after the last of the assemblage leave the hearing room, the might’s expression turns perhaps less sour and a tone colder, the usual persona of aggression having no place among fellow wolves. “at least this bunch did not come to us with demands instead of requests,” he starts, tone low, posture lax over his own seat. "i assume they have finally started to understand how the new system works.”
“Such basic understanding couldn’t come any sooner, lest it start testing my patience.”
Surrounded by an amphitheater of granite-like noxtoraa stone, Swain was never the type for mincing his words. He sat poised as ever in a throne counted as once belonging to Darkwill; now, the will of Noxus. Briefly the lines on his face crossed before they finally relaxed, the General himself sighing.
“Frankly if I were less of a leader, only just so, I would leave these horrible meetings to Faceless instead. Let them cajole these warbands themselves.” But, as he and Darius both knew, Swain refused to leave any mantle to Faceless that he could not uphold on his own. When pressed he would remark that the Trifariax Legion was to be exactly that-- only that between him and the Might, the reasoning ran far deeper.
A spark fluctuated through the General’s phantom limb.
“Nevertheless, at least progress is being made. Demacians do not defend what is not their own. I fully expect them to retreat from the foothills as immediate as when the first scout sees the bricks of a noxtoraa.” To this, Swain threatened a smile. “So much for their gallivanting as knights of nobility.”
One lone raven perched on the edge of a Bastion window. Swain did not look for he already knew.
“I suppose this means that you will be leaving soon to the front, Darius? A good battle is at hand.”