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Chapter 19
Fire and Ice
"This cave is not a natural formation," Ephrial takes a few steps, observing his surroundings in all directions.
The man next to him speaks in an accent as thick as his muscles, "The ice…it is...a house?"
"It's way too big to be a house. Some sort of manor, maybe. Perhaps even a castle," looking at ornate patterns along the walls.
Smooth surfaces of True Ice form the floors and walls of an ancient building that has lain dormant for centuries. Pillars and columns twist from the floor to the ceiling in exotic form, providing a luminescent glow like that of sunlight waving through the calm chop of mild waters. Glowworms and iceflies, similar to their firefly cousins, create an additional source of light in the dark below. Despite seemingly being untouched for lifetimes, the area teems with vitality, like a natural reserve underneath the endless Winter above.
"The Freljord keeps many secrets. We are very lucky, eh?" Braum chuckles.
"Well, we're not getting out of here the way we came. There's only one direction left," the mercenary looks toward the sole frozen hallway left passable.
"What is the rush, friend? We have rare opportunity to see the unknown!" He inhales deeply, "Breathe the air! It is the smell of an ancient history!"
"I've someplace to be," Ephrial says flatly, proceeding onward.
"If something troubles you, you made right decision to come to Braum first!" he catches up.
"Thanks…but all I need is that orb."
"I do not understand… Why is Fiery Swordsman looking for icy treasure?"
"I need it…"
"For…collection? Or…perhaps you are trying to impress Ashe…? Sorry, but you are bit too late for that!" Braum laughs in a lighthearted jest.
"…For a friend," Ephrial's words create a weight in the atmosphere around him.
The Heart of the Freljord rubs his scalp in concerned thought. "Is friend…sick?" coming to the only conclusion he can think of, pondering some sort of monetary exchange for the relic, in an aim for desperate medical necessities.
Sick…? What an understatement. Death is not something that can be 'cured'…nor is it something to be messed around with, lest unnatural abominations destroy the peaceful side of it. Necromancy and soul-trapping lanterns have attested to that much, leaving a distasteful train of thought that Ephrial cares not to explore. His endeavor, however, involves neither, and may be the only chance he will ever have to undo a scar. To rewrite fate itself in a rebellious stride against the corruption and injustice that has sought to extinguish what he stands for…and those he stands with.
"…Not if I can help it," his eyes ignite with determination and fervor.
"I see…" the strongman raises his eyebrow at the change of tone, recognizing that conviction Ephrial carries in battle. "If it is that important to Ephrial, then Braum is here to help!"
The poro that follows the shield-bearing ally wherever he goes appears on his shoulder, showing his support with a wide grin and giant tongue sticking out. With echoing steps, they proceed through the glowing corridors of Freljordian history. Paintings of royalty and tribes of long ago hang on the walls, like frozen windows displaying glimpses of the past. Luxurious furniture, tapestry, and ornaments adorn the walls and doors, giving the explorers the inkling of being in a royal palace.
A large break in the path appears, like the very structure was broken in half, where the walls and carpets end, and ice-glazed rock begins. Natural crystals and mineral deposits sparkle in the luminescence, and icicles overhead vastly outnumber the stalagmites prodding from the ground. The diminutive sound of small water droplets falling into a pool echoes rhythmically around them. Only one step separates man-made structures from a scene of nature that has been long left untouched. It is as if the very building was sundered by an earth-shattering force.
Ephrial kneels down at shards of ice that seem very out of place, jutting out from where the corridor splinters off to an end. Their color is that of a midnight blue, refusing to shine further than the mild coruscating of a glossy surface. The transparency is replaced with a murkiness, quite contrast to the ice that forms the broken building.
"This looks like…"
"Dark Ice," Braum finishes for him. "This is not good sign. I wonder what happened here…" looking at traces of the corrupt ice scattered around where the palace ends and the cave begins.
"It looks like there is more of the manor ahead," stepping forward, into the rocky cavern.
"Be careful! The floor! It is—"
"Gah—!"
Ephrial shoots across the ground, sliding speedily across a deceivingly slippery surface. He barely stops his eye from being impaled by one of the many shards of ice and crystals that stick sideways out of a stalagmite; a beautiful-but-deadly design finding itself common in this place.
"Ice…" Braum lets out a sigh of relief.
"Of course it is…"
Unlike the user-friendly grip of its enchanted counterpart, the ground is coated with a slippery layer of natural ice that is so embedded with the ground, it is not apparent to the eye at first sight. The mercenary-knight slowly pushes himself away from the spine-ridden rock formation, gliding to the point between the deathtrap and his first step.
"You are not from Freljord, so you do not have proper boots!" Braum steps onto the frozen ground, no signs of slip or slide. "Come! Braum will carry you on his back."
"Pass."
The half-blood carefully gains some grounding, attempting to use the lack of surface tension to his advantage. Like a real newbie at ice skating, Ephrial attempts to skid forward, one careful step at a time as each movement he makes threatens his balance.
"That's the way!" a beefy, yet cheery, laugh encourages. "Like a newborn ram taking his first steps!"
A cheeky poro follows Ephrial's resolute example, plopping onto the frigid floor. With an innocent purring, the harmless creature immediately slips from all-fours to its belly, sliding clear across the ground as he spins. The fluffy ball of happiness bumps into a small ice formation, causing it to snap off like a twig. At first, the simple accident seems innocuous, with no repercussion. A breath later, and a crack begins to trail upwards, in the direction of dozens of sharp icicles dangling above. The fissure causes them to shake loose with the sudden disruption.
The snowball-like creature looks skyward and panics, jumping to its feet, and desperately attempts to run out of the way. Its hooves slip across the ice, making the poro run in place with only the slightest of forward momentum.
"My shield is here!" the giant man leaps into action, covering his furry friend from becoming skewered.
Frightened shivering ceases, and the miniature creature looks up at Braum with big, grateful eyes. The cheery mustache responds with a thumb up from beneath the shade of his massive cover. Before relief can fully settle in, the native creature's attention is yanked by another source, causing him to enter another fit of terror. A gelid blast of hail strikes Braum with a clear shot, sending him sliding into a wall with a heavy thud. Like a frigid coo, warm with charisma, yet with a nature as unmistakably cold as ice, a voice calls out.
"You should not have come here…mortals."
A second flurry of wind and ice whips through the air, storming towards Ephrial. He dives out of the way, but with the slick ground sabotaging his escape. The bitter attack clips his shoulder, coating part of his armor in a thick layer of frost. Skidding across the icy ground, the mercenary-knight brandishes his blade, and plunges it downward in order to bring himself to a halt. The ice melts in the wake of the blaze, and cerulean eyes look up at the foe as it reveals itself from around a giant pillar, formed by a married stalagmite and stalactite.
The monster bears a striking resemblance to the strange creatures on the surface, having only one eye and two horns like weapons of ice. However, this creature stands bipedal, hooves for feet and almost human-like hands. It hunches over with a top-heavy frame, and dark ice encasing its body like plates of armor. Without any sign of a mouth, the speculation of it possessing some form of telepathy hangs in the air like the chilly voice of this new enemy.
"Give in to the cold…"
Another flurry sweeps through the air, like a sudden blizzard. Ice and snow pelt the swordsman as he crouches behind his blade, using the heat as a protective barrier. The harsh wind comes to a sudden stop, and Ephrial lowers his arm from his face to see a real shield standing tall in before him.
No time to hesitate. With a disadvantage in grounding, and a foe of unknown capabilities, he decides to take action. Using the ardent blade to thrust himself to the side, he skids across the frozen ground, and launches a streak of fire towards his opponent from a flank.
"Useless!" a waft of a claw wipes the flames away with a wave of wintery magic.
Keeping its arm extended, a mystic force calls forth a ball of true ice to form in front of the palm of the monster's hand. By sight and touch, it is definitely a solid, but the shape is as indefinite and free-flowing as water. The oddity pulses erratically, like it's bursting with a life of its own, unable to decide what form to assume. Responding to the creature's intent, it extends itself, and takes the shape of an elongated hammer.
The mystic weapon crashes down on Ephrial's position. A quick mercenary-knight narrowly leaps out of the way, only to slide towards the lethal shards sticking out of the wall behind him. Using his sword to safely extend his reach through the spikes, he presses it against the wall to prevent himself from slamming into a messy demise. Vibrations from the force of the conflict cause some of the icicles overhead to loosen and succumb to gravity. Unable to draw his sword back in time, he resorts to swiping them away with the back of his left hand. The parry is successful at diverting the lethality of the falling stakes of ice, but his arm takes a gash in the process. Drops of blood fall to the frozen ground, giving very small puffs of steam before the cold swallows the heat. With so many hazards present, Ephrial's every move hosts more risk than yield.
Braum rams his shield toward the unexpected foe, yet his might induces no effect. The monster merely raises his hand to stop the attack in an effortless gesture. Boots meant for treading the ice begin sliding backwards, as the unavailing pressure turns against the Freljordian. With a struggle, the shield is slowly pulled down, out of the line of sight, and the two make eye-contact.
"You are but flesh and bone… Easily broken," the eerie voice growls.
The shapeshifting orb of ice magic thrusts into the shield, exploding into the form of a large spear. It continues to extend outward, pushing Braum away with it, and sends him smashing into a mineral-ridden stalagmite. The assault continues as the weapon rises, changing into an overly-large sword, and descends onto its target. Again, and again, the blade meets the shield, each blow further imprinting the Freljordian's body into the ground.
"Now's my chance," a steady voice of controlled fervor whispers, his breath visible in the bitter air.
He pushes himself forward, sliding across the frozen ground, toward the mysterious enemy. A quick slash at its leg grasps its attention, and the mercenary-knight uses his blade to make a sharp turn and abrupt stop, avoiding the immediate retaliation of a sword turning into a trident. Fire and ice collide, with swirls of snow and magic in the midst. The shapeshifting weapon continues to alter forms, assuming the shape of various weapons between each strike—swords, axes, scythes, and all manners of physical armaments, each with a creative spin on the conventional designs.
A ram's visage shoots forth from Braum's shield, connecting with the beast's back. The momentary flinch from the blindsided attack gives Ephrial an opening to cut at the creature's mid-section. Bright flames meet with Dark Ice, creating a standstill of force. A breathless voice lets out a taunting laughter.
"Dark Ice does not melt, foolish mortal."
Defiance against oppressive power burns, unwavering. "Great. I guess I'll pick up a souvenir after I'm done with you."
With a roar, the bestial opponent calls forth a frigid wind to push the fiery challenger away. In response, howls carry through the air from the direction Ephrial and Braum had come. Sounds of claws scratching against ice, and huffs of animalistic growling, begin to echo through the corridor. Within moments, a handful of those twisted creatures from the surface pour in to the cavern.
"Invited a few friends along, huh?" a spirited swordsman winds up his wrist with a quick flourish of his blade. "Good. I wouldn't feel right fighting if I wasn't on the outnumbered side."
A blazing sword parries the next attack, using the opening to slide between the legs of the Dark Ice beast. Fiendish claws caught off-guard, a direct thrust into a corrupted snow leopard's heart stays its razors from tearing into him. Braum chimes in to slam his shield into a pair of raging one-eyed moose, each much larger than himself.
"Let the frost take you…"
Swirling winds start churning up again, this time with far more ferocity. The particles of snow and frost begin colliding with each other, fusing into airborne ice shards. As the seconds pass, they begin gathering mass to become increasingly more threatening. A mighty shield provides cover from rear, protecting them from the shredding gust while Ephrial takes the front, swinging wildly through the onslaught of claws, tusks, and antlers.
"Ephrial! You must stop ice storm before we freeze like statue!" a heavy build-up of frost and ice creeps on Braum's shield.
The air whistles loudly with the howling wind and speeding projectiles tossing around like a giant blender. With the shield providing only a small gauge of space safe from being torn to shreds, Ephrial plows through one last corrupted predator in a dash to the source of the storm. An extremely muscular man presses against the wind and three beasts clawing at his shield, holding his ground with his legendary strength.
Speedy steps approach the powerful foe, sword ready, and pelagic eyes carefully watching for the next form of the extremely pliable weapon. Down it comes, swinging fast without taking a shape just yet, waiting to the last moment to change form and catch him off-guard…a highly experienced tactic. Ephrial shifts his body, dipping low instead of countering an eruption of multiple spearheads, bursting forth like snakes lunging for the kill. A fiery blast directed at the feet of the hulking beast creates a small pool of water. The chill of the air, however, causes it to freeze almost as fast as it had started to melt. Not the original intention, but it'll do.
Instead of sticking around, Ephrial uses the storm to his advantage, running in a wide circle, and going along with the stream of fierce wind. As he enters the hail of razors, he begins slashing a path in front of himself, ignoring the bites and stings from the needles chasing him from behind. To make the turns around the wide circle, the mercenary-knight plants his blade into the ground periodically, keeping his balance along the slippery surface. Trails of melted and flash-frozen ice scar the floor as Ephrial skates a dance of fire and ice on a frozen field of death. A quick turn, and there's his lift—a snow pile of persistent beasts contesting a shield almost completely buried in snow. One boot hops off the back of a lion-esque creature, and the other bounds off of Braum's ancient door-shield.
Blade charged with fervor, Ephrial crashes down on the stalwart enemy of corrupted magic. A heavy impact, empowered by the speed gained from the flow of wind, collides with the enemy's armor before its weapon can take a defensive form. The force of the strike knocks the snow and frost build-up on Ephrial's armor that was acquired during his sprint. To the surprise of the one-eyed foe, his foot, locked in place by the temporarily-thawed pool of water, refuses to budge in a brace to absorb the attack. Ephrial's plan of action breaks the stance and the concentration of his target, sending it stumbling back as it drags a portion of the ground with that first step.
The blizzarding force dies off, and with the release of the wind resistance, Braum bashes his fist against his own shield, sending the beasts flying back, and breaking the ice off of his frozen utility. Before they can get back on their respective paws and hooves, the Heart of the Freljord enacts a merciful blow with the heft of his keepsake.
"Sorry friends. Perhaps we shall meet again."
Flames and frost collide as Ephrial searches for a weakness. The Dark Ice that encases the frozen foe like armor holds true, with the exception of a small set of cracks that spider along its chestplate. He needs an effective crushing blow to break through that frigid barrier and perform a finishing strike. Fortunately, such a source is readily available.
"Hey, Braum. Ever play basketball?"
"Eh…basket…ball…? We do not have this in the Freljord," confusion on his face as he charges toward the fray.
"Follow my lead."
A quick mind at work, Ephrial sends a bolt of fire toward the ceiling, shaking loose the icicles above his enemy to rain down in a cold, suppressive barrage. Using the quick distraction, the mercenary-knight clears the way for the Freljordian hulk to slam straight into their enemy. The force pushes the enigmatic opponent a few meters back, the recoil buying them time to follow up again. Deft boots hop onto the face of a frozen shield, and Braum launches Ephrial into the air. Like a bouncer at a Noxian bar, the muscleman hurls his shield up and outward, directly in the half-blood's airborne path.
With a mighty swing driven by a set mind, the fiery blade slashes into the shield, sending it crashing into the icy enemy like a meteor. The force is enough to cause the protective artifact to bounce off its mark, allowing Braum to capitalize on the assault. Using only one hand, he catches his shield, and bashes it into the ground in front of himself, sending an eruption of ice into the monstrous enigma. The magical blast plows the beast into the wall, pinning it in place. A cave-shaking force causes the remaining icicles above to cascade down on all sides.
A hot glow begins shattering through the frigid trail left behind by Braum's attack, tracing it straight through the protruding formations. The sound of breaking ice echoes throughout the cave like an avalanche, the powder of small particles creating a thick cloud of glittering haze. A mixture of breaking frost and steam carves through, like a torch through a foggy night, as the ardent blaze rushes to its target. Immense force disperses the shrouding mist on impact, revealing a red and gold blade sticking in the middle of a defending buckler of Dark Ice.
The monster's gelid, shapeshifting material has formed around the blade, just in time to stop it from reaching the armor that covers the heart of the unnamed foe. Ephrial refuses to give in, pushing it through, and forcing the sharp tip against the plates of corrupted magic. The passion-infused flames flare up with no intention of accepting anything less than a devastating strike.
"Impudent human! Dark…Ice… Does. Not. Melt!" the mouthless creature condemns the blade, holding fast to his round shield.
"Who said anything about melting?" a steel voice responds, wedging the tip of the blade through the cracked chestplate of dark blue, just deep enough to hold itself in place for the briefest of moments.
"Ungrateful mortals! Traitors and scourges of the hands that fed you! The Ice Witch herself encased me in her power! This armor…will…not—!"
Ephrial releases his blade, taking a minor step backwards. In half-a-heartbeat, he performs a short front flip in the air, bringing his heel crashing down onto the hilt of his locked blade. The transition is fluid in execution, with skillful speed performing a seamless improvisation.
"Break!" the unassailable will of fire completes his enemy's declaration with a challenging breath.
The tension snaps under the sudden force, utterly shattering the hard shell of the weakened foe in an explosive burst. A gilded sword demolishes the remaining integrity of a protective breastplate, sundering a transparent helmet as the laws of physics send it skyward. Shards of dark ice spew in all directions, showering the scene of a critical blow. Ephrial's blade spirals back down into his unrelenting grip. With continued fervor, he unleashes a powerful thrust into the vulnerable eye of Lissandra's follower. An ugly scream of pain and grimace rings out, reverberating in the long halls of the ancient palace.
"GRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWL!"
The Blazing Swordsman pierces the icy behemoth down to the very crossguard of his blade. Fierce flames perform damage on an internal level, putting the creature's claim about Dark Ice's integrity against temperature to the test.
"It does not matter what you do to me…!" he bellows, impaled on the frozen wall by the unbreakable blade. "Lissandra has her army! The war is already won! All that remains is the time it takes to destroy every last one of you humans!"
"I guess you won't be around to see it," Ephrial quips after blinding the beast, that idiosyncratic balance of calm and fervor in his voice.
Permafrost claws leaden, sapped of any remaining vigor. "It's already over… The Watchers… We have returned!"
With a singular grip, Ephrial forcefully twists his blade a ninety-degree angle, much to the Watcher's agony. "As far as I'm concerned, that is irrelevant to me at the moment. All I know for certain right now is that you're in my way," a loud crack signifying the detriment being inflicted by rotating the flaming edge perpendicularly to the ground. He slowly adds his left hand to his ambidextrous hold; an unyielding spirit burning behind glacial eyes.
Images of the Noxian runic blade, smoldering in the aftermath of its departed wielder, flash before Ephrial's eyes. Thoughts of what was, what could have been, and what can still be flood his mind. His decision—his promise pours into his blade like a river feeding into a relentless inferno of earnest avidity.
"Anyone that stands in my way, regardless of who or what they are, have but one fate!"
The Blazing Swordsman draws his weapon from his foe's stout head, swinging it down and outward to the side, through the Watcher's breaking body. A cascade of bluish blood, ice shards, and a trace of molten rock from the pierced wall explode behind him as he turns his back on the primeval foe. Bringing his blade with him in a wide sweep of conflagration, he seals the ardent flames with a quick, poised twirl into the scarlet sheath. The immortal being is no more, and without another thought, Ephrial proceeds onward, where the palace of True Ice continues.
`*~\-~vVv~-/~*`
Time passes in silence, with the only sounds being that of their footsteps echoing in the frozen palace. Braum strokes his mustache in contemplation after witnessing a close-up demonstration of Noxian brutality dealt by a tempered soul. The occasional complete and utter decimation of his foes, even displayed in some of his few League matches, is part of why many doubt the mercenary-knight stands different from the rest of Noxus. While his assaults may appear reckless to onlookers, those that have been in the middle of his fray know well the swordsman's measured and surgically precise mastery in combat. Closer still, difficult to see amidst fervid flames, a protective nature guides his motions with his allies in mind, allowing the half-blood to unleash his raw strength without reserve nor liability. However, a fiercely dancing blade in the hands of someone born in Noxus is sometimes the only thing people ever see, despite the valiant tales that circulate his name.
The gilded sword that has never spilt any innocent blood weighs a burden worth many generations of battle and slaughter, merely due to the birthplace of the one who brandishes it. It is the same blood that courses in his veins that destroyed homes, fell nations, and slew families. A stigma, etched in history of a nation that breeds war, looms over him, dwarfing any note of his Ionian half.
A man who sees the heart before anything else in a person senses the struggle within the fiery adventurer. Braum finally speaks, albeit timidly, after spectating Ephrial's intimidating ruthlessness towards his enemies.
"So…this friend of yours… They are very important to you, no?"
The Freljordian introduces an intriguing track of thought to the half-blood. He has not stopped to ponder any meaning Riven has to him on that of a personal level. Everything from his decision to join the League, to where he currently stands now, has been linked to his sister in one form or another—the justice he demands for Cerina. His resolve to aid the Exile in her redemption is more of an interest on her own behalf, being a firm believer in honor, equity, and second chances. Even the smallest of deeds in his travels were simply to do good wherever it can be done, keeping the heart of his mother's lessons alive, expecting nothing in return. All of it has been for the sakes outside of his own. As far as Ephrial's thoughts of Riven go, he holds an admiration for her honesty and conviction. The daily skirmishes and numerous enemies that threaten his life have not given him time to think of anything beyond his self-imposed mission.
"…Something like that."
"Your blade…she responds to your heart. It roars, like dragon!" his voice gives a tone of directing his attention.
Stopping, the half-blood turns his shoulder to see a large gash in the face of Braum's shield, where he had previously slashed it to send it soaring into the icy menace. The indestructible sword has met the unbreakable shield, and the blade has left its mark as the victor. Perhaps this is what that mysterious visitor had meant when the mercenary-knight had encountered him, shortly after his escape from Noxus. An unlimited potential locked away in an extremely thin line, balancing between heated fervor and a cool, collected mind.
"Apologies about your shield," he looks up at the Freljordian giant.
"Heheheheh!" that lighthearted laughter again. "Do not be sorry, my friend! The heart is the strongest muscle. You wield yours as strongest weapon!"
A massive hand pats him on the back with unintentionally brutal force. Ephrial reels forward with the impact, and a small hint of the acidic taste of blood appears in his mouth.
"Come, my fiery friend! More adventure awaits, just beyond our eyes!"
The two proceed forward, into a dark, icy abyss. Unlike the previous hallway, the luminescence has fled. Or rather…it has been extinguished. Ice, heavily saturated in a dark blue, coats the walls and flooring. Corruption has taken hold of the entire section, quelling what lively light may have inhabited it many years ago. The frigid, unwelcoming ambience of Dark Ice now surrounds them in a bitter embrace of an ancient enemy, and a present danger. Ephrial unsheathes his blade, lighting the way with the fire of his undaunting spirit. Their steps echo in the darkness, and an eerie chill coming from ahead whispers around them, as if beaconing them to draw closer. Silent as they go, they share the unspoken understanding of a feeling that they are being spied upon by watchful eyes.
Ephrial's knowledge of the history surrounding the Freljord is limited, being far more concerned with his endeavors in Valoran. He has not been a participant of the League for nearly as long as the others, thus, many of remarks by Greyor, the ghostly shopkeeper of the Howling Abyss, escapes his understanding. The day has brought them to his acknowledgement, however. While he possesses no current intentions to become deeply involved in the affairs of the Winter-locked region, he is forced to realize the awakened peril of the North.
The Watchers have returned.