I played Shyv a couple of times this week and you are right, Waffle…she is a bit of a wild child. Still, I'm going to go with evil!Shyv and blame it on her now fanatical devotion to the man who saved her.
J4, man, you so bad.
Anyways, here's the final chapter of Part 1. This one's coming in at right around 4000 words, the longest yet. I wonder if it is just that as I keep writing this story, I enjoy it more and more and just want to keep writing it! I even included a bit of music, and hopefully I fooled the fanfiction net website censors well enough. Just put in periods where it says dot, and a / where it says slash. The parentheses on each side should also be removed.
If that doesn't work, then the song is Twisted Air by Plentakill. I wanted to use Illusionist by Plentakill, but this is a little more romantic (as its a Love Story parody).
There be romance ahead…romance so far from even being T rated that it's laughable.
BUT I LOVE IT ANYWAYS!
Read on and let me know what you think :D
Chapter 11: The Fury of the Sands
It is a long, anxious wait for the Champion's Ball. He fights in several more matches as the days pass, and there is an incredibly unpleasant one where Shyvanna is the jungler for his team.
He does not understand her.
She seems too savage, too wild for the straight-laced Demacians, but there is a fire in her brighter than that which comes from her hands for her lord, the golden dragon-prince. What was his name? Jarvan?
He bares his teeth in a silent snarl. Yes, Jarvan. He will remember him.
"Curator Nas-us-are you confused? Should-the Proph-et-and I-explain it-to you-again?"
He shakes his head and turns back to the little dancing tekepi who is smiling up at him to joyfully. Her bronze hair is curled into sharp, perfect points, and she covers her plated metal skin with spinning gears at her waist. He doesn't…exactly see what Malzahar likes about her, and even this is an understatement. However, she seems kind enough, a tekepi made in the shape of a sweet young female human, as he is told. A pity that she is not alive, he thinks, looking at her hopping from one delicate foot to another, her arms twisting the great key behind her back. She is more decent than most humans that he is met.
"No, thank you Orianna," he says politely, wincing a little as the ball zooms around his body, adjusting the clothes the tekepi has selected for him with brief blasts of electricity. He would turn his body to stone, but he somehow doubts that it would stop the relentlessly chirping metal sphere.
Malzahar tilts his cowled head curiously as Orianna bounces around him, her wickedly sharp fingers snipping thread and sewing it back up in seconds.
"Ver-y good!" she sings, stepping back and cocking her mechanical head from side to side to examine him. "You-look-most-lovely-Curator Nas-us!"
"I trust your judgment, Clockwork Lady," he says, and she claps her hands together joyfully. The ball gives him a friendly nudge.
"You are-so kind-to-me and the Ball," she says, "the Ball-shall not-cook the flesh from your-bones!"
Malzahar chuckles, a deep, haunting sound, as Nasus, rather alarmed, snatches his staff out of the Deserts Between.
"That was-a joke," Orianna says, smiling at Malzahar. "See-the-Proph-et understands? Curator Nas-us does not-have-his-refined-sense-of-humor."
He growls softly and dismisses his staff. This is a strange creature.
"Here-Ball-will-show-you-how-you-look," she says, and waves her long mechanical fingers at her companion. The ball whirrs and darts in front of Nasus, its metal plates contorting until they form a large rectangle, in which he can see his reflection.
The tekepi has dressed him in clothes of Shurima silk, tan-gold with hints of oasis blue and palm green. His skirt is composed of two bright triangles of gold with red edges, and a sigil in sapphire blue in the center that he described for Orianna to sew, a fantastic letter of lines and curves that in Nasus' language was a symbol of his goddess, Registrana. He wears a tunic with a triangle of brilliant blue fabric just under his throat. The rest is gold, and he wears the belt from his armor with it. It blends in nicely with the cloth, and with a thought he can summon the rest of his armor to join with it and cover him in protective enchantments. The great emerald in its center carries powerful wards against poison and magics of the mind, which should be enough to carry him safely through the night.
He leaves his head and hands bare of helmet or gauntlets, though he retains a gold circlet with another emerald that rests on his forehead—another precaution against beguiling spells.
He provided the tekepi with the pieces of his own armor, but the rest she had somehow managed to conjure up—and sew—within the morning. He had brushed his fur and let the cleansing mist out of its glass as she was working, and he thinks, looking into the mirror, that he looks fine enough for this human contrivance of a ball.
Dressing up for a ball with the help of the Ball. Is that what humans call a pun?
He shrugs and gestures for the Ball to return to its normal shape. "Thank you, Orianna," he says graciously, "I look very suitable."
"Oh-it-was-our-pleasure-to-help-you-isn't-that-right-Ball?" she chirps joyfully, her skirt of gears whizzing around her body. The ball bobs in mid air, nudging her affectionately.
"Orianna," he says carefully, feeling a great pity come over him for the mechanical…girl, "do you have a home city?"
"Yes-our-home-is-in-Piltover-isn't-it-Ball?" she says, nodding in excitement. Malzahar, who has been watching her with a slightly dreamy expression in his soulless eyes, shifts within his robes so he is looking at Nasus. A voidling, peeping out of his hood, strains to lean out far enough to see and loses its grip, splattering on the floor in a puddle of purple goo.
"There is a chance that…something very bad could happen to your city, Clockwork Lady," he says sternly. "I would hate for such a thing to happen."
"We-wouldn't-let-anyone-do-that!" she snaps, and suddenly her voice goes cold. "Attack-ravage-pulse. I-know-what-makes-them-tick- I-know-how-to-make-the-ticking-stop."
"These invaders would use weapons from which this world has no defense," he warns her, occasionally glancing at Malzahar. The Prophet's hood is crowded with curious voidlings, little multi-eyed heads popping out on every side.
One of them crawls out of his sleeve, hissing in excitement at its own creativity.
"They could even destroy an invasion from the Void," he says, baring his teeth at the Prophet.
"I'm listening," Malzahar replies sourly.
"Tomorrow, come to the chambers of the Nine-Tailed Fox," he says. "I do not want to see these weapons given to the people of Runeterra to use as they see fit, Clockwork Lady. Such a thing would bring destruction on this wet world."
"We-go-with-Curator Nas-us," Orianna says, laying a spidery hand on the ball's surface. Sparks spit off it in all directions as it spins, suddenly malevolent.
"I am interested to hear more," Malzahar says, floating up to her and wrapping a protective arm around her twitching shoulders.
"I will see you tonight and tomorrow, then," he says gravely, then raises his hand in farewell. He makes his way out of Orianna's room, which is a bizarre three way mix between a dance studio, a hextech workshop, and a sewing room, with sharp edges and jagged struts of metal as the primary means of decoration. He steps carefully to avoid getting his new clothes torn.
Outside, in the Piltover wing, he thanks his dark fur that hides his blush when the woman with the giant gauntlets starts hooting like the monkey she resembles upon glimpsing him and starts pointing at him with huge fingers. Her partner, the Sheriff, covers her face with an elegant hand and drags her off.
He did not consider that he would look…ridiculous…to the humans. Is that what Lux will think when she sees him? Will she laugh at him?
He would not like it if she laughed.
He growls, drawing a shroud of sand around him, and strides through the halls cloaked in a furious sandstorm, rushing for the quiet sanctuary of his room.
He ends up pacing anxiously a scant quarter hour before the start of the festivities. He can hear giggling outside his door, the gentle patter of human feet, the soft hum of musicians warming up in the dancing hall. But pounding over all that is his frightened heart.
He dreads the moment he has to tell Lux what he has overheard. He fears the terrible future if the Demacia prince succeeds and the secrets of his Library fall into mortal hands. He cannot think too long about the meeting in the foxwoman's room—the impossibility of Void and metal, Shadow Isle and Ionia, working together—of all the people he will need, Lux is the only true human being! And what a task they will have before them…
But most of all he waits to see the look on Lux's face when she first sees him. It should not matter—it does not, he insists to himself—but it causes him more unease when he thinks about it than all the terrible future that awaits him. While he waits for the appointed hour, he summons forth gold and jewels and works it with his magic into a circlet like the one he wears, but smaller, finer—a delicate piece for a tiny creature. Instead of an emerald, though, he places a sapphire in the center, one that is the same color as her lovely eyes.
He holds the piece delicately in his hands and sighs. It is time. He straightens his shoulders and opens the door.
The ballroom is exceptionally strange and incredibly lovely. The entrance hall of the Institute is a dusky whirl of gold and violet, the gentle blue stones covered in great billowing drapes that go from floor to ceiling. The ceiling itself is strew with tiny, sparkling gems that look like stars amidst the dusty shadows of the rafters. A band sits unobtrusively on the rising stairs to the Chamber of Judgment, and the lilting strains of violins and flutes sound almost ethereal.
He pauses at the entrance, watching the couples already inside dance inside the darkness. Orianna spins gracefully beside the Prophet, who watches her with a deep sorrow in his eyes as he catches her hand and dips her. The foxwoman is surrounded by a gaggle of admiring male champions, and he catches Jarvan staring at her before Shyvanna yanks angrily on his arm.
"Nasus?" a bright voice calls, and he turns to see Lux, just coming in the Great Corridor.
She…she—his mind, infinitely adaptable and filled with more knowledge than has passed through Runeterra in centuries, stutters. She is…wearing a dress, a dress the color of sand, that flows gracefully past her knees and over her shoulders. Her long hair is held back by a band of silver, studded with thick chunks of sandstone. A golden sash curls around her body and falls off at her hip, hanging loosely behind her.
He chokes a little and tries blinking, which has become moderately more difficult.
Lux appears…uncannily like he had imagined her, the golden-brown chunks of sandstone peeking through her hair like ears, the sash like a tail, the dress the exact color that it should be. Could she read minds? Wait, of course not, he had wards against that.
She looks exquisitely lovely. He did not think a human could look so beautiful to him, but dressed in this manner, her lovely face is suddenly glaringly obvious. A sweet human, he had thought, attractive perhaps to other humans but to him? No…no!
But now…
"Luxanna," he says softly, bending at the waist in a deep bow.
"I didn't think you ever got out of your armor," she quips, walking up to him and looking him up and down with a twinkle in her eye. He takes a deep, deep breath and tries to regain his old calm.
"I could make an exception for a lady," he growls. "It would be disrespectful otherwise."
"You look very nice. It's like your armor, but softer. Not so hard to get at," she says, glancing once at his belt and once at his forehead. "Mind shielding and poisons?" she inquires, almost absentmindedly.
"There's a bit of defense against magical and physical attacks in here," he rumbles, gesturing at the sigil of Registrana on his skirt. She looks, purses her lips as she traces her eyes over the intricate curves, then stops with a jerk and a rush of blood to her cheeks.
It is no mercy that he understands humans enough to understand what he's done.
"Sorry, sorry!" he says quickly, reaching out to quickly try and tilt her chin back up to his face.
"Looks very nice," she mumbles, almost as red as the border.
"I—I am impressed by your knowledge of, uh, of magical defenses, Lady Luxanna," he stammers hastily. He has perfect control over the pressure he exerts with his claws on her skin, so he is surprises by her quiet intake of breath when he gently pushes her head up to look at him.
"I'm very well read," she says quickly, then gives him one of her breathtaking smiles.
"Not as well as I?" he guesses, and chuckles at her smirk.
"No, maybe not," she says, pushing her lips out a little, a gesture that leaves him rather worried that her mouth is about to detach from her face. Fortunately, it's just another facial expression.
"Shall we?" he asks hesitantly, and offers her his hand. She slides her little fingers in with his long ones without any sort of pause, pressing her palm against his furry one. He can feel her energy, bright and dancing under her pale, vulnerable skin, and puts his other hand over hers with a sudden rush of protective feeling, hiding it completely from view.
"I made you something, Lux," he growls. "I worry for your safety, what with how small you are and your soft human flesh, and this should protect you better than the flimsy metal of Demacian armorers."
Quickly, he withdraws his hand and plucks the circlet out of the Deserts Between, missing the brief flash of surprised pleasure on her face.
"Here, here," he mutters hastily, and she looks him in the eye as she takes from his hand and slides it onto her brow, below the sandstone band. She smiles gratefully, a little crinkle at the corners of her eyes, and he can feel her perpetual aura of happiness sharpen perceptibly.
"It's beautiful, thank you Nasus," she says, and he reaches up and adjusts it slightly, his claws pressing gently into her skin and tucking away her hair.
"It is nothing," he growls, his fingers lingering slightly in her hair as he marvels at the strange feeling of the strands brushing against his hand. Then he withdraws, feeling suddenly huge and clumsy compared to her, and she laughs.
"Don't worry so much," she says, and tugs him after her into the ballroom. The force she exerts is infinitesimally small compared to the strength in his arms, but it amuses him to let her pull him about in such a way. The music changes to something sweet and slightly wistful as Lux finally reaches an empty spot on the floor.
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She reaches up to him, and manages, with a bit of difficulty, to wrap her tiny hands around the back of his neck, where her touch makes his skin tingle unmercifully.
"Wait," he says, waving his hands about frantically, "what do I do?"
"You have to put your hands on my waist, Nasus," she says, smirking, "and then we kind of sway back and forth as they play the song."
"Is this really necessary?" he growls, but after looking at the teasing light in Lux's eyes, he puts his hands as far above her hips as they can go without going over her arms. She raises an eyebrow and reluctantly he lets them drop an inch or two.
"Poor Curator," she says. "Didn't they have anything like this on your world?"
"Well, yes—dance is a universal trait among sentient species, well documented in the Library," he says, feeling a little better as the conversation moves into more comfortable grounds. "My kind tends to not have organized festivities of this sort. The priestesses of Registrana dance as part of Her ceremonies, and there are certain sects such as the waterfinders and the weather-keepers who practice a sort of martial art that involves dance used to incredibly deadly effect. Those are mostly ones of my kind who have reptile, avian, or feline aspects. The wolf aspect, sometimes called the hound aspect, tends not to be so…frivolous," he ends with a bit of a sniff.
"Sounds fun," she says cheerfully. "I like dancing."
He huffs and glares at her. Once again, missing the point entirely.
"Who's Registrana?" she asks innocently, batting her eyelashes at him. He finds this action immensely distracting. Those tiny little blond hairs, falling over her eyes like sand cast into the wind…
"Hmm, She is not to spoken of lightly, little human," he growls, watching her blink and stick her tongue out at him.
"I'm curious!" she protests.
"Well," he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot as she does, making the little swaying motions she seems to think he should be, "Registrana applauds your curiosity, as She is the patron of all seekers of knowledge, but such things should not be shared in a public place."
Lux frowns, but nonetheless leans her head against his chest. The very top of her hair touches his chin when he looks down at her.
"Is this also the custom?" he growls.
"It's nice," she says simply.
It is, indeed, but that part of him is being terribly confusing at the moment. He wraps his arms a little more snugly around her and closes his eyes for a few seconds. She is small but very soft and he sighs regretfully before he gently pushes on her shoulders to adjust her back to her previous position.
She is not his kind. Charming she may be, intelligent and curious, brave even, but he will not confuse fondness for anything more.
Lux smiles at him, but her eyes are a little sad. He wonders what he has done to hurt her. Surely she must feel the same way?
He pats the top of her head with one of his hands, sliding his claws through her hair down to her shoulder, wondering again at how odd it feels.
"Do not sorrow, nek'asha'mei," he says quietly, watching the little light appear above her head, conjured by his name for her. "All is well."
"You don't know the half of it, Nasus," she says, her mouth twisting.
"Perhaps I do," he growls. "Can we dance over to that corner, perhaps? I think a friend would like to help us talk in private."
He gestures with a tilt of his head at the shadows on the left side of the stairs up to the Judgment Chamber. Within, there is a slight disturbance in the air before he sees Evelynn's spiked heels emerge from the darkness.
Lux nods, looking slightly puzzled, and they move quietly through the crowd. As they approach the demon, she gives Nasus a knowing nod, and seconds both he and Lux vanish from sight.
"What—"Lux squeaks, and Nasus feels Evelynn's sharp nails prick him lightly on the back of his neck as she moves to rejoin the crowd.
"There is nothing to fear," he growls. "The Widowmaker has put us out of sight and hearing of the others here, so we may talk in private."
"Talk about what?" she demands without a quiver. Although he can no longer see her, he can certainly feel her hands dart away from his head and the cold head of her baton press against his chest.
"Your lord's plans for my people and my world," he snarls, and she abruptly stills as he tightens his hands around her back.
"Ah," she says sadly, and he flinches as the end of the baton suddenly starts to warm.
"No, my Lady, no need for that," he says, amused. "I don't think you are my enemy."
"Well, what are you dragging me off for, then? Just going to hand your staff over? Because there's nothing else that's going to satisfy him, and I'm not going into Renekton's cell for any amount of pride in my country," she spits venomously.
"I am here to offer you my help, Lux," he growls earnestly, feeling cautiously down her arms until he can grasp her hands. "No Demacian will ever set eyes upon the secrets in my Library, nor will your golden dragon-prince be allowed to loose his armies upon the Endless Empire, but you need not suffer for their failure."
"It won't just be Demacia," she whispers grimly. "How long will it take before Talon hears about this? Or the Kinkou? Or Kha'zix, or your apparent bosom-companion Evelynn, may the gods forbid it!"
" Evelynn is…a strange one," he rumbles, "but she has aided me and I will keep my trust with her until I know I should keep it elsewhere. For the others, we could stop them all as long as we keep them from opening a portal—and even if that fails, though Registrana turn aside that path, I can return the same way to protect my Library. There are others who I think will help us, for the sake of the balance of power. Trust me, nek'asha'mei."
"I do trust you, Nasus," Lux says softly.
"Then the rest will come in time," he growls, "for am I not the Curator of the Sands?"
He squeezes her hands gently, hoping his claws will not scratch her arms.
"You know the Nine-Tailed Fox closely, do you not?"
"Ahri…yes, I do, although she's creepy, like I told you in the garden," Lux replies, sounding slightly puzzled. "What does this have to do with—"
"Come to her chambers tomorrow and see who I have gathered to stop this coming danger," he growls. "Do this and you will be safe, for the gift I have given you should protect you from any daggers in the night, if not from poison tongues."
"Easy enough," she breathes, "are we done here, then?"
"Yes, Lux," he says. "Should I escort you back to your room?"
"No," she murmurs and he blinks. "I think that this time is for dancing, Nasus. I don't see a lot of it in the future, so why leave early?"
"Wise," he growls, chuckling slightly and leading her back to the light. As Nasus steps carefully over the pirate-woman, who has crashed to the floor, giggling, his body returns to visibility, as does Lux's.
"Is the party still on?" he hears Evelynn whisper, soft and close to his ear. He glances around, but sees nothing.
"Yes," he says, barely moving his mouth, and he hears the demon's answering chuckle.
"Good. I'd hate to miss out on all the turmoil," she teases, then all is quiet.
He turns to look at Lux, at her beautiful eyes and her priestess' dress and tail-like sash and sandstone crown, and prays that she will be safe, this last worthy female on Runeterra.
Though, he supposes such a title is unkind, considering gentle Karma and the other Ionians. Well then, the only decent female who has shared his lane in a League match.
Suddenly, he remembers Malzahar's book and smiles.
"Shall we dance, my lovely Lux?" he growls, and slips his arms back around her as she blushes and hides her face with her golden hair.
END OF PART 1: THE INSTITUTE