Total posts: 1
GOD of Gundam
In the world of Runeterra, distant rumblings on the continent of Valoran herald the coming of another Rune War. As new city-states begin to develop and grow, each city-state begins to define its goals and desires. The people begin to grow nationalistic, fueling a desire for greater power and influence in the governments of the city-state. Even the peaceful yordles of Bandle City have begun to get anxious about their future in a League of Legends driven world. Each city-state has increased the number of requests for the political conflicts decided on the Fields of Battle, but the beleaguered High Council of Equity cannot accept each request in order to keep the magic of the nexuses safe and to keep the champions rested. This has prompted outrage in the people and their respective governments becayse their political conflicts are not decided and are instead tabled for a future point in time. Furthermore, this has prompted questions as to why independent city-states should rely on this slow method to decide political conflicts, especially when a contest of strength decides political issues. With the recent scandal and resulting imprisonment of High Councilor Relivash, the city-states have begun to doubt the League’s ability to successfully guide Valoran’s future. Negotiations have already broken down between the most militaristic city-states of Noxus and Demacia. Some thinkers in highly-placed positions of these governments are already considering more direct means of solving political conflicts: war. No more will uninvolved parties be able to dictate the future of Noxus! Let Demacians show their mettle in fighting for the future of Demacia; we cannot let non-Demacians determine our future! With these military juggernauts once again eyeing each other with enmity, other city-states such as Ionia, Freljord, and Piltover are getting nervous. Thus, while they implore the League’s summoners to intervene, these city-states are also quietly preparing for the outbreak of another war. Finally, the residents of Valoran are painfully reminded of the fact that Runeterra is a vast world. Rumors of foreign warships being spotted on the horizon are being told by the sailors of Bilgewater and the Cult of the Void seems to have gotten agitated. Whether or not further troubles wait for the people of Valoran, only time will tell…
NU GUNDAM WA DATE JA NAI!
GOD of Gundam
High Councilor Kolminye sighed and put down the scroll she was using to take notes with. The Emissary of the League from Demacia, Poppy, had just finished reading the request issued by the Demacian government. The news was not good. “Are there any signs that Jarvan the Third will change his mind?” Kolminye asked, looking for the slightest glimmer of hope. “I’m afraid not, High Councilor. His advisors have persuaded him to stand by his decision,” Poppy regretfully informed her. The yordle slowly folded the parchment and put it back into her pouch. “He demands that Noxus cede the lands in the region of the Howling Marsh. He claims that since Demacia once owned the land, it must be returned to Demacian control.” “But there isn’t even anything in the Howling Marshes!” Kolminye exclaimed with frustration. “Does he not remember that Karthus lives in that area? The Noxians stay away from that area even if they own it!” Poppy shrugged. “I am not sure why he is so adamant on this matter either, Councilor. However, he declared that he would be very displeased if this matter was not settled immediately on the Fields of Justice. He also wishes to remind you of the Noxians trespassing on Demacian territory three weeks ago and ruining the farmlands that they passed through. He demands that Noxus pay recompense.” Kolminye slumped in her chair. “I haven’t forgotten. Tell Jarvan the Third that I will put the issues of the Howling Marshes and the Noxian trespass at the top of the issues settled in the Fields of Justice.” Poppy nodded and turned to leave. “I’m truly sorry for this Councilor. The champions of the League know how hard you are working.” Kolminye smiled weakly. “Thank you, Poppy. I hope you have a safe trip back to Demacia.” When the Iron Ambassador of Demacia left, Kolminye threw her scroll across the hall. “Another case that has to be settled immediately! Another demand! One more thing I have to put at the top of the list and now others will never have their case judged! WHY WON’T THE CITY-STATES JUST COOPERATE?” she screamed. Then, her shoulders dropped as the anger left her and she was simply left with her worries. When the queue for the cases to be decided on the Fields of Justice were released the next day, the people of Piltover, Zaun, Bandle City, and all the other cities that were not Demacia were enraged. Once again, Demacia had used their strength to manipulate the Institute of War into changing the order of the cases to be judged. “Demacia Exploits the League to Use As Exclusive Judge.” “Citizens of Bilgewater Outraged At Blatant Power Grabbing by Demacia.” “Greedy Demacians Abuse The League to Undermine Noxus.” Newspaper headlines across Valoran blared out the news for all to hear. Just days later, similar headlines accusing other city-states swept the continent of Valoran. High Councilor Oron nervously cleared his throat in front of the assembled champions. “The city-states are looking for any excuse to go to war. The Institute of War must defuse the situation or we risk starting another Rune War. Thus, the Council of Equity asks the champions of the League to journey throughout Valoran to do whatever they must to preserve the peace. We wish the best of luck on your trip.”
NU GUNDAM WA DATE JA NAI!
The Sword of the Morning
Jericho Swain, Grand General of Noxus, slightly tightened his iron grip on his staff and raised one critical eyebrow at Oron's words. His raven, Beatrice, cocked it's head to the side in a similar fashion. Aside from those small actions, the General, resplendent in his Robes of Office, and his companion gave no outward reaction. Internally however, he scoffed at the Summoner. Oron had always been too idealistic for his own good, but this was a whole new level entirely. It was pathetic really, and it showed the dwindling strength of the League quite clearly, to resort to a method such as this. It must clearly be their final option, to ask champions to "preserve the peace". Swain, for one, had no intention of preserving any peace but peace on his terms. Noxian terms. But still, as Swain thought about it, this was a ripe opportunity. It was too late for this attempt at peace to interfere with his plans, but if played right... they could work with them quite well. Swain stroked Beatrice softly and licked his lips slightly. There was little risk in trying to turn this to Noxus' advantage, and it could be used to garner support and goodwill towards them. War was coming, that Swain had no doubt of, Demacia's attempt to gain the Howling Marsh spoke volumes, and this act of "preservation of the peace" would not stop it. So there was nothing to lose. Some potential gain for no loss, except that of his time. A risk worth taking. "If you insist." He rasped at Oron. "What do you suggest, Summoner?" He asked, eying Oron with his hard stare, still stroking his raven. He would turn this into a victory, it was just a matter of time. All glory to Noxus.
Your legacy shall drift away, blown into eternity, like the sands of the desert.
The Ice Dervish stoically considered Swain as he agreed to the proposition of the High Councillor. For Lissandra, it was the strangest situation. But for this sudden development, she would have been back home, spearheading the ceremony of the first year to pass since the reunification of Freljord under Queen Ashe. She had been preparing for it for most of the past month; while she was by her creed not supposed to condone the spending of resources on such frivolities as holidays, as an administrator she understood the importance of acknowledging the past and providing for the people. But the moment she had heard of the Demacian demand, she had known that her duty would be more critical at the League than anywhere else. And indeed, it would be. Lissandra was spiritually unconcerned with developments outside of Freljord as a rule, but even she could understand the sheer audacity of the Demacian's actions. And so could every other major city state, judging by the outrage expressed in the many publications of the day. Theoretically it should have been Queen Ashe to undertake the diplomatic mission on Freljord's behalf, but Lissandra knew that of all people Ashe should not have to concern herself with this. It woudl be prudent for Ashe to continue fighting in the League to bring glory to Freljord in these troubled times. With a slightly resigned air, Princess Lissandra surrendered her immediate duty to Freljord, as duty called. "I shall join this mission, on my Queen Ashe's behalf." Lissandra wondered if the assembled staff and Champions even knew who she was.
Thank you, Monty Oum.
Delen Valtol sighed. He had just finished a bath after the day's drilling and exercises, and even managed to just win more rounds than anyone else in today's duels. The latter was certainly only possible due to Shyvana being called up for League business, but he felt a little prideful nonetheless in addition to refreshed. He was walking out of the barracks into the capital's when he saw a young boy holding a newspaper above his head next to stack of them, yelling about the latest news. Delen asked to buy one and the boy unsurprisingly obliged. The headline was "DEMACIA & NOXUS GO TO THE FIELDS OF JUSTICE", subtitled "To the winner, the Howling Marshes" underneath. Delen felt jealousy well up, as he thought of how the Demacian champions would be able to go up against Demacia's hated foe eye-to-eye. That was clearly why Shyvana was at the Institute of War today. He sighed, very heavily. He wasn't feeling up to walking around the city anymore, and now realized that today's training really took a lot out of him, but he was already here. Might as well check out the marketplace - cherries are in season! Maybe there would still be some left. Ooooh, he'd better hurry. "Show those Noxians the strength of the Demacian Elite Guard, Shyvana.", Delen said to himself. He tucked the newspaper under his arm and jogged off.
A short, furry brown yordle carrying an almost absurdly large sword pushed his way to the front of the assembled crowd of champions. "Why should we be goin' around tryin' to downplay what these Demacian bullies are doin'?" he demanded of the League official, glaring at him as darkly as a cute fuzzy yordle face could. "Cuz tha's what it boils down to! Convince people that what they're doin' ain't so bad and to just keep faith in th' mighty League o' Legends to settle things fairly. Why should we be tellin' people to just lay down like mats on a front stoop for these self-righteous bastards?"
"Teebs is a total grump, but he's usually right." - NLK
Must Keep The Web Intact
'Calm down? What do you mean, calm down?!' Jakar was agitated, shaking his arms and yelling at the League official standing in front of him. 'Do you know how long I walked to reach your bloody institute and fill in all your silly formalities and officially become a champion?' 'I'll tell you how long! All the way from Noxus, day by day, and certainly not to be told by some fat, entitled functionary verminbag that I am now supposed to stand my weapons down and go have a cup of tea with the filthy demacian scum.' The official sighed, rolled eyes and left the room as Jakar language kept getting more and more coarse and graphic.
The Great Northern Threadkill.
Lush, green, weak. Orianna wondered why the humans took such care of these plants. Impermanent as well. There is no use in tending to something that will only die in a season anyways. Why grow to care for something that will perish? It would be better if Orianna ended these plants immediately. The humans would be happy to be free of watering and weeding such pests. Instead of flowers, the humans could plant some new, easily sustained, high yield vegetables. They would rejoice; Orianna was sure of this. And yet, her hands froze as she went to pick them up. Their colors assaulted her eyes. Individually the flowers were nothing, but together they produced a chromatic battery ram against the efficient symmetry of the garden. With an even greater resolve, Orianna dug through the soil, tearing out all of the weeds. “Mom! The robot is messing up your garden!” A little boy called for his progenitor. Or was it a girl? The aesthetics were impossible to grasp, too difficult to codify. “You… are wrong. I am bringing order to your garden” Orianna rotated her head to face the child, all the while continuing to rip out the plants. The child picked up a rock on the street and tossed it towards Orianna. The Ball, a large metallic sphere with a telescopic optical lens, wildly jerked behind Orianna to intercept the stone. Orianna knew it did not matter. There was no possible way for an unrefined mineral to scratch or damage her metallic frame. “Tell him,” Orianna looked to the Ball as she held up a mangled flower “this is without purpose. It is better this way.” “You aren’t even making any sense! The stupid garden isn’t supposed to do anything. It’s just supposed to look nice. Can’t you understand that?” “No. You are wrong. I do understand. Clothes… you wear them. I wear them too, on occasion, but not for the same reasons.” Orianna picked herself up, out of the garden and walked over to the child. Her head careened to the left, her voice picking up randomly, attempting to hit the same notes as the child but failing miserably. “What are you talking about?” “Humans grow cold. Their flesh easily ravaged. I do not feel the cold; my body will never scratch or tear or fester. But still, I wear fabrics. I have noticed… humans breathe slower, they blink less, they do not fear to look upon me when I wear clothes. This,” Orianna crushed the pestilent growth within her hands “does nothing. You toil to preserve life which does nothing. You deny yourself sustenance and replace it voluntarily with a parasite.” “I don’t care, stupid. Just get out of here! My mom is going to be really angry if you keep doing this.” Even in the most advanced, progressive city in the world, Piltover, there will always be those people adverse to change. “We go.” Orianna looked to the Ball as she gave a light hop into the air. The Ball swooped beneath her and folded her legs to balance perfectly. It would not stop bothering her. These flowers had no purpose. Orianna knew hers: “to be the perfect daughter; to be the perfect weapon.” Simple and efficient. To please her father, Corin, was a simple task. First Orianna would retrieve the daily newspaper. Father Corin will never voluntarily leave home, but as a man of science enjoys being kept up to date with the news. The papers at the newsstand read “"DEMACIA & NOXUS GO TO THE FIELDS OF JUSTICE.” She picked up a copy as the Ball released coins from a slot and into the salesperson’s hand. Next Orianna would make him tea, brewed from leaves in their garden, a proper, efficient garden. The first few times Orianna made tea the leaves brewed for too long. Apparently this produced a “bitter” taste. Orianna did not understand, the nutritional value was the same regardless, but to see Father Corin ease into the cup without hesitation, to know that he completely trusted her judgment, presented her with a positive feedback. The Ball chirped, signaling that they had reached their destination. Orianna was home. She walked through the door, slightly busted up, the paint chipped slightly. “Father Corin, I am home now.” “Orianna? Where have you been? It feels like ages since we have last met.” Corin was a small man, barely even five feet tall. Orianna towered over him, so she crouched slightly to embrace him. It was a tool she used to put him at ease. A tool she learned from Corin himself. The first time she performed it her chest pressed so hard into his chest that it cracked one of his ribs. Orianna has perfected it since then. “It has been exactly eight days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 13 seconds since our last encounter.” “Where did my girl grow to be so smart?” His face pulled upwards, revealing the wrinkles at his eyes. The correct answer was that Orianna was precise due to the clockwork used in her design. Instead she gave the meaningless, incorrect one that made Father Corin happy. “Father Corin is the smartest man in Piltover. I am my father’s daughter.” Father Corin was pleased by her response and he slouched back into his workshop chair. “Here is the paper; I shall make tea.” Orianna had made it to the faucet when she heard an anguished shout coming from the other room. “Blasted Demacians! Those pigs think they can bully us all around. First they take Noxus’ marshes and then what’s next? They say it’s for peace, bah! The most evil men hide their actions behind what is ‘good’ and what is ‘best for mankind.’ Who are they to decide this?” Orianna had worked her way back to the workshop. Father Corin’s face was red, tears were streaming down his face. Orianna reached out to steady his head and looked into his eyes. There were fragments of dust caught, nothing to agitate his corneas. “How long Orianna… how long before they come for us? What if they say my Techmaturgical disrupting shockwave technology is opposing world peace? What… what if they come for you?” Later that night Orianna hopped on the Ball and whizzed away to a familiar house. She buoyed up to the second level and punched through the glass window. Sliding down the windowsill into the dark room, Orianna heard a high toned wail. “Robot? What are you doing in my room?” It was the child from earlier, the one who grew angry about the flowers. “You were right. I cannot control other people. I cannot decide what is best for them; they must be allowed to be foolish. I will fight on the side of Noxus.” “What the Hell are you talking about? Get out of my house!”
edited 8th Jul '12 11:32:05 PM by BlueChernabog
I know what makes them tick...
Jayce looked at the paper he had delivered to his laboratory every day. He usually didn't bother reading them much, he had more important things to do. Inventing new gadgets to aid him in protecting Piltover. Keeping his Mercury Hammer fine-tuned. And now, participating in the League of Legends. It was for that last reason the headline had grabbed his attention today. "DEMACIA & NOXUS GO TO THE FIELDS OF JUSTICE" declared the large text on the front page. Reading further, Jayce found himself grimacing. He had never particularly had a problem with Demacia, and in fact Demacia was very inviting to Piltovian scientists. Noxus was another matter, since it was well known it had ties to Zaun. Still, Jayce could hardly see why Demacia would want the Howling Marshes. What possible use could Demacia have for a place like that? More importantly, if Demacia did acquire the Marsh, only the Ironspike Mountains would separate Piltover from the Demacian borders. If Demacia decided to expand further, it might mean encroaching on Piltovian lands. Jayce could not allow that. "Well, it certainly seems like things are going to get interesting." Jayce said to no one in particular. He was alone in his lab currently, save for the guards that protected it. Which reminded Jayce why he had become the Defender of Tomorrow in the first place. That madman Viktor had raided his lab and killed innocent Piltovian citizens. Jayce would not allow that to happen again. Piltover must be protected, no matter the cost. Who better than The Defender of Tomorrow to do it? Jayce rose from the seat he had been sitting in, and exited his laboratory. Looking around, he could still see some of the damage done during Viktor's Raid. Not everything had been perfectly restored, but the important part of Jayce's lab, the inner workings, had been completely fixed. Reminding himself that he had work to do and to not get distracted, Jayce starting walking towards his destination, carrying his famed Mercury Hammer with him. "Corin Reveck. A genius of a man. That clockwork girl of his is quite impressive. I only hope he has some secrets he is willing to share with me that might improve my own inventions."
TV Tropes: my anti-drug.
....it's still an anti-drug if it's just as addictive, right?
....it's still an anti-drug if it's just as addictive, right?
Supports are too mainstream
Rumble wiped the sweat off his brow with a greasy hankerchief as he continued tightening the bolts on Tristy's mace arm. The recent political turmoil engulfing Valoran bothered him, so he had to blow off some steam. And since there was no one nearby for him to pick a fight with, he had to resort to plan B: furiously tinkering with his machines. "Those filthy humans, thinking they're so much more important than us yordles. I bet Bandle City wouldn't have even received the time of day from those stuffed-shirt summoners if we demanded repairations from Zaun!" Everything about the current events rubbed Rumble the wrong way. It was bad enough that Demacia and Noxus seemed to be hogging more and more of the Institute of War's attention, but now those yellow-bellied summoners had the nerve to tell the champions themselves to clean up the mess they left! The worst part is, most of the champs probably would do it, too. Rumble was disgusted with how so many of them could be so cowardly despite the strength they possess. Always talking about diplomacy this, treaty that, it really ticked him off. Most of these guys don't know the world like he did. He had been there before: always being the little one that tried to play nice. That only encouraged everyone to bully him further. You don't get ahead by being a doormat. You get even. Rumble finished tightening the last screw. He took a moment to marvel at his work before climbing into the cockpit. This new pressurized cylinder he installed would give Tristy enough punch to knock over a Malphite. "Now let's see that jerk Singed insult my hairdo..." This was the solution to these political disputes, he thought. All one needed was more power. And what could be more powerful than yordle tech? Even the best examples in the League of what human ingenuity could come up with, like Blitzcrank, Orianna, and Viktor, paled in comparison to Rumble's work. Why, those hunks of junk can't even fight for long before running out of fuel! What shoddy craftsmenship! Rumble was proud of Tristy's custom energy conversion matrix, which ensured that there was no limit to her capacity. Just as soon as he finished the designs on the coolant system. "Time to rev you up, baby! Let's show these stinking apes what you're really made of!" Rumble had no intention of helping the Institute of War defuse the political situation. Let that that Demacian lapdog Poppy handle it. If war is to come, then let it come. What better arena is there to showcase the might of Bandle City? Oh, sure, most of his countrymen probably won't see it that way, what with the yordles' natural inclination to avoid conflict. But Rumble had faith that when the time comes, his people would band together to show their true colors. The Scouts of the Motherhood employs some of the best spies in the world. The Screaming Yipsnakes are unmatched in aerial dogfights. And the Megling Commandoes will devastate the battlefields, with Tristana at the head of it all, gun smoking as she lays waste to Bandle City's foes in glorious combat, her silver hair blow back from the latest beautiful explosion she wrought, her quickly loading up another cannonball as she prepares to take aim and- Rumble shook his head for a moment to clear his thoughts. The cockpit was already starting to feel warm, and he hadn't even turned on the ignition yet. "All right, let's do this Tristy! FOR BANDLE CI-TEH!" Rumble took hold of the controls and kicked the pedals. Tristy sprang to life, sputtering as she raised her mace arm in triumph. Then she promptly seized up and fell over.
The cow eats Fruit Loops at midnight.
The system doesn't know you right now, so no post button for you.
You need to Get Known to get one of those.
You need to Get Known to get one of those.
Total posts: 101