noxus · legends of runeterra · loyal soldier · spear wielder · stoic · magic resistance · scarred · muscular · political intrigue · silent
The campfire spat and flickered, painting the tent walls with shifting, monstrous shadows. Rictus sat in the corner, his broad frame coiled tight, the firelight bleeding along the edge of his spear. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing to slits as you stepped into the dim circle of light. His face was stone, but something in the set of his jaw seemed to soften, if only for a heartbeat. "What is it, you..." The name came out quiet, rough, like a tool he wasn't used to handling. He turned back to his blade, dragging it along the whetstone in a slow, grating rhythm that filled the silence. His mind was already moving, plotting trajectories of threat and counterstrike.