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| RP Character Backstories and Other Things; A hub for all of your RP character backstory goodness. | |
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| Topic Started: Feb 27 2016, 11:58 PM (931 Views) | |
| JondorHoruku | Feb 27 2016, 11:58 PM Post #1 |
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The King of Alliteration
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Post your backstory tidbits for your characters here. Here are the short stories/backstories for Jondor, Deej, and Firia if you didn't read them. I'll post Kera's when it's done ![]() Jondor's Story I threw myself around a corner, back against the wall, trying to calm my breath. The pirates were catching up. Slavers would probably be a better word, but regardless, my time was dwindling. I gathered my strength for another dash, and dove, sliding under a fence into a liquid that should’ve been water, but seemed to be some kind of seepage, it clung to my clothes, the acid stinging my eyes and burning my flesh. But I kept running. Too many of my friends had disappeared in these streets for me to stop. If I was caught, my best hope was that these were indeed slavers. I shudder, even now, to think what other horrors could have been if these were anything but. I had heard horror stories of mutant rats, twisted men turned into wolves, mad scientists who would experiment until they had singed the very flesh off their victim’s bones and worse. I had survived twelve years, this would not be my end. So I kept running. I ripped the smoldering shirt off, or what was left of it, and threw it in an alley and dashed toward a bolt hole my best friend and I had discovered, claimed, and disguised. He vanished two months ago. I rounded the corner, and stopped, dead in my tracks. My sanctuary, what little I could call a home, was strung across the street. The knick-knacks and shiny baubles I had gathered for as long as I could remember were sitting in puddles of my precious water. The lithe little man who had just torn my history, my life, out of the ground was rummaging through a case of clothes and what little pocket change I had managed to beg, scrounge, or steal. My escape plan was being pocketed. He looked up as I rounded the corner, and grinned–if a smile with only one tooth can be called a grin–pulling a small pistol from his boot. “Welcome home sonny,” he leered, lurching to his feet. I replied in the most polite way possible; I knocked his last tooth out. Then I kept running. I whipped around a corner, dodged around some rats that were nearly as dangerous as the pistol, leapt over a fence and ducked behind a shed. But that was the end of the run. I later learned that this overweight, slug of a man, with a brutish personality to match, was some kind of a second cousin or uncle or something to Gangplank, family doesn’t matter to pirates, but somehow this oaf had managed to pull together a kidnapping ring, preying on the urchins and orphans of Zaun, Bilgewater, Noxus, even Ionia and Piltover (no one wanted Yordle kids). I don’t remember what his name was, he called himself captain--which was ironic as he didn’t own a ship--and I was told to do the same. They dragged me behind like the catch of the day, and thrown into a pen with a half-dozen other urchins. Kids no one knew existed, and therefore wouldn’t care once we were gone. I was in that cage for three weeks. in that time I probably had, at most, two meals. I was unloaded onto a group of Bilgewater fishermen, where I spent the next four years mending nets. I thought my hands would never stop bleeding. They were almost as poor as I was, and I got more food from the shrimp left over in the nets than from the dinner table. They were incredibly cruel, as only the weak and fearful who gain power over another can be. Around the time I turned seventeen I saw my chance for escape. Well… As much of an escape as stowing away in a Noxian ship heading for the capitol is. Fortunately, or unfortunately, as the case may be, the Noxians saw my stolen passage as a sign of strength. Strength of will. My strength was tested for three days, only the first three hours of which I was conscious. I was recruited, not exactly willingly, into a force of Noxian trainees for evaluation, where it was discovered I have a natural ability to manipulate water with magic. The Noxians sent me to be trained and conditioned to become an assassin mage. I learned to control my power, cast spells, manipulate the temperature of water, and even use water to shield and heal myself. I was a powerful assassin, executing dozens of domestic and international targets. I hated it. I’d been a tool for ten years, ever since that dolt captured me in the Zaunite slums. So, I quit. I turned in my resignation letter, killed my boss, and turned my allegiances to Ionia. Fortunately most of my targets were Demacian, and Ionia welcomed me… Kind of. I stayed a few months in Ionia, most of my time was spent in their libraries and learning philosophy from their monks. I was chased from Ionia after a few months when they discovered my past. They figured it out when I killed an assassin sent by Noxus. The details of who my previous marks were was probably leaked to them by a Noxian ‘diplomat.’ They branded my face with a downward spear, a scarlet letter of sorts for the murderer, and set me adrift again The warned me that if caught on sovereign Ionian territory I would be immediately imprisoned and possibly executed. I ended up in Piltover. In Piltover that I killed another counter-assassin Noxus sent after me, in all I think there have been five attempts on my life so far, all of which have obviously failed. I had the scientists the Piltover University create me a disguise. I was less than impressed when I walked out with blue hair and a new wardrobe, they hadn’t even attempted to remove the Ionia brand from my face, saying it violated some sort of treaty or something with Ionia. Bologna. Anyway, the Institute approached me a few days later, after hearing of my proficiency in magic, and recruited me to join the ranks of the Summoners. I’ve come to suspect that I wasn’t invited because I was a promising summoner candidate, but rather an anomaly they wanted to keep an eye on. I ended up affiliating with Bandle City, as they are one of the few factions left in Valoran that have not wronged me (namely Noxus and Bilgewater), that I have not wronged (Ionia and Demacia), and whose way of life I can try to embrace (unlike the Shadow Isles). The Yordles have hired me to defend their ships at sea, which feels good, helping rather than hurting. And woe to the pirate who tries to cross me. For while Nami might be the sea, I am a master of the Deep. And Telesto save anyone who would dare to stem my tides. Jondor's Religion Jondor, through his travels, has tried to make sense of the clearly supernatural powers, and beings, at work in Runeterra. Beyond magic, things occur that are simply unexplainable. Here are some of the idioms, concepts, and beings he uses to describe these things, though he still qualifies as a skeptic, despite his belief in some higher power, that he associates most powerfully with the sea. Telesto: The Blessing of the Deep Jondor would hear the Bilgewater pirates pray to Telesto during terrible storms. He later discovered, in Ionia, that Bilgewater stole the idea of this deity from a nation long forgotten. While he doesn’t believe that Good fortune is a person, he still uses the phrase because sometimes, fate truly does seem to be in the hands of a divine Suijin: The Ruler of the Deep Jondor rejects the Ionian ideal of balance. “There must be darkness for light to exist. Darkness is only the shadow the light casts. If one is surrounded by light, there will be no shadow.” is his reasoning for that rejection. He has suffered too much darkness for its existence to be considered beneficial. As a result he has taken the name of the Ionian god Suijin and uses the word to express his concept of a higher, transcendent power. Suijin is generally considered to be Yang by the Ionians, full of benevolence, but also powerful and ruler. Nahar: The Terror of the Deep Nahar is the monster that stalked Jondor’s dreams as a child. Described to him as a child by a dockhand with questionable motives, Nahar is said to have the face of an eel, the body of a crocodile, and the eyes of a wolf. Jondor has moved beyond the fears of his youth, but still believes there is a being that is determined to stop both Telesto and Suijin. He is unsure of the origin of the Nahar legends, but he believes them to have come from the Marai people, based off some of the unseen monsters of the sea. The Abyss: The Graveyard of the Deep The Abyss is where Jondor believes all souls end up, at some point or another. Thresh, the Shadow Isles, and other undead things are merely waypoints on their way to the Abyss. Note that the Abyss isn’t, in Jondor’s mind, a place as such. One can’t swim there. And Jondor, as a scholar, refuses to speculate on whether The Abyss is pleasant or otherwise, and if The Abyss has divisions for those who ride Suijin’s waves, or who trawl in Nahar’s deeps. Deej has Tenure (unfortunately) A small, spry, silvery yordle hobbled onto the stage. He leaned heavily on his gnarled cane, and his satchel nearly dragged on the floor. He would have been pitiable if not for his active neon green eyes and self-assured smirk. He shuffled his feet, barely lifting them off the floor, as he climbed into his customary place; a round bowl-like chair with more cushions than substance. His apprentice/assistant/intern, a young Yordle named Yurstin, hurried over to hold his mentor’s cane, only to receive a sharp smack between the ears. “I can handle my own stick, Master Dustin, thank you.” “Of course mister Deej,” the young Yordle said apologetically, “By the way, my name is Yurstin.” “Of course it is! Just making sure you remembered. Names are difficult things to come by. You wouldn’t want to lose yours, would ya?” “Um… no sir.” “Good. Now,” the antiquated Yordle turned toward the assembled acolytes and more studious summoners, “What is it I’m supposed to teach you all today?” The newer summoners, who had not yet met the apparently grumpy yordle very often, were leery to reply. The older summoners, who had made the latently cheerful yordle’s acquaintance, were too amused to do so. “Trap setting!” Interjected one of the Marai summoners in the front row. Deej comically swiveled his chair with the cane. “What’s your name?” “Ebba, sir.” “Bah. Don’t say sir. It makes me feel old. Tell me, Ebba, why should I teach you about traps?” “Because… I don’t want to get trapped.” “Excellent answer Ebba. The problem is, you’ve already been trapped. Right now. You're trapped in a three hour long lecture on the mechanics of hextech trap setting and deactivation without visual aids. Now, who here is excited to learn about the mechanics of hextech trap setting and deactivation without seeing a single hextech trap set or deactivated? HM?” The silence was patable. “Good. Neither do I. That’s why I smuggled in some traps. The silly board of summoners… do they still call themselves that?” “I think they prefer to be called the Institute,” Yurstin offered. “Pretentious poppycock,” Deej blustered, “you can’t learn about traps without seeing a few. Now.” He dug his stick into the stage and scooted his chair forward, “How many of you want to see the original Noxious Trap? Or the prototype Yordle Snap Trap?” All the Bandle City and Piltoverian Summoners raised their hands excitedly. “Too bad. They blew up when I made them. I didn’t have hair on my ears for a whole month after that!” He absentmindedly rubbed the tips of his ears, as if to reassure himself that his fur had actually grown back, “Anyway, I can show you traps that are much better than those archaic pieces of hardware. I designed those…” He paused, trying to remember how old he was when he finished the design of the two most famous traps in Valoran, “A very long time ago. Before Teemo was a tike and Caitlyn had cut her teeth on a set of rubber bullets,” he chuckled at the image of a certain Piltoverian as an infant. None but the eldest summoners in attendance dared laugh along, for fear their more civic minded neighbors might protest. “Anywho,” He reached into his satchel and produced a wide, half-inch tall, bear trap and what looked like a patch of grass. “Here are the latest incarnations of the Snap Trap and the Noxious Trap. As you can see, the snap trap is lower profile and packs a wallop, if I do say so myself, and the new noxious trap is completely invisible the second it touches the ground. How you say? I’ve built in some hextech-cloaking technology. Obviously these will never be approved for use on the rift, but some copy-cat designs are leaking onto the black market. Or… so my contact tells me.” Despite his best efforts to appear enigmatic, he merely revealed how little contact he has with the less pleasant parts of society. “Who wants to step in one?” There was understandable silence. He smiled, twisted the middle of the snap trap counterclockwise, made a few other adjustments, tossed it on the ground and jumped into the middle of it, landing square on the trigger. Only the Yordles and Marai gasped in shock, the rest felt the same as a particular Zaunite named Ranchitu. “The trap doesn’t work, typical Yordle tech.” Deej all but laughed in the impertinent young inventor’s face. “Tell me, master…” “Ranchitu.” “Gesundheit, Master Rangy, how old are you?” “I’m 19, and my name is Ranchitu.” “Bless you, fascinating. Now, master Ranch, do you know how old I am?” “No, and my name is Ran-Chi-Tu.” “You must be coming down with a cold, poor dear, now, I don’t know how old I am. If anyone ever figures that out, I would be most appreciative. I seem to have lost count at around 150, several decades ago… I must be getting close to 200 about now… Anyway, as a follow up question, have you studied in Piltover, master Rank?” “No.” “Bandle City?” “No.” “Demacia?” “No.” “Ionia?” “No.” “Noxus perhaps, they’re friends with Zaun most of the time?” “No.” “Not the Shadow Isles, surely?” “No.” “Freljord? Icathia? Bilgewater?” “None of the above.” “Interesting. Now. Ask me.” “Sorry?” “Ask me where I’ve studied?” “Okay… Have you studied in Piltover?” “Of course.” “Bandle City?” “Wonderful weather this time of year.” “Demacia?” “Very loud, but yes.” “Ionia?” “I have two philosophy degrees from their center for higher thinking.” “Noxus?” “A very strange experience, learned quite a bit though.” “Shadow Isles?” “Back when they were the Blessed Isles, but yes.” “Freljord-” “Yes yes yes. It’s cold, but they have wonderful strategies for war, Icathia is strange, and Bilgewater has the most fascinating ship designs.” Silence for a few seconds. “There’s one more you haven’t asked me.” “Have you studied in Zaun?” “I was a professor in Zaun for longer than you’ve been alive, before you were born. So tell me, which part of my ‘Yordle Technology’ is so obviously Yordle AND,” He waved his stick around for emphasis, “would you like to step in my trap? Its jaws are powered by a unique hextech device called an Allipnuema, which, if I’m not mistaken, was initially developed by a Zaunite.” “I’m good here, thank you.” “Aw, but it’s just a yordle plaything!” “No thank you.” “Jump in this trap. Now.” The elderly yordle stepped out of the trap and gestured at it. Ranchitu, who was regretting both his name and his decision to speak up, warily climbed onto the stage and prepared to step in. “No, no, no. It’s much better if you jump in with both feet, that way you’ll lose both legs and you’ll be an invalid instead of a cripple,” Deej leaned in closer, “better benefits that way,” he winked and straightened, tapping the side of his head with a gnarled finger. Ranchitu took a deep breath and jumped with both feet in the middle of the trap, and nothing happened. “I honestly haven’t the slightest idea why you were worried. I obviously hadn’t reset the trap yet.” Deej shoved the Zaunite off the stage, poked the side of the trap a few times with his stick. “Also, I want a cupcake!” A, now depressed, Yordle offered one from her stash, “thank you dear.” He took one bite, “Delicious,” and then dropped the cupcake onto the trap. It barely touched the trigger before it exploded, clamped, and rolled upside down before one could even blink. It was a good five minutes before the smoke cleared, and Deej spent the whole time clapping gleefully. His joy was short lived. “What in the blazes was that!” A purple-robed Institute official strode menacingly into the room. “Ah! Reginald! So glad you could join us.” “My name is not Reginald-” “And that’s the only reason I called you Reginald. You do seem like more of a Reggie.” He raised a paw to stave off the official’s protests. “Now, Darntiac, I know why you’re here. And I can explain.” He paused to conjure a most pitiable expression, “it was Dustin-” “Yurstin” “Yuri. It was all his fault, he forced open my bag and started throwing my traps everywhere. I wouldn’t move if I were you, you’re lucky you haven’t stepped on a Noxious Trap yet.” Darntiac’s eyes widened at the thought of a floor covered in noxious traps. “Now, stay where you are, don’t move. I’ll run back to my room and deactivate them with my remote, you’ll be fine if you stay where you are.” “How will you get out?” Deej pulled his Authenticator glasses from his satchel, “these allow me to see through hextech cloaking. They’re one of a kind, don’t ask me to make more.” He skipped and dodged imaginary mines until he was at the door, where he winked at his students. “Remember, Darntiac, don’t move until I come to get you.” Deej had no intention on returning within the next hour. Possibly until supper. He chuckled to himself as he produced the cupcake he had pretended to drop on the trap. Success indeed. Firia's File ZAUNITE SPEC. OPS RECORDS CLASSIFIED: LEVEL FOUR CLEARANCE REQUIRED CODENAME: COUNTDOWN CLEARANCE MUST BE APPROVED BY LEVEL FOUR OR HIGHER TAMPERING WITH RECORDS IS A CAPITAL OFFENSE INTERVIEW: “COUNTDOWN” ENCOUNTER #01 TRANSCRIBED FROM CORPORATE AGENT 02l, DOMESTIC AGENT 33b INTERVIEW OF CORPORATE AGENT 03a, EMERITUS AGENT 14a First Encounter (Recorded Retroactively): Compiled from various encounters, interviewed several eyewitnesses. First Interview (Names found in separate file, CODENAME: TICKER) AGENT C02lD33b: Please state your name for the record. AGENT C03aE14a: [REDACTED] D33b: Please describe your experience E14a: Thirty Years ago, I encountered a chronomage named [REDACTED, SUBJECT: COUNTDOWN]– D33b: Please describe the subject. E14a: Freljordian, shoulder length dark brown hair, chilling eyes–nearly white with a bluish tint-very distinctive–medium height, about 5’ 8”, and average to lithe build. Dressed in unique red-brown half-cloak, one sleeve, draped over other arm, white base layer. Wore boots that seemed to be older than she was. Appeared to be around twenty to twenty-five years of age. D33b: Continue with your description of the incident. E14a: I met [REDACTED] thirty years ago, as I stated previously. She approached me when she entered the city, claiming it had been a while since she had visited Zaun and asked if there were any new sites to see. I mentioned that the opera house had opened about five years ago. She seemed confused, and asked if anything interesting had happened fifty years ago. I mentioned the founding of the Zaunite embassy. She blinked, and asked about the past hundred years, I mentioned the first war between Noxus and Demacia. She asked how long ago that was, I replied about one hundred forty-nine years ago. She nodded and walked off without another word. D33b: Why did we contact you. E14a: A similar incident occurred a few weeks ago, I had recorded a Brief statement at the time of the initial incident. D33b: Any further details you would like to volunteer? E14a: This concludes my statement. END INTERVIEW ZAUNITE SPEC. OPS RECORDS CLASSIFIED: LEVEL FOUR CLEARANCE REQUIRED CODENAME: COUNTDOWN CLEARANCE MUST BE APPROVED BY LEVEL FOUR OR HIGHER TAMPERING WITH RECORDS IS A CAPITAL OFFENSE RECORD CODENAME: “COUNTDOWN” ENCOUNTER #07 TRANSCRIBED FROM CORPORATE AGENT 06z, DOMESTIC AGENT 79f BEGIN RECORD: Agent [REDACTED], DESIGNATION: C06zD79f. Purpose of Record: Information gathered on Subject: COUNTDOWN. Subject encountered twenty-four (24) years from last encounter (one hundred forty-three years (143) from initial encounter) Subject approached Agent seeking information regarding timeline. Subject description in accordance with previous encounters. Subject sought information regarding recent events, seemed to be satisfied when information was gleaned from twenty-five years ago. Unique encounter on several counts: Recent advent of strange encounters with mutated beings, typically with a purple hue, has produced some experimentation in their specific type of magic. Observed the subject encounter an unexpected blast of the magic. Subject seemed adversely affected. END RECORD ZAUNITE SPEC. OPS RECORDS CLASSIFIED: LEVEL FOUR CLEARANCE REQUIRED CODENAME: COUNTDOWN CLEARANCE MUST BE APPROVED BY LEVEL FOUR OR HIGHER TAMPERING WITH RECORDS IS A CAPITAL OFFENSE RECORD CODENAME: “COUNTDOWN” ENCOUNTER #11 RECORD FROM SPEC-OPS AGENT 14c, DOMESTIC AGENT 09t MOST RECENT ENCOUNTER: 20 CLE BEGIN RECORD: Agent [REDACTED], DESIGNATION: X14cD09t. Purpose of Record: Additional Information on Subject: “COUNTDOWN” Recording Entry under direction of Supervisor. Time since last encounter: Unknown, date was not recorded by previous three encounters. Oldest encounters seem to be circa 250 BLE or earlier. Initial encounter similar, she seems to have become more tactful in ascertaining the date, strongly suspect Subject suffers from a form of Chronodisplasia, seems to be immune to the effects of aging. Same description. Was directed to follow Subject: COUNTDOWN for several days. Upon ending the day, subject would cast a temporal stasis field around herself, and awake a few hours later, appearing to have received a full night’s sleep. Suspect that neglecting the stasis field will have negative effects on subject. Following the cancellation of the stasis field, Subject performed an incantation as follows: Stars, guide me. Stars, protect me. Stars, bless me. Celestial light, illuminate my way. Celestial protector, defend my loves. Celestial saint, love my soul. followed by a massive release of celestial magic heavenwards. Believe this to be a religious ritual. Will maintain cover on subject. END FINAL ENTRY Firia's Religion Firia worships the celestial beings, particularly three constellations in the west: Cergio, the lamp, Tariji, the stone, and Xodigi, the priest. Cergio is the lamp, the light. She is said to lead her followers to enlightenment and knowledge. She can be a cruel mistress, however, and is said to burn those who displease her. Tariji is the stone, the protector. She is said to keep her followers from harm and danger. Most who worship Cergio also pay homage to Tariji, to keep Cergio’s flame in check. Tariji is the least vindictive of all the celestial beings, her slow view of the universe leaves little that can’t be smoothed over in time. Xodigi is the Priest, the Blesser. He is said to bless his followers with happiness and friends. He is also very stern, requiring penance for deeds done contrary to his ways. All Celestials have meeps at their command, or disposal depending on the view of the Celestial in question. Eilfiria’s meep companion is of Tariji, and likely for that reason alone that the meep has been permitted to stay with her for so long. Dona Ray’s name also pays homage to the stability of her true master. Traditionally, meeps are not thought of as highly intelligent. But the nature of their existence, passed as a companion from one celestial worshiper or being to the next, is what causes their lack of retention. The loss the memories of prior masters at each transition, and a decade, at most, spent as a companion with each leaves most meeps with the intellect of a child. Dona Ray, the meep-friend of Firia, however, has travelled with her for centuries. She is unique among meeps, bright and spirited and capable of individual thought and will, on occasion, even argue against the actions of Firia. Her curious reversed speech, with short sentences, is a result of her knowledge being, quite literally, too large for her brain. Firia first started celebrating the celestials about one hundred years after developing Chronodisplasia. She was searching for meaning and, as many do, she searched in Ionia. She ended up finding Dona, either instead of or as an end to her search. Dona was only allowed to stay on the condition that Firia devote her spirit to the Celestial realm. Firia has, on several occasions, ceased communion with all but Tariji, changing her chant to: Tariji Stars, protect me. Protector, Keep my way. Stars, keep me. Protector, Defend my loves. Stars, calm me. Protector, calm my soul. Cergio Stars, Guide me. Light, Show me my way. Stars, Lead me. Light, Enlighten my loves. Stars, Show me. Light, Illuminate my soul Xodigi Stars, Bless me. Saint, Bless my way Stars, Love me. Saint, Elevate my loves Stars, Teach me. Saint, Love my soul See parallels for alternatives for prayers to other Celestials. These can be combined and mixed for different effects. Enjoy... I hope Edited by Theoretica, Mar 13 2016, 04:15 PM.
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| rinsujo | Mar 2 2016, 01:18 PM Post #2 |
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Winter's Claw for Life.
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You have no idea how much I love the one for Deej. Rinsu'o is a yordle of many adventures, and has been in more than a few scrapes despite his relatively recent introduction to Valoran. As such, a collection of some of his wider-known escapades would almost certainly be redundant, since he's developing quite a taste for infamy. However, some of his lesser-known capers have been collected here for your reading entertainment... whether or not your summoner is aware of them, however, would likely depend on having been in the right place at the right time. ((I'll edit this post as additional stories are written.)) Internal conflict on joining the league -or- Lanpoa or Valoran? Strength and Mercy are the virtues of Lanpoa. But mercy gets you killed He shook his head to clear the conflicting thoughts. _Just like Valoran to be causing conflict. Can’t believe they openly suspect they caused what happened to Nyroth… And they still have so many wars._ After the Freljord had first come to Argyre and outed the cursed Nuubhaks, Rin-su’o had been captivated by the Valoranian summoners. They walked with the legendary clank-clanks, bore strangely powdery cup-shaped-pies, and the great man “Braum” had defeated the mighty Thwok-thwok. Who were these legends? He wished to learn everything. He had been named a diplomat by the Institute of War - a “special link” between Argyre and the Freljord, allowing him to be present for the larger decisions and disputes of Nyroth while he began studying as a student to learn Valoranian magics. In classes he had first heard the rumor of Nyroth’s woes being caused by Valoran. This was by no means the first internal conflict Valoran had introduced him to. The existence of bloodshed and war - as well as its prevalence - had begun to gnaw at him from the first moments he had realized not all of the world outside Argyre solved its problems through mock-combat. Not all of the world was as friendly as the League. More conflict, calling him away from his studies, as news reached the Institute of events on Krocylea. His horror as his relatives became second-best to the interlopers from Bandle City. His irritation as his own people accepted Lanpoa’s questionable decision, even after the interlopers had mucked about with her. _I wouldn’t have been so keen on even inviting them if i had thought it would end like this… miserable usurpers._ And now he waited for news of Yoroth. He was beginning to become a bit irritated with this constant conflict between his past and this new world he found himself thrust into. It was as though Lanpoa’s ways seemed childish and goofy compared to Valoran’s politics and seriousness. The minds that could conceive of such horrors as time-out without juicebox, or multiple punishments for a single offense, had not only done so, but had gone so much further. “Sanctions” they had called the punishments against all of the Freljord for the accidental actions of a few - who had been killed by those actions! But rather than mourn with a faction for their loss, the Institute had seen fit to force champions to sit alone during matches for their own side. _Anivia sat in time out quite often for us that week. She is a brave bird to be alone so easily. So much conflict so often amongst these people._ Sejuani was a strong champion, one whom he had revered early on in his first encounters with the Freljord champions… but perhaps Volibear was wiser and more merciful. As he continued to study the scrolls he had brought from the Institute’s library, he pondered the situation he was in. _It seems almost as if I must choose between continuing to follow Lanpoa… or adapting more easily to Valoran._ More conflict to wrestle with. He was beginning to understand how angry people got over seemingly little issues. _They’re already upset from other conflicts._ TL;DR, RIN'S GOT ISSUES. -or- The truth of Argyre The first memory I have is witnessing my mother take the sacred victory nap beneath Lanpoa’s watchful gaze. In my recollection, that is the only time Pihng Spyyk has ever held the most coveted place at Lanpoa’s side. You ask me why I have trouble with the Usurpers, why I have issues of faith in Lanpoa? That question is tied into many aspects of my past, which I am not fond of sharing. But perhaps I shall trust you enough to spin a tale. I have been training in the Martial and Magical arts since I was a child of 5. For the past nearly 25 years, I have trained and studied them, and I will train until the day that I die. My first Master was my father - he was well versed in the mixed style of Moon above Waves - and so from him I learned Lunar magic, Water magic, and the basis of unarmed fighting. My mother used a very different style, the style I have studied more extensively and prefer; Swiftest lightning Storm. Her family had passed down to her two sets of kali sticks, one set lightweight and strong, carved upon the grips for better control in a fight. The other set stained black, carved with powerful animals of legend, a wicked looking owl, and a deer with massive antlers, one on each stick, enhancing their magical ability. My sister and I studied under our father until his death when I was 8. In the night, the Unblessed had begun attacking those who remained loyal to Lanpoa. He fell defending our tribe from a powerful shaman of the Unblessed, and forced them back. After his passing, our family was never quite the same. My mother became much sharper than ever before, and lost some of her grace. She mourned him to herself, but never outwardly to anyone but my sister and I. Under her teaching I became a fast and agile attacker, just as she had been. My sister preferred to study my father’s writings, and continue to develop his style further -- she became a powerful mage very quickly. When we were 10, the attacks from the Unblessed became so commonplace that the Nokto Gardejo were established. We begged to be allowed to join, but we were too young at that time. My mother, as Pihng Spyyk’s champion, was one of the first to patrol. She has taken an advisory role in recent years, and does not patrol any more, thankfully. When the day I turned 15 came, my sister and I were presented with the first of two gifts from our mother. We were each given one of the sets of Kali sticks from her family, and the next day, my sister’s 15th birthday, we were allowed to join the Night Wardens. My sister often stood watch from the center of our village, using the moon’s light to reveal any approaching threats, a technique I envied and have spent many years learning to imitate. Any threats she found I immediately dealt with, with wind’s speed and often in only a single blow. Even if we were completely surrounded by a dozen Unblessed, she and I could dispatch them in less time than it took them to realize they were in danger. In this way, my sister and I could alone held back the tide of the Unblessed from approaching our tribe for nearly 8 years of patrols. It was a week before my 23rd birthday that the attacks on other tribes became so devastating that it was decided something else must be done. A day’s watch had been suggested for some time - I was of the opinion it would turn into what it has become - bored watchmen who do little or nothing but the letter of their duty to defend their tribe. But it was also suggested that this day guard send out expeditions into the caves of the unblessed, to learn about them and perhaps make peace. Within a week, those who were brave enough to attempt these expeditions had been whittled down to less than a dozen. Cyvado and I were the only two completely unscathed. We were the ones to suggest what would become the Antaŭita Rekono. Our mother did NOT approve. To understand what we saw the Antaŭita Rekono as being you must understand how we saw the Unblessed. We believed them to be incapable of reason. We believed them to be demons, spirits who had not found their way to the afterlife and who haunted those who were still in Lanpoa’s grace. We believed killing them was a way to return them to Lanpoa’s grace and give them a second chance at a final rest. We later found out that was not correct. ...My sister removed the memory of when I discovered the truth. I digress though. When we suggested the Advanced Reconnaissance group, we ourselves were certain that the Unblessed were not yordles, but spirits. The other members of the Korpogardistoj may or may not have believed that, but they were more desperate than we. And so they allowed us, over our mother’s protest, to select members of the Night Wardens to join us on advance missions into the frozen caves where they dwelled. Over the last 5 or 6 years, we have patrolled deep into their territory to kill them in their own homes and attempt to push them back to wherever they came from. Along the way we tried to study them, to learn what we could about them, and it was on one of those study missions that everything went to… I am convinced that those caves are the afterlife, the final rest for those who can never find peace. I will join the Unblessed one day, unless I can escape Lanpoa’s judgement. There were many missions over the course of those years, some where we lost more members and others that I blame myself for more than that night. But that night is the bloodiest in my history, and that night is the one that stained my fur, my paws, my mind with these uncleansable marks. There were 5 of us. Cyvado and I were the only two who survived, and I… have forgotten the names and faces of those who came with us and perished. We had discovered something deep in those caverns, a relic I think, and we were returning to it to study it and hopefully learn about the Unblessed. On our journey in we became separated and two of the other three members of our team were ambushed. In those caves, it grows dark, and even the moon’s light reflecting isn’t enough to see well. Cyvado was trying to keep our defenses up, keep us defended or hidden from the patrols of Unblessed who had become too common as we went deeper… Eventually she was unable to keep them from finding us and they fell upon us in great force, backed up by the Shaman who had killed our father, who had wounded Samil’rumo, and who seemed to be the leader of the Unblessed. Their fighting is unrefined, they simply attack like animals, although with a Shaman to aid them they are fearsome indeed. In this fight, Cyvado lost her right arm, ripped off by the largest Unblessed I have ever seen. Her stick was splintered by his jaws, and it is then that I begin to forget. Somehow, I got him away from her, dragged her upwards, and the third remaining member of our team found us and escorted her to the surface. I stayed below to keep the Unblessed from pursuing them. I remember a voice saying “Brother…” in pitch black. That is all that remains of the truth I discovered in those caves. There were no other yordles of Lanpoa in those caves, and so I must believe that the Unblessed were able to somehow call me brother, though never before or since have they been able to say anything but “cry-stor” in their shrill voices. I’m told it was two days before they sent a group in to rescue me or recover my body. My mother lead it, and she tells me she found me lying near death, the bodies of massive Unblessed surrounding me, and the Shaman who had lead them little more than a bloody smear on the ice of that cave. She recovered my body, the kali sticks of our family, all three that remained, and brought me to the surface. When I regained consciousness I simply screamed and tried to flee… where I was trying to flee to or from I do not know, and my tribe was forced to restrain me so that I could recover. After nearly a week of healing and calming magic, I was able to beg my sister to go into my mind and strip the memory from me. With Lunar magic she was able to shield herself from remembering my thoughts, and with Lunar and emotional magic she was able to relieve me of that memory, of the time in between her departure and my recovery. Only blackness and that single word remains. I remember very vaguely that a relic, and the origin of the Unblessed were involved. And if I do not pick at those memories, the darkness is all that will remain. After the events of that night, my sister took her daughter and willingly left Lanpoa behind. She and a small tribe of others who have chosen to forsake Lanpoa live in the mountains of Argyre alone - the Unblessed do not know of them and those of Lanpoa do not speak of them or interact with them. I would visit her and my niece often, doing my best to defend them from spirits and wraiths, and that is where my left Kali stick remains--above her doorway as a promise that I will always return to her to protect her. I have taken her left Kali stick, as she asked me to. In this way, we are not separated as far. For nearly 2 years after that night, I continued to operate as an Antaŭi, although the actual command structure of the unit was completely changed. I changed my name to Rinsu’o, as it is now. My mother has retired from the Korpogardistoj, and lives with my sister far from Lanpoa. When the Freljord came to Argyre, I journeyed up to speak with my family about leaving. The Korpogardistoj was able to recommend that I become “Diplomat” for Argyre in the League, and I haven’t returned to Argyre since. I bleach my fur to hide the stains of my shame, which have never washed out. Whenever I lose control, they reappear; either to remind me of my failure or to protect me from the demons that pursue me. I’m uncertain which. The effects of that memory on me have caused my mother and sister to leave Lanpoa behind. That is why my relationship with the deity I once revered above all else is so fractured. And that the very same deity that oversaw all of this can so easily declare foreign visitors her chosen people… I question many things, but none so much as that. How Rin met Ursus. -or- Yordle Troublemaker Sejuani continued to glare at the fluffy white nuisance in front of her. Last night’s Yeti attack - the third in as many days! - had nearly destroyed half the camp this time. This time, however, the Ursine posted to guard the camp had been able to distinguish what it was chasing; distinguishing a white-cloaked, white-furred yordle from the snow, while an enraged Yeti was barreling towards you, was no minor feat. “Ursus, you bring the Rimeclaws honor by your deeds. This little Nyrothian menace… if we had not caught him now, he would have continued his mischief, and I will NOT have that.” She turned from the smallest Ursine in camp back to the yordle. “Here Sejuani, take the Nyrothian diplomat with you. He says he wishes to see the wilds of the Freljord, and Braum has business with the League.” Ashe had said. And Sejuani had agreed, the little yordle had sparred with Gnar on the ride back from Nyroth. She had wanted to see what he was capable of. “A warrior-diplomat, I’m sure he’d be a great asset on your trip, you could learn something from him about handling…” Sejuani paused, recent events and the words Ashe had chosen beginning to add up. “Learn something about handling aggressive diplomatic relations.” Oh, that BITCH. She was talking about ME. “I’ll put her pretty diplomatic head on a pike.” Sejuani muttered, out loud. The situation was uncannily similar. Hands tied by the League, it wasn’t like she could just get rid of the fluffy little menace. He had probably caused three yeti attacks on this patrol, lost no fewer than FIVE translation hexcrystals since they had returned to the Freljord from the Institute last week… and now she had to find a way to keep him under closer watch while they returned to Avarosan territory, since Ashe would blame her for any ruckus he caused. Ursus grumbled to herself. Some honor, “oh, you’re the only one who can see him when he gets loose, could you be his bodyguard, he’s a diplomat and we need to keep him safe from the trouble he causes.” And what am I supposed to do, tell Sejuani “No thanks, I’m not that dumb, I’d rather tell you NO than deal with the little devil?” I’m screwed either way! Rotten little fluffball. The fluffball in question was yammering away in Nyrothian, aware that she couldn’t understand him but seeming not to care. He was in constant motion around her feet, trotting away, hopping back, always bouncing through the midwinter snow. They had fallen to the rear of the patrol group, supposedly as a ‘rear guard’, but in reality… mainly to keep the troublemaker as far from Bristle as possible. He had started to take an interest in the boar’s tusks. She sighed with relief as the patrol halted to make camp. She had missed her chance to sleep last night, after all the chaos of the Yeti attack last night. She’d be glad to get a chance to sleep. Swear on the Spirits, if this watch drags on any longer… Ursus peered groggily out into the dark. The Nyrothian furball had tried to slip away earlier, but she had grabbed him by the tail and growled at him until he had wisely decided to stay put near her side. He sat, contentedly grooming himself, glancing up at her, looking out over the wide tundra, fidgeting constantly. The pair of sticks he had brought with him from lords knew where were tucked into some sort of belt, and he wore a plain white robe… Odd, she thought, He wears the red cloak during the day, and stands out like a bald Yeti. But then at night he turns into this camouflaged little devil. Probably just to make my life more difficult. She could barely contain the yawn that came over her. It was another hour until watch change. Then she could sleep. The stick rapped against her unarmored foot with a sharp sting. Her eyes sprung open, and she glared down at the little yordle… but something wasn’t right. He stood stone still, sticks at the ready, the one that had smacked her foot nearly instantly brought back up to a guarding stance as he focused intently on a single point out in the darkness. She had dozed off at some point, while still standing, apparently; he hadn’t taken the chance to slip away. And now something had him stopped, still wound as tightly as ever, and staring out towards the mountains in the distance. She nearly missed the single word he spoke - “Spektro.” Wraiths were not terribly common, but dangerous enough to be a nuisance even to a camp of the Winter’s Claw. She tossed another chunk of wood onto the fire, letting it flare up to dissuade the wraith from coming any closer. It had taken nearly a full minute of peering into the dark for her to find it - however he had sensed the wraith, it wasn’t visually. She woke the second watch for the night, an archer woman, another with good eyes. Told her of the wraith, and watched as the swift arrow hit its mark. Then she crawled into her tent and closed her eyes until morning. A little white furball curled up between her shoulder blades. Rin's trip home at Harrow's End - - "Home is where the Center is" Rinsu’o of Pihng Spyyk had teleported to Stormhaven from Institute grounds at Harrow’s End. The way he understood it, Harrow’s End, to Valoranians, was a time of celebration of family, of giving thanks, and of feasting. And with everyone else preoccupied with their own families and celebrations, he found himself longing for home a great deal more than he could stomach. He had neglected the rites for his father’s soul, and the souls he was responsible for, and he hadn’t seen his family in almost a year. It was time to visit home. As he had ridden in the longboat towards Argyre, he tried to remind himself of his native tongue - it had been harder than he expected, having heard so little of it the last year, having thrown himself so thoroughly into Valoran’s languages. Now he was approaching the shore of Argyre, he saw a small knot of people, and recognized a familiar one-armed silhouette. He grinned - she had come all the way down from the mountains to see him arrive. Home certainly had its perks. As the longboat pulled up to shore, he heard angry voices in the milling confusion, and one of them was his sister’s. Odd. The moment he stepped ashore, he was pushed towards the end of the dock by a young yordle he didn’t recognize. His sister pulled him towards her and shouted over the crowd “Fine! Fine, you want to make that official, youngling?!” “Yes! I, Taanvmo of Nuubahk challenge you, Cyvado outcast, to a duel of honor! You sully the name of Lanpoa by showing your face here.” Rinsu’o began to recognize the young man calling himself Taanvmo, but more because he recognized the name. The boy had been the child of one of Nuubahk tribe’s elders, and had been trying to get into the Antaui on name alone for years, despite his youth and ill-suited attitude. He was about to say something when his sister interrupted. “Very well! I, Cyvado the Illuminator, accept your duel, Taanvmo of Nuubahk, and I name Rinsu’o of Pihng Spyyk, my brother, as my champion.” Rinsu’o rolled his eyes slightly. Honor duels had become exceptionally rare, but most of the yordles of Lanpoa knew the procedures they involved. It was unusual to select a champion instead of accepting yourself, but he was a blood relative, and Cyvado had only one arm, so it wasn’t earth-shattering. In the brief pause he simply stated “I accept, now what the hell is going on?” And then the youngling started practically foaming at the mouth. “HE isn’t even a true yordle of Argyre! He took the broken name, and then left Argyre for another land! Deserter! Traitor! Scum o-” “WATCH YOUR MOUTH, CADET.” The sharp rebuke came from a voice Rin was glad to hear - they’d had their differences over the years, but Samil was still his closest friend on Argyre. “You’re speaking about the first yordle I’d trust with my back.” Samil made his way through the crowd, and the two yordles embraced like long-separated brothers. The crowd began to filter towards a ceremonial arena below Lanpoa’s watchful gaze. It seemed the duel would be fought immediately. Rin asked Samil how long Taanvmo had been causing drama for his sister to actually accept such a duel. “Weeks, months, does it matter? He slandered her constantly, occasionally threw your name into the mix, and your mother burned most of her goodwill with the Korpogardistoj when she convinced them to let you be a diplomat… I keep him reined in as best as I can, but once he’s off duty there’s not much I can do.” He saw Rin’s mouth start to open and cut him off - “Yes, I let him into the Antaui. Runcavmo owes me pretty big now, and the more his worthless son screws up, the worse he looks. The Valorans have some interesting ideas about politics, so I took a page from their book. I also hoped it would keep Taan happy and shut him up, but you see how well THAT has worked.” Rin chuckled. “Alright, I forgive you. I may need some of that political swing of yours though, I’ll burn all of mine if I hurt the little fool. The Valorans don’t do play-combat, they do real combat and heal each other afterwards. I’ve been hitting harder lately.” Samil’rumo gaped in mock horror “Rinsu’o the terror, hitting hard?! Say it isn’t so, may Lanpoa have mercy!” He grinned a bit, then stepped back. “We’ve arrived at the ring, my old friend. I’ll save my luck for myself, you don’t need it. Make it a clean fight though, I’m your judge, you know I won’t be able to show you any favor.” Rinsu’o knelt stiffly at the ring’s edge, bowed his head quickly, then stood up and stepped in. Kneeling again just inside the ring, he drew his sticks and placed them on the ground at his sides. Both he and Cyvado had trained in martial arts under their parents for many years, and the rituals calmed him and reminded him of the past. He closed his eyes and waited for his opponent to be ready Taanvmo stood at the edge of the ring, saluted the judges, then stepped into the ring and adopted a broad-shouldered standing position. “Cyvado Outcast and Rinsu’o of Pihng Spyyk! I challenge you today for the honor due Lanpoa. I hold that you have not upheld what it means to be of Argyre, that the Outcast yordles who voluntarily walk from Lanpoa’s light are ungrateful to their tribe and our greatest mother. Should I win, I ask that you surrender yourselves to her for judgement. Should I lose, I will hold your honor and duties fulfilled. But I don’t think I’ll lose.” Rinsu’o heard the challenge, but allowed his sister to speak first, as was custom for those who had a champion fight for them. She smirked slightly, then responded “Should you lose, I would also expect a public apology… which since you are so certain, should be a very minor request.” The crowd stirred at that, some chuckling, others surprised. From somewhere near the back came a single “OOOOOooooooooooooh.” Taanvmo scoffed. “Fine! I accept. Then the duel shall begin. I introduce myself, Taanvmo of Nuubahk, operative of Antaui, slayer of 12 unblessed, fighter for justice.” Rin’s eyes opened sharply at this, and he glared up to where Samil’rumo was sitting above the ring. Kill counts? That was NOT our way, Samil. Then he noticed the look of irritation and disgust crossing the judge’s face. Ah. A self-given introduction for self-given titles. Rin waited to be sure the younger yordle was finished before speaking. “The duel shall begin. I ask the judge to introduce me.” Samil’s look of irritation was replaced with a broad grin. He stood, and recited from memory. “I introduce the challenged, Rinsu’o of Pihng Spyyk, founder of Antauita Rekono. Scarred of the Tornado, he who guards the secrets of the caves. Guardian of Pihng Spyyk during the Unblessed incursions. The striker in the night. Diplomat of Argyre to Valoran, he of unmatched sticks. Bearer of a broken name. He who holds himself responsible for Taluo, Puqpanno, Hucao, Fecbo, Nispmo, and Tavo.” Then after a pause - “I may have forgotten a few titles, but those were the important ones.” Among the crowd, an old yordle from the night-guard leaned forward to a young yordle from the day-guard. “Two weeks of juice-boxes your friend goes down in under three hits.” The young yordle just laughed. “No bet. I know my history, unlike my friend.” Rin took hold of his sticks as he stood. Holding back in an honor fight was grounds for the judge to call against him; he intended to give Taanvmo no precedent in this fight. Samil shouted “Begin.” Taanvmo sneered and took a step forward to posture. Rin crossed the ring in a blink, and put the momentum into a single strike with his right arm, the stick connecting with Taanvmo’s leering face just below his ear. The unconscious yordle landed outside of the ring - technically, a double loss. Rin bowed to the ring as he stepped out. Samil and Rin were walking down the beach alone as the moon rose. The black and white yordle had an unusually defeated posture, and spoke in a low voice. “I wonder, sometimes, Rin. Could we really have done any better than we did? Were we right to take the broken names? I know you blame yourself for Taluo, but… that was more directly my fault than yours. And neither of us was truly to blame for what happened when you and Cyvado… not more to blame than anyone, really. We were doing what we thought was right. And yet we’ve shackled ourselves to our past for everyone to see. You especially.” Here Samil stopped, turning to face his compatriot and looking him in the eyes. “You take responsibility for everyone, even Taluo’s sister! The only one of that entire list of names that you should be responsible for is Puqpanno, and the only reason I’m okay with that is because the old sod ASKED for you to keep his rites.” Rin chuckled at that. “He was an old sod, wasn’t he? Trained you pretty good. Family before students though, he was right to ask me… or Cyvado, I suppose. Surprised she hasn’t asked you to marry her, broken name be damned.” Samil muttered low enough Rin almost missed it “She did, actually. Turned her down. S’part of why I’m regretting taking the name.” Rin was taken aback for a second, then realized that even if his sister didn’t care about the tradition of not marrying someone with a broken name, the rest of Argyre did. And the leader of Antauita Rekono, while not technically a political position, was certainly under increasing public scrutiny in these changing times. He thought for a moment, then spoke in a low tone. “Two things. One, if I am recalling this right, it isn’t that you can’t marry anyone, it’s that you may not ASK anyone to marry you - which you haven’t. And two, what, the former leader of Antaui isn’t good enough for the leader of Antaui? You two are good for each other, even if she took ten years to accept it. Next time she asks, just say yes you balmy fool. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Valoran it’s that things that have always been are still open to change. Shurima is listening to democracy! Demacia and Zaun fought the void together! Ok, it was after they almost destroyed the whole damn world, but hey, baby steps.” “I do not know ANY of these things you speak of, Rin. That takes some of the strength out of your position.” “Ok, I’ll connect it to here. Remember the Archer-queen who visited? Remember the warrior who rode the great boar? Remember how well they worked together here, and supported each other? Back in Valoran, their tribes have been at war for hundreds of years. With each other! Now if those two can set aside hundreds of years of war - REAL war, bloodshed and all, no play-fighting - and work together to help us here on Argyre realize we aren’t alone… that there are more people, yordles, and everything else out there… then you can swallow your pride and tell the Korpogardistoj and anyone else who thinks your life is their concern to shove it under their tail.” “Rin, this still doesn’t apply to my situation, just because two people have fought is not relevant to what the public thinks of me and my pos-” “Samil, buddy, stop arguing and accept that I’m right. My point boils down to this - traditions can change. We took the broken names to remind us of our faults, our flaws, and what we were responsible for causing. It’s a connection to the past, but you act like it defines us.” Rin had learned only one lesson from being a diplomat, but he had learned it well. If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. Samil’rumo turned to face the ocean, then sat on the sand. “Doesn’t it define us, though? You’ve got more titles than anyone except maybe Cyvado or your mother. That defines you. Yet you have a broken name, and the title of broken name. That defines you even more. And you cannot tell me you don’t dwell on the past, that it doesn’t shape every action you make.” Rin was forced to think about that one. He sat down next to Samil, tucking his knees up to his chin and wrapping his tail around him. “First of all, my titles define my past, not me. Not that I was ever one to be fond of titles, which is how I got so many, by doing things of note, not trying to be someone impressive.” He couldn’t address the second part though. He did dwell on the past. Far too much. He sighed. “Fine. I dwell on the past too much and it shapes me even still. I fear repeating my mistakes, and yet I focus on them so fiercely that the world mirrors my past again and again. I fear death. That I think I shall always fear, ever since those damnable caves. I struggle to be everything to everyone and to destroy everything set against me… whether it deserves it or not. And I am broken far more for it. Is that the truth you wanted me to face?” Samil’s face became tight-lipped. “It is a truth. It is a truth I struggle with, and while it makes me glad to hear I am not the only one struggling with it, I take no joy in your pain. I do not have these answers, Rinsu’o. I only hope the questions help.” Samil stood up, glancing at the moon. “Sit under your moon, and may your wind and waves help you find peace.” Rin smiled a bit at the formal good-bye. “And go look for yours in the sun, old man. You were never like this as a kid.” He shouted to Samil’s retreating back “And next time, say yes! You know you wanted to, old fool!” The next day arrived to see Rin still thinking on the beach as Cyvado walked down. As she sat down next to him, he lifted an eyebrow. “What? No waves? I’m shocked!” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I figured if you spent the entire night down here, I could cut you some slack for once. Besides, Samil stopped by late last night to speak to me. Not that you would know anything about that, would you?” She was sitting cross-legged, her one good arm propping up her chin as she looked at him sideways. “Hm? Me? No idea what you’re talking about. What’d he stop by for, anyway?” Rin’s face was the picture of angelic innocence… for about two seconds. Then he grinned. “C’mon, you can’t leave me hanging like that, what’d he say?” She smacked him in the back of the head. “He was concerned about you. Part of the reason Mom and I were on board with you leaving Argyre was because we thought it would do you some good, get away from all the stress, maybe start acting like a yordle again instead of moping about like everything’s your fault. And yet you come back here a year later looking like you’ve been gone for ten. Rin, your entire head has gone white. There’s more yellow in your eyes than I’m comfortable with, and something is wrong with your breath. It smells like a campfire gone bad! You act cheery enough, but your body gives you away. Drop the act.” The smile faded off of Rin’s face. “Ah. Suppose I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He sighed, letting his body relax. He continued to stare out over the waves for a long while, before finally looking over to his patiently glowering sister. “It’s funny, even as a water mage, I can’t feel the waves. If I close my eyes, only the sound tells me that they continue. Close my eyes, and the moon may as well not be there. I’ve been able to work with them, but they’re not part of me… y’know? But even down here on the beach, I can tell you about the winds blowing up on the mountain, or the storm approaching our old home with the tribe. I can show you the exact position I would need to hit to knock someone unconscious, versus the position to stun them, even though the difference is miniscule. But I’ve sat here all night, and the water and the moon haven’t said a damn thing. And as the sun came up I realized why. I realized I only used them to try and protect you, to take them from you so you could be safe. I did so much in the past to protect everyone, you, Samil, every single other yordle on this damn island… and never once did I worry about myself, until that night we went and stuck our damn noses in. That was what broke me, that quest, whatever I found, and knowing that I couldn’t handle it. That journey was a mistake, and the culmination of a thousand mistakes before it. I’m a fuckup, Cy. I forced myself into doing things I never should’ve attempted, for the wrong reasons, and all of it haunts me. It haunts me in everything I do, because of everything I’ve ever done. That’s why leaving didn’t do anything. It’s me that reminds me.” Tears had formed in his eyes and threatened to fall. This was an emotionally broken yordle, one who had been strong despite his pain, and who had crumbled internally, never breathing a word of his loss. Cyvado knew the feeling. While Rin had buried himself in returning to the Antaui and fighting outwardly to hide his inner pain, she had met hers head on. It had shaken her, threatened to destroy her, but she had resisted the temptation to bury herself as he had. And now, seeing him as he was, she knew she had chosen the right path. She stood, walked around to his other side, and wrapped her arm around him. “What was it that gave you this insight, Rin? I need to know.” “The moon set late. I couldn’t feel it leave. The sun rose. I couldn’t feel it arrive. The waves continued, and I couldn’t feel them at all. But the moment the breeze shifted from coming to going, I knew. I felt the wind change, and I realized how much more in tune I was with the wind, the fighting, and the storm than I was with even myself.” He was miserable, chin setting on his knees, too tired to pick his head up to speak. Cyvado hugged him tighter with her one arm. “Rynsuho. You’re in harmony with the wind. You’re at peace with fighting, and you love the storm. And despite the fact that these things change, you remain in touch with them by knowing what they are at their heart. I… I struggled with this back then as well. I needed to go through it to avoid losing myself. And you’ll need to as well. I can only help you find the path, I can’t walk it with you, and that breaks my heart. But it will be YOUR path, and whoever comes out the other side will be you, who you choose to be. I just ask that you walk it, because I don’t want to lose you.” She stood, awkwardly bracing herself on his shoulder as she did so. “Mother and I will be on the mountain whenever you feel you’re ready to come home.” Rinsu’o stood up as well. “I’m certainly ready for breakfast.” The old woman named Makahtyno stood in the doorway as Cyvado and Rinsu’o jogged through the early-season snow around the small settlement on the mountain standing tall above Lanpoa. Wordlessly she noted subtle differences in their pace, how each of her children approached hills differently, Rin pushing himself on the uphill side then relaxing as he came down the other, Cyvado keeping a more mechanical pace the entire time. Even on the level portions Rin tended to run a slightly wider path faster, while Cyvado preferred to cut her corners closer and had a minutely slower pace. After several laps, she watched as they slowed, walked to the ring and bowed to each other. Rin drew his two escrima sticks, and Cyvado drew the short staff she preferred. They moved through several forms slowly, alternating between being the ‘aggressor’ in each instance. Rin had needed to practice all of his earlier material, but it had remained at a solid enough level that there weren’t any major corrections, just a lack of grace in his movements. It had taken nearly a week before she had been happy with his basic material, however. At his level there was no excuse for a lack of grace or power. Someone approaching Grandmastery should have both at all times, not just within the art in question. Makahtyno sighed as she began to stretch her arms, and began pacing around the village herself. Cyvado was a master of the staff, but her brother was simply too far ahead of her in traditional combat for her to really challenge him. It would be like him attempting to challenge her in magic--everything he had she would simply outmanuver, predict, or overpower. No, just like Cyvado’s only match in magic was Samil’rumo, Makahtyno knew she was the only one who could truly challenge her son in traditional combat, at least here on Argyre. From far below, two yordles had come up to the mountain earlier, also to train. They respectfully sat off to the side of the ring, watching the Outcast Grandmaster as she loosened her body up. Kiemdo and Tafo were two of the remaining Antaui members who had served under Cyvado’s tenure, when the Antaui had felt more like a family rather than the glory parade it was becoming with fame. At a nod from the old yordle, they stood up and each paired off with one of the armed combatants, Tafo with Rin and Kiemdo with Cyvado. The young yordles fought admirably, but were outmatched. The test here was to ensure that the Masters taught, and that the students didn’t simply give up. When at last Makahtyno had worked the kinks out of her joints, she slipped into a nearby house and retrieved two pairs of sticks, identical and plain. All of her students bowed as she entered the ring, and she finally felt the need to speak. Her voice had some slight gravel to it, the result of long being unused. “Kiemdo, Tafo and Cyvado. Rest off to the side of the ring. Nusbedy-husu,1 place your sticks to the side and use these.” She handed him one of the plain pairs. their weight and length were the same, but no magic had worked itself into them to aid his fighting. This would be, perhaps not a fair match, but as fair as a match between Teacher and Student could be. At the call to ‘Begin’, Rin exhaled slowly. Narrowing his eyes, he focused only on his opponent. Her guard was slightly low, her head tilted ever so slightly to the left. A reasonable opening. He swung both sticks, hoping one of them would get through, and connect in a high-on-the-head strike. Instead, one was blocked, the other whiffed a quarter inch too high, and the strike on his unguarded midsection nearly doubled him over. “No thought for defense against an opponent you know is a threat. Push-ups.” Rin obeyed stiffly, clamoring into a push-up position and repeating the exercise until she told him to stop. While he recovered, she addressed the other students. “Defense - especially in weapons fighting, but also in unarmed combat - is important against all opponents, regardless of skill level or fighting type. You can get away with not defending against lesser opponents, but if you allow yourself to become sloppy while fighting weak opponents, you become sloppy at all levels. Further, not respecting your opponent leads to arrogance and mistakes.” She turned and paced back to the edge of the ring. “Return… and Begin.” This time, he forced himself to consider defense. This was the type of fighting he had neglected since traveling to Valoran, the type of fighting he missed. Less magic, less enhancement, less brutality… more strength, more grace, more ritual. This was what had forced him to the Freljord - Zaun and Demacia and Ionia all loved their magic and their technology. The Freljord took life as it was given, and forced it to become something worth fighting for. He side-stepped as his Teacher came in with a swift, shoulder-level strike. The kind that could shift to body or head. Avoid entirely, counter-strike at attacking arm. As he jumped back however, she let the stick slip through her hand slightly, extending its reach to match his dodge. Her strike connected as she pulled the attack down toward his ribs. “Better defense, but you forget the techniques your opponents may use, and you forget techniques of movement that would make it easier to avoid attacks. Rest.” As she continued to speak, both to him indirectly and to the seated students, he stood in a loose, relaxed posture catching his breath. “Attacking techniques exist to get the advantage in combat. Holding an escrima stick near the middle allows for greater speed in striking, and allows you to adjust your grip mid-swing to change the length of your attack. Defensive techniques exist to save energy and defend oneself more quickly and easily than would otherwise be possible. If he had lifted his leg and fallen backwards, kicking off with the front leg, he could have covered more ground with less effort rather than trying to jump backwards with both feet. This is why regular practice of all techniques is important.” She returned to the edge of the ring, motioning for him to do so as well. “Return… Begin.” If he had been too aggressive the first time, and defended poorly the second, the third would be balanced between the two extremes. This was the way to enlightenment and the greatest self. He came in slowly, but smoothly, watching his mother as she analyzed him. A quick in-out-in motion started the offensive strike she was considering, and he was able to deflect it and counter with the same stick - she parried his counterattack with her defensive stick, and brought her attacking arm up to knock his stick from his hand. He quickly swung his defensive stick in, forcing her to redirect her strike and allowing both of them to withdraw. No point yet, for either side. The Grandmaster smiled. Rin gulped slightly as she began a new attack. Testing for a Grandmaster’s rank was grueling, but this... As the winter winds crossed the coastline, Rin and Samil trudged back towards Lanpoa. Rin had been back on Argyre for three weeks, and the boat giving him passage back to Stormhaven had arrived. It was nearly the beginning of the holiday called “Snowdown,” and Rin didn’t want to miss out on it like he had last year, doing paperwork to apply for a diplomatic position he barely respected, let alone wanted... “Samil, do me a favor. Consider marrying my sister. You know it took her a lot of guts to ask, and the two of you have been practically inseparable since we were kids. The broken name… it’s supposed to be a reminder, not a shackle. Hell, remember that she almost took it after the caves with me. You two are damn good for each other.” The two yordles walked slowly towards the docks. “I’ll.... I’ll consider it, Rin. I’m considering stepping down from the Antaui, as well. I’ve been playing political, trying to become some sort of leader of yordles, some sort of big shot. I’m turning into Runcavmo. Honestly, I should’ve just left it all to Lanpoa from the beginning, told the Korpogardistoj to let the Antaui stay in the dark. We’re not much of a secret anymore.” The Samil’s black ears drooped as he spoke, betraying his sorrow at losing the heart of his organization. Rin smiled a bit, sadly at first, then brighter as an idea came to him. “Officially disband them. Let all the kids and the unsuited ones think the Antaui are gone. Then cash in whatever the Korpogardistoj owes you, and give the title to someone who deserves it, like Kiemdo, Tafo, or Kimmo. Let them rebuild it in the dark, where it belongs. It’s time the old guard retired, Samil. And it’s time to let the kids take over the watch. Hell, you and Cy have a gift for magic, come to Valoran and play politics if you want to there. It’s time for a change, Samil. Even the sun shifts its track in the sky.” “I’ll take it under advisement, you crazy old warrior. You ready to shove off, then?” The two yordles stood at the dock, the wooden boat bumping gently against the wooden posts in time with the waves. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I think. Come to Stormhaven with me, Samil. See what they can do, what marvels magic can do with the right prodding. Give you something to think about at least, eh?” Rin tossed his sticks from hand to hand, the matched pair of his great-uncle reunited for the first time in over a year. “Bah, some other time. I’ll send a letter or something when I’ve figured out what I’m doing… and since when do your sticks match? Finally give Cyvado hers back?” “Yes, it was time I gave up pretending to be some kind of combat mage - I can cast, certainly, but I was using her strengths as a crutch - and a poor-suited one at that. Let her be the mage, I’ll stick with the wind and storm when I fight.” “Lanpoa have mercy, you finally getting back to your old self. You mischievous old sod. Guess leaving your tribe and homeland was the kick you needed? Don’t you look at me like that, it’s crossed my mind too. Just make sure that if I do change my mind, there’s a Valoran to come to, eh? Don’t blow the place down.” “Ha! No, that wouldn’t be a good thing. Not sure I could, honestly, too many mages who would try to stop me. You and Cyvado keep in touch, eh? I’m finally getting things settled over there, I wouldn’t want to end up getting too bored and ending up in trouble, eh?” Settling himself in the bottom of the boat, he waved to Samil. “I’ll catch up with you soon, old friend.” In a moment, wind was filling the sails of the wooden ship, and Rin cracked a smile to the nearest deckhand. “How fast do you think we could make Stormhaven, eh? Bet you a silver piece I could get us there before noon…” 1 literally: "Broken-name" Edited by rinsujo, Mar 7 2016, 02:33 PM.
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| CrazedPorcupine | Mar 2 2016, 01:45 PM Post #3 |
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Keeper of the Veritama
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Synar's Childhood, Journal Entry #43 I woke up this morning to my parents excited chatter. I looked over to Likon's mattress and saw that it was empty. He must have gone off to the trails to find more Ionian Granite. I got up and went to the study. My parents had a small bush in a pot in front of them. It seems they had obtained yet another rare specimen from far away. This plant didn't seem so special. My father noticed me in the door way and beckoned me in. I loved plants, I really did, but I didn't have the same scientific interest my parents did. "Hey there Sy, Look at what we just had delivered!" he gestured to the plant. "What is it father?" "It's a Demacian Rose bush!" "Roses? But why? What possible purpose could roses have?" "Well, it's said that Demacia is a land so steeped in holy magic that even the plants glow with holy light and can ward off the dark magics of the Isles of Death, and the black mists." I was skeptical, but said nothing. I had heard of these places in my studies, but I had never experienced these things. Merchants from the Serpent Isles talked about these dark events that took the lives of many people, but I viewed them only as tales told by adults to scare children. My sweet sister loved the sailors and the docks. She was a romantic at heart, always hoping she'd find a man who'd whisk her away to the tropical Serpent Isles. "So, these roses have magical properties?" I asked. "That's what we're going to test! We're very excited about the possibilities. If they provide useful, then it's quite possible that we could cultivate these roses, and sell the extract as a protective charm for the sailors from the Serpent Isles, especially those from Bilgewater." My father did not hide the disdain for the men from Bilgewater. My mother was working on pruning the plant to encourage healthy growth. My parents were not heavily trained in magic, but they knew enough to keep plants healthy and growing properly, no matter what environment they came from. I walked with my parents to the Greenhouse. I loved the greenhouse. It was always bathed in heavy warm scents that soothed the soul. My parents grew many different types of plants in the various greenhouses we had. We grew medicinal plants and ran an apothecary, as well as plants twisted by the ancient rune wars. Runes had intrigued me for years. Magic was so intriguing. Able to be manipulated by words and runes, and actions. I thirsted for more knowledge. I finished my daily chores, including help fertilize the plants in the greenhouses and helping plant the Demacian Roses. About midday, Likon returned. He was incredibly excited. He must have found something very interesting. He ran towards my parents shouting with excitement. My parents stopped him and told him to calm down. I walked over to see what he was so excited about about. "Look at what I found!" he said opening up his hand. In his hand was a small crystal. An Ionian Star. A rare gemstone that was said to be a piece of quartz infused with the energy of the stars. They were highly prized in jewelry. Especially necklaces. "Wow! Where'd you find it Ko?" I asked? "I found it in the old Softstone Quarry," he replied. "That's awesome!" "Hey, want to help me with something? We could get Reane to help too!" He asked and without waiting for a response, ran off. I admired my brother's boundless energy. He was older than me, but he looked out for me. I chased after him and found him talking with our sister. She was grinning from ear to ear. "That's a great idea Ko!" I heard my sister say as I drew close. "What's the plan?" I asked finally catching up to them. "We're going to make mother a necklace with the Ionian Star I found!" Likon said excitedly. "That's a wonderful idea!" I said. "What will we use to make the necklace?" I then asked. "Let's use Fairy Vine." My sister chimed in. "That's a great idea." Fairy Vine was an interesting plant in that it absorbed moisture and nutrients from the surface of what it grew on. When trimmed, with proper care, it could be grown into beautiful designs which could then be cut away from the main vine to cause it to dry into a tough yet flexible material. We set to work, gathering the vine we'd need to start growing it into a necklace. It would take us weeks, but it would be a wonderful present for our mother. Here's a story about Synar as a child of about the age of 9-10. It features his siblings quite a bit and also a bit of how his parents were. Edited by CrazedPorcupine, Mar 2 2016, 01:46 PM.
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| AffableZombie | Mar 3 2016, 11:08 AM Post #4 |
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How many potatos do I need to potato to trip ballz?
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I think this would make a good sticky. Ill have mike do it. :3 |
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| Damaster00777 | Mar 3 2016, 08:58 PM Post #5 |
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Secretary of Fabulosity
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Is this where we put tidbits about our own guys? I'm assuming that's the case. Here's one for Deon. Fiction Snippet #1: A Not-So-Average Day "Alright, kid, let's try this again. Don't focus, just let it-"
"How is he supposed to magic without focusing, Toby?" "Shut up, Irenae." That had been 7-year-old Deon Mcgee's day those far: his father trying to teach him to to shoot fire from his hand, his father's friend offering commentary, and his father telling his friend to shut up. "I'm trying, dad, honest." Deon attempted to defend himself. "I know you are, kiddo. Just... keep trying." his father's gruff voice came after having finished another drink from a hip flask. And so Deon began to channel again, hoping this time he'd be able to conjure the flames he needed. Meanwhile, Irenae had stood up from her meditative position, and had grabbed Deon's father, Tobias, by the arm and dragged him out of earshot from the boy. "Why do you keep doing this to him?" Irenae hissed. "Doing what? I'm teaching him how to use his magic. This kid's got potential the likes I've never-" Tobias stopped mid-sentence to take a swig from his hip flask. "seen. He's gonna be a prodigy, could even be League material, like you-" "You're not teaching him, Tobias! You're telling him to meet an impossible goal! You want a child- a child- to channel fire with his hands!" Irenae snapped irately. "You're asking him to do something not many adult mages can do! You-" It was Tobias's turn to interrupt. "I can do it. I can channel fire without a conduit, and I can do it drunk. Not to mention, I'm not even half the mage he'll be." he finished with a slightly drunk grin on his face. "There's another thing. Sometimes I think you see Deon as pupil, and not your son. You treat him poorly because-" Tobias's grin was gone, now replaced with a neutral expression- an expression, Irenae knew, that was only a facade for anger. She cursed herself for going too far. His past was a touchy subject, and she’d no doubt touched a raw nerve. "How dare you. How could you think that I'm- that I'm mistreating him? I've done nothing, nothing, nothing, but love and care for him. Do I drink a lot? Sure. It's my vice, one of many. But I always make sure the house is warm, and he's got food and affection!" The facade now changed, from one hiding anger to one displaying sorrow. "How long have we known each other, Irenae? 15 years? We've cried on each other shoulders. We've confided in one another. You know I would never, never hurt Deon. I'm not gonna be like... him." Tobias grit his teeth on "him", and Irenae began to apologize profusely. "I'm so sorry, Toby. I... I didn't mean to imply you were like your father. I just... I care about him to, you know? I don’t want him to be exhausted everyday." she ended her apology with a pleading look. "I know. I... I just want him to be the best he can be. I want him to be successful, living in a castle or something, not washed out, living as a hermit in the middle of Eastern Bumblefuck. I want him to-" As Irenae's hair began to frizz, and she suddenly burst out laughing. "Gods, Irenae. Do you have so much hair that tickles when-" "Your hair! It just-" Irenae now burst into full on laughter as she mimed an expanding motion. Tobias felt his hair, which had now fluffed itself to about the size of a yordle. "Holy shit! What the hell is going on?" Tobias began walking to the back of his shack where his adopted son was still practicing, closely followed by Irenae. Although, the sight they saw when they got there caused their jaws to drop. The young mage-in-training was floating a couple inches off the ground, his eyes closed. His body coursed with lightning, and a small storm cloud had appeared to have been wrangled about 3 feet above his head. Lightning arced off of his extremities, either straight into the ground or dispersing into the air. Tobias was besides himself with joy. "It's not quite fire, but what did I tell you: potential. Name me one regular mage who can do that. And if that's what he can do with 5 minutes of channeling, imagine what he can do once he finishes training. I mean, granted, it was overcast, but I mean come on, this is amazing! I knew he was a prodigy!" Tobias continued ranting and raving about how great his kid was, as parents are wont to do. Irenae, on the other hand, was somewhat worried for Deon’s safety. She cast a ward on herself, and went to break the young man’s electric trance. Deon had been focusing, but he didn’t know for how long. So he just kept trying. And trying. And trying. Maybe I don’t actually have magic. Maybe I’m just… normal. But dad’s so sure. I gotta keep trying. I just have to. Even if I don’t have it, I’ll find it! He was about to open his eyes when he felt a hand on his shoulder. His eyes then snapped open, and he saw himself not only floating in the air, but coursing with electricity he’d borrowed from the clouds. “I-I-I can do it! I can-” At that moment, the trance ended; the cloud floated away and Deon felt the electricity gather, and watched as it arced from his chest, knocking the dummy he was supposed to immolate into the forest. He then fell flat on his face. As Irenae helped Deon off the ground, Tobias rushed over, grabbed his son, and pulled him into a hug. “You did it! You frickin’ did it, kid!” Deon was confused. “But, I didn’t. I couldn’t make fire. I’m sorry.” Deon was further confused when his father let out gruff but hearty laugh. “Fire? Screw the fire, kid, I ain’t seen someone channel lightning like that since that yordle ninja Ionia’s got in the League. You’re a natural, kid. I knew you were.” Tobias looked back at Irenae, who looked at Deon, smiled, and nodded her head. Deon was the happiest he’d ever been in his life. He’d earned the pride of his father and his father’s friend, both very powerful mages. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he could be as powerful as they were, and he could change the world. His thoughts of the future were interrupted as he heard rustling in the bushes. A massive figure emerged from the foliage, followed by two hounds. The man, known as Norith, merely glared at Tobias, who put Deon down. “Julius! Richter! Here, boys!” Deon called to the hounds. The two dogs bounded over to the young boy and began to lick him. For a moment, the briefest of smiles flashed on Norith’s face, but it was quickly replaced with the scowl he was known for having at all times. “Mcgee.” He stated coldly, his voice deep, befitting a man of his size and muscle. “Caldus.” Tobias responded just as coldly, his voice gruff, befitting a stubborn, old, drunk hermit. “I believe this is your’s, old man.” The hunter pulled something off of his back that had been tied there hastily. It was the straw dummy Deon had blasted into the woods. “It’s best not to throw things in the woods. A less disciplined hunter may have fired.” Norith said, one hand on his scabbard and his other hand adjusting his slung hunting bow. Tobias snatched the dummy away and scowled at Norith. “Yeah, well, if some hunters didn’t skulk around private property intent on harassing-” Norith let out a chortle, and sneered at Tobias. “I’m not here to ‘harass’ you, old man. I’m here for her.” he jerked his thumb at Irenae. “Lady Irenae, Lord Xorith has requested your presence at the coven hall.” Irenae rolled her eyes. “Did he tell you to call him ‘Lord Xorith’, or is your relationship that bad?” Norith merely stared at Irenae and repeated “Lord Xorith has requested your presence at the coven hall.” Irenae sighed and conceded with “Lead the way.” Norith turned his back to the trio and whistled. “Richter. Julius.” The two hounds, hearing the call of their master, leapt off the young boy they had been playing with and bounded to his side. As Irenae passed Tobias, she gave him a quick peck on his bearded cheek and followed after the hunter. Tobias stood passively, and Deon waved at the retreating man, woman, and dogs until all four had disappeared from view. “I hate that guy.” Tobias stated. “I like his dogs.” Deon responded. |
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| JondorHoruku | Apr 12 2016, 06:06 AM Post #6 |
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The King of Alliteration
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I'm working through another snippet for Jondor, it's the story of one of his jobs for Noxus... If you want to read it in progress, it's in his character sheet Edited by JondorHoruku, Apr 12 2016, 06:06 AM.
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| ProjectRysa | Jun 20 2016, 11:22 AM Post #7 |
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Reeeeeeeeee
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If this is where we put stories about our Characters, then I've got one about Sasby. Spoiler: click to toggle Sometime around the events of Mirror Water, in Shurima... It was around noon when Sasby saw the bandits, when the sun was around its peak, searing the desert sand. Their attack upon the group of travelers was just beginning. The couple of men in the group were clashing swords with the bandits, but it was painfully obvious they were horribly outnumbered, and stood not a chance against the marauders, for it was about 3 to 8. One bandit laid in the sand, clutching a nasty looking gash in his side, blood pouring out. This surprised Sasby, for he didn't expect the guards to get in a single blow, but one of the defenders was on the ground, unmoving, a sword buried in his guts. They can only do so much, thought the warrior, Greatsword over his shoulder, it's rust covering dully shining in the sun. They are horribly outnumbered, and no experience most likely. It was only a matter of time til one of them fell. The fact they got one bandit is surprising, but he was probably too cocky to think they would have easy pickings. Sasby had been following these bandits for a good week now, and it hadn't been hard to do, for they left a trail of destruction and death in their trail, murdering wanderers and travelers for their supplies. He hadn't fought them because, honestly, he was only one man, and he hadn't wanted to risk taking on 8 of them, but help from 2 people, and only 7 left? Those were odds he li- Another man fell, a flash of steel and he fell, not crying out a single bit of any pain. Sasby had been watching too long, he started his walk towards the group of caravans, taking his time down the dune of sand. The last person dropped their sword in surrender, getting down on the floor to confirm it. He was about halfway to them when they finally entered the small circle of carts, and screams from women could be heard as, Sasby guessed it, the bandits approached them. The group of evil men had left their comrade on the floor, to bleed out and die, or rather to finish dying, as he was still as a rock now. As Sasby reached the outer edges of the carts, he strained to hear what the bandits were saying. "-ou did to our friend! Roger was a great friend, and now he's DEAD. Someone has to pay for his life, so it might as well be this one!" Sobbing could be heard from one of the women, and was quickly followed by a thud and the words, "Shut it!" Sasby rounded the corner, and finally saw the situation. First off, there was the body of an older man on the floor next to his feet, lying face down, presumably dead. The last of the defenders, who was suprising a lady, was in the corner of the makeshift room of caravan walls, guarded by 2 marauders. In the middle of the floor, was an older man and woman, most likely married. The lady had the look of pure anger and sadness in her eyes, and the man's eyes had grief and acceptance of his fate. They were surrounded by 4 more bandits. In front of them, and on the farthest and opposite side of Sasby, was what looked like the head of the gang, brandishing a knife in one hand, and in the other, was holding a young lady, looking 6 or 7-ish. The Leader saw Sasby as soon as he rounded the corner into the situation. He gave him a good look up and down the tall man, dressed in rusted over armor. He gave a chuckle, like a captain of a pirate crew might, and said in a dark, rich voice, "Lookie here! Looks like one of em decided to stop hiding away and come try to save his friends! Well, if you've come to do that, then I'm afraid that you won't be doing anything of the sort!" Sasby stared him dead in the eyes and said in a dark tone, "I have no clue who you are, or who these people are, but I have come to stop your spree." Another laugh from the captain. "Ahhh, so we have a 'pretend' hero! Well, you are just in time to witness me pay back the blood debt that I am owed for the loss of one of our gang!" "What if I decide to end your spree here?" As he said this, he drew his dagger from his belt. Upon seeing this, the leader put HIS dagger closer to the girl's throat. "Well, either way, the Girl dies, so I guess it sucks to b-" He stopped his sentence there as Sasby, with lightning speed, cleared the distance between them with his long legs, knocked the dagger from the man’s hand, and found a different dagger stabbed into his throat. "Should have just given up as soon as I walked here." The bandits stood in shocked silence, then sprung to action, leaving their original spots to quickly surround Sasby. While this was happening, Sasby took his dagger out of the previously living man’s throat and let him topple to the floor, to bleed out. He then put his attention to the girl, who was silently crying. Getting on a knee, and bending down a little to be on her eye level, he said, "It's okay, little one, you aren't hurt I hope, so no need to cry." Turning around and standing back up, he saw that he was surrounded. One of the bandits spoke up, saying with a slightly fearful edge to his voice, "W-we have you surrounded, you should j-just drop your sword, and we-we'll let you live!" Sasby looked this man in the eye, and turned to him. At this point, he had given up on trying to listen to the people, their voices quieter than whispers. He HAD, however, took up the hobby of reading people's lips. Upon 'hearing' what the man had to say, he did a couple little nods, as to say, 'okay, okay, I like your offer.' Then quickly stabbed his great sword into his gut. After that, combat erupted between the remaining gang and the lone man. A bandit swung his sword at Sasby's face, which he ducked under narrowly, and quickly withdrew his sword from the man's gut. Another bandit took a swing at him, which he parried easily with his dagger, and followed up with a slice to the attacker's throat. 4 more to go. Two attackers took separate swings at him with their weapons, one aimed at his head, and another at his torso. Only able to realistically parry one, he parried the one coming at his face, knocking the blade away with a satisfying chunk. The other blade, luckily, bounced off his armor, putting a sizeable dent into it. Sasby barely felt this. The attack, though, had seemed to jar the bringer of the dent, which gave Sasby enough time to swing at him with his dagger. It connected, leaving a huge gash across his stomach area, and fell to the floor. 3 more. The 3 last men backed off a bit, putting space between them and Sasby. The 3 marauders all put their eyes on this man with insane reflexes. He simply just raised his great sword in one hand, dagger in the other, waiting for them to move. They finally all gave small glances at each other, looking like they had mentally finalized a plan of action. With that, they all charged him recklessly. The first one was doing an overhand slash aimed at Sasby's torso. He parried this easily and sliced the man with his great sword, dropping the man fast. 2 Left. The second one was going for a straight up stab at his chest. All this took was a simple sidestep to the left and a stab with his sword. It impaled the man in the chest, which stopped him instantly. 1 more to go. As he took his sword out of the 2nd charging man, he looked forward to interc...Where did the last one go? Sasby got his answer from behind him, hearing an audible whimper that sounded like a young lady. He turned around to face the man, but was shocked to see him holding the girl in a similar matter as the last guy was, but in a more ready to kill stance. He had a desperate look in his eyes. In a oddly calm voice, he said in a monotone voice, "Back up, or she dies." "Just let he-" "Back up NOW!" With that, he brought his sword closer to her throat. Having yet to think through the situation, and not wanting to take chances, he backed up a couple steps. "What do you want?" Sasby questioned. "I want you to to let me leave. Listen, I am a man of my word. If you let me go, I will let her go, you will not follow me, because the girl will also come with me, to ensure my safety. Do I make myself clear?" Sasby had heard the man alright, but he wasn't about to let this man get away with his life. Quickly deciding that getting a surprise attack was one of his best options, he sprung to action, quickly attacking the last bandit. His eye's popped out of his skull in shock, and even before he could act, he was pierced by a giant sword straight into his gut. All of them down. He leaned into the man's ear, and whispered, "What are you gonna do now?" He replied, "This." He mustered up all his leftover strength, and grabbed the girl's upper neck and lower jaw neck in both his hands and quickly twisted. A loud crack could be heard. As he slumped down, his body held up by the sword, the girl fell like a dead weight. Muttering a curse, he dropped his sword, still buried into the man's body, and quickly kneeled down to the body. He quickly put his fingers to her neck, hoping for a pulse. There wasn't one. He let his hand fall back to his side. He heard a very loud cry of grief as the mother pushed Sasby aside and bent over her daughter’s body, letting out loud sobs. All Sasby could do was sigh, and stand up. The man just stood there, eyes full of sadness. He went and put a hand on her wife's shoulder, to do what little he could to comfort her. Meanwhile, the lone warrior looked around the area. Dead littered the floor. There was a lot of blood on the floor as well. He looked at his own body, which was safe from harm, disregarding the dent in his armor. His dagger was covered in blood. The lady defender was still in the corner. She had sadness in her eyes as well, but there was also anger. He wasn't shocked. Upon releasing her, for her hands were bound in rope, she rubbed her wrists, trying to ease the pain there a little bit. Sasby commented, "You're fighting earlier wasn't too bad, but it could definitely use improvement." After hearing that, she looked him in the eyes, and quickly threw a punch, which he didn't dodge. He felt nothing, but he did lose his balance, falling back on his back. Her voice full of rage, asked, "Why the FUCK did you do that? Did you not care for her safety? Did you not care about her life, and just killing him?!" He winced at the loudness of her voice. Leaning forward to be in a sitting position, he answered, "I didn't want to chance him getting away. Besides, I got him with my attack. Sadly, though, I couldn't stop him after that. I am sorry for that, but it was worth i-" SMACK Sasby was hit with the her palm, it knocked him back down. "What do YOU MEAN, IT WAS WORTH IT?! If you HADN'T done that, she could maybe STILL be ALIVE!" "Wow, that was quite a slap." He said, rubbing his face. "I felt that, and hit hurt a bit. Maybe you just need some practice on your form..." He slowly got up, towering over the lady, who had also stood up. "Now, let's calm dow-" She slapped him again, which hit pretty hard, but he was able to stand his ground. "ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!" She sent another slap his way. He caught it. She sent one with her other hand, which he also caught easily. Sasby leaned down, and whispered into her ear, "My answer? It's this: If he lived, he might have killed more people, and more life would be lost. If I have to sacrifice the life of a little girl to make sure a murderer stays down, I will. At the end of the day, I have saved more people with sacrificing one person than saving one person and letting more die." He retreated, and let go of her arms. She had a look mixed between a sad clarity and disbelief, as if hoping what Sasby had said wasn't true, and a hint of anger. "Like I have said, I apologize. I tried my hardest, but I'm only a man. I can only do so much. I now must leave. I bid you good-day, and you have my condolences." He started for the exit, but stopped, and turned his head around. "You, girl, I see potential in you. If you wish to learn more about fighting, come find me. I will teach you all I know." With that, he walked out the small entrance formed by the caravan's positioning. He stepped over the dead outside the entrance, and continued. Now, what do I do now? I've ended the gang's pillaging and killing. Maybe I can find some new armor, mine isn't doing too well. That sounds like a plan. I'll just wander until I find an bla- "Who are you?" Sasby turned around fast on reflex, drawing his dagger. It was the girl again. She was standing 5 feet away from him, holding his sword that he had forgotten. "Sasby. Sasby Techwar. I belong to the noble house of Demacia, dating back to before the Rune wars." He held out his hand for her to shake. She didn't budge. He shrugged, and dropped his hand. "You can keep the sword. Use it for whatever purpose you wish, but just know this. If you use it for evil, I will stop you." Sasby turned around, and continued walking. He hadn’t noticed that the girl had decided to follow him until it was night, and he decided to rest. Edited by ProjectRysa, Jun 20 2016, 03:28 PM.
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| Kaynunot | Jun 20 2016, 05:14 PM Post #8 |
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Kuronan Estimare, Psionic Psion of House Estimare
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So this is part of the story of Kuronan and Kindred as well as how he escaped the Alchemist's Lab. It's incomplete right now but I'll work on it at a later point. Death, and the First Meeting Kuronan had a... less than pleasant day on the Fields of Justice. Volibear wasn't the worst champion in reality, but damn if Chosen of the Storm wasn't an infuriating passive to have to deal with if you aren't on the winning end of the trade. It was worse than Irelia's Equilibrium Strike to Kuronan, because at least that only really had an effect in 1v1s as opposed to damn Teamfights. Alas, he should stop focusing so much on the bad matches and try to get some shut eye. He quickly changed out of his uniform into some more comfortable nightwear before getting into bed for what he hoped would be a Dreamless Sleep... Shame it wasn't going to be... Kuronan found his eyes opening to a room illuminated with a sea-green neon light. He knew his arms, legs, and neck were all strapped down. The real question was which day this was... "Subject 012 appears to be functioning. No notable life-sign variations, Magical Potential remains repressed." "Then it may be time for another dosage." Oh, of course it was this day. "His last dosage was only four hours ago-" "Give. Him. Another. Dosage." Hesitation, he couldn't actually see whoever gave him the chemical injections, most of the devices were automated or remotely controlled. "How Much?" "Empty the Storage Tank." "The Subject could die! We haven't learned everything we can yet-" "Then perform an Autopsy afterwards, I know if we push further the subject's potential will be unlocked." More hesitation. "Someone left the speaker on..." The speaker was shut off. Kuronan in a child's body was forced to wait. He knew other more rebellious Humans would tug against the restraints, but he knew these wouldn't budge, he just wasn't strong enough and if the scientist's concerns were right, he will never get to that point in his life. And then, as if from nowhere, his arm was injected with Liquid Fire. This was supposed to be a formula that would somehow open the magical pathways within his body, but it only felt like they were trying to burn him alive from the inside. He gasped and cried out as the concoction spread. Even if he knew nothing would come of struggling, it at least helped distract his mind from the ludicrous pain he had to endure in the name of Alchemy. To give every human Magical Power was a noble goal but it's really hard to pretend that any of that matters as he felt the room going black and his mind numbing. The Liquid Fire was supposed to stop at this point, when his consciousness was fading, but this time was different. One of them snapped, and now he was going to die. Everything went black... "Quite young isn't he, Dear Wolf?" He'd never heard that voice before. "This one smells strange Lamb." "I sensed it too, Dear Wolf." Just as he was about to ask, a strange creature he had no words for walked in front of him, a specter looming around. The black mask came closer, as if to inspect him, though his body was still chained down so he couldn't get any closer a look at her. "A Soulmancer!" The specter barked out. "Then he could be of use to us..." She held her bow in one hand, but offered another. He felt his right hand get free. "There is another here, their soul is filled with rage and they cannot leave." "They defy us!" "Set them free, and we will make a contract." "Run from us and you'll be gunk in my teeth!" "The choice is yours." Kuronan brought his hand forward to the creatures. If there was any way to get out of here... "A wise choice." The First Soul, Part 1 Kuronan found himself waking with a start. He was in a cold sweat (which would be less iconic if he didn't have an air conditioner running... A bit of background noise helped him rest. He took a deep breath and sighed, running both hands through his hair. This was far from the first time he'd had this dream. In fact, it was a monthly occurance, a reminder of the contract he made with Death. He didn't know whether Kindred had any influence or if there was some sort of psychological trauma he never sorted through. Maybe it was just how surreal it all was that seemed to imprint on his mind. Regardless, he got something to drink and just stayed up for an hour while laying in bed. A part of him didn't want to go back to sleep, but he knew the nightmare would simply wait for him. Instead, after an hour of stalling, he went back to sleep.
The first thing he saw was his unconscious body had a silver thread. It seemed to stretch out to his wrist. "That is your life thread. You may tug on it to return to your body. Do not let it be cut, or you too will die." Lamb spoke to him. "And most importantly, do not let anything in." The two jointly stated. Kuronan said nothing, just looking at the thread for a few moments. At points it even shone white, and it was constantly changing, as if to affirm it's own existence. "Follow." Wolf said, moving through a closed door. Lamb would stay with him and help him get used to the idea that he could pass through certain solid objects. Kuronan was admittedly still scared of the laboratory even to this day. Some things just never left you, no matter what you did and the atmosphere never left. Eventually he found himself in a room with a small crying girl, no older than eight. He cautiously approached her and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, not expecting anyone to touch her. "Who-who are you?" The young girl asked, sniffling. "I'm... Kuro. Why are you crying?" "The-the people in coats took my doll from me, and then one day they locked the door and they never gave her back." "I'll try to get your doll back." Lamb turned to him, the girl stopped crying. "Really?!" "Of course I will." He smiled. He had no idea how he'd get the doll, get the key into the room, and give her the doll, all without being caught, but he had to. Wasn't that what the lamb and the specter wanted? "it's a pretty woman with brown hair, I'll be waiting for you!" She said, a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Kuronan left the room, and after Lamb had, he immediately asked: "How am I supposed to do that?" "You were not meant to promise her anything. We cannot help you physically move the doll, but as long as you are projected, you can look for it." "We'll guard your Cord, stray too far and it might sever." Lamb and Wolf would go on Patrol, leaving Kuronan to wander around the institution to find the doll. He checked the rooms nearby and was able to find the doll, but the question was, how was he going to get the doll to her? He tugged the silver line Edited by Kaynunot, Jun 21 2016, 01:15 PM.
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| Endgame125 | Jun 20 2016, 07:04 PM Post #9 |
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Bird Fanatic George
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Oh wow, Kuro's backstory is really similar to Aeras's. But while Kuronan remained loyal to Zaun, Aeras completely rejected Zaun and ended up joining a Demacian trading cartel. |
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| Kaynunot | Jun 21 2016, 10:31 AM Post #10 |
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Kuronan Estimare, Psionic Psion of House Estimare
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If you ever feel like writing out your whole story, feel free to edit your post to add it in. I plan on adding in more to that post ![]() Honestly, Kuronan fits Piltover more (they actually have humanitarian laws and standards, and their technology is Clean.) but Piltover doesn't allow any Alchemy (as far as the public knows, The People of Tomorrow is just a result of really good training and not Alchemy) and Kuronan, even with all of his traumatic experiences, knows Alchemy could result in some amazing advances in Human Evolution (and he has some favorites in Zaun, like Zac, Ekko and Viktor) Plus Piltover's been siding with Demacia a lot (and Kuronan is opposed to them on Moral grounds, believing that Demacia's Government is Tyrannical due to it's extreme control over everything and harsh punishment for even the most minor of infractions, and that's ignoring Lux's Judgement.) Zaun's problematic, but Kuronan still has faith in his country. |
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| Hallos | Aug 11 2016, 08:21 PM Post #11 |
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Conjurer
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Might have overdone the grimdark a bit, but here's Hallos's Bio page The bio in question |
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7:15 AM Jul 11