#inumbro

look just because i abandoned the dash and the kinkou doesn’t mean u can call me out like this aksjdjak

The Order of Shadows might have been infamous, but at least their leader seemed reasonable. To a point. Somewhat. Considering the situation.

                Soraka runs her fingers along the underside of the brown, crinkled leaves of the potted plant she had recently moved to fresh soil. The buds of the flowers had grown pale and the edges of the wrapped petals were lined in a murky brown, too, and perhaps most would think it a hopeless affair to continue nurturing a plant that seemed so close to death but Soraka was not one to lose hope. If she lifted the leaves, she could still see that the base of the plant was green, and that was enough incentive for her. 

                She could feel him, too. It was hard not to. The air clung to him like a cloak draped around his body, the atmosphere that followed him was thick enough to swallow, it was like the shadows followed the earth he walked over. She could feel it in the air, in the earth beneath her, how it shook softly as something so distinctly unlike this world took refuge in the body of a mortal and swam in his blood like tar. Soraka does not move where she stands, though. She knew well enough never to run from something like him. Fear was not the answer for him, but there was little in the comos that could strike fear in the heart of a divine who had seen everything and saw the future, anyway. 

                She was pouring water into the potted plant when she heard Zed push the screen door aside, closing it just as softly behind him. The air around him is still this time, as if the eruption of his fury from the first time he sought her out had cooled over to form a new layer of molten stone. Thunder rumbled outside, and the only light that poured through her open window was that of the moon. Soraka does not turn to face him because she had forseen this, too ( nightfall always comes back to swallow the earth, the same as he ). 

“Are you hoping to stab me in the back?”

    “If I did, you would be incapable of drawing further breath.”

    Perhaps the breeze gave Zed’s presence away. “There have been reports of a certain figure having been seen in the company of a few prominent names within Ionia. I cannot claim to approve of either. Consequently, I make it my business to know who their allies are, where they stand, and whether those allies are to become my enemy.”

    His eyes narrow, and he takes a wary step closer, poised to strike if the situation calls for it. This woman is dangerous; there is no telling what might happen. “Who are you? What do you hope to accomplish here?”

“Hm. Such a proud one, aren’t you?” the ranger replies, turning only enough to reveal her nose from her hood. 

Valor, in fact, had given him away. There were enough birds singing and animals providing motion to the forest that his voice had blended in with the rest of the birds. It gave her just enough warning. “Would it have truly turned out that way, ninja? Do you know who I am?”

    They stand at the edges of a trading post within Noxian-held territory. Both of them stand mostly-hidden in the shadows of a tree, unassuming enough that no one who happens to glance over does so twice. Zed has swapped out his usual armour for something more discreet, although his face is veiled as always.

    Ezreal has not earned the right to see Zed for the exhausted, stressed, and entirely dull human that he is.

    From here, they can see the hustle and bustle of ex-Ionians, Noxian militia, and even one or two traitorous Vastaya purchasing food, weapons, making secret deals where the crowds hide the vile offers they make–

    And there, in the distance, what appears to be a Noxian general standing at the base of several ships docked at their coastline. He speaks with a ship captain wearing a distinctly Ionian garb, though Zed cannot make out her features from here to be sure.

    The sight makes him want to single-handedly take out this outpost, but if such a thing was possible, he would have done so already. No, unfortunately, the Noxians posted here are strong, as determined to conquer and pillage and destroy as any straight from the capital. He will have to rely on slowly gathering information and infiltrating with the aid of spies.

    “It sickens me.” All the rage Zed has ever harboured towards Ezreal is gone in this moment, disappearing under the overwhelming despair he feels when seeing how the Noxians still, still have a foothold in a nation that should be stronger than them. “They do not kill because they feel we deserve it. They did not attack us in self-defense. They commit utter atrocities in the name of suppressing a people who just want to survive. Our beliefs do not align with theirs, but we have never tried to harm them for it. They don’t work towards any greater good, they just want victory for victory’s sake. We deserve better.”

⋆ — It’s something he’s seen often enough before, especially in Shurima. A distinctly un-Noxian landscape (though, really, is any trait Noxian when they continue to invade further from their natural flora and fauna?) decorated with Noxian flags, Noxian merchants and soldiers, and locals who have grown rich and fat through trade. There are others, too, who sought fortune and failed and now slip between the cracks. Those are the ones with the stories, Ezreal things.”

      "There are Noxian ports like this in Piltover, too. Not as big, and supposedly it's just for peaceful trade, but I always wonder about them.” It might be the only point of relation between the two men, but Ezreal feels that frustration too. He glances over (and up) at Zed, but of course he gives nothing away. Strong, immovable, impenetrable ... 

     Ezreal decides to focus instead on the tone of his voice when they’d spoken in his office so many months ago, when he’d caught Zed with his metaphorical pants down (the literal image in his mind is extremely satisfying, by the way).

     There are many things about Zed that Ezreal thinks he will never truly understand, but fear for his homeland? A desire to protect something as precious as culture? He feels that to his core. 

⋆ — The corner of Ezreal’s eye twitches. That’s a pretty rude way to ask for Ezreal’s (very in-demand, by the way) spying-slash-research abilities. He’d been showing Zed something in his notebook—and maybe he’d gone on a bit of an archaeological tangent—that was definitely useful. It’s all useful. Maybe he should take his information that some people would pay highly for and sell it to someone who appreciates it? The elders?