Authors Note: Hello everyone! This is my first story, so please comment and critique. I'm looking to improve, so all responses are welcome.
The Shurima Desert. A hot, desolate wasteland that is all that remains of the once glorious kingdom of Shurima.
It is a place of magic and peril.
A land of great history, yet terrible past.
Many men, women, yordles and other creatures have walked the sands in the name of science, treasure or both. They have heard the many warnings spoken amongst the creatures of Valoran regarding the seemingly timeless sea of sand.
Shurima: the maker of seers; those gifted at birth, and those cursed before death.
Shurima: a land with treasure soon forgotten by time, sought after by soon forgotten fools.
Shurima: come for the pyramids and the allure of riches, stay…
"... because you die," Ezreal muttered to himself, rubbing his hands around his magical lantern for warmth. Unlike the fools who sought their riches on the surface, or in the floating pyramid deathtraps that dotted the landscape of Shurima, Piltover's Prodigal Explorer knew that history lay not in the sky, but in the ground.
Several hundreds of feet under the ground, roughly. And it was cold down here.
Ezreal smirked at the irony; death by cold in Shurima. If he died down here and some other explorer found him, he'd probably go down in history as the only man to ever achieve it.
Not that he would; Ezreal had faced greater danger than a little chill. Two days spent underground was nothing for a veteran like himself, but even the Grandmaster Explorer was human. Two days without sunlight took a toll on the spirit.
At least, I think it's been two days, Ezreal thought absentmindedly as he brought the lantern closer to the sandstone walls, trying to make out the faint inscriptions that marked the tables lining the long, seemingly unending hallway.
When Xerath first broke free of his underground ruins, Ezreal's tell-tale wanderlust had reawoken. Never before had a being as ancient as Xerath been found on Valoran who had such knowledge of Shurima. Even if the self entitled Magus Ascendant hadn't been the most talkative champion in the League, Ezreal managed to piece together the location of his tomb, and at first chance, slipped out of the Institute of War with a few supplies and journeyed south.
After searching for nearly a week, Ezreal discovered the remains of Xerath's prison. It was an elaborate temple tomb, shattered to fragments by the might of Xerath's rage. The thought of such history lost nearly brought Ezreal to tears.
But demolished ruins weren't the only thing Ezreal found in the tomb. Near the now destroyed sarcophagus was an inscription alone uncharred by arcane magic, a sure sign of magical protection. The amulet Ezreal wore on his left hand emanated an unnatural heat when he touched the markings, and with magic long lost, the ground around him sunk to form a deep spiral stair, leading to the long hallway he found himself in.
"Beware the light, for it shall not lead you," Ezreal quickly read aloud. "Beware the arcane, for it shall deceive you."
Ezreal sighed dejectedly, pulling his lantern away from the glyphs on the wall. The fair haired explorer didn't bother to record the inscription in his journal; it was just like the last twenty-some tablets he had bothered to read. So far, his exploration had taught him nothing except that the mages of Shurima had greatly feared the ever glowing Xerath. The only use this knowledge had was to hassle Xerath himself with.
Not that I will, Ezreal reminded himself, shuddering to think of what the ancient mage would do if someone got on his bad side.
Ezreal continued his slow, careful tread down the seemingly endless corridor, every so often reaching into the magical lantern hooked to his belt to retrieve a flame to light up his exit path. Whoever Wriggle was, Ezreal thought, he sure created an amazing explorer's tool. Even the weakened duplicate Ezreal had with him was astonishingly powerful; it created fire that required no air nor oil, and the blaze could be laid outside its cage to illuminate an area till extinguished.
If only he could have made the light less orange and more… sunlight-y, Ezreal thought to himself sadly.
The young explorer continued his journey, illuminating the hallway with Wriggle's fire and pausing only briefly for a quick drink from his flask or a quick read of a nearby tablet. Every tablet was just like the last.
After what seemed like hours, Ezreal decided he needed rest. He carefully laid the lantern to the ground and reaching into his satchel, he rummaged for the remains of his food.
"One loaf of bread, a slice of cheese and a bit of dried meat," Ezreal tallied. "And the ladies of the League ask me how I stay so thin." He grinned as he remembered the last time he told Fiora all she had to do was eat less.
His cheek stung for a week.
Ezreal tore the bread in half, stowing the remainder of his supplies in his satchel. Peering into the darkness, he chewed slowly, pondering how much longer he would last down here. Sooner or later, he'd have to come back up to the surface for supplies. With so few foodstuffs and but one and a half flasks of water left, it was merely a matter of time.
"It wouldn't be so bad Ez," he said to himself. "At least we'll see sunlight again."
Huh. Light.
Ezreal glanced over at the flickering lantern.
"Beware the light…" he muttered, reaching for the handle of the lantern. He lifted it, eyeing the glowing orange light closely. He felt a hunch growing in his gut, and while his heart leapt at the idea, his head couldn't caution him any less.
"I really don't like this."
Mentally bracing himself, Ezreal extinguished the lantern.
Instantly, the wards he had placed to light his exit extinguished, and the young explorer was plunged into darkness.
"... Ok… this is... awkward," Ezreal spoke to himself, maybe a little louder than he should have. His voice echoed around him.
Wait. Since when did the hallway echo? Ezreal's eyes lit up. Maybe the darkness was the key!
Seemingly in answer to his thoughts, he felt the low rumble of sorcery gathering at his feet and the pull of magics swirl around him. Arcane energy seeped from the ground and seemed to fill the chamber. Ezreal couldn't see it, but he felt the densifying effect mana had on the air around him. It made it hard to breathe.
The excited Grandmaster Explorer waited in measured anticipation till he no longer felt the movement of magics. The only sign that something had happened was the dense mana that still hung in the air.
"Here goes nothing," Ezreal announced. He relit Wriggle's Lantern.
Instantly the darkness fled, and with it, the mana; the orange glow of the magical flame forcing them out. Ezreal excitedly rubbed his eyes to adjust to the light.
He was back in the hallway.
Ezreal looked around quickly, trying to spot something different, hoping to find a change in his environment. Holding his lantern up to one of the many tablets, Ezreal scanned the glyphs in desperation.
"Beware the light, for it shall not lead you," Ezreal read. "Beware the arcane, for it shall deceive you."
Ezreal sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, then turned to look up and down the hall. While his lantern had re-lit on his command, its wards hadn't.
Ezreal was surrounded by darkness.
"Great!" he yelled. He'd made an amateur mistake, and his excitement got the best of him. While he knew the path to his left led to the exit, he wasn't sure if he'd make it back now if he tried.
Obviously, fell magics were at work.
Worry and doubt began to creep into the Prodigal Explorer's mind, but Ezreal shoved them aside with a practiced hand. Fear would do him no good in a crypt. Instead, he leaned against the smooth sandstone walls, trying to gather his wits and to think of a solution.
Obviously, the hallway is enchanted to be endless. He thought to himself. I won't be able to simply walk out the way I came.
Ezreal glanced at the dark hall to his left.
I could walk the path in the dark. I might make it out in a day's journey if I move quickly.
A bad idea, he decided. Walking underground in the dark was never a good idea. He lifted the lantern to eye level again.
Perhaps I could use the mana in the air when it gets dark to fuel an Arcane Shift up.
Another bad idea. Ezreal knew the hallway gently sloped down, and given a day's walk, he might be roughly three hundred feet below the ground. Without the limitations placed on him by the Summoners, Ezreal knew he could make the jump given enough mana.
But the distance was only an estimate. If he didn't go high enough, he'd be buried in the sands. If he went too high, he'd fall to his death.
Ezreal pondered for a bit, then decided he would go for it.
"I'm too young to die in a tomb as old as this!" he joked to himself, trying to assuage his fears.
Leaning against the sandstone walls to brace himself, Ezreal extinguished the lantern once more.
Once again, he felt energy swirl around him as darkness and mana flooded the chamber. Holding his back to the wall, he breathed the power in deeply, steadying himself for his next task. He called the power to him, channeling his will through the enchanted amulet that rest on his left gauntlet.
Up. He thought, closing his eyes in concentration. Shifting in 3… 2... 1…
And then he fell.