Sartorious had hoped that his nephew might be the key to curing his growing lethargy. Being a Regalis was a blessing of course, but that came with its cost. The cost that became more and more relevant ater the Borders War. His life had become dull, a life without a purpose was a life Sartorious was living, if you considered that living. He yearned for the smell of battle to course his enflamed nostrils, for the sight of anguish on the faces of his enemies as he ripped them limb from limb. He lived for the shock that engulfed their expressions as they're onslaughts were picked apart move by move, whole strategies disected surgicaly by Sartorious without a moments notice. These men had prepared months for this very battle, only to be dismantled in seconds by the Prince of Battle.
Sparring with Kassadin had given him a mere taste of his previous life, the life he would give up anything and everything to live once more. He had gained the nickname Sartorious The Bloody early in his carrier, one of the first of many that former soilders would recite amongst friends and family as they circled the hearth. He had become the man of many names, but not all where names that he carried with joy. For the last name bestowed upon him, would change the rest of his life and the countries as a result. A name that he resented to this day. Sartorious The Merciful.
Thank you guys for reading! Going to post more later today, hope you enjoy where the story is heading!