Dragon Rising [A Master Yi Story] -rewrite-

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MiaoLong

Senior Member

07-25-2012

I'm not surprised. The man has a good concept; his imagination is actually pretty good. But he just cannot write. His dialogue is vapid and his voice, plot layout, and flow of writing is about level with an average fanfiction writer, which is to say, far from professional. I would imagine that in translation, the translators managed fix many of the original story's problem just by changing it.


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Shadow Wolf 47

Senior Member

07-27-2012

Any more chapters??? This is a great story, please keep it up!


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MiaoLong

Senior Member

07-27-2012

Oh, yeah, I'm....trying to work on it. It's hard, working with such a big change in plot drama.


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MiaoLong

Senior Member

07-30-2012

His knees were starting to ache. Yi looked up from behind his clasped hands. In front of him was his Dragon Rising blade, struck into the ground behind a small plate set in the dirt with three small peaches on it. He glanced to his side, and caught a glimpse of Ahri, kneeling like him, her hands clasped in front of her in prayer. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth barely shifted as she whispered to the swaying mulberry tree in front of them. The cherry blossoms of the Sakuras around them were starting to fall, swirling about Ahri like pink snow. It was beautiful, yet still she kneeled, eyes clasped shut, oblivious to the elegance of the scene. Seconds, minutes passed, still in silence. Finally, she stopped, and raised her eyes to the swaying branches above them.

She glanced back down, and poked Yi.

“You finished before me,” she said, teasing. “Does that I mean I loved Hae-In more than you?
“It means I am better with my words, and not as good at faking them”
“That’s meannn~ I meant every word!”

The two rose, and started back down the winding dirt path to the League.

“Yi…” Ahri grabbed both hands behind her, and started swinging around, dancing around Yi. “Are you happy now? That you finally brought Justice to Singed?”
“I… don’t know.” After their battle on Summoner’s Rit concluded, Singed was turned over to the Tribunal of the League, who voted by an overwhelming majority to punish. Singed, chemist of Zuan, was sentenced to die today. After the sentence was read out, an entire platoon of palace guards dragged the chemist off in chains. The man shuffled in silence; the only sounds that echoed through the Tribunal hall was the determined applause of the jury, and the clanks of Singed’s chains. Neither Yi nor Ahri wanted to be in the Institute when Singed was set to die, so they decided to visit Hae-In’s grave.

"I'm not sure what this feeling is. For the past few decades, I have had purpose burning in my heart... my revenge." he looked at his palm, and then clenched it. "And now it is finished. I'm done."

"Then are you satisfied?"
"No... I have given up too much for what I gained."
"You're not happy?"
Yi shook his head, frowning.
"I can't say I'm sad, Ahri. I'm feeling a bit... confused."
“You’re at peace, I think. And when you’re at peace, you’re happy.” Ahri gave a soft smile. “It’s been a long time since someone hasn’t been trying to kill you. Maybe that’s why you’re happy.”

Yi let a small laugh escape him.
“It could also be… because I’m here with you.”






Between them, wrapped in chains, the two palace guards dragged Singed by his gangly arms up a winding staircase. Their footsteps clattered in the silence of the halls; the clangs of metal greaves against stone steps echoed into the darkness. After a minute of climbing, they had reached their destination:the easternmost summoning chamber of the League. The great summoner Istavaan’s old chambers. The door had been sealed off with the most powerful of the League’s runes, and two turrets, removed from the Summoner’s Rift, now stood guard over the entrance to the League’s execution chamber.

The guard on the right removed an amulet with a glowing green gem from his neck, and held the jewelry to the runes affixed upon the door. The runes glowed red, then shifted, and the door swung open.

Roughly, the guards then threw Singed through the doorway. The chemist stumbled into the chamber, only to almost run into another door. He had been tossed into a small, narrow hallway that had obviously been added on after the initial construction. This door was marked with the same sealing runes, but it was of an older, out-dated style build, and the runes themselves were glowing green instead of red like the ones behind him. Then, the runes behind Singed shifted, and turned green, just as the ones in front turned an angry red. Singed lightly pushed on the door behind, even though he knew it was sealed fast. He knew there was only one thing that awaited him beyond the other door.

It was death.

He opened the inner door.



Inside was a dusty old room, with only a crack of light shining in from a circular hole in the ceiling. At the center was a summoning circle, just like every one of the others in the League. The only difference in this chamber was the floor was strewn with broken, rotted furniture, and adorned with a single, massive bloodstain that spread onto a side of the summoning runes, aged brown from over the years.

A voice like gravel crushed by steel cut in.
“Singeed of Zuaan…”

Singed’s head swiveled to look at the source of sound. A pile of broken sticks was laid in the corner of the room; far away from the light. Some of the pieces were broken shards of the handle of a scythe, while other sticks… were the pieces of something far, far worse.

“I have peered into your black soul, and found it pleasing.” Two glowing green lights, shining like coals, burnt bright from inside the pile of sticks. “Do you know who I am?”

Singed turned to face the corner. He stared fearlessly at the wood cluster.

“You are the Harbinger of Doom.” Singed slowly strode towards the pile of sticks. “You are the League’s executioner. You are Fiddlesticks.”
Singed knelt, to look at the glowing green coals better. “You are my death.”
“That, and more, Singed of Zuan. Your life will be sacrificed, but in return, untold stores of power await you.” The sticks clattered noisily, and then suddenly shot into the air, forming themselves into a vaguely skeletal shape. The wooden skeleton held out a splintered hand to Singed. “Your heart is good and black. You would do well with me.”

"Life, for power, Singed of Zuan. In your heart is ambition, pride, and ruthlessness. I like it."

“My life for power? How can that be? Are you going to turn me into a lich, like Karhus?”
“I am going to turn you into something far greater than that pitiful zombie could ever be, for I am not of this world, and my power once resided in the heavens. I was once called Archangul, now called Archdaemon.”

The skeleton of sticks floated closer, and the potato sack that once was Fiddlestick’s head hovered face-to face with Singed.

“My true name is Baal Adramalach, Lord of Avarice, god-ancestor of crows and carrion-feeders, and your death, and your salvation. When you take my essence into you, Singed of Zuan, all the hunger that eats at your soul shall cease. When you take my essence into you, Singed of Zuan, you will become a god.

“All I require from you… is to die.”

A spirit, black as night, yet with a glow within, escaped the skeleton of sticks, to float to Singed. The chemist instinctively cupped his hands, and from nowhere, black liquid pooled like blood. The blackness filled the cupped hands halfway, before the wooden skeleton before Singed went lifeless, and clattered to the floor, as the blackness grew more vibrant and alive. Singed stared into the inky liquid, until he could see his reflection on the surface. The liquid looked like death, with it's black pitch. It smelled like death, one could recall tones of ink and rotted meat and charcoal. And it felt like death; so icy and cold, it numbed Singed's fingers to the point of frostbite, and stained his bandages and skin.

"But if this is the price of power..." With only a slight hesitation, the chemist tipped his head back, and poured the blackness through his cloth mask, and into his throat.

He stared up at the light, letting the ink slip down his throat. Without a word, the chemist’s arms fell down to his side.

And then he died.





The two palace guards stood watch over the execution chamber. It was policy to stand guard over an in-process execution for seven days and seven nights, even though no one, innocent or guilty, had ever escaped that chamber alive. They stood with their backs to the door, watching the other wall with deathly bored looks.

Then the door started rattling. The guards looked at each other, and then circled around to aim their points at the runed door. The seals were running haywire; shifting and twisting like snakes made of light. The two turrets set up by the door activated, and power hummed to their upraised stone scepters.

Then it stopped.

The guards glanced at each other. One of them let out a relieved sigh.




The wall to the left of the entrance exploded outwards, engulfing one of the guards as he yelled out. The two turrets immediately started firing into the dust; their shots of light punching holes into the swirling clouds about them. The guard that was caught in the explosion struggled to his feet; no easy feat, for his femur was snapped. The man moaned in pain as he used his pike as a walking stick to limp to the safety of the two turrets.

He only got to the first turret before he saw his companion, still a shadowy figure shrouded by the dust, cry out. The unlucky guard seemed to be attacked by a shadow, which raced forwards, easily slipped past the terrified man’s pike, and wrapped about his neck. The shadow made only one twist, before the guard’s head rolled from his shoulders. The skull, helmet and all, bounced, and rolled on the stone floor before coming to a rest at the injured guard’s feet.

The man looked up in terror.




The dust had cleared now. What stood before had the shape of the man they had just dragged into the execution chamber, but he was cloaked in night-black rags and feathers and fur. A scythe, running black and silver, and red with the blood of his friend, was clutched in the thing’s hands.

The turrets continued their fire, but the thing didn’t even flinch. With one swing of his scythe, the turrets were sliced in half; collapsing to the ground in almost perfect pieces. The thing then turned to look at the remaining guard.

It’s head was shrouded by a cloth sack; and in two holes clumsily carved out of the fabric, burned two eyes, bright and green.

The thing stepped towards the trembling guard, and grasped him by the head. It lifted the armored man up like he weighed no more than a toy. The palace guard whimpered, and struggled to no avail. The thing clutched the guard’s head like a crane, and drew the man’s terrified face to its cloth sack of a head. The voice that clawed its way out of the sack sounded like death.

“You will serve a purpose other than dying”, the thing whispered over the struggling man’s silent cries. “You will seek the one they name master, and tell him that the one who hates him most has fused with the one who he hates most. Tell him that a pitiful scarecrow has risen once more to take his revenge.”

The man let out a long, wordless wail of pure terror.
“That man took his sword and destroyed the body I had, named Fiddlesticks. Like him, I will have my revenge. That man also robbed the body I once had of god-hood, named Singed. Like that master, I will rip apart his body with pleasure.”

The guard would not shut up, so the thing reached up, and ripped out his nose. The man’s cries of fear immediately turned to a wordless one of agony.
“You listen well, my little bird, and you tell this man well”, the thing said, dropping the pitiful creature, and crouching over the tortured man. “You tell him…”





The thing removed his sack, to reveal a burned skull, charred to the point of blackness, with two glowing emeralds resting in its eye sockets.

“You tell him this one named Charred is after his soul!”


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Dolan PLS

Member

07-30-2012

Between them, wrapped in chains, the two palace dragged Singed by his gangly arms up a winding staircase. Their footsteps clattered in the silence of the halls; the clangs of metal greaves against stone steps echoed into the darkness. After a minute of climbing, they had reached their destination:the easternmost summoning chamber of the League. The great summoner Istavaan’s old chambers. The door had been sealed off with the most powerful of the League’s runes, and two turrets, removed from the Summoner’s Rift, now stood guard over the entrance to the League’s execution chamber.

I think it should it be "palace guards."


But if I had to compare this chapter to something I'm familiar with to describe its quality, it would be Dark Knight trilogy level. Keep it up!


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MiaoLong

Senior Member

07-30-2012

Woah. Maybe the third or first movie.


My "Dark Knight" chapter's got to be chapter 8 though. The one where Jax tries to kill Ahri because of that charm.


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Shadow Wolf 47

Senior Member

08-01-2012

great job! keep it up. Love the weird Charred guy (kinda like a mix of Brand and Fiddlesticks).


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MiaoLong

Senior Member

08-01-2012

Well, I took the name "Singed" and just one-uped it to the name "Charred". I mean, how would you upgrade the name "Fiddlesticks?". Although I do see the Brand resemblance. Anyhow, he's supposed to be a mix of Fiddlestick's full power, and Singed.


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Flyt

Senior Member

08-02-2012

More... Must... Have.... MORE


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RichardTh

Junior Member

08-06-2012

1 mmore chapter for my birthday please?