Arcane: Painted Tapestries

The stranger walked from alley to alley, expertly navigating the labyrinthine network of winding streets that were Entresol. 

His final destination was the remains of a once famous bar located in the centre of town, as its current status would be the easiest way to decipher exactly what time period he had travelled to.

A few minutes of walking, climbing, and jumping later lead him into the most popular trading centre in all of Zaun.

He stood atop one of the many pipes that lined the surrounding houses, looking down onto the busy marketplace from above.

The place was brimming with activity, whether from the patrons of the many stalls lining the area, or the rare catfights that were happening among the antagonised crowd.

The Undercity was the kind of place that only became truly alive at night; with most of, if not all of the residents living there being semi-nocturnal, preferring to move around and go about their business in the dead of night rather than in the day.

There it stood, a seemingly small and unimportant place when compared to the rest of the large city. A sign indicating to the bar's name hung above a large door situated on the corner of the main street.

A wide assortment of blades were buried in the surface of the earth outside of the place, as it clearly stated at the side of the bar's entrance that you weren't permitted to bring large weaponry inside. Guns and knives were allowed though, funnily enough.

It was named, 'The Last Drop.'

His destination.

It was time to investigate.

He stepped off the edge of the rusted piping, falling a short way before landing silently on the dirty stone beneath him. No flashy entrance this time, the man thought to himself.

No need to attract any purposeless attention.

Little did the stranger know, that while his entrance hadn't been a flashy one, he had still been noticed.

—

The man pushed the door open, quickly greeted by a blast of warm air followed by a cacophony of laughter and snippets of heated discussions that pushed past his small frame, spilling out onto the cold street behind him.

The stranger stepped inside, the unevenly fixed door slowly swinging shut behind him.

It was crowded, nearly every table in the place was full, with far few seats left for him to settle at.

He walked forward, dodging the crowd of rowdy and celebratory people who were getting more and more hammered the longer they stayed there.

His agile nature and skill at dodging the unpredictable customers moving to and fro did not go unnoticed; as the huge man at the bar momentarily halted scrubbing at one of the many empty cups left on the counter and narrowed his grey eyes at the newcomer's unnoticeable presence.

The stranger took a seat at the bar, hopping onto one of the free stools pulled up in front of the counter.

His feet dangled above the ground childishly, the toes of his metal boots barely scraping the wooden flooring underfoot.

"I don't believe I've seen you around here before?" Said the barkeep, carefully analysing the short man before him. He couldn't see much however, because the cloak the man wore obscured his face, along with most of the rest of him too.

The stranger tilted his head back, revealing pale white skin and denoting a strong, clearly masculine jawline, contrary to his what his small stature suggested. "You wouldn't have. I'm a new face in town, so to speak."

"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure stranger? Most people don't come all the way down here just for a drink."

The large man was suspicious, and rightly so.

The stranger had heard his Liege-Lady speak of this man before, in very high esteem - though he believed that was a given considering her position as his ward.

He had never met the man personally until now, not having left the outskirts of Entresol in time to meet him before his eventual demise. He had heard talk of him beforehand however, and the rumours surrounding him had not been very flattering ones

Perhaps he needed to re-evaluate his opinion of this towering man before him.

"You would be right in that assumption. However I would still like one - that is if you have anything left." The stranger quipped lightly, glancing around carelessly at the crowded bar surrounding them.

The large man opposite him took note of his unnaturally coloured lips and the razor-thin, vertically aligned scar that stretched through their right edge.

He chuckled lightly, reaching under the counter and pulling out a fresh glass coupled with a brand-new bottle of wine. "Now that's something I don't think we'll ever have a shortage of, no matter how many of this lot turn up."

He popped the cork and poured the red liquid into the glass before pushing it forward. It was a quarter full, a perfect guess as to how much the newcomer wanted.

The stranger withdrew a hand from his cloak to grasp the medium-sized glass, parting his oversized outerwear just enough for the curious barkeep to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath.

He brought the glass to his lips and drank, mulling over the bitter liquid in his mouth. His tongue contracted as he savoured the drink's unusually good flavour, committing the taste to memory before swallowing.

"Hmm, better than I expected." He mused aloud, now gripping the top of the glass and swirling the wine within it around. 

He glanced up, noticing that the barkeep was clearly not going to leave him alone until he divulged at least the bare minimum of information concerning himself.

How irritating.

But this man was the father of his mistress and as such, he deserved a certain amount of respect. He would try not to lie to him. Try.

"My name is Callian Bright, vassal of the Painted Lady."

He spoke slowly and clearly, somehow easily heard over the ever-increasing noise the tavern's many customers were creating.

He supposed this was an angle he could play, of an envoy sent to ensure the safe passage of his master. The statement contained more than just a smidgen of truth within it, not even a half-lie at best.

"The name's Vander." Said the large man, slinging the dirty rag he had been using to clean the glasses over his massive shoulder and offering his hand to the newcomer. "And the reason you're here?"

Callian sighed, taking the offered hand and shaking it. He could feel the callouses caused by countless hours of hard work that were etched into Vander's tough palm. 

The large man's hands felt tempered, emanating a feeling of loyalty, strength, and bravery.

A man's hands were a tapestry of how they had lived their lives, painted differently by every choice they had made. Rare few took note of this fact. He was one of them.

That being said he was slightly annoyed at the larger man's unwillingness to be distracted by his minor misdirection.

Simpler men would have been satisfied with the information he had given and moved on, but Vander was completely focused on uncovering his purpose here and refused to leave him alone until he did so.

"Are you the peacekeeper of this town?" Asked Callian, only for Vander to raise an eyebrow at him disapprovingly and turn around, stashing the wine back into whichever cupboard it had come from.

Not many people would dare to turn their backs on Callian where he was from, and as such; he wasn't used to being disregarded in such a casual manner.

His face wrinkled in annoyance before speaking once more, this time far more honestly. "You are a truly frustrating person, you know that?"

Vander paused his action midway, blinking in surprise at the unexpectedly disrespectful comment.

He laughed loudly, his face broadening into a cheeky grin before turning to face Callian once more. "So I've been told." He said.

The hooded figure stayed silent and took another sip of his drink. His pink eyes then flicked towards Vander's expectant visage. "Ugh." Even the insult didn't sway or disrupt this man's focus in the slightest. How vexing.

"I have been sent here as scout, to determine whether this is a suitable place to house my Lady and her entourage."

This statement was a flat-out lie, born out of Callian's steadily growing ire at the larger man before him.

Vander brought up a chair and sat down, leaning forward onto the counter while scratching his chin thoughtfully. He decided to take the newcomer's words at face value, not wanting to antagonise him in any way.

"A suitable place for housing huh? Well, I'd expect a scout for a noble Lady like yours to go looking topside for such a thing, not dirtying yourself down here looking around in this dump." He glanced around at the tavern, his unasked question hanging dauntingly in the air.

In order to get to the Undercity, any external visitors first needed a permit from the sheriff of Piltover. This meant that if Callian was an official envoy like he claimed to be, he would have first needed to dock at Piltover and acquire one.

"I have already scoured the entirety of 'topside'. " Said Callian, smirking slightly and fiddling with his glass once more.

The strange armour covering his index and middle fingers began tapping on the fragile material, creating a musical tinkling sound as the metal alloy made contact with the cheap glass. "It was unsuitable for our purposes."

Vander's gaze hardened as he considered what such a thing could imply.

Assuming the man wasn't lying about his purpose here and was not searching for a safe or secure place to house the noble he served, then that could only mean one thing. 

The family he represented were looking to expand, or better yet, settle down and claim a new piece of land to stay in.

And now their eyes were on Entresol.

He was broken from his brooding as the stranger tapped him on the hand with his armoured fingers, drawing Vander back to reality.

"Worry not… Vander. If my Lady decides to travel here, her presence will bring nothing but good things to your city."

Good for whom? The larger man wondered.

He huffed unhappily and bid the stranger goodbye before sliding off his seat and moving away to serve another group of dirty-looking men who had just entered through the front door.

Vander failed to feel the minuscule incision Callian's finger had unintentionally caused with the friendly tap he had given him.

A tiny speck of blood pooled out onto the back of the large man's hand, unnoticed by all but the afflicter himself.

The newcomers must have come up from the mines, thought Callian, drawing himself deeper into his thoughts.

Vander was still alive, which meant if his Lady was correct in her tellings, he had at the very least; seven years left until the fall of Zaun took place.

Plenty of time.

The cloaked man trembled with silent relief. 

It had worked. The exact date didn't matter. 

All that mattered was that he was sent back before it happened. That was their goal.

The naive yordle and that damn kid had actually done it, they had managed to subvert law itself. Callian had been propelled backward in time by their bloody, painstaking efforts.

He downed the rest of the drink and slid the empty glass across the counter and into Vander's open hand, which twitched slightly at the unexpected stimulus.

The barkeep tilted his head in thanks and mouthed the word the words 'I'll put it on your tab.' before quickly turning back and devoting his attention to the influx of new customers.

His comrades had done their part. Now it was up to Callian to see it through.

—

(Total word count: 1982)