Legendary Lore #1
~The Maven and The Raven~
The sun had just dipped below the horizon when the doors opened. Dozens of patrons shuffled into the Theater, eager for the event of the night. The plush seats of the exquisite concert hall quickly filled with Myriad of nobles from both near and far. Excitement and anxiety flowed through their veins, knowing that come tomorrow, they'd be the envy of the town. They, the lucky few, had each managed to secure a ticket to the extremely exclusive concert, Of which was sold out almost immediately. A concert guaranteed to compel you to both shiver in delight and weep with bittersweet sorrow, with chords that would render the soul of any man.
The main act for the night was a musician of whom all of Demacia knew by heart. She was an enchanting soul who's music would reverberate straight into the hearts of all who were lucky enough to witness the beauty of her music. Her name was Sona Buvelle, The Maven of The Strings.
Ms. Buvelle was as Beautiful as her music, and yet as delicate as a flower. She was a young woman, just barely of age. She had fair skin and a Lethe body, with long crystal blue hair that moved with an almost Ethereal flow and grace behind her, reaching to just beyond her Shoulder blades. A golden ribbon tied her hair back, creating an enchantingly flowing ponytail. Towards the Tips of her hair, the color gently blended from it's natural Crystalline hue to a radiant golden blonde.
Sona, however, was as tragic as she was beautiful, being as she was born mute. The poetic sorrow of a musician who can conjure such beautiful sounds, but not a single noise from her own body. Nonetheless, Sona never allowed that to inhibit her ability to achieve happiness, with a smile so warm it could thaw ice, with piercingly blue eyes that would shine as true as the soul within.
The Maven herself sat backstage, in her dressing room, preparing herself mentally for her coming performance. Her chosen ensemble for the evening consisted of a Deep blue dress with white ribbons, trimmed with a gold thread. A homage to The City-State that she not only was Entertaining tonight, but also that which she called home. The dress was sleeveless but long, flowing like her hair, yet one which fit her form rather tightly, with a part along the Left side that rose to just above her knee. As she gazed upon her reflection in the dressing room mirror, she was deep within her own thoughts, precariously pondering and revising her choice of aria for the coming show's opening. She carefully revised each and every note that she would play, all within her mind, with no actual need to practice physically with her instrument. A knock at her door from a stagehand awoke her from her thoughts, signaling that it was time to begin her performance.
She smiled to herself and gave her reflection a silent nod. As she stood, she turned to her instrument, The fabled Etwahl (pronounced Ee-twall).A legendary Instrument of divine sound and power. It held 6 strings, splayed out horizontally across the top surface in two sets of three, each on one side of a dividing piece that ran down the center of the instrument. The body of The Etwahl was as slender as she was, with a frontal shape that resembled that of an eagle's beak, adorned with ornamental wings that stretched to each side of the instrument. A truly Angelic Artifact.
With a silent, graceful wave of her hand, the instrument rose from it's case and floated with an unseen magic to Sona's front, levitating at the optimal playing height. With a graceful flow she floated mere inches off the ground with the same magic, traversing her way to the stage. As she stood there, behind the closed curtains of the packed Theatre, she could hear the crowd and sense their emotions. Excitement, Anxiety, and nervousness. Emotions that she too experienced as she mentally prepared herself one final time. She took a deep breath, calming her body and focusing her mind. As she exhaled, the curtains opened to thunderous applause.
Among the hundreds of nobles cheering joyously within the theatre, there was one in particular of whom stood vastly apart from the rest. A grisly middle-aged man who slowly clapped from his seat. The ornate Mahogany cane resting by his 3rd floor mezzanine seat showed due cause as to why he was not giving a standing ovation like the countless nobles around him. His right leg had long since been injured beyond repair. A small smile shown across his otherwise gruesome face, riddled with scars and blemishes of both age and war. His eyes were an unearthly orange, with a gaze that held an impossibly resilient resolve. He wore a long jet black coat woven of an exquisite silk, with a silvery trim along the borders of it's surface. It had several Sterling buttons long the front of the coat, with a large collar that wrapped around his neck. The front was currently open, revealing a deep green Vest beneath, equipped with a silver ascot. His name was Jericho Swain.
Jericho could not possibly have been in a more dangerous position. He was a very well-known and respected general for the military machine known as The city of Noxus, Demacia's Ancient Rival. The two nations were practically at war, and yet, here he was, one of the highest Superiors in all of Noxus, attending a concert in the heart of enemy territory.
To most, the decision to travel to Demacia to partake in such an event would seem obviously out of character for Jericho, who was known throughout Valoran as The Master Tactician. To participate in this gathering included putting himself at great risk. Should a royal guard recognize him during his stay, he would surely be arrested and hanged by the first light of morning, much to the delight of every noble he currently found himself in the company of.
Jericho also was alone, adding to the caliber of his risk, finding himself not even accompanied by the demonic raven known as Beatrice who typically perched on his shoulder at all times. Jericho normally would never allow himself to be without the presence of his dear feathered friend, but rare occasions such as this called for it. Having his iconic raven accompany him would be a dead giveaway to any guard or soldier who had laid eyes upon him in the fields of combat, and seeing as how a single term of Military service was mandatory for all citizens of Demacia, almost half of the nobles in his presence had in fact seen him before, either in person or in propaganda posters calling for his defeat.
As such, added measures had to be taken in order to insure the safety of the seasoned general. Before traversing to Demacia, Jericho had enlisted the help of the notorious Zuanite chemist known only as Singed. He commissioned an elixir that would not only shift his appearance temporarily, but also distort others' visual perceptions of him. To anyone in Demacia, he was Corbeau Tromperie, a Wealthy Business man and seasoned Sailor from the port-city of Bilgewater, just as his Passport and identification papers claimed he was.
As the applause died down, Sona began her first Piece, The Aria of the moon. It was a slow and graceful song, with deep enchanting melodies that reverberated with each pluck of the strings. With each melody and chord gracefully played, the audience only became more and more enchanted by the beautiful sound as her hands moved elegantly across the Etwahl. As the song reached a crescendo, Jericho closed his eyes and smiled, reminiscing peaceful evenings of his past, albeit few and far between. As the song came to a close, the melodies gave way to a balletic Diminuendo.
As the last note faded away, the audience did not hesitate in erupting in gracious applause, with several "Bravos" being shout out from the crowd. Jericho opened his eyes and clapped with the others, having finally experienced first hand the beauty that was The Maven of The Strings.
Sona, in return, gave a brief curtsy to the crowd before beginning again. Taking a deep breath, her hands once more drifted gracefully over her heavenly instrument, ensnaring the hearts of her audience in an enchanting Ballad. The Raven could only watch in awe as The Maven touched his very soul with her song, one of which she poured her very own into.