@shadow-assault faltered: He stared at them from a ledge, wondering how long it would take for them to notice him.
WE ARE BOILING - HOT BLOOD, A FRENZY. we are breath, then stillness, then silence. the emptyness of a home is a lot to bear — set it ablaze, collect the souls from the ashes; what was once a gemstone of a city is now shrouded in a film of dust and decay. define; noxus: noxa, to harm and injure, nox, to become darker than night. our chests are walls of fire. the pain says, i own buckets, and i own torches. we still pick the torches.
as the saying goes — every road in the realm leads to noxus prime.
noxus is built in a way that makes it claustrophobic to walk. buildings lie close together, narrow streets and shadowed alleys, and every offense can turn into a defense; roof - tops makes for as good of a passage as the cobblestone below. every ledge, window, flag and pole, can and will be used. a siege is only a siege if the city is sleeping, and noxus never sleeps.
darius has had much time to grow used to the feeling of constantly being watched. in basilich there were moments of reprieve but in noxus there are none. having to constantly watch your back is an instinct that every warm - blooded noxian should know intimately; those who dont will often be found soaked to the bone and left to rot in the gutter. darius learned to embrace this change quickly and pushed the agenda unto draven as well.
it is not odd to hear the sounds of feet slapping against roofs during the dead of night.
“ i’ve had many assassins attempt to aim a knife at my back, ” the axe on his back is a welcome reminder of lethal damage; darius flexes and then clenches a hand in preparation, “ but never near my own abode. ”
an odd place for the trifarian legion’s commander general to reside, but anyone who knows the hand of noxus knows that title and prestige means little, if nothing at all. brutalist as everything noxian is the narrow street lies near the stairway to where, mortoraa, the more wealthy inhabitants of noxian prime resides, and at the end of the path rests a iron locked door. the structure of the surrounding walls are made of noxian granite, a familiar grey with nothing extravagant about it, and along the outer walls blood red banners, some emblazoned with the noxian crest, are placed in orderly clusters. looking at everything around the area reveals nothing special about the home — the same as everything else if one looks past the small, partially hidden, placard near the door ingraved with darius’ name.
“ either you’re cocky, or incredibly foolish. ”
darius speaks but he is listening. assassinations pride themselves at being little more than mortal shadows but even assassins are human, and humans make mistakes. darius did not get to where he is only by sheer physical prowess ( every noxian must strive to reach every given ideal — vision, might, and guile ) and to assume so is not only an insult but also a death wish.
a breeze causes bumps to gather on darius’ arms. a stray pebble falls from above.
“ i will assume you are the latter of the two. ”
talon du couteau might be immune to many things but darius’ glare is scathing.
