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The Tide

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Senior Member


One footstep. And then, haltingly, another.
One foot in front of the other.
Noxian nights, chill and dangerous as the predators which stalk them.
You do not pay heed to the chill of the night air, and deliberately ignore the deeper chill soaking into your side from the flaring pain in the upper right of your chest. You force yourself to breathe as normally as you can, despite the ever rising urge to cough at the buzzing in your lungs.
You clear your throat, hoarsely, as you walk, and pain surges like water at the action. The harsh pommel of a dagger, rather than its edge, did this, but for all that supposed gentleness you cannot help but believe it to have been a cruelty rather than a mercy, a way for your attacker to draw out the game.
The world moves slowly. Panic and desperation war for dominance as your run, and your ears catch the faint whine of metal slicing air. Then fiery pain assails you as the blades whip past, and a glint of moonlight sparks off of the wires trailing behind the blades. With a jerk the blades stop, then fly back past you again, cutting your flesh again on their homeward journey to the hands that released them a split second before. Your running is halted by agony as you are hamstrung, and you fall to hands and knees, still crawling forward, anything to reach the embassy, you'll be safe there-
"I apologize for the sudden meeting, ambassador." The cultured voice says from behind you, the regret faint in his voice but seemingly genuine for all of that. "I know you are a busy man, but this matter simply could not wait."
Your escorts were killed in seconds, and you're no warrior, but that doesn't make you defenseless. You shudder a second, milking your obvious injuries for all they are worth, like a coastal otter bobbing limply in the tide, luring his breakfast closer. Like back home, in the nameless coastal village you were born.
You know you cannot catch him toe to toe. But he will come to you if you let him.
So come, little knife bearing fish.
"You see, Noxus has a few... complications, ambassador, regarding your entreaties." You catch sight of him as he calmly walks forward, his leather clad form rendered in shades of black. He seems to melt out of the shadows. "Most specifically your petty insistence on self determination and that sort of drivel, especially in light of your debts to the state."
So close, now, as you curl up, seemingly overcome by your wounds, while your hand snakes inside your lacerated and blood-soaked doublet, to close around the grip of a concealed pistol. "As a result, those in charge have determined that a message must necessarily be sent to indicate the gravity of the situation. I'm sure you understand, don't you?"
He is only a few feet away, now, and with a speed you barely realize you possessed you jerk the pistol from your vest and fire, one smooth motion as the world swims around you and your assassin vanishes as blades fly out in all directions. Your pistol, still smoking, drops to the ground, and from the one good eye unstruck by the sudden storm of knives you see that two of your fingers have fallen beside it. In a mind clouding from shock and blood loss you vaguely wonder how you will tie your shoes in the morning.
The voice is intruding from beyond cotton now as you collapse, the chill becoming numbness and the ground feeling almost... soft. "At least they got this much right about your folk: you know how to keep the hunt entertaining right down to the last."
Your last thoughts are of the tide, rising at your cheek- you never knew it could be red.
Little otter, little otter... where... do you...

Talon smiled, inspecting the furrow in his shadowy died leather armor. Several of the metal studs were gone, torn away by the ambassador's gunshot. Somehow, that obnoxious old fellow managed to do what none of his guards had done. Not that he'd drawn blood, but still, he'd at least hit him.
The body could lay here, let the alley rats have their teeth in his flesh before he was found and regrettably delivered to the **** hole village that spawned him. A tragedy, but the streets can be a dangerous place to wander. Much like a poor village on the coast, without a strong nation like Noxus to protect them. In the end, it just illustrates what Noxus had known all along- those who wander about alone can fall prey to those who have no respect for law and order.
Talon froze momentarily as he felt the tug of magic at his senses, and the familiar pull of teleportation. He knew, in seconds, he would be cast onto the field of battle, to pit his skills against other infamous warriors at the behest of a nameless sorceror. His knives would be dyed in blood, and perhaps, his blood too would soak the ground.
Summoner's Rift would be pooled in blood that would rise with the tide as the moon flew high.
What a beautiful way to spend a night!

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Junior Member


Needs some better formatting, otherwise good.