#fojopen

She was so absorbed into her care for Valor, that she didn’t hear the person approach her. Something she cursed herself for under her breath, it was her job to have eyes and ears as far as she could.

Making his way through the streets of the quiet town, Twisted Fate decided to make his way to the shopping district.  He needed some new boots after the disgusting muck that filled them after trying to get the hell away from Gangplank’s goons.  And...he was looking to find a little more coin to fill his pocket too.

He looked down at his wrist, contemplating whether or not to activate his zero drive to try that one more time, see if maybe the 37th try is the charm.  The sound of footsteps caught his attention before he could though, he looked up, wondering who might be wandering this section of the institute.

Pantheon studied the halls of the institute carefully, eyeing the building from under his dragon-horned helm. He quite liked the new armor The Institute had given him, and wore it rather often while on guard. He would stand watch whenever he wasn't sleeping, eating, or competing in The League. Here he saw champions, summoners and spectators alike, all passing through the halls. His services were rarely needed, though he still did all he could for the place he now called home. Here he stood, watching the passerby pass him by, the flame dancing off his new, eternally-lit spear.

Every door had one slipped under it. Pantheon had made sure of this, as he proofread his original copy, The Summoners having created a hundred and change of them for the Artisan to hand out to all of his fellow champions: an invitation to join him as he traveled to the Freljord, to seek out trainers from the Winter's Claw, to learn from them. The invitation read that he would take anybody who came with him wherever they wanted to go.

"Hello. Always nice to see another practicing so late under the stars." She said coolly, trying to sound pleasant. 

Pantheon walked into the main hallway of the Institute of War, examining his surroundings. The place looked deserted, at least, of any champions, out and about, doing as they would. Summoners paced the halls, this much was true, but it had been a very, very long time since Pantheon had seen a champion walking the hallways as they used to, and as he still did, on occasion. He sat down on  a bench, red eyes burning through the darkness his helmet provided. Soon, though, he would find familiar company joining him.