The Storyteller's Tales - From the Start
"Everything that happens is a new tale to be told - and I hold the book."
In the southern half of Noxus, there was a small city governed by a noble retainer. Having been gifted the land by the high general for his exceptional service, the retainer felt content to step out from the military in order to raise the small city. Standing in the middle of the city was his mansion, a fine piece of Noxian architecture hailed for its regalness and overwhelming appearance. The retainer had also gathered his own following of loyal subjects - the weak, cowardly, and lame all found safety within his household in exchange for servitude. By comparison to the average Noxian, the retainer was considered a benevolent man, though widely feared as well.
Among these servants were a married couple. They had sought asylum beneath the retainer's roof due to the husband having a fatal heart defect - he was unfit to join in the military and often feared persecution due to this. The wife, on the other hand, was with child, and wished her babe to be protected against the cruelty of their nation. The retainer found use for them, however, and within his halls they rested easily.
The years passed, and their child was born and grew into a curious lass - exceptionally gifted, she learned speech from a very early age and how to read quickly after. By the time the child was nine, she was roaming the retainer's expansive library daily for books to read. Still too young to be called upon to do any major chores, she spent much of her time perusing the many stories that the library offered. Little sated her curiosity, and she found herself enthralled by any and all kinds of tales. But as time went on, it became more and more difficult for her to find new material to read.
That was until the day she pulled a book from the shelves - a book with no name. There was no title, no embroidering on it, not even a mark - it seemed old, yet entirely untouched. As she flipped through the pages, she saw they were all blank. She would stop and stare up and down the pages for anything, but she could find no trace of ink to have ever touched the pages. Perhaps it was a journal never written, she thought to herself.
But the book seemed to heat up, and to her surprise light twinkled from the pages - they grew into shapes, and before long she could identify definite objects and people. Awestruck, she sat silently as the shapes performed for her a tale - though she heard no words from the book, her mind seemed to naturally give the dancing images meaning. As the story finished, she found the daylight dimming and reluctantly replaced the book on the shelf - she was not allowed take books from the library, though she deeply longed to. Instead, she rushed her daily chores as quickly as she could, and day after day she spent whiling away the hours watching the stories unfold in the book right before her eyes. There wasn't a moment where she wasn't completely absorbed by the happenings it told.
That was until the day that the high general was assassinated. The event caused a stir among Noxians, and riots broke out across the nation - but they hardly lasted long, for the powerful kept their subjects in check. What truly caused problems was instead the upset of power amongst the nobility - somebody had to take the high general's place, and the only real way for this to occur was for any who stood in the way to die until one was left standing.
The retainer saw exactly this - fearful, he knew his loyalty to the previous high general would make him a prime target, whether or not he were to make a move for the position or not. Growing paranoid, he ordered the soldiers under his command to increase their watch. Security grew more and more intense, and the retainer became far more strict with his subjects. As he increased his security, however, he found himself feeling far more in danger than safe. One day, he heard his subjects talking about the stifling surveillance, and his paranoia only grew exponentially from that day on - to the point that he finally snapped.
In the middle of the day, as the servants were finishing their chores, the order went out to the guards to purge the subjects. "The screams," he had said to his soldiers, "will be the signal to strike." And as the first servant was struck down, the cries of terror spurred the largest massacre in Noxian history.
There was an advantage that the lass had over the other servants, however - the library was hardly ever used. In fact, it wasn't until several minutes in that she even realized that something was happening. As the screams finally hit her, she jumped up and peered out a window to witness as the head of a woman - on her knees and pleading for life - toppled to the ground, her body crumpling a moment later. She saw others fleeing in panic as horsemen rode out to cut them down. Arrows thud in the backs of others still, and as the killing progressed, resistance began to present itself - for no one in Noxus was truly defenseless.
The lass's breathing quickened; her mind raced. What should she do? Should she go back for her parents? Should she just run?
She stood there for minutes frozen in fear, unsure what to do. But she shook herself back to the cold reality - her parents were likely already dead, and there was no way for her to simply make a run for it. She needed a way out.
She looked to the back of the room and made her way to the window there. It looked out over the back of the mansion, where hardly anyone ever ventured - there was naught but a wall back there to protect the rear of the building, no garden, plants, buildings or otherwise. Three stories up and nothing there to break her fall, she had no way to safely flee out the window - but she also had no other option. Taking the book with her and gripping it tight, she tentatively pushed open the window and hung her legs over the side. She stared down at the ground below and, with a deep breath, pushed off.
She landed wrong - putting too much weight upon one side, she heard the snap of her leg. As that side gave, she quickly fell onto her hip and felt the painful impact spread through her body. She felt almost as if she couldn't even move - but with her fear slowly numbing the pain from her mind, she found the strength to push herself up and drag herself along. Heading towards the stables, she prayed for her luck to stay with her. And as she saw the area empty, a look of hope crossed her face. She managed to drag herself onto one of the horses unnoticed and, as if under some divine protection, she found her way out of the city in the ensuing chaos, untouched any further by the civil war that had broken out within its borders.
As the city left her sight entirely, the pain quickly returned to the forefront of her mind. And as the pain washed over her, so did a brutal realization - she had no place to go.
As the sun now set, she found herself at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Exhausted, frightened, and lost, she slid off of her horse and lay in the ditch at the corner - a poor choice that she soon regret, as the horse suddenly raced off, leaving her completely helpless as well as hopeless. All she could do now was curl up in the hole and wait. She lay there until sleep overtook her, her sobs her lullaby and her tears her pillow, her only comfort the gentle warmth that seeped from the book still held tightly in her arms.
As dawn arrived, the lass was gently awoken by a shake of her shoulder - stirring in delirium from the growing fever, she peered up at a face she couldn't quite make out. Her luck had not yet deserted her it seemed, for the person shaking her was a traveling merchant from outside the country. While a normal Noxian would have left her for dead, the merchant took pity on her and carried her to his covered wagon. He brought her into town and to the first healer he could - though such magics did little to speed up the mending of bone, the healer relieved the infection and splinted the broken leg. It was a couple days later when the fever finally dissipated and the lass was feeling well again. She was relieved that she had somebody looking after her, but fear creeped up on her as she knew that she would likely be left alone now that she was better. The thought quickly seemed silly as the merchant offered to allow her to travel with him so long as she helped with his work - after all, to save someone only to discard them went against all logic. She enthusiastically accepted the offer, and had once again found safety.
A month or so passed as the merchant traveled the country, and he was finding business scarce - a foreigner, in the eyes of the Noxian populace, was not to be trusted, and the merchant was no different. About ready to give up and leave the country, luck would once again strike as he watched the lass. She would always sit nearby peering into her book, but it wasn't until now that he noticed the lights dancing - and the same went for the curious children that had also took notice. Loudly they inquired about the item, shouting in excitement and begging for her to show them more. Nervously, the lass finally pulled over a short barrel to sit atop and began to tell them a story. As the shapes took form, so did the tale in her mind, and the lights grew bright for all of the audience to see - but as the children could see it, so could any passersby. Drawn by the wonder of it all, the crowd grew and grew. And where the crowd grew, the merchant saw an opportunity to sell his wares. By the end of the tale, the merchant had made the first real profit ever in Noxian territory.
Word quickly spread of the magical storyteller, and the nomadic pair could find wealth wherever they went in the country as the customers quickly warmed up to them. Though offered money for the show, the lass always declined - she enjoyed too much the joy of her audience to limit who could watch. And the merchant never bothered her about it.
But in Noxus' political turmoil, this practice was destined to end. Within one of the larger cities of northern Noxus, the son of the previous grand general resided. He had been rumored to be looking for something to give himself a powerful edge to take the place of his father . The merchant and the lass had not heard such rumors - but the son had heard plenty of them. One night, the traveling duo found themselves awoken by a knock on the door of their room in a local inn. Before the merchant could even answer, the door was kicked open - in its place stood three armed soldiers. As they trod into the room, they asked the merchant where the child was. The merchant tentatively pointed to the bed where she lay before asking why, to which the soldiers barked that he need not know why, simply that she must go with them. Panicked, the lass jumped from the bed and raced to grab her book, gripping it tightly as she backed against the wall, the heat once again easing her nerves.
One soldier advanced on her, hand outreached to seize her. The merchant foolishly intervened, however, and grabbed the soldier's arm, angrily declaring that they could not just take her without reason. Without hesitation, the other soldier closest to him plunged his spear into the merchant's side; the merchant hardly managed to get out a cry of pain before the third soldier stuck his own spear through the merchant's neck. The body crumpled to the ground with a quiet gargle, and all three soldiers now turned back toward the lass. All that she could do was whimper quietly as she dropped her book in shock. Sinking to the ground now, the child tried to hide her face and futilely whispered wishes into her knees - wishes for it all to go away, wishes for it to end. And so she waited for the soldiers to seize her and drag her away into the night.
But she felt nothing - instead, she only heard. Sounds of fire crackling, wood splintering beneath a mighty crash, the tearing of flesh and bone - and above all, the accompanying screams of terrified men. When it was all over, the lass slowly opened her eyes, terrified of what she might see. She was right to - for before her she saw the walls scorched and cracked, blood splattered about the floor and even the ceiling. The three soldiers no longer stood as a threat before her but instead lay motionless on the ground. One's body was broken and smashed beyond recognition; another was nothing but charred muscle; and the last was torn asunder, the organs partially devoured and strewn about the room, his face a mangled, pulpy mess.
The lass was scarred - she could only stare, gaping in absolute shock at the scene. It seemed as if an eternity had passed before she regained any clear cognition, and as she peered down saw her book wide open and glowing. Still too petrified to move, she felt a growing compulsion to take a hold of it to the point that she almost felt as if she hadn't a choice herself. She finally reached out and carefully picked the book up, laying it in her lap. As she stared, terrified tears sitting in the back of her eyes, the light took form once again and shared a story of elation with her. Slowly her mind seemed to separate from her reality as she became absorbed in the story; she felt completely at ease even amidst the gruesome scene.
But the event did not go unnoticed - as the lass escaped into her tale, a three more men stepped quietly into the room brandishing different colors from the last. One of the men wore similar gear to the first three to be there; another, with short hair and terrifying visage, brandished a monstrous axe. The third man held nothing but a can. His form was tall and slim, almost sickly so, but while his visage was pitiful, his eyes were far more alive than any others, and he held himself with such poise that even the most composed would feel intimidated. On a perch set into his mantle sat a raven, quietly leering, its eyes glowing a soft velvet. While the two soldiers shivered with unease at the scene, the middle man stood stoically quiet and glanced about at the destruction of the room before allowing his eyes to fall on the small child peering into her book. He slowly approached her, the soft thud of the cane breaking the trance that the book held over the lass. She peered up at him as fear suddenly overwhelmed her again. She slammed close her book and huddled against the wall once more.
The man bent down to her level, quietly looking into the child's terrified eyes. For the longest time, the only sound that filled the room was the rustling of the raven's feathers as it fidgeted on its perch. Finally, the man extended his hand to the child, stopping just short of hers. As if compelled, she slowly placed her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet. He then let go and turned his hand palm-up. "May I see your book?" the man asked. Without saying a word, the child shakily handed over her book. As the book transferred hands, the man could definitively feel the book go from providing a gentle heat to an almost unnerving cold. He stared perplexed at the anomaly before opening it and flipping through the pages - every one was blank, and every one lay silent and dark. He closed it back up and stared once more in thought before curiously handing it back to the child. He held onto it a moment longer as it switched hands and, sure enough, he could feel heat returning to the binding. He nodded to himself as he pondered this.
"You have an interesting gift I hear," the man said, slowly peering about the room now as he said this. "And so I see."
The lass nodded very slowly and uneasily. There was a long pause before she timidly asked, "Wh-who are you?"
"My name is Jericho Swain, young one. And you - what is yours?"
"L-Lira . . . my name is Lira."
He switched his cane to his left hand and tenderly offered out his right. "Lira. You are safe, my child. You can rest easy now."
Lira stood there, completely unsure what to do - but while the other to men who had entered with Swain now shifted impatiently, Swain stood stark still, patiently waiting on the lass. He made no threatening moves, he did nothing to force hr reaction - he simply waited. Despite all that had just happened, Lira felt as if she could trust him.
And she took his hand.
