Influence Point Spending: Sona
I must admit that summoning is not a strength of mine. In fact, I'm quite bad at it. It was a miracle I persisted playing past the tenth level. Perhaps not a miracle-more of an exhibition of the incredible stubborn baseness of my own mind. So when I was informed that my influence had reached the third tier in terms of pointage I was intimidated with the choices presented to me. With a jarring experience interviewing Singed some time before, I had questions about whether I should even be pursuing my summoning career at all on top of keeping my sanity. One could equate that period to a mid-life crisis. I felt detached and incompetent, giving up on everything else except summoning in a savage effort to prove myself. And while interacting with Singed produced splendid results on the battlefield I felt like he was becoming more dominant. More and more I felt helpless in the face of my fellow summoners and to the mad chemist. Thankfully I came into contact with a supportive clique of summoners who recommended I acquire the services of a support champion and take some steps back from summoning corrosive personalities like Singed for a while. His nearly stripped me of empathy, nearly drained me of the capacity to even care of my own safety, let alone that of others. That is the mind of a mass murderer.
The Demacian concert hall stood as a testament to just who 'big brother' was in the contest of culture. I traveled there by airship with a trio of summoners from Piltover. The Institute of Justice paid much of the expense for the trip, as we were on official League business. Inside the domed building every piece of architecture seemed to crush you down with their weight. Especially when sitting in those small theatre seats, the scale of the place looked as if it were to come at you like the bottom of a large drop, which made for good acoustics. That night belonged to Sona the Maven of the Strings, a popular champion which I had not been exposed to at all until then. The Institute must have made much effort in securing the spots for me and the other summoners and I must thank them along with my friends who recommended the trip. They gave me a gift to remember.
The lamps dimmed, and the ambient noise ceased. On the stage I saw some gaseous blue form slowly make its way from the side, marked with streaks of gold. Her face was bold, enticing, yet soft and delicate. Forgive me for indulging in this language, but for a presence like Sona's what else could do justice? Everything about her is iridescent and flowing. Awe inspiring, heart stopping, etcetera, etcetera. Don't take this as feelings for her. I was nothing more than infatuated, but deeply so at the time. So the champion appeared on stage, playing at the strings of my heart before she even started her performance. Everyone else must have felt something like that at one point when going to her concerts-but that magic, it is so alien to me! Is it of the nature born in our animal blood that she manipulates, or a lustrous mineral that drives men to climb mountains and conquer the seas? That is the question of music, to me at least.
I heard that she improvised the whole show that night, but it sure didn't feel like it. I use the word 'feel' because 'sound' is only part of the experience. Sona plays an 'etwahl', a large stringed instrument, a bridge of strings with no frets, a beautiful instrument in its own right. She started out with a contemplative tone. The etwahl reads off the exposition to an incoming stream of music. My mind was gently prodded into a state of intrigue. Then she opened a trapdoor under my feet with a single deep and resounding chord. The progression that followed left me battered, thrown out of a strange home she only just showed me. Stuttering notes slashed at my arms and legs with a tingling sensation, leaving me helpless to react mentally. After a bit of this, a tune started to form, hesitant and hopeful. She led me up a ramp, slowly but surely and…picking up speed. Dissonance began to burst outward from within the structure. Defiance, rage, desperation, I remember gripping the armrest and sweating profusely at this point. And then suddenly it dropped, very loudly, on a very deliberate and booming arpeggio. Laying on the ground, broken, I was lifted by a misty wave of impressionist color, just inches off the ground. The last notes trailed off like light does in a thick fog. And then silence settled into the architecture, a jarring movement in its own right. I took in the air. Needless to say we applauded with great fervor.
In a room backstage the four of us summoners were to have an audience with the maven herself. We were nothing short of excited. While waiting for Sona to appear, I learned from one of my compatriots that he was learning how to play the etwahl himself. I still wonder-to what end? The door opened, and there she was, standing as one of her promotional posters framed on the wall and scaled to life-size. I mentioned earlier how smitten I was sitting in the audience. In person that changed into an enveloping cloud of uplifting enchantment. My heart was racing, which would be foreign to my condition in the time before coming to Sona's concert. Floating behind her as she walked into the room was her etwahl, plucking idle notes that rippled through us. We told her about our intent, how we wished to be able to summon her outside of "free weeks" and of the interview required to develop trust between the two parties. Remember that the summoner is the one being judged in this instance.
She sat so immaculate on that stool. I could be satisfied just by being in the same space to marvel her. However, the conversation didn't amount to much because of her stoic silence that persisted the entire time we were there. Sona never uttered a single word as she sort of took in all our voices, reading our language like sheet music (if you look at it that way). In the back of my head I could feel an unpleasant tinge of guilt, wondering if we by our own fault had stifled her being under us.
I was surprised to learn that she is mute. Apparently that was news only to me, for I had mistaken her initial silence for an attempt at cordiality. What she expressed in her performance-that was her true voice. And I bet that was her story as well. But what of me, who can say so much yet fall short of moving a leaf? The thought of my words being used by another-that idea somehow came to mind when recalling Sona's performance. It troubles me greatly. We established dates for our individual meetings. My interview will occur next week. The summoners and I expressed how we were moved by her music. With a warm smile, the League champion shook our hands as we departed. Ackwardly, I gave her a thumbs-up as I walked out of the door. There was a very slight bewilderment on her face as I ran to catch up with the others.
Now I must measure myself. Am I good enough for her? Am I good enough for anyone?