The Crimson Assassin: Redone
Chapter One: A new start
Author's Notes: Alroiight! This is the first chapter of my new "old" story (no shit m9?)! Re-reading my old work was rather painful, and made me realize two things. Firstly, the people here have really low standards when it comes to stories, or maybe tend to go easy on noobies such as myself? Secondly, my writing skills now, although far from good, are not nearly as cringe-worthy as v1 of TCA. Y'a see, one of the things that irritated me the most in my earlier masterpiece, was the fact that the relationship between Thero and Syndra went too fast. Likewise, there was little to no character development. Granted, the story didn't go long enough for there to be any, but the reason I quit the last one was the fact that I knew my practical skills were still not good enough to deliver the wonderful story I have been creating for the past six years, in my mind of course xP So yeah, I'm still bad, but not "as" bad as before, so please, criticize the fuck out of my story.
Another thing! No more chapters of odd length! Ill try to keep them pretty much the same, except for this introduction chapter, as I plan to keep it around two and a something k since it won't contain any combat and all dem interesting things!
Rested on a pillar of blind fate, one forged by pain on the anvil of discipline, his world crumbled, leaving him nothing to stand on~
"The Void? What void? Hah, nonsense!"
"Just… a little… f-further…"
"They are at the gates, our lines have been breached!"
"N-no… not… like this…"
"Men, here is where we make our stand!"
The Institute of War, a truly grand collection of magnificent buildings who's beauty could only be rivaled by their fame, and that of those extraordinary individuals inhabiting their lavish halls. Located in the very heart of Valoran, it serves as a spot where the representatives of the many Runeterra's city states come to discuss politics, and resolve the frequent disputes with each other. While the traditional method for this was testing each other's mettle in bloody skirmishes, the Institute's leaders, powerful mages known as summoners, proposed a different solution. Paragons of warcraft would be sent from each of the city states to wage combat in magical arenas, where, safe from the jaws of death, they would slaughter each other for sport. These warriors are named champions.
Quite a few perks came with the title of "champion, a massive patch of vegetation located in the very heart of the complex, with many paved paths and clearings carving trough it. The jewel of this forest was a large lake, who's serene surface reflected the ring of trees circling it.
"And this one is for… DEMACIA!" Cried a giant of a man, brown haired, and clad in a flashy yellow shirt, matched with a pair of shorts of the same color. As the shout left his mouth, a ball was sent flying towards a lithe figure of a woman. She sidestepped not a moment too soon, just in time to dodge the potentially lethal projectile.
"Will you stop doing that you moron!?" She asked, fiery green eyes flashing in anger behind a curtain of blood-red hair. "And stop yelling like that, you're embarrassing me." She added, her tone loosing none of the anger behind it.
"Uhh, I am still new to this, volleyball thing Kat…" He would say as his tame brown eyes stuck at the woman's back, a goofy grin plastered on his face.
"Now, let's try this again…" The redhead sighed, turning away to collect the ball.
Katarina would take note of the dent in the earth that the ball created. Sometimes, she couldn't understand why Garen was so damn dense. If something wasn't involved with swords, one could find himself at quit a task making the Might of Demacia interested in something. Noticing the colorful edge of the ball sticking from underneath the shroud of a decorative bush, the noxian crouched down, intent on taking it.
Yet, being an assassin who trained her reflexes to perfection, she instantly backed away as two sinister red orbs flickered in the darkness of the garden forests, a curved blade finding it's way from the folds of her clothing to the secure grip of her hand. Noting that something was wrong, Garen swiftly moved forwards, now finding himself in from of the noxian woman.
"Do no worry, I will protect you!" He exclaimed with resolve filled voice, even though he had nothing other than his fists to use as weapons should the need arise.
"Oh fuck off, finally some excitement!" Katarina said as the emerged from behind the wall of muscle that the demacian was, adorning a wicked grin.
Both of the warriors stood ready to face whatever emitted such sinister energy. It was unlike anything they had the chance to fae both outside, and within the arena. Though she did not want to admit it to herself, for some reason, Katarina felt genuinely afraid of the unknown force.
Slowly, step by step, the two dim lights approached, only to reveal that they were in fact eyes; not of demon or beast, but of human. It's crimson irises contrasted it's obsidian mane, even though it appeared to have a decent amount of blood staining it. The figure was evidently injured, seemingly unable to walk without the assistance of it's scabbard, one that now served as a walking cane. Surely, if not for the pitiful state he now was, the stranger would be an intimidating figure. Sturdy looking plates of crimson metal served as reinforcements to the mostly silver suit of armor he adorned. Instead of regular gloves, the armor ended in a set of clawed gauntlets, one resembling the talon of a dragon. The boots were styled in a similar fashion, with spots of silky raven fabric visible underneath. The same undersuit, was likewise stretching over his collar bone, neck, and ending with a facemask that went over the nose and under the eyes. A small silver piece of metal was placed over and underneath his chin, although serving more as decoration than anything else.
"Huh?" Mouthed the pair in union, not lowering their guard.
Where joints bent, enough room was given so that movement was not obstructed, providing much needed agility. Yet, past the rough look, the armor itself was a work of art. It took form of a figure with rippling muscles, each of them engraved with a fine fiery pattern, one that ended in the bloom of a rose.
"Shaldar ash vel, de ari…" The man spoke in a grizzled, low tone, as if every word caused him pain. Neither Katarina, nor Garen quite understood what the strange warrior said, as the language he spoke was more than unfamiliar.
Most of his weight, the crimson-armored man placed on his sheathed sword. Judging by the curvature of the saya, it resembled mostly a weapon utilized by the Ionians, the katana. Asides from the kojiri, it's red tip, the scabbard itself was plain black in color. Taking another two steps forward, unable to carry himself anymore, the stranger collapsed, his limp body now resting in the grass and dirt.
"Get miss Soraka!"
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"Wet, and cold." Echoed the thought in his mind as his consciousness was ripped from wherever it was floating back into his body. His eyes struggled to open, tortured by a vile ray of sunlight, prompting him to raise a hand in their protection.
He was a creature of darkness, light can go fuck itself.
His gaze danced from object to object in the small room he was located at. Though he was no doctor, he could recognize various medical instruments stored in the glass shelves on the walls. The room was dominated by white, and was rather plain, yet inspired a sense of calmness. "Where am i?" He would ask himself as he attempted to raise to a sitting position, only to be discouraged as a phantom dagger stabbed him in the abdomen. Of course, he was wounded, yet for some reason, it did not heal? Likewise, he had taken note that a wet towel was placed against his forehead.
The grunt of pain he released seemed to catch the attention of another person that he, for some reason, did not notice was in the same room. She was dressed in an odd fashion, though he had seen stranger in the kingdoms he had visited. The clothing itself was quite revealing, more so than the women of his nation would be comfortable in. Yet, even though the brown haired girl was dressed as a prostitute, he had concluded that she was part of the staff assigned to the medical facility he was in.
She threw a cold disapproving look at his direction, only to move next to his bed, and pace a hand against his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. The man resisted the urge to snap her thin hand in two, yet found no strength in his weakened body. What a pitiful state.
What caught his attention, were her eyes. Though she was apparently a healer, she had eyes very much alike his own. The eyes that had seen far more blood than any person should in a lifetime.
Killer or not, she appeared quite annoyed by the fact that he had opened his wounds. Thus, the man stood silent as she worked on removing the bandages from his chest, only to place new ones, after rubbing a translucent green salve over the cuts. The medicine felt cool against his skin, and had dulled whatever pain he felt almost instantly.
"Where am I, as I've asked?" The man asked the same question he had asked himself a moment ago, resisting the urge to cringe at how weak his voice sounded. The girl that had been tending to him arched an eyebrow at the question, staring at his direction for a few seconds, only to provide an answer that only served to raise more questions.
" #%^$#%^$#%^&# !^&" She said in an dismissive tone, only to return to what she had been doing.
It would appear that she doesn't speak his language, which means that he has been shipped quite far from his home. "By Verkiss, where did that blasted mage send me?" The man would curse underneath his breath, only to notice that his mask, unlike the rest of his clothes, was still tightly secured on the lower portion of his face. It seems that they were not able to remove it, figures.
Just then, the door at the far end of the room slowly creeked open, allowing a short man, wrapped in silken purple robes to slip trough. His back was arched down from old age, and his hands, in who's grip rested a plain leather bound book, were visibly shaking. A long silver beard hung from within the darkness that his hood cast on his face. At that time, the nurse raised up, only to briefly nod to the old man before disappearing into the hallways.
"$%#$#$ $%^$?" The elder said in a manner that indicated that the bunch of gibberish was surely a question.
"I do not understand, as I've said." The other man replied flatly, prompting a smile, just barely visible where his beard began. There was something quite off-setting about the elder, though he couldn't quite put a finger on it. A strange aura of power, one that commanded respect.
"I be elder mage Allesandro Vessario, to who do I posses the… honor to speak with?" The mage asked as he cleared his throat. The white haired man was slightly in awe by the fact that he knew his native language, even though he could improve at it quite a bit.
"I am Thero'gar Vox Vae'Lash, of the Actos, as I've said." He replied, introducing himself. Being who he is, being alive was quite a feat, thus one shouldn't be surprised at the amount of pride that radiated from his voice as he informed the man to what clan he belonged to, even though he was sure that he had never heard of it. After all, how could he? "Where am I being held at old man, as I've asked?"
"Held?" He replied, as if taken aback by the assumption. "You be not a prisoner here."
Thero's crimson eyes narrowed as the words sunk in. Though he indeed was not held against his will, putting aside the fact that he was not allowed to sit up, he did not see the motivations these, "mages", would have for helping him out. To him, it was clear. They wanted something in return, it was only natural. Still, for now he would have to observe. Those "things" won't be chasing him here. Wherever here was…
The masked man nodded, trying to ignore the mage's irritating smile. It was not quite sincere. It was that of a man that wanted something, he knew from experience. Yet, he would play along, for now. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what was the book that he held within his arms. Thus, he raised a weak finger and pointed it at it's direction. The mage seemed confused at to what he was pointing at, only to remember that he had a book he had intended to give to the crimson hand.
"Read." The older of the man said, placing the book he had been holding on a cupboard the stood within armsreach of Thero's bed. The tome itself looked unimpressive, and the Actos wondered how was he to read the book if he did not know the language. Likewise, at a situation like this, could he really afford to waste time studying books? Still, maybe the best course was to sit and wait. "It educate you common tongue."
At that, Thero slowly reached for the book, flipping only the first page. What he found, was most intriguing. On the yellowed out paper, written in old ink, stood letters of the Ezic language, his language. Next to them, stood strange runes and symbols. If he had to guess, those were the phonetic equivalents for every Ezic character in… common? How did they come by something like this was beyond him. Maybe his language wasn't as uncommon as he was firstly inclined to believe? Or was there more to it?
"I leave to rest you." The mage said, attempting to take hold of Thero'gar's attention, struggling with every word. "Visit soon."
Though he registered his words, the crimson hand did not divert his gaze from the tome he had been presented with. It was true that he had visited other dimensions on a few of his assignments in the past, yet all of them were very different, and seemingly held no connection with each other. Yet there it was, proof that his world and this were connected some…
"# #$%^ #" The nurse said as she pushed him back onto his bed, her voice commanding.
The crimson hand thought about sending a few words in protest, though eliminated the thought as soon as it surfaced; wouldn't help anyway. Even if she could understand, the nurse appeared quite determined. Might as well go with it, for now at least…