Tags: Dawnbringer Riven, Drama, Fantasy au, Friendship, Family.
Beta Reader: Gmp1000
Riven coughs splayed on the bloodstained ground, the shattered bodies of her deceased celestial brethren surrounding her weak panting form from every direction as far as the eye could see, the remnants of her once magnificent sword somehow still clenched in her feeble and bloodied grasp, now damaged and useless much like the angel's own body.
The Dawnbringer coughs once more, one heavy and unresponsive limb weakly attempting to stem the tides of red escaping from the gaps of her ruined armor, vivid creeks of liquid life uselessly leaking between the wounded angel's pale and twitching fingers. Damn bastard! The vile daemon that had both delivered the lethal blow and defeated her whole battalion didn't even have the decency to end her life instead of just leaving her there to bleed out among the corpses of her comrades and slain foes.
The Dawnbringer grunts as her vision dims, the black spots that are flickering in front of her face soon blocking out the light of the sun and stealing the pitiful blurry hues of the world from the dying angel's sight.
...
The wounded celestial is suddenly woken up by the sound of uncertain footsteps echoing in the eerie silence of the macabre battlefield. Riven remains still, only her half-lidded eyes moving to stare weakly at the burning ball high up in the sky, the corpses of her foes and brethren still smothering and crushing the dying angels' form. Keeping the broken celestial warrior concealed under the weight of the dark sticky pile.
The sound of voices fills Riven's ears, gruff yells and strained grunts echoing across the ocean of lifeless flesh as men and women of all ages and sizes wrapped in torn filthy rags start stripping the bodies of the dead and looting the spoils of the battlefield. Oh, of course. The humans would always gather around the immortals' conflicts like moths being drawn to the flame, their greedy hands tugging on the bloodstained feathers of the angels to use in their alchemical concoctions and the poisoned blades of the demons to fuel their wars and arm their weaker emaciated soldiers.
Riven examines the dirty and muddy hands of a lone scavenger as a wrinkled old lady a few paces away from her starts plucking the feathers of a dead angel, the red grimy feathers of her deceased comrade being hurriedly shoved into a grisly looking leather sack along with the golden earrings of a fallen demon and any other trinkets discovered upon the horrendous immortal battlefield. The elderly woman briefly glances at Riven's weak, fading gaze and then violently snatches a handful of the celestial's azure, light blue feathers before hastily moving away from the soon-to-be corpse. The wrinkled old scavenger's dark beady and greedy eyes already searching the battlefield for more bloodstained treasures and metal tidbits to shove into her filthy sack of coppery war trophies.
The sound of the wrinkled woman's wet footsteps fades as Riven once again blissfully passes out when another smaller shadow approaches the fallen warrior and looms over the angel's face.
...
Her body is constantly rocking back and forth when the wounded celestial warrior finally regains her consciousness, and the Dawnbringer quickly deduces that she is being transported through the means of a tumbrel of sorts from the way the pile of dead bodies around her keeps shifting underneath her and her vision is swimming across the dimming horizon.
The celestial warrior coughs weakly as the coppery taste that's clogging her throat starts constricting the insides of her esophagus like layers upon layers of old peeling paint. The wooden handcart abruptly comes to a halt as the dying angel's coughing fit draws a dribble of blood out of Riven's mouth. The dirty face of a little girl dressed in filthy brown rags suddenly occupying the majority of the injured celestial's sight.
"…"
"H-hello?"
"..."
The child is young, Riven realizes in just a few slow beats of the wounded muscle that's still somehow pulsing inside her ribcage. The Dawnbringer can't compare her unlimited lifespan to the mortal years of the silent spectator, but the small figure staring at her is short and unrefined enough for the angel to safely assume that she is dealing with a female human youngling. An exhausted pair of hopeless green eyes cautiously glares at the survivor of the death wagon with evident hostility and the injured celestial warrior is mildly stunned by the mature and guarded expression worn on the child's face. A peculiar human artifact shaped like a pair of silver swords joined around a crimson orb at the center of the construct abruptly rises behind the young orphan girl like some sort of a protective metallic bird, the deadly tips of the sentient floating blades ready to kill at the first sign of an attack or a hint of a sudden movement.
"W-what's your name?" Riven asks with a ragged breath that could have as well been her last, the foreign celestial language spilling out of the warrior's lips causing the black-haired scavenger's eyes to narrow and the floating blades to vibrate aggressively.
"Where are your parents, little one?" The dying angel shortly attempts to ask this time, but the young rascal merely shakes its head and the edges of the silver blades come to rest against the wounded celestial's throat. The Dawnbringer examines the trembling sentient weapon that's pressed against her pale flesh for a moment or two and then her eyes move back to calmly stare at those of the young human child.
"Children shouldn't be gathering corpses and wandering near fresh immortal battlefields." The injured angel states with some conviction and the steel in Riven's voice makes the rattling silver blades draw a trickle of sanguine blood by cutting a faint red line across the celestial's deathly pale epidermis.
The human girl growls something akin to a warning, but Riven can neither understand the weird sounds coming out of the child's mouth nor has the time to pay attention to the hostile girl since she passes out once more due to the pain of her wounds and the copious amount of blood that her body had lost during her confrontation with the wretched armies of Chaos.
...
There is a small hearth shedding its scarce light across the cramped and dismal room, broken celestial blades and black pieces of demonic armor are decorating the walls and forming messy bloodied piles that are littering the floor of the small wooden shack. Riven blinks as her blurry eyesight tries to adapt to the scarce lighting of the dark gloomy room, the angel's azure gaze travelling across the stolen trinkets of her deceased comrades and observing the lucky bone charms of her vile foes until she suddenly recognizes the quiet form that's cautiously staring at her from behind a rack stacked high with shards of weld shimmering metal shards and deformed pieces of rusted and broken breastplates.
The black-haired orphan merely glares at her, the little girl's animated silver blades patiently floating by the child's side as the little scavenger silently glares at the currently perplexed, wounded female celestial.
Riven blinks when her crystal blue orbs unexpectedly land on a tiny light azure feather that's clenched between the quiet orphan's muddy and shaky hands. And the Dawnbringer eyes the young mortal child curiously, mentally wondering why the human girl would even bother stealing one of her light azure feathers. Was it perhaps because her light blue plumage wasn't as stained with blood and gore or withered like the ones the child could pluck off the dead bodies of the fallen celestial warriors? Could it be that perhaps the visibly upset child merely liked the soothing color of her plumage?
The Dawnbringer blinks once more when she suddenly notices that the child has kindly placed something soft behind her pulsing bandaged head and that the upset orphan had even opted to cover her broken form with a blanket made from the torn patches of the once ornate cloaks worn by the previously deceased soldiers.
Riven offers the small human girl a smile only for the young child to instantly stiffen and dart back behind the rack with the pieces of burned ruined armor. The wounded Dawnbringer tries to speak in order to calm down the human girl, but Riven's voice fails her as the injured angel's dry throat makes the very notion of coherent speech utterly impossible.
"..."
The white-haired angel's words scatter due to the choking sounds of a coughing fit and a few painful minutes later the pale swordswoman is still trying to regain her breathing when the rim of a metal flask is unceremoniously pressed against Riven's lips and a few droplets of water drip inside the celestial woman's mouth. The Dawnbringer observes the nervous and cautious child that is hesitantly holding an ancient golden flask against her lips, the immortal swordswoman's wet blurry orbs thoughtfully examining the depictions of winged flying beast that are etched on the surface of the old artifact before Riven obliges and takes a small sip out of the small stolen canteen.
The water tastes like dust and mud mixed with the faint taste of the strong alcohol that was no doubt used to be contained inside the young orphan's war trophy. Still, the lukewarm transparent liquid manages to alleviate some of the terrible pain that has been wreaking havoc in the back of Riven's throat and the wounded angel presents the miniature scavenger with a grateful smile.
One that quickly vanishes almost instantly when the little human girl silently jumps back behind her assorted collection of dented breastplates and resumes glaring at Riven from the relative safety of the darkness.
The upset little scavenger and the wounded warrior continue staring at each other throughout the rest of the night. Riven is gripping the stained bloodied rags that are bandaging her injured chest while the young orphan is barricaded behind her old war spoils. The child's small dirty fingers absentmindedly stroking the length of her sole stolen azure-colored feather, the silver blades floating behind the dirty orphan's back occasionally fidgeting and quivering in nervousness and fright.
0000
The dirty child yawns as the young orphan girl attempts to rub away the sleep from her face and eyes. The young scavenger's emerald orbs first narrowing in evident confusion and then suddenly widening in shock when the black-haired child abruptly realizes that there is no ragged blanket keeping away the cold wind, but a pair of soft light blue wings instead that are currently forming a reassuring fortress of sorts around her little dirty body. The majestic blue blanket of feathers that's presently wrapped around the young orphan's form easily keeping the cold air of the morning at bay.
Wide green eyes rise only to meet two azure-colored orbs as the wounded angel from yesterday offers the stunned shocked child that's nestled on her lap a tiny reserved smile.
"Good morning." Mutters the white-haired angel in a language too melodic and foreign for the spooked Ionian orphan to ever comprehend as the Dawnbringer addresses her unlikely miniature savior. The small female feather-thief nervously swallows the lump that's abruptly formed in her throat, with her silver blades nervously quivering in the air and her fright clearly evident on her face as the young orphan child shakily locks eyes with the almighty recovering celestial creature.
...
Two dark cloaked forms can be seen roaming a bloodstained battlefield with a wooden tumbrel ominously rolling behind them in the crimson mud, the ominous dirty wagon tirelessly being pulled forward by the taller of the two silent cloaked shades. The carnage left behind by the clash of the two immortal armies of Order and Chaos is evident from miles upon miles away, glittering metal tin cans wrapped around torn winged corpses and broken blades with cracks running throughout their shiny surfaces comprising the spoils for the ragged legions of wandering starving beggars.
The wooden creaky wagon navigates through the seas of blood and the ocean of lifeless flesh and dead husks, the taller of the two figures stopping every few moments to toss the remnants of a bloodied cape or a handful of sticky wet bloodied feathers over the permanently stained planks of the eerie pathetic excuse of a transportation vehicle.
The smaller figure is also helping in gathering the spoils of the fallen warriors. The cloaked child hurriedly runs around the tumbrel as it examines the unmoving forms of both angels and demons before it swiftly kneels down next to their macabre broken forms in order to recover a golden tooth or a bone ring and even the occasional muddy silvery ornate bracelet.
Sometimes the smaller shade takes too long to return from its hunt for precious things and the taller figure that's dragging the handcart pauses and follows the child with its crystal blue gaze until the little girl finally returns back, before the taller of the two figures once again starts moving, silently pulling the handcart across the crimson ocean of death and the dark islands formed from the husks of lost immortal lives.
Sometimes a filthy beggar threatens the young orphan with the stolen blade looted from a fresh bleeding corpse, and sometimes the cloaked Dawnbringer steps forward and reveals her azure-colored wings in order to scare off the ragged armed offender. Riven then merely pats the top of the child's head and resumes dragging the orphan's handcart until the two of them have gathered all the war spoils and lost family heirlooms that they can find.
The celestial warrior would have certainly preferred it if she didn't have to expose the young human child to all of these grisly scenes of death and war. But her little rascal would undoubtedly be a lot safer near her newly appointed white-haired protector than not, and the young orphan would always keep clenching the recovering celestial warrior's sleeve fearing that Riven might one day suddenly disappear forever just like the girl's deceased parents.
The Dawnbringer usually responds to those anxious gestures by lifting the small child off the ground and carrying the black-haired orphan on her shoulders for an hour or two. The quiet angel usually mumbling something about a better vantage point to spot intact pieces of armor and valuable swords as Riven lets the dirty feather-thief run her small childish hands across the soft light blue plumage of her wings as the angel drags the wooden tumbrel away from the horrifying scenes of gore and terrible immortal bloodlust.
...
Sometimes the feather-thief finds the courage to press a shy kiss on top of Riven's white head and sometimes Riven minutely pauses before she resumes dragging the creaking death wagon. Sometimes the young orphan child would get confused and calls Riven, mother. The Dawnbringer doesn't say a word when that happens, but the stranded angelic warrior faintly blushes and smiles under the cover of her bloodstained hood as she keeps pulling Irelia's bloodstained death wagon forward.
The End
The mother of all writer notes explaining the various ideas behind the concept and the world of this au, but first a joke: I told you that Riven was the uber-secret third angel of Runeterra but nobody believed me.. Now I am just waiting for Riot to finally release the second part of my prophecy with the smuty Riven cloned brides saga and the female Zac romance.
The first plot: Anyways, I was contemplating writing something about the Order Vs Chaos event and the angel version of Riven. Riven lost in the event and so my thoughts (un)naturally moved towards a defeated Riven being offered to one of Nightbringer's Yasuo's lieutenants. Morgana perhaps or maybe Syndra? But I thought that the whole concept was lacking. I could have added a spoonful of drama of course, make Riven Kayle's lover and the evil lieutenants trying to punish the Judicator through hurting Riven. Morgana especially being coy and cruel while tormenting the Dawnbringer and then make up something to add a handful of light in the darkness. Maybe Morgana starts seeing herself in the remnants of the still defiant broken angel or maybe she slowly falls for Riven. As you might have noticed I just love those kinds of cliché love stories.
The final concept and musings concerning this au: A thought then hit me like a Sion ulty and really startled me even though it dealt no damage. Where are the humans in the Order Vs Chaos universe? We see angels and demons, but not a single human warrior? A dystopian universe quickly sprouted from that tiny random thought. An au where the immortal wars have all but annihilated the human race which now lives as carrion birds and jackals feeding off the spoils of the immortals' desolated battlefields. It is a dark au where human's are weak parasites feeding off the strife that once destroyed them, they gather angelic artifacts, turn the bones of slayn demons into jewelry and daggers, they fill their pillowcases with the bloodied feathers of dead celestials fighters and probably even partake in cannibalism if the can't gather enough precious trinkets to exchange for food in the bigger human settlements.
I have a little theory about how Riven survived in case anyone is peeved by the whole miraculous recovery. The flask with the water may be the key here, an once lost ancient artifact bestowed with healing properties by an ancient celestial spell caster. The flask lost most of its power through the passage of time, but it still contains some remaining healing properties. Not enough for Irelia to actually notice them of course, but certainly enough to fend off disease and make Riven's healing factor kick in just in time to save her. That's why Riven observed the flask and its depictions before finally drinking from it :) . That's why the wounded angel thinks of it as an artifact :) . The golden flask is also the reason that Irelia hasn't gotten sick while practically bathing in the gore and blood of dead bodies. The flask is an invaluable treasure that protects the orphan child without Irelia's knowledge as the child struggles to survive alone in the vast desolate wasteland that was created by the wars of the mighty immortals.
But the Strife unwittingly safeguarded a human child due to the death of one celestial creature.
Lastly Irelia adopted Riven in a previous story so it is now the Dawnbringer's turn to take care of the Ionian orphan.
Plots within Plots. -Drawing