“Soraka, do you come here every Sunday evening?” asked the coarse voiced man in a dark purple and green garb. Uncharacteristically of him, he stood with a blade at his waist belt and without a mask over his face, as he was known for his ability to fight with a lamp-post while wearing a mask in the Arena of Justice.
In response to the question, a blue skinned woman sitting upon a nearby rock would murmur with a weak voice, “Every Sunday since Urf died.” the look on her face after making such a statement was a sombre one.
Jax looked around the dirt mound where many people have mentioned sightings of Urf, not much farther than ten meters west of where Baron Nashor was known to reside in the Summoner’s Rift. “Has he ever come to you? I’ve heard from Tristana and Teemo that they’ve both seen his spirit.” He began to inspect around the wooded region behind the dirt mound, as if he were looking for a grave marker or a similar landmark to associate with the area.
“Not once… I’m beginning to think I’ll never see him again.” Soraka’s eyes gazed down onto the ground, the flute in her hand would be set down beside her on the rock.
“Are you okay? You look sick.” Jax would state, questioning Soraka’s reaction, and the discoloration of her face. His observations would only be proven truer when he noticed tears welling up in her face.
“I am sick of it! I’m sick of it all! I’m sick of the death; the suffering – why do we do it Jax!?”
A voice came from the woods, “Because we are killers!” a guttural growl formed mere moments after the statement, quickly becoming louder as Warwick would announce his presence by jumping out from the foliage towards the two bystanders. His claws were already extended out, and like a flash of light, he was already in front of Jax, slashing and dicing against his arms, stomach and face.
At first Jax was caught off guard, completely disoriented by the onslaught. Gashes became visible on his arms where he took the brunt of most of the blows. However, with a well timed feint, and a weave from Jax’s head, Warwick found himself phantom punching the air. Jax took fast advantage of the situation to pull out the blade from its scabbard at his side, immediately using the pommel of the blade as a close quarter’s blunt instrument. The result of the blow was so massive, it sent Warwick reeling. Jax in turn backed up towards the rock as if he were preparing to protect Soraka who was unarmed.
Warwick howled out in a blood curdling fashion, responding to the blow by once again lunging forward towards Jax.
This time Jax was prepared, and with the blade fully drawn, he swung it down hard enough to slice down into Warwick’s right arm.
Warwick scowled and snapped at Jax, lashing his talon like claws out at the Weapon master’s chest until blood spayed in a mist onto the werewolf’s pelt.
Upon pulling his blade from the beast’s body, he started to bash down onto the werewolf’s form in quick succession. Each strike cleaved further into Warwick’s skin. Yet, each and every single strike appeared to be digging into the same flesh, without making any head-way.
It appeared every time Warwick struck at Jax; the beast would regenerate – leaving Jax losing a battle of attrition.
“Stop this! Stop it now!” Soraka continued to shout out. The bloody sight was absolutely horrifying for her to see, especially on what she considered to be hallowed ground, “Why are you attacking us!?”
It seemed all but too late for Jax who was dealt devastating blow after devastating blow, until finally he managed to make room between himself at Warwick. Within moments he began avoiding the beast’s claws with relative ease.
Though, by this point, it became clear that Jax wasn’t the beast’s intended target. With Jax out of the way, the beast took it upon itself to lunge out at the unguarded Soraka. With beastly claws now digging into her shoulders, the beast snapped at her face with its demonic fangs. Soraka could do nothing more than scream in terror as she felt the creature tear into her cheek.
With glowing red eyes that peered down to his prey, Warwick delighted in the sight of Soraka’s blood on his muzzle and her face. Every second would pass with him snapping again down onto her, intent on finishing her off once and for all before Jax could intervene again.
Jax could do nothing more than stand and watch in horror at first, but as he regained his composure, he quickly drew up his blade and positioned his foot back in preparation to leap.
However he’d be beaten to the punch by a strong blue bolt that seemed to come out of the sky a couple feet above where the mound of dirty erected for Urf was. The Manatee showed its incorporeal form to the three champions for the first time ever, intent on taking his revenge upon Warwick for all that had been done, and all that he would do.
Warwick reeled from the blast, enough to pull away from Soraka to lash out at whatever had hit him. When he saw the Manatee again, he licked his chops and jumped from the rock towards the mound. It wasn’t until he made multiple swipes at the air that Warwick realized Urf was a ghost. This is when another blue bolt would strike at the werewolf.
Jax saw his chance to strike back. He jumped at Warwick with all of his might, allowing the force of gravity and his previous preparations to strike down at the werewolf hard enough to cleave into his left shoulder. The blow was hard enough to cleave through bone, and was only a few inches from the beast’s black heart.
This time, Warwick would howl, but would no longer see the advantage in pursuing the fight. The werewolf quickly swiped at Jax to throw him back onto the defensive just long enough to give him the opening he needed to rush back off into the woods. The smell of blood giving him the edge he needed to allow his predatory instincts to take full effect, to escape before the battle turned against him.
“Soraka! Soraka!” Jax cried out as he shook her body in a fit of fear. Her face appeared to be in bad shape after the attack.
“Stop… just…” Soraka’s eyes gazed up into the dark night’s sky, towards the stars above. She seemed to concentrate on drawing their power, whispering out to herself minor incantations as she did so. Then, like she had done a thousand times before in the Arena Tournaments, she’d cleanse the wounds from her body. The marring on her face disappearing as fast as it was inflicted; though the blood remained. “I’m alright.”
To her amazement, she’d look over to the floating ghost of Urf, gently flapping about as if he were swimming in the water still. “Is it really you?” she couldn’t help but say in disbelief to the sight before her eyes.
The Ghost of Urf simply smiled, before its incorporeal form began to disappear; a light blue mist remaining where Urf once floated.
Unrelated Rantings: So, this evolved from a project built up entirely out of boredom to one I'm actually starting to care about. I guess I'll take this opportunity to try out a form of story-telling that I've never done before; essentially taking dozens of different perspectives all in the form of separate storylines, and intertwining them all together in a single timeline. I'm not sure where the adventures will take the champions, but with more and more perspectives being introduced, I'm finding it easier to come up with strange and interesting plot-twists. I think what will really be interesting down the line is when certain stars of each storyline cross paths, I'll mirror the story and write it based on their different perspectives. (I still haven't figured out how I'll do it, but I'm sure I'll think of something.) I doubt I'll do a storyline for every character, I'll most likely pair up multiple champions who I feel have a certain connection to each other, or would make an interesting grouping.
I'm going to continue with the exact same format, and try to keep each installment short if only to prevent myself from burning out. (It's much easier to write in 1000 word chunks.)
Other than that, I hope everybody enjoys the stories. I'll continue them for as long as doing it entertains me.
Plight of the Refugee