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It always amazed her, the transition between lush valleys, squawking birds and pockets of life living in silent peace, humming under their breath and baking bread, and the harsh lands of Noxus.
And yet, for all their harshness, how bright the people shined.
There was… softness, in Demacia. The people allowed themselves to sleep without knives under their pillows, and gunpowder was nothing but dust left in the armor of their knights in shining armor from yet another valiant charge against that crude, cruel weaponry. Even the Mages were usually quietly dealt with before any could stir trouble, or shamed into compliance. As it should be. Well, maybe not as it should be, but as it was for a long time, long enough Poppy had gotten used to it.
Songs were reserved for parties, balls, celebrations. A group here or a wandering bard did indeed strike up a crowd when they passed by, but Demacians liked their fuss quite well organized, they did.
Not Noxians.
The first Village she passed by on the war-torn, ever-patrolled frontier that led into Noxian lands roared with joy. It did help it also had a quite busy inn for informants, spies, and other unsavory folks that worked for any nation one could think of, but out of a dozen patrons, only one was usually involved in shadowy dealings. Glee and joy, then, was from the people themselves, and the occasional militia guard that joined in.
Yordles were more widely accepted in Noxus than in Demacia, but the Keeper was also less known in Noxus than in Demacia. Her stories had gone far, of course, touched every corner of the world. Mostly because she was there to make those legends themselves. The Great Dark, that one time she led a whole legion of Noxians back to their camps after they got cut off by a dastardly and unfortunate sandstorm. The Dragon of Variu, single-handedly. Well, they say single-handedly but she did have to use both of her hands to wield the Hammer. There was also that one time in Stonewall, and the whole business in Khworez, the time she saved that one regiment from marching straight into Brambleback territory to get presumably slaughtered. She had made quite a name for herself… and that’s not even mentioning the war stories they told about her.
The war stories they sang about her.
Like… the one she heard right now.
Quite a callous tale about how tiny Demacians were, weapons twice the size of their bodies to make up for “what’s lackin’ under the buckle”. Well, that was a lie. She knew that! She wouldn’t disclose how, however. The smallest humans of Runeterra in all senses were Zaunites, anyway. Probably due to all that pesky malnutrition, toxic smog, and horrible work environments.
Still, enough about thinking of lewdness and standing near the jolly men and women of their not-so-great Empire! She had a coach to catch. Walking into the open door, ignoring the looks she got, she walked straight to the barkeeper.
Seeing as there was no seat she could easily climb up to talk to the man, despite him recognizing her, she set the Hammer down and climbed on top. That garnered a few chuckles from some of the drunken patrons, but most people just complained about spilling some beer.
“Hey Leo.” She said, casual as ever, resting her arms on the counter, waving her fingers at him.
“Keeper. Your usual or…?”
“N-no, actually, I came because of… the thing.”
“Oh. Fast one, ain’t ya?” He growled a laugh.
Leo, Leopold, Barkeep, whatever they called him, was a rather jolly man, fitting for the people he served. Tall, already dark skin painted even darker by his time in service back at the Shuriman borders, hairless except for the respectable sideburns and ‘stache he rocked. Always wearing that same slightly stained apron, always the same shirt, always the same pants, always the same boot. Just one of the thousands that Poppy accidentally befriended, this one by saving his great-grandfather in the Siege of Palclyff! Good times.
“Well,” he continued, turning around to pour her the usual anyway. “coach was supposed to arrive a few days ago, but, no sign of it yet. S’ getting pretty late actually. I mean, I didn’t think you’d arrive so soon either but…” Leaning in a little closer, passing her the drink and smiling, she could see the hint of fear and caution in his eyes. “… don’t think they’re the kinds to not be punctual.”
“Oh. Are you sure? I mean, I’ve met a few sol–”
“Those were Darkwill’s days.” He took a better look around the tavern, but it seems today there was no one listening to him. Most patrons were drunk, or singing far too loudly for any of his words to be heard to anyone but Poppy. “Swain and that general he appointed? Ain’t the kind to let that sort of stuff slip. Especially not with a gal like you. Just… make sure they ain’t gone for good, yeah? If they are, I guess I can write a letter. No clue how long that’d take to arrive. Or how to send it, actually.”
“You worry too much, Leo…”
“Well yeah, I survived sixty years on this earth I have, don’t want to get my throat slit because some idiot horse rider walked into an ambush or got mauled by bloody wolves.”
“Well, don’t worry! I’ll get on to marching and I will find them. And if they’re dead… I dunno, I guess I’ll check for anything I can use to recognize them!”
“Good, good. Now go before they decide to finally annex the bloody place.”
“Will do!” With that, Poppy grabbed the flask in front of her and drank it all. Graggy ice, some fancy Piltovian absinthe, and a sprinkle of noxious puffcap. How her liver - or brain, or heart, lungs, general insides - worked after drinking that was up to anyone’s guess, but she sure did drink it to the drop. Putting the flask down she waved goodbye, and made sure to get out with her Hammer.
The road wasn’t the wasteland that she was used to when visiting Kled, or when making her usual way to look for the Hero in Noxus. It was far more direct, went through fewer places, and generally was less well taken care of. It was in the interest of both nations to keep at least some level of connection, but maybe not “a straight line through rivers and villages” direct. Still, she had braved through the burnt remains of no man’s land, where the petty warlords and independent villages of Nockmirch struggled in the mountainsides and plains to make do with what they had. Now it was a straight shot to Drekan, and finally, The Immortal Bastion!
Whistling while walking through the road, bobbing her head from side to side, kicking dust for fun, Poppy smiled. She looked at the sky, a blue so clear and dull it could have been searing white, wind whistling, the unkempt grass swaying with the breeze. No clouds in sight, and the dandelions growing at the edges of the bricks made her feel fuzzy inside. It all made her fuzzy inside. The emptiness surrounding her with mountain ranges on the horizons behind her… and nothing in front. It was exciting! New horizons, and most of all, she was on another small mission! Daring to look for her escort, who had disappeared. Almost made her feel like one of the heroes she read so much about, but… but no. No, she was not that. She was a glorified courier at best. For a good, noble cause, of course, but she? She was nothing.
Her smile turned into a sigh, and she pressed her pace. The least she could do to make up for being such a bad courier was… well, at least try and rescue the poor people sent to take her to the Bastion. So she did.
They were pretty far into the road, the coach abandoned, blood and arrows. Horses were stolen or fled. Quite a few bodies, mostly brigands except for two men wearing heavy Noxian armor, already rotting. Well, before she started piling up the bodies to burn, she took out one of her bags. A writing kit.
She unfurled a piece of parchment, took out a sharpened feather and a half-empty bottle of ink, and got to writing.
Hello poor person that found this ghastly sight!
The Keeper of the Hammer was sadly too late to do anything. Please; inform the authorities that a raid has taken place! The bodies were burnt but I have taken any identification I could to The Bastion with me. Thanks,
Poppy.
Perfect.
Using a knife to stick it to one of the stagecoach’s wheels, she got to looting and piling the bodies. A not so good habit from Orlon, that. In the end, for all the stories about him and for all the great deeds he did in life, he was still originally a mercenary. He didn’t know he’d settle in Demacia with the refugees, and become its protector, he just wanted money at first. Poppy didn’t know that, of course, but her obsession with shiny things made it quite easy to forgive running around picking the pockets of the dead. A few pouches of gold coins later, fewer gems and two letters from each soldier detailing where to go to pick up Poppy later, she was done piling everyone up. A torch was lit a few meters away from the stagecoach, and the bodies set ablaze, just to make sure no pesky necromancer would take a fancy to those fresh bodies. She looted the stagecoach too while the bodies were burning, of course. Some spoilt food, some very stale bread that she ate without complaint, an oil lamp.
Now that she was properly done with the scene, it was time to follow the tracks! Well, the track. There was a not-so-hidden trail to the side of the road. Crushed grass, though someone made the valiant effort to make it look normal before giving up a few meters into it.
It took her a few hours and the sun was going dark by the time she got there, but she found it. Still holding her torch, humming to herself as she walked the trail to find a small hill… and a camp! A very small camp, couldn’t be more than ten raiders, though they had a few unoccupied tents - no doubt their dead companions.
Seeing as stealth wasn’t a choice, she just waltzed in.
“… telling ye, we can just rans… ran… is that… s'that a yordle?” His Noxian was quite poor, and by the hides he wore and the pale skin, it was fair to say it was probably a Freljordian.
“Yes! Uh, hi!” She waved, and the remaining bandits gathered around. Some holding very battered-looking muskets, one that even Poppy’s absolutely atrocious knowledge of firearms could tell was beyond broken. “Say, uhm, you all, you all raided the place, the coach! Yeah uh, you all raided that coach? I-I kinda, it was meant for me, kind of, uhm, well raiding is bad in the first place so that’s b–”
“Tell us whoddya want or we’ll shoot.” A very impatient Noxian grunted, cocking his gun.
“Yes! S-sorry, I, I ramble a lot. Uhm, did you kill everyone? Was it just two folks?”
“… ya want the other one?”
“The other… oh! So there was another survivor!”
“Aye, and we–” Before his thought could be finished, she jumbled through her bags. The rest cocked their guns, but didn’t fire, watching expectantly. Absolute silence except for the odd jiggling or rustling inside the bags she shook. Finally, she found one that looked heavy enough and made a motion to throw it. One of the raiders, a halberd wielding lady, extended a hand forward. Poppy threw, and the weight of the bag was almost enough to make her fall.
After opening and inspecting it…
“There’s… there’s enough…” The raider’s eyes almost looked to glow. “There’s enough to buy a small estate for each of us here… w-what...”
“Yeah! Uh, I’ll be taking my friend home, hopefully, and you all… well you all have fun! Enjoy!” Poppy waved and took a few steps forward before tapping her forehead and laughing. “Eep, I’m stupid. Of course I am, but- do any of you, can any of you take me to them? I uh, it’s a small camp but you know.”
The Freljordian who greeted her nodded, while the Lady and a few others talked about what to do with the money. She was taken to the man, who was… oh, dear.
A swollen eye, though thankfully not lost. A tooth on a small bloody puddle of spit to the side revealed that was probably post getting-kidnapped. A rather nasty-looking cut to his side was looking infected, and his armor was nowhere in sight, but at least they had the decency to bandage the much larger cut to his shoulder, that somehow wasn’t looking too bad despite being quite sizeable. Probably laid on his side and rolled in the dirt! Poor man.
“Right, uh, well, see you all.” She sad, Hammer in one hand, Soldier over her shoulders, shield on her back. It was heavy, yes, but 'heavy’ to Poppy was what others would consider “nearly impossible”. Probably on account of being a Yordle, but who could tell at this point. She waved the bandits goodbye, and set off, letting them decide what to do.
It was an arduous trek, but she made her way back to the village. She got him a bed with what money she still had (quite a lot, actually.) and set to fix his wounds. She had some knowledge of how to do it. Serving so many fronts, so many warriors, being the first to charge and last to fall back, it was only expected that she eventually picked up some skill with the needle and bandage. She paid for the bed and for the borrowed items necessary to bind his wounds, before setting on her way. It was morning by the time she was done, and though the body needed rest, the mind was wide awake. So despite not sleeping, she walked.
And walk she did, past the bread and butter of the Empire, the merry folk, the militia, the patrols, and the retired soldiers. From quite literal greener pastures to the rougher, barren lands that made up Noxus. Dead soil oozing magic from a time that was no more like many a tale Poppy had read. Only… real. It was always exciting visiting Noxus, and this was the first time she’d visit Noxus itself while under the “Trifarix” reign… how exciting! Maybe the Hero would be found encompassing all three? A sign from the Bard, her fathers, and wandering forebearers that the skills she needed to look out for were those? The possibilities! So many ideas ran through the little Yordle’s head she barely noticed the looming tower on the horizon, the walls, the city itself.
Well, by the time she did notice, so did her legs. And arms. Stomach, too. So she walked a few feet to the side of the road, set her Hammer down, and sat on top of it. The sun had baked her inside that armor, but thankfully her trusty scarf was there to get drenched in the sweat that poured from her forehead. She didn’t undress; she was used to living in that stuffy armor, and in fact, it wasn’t too far off from the forge. A different kind of heat, yes, but it sure beat the cold! Well, it didn’t, but if she told herself that it might one day make it true. And that’s what mattered!
The meal she had was modest, a few strips of beef jerky and a Piltovian lollipop. Strawberry flavored. It wasn’t quite the boiled sugar on a stick that she had fallen in love with back in Orlon’s days, but it was so easy to find wherever she went that she ended up with whole purses dedicated to it! And honestly, the extra flavors sure made it interesting.
With her stomach still roaring for food, she rested her hands on her lap, rested her back against the steel pole of the Hammer, and closed her eyes.
Just like her walk through the roads on autopilot had taken days of non-stop marching, she slept nearly three full days and nights. Just far enough from the road that the hammer in the distance was to be considered some fresh, but already looted battle site, or maybe a marker for some patrol. Whatever the case, travelers did not disturb her, and after waking up, she set out to do what she did best. Keep the Hammer safe, and walk around.
And walk around she did.
The Letter didn’t have a date for their encounter. She presumed the sooner the better, but she might as well walk through the slums. They had good snacks. Tacos, shellfish, Ionian noodles. Just like Bilgewater was a melting pot for the world, Noxus was the same for the nations it conquered. Not quite the same, and definitely not always better, but it was enough.
The slope that led up to inside the Bastion’s walls was well kept despite their incessant use. Barely a crack could be seen in the granite, and the flags raised up high laid quiet and still as the wind did not blow. The streets were bursting with people, some yelling, some laughing, some dancing, not nearly as many shankings as one would expect! But mostly because it was the main entrance into the great City. No homes could be seen along the side of the great slope of carts and horses walking up and down incessantly, only storefronts of many people. A peddler of curios from Shurima laid his cloth to the side of the many steps, a storefront of fried goods that bustled with business, a blacksmith shop Poppy had actually invested in to get the great-great-great owner’s grandfather started! Well, presumably. It was the same shop, but who knows who owns it now! And besides, she wasn’t gonna check on them until she was leaving. What she needed now was something to quell her stomach, at least a little bit.
Poppy was going to have a tiny snack. She expected there to be food at the Bastion, but–
“Keeper of the Hammer?” Four heavily armored Trifarians approached her from behind. They towered over her, but who didn’t. Their weapons were the most impressive aspect, four mighty halberds with at least a foot of spike protruding from above, and quite the mean hook! Although the faceless helmets with barely any slits for eyes were both- “We have orders to take you to the Bastion immediately.”
“Oh! Y-yeah, that’s, uh, I was gonn–”
“Immediately.” The one who spoke was the smallest, but they barely had an inch of difference between each other. The armor and helmets simply made them look like those we– “Ahem. Immediately.”
“O-OH! Sorry, I just, yeah, let’s go! Let’s go, I uh, sorry!” Poppy laughed, before getting herself together to walk up the ramp. They simply followed her, and whenever the Keeper spent a few too many seconds staring at a storefront or talking to a civilian, they lowered their halberds beside her, straddling her forward. It was quite rude, but she was a little idiot, and of course, that was necessary because she was a dumb fool who couldn’t keep it together! Ugh, dumb, dumb Poppy.
The gates were almost always open and only closed down in case the occasional national tragedy or coup or plague was going on. There was no main road to the Bastion inside the city's walls. It twisted, weaved, and more than once they had to go through gatehouses and walk up incessant rows of stairs. An amazing defensible position, a terrible place to live in. As they kept going, however, people started… following them?
Not many, at first, which made the Trifarians that escorted Poppy look back and tilt their heads just enough to let them know that any closer would earn them a deserved bisection. But the crowd did not stop. Some joined due to curiosity, others because of the four Trifarians and the sighting of a yordle, but the vocal majority filled everyone else in. “The Keeper!” "That's the Hammer!" "The Champion!" They whispered, shouted, cheered. Some even carried battered Demacian flags, war trophies, or memories of home, but now they were actively raised in signs of support.
The Hero… The Hero couldn’t possibly 'be restricted’ to being a Demacian. Poppy was of Bandle City, Orlon of Shuriman descent, even most royal families couldn’t claim to have been in Demacia since its early settlement days, when it was but another group of villages fending off undesired raiders and spreading their anti-mage hate. A thousand folk of a thousand backgrounds had united and struggled to make the nation great, and by the Angels above, great it was!
So why should the Hero be stuck in Demacia?
No, while the possibility of him being Demacian was… more than likely, to be honest, she couldn’t limit her search. So, a few years after Orlon’s death, she took to the north. A few months up there, she took back to the south. And further south, to Shurima, to the Kumungu jungle, even taking sea routes to Ionia and the Serpent Isles. The only place she had not set foot yet was the Shadow Isles, and well, she wasn’t even sure anything could be born there, so.
Of course, during her search, she did what the Hero would do. What Orlon would do.
She was kind.
With all the money she had, she graciously threw around thousands. With all the strength she had, she had slain thousands. With all the love her heart had, she had kissed and dated and slept with a thousand. The world was far too vast, the people far too many, how could she not help them all in whatever ways necessary? It was the right thing to do. And not surprisingly, it gathered up quite a few fans.
“Keeper! Keeper!” Children had joined in. Being lifted on their parents’ shoulders, having borrowed Demacian flags from the folks of the crowd that would relent them and waving them around. They were so full of joy, Poppy couldn’t help but feel awkward! Oh, if only those poor people knew that she was a horrible very bad no good person. Just a courier. Just the Keeper. Nothing more.
"Give us a show, go to the Fleshing!" A raspy, loud voice cheered. "Keeper, an Autograph, please, please!" One young boy yelled, before being pulled back into the main mass by his father. "Who's t' yordle, where's the Keeper?" A very confused Freljordian woman asked, trying to get a better look at the situation.
Shame and self-hatred kept her from answering to the masses with the love they expected, or at least some sort of reply, but simply by raising the Hammer up a little higher, the crowd went wild. And every gatehouse, where they were blocked and stopped from following her, a new group soon formed. She could only imagine how many of these people had ancestors that fought against the Hammer but were saved by her, or how many hailed from settlements that would be dust if not for her intervention. Oh, those poor, lovely people.
It was quite the journey, and even the Trifarians in all their might were struggling to not huff at the stress of their armor weighing them down, but Poppy was relatively unbothered. Beads of sweat dripping down her face and onto her armor, yes, but not as much as one might expect. It was late in the evening, in any case, so with the sun long since having left the horizon and leaving the streets to be illuminated by lamps, everything was a lot cooler.
The gates to the Immortal Bastion itself were open. Almost a full regiment of elite soldiers stood guard in the plaza in front of it, all of them holding pikes with small Noxian banners tied to them, still quiet in the breezeless, arid day. Man, she needed to drink something.
The hundreds of steps necessary to arrive into the audience chamber were slightly wet with water now as Poppy struggled to drink and match the pace the Trifarians were now imposing on her, not due to any Noxian ploy to capture her, they just really wanted to get dismissed and take a seat. There were holes poked all thorough the arched ceiling, 'death holes’. She could only pray they didn’t have boiling oil ready for her. Every two steps there was a new pair of guards, and they slammed their fists onto their chest plates as Poppy passed by. It was almost like drums, whole rows banging and adding into the mounting echo that was the beat after beat of steel against steel. Noxian flags, some stained black with the blood of the insurgence seeped on the fiber, still hanging proudly. The crimson carpet that led up the stairs, however, was impeccably kept. Even Poppy’s boots, dirty and muddy from walking all the way from Demacia to the Bastion on foot, left naught a speck of dirt. Probably magics, she guessed, before sneering.
Finally, after a not insignificant walk upstairs, the four Trifarians opened the door inside and banged their chests as well. Poppy stood in front of the door, listening to the fading echo of steel before properly stepping inside. She had apparently interrupted a meeting, as Darius stood up reaching for a sword- before promptly being prompted to keep his sword sheathed.
“Our Guest of Honour,” Swain spoke, though Poppy could not hear it. A mere wave of the hand was enough to prompt Darius to grunt, before putting the sword on its sheat and walking away. He had no need to take his Axe to these meetings, nor armor. Unnecessary weight.
A masked figure - masked? Her face was so white and the smile so perfect Poppy could only guess it was Hextech, another weird robot. She had no clue how they worked, but it was safe to– Oh, nevermind, it disappeared behind Swain. Magic! Definitely magic. Robot magic? Darius had long since left for another exit, as he’d rather not cross the Yordle. Who knew what’d happen if he kicked the Yordle down a couple of hundred steps down…
He waved his finger in the air above his head, summoning her forward, and so she walked. The heavy iron doors behind her closed with a massive THUD, and she was left alone with Swain.
The room was massive. A listening chamber almost as wide as the ones from Demacia, for the good folk of the city to walk up and ask the King for favors. Massive pillars with Banners hanging almost all the way to the ground, a few walkways with locked doors that lead to places Poppy could only imagine, and the few other doorways located inside the room. It had no windows, as it was located at the very center of the Bastion, and Gods knew that fighting an upstairs battle towards it would be an insane task… not to mention the King would never actually be there in case of an attack. Other than the supports, and the carpet leading inside, it was mostly empty with the exception of the two sets of stairs leading to the Throne. Part of it had been 'refurbished’, however, and the raised platform that led up to the King’s throne now had the upside-down tetrahedron they used as a table, a very simple design despite what the carvings on the granite may lead one to believe. No Kings, only the Trifarix… and no Trifarix here, only Swain.
“Keeper.”
“Swain! Uhm, Mind? What was the- I, uh, I don’t, I don’t, really, uh, know what to call you. S-sorry, Sir.”
“Swain. Swain is more than enough. And shall I keep using the monicker of Keeper? But please, as we discuss pleasantries, take a seat. I’ve been told you came without an escort?” He had taken his spot before her, the one with the back to the Throne, so he could clearly see the Yordle that had just arrived. She didn’t take one of the normal seats, choosing instead the Hammer.
“Keeper’s fine but yeah, peeps usually end up saying Poppy. Poppy’s a very nice name.” She smiled, hands on her lap and head raised high, as was expected of her when dealing with Demacian royalty. He had his elbow resting on the table, back completely straight, the coat of his days as General still hanging from his shoulders. “So uhm, oh- oh, you asked, a question right, uh, why didn’t I come here with an escort? Well uh, I’m sorry to say I found the escort before they found me! I’m sorry for your losses. One survived, though. I assume they’ll return to apologize but, well, if they deserted, I would understand it. I mean… I don’t think they’ll do much fighting with that shoulder gash of theirs. Man, poor guy.”
“Ah. Bandits, I presume? Overwhelming numbers, to take our own so easily…”
“No, no, it was an ambush. Had to be. I mean, you don’t just walk up to a coach with a bunch of spears, right?” She chuckled. Swain smiled. “Yeah, I guess they just got jumped. The men who got them had guns, and… well, I’m no mortis, uh, necro… uhmm… I’m not a Wolf, you know? I don’t go around poking for wounds to see who died of what. But yeah. I know enough about guns - not a lot, mind, just enough, I mean black powder - uh, before, before I get distracted once more, basically, I guess they were shot and finished off, but they… took one prisoner? Probably wasn’t fatally wounded. I think they wanted to ransom him.”
“Mhm.” His reaction was dry, but Poppy understood. As much of a bad guy as he was, he was still a General and she was still an idiot. “Impressive.”
“Uh, not, really, but thanks Sir.”
“Well, I do think it is. Not many find themselves facing off against brigands like that, apparently armed to the teeth and with the advantage of speculating that a patrol may come looking for the culprits of such a crime… only to slay them all and come out alive.”
“Oh, they didn’t kill anyone else. That I know of.”
“I was talking about you.”
“Oh! Neither did I.”
“Pardon?”
“Yeah. Like, I just, you know. Gave them some money.”
“You bribed them?”
“What? No! No no no, I like, just, gave them enough to get out of that life. A couple hundred gold coins, some gems, probably some Lich’s heirloom… you know. Stuffs they can sell. And, I got your soldier saved! Well, he might, probably, maybe desert. But a life’s a life, you know. Actually a bunch of lives. I guess.”
“I… see.” Swain’s eyebrows were raised slightly, his lips a few centimeters apart as he came to terms with what he heard.
“Yeah. It was fun. Well, not really. But- but yes, I got here without any other hitches. Well, I think I had a warning bolt thrown at me, but it missed. So all’s well.”
“Mhm. Well, do you have any inklings as to why I may have called you here?”
“Inklings! That’s a funny word. Heh. Uh, so-sorry. I just, semesters is pretty cool.”
“Semantics.”
“Thanks, yeah, that. Even if I’m a moron who can’t even spell semantics. Ugh. I’m- Sir, you should’ve called someone much better here. I’m… not fit for this stuffs. There’s a reason I just smile and look pretty on the balls…”
“It is fine. Now. The question.”
“Oh yes- uh, question, ye… what was it again?”
“Why would I invite you over anyone else?”
“Uh, I dunno. I guess I talk a lot.”
“That you do.”
“I’m way too trusting, everyone tells me that.”
“Correct.”
“I guess, I dunno, I’d be a pretty cool political prisoner.”
“Indeed.”
“That’s all I can think of.”
“Well, you’d be correct. All those were factors in calling you in, but no, I shall not imprison you. I am not Darkwill or any Emperor before him. I seek a new age for Noxus. You understand. As your mentor did.”
“You know Orlon?!”
“No, I have not personally met him. For obvious reasons.” He gave another dry chuckle, before continuing. “No, but as the saying goes, 'know thy enemy’. It’s a fascinating story.”
“He was a good man. I’m- I’m glad he’s, even here he.. you know. I’m. It’s good. Good.” She nodded, barely able to contain her quiet excitement from overflowing into glee.
“Well, I digress. I won’t use you as political leverage, and I am not foolish enough to believe I could contain you.”
“Oh, pleeease. I, I mean have you seen how many soldiers you had? I’m ffffricked if anything goes downhill.” Poppy laughed softly, before sighing. “Oh boy, I would be indeed…”
“It’s rare to meet a soldier that fights so fiercely not against a threat, but against compliments.”
“Eh, we-well, you know, first compliments have to be true. I’m just a dork in a quest, I’m not exactly the kind of person who, you know, wins a war on her own. I’m, I’m just a little moron who knew a really cool guy.”
“Fort Vaal would like a word with you.” He said, smiling with only his lips.
“Well, th-that, I mean, I had a whole force behind me, I just opened the gates…”
“A six-month stalemate being broken in an evening is not a small achievement, Keeper.”
“Well, they were also starving inside those gates. And gunpowder wasn’t as widely available… stupid cannons.”
“If you think so. I guess I should not remind you that we didn’t refrain from using our mages?”
“Well yeah, but… I mean, she was still just human, you know. Like, all I needed was to throw my shield on her and she went down like a light. Heh. Light!”
“Dahl was one of the most respected pyromancers of our Empire, Keeper. And her apprentices almost matched her fire.”
“Yeah, she was. A nice girl too. I’m sorry for what happened to her.”
“I wasn’t born to see it, but yes, the defeat did sting. Would you believe me that was the thing that got me into looking for you?”
“Uh, not really. It wasn’t that impressive. I thought you were looking for Demacian history and stumbled into Orlon and… well, me.”
“Fascinating as lineages and bloodlines are, no. I ask you to excuse my crudeness but I care little for the petty politics and bickering of your royal families. Simple is better.”
“Oh, tell me about it. Except for people. Simple people are, uh, not that good. I’m very simple.”
“If you say so.”
“Well, uh, w-wait, I uh… still don’t understand why I’m here.”
“What would the Lightshields do were they to receive my letter?”
“Burn it, probably.”
“Crownguards?”
“Yeah.”
“Beaulles?”
“Wouldn’t even reach them.”
“Laurents?”
“I- I think I get it.” She clutched her scarf with one hand, tightening it, hunching over slightly. It was getting colder. Probably a draft, or something. Had to be.
“Yes. Especially in these uncertain times. I’m surprised you are still a free woman in your own kingdom.”
“I guess… w-wait-”
“No, I do not seek to have you join our legions. I know the importance of loyalty.”
“Good! Good. I- I got worried for a second.”
“But.”
“But…?”
“But there is a way you could help us, help them.”
“I… go on?”
“Your land is divided. To one side, rogues and malicious scoundrels flock to the feet of a madman, the only one courageous - and strong - enough to raise a new flag. In the other, stagnation. Your valleys are rich in game and soil yet what use is steel and meat if you cannot sell it, use it? When was the last time your Royals willingly visited Piltover?”
“Like, I can’t even tell, honestly…”
“Mhm. A nation can rot in inactivity, Keeper. Darkwill made Noxus rot in his imponent, misguided attempts and doomed incursions. A more foolish leader I have only met when brought face to face with Vastayan rebels. Such is the case with your Lightshields. And yet a nation can also implode.”
“Im- explode, you mean?”
“Explode will serve in this analogy. Sylas is a powder keg and the match has been struck. If he wins, it is only a matter of time that Demacia will fracture. Once again reduced to pitiful refugees scrambling for land. Not unlike during your first years.”
“Yeah, I didn’t, the Cruel Wars…”
“It can be far worse this time. Or do you think they will not try and find, even use, the Runes?”
“What- What can you do to help, a-anyway? Like, what, are you going to send troops?”
“Sylas is a man, Keeper. He is a man and he sleeps. He eats. He loves.”
“… I don’t follow?”
“Do you have any qualms with underhanded tactics, Keeper?”
“Kinda. It’s a bit rude.”
“Rude, yes. Necessary as well.”
“… I guess…”
“And I assure you of it.” He barely elevated his tone, but it was enough to push the message. “The sinews of war can be just as easily be replaced by conviction, if the warriors of Targon are anything to go by. A rebel with nothing to lose won’t simply lay down her weapons. A cornered Wyrm is twice as dangerous, and what other sayings you may wish to use.” He caressed his face with his hand, stroking his chin as he looked at the tall ceiling, apparently lost in thought. “But a rebel without a cause will quickly scuttle… and without Sylas…”
“Without Sylas?”
“Without Sylas there is no cause. Others will surely try and replace him, but far too many, at once. Divid et impera. Your rebellion will be crushed, and all is well.”
“Wait, but… why, are, you, helping us…?”
“A new age, Keeper. Trust me, I am no friend of mages either. They are indeed far too volatile, and even what little I know of your race makes Yordles seem like not the best of allies.”
“Well, y-yeah, we prefer to keep to ourselves too.”
“I was talking about Kled.”
“Oh, Kled’s fine, he just needs a hug, a blanket, and some good food.”
“You two know each other?”
“We’re… acquaintances.”
“Well, I doubt he’d ever let an envoy get close enough to give him that which he wishes.”
“Eh, he’s a bit of a free spirit, I guess, what can you do.”
“Indeed.”
“So… you want to stop the mages being… all… mage-y too?”
“We are not going to shackle them. Simply put them to better use. Fire is only dangerous if you cannot wield it. And in the kitchen, the forge, or a simple oil lamp, a fire has many uses. Think of mages as fire.”
“Uh-huh. I, I guess I can kinda envision it, but it’s so dangerous and volatile and… and…”
“Like fire.”
“Y-yeah. Like. Like fire.” She nodded, looking down at her lap, in silent contemplation - and worry.
“Well?”
“Well…” She raised her head. “Well wh-what? Did you offer me something and I just yapped on and on a-and missed it?”
“You haven’t said much, actually. But I see I must make myself clearer. Would you get yourself closer to Sylas so we can finish his ruse? The man is a farce- I should know.” He exhaled from his nose, though he smirked and closed his eyes. The first genuine expression she saw in his face since they started talking, bar his surprise at her 'generous' habits. “You are a symbol, Keeper. I am forced to recognize that even in the lands of Noxus the name of Demacia is spoken with softness,” He thickened his Noxian accent as he kept talking. “for the daring and mysterious Hero that wields a Hammer twice their size hails from that blasted land of soft nobles and bloody birds.”
“I’m no Hero.”
“No. You are more, Keeper.”
“I’m… not, sure, how to feel about that.”
“Then figure it out later. Your Kingdom depends on you, Keeper. It is not the first time if I am not mistaken.”
“Well, you… you have my address. One of them, at least.”
“Indeed we do. You run the risk of… well. I can only imagine in these times of mage-seeking that it is only a matter of time before they hunt you too. Your identity is not as well known as it would seem, but your stories are. How easily one could ascribe a face to those stories. An organization, mayhaps. Erase you. Erase Orlon’s legacy. After all, little as you-”
“Ok.” Poppy said, holding back a sob. Her face was stoic and blank as a canvas but a few seconds ago, when trying to organize her thoughts. The mere mention of Orlon being mischaracterized had driven her to the verge of tears, however.
“Very well. We will… keep in touch. I assume you won’t stray too far from Demacia.”
“No. No, I won’t.”
“We’ll send an agent nearby. When you’re ready or we spot a prime opportunity, we will contact you.”
“So you shall.”
“So we shall. Are you hungry, Keeper?”
“No.”
“I insist.”
“… I… I guess I could have some bread.”
“Please, may you feast in Noxian cuisine. And bread, if you wish.”
“Yeah. Bread’s pretty cool.” She used the scarf to wipe away the tears that had started to form yet refused to fall, getting her vision hazy. “Where do… I can go alone. Unless you- you ate already?”
“Yes, it is getting quite late in the afternoon, actually. How time flies. Please, take the door behind the throne. It should lead you deeper into the Bastion, just ask to see the Feast hall to any guard you see. Show them the letter if they for some reason doubt your validity or intentions. It should be set for tonight’s pleasantries already.”
“We- well, I have some beef jerky. I can stick to that.”
“Please, Poppy, I insist. Indulge. There is no sin in treating yourself after treacherous voyages. There is a reason taverns near ports are full of patrons.”
“I… I guess. Fiiine. Just, behind the throne, yes?”
“Mhm.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and Poppy, if I may?”
As she was getting up, she turned around to face Swain, who smiled cordially. It was a sweet, honest smile. It kind of freaked Poppy out.
“Your Noxian is impecable.”
“Th-thanks. Well. I’m… going to try and, eat something. Y-yeah. I’m. Thanks, Swain.”
“No problem, Keeper.”
He sighed with relief after she left the room running, resting his elbow on the table and his face on his palm. He had campaigns less tiring than this conversation. Trying to corral her, and picking each word carefully to not overwhelm her. Implode. Implode confounded her? The meretricious wanderer had stumped him time and time again, as hard as he tried to keep his composure. He could only imagine what 'items’ she handed to those criminals. One as old as she should’ve grown a conscience by now but no, apparently all the naivety in the world could indeed still be found in even the most seasoned and unbending of wills. Maybe that was the secret. Oh, speculations. A waste of time. He needed to gather his thoughts and compose what he knew now. Orlon’s legacy was a clear weak spot for Poppy, one he could abuse. Her memory was still sharp, even if it needed some jogging to get into pace. And now that he spent some time with her… the Hammer’s presence lingering even after she left the room. The Hammer, or hers? He could feel no magic emanating from the steel. There was so much to study and compose from this mere encounter alone. Raum would be satisfied for days, and he would be busy for the same amount.
It was as he pondered on how to begin filing this information and building upon it that he noticed. The soldier slouched against a pillar, head hanging low, clearly sleeping. Not dead.
Swain sighed.
“You are getting sloppy.”
The soldier looked up in surprise, before waving Swain off and returning to sleep.
“Or are you growing complacent, my dear?”
The voice came from behind him, and those pale, ceramic-like fingers caressed his cheeks. He almost growled. Almost. But, she had gotten the drop on him.
Again.
“I did order the room to be clear of any presences when I briefed the guards.”
“Shouldn’t have made him have to wait a week at those gates to see if she’d arrive, then. Look at that poor little thing…” The mocking tone of her voice grated every fiber of his and the Demon’s being.
“Lacking in discipline and stamina. What use if not for an example.”
“Another one? You’re making it a habit, 'dear.’”
“Do not call me that. And it is a good habit. To burn-”
“- the weeds before they take root, yes, yes. I know how much you like murdering your dissenters and slackers. Their blood is quite the sight… and the lives left behind…”
“None of your business.”
“Is it not? Or was I not put in this position to help you?”
“Irritating and teasing us will not make your job any easier.”
“On the contrary. Watching you give into the nature of the beast a makes enduring your speeches so much easier…”
“I am still a man, and anger is as human as pride.”
“As lust.”
“Quiet and make one of your illusions warn his superior of his treachery.”
“Warn who of what?”
He sighed. He did not need the vague, riddle-strewn clairvoyance of Raum to know that the Soldier had never been there at all. These illusions would be the death of him, and the fall of an Empire being lead to His greatness.
“Why must you bother me so.”
“Unlike someone I know, I am not gifted with the sight of that which I should not know. Thus, I must pursue it. And our conversations are nothing if not a hunt… if you so wish to fit these interactions in your quite frankly tiring comparisons and popular language.”
“Very well. Ask.”
“Why the Yordle?”
“Did you not hear us talk?”
“Luxanna would surely have come in the mention of unifying Demacia once more.”
“Luxanna is not foolish enough to trust Noxus. Desperate times may breed strange alliances… times are not yet that desperate. Maybe once the throne is empty for good. But until then, the dim-witted fool and her merry quest may lead us to information. Have you set your eyes upon her travels?”
“There are places no amount of smoke and mirrors can reach, dear Jericho. And paces that no legion can follow.”
“That is a no, then.”
“I thought you liked using fancy terms.” She walked past him and took a seat on top of the table, one hand on the cold stone, the other resting on her thighs, that vapid and fake smile creeping on her face. It looked real. And that was enough for him to know how much of a lie it was. Second-guessing was not a safe game to play with LeBlanc, lest you find yourself stuck in the same question forever, trying to map out all the moves she has made before, can make now, and pretends to make ten years ahead from a mere decision between “hi”, “hello”, and “morning.”
“Directness is reserved for orders in the field. None are worthy that can not understand the necessity of proverbs and analogies.”
“And the Yordle?”
“She is an imbecile, but one with zeal and purpose. I fear what deeds she may be able to deliver on when she realizes her power.”
Swain had not seen the Pale Rose get a flower or bring one, yet as she plucked the petals from the stalk he could not be surprised. “Every rose has its thorns.”
“Some easier to clip than others.”
“Yet they must remain if one wishes for a healthy flower. Lest…” The flower wilted in her hands, and she threw the black mulch it had turned into behind her.
“So you are saying her stupidity is an asset.”
“As is curiosity, General. As is the foolish seeking of ideals… you two are not that different. When will you see that I wonder…”
“Do not compare me to that stammering, stumbling fool. Now. Are you quite done?”
“No.”
“I guessed.”
“Why her?”
“I told you.”
“You told me why you didn't pick Luxanna.”
“There are no others like this Keeper, not as fierce, not as old, not as full of knowledge… misplaced knowledge, but I am sure she knows things that were supposed to be lost to the ages - important, things. She is misguided, lost, in a promise she is not able to keep…” He could feel the hand that was not his clenching. Digging its nails into its palm, eyes that were not his squinting at the dawning realization.
“Funny. I knew a guy like that once, did you know? Oh, you should. What don’t you know?”
“I am smart enough to recognize how little I am aware of.”
“Smart enough to change that?”
“We will see.”
“So we shall, Jericho. So we shall.