League of Legends Novel Excerpt (beta)

        Wafts of cool autumn air circulated through The Blade and Bludgeon as Talon pushed aside the sturdy iron-barred door and entered the shop. The first thing that caught his attention was the familiar creak of the uneven hardwood beneath his steel-tipped combat boots. With a pause, he looked up, and gave the shop a quick glance to get a visual map of the area. He had been here a million times before, and could navigate the spacious isles with his eyes closed. Not unlike most shops in Noxus, it was cavernous and filled with merchandise displayed upon old oak tables covered by thick, heavy fabrics of differing style and colour. This mismatching of tablecloths was in accord with the multi-coloured stained-glass windows affixed to various locations on the walls of the stores' upper level, where the setting sun shone through and gave the entire shop a vibrant flair. Bizarre mixtures of coloured light, both bright and dull, shone whimsically against the blades on display; the fading afternoon light was caught, bent, and scattered against the gleaming steel of weapons both ancient and new. It reminded Talon of what happens when one shines a beam through a clear prism, causing all the colours of the spectrum to be revealed in an instant. A well-known Ionian champion by the name of Lux had told him this once long ago, and she’d shown him her light-filled prisms too. It was a curious trick bereft of common sense that only scientists and manipulators of light fully understood, so assassins like Talon were completely in the dark on such matters.

       At the moment, Talon stood patiently in the middle of the shop. He observed a fine selection of wall-mounted halberds that looked quite barbaric and ancient. Where their tips curled and weaved there could be seen ancient, runic inscriptions in a language that had long been forgotten. He stared at them, curiously. Although he was no expert at languages, he attempted to decipher them. Their patterns, shapes, and flows seemed to signify great importance. Perhaps the figures represented the names of enemies slain. Vacant-minded observations such as this served little purpose other than to allow his thoughts to wonder, and the prevailing silence of the shop atmosphere brought peace to his mind while doing so. It was in stark contrast to the incessant bustle of the Noxian streets, where drunken fools and well-to-do merchants mingled together like a sea of high-energy transaction.

      Talons eyes drifted to an open display of thin daggers that had been polished to a high sheen. The weapons rested on a silky, reflective purple fabric that seemed to give the blades an ethereal appearance. He eyed the gleaming weapons as a masterful architect would examine a building. Considerations of blade geometry, differential heat-treating, taper, blade harmonics, and points of balance crept into the analytical parts of his brain, and he felt like a kid in a sweets shop. In fact, blades had been a major part of his youth, so the nostalgic connection was definitely reinforced by these almost daily visits to places such as this. His first thought when examining a blade was that no compromises were to be made. Only the finest would do.

    The middle-aged owner of the shop tended to his stock behind the breadth of a large, scarred oak counter separating two locked swinging doors that had been put in place to prevent theft. His name was Malz, an Ionian immigrant who, not unlike Talon, had sought refuge within the restless streets of Noxus long ago. His visage was criss-crossed by finely woven facial scars, a lasting voucher from his former life as a veteran dualist in the Noxian arenas. His eyes were tiny beads of glinting light wrapped in brown wrinkled flesh, and the nose was all but a nicked, stubby bulb that sat squarely beneath the wide bridge between them. His mouth was a jagged web-work of chipped teeth and brown decay; clearly not a lot of maintenance had been given to this area.

     The man looked up from his work and greeted Talon with a hearty grunt, a formality that signified his respect for the Crimson Elite assassin. The two did not speak all that much, but when they did, the conversation centered strictly on the business of refined weaponry, death, and fighting. Only rarely did they voyage into such abhorrently boring topics such as Noxian politics or welfare. The pair believed that the only ones concerned with the latter were those who had not the physique or skill for fighting and warfare, and were thus considered unimportant.
         At present, Malz’s mindless gaze in Talon’s general direction eventually elicited a response from the assassin. Most times he simply kept to himself and said nothing. ‘Just browsing,’ Talon said dryly, lost in thought. In reality, he was taking into consideration the weapons he would need for an upcoming mission, of which he had been given very little information.
       ‘Oh, come now!’ the shop-keep bellowed suddenly, as if it were a knee-jerk reaction. ‘I know you are never in the mood to just browse. You come in here almost every day, Talon. You know my selection better than I do. Just get it over with.’
        Talon shifted uneasily on the creaky hardwood, unsure of how to respond. ‘Malz,’ said the cloaked assassin, ‘if this is your attempt to convey some sense of hospitality, you’re doing a poor job of it.’
         ‘Whatever,’ grunted Malz. ‘Here, Look at this!’ he reached below the counter and withdrew what appeared to be a finely stylized fang shaped weapon. Judging by the make of it, it could have been a ceremonial Ionian weapon crafted of jade and some other foreign material that Talon could not place his mind on. It seemed to be extremely sharp, and even as Malz held it to show the assassin, he kept a delicate grasp on the ornate hilt. As the Ionians were a very delicate and sentimental people, this blade was styled by subtle design patterns and carefully inscribed characters. Perhaps it had belonged to one of noble descent. Clearly, this was not a weapon for street fighting, but for the mantle, or some special glass display case instead.
       ‘Not interested in the ceremonial stuff today, Malz,’ Talon replied after a moment of consideration. ‘That seems like something Akali would be interested in,’ they shared a laugh, and Malz proceeded to re-sheath the delicate weapon.
        ‘Alright, alright,’ he conceded, voice piqued with frustration. ‘You know what? You Elite are so hard to please, this much I know. You guys are always after my finest selection. Where’s my stock for the average joe? How am I supposed to make any money with you and your city discount?’ he complained. Talon smirked and said nothing. The discount was a joke, by all means. Talon knew this, and so did the other assassins. It was not unlike Malz to offer no discount at all, but instead markup the items to a point where the discount was negated altogether. Such was the way of the shady Noxian businessman, living day in day out, to serve the masses.
       ‘I’ll get back to you on that when you stop giving us the Noxian Elite markup,’ he replied. Malz laughed boisterously and proceeded to tend to his workbench, which was littered with all kinds of deadly weapons and tools designed to polish and sharpen. As the man cleaned the intricate hilt of an old rapier with a file, it became obvious that his hand-eye coordination had deteriorated throughout the years. This had been due to his former profession as a Noxian dualist, a blade-dancer, but those years were long behind him. However, there was little doubt that the man could still fight. Every so often there were cases where a customer would deem it necessary to acquire shop merchandise without paying for it at all. It was cases like these where Malz was all too eager to demonstrate that he could hack and slash just as well as the young dualists out there. Fortunately, the blood stains from the would-be thieves were concealed under large, thick rugs positioned randomly throughout the shop. As time went on, word spread that loss prevention techniques at the Blade and Bludgeon were nearly 100% effective.

       Talon eyed the top shelf behind the oak counter, where Malz had most often kept the new stock on display behind the Katanas and longswords. There were a series of blades and other murderous devices suspended aloft inside a clear glass box, barely visible in the fading sunlight. Next to that, there appeared to be wrist-mounted blade projectors, something that Talon had never seen before. It was definitely a recent addition. Affixed to barbed hooks and tips covered in spiky bits was a spring-loaded launcher housed within a miniature black box of steel, and the brown wrist strap was composed of finely cut leather strips with many holes and clasps for fitting. The weapon was mounted with multiple silver clips attached to a backdrop display panel of red velvet that seemed to glitter like a glass rose. This weapon was perfect for close-ranged assassination, Talon thought.

      ‘How much for that one?’ he mused, pointing at the barbed micro-blades. Lost in thought, Malz seemed to ignore the question at first. He then shifted his considerable weight to face the assassin once again, glanced up to see what he was pointing at, and turned back to his work. His deep concentration was not easy to break.
     ‘What is it now that you want, Sir Talon? Can you not see that I’m preoccupied?’ he said with a hint of smugness.
      ‘Oh, yes! I almost forgot Sir Talon, those are part of my new line up. Very special, very rare indeed. In fact, my importers brought it in from Ionia not long ago. Said something about some enchanted caves where they’d lost no less than three men just to get them!’ his voice leapt with jubilation, as if to emphasise the market value of the weapon. He then spoke of the dangerous sea-voyage that took place after the discovery, where the merchant vessel carrying the goods was besieged by dangerous winds and deadly sea monsters. Talon had heard the exact same story no less than a week ago, and possibly many times more than that. The repetitious tales caused him to smirk. Malz did everything he could to entice a customer. He was a true salesman.
      ‘Yeah, yeah, how much,’ Talon quickly replied before Malz continued his digressions. He was expecting to pay no less than double what the weapons were worth, as this had been the usual case. The problem was that he knew how to exploit Talon’s impulsive mind to the point of agitation, as if all notions of common sense were rescinded by the aperture of addiction. Such was the way of an obsessed assassin, always looking for a competitive edge to aid in the business self- perseverance, no matter the cost. In darker times, Talon would of simply garroted the fat man and taken his wares. His body might of ended up in some unknown dungeon, or perhaps a gutter.
     ‘Well, let me get the pocket-book, but you should know that those will not come cheap. I only have a few sets, you know,’ said Malz. As the stocky man stood up, the sturdy work-stool upon which he had sat gave forth a creaky groan of relief.
      Malz walked over to a myriad of shelves and drawers located at the back of the shop, where stacks of moldy paperwork, empty cups of coffee, and cobwebs had melded into mounds of disorganization. After a moment of sorting through the mess, he retrieved from it a small black book with the name of the shop engraved in gold lettering across the spine. It was an inventory control compendium that contained all relevant stock reports created within the past several months, and since the item in question was newly acquired, Malz knew to look near the middle of the book, where updates detailing the most recent items were listed. Several columns down on page 76 was the name Ivorg Calun, the name of the Ionian merchant who’d been responsible for providing the most recent shipment of goods. He’d purchased the so-called ‘wrist rakes’ for 378 gold a piece, a reasonable purchase considering the weapons were nearly mint condition, and appeared as though they had yet to be used. Malz considered for a moment, and then thought of a reasonable asking price. He closed the book, chucked it into a messy pile, and hobbled his way back to the front of the shop, stepping over pencils, loose papers, and accumulated balls of dust as he did so. ‘Alright, well these things don’t come cheap, you know,’ he said to Talon, who was now in a different area of the store.
     ‘I don’t care,’ said Talon. ‘Just don’t sleaze-ball me, Malz, you know how often I come here.’ Malz proceeded to rest his stubby arms and bulky gut on the counter, causing it to shift and wane under the considerable weight. He looked up at Talon, and exhibited the most honest looking expression he could muster.
      ‘One thousand gold per weapon,’ he said calmly while looking Talon directly in the eye, ‘accessories extra, of course.’
     ‘Right,’ said Talon disinterestedly, ‘and let me guess, they’re worth a fraction of that?’ Talon raised his arms and opened his palms, as if to convey his dissatisfaction.
     ‘Hey, listen, don’t give me a hard time about this,’ said Malz, ‘you know I pay top dollar for these things! I am a man of humble means, sir Talon, and I would never try to rip you off!’
     ‘750 is my best offer, take it or leave it.’ The assassin was by no means rich, and it was at times like these that he resented his champion status within the league. It was as if everyone regarded champions as possessing unlimited wealth and generosity, but as Talon was only recently inducted into the Institute of War, this simply was not the case. Malz simply glanced downward, and rubbed his chin stubble between his thumb and index finger while in deep consideration.

     Just then, Talon heard heeled footsteps clicking loudly against the worn hardwood overhead. By now the sunlight had diminished to the point of not being able to see who it was in the reflections of the windows, but the shadow of a feminine form could be seen trailing across the lower deck of the shop, moving swiftly, and heading towards the spiral staircase of bright brass rails and red carpeting. As the lady made her way down the stairs with a feline grace, shiny black boots marked with gold-clasped buckles were the first thing he observed. She was wearing triple-stitched combat pants, also black, which were slightly baggy and had a few too many pockets. They were Noxian Military issue, designed for utility and function rather than comfort and style. Upon noticing this it had become immediately apparent to Talon that the woman was Katarina Du Couteau of the Noxian High Command.

Katarina Trolls Talon! (LoL Story)

Wafts of cool autumn air circulated through The Blade and Bludgeon.
Talon pushed open the sturdy iron-barred door and entered the shop, where the first thing that caught his attention was the familiar creak in the uneven hardwood beneath his steel tipped combat boots. He looked up and gave a quick once-over for the sake of convenience, though realistically he’d been here a million times, and could navigate the spacious aisles with his eyes closed. It was a cavernous shop filled with old oak tables covered by thick, heavy fabrics of differing style and colour. This mismatching of tablecloths was in accord with the multi-coloured stained-glass windows affixed to various locations on the walls of the store’s upper level, where the setting sun shone through and gave the entire shop a rustic flair that was altogether lacking from most establishments. Bizarre mixtures of colour shone dully against the blades-mixtures of colour, both bright and dull, were caught, bent, and scattered against the gleaming steel of weapons both ancient and new. It reminded Talon of what happens when one shines lights through clear prisms.

Lux, in her childish exuberance, had once shown him her light filled prisms, but that was long ago.

At the moment, Talon stood patiently while observing the shop’s fine selection of wall-mounted weaponry. The inventory hadn't changed much since his last visit, but such vacant-minded observations allowed his thoughts to wonder, and the silence of this place compared to the bustle outdoors brought peace to his mind. He eyed the gleaming weapons as a masterful architect would examine a building. Considerations of blade geometry, differential heat-treating, taper, blade harmonics, and points of balance had inadvertently crept into the analytical parts of his brain.
No compromises were to be made; only the finest would do.

Behind the counter, a middle-aged shop-keeper stood. The man’s visage was interlaced by precise facial scarring, indicating that he was a veteran blade-master. His eyes were tiny beads of glinting light wrapped in wrinkled flesh, his nose a nicked stub that sat squarely between them, and his teeth a jagged web-work of brown decay.
He regarded Talon with a hearty grunt, a formality that signified his respect for the assassin. They did not speak much, but when they did, it was strictly to do with the business of refined weaponry, death, and fighting.

‘And what can I help you with today, Sir Talon?” he posited with a wide grin of chipped teeth offset by a curled mustache that nearly extended to the corners of his cheeks. His thick Ionian accent was deep, low, and grated by years of alcohol abuse.

‘Just browsing’ responded Talon.

‘Oh, come now, I know you are never in the mood to just browse!’ came the man’s booming response. ‘Look at this!’ he retrieved a finely stylized fang of what appeared to be a jade-like material, so sharp that it had to be kept sheathed even when on display.

‘Not interested in ceremonial stuff today,’ came Talon’s swift reply. ‘Save it for Akali,’ he laughed.

Disgruntled, the man withdrew the dagger and examined it in the fading sunlight, as if to entice Talon to make a purchase. Talon was aware of his tricks. ‘Not interested.’

‘Alright, alright, you Elite are so hard to please, you know that, always after my finest selection, and how am I supposed to make any money with you and your city discount?’ he complained. Talon smirked and said nothing. The discount was a joke, by all means.

‘I’ll get back to you on that when you’re through giving us the Noxian Elite markup cost,’ he replied smugly. The shop-keep laughed and proceeded to tend to his workbench, which was littered with all types of deadly implements, and tools designed to improve them. As the man cleaned the intricate hilt of an ancient rapier, it became obvious that his hand-eye coordination had deteriorated throughout the years, which properly explained why he managed a shop now instead of partaking in blade-dances with Noxian dualists. Those days were long behind him.

And then something caught Talon’s eye. It was hanging on one of the top shelves, behind the Katanas and longswords, up above where it was only barely visible in the fading light. It was definitely new.

‘How much for that one?’ Talon mused, motioning to the serrated micro-blades. The rune-inscribed weapons had wrist-mounted straps. Perfect for close range assassination, he thought. The shopkeeper, lost in thought, at first ignored the question as he finished filing the edge of some unknown weapons before shifting his considerable weight to face Talon once again.

‘What is it now, I am busy Sir Talon,’ he retorted smugly. The man was so preoccupied in his work that he forgot to realize that Talon alone was responsible for keeping the shop in operation.

‘Listen, what is that, up there?’ Talon said, pointing skyward to the glass-encased blade device.

‘Oh, yes! I almost forgot Sir Talon, those are part of my new line up. Very special, very rare. In fact, my importers brought it in from Ionia not long ago. Said something about some enchanted caves where they’d lost 2 or 3 men just to get them-’ he explained, breath smelling of some stale lager and rotten tobacco.

‘Yeah, yeah, how much. ‘Talon quickly replied before the shop-keep could finish his random musings. The impulse struck Talon’s mind to the point that everything else was a distraction.

‘Well, let me get the pocket-book, but you should know that those will not come cheap. I only have a few sets, they are highly-‘

‘I don’t care,’ Talon quipped.

‘Right,’ said the shop-keep, disappearing into the back office to retrieve his pocket-book. Just then, Talon heard heeled footsteps tapping loudly against the hardwood. The footsteps grew louder. Talon wasn’t the only one shopping for blades, and then he heard a voice that he immediately recognized. It was Katarina.

‘Charge it to my tab,’ she voiced in a superior tone, a tone inconsiderate on the matters of cost or concern. ‘And have them delivered to my quarters.’

‘Yes m’lady,’ came the voice of the shop-keeps' son, who sounded and appeared altogether meek compared to his burly, barrel-chested father. As Katarina’s footsteps neared him, Talon said nothing, and did not turn around. This was not out of lack of respect or disregard of the revered assassin-no, something else compelled him to shy away- maybe he wanted her to notice him, for whatever reason. Or maybe he didn't want to be noticed at all.

‘And if they aren’t delivered by exactly the time I specified, I’ll be-‘ she stopped mid-stride and mid-sentence as she noticed Talon near the counter. She cocked her head slightly, knowing full well that the soldier had overheard her conversation with this shop-keep, and with a quizzical expression upon her face she considered what the Noxian was up too. She stood for a brief moment, her legs relaxed to a more comfortable arrangement, and faced the assassin. ‘No surprise to be seeing you here,’ she said dismissively, with a hint of playfulness that belied her often-cold personality, for but a brief moment. It would not last.

‘Not really,’ Talon replied, turning to meet her eye-to-eye. 'I come here a lot, if you didn't notice.' He gazed briefly into her pale emerald eyes, now obscured by faded shades of purple and red courtesy of the stained-glass kaleidoscope. In in instant, he took note of her overall appearance in the fringes of his peripheral vision before looking back to the shop keep. She was dressed formally as usual. Well, formally for Katarina. A bit extravagant and form-fitting for the average Noxian female, considering her tightened black corset that seemed to wear itself almost too perfectly around her slender figure, where some shapes were left to the imagination, and others not as much. Talon, being the ever courteous gentleman, was careful to maintain eye-contact with her, at least most of time. At least he liked to think so.

Less than interested, Katarina expressed a smugness that Talon had come to expect, as she returned to her dealings with the shop-keep's son. Her form fitting outfit stretched and shifted as she moved her arms while walking and talking at the same time, and her hair basically had a life of its own when she moved. It looked heavy, but once one took notice of the natural motion with which it swayed, even inside a room where no breeze was present, they might conclude that her crimson tresses were an illusion conjured of air, but the fact that it smelled of some fruitful fragrance, which Talon altogether did not care for, indicated that her hair was no act of sorcery.

'Unless it's hair-scent witchcraft,' he mused carefully, tapping his chin. Katarina caught wind of the comment and spun her heels and body around to face him, eyes squinted, looking quizzical.
'What did you say?' she inquired while jotting down some instructions regarding the delivery of her weapons.Talon merely shrugged his shoulders, and pouted his lower lip to better convey a sense of confusion.

And many hundreds of years later, in an entirely different part of the universe on a planet known as earth, this interaction might be referred to as 'Trolling'

Back to business. Talon pointed to that special blade he'd been admiring prior to being intruded upon by Katarina's alluring presence, not that he disliked it.

'How much?' he asked clearly.

‘For the whole set, or just the display model?’ replied the shop keeper, who was now teetering dangerously upon his tiny metal stool, partially due to drunkenness, and partially due to his current preoccupation with staring down the unbuttoned fabric of Katarina's dark purple blouse. Ignoring the question altogether, Talon said nothing. It should have been clear to the keeper that display models were not to be considered. Then, an unexpected reply from the red-head.

‘Actually, it’s sold out,’ she hinted dangerously, 'as I've already claimed that model.’

Talon, experiencing something akin to a confused anger, turned to face Katarina, who appeared as though she'd just been granted the satisfaction of obtaining lunch-money from a helpless child on the play-ground. Head tilted slightly, she furrowed her brows and crossed her arms, looking as though she'd done nothing wrong at all. Only now did Talon notice that the assistant shopkeeper, who'd been dealing with Katarina the whole time, was carrying several ivory-coloured boxes under one arm, and was totalling up costs of the precious weapons with a pocket-book and quill in the other.

‘Cute,’ said Talon in an uninspired tone. Katarina’s actions were often less than amusing to him. ‘And you intend to use all of them at once?’

‘Of course not,’ she replied, tilting her head back as she flipped her waist-length hair over her slender shoulder, where it crashed down and spilled across her back in a sea of red, ‘one must use backups for when the others break.’ She smiled coyly, and reached into a small brown sack of gold, retrieving far more than was needed to purchase the weapons.

Talon simply stood there, observing the exchange, and the Shop owner, looking slightly bemused, scratched his head. After the transaction she headed towards the door, without so much as a thank you - good-bye. Before she left, she looked back once more.

'And if you're lucky,' she mused playfully before exiting, 'i'll let you borrow a set for the mission.'

Maybe her antics were more amusing than Talon cared to admit. Not that he cared.

-=-=-=-=-

Talon scoffed at the passersby, their obnoxious conversations interrupted his train of thought, and he wasn’t having any of it. Their noises irritated him. He was becoming more bothered than usual, though he could not pinpoint the reason for this. Had he been recognized by one of the random pedestrians, it surely would have made the day far worse, but so far, so good. Noxian guardsmen, statesmen, noblemen, and townsfolk alike were more than familiar with the appearance of their favorite champions, and although he did not mind being noticed, it was altogether unsettling to him to be recognized by many at once. He preferred to keep a low profile, and no matter the event, he was rarely left alone. It was even worse when he was travelling in tandem with other well-known champions. Kids and adults alike would swamp them, asking for their daggers, scabbards, or whatever to be signed. There was even a case where it was requested of him to sign the chest of a young Noxian lady, though that experience had not been altogether unpleasant. The rest of fame was ridiculous and unwanted, but his complaints were useless and selfish. And so, while out on the town, he most often traveled with a darkened hood obscuring his visage, as this was the best way to remain anonymous.

He wondered around the crowded streets in search of something sharp, something deadly, either poison coated, serrated, or perhaps spring-loaded and unique. He collected blades-they were his thing, his calling, and there was nothing he could do to satisfy his habit but acquire more of them. Many assassins shared the same affinity for spiked objects, but Talon took this interest to the next level. He loved blades, and mostly all other weapons as well. Perhaps it was the reassurance they represented-the security in knowing that it was far better to invest ones allegiance to an inanimate object than a living person, for it was quite obvious that a weapon would never turn its back on its owner. It could be depended on in all cases, and whereas people were susceptible to negligence, corruption, greed, hatred, ignorance, and stupidity, a blade was simply a blade. He enjoyed the shape of blades; refined craftsmanship was something he admired.

Generally speaking, the majority of the blade making community around Noxus catered to a very high-profile clientele. Assassins weren’t easy to please, and their implements of death were expected to be of the utmost in quality and construction. Substandard devices were simply not to be considered, and were more often than not dismissed altogether. Counterfeit producers were known to be active throughout the lesser known shops and shoddy street corners, where quick deals and sketchy words were shared on whim and drive for a quick buck, but if you were in the know, then there was a good chance that you weren’t going to be stuck with a piece of junk that would sooner break than do any significant harm. Talon liked to think he was in the know, but as the counterfeiters were crafty and devious in their practices, he’d been stung more than once. Imitation razor-stingers and rip-off rapiers filled the waste-bins of his workshop. Usually, the creators of these low-quality weapons were never heard from or seen again, for whatever reason. Their bodies often ended up in non-descript gutters.

The side-walkers and street people shifted by in a hazy buzz of voices and ruffled movement. As it was getting late in the afternoon, the more refined and prestigious Noxian citizens had all but retreated to their mansions in the uptown to retire for the evening, whereas the scraggly and drunken lot were left to toil in their own foolishness as nightfall drew near. It was a day not unlike any other, and there was nothing keeping the working class from roaming around to visit shops and make impulse purchases, though it appeared that this activity was becoming less and less frequent compared to a week prior.
Recent diversions of funds for war had made things tough on the average person, especially when these preparations were never fully explained in detail to the public. There were rumors that more attention was being given to the prospect of offshore skirmishes-Ionia specifically- and not even the most ignorant Noxian had missed that tidbit of information.

The costs of exploration, equipment, supplies, and warfare in general were of course high, and this was especially true for a society as militaristic as Noxus, but this was to be expected. Nobody complained, for if they did, it would most certainly fall on deaf ears, be ignored, and more often than not be met with hostility. No mercy was given to those who protested the seemingly unjust activities of the Noxian high command, for the only injustice was in their questioning of political activities- often met with hostility, imprisonment, and sometimes death. As was well known, all Noxian officials maintained a stringent policy of secrecy, and the sharing of private information with the public was simply not tolerated to any degree. Talon, however, could care less, as his recent success in the League of Legends had given his personal coffers enough stimulation to not only grant him a comfortable life, but also the freedom to pursue his rather expensive habit of blade collecting. And there were so many blades waiting to be collected-rare ones that nobody had seen before- he knew it. They were waiting for him under some non-descript shop table or within the travel-satchel of some offshore tradesman. They must belong to me, he thought.

Captain Teemo and The Plague Jungle - Teaser

Upon the southern tip of Valoran, beyond the comfortable cities, villages, and bastions of safety, there exists a tropical area known as the Plague Jungles. It lies beyond Kumungu, and is shrouded in the aftereffects of ancient sorcery.  It is said that the Plague Jungles were ravaged by the destruction caused during the Rune Wars long ago. Saturated with residual magic, this is a place where the local flora and fauna have become assiduously warped beyond recognition. The leftover magic has tampered with evolution itself, and has created living organisms that should not exist. Much of the land, where even the most cunning and resourceful travellers dare not to enter, is covered by twisted vines and festering rot, so that even gaining passage to this land is treacherous and daunting.

On this day, however, the ever brave Teemo steps forward undaunted, for he is determined to acquire poisons, reputed to be the strongest and most potent in existence, for his specialized mushroom traps. He is accompanied by Nidalee, the Jungle Huntress, whose knowledge of the surrounding area has proven to be most valuable thus far, but safety in these lands tends to depend on luck rather than experience, and no amount of resourcefulness can prepare them for what awaits within...

Here's something I wrote up over the course of today. It is more or less a sketch of something in development, but I thought it a good idea to share with LoL-Lore enthusiasts. 

Enjoy 

Part 1: The Plague Jungle.

Upon the southern tip of Valoran, beyond the comfortable cities, villages, and bastions of safety, there exists a vast tropical area known as the Plague Jungles. It borders Kumungu, and is scarred by the aftereffects of ancient sorcery. It is said that the Plague Jungles were ravaged and destroyed by the the Rune Wars long ago. Saturated with residual magic, this is a place where the local flora and fauna have become assiduously warped, beyond all recognition. The leftover magic had tampered with evolution itself, and organisms that should not exist were created. Even the most cunning and resourceful travelers dare not enter here, as the land is covered by twisted vines and festering rot, so that even gaining passage through it is treacherous and daunting.

On this day, however, the ever brave Teemo steps forward undaunted, for he is determined to acquire poisons reputed to be the strongest and most potent in existence, to be used in his specialized mushroom traps. He is accompanied by Nidalee, the Jungle Huntress, whose knowledge of the surrounding area has proven to be most valuable thus far, but safety in these lands tends to depend on luck rather than experience, and no amount of resourcefulness can prepare them for what awaits within... 

~*~

As Nidalee tried to suppress her rapid breathing, a cold fear caused her senses to heighten. The midnight mist was calm and cool against her perspiring body-she shivered, and the feeling of uncertainty sat uncomfortably in her racing mind. The rain pattered lightly upon nearby rocks, and when she gazed up, the moons' light became briefly visible amid the dark clouds, and azure hues of deep blue and purple shone across the nearby vine-coils and treetops. The temperature had dropped too quickly-an uncomfortable chill- and Nidalee wasn't exactly dressed for drafty weather. She glanced down at her revealing fur outfit, let out a brief sigh, and continued to jog at an even pace. However, these thoughts were an acceptable distraction from her feelings of uncertainty. Her quick, controlled breaths were accompanied by visible bursts of condensation.

As night sky continued to appear foreboding, it seemed obvious that this was not the time to be traversing the inner depths of the Plague Jungles, where few had ventured before, and far fewer had returned alive. However, Nidalee's Yordle companion, Teemo, had specifically recruited her for this dangerous task, as her knowledge of the area was far superior than most. This was a mission of the utmost importance, and the pair would not leave until they found what they sought; the most destructive mushroom poison in the entire world! Teemo had caught word of this extraordinary poison from Rammus, who said to have observed the virulent concoction upon making his way to theAlter of Ubermagix, whereupon he received life-altering powers that granted him the strength to enter the League of Legends.

At the moment, the little Yordle was fighting to keep up with Nidalee's lengthy strides, though sofar his efforts had been commendable, for a Yordle. He trailed behind her avidly, bouncing to-and-fro upon his stubby Yordle legs, utilizing his expert scoutsmanship to avoid the pitfalls amid the darkened jungle terrain. The swiftness of Nidalee's reflexes was honed, precise; a product of prolonged endurance training and long nights spent on the hunt. While Nidalee was too modest to admit it, she'd acquired quite a name for herself on the hunting circuits throughout Valoran, and it was unlike her to pursue her prey for many hours, even days, before zeroing in for the kill. Teemo. however, was far too impulsive to appreciate such patience, and he'd rather dispatch his enemies as quickly as possible.

'Are you sure you know the way, Miss?' Teemo inquired, barely able to catch his breath.
'Just stay close, and follow,' she replied, not looking back for a second. She imagined for a moment that the golden aura of natural light emanating from her lantern seemed to act as a beacon for night-dwellers, who, would like nothing more than to stalk some easy prey. 'It can’t be much farther... if only I had the stars to guide me' she whispered faintly, glancing up to the shrouded sky.
'Are we there yet?' he insisted.

'No' she shot back, with a hint of annoyance. 'Please - stop asking.' It was hard to carry on a conversation in the rush of their rapid movement, and she didn't want to alert the entire Jungle of their location. Unlike Teemo, she lacked the abilities to stealth.

Ancient trees creaked and swayed in the wind. The jungle seemed to close in around. Almost there, thought Nidalee,just a bit longer... oh please. The yordle was beginning to seem too persistent and annoying for his own good.

~*~

After what seemed like hours of covering ground, they pair decided to take a brief break, and eat some candy corn-rations, specially provided by Teemo.

Teemo was in a good mood altogether, so he didn't let the ill weather detract from his exuberance. It became obvious to him that this expedition would enable him to construct some of the most powerful mushrooms ever conceived of, so there was little time to consider the matters of cloudiness and rain. He'd never before ventured further than the Kumungu Jungles, which were also the birthplace of Nidalee. In fact, she had rarely exceeded the borders of her native Jungles as well, though from having grown up there, all those night she spent staring over the treeline at dusk, she had a curiosity about the Plague Jungle that needed to be sated. 

The unlikely pair waded through pools of mud and protruding underbrush. By now the rain had subsided, causing a thin layer of mist to circulate at ground level. As the champions progressed deeper into the abyss, the amount of dangerous obstacles increased, becoming ever difficult to avoid. Rotten branches and twisted, wicked vines groaned and snapped underfoot-there was no time to stop.
'Oh, why do these things always happen!' complained Teemo, 'I just want my poison. It's the best poison in all of Valoran!' His he became more and more out of breath, his words were less coherent. Nidalee ignored the banter, and instead focused on finding the best available route.

While deep in thought, she heard a sound that caused her to stop dead. A spine chilling howl pierced through the entire jungle, followed by a torrent of flapping that came from the wings of terrified birds. The cry was wolf like; it was probably tracking her scent. Not knowing to either hide beneath the forest floor or to sprint away, she began to panic....

'What is it?' asked Teemo, a slight inflection of nervousness in his shrill voice.
'Quiet!' she snapped. Nidalee crouched low, made her body as still as possible, and motioned to Teemo with a finger to her lips. The tiny Yordle waddled over as quietly as possible, his miniature feet pattering effortlessly across the jungle floor. Had he been better prepared, he would of silently circulated the area, placing destructive, poisonous mushrooms everywhere possible...

Ember Isle Lore Segment (updated)

 To understand the Lore relations between the Ember Isle and Telara,  I have tried to provide a brief synopsis of key events in Telaran lore.

As a major component to the Ashes of History, the Ember Isle will reveal some important insights on the forging of Telara. On the Ember Isle, an alliance will form between the dragon cult of Laethys (dragon of earth, represented by the Golden Maw), and Maelforge (dragon of fire, represented by the Wanton). The cultists have been overpowered by the influence of these dragon aspects, and it is from the Isle that they intend to build their forces in secrecy, so that they might prepare an invasion force capable of conquering Telara.

The cultsts' enslavement by the dragons has lead them to this place. Due to Akylios's death, the Telaran sea (currently impassible), has been made accessible to the Telarans via enchanted Travel Stones. And it is reported that the dragon cults joined forces to transport mysterious artifacts across the sea, though the purpose of this activity is current unknown the the Ascended.

It is speculated that Maelforge himself is imprisoned within a menacing Volcano near the Isle, and it is the objective of the Wanton to free him. Just as Prince Hylas sought to dispel the magic that confined Lord Greenscale, so are the cults becoming ever more successful in their quest to free the dragons. Should these activities continue unhindered, all of Telara will be consumed by the same warfare and destruction that threatened to destroy it a millenia ago...

          Background

When the gods formed Telara from Sourcestone (a material capable of converting elemental energy to mass), at the nexus of the elemental planes, they were pleased by their creation. Much to their dismay, however, the newly formed planet attracted the unwanted attention of the gods of The Blood Storm. These malicious gods were a pack of intergalactic invaders who, in their mission to conquer, consume, and annihilate, sought to plunder the world of its Sourcestone, leave it in ruins, and move on to the next healthy host. These invaders embodied the six essential forces represented by the elemental planes: life, death, air, fire, water, and earth.

Upon reaching Telara, the gods of the Blood Storm manifested the attributes of great and powerful dragons. Their leader, Regulos, Eater of Worlds, represented the force of death. He was a harbinger of darkness who traversed the cosmos in search of more Sourcestone to devour, and his Blood Storm assisted in this goal by disregarding all forms of life.

At the height of their assault, however, the malefic gods decided not to consume Telara, but rule over it instead. As members of the Blood Storm quarreled over who would assume the leadership of the Sourcestone-rich world, this decision lead to dissension. Relentlessly, the members fought one another to assume control, resulting in a rebellion against Regulos, who simply wanted Telara to be destroyed altogether.

Divided, the Blood Storm was heroically driven back by the stalwart denizens of Telara, and, being too strong to vanquish them outright, the gods were imprison by elemental bindings within the world itself. It is known that Laethys and Maelforge, participants in the Blood Storm, are currently imprisoned within Telara, and their power increases in proportion with that of their native elemental Planes...

       Defiant Perspective

It is important to note that during the early years of the rifts, Ember Isle had been a Kelari capital city. They had thrived here before the Blood Storm, and were making bonds with the resident elemental powers for hundreds of years. When their sacred bonds became influenced by the imprisoned Planar dragon aspects, wherein the goal was manipulation, the spirits of these Kelari became corrupted, dismayed, and altogether consumed. Fortunately, not all the Kelari had succumbed to this malign influence, despite the temptation of increased power that it offered.

  

As the corrupted Kelari gained more and more power this way, their minds became warped, their spirits changed, and they were Kelari no more, but Pyrkari- ones who had sacrificed their will to the destructive influence of the dragons. Eventually, the normal Kelari who'd remained, lead by the High Priestess Anthousa Mona, began to take actions into their own hands. Together, Anthousa lead a force opposing and fighting back against the Pyrkari. Unfortunately, the outcome of this conflict did not sway in her favor, and eventually she ordered her people to flee the Isle, so that they might seek refuge and find a new home for themselves. This lead the Kelari to Freemarch, where they allied with General Catari. However, the High Priestess is still quite adamant that the Kelari are her people to lead, and no one is willing to question that authority.

And so, the renewed focus on the Ember Isle, for the purposes of suppressing the dragon cults, serves a dual role for the Kelari, as this also gives them the opportunity to reclaim their homeland.

Guardian Perspective

Hundreds of years ago, a rag-tag band of Dwarven heroes came from all around Telara to settle on the island. As dwarven ingenuity would suggest, they quickly established a society with what little means were available to them. When faced with diversity, it was due to their dwarvish creativity and knack for improvisation that enabled their. Throughout the years they prospered, but conflicts arose with their Kelari neighbors on more than one occasion. Being the dwarves that they were, it would have been their initial intention to share stories and alcohol with the Kelari, though it did not appear as though any mutual cooperation might have arisen from these actions.

The ghost of Karine, the first Bard, has reached out to the Ascended, and the Guardians are unrelenting in their resolve this mission, for it was Karine who was part of the force that would guard Maelforge's prison within the Volcano. Very few Guardian dwarves are even aware of the existence of this island clan, and very little is known about them. What is known of these dwarves is that they've unlocked secrets regarding the forging of Telara, and what they have done with this power in the meantime has yet to be determined. If anything, progressing through the Ashes of History will hopefully culminate in a reunion between long-lost peoples, and many drunken celebrations are anticipated.

Summary


The Ember isles are rich in Telaran lore. First and foremost, the Isles represent an allegiance between the  Wanton and Golden Maw cults. One might recall that the wanton are a dragon cult associated with Maelforge, the dragon of fire, and the members of this cult are chaos-seeking pyromaniacs. Maelforge simply wants the world to be bathed in eternal flame, inasmuch the Ember Isles provide a perfect outlet for this cult’s thirst for destruction.

Members of the The Golden Maw cult, associated with Laethys, the dragon of earth, are a backstabbing, corruptive people overcome by greed and sinister intentions. They prize wealth and resources, and are captivated by the acquisition of material profit. They will stop at nothing to hoard their way to ultimate riches. The Ember Isle is where the forces of Laethys and Maelforge unite to combat the Ascended, so that they may escape from their prisons and wreck havoc upon Telara.

Who among the Ascended are brave enough to stop them?

(all images courtesy of http://rift.mmosite.com/patch1.5/gorgeous_screenshots_from_ember_isle.shtml )

(Kelari image provided by me).

LoL Novel Excerpt #1

Noxian Champions weren't often known for their subtlety. Talon, one of Noxus’ finest assassins, was reputed to enter a blade shops one moment, and leave with half their inventory the next. He was a blade collector, and his hobby was obsessive.

Wafts of cool autumn air circulated through The Blade and Bludgeon. At the moment, Talon was observing a fine selection of wall-mounted weaponry within the shop. He eyed the gleaming weapons as a masterful architect would examine a building. Considerations of blade geometry, differential heat-treating, taper, blade harmonics, and points of balance circulated through his mind. No compromises were to be made; only the finest would do. Behind the counter, a middle-aged shop-keeper stood. The man’s visage was interlaced by precise facial scarring, indicating that he was a veteran blade-master. As the man cleaned the intricate hilt of an ancient rapier, it became obvious that his hand-eye coordination had deteriorated throughout the years, which probably explained why he managed a shop now instead of blade-dancing with Noxian dualists. Those days were long behind him.

‘How much for that one?’ Talon mused, motioning to the serrated micro-blades. The rune-inscribed weapons had wrist-mounted straps. Perfect for close range assassination, he thought.

‘For the whole set, or just the display model?’ replied the shop keeper. Ignoring the question altogether, Talon said nothing. It should have been clear to the keeper that display models were not to be considered.

‘Actually, it’s sold out,’ hinted a familiar voice. ‘I’ve already claimed that model.’ Talon turned to face Katarina, and furrowed his brows. The assistant shopkeeper, who'd been dealing with Katarina at another area in the shop, had several ivory-coloured boxes under one arm, and was totalling up costs with a pocket-book and quill in the other.

‘Cute,’ said Talon in an uninspiring tone. Katarina’s actions were often less than amusing to him. ‘And you intend to use all of them at once?’ 

‘Of course not,’ she replied condescendingly, ‘one must use backups for when the others break.’ She smiled coyly, and reached into a small brown sack of gold, retrieving far more than was needed to purchase the weapons. Talon simply stood there, observing the exchange, and the Shop owner, looking slightly bemused, scratched his head.

League of Legends Novel - Extra Life Event.

Is this image relevant? No, but it's lols.

It has occurred to me that there is no such thing as a League of Legends novel. Curiously, there isn’t even word of one in development. How could this be possible? The game’s been around for two years, possesses a rich world of IP, and has many hardcore enthusiasts. Given that I’ve played games such as WoW, Rift, etc., over the past several years, I’m actually blown away by the level of fanaticism exhibited by even moderate LoL players. The point of this is that were a LoL novel to be written, there would almost certainly be an immediate interest and following willing to read it. And there are no shortage of things to write about. Character lore alone is so rich and inviting, and there are infinite possibilities to incorporate as far as plot structure and theme.

Ideas with LoL are endless... Runeterra is a world threatened by the destruction caused by Rune Wars…. The catastrophe must be stopped. Or, Katarina and Cassiopiea get into a bitter Feud, causing a major conflict within the De Couteau family, leading to political unrest, riots, and protests around Noxus.

With that being said, I’ve been imagining what it would be like to take on the task of writing a LoL novel.

Never before have I considered so ambitious a project as writing a novel (well, that's not really true, but it makes my motivation to do so sound more epic), and I wouldn’t have the first idea about where to start. But, through active research, short stories, and being an avid player of the game, I am learning. There is much to be learned, and as far as writing a novel goes, it’s nowhere easy. From my writing experience, anything over 5 pages can be grueling. Over 20 can be painstaking. I haven’t written many works much longer than that, but I have written hundreds and hundreds of pages of unrelated stories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe I could compile all those short stores, change all the names, work in some creative license, and make a go of that… or maybe I could just write a goddamn, motherfuckin’ League of Legends novel, from scratch!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here are some thoroughly legitimate plot outlines (trolling license taken into account!) =)

They morbid tales were inspired by a recent event where Pokket (a well known video-game personality), ran a 24h live-stream event for childeren’s hospitals. She was able to raise $1646! Details here: http://www.extra-life.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&eventID=501&participantID=11614

1)

DrPoppyTrollo surveyed the surrounding area with a perception akin to that of a well-sharpened butter-knife, and PokketPlank, while heavily intoxicated by pirate-Rum, stumbled awkwardly about the darkened cobblestone path. The Twisted Treeline was an unforgiving place, and DrPoppyTrollo was careful not to alert the nearby Fayldamere. However, as DrPoppyTrollo sneaked carefully, PokketPlank stumbled drunkenly directly into Fayldamere, causing him to become enraged. PokketPlank and DrPoppyTrollo were never heard from again.

2)

Teemo didn’t care. His red superman cape, black bandana, and spandex attire made him look like a badass altogether. His mushrooms, picked from finest quality rain forests of Ionia, were primed with the finest quality explosives. No sooner had he opened his satchel of deadly implements to place them on the ground, than a wild Garen appeared from a seemingly innocuous bush, poised to bring down upon the small Teemo all the fearsome might of… DEMACIAAA!!!!

3)

Kog’itude, the pink-wigged New Zelandar, and PoppySavant, SuperTeemo’s eccentric Yordle companion, raced to the scene in a panic. Kog’Itude initiated the fight with try-hardGaren by lashing out with the luxurious curls of his pink wig, trying to enact a stranglehold of death. But, with one swift cleave, the pink locks were slashed apart, causing Kog’itude to retreat in fear. Then, without warning, PoppySavant leapt forward, temporarily throwing try-hardGaren off-balance. However PoppySavant was deemed OP, and was immediately banned and was removed from the Crystal Scar by a hidden game-master. Teemo was alone once again!

EDIT: Kog'itude committed to a tactical withdraw, not a retreat.

BONUS CONTENT: Me, drunk on Tequila, talking about the event during ~hour 16. This may one day come back to haunt me.