[Story] Rise of the Troll King
Hey, so this is a story I wrote involving League of Legends lore. tl;dr it’s how 
became king of the trolls (in my perspective, at least, although it is derived from the original lore). I’ve recently got into Trundle, and I really like his lore. If you want to read the original lore, there is a link below. If you have any questions or comments, please leave them below. Thanks!
http://gameinfo.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/game-info/champions/trundle/
The group of ice trolls had just completed their most recent hunt and were now headed back to the tribe under the glow of the moon. Their weapons bore the marks of good use: jagged edges splattered with blood, handles indented with many past uses, and a name, each roughly inscribed into the weapon itself.
Many of them were talking on the way back, mostly about trivial things, such as who the next potential bride in the tribe was, or their favorite way to kill a person. But one solitary hunter walked far behind them and said nothing. This solitary hunter was known as Trundle. As opposed to acting how most of his brethren acted, without any care, he was thinking, thinking about much larger things, about power and a tribe fit to rule. The foolish chief of their tribe knew nothing. He called himself a “chieftain”, but he was stupid and powerless. What they needed was a king, one who could truly lead the tribe, one who had both the brawn and the brains to be a leader. And Trundle was sure that he would be the one to take that role.
When they arrived at the tribe, they were greeted as usual, with a couple of hunters going off to boast about and spin tall tales of their greatest hunt yet to the younger and more gullible trolls. The rest dropped what they killed in a pile b and went to sit and talk by the fire, where most of the tribe members were. They were waiting for the chieftain to appear before eating, as tradition of the tribe stated that he must be present and speak to the tribe before they could eat. Trundle joined the others by the fire, but he had a very bold plan in mind for tonight. Around the fire, he’d challenge the chieftain for the throne. The chieftain couldn’t reject it, not with the whole tribe watching, and Trundle was confident he could beat him.
Soon enough, the chieftain came out. The chatter died out quickly, and after a moment the chieftain spoke.
“Another day passes, and we are still the strongest tribe in the land. Through our hard work, we have become a great force in Freljord. I hope that soon enough, we may start taking other tribes for ourselves, to help supply our people for ages to come. Now, eat my subjects, eat for the health of the tribe!”
The audience around the fire raised a wave of hands into the sky with a shout, then started gorging themselves. Meanwhile, Trundle was sneering towards the smiling chieftain. It was a load of garbage, that comment about “our hard work”. He had nothing to do with the work of the tribe! He just sat there all day, doing nothing but eating and making up crap to spew at the tribe. This was about to change, however. Soon, the tribe would have a worthy leader, and the tribe would truly rise to greatness.
A few younger trolls went over to the food pile and brought back food for all. Trundle knew that he had to speak now, before his peers started eating. He was well aware that little got between a troll and his dinner. He stood up and loudly asked for everyone’s attention. A few eyes turned towards him, but that wasn’t enough. He needed to get everyone to listen to him, so with a mighty swing, he smashed his wooden club against the ground. However, even that didn’t get more than a few confused faces to turn towards him. Finally, Trundle became impatient. Grabbing a huge mound of snow and ice from the ground below him, he threw it onto the fire, dousing it. Now everyone was looking at him annoyedly. At least they were looking, he thought to himself.
Composing himself, Trundle turned towards the chieftain, who appeared just as surprised as everyone else. Excellent. Trundle shouted out, “Brethren of our tribe! I have called your attention here to announce that I wish to challenge the chieftain.”
Murmurs of unrest spread quickly throughout the audience. What was this? Was he really challenging the chieftain? What did he plan to do? Would the chieftain accept? Eyes darted from the chieftain to Trundle back to the chieftain.
Trundle went on, “I challenge you for the title of the throne. You are a weak and foolish leader, and you don’t deserve the throne! I will become the king this tribe truly deserves!”
No one said a word. The chieftain stared at Trundle, mouth open in disbelief. Trundle began to get impatient, and started walking towards the chieftain. There was no escape now, he would finally be king…
It was when Trundle was just a step away that the chieftain started laughing.
He had prepared for every battle tactic, every strike, every move. He had come up with responses to any excuse the chieftain might spit out. But this? He didn’t know how to react.
The chieftain laughed for a long while, then replied, “Ah, a wonderful joke. Sit down, Trundle. You’re not fit to be ruler of this tribe.”
Several of the trolls around the fire snickered and the rest started to turn away. Trundle looked around frantically. No, no, this… this couldn’t be happening! He planned for months, built up his strength! How could it all be destroyed in just a moment?
Suddenly, an idea came to Trundle. His challenge had left him humiliated, but perhaps there was another way. Legend told of the Watchers in the north, a powerful, ancient race of guardians that have been missing for ages. If he could make up a story something about a powerful weapon they had, he might be able to use that to his advantage. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had left. If this didn’t work, he’d never be king.
“Wait!” Trundle yelled out. “I can get the most powerful weapon in all of Freljord to belong to our tribe!”
This caught the attention of the tribe. The chieftain regarded Trundle with contempt, and said, “What do you mean, the most powerful weapon?”
Guess he had to wing it now. Trundle began to tell a story. He told of incredibly powerful weapons that gave the wielder a great arcane power, far stronger than the pathetic weapons they used now. As he spoke, he noticed more and more tribe members beginning to nod and look towards him with curiosity. He had gotten their approval, and now the chieftain really was trapped now. He had to accept this offer.
Nervously, the chieftain asked, “What… what are you proposing?”
“If I can find one of these weapons and bring it back, then I become king. Not chieftain, but king.” He made his move, now he just had to wait for
Suddenly, the chieftain smirked. Did he have another plan in mind?
After a moment, the chieftain replied, “Very well. You can go on this little quest of yours. And when you fail, you will be banished from the tribe. That is, assuming you come back in one piece.”
Even Trundle became anxious at the sound of that. Sure, maybe there were weapons belonging to the Watchers in the North, but he had no idea where the Watchers were. No one did. Unfortunately, now he had to find one, or he would be kicked out of the tribe. But he couldn’t show any fear now. With a step forward, he came face to face with the chieftain, and stuck out his hand. They shook hands -it was a ceremonial gesture more than an act of kindness- then Trundle grabbed his club and went off into the cold, unforgiving Freljordian night.
Trundle weaved his way through the thick snow, headed north. Along the way, he thought back to his challenge. It hadn’t gone quite as planned, but nevertheless now he was off to prove himself. Unfortunately, it was an unyielding quest. He either would become king or end up with nothing. It wasn’t a fun idea, but nevertheless he kept it in his mind.
Eventually, his thoughts turned to the Watchers. He really didn’t know much of them, just stories passed around the fire. Supposedly, they were guardians of Freljord with incredibly powerful ice powers, who disappeared a while ago. Some speculate they are in hiding, waiting until the right time to intervene. Others believe that they were wiped out by the dreaded Ice Witch, Lissandra. She was no legend; the bodies of those who came across her were often impaled or completely coated in thick ice. Perhaps she took them down. Still others believe that they are under Lissandra’s control. But this was just theorizing. Either way, the Watchers were very powerful. Surely they had some type of weapons from the long conflicts that tore this land in ancient times. He knew some of the other powerful people in Freljord had weapons with unique powers: Ashe with her bow, Sejuani with her bola, and likely more that he hadn’t quite heard of. There was even a rumor that a man had broken down an enchanted door and turned it into a shield, although this was possible. Trundle didn’t know. Perhaps they got these weapons from the Watchers, and he too could find something to bring back. It was a small spark of hope, but it was enough to keep Trundle going through the frigid ice and snow.
After hours of trudging through the hell that was northern Freljord, he arrived at what seemed to be the lair of the Watchers. An enormous gate bore the symbol of the Watchers, a staff with an eye at the top, the only sign of them known throughout Freljord. Next to the entrance were two statues almost double the size of him. They were humanoid, but where their head would be was instead a bright blue orb. It stuck out from the rest of the dark-colored area around him. Trundle approached the gate warily. There could very well be a trap or alarm or something when he tried to open the door. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no other way in, so he reached for the handle to the gate, which was about his size, and pulled with all his strength. Suddenly, Trundle heard a massive rumbling sound. He turned instinctively to see that the statues next to him had both raised into the air. Their orbs both were pointed at him, and they let out two blasts of ice. Trundle narrowly dodged them and in turn swung his club at one of the statues. The club bounced off the stone harmlessly. The eyes fired another two blasts of ice energy. This time, one of them grazed his arm, and he instantly fell to the ground. It felt as if someone had just stabbed him all throughout his arm. He quickly dived into the snow to avoid their next blast. Damn it all, how could he kill these things? It would take ages to wear them down with his wooden club, and soon enough he’d slip up and get hit by a blast. What happened after that, he didn’t want to know.
Then, all of the sudden, Trundle realized: their only weapon is the orbs. If he could break their eyes, they couldn’t do anything. He just needed a chance to get onto one…
He heard a blast right next to him, and one in the distance. It seemed like they were searching for him, and they were far apart. That’s just the chance he needed. Peeking ever so slightly out of the snow, he noticed the nearby statue, hovering a few feet away. It seemed as if the orb served as an eye for the statue.
Trundle burst out of the snow and jumped onto the back of the statue nearby. It began shaking in midair violently, but he gripped onto it with his battle-strengthened hands. Climbing to the top, he saw its eye-orb-thing was trying to aim up at him and fire. He wouldn’t give it the chance. With one mighty swing, he smashed it with his club. Shards of ice went flying outward. The statue immediately fell out of the air and smashed back down against the ground, with Trundle standing on top of it. Now all that was left was the other one. It was still blindly firing into the snow, looking for him. He leaped onto it. This time, however, instead of just shaking in midair, the statue slammed its back against the gate, pinning him between the two. Trundle just barely kept his grip. He felt several teeth break, but he hardly noticed the pain. With a mighty heave, he managed to pull himself up. It hit against the wall once more, but he still was holding on. Panting, he swung his club once more at whatever the hell it was that thing was. It too broke into shards, and shortly after the statue fell out of the air and smashed against the ground. Trundle climbed off and went back over to the gate. take a minute to catch his breath. His arm still stung, but he was alright. He grabbed the handle and pulled again. He yanked and yanked but the door only came open a tiny sliver, and the second he stopped pulling it, it instantly shut again. This wasn’t working all too well. He was tired from the long walk and that fight, plus his arm was weakened heavily. He needed something to hold the door open, at least long enough for him to slip in. He looked around him, for something, anything that could hold the door for just a split second… and then he looked towards his club. He wasn’t exactly keen on going in without a weapon. Who was to say there weren’t more of those statues in there, waiting for a trespasser? But there was nothing else nearby that he could use, and he knew well that he’d sooner die from the cold than pull the door open enough to get in. He sighed annoyedly and grabbed his club. With a mighty push, he got the door another tiny sliver open, then immediately placed the club between the gate and the wall. With a large jump, he just barely got inside, but before he could even move the door shut, and he heard a loud snap. Looking at the door, it shut again and broke his club in half, one half in here and one half out there. He half-heartedly reached for the remains of his club. It wasn’t really ideal for defending himself now, but it was better than nothing. After grabbing it, he slowly started to make his way forward. A bluish light shone from above, illuminating the room in front of him. It was in a circular room, surrounded by countless doors. He peered into one and saw stone shelves, lined with countless weapons enchanted with ice: a spear, a pair of daggers, a scythe, and much more. He peered into the next room and it too had countless weapons upon shelves. This was perfect! All he needed was to take one of these and get out. He ventured into the room closest to him and saw that the room went on for what seemed like ages. Walking down the corridor, he saw weapons of every type: blades, bows, staffs, slings, you name it. However, Trundle passed by all of them and kept searching. “There must be a club somewhere…”, he whispered as he walked forward. Most of his fellow tribe members told him clubs were the least effective of all weapons, a weapon for brutes, but he personally loved them. The feel of them, the satisfying whacking gesture, the noise of breaking skulls… it filled him with a sense of power that no other weapon truly gave. After walking for what seemed like ages, he finally noticed a club. The handle was leather, but the club itself was made from ice. It was tucked into the back of one of the shelves, as if it didn’t belong here. Trundle reached eagerly for it. The handle was cool to the touch, but not freezing. He snatched it and started to make his way towards the entrance, when suddenly, several icicles crystallized out of thin air above him, trapping him in a ring. In front of the doorway, a figure appeared. It was a woman, wearing a dress of pure ice. Trundle recognized her from the stories with a sense of dread: it was Lissandra, the Ice Witch. She looked at Trundle with disgust, and said, “Ugh, a troll. And here I thought something useful managed to beat my guards. What a shame. I’ll just kill you quickly, so I don’t have to waste time.” Lissandra raised her hand, pale blue in the light, and the ground around Trundle turned to ice, rooting him in place. She then raised her other hand and a shard of ice appeared in midair, with its jagged edge pointing at Trundle.
He was in quite a bad spot now. He’d managed to defeat those guards, but there was no way he could beat her. She was immortal, and she had him trapped. The same thing happened at the fire and with the guards, he remembered. He tried to use brute force, but it didn’t work. What ended up succeeding, however, was using his wits to outsmart the challenges. This would be the greatest challenge, however. The Ice Witch had been around for centuries, and she likely wasn’t fooled easily. But it was that, or become her next ice statue.
Trundle replied, “Hold on! Rather than kill me, I have a better proposition!”
Lissandra tilted her head slightly, laughed softly, and said, “Oh really? A proposition? Go on, then. This should be amusing to see.”
“I could get you an army of trolls to serve you. I’ve proven the guards you have here are dull and ineffective. I managed to pass them with just a piece of wood. I could get you a constantly supply of new, fresh bodies to serve you! Why take one troll corpse when you could have hundreds of troll servants?” He flinched as he finished. He didn’t want to sell his people out, but it was the only idea he had. There was nothing else he had to offer.
Lissandra stayed quiet for a very long time. The shard of ice remained in air, pointed menacingly at him. Despite the frigid cold, a few beads of sweat dripped from his forehead and landed on the ground, where they froze the second they touched the now ice-covered. Finally, Lissandra spoke, “That is quite the offer you’re giving to me here. You seem different than most other trolls I’ve seen. Smarter. That’s good, very good. Your people may not be the brightest, but new servants are always needed. But I have to wonder… is this little more than a trap?” Trundle attempted to come up with a response, but he had nothing. What could he say to fool an age-old enchantress? Finally, Lissandra laughed. It was a quiet and malicious laugh, echoing through the room. Trundle suddenly felt about ten degrees colder. If simply a laugh could chill the room, imagine what she could do in a battle. However, he kept this in his head, while he waited for her reply. Composing herself, Lissandra drawled, “Very well. I accept your offer, troll. But just to be sure you don’t have any qualms about turning on me.” She drifted towards him and placed her hand on his chest. He felt a cold spread through him, freezing his veins and covering his entire torso in a thick layer of jagged ice. The cold spread through his body, making everything go numb. His vision started to fade, and it wasn’t long before he passed out onto the floor. When he opened his eyes, he was back to normal. The Ice Witch was gone, as were the icicles. He could move again, but now he felt something in his chest. Something told him it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, either. Grabbing the weapon he came here for, he entered the large circular room to see the door to the outside was open. He rushed out, back into the cold. The statues had returned to their positions, and their eyes were back. He exited cautiously, in case they attacked again, then headed back into the blizzard, with a new weapon - and a new burden.
This time, when he trudged through the snow, he carried a great mix of feelings. He had succeeded, but at what cost? He got the club and now was going to be king, but he’d made a deal with Lissandra at the expense of his tribe. He’d end up being just as weak of a leader as the chieftain. The only way he’d be a real king would be to defeat Lissandra, and she was an incredibly powerful foe. None had faced her before and lived. It was said she had existed for centuries. But maybe, just maybe, he combined with the power of Boneshiver, could find a way to take her down. He smiled a small bit, thinking of his new weapon's name, Boneshiver. A fitting name, since all who would be hit by it would likely feel a cold through their bones... if they weren't dead. He was reminded again of the cold that now rested inside him, and his smile vanished into a grim and somber expression. He continued forward, hopeful yet scared, back to the tribe.
When Trundle arrived back at the tribe, he noticed it hadn’t changed much in the time he’d been gone. He arrived just as the feast around the fire was starting again. The chieftain walked out and began to speak again.
“Our tribe has grown, more than any other in all of Freljord. It’s through our dedication that we have become so strong. The other tribes fear us now, and rightfully so. So tonight, eat for the strength of the tribe!”
The audience replied with a wave of raised hands and a shout, just as they did the last time he was here. Another pathetic speech. It was all he was good for, anyway. Trundle took this chance to step forward. A few did double takes, but generally most were distracted. He didn’t even bother to speak. Rather, he smashed his new club against the ground just like he did before with the old one, but this time it froze the ground around him. He felt stronger, more powerful, though he wasn’t sure why.
“I, Trundle, have returned from my quest, and I bring a weapon of the watchers! I have succeeded, and now I am king, king of the trolls! Tonight, feast for the new king, and for a truly brighter future for our tribe.”
Everyone was once again dead silent. Everyone had assumed he’d died in the cold. Some rubbed their eyes to see if this was a trick. But there was no trick here. He’d succeeded in his quest and was prepared to take his rightful throne. Trundle looked at the chieftain to see his response. He’d gone pale, attempting to speak but making no noise. He smirked. The incompetent fool would no longer spit words of idiocy to the tribe. Now he was king, and he’d be a great leader, better than any other. The tribe would become one to fear throughout not just here, but one day all of Valoran too. Something at the back of his head nagged at him, though. He was still a servant to Lissandra… there was a new issue for the tribe, one much more deadly. But Trundle put that thought aside. He was king, and that was all that mattered.
Trundle walked to where the chieftain stood, jaw open and gaping confusedly, and swung his club once. It smashed into the chieftain’s shocked face, killing him instantly. Trundle raised his club once, and yelled “Hail the new king!” Everyone around him, who had been silent, suddenly came to life, yelling “Hail the new king!” Yes… this was what he wanted. The feeling of satisfaction he felt was one unlike any other he’d felt before. He finally put an end to the foolish chieftain, something he’d meticulously planned months for, and he had become the new ruler of the trolls. No matter what Lissandra or anyone else tried, he was king now. He was king, king of the trolls.
Lissandra paced the corridor silently, leaving a path of ice behind here. It had been a risky move. She was sure the troll had been playing her for a fool. It was clear he knew he could not fight her, so instead he made up a lie to get past. Yet she had accepted. Many would see it as a sign of ignorance. However, she had covered his heart in True Ice, which allowed her to kill him in a moment. Precisely what she planned to do once the opportunity was nigh It didn’t really matter if he had been telling the truth or not. She now had claim of the tribe, and hundreds of slaves at her leisure.
They were just more pawns, no matter how great they thought themselves. Try all they might, no one crosses the Ice Witch and lives. This troll thief was just a passageway for her to get another piece of Freljord to be hers. And the other two groups of Freljord would soon fall as well. The Avarosan queen Ashe with her pitiful bow and the Winter Claw’s leader Sejuani with her brutish ice bola had no idea of what was happening. Soon enough, Lissandra would kill both of them, all of Freljord would belong to her, and the world would be reborn in ice.
“So beware, troll,” she spoke with a whisper, “for your kingdom… will soon be mine.”