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Some stuff I felt like writing.

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So, I started writing outta boredom.
I do not know if it is any good or not, but ill leave that to whoever reads this.
Open to criticism, if this seems any good ill try and get more into writing stuff like this.
Lore accurate or not I don't think it matters, i just wanted something to do. Its a very short passage since I could only be bothered doing this much :P
Enjoy! (Hopefully..)


He stumbles, cold mud assaulting his face, sharp pain in his neck provoking shrieks that only the dead would produce, bracing his neck he applies weight to the left leg and rises up from the harsh marsh of lower Valoran areas, it was meant to be a simple operation, get in and uncover the strange happenings occurring in the black marsh, recently there have been mysterious sightings of a shadowed figure stalking the local wildlife, it cannot really be him could it be? No, it is too far to travel.

Panting hard staring down as if into the belly of the beast through the creek panting harder and harder, he pauses immediately to greet the sound of crows howling their incantations, life in these areas were not of the normal type found anywhere, he rushes even faster, he feels an untimely presence which sends a chill down his spine, shaking tremendously, muttering, fearing for his miserable life. Conscripted into the Noxian military at a young age, he had learned of no fear but this was an exception. He hears an aggressive stroke of breath in an out, fearfully paralysed he spaces out of consciousness.

Unfortunately, the gift of live was not received by him, and he hears a loud roar as out from the sky emerges a shadowy figure lunging at him with the Fang of the Falcon, a weapon from neither man nor machine; it was recognisable from anywhere but had never been seen even in the far reaches of Runeterra. In a split second he collapses to the ground as the infamous blade houses itself into his spine. Trying to move is a redundant activity as the blade slithers from his body, a hand or what feels like a hand grasps his pale thin leg and is risen from it, hanging in motion he stares death square into the face to be meet with a roar of the highest accord. The future remains blackĀ….