(Starchild - PoV)
After another fruitless day of searching, I lay down to rest in a quiet grassy meadow, a ways from the nearest village. Once more I look up into the brilliant stars filling the night sky, but there is no comfort to be found there.
Only promises of destruction and ruin. Death and nothingness.
The omens are getting worse. The darkest of paths may not have come forth but the overall course remains.
I had such high hopes on finally reaching my destination, only to discover something of a stumbling block when the first villagers ran from me, crying "demon". It turns out they are understandably wary of magic. And myself, given my significant differences from the more common denizens of Runeterra.
It took some time to find anyone willing to speak to me. And once I finally did, I discover that the area was recently plagued by war. The war has already finished, however, so that cannot be the cause of the darkness I see.
Time and again, however, a name is mentioned. Garen. A traitor to the Kingdom (Or former Kingdom, perhaps?) that I reside in now, he led the armies of their opposition in a crushing victory. A great many other names and titles are mentioned, the Angel certainly catches my interest, but I feel the most connection with his. Is he who I seek? More investigation is required.
(Ashe - PoV)
There is no crunch of snow to give it away. No noise at all betraying its presence. Technically, it is invisible as well, but I can sense the subtle change in the light and the shift in the way the wind blows, twisting around its misshapen form before tugging on my snow-white hair. Another of her disposable tools, staying behind to ambush whoever comes to investigate.
Sighing, I raise my bow and release an arrow behind me. The assassin dashes forward in desperation but it is too late. The arrow, honestly closer to a bolt of magic, catches it in the chest, tearing through its thin protection and slowing its pace to a crawl as its entire body is near flash frozen. My warriors howl in outrage as its twisted visage is revealed, charging the moment they catch sight of it. It was once a woman but has clearly turned into something...other. Something terrible.
A normal man would die from such a wound but these creatures do not go down so easily. It tries to lash out at them as they close, its claws seeming to sunder the air itself, but they simply cut its arms off before hacking it to pieces. The remains will be burned and salted, just in case.
Turning away from the familiar routine, I look out once more over the pillaged and ruined remains of the village. The small village that not two weeks ago agreed to join my coalition. My attempt to unite the north.
And then was immediately descended upon by a great warband of trolls. The few who managed to escape, those who were on the outskirts and fled rather than attempt to fight, claimed the horde to have been led by the monster Trundle, the Troll King himself.
...
There is nothing of value left. Even the bodies were taken, to be eaten later.
...
I want nothing more than to give chase. To hunt those damned monsters down for yet another injustice. Yet another strike against me and my dream of a united Freljord. A prosperous Freljord, where we don't have to murder and pillage each other to survive each day.
But every attempt thus far has resulted in failure and disaster. Ambushes from yet more assassins, mages, abominations, and insane cultists. Narrow passes collapsing, blizzards of black ice, walls of fog so thick you cannot see your own hand. The witch seems able to strike at us with impunity and all we can do is take it.
Damn the Witch, and damn the monsters and madmen that follow her.
Any attempt to move out in force seems impossible as the Winter's Claw and other violent clans would leap at the chance to raid us from the other side the moment our back is turned.
They don't care about the future. They don't care about how every day more and more of our people die for nothing, for scraps, for the barest hint of survival. They cling to old grudges and look out only for their next meal, living day by day. Is it any wonder the rest of the world think us savages?
...
"Enough. Deal with the body, then we return. There is nothing for us here." I order my small warband.
Another failure. They are becoming all too common here lately.
I muse as I sit in my private room in our largest settlement, trying to plan. Trying to come up with a solution.
My dreams for a united Freljord. I refuse to give up on them, no matter how difficult they may prove, but that bar has proven to be set very high indeed. My old friend, my sister in all but blood Sejuani...I expected her to come around, to be able to count on her support. Together, we could have brought the North under our control so easily...Instead, she has become my harshest detractor and one of my greatest enemies. An entire region that I have made absolutely no progress, and even lost ground, rapidly.
And then the Ice Witch and her army. Slaves, trolls, dark magic, and abominations...
She was near rumor not even a year ago. Dark tales told around the fires to scare the little ones. But then the moment that I have any success...no longer are there whispers of dark deeds, and the occasional disappearance. No, now entire war parties are found massacred by black ice or return wounded, reporting fighting giant creatures made from it. Villages that announce their intentions in favor of me are beset by troll warbands, and we had to deal with assassin after assassin using cloaks of shadow and wielding knives of darkness.
I can deal with the assassins easily enough, but many of my officers, leaders, and lesser chieftains cannot. So often it seems every time I find a good assistant or trusted advisor I find them dead not days later. I have to conquer new territory by force, administrate it, do all of our diplomacy, settle the disputes between tribes, write the laws, and seemingly everything else, all at once...
We are the largest and most powerful faction in the north now, that is for certain, but all it seems to do is make us a bigger target for everyone else. For every group that joins, two more seem to turn against us. We should have greater unity and organization, but with the Witch killing so many of our leaders...
And if that wasn't enough, many of the tribes, especially the traditionalists, are insisting it is time I take a bloodsworn. I don't have time for all of my current duties, how am I possibly going to find time for a husband? I suspect those calling the loudest are simply hoping I will pick them, as if that will ever happen. No, I refuse to simply settle for some random tribal leader, even if that were a political option. And whoever it is must be strong. Strong enough to survive the scores of assassins that will undoubtedly descend upon them.
One more problem added to the mountain in my path...
Leaning back with a sigh and rubbing my temples, the light reflects off the viewscreen on the wall, catching my attention.
I had the town connected to the network early on, when I had expectations of quicker success, and hopes of Freljord joining the wider community beyond raiding and pillaging our neighbors for scraps. Given how things went after, and the Winter's Claw ongoing raids? Well, we still do at least a little more trade than before. And Gragas built a brewery.
I can't help but shake my head.
Graggy Ice, our best export. The man can be overbearing at times, but at least he made us a fair deal, unlike most of the exploitative offers I received. Only the fact that I was trying to project a new image for Freljord kept me from killing most of the representatives from Zaun and Piltover, condescending bastards that they were.
May as well see how the rest of the world is getting on, try to clear my mind.
Oh, it is at war, of course. How silly of me to expect...
Or it was at war?
I watch the events on the screen, my mind racing.
Demacia, conquered utterly? And Jarvan serving as Governor for Noxus? There is a great deal of history there.
Noxus...there may be some potential there. I need to look into recent events.