Blood for Noxus [CLOSED] [Jinx+ Alazaria+darjeeling]

Her duty, her mission, was to finally deal with her sister. Seeing as the League has done nothing aside from halting interference that shouldn't have been done in the first place, Kayle has put it upon herself to finally smite her rebellious sister.

Clad in her armor that she spent hours in cleaning and strengthening, she sped towards Noxus with all speed. Kayle cared nothing for Valoran's rules, there was only one type of law, hers. Arriving in Noxus was laughably easy, they all saw her as she flew in, a shining beacon of justice. Her breastplate gleamed in the light, shining into the shadowy darkness that was Noxus. Had she more time, she would cleanse this place as well. It was easy to see why her traitorous sister had set shop here, creating confectioneries to support her illicit life style.

It was time to put an end to that.

Her helm gleamed no doubt shining justice into the hearts of evil. Kayle began her walk towards her sister's shop, the streets empty of all life. The cowards had fled into their dark holes the moment she was spotted above their skies. None came to challenge her, rightfully so. Much like her descent, her journey to the hovel her sister now called home was quiet, no doubt the air was filled with the lamentations and regrets. The Noxians need not worry, the judicator will return at another time to cleanse Valoran starting with Noxus. Justice would be served.

She approached the door, her flaming sword held in her left hand at the low ready. She was prepared to burn this heinous establishment to the ground but caution tempered her hand. As far fetched as it may seem, there may be innocents, and while the wicked was to be shown the sword the innocent were to be protected. Perhaps it was also the smell of baked goods, the sugary scent wafting in the air that also gave Kayle pause. For a brief second she was drawn back to kinder memories of herself and her sister living in harmony with one another.

Bah, to dwell was madness, it was unproductive. Those times have passed. Morgana was no longer her darling sister but a traitorous wretch who dared fight against her side. If she is unable to see the truth, then she will be burned with all the rest. With a sharp gesture, she pushed the door open and walked inside, the tip of her flaming blade scorching the wall.

“Sister!” Kayle shouted inside the establishment, her massive wings taking up most of the space. “This ends now!”

Burned cookies, burned cakes, burned muffins. Burned, burned, burned.

This would not do. This would not do at all. Morgana was expecting a visitor and as one of the only bakers currently working at the Sinful Succulence, having only recently fired yet another incompetent chef who dreamed of crafting sweetbreads and home cooked meals, she simply could not afford a failure of this caliber. The tray of charred Teemo-shaped biscuits was slid off the baking try and into the trashcan to join his fellow disappointments as the fallen angel began to whip up another batch of dough.

Whilst her title did not match the atmosphere, it was almost fitting in that the room was as hot as a raging inferno, though it did not occur to Morgana at the time that the temperature on the oven may have been set a little too high. She was under stress, so much of it that as she beat away at the bowl, the whisk almost shattered in her too-tight grasp. A high-pitched whistle dominating the air signaled the completion of boiled water to which Morgana was more than thankful for. She dropped the metallic utensil into the sink with a clatter, switching off the preheating oven and wafted over to the kettle to pour herself a relaxing cup of tea.

It did not occur to her also that her sister may be, at this very point, flying with as much speed as she could muster towards her humble bakery-come-home. Her torn wings fluttered, not yet so broken to be unsuable but enough to make her float upwards to grab some sugar from the top of the shelf. Sugar was an expensive commodity here in Noxus, likely due to the strained trade relations this city had with the other city states who were less than impressed with their most recent endeavors. Irregardless, so long as she had some in her possession, the better it would be for business. Everyone loved a good, sugary treat after a long day of hacking away on the battle field.

Morgana spooned some of the white granules into her tea, just a pinch before placing the pot back behind a couple of empty liquor bottles. She brushed away wayward dark feathers on the floor, noting that she should pick it up before it got into her baking, and made her way back to her makeshift lounge. It really was just a room with a couch and a table, books, newspapers and magazines scattered everywhere. A single radio sat on the sill but there was no television to be found. The reason being was simple: she hated it. As she made herself comfortable on the sofa, nestling her wings comfortably behind her low cut dress, Morgana brought the teacup to her lips--

"Sister!"

A pause. The dangerously hot liquid close to tilting against her parted mouth but Morgana was no longer paying attention to her beverage. The voice was close and all too familiar. Disgustingly so. She scowled as the burning light of her dear sibling's sword singed the walls, her lovely recently painted walls, and the tea crashed to the ground. Its contents splashed against her bare feet but she barely noticed it as her rage grew almost immediately. It was rare for Kayle to visit her but it was not so uncommon that she should visit and send death threats. Well, Morgana was having none of it.

With growl, she thrust her palm out, a large green-black bolt thrown straight towards her sister with intent to disarm, maim and kill. "Get OUT!"

She had strolled in, her resolve stronger and surer than anything else in this world. Seeing Morgana outside of the fields of justice merely strengthened her resolve. “Sister!” Kayle shouted again, spotting the black magic being tossed her way. She side stepped it, bringing her flaming sword up to bear.

It was to be expected to see such filth in this place, spilled beverages on the ground, broken crockery. Her sister had fallen and it was expected that everything she touches is tainted as well. It is only with justice that the world shall be cleansed, that the wicked were to be burned and purified. Even her dear sister.

“You will come with me sister. We will settle our differences now.” Through the slits of her helmet, her eyes glowed with righteous justice. “When we return home, it shall be with you in chains. Your justice has long been overdue.”

Kayle sped forward, summoning her magic, swinging her sword. Bright fire spilled out, landing on the sofa, the ground and the wall. The fires soon began to grow, eagerly devouring everything within reach.
She will burn this wicked establishment to the ground and scatter the ashes in the winds. There will be nothing left for her sister, nothing but to return home and to face judgment.

"I heard you the first time!" Morgana almost screeched. Something about her sister made her temper a short fuse and ready to explode at a moment's notice. Especially with the Judicator waving around that burning, foolish sword that was like to tear down her entire house if she let Kayle come any closer. Unfortunately, it appeared her attack had been rendered useless by an effortless dodge on her foe's part.

She hissed. "Don't think you can just barge in here and order me around, sister." The nerve of that girl! Morgana very much likened her sibling's actions to that of an entitled brat as her own eyes tinged with purple glowed a dangerous milky-white, her torn wings flapping lazily behind her. "It will be your own undoing!"

With that said, Morgana found herself being charged at helmet first, the inferno dancing around her in a mocking waltz as it engulfed everything it touched. Burned! Everything! Her material possessions took the path of her baking as the room was turned into a literal oven but the Fallen would not give in. A dark blue barrier shimmered in front of her, shielding her from the heat as flaming tongues licked up the surface. Another bolt of dark black shot out from her palm. "OUT!"

The click of heels upon cobblestone; the flutter of cloth. She half considered riding her unmarked carriage all the way to the bakery allowed to remain on Noxian soil almost exclusively to spite the other city states. The Mistress of the all too famous drain of resources contributed very little beyond being metaphorical of a middle finger thrown to Summoner and Demacian alike. We host yet another Champion. You and your alliances can go and shove it.

The click of her stave joined the symphony of mundane sounds of a woman lost in thought. Despite the necessity of such, being the Matron of the Black Rose and all, she found secret meetings to be quite the bother; the peak of her irritation being the time between scheduling the assembly but before sitting down and partaking in whatever goods her ‘business partners’ all knew she enjoyed. Well. Secret meetings between ‘equals’, or so she wished them to believe anyway. Clandestine encounters were much more fun when she appeared all too unexpectedly in the residence of her servants. She wasn’t sure if it was the surprise, fear, or her ongoing tally of ‘things dropped or broken’ on her account.

The woman winced, a streak of irritation crossing her features; staring towards the heavens as /something/ burned through the sky. Really? Who was on patrol at this time? The Seventh Magister division was decorated, was it not? How could the- Ah. A /Tuesday/. She had forgotten. The woman rolled her eyes with yet another sigh. Would she be bothered to repel the ‘invasion’ of one? It may be a pleasant alternative to burnt pastries, but she had scheduled the little soiree for a reason.

----

She stood before building, striding rather casually amidst the flames; not even having realized anything were amiss until the rather cross cries wafted out from within together with the smell of burning. The look of annoyance once again crossing her visage was one completely evident if not for her illusory cloak. Oh good. No edible baked goods /AND/ she had the privilege of responding to the bothersome invasion. Wasn’t there a fast response team precisely for things like this? Ugh. Swain was probably doing obstinate things to the Radsael on duty.

It took but moments for her to take stock of the situation. Perhaps things weren’t quite so bad after all- her hostess having provided quite the delicious morsel. The woman tilted her head lower. The way the angel charged, flaming sword in hand. The first warning of the Sorceress' presence was the sigil that appeared where she once stood- timing the Distortion with the fallen angel’s bolt of swirling energy.

The number of possibilities as to how the Judicator would evade were numerous beyond count; but everyone, angels inclusive, had preferred moves. Whether they were conscious of their skewed evasive algorithms or not, it mattered little. Such a headstong girl. Morgana’s bolt leaned towards the left. Kayle would hardly concede any ground to her ever beloved sister. Most probable evasive path was to the right while continuing to surge forward. With a swift motion of her gloved hand, an ethereal copy of the Deceiver leapt along the Noxian’s side; wearing a smirk mirrored upon her original.

The mirror image dashed into the angel’s field of view- an orb projected towards the angel together with molten, glimmering links- the former at a much greater speed than the latter. The floral sphere arcing towards her mark and set to collide with her should she cease movement. Chains threatening the vengeful angel from forward and to the right. Leblanc was sure she had masked her image well enough that this should be the first moment in which Kayle could have noticed her. It would be game over for any regular mark- but this one was blessed with powerful wings. The Deceiver was not one to forget this fact as she took advantage of the angel's instincts honed from a millennia of war. The divine being would no doubt evade, but it took but three strikes to catch even the most elusive of prey.

The real Matron ran along to a right angle from her double; masking the sound of her footfalls was an easy task, especially with the commotion of a battle between Champions. The flutter of her cloak as she appeared in a puff of smoke- launching a series of ethereal chain from her fingertips towards the path Kayle would no doubt instinctively take. Check.

The woman spun, her stave spinning before Leblanc jabbed the length towards the Judicator; golden spheres glancing towards the Fallen Angel as another sparkling length of suppressing chains arced towards where the primaries would no doubt be positioned upon the beat of those pristine wings- compensating for maximum possible lift generated from a quick pump of those feathers together with the velocity of her own attack.

Mate.

Without the League's summoners present, there was no restriction on Kayle's powers. Outside of the League, only self control kept her from cleansing this world. Of course, if she was truthful with herself, the people of Valoran were not terrible. They were tolerable. Most of her time was spent in the Leagues negotiating with the lead summoner. That and plotting means of which to bring justice to her home.

Not to mention training. Justice will not come to the lazy or the weak, it must be brought by those with strong hearts and strong minds. To think that their sister was wasting her time cooking confectioneries to be sold for a profit. Blasphemy! Her sister was supposed to be training, preparing for their next epic battle that would decide her fate.

It was with these highly honed and affronted senses that Kayle spotted the Deceiver. Immediately she swung her blade, intending to cleave the offending spell caster in twain. “You Dare! Meet Your RECKONING.”

At some point, she had started to speak in caps.

Perhaps it was the righteous rage that had swelled in her heart as the Deceiver appeared, throwing out her magic. This mortal would dare use magic against her? Much like the summoners, the people of this world presume too much. She who had fought a war for a millennium, she who had marshaled thousands, SHE who--

Her powerful wings flapped once, twice, as she moved to dodge the ethereal chains. Kayle knew all too well the power that was contained in their and their ability to silence those caught by them. The dust was caught up, blowing into the air, flaming the fires. While she had wanted to focus upon her devious sister, the Deceiver took priority. Once she got rid of the interloper, then she can focus on her sister.

She slipped by the chains, darting towards the image. Now, she knew that the Deceiver had a clone, and that the clone would be somewhere close. Knowing this, she accelerated her movement, and continued to light the general area on fire. She'd simply smoke the real Leblanc out.

It was during this course of setting everything and anything ablaze, did Kayle manage to catch the third figure. The real Leblanc, just before her chains shot out and wrapped around Kayle' armored arm. She tried to dart back, a spell on her lips, then the second and the third flew out and around her. Her massive white wings flared outward, beating hard, raising her up a foot before she stopped moving completely, snared. Weighted down, for the first time her feet touched the dirty floor.

There were intruders in her home basked in the familiar colors of the Black Rose and the colors of glinting armor and great white wings knocking over every moth-eaten lampshade and beating at the darkly washed walls of her abode. Morgana stood to the side, somewhat shell-shocked that the Matron herself would participate in a sibling’s squabble, the Deceiver was normally a woman known with a taste for fine wine and grand events. She definitely did not expect her to be fighting amidst a pile of broken pastries and shattered furniture. The Fallen Angel was almost like to blast them both out: such slights on her possessions would not be tolerated any further, and in her hand she readied a roiling purple sphere but at the last second, it fizzled and faded as the mighty Kayle was brought down in a mess of pristine white wings and glinting armor and on her body criss-crossed a vast amount of golden chains.

Somehow, Leblanc had taken the Judicator down without breaking a single sweat and though the fact that she had done it so easily should have made Morgana infuriated, just seeing her sister’s boots being dirtied by the burnt crumbs of her failed cookies made her crow in delight. Using this opportunity, Morgana conjured up the darkest magic she knew. Snakes of dark shackles reared up from her form as she took a few steps forward. They slithered about her arms and shoulders, poising to strike and only doing so when she flicked her wrist towards the restrained Kayle. Her sister would normally evade these, but with Leblanc’s help, the shackles wrapped themselves around the angel’s waist, between her breasts like makeshift strap, around her thighs and ankles and constricted tightly.

They were Soul Shackles for a reason and Morgana could already feel the Judicator’s power seeping through the bonds that held her and through the length to Morgana’s chest where the bond was connected to. The end closest to the Fallen’s person could not be seen so clearly, only a shimmer in the air, an interruption in the waves which thickened in color and size as it rippled closer to Kayle. A small purr of delight escaped her dark lips, her glowing eyes seeming to brighten further. The feeling was unimaginable. It was years, centuries even, of hatred and greed, disgust for her sister and for all that she stood for and her desire to break the angel down, to show the white-winged fool what it was like to be truly debased.

Morgana glanced at Leblanc. She held a modicum of respect for the Deceiver but she did not know if that respect meant that she had to indulge in her desires in front of her. Grudgingly, she waited, with Kayle chained between them and silent to await the Matron’s judgment. If Leblanc wished to leave, then so be it. Kayle would not escape her. If the possibility was there that the Black Rose wished to share in her victory… well, she couldn’t very well say no, could she? Besides, Morgana was an opportunist and if nothing else, there was always a delicious amount of fun to be had when it came to a woman like Leblanc.