Why go for the slop fed to pigs, you, if you have not discovered my overly witty symbolic image of your demeanor, when I can dine on the finest of meats and wines with someone I daresay could call my equal? No no, darling, I did not violate you. I prefer not expelling the contents of my stomach, thank you very much."
LeBlanc looked over at Swain and give him a quick nod of her head, "Thank you, Jericho, dear. Now then!"
She spun away from Jarvan and stepped ten paces away from the prince while speaking. "Sneak into the Demacian palace? Darling, I have no need to do such a thing when I have associates who can mingle just as well with far less effort exerted. Really, you ask the most insipid of questions, you're missing the obvious ones, and then you spout stupid lines such as 'you do not fear death'. Pft, please. You cannot lie to a liar, darling. But no matter, I have a deal for you!"
The Deceiver faced Jarvan and fell backwards. Her curvaceous bottom seemed to suspend itself at chair height as she took a seat on nothing but air, her staff in hand. "I am not cruel without reason." She snapped her fingers, the chain around his neck dissipated, along with any other form of his bondage. The prince would fall to his seat able to breathe once more. "If you are able to touch me, then I shall let you go free. I swear on my name and my title, if you are able to do so, then you will be free. If you fail within my allotted time limit of say, mm...Four minutes? Yes, I think that will do, four minutes, then I will do what I originally came here to do."
LeBlanc rapped her staff on the floor, it quickly shifted shape and transformed into a spear. With a casual toss, she threw the weapon to Jarvan's feet. "Your specialized weapon if I remember correctly. The Seneschal has taught you its art since you were a toddler. You have put in a few thousand hours into its training, without any real military action behind it however." She raised a finger up and waggled it to and fro, "You are confined to within this tent, try to escape and...well, let's say you won't enjoy it, hm? Attack Swain and I will choke you with your large intestines. The countdown begins the moment you pick up the spear, dear."
LeBlanc raised one of her hands up and rested it behind her head. She shifted one leg over the other, her thin clothing barely covering her decency in her taunting of Jarvan, and emphasized this by trailing her free hand's fingers along the curves of her stomach. Her tone sounded bored yet thoroughly condescending as she sighed aloud, "You may begin when ready, oh greatest slayer of men, the fighter of beasts, the almighty prince of ignoramuses and his band of merry idiots."
Post by The Master Tactician on Apr 21, 2013 20:38:20 GMT -5
The colonel turned to watch the spectacle, hands folded over his cane once more. At the Deceiver's thanks, he simply nodded. A smirk crept across his face as she began her theatrical show, leaning back to flaunt her lithe form in mockery of the prince. Just to touch her, to skewer her, in practice it sounded so easy. She lay unarmored and at rest in mid-air! Just a dainty lady. Certainly no match for the prince!
Jarvan would underestimate her, but the colonel knew well that, with her, nothing was as it seemed. He watched on in amusement as she made her offer, as she threw Jarvan the conjured lance--one much like the Exemplar's own--as she offered her condescending invitation. He could not help himself a quiet chuckle.
Jarvan flinched away as Leblanc brought her hand up to his gut. He was infinity glad for his armor that protected him from her touch. He abhorred the thought of her skin touching his. The prince hated the effect this woman's magic had on him. She was the enemy, he was not allowed to feel relaxed or infatuated by her. He had to admit that she was beautiful though.
As The Deceiver spoke of losing the contents of her stomach, he forced a devious smile on his face. He was going to go for a jab at the Colonel, an attempt to infuriate and make him jealous. "Are you quite sure sweetie? I have been told by many of how handsome and irresistible I am. You haven't grown tired of this dried-out old man and sought out the comfort of someone younger and more capable?" he said grimly.
The prince let out an audible sigh of relief as all of his confines disappeared and the chair was brought down to rest flat on the floor. He rubbed his sore neck, the chains left three red lines on his skin. His brows were brought together in confusion once the woman threw a spear his way. It was true that this was his weapon of choice, being comparable to an extension of his arm.
Jarvan smiled as she explained the rules of the challenge, he felt like she made a fatal mistake. He was a very cocky and arrogant man with the utmost confidence in himself. Any trickery this woman had was not seen by this naive boy. He was so confident in his ability to crush this fragile-looking woman that he felt she wouldn't be able to put up any sort of fight against him. He felt a weird sort of pleasure in the thought of snapping Leblanc's tiny neck between his hands and watching Swain's horrified reaction as he did so.
The prince bolted out of his chair as fast as he could and snatched the spear in his hands. He took half a second to test the weapon's weight while continuing to run towards the floating woman. He tried his best attempt at a battle cry as he lunged towards Leblanc, the tip of the spear aimed right for her throat.
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 21, 2013 23:37:07 GMT -5
LeBlanc rolled her eyes at Jarvan's meager attempt to infuriate her. She let out another sigh the moment he picked the weapon up. "Four minutes begins now, dear. Really, with how flustered you look, I should have given you one minute. You look like a quick shot."
The Deceiver's ample bust rose and fell with her deep breaths, staring hungrily at Jarvan. Her eyes shimmered with violet energy, her irises quickly changed as a strangely ravenous glint appeared in them. The spear would pierce her throat, and no blood would be issued. She tilted her head, staring at Jarvan. "I believe I said you'd have to touch me."
She exploded into tendrils of black, quickly swallowing the entirety of the room up. Jarvan was nowhere yet somewhere. He could not see his own shadow, he felt as though he should be falling rather than standing but there he stood.
"Jarvan!" a shrill voice called. A door had swung open in the blackness on the top of a staircase within his palace. Within his palace? Of Demacia? Luxanna Crownguard, she looked younger. She waved at Jarvan and started to run down the stairs. "You're back! Garen! He did it! Jarvan, I was so worried! I-"
The golden base of a staff poked out from the air and caught her leg. Lux tripped over it and fell down the stairs head first, her skull making a sick thumping noise. She rolled down the entirety of the stairs and started to gasp and whine in pain, her face split open. "Ah-ah...ah! AH! Muh, my face! AH! AHHH!!"
"Oh she's a noisy one, I could see why you'd enjoy her company so sporadically darling," a feminine voice cooed.
The same golden staff from before would appear and cave Lux's skull in, her brain matter splattering the floor. LeBlanc stepped out from behind Jarvan, musing aloud. "Much better, don't you think? I'm not sure how you Demacians can hear your women moan like such whores. It's quite irritating, even in death."
LeBlanc flashed him a cheeky grin, grabbed her staff and started to walk away. "I believe I said you need to touch me, not an illusion, yes? Come along, dear, come along! No time to waste, three minutes and forty seconds!"
The entirety of the floor suddenly inverted. Jarvan was now upside down, watching LeBlanc defy physics with her strut, her hips swaying to and fro, teasing him with every step. This was a game to her, that's all it was. If he realized that this was an impossibility, to be on a ceiling, he would suddenly go shooting towards the ground to make up for his displaced gravity.
Last Edit: Apr 21, 2013 23:38:05 GMT -5 by The Deceiver
Jarvan’s face lit up into a wide smile when the spear pierced her throat. Yes, he was able to slay this awful woman! What happened next though confused him. Blood was supposed to flow out of her wound like a waterfall, but there was none to be had. His smile vanished as he realized this was just her magic at work again.
The prince felt that he had to protect himself from the black tendrils that covered the whole room. He put his arms up to shield his face in case any of them flew by and struck him. Everything was a black nothingness and he felt like he had been swallowed by the dark.
Once he heard a familiar voice though he brought his hands down. He let out a sigh of relief as he saw Lux. He was safe at home in the palace. Him getting captured must have been a terrible nightmare. “Lux I am so glad to see-” His sentence was cut off short when she tripped and face planted. “LUXANNA!” He began to run in an attempt to aid her, only to be stopped short again as he saw her skull crushed. “No. Oh Gods. LUX NO!” The sight of her life being ended in front of him sent him into shock. His breathing became quick and shallow and he began to sweat. He fell to his knees in despair and looked up.
Jarvan saw LeBlanc taunting him and his fear became replaced with rage. His face turned to a deep red from this fury. This was probably the angriest he has ever been. “How dare you make me see those things?” He did not notice the sudden shift in gravity however. His anger had manifested itself to tunnel vision onto this single woman. “I’ll kill you.”
Killing her with a weapon was no longer good enough. He needed to feel the satisfaction of the warmth escaping her dead flesh. He wanted to see the light fade from her eyes. He stood and began to run at her with all of his might. Once Jarvan neared LeBlanc he held his arms out. He wanted to tackle her down and put her neck in a vice-like grip between his hands. He was going to shake her until he felt the sickening snap and her body go limp.
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 23, 2013 9:00:06 GMT -5
LeBlanc would keep her even steps when she would suddenly invert her position, taking her a safe distance away. Jarvan was above her, she was below him on another surface continuing to walk in the pitch blackness, her stride uninterrupted. "Down down the rabbit hole we go! Where will we go? Only I know~"
Jarvan would be forced to recalibrate his equilibrium as he was forced on the same walking plane as LeBlanc, who would suddenly jump up in place and b swallowed by the blackness. A hole shimmered to show where she had disappeared, and her taunting voice filled the void. "Have you bothered to sit and think, Prince? Have you attempted to figure out this deal? Why would I make this deal if there was an inkling of your success? Really, you have been asking what, who, when, where, but not why."
Jarvan had no other options, he had to either follow her game or stay in the void. Once he went in, he would see on of his Demacian comrades tied up in a prison cell, weeping uncontrollably. The woman had jagged wounds on her wrists and her thighs, her tendons were severed meaning she could no longer on her own. The iron chains were not needed for her. Her bloodied and bruised face, her dirtied blonde hair, she was broken, begging, crying for someone to help her out of this hellhole.
"'Why' is what I consider to be the most important epistemological one can ask, and you have not asked it once! Not even a, 'why have we told you any of this'? Or how about, 'Why would I make this deal'? Or perhaps, 'Why is LeBlanc so beautiful?' That is not an egotistical question, dear, because if you think about it, you can't sit and confidently say, 'This is why'. After all, you hate me by now!"
The Demacian soldier could not stop sobbing, bringing her hands up to her face as they flopped about uselessly. She was broken, sitting there, waiting for someone to help her, someone to save her. Her armor was torn apart, a brand scar on her left breast denoting that she belonged to one of the main subdivisions of slavery.
"It could be me, it could be me giving you a chance to redeem your stupidity, it could be many things! Go ahead, Prince, save her! Be the valiant man you claim to be!"
"P-Prince...?" The woman looked up and over at Jarvan, her brown eyes locking with Jarvan's. "P-Prince? You're...you're here. You're here. Prince!" She tried to get up only to fall forward, unable to stand on her. She let out a loud sob. "Prince, get out of here! You need to get out!"
Last Edit: Apr 23, 2013 13:43:38 GMT -5 by The Deceiver
The sudden shift in gravity made Jarvan nauseous. He gripped at his gut to try and prevent himself from vomiting. He let out an angry growl when she jumped into the nothingness. "Enough with your games woman!" He frowned at her taunts. He was becoming more frustrated with each failed attempt at killing her, each mocking word thrown at him.
The prince had no choice but to follow her, he couldn't stay in this black nothingness. He stepped into the pit and found himself in a sort of dungeon. The scene laid out in front of him almost disturbed him as much as seeing Lux slain before him. He felt pity while looking at this broken woman. He knew this was just another trick created by The Deceiver, but he had to help his countrywoman.
Jarvan began to walk to this imprisoned woman while Leblanc began to ask him the why questions. He stopped in front of the hurt woman and screamed to the ceiling. "FINE! WHY? Why did you bring me here? Why didn't you just kill me on the battlefield? Why are you doing this to me?"
After he had his outburst, he knelt down onto one knee in front of the woman. He caressed her cheek with his hand in an attempt to calm her. "Sssh, everything is going to be alright. I'll get you out of here." He knew that if this were a real person, she wouldn't be alright. She would never be able to walk again, nor would she be able to wield anything. She would be crippled physically and mentally for the rest of her life.
Jarvan looked around them and found a piece of scrap metal. He picked it up and brought it to her chains. He then began to try to break her links to set her free.
Post by The Master Tactician on Apr 23, 2013 21:00:19 GMT -5
Smugly from his glowing corner of the tent, The Master Tactician watched as his rival unraveled at LeBlanc's whim. To him, she still sat sultry in mid-air, her silken hair afloat about her face as though suspended in some intangible breeze. From her eyes, violet light leapt in arcing sparks, a shower of miniature fireworks in the dark. And Jarvan stood before her, his feet firmly planted, though the upper half of his body moved as though he were walking, running, charging. The prince's voice rang as clearly from his lips as though the scenes now playing in his mind were real.
“LUXANNA!” Jarvan bellowed, his brown eyes wide with terror. “No. Oh Gods. LUX NO!” He fell to his knees in sorrow. A satisfied smirk crept over the colonel's grim features. Demacia's golden prince knelt prostrate before LeBlanc. How right this strange scene was! And it was only a preview of things to come, of the day when he would kneel of his own free will, not due to some illusory distress, when he would understand his rightful place in this world. The prince's eyes flashed furiously as he growled, "I'll kill you." Swain's smirk broadened.
He hopped in place, the Exemplar, a puppet on strings, gripped his stomach in apparent nausea. Hands folded over his cane, the colonel stood by in perfect silence as his accomplice's monologue rang out through the tent: "It could be me, it could be me giving you a chance to redeem your stupidity, it could be many things! Go ahead, Prince, save her! Be the valiant man you claim to be!" Her command over the mind was marvelous, a gift that no one else possessed or understood--though she did have a penchant for theatrics. Then again, perhaps that was part of her charm. It was somewhat sadistically pleasing to watch Jarvan flounder about, completely at her mercy. His true torture lay but two minutes and seventeen seconds away.
The prince demanded answers before falling to his knees to comfort some imagined victim. He snatched up a pebble from the dirt and began sawing away at what must have been her bonds. The colonel shook his head. How despicable. How pitiful. How could such a man deserve to run a country when LeBlanc could so easily run his mind? Because of his blood? Because of his line? His smirk slowly faded into a scowl.
Post by The Deceiver on Apr 27, 2013 0:15:23 GMT -5
The injured woman let out a half sob and threw her chains up. The piece of metal that Jarvan had would be struck, cutting his finger open as her manacles came up and wrapped themselves around his neck. The Demacian woman had a familiar glint in her eyes. Violet energy blitzed out from her tear ducts, the woman was now crying rivers of purple liquid. "Because that would be too easy, Jarvan Lightshield IV, Prince of Demacia. Because your life will serve us far better than your death ever will. We will make you betray your own city, we will make the people that you love turn on you..."
The chains tightened around his neck, the woman's voice becoming little more than a hiss. "You will be the sole reason as to why Demacia will fall, and there is not a damn thing you can do about it. The reason why I am telling you all of this is because you will not remember a modicum of your time here. You will not remember my words, you will not remember what transpired, it will be all as though you were in a bad dream."
Jarvan hardly felt it as the piece of metal cut him. It was simply another piece of hay added onto a bale. His whole body was hurt and bleeding. He was starting to become weak with fatigue. His body is no longer able to produce adrenaline to keep him going.
The prince cried out as the chains wrapped around his neck. What was up with Noxians and their love to choke him? He pulled at the chains in an attempt to loosen their grip. He fought for air, taking it in with deep rasps.
He tried his best attempt at a scoff when he heard the woman speak of him being the reason Demacia will fall. "That will... never happen." He fights for another breath in. "If it is... your plan to use me to... hurt Demacia, then.... just kill me. I will not... aid in the fall of my... nation." He hacked up a mix of blood and mucus.
Jarvan became tired of LeBlanc's games and illusions. It was obvious even to him that he was just a mouse being toyed with by a cat. "Drop the... act woman. I will not play... your games any...more."
Post by The Master Tactician on Apr 27, 2013 22:16:33 GMT -5
At the slump of the prince's shoulders, at the tremble of his hands, at his fruitless attempts to loosen the illusory chains crushing his windpipe, Swain's mouth twitched up into a sinister grin. He strode across the tent--cane, step, step--as those final words fell from his prisoner's lips. Jarvan's fervent rejection of the inevitable, despite his obvious defeat, elicited a quiet chuckle from the colonel as he laid a hand gently over LeBlanc's forearm. "He is ready," he said to draw her from her reverie.
Crimson eyes flashed up at the Exemplar, narrowed in sadistic mirth. "But, Jarvan." His smile broadened. "Your whole life is going to be played according to my game." His brows raised in punctuation of his assertion. He shook his head in appreciation of his impending success, of the fantastic sight of Jarvan IV, the picture of this world's very flaws, strung up at the throat by nothing more than the power of his mistress' mind. His fingers tightened ever-so-slightly around her slender arm: a subtle sign of his exhilaration.
Post by The Deceiver on May 11, 2013 0:49:56 GMT -5
LeBlanc let out a soft laugh and shook her head at Jarvan. "Done already? Tut tut, and you still have a little more time! It seems that the rumors of your stamina are true! Must you disappoint a woman at every turn, Pr-"
The moment Swain's words left his lips, saying, "He is ready", she stopped mid sentence. The illusion peeled away, and Jarvan found himself on the floor of the tent, his spear gone but the chains still firmly wrapped around his neck.
LeBlanc allowed Swain to say his piece, and when she felt his fingers tighten his grip, she rolled her head over and leaned it against his shoulder. She cooed aloud, "I will be sure to make this experience as enjoyable for you as possible, darling."
She reached over and gently pried his fingers off her arm and took a step towards the fallen form of Jarvan. LeBlanc crouched down next to his face, a wide smile spread across her lips and asked him in a sultry tone. "Very well, let's end the game, dear. I shall be serious, for your sake."
The Deceiver reached over and tapped his forehead. The chain around his neck violently erupted, creating a new series of serpentine metal bonds. They wrapped around his arms, pulled them as far apart as possible, snaked down to his legs and wrapped around his ankles, then the strings conglomerated into a viper's head the raced at his groin.
Its jaws opened, revealing the sharp metal fangs of the viper, and violently bit into his pelvic region. The moment it did, Jarvan could feel the same slithery feeling crawling up his spine as more metal bonds snapped up and wrapped about his shoulders, then coiled themselves around his wrists.
LeBlanc reached over and stroked the head of the snake while softly crooning at Jarvan. "If you move your arms, or your legs, the viper will bite with the appropriate amount of force exerted. You best hope for your own sake, that you have the pain tolerance of a god for what is to come next."
She looked over and mused aloud to Swain, "I will begin on your whim, Jericho."
Jarvan heard the sadistic sound of Swain's voice through the haze of the illusion. "You're wrong. My life is my own. You may have me captive, but that does not mean you own me." He sat defiantly until the illusion suddenly burst. He looked around himself and saw to his relief that he was sitting on the dirt floor of the tent.
As The Deceiver neared The Prince, he lunged towards her with the intent of strangling her. He saw his chance of getting revenge and took it. To his displeasure, he was suddenly whipped back by an explosion of chains. Being forced into stretching this far was terribly uncomfortable, especially in his armor. The golden plates pressed and pinched his skin.
Jarvan was forced to stifle a pained cry as the chain-snake bit onto his tender area. He would not emit any sound of pain, he would not satisfy them with that. He couldn't prevent his face from reddening though. It took him a good few moments before he was able to speak again. "Enjoy her while you can, Jericho. I will ruin her. I promise you this. I will wring her pretty little neck." He looked up at them with complete loathing.
This is what pure hatred for someone felt like. It seethed and latched onto Jarvan's very soul. It was the intense feeling that stuck with you until the day you died. He now understood the quarrel between Demacia and Noxus. They were more than just the enemy, they were a pest that needed to be exterminated.
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