It took several months of careful planning. Meticulous, careful planning.
Driven by perverse motives and their "love" of three particular Champions, three Summoners banded together to formulate a night they would never forget.
Prior to their covert meetings within each other's quarters, drawing charts, writing out scroll after scroll of magical incantations, the three were nothing more than acquaintances. To be curt, the three gravitated towards each other because of a common cause.
Considering the cause itself, it is no surprise how much work and determination the trio invested inside the endeavor. None of them really proposed the idea first, it merely manifested among them, like a flame on a dry prairie on a hot summer day.
This must have begun when the three of them discovered each other's deep passion for their main Champions. Each one was infatuated to their respected female, almost to the point of obsession.
One of these particular mages was completely besotted with a certain blue-haired Maven of the Strings. Although the woman had apparently already chosen a man of her own, he paid no heed to this and continued to follow her through the halls of the Institute, loving her unconditionally. To him, she was perfect, her soft face, her ample breasts, her innocent smile, everything a woman should have, she had.
Then there is the second Summoner, who was indefinitely smitten with a fair-skinned ninja, whose other name was the Fist of Shadow. He had fallen for her and her cold demeanor since the first day she and her fellow Kinkou had stepped foot into the Institute of War. He adored her piercing green eyes, her slender yet strong arms, matching with perfect legs that were just as slender, and just as strong. He longed to touch her silky white skin, the pallor of which would cause blood to rush to his johnny.
And finally, the last Summoner, who was head over heels in love with a black-haired, Nine-Tailed Fox. Him, like his colleagues, had fallen for her as soon he saw her stroll the halls of the Institute on her first day. Her tails and ears, although strange to other men, merely added to her charm to him. He didn't mind at all that she was technically an animal, her perfectly sculpted body and seductive demeanor caused his heart to try to escape his chest as it beat inside of him like a jackhammer. Not a day passed when he didn't have her image in his head as he spent quality time with himself after a long day of Summoning.
But alas, these three had another thing in common; their social skills, especially with women, were nothing but pathetic.
They could only watch with deep envy as other Summoners approached their Champions, speaking casually and sometimes, much to their enragement, even flirting.
But finally deciding that the barrier of social inability was something that could be broken, the three decide to express their feelings in another way, much in the same way as murderers show love to their victims, or rapists show love to theirs.
When taken into retrospect, the plan was simple. As soon as the Summoning hours of the day were concluded, the three would immediately create a custom match, which was easily done when considering the high level of security clearance the three possessed; another advantage.
No permission from the higher authorities was needed, no necessary incantations to activate the turrets, the inhibitors or the Nexuses. No summoning was necessary for the shopkeepers, the mysterious voice of the announcer, or the jungle.
All that was needed was the three female Champions in question, and an empty Rift. As to what would become of these three unlucky women is up to your imagination, but I am sure that you can figure out that it is quite lewd.
Now there lay a few challenges in their way. Difficult and intricate Summoning incantations were required to forcefully Summon Champions when they were not located within the Summoning Chamber adjacent to the Summoning Chamber for the Summoners.
This, and the fact that they had to somehow bypass the surveillance wards of the rift, were the only challenges present. But as almost required with every challenge that is few in number, these two challenges were very daunting.
But nothing could stop the triumvirate from achieving their goals, so quickly the three set to work after the layout of the plan.
Now, we observe them in their final preparations, the night before their planned romp.
In the center of a candlelit room, the walls seeming to vibrate slightly from the flickering of orange candlelight, three hooded figures hunch over scrolls and parchments, their hands constantly in motion as they right indecipherable text onto the paper.
A large amount of the paper rolls off of the table, touching the floor. This sight is strange indeed, considering that Summoners often seldom wore their hoods indoors, other than when summoning during battles on the Fields of Justice.
Nothing can be heard except the incessant scritch-scratch of their feather-quilled pens finishing the last pages of incantations with faintly glowing arcane ink. Their concentration is fully dedicated to the task at hand, not even a word uttered between them as they continue to write, scritch-scratch.
Finally, several hours into the night, the sun preparing its descent over the upper slopes of Mount Targon, the three simultaneously slam their pens down onto the parchment, finished with their hard work.
The trio sits in their wooden chairs, sharing looks with one another, their fingers recovering from the nonstop work they had to endure the entire night. Slowly, the dull eyes of concentration begin to light up between the three of them, grins slowly curling on their lips.
Then, with a victorious whoop, they all jump out of their chairs, yelling victoriously. An almost innumerable amount of time and effort had been put into this endeavor, and they had already finished the true "hard work". All that was needed now was to read off the ancient words off the parchments, summoning their love interests into the Rift.
Several minutes pass with the pale-skinned Summoners running around the room, exchanging high-fives and acting like complete idiots. Finally, the trio tires out, sitting themselves down on the bed to rest. The experience of writing down roll after roll of incantation for months on end had bonded the three together; before, they were just strangers with a common cause. Now, they were true friends.
With huge grins on their faces, their minds begin to cloud and fog over with depraved thoughts of the actions they would commit the next night on the empty Summoner's Rift.
Everything would be dark; the usual glowing Nexus and Inhibitors would be nothing but dark stones, the torches lit with fire dim. The only light would be emanating from the ethereal blue emanating from the tiles of the spawn pool, a blue circle in the midst of black. There the three Champions, wearing whatever they were wearing before they had been Summoned, would be forced to do whatever the Summoners wanted them to, everything recorded by a Vision Ward placed nearby for later use.
Suddenly, all three of them jolt up with a start, sharing looks of shock.
They had forgotten to write the Summoning incantation for the recording Vision Ward.
Hurgha. This. This was written with lightning fingers, for I was given a one-hour time limit to write this first chapter. Anyway.
As mentioned in the summary, this is a birthday present to the one and only Cerallius, my mentor, surrogate-internet-father, and friend.
Happy Birthday master, and I hope you enjoy my work for you.
Haven't written a short one-shot in a while, so prepare yourselves for the next chapter!
Excelsior!