Prince Jarvan Lightshield IV lead the detachment to L'Arachel, or what was left of the once cozy little hamlet.
"Split up and search for survivors," he commanded from atop his horse. "And for the crown's sake, put out that fire!"
Corpses – torn and bloody – were all that remained of the townsfolk, stricken down where they stood by an unknown army with not a soul spared except for the lucky. A fire was started at some point during the attack and had begun to spread, filling the air with a smog so thick that it blotted out the stars in the night sky.
"Gather the dead," he added on a somber note.
The official determination was that such a quick, devastating assault was the work of Noxian raiders, which had become more bold as of late in their shows of force along Demacia's Eastern border. An attack on a civilian settlement, however, was like a return to the long passed days of conquest. The time of great savagery, when committing such tragic acts was part and parcel for both sides.
Jarvan watched as one of the soldiers fell to his knees, openly weeping. Normally he would have rebuked the man for being so squeamish in the middle of a crisis, but not on that night.
On that night, all of Demacia wept.
Prince Jarvan III awoke in a cold sweat in the wee hours of the morning, sandwiched between a pair of brothel wenches far, far away from his harrowing experience at L'Arachel. The wine bottle in his hand – to his dismay – was empty, and the inside of his head felt like it was currently home to a swarm of very agitated bees.
"Nice chatting with you, ladies," he said, as he arose from the prickly straw mattress to redress, causing them to stir.
After paying the madam of the establishment a little extra in 'hush' money, the Prince donned his hood and went for his horse at the stables on the other side of town.
How can I continue living like this...
He set off at the crack of dawn, already fighting the urge to fall asleep at the reigns – lulled by the gentle rocking of the horse and the crisp, cool misty air and pine aroma that characterized the Western highlands.
If it were up to him, he thought, in that hazy, delirious state between being awake and dreaming, he would have preferred to stay a while longer...
A hawk fluttered upward into the clear blue sky then soared, letting loose a prideful shriek that carried far and wide across the vast expanse of rolling hills and grassy plains. Poppy watched it in awe, her spirits soaring with it, until it disappeared over the horizon marked by mountains and the snowcapped silhouette of what could only be Knight's Rock, towering above all else in sight.
Beyond the next rise there lay New Providence, the glorious capital city of Demacia.
The day had just started and already there was a long line of persons of all different shapes, sizes, and walks of life queuing up at the gate.
As Poppy waited her turn, her eyes wandered until she noticed something in the distance, in the direction from whence she had come.
A mile or so away from the outer walls of New Providence, there was an encampment extending from a region of untamed woodlands. The tents, however, were little more than hastily patched together fabrics, and the people loitering among them were not much better off.
A soldier tapped Poppy on the shoulder to snap her out of the daze. She was next in line.
Looks like the corps is a lot less strict about who they'll accept, Poppy thought, when she saw what awaited her.
It was the gatekeeper, a nebbish man in his 30s who had no business in fancy Demacian plate armor, that looked over the 2 ½ feet tall pigtailed girl with blue fur and what most closely resembled bat ears, but only saw one thing as being quite odd.
"Excuse me, miss, but is that really your hammer?" he said, pointing to the one in Poppy's hand.
Poppy's hammer was ever the spectacle. Even most regularly sized people, to say nothing of its current wielder, would struggle at swinging much less lifting up a warhammer that had such a thick business end – like a roughly carved slab of rock, affixed to a metal frame.
"I bet you don't see a lot of Yordles packing one of these," Poppy said, showing off its full size by standing it up next to her. It was twice her own height, and more.
"No, and not usually travelling on their own, either." The majority he'd come across were simple traders and, being that Yordles were a small folk, they always traveled in large groups. "I'm guessing you're pretty tough."
She shrugged. "The hammer does most of the work."
The gatekeeper then proceeded to ask her a series of yes or no questions while an armored guard patted her down. Did she have any criminal history? "No." Any alcoholic drinks on her person? "No." Any hidden weapons? "No." Magical artifacts? "No." Explosives? "No." Any allegiance to Noxus? "No." Ionia? "No." Bilgewater? A big yuck face, followed by a "No."
All of which were recorded, and checked against the extensive records that they maintained on everyone who entered and exited the city.
"Purpose of visit?" He finally asked, not looking up from his notes.
"Yes. Wait, no...I mean..." Poppy trailed off. For this one she didn't have a readily available answer, because it involved something she'd only heard about from other people during her travels.
The gatekeeper glanced up at her, making her think he was growing impatient.
"I'm here to see the memorial," she said. "The one that was built to honor," after a brief hesitation, "past heroes."
The gatekeeper nodded at this, then promptly returned to his notes.
Poppy examined his features, wondering if she'd accidentally said something wrong when he was taking an extra long time without saying anything, but then he looked up, smiling for the first time.
"Very well," he said, and shook Poppy's hand with unnecessary vigor. "Enjoy your time at New Providence."
She faked a smile, masking the anxiety she was feeling from her sudden return, after many decades of wandering, to the place where it all began.
Xin Zhao, the steward to the throne of King Jarvan Lightshield III, was tending to the plants on a high balcony that overlooked the city, when a messenger reached him with news of the girl's arrival mere minutes later.
A sprawling, medieval metropolis, New Providence had nonetheless earned its reputation for being the pinnacle of city planning, and in this aspect it was years ahead of the competition. A network of cobblestone roads winded neatly through its separate housing and commerce districts, and lush parks with man made ponds fed by the citywide plumbing and irrigation system, that sparkled beautifully in the early morning rays.
Xin Zhao smiled as he always did when he would stop to smell the roses, whilst taking in the grandeur of his adopted kingdom.
"Very well," he said to the messenger. "Please inform his Majesty that I will be out."