Sprachgefühl n. 1: the character of a language, 2: an intuitive sense of what is linguistically appropriate
Nasus sat in the Institute library, filling inkwells. The task, while trivial, soothed him. The Institute had staff for this, but it reminded him of other places, and other times. Writing implements had not changed much over time, and dimensions.
The books surrounding him were different. In ancient Shurima his library had been a massive collection of tablets, preserved in sand and magic. They had so much to preserve, so much they had learned, that they had wrote it on the walls, the columns, upon their very souls.
In his home dimension, a dimension he hardly now remembered, he remembered knowledge stored on beams of light. Purposely flawed crystals and intricately woven disks had been the keepers of his civilization's combined learning, and Nasus of them.
But while the formats had changed, the form remained.
Order.
Knowledge had no purpose without order, and order was imposed by librarians. For Nasus, joining the League had been a demotion.
But he still had these reflective moments in the library. Nasus gripped his pen lightly; these delicate things had not been designed with his massive paws in mind. The blank page spread before him. Time to add to the world's collective writings.
"Galio gazed deep into Maokai's amber orbs. He had known from their first match, when he had first laid eyes on the leaf-ette, that it was meant to be."
Nasus smiled. This would be a worthy addition indeed.