â â And then thereâs Ezreal, surrounded by howling Noxians and trying desperately not to dig his nails into the wooden bench any more than they already are. The âshow,â as it is, has barely even started, and he can already feel that deep pit of horror that so often accompanies Noxian displays of brutality. Itâs not that Ezreal is unacquainted with deathâhe deals with it probably more often and professionally than most of the populationâbut the whole process of getting dead has always been ⊠unattractive.
  Especially like this, where the soon-to-be-dead screams and runs and stumbles and drags himself up again, and instead of evoking sympathy or disgust from the crowd, they only grow more excited.
  Itâs nauseating. Actually, he really does feel nauseous. Archaeology has taught him to respect other cultures, so Ezreal will do his best to watch (read: watch the side of the arena, where he can see the blurry shapes of the people in the ring and not much else) and understand the ⊠whatever is going on here. Did they say this guy was a criminal, or just a coward? Itâs hard to tell where the line is when it comes to Noxians.
  Heâs just trying to ground himself with the wood under his nails and focusing on not losing his lunch when a surging roar from the crowd coaxes his eyes to flit involuntarily back to the action, just in time to see an ax hit its target in a way that might have been a graze in any other situation. Based on the way the man staggers an howls, Ezreal rather suspects that it was a calculated move on the executionerâs part rather than a lucky dodge by the victim. In stark contrast to the howling crowd, he sways a little in his seat.
Back to Draven who was hurtling towards his victim, snatching the axe out of thin air as it whirled back towards him. Of course he had missed intentionally- landing a hit like that was too soon to end something this important. Knowing that he had someone in the crowd to make an impression on spurred him forward, keeping him interested in continuing the chase. But all the same, he was the predator on display, and he knew that his viewers demanded blood.
His next shot hit, and the axe spiraled through the air and landed with a sickening thud in the manâs back as he tried to scramble away, barely keeping his footing. The axe whirled back to Draven and he caught it expertly once more, the blood getting a rise out of the thirsty crowd. Howling for more, they were perpetually unsatisfied, and Draven meant to give them what they wanted.
Slowing his run to a jaunty sort of gait, Draven shot his arms in the air to call for more cheers, his axes still spinning in his hand in blurs of silver. He hovered over his victim, who was writhing on the floor, screaming and howling in pain. Draven raised his axe with a dramatic flair, and then brought it crashing down.
