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Years of conversation fill a ton of digital pages, and we've kept all of it accessible to browse or copy over. Whether you're looking for reveal articles for older champions, or the first time that Rammus rolled into an "OK" thread, or anything in between, you can find it here. When you're finished, check out the boards to join in the latest League of Legends discussions.


Which of these would you want to read first?

Udyr versus Irelia 11 19.3%
Udyr versus Lee Sin 5 8.77%
Udyr versus the Wiles of Women 16 28.07%
The Formation of Pentakill (multi part story) 10 17.54%
Karthus' Lament 3 5.26%
Wukong and Ahri 14 24.56%
Mordekaiser's Choice 6 10.53%
Irelia and Zelos (a multi part story) 11 19.3%
A OC original story set in the LoL universe 9 15.79%
Multiple Choice Poll. Voters 57 .

G Viper's Side Story Center!

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Senior Member


Holy **** part 3 is morbid. I don't want to say OOC because Irelia's character isn't established but was not expecting it. Morbid but thought provoking. Nice job.

It does explain how Kat got her deep scar which is too precision to be cut from Garen's huge sword.

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


Tears fuel my soul

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


It's been awhile since I've posted here, and I have to say that Ask Graves gave me the idea for this fanfic and helped formulate the plot and so forth, and Ask Talon helped me out with a point or two and editing. I will warn you ahead of time, it is rated M just in case. It is violent. And disturbing. Seriously.

Fiddle's Day Out


It was routine. There was only one door and two Summoner sentinels at all times in front of it. They had but one task, to assure whatever was in never got out. A relatively simple task, all things considered, since it never bothered to escape. It never tried. The wooden creature only moved when summoned to the Fields of Justice, only killed when it was met with opposition, and it never cared. It never smiled, it never laughed, it never cried. This creature is the Harbinger of Doom, Fiddlesticks, and it never had a single thought of ever leaving the room. Not in one year, not in five years, not in two decades had the creature known as Fiddle sticks ever moved from its singular spot.

One of the Summoners suddenly stirred, blinking his eyes. He nodded his head and started to hum with energy. His shift was over, he was not tired but the League had strict rules of forced sleep after several weeks of wakefulness. Suddenly a scythe spun out, striking him in the forehead. He collapsed to the ground, dead. The other guard barely had time to breath as another scythe decapitated him, embedding itself in the wall. Appearing out of thin air, a jester silently landed. Grinning widely, his quiet footsteps brought him to the door. Scratching his chin, he tapped the wooden frame. The sound of thick wood echoed. The jester laughed, “Are you serious??? Really?!” He cackled once more, “It’s just wood! That’s it!”

He grabbed the door knob and turned it to no avail. It was locked. He mockingly pouted, “Oh poo, if only there was a way to open this door! If only I had the long, ridiculous series of keys and seals needed to unlock this one, singular lock!” Miming his hands in midair, he made the shape of a box. In a moment, a physical box plopped onto his palms. He rested it on the floor and looked at the door. He dragged his finger back and forth through the air several times, from the door to the box, and frowned. He thought aloud, “Hrm, going to need to angle this somehow…”

A wicked smile spread across his face, he looked at the fallen guard. Reaching over a shiv popped out of his sleeve, “I hope you don’t mind giving me a hand, ol’ buddy ol’ pal?” The jester changed his voice into a deeper tone, “Not at all Shaco, you are a prince of men and the greatest lover ever!” Shaco turned his head to one side, holding his hand to his cheek like an ashamed schoolgirl, “Oh Corpse McGee, you say the most saucy of things! You sure make a gal like me blush!”

The jester laughed as he sliced the hand off and stuffed it underneath the box, angling it upwards. Tapping the top of the box, it sprung open and a miniature face of Shaco popped out. It quickly and violently spat magical bolts at the door, ripping the wood apart within moments. Shaco stepped back and leaned over to the ruined door. Seeing that it was out of reach, another shiv appeared in his hand to try and touch the body of the door. He eventually contorted his entire body on a single toe, stretching the rest of his limbs out, and gently pushed the door. Its hinges creaked as it slowly opened by a single, slow inch. He disappeared in a flash, smiling all the while.

For minutes, nothing happened. Slowly but surely, a gnarled, wooden hand grabbed the door frame.


The village was a quiet one. It laid on the outskirt of Demacia, and it was under Demacian protection. They were not very prosperous, but a happy town. Always a rather bountiful harvest, no real problems ever afflicted them. Children ran about, screaming happily while their fathers worked the fields. The wives at this time were either airing the laundry, cooking or doing yard work themselves, the young women were flirting with boys and trying to evade their responsibilities. The strange thing about today was that birds had started gathering a little bit more thickly than usual.

A woman looked out from her porch, watching her son and daughter run back and forth with glee. They were playing tag. The girl shoved the boy a little too hard and he fell to the ground. She called out to the girl, “Jenny! Don’t be so mean to your brother!”

Jenny looked and giggled, “Sorry m-”

The soft sound of flesh ripping stilled Jenny’s mouth. She gurgled blood and looked at the blade that was sticking out of her little chest. The weight of the scythe dragged her down to her side. She was still alive, looking at the mortified stares of her brother and mother. This was quickly changed by screams of horror as crows flew in and started peeling the skin off. Her brother’s eyes were quickly pecked out, when he tried screaming a crow pierced his throat with a vicious strike of its beak. Jenny’s eyes started to flutter close, the world becoming darker and things becoming harder to hear. She could not hear her mother’s screams as the crows tore out chunks of her breasts, staining her once bright white clothes with crimson.

Suddenly Jenny’s body lifted from the ground. The disgusting sound of bone cracking was drowned out by the cawing of the crows, fresh blood spurted out of Jenny’s mouth. The soft slurp of the scythe slicing through entrails was barely noticeable as Jenny’s intestines hung off the now sanguine scythe. Fiddlesticks walked forward, not acknowledging the three had had killed. After all, there was more to be done.

The men noticed the large flock of birds, particularly crows, far too late. They descended upon them like a torrent of black rain. Dragging back pieces of still bloody flesh to their master, they were death incarnate. Fiddlesticks saw one man try to run and hurled his scythe at him. The scythe cleaved through the young man’s skull with ease, splattering his brain matter all over the hard worked field he had just planted.

Fiddlesticks strolled through town, its crows returning to it the bounty they had so easily and readily found. A young woman tried rushing at the Harbinger, brandishing a pitchfork. The emerald glow of the creatures eyes blistered brightly. The woman grabbed at her body and started to vomit blood. The crimson liquid never touched the ground, it simply dissipated in midair. In mere moments, the woman was nothing but skin and bones, quite literally. Fiddlesticks walked over and examined the woman. She was most definitely dead. The creature grabbed her clothes and promptly ripped them off, leaving her naked. It reached down and grabbed her skin, and ripped it open. Turning it upside down, it was almost comical. The bones rattled out of the body with no difficulty. No tendons, no muscles, no pesky organs weighed the bones down or hindered their departure. Fiddlesticks took the now empty skin and slowly stuffed it into its mouth. It had no teeth, it did not bite or crunch, it simply packed the skin in like a good suit in a closet. The Harbinger looked about, its crows were still bringing more flesh to it. More people lived.

Hours later, a young girl, barely more than sixteen, hid in the corner of a blood stained house. Her blouse was stained with vomit; she had just watched her entire family be devoured by crows. Her parents forced her into the house, the last act they would ever do as they succumbed to the flock. She rocked herself back and forth, the sound of the crows actually lessened. The sound diminished, the flapping of wings disappeared. The girl was foolish enough to relax for just a moment. The front door creaked open, the Harbinger stepped in. The girl started to shake again, cowering at the emerald eyes emptily staring at her. The creature took a step forward, crows flooded the room and surrounded her, all staring at her with those same, hollow, emerald eyes. The creature raised its hand up, its gnarled, wooden claws cracking and groaning when a surge of blue light ruptured behind it. A voice called out, “Enough, Fiddlesticks!”

More lights shot around the creature. It did not seem to notice, or care for their presence. The crows fluttered over and rested on Fiddlesticks. The Summoners raised their hands, magic surging from them, “You will stand down!”

The Harbinger’s head cracked 180°, looking at the first Summoner who commanded it. The girl could see each Summoner now quaked in fear, their magic sputtering out of the sheer terror they felt of this one being. Then, it spoke. It spoke its raspy, supernatural voice, “My room.”

The Summoners looked at one another and nodded. Their magic crackled and started to flow less shakily as Fiddlesticks remained perfectly still. The girl screamed out in a frenzied, fearful voice, “Kill it! Kill it, d*mn you! Kill it!”

The first Summoner who spoke looked at her and shook his head, “We cannot do that. Fiddlesticks will be tried under League law and punished accordingly.”

The girl screamed incoherently, rambling nonsense. She was near her fireplace, and with it a fire poker. She grabbed it and ran towards Fiddlesticks when its head suddenly snapped back in place and stared at her with those horrid, emerald eyes. “Melanie Daniels.” That is all it said.

The girl, Melanie, fell to the ground, babbling nonsense. It knew her name. It knew her gods d*mned name. The Summoners and Fiddlesticks disappeared in a flash of light.


Months later, in the same dusty room, in the same dusty spot, Fiddlesticks stood. Unmoving, uncaring, unnoticing of the world around it, it remained still in its one spot. The door suddenly creaked open, maniacal laughter filling the room. The edges of Fiddlestick’s mouth tugged upwards. The floor was covered in layers upon layers of dust, save for the spots where it had taken its first steps all those days ago.

And it walked the same steps as it did before.

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Viper I can't contact you on skype right now and I wish to issue a request for a side story (lord help us)... I assume you've seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail... With the release of "Athene's Unholy Grail" it has struck me and other in our collab group that this forum deserves another masterfully crafted tale from your fingertips, and thus we wish for a parody story about (Champion) and the Unholy Grail.

If you so wish to write it lol xD

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Senior Member


This new story is pretty awesome. It makes me happy to see someone finally showing Fiddlestick love. And I'm totally not posting this because you are angry about this in Skype.

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


New short story! Finally an update to the Pentakill story!

Pentakill Part 2


Those were his songs. Requiems for the dead, requiems for the soon to be dead, he would sing. The Howling Marshes are a scarcely visited location. Not much was known about it, and no one dares to know more about it. They are home to various monstrosities and creatures from long forgotten eras, most notably that of Karthus. The Deathsinger, the Lich. His tower stretched to the heavens and was deceptively unguarded. No one dared venture into the Marshes, all that could be heard were the requiems constantly sung by him.

Large, metal boots imprinted the ground, exploding the gunk and mud that made up the marshes. They belonged to a giant of a man, a beast fully encased in metal. Mordekaiser, the Master of Metal, the King himself, was now in Karthus’ territory. Strands of blue hair floated down next to Mordekaiser’s helmet, he kept a woman in a sapphire blue dress propped up on his shoulder, holding her in place with his one hand while his other wielded his mighty Morningstar. A large leather strap stretched across his chest, attached to a large leather bag on his back.

The sounds of groaning an moaning echoed through the swamp. In a moment, dozens of undead rose from the shallow depths. This was replaced by hundreds now surrounding the Master. Mordekaiser looked about and took another step towards the tower, causing each necromantic minion to hurtle themselves at him. This proved to be useless, a shield of steel shards erupted from his body, slicing each foolhardy creature close to him into ribbons. The woman rested delicately on the shoulder, watching the shrapnel pass over her head by mere inches. She rested at ease on the armored shoulder.

Mordekaiser bellowed out in his deep voice, “Lich! The Master of Metal demands you grant him audience!

The woman looked at Mordekaiser and pouted her lower lip. The iron man groaned and punctuated, “We intend no harm!” He glanced at the woman who smiled back at him and nodded in approval.

A deathly chilling voice filled their minds, “I will not grant you and you alone audience, oh great and most powerful master of gold. But…” The door to the tower swung open, the voice continued, “You said we. I am curious, bring her along.

Mordekaiser stepped forward and pushed open the door. The moment he stepped through the door he was directly in front of the lich. The entire room was enveloped in shadows, anything that looked of interest quickly blinked out of existence. This was his realm now. The only source of light was from a single slit in the brick window. Dressed in flowing black robes that stretched across the floor, sanguine hems outlined his robes. The glowing eyes of the lich brightened, he mockingly bowed towards Mordekaiser and the aqua haired woman with golden ends, “So nice to see you in my home, Mordekaiser. Do not get comfortable.

Karthus cricked his head upwards, his face in an eternal smile, “And you bring the Maven with you? How interesting! Have you claimed her soul, then?” Karthus raised a bony finger, “Do not answer that. Come, Sona Buvelle, show me why I should not have the both of you extinguished right now.

Mordekaiser snorted and moved forward, only to have the robes of the lich bind him to the floor. Karthus glanced at Mordekaiser, “My house, my rules. You cannot hope to defeat me here of all places, ‘Master’. Do as I say, or I will sing you your requiem.

Mordekaiser chuckled. He glanced at Sona and let her off his shoulder. Sona dusted herself off and walked around to the back of Mordekaiser. The sound of a zipper unzipping could be heard. A strange, metallic instrument was drawn out. A large bird skull decorated the front of it while the metal crested into metallic wing-like shapes. She slipped the straps over her neck and stood in front of the mighty lich. Karthus rolled his hand, “So? What do you wish?

Sona strummed a few notes to Karthus. The lich’s unnerving glare did not dissipate, after all, it was hard for a skull to make any facial expression. “The point, please.”

Sona frowned and strummed a few, more aggressive notes. It was as if she was demanding him to do something. Karthus placed a bony finger against his chin, “It has been a while since I have bothered to listen to music. I forgot the reason until you started your playing. Your living aura is already disgusting me, we are done here.

Sona played more notes, eerily, haunting to most except to Karthus. He nodded, “That is the melody of my Requiem. Do you seek death?

Mordekaiser grunted, “She wishes for you to sing, lich.

Karthus stared at Sona unnervingly, “Is that truly your wish?

Sona nodded and strummed more notes. Karthus spread his arms and tilted his head back, “I was asked of many things in life, and in death. This shall be the first request I enjoy in centuries. Prepare yourself for death, mortal, this will be the last you feel the warmth of your soul ever again.

Karthus started to sing. His song could rend entire teams of champions asunder, his voice was powerful enough to be heard throughout hill and dale, inviting death to all who heard it. He was Karthus the Deathsinger, and he sang his dirge of death. Karthus glanced at Sona, who was smiling at the lich. Her aqua hair slowly shifted to a brilliant sanguine color, her sapphire dress twisting into rich obsidian. She strummed her notes. They sounded more electric, more vibrant than before. Karthus did not stop singing his requiem. The longer he sang his requiem, the more deadly it became to those hearing it. On the fields he was allowed only a few verses, this time he would sing the full mass.

Sona played her notes to accompany Karthus’ requiem perfectly, note for note. A wild strum sent out twin sound waves, slicing Karthus’ robes that had bond Mordekaiser. The iron man rose to his feet, cracked his knuckles and held his right hand out towards the only source of light within the lich’s tower, a single slit in the brick. A crack of lightning raced through and struck Mordekaiser’s fist, the energy winding itself along his arm. Within moments, the energy stretched from hand to hand and formed a blood red guitar. Mordekaiser started shredding on his mighty axe.

Karthus’ requiem grew in strength from Sona and Mordekaiser’s playing. The lich was actually surprised. His song was meant to sunder the bodies and souls of the living and the dead, not to be aided by either. Karthus abruptly stopped singing, staring at Sona. He asked, “Why do you hasten your death, Sona? If you play much longer, my song will rip you and the tin man apart.

Sona looked at Mordekaiser and strummed a few notes. Karthus snapped at her, “What is it you say, fleshbag?” Mordekaiser grunted, “You cannot understand her words, lich. You are no longer alive.

Your point being?” Karthus crossed his arms. Sona frowned and looked at Mordekaiser. The metal man sighed, “She wished to speak to you, because of your requiem. Your song, she has heard it on the fields many times. She wants you to join our band, Pentakill.

Karthus stared at Mordekaiser, tilted his head back, and hoarsely laughed. His head snapped downwards, “Join a band? I am a lich, I am death incarnate. I sing for those who have died and are dying, my audience are all the legions of the ****ed. Why would you possibly think I would sing in a band? That is a stupid reason to seek death so earnestly. Get out.

Mordekaiser looked at Sona and nodded his head. Sona sighed and bowed her head. She curtsied towards Karthus and gracefully stepped towards Mordekaiser. She played a few loose notes by mistake, this time Karthus could hear something. I only wished to help, his soul cries so. Mordekaiser shrugged his shoulders, “Maven. Come, let us leave.

Karthus snapped his bony fingers, the two disappeared from his tower. Karthus shuffled over to a table, a large magical tome and crystal scepter rested there. He scratched his chin, “Now that? That is an interesting reason…very interesting.


In giant, open space pavilion in Noxus, the stage was set. Mordekaiser stomped into view, raising his fist above the screaming fanatical audience. Slamming it into his guitar, he ripped out a series of chords that tore through them, making them beg for more. Mordekaiser raised his fist once more, lightning crackled and several explosions went off in consecutive order. Two lines of flame stretched to create a pathway, one that Sona gracefully walked down with instrument in hand. She readied her delicate fingers, and was about to strum a note when the audience screamed. A thick, heavy cloud of death fell over the entire crowd and stage. A commanding, hoarse voice bellowed, “MOVE!

The crowd parted. Karthus, in all of his blackened glory, made his way through the audience. He was wearing an ivory mask this time, his hood drawn up over his face and his robes flowed a lot looser than usual. Mordekaiser swung his ax up on his shoulder, glaring at the incoming lich. Mordekaiser pointed at him, “What do you want, lich?

Karthus cackled, “You interrupted me during my hours, I can do the same.” Mordekaiser raised a hand that crackled with ghastly energy. Only because Sona patted his arm did he not smite the lich where he stood. Sona looked at Karthus and motioned for him to come up on stage. “Buvelle, you truly are a fool seeking death.

Karthus flung his arms open, his robes slid off his torso. He ripped the mask off, showing his skull was painted red with white tribal markings, and scant amounts of flesh clung to him. His long, silvery hair flowed down his back, his knuckles cracked with tendons and loose muscle. He was wrapped in leather straps on his chest and shoulders, dirty cotton bandages hung loosely off his forearms while his black robes made up the lower half of his body, held by a single skull belt. Karthus stretched his hand out, a microphone and a stand appeared out of thin air. Karthus looked at the crowd, “I am the Deathsinger, and I am now a part of Pentakill! Scream in despair, foolish mortals!

The crowd looked at one another, somewhat confused. Karthus stepped forward and yelled a chant into the microphone, “HAIL! HAIL! PENT-A-KILL! HAIL! HAIL! PENT-A-KILL!” The crowd started chanting to the rhythm of Karthus’ chant, “Hail…hail…Pentakill. Hail. Hail. Pentakill. Hail! Hail! Pent-A-Kill! HAIL! HAIL! PENT-A-KILL! HAIL! HAIL! PENT-A-KILL!”

Karthus shot a look back at Sona, “Mortals are so easy to manipulate.” He snapped his fingers, “Now then, Maven, Mordekaiser, keep at a one eighty five tempo in four four time. Try not disappointing me.

Sona smiled at Karthus and bowed towards him, strumming two notes, Thank you. Karthus looked back at the crowd and gripped the microphone tightly. Mordekaiser leaned over and loudly muttered, “Do not kill them, I need them to sustain me more than I need their deaths.

You worry too much, Mordekaiser…” Karthus adjusted the microphone a bit, “I know everyone who has ever died, I know everyone’s final moments, I know everyone’s final breath. Not one of these mortals are fated to die this day. I sing requiems because they are needed, I can sing other songs as well.

Karthus pointed at Mordekaiser, “Start us off, use the aforementioned tempo and beat, and I will sing after a few bars in.

Mordekaiser nodded and started strumming. Karthus snapped at Sona, ”Wait five bars and then come in, follow Mordekaiser’s lead, improvise as best as you can.

The Master of Metal ripped into his guitar, wailing riffs out. Soon enough Sona joined him. Karthus tapped his heel on the ground, tilted the microphone forward, and sang in crystal clear pitch, for once, not his requiem or his dirge of death. He sang to commemorate the dead, rather than to lay the dead to rest. He sang in memorialization, reminding the living the past lives of those who came before, and all the while they screamed for more

The concert brought in far more people than the venue could hold, and it could be heard further than the boundaries of Noxus. It was said that even the Institute could hear the concert. No one was safe from the growing power of the greatest band.

A powerful voice, one chock full of centuries of blackened wisdom, screamed in the final throes of the concert,


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Senior Member


Woot! been waiting for this for a while now.

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Senior Member


finally gotten a better chance to look at a few of these :P so far so good man. I really enjoyed the formation of Pentakill ones.

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Ask Grªves

Senior Member


Fiddles day out? Me gusta

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


Pentakill Part 3
Fanfiction Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7887679/17/League_of_Legends_Short_Story_Center

I'm actually in a bit of a rush now, so I will post the story up on the forums in a bit. Sorry guys! It'll be up in my Fanfic site though!

I’m coming to the end of this batch of short stories! The next one is going to be called “Mordekaiser’s Choice,” then I’m going to be writing up a new batch of Short Stories. I was going to make another poll on the main LoL forum for it, but with how many people come by for these stories, I figured I’d make a poll for Fanfic! So, check my profile, and vote up to 3 stories that you want to see most!

This is how I’m going to be doing the short stories from now on, to be able to help organize the ones I want to write, and also to give me time to plan out some more for the future =p

Also, would you guys want me to make another poll for the short stories here on these forums? I can add the numbers together from the two polls together and go from there.

The link: