((Do the characters have to die, like say death in war? ._. I don't want any of my characters going *bam* death. Just wondering. ._.))

((A message from Cube...))

Get off of the main RP, guys! You don't want Eredale finding out about your OOC!

Jay gave an odd look to Cube. "Who're you talking to?"

Nunya beeswax.

[QUOTE=Jaykoboy;24356474Jay touched it gingerly. "It's a bowtie. Bowties are cool." With that, he walked down the street, well-dressed and well-equipped for survival.[/QUOTE]

((I see what you did there, also, Let's Kill Hitler much?))

http://summoners.shurelia.com/profiles/1504
Panz looks out the window of his Bandle City apartment, his Magpie perched motionlessly on his wrist. The city had an air of uneasiness to it. Bandle was neutral in the Demacian-Noxian conflict, but nonetheless there was the odd soldier stationed on a street corner or near a fountain. Personally, it was his belief that his home should be taking a more active role in its own defence, but that was his own opinion, which he kept to himself. He would have joined the Bandle City Expeditionary Force to make his city safer, but his questionable past would cause certain complications to arise, ones that he would have to do without. While he hadn't been a summoner for many years now, Panz still felt like more of an outcast than usual. He turns to face his feathery companion. "I suppose we should get going, shouldn't we?" He walks towards the door, but not before lifting a sharp, jagged knife from a stand on a desk.

((Yes, let's do. But don't tell Talon.))

As the refugees left the towns surrounding Noxus, a lone figure slipped into the crowds, his hood obscuring his face. None would question the motives of one among such multitudes, for what purpose could he have other than escape? To flee the warzone for safer ground, where the constant threat of attack that kept all but the foolhardy awake at night was nonexistent?

Orion took in everything from his surroundings: the scent of sweat and fear that permeated the crowd, the sound of whispers and nervous laughter, the vibrations echoing through the ground from the stomp of countless feet. Each detail had a story to tell, each a piece of information that could be used to the advantage of the aware. For it is often the little things which tell the most.

The refugees wound their way up the mountain slopes toward the Rebels' base, a dark tunnel barely visible up ahead. As he followed the crowds, Orion's keen senses noticed something amongst the clouds. To most, it would appear to be little more than a shadow in the night, but to Orion the winged figure stuck out like a beacon. As they entered the tunnel, Orion took a mental note of the figure's unique scent as it was carried on the wind. He did the same for the man they followed deeper into the tunnels, as well as the sound of his voice.

Outside the Ironspike mountains
Avengard done one more sweep across the mountains, seeing nothing he flew higher heading to a distant location behing the cave. They should be safe for now... Time to introduce myself then.

Inside the tunnels
The man lead the crowd deeper into the caves towards the orange lights as they walked past the lights were simply glowing orbs. The crowd moved past them, the light exstinguishing behind them as they moved deeper and deeper under ground.
After what seemed like almost an hour of walking passing many divides in the tunnels they arrived infront of a pair of giant iron doors. It would be almost impossible to find ones way out without the lights lighting the way. The man stood still infront of the two massive doors. Halt. His deep voice resounded through-out the tunnel, the crowds stood still. "In order to pass these doors your mind must be searched for evidence of treachery. Any attempts to resist will be meet with sever punishment. If you intend harm..." A shadowy arm gestured back towards the now pitch black caves. "Make your way out now. This is your only warning."
More shadowy silhouettes of humanoids appeard infront of the doors. "You will walk to these people and allow them to examin you mind. Move."
The crowd slowly moved forward towards the shadow men, forming crude lines they began to exam the minds of the willing.

((Hmm, stealth or deception...))

Orion's echolocation combined with his excellent night vision allowed him to see nearly perfectly as they passed deeper and deeper into the earth. Soon they reached the iron doors, and Orion pondered the ultimatum; a complication, but not an unexpected one. As he joined one of the lines passing the shadow people, he dispersed all thoughts of malice into his neural net, which he then shut off. Not even he could tell what his purpose was now. It would be tiresome to be forced to rely solely on his human brain, but it was a necessary sacrifice. As the guards probed his mind, they would sense hunger and secrecy, but nothing more than would be normal, for who among us truly has nothing to hide?

Outside Ironspike mountains

Shraido looks at the clear path that somebody has apparently made, and from what he could see a lot of people have followed it. On one hand, they could be hostile, on the other hand, they might not be. In the end he decides to go forward by stealth. He looks around, and sees that while the path has been made relatively safe, the mountains around it seem ready for an avalanche, with Shraido right in the middle. He speeds up, decreasing his stealth in exchange for survival. In the distance he hears thunder, which always makes him grin, but if it comes any closer it might set off the avalanche. In the distance he thinks he sees a winged shape flying away, but shakes his head. Not important right now. If he doesn't find a cave or something before the thunderstorm arrives he will probably be done for.

In the ruins of what once was the Institute of War a person stands, investigating the place. He was Vex. Slowly moving across the charred earth, he became aware of a nearby presence. However, slowly looking around, he saw nobody. He thought he heard something, a whisper, almost as if the wind was saying something. He strained his ears, and looked up into the sky. He now seemed to be able to catch words, a conversation. Then silence. At last, as he was about to turn away, he heard a cry, and he seemed to hear these words: "Let the war begin!". Odd. Where did it come from? Indeed there was a war, yet it sounded like it was said before the war. Slowly turning around, he paced away from the ruins, muttering to himself.

------------------------------------------

Vex has no base, as he roams the place.

((http://summoners.shurelia.com/profiles/1172))

Institute of War
A boot crunches in the cracked and broken dirt outside the grand entrance to the main hall. The ground here was as dry and brittle as desert, but the air was always saturated with the overwhelming stench of uncontrolable magic. The Institute of War, once a proud and majestic testament to the level of society Runeterra had advanced to, now lied in absolute ruin. The winged figure made his way up the broken stone steps and under the archways of the hall, not stopping to look at the crumbled stone statues that once resembled Runeterra's most prestigeous summoners and mages. Nor did he check for any contacts within the grounds as he walked, he had surveyed the Institute from the sky and seen no signs of life save for the various magical disturbances that covered the buildings. For any normal being, staying in a place like this without magical protection for too long was dangerous, after an hour or two the magic would start to affect him.

He picked up the pace and stepped lightly, keeping an eye out for any unnactivated traps the summoners had left in their absense. He had travelled to these crumbling ruins to get information, although he wasn't entirely sure if what he was after was still intact. He leapt over a gap in the floor, spreading his wings to pass over the vast black expanse left in it's wake. The Institute of War lay it's foundations upon a mountain filled with a system of caverns and tunnels, he'd been told. Several of the pillars holding the grounds up had broken due to attack or disrepair, leaving gaping holes in parts of the Institute. Without the activity of mages and guards, and the now constant flux of magical energies, who knew what horrors had taken up residence in the tunnels below.

It had been a long year for Fenix, starting with the summer they had known was coming. Hiding himself in the dank Howling Marsh with the being he knew as The Witch, while the continent descended into chaos was no easy task for him. But it had been fortold that the Institute of War would not last, that eventually they would lose their grip and be poisoned by their own kin, and die at the hands of men and women with hatred and vengeance in their hearts. They had weathered the storm together, waiting in that small cottage of hers, protected by the hundreds of magical artifacts and wards she coveted. She had always been fond of keeping her privacy, locked away from the eyes of Runeterra's mortals. But Fenix had known it could not last forever, eventually even the immortal and mysterious Witch had to go into hiding, to a place that only she knew about.

"This broken world is at a crossroads" she had told him. "One path will lead the Human race to rebirth and quell their hatred of eachother, though it will be built upon the bodies of the broken and the slain. And like all things, it will eventually end and the cycle shall continue. The other path leads to destruction and ruin, the eventual end of this world and all it's inhabitants. Go to the Institute of War, you will find what you need to begin your journey in it's ruins. Make sure the cycle is not broken." With that he had left, flying South as the home she lived in dissapeared. It was not often that The Witch moved house, it troubled him greatly. He was now alone with the single direction she had pointed him in, with two purposes in mind. Unite Valoran under a single banner, and survive.

He came to a halt outside one of the gilded doors of the Institute, a private section of one of their great libraries. The entrance had been blasted open, the locks and enchantments defeated by brute force and even more brutal enchantments. Slowly wiping dust and grime from the plaque next to it, he smiled. Hall of Records, he had found what he was looking for.