Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the League of Legends characters included.

Warning: There are mentions of character deaths.

A/N: I will not be including who is in this work of fanfiction until the big reveal of who it is at the very end. I will, however, include major characters other than the mystery narrator.

Edit: I apologize for the script earlier, thank you to CreaterOfWords for pointing that out.

I really didn't understand the reason behind forcing all of us to do this. So I suppose I brought this along to keep myself company. I really don't know how it came to this. I write this in the semi-darkness, waiting for the dawn, and hoping that no one finds me. But let me tell you how I even got here…/p

You see, I'm supposed to be a champion of the league, but due to unknown circumstances that involved poros, politics, and pencils, the League fell, leaving champions with no where to go. The world had fallen to a country known simply as Panem. Ionia, Piltover, Zaun… Even the two strongest nations (although I hate to admit their strength over Ionia) Demacia and Noxus had fallen, all of us becoming one large nation beneath the oppressive rule of Panem. And, of course, the first thing that Panem decided to do was to force the champions to act as "tributes" in this thing called the "Hunger Games". Us champions, warriors of a previous age and heroes of now, were forced to fight to the death in some arena of some sort, providing entertainment to the audience in the Capitol. Unfortunately, with the destruction of Runeterra itself, the magic keeping us alive has begun to fade. When we die, there is no guarantee of us coming back. Hence, the Capitol, or at least the government, thought it would be mildly entertaining to see us survive in the wilderness, devoid of power, devoid of strength, relying only on ourselves and possibly each other to survive until the end. To survive and become the last one standing. The last among many./p

I feel like I'm waxing too poetic for a journal, though, but I think it would be necessary for me to include all of the history leading up to the writing of this text. I write in the basic language that everyone should be able to read, some form of what the Panem people call "Latin". We all had this forced down our throats, and those who defied the so called "Peace Keepers" were taken away to who knows where. One such victim was Syndra. We never saw her again until today./p

Slowly, I could feel Runeterra being drained of its power, its magic. The very essence of life in our land was being taken by strange machines that operated not on magic, but a strange lightning-like substance that is neither solid, liquid, nor gas. Perhaps it is plasma, perhaps it is a new magic, but either way, no champion could use it. None of us had enough mechanical knowhow, even those from Piltover (Heimerdinger and Rumble had fallen early in the takeover along with most of the yordles in Bandle City)./p

I only am writing this now because I managed to salvage a journal and a pencil from somewhere in the Cornucopia. I think I can hear someone coming. I'm stopping for now.