The continent of VALORAN has maintained an unsteady peace for twenty years. Unfortunately, that would come to an end at KALAMANDA, where the brewing tensions between two mortal enemies would escalate into an all-out war. As DEMACIA and NOXUS resumed their never-ending struggle, the land was torn apart by a degree of magical backlash unseen since the first two Rune Wars, and this time, the foundations of the world itself were no longer sturdy enough to hold back the apocalypse.
In another timeline, another universe, the almighty LEAGUE OF LEGENDS may have had the foresight to conjure a stasis field that would bring the war to a halt, preventing this traumatic event. But once the visions of their seers turned black and the unchecked use of magic at Kalamanda had passed the tipping point that would herald their doom, the INSTITUTE OF WAR's doors were closed, and the summoners within accepted their inevitable fate. Giving up all hope of intervention, they commissioned Piltover and Zaun alike for the latest developments in and rallied the greatest mages Valoran had to offer. Before the first meteor struck, marking the beginning of the end, they devoted all their energy to designing a construct that could save the rest of the world from meeting the same grisly end.
It is needless to say that the organization itself was dissolved by this traumatic event, and so were the final remnants of the worldwide truce it had maintained for so long, but the greatest and final creation of the League of Legends was successfully deployed, and soon, its former players would take to a new battlefield, this time united by a common cause.
Your name is RIVEN. You have just woken up from a restful nap on a PARK BENCH. You were once an ELITE SOLDIER in the service of NOXUS. Unfortunately, thanks to a MILITARY DISASTER that shook your faith in your city-state, you have been wandering in SELF-IMPOSED EXILE, and your recent eviction from the INSTITUTE OF WAR has left you HOMELESS. You have a variety of INTERESTS, but your current IMPOVERISHED STATE prevents you from partaking in any of them.
You equip your RUNIC BLADE, or at least WHAT REMAINS OF IT, to your 1/3BLADEKIND SPECIBUS and prepare to go off looking for a fresh supply of NEWSPAPERS, until you come up with a better idea.
> Riven: Check your pockets or lack thereof.
Good. Your instincts haven't failed you. It's still here.
Before the League of Legends unceremoniously kicked you out in preparation for the oncoming apocalypse, you were granted this RUNIC COMMUNICATION DEVICE that operates on a mixture of hextech and traditional rune magic. To tell the truth, you have no idea what this piece of crap does or who you're expected to communicate with, but it's not like you have a better way to waste your time.
Your chumhandle is cloudNinja and you tend to talk rather casually with regard to punctuation and capitalization
Pokemon Black 2 Friend Code: 3826-7758-8662
My Fantrolls, DragCave, and other things:
Your name is AETHIA TEHUTI and you could someday be the WITCH OF LIGHT. You are a LANDDWELLER and you live on an island in the middle of a river with your BIRDMOM LUSUS. You are part of the INDIGO CASTE but you’ve always felt more closely allied with the TEALBLOODS because you admire the prowess of the ancient tealblooded LEGISLACERATORS. You have a passion for HISTORICAL FICTION because you think those were the GOOD OLD SWEEPS. You have JOURNALS STAINED IN BLUE INK filled with your own handwritten historical fiction stories and journalistic notes. you organize those journals very carefully by subject with your ALPHABET fetch modus. You’ve never been as bloodthirsty as others in your caste, though you find yourself having to STAB SOMEONE’S VIEWORBS OUT surprisingly often with your NEEDLEKIND strife specibus. You are a bit prone to FLIGHTS OF FANCY that confuse and alienate your friends... or they would IF YOU HAD ANY. Your other hobbies include KNITTING, WRITING, and FLARP; your character’s name is ISTIORAN CALLIGRA, though more often than not you’re the Clouder developing the encounters for your fellow players in EXACTING DETAIL.
Your trollhandle is avianCalligrapher and you speak very carefully and properly, but sometimes you trail off in the middle of a sent
You are now MAENIS KNOECS. You are 7 AND A HALF SWEEPS in age, at the peak of your teenage years. Whenever you play games, you go by the title of PRINCE OF BLOOD. You live in a squat little mudhive in the grasslands with your SCALEDAD lusus. You are a JADEBLOOD, and you are a little ashamed of your blood color because you are the only BOY you know who has it. You like the sciences, but you are specifically interested in CHEMISTRY. You especially like to BLOW SHIT UP, and you make your own homemade bombs to use with your BOMBKIND strife specibus. You are never seen without your protective GOGGLES, usually wearing them around your neck or on top of your head when they aren't in use. You sometimes have a little bit of trouble hearing QUIET AND HIGH-PITCHED NOISES because your hearing is damaged from all the explosions you set off when you were younger and dumber. Now you always make sure to use AURICULAR SPONGE CLOT PLUGS when testing out your new formulas. You dream of joining the IMPERIAL DEATHOLITIONS CORPS when you are older so you can get paid to blow up the Condesce's enemies. You use the PERIODIC TABLE fetch modus, which categorizes items into columns on a table based on similar properties and in rows based on the first letter of the item's name.
Your trolltag is conflagratingGenius and YO~ur speech is eXtremelY lO~ud in shO~rt bursts, With a lO~t O~f emphasis O~n sO~me VO~Wels and cO~nsO~nants!!!
Lusus: giant pangolin (Manis gigantea)
It may not be the trendiest handle in the short history of this device's existence, but it has a nice ring to it while maintaining a fair enough degree of anonymity. You'll need that after the inspiration for the first handle. One of the few benefits of being a hobo is having less to wear than a BUNNY SUIT.
A WHOLE BUNCH OF SHIT pops up, including a CHAT INTERFACE for whatever frivolous conversations you intend to have on this stupid thing. You make a mental note to reserve a few clocks for the fool who had the nerve to name it CHAMPIAN. Oh, and a bunch of CHAMPHANDLES on your CHAMPROLL. You assume they're your ex-colleagues, since...
Wait a minute. NOXUS and DEMACIA? The champions from your former city-state are the very last assholes you feel like dealing with right now, and as for the latter bunch, the less said the better.
Oh well. We'll deal with them later. Now that you've initialized your connection to the server, one of them is bound to bother you eventually.
You are situated in an EMPTY PARK. What now?
Last edited by Leaguestuck; 01-21-2013 at 12:33 AM.
You examine your RUNIC BLADE. This trusty oversized sword has accompanied you through countless battlefields up until the one on which you broke it as an allegory of your damaged feelings, because you often like to pretend you're a misunderstood babe instead of a downright brutal warrior. Should have sprung for the blade warranty, indeed.
Fortunately, this move proved not to be as mind-numbingly moronic as you thought. The sword is capable of MAGICALLY REPAIRING ITSELF, allowing you to unlock the potential of the BLADEKIND specibus, sometimes even beyond what you were originally. This ability activates based on your will, so you can expect it to kick in at a time when you're tackling a great challenge or facing a powerful adversary. Or, god forbid, a time when you're not a damned hobo in an empty fucking park.
Which is also why you can't mug anyone or farm. There isn't a creep in sight. Whoops.
> Riven: Read bench plaque.
Naturally, you don't recognize the name on the plaque. This is a small, unimportant park in the middle of nowhere, not part of the Demacian Royal Gardens. Not that you would rather be there, of course.
It has quite the exotic ring to it. Maybe it's the moniker of some legendary foreign warrior from a distant shore.
Oh no! Your RUNICATOR has begun to vibrate in a decidely non-sexual fashion! One of the assholes is messaging you, and you have a hunch about who it is.
You can bite the bullet and answer this guy, try to block him, or see if you can blow him off by contacting someone else. Your destiny is in your hands, Riven. What do you do?
> Humor the dude and answer. What have you got to lose? A home? You certainly don't have one of those.
-- vogelsOrdinance [VO] initiated contact with [RA] --
VO: :::> < Greetings, Exile.
VO: :::> < I trust that you have been well, and that your current residence has been hospitable to you.
RA: was that a rhetorical question
VO: :::> < Perhaps so, but I presumed a proper salutation was in order.
RA: yes alright
RA: is there something you need
RA: and why the stupid bird emoticon
VO: :::> < Many of my subjects have taken to peppering their speech with similarly childish eccentricities.
VO: :::> < I decided to humor them by adding my own touch.
VO: :::> < As for your first question, I would like to extend a proposal.
VO: :::> < Or, rather, an invitation to play a game.
RA: then no
VO: :::> < A hasty answer. I expected as much.
VO: :::> < Would your response still be the same if the very ground you sleep upon were at stake?
RA: ive been using a bench
RA: give me some credit
VO: :::> < Yes, but do you hope to bring reform to a smoking crater?
VO: :::> < Your ambition is to tear down the false strength that plagues Noxus and restore it to its former glory.
VO: :::> < But if you lack the power to save your city-state from the coming apocalypse, then you are far too weak to inspire any change.
RA: if thats your question
RA: i would defend noxus to my last breath
RA: but i dont see what this game of yours has to do with it
VO: :::> < This "game" is what the Institute left behind. The reason you were left destitute.
VO: :::> < It is the key to the battlefield that will deliver us from our doom.
VO: :::> < And, if you answer to its call, it will be the final test of your strength as a true Noxian.