So, yeah, I'm kind of an inexperienced writer, I love to read so I thought I'd try my hand at writing. As of right now, this is just a one-shot to see if the idea is worthwile and then we'll go from there. Please any feedback would be great. I know that some people get really offended when you pick their work apart, I'll try my best to not do that. I really want to learn how to make a captivating story.
Disclaimer: I don't own League of Legends, it's characters, or any of it's legendary skins. Don't sue me, this is a work of fiction meant for non-proffit entertainment.
"Revered"
-(Main Character PoV)
I can't remember.
I feel groggy, and slow. My vision blurs. A humanoid shape. My right arm is holding something heavy; a weight is pushing back against it. A face with a hood. My left arm grasps his shoulder, pulling him towards me. A blade in his side. A hand. My hand. My right hand on the handle . . .
Panic.
He drops, blood staining his violet robes. Another man to my left, his arms raised. I duck, my arms stretched outward. He erupts into flames.
A stabbing pain in my side. A man behind me. I twist, blade in hand, perhaps to strike.
Another pain. My vision fades…
I'm tired. I can't remember.
I'm kneeling, a bearded man above me; his face is shrouded by a hood. His hands gently remove a jeweled necklace from around my neck. I can't move.
I don't remember.
-(3rd person PoV)
The young lad stirs. He's lying on a very small park bench, his legs hanging several feet off the end. It's uncomfortable, but another wave of lethargy tugs at his conscience. He rolls over and lulls to sleep.
In the southeast corner of Valoran, shielded by the Sable Mountain Range, there lies a valley, lush and green. Deeper into the wooded region stood city, it's stone masonry blending into the greenery in a spectacular way. But today the little buildings stood out from the trees, and with good reason.
Bandle City was a roaring hive of chaos as its inhabitants prepared for the festivity! The town center was packed with even more carts, and party stalls than any sane floor planner would recommend. The streets were stuffed with crowds of little folk, furry puffballs and fair-skinned fae alike. Streamers and ribbons of every color, width, and knot, dangled from roof to roof like a canopy over the square. Yordles were known for their fun-loving natures, but this was an event that few would forget. The people wanted it that way.
Why was such a party being thrown, one might ask? The answer is so simple that even young babes could gush it out: the League of Legends.
An influential match between Bandle City and Bilgewater had just been overwhelmingly won. The assortment of ruffians and pirates had been harassing the Yordle population for months and years, but not anymore. The match determined that. The all Yordle team had absolutely CRUSHED the bilgewater folks, placing them in line for the League's championships later in the year. As wagered, Bandle region would be free from external piracy for 5 years, or until Bilgewater won its rights back.
As such, the general populace of Bandle city were preparing for their triumphant heroes to return from battle. Coveted sweets and delicacies were baking, carnival games were being set up, and excited patrons were gathering, just waiting for a chance to greet the team at the city's entrance.
A buzz of excitement filled the air, filling everyone with cheer and glee.
Except for one individual.
-(Main Character PoV)
I look up from bench, noticing hoards of little people bustling about. What's going on?
Is this a dream . . . ?
A small family passes by, their children wide-eyed in wonder. Their parents glance my way, and make a complicated face, corralling the little ones away into the crowd. I'm confused. What did I do? Why do they look at me like that? Do I look suspicious? Maybe I look dirty?
-(3rd person)
The lad looked himself over. He was wearing a simple attire, there were no distinguishing features about any of the clothing, a pair of brown trousers and a simple blue shirt with a loose grey vest. Nothing special, but definitely nothing dirty. Then why was he looked at so? Any glances thrown his way seemed to carry the same warry disposition.
The lad decided to venture into the crowd. As he stood, what he assumed to be his money pouch fell to the ground, clinking with a few coins. He counted them to be five, and then replaced the pouch to his side belt. As he walked into the pressing crowds, the noise of the town gradually filled his ears.
"Lenana's fruit pies, get 'em while they're hot!"
"Step right up and be the next winner against Broland's mythic armwrestle-"
He felt strange walking through the bustle of little people, each easily two heads shorter than him.
He felt strange in general, walking as though he were confident, yet unsure as to the direction. It was as though he were walking in a dream. Everything new, but familiar. The faces and figures of these little people seemed so nostalgic, yet he couldn't place a name as to what they were. The male ones were furry, the females were fair, his gut instinct knew that for sure.
He felt like he was here in this dream for a reason, but he couldn't remember why. A gold furred little man crossed his path.
"Knock the bottles, win the bandles! You look like a strong fellow," the Golden Yordle chattered at the lad in a forced bass tone, smiling like a true business man. "If you knock the pyramid of bottles down in one go, you win 5 bandles! What a snag! One bandle a pop! Care to try your luck?"
"A-are you talking to me?" the lad asked, confused.
"Yes-sir! Will you put your luck on the line for 5 bandles?" the Golden Yordle bellowed out in his announcer-like voice. The boy's brow furrowed in deeper confusion.
"Um . . . What's a bandle? I have 5 of these?"
The Yordle game master almost lost his composure in shock at the statement, but recovered his wide grin quickly when he saw the lad's outstretched hand holding 5 bandles.
"Why, you have five of them right there, Sir! Care to play? Five bandles if you knock the bottles down!" he gestured to a stacked pyramid of milk bottles on top of a barrel about 10 meters down a blocked off alleyway. Intrigued, the lad handed him a coin, in exchange for a little round ball. He looked down the alleyway, and swung his arm wide, twisting his body as he went, launching the bouncy little ball at the stack of bottles. The ball ricocheted with a clink off the side of the center bottle, sending most of the pile off the edge of the barrel, but one bottle remained standing.
"Agh, that's too bad, looks like you almost had it! Care for another try?" the lad handed over another bandle and waited for the Golden yordle to reset the pile. He threw again, with the same results.
"Whooah! That was too close, I'm sure you can get it next time!"
Another try, another fail. One try later and it was already the lad's last chance! He looked at the bottles and the way they were stacked, it seemed that no matter how hard he hit the center bottle, one of the side bottles would survive intact. It was almost like they needed to be hit at an angle to fall properly. He got an idea, and tried bouncing the ball off of the alley wall towards the target. Only for the ball to miss terribly, not even touching one of the bottles.
"Aw, looks like you're out of tries! I was sure that a strong fellow like yourself could do it, too!" The lad realized that he now had no money, and paled at the realisation. No money, no food, nowhere to stay the night. This dream was becoming unpleasant. The Golden Yordle watched his distress.
"Eeeh . . . Alright, you twisted my arm! I'll give you one more shot, that's all, then I'll have to set up for the next customer."
The lad took the ball from him, pushing his fears to the side in lieu of his second chance.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. He took his time carefully to aim, exerting his mind in double time to make sure that his next shot would be the best he could make it. He launched the ball, and watched it rebound hard off of the alley wall, and glancingly ping off of the side of the center bottle. Anxiety gnawed at his bowels as he watched the ball bounce. The center bottle teetered . . . then fell at a slightly different angle than usual, barely tapping a side bottle as it toppled, the bottles on the top of the pyramid falling in the opposite direction, knocking the other side bottle down, leaving a leveled pyramid.
" . . . YOU WIN!" the Golden game master hesitantly blurted "I'm taking one bandle off of your winnings for the loan though, hope you don't mind!" he finished, handing the lad 4 bandles.
"Now, I've got other customers that need a turn, so thank you for playing! Enjoy your winnings!"
The lad was just grateful to have only lost one bandle overall. He walked from the yordle merchant, letting his feet take him where they pleased.
If he wasn't so tall, he felt like it would be easy for him to get lost in the press of people. But it was easy for him to see around the town square, the noise was still pretty encompassing though. The sun was getting lower in the day, and the crowds were beginning to rumble toward what looked to the lad like the gates of the city. Bouquets and bows practically enshrouded the wooden structure of the gate, making it look almost like it would topple under the weight. A fuzzy yordle scaled the side of the decorated gate, then spied out onto the winding road, using his hands as a visor for his eyes. He turned to the crowd.
"THERE THEY COME!" the yordle bellowed to the crowd in a tenor, yet gravely voice. Cheers and whoops surged out from the crowd, and the little people began hopping about excitedly, each trying to get a good view of their champions.
The lad noticed a sniffle behind him, turned and saw a pair of younglings with their mother, trying to peer through the crowd. Maybe he could help, his body paused at the thought, as though subconsciously rejecting the thought. The children began to whimper, not being able to see; the lad turned to their mother.
"Here, they can climb on my back if you'd like?" the lad crouched down, trying his best to smile and seem inviting, but his lips only seemed twitch upward a little. The yordle woman looked at him funny, and actually took a step or two away from the lad into the crowd.
The gesture stung the young man, he felt ashamed of himself for trying, but didn't know why.
The crowds had begun to shift again, and as the lad stood, he began to see why. A group of five little people had entered the city, the obvious focus of the crowd as they moved to give them way. The young man took in the sight with a mix of strange emotions beginning to fill him. The crowd seemed to chant their names, adding to the white noise. He could barely make out a few names.
"Ruuumble, Rumble-"
There was a furry yordle, piloting a big metal contraption that had arms and legs, towering even taller than the young lad. Grease and grime was smeared on tufts of his fur.
"Tristaaaana! Tristana-"
A pixie-ish, thin little yordle, with white hair and a goofy smile waved away at the crowds, bouncing excitedly from foot to foot. There was a huge cannon slung over her back.
"Teemo! Teemo-"
. . . This one seemed to have an aura surrounding him. The little creature was cute and fuzzy, but the lad could swear that he saw darkness bleeding out into the little furry's surroundings. The young man's body twitched involuntarily.
There were others in the party of champions, but the crowd was too loud for the lad to make their names out: a younger yordle with violet hair, and darker tinged skin, wearing a patchwork wizard hat; and a primal, scraggly furry with a headpiece made from bones. The group made their way through the crowd toward the center of town, then the lad lost sight of them through the crowds and stalls. The masses flowed after them.
Who were these people? The lad felt like he'd seen them someplace, but could not for the life of him recall where. He placed a hand on his forehead, as if the gesture would remind him, and began walking back towards the town square. He went on pondering, not realizing that the weight of his purse was missing . . .
"E-excuse me! Have you seen a money pouch on the floor around here?" The Lad frantically asked a stall-keeper near the gates of town.
The sun was starting to go down over Bandle City, and the REAL festivities were beginning. The excited chatter of the crowd had settled to a lower rumble.
"Mmmm, not that I've seen!" the Stall Keeper replied, tending to his assortment of party favors. The young lad had been searching for hours with no success, and he was running out of places to check.
"I was just around this area when I found it missing . . . where could it be . . . " the lad muttered to himself tensely, his tone rising with frustration. The Stall Keeper could sense his predicament.
"You might wanna try the Ye' Olde Inn at the center of town. It's near the Mayor's Office, and a lot of lost stuff turns up there," the Stall Yordle said, shrugging harmlessly, piquing the lad's interest.
"Thank you," the lad said sincerely, offering a short bow in appreciation before making towards the town center.
"Aw shucks, I didn't do that much!" the Stall Keeper called after the Lad.
"Has anyone brought in a lost wallet today?"
"Mmmm, not today, but I have a few from earlier in the week if you'd like to check!" The Inn Keeper and Bartender replied.
The young lad sighed, defeated. He slouched on the little bar stool, elbows on the little counter, hands cradling the sides of his face.
"No, you're don't have to do that, I just lost it today."
"If you'd like, there's a seat over there by the stairs, you can wait and see if anyone brings it in?"
" . . . Sure," the lad said breathlessly, his face a blank stare. He took the seat in the corner by the stairs, slumping onto the nearby table and surveyed the tavern with disinterested eyes. The inn was barely busy despite the festivities, a few stragglers were making merry at the bar, and it seemed like a band of Yordles were setting up on the stage. The inn had a very old western feel to it, despite the lower ceilings, the downstairs was more like a tavern probably built for parties.
He didn't know how long he sat there, watching, the sun had long gone past the horizon. The band had played a couple of dainty tunes in the background, and the number of patrons had definitely increased. Suddenly the door burst open!
"Order another round on me, Pops!" a clear adolescent voice rang out from the doorway, as the cannon-packing Yordle-girl from earlier marched right on in; this declaration of hers was answered with whoops and cheers. She was all smiles, stopping periodically to chat or joke with someone she knew as she made her way to the serving bar. Her smile seemed infectious as well. Her name was . . . Tristana, right? The lad lazily watched with interest until a mug was placed in front of him.
"It's on Trist, tell her thanks if you get the chance," the short waitress smiled as she carried her tray of drinks to the next table. Ironically, the mugs were not small.
The band flared up in the new excitement, smashing out a lively beat, but one stringed instrument didn't seem to fit the tune very well, plinking off tune notes. It was a large instrument, bulbous in shape, obviously too big for the little yordle manning it to reach the strings without concerted effort. The young lad watched the band with a neutral expression, sipping his sappily sweet drink; it was a strangely fizzy brew that seemed to fill his veins with warmth.
"A Cello . . . " the lad whispered out loud as he watched the poor Yordle pluck away at the large instrument's strings. He felt a strange sense of nostalgia looking at the Cello, unable to recollect where he'd seen one before; his fingers seemed to tense in recollection.
"The band sure is lively tonight!" the familiar clear voice spoke to his right, catching him by surprize. He perked up, looked right, then down into the golden brown eyes of Tristana. She was standing uncomfortably close, looking gleefully up at him. After an awkward pause, he spoke.
" . . . Y-yes, t-their cellist is struggling a bit though," he awkwardly looked back to the band, taking a gulp of his drink.
"Oh! You must know a lot about music then! It's been like that forever, I never really noticed it," Tristana continued, smiling brightly and taking the seat next to him. "So, what brings you here to Bandle City?"
The lad paused again, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. He hadn't payed much attention to it, but now he truly wondered: what was he doing here? His heart began beating uncomfortably and his palms began to sweat. What WAS he doing here? His vision briefly flashed with pieces of his dream. The one where he killed someone. What would she do if she knew?
"I . . . I don't know how I got here, I must have gotten lost," he replied, lamely, still averting his gaze.
"Oh? Well, that's no good! Where were you trying to go?" She innocently pried.
" . . . I . . . don't know." He wasn't sure what to do about this situation he was in, so he told as much of the truth as he dared.
"What? Really? Well, where did from start from then? Ooh , let me guess . . . Demacia! Right?" She energetically continued the conversation. The lad would learn from this experience that Yordles were one of the most social races in all of Valoran. He wanted to escape the conversation.
"Um . . . I'm not sure." He replied honestly, though he felt he wouldn't be believed. The fair skinned yordle puffed her cheeks in exasperation, then blew a raspberry.
"Ok, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to . . . " She sighed, then grinned as an idea popped formed in her head. "Hey! Pops! Two more over here!"
The lad couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't leaving to go and make light with someone else. He kept avoiding her gaze, his ears turning a little red from embarrassment. Another couple of mugs were served, Tristana handed him his. He drank, trying to avoid speaking. What was he going to say if she really pressed him for answers? He didn't know. He felt a little sick as his stomach knotted with stress. He felt alone, vulnerable.
"Well, at least let me know your name," She asked, her smile fading into concern as she saw his expression shift from stiff to despair.
(Main Character PoV)
My head was buzzing, I felt too warm. What could I tell her? She surely wouldn't believe I didn't know that either. What do I do? Who am I? What's happened to me?
My eyes sting, am I crying? What should I tell her? Who AM I?
In a flash, my vision changes, just for a brief moment. I see silhouettes.
"What happened, [...]?" It was a full voice, full of kindness, her voice is muted as she calls a name. My name.
"Auntie, it's nothing! I'm fine!" Is that . . . my voice? It's younger, but definitely mine.
"Oh, [...], if you don't tell me, I can't help you get better," She replies in a loving tone, but it begins to tremble with emotion "Please let me help you."
It's gone, I feel hot tears burning down my cheeks as my vision blurs. I can't even remember what I just saw, it feels so close, but for some reason I feel like I can trust this little Yordle. I look at her, her lithe little body is tense, and her eyes raised in . . . worry?
"I . . . don't remember. I woke up this afternoon, and that's the last thing I can remember." I didn't tell her it all, I feel like dirt. Maybe it's better this way. Why does it feel so bad though?
"Please, let me help you . . . "
Those words, I feel like they're just beyond reach, but whatever they said they pierce me and I know what I must do. I'm going to tell her.
"There's a dream I had while I slept . . ." How do I say this without sounding like I'm insane?
"It's the only other thing I can remember . . . I killed a man . . . maybe two . . . " I feel so much guilt right now, it hurts. I don't dare look at her. Why am I trusting her?
"The last thing I remember, is a man telling me: 'For your crimes . . .' and then it's gone," I whisper, and now I realize "This is my fault. I am to blame. I can't remember . . . it's because of what I did."
It's quiet around the two of us, the off-tune tavern music rolls on, the crowds of yordles look on, clapping along with the music. I haven't looked her way. The silence is becoming unbearable. I chance a glance. Her eyes meet mine. They're narrowed in a complicated expression, as though she's not sure what to do. I turn my gaze away when something unexpected happens.
She hugged me. Her little arms wrapped around my sitting torso, her white hair tickling my neck. She was warm. My first reaction was a strange feeling of revulsion that overtook my bowels, but then it melted away and I felt comforted.
*BOOM* Fireworks went off outside and the hoards of little people pressed to the Inn's windows to watch. We were left unnoticed. My tears end with the hug.
"Feel better now?" She looked up at me, smiling warmly. I feel so much kindness from this little person.
"Yes," I sniffle, and then croak out the most sincere "Thank you" that I can.
"Don't mention it. Everyone needs one of those every once in awhile." I can't help but agree. She continues, "So, where are you staying at?"
" . . . I don't have a place to stay."
"No, problem, I'll be in town for the weekend, I'll let you crash at my place for a couple of days, until you can get situated."
I'm taken aback at her offer, but really what choice do I have? My wallet is still missing.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask aloud.
"Aw, it's nothing special. Any Yordle would help!" She said, getting up and heading towards the door, cannon in toe.
"But you're the first one." I pursue.
"I think that people just need to get to know you a little first, that's all. I mean, you do look pretty suspicious." She smiled when she said that, then made a thoughtful expression. "Actually, not so much suspicious as 'out of place'."
That night, we argued over who would sleep in the bed, and out of stubbornness, we both slept on the floor on either sides of the mattress. I remember a thought coming to me as I drifted off to sleep: Maybe it's better that you don't remember. Maybe this is your second chance . . .
-(3rd Person PoV)
In a dark room a hooded man with a beard stood over a floating orb, prismatic and crystalline in color. Light refracted outward from the orb, splashing the darkened room with pale technicolor.
"You know, it was cruel of you to place him there, at another race's mercy no less." A robed woman's voice echoed in the low lit room.
"It all ended well." the smooth, low voice of the man replied.
"But what if it hadn't?"
"You underestimate the innate kindness of the Yordle race."
"And you overestimate [...]'s luck! One wrong move, and this whole plan comes crashing down!"
"I understand full well, the consequences, [...]." The man turned back to the ball. The woman, sighed and left.
"Now, [...], let's see if you really are a good man . . . " the bearded man spoke aloud, his voice whispering into the low light.
". . . Revered/"
Please let me know your thoughts, too slow, not slow enough? Needs more details? What did you like? I'll try to respond to any questions within 24 hours.