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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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Grand Viper

Senior Member


Irelia versus Talon - Whirlwind of Steel

Her light footsteps barely made a sound while she walked through the dark, empty corridors. A giant sword, shining brightly, roughly six feet in length, floated behind her long, dark hair, creating a strange harmony with her crimson and silver armor. She had decided to make a surprise check on the guards throughout the palace of the Placidium. She turned around a corner where she saw three guards on the floor, unconscious, while a forth was resting face first on a nearby wall. Every other night was a quiet night, why did tonight have to be different?

Opening the door to the room they were guarding, she went into the Ionian Archives. Row after row of dusty tome lined the shelves, bundles of rolled up parchment protruding from every direction seemed to pop out from any place available, and the amount of files was in the sheer ridiculous number quantity. She carefully and quietly made her way through the archives, only to be greeted by nothing but air. She knew someone was in here, someone that should not be. She could sense it.

Suddenly, from behind her, she felt a blade pressed against her back while a hand roughly grabbed her head. Her sword that floated with her at all times reacted as quickly as this mystery assailant, and attempted to cleave the attacker in twain. The blade and the grip disappeared, but she could still feel his presence.

A deep voice spoke up, “More perceptive than the Summoners. Impressive, Irelia.”

Gliding into view, the assailant revealed himself: Talon, the Blade’s Shadow. Dressed in deep, rich violet clothing, his hood covered most of his face. This hood of his was attached to a purple mantle that enveloped his being, hiding his limbs and letting several large, razor sharp blades dangle from his coattails. His main weapon, a three foot wrist blade, could be seen gleaning from underneath the cloak. The young Ionian woman frowned, “Talon. What are you doing here?”


“Such as?”

“Mine to know, you to never find out.” he mockingly replied.

She pointed at the ajar door, “Did you do that to them?”


The young Ionian nodded, “You do realize you’re not leaving h-”

He was already gone. Spinning on her heel, she sprinted after him. He was fast. He was very, very fast. Bounding down the hallway, he leaped out the window. The Ionian Archives were several stories above ground, for most this would be a suicidal drop. Irelia jumped out the window after him.


Plummeting, the moment his feet touched solid ground Talon took off again. Looking behind him, he could see the infuriated emerald eyes of Irelia follow him. They quickly diminished in size, however, as he gained more and more distance between them. Smirking, he focused on his run when something flew over his head.

Irelia landed still running in front of him. She shot him a glance back at him. Talon skidded to a halt, changing direction on a dime. She easily followed. She was very fast.

Talon rolled his eyes, “Why are you chasing me?”

“You hurt my countrymen.”

“So? They’re not dead. Count them lucky.”

“You will not harm innocents.”

Talon rolled his eyes dismissively once more, “You annoy me.”

Reaching into his cloak, he withdrew six blades. Heaving the first three at her, she easily dodged them with a jump to the air. Predicting her trajectory, he heaved the next three. She caught them in midair, only to realize the first batch he had thrown was returning to him albeit in an impossible manner. Releasing the ones she caught, she used her sword to deflect the returning blades. Talon once more changed direction, only to have Irelia catch up with him once more.

“Are you really this determined?”

His knives whizzed back to him, the slight hum of magic pulsing from the tiny runes etched in them evident to only the keenest of eyes.

Irelia walked towards him. Sighing, he disappeared from view, and appeared behind her. Pressing his blade against her throat, he was about to say something when he felt something prod his groin. Flicking his eyes downwards, he saw the giant sword of Irelia split apart and firmly nuzzling itself close to his femoral arteries. It was another tie. This was getting interesting.

Talon looked around: they were in a bamboo forest, just a kilometer outside the Placidium. As a private note, there were a few interesting places that if he had to fight in, he would choose some of the following: A museum because of all the priceless antiques one could use as a weapon; a Freljordian mountain range; and a typical battle scene in Ionian poetry, such as a bamboo forest. If there were some cherry trees this would make for a really interesting fight. Why not indulge a bit?

Releasing Irelia, he readied a fighting stance, “You are not going to give up, are you?”

“You will pay for harming them.”

“They failed in their duty to defend the archives, you should be punishing them rather than annoying me.”

The Ionian woman scowled at him, “You hurt them.”

He shrugged, “Their fault for their ineptitude.”

“Why did you not kill them?”

“Do you want me to? Give me a minute and I can fix that easily.”

Irelia narrowed her eyes, “Strange for an assassin not to assassinate.”

“Gathering information is less annoying the less heads you’ve got mounted on the wall.”

Irelia shifted her posture slightly, taking a more aggressive stance, “You transgressed the treaty and you’ve hurt my countrymen.”

“If I came here as a Noxian then perhaps I did. Even then, so what? What are you going to do about it?” Talon held his hands out mockingly, “Want to arrest me? Let’s see how long those cuffs would last.”

“…You don’t understand, do you?” Irelia rolled her eyes, muttering in Ionian, “{Stupid, pig headed ass-}”

“{I understand you, you know that, right?}”

Irelia raised an eyebrow. “{You speak Ionian?}”

“{Well enough. And apparently no, I don’t understand. What do I not understand?}”

“{Doesn’t matter. You drew blood,}” Irelia flatly replied. “{Yours will be taken in compensation. Balance in all things.}”

“{Isn’t that against Ionian morals? Didn’t daddy teach you better than that?}”

Her eyes narrowed. Her tone went ice cold, her vernacular went back to Common tongue, “Excuse you?”

Talon cricked his fingers in preparation, he got her angry. Good. “Just like everyone else, always had mommy or daddy holding your hand and showing you how to fight, how to breath, what to dream, what morals you should have, they sculpted you in their image.”

The Ionian was silent. Talon waved his wrist blade at her, “Tell me where I’m wrong, please.”

She gave no verbal response. Talon drew back, somewhat surprised. From behind her, dozens of vermillion blades fanned out from her, creating a twenty foot wingspan around the small Ionian woman. Seemingly flapping in the air, he recognized them as the chi forged blades she created on the Fields of Justice. However, she would only make four on the fields. He did not know she could make one more, nevermind this many. This was just absurd.


Somewhere in the Institute at this precise moment in time, a Summoner woke up, drenched in sweat. He palmed his face, “Wh-what…I had the worst nightmare…Thank the Gods it’s not true…It’s just a dream, just dream…” He wiped his head with a towel, which had a large M embroidered on it.


Irelia pointed at the assassin. The vermillion blades twitched once, and fired directly at him. No running at this range. Crouching low to the ground, he jumped into the fray of the blade storm. He seemingly disappeared from the sheer speed he ran at.

The Ionian narrowed her brow, she could feel her chi blades slice the bamboo about him, but not one scratched the assassin. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see multiple blades, randomly embedded in the scenery about. Her neck tingled. Spinning around, raising her blade in front of her, she blocked a would be fatal backstab. Talon’s blade screeched along hers, sending out sparks. Backing up slightly, his fingers twitched. Irelia could almost hear the yell for her blood as his blades came rocketing back towards him. Without looking behind her, she leapt into his own hail of blades.

Splitting her giant sword apart, she used it as makeshift ground that floated underneath her to dodge and weave the blades. Talon’s blade rushed back to him, firmly attaching themselves to his cape and to wherever else he hid them on his body. “No blood yet.”


Talon snorted, looking about him. “Call it a tie?”


He rolled his eyes. He reached up at his cloak, unclipped it, and let the immense weight of the bladed cloak thunder to the ground. Letting his wispy chestnut hair out, letting his square features be clearly seen, he cricked his neck, and rushed at her. He was suddenly much faster.

Slamming his wrist blade in an overhead arc, Irelia caught his arm. She had to use both of her forearms to intercept the blow, and even then made her knees buckle slightly. She could see the corded muscles that he kept hidden underneath the cloak. Spinning his arm down and about, she fired a quick back kick at his stomach, connecting true. Grunting, he took a step back, Irelia actually touched her blade. Letting it settle gently in her hands, he could see the weight press on her palms as she swung it at him with fluidity and grace.

As he retreated, parrying the rapids that were strikes, Irelia closed the distance and was aiming to slice his legs off. Talon swung a strong left hook at her, only to have Irelia duck, flow underneath his arm and strike his knee with a solid kick, making him buckle. One of her blades sliced his shoulder, only by jerking his shoulder just in the nick of time did it go from a sure mortal wound to a deep cut. He instantly responded by stabbing his blade forward unexpectedly. The Ionian blinked, surprised she could not read his body language as it gashed her cheek open.

They looked at one another, for a brief moment. They both just drew blood. They could just walk away now, but no. There had to be a victor. Irelia dashed forward, sword readied, only to be met by Talon’s fist in her gut. He could feel the wind leave her body as he made sure to strike between her metal breastplate and her metal fauld. Instead of backing away, she rolled with the punch and promptly chopped the side of his neck with her hand.

“Enough of this bull****.”

From his weird position, Talon actually sprung forward and tackled Irelia to the ground, and smashed her head against a convenient rock. Slamming his blade down, he was met by Irelia’s open hand that grabbed the razor’s edge. Slicing her hand clean open, she did not seem to care, nor did it seem that despite the razor sharpness, it would cut any further. She headbutted Talon’s nose with such force, it instantly shattered, letting blood spill onto her face. His right arm twitched, and relaxed. The chop apparently made his strike weaker, and allowed her to wrestle him off of her.

She spat out, “Agreed.”

Irelia cracked Talon across the face with a solid right hook. Truth be told, he had been punched harder by a woman once before: The Fist of Shadow, Akali. A woman who could cut steel with her bare hands, her strength was palpable with every strike she made. Irelia? He just discovered was a close second, maybe third at worst.

“You want to know what my mommy and my daddy taught me?”

Irelia breathed heavily on top of him. He wanted to make an inappropriate joke, but with his blade pressed against her kidney, and her sword pressed against his chest, it was probably a poor idea at the moment.

“You were curious before. Yes or no, Talon?”

“Should I care?”

Irelia hissed at him, “Because I know what pain is. You think this is anything? Anything at all? You lucky, ignorant *******.”

“…Lucky?” Talon raised an eyebrow. It was strange to see the “Ice Princess” to show such anger. “Luck has nothing to do with my skill-”

“No. Not your skill. For being an orphan, for raising yourself, for having no one to rely on you for a greater purpose. You lucky *******. You don’t understand what pain is.”

“I can assure you of two things: One is that my purpose was only for a greater one and that one relied on me.” Talon looked down, observing his condition, then looked at her and flatly replied, “Secondly, I can assure you, this is pretty painful on both our accounts.”

Throwing her off, Talon sprung back to his feet. Irelia skidded back a bit only to clash with Talon once more. Her left hand was completely useless now, having been shredded by catching his blade, but she used it as an opportunity. Splashing blood in his face, he knew his blade was only an inch away from cutting her jugular, so he pushed forward. The moment he felt four blades prod his sides, he pushed harder, knowing that if he stopped or if he slowed down, he would be impaled. He would have to overcome her defense.

Or topple down a hill. That would work too.

Rolling over one after another, Irelia and Talon tumbled down the hill. Wiping his eyes, he looked around, and burst out laughing. They were in a grove of cherry trees, with the blossoms gently falling. Irelia staggered to her feet, her blades coming back to her side. More chi blades appeared around her. She motioned to him to get up, and moved to dash.

Talon nodded, and keeping his left hand close to his face while his wrist blade on his right hand hovered slightly near his chest, and dashed at Irelia.

By this time, a small troop surrounded the grove, with a lone, female figure watching them. They could barely observe the fight from the sheer speed they fought at. The woman, wearing a black and white kimono, watched the blossoms wafting in the air. Each time they took off, a new hailstorm of pink and red petals followed in their wake. The sound of steel clashing with steel filled the air in an insane tempo. Blossoms were sliced in midair. However, she could see one was lacking in speed. By the time the other person landed, they were off and attacking again, while the slower one barely had time to land. Back and forth, they fought for ten minutes unabashed.

The tops of the trees detailed when the two decided to take to the treetops, until finally, a thunderous crash was heard. His blades tore through the trees, racing to him. Irelia dodged and weaved around them midair, but they did not aim at her. Crossing their paths before returning to the assassin, with a flick of the wrist he crisscrossed them. The unsuspecting Irelia was caught by several pairs of garrotte wires that were attached to the blades that flew. As he landed, he viciously tugged, lacerating both of Irelia’s unprotected arms. The rest of her body was thankfully armored, and she was wise enough to assure the wires did not catch her neck. She plummeted to the ground harshly, struggling to move.

Closing the distance, Talon mounted Irelia, blade pressed against her throat, hand holding her shoulder down. Numerous cuts in vital areas decorated their body. The two breathed heavily, Talon pressed the blade downwards only to be tossed off of her. Her legs had come up behind him, grabbed his neck, and flung him off. Getting to her feet, she let a knife slip into her hand. It was one of his. When she had gotten it, he was not sure. Dashing in, he swiped in a horizontal arc to decapitate her. His left hand readied itself, he expected her to react and try to duck underneath the blade. Instead, she took to the air. Kicking off his wrist blade with far too much grace, she flicked the knife between his arm and shoulder, striking the tendons and muscles that connected the arm to the body.

Staggering forward, his blade arm fell to the sides. The Ionian landed head first a few meters away. She eventually rolled over, coughed violently a pool of crimson, and got to her feet. Cricking her neck, she had to motion to him with her head due to her arms dangling uselessly at her sides, “Last chance… Give up, Talon.”

“…Why not call me…Noxian, eh?” Talon raised an eyebrow, laughing hollowly, “Is that not what I am to you people?”

“You said…” Irelia took a gulp of air, only to cough out blood. “You said you came here not as a Noxian…So I’m just gonna…gonna have to call you Talon.”


Talon reached over, unclipped his wrist blade and swapped it over to his left arm. Using the very little support his right arm could give, he snapped the blade into place. Raising his wrist blade up, his legs shook from the numerous cuts that adorned them, but he pressed on. Irelia’s sword wavered in the air as she took one step after another, trying her best to control the shakes tearing through her body from the blood loss. She allowed it to settle in her useless hands, which gained a sudden burst of life. They dashed at one another at breakneck speed, aiming to finish the fight when a gust of air exploded between them.

A vortex of cherry blossoms threw the two combatants away from one another. Tumbling backwards, the two breathed in, and breathed out.

“…Can you move?”

“If you can, I can.”

An irritated, regal woman’s voice called out, “Neither of you move. Captain Irelia, enough. Talon, stop it.”

Stepping into view, a woman with dark, bundled up hair, a black and white kimono, and a pair of fans stood between them. “What is the meaning of all this?”

Irelia, lying down on her back, hoarsely replied, “Caught him breaking into the archives, he also admitted to wounding the guards.”

“In my defense, she wouldn’t leave me alone.”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Irelia, does he know?”

“Why break in if he didn’t, Duchess?”

Talon lifted his head up, “Permission?”

“Yes. In accordance to the League, if a champion of the League, no matter the nationality, requests usage of our archives, and details what specifically they wish to look for and use, they can do so.”

“Hah.” Talon spat. “I know Katarina has tried to gain access. You refused her a dozen times, what makes-”

“I know this,” the Duchess interrupted. “I denied her myself. I will not have a Noxian, Ionian, Demacian, Piltoverian, Zaunite or Freljordian request to see our extensive knowledge on our martial arts to strictly further their assassination and killing techniques. A cursory look in our archives show you were looking for, shall we say, other subjects?”

“...You bluff.”


Talon fell silent, grumbling to himself.

“Private Himura? Please help Irelia to her feet. Private Ryu and Kenji? Help her with anything else,” Karma softly commanded.

“Yes Duchess!” They bellowed in unison.

The three men made their way to Irelia. The one she regarded to as Himura had dried blood caked on his face. Talon recognized him as the one whose face he smashed into the wall. The guard at least tried to set off a warning before having his face kiss the wall.

Irelia rolled over to her knees, then shakily got to her feet. Shakily standing, the three men stood in front of her with perfect posture, saluting her, “Captain! Do you require assistance?”

“At ease,” she waved them off. Her sword flew over, hovering slightly above the ground. She looked at Karma, “And what of him?”

“I shall take care of him myself, Captain.”

Irelia’s eye twitched. The two Ionian women stared at one another quietly, until Irelia broke the stare off. Nodding, she attempted to limp away as nobly as she could.

“{Captain, do you require assistance?}”

“{Privates Ryu and Kenji, inform the Starchild that I will be seeing her soon. Himura, if the Duchess has not returned to the Placidium in ten-}”

“{Twenty,}” Karma corrected.

{Twenty…}” Irelia shot the Duchess a worried look. The Captain received a stoic nod of the head from her. “{In twenty minutes, then I want all of the guards roused and readied for a search party. He will not escape alive if she is harmed.}”

“{I can still understand you,}” Talon sharply spoke.


Irelia limped away with the three guards, leaving Karma and Talon alone. The Duchess walked over, slowly and carefully got to her knees, closed her eyes, and started humming. The assassin stared at her while a healing wind gently wafted about him. A moment later, she opened them and slowly stood back up. “Walk with me, Talon.”

Talon got to his feet and readied himself to start running. He wasted enough time as it is.

“I would not run if I were you. I wish to speak with you.”

The assassin snorted, “We’re done here.”

He moved to run, only to feel his legs slacken and become dead weight. He felt the entire weight of the world fell onto his shoulders due to the sharp glare she gave him. “If you stay, I will tend to your right arm. The tendons were cut, yes?”

“…Then I’d kill you.”

“I do not think you will,” Karma softly replied. “A true assassin does not waste time with threats: They simply act. You are not here to kill at this current moment in time.”

“Tch…” He shot her a scowl, “You think you know me?”

“Not really, no,” the Duchess admitted. “That does not mean I am not willing to allow myself to know you. You should also not limit yourself and think you know yourself, or Irelia, so well.”

The assassin let out an exasperated sigh, “The hells do you mean?”

“What did you say to upset her so?”

“The truth.”

“Oh?” Karma tilted her head, “And what is the truth?”

Talon walked over to Karma and prodded her chest with the tip of his blade, “She’s like the rest of the world, she’s not a special snowflake. She’s the heir to the Hiten style, was raised from birth, blah blah. Her way of thinking, her style, her skill, her power, all comes from the fact that she was pushed to have it. She has no will of her own. Look at her back away because you said so.”

Karma smiled at him. He would have preferred death at that precise moment. He could not explain why exactly, but her gentle tone, her soft words, her gentle expression, he certainly preferred death over this.

“Talon, do you know what happened to Irelia’s mother?”

“…Should I care?”

“She is dead,” Karma clarified. “Died giving birth to Irelia. Do you know where her father is?”

“He’s dead.”

“Yes. Irelia was barely more than an adolescent when he died. Do you know where her brother, the original and intended heir to the Hiten style, is?”

“…Lost at sea? What is the point of this? Do you want me to pity her?”

“No. Far from it. Irelia lost her family before the war even started, and the war only served to take more away. At no given point in her time did she not suffer from loss. This, right now, is perhaps the least painful moment in her life, with Ionia secured and no one else to lose. I was the Duchess first and her friend second once, and she almost paid dearly for it. She listens to me because I am her friend, not her boss, not her elder. You insulted her because everything that she is, it is of her own choice, her own accord, her own skill. Circumstances do not make the person, the choices they make do. The circumstances can be harsher, so therefore the person must be stronger to overcome them. She was raised with typical Ionian belief, and if she followed them, she would have supplicated to the Noxians with the rest of Ionia instead of fighting back. Her honors, her title, her skill, her strength, everything about her are hers…”

Karma brushed Talon’s chest, a wisp of healing energy soothing his wounds, “It is perhaps a forced similarity, but there are parallel lines that can be seen. All of your strength, all of your scars, all of your skill, it is yours because you wish to have it. You strove to have it, just like she did, man who seeks purpose. You lost the one person who gave you purpose. Irelia lost everything and gained a purpose because of it, she has found new strength in Ionia, a conclusion she came to of her own accord. You will not besmirch that.”

Talon rolled his eyes, “Wonderful. Are we done here?”

“We have spoken only for three minutes. I have another seventeen. I wish to talk a bit about you, and if you humor me, perhaps I will grant you proper admittance to the archives. With how many copies we have made, I am sure we can lend one or two to you.”

“Oh joy.”



Irelia staggered slightly. She took a deep breath and reached down at her fauld. Blood had seeped into it. A worried look came upon her face. Reaching into the metal plates, she withdrew a small, untarnished, leather bag. A faint smile crept on her face, “Good. It’s still safe…”


“Mm? Ah…sorry, Himura…” Irelia shook her head, “Forgive me. What were you saying?”

“Why didn’t you…well, why didn’t you throw his blades away? You’re badly hurt, Captain. You could have ended the fight a lot quicker.”

She tensed. Looking at the guad, Irelia shook her head, “The same reason why I held my sword against him: I am not a gimmick, I can hold my ground with or without a weapon, in my hands or in the air, I can match him. I do not need tricks to win.”

Irelia sighed, “And besides, I could not manipulate his blades even if I had wanted to. His daggers, his blades, they’re as much a part of him as breathing is.” She laughed, shaking her head sadly, “If only he had reason to wield his blade, then he would deserve the title of a master bladesman.”


A few hours later, sitting on a bed, face up, in the Institute of War, a scarlet haired woman with a long scar over her left eye stared at her ceiling. Flicking a blade upwards, she caught it each time. With the next toss, a purple clothed figure stood at the foot of her bed, angrily glaring at her.

“Wow. You look like ****,” she casually pointed out.

Walking over, he dropped a stack of papers on her stomach and continued glaring at her.

“The hell was that for?!”

“I hate you,” he hissed.

Katarina rolled the papers off of her, “What’d I do? Where the hell have you been anyw-”

The scarlet haired woman instantly fell silent. Even the day that the General was pronounced missing, she had not seen him this angry. He was usually reserved, usually quiet about it. Now? His glare could kill happiness itself.

“…So...why do you look like that?”

“I’m going to a healer.”

“What happened to you anyways?”

Lifting his right arm up, he rolled his shoulder, “Irelia.”

“...You let a little girl like her do that to you? Heh, you’re getting rust-”

“Says the woman with the facial scar.”

Katarina scowled at him, “Why were you in Ionia at all? You were supposed to-”

“Did that. Look at the papers, I’m going to a healer. I’ve bled enough on the floor as it is, no reason to make a bigger mess.”

“You did what?!” Katarina growled, “Why did you do that?! It’s hard to clean blood off rugs!”

Talon jerked his thumb at a nearby window which had beautiful, lacy, sanguine curtains covering it, “Wanted the carpet to match the drapes,” and walked out of the room.

Having exited the room, as the assassin walked, he reached into his cloak and drew out two books. One was a book on traditional Ionian cuisine as prepared by the royal chefs for the Ionian Council themselves, the other was a beaten and worn book of Ionian poetry from the Shon-Xan region.

((Author's Note: Thanks for the title Ceru!))

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


Pentakill Part 4 - 1/2

A berserker is a monster of legend. In such a state, the thing that rushes at you is no longer a man, but rather a beast unleashed. Woe be to the one foolish enough to face the onslaught of the berserker, for no mortal could fathom of overcoming his strength.

A man with long blonde hair and a thick blonde beard stormed out of the Institute. His head was covered by a horned helmet, his muscular chest covered by a ripped jerkin, his lioncloth being held up by a large plated belt was his only sign of pants, and his calloused fingers were wrapped around two axe, one in each hand. His piercing, icy blue eyes flicked about with a strange sort of intelligence: Angry, but rational. He pitched his arm back, and heaved his axe forward.

The axe cleaved a nearby tree in half. He walked over, grunted, and lifted the fallen log onto his shoulder. His ears twitched, he heard someone approaching. He turned around, and saw a woman was following him. Her aquamarine hair with golden strands, her sapphire dress, and her stringed instrument were sign enough of who she was: Sona Buvelle. She strummed her instrument, as if she were trying to communicate with him.

He glared at her, turned around, and walked away. She strummed again. He snorted and kept walking. She strummed a third time, this time it sounded dissonant. He swore he could almost hear words, Wait.

The berserker turned around, cricked his neck and growled, "What is it?"

Thank you, Olaf, for your assistance in the m-

"Ah shut up," he snorted. "I didn't help ya because I wanted to. If it were up t'me, I woulda let them kill you while I went for the weaker people, but oh no, you and your large bust are worth dying for apparently."

Sona blinked. She strummed a few more chords, I'm...sorry? I didn't mean-

"I said shut up!" Olaf roared. He was very irritable, more irritable than usual.

The maven nodded, I am sorry. I did not-

He swung the tree about, and held the entire log only an inch above her head. "Last warning: Shut. Up."

Sona's brow furrowed. She strummed her instrument violently, No.

A smirk cracked on his lips. He raised the tree up, and slammed it down towards her. She did not move. Before it touched her, he stopped. The leafs shook and twigs snapped, settling themselves in her hair. One could almost swear they heard thunder peal in the background. With that, Olaf growled, "Guess yer top heavy."

He turned around and walked away, promptly whacking Sona with a face full of leafs, knocking her off her feet. She got up, her face red with indignation when a gauntleted hand clapped itself onto her shoulder, and pushed past her.


Olaf hacked away at the tree, splintering it with each powerful stroke of his axes. He had initially intended for it to be firewood, but he was too angry. It was that day. He smashed his axes repeatedly into the tree, sending chips of wood flying everywhere.

"Trees do not hit back, fool."

Olaf snorted. He turned around and saw eight feet of living armor stand feet away from him. His weapon, a morningstar was nearly as long and as wide as the armored man's frame. Olaf grunted, "Whaddya want?"

"Your life."

Olaf blinked, and burst out laughing, "You? Really? The 'great' and 'mighty' Mordekaiser wants to fight me?" He readied his axes, "Death by steel!"

The berserker hurled himself without any care for his well being at the master of metal. Mordekaiser swung his morningstar at Olaf, who caught it with the flat of his axe. He pushed past the shaft of the massive weapon, and tackled the eight foot master of metal, successfully toppling him over.
Mordekaiser grunted in surprise, not at the strength the man exhibited, but at the growing thunderclouds. Olaf raised his axes up, and the moment he slammed them into Mordekaiser's chest, thunder pealed. The metal twisted and crunched under the force of the strike. Mordekaiser released his morningstar and clapped his hands around Olaf's neck. He got up to his feet, and heaved the berserker with all of his might.

He watched as the man hurtled through the air, spiraling like a strange ball. Mordekaiser grabbed his morningstar and made his way towards Olaf. Each of his every footsteps sank into the ground. Lightning cracked in the background. Olaf rose to his feet, smiling at the master of metal, "Finally, some fun."

He roared, his eyes alit with lightning as he raced at Mordekaiser. No fear, no care for his self, he ran headfirst towards him. Mordekaiser readied his mace, and swung it in a huge overhead arc. A torrent of rain fell down on them, thunder and lightning pealing in the background.

Four hours later they had fought. Four, unabated hours. Olaf and Mordekaiser, both of them beaten and bruised, stared at one another. Olaf burst out laughing, wiping the rain and sweat from his brow, "Yer done yet, tin bucket?"

"Your anguish feeds me. So long as you feel pain, my pestilence will sustain me."

"Yeah yeah, whatever," the berserker gripped his axes tighter. "Fighting humans is fine and all, Udyr's always fun t'fight, same as Jax, but..."

Mordekaiser's ruby eyes burned, "But?"

"But there's something when you have...someone like you," Olaf pointed at him. "Just this big, hulking thing, who can crush stone with his bare hands like grapes, a one sided fight! The bigger, stronger thing waiting to crush you, and you going headfirst against it with no qualms, that's a good fight!"

Mordekaiser shifted his weight, "You fight in the League, fool. You have access to-"

Olaf rolled his eyes and let out a condescending grunt, "No, no. None of that finger wagglin' nonsense. Actual life at stake, no respawns, no returns, no nonsense like that! Life in its truest form! You live or you die by the clash of steel! That's a good fight!"

Mordekaiser gripped his mace tighter, "You are aware I can kill you in a moment's breath?"

"Yeap. I'd take you out too, though."

"Do you not fear death?"

"Nope. Why would I?" Olaf hummed, his rumbling sounding akin to the thunder around them, "Death comes for us all, if I gotta die, why not die fightin'? I'd rather die, axes raised, than some old withered bat."

"Then you wish to die here?"

"So long as yer fine with dyin', then I'm fine dyin' anywhere."

Mordekaiser grunted, "You seem fairly confident you can kill me."


"I do not believe you."

Olaf grinned, "One strike."

Before the master of metal could react, the berserker was flying through the air, roaring. The moment his axes met with Mordekaiser's breastplate, twin streaks of lightning struck the metal man. Sprays of crimson liquid spurted from the twin wounds, Olaf roared with the fury of a thousand bears as he drove the metal man down to his knees. Lightning crackled about Mordekaiser, fizzing and blitzing about. Olaf snorted, grinned, and tried to take his axes out.

The master of metal, stood back up, and in his deep voice, pointedly spoke, "Your death shall sustain me."

He swung his mace with a steel shattering blow directly into Olaf's chest. He sent the berserker flying once more. Lightning crackled along his armor as he stormed to where Olaf had fallen. That should have killed him in a single blow. Instead, the berserker was on his feet, blood dribbling from his mouth, and laughing.

"...You do not die easily."

"I knew that."

"Interesting. How is this possible?"

Olaf shrugged, "Is how I am. So, we still gonna do this?"

"As opposed to...?"

"Eh, me and the mates used to get a drink after a good fight. We both know we aren't gonna die out here, those stupid Summoners..." Olaf seemed legitimately upset about this.


"Shipmates. My crew, back before I came here..." Olaf growled. "Better times, those were."

"And drink what?"

"Water, delicious non alcohol water. What do you think I mean drinking?"

Mordekaiser shrugged his shoulders, "I feed off anguish. I drink other's pain and misery."

Olaf's eyes twitched uncontrollably. "You...never had a drink?"

"Of other's suffering, yes."

"No! Not that!" Olaf clapped Mordekaiser's shoulder with the flat of his axe, "You still good to move?"


"Right. Let's go to Noxus. There's a good bar there I know of, but it'll be a hell of a walk. You better keep up."

Olaf started to walk away when Mordekaiser burst out laughing, "The King of Metal has no need to walk! No reason to insult me in such a manner."

With that, he raised his fist to the skies, letting another bolt of lightning strike him. Olaf crossed his arms, waiting for the reason of this spectacular light show when a ghostly carriage came into view. Skeletal horses neighed and pawed the ground, the driver a mess of melted flesh needing his ectoplasm to keep him together. The door swung open, Mordekaiser stepped into the carriage, "Coming, fleshling?"

"Right...I fergot yer a wizard."

"I am not a wizard. "

"Whatever. Why didn't you use that magic nonsense?"

"A king has no reason to get off his steed when he faces the vast armies of fools that dare defy him," Mordekaiser flatly replied. "His only reason for coming down from his high horse is when he wishes to meet someone worthy to die at his hands, ripped limb from limb."

Olaf burst out laughing once more, "Good enough fer me! Right, let's get goin'."

A crack of the whip, and the horses took off.


Literally minutes later, they came to the gates of Noxus. The guards blinked and saw the incoming ghostly carriage, and ran away from it. Olaf looked out the window, "Oy, we're heading right to the gate."


"That's amazing!"

Mordekaiser let out a grunt as the carriage phased through the gate, the horses slowing down to a trot.

"Where is this apparent bar you speak of?"

"Keep goin' straight, I'll tell you when t'make a left."

Mordekaiser nodded, and silently watched the streets slowly pass underneath them. Olaf grunted, "So...can this thing go faster?"

"Yes. There is no reason though."

"...Can it go faster?"

Mordekaiser looked over at Olaf, who had a strange glint in his eyes. The master of metal ignored him and let the horses trot down the street. It took longer to get to the bar than to get to Noxus itself.


Olaf booted the door open, "Oi! Round of drinks!"

A huge, fat, redheaded man with a long red beard looked over, cask hoisted above his shoulder. He smiled at the appearance of the berserker, "Olaf! How're ye doin', ye drunken sod?!"

"Oh great, it's Gragas! Was good, then I saw yer ugly face!"

"Ugly?! Yer ugly!"

Before the insults could go on much further, Mordekaiser stepped in. His wide body broke the door frame, his helmet scraped the ceiling as he walked in. Gragas pointed at the master of metal, "What's he doin' here?"

"He's never had a drink!"

Gragas's eyes went wide. His lower lip quivered, a strange sadness filled his voice, "He's...he's never...had a drink?" He bust out crying, "Th' poor lad! Yer story has touched me heart!"
The fat man looked over at the bartender, "Get this man a round of drinks on me!"

"I would sir, if you paid for any of the alcohol you've already dr-"

Mordekaiser reached over and gripped the bartender's throat, "The payment will be your life if you so choose."

"N-nope!" The bartender managed to squeeze out, "F-free drinks for the three of you!"

Gragas looked over at Mordekaiser, "...Are ye a wizard?"

" No. I am not wizard."

Olaf shrugged, grabbed a stein of beer and handed it to Mordekaiser. It was tiny in his hand, almost comical. "Now what?"

"Now we cheers."

Mordekaiser glared at the two men who noisily clanked their steins together over the dead silence of the rest of the bar. They motioned to the master of metal to mimic them, and he did so reluctantly. When they realized the rest of the bar was deathly quiet, Mordekaiser looked at them. "What?"

"You're...you're Mordekaier..." One person squeaked out.


"You...can I have your autograph?"

Mordekaiser raised an eyebrow, "Pentakill fan?"


The master of metal reached over to at the man, and a burst of sickly dark magic roared from his hand. Singeing the man's arm, a strange tattoo-like mark appeared. The man screamed in pain, fell to the ground and his mouth started to froth with foam. Mordekaiser tilted the stein to his helmet, then tilted his entire back. No one had seen any liquid drain from the mug, or where it had gone, but when he placed it on the bar table it was completely empty. The fan eventually got up, vomited on the ground and screamed, "He signed my arm! He signed my arm!" He was beyond giddy as he groggily walked away, "Lookit that, he signed my arm!"

The others started to yell at the man, all envious of the mark he had received. Another stein was handed to Mordekaiser while he asked, "What do you find so sustainable about this drink?"

Gragas reached over the bar table, grabbed a keg, and pulled it towards his mouth, "It tastes amazing!"

"It has no taste."

Olaf and Gragas looked at one another, then at Mordekaiser, "What?"

"It has no taste."

They scratched their heads, trying to figure out the puzzle. Olaf slammed his hand on the table, "Wait, anguish, you say that's what you drink, right?"


Olaf motioned to the frightened bartender, "Get over here. Now."

The bartender walked over. The berserker pointed at the bottles along the wall, "Any of em scream agony t'you?"

Mordekaiser viewed the bottles. He pointed at a dark, scarlet liquid that read Blood Rum: Bilgewater's Finest. "That was used to kill someone, then the blood was wiped clean. I will have that."

"...It's a hundred and sixty proof. Are you-"

Olaf commanded, "Set it on fire."

The bartender nodded and quickly grabbed the bottle. He placed it on the table and was about to walk away when Olaf grunted, "Fire."

He nodded, lit a match, and tossed it on the open mouth of the bottle, igniting it instantly. Olaf motioned to Mordekaiser, "Cheers!"

The master of metal reached down, grabbed the bottle and down half of it. He drew back and nodded, "Now that...that is suffering. Another bottle. The one next to it was held by someone whose heart was broken. Let me drink his tears."

Olaf and Gragas roared happily as the three drank themselves ridiculous.

A few kegs, and bottles later, Mordekaiser decided to ask, "How do you command lightning?"

"Wha?" Olaf looked over at him, "Whaddya mean?"

"The thunder and lightning, they came the moment you started attacking. There was no storm before, but one brewed and grew in strength the longer you fought.""

Oh, pft: Thrymjaa. We all can do it, y'know?"


"Tha's what it is. It's a family thing, just hittin' someone so hard that lightning and thunder comes out. Is why we're all drummers."

Gragas snorted, "That makes no sense!"


Olaf rolled his eyes, "Family tradition: I was the drummer of my ship, my father was the drummer of his ship, his father's father was, his father's father's father who is a father of a father was, and so on. My men and I used to row at the beat of my drums. Good times."

Mordekaiser nodded, grunting in satisfaction of the answer while Gragas questioned, "How do you drum and row the ship at the same time?!"

"Tie the oars to your legs," was Olaf's blunt response. Whether he was drunk, joking, or whatever, was hard to tell.


Eventually, Olaf and Gragas staggered out of the bar, barely holding on one another as they stumbled about. Mordekaiser stormed behind them, "What is wrong with you two?"

"That...that wash a lotta graggy..." Olaf intellectually replied.

Gragas nodded, "Mm, yeah it was. If I were sober, I'd say that'd be me fill, but I ain't! Another bar!"

Olaf shook his head, "Nah...Not another bar...I think..."

"What? What do y'think?"

The berserker pointed across the street. Coincidentally enough, there was an aquarium there. "I'm think I'm hungry."

Mordekaiser grunted, "So eat?"

"Tha's what I'm doin'! I'm goin' fishin'!"

With that, Olaf raced off to the aquarium. Gragas would have followed if he hadn't caught someone pulling his beard. Mordekaiser left the rabblerouser behind with the growing drunken mob as he trailed where Olaf had gone.


The iron gates were locked with a thick padlock. A simple push of his greave burst the gate open. Mordekaiser looked around the exhibits, fish all about him. This was stupid. Fish, fish, squid, colossal squid, blue fish, green fish, small fish, large fish, fish, fish, shark, man punching shark...

Mordekaiser looked over and saw Olaf in the water tank, punching a shark in its face repeatedly. The berserker slammed the large fish against the glass of the tank which instantly killed it. He swam back to the surface, shark in tow, and heaved it over the glass, "Dinner!"

He leapt over, landing next to the shark, and started slicing it with his axes that rested at the foot of the aquarium. No fire was needed as Olaf simply started eating the raw meat. Mordekaiser grunted, "Are you done yet?"

"I ain't done eatin', and then I need to do some pillagin'!"

The master of metal grunted and let the viking eat his fill of the dead shark. Once done, the berserker staggered past Mordekaiser, "Let's go before the authorities..."

They were surrounded by armed men. Olaf grinned, "Oh this'll be fun."

"I do not have time for this."

Mordekaiser stepped forward, and glared at the men that surrounded them. They instantly parted, granting passage to Mordekaiser and Olaf, who was fuming at the master of metal. They got to the gate where the carriage waited them. "Why'd you stop em?!"

"Their fear is enough."

"Exactly!" Olaf pointed at him, "That's the point of pillaging! You want them to try and stop you, to be scared crapless of you so you can split their heads and drink from their skulls! The look on their faces!"

"Have you pillaged recently?"

"Naw...not that easy on foot, and with those friggin', fraggin' people at the Institute and-"

"Do you want to pillage?"


"Then pillage you shall: On one condition."

Olaf furrowed his brow, "Wha's this condition?"

"You sing the songs of Lokfar."

Olaf snorted, gripping his axes tighter, "Whatcha mean?"

"Join Pentakill. Become our drummer."


"Today is the day that you were shipwrecked, lost your crew, and were cast upon the shores of Demacia. Am I correct?"

Olaf's grip on his axe shafts could have split them if they were any less sturdy.

"I know this because of the pain, and suffering, you were experiencing earlier. I feed in more than one way."

The berserker looked away, "So what?"

"You do not trust the League, the way you speak of them, yes? Good. Let others know. Let Valoran quake at our name, let the League realize who the true power in Valoran is."

"...Go on."

"There is nothing else. Your drums will be sounded once more, and for all to hear, and to fear the name of Lokfar, and the berserker who calls down lightning without the use of magic. Let them hear the thunder, the lightning, the rage of a man unleashed, and they will know it is that coming for them."

Olaf scratched his beard, "This may be the graggy talking, but I like that idea...if only..." He shrugged, "Well, no drums."

"Easily taken care of."

Mordekaiser snapped his fingers, and the horses took off galloping. The berserker looked at the master of metal, a glint in his eyes, "We're going fast."



"If you so wish."

"Up the speed."

Olaf swung himself out of the window, climbed on top of the carriage, drunkenly balancing himself. The horses started running faster and faster, Olaf bellowed, "Faster!" He roared a primal scream. He smashed his axes together, "Faster dammit! Put yer backs into it!"

He clanged his axes at an insane tempo, one that the horses matched. Mordekaiser watched the buildings, the streets, everything peel away from them. A fruit cart wheeled in front of them with a raggedy old man, "My last night of sellin' fruit before I retire...How nice..."

The carriage tore through the fruit cart, sending the fruit flying everywhere. Olaf screamed out, "Faster dammit! Where's yer spirit?! Faster! Ah ha ha!"

Olaf readied himself, he could barely see straight. "Stop at my command!"

"As you wish...Olaf Thrymjaa, King of Thunder."

The berserker slammed his axes together one last time, sending out a crack of lightning and a peal of thunder. The carriage abruptly stopped, sending Olaf flying through the air at insane speed. He was laughing all the while as he flew straight at the glass window of a shop.

The shopkeeper hobbled about, "What a nice, quiet day of selling instruments. This day couldn`t get any bet-"

Olaf smashed through the glass, flew through several acoustic guitars, and barreled into several tubas. The metal twisted about him as he ran through the shop like a maniac, bleeding profusely all over. The berserker grabbed a pair of drum sticks, a snare drum, a couple of cymbals, a bass drum and glared at the shopkeeper, "Where are the other drums?!"


"Chop chop!"

"We have a fine display of our drums at the other window if you want!"

Olaf looked over at the display in the opposite window. He grinned, and threw the bass drum through the window. He leapt over the multiple drum sets situated on the boards with extreme ease. He grabbed the suspended wooden floor it rested on and ripped it out of the store via the open window. The drum sets, somehow, still stayed on the wooden planks as the berserker ran through the streets, dragging them behind him. With perhaps too much ease, he tossed it on top of the carriage, jumped in through the window and slapped Mordekaiser's shoulder, "Go go go!"

The horses took off.

Olaf looked behind him, seeing the authorities gathering around the shop he had just ransacked. He burst out laughing, "Pillaging! Yes! I missed doing that!" He looked over at Mordekaiser, "How bout you? You miss anything?"


"Tch...So!" Olaf slumped over, still bleeding, "Why did you decide t'fight me t'the death today? Eh?"

"I wanted to kill you."

"Fer what reason?"

"Because you're alive."

"Those guards were alive. You didn't kill them."

Mordekaiser glared at Olaf, his ruby eyes burning into him.

Olaf frowned, "I don't get it. Maybe I angered you? Lesse, League match, I smack some people, then I talked to the walking pair of Demacian breasts-"
A sharp glare from Mordekaiser silenced Olaf, not out of fear, but out of realization. He grinned evilly, "So we got something on one another, eh?"

"I could always kill you. Dead men tell no tales."

"Bull. Tell that to the singing skeleton."

Mordekaiser reached over, grabbed the drumsticks that were stuffed in Olaf's belt, and gripped them tightly. Dark magic coursed through them, changing their shape. They became longer, spikier, more skeletal reddish from their pale brown, and more brutal looking overall. He handed them back to Olaf, "So long as you hold these, my pestilence will not kill you."

"Eh? You mean..."

"I have been holding it back. I could kill you whenever I want."

"Then why not do it?"

Mordekaiser gave one more sharp glare at Olaf before going silent. The berserker smirked, "Yeah, I getcha. Next drink's on me, kay?"

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Udyr versus The Wiles of Women- lol