Talon: Crimson Elite – 2

23 Jun

Talon wasn’t surprised about the news he had just received. In fact, he would have been slightly disappointed had the bar fight gone differently. None of this, however, would stop him from punishing failures. The soldier that had survived the bar fight with Riven fell to his knees, frantically clutching his throat. Blood gushed around his pathetically clawing hands, but nothing short of the Starchild’s wish would save him now. Despite the sickening squelching noise his former comrade was making, Talon’s face was passive, slightly hidden in the shadows of the fire. His mind was going over hundreds of scenario’s, trying to divine the best course of action. He was standing in a meeting hall that had been serving as his base of operation, with a long rectangular table filling the middle of the room, the fire crackling merrily behind the chair at the end.

The assassin was debating to himself what his next move should be, knowing full well that his cause would be strengthened with Riven joining his ranks. The Crimson Elite’s emblem was hanging from a banner above the fireplace and lent an almost cozy air to the otherwise sparsely populated room. Talon paced the halls, recalling the time he had spent so recently shadowing the young warrior. She hadn’t seen him on the cargo ship she’d stowed away on, headed back to the main continent, hadn’t been looking for anyone following. He attributed this to witnessing the death of her entire squad at the hands of her own country’s orders. It had been a decisive victory, yet Riven had an almost Demacian sense of justice and honor, somewhat contradictory to her Noxian upbringing. She hadn’t been able to bear the fact that she was an accomplice in such an extreme action (even though she hadn’t been complicit). Talon, in his dark cloak that seemed the exact color of the night, had observed her brooding for three days before deciding how best to make his move.

Talon spotted Riven hanging over the edge of the boat, watching the waves go by. The voyage was a mere ten miles from shore, when he decided to approach her. “Commander Riven, though you don’t know me, I have watched your exploits from afar. I am very impressed with what I have seen.” Though she jumped slightly upon hearing him speak, she quickly recovered and began to eye him warily. As soon as she realized she was not alone, her hand had never strayed more than an inch from her large, completed runic blade. “I know what you have just been through,” Talon continued, undaunted by the lack of response, “and I think that is exactly what’s wrong with this country of ours. We fight amongst each other, completely ignoring the outside threats we have all around us, Demacia, Freljord, Ionia.” At this, Riven looked incensed and said heatedly, “You know nothing of these cultures, and neither do I. I don’t even know what to think about our home anymore, given the events of the past few days.” She paused, narrowed her eyes into slits, and hissed through clenched teeth, “and you assume too much, Blade’s Shadow. I know you well. You’re Du Couteau’s lap dog, and I will not be eliminated so easily.”

With a lightning quick movement, she grabbed a double-handed grip on her sword and swung upwards at Talon. Caught slightly by surprise, he dodged backwards somewhat clumsily and was forced to kick himself off the wall. He decided in mid air to use this to his advantage and lunged at her jugular with his hidden wrist blade. Her face betrayed her shock for only a second before she began to duck and tumble backwards, catching talon across the middle with her heel. She flung him over her head, hopeful that he would fly over the rails into the deadly ocean. Deftly, Talon had managed to grab the ledge and swing himself back up, a snap kick catching her square in the thigh as she stood up. She yelled in anguish and jerked her sword at the Noxian assassin, who danced back out of range. With her leg injured like it was, she must have seen that escape was her best option and she looked over the edge and flung herself into the churning waters below. Despite this apparent defeat, the Blade’s Shadow was even more determined to bring this talented warrior into his midst, and he stared at the wake caused by the boat for several minutes more, hoping for some sign of the wayward exile.

Talon’s recollections were stopped by a seductive, playful voice coming to him from across the hall. He looked up and recognized Cassiopeia, the Medusa-like creature, slithering towards him. The hideous, yet somehow still alluring, daughter of Du Couteau asked mockingly, “What should we do now, Little Brother?” Her high pitchedd cackle echoed around the hall. He knew she only called him Little Brother to gall him, as many considered him to be Du Couteau’s ward. “Well, scourge of men, we’ll need a few more recruits before we’ll be able to start our little revolution, and Riven would be a prize catch. Let’s see if we can’t coax her into joining our cause. I’ll need time to form a plan.” Privately, he thought, ‘she’s a stubborn girl, if she had only let me finish speaking with her, she’d realize that we share a common goal. No matter, I will convince her soon enough.’

With that, Talon stalked out of the room leaving Cassiopeia the delight of disposing of the soldier’s rapidly cooling corpse.


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