#{a Blade lost in Ionia}

[unboundndd]

Omg finally someone who is willing to write for kayn 😭😭😭 I have been starved FOR AGES i'm telling you. For the past months or so all I've been thinking abt is how Kayn would develop a relationship with a reader who's from the kinkou (a whole enemies to lovers if you will). Just some general headcanons about the relationship tysm ❤️😭😭 can't wait to see more of your writing!

hELLO hello!! I swear uni has been keeping me from writing, i had no energy but i am a bit more free for now~ i’ve been starving for Kayn content too so let’s get started!!!

//tag: enemies to lovers, kayn has no idea what emotions are

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· If anybody were to ask Kayn what he thinks about you they would be met with silence. It’s normal for him as he isn’t too keen on talking about topics like this and he finds the question a bit obvious: you’re Kinkou, he’s not. You’re trying to bring back the balance that Ionia has lost back alongside Shen, which means you’re actively trying to stop him from reaching his goals and true potential.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· If only this was what he truly thought, in fact his feelings towards you are much more complex. It’s not a mere matter of blindly hating you because of the group you’re affiliated with, it has to do with the fact that you seem to periodically appear where he is and always try to obstacle him. Despite that he has never felt the instinct to kill you, as if his brain doesn’t completely think of you as an useless nuisance.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· The fact is that you challenge him and motivate him to get better, fighting against you doesn't trigger the same deeply engrained reflexes he'd have when killing any other Kinkou alcyote or Noxian soldier. Every encounter with you keeps him alert, reminds him of the high he gets when conquering something that isn't handed to him that easily and despite the two of you being on the opposing sides of such a difficult conflict you can't help but look for one another.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· Accepting that you might have a crush on the man you're supposed to hate is hard, more than any normal crush. Apart from wondering if you're misinterpreting his actions like when he spared you after one of your missions went wrong or the time he patched you up as you hid from Noxian soldiers who were passing by, you also needed to conceal your feelings. If Kayn was simply toying with you he could use the feelings you grew against you, maybe this was just a cold manipulation technique to encourage you to lower your guard or maybe he couldn't feel any love at all.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· That said you still were unable to stop staring at him during another one of your run-ins, you were both alone and your eyes would keep wandering to his lips that were perpetually graced by a confident smirk. You wanted to slap him, kiss him, anything to make him shut up and stop taunting you. It was getting to your head and soon enough you found yourself on the floor, pinned against him and with Rhaast's blade dangerously close to your neck.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· If Rhaast's eye wasn't creepily staring at you, then at kayn and then back to you it would have been better. Maybe even enjoyable as the weight of his entire body was crushing your hips and legs, his expression wasn't revealing anything of his intentions so you had no idea if he was going to let you go or if he was done with playing with you.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· The fact that Kayn suddenly kissed you was so far away from your possible predictions that you thought you were already dead and this was just your brain conjuring up a happy scenario to aid you in passing into the spirit realm. He wasn't exactly doing a great job, teeth clanking against yours and clumsily trying to understand what exactly he needed to do, only when you kissed him back with the same fervor did he start to finally understand what he needed to do.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· "This is what you wanted, didn't you? Get. Out! Out of my head. It's- You're the one who's been distracting me!"

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· You were starting to feel like maybe there was a chance your feelings were reciprocated, Kayn wasn't looking like his usual confident self once he finally had to part from your lips. He was confused and angry at the fact that in the end you managed to beat him by thanks to your wit and your personality.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· Ever since that day you and Kayn have been meeting in secret, ignoring the loyality you were both supposed to have for your respective factions. You never have as much time together as you wish and you spend your days either sparring or lazily laying in each other's arms, it mostly depends on how Kayn is feeling.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· You're quite amused when Kayn admits to you that he's never had any kind of relationship, don't tease him for it though, not if you want him to deprive you of all of the affection you crave for the sake of sweet revenge. He loves to hear you beg for him to just kiss you or when you ask for a hug, the fact that he's the only one who will ever see you like this makes him feel very proud of himself.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· You also find out that Rhaast has been the one guiding Kayn and telling him what people in a relationship do, he basically has a corrupted, cruel but extremely experienced wingman by his side.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· Sometimes you have to sneak in/out from each other's rooms when it's late at night and even though you've both been training hard to be stealthy it's still not perfect. Shen knows, and Zed does too and both have decided not to interfere for the time being. Who knows, perhaps something interesting will come out of your new relationship.

[fervonian]

some miscellanious headcanons for the dash today as a treat... maybe some of them won't be angsty.

irelia was primarily homeschooled. it is known in her lore that she received education for silk dancing at the placidium under zinneia's tutelage, but xan lito, her father, encouraged her love for reading both fictional and historical works. standard literacy and numeracy skills are taught to most ionian children, but irelia was raised at a higher standard.

in my canon, blade dancing ( kenbu, 剣舞: sword dance ) as a tool for war was a lost ionian technique that has been revived by irelia as well as ionia's school of silk dancing. the graceful and powerful dances of ionia's history were a tool to defend her people the whole time. as for the forty - two forms irelia mentioned, they have been developed over time by herself and other accomplished dancers during and after the first war. many are extrapolated from old texts, but all have been tested in combat.

incorporating irelia's tie in with life and death from her old lore, irelia did come very close to death in her battle against admiral duqal: the man responsible for the massacre of her family & village. that experience contributed heavily to her losing most of her brash attitude, her brush with death combined with her actually acknowledging just how many people are counting on her is what ultimately tempered irelia's self sacrificial streak.

irelia has a tattoo of the xan family crest on her spine. another way she remembers her family is by a custom crafted necklace. the piece is eight coloured glass beads with a thin gold chain threaded through them. after her relationship with liana, she would likely get a flower & sword tattoo on her arm.

aside from her signature flying blades, irelia is an accomplished sword fighter. she can also use the bow and arrow, albeit at a lower standard than she would prefer. the captain of the guard had undergone a lot of strength training in order to feel comfortable swinging a more traditional sword around. in kenbu, strength isn't strictly unnecessary but it is secondary to flexibility, endurance, and stamina.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

Because I know we talked about it but also because I know it's smthn u enjoy thinking about: How much has Tarhos corrupted Haru and how much of it is just the darkin is a God, corrupted as he may be, that actually answered his prayers unlike the others?

✧ ── 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 LEAGUE VERSE

Something that makes Haruo and Tarhos' relationship unique is, at least to me, their joined mindspace - while Rhaast and Kayn can communicate telepathically and can read eachother it is still two separate beings bickering with one another. For Haruko and Tarhos the line is much more blurred; they experience eachother's feelings and desires, hear each single thought and even have shared dreams. They are less "two people in one body" and much more "one person in two bodies" in terms of how they can communicate with eachother, I mean technically if we wanted to get really into it we could debate about how there is no true unified "self" but rather a fractaling recursion of self-repeating selves - think about how your conscience talks to you in your own voice or how you ask yourself questions and you answer them - that. Its incredibly complicated to try to explain in a tumblr post but that is how, for myself at least, Haru and Tarhos operate. Tarhos and Haru can hear the other one talking and know its not them doing it but it still feels like their own thought. I hope that makes sense because it's only going to get worse from here -

While that isn't necessarily the question I do think its an important thing to distinct when speaking about them; before Tarhos found a vessel they basically acted as a singular unit anyway - I doubt that mindset would change much once he took over the dragon in Ionia. So, beginning with that I'm going to continue on and say that I don't think Haru was "corrupted" so much as he was validated. Before the Noxian invasion Haruko was most likely living peacefully in Bahrl with his village and family, there was tension between Vastayans and Humans as always but he didn't go out comitting murder for fun. He just simply did not interact with them or care enough to - and I really don't think he cared about or even knew about Noxus. Based on that alone we can see a distinct difference from the past to present, and I do think that has a large chunk to do with Tarhos. Darkin are PTSD ridden forgotten Gods whose last moments feeling sunlight were surrounded by the rise of the Void, and the fall of Azir along with the Empire of Shurima - and when Haruko first found Tarhos, the blade was eager for bloodshed and violence.

Upon first contact their minds partially merged, Haru's strength of spirit was able to dominate and shackle back Tarhos' possession of him for the most part, but not completely. The battle was fought and Haruko fled having lost practically everything within a single day by an unknown force that brutalized without mercy - which I'm sure is an event Tarhos can understand way too well. This is where the validation and mind-merging come into play; even if Tarhos did not actively say anything to Haru at that time, Haru can still feel what Tarhos is and vice versa. Within Tarhos' own bloodlust and hatred towards the Void Haru felt validated and correct in his anger and immediate dehumanization of Noxians; seeing them as a plague to Ionia much like the Void is a plague to Shurima. Once the mind has decided to dehumanize it is very easy for people to fall into acts of violence without any reprise or guilt over them; its happened many a time throughout history and is still happening today. And that is very hard to change once its cemented, particularly through a place of deeply rooted trauma which resulted in a cultural and territorial genocide. One of which the very land has still not healed from.

Haru does view Tarhos as a God too - he is one - and to have those views validated and reaffirmed by something so universally larger than him screams to him that he is correct. Tarhos didn't have any bit of a healthy mindset when they originally met, they were both spiteful and livid at the world around them - and violence always breeds violence, anger breeds anger etc. With Tarhos healing though it does leave an actively larger question regarding that original validation; does it still hold as much as it should? Haru hates Noxians so much and frankly would be fine if they were eradicated, but that seems a very sharp shift for a creature thats lived in relative peace for 300+ years. Anger is often a mask we wear to hide things we're not ready to face yet, its the brain defending itself from whatever ugly can of worms needs to be opened but will really really hurt when it eventually does.

In short, Haru has found comfort, validation, and solace in a bloodthirsty God which reaffirms his fury and approves of it - he isn't getting any help for the legitimate reasons he's like this - and until he does there won't be any end to it. I don't think he was corrupted, I think Tarhos' just helped pour gasoline ontop of a small fire and both of them let it explode without really thinking about the consequences afterwards or why the fire was there to begin with.

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Vaguely in line with @witchcraftandburialdirt 's wonderful character study on Haru because it got me thinking-

Tarhos is very aware of his godhood, it's one of the few things he could cling to while being trappped within his own blade. How he desperately clung to how he looked, his idealist vision of how the empire was, everything that made him him. He doesn't remember being human, he had no reason to cling to it which leads to this disconnect he has with mortality. He doesn't understand the the trivial things people cling to or their struggles, he doesn't value them or their lives. Their empires will rise and fall in a flutter of a lash and countless will perish before the thought is even formed. Still-

Through being so connected to Haru to the point where they are basically one person in two separate bodies, he does have a certain fondness for those that are close to Haru or those that flock to him whenever they go to the market. Those get his full attention. However very select few get his admiration and fondness and over time he'll have to learn humility, but for right now he really does see most of humanity as lesser. The only thing stopping him from consuming those that they stumble upon lost in the forest or needing directions at a crossroad is Haru's kindness.

He only sticks to Noxians, because of his fondness for the land and the people that inhabit it. Though in truth Tarhos sees Noxians as even lower than humans and those that sit by and do nothing while theor people are slaughtered like animals are just barely above that foor him. Haru's views of other people bleed into his own: He doesn't hate people like Kayn who were born Noxian even of he finds him and Rhaasts situation a bit silly, but he does hate Karma for striving for peace while bodies of innocent people filled the water. He respects and admires Irelia for her sheer battle prowess alone ignoring how fond Haru is of her, but he'd absolutely skin the council with his teeth given the chance.

Ionia is his home now that the sands of time have eradicated the empire that he felt abandoned all of them. This leads me to: Tarhos doesn't really know what he's going to do of Noxus is ever fully eradicated from the land, though he doubts they ever will. With how passive the mainland was during the invasion he's expecting them to want to exploit that weakness, that's how war works and if they're willing to stoop as low as gassing villages and using kids as soldier's he won't put them above coming back with something worse.

Still- on the off chance they don't. He doesn't know what he'll do, conflict is all either of them have known for so long and while they do settle into normal routines and their domestic life in camp, he can't just keep drinking Haru's blood to satisfy cravings that'll never fully go away. It's more than a hunger. It's a urge to rip and tear and bring nothing but carnage to the land like they used to. To dig his claws into flesh and skin the bodies with his beak, he would never do that to Haru. There's not many places he can turn the urge to other than Ionia unless they decide to uproot their home and travel.

He also knows it's not going to be pretty when his beloved is eventually going to have to face the emotions he keeps running from. He can't hide them forever. The darkin felt a fraction of them the first time Haru woke up and he wasn't there. The pain, anguish, sorrow, but overpoweringly how abandoned he felt. He wants to untangle those emotions, but he knows better than to corner a rabid animal. All he can do is acknowledge their existence and press a tiny bit occasionally when he does feel them flare. He's freely shared the horrors of the void with Haru already, he's just waiting to share how the horrors Haru has seen have actually effected him.

It doesn't fit with the above so I'm putting it here: Tarhos like most darkin due to their corruption through hemomancy does absorb blood and consume it to fuel the vessel he has especially to keep it from burning out when he uses his magic, no surprise there. However- he does feed off of Haru frequently especially if it's been a day or two since they found something he can eat. He heals him with the blood he takes so he doesn't bleed out, but there's something so intimate about it. How they share not only their headspace, but also eachother's life essence.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 12: Rad'Udu

As the royal procession continued its journey, tensions simmered and rivalries festered among Ulf's suitors. Rogmog the Bloody, in his imposing blood-red armor, constantly sought opportunities to demonstrate his brute strength and martial prowess. He flexed his muscles and challenged anyone nearby to feats of strength, all while sneering at his rivals with disdain. Dura, ever watchful, remained close to her brother Duran, who was more concerned with his appearance than any form of rivalry. He adjusted his finely tailored armor, preened his hair, and frequently checked his reflection in a small polished shield. Despite his vanity, he followed his sister's lead, knowing she was his best chance at impressing Ulf. Gorlug the Mad, however, stayed mostly silent and distant, his piercing red eyes scanning the horizon, lost in his own thoughts. He often muttered to himself, his demeanor a mix of nervous energy and brooding contemplation.

As the city of Rad'Udu came into view, the centerpiece of the warband's territory loomed large—a massive cathedral dedicated to MOG. Once a grand structure of the Old Dominion, the cathedral had been radically transformed. The original ornate stonework had been defaced and replaced with grotesque carvings depicting Orcish victory and the brutal tenets of MOG. Massive iron spikes adorned the exterior, and banners of black and green hung from the battlements, bearing the symbol of a green hand.

Inside, the cathedral had been consecrated in the blood of the innocent, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of sacrifice. The grand hall, once filled with pews, was now an open space where ceremonies of blood and fire took place. Orcish priestesses, both clothed in dark robes and nude, bustled about, performing rituals, chanting prayers, and tending to the sacred fires that burned eternally on massive altars. Courtyards surrounding the cathedral echoed with the shouts and grunts of paladins in training. These warriors, clad in heavy armor and wielding fearsome weapons, practiced their combat skills with relentless fervor. They read deeply from the Codex of MOG, their minds as sharp as their blades, preparing themselves for the battles to come.

This sacred place was forbidden to thralls, and Ionia respected this tradition. She halted the procession at the outskirts of Rad'Udu and turned to her thralls, her eyes cold and commanding. "One of you will be a sacrifice to MOG," she declared, selecting one unfortunate thrall from their ranks. The chosen thrall, trembling, was led forward, and Ionia herself smeared his face with sacrificial blood, a ritualistic gesture that marked him as an offering.

With the sacrifice made, she sent the remaining thralls away, instructing them to wait outside the sacred boundaries. The Orcs then continued on foot, climbing the grand stairway that led to the cathedral. The stairs were flanked by towering statues of Orcish warriors, their stone faces twisted in snarls of triumph. Each step resonated with the weight of history and conquest, a reminder of the cathedral's dark transformation from a human place of worship to a monument of Orcish supremacy.

As they ascended, the suitors maintained their uneasy truce, their rivalry momentarily subdued by the sacredness of their surroundings. Ulf walked alongside her mother, her thoughts heavy with the burden of the choices that lay ahead. The presence of the suitors, the ominous cathedral, and the weight of her destiny pressed upon her, but she steeled herself, determined to face whatever challenges awaited within the hallowed halls of MOG.

The interior of the Cathedral of MOG was a dark and ominous testament to Orcish domination and the perverse glory of their god. Massive iron chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, casting flickering shadows across the vast expanse of the nave. The walls were adorned with grotesque frescoes depicting scenes of Orcish conquest and sacrificial rites, the once-gleaming stone now stained with the blood of countless offerings. At the far end, a towering altar of blackened steel stood, its surface slick with fresh blood, surrounded by massive braziers that burned with an eerie, greenish flame. The air was thick with the acrid scent of incense and blood, mingling with the low, rhythmic chanting of unseen priests and priestesses.

Warchief Garzonk Iron-Tusk approached, his presence commanding and formidable. He was a towering figure, his body scarred from countless battles, with a thick mane of dark hair cascading down his back. His iron tusks, earned through brutal rites of passage, jutted from his lower jaw, giving him a fearsome appearance. Garzonk was flanked by two priestesses, their nude forms smeared with ceremonial ash and blood, their eyes glazed with devotion.

"You must make a sacrifice!!! It has been too good a year without giving MOG his due!!!" One priestess shrieked.

"MOG demands blood! Blood to feed our harvests and to nurse our children!!" The other said.

"Leave us," Garzonk commanded the priestesses, his voice a deep rumble. "A tenth of this year's crops and all newly born thralls will be given over to MOG as tribute." The priestesses, satiated, bowed deeply and retreated into the shadows.

Garzonk turned to Ionia, his expression one of utmost respect. "My Queen, it is an honor to welcome you to our sacred temple. Your presence here brings great strength to our cause."

Ionia nodded, her eyes scanning the darkened cathedral. "Warchief Garzonk, your work in converting this temple to the true worship of MOG is commendable. Gelbeg would be proud of your dedication and the transformation of this place."

Garzonk's rugged face broke into a rare smile. "Thank you, my Queen. We have strived to honor Gelbeg's legacy and your vision for our people. The Orc Paladins are being trained in increasing numbers, and soon we will have an elite core ready to lead our armies. Their strength and faith in MOG are unparalleled."

Ionia smiled, her pride in her people evident. "That is good to hear, Garzonk. Our future depends on the strength and unity of our warriors. With MOG's blessing, we will conquer all who stand in our way."

Together, they walked further into the cathedral, their footsteps echoing off the cold stone floor. The shadows seemed to dance around them, and the chants grew louder, filling the sacred space with a palpable sense of power and foreboding. Ulf followed closely, her mind heavy with the weight of her destiny and the trials that lay ahead. The dark grandeur of the cathedral was a stark reminder of the sacrifices and struggles that had brought her people to this moment, and the relentless drive for conquest that defined their very existence.

Garzonk led them to the dark altar, where an imposing Orc knelt in solemn prayer. He wore gleaming white armor adorned with pages torn from the Codex of MOG, and a black cloak emblazoned with the green hand of their god. Despite his corpulent frame, the Orc's belly was taut with muscle, a testament to his strength. His hair was long and luxurious, and beside him lay a helmet shaped like a snarling Orc's face, crowned with a row of black feathers forming a pseudo-mohawk.

"Great MOG, we, your humble servants, bow before your might. Guide our blades and steel our hearts as we conquer in your name. Let the blood of our enemies sanctify the land, and may your will be done through our hands," the Orc intoned reverently.

Garzonk cleared his throat, and the praying Orc stood and turned to face them. "My Queen, Princess Ulf, allow me to present my adopted son and heir, Snagkill Dark-Fire," Garzonk announced proudly.

Snagkill bowed deeply before Ulf, his dark eyes filled with devotion. "Princess Ulf, my Orc-Saint, I pledge my life to your service. I will defend you with every breath in my body and every beat of my heart."

Garzonk beamed with pride. "Snagkill is a true Orc paladin, a paragon of chivalry and strength for all our kind to follow."

Ulf extended her hand, and Snagkill kissed it with reverence. "Thank you, Snagkill. Your loyalty is noted and appreciated," she said, her voice steady. Yet inwardly, she wondered how his fervent worship might stand in the way of genuine love.

Ionia slapped her belly loudly, the sound echoing through the cathedral. "Welcome to our party, Snagkill!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with warmth.

Garzonk's face lit up with delight at the Queen's acceptance of his son. "Thank you, my Queen. Snagkill will serve you well."

With the formalities complete, they continued deeper into the cathedral, the weight of their purpose heavy in the air. The journey was far from over, and with each step, Ulf felt the burden of her destiny pressing down upon her, the path ahead fraught with trials and uncertainties.

[yanlei]

❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜

» — ⌜ 𝑰𝑪 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑺 &. 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.⌟

— @gutterblade

A scoff is the first reply the younger assassin receives, cold metal and gleaming red eyes concealing any expression the 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 may have shown. The boy's own attempt at hiding his features is crude, he thinks, face only half obscured by the hood — and his blades, dark steel shaped with due refinement, denounce his origin more immediately than his speech. 𝑵𝑶𝑿𝑰𝑨𝑵.

Lucky for him Zed doesn't immediately kill any lost noxian boys he comes across.

❝ Maybe — or maybe the moment that necromancer finished saying those words you'd have a far bigger problem to contend with and the Brotherhood would have ended you. ❞ Spoken casually, though he does not sheathe his blades just yet. Giving a chance was, after all, a far cry from leaving himself open to someone who may as well prove a bigger threat than he seems.

There's something familiar about the boy, and Zed tries to remember if they ever met before. If they have, the memory eludes him but for the distant, shapeless feeling of recognition. He decides it'll come to him in time, if it's important at all. ❝ A 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑲 𝒀𝑶𝑼 wouldn't go amiss, ❞

❝ But I'd rather know what's your business in Ionia, noxian. Especially in Yanlei territory. ❞

[teeto-peteto]

Question: Has there ever been a champion that you've wanted to like, but due to one reason or another, gameplay, design, voice performance, it just couldn't get all the way? Does that make sense?

augh a lot of them sadly.

Briar is the most recent one, i already adressed it in a recent post. I dont like they just made her anime highschool girl shaped, i think her design would have been stronger is she was uncanny skinny, it would fit better on her 'failed experiment with terrible hunger' concept and its a lost opportunity to make a character creepy and unsettling as Fiddlesticks was on its release. Im very bothered by her body type (wich is not bad but you know, repetitive), and if your team picks her its an insta loose so let me tell you its also not funny to play with one, i dont think she's well designed in the abilities department. I tried to like her because well, she's ''''''unusual'''''', but the type of unusualness that turns boring after a few days and then you just realize that she's just another pretty girl with Patrick Star personality.

aside from that i think i have opinions that most of the community would highly dissagree on so, sorry.

Irelia's rework didnt stick good on me. And i wanted to like her very badly but there's things that i just dont like on her that make me go 'eh' and play or think about another toplaner. Aside from making all of her skins exactly the same (you know, exact hair lenght just put like buns or other minor additions to the hair, the exact same dress piece, etc). I appreciate the rework in the artistic department but... I think her old blade was way more interesting that what she has going on right now, i understand why her blades are like this now, resembling the floating stones and all the 'power of nature and flow' that Ionia has around... but, i just dont like it. Her new lines are an improvement though, i cant really remember any lines from the old Irelia so, it's interesting how she gets to talk about her family, war, etc. One thing that bugs me the most is the Ice blade Irelia splashart... You know exactly what im talking about. I just cannot wrap my head around it. Actually imagine going to the artist and telling them 'Hey we need this new splashart for this Irelia skin, but like enhance her ass the most cause fans really loved it' ...bruh.

I know its a unpopular opinion and that she is a fan favourite and anyone could stab my throat if i say it but... I cant stand Akali. Like, at all. And i desperately tried to like her, i tried to like her on K/DA but it never works out. I tried playing her trying to somewhat bond and understand her but it doesnt work out. Look, original Akali wasnt good. I admit it, she was a copy and paste of Jade from Mortal Kombat. But the rework... It hurted me. I just couldnt understand why did they make her so... bratty, so 'pick me' type of girl, this kind of 'im rebel blehhhh' kind of person... Wich isnt bad in essence but, they made her so utterly exaggerated that it annoys me. I dont understand why they made her fall off of the Kinkou that badly and make her relationship with Shen this father-bratty daughter that rolls her eyes everytime he talks it makes me want to peel my skin with my nails. Her model update was definetly a glow up that im thankful for and she looks amazing, but... she is a pick me girl. She's the 'im not like the other girls' 'im not like my mom' 'im not like the other girls in ionia who believe in balance' and it hurts. There's a lot of positive changes on her i appreciate and i applaud, i just decide not to test it on my own because i know i wont enjoy it. I tried liking her on K/DA cause WELL at least she's interacting with 3 more people (4 with Seraphine) without being a literal child in rabies. But yeah, didnt quite work, she's better, but i dont want her near me. Her glowup is good, her emotion on the lines is amazing, but her personality kicks my ass badly. And i just hate the way Riot makes all her skins exactly the same just like Irelia, almost always the same type of dress piece (literally no matter if she's wearing a suit like crime city, a witchy design like coven... its literally the same shit) and the same type of haircut, copy and pasted but with different colours.

If anything, i could never take Sona seriously, her voice lines were bad already and her update just kept being bad or even worse. I try to like her but again, sexualized and basic. Nidalee is in the same category, playing her its fun but would you sacrifice that to hear sexual innuendos every 10 seconds?

woah noticed how the champions i mentioned are female? gee i wonder why....

am i the 'mysoginistic' one because i dont like the female champions? Or are Riot the mysoginistic ones because they think making champion splasharts with special enhance on their bodies and private parts is okay and that they can make them cold-hearted emotionless specially women because making them feel a bit of emotion makes them believe that it doesnt fit what they think feminism is about but yet they decide to give them bratty/unhinged rebelious personalities so they can raise the cocks of the disgusting male fanbase so they can go 'oh bbygirl is a feisty one what a brat' and buy skins and then produce/pay for porn of these characters? hmmm....

[istrawberry]

Chapter.1 2022.4.20

Upon returning to Team SG to pack my stuff, I realized that I didn’t actually have that much stuff left here. I hadn’t imagined that after all these years, I’d have so little left behind.

I still vividly remember the day I arrived in SG —— a sunny day, accompanied by Lee and Eddie. Years have passed, and when I decided to leave, Lee assured me that SG would always be my home as long as they were in SG. But my home was 1500 kilometers away, a two-hour flight. No one's journey home should be that long.

I never discuss why I decide to leave SG. When people asked, I just laugh and say people grow up and eventually level home. But I knew that wasn’t truth. Last year was painful for me, with everyone accusing me of match-fixing and calling me an “actor”. SG didn't say a word for me.

I asked SG's manager why he couldn't defend me, but he didn't give me a reason, even a fake one. That was the first time I asked myself—was SG really my home? If it was, why would they abandon me so easily?

Even so, leaving SG wasn't an easy decision. Lee and Eddie were undoubtedly family. Months ago, when we won the championship together, I thought I could ignore the opinions of others, as long as I kept playing with them.

Two months ago, when I'd just joined Team TL, we kept losing games and scrimmages. I doubted myself many times, questioning my decision to join TL, and even contemplated my decision to Leave SG. People forget quickly, and in half a year, no one would remember. Some conflicts at home are normal.

At that time, Lee texted me, asking if I was okay. I didn't tell him the truth. I said it's normal for a new-organized team to lose games, and we just needed to understand and adjust to each other. It takes time. Lee didn't ask me anything more, saying they had a scrimmage and couldn't chat much longer.

After turning off my phone, I thought for a long time and realized how much had changed since leaving SG. Leaving home is profoundly painful. I couldn't even find someone to chat with anymore.

During the time we kept losing, other members of TL, well-acquainted with one another, comforted and encouraged each other. I felt like an outsider, unable to enter their world. But when I glanced over, I saw Landon, who, like me, had left his team of two years and joined us as a jungler.

He was even more lost than me, being new to the professional league is always a challenge. I smiled and told him it was okay, and he just nodded. We fell into an awkward silence, sitting there without a word, everyone staring at their computer screens.

Displayed on mine was Riven, my best champion, responsible for the majority of my career highlights and the champion I selected in my first game after being a profession. My thoughts suddenly drifted towards Riven’s tale – she who left her home, betrayed by the Noxian army, and was forced to flee to Ionia.

Riven said, “a warrior’s blade reflects the truth in their heart. Mine is black, and broken.”

And just like her, so did I.

Kieran.

[decaeysa]

[ SLIT ]  for receiver to use a knife on sender,  making light cuts on their skin as a form of foreplay.   @umbane

with a kunai as her paintbrush and kayn's torso as her canvas, akali carefully plans out her masterpiece. she sits atop him, straddled over his waist and looks down upon the faint white trail that drags along after the tip of her blade. " let's see how long you last this time... " her voice trails off as though lost in thought, kunai stopping on a point towards the centre of his chest. she is careful to put just the right amount of pressure onto the weapon before dragging it downwards for a few inches. the beads of blood that follow bring a satisfaction that can only be found like this: sitting atop a willing plaything who gets off on the pain she gives him. her gaze lifts to watch his reaction, amused by the parting of his lips and small sounds in response.

" not as long as last time by the looks of it. " she's already dragging the blade across his skin once more, this time opting to paint a line just above his collar bone. once more the beads of blood excite her, though this time she leans in to collect them with her mouth rather than let them dribble into the indent above the bone. lips close around the site and her tongue needs no introduction the taste of him: warm iron dribbles into the corners of her mouth, and she lets out a soft hum of appreciation for the feeling. the taste itself is nothing to be desired, but the knowledge alone that she is taking from him is more than enough to make it worth it.

" where do you want me to cut next, kayn? " she purrs against his skin, kunai and mouth both creeping ever closer to his neck. instinctually her eyes follow the path of her favoured method of execution, tracing across it with the edge of the blade. it would be so easy to kill him here, to slit his throat and leave without a trace. she's done it so many times before, shieda kayn would become just another body in the trail of ionia's rogue assassin. it would be a lie to say that she doesn't consider it.

instead she flicks the blade upwards, resting both it and her forefinger against his jawline. " a little, " flick. she nicks the skin and immediately brings her mouth close enough to whisper into his ear, " shaving accident, maybe? " once more her mouth closes around the wound, this time opting to suck as the blood flows more freely onto her tongue. she laps it up, smudging it across the side of his face as she plants a kiss on his cheek. " gotta say, blood suits you. even if red isn't really your colour. "

[facemeandperish]

"People will always heal." Aatrox agreed. "Sometimes they heal wrong, or badly, and it is the duty of men and women to fix them; be it be words," he said, slowly, almost elaborately drawing the wooden blade at his hip, remaining seated, "or by this."

"Unity is not all it seems, however." Aatrox continued. "Unity can be a curse, for it was only the fracturing of your world that led your island to the many traditions and cultures that inhabit it. And with time," Aatrox shrugged "Unity would seek to blend those cultures and traditions together, to create an idea of 'Ionia' out of dispartiy, and thus many peoples would be lost." He smiled ruefully. "The same happened here, among the sands. The Ascended came, and cast our lives into the fire of progress, and it is only now, a thousand years since their fall, that we even begin to be ourselves again."

Perched on a stump, it could be seen that the fighter was sharpening a blade that clearly wasnt her own. Aside from the sound of stone grinding on metal, there was a silence in the camp, one that she had become accustomed to over the months. Outside of training sessions and other forms of tutilege, they left each other to their own devices. Idle chatter wasn't exactly expected, nor entertained most of the time, but a question had been simmering in the back of her mind. One that could make an exception to this expectation.

Her strokes slowed before she laid the sharpening stone beside her, inspecting the blade's edge for any signs of wear, and once satisfied, she returned it to its sheathe, pausing before her eyes flitted to her tutor.

'Sir...do you have a moment?' Her words were quiet, unsure how to break the silence and grimmacing when she did so.

@facemeandperish

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

Staring at Tarhos outside of Robibi's garden, "What the fuck is that???" Squinting even more at Haru, "What the fuck is THAT????? Looks like an overgrown chicken-" - Danny @ Robibi league verse

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ LEAGUE VERSE

"Place the marigold next to the newt tongue...it'll promote...Huh-- W-What was that dear? What is what?" His voice was as fleeting as hares jumping about in spring as he fashioned the layout of their cabinets, had his beloved even labeled this herbs right? Ugh... No, he didn't, this smelt almostly sourly of cilantro, why was it marked as sage? Robin jolted when Danny's voice cut through him with the sudden shift in volume, the mage finally turning to face him before his now relaxed eyelids stretched wide and horrified at the visage infront of his home. Something about that outline was too foreign, he knew it to be the shape of one of Ionia's beloved dragons, but something about it screamed wrong. Needless to say, it didn't take long for him to step into the sunlight to join at Danny's side on their porch, instinctually stepping slighly infront of him with an arm blocking him.

"Go inside, now. Let me handle this, go downstairs and hide - "

The hidden blade within his sleeve dropped into his hand to quickly block the tip of a spear that seemed to pulse with the same sickly aura of that horrific beast. Robin's wide eyes met Danny's for only a moment as he slid back, his heels catching in just enough time for him to shove his fiance back into the house and shut the door. Though that was as much as he was allowed before the blunt face of the spear slammed into his temple, his world dizzying wildly as he collapsed onto his side. His palm slipped out from under his weight twice before he finally got ahold of himself, his ivories now stained by the crimson he spat onto the wood beneath him. Two golden talons flicked downward to barely brush through his eyelashes, his body nearly jolting in fright then it occured. He thought with all of the years away from it, all of that time never fearing a thing - that perhaps he had lost the sensation of horror; however the adrenaline threading itself along each one of his nerves told him otherwise.

Damn. And he was away from his books inside too... He was never much good in hand to hand combat, without a conduit on hand this could get messy - a bloodbath waiting to happen. The mage's skull felt almost ready to crack under the pressure being exerted onto it, barely able to catch himself when he was tossed downward. Robin's worst nightmares came to fruition when he felt a hand wrap around his neck and slam him onto his spine - finally able to see the gaze of his assailant. Something ancient and wild hovered over him, periwinkle irises reflecting the gasping mess below - those eyes held not an ounce of mercy within them, there was...nothing. No, the darkness between each thread of azure seemed to wiggle and writhe - it was as thought a thousand eyes were staring at him, each a feral and wild predator ready to rip and tear him into pieces.

"Can you see me? Can you see what's reflected in my eyes?"

Hell...right infront of him. Hell, in the eyes of a living being. Robin's mouth went dry as he watched helplessly, the knife nearly forgotten about as curls soft as seafoam fell around him and onto his hands. He saw it all, the invasion, the blood, the screams - the way the silence after was so much worse.... and then.. His Other Half. Something - no, someone - had joined him on this long journey, as though they were the only two left in the world. Robin's body jolted once more as the hand tightened around his throat, fingers each turning into a vice that threatened to tear his life away at any moment. Other half... The thought of this freak somehow getting to his Danny sent him into a frenzy, his forehead slamming into his nose before he kicked the Vastayan away. He was aiming to defend himself as he watched the bird lick the blood from his upper lip, the red framing his canines in a show of dominance.

"Mmm... The Spirit resides in this one too, Tarhos. Even for a foreigner...well I suppose the great Mother has enough blessings for even the least deserving." The spear swirled along his arms before resting upon his shoulders in a hypnotizing display, "I had fun playing with you, human... but I have to go - "

"D-Don't touch him - I'll fucking kill you - "

────────────────────────────────────────────

Such a threat split a shockwave of thrill through the Vastayan as he knelt down before the mage, chittering at him as though inviting a child to play. Humans were always so funny in that way, always thinking their little lives were so important. Although the mention of "him" brought a click to Haru's tongue and a tilt of his head, he'd barely even noticed the other one now lurking in the residence. Did it really matter? If these two were chosen by the Spirit, who was he to interfere? Then again - that bitch Karma was supposedly closely tied to Ionia and look what stupidity and terror she wrought upon the land. He finally stood up, laughing slightly, "As long as neither of you are from that pack of Rats - I suppose I don't really care about what happens to either of you - "

Haruko?

The world nearly cracked into a thousand of fractured images when the voice of his mother called from the woods, a voice he had longed to hear again and yet how flatly his ears now lay against his head. The Vastayan loosened his posture in a feign of confidence, he brought himself to stand straight despite how his left ear still curled towards the forest. Haruko... Haruko... I love you. I miss you. Something screamed inside of him, a searing hellfire within his chest shrieking as though trying to rip through his own ribcage to escape from whatever was lurking within the shadows of the trees. Far beyond the childish keening of an azakana, far older...far worse. What was calling him just beyond the edge? The cough below him caught his attention once more as he tried to ignore and shove down the various whispers,

"I-I said I would kill you...g-get out."

[thenameoftheblade]

Tag Compendium

AUs and Arcs, RP Related

{a Blade of Shadows} - Order of the Shadows Arc

{a Blade in the City of Light} - Talon in Demacia

{a Blade lost in Ionia} - Disguised as an Ionian, Talon wears the Dragonblade clothes

{a Blade lost in the Sands} - Talon in Shurima

{a Drawn Blade} - The Fall of Demacia AU

{the Spirals of the Rose} -  Black Rose related

{under the Blood Moon} - Blood Moon Arc

{a Blade pledged to a Goddess}  - w/ Conqueror Karma (lncaendia)

{the Red Nightmare} - w/ Conqueror Varus (smugconqueror)

𝒜 family no more (the Du Couteau)  - The Du Couteau lineage

{a pact of darkness} - Lady Em.

{blood moon trial} - Blood Moon Arc fanfic / storyline

the streets of Noxus - Flashbacks before encountering General Du Couteau

{Du Couteau’s finest blade} Flashbacks after encountering Du Couteau

A childhood reminiscence - Early childhood related threads.

Building

{the knife in the darkness}  (assassins) - Assassin Lore

{we are the Shadows you are chasing} - Headcanon

{worldbuilding} - Worldbuilding 

{gutterbuilding} - all related to your favourite slums

folk legends - the city speaks

Lore

{they have the answers you’re seeking} (riot)  - Riot Canon Facts

{a notched blade} (of old lore) - Old Lore

Other

{whispers in the dark} - Anons

{another body for the gutter} (answered) - Answered Asks

{this blade’s my favorite} (promo) - Promotions

{the word on the street} (OOC)  - OOC

{a blade’s whisper}  - Quotes

Shadow Assault (queue)  - Queue

meme - memes

ᴜɢʜ (crack) - crack

{blades plied to...} - sinday

serious theorycrafting - LoL Gameplay misadventures.

{precious stash} - gifts, dedicated drabbles by other muns!

Visuals

✴The glint of cold steel (art) - Art

all my stabbings - My art / image edits / graphics

🗡 the many faces of an assassin (aes) - Aesthetics

{nooks and crannies} (noxus) -  Noxus aes

irresponsibly large blade collection - blades, blades, blades

[shurelyasreverie]

Ghsgfhf sorry idk valorant, but if you like could you do smth for yone? Maybe when he's all azakana-ified and goes to see reader? Thx :-D

No problem! Sorry for the unexpected semi-hiatus, if you wanna know why I just disappeared I can only best explain it here. Thank you so much for your patience!!

Yone x Reader: Spirit Fighter

The invasion of Noxus created the perfect breeding grounds for the azakana to prey on Ionia's fallen warriors. In your darkest time, who will save you from your own demons?

Word Count: 1373

Warning: Violence and mentions of death

In your time as a blade wielder from one of Ionia's most reputable sword schools, you had fought many demons. You learnt that they took all sorts of shapes and sizes. You fought the lowly criminals that preyed on the weak, you fought demons in the most literal sense of the word that dared step foot out of the spirit realm. You fought the demons that came as Noxians that tore your beautiful village and comrades to shreds.

But you never thought that you would fight demons of your own.

Your back slammed into a wall, the back of your head also hitting it, the pain making you both numb and delirious. Collapsing to the floor, you heard the faint clatter of your blade as it fell from your grip. Trying to haul yourself up, you were pushed down by the crushing weight of a demon, it's talons digging into your shoulders and slowly piercing your clothes and skin. You didn't have the energy to scream. You freed your head, angling up so you could see the distorted silhouette of your azakana through your blurred vision.

You feebly struggled as you lost feeling in your body. Your energy was being drained out of you, the azakana eating the very essence of your soul. You willed your body to keep moving, yet you couldn't sense if it was. You fought against the whispers of the demons as it recited your regrets and insecurities, it had your soul in your clutches, it saw everything you saw for the past weeks. It saw the bloodshed as you clashed against invading Noxians, the bloodied body of your fallen elder, the glazed eyes of your fallen comrades. But it also knew what you felt. It felt your regret of being unable to do more, the regret of being unable to protect your lover from his own demise, the yearning to see your lover again. You couldn't protect any of them and the demon amplified the pain.

You only had enough energy for one last sign of life. As you struggled to even breathe, you choked out a sob as you closed your eyes, succumbing to the darkness, only hearing the cackle of the demon.

Silence. Nothingness. Oblivion. Was this what awaited a soul that wasted away to an azakana?

A piercing screech stirred you awake, followed by a desperate cry to your name. Every muscle holding a heaviness that made you unable to even open your eyes, you could only listen and feel. Feel the warmth of your own blood staining your clothes, listen to the cries of pain from the demon. You could hear the faint slashes of a blade as it cut through the air before cutting through flesh. With every demonic scream, strength was returning to you. First, you could open your eyes, with the second you could breathe as comfortably as your injured self could. Third, you were hauling your tired body back onto your knees.

You could take a look at your saviour, a lean figure that cut down your azakana. He adorned a blood red mask that obscured his face but with his dual-wielding blades, you knew only one who could fight like that. You've sparred against it for years, a style that made your weak heart soar.

“Yone,” you croaked, the constricting feeling around your heart finally lifting. In response, the masked man snapped his head to you, nonchalantly driving his blades behind him into the demon.

The azakana collapsed to the ground. Yone hurried to your side, picking up your fallen blade and pressing it's handle into your palm. Your fingers instinctively wrapped around it.

“Only you can slay your own inner demon,” he stated, breathing quick and words hurried. You looked over his shoulder to see the azakana, it's torso noticeably rising and falling as it breathed. A bandaged arm wrapped around your back to usher you to the demon and to also support you as you staggered. Step by step, he guided you to the amalgamation of your suffering, a dark, writhing mess on the ground. His hand was over yours, holding your blade with you, offering you his strength. Despite how cold his presence felt, it was comforting as you drove your blade into the heart of the monster.

When the demon stilled, Yone guided the blade back to be sheathed by your hip before gently turning you to face him. His hands were now on your shoulders, gentle enough to not provoke your injuries but tight enough to be sure that it was indeed Yone before you.

He spoke your name quietly, bringing a hand up to wipe tears you hadn't realised had fallen. A wave of exhaustion overwhelmed you and you fell forward, collapsing onto his chest which he readily accepted, arms comfortingly around you.

“We thought you had died,” you whimpered. You felt his lips pressed against your cheek, then more kisses up to the crown of your head, his mask nudging against your temple. He felt changed, colder, holding a quiet strength a normal mortal wouldn't. But he also felt so familiar, how nurturing his hold felt, how you felt so protected despite being inches away from death a mere moment ago.

“I did,” he replied, you were surprised he even heard you. “But my duty to protect this land is not over. It will take more than death to take me away from the material world. Away from you.”

You pulled your arm up, tentatively reaching for his mask. You wanted to see his full face again, in all his glory. But his eyes widened, tilting his head down in shame when he realised what you were trying to do.

“It won't come off,” he said bitterly. “It is the work of the azakana. This realm is becoming rife with them.”

You felt his hands trace over your injured back and he grimaced. “An azakana's strength relies on pain and sadness... the invasion of Noxians makes it ideal for the demons. These days have been cruel to you.”

“Ever since you left,” you admitted. “The village is in shambles. It was so hard...”

Adrenaline was leaving your body, leaving you aching and your wounds stinging. You couldn't help but lean into him more, reassured by his heartbeat in your ear, the rough material of his bandages against your skin. His arms were tightening around you, almost lifting you up.

“We must get your wounds treated,” he stated. “Then you should return to the sword school and rest.”

“Where will you go?”

“I must slay the demons,” Yone muttered. “Every last one of them before they harm anymore innocent souls.”

A hand tilted your head up to face him as he searched your features. Through the mask you could see how solemn his expression was, almost distant. He pressed you closer to him, feeling his muscles tense. “Victims of the azakana suffer a fate worse than death. If I was any later to find you I would've-”

“But you weren't,” you reassured. “You saved me.”

“And I'll do it as many times as I must,” Yone replied. “For you and Ionia.”

“You don't honestly expect to do that all yourself. Take down all the azakana? Let me help you,” you volunteered.

“With those wounds?” Yone sounded almost angry.

“These wounds are temporary. When they're healed, I want to be by your side.”

Yone was silent, the only sounds being your footsteps. As much as it was your duty to protect Ionia, the way his lips were slightly curved down displayed his reluctance for you to take your duty so seriously.

The wind picked up and Yone straightened, his head taut like a hound detecting a threat. You wondered if your lover, changed by the demon mask, was able to sense the azakana, if he was connected to them. His gaze was distant for a moment, until you took his hand and squeezed. He dropped his head to look back at you, his face softening. “Two humans against an entire race of demons. The odds are stacked against us, but I'll willing to take them if it's with you.”

[shimmerbeasts]

He had failed again.

That had been the only thought pounding in Yasuo's head ever since he had left this village, through which he had just been passing through. He had failed again; and now a mother had not lost one, not two, but three children. Even though Yasuo had done his hardest to locate Vesani and drive her out of town, the fox spirit had once more proved that she would always be too clever for him. And now three children had paid the price for him not being fast enough.

He was not even in Ionia anymore, having followed Vesani's trail to the isolated villages of Demacia, among which spanned forests, which felt as unfamiliar as the stars above his head. The wind, though, still felt the same. It would always feel the same to him. Even if the air was colder or warmer and carried new smells with itself, the feeling of wind rustling his long, thick, messy ponytail would always be like welcoming an old friend for the ronin.

Even if his dishonour and name were not known to the Demacians, for Yasuo, his crimes overshadowed every step he took and every good deed he attempted. Vesani remained always just out of reach; and yet whenever she came close enough of her own volition, the ronin always drew the short straw. His black hair was already streaked with grey strands. Just how many years had this pursuit cost him already?

Yasuo staggered on, down a long-winding and lonely road. The sun was setting behind him. His steps were heavy and lethargic. Yasuo clutched his bottle of whatever alcoholic shit was drinkable in one hand. He was so inebriated that he could not even taste what he had just taken another swig from. His vision was blurry. The ronin was feeling ill, physically and mentally. How he was even capable of keeping his stomach down, was anybody's guess.

Eventually, even his legs refused him their service and Yasuo collapsed by the side of the road. His body rolled into a ditch and his eyes flattered shut. The ronin had completely passed out to the point that he could not even feel the dirty soil beneath him, nor the touch of a hand if someone were to pick him up. In this incredibly vulnerable position, it would have been far too easy for anybody to rob or even kill him. But the strong smell of alcohol, his dirty and dishevelled appearance and just his location deterred a lot of people from even approaching him.

And even if the alcohol had incapacitated his body, his mind was a different story entirely. In Yasuo's mind, he could hear the clashing of katana blades, meeting in the middle, and feel the wind in his hair. He could smell blood and feel the stings of countless cuts on his body. But worst of all, Yasuo replayed his argument with Yone over and over in his mind. His thoughts just couldn't settle down. It was something, his master had claimed had always been a problem of his: "You have a wild mind and a temper to match it. You must learn to tame the storm in your head, Yasuo. You must learn to rule your anger and not let your anger rule you."

"You cannot keep running forever, Yasuo. You have to answer for what you have done."

"Yone, I didn't do this. It was Vesani's work. You have to believe me."

"What? A malevolent fox spirit killed the master, you had sworn to protect. You dishonoured yourself by murdering him, and now you further dishonour yourself by daring to lie to me!"

"I am not a murderer and I - AM - NOT - A - LIAR!"

The katana stained with Yone's blood...

Yasuo gasped for breath as he darted up, holding out his weapon as if in a fighting stance. His heart hammered in his chest. Tame your mind, Yasuo. You were dreaming. Peace of mind. He slowly drew up his weapon and took a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to calm down. Closing his eyes so he could focus on his breathing, Yasuo waited for a couple of seconds, just existing in his body before he sheeted the katana away.

It was then that Yasuo became aware that he was no longer in the ditch at all. Instead, he had darted up in what seemed to be a bed in a corner. A soft, maroon blanket had gotten tangled up in his legs. Yasuo turned his head inches as he gazed around. Beside the bed stood a heavy bookshelf, in which piled books from all over Runeterra. Rain pitter-pattered against the glass. On the other side of the room stood a dresser, upon which someone had placed the skull of a house cat, bellied bottles, small tin boxes and vials. The air was heavy with the scent of dried herbs, whose leaves rustled above Yasuo's head from the ceiling.

The smell of warm food would have been appetising were Yasuo not so preoccupied with the pounding of his head. By the Ancients, it felt like he had been kicked in the skull by a horse. Groaning, the ronin nurtured his temple in his hands and shut his eyes. His legs trembled and Yasuo wondered if he would even be able to stand. He felt terrible. Absolutely terrible. At least the physical sensations kept his guilt at bay if he did not bother thinking too hard. Something, his hangover currently beautifully prevented.

His gaze fell upon a woman in a beautiful, dark purple dress, wearing a pair of bandage-like shoes wrapped around her feet, leaving her toes and heels bare. Her hair was black, but it seemed to carry a purple shine to her. Her eyes were icy blue. Four pairs of dark purple, beautifully feathered wings, bound by heavy, dark gleaming chains adorned her back and shoulders.

"I presume, you are the person who dragged me out of the ditch", Yasuo spoke and lowered his head in respect, "Thank you. I promise I will just freshen up and as soon as I can think properly again, I will not trouble you any further."

　◈　 ⇢  @shimmerbeasts　 ⋯　 random starter .

　⊰ ⸻ ⊱　The slow clop of hooves was the only sound that accompanied Morgana currently. "Easy now, Scarlet, I think the next village we need to get your shoes replaced," The woman spoke, as she lightly tossed the reins. It had been months since she had left Demacia, months since she had heard the shouts in her ears praising the great light of justice. Those echoing prayers to her sister taunted her ears constantly reminding her what she had lost. Her eyes cast downward, keeping the prayers shut off. As much as she could hear the prayers to herself (which was something she never appreciated) she could also hear those to her sister. They overwhelmed her thoughts, and they only troubled her as she could not do much. Demacia had turned them into these god-like creatures despite not being them. She was no more a god than Kayle, despite what her sister might think. Even their mother, Mihira, was no god! Being made an avatar took away the most important thing that made the world worth living; losing her humanity did not seem worth the power the powers offered.

The sky slowly darkened over the horizon, with a little crack of lightning. She knew she would have to find a place to settle, hopefully, the next village had a barn where she could set her red roan horse in for some rest and reshoeing. Morgana pulled the hood over her head, keeping her appearance secluded from view. Her wings were pressed firmly to her back as she leaned up against her knees. The slight drizzle of the rain only brought a smile to her lips. She put out her hand, the chill dropped against her fingers as she brushed her fingers together.

Rain never bothered the sorceress she reveled in these delights. Something as simple as rain or the sun warming her skin; the little things that make life enjoyable. It reminded her of her father's lessons, to always appreciate what life could give for the day because in a blink it could be gone the next. Life was fleeting and it was one of the curses of her immortality. Still, she remembered the lessons and it reminded her what life had. For even a second, all of it could be taken away.

Something nipped at her skin, a taste of pain as she tugged the reins and frowned. After grabbing a lantern, she slides out of the seat with her bare feet touching the ground. To anyone, she just looked like a common traveler, a black hood covering her dark purple hair and icy blue eyes piercing into the distance. Fingers lifted the dark dress she wore, letting her feet press into damp grass as she followed the taste of pain like a blood trail. She lifted the lantern and first spotted the dark black hair, soaked from the rain and what looked like graying strays of age. The anguish spread over him like a blanket and the scent of alcohol made her nose scrunch up slightly. "Looks like you've had one too many," Morgana spoke, as she walked around the body and crouched down.

Her hand brushed out, clawed nails brushing against his face to lift it and ensure he still had breath in his lungs. A single rise of his chest told her he lived but he looked like the end of a failed rope. "Alright, friend, let's get you out of this ditch," Morgana spoke, doubtful he was even coherent enough to hear her. She hooked the lantern to her hip and then reached around to pull his arm over her shoulder. A few heaves and she had him to his feet, though perhaps it was better to say his feet dragged as she walked to her caravan home. One hand grabbed his arm, keeping it around her neck and her other hand wrapped around his waist to pull him to the small home. On the outside, it looked small but she waved her hand, and the flash of purple magic pulled the door open and she climbed inside.

It looked far larger on the inside than the outside, as she pulled him up the steps inside. She moved over toward a bed, the red duvet laid with a pillow at the head. She picked up Yasuo and set him down upon the material and then placed the lantern next to his bed. A set of red curtains were tied apart with the window to the front of the carriage. Rain pitter-pattered against the glass as Morgana turned to the left. On the walls was a bookcase, filled with books and a dresser covered with different objects: The skull of a feline, bottles, and potions that made her look like a witch ready to seduce some fair maidan with hopes of love. Herbs of birch and Cedarwood hung from the ceiling, with some scattered chamomile on the dresser.

In the center was a dark black cauldron, a medium size with boiling soup; the smell of stew and rich broth filled the cabin. She grabbed the wooden bowls and cups and set them down on a cherry wood table, a dark black cloth laid across it and a couple of chairs around it. With a wave of her hand, the bowls flew through the air and landed on the table, as she stirred the food. She didn't know when the man would wake, but she knew he would need some herbal water to take care of the ailments of his drunkenness and some good food to fill his belly. She glanced down at her hand, seeing the weave of dark purple and black tendrils running around her fingers and up her arm. Yasuo's pain and guilt tugged to her magic as she lifted her hand and saw it nearly engulfing her lower arm. "You're filled with more pain than you can handle, poor man, what happened to you?" Morgana questioned.

She could easily dig into his mind, pull out his memories but she would not be so evasive. Instead, she turned back toward a spare table on the wall, as she started to work on some herbal remedies for the man in the bed, waiting for him to wake.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 19: The First Month Part Four

Weeks later, and the results of Ionia's battle of Long-Hair hadn't stopped any further Orcs from seeking to challenge her. The halls of Cairn Doom echoed with the ringing steel of battle and deep within the cavernous halls, the aftermath of the brutal clash between Ionia and a towering Orc named Hruk Shit-Flinger still lingered in the air of Cairn Doom's dark halls. The fight unfolded in the dimly lit and foreboding corridors of Cairn Doom, the mountain fortress of the Orcs. Thick stone walls, etched with ancient runes and stained with the marks of countless battles, loomed overhead, casting eerie shadows that danced across the uneven floor. Torches flickered sporadically along the walls, their feeble flames struggling against the encroaching darkness. The air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the musky scent of sweat, a potent reminder of the violence that permeated every corner of this grim stronghold. As the clash between Ionia and her Orcish opponent erupted, the sounds of clashing steel and guttural roars reverberated through the narrow passageways, echoing like a haunting chorus of war. All around them, Orcs stood with rapt attention, a crowd of them surveying each challenge to see if Ionia would finally bite the big one. Each of them were eager to see the hated enemy of the Orcs finally pay for her crimes against the Orcs of Farfield. It was only a few short moments but it took everything Ionia had to slip past the giant of an Orc and thrust her sword into the Shit-Flinger's gullet.

Afterwards, Ionia stood amidst the chaos, her chest heaving with exertion as she stared down at the fallen brute at her feet. Thick rivulets of blood spurted from the gaping wound in the Orc's chest, drenching Ionia in its warm, viscous fluid. Her once pristine gruk'zad was now a mottled mess of filth and gore, clinging to her body like a second skin. Sweat dripped from her brow, mingling with the crimson stains that marred her features, while her once lustrous hair now hung in greasy tangles around her face.

With a weary sigh, Ionia withdrew her blade from the lifeless Orc's body, the metallic clang echoing through the hall like a solemn bell toll. As she surveyed the scene before her, she realized she was surrounded by a throng of eager Orcs, their eyes gleaming with a primal hunger for victory. But despite their silent urging, Ionia remained steadfast in her resolve, refusing to succumb to the barbaric customs of her adversaries. Among the onlookers, Gelbeg's stern visage bore silent witness to the unspoken truth – this was but one of many trials that awaited her in the unforgiving depths of Cairn Doom.

As the Orcs shuffled out, their grumbling voices filled the air with the guttural tones of Orcish, a language foreign to Ionia's ears. They were disappointed that their champion had failed in his task and each of them blamed Ionia for the lost of yet another Orc hero. They cast irritated glances at her as they passed Gelbeg, who remained rooted in place. Ionia, her sword stained with the blood of her fallen opponent, stood defiantly before Gelbeg, who loomed over her with a somber expression. "You'll face more challenges like this," Gelbeg remarked, his voice heavy with resignation.

Ionia's gaze hardened as she condemned the Orcs and their relentless thirst for battle. "Your love for violence will be your undoing," she retorted, her voice laced with disdain. With a solemn nod, Gelbeg turned and departed, leaving Ionia to her solitude in the dark, echoing corridors of Cairn Doom.

As Ionia kicked at the lifeless body of her fallen adversary, she began her solitary journey through the labyrinthine tunnels of Cairn Doom. The darkness enveloped her like a shroud, casting eerie shadows along the jagged walls of the mountain fortress. The air was heavy with the stench of damp stone and the faint echo of distant rumblings filled her ears, adding to the ominous atmosphere.

Lost in her thoughts, Ionia contemplated her predicament as she traversed the winding tunnels. The harsh winter of Acury seemed endless, trapping her within the cold embrace of the mountains. She couldn't help but wonder if she would ever see the familiar sights of Farfield again. The Orcs, with their savage ways and primitive customs, expected her to assimilate among them, but she remained resolute in her refusal to adopt even a fraction of their barbaric behavior. In her mind, Orcs were nothing more than a lesser race, incapable of controlling their base instincts like the noble humans she knew. With a determined shake of her head, Ionia reaffirmed her stance, refusing to grant the Orcs even a shred of respect.

As Ionia rounded the corner, her senses on high alert, she stumbled upon a heartbreaking sight. There, in the dimly lit corridor, lay a young Orc-Whelp, naked and whimpering in distress. Initially hesitant, Ionia briefly considered leaving the child to fend for itself, but her compassionate instincts prevailed. Gently, she scooped up the tiny creature, his small form resembling that of a human toddler despite his Orcish heritage. His shaved head and miniature tusks marked him unmistakably as one of their kind, yet his vulnerability tugged at her heartstrings.

As she cradled the young Orc-Whelp in her arms, Ionia's voice softened with empathy as she spoke to him. "Where is your mother, little one?" she asked, her tone filled with genuine concern for the child's welfare. The Whelp's doleful red eyes met hers, silently pleading for comfort and reassurance amidst the uncertainty of his surroundings.

Ionia scanned the dimly lit tunnels, her keen eyes searching for any sign of the young Orc-Whelp's family. Aware of Orc breeding habits, she anticipated finding more of his kin nearby. Yet, despite her efforts, there was no trace of his siblings or mother. With a sigh of frustration, she turned her attention back to the whimpering child in her arms, repeating her inquiry about his mother, though she knew he likely didn't understand her.

As she ventured deeper into the labyrinthine corridors, her curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar surroundings, Ionia's gaze fell upon a door tucked away in a shadowy alcove. Pushing it open cautiously, she stepped into the chamber beyond, her eyes widening in astonishment. There, against the far wall, stood a treasure chest, its presence in such a place seeming utterly incongruous. Sensing something amiss, Ionia entered the room cautiously, the young Orc-Whelp clinging to her side.

The room exuded an eerie and menacing atmosphere, with long shadows dancing across the walls like spectral fingers. The air was heavy with the stench of decay, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. The floor was slick with gore and viscera, dark stains seeping into the stone like macabre patterns etched by some malevolent artist. She could see, even in the dark, the remains of a Orcess and several whelps, their limbs a gruesome tableau of killing prowess. Ionia's senses were assaulted by the oppressive atmosphere, and she felt the weight of the room pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket.

Ionia knew instantly what she was looking at. This wasn't an ordinary chest but rather, a loathsome creature who had no doubt lured the Orc mother and her children here with some beguiling trick. For this was no mere chest but instead, it was a mimic! A foul creature of the dark that masqueraded as a chest containing great wealth.

As she set the whelp down and drew her sword, a sense of foreboding washed over her. The whelp cowered in the doorway, instinctively sensing the danger that lurked within. With her keen senses, Ionia could see the telltale signs of the mimic's presence – the grotesque remnants of its previous victims scattered across the floor. She knew that this was no ordinary chest, but a deadly trap waiting to ensnare the unwary. Stealing herself for the imminent battle, Ionia braced herself for the confrontation ahead, knowing that she had to defeat the mimic to ensure the safety of both herself and the helpless whelp.

Ionia's instincts kicked in as she faced the mimic, her sword gleaming in the dim light of the tunnel. The mimic lashed out with its acidic tongue, aiming for Ionia's legs, but she swiftly sidestepped the attack, narrowly avoiding the corrosive liquid. With a quick, calculated motion, she swung her sword at the creature's maw, aiming to sever its tongue. However, the mimic's tounge was agile, dodging her strike and retaliating with a vicious snap of its jaws. The fangs nearly glanced her unprotected leg, but Ionia deftly sidestepped away from the snapping teeth and readied herself for another flurry of attacks.

Despite the mimic's ferocity, Ionia remained determined. She danced around its attacks, her movements fluid and precise. With each strike of her sword, she inched closer to victory. Finally, seizing an opening, she thrust her blade deep into the mimic's center, piercing its core. The creature let out a deafening screech as flames erupted from its body, consuming it in a fiery blaze. Ionia stepped back, panting heavily, her heart racing from the intensity of the battle. As the flames died down, she watched as the mimic's charred remains crumble to ash, a testament to her skill and resilience in the face of danger.

Ionia gently picked the whelp back up, who had nuzzled into her, unaware of the death of his family but cognizant that Ionia had done him a great service. Surprised by the show of affection, Ionia found herself even more astonished by the tugging at her heartstrings. The young Orc whelp was displaying gratitude—an emotion she hadn't believed the Orcs were capable of. Wrestling with her own feelings of protectiveness toward the young one, she resolved to ensure his well-being.

With determination, she ventured into the halls of Cairn Doom, her steps echoing in the dark corridors. Her senses alert, she scanned for any Orcs who might be willing to assist. Despite her reservations about the Orcs, she couldn't turn her back on the helpless whelp. She sought out a glimmer of compassion in the eyes of her unlikely allies within the fortress, hopeful that someone would heed her call for aid.

Ionia shifted the child on her hip, studying him intently. His tearful red eyes peered up at her, and he nuzzled himself into her shoulder for comfort. The Orc-Whelp, though small, bore the distinctive features of his kind—tiny tusks protruded from his lower jaw, and his shaved head emphasized the rugged contours of his face. Despite his youth, there was a sense of resilience in his demeanor, as if he had already weathered more than his fair share of trials.

"What's your name?" Ionia asked, her voice soft with compassion. The whelp shook his head, clearly bewildered by her question. It was evident that he couldn't understand her words. Undeterred, Ionia repeated her inquiry, hoping to elicit a response. After a moment, the Orc-Whelp's face lit up, and he pointed to his chest, whispering a single word: "Gutd."

"Gutd," Ionia repeated with a satisfied nod, bestowing a name upon the young Orc. With newfound purpose, she adjusted her grip on him and continued their journey into the depths of Cairn Doom.

Ionia stepped into a wide area within Cairn Doom, a bustling way station where tunnels branched off into various chambers of the mountain fortress. The space teemed with activity as Orcs, their massive and powerful forms, moved swiftly through the tunnels. Ionia's voice echoed through the cavernous chamber, pleading for aid amidst the throng of Orcs bustling through the tunnels. "Please, I need help!" she implored, her words lost amidst the guttural grunts and snorts of the Orcish tongue. Desperation tinged her voice as she cradled Gutd on her hip, his cries adding to the urgency of her plea. But the Orcs, caught up in their own world, merely shook their heads, unable to comprehend her words. As Gutd's cries intensified, Ionia struggled to soothe him, her heart sinking with each fruitless attempt to elicit aid from the impassive Orcs.

Suddenly, Gelbeg emerged from the throng, engaged in conversation with Arrowcatcher. Spotting Ionia and Gutd, Gelbeg hurried over, concern etched on his features. Ionia wasted no time in recounting the harrowing encounter with the Mimic and the tragic fate of Gutd's family. "I faced a creature, a mimic," Ionia began, her voice tense with the memory of the encounter. "It took the form of a chest, hiding in the shadows. When I approached, it sprang to life, revealing a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth and a slavering tongue. I fought with all my strength, but it was cunning and vicious, using its acidic tongue like a whip. I barely survived, but in the end, I managed to strike it down, causing it to erupt into flames." Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of her harrowing ordeal. Gelbeg's expression darkened with understanding, and he motioned for Arrowcatcher to depart. He turned back to Ionia and explained: "These dark halls were absent for many years of any life save for the foul creatures of the night. Despite our best efforts, not every corner of Cairn Doom is completely safe. Thank you Ionia, for avenging the fallen mother and kin of young Gutd here." Moments later, Arrowcatcher returned with a busty Orc matron. The rotund Orcess was a formidable figure among the Orcs. She stood tall and sturdy, her broad frame exuding strength and fertility. Her muscular arms cradled a collection of five Orc whelps, two of which suckled eagerly at her ample breasts. Despite the ruggedness of her appearance, there was a nurturing aura about her, evident in the gentle sway of her movements and the protective glint in her eyes. Adorned in simple garments that barely contained her robust form, she exuded a primal femininity that commanded respect among her kin. With each step, the ground seemed to tremble beneath her, a testament to her significance in the orcish hierarchy as the caretaker of their young.

"Ionia," Gelbeg boomed, his voice echoing in the chamber. "Allow me to introduce you to Mother-Of-Orcs, one of our esteemed matriarchs. She's known among us for her remarkable fertility and nurturing prowess. Many a whelp has thrived under her care, and she'll be more than capable of tending to Gutd here," he said, gesturing towards the young Orc-Whelp nestled in Mother-Of-Orcs' arms. "Consider him in safe hands. He will be well cared for Ionia. Mother-Of-Orcs will raise him with her own kin. But, Gutd will owe you a blood debt which must be repaid. From now until his death, his life is yours." Ionia nodded shyly, wondering at how she ever found herself with a such a debt owed to her; and by an Orc no less! With a gentle nod, Mother-Of-Orcs accepted Gutd into her care, hoisting him onto her back in a papoose. With a final oink, she departed, leaving Ionia to bid farewell to the young Orc she had rescued, her heart heavy yet hopeful for Gutd's future under Mother-Of-Orcs' care.

"Um, Gelbeg," Ionia begins hesitantly, her gaze fixed on the ground as the flickering torchlight dances around the chamber's shadows. "I've been thinking… maybe it would be wise for me to learn the Orcish language while I'm staying here. It could help with communication and understanding each other better." Gelbeg's grin widens at her words, a glint of pride in his eyes. "Ah, Ionia, I'd be honored to be your teacher," he responds warmly, his deep voice resonating through the chamber. Ionia can't help but return his smile, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between them as she agrees to embark on the journey of learning Orcish.

[blood-starved-beast]

Since idk when League is gonna give us Irelia lore I might as well make headcanons.

Irelia doesn’t have much money as an adult. Despite coming from a relatively well-off family (her blades were originally her family crest, which if they have a crest they had prestige, which means they had money) all their wealth (which i imagine wasn’t that much to begin with, at least no where near the level of the Kirammans and their economic empire all things considered) was lost when Noxus pillaged the Xan house. Resistance fighting doesn’t exactly pay the bills, and with no centralized government backing them, Irelia rarely gets a regular income and has to either rely on foraging for food and charity for the other resources. I’d figure she’d also use any money to help people or her troops (or what would constitute them).

Because she was orphaned at a young age, Irelia has a host of weird habits that perhaps her family if they were alive would either be concerned or alarmed by. Many of them are defense mechanisms (like sleeping with weapons, going nights without sleep or waking at the slightest provocation, never sharing her food [something I feel would be a social faux pas in Ionia], etc.). Even her habit of knife collecting started like this but eventually became a hobby of hers. I imagine she keeps them stabbed on some board of wood or wall somewhere.

As a child her dream was to be the leading actor of a dance theater troupe but of course that never became realized. After the first Invasion there have been moments where people suggest to her that she should join or with offers, but she rejected them for a variety of reasons (being too depressed, Ionia needs her fighting spirit more, prefers to dance alone now). She rarely thinks about those dreams so much as she does her dead family but sometimes she thinks about it and it haunts her.

This is really weird but I imagine she still has Swain’s human arm that she chopped off somewhere. Either stuffed in some magic freezer or mummified to some extent in a hidden crypt. She can’t exactly explain why she still has it and it disgusts her immensely, but she couldn’t (and can’t) seem to force herself get rid of it. It shames her greatly and it’s a secret that practically no one (not even, especially not Liana) knows other than her. Karma might suspect cause of Spirit of Ionia magic or something, but never really bothered to ask as it wasn’t relevant. 

Would update more later I’m tired