Chapter Text
Nights were never quiet in Bilgewater. If it wasn’t a ship headed out for parts unknown, it was a barfight that needed to be broken up. If it wasn’t loud, off-key singing, it was the butchering of sea monsters after the fleet had come in. Lights were always on and sound was an ever-present companion, much like the mist that rolled in from the ocean. It was ordered chaos combined with pure capitalism and a sense of belonging to those who loved the place. All watched over by the notorious Sarah Fortune and her cohorts who kept things moving. Especially coins.
To someone who wanted to remain hidden, it provided the perfect cover. Two individuals meandering down a rickety street was nothing new. Dozens if not hundreds were out and about even at that time of night. Most people out late at night wandered out of one of the many watering holes that dotted the settlement and were happy to bleed pay from sailors. The city was full of individuals who didn’t know if they would see the next sunrise and lived like they might not.
“I don’t know whether to be impressed at how unafraid they all are,” said one of the walking duo, “or find them detestable for wasting their lives,” The speaker was a youngish man dressed in a black and red long coat with a hood pulled over his head. His boots, standard for a sailor, made little if any sound despite the state of the streets he strolled down. The outfit did little to hide the confident and practiced gait he carried himself with. To anyone who bothered to look, and few did, he might as well be any other sailor.
“Maybe a bit of both,” His companion shrugged. She had dressed a bit more flamboyantly. While the color of her clothes was the same, her white tunic left her midriff bare which allowed her tattoo to show. A tight leather vest accentuated her curves in a way that was pre-meditated to make others underestimate her. Long boots covered her tight leather breaches which matched her leather jacket. A wide hat adorned her head jauntily over dark purple hair. An eye-patch over her right eye along with two wicked looking daggers finished her ensemble.
He grunted in response and walked beside her. His eyes constantly moved as he regarded potential danger around him. Luckily for anyone who thought they would find an easy mark in the duo, the sheer danger that the two radiated kept the thugs and cutthroats at bay. It was part of her plan, despite his concerns. Usually, the two moved in the shadows and were as silent as possible. To be so out in the open was new for him, but she knew that sometimes you needed to hide in plain sight.
Their path took them down to the harbor where they stopped before they reached the actual docks. Their gazes turned up and down the ships anchored there and sought their target. To their great surprise, they found it far more readily than they expected. Not because it was the only ship, or the grandest, or had the most canons. But because it had a gigantic pink monkey skull painted on the stern.
“Is that?” He started to ask.
“I…think so?” She answered and tried to figure out what she saw. It was, indeed, a massive galleon of Demacian design with pink graffiti on it that felt oddly familiar to the woman. A proud vessel that had once sailed the waves near its home kingdom to defend its shores from pirates, naval assaults, and potential monsters. That was before the kingdom had fallen to darkness.
A year prior, a great civil war had erupted in the tradition bound country. Mages who had long been oppressed and persecuted had risen under the banner of their chosen leader, Sylas. They fought against the established forces of Demacia, led by the new monarch Jarvan the Fourth. All reports said the battles were fiercely fought and destructive wherever forces clashed. Enough that it would have brought a lesser kingdom to its knees. In the middle of those battles a sudden terrible darkness covered the land.
It started in the capital itself and spread for leagues around. The High Silvermere and nearby docks were consumed by it within days. No light penetrated through it, and none escaped its wrath. No one could say what happened inside, or even if anything was left. Noxus and the Freljords had been quick to take advantage and rushed to gain new territory. Those gains had been slowed as the shadow grew across the land until it finally chose to stop and hover. No one seemed to know exactly what had happened, but it reminded them of a terrible event from their collective past. Though none could confirm it, many felt they had a solid guess.
A Harrowing of size none had ever seen before.
Now, all nations watched and held their breaths. Some had observation posts set up to monitor any changes. But they all stayed vigilant.
Nothing had been heard of Demacia other than the refugees who had managed to flee. That was until three months ago the Ship had suddenly emerged from the sea lanes between Noxus and Bilgewater. It struck out at pirates and trade vessels alike. A terrifying giant of a ship said to have at least fifty cannons that roared from nowhere and disappeared just as quickly. The ship would move close, take what was valuable, and leave behind anyone that willingly surrendered. Even Noxian traders were spared if they gave up their treasure and did not fight. The only damage done was a disarming of any weapons and strange paint and glitter filled bombs that burst across the deck and left all in stunned neon colors.
Everyone struck by the vessel reported the same story. The absolute chaos that came when the ship with a sunburst painted on the sails, and a strange pink monkey skull painted on the stern, caught up to them. They also talked in hushed whispers of the mountain of a man that addressed targeted crews and with a booming voice promised them safety in exchange for compliance. All descriptions of him were the same; tall, commanding, broad, and with white hair.
The woman shook her head to regain her composure and moved quickly towards the vessel. Her partner tailed after as they both melded into the shadows like they had been born to them. None on the docks knew they were there as the duo weaved between boxes, crates, and individuals. They swiftly reached their targeted vessel, and with practiced ease gained entry over the edge. The pair ducked behind a couple of barrels as they surveyed the deck for any potential guards. To their shock, there weren’t any.
“I don’t like this,” he said as he looked nervously over the deserted planks and entryways.
“We don’t have to like it,” She hissed back, “We just have to reach our target,”
“Okay, but where?” he asked.
“Probably in the captain’s quarters,” she nodded to a door on the back of the ship under the wheel, “I’ll check there. You scout the rest of the vessel and see what you can find,”
“Ten minutes?” He asked to get a feel for when they should leave.
“Ten minutes,” she agreed, and then was gone.
***
He had told her he didn’t like this. He liked it even less when he made his way down into the hold and still hadn’t found anyone. There were signs of people being there. Bunks were set, supplies were laid out, and cannon balls were neatly stacked. His nose wrinkled as he noticed there was graffiti everywhere. Brightly colored pictures of skulls, monkeys, and explosions were spread out like an art exhibit on display. It was bizarre seeing something like this on a Demacian ship.
A bit of light caught his attention as he noticed a door cracked open and a candle flickered against the moonlight. He frowned and the first thought that went through his mind was a trap. This had all the makings of a trap. He knew it, but he had to check. Silently, the man made his way over and hugged every shadow he could. He took a moment to lean against the wall next to the cracked door and drew a knife from a hidden belt. He heard movement inside which confirmed there was someone there at least.
The man peered around the side slowly and gained an idea of where the figure was. A silent slide of his feet and he prepared to pounce on the target and take them hostage to get some information. He’s not sure what made him pause, but he did and that was his ultimate undoing. The figure turned around suddenly and the sneaking figure found himself face to face with an automatic crossbow.
“Evening, Talon,” the voice practically purred. He looked down the barrel of the crossbow as his fear was realized. Before him was the former Demacian ranger-knight Quinn who somehow knew he was there. Talon spun quickly as he prepared to run but stopped short as two more weapons were shoved into his face.
The first was a nasty looking pistol that was attached to a skinny arm. The arm belonged to a short, pale young woman with electric blue hair and bright pink eyes. Her maniacal grin showed she looked for a reason to shoot him if he gave her one.
The other weapon was a massive shotgun being held by a rough looking man who fit into the pirate motif quite well. His grin equally begged for Talon to give him a reason to pull the trigger. Neither did as Quinn’s hand came up to remove the knife from the assassin's hand.
“The Admiral should be talking to your sister soon,” Quinn said and patted his shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get some rum,” The weapons all lowered as light suddenly appeared and more of the crew popped up. Talon tried to take it all in but was suddenly struck dumb by the offer.
“Get some what now?”
***
While Talon was being captured his companion had snuck into the captain’s cabin. It was easy enough for her to pick the lock and slid in without so much as a snap of the latch. Katarina Du Couteau took in as much as she could through the moonlight that streamed through the small windows of the room. It was lightly appointed, with few comforts and looked more like a military bunk than a bedroom. She frowned lightly as something felt familiar to her about the whole set up, but she shook her head to focus on her goal. The bed across the room.
A form looked to rest under the blankets, which was the most logical place to be at this time of night. She tried to listen for the sound of a snore or breath, but the noise of the port did just enough to interfere with her hearing. With grim resolve she pulled her twin daggers and crept towards the bed, the one thing that looked to be well appointed in the cabin and prepared herself to move in for the strike if she had to. One hand gently slid to the blanket and started to peel it back to get a gander at her target when light suddenly filled the place as the door behind her opened.
Katarina snapped her gaze towards the door and for a moment, could not make out who it was. It was a brickwall in human form, she knew that much. Almost as broad as he was tall and dressed in a long coat that was open to reveal his chest. A long, jagged cutlass was held in his hand as he moved inside and closed the door behind him. The assassin gave him no chance to speak before she was at him with a sudden strike of her blades.
He easily parried her initial strike as though he expected it, as well as the ones that followed. Their deadly dance moved in a strange sync as the man stayed on the defensive and gave her no clear openings. It was as though he knew her patterns. With a growl, she dropped down and swung a foot out to kick his shin to knock the giant down. A massive fist reached to grab her ankle and yanked it in another directly. She yelpled in surprise before a grunt followed as she hit the ground. There had only been one person capable of such a move on her, but he was dead.
Wasn’t he?
As Katarina tried to recover the man spoke with a voice that froze her blood. When Demacia had fallen to the Harrowing, he had been said to have fallen shortly afterwards. She had secretly mourned for weeks after the news reached her. She had desperately tried to come to peace knowing he would no longer be there to meet her. Not in the field of combat, or in the secrecy of their trysts together. She had finally come to terms with her loss, but then he spoke.
“Hello, Katarina,” Garen Crownguard said as he stepped into the moonlight, “I have been waiting for you,”