Of Silence and Scars, Chapter 26

Howdy all. Here is another chapter, hope you enjoyed the Super Bowl. Comment with criticisms or compliments thanks :)

XXVI Draven tapped his foot impatiently on the worn cobblestone of Zaun’s harbor. His group of misfits had crossed the Ironspike Mountains and reached the dark city with time to spare before the arrival of their guests. Karthus had not answered Draven’s call to help Sona, so now they waited for the next ship to come in from the Shadow Isles in a hope that help would yet come. Katarina yawned and nudged Draven, “Hey dray-dray, how does it feel to grovel for help to your girlfriend’s friends? Kinda pathetic? Are you dating her just to pretend you have friends for once?” Draven scowled but didn’t move his eyes from the gentle waves lapping out of the wall of mist. She wasn’t dissuaded, “Ha! You totally are! Awwww that’s soooo cute! Draven wants playmates!” She laughed and tugged at his cheek while talking in high pitch tones as though he was an infant, “You silly goose, you can’t have friends. You are what we grownups call “an asshole.” Silly Draven!” He batted her hand away while cursing under his breath. Her assault was halted by the ragged ship sailing into view. A faint turquoise aura loomed over the ship as it came to rest in the harbor. A battered ramp rolled down to the ground and the massive metal form of Mordekaiser descended. Yorick and Karthus followed behind, both solemn in expression. They halted in front of Draven, Karthus nodding slightly. He welcomed them to Zaun, “I’m glad you came. I need every hand I can get to fight Lissandra and her glass goons. I uhhh…,” He glanced back at his team and saw Sion pummeling a streetlight for some sort of offense it must have given the undead juggernaut. “…brought a team too.” Karthus assessed the Noxians and shrugged, “any help is good to get Sona back unharmed. We need her for the band, she is the only one who schedules practices, or practices at all.” Sion, now finished destroying random objects trudged over, “We will smash their bones!” Darius grumbled, “I don’t think the Forged (Ice monsters of Lissandra’s creation with the void stone) have bones at all, but whatever works then.” Sion didn’t hear or seem to care, screaming further and beating his chest. Mordekaiser rose to the challenge and launched into his own battle cry. The two yelled at increasing volumes until the juggernaut of Noxus hurled himself into the master of metal, resulting in a brawl. Yorick shuffled past the group mumbling about ships and water for no reason. Karthus shook his head at the macho display and Draven rubbed his temples in small circles until it was over. Between these idiots and that insufferable Katarina, he couldn’t guarantee even the thought of Sona in a cell could hold his axes back. Clenching his fists as the two brawlers concluded, neither damaged in a permanent fashion, he asked “You two princesses done?” Sion roared, “I am a male!” “Super. Shift it, Lurch. We are supposed to reach the Freljord by nightfall.” The party begrudgingly hit the road once more, now with their Shadow Island companions. The air turned cold slowly, and the trees were fewer and far between. The terrain shifted upwards gradually until it was nearly a vertical climb into the mountains outlining the frozen wastes of the Freljord. Icy blasts battered the tiny forms of the travelers on the mountain side. Reaching a plateau, Darius ascended the edge first and began helping those who followed up onto the flat snow. Panting wisps of breath into the dusk air, the group gazed out over the tundra before them. Tiny lights dotted the surface occasionally, but aside from those no sign of civilization was evident. The Northern lights hung low in the sky assisting the moon in showcasing the beauty of this forgotten land. Light danced off of the snow and mountains, shining a vast array of soft colors into the narrowed, tired eyes of the party. A solitary mountain rose at the far end of the valley, their target. The Frostguard hold. Draven allowed several minutes for the group to catch their breath after the arduous climb, then signaled them forward. The Winter’s Claw should be at the base of this rise. Hopefully they could explain themselves before a scout thought they were intruding and tried to kill them. At the bottom and abandoned camp lay with fires burning low, unattended. Draven glanced around, even peering into a tent. “Where…” He turned around into a spear at nose level. A large man with a full brown beard glared from under his wolf-hide cloak. Blood trickled down Draven’s nose from the sharpened point as he tried to control his anger. “Hey there. Why don’t we just lower that and take us to Sejuani? Huh?” The spear did not flinch, and Draven glanced sideways to see how the party was doing. They were surrounded by barbarians. Sion was not containing himself overly well. Swatting away the several weapons pointing into his abdomen, the giant looked more annoyed than afraid. The men backed away from him slightly, still holding their weapons high. Darius stared down a spearmen in front of him, grabbing the wooden spear shaft and walking into the pointed end. Hardened iron did not budge as the brittle wood snapped harmlessly and fell to the ground. He smiled, “Worthless disgrace of weapons.” Tired of this display, Katarina torqued the wrist of a man that let his eyes wander too low on her slender body and soon had a knife to his throat while his body was twisted to the ground. Draven took a step back from the man confronting him and drew an ax slowly, “You don’t want me to ask twice. I would make a wonderful show of your deaths, but you may not enjoy it as much.” He flicked his wrist slightly, sending the ax gyrating into motion. Still spinning at his waist, he asked “One more chance, where is Sejuani?” A graveled voice rang out from beyond the crowd, “Karthus? Yorick? Morde? Harhar! My lads! Where have you been?” Olaf pushed through the gathering to embrace his band members. He seemed totally unaware of the tense situation and diffused it immediately with his joyous demeanor. “Break out some fresh ale for our guests!” Draven sheathed his ax in one motion as he approached the berserker. “Olaf.” But the bearded axeman was too distracted talking to Yorick and calling for ale to be brought out. Draven’s patience was at an end from the long day and the ambush. He roughly grabbed the leather tunic and spun Olaf around, “Hey! Where is Sej you drunken fool?” Olaf completely ignored the insult, “She is in the center of the camp, largest tent, has a fire inside of it. She just sent me to see who the scouts had spotted and if the ambush went alright! She will be there in the morning, have a drink!” Olaf walked off to procure beverages, but Draven slipped away towards the aforementioned tent. Darius spotted the signature spiked hair slipping away and quickly followed. Catching up to his determined brother, he glanced down. “How are you feeling about this plan?” “Not fantastic. But it is all we have and I do not fail.” “Huh, explain all of high school then.” Draven looked up at his smug brother. “You know, sometimes I hate you, and sometimes I despise you. Right now, words can’t describe it. Good job.” “My pleasure.”