Her world had been that of order and structure for as long as she had known. Crisp white marble buildings built upon grid pattern roads. Everything had a place, everything had a purpose. That was the way of Demacia, and she would not have had it any other.
This was not Demacia. The streets wound in nonsensical patterns, buildings cropped up like urchins on a ships hull and looked half as sturdy. The people milled around in stinking crowds, most not even looking at her when they barged past on whatever errands they considered so important. The air was filled with the shouts of merchants, only some of which she could understand. The scent of spices and even stranger foodstuff clung heavily to the market square too, the mix of sensory data swirling together into a roiling mass of chaos and confusion that was the complete antithesis of all she had known in her early life. The best she could do was stand to the side and try to make sense of all the sights and sounds before her. It had been in this moment of attempted concentration that a heavy hand had landed on her shoulder, the firm but measured grip giving her troubled mind an anchor to latch onto.
She half-turned, looking up over her right shoulder at the hooded figure that held her. Staring down, half swathed in shadows, was the familiar face of her bodyguard Antonious. He was a handsome man, or at least he had been. During a particularly disastrous attempt at negotiating with a Noxian household he had successfully extracted herself and her retinue at the time, bar one portly clerk that simply hadn't run fast enough, a feat which most would have struggled with. The price he paid had been a vicious axe blow to his helmet, one that had parted the Demacian steel and struck the flesh beneath. The scar ran from the top of his right eyebrow and ended just to the right of his chin. It was an ugly thing, still redraw even after six years of service since the event. His eye had been claimed by the blow, a patch of iron had been bolted to his skin over the empty socket in place of a simple eye patch much to her own dismay. He had requested the treatment himself, a brief grumble about added protection being the only answer she could prise out of the stoic giant. He had barely spoken before the wound, now with the right side of his mouth a gnarled mess she was lucky if she heard him say a word once a fortnight. Still, there wasn't a single man in her families guard that she would rather have by her side on assignments such as this.
She shrugged her shoulder, Antonious's hand retreating back into the folds of his hooded cloak at the subtle move. Compared to her slight form her bodyguard was practically a Barnhouse of a man. Easily reaching six foot five with a broad chest to match. The cloak he was using to keep the blazing sun off his back, and as a poor attempt to hide the fact he was adorned in full plate armour, could have been used as a small tent she was sure. After mentally pushing away the distracting thoughts she turned back to the crowd, moving off at a sudden brisk pace.
The two spent many hours that day asking around the desert town, their only goal to secure a means of transportation from the fringe settlement to the heart of the desert and the newly reawakened city of Shurima. She had a rudimentary grasp of the tripe that passed for language in this place, enough to understand that every man, woman, and child wanted nothing to do with her. It made sense, in a frustrating and petulant way. Two foreigners asking to be taken across the desert seemed simple enough, but the stories and rumours surrounding the path to Shurima told of pain and woe for all but the luckiest of souls. Of course, they did not know this, only that each caravan master, trader, or merchant they had approached had refused each and every offer she had given them. As the day progressed the sky turned from blue to yellow, to a deep heady red as the sun lay heavy and low. Night had begun to fall and with it the quiet of empty streets.
Frustration had already set in at this point. It was the third day they had spent at the fringe settlement since their arrival. Travel had been simple enough up to this point, but it seemed that overcoming the final hurdle of transportation would be more troublesome than expected. She trudged back through the winding streets to the shoddy inn the two were staying in. The constant looming shadow of Antonious staying close behind at all times. The clink and scraping of hidden armour were enough to keep most of the street urchins at bay, however, the first night they had been out after dark had been a different story. The sands had stained red the morning after, the bodies of three dishevelled would-be thieves littering a back alley. All three had nearly been cut clean in two by what appeared to be a single sword stroke by a monstrously strong opponent. It hadn't been long before the bodies were taken away, the constantly shifting sands doing the rest to hide what was left of the nights' conflict. She had thought there might have been consequences to that, but this was not Demacia, and no love was lost for street trash.
Turning the final corner to the inn, the huge hand of Antonious stopped the smaller woman in her tracks. There was a figure lurking in the shadows of the building ahead, similarly cloaked as they were. Their breath fogged out on the freezing night air giving away their position, though from their stance it didn't seem like they were trying particularly hard to escape detection. A quick glance was shared between the travelling companions before Antonious stepped forward towards the shady figure.
"Greetings"
Shiandra's voice pierced the cool night air, her noble accent the complete antithesis of the gruff local populace. The figure did not move, only a slight shifting of fabric betrayed the turning of the head to face the approaching Antonious.
"How might we assist you on this fine night, my mysterious fellow?"
Her tone was light, but the sound of metal against leather as Antonious loosened his great two-handed sword in its sheathe was enough to show that the pair was prepared for a fight if need be.
The figure detached itself from the surrounding shadows, slowly raising its hands to the hood shrouding its face. With careful movements, as to not upset the giant of a man that loomed only a few feet away from him, he lowered the hood. In the soft light of the lamp, Antonious held scrutinously upwards a harsh weathered face was revealed. He had hollow cheeks sunk into sandblasted features. Cracked and broken lips pinched together harshly, while a whitened orb of an eye stared blindly upwards. The other eye that did see was completely bloodshot, only thin slashes of hazel betraying any true eye colour through the all purveying crimson.
This man did not look like a threat, but from experience, she knew that the most dangerous men were usually the ones disregarded by the casual observer. If this was some form of grim facade designed to lul her and her comrade into lowering their guard, then more the fool him. Her own blade hung heavy in its scabbard. Unlike her bodyguard's enormous two-handed greatsword, her choice of arms was that of a light fencers blade. It was just longer than the length of her arm, with a wicked tip sharp enough to slip past even the most finely wrought chainmail. Her hand lay on its gilded hilt below her cloak, slender fingers wrapping tenderly around the hilt. She had been trained in combat by none other than the head of House Laurent and had even come close to besting their famed Fiora on one occasion. As much as the obvious threat was the looming tower of muscle and sinew that was Antonious, she was not a defenceless maiden by far.
"Rumour has it..."
The strangers' voice was just as cracked and strained as his face. Each word held the scratchy quality of a throat ravaged by time and sand.
"That you two need... transportation. Across the desert to the promised land of... Shurima"
It took her a moment to realise the man was speaking the Demacian tongue, though debased by foreign accent and dishevelled vocal chord.
"And why should we trust the likes of you crone?"
Shiandra's tone was sharp, brooked no questioning, and demanded only answers. A withered hand departed the man's robe, holding open a palm towards Shiandra.
"Anaua is my name, not crone if it pleases you, and you should trust me because I am the only man capable of taking you to where you desire. Well... the only man foolish enough to"
A jagged gash of a smile broke out across the man's lips, his crazed laughter quickly turning to a dry cough.
Antonious turned slightly to look back at his charge. He clearly did not trust a single word he had heard, but given their luck so far, Shiandra was willing to hear the man out.