#innoxus

“You’re the one whose been killing my men.”

The Hand of Noxus confronted the source of the slaughter. A company had been sent roughly around the mountain, their prerogative had not been to assault Targon or its people, but to reposition themselves for the front. Instead, they lost contact with the group and discovered their remains. Further investigation into the matter lead to jarring information; a single enigmatic warrior of the mountain was the cause. The why remained to be seen. Rather than create a repeat, Darius choose to confront the problem himself.

He held half a foot on Darius in height but both held a similar build. However this mighty warrior of the mountain held a feeling about them that Darius could only describe as not of this world. Where it would have daunted others, Darius’ was Noxus’ Hand.

Nothing would daunt him. Not even an Aspect.

“Give me an explanation.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” The Hand of Noxus’ gaze fell towards the Card Master. He had been waiting for him as he rounded the corner, escaping from the common room of an inn into a hall. There was no such thing as a chance encounter with Fate, so he had been told.

Darius attention had been brought to Bildgewater, along its peer. Here the only suggestion of who he might be was the axe he carried and his size, everything else had been toned down for the sake of subtly. Subtly was not his specialty but in a foreign land he could afford it. It was the smell of the docks no far from here, the scent of the sea and a wharf rat infestation that had drove him to detour here.

Fate knew Darius was looking for something… or rather someone. At least that was Darius’ assumption.

He eased himself in to the room; the creaking hinges announced the beginning of their conversation. The heavy door swung shut.

“Good afternoon. Sit down, you were expected. Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”  The voice was gravelly and dry, stemming from within the throat.

It was an appointed but enclosed room well-lit by dancing candle light. A single round table stood vigilant in its center; it held two chairs where it could have held more, one was occupied. The floor was of black polished stone tile and wall of a dark red mahogany. A pair of replica short swords hung on the wall opposite of him. A set of three paintings of varying sized Noxian landscape framed in dull golden hung in silence to his right.

“Then you know why I’m here.”

“Of course.”  The seated gestured across, to the seat vacant.

Darius pulled the ashen chair out, the legs dragging against the floor clumsily before he placed himself within it. His gaze burrowed into his host who drank deep from a ceramic cup in the hush of the room. It was finally broken by sound of teacup scraping against saucer.

“What happened?” Darius arms came to rest upon the table; he sat almost hunched over as though to stare at eye level.  The other sat upright with hands in lap and a leg crossed over the other. Without hesitation met the interrogative stare.

“There was a change in plans.”

“Clarify.” Darius almost demanded.

“Did I stutter? The Grand General receives whatever he wishes. The invasion of the Southern provinces of Galrin, Navori, and Shon-Xan were accomplished. The Grand General proposed subjugating the entirety of the country and we agreed. It was anticipated to be manageable but it proved to be anything but.”

“But why invade to begin with?”

“The Grand General receives whatever he wishes. The High Command found his proposal…compelling.” His tone was as dead as when he explained.

“Do you expect me to gobble this shit up and be on my way?” Darius scoffed.

“No. But you knew this was going to be the answer. Are you looking for something more specific, about why you pissed away almost half a decade on foreign island?”

Darius hands found the edges of the table as he rose; the contents upon it trembled from the sudden force.

“Why agree to this bullshit to begin with Marcus?” The jab stoked his fury.

The man across from him starred with inured hazel orbs. Short and faded red hair transitioned into a well kempt full beard. A jagged discolored line ran near his cheek bone while other sharp discolorations were here and there upon his face.

“Sit down.” Marcus calmly demanded, more annoyed than angry.

Darius face twisted with contempt but he obeyed.

“You are the Grand General’s Hand. You knew damn well how long this campaign would live before it ran itself into the ground.”

“I don’t need to explain my reasoning to you. You wouldn’t grasp it.” The General Hand was dismissive.

“Where in the hell were you during this all, sitting on your ass like every other general who could afford to do so while I got sent under minimum threat of having everything I’ve ever worked for stripped from me, all so I could guard supply lines on that dinky island nation.” Darius barked, his voice rose with a self-righteous anger fueling it. Marcus made no move to stop his rant, though his face grew stern.

“A war that went nowhere that cost us one of our biggest allies in trade. And the front of Demacia too! How many resources, how many men? The poster child of Noxus is among the dead. Open your eyes and look at how many of those who have returned from the front are functioning. How are they being treated Marcus! All for greed!”

“Are you finished?” Marcus’ eyes keened. Any indifference had since fled from his face.

“What would it have taken for you to have lifted a finger? For your daughter to have been caught among friendly fire?”

“Continue in this direction and the only thing you’ll have accomplished is the spilling of you and your brother’s insides. Do not pull my family into this discussion again.”

“You didn’t have the balls to challenge Darkwill. You’ll fare poorer against me.”  

“I was not in a position to oppose after the decision was made. I’d rather be in a position that would allow me to clean up after this mess for Noxus’ sake than have hurt the war effort. And like you, I had other priorities!” Marcus’ hand danced across the notches of his weapon.

The silence roared.

He eased himself in to the room; the creaking hinges announced the beginning of their conversation. The door swung to a shut.

“Good afternoon. Sit down, you were expected. Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

It was a small candlelit room. A single round table sat in the center of the room and held two chairs, one was occupied. The floor was of black polished stone tile and wall of a dark wood. A pair of replica short swords hung on the wall opposite of him. A set of three small paintings of Noxian landscape hung in silence to his right.

“Then you know why I’m here.”

“Of course.”  He gestured across from him.

Darius pulled the ashen colored chair out and placed himself within it, his optics burrowed into the man who drank deep from a ceramic cup before him in the silence that followed. It was finally broken by sound of teacup scraping against saucer as it was set dead center upon it.

“What happened?” Darius arms came to rest upon the table; he sat almost hunched over as though to stare at eye level.  The other sat upright with hands in lap and a leg crossed over the other and without hesitation met Darius’ eyes.

“There was a change in plans.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter? The Grand General receives whatever he wishes. The invasion of the Southern provinces of Galrin, Navori, and Shon-Xan were accomplished. The Grand General proposed subjugating the entirety of the country and we agreed. It was anticipated to be manageable but it proved to be anything but.”

“But why invade to begin with?”

“The Grand General receives whatever he wishes. The High Command found his proposal…compelling.”

“What are you expecting me to do here? Eat this up and be on my way?”

“No. But you knew this was going to be the answer. What are you hoping to accomplish by asking me? Are you looking for something more detailed, about why you wasted almost half a decade of your life?”

His hands found the edges of the table as he rose; the contents upon it shifted and trembled from the sudden force.

“Why agree to this bullshit to begin with Marcus?”

The man across from him starred with inured hazel orbs. Short and faded red hair transitioned into a well kempt full beard. A jagged discolored line ran near his cheek bone while other sharp discolorations were here and there upon his face.

“Sit down.”

Darius face twisted with contempt but he obeyed.

“You are the Grand General’s Hand. You knew damn well how long this campaign was going to run before it ran itself into the ground.”

“I don’t need to explain my reasoning to you. You wouldn’t grasp it.”

Darius barked, his voice rose with a self-righteous anger fueling it.

“Where in the hell were you during this all, sitting on your ass like every other general who could afford to do so while I got sent under minimum threat of having everything I’ve ever worked for stripped from me, all so I could guard supply lines on that dinky island nation.” Marcus made no move to stop his rant, though his face grew stern.

“A war that went nowhere that cost us one of our biggest allies in trade. The front with Demacia. How many resources, how many men? The poster child of Noxus is among the dead. Open your eyes and look at how many of those who have returned from the front are functioning. How are they being treated Marcus! All for greed!”

“Are you finished?” Marcus’ eyes keened. Any amusement or indifference had since fled from his face.

“What would it have taken for you to have lifted a finger? For your daughter to have been caught among friendly fire?”

“Bring my family into this again and I’ll spill you and your brother’s insides and leave you where you for the rats.”

“You didn’t have the balls to challenge Darkwill. You’ll fare poorer against me.”  

“I was not in a position to oppose after the decision was made. I’d rather be in a position that would allow me to clean up after this mess for Noxus’ sake than have hurt the war effort. And like you, I have other priorities!” His hand danced across the notches of his weapon.

The silence was loud.

Cornered. And physically apprehended by the Hand of Noxus. Forced upon the floor, foot upon the back of their neck and the tip of an axe pressing into their back.

“I think that the unsuccessful spy is leagues worse than a successful spy. However, you caught me in an unusually generous mood. Where are the rest of the rats? Speak and if I’m satisfied with your answer I may allow you to face trial.”

More of holding Noxian communications and supply lines down in order to keep what passed for a war going. Caught between the middle of two points, the threat of attack remained constant. A near daily basis of hit and run attacks, they were smart to flee quickly and not over stay their welcome. Kill one and two more replace them. The days that lacked bloodshed was often wrought with tension; a strain of days without it put his men on edge. Morale was low. Each day brought the same disappointment, one more day of this.

Monotony.

Another report. It was thicker this time. He knew exactly where it was. It had been like this in the early stages of the invasion. When the Ionians had begun retaliating in force. His mind flashed back to the sight of the emergency flare in the distance. He didn’t break his eyes from the vanilla folder.

“Dismissed.”

The messenger left. He was left to himself again. The orders were what he had grown to expect. Their priorities remained the same but the area they would increase their patrol changed. The only difference was now the men would do their expectations with a little more tiredness, a little more emptiness and a little more hatred. None dared complain but they all thought the same. The thick section grew near.

Casualties.

Calloused fingers gripped the corner with hesitation. The Hand of Noxus steeled himself. The page turned. A list composed of the name, serial number, rank, wound, date received and location of service were included; organized by troop and company.  At a glance the list was near one hundred long. He paled, the edges of the paper wrinkled. A sea of K.I.A. He searched for the name.

█████████, Riven 20462590 Captain   K.I.A.  3-20-8  Shon-Xan

The Lieutenant General stopped reading and dropped the documents upon the wooden table. The sound of wood breaking could be heard after followed the sharp impact of something striking a wall. His frustration had spilled over, Darius lashed out at the nearest things near him. A solider rushed into the room to aid Darius, only to be seized and manhandled by the same superior he intended to help. He pinned him to the wall.

“This is bull shit!”

The soldier he held in hands was meek, a young pup of the military barely into his twenties. He knew of Darius by reputation and did not know the man other than his deeds and that he was his superior. He trembled, terror stricken across his face. Darius released him.

“Get out!”

He scurried. Darius had since learned that using force upon your own men only worked sometimes and often hurt more than helped. He turned his attention back upon the table and crushed it with all the aggression he showed upon the Demacian front. It did little to assuage his rage. His breaths grew heavy. The report lay scattered at his feet; the document taunted him in silence. It only now just occurred to him that everyone under his command had heard his outburst. He found the page he had been looking at and her name once more.

Killed In Action.

He knelt and reorganized what he’d disarrayed. What had happened? Fury Company was out of the way? How did they lose the Poster Child of Noxus to this war? Why did Fury Company become just another company lost the casualty list of this grueling and tedious “campaign”? When held the document, he dug for his answer.

Friendly Fire.

It was the last straw among much frustration with this campaign. Casualties were expected but there was no gain. The war was an uphill battle that amounted to throwing wave after wave of soldier until a location fell. The individuals they were killing weren’t trained soldiers. The poster child of Noxus was gone. Morale was going to plummet once word spread.

Darius prayed for a distraction. Anything to take his mind off the cluster-fuck before him.

A muffled thunk announced the connection of her fist against his face. The Hand of Noxus tensed, his neck twisted and cheek and face soon after were guided by the follow through of her hard motion. He stumbled two steps back, but recovered swiftly though he hunched over a little as though to stare at face level. His cheek was red from the impact. His lips puckered at the sensation of pain and the taste of copper in his mouth.

“Struck a nerve?” He spat, sanguine coloring the saliva and rose to his full height. He could have walked away now and that would have been that.

“Okay Shyvana.” He bothered to address her by name. No derogatory terms. No insult. “I’ll play with you.”