@bladesdanced liked for a starter — Fiora
Fiora had been warned before making the trip to Ionia that there would be a certain culture shock she would experience. Well. In all fairness, she had been strongly advised to not go to Ionia. The trip was long, arduous, and it seems people—her own brothers, to add insult to injury—had doubts about her ability to deal with life outside of Demacia City. This was, however, not a challenge the brunette was unwilling to take. Especially if it meant proving Ammdar wrong.
The idea had been simple: One of her younger brothers had been working on opening up trade routes between Ionia and Demacia, but had found himself too unwell to make the first trip, and Fiora had decided to step up. This was an adventure—The likes of which she had never lived or seen in Demacia. Back home, dragons were slayed. Here, they seemed to live with people in at least a semblance of perfect harmony, in bountiful islands and beautiful sceneries. She could see why her younger brother—Alarick—had wanted to travel there, for all its endless possibilities. Though the trade route might have needed some improvements, the elation of being outside the borders of her kingdom and excitement at this new type of challenge she had yet to face—not just diplomacy, but trade—was enough to brush off the physical tiredness of the journey. Fiora was cognizant, of course, that as much as she was here as a representant of House Laurent’s trade ambitions, she was also a representant of her king. As much as Demacia had opposed Noxus’ imperialistic goals, they had still failed Ionia, and this was something any Demacian stepping into Ionia would need to acknowledge and carry with them, herself included. International relations were a complicated thing—however less so when, saying she was looking for someone in charge, someone who might know who Alarick was supposed to meet, she came face to face with a woman which looked a few years younger than her—Perhaps close to Alarick’s age, even. “Good day! I am Lady Fiora of House Laurent.” Of Demacia City remained unspoken, in all of Fiora’s self-assuredness that she had at least some renown. “I believe you were expecting my brother, Alarick? Or, well. Someone was expecting him. He gave me this letter, and not much else. Organisation was never his forte.”
