[Fan fiction] Shadows and Sunlight Part IV
Celebrating fan fiction Friday number four with another entry in my ongoing story, "Shadows and Sunlight".
Here's some boilerplate now. Don't recognize the boilerplate? That probably means you missed part one, part two and part three; I recommend checking them out although you could cheat and read the TL;DR included before the action kicks off.
I love the League of Legends world; stories of Runeterra, her cities and her characters, are fascinating. Like most players, I'm not on the narrative team. But, like a few of us, I dabble in short stories and novellas whose main characters are League champions.
Sharing my own stories is my attempt at finding a consistent meeting place and time for players who love lore, narrative and the craft of writing to get together and let our imaginations get all new age-y, running wild.
As a reminder, I am not a member of the narrative team. My words are as canonical as they are dactylic hexameter. Which is to say, not at all. In fact, I probably go off-canon at points. But I won't waste any more of your time, here's the next section of my fan fiction, "Shadows and Sunlight."
##The story so far…
When Katarina du Couteau, a fiery-haired young assassin, learns that a noxious Noxian nobleman named Anton Swain is kidnapping girls from the Sinister Blade, she crashes one of his black masquerades. After defeating his guards, Katarina's challenge against Anton is interrupted by her father. She's carted off by Darius. Meanwhile, Sarah Fortune attempts black market sale of black magic items to Jericho Swain, and Katarina learns she will face Noxian justice alongside Anton…
##Shadows and Sunlight ##Part IV: "Beauty and Beasts"
The Whispers of Dreamsilk Inn rises above the other taverns in the Torchlight Quarter of the old city. Built entirely of ironwood from the primeval ranges deep in the Freljord, the inn was founded nearly as long ago as the Rookery. Heavy black slats, worn with centuries of rain and wind, wrap a frame as square and orderly as a footman's bed. The thatch is the youngest part of the building, and it's damp and moldy enough to have been flopped over the inn for at least a decade or two.
The Inn was known for many things throughout Valoran, none of them appropriate for a prospective Grand General. But Jericho Swain and his attendant Nightraven Guards still were seated at a table in the only brightly lit area of the common room.
Sarah Fortune had changed from their meeting earlier. Her bleached blouse hung loose, draped over her narrow shoulders like a shawl. Scooped low, a half dozen jewels and shimmering chains glittered on her chest. She wore a bandoleer around her waist like a belt, but her pistols weren't in attendance.
"General, I'd like to introduce you to my exo, Barret Greyme."
"Executive officer, she means, sir," Barret doffed his extravagant feathered cap and bowed. "We are honored to serve you, Grand General."
"Do not presume," Swain intoned.
Sarah shushed the sailor, shooing him away to take a seat next to Swain. "He meant no offense. We are genuinely honored. Most of our rarest items were recovered by Barret. He specializes in impossible recoveries."
"You mean grave robberies. Or thefts," Jericho chewed on a stick of angeldrop gum. He offered the 'tovian-branded tin to the captain. She shrugged and declined the candy. "Your most exotic wares are the most intriguing. We have an agreement then, on the grail and the crystal scepter? And my right to first refusal concerning any future," Swain exaggerated a cough, "recoveries."
Sarah barked a laugh. "With the weight of gold you're paying, you get right to first refusal for most anything we have."
Barret perked up. "There is one more item the general might be interested in."
Sarah snapped her fingers. "You left it aboard the ship, didn't you? I know what you're thinking. The general won't be disappointed," she finished, turning her gaze from Barret to Swain . "Go on then, get it."
Barret froze, staring at the back of her head. He grumbled, walking away from the table towards the entrance of the common room. A Nightraven runner slipped in as he left. The newcomer apologized to Sarah, taking Jericho Swain aside with a flurry of whispers. The old man's face twisted, grim set.
He returned to the pirate hunter. "We all make plans, captain. Sometimes, those plans must allow for slight adjustments. Like, for instance, if your opponent acts rashly, or at the very least, more quickly than you'd anticipated."
"Uh huh," she nodded, pushing her glass of wine around on the table.
"The nephew of one of my grandsons, I don't expect you to know him. He's been playing with a new kind of toy I showed him, although he hadn't spotted the serpent's nest inside. Still, he was bitten. I'd expected it to come much later. And a court martial," Swain tsked. "Marcus du Couteau overreaches. But I'll adapt."
Sarah leaned back, pruning her nails with a dented table knife. She tossed it aside, examining her cuticles. "I understand. We'll wait for you."
"Avail yourselves of anything you desire. I can have Warren prepare lodging in Ebonclaw, should you require it?"
She stood up as he rose to his feet. Her eyebrow arched, she held out her hand. "I hope we won't be waiting that long," she said.
"Marcus is a reckless man on occasion. Those daughters of his. A pity his seed never took root as a son. I merely need to forestall the trial. The meeting should not take long. I have no time for folly," he said, seizing her in a military embrace.
She clasped her hand around his frail forearm, mimicking his gesture. "Our last item might help with that," she added, half under her breath.
He mused. Without saying another word, he bent his head acknowledging his puzzlement and interest before his retinue swept around him and out the door.
Nestled between two bustling commercial districts, the Ebonplume Gardens are said to have been where the first Raven raised the outcast infants, feeding them blood from the nearby battlefield. Whatever the gardens had been, they became a muddy squalor filled with scampering children and shrouded cutpurses.
The only sign the Gardens had once teemed with exotic flora was a lone Ionian goldenwood, bent twisted in its shrine, its wide roots crushing the stone and spilling into the nearby walk. The shimmering leaves rustled in the wind as Darius and Katarina ducked between two unsavory merchant stalls.
"You should listen to your father," Darius repeated as they walked, their steps in tandem. "You shouldn't have attacked Anton."
"Trying to sound like him, nikiya?" she asked. "Darius, you would have done the same had it've been your soldiers."
"I might've," he confessed, reaching out to stroke the silk sign advertising a whorehouse. A puddle of robes that might've been a beggar eyed him, wary. "Had it been. It wasn't. And there's a reason I soldier on the front lines and you skulk about the shadows. You're supposed to know which targets to focus."
She stopped them, fixing Darius with her glare. "This one deserved it, to me if no one else. His loose morality is a perversion of the blood. A blight on Noxus."
"Save it, nikita." Darius raised his hand to her. "You've never been one for propaganda. You serve Noxus in your own way, but it'll never involve flying her colors."
"Fine." She resumed her brisk walk back towards the du Couteau manorhouse. "He's a loathsome, slimy nit of a worm."
Darius jogged to match her pace. "Now I believe you. But you've made more trouble than you know. Tensions between your father and the General have never been higher," he explained. She frowned at the way her father's title was ignored. There was only one General in the Noxus Darius served. "Your father cannot be seen to go light on you."
Katarina laughed, reaching her hand up on Darius' shoulder. "He explained that part. I wish I'd finished the job if I'm going to be punished as if I had."
"Maybe don't mention that," Darius tried to interrupt their walk again. She forged ahead. "At the court martial," he added, grunting to catch up to her.
