-
Ch. 3

Armies of Magic and Might

Daylight shines brightly from above, illuminating the bright stones of the entrance. Before him stands an expertly crafted fortress-like temple, heavily decorated in large, celebratory banners. The area teems with people as they flock from all sides, gathering into their groups, and heading inside the welcoming structure.

Ephrial nods thankfully at Bob before the merchant whips the reigns, setting off and disappearing into the crowds. The swordsman looks around him at the wide audience of people that have traveled far in hopes to get a good seat at the spectacle known by all of Runeterra. Tilting his chin upward at the large doors that await him, he begins ascending the tall steps that lead into the Institute's Visitor Center.

The inside is already pushing capacity limits, and by the sudden wave of roaring cheers, the event has just begun. Slipping through the close-knit horde of spectators, he nimbly works his way closer to a better view, step by step. Along the way, he hears the nearby people mention the same names multiple times. Terms such as "flash" and "tower" are also brought up repeatedly.

Throughout the constant weaving between the multitudes of people, he comes across myriad enchanted displays of various terrains and angles. The most active parts are dense with enthusiastic followers watching the images screened on sundry slabs of crystal. Sounds of battle and ferocity emit from each of them, creating an arena-esque atmosphere. A female voice loudly rises above all others, explaining the major highlights and occurrences in short phrases—an announcer of some fashion.

He has heard tales of the infamous League of Legends. An organized battlefield where the strongest warriors from all corners of the land gather to do battle in order to settle political matters of importance. A place where many come to test their prowess, or to claim rights and property for their nations. Though many resent the Institute's very existence, not even the most powerful kingdoms have been able to contest the foundation's immense influence.

Walking circles, competing with excited crowds for a better view, Ephrial grows weary of wandering around for no results.

"This is getting nowhere," he mutters.

Approaching the deepest part of the magic-infused stadium, he sees a very large ring where the majority of people have clustered around. Barely able to see past the swarm, he notices the setting to be a large pit, noting that many of the onlooking crowd's gazes tilt downward the closer they are to the attraction.

Making his way through, he realizes he can only get so far before the assembly becomes impassible. He spies a nearby pillar with a hole in the side, most likely a slot to hold a special banner for specific events. Weaving past rows of fanatics, he reaches the column with an idea. Taking the sheathe of his blade off of his belt, he jumps up and wedges the tip of it into the opening. Ephrial hangs just off the ground by the support of the unyielding steel covering his blade; a snug fit.

With swift athleticism, he kicks off the pillar and swings his body upward, pulling himself onto the newly-installed protrusion. He then settles down on the improvised seating, making himself comfortable with his back pressed against the furnished marble, resting his legs on the crimson casing.

"Whoa… What's that thing made of and where can I get one?" a witnessing member of the sea of people remarks, noting the weapon's sturdiness.

Keen eyes can now observe the entire show with their new vantage point. The magical display is the largest, and the most popular, as it functions like a hologram. It covers the entire arena at once, giving spectators a chance to see everything in such detail, without compromise. Smaller sheets of carved crystal surround the ring to show close-ups of the livelier scenes. He observes a large field of three long paths two bases, and a jungle divided by a gentle river. Three towers stand in intervals along each road, barring the way to either base. A banner above the holographic projection reads:

SEASON OPENING EVENT: SUMMONER'S RIFT EXHIBITION MATCH!

Questions run through Ephrial's mind as he observes the battle with a scrutinizing gaze, learning what he can. Exhibition Match? Summoner's rift? Who are these people and what are they fighting for…?

The crowd flares up with a thunderous roar. A fight in the Northernmost lane is sprung, and cheers call out in excitement. The swordsman traces the source of the attention to two contestants. One, a large monkey wielding a magic, size-alternating staff. The other, a white-haired woman in tattered armor. Ephrial is struck with a sudden feeling of familiarity. There's no way he could forget an encounter with a warrior that possesses such ferocity…and a blade, even in its broken state, that dwarves many.

Now filled with a renewed sense of interest, he carefully watches the warrior battle a foe with an odd, but refined sense of agility and skill. That form…the confliction in her very strikes…it's all there just like before, but not as lacking in spirit this time. Yet, there it remains; that mysterious smoldering in her eyes.

A staff's feint jab from an illusionary copy provides an attempt for a flank from behind. She already sensed it coming. A quick turn followed by a front flip in the air, and the sharp edge of a rune-engraved sword crashes down onto her opponent. The force sends the monkey bouncing off the ground before he fades away in a mystical light and vanishes completely.

The disembodied voice calls out the words "First Blood," creating an uproar within the audience. Cheers ring out, calling her name over and over. Ephrial can only surmise she has been a crowd favorite, and must have been fighting in the League for some time now. But why? What is her stake in this?

Piquing with abundant curiosity at the unfolding presentation, he silently observes the entire match. A quick-learner, he sorts out the goals, tactics, and terms used in the highly-acclaimed sporting event. Before long, he begins mixing his own cunning strategies in mind. Every step taken and every objective secured is another lesson learned, paying special attention to the fearless swordswoman.

The final skirmish is set. Both teams of valiant and mysterious warriors leap into battle, the very sparks of their conflict setting fire to the energy in the room. Swift strikes and brutal finesse from both sides display a scene that gives the understanding as to why this is called the 'League of Legends.' It's a decisive turnout; the team with the early lead works their way through the opposing obstacles, heading for a giant crystal of massive stored power.

The audience is clearly divided as half of the crowd is either applauding, or sinking in disappointment. Standing triumphantly with the wear of battle on their attire and weapons, the winning team watches the massive structure explode, bringing the match to a conclusion. The magical stones that illuminate the observatory flood the stadium in blue, and once more, the charismatic voice thunders through the building.

"Victory!"