Irelia
"Ma'am."
Irelia doesn't look up from the map tacked to the table, her fingers finish moving a red piece to a new location on the plains. She frowns; there is a handful of green pieces representing villages and a single green star representing the only strike force in service.
Irelia's company of a mere 250 soldiers to defend an entire nation.
The foot soldier stands at attention at the mouth of the tent, patiently awaiting to be addressed, male. Perplexing, she swears it was a female's voice she heard. It must be the lack of sleep she's been getting the past week. It is midday with most of the company in the mess hall, this message is no doubt important if it couldn't wait until after their noon meal.
"At ease."
He steps forward, pulling up the scarf around his neck and letting out a dry cough. Hands fumble with extracting an envelope from the leather satchel strung across his chest. She takes it, examining the front.
"Who is this from?"
She rotates the piece of parchment searching for a name or any markings indicating who the sender was. Nothing
"You are welcome, Irelia."
Displeased eyes shoot up, tongue ready to snap out a reparation for the soldier's lack of respect. The space is empty, the tent flap waving in the winter breeze. She rushes out and scans the central grounds and finds nothing; only sounds are the laughter and chatter emanating from the mess tent.
Fear bubbles in her chest. There were tales of Noxian mages disguising themselves as farmers and infiltrating provinces, assassinating the elders and plunging the villages into chaos before red soldiers invaded. She takes the envelope and bursts into the mess hall, ordering her best casters to come with her. If there was magic on this thing...
Their inspection of the parcel turns up empty and they are dismissed back to their meals.
Alone in the command tent, the general looks over the blank envelope once more, fingers brushing over the black wax seal, a rose imprinted into its surface. It is nothing that Irelia has ever seen before.
The paper tears around the seal, no amount of bending snaps the rigid wax. Irelia has half a mind to return to the casters for a further inspection. But no, she is being too paranoid is she not? It's a damned envelope. Calloused fingers extract the single card enclosed within. On it is a line of elegantly written Ionian characters.
"Ambush, North, 127 foot soldiers, 35 archers, 2000 tonight."
A trick, she is sure of it. They will attack from the south or some other direction. Whoever this mage was, they were trying to pull guards from the other sides to fortify the north.
It is a trap, no doubt
She moves to give the order
Her feet stop, her mind picking the situation apart piece by piece, the voice of Karma gently reprimanding her for being rash.
A sword without a mind will cut the wielder.
The mage had the perfect opportunity to kill her right there, to even poison the entire company in the mess hall with the same tactic. Why would they go to the extent of giving a false warning? Entertainment? glory of battle? What was the edge?
It didn't add up.
Whatever would happen that night, the general was sure they wouldn't go down without a fight. Two steps out and questioning eyes but they follow nonetheless. There is not a single soldier without a weapon in hand.
-her people-
The general gazes up at the Ionian banner flying high in the sky. Though she is battered and bruised with a stitched up gash on her shoulder, she allows herself a small smile before returning to her bunk.
-her people-
The mess hall is slightly less crowded than it were a few days ago, but they are still alive, and the soldiers greet her as they pass her by with their trays of food. They all blur into a single face, she barely knew a fourth of them by name.
"Good afternoon, ma'am."
In a flash, the general presses herself close to the soldier, her dagger brandished and pressing into the unarmored small of his back. She recognizes the voice and his damned brown scarf. The tray of food is left forgotten on the table as she drags him out of the tent, making sure not to alarm the rest of the company present.
The biting mountain winds is almost as aggressive as Irelia's grip on the soldier.
"Who are you?" She demands, pressed the blade closer, feeling the tip slide past fabric and sink ever so slightly into the flesh below.
She reaches up and tears away the scarf, revealing the man's smiling face. His lips move but there is no sound. Her eyes are just fast enough to read them.
"I am a Noxian."
A gust of freezing wind blows the cloth into her face and she blindly lashes out, swinging the dagger out in a wide arc. As expected, the man is gone when she tears the scarf from her face. Her weapon is coated with blood yet there is no trail to follow. She'll lay a new rule, no one is allowed to cover their face.
A rat amongst her ranks and she will find them.
An envelope flutters to the ground.
Irelia takes another look around, nothing.
The paper tears, the seal remains.
A single card
"Dragon's cove, Karma."
Her blood runs cold at the sight of her friend's name, the earlier fury draining from her system. Karma was never one for military strategy, but after her last request…
There is no date, no details except for her name.
"Ma'am."
She looks up at the voice, this one male with a distinctive Ionian accent.
"At ease."
He hands her an envelope embellished with a pink lotus. Unmistakably from Karma.
"A message from Duchess Karma."
She takes it, glancing at the card in hand and back at the new parcel.
"Dismissed." He bows and takes his leave.
It eases her that this messenger follows normal protocols.
After a ducking back into the large tent and retrieving a simple bowl of stew, she returns to her quarters and tears open the envelope.
"I am relieved to learn that your recent engagement of defending Hayen village and defense against an enemy an ambush we both a success. Good news is becoming scarce.
General, there is a pressing matter that I wish for you and your company to address. I warn you first that this is once again a personal request for me, not orders from the council. Yes, they are aware of the situation but for their own reasons, they do not trust the intel. I do and I am asking you to trust me and act on this.
It has been revealed to me that there will be a Noxian personnel drop of 3 transport ships at Dragon's Cove on the 17th at 2300. I wish that I could give you more information than this but I am unable to. I will explain everything in detail at your next visit to the Placidium.
Please, whatever action you choose to take, be careful. May our ancestors watch over your fate.
-Karma"
Perhaps whoever has been contacting her has been contacting the duchess as well.
The general sits for a moment, contemplating while staring at the terrain map pinned to the wall of her tent. The cove was a full day's march from their camp; if they were to leave in the morning, they would arrive with only a few hours to spare.
But if they left this evening.
The thought of marching into blindly Noxian controlled lands in the dead of night did not settle well with her.
They could wait until the after the drop, ambush the troops at the canyon mouth and use the higher ground to their advantage. She wasn't sure how many troops were going to be offloaded. Three ships, no word of how big or how full. It would be a gamble.
But if Karma trusted…
She relents and gives the order, heavy boots strike the soil under a sky of stars.
-her people-
The sun is setting the next day when the cove comes into view. They arrive with five hours to spare, plenty of time to set up minimal defense measure, a rotation of sleep for the weary soldiers. Wood harvested from the nearby forest is driven into the ground, braziers loaded with fire, weapons and armor checked and equipped.
The general stands at the edge of the cliff, watching for the lights of the Noxian fleet. The camp around her is silent, ready in the darkness with their weapons held close.
She feels the apprehension thick over the camp; her soldiers following her orders without question, Irelia following these envelopes without question. If the information was correct, what would she make of situation?
Fingers pick away at the charred remains of the envelope, leaving only the pristine rose seal in the palm of her hand.
The paper had burned, the wax prevailed.
-her people-
Only a handful of Noxians lay down their arms, they are the only ones to survive the encounter.
Among the wreckage, Irelia is confused along with the rest of her unit when they find dozens of insect-like machines, not knowing of the carnage they had just prevented.
Or at least delayed.
-her people-
"Good evening, Irelia." It is the female's voice.
The dagger is quick to leave its sheath, poised to strike out. There is a soldier in strategy tent with the same scarf wrapped around his mouth. He stands in front of the map pinned to the table, his back to Irelia's arrival.
"Good evening, Noxian." Her voice is strained, still startled by finding her supposed enemy in their most important tent in the camp.
"Your map was outdated." Her eyes dart from the broad back and down at the map. She notices that the pieces have been moved, many of the once green land now changed to red. The Noxian forces had encroached even closer to the center of the island.
The change is dramatic, she hadn't received a field report other than orders from the council in two weeks.
He twirls the green star in his fingers. She watches it as it's tossed into the air and lands gently back into his palm. He spins it one more time before placing it on the map, sliding up and up, leaving the canyon and stops right below the Placidium. He intends for them to withdraw.
"You should centralize your defenses and use mountains to your advantage."
"We will hold this line." Anger boils in her throat, how dare this Noxian give orders to her.
Her dagger is still raised. Soldier looks amused as he shakes his head slightly and clicks his tongue.
"This is advice that will save yours and your company's life. The melters are marching and you do not wish to be in their path when they arrive."
Irelia scoffs, the word melter holds no meaning in her mind, a scare tactic. They were able to fend off plenty of attacks, this time would be no different. His hand raises, her grip on her weapon tightens but he merely beckons her closer to look at the map laid out. A moment passes, her feet finally bring her to the unknown soldier's side and her eyes cast down at the map. Dark eyebrows furrow at the extent of the invasion.
30 miles lost along the entire front, provinces wiped out, dozens more Noxian units with three more fleets incoming. The odds sink her stomach even further. Still, the thought of retreating does not even cross her mind.
"No soldier fights harder than one with everything to lose." He places the green start at the edge of the Placidium. "Choke points" a tan piece is slid to the land bridge over the Wu Long river.
The general's hand takes the clay pebble and moves it to a different location on the map. "The Bamboo forest, it is extremely dense with only one path through it. We can use the coverage."
"Bamboo will do nothing to stop the melters, your men will be burned along with the forest."
Dread begins to creep up her spine, sharp claws of self doubt. Could they really stand a chance against such a weapon? In a moment she is broken out of her trance and her eyes widen at the sight of the soldier admiring the dagger that was just in her hand. His fingers casually drag across the edge of the blade.
"What goes through your mind when your steel slides into the flesh of another?" Their eyes lock and the dagger bites into his thumb, a fat droplet of blood drips onto the map.
Her breath catches. She feels the warmth of the liquid itself, but deep down. She feels pain, despair, hopeless. The connection she has with her weapons is not as strong as her father had hoped, but it is still there, and it pulses with unrelenting loneliness, a thirst with no mouth and no way to sate it.
"Protecting Ionia. I fight to keep the lives of men, women, and children of this nation safe from harm. My sacrifice will allow them to walk the path of peace." She recites half-heartedly.
On some days the oath was the only thing that kept her on her feet, today is different. The soul that is painted across her blade is different.
"And what of the lives of those you end?"
Her teeth grind together. The ancient scriptures, those of which she was required to study, spoke of harmony and peace with those around them. That violence was something that was forced upon them when the peaceful were attacked. With the amount of blood on her hands, she surely would not be allowed to set foot on sacred grounds. She felt nothing at the sight of the ever silent sculptures sitting watch across the land.
What has peace earned them? An invasion, jokes on how they should just roll over and surrender. They couldn't stay still in a world that demanded war.
The inquiry hangs unanswered.
"Irelia." He is suddenly face to face with her. There is a tug at her spine, a whisper of...something. Her lungs seize, she almost loses the ability to move altogether. Almost.
The general's hand jerks up and slaps away the soldiers attempt to place the dagger back into its sheath. For a moment, Irelia swears that he gasps in surprise before a chuckle sounds behind the scarf. She huffs, anger, fear, what sorcery had this thing just attempt on her.
"Tell me, do you fight for Ionia's people or her ideals?"
"Her people."
Her answer is bitter. Alone to stand in defense of her home so that her brother may have something to come back to. If he was still alive.
There is a tint of pity that flashes through his eyes, for her or her answer? The man shakes his head and hands her the dagger and another white envelope.
The flap of the tent lifts, halfway out he whispers to the general.
"Thank you."
The paper tears, the seal remains.
"Palicidium, Karma." It does not come as a surprise as they had just discussed withdrawing her forces to the city. Karma's name comes as a relief, she prays that it means her friend still lives.
However, there is a name underneath the line.
"Riven"
She scowls at the name.
The butcher; white-haired commander of Noxus's 'clean up crew'. She herself, from the handful of accounts they've received, had slain just as many people as the frontline. Ruthless, pitiless, cruel with a sick sense of entertainment.
The commander would challenge all soldiers still able to fight to a duel, a test of strength, a way to flaunt and puff her chest. None who accepted survived. Even if they laid down their weapons, she would order one of her company end their life. The only ones she would spare were civilians, though many would pick up a weapon from the ground and try to take her by surprise.
Irelia commended those defiant till the end.
But it was for that reason that the reports on the woman were scarce.
Those who did walk away remember a chant she would utter as the last breath of the slain left their body.
"Honor to those who die with their ideals at heart."
Fury began to stir back in the general's gut, what was the meaning of this monster's name on the card. Was she to fight her at the Palicidium?
Eyes widen, was the butcher already there?
She flips the card over, hoping for more information.
"Her people"
Frustration, she's being toyed with. Irelia storms out. The order is barked. By the early morning light, she lowers the Ionian banner and the company marches to the city.
-her people-
Day by day, Irelia updates her map, the red inching closer and close. There is a stack of reports that deepen the pit of dread every time she glances at them. All they hold are the number of those she couldn't protect.
The melters march on
-her people-
When she meets with Karma, the advisor pours them tea and the general unfurls her map. Letters with the seal of a black rose are traded. They do not sleep that night.
-her people-
"The final battle is coming, general."
Irelia only twitch slightly when she hears the voice behind her, the same one that precedes confusion and a crisp envelope. She turns, expecting to see the soldier from all those times before. Instead, it is a woman with misty eyes and a wicked smile; hair that blends into the dark sky.
A Noxian spellcaster
"It is." Her chest feels as if it's being crush, the unforgiving grip of despair had been her companion ever since arriving in the city. Never has she felt this kind of trepidation before a battle.
But against the abominations tearing across her land, no sword could defend against a hail of toxic fire.
Scouts report enemy encampments over the hill where they had sent back their messenger. They would fight to the last breath of every soldier. Their commander said they had until morning to either change their minds and make peace with their deaths.
The guards are at their posts, civilians evacuated to the center of the city at the temple. The sun hours away from rising. They were as ready as they could be.
"What's your name, Noxian?"
There is a tug at her belt, she can feel the air hitting the bare metal of her dagger that now lays in the hands of this strange woman. Is it strange that she no longer feel apprehension about her?
"I am surprised you did not ask me sooner." She produces a metal tin, it's lid dented and dull with what looks to be smears of old blood. It reeks of something toxic.
"I am Leblanc."
Irelia reacts immediately, jerking away to dodge the slow strike. She curses herself for letting her guard down; the trickster plans to take her out before they storm the city. Astonishment decorates the general's face, warmth trickles down her forearm from a shallow cut on her pale skin.
Impossible, sorcery; she hadn't felt the pain, she knew she moved fast enough to avoid the blade.
"I have felt the pain of death before." Irelia seems to blink back into reality, her hand held in the grasp of the woman, Leblanc . She wants to wrench her hand away and kill mage, but she doesn't, standing there as soft fingers wipe away the blood.
"It is like you have so much more to offer, so much more left to do. But in that last moment of life."
The lid reluctantly parts from the canister. Inside is a pale green salve already half used. It feels cool and tingles on her skin.
"You realize that that is all you have left; broken promises, things you intended to do. All it useless and meaningless because in the end, your story is complete as you remember it and ready for tales to be spun from it."
Her arm dries, the skin unmarked, not even blood remains.
"What are you talking about?" Irelia asks, her mind already laden with the fate of her country.
Leblanc places the tin into the general's hand, sliding the dagger back into its sheath. She looks into her eyes, serious, emotionless.
"You are going to die this morning, Irelia."
Her heart skips and thunders. Yes, that was always a possibility, but for this woman who had been foretelling the future to say it as if it were fact. No, it can't, the events only happened because they were Noxian military movement. No more than a spy predicting the actions of the enemy.
The reasoning does not help with how much her hands shake.
Leblanc continues, looking away into the distance. Her voice is even and steady.
"You're not going to remember me or my visits; your childhood, your past, your brother or father."
"I will be dead."
She pauses, looking back with mild amusement.
"You do not believe in reincarnation." It is a statement of realization.
Irelia scoffs at the thought. Every soldier of her company preached about the idea, openly praying that they would be reborn as a strong ox or a peaceful tree.
Foolish, it made them careless about the life they lived now.
"No." It sounds as if she had been insulted.
"Funny"
For a moment, her beliefs falter. Was this woman implying-
"Am I to be reincarnated?"
Leblanc doesn't answer. Instead, she opens the balcony door leading back into the strategy room. With the wave of her hand, the markers on the map vanish. Reaching into her robe, the general's eyes follow her closed fist.
"You will only remember one thing; your hatred for us." A pendant without a string is placed at the western gates of the Palicidium.
"Blind, hollow, nothing to guide you but that hate."
She remembers the man who gave himself to the pit of corruption.
The map of the city blurs and morphs into a map of Ionia. Slender fingers pick up the charm and flicks it into the air.
All she hears it the metal striking the wood clattering to a rest. Its polished face of a phoenix hides the name of the lake it sits upon.
Irelia swallows thickly. She faces the woman with brave eyes.
"And this is what will become of me."
Two fingers slides the pendant over, revealing the location to be 'Baiye Lake'. Her face is blank as she picks up the offered trinket, cool metal against clammy palms.
"It is, Captain of the Guard."
That's not her title.
Cold lips press against her forehead. Stumbling back, Irelia searches for something in LeBlanc's eyes, mirth, mischief, any hint to this merely being a strike to morale.
Nothing
She doesn't move, only watching as she backs away to the door. LeBlanc's lips move but it is the voice of her father she hears.
"Be kind to her when she stops wandering."
And she is gone
The air settles back into an eerie stillness. There is a single envelope that sits upon the map.
The seal breaks, black shards of shattered wax lay atop a field of ivory.
The card is blank save for one name.
"Riven."
Irelia scowls and crumples the parchment. Though her heart still thunders in her throat, she is sure the Noxian was toying with her. All of them, sick humor.
She will survive the morning.
-her people-
The lid of the wooden box opens. All the past cards are gone, a red prayer slip remains.
"Baiye Lake, one woman, Riven."
It is the last thing the general reads before the walls rock and the attack begins.
-her people-
Irelia awakens, cold. Her hands are red, a blink, they are clean. There is now a mantle floating behind her head; a great honor they say.
But they have fear in their eyes
She wanders the temple grounds. Red slips adorn the trees; it is the month of mourning for those lost in the war. Noxians and Ionians, side by side as tradition would have it.
Repulsive, it is a word that crosses the captain's mind, not a feeling.
Her father's, no her's, blade moves on its own, slicing a thread. The prayer slip flutters to the ground at the feet of the impassive woman.
"Baiye Lake, one woman, Riven."
A memory, somewhere deep down.
Anger, the first thing she's felt in weeks, boils up. She remembers the name as if it had been brands into her mind. A murderer, heartless, killer of the defenseless. There is an urge to go to the lake, as if the dead commander is there for her to kill again. To avenge the people she had slaughtered.
There is a whisper of familiarity, a fog. She pays no heed and sets off on her journey