I have never been what some might call a professional summoner... I am not one of the many ever-present bodies in the rune circles, fighting for ideals or glory. I am not powerful in my command of multiple champions, or skillful in my use of summoner spells... Infact, my presence within the flow of magic could be referred to almost as dabbling, testing the streams of power here or there when my life's duties are not demanding my immediate attention.
Still, when my time comes and I am standing in the circle with my fellows, channeling my body and mind into that of another... I find that I feel no need to command many. My heart is pulled without differentiation towards a being that I feel to be in line with myself.
Someone I have stood with before leaver penalties, when I was dodged without consequence merely for choosing him as my companion.
Someone I have stood with before jungling became accepted meta, as we stalked through the underbrush with the intent to kill.
Someone I have stood with even when all it took to disrupt our channeled ultimate was a handful of oranges, or a well-placed cleanse.
We were hated, we were broken, but we would not be deterred. We would not be ignored, denied, or replaced. The disdain of my peers meant little in the grand scheme of things, a mere shadow in the background of the perfection which was our unity. When my hands became his paws, when his strong muzzle and pointed ears became my face, as my teeth became his fangs and his armoured torso replaced my body...
That was when we were truly alive.
Often I was lectured by my superiours, told mathematically and logically why my companion was a poor choice. Told that a quiet summoner like myself had no place walking with a beast such as Warwick, the Blood Hunter. They would talk of who was powerful and who was not, they would discuss which champions held the edge over others. As a soldier before a summoner, I understood the reasons why. I was open to the fact that at large, the champions we summoned were merely tools to meet an end in the technical scheme of things... From an outside perspective these views seemed both logical and correct.
But when you were there, calling these beings to do your will... I simply could not comprehend how anyone could retain such a blinded view of the art which was summoning. We are to allow them to become our eyes and hands, while we provide the tactical requirements of their mind and heart. We feel as they feel, see and hear as they do. We understand their thoughts and needs, their silent cries of pain and their internal desires to fight or flee. Why then, and moreso how then, could any summoner view their counterparts as mere tools to be kept or discarded based on power or regulations? These living, breathing entities with whom we shared the very essence of our souls?
My mind reeled to understand, and repeatedly failed to do so. I could not, and indeed I felt no need whatsoever, to replace Warwick as my Champion. Why Warwick, my peers would ask me as I revealed to them my plight. Why was I drawn to such a monster, what had I in common with him? More than they could ever know...
A man who served in war, but not on the frontlines. A man who gave up the opportunity of being in the action, because he understood where his talents were best applied. As a soldier, now working in intelligence, I understood this clearly. We had both given away our needs to fight, our predatory urges, for the sake of bettering the whole. We had stepped away from the spotlight in order to answer the calls of duty. I empathized with the unspoken pains of the chemist, and reveled in his new found opportunity to kill.
Warwick had been given back what I would not be given again. The opportunity to walk the jungles, to serve as point guard, to tear foes asunder with his powerful limbs. I felt joy for him. I praised his gift, reveled in his unintended blessing. As we hunted we became more than summoner and champion. He felt my instincts as I lead him into the wilds, and learned to trust my foresight. I felt his heavy breaths pound within my chest as we relentlessly sought the kill, and knew he would not fail me. The eyes of the world were upon us, and we cared not for their gaze. When we ran together, there was only the hunt. Give us a target, set us free, watch us work... This was our bond, unbreakable and unyielding, the other summoners be cursed.
The energies within the Rift are constantly shifting, and my Companion and I have seen many changes. We have experienced them, adapted, and overcame. At times now we hear whispers, whispers that we are broken. Overpowered. That we have become one of the champions who has that aforementioned edge.
Now, my peers mock me. Claiming that I have no skill as a summoner, and that I must pick 'easy summons' in order to meet my goals. They tell me that regulations will be set in place to restrict our power. They cry, and wail, and lament their loss as their own chosen tool is torn asunder by our paws... And we can only laugh. Laugh at their ignorance, at their petty assumptions that we are together merely because of power. If only they could understand how asinine they sound, as they complain in the presence of one who has lived a nightmare of unrestricted queue dodges, been cast out from countless summoning circles, and all for my champion selection.
We grin with our fangs soaked in blood, wondering how it was we became overpowered when we have received no apparent alterations in our favor.. As our enemies fall into our clawed embrace, we have nothing to say in response to their dying breaths.. Their final complaints are lost on the wind, unacknowledged by our keen senses. We know it is our skill which makes us victors, not the strength of our arms.
In the Rift, only one thing is certain. We will stand together, my Hunter and I... For better or worse, regardless of time or place, we will lead the assault. We will chase the cowardly, and we will bring down the proud... After all...
It is only fun, when they run...