Date: 27 October, 19 CLE
Gangplank is... interesting, to say the least. Were it not for his fame among those faring the eastern seas he most likely would have been thrown out of the Institute of War when he arrived, flanked by two young women, reeking of cheap stale beer, and clearly quite drunk himself. Rather than process him while thoroughly inebriated, as that could have caused damage to the Reflection Chamber, we bade his 'escort' farewell and allowed him a day's worth of rest.
Today he appears to be doing as well as he ever will, for I suspect his irritable demeanor and fierce temper are not a product of his night spent drinking. Gangplank commands undivided attention through the use of fear and intimidation, as any man would making a living off the shadier aspects of human society. Were it not for his blatant disregard and disdain for any sort of authority, I imagine he could have become an extremely powerful man under the Noxian regime. Gangplank is his own man in every sense of the phrase, and he makes no point in hiding it.
As he strode arrogantly through the central hall towards the Reflection Chamber, one could feel the disgust radiating from his scornful gaze as it crossed the room. I imagine Gangplank has never seen ornate halls of caved marble except while plundering them for his bounty. When he arrived at the doors, his gaze followed the contour of the thin crack between them up to the inscription.
The truest opponent lies within.
Gangplank scoffed, and then nearly got himself thrown out of the Institute a second time. The ruffian pulled from his person a small dagger and slipped it under the 'u' in 'truest', as if to pry it from where it sat. I promptly yelled for him to cease and desist, and with a sneer Gangplank entered the Reflection Chamber.
Smug little rat.
Gangplank fumed in the darkness of the Reflection Chamber, clearly not happy about being accosted by one of the Institute's acolytes. The last person to do that took a bullet in the gut and bled out all over a city street. The person before that was kidnapped in the dead of night, and fired from a ship cannon back into town in the morning. And the person before that...
Was my old man.
"Waaahahaha! Still miss yer dear old daddy, do ye lad?"
Gankplank drew his pistol and fired in the direction of the voice before turning to look at whom it belonged to.
"Whoa there, watch where ye point that shoddy piece a driftwood; ye'll poke someone's eye out wid et!"
There stood Vincent, or rather Vincent's skeleton, with a chunk of skull blown out behind the left eye socket.
"And aye believe this belongs ta me."
While Gangplank's brain attempted to process what was unfolding, Vincent's skeletal hand snapped forward and snatched Gangplank's hat clean off his head. The hat came to rest atop Vincent's own, and with a small push forward fit nicely with his old black overcoat. If it weren't for the skeletal head and hands, nobody would suspect Vincent had ever died in the first place.
"So yer like a cockroach after all." Gangplank remarked, thinly veiled malice lacing his words.
"Eh, shut it boy; Ye got lucky." Vincent removed a pipe from his vest and a box of matches. After a few strikes, however, it was clear his matches were not going to light.
"What, somethin' on me face? Make yerself useful an git me a light." Vincent remarked absently.
"Git yer own, ye scum." Gangplank angrily replied.
"Ey, respect yer elders ye brat!" Vincent lashed out and smacked Gangplank upside the head in response.
Gangplank, however, was having no more of that. His right hand gingerly yanked his cutlass from it's resting place, and swung a vicious horizontal arc that caught Vincent square in the ribs. The blade tore through his overcoat and the vestments they covered, but failed to strike anything vital. Vincent glanced down at the 'wound' inflicted by the weapon, and laughed. Enraged and spurred on, Gangplank continued his assault by smashing the flat of his blade against Vincent's face, sending him reeling across the floor and knocking his hat off.
"Tha bottom o' tha sea not a good enough restin' place fer ya, is that it?" Gangplank called mockingly as he picked up his hat to set it in it's rightful place. "Aye shoulda left ye on some spirits-forsaken rock ta be picked apart by tha gulls then!"
Vincent's humor roared through the chamber, still it's dark and inky black self. "Oh, aye got me a mighty fine piece a land down there. Ye should visit sometime!" Vincent yanked free a flintlock pistol from his belt and aimed it straight at Gangplank's face. Before he could duck or dodge out of the way the shot had already been fired, slamming into Gangplank's left eye.
Gangplank screamed as a spray of gore blanketed his face from the wound. His right hand released his blade which clattered noisily to the floor and clutched his wound. His back arched forward in pain, and his knees nearly gave out. As his fluids leaked through his fingers from the hole in his head, Vincent howled with glee.
"There! Now ye'll look like a proper pirate!"
A soft patter echoed faintly from before, and Gangplank momentarily glanced in it's direction with his good eye. Vincent's eye-patch laid in front of him on the reflection chamber floor. Gangplank growled in rage and shot his glance upward at Vincent, who stood with his arms up in a gesture of confusion.
"What? Aye'm just tryin ta 'elp ye boy. Don't look at me like tha."
With a bellowing yell filled with spite, Gangplank bull-rushed Vincent and knocked him to the ground. His bones clattered to the floor in a heavy crash, prompting Gangplank to throw himself on top with a crunch. With Vincent now pinned, Gangplank pounded his fists into his father with an unrelenting fervor. His knees sat pinning Vincent's shoulders to the floor, preventing any retaliation. His hands slammed mercilessly into Vincent's skull, each blow slowly but surely sending small cracks spider-webbing across it's exterior. A well-aimed blow knocked his lower jaw loose, and a second sent the bone skidding across the floor with a hollow clang. Under the stress of the barage, Vincent's skull began to bulge inwards and with a final, furious slam the bone finally gave way and caved in on itself.
Gangplank huffed with exhaustion, still seated on his father's still prostrate form. Looking up, he began to notice the scenery had changed. No longer a dark room, he sat in the captain's cabin of his ship. And as a memory flashed across Gangplank's mind...
This makes sense.
Gangplank stood up, grabbed Vincent's overcoat, and hoisted the corpse up over his shoulder by it. He exited the quarters, to be met with the eyes of his crew watching his exit. They continued to wordlessly go about their duties, but never took their eyes off Gangplank and his 'companion'. Gangplank refused to acknowledge their existence, and instead made his way over to the stern of his ship. Leaning over the banister to peer into the waters below, his began to speak again. The voice this time was not of his father, but of someone Gangplank did not recognize.
"Why do you wish to join the league?"
Gangplank paused, but only for a moment. He remembered where he was.
"Why? 'Cause it's about time Bilgewater gets tha respect it deserves, an who better ta 'represent it'?"
There was a brief pause, and the voice spoke again.
"Why do you wish to join the league?"
Gangplank's temper began to flare again.
"Aye just told ye!"
Immediately, Vincent spoke.
"Why do ye wanna join the blasted league, ya dirty 'lil runt!"
Gangplank was finished with this charade, and hurled Vincent's body over the railing and into the murky depths below. He watched with a smirk of gratification as the corpse faded out of sight under the waves of the ocean. Gangplank shrugged, and addressed his father's final question.
"'Cause aye can!"
Gangplank felt a flash of relief as the body sank to the bottom of the ocean. He called out to it's rapidly disappearing form. "Ye know how much tha eye's gonna cost me, ya crazy old sea-devil? A bloody fortune! Ye owe me!" Gangplank chuckled with satisfaction, and turned to head back to his chambers.
"How does it feel, exposing your mind?"
The voice had returned, and for the first time it dawned on him, so had the sight in his left eye. His right hand reached up to his face to find all the damage from before gone like his father. More peculiarly, the doors to his cabin had been replaced with the marble doors of the Reflection Chamber, standing wide open as if to usher him out into his new placement within the league. Gangplank rubbed his left eye briefly, and walked from his ship back into the Institute of War.
From the great hall, Gangplank turned to watch the Reflection Chamber doors close.