Abandoned villages were the easiest place to camp out at when the weather threatened extremes; by being beneath the shelter of an empty hut with a crackling fire, Riven was ready to avoid whatever the summer storm might bring. 

Of course, the storm had not yet come. This leaves the Exile to pass her time with her cloak & needle, practiced fingers sewing up some of the frayed edge so that it might serve her better for upcoming travel. For the longest time - what felt like  hours after the initial crackle of thunder - there is only the sound of the fire & the occasional shifting of her body as she carries on.

Then, footsteps.

Dirt gets kicked up as they ( person? animal? ) near her hut. Setting down her cloak, Riven reaches for her blade, grip familiar in practiced hand as she emerges outside. 

What faces her - a man with the glower of something strangely divine - stirs a strange feeling in her heart that they’ve crossed paths before.

-- It, also, found the strange darkness in this archer strange, although it was certainly not unknown. Fleshlings did so adore finding strange and dangerous things and locking them up in boxes to be opened later. Oh, they always said they wouldn’t, but what are words, really, when they came from the mouth of fleshlings? 

IT’S A START. | ACCEPTING

For a moment there is quiet save for the slick preening of the corruption that wound in Varus from head to toe. It bubbles and flexes, pulsing with veins the Demon knows don’t belong to him.

Jhin is up and a ways, careful in his posture though not at all rigid. He figures that if Varus came to slay him for whatever reason he thought right, he wouldn’t efface it with words. He would’ve picked his arrow and thocked it.

“There is a common piece between us, Archer.”

His head turns.

“You run with the Hunters.”

There is an imprint of a smile on the darkness of his cowl.

POSITIVITY.

@dragonfist

Jaaaan. Been a solid, like, two months since I super gushed at you. I mean, I try to whenever I see your writing, but I know for a fact I’ve been slacking on that recently, so— two months. I think. That’s when my inbox says the asks from the last round of positivity are from.

That’s all totally beside the point though, whoops.

     “What are you doing now, Varus?”

     Pallas was hungry. Pallas guided his hand, that ever-raging agent of destruction. And Pallas was not satisfied, even as the blighted arrows sunk into the flesh of two men. Noxian deserters, by the look of the tattoos on their arms.

     Dead before they hit the ground. It doesn’t stop Irelia from rushing to the bodies, her gaze transfixed on death as it manifests in front of her again, the abyss opening the maw of oblivion from those lifeless eyes.

     The blades vibrate wildly, absorbing the anger propelled from Varus’ bowstring in those two shots. Irelia can feel it too, encompassing her disposition to never take lives in times of peace if it can be prevented.

     But they destroyed his home. Our home. They deserve this justice.

     We are no longer at war! Irelia fights her conscience. There’s no more reason to fight.

     Irelia closes her eyes, whispering a silent invocation to Reikara, the goddess of the land. Then she turns towards Varus, blades a whirling flurry of strain and agitation.

     Fate is having a rather good day. He has finished a heist, submitted the booty to the buyer, and has walked away with his fair price -- and, surprisingly, the one that the pair had agreed on beforehand. This is a pleasant rarity, and one Fate savors as he makes his way down a not-so-traveled path. 

     Now, Fate would say he is not the most squeamish fellow in the world, but when he trips over a limp, dead limb, he thinks it’s fair to say that his stomach dropped a bit -- along with his mood. He catches his balance and his hat before taking a nervous survey around him. He had been so proud he had not had to Gate out of anyplace today, too. 

Sona’s hands stopped and pressed down on her strings, silencing them abruptly. Something was wrong. A sudden dissonance had entered her space, set against the aura of harmony that had surrounded her while playing. Twisting and terrible... like writhing maggots. No no... it was just her imagination. She was sure. But it was something awful all the same.

Her golden eyes faded back to blue as the mana dispersed from them, scanning her immediate surroundings for the source of the disturbance. It didn’t take long. He was hard to miss. A pale looking man was there between the trees with a striking swath of red around his neck. And... something was wrong with the rest of him. At first she thought he was naked, and that would have been enough cause for alarm. But upon squinting through the shade the truth was much stranger. Some sort of... blight? Like fire, but not fire, like tendrils, but not tendrils. Sona had no way to know what she was looking at.

The only thing she could think was that a demon had approached her in the guise of a man, and that was more than enough cause for alarm.