The Prequel to 'The Fall of the League, foretold by Necromonger.'

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Azaer

Senior Member

09-03-2010

Here it is, for those of you who have been following each and every post of Necromongers writing (http://www.leagueoflegends.com/board...46#post2732046) know that I have been playing around to make a prequel for him.

and on a side note here's The Teemo Files by Lightsaber122: http://www.leagueoflegends.com/board...d.php?t=233535

I am a creature of learning and this is my first Fanfic so post any suggestions for improvement
scene 2 and 3 on page two

***
An old man made his way through a torchlight hallway he wore a clean black robe traditional to the summoners of Noxus, fending off the cold or the night.

This particular old man stood as no normal summoner. He is a feared and respected relic of wars past. There was a time when the great warlords of Demacia had explicitly ordered their best men to never go near him in battle. In his success on the battle field he had been rocketed into the highest classes and ranking, taking the surname GrandFeu.

Naturally once the next form of war had been discovered he had been the first nominated to the highest ranking official in the new order The Summoners. Ever power hungry he saw it as a new way to rake in glory and prestige for himself and his people.

It was pure disgrace.

Now here he is an old man afflicted by the undeniable poison of time unable to clear the way for the future that might have been for his people.

After months of scouring for a chance he finally has created one for himself. It had taken him the last quarter year create the conditions for his first step. He had taken great pains to not let anyone see him craving the runes inside the walls….

He made it to the end of the hallway and opened the doors to a cavernous room riddled with antiques and fine leather furniture inlaid with polished woods gleaming against the light of a roaring fire.

The old man saw none of this as he looked on with barely veiled disgust at the regal young man sitting in the only chair facing the door. The young man wore a deep red coat and looked ghastly pale and his skin matched the slick whitish color of his hair. He sat sipping out of a glass filled with rich red wine.

Once the old man had taken his measure he noticed the pale body of the kind serving girl he had sent in advance to give his guest some wine sprawled on the floor and the bottle of red wine sitting on the nearby stand still had the cork in it.

“Good night for a drink is it not, Davim?” the young man said with a paper thin smile. Davim gave the young man a withering glance provoking the response “Calm down, she isn’t dead, she’s been twitching for the last five minutes at the least, but you may need to get her some help”

Ignoring the last statement Davim said, “Perhaps when you show etiquette enough to humor your guest with what he presents you before refusing it, Vladimir”.

Vladimir’s smile widened as he stated “Well, we’ve already put the Big Guy behind bars, I assume there’s another killing to be done?” he said while making the red liquid in his glass do twirls in mid air, “We do get oh so easily bored”
Davim smiled seemingly satisfied with how things were going, “that is exactly why” Vladimir shot him a quizzical look “But I expect you to be less than pleased with what I may ask”

The younger man, still confident, raised a single questioning eyebrow. Without pretence Vladimir began drooping in his chair suddenly ill, but his eyes were widening with shock against the weight that seemed to drag his lids down as a pool of blood began do grow at his feet. Davim continued seemingly not noticing.

“funny thing about hemo-mancy is that it is so different from other magics in that it requires continual self maintenance. The blood is saturated with tiny strings of magic keeping it under control, but if one was to put you in an environment where the strings cannot be maintained” he gestured panoramically to the room in general

“then a hemo-mancer would find him or herself in a very difficult situation”. Davim watched as Vladimir slowly and sloppily melted into a pool of blood before him until it had spread out in every direction evenly.

Davim spread his arms and started to murmur under his breath and the room took on a palpable atmosphere. Streams of blood began to depart from the main pool surrounding the leather chair as if fleeing from Davim. The remaining blood, the richest and darkest, began to voyage over to Davim and began to slide up his robe seeping into his skin while magically leaving no trace of their voyage across the polished wood as each bead of blood rolled Davim’s way.

He breathed deeply and aloud himself a toothy smile as crimson lightly flecked his eyes.
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Vladimir had no idea what was happening for one moment he was in control, but the next he had melted into blood, unable to maintain himself.

He knew Davim had been saying something…but what? When he had regained enough sense to be aware he realized the blood that composed him was moving seemingly of its own volition and taking him far away from the large manor Davim occupied.

When he was halfway across the city he was able to gain control of himself. He had lost something, but what? Unimportant the thought snapped him out of his speculation and into the pure cold rage he knew so well he disrespects me so, all that matters now is ripping his heart out, I wonder what a fountain of summoner blood will look like?

He began his trek on foot when a homeless drunkard bumped into him. Vladimir turned on him in rage and forced all the blood in his body to simply stop until the man had died gasping in shock. Him, and anyone else who dares get in my way he walked through the night, a death wish to all who walked by.
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Davim walked quickly over to the collapsed serving girl and while happily practicing his newfound strength carried over to a couch for her to rest her on and grabbed the first servant outside the room to go fetch his physician.

He told the servant she had suffered a nasty cut and had lost a lot of blood “Should I send up someone to clean the blood off?” the servant had asked, Davim simply waved him off and said, “no need”

Waiting he sat down in the chair occupied only minutes ago by Vladimir. Satisfied with his success and thinking about how he expected thing to unravel after Vladimir had fled he saw the half finished glass of blood. Curiously he took a sip and tasted nothing of why Vladimir had delighted in it so, but only the thick and iron taste rolling over his tongue.

It isn’t so much the taste of it as its use, a hemo-mancer can never have too much blood in him”, he heard a voice say. After a pause he later heard, “you really know my apprentice well” he sighed, he knew telepathy when he heard it, but this was different… it echoed

Oh and you seemed so clever, can’t you figure it out?” then he realized, “so you kept your individuality all that time?” he said, “Not really, there never was much difference between me and that boy, you on the other hand, I find melding with to be beyond me

Davim took another deep breath and thought to himself, Good, I don’t want someone like you in here anyways

Oh don’t be so disdainful, I go where the blood flows, and that happens to be the tormenting river I see in your future” Davim was caught by mild surprise, “So you’ve taken the liberty of prying that deep in there? You have melded better than you said” Davim stated slowly.

Our minds are open to each other, the only difference is I want to see what’s going on inside yours”. Then the door opened and the physician stepped in. Davim nodded to where the serving girl lay. He continued the conversation, bot now purely sub vocal.

I need to know though, what will this job pay?” Davim was caught off guard by the question, but a moment later understood.

It is blood you want? That, my new friend, I can give he thought to the ethereal squatter

He felt a presence settle in his mind like a beast laying comfortably down into a new bed.
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A cankered old veteran stepped back into his small home cramped inside a waking city after his night shift with his eyes planted upon a floor of old scratched old wood and the bottoms of walls with peeling paints, he smelled food cooking over a fire…

The thoughts entered his mind and left like breeze over a prairie. “52 good men, and God knows how many civilians” he kept repeating in his mind as if saying the facts like a mantra might block out the horrible memories of the night before.

“Garet is that you? I have a good breakfast made up for you! You know what you feel like if you don’t eat before your nap!” Garet hardly heard the voice of his wife from the door frame up the hall as he made it over to the nearest stool inside the hallway and half collapsed in it.

The scenes replayed over and over in his head pounded with the force of his inner struggle to push out the images of men and women with gashing wounds where their blood had been forced to concentrate and eventually rupture their flesh. As the images banged around inside his head they were accompanied by different voices.

Later into the night some member of the league had come to help put down Vladimir and had made quick work of him. He couldn’t help but overhear one of them comment, “why was he so weak?”

“Garet! Your breakfast will get col-” then her keening broke through his remorse, “GARET! Is that all blood!? Who’s blood is that!? Garet! What happened last night!?” He looked up for a moment showing all the dried blood on his face and torso and couldn’t bear it and dropped his face back into the protection of his hands as if he could block out the world that way. Nobody should be able to do that he thought.

He remembered what the league member had said Oh God are they all worse than that? He knew Vladimir had resigned from the league but there still were questionable members….

Maybe anyone who can do that is just a menace; maybe they should all be done away with, keep us normal citizens safe, he thought. He couldn’t take it any more and he blocked of the outer world, the smells of the now almost burning breakfast, the keening of his wife and the feel of his old leathered out hands and gave the last of himself over to his newfound inner demons.


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Liquidone

Senior Member

09-03-2010

Cool, nice job.


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Lightsaber122

Senior Member

09-03-2010

Nice, Read my Teemo Files :P Please? :P
Very intresting tbh I'll critique it a bit latter.


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NoShogun

Senior Member

09-03-2010

Pretty nice work. Needs more Nasus


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Azaer

Senior Member

09-03-2010

uhh where are they? (the Teemo files i mean) search is disabled so i can only google post names to find stuff that isnt on the first 5 pages


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NoShogun

Senior Member

09-04-2010

Overall the writing is nice. I prefer this to at least the first page of Necromonger's writing.


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Lightsaber122

Senior Member

09-04-2010

Oh the Teemo file link is ---> http://www.leagueoflegends.com/board...d.php?t=233535

Note got like only a paragraph sorry :I my huge page of it was deleated in word somehow trying to write it back the way i had it.


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Azaer

Senior Member

09-04-2010

bump cuz i think everyone is just redirecting to Necro's story...


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ICE Gang Kevren

Senior Member

09-04-2010

Grammar and punctuation could use some work :/ But at least your story is going somewhere.


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Azaer

Senior Member

09-05-2010

just spent the last while edting, thanks for the reminder NE0, my friend had pointed out I'm an idiot w/ commas, but i had forgotten to edit them before posting


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