I honestly couldn't believe Lux's head came off. Observing the still smiling head sail high into the air on a stream of blood, I could muster but a single thought; I should buy an early blasting wand more often.
I honestly didn't think I would kill her in one hit, let alone in such a spectacular fashion. She had evidently been moving to re-ward the bush to protect from ganks, and had just poked her ever smiling face into the river bush, when I smacked a lamppost into her cranium. I didn't mean to put so much magic juice into the hit but… she startled me.
I had in truth been wasting time in the bottom bush pretending to get ready for a gank, hoping for our team to go for a twenty minute surrender so I could avoid having to do any actual fighting.
It would seem Lux had different ideas as she wandered blindly into my hiding spot with the blind confidence that comes from having an early lead. I mean in what world do you leave your bottom lane river unwarded when the jungler is MIA?
The blonde Demacian had likely been too busy flirting with her ADC to notice. Speaking of him, Ezreal seemed to have noticed the head of his support and mutual crush flying through the air toward him and was frozen in horror as he watched its lazy arc. What can I say my young friend, it's better to have loved and lost, and it would seem you are going to be doing a lot of losing if Graves gets any closer.
It was at that moment that I decided I should start seeing a shrink, just in case the nutjobs that represent the other champions of the league begin to rub off on me. It was said shrink who suggested I should start writing a memoir of sorts to help me 'compartmentalize' the insanity that is my day job.
So without further ado I shall introduce myself. My name and title is Jax, The Grand Master at arms. I do have a last name but I can't write it down for reasons I'll get into later. The important thing to know about me is that I am pretty much a legend in a league full of legends. The second thing you need to know about me is that pretty much every story, legend and myth you have heard about me is bullshit.
I was once upon a time a small time mercenary. It was a good job; I would pick easy guard jobs and make a decent living. I would still be happily doing that carefree, and most importantly pain free job if fate didn't have a sick sense of humor. Enough of that though, back to the present.
I had to look away as the loud shotgun blast signaled the end of the young architect. It would seem our team took heart in this unexpected turn around for bot lane because then we had to fight for a whole hour to barely scrape in a win. I didn't die in that time, but it was still a pretty shitty way to spend an hour of my day. I damn near wept for joy when we finally cracked open the enemy nexus.
As soon as the match was over I had to dash for the exits of the institute of war. I had to be quick though because if I wasn't one of the champions from the institute may have attempted to talk to me. Now don't get me wrong, I don't have a crushing hatred of social interaction, I enjoy a rousing pub crawl as much as the next guy. The issue with social interaction here were the conversational partners.
The thing you have to realize about the average champion of the league is that they fall into one of two general categories; they are either a masochist who remains there for some noble cause I couldn't possibly want to understand, or their a sadist who is here because they like hurting people. Life as a champion in the league is filled with cycles of killing and being killed, and as such it doesn't exactly attract the most level headed of individuals.
In other words, I am strongly under the opinion that anyone other than me in the league must be a psychopath to one degree or another. I may make nice with them when they corner me, but that doesn't mean I want to stick around them longer then I have to, with a few notable exceptions. It is with this in mind that I jump down the front steps to the institute and hail a carriage.
I direct the awe smacked driver to take me to an inn in one of the dirtier part of the town that exist near the institute. It's a reasonably short trip, during which I have to keep constantly checking I'm not being followed. I have magic that will dissuade any attempts to notice my presence by those who I don't want to see it, but considering the talents of my colleagues I think a little paranoia is warranted.
We eventually pull up in front of the Hotel I want and I hop out into the muddy streets. It's a rough part of town, and the driver's apparent status as one of my fans isn't enough to convince him to stick around any longer then he has to. I can hardly blame him as I look around the dank squat building that make up the street. It was primarily a Noxian neighborhood, made up of societal detritus that had been forced to leave Noxus when Swain came to power.
The small towns had begun popping up around the institute as if gathering to the new seat of power, and this one was one of the more unpleasant ones; which was why it was perfect for the man I was intending to meet to hide out in.
I grit my teeth as I move through the lobby of the hotel. I know which room he is in off by heart, so accustomed am I to coming to this cess pit. Even in my days as a mercenary I never came to towns this rough.
I stand in front of the door to his room. I could see smoke wafting out from within the room, from the smell of it I could tell it was relaxation root. The same man whose teeth I would happily put a boot through if he could get away with it. The same man who had elevated me to be the most powerful tournament fighter in the world against my will. The same man who was responsible for me having to put up with nut jobs day in day out. I brace myself as I open the unlocked door.
The sight that greets me is a man with unnaturally purple skin sitting on a sofa stoned out of his mind. I resist the urge to sigh as I walk through the smoke toward him. I am right in front of him before he notices me. I speak now that I finally have his attention.
"Hello High Councilor Ashram…"