Hi all,

This is a little personal project that I started before I began work on Pawns: Square One. I'm putting this on hold until I finish up with the Pawns Saga, but I thought I'd upload what I had for this for anyone that's interested. I intend to return to this after Pawns is all finish up.

Hope you enjoy!

Why was she doing this?

The girl had her whole life ahead of her, she was young and not unattractive. She was smart enough to cut a path out and live, perhaps even thrive.

Yes, she had her whole life ahead of her, but nothing else. Nothing to show for it, nothing to carry her forward. What was ahead of her was empty, hollow, spiritless. It'd be more apt to say that the girl's entire life was behind her, lost to time she couldn't recover.

The descent had started a week ago. Her father – wealthy, but alone from the death of her mother many years ago – had died suddenly, so soon before she had been set to marry the love of her life. She had mourned and grieved, but held hope in her heart that the blessing of marriage would eclipse this tragedy and help her move on, living.

Her fiancé had been a kind, handsome young man, from a family of low income but great love. She had been welcomed by his parents as one of their own, as they did her father, fulfilling her longing to belong to a family that was whole once again. She could still see the face of her deceased father in her mind's eye. His life had faded before he was due to die, but his final moments had been filled with the content that his only daughter would be complete in her life.

It made her heart ache, beating sorrowfully in her hunched chest.

Replacing her father in her vision was the handsome face of her lover, the last man she wanted to see right now. He smiled at her from beyond her tears, a genuine smile that she had last seen from behind a white veil.

Everything after that had been the truth, unfortunately.

As soon as the vows had been confirmed and their love officiated, he'd dropped the charade. Not immediately; as a sweeping arm disrobing a heavy cloak would have, but more like allowing the cloak to slowly fall from the wearers shoulders, revealing blackened and twisted intent inch by inch. He'd seemed colder in the carriage home, but she assumed it was just nerves and the thrill of the moment catching up with him and let him be.

They'd arrived, and it was the last time she'd see her father's house – what was meant to be her house. Another woman was already waiting at the door, prettier and younger than she. The wed woman now understood, though her mind was slow in informing the body appropriately.

Marriage in her village named the husband as the dominant party, socially, privately and most relevantly; financially. She'd inherited her father's wealth, and now he'd gained it by having her take his name. That was that, she was no longer useful to him.

So she'd left – denied access into her own home. She sold her wedding dress to the blacksmith, the only possession she had on her – and wandered the road for several hours before collapsing under the twilight sky in a gutter. Barely clothed and clutching an odd assortment of items, she laid her hand bare on the ground and let her memories catch up with her.

The tragedy of her father's death could have been endured, had her lover been as true as she'd believed. However, the betrayal took its toll on her, and in turn she'd ensure the downfall of the traitors.

One clink of a nail hitting the cobblestone ground as it was hammered through the straw effigy.
Then a second, following the first.
Then a third.

"…I name him thrice."

Kalista could still remember that night. A young girl in a gutter had begged an audience, so she had shown herself. The ethereal eyes of the Lady of Vengeance had seen potential, belied by the sorry state the girl had been at the time, but the girl was willing to through with this. Throwing her life and soul away for a moment of revenge.

Kalista would not deny her.

The next morning the people of the small Demacian village awoke to horror. A young man and his female companion, murdered in their home. There was no sign of a break-in, nor a weapon. A struggle was apparent, but it didn't reveal anything about the nature of the attack. He had three holes piercing his torso, and she had her throat unnaturally torn open.

No one took notice of the husk by the side of the road, several kilometres away. The church of Kindred had picked up the lifeless body and been on their way. She'd go forgotten, left behind by the memories of the living.

And eventually, even Kalista would forget her too.

A spray of dirt hung in the air momentarily before falling back, redefining the pattern that lay on the surface of the ground. With each footfall beckoning another wake like it, Kalista bounded across the desolate lands of the Shadow Isles, the silence echoing. Only here would her ghostly bare feet disturb the earth, the once hallowed land, hollowed. Even in undeath, she was as graceful and purposeful in her motions as she had been in life. The martial poise of a fighter had never left her, it likely never would.

This corner of the Isles was empty and dipped into the sea along the south-eastern coast, the dark grey sand sinking into the inky black of the ocean, so dark one wouldn't be able to see their own submerged hand in front of their face. As far inland as the section went was a bleak wasteland, a pallet of deathly green and lifeless black.

However, this corner of the Isles was the closest thing Kalista had to call home. The rest of the Islands belonged to the other Islanders, who had taken dominion and imprinted their hollowed identities over the lands.

She looked out to sea, pausing on her passing. She knew Bilgewater was out there, the closest living settlement – and beyond that, the rest of Valoran.

…I wonder if our…my memories are there. On the continent...

She put it out of her mind immediately, noticing the shadow behind her. She returned to her stride, bounding across the sand.

Kalista did not fear the Black Mist, none of the greater Islanders did. It was power to them, akin to blood. The only difference was how it manifested from one to another. For Kalista, every time she looked into the Mist she'd see the faces of those who'd pledged themselves to her. Most of them went unrecognized, and none of them would stay forever. The Mist also provided her with her spears, and enhanced her already inhumane agility.

More importantly, it would grant the memories of those she avenged while the wraith was on the hunt.

But never her own.

When the Mist was not in control, that was what drove her. She couldn't remember. Her mind was perpetually in two. She was a conflicting entity, part Lady of Vengeance, part Kalista. One half would drift, subconsciously across the continent for the sake of revenge with an avatar formed from the Mist. The other was clouded, an unremembered dream that would taunt her with waking nightmares. She yearned to know, to remember what she had lost – but without anywhere to start, all Kalista could do was wander the Isles, providing her spirit for when the Lady of Vengeance was called upon.

An hour passed and she'd entered a new area of the Isles, one built on the decaying ruins of what was once the hub of the Blessed Isles. Strangely, this was something that Kalista remembered. Before the descent of the undead, the hub had been a tall and proud castle, boasting a grand internal labyrinth of corridors and rooms.

This place…

Taking a step inward, what she remembered immediately conflicted with what she felt. What few memories she had of this place were from before the darkening of the Isles, when it was a land of light and enlightenment. What she felt however, was a foreboding sense of dread from all directions; her Mist beckoned her to turn and leave, the faces and spectral hands almost reaching out to pull her back. She ignored them, pulling forward with spear inhand and her Mist trailing behind her, billowing as if it were a great cape in the wind, evoking the image of a once-lost general.

The ruins loomed around her, still and silent, but alive. Kalista's instinct for battle were keen – she felt watched, she knew that the greater Islanders who called this place theirs were aware of her. Still the proud warrior, Kalista didn't sling through shadows, rather she brazenly walked about the area, ready for any challenge that might come their way. Few of the greater Islanders had been warriors in both life and death, and fewer still could match what Kalista had been.

Nevermind that she could barely remember those days.

Some time passed, and Kalista found herself in front of a collapsed tower, the brickwork barely retaining itself past the ground level, but there was more to the tower. Entering the crumbled doorway, Kalista saw a stairway leading underground, mostly intact and lit with a glowing green light from the sconces. She could feel the presence of another beneath the ground, someone kin to her, who'd been witness to the Ruination, but someone she didn't remember. Her Mist resonated with the other ones' as well, the interaction almost likable to a bond.

Forward. She thought, swiftly making her way down, bouncing down the steps more than walking, her tattered garment trailing behind her, leading her Mist.

At the bottom of the stairs was a hallway, dotted by lock doors down its throat. At the end of the hallway was the only unlocked door, emitting an eerie glow from behind. Kalista waved her arm, commanding the Mist behind her to upon the door as she approached it, allowing her gait to be unimpeded.

What she saw was a room almost describable as a laboratory.

Yet instead of progression or innovation, this room was dedicated to torture. Withered husks and full-bodied corpses in all manner of mutilation adorned the walls, tables, ceilings, hanging cages and even carpeted the floors around the rim of the room. Shades of blood red and pale green were cast over the room, but they hung thinly against the overwhelming black that permeated.

Towards the back and at the centre, facing away from the door, Kalista saw the figure. Rather than the other greater Islanders, this one did not permit his domain over the Black Mist to surround him externally, instead residing in the lantern hanging by his side. His large, ornate black coat made his already imposing shoulders seem bigger, the image helped by his hunched, focused posture. A trio of chain-linked dreadlocks swam idly in the air behind his head, dancing slowly.

The Mist suddenly activated, like a defence mechanism. Slowly, silently, it wrapped itself around her, casting her in a black ethereal armour littered with the faces of those she'd avenged. It smoked off her toned limbs, lining each tendon. The air fell dark around her, sapping at the light. To a living creature, it also felt heavier; full of dread. She felt a voice echoing in the back of her mind, a swear of vengeance – though it didn't invoke her, she heard it. Memories filled her mind, but they were memories vividly not her own. As it had always been.

A pair of beams of light that defended the innocent, holding off the darkness, separate but one. An unforeseen calamity, resulting in the irreversible loss of a loved one, the only thing he held dear. A twisted heart, wielding a double-helix of shining righteousness that had once been two, now truly one.

The Lady of Vengeance glowed, her eyes and skin seeping ethereal wisps as the Mist in turn seeped into her mind. What had been the tranquil Kalista reshaped into the vicious, vengeful wraith. Her face formed a silent snarl, and she poised on the balls of her feet, conjuring a spear from the Mist around her and twirling it.

Then she leapt, with the grace of a ribbon and the ferocity of a Fury.

Suddenly, Kalista found herself again. The Mist was once again a shadow behind her, detached. She was standing by the door, having not really moved at all. She blinked several times over, her featureless eyes redefining the room for her.

She frowned inwardly. Those were…the memories of another. The Mist…She turned to it, regarding it distastefully. But what caused it…? She turned to the figure she'd seen before, the one she'd felt herself lunge at.

Him. For him, someone has such a lust for revenge. I wonder who.

"Thresh." Kalista called to the other Islander, her vocal reverberations distracting him from his task.

The once relic keeper turned his head, peering over his shoulder and revealing his profile to the wraith behind him. The skull floating in place of his head grinned, turning his body fully to address her.

"Kalista." He replied, returning the greeting. While her voice had been flat and gave away nothing, his was laced with personality. Thresh was a sadistic and hedonistic torture technician. Her voice echoed, but the echo was empty. In comparison, Thresh's voice filled the room and the minds of whoever heard it, usually with fear. Each syllable Thresh spoke contained the essence of his love of torment, his ethereal tongue parcelling and delivering the words. "To what do I owe this…pleasure?"

She knew it was anything otherwise, but the Warden had a sick sense of sensibility. Kalista saw that his infamous lantern hung unsuspended at his hip, and in his opposite side he held his sickle.

"We…I…" She paused, instead deciding not to reveal why she'd come to this part of the Isles.

"Trying to remember?" He chucked through the sentence, leaning onto the table. "You're the only one of us who can't remember who they were before the Ruination." He started swinging his sickle, it looked like out of habit. "I was a relic-keeper, a warden for these treasures, and also their nightmare. My name was Thresh then, as it is now. My fondest memory is receiving one treasure that couldn't die, one who I could enlighten until the end of my days…well, that was the plan."

A raspy laugh left his jaws.

"So, what do you remember, Lady of Vengeance?"

Kalista's ghostly features sharpened and her temper rose, subconsciously inviting the Mist to re-enter her mind, though only a diminutive portion. She didn't like feeling as though she was being toyed with.

"That is not of your concern, Warden."

"Oh, yet here you are, interrupting my work."

"We do not need to explain ourselves to you!" She barked. "Whatever torture you're conducting can hardly be considered work." Her tone was displeased, disdainful of her fellow undeads' pastime. More importantly than that though, she tried to deflect the conversation.

Thresh sneered, as best a green-flame skull could. "A wraith with a sense of nobility, do spare me." He stopped swinging his sickle, hanging it over his shoulder instead. "And so you know, what I'm doing isn't for pleasure, it is in fact; work." He moved to the side, revealing the body on the table.

"I will explain. This body used to belong to a young man, a Noxian who only had a few days left of mandatory military service. Amusing, don't you think?" Kalista looked, ignoring the typical dark-haired and fair-skinned features of common Noxians, observing the gaping hole in his chest, though the rest of his body was otherwise wholly intact – strange for Thresh, he would have mutilated it. "When he was brought to me, the killing blow had already crushed his ribcage, making the incision nice and easy."

"You do not justify your actions, Warden." The last word spoken with an unwarranted level of scorn, tightly gripping a created spear.

Thresh mocked her with his smile. "Spooky. Are you to seek revenge for this poor soul?" She didn't react.

"This is research." Thresh iterated. "…the League wants to know what actually happens to a soul upon death. Well, at least when it's not granted an audience with me." He grinned widely as he finished his comment, his fingers dancing over the top of his lantern."

"So this one isn't…?" In the back of her mind, she wondered; League?

"I have to will souls into my lantern to claim them. It's as simple as just wanting them there, so I've had to avoid…temptation while I work." Thresh suddenly brought his sickle down into the open chest of his subject, causing the cadaver to shake violently. "As it turns out, a soul will remain dormant within its dead body until willed out by some other force. What this usually means, is one of us; the Champions of the Shadow Isles."

He was being patient with her, trying to calm down before she took upon the mantle of the Lady.

Kalista was unsure by what he meant by 'Champions'. She was almost certain that he referred to the greater Islanders such as herself and the others who had kinship with the Black Mist, but to go as far as to call them Champions…

"And then…?" Kalista queried, her mind stabilizing and egesting the Mist.

Thresh sighed, a hollow sound. "That's as far as I've managed to get, I'm afraid. I now need to contact the soul without drawing it into my lantern."

"I…see…" Kalista didn't really have a reaction to what he'd said beyond acknowledgement. Soul containment and manipulation was not her field, she was a vengeful wraith, not a sadistic soul shackler.

"But what about your issue, dear Lady?" Thresh pointed, his voice bordering on mocking. "I'm sure the League could help you out there, if you're willing to…tolerate them in turn."

There it was again."What League do you speak of?"

Thresh laughed. "Oh Kalista, you need to travel a bit more. The continent has so much to offer, the spectral wraiths you manifest there are not nearly enough to give you enough of the taste." Thresh collected his next series of words in his throat before speaking again. "The League – or League of Legends – is…an entity, dedicated in short form to keeping peace between nations and states. They do this by staging war games in lieu of actual war…effectively, but they provide other services, especially those who service them in turn."

Thresh began to walk forward, his gait slow yet menacing. This was the walk of a predator, but the type whose prey was strapped to the table and naked.

"They might even be able to help you with your little…amnesia problem."

Kalista scowled, the Mist flooded into her and she willed a spear into her hand, pressing the tip against Thresh's underjaw. "What problem!? We are vengeance!" She announced, staring a killing gaze into his eyes.

The Warden merely chuckled. "Not bad, but I want to hear Kalista say that."

The Lady of Vengeance suddenly realized herself. Kalista looked around, noticing that in her flash of rage, the Black Mist had gone from being a familiar behind her, to encapsulating her in its embrace – granting her the appearance of her wraith-emissaries for the second time in so short a span. She frowned and cast it off, willing it to slink back away to the back of the room and away from her, for the time being.

"We…I…" I want to remember. "…must remember."

"There it is." Thresh's laugh got a little louder before quieting. "The League can help you with that, and I can help you gain their confidence."

Kalista considered it, clearing her mind of any trace of the Black Mist as her thoughts ran. This was what she wanted after all.

Kalista retracted her spear, closing her fist on it and forcing it to leave the physical plane.

"I accept." She declared, looking the Warden in the eye.

"Oh, delightful." Thresh responded. He paused for a second – crafting his next series of actions – then sprung into them.

Stepping away from the table and his cadaver, he walked a few steps to Kalista's left. He raised his hand and suddenly, a gaping crimson doorway tore its way into reality. Sketched runes marked the edge of the portals circular shape, and as Thresh stepped closer into it the red pane receded to grant him entry. As he was halfway in he turned back and tossed his lantern to Kalista, who caught it with ease.

"Before we go, I'd advise you to bind your Mist to something you can carry – the continentals are not nearly as open-minded about having the great Black Mist trail behind people as we are."

Kalista was apprehensive, she didn't want the Mist too close to her mind or heart – it would erode at what little identity she was trying to restore. After a second of thinking, she figured she could bind the Mist to her in a physical sense, without allowing it near her cognition and higher functions.

She held her hands to her chest and focused, the great cloud of Black Mist behind her suddenly twisting into three thin twisted spouts, akin to water being funnelled down a drain. They pierced her body painlessly, manifesting as a triad of ethereal, pale green spears impaled through her torso.

Thresh couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle at the display – both the process and the result. "Functional, if inelegant." He turned back into the portal, walking into it with Kalista holding onto his lantern. "Now don't let go, and let me guide you."

First the red of the portal passed her, then the darkness of the tunnel in the fabric of space, then all Kalista could see was the green of the lantern she held, unable even to see the other end of the chain, or the one holding it.

But she steeled herself. She was Kalista; and she was the Lady of Vengeance. She would find and realize herself and the past she had lost.

Then, a bloom of retribution would spread across Valoran.

Any questions? I'll be happy to answer reviews. ^_^