"An alliance? With Noxus? If you expect me to believe that, then you've truly insulted me."
The hopeful smile on Xander's face faded as Sylas scoffed. The words out of Sylas' mouth were roughly expected, but still stung to hurt. But, Xander supposed that was his fault for hoping so high.
"I didn't really believe, but I had hoped," Xander sighed, "It is the truth, after all."
"The truth?" Sylas straightened up. Though his struggles against the constraints Xander had dreamed up were fruitless, he remained brash and defiant, "Do you think me stupid enough to not read your offer of alliance as a surrender to your overlords? If you did then you're worse than a traitor; you're an idiot."
"I hoped you wouldn't be so... aggressive to think that way," Xander felt rage bubble with him with the tightness of his words, yet he continued, "Before you make another comment, I'd implore you to realize the same people who told you if the dishonest Noxian told you that you and your magic blood was a blight on the world. So please be quiet and let me speak..."
Sylas made a final pull at his new chains and failed once more. His glaring eyes moved from his constraints to his captor, then closed in stubborn fashion.
"You can speak all you'd like, but it is my choice whether to listen," he declared.
Alright... the bratty approach, is it? Fair enough I suppose...
"I suppose my word is worth nothing to you, but..." Xander shook his head and conjured himself a plush seat to rest upon., "Okay... so, first off, I'm really not lying or trying to deceive you when I say I want an alliance with you."
No response from the revolutionary. Xander continued.
"If you accept, I would work to support your movement. Our goals are the same; dismantle the Mageseeker Order and humiliate the crown. Only difference is methodology, and I don't see why we couldn't combine our efforts..."
Silence from Sylas continued. So did Xander's speech.
"More than my men and I, you'd gain access to the facilities, abilities, and resources of multiple factions across Demacia; noble lords, trading companies, whole towns would willingly play host to your army."
After a pause, Sylas opened his eyes with a raised eyebrow. No words left his mouth, so Xander again broke the silence.
"As for my men, you've met my partner in Erret. Long time comrade, one of the best saboteurs in all of Noxus; not too bad at assassination or spying either. I also have a captain who can give your men a legion's discipline and training on top of their powers, as well as a prodigal blood mage who can teach your men hemomancy."
"Hemomancy?" Sylas asked, "I've never heard of such a magic. Are you sure you're not the one falling for the crown's propaganda?"
Xander smiled and conjured an orb of blood from his hand, "Hemomancy, unlike other Magic's, doesn't need natural inclination to wield. One only need be a mage to use it. And as for its usefulness... you can slow your bodily function to last longer with less food and water, or you can heal from all but the most fatal of injuries, or, of course, you can drain your enemies of their own life force. If you accept I could even give you a crash course before we reach Demacia. That is, if you're interested...?"
"I've made no claims yet," Sylas replied curtly, "But... Tell me more, Noxian. You have my interest."
Fishing for more info, huh? Well take care, there's more than carp and tuna in this pond.
Xander, of course, didn't give voice to his taunt, and instead acquiesced to Sylas' request.
"Well, I've elaborated on my personal offers… but perhaps the resources of the local spy network would be to your liking? Its headed by my host, Lady Elia de Recht of Sharpstem… of course, she is an aristocrat, but with a Noxian flair she won't be looking down on you."
"Noxian swine, Demacian swine. What's the difference?"
"From my experience? Demacian aristocrats are more uppity, whereas Noxian aristocrats are… well, they'll take care of you if you can prove your usefulness," Xander shrugged, "Very business oriented… at least, the competent ones, which I assure you Lady Elia is of their number."
"And what can this Lady Elia offer?"
"Intelligence. Patrol routes, army rotations… hell, she could facilitate a meeting of nobles and give you the details for… whatever you'd like to do with those nobles."
"That would be useful, but…" Sylas hummed with a hint of anger, "What will it cost me if I accept your demands."
"Demands? I'm offering an alliance."
"And as I've said, I don't believe that," Sylas sneered, leaning in with eyes glowing in rage, "So what's it gonna be? Shall I swear an oath of allegiance? Give tribute? Or better yet… which Noxian aristocrat's ass am I to kiss?"
At the snide final comment, Xander snorted.
"Well, truth be told, if you had to kiss an ass, the selection we have aren't too bad," the Left Hand jested in kind, "But that's the if. You really don't need to. My men do it for Lady Elia because they're considerate and the such, but I get along just fine whilst fucking around at her expense."
"You do, eh?" Sylas' expression darkened, leaning further, "Think better of yourself?"
Wait, what? Where's he going with this.
"Well, I guess-"
The sound of something snapping filled the room, and before Xander could react, a roar heralded the fist that broke his jaw. The floor met the back of his head as another fist broke his nose. He yelled in pain, of course, but that was from habit; his mind was already racing to channel his magic. But even as he forced his spell through, Xander heard the freed Sylas' roar.
"You think you're better than me?!""
The rest of the Unshackled's taunts fell on deaf ears as Xander departed his body. His dream state returning to its natural abstraction - free from the distraction that was being turned to paste by petricite gauntlets - Xander quickly put the puzzle together.
He wasn't really interested in what I had to offer, was he? I could've talked outta my ass and the same shit would've happened... he was stalling to try get free, and he did, but how...?
Ah, the matching rune. He must've been able to sap the dream magic from it... and there's the shaking; Erret must've noticed.
"Shall I clarify things for him?"
Incorporeal in his mind as he was, the feeling of eye-rolling accompanied Xander's reply.
"Please do, Noct."
"And Sylas?"
"I've got it. Just make sure Erret doesn't get us killed."
Nocturne's presence faded from feeling as the demon returned to the material plane. With that problem settled, Xander focused himself back into his dreamscape. Reforming at the back of the room, Xander found a bloody sight where he once stood. His old body's head and upper body were little more than mangled crimson heaps. Stood over it was Sylas, breathing deeply as he glared at his work with hate.
Xander cleared his throat, "Are you quite finished?"
The Left Hand deftly dodged Sylas' reply, leaning away from the swinging arc of the revolutionary's stained chains. He then sidestepped Sylas' charge and lashing strike. With physical options out of range, Sylas' eyes glowed indigo with stolen power. As Sylas raised a hand filled with power, Xander responded in kind. A bolt of magic was fired, then faded in air.
"To answer your question, it depends on context," Xander shrugged, "I'm not better than you out of here-"
Sylas roared as he pounced once more, but Xander was more than prepared. From his mind sprang gold chains which wrapped around Sylas' neck, torso, and limbs, stopping by him in mid-air. The Left Hand chuckled as he recalled his stolen weapons' source, then continued his speech.
"Unfortunately for you, you picked a fight with me here. Even if you were a natural dream mage you couldn't beat me. This is a battlefield of concepts and... well, let's just say I'm well read," Xander shrugged with a sigh, "Now, could we stop fighting? It's not what I'm here for."
"I'm not surrendering to a piece of shit like you!" Sylas roared, "I won't be a noble man's slave ever again!"
"I don't want your surrender," Xander's voice rose, "Nor do I want a slave. I need you-"
"No, you need the revolution," Sylas countered, "You need my people to fight your battles. I... I will not let that happen!"
"Then why aren't you dead?" Xander asked, "Why haven't I killed you yet? Why didn't I kill you when we met? I didn't know about the tribe, so it's not like you had anything to threaten me with."
Well, that's not true. But nobody who can't figure it out on their own doesn't need to know.
"I'm not dead because you want me to serve you," Sylas said, a smug smirk rising on his face, "You want the revolution to be loyal to you, and the only way you'll get that is if you get me. But you won't have me."
Xander could only frown at the declaration, which prompted a bitter chuckle from Sylas.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Sylas laughed, then spat in Xander's face, "Well then, how will you kill me? You say your mind's the battlefield? How cruel can you be, Noxian? Or perhaps you can't kill me here, and need to wake up to do it? Good luck with that if you need to..."
Sylas' taunts fell on deaf ears, however. Xander had retreated deeper in his mind. Panic rose within him as he found no way to peacefully bring Sylas into the fold. The Left Hand's promise to kill the revolutionary if need be echoed in his mind's ear, prompting greater desperation.
He won't bend. He'd rather die a hero than be a villain. Smart and respectable, but… damn it, I don't want to kill you, I'm not- he won't listen, no point mulling over it… but how to convince him not to be an asshat…
Not dying the villain… is that a viable route? Fake his death somehow? Disgrac- Hypnosis… Nocturne, maybe?
Ah screw it, I'll make it up as I got along. Here goes…
"I didn't want to have to threaten you," Xander started. Sylas interrupted him.
"You can't cage me for long," the revolutionary promised, "Much less break me."
"I don't need to," Xander shrugged, before letting a glinted glance meet Sylas' gaze, "Now that I think it, I don't need you. I just need your body."
Sylas' face morphed with confusion, "My bod- w-what?"
"You heard me correctly. Your body is what I need," the Left Hand leaned in, letting malice enter his voice, "To revisit a previous point, I said even if you were a natural dream mage you couldn't beat me. I'll add to it: you couldn't beat me even if you had dream magic and my knowledge…"
Well, that's also a lie, but I digress…
"And that's because…" Xander let his voice trail off for a moment, "Well, I'm not the only dream mage around."
"Who…?" Sylas' gaze left Xander as he thought aloud - no thanks to an enchantment on the Left Hand's part, "Your parter, Ermen… But I didn't sense… The petricite. You used it to hide his magic!"
Xander said nothing and only smirked.
Not actually what happened, but sure, let's go with that.
The Left Hand leaned back, "Now, I'm pretty good at dream magic. One of the best possibly in the world, I think… but my friend; my buddy; my pal… he's a real savant at it. You could really say it comes naturally to him, heh… And whilst I haven't seen him do it… err, he says he's possessed people before, but who can really say?"
Sylas' face paled. Xander smirked as he faced away from the revolutionary, then grimaced as soon as he was out of eye view.
"Well, he could," the Left Hand continued, "When he takes your body."
"B-but the body…"
Xander summoned his smirk again as he noted, "Well, thanks to you I have a convenient way to dispose of it. I can help break you in, he can lay some groundwork in, then tomorrow he can throw away his body at the trial by combat. We'll say you're under the weather in the morning, then he can take your sickly body, awaken, and pretend to be all broken up about himself."
Xander leaned in as the dark side of his imagination dug deeper, "And once's that's done, once we're back in Demacia… well, we'll have peeked at enough of your memories to know just how to make your revolutionaries do what we need them to. And they'll follow along, unaware of the fact that you died months ago."
If he were in his real body, Xander was certain he'd be sweating. Sylas, still used to being conscious only in reality, already was. His face was a puzzle of rage and fear.
"You're a monster," he growled.
Xander hid his hand behind his body; it was shaking already. Yet, even as a twitch flicked his head to the side, Xander let a menacing smirk grace his face.
"So are you," the Left Hand chided, "We're both monsters for our people; to protect them; to do them good. We're merciless, cruel… you've seen how far I can go, and let me confess I know exactly how cruel you can be."
Set-up-a-mock-trial-to-torture-and-execute-a-man-mourning-his-father-cruel…
"But I don't want to be cruel. I don't want to have to do this," Xander insisted, slowly approaching, breathing between phrases to control the feeling of his racing heart, "Please, just… we don't need to coordinate now; I'll settle for a ceasefire and a meeting later down the line. But let's not fight here. We can do much more good together than whole."
A silence filled the dream world as Xander held a breath in anticipation. Sylas remained silent, pure rage in his eyes. He growled before letting his gaze fall.
"You've left me no choice," Sylas said. His voice quickly hardened once more as he glared again, "But this... this isn't over..."
"I don't expect it to be," Xander sighed, "So, you're in?"
"Want me to say the words?" Sylas scoffed then snarled, "I'm in, but I won't be forever. These chains won't hold me f-"
With a roll of his eyes and a mental command, Xander interrupted Sylas' speech again. The chains wrapped around him loosened without warning, and he met the floor face first. When the freshly unshackled revolutionary rose, he found himself in a new room. Still Noxian, but furnished with plump couches and fancy furniture.
"I can't have an ally called the Unshackled walking around in chains," Xander shrugged, turning to select his seat. He abrupt burst into a short laugh, then sighed, "I actually did it... thank all the gods..."
Sylas watched, unnerved, "What is this?"
"Just a Noxian noble man's lounge," Xander sat upon a blood-red couch and summoned a bowl of fruit on the small table in front of it, "Make yourself comfortable."
"For what?"
"Well, we've still got a few hours until we need to wake up, partner," Xander noted, "So, if you don't mind, we can talk."
Sylas' brows furrowed, "I'm not telling you anything about them."
"I'm assuming them refers to the rebels… And, you don't need to," Xander shrugged, "I'm about as in the dark with your rebels as I am with a lot of things. The state of Demacian magecraft, Mageseeker protocol, the Freljordians playing host to us, your personal life… I'm open to any topic of discussion."
"Then I'm not telling you anything at all."
"Then don't," Xander leaned into his chair with a sigh, "I get that you want nothing to do with me. But I'm really... really trying for an honest and fair alliance between us two. So, whilst we're still here, do you want to learn anything?"
After a brief silence, Xander worded a different question, "You can betray me later. Why not make the most of it for now?"
"... I can't just go to sleep normally?"
"Well, you can, but I'm a broken faucet dripping free info right now. Think about how much info I gave you earlier; that's all true," Xander sighed and took an apple from his bowl, "Alright, fine. You can leave through that door to your own subconscious if you want. But, I'd be a waste not to ask me anything~"
Sylas looked behind him and found the door Xander had conjured, but by then it was too late. Using curiosity previously absorbed by Nocturne, the Left Hand casted his spell. Sylas turned and grunted, unconsciously trying to fight the spell, before turning back and sitting on a black couch adjacent from Xander.
"You're just digging a deeper grave for yourself," he muttered, before taking an apple for himself and taking a bite, "But if you insist... You can start talking."
As the sun rose over the horizon, Erret only had one thought on his mind.
Well, my sleeping schedule is screwed.
Despite staying up half an hour after Xander and Sylas had started dreaming, the saboteur had woken first. He'd admit the sunrise view was a pretty sight, but given the lectures he'd had from more learned people about how much sleep to gain... it was troubling. Almost as troubling as the looming fight he'd be forced to go through, but sleep deprivation would kill him later. Erret would focus on closer threats.
Returning his gaze to Sylas' tent, Erret found everything as it was the previous night. Both Xander and Sylas were asleep, with the latter's rune faded in an attempted counterattack, or so Nocturne explained. Speaking of the demon, one of his arm blades' shards was left in the Noxians' bags, its blood red core illuminated by the glow of their firestone. Erret reached for it.
"Still around, Nocturne?" He asked aloud.
Nothing answered back. Erret sighed, forced to rely on baseless faith that the demon was close by. He took the shard and quickly fit it in Xander's coat, hoping the dream mage would have better hopes of using it, then stood up. Keeping one of his knives on hand, he let curiosity take him back out of the tent.
It had been colder when he first woke, as well as darker. The sun's rise had only changed that slightly, a misty chill still permeating the camp. Also rising, however, was the noise. Only a handful of people were up and about, but it was a notable difference from the lonely breeze that had come before. A few snorts from the opposite side of camp suggested to the saboteur that it was time for the feeding of the drüvask mounts, but with what Erret couldn't say.
A few cracking footsteps from behind him caught his attention. With one hand moving to his knife, Erret turned to face the newcomers. He calmed down when he found one familiar face; Thorva stood before him, still seemingly in the process of waking, but otherwise looking neutral. The other newcomer kept him on edge, though. A massive bearded man with blonde hair, a thick beard, and a fearsome sword strapped to his back, he looked the picture of a Freljordian warrior. Despite that, the look on his face was of curiosity rather than intimidation.
"Miss Thorva, good morning," Erret quickly greeted.
The Freljordian paused briefly with a look of confusion before nodding, "Yes. I suppose it is."
Erret shook his head with a sigh, glancing between the two Freljordians before him, "That's... Nevermind. Oh, also, who are you?"
Thorva turned and opened her mouth to speak something, but the man before him got his message without the need for translation.
He put a hand to his chest, "Brokvar."
So this is Brokvar? He doesn't seem too bad. Gerris could probably take him easily. Me, though... maybe I'll sweat.
"Well met," Erret said, then copied the Freljordian's act, "Ermen."
Brokvar nodded respectfully, opened his mouth to reply, hesitated, then instead spoke to Thorva. The blue-eyed woman listened, rolled her eyes, then spoke.
"The Scarmother will have Brokvar and I fight you and your friend," Thorva explained, "Brokvar says he's excited to face you."
Erret nodded, "Its a mutual feeling."
Though the expression on Thorva's face seemed neutral, Erret noted that the Freljordian's blue eyes had seemingly lost their luster. Why that was he couldn't say.
"We shall see," Thorva curtly said, "Is Sylas awake? I must speak with him."
Erret glanced back to the tent, troubled, before replying, "You'll have to wait; he's not up yet."
Thorva squinted, "Not normal... he wakes with the sun most often. I'll wait in his tent, then."
She may see our stuff... well, none of it is offensively Noxian, so maybe it'll be fine? Worse case, I guess I can sit on all that crap?
Erret couldn't stop his frown, but he called his nerves, "Well, sure, alright then. L-"
"It won't be necessary."
Before Erret could turn to face him, Sylas already had an arm around his shoulder. Perhaps to Thorva and Brokvar it'd look comforting - a display of the brotherly affection that was supposedly present in the revolution. Erret heavily doubted that however.
"We had a long talk, my men and I," Sylas explained, "Didn't we?"
"Err, yeah," Erret replied, matching Sylas' gaze, "Though Imuren talked more than I... did..."
As Erret looked into Sylas' eyes, he noticed an underlying confusion within. The decidedly false smile on the revolutionary's face threatened to invert.
Sylas paused momentarily as he looked to Erret, then, seemingly finished with his investigation, spoke again to the Freljordians, "Sorry to keep you two waiting."
Brokvar chuckled and muttered something only Thorva seemed to understand. The warrior woman addressed Sylas, "It's fine. But I need to speak with you. Before the trial."
Xander took his moment to enter, stepping to stand by Sylas' side, "Does it concern our potential upcoming deaths? We can hear it."
Sylas glanced at him with disguised hate, to which Xander smirked. Erret couldn't help but agree with Sylas' reaction; Xander was being stupidly antagonistic.
Yet, Thorva spoke regardless, "The Scarmother has chosen Brokvar and I to fight your men."
Brokvar guffawed menacingly, to which of course Xander widened his smile.
"Second, the tribe will not be providing weapons for your men."
Erret sighed with a shrug and a chuckle, "Well we came having had."
Thorva squinted.
"We have weapons. Our own weapons," Erret elaborated, "Do you need to see them?"
"We will see in time," Thorva said, "Third, if you have your own food, partake of it. The tribe will not give you any. That is all."
"Accounted for as well," Xander bragged with a smile, "Thanks for the concern Miss Thorva. Don't feel the need to throw the fight; we'll put up a challenge."
Thorva's face morphed to confusion again, and Sylas sighed.
"To throw in this case means to lose on purpose, not that you'd ever do that," the revolutionary explained, "In any case, I need to speak with you as well. Alone."
Thorva frowned with some level of concern, then nodded. Erret also held concern in his heart, but for a different reason. He glanced to Xander, hoping to communicate said concern. The Left Hand, to his credit, glanced at Sylas, showing displeasure. Sylas didn't reciprocate Xander's previous cocky smirk, but a smug glint filled his eyes for a moment.
"Stay in the tent," he ordered, the look fading as the tone in his voice darkened, "We'll pick you up for the trial."
Erret stood closer to Xander and tapped his arm, signaling readiness.
"Sure, boss," Xander rolled his eyes, not daring to bite, "Sure you will."
Sylas' lips finally dropped to a frown. Before it could fully transform into a deep scowl, he walked ahead; Thorva and Brokvar followed. Erret watched with trepidation gradually rising in his gut. After a quick glances around the area , the agitation broke Erret's control. He grabbed Xander and pulled him into the tent.
"Whoa, whoa, hey-"
"What happened last night?" Erret all but demanded.
"The middling result," Xander explained, "Jeez, relax… he said yes to the alliance. Took him some convincing, and he hates our guts, but he said yes."
"I didn't see it like that; saw more of the hate-our-guts part than the ally part," Erret let go of Xander, but maintained his smouldering look, "What the hell was that look exchange? He already hates us, why're you mocking- wait, and why was that offensive?"
"Well… there was a condition to the alliance. I basically threatened him into it," Xander grimaced, "Said a partner would use his magic to destroy his identity and take his body, thus using it as a puppet to control his rebellion."
"A partner… but I'm not a mage."
"I was referring to Nocturne," Xander explained, "But, he assumed I was using petricite to disguise your magic. And, well… I get to keep Nocturne closer to the chest, so… sorry for throwing you under the bus?"
Erret frowned past the obvious Earth expression he didn't understand and waved Xander off, "It's done. What's the plan?"
Xander smiled, "Well, after I forced his hand, we had a long talk about all sorts of things. Nothing about his rebellion, mostly about the infrastructure Lady Elia has on hand… but Sylas did mention how the tribe around here works. Him not knowing about Nocturne may play to our advantage…"
"How so?"
"In summary, whilst the Scarmother is the main leader of the tribe, Miss Thorva can, in essence, overrule her by invoking the tribe's religious belief," Xander smirked, "Sylas should've died, but Thorva was able to convince the tribe that he was sent by their Gods."
"So with Nocturne, you're going to invoke the same beliefs, appear as demon or fallen angel of sorts?" Erret assumed, "Putting aside that that could blow up in our - particularly my - face… Do I need to do anything?"
"Not die," Xander answered, "Sylas, I think, will still be wary of you, but since he knows you're not a mage, he shouldn't be trying to actively kill you."
"But we're still Noxians headed for a warrior trial against people who hate Noxians."
"Yes, so be careful."
"Great," Erret sighed and leaned over to their bag, "So, as usual, nothing's changed except for a few extra notes for you to act on?"
"In short, yes."
Erret retrieved his swords from the bag with a sigh. As he inspected his tools - admittedly high-quality Demacian blades, but ultimately different from his preferred Noxian armaments - he asked another question of Xander.
"You think you can turn this glorified hostage situation into something stable?"
Xander reached into the bag and picked up a vial of blood, "I've done so once before."
Erret rolled his eyes, forcing memories of the Noxian rebellion operations out of his mind's eye. Even if he admitted that Xander had ultimately pacified Rell, it was only for a moment; it likely wasn't sustainable, not that they could've confirmed it when Swain arrived on the scene. With Rell's guard down, the Grand General was able to easily restrain the ferromancer rebel. And by the time Rell was back on her feet, Mordekaiser was released; even a school's worth of pedicide, manipulation, and general unethical acts paled in comparison to the potential end of the world.
"Even if I give you Rell, you've failed before as well," Erret countered, meeting Xander's gaze, "Remember Bilgewater? That pirate couple? That didn't go too well, did it?"
Xander squinted, "That was ages ago. Why bring it up?"
Erret shrugged, "I've been thinking about our past recently, what can I say? But regardless, I'm seeing a lot of similarities between then and now."
Xander paused, then responded, "It won't end like that. It shouldn't…"
"Why shouldn't it? Sylas has run off, probably to sick the whole tribe on us, which is certainly a bigger threat at this point than a final patrol of five wounded pirates. Hell, your mercy towards Sylas might get us killed - like it nearly did in that cave! And unlike then, we don't have the benefit of reinforcements in a moment's call."
"We have Nocturne."
"...So we have Nocturne... But what then? When Gerris and the guys showed up, they still fought. They still died."
"…Yes. They died. If it comes down to it, so will Sylas. Then we leave, quick as we can. We'll survive."
Erret remained silent for a moment, before nodding and returning to his weapons. He knew beforehand that Xander would go through with it; he'd said so prior, and whilst the saboteur knew he'd struggle doing so, Erret knew his friend would go through regardless. That was, ultimately, the issue.
"Of course, of course… but...'" Erret paused again to measure his words before continuing, "But I know that's not what you want."
Xander glanced again, looking up from the bag as he fished out more charged petricite. A mix of confusion and gratitude was on his face. He was silent for a moment, taking out a third vial of blood before finally deciding on a response.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. And thanks to you as well for at least saying you'll kill him," Erret replied, "But… for your sake… you do have a plan, or something, right? You can get it done?"
Xander could only frown, "I hope so."
When Sylas returned, he wasn't alone. Nor was he the center of attention. Though Brokvar was missing, Thorva wasn't, and her icy eyes betrayed a cold fury. Storming into the tent, shoving past Sylas, the Freljordian made a beeline for Xander.
The Left Hand decided to play it cool, "Miss Thorva-"
The Iceborn would have none of it, however, grabbing Xander's arms and shoving him into the supporting log.
"Noxian," she growled simply. She paused, breathing out her rage, before continuing, "You are a Noxian."
"Not by blood," Xander replied.
"A traitor to Demacia."
"You host one of those already, don't you?"
"You are a Noxian," Thorva insisted, eyes shining brighter. Xander felt the ground beneath his feet grow colder.
The Left Hand understood and answered, "I am Noxian."
As he answered, he grasped a vial of blood from his belt. A quick, seemingly panicked glance was sent Sylas' way by Xander, but the Left Hand only did so to check on the revolutionary. He wasn't sure how well Sylas could track magic, but he was hopeful that the man couldn't track a person channeling magic to their limbs.
Thankfully, it didn't seem to be necessary. Thorva let go with a frustrated sigh, backing off with much on her mind. The ice surrounding Xander's boots receded, and Erret, who'd sat in the corner the whole while rose, hands seemingly not near the scabbards of his swords.
"You have made things difficult," Thorva let out, "You… could not possibly be from the gods."
"Outsiders can't be from the gods?"
"Noxians… have never been friends of the Freljord," Thorva let out through gritted teeth, "Your people have only sought to pillage our lands."
Xander bit his tongue, stopping the retort at its tip. It would've been easy to make, and perhaps morally he should've, but that risked pissing off Thorva. The Left Hand insisted on playing cool; that wouldn't change until the trial.
"Our peoples, for as little as they have spoken, have wronged each other. But I am not here to perpetuate those wrongs," Xander said, "Since you haven't killed me yet, I'll assume you don't want to either."
"She may kill you regardless," Sylas commented, "The trial's in a few minutes, and if you're not worthy..."
"My being worthy isn't the problem, Sylas; my being Noxian is," Xander noted, "Because if the tribe figures that out this arrangement may end quicker than snow melting in summer. But you know that already, so that begs the question: can I do something for you, or am I to be executed before the trial?"
Thorva's glare suggested that she was considering the later option. She growled with frustration, grabbed Xander by the arm, and pulled. The rasp of a sword from Erret's direction didn't make her stop. All the same, Xander got his footing back and raised a hand to stop Erret.
"You and your friend will fight before the tribe," Thorva declared, unconcerned with the sword pointed behind her, "And before Gods and men, I will kill you."
So she believes the bullshit she says, or is it just habitual?
Though that question didn't leave the Left Hand of Noxus' lips, what did come out was only slightly less antagonistic.
"You will try. We won't go down without a fight."
From the entrance, Sylas snorted. A displeased grimace remained on his face, even as a snide remark left his lips.
"But, you will go down... Now, let's get a move on. The Scarmother wants you dead almost as much as we do, and who am I to keep her waiting?"
"A dead man if you try anything..." Erret said under his breath, but the comment was heard regardless by all present.
"Erret, calm," Xander stood straighter and pulled himself out of Thorva's grasp, "This is as far as words'll take us. So, miss Thorva, shall we?"
Thorva let a tense silence fall in before standing aside. Xander walked pass her, stopping before Sylas, who remained standing in the entrance. The Unshackled looked down at him with contained rage disguised by a mask of smug arrogance. Xander rolled his eyes at the display and forced his way past Sylas.
As the cold winds blowed, Sylas caught up. Xander spared him a glance, noticing the Unshackled was looking for something.
"No weapons on me save these," Xander smirked, flicking his coat's sleeves and producing a blood vial. Its charged petricite cap glowed.
Sylas looked him down again, "And the firestone in your coat."
"Last resort," Xander shrugged, "Too much of a hazard."
"I wouldn't be so concerned about that," Sylas mocked, "She may not like it, but Thorva knows killing you is the safest option."
"Thankfully she won't be able to."
"You think I'll leave that to chance?"
"Unless you're joining the fight, you can't do anything meaningful," Xander answered, "And you aren't joining the fight. You said yourself that the Scarmother doesn't trust us. You joining in would seem like playing easy."
Sylas didn't say anything to confirm Xander's assumption, but he did growl in frustration. It was tempting to smirk at that, but Xander held himself to a neutral look. He and his escort remained silent until they reached the camp center.
The arena set up there was rough at best; a few sticks and lines in the snow were the only indication of space. The fire pit used the previous night had yet to be cleared out, though Xander didn't mind. Even disregarding the firestone in his coat the charred logs provided interesting geometry to the otherwise flat plane. Surrounding the arena were the men, women and beasts of the tribe; for whatever reason, the drüvask mounts were tied up nearby, and were close enough to watch if interested.
Standing opposite them with his sword unsheathed and an excited smile on his face was Brokvar. It seemed to Xander that nobody broke the bad news to him; he seemed to just want the fight before him. Glancing to his left, Xander saw Erret reciprocate, however slight and small his own smirk was.
At least someone likes us around here, the Left Hand thought, A shame it isn't her. Or the others...
Standing witness to it all was the Scarmother. Stood before her tent, she gazed upon them with judgement and suspicion. The latter, Xander knew, was reserved mostly for Thorva and Sylas. If she ever learned of his allegiances, Xander knew he'd be added to that list.
Let's hope this works out, then.
The Scarmother matched his gaze for a few moments before the speech began. After disappearing into the crowd when they arrived, Thorva returned with a spear in hand. Laced with totems and charms, much like its owner's bare arms, Thorva's spear seemed as much a symbol of her apparent religious power as it was a weapon. The iceborn war maiden shouted into the wind, catching the attention of all who were present. Xander understood little of what Thorva said, only the names of key Avarosan mythological figures in her speech; Volibear, Ornn, and Anivia, as well as the Three Sisters. Sylas' name and Demacia were used as well, likely for setup, whilst the mythological figures simply fed into the religious fantasy Thorva was throwing up. By the end of it, the tribe was cheering in rhythm, weapons drawn in a salute.
Thorva responded in kind, slamming her spear's butt to the ground. She did not brag loudly, not for anyone but Xander. A glare and a spearpoint was all she sent his way, but it was enough for him to get the message. Not that it hadn't been hammered into his ears for the past few minutes, but...
"I assume you want to deal with her?" Erret asked, unsheathing a sword, "You sure you don't need a sword?"
Xander pulled out his knife and channeled some of the hemomancy stored in the blood vial. He smirked with eyes flickering crimson.
"I'm the one with assurance," Xander winked, "You bring the big man down a peg."
Erret sighed, "Rules of engagement?"
"No headshots. Impaling at worst, not through the heart."
The saboteur unsheathed his second sword with a feigned grimace, "You strike a hard bargain, Xan."
With the specifics finalized, Xander glanced back to their foes. Thorva maintained her glare as Brokvar stepped forward, sword in hand. Behind them, the Scarmother stood with a spear of her own. Her gaze was that of an executioner; merciless and cruel. The elder Freljordian surveyed the scene before her then barked a word. Thorva and Brokvar tensed, and the Scarmother said another word. By the time Erret and Xander were ready, the third word had left her lips, and the Freljordians were upon them.
Whilst Erret had the tools and reflexes to match Brokvar's incoming slash head on, Xander held no such advantages. He was forced to back away, if only to buy a split second more time for the follow up thrust from Thorva. It was enough, and the Left Hand was able to deflect the spear away the next time around. Thorva was swift and skilled, however, and she deftly slashed with the spear, giving Xander a quick haircut as he ducked.
The consecutive misses gave Xander a chance to flip the tables, however. The Left Hand lunged closer. Thorva attempted to counter by smacking Xander with the shaft of her spear. Again, Xander caught the spear with his dagger Steel sank into hard leather-wrapped wood as Xander closed the distance. With a spin, Xander struck with an elbow, feeling reinforced fur cave with the strike.
From there, the Left Hand could've spun the other way and slashed Thorva's throat, or continued the motion of his elbow and pivoted into a stab to the gut. He didn't, letting the Freljordian back away, stunned more from surprise than pain. Not that his blow didn't hurt; Thorva hissed in pain and hate as she analyzed Xander for another opening. The Left Hand fought back a smirk, but nodded and spun around his dagger in his hand; he knew that she knew that the r fight could've ended there.
Steel clashes returned to Xander's hearing as the focus from his brief engagement faded. He heard Erret grunt loudly before he felt his back meet his. The sound of steel scraping on snow and stone filled his ear as Erret flicked one of his blades.
"This guy's fast," he muttered.
"Can you take him?"
"Surprised is all, I got him. You?"
Thorva's eyes glowed blue as she pressed her forward foot into the snow. Xander nudged Erret away as a cold feeling tingled at his feet.
"Get him!" Xander ordered, and the sound of steel clashing resumed.
The Left Hand raised a foot, saving it from an icy prison. The other wasn't so lucky, trapping Xander in place. Thorva was quick to capitalize, slashing her spear in an arc to cut Xander's throat. Xander ducked it and deflected the follow up swing. The third blow bit into his knife arm, drawing blood and a pained grunt. With effort, Xander reached down with said arm and stabbed at the ice that had trapped him. He was able to back away from another stab, but not before suffering a scratch across his cheek.
"Leg!" Erret yelled.
Xander understood and pivoted into a reverse slash. He struck true at a calf covered in fur and leather A yell of pain heralded a blow from a massive broadsword, but Erret caught oncoming strike with one blade. Xander rose shoulder first to shove off Brokvar as sword-on-spear strikes sounded. He switched his knife to his other hand and stabbed upwards. Brokvar only grunted at the second stab, and a quick glance revealed that the Freljordian's coat had made the attack shallow at most. By the fifth, Brokvar regained his footing and got a grip on Xander's coat for good measure. A mighty fling sent the Left Hand rolling through the snow.
Only instinct kept Xander alive next. Predicting that he'd be send to Thorva's feet, the Left Hand got to a crawl and kicked behind him. Xander felt Thorva land awkwardly on his lower body, and was quick to shove her off with a backfist. With the Freljordian on her back, Xander pounced, dagger raised. As expected, Thorva stopped the strike, intercepting his forearms with the shaft of her spear. The worn wood was stiff and seemingly unbending, but creaked under Xander's weight. As steel sang once more behind him, accompanied by grunts decidedly from Brokvar rather than Erret, the Left Hand pushed down on Thorva.
"Yield," the Left Hand grunted, knowing the answer.
"Never," Thorva replied, predictably.
With a grimace, Xander pushed down further. Thorva's arms bent until they were resting on the ground. The Left Hand's knife nipped at Thorva's neck, enough to scratch and draw blood, but not pierce. The clashing of swords stopped briefly, and a panicked cry from Brokvar filled the air. It was interrupted by more sword clashes. Yet, the fighting didn't stop. Xander glanced to the Scarmother, and found no viable option there; she seemed content to let Thorva die. With a frown, Xander's gaze returned to his foe.
"Yield," Xander repeated, "Don't make m-"
A sharp pain pierced Xander's side, drawing a surprised gasp from the Left Hand. Thorva's shocked wide eyes quickly narrowed as she capitalised, kicking Xander off of her. As Xander backed away, warm blood followed in his wake. Thorva shakily recovered, glancing confused at the snowy ground before assuming another combat position. That all but told Xander what had happened, but just to make sure he glanced at Sylas. The Unshackled watched with blue eyes and a content smirk.
Xander grimaced at the pain, "So that's how it is."
Erret drew closer, back to him again, "You alright?"
"Of course," Xander reached into his coat and pulled a vial, "Dodge left."
The vial didn't break when it landed in the snow, so Xander flicked his dagger down into it. A cloud of red mist burst from it as the petricite took effect. Shortly after, as Xander predicted, Brokvar charged in with his blade; if not for his instruction, Erret would've been cleaved in two.
Xander whispered, "Nocturne…"
Under the cover of the red mist, a darker, smoky shadow fed through the ground and melded with Xander.
Shall I slice these flesh bags for you? Nocturne asked.
Nope, Xander responded, I need their minds.
As the red mist faded, Xander stretched himself, letting the wounds dealt to him show. Or rather, letting the bare skin show; his blood magic had healed the cuts immaculately. The Left Hand opened his eyes and watched his foes' pale skin whiten further. He understood why; with his magic making his pupils glow an eerie indigo and Nocturne's magic turning his sclera black, he'd appear to be the demon the Noxians back home feared.
The Left Hand of Noxus assumed a wide, loose stance and spoke; with Nocturne's magic, all present heard and understood.
"Let's finish this farce," he taunted, before starting his advance with a kick of snow.
Brokvar stepped to intercept him, not that it did anything. Unlike Yin, who'd mastered much of hemomancy's many applications, Xander had focused only on the aspects of hemomancy most obviously useful to combat: regeneration and enhancement. Between predicting the strike and having his agility and reactions sped up by the hemomancy trance, the Left Hand was easily able to duck under the blow with a slide through the snow.
With Erret dealing with the swordsman behind him, Xander focused his attention to Thorva. The spearwoman thrusted her weapon once more, but with hemomancy flowing through him Xander was easily able to catch her spear again with his knife. This time, however, it cut through the shaft, leaving a sharp cut-off point and a disconnected spearhead, which the Left Hand was quick to collect. Quick slashes from both dagger and spearhead left Thorva bleeding all over. With a defiant gasp, she fell to her knees, but still she held onto her spear.
"Yield," Xander ordered, a warning tone in his voice.
Thorva winced in pain. But where words failed her, actions did not; she shook her head, and attempted to rise. With a grimace, Xander drove the stolen spear into her shoulder. She grit her teeth and put effort to rise, but eventually fell off the blade and to the snow below. The shaft of her spear fell to the snow as shouts of rage echoed across the camp.
A glance up revealed to Xander that the Scarmother was not among the enraged; the beginnings of a smile showed on her face. Among the angered was Brokvar, however. The swordsman forced Erret aside; a mistake, given that he did little to dissuade Erret from driving a blade through his leg when the Freljordian's focus was on the Left Hand. Sylas was similarly displeased, but Xander noted that his expression was of disbelief and horror rather than hate. Perhaps the revolutionary was betting that he'd be a push over in the conscious world.
Were it so easy.
Xander pushed aside his ego and got to work. He sighed as he channeled magic to his left hand and took out a second blood vial on his right. His body tingled from the magic, ever so awkward even after the years he'd used it.
Let's fix things.
Xander didn't open the blood vial at first. Instead using the blood pooling from Thorva's wounds, Xander concentrated on each drop. The focus was trance like, and he knew from experience that the feeling of reabsorption was a relaxing tingle at worst. As for best… there was a reason people got addicted to the magic; he didn't want to be one of them, so he avoided such extremes.
A surprised gasp was the first indication that Thorva was recovering. Her body shuddered as its wounds healed. As the blood on the ground seeped back into her body, Thorva sat up, gasping heavily as life returned to her.
With Thorva accounted for, Xander turned to Brokvar.
"Swiftly," he said, gazing at Erret.
The saboteur nodded and complied, yanking his sword out of Brokvar's massive thigh. The gash it left was nauseating to look at, and the yell Brokvar gave out only hinted at the sheer pain it caused. Xander opened up the blood vial and channeled the magic stored in the petricite cap. Gritting his teeth from exerting his will over a comparatively longer distance, Xander forced the blood into Brokvar's wound. The liquid glowing, it coalesced into an almost crystal like form, then to fibres of muscle, then skin over it. Through it all, Brokvar's expression shifted from rage to fear to disbelief, and now awe.
A glance around the tribe and Xander found that only Sylas wasn't impressed. Where a tight frown graced his face, everybody else's - including the Scarmother - watched with bated breath and wide eyes. Xander smirked, turning his gaze back to Thorva.
"This fight is over," he declared, Nocturne acting through him and venting magic in black mist from his eyes, "With my victory, I declare myself worthy enough for this land."
He offered a hand of friendship, "Rise, chosen of the Gods. In facing me, you prove yourself worthy as well."
Thorva's eyes widened, not necessarily in fear, but in understanding. Perhaps part of it came with realising Xander could've killed her easily, but the Left Hand knew she also recognised his speech for what it was: an act. And, as per usual, the Left Hand knew she could hardly complain. Not only did she do it on the regular, Xander's act helped solve her problem of discrepancy. Questions reflected in her eyes, and Xander expected he'd have to give the same explanation to her as he did Sylas, but that would come later.
Xander offered a hand. Tentatively, Thorva took it, and rose once more to her feet. Behind her, the Scarmother approached. The elder Freljordian held awe tempered with caution in her eyes as she spoke. Thorva's gaze flickered between her and Xander, then she translated the Scarmother's words.
"She wants to know who... and what you are."
Xander nodded, channeling Nocturne's magic as he prepared his words. After a moment's silence, the Left Hand backed away ever so slightly, deeper into the tribe's center.
"I am Xander: host and ally to a spirit of dreams and vengeance," the Left Hand claimed, gazing into the crowd, "And I have come to pledge allegiance to the cause of the Unshackled One."
Whispers filled the crowd, but they were quickly silenced in Xander's mind by Nocturne's assessment. It was clear to Xander regardless, but Nocturne confirmed that a sentiment of wonder and curiosity was filling the camp. Case in point, the Scarmother spoke again.
Thorva again translated, "Who is the Unshackled One?"
Xander smiled and let his gaze fall on Sylas. The revolutionary's eyes widened in realization before hardening with hate. Xander continued regardless.
"He is," the Left Hand said, "Sylas of Dregbourne, the traitor to Demacia you adopted into your care. He betrayed his foolish leaders and seeks to make his homeland - our homeland - stronger. The spirit and I are in agreement; his cause is just."
Xander glanced to Thorva and let his control over Nocturne's power dissipate.
Xander whispered, "Did he tell you why he fights?"
Thorva blinked before replying, "Not in detail."
Xander smiled, "I've got the words for it."
Channeling Nocturne's power again, the Left Hand of Noxus demonstrated so, "In Demacia, those blessed with power are cast down and made outcasts. No dreamers; no iceborn... none of those..."
Xander mentally cursed his lack of knowledge of common magic types in the Freljord other than what he'd seen, then continued.
"Demacia claims to be a land of order and justice, where all may partake of its plentiful bounty. But, its promise is false; few unworthy receive the gifts of the land, whilst the rest toil without reward. Sylas seeks to restore this promise," the Left Hand spoke, "Demacia is not your land, so if you have any doubts we will not demand your aid. But, I say to you that if you help our cause, you will receive a true warrior's welcome."
Thorva watched with a frown, fully understanding Xander's angle. Alas, with such a set up she couldn't go against him. She muttered something quietly, glancing to the Scarmother for confirmation. The elder Freljordian practically mirrored her compatriot's expression, but she nodded anyway. Thorva then stepped forward to speak with the crowd. Again, the names of the gods were invoked. Again, Sylas and his Demacian struggle was brought up. The crowd watched attentively, and by the end of the speech the rest of the tribe were yelling affirmations.
Xander's attention wasn't on them. His eyes met Sylas' and his smile turned awkward. Despite the favor he'd done for him - any doubts that had been raised concerning the revolutionary's worth had surely been erased with Xander's performance - Sylas held a deep frown filled with resentment. Xander approached him, offering a hand of friendship. Sylas glanced to it with distrust in his eyes, but he soon grew aware of the silence surrounding them.
Xander softened his gaze momentarily and turned his smile to cordiality.
"I have only sought an alliance," Xander whispered, "Will you accept?"
After a moment's pause, Sylas let his frown shift to a smug, likely forced grin.
"I'll make you regret this, just you wait."
Xander nodded with bitterness in his eyes, It'll have to do.
The Left Hand and Unshackled One clasped each other's wrists in solidarity. The next second Xander found he didn't need to pull Sylas' hand up. They were of the same mind; together they raised their joined hands like champions.
The tribe chanted their names with enthused adoration.
Author's Note: So that early upload never happened. On one hand, the scraps I thought I had weren't saved, so I had to rewrite it from my mind. On the other hand, even with the scraps I probably would've taken my sweet time refining it, and end up uploading late anyway.
So with this chapter, the initial-meeting-Sylas arc comes to an end. As expected, its tenuous at best. Of course, I've got a few obstacles planned to send the new alliance's way. But, I likely won't be uploading any time soon; I haven't made a chapter illustration since Chapter 12, so I'll be taking perhaps up to two weeks off catching up on that front. I also want the break, so...
I hope you've enjoyed my writing thus far. Please leave a review; I appreciate any feedback I get for the fic, as it can help me improve or show where I'm succeeding. See you next chapter.
[Edit 20/03/22] - Textual and grammatical errors corrected.