He stopped once more, bringing a hand to run his fingers through his beard. “Hrrm, hrrm … you see, normal men, they die once – you run a sword through them, or subtly place venom in their wine goblet, or accidentally push them down a flight a stairs … and there are as gone as a spring breeze! But you and I … we are great men. Perhaps our physical forms will die, unfortunately taking us with them, but there is still a way for us to remain immortal – legacies, my dear friend! All great men leave behind them a legacy! The death of a legacy is, perhaps, the most tragic end of them all…”Swain reached in to his robes and retrieved a sealed scroll. He broke the wax seal, flipped open the scroll with one hand and threw it on to the table, facing Markal. “Read it,” he ordered. “I think you will find the contents…most interesting.”
At the Grand General’s own speech, all Markal did was to settle behind the chair once more, pressing his free hand against the furniture’s back, a quirked eyebrow the only sign on his expression to show that he was still listening, his emerald eyes glowing forebodingly in his eye sockets, never leaving the Master Tactician from his sight, nor his actions.
His eyes flitted ever-so-slightly at the thrown paper, only to settle back on Swain - finally, his lips curled together in a sardonic and mocking smile as he straightened his back, lifting his hand off the chair only to pat his palm against his chest, causing the various trinkets and medallions pinned to his robes softly clink together.
"Hrrmf." he began, mostly to clear his throat than to show the true indignation that was stirring in his being - but for now, he kept in check … but the affront brought to his house would not remain forgotten, even though he could play the part of the forgetful old nobleman quite well. “Seeing and hearing you talk as you do now, Grand General, I am led to believe your informants are indeed, quite terrible. I would suggest you see them immediately executed and replaced with more efficient task force … but then again, even if you do that, I doubt you would truly be able to know Cassalantar fully.”
Markal bowed his head, signaling he was done speaking, before he went around the chair and towards the table, the tapping of his staff against the floor accompanying his otherwise silent steps. He reached out for the scroll with his free hand, his expression sobering up as he deftly handled the parchment, holding the top of the scroll before himself to allow it to unfurl by itself, before he indeed, continued reading, his emerald eyes scanning each and every word for whatever hidden meaning, symbol or code he could detect …
The arrogance of a noble. Nothing surprising.
Swain enjoyed frustrating the older man, as he had enjoyed toying with a number of the neromancer’s ex-comrades, before having them executed on various grounds. This time was different, though; the time for culling had passed, and the time of mending had begun. Noxus was not strong divided, and it had been like a trip through hell to arrive where the Grand General was now. In order to secure the peace, he needed figures like the Cassalantar before him to be under his wing and careful guidance, rather than unashamedly pursuing their own agendas.
"If you can’t make heads or tails of it, then it means the Institute of War has finally employed sufficient intelligence staff," he started, having watched Markal’s intense scrutiny of the paper. "The message was intercepted by one of our Zaunite contacts…they were kind enough to relinquish the note for a reasonable price…after some…’persuasion’, of course.”
Jericho casually identified, studied and brushed off a speck from his robe, diverting his attention as he continued. “Within contains very interesting information regarding your granddaughter-the young Tybresa, isn’t it?” The Grand General continued inspecting his clothing for any other offending pieces of debris, mkaing it appear he was talking to no-one but himself, a man lost in thought. “I’ve been told she has a great deal of potential, a great deal of magical blood running through her delicate veins. Such an individual would be a great asset to Noxus…and to yourself, I am sure.”
He ceased his nit-picking, raising his eyes to meet the necromancer’s steely gaze. “It appears she’s fallen out of favor with her would-be masters…perhaps it is time she found a new home?”