#warwicks

[vulpesse-arc]

HAS CURIOSITY EVER KILLED THE FOX  ?  Uncertain is the response to such query and the Vastaya is certainly not interested in finding out  ;  FOREVER A SLAVE TO HER OWN FERAL EMOTIONS, she consciously saunters ‘pon these dangerous grounds solely in pursuance of satisfying and thus quenching the unholy hunger that cruelly howls from the depths of her wilted soul  (  hunger for what has remained unspoken, hunger for what still eludes the grasp of her clawed fingers, hunger hunger hunger  !  )  . A decent distance between their silhouettes is then carefully maintained and although the language of her body speaks of millenary confidence and of mischievous curiosity, the expressionism that settles ‘pon the pale features of her visage is one currently barren of malice  ;  SHE SMILES, twitches the hound-like audits above her skull and sways her fur-coated appendages to-&-fro with valiant leisure.   ❝  Oh my, what a cute puppy I have here  !  ❞

STARTER CALL !    ♡   @warwicks​​ .

[lightshielded]

warwicks replied: pwease

a demacian set of twins is know for a great battle against freljordian raidors in the seas by the demacian city of dawnhold. the sister for beating the leader to death with an oar while close to death herself and the brother for burning down the source freljordian city.

[defensator1]

hey nerd >:)

@warwicks

squints, as if trying to make sure this isn’t a hallucination.

“…how in the damned grey did you even get into my workshop?”

[noxianhand-archive]

" Want something to chase you? Run. "

richard siken, war of foxes | @warwickssort of accepting. 

his visit to the undercity was of strict political character. he had no interest in zaun personally, and if he could put all relations to the city in the past behind him together with the ionian invasion, he would and it’d suit his tastes much better. but he’s a pragmatic man and a political, aware life is not made of choices that we forge out of whim or capricious intent. such conscience doesn’t make it simpler when met with the urban myth of the uncaged wrath of zaun himself, and though fear is a concept made abstract through conditioning, he cannot help but agree that the sight of this beast is abhorrent—-

—-a madman’s doing, through and through. the very thought leaves him with a sour taste on his mouth as his nose wrinkles, expression turning into a mild, half-cocked snarl. he’s a far stranger sight in his official garbs in this city than the chimera, he reckons, in some sense — rarer, if one will use a better term. all this reminds him of is how little he wishes to be here, yet it seems diplomacy calls for personal sacrifices and unfortunate encounters in dead-end alleys.

“if you are as much of a wolf as you seem, beast, you’d BITE more than BARK.”

[ahriisms-blog]

"You smell of blood, and death and rage. You are clearly not Vastaya, and you are certainly not human....." 

Despite her unease, there was no fear in the Vixen's honey golden orbs, merely a cautious curiosity that shown with the light that seemed to seep out of her eyes, never leaving the other’s form. She had traveled a long way from home to get here, and she knew of this place’s dangers, especially for that of the Vastaya. Still, she had opted to come, intent on seeing the world on her own, with her own eyes. Traveling out of Ionia was to happen eventually if she was to ever succeed in her task. 

“So tell me, if you will... What are you?”

@warwicks​

[trueshotexplorer-blog]

warwick voice: imma getcha

    “Sorry, big guy.”

    Ezreal points to his waistline. A black sash. It shimmers of silver... a quicksilver, if you may.

    “Not today.”

[defensator1]

warwick, urgot, singed :)

wed, bed, behead shockblast. / @warwicksaccepting.

“you can’t be seriously asking me—”

jayce’s eyes narrow down, distaste and disgust both clear in both expression and body language. still, he trails off with a little huff, shaking his head. he reminds himself it’s a game, so he should keep to such spirits, right? no matter how revulsive the mere mention of the  three names evoke, he could maybe play along.

he tries for a second, looking off in the distance. warwick is a living aberration with a bloodlust to match, singed is a deranged lunatic who corrupted legitimate science for aberrative reasons and urgot—frankly, he doesn’t know who that is, but by the mention alongside the other three, he can imagine what kind of person he may be. 

the conclusion comes swiftly, then: 

he just can’t play along. frown in place, he looks back at the twisted bastard who asked such question in first place.

“yeah, no. i’d shockblast all three. that’s not even a question. singed is deranged, warwick is a monster and urgot—i don’t know who that is, but if he’s mentioned with those other two, i can imagine the exact sort of lunatic he may be.”

[reaverking]

@warwicks​

    One-two-three, one-two-three. The imitation hextech went down the line of men quickly, rhythmically, switching from hand to hand with a practiced efficiency. They couldn’t steal too much — even with the chaos Gangplank was planning for the Howl, successfully smuggling anything out of Zaun and up through a place as pristine as the so-called City of Progress was damn hard — but the group Gangplank had assembled was large enough to guarantee a decent haul from the warehouse nonetheless.

    One of the good things about this hellish city was its propensity for criminal behaviour. Nobody could fault a man for stealing fakes that had been originally been procured through organised crime, could they?

    The thought made Gangplank chuckle. One of his men looked up at him, distracted by the noise, only to find himself met with a glare.

    “Keep goin’, boys,” Gangplank called, arms flat across his chest.

     One of the bad things about this city was how damned hard it was to tell if there were any threats around. It felt like someone was watching them, but with the thick smog that infiltrated every alley and the constant noise of long-rusted gears in the background, it was even harder to tell if danger was lurking around the corner than it was in Bilgewater. At least at home, Gangplank knew what he might have to face. 

     Not good. “Get this done quickly enough and you’ll find some coin in your pocket. Too slow, and I can’t promise you’ll leave the city alive.”