League Judgment - Olaf
More of a revisitation to Olaf after that other League Judgment of him was published and lauded; Olaf's always been one of my favorite characters, so here ya go. It's a work in progress, though, so one would say later this evening or tomorrow morning for the Reflection bit.
Candidate - Olaf
The foreigner was goaded into a forward march by his retainers, Demacian soldiers clad in their ornamental armor of silver and blue. At the head of the procession marched Garen, the titular "Might of Demacia", his eyes paying rapt attention to the burly prisoner his men warded over with chain and cuffs.
He was massive, a mountain of a man who's arms and legs were rippling with muscle. His neck was as thick around as a smaller pikeman's thigh, but it was covered by the thick blonde beard which flowed out in thick locks to obscure his face and jugular.
Tanned leather covered the upper body of the barbarian, stitched together with furs on the inside to prevent the escaping of heat during the cold Lockfar voyages across the Great Sea. As rudimentary as his garb was, it had not escaped Garen's mind that the man was quite the able fighter, his fingers softly tending to a knot upon his forehead, inflicted by some blunt impact.
"What brings you here, Might of Demacia?", a soft feminine voice inquired. Quickly the barbarian's eyes look downward to her, twin oceans set into his weathered face beneath the horned helmet blocking much of his head from being attackable.
Garen moved away from the procession and their ward, and conversed in some strange tongue which Olaf did not understand. It was a despicable language in its sibilance, almost lyrical compared to the gruff guttural tongue of his home land. Olaf allowed his brow to furrow, a small frown of disgust shifting across his cheeks.
A mistake, if there had ever been one. The female magus was staring intently at him, having finished her consultation to his armored captor. A nudge from the pikeman herded him not to her, but instead to two doors with a strange sign above.
Sentient magic, a most convenient and yet despicable thing shifted the strange alien words to Lockfaran runes, "Within lies the true adversary", a rough translation.
Without so much of an impact or tell, the doors swung inward, and a force beckoned Olaf into it, the darkness encompassing his entire being.
Olaf, at first growled softly under his breath at the foul trickery of these sniveling peoples and their strange customs. No payments to the Gods had been made since those armored soldiers had found him dehydrated and shipwrecked on the coast.
Every hair on his being stood on end. There was a subtle rise and temperature, he was sure of it. Suddenly, the heat became unbearable and his mind was lost within the burning hell that those deceivers had shoved him into. A curse to the God of Lies was cut short, however as he felt a familiar weight upon his massive frame.
Night in Lockfar, such a dangerous and forboding time even within the scant villages and their longhouses. Olaf laid there under his many animal pelt blankets pondering the upcoming voyage across the sea to scour for more supplies, his waif Brindhr clinging onto his body softly. With a wry smile he clapped a massive hand onto her posterior, rewarding him with a small yelp of both surprise and pleasure.
"A bit amorous this evening, husband?", her sultry voice purred to him. Her gaze was penetrating, those ruby eyes touched by the Gods of his land, the fires of the War God brimming within her mortal veins. A strong son would be born to them, he was sure.
"Just thinking, wife. We will be gone for many moons with this next departure, and I would hope to find my son amongst the sarls building ships rather than a daughter", his gruff voice replied. Olaf had come from a strong line of warriors, and it was by no question that he was the champion of his village.
The rest of the experience of that night was lost in a haze of carnal pleasures and the soft echoes of the waves on the beach, almost like some long-lost dream. The sudden tumult halted the excursion and he awoke with a start.
Olaf's eyes were drawn to the waves that crashed against the longboat with unbridled fury, sending brine and the smell of sea salt into his nostrils. All around them the storm raged, men rowing for their very lives to keep the vessel afloat lest the ocean consume them all and give them death unfitting of those to enter Valhal.
All the sea wolves were frantic, but the oldest of them all, an old hunter by the name of Oldrim merely stared at Olaf, his one good left eye penetrating into his very soul as a voice rumbled forth that told of many winters and offerings to the crazed Gods of Lockfar.
"Why do you wish to join the League, Olaf Bjornsson?", a strange question for the dread situation at hand, but Olaf merely yelled over the din of the storm that he wished to protect his land and his life, to be delivered to the mercy of respite and Valhal.
The phantom image of the old sea wolf merely smiled, "How does it feel to expose your mind?". Biting back curses before the final wave that was etched into Olaf's mind threw the ship against icy sea, he merely replies with a raging "Unfitting!".
Olgrim's smile broadened as the ship collapsed, his body flung about like some rag doll that was maimed by the wood of the proud ship, and Olaf equally felt himself lapse into a fit of vertigo. The caw of gulls, the smell of the sea.
It was morning within this weird place that transcended time and reality, and before Olaf there opened two doors with ethereal lights brimming, threatening to overthrow all hopes of return. Within he could here the raucous calls of men battling and drinking, the sighs of wenches and the like.
He merely walks through the doors, not knowing on the other side a council of Summoners awaited, and with them, the League.
It makes no sense why Garen is here, nothing of Olafs lore indicates anything of Garen. The writing is good, but the backing behind it makes no sense.
No, he washed up on shore near Demacia right?
No, he washed up on Valoran. It never states Demacia. Also, Garen's judgment would've be much more before then Olafs. I also noticed a made up last name. Like I said, its very good writing, but this isn't a legit Judgment because the facts are not correct.
That and being as Demacia is in the west of Valoran, why not?
It seems very unprofessional. Mind you, I wrote the other Judgment and I was very ashamed of my work. To be honest, it was very bad. But, I think you have everything ok if you remove Garen out of the picture. Like I've said, this is very good writing (I need to work on my descriptive writing heavily) keep up the good work. Remember the Judgment is supposed to show the Champion a form of a lesson or moral. Also, Olaf is much more angry then you have depicted him to be. Yes, he can be intelligent and he also serves the Gods, but remember he has been segregated from his home completely, and is forced to fight. He knows he won't be able to go home, so he's angry.
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