Demolishing buildings was not only time consuming but rather exhausting. The Marauder took refuge at the last standing building, watching the skies bleed themselves over the earth. There was a low drumming in the distance, the growing howl of a freight train before a tornado would strike. A Warden was coming.
She turned her gaze over the crumbling ruins of the city. It was peaceful, all of the rubble suspended in its destruction as an anthem of perpetual war. A sight that would bring a tear to the eye would you have built it. The Marauder tightened her grip over her bow and turned to exit her safe house.
The streets were slippery. The frost would a clear sign if Tryndamere were still alive. Hues of red and violet reflected off the prismatic crystals bathing the world around her. There was no blood, no casualties - that’s why her path felt peaceful.
The howling grew louder. There would be a ship over the horizon to bring the Warden to their target. The woman stood at the city square and watched the mechanical monstrosity come and go without breaking the city limits.
They were here.
She fired first, pivoting her stance and loosing a hail of arrows into the skies towards the landing point.
Reports are saying no one has been hurt but they do not understand why. These circumstances were confusing and although many were grateful, it did not add up. Marauders were dangerous, destructive and deadly things. Painted as demons. Yet, maybe that was just the painting. Wardens were seen as angels but it was clear Tryndamere was not and those he worked beside were nothing close to the image of a holy, celestial body.
As the boat hit the shore, Tryndamere surveyed the world around him. Beautiful. There was something pretty about it all. Many have lost their homes, having to be relocated to a more inhabitable place but despite that, it was perfect. Maybe without the disruption of mankind, that made it even more precious. A peaceful work of art the marauder created.
“Look out!” A Warden behind Tryndamere shouted. The widowed king looked up to see a rain of dark arrows targeting the boat they were on.
He had little time to move so he raised his mighty sword above his head to defend himself from the bite of the arrows.
After the storm died, Tryndamere looked around to find red and purple crystals spiking out of the newly, wrecked Warden ship. He grunted as he saw his reflection on the icicles that stuck out his blue and golden sword. Tryndamere jumped off the ship and onto the crystallized world of the Marauder’s design. The arrows and ice that stuck onto his sword gave a more frustrating weight on his right. He took that side of his sword and smacked the ice onto the ground below, breaking some of it off.
This is her creation. It had to be. And it was up to Tryndamere to find her.
He walked into the slippery wonderland with care, leaving the other Wardens behind him.