"I hate this place," Talon said aloud, as if anyone would listen or care. His bed had not gotten any more uncomfortable and Yorick's visits had not gotten any more pleasant; he just wanted to leave. Closing his eyes one more time, he thought back to the one experience that popped up into his mind more often than anything else: the events leading up to him joining the League. He did not want to recap the story over and over again as often as he did, but it was the most prominent event in his life, the one time he truly cared about something and someone; when he finally understood that he did, in fact, possess feelings. His mind went blank and his memory went into full gear as the scene began to be painted, one last time…
Talon looked all around him, as if he could soak up the information pertaining to his surroundings by glaring at it. Clearly, this tactic was unsuccessful. He rolled eyes in frustration, just wanting to be done with the mission and headed home. He looked to his side and saw his ally crouching in the same position he was, mimicking his movements. However, perhaps she was actually taking in something that he was not. The ground was cold and hard beneath his feet, and he felt that there had to be a nicer position to be crouching in. He dared not to move for fear of blowing his cover. At long last his ally spoke to him.
"Talon, why are we sitting under a wooden box in the middle of nowhere and why is this considered the best ambush spot?" she whispered to him in a very confused voice.
"I. Don't. Freaking. Know," was all that he managed to utter. He continued to stare at the wooden box as if he were gathering information from it. His ally giggled at his intense staring contest with the wood. Shifting slightly to face her, he bore an annoyed look.
"I think we ought to ditch this cover and get things done correctly," she told him. He sat still as he pondered the idea: he had been told to wait there until the time seemed right. Perhaps Marcus just wanted to test him on how long he could put up with sitting inside of a box, staring at the walls, but Talon felt that there was a bigger and better purpose to the order, such as an event that Marcus knew was going to take place in that location.
"Katarina, I think Marcus has a plan. We need to follow his orders," Talon told her.
"You don't have to call me Katarina, Talon. You can just call me Kat. And besides, what kind of plan doesn't have room to be tweaked?" she replied to him. He sighed loudly.
"A poor one at best," he responded.
"Exactly," she said back with a grin. The two of them removed the box from over themselves and moved towards the shadows near a rock. It was late into the night, but the moon shone brightly across the ground and created some areas of greater shadow than others. Nothing but rock and mountainous terrain could be seen for miles around, and the small wooden box seemed almost out of place where it was positioned. The only thing that kept it secretive was the fact that a lot of random objects were scattered across the wasteland: cart wheels, horse skeletons, and even an occasional crate containing long forgotten goods.
The two sat in the shadows without speaking a word for a very long time. Both of them stared endlessly, and seemingly pointlessly, at the wooden crate that they had abandoned, simply waiting for a sign or signal to indicate the purpose for having been told to retain presence inside of it. Eventually Katarina broke the silence.
"What did father say would happen next?" she asked him. Talon raked his mind as he sought an answer, but came up empty handed.
"He never said. I didn't ask," he reported. His respect and trust for Marcus was of a peasant to a noble, but earned instead of given. This concept is what allowed Talon to still think poorly of royalty. Katarina, however, saw his profound loyalty to be, not necessarily misplaced but, overdone. Talon could see this thought burning in her eyes as she glared him down in response to his answer.
"Great. Just, great." She was quite clearly annoyed at both Talon for not seeking more information and her father for having failed to provide him with any. However, perhaps this had been why Marcus had given the mission to Talon and Katarina as his partner, instead of the other way around. "Can we just move on from here?" she asked him.
"No. We are here for a reason."
"And that reason is?" she questioned.
"Look, you are an assassin you incompetent..." Talon decided to cut off his rampant train of thought before it spiraled too far down to be recovered. He looked back at her to remind himself that she is, in fact, Marcus' child. He looked at the scar stretching down her face, starting on her forehead just above her eye, and continuing downward into her cheek. He knew that the wound was his fault, but receiving the wound is what saved her life. Had Talon not been there that night, she would have very easily been slaughtered in her rampaging lust for revenge. Talon quickly looked away as she began to cock her head in response to his mesmerized stare at her face.
"I know it's not what Marcus said, however, he isn't here right now. For all we know, he is in danger and his plans have fallen through. We could be sitting by this crate until we starve." While annoyed, Talon knew she was right.
"Give it one more hour. After that, if nothing has happened, we head back. Fair?" he posed.
"Fair," she replied. The two continued to sit on the cold, dusty, dirt for yet another eternity. Talon's patience was holding strong, but Katarina could not stand the waiting any longer.
"Talon, let's go. There is nothing here for us," she told him. He nodded, not in acceptance of her sentence as true, but in approval of upholding his promise.
"Where shall we go?" he asked.
"Home," she replied. The two stood up and walked north, towards the exit of the barren and rocky wasteland of an environment. The ground did not alter over the entire distance that was visible in their plane of view; it retained its rocky and dried out ground with the occasional large boulder, some of which reached mountainous sizes. It was the type of land that you would expect to see a lizard to scamper across regularly, with the occasional one to burst into flames, just to be unnoticed by the weary travelers, too exhausted to pay attention.
Talon and Katarina continued to walk northward; the night slowly shifting into day time. As light began to cast its rays down upon the deserted lands, the two realized that they were not so deserted after all. They slowed their pace as they noticed their approach on a small company of people. Taking cover behind one of the few rocky structures in sight, they watched the group of men and listened intently. The squad was quite a ways off, but their trained ears allowed them to pick up on their loud voices as they carried their words throughout the empty land.
"But sir, this really is not the sort of thing that we do!" one said to another of who appeared to be the superior.
"Enough! I am your prince and you will do as I say!" the man boasted.
"Prince?" Katarina said to Talon as they listened in.
"Shhh," he replied with a finger to his lips, trying to gather more information.
"She is part DRAGON my lord! How can we trust her?" he protested. The superior replied by turning to a woman clad in red armor-like scales and a long tail that draped from the back of her head that resembled a ponytail. The rest of her appearance was indistinguishable from Talon's distance, but his questions pertaining to looks were quickly answered.
"How can you say no to a beautiful face like that?" the superior replied while gently placing the rim of his index finger and tip of his thumb around her chin and lifting her face to look into her eyes. "Those eyes glow the most beautiful yellow tint that I have ever seen before in my life, while your face is one of both a fierce warrior and a kind heart. I for one, cannot, and will not, say no. If any of you poorly clad imbeciles wish to return to you mothers with your tails between your legs, you may do so at once. I will protect this innocent lady and help her pursue vengeance. I, am, a, Demacian! So! Who will stay, and who will take their leave!" Almost immediately the entire crowd replied with a roaring agreement to stay. Talon gave Katarina an intrigued looked.
"Not only did the man persuade his crowd to stay, he had given a quick, yet simple speech that could only be conjured by a man of nobility and military experience at the same time. Plus, he had been so kind as to point out that he is Demacian. On top of THAT, the man he was speaking to even gave us the information that they are with someone who happens to be part dragon; who is most likely the woman right in front of the man who gave the speech." Talon shook his head in disbelief. "Impossible timing…" he muttered.
"Shall we keep pursuing or ambush them? They are clearly Demacian scum. We can easily take them," she said to Talon. He shook his head.
"We do not need to assault pointlessly. They have at least five times our numbers, if not more. And if they are this far in the middle of nowhere and befriending partial dragons, I would rather not attempt to attack until we see them in a weakened position or in situation in which we have no other choice." Katarina frowned in disapproval at Talon's response. She seemed to have a lust for blood, even when it was completely unnecessary. She was not quite the assassin that she could be, but progress was being made nevertheless.
The two pursued the newly found bunch at a safe distance as they paraded through the wastelands like boy scouts on a mission for a badge. Talon and Katarina stuck to shadows and rocks when available, but beyond that they had to rely on standing at distances so far away that only their trained eyes were capable of still seeing the group. The Demacians seemed to be pursuing literally nothing for the longest time before a large, gray, scaly figure appeared on the horizon of Talon's field of view. The image was followed by a series of loud yells and charges of absolute dedication. The lump of scales stood up to reveal its identity as a dragon; and judging by the immediate assault, the dragon was what that the party was pursuing.
The small squad's attack on the beast was so incredibly well coordinated and aggressive that it looked as if the dragon could have been under the siege by an entire army. The prince led the pack by launching a spear in a javelin-like manner into the middle of its back. The spear bore a bright blue flag with an unmistakable crest in the middle: Demacia's. The bright marker on its back stood out like a beacon against the dark background of the rocky terrain, allowing the Demacian squad to be able to spot where the spear was. Two of them followed up the prince's marker by extending their weapons towards it. Their already six foot lances then extended outwards to a length of around ten to twelve feet, in combination with their three to four foot jumps, which allowed them to easily connect their weapons with the flagged spear. Once linked, the lances retracted and pulled the soldiers to the dragon's back.
From the front side, a handful of the soldiers waved their weapons in its face, in an attempt to frighten it from pursuing. In combination with their battle cries, they did their job quite effectively.
Once the mounting and terrifying was accomplished, a few more soldiers took to either of the dragon's sides and started to charge into its flesh with their sharply tipped lances. They gripped their boots into the cracked dirt to steady their grip and, in turn, grounded the dragon to prevent it from flying away or backing up. Grounded, the men on top of the beast drove their lances into the back of its neck. Soldiers in front turned and ran as far to the sides as they could as the dragon spat fire in every plausible direction in response to the pain thriving in its neck.
The prince, who had been standing back and coordinating the fight, then turned and nodded at the half dragon woman standing beside him. She walked forward and glared into the eyes of the monstrous beast in front her, fury and anger burning with such an intensity that the sun became jealous. She fell forward onto her hands and knees; her arms transformed and grew tremendously in size while sprouting claws and becoming completely covered in scales, allowing for wings to form in the gap between her arms and her body. Her tail-like ponytail fused with her back and extended past her bottom to form an actual tail, while her head turned into one of a dragon. Talon had to blink twice to insure that his eyes were still open. He had just experienced a full on human to dragon transformation. She was still a good chunk smaller than the dragon in front of her but she was, in fact, a dragon.
Her blazing gaze was fixated on her opponent as she lunged forward with razor sharp claws and fangs to boot, ready to tear the dragon apart. The sound of breaking bones cracked through the air to accommodate the slicing of flesh after the dragon's scales had been pierced. The half dragon continued to brutally maul the full dragon as it attempted to fly to safety. The soldiers kept their ground as they anchored it down and rendered the beast's attempt useless. The mighty dragon could do nothing but watch helplessly, sputter flames, and bash its tail as it watched itself be killed; quite the cruel fate to endure. Talon grinned as he watched the creature suffer, while Katarina ached to be a part of the beast's pain. Not much more time passed before the dragon went limp and the life faded from it. The Demacian prince approached it and removed a few of its smaller teeth and attached them to his armor as a trinket of victory over the creature. The half dragon woman reverted to her human form and approached the prince. She smiled widely at him and gave him a tight hug. She pulled away after a few moments and looked at the armor on his shoulders that now bore the teeth of the slain beast. She stroked them gently and turned back to look at the fallen dragon while still touching the tooth, as if to try to trick her mind into fully comprehending the fact that it was finally dead. She looked back at the prince, once again, with wide and excited eyes.
"Thank you," she said to him. "I have been chased by that dragon and others like him for years. They… they killed my father not too long ago… I… All I could think of was revenge but I knew that I was not strong enough. Thank you sir. Thank you so much…" Small tears were forming in her eyes as she spoke and she had moved her hand from the tooth decoration on his armor to his breastplate; an open hand placed on the chest as if she wanted to be as close to his heroic heart as possible. He laughed a bold and noble laugh and looked down at the dragon woman.
"Prince Jarvan the fourth. But seeing as you are neither Demacian nor peasant, please feel free to call me by just Jarvan." The prince smiled widely as he looked at the woman. She responded with a similar one and spoke.
"Shyvana, is how you would say my name in your tongue. And Prince Jarvan, I have another favor to ask of you."
"What is it Shyvana?"
"I would like to travel with you. I have nowhere to turn and nowhere to go, and aside from my father, you are the first being I have met that has not either tried to kill me or respond to my presence with hostility and hatred for my kind. Please, allow me to venture these lands with you. I do not care where you are going, or what you are doing, but I would like to be by your side for as long as I am allowed."
"I would have it in a way of no other, Shyvana. Please, journey with my men as we scourge these wastes for the highest and mightiest of foes! We shall not return home until every one of us is confident that there is no challenge in this world that could possibly stand between us, and victory. Onward we march!" Jarvan announced as he thrust his weapon into the air. His troops mimicked and replied with shouts of appraisal as they continued on their way to whatever challenge may rear its head next.
"Talon," Katarina said.
"Yes Katarina," Talon replied.
"We aren't getting a damned thing out of this. Are we going to go kill them?"
"No Katarina."
"Then I'm going home."
"As you wish. I'm staying here."
"UGH. Why!? There isn't anything here! You treat my father as if he is an all knowing being with some sort of master plan behind everything he does! What if he just made a mistake or wanted us to get out of his face for awhile!?"
"I cannot tell you why I trust him, but I do. Do as you please. I will remain here."
"FINE. When you're done, just get back to the manor. I'll be waiting," she said while turning away. Talon looked over his shoulder. He had not actually expected her to leave. Perhaps he had been too rude. He shook his head lightly to disperse the idea. Never had he cared whether or not he was rude to someone, and he had no intention of starting to. She turned and looked back at Talon, a slight hint of sorrow mixed with the fury in her eyes. "Why, Talon?" For the first time in his life, he looked away from his questioner. He had no witty comeback or sharp remark to shoot. He did not glare her down or chose to respond with silence; he was forced to. He looked back down at his feet as he crouched at an un-seeable distance from the party they pursued. "What? You can't explain to me what it is you see in him? I'm his DAUGHTER. I don't get it! There isn't anything that I can't see about him, so where do you get these illusions from? Where does this idea of his supreme all knowing come from? Is it because he is the only one to beat you in a fight? You are so good that anyone who can beat you is a god? What is it Talon? Talk to me!" He sighed heavily and looked back up at her. He got to his feet and walked over to where she was standing.
"I see a man. I see a man with potential. A man with potential to succeed where everyone else has failed. This world is not just, Katarina. There are problems, there are issues and ordeals, there are ideologies that deserve to be shutdown and concepts that ought to thrive. There are things we do not understand and things we have never seen. I do not think that Marcus knows everything. I do not think that he is control of the world but I think that he knows something that you, and I, and those Demacians, and all Demacians, and all Noxians, and everyone you could ask, do not know. He has plans, Katarina. We do not know what they are, but in defeating me he has earned my respect and my loyalty. I don't see something in him that you do not; I understand that he knows something that we do not." There was a long pause after Talon spoke, before Katarina decided to respond.
"Like, what?" she asked plainly.
"There are people in this world with more power than we think. There are beings out there that have control over things we do not see. Perhaps he knows of one, and perhaps he has plans to take them down, or shut them out. I do not know, Katarina, but I do know that I cannot, and will not, betray him. My life is here because of him, and my life is for him to command."
"Talon, you are human! You can't be his puppet! You have emotions and needs to satisfy as well! You can't just do everything he says because he refused to kill you! He brought me into this world and I don't follow him like that!"
"My emotions are nothing more than an abyss of black and turmoil, set so deep inside that they cannot surface so long as I live. I will do as he asks." She did not respond with words, but instead took a step forward so that her face was inches from his, and stared straight into his eyes. She remained there for so long that Talon had not taken note of the slow advancement she had made towards his lips until they touched hers. At first, he was so incredibly surprised that he almost thought to react violently, as if his cover had been compromised amidst an enemy outpost. He restrained the aggressive urges and managed to keep his body entirely still until she had backed away from the kiss. She looked into his eyes with cute smile and soft expression, looking for the emotion excitement or anxiety. Instead, she found the man staring back at her just as he had been moments ago, just as he had been hours ago, just as he had been days, weeks, months, and eternities ago. Never had she seen him respond to her, or anything, emotionally. He just wore the very same sinister and yet plain expression at all times. A tear began to form in the corner of her eye as she was beginning to realize the truth to Talon's words. She spun around and a light sprinkle of tears fell down about her, complimenting the swish of her crimson hair.
Neither she nor Talon said another word as she walked away from him. She continued on her way towards her home, and Talon merely shifted his head back to the Demacian crew, now a fair ways farther out than they had been prior to his conversation with Katarina, and pursued them, just as he had been doing a few minutes ago, seemingly completely unphased by the woman's actions. But Talon knew, deep inside of that black pit of void emotions, that a storm had just been brewed, for the first time since he had pledged loyalty to the woman's father. The storm was not going to surface yet, but in time, it was bound to make its appearance.
Talon lay awake in his "hospital" bed, interrupted from his memory by the same thing that usually did; Yorick. He had not grown to hate the man, but he felt that he could have been better off with contact from no one at all. Yorick entered the room and walked over to Talon's place on the bed. He surveyed his wounds and stood beside him awkwardly staring. Talon spoke up after a pause.
"What, are you going to do, bore me death with some story of your worthless past and how some sorry sap had to birth you into existence?" Talon snarled.
"No warmskin. If I had any stories to tell away, I would not spoil such a pleasure on a petty being such as yourself," Yorick replied.
"So why do you keep me around if you find me to be so repulsive? This crap hole of a home reeks of death and sickening scents mixed with an atmosphere of despair and torture, and yet you keep me here and seem to be attempting to heal my wounds. Why?" Yorick stood in silence for a few moments before turning and leaving the room. He spoke to Talon as he made his way out, intending to make it obvious that he did not want further questioning or conversation.
"I was made a promise. And that promise will change my life if fulfilled." Talon had no idea what the words meant, but he was satisfied to finally have some sort of an answer. He lay on the bed for a few minutes before he realized that the vile liquid concoction of Yorick's had not been poured over his back. He was glad to not have to endure the act, but he pondered why the step had been skipped in Yorick's routine. Perhaps the buffoon had forgotten why he had come in due to Talon speaking. He brushed the thoughts out of his head because he honestly did not care a whole lot. Instead, his mind filled back up with his recollections.
The next notable moment in Talon's memory was set about a week after Katarina had taken off. Not much had happened in the time in between Katarina leaving and the next event taking place. As Talon pursued Jarvan and his group, one of his soldiers had died in combat to a horde of large lizard-like creatures. The prince, Jarvan, and the half dragon, Shyvana, had been continually building up a strong relationship of trust and combat advantages. The two fought valiantly together despite such extreme differences in style and background; neither had been trained to fight in any manner even remotely similar. The two spent an awful lot of time bonding. It was quite a strange sight to see a prince more or less flirting with a woman, not to mention one that is not either of his nationality or entirely human. It was as if he had never been satisfied with a woman and only ever saw them as weak or nuisances; but when he found one that he looked up to, or saw as a combat worthy opponent, he upheld an entirely different perspective. It was definitely something that Talon had never seen in someone before, and doubted that he would ever see it replicated.
Talon closed his eyes and lost himself in thought and memories as he began to recall that moment; that moment that changed his life in a manner so drastic that he doubted he would even be able to recover. While the series of events had started with him sitting inside of a wooden box with Katarina, the action truly began with nothing more than a letter.
They daylight was beginning to burn Talon's skin as he stood among a group of the least decorative rocks on the face of the planet. He looked upward for the tenth time in an hour and saw the same bird circling about the sky; as if it's useless existence of flapping it wings served any sort of purpose to the world it lived in. Talon scanned the surrounding area while taking note of the great distance between him and the company that he was pursuing. He decided that he was far enough away that they would hardly be able to notice on less bird in the sky; even if it was the only one. Talon then took three daggers from his belt and propelled them through the sky towards the bird. The first dagger in line grazed its wing which caused it to flutter and spaz about while holding its relative place in the air. The second blade pinned the creature in the chest to induce a paralysis and lead to a dramatic drop in altitude. The final dagger intersected the bird in its fall by cutting into its head. The dead creature clumped to the ground and Talon walked to its location with a grin, to retrieve his daggers.
"Worthless winged rat..." he muttered as he pulled his blades from its soft flesh. While he did so, he noticed that there was something around its leg. Out of curiosity, he cut the string and unfolded the small letter, which read "He's gone". The paper was slightly blotched in color, as if its writer could not spare even the few seconds that it took to refrain from crying in order to write the note. He folded up the paper and began to wonder whether or not the note was intended to be for him. He could not fathom any reason for a bird to be out in this desolate wasteland of death and isolation, but he also had a hard time thinking of anyone who would know where to find him. Like a train wreck, the realization smashed into him. He immediately took to a full sprint northward while maintaining an invisibility radius to Jarvan and his crew.
Talon hardly ate a thing over the next few days as he maintained a seemingly impossible pace across Runeterra. He used his shunpo technique to clear heavily wooded areas and mountainous passes as quickly as possible. On top of that, Talon often times cloaked himself from his surroundings in order to remain unseen from predators or rugged travelers. His resting came from exhaustion collapses that only lasted until he regained consciousness and returned to his sprint. Had he not been worried about being forced to travel off path due to pursuers, he would have stolen a horse to help him progress through the lands.
By the time he had reached Noxus, he was a complete mess: his clothes were torn, his body was unbathed, his hair and hood were indistinguishable from one another, and his mind was so full of questions that he could not be bothered to reply to the shouts and curiosities of the local Noxians who saw this madman sprinting through the streets. He was not sure how he should feel. Anger, sadness, fear, frustration; all of these thoughts, and more, were coursing through his mind like a river in a storm. He just had to wait until he arrived at Marcus' home to find out.
Talon burst through the front doors of the manor and sprinted up the closest flight of steps. He rounded the corner as if he were a part of a slingshot mechanism and launched himself towards Katarina's room. When he was a few feet away from her door, he slowed his pace for the first time since he had left the southern deserts of Runeterra. He approached Katarina's room and knocked sharply on the door. His head began to spin as his body attempted to adjust to standing still after the marathon he had been running. Katarina opened the door with her head faced downward and her crimson hair covering her face. Talon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stood there, in Katrina's door, mouth agape and mind flustered, for about a minute before his legs finally just gave way beneath him. He tumbled to the floor and heard the sound of a young woman calling his name for a few moments before he lost consciousness completely.
When Talon awoke, he was no longer on the floor of Marcus' manor. Instead, he was lying on Katarina's bed, with a beautiful woman leaning over his body and staring into his eyes, the outside world veiled by red hair falling from her head and around his. He blinked twice to make sure that he was actually awake. There was a long pause while the two stared at each other, in which Talon used to think of what to say. He had been aware that he had hurt her feelings just awhile ago, and he was also aware that what he said now could make a huge impact on the rest of his life. He knew what he wanted to ask; he wanted to ask if Marcus is the one gone, but part of him knew the answer to that question already; he assumed that he would have seen Marcus by this point in time, after bursting into his home. He had to ask what he knew he should, and the reason he had ran towards Katarina's door before he had looked in Marcus' room.
"Are you all right, Kat?" Talon asked at last. She replied with a broad smile before she spoke.
"You just ran into my house and collapsed on the floor, but you want to know if I am all right?" She paused to shake her head and run her hands through her hair. "What happened to the Talon I left in the middle of the Shurima desert?"
"Is that where we were? Huh…" Talon replied.
"Talon! You didn't answer my question."
"Do I need to, Katarina? Do you really think I ran across the continent and busted into your home because I thought you were all right on your own? Or that I am in a physically stable condition after hiking such a journey in just a couple of days?" Katarina was smiling in a manner that Talon had never seen before. It was not the sadistic grin of having plunged a knife into another man's throat, but a smile of a playful, flirting girl. Talon was not sure why he had ended up in that position. He had not done anything more with the woman than what he had been assigned to do, and he had not gone out of his way to even be so much as polite to her. He had made sure that he never intentionally injured her, due to the fact that she is Marcus' daughter, but he had not done anything beyond that in terms of courtesy. And yet, the look that he saw in her face right then was not one of a simple partner, or a friend, or enemy, it was one of lust. He was not sure how to react. He had never been in a situation like it before.
"No Talon," she said at last. "You don't need to answer. I know the answer already. What do you plan to do? Marcus isn't anywhere around. My carrier bird found you before it found him, and we have no way of contacting him. I don't plan to slump around here any longer than I have to. I am going to go join the League of Legends. I want to keep fighting, but I don't have anyone or anything to target without Marcus around. So it's time to move on. Will you join me Talon?" Talon blinked a few times again, as if each time that he opened his eyes his reality would be altered, but every time light began to seep back through his eye lids he saw the same woman pouring over him.
"No. I will spend time looking for Marcus, then return to what I was doing in the Shurima. I still feel like he has a plan. Not until I have lost hope in that concept will I seek to sate my thirst for the thrill of fighting with the League of Legends."
"Fine. I'll be waiting for you Talon, I know that you have it in your head to come to your senses eventually. I'm leaving now. I have sat around here for a week already and I can't stand it. Do what you need to. You know where I'll be." She sat back upright and turned to get up off of the bed. She was in the doorway when Talon called out after her.
"And what if they don't accept you?" Talon questioned. She turned her head over her shoulder and grinned. This time, it was the grimace of a woman set to kill and seek the pleasure from doing so, the one that he was used to seeing.
"Then I'll kill them until they let me in." With that, she left the room. Talon lay on the bed, unsure as what to do next. He felt like he needed some more sleep, but he had no idea how long he had been lying on the bed. He got up and decided that he should start searching the house. He was certain that Katarina had done so already, but he was not certain that she had done a thorough job of it. He started in Marcus' room and rooted through everything he could find – books, journals, desks, drawers – but he came up empty handed. He stood in the middle of the now ransacked room and pondered the question of where any evidence could be, until he turned and stared at the desk in the corner of the room. Besides it was a wastebasket. He rolled his eyes as he knew that the idea was a bit ludicrous, but he searched through it anyways. Inside, he found an old letter, dated to about three weeks ago, and addressed to Marcus. Talon unfolded the crinkled page and read its contents. It was an invitation of some sort. It was asking Marcus to join him in a meeting of a group named "The Black Rose". There was a signature on the bottom that read "Jericho Swain". Talon frowned. He did not know who Jericho Swain was, and he had no idea of where to begin a search for such a man. But nevertheless, the lead was a lead. He took the letter into his pocket and scanned the room a little while longer.
"Why would Marcus ever accept an invitation to a man that he did not know?" Talon thought aloud. "Unless… he knew him already." Talon stood amidst the room in silence while he debated what possible route he had to finding more information on the man. He began to walk out of the room, but was stopped at the doorway. An uncontrollable pain seared through his head as he was forced to take a kneeling position. He closed his eyes in attempt to divert the pain, but what he saw confused him. He did not see the usual reddish blackness that one would see when they close their eyes, but a white and blue picture. Talon quickly opened his eyes but the pain returned promptly and he was forced to close them again. The image was still there, so Talon decided to focus in on the picture instead this time. Almost like a dream, and an answer to his questions, a scene began to unfold inside of his head.
Talon was watching an image of a young man with bluish tinted hair stand – tall, slender, and with a stone face – dedicated to completing a mission. If the image was actually responding to Talon, then it could be assumed that the man was Jericho Swain.
The weapon felt astoundingly heavy in Swain's hands compared to the weapons that he had taken with him before. He figured that this was expected due to the unfamiliar nature of the scenario he was in. Normally he would never consider taking out an enemy from a distance so far out that the people around him would not even be able to guess who the killer was; however, this was exactly how he had intended on his mission going.
He looked at the Zaunite hextech crossbow and swore he could see the foul stench emitting from the poison filled chamber resting inside of the ammunition casing. He turned his head away from the gun as if he would not have to understand what he was about to do. The balcony he stood on seemed to put him in a spotlight, instead of conceal his identity. He had already calculated out the distances to the ground in correlation to the angles with all of the available outlooks and discovered that this spot was perfectly hidden from all possible guards or bystanders. It was almost like the balcony was put in place in order to provide a perfect assassination spot, and yet its decorative temperament and elegant architecture definitely assured that the opposite was true. Regardless, Swain could not shake the feeling that the spot was just too perfect.
He ran his hands along the cement vines encompassing the top of his outpost; his long and thin fingers traced their etchings as exactly as possible. He was quite aware of what he was doing, but he did not want to be. He glanced down at his feet, still searching for another distraction, and found his boots to be particularly clean for having ventured as far as he did. He finally stopped examining the world around him and raised the crossbow to his face, preparing to take aim. His expression was stern but this was not a cause of his acknowledgement of his current task: this was a usual thing that sat upon his face. Some people accused him of being perpetually serious, which would not be far from the truth. His mind was always turning and his thoughts were always spinning with whatever scheme he could execute next. He never seemed to be pleased with the way that Noxus was advancing, and some thought that he planned to change it on his own. This goal seemed to be achievable as he had already climbed high through the ladder of command through his bravery and valiant spirit on the battlefield. But even this did not satisfy him as he watched soldiers around him climb the ladder through methods such as how many soldiers they had managed to slay on their own and the number of superior officers that had managed to die mysteriously and then proceed to be replaced by them. It was as if he had his own vision for his country of Noxus that no one else could see. But he planned to achieve this goal, and that was the most likely reason for his presence on the overhanging Demacian balcony that day.
The wind was sharp and cold as it cut across his cheeks and tussled his hair about his skull. He took his free hand and ran it across the top of his head, just to let his hair be picked back up by the persistent gusts and successfully counter his previous action completely. It was not grown out particularly long, but it was long enough to be blown about as he stood atop the balcony. He looked down the weapon's sights to his target and froze. He knew what he had to come do but he had just hoped that it would not be as severe as he had thought.
His target was a boy, the son of the king of Demacia, making him the prince. But not only was the boy a prince, he was the only son of the king. If Swain executed the boy now, this would leave the king with no remaining heirs. The windows of opportunity on this fact alone were almost countless, and Swain intended to open the window now.
The boy was not even fifteen years of age and was playing in the courtyard, fighting and practicing to be a young Demacian hero, just as every member of his family had been before him. But that was not exactly what forced Swain to paralyze just then; it was another factor. Spirit. The spirit that exploded out of the boy was unlike one he had ever seen before in his life, omit one person, being himself. He could not look at the boy without seeing himself in him. But how and why, he did not know. The fool was born to the blood of Demacia. He would just grow up to serve a dictated country of restrictions and cautions that would bind his spirit in the locks of a force amounting to nothingness. In fact, if he were not of noble blood, he would not stand a chance at amounting to anything but an oversized and highly skilled wretch who sat at the feet of the king and poured out his soul and existence to serve him for no righteous or just reason other than the blood under which he was born.
The thought sickened Jericho so much that he contemplated diverting his mission to taking out the king himself. But no, that was not a possibility due to the fact that the king would be more heavily guarded than the prince, and the prince himself would then afterwards be guarded ten times more effectively. Plus, with a boy serving as king, the whole country would be thrown into turmoil. Swain did not need this, and it would not serve him well at this point in time. No, the correct solution right then was to kill the boy.
Swain unlocked himself from his frozen stature and held the grip of the crossbow so tightly that it could have been presumed to be the wrist of a loved one dangling from the edge of a cliff. He could not help himself, the boy would have such a massive amount of potential in Noxus and deserved a chance to see it through. He could not kill a boy with such drive. That aside, he was just a child; a child who was unprotected and unsuspecting of the attack. It was the opposite of what he deserved.
Swain continued to stare down his weapon's sights with an insurmountable dread. Then he suddenly felt something wet rest on his cheek. He quickly wiped his wrist across his face to rid it of the nuisance, just to let it return a moment later. He repeated the act a few times before he grew annoyed with its reoccurrence. He pressed his finger to his cheek and slowly moved it up across his face until it came in contact with the wet substance. He traced it upwards with the intention of finding its source. He came across his eye and felt his upper eyelid. It had not come from his forehead or anywhere along his cheek. Then it struck him; he was crying. For the first time in his life since infancy, tears rolled down along his face. He was so upset with his situation that he allowed his body to show it externally since his face did not bear any resemblance of a man in struggles. He was not sure what to do as he looked down at his open hand that was beginning to fill with the foreign liquid. He opened up his fingers to allow the small pool of water to sift through the gaps and fall to the floor. He was beginning to doubt his ability to carry out the act.
His vision grew blurry from the tears and his steady grip was loosening. He shook himself violently and readied his aim one last time. Swain heard birds in the distance and the rustling of the multicolored leaves on the quiet autumn afternoon. He felt like an idiot; standing on a hidden balcony in the middle of his rivaling country, carrying a high precision weapon that was loaded with an excruciatingly lethal poison, shaking profusely due to an anxiety attack, and a small puddle of tears forming on the ground beneath his feet. The wind was blowing into him, leaving little need for adjustment. He turned a dial on its side that creaked quietly to inform its wielder that the tension behind the loaded bolt had increased to allow the sights to be accurate with the projected travel distance at a longer range to accommodate for the wind blowing against the bolt. Swain stood perfectly still atop his perch as he prepared to kill. Not a soul saw the man that waited to strike his target like a hawk hovering around a wounded animal and he planned to keep it that way.
"Let there be another way... And forgive me please," he spoke in a raspy voice that fit his appearance quite well. He let out a prolonged sigh and continued forward with his plan. He pulled his finger in tightly to allow the mechanisms to rotate inside of the hextech weapon and propel the lethal ammunition through the air towards his mark, but that particular – and expected – result was not the one that came.
Swain remained still after having fired the shot while feeling very confused. The bolt had not landed in his target, nor did it land anywhere near him. In fact, not a single pedestrian down below seemed to be alerted in the slightest at all. It was very perplexing since the bolt had, in fact, been fired. Swain slowly lowered his head and saw that his crossbow was not in the raised position that he thought it to be in. His arms, and the gun, were lowered to the ground instead. A small bird rested on top of his weapon and stared at him with six red eyes. Swain was not disturbed by its obscure nature; he had seen much worse in his lifetime to be afraid by a mutant bird. The disturbing part of the scene came from the fumes eroding from the ground below him. The putrid stench was worse on the outside than it was on the inside of the vial.
He cracked his neck left and right to try to ease his mind before he pulled out another bolt from his quiver and moved to load his next shot, but the bird would not move. It was a peculiar nature for a bird to not be easily frightened by movement. He rolled his eyes and shooed the bird away. The bird took a few steps backwards along the crossbow but had no intention of leaving its perch; however, Swain did not intend to leave his perch on the balcony until his target was dead.
He shifted his body to try and scare the bird away but was stopped mid action by a horrendous and searing pain that crept all of the way up his leg. Perplexed, Swain looked down at his leg. He saw the cause of his problem: his leg was pinned to the ground by the bolt. He was not sure if he should break down in stress now or continue his mission. The man decided that neither option was pleasurable so he went on his own accord. He snapped off the bolt with a couple quick punches to either side of it, being cautious of the dangers in removing the toxic vial from his body. He turned and limped from the balcony, fully aware that he would not be capable of carrying out his original mission in the state that he was in. The toxins and splintered bolt resided on the balcony for anyone passing by to see, if anyone were to pass by, and he walked back through the abandoned house towards its exit. The unloaded crossbow dangled by his side as he walked and the mysterious bird moved from its perch on his weapon on a new resting spot on his shoulder. He was too desperate for survival to care about the random whims of a demonic looking bird and continued forward towards Noxus. He had a long hike ahead of him, and was unsure as to how he would come across aide.
After some time, the poison seemed to have started to come about its effects. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration as he limped along, but the act was much less effective than he had intended; his hand had taken clumps of hair with it and successfully stripped most of it off of the top of his head. He patted his scalp to find that no more than a few streaks ran along its surface. He sighed in disbelief and continued his trudge for as long as his body would allow it. He fell to the ground when his body had become so overcome by the spreading toxic that his being was unable to persevere. He sat on the ground and stared at his leg, almost unable to comprehend what had happened. As his vision began to give way, he saw the strange bird waddle along and his body until it stood on top of his wounded leg; seeming unaffected by the poison emitting from his fractured appendage. The bird stared straight into his eyes with all six of it's, and nodded. In some sort of desperation and possible intoxication, he nodded back. The bird then dug its beak into the meat of his leg and that was the last thing Swain remembered seeing before he blacked out entirely.
Swain awoke awhile later and saw the bolt no longer stuck in his leg, and the poison seemed to be gone entirely. He could clearly see the bone of his leg protruding out from the side of his flesh, but the leg itself was not bleeding profusely as he would have expected it to. Resting on his chest, with its talons lightly dug into his flesh, the bird from earlier stood, staring eerily into his eyes. Swain got to his feet and the bird flew into the air and took its place upon his shoulder. He did his best to try and look at the creature but it was difficult to cram his neck in the needed angle. He rolled his shoulders quickly and continued to limp his way to Noxus, or a doctor. He was not quite sure what he had just signed onto with his simple nod, nor was he sure what all had happened when he had been unconscious, but he was sure of one thing, he had just sold his soul away to an entity he did not yet know of.
The image began to blur and fade as Talon regained the strength to open his eyes again. He had no idea where the image had come from, but he was certain that it was intended for him, and that it had answered his questions. He knew who Swain was. He knew a weakness, and he knew his plan. If all of this information was true, and destined to be given to Talon, than perhaps Marcus was not in any danger after all. Perhaps he had intended on everything to play out as it did, and perhaps he had wanted to disappear. Regardless, this left Talon with only one path to follow. He got to his feet and grabbed some rations for his trip. He left the manor and saddled up on a horse to return to the southern part of Runeterra, in the desolate wastes and mountainous regions where the world reeked of death and solitude.
A few weeks later, Talon had found the Prince still wandering about and slaying beasts, as he had been when Talon left. His squad was still holding fairly strong in numbers and morale; however, Talon had not expected much less. The man was made to lead, and judging by the vision he had just seen, even Noxians in the military saw him the same way. Talon grinned lightly to himself as he thought about the idea of assassinating him. He figured that it would be a bit more difficult than it seemed, and was glad that he had managed to persuade Katarina otherwise. The man was clearly meant to be alive, and it was not going to be an easy task to take him down.
Talon was quite amazed that he had not been spotted yet, seeing as he continually caught himself being quite lazy about his pursuit. A few times he noticed himself following at dangerously close distances. Had any one of the men decided to turn around, he would have been caught. Once he realized, he would immediately back off; but his mind was wandering so far off that he was scarcely paying attention to where his feet were taking him. His mind was no longer full of the questions thirsting for answers like it had been previously; now it was aloof seeking potential outcomes of his future. The only "question" that sat on his mind at the moment was what Marcus' plan was. Talon knew that the answer would unveil itself in due time, so his mind was left to fill in possibilities itself. Talon never assumed that he would spend his days sitting in a desert and dreaming about the future, and yet there he was.
Days passed without any sort of action or excitement; apart from the game Talon made out of seeing how many rations he could steal, from Jarvan and his crew, without being noticed. The company was slowly making its way eastward across the Shurima desert, continuing to kill whatever beast it came across, until a man walked through. From what Talon could see, he was almost lifeless; he trudged with such heavy footsteps that Talon could see their prints very distinctly from his distance away, his head faced downwards as he walked and a hood partially covered his scraggly hair and dirty face from the beating sun, and his clothes were torn and stained in such a manner that he appeared to be a peasant of some sort. Appearance aside, he walked in such a way that made it seem like he knew where he was going so distinctly that he did not need to even keep his eyes open as he marched.
His strange presence caught the attention of Jarvan's squad as well, and they decided to approach the man. They came up in front of him and he simply walked into the men and pushed them aside to continue his walk. They looked at each other in confusion and decided to cut him off again. This time, they did not budge when he pushed on them. He turned ninety degrees and attempted to walk around them, but they cut him off again.
"Traveler, it is not safe out here," Jarvan announced. "Please make your way back home. There is nothing for an unarmed person to seek." The man finally looked up from his downward gaze and stared into Jarvan's eyes. He cringed slightly at the look bestowed upon the wanderer's face but kept his posture nevertheless. "Are you listening to me at all?" Jarvan asked.
"The Void... It doesss not need to lisssten... It only needsss... Followersss," he replied. Jarvan's – as well as his soldier's –expression did not shift from away from being puzzled; in fact, they seemed even more confused than before.
Talon knew what the Void was; it was a theoretical gap between dimensions, where the nastiest of the most disgusting creatures lay that no single curious mage has managed to travel to and come back from without either being mentally tormented beyond repair or just returning as a mangled corpse. Some people were crazy enough to swear up and down by the power of the Void but not many were willing to listen to the preaching, and less were willing to partake in experimenting with and testing its true strength.
Jarvan's soldiers seemed to be more than willing to allow the insane man to pass through, but they were not going to move until Jarvan made the orders. He looked back at the man and made his decision.
"Perhaps we can accompany you then. You will need more than just some battered clothing and a rusty dagger for protection against the creatures that lay out here," Jarvan said.
"Do as you wisssh... The Void lovesss more company..." the man replied. The soldiers seemed very startled by this comment and began to stir about. Jarvan laughed his noble bellow and turned to follow the strange traveler. This action alone seemed to be enough to persuade his troops that pursuit was safe. Shyvana grinned at the men's reactions. She was not afraid of anything that lay in the deserts of her home; however, she could tell that this was not the case for the soldiers.
For the next few hours, the party followed the hooded man east across the desert. Talon followed at a safe distance, noticing something about the traveler's footprints as he got close enough to inspect them; they were not just heavy footsteps causing their vivid noticeability, they were wet and coated with blood. Talon put the two together instantly to realize that the strange man was not only sulking through the desert in raggedy clothing and a strange dedication to follow his path, but he was bleeding from the soles of the very feet that carried him across the sands. The fact was a tad startling to Talon and he debated himself whether following was a wise idea.
The lands around them were transitioning as they moved in farther. The sands shifted to dirt and the sky lost its color. It was still the middle of the day, but the sun shone red against a grey backdrop. The occasional tufts of grass were no longer sprinkled throughout the ground, and as they marched in further, the entirely flat lands had an irregular burning stick sprouting out of them that resembled cacti in a number of manners; one being their posture and size, the other being that they grew in quantity and frequency as they continued onward, almost like you would see as you approach an oasis in a desert.
The air grew stale and the winds stopped blowing, leaving the sounds of the place to be nothing more than an occasional sickening howl or moan that seemed to have no source. The entire area had a dreadful aura that was, somehow, worse than the Shurima desert. Talon could not imagine where they had gone that would appear to be such a close resemblance to hell itself – without actually leaving Runeterra – so he dug into his pockets and found an old scribbled map he held onto just in case. He located the Shurima desert in the southern region of continent of Valoran, and pressed his finger onto the map. He traced along the paper, to the east, and found a body of land between the Shurima and the Sablestone Mountains that was labeled "Voodoo Lands". He was not sure what they were; but apparently someone did because it was on the map.
"Voodoo Lands..." Talon thought aloud to himself. "I feel like I've heard of it before... Not just on maps though..." He pondered the idea while he continued to follow the group, doing his best to ignore the surrounding area, and keep the thoughts of leaving out of his head.
At long last, the man in the hood came to a halt. His expression did not change at all, nor did his posture; in fact, he had not even bothered to look up. He fell to his knees, almost as if he were giving offering to a nonexistent alter, and a soft crunch of flesh against gravel resonated throughout the empty wastes. A small opening became visible in front of him, resting in the ground like a rabbit's hole. The opening shone out from a dark purple and the most horrid noises could be heard from inside. Some of the men grew restless and a few had begun to back away.
"Stand your ground!" Jarvan declared. The men acted like loyal dogs and erased the fear from their faces. The now kneeling man slumped forward and slipped into the dark portal which then started to rapidly expand in circumference. This time, Jarvan stepped backwards and his units mimicked.
The squad continually stepped backward while Talon sat perfectly still, just on the outskirts of the scene, observing like a hawk. The portal's expansion ceased when it was at least a few hundred feet in diameter. The squad stood fierce and prepared for whatever may come. Slowly, a dark claw emerged from its surface, followed by a puke colored hand and arm. It gripped the ground around it and pulled the rest of its mass out from the unknown. The creature stood around fifty feet in height and even more in length. It stood on four legs; each foot heavily armed with metallic claws. Its head was gargantuan and bore monstrous teeth to boot. Its tail dragged across the ground like a ball on a chain and was clad with just as many spikes as the rest of its body. As it clambered out, the portal shrank behind it, closing out the only exit for the monster.
"AS ONE!" Jarvan shouted to his men. He began to charge at the closest foot with his lance lowered in preparation to skewer. The army charged right behind him, fearless and ruthless. "FOR DEMACIA!" They shouted as they rushed towards their doom. A few of the soldiers, including Jarvan, made it to the beasts foot, but the rest were swept away by the massive spiked tail that tore across the ground as the monster spun about. One less fortunate soldier was on the very outskirts of the charge and got completely cut in half by the bladed appendage. However, the body did not fall limply to the ground as Talon had expected. Instead, the man burst into flames and remained in place. The sight was horrifying and it took Talon all of the energy he had in him to turn his head away. Throughout the fight, this occurrence repeated itself a multitude of times as the soldiers were slain by the horrendous beast. Then it hit him; the burning objects on the way in were not sticks nor trees nor cacti, they were human beings who had fallen in the Voodoo Lands.
Talon's pulse began to race as he realized that not only was his life in tremendous danger by residing in that place, the potential of an eternity of his soul to be trapped and constantly burning was now instated. Talon was nearly paralyzed with fear as he watched the soldiers get picked off by the beast, just to remain locked in place, incinerating. The numbers dwindled down to the point that only Jarvan, Shyvana, and two other soldiers remained standing. The monster was wounded from its clash with the brave warriors, but it was nowhere near the point of falling. It stood upright and roared to the sky before it took its head to the ground in a quick motion to eat the prince alive. Despite the large multitude of bizarre events Talon had experienced over the past few weeks, the strangest one by far happened just then.
At the moment right before the monster's teeth sank into Jarvan's body, a figure appeared beside him. The person was gone so fast that Talon had a hard time believing that it had actually happened. In fact, it was quite plausible that an untrained eye would never have even seen the figure at all. The most that he retained about its appearance was that it had long bluish-purple tinted hair – with some sort of a crown or headdress adorned to the top of it – that streaked down behind a black cloak. The swift movement made the cape wrap around the figure's body, which seemed be shaped more like a woman than a man. If this was actually what he had seen, then there was no doubt that the person, presumably a woman, was quite skilled with the magic arts. The two of them disappeared from vision after the creature's mouth came to a complete close around them. This sight was enough to enrage the half-dragon woman to the point that she shifted into her alternate form. As a mighty dragon, she lunged at the partially wounded beast and fought with a relentless fury burning inside of her. She clawed and mauled the monster until she had no energy left in her. Her massive form slowly reverted itself as she lay down on the ground in exhaustion. The behemoth let out one last roar as it fell to the crusty dirt beside her. Its gashed flesh seeped out a mixture of vile liquids and foreign biomasses as the last of its life began to leave the corpse.
Talon watched in awe as he finally understood the incredible strength that resided in Shyvana. Contrarily, she looked quite peaceful where she lay, despite the massive monstrosity that oozed the last of its life force onto the soil beneath it. The remaining soldiers stood nearby, completely petrified. Talon scanned the scene to see if Jarvan was to make a return or not. In the center of the beast's stomach, a sharp lance protruded from its flesh. The weapon was brought downward and cut an opening in which Jarvan climbed out of. He stood next to the creature, victorious, and marched to where Shyvana was. Talon literally rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"Was he just swallowed whole and survived the incident, or did that strange woman just move him away from danger and replaced him inside of that things stomach?" Talon wondered aloud. He watched as Jarvan picked up the exhausted half-dragon and carried her like a cradled baby. The troops beside Jarvan stared at the beast and the now burning allies in complete disbelief. Jarvan did not say a word as he strode out of the Voodoo Lands with Shyvana in hand. The soldiers followed, but neither seemed too capable of shaking off the horrors they had just experienced with any sort of ease. When Shyvana awoke, she wrapped her arms around Jarvan's neck and embraced him with all the power she had in her, but Jarvan's face remained quite unchanged. A strange site, Talon thought. Then he remembered that he had just done the same thing to a woman in his own life. He stood up and left the Voodoo Lands with only one destination left in his mind; the League of Legends.
Talon opened his eyes as the last important memory faded out of his mind. After the insane events he had seen with Jarvan and his crew, Talon went to the League and got accepted. He never told anyone about what he had seen, nor did he plan too. He was not even certain that he had seen them himself. Since then, Jarvan had returned to civilization and joined the League of Legends as well. Talon also got the chance to see Swain when he joined the League. Talon's quest to find Marcus had not been faltered, nor did he intend on being subsided until he had messed up so dramatically in getting wounded by Garen. He planned to confront Swain the very next day, which was part of why he had gone to find Katarina on that fateful night when he had received his wound. Had Garen's oaf not sliced Talon's back, he could have found Marcus already; or at least known where he was.
Talon lay in the bed, praying that he would be free of his imprisonment soon. He stared at the door to the room, imagining that someone would come by to do something stupid, and perhaps stupid enough to let him out of there.