Hand of Light [Anowell & DinoFeather]

kixinorbit

pigeons in a trenchcoat
Original poster
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varies
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Genres
low/high fantasy, medieval fantasy, historical fantasy, sci-fi, cyberpunk, solarpunk, grimdark, gothic-horror, supernatural themes, limited fandoms, adventure
Autumn winds whined as they whipped through crowded streets, the sun sinking slowly through the sky and casting a red and almost eerie glow across the capital. People were rushing to finish their business, fighting against the wind to keep cloaks and coats wrapped tightly about themselves. Evenings were growing ever colder, bringing with them the promise of a harsh winter. This was not a good time to be the on verge of war. Nevertheless, crops were being delivered to the capital with increasing frequency, as were the materials necessary for smithing and armament.

Darius heaved a sigh and reread the notice lying partially unfurled on his desk. He was to recall two of the Noxian units stationed along the Northern Plains trade route if conditions between Noxus and Demacia didn't improve soon—and he had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't. It would be a lie to say that part of him didn't want the war to happen. Demacia was too rooted in its ways and too stubborn to admit that change was inevitable, that an unrelenting fixation on "justice" would only take them so far as a society. That wasn't to say Noxus was without its faults, but they were aware that change and adaptation were imperative to success.

Another part of him, however, did not want the war to happen at all. War in winter was never ideal. Casualties were always higher and the supplies were considerably more difficult to send through. And, despite his reputation, he did not relish in the needless loss of life.

There was also another reason that the commander opposed the war, though it had nothing to do with changing of seasons. No, something was off about the circumstances surrounding the unrest. True, Noxus and Demacia were always hard-pressed for peace, but why the Grand General had chosen now to upset that balance did not make sense.

They had recently been focusing their attention on Piltover, but without reason, General Swain had seemingly lost complete interest and turned his gaze to Demacia. He'd even gone so far as to make the bizarre demand that the kingdom recall its troops from the Shurima border.

At first, Darius had thought this was some ploy-- a move to direct attention to Shurima, but no explanation for the sudden hostility had been given. Instead, more and more demands were being made of Demacia, and they were responding in kind. Something about the entire situation didn't sit right with Darius, and his attempts to discuss the matter with the General had been in vain.

In fact, the General was becoming more and more reclusive with each demand made, and Darius had begun to suspect foul play. He had, however, no means yet of proving this, so he went about his duties as ordered. He had also begun covertly examining orders and intelligence outside of the Noxian High Command. It was a risk that he would prefer not to take, but something was going on and he had a feeling that it was not in the best interest of Noxus. The meeting of the High Command had aroused further suspicion this afternoon when an order was received from the General—and was immediately sealed and taken to the War Room for safe keeping.

Darius did not make his concern for the unusual behaviour known, but sat through the proceedings as usual, giving information about unit size and location and time it would take to recall and rearm the troops. Afterward, he'd gone back to his quarters and waited for everyone else to retire. He needed to read what was in that scroll, and he needed to do it privately—and to see what other information might have been kept secret.

Leaving his desk, Darius pushed open the wooden door and peered the length of the stone corridor. It seemed that most everyone had returned to their quarters for the night. It wasn't as though he was out of place walking about the Palace, but the fewer people who knew he was growing suspicious, the better. Closing his door quietly and locking it behind him, he made his way down to the, now empty, council room, the War Room just beyond.
 
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The smell and the smoke of the modest fire were way too heavy to match it. A chilly wind was working against the tiny blaze, creating more smoke than there should be. A small group surrounded the red flames, trying to get them under control. After a while they gave up, emptying a small bucket of water over the fire spot. As the last traces of smoke went up into the orange sky a blonde head turned away from where the fire was dancing just moments ago.
A girl was sitting down on the hard grass, a few meters away from where her troops rested. Her hair moved along with the sharp wind, a brown hood struggling to stay where it belongs, on top of her golden locks. A worried feeling moved inside of her as the warm fire started to fade away. The setting sun was now the only source of light, but it was as bright as ever. Encouraged by that same light she stood up.
Four of the men that traveled with her knew it was time to go. They took a few moments to cover up their tracks, making the spot seem as if no one spent the day there. All five of them traveled light, but still had to pack up a few necessities. It was not long before four Demacian soldiers and their general, all dressed into Noxian attire, reached the heart of Noxus.

After presenting the right papers only four of them entered the grand city, leaving one soldier a bit further outside of it. If something was to go wrong, he would be the bringer of bad news.
To anyone who would now lay their eyes on the short blonde would see her as a tall brunette. Her whole body and face structure looking nothing like her usual self. Her attire striking her as maid working for a wealthy family, or a wealthy institution.
Two of the group separated themselves halfway towards the castle, heading for their assigned entrance.

"Good luck, general." A quiet but deep voice spoke not long after the first two went away. In that moment the remaining soldier worried his superior, her eyes widening bright. She was afraid someone could have heard that, but still knowing he is not a stupid man. The young general offered a small, firm nod as the two split.

Lux now found herself roaming the Noxian streets alone. She hated this place. Houses made out of cold stone. Rushing, loud people. Not to mention enemies wherever she looked.
The last street vendors of the day were offering her their products, trying to get rid of them as fast as she could she moved down the streets, walking towards a grey castle. The Noxian War Headquarters. As she moved closer to it the streets changed. There were no vendors here, everything was visibly cleaner and it seemed the people who lived in this part of the city were much better situated when it comes to money. Women with big, sparkling stones around their necks, and men owning golden pocket watches.

It was already deep dark when Lux approached the help's entrance on the left side of the castle. At the very entrance a black cat ran over her toes, startling her for a moment. Quickly collecting her posture she walked pass the unimpressed guards who reeked of ale and into the building. The inside windows were covered with thick, red drapes. Dim torches being the main light source, making the cold stone walls seem warm. This part of the castle was not richly decorated, not much to be seen. But Lux was not here to explore anyway. Trying to look as casual as she could while passing by the last awake people a light fear started to wrap around her. Sweat forming under her palms. Even after seeing, and ignoring, one of her troops she stayed on high guard. With every moment no one was around her she hurried.

Dust rose up, making Lux cough. Again looking like herself she searched through the message shelves of the War Room trying to find the newest addition. If Demacia was to know of General Swains plans it would be a grand step forward. His actions lately were too aimless, it showed great danger. And it needed to be put under control. Lux's current mission was to retrieve the new information and bring it to Demacia unread by herself. And she knew better than to ask even once why shouldn't she read it.
A small scroll found itself in between of her thin fingertips. The date matched today's and it didn't take a second look for Lux to know it was what she came here for. The scroll was kept inside of a small wooden box with a golden lock. Having no problem with breaking it open a part of the mission was over. Just like that. Was it because the message was delivered only today, or because there hasn't been an open war in two years?

Lux spent no time staying in the grand War Room. Reaching the doors she locked on her way in, she froze. The light on the other side of the locked doors was covered by a figure. It took Lux only a moment to regain her maid's disguise, pretending to be cleaning the dusty shells. The tiny scroll safely situated in her left boot.
Only if she remembered to hide away the pieces of the golden, broken lock.
 
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"What I'm sayin' is that—"

"I know what you're saying, Draven, and if you don't stop talking so damn loudly—"

"All right, all right." Draven's voice dropped to a hushed tone, which was rather a challenge for the man. "I just think you're reading too much into stuff, Dar, you need to relax. I mean, when is the last time you've slept? You look like shit."

"Thank you," Darius murmured, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he slipped a key into the door to the council room. Somewhat to his chagrin, he'd run into his brother coming the opposite way along the hall, who'd insisted on tagging along. Darius had protested, but as usual, Draven had ignored him. Part of him hated having the other accompany him-- Draven would be facing the same allegations of treason as he would, should they be discovered. Part of him, however, was slightly glad to have the support. Even if it came with the incessant insistence that he was overreacting to the recent goings on. Draven too had been aware of the unusual happenings around Noxus and, despite his insisting that Darius relax, he had been more on guard than usual. Both of them knew something was amiss.

"You shou—"


"Shhh!" Darius hissed as the two of them slipped into the dimly-lit council room. Thankfully, Draven fell silent and moved deeper into the room. Darius eased the door shut behind them and started toward the War Room.

The silence held as they quietly picked their way through the council room, and approached the heavy wooden doors at the opposite end. A solitary torch burned on either side of each door, casting only a dim glow on the intricate glass panel gracing each door. It had originally struck Darius as odd that the doors to the War Room had such intricate workings wrought into them, as it had seemed out of place. That was, however, before he'd learned of all the intricacy and nuance that went into war and tactics. Now he fully understood and even appreciated the symbolism.

The General slid a calloused hand into his pocket and removed a second key, slipping it into the lock of the intricate doors. The lock opened with a faint chinking of metal, and Darius pushed the doors open—and froze. Beside him, Draven tensed but said nothing.

Before them stood a maid, busily dusting shelves of scrolls. Green eyes raked the woman's face and form, searching out weapons and intent. The woman was unfamiliar, tall, and carried herself strongly upright. She was a fighter— perhaps an assassin.


A moment passed where Darius cursed himself for coming here dressed only in simple, dark clothing, unarmed save for a dagger affixed to his belt. Of course, someone would have been guarding this room under the current circumstances. Though something was off. At their appearance, the woman had looked startled and was keeping the charade of cleaning. No assassin he'd seen would try to save such an act at this point. And, he noticed, a dark, scarred brow arching upward, she was still idly dusting shelves.

By some miracle, Draven had waited for Darius before launching into any sort of idiocy. Obviously, he too saw the oddity of the current situation.

As the silence grew more palpable, Darius took a step into the room and inclined his head toward the woman.

"Good evening," he said placidly, giving a quick glance at Draven as if to say "watch her."


Sharp eyes swept the room as he strode further in, all but ignoring the woman as he approached the shelves lining one of the walls. Scrolls of orders and collections of military intelligence where the woman was, conveniently, cleaning. It took only a moment for him to locate the small lockbox where sensitive information was kept and, of course, to notice the broken lock. What was her game? Reaching forward to examine the little box, Darius flipped open the lid to find the box empty. With seemingly little interest, he closed the box once more and began to shift larger scrolls aside on the nearest shelf, still ignoring the maid.

"What was the date again, Draven?" he asked dryly.

"The fifteenth, last month," Draven replied without missing a beat, his eyes carefully following the woman's actions. A small smirk was tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched her. "Do they pay you extra to clean this late?" he inquired, his tone conversational. "Or are you compensating for poor work earlier in the day?"

"Ah," said Darius, partially unfurling a scroll to check the date. "Here it is. Take it back to my desk and I'll lock up here." He handed the scroll to his brother, who slunk toward the door with a grin.

"A maid, Dar? Little below your tastes, isn't it?" He gave a short laugh, then vanished through the doors.


Ignoring him, Darius turned back to the woman and fixed her with a passive expression.