Riven paced angrily in her quarters at the Institute of War. For months now her plans to reform Noxian society had been stalled-
Ever since she'd joined the league! They'd done nothing to help her in her goals, only offering empty promises that “soon,” “soon”
they would help her, really, honest they would, right after they finished refurbishing a volcanic caldera to serve as a new field of
justice. Well, that soon wasn't soon enough. Something had to be done.
And she would be the one to do it.
But the question was, how? For this plan to go through she would have to deal with the leader of Noxus... Not an easy task even
on the best of terms. She'd have to catch him outside of turret range.
...No. Outside of the League entirely.
Yes. And she knew just how to do it...
The very next morning, a courier found Jericho Swain, general of the Noxian army, as he prepared himself and his raven Beatrice
a cup of their usual morning roast.
“Message for you, sir.” said the courier.
Swain stared at him strangely.
“How did you get in here? This is a private palace.”
“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor guards armed with halberds stay these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed
rounds.” he replied mechanically.
Swain studied him for a long moment.
“Fine, give it here.”
The courier passed him a piece of folded parchment across the old wooden table. Swain unfurled it and read.
“A party?” he said, “Is this some manner of practical joke?” He passed the paper to his raven, who tore it apart and let the pieces
fall to the floor.
“Don't know sir,” replied the man, “I just deliver the letters.”
Swain grunted. “Fine. Now, off with you.”
“There is the matter of paym--”
“Off with you,” Swain repeated. The man bowed his head and promptly left.
He'd nearly forgotten about the letter when he sat down to enjoy his coffee, but a scrap of torn paper caught his eye. It just so
happened to have written upon it the time and place of the affair.
He looked at Beatrice.
“What do you think?” he asked her.
The raven shrugged.
Well. What could it hurt, anyway?
That night, the inner city of Noxus bustled with a storm of activity, at the epicenter of which sat a nondescript tavern known as
the Dead Demacian. Truly, its owners had no shortage of national pride. There was a party here tonight, one that promised all
manner of exotic delights, and while Noxus attempted to cultivate a sort of austere civility in its populace they really couldn't
help themselves on Saturday night. But what did that matter? Nobody of any import ever visited this part of the city, they knew.
Imagine their surprise when an enormous black stagecoach pulled up alongside the building and the Noxian general himself,
Jericho Swain, stepped slowly out of the cab.
“S-sir!” stammered a soldier, who was trying his best to not appear drunk, “I apologize and take full responsibility for the conduct
of my unit. They will be reprimanded for daring to drink as heavily as--”
“Forget it." he said, "Just show me to the festivities...” Swain narrowed his eyes to make out the insignia on the soldier's
breastplate in the dim light, “Captain.”
The captain saluted, “At once, sir. Make way!” He shouted to the gathering, who scrambled to move out of the general's path.
They bowed respectfully as he passed.
Swain wasn't certain what to expect inside the tavern, although he'd had a sneaking suspicion it would be crowded, cramped,
dark and loud.
It was all of those things, although once he'd entered and the drunken patrons had had time to discern his identity for
themselves, or at the very least have it whispered to them by their more sober fellows, it quieted down considerably.
“Greetings, general!” said a bartender, “Seat by the stage has been reserved specially for you!”
The bartender pointed to a wooden chair by the stage, easily the least-scratched and beer-stained out of the lot. A squad
of marines charged forward to hurl the man who'd mistakenly sat in it out of the way, and one used the plumes of his helmet
to dust it for the general. Swain sat and was brought a goblet of the house's finest wine.
“Three cheers for the lord of Noxus! Hip hip-!”
But Swain held up his hand, and the resulting cheer from the crowd stopped itself awkwardly and abruptly.
“Uhm. On with the show then!”
A spotlight came on from somewhere above, casting a column of silvery light that glittered with the dust in the air. Somewhere,
a band began to play a rather saucy melody as a line of dancing girls, clad in tight leather outfits with fluffy white rabbit ears,
began waltzing out of a door at the side of the stage.
Swain watched them impassively. Beatrice, on the other hand, was enthralled by the display, studying each of the girls to
try and decide which one looked like she had the most tender entrails.
“Beautiful, aren't they sir?” asked the captain, the one from outside. He'd taken a seat next to Swain. Probably hoping for a
promotion, the general decided.
“Mmm.” Swain replied. But then his eyes fell on one girl in particular, a strangely-toned girl with hair as white as the fur on
her fake ears.
“That girl,” he said, “I know I've seen her before.”
“Which one, sir?”
“With the white hair.”
“I don't... oh, wait, you mean the one with the giant broken sword strapped to her back?”
“Yes, that's the one.”
“Ah, I see her. Sword sorta spoils the outfit, I think.”
“Mmm.” Swain agreed.
“Hey, come to think of it, I had a girl like that in my outfit, once. I think she deserted, or defected, or..."
The captain watched her for a moment as she danced closer.
"Wait a second...! That's her! That's Riven!”
Swain had only a moment to realize what was said before Riven had brought her sword to bear. In a burst of supernatural
willpower she reforged the titanic blade and swung at the general, sending a wave of emerald energy soaring out of the blade.
Swain ducked and Beatrice took flight to avoid the attack, but the force of it slammed into the head of his seat, knocking
the chair backwards and catapulting the general towards the front end of the bar. Dozens of swords were pulled from their
sheaths as the drunken Noxian forces scrambled onto the stage to stop the would-be assassin. One by one they fell to
the rabbit-suited warrior until most of them were lying broken on the ground or scrambling for safety.
Swain finally managed to find his cane and he stood to face his attacker. Riven charged and giant, wicked talons shot up
from the ground to stop her, but they shattered before the force of her runic greatsword's swings.
With a roar of fury, Swain's form erupted into a hideous black mass of claws and feathers. Ravens flew from the demonic
creature that had once been, and perhaps still was, the general of Noxus. They swarmed around him protectively, diving
at both Riven and the fallen soldiers and attempting to snatch away bits of their life forces to empower the great raven.
Riven knocked them away with her blade and advanced on the general, who glowered at her through six burning red eyes.
Beatrice, sensing an opportunity, fired a searing bolt of energy from her mouth towards the vicious murder-bunny. It seemed
to have no effect.
“S-sir,” said the captain, crawling over the pile of fallen soldiers to reach the great bird, “I think we should fall back!”
The demon-raven looked at Riven and called forth its talons once more. They curled around Riven, but she shattered them
with a roar of primal fury.
But in that split second, the raven had taken flight.
Riven burst from the tavern in a surge of energy. She spotted the great black stagecoach beating a hasty retreat down a
cobblestone lane and gave chase, bounding through the air with unnatural and terrifying swiftness. With every landing she
shook the ground, shattering the stones below her and sending shock waves through the earth.
“How is she doing that?” Swain wondered as he watched her pursuit from the cab.
“It's the outfit, sir. It has her now.”
Swain turned back to the captain, his face expressing both confusion and disbelief. “What?”
The captain shrugged, “My best guess, sir.”
Swain was prepared to tell the man to keep his ridiculous ideas to himself when the cart was violently knocked to one
side. It rolled several times before finally stopping in a ditch at the side of the street, most of its ornamentation now lying
scattered across the street. The door flew open and Swain, slightly battered, clambered slowly out of the wreck and
dropped to the ground, collapsing on impact.
He looked up to find Riven standing above him. She thrust her broken sword towards him and held it out.
Swain spat a bit of blood to one side. “Most impressive, Riven.” he said, sitting up. He would have applauded, but his
arms were the only things keeping him upright. “Well, it seems that you have me cornered, now. Are you expecting
me to beg for my life, or are you waiting for my final words?” He felt a surge of pain in his already-crippled leg.
“Actually, I had something to say to you.”
“An ultimatum of some sort?”
"...You want money or something?"
“Well, what is it then?” he asked, irritably.
Riven leaned in closely.
“April Fools!” she yelled.
Then she turned on her heel and bounded off down the street, leaving Swain to simply watch as she rounded a
corner and vanished.
There was a stirring from within the coach's wreckage as the captain slowly pulled himself free.
“Sir? Are you alright?” he asked.
And quite honestly, Swain wasn't entirely sure.
“What was that about?”
He wasn't entirely sure about that, either.
“So then I said, 'April Fools!' and man, he was so owned.”
“That's, uh. That's very impressive.” said Shyvana. She was sitting across from Riven at a long table in the Institute's
cafeteria, breaking her fast on a stack of golden pancakes. “So what about that plan you had? The one to completely
restructure the Noxian hierarchy?”
“Oh, I was going to get started on that two days ago but then I realized, 'Hey, tomorrow's April first! I gotta do
“Didn't you say your plan was to basically just kill Swain, though?”
The two shared a long glance, and then Riven slapped her own forehead.
“Aww, I coulda done it then, huh? Oh well, always next time.”
“Yeah. Next time. He's not gonna fall for that trick again. ...Speaking of which, why are you still wearing that costume?”
Riven shrugged, “S'comfy.”
"You're not going to wear that at the tournament today, are you?"
Riven looked at Shyvana.
"Yes." she said, "Yes I am."