Breathe in. Breathe in deep.
Focus on the intake of air. Feel the rush of the cold. The musty air surrounds as you breathe in through your nostrils. It hurts a bit. Better to breathe in through your mouth. The pain makes you strong.
Breathe in. Now hold.
It hurts more. The pain is good. Your body craves the oxygen. Yearns for it, desires, hungers, starves for. Intense focus like this makes you forget to breathe. Emotions and distractions make you forget.
Hold the breath. Now… slowly exhale. Let the pain seep through your bones.
The air escapes your mouth. Seeps outwards, as if your body is desperate not to let it go. Doesn't want to let go. It's desperate for it like a rat desperate for a crumb of food. This is what happens when you let distractions get the best of you. Why do you distract yourself with them? They can't help you. All that is important is the aspect of survival. Instinct. Raw unbridled primitive emotion. Primitive energy, born from rage at the threat of losing your life. Only you can protect yourself. You don't need anyone.
They can't help you.
They can't help you.
They can't help you.
No one can.
No one ever.
Forget them.
You're nothing.
They're nothing.
Breathe in, and focus.
Stop it.
Hold the breath, and focus.
Why do you try?
Exhale, and spread your awareness outwards.
You might as well never take a breathe.
Focus on your surroundings.
Who cares. You're a waste of space.
Let the energy around you fill you up.
The energy you can't even fully control. Laughable.
Remember their faces.
What?
Remember.
...
Remember those who support you.
…
Remember.
I told you they don't matter.
Remember.
Shut up.
Remember their eyes.
Stop!
Remember their expressions, their faces, their voices.
STOP.
Remember their smiles.
…
…
… Veigar?
He awoke at the mention of his name.
Looking around the room, curious, cautious, and alert. He didn't know what to expect. He honestly never knew what to expect. Maybe one day he'd wake up to someone holding a knife over his bedside, ready to free him from this mortal realm called Runeterra. That wouldn't be a surprise. But it wouldn't work, probably.
Veigar wrote it off as another dream. A bit odd at that, though. His "dreams" were usually nightmares. He could never really sleep at night in peace. Hell if he was ever able to sleep at all.
He recalled where he was for the time being. Veigar had left the safety of his accursed home and ventured towards Bandle City. He was in an inn room, probably one of the most dinky and ragged rooms he had laid eyes upon. Actually, scratched that last statement, this wasn't the worst room he had slept in. Not even a room in hell could compare to the old Noxian jail cell. Or was that hell incarnate?
Nevermind that. He was here for a reason. Veigar dressed up, collected his belongings, and nearly splintered open the fragile wooden door and into the hallway, venturing outside.
He was not directly in Bandle City. This was the outskirts. Mostly the poor and unfortunate lived on the outside of the yordle utopia. Peasants, really. They were insignificant to him. At the very least, they didn't send the Bandle Gunners at the first sight of the dark mage. They wouldn't dare anger someone like him, a practitioner of the dark sorceries. He could lift his hand and call down volatile matter from the cosmos to destroy their pathetic town. Only, he didn't because he thought it would be a waste of energy.
No, he was here for a reason. Veigar lived isolated from the rest of the world. He made a home for himself in the dense parts of the forest surrounding Bandle City. Only he could reach it easily, and it was nigh impossible to accidentally stumble upon it's doorstep. But, for all the magic of his world, and sinister potions he could create using the twisted resources surrounding the cursed land of his home, he needed fresh supplies every now and then. Mages can't just summon energy out of thin air. Well, supposedly you could, but that takes energy to make energy, so you kind of end up losing energy attempting to solidify it into solid matter that you can shove into your starving maw. Magic is complex, but it has its limits, too.
Since he didn't have to fear any guards from Bandle City attempting to drive him away (as he was quite the wanted criminal), he could venture into the little towns in the outskirts and shop for supplies here and there. Yes, shop, instead of steal, because it is a bit too easy for him to acquire the gold needed. Alchemy is yet another branch of magic that he had perfected simply to appease the minds of those less advanced of his race. He looked down upon those who felt greed for little sparkling pieces of gold.
As he walked out of the dinky inn, he noted the sky. Overcast. Chilly. He could sense something coming again. A storm. Storm clouds…
It was an oddity he'd have to examine later. The abnormal weather sure was beating upon the world. He didn't pay much attention outside of Yordle land, barely venturing out past the Sablestone Mountain range that separates Bandle City from the rest of the world. He didn't yet have much reason to after the… incident of his past.
No matter. The townsfolk of these outskirts are going to take a hit to their crop harvest. While some rain is good, these storms are violent. He needed not to loiter too long. Then again, for some reason the overcast dark clouds brought him some sort of strange peace of mind.
With his hat drawn over his head, casting an impenetrable dark shroud over his face that no eye could see through but his own, bright yellow eyes, he advanced towards his destination. And indeed, his eyes could pierce through any darkness, no matter how thick its shroud. It probably made it difficult to start a conversation with him, too.
Veigar trudged away from the inn, through the town towards his destination. He knew of a shopkeeper who sold the best stocks of previous harvests, albeit at some immoral prices that made the townsfolk dislike them. Nonetheless, his stock was unmatched, and Veigar was not strained with money.
He passed by many other yordles. Some rugged farmers. Others frail older females. Kids were seen here and there trying to play by chasing one another, only to be scared off by wandering a bit too close to the dark mage, who growled irritably at their childishness. Some of the townsfolk realized who it was that wandered in their midst. Those who didn't recognize him still felt chilled by the aura that surrounded him that was his mere presence.
It didn't take long to find the shop. The building was made out of more concrete structure rather than the frail woodworks of the other buildings. Probably a result of the shopkeepers unusual wealth in comparison to the bad economy of the town. A window resided beside a locked door, with a gruff looking yordle with a beard positioned at the opening. Behind him lay all of his stock, from fresh harvested vegetables and fruit, to odds and ends like traveling cloaks and umbrellas, most likely stocked in preparation for the upcoming storm. Veigar knew what he wanted, though.
The shopkeeper had finished up sending a crying yordle child away, whom was probably begging for scraps of food for his family, judging from his moth-eaten clothes and lack of shoes. The dark mage smirked ironically at the despicability and scum of some others in the world. As the shopkeeper went to wipe a glass clean of a stain, Veigar strided up to the window, sneaking up on the unaware old yordle.
Not being noticed immediately, the shopkeeper continued to wipe the stain with a dirty cloth, somehow making the glass even more dirty and grimy. The mage waited for 15 awkward seconds before he gave a harsh cough.
The bearded yordle looked up from his pointless task. "Eh, wha' in the bloody hells do you want?", he crudely blurted, raising his voice at the new arrival.
Veigar gave him a cold, yellow-eyed stare. The shopkeeper, as despicable as he was, suddenly realized who he was talking to.
"...Oh. You again." The old yordle turned up a scowl on his face.
Veigar knew the shopkeeper disliked him with every fiber of his being. But he wouldn't dare disrespect him, because Veigar threatened to bring the void down upon his shop if he didn't give him what he wanted.
"I'm sure you wouldn't mind providing me your services once more. It would be a shame to see anything happen to your precious business", the sorcerer stated with dignity and sarcasm, his voice on the slightly higher pitched side.
The old yordle still scowled. But he still had a sense of self preservation. "I suppose that means the usual for you, then. Bread? Potatoes? I'll have you know, however, that I am out of snowberries. They seem to have gone out of season."
"That is a shame", Veigar replied, "but that will do. Along with all the herbs you know I like. How about a traveling cloak, too?"
The shopkeeper gruntled as he stepped away from the window to gather up the requested supplies. Muttering curses under his breathe as he began putting food and supplies in a large bag made out of patched cotton.
"If you don't mind me asking", the gruff old yordle suddenly started, "why do you even bother coming here?"
Veigar had been absent mindedly looking around, drawn away from his thoughts again as he realized the shopkeeper was speaking to him. He doesn't usually talk with the mage.
"Why exactly do you care what I do? And how is that your business?", Veigar snapped back.
Despite the reply, the shopkeeper laughed hoarsely. "Haven't you looked up at the sky every once in awhile?"
"Yes…?" Veigar looked uninterested.
More laughter from the shopkeeper. "It's the freakin' end times, my dark little friend."
Dangerous rage hormones from Veigar. "Don't call me little ever again."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever… but my point still stands. Times a changin'. Perhaps your edgy darkness is spreading outwards or something. Haven't you seen the townsfolk, too? The harvests aren't doing good. The constant rain is bad for the crops. Farm animals are getting scared and escaping, and being found dead in the forest. This town has resorted to having to receive supplies from the Bandle City Gunners of all things, because these poor peasants can't afford anything from me!"
"I wonder why…", Veigar scoffed.
The shopkeeper smiled back, unsympathetic. "My point is, even for my perspective of the pitiful world, stuffs not lookin' so hot. Why do you bother coming here? Hell, why do you even bother paying gold for it?" He chuckled more to himself, coughing a bit as he gathered a pouch full of collected herbs and shoving it clumsily into the bag.
Veigar ignored the question. "I could not pay you, if that suits your fancy."
The gruff yordle shut up, becoming more pissed off at every word the dark mage uttered. He grabbed one of the fine, brown cloaks that looked resilient to the harsh weather that was to come. Veigar could probably just cast a spell that wards off the rain, but he didn't really know why he needed a cloak.
Once everything was pulled up to the counter in the window, Veigar plopped a weighty bag of gold the size of his hand and a little bigger beside it. The shopkeeper took it without a word, feeling it in his hands once the dark mage grabbed the big bag of supplies and slung it over his shoulder, turning away from the shop without a word.
"Nice conversation. Uh-huh." The old yordle sat in his chair and reached behind the counter to grab a drink.
Veigar trotted through the town once more, this time with the bag of supplies that slowed him down just a bit. He had gotten a bit more than he usually did this time. The temptation to just teleport back home once again crossed his mind, but he told himself no once more. For once in his life, he wanted to just travel on foot. He didn't know why. Maybe it was an old curiosity of the world that enticed him so…
The mage began to pay more attention to his surroundings. The shopkeepers words rang in his mind. While he appeared to be ignoring them, the shopkeeper never really spoke to him about anything. The things he said… the surrounding events. The incoming storm. Was some force afoot? Magic was a mysterious, complex thing. Bending reality, destroying or creating. He wondered if he should look into it.
He looked at the other yordles he walked past. The closer he got to the edge of town, the more he noticed the abandoned, pitiful looking houses. Less children were playing, and moreso were sitting at the side of the road, begging for food or money from anyone passing by. Veigar made sure to keep his distance. A part of him was disgusted at the state of this town, and moreso at people who were too weak to stand on their own two feet and make something out of their life, rather than beg pathetically for scraps.
He noticed some commotion nearby. A scuffle. Some adult yordle was wrestling with a youngling. Veigar didn't know what had transpired. Probably some misunderstanding. He intended to walk past, but the natural order of things seemed intent on letting something else happen entirely.
The kid suddenly managed to break free from his assailant by kicking the older yordle in the face, bloodying his nose. The youngling scrambled across the dirt ground, fleeing blindly towards Veigar.
The bloody-nosed yordle screamed. "STOP THAT RODENT! HE STOLE MONEY FROM ME, I TELL YA!"
Veigar stopped dead in his tracks, as the kid crashed right into the mage and bounced right off, landing on his rear. The young yordle had tears streaming down his wet furred cheeks, as he gazed up, not really realizing who Veigar was at the time. He stared up in awe at the mage, noticing his dark robes and pointed hat, confused at how there was not a face under that hat, but a shroud of pure black, with two yellow stars staring right down at him.
The youngling didn't know whether to be scared of the mage or of the assailant who was limping towards them.
Veigar absentmindedly glanced between the kid on the ground before him and the disgusting looking attacker, who was trying to wipe away the blood from his nose. He too stopped in his tracks when he noticed the dark mage standing there.
The assailant looked pissed for no particular reason other than to be pissed that Veigar was there. "Look man, this kid right there? He swiped my money. Little kids on the road are good for nothing these days."
Veigar looked uninterested in the whole situation. He glanced back down at the kid, who had a desperate look in his eyes. Hardly the look of a thief. Or, if it really was, he wasn't a very dedicated thief. Probably barely 4-5 years old.
The bully, as he probably was, spoke again. "What business you got here, eh? Just walk back where you came."
"People like you are the reason your town is suffering."
The bully looked surprised. The kid did too. The other bystanders stopped making any noises.
Even Veigar wondered at those words, when he realized they came out of his own mouth. Something in his emotions was suddenly set off, and not in the mood for this.
"What the hell are you talking-"
"You're in my way. Move."
Veigar had somehow briskly walked past the kid on the ground and brutally bumped into the bully, knocking him to the side and face planting into the dirt, causing him to grunt out in pain as his nose probably didn't appreciate the blood and the dirt mixing up like that. Everyone else was dead silent as Veigar calmly walked on like nothing had happened.
"What the… hey you're gonna PAY FOR THAT!", the bully quickly got back up.
Veigar didn't have time for this. He didn't feel very good right now. Something within him was boiling. This guy wasn't worth his time of day.
At least he wasn't, until Veigar heard the unsheathing of a knife.
He quickly turned. Abnormal reflexes allowed him to grab the protruding knife that was aimed at his back with his gauntleted hand. The knife easily shattered, along with the sound of the bully's hand cracking as bones were suddenly threatened to be crushed between darkened steel.
The bully cried out in agony. He began to whimper and fall to his knees in protest as Veigar's gauntlet gripped tight. Veigar was not happy. Oh boy was he not happy. There was some sort of anger seething through him. Though this wasn't his usual kind of anger. This was something he wasn't used to, something he couldn't define. Oh how he so desperately wanted to unleash it.
He looked down upon the bully. His yellow stare gazed into the pathetic bully's eyes. Veigar was feeling violent. He was feeling a sort of darkness sprouting up within him. It was just like before. Just let it all out and end the suffering of another in this mortal realm. Just one spell…
"Mister? Please don't hurt us."
A crack in his mind.
Veigar stopped very suddenly. His awareness dropped to an alarming rate. His world suddenly shone a bit too brightly. He squinted.
"Please don't hurt us."
He stood there for a moment. Or what actually ended up being about a minute. He looked again at the bully. The poor guy had passed out from the shock. Veigar hadn't even broken his hand yet. The kid was still there on the ground. The bystanders were watching the mage's every move, examining him. Judging him. Fearing him.
Veigar slumped the bag he still held over his shoulder, adjusting it. He walked over to the side of the dirt road, dragging the unconscious bully along with and dropping him unceremoniously on the ground. He had lost interest. Actually, Veigar had felt disgusted by something he couldn't understand at that very moment. He didn't care anymore.
He started to leave the scene. He passed by the youngling, who hadn't moved from the spot where he fell, for fear of something happened to him. Veigar stopped for a few seconds once again, and gazed over at the young yordle, who gasped frightened.
The bag made a sound as it plopped onto the ground, sending a little bit of dust around. The kid started to stammer until Veigar reached into his bag of supplies and took out a loaf of bread wrapped up in herbal leaves. He half heartedly tossed the bread towards the youngling, who caught it on his lap.
Bewildered, the kid looked back up at Veigar, whom was already walking the other way, headed towards the road out of town. He walked further and further away.
"W-Wait…", the young yordle stammered.
Veigar paid no attention.
The bystanders looked on in equal confusion, as the yordling stood up shaking on his two legs with bread in his arms, calling after the dark mage.
"Who are you?", he called out.
At that moment, not even Veigar himself knew the answer.
Author's Note: Yeah. I'm not dead. But believe me when I say I am feeling incredibly guilty. Seems like I never really had a real chance to actually devote myself to writing. I don't even know if I've lost my charm or not. But at this point, I think I owe this story something more, and I intend to give it what I originally wanted.
You are probably wondering about the positioning of this "Prologue". I have big plans, actually. See, after the last chapter I uploaded, I hit a snag. I knew how I wanted to end this story. I sort of had an idea of where I wanted to go next. But the transition I was never satisfied with. I tried writing it out, then became dissatisfied with it, and scrapped it, starting over. This happened several times.
Trust me when I say every time I read a new review, my heart was touched. Touched, and at the same time, ridden with more guilt. Even though I wrote this out as something I wanted to simply try out as a side hobby, all of you actually enjoyed this little story of mine. So I know what I want to do.
The plan is rather simple. I intend to actually go through each chapter, and sort of rewrite it. The story may more or less stay the same, with some things being removed and others being expanded upon. You can let me know what you think of this through PMing me, or giving a review if you'd like. I don't mind either way. You could even add me on Discord, which you can ask about through a PM.
Anyways, I hope you end up enjoying this little teaser of sorts. The more I looked at my original plan for this story, the more I realized I can put more passion into it, to express some emotions of mine that I've been hiding for a long time.
See you sometime later this week. It may look messy at times, but bear with me. And thank you for all your kind words.
Sleep well, and dream wonderfully.