Tags: Fantasy, Parody, Humor, lots of League Cameos.
What a glorious day it was! People in shining suits of armor were waiting for their chance at besting fate, forming a line as far as the eye could see from the peaceful town of Camillot to the sword lodged in the stone. Scarred veterans on top of noble steeds exchanged tales of their awe-inspiring deeds while their squires tended to their horses.
You could almost taste the excitement in the air along with the pies and the cider that the vendors sold to the crowd. The residents of Camillot were in a festive mood, having gathered to witness who would be the one to free the holy sword, Ex-cranberry from its prison and be crowned as the Main Character and King of Fizzeland.
The peasants ohed and ahed at the attempts of the knights, cheering them on as the warriors huffed and puffed from the strain. The most famous and wealthy knights were being announced by an elderly man dressed in a purple tabard. The crowd was applauding each contestant that stepped forward to grasp the sword, encouraging their potential sovereigns to gain their favor.
"Sir Garen of Yells" Bellowed the elderly man in the purple tabard, his Adam apple bobbing comically up and down. A muscular knight with pauldrons as big as an ox's head approached the magical sword. He spat at his leather gloves and gripped the handle, eliciting more than a few disgusted sniffles from the people waiting in line behind him.
Sir Garen pulled at Ex-cranberry with all of his might, veins popping up on his temples whilst his face turned red from the exertion. A cracking sound was heard, causing the onlookers to stand on their toes in order to get a clearer view of the rare spectacle. Smiling children, perched on the shoulders of their parents were pointing animately at the muscular knight. A few of the peasants even holding their breaths in quiet anticipation, expecting for the rock to shatter and the sword to be freed at any moment now.
A collective gasp left the lips of the crowd when the knight's pauldrons shattered instead, unable to contain the bulging muscles of Sir Garen. Yet the sword in the stone refused to bulge and Sir Garen released his grip after a minute or so of tugging at the handle. The brave knight accepted defeat with humbleness, joining the crowd of cheering peasants that encircled Ex-cranberry's prison as another burly warrior grasped the hilt of the magical sword.
"Sir Darius of Cleaveland!"
The armor of this formidable colossus was black as the night with deadly spikes jutting out from it to skewer the enemies of its wearer. Just like Sir Garen, Sir Darius attempted to jerk the sword out of the stone, but ultimately failed. This time the contestant departed by shoving noblemen and peasants out of his way all the while glaring at anyone that would meet his narrowed eyes.
The vendors hastily moved out of Sir Darius' path, insulted knights scowling at this shameful display. A little boy sprinted between the trees, running after its dog that was chasing a hungry cat that was chasing a spooked mouse.
"Lady Fiora of the Long Bread." Cried the familiar voice of the red-faced herald. A young woman dressed in fine clothes was the one to strut to the chunk of stone next. She puffed her chest out like a preening peacock, wrapping her delicate fingers around the hilt of the legendary weapon.
"I shaw be the one to be craowned Main Chawacter." She bragged, her mocking smirk brimming with confidence. Yet the noblewoman's smirk began to falter when her first attempt to dislodge the holy sword was proven unsuccessful.
Fiora's eyes narrowed in anger, she wouldn't be defeated by a stupid sword! She deserved to be the Main Character more than all those gaping buffoons. Beads of sweat glistered on her forehead as Fiora positioned one leg on top of the chunk of rock that served as Ex-cranberry's resting place, and started tugging at the sword, frantically.
Seconds gave way to long minutes, Lady Fiora's persistence dwindling away under the scutinizing gazes of the audience. The knights around her hid their smiles behind gloved hands, the peasants making unsavory comments, whispering conspiratory amongst each other.
Lady Fiora's face was burning with embarassment, her cheeks were dusted with pink. Knowing that her fellow nobles were witnessing her failure, was too much for the arrogant noblewoman. Soon enough, the embarassment was too much to take. Fiora stopped trying to free the weapon, and although she let go of the hilt, she kept her head held high.
"Stupid swowd, you awent even wew made." She muttered angrily, throwing her beret to the ground as she stormed away to duel her servants and slaves.
One by one the champions of Fizzeland were called to claim ownership of the magic blade, yet none of them was able to succeed in pulling Ex-cranberry out of its stone scabbard. Peerless embodiments of bravery and greedy Earls, local heroes beloved by the people, all of them were tasked with retrieving the magical sword, and all of them failed.
Some of the contestants regarded the crowd with beaming smiles despite being unable to remove the sword from the rock. Lady Leona of Luxington joined Sir Garen in the swarm of excited onlookers, applauding the attempts of her fellow knights and spectating the happenings in apparent wonder akin to a child that's visiting the circus for the first time.
Lord Braum, Captain of the knight order of the Shiny Shields, entertained the kids that were present in the event by acting out a story pertaining a young warrior that fought off a band of ice trolls to save his village. Lady Sona, Duchess of Silicon Valley, to the delight of the attending masses, played her enchanted harp to appease her boredom while her husband, Jhin the Cruel tried his hand at becoming a king.
Hours ticked by and although the competition had initially started as a test for the pious and the privileged, villains and outlaws came out of hiding to attempt to steal the throne of Fizzeland. The knights and nobles scoffed at those haggard and ragged shades of fallen blue-bloods and landless vagabonds. The town crier, however, announced those misfits never the less to the immense annoyance of the valiant knights.
"Sir Aatrox, leader of the Crimson Steel mercenary band."
A towering figure clad in red platemail armor jumped down from the saddle of its horse. The children cowered behind the backs of their trembling parents at the sight of the red horned helmet, while Sir Garen frowned upon noticing that fresh blood dripped from the edge of the enormous two-handed sword that the mercenary was carrying on his back.
"Weak fools have no place ruling a country, I will make fine warriors of you lambs when I become your sovereign." Exclaimed the villainous mercenary, his gauntlets clicking as his armored digits coiled around the hilt of Ex-cranberry. Fear seized the hearts of the hapless peasants that silently prayed that this bloodthirsty warmonger wouldn't become their king.
Sir Garen along with Lord Braum and Lady Leona watched the mercenary grip the sword with distaste. They were against allowing this vicious person to touch the holy sword that chose the next king of Fizzeland, yet the rules clearly stated that everyone, no matter their background, would get a chance to attempt retrieving Ex-cranberry from the rock.
Seconds ticked by, the crowd watching with bated breath Sir Aatrox grunting and cursing, his limbs shaking from the effort.
"Face me in combat you inferior weapon meant for sniveling bureaucrats! Come, see your end at the flames of my conquests!" He hissed like a raving lunatic, his voice echoing sinisterly within the confines of his horned red helmet. But for all his anger and the venom that poisoned his soul, the intimidating mercenary was unable to pull out Ex-cranberry and be crowned Main Character.
Sir Aatrox spat a final curse, before climbing back on the saddle and riding away. The seething mercenary blatantly ignoring the people that were gathered around the dirt road that led to Camillot, forcing them to dive into the nearby bushes to avoid the hooves of his horse.
The knights, their steeds, the squires and the peasants exhaled as one after Aatrox's departure, visibly relieved at the turn of the events and the judgement of Ex-cranberry.
Suddenly, a black, almost incorporeal hand made of darkness shot out of the shadow of the legendary sword. It grabbed the hilt and jerked it violently, struggling to draw the weapon into the shadows along with it.
"Witchcraft! She is a witch! She is summoning the Devil!" Shouted an old chambermaid whilst pointing an accusing finger at the much younger woman that her husband has been staring at for a decent amount of time. Sadly, however, the attention of the attending knights was captured by the ghostly arms that were struggling to dislodge the magic sword and nobody heeded the chambermaid's warning.
The shadowy hand flipped the crowd when it failed to wield Ex-cranberry, slowly sinking back into the thin line of ethereal darkness, to the bewilderment and horror of the stunned spectators.
The announcer cleared his throat and then scanned his scroll for the name of the enigmatic stranger. "Master Zed of the Assassins Guild...?" He spoke, somewhat uncertain. People in the crowd were murmuring amongst themselves, concerned about the appearance of the deadly assassin and the possibility of a witch being present close to them.
"I could do that better." Claimed a serious voice. The crowd parted to allow a short furry creature to reach the chunk of stone. Heimerdinger was pushing some kind of machine in front of him, a strange amalgam of ropes, nailed boards and levels that looked like a fishing rod attached to a miniature siege tower.
"Sir Heimerdinger of Yord"
People gasped in awe at the chance to witness Sir Heimerdinger, the oddball inventor that had earned his title by impressing the previous king with his craft. Sir Heimerdinger had painstakingly worked for the betterment of Fizzeland, introducing magnificent inventions to the people such as: the illusive bathtub, toilet scrolls and the serrated hatchet that could be used as a handsaw if someone enjoyed using flawed tools.
The spectators held their breaths as the celebrated inventor pulled a level, resulting in the descent of a length of rope that had twin hooks tied to its end. Sir Heimerdinger unceremoniously returned the level to its original position in one decisive motion, the twin hooks began ascending as the machine's inner mechanisms started wrapping the rope around a cylindrical part.
The hooks dangled in the air for a short moment before getting stuck on the golden cross-guard of the magic sword. The rope produced a light noise as it went taut. A horse sneezed. A cat yawned.
Meanwhile, Sir Heimerdinger opened a concealed trapdoor on the peculiar contraption to inspect the two running Poros that were powering the strange machine. Heimer glanced at the Ex-cranberry and the taut rope. Humming in thought, he manually adjusted the place he had hung the Poro snack above the miniature wheel where the fluffy creatures were running to reach it. With calibrations finished and everything in working order, Sir Heimerdinger closed the trapdoor.
Seeing that they were now closer to the hovering snack, the Poros redoubled their efforts to devour the tasty treat, running faster than before. The rope attached to the machine squealed in protest, faint plumes of smoking rising from it as the Poros kept accelerating to the point that they looked like two blury cotton balls.
"How astonishing! The Spontaneous Elevator is unable to produce enough kinetic energy to liberate Ex-cranberry!" The yordle inventor exclaimed while approaching the chunk of rock to examine the intricately detailed cross-guard of the otherworldly object, "Could the magical properties of the holy blade increase the gravitational pull of Fizzeland in its vicinity and redirect outside interference, I wonder?" He mused to himself, so absorbed in the mysteries that he yearned to uncover that he paid no mind to the smoking length of rope above him and the alarmed faces of his fellow countrymen.
Abruptly, the rope ignited only to turn into grainy black particles the following moment. Sir Heimerdinger turned around to inspect his machine, unfortunately used to his inventions malfunctioning and going on a rampage.
"That wasn't so bad." He sighed in relief glancing at the charred remains of the rope. A second later the Poros dressed like firefighters jumped out of the hidden compartment covered in soot, a tiny stretcher rested on their paws upon which laid the partially-burnt snack. Heimerdinger raised a thick, furry eyebrow at them as the Poros fleed the scene, the inventor's prized prototype suddenly turning into black dust too.
"Back to the drawing board!" Sir Heimerdinger shouted, determined to not only reconstruct but to also improve his Spontaneous Elevator. The intelligent yordle swiftly turned around and headed for Camillot. As he walked, Sir Heimer made a list of all the necessary parts he would need to assemble Spontaneous Elevator Mark II.
"Not even the great inventor of toilet scroll could pull out Ex-cranberry! This sure looks hopeless. Is there anyone here that deserves to be the next king and introduce outrageous taxes to the population?" People said and thought, scrunching their heads, obviously troubled.
"Mundo does, bleh!" Answered Camillot's butcher and proudly marched up to the magical sword, his bloated tongue swinging about with every clumsy step, slapping grimacing citizens as he passed them by.
"Nonsense! Mundo isn't of noble birth. I knew his Pa, he was a gravedigger, and his mother was a mana-addict!" One of the women present complained in her shrill voice, other women in the crowd nodding their heads at her words. A group of farmers were moving to intercept the burly butcher when Lady Leona's voice rose over the cacophony of the gossiping spectators.
"I say let the boy try its luck. Gods know that Fizzeland needs a ruler, and everyone should be allowed an attempt at the crown."
Some people seemed convinced by Lady Leona's reasoning, whereas others were still conflicted but held their tongue to avoid being lynched by the female knight's fan club -They were named Solari after one of Sir Heimerdinger's inventions, the Solarium, in honor of Lady Leona's bronze tan.
"Lady Leona has spoken wisely. A sovereign is needed to take our land and distribute it to his knights and nobles. Come forth, Mundo and let us see if you are the one to ruin our lives." Nasus, the workaholic farmer of Camillot gestured to the drooling butcher without pausing in his relentless activity and favorite pastime of crushing ants under the shaft of his hoe.
"Mundo will be king and wear funny clothes and a pointy hat, bleh!" Responded this daring dreamer of a miraculous world, and knelt down to lift the rock within which resided Ex-cranberry, the sword of legends. Nasus facepalmed, still continuing to pulverize bugs. The peasants sighed in both pity and exasperation.
"This hard sheath too heavy for Mundo. Mundo doesn't want to win contest anymore," The purple man blurted, before his face brightened by an epiphany, "Mundo will become pretty princess and marry future king instead!" He sputtered happily, dashing back home to sew a wedding dress for the most important moment in a man's life.
Silence reigned over the clearing, until another peasant decided to challenge fate. "Butchers might supply the weapons of the culinary war, but bakers are the ones that fight in the front lines of hunger!" Uttering that bold statement, Pantheon, Camillot's baker, gripped the hilt of Ex-cranberry.
His pink mittens creased in determination, flour scattering from the forming ridges creating puffy clouds beneath his clenched fists. Pantheon roared a battle cry, conviction radiating from his body as he mustered every inch of strength in his body in order to remove the sword from the rock.
Pantheon's mighty roar was abruptly interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. The manly baker froze, his muscles tensing and then relaxing. He lazily leaned forward, first just a little bit, but not even a moment later his shoulders hunched and his head dipped towards the ground.
A thud rang across the clearing, curious eyes drifting from the unconsious baker that had collapsed on the ground, to the mean-looking coot that held the remains of a green bottle in their bandaged hand.
"Such lousy brutes want to govern this land," Chuckled Singed, the town's pharmacist while tossing the broken bottle into the bushes, "This world doesn't need simpletons driven by their basic desires. It needs visionaries, scientific minds that will seek progress without being restrained by things like petty morals and sentimentality."
The pharmacist inspected the chunk of rock, his eyes swimming with madness. He produced a simple flask from under his cloak and bit off the cork, before spiting it out. An odorous musty scent assaulted the noses of the stunned spectators, sizzling could be heard from inside the flask.
"The ground! It is melting!" Screamed a middle-aged woman, her gaze trained on the stained cork that Singed had just discarded. Corrosive properties were already eating through the stained lid and the leaves around its resting place.
"Can you imagine the highs that our small community will reach if my experiments were to be funded by the treasuries of the state?" Singed murmured lowly, dreaming of elixirs and expensive distilleries and countless test subjects at his disposal, "We shall conquer death and discover the limits of our mortality. The Gods themselves with envy the knowledge that we will hold in our palm."
Leisurely, as if being in some sort of trance, the old pharmacist tipped the flask. Droplets of the clear liquid started falling on the holy sword's prison, the stone hissing upon coming in contact with the foul concoction. The cunning pharmacist smiled under the bandages that concealed a portion of his face, spilling even more sizzling dew across the fabled resting place of Ex-cranberry.
"I wont let you! It is my turn to try! I could buy more than a dozen sheep if I had access to Cammilot's treasure vaults!" Snarled the restless shepherd that was called Warwick, he promptly tackled Singed sending both of them to the ground, the crafty man's flask rolling away from them, emptying its contents on the grass.
"I will buy a new boat and patch up my fishing nets with that kind of money!" Growled Nami whilst slapping Warwick with a fish. She glanced to the side just in time to see another spectator heading for the sword and she hurled an octopus at his face. Her aim was true, the tentacles of the sea creature wrapped around the man's head like a hunter's bola. The blinded spectator thrashed about on the forest floor, struggling to peel the octopus off his face.
"Friends! We shouldn't be fighting amongst each other!" Lady Leona pleaded, attempting to diffuse the situation before more people joined the brawl. The whooshing of a walking stick coming down was the sole warning of the unprovoked attack. Pain, sudden and sharp exploded inside the female knight's skull that knelt on the ground clutching her rattled noggin.
"It is so easy to act superior to us when the king gifts you a manor and fertile fields to harvest their crops," Bickered a toothless faggot with thin white hair and sunken faded orbs, "I worked my entire life to end up a shriveled old crone living in a rundown shed. Where is my manor, knight?!"
"Blasphemy! This ugly hag attacked Lady Leona!" Screamed a bespectacled teenage boy with tens of pimples on its cheeks, "Death to popular dudes, unattractive women and the non-believers!" The Solari acolyte bellowed as he charged, unsheathing a knife the handle of which was likened in the shape of Leona's profile from his long yellow robes. The other Solari that were present looked at each other for a second, before they too unsheathed their own Leona-themed knives and joined the fray. "Death to the non-believers!" They parroted, running around Lady Sona to attack Sir Garen.
The residents of Camillot were behaving like rabid animals, they clawed and cursed, they slapped and slugged anybody close to them. Soraka bit Warwick's ear as she climbed on his back and tried to stab him with a ripe banana. Children were kicking Lord Braum's shins, while Lady Sona was using the strings of her broken harp as a garrote to assassinate a donkey that had munched on her hair. Gragas, the town drunk was arm-wrestling a tree that in his stupor had mistaken for the barkeep.
Chaos reigned across the clearing, the vendors that had come here to profit from the once much-anticipated event were now scuttling away to protect their profits. A lone handcart moved forward in the sea of violence, its owners that were dragging it with difficulty being either too stubborn or too broke to cut their loses and go home.
The handcart creaked and wobbled, its battered wheels carving a shallow trail in the grass. Dressed in brown rags that were nothing more than sewn burlap sacks, Quinn and Valor panted as they continued dragging the handcart.
"C-clubs, seeds, apples for your horses, leeches, they are as good as bandaids." Uttered Quinn out of breath, and Valor repeated her words in his own language. The two friends dragged the handcart amidst the swirling melee, avoiding furious squires that were punching their masters, housewives that were strangling their cheating husbands, and farmers that were beating nobles with their produce.
"Caw, caw, caw." Said Valor, huffing like a medieval nerd after gym class. Quinn glanced at him and then nodded. "Fine, let's take a break." She sighed. They set down the handle, rolling their shoulders, shaking their appendages and drinking cool water from a gourd to appease their parched tongues.
The two friends glanced at the red faces around them, the balled fists, the angry snarls and the crazed people. Quinn grimaced upon noticing a bunch of greengrocers attempting to fend off the servants of a rich merchant while wielding zucchinis. She was barely able to cover Valor's eyes before one of the greengrocers shoved his zucchini inside the cursing mouth of a skinny servant.
Valor cawed in protest. Quinn always prevented him from having fun, he wanted to get into fights and peck people like the other birds his age. The brunette vendor was about to pick up her handcart again when the glimmer of gold caught her attention. Her eyes found the source of the glimmer, a majestic sword with an ornamental cross-guard stuck in a big rock. More curious than hopeful, Quinn approached her find, holding Valor's wing so he wouldn't get lost in the crowd.
The sword seemed expensive, one of those decorative weapons that Dukes and Counts usually displayed over their fireplace, yet no noble went to grab the abandoned sword in the melee. People disregarded it in favor of assaulting their opponents with anything else -even their bare hands- Instead of picking up the abandoned blade.
Valor's tummy rumbled. The two friends hadn't eaten today in order to sell the apples that they had gathered from their apple tree to the participants of Camillot's contest.
"This sword would fetch us a lot of money, enough for us to eat every day for at least two seasons." Mumbled Quinn while biting at her bottom lip, conflicted. Valor's eyes widened in wonder and he cooed softly, holding his feathery belly that kept making noise.
"Whoever lost this sword must be really rich. They would probably miss it if we took it, but they would be able to buy a new one. We need it to survive." The brunette went on, moving closer to the rock, Valor hopping behind her.
The hilt was surprisingly warm to the touch, it felt like a pebble left outside in the sunlight. Quinn took a deep breath, adjusted her grip and pulled upwards. The silver blade of the expensive sword climbed higher, it got stuck again, however, and this time Quinn wasn't able to budge the damn thing.
"Val, give me some help here." The brunnete vendor whispered, not wishing to be heard and have the knights arrest her for stealing. An affirmative squawk answered her request. With a little jump and a flew flaps of his azure wings Valor landed on top of the sword's pommel. His talons took a hold of the pommel while Valor beat his wing as fast as he could, the blade rising with a haunting squeal as it cut through the stone like butter.
With their combined strength the unlikely duo were able to extract Ex-cranberry from the rock. The clouds in the sky parted, light cascading over them creating an image straight out of a fairy tale.
"Quinn? My long-lost childhood friend! I-I thought you died in a dragon attack." Stuttered Sir Garen, his eyes welling with tears. Quinn merely blinked at him, never having met the burly knight in her life.
"Hey, arent you that bird that saved me from those bandits when I was just a squire?" Asked Lady Leona while kneeling next to the blue eagle that tilted its head in confusion at her words.
Quinn jolted in surprise when she felt a meaty hand on her shoulder. Turning around to regard whoever was touching her the young vendor's heart almost jumped to her throat.
"S-Sir Darius, Sir!" She yelped in fright, her amber orbs almost popping out of their sockets. Quinn had a few bad run-ins with the intimidating knight and didn't want to be in his presence if she could help it.
"Please, forgive me my Lady," Darius said, remorse coloring his voice, "I only tried to cut your head off last time we met because I didn't know how to express my love for you." He growled loudly despite trying to apologise.
At the same time that Darius leaned forward to kiss Quinn's hand, Xayah emerged from the bushes and handed Valor a dirty tennis ball. "This is yours," She blurted shyly, a pink blush painting her cheeks, "I found it while foraging in the forest. Don't look at me like that, Val! I'm just being a good neighbour, you know?! I am not doing this because I l-like you, you big idiot."
A sudden shout teared the heavens, Singed having managed to knock out Warwick got up from the ground covered in mud, "It is the blessing of the Main Character!" He spoke, hardly believing what was happening in front of him, "They pulled out Ex-cranberry from the Holy Rock, that woman and her handsome bird are our new kings!"