Tales of Runeterra: The Invasion of Ionia

 Tales of Runeterra

Chapter 17:

The Invasion of Ionia

                It really couldn’t have happened at a worse time. The Noxian siege had finally started to succeed, and disgusting charred iron stamped heavily down on the gentle grasses that populated every bit of ground both inside and out of our village. Crude metal weapons, filled with fire and ash, finally breached our wards, and gigantic, hulking beasts strode confidently onto our land.

                I saw our elders drop to their knees, hushed words muttered under their breaths to magical deities we hadn’t thought of in years. Pleas were made—some to vastayan ancestry, some to the land itself, and all to some kind of magical miracle that didn’t feel likely, even to my ears. Our advanced forces had returned a while ago, most of them broken and bleeding, and I saw most of them retreat up the mountain to our last vestiges of refuge: the cursed temples that we were not meant to go.

                There weren’t many of us still left on the ground, and as I looked around, I felt intensely alone. The streets and houses that I was used to being filled with laughter or anger or sadness or joy were all empty. There were no arguments or jubilance or scoldings or words. Just a supreme emptiness that echoed out into my being.

                I readied my spear, then took one final look up at the mountains. I won’t lie, a part of me wanted to flee as well, but anathema of those temples—with their dark black stones and crumbling columns that everyone refused to repair—was installed in me at such a young age that even now, as death marched as a unit behind me, I was reluctant to go up there. The temples stared down at me from their perches atop the hills, cold and unfeeling and uncaring of the siege ripping us apart below.

                I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t retreat up there. I may not have been our best fighter, but I was still a warrior of the village. I would not flee from these Noxian scum.

                I gripped my spear tighter as the first of the soldiers broke through the enchanted smoke left over from the collapse of our wards. His armor was as black and sooty as the rest of them, and the red highlights that peeked out from the edges of the interconnected pieces and on the end of the spiky pauldrons reminded me distinctly of blood. I couldn’t see the man’s eyes as he turned to me, but I could feel them. My entire body froze up as I felt the particular sense of bloodlust, and my legs felt like sand as the soldier gripped his sword with both hands and ran towards me.

                His black blade gleamed in the sunlight, and it was all I could focus on as he approached me. Would that be how I died? I could never win in any of the combat matches my father put me through. My connection with the land was terrible, even worse than the rest of the warriors-to-be my age. I could feel the land beneath me tremble as these invaders trampled on her, but I couldn’t pull any of her writhing anger into me. If I were to fight these invaders, I would have to do it on my own.

                And I could never do it on my own. Never. Even the most childish of warriors in my village could beat me, so why was I here? What was I doing? It wasn’t too late to flee, I thought. I wasn’t very strong, but I was fleet of foot, and I could definitely outrun this soldier in full armor. The grip on my spear slackened, just a little, as I contemplated my escape route, but the soldier’s battle cry stunned me. I was brought out of my stupor as the soldier neared, and now that they were so close I could see the stubble of brown hair on their chin and the dirt smudged between their teeth as they gritted them. I could see the amateur way they held their sword, with most of their fingers overlapping and the exhausted, bent-forward gait they had while they were running.

                I didn’t think. I turned my spear up and knocked it against the flat of the man’s blade. As I expected, his sword went flying out of his hand. Now bereft of a weapon, a smarter enemy would have went to retrieve it, or even fled. This enemy wasn’t smart, and they had already invested too much momentum in their reckless charge. Unable to stop despite being disarmed, he continued his run, straight into my spear.

                His armor was impressive, but shoddily made. The enchanted rock of my spear tip pierced his chestplate far easier than I thought was possible, and the man fell before me with a surprised look on his face. Mouth open, I couldn’t say I was any less surprised than him. How was he so incompetent? I watched as his blood pooled beneath his and into the soil, and the only thing that went through my mind was how this was my first win in combat. A part of me wanted to celebrate; to whoop and holler and throw my hands in the air. I was close to, but the blaring of a horn but so very much worse sounded, cutting through the temporary silence of my victory.

                I heard them before I saw them. Hundreds of metal greaves stomped as one through the mist, and they emerged as one from the crowd. The warriors around me, most of them old and wounded, gasped as they saw the Noxian warfront in front of them. 

                “There… how are there still so many left?” one asked. I couldn’t place the name at first, but from the way I likened his voice to some kind of fear reminded me of long, hot summers sitting in the story hall by myself. Old Man Calligro’s voice quivered as he stared down the horde. For once, I couldn’t bring myself to disdain his voice.

                The soldiers, upon spotting us, all levelled their blades at us. The dark black of the metal was sinister, and I could only note how it ate up all the sunlight that wasn’t choked out by the smoke. A few of them had helmets that didn’t cover their mouths, and I nearly snarled at the way their mouths had pulled into a disgusting, toothy grin.

                So, that was how they were so incompetent. They didn’t need well trained soldiers if they had so many. One or two soldiers dying meant nothing to a Noxian if there were thirty to take that soldier’s place.

                My spear shook as my grip tightened on it. So, they didn’t even value their own, was it? They came, burning and poisoning the land with every step they took, leaving their comrades to die on lands not their own, and they could do it all with a smile. Such monsters—it was truly amazing that they did not tear themselves apart in their barbarism. If the lives of others truly meant so little to them, why couldn’t they just slaughter each other? Why did they have to travel so far just to take the lives of people that had nothing to do with them?

                I heard the dull sound of metal against the earth, and I found the will to tear myself against the wall of metal and death marching towards us. Another adult, this one I couldn’t recognize, had dropped his spear. He looked at it on the ground as if he couldn’t recognize it, then to his own hands. They were shaking wildly, and the man looked as if he couldn’t understand why.

                “I-I…” he stammered, his words as shaky as his hands. A few seconds passed, and soon enough his entire body was shaking. I could already predict his next actions, and as such I wasn’t surprised when he turned and fled. It was cowardice, sure, but I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. This situation was terrifying, and any sane person would flee.

                Which only said something about me, who stood resolute before certain death. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t afraid, I was. I could feel my death—as tangible as the smoke threatening to choke me even now—looming over me and constricting my throat, making it hard to breathe. A very large part of me wanted nothing more than to throw my own spear down and flee as well, disregarding any notions of honor or valor. There was a part of me that was outraged at what these people were doing to our land; to our crops and our culture, our traditions and our very way of life—but that part of me was easily overpowered by my desire to see another day.

                And yet, here I stood. A certain… blankness had overcome me some time after I saw the Noxians first emerge from the smoke like some kind of wraith. It stilled my shaking hands and grounded my feet into the dirt. It settled my nerves and, though I still felt flighty, it prevented me from actually running. I couldn’t tell you where it came from, or why such a feeling was reserved for me and not the several other warriors behind me who threw down their weapons, but I would use it.

                It wasn’t like I would survive either way. I could see the metal pipes the Noxians were carrying, and I knew they had the capability to fire and hit someone from a large distance in an instant. A few were even raising them now, likely taking aim at their backs.

                And I couldn’t do anything about it. I would like to, but the metal pipe holders were behind an entire row of heavily armored swordsmen. As horrible as they likely were in actual combat, even I couldn’t dispatch so many of them before the metal pipes fired. I don’t think I could even survive the attempt. My death was all but assured.

                And yet, here I was. It was curious. I would have loved to ponder it.

                “So, it is just us,” Calligro said. His voice was as deep as usual, but there was a certain something there that I couldn’t place. It dragged out his words, and made them both firmer but… more tired. He had once told me that every one of his words would be like gospel to me as he taught me, but for some reason it felt as if these words were much more important than any other he had ever said. “I will not lie, boy, I did not expect my final moments to be taken alongside you.”

                Final moments? Right. They were dying today. He had known that, and yet it hadn’t felt real until Calligro had said it. I knew it was, of course I did, and yet a part of me managed to put it off.

                Suddenly, I felt so tired. My entire body sagged as if every single part of it—from my arms, to my legs, to even my lungs—was filled with iron sand. I felt my chest constrict, and breathing became even harder, and for a second the idea of running became so much more appealing.

                “You wouldn’t get anywhere,” Calligro said. I turned to him, and all at once I could feel every speck of sweat that dripped down my face. It was warm, and sticky, and heavy for some reason, but I felt a little grateful I could feel it. I wouldn’t be feeling anything at all soon. “You know why, yes?”

                I turned back to the Noxians, who had covered the ground between us as slowly as possible, and yet also entirely too fast. The soldiers near the front had continued their charge, but the ones holding the metal pipes had remained behind on the hill overlooking our village. They hadn’t fire yet, and I couldn’t tell why, but I knew that they could.

                Having our lives left in the hands of such lowlifes ignited an anger in me, and the dread I was feeling was soon replaced by fire. I dragged the tip of my spear out of the dirt and leveled it at the horde.

                “Anger will be useful, but you must use it, boy. You cannot let it control you. That will make you sloppy.”

                And suddenly, my anger was redirected. I turned to my old teacher and barely held back a snarl. Now was not the time for lectures. I wasn’t a student of his anymore. I almost stuck him out of habit, but I managed to restrain myself. The look on his face as he stared at me told me that he knew that.

                “Reign it in,” was all he said. Then he adjusted his weapon, a spear like mine, and lowered himself into a fighting stance. This was the man that taught me my own style, as shoddy as it was, and I mirrored his actions. I somehow felt his scolding even though he didn’t actually say anything and I had to prevent myself from scowling at him again.

                Instead, I talked. I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but I just knew that I wanted to say something. As such, my words were as much a surprise to me as they were to him. “So, we’re dying today?”

                It was obvious we were. I wasn’t sure why I was asking. The words seemed to take a life of their own, however, and forced themselves out my mouth.

                “Yes,” he responded, and he didn’t try to hide it. There was no reason to, after all. We were going to die here, and it was likely going to be painful. We were standing in the ruins of our village, with no one we loved around us. We were going to be surrounded by our hated enemies, and they would all be laughing as they ran us through, and that was assuming that they didn’t just shoot us down from the hilltops.

                All of this was true, and yet, I didn’t feel much at all. Just a slowly simmering anger and a weird, hollow emptiness. I couldn’t pinpoint when, but I had given up hope on being able to escape this. It made things easier, somehow.

                “Yes,” I responded. “We’re going to die.”

                And then we spoke no more. We gripped our spears—his old and shattered and mine barely used—and waited for the horde to approach. They did so without fear, likely overconfident in their own victory. They should be. They had all but won, and only two people stood in their way. One was an old man—skilled but barely strong enough to use most of the skills that brought him to this point. Another was young—full of ability but no idea in how to use it. If only he were a few years younger, or I a few years older, we might have had a chance to take out a few more than a few.

                The first few soldiers charged forward, their dark swords held over their heads like lumps of steel rather than the weapons they were. Calligro and I didn’t waste time. We met their charge with one of our own, and our movements were so coordinated that I could have almost said that we had practiced it. We both stepped into the first few soldiers, using the sudden movement to catch them off guard. They swung, but the action was so predicable that neither of us bothered to dodge. Our spears came up, the haft catching the side of the blades and batting them away, before swinging back around and, with a final thrust, goring through their exposed necks. Around this time, I would usually take a moment to enjoy the feeling of a successful strike, but I didn’t have that kind of time. The next two soldiers were already upon us.

                I was slow to pull my spear from the Noxian’s throat, but Calligro wasn’t. He grunted, already moving ahead. In a single movement he parried two soldiers at once, then swept their feet from under them. He shouted, bringing his spear up, then down, and gouging a hole into their throats as well.

                Another three soldiers came for him, but my spear was free by then. I charged in, bringing my spear around a lot like I saw him do just now. I wasn’t able to parry the swords as well as he was, but it didn’t matter. Our opponents weren’t the caliber to make such a vast difference in talent matter very much, and while I only parried the first enemy and startled the second, the third was too surprised by the attempt to continue his charge.

                Which was perfect for me, because there was no way I could turn such a sloppy maneuver into the sweeping motion Calligro did. I heard the sound of gurgling, and knew it to be the death throes of a Noxian. For a second, I wondered if he felt the same resolution towards death that I had. Was his final moments peaceful? Would mine be? These thoughts were discarded as the Noxians regained their fervor and charged for me again. I regarded their sloppy movements with amusement.

                Calligro didn’t. He twisted before me, crouched low, and brought his spear in a large, sweeping arc. It only managed to scrape at their armor, but that was enough to stop them. I came in on his left, then stabbed at exposed throat once more.

                Two soldiers fell. One fled. A small smile crossed my face as I watched the warriors immediately around us stop briefly. They regarded us warily, and for a second I imagined us winning this war. How must we have looked to them, who barely trained themselves? Like two warrior masters, I imagined.

                I turned to Calligro. I needed to see his expression. Was he just as excited as I was? Was he more? His expression was likely one of stern countenance, and he would look at me and tell me to focus. I was expecting the same stern voice he always used when he lectured me.

                I was not expecting his mouth wide, eyes staring blankly ahead as he clutched at his stomach. His eyes roamed to mine, and for a second we stared at each other. His pupils were shivered like a leaf in the wind, and I broke eye contact for a second to stare at where he was clutching.

                Red seeped through his robes, staining his bronzed hands despite how much he wanted it not to. He fell forward, all of the remaining fight remaining in his body draining all at once. I didn’t think twice. I rushed forward, catching him before he could hit the dirt. He was boneless in my arms, both heavy and entirely too light at the same time.

                “Calligro!” I screamed. He didn’t respond, the same gurgling blood sound coming from his lips as came from the Noxian soldiers that we dispatched. I could feel the blood seeping through my fingertips, and I could already tell what was happening.

                I expected many things. I didn’t expect him to go before me.

                “Calligro! Please! Don’t do this. Stay together! You’re stronger than this! You’re… you’re…”

                He coughed, blood staining the dirt that had likely not seen as much of it before today. He dragged his arm off the ground and clutched at my shirt, before bringing himself up to look at me.

                “Pick up… your weapon… boy.”

                Tears almost came to my eyes, but I didn’t let myself dwell on it. I let the man feebly push me away—a far cry from the powerful shove that he usually did. I snatched my spear from the ground, holding it aloft as if it could fend off the entire invading army at once.

                It couldn’t, of course, but that didn’t stop me from holding it as if it could. I saw the soldiers, who even now stood with their swords held haphazardly in their hands. I saw the shooters, with their metal pipes, and the one soldier whose pipe was smoking after killing Calligro. I saw the reinforcements, as they continued to feed from the smoke, appearing from it as if it weren’t real.

                And I snarled. I charged and held my spear out. Unlike before, however, they were ready. The first soldier, either by luck or by skill, managed to catch my spear. I found myself caught, all moment arrested in an instant. I tried to wrench it free, and I succeeded, but not fast enough. A black sword caught me in my side, and I was sent spiraling from the strength of the blow. My spear was long lost, years of training wasted as I lose grasp on it.

                The dirt is unforgiving as I land in it, and as I turn I feel the sword pass through my ribs. It was over. This was where I would die. Surrounded by enemies and having taking out more than I expected, but not nearly enough to matter.

                They were laughing. I was sure of it. Black and red flooded my vision, and I couldn’t even see the blue of the sky anymore as the burning of our fields created smoke that blotted out the sky. Their smiles were present—it was all I could see—and I despaired that this was the last bit of human contact I would see. Oh, how nice it would have been to die surrounded by the smiles of my own people.

                Black swords lifted sloppily into the air once more. They didn’t gleam in the barely present sunlight, but rather devoured it. Would it hurt? I could barely feel the sword through my gut, after all. Would I feel anything at all as I ventured to see what would exist beyond the veil? Would the Kindred be kind to me? I liked to think that I would welcome Lamb’s arrow over Wolf’s hunt. I was never a good runner, and I doubted that anyone had ever managed to outrun them before.

                I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. It was too late now to feel fear, and at the very least I had given my people time to run. That was good enough, right? I was sure that Calligro was thinking the same thing. The emptiness was back, and all I could think about was how okay I was with this now that it was upon me.

                “Lamb’s arrow. Lamb’s arrow. Lamb’s arrow.”

                .

                .

                .

                Screams, wild and frenzied came from all around me. I heard the stomping of metal greaves as soldiers scrambled to collect themselves. I dared open my eyes, only to see an arrow pierce the chest of the man in standing over me. Except, it wasn’t the white of the Kindred. Instead, it was a deep crimson that glowed against the smoke clouded sky. I wasn’t very adept at magic, but even I could feel the sinister mana that was absolutely roiling from the thing. The soldier stared at it, not fully able to comprehend what was happening to him, before keeling over. He was dead before he hit the ground, and I was sure that the world was better for it.

                I turned my head, only to see similar fates assigned to the other members of the army. Red arrows pierced their chests, not only cutting through skin but breaking bones through the sheer impact of the magical projectiles. They fell, their eyes going dim long before they hit the dirt, only for another arrow to hit another soldier mere seconds after the last one felled an enemy.

                I didn’t need to look to know that my people weren’t capable of this kind of destruction. I didn’t need to look to feel the insane evil that loomed over us all.

                I looked anyway. Towards the temple that was anathema to me. That I was warded away from all my life. I always wondered why—I was a child after all—but now I knew. What stood atop the highest point of the highest temple wasn’t anything human, though it certainly looked it. Even from this far away I could make out a human form, with human arms and legs. The mana that was coming from it, however, was anything but, and even my rudimentary understanding of the land’s magic was enough to let me know that the very spirit of Ionia despised the creature’s existence.

                But… it was protecting us, wasn’t it? It was unleashing its vengeance upon the populace of Noxus. Surely that made it good? Surely?

                The Noxians aimed their metal pipes at the creature, letting off so many shots that my ears rang, but none of the projectiles seemed to reach it. The creature, utterly amused and shining in black and purple, just pointed its bow at the sky. Red shone from the tip, before shooting off into the air. I watched as it rose, shining like a star in the day, before splitting into hundreds and hundreds of lights. It wasn’t until the red arced, falling in a line towards us, that the feeling of dread returned.

                The Noxian soldiers fell, their screams rising into the air like the smoke they generated before being snuffed out just as quickly. As the first arrow hit my arm, burning and blossoming into a pain that I hadn’t felt before, I could only watch, transfixed, as the soldiers were slain in droves. As the second arrow hit my thigh, and the third hit my chest, the eerie calm that had engulfed me earlier returned, settling any unrest that had risen in me.

                Only two thoughts remained in my head:

                That this really couldn’t have happened at a worse time—Calligro would have loved to see this.

                And that those damned Noxians weren’t prepared for death.