Hello and welcome to my first LoL fanfiction. I should first mention that all names and places with League of Legends belong to Riot and not myself. This story is an original and is currently rated T for non-descriptive violence and certain sexual allusions. If you enjoy this, please let me know by reviewing or favouriting the story! Along the same lines, if you don't like it, review and tell me what I ought to change to improve things.
The Prologue is going to be a little confusing right now, but it will eventually make total sense in later chapters when all of the characters are revealed. Thank-you for taking the time to read this!
The Blind Wheel had seen characters of all sorts since it began its life as a tavern in the lower end of Demacia. The poor and ostracized of the city hardly had enough money to get by, much less to uphold the city's ideals. Thus was born the Blind Wheel, as well as a handful of inns and even less savory establishments in a corner of which most of the higher city never spoke. Law seldom bothered to train its all-seeing eye on these darkened corners, for punishment to the impoverished would seem severely unjust: a concept highly frowned upon. This left the only blemish upon Demacia's shining reputation to fester under the noses of retribution so long as they kept to themselves.
Hodin, the owner and bartender of the Wheel had seen the place come to life at the hands of his father. Though neither had ever been supporters of immorality, the lack of funds in their family had forced them into business in the only neighborhood they could afford. Now in his later years, with only a daughter to succeed him, the man had attempted to raise the standards. Brawls, prostitution and theft were condemned to the best of his abilities. On more than one occasion he'd attempted to reach out to the authorities, though they seldom agreed to intervene.
More than anything, he hated days where in the corner, a woman, her face obscured by her cloak, would sit quietly drinking.
"I've told you before, get out." He grumbled, bringing her an ale and a sandwich. "You're not welcome here."
"I have business in this area, Hodin. You would be best to let me sort it." Her voice held a carefully weighted warning that he daren't argue. She was not necessarily to be considered a regular, however her particular line of work found her frequently in these parts. Hodin, who lived in a loft overhead seldom saw her about during the day, though refused to rule out the possibility that she preferred to live unseen in the lower city.
He shook his greying head as he left her. "Don't cause any trouble. I will get the law involved if I have to."
As Hodin retreated behind his counter, polishing a bottle that had clearly seen better days, the woman quietly tucked into her sandwich. She had pushed her brew aside, for she didn't subscribe to the notion of an alcoholic beverage. Had she not loathed every other place in the lower city, she would have vacated The Blind Wheel years ago. Hodin, however, was not a bad man, and she felt almost bad for any trouble she caused in his pub. It was his character that earned him her business. She found him tolerable: a quality few others in the area possessed. Unfortunately, his tavern was a breeding ground for the unsavory, and therefore, she made it her business to supervise.
She sat hunched, watchfully eyeing the door and paying no attention to the bartender who willed her away. Clearly, she was waiting for someone. This ailed the proprietor more than all else. Most of her acquaintances were of unprincipled character: men and women he hoped to someday expunge from his bar. He watched as she drummed her fingers impatiently on the table and picked at her sandwich, refusing to meet the eye of those around her.
Outside, a man and a woman spoke in hushed tones. "This looks most like home." The man told his companion, eyeing up and down the streets.
"The true heart of the shining city." She replied.
"Are we safe here?" he gestured towards the tavern, its hanging side weathered, worn and faded with time. It's dim lighting and dusty windows were reminiscent of somewhere entirely non-Demacian, and the pair clearly appreciated this.
Wordlessly, the woman pulled open the door, pleased that the tingling of the bell at the door had disturbed no one but a tired waitress whose sleep laden eyes betrayed her welcoming smile. Seating them in a corner, she offered them menus and promptly left. As the only one other than the bartender, the couple were treated to an intimate business, seldom disrupted by anyone.
Hodin had noticed the strangers before the door had even shut. He'd also noticed the way the cloaked woman had shifted her gaze to them as soon as they had seated.
"Clara," he called over the waitress, "bring the madam her bill. She's overstayed her welcome." He sent her over to the table where a half eaten sandwich and untouched brew came second to the observation of the equally secretive strangers. Though the cloaked woman accepted her bill, she never looked at the young server bringing it to her, and rather offered Hodin a pointed glare. Despite having been unceremoniously asked to leave twice now, she refused to leave her post: silently daring the bartender to try and use force.
His aging body would do little good against the agility and strength associated with the young, but his hopes were that diplomacy would encourage her good behavior. "I can't make you leave, but know this," he warned in a whisper, "If you cause me any trouble, the constabulary will be down here before you can slink back into the shadows. Got it?" She glared at him. "There's a price on your head, you know." With his words hanging in the air, he retreated to his post, pouring another beer for a tired looking gentleman at the bar. Nearly an hour passed before his attention was once again drawn to the strangers and the cloaked woman. The bar was emptying, and the lack of a crowd had off put the two new arrivals who paid and promptly left. The door hadn't swung shut when the woman dropped her coins onto the table, and followed them out quickly.
The couple had rounded the corner to cut down an alley to the inn they had chosen to stay at, when they found their path blocked.
"Move it, lady." The man grumbled, attempting to push her aside and walk past her. His proximity had left him vulnerable and with the swiftness of a fox, the cloaked woman plunged a dagger deep into his chest.
Hodin winced at the scream that shortly followed the departure and rested a hand on Clara's shoulder. He counted to twenty quietly before leaving the young girl in charge to investigate the damage. Knowing that the voice had come from the east, he immediately searched the alleyway to the right of the tavern. There lay two bodies: the two strangers. An arrow skewered the woman, and the man lay in a pool of blood emanating from a stab wound. There was no doubt of their assassin. Crouching down to examine them closer, he took note of an insignia on the man's shirt. Pushing aside his blood-drenched cloak, Hodin felt a wave of nausea overcome him. On the man's shirt was the Noxian crest.
The consequences of this murder could rock both cities to the core and threaten the peace the league had finally given them