Candidate: Talon
Date: 23 August, 21 CLE
OBSERVATION
Talon enters the Great Hall with wary anticipation, his gaze forward. The unknowing might consider him careless, but to his perceptive observers it is apparent that Talon is infinitely aware of every detail in his surroundings.
While his focus is sharp, Talon's mind is elsewhere. He hastens towards the massive double doors at the end of the hall and regards them impassively. His purpose lies far beyond the Reflection Chamber. What lies within is a necessary distraction, but hardly an obstacle. Blade in hand, he enters without pause.
REFLECTION
Talon was on the ground, his face pressed to the dirt-ridden cracks between black cobblestones. The world came into focus around him one piece at a time-first the stench of sewage, then the muffled cries of "stop, thief," and finally the walls of the dead-end alleyway, its corners piled high with reeking decay.
He needed nothing else to identify his location. He knew this alleyway-and the slums of Noxus-all too well.
Talon rolled onto his hands and knees. His arms and legs, gangly and darkened with dirt, stung and bled from fresh scrapes. The cries grew closer, coming for him. "Find that boy!"
Talon glanced about, quelling his panic. His eyes fell on what appeared to be a rotten plank of wood, half-covered in garbage and waste, in the shadowed corner of the alley. With what quickness he could muster, Talon scurried towards it, grabbing the rotten plank and tugging it aside. Beneath it, a small opening led under the alley wall and deep into the darkness. In a swift and painful motion, Talon twisted to drop himself down into the opening and slid the plank back into place.
He pressed his back to a muddy dirt wall as the muted sounds of confusion came from outside his hiding place. He remained perfectly still until his pursuers dispersed, their footsteps retreating and grumbled voices fading.
Talon tried to catch his breath. The wet air he gasped into his lungs reeked of rats and sewage. As the rush of adrenaline left him, he found himself stricken instead by the dull pain of hunger and, more pointedly, anger.
"Where was Kavyn," he growled to himself and looked down into the dark.
The plan had been simple. Their target had been a fruit merchant whose cart stood at the edge of the marketplace. Kavyn was to give the signal and, as Talon took what he could, Kavyn would create a distraction so that he could escape. He'd seen the signal, but moments later, as he filled his satchel with Kumungu berries, he caught the attention of half the marketplace. And worse, he'd lost the bag in his frantic escape through the slums.
With nothing gained but a painfully hungry stomach, Talon seethed with bitterness.
Talon turned and began to crawl down the passage. Before long, his fingers and knees squelched as the ground beneath him became wet and cold-he'd reached the old and unused pipe that led into Noxus- underground chambers, most of them connected to the sewer network.
It isn't the first time that Kavyn has failed me like this, Talon thought as the passage sloped downward. With the pain in his stomach and the weakness in his limbs, he couldn't help but recall instead the times he'd succeeded alone, fending for himself without dependence on anyone else.
Finally, the pipe opened over a small chamber, its space filled with makeshift furniture and garbage scraps. Far below the western edge of the chamber, where a sheer drop took the place of a wall, a foul river carried Noxian sewage out of the city. Talon twisted within the pipe's cramped space and dropped down.
"You made it back!"
Talon whirled. Kavyn stood against the wall below the pipe's mouth, lighting a match. The flickering flame revealed a boy hardly older than Talon himself and just as rough and dirty, his brown hair a matted mess on his head.
"Where were you?" Talon snarled.
"Never mind that," Kavyn dropped the lit match onto a small pile of trash beneath him, which instantly caught and cast a wavering light about the chamber. "Did you get anything?"
"A bag of Kumungu berries," Talon's voice was cold. "I dropped it-while running."
He saw a twitch of unease in Kavyn's expression, and his eyes flicked to a small and nearly-empty crate in one corner of the chamber, where they usually kept their stores of stolen food. "Oh."
"Where were you?"
The other boy held up his hands. "Just hold on," he said. "I've got something." Kavyn tugged at his tattered leather belt, revealing two sheaths at his side that Talon had never seen before. From within them, Kavyn withdrew a pair of short daggers. Their blades shone like gold in the firelight, and Talon's eyes widened.
"Listen," said Kavyn, tearing Talon's covetous gaze away. "We can sell them. It doesn't matter that you lost the food."
Talon bristled, but the comment fazed him far less than it should have. He looked back to the daggers, which Kavyn held flat in his palm as though they'd slice him open if he wiggled a finger.
"I stole them from a drunk near the market tavern," Kavyn explained. "That's where I went. I thought-well, we'll make enough to eat for a few days with these, right? And..."
He continued to explain himself, but Talon no longer heard him. He reached a hand forward for one of the blades. As he held it, Talon became immediately aware of its shoddy quality, its weight imbalance, the way the hilt splintered. It was hardly suited for cutting meat, let alone use in combat. The blade had three worn notches and Talon ran his finger gently against them, just enough to feel its sharpness-one, two, three. He was possessed by the feel of it in his hand. The blade empowered him.
Kavyn had stopped talking and turned to pull the remaining potatoes from their crate. I was nearly caught because of this foolish boy, Talon thought, the bitter, hateful fire lit again within him. He knew he'd have inevitably been killed, for such is the Noxian way.
Talon ran his fingers along the blade's notches again. The Noxian way... he'd heard that before, in whispers on the streets. The strongest find their way out of the gutter. Weapons were coveted things, weapons-even a simple pair of daggers-were the key to survival. Another whisper, one he'd heard again and again, echoed in his mind: The strong rely on no one but themselves.
Talon clenched the blade in his fist and dashed forward, reaching to put the dagger to Kavyn's throat…
...but the boy whirled around and caught Talon's wrist, blocking his attack. Talon stood shocked. This is wrong, he thought. He remembered the blood on his hands, he remembered dropping the body into the sewer-the first of many.
Kavyn spoke, but the voice was not his own: "Why do you want to join the League, Talon?"
"For General Du Couteau," Talon said. The sewer chamber began to fade to darkness around them. Talon felt the weight of his bladed cloak returning to his shoulders, the illusion shattered. "My search has led me here."
"You fight for yourself," said the summoner imitating Kavyn's form. "You have no allies. You kill to survive, yet you follow at this vanished General's heels like a dog on a leash. Why?"
Talon tried to wrench his arm away, yet he found himself paralyzed not by the summoner's physical strength but by some magical intervention. "I am in his debt. The General spared my life."
"Is your debt not paid? After you spilled the blood of the boy called Kavyn, you swore allegiance to no one. You killed without remorse, and while you killed for Du Couteau until the day he vanished, you may now have freedom if you wish it. Why do you want to join the League, Talon?"
"You misunderstand," Talon hissed. "In the slums of Noxus I killed to survive. Under Du Couteau I killed in his name, but my life was my own. Now-I am nothing, yet I still have my blades. What other purpose can my blades serve?"
"How does it feel, exposing your mind?"
The summoner released him. Talon grasped his cloak and vanished into the dark, leaving the Reflecting Chamber in utter silence. The summoner glanced back and forth, scowling, and stiffened when Talon's blade appeared at his throat.
"Unpleasant," Talon growled into his ear. "Necessary."
And he was gone.
Talon came out of the reflecting chamber unshaken, at least not to the physical eye. His memories had been invaded forcefully, and such an intrusion was sure to take its toll. Talon gripped his blade firmly, taking comfort in his absolute security born of the flawless steel. Despite the reassurance, his memories came flooding back to him, reminding him of how he had arrived here.
12 years ago
Talon stood still in the biting winter chill, ignoring the rain which dumped upon his head, running into his eyes and nose with every breath. His tattered rags for clothes showed just how far from grace he had fallen. Behind him loomed the tall wall which separated the Noxian nobility from the rest, while before him sat a bakery of some renown, positioned as close to the nobility as possible to promote their service.
The plan was simple, slip in behind the baker as he set up in the pre-morning darkness, grab the leftovers from the day before, and quite simply run after that. Talon wasn't a fan of having to steal old food, but his last several plans had gone quite south indeed, and much as he never hesitated to use one of the many blades contained within his rags, it took extra work to dump them in the sewer after, energy Talon did not have to spend. So he waited in the dark rain, allowing the stench of the sewer to be washed free while he waited for his time to move.
Soon enough, the large baker's lamp began to shine in the distance, lighting his path to the bakery. The baker had rose to his position through many battles with rival bakeries, some of which fought with weapons instead of bread, leaving the imposing impression of someone who knew how to act in violent situations. Nevertheless, Talon was undaunted as he flattened himself against the wall behind him, taking comfort in the security.
Lamp in one hand, the baker trudged through the darkness, reaching the door and taking a ring of keys from a pocket as he did so. With a quick flick of his wrist, the door was unlocked, the beginnings of an opening starting to show. Talon exploded forward, running as hastily and silently as possible, a shadow obscured by rain. He observed the baker putting the keys back into a pocket and pushing the door open the rest of the way, taking a step inside. As the baker entered his shop, he pushed the door behind him, meaning to shut it without looking, the flaw in security Talon meant to exploit.
And exploit he did as he reached the door just as it was about to close. It was heavy and wooden, would be difficult to knock down for even the strongest man, but the hinges were well oiled and Talon quickly slipped inside the dark bakery in a heartbeat, closing the door only slightly slower than it would have anyway.
Talon remained crouching in the darkness as he took in his surroundings. To his right was the typical display case every bakery had, still holding the leftovers of the previous meal. Behind the display case was the area the employees of the bakery would stand in during the day, attending to the store. The baker himself had gone through a second door directly in front of Talon, most likely to begin his daily routine of baking up the first batch of goods to be sold. Talon smiled to himself in the dark, as he knew another job would be easily completed, and he would not go hungry that night.
He stood up, taking care not to let his wet boots squeak against the floor. Slowly inching his way to the display case, Talon observed it was locked from where one would open it, another means of entry was required. Slipping a somewhat large dagger from his folds, Talon examined the frame of the display, judging what size of blade would be required. He settled on a smaller dagger, and indeed it slipped right between the glass and frame, slicing easily through the adhering substance.
Moving quickly along the left edge, and then the top, Talon began to work on the bottom edge of the case, taking it slower as he did not wish for the glass to fall once freed of three edges. He finished the cut along the bottom edge and began pushing the glass inward, the last edge acting as a hinge for his progress. Once he was able to slip a hand under the glass, he pushed the right edge off the frame, holding it aloft with his hands before slowly setting it down as silently as possible inside the case. When he was done there was just large enough an opening to allow Talon to reach in and grab every pastery, cake, and loaf of bread within. He quickly pulled out the ravaged knapsack and began loading it up, avoiding the cake because it would provide little sustenance compared to the other goods. Talon had never had whatever a "scone" was before, he was looking forward to finding out what it was.
Just as he was done filling up the space in his knapsack without a sound, the flip of a switch sliced through the humid air. Light flowed through the room, blinding Talon momentarily before he looked up to the doorway the baker had gone through, only to see the intimidating figure himself staring right at Talon.
"You!" The large man said, frame shaking with anger, "You'll die for this!"
The brute began thundering towards Talon, likely intending to crush him under his great weight. Talon had a moment of strange focus, seeing the shadow cast behind the baker by the light. As his life was surely to come to an end, Talon simply felt himself melt away, become something less than a person. A second later, he found himself in the shadow created by the baker, and did what only came naturally, flipping out his most dangerous dagger and slipping it between the man's left ribs, into his heart.
Without a sound, the large man died instantly, the only evidence to which was the blood which leaked from the lethal wound. A full second later, his huge frame collapsed to the ground, shaking the whole store and probably the buildings on either side as well. Talon stood up from his still slightly crouching position, knapsack in his right hand, his left hand having only the initial burst of the man's dying blood to hold onto.
"What the hell"
He reached down and pulled the knife out of the large man's ribs, knowing it was definitely time for him to leave. For the briefest of moments, Talon thought about trying to hide the body in the sewer, as had always been his plan if something went wrong, but there was certainly no chance his malnourished frame would be able to move the large man, let alone get him through the sewer grates. So instead he ran, taking only a moment to go back and turn off the light in the bakery.
Through the rain Talon ran all the way to the nearest access to the sewers that was out of sight. He had to get around a large rock to do so, but the rock was meant to keep normal people from slipping through, not the overly skinny refugees of the sewers who had maybe four good meals a year. After he slipped and slunk through the tunnels of refuse, Talon reached his typical hiding spot, the place only a year prior Kavyn had met his demise.
He walked slowly over to the makeshift box table, pulling a scone out of the knapsack to answer his curiosity as he sat down. His mind was alive with questions unanswered, wondering what had happened at the bakery, why it had seemed so natural to slip a blade into the man directly after. His questions went unanswered, the scone was calling to him. Talon took the largest bite he could out of the pastery, tasting the fine kumungu berry jam within. Animalistically, he grabbed and ate, trying to fill himself with the food he so desperately required.
All the same, his only thought that repeated through his head was that now people would be watching, Talon had become a player in the Noxian game and he would not go unnoticed again.
Talon was stirred from his memories upon reaching the paltry room the Institute provided him with. He opened the enchanted door which allowed only the owner to open it (or any summoner with enough knowledge to bypass it, this was no true safe haven), before looking inside. There was a queen bed with minimal sheeting upon it, a small wooden table with a single wooden chair next to it, and a bright window which illuminated the entire depressingly minimalist furniture.
Not hesitating, Talon swept into the room, closing the door behind him, but remembering to watch as he did so, before going to the window and swiping the curtains as closed as they would go, cutting the light in the room to a dim level. He examined the window further, wishing there were some way to cut the light in the room down to utter darkness, but he realized it was probably better this way, several of the champions in the League were creatures of the darkness and would see his room as an easy target. In the end though, he knew the League had probably given him a room that could not be brought to true darkness on purpose, sending a clear message that his circumstances were now controlled by them.
Talon laughed aloud. They might think they controlled him, but they would be in for a surprise if they tried.
10 years ago
Talon sat quietly in the small, underground chamber he had called home for just over five years now. He had kept to himself for as much of the last two as possible, but his life naturally brought attention. Recently the stabbings began to show up in the paper, blood running through the cobblestones affiliated with "The Blade's Shadow". Talon desired only to be left alone, his strength, his survival didn't depend on the press. All the same he had invested in dark, comfortable clothing which aided his movement and his stealth at night when the next meal would be bought either with subtlety or with bloodshed.
A day ago he had received his latest meal ticket, the jewels of a noble, waiting to be fenced. The noble had been putting the jewels on when Talon snuck into the room, expecting it to be empty. The noble left that room in pieces that night, harder to find the missing jewelry if the parts they were to be placed upon were also missing.
The gold chain necklace had been the first to be sold, it was quick turnaround on investment and would raise the most questions after the murder got into the paper. With those profits, Talon had been able to afford what his former self would have considered a feast. Now he sat in his dismal dwelling, reflecting on how the food didn't match the decor.
A trap was sprung. Talon didn't think he just dove forward. The blade sliced through the air where it would have disembodied his head. Rolling to a standing position, Talon reached for his blades confined within the cloak, pulling the long katar from the fabric with a practiced motion. By the time he got to a standing position out of the roll, Talon swung the hand protecting blade around behind him, blocking the next thrust of a sword aimed for his face once again. The dark figure in front of him had a poor stance, leaving himself open to many possible attacks.
Opting instead for hopefully a resolution that didn't involve blood spraying across the new food he had just bought, Talon exploited a weakness in the enemy's position, whipping his left hand around as if to stab with a knife, but instead following through and reaching out with his leg, kicking the foe backwards. With a grunt, the blow connected, driving the amateur back to the wall Talon had originally been sitting near. Then he spoke clearly but firmly, asking "Why?"
The enemy was Noxian in accent as he replied, "You now kill indiscriminately, the blade's shadow. You must either join us in life or submit to us in death."
Suppressing the urge to ask if it could be any more cliche, Talon readied himself as the enemy dove forward once again, this time with much more solid positioning. "Another body for the gutter," Talon muttered to himself as he felt himself materialize behind the assassin in what was now a practiced move, leading after to a swift stab up through the rib cage to instant death. One advantage of the katar was its length, easily reached up through the entire chest cavity from the opponent's right lower rib cage through to the heart on the left side of the chest.
The fight itself didn't disturb Talon, merely the fact that it had happened at all did. There was now a price on his head, and he was considered too dangerous to be left alive. There would likely be many attempts on his life from here on out, perhaps daily. With an exhausted sigh, Talon pulled his blade from the assailant's corpse, looking over at the now blood soaked kumungu pastry with regret.
Instead of dwelling on it, Talon set about cleaning everything up. The food was the first to go, straight into the nearby sewer pipes, bloody food was not for him. Even for him, whom the furthest reaches of starvation had reached before, bloody food was not acceptable. Next he dragged the body over to the grate, beneath which hid a pipe down into the rushing underground water table that the sewage system fed into. It was a motion he had practiced many times before, but somehow never got easier as he strained against the handle on the grate. The handle was simply not large enough to get a good grip, ended up being more a struggle of will than practicality as clearly no human was meant to be able to open the damn thing.
His muscles struggled on the verge of giving out and with a final push of energy, the grate lifted on its hinges. Talon finished pushing it up and then almost fell down directly after for sheer exhaustion. The day had already been long, shopping for food in the very early morning hours so no one would see him clearly. Grunting lightly and taking hold of the assassin's shoulders, Talon resolved to get a full night's sleep that night, tomorrow would bring the excitement of staking out possible fences for hours to discern their loyalty, either in favor of those selling or those buying. Heaving backwards, Talon dragged the corpse across the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind as he went. After finally getting to the grate, Talon pushed the ex-human into the hole face-first. Without waiting to hear the inevitable splash, Talon leaned over and only barely pushed the grate to start its fall, which ended in a great slam of metal as it fell against where it typically stayed at rest.
Taking a deep breath, Talon looked around at what was left to do. The cheap wooden table and chairs had already probably soaked up the blood, they would be stained for evermore now, nothing to do with those but throw them out when the replacement furniture became available. The floor was cobbled, impossible to clean effectively. Fortunately water seeped down into the room from invisible cracks, so over time the blood would be washed away, it would just take a very long time.
Talon looked longingly at his makeshift cot, ready to pass out, trying to justify leaving the remaining work until morning, but unable to. Giving a resigned sigh, one of many, he turned to the sole entrance to the area, knowing at least one trap had been triggered and it had saved his life. Leaving traps wasn't Talon's strong suit, but for as long as it would give him some warning when a person began to close in on his area, he didn't care if it actually caused damage. Of the traps that Talon had left, the only one that had been overlooked by the assassin were the mousetraps, one must've snapped on nearby contact with the floor, Talon had them very pressure sensitive. Upon inspection, indeed only one of the mousetraps were triggered with nothing inside it.
Talon reset that trap and got about restringing the many wire traps he had going down that hall, all of which had been cut and disarmed.
Nearly an hour later, he was finally finished and collapsed onto the cot, entirely ready to be rested to attack the next day.
Two weeks later
Talon stalked around the room he was renting with the money he had just stolen off the bartender. Every single night for the last two weeks one or more assassins had come to end his life, each more talented than the last. Time had come to discover why. Time had come to end this assault on his sanity. None attacked after midnight, some strange assassin curfew must be at play. Wanting to get a night to rest and regrow skin from the very near scrapes he had come into the past few days, Talon had settled on renting a room in a prominent inn. It probably wasn't going to work, but at least he didn't really need to clean up, nobody in Noxus flinched when a dead assassin showed up in an empty room.
In any event, he expected to be clear sailing after midnight. Pacing around glancing at the clock was agonizing, but kept him alert. I swear, it's like every second takes longer to pass, he thought, irritated. 11:15, another 45 minutes before sleep was most likely safe.
The room itself was supposed to feel warm. A fireplace accompanied by two chairs next to it, a table near the window, and a four poster bed stretching out into the middle of the room from the wall, which looked superfluously comfortable.
The room was supposed to feel warm, yet Talon couldn't shake the cold feeling he kept getting. Something wasn't right, and it wasn't just how the passage of time felt too slow. Suddenly Talon placed the cold feeling, it was from a heart even colder than his own. Spinning around and flinging a dagger from the confines of his cloak, Talon jumped back into one of the more lit corners of the room. The clang of steel was easily audible as a flash of silver deflected the metal bullet.
In the opposite corner of the room stood a man a foot taller than Talon with the air of Noxian nobility about him. He stood with perfect swordsman's stance, left hand back while the right side was slightly extended grasping the sword somehow loosely and firmly at the same time, in a relaxed but ready stance. The man's eyes weren't visible, but he was at ease with where he was, and that alone was enough to worry Talon.
"So," Talon found himself asking, sanity clearly suspect from the days of restless sleep and attempts on his life, "I find myself curious who still finds me worthy prey to be stalked."
"Never worried for your life, are you?" asked the dark figure in an amused tone.
"If you or anyone else can beat me then I deserve to die, no benefit to worry," Talon replied.
"And yet do you realize how much you're worth?"
"I have no interest in-"
"Not to others, but your value as a person," the man interrupted, "Do you realize what you are?"
"A homeless thief who has bested the best this poor excuse for a city has to offer?" Talon replied sarcastically, growing tired of the game of words. He was surprised from how much the stranger was getting him to talk though, Talon hadn't used his voice this much in years since his brief correspondence with Kavyn.
"No, what homeless thief can materialize in the shadows, who is impossible to track in complete darkness, who is never out of place for as long as the light does not shine?" The noble toyed with his words, upping the drama. When Talon offered no response, growing quite tired of this game indeed, he went on, "You're a shade, Talon, a being who has become so much at home with shadow that you actually almost are a shadow."
"I-"
"How did I know your name? Nobody else has, right?" the other man smugly asked. "I have access to information that no other has, we are both unique in our own ways." he paused for a second before continuing, "I could, of course, not find your real name, you never had one, you simply made this name for yourself when the need arose for one."
"W-"
"Why am I here?" the noble interrupted again, clearly far too at home reading Talon's reactions. "You pose significant threat to me and my plans, though you don't know it yet, I'm here to kill you."
Talon felt his muscles contract before saying, "Then there is nothing left to discuss." Pushing off from the wall, Talon brought out a short sword in his right hand and a long dagger in his left, a seemingly solid counter to the single long sword approach that the enemy was sporting.
Before he could reach the other man, however, the other man reached him, striking the dagger out of his left hand with an upward kick. Talon reacted as fast as he could, swiping down at the man's leg, but it was already out of reach when he did so. Now he was melee range with a short sword against a long sword.
Not the best start to a fight. The enemy immediately went on the offensive, unleashing a flurry of lunges and stabs to be deflected, very reminiscent of traditional dueling style. Talon either dodged or parried every strike, most of which were aimed at his face. In time he found the stack of throwing daggers he had carefully placed in a pocket on the left side of his cloak. Attempting to read the opponent's momentum, Talon dove backward when the inevitable blow to strike through his defense came, putting distance between them. Talon threw three of the tiny, yet lethal, throwing daggers as he flipped through the air, pushing off the ground with the right hand to keep himself aloft through the flip.
When his momentum carried him through the move, Talon brought his sword up horizontally, blocking the strike headed straight for his midsection, deflecting the sword up above his right shoulder. With his left hand, Talon threw the remaining two daggers utilizing the leftover momentum going through that arm.
Then the other man caught them. Reaching around behind the blades, in the split second before they connected with his body, he grabbed the two missiles from the thick part.
But Talon still had the upper hand, the momentum still carrying him backward somewhat, and he let it, jumping up in the air as he did before kicking out with both feet to push the enemy away. Unfortunately for him, the kick did not connect. His momentum had been foreseen and instead he simply fell hard onto his back.
To avoid the kick, however, the assailant had dove into the fireplace, casting his heavy covering cloak on fire. Both swordsmen scrambled to their feet, Talon scrambling with his left hand to produce another weapon for it, the other scrambling with his entire body to remove the flaming garment. When they both looked back to each other, the flaming cloak had been thrown to the bed, setting it ablaze, this inn was done for.
This allowed Talon a better measure of the man before him. He was definitely nobility, sporting comfortable clothing and rich adornments. Then they clashed blades again, Talon attempting to put on the offensive now that a solid dagger once again resided in his left hand for defense. "You fight without honor," the enemy said after a clang.
"So do you," Talon growled as he pressed onward.
"That's not the point," the now serious man continued after fending off a few blows and giving some ground, "You fight according to no set of rules or styles, there is no code of honor within your blows."
Talon's arms burned as he pressed the offense some more, "Only fools pledge life to honor."
"And the blades are your life, are they not?"
Talon would've replied but the floor beneath them gave out as the fire now raged around them. Falling, both of them lashed out once more to gain the upper hand in midair. Their blades merely clashed and rebounded while they then fell into the main area of the bar. Strangely enough, they both managed to land on their feet on two adjacent tables, taking only the slightest of moments to take in their surroundings before their blades rang off each other once again.
Talon considered manipulating the shadow cast behind his attacker, but he suspected the man knew how to counter it, knew that his victory would be assured if Talon attempted that materialization. Instead, Talon saw a patron of the bar begin to flee downstairs to the wine cellar, and popped into existence in the shadow cast from the fire. He was beginning to suspect this fight was one he couldn't win, the other man was clearly older and more experienced, it would be hard to win without some cleverness, and the best place to find that was in the basement where the fire would not be illuminating the surroundings. Stabbing the bar patron in the leg and leaving him to clog up the doorway, Talon then fled down the stairs taking them four at a time. He heard loud footfalls behind him, chasing him, not allowing him out of the sight.
Barging into the dark alcohol storage room, Talon whipped around and immediately began swinging for a torso level strike with the short sword, which was deflected, amazingly. Surely there was no way for the assailant to know what was to be expected from around a dark corner. He then struck forward to put Talon on the defensive, forcing him to block with the dagger in his left hand instead of continuing his surprise assault.
The battle raged on, as did the fire above them, but the basement would hold, so neither one took their eyes off the other. Talon could feel himself being pushed back, he was being cornered, a switch of momentum was required if he was to remain alive. Then a strike slipped through his defense.
It was a glancing blow off his right rib, but enough to surprise him. Talon reacted out of reflex, appearing behind the foe as was second nature. He began to strike upward, but the enemy did indeed see it coming and spun around before Talon could accurately land his blow. He did manage to strike the enemy, but it didn't even get through his armor, merely scraped along the surface while the unknown man finally finished the fight, clubbing Talon over the head with the pommel of his sword.
Talon fell back, stunned by the force of the blow, his limbs simply not responding to his internal screams. "All in all, not bad for a 15 year old," the enemy began to gloat. The blood began to noticably spill from Talon's wound. He had been wrong, Talon had simply assumed he was undefeated because he was the best, he had always assumed he was the best, that everything was simply a challenge for him to rise to that others could not achieve. This man before him was better than him. This man deserved to be his killer.
Suddenly Talon relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Could I ask who you are this time?" he asked, trying not to slur his speech.
The man stopped cleaning the tip of his sword and whipped it out in front of Talon's left eye. "Join me."
"What?" he asked back, obviously bewildered.
"You are an artist with the blade, you hold the potential to be better than even I. I have no reason to kill you beyond your supposed threat. Join me and I no longer have to worry about your existence. In fact, I would encourage your growth and find things for you to do," he explained.
Talon found the answer came easily enough. "Fine, but on the condition that I answer only to you, never to another whom I cannot respect."
The tall man smiled. "Great," he said, "You may call me Du Couteau."
Author's note: Well, apparently I can still write. Here's to keeping my presence as an author of League fanfic alive despite trying to work on my nanowrimo project and hold a part time job and full time student status all at the same time. Shoutout to people who helped encourage this and brainstorm it with me, couldn't have gotten here without you. Honestly not sure where this story will lead, but I do expect great things from it. Maybe I'll get more done on my other stories soon, maybe I won't, we'll have to see, I guess. In any event, go ahead and review, love the feedback, especially if there's something wrong with it, love to know what I have to improve on.