@si1entmuse; REFUGE : for one muse to shelter the other from enemies.
A well-known noxian's presence within the heart of demacia was always guaranteed to be a precarious situation, always prone to causing some sort of in fighting among those that would resist noxus' influence the strongest. The 'puritans' of their country; pathetic, terrified weaklings, in Darius' eyes. He can respect their drive, however.
His arrival never went unnoticed, as he never made an attempt to hide himself. The amount of demacians already bristling in the wake of the hand of noxus being in their city had him amused— especially since his task here was so incredibly miniscule ( beyond knowing his arrival would create further mind games and fuel for his homeland to utilize ).
There was the necessary handling of foreign affairs with a demacian delegate before Darius was left to his devices. A discreet meeting followed with noxus' implanted forces beyond country walls, before he helped himself to some of the local cuisine. No mind was paid to what was undoubtedly several eyes upon him every second of the way.
Demacia had wonderful baths, but nothing could really compare to the ones back home. Still, he enjoyed the casual, open space layout— live music, gentle conversation, flowing drink and food alike. Such a space was one that notably lacked defenses, leaving most in a position of vulnerability. Most.
Darius had been discussing some idle matters of no great import with an interested benefactor when a small troupe of fully dressed men sidled in. The small amount of patrons and servers alike immediately acknowledged their presence, the atmosphere filled with tension in an instant. Anticipation swelled. Yet Darius did not afford them much beyond a cursory glance.
He scanned the rest of the room instead, absorbing the information of where people and objects were laid out, and where he was in relation. The young maiden with an etwahl mere feet away from his bath edge, his former conversational companion for the evening across the water, wine in hand. Adjacent to the baths being the primary set of windows, tall and grand, stretching from floor to ceiling. Pillars line the room, flanking the outer corners of each bath aesthetically. The troupe of men, clearly not here for a simple soak, began to prowl around the edges of the room, advancing closer to Darius' bath.
Any attempts from the servants to address the group fell on deaf ears, each of them promptly maneuvered around as they advanced closer toward the hand of noxus— who didn't seem at all perturbed, still reclined where he was within the water, arms at the bath's edges, wine in hand.
And when they are finally mere feet away, Darius rises from the water.
He waves his bathmate away, and they are eager to clamber out of the way, scrambling out of the water and rushing to the side. Unfortunately however, the young musician was positioned precariously between the approaching assailants, caught in the crossfire.
Not even a breath passes before the troupe jumps into action, barreling toward Darius in a flurry of roars and fists, the room jumping into a cacophony of gasps and fearful bodies attempting to flee the baths. He snarls, inconvenienced, grabbing the first of the men by the arm mid swing, sending him careening into the water.
He takes that opportunity to fully step out of the bath, getting himself between another man and the musician, the brunt of his attacker's weight shoving into his side with enough momentum to send Darius into the woman's etwahl. One hand catches on the edge to not knock it or the woman over, but he subsequently utilizes it with his free hand as he swiftly avoids another strike, snagging the attacker by the back of the neck and slamming them face first into the etwahl's sharp edge with an audible crack.
Two more bodies join the fray after the second collapses to the ground, forcing Darius to move around the instrument and its player in a tangle of grapples and snarls. One wielder of brass knuckles lands a solid blow across his jaw and into his side, pulling a grunt from Darius. He moves low in retaliation, grabbing the man by the calf and pulling his feet out from underneath him.
The last man standing brandishes a blade, attempting to rush forward, weapon raising high in a wind up strike. Darius grabs the young musician by the arm to pull her out of the charge, and with one foot raising at the knee, sends the flat of his foot directly into the assailant's belly. The impact combined with the momentum forces the man back, knocking the wind out of him and subsequently atop his ally, who had only begun to rise to their feet.
Overall an easy confrontation to handle, given that such puritans were rarely properly trained. But there is power in numbers, and in well timed attacks.
In the wake of the attempt on his life, the bath atmosphere is irreparable, with servants slowly returning from the edges once things are finally quieting down, joined by a set of guards. The assailants shout profanities as they're all taken into custody, and Darius dismisses the offer for a discussion about the attack. He truly couldn't care less.
He wipes the smear of blood from the corner of his mouth, turning his attention to the poor young woman that inadvertently got involved in the confrontation. There's a careful inspection with sharp eyes, before Darius settles, looking somewhat satisfied and less hardened. ❛❛ You didn't flinch. I'm impressed. ❜❜
