Post by The Master Tactician on May 13, 2013 2:45:57 GMT -5
"Enjoy her while you can, Jericho. I will ruin her. I promise you this. I will wring her pretty little neck."
A rush of fury came over Swain, the hatred in his eyes so intensely palpable that physical tongues of flame seemed to leap from them. His luminous gaze blazed over Jarvan IV's prostrate form as he strode forward, lifted his stronger leg and stomped. Hard. Onto the clamp that held the prince's testes, crushing them between the contraption's two plates. A pain intense enough to make the Exemplar vomit immediately shot through his body, leaving his insides writhing after the sudden impact.
"You little shit," snarled Swain through gritted teeth. He slammed the stone base of his cane down onto Jarvan's chest with surprising force, causing a resounding crack to echo through the tent as a rib snapped beneath the blow. The bird at the colonel's shoulder took flight in alarm and alighted on a chair beside LeBlanc. Her master leant over his cane to address the captive, purposefully applying his weight upon the site of impact.
An overwhelming aura of hatred seethed from the Master Tactician: palpable, inhuman. It bore down over the prince like a cloud of smoke, literally suffocating him beneath the colonel's malice. Swain's grip on his cane tightened until the veins in his hands bulged. His face contorted with loathing as he growled, "You will never level a threat against her again."
Jarvan watched as Swain's face contorted into what he felt inside. It seems that he loathed the prince as much as he loathed him. Good. It was no fun to despise someone if they didn't return the feeling. This would be quite the rivalry, one that would go down in the history books.
The prince wanted to scream as Swain stomped on his family jewels. He was forced to bite his lip to keep from crying out. This was by far the worst pain he had ever felt. His body convulsed against the chains and his stomach became sick. He retched the bloodied contents of his gut in front of him. If Swain wasn't careful it would splash onto his shoes. The chained man spat to try and rid his mouth of the awful taste of bile. He gasped and fought for breath, the pain slowly began to fade.
Jarvan was surprised at the sheer strength that Swain still possessed. New pain radiated from his chest where his rib was cracked. The force of the blow dented his chest plate. If it wasn't for the protection of the plate, Swain may of snapped the rib clean off. Jarvan chocked as Swain pressed his weight against his new injury. He couldn't help but allow a small groan escape his lips.
The Exemplar tried his best attempt of a laugh when Swain spoke of not threatening Leblanc again. He wheezed and fresh pain shot from his cracked rib. "Did I... poke a nerve... Old Man? You know that... pretty, young wo...man is only with... you because of... your power? Because of what... you can do for... her?"
Last Edit: May 13, 2013 20:12:45 GMT -5 by Deleted
Post by The Master Tactician on May 13, 2013 20:46:12 GMT -5
The colonel straightened up as vomit flooded over his captive's chest, a satisfied sneer replaced his scowl of fury. His seething aura began to dissipate. He removed his cane from Jarvan's chest and stepped back as the prince choked out more inflammatory drivel. It was perfectly clear now that Demacia's Exemplar was grasping at straws, perhaps hoping the Master Tactician's anger would get the better of him--that he would kill his captive out of rage rather than subjecting him to further torture.
But a cog in the grand design.[/size][/font]
Swain could not help himself a wheezing chuckle at the thought of Jarvan's desperation. He looked down upon the prince with the expression of one disciplining a petulant child, remarking, "You should speak less of that which you do not understand, lest you expose yourself for the imbecile you are."
The colonel's cruel imitation of a polite smile narrowed his eyes. "If you take away one memory of this night, Exemplar." He paused, crimson eyes still burning bright with hatred. "Let it be that your rightful place is beneath my heel."
With that, he strode away, careful to tread on Jarvan's shackled wrist as he hobbled towards the chair on which Beatrice perched. The impenetrable mask of poise he usually wore began to re-settle itself over his features. He sat, folded his scarred hands over his cane and commanded, "My dove. You may begin."
Post by The Deceiver on May 13, 2013 21:35:07 GMT -5
LeBlanc watched the entire scene quietly and with an eerie grin on her lips. When Swain took his seat, she gave him a quick curtsey and a quick, toothy smile. "Thank you, darling, though you seem to have already started my work. Now I need to clean the poor man up!"
The Deceiver walked over to Jarvan's right side and poked at his vomit with her staff. The end of her staff prodded the dent in the Prince's armor repeatedly, a frown quickly sprwaling across her features. "Jericho, dear," she sighed in an exasperated tone. "I believe you cracked a rib. Try to keep your temper a bit more in check next time. His royal jewels are easily misplaced and forgotten. His rib, this will add another hour."
She let out a soft, gentle laugh, reminiscent of sand flowing past one's fingers. "I suppose it's an unforseen benefit for you, though, oui? No more delays then."
LeBlanc walked over to Jarvan's head and made a motion to sit down. Her staff flew out of her hands and under her bottom, granting her much needed stability through unknown means. She leaned over and started to brush her hands across Jarvan's face. The slender, silky fingertips of the Deceiver made their way up to his crown, and flicked it off his head. "No need to get blood on this, dear."
LeBlanc traced a finger down to the center of the Prince's forehead. "Now...time to begin."
The wet, slurping sound of flesh parting could be heard as the skin and muscle started to separate from his skull. In a slow, agonizing minute, Jarvan felt the skin on his face peeled off, gently being worked away by her delicate fingers. The muscles on his neck let out a loud, "SCHLURK" as they started to lift up into the air, exposing his main arteries and windpipe to the air. The skin and muscle was not discarded, but instead kept suspended above LeBlanc.
Pain would not be able to describe what he was experiencing. None of it was numbed, no sensation was held back.
Blips of violet magic started to spark and spritz as her fingernails traced themselves along his exposed skull. LeBlanc was humming the entire time a soft, gentle lullaby.
"En haut de la rue St-Vincent Un poète et une inconnue S'aimèrent l'espace d'un instant Mais il ne l'a jamais revue,"
Her index finger tapped his teeth, making the jaw snap open. Fighting against it would be useless, since there was no muscle there to enable it to move. His eyeballs rolled about, not held by anything but the sockets they snugly rested in. LeBlanc's fingers and magic started to tap at each and every tooth of his, the sound of bone snapping and the pain of a root canal shooting through the last remains of his nerves.
"Cette chanson il composa Espérant que son inconnue Un matin d'printemps l'entendra Quelque part au coin d'une rue,"
she cooed as she worked away at his chin. LeBlanc reached over and suddenly scooped up one of his eyeballs. She tugged at the frail tendons and nerves and made it look at her, a smile on her face. "I do hope you enjoy my singing, dear. It has been quite some time since I've had to sing for such an esteemed guest. I'm taking a small break now, just to assure that you aren't dead yet. If you are not dead, do a bodily function. You can still understand me, oui? You may not have ears, but you still hear me. I know you can."
Jarvan thought that what Swain did to him was the worst of his torture that day. He was way wrong. He growled at LeBlanc as she removed his crown. "How dare you touch my head piece, Wench?" He was infuriated by her severe disrespect. No one was allowed to touch his crown, let alone toss it aside.
The feeling of the skin being removed from The Prince's skull and neck was unbearable. Him being able to do nothing in his defense was worse. He pulled and thrashed against his chains as hard as he could, but they didn't budge. The sound of panicked rattling filled the tent.
Jarvan wanted to scream in terror as his eyes rolled out of their sockets. He knew that this would be his future. These Noxians would have their fun with him for as long his body would put up with it. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life as a guinea pig to whatever torture technique they could come up with. He began to beg for death from any higher power that may be listening. Anything to make this pain stop.
The Exemplar was surprised when one of his eyes was suddenly looking at Leblanc. He felt like passing out, her voice was barely audible. He fought to stay awake as he heard her command him to make a bodily function. He was no longer able to speak, so he was forced to try and move his hands. He tried his best to make a fist, which resulted in his fingers twitching. His world began to darken as sleep threatened to take him. If nothing was done to force him to stay awake, he would become unconscious.
Post by The Deceiver on May 23, 2013 23:28:05 GMT -5
LeBlanc smiled and slowly shook the eye up and down. She crooned at the sight of his hand moving, "Excellent, you have a bit of resilience in that Demacian frame of yours. And look at this, you are trying to sleep."
She looked over at Swain and pointed Jarvan's eye at the Master Tactician. "Really, that would be the respite you think you're entitled to, but will never receive."
A burst of violet magic washed over Jarvan, his fatigue tore away as though he had consumed a river of strong Demacian coffee. He was very much aware, very awake, and the pain was all too real. This was not a dream, because in his dreams, he would have the hope of solace there.
"Now then, Prince Jarvan Lightshield IV, are you ready to begin again?"
Post by The Master Tactician on May 25, 2013 20:24:18 GMT -5
The colonel's form swam into view: dark, ominous, perched perfectly still in his seat. Blood-red eyes shone over Jarvan unblinking. Long withered fingers lay interlaced over the head of his cane. As the prince's extended eye was plucked from its socket and turned upon Swain, a sinister smirk began to creep up behind the colonel's shroud; a black aura of grim intent rose up like smoke from his body.
The vision of a man in Noxian military robes, a bird perched at his shoulder, became a thing of nightmares under the inadvertent effects of LeBlanc's spellwork. Luminous eyes burst into flame. Wings wrought of darkness unfurled from his back. Jarvan's memories began to swirl visibly around the tent: fleeting moments of his life flashing literally before his eyes. And all the while, the Master Tactician sat smirking, growing ever more terrible until the whirring blur of memories became the starry night sky.
Incorporeal ebon wings spread before the moon, which made Swain's terrible shape a silhouette: a shadow in its silvery light. The only discernible features of his darkened form were the fiery crimson eyes that would haunt Jarvan every night henceforth. A voice issued forth from everywhere at once, darker than the imagined night itself:
Foolish child. You cannot best us...
Your greatest hope is to one day fall prostrate before the true master of this plane.
Me.[/color][/size]
Dizzying visions began to swirl in the sky again, a mix of tender past and envisioned future, the prince's mind laid bare before his captives. Lux, Garen, mother, father, the castle in summer evenings, adventures in the orchard, the lit up streets of Demacia during yule... The ebb and flow of echoing memories grew louder and louder, more and more vibrant--until finally the sinister sound of Swain's voice cut through the din again:
You will not fade from this realm until I am finished with you--until you have instrumented my conquest. Only then will you know peace in death.
Jarvan greedily grasped for air as he was rejuvenated by the sudden burst of energy. He could feel every cut and bruise on his body. His whole body ached, especially above his shoulders and down in his reproductive area. He was angered as he heard Leblanc's voice cut through his pain. He thrashed against his chains to show his displeasure. Her voice would forever be etched into his mind, simply hearing it would be enough to make him want to lash out.
The prince made a strangled gurgling sound as the horrifying image of a man suddenly appeared in his mind. All he knew was terror, and could only watch in blatant fear as the man grew ebony wings. His inner self cringed as he heard the piercing voice of the silhouetted man. He didn't know why he felt this terror, he only knew that it all felt too real.
Jarvan felt violated when private memories bubbled up. He saw himself as a small child, eating at the dinner table with Mother and Father. He remembered stingily pushing away his vegetables.
"Prince Jarvan Lightshield IV, you will never grow up big and strong like your father if you don't eat your vegetables." He still remembered his Mother's soft, caring voice.
No stop it. Not Mother, anyone but Mother.
"Really?! I'll grow up big and strong like Father if I eat it?!"
GET OUT! THIS IS PRIVATE!
"Of course son! I ate all of my vegetables when I was your age. So did your combat tutor Xin Zhao." His Father's beard was still filled with color at this time.
He remembered smiling as wide as his tiny face would allow. "I will become good with a spear like Master Zhao?!" Tiny Jarvan then dove into his food as his parents nodded.
I hate you. I will fight against you for as long as we both live. I will do everything in my power to ruin your happiness.
The prince was hit with a new wave of fear as he heard Swain's voice grate onto his consciousness. He tried his best to mentally prepare himself for whatever new torture regiment they had in store for him.
Last Edit: May 26, 2013 23:37:53 GMT -5 by Deleted
Post by The Deceiver on Jun 3, 2013 19:19:53 GMT -5
LeBlanc was kneeling by Jarvan's head with a quiet patience, her smile never fading. Once Swain gave the command, she cooed, "By your command, I fly."
The Deceiver's fingers softly pushed his eye back into its proper socket, and her hands started their work once more. She traced along the exposed frontal bone of the royal prince's cranium, a soft hiss of magic trailing the path she made. A light tap, and the skull fell open. Her hand caught the bone and gently put it to the side, Jarvan's brain now exposed.
Shuffling over, LeBlanc lifted Jarvan's skull and placed it on her lap, allowing her a better angle for her to work with. Another gentle tap, and Jarvan's skull fell to pieces, his eyeballs messily dangling to the sides while she held the barely support grey matter on the palm of her hand.
"Now then...Where to begin..."
Jarvan would feel her...feel? How was this possible? One of her fingers was stroking his sensory cortex. "Let's start with your sight, mm?"
A needle appeared in her hand, and she began to poke into his brain, as though she were tattooing his mind. "Do you know what a curse is, dear? Most people think they do."
She let out a sigh and rolled her eyes, "The fools. Oh no, I am cursed with bad luck. Oh no, I am cursed with good luck. Oh no, I am a frog. Adorable, really. They are, of course, some forms of curses, but this? This goes beyond what their definition of a curse is. For example, if you have no ears, how do you hear me? Quite simple, I am in your mind. I know all of your desires."
LeBlanc leaned closer to his brain, still working tirelessly away as she spoke. "Your heart, it is so full of pain. Please, tell me, is there something I can provide? Hm! You feel as though life has passed you by. Don't you worry, darling, sh sh sh, I'm on your side." Her sewing picked up tempo, her voice a gentle ring. "Just, give me this, give me that, give me this and maybe that~ Don't ask for my name, you don't remember it. Does it matter what my name is? I'm just here for you~ Just trust me, let yourself go and that's all you will ever need to know."
LeBlanc rotated the brain slightly, and started her work on another cortex, a bright rune appeared where she was working on previously quickly shimmered and disappeared. "I'm on your side dear, sincerely, I am. I'm your only friend, yes, it's true, I'm on your side darling, sincerely, and do you know why?"
A sharp prick in his spinal code would send a ripping pain throughout Jarvan's entire body. "Because I'm the only one who can kill you, if I so choose to. I could make every dream of yours come true. If only you had a more polite tongue, I could have had a convenient slip of the finger, no? Alas, c'est la vie."
LeBlanc would continue her work on Jarvan's brain and spine for the next five hours, quietly and unceasing. When she was done, the Deceiver snapped her free hand's fingers, and the prince's face was reassembled without a single scratch.
"Now then, dear, are you ready for the rest of your body or should I give you a break?" she crooned in a flirtatious tone.
Jarvan had never felt more violated in his entire life. There was nothing he could do to stop the woman in front of him. She was free to do what she wished, and he was powerless. She was not only inside his mind, it was almost as if she was a part of his mind.
The prince struggled against his bonds some as LeBlanc mentioned curses. Shortly after, he felt a sharp pain shoot down his body. He was infuriated. Was she actually putting a curse on him? He wanted more than anything to scream and shout, but he couldn't. If anything, all he managed was a sickening gurgling sound.
Those five hours felt like a lifetime. Every prick sent sharp pain down his entire body. Jarvan kept yelling in his mind for LeBlanc to stop. He hoped that she would feel pity for the young man and have mercy. He was just out of childhood, he had his whole life in front of him.
The prince felt his hopes and dreams slip away with each painful prick. He was looking forward to one day being king and ruling his nation. He wanted more than anything to surpass his father. But as he sat there chained and defeated, he could feel his future going further beyond his reach. All he could see was this hell he was being put through. These Noxians would play with the naive prince until he broke. They would do anything and everything to torture him until his body gave out.
Jarvan gasped as his face was suddenly slapped back together. He hung heavy on the chains gasping for breath. He wanted to touch his face, to feel that everything was back in place, but he couldn't. The flirtatious tone of LeBlanc's voice sent rage through his entire being. An inhuman like growl ripped out of Jarvan's lips as he glowered at the woman in front of him.
"You had better kill me here woman. If I somehow manage to get out of here alive, you and your darling will need to find an amazing hiding spot. We are the worst of enemies. I promise you I will return the favor some day."
Post by The Master Tactician on Oct 13, 2013 16:50:47 GMT -5
A chuckle, cold, rang out in the tent. Outside, rain began to fall, splattering tarp in a relentless rhythm. The Master Tactician clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, relishing the helplessness and desperation of this Demacian dog, of this entitled brat who considered himself a capable enemy. "Don't make promises you cannot keep, princeling," came the colonel's venomous hiss. "It's unbecoming of a leader."
A smirk lifted his sunken cheeks as he considered Jarvan's plight. Though the prince's words were aggressive, his form was exhausted, his spirit broken by the five hours of runic operation on his brain. He would be hard pressed to even lift his head or rattle his chains. The colonel rose from his chair and limped nearer to get a better view of his victim subdued. Cane, step, step. His hellish raven chirped at Jarvan in some avian imitation of a human taunt.
The last bit of the operation would ensure the prince's body was receptive to the years of mind games that would soon commence...
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