I've always enjoyed writing so I considered writing a fan story.

I broke off from the lore a little, in which Jarvan IV is a tyranical leader. I'll post the beginning below, let me know what you think ^_^ if it gets a positive result I'll write more



In a time long past Valoran raged in constant war and death. The rune wars devastated the once beautiful country, scarred like the gods had taken out the pain of eternity upon it. When the rune wars came to pass a new group stepped up to attempt to create peace within Valoran. These men and women created the institute of war, and the League of Legends. A giant arena was built with champions from all corners of the world, from Demacia, to Noxus, Zaun, Piltover, Bandle City, and anywhere else a fighting soul could be found. Peace flourished in this land for countless years to come, king Jarvan III kept fools in check, and the leaders of the institute of war funded to ensure a time of prosperity. But nothing lasts forever, and with the passing of the most famed king of Demacia the world took a turn for the worse.

The loss of the king seemed to take it's toll even on the land itself, when the king's only son, Jarvan IV, Inherited the throne peace was lost and the world fell under a tyrants rule. We had few choices once that bastard claimed the throne, Join the ranks of Demacia, or be hunted down, captured, and killed. Even sworn enemies of Demacia, battlemasters from Noxus, ended up defecting to the lands of that fool. Many were captured, but some were able to thrive in the wild, living a nomadic life of travelling and staying hidden. Some lived alone, others in groups. Freedom fighters, or simply doing what's needed to stay alive, we all had our reasons to live but we wanted to give others a reason to fight. Although, I wasn't always fighting against the Demacians, no, at one point I was simply afraid..."

...Go on.

I was born into a world of happiness and joy, but that beauty was destroyed, and with it, the world became a place of deceit and treachery. My parents were captured and killed by the Demacian forces when I was 14, after that I lived alone, surviving off the land, staying secluded as often as I could. I thought I would be safe living this way, and I was for a couple of years, but safety alone couldn't last.

For 3 days a group of hunters had been chasing me, whether they were Demacian or not I had no idea, all I knew was if I didn't run they would take my life. My only option was to continue running. Night fall of the 3rd day I made my way into a tree, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep. Any rest felt welcoming, almost safe, I couldn't have been more wrong... Whether it was my instincts or simply luck I woke and slid from the tree, a split second after my feet hit the ground I heard a hiss, then a crackle, and before I knew it I was launched through the air, the tree I was in a few seconds before blown to splinters, a nauseating green fume lingered in the air. Without a second thought I turned and ran, more afraid than I had ever been. I urged my body to continue running, to continue gaining speed. I took a hlaf second to glance back and the next thing I knew the heavy tipped crossbow bolt slammed me back against a nearby tree. Surprised and hardly able to breathe I tried to raise my head. Although my vision was blurred I was able to make out a female with glasses and a crossbow attached to her arm. A quick second later I felt for a split moment the butt end of a heavy spear colliding with my temple. The impact of both the crossbow bolt and the spear left me with less consciousness than a bag of weapons.