Ok, so I've been on this forum for a while now and have not contributed outside of feedback and commentary I've thought it time to introduce something new to the mix.
I tried to do NaNoWriMo but failed due to everything else in my life happening this month (I'm aware I still have a few days left, but a few days will not get me another 48,400 words even if I wrote all day and night), so I'm posting my failure on this forum (trust me it will be good enough by everyone's standards...I hope)
FYI there is an OC in here (I have to tell the story though my own creation) and there are no ships in here (as far as my writing mind can tell me) so here you guys are: Temporal Assassin
The event was as big as he had hoped for.
The senator’s speech was to take place in this park, far away from high structures and one-directional as to prevent an attack from the rear. Derek smirked inwardly. Good. I’m always up for a head-on assault.
The crowd was large, but it did not matter to him. All that mattered was the man up on the stage; short, bald, and slightly overweight with a tongue that could destroy a battleship. This man is like all the others that were put down; the same kind that destroyed the nation’s identity and its people in one fell swoop.
Though this was a small rally, there were several hundred people here; thankfully Derek was in a good position in the middle of the crowd to make his way to the front. He started to slowly push his way through the throngs of people, watching his surroundings as best he could. Security on and around the stage was heavy enough to deter an angry protester, but light enough that someone could muscle through. Over the past several weeks many men in the same position as this senator were killed through various long-ranged assassination techniques, ranging from a mile-away rifle round to a blowgun laced with a highly dangerous neurotoxin twenty feet away from the podium. All efforts were made to negate another long range assassination from taking place, and for the most part they succeeded. They never took this assassin into account, however.
Roughly thirty feet from the stage and from the corner of his eye Derek noticed a guard trying to get to him: he had been discovered. Not like he was the least suspicious person wearing a black hoodie with the hood up in the middle of summer. He sped up a bit, trying to get in and out as fast as possible. Then he noticed the guard speak into a radio.
Dammit, he thought to himself, I guess it’s time to do the deed. Twenty feet of space was left between him and the stage, every inch of it filled with supporters. Pushing with his legs Derek rushed through the rest of the crowd, popping out in front of another two guards. As soon as he appeared in front of them they flinched in an effort to stop him. One cannot stop instinct. Derek drew his pistol and place two shots: the first into the left guard’s kneecap, the second into his right shoulder. The right guard at this time had drawn a baton and made an overhead swing, but was easily dodged by Derek. This gave him the opening to use the guard’s momentum against himself by putting the butt of the pistol into his shoulder and throw him further backwards towards the crowd into the now-emergent first guard. Derek continued his charge, using the now hunched left guard as a launch pad onto the stage. The senator, now aware of the present danger, threw the podium down in front of Derek in an effort to stop him. Instead of going around, Derek jumped on top of the podium and launched himself into the air, flicking his wrist out and exposing a four-inch blade. He landed on top of the senator, plunging this blade into his neck. The two fell backwards, landing hard on the hardwood of the stage.
“May you make peace with the God you have forsaken,” Derek said into his ear as the senator desperately gasped for breath, eyes wide in shock. For a moment he looked into his face, trying to rid himself of the emotion that was trying to emerge. This was easily done when the sound of gunfire shattered his thoughts.
Derek rose and immediately bolted backstage, knocking down two more guards before running out the exit door. Though quite open the park had many trees that served as walls for small and winding paths throughout the park, and such a path was in front of him now. Derek started running, not caring for anything in the world around him; his instincts would get him through this situation like they have countless times before.
The world became a blur to him as adrenaline kicked in, the path behind him feeling ablaze as he sprinted through the park. Shouts could be heard from the direction he came from, but he knew they were irrelevant. A loud noise erupted from ahead of Derek while a whizzing sound tickled his ear. He instinctively ducked behind a rock, allowing reality to come back into focus while he processed what just took place.
What a ****ty sniper, he thought to himself while he pulled two black cylinders from his bag. The first was a smoke grenade to cover his trail; the second was a concussion grenade. He pulled the pins off both of them and threw the concussion grenade down the path, letting the smoke grenade drop in front of him. After two seconds the smoke grenade gave off a greyish smoke that covered himself and the path. A second later the concussion grenade went off, almost signaling Derek to run back where he came. After travelling a hundred feet he veered off the road to his right, attempting to make his way toward the city.
Though the trees were planted sparsely apart there were enough of them to make the way repetitive and dizzying. Thankfully Derek’s training had taught him how to get through situations like this; and to handle dogs. Barking could be heard throughout the foliage; the best course of action was to get up in the trees and continue on jumping through branches. Taking a running jump Derek grabbed a low branch and pulled himself up, hopping from branch to branch on the same course he had taken previously.
A few minutes of travelling like this put Derek in an opening that lead to a small and handsome storefront by the stream that separated the park from the city. Despite the efforts he had made he frowned.
This is too easy, he thought to himself as he looked around the opening. No other guards, no barricades, and by the absence of the barking the dogs were called off. Derek dropped to the ground as he calmly walked to the bridge conjoining the park and the storefront. He tried to make himself inconspicuous, but such actions were difficult when one wore a black hoodie and blue jeans in the middle of summer. In an effort to blend in with the consumers on the walk he let his hood down and replaced it with a red baseball cap with a logo in the shape of a falcon on the front. He continued walking down the storefront and turned the corner, only to be met with a whizzing sound crossing inches away from his face and impacting the wall to his left. Just as quickly as he turned the corner he reversed direction and speed up his walk.
Apparently I’m not the only assassin out today¸ he thought as he ducked inside a coffee shop. Before he could react something hit his shoulder hard and immediately started to burn. Derek instinctually drew his pistol and aimed, seeing the attacker just inside the shop; no hesitation was put into pulling the trigger. Derek reversed direction once again, running down the storefront at a light jog. And the other assassin knows what I would do too. This does not bode well. Glancing over his shoulder he noticed numerous individuals pulling weapons and firing in his direction, each round whizzing past him. Derek turned another corner down an alley, firing two rounds in retaliation. Yeah, I thought this was too easy. Time for some clutch decisions.
As he continued running down the alley he felt an energy take hold of him. Before he knew it two different worlds encompassed his vision, causing him to collapse on the ground. A second later the distortion stopped, revealing in front of him a brick wall thirty feet away. Derek got on his feet, trying to pick up speed in an effort to get up the wall; shouts reverberated behind him followed by gunshots and the whizzing of bullets around him, one of them slamming in his side. Nothing was going to deter him though; as Derek jumped to climb the wall the same energy passed through him, this time causing him to go through the wall and pass into a frightful sight.
He was suspended several feet above the ground, the inertia from his jump still carrying him forward. Derek instinctively hit his feet and rolled forward a few yards before standing back up. The environment still felt the same, yet somehow cleaner and more lively than what he was used to. The city line was not as big as New York or Chicago, but big enough to know this was a major city. Walking to the edge Derek looked down to see the streets were also different, smaller and lacking a few of the traffic markers that streets should have; the sidewalks were also smaller and less clutter than the big cities Derek was used to. Though this felt the same it was somehow…different.
This ain’t right somehow, he thought. Almost on cue laughter could be heard, though its sound was not that of a child or a happy couple; it gave off a sound of a lunatic. A chill went up Derek’s spine as he went to reach for his tomahawk only to be met by sharp amounts of pain from his side and arm. Looking down he saw a wet spot around the hole of his hoodie, which meant that the same thing was on his side. Not quite bullet proof…could be worse I guess.
Explosions rocked around his feet, causing the roof to crumble and give way.
Anyways, feedback would be greatly appreciated. Or wanted. Begged?
Chapter One: Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked
Derek limped down the street, the smoke from the blast bellowing towards the evening sky behind him. That was not the first building to give way while he was on top of it, but each time he got away it gave him something to remember it by. This time the damage was light: a bashed knee after jumping to the building adjacent to the destroyed one was more than what he wanted. Just had to open my mouth, he thought to himself.
The ground level was much more archaic than he first thought: the buildings were built from brick, not concrete, and featured more wood in their construction. The direction he was going in seemed to be transitioning from a more factory based district (one could tell due to the enlarged chimneys) to a living section of the city. Derek looked down at his injuries; though pain coursed through his body at every twitch it wasn’t enough to bring him down. Better get some*place safe and check them out though. Last thing I need in a foreign world is an infection to take me out of commission.
He walked down a few more blocks away from the explosion, sirens blaring in the distance indicating that authorities had arrived. This was the moment Derek was waiting on. He walked up to the door to an apartment and knocked. A few seconds later an elderly woman opened the door, clothed in a drab-yellow dress and white apron.
“Good evening, ma’am,” Derek began, putting on the friendliest face he could, “I am new to town and can’t seem to find my way around. Would you be so kind enough to lend me your hospitality for a few hours while I gain my bearings?”
The woman’s brow furrowed in concern, fixated upon his still bleeding shoulder. “Are you injured?” she asked. “Please, come in; let me take a look at your arm.”
This was easier than expected, Derek thought to himself. So used to such hostile behav*ior. Then again, their hostility was well earned. He stepped through the door, being met with the smell of tea and stew; the apartment was fairly small, the front hallway barely big enough for two people; the living room to the right was nothing more than two rocking chairs, a small wooden table between them and a strange mirror-like contraption near the front window. There was a door in the back of the living room that Derek assumed lead to the bedroom and bathroom. The kitchen on their left was no bigger than the living room, a small round table with two wooden chairs in the middle; an old fashion wood-burning stove sat in the corner of the kitchen, a teapot and kettle sitting on top of it. In the other corner was a sink and small counter used for fixing meals, indicated by the remains of some vegetables and a knife sitting on top of it. In the final corner there appeared to be a refrigerator-like box roughly four feet high off the ground.
“Let me take a look at those wounds,” the woman said as she shut and locked the door. “Were you in that explosion down the road? Your clothes are all dusty.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Derek replied. “There is no need for you to look at my wounds, they’re superficial. May I use your bathroom?”
The woman looked at him suspiciously, but beckoned him to follow. She led him through the bedroom and pointed to a door on the far side of the room. “Would you like some stew sonnie?”
“No thank you.”
“You ask for hospitality, but you refuse most of what I offer.”
“I’m low maintenance. Please excuse me.”
The woman gave him one last look and left the room, closing the door behind her. Derek walked into the bathroom and removed the bag from his back; the ergonomic design and small shape kept it close to his body and held a good eighty percent of his gear. He pulled off his hoodie and threw it onto the tub followed by his hidden blades. The bathroom was quite spacious with the tub against the far wall with the sink and toilet on the other two walls. Derek looked into the half-mirror and gri*maced; the white skin-shirt was half drenched in crimson, the origins of the dye coming from his shoulder and side. He opened the bag and removed a tin box, laying it on the sink. Opening the tin he removed a needle and thread along with a roll of gauze, a pair of tweezers, and a small vial of clear liquid.
Taking a deep breath Derek removed the shirt, ripping off the right sleeve in the process. Pouring some of the vial on the sleeve and a little on the tweezers he went to work. Sticking the prongs of the tweezers into the hole he dug around a little bit before removing a lump of lead. Upon extracting it he put the tweezers still clutching the lump in his other hand before slapping the sleeve onto the wound.
Strange, he thought as he inspected the remains of the bullet, this is a standard lead round; it’s even a 5.56. The way it seems to have deformed it was supposed to maim, not kill. Why weren’t they trying to kill me? Shrugging this from his memory he set the lump into the sink and grabbed the gauze, wrapping his shoulder with it several times before tying it off and cutting the excess with a knife. Using the same sterilizer-drenched sleeve he felt for the hole on his side. Before he could dig out the round the door opens and the woman enters with a bowl of water.
“I know you refused my help, but I know tha-” she stopped mid-sentence. Derek understood why though; when one is as scarred as he was it would be more than enough to make someone do a double take. From his wrists to his shoulders a series of slash marks and burn scars decorated him, transitioning to stab marks and bullet holes as it reached his torso.
Derek put down the tweezers and turned to her. “Ma’am, I know this looks bad but I’m fine, really.”
“Are you one of the Enforcers?” she asked.
Derek paused for a second. What’s an Enforcer, some kind of police authority or something?
Lie to her. The less she knows the better.
No. I stopped taking advice from you a long time ago.
You really wanna risk it?
“Yeah, sure,” Derek replied.
“Then in that case you’re getting my help regardless,” she said with a stern tone in her voice. Derek sighed as she walked to the tub and set the bowl down.
I hate you. I really ****ing hate you. I hope that someday you will finally bud off my mind and take over some poor bastard so you can stop corrupting my thoughts. Stupid impulse-driven id. Go back to my subconscious where you belong.
“I feel terribly sorry for you Enforcers, chasing down that vile Jinx only to be caught up in her shenanigans.”
Who is this “Jinx”? “Yes, well, we do what we can against her.”
“How long have you been an Enforcer?”
Derek bit his lip. At this point the woman had cleaned the wound and removed the bullet, preparing the area to be bandaged. I really wish I was familiar with this area. Guess I have no choice but to lie. “Not long. I’ve lived a life on the streets before getting this job. Apparently my ability to strike fear into the hearts of men have won over the department.”
She tugged on a bandage, making sure it was tight. What little pain there was zapped through the left side of his body, immediately making it numb. “I’m sure Vi was delighted to see someone like you come into the force. From what I understand she had a similar background, though she seems to be quite reckless at times. Do you have any other injuries that need to be looked at?”
“No ma’am,” Derek replied, “I must get back to my duties. The explosion a few blocks away did a good amount of damage and they may need my help to keep the peace.”
“Very well,” the woman said as she picked up the bowel. “Let me know when you are ready to leave.” With that said she left the room.
As Derek stood back up a throbbing pain reverberated throughout his leg, remembering his knee injury. I guess now is a good time to do some research, he thought as he pulled a compression bandage from the bag; pulling the pant leg up he began wrapping the bandage tightly around his knee. Just by sitting here I’ve learned that Jinx is on the most wanted list, the police are actually Enforcers and Vi is apparently head of the police department. Ok, id, I’ll let you stay for a little while longer. With this said he retrieved another skin-shirt from his bag, put back on his clothes and equipment, and snuck out the door before the woman realized he had left.
Seven blocks away from the explosion yielded interesting results. After identifying a few low life thugs and questioning them, painfully, Derek arrived at a local pub. Although the name of the place was called The Battered Pig the Enforcers sounded as if they had to the stones to go where they pleased and gain respect, one way or another. The outside of the pub looked slightly run down, obviously in an attempt to look as inconspicuous as possible. Kinda hard to do when large patches of the red stone brick have all sorts of burn-marks across it. Despite the outside appearance the inside was livelier; a piano sat next to the door, yet the artisan in charge of it seemed rather sloshed. At least twelve tables were in the middle of the room, each with four chairs at them. The bar was in the back of the room, the counter big enough to seat six people; the back wall was filled with various sorts of liquors in bottles of shapes and sizes.
Though the sun had set the pub was half full of people, a bit of laughter here and there with a moderate volume. Derek walked into the room a bit more headed for the bar, noticing the tables and chairs had seen quite a bit of use, possibly used in fights due to the abused nature of them. Pulling up a chair he sat next to a large burly man who was already drunk. The bartender eyeballed him, his hand under the counter.
“Coffee, black,” Derek told him. The bartender seemed to relax a bit and headed for the coffeepot just out of sight under the counter.
“Whas tha matt’r,” the drunkard next to him said, “don’ t’ke c’eam an’ su’ar in yo’r coffee?” With this statement the man raised his hand and tried to pinch Derek’s cheek, but was intercepted before the man could do anything.
“Normally I take the blood and tears of my enemy in my coffee,” Derek began in a low voice, “but I wasn’t going to force your dear bartender to do anything of that sort.” With this he slammed the man’s hand onto the counter. The bartender came back with a small cup filled to the brim with coffee. Derek brought it up to his nose and sniffed. “Smells like turpentine.”
“Don’t know what that is, but I guarantee you it’ll knock ya on your ass,” replied the bartender with a smirk. Mentally shrugging Derek took a large sip, the overpowering flavor going straight to the brain.
“If that was supposed to knock me on my ass, then it needs some work,” Derek said, eyeballing the cup.
The bartender looked at him in disbelief. “That stuff is guaranteed to make the drunkest man sober in two sips.”
“I don’t doubt that, it is quite potent; however, someone like me is used to inflicting great torture upon their taste buds, so it doesn’t affect me that much.”
“You’re a lyin’ son’af’a’*****, ya know dat?” the drunkard next to him said.
“Believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care. Just mind your own business.”
“You chall’n’en me?” the drunk said, standing up.
“You wouldn’t last,” Derek replied, taking another sip of coffee.
The drunkard put his hand on his shoulder, attempting to spin him around. The only result was Derek parrying this attempt with a blade to the man’s throat. The rest of the room reacted instantaneously, trying to beat Derek senseless, but they couldn’t lay a finger on him; all but three people in the room were rendered unconscious, the last three lay dead by their seats. The only person left was the bartender, who had pulled from under the counter a shotgun and had it trained on Derek’s head. Before he could pull the trigger Derek brushed the muzzle of the shotgun away with his left hand and shoved the butt of his right palm into the man’s nose, breaking it; the next motion was his left hand grabbing his head and bringing it into the table. In another motion he pulled his tomahawk and stuck the pike of it through the bartender’s right hand, pinning it to the counter. The bartender screamed in pain as he tried to pull the tomahawk free, but was backhanded before he succeeded.
“Now we are gonna play a game,” Derek began. He placed the butt of his left palm onto the right pinky of the bartender. “The name of the game is ‘Twenty Questions’; I ask the questions, you give me the answer. If I like your answer, you leave here in relatively one piece. If I don’t like your answer,” he applied enough pressure to the pinky to make it pop, “I will shatter your fingers. You catch my drift?” The bartender nodded his head, fear sketched on his face. “Good. Now what is the name of this city?”
Weird name for a city. “Where exactly is that?”
“Are ya ****in’ serious?” A sickly crunching noise was made at the pressure Derek applied to the man’s pinky, the bones and joints breaking and shattering as more pressure was applied. The man shrieked at the pain, grabbing Derek’s wrist. “Northwest Valoran! Northwest Valoran ! Stop, please!”
Derek released the pressure on the pinky, but switched to his ring finger. “Next question: who is Vi?”
The bartender looked at Derek, a tear running down his face. “Only the baddest ***** you will ever meet in the city. Heads the Enforcer division, only answers to the Sheriff. Hell if she can control her.”
“Tell me of this Sheriff.”
“What, you don’t know of her?” More bone crunching followed by the bartender’s screams. “Alright, Alright! Her name is Caitlyn. Best thing since sliced bread. Single handedly cleaned this city,” a slight chuckle escaped through his gasps of pain, “like that’s doin’ her good now.”
Derek switched to the middle finger. “I take it that’s when Jinx entered the picture. Tell me about her.”
The bartender froze. “We don’t talk about her. Bad for business,” he mutters, attempting to hide the pain on his face. It revitalized when his finger shattered under Derek’s hand. “Stop it! We don’t talk about her! Anyone who does ends up encountering her and dead right after!”
The crunching sound is heard and the bartender screams again. “If you don’t tell me I will kill you, and I will be sure to make it a painful death!” Derek says over the screams.
The bartender yells louder, the tears rolling down his face in a downpour. “Jinx…she’s the most psychotic ***** to waltz into Piltover,” he stutters, “she doesn’t even have a goal here. She shows, shoots up the place, blows up a few buildings, and laughs her ass off. She pulls off a robbery every now in then just to get the police involved just to be chased. The irony is she never steals anything, just gets the cops’ attention long enough to run. Neither Vi nor Caitlyn can’t catch her.”
Derek let off the man’s hand long enough for the two of them to look down at the aftermath; blood oozes around the pike of the tomahawk, a trail leading down to the mangled mess that was once the bartenders fingers. “By my count,” Derek begins, wiggling the tomahawk a little to see if any reaction remained in what was left of the hand, “you still have another four fingers on your left hand and both your thumbs.” Derek leans in closer to the man, nearly touching noses. “What is the League of Legends?”
The bartender cried.
Chapter One: Ain't No Rest For the Wicked (Part 2)
She walked through the halls with a purpose.
Though most people gave her a wide berth to begin with no one wanted to trifle with her this evening. Her armor was stained and more haphazard than usual, almost reflective of her messy pink hair topped with a pair of goggles. The large hextech gauntlets she wore on her arms were clenched into tight fists, either one threatening to punch a hole in a wall: or some unlucky person to get in her way.
She walked down one last hallway towards the interrogation rooms, the end of which had a small woman dressed in a short purple dress speaking with a few officers.
“I finished examining the bomb remains,” she said, letting some of her agitation seep through her voice.
The woman looked at her then turned back to the officers, dismissing them. “What did you find?” she asked.
“Same pattern as before: manual detonation of several hundred pounds of hexplosives in a metal box. Only difference is collateral damage is kept to a minimum, which probably means she’s trying to save more buildings to blow later.” The armored woman shifted her stance, crossing her arms. “Fourteen people were in the building. Only one made it out.”
“You questioned him?”
“He wasn’t there, Cait.”
Caitlyn blinked. “What do you mean ‘He wasn’t there’?”
Vi pulled out a small notepad from her side, flipping through some of the pages. “I spoke with the building owners and some of the factory workers that got off at normal time. The boss was there finishing up some paperwork while a few of his employees were working overtime. In total, thirteen people were still punched in. No one saw the last guy go into the building, but eyewitnesses did see him limp away from the scene. From the descriptions I got he was wearing some sort of hooded shirt and strange blue pants. He also seemed to be pretty banged up.”
Caitlyn nodded her head. “What about a search for him? Where did he go?”
“Not sure. Witnesses said he limped toward the apartments a few blocks from the factory. I’ve got a few folks hunting him up, but I got most of my guys helping out with the cleanup.”
Vi closed her notepad and looked at her superior. “What?”
“Reassign them. We need to track him down; he’s our only lead on these explosions.”
“The government is breathing down my neck, Vi,” Caitlyn sighed, “they want Jinx dealt with. She is causing too much chaos and it’s upsetting the citizens.” She turned around and walked towards the window. “The crime rate is going up, and every encounter we have with her we lose good people. If we don’t do something about this soon everything I have worked for will go down the drain.” She turned back around, fire buring in her eyes. “I will NOT let her do that.”
“What the hell do you want me to do then?” Vi asked, stepping forward, “She has humiliated me and openly taunts me. All I want to do is beat her into a bloody pulp, but I can’t catch her. If this guy really is affiliated with her, then shouldn’t he be just as elusive as Jinx?”
“I doubt it,” Caitlyn stated, pulling a file from under her arm. “This is the current case file we have on our mystery man.”
Vi took the file, taken aback. “How did you put a file together so quickly?”
“Because your hooded man matches the same description as another one spotted at The Battered Pig some hours after the explosion. There was a scuffle there, twelve injured and four dead. Most of the injuries are typical of that in a bar fight, even the deaths due to the knife trauma. However,” she paused, her face going blank, “one of the men was…tortured.”
Vi looked up, surprise etched on her face. “Tortured?”
“Yes. It appeared both of his hands were nailed to the bar counter, although he claims it was some sort of hatchet with a spike, and all but two of his fingers were broken. When officers arrived at the scene he was in a corner crying, sputtering gibberish. We barely could get anything out of him in the questioning back here.”
Vi shook her head. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Taric,” Caitlyn said. Vi tilted her head, confused. “Whoever this man is he is acting in the way he naturally would because he is not originally from here.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “He asked a lot of common sense questions: who we were, where this place was, what the League was and where the Institute of War was located, even asked where the closest local library was. Whoever he is he is not from this world and is trying to understand it.”
Vi closed the file and rubbed her chin with her enormous gauntlet, her brow furrowed in thought. “But why would he start a fight and even kill a few people? No normal person would do that.”
“He may only be doing what is natural to him,” Caitlyn said, beginning to pace. “Judging the eyewitness reports the fight began when a man named Gregory Ackerman, who was a factory worker. He was at the pub because his place of work was destroyed today. He was also the one to provoke our guest.” She paused, deep in thought. “He reacted to the threat the only way he knew how; with violence.”
“So what exactly are we dealing with?” Vi asked.
“Possibly an assassin; uses whatever means necessary to get the job done even if it means throwing morality out the window, but does these atrocities within a certain amount of reason. As brutal as Udyr, but not crazy or senseless like Shaco…” Another pause. “...or Jinx.”
Vi nodded, crossing her arms. “So you want me to bring him in?”
Caitlyn nodded. “As the law in Piltover it is our duty to bring in criminals; though he may be dangerous he is our only lead to Jinx.” Caitlyn started walking down the hall, patting Vi on the shoulder. “Finish up your papers and get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”
© 2013 Riot Games, Inc. All rights reserved. Riot Games, League of Legends and PvP.net are trademarks, services marks, or registered trademarks of Riot Games, Inc.