Prologue: The Journal

"You might be wondering why I'm telling you this. You might not know who I am. But I need someone to know before I am gone. Here, take this. You will understa – ahhh"

Melakith took the damaged journal, it was in grim condition, torn and scratched, the color of the cover faded to a nasty brown and it smelled putrid. The entire alley did. From the walkway to the bar and the inn this part of town always had a strange aroma.

There was shuffling in the streets. A disturbance of some sort. Melakith would not have cared, he would not have left the man before him, cold and barely breathing on the floor had he not heard it. The horn of Noxus. He had heard it before; they were warning citizens to get out of their way. Whatever they were here for, they were going to get it and Melakith could not stay. He tucked the journal in his sack.

His mind raced as he stood to leave, what could he do to help this man at his feet? Melakith was too weak and scrawny to carry someone and the only way out of the alley without being seen by the Noxians was to go deeper into town. Luckily, deeper is where home was. Unfortunately for the strange man, that meant Melakith had to leave him behind.

Melakith climbed over the garbage and filth, over the walls that joined the rundown complex of apartments for those spending the night at Kaldolia's Inn. He made way through the slums behind the walls, climbing onto rooftops of poor Noxian citizens and illegal immigrants from lands Melakith had only ever heard of. He saw what he was told was a mutated raccoon, missing both of its legs, dragging itself into a pathetic hut that must have been its home. It was larger than a raccoon and humanoid, its fur smelled of urine and sweat. He had heard it speak, he knew it could talk but he pitied it. Whatever the creature was it clearly was suffering. Melakith had seen it begging for food almost every day. What food did people here have to give anyway? We have nothing to spare to begin with, he thought to himself.

Melakith stopped. He was home. Before him now, greying along with the sinking of the sun in the distance, was a tree growing against the edge of the low roof that he stood on and rising to several times the height of the homes around it. Planks of wood had been nailed into it to make the climb easier and along the trees thick branches were more huts, supported by the strength of this great tree. It was one of a kind. The dark bark stuck out like a sore thumb. Its wood was stronger than any tree Melakith had ever climbed. Strong enough to have several beings walking on its branches with barely a shiver. There were four homes on its branches and two below. Melakith stopped near the top and walked along the thickest branch without any hesitation. He reached the hut, humble in size, but good enough for him. Melakith entered his home.

He sat on the hard uneven floor of the hut, simply the thick of the branch that held it up littered with various objects and ornaments he had found while scavenging the waste left in town. Some were useful, some were useless. There were tools and beads, some soft material he used for comfort when he slept, not that he knew what it was made of. It was not the greatest place to live but it was the best he'd had since he could remember. The sun had nearly set so Melakith lay down and ignited a Candle he had found in the dumpsters by the inn that was half used. Out of his sack he pulled out the journal he was handed. It looked as if it had only gotten dirtier since it was given to him. On the back there was a symbol scratched into the leather. It looked like a bird of some sort. Below read the inscription "The key". He wasn't sure what to make of it so he continued on. He flipped it back over and opened to the first page.

Journal entry 1:

Since my Journey began I was urged to keep notes of my daily dealings. My friend says it is important, for the solution I am looking for will test my mind in ways it has not been tested. He wishes to be able to check on my minds health as time passes. I will humor him but he must understand I do not care for such things. He has warned me of the sacrifice. I would take any risk to have her back. I do not care of the cost. I will find who took my wife and have my revenge. I will make sure they regret what they did to her. The Black Rose and its patrons will feel the weight of their sins crushing down on them as I break their backs. They will share in my pain once I have ripped their hearts out. I will come for them when I am ready.