Tales from Runeterra - The Drowned

Not everybody gets to be a champion. Though some are more than deserving, one thing or another keeps them from the rift. But their stories live on.

This is one such tale:

There's a river that runs through the northern part of Noxus - the Gafne River. It's a river whose source starts from the heart of the Freljord mountains themselves and winds over and down through the land. It breaks into many tributaries, but the grandest one banks and flows through to the far side of the Noxian territory, its many mouths flowing out into the Guardian Sea.

And this may explain why these two countries share this same story.

The Gafne River used to provide only life, being abundant with plants and animals alike who sought the clean water it brought. I suppose it still does do that, though life is no longer the only thing the Gafne River provides. For one day, a cold wind blew from the direction of the Shadow Isles - a gust, if you will. One single, chilling blast of air blew across the lands the river touched. An oddity, surely, in the middle of the summer season. The wind died down almost instantaneously - but near the river, the cold stayed.

The river is eerily quiet. Occasionally, if you visit the place, you may see a few critters throughout the day. But otherwise, it almost seems empty. The water, while flowing, almost looks still, and is possibly the quietest rapids in the land. Almost as if something is drowning out sound itself. No matter what, regardless of how many people are there, the animals you see, the precautions you take, how light your heart is or how steeled your nerve is, you will always feel in the pit of your stomach that something is terribly wrong. For a strong sense of unease flows in chorus with the water, enough to nauseate.

I realize that, should you live in the neighboring lands, you may need to gather water from this river. And certainly it would be silly to trek leagues away in order to find a more welcoming source. But I plead with you, here and now, to listen to my warning:

Do not go alone.

This is not a simple tale of a boogeyman that parents tell their children. The Freljordians and Noxians alike share this warning for good reason. Many children go missing after venturing in the lands that river touches, but it is not only children - men, women, pets even have simply vanished. There is no trace, there is no warning, and nobody is left to see.

I do not know what that foul wind from the Shadow Isles brought - do not call me paranoid for believing that it brought something, either. I thought it silly myself; ignored the warnings and traveled there myself to see what the locals so superstitiously call the "Ghost River". From a branch above, I looked down in safety. I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of cheating whatever "monster" lived in the rapids.

But the laughter faded fast even as it left my mouth. The chirp of birds, the rustling of leaves - all sound faded as if I had been submerged. And I stared down at the calm, almost still rapids below me.

A crushing blackness.

A deep darkness.

In it . . . was an image I dare not revisit . . . but I still hear the words that were whispered in my ear in that deathly silence; when all sound dies down, I feel them breathed onto the nape of my neck:

"You will go down . . . down, under, deep down . . . the river rapids will be your last fight before you drown . . ."