This is probably the coolest and longest story of League of Legends you will ever read! You must read it, because you will have plenty of fun while discovering the WHOLE world of Valoran and all of its champions!
Join the Order of Demacia now, and please comment!
Take into account that it takes me a long time to write every chapter, so please be patient Also, notice that the LoL itself doesn't exist here but, anyways, you will enjoy it!
I would like to thank Erwiind because my English isn't as good as his, and he made possible this story too.
The hollow footsteps broke the silence of the night. The resonance they caused was unique. The moon, a white as snow, glowed under his bent figure. Moving quickly in a well-established direction, he looked forward searching for the slightest hint that could provide a glimpse of the rendezvous. He was hooded, yet his eyes gleamed in the dark. Insatiable eyes, full of malice and remorse, shone unceasingly. He was the only person walking through those streets, nevertheless he kept moving forward. The atmosphere was messy and terrifying. The silence was absolute. At his side, medium height buildings rose one after another. They were old and gave off a foul smell. The stars graced the sky like a heavenly blanket, yet the streets of Noxus were dark and hopeless. The man suddenly interrupted his progress, alarmed. He thought he had heard a faint sound, but after a moment he resumed his march.
After a while, he stopped in front of a huge gloomy hill. A giant skull was lying on one of its sides, watching the man’s movements closely. He saw a faint glimmer over it. Afterwards, he climbed the hill with patience and cunning. On the horizon, a wolf howled solemnly, foreshadowing the inevitable.
After a few moments, the man reached the top. There, he found a majestic building; a palace, home of the Noxian High Command. A few lights remained on after the curfew. The towers, as tall as the mountains of the Great Barrier, stood next to each other. Their tips were not visible to the naked eye, but he already knew this place as the Palace of Noxus. He had managed to see them in the past, when the fame of the city was greater and its long-lost warm presence was still welcoming.
Facing the stranger were two individuals standing among the endless stairs. The one on the left had her arms folded. She wore tight pants, on which several sharp metal artifacts could be seen, as they reflected the pale moonlight. Her torso was covered with a short blouse, which was bronze-colored. She firmly held two glimmering daggers; their edges looked like they could make the bravest of enemies tremble. The woman's purplish hair waved frailly, following the continuous wind gusts which whipped those heights. Her left eye had a vertical scar, but that did not corrupt her outer beauty. She was charming, without a doubt.
Beside him, a burly man conversed with her. He was stocky and wore a magnificently noble armor. His whole body was covered with the cold, glowing metal of such legendary armor, except for his face. He had a blackish beard which seemed carefully shaven; his blue eyes were quite visible in the darkness. His black hair was short and it had been combed into an elegant hairdo. He seemed middle-aged, but as one saw his piercing and tired eyes, one would acknowledge its mistake.
Seeing the stranger, the two looked up and quietly watched him as he, still in a bent posture, slowly approached them. When he was only a few feet away, he stopped and bowed solemnly. The woman gave a little sigh of contempt. Then the stranger approached her, held her hand tightly and kissed it. His grayish fingers were hairy.
“I'm glad you came, we have been expecting you for a few days,” said the armored man, with a deep and powerful voice.
“I know,” the newcomer replied heavily. “I had to be cautious. The borders are not as safe as they used to be.”
His voice was strangely singular. It was deep, sinister and seemed full of hate. He also seemed to growl between each word.
“Anyway,” said the man, “I guess you already know the daughter of General Du Couteau.”
“Of course. Katarina and I have been part of many expeditions together. She was present when this happened to me...” He said, removing the hood.
The man gasped in horror. Out of the darkness, a humanoid covered with gray hair was watching him. His eyes, as red as blood, stared at him, injecting large amounts of fear in his petrified body. His fangs and claws lined up perfectly, threateningly sharp. He was dressed in golden armor fragments, covering his arms and torso. On both hands, he wore bracelets, colored alike and full of metallic spikes. Its snout and its large, stretched ears stood motionless, studying each of the man’s movements. Its tail stirred continuously, contributing to the tension of the atmosphere. The man was speechless, and the silence continued to dominate the environment for a few seconds.
Finally, the man responded.
“Warwick ... What...?” He paused. “What happened to you?”
Warwick grimaced, displeased.
“It occurred in one of my last missions to Ionia.” He paused shortly. “The enemy feared us; I was called “Deathmaker”. Nobody could beat us, not until after they send reinforcements to the island. In the midst of battle, that filthy scum, Soraka, came to me through the crowd, and put into action her magic. I do not remember what happened then; just remember that Singed, my apprentice, held me tightly as I fell. Then I lost consciousness ...” Warwick's voice failed him, “... and when I woke, I looked like this. Ruined.”
“Are you ... a werewolf?”
“That's right,” he replied, impatiently.
“The most powerful magicians Zaun are trying to find a cure,” Katarina interrupted, roughly and shrewdly. “They still haven’t discovered it, but I'm sure they will, sooner or later.”
The man looked at him, and finally asked the question which Warwick was expecting.
“Have you found any information about the enemy?”
“Of course. The Demacian forces are pushing forward; Ionia is not completely secured. Despite the extension of the invasion and our winning streak, I fear that Jarvan III will send an army to defeat us once and for all. During my stay in his beloved kingdom,” he said, taunting him, “I noticed some tension in the environment… The war has disrupted and transformed them. The people were afraid; I could smell it in the air.”
He then began sniffing the air with his tenacious snout.
“Continue,” snapped the man.
The werewolf shook.
“Oh…. Excuse me. My transformation gave me skills that I can not yet fully control. As I said, Demacia is restless. Instead, Freljord remains neutral. Those cowards...” he muttered. “Piltover continues as usual, supporting Demacia in their personal affairs. Finally, Bandle City is about to yield. Those tiny yordles can’t even kill a fly,” he said, mocking them.
The man gave a faint smile. He was satisfied.
“Well done, Warwick. You have completed your part of the deal.”
“As I always say: Zaun and Noxus are only one. No one can oppose them, no one can beat them ...The Alliance will fall, fall into the abyss.”
The werewolf hid his head with a swift motion and hastily turned away from them. After a few seconds, the darkness swallowed his silhouette completely, as if by magic.
Katarina looked at the man, worried.
“Boram, what are we supposed to do? Do not underestimate the Lightshield, they are powerful warriors. They will never give up,” she warned him.
Boram, watching the sky intently, whispered four words.
“Patience, they will fall.”
As he said these words, he turned and began climbing the endless stairs. Up in the sky, a storm approached. On the horizon, a wolf howled solemnly, foreshadowing the inevitable…
COMING NEXT: CHAPTER 1, THE CALL
(please wait till I return from holidays )