An unnatural gloom hung heavy over the city of Noxus, a silence that dared even the city’s crows to utter their raspy calls. Crossing the far Ironspikes, Anivia had thought it little more than the grim reflection of the city’s twisted spire through the glassy river delta. Descending from her icy home, the truth was slow to dawn upon her: mountain pines slowly gave way to highland aspens, with bare oaks soon to follow. Far below her, the earth lie in a sickly dormancy, sprouts wilting under the weight of their own leaves, while the green buds of leaves crumbling under the thin sheen of frost. Winter yet held these spingtime lands in thrall.
Never before had the Cryophoenix laid eyes on the city’s facade. Shrouded in the darkness of the setting sun, the the unblinking eyes of the human dead stared ever toward the east, awaiting the inevitability of war. Anivia shook her head at the relic of Runeterra’s bitter past, wondering how deeply ingrained the citizen’s minds. Could any find rest under the constant reminder of pain and strife? Her heart sank as she recalled the satchel gripped tightly in a talon. She herself was little more than harbinger of more evil tidings for these people.
She descended quietly, not keen to disturb the quieting buzz of the city. Her business here was with the Grandgeneral alone, and with any luck, they need never know of her visit. There were few places the Master Tactician might choose to call his own. While Swain himself might be a subtle man, the Noxian architecture was nothing if not conspicuous. She set her sights upon the uppermost balcony of the Spire, its grand view encompassing the whole city. No idle eyes could gaze upon these upper reaches of the city, seeing all, seen by few. Even if the crippled man avoided the highest reaches of his city, he would no doubt see the value of the location.
Be it by magical ward or watchful sentry, Anivia had no doubt that her presence would be noted. She lighted the even panels of the rooftop balcony gently, wondering which might arrive first: the guards, or the leader himself. She threw a gust of wind at the balcony doors, an icy rune growing through its face. She would be content to wait upon this twilight roost whilst Noxus formulated its response, watching the markets close and people retire to their homes. No doubt that little peace of mind would be valuable as she faced the Master Tactician.
// I initially wrote this as part of a world plot continuation for a Grand-General who's circumstances lead him down a different writing path. I'm working on Part Two from Darius's point of view as per the character prompts, and will try to see how many others might fit into the same arc. I'll see how much I can roll back and forth on this while the inspiration is there, but if there's anyone who might want to make this interactive (or work on any other kind of project), please don't hesitate to contact me. I'd love to write with you guys so long as you're aware how godawful slow I am at it.
