Welcome to the Forum Archive!

Years of conversation fill a ton of digital pages, and we've kept all of it accessible to browse or copy over. Whether you're looking for reveal articles for older champions, or the first time that Rammus rolled into an "OK" thread, or anything in between, you can find it here. When you're finished, check out the boards to join in the latest League of Legends discussions.


Words from a Wandering Minstrel

Comment below rating threshold, click here to show it.

Fireside Poet

Senior Member


Guess it belongs in "fanfiction", so I apologize.

Encounter in the Shurima Desert

I could not but sit aghast and enthralled
by this creature as it struggled towards me that
summer night. Tears flowed endlessly from his eyes
to the wrappings that lay soaked against its dead skin.
In the moonlight they glistened like diamonds,
setting fire to the path on which he walked.
The constant wails, like lonely
nightingales in the impenetrable dark.

Between sobs, he heaved nonsensical exclamations
of despair. The words were muttered
and strange, obscured even more by strong outbursts of
pain; but the clear call of “Why” could be heard
among the tantrums. His movement was
deliberate, as though an unknown purpose forced him
forward. The rough scuffling of his feet
brought him ever closer to me, alone on the side of the path.

For a moment, I froze in the weak light of the night.
Panic overtook me, and I collapsed. His gait hastened.
I hid. Was I afraid? No, not fear. Guilt. Guilt and disgust.
What small compassion could I offer this creature?
Was I not, in some way, a worker of his pain?
A thorn waiting to tear his skin, or a log
ready to bar his progress? I was ashamed,
and my heart grew heavy in my chest.

As he passed my place among the bristles and
berry bushes, I saw his eyes in the dark. Great God,
What a spectacular vision! Two orbs, like glowing
globes of moonlight, filled my very soul with
such great tenderness that I wept. I wept silently
in the dark as those brilliant spheres of light passed
over me. For a moment, my hand reached out to touch him.
To help him. To help me.

And then he was gone, moving forward through the trees
as a specter. A fleeting memory of sadness.
My hand moved to touch my cheek, and felt the warmth of
my tears on my fingertips. The forest fell back to its gentle
humming, and I laid back on the ground
to sleep. Even the strong scent of bristleberry,
carried by the warming air, could not console me
and I drifted off sad, and alone.