AN: Hello everyone, this is my first fic and I don't really know what I'm doing My only beta is my girlfriend, and she's been such a great help. Infinitely thankful. Canonically, there will not be too many changes to the universe, other than a different and more Grimdark interpretation of the events. This has gotten rather long so I'm going to start the story here.
(Yasuo)
The scent of the bar was intoxicating, blended with the deep burn of alcohol and the pains of a hangover. How long last night's drinking session had gone, Yasuo didn't know. What he did know, however, was that he would have to move quickly. Rising from the table, he looked at the table before him and winced at the large amount of empty liquor bottles that was set before him. That, was going to be expensive.
Lumbering slowly to the bar, Yasuo spoke slowly and softly "How much for the night"
Hearing this, the barkeep looked up slowly and "For a wanderer with no purse? I doubt you could afford it." he drawled.
Wincing at the loud baritone voice, Yasuo said nothing, and simply reached behind him for his moneybag. When his hand grasped nothing, however, then the panic set in. Checking around his body, he slowly realized that he had been stolen from. The realization of being moneyless was not a pleasant one when compounded with the throes of a hard hangover. Groaning softly, Yasuo looked at the barkeep with pleading eyes and asked "Is there any way that I could make this up? I was kind of forced out of my old place, and there isn't much I can do now."
Hearing this, the barkeep grew sympathetic, and set his hands on the table. "Mister, you drank a large amount last night. I normally wouldn't do this, but I'll let you go just this once. I should've stopped that sneaky bastard when he started putting his hands all over you, but I figured that he was a friend or something."
Yasuo smiled. "Friend? I haven't had one of those, in a long time. Just the wind, and my blade."
With that, Yasuo left the bar, intent on leaving the town as fast as possible. Losing all his money would make things hard for him in the next town, but he could scrounge something up. He always could. Holding his blade close to him, Yasuo left the town, furtively checking if anyone was following him. Sure that nobody was near him, he started dashing along the road. The Wind technique not only had combat applications, but could be applied to other aspects of life, such as transportation. He quickly learned that when he had to make a swift getaway when a town grew unfriendly.
Yasuo tried to piece together the previous night, but to him it was a hazy muddled mess, with any thoughts being interrupted by a twang of pain from the hangover. The only clear part of the night, was a reoccurring nightmare that had been haunting him for many days.
The dream started with Yasuo leaving to fight the Noxian offensive. By his side, the clan Elder begged him to stay, and to protect him.
"Oh strong warrior, please, do not abandon me. Please sir, please. Yasuo, I beg you, do not leave me"
Growing tired of the pleadings, Yasuo shook the Elder off and turned to face him. "You old fool. Can you not Ionian blood on the battlefield? All our warriors are dying! It would be much better for Ionia if I were to go out there and slaughter the Noxians. Go back to your quarters, nobody will care."
The Elder still begged, and hung onto Yasuo as if his body would keep Yasuo rooted. Constant pleas and reminders of his duty irked at him, and finally Yasuo grew tired.
"Enough with this! I am going to save this country! Begone!"
At this point, Yasuo then lost control of his body. He could only watch in horror was he slowly unsheathed Last Breath, and held it out in front of the Elder. Paying no heed to the sword in front of him, the Elder grasped for his arm once again. Angry at this, his mouth opened to shout "Enough!" and thrust his sword forward. Silence engulfed the room as the Elder gasped for air. Yasuo watched mystified as his realized his sword pierced through the elder, leaving the blade coated in blood. Growing weak, the Elder fell to his knees, and grasped for the blade within him. Horrified, Yasuo stared as the Elder suddenly morphed into a familiar face. His brother, his friend, Yone.
Yone gazed sharply at him, eyes brimming with hatred and betrayal. "How could you betray us Yasuo? We took you in! We raised you! We taught you the wind technique! And after all that, you repay us with this?"
Blood flowed freely from Yone's mortal wound, and Yasuo's hands grew weak and dropped his sword. He fell to his knees in front of his brothers, and clutched him. His tears flowed freely, and could only whimper as his brother died in his arms. His blood chilled, when Yone spoke one final sentence "We will never forgive you."
Every day Yasuo tried to forget the dream, and every day he failed. Who was he?
A hunted wanderer? A failed warrior?
These questions plagued Yasuo as he dashed towards the next town. Stopping before the gates, Yasuo slowed to a walk as he looked for a bar. The town, like many towns in Ionia, featured colorful festivities of art and beauty no matter the season. People would flit here and there, stopping often looking after children or other mundane reasons. He caught his gaze lingering on this scene, and shook his head. He had left that life many years ago, when he went to learn the sword. Finding a bar, he slowly pushed the door open, eyes keen in case any soldiers or mercenaries were inside. He stepped in, and found a seat. Ordering a drink, he let his eyes roam the bar. His awareness would be in remiss if he missed a group of soldiers or a mercenary. Darting around the bar, his eyes lurched to a hold at a white haired woman, who had a massive sword set beside her.
(Riven)
The gentle plains of Ionia were a far cry from the bloodstained training grounds that Riven grew up on. She had joined the military, and worked her way up from the lowest grunt into a feared commander. Thankfully, her gender meant nothing Noxus, and she was given equal opportunity to succeed. What this meant, however, that she had to compete with legions of highly trained men and women who were all vying for the same position. Becoming a commander of the Crimson Elite took conditioning that most would not survive. Day and night was training of some sort, whether it be training with her blade or disciplining her mind. The training gave her a powerful physique and a high position in the Noxian military, but it all amounted to nothing after Ionia. The Crimson Elite was part of the relief force that would be sent to the main militia, and was only a few days travel behind it. They were passing a conquered strategic point when everything went turned against them. Night after night the dying screams of her soldiers haunted her, and whenever she woke up she had the scar across her face to remember. She was lucky to escape most of Singed's concoctions, a feat that almost none of her soldiers achieved, and had escaped only with a large cut across her face. She could only walk, clambering over the bodies of her dead men. Her legs finally failed her in a field, blood still seeping from her face.
When she came to, she awoke in an unfamiliar bed. Her face burned from the wound, and much of her body was covered in bandages. When she attempted to rise, her body flared with pain. She forced her body up regardless, and was told that a farmer who managed to escape the Noxian offensive found her and carried her back to his town. Most of that day was spent trying to achieve bassic mobility. Much of her efforts were futile, and so a day became a week, and a week became a month. Her stay extended from a few days to almost a year now, and she had barely acquainted herself with even half the villagers. Sometime in the middle of the long haze, she made the trip to the Institute of War, and asked for a place as a champion. Her judgment took less than an hour, and the polite refusal came in an even shorter time. Going in, Alistar the Gatekeeper had refused to even look at her. Leaving, she could feel his eyes on her every step away from the League. Returning stowaway on a fishing boat, she sat mind glazed, incapable of rationalizing what just happened. She somehow made her way back to the kind village, and to her seat in the bar. She had shattered her sword in a symbolic way of cutting her roots to Noxus, but now Riven could only think that it was a foolish decision. At least then it was worth something. Now, it couldn't even function as a paperweight.
Today had her sitting in a corner of the bar, nursing a drink. She had placed her sword beside her as a warning to anyone that may try to talk to her. Why she kept it, Riven didn't know. She just couldn't bring herself to throw the sword away, it being strong reminder of her past. Perhaps it was a penance, as a constant weight upon her, but more likely it was a useless sword, with a sharp jagged edge. Well into her third drink of the day, she could barely bring herself to look up as the door creaked open. Only when did she hear the telltale rustle of a blade within a scabbard, did she gaze upon the stranger. There, in the sunlight, stood a tall and elegant man, with hair tied together by a small amount of string and eyes looking far beyond the room. Lost within her phantasms, Riven could only hint at the smallest motes of recognition.
Far away, in a palace that would put many of Shuriman palaces to shame, sat a woman deep within meditation. She did not react to the sounds of men training outside her palace, nor did she react when the door opened and small hurried footsteps headed towards her. Her face remained emotionless, until a few furtive words were whispered into her ears. A smile. Empress Karma, the undisputed leader of Ionia, replied only with "Keep the messengers on alert. Their purpose will be revealed soon."
