Muddy Cycle (Ryze fanfic. I couldn't think of a name). Link not mine.
After reading Ryze's updated lore I got inspired to write a little fanfic about him. It's been a while since I've wrote a League fanfic, or much of anything, so I guess I'm a little rusty. Anyway I hope you enjoy it and if you do, comment or upvote.
For those who haven't read his lore update: http://na.leagueoflegends.com/en/page/ryze-bio
Enjoy
Muddy Cycle
Judging by the lack of smoke from the distance, the caravan wreckage was at least a day old. A smoke trail would have been enough of a warning to avoid this path and be away from the affairs of others. Dealing with people would have slowed him down more than an alternative route.
Most of the time anyway.
He pulled his hood up as the rain began to pour, hiding his violet and tattooed covered skin. Bodies were strewn out all across the road, but none wore anything that showed loyalty to neighboring kingdoms. He didn’t stop to look at the wounds, but the cuts and gashes were obviously from Noxian arms. He was knee deep in Noxus territory after all.
Perhaps they were Gypsies trying to sneak across the border? He had seen many gypsy caravans in his lifetime, some less skilled at hiding than others. Their garments only strengthened his theory.
Not that it mattered, it was just nice to think about something else for a change. He heard the mournful sobbing of a child as he passed one of the wrecked wagons, its wheels were smashed in while the wagon itself was torn in half with the upper tarp covering the child. He stopped, not out of surprise, but indecisiveness. A part of him wanted to comfort whoever was crying, to do something to help. A child couldn’t survive out here for very long.
The other part of him wished the rain had hidden the child’s cries.
He gave in this time, if only to see if it wouldn’t be too out of his way. The cries stopped as his muddy footsteps came closer.
“Are you alright?” he asked. He thought about asking if anyone was there, but he found that to be redundant.
Only the rain responded, with drops pattering across the broken wagon.
“Are you hurt?” he asked again. He had half a mind to just go into the carriage and pull the child out. There was a good reason why he avoided children.
The pitter of the rain was interrupted with a sniffle and a solemn, “...no.”
“Are your parents nearby?”
The cries returned again. He sighed, it was obvious what had happened to them. “Can you come out? I mean you know harm.” The child didn’t respond, obviously not trusting the voice of a stranger. Perhaps logic would work?
“If I meant harm, I would have tried to be quiet after I heard your cries.” he said sternly.
Judging from the silence that followed, he assumed he scared the child. He groaned as he trudged off, this was a waste of time.
“Wait!” screamed from inside the wreckage. He turned to see a prepubescent girl with orange hair and cyan eyes. An odd mix, but gypsies were a well traveled people. Her dress was stained with blood, and several other splotches that looked to have come from long before today. She slipped on some mud as she ran, but scrambled up quickly to reach him.
“Are...are you a mage?”
“Odd question to ask.” he said with a mixture of interest and confusion
“You’re alone, not carrying any weapons, and your cloak is covering more than it needs for travel in the rain. My mother taught me only fools travel like that.” she said, arms crossed and cyan eyes staring into his.
“And I’m a mage because?”
“Only fools practice magic, least that’s what my aunt said.”
It had been a long time since he’d laughed, so long that it had caught him by surprise. It was almost uncomfortable, yet strangely relaxing. As if his burdens didn’t matter for the sort moment.
“Wise words.” he said with a smile and a chuckle as he pulled down his hood, revealing his violet skin and black beard to the child, “You have good eyes, child.”
“Teach me.” she demanded, standing before him as straight as a beam, her eyes now locked dead center into his gaze.
The magus stopped laughing, his joking expression turned straight faced. There was always someone who wished to learn magic upon meeting him. While he never taught anyone, he developed a knack for discovering their reasons. It was in their eyes, power, wealth, justice, and in her case, revenge.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Abigail.”
He nodded, “Alright, Abigail.” he turned around, “Keep up if you want to learn.”
“What’s yours? Or should I call you teacher?”
“Ryze.” he said without looking back.
Abigail was a surprisingly quiet child. Most kids he came across flooded him with questions or worse, asking for magic tricks. People today had little respect for magic, seeing it as either a weapon to be pointed and fired without abandon, or a toy for entertainment and parlor tricks.
Looking back, maybe they never did. The Rune Wars were proof enough.
The rain had only gotten worse, not enough to impede him, but Abigail was struggling to keep pace. The weather didn’t look like it would lessen, so Ryze decided to set up camp early tonight, or at least take a break.
They stopped in a small cave slightly off the path. Abigail breathed a sigh of relief, but is was short lived when told they wouldn’t stay long. Ryze didn’t like caves, especially ones he hadn’t cleared.
“How long can we stay?” she asked, already sitting against the rocky wall.
“Until the rain lets up. Hopefully soon.” he said while looking out from the mouth of the cave. He didn’t want to be surprised by the return of its inhabitant’s.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then when you get your strength back.”
The girl groaned, “Can’t you just bring us there? Isn’t there some sort of fast traveling spell?”
“If I could do that.” Ryze said as he sat across from her on the other side, “Why would I be walking?”
She went silent again, Ryze assumed she was just taken back or something. He took out his journal to review his latest notes and add new ones.
“So what kind of magic do you do?” she asked.
“Magic.” Ryze didn’t look up to answer.
“What kind of magic?”
“Just magic.”
“There are different kinds of magic. The mysticism of Ionia, the holy arts of Demacia...the black arts of Noxus.” her tone shifted from intrigued to bitter at the last one. They must have brought a mage into the raid.
Ryze stopped reading, “There are no different forms of magic. Only in how to use it.”
“So how do you use it?”
“Carefully and with restraint.”
“Can you show me?”
Ryze looked over to her, staring directly into her cyan eyes, “Then I wouldn’t have restraint.”
Silence filled the gap between them again, until a rumpling occupied the void. Ryze was already on his feet, arcane runes hovering open his open palm and ready to fire. Nothing came. Half a minute he stood still, waiting for a surprise attack. When he heard again, he turned to its source, finding Abigail cowering before him.
His throat tightened as he canceled his spell. He had scared people before, bystanders or enemies in the way of his mission. Abigail should have been no different, yet the pangs of guilt hurt like a fireball.
“S-sorry. Are you alright?”
Slowly nodding, she said, “A little hungry.”
With the sound her stomach was making, he very much doubted it was ‘little’. Searching through his bag, he found his small sack of road rations. It was enough nuts, and dried fruits and meat for one person. He never needed more.
Handing the bag over to her, he said, “Use it sparingly, this is all I have.”
“I guess you can’t make more food either, can you?”
“Course not. Magic isn’t a cure all for everyday problems.”
She wasn’t listening, already consuming the bag contents like a voracious animal. “What’s in the book?” she asked in the midst of chewing.
“Notes.”
“Why is your skin purple?”
“Magic and too much sun.”
She giggled, he didn’t acknowledge it as he read through his journal.
“Why are you carrying that scroll?”
“Why do you want to learn magic? It can’t bring your loved ones back.” Ryze already knew the answer, but he hoped that asking her would cause her to keep silent. Instead, he got a rock to the forehead. “You little brat!” he slammed his book close as he stomped towards her. Abigail just stood like a child caught red handed, eyes wide open in terror. She mumbled something under her breath, too quiet for Ryze to hear.
“What was that?” he asked in fury.
“I know I can’t bring them back! I know that!” she screamed right into his face, “I… I just want them to pay for what they did…” she covered her face with her arms as she started to cry, “I want them to know the feeling...I want-”
“No you don’t.” Ryze placed his hand gently on her head, “You want it to have never happened. But no matter how much we wish it, we immediately know that it is beyond our grasp.” He knelt down beside her, “So we settle for the next best thing: Revenge. We carry it with us, fanning its flames in the belief that they empower us. Only to realize too late that it was our own funeral pyre we kept alight.”
He raised her chin, staring into her teared cyan eyes. Some mucus fell onto his finger, but he didn’t care.
“When I was younger, I lost my home to a war. In an instant it was gone, so fast that to this day I can barely believe it. I was furious with grief. I wanted to fight back, thinking that more violence could prevent another catastrophe.”
“My master had seen many conflicts, and he told me that vengeance would only lead to more heartache. Revenge is like a wheel: it keeps spinning as long as someone is there to spin it. A boy’s father is killed, he grows up to kill the murderer, only to be painted as a murderer himself by the other man’s friends and family. The first murderer may have even been seeking vengeance against the boy’s father. The cycle just goes on and on.”
“Can it be stopped?” she asked with a sniffle.
“As a whole? No. But you can choose to let go. I’m sure your mother would want you to live on.”
A heavy downpour came down across the path next to the Serpentine river, forcing him to keep his hood up and tuck away his massive scroll. Normally he would have reached the other side of the river by now, but today he felt like taking the long way around. He sensed no world runes nearby, so there was no cause for alarm.
A few boats came down the river, a caravan that lived along the Serpentine if Ryze had to guess. One of the boats came closer to the shore where he was.
“Need a lift?” the driver asked, a young boy who spoke with the thick accent of the river folk.
“I’m fine.” Ryze assured, keeping focus on his path.
“A rainy night is better spent with company.” the boy said.
“I have no interest in the company of strangers.”
“How about old friends?” said a new and oddly familiar voice. Ryze stopped, peering over his shoulder to see a woman with orange hair, cyan eyes, and covered in colorful garments.
She smiled, “It’s been awhile, fool.”
Ryze returned another as he pulled his hood down, “That is has.”
Abigail tapped the boy’s head, “Don’t stare, Tobias.”
