Valoran...strange name for a place isn't it. For a place so subtly named after valor, I find it lacking sorely. And I am not just referencing the empires of Noxus or the sprawling streets of Zaun, but even Demacia for all it's golden spires and parade filled streets is nothing but a sham. The higher class never seem to regard the common folk, only thinking of glory and honor, greed and wealth, and some other rubbish.
Who am I to say such things...well, I was once a soldier for Demacia. But I wasn't part of those frilly *******s, the Dauntless Vanguard, being lead by that *****, Garen. I was in the Demacian penal army, forced into labor for all the crimes I've done. It was either join the army, or have what's left of my family thrown out of the city.
Where the other forces of the Demacian military are celebrated as heroes for their feats in war, we are shunned aside, ignored, a blemish on the surface.
We are sent on mission where suicide is almost certain, softening the enemies so the main force can come and bask in our blood and sweat. But I never complained, nor did my fellows in the 56th platoon, the Iron Fists.
Before we go into my military carrier, you should all know my name. Tobias is the name, the first son to Sarah Valhensen, brother to James and nephew to Matthias. I grew up in the slums, where I've done so many sins, that even Zaunite scientist would keel at the thought of things I've perpetrated...so my family may have a meal each day, and not starve.
Because of said crimes I was sent to trial at the ripe age of thirteen, and given two choices. For dishonoring my city and going against justice and the laws dictated, either join the army or they kick my little family out of here...and what choice did I have?
Soon after, I was enlisted into the 56th platoon, and we became notorious for our ability to do the things regular Demacian soldiers would soil their britches thinking about. Sabotage, ambushes and frontal assaults were always our forte.
But we always lost men in each mission, and after the old was Sergeant melted by a Zaunite gas bomb, I was the next best candidate. Always I carried the sigil each soldier had home to their mothers, their wives and their children. Always I remember their faces, their tears.
One mission though, was given to us straight up from Demacian high command. Garen, the uptight monkey, came up to me himself and presented the mission scroll. I stood up, larger in girth and height then the whelp, and roughly grabbed it from him. Little did I know, that the task at hand, would have lead me to change my life, and my soul.
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Schmoopsy ?? Junior Member