Fiora description
She is the most feared duelist in all Valoran, Fiora is renowned for political cunning and her brusque manner as is for the speed of her rapier. She was born into the noble Laurent family in Demacia, Fiora had claimed the household from the her father in the wake of scandal that almost destroyed everything for them. This leads her to be dedicated in restoring the Laurents rightful place amongst the good and great of the Kingdom.
Fiora quote
‘I have come to kill you for the sake of honor. And though you possess none, still you die.’
Fiora biography
The Grand Duelist
Fiora was born as the youngest daughter of her family known as the noble Laurent, she seemed to be destined for life as a political pawn and would simply be married off in the Demacia’s grand game of alliances. From a young age this never sat well with her and she would purposely defied of every expectation that was put upon her. Her mother was the finest craftsman in Demacia fashion. She made the most lifelike dolls for her to play with however she would give them to her made and then took her eldest brother’s rapier and forcing him to give her lesson in secret. Her father manage to get his hands on a set or dressmaking mannequins for her personal seamstress to craft the most beautiful gowns however Fiora had no intentions of using them for there proper uses only using them to practice her lunges and ripostes.
Even after everything and all her years of quiet resistance, there was a marriage that was politically advantageous with the outlaying branch of the Crownguard family after her eighteenth birthday. All the plans were put in place for her to have a summer wedding and it would take place in the capital and even the King Jarvan the third was going to attend. The day of the Wedding the invited guests began to arrive this lead Fiora to stand and declare that she would rather die then have someone else decide her lifepath. Her out burst was publicly shamed and his family demanded a duel to the death. She did not hesitate and agreed her father on the other hand implored the king to intervene however the kings hand were tied since Fiora had already accepted. There was only options left and that was her father to invoke his right to fight in her place. High Marshal Tianna Crownguard likewise named a champion to fight for her kinsman, selecting a veteran warrior from the Dauntless Vanguard. Sebastien’s defeat seemed almost certain. The Laurent name would be ruined, and Fiora exiled in disgrace. Presented with so stark a choice, he made a decision that could damn his family for years to come…
The night before the duel, he attempted to slip his opponent a draught that would dull his senses and slow his reactions—but he was caught in the act, and arrested. The law was clear. Sebastien Laurent had broken the most fundamental code of honor. He would be humiliated upon the executioner’s scaffold, hanged like a common criminal. On the eve of his death, Fiora visited his cell, but what passed between them remains a secret known only to her. The next day, Fiora approached the king’s dais in full view of the crowd. She knelt before him, and offered up her blade—with his blessing, she would claim the Laurent name from her father, and justice would be served. The duel was blindingly swift, a dance of blades so exquisite that those present would never forget what they witnessed. Fiora’s father was a fine swordsman in his own right, but he was no match for his daughter. They said farewell in every clash of steel, but in the end Fiora tearfully buried her rapier in her father’s heart Solemnly, King Jarvan ruled that Sebastien had paid for his crimes in full. Fiora would be his successor. The quarrel between the families was resolved, and that would be an end to it.
Even so, such scandals are not easily forgotten. Fiora took to her new duties at court with her customary clarity and directness, but found that rumors and gossip continued to follow her at every turn. She had usurped her brothers’ claims to the family name. What could this arrogant child bring to the Great City of Demacia but more strife and bloodshed, if she would not take a husband? Rather than demand more justice at the edge of her sword, Fiora instead turned to her wider family—cousins and more distant relatives, with many renowned swordmasters among them—and silenced her critics by granting noble status to all in her household. Together, they were dedicated to the refinement of blade craft within the kingdom. Dueling was an ancient art, but need not always end in death. And if any care to disagree with that notion, Fiora will be only too happy to test the strength of their conviction in combat herself.
A Matter of Honor
The man Fiora was going to kill was named Umberto. He had the look of a man very sure of himself. She watched him talking to four men, so alike they must surely be his brothers. The five of them were cocksure and preening, as though it was beneath their dignity to even present themselves in the Hall of Blades in answer to her challenge.
Dawn cast angled spars of light through the lancet windows, and the pale marble shimmered with the reflections of those who had come to see a life ended. They lined the edges of the hall by the score, members of both Houses, lackeys, gawkers and some simply with unhealthy appetites to see bloodshed.
“My lady,” said Ammdar, her second older brother, handing her a mid-length rapier with a bluesteel blade upon which light moved like oil. “Are you sure about this?”
“Of course,” replied Fiora. “You heard the tales Umberto and his braggart brothers were spreading in the Commercia?”
“I did,” confirmed Ammdar. “But is that worth his death?”
“If I let one braggart slide, then others will think themselves free to wag their tongues,” said Fiora.
Ammdar nodded, and stepped back. “Then do what you must.”
Fiora stepped forward, rolling her shoulders and sweeping her blade twice through the air – a sign the duel was about to begin. Umberto turned as one of his brothers nudged him in the ribs, and anger touched Fiora as she saw his frank appraisal of her physique, an appraisal that lingered far too long below her neck. He drew his own weapon, a long, beautifully curved Demacian cavalry saber with golden quillons and a sapphire inset on the pommel. A poseur’s weapon and one entirely unsuited to the requirements of a duel.
Umberto stepped up to his duelists’ mark and repeated the sword movements she had made. He bowed to her and winked. Fiora felt her jaw tighten, but clamped down on her dislike. Emotion had no place in a duel. It clouded swordplay and had seen many a great swordsman slain by a lesser opponent.
They circled one another, making the prescribed movements of foot and blade like dance partners at the first notes of a waltz. The movements were to ensure that both participants in the duel were aware of the significance of what they were soon to attempt.
The rituals of the duel were important. They, like The Measured Tread, were designed to allow civilized folk to maintain the illusion of nobility in killing. Fiora knew they were good laws, just laws, but that didn’t take away from the fact that she was about to kill the man before her. And because Fiora believed in these laws, she had to make her offer.
“Good sir, I am Fiora of House Laurent,” she said.
“Save it for your grave-marker,” snapped Umberto.
She ignored his puerile attempt to rile her and said, “It has come to my attention that you did injure the good name of House Laurent in an unjust and dishonorable manner by the indulgence and spreading of malicious falsehoods in regards to the legitimacy of my lineage. Therefore it is my right to challenge you to a duel and restore the honor of my House in your blood.”
“I already know this,” said Umberto, playing to the crowd. “I’m here aren’t I?”
“You have come to your death,” promised Fiora. “Unless you choose not to fight by giving me satisfaction for your offense.”
“How might I give milady satisfaction?” asked Umberto.
“Given the nature of your offense, submit to having your right ear severed from your head.”
“What? Are you mad, woman?”
“It’s that or I kill you,” said Fiora, as though they were discussing the weather. “You know how this duel will end. There is no loss of face in yielding.”
“Of course there is,” said Umberto, and Fiora saw he still thought he could win. Like everyone else, he underestimated her.
“All here know my skill with a blade, so choose to live and wear your wound as a badge of honor. Or choose death, and be food for crows by midmorning.”
Fiora raised her blade. “But choose now.”
His anger at what he assumed was her arrogance overcame his fear and he stamped forward, the tip of his sword thrusting for her heart. Fiora had read the attack before it was launched and made a quarter turn to the left, letting the curved blade cut only air. Her own blade swept up, then down in a precise, diagonal arc. The crowd gasped at the wet spatter of blood on stone and the shocking suddenness of the duel’s ending.
Fiora turned as Umberto’s sword clattered to the granite flagstones. He fell to his knees, then slumped back onto his haunches, hands clutched to his opened throat from which blood pumped enthusiastically.
She bowed to Umberto, but his eyes were already glassy and unseeing with impending death. Fiora took no pleasure in such a slaying, but the fool had left her little choice. Umberto’s brothers came forward to collect the corpse, and she felt their shock at their brother’s defeat.
“How many is that?” asked Ammdar, coming forward to collect her sword. “Fifteen? Twenty?”
“Thirty,” said Fiora. “Or maybe more. They all look the same to me now.”
“There will be more,” promised her brother.
“So be it,” answered Fiora. “But every death restores our family honor. Every death brings redemption closer.”
“Redemption for whom?” asked Ammdar.
But Fiora did not answer.
