[Complete] Urgot / Xin Zhao - Arrogance & Strength
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I've already created the first draft of this. My goal is to explore an encounter that could possibly have happened in the history of these champions. I've done a fair job of searching the lore, but I'll admit that I've taken a few liberties where some Noxian lore is concerned. Sue me.
I'll update once I'm done with my first edits. Should be sometime today.
I'll update once I'm done with my first edits. Should be sometime today.
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current version:
The walls separating the condemned from the headsman stood tall enough to keep any man from climbing out, and were stained with the remnants of those who’d tried. Above the walls were onlookers, witnesses to the sport of execution.
Broken men like these scarcely need to be executed, Urgot thought.
Here were war criminals, Ionian prisoners, and the worst kind of all: his own countrymen, the ones who lacked the strength Noxus demanded. They waited under the hot sun, barefooted and clothed in rags, for their turn to die at his hands.
The headsman faced the prisoner pushed in front of him. He was a young man with a proud face and a long tail of hair that accentuated his arrogance. Probably an Ionian, a soldier or spy, but Urgot's job wasn't to judge his crimes, only to execute him for them.
Urgot locked eyes with the prisoner.
“Are you ready to die?” He said.
A contemptuous smile crossed the prisoner’s mouth. Urgot wondered if it would remain once his head rolled in the sand.
“We’ll see,” the prisoner said.
Urgot flexed his shoulders and laughed. Not many men were eager to face the headsman. Still, bluster didn’t make strength.
“Spirit like that might have served you before, but now you’re with me.”
Urgot forgot the hot sun and the weight of his weapon as the guard unshackled the prisoner. The chains fell to the ground, and the man flexed his shoulders, mocking Urgot.
Weapons littered the ground behind him, a dignity offered to the condemned. They’d seen plenty of use; most were rusted, dull offerings only replaced when broken beyond use.
“Go ahead, take your pick. I’ll wait,” Urgot said.
The man selected a bladed rafter, more battering ram than spear, from the sand. The steel was dull and rusty. It made little difference what weapon he chose. In the end, the Headsman’s strength would overcome anyone Noxus had fated for death.
The man brandished the spear before him, clearly used to its weight in his hands.
Urgot nodded and shifted his executioner’s axe into both hands. The onlookers above rippled with excitement.
He’ll be fast, Urgot predicted, and he’ll expect me to be slow.
The condemned man waited for the first strike. Urgot lunged forward, swinging the axe in a grand feint. When the prisoner slid out of the blade’s reach, Urgot let one hand off the axe and grabbed him by the ragged tunic, dragging him forward. He readied the axe again.
The man growled and jabbed upward with the shaft of the spear. The strike jarred Urgot’s grip, and the tunic tore. The man twisted away from him and flourished the spear in one hand. It was pointless, a distraction to buy time.
Urgot looked at the shred of cloth in his hand.
Next time, I’ll grab something that won’t tear away.
He swarmed forward, blocking escape with the axe, trapping the prisoner between himself and the arena wall.
“No more dancing away,” Urgot growled.
The prisoner struck, unafraid, jabbing with the point of the spear. He had strength, but the dull spear wouldn’t pierce his chestplate easily. Urgot parried the strikes with the axe handle. Still, blows landed. One was a feint — Urgot found his leg swept from under him.
Urgot stumbled to one knee, stunned for a moment. He put a hand to his side, and it came away bloody. He showed teeth in a snarl.
The man stood over him, the spear at his throat.
“Here’s—”
Whatever he’d planned to say, Urgot didn’t care. He struck the man in the gut with the axe handle, hard enough to stun him, then pulled back and swung the blade. The prisoner blocked it; the spear caught the brunt of the blow and splintered, but couldn’t stop the axe. The man crumpled to the ground, and blood bloomed from his side.
Urgot raised himself to full height and readied the axe.
Already the man was struggling to his knees. Urgot grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair and dragged him up to eye level. He didn’t struggle. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring blindly through Urgot.
“If only you’d shown such strength before,” Urgot said.
He slammed the man against the wall and dropped him to the sand.
Urgot raised the axe over his head for the decapitating blow. Sunlight glanced off the blade as it hurtled downward. At the last instant, the man twisted away. The axe blade sank into the sand, catching only the ends of his hair. The man lunged to his feet and swept outward with the shaft of the broken spear, releasing a defiant roar. Urgot landed on his hands and knees. He tasted blood.
The ever-present noise of the onlookers rose and caught his attention again. They weren’t excited now; they were in an uproar.
The man stood over him, ready to pin him to the ground.
“You won’t defeat me,” the man said.
Urgot climbed to his knees, hands raised. Guards flooded the pit, ready to seize the man on Urgot’s signal.
“No!” He shouted to the guards. “He’s mine.”
The man lunged forward to impale him, and Urgot caught the shaft of the spear in one hand, stopping it inches from his eye. He gripped the splintered spear with all his strength and stood, shoving the prisoner backwards. Urgot locked eyes with the prisoner.
“You’ve already lost,” Urgot said.
The guards surrounded them. They seized the prisoner and pulled them apart.
“What?” Urgot roared. “No! Let me finish him.”
Urgot picked up his axe and started to shout at the guards, then he realized what onlookers were saying. His superiors, the highest men of Noxus, were chanting: “To the arena with him! The arena!”
They steal honor from me, but I’ll see the death of that man.