Necromonger After reading through this I can tell there is a lot of good stuff and potential in this story. Add some better transitions in between segments and more descriptive language to draw better mental pictures for the settings and this would be a truly substantial story. If you ever wanted to make it appeal to none lol players you would need descriptions of the champs also but I doubt anyone outside lol players would read it anyway though.
But good story, I enjoyed it so far has potential and is a bit ruff but as far as fanfics go very good.
Act II scene vii - Nightmares of Midian
On the coast of the Island Pluton is the ancient city of Midian, where the bulk of Noxian refugees were allowed to reside
in an uninhabited part of the metropolis. Midian itself is quite vast and could easily house the entire population of both
Noxus and demacia put together. The Island natives are few in number, and are reclusive in nature, happily leaving the
Noxian refugees the bulk of their city.
It was night time upon the ramparts of the port. Several young Noxian guards were assigned to the graveyard shift, their light-crystal lanterns emitting a soft amber glow that shone off their well polished shields and chainmail. With a cloudy night sky and a new moon, the lanterns, the lighthouse and the buoys in the water were all the illumination to be had.
"Hey, did you see yesterday's fight in the Coliseum?" One of them spoke out of sheer boredom, as the evening had
"Yeah, same old stuff. Jax beating the **** out of undead wildlife gets really boring really fast." The second guard
spoke, the topic popular with the noxian soldiery; ever since the League was dissolved, Jax had resigned himself to the fighting colesiums of Noxus.
"My cousin got to talk with the Champ. Says he's gonna quit the coliseum if there isn't a worthwhile opponent to fight."
A third guard a short distance away had overheard the conversation, and spoke up excitedly at his relative's privilege.
"I don't blame him. There's nothing else to fight-" "WHY ARE YOU TALKING ON DUTY, ROOKIES???" snapped a Noxian Commissar. with an officer's sword, pistol and the Noxian comissariat's black coat, he was the terror of all enlisted men.
"Sir! We're sorry!" The young soldiers saluted and apologized to his superior, their eyes trained on the hextech revolver
and hoping the commissar doesn't use it... He reached into his coat, causing the soldiers to flinch and close their eyes.
He put a large brown cigar in his mouth and lit it, puffing twice before speaking.
"Bah. The air is cold and the night is long... but Keep alert, soldiers. The higher ups are scared of the possibility of
something following refugees..." Just as he turned around, his nerves were plucked at.
"Sir! Another ferry." One of the soldiers announced, spotting a single ship with tattered black sails and an unlit deck.
"Wait, there wasn't a scheduled ferry to arrive... and that boat didn't fire flares. Better light the alarm, soldier." The commissar ordered the man closest to him, who promptly saluted and left hastily to climb up to the signal tower. After a few minutes though, the green warning flame that was to announce an unwelcome arrival on the coast did not
"**** rookie... probably doesn't know which jar has the green powder..." The commissar said, marching swiftly in the
The sergeant went to the signal tower mumbling, but as he entered he stepped on a pool of blood... the rookie's body was
laid against the wall, dead. Without time to inspect the kind of injury, The Noxian sergeant drew his sword and pistol.
He eyed a shadow that moved silently up on the pyre tower. He ran up the stairs, rushing to light the signal fire regardless of what was here- they were under threat now.
He reached the top of the tower, and there sitting on the ground was an out of place character. Wearing a coat of
chainmail and dressed in his unique battle attire, a severely beaten and bloodied lamppost in hand, Jax seemed to have
been waiting for The sergeant. ****, Jax... what the hell is he doing here killing Noxian soldiers? the sergeant thought
to himself. He trained his gun on the famous armsmaster, ready to shoot- and engage him in melee if need be.
"Well, aren't you going to light the fire, soldier? Don't tell me your afraid of the champ." He spoke in that highly
confident tone, keeping his masked face trained on the barrel of the gun. Choosing duty over life, The officer opened
fire while running towards the pyre, lighter in hand. Jax moved with astonishing speed, dodging the bullets aimed for his
head by a hair's breadth. Knowing what would come next, the commissar tossed aside the gun and drew his sword.
Jax closed the gap between them in a single leap, and as they locked weapons the officer threw the lighter towards the
pyre. Jax evades and counter-strikes the sword blow, attempting to connect the lamp post to the officer's head. The Noxian soldier blocked, resulting in his forearm shattering, and his own fist crashing into his face. Jax failed to react to the lighter being tossed, though.
The lighter was caught by a hand that emerged from the shadows. A woman with crimson hair, dark blue skin, and in
a shockingly revealing dominatrix attire was laughing at the downed officer. Evelyn... the assassin. A speedy kick with a leather boot downs the injured officer.
"Why... why?" He sputtered as the widow maker drove a steel stiletto heel into his chest, missing the heart but drawing blood.
"Nothing personal, soldier. We were paid to do this." She said with a sadistic glee, delighting in the mayhem that was to come.
"Yeah. And the champ don't come cheap... Sorry if you're a fan." Eve buried her other heel into the officer's eye,
puncturing the skull and violently ending the Noxian's life.
The pair of mercenaries went to their business quickly, proceeding to the other coastal guard towers and making short
work of the soldiers stationed there. The black-sailed ship arrives on the coast completely unnoticed. They make their
way down to the coast to meet their mysterious benefactor, Jax's lamp post offering illumination. Still, the darkness
was unnaturally deeper.
From the deck of the ship came a deathly pale blond woman in a torn, formal black dress. Her eyes were two pinpricks of crimson light, and she walked with a regal air about her. As Jax and Eve were about to speak with her, they notice dozens more of glowing red eyes on the deck.
"Check out the company." Jax comments to Eve on the side. She ignores the comment; A heavy magical enchantment was emanating from the woman, while she barely made any gestures or incantations. Eve was feeling tired and sleepy, and she recognized it as a sleep enchantment dulling her senses.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Jax noticed his companion appeared ready to doze off.
"Don't you feel that... its... like we're underwater..." Eve asked, describing the sensation of the woman's magic.
"You mean the enchantment? Yeah, I do. I put some salt and lemon juice on an laceration I got fighting earlier. Works." Jax laughed it off, the sting of the remedy being negated by the enchantment's effect on sensation.
The blond girl, clearly undead, spoke in formal tone, a charming enchantment behind it to make average listeners feel more at ease. "Jax, The armsmaster and Eve, the widowmaker... deadly warriors both. Has everything been prepared as instructed?" She asked, nonchalantly.
"Course. all the guards are dead, and our sewer associate Twitch has already prepared a route into the population centers... Though I gotta ask what you're really planning. You said I'd be mashing zombies for show. This place ain't exactly an arena." Jax stepped forward with the question, uneasy with the obscure details since recieving the request. The woman answers truthfully.
"Your task has not changed, Jax. However, you will not be fighting here or now. I will have you wait until evening,
the day after tomorrow. I promise you a battle for an audience you will not soon forget." The Ghouls, the unliving
remains of the Noxian and Demacian prisoners from Charon's Port, were slowly disembarking from the ship. Two days
at sea without fresh meat, as well as their master's will suppressing their hunger had left them slow shambling
corpses. They walked in a huddled group, moaning and bumping into each other.
"Whatever. Look, I'm not about to start offing civilians." Jax voiced his first protest, shaking his fist at their employer. She looked at him straight in the eye with disappointment.
"Oh... that's not your job. Like I said, you'll be fighting. In two days. But you can't just walk away right now."
Eve strikes from the shadows, a magically empowered strike aimed at his head. The arms master's finely tuned instincts
allowed him to dodge, and strike Eve in the gut with the lamp post. The blow sends her rolling on the sand, unconscious.
He performs a great leaping attack at Lisa, and connects with her face, sending the undead woman sprawling on the ground. Or so it would seem.
"The heck you do to Eve, you crazy undead b***h?" He shouted, seeing the illusion fading away like a cloud of raven
feathers. He readied himself for follow up attacks, but he relaxed a bit knowing such a thing wouldn't come from
"Her job is to ensure you do yours... But it seems she's not really up to the task. It doesn't matter how strong you are,
Jax. in the end you're just a brawler- magic will always prevail." Lisa had materialized a short distance behind the arms master.
"You think you mages are all that, don't you?" His sight and hearing told him He needed to dash backwards, but his
battle instinct ruled otherwise. He swung his weapon in a wide arc to his left, and there where he saw nothing a solid target was found. Lisa suddenly turned visible, her left arm broken at the elbow. She winced at the pain of the blow.
"Interesting. How did thee defeat mine illusion...?" She asked, more curious than pained, clutching her arm.
"Master Yi and I have been fighting each other outside the League for years now, teaching each other every trick
in the book. It'll take more than a few illusions to beat me.... So Know your place, you punk!" He shouted, and was
now fired up to unleash a relentless assault. He was cut short however, as a Demacian-armored figure ran at inhuman
speed to tackle Jax to the ground, the force and surprise of impact knocking him out.
"Are you alright... mistress?" The newly turned demacian youth held Jax in an armlock on the ground to ensure he does
not suddenly awaken. He was now a vampire spawn, sporting pale skin and crimson eyes, and the thirst.
"Oh? did I miss something?" A sneaky voice suddenly said, and the two vampires turned to see a small, rat-humanoid
in a ragged coat and a grimy beret reviving Eve with powerful smelling salts. She held her bruised, broken side and
cursed Jax for the pain.
"Thou art lacking for punctuality, rodent." Lisa complained while she set her arm back in the socket, though Twitch simply chuckled.
"Sorry about that. ran into trouble... had to take the long way around." The plague rat explained his tardiness.
"Voice thyne concerns elsewhere, foul-smelling one. Didst thou prepare everything as requested?" She asked snappily, seemingly in some hurry.
"Oh yes. A nice, big cozy abandoned spot in the sewers near the center of the Noxian settlement. If you want some trouble I suppose you could do it there. But the City has a curfew.. nobody is outside or awake at night." Twitch spoke in a slower, more deliberate tone, which only prolonged how silly his speech was to hear. he gestured them to follow him to a large sewer opening.
"It matters not. The Noxians shall know no sleep; while they flounder amidst dreams, I shall have them drowned in waking nightmare." Lisa said to herself, mentally commanding the Ghouls into the sewers, removing their inhibitions and allowing their instincts to take over... these tunnels were patrolled by the Noxian military as well.
Oct 7, 2010 Update
The last few days have seen whole companies of living soldiers being committed to the base's infirmaries. Throughout the city, Noxian citizens have broken down into strange hysteria, rioting... and as Noxus's laws go, incareration in prisons and mental asylums have risen dramatically- yet they continue to riot.
The Noxian Military Headquarters, Midian. The Dusk of Katarina's Wedding.
The High Command has retreated within the secure basement of the government building, at Boram Darkwill's orders. He has left the security of Midian in the capable hands of a young Noxian former League Champion, Domina Agna. The reinforced doors close behind the last member of the High Council, guarded by unwavering reclaimed Noxian warriors.
Jericho Swain, a highly prominent League champion and Noxian politician, is now General Darkwill's second in command in the Noxian Heirarchy.
He is surrounded by ten of thirteen of the High Command, with Count Ducoteau the only one absent. These were old men and alchemically beautifed old women who's loyalties have waned over the past few months at Darkwill's compromises with the Necromancer King. With an overwhelming majority against Darkwill, this was without precedent the easiest and most obvious coup.
The treacherous old men and vain women in their finery and military dress discuss their concerns over glasses of crimson liquid that smelled of copper. Swaine hobbled to and fro, hiding his disgust at the undead monsters... monster as he was himself. The hastily furnished lobby was dimly lit, though the old officers did not need illumination.
"The man is showing weakness... I mean really, giving away Du Coteau's daughter... relegated to an off island... refugee status... And now the people are breaking out in some kind of chaos, he chooses to keep the military idle? Seriously!" said one of the Generals, his hand having been on the saber at his belt for the last few hours.
"I heard the coastal guard were wiped out, and an uncharted ship arrived... they found such terrible things on the vessel... yet Boram dispatches no investigation!" A young-looking, pale female High Commander said, gliding her hands through her pony-tailed gray hair.
"Friends, friends... we all knew this time was at hand. Darkwill's monopoly over power will soon be over, and we will soon dine upon the proverbial pieces of cake." Swaine strode between his would be allies, yet also his enemies.
"Indeed. We have you to thank, Swaine; over the years you've shown great leadership skill. No doubt you are the most fit to be the next High Commander." Jericho nearly gagged at the lie these predators tried to sell him, their augmented powers of persuasion finding no merit with the seasoned Noxian.
"Why thank you, Generals... Shall we proceed? our Commander awaits." Jericho simply stated, knowing he would be on his own the second Darkwill perished.
They entered the main chamber, a long rectangular Kumungu hard wood table adorned with the colors of Noxus. At the head of the seats, sitting upon the throne-esque chair, was the eternally young, long haired blonde man Boram Darkwill, ever inscrutable and quiet. His handsome features were offset by his unsettling gaze, a pair of deep dark crimson abysses. On the desk was his longsword still in its sheathe, Drech'nyr- a terrible and iconic artifact of Noxian history since its founding. It was said to have greater occult powers than the entirety of Noxus's Academy.
One by one, the Generals took their seats, the leader of Noxus simply nodding to acknowledge each one. The Command officers' eyes went everywhere except on their leader. Earlier they spoke eagerly of a coup like strolling through a park; being in Darkwill'spresence made even thinking about it uncomfortable.
"General Darkwill... the High Command, except for Count Ducoteau have assembled, and are prepared to serve in this great time of crisis." Jericho Swain said in the tone of protocol and formality, bowing reverently before their leader acknowledged them and allowed them to seat simultaneously.
"General Darkwill, we have several concerns to address- the hysteria amongst the populace, the situation at the coast, Katarina's wedding..." The female officer from earlier began. Darkwill listened.
"But... we have a more pressing concern right now." The old male officer with the monocle and saber continued, waiting for back up. Darkwill listened intently, his gaze fixated on whoever would be next to speak.
"It is the matter of leadership in this dark time, you see..." the master tactician started closing the trap, gesturing the others to slowly take out their own weapons and wills for the act to come. Darkwill did not move from his seat, nor did he reach for his weapon.
"We hate to be so blunt and callous like common thugs, General, but we've been sadly impatient for so long. We would apologize... but that would imply we regret our actions!" Jericho signaled the others to strike, and several silvered sabers suddenly flew from gloved hands and finding themselves in Darkwill's chest. His face is covered by a look of surprise and pain; blood began pouring from his mouth.
"Hurry! Decapitate him!" Swain told the one nearest to Darkwill, who promptly took out one sword and swung as hard as he could. It cleanly slices through the throat and chair. Just like that, Noxus's great leader had been silenced... not that he spoke much in the first place. Swain and his two associates were covered in blood, though it hardly showed on the crimson uniforms anyway. They callously toss Darkwill's head rolling on the stone floor. Then they pour Ionian blessed oil upon the body and set fire to it. A few minutes of silence preceded a celebratory feeling.
"We did it! Boram is dead! Noxus is ours!" The female officer exclaimed, overtaken by excitement.
"Correction... Noxus is mine." As the High Command were unarmed and caught off-guard, Swain invoked terrible powers, surrounding himself in raven feathers, transforming into the avian beast he was. Ravens with their talons tipped in silver flew from the darkness of Swain's wings, the entirety of the High Command quickly reduced to remains in mere minutes amidsts their cries of pain and shock at the betrayal...
And Swain laughed, as he chased after stragglers, and looked around and saw he would be the only one standing. The female officer was on the ground on her belly, her legs and face already badly shredded; she clutched at Swaine's peg-leg, protesting something, but the tactician simply crushed her temple brutally.
He laughed, taking an unusually long to time to realize the General's head, burnt body and weapon had already vanished, bloodied silver swords protuding from the chair.
Act II scene viii - All's fair in love and war
The Sun sets, an hour before the wedding ceremony. Katarina is in her second floor chamber of the palace guests' villa. The room is well lit with wall lamps, and the floor was carpeted over; a chandelier overhead and rich mahogany furniture completed the luxury of the suite.
Right as she was removing her casual noxian dress for the goth-loli wedding gown, the double doors opened.
"Katarina!" A hoarse voice emanated from the dead throat of Sion, his massive form standing in the fully opened door. Katarina quickly put her dress back on, her hand finding an iron hair pin, and throwing it into Sion's dead eye. Of course, he felt no pain and made no reaction.
"STUPID ZOMBIE CAN'T YOU SEE I'M CHANGING!?!?!?" She was flustered at the inconsiderate breach of privacy, and shouted again when Sion refused to move.
"Apologies princess, but the High Command's representative has arrived." He said as though nothing unusual was amiss.
"Who the heck did they send to watch me get humiliated- oh..." Sion stepped aside, and there standing in Noxus's red and black military formal dress, with knee high boots, officer's cap and two ornate military sabers at his belt was General Count Ducoteau. His thick moustache and the wrinkles of over 40 years of strenuous military service belie his abilities, and his deep voice was a familiar, almost safe sound considering where Katarina was.
"Hello, Katarina. Lovely dress. Ahem..." He eyed the audacious dress on the stand, covered his mouth, clearing his throat in an unfathomable reaction to the clothing.
"Why are you here? Where's the representative?" She asked without looking at her father, absent mindedly grabbing the dress and placing it on the stand next to the mirror.
"Despite the problems in Midian, The high commander was kind enough to oblige my request to attend my only living daughter's wedding..." He came closer to his daughter, hands behind his back. Katarina leaned against the window and relaxed, feeling security with her father nearby.
"This is so wrong on many levels, you know?" She turned around and remarked, angrily dropping the dress on the ground.
"I know. I met the king." He stated plainly, though his face showed the slightest sign of disturbance.
"That's not the only reason..." Katarina look outside again, and was abruptly silent. She knew her father could read what she was thinking now.
"That Demacian made his choice. Rather than doing the intelligent thing and attempting a coup, he went out and tried to save the whole of Valoran." He said, standing beside her daughter.
"The idiot... So you also received my letter?" Katarina shifted the subject, the thought of the Demacian vexing her greatly.
"Yes, no reclaimed warriors. Darkwill had me bring along a company of the Black Guard." He pointed to the courtyard below, where the hundred black armored knights of General Darkwill's personal guard stood in rank and file, their wicked tower shields and blackened longswords in hand. The company leader bore a rapier, and beside him was the standard bearer. On the opposite flank of the massive red banner of Noxus, the banner guard stood at attention as well, saber and poignard in sheathe. They saluted Katarina and the Count, and chanted a short Noxian battle hymn for her.
"Blades of Noxus, Black Hearts of Steel!" she waved back, acknowledging them.
"A company of the Black Guard? sounds like we're attempting a coup ourselves." Katarina was delighted to see the
ferocious Noxian Black Guard- the greatest battles in her military career were had alongside them. They were merciless, cruel, highly professional and unwaveringly loyal.
"Unlikely. I've scouted the King's security detail. Those strange robed servants- they're not alive."
"Sion and Urgot seem to have forgotten their loyalties as well."
"There are three other champions in the King's service."
"Aye. Fiddlesticks, Amumu and Warwick- those three alone are more than a handful."
"It gets worse. I just saw Karthus arriving by teleportation. He's the minister."
"****! Even The Black Guard can't fight so many champions at once! Doesn't Darkwill have a plan? I really, really don't want to do this. I'm just about ready to kill the king with my bare hands." Katarina's clenched her fists and trembled
with anger. The Count simply nodded in agreement.
"The General was quiet... no surprise there... Darkwill only sends his regards. but I did bring you a gift for today." He called for his companion waiting outside.
One of the Black Guard came forward with a finely crafted rectangular teakwood box. inside, on red satin bedding, were
Katarina's two enchanted scimitars, while strapped to the inside of the lid were twenty finely crafted Noxian daggers
and her body harness for said weapons. Katarina's face lit up with glee, as she quickly undressed and wore her armaments.
Oct 16, 2010 Update
"KATARINAAAAAA! - what? I'm alive?" Garen awoke in a solitary tent, his armor and shirt taken off... likely removed as they were last doused with corrosive acid that threatened to eat him alive.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, and went to a small table that had a bowl of water and a blue towel for him to clean up. He clutched his bandaged sides, noting the soreness of recently mended bones. A healer had just recently saved him from the brink of death, it seems.
"Ah... Crownguard. You're awake." A masculine, yet gentle voice emanated from an gem-armored figure entering the tent. Taric, the Gem Knight greeted the demacian warrior. His gemmed shield was slung behind his back, and he carried no weapon, only a bloody rag he threw outside.
"You were the one who saved me, Taric?" Garen asked, bewildered at his new surroundings. The last thing he recalled, he was surrounded by monsters and about to be devoured... He had not known fear since his first battle as a footman; the trembling, the cold sweat, the hopelessness. It was an unwelcome sensation. Taric placed his sapphire-studded gauntlet on the massive Demacian warrior's shoulder to calm him down.
"No... Fate saved all of you. Janna and I simply patched up everyone. Janna tended to Akali and Ashe, and I tended to the others."
"Where are my soldiers?" Garen gave the Gem Knight a hard look; Taric could only turn away in regret.
"I am sorry... but Fate deemed it necessary to save only champions... your men gave their lives so you could live on." Garen took a few steps and away and cursed silently.
"Where are we now?" He asked, noting the different environment outside. It was dark now, and the ground unfamiliar. No longer were they in the Kumungu, but in an arid place with only gray mountains on the horizon, and the teal lights of the Palace of Hades in the short distance... Fate must have used up so much magical energy to teleport so many in a short period of time.
"We are in the dead wilderness Hades, literally minutes from the Palace." Taric explained.
"Hades... what is today?" Garen turned to his ally.
"Katarina's wedding night." Taric returned.
"I... I have failed. I can't... face her now." Garen's voice faltered slightly, but Taric reassured him again.
"Outrageous! Right outside, everyone is waiting on your order to go, Garen!" They both stepped out, and in a small camp the remaining champions had gathered, slightly roughed up from the disaster in Kumungu.
"Garen... we can't let Noxus get into an Alliance. Demacia, Piltover, Ionia... they'd be wiped out in this invasion. The master would not allow this." Shen stepped forward, his mangled arm repaired with a gem-studded cast, but still relatively weakened.
"I know. I guess we really have to go crash a wedding then." Garen's confidence returned slightly, as the massive Gragas handed him his sword. Garen drew it and was momentarily fixated on it.
"The wedding ceremony is in a few minutes, gentlemen. You wanna act now, you gotta act now. The closest I can bring us is in the courtyard where Sion is." Twisted Fate cross his arms, his hands covered in bandages.
"A wedding? I'd bet they've prepared the good stuff. Count me in." Gragas peeled off the gemmed bandages from his head, while taking a swing from a keg.
"Hmmm... and this Necromancer King, whoever he is, sounds a worthy foe for true men!" Olaf moved into sight, twin axes in hand.
"Indeed. It will be my priviledge to make a king bow to us this day!" Pantheon too removed his patches, and donned his helmet.
"What say the rest of you?" Garen asked the other champions present.
"Nothing can hold us back! I'm with you!" roared Alistair.
"Ok." muttered Rammus.
"The Kinkou warriors, Ashe, Alistair, Tryndamere, Janna... you should go to Charon's port and prepare the inhabitants for a bloody defense... or evacuation." Garen's tactical mind assesses the situation's needs, knowing the port will fall if several champions do not intervene.
"Understood." Ashe nodded, collecting her arrows.
"They will regret shaming us in our last battle... I swear to slay ten thousand for your sake alone, Garen." Tryndamere shouldered his massive weapon, shaking his first in anger.
"Thank you, Monarchs of Frejlord." Garen bowed in thanks.
"Taric, Rammus, Olaf, Gragas, Pantheon... I cannot thank you enough, brothers." He went to each of them and shook their hand.
"Aye! no need. So long as blood will be spilled I will be there!" Olaf reassured him.
"Just let me know when it's over so I can drink." Gragas threw his empty keg.
"Then we are off." Garen finalized his decision.
To compound issues, the mountain range behind the palace begins to glow... a volcano suddenly stirs to life, spewing fire and ash into the sky. This was going to be a very interesting evening.
OCT 19, 2010 Update
The interior of the Throne room was massive, nearly five storeys high and quite longer than the courtyard; the central nave had benches, the few Demacian and Ionian delegates on one side, Zaunists and Noxians on the other. The adjacent walls were shadowed, the windows barely visible... strange shapes were moving in the corner of the eye.
More of the strange, dim teal lighting suffused the great hall, giving it an eerie ambiance. The far end of the hall had a massive dragon statue standing on its hindlegs, attached to the wall. It was a masterfully crafted sculpture made of obsidian, onyx and granite- its face frighteningly realistic in detail, its massive wingspan dominating the wall. Its open maw hung over the high platform where the Throne itself was- symbolizing the dragon and the king greater than the wedding.
The massive organ on the mezzanine suddenly lit up, and a morbid rendition of wedding procession music began playing. The main doors opened, and Katarina enters, dressed in the strange Goth-Loli dress provided by the host. Escorting her was her father, Count Ducoteau, in formal military dress, and his two sabers at his belt.
Behind them were a dozen fully armed and armored Noxian Black Guard; all of them females. They were adorned in black full plate armor, carried tower shields with the colors of Noxus, and had swords in their sheathes. Slowly, they proceeded to the altar; The Count and Katarina looked to the guests, and nodded the few mercenaries they recognized.
And as if to add to the atmosphere, the massive volcano on the horizon behind the palace suddenly became active, bathing the dragon statue in a crimson light. Standing at the altar was the Necromancer king. Behind him, recently
arrived, was a tall, gaunt figure adorned in black robes, his skeletal head covered by a elaborate headpiece. He held a black grimoire in one hand, a scepter in the other.
"Karthus... so he really is the minister. What does he want?" Katarina thought, knowing liches are beyond any necromancer's ability to dominate. The unliving were unreadable- they didnt have facial expressions... or faces for that matter.
The Black Guard took their seats on stone benches, intently watching their superiors' movements.
A moment of silence hung over Katarina and the Necromancer King, as Karthus moved slightly forward to become visible in the ambient light. He spoke, his voice coming from a rotting throat and amplified by his sorcery to reach the entire audience.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered today to witness the union between two mighty city states, by the union of two representatives... The Necromancer King of the Shadow Isles, and The most beloved Princess of Noxus." Katarina's informal title vexed her greatly; Karthus paused seeing the woman snarl slightly. The Necromancer King giggled, which vexed even the lich.
"Now, before we begin... Are there those amongst you who believe these two are not to be wed? If so, speak now and forever hold your piece."
As if on queue, The ceremony is interrupted by a loud "YEAH!" coming from outside, and then the massive crashing sound of the throne's doors breaking into splinters. The guests all stand up and move away, the robed guards lying on the ground. The black guard move to surround the four important figures at the altar, forming a wall of shields.
As the dust settles, a large shelled humanoid stands by himself, shaking the dust off his spiked shell.
In an indifferent voice, Karthus was first to inquire of the armordillo. "This is... unexpected... Rammus, do you have objections to this wedding?" Katarina, her father, and her 'groom' were quite dumbfounded though.
"Yeah!" He said with a grin and a 'thumbs' up. He slowly approached the altar, dozens of the Necromancer King's robed guards emerging from the shadow, slowly advancing towards the interloper.
"Filthy, disgusting aberration! Why are you here??? EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" The Necromancer King exclaimed, the dark second voice rising in intensity.
"Ok." Rammus grinned, assumed his power ball curl, and accelerated towards the altar and plowing past the spears of the robed servants, even breaking the Black Guards' shield formation. However, Rammus's attack is halted by Count Ducoteau- with one muscular hand, he swats the massive projectile aside; Rammus barrel rolls to stabilize himself. He rubs his temple from the unusual experience of being stopped.
"This is as far as you go, armored one." The Count himself drew his two sabers, assuming a fighting stance similar to Katarina's.
"KATARINAAAA!" At the destroyed entrance, several warrior-champions charge in, engaging the robed guards. Garen opens the battle, beheading one of the guards with a blinding fast horizontal strike... the guard's body stands still for a second, before falling to the floor. Strangely, only the clothes and mask remain- a red mist escaping from the crumpled heap of robes, slowly drifting away and seeping into cracks in the stone floor.
"I see our quarry! Glory to the one who brings him down!" Olaf pointed with one axe, pulling out his other weapon from the back of another masked servant, dying in the same fashion.
"Even a Necromancer King... can bleed!" Pantheon blocks a weak strike to his side, and retaliates with a spear through the chest, making the servant crumple into a heap. He took aim, and let fly his enchanted weapon. The Necromancer King dodges the spear only barely; she loses her left eye, the spear embedding itself in karthus. The lich is pinned to the dragon statue, though give his unliving state this is but a minor inconvenience.
"I will not stand for this show of disrespect!" Her hand over her ruined face, the Necromancer King held a particular scarlet gem on her regalia of jewelry and ornaments- the power emanating from it is sickening. The champions under The Necromancer King's influence appeared from teleportation beacons that lit up in the shadowed corners of the hall, giving them a distinct position advantage. Warwick, Sion and Amumu surround them.
Warwick aggressively charges in but Taric, the gem knight, slams his shield into the canine's face- then dazzling him with a bright light that emanated from the shield. A gem-studded hammer disorients the lycanthrope further.
Sion roars a terrible battle cry and mindlessly attacks the gem knight. Taric meets each heavy blow with a shield block, but the force of Sion's strikes start to crack the mineral armor.
The Techmathurgical Abomination Urgot appears last via teleportation amidst the warriors, a dizzying array of mechanical blades and energy projectiles flying all around, forcing Olaf, Garen and Pantheon to take a few steps back. Just then, a barrel of caustic substance rolls beneath the quadrupoid, and explodes. The force disables the terror capacitor that was overwhelming the champions.
"BODY SLAM! OH YEAH!" An equally massive champion, The rabble rouser Gragas, charges Urgot head on, tackling him and bringing him against the wall- The two massive warriors now locked in mortal combat. Gragas repeatedly punches, knees, elbows and head butts the abomination, but Urgot's sharp blades and sharper mechanical parts cut and gash at Gragas's great bulk.
Rammus now stood toe-to-toe Count Ducoteau - for an old man, he had even greater speed, stamina and strength than
his daughter, as each of his saber blows caused deep scratches in Rammus's otherwise impervious shell. The Armordillo did not like the situation; in the confusion, Katarina stood transfixed at the dizzying occurance surrounding her.
Meanwhile, From the shadows, the fourth champion, Fiddlesticks, looked at the battle intently, his new master whispering to him to begin his murder of crows.
"I want them all dead, servant. DEAD! Especially the Demacian!" The dark voice of the Necromancer King dominated
"Yes, master!" He replied. A dark wind began to blow into the throne hall.
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