Hey! This was just a short story that I was working on over the past two days. I felt as if the lores are just not enough, so I elaborated and came up with my own personal interpretation of the lore. I hope you like it (the original started in my other thread: some of the stories I wish to tell.
Anyway, I took a long time pondering the name. I finally settled with Starfall since Soraka's q ability is Starcall. And this shows Soraka's fall from grace. Happy reading!
Based from the game:
League of Legends Clash of Fates
The woman sat on a stool of stone. She held a flute to her lips and had a staff leaning at her side. The staff was almost as captivating as the woman herself. The golden crescent was carefully crafted, the sheer detail impossible to have been made by man. The woman's raven black hair flowed down, settled on her back in a braid. Her music was mesmerizing, beautiful and erie. Eyes closed, her head followed with the music. Her face was contorted with such emotion, if one were to look at her, they would not be able to help but feel the sorrow her music brought.
Soraka slowly opened her eyes, revealing their luminescent glimmer. The stars reflected off her eyes, eyes of immortality. Her rueful music, although finished, carried on across the lagoon. The stars twinkled in the sky, lighting up the night as if it were day. She looked up, looking for their guidance. She saw cruel acts of man, banners of war held high, but she also saw redemption flying with wings and golden flames.
The forest behind her rustled. Quickly sliding her flute into the folds of her robes, Soraka gripped her staff and stood up. From the shrubbery stumbled a man. The man was stooped with exhaustion, but he still gripped something tightly in his arms. By his expression, Soraka could tell that what was in the man's arms meant more to him than anything else in his life.
The man was clearly distressed. He thrust what he was holding towards Soraka. Soraka quickly grabbed the bundle in her arms while the man collapsed onto the ground. Unfolding the bundle revealed the face of a young woman, not quite past her prime. Her skin was pale, but her features were relaxed and calm. The blood that was seeping out of her abdomen was starting to cease. It was clear that the woman had only died recently.
Gently, Soraka placed the woman's body on the ground next to the man's. She knew there was no hope left for the woman but she could still save the man's life. She clutched her staff and prayed to the stars, praying that they would give this man one more chance at life. She sung a hymn and waved her staff over the man's body. Where ever the golden sceptre passed, the wounds on the man disappeared. Cuts turned to scars, and his bruises faded. The man slowly opened his eyes and looked at his wife, a woman who was once beautiful, but now lifeless on the ground. He brought his eyes back to Soraka's pleading.
Soraka looked down at the man, her own heart touched by his sorrow. She shook her head, her own immortal eyes full of remorse.
The man only laid back his head and closed his eyes. A single tear rolled down the side of his face.
The man woke from his sleep. When he learned of his failure, he mourned in singularity. His grief was understandable. Death is a natural part of life, but pain trails not far behind. Warwick could not find a reason to live anymore, as love often consumes the soul. His eyes, once crushed with sorrow, now lit up with only determination.
Warwick had been gripped by the most resilient of parasites. Stronger than any bacteria, more persistent then any virus, he was ensnared with an idea. Once the idea had taken hold of his brain, it could not be eradicated. The smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define or destroy an individual. A simple idea could easily grow into an obsession.
The one thing man has always sought after, but has always manage to slip through their fingers.
Warwick carried his dead wife's body to the top of a mountain, surrounded by snow. Finding a cave, he set down her body and looked at it one last time. He kissed her forehead and walked to the mouth of the cave. He stood there, stoic as if he were made of stone. Then he descended down the slope.
Warwick was the most renowned apothecary in the country of Zaun. His knowledge of potions were vast, and deadly. He looked into crumbling scrolls, researched in ancient scriptures, looking for a way to gain immortality. He worked furiously, neglecting the care of his own apprentice.
Eventually, he discovered a method. He called upon his apprentice, whose body had been torn and singed. His disregard over his apprentice had driven his pupil to test his work upon himself. Hastily healing his student, he wrapped his own apprentice in bandages. The bandages mummified the young man, cutting off any connections with his past, his face, his name. With his new servant, Warwick could go off and search for the ingredients he needed without arousing suspicion.
Warwick braved the shadow isles, snatching silver venom from the mandibles of the giant spider, Vilemaw. All the while being chased by Elise, the spider queen, Warwick travelled to the Balefire Forests where he killed and extracted the teeth of a Dire wolf. Warwick sent these ingredients back to his apprentice and eventually eluded Elise. Now the final component would be the hardest ingredient of them all to acquire. Warwick would need the blood of the one being who saved his life. He would need the heart of Soraka the Starchild.
Soraka closed her eyes and reached her mind out to the stars. She saw images of betrayal, a blade dipped in ichor, and the ravaged form of a man. As her mind probed deeper, she saw Warwick, lying on the ground. Soraka's eyes flashed open. She had to warn Warwick. She couldn't bare to imagine him in pain once again.
She descended from the heavens ignoring the pleas of the stars to stay. They could see the tragedy that will be brought if she followed through with her aim. Soraka saw Warwick, crying out to the heavens for her. She reached out, overjoyed that he was safe. She then watched in horror as cloaked men snuck out from behind Warwick and attacked him. These were men who had attacked Warwick and his wife many years ago. These were men who were, unbeknownst to Soraka, hurt by Warwicks poisons. They managed to make off with his wife's life many years ago, now they wanted to finish what they had started.
Soraka was too far away to help Warwick. She watched in despair as he valiantly tried to fight them off. Soraka used her healing powers, but for every wound she healed, the men inflicted two more. There was only one way to save Warwick now.
The stars screamed at her, warning her not to use her powers for harm. But Soraka's love was too great. She called upon the powers of the stars, crushing the men. But as she did, she transformed. Her beautiful and pure skin was now tinged a light shade of violet. Her lush and smooth hair turned white and coarse and her legs morphed into the legs of a goat. Soraka cried out as a horn of gold slowly formed on her forehead. Finally, her celestial eyes faded, becoming a dull gold.
Soraka once more tried to listen to the will of the stars but they had fallen silent at her decision. They abandoned her, stripping her of most of her powers. Even so, Soraka took comfort in Warwick's wellbeing. She ran to his side and began healing his wounds. She could still feel the power of the stars in her body, but she had lost their divine counsel. She was so engrossed with healing Warwick, she didn't even feel the blade as it was slid through her ribs.
Warwick smiled, pleased that his plan had worked. Soraka had cried out and fallen to her side. Now, he winced as he stood up, knife poised to rip open her chest. In his hand held a vial of his saviour's blood. Soraka struggled to her knees. Golden ichor flowed freely from her wound. As Warwick prepared to strike the final blow, he looked into Soraka's eyes. The once immortal eyes no longer suffering from the shock of his betrayal, only pain and murderous rage.
Warwick faltered and Soraka chose that moment to strike. She cursed him, making his body reflect his true nature. He started to change, his face now disfigured and wrought with confusion. His fingers curved into claws. Hair thickened and sprouted from his chest, eventually spreading across his body. Warwick had finally come to terms with his true self. He was now stuck in a form not quite human, not quite beast. He merged with the form of a merciless wolf.
Crying out in pain, Warwick stumbled off, clutching the vial in his clumsy hands. He eventually found his way back to Zaun. There, he added the ichor in the place of the heart, hoping that it was enough to compensate for what he could not take. His apprentice warned him that he incomplete potion would not be safe, but Warwick ignored him. With his deformed body, he brewed two potions and drank one, the other to slip into his wife's mouth. But the potion was indeed incomplete. It gave him great power, but was not capable of fully transcending him into immortality. He gained powers that far triumphed over that of an ordinary man, but the effect on his body was devastating. He writhed in pain as he turned into a full werewolf.
Clutching his precious final potion, Warwick hastened up the mountain to where his wife's body lay. He entered the cave elated. Alas, his wife's body had long been eaten by hungry wolves. All that remained was a pile of bones. The wolves that were sleeping in the cave were awakened by the sound of glass shattering on the floor. Warwick howled in despair as he gave into the beast inside of him. The wolves didn't even have time to yelp in pain.