"You are my daughter. You are perfect to me!"
She landed softly like a flower, dancing in the Piltovian wind. Upon her toes, she pivoted spinning gracefully. All at once, she lept up into the air, gesturing her hands to the sky. Her partner caught her, and held her aloft as she touched to the ground, holding her hands to her breast. Inside her chest, the infinity gear spinned quickly. But she is her father's daughter, perfectly flawless. Perfect in all forms.
"You are beautiful Orianna! You were gone for so long, but I have brought you back!"
The memory of her father's voice was distant, a call from a past that Orianna could not understand. She began to spin, faster and faster upon the toe of her foot. The memories were a distraction. This was not Piltover. This was the battlefield known as the Summoner's Rift. It was time to play the game.
Suddenly, she snapped out of her piroutte, gripping one of her signiture clock work blades. "This will be fun." Orianna says. The influence of the summoner urged her down the lane. Like the ball, the summoner and Orianna were one thought. Like three persons sharing a single mind. Coming upon a wave of minions, the pointed her hand at them, spinning. In a mechanical monotone she gave the Ball the commands. "Attack. Ravage."
Obediently, the Ball obeyed every command the instant they were given. It tore through the wave, bashing through minions as it flew. A shockwave erupted from the ball, a violently dissonant aura. The sudden burst of energy proved fatal to the majority enemy minions and they fell apart, shredded by the blast. One still lived. With a flick of her wrist, the clockwork gear flew through the air with perfected precision. The minion fell down, dead and lifeless. Orianna looked on with a mute mask of tranquility. "This is a fun game."
Up ahead, the great battle between champions was drawing to a close. Her allies of Piltover were closing in on the Zaunite Nexus. The game was ending without her. She ran to her protecter and companion the Ball, gripping the large sphere in her hands. A small eye emerged from the Ball, pearing about at the snow covered surroundings. Ahead of her, the base of the Zaunites loomed, bedecked in purple lights. They were fighting upon the steps, by the last two towers next to the Nexus. The enemies hearts were still ticking. She did not like their ticking, the beating of their hearts. Orianna spoke softly, too low for her summoner to hear. "Come Ball. It's time to make their ticking stop."
Dashing to the stairwell of the middle lane, she strided up the stone steps with grace. The dance was beginning to end. Her presence being alone in the middle lane was not unnoticed by the Zaunites. They sent the wolf-man to kill her. Warwick howled viciously, diving at her. Orianna leaped into the air, dodging off to the side as the Ball plunged past Warwick. "Protect!" In an instant, it went on a return course, clipping him in the side. He kept moving, undaunted by the pain. His heart kept ticking. There was no dodging his attack.
At once, he fell upon her. His claws raked her metallic form, scarring it with his horrible clawed hands. She broke free soon after the assault. The infinity gear struggled to keep spinning. It was the only thing keeping her alive, Corin Reveck's greatest creation, his prized daughter. Her eyes blazed with a cold anger, as her clockwork form attempted to keep up with the damages. Once more, he raised his claw, preparing to end her life. The Ball contorted as the air arround her seemed to ripple with energy. "Pulse!"
The energy released, sending Warwick over her head. She and her summoner wasted no second. "Ravage!" The ball propelled itself into Warwick, pinning him to the ground. A second shockwave was released. The ticking stopped.
Her cold gaze fell upon the enemy Nexus. A lone figure was holding off the Piltovian assault, one that she did not recognize. His power was immense. In one fell swoop of his death laser, he erradicated an allied wave of minions. His gaze caught hers, capturing it in his eyes. A rifle cracked. The fell bullet flew through the air, striking him in the chest. His momentary distraction proved fatal. Feebly, he attempted to fight back, but a powerful bolt of arcane energy forced him to collapse. Ezreal and Caityln fell upon the Nexus with it's lone guardian defeated. Minions poured out of the Nexus, clawing and attacking desperately. Singed respawned and quickly attempted to make up for his pitiful performance early game. But it was far too late. With a great display of lights, the Nexus exploded, sending shards of crystal across the platform. The game was over. Victory for Piltover.
Orianna felt the the summoner disconnect from her mind with no sort of ceremony, no words of thanks. She was already forgotten by him. By the Nexus, Caityln and Ezreal exchanged a brief hand shake. Orianna walked over to them, clutching the Ball for support. Her graceful form was now marred by claw marks. It was all that she could do to keep standing. Ezreal only smiled, running his hands through his golden hair. "Like I've said Sherrif, it's all skill. They didn't stand a chance against us."
Caitlyn pursed her lips together into a frown. Twisting her gun about she remarked, "I only wish we could have finished faster. I was supposed to be presenting evidence before the Piltovian magistrate right now. They had better be extracting us soon."
The Lady of Clockwork nodded with a blank expression. The Ball urged her to speak, something to congratulate them with. She processed the words quickly, and spoke. "It was a fun game. I hope we can play again soon." The two other Piltovian champions looked at her with suprise. Both looked away awkwardly, staring to the ground and at the broken Nexus.
"...I had better check up on Heimerdinger. He went down in that last team fight." Ezreal excused himself. His body disapeared in a stream of arcane light, as he ran down the lane.
"You are my perfect daughter."
"And... I'll check up on Alistar and thank him for his participation. His strength was beneficial to our victory. But... If you don't mind I'd rather walk there alone and clear my head. Forgive me Orianna." Caitlyn brushed past her, avoiding her cold lifeless eyes. She slung the rifle over her shoulder, her head low.
"You are perfect."
The Ball purred sadly. Orianna scooped it up and sat against destroyed Zaunite nexus. "I don't understand... Why are they running?" She had done everything right, even defeating the mighty Warwick on her own. Why were they running?
"You are the pinnacle of perfection my dear."
Orianna's head spun on it's axis, twisting until it was all the way to look behind her. The rest of her body soon followed the motion. The Ball opened slightly, a small viewing lense slipping out of it. Standing there was a man in his middle-forties, bedecked in a mettallic carapace. A hand extended from his back, a curious apparatus. He bowed slowly. "Forgive me for frightening you."
Orianna stood up, releasing the Ball. It was clicking angrily. The Lady of Clockwork tilted her head. "The Ball is impatient. Who are you?" He laughed mechanically, his voice clicking. Above the laughter, she could hear his heart. It was ticking.
"I am Viktor, the Machine Herald, and I already know who you are." The Ball's angry ticking slowed, curiousity overcoming it. It's eye swept over him, scanning him. He paid no mind to it's scan. Viktor chuckled, extending a mechanic hand. "I heard you are a dancer my dear. Would mind if I had a dance with you.?"
She looked at him in suprise, turning to the Ball. "Only if the Ball allows it it." Laying her hands upon the Ball, she held it close to her chest. For a moment, she was perfectly still, like a statue. Viktor waited patiently for her deliberation to end. The Ball floated off to the side. "The Ball allows. We want to see how well you dance." Viktor nodded, approaching her. He took her hands into his, cold metal grasping cold metal.
"They fear you Orianna. We are not like them." The dance began, the only music being the sound of their own metalic bodies. He extended his hand, above her, twisting her about like a ballet dancer. Though damaged, her body was filled with a fluid grace. But her heart was troubled.
"Why do they keep running..." She sighed. Closing her eyes, she looked as if she were about to cry, her cold mask breaking. "Why..." Her movements became sloppy and jerky. Human-like.
Viktor drew her in, lifting her up into the air. Snow was beginning to fall. "They are blind fools, bumbling in the dark. You are the technological pinnacle of a nation, your venerated father's pride and joy. Those fools cannot grasp the beauty and power that is you Orianna. Even the summoners, they do not appreciate you for who you are. They see you as a toy... A weapon. Not me." Suddenly, he flung her towards the ground. Effortlessly, his third arm broke her fall. Orianna looked up to him with cold, but understanding eyes.
"You are perfection." Viktor leaned in, kissing her. Sparks flew at the point of contact. Their hearts ticked as one for a brief moment. Slowly, he lifted her back up to her feet. "They will never understand us Orianna. Would you..." His voice cut off, as Orianna placed a finger upon his mouth and spoke.
"The Ball understands what you wish to ask. We have processed this request. It will be a fun game." She pulled away from the Machine Herald, turning back to the tower. Viktor grinned with daggers behind his teeth. Blue lights began to surround them both, preparation to whisk them away from the Fields.
"Indeed... They will never see it coming my dear. Until we meet again my Lady."
Orianna tilted her head innocently and picked up the ball, clutching it at her chest. "The Ball and I will wait in impatience. Don't keep us waiting."
"Perfect! Simply perfect!"
With a flash of blue, they both disapeared from Summoners Rift.
A very powerful memory comes out at me from Red vs Blue thanks to this:
Tucker: "Shiela and Lopez went off somewhere to make a robot army. They said no one would dare opose them."
Church: "What? You didn't try to stop them?"
Tucker: "Hell no man, I wouldn't dare oppose them!"
It was raining.
The wet drops fell in masses, sending all types of Piltovian businessmen, noblewomen, scientists, and all sorts of rabble beneath the colonnade that made up the facade of Rouge Ballet Hall. From the smoke stacks of various buildings flew streams of uniform clouds of whitish steam that was almost invisible in the storm. The memory seemed distant, but no less dreary to Corin Reveck for that.
That year had been a turbulent one for majority of Piltover. Organized street crime was rampant. There was a major food shortage from the ongoing conflict against the ever present threat that was Zaun. The Piltovian government had attempted to seize Corin's workshop for the war effort, but his earnest pleas and bartering persuaded them to leave the shop alone.
He was not the only one to have these kinds of issues. Several of his competitors throughout Piltover had already met a fate far more dismal than his. Watches and house clocks were not in high demand these days, especially with during the ongoing war with Zaun. Buying a clock was business only for the affluent and for use in high military offices.
The newest fad however, were clocks that did not completely rely on gears to run an assembly. The combination of magic and technology was not a new one, but it was rapidly being innovated into the clock making business. It was Mr. Reveck himself who pioneered the idea of techmaturgic clocks, self-sustaining devices that have batteries that won’t die. However, this process was an expensive and time consuming one. Only the sheer quality of Corin’s work kept his business alive. His handmade clocks were absolutely priceless and kept in high demand.
As much as he loved this work, it kept him away from his daughter for long periods of time. Corin couldn't help but feel that he was somehow failing her, and the memory of her mother with it. To make matters worse, those blasted belt buckles had came back in style. It was a deplorable kind of fashion. Belts were meant for your waist to keep your pants up, not to be worn as some sort of pointless accessory. The very idea to be wearing them about pants legs or arms was confounding. Corin was certain that no daughter of his would ever be caught prancing about town in belt buckles.
"A fine performance Mr. Reveck! You certainly raised her quite well all on your own." Startled, Corin turned rapidly and found himself facing down a large pudgy man with a rather profound top hat with a golden trim and a fine leisure suit. Whoever this man was, it was evident he was just waiting for someone to talk with. Nervously, Corin nodded in agreement and kept eying the performer's entrance of the Rouge.
Not much of a chatterer to begin with, Corin was in no mood to have a conversation with this oaf. He didn't even know the man, but everyone seemed to know him for his daughter. Not to mention there was something particularly unnerving about this individual. Corin begged for the chance to get away from this seedy character.
Much to his chagrin, the large fool seemed to make no note of his companion’s discomfort and continued straight into a separate conversation altogether. "Such weather we've been having Mr. Reveck! I declare, this rain has been coming down for hours now and it still shows no sign of stopping. Just four hours ago I told my sweetie Margaret that storm would be lasting for a while, and well oh me my well it has just kept going and going! I have always been good about predicting the weather but, I say it still gets me every time that I can somehow predict this weather. Ol’ Margaret says that is the bloodhound in me, but I dare to say this weather makes for good business. Why, just last week...”
Corin turned, taking the chance to break free from the deplorably chatty man's firm grip. The fool seemed to relish this gesture, slapping him heartily on the back. "Go get her Mr. Reveck!" Just as Corin began to pull away, the pudgy man’s hand held him back again. “Now wait just a second, take my card. If you ever need to make an investment, you’ll know just who to call upon. Your daughter has quite a lot of talent, and it would be a shame to see it go to waste.”
“Y-yes, T-thank you.” Stammered Corin, all the while pulling away from the abominable man. His daughter was waiting. A golden robe of white and gold enthroned her graceful form, sheltering her body from the cold. She had her hair done up in a golden bun, a light smile beaming on her face. Her cheekbones were layered with makeup, accenting her doll like face. The black frame of eyeliner covered her eyes nicely, allowing her deep blue irises to shine, even in the gathering darkness. She had looked so much like her mother.
Corin smiled, planting a small kiss on her forehead. “You did wonderful Orianna! Absolutely wonderful! But, I’m afraid you missed a bit of makeup dear… Here just one second now…” Reaching down into his pocket he drew forth his handkerchief, making for her face. Orianna laughed playfully, dragging him along pillars.
“We don’t have time for that!” Orianna spoke, taking her father’s hand before he had the chance to attempt to wipe away the make up. “Come on! If we stay here, we’ll miss the match tonight. It’s Piltover versus Zaun, and I want to see who they pick!” Corin held her back lightly.
“Has Madame Romanov excused you today from the after party?” Looking down, Corin saw that she was still wearing her white satin ballet shoes from the show. To wear them in this weather risked them getting damaged. “And, now wait just a minute young lady, I can’t have you running around the streets in those shoes! I only just bought you a new pair three days ago!”
She broke away throwing her arms out in frustration. “Oh father, calm down! I’ve already excused myself from Ms. Romanov. If we wait much longer, we’ll miss the first few minutes! And if you’re worried about my shoes…” Orianna bent down gracefully unlacing her dainty shoes. Once removed, they revealed her tiny petit feet. Taking her shoes up by the strings, she slung them over her shoulder giggling. Her confident gaze was revealed by crystalline lights of the Rouge Ballet Hall as her father looked on aghast. “There happy now? After all, what is a little rain! Come on father!”
Outstretching her hand, she clasped his hand. It was cold and metallic.
Lightning flashed, startling Corin from his dreaming.
A pair of endlessly cyan eyes stared at him from the void, accompanied by a reassuring hum of the Ball. Corin smiled a senile toothless grin. “Orianna! You’re home!” he said. His voice cracked with age. “I am so glad to see you again!
Spotting a piece of dirt and blood upon her daughter’s forehead, Mr. Reveck quickly produced his handkerchief. “Oh, I’m afraid you missed a bit of makeup dear… Here just one second now.” There was no protest from the woman before him as he polished the metal mask serving as her face. He sighed sadly, rubbing away the mark of blood away. The steel face felt frigid to his hand, but it did not matter. Orianna was back. Her very presence was enough to satisfy Corin. Smiling ruefully, the old clockmaker sighed in the deepest stage of content. “I suppose some things just never change, do they dear!”
The grave halls of the Institute with their gilded pillars and crystalline lights were strangely quiet in the early morning hours. There were only a few people roaming the Institute of War at this hour, but they were few and far between. His footsteps were the only sound in the hallway, letting his thoughts run freely. Those few people who were before him quickly scuttled off into the various nooks and crannies, avoiding his dark hooded gaze. An abnormally large man, High Summoner Yrbid was a sight to behold.
Donned in his great purple robe, the summoner's figure was intimidating. Ceremonial gold leaf accented his hands and the brim of his hood, signifying his status. Upon his breast, there was a single green snake etched into his robe, a symbol of nobility in Noxus. He was known as a man with a dastardly short temper, and a strong sense of Noxian virtue bestowed upon him by his parents. It had taken him very few years to consolidate himself in a position of power, but his efforts were not in vain. After two years of service, the League had granted Summoner Yrbid the position of a High Summoner of Noxus.
With this new prestige however, there came great responsibility. Summoner Yrbid had two tasks that he considered equally important. The first task was the writing and compiling of his book, A History of Noxus, a monumental task considering the great deal of political power mongering that defined his home-city. Still, this job was a measly distraction from his most important contribution to the League. He was a large part of the Summoned Performance Administration of the League, or the S.P.A.
The main task of the S.P.A administration was simple but complex. He and his co-summoners had the difficult task of documenting and maintaining the relative strength of those who are summoned on the Fields of Justice. This meant that they had to ensure that every champion summoned was at his or her best, every time. If a champion were to be sent to the Fields of Justice unprepared, their jobs and their necks would be on the line. There could be no mistake in this department. The lives of everyone on Valoran rested on the ability of the S.P.A administration. Even if it means stepping on a few champions toes, it was the great task of the administration to ensure that every champion performs their best, no exceptions.
However, this was just a bleak overview of the herculean task. The gadgetry that each champion took onto the Fields of Justice had to be in pristine condition, from the arrows of Ashe to the crossbow of Vayne. Other such tools included the many gadgets of Heimerdinger, Rumble, and Ziggs. A malfunction of any of their respective tools would result in certain death. If their weapons could harm their allies, then the S.P.A administration was not doing its job. The same idea could pertain to spells. All mages were required to have a demonstration of their magical abilities weekly to ensure that they were still capable of casting their all important spells.
Mounts and pets also posed issues. Lately, champions were bringing different animals or other creatures to do their work for them. Pix was a relatively easy job, as Lulu is more than happy to let Pix unleash his power at her command. Yorick's legion of ghouls tended to go back to whence they came at their expiration, much like Malzahar's little pet. Their remains were quite easy to dispose of, unlike the bodily functions of a certain boar. However, cleaning up after Bristles was a job reserved only for Junior Summoners, a task that Summoner Yrbid had great joy in asking them to do. A rare cruel smile crossed his lips at the memory. The wretched stench had caused the young summoner to faint. Many were the hearty laughs for weeks to come.
However, there was one particular area in champion regulation that was of particular interest to Yrbid. By far, he found that the most interesting cases of powers appropriation happened when the champions are the weapon.
There was such a great deal of coordination in assuring that these living weapon champions were suited for battle. They are as dangerous off the fields as they are on it. One mistake with them could end the life of a foolish summoner. In the living weapon categorization, there were two main types. The first consisted of magical based beings, whose life is suspended by the magic that made them who they are. Of this category, you had dangerous beings such as Nocturne and Brand who are unfit for normal daily functions. However, there were also beings of magic that could function in normal society, such as Ryze.
Then there was the second category, the category that happened to be Yrbid's personal favorite class of champions. Machine based entities. Unlike so many other champions, they could be trusted to be a bit consistent in their actions. It was with this class of champions that he was slated to work with today.
As he turned the corner, High Summoner Yrbid could see his destination. At the end of the hallway, there stood a runic door. It was an ingenious device that dated back to the League’s creation. The door responds to the touch of a summoner’s hand after reading his unique magical signature. They could easily be recalibrated to any person, whether they can use magic or not. Yet, they were nearly impenetrable to get past due to their various defensive runes. After one summoner died peacefully in his room, the teams sent to retrieve his body had to crack walls around the door to get inside. There was no physical way possible to break these doors.
Yrbid wasted no more of his times with idle thoughts. The High Summoner pressed his hand upon the door. Immediately, a surge of cyan light surged outwards from his palm. Thin lines of magical power raced through the door, creating a cyan pattern reminiscent of a spider web. As he examined the intricate web, his lips pursed. His underlings were already at work without him, and they had forgotten to properly seal the door. They would catch a taste of his wrath.
With groaning sigh, the door twisted inwards, unveiling the scene. It was one that Yrbid had seen many times. In the center of the room, there stood a summoning platform. Currently, that platform was now occupied by Urgot, The Headman’s Pride. The undead android was a sight to behold on the Fields of Justice, but that was a charade masking the troubles that they could have just getting him to stand up. His mechanical legs were splayed out underneath him, twitching in different directions. Urgot spluttered a great many garbled obscenities as two junior summoners were attempting rather poorly to lift champion off the floor. The sight would have been comical if Urgot was not a champion of Noxus.
“Are either of you capable of anything around here? Hands off of him, and step aside!” Yrbid barked. His face was nearly purple with rage beneath his hood. The junior summoners quickly got off the platform, abandoning The Headman’s Pride. The High Summoner flicked his wrist, muttering an arcane incantation for levitation. Runic symbols surrounded the platform, lifting Urgot skyward slightly, his legs dangling uselessly. As the champion of Noxus levitated up, his body up-righted itself. His seemingly dead eyes caught the Noxian summoners gaze. He spoke but one word.
From underneath him, his once useless legs lashed out in four different radial directions. They stood their outstretched, seemingly unaffected by gravity. Upon his back, Yrbid felt a bead of perspiration roll down. A muted beeping noise emerged from the champion’s body, followed by a pleasant *ding*. Urgot’s legs plummeted back down, followed by the rest of his body. Immediately, Yrbid released his grip on the spell. The champion fell ungracefully. His right front leg buckled from the weight of release, but this time it held itself upright. All four of his legs were properly recalibrated.
High Summoner Yrbid breathed heavily with a combination of exertion and pure anger. He wasted no time in quickly turning his just rage upon the younger summoners. “Now, was that so DIFFICULT?” Yrbid spoke, his tongue dripping with anger and venom. To treat a champion so disrespectfully and so stupidly was a breach of service, and a breach of League protocol. “You are both hereby dismissed from duty, both of you. Leave, and consider any influence that you have gained under this post null and void. You are lucky, that I will not take this injustice to the Tribunal.”
The stunned summoner’s looked at one another in disbelief. Yrbid’s burning gaze locked upon them. They nearly tripped over one another attempting to escape the room. The High Summoner quickly employed his breathing exercises. “One… Two… Three…” He exhaled sharply before turning his attention to the Headman’s Pride.
“I deeply apologize for their impertinence. I will see to it that they are disgraced. For today, you are excused from further testing.” Yrbid spoke, his sincerity ringing true in his voice. Urgot merely grunted while his Acid Hunter spun dangerously in its chamber.
“See to it.” Urgot spoke, his metallic voice sending a clear message.
Leave me be.
Yrbid placed his hands in front of him, muttering an incantation of returning. The platform began to glow with an eerie phosphorescent blue light, surrounding the Headman’s Pride. The bloated form of the undead titan became masked by the light blue glow. In a just the fraction of a second he was gone.
Summoner Yrbid paced the room, cursing the stupidity of both himself and the junior summoners. As dumb as they were, Yrbid now had to examine every single mechanical champion personally. The High Summoner pulled a small paper pad out of his pocket. With a quick scribble, he marked Urgot as prepared for the Fields of Justice. He could always blame someone else if the Headman’s Pride underperformed. One was down, but there were three others left in the mechanical entity category.
Yrbid flipped the page on his notebook, eying the newest addition with great interest. As of yet, he had not had the occasion to meet this fellow. Curiosity got the better of him. Pocketing the slim note book, he drew his hands over the summoning platform. His voice was measured with a strange ethereal gravity.
“I summon, Viktor, The Machine Herald.”
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