[Free Verse Poetry] What We Choose To Preserve (Kassadin-Inspired Poem)
Character: 
Words: 414 words
Came up with this one a while ago in a class. It was inspired by Kassadin's lore, which says he has followers of his own called the Preservers of Valoran. I tried to keep it abstract so it wouldn't make a non-League player feel they're missing some context, but a League player will know what I mean in a few lines.
The battle seemed like a premature ghost. It hadn't yet come and gone, but its presence Could be accounted for. It was here in all but Actuality. But a phantom is a phantom, even If it hasn't died yet. So we all kept very still.
The dread spirit's presence has inspired us To a quiet not unlike what awaits some of Our number, I imagine. Any talk was brief; The air wasn't clear enough to allow that Much sound. Our banter was mostly inward.
Our leader too, found no need to speak. He Was often like this just before a battle, all Focus and tight-lipped. Or at least, I think That's what he looks like, underneath his helmet. We all knew what he had at stake in all this.
He had his own misfortunes, which is why We follow him. He put us together, brushed Off the layers of dust and uprooted the holes We all had in our chests. He gave us Purpose, so we follow him. Even in this.
So I think of what I have at stake. A nice Pub in a little spit of a town. Neither of them Were that much, but they were. Roasted nuts And cold mugs and the occasional caramel Treat; those were the things I gave and lived for.
So when our commander first came a'calling, I didn't listen to him; I had people to serve and tables to set. But when the enemy came, Bristling with teeth and covered in alien plate, I regretted my negligence. We all did, I think.
The commander gave us a chance, Once the smoke cleared out from the debris: "Help preserve what was here. Help me preserve what can be stood for." We all Joined up, livid as we were at the time.
But here, in the now, we're all stewing; On missed chances or honest blunders Or people lost forever. How much we're Not saying to each other is deafening, If silence tells just as spoken words do.
But a buckle in the wagon's rhythm brings Us all to attention. I no longer hear the Creaking of the wheels over stiff rocks. Quiet as it was, we might as well been Laughing for the mirth we have now.
We've finally arrived to the forefront; free, Free from haunting that the dread spirit visited upon us. The rasps of leather and And iron fill the allotted-up air. My fingers Find the door, and I dream of roasted nuts.