The camera fades in with a close up of a large stone archway looming tall over a cobblestone road. Ominous and angular in it’s architecture the noxtoraa stood tall and mighty. The perfect symbol of Noxus and an imposing reminder to all who passed just who controlled the surrounding countryside. Scratched into the stone at it’s base was another warning, though one meant for a much different audience.
-Property of Kled-
Far in the distance rises the terrible city itself, dark stone towers and wrought iron sconces throwing the fortress into sinister shadows. A truly oppressive aesthetic, something that wasn’t lost on the small, hunched old man who shuffled his way through the streets. He was unremarkable to most, drab, threadbare clothes, a slight limp, the uneasy gait of a man who’s days of glory were well and truly behind him. Every inch of him was plain and boring, save for his eyes, darting from side to side keen and twitchy. He took in every little detail of his surroundings as he came to his destination, a well kept shop. EXOTIC ARTIFACTS AND ARTWORKS sat above the door in proud Noxian script, clean and to the point.
Inside the owner of the shop was just settling in for bed after a good day of sales and a hearty dinner. He too, was an older man, proud and firm in his mannerisms, though his hands shook from time to time. He had just moved to slide into his bed when he suddenly tensed, quickly pulling a short sword from it’s hiding place in the bed frame. He said nothing, but his eyes scanned the room.
“You soldiers are pretty sharp. I’ll give you that at least.”
The noxian jumped, turning his gaze and his blade to the chair he’d been sitting in not ten minutes ago as he ate. Now occupied by a hunched and withered old man who fixed him with a wry smile. “How did y-”
“The great and mighty Noxus.” He continued, cutting the soldier off. “An entire society built off the bloody scraps they ripped out of the hands of better people. The great melting pot indeed.” His smile shifted to a grim sneer. “No more then the scavenging barbarians you grew from. When you find a place you can’t cow or conquer, you steal from them as you run, like petty children.”
“Still your tongue you old coot!” The soldier’s sword struck out, polished edge flashing in the torchlight but finding only the wood of the chair as the old man shifted to the side and struck the blade with his hand in one fluid motion, shattering the steel like ice.
“Pretty fast.” Replied the old man, jumping to the floor with surprising agility, all traces of age gone. “For a human.”
“Fast... for a...?” He stared at the fractured blade of his weapon, unblinking, until the full weight of those words finally hit him. “Yordle!” He hissed, the name spat under his breath like the vilest of curses. He shifted stances, the shattered sword held close, a guard against smaller opponents.
“Oh! Good form.” A loud cracking of knuckles followed as a single grey-furred ear suddenly poked from the old man’s hair, his eyes taking on a soft pink glow. “Ya know I hate that style? Always so frustratin ta fight people who know it.” He produced a match, staring at the man as he struck it on his teeth, flashing a glimpse of a pointed grin. He brought it to his mouth and suddenly, the torch in the room started to sputter and fade, mirroring the match’s flickering light. Pointed teeth shifted to a wide grin as the match was blown out. “Let’s see how ya fight in the dark...”
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