A sodden and unruly pile of LoL fanfic. Read at your own risk!
Chapter 1: Shopping in Noxus
Cool autumn winds drifted down the sullen streets of the Noxus’ merchant district. Talon pushed aside a sturdy iron-barred door and entered a non-descript blade shop next to Sinful Succulence, a well-known bakery owned by Morgana. As he entered the store, the familiar creak of the uneven hardwood beneath his steel-tipped combat boots reminded him of the Du Couteau Manor, but in reality, it was nowhere near as extravagant. Upon entering the store, he looked up and quickly surveyed inventory, noticing a fine selection of wall-mounted halberds that looked quite barbaric and ancient. Where their tips curled and weaved, there were inscribed runic letters of an ancient language that had long since been forgotten. Although Talon was clearly no expert at languages, he attempted to decipher the arcane figures. Perhaps they represented the amount of enemies slain or magical enchantments granted, he considered
Talons’ eyes drifted to an open display of thin daggers that had been polished to a high sheen. The weapons rested on a silky, reflective purple fabric that seemed to give the blades an ethereal appearance. He eyed the gleaming weapons as a masterful architect would examine a building. Considerations of blade geometry, differential heat-treating, taper, blade harmonics, and points of balance crept into the analytical parts of his brain, and he felt like a kid in a sweets shop. In fact, blades had been a major part of his youth, so the nostalgic connection was definitely reinforced by these almost daily visits to places such as this. His first thought when examining a blade was that no compromises were to be made. Only the finest would do. Unlike most shops in Noxus, this one had a good reputation and reasonable amount of stock. The store itself was ample and filled with merchandise displayed upon old oak tables covered by thick, heavy fabrics of differing style and colour. The mismatching tablecloths were lit by multi-coloured stained-glass windows affixed to various locations on the walls of the stores' upper level, as the setting sun shone through and gave the entire shop a vibrant flair. Bizarre mixtures of coloured light, both bright and dull, shone whimsically against the blades on display; the fading afternoon light was caught, bent, and scattered against the gleaming steel of weapons both ancient and new. This curious optical effect contributed to the peaceful atmosphere of the shop, which was in stark contrast to the incessant bustle of the Noxian streets where drunken fools and well-to-do merchants mingled together like a sea of high-energy transaction. Talon’s thoughts began to drift.
There was something about the strange light effects within the store that reminded him of what happens when one shines beam of light through clear prisms, causing all the colours of the spectrum to be revealed in an instant. Luxanna Crownguard, Lady of Luminosity, is said to have mastered this curious optical effect. Using the powers of light, she would at first differentiate beams into primaries before manipulating them into a force far more deadly. For fear of blinding agony and possible incineration, Talon had been careful never to cross Lux’s path on Fields of Justice. She had proven to be a formidable opponent in the League, to say the least.
The middle-aged owner of the shop tended to his stock behind the breadth of a large, scarred oak counter separating two locked swinging doors that had been put in place to prevent theft. His name was Malz, an Ionian immigrant who, not unlike Talon, had sought refuge within the restless streets of Noxus long ago. His visage was criss-crossed by finely woven facial scars, a lasting voucher from his former life as a veteran dualist in the Noxian arenas. His eyes were tiny beads of glinting light wrapped in brown wrinkled flesh, and the nose was all but a nicked, stubby bulb that sat squarely beneath the wide bridge between them. His mouth was a jagged web-work of chipped teeth and brown decay; clearly not a lot of maintenance had been given to this area.
The man looked up from his work and greeted Talon with a hearty grunt, a formality that signified his respect for the Crimson Elite assassin. The two did not speak all that much, but when they did, the conversation centered strictly on the business of refined weaponry, death, and fighting. Only rarely did they voyage into such abhorrently boring topics such as Noxian politics or welfare. The pair believed that the only ones concerned with the latter were those who had not the physique or skill for fighting and warfare, and were thus considered unimportant.
At present, Malz’s mindless gaze in Talon’s general direction eventually elicited a response from the assassin. Most times he simply kept to himself and said nothing. ‘Just browsing,’ Talon said dryly, lost in thought. In reality, he was taking into consideration the weapons he would need for an upcoming mission, of which he had been given very little information.
‘Oh, come now!’ the shop-keep bellowed suddenly, as if it were a knee-jerk reaction. ‘I know you are never in the mood to just browse. You come in here almost every day, Talon. You know my selection better than I do. Just get it over with.’
Talon shifted uneasily on the creaky hardwood, unsure of how to respond. ‘Malz,’ said the cloaked assassin, ‘if this is your attempt to convey some sense of hospitality, you’re doing a poor job of it.’
‘Whatever,’ grunted Malz. ‘Here, Look at this!’ he reached below the counter and withdrew what appeared to be a finely stylized fang shaped weapon. Judging by the make of it, it could have been a ceremonial Ionian weapon crafted of jade and some other foreign material that Talon could not place his mind on. It seemed to be extremely sharp, and even as Malz held it to show the assassin, he kept a delicate grasp on the ornate hilt. As the Ionians were a very delicate and sentimental people, this blade was styled by subtle design patterns and carefully inscribed characters. Perhaps it had belonged to one of noble descent. Clearly, this was not a weapon for street fighting, but for the mantle, or some special glass display case instead.
‘Not interested in the ceremonial stuff today, Malz,’ Talon replied after a moment of consideration. ‘That seems like something Akali would be interested in,’ they shared a laugh, and Malz proceeded to re-sheath the delicate weapon.
‘Alright, alright,’ he conceded, voice piqued with frustration. ‘You know what? You Elite are so hard to please, this much I know. You guys are always after my finest selection. Where’s my stock for the average joe? How am I supposed to make any money with you and your city discount?’ he complained. Talon smirked and said nothing. The discount was a joke, by all means. Talon knew this, and so did the other assassins. It was not unlike Malz to offer no discount at all, but instead markup the items to a point where the discount was negated altogether. Such was the way of the shady Noxian businessman, living day in day out, to serve the masses.
‘I’ll get back to you on that when you stop giving us the Noxian Elite markup,’ he replied. Malz laughed boisterously and proceeded to tend to his workbench, which was littered with all kinds of deadly weapons and tools designed to polish and sharpen. As the man cleaned the intricate hilt of an old rapier with a file, it became obvious that his hand-eye coordination had deteriorated throughout the years. This had been due to his former profession as a Noxian dualist, a blade-dancer, but those years were long behind him. However, there was little doubt that the man could still fight. Every so often there were cases where a customer would deem it necessary to acquire shop merchandise without paying for it at all. It was cases like these where Malz was all too eager to demonstrate that he could hack and slash just as well as the young dualists out there. Fortunately, the blood stains from the would-be thieves were concealed under large, thick rugs positioned randomly throughout the shop. As time went on, word spread that loss prevention techniques at the Blade and Bludgeon were nearly 100% effective.
Talon eyed the top shelf behind the oak counter, where Malz had most often kept the new stock on display behind the Katanas and longswords. There were a series of blades and other murderous devices suspended aloft inside a clear glass box, barely visible in the fading sunlight. Next to that, there appeared to be wrist-mounted blade projectors, something that Talon had never seen before. It was definitely a recent addition. Affixed to barbed hooks and tips covered in spiky bits was a spring-loaded launcher housed within a miniature black box of steel, and the brown wrist strap was composed of finely cut leather strips with many holes and clasps for fitting. The weapon was mounted with multiple silver clips attached to a backdrop display panel of red velvet that seemed to glitter like a glass rose. This weapon was perfect for close-ranged assassination, Talon thought.
‘How much for that one?’ he mused, pointing at the barbed micro-blades. Lost in thought, Malz seemed to ignore the question at first. He then shifted his considerable weight to face the assassin once again, glanced up to see what he was pointing at, and turned back to his work. His deep concentration was not easy to break.
‘What is it now that you want, Sir Talon? Can you not see that I’m preoccupied?’ he said with a hint of smugness.
‘Oh, yes! I almost forgot Sir Talon, those are part of my new line up. Very special, very rare indeed. In fact, my importers brought it in from Ionia not long ago. Said something about some enchanted caves where they’d lost no less than three men just to get them!’ his voice leapt with jubilation, as if to emphasise the market value of the weapon. He then spoke of the dangerous sea-voyage that took place after the discovery, where the merchant vessel carrying the goods was besieged by dangerous winds and deadly sea monsters. Talon had heard the exact same story no less than a week ago, and possibly many times more than that. The repetitious tales caused him to smirk. Malz did everything he could to entice a customer. He was a true salesman.
‘Yeah, yeah, how much,’ Talon quickly replied before Malz continued his digressions. He was expecting to pay no less than double what the weapons were worth, as this had been the usual case. The problem was that he knew how to exploit Talon’s impulsive mind to the point of agitation, as if all notions of common sense were rescinded by the aperture of addiction. Such was the way of an obsessed assassin, always looking for a competitive edge to aid in the business self- perseverance, no matter the cost. In darker times, Talon would of simply garroted the fat man and taken his wares. His body might of ended up in some unknown dungeon, or perhaps a gutter.
‘Well, let me get the pocket-book, but you should know that those will not come cheap. I only have a few sets, you know,’ said Malz. As the stocky man stood up, the sturdy work-stool upon which he had sat gave forth a creaky groan of relief.
Malz walked over to a myriad of shelves and drawers located at the back of the shop, where stacks of moldy paperwork, empty cups of coffee, and cobwebs had melded into mounds of disorganization. After a moment of sorting through the mess, he retrieved from it a small black book with the name of the shop engraved in gold lettering across the spine. It was an inventory control compendium that contained all relevant stock reports created within the past several months, and since the item in question was newly acquired, Malz knew to look near the middle of the book, where updates detailing the most recent items were listed. Several columns down on page 76 was the name Ivorg Calun, the name of the Ionian merchant who’d been responsible for providing the most recent shipment of goods. He’d purchased the so-called ‘wrist rakes’ for 378 gold a piece, a reasonable purchase considering the weapons were nearly mint condition, and appeared as though they had yet to be used. Malz considered for a moment, and then thought of a reasonable asking price. He closed the book, chucked it into a messy pile, and hobbled his way back to the front of the shop, stepping over pencils, loose papers, and accumulated balls of dust as he did so. ‘Alright, well these things don’t come cheap, you know,’ he said to Talon, who was now in a different area of the store.
‘I don’t care,’ said Talon. ‘Just don’t sleaze-ball me, Malz, you know how often I come here.’ Malz proceeded to rest his stubby arms and bulky gut on the counter, causing it to shift and wane under the considerable weight. He looked up at Talon, and exhibited the most honest looking expression he could muster.
‘One thousand gold per weapon,’ he said calmly while looking Talon directly in the eye, ‘accessories extra, of course.’
‘Right,’ said Talon disinterestedly, ‘and let me guess, they’re worth a fraction of that?’ Talon raised his arms and opened his palms, as if to convey his dissatisfaction.
‘Hey, listen, don’t give me a hard time about this,’ said Malz, ‘you know I pay top dollar for these things! I am a man of humble means, sir Talon, and I would never try to rip you off!’
‘750 is my best offer, take it or leave it.’ The assassin was by no means rich, and it was at times like these that he resented his champion status within the league. It was as if everyone regarded champions as possessing unlimited wealth and generosity, but as Talon was only recently inducted into the Institute of War, this simply was not the case. Malz simply glanced downward, and rubbed his chin stubble between his thumb and index finger while in deep consideration.
Just then, Talon heard heeled footsteps clicking loudly against the worn hardwood overhead. By now the sunlight had diminished to the point of not being able to see who it was in the reflections of the windows, but the shadow of a feminine form could be seen trailing across the lower deck of the shop, moving swiftly, and heading towards the spiral staircase of bright brass rails and red carpeting. As the lady made her way down the stairs with a feline grace, shiny black boots marked with gold-clasped buckles were the first thing he observed. She was wearing triple-stitched combat pants, also black, which were slightly baggy and had a few too many pockets. They were Noxian Military issue, designed for utility and function rather than comfort and style. Upon noticing this it became apparent to Talon that the woman was Katarina Du Couteau of the Noxian High Command. She was helped by a much younger shop assistant who might have been Malz’s son, but as far as Talon knew, the owner had no children of his own.
‘So, can you charge these to my account?’ she asked to the assistant, who was trailing behind her and carrying boxes. ‘And have them delivered to my quarters?’
‘Yes Ms. Du Couteau, that should not be a problem,’ the assistant replied. He appeared meek and sounded faint, especially compared to the burly, barrel-chested Malz. He had a thick mop of unkempt brown hair upon his head, and he gazed ahead with sullen blue eyes. In his hands he carried precariously the supplied that Katarina had selected, and he balanced them carefully as the pair of them continued down the spiral staircase. Talon wondered what was in them. He hadn’t seen Katarina here often, and it was a surprise to him that she was even in here at all. She was of the Noxian High Command, and it was known that her barracks access was unrestricted. Clearly, there were things here that she did not have access to back at the base. She reached the bottom of the staircase and made her way over to the till, not taking notice of Talon, who was simply observing her from afar as Malz returned to his duties. Talon wondered how long it would take for her to notice him.
‘And make sure they’re delivered to the right place this time. No screw ups,’ she explained. Katarina was known for being outwardly specific when it came to simple matters, and it seemed to her that nobody was capable of doing their jobs. It was as if her superior knowledge and specific instructions were all that separated order from chaos, in all things, and she liked it that way. It gave her a sense of purpose, an assertion that she made apparent when confronted with uncertain situations. To his recollection, Talon did not even know Katarina. He had heard of her, just like everyone else. She was of noble blood, a champion in the League, and the daughter of a General who had mysteriously disappeared, the same man that had bested Talon in combat so many years ago. He had been the first to do so. It was that act alone that allowed Talon to abide by the Du Couteau name. Though they had seldom spoken since then, it was apparent that Katarina had been keeping a keen eye on Talon, and she even went so far as to comment on his abilities as an assassin. Unlike most things in his hardened life, he would eventually come to find reassurance in her words, and even some faith. It was not common for Talon to receive comments with such esteem, but coming from Katarina had somehow authenticated it, as if her words had identified something in him that he had failed to see in himself.
Katarina cocked her head slightly, knowing full well that Talon had overheard her conversation with this shop-keep, and with a quizzical expression upon her face she considered what the Noxian was up too. She stood for a brief moment; her legs relaxed to a more comfortable arrangement, and faced the assassin. ‘No surprise to be seeing you here,’ she said dismissively, with a hint of playfulness that belied her often-cold personality, for but a brief moment. It was not unlike her to run into associates of the Crimson Elite in places such as this. In fact, for as little as she ventured out onto the town, she seemed to run into them quite frequently. Talon was different, though. He was very difficult to approach, and even more difficult to strike up a conversation with. He spent most of his time in the barracks, the armory, or training grounds, always trying to perfect himself both physically and mentally. She had always seen great potential in him, and it was potential that she had hoped to somehow unlock. There was something in store for Talon that he was as of now completely unaware of, and even though there was a slim chance that it was going to happen, she knew in the back of her mind that it would be the best for not only the Crimson elite, but also for the Noxian High Command. Special missions were often carried out by only the most elite and specialized units who had experience with such things, and it was not unlike Swain to select only the best of the best for such operations. This mission was definitely an instance of high-risk, high secrecy operations that few possessed the intelligence or background to really act on, and Katarina couldn’t come out and simply tell him the mission either. He had to hear it for himself.
‘Not really,’ Talon replied, turning to meet her eye-to-eye. 'I come here a lot, if you didn't notice.' He gazed briefly into her pale emerald eyes that seemed to gleam like sea-gems. In instant, he took note of her overall appearance in the fringes of his peripheral vision before looking back to the shop keep. She was dressed formally as usual. Well, formally for Katarina. A bit extravagant and form-fitting for the average Noxian female, considering her tightened black corset that seemed to wear itself almost too perfectly around her slender figure, where some shapes were left to the imagination, and others not as much. Talon, being the ever courteous gentleman, was careful to maintain eye-contact with her, at least most of time.
As the assistant piled up the goods, Katarina expressed a casual smugness that he had come to expect. Her form fitting outfit stretched and shifted as she moved her arms while walking and talking at the same time, and her hair basically had a life of its own when she moved. It looked heavy, but once one took notice of the natural motion with which it swayed, even inside a room where no breeze was present, they might conclude that her crimson tresses were an illusion conjured of air.
Talon was careful to take note of the mass of stock that Katarina had selected. What she intended on using it all for, he had no idea.
‘Looks like somebody’s in for it,’ he joked to Malz, who replied with a grunt of approval. Katarina caught wind of the comment and spun around to face him, eyes squinted and as a quizzical expression crossed her face.
‘What did you say?’ she inquired. The assistant was behind the counter now, jotting down instructions for the delivery of the items. Katarina placed her hands upon her hips as she waited for a response. Talon merely shrugged his shoulders, expressing bewilderment. Inside, he was laughing. Katarina returned to the assistant and they began discussing the matters of price. Judging by the meekness of the assistant, it was clear that Katarina had the upper-hand in the matters of price negotiation. It was business as usual.
As she did this, Talon pointed back to the blade projectors that he had been eyeing earlier, and told Malz to get him one. The owner complied with some reluctance, but no sooner had he done this than Katarina paused from her negotiation, motioning one finger to the assistant, and turned to the two men.
‘Actually, that model is sold out,’ she explained, pointing at the ivory boxes stacked on the shelf. Katarina shot Malz a disapproving glance, as he was clearly staring through her dark purple blouse. Feeling a slight surge of frustration, Talon chose to ignore the statement.
‘Uhhh, you want the display model then, Sir Talon?’ offered Malz. At that moment, Talon experienced something akin to a confused anger, but as he did not wish to be a subject at Katarina’s expense. And she seemed as though it was no big deal. Talon furrowed his brows and crossed his arms. Katarina, head turned slightly sideways appeared as though she’d done nothing wrong.
‘Cute,’ said Talon, ‘and of course you’ll need all of them.’ His tone was altogether lacking in enthusiasm.
‘Of course not,’ she replied with casual disdain. She tilted her head back and flipped her waist-length hair over her slender right shoulder. The thick bundle of crimson crashed down across her back and spilled outward like a red cloud caught in a high wind. ‘I will need backups in case the others break.’ She smiled coyly, not entirely aware of how angry she had made Talon by saying this. The assistant smirked as well, and Talon shot him an expression of rage. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Katarina, picking up the stack of boxes in her arms, ‘if you’re nice, I might let you borrow one.’ She then turned and headed for the door. The assistant left the counter and began to prepare the shop for closing, and Malz sat on his stool cleaning a rapier, completely oblivious to the events that had just transpired. Talon might of taken the display model, but that simply was not his style. He preferred working with tools that he knew were in the best condition possible, and free from the grimy fingerprints of others. Even the thought of sharing with Katarina caught him as being weird.
‘I cannot believe she took them all,’ said Talon sadly, his eyes directed towards the ground.
‘Well, if I get any more, sir Talon, you’ll be the first to know!’ consoled Malz.
Great, just great thought Talon.
Moments after Katarina had left the shop, Talon was not far behind her. He exited the building and said nothing, but scoffed at the passersby, their obnoxious conversations interrupted his train of thought, and he wasn’t having any of it. Their noises irritated him. He was becoming more bothered than usual, though he could not pinpoint the reason for this. Had he been recognized by one of the random pedestrians, it surely would have made the day far worse, but so far, so good. Noxian guardsmen, statesmen, noblemen, and townsfolk alike were more than familiar with the appearance of their favorite champions, and although he did not mind being noticed, it was altogether unsettling to him to be recognized by many at once. He preferred to keep a low profile, and no matter the event, he was rarely left alone. It was even worse when he was travelling in tandem with other well-known champions. Kids and adults alike would swamp them, asking for their daggers, scabbards, or whatever to be signed. There was even a case where it was requested of him to sign the chest of a young Noxian lady, though that experience had not been altogether unpleasant. The rest of fame was ridiculous and unwanted, but his complaints were useless and selfish. And so, while out on the town, he most often traveled with a darkened hood obscuring his visage, as this was the best way to remain anonymous.
Katarina’s actions had not surprised him. Most assassins shared the same affinity for spiked objects, despite Talon taking this interest to the next level. He loved blades, and mostly all other weapons as well. Perhaps it was the reassurance they represented-the security in knowing that it was far better to invest ones allegiance to an inanimate object than a living person, for it was quite obvious that a weapon would never turn its back on you, as a person would. It could be depended on in all cases, and whereas people were susceptible to negligence, corruption, greed, hatred, ignorance, and stupidity, a blade was simply a blade. He enjoyed the shape of blades; refined craftsmanship was something he admired.
Generally speaking, the majority of the blade making community around Noxus catered to a very high-profile clientele. Assassins weren’t easy to please, and their implements of death were expected to be of the utmost in quality and construction. Substandard devices were simply not to be considered, and were more often than not dismissed altogether. Counterfeit producers were known to be active throughout the lesser known shops and shoddy street corners, where quick deals and sketchy words were shared on whim and drive for a quick buck, but if you were in the know, then there was a good chance that you weren’t going to be stuck with a piece of junk that would sooner break than do any significant harm. Talon liked to think he was in the know, but as the counterfeiters were crafty and devious in their practices, he’d been stung more than once. Imitation razor-stingers and rip-off rapiers filled the waste-bins of his workshop. Usually, the creators of these low-quality weapons were never heard from or seen again, for whatever reason. Their bodies often ended up in non-descript gutters.
The side-walkers and street people shifted by in a hazy buzz of voices and ruffled movement. As it was getting late in the afternoon, the more refined and prestigious Noxian citizens had all but retreated to their mansions in the uptown to retire for the evening, whereas the scraggly and drunken lot were left to toil in their own foolishness as nightfall drew near. It was a day not unlike any other, and there was nothing keeping the working class from roaming around to visit shops and make impulse purchases, though it appeared that this activity was becoming less and less frequent compared to a week prior.
Recent diversions of funds for war had made things tough on the average person, especially when these preparations were never fully explained in detail to the public. There were rumors that more attention was being given to the prospect of offshore skirmishes-Ionia specifically- and not even the most ignorant Noxian had missed that tidbit of information.
The costs of exploration, equipment, supplies, and warfare in general were of course high, and this was especially true for a society as militaristic as Noxus, but this was to be expected. Nobody complained, for if they did, it would most certainly fall on deaf ears, be ignored, and more often than not be met with hostility. No mercy was given to those who protested the seemingly unjust activities of the Noxian high command, for the only injustice was in their questioning of political activities- often met with hostility, imprisonment, and sometimes death. As was well known, all Noxian officials maintained a stringent policy of secrecy, and the sharing of private information with the public was simply not tolerated to any degree. Talon, however, could care less, as his recent success in the League of Legends had given his personal coffers enough stimulation to not only grant him a comfortable life, but also the freedom to pursue his rather expensive habit of blade collecting. And there were so many blades waiting to be collected-rare ones that nobody had seen before- he knew it. They were waiting for him under some non-descript shop table or within the travel-satchel of some offshore tradesman. They must belong to me, he thought.
Talon left the shop and took to the streets, empty handed and somewhat frustrated. He decided to make his way over to Sinful Succulence, one of his favorite places to buy baked goods. The bakery was owned and operated by Morgana, another well-known champion within the League, and her reputation as a pastry chef was as formidable as that of which she’d acquired on the Fields of Justice. Torchlights lit the streets, which were nearly empty now, and the sky was dark. Shop faces and windows bathed under flickering orange waves, shadows, and whispers. Talon walked silently, his cloak over his head, and said nothing as he went. He could see nobody, and began to wonder if the bakery was still open. Morgana’s bakery was such a hot-spot these days, and it was not uncommon for her to run out of baking supplied entirely and close the shop early in anticipation for the arrival of tomorrow’s ingredients. However, his doubts where soon abolished upon realized that Sinful Succulence was still open, as indicated by the sweet smell of culinary excellence travelling through the air, and the fact that the inside of the establishment was still lit. His mouth watered with anticipation.
A painted caricature of a fattened Noxian child was on display over the green swinging doorway of the store, as if to provide a warning for overindulgence. Talon eyes narrowed has he passed through the doorway, and looked for signed of life within. Unusually, he saw nobody, not even Morgana, whom he expected to see at the counter, or at least in the back by the main pastry oven. There were no sounds of voices, yet nothing from within seemed to suggest that the store was closed. ‘Hello?’ he asked to the silence, his voice echoing against the homely log-reinforced walls. The inside of the place seemed more like a cozy cabin than a bakery, where you might find a typical family of travelling nomads. Internal lighting was provided by a hearth built into the right wall of the store, and its remaining embers burned quietly now. It appeared as though Morgana was preparing to close down the shop, which made sense considering the time. Off in a corner there was a broom and other cleaning supplies. Talon wondered if Morgana had any other employees. Surely the workload of managing a place all alone was overly stressful.
‘Talon… I was not expecting you tonight,’ came Morgana’s familiar voice. She emerged from the back room, eyes purple and glowing as usual. Her white cooking outfit had navy blue outlines, and the buttons on the front were large and round. The Fallen angel was quite alluring, to say the least. Talon took one look at her and nodded graciously. He normally was not the sort to pay due respect, but he and Morgana were close friends. During his younger years, she often provided him with extra food from this very bakery. Deep down inside, she was an old soul, even though her visage portrayed something far more sinister. She bent down to retrieve several Pecan pies, and threw one to Talon.
‘Thank you, Morgana,’ he said, ‘and how is business these days?’
‘Oh, business as usual. Don’t worry about it, everything’s fine,’ she explained, wiping the counter with an old rag. ‘The recession has caused some issues here and there, but this is still the most popular bakery in town, you know. I’ve got no competition, as usual, and the daily line-ups grow ever longer. I suppose my only issue is that I can’t seem to ever be fast enough to keep up with all the orders!’ she laughed, and tossed the rag into a nearby pantry. It was closing time, and she was adamant on making the shop spotless before locking the door. Talon savoured his pecan pie. It was truly the best pecan pie in all of Noxus, and for good reason. Morgana used only the finest imported ingredients, and ensured that all of her products underwent extensive taste-testing before hitting the mouths of the hungry citizens. She loved her work, and although her status as a Champion of the League tended to infringe on it from time-to-time, she was always able devote herself to the operation of the Sinful Succulence. The shop itself had been designed in such a way as to evoke the pure Noxian spirit. Amid the glass display cases, where pastries both simple and elaborate could be seen, there were glorious paintings of Noxian skylines and other scenery that would make even the most callous citizen nostalgic. There was even a familiar scent when one entered the shop. It was like a sprinkle of cinnamon mixed with burning wood from the fire, which was always lit. It was known that Noxus was never a very hot city, so the constant warmth of Sinful Succulence was reassuring and comforting. Morgana had run this shop as if it were her child, and every day she ensured that all morsels of food to pass through the ovens were of the highest standard. It was even rumored that her goods had found their way into the possession of Caitlyn, Sheriff of Piltover. The belief was that Caitlyn had requested that Morgana bake her special, poison-filled cupcakes capable of rendering a man unconscious. These tragic cupcakes were of course to be used in Caitlyn’s famous trapping mechanisms that she employed to assist in her activities in upholding the law in Piltover, a city of industrialization, advanced scientific progress, and impeccable social standards. Truth be known, it was not unlike Morgana to deny a potential customer, regardless of whether or not their allegiance was of Noxian origins.
‘So, what brings you out onto the town tonight?’ Morgana asked as she put away some cutting utensils.
‘Well, I had hoped to get new weapons, as you might expect,’ said Talon. He strode over to her as he spoke. That was something about Morgana that drew him towards her, and he was not exactly sure why. ‘Unfortunately Katarina cleared the stock before I could, so I had no luck in getting what I wanted,’ he explained.
‘Oh, that Katarina,’ replied Morgana in an understanding tone. ‘I used to babysit her and her sister, you know. They were always fighting, and the only thing I could do to ease their tempers was to give them sweets. I think the only reason they did fight was to get sweets,’ she laughed, her delicate voice filled the shop. Talon smirked as he imagined a young Katarina bickering with Cassiopeia.
‘Say, what can I get for you today?’ said Morgana.
‘I was just stopping by,’ replied Talon.
‘No, you can have something, you look sullen, as usual. You need to keep a proper diet, or you’ll always be tired. Don’t the feed you at the base?’ she asked.
‘Usually,’ said Talon, ‘but lately I’ve been training very hard, so it hasn’t been a regular thing. They’ve got me on some special assignment that I haven’t heard a thing about, as far as details go, so I’m not really sure where I’ll be even a week from now.’ Morgana was churning slowly a batch of cookie dough that she’d recently prepared. She reached beneath the glass display case and retrieved from it what looked to be a minted cupcake. Without hesitation she tossed the pastry over to Talon, who caught it with one swift hand motion. ‘Thanks, Morgana,’ he said. She smirked in return, and took off her white baking mittens. The cookie dough she had been preparing was for tomorrow’s batch, and to ensure freshness she placed the mixture into a freezer. As she did so, an unknown presence entered the shop, something that caused her to stand completely still. Her hair became raised, and her heartbeat quickened.
‘Something…’ she said calmly to Talon, ‘is in here with us. I can sense it.’ Without further explanation Talon narrowed his eyes and began to scan the shop. Whatever was here, he noticed as well, and it became apparent to both Champions someone or something was watching them. Talon finished the scrumptious cupcake and crouched low, behind a bookshelf, and Morgana retreated to the backroom to bar up the back-door just in case.
‘Uninvited guests, perhaps?’ suggested Talon.
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Morgana, in a distressed tone. ‘The shop is closed now, I wasn’t expecting anyone.’ The bizarreness of feeling as though she were being watched crept through her psyche like coiling tendrils from an exotic plant. It caused her much concern. It was as if an unseen pair of eyes had been observing from the darkness, penetrating her dark soul and gleaning from it ancient secrets that no sentient being was capable of comprehending. ‘Talon…’ she said.
‘Are you sure you weren’t followed?’
‘Positive,’ he replied. No sooner had he said this than a loud crash was heard downstairs.
‘Hurry, come here!’ Morgana called to the front of the shop. Talon willingly obliged and travelled back over the counter towards Morgana’s location, where she was standing carefully and gazing down the staircase from which the sound had originated.
‘There’s something down there,’ she explained, gazing downward with an expression of concern. ‘Whatever it is must have tunneled underground, or perhaps had teleported, I have no idea.’
‘I’ll go check it out,’ said Talon in the most reassuring tone. Right as he positioned himself at the top stair, ready to head down, he heard something. There was movement.
Suddenly, all light within the establishment became extinguished. There was only blackness, as if they void itself had consumed all awareness of one’s immediate surroundings. Then there came an ominous sound, one that permeated the area, penetrating thoughts. ‘You must leave,’ it came as a whisper. Talon stood dumbfounded, he hands held up to his head. Morgana darted around and looked quite concerned. Ultimately she was worried for the welfare of her shop, as customers would not be impressed by the presence of disembodied voices. There was nothing in her mind that warranted anything less than complete eradication of whatever it is that had invaded. And as suddenly as the sound came, it died out, leaving behind a residual presence that caused her spine to tingle. Her magical awareness did little to pick up the location of the source, and Talon had not the cognition to do so. It became apparent that whatever it is that intruded had left as quickly as it came. The lights were still out. The shop was in total darkness.
‘Where is it coming from, how did it get here?’ asked Talon, still dazed.
‘I don’t know,’ responded Morgana, looking down the staircase. ‘Perhaps you should go down there and investigate.’
‘Alright, keep an eye on things up here,’ said Talon.
He walked down the steps and peered into the darkness, seeing nothing but the outlines of old forms draped by tablecloths. There were stockpiles of unused ingredients and various tables, chairs, and cooking utensils here, and there was not a single entrance in sight. Whatever it was that had turned out the lights and made the voices was definitely a crafty individual. Talon had heard stories of one champion, named Nocturne, who was believed to haunt the dreams of others. He would enter a physical state not unlike the brain waves emitted during sleep, and he would feed off dreams, transforming them into nightmares, inasmuch the soul of the host was consumed. Upon waking, the hosts would be shells of their former existence, babbling incoherently and completely lacking in all motor function.
Talon began to wonder if such a being had made his way into the basement of Sinful Succulence on this fateful night. Then, the lights returned to normal. Candles and torches were replenished by flame instantaneously all around, alighting the entire cellar without warning. This paranormal activity could not be explained through conventional means. Then there was motion. It started behind the steel bars of the cavernous industrial oven. There was something inside and Talon did not hesitate to walk towards it. ‘Morgana!’ he exclaimed, ‘Maybe you should come down here, I think someone’s trapped in the oven!’ There was no response. Talon began to panic. He heard no footsteps from above, and began to wonder if Morgana was even still within earshot. It became apparent that whatever it is that had used magic to stifle and re-ignite the lights had used the same means to wind up in this oven. The smell of foul witchcraft carried through the air. Talon had recognized the smell from times when less-than pure spell casters had fought upon the Fields of Justice. Morgana herself revelled in the use of defiling spells and dark, binding magic that the puritan Demacians would never dare wield.
Talon approached the large steel oven as carefully as possible; not wanting to alert whatever it is that might have resided within. When stood in front, of it, placed his gloved hand on the large brass handle, and heaved upwards to lift it. What he saw caused him to cringe. Layers upon layers of skin had faded off whatever humanoid creature was lying across a baking rack as though it were sleeping, and it was making breathing sounds, terrible sounds. The smell was worse. It seemed as though the being had crawled into the stove and was living here, feeding off the warmth and resident energies that it emitted. ‘What… are you?’ Talon asked as he stepped back several paces. It was not like him to become afraid. He felt the fight rise within his chest, become locked in his throat, and lump there like a cold rock. The awful wheezing sounds grew louder, and the being itself had a gray visage of wrinkled, charred skin. Then Talon heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Instantly, he bolted to a corner, crouched, and readied his blade. Something wasn’t right, and he still had heard nothing from Morgana upstairs. Maybe it was her. Then, the sound of the footsteps stopped altogether. The lights went dark once more. It was a trap.
‘You foul beast!’ Talon yelled, staring into the darkness at a pair of glowing red eyes. They were all he could see, and nothing in his mind draw a connection to whatever it was that could be capable of such a rouse. As an experienced assassin, Talon had thought he’d seen it all. This was definitely an exception to that experience. ‘What are you?!’
‘Sleeeeeeep’ came a decrepit voice. Talon froze in place, his blade held tightly in his grip. The eyes vanished, and sounds of swift movement were heard coming from the darkness surrounding him. Pots, pans, and other miscellaneous cooking implements crashed to the ground, as whatever was responsible for the movement was careless enough to collide with the boxes that contained unused batches of Morgana’s supplies.
‘Come here, you beast!’ Talon spun around with his blade extended. This action was followed by the sound of ripping through paper, and then something powdery started spilling to the ground. Talon didn’t have time to waste. He turned 180 degrees and headed to where he believed the staircase would be. Then, a force akin to a steady blow to the chest struck him without warning. He flung back several feet and crashed into whatever container it was that he had sliced open. Now, the white powdery substance cascaded all around him. It was sugar, Morgana’s most commonly used ingredient for her pastries.
‘Sleeeeep!’ the unseen creature reiterated.
‘I don’t have time for sleep!’ responded Talon angrily. More crashing noises were heard, and then the lights flickered back to life. There, at the top of the staircase, was Morgana, holding in her hand a mystical ball of purple flame. She had lit the candles and torches through spell craft alone, and they also blazed purple. It was a comforting and reassuring sight. He motioned to rise and head towards here, but some unseen force was restraining him in place. His mind became abuzz with electrical activity that he was unable to comprehend.
‘Foul minion, leave this place!’ cried Morgana, in a voice amplified by the strength of her dark magic. She was still wearing her bakers outfit and appeared quite upset at the actions of the intruder. Worse yet, her cellar was now in disarray, and an entire bag of sugar had been wasted.
Morgana stood defiantly in the doorway, her eyes lit up like spark-lights. She was on a mission to exterminate whatever it was that broke into her bakery, and there was nothing that could be done to stop her. In a daze, Talon realized that his invisible bonds had receded, and he rose to his feet once more. Then, he saw the beast. It was huddled in a corner opposite to him, quivering. It was hiding from Morgana, who stood at the top of the staircase directly below her.
‘Don’t worry,’ she mused calmly, ‘he’s harmless.’ In shock, Talon’s eyes glazed over as he stood there staring at the bizarre creature.
‘What… is it?’ he asked carefully.
‘Never you mind. It’s full of mischief, is what it is,’ she replied with a hint of agitation. Morgana then descended the staircase and proceeded to cast upon the gray-skinned creature a spell of chastisement. ‘He’s a friend, of mine. He cooks.’
‘I see,’ Talon replied sullenly. ‘Sorry about the sugar. I took a swipe at him. I thought he was going to attack me.’
‘No, he’d never.’ Morgana motioned over to the spilled sugar, and as if on command, Sirix began to sweep it up, his skin shifted like a chameleon before sitting still beneath her watchful gaze. It was a curious thing to observe the subservience of a lesser being who apparently lacked the self-imposed discipline that people took for granted. Talon had never seen a creature quite like it, but later on that night, Morgana would explain to him the story of how Sirix had been a failed genetic experiment that had taken place in one of Dr. Mundo’s laboratories not long ago. The creature had somehow escaped the torment of being subjected to countless tests that had scarred it for life, and by some measure of impossibility, he managed to make his way through the foreboding streets of Noxus in search of shelter. Morgana had at first considered Sirix an intruder and almost killed him on sight, but after realizing that his will could be shaped by the power of dark energy, Morgana decided to keep him around to assist in the production of her pastries. He’d been an excellent assistant, and was very particular about ensuring that all ingredients and measurements were treated with precision and quality, which is something that Morgana fully supported.
‘Are there any other cooking slaves that you aren’t telling me about?’ asked Talon in a cautious tone.
‘None to my knowledge,’ said Morgana, her voice barely a whisper. The eerie combination of spilled sugar and purple flames was not a common sight, but it is one that Talon would not soon forget. This place, the Sinful Succulence, was a bakery just as any other, except that it was managed by a champion in the league who had in her possession a failed medical experiment for an assistant. It made him consider the libraries next to the merchant distract, and how they were increasingly becoming a frequent place of study for Riven, who was the Crimson Elite’s most recent inductee. Talon had yet to speak to Riven, though from afar he was able to determine that her skills as an assassin were not far off from his own.
As the night drew on, Sirix returned to his cleaning duties without causing any more problems. His random outburst earlier was something that Morgana had never witnessed before. She was aware that he was prone to temper tantrums and sporadic outbursts of rage, but never before had he gone so far as to remotely extinguish all light within her shop. His bizarre interactions with Talon could be explained by Sirix’s innate psychic abilities, however, and although he’d specifically been forbidden from using them, it became apparent that there were times when this was not possible. It had been said by powerful Noxian summoners that pent up magical energies occasionally lead to discharges that evoked bizarre behaviors in beings lacking the discipline to keep a constant restraint on their magical powers, and judging by the randomness with which Sirix had acted, Morgana concluded that he was simply not in control of his actions at the time, and such an outburst could not have been avoided. As offensive magic had been banned throughout most of Valoran, she became somewhat concerned, and began to consider if it would be at all possible to utilize his gifts within the League. Of course, members within the League were expected to maintain a full control of their magical prowess prior to joining. Perhaps with some training, she thought, Sirix could hone the mental discipline necessary for this to happen.
Later on that night, Talon and Morgana were sitting at a table setup near the hearth, sipping some hot tea. Morgana was not necessarily a tea aficionado, but just as she placed great faith in her ability to woo her customers with exemplary baked goods, so too did the place great pride in her ability to concoct dangerously tasty beverages.
‘So, you picked him up from Zaun?’ asked Talon.
‘Not exactly,’ replied Morgana, the steam from the mug touching her face as she sipped. ‘I just discovered him in the cellar one day, sifting through my supplies.’
‘And you didn’t kill him? Forgive me, but he looks dangerous and sounds worse. Had I been in your shoes I would of killed him,’ Talon said gravely.
‘That’s because you lack magical insights,’ Morgana said, her tone hinting at condescension. Talon smirked and finished off the tea with a gulp. The stimulating effect of the drink was immediate and somewhat off-putting. ‘You know, he never said anything when I found him. He simply saw me, and it was like I could sense his thoughts. From that day on, he’s been living in that cellar, and he organizes, cleans, or does whatever it is that I ask him to. It’s quite useful to have a… slave.’ The hesitation at mentioning this label signalled her discomfort. ‘And now that’s all he does. I don’t even ask him anymore. Day in, day out, whatever it is that needs doing, he’s usually done it before I’m awake in the early hours of the morning, and for the rest of the day, he’s most often found inside that damn oven, sleeping.’
‘I see,’ said Talon. He was visibly discomforted by this notion, but smiled and nodded his head anyway, as to not convey this. ‘Well, I better be going.’
‘No, wait,’ she replied, reaching for his arm, ‘I have something for you.’ She got up and headed for the back room, where her stock was. Moments later she re-entered the serving room carrying a bundle of fresh goods. Talon couldn’t resist a smile as he gladly accepted the treats. ‘These are part of my new line-up of muffins,’ she explained, her voice sought approval, as though she were a Noxian girl-scout.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Morgana,’ said Talon as he stood up to leave. The tea had warmed his senses, and he was in a much better mood now. Morgana smiled cheerfully at him before retiring to her bed chamber. She had even offered him a room for the night, and although Sirix’s presence within the shop was altogether unsettling, Talon accepted the offer anyway. Thoughts of Katarina flooded his mind as he walked up to his room. Their prior encounter at the blade-shop had been processing in his subconscious for hours, and he still did not know what to think of it. She mentioned a mission, the details of which she was not at liberty to discuss. This unnerved him. Being in the dark on matters that involved him in some way was something he hated. Despite her position in the Noxian High Command, he would have hoped that she would have at least given him some vitals on the mission, such as when it was going to take place, and what he would need for it. But, as was the usual case with Katarina, the information she had given him was vague and open to interpretation. He preferred to deal with specifics. The last thing he heard before falling asleep was the sound of Morgana closing his door, her glowing purple eyes flashed for but a moment before it closed tight.
Chapter 2.
Talon awoke in to the pleasant fragrance of muffins and fresh coffee. Morgana was downstairs, and as usual she was serving the morning customers before they started their days at work. Judging by their conversations and appearance, it was quite clear they were denizens of the merchant district, as upper-class members of Noxian society were so easily distinguished by their large, stylized hats and distinguished monocles. It became clear to Talon that there was somewhere he had to be this morning, as he got up out of bed and noticed a small white letter stamped with a red Emblem of Noxus. It was from Katarina Du Couteau. He walked over to the bed table and withdrew from its drawer a paper knife. While sitting upon the bed he carefully separated the wax emblem from its position upon the page, unfolded the page, and began to read.
Talon, this is a matter of the utmost importance. It has come to my intention that recent activities surrounding the outskirts of the city are putting lives at risk. These activities are reputed to be in connection with a criminal Summoner. I cannot delve into much detail. Please meet me at the command center as soon as you read this.
Katarina Du Couteau
Talon paused for a moment to consider the letter. He was unsure as to whether or not he should leave right this moment to go meet her, or have breakfast and get ready first. Very seldom were there times when his presence was required by Katarina, so he was left only to conclude that this message had to do with a mission for the Crimson Elite. While not officially part of the Crimson Elite, Katarina was responsible for delegating tasks to the special unit, and she would occasionally partake in mission activities. However, Talon had never done a mission with her, and in all honesty he had little mission experience, but it appeared as though that was soon to change. He placed the letter back onto the bed table and finished getting ready to head downstairs.
All the footsteps and conversations below had roused his senses, and before he turned to the door, he stared out the window for a moment. Cool morning breezes caused the yellow drapes to billow outward, and rays of sunlight danced upon them. His mind became lost in the flowing fabric. It was still early, so the sun had not yet fully risen. Talon glanced back at the letter, its red emblem glinting faintly in the light. He then plucked it from the page and examined it closely. Smooth red ridges of hardened wax, where the centerpiece image was a representation of the Noxian skyline, bristling with robust spires and turrets. The minute signatures and dates, faded beyond recognition, were imprinted beneath the raised edges of the disk-shaped seal. Talon guessed that the dates centered on the founding of Noxus, and also perhaps the formation of the League of Legends. In terms of Noxian history, no two such dates would have been of a higher importance. Without warning, the bedroom door swung open with a slight creek, courtesy of its unoiled hinges. It was Morgana. ‘Sorry for not knocking,’ she explained. Her cook outfit was a pristine, creaseless white outlined by single bars of navy blue, and she had upon her head a large white Toque Blanche that bounced as she moved. ‘Did you get your message?’
‘Yes I did, thanks for the delivery. Katarina wants me to go to a mission briefing at the ops center, apparently,’ Talon replied as he tidied his belongings.
‘I see,’ replied Morgana. She did not appear to want to leave right at that moment. Judging from the build-up of perspiration across her brow, and the dishevelment of her lengthy purple hair, it appeared as though taking a break from the steady traffic of hungry customers was well needed. ‘Well, when you see her, tell her I said hello, and give her these.’ Morgana handed Talon a beige wicker basket filled with all manner of baked goods. Talon smiled, and took a peek inside. Morgana reached over and gently closed the basket. ‘Those are for her,’ she smirked. ‘Your breakfast is downstairs.’ Before leaving the room, walked over the the flowing blinds and closed the window, but not before taking a moment to bask in the freshness before returning to work.
‘You look stressed,’ said Talon, ‘perhaps you should train Sirix to run the place.’ At this comment Morgana could not help but laugh, as the thought of the poor creature taking orders and providing quality customer service was quite comical. She closed the window and returned to the doorway, where she gave Talon one backward glance, and a gesture with her hand to follow. Talon grabbed his belongings and left the cozy room in anticipation for both breakfast and bearing witness to the antics of Morgana serving customers early in the morning. Before he joined the League, as a vagrant, he’d come here almost every day on an empty stomach, hoping that she would give him some leftovers. And every day, she would have something for him. It’s almost as if he was her illegitimate son, and never let him go without in times of need. This place brought some sense of peace that was, in most other places, completely foreign to him, and Morgana recognized this, which is why she always set aside a room for him here. The two champions exchanged pleasantries before Talon motioned over to a seat and began snacking on a muffin and some coffee. He took notice of the surroundings, the people shuffling through the line, their snippets of conversation mixing together like woodwind instruments playing in dissonance to one another. As he was in plain attire and sitting in the far corner of the room, it was difficult for him to be recognized by the townsfolk, but he knew that as soon as he made his way out to leave, there would be repercussions. Thankfully, since his induction into the League Morgana had allowed him to use the back door. He finished the morsels and made his way up to leave, brushing crumbs from his woven pants to the floor, careful not to let anyone notice. It was getting close to noon, so Talon felt a slight ping of immediacy. Morgana glanced over at him as he passed over the counter. The pair did not exchange words, but made eye-contact for an instant, nodded, and then Talon was off to meet Katarina.
The early noon sun was not as harsh as most days. In the dust swept streets, the heat rose in invisible columns, where the parched earth seemed to sizzle in different places. Being closer to the eastern seaboard than most city-states, Noxus was prone to extreme changes in weather, so there were periods of intense cold, but what was far worse was the stale blanket of humidity that accompanied most summers. Often times it was worthwhile to know someone with access to a cellar for the purposes of avoiding the mucky heat. Talon often most often spent his summers in the Noxian command center, where he would hone his skills in the training fields with other champions, so either way he’d been accustomed to it.
He slid on his hood and continued through the crowded midday streets. There was a healthy mix of citizenry occupying the surrounding area, from merchants to vagrants, all engaged in lively conversation. Thin dust clouds seemed to sprout out into the open at various times, where shuffling feet and ropes animals had scuffed the ground. Talon simply waded his way directly through the conglomeration of Noxians, as he sought to reach the command center as quickly as possible. Unrecognizable as he may have been with his hood covering his face, he always wondered if another was watching him from afar. It was a trained reaction to having grown up in relative solitude, and it kept him on edge whenever there were others nearby. He determined that crowds such as this were unnerving, loud, and vulgar. They lacked the grace and stealth that Talon had been trained to exhibit at all times, wherever possible, so as to leave virtually no residual traces that he’d been there. It was difficult for him to comprehend how others could manage such a blatant disregard for their surroundings, but he was also aware of the fact that not everyone grew up in situations where ones lifespan was measured in how well one could remain undetected. The cloaked assassin passed by a curious arrangement of gold chains and other exotic wares suspended to a multi-wheeled kiosk in the middle of the street. The heads of passersby bobbed around it, with some turning to face the sparkling jewelry for but an instant before returning to a forward facing direction. Talon had never seen such exquisite finery displayed so openly, as though the owner of the cart held little regard for the loss prevention of his wares. The owner of the cart could be seen bartering with locals, his brisk hand puppetry conveying an impulsiveness with which expert salesmen were trained to employ. He was short, fat, and was wearing what looked to be bed sheets of lavender. The extravagance of his outfit suggested that he was not a native Noxian. ‘Hey you guy!’ the man said aloud. The crowd of people whose attention he occupied latched on to his every word, as if each syllable was a tangible piece of high-value material. ‘And look at this thing; it is one-of-a-kind amazing!’ the salesman proclaimed. The orange tinge of his leathery skin was altogether disconcerting, and the bejewelled spheres affixed to his billowy purple hat made it difficult to take the man seriously. Talon moved ahead of the crowd to get a better look. Before him were spider-webs of gold chains, amulets, and lockets suspended by rusted pegs attached to a wooden display panel coated in chipped green paint. He looked for sharp things, gold weapons, perhaps, but could see only civilian things. After moments of scanning the cart, the stout man waltzed over with a shimmy of his feet and wide, childish grin.
‘Say, you there, finding everything alright?’ he said, sounding quite jovial.
‘Yeah, not a problem,’ said Talon, not making eye-contact with the traveller. It was obvious that he had in his possession not a single reputable weapon, so there was no reason for Talon to waste his time at this pointless kiosk run by a ridiculous old man. Despite this, the man soon returned, carrying in his hand a brown fabric bundle tied up with a white lace.
‘Well, listen here, distinguished Noxian,’ he mused, calmly to avoid the attention of others. By now, the crowd which had previously been at his attention had long since dispersed, lost and drifting among the sea of people. It was pointless for Talon to recognize that this man wanted to sell him something, but the issue of real importance centered on the curiosity of what it was. ‘You will not see these in any shops, whatsoever,’ he explained.
‘Listen, I have a meeting to get to,’ replied Talon briskly, not wanting to engage in any more conversation with the man.
‘That’s quite alright,’ he replied. The merchant was now standing directly in front of Talon, and he began unravelling the bundle of what sounded to be metal bars. Carefully, the bundle rolled downward in the mans’ hands, and what was revealed from it definitely caught Talon’s eye. The merchant was quick to pick-up on this renewed sense of interest, and before he knew it, Talon was examining the finely crafted items. ‘Yes, you will find these fantastic items nowhere else!’ he exclaimed. ‘Only from my kiosk will you see such exquisite weapons. They are reinforced with rare, purified gold, you know, impossible to damage, perfectly engineered killing machines.’ Sunlight gleamed through the thickly laden awning overhanging the kiosks main display panel, to where the golden weapons shone a brilliant yellow that reflected in the merchants’ eyes like miniature suns. Talon said nothing, as he was transfixed on the gold-plated weapons. They were definitely above average in terms of what he most often found on the streets. It became clear to him that this merchant knew of his name and reputation. Probably expected an easy sale.
‘Ok, how much for the whole set,’ Talon said. He didn’t have time to waste. Katarina was probably sitting inside the briefing room at the Noxian command center waiting for him. However, she had in fact bought out all the weapons he’d wanted a day prior, so it this was only fitting. Plus, it had been awhile since he stocked up on new weapons.
‘Well, let me just figure this out for you then,’ said the man, nearly grinning ear to ear, displaying several gaps where his teeth had once been. With a twinkle of his eye and a twirl of his white mustache, he met Talon’s eyes once more, holding a tiny square of paper in his left hand. ‘For the low price of one-thousand gold per!’ the excitement in his words seemed to rend the air. Talon was not amused. He let out a brief sigh before retrieving his gold pouch. Before he even had time to retrieve the amount necessary to make the purchase, something struck him from behind. The blow sent him flying directly into the merchant, and the two of them crumpled to the ground. The merchant was careful to direct the blades away from either man by tossing them to the ground before the fall. This very quickly attracted a mob of people intent on looting the precious gold daggers, and there was nothing that could be done to prevent this. Talon rolled forward and rose to his feet as quickly as possible. He scanned the area for signs of an instigator, but could see no one capable of inflicting such a forceful blow on such short notice. The merchant, stammering in frustration, rose to his feet and tried his best to fend off the looters. Just then, Talon took a stiff right hook to the jaw, knocking him several feet to the left. The sharp taste of blood stung his lips. He instinctively withdrew his blade, a flash of steel in the sunlight, and turned to face his assailant. And there a cloaked figure stood, crouched, staring directly at Talon. He looked poised to strike, and instead of waiting, Talon leapt forth to try and gouge the man.
With one smooth motion the cloaked figure side-stepped and took hold of Talon’s shoulder before he had time to react, sending him flying into the sales kiosk. The flimsy wooden display snapped apart, causing heaps of coiled chains, trinkets, and rings flew skyward before sprinkling to the ground like gold rain. By now a circle of people had formed around the combatants, and those where were close enough do so dove right into the scattered pile of goods, taking with them as much as their pockets would hold. Clouds of dust were kicked up all around, and for a moment, Talon’s assailant lost sight of him. Using this temporary screen to his advantage, Talon, whose shoulders and back were now wracked with pain, pushed himself to his feet and began to move through the crowd. Voices were raised and crowds grew restless. Throngs of people circled about and shifted uneasily. Most of them had no idea what was going on. Talon, still recovering from the attack, rapidly scanned the crowd for black-clad man. There was a yell, followed by a scream, as two bystanders were nearly pushed to the ground by the assailant, who had taken off down a narrow alley with Talon in pursuit. Hot afternoon sun turned to dark and damp within the crevice, and as there were mounds of trash and empty boxes on the ground here, neither man could run at full capacity. Talon wanted to scream out to the man, let him know that he had pushed the wrong guy, but he knew that this was no ordinary encounter. These black-clad men had given him trouble before, and he was going to put a stop to it. His breath became shallower as the chase continued, and the alley became narrower. A moment later and Talon was stumbling over debris, falling just out of reach of the cloaked man. With arms outstretched, Talon toppled over and crashed into a random assortment of crates, their wooden frames buckled and snapped under his weight. Taking note of this, the unknown man stopped dead in his tracks, and laughed. ‘Since when does the Crimson Elite sink so low.
‘Yes I did, thanks for the delivery. Katarina wants me to go to a mission briefing at the ops center, apparently,’ Talon replied as he tidied his belongings.
‘I see,’ replied Morgana. She did not appear to want to leave right at that moment. Judging from the build-up of perspiration across her brow, and the dishevelment of her lengthy purple hair, it appeared as though taking a break from the steady traffic of hungry customers was well needed. ‘Well, when you see her, tell her I said hello, and give her these.’ Morgana handed Talon a beige wicker basket filled with all manner of baked goods. Talon smiled, and took a peek inside. Morgana reached over and gently closed the basket. ‘Those are for her,’ she smirked. ‘Your breakfast is downstairs.’ Before leaving the room, walked over the the flowing blinds and closed the window, but not before taking a moment to bask in the freshness before returning to work.
‘You look stressed,’ said Talon, ‘perhaps you should train Sirix to run the place.’ At this comment Morgana could not help but laugh, as the thought of the poor creature taking orders and providing quality customer service was quite comical. She closed the window and returned to the doorway, where she gave Talon one backward glance, and a gesture with her hand to follow. Talon grabbed his belongings and left the cozy room in anticipation for both breakfast and bearing witness to the antics of Morgana serving customers early in the morning. Before he joined the League, as a vagrant, he’d come here almost every day on an empty stomach, hoping that she would give him some leftovers. And every day, she would have something for him. It’s almost as if he was her illegitimate son, and never let him go without in times of need. This place brought some sense of peace that was, in most other places, completely foreign to him, and Morgana recognized this, which is why she always set aside a room for him here. The two champions exchanged pleasantries before Talon motioned over to a seat and began snacking on a muffin and some coffee. He took notice of the surroundings, the people shuffling through the line, their snippets of conversation mixing together like woodwind instruments playing in dissonance to one another. As he was in plain attire and sitting in the far corner of the room, it was difficult for him to be recognized by the townsfolk, but he knew that as soon as he made his way out to leave, there would be repercussions. Thankfully, since his induction into the League Morgana had allowed him to use the back door. He finished the morsels and made his way up to leave, brushing crumbs from his woven pants to the floor, careful not to let anyone notice. It was getting close to noon, so Talon felt a slight ping of immediacy. Morgana glanced over at him as he passed over the counter. The pair did not exchange words, but made eye-contact for an instant, nodded, and then Talon was off to meet Katarina.
The early noon sun was not as harsh as most days. In the dust swept streets, the heat rose in invisible columns, where the parched earth seemed to sizzle in different places. Being closer to the eastern seaboard than most city-states, Noxus was prone to extreme changes in weather, so there were periods of intense cold, but what was far worse was the stale blanket of humidity that accompanied most summers. Often times it was worthwhile to know someone with access to a cellar for the purposes of avoiding the mucky heat. Talon often most often spent his summers in the Noxian command center, where he would hone his skills in the training fields with other champions, so either way he’d been accustomed to it.
He slid on his hood and continued through the crowded midday streets. There was a healthy mix of citizenry occupying the surrounding area, from merchants to vagrants, all engaged in lively conversation. Thin dust clouds seemed to sprout out into the open at various times, where shuffling feet and ropes animals had scuffed the ground. Talon simply waded his way directly through the conglomeration of Noxians, as he sought to reach the command center as quickly as possible. Unrecognizable as he may have been with his hood covering his face, he always wondered if another was watching him from afar. It was a trained reaction to having grown up in relative solitude, and it kept him on edge whenever there were others nearby. He determined that crowds such as this were unnerving, loud, and vulgar. They lacked the grace and stealth that Talon had been trained to exhibit at all times, wherever possible, so as to leave virtually no residual traces that he’d been there. It was difficult for him to comprehend how others could manage such a blatant disregard for their surroundings, but he was also aware of the fact that not everyone grew up in situations where ones lifespan was measured in how well one could remain undetected. The cloaked assassin passed by a curious arrangement of gold chains and other exotic wares suspended to a multi-wheeled kiosk in the middle of the street. The heads of passersby bobbed around it, with some turning to face the sparkling jewelry for but an instant before returning to a forward facing direction. Talon had never seen such exquisite finery displayed so openly, as though the owner of the cart held little regard for the loss prevention of his wares. The owner of the cart could be seen bartering with locals, his brisk hand puppetry conveying an impulsiveness with which expert salesmen were trained to employ. He was short, fat, and was wearing what looked to be bed sheets of lavender. The extravagance of his outfit suggested that he was not a native Noxian. ‘Hey you guy!’ the man said aloud. The crowd of people whose attention he occupied latched on to his every word, as if each syllable was a tangible piece of high-value material. ‘And look at this thing; it is one-of-a-kind amazing!’ the salesman proclaimed. The orange tinge of his leathery skin was altogether disconcerting, and the bejewelled spheres affixed to his billowy purple hat made it difficult to take the man seriously. Talon moved ahead of the crowd to get a better look. Before him were spider-webs of gold chains, amulets, and lockets suspended by rusted pegs attached to a wooden display panel coated in chipped green paint. He looked for sharp things, gold weapons, perhaps, but could see only civilian things. After moments of scanning the cart, the stout man waltzed over with a shimmy of his feet and wide, childish grin.
‘Say, you there, finding everything alright?’ he said, sounding quite jovial.
‘Yeah, not a problem,’ said Talon, not making eye-contact with the traveller. It was obvious that he had in his possession not a single reputable weapon, so there was no reason for Talon to waste his time at this pointless kiosk run by a ridiculous old man. Despite this, the man soon returned, carrying in his hand a brown fabric bundle tied up with a white lace.
‘Well, listen here, distinguished Noxian,’ he mused, calmly to avoid the attention of others. By now, the crowd which had previously been at his attention had long since dispersed, lost and drifting among the sea of people. It was pointless for Talon to recognize that this man wanted to sell him something, but the issue of real importance centered on the curiosity of what it was. ‘You will not see these in any shops, whatsoever,’ he explained.
‘Listen, I have a meeting to get to,’ replied Talon briskly, not wanting to engage in any more conversation with the man.
‘That’s quite alright,’ he replied. The merchant was now standing directly in front of Talon, and he began unravelling the bundle of what sounded to be metal bars. Carefully, the bundle rolled downward in the mans’ hands, and what was revealed from it definitely caught Talon’s eye. The merchant was quick to pick-up on this renewed sense of interest, and before he knew it, Talon was examining the finely crafted items. ‘Yes, you will find these fantastic items nowhere else!’ he exclaimed. ‘Only from my kiosk will you see such exquisite weapons. They are reinforced with rare, purified gold, you know, impossible to damage, perfectly engineered killing machines.’ Sunlight gleamed through the thickly laden awning overhanging the kiosks main display panel, to where the golden weapons shone a brilliant yellow that reflected in the merchants’ eyes like miniature suns. Talon said nothing, as he was transfixed on the gold-plated weapons. They were definitely above average in terms of what he most often found on the streets. It became clear to him that this merchant knew of his name and reputation. Probably expected an easy sale.
‘Ok, how much for the whole set,’ Talon said. He didn’t have time to waste. Katarina was probably sitting inside the briefing room at the Noxian command center waiting for him. However, she had in fact bought out all the weapons he’d wanted a day prior, so it this was only fitting. Plus, it had been awhile since he stocked up on new weapons.
‘Well, let me just figure this out for you then,’ said the man, nearly grinning ear to ear, displaying several gaps where his teeth had once been. With a twinkle of his eye and a twirl of his white mustache, he met Talon’s eyes once more, holding a tiny square of paper in his left hand. ‘For the low price of one-thousand gold per!’ the excitement in his words seemed to rend the air. Talon was not amused. He let out a brief sigh before retrieving his gold pouch. Before he even had time to retrieve the amount necessary to make the purchase, something struck him from behind. The blow sent him flying directly into the merchant, and the two of them crumpled to the ground. The merchant was careful to direct the blades away from either man by tossing them to the ground before the fall. This very quickly attracted a mob of people intent on looting the precious gold daggers, and there was nothing that could be done to prevent this. Talon rolled forward and rose to his feet as quickly as possible. He scanned the area for signs of an instigator, but could see no one capable of inflicting such a forceful blow on such short notice. The merchant, stammering in frustration, rose to his feet and tried his best to fend off the looters. Just then, Talon took a stiff right hook to the jaw, knocking him several feet to the left. The sharp taste of blood stung his lips. He instinctively withdrew his blade, a flash of steel in the sunlight, and turned to face his assailant. And there a cloaked figure stood, crouched, staring directly at Talon. He looked poised to strike, and instead of waiting, Talon leapt forth to try and gouge the man.
With one smooth motion the cloaked figure side-stepped and took hold of Talon’s shoulder before he had time to react, sending him flying into the sales kiosk. The flimsy wooden display snapped apart, causing heaps of coiled chains, trinkets, and rings flew skyward before sprinkling to the ground like gold rain. By now a circle of people had formed around the combatants, and those where were close enough do so dove right into the scattered pile of goods, taking with them as much as their pockets would hold. Clouds of dust were kicked up all around, and for a moment, Talon’s assailant lost sight of him. Using this temporary screen to his advantage, Talon, whose shoulders and back were now wracked with pain, pushed himself to his feet and began to move through the crowd. Voices were raised and crowds grew restless. Throngs of people circled about and shifted uneasily. Most of them had no idea what was going on. Talon, still recovering from the attack, rapidly scanned the crowd for black-clad man. There was a yell, followed by a scream, as two bystanders were nearly pushed to the ground by the assailant, who had taken off down a narrow alley with Talon in pursuit. Hot afternoon sun turned to dark and damp within the crevice, and as there were mounds of trash and empty boxes on the ground here, neither man could run at full capacity. Talon wanted to scream out to the man, let him know that he had pushed the wrong guy, but he knew that this was no ordinary encounter. These black-clad men had given him trouble before, and he was going to put a stop to it. His breath became shallower as the chase continued, and the alley became narrower. A moment later and Talon was stumbling over debris, falling just out of reach of the cloaked man. With arms outstretched, Talon toppled over and crashed into a random assortment of crates, their wooden frames buckled and snapped under his weight. Taking note of this, the unknown man stopped dead in his tracks, and laughed. ‘Since when does the Crimson Elite sink so low.
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At nightfall, in a cold Noxian graveyard, wisps of cloud touched the ground and brewed about at random, forming a thinly layered blanket of translucent fog. Piles of moss and other vegetation, where black ravens and lesser known creatures roamed unseen, crept and curled about the tombs like snakes circling jungle foliage. Strange noises could be heard near the grey cobblestone paths which lead to an unknowable number of underground crypts.
The more elaborate funeral arrangements were decked out with ornate stone gargoyles and other carved beasts. They belonged to Noxian noblemen and distinguished military figures alike, and there were no visible pathways to them. To protect against defacement, some tombs and crypts were concealed under the stealthy guise of Summoner’s magic. That is, unless the one performing the defacement was a Summoner to begin with…
Talon and Katarina strode side-by-side, saying very little and moving very quietly. Dimly lit by mounted torchlights and the occasional gas-lamp, the pair happened upon a dirt road that lead forked into areas unknown, where it was decided, at the flip of a Noxian nickel, that they would continue down the right path.
Katarina would have preferred to go left, though in the end it didn’t really matter. She was dressed in a leather assassins’ ensemble, suited primarily for covert operations and looking like a badass. For the ease of movement and sake of circulation, the skin of her arms and shins were exposed, and the rest of the fabric that did cover her body was form-fitting and spare. Many small pockets lined with tiny metal zippers could be observed on her person, and she ensured they were filled with tiny weapons, poisons, powders, and whatever else might be necessary for dispatching enemies. Her slick black combat boots were durable and double-laced, with folded notches at the top for extra storage. The only remaining oddity was her bright waist-length hair, so voluminous as to put a peacock to shame. It was most definitely the most recognizable feature about her, and she’d taken such pride in it as to disregard the burden of carrying upon her head such a luxurious mane. It almost always smelled of the finest vanilla soaps, and other such nonsense that emanated feminine allure not unlike the noticeable curves of her body; often providing a suitable distraction for those who she’d intended to slay.
Talon dawned the standard Crimson Elite uniform-- a golden helm with a glinting blue visor, black, grey, and red steel-woven armor, shoulder pads with gold spikes, and his trademark cloak, which was comprised of toughened fabric tails connected to sharpened blades of steel that glinted cruelly whenever occasioned by a nearby source of light. Affixed to his right arm was a blade several feet in length, his most trusted weapon. Due to training and experience, neither Assassin felt uncomfortable here, though for most it was quite an unsettling environment. For Talon and Katarina, there was safety in the shadows-concealment-they could move unnoticed, undetected, and strike out at an enemy with an assured element of surprise…
Talon was explaining to Katarina how, five years ago, he’d been to this graveyard before, during a time where it had been quarantined due to grave robbers. He claimed to have had nothing to do with the incident, though given his history as a thief, this seemed altogether unlikely.
‘Just stay quiet and keep up,’ Katarina replied with a hint of agitation. She did not have the patience for failure; distracted, incompetent allies were simply an unnecessary burden. Quite frequently, Talon had proven himself on the Fields of Justice, but this was more than just a routine skirmish against unskilled Demacian Champions. This mission had been passed down by Jericho Swain himself, and perhaps it was this fact alone that clocked her mind into a paranoid state. She was a High Commander, responsible for upholding the Du Couteau name, in light of her father’s disappearance, and a failure to complete this mission would be met with harsh discourse. Cassiopeia, Katarina’s sister, would most certainly not be impressed if such a failure were to occur. ‘Just keep your mind on the mission,’ she said, not concerned in the least for Talon’s irrelevant musings.
‘Whatever you say,’ Talon replied indifferently. He scanned the terrain and attempted to move through it without making a sound. Talon, a man of intense mental and physical strength, was the newest and least experienced member to the Crimson Elite, and he was fighting to prove his allegiance to the Du Couteau name at all times. General Du Couteau had been the only man to best Talon in an act of combat, and it was due to this fact that he overlooked his reluctance at working with the General’s daughter.
‘This is serious,’ she said, speaking in low tones. ‘Swain gave me the full briefing. He says that there’s a rogue Summoner on the loose, and he’s taken to this graveyard to perform forbidden magic.’ She tried to emphasise her words by raising her eyebrows and motioning her hands expressively.
Talon merely nodded in acknowledgement, but his mind was elsewhere.
Breathing calmly and crouching low, he kept a firm grip on the hilt of his dagger at all times. Without a reply to give, he began to consider the mission at hand.
Why would a banished Summoner be so obsessed as to call upon the empty spirits of the dead? he wondered. The details of the mission, the briefing, the synopsis, delivery, location info- it had all been so hastily given, as if without much consideration. Or perhaps more consideration than could be appropriately concealed, as in not knowing if this was a trap from the start or not, and Talon had been in these situations before. Whereas Katarina had sipped from silver spoons and dined with Noxian nobility in her teenage years, Talon had scraped together a meager existence in the sewers, and had altogether developed a sense of keenness absent from one who’d been given the comfortable life, or so he thought. Truthfully, Katarina’s life had been as far from comfort as her Father could make possible. He’d been quite a strict disciplinarian, and always pitted her against her sister in some kind of contrived competition to see who could accrue the most prestige and honor in light of the family name, creating many bitter feuds between the three of them that had caused hatreds to run deep (it took years for o undo the damaged relationship between her and Cassiopeia.) Not only that, but Katarina was renowned for instigating fights in the many boarding schools that she’d attended throughout her younger years, resulting in numerous expulsions and relocations that had caused General Du Couteau so much stress throughout the years. This was well before his disappearance, however, and things had changed dramatically since then…
had been vague to be begin with. It was not unlike the Crimson Elite to be somewhat particular about the manner in which its members were to conduct their actions, so this foray into a non-descript graveyard to seek a
Noxian graveyards were not unlike those of Demacia, Ionia, or any other in Valoran. They had ceremonial tombstones, inscribed with phrases of virtue, respect, and discipline. Noxians were a proud a people as any other, and thus all dead citizens were given due respect in this way. Given the reports of this Summoner, it was clear that he was bereft of all respect.
And every now and then, a shrill cry would pierce the near-silence, courtesy of the restless ravens that’d yet to seek refuge. At present, the highly trained Assassins of the Noxian Crimson Elite, Talon and Katarina, kept a low profile as they weaved their way through the darkened terrain in search of the rogue Summoner. And there was no sign of him yet.
The pair of assassins had ventured through the graveyard entrance, and were now nearing the ritual grounds. The upkeep here had clearly been avoided, as there were piles of overgrowth, next to no tomb maintenance in sight, and there was not a not a single lit lantern in sight. Some of the tombs dated back hundreds of years, and others mere months.
Being surrounded by all this death gave Katarina some time to contemplate the death she'd dealt. The thoughts sensed of remorse, sorrow, and regret, but she had not the tolerance to consider them for long. Expert mental discipline made it possible for her to regard such emotions with transience, and as if washed away by a torrent, they left her mind, replaced by the more immediate sensory perceptions of the surrounding area.
And there he was, dressed in black, his arms outstretched and circling in slow motion. His hooded head bobbed slowly back and forth as he chanted some arcane ritual. He did not articulate words, but sounds, and neither assassin could decipher the meaning. Then, without so much as a sound, the situation changed dramatically. Talon’s mind became warped by spell-craft for but an instant that seemed to last minutes…
‘What are you DOING in this PLACE!’ he thought… it was the Summoner, somehow interfacing with his thoughts. His words resounded with the torment and grief of one who’d devoted a lifetime to believing in pretentious falsehoods and corrupting power.
‘You FOOLS! This is my PLACE. These are the DEAD you are toiling with. I AM toiling WITH!’
‘GET OUT!’ said the Summoner, each word growing louder than the last.
Then, in a swift motion, Katarina whipped around and grabbed Talon by the forearm, nearly bringing him to the ground. Given her slim stature, it was a surprise to him that she could be so forceful.
‘Snap out of it,’ she voiced calmly, ‘it’s not real.’ The Summoner had no vanished from sight. Where he had once stood, billowy wafts of pink smoke remained .
However, the Summoner had left behind much more than smoke and mirrors…
Talon shook his head. ‘How did he do that?’ he asked.
'I don’t know,’ replied Katarina, ‘but we need to get out of here. He's sealed the exits. There is little time.’
Pulse quickening, she watched as black forms shifted from beneath the residual smoke that now circulated at the feet of the weary assassins.
‘Undead…’ croaked Talon, his voice barely audible, and Katarina said nothing as she readied her blades. The Summoner had left them a sizeable force of minions to contend with, and it was unlike any force that they’d faced before. These minions were empowered by forbidden enchantments. Their eyes appeared as orange spheres blazing fiercely, and their skin was rotten, dead, sores leaking and fizzing with all manner of effervescent pestilence.
While Katarina took several cautionary steps backward, Talon surveyed the situation with a bored ease that belied his experience on the field. Whereas Katarina was of the opinion that every combative situation should be handled with pinpoint tactics, Talon had the stubbornness to slay at random, irrespective of precision...
And there was much slaying to be done!
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The first ghoul came at them, mouth slavering with disease and slobber, disgusting. Talon reached out towards the minion with his dagger and eviscerated it in a moment’s notice. There were plenty more to contend with. Katarina became cornered by a demonic hound and she raced towards it with her arms held high abover her head, each one carrying a specially attuned blade that blazed blue in the darkness. She lunged at the beast with her legs outstretched in some acrobatic assault, leapt forward, and barreled to the ground in an outstanding display of dexterity. Talon watched as more intruders spilled through the cob-web infested entry-way. More and more, one after another, the mindless beasts toppled over one another to get near them, to sink their stained, rotten claws into new flesh. They were possessed bipeds with bloodthirsty intentions, seeking only a quick meal to fuel their base motor functions.
‘There, to the bridge!’ talon exclaimed, pointing over to a small footbridge that lead to an underground cave. Katarina rushed ahead with Talon closely behind her. They were both breathing heavily at this point, breaths accompanied by quick bursts of condensation. There was nowhere to know where they were headed, perhaps a head end, or even within the crypt of some distinguished dead Noxian.
‘Just keep going,’ he said, seeming to know where this unknown path would lead.
They went ever deeper within the cave, hearing the slavering beasts gain ground behind them as they did. It was starting to make Katarina panic, and she didn’t have time to lose concentration. She focused her mind as swiftly as possible, imagining in her mind’s eye the desperate tip of a newly brandished blade, ready for killing. Talon had already made several strides ahead of her, and his motions were without falter. His bladed cloak scraped and sparked against the sides of the narrowing cave.
‘What is this harrowed den that you’ve brought me to?’ she questioned ominously.
‘keep quiet, and stay close,’ he interjected, clearly experiencing the same adrenaline rush. They climbed and bounded ahead, and then, the small passage ahead came into view.
There, the undead had managed to congregate, either in anticipation for the arrival of the assassins or purely by coincidence. Considering the lack of foresight that these minions seemed to exhibit, Talon thought their actions part of the latter.
‘Get over here, you monsters…’ he growled. The blades travelled from the sides of his hips to being airbourne in a lightning motion that was nearly impossible to detect from an untrained perspective. The blades whistled through the air before striking two of the minions with loud thuds. One had been stricken in the chest, and toppled to the ground immediately in a pool of his own blood. The other undead had the misfortunate of catching the whistling blade directly in the forehead, where it proceeded to slice cleanly through, where it exited with a clump of decaying brain matter.
The mission briefing had been vague, which was somewhat unusual for the Crimson Elite. They were used to specifics, and missions involving rogue Summoners were few and far between, so there was little experience in dealing with this kind of thing. They needed to stop this Summoner from whatever it was that he was trying to do, that much was apparent, but as to how or why they needed to stop him was soon to be revealed, at least Talon had hoped for that much.
Katarina sat in the briefing room in a comfortable arrangement of seats and tables. She was taking notes on an ivory-coloured notepad, and her quill scratched furiously as the commander talked. He was a stalwart man of middle-age, long past the age of the mission participants, but his knowledge in the area was commendable. He’d been on more missions than Talon or Katarina had combined, as indicated by his fine selection of military medals lining the back wall.
The dim, hazy, smoke filled room, was frequented by Noxians most hardcore assassins; the Crimson Elite. They’d seen the worst of it, and had throughout the years earned the respect and fear of citizens and criminals alike. It was not unheard of for entire criminal operations to be uprooted and disassembled. These were a crack group of infiltrators loyal to Du Couteau himself
And Talon stood there, observing the fire from the match as the wick burned steadily. The smell of sulfur and ash filled his nostrils.
‘Are you sure this won’t create significant fire hazard?’ said Katarina halfheartedly. Of course she knew it would, but she was curious to note his reaction.
‘Well, that’s the idea,’ replied Talon calmly. He began twiddling the match between his index and middle fingers, observing how the flame danced upon the match as a burning candlewick might. The light from the tiny flame reflected orange across the blue hues of his glass visor.
By now, the viscous liquid from the punctured barrel had formed and even spread throughout the room, and it did not take long for acrid stench to develop. The smell was not unlike average grade petroleum, so right off the bat he knew that it would burn well. Both assassins stood for a moment, gazing over the scene that was about to be incinerated. Katarina was a bit more cautious, for she knew that if their line of escape became obstructed, there might be a cause for concern, but ultimately she wanted to complete the mission and head home knowing that the lab had been completely destroyed.
‘You might want to get to a safe place,’ said Talon, as he motioned his hand to a tall rock barricade near the back of the lab, where they'd entered from. Without hesitation she complied, and motioned over to the rocks, crouched, and continued to stare intently. Part of her wanted to see the blaze in action. In fact, she wanted to see everything burn. All the undead machinations of evil that this rogue Summoner had created, all the lab equipment that flickered so ominously in the wicked green lamplight, all burned right to the ground and never to be heard from or seen again. But her better judgement interjected with the notion that to do so would not have been a wise course of action, as bearing witness to this event would most likely lead to instant death to whomever would be so ridiculous as to observe it. At that point she recognized that there had always been a part of her that craved destruction. She had a mean streak satiated only by witnessing mayhem every now and then; perhaps this trait alone was responsible for making her such a proficient assassin.
Talon, on the other hand, had seen far worse. More often than not, events such as this barely affected him. He’d seen things that no person should be forced to see, done things that no person should do, and this was just another scrap of chaos to numb his overactive mind.
He flicked the match, and walked calmly away as the laboratory of death became consumed by the ravenous flames. The heat waves seemed to penetrate his very armor, filling him with warmth. It was a comfortable feeling, and as the cave quickly became depleted of oxygen to feed the flames, he smiled, and carried onward at a more reasonable pace. Katarina had been several steps ahead of him, but even she could not resist a backwards glance, or perhaps two. The cracking, whooshing, and rippling of fire eating through solid material produced a satisfying collage of sounds that reverberated in her mind, and it was times like these that she wished to have had a way of recording events. Sadly, such a way had yet to be invented.
keep it up. fantastic reading
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