Chapter 9: In Control
Something didn't seem right…
"Hey Varus!" a boy in jeans and a leather jacket exclaimed, his left hand enamored in the gold and steel of a gauntlet that marked him as The Prodigal Explorer.
Moving to slip around him, Varus continued with the blonde-haired following kid behind him. Ignoring the boy's words, he continued on in the stone hallway. The paranoia shifting his focus to behind every corner and hallway.
The young man's words were buzzing about the hallway like a gnat by Varus' ear. He drowned them out with the troubled thoughts he held.
"I don't know, I just… use—what is already there. I think the power was already there, just sleeping, waiting to be used," Tryndamere said, shifting in his seat, a warm glass of beer held to his mouth.
Varus was never a big drinker, so his cup was half-filled with plain water, which arose strange looks from the barbarian across from him. "I was hoping for a different answer… This presence is alien. The corruption was never present in me before," the archer responded.
"It might still be Darkin," Tryndamere said, having just learned the name of the likely culprit for his prowess in battles.
"True… Thank you for the talk, but I'm on borrowed time," Varus said, wincing a very forced smile, "Please notify me if you find any information that I could use."
"Sure, sure," the hulking man replied, face contorted into a genuine smile, "I wonder if you were like this before." Moving to exit the room, Varus only laughed, not artificially, if a bit desperate.
"…I think I know a bit about Pallas that could help you," Ezreal said, the words ringing in Varus ears, he slowed to a stop, but didn't turn. "Have you heard of the Darkin, before?"
Eliciting a second actual laugh in the same day, Varus was surprised he still remembered how to chuckle as he continued walking on the plain stone floors that radiated a coldness that mimicked his mood.
Varus' mind was a painter's canvas before he picked up his first brush. His thoughts were of only his surroundings and those were not unpleasant to him. The dim light from outside didn't reach to where Varus was sitting on a bench, under an overhang in one of the many courtyards separating common rooms and halls. This courtyard just happened to be the one separating the Demacian living quarters from the unaligned.
The grass here was very meticulously kept, the each blade being severed whenever it stood taller than its brethren. The gray-hue that seemed placed on each shoot seem personally painted by tradesmen under Varus' focused gaze. The color only complimented the navy and white on the broad, Demacian banners and Varus could not fathom the reason for such ridiculous care for something so trivial, but he spent little time entertaining the thought.
The garden in the center surrounding a small, brick-lined pond had many small flowers. He spotted a wildflower that grew in the forest next to his village. Standing, he walked toward the purple set of flowers that exploded petals at the tips of their stems. Crouching, he took hold of one of the delicate buds between his fingers and gently brought his face in to smell its scent.
The fragrance reminded him of the past and as hard as he struggled to remember the name of the flower, his fauna knowledge seemed locked in the past. Varus released the stem from his grip and instead of standing up and going elsewhere, he sat on his haunches and looked out over the grounds. The breeze brushed his hair from his eyes. Varus reminisced and felt peaceful, given his current situation.
His peace was broken by the soft crunch of grass that signaled him to vacate the grounds. His rise from a crouch was silent and stealthy, not even a rabbit would have heard his movement. "Varus! Hey! What are you doing here?" A high-pitched girl nearly yelled from the Demacian end of the courtyard. Her blonde hair fell just past her shoulders and the lack of wrinkles on her face marked her youth even more-so than her demeanor.
Varus contorted his face to be as emotionless as he could when he responded with, "I'm just out smelling the flowers." His face may not have had emotion, but his tone contained volumes.
Laughing, a small bout of a horrible screech of a laugh, Lux continued to come next to the pond in the center of the courtyard. Her actions might have implied a willingness to join Varus in smelling the roses, daisies and tulips, but she never made eye contact and almost refused to look at Varus, as if the blight would jump into her next if she only were to see it.
Pointing to a flower with large blue petals, she exclaimed that it was her favorite. "It's called a gentian," she said, "My mom liked to grow them a lot when I was young."
"What is the name of this one?" Varus asked pointing to the Ionian wildflower with a sweat smell.
"Oh, that one is a sweat pea," Lux said, surprised to hear the question from the voice of the man nearly a decade older than her, next to her. Varus gave a weak smile with some effort as she continued, "They are supposed to grow like dandelions in Ionia, aren't they?"
Varus, is an uncharacteristic mood nodded and thanked the light sorceress. He turned to walk out of the courtyard, but stopped near the unaligned side. He wanted to say something, but his mind couldn't formulate words. He looked straight ahead, away from the courtyard. Deciding to leave and get away from the child-like woman, he continued onward, refusing to betray his composure and let his hesitation show through the steely face he held.
Today was a good day. All of the news aside, the Arrow of Retribution felt like the jovial mood he was in couldn't be broken by the tethers that ravaged his skin; his mind could fool itself into believe that nothing had changed from yesterday or the day before—that he didn't feel the end approaching.
Like the inevitable, and in common form of the day, he also didn't sense the approach of another person because of his daydreaming. The idle thoughts of curiosity were immediately vanquished as he recognized a scent he just smelled moments ago. The invisible vapors of the woman held him mesmerized as the Ionian wildflower fragrance held him confused once again. Who was that? Varus thought to himself, slowly turning to focus his eyes on Syndra, who was leaving her room.
Wha…. His thoughts were cut short as his foot caught on a package outside of his door. Even though he hit it mid stride, the box only moved a few inches and proceeded to catch on an uneven brick of stone. Varus, still caught off-guard started to fall forward onto his stomach with his momentum when an invisible source tugged at his scarf and another force pushed his other foot ahead of himself so he could catch his descent in a kneeling position.
"Are you alright?" Syndra asked worryingly, one arm aimed in his direction with spread fingers, her other by her side, fingers loosely held together.
Impressed by her quickness, Varus regained his feet as he turned around to thank the Sovereign. He tried to make words come to his lips, but nothing seemed to venture out while his mind felt the triggers of pain cause by his stumble. He blankly stared at Syndra whose eyes turned from worried to curious. Deciding to close his jaw and regain his senses, he simply said, "Thank you," and gave a slow, small bow.
"I'm glad I was out here," she responded with a similar look about her, like she didn't know what to think. "How did you trip on that box anyway? Are you sure you're alright?"
She received little response as he stated that he was only "distracted," but the way the archer stumbled to grab his box and the reflection of red on his face from something more than his scarf left Syndra feeling both flattered and nervous.
Entering his room quickly, Varus first released the pent up air he had in his lungs. He then examined his foot for any sort of damage; upon seeing none, he lifted his gave to the corner of his empty room. Struggling to let go of the heat in his cheeks, the blanket of personal tension in the room dissipated as quickly as it came. He removed his confused thoughts and remembered the weight in his hand.
The box was unexpected and the weight was odd for something that he could grip in one hand rather easily. He didn't know of anyone who would send him things, which piqued his interest further. Searching and failing to find any sort of identification, he pulled at the corners which were attached by a sort of glue to the thick, heavy paper.
His gaze fell on a piece of paper and a small, ornate statue of Owl. The stone used was smooth and white. It held a polish and had lines, almost like small veins, of gray, black, gold and red mixed into it. The eyes of the figurine were not of the same stone, but of a certain opaque, red gemstone that Varus knew not of. Taking his eyes off of the owl, the accompanying letter was written in a very careful script, the lines smooth and easily readable after what must have taken long years of practice.
Varus,
Most everyone would be better off not knowing when their final day is, but you might be able to benefit from knowing when the end nears you.
I heard stories as a child of a rock that could tell how near the verge of death a person with an incurable disease was when it was touched. I always regarded it as myth and never thought of it until you joined the league.
After consulting with Taric out of curiosity, he acknowledged its existence and after he agreed to gather a couple for me, I had him place them in this statue.
Once you touch it, the eyes of the Wise Owl will only grow darker until the day of your death, or corruption, in this case, where the eyes shall be darker than even the furthest recesses of any cave.
I hope for your troubled spirit to find peace.
-Karma, the Enlightened One
8-21-14 Sorry for the wait :/
