dragon00bicus
<Member>
<Member>
dragon00bicus wrote:
The second is quite unclear. So you're saying that Jericho called upon Amumu¿
I was saying that he used the book to call upon a life story of a certain champion, in this case the next one is amumu. I didn't want to make it really obvious, keep the mystery there. I'll try and fix it.
thanks Hogopogo for the banner :D
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His dull, lifeless eyes pierced into my soul. I gazed pitilessly at what used to be Jack Higgins, a lowly man with distinguished fetishes. The seduction was simple but, as always after victims, the damnation of human morality bore through my heart. The human heart is a weak thing, already conquering me; taking over my once proud fox spirit. It’s even bound my will; I must obey or risk insanity.
Yet my hunger is not a quenchable thing; for I was not born, but created. Created without a care for the being itself, and left to rot when I was recognised as a failure. My eyes look upwards as I gaze into the past.
A battle, the fox whispers as it stares mercilessly, humans are pathetic. Why waste your life on another person’s whim, what meaning is there in it. The fox turned as if to leave, yet something caught the corner of her eye. A man in a black robe running crimson, a field of some sort of sorcery waning around him. Curiosity peaked, so the fox decided to proceed. A mistake she will forever regret.
She approached the man, the dying man.
The laughing man.
What man laughs when he dies? None.
He stood up suddenly, throwing off the cover to reveal the dying man to be underneath him. “Thank you fair fox, I have been watching you for months just for this moment. You have an affinity for magic within your body, it may just work. My experiment, that is.”
Sensing the sudden danger, the fox attempts to back off; only to be blocked off by a magic wall. The man continues to laugh manically, as the waning magic circle suddenly flares up and starts drawing some sort of essence from the man’s body. The fox desperately throws herself against the wall, all in vain.
The essence of the man gathers and charges at the fox, homing onto her. It poured into her, twisting her; shaping her. Making her become something she was not.
At the end there was no longer a fox lying there, but a naked human sleeping in the snow.
At least, that is what the rescue team said.
The man was never found, all she received from him was a note.
“Failure.” I stared in confusion, I was human.
How had his twisted experiment failed.
I breathe deeply as my eyes focus back into the present. I have become human, yet I must hunt humans to maintain my essence. I need a solution to this never ending problem, or I risk losing my life, or my reasoning. For without the creator, I could not complete myself, and I discovered him dead many a months ago.
Yet all is not lost. The League of Legends. It was a shadow of a whisper in the air, a place where your dreams can be fulfilled; at the price of service. The Institute of War is its official name. Fight for the cause, people say; until the end days, and a single wish will be granted. For some, the price is too high. For some, living is easy.
I sought this Institute out, searching far and wide for any information on its location. At first there was nothing. But as I wandered the lands, my hunger growing more and more prominent, I slowly gathered Intel on the location of this infamous Institute. Something still troubled me though, a constant in all the people interrogated.
Where the Institute lies, your true self is shown.
I was perplexed by this statement, how does it show your true self? I could not dwell on it long though, for the hunger grew evermore. Deciding to forgo any attempt at explaining this phenomenon, I moved onto the more important matter.
“Please,” The man cried in terror, pants drenched; rabid eyes seeking escape from this torment, “I have told you everything please spare me.” I look down at him, quickly silencing the human within me, and finish him off. It took years but, after many false starts, I discovered the Institute’s secret location. Impossible was my first thought at the Institute’s location, for it existed in a place no-one ever would ever dream of looking. I raised my eyes, looming over the man’s body, as I stood at the top of the highest mountain peak, and gazed at the Institute of War in its full glory. As the raw power emanated over me, a group of three started floating down. I gathered myself, hoping that my quest is finally at an end.
They landed and, with a hint of restraint, they spoke in unison, “what has brought you to this place, sorcerer”.
Sorcerer? I suppose this Institute lives up to its name if it can recognise my power.
“I wish to be in your eternal servitude, in return for a wish.”
They glance at each other in recognition and speak, one after the other.
“We know what you are looking for.”
“We know why you have come.”
“Yet the League cannot grant your wish. We are beings with power, not Gods,” they state without pause.
I sigh with regret, my last hope dying in the space of seconds. I turn around to leave but, as I am about to step off, they say something that intrigues me.
“We may not be able to grant your wish, but your creator, on the other hand, can.”
What do you mean,” I question, “my creator is dead. I have seen his body myself."
“Bodies can easily be reproduced, one who created such a being as you would not die from such a mundane reason as a fire. We have knowledge of him, yet not a location. Will you still accept the servitude?” They say.
“I am yours,” I reply without hesitation. Though I believe in my heart that the choice I made was the only one, I still wept inside. For I no longer tread the line.
I now walk the Crimson Road.
I looked up to ask how I could reach the Institute, only to find myself already at the gate. After a brief bout of shock, I recover myself and step inside. Suddenly, I glow and I feel myself changing. The light dissipates after a short while, and I look down to see my body not what it once was.
“interesting,” I muse, swishing my new-founded tail as I entered the gates, starting the walk down a new road, paved red.
I am Ahri, The Nine Tails Fox,
and this is my story
“How does this book work master,” the crow says as the man cloaked in darkness shuts the book. He looks up to the bird, pausing briefly to collect his thoughts,
“What happens when you recall a memory of yours, my friend.”
The crow pauses, “why I simply remember master.”
“Exactly, my friend, I simply remember,” the man states as he reopens the book.
“Book of Paths, show me your secrets,” he chants to the book. It lays there silently, long enough for one to think he was mad, but the silence ends in one brief burst as the pages spin out of control, finally landing on a page. Suddenly, this page glows. Words whisper throughout the room, increasing in fervour as the man is rooted in his place.
The crow screams over the monotone, “What are we looking for master.”
He jerks his eyes open, and shouts before being consumed, “why, what we have always looked for my friend; The Guardian.”
I am Amumu, The Sad Mummy,
And this is my story