Beware the Isles | Short Story

It was only a few days ago when I traveled to the land known as the Shadow Isles. Many folks warned me never to go there, but what did I do? I still went. I thought I was prepared with me sword and magical armor that would protect me from the spirits rumored to be trapped in undeath. I was confident. I was arrogant. People at the docks of Bilgewater snickered and placed bets on whether or not I would ever return. I ignored them all and focused on my journey ahead. No one would take me to the isles so I had to steer my own way to the isles with a small boat that I bought from some man. As I made way towards the isles, I kept going through my mental checklist ensuring I knew exactly what I was doing.

I was going to stay close the shore and simply record all my findings. As much as I would enjoy exploring the center of the isles, I was still wary that I may be killed or worse, become a wraith stuck between life and death. People were always so afraid of the Harrowing and what would happen should it spread across all of Runeterra so my goal was to find a way to stop the Black Mist. I am no scholar nor any great mage, but most things can normally be answered with a sword. However, I was terribly mistaken once I arrived at the Shadow Isles. One foot on the cursed land and chills were already traveling down me back. I could hear shrieks all around and the smell of death clung to the air like no other. It was dread awful, yet I pushed on.

I had me sword unsheathed while there was a light in me other hand. The longer I wondered, the colder it seemed to get. As I furthered from the boat I could sense I was being watched. When I turned, I saw three wraiths chasing me. Three opponents were nothing. At least that's what I had thought at the time. Once they came unto me, me sword was immediately swiped from my hand. I felt their claws dig into me skin and grab me very bones. I tried to scream out, but me voice was gone. I thought it a mistake to come to the isles. Me armor did nothing to ward off the spirits. I supposed that's what I got for buying enchantments from shady merchant.

I had thought all hope lost as me soul was being torn from me own body. That was until a man came and sung to the wraiths. They let me go and listened to him intently. He sung them away and then helped me up.

"Who are ye?" I had asked, holding my hands up ready to fight fist-to-fist despite me strength which was, at the time, failing terribly.

"My name is Yorick," he had said. "Put your hands down before you hurt yourself." His voice was soft and not at all what I thought this big man would sound like. I hesitantly lowered my fists.

"How did you call them off like that?" I had asked, wanting to know everything.

"I commanded them," he had responded.

"What?" I was confused and it seemed to amuse the living man.

"This," he had said, touching a vial of something that hung around his neck, "kept me from being corrupt when the Ruination of these isles happened. As a child, I was able to commune with the dead and now, the dead are the only ones I have to talk to now. I wish to end this curse, but have had no luck." Yorick looked down at his vial with sad eyes before turning his head back to me. "Why do you come here? Are you a fool? You do realize what these isles are, yes?"

"Of course... I..." I couldn't say anything back then. This man had saved my life. My idiotic life. I kept asking myself, what was I doing?

"You need to go before more dangerous creatures come. There is a spirit who walks these shores looking for any new life to bring into undeath," Yorick had warned me.

"Why do you stay? How did you even survive?" I had asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"This is my home." Yorick's face had saddened when he said those words. I had felt sorry for him. The rumors of the isles about what they were before had always sounded lovely and there I was, standing before someone who had lived in the isles before they were damned.

"You could come back to somewhere safe to figure out how to end this curse," I had suggested to him. The man had shook his head.

"I cannot. I will not leave my home, no matter the cost," he had said it with such confidence and pain. I admired that about him.

"Very well then," I had replied. Yorick had helped me back to my boat.

"Before you go, take a drop of this life-giving water. Once you get back to wherever you came from, consume it," Yorick had told me, dripping a small drop of the liquid of his vial into another. "The wraiths inflicted enough damage to your spirit that if you do not drink this water quickly, you will die a very painful death." I had nodded and thanked him as I set off.

Once I got back to Bilgewater, people thought me a legend. I didn't think so. I had come to my inn room and laid down, thinking about the only living man on the Shadow Isles trying to reverse the effects of the Black Mist. Once I consumed the drop of water, I began writing.

So, heed my warning, reader: Beware the Shadow Isles. They are no place to mess around. I was lucky to be saved by Yorick and still my heart prays for him. Never go to the Shadow Isles. It is a dangerous place.