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    Summary

    Viego’s pallid face tightens, his lips thinning in a line. His unusual green eyes study the ground rather than meet Vladimir’s gaze. He is uncomfortable, likely mulling over Vladimir’s final words and disliking their validity. He has burnt more bridges than he’s built over the course of his life and unlife. Focusing all of one’s attention on a glorified peasant girl is bound to do such a thing. His immortal subjects found him mad beyond reason, and the power hungry vultures have realized he’s too unstable to be of any benefit.

    But they do not have the means that Vladimir has. Nor the scope of view. Mortals can only think in the short term, it’s a limit of their condition. Vladimir and Viego have eternity.

    Or, Vladimir and Viego shake the world of Noxian politics, and scheme up ways to double-cross each other in the meantime.

    Language:
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