#bird-of-Shurima

[i-have-no-mouth-i-must-scream]

What the chants in Woodkids Arcane song mean

As people are reintroduced to Woodkids beautiful music in the second season of Arcane, I did want to explain the chant you hear in To Ashes and Blood.

In To Ashes and Blood, Woodkid has returned with the Suginami Junior Chorus (after having them as a chorus before- I'd suggest giving Reactor a listen), a Japanese youth chorus, to sing the portion of the fictitious language known as Shuriman of the people of Shurima. It translates to:

"Beyond these walls, the storm’s fury grows Over land and sea, the storm’s fury grows But I have nothing to fear! For the blue bird is with me!"

Woodkids lyrics around this chorus is definitely reflecting on the story of Arcane and its characters. As the choir deliver the Shuriman chant, Woodkid states To Ashes and Blood on repeat over them. This definitely refers to the fact that both sides are at war, and there will be no mercy until the strongest is the last one standing, as Jinx states that they should let it all burn, while Caitlyn becomes a dictator like figure who is driven mad by her mother's murder. Neither side is willing to be lenient about the massacre that's about the take place.

Meanwhile the Shuriman lyrics are referring to Janna, a mythical figure to the people of Zaun, seen as their protector of sorts. She's a wind elemental, with a blue bird that encircles her. In the game, this blue bird is known as the Zephyr.

The clash of Woodkid finalizing that this will end in Ashes and Blood is contradicted by the people of Zaun (or in this case, Jinx and those who follow her), as they chant their resolve to Janna, as she represents Zaun's hope. Whether Janna will appear in season 2 is a coin toss, since she's seen more as a magical deity figure to the people of Zaun, rather than an actual person. However with the introduction of magic into the latter half of season 1, chances are that powerful figures like Janna may show up (or something like it).

If the song isn't an indicator that she will make an appearance for the people of Zaun, at the very least the chants by the innocent's of Zaun are meant for their beacon of hope as they're confronted with the impending war of Piltover against them- they will not fall because they have a deity of sorts that has always ensured their safety despite the tragedies they will endure.

In other words, this is them saying "bring it".

[noxturnalmoth]

Repentance

Summary: Repentance: n. the action of repenting, sincere regret or remorse.

Hurt, overworking and miserable, two souls find one another and fates intertwine even when they are worlds apart. How can one deal with the guilt of wanting something they cannot have? And why does going against the very principles you have imposed upon yourself feel so good?

Warnings: violence, crude language, themes of guilt, suicidal ideation, depression

Word Count: 6, 501

Masterlist: here

Chapter 2 - The House that Janna Built

Your body feels light, weightless in the dark red tinted abyss. You don't feel anything but complete utter oblivion, pure nothingness. Yet slowly, feeling comes back to you. You r skin burns, your lungs and throat as well. And from a foggy red, the world shifts to bright orange. Smoke fills your lungs, tears eat through the blood caking your face like the waves licking away at footsteps in the sand of the shores of Ionia. You taste metal, and you feel nothing but seering hot pain.

"It's okay, kiddo. I'm getting you out of here." A low voice belonging to a woman softly calls out to you as you are lifted in what seems to be their arms.

Kha nas xera.

I hate them.

Kha anas xera.

I hate it.

Kha nas-ren xera.

I hate this pain.

An-kha ana-yafeal qufa.

Make it stop.

Ni'i samahta.

Please.

Then the sounds rush in. But within the loud chaos, you cannot scream and beg for them to stop.

____

"Fuck!"

You wake up with a start, back firing up waves of pain through your body as you sit up straight, hand finding your phone to snooze the alarm.

Sunday.

Yesterday you did nothing but stay in bed, stewing some more over your friends' words. And although every fiber in your body protested, although every part of your soul hissed at you not to, you were getting up to go to church.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

It's all that was repeated your mind on Saturday while you forced yourself to come to terms with the fact that you needed to try. You had to. For Sevika and Violet, you needed to get better.

Because no matter what they said, you feared they'd leave you before you're fully swallowed within your personal hell. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to hate them for it, it'd be deserved after they dealt with the burden of your existence within theirs for so long. The thought of disappointing them, hurting them and them leaving you for your own incompetence at saving yourself were driving forces for you, albeit waning since some time.

Kha anas xera.

I hate it.

Kha alalha xera.

I hate the gods.

Kha Jan'ahremas xera.

I hate Jan'ahrem.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

So you do.

You push yourself from your mattress, the sheets stained in your nightly cold sweat before you take them from the bed, limping your way to the bathroom for a shower and throwing the filthy sheets in the washing machine.

The shower is hot, long in duration to relax your tense muscles and wash away the last of your nightmare before you resign yourself to leave it, unwilling to let your water bill climb higher than it already is.

You rummage in your closet for something "church-like". Unlike other cults from topside, Jan'ahremite beliefs didn't impose modesty in the same way, nor for the same reasons. Your people hail from Shurima where the deserts are so warm that wearing too much would make you die from overheating yet the nights would be as cold as the Freljord.

You remember your parents always owning shawls for when they'd pray, covering head, shoulders and parts of their chest when they talk to Janna. The Blue Bird. The Storm's fury. The Winds. Or whatever the believers would call her.

Not that it matters to you.

Your clothes are the classic Zaunite style, albeit better due to the blooming economy, of leather jackets, harnesses, simple shirts and cargo pants. Yet a skirt holds your attention, something more formal than your usual attire, yet still holding slits on both sides for ease of movement.

You groan as you pick it up, remembering the birthday Vi had gifted you the piece. Giggling when looking at your face as Caitlyn explained how it'd fit you.

"You would turn heads like this, Maestro."

"I don't want to." You had answered. "Love isn't the first, or second, or third thing on my list."

"It could do you good."

"Thanks, but I'll pass, Caitlyn. I'm grateful for the gift."

The skirt slides on with a shirt, buckles of harnesses are fastened and your corset is back around your middle, holding your back up as you adjust how it looks with the rest of what you put on. Your boots soon follow, a shawl put over your head and wrapped around your arms and shoulders before you take your phone and head outside.

Music blasts in your ears as you walk, walking towards the looming stone building. Carved in the material that so many Zaunites died for in the fissures. Figures, arches and columns filling the walls with intricate traditional designs you've grown accustomed to seeing in the books of the section you overlook at the library you work at.

Funny for someone as stuck in the past as you to hold archaeology so dear. Ironic too, for all the rituals and religions you've dived in you still hated the mere thought of believing and practicing.

Which made approaching the church all the more grueling. Not only are you about to step a food in a god's "home", but also bring your cynical atheism in a place of worship. It feels bitter, just because of your utter hatred for the one thing thos people believe in. To disturb those seeking comfort in the embrace of faith although you're doing a similar thing.

"Welcome to the Windswept Church of Jan'ahrem."

A voice calls out, a man maybe not much older than you greets and you see him step back at your stare, the ever present glare probably fueled with so much of your inner turmoil that he knew better than to remain close though his face stays gentle. His hair is long, pulled back in a ponytail, brown streaked with some blonde and his eyes a limpid blue. "We hope you find what you're searching for."

I doubt I will.

You nearly say, but hold your tongue as you step through the stone arch, passing mahogany doors to enter the large vaulted chapel.

Columns hold the ceiling, reaching towards the heavens with dark brown stone pillars. The walls are filled with grandiose stained glass sceneries depicting the history of Zaun. Beginning from the great Shuriman Empire, followed by its fall, sailors following the Blue Bird, Shuriman immigrants stepping foot on the shores of Kha'Zhun, the beginning of Osha Va'Zaun, its evolution, and the ever present goddess Janna protecting and watching over it.

You scoff.

For all its beauty, the church was still a place of belief for a god that had abandoned its own people, and it made you sick.

So you turn your head to the center of the room, pews lining both sides of the nave, creating a path towards the dark green draped dais and altar which are overlooked by the most beautiful representation of Janna you've ever seen. You step forward, the brilliant blue carpet softening each of your movements while the morning light bounces from the intricately tiled floor, stone lace shining with beautiful colors while you're pulled ahead.

The deity is represented floating in the air, her clothes and hair fluttering in the wind she summons, your people reaching out to her and grabbing her legs as they pray for mercy and salvation. The pedestal looking like grass and sand gently moving around them all, shifting with the gale.

What good is such artistry if it's made for someone who will never listen?

Once more you hold your tongue, the magnificence of the place dissolved by the bile climbing at your throat as you sit down in the far right of the pews, wanting anything but to be perceived while you take your earphones off.

Silence accompanied by the small talk of church goers, then their steps as they move to sit. Luckily no one comes close to you and some of the tension leaves your body.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

I'm trying.

Yet all you want is to get up and leave, get back to the comfort of your own home and sleep the day away. But that would be the easy way out, no sleep would come to you anyways and way too much attention would suddenly be directed towards you in such a moment. So you stay.

Moments pass, you grow more restless at the wait as people trickle in, someone sitting on the same pew as you and making you regret the decision of getting up and not rotting in your brain. A cordial nod is extend your way and you extend the same respect, noting that the greeter is the man now sitting next to you before quickly looking back to the front, hoping that mass would start soon so you could get on with it then leave.

"I've never seen you here before, did you come to find guidance from Jan'ahrem?"

An-kha ana-yafeal qufa.

Make it stop.

"Something like that."

"Welcome to our community then, we hope you find what you seek. You'll see that we're close knit, I can even extend to you an invitation for our meetups!"

You hum, nails softly clawing at the pew as anxiety bubbles within you at the sudden attention, people from other pews looking at you now.

Kha kha-anas'yatahadatha qufa.

Stop talking to me.

"I'm Huck, by the way. Nice to meet you."

You softly offer your name to him and he smiles, pulling one of your hands in a handshake that had your skin crawling at the sincere kindness the man is showing you.

This is too much, I need to lea-

Everybody stands and your hand falls back to the wooden bench as Huck drops it, following along with his peers. You stand too, pain shooting from your back and branching to your entire body at the sudden movement. Yet you trail your eyes to the front of the nave, to what everyone was so reverent towards.

A man was walking to the altar with a cane in hand. Cassock tinted almost black, a tinge of something else mixed within the fabric, brown hair long and falling to his shoulders.

The priest.

"Greeting my friends. I hope life has treated you fairly since last Sunday."

His voice is accented in a familiar way, certain communities from from the Entresol holding a strong Va'Nox tint to their speech. And while he may have not been talking loudly, the man's voice was projected in the vaulted room, almost ethereal in quality as it commands attention.

"We all know of the darkness within our souls. The one that drags you down a spiral so profound that you lose yourself in a labyrinth of self-hatred, doubt and pain. Yet we know, we believe, deep down that this is not all that we are. We are more powerful than our demons, and Jan'ahrem, our shepherd, guides us to light with her breeze. The soft, cool of her touch on our broken selves heals us. Like wind brushing footsteps from the shifting sands. Let us begin to praise her for her love and kindness towards our people, her determination fueling us. Making us stronger with each day that passes under her protection."

Everyone sits again, your body hitting the pew with a soft thud and a sigh as you're hidden by the veiled backs of the churchgoers again.

What a load of bullshit.

You nearly scoff as everyone begins chanting, the priest's voice somehow always stronger. Never wavering once in his praise of the goddess watching over him. It's low, yet breathy, the accent rolling his R's, pushing his consonants and sighing his H's.

And it's unbearably beautiful.

For all you have against the church, you can't say that you despise this part like you do the rest. The lyrics make you feel sick, yet the man's voice is warm, welcoming, playing the part of the guide he is supposed to be even to someone as empty and destitute as you.

Next to you, Huck sings along. Face bright and filled with hope while you feel like decomposing in place. You know of myths where sinners burn in places of worship and for all it's worth, you feel like it's about to happen to you. Bubbling with rage as you glare at Janna's statue, looking to you almost mockingly when she's supposed to be kind, gentle, a guiding gale to those from Zaun. And with disgust at yourself, feeling undeserving of being next to believers while you silently hate their god, wishing nothing more than to melt in the pew and disappear.

You're even more lost in this crowd than you've been in years, you feel profoundly alone even when you're supposed to feel surrounded. They're all singing in Valorian, as opposed to your parents who used to pray in Shuriman. The lyrics to every chant escaping you and fusing your lips together like a hot knife cauterizing a wound.

You wouldn't have sung along anyway.

But a little bit of familiarity wouldn't hurt when you're like a fish out of the water, ready to be chopped at the fishmonger's stall.

The believers sit and the priest's soft voice grows lower as he speaks, the breathy quality of his voice still very present yet much more subdued as he preaches.

"May the gales guide us to a better place. We have already achieved so much, brothers, sisters. And our sails are leading us to a brighter future. It may get hard, but we're headed the right way, I can feel it and I know all of you do too. Janna has granted us her will so we could move forward even when life gets grueling, cruel and miserable. She is the way, she is the mother of our nation who brought us to this safe haven. And although we've had to fight for it tooth and nail, we're finally headed towards the vision she had of Zaun. A free, thriving and steadfast community."

Huck sometimes slides his gaze to you, a small gentle smile on his lips to coax you out of your shell. Yet all it does is make you more uncomfortable, feeling all too undeserving of the gentleness he treats you with, your skin feeling too tight on your muscles. Like old wallpaper falling off, cracking due to humidity and age.

So you spend however much time, sat even when believer stand to sing, fidgeting with your hands when they sit back down.

Then, one by one people start to get up, making a queue to the dais where the priest was now standing.

"Come, it's custom to receive the ichor. Just follow me, you'll know what to do there."

Huck extends his hand towards you and your aching back thanks him as you nod, letting him help you up and pull you to the end of the line. The wait is somewhat uncomfortable, standing while people consume the Jan'ahrem's "blood" and bless themselves with incense.

You knew of the blood and spirit from old tales your parents told you as a child, which eventually appeared before you once more with the books you read at the library. Your second job offering much downtime, to your relief, which meant many hours by yourself, reading and cataloging books on archaeology and rituals.

As the line dwindles you realize that albeit you know of the old practices, you know nothing of the new ones. Anxiety once more bubbling within the depths of your stomach.

Am I going to make a fool of myself?

No, people trickle out once this is done.

But then again..

While people trickle out after this last part of the mass, you would be left still making a fool of yourself in front of Father "what's his face". So you discreetly try to observe from behind Huck.

People kneel, which already makes you groan at the pain you'll be in after such an action. Then they bring their hands up, quite probably in the usual prayer motion.

Arms positioned horizontally, palms against one another while the middle and ring fingers are placed on the inner wrists of the other arm.

A gesture predating even the fall of the Shuriman Empire.

You can't see the rest, only able to complete the ritual in your head with the old practices. The believer would open their mouths and the priest would dip his thumb in the ichor concoction from his chalice, marking the tongue with its blood red tint, before the believer would go on to get the blessing of the spirit. A simple action of taking two sticks of incense upside down between two crossed fingers, the index and the middle, moving them around you so the smoke moves around the believer like a soft breeze. Ending the movement by placing the sticks right side up in the sensor and dipping one's thumb in the ashes filling it, blowing the remnants like the gale of the Blue Bird blew the sails of your ancestors.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't realize it's your turn, Huck already getting to the incense as you stand before the priest face to face.

From up close you can see the intricacies of his cassock much better. Cinched at the waist with a bright blue fabric belt, the same color as the rosary decorating his chest and neck,his robes catching light in what you could now notice is the color of your people. The Zaunite color representing your nation, a dark forest green that looked nearly velvety on the cloth of the man standing before you. His hair was not just brown, no, it was graying in streaks from under the soft, wavy curls adorning his head like a halo. Around his neck was a copper colored stole, embroidered with the organic shapes your people have always used, showing life even within the most unwelcoming territories. From the desert to the fissures. He looked young, near your age, face gaunt and cheekbones high, his pale skin dotted with two moles. One on his upper left lip and one on his right cheekbone, right under the outer side of his eye.

Amber.

The familiar color of many a Zaunite's eyes, the color attributed to the heat of your homeland, was also his. Looking nearly golden in the rays filtered through the stained glass, outer iris a kaleidoscope formed of their reflection.

"With the powers bestowed upon me, I shall bless thee with the ichor, the blood of our goddess which blessed our soils."

You kneel with difficulty and position your hands accordingly, yet the priest looks almost shocked when his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse softly. His thumb is dipped in the chalice, coming out dripping the red liquid symbolizing the ichor, and before he can move again you open your mouth. Eyes trained on his as saliva begins to build at the wait, his movements slow and nearly tense as he grips your chin and places his thumb on your warm tongue. Barely seconds pass yet it feels like an eternity as you feel his skin on yours, his digit in your mouth, his eyes observing you as if he is picking you apart and building you back up.

"With this blessing of life, of hope and of will, you shall build yourself back up. Like Osha Va'Zaun has many a time. May the Winds blow your way, my child."

His eyes widen and his body tenses once more, jaw setting and face twitching, while your lips wrap around his thumb. His gaze veiled with something unknown before you pull away.

"Kod'suhbi al ni-makhaka naa."

May the Blue Bird be with you.

You sigh while trying to push yourself up, groaning in pain before the priest's soft yet scarred hand appears in your vision, his face now gentle with a soft smile adorning his lips as he helps you up.

He is much stronger than he seems.

You nod your head in thanks, rushing to the incense so you can be done with it all. Huck already done yet waiting at the pews, calling out for you.

"I wanted to say goodbye, and to thank you for coming to mass today. I hope to see you next time!"

Tough chance.

You think, before sighing.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

You have to come here at least twice before finally throwing in the towel and ridding yourself of the horrible presence of religion in your life. Your lips smack as you finally savor the ichor, the red liquid tart and sweet, made of fruit, yet thick and sticky in your mouth. Like blood.

Good marketing.

You nearly laugh but choose to reign your cynicism in.

"Yeah, see you next Sunday Huck." The man looks happy with your response and leaves.

"Goodbye Father Valášek."

Your ears tune out afterwards as you proceed to follow through with the spirit ritual, the smell of incense soothing the disgust you feel beneath Janna's gaze. Your eyes shifting to the altar from time to time as you feel the weight of a gaze on you, yet every time you look the priest only seems to be preoccupied with clearing away the last of the ritual.

The deity's gaze judges you as you walk back, setting yourself on a pew, back too pained after kneeling that you have to take a moment to relax before going back home. Yet your eyes are not "kind" like the goddess's, hers almost mocking you as you glare back.

Ni khe'inn.

You traitor.

You fucking traitor.

Was it funny? To live up above, safe and flowing with your meaningless winds while your people suffer, beg, plead and pray for you?

The thought nearly makes you want to puke and set the whole place on fire. Your breaths grow heavier as you try to calm down, feeling all too restless in this place of "peace", yet unable to leave just yet. It feels like every stained glass portrait, like the statue itself, are judging you.

What are you doing here, non-believer?

You should have died long ago.

You are undeserving of guidance and healing.

You monster.

You filthy, foolish, rotten girl.

"Glare at Jan'ahrem any longer and you'll set her on fire."

You startle, looking to your right where the priest is now sitting, chuckling yet his eyes full of curiosity.

"Can't say it's not what I'm trying to do."

"Oh really, now? In a holy place?"

"Holy or not, if I'm going down I'm taking her with me. And it's not a man in a dress using a cane that will be able to catch me after I'm done."

His laugh grows louder, from a low throaty chuckle to an open mouthed, breathy giggle and you raise an eyebrow at the man.

"If you hate her so much, I wonder what your story is for you to drag yourself to such a place."

Story.

You scoff.

It certainly isn't a fucking fairy tale.

"Please, don't put her on a pedestal. She's not special, I hate all of her kind."

"Wow, talk about god-hating."

"I fear I'm their biggest opp, Father Valášek." You spit out, yet your lips stretch into a smirk while a wheeze escapes him, his eyes sharpening towards you, nearly cutting you with their intensity.

"Aren't you a funny one?"

"I'm a hater, didn't say I'm also unfunny. I can only have so many flaws, priest."

Self-deprecating, self-hating, monstrous, empty, depressed, hopeless and broken beyond fixing are pretty good ones too.

"I don't find it a flaw within you."

"Wow, thank you oh-so-loving man of god. I am suddenly healed from all of my self doubts and pain, I could dance the prisyadka. Do you need a demonstration?"

"I'd pay to see that."

"And I'd pay to see you run a marathon."

Your eyes point to his cane and he scoffs, slumping backwards on the pew's backrest. He calls out your name and you turn to him with narrowed eyes before you remember he had been here when Huck wished you goodbye.

"What?"

"What brings you here?"

"What brings a pretty boy like yourself to become a priest when you could be doing cooler shit?"

He clicks his tongue with his eyes gazing back to Janna's statue, muttering "touché" to himself before looking at you again. Mischief fills his gaze.

"So you think, I'm pretty."

"Don't talk as if you didn't know, Father. And don't try me."

"I'll have you know that I vowed celibacy. We're not meant to be, fledgling."

Your eye twitches as you hold back a chuckle.

"I know, not like I'd want a fucking twink."

"Such language, within the house of a god! How preposterous."

"Yack yack."

"Great deflection skills, though."

"Thanks, I spent years honing them so men in dresses could praise me for them." And a pause rings between you two, the man smirking once more while your eyes gaze at him in defiance.

"You gotta admit though." He pauses, his lips curling up further as you wait for the end of his statement, his dark green cassock shifting like sands with the breeze under the stained glass' filtered light. The beads of his rosary seemingly shining and the copper of his stole almost glowing.

"I look damn good in it." And with that you crack.

Laughter bubbling in your throat and escaping your mouth as your body relaxes. The banter enough to alleviate some of the discomfort you feel while inside such a place, surrounded by imagery of things you'd rather die than worship. The priest joins you as "sure, whatever man" escapes you between giggles.

"Is your back alright?"

"Is yours?" You defend and the man sigh, you're torn between saying he looks like his priestly patience is waning or like he's holding back another bout of laughter. "Come on, you knew what you were getting into the second you started talking to me."

"Yeah, I did."

"You can only chastise yourself for it, now go and confess or whatever it is that believers do."

"Do you truly want me to go?"

"I don't know, do I?" And when he starts to leave you cackle at the groan he lets out before slumping back next to you. "Looks like you can't even if you wanted to leave my horrible presence."

"Oh yes, a woman with a sharp tongue, such a curse. Whatever shall I do?" He sarcastically bites back as his eyes roll.

"Careful there priest, wouldn't want you to see how empty that brain is."

His gaze snaps back to yours with an incredulous look, a hand over his heart in mock offense. Your arms drape over the back of the wooden bench as you lean your head back, a heavy chuckled breath escaping your lips before you close your eyes, the ambiance in the church less threatening and bile inducing to you after the friendly banter.

"You're funny for a priest."

"I'm a priest, didn't say I'm also unfunny. I can only have so many flaws, fledgling."

You show your middle finger to the man who softly slaps it away with a sigh of his own. "No, but you're very uncreative. Gotta step up your game, pretty boy. And I'd advise you against calling me a fledgling."

"Or what, fledgling? What will you do?"

"Or I'll really burn your Janna statue down."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Bite me." He chuckles once more.

Silence sets between the both of you, your own mind shockingly at ease in the man's presence even with his job description and your presence judged by the figures in the carved stone and gilded, tinted windows. The soft, colored rays dance behind your lids as you take a moment to breathe.

Men of the cloth were human, yet due to your own avoidance and aversion to all that is linked to faith you seem to have forgotten such a fact. The person besides you much less pedantic than you've expected him to be, even with his height, his role and his beauty. But wasn't that the nature of a priest? To guide, to love, to forgive?

It doesn't matter, he still is what he is and believes what he believes.

Says the ugly part of you, corroded by bitterness and hatred, hissing in your ears like a pit of vipers starved and ready to strike at anything and anyone, using you as a vessel for their torturous venom.

I should leave this place, I don't deserve this. I'm wasting his time. I shouldn't be here.

Says the other more pathetic part of you, friable and eroded by sadness and misery, crumbling at the thought of any change, of anything good being given to you, wailing like a pit to hell opened within your heart just to torment you.

Your eyes open to look at the vaulted ceiling, high above you and stretching towards the heavens, your right hand lifting to protect your face from the bright, tinted light of the stained glass lining every wall.

I'm doing this for Vi and Sev.

You tell yourself, when the rays begin to feel all too hot as if to burn you alive, like the filthy monster you know you are.

It's the last time I try.

Tears well up in your eyes but you hold strong, unwilling to show vulnerability in a place such as this, guarded and overlooked by a god that preferred mocking you rather than help.

Your face stings as it scrunches, a frown setting itself on your face. Doubts sprouting in your mind like flowers in spring. A spiral beginning once more within the deep, worn recesses of your mind.

Can I even be helped? For all I know I'm a lost case.

Can this place truly offer me what I need?

Questions that are not uncommon in your head. Vision blurry, you drop your arm over your face, trying to hold yourself together. You're already doing this, showing any more weakness could very well make you a puppet within the hands of fate, within the Father's grasp.

You're an empty, hopeless shell, beaten and bruised from a life of fighting tooth and nail for just a crumb of fulfillment that you've never felt. And probably would never feel. You're like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, your own weight a burden for yourself and anyone that dares come close. The willpower you take from your rage has waned years ago, yet you push yourself, you dare to hope things could get better even if they never do.

So you work.

Day and night to not feel the ever growing emptiness within yourself, aided by your isolation and misery. Nothing ever working towards making you feel any better and your guilt taking more and more space within your life with each day that passes. The exhaustion making the abyss take a stronger hold on you yet emptying your brain for just long enough that you can feel numb instead of miserable. A need for approval always quenched yet growing hungrier as days pass, comfort rarely given. Sleep seldom reaching you unless you pass out in your bed still dressed from the day and always interrupted by nightmares that now carry onto he waking world.

You feel an unbearable amount of guilt from burdening your friends, from never feeling right, from getting worse, from wasting your life feeling the way you do, for not being fixable, for never meeting your expectations that you know are beyond unfair. From pushing everyone away, whether you want to or not, to avoid any more pain. From not trying any harder to hold your brother back that day although you know very well that in every way possible you would have lost him all the same. Guilt at the feeling of not having cherished your loved ones enough in the past and present.

Everything you own, everyone you love, slips between your fingers like sand until all that is left is the void that life has created within you. Deepening, growing larger, no matter how much you patch yourself up, no matter how much you try to fill it.

You're like a pierced vessel, your contents forever pouring out uncontrollably until all that is left is nothing. Your heart like shattered glass, cutting, dangerous, dirtied and bloodied from how much you've tried to piece it back together with your scarred hands.

And then there's Piltover, opening its borders and helping Zaun yet making everything in its confines impossible for any Zaunite to afford. Raising the bar so high that most can never hope to reach it.

The gods, especially Jan'ahrem whose home you are currently invading, never helping. Never moving a finger to help those deserving when the ones who use their powers to further their despicable agendas as getting out scot free as if blessed by the lords above.

Even when you cried and begged as a child.

Even when your people prayed to them, to her, every day.

Finding your suffering and grovelling entertaining enough to help you as you try to claw your way out of hell. Your inner thoughts scarlet and burning like the scenery of the bridge you lost the last of yourself in. At least the last part holding any hope for yourself and the world you live in.

Kha h'asiras yakuna.

I am tired.

Your sleeve absorbs the tears escaping your eyes like a sudden downpour, leaving the dam of your eyelids no matter how hard you shut them. Sobs bubbling from within you swiftly locked away deep within the recesses of yourself that you've locked away to everyone, even yourself.

I need to be stronger, I need to hold out. But I can't anymore.

And you think of it more and more as time passes, your fight leaving you and only the young, scared girl that you try so hard not to be remains.

I need to be stronger.

Your nails scratch against woods, all sounds drowned within the cacophony of your mind, the hissing vipers and wailing spirits growing louder as time passes.

I'm tired of making it by the skin of my teeth.

I'm tired of pouring from an empty cup that I don't even own anymore.

I'm tired of being tired.

I'm tired of trying so hard only for nothing to work.

Something resounds within the impossible noise in your heart, yet it's hard to discern it from the rest. Probably another demon, rising from hell to torment you. Your hand grips the wood tighter as you try to keep your breathing constant in its depth and cadence.

I can't be weak.

I can't show it all.

It's ugly, it's monstrous and rotten. An all consuming darkness that taints all I touch, all those I meet. Marking them with the curse of my existence within theirs.

No one deserves to see. To hear. To feel just how pathetic I am.

Even less them.

Your teeth grit at the thought of the statue observing your distressed state with glee, at the priest next to you, at anyone that could pass by you at this instant. Your nails carving harder into the pew, pain piercing your fingertips before you ball your fist and hit the wood.

The new sound echoes once more, louder this time, yet still ignored. Your jaw setting at the inner turmoil, the searing pain flowing from your heart and through every cell in your body, hot and cold, fire and ice, the sands of Shurima and the Freljord's everlasting tundra.

I am undeserving of patience and care.

No one should have to be there for me, of all people.

You taste blood from within your mouth, the church's calm atmosphere after your banter with the priest long forgotten as your rage bubbles once more, this time pointed like war pikes towards yourself.

But from the prison of your mind, through worn and tight shackles, you feel hand touches your shoulder and your arm leaves your face, grabbing whoever touched you in a bruising grip. Your eyes glare at the man, his concerned face coming into view before a wince escapes him, your hand leaving him as if you have been burned. Your body sliding as far away from Father Valášek's as possible.

"What?"

"Are you okay? You've been like this for the past twenty or so minutes."

His eyes, always kind trail over your face before you turn it away from him. Refusing to show vulnerability as you wipe away at the remnants of tears left beneath your eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Stop deflecting."

"What can I say? It's my strongest attribute, so I use it."

"I actually very much would like to know." He gently calls out from behind you, his accented voice softly pulling you away from your thoughts. "I am here to help, not to harm. Whatever you have against Janna or anyone else cannot apply to me. It's my life's work to simply open my eyes, my ears, my heart and my arms to those who need it."

Silence rings once more as you shuffle around, turning back to the priest with tired eyes, stinging from tears yet to be shed. Tears that would not escape you this time.

"I don't want any bullshit about gods, gospel or fucking whatever you do with believers."

"I can't promise anything, it is in my job description after all." He jokes, a welcoming smile stretching on his lips and you sigh, air escaping you as if getting away from you is all it could ever dream of.

"If your only advice is to tell me to turn to religion, I really will beat you with your cane."

"And I'd like to see you try, although you do have a strong grip I'll give you that." He flexes his left hand, wincing at the remnants of pain you have caused and your eyes trail to his. Gazing with restraint into the pools of celestial gold.

"Friends told me to come here because I'm lost." He hums. "This is my last resort." He nods along to your words, time passing as he takes in your words before he speaks again.

"Tell me, only if you wish, what are you seeking here? What do you want me to provide?" His hair brown hair catches the light in a way that makes him look as if he hailed from Mount Targon, the grey strands nearly looking like Lunarian silver. His patience and kindness nearly making your skin crawl and your throat burn with bile in self-disgust.

You claw at the pews once more, your eyes trailed on your left hand where your fingernails were broken and slightly bloodied from your previous ministrations. Then your eyes return to Father Valášek's with resignation tinting their depths, the look making the priest's eyebrows furrow in worry.

"Something worth living for. Something that can fix me. Because as it is? I'd rather die than go through another day."

And silence rings loud through the chapel.

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[dragonshoard]

My head is STUCK on blue bird!Jinx AU with the new season coming out (if anyone remembers from WAY WAY back).

Summary for people who have no idea what tf I'm talking about: Basically, Powder dies via Silco the night Vander "dies". She's revived by Janna (wind spirit god who is a guardian deity of Zaun) and proceeds to spend x years getting up to international hijinks while playing politics. Powder/Jinx (she goes by both) remembers nothing of her past and is spirit blessed with the ability to turn into various forms of birds among other talents.

I had a picture of her a while back but I'm probably going to be changing her outfit and hair. I'm not fond of the top I gave her anymore. Also, she has so many tattoos. So many.

I've added to the AU since I last spoke about it:

Jinx is a magical conduit - not quite a mage, or a witch, but someone who is capable of using magic without generating it herself. She gets power from the Spirit Gods and Runeterra. It is also what is keeping her alive so if she's ever drained she will die :D

Her abilities/magic is very similar to Janna's in that, naturally, she has healing, shielding, and some control of wind. To do anything else the magic would have to go through specific runes, though it costs significantly more to do so (draining her faster). Her only other natural ability is her transformation, though certain transformations drain her more (big bird, for example)

Otherwise, she still loves her pistol and ALSO has a fondness for knives and never has less than ten on her person.

Jinx has a few titles, but her main one is "Storm Priestess". She is quite literally a religious leader and is treated as such. There are rules she has to follow, and if Janna tells her to jump - she will LEAP

Her hair is much more elaborate in this AU as it's used to enhance and add to the array of runes tattooed onto her skin. It's still in two braids (typically - specific circumstances may have her wearing more), though with threads of brightly colored yarns and engraved silver/copper/iron metal running through it. I'm going to playing around with the following concepts (don't look too deeply at the colors, just the patterns/styles/accessories):

Zaun and Piltover are bordered by Noxus and Shurima, so I'm going to go ahead and assume Piltover and Zaun's first generations were largely immigrants from Noxus and Shurima (and possibly Demacia). I'm assuming Shurima had the largest population as Zaun was once part of the Shuriman empire. However, as a note, Zaun and Piltover are largely mixing pot nations due to the nature of them being port cities with vast trade systems.

In this AU, Jinx and Vi's facial features are very region typical for specific parts of Shurima. Great-grandparents were immigrants to Zaun.

Jinx has political ties to three (I'm including the Undercity here) nations: Shurima, Zaun, and Piltover. Her religious leader position grants her relatively high status/respect and a voice in all three nations; however, her connections with Silco in Zaun and Caitlyn in Piltover also give her some additional legitimacy.

Shurima is currently heavily divided and largely in ruins. However, with the rise of Azir the empire is slowly rebuilding. They were once a very prosperous and rich culture, so its implied that there will be a resurgence of that golden era. Her involvement in a certain conflict will grant her status with the empire where most followers of spirit-gods wouldn't have. There will be conflict there, but as I understand it Azir is largely seen as a benevolent dictator. I'm not 100% sure what his perspective is on spirit-gods, but I'm going to assume he isn't the ungrateful sort.

In terms of relationships...

Jinx has a very close relationship with Caitlyn. They've known each other since Jinx was about 13 and have been friends since. Caitlyn has considered adding Jinx to the family registry for both political and personal reasons. Caitlyn is a bit more familiar with Zaun in this one, as she's spent a number of years exploring Zaun pre-independence and learning the culture. Also has more political savy.

Vi is in Stillwater for at least 2 more years than in canon.

As mentioned before Viktor and her are good friends in this one but she's gonna get nervous when he starts poking at the arcane in a very unsanctioned way (and I mean her as a person, not her as a priestess - the spirit gods and spirits are quiet about his actions for now).

I'm thinking about how to integrate parts of season 2 into this AU. There will be a period of time in which Jinx will be unable to return to Zaun due to conflict in parts of Shurima, so I'm thinking that this is when the conflict between Zaun and Piltover starts to boil over. I'm thinking a situation in which Piltover and Zaun sign a formal declaration of independence but problems begin to boil over due to foreign and domestic issues. Not 100% on whether or not Caitlyn's mom dies in this one, but there is a chance of it.

I'm also not sure how much I'm going to keep to the "magic leads to destruction" angle the show is starting to go towards. Pending! Right now Jinx is very pleased with the progress of hextech and chemtech so far in the shows. Some things are subject to change as Arcane season 2 progresses :D

[puffcap-factory]

Melodies, Past, Redemption

(Yasuo x reader)

Yasuo x reader; angst, a bit of fluff, slight implication of Yone x reader in the story.

It’s somewhat more like a one-sided-love coming from Yasuo, although interpretations are left to readers.

Both characters are trying to heal from the past.

Words: 1.9k

Notes: 

The reader was a healer, working on the dojo during Yasuo and Yone’s training period. They were close to you, and Yasuo had grown some secret feelings towards you. But after the war and the death of the dojo’s elder, scarred with the tragedy following after, you had wandered across the land to assist villages in need, and hadn’t met Yasuo after the incident. 

This story uses the same set as my previous Yone fic, since it suits well into the timeline. The order will go as follows: Part 1 Yone x reader -> current fic -> Part 2 Yone x reader 

I’ll get into more fluff next time. For the sake of my heart.

I hope you enjoy! :D

•~•~•~•

You gazed down at your feet, waves gently ebbing and flowing at your fingertips. The symphony of birds' cawing harmonized with the hues of the orange sky, the sun preparing to retire for the day. Seated upon a rock just large enough to accommodate you, you released a heartfelt sigh, reaching for your treasured lyre - a gift from your mother during your childhood. She told you she had acquired it from a wandering merchant in Shurima, and you had cherished it dearly ever since.

You didn’t know why you were feeling sentimental on this particular day. Facing towards the open sea, the wind tenderly caressed your hair, its strands swaying in a melancholic dance, almost as if it were a reminder of a tragic incident from the past. Despite your best efforts to avoid spiraling into sadness, you found yourself reaching for your lyre, your fingers instinctively moving to play a certain melody – the one you had diligently practiced during your days of training in the dojo. The familiar tune that reminded you of the weight of memories and emotions. The one that… Yasuo himself had thought you with his flute.

You indulged yourself into the melody, closing your eyes as your fingers danced across the strings. The notes were so familiar to you that they seemed to flow effortlessly from your lyre. The gentle sound of the waves crashing against the shore intertwined with your music, adorning the melody with a natural, haunting beauty. Despite the rhythmic cadence of the waves, the melody held its own, each note clear and poignant, refusing to be completely swallowed by the ocean's song.

The melody flowed beautifully for several minutes until you heard the gentle splashing of footsteps on the shore – which sound seemed to stop not too far from you. Immediately, you halted your playing, opening your eyes and becoming instinctively alert. With a quick motion, you turned your head to the side to face the figure standing there, their body facing towards the sea.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” He kept his gaze fixed to the ocean ahead.

Yasuo – you had not seen this man for so long. Your heart started to beat faster as the sudden adrenaline rushed in, as things you wanted to say, ask, blame, everything flooding in you all at once. Last time you had seen him, it was before he left the dojo to aid the war, disobeying his orders. Then came the tragic news of Elder Souma's death, branding him a wanted criminal on the run. And it culminated in the unthinkable - he had killed his friends... no, our friends, who chased after him, and ultimately, his own brother, Yone.

"Yasuo..." your voice was low, barely above a whisper. You stood up from your seat, facing him squarely as you held the hilt of your sword firmly, though it remained sheathed.

Yasuo noticed your stance, his face twisting with guilt that seemed to consume him from within.

"Don’t… I'm not here to hurt you, please... I would never..." His words came out in a jumble, as if struggling to piece themselves together.

Instinctively, you lowered your hand to your side in response, feeling the weight of his grief and guilt behind his words. You had known this man for so long - an impulsive, determined soul, yet undeniably kind. Despite the strict training schedules of the dojo and your busy role as a healer, Yasuo's carefree nature had a way of easing your responsibilities. During the early times, you were often tasked with catching him for skipping his training, but those moments ended up filled with shared laughter and camaraderie. It was during one of these times that you discovered his fondness for music, hearing him play the flute with skill and passion.

And, Yasuo had always been somewhat protective of you, ensuring blame never unfairly fell on your shoulders, especially when faced with Yone's questioning. Memories flooded back of the times he had accompanied you, stood up for you – his friendly teasing and banter creating a deeper bond between you two. Yone had possessed a certain warmth that had drawn you in, but Yasuo provided you with a sense of security in his own way.

“…I never believed what they said about you. I never believed you killed Elder Souma,” you said carefully, your tone colder than you intended. 

Yasuo glanced at you, a little taken aback – to be honest – before turning his head to face the waves, his face showing a mixture of emotions. “Thank you, that is one person less to convince, I believe…” he said with his husky voice.

"But," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "If you hadn't left..."

If you hadn’t left your post, maybe… Yone might still be alive. 

You bit your lip, cutting off your words before they could delve deeper. You know very well you’d get nothing by pressing the matters further into the already guilty man, yet, small part of you still clung to the past – to that certain incident, the weight of it catching up to you. Glancing down at your feet, you watched the waves passing and receding, lost in their rhythm. 

“…That thought also haunts me even until this moment,” he sighed. “…I know you would never forgive me for that, but, please know that… I-I’m… truly sorry.”

Yasuo was fully aware of your closeness to Yone, and to be very honest, he would feel a tinge of jealousy from time to time towards his own brother back in the days. But he would never confront you about it, nor Yone, as he silently respected his brother and the bond you shared with him. Your moments with Yasuo held their own special place inside him, filled with cherished memories. He truly appreciated the time you spent together, just as you had accompanied him through his own trials, and that was more than enough for him.

You fell into a heavy silence, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you after voicing your blame, whether deserved or not. Yone, until the end, was consumed with his own self-blaming, and you couldn't find the words to help him at that time. You also felt that you have your share of guilt of the outcome of the incidents. Although Yasuo did leave his duty, you knew there were more factors at play that ultimately contributed to Yone's death. 

You mourned deeply for Yone, but you also realized that dwelling on past mistakes would not lead you anywhere. The same applied to Yasuo, you thought. Although he had not shared the details with you, rumors had flown everywhere regarding the incident. Now, after meeting him in this demeanor, you could tell very well that he was truly consumed by his own guilt. His casual, cheeky side was nowhere to be seen.

As you observed Yasuo facing the sea, his silhouette outlined by the setting sun, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy. You balled your fists as you gathered your will to speak.

"…I didn’t mean to push you further down. I’m sorry," you told him as you moved closer to him, regretting what you had said earlier. He looked at you with a sad expression still visible on his face. "There is this past we had shared, but I think it’s time we… move on from that, together, Yasuo." How easy it was said than done, you thought to yourself, but you just had to bring this up to him, trying to nudge him back up. He took a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on the sea.

“I do have my fair share of guilt, you… are not alone, Yasuo,” you continued, your voice soft but firm. You paused, glancing at him, his gaze never leaving the horizon. “…I’m grateful I still have you on my side, I really am… and I hope you still do, too.”

You knew his burden was far heavier than yours, but you just wanted to offer some comfort – in hopes you both find a way to move forward from the shadows of the past. You glanced back into the horizon silently for a moment, before you heard a low chuckle coming from his side.

“…You don’t know how much that means to me,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “You sure don’t change. Thank you.”

He turned towards you, and although his eyes still held a hint of sadness, his lips curved into a small smile – the weight on his shoulders seeming to lift ever so slightly. You smiled back at him – as if to shove the negative thoughts of the past down – feeling a sense of warmth in the air as the ocean wind blew gently around you. You let the silence stretch between you just for a bit, to let every moment sink into you.

“…Hey, how about we travel together for now?” You finally asked. “We seem to be a good pair for traveling.”

“Many people still chase after me, and I don’t want you to get involved. I won’t risk you getting hurt. I would never…” Yasuo's voice held a note of concern as he seemed to object to your idea of traveling together. You could sense his protective instinct, the weight of his past actions still heavy on his mind. Despite his protest, you remained determined.

“Nonsense, I thought you were strong enough to protect me?” A small, teasing smile appeared on your face, lightening up the mood. “I’ll heal you in exchange of your protection.”

He let out a small chuckle at your playful response. “I never said I was… – anyways, you have to know the road I take is dangerous, and I’m being very serious.”

“Yes, I understand it very well, mighty Yasuo,” you smiled at him, putting your hands on your hips. “Besides, I got to learn how to use a dagger for self-defense for a bit. I suppose you can help me train as well, yes?”

Yasuo sighed defeatedly, although he knew you wouldn’t back down so easily, he couldn’t help but smile at your determination. He truly wanted to protect you from harm, but he also knew the enemy chasing him sometimes were more dangerous that it had seemed – and he was not going to risk you for it, not again.

“Okay, okay…” he answered, holding the nape of his neck in resignation. “But promise me, when things get more dangerous, I’ll have to drop you off somewhere safe, okay? No objections.”

“Hey, come on…” you slightly pouted, giving him a playful nudge. Yasuo chuckled at your reaction, a sense of lightness filling the air between you.

The tension of the past seemed to fade away as slowly as the sun sank lower and lower. You could feel the bittersweetness of the past as your closeness to Yasuo was reigniting, even though the war had left scars on both of you. Forgiveness – a powerful notion, one that seemed to hang in the air between you. Despite the pain, there was a glimmer of hope for a new path, a chance to let go of the burdens that had weighed you down for so long.

Yasuo truly cared deeply for you. The memories of your past closeness still lingered in him, leaving him somewhat hopeful that you could find happiness together once more. Yet, he also knew very well that the wounds of the past ran deep, and it would take time to heal.

As the evening descended, casting a warm glow over the sea, you and Yasuo stood side by side, gazing out at the horizon. There was a sense of peace settling between you, a silent understanding of the journey ahead. 

You placed your reassuring hand on his shoulders as you came up with good idea to spend the remaining evening.

“Say, you wanna play the flute alongside my lyre?”

[the-storm-chaser]

//Lets kill two birds with one stone...or poro

@darkin-of-shurima / @blackrosesmatron

[mollysunder]

Personally, I feel like Janna's worship in Arcane, specifically in Zaun, has faded or that she's generally unpopular as a goddess. In most League lore fir Zaun, Janna's presence is an afterthought at best if not outright nonexistent to most Zaunites. In the game, most Zaun champions react to her dismissively or with actual resentment like Renata, at best new characters like Zeri are delightedly shocked to know she exists at all.

If you think about it, Piltover has more things that acknowledge Janna with than Zaun. In League, Piltover named its wealthiest neighborhood, the Blue Wind Court, which is one of Janna's powers. Meanwhile, in Arcane, the show defines Zaun with Jinx's special birds (crows) than Janna's own sacred birds, the blue bird, in Zaun to lay claim to the space.

Sidenote: Convergence and Legends of Runeterra are the exception, but Convergence's worldbuilding is pretty opposite day on Zaun's lore and tone. And LoR's Janna and her followers don't actually fit the aesthetic of Zaun, they all look like they live somewhere else in Shurima. It all makes it seem that League really didn't know how to integrate a Janna into Zaun after the first story retcon.

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is a Roulette Wheel: Swain WIP

SFW

There's been a raven following you around since you started approaching Noxus occupied territory. It's more annoying than you thought it would be, honestly–getting jumped by a shadowy cabal of assassins would be a pain in the ass, and if you're going into negotiations with the Trifarix you'll need the upper hand of surprise. No, you carefully do not use your powers while Swain is watching, even though it's a huge pain in the ass. You can't even get rid of them, either, because the one person you ask when you get a moment of fucking privacy seems to think they're just crows. Even though they're a) too huge to be crows, and more importantly b) have six glowing red eyes. A side effect of Noxus hemomancy, the ferryman says cheerfully as he takes you across the gulf to Shurima. The so-called crows don't seem to be inclined to cross the open water, and the one that's been tailing you watched balefully until your ship disappeared into the distance.

Another raven is on you as soon as you disembark. You're not the only one, either–travellers of interest all seem to get a corvid escort. It follows you in the days it takes you to travel out of town, into contested territory, to the City under siege by Noxian forces. You don't bother learning it's name–they’ll change it soon. It's in a key location to expedite trade routes between the existing Noxian settlements, but it's resisted capture so far by virtue of its defences, natural or otherwise. The city sports a grand wall, set against the edge of a narrow ravine on one side and a mountain on the other, the city was accessible only by a great drawbridge–by the same turn, though, it was constrained in size and relied on it's status as a trade hub to sustain its populace. Currently, you believe the Noxians plan was to starve them out, but that had its own complications–the city was dug in for a seige, and the Noxians had to keep their own troops fed and safe from the Shuriman wildlife, not to mention the resources required to sustain an extended seige. That makes it the perfect place to make your point.

The raven follows you as you trek your way out to the ravine. The mountain blocks the moon, and a lone figure without a light passes without notice.

(It was always dark, in the Void, yet you could still see. You thought that was just the way it was. It didn't occur to you until after that it was you that had changed.)

You reach the edge of the ravine, the wall towering overhead. The raven perches on a jagged rock nearby. You lean over the abyss, holding out hand out towards the wall, and you don't pull time backwards so much as you tear it away like peeling wallpaper. Back, before the walls were built, and then further still, to when the desert had water and the streams eroded this cut into the earth. The stone around you blurs, reality ripping at the edges, and then the city stands undefended.

You turn to the raven. It blinks, one eye at a time, so that it's never not looking at you. “Tell Grand General Swain I’d like a word. I’ll be in Tereshni.” You glance back at the city, now swarming with the beginnings of panic. “I can put the walls and the ravine back after you have the city, don't worry.”

The bird cocks it's head, and then takes flight north. You wait until it's gone, and then rewind yourself back to the room you rented. You're safe, for now–the ravens probably knew you'd paid for the place, but they couldn't get in on their own, and it would take at least a few days for Swain to arrive from Noxus Prime.

The world spins into little fractals of darkness, and you feel sleep dragging you down like a riptide. Undoing centuries like that will take you out for a week at least, but you have no doubt Swain will send someone after you before then.

Here's another trick you learned from your time in the Void; whatever brings you back, it brings you back perfect. Sleeping in the Void generally ended with you dying anyway, but if you really can't afford to be out that long, well. It's not like dying is anything new for you.

—

You come back a few hours later, clean up after yourself, and then sleep until morning. A polite knock wakes you.

You're greeted by a man in military uniform, who bows his head at you. “We're here to escort you to Noxus Prime, per Grand General Swain’s command,” he says. “Are you ready to depart?”

You blink. “What's your name?”

“Colonel Garrett, ma’am,” he says. “And you're Iso…?” He trails off, searching for a last name. On the rooftops around your rented room, ravens peer intently down at you.

“Yes,” you answer instead. He blinks. “It's like seven am, Garrett. I'm going to get breakfast, and then we can go.” You grab your bag off the side table, sweep past him and head for the market.

There's a whole squad you hadn't seen in the courtyard beyond your door. Garrett falls into step beside you, and they fall into step behind him. The pastry vendor you stop at doesn't even charge you.

—

They escort you to a private ship, and from the ship a carriage. Your escort spares no expense, though nobody exactly expects them to pay–the one thing they don't bend over backwards to accommodate you on was getting to the capital quickly. Before long, the looming plateau of Noxus Prime pierces the horizon. The gate guards let you through, and you're taken to a tower near the center of the city. There, you're taken to a refined yet reserved sitting room, and Garrett bids his farewell. A maid comes in to serve out tea, but other than that, you're alone.

You're sure this is a power play of some kind. You're sure it's also no coincidence that the assortment of artfully arranged finger foods are all the sort of thing you like. You are kind of baffled that Swain's magic demon arm that fed on secrets was being used to set the snack menu, but also, you're not complaining. It didn't take an army of spying birds to figure out that you're food motivated.

Swain comes in about five minutes later. He sweeps into the room, and he has the sort of commanding presence that makes him seem grand without doing anything in particular, an air about him that demands attention when he's doing something as utterly mundane as entering a room. You can't even attribute it to the glowing demon arm you know he has, because it's hidden behind the imposing coat he wears over his shoulders. He sits elegantly on the couch across from you, and does not say a word. You get the distinct impression that he's sizing you up.

You blink at him. “Did you want some tea, or can we get straight to business here?”

His expression doesn't change. “Let's. You brought down the walls of Bitharix to let our troops in. Why?”

You nod. “I figured you wouldn't take my offer seriously without a gesture of good faith, and a show of power.”

He inclines his head. “That is the Noxian way, yes. What is it you seek?”

“I'm from a world beyond the Void. I want to go home. If you agree to help find me a way back, I'll be your weapon for a year,” you tell him evenly. You figure it was better to be concise here. Swain does not strike you as a man with an open schedule.

He considers you clinically for a long moment. “I assume there's a reason you elected to bring this offer to me specifically, and not the Trifarix?”

You nod. “You’re the one with the demonic arm that eats secrets. I figure if anyone knew how to get me home, it would be you. I can also guarentee that if at any point during my employment the demon in your arm happens to take control of you, I can undo it.”

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “And how do you know that?”

“About your demon, or that I can fix you?” You ask. He doesn't answer. You shrug. “I know a lot of things about this world. I know about the Immortal King that built the bones of this city, I know about the Black Rose and their experiments, and I know who you have on staff to kill you if you ever lose yourself to that arm of yours. I also know that all the promises in the world don't mean shit when it comes down to it, so you can test my powers however will make you believe me.”

He considers you. Then he says “Very well,” and then explodes into crackling red energy. It's only years of instinct that moves you from the path of the arcing scarlet lightning that fan across the couch you were just sitting on, flickering back in time to stand just by the doorway. The air burns, and you watch as shadowy wings flare from his back as he comes to hover in the center of the room. He looks almost disinterested, the fucker.

You flicker back to the now ruined couch, darting aside from another blast of eldritch energy, and as you close the distance between you a blast soulfire rips through you. The burning wound it leaves barely lasts for a second before you rewind it, and as you reach your hand out towards him you watch your skin crack and burn from being too close. Then, you rewind him, until that burning shadow recedes, and he lands on both feet with an infuriating grace. He examines the shining red of his hand for a moment, and then looks up at you, now unharmed and more than a little annoyed.

“Acceptable,” he says with a nod. “I will vouch for you before the Trifarix. There will be a meeting in the morning. In the mean time, you may avail yourself to Noxus’ hospitalities. Good day.” He inclines his head at you, and then sweeps out of the room just as swiftly as he came in. As he leaves, Garrett enters again, now followed by a small squadron of maids. You have the distinct feeling that you've somehow been played.

“Is he always like that?” You ask Garrett, pointing at the door Swain just left through.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, ma’am,” Garrett says placidly, pointedly not looking at the destroyed room around you. The maids begin to pick up the shattered china.

You open your mouth, then groan. “Crazy fucking Noxians,” you mutter under your breath, and wave a hand across the room as you rewind it to its pre-Swain state. One of the maids squeaks in surprise.

Garrett blinks once, and that's about the extent of his display of surprise. “I'll show you to your accomodations, then?” He asks. You nod, and as he turns and walks out of the room, you grab one of the macarons off of the newly restored biscuit platter. If you're going to get ambushed at your job interview, you're at least getting sweets out of it.

[grimmf0xx]

Janna: The Storm's Fury.

The other day I made a post talking about how excited I was that Janna finally had a real design and her character and lore was expanded upon. Now I want to actually talk about what this means for Janna and how she interacts with the world of Runeterra. At least, my interpretations of it.

Starting with her stunning level 1 card art, she is finally shown to be a goddess. We finally have a design to express what she is in the lore and we can say goodbye to the generic sexy elf (at least in LOR). There is more to her design from a worldbuilding perspective. Yes we have the Shuriman clothing, the golds, the brass and the green, even the tanned skin all showcasing her origins as a shuriman spirit god. However if she is now a goddess protecting Zaun and Piltover why doesn't she have expressions from these clockwork and chemwork cities? I think she doesn't rock Piltovan and Zaunite aesthetics because she takes on a form of her own choosing and she most likely has kept the form that was passed down through word of mouth. Shuriman sailors worshipped her as a goddess of weather and those who prayed to her would have passed on the stories and descriptions of their goddess through both word of mouth and writing. I think the few stories and pieces of literature that still exist of Janna still describe her in a Shuriman way and so that is the form she still chooses to hold when she is seen by her people. But I also think Janna herself feels deeply connected to her Shuriman form, they were her first followers, her first worshippers, the first to build shrines in her honour and leave offerings on her alters, I think Janna herself is attached to this form and whilst she most likely takes on many other forms such as birds or even more Zaunite versions of herself I believe her default is that of how she was first described as a way to stay connected and represent her original people who she failed to protect when worshipping her became outlawed.

On a side note, I again want to talk about how she is translucent in her splash art here, I don't think she can be seen by any of the children. None of them are looking at her, they are all looking at the boat which is pretty strange because if the god you worshipped appeared and started playing with you, you might take a moment to actually look at her. Instead they are all fixated on the boat Janna is pushing along, I think Janna is simply watching over the kids here, taking a moment to use her powers to bring joy to those growing up in a troubled city, keeping them a way from that trouble.

The fall of Janna's followers is interesting to look at when looking at her overall lore. She wasn't some small unknown goddess to a tiny town she had a massive following, so much so temples and statues were built to worship her. Zaunites believe she's the goddess of fresh air, She never appeared to them as a goddess of fresh air, in fact when Zaun finally saw her for the first time in all her power she was commanding the winds to throw back the ocean that was flooding the city, she called the winds to usher people to safety and pull them from the waters. It was only after that when people began to worship her again and she found a new home that she started clearing the streets of Zaun of the poisonous smog. Before this she was worshipped as the goddess of weather and sailing (most likely by the costal communities of Shurima) until worshiping her was outlawed.

I think Janna has a lot more power than what we see, I think she is truly "The Storm's Fury" and has dominion over storms, rain and wind however she isn't a god who shows all her power demanding worship and sacrifice like some other gods, she is in service to her people she protects them, guides them and so wind is all we ever see her use. She could command lightning if she wanted to, she could wrap a city in an eternal storm commanding all bow to her but instead she listens to what her people cry out in need for and she does whatever is in her power to help.

Janna embodies and has dominion over one of the most destructive forces of nature, storms have been responsible for levelling entire cities and yet she is not a goddess of war, her followers are kind and welcoming, preaching love and acceptance.

Its interesting to see the parallel between Janna and Volibear. Both are storm gods in the same world however Volibear demands war, he demands blood tribute for his blessings, when the Freljord began to turn away from the old ways Volibear swore he would create a river of blood.

Janna blesses people who don't even ask for help, and those who do come to her seeking guidance and perhaps even a boon she showers with gifts beyond their dreams.

Galesong Swallow is one of Janna's follower cards and I might be reading too much into it but I think this is an example of Janna providing blessings people aren't directly asking for. These creatures are spirit birds "half made up of water" they happen to be flying over Zaun, the most polluted city in the world, Janna might be sending these creatures over the city, brining rain and filling up tanks with clean and fresh water.

The Windborne Mariner talks about how he had everything he wanted materialistically wanted in life, however taking it from others left him feeling empty inside. He now follows Janna and hopes she will lead him down a better path. When Played with Janna she says "Place your faith in me and your path will unfold" Windborne than replies "Janna I beg you reveal my path to me"

Janna doesn't have to grant him a boon, she doesn't need to give him any special powers or guidance. She knows by simply encouraging him to stay with her followers he will change his values, she knows he is capable of putting in the effort to change into the man he wants to be. "Wind may not be seen to move our world" She is telling him not all actions require payment or recognition, good things make the world a better place and good deeds don't need recognition. When Janna gives a blessing to the temple caretaker Windborne Says "Wait you? I love that for you" and the caretaker replies, "perhaps the answers is in others, not yourself" again preaching kindness and good actions towards others to better himself rather than being given something he can use. Janna is answering his prayers, encouraging to work for her favour so he can discover the kindness within himself.

Janna's interactions with Nilah show a much more involved approach to granting blessings. When draw with Janna, Janna will say. "I will aid you Nilah, for you face monsters"

And this is where we start to see the full power of Janna's blessings.

Exalted Cloudwinder is zephyr, a spirit of the winds, super charged and summoned by Janna.

"My dear zephyr, come down from your clouds and perch on my shoulder a while won't you?"

Janna hasn't just summoned a cloudwinder for the sake of showing off her power she is sending it onwards with Nilah's ships, Janna knows it will take all of Nilah's strength and more to defeat the Volibear and so she is using her power to conjure calms seas and summons powerful winds to guide Nilah and her followers safely across the ocean to the Freljord.

"With wind in our sails onward!" -Janna

Nilah has her own story fighting the Volibear but from Janna's interactions with the both of them and from the splash art I think Janna is still present in this fight between Nilah and Volibear. Lightning is striking and bouncing off Nilah, this is Janna's doing, her final blessing. Janna cannot beat Volibear on his own turf but she can aid Nilah on her quest of defeating the beast.

"Be at peace! The storm may rage around you, but it shall not harm you" - Janna

Janna is not strong enough in the Freljord to block the full might of the Volibear but she can still have a strong presence, wrapping Nilah in protective winds guiding her through the raging tempest protecting her from the lightning, wind and ice so Nilah can stand a chance against the wild god.

I also want to take a moment to aknowledge the interactions between Janna and Volibear as I have been wanting the two storm gods of Runeterra to fight for a long time and it truely showcases their dynamic, Janna showers her people with blessings and fights only when she truly needs to. Volibear withholds power from his people, twisting their forms into machines for violence when he finally grants them power as he lives for blood and war.

"You wish to cut my thread? Grand boast tiny being!"

"Your rage will leave you nothing to protect"

During the battle Janna guides her people, comforting them before the battle on the horizon.

"Hold fast to your hope, in me and in one another!"

Janna fights along side her people, she doesn't command them.

Volibear's followers demand and power from them as he enhances their twisted forms and Volibear stirs his follower's lust for violence with war cries.

"My storm does more than destroy, Volibear"

"Drive your storms harder Janna!"

This is not the first time the storm gods have been at war, and it won't be the last.

[legendaes]

TALIYAH OF THE NASAAJ

basic information:

age: twenty-four

alias: the stoneweaver, little bird

gender: trans woman

sexuality: pansexual

date of birth: 973 an

place of birth: shurima

species: human, mage

physical appearance:

height: 5'9

build: ectomorph

hair color: brown, auburn undertones

eye color: brown

scars or distinguishing marks: freckles covering her

personality traits:

positive traits: kind, loyal, empathetic, energetic, disciplined

negative traits: insecure, homesick, stubborn

mental health: fairly stable

background and history:

family: mother, father, babajan (grandmother)

other significant figures: yasuo (mentor), kai'sa (friend)

background:

taliyah was born in the south of shurima as the daughter of the tribe chief of the naasaj, a group of nomadic weavers and herders. she discovered her abilities as a stoneweaver at the age of six, while rescuing a goat on a cliff where it had become stuck. the stone called to her as she lay a hand upon it, then erupted, bringing both goat and canyon wall down upon her. her father brought her back to the camp and put her under the care of babajan, the tribe's grandmother. days later, she was finally able to explain what had happened, how the stone had called to her.

once a child came of age in the naasaj tribe, they performed a dance under the full moon - the face of the great weaver - to determine what their path in life would be. when her time to dance finally came, she danced with the stone. it rose up from the earth in a pillar, evoking startled cries from her kin. her will broken, the rock crashed to the ground, cutting her mother. to taliyah, this was proof that she was dangerous to everyone around her, and so she ran. her father found her eventually, and taliyah finally admitted her ability to shape the stone. instead of being scared or revolted, though, he told her that she needed to face her power, not run from it. she returned with open eyes. this time, she wove with purpose, creating a memory of those she loved. when it was time for her mentor to stand, the entire tribe did, ready to stand with her. but taliyah knew that her true teacher was not among them, and so she headed out into the world, promising to learn to control her power.

on taliyah's quest to find her mentor, a band of noxians who discovered her. they promised her that noxus celebrated such power, that she would find a teacher there. raised to be trusting, taliyah followed them, into the heart of noxus. the endless political games were claustrophobic to her, until a captain promised to take her to a place where she could practice her magic freely. but when they docked near a village and she was told to bury the inhabitants in their homes, taliyah refused, and was tossed overboard to drown.

after surviving and escaping the noxians, taliyah came across yasuo. she accidentally brought down an avalanche upon him, but managed to save him and bring him to a cave. he asked her why she had chosen such a path, causing her to leave the cave in frustration. while outside, taliyah came face-to-face with an ionian mountain lion. she leaned into her power and crumbled the rock beneath both her and the lion. yasuo saved her, becoming her unlikely mentor in the process. they had another harrowing encounter when some soldiers found them in an inn, accusing yasuo of murder. with taliyah's help, he fended them off and they escaped. not long afterwards, they parted ways.

taliyah returned to shurima at around 17 years of age. on her turn, she found a dying sivir, and decided to help her before going to find her family. while there, an army attacked, looking for sivir in order to kill her. another who who was also looking for sivir found them both and gave sivir an amulet which would keep her hidden from the army. taliyah managed to escape with sivir, and protected the survivors of the attack from the army.

taliyah spent a while in the desert, travelling with a group of other shurimans whose families or homes had been destroyed. she considered them her new family. her quest to find her tribe was complicated by the fact that the seasonal waters no longer flowed, so she could no longer predict their location. the group had decided to travel north, a place they believed would be a safe haven from the void. on this journey, she met kai'sa, who she helped with defeating a group of lamplighters. in this fight, taliyah learned the city they were traveling to had likely already been destroyed, and opted to leave the group of survivors that she was traveling with in order to work with kai'sa to try and reclaim the city from the void. taliyah and kai'sa arrived to find the town abandoned and destroyed. they were then attacked by a group of xer'sai, but fended them off before a sinkhole appeared in the ground. rek'sai emerged from the pit, and kai'sa lured her back underground. this allowed taliyah to bring the statue of xolaani over the sinkhole to prevent rek'sai from re-emerging.

[aikoiya]

Arcane AU - The Princess of Zaun

I kinda want an Arcane-style Prince of Egypt story.

Just a Zaunite mother somehow manages to get her daughter to Piltover where she's taken in by a wealthy family. A Councilor, maybe? I'm thinking that the mother's sister might've been the Councilor's wife. Though, either said Councilor wouldn't have known his wife's heritage or he believed that she was an exception to the rule. And, I think I'll make the wife have died a few years before the start of the story. Maybe the daughter hit her head & doesn't remember her life prior to Piltover?

I'm thinking of naming her Sabina.

Anyway, she grows up unknowing of the hardships endured by the Fissurefolk.

Maybe she studied pharmacognosy & phytoremediation at the Academy? So, both botany & medicine.

Anyway, then when HexTech kicks off she eventually meets Viktor & thinks that he's familiar.

Turns out that he'd been her friend as a child.

Something happens, she learns of all the shit the elite of Piltover, the Council, & the Enforcers has put her people through, asks her father, the Councilman, who is apathetic of the death toll of Fissurefolk, begins to remember her early life, specifically her mother's name & her friendship with Viktor, & runs away from both Piltover & Zaun. Maybe to Shurima.

Years pass & Sabina gets a message from Janna herself to free Zaun from Piltover & help it prosper.

She returns & slowly makes a name for herself doing good for the people of the Undercity before going up top to meet the Council & bargain with them for Zaun's freedom.

Make her a force for good in Zaun with the drive needed to get shit done.

I also want a full Plagues montage.

One of the plagues will definitely be all the water in the River Pilt lowering & receding until the Pilt is dry.

Another causes all HexTech in Piltover to be entirely depleted of magic. So, the Hex Gates are done.

Another causes all the water remaining in Piltover to become as toxic as what is in Zaun.

Another will be the air becoming as toxic as Zaun's as the sky is blotted out by smog & acid rain falls every day from then on.

I also have a scene in my head for a different scene for the Plague of the First Born. In it, Sabina tells her supporters living in Piltover to keep a Janna rose or a blue bird feather (not a bluebird feather, a blue bird feather; a bird feather that happens to be blue; but it has to be naturally blue, not a feather that has been dyed blue) on their person. Or for those who were forgetful, to hang one or the other from their door. Doing so will protect them from the disaster to come. A feather or rose held would protect the individual, but a rose or feather upon a door will protect an entire household.

On the day that it happens, Sabina stands on the Zaun end of the bridge & lifts her staff into the air. The wind begins to blow... Then, there's a sound like a train approaching & on the horizon rises what looks to be a blue wall. Hearts sink as it rises steadily only for all to realize that it isn't getting taller, but closer. It's a tidal wave. And it's approaching speedily... As it closes in, the wind gets stronger. Yet when it is finally upon the cities, a great vortex of wind covers Zaun & keeps even a single drop from falling upon the undercity. However, Piltover is submerged. Hours pass as the water slowly lowers until it's returned to a normal level.

Piltover is devastated. Despite this, only the first borns of every family that didn't have a Janna Rose or a blue bird feather upon their door or hadn't kept one or the other on their person, had died. All others had suffered & experienced a prolonged feeling of drowning, yet were kept alive.

Those who did carry a rose or a feather were blanketed by a protective wind that sustained them. Meanwhile the houses with one or the other upon their door were equally shielded.

Piltover is left broken & weeping.

Though, I definitely see Jayce as being the type to try & convince both Viktor, Mel, & his mother (who'd already have one on her at all times) to hold onto a feather (and failing that, would personally pin one to their doors the literal day of), as well as encouraging everyone in Piltover to pin one to their doors as well. Unfortunately, not many of the upper class would do so, the most who would, would be Piltover's middle & lower classes. This, in turn, would end up saving a lot of lives & creating a lot of believers.

This results in him being seen as a hero.

---

Now that I think about it, I kinda wanna make her the result of a one-night stand with Silco from before he was betrayed by Vander. Either he's entirely clueless to her existence or he'd gotten scared when her mother told him & he rejected her.

Now, I can't stop thinking about her with Silco's eyes & hair color.

But, anyway, she wasn't just told to free Zaun, she was also told to clean it up. Meaning, get rid of Shimmer, get rid of the pollution, & instate a constitutional republic rather than the industrial oligarchy that it has now wherein the Chem-Barons (who, besides Silco & even then it's a bit dubious, don't honestly care one whit about Zaun's overall health & well-being so long as it keeps them in power) are the ones in-charge. (By comparison, Piltover is an aristocratic oligarchy where only a handfull of the rich are in-charge & make all the decisions.) Which means going up against the Chem-Barons & specifically Silco. And possibly even learning that he is her father.

I have a theory that since the Pearl of the Moon is used to ward off Voidkin, that it must have an effect on them. So, it could possibly be used to make a medicine that helps to alleviate some of the negative effects of Shimmer.

I also feel like, upon taking in & becoming attached to Jinx, Silco would sometimes wonder about the child he'd sired but had rejected & can't help but feel that he'd betrayed them.

Which, in turn, would cause some mixed feelings from him at learning the child he rejected was the one to save Zaun. And even more mixed feelings at her dismantling all he'd built.

I'm also thinking that Sabina eventually ends up with Viktor.

Arcane Masterlist

[supatroopa]

For my League lore ask game; 4, 8, 19, and 30? :D

4: I'd wanna rewrite Janna by making Zephyr (her bird) a part of her as a god/spirit as opposed to JUST her herald (and also making it so that when she was in that period of time post paganism in Shurima getting destroyed but pre-Zaun resurgance she would in her faded and altered worship BECOME Zephyr only). My reasoning for this is that the concept of gods (I'm calling Janna a god I know she's technically a spirit and there's overlap but it works with the headcannon more) being both given power and shaped by their worship (the former IS CANNON for Janna the latter not neccesarily) is so insanely interesting to me and it matches with how like gods function in history as we make them to describe and explain, so if they were real they'd be shaped by how we believe them to describe and explain (yes this concept got formed or at least strengthened in me due to Percy Jackson shut up there's a lot of other cool stuff that does it as well). Janna is such a perfect character to explore with this as she cannonically has been a repurposed diety multiple times, from her origional worhip in Shurima (centerd on Zaun which was her main place) where she would be a powerful oppulent figure who would arrive triumphantly heralded by Zephyr to bring ships to port creating the wealth of the trading town she was worshipped in creating a close apperance to her LoR design where she's removed from humanity and is this regal divine ultimately non-human figure who is helping out of her divine benevolance. THEN, post Shurima effectively banning her worship on land leading to her not having noticible worship on land, her temples crumbling, her worship only survives on the waves, through the figureheads prior made that lose their meaning and the sailors desperate pleas when all seems lost, storms that should destroy their ships. Because of this, the part that matters to the sailors and so the part that gets worshipped and lives is Zephyr, the bird that shows the storm shall lift, and so Janna becomes Zephyr, removed from her regality and splendor and reduced to simply being a fable of hope, rare to appear, not known but only suspected to be real outside of the tales. With this shift in priorities I also think this should be a period of Janna basically sleepwalking through time not fully present or concious due to the reduction of who she is from how she is worshipped, and I think this is a cool thing due to how it sets up her sorta third act or modern part of her modern equivalent where after Centuries of being barely remembered only kept existing through occassional reduced prayer, all of a sudden that shifts due to the collapse in Zaun causing mass amoutns of flooding and danger, where all of a sudden she Rises from people's long reduced memories and now because of that She is Herself again, not the same self, too much time has past and memories fade and shift, but all of a sudden she's awake, and in a time of need that she rises to to help save the city, and because of that she once again becomes the patron saint of Zaun able to live and help, but as her reasons to be worship have gone from bringing in ships of trade to saving people from the Zaun Grey and protecting everyday life Janna herself would have changed to account for that, she would become a much more human figure, probably still mysterious but more so of a hidden god who travels to save those in need never to ask for anything in return and leave those helped with no confirmation but only a strong conviction that it was her.

8: Xayah and Rakan, I don't really have like a fancy rational they're just the coolest ever and their gimmick of being literal lovebirds who commit ecoterrorism together and just everything about them is just the best thing and I don't know how to use words for this but they're amazing

19: UHHHHHH probably making a demacian Mage Queer because like yeah, having thought a little about it I'd say one I haven't thought about a lot but could be really cool would to make Sona a trans woman, I think it could also be an interesting parallel to the idea of trans Lux (which I believe @emluckyowl had as their headcannon to cannon on a copy of the ask game they got lol) and in general idk I think her being trans would be cool

30: I think Riot could have a lot of fun making a Fire Emblem inspired Skinline making a bunch of characters the different archetypes ie Fiora due to having a rapier is the lord. You make Hecarim the Jagen due to him a) being mounted b) he's a jungler whose supposed to be strong early to help build leads for him team c) that b part is a lie he's just gonna carry LIKE REAL JAGENS. You give Rell the cav skin and it comes as a red and a green chroma so she can be both christmas cavs from every game, Shyvana's a manakete, etc etc I think there's a lot of fun stuff with the idea

[dastardlydumb]

You know what league character really baffles me? Janna. Yeah the wind elf looking lady with gravity defying hair

She’s a Demi god? Spirit thing? Who started out as a goddess that sailors would pray to for good winds in their travels on the sea. And then of course she ends up being a big part of the city that deals the most with merchants, sailors and travelers. But she’s old enough and apparently also powerful enough to have been able to keep the freakin darkin away-

(Y’know big powerful Demi gods completely high on blood magic)

(Yeah like that)

-from what would be known as piltover and zaun. And I gotta reel back a bit at that because there were a lot of fkn darkin back in the day and zaun and piltover are right next to shurima which is where they fucked around the most.

Like good lord lady how the hell did you pull that off with just wind powers?

And where the heck did she even originate from? Pure speculation here but due to the blue bird that flies around her character and her general elven lookin appearance, i’d say Janna originated from the freljord what with there being a giant blue bird god there and all that.

But what the actual hell is she??? I mean the only resemblance I can find in game is from Kayle and Morgana’s character models solely because they also have pointy elven like ears. Except their ears are way shorter, also they have wings.

But I suppose that makes sense if she really is some sort of low ranked deity because Kayle and morgana are technically also low ranked deities due to them being Demi gods.

But then there’s the fact that her name was given to her by the shurimans in the past with Janna somehow being derived from the shuriman word for guardian, or something like that.

But then if that’s the case and she really is a more of a conceptual god that takes on whatever appearance people think she has, wouldn’t she look like she was from shurima since they named her? Or has she been white washed by misconceptions in the passage of time and that’s why she’s so pale now? Idk man but trying to make sense of one of leagues oldest characters is gonna drive me crazy but god damn do I hope they show her in arcane because I REALLY want to see how they tackle her character concept.

[league-of-starlight]

Voice Update Concept: Janna.

First Move:

“The winds of change are coming.”

“On swift winds, I shall arrive.”

Long move:

“Once, sailors prayed to me, now it is the downtrodden. I must help them however I can.”

“I cannot heal the divide between two cities, but I can at least help Zaun breathe easier.”

“Spirits such as me do not exist freely. Without prayer and belief, we slowly fade away.”

“I am the gentle breeze and the raging storm. I am the prayers of those who need aid. I am the wind itself.”

First encounter:

“We need not fight, why not take a deep breathe to calm down?”

“I’m not much of a fighter, but duty calls.”

Joke:

*Janna strikes a power pose with her staff, but her blue bird flies in her face, distracting her until it perches on her staff*

“In every storm, there is- Ah, what’re you… really? *Gentle sigh*

Joke response:

*gentle laugh* “Very clever…”

Taunt response:

“The wind doesn’t hear bravado.”

“Pardon me? I couldn’t hear you over the gusts of hot air.”

Killing:

(General):

“Let the storm carry your soul away.”

“Swept away.”

“Your forecast is looking grim.” *Snort of laughter.*

“Rest now. It’s okay…”

Recall:

“I must depart, for now.”

“I shall soon return.”

Death:

“My wind… is gone…”

“Farewell, my loves.”

“Stay… safe, won’t you?”

Respawn:

“The wind will never die.”

“My work isn’t done!”

“Oh, that wasn’t very nice of them.”

Character specific dialogue:

First encounter:

Azir: “Shurima is not my priority anymore.”

Child champions: “Oh, hello, little one.”

Piltover champions: “Fresh air shouldn’t be coveted. Do you know what Zaun has to breathe?”

Miss Fortune: “Your mother sometimes prayed for good winds when sailing. She was a lovely woman, wasn’t she?”

Seraphine: “I hear your songs on the wind, empathy is a rare thing these days.”

Soraka: “We have a few things in common.”

Volibear: “Ah, the bear of storms. What do I owe the pleasure?”

*Unimpressed* “Volibear. How… wonderful.”

Urgot: “Survival is worth nothing without enjoying life.”

Ally Zaunites: “Stay close to me, breathe in the fresh air.”

Taunt:

Kayle: “Well, one of us has to change.”

Volibear: Your outbursts will leave you nothing to protect!”

Yasuo: “Fighting a wind spirit with… wind techniques? A bold strategy.”

Taunt Response:

Volibear: “All bluster without action, how fitting.”

Kill:

Lux: “In another life, I think we could have been friends.”

Zac: “Oh, dear. I’ll blow your parts back together. Give me a moment.”

Zaun champions: “It’s okay, breathe in…”

[thegoldentigress]

but you have many setts, why did they make another sett blog?

Ok, so

1. PURELY TO MEME WITH ME, and he'd wanted to take up Sett for a while, we had and DMs before ever on tumblr

2. Unfortunately at the time, I had...been hurt badly by someone who HAD rp'd him, essentially got ghosted and baited with content and never happened.

3. Just because I am followed or follow a lot of Setts doesn't mean I ship or know them all super well. Some I have never approached or never been approached by, I respect that, hey I'm here for any kind of relationship with a muse, friend, business partner, romantic, whatever

4. I can follow multiple setts because its MY blog, and I like seeing the various interpretations of the character

5. 'You have many Setts' is a broad term because yes, I know a good handful of people who muse him, but I'm closer to some than I am to others because hey, I have rped with them. Some I've never spoken to but followed because hey, I wanna support you and your blog looks nice.

End all be all, I like the character, I like seeing many interpretations of the character and sure it's my main ship MOST of the time but

I also have an entire ship developed with @burden-and-truth on Discord with Qadira and Garen

@bird-of-shurima is another of my top 10s because we developed an amazing dynamic story with Qadira and their Azir

Sure I ship Dira and Sett quite a lot but

I don't shove it at every Sett I meet, bc that's a giant fear of mine, so I just

Chill out, if they wanna ship with, nice bro, lets ship!

If not, then cool, they can just exist in the pit as boss and employee.

[piltover-sharpshooter]

"You know, I never thought about it before...but the Spirit of Janna is often depicted with wings, or at least surronded by birds. There's also the winged sisters from Demacia, the Cryophoenix of Freljord, the current reborn Ascended Emperor of Shurima..."

"What is it about wings that draws people into associating it with godhood? It must be the idea of being able to reach the skies..."

[bells-of-black-sunday]

"W-What?" The shock is palpable; eyes wide, brows raised, his lips parted in an expression of pure shock at Tarhos' inquiry, such a thing is not how a God should be addressing their high priest. His foot nearly slips on the carpet as he steps back - catching himself on a nearby table, the bird unable to tear his gaze away, it feels like all too natural a question and yet, something he should have never heard be uttered by Tarhos' lips. Haruko glances away to instead focus on the vast stretch of desert outside of their temple, their home; only the best was given to the Ascended and the Bull had always been ready to share it with his favorite bird. Still - he was aghast and blushing fiercely at the sudden confession,

"How--how can you even say such things,on an evening you are meant to choose another as your bride?" He lifts a finger, a feeble attempt to stop the Bull's next words, and he gives up a confession of his own. "You have consumed my thoughts since the moment I met you - you've taken my soul, my thoughts, my heart and - and you could not be content with that? Do you understand that Azir would have our heads for this?" Implying he's already agreeing to Tarhos' proclamation, granted it's obvious with how he holds himself so suddenly - confidence deflated into something soft and malleable. "Why would you pain me with such a decision?" - league verse, idc I want priest Haru

In Love And War | Accepting

The god warrior almost chuckled at the way the bird nearly tripped over something as simple as a confession, he knew they both felt it. The way they'd longingly stare at each other while resting, how they care for each other far more than any priest and their god should. There was something undeniable about the way their lips met under the moonlight spilling secrets only the stars could keep, the bull wanted no other being to consume his heart like the way the vastaya had.

Yet his bemused expression waned the more Haru spoke until it deflated completely, his ears falling under the weight of his jewelry completely until he finally spoke again.

"Haruko... Azir could exile us for all I care. I'd rather be tortured for eternity than spend another night without you, though marrying another that doesn't own my heart would be equivalent to such a fate would it not?" He hesitantly took a step forward taking the bird's hand in his bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. He wouldn't know how to live without this. Feeling his soft skin against his fur and inhaling the perfumes that always lingered, this is who he wanted to spend all of eternity with, no one else.

The empire would never be so cruel as to deny him such a fate, would it not? "I want to wed you whether anyone approves of it or not. I want to care for you as much as you do me, please let me." The sands of Shurima faded as the first of morning light hit his scales and he hissed shifting to bury his face further into his lover in a feeble attempt to stop the light from waking him too much.

Oh how cruel nature was to wake them both from such a lovely dream...