SHANDRA - Original champion, biografy and story

SHANDRA ICHATIA’S REVENGE It was by the warmth of the fireplace that Shandra used to listen to her grandmother’s tales, the stories of the Void, oh so spread all over the base of Mount Targon. Her favourite one had always been her family’s, the story of how the unearthly creatures fell from the heavens and of the legendary battle that took place in her ancestors’ homeland. A breathtaking tale, almost like pure fantasy in the small girl’s eyes, yet still there was always something about that story that bewitched her. “I don’t like this ending! Why don’t you ever change it?” asked the young girl, disappointed by the usual epilogue. “Whatever could it be that doesn’t satisfy you of my story?” replied kindly the old lady. “Our family has never run away from danger, they fight it head on and win!”. After a small pause, the lady spoke again. “Come here”, she said as she gently put the child on her lap. “Unfortunately, stories past can’t be changed, but maybe, one day, a hero will come, or even better, a heroine, that will free us from the nightmare that is the void”. A spark lit into the youngster’s eyes, and for the first time, that night she dreamt of the great deeds she would do.

“Such good times…” thought Shandra as the rain kept pouring down. Little to nothing remained of her village since after the banquet of the Void’s giant. Nothing left of her grandmother to be buried. She was just another meal to the beast, far from the first, and far from the last. The only thing that still stood tall was the high mountain, whose people, in its indifference, lived prosperously. At the sight of the colossal mountain, Shandra was filled by disgust and anger, almost desiring to finish the destruction those monsters had started. “I have no time for this!” she thought to herself. “Before the ones who turned their back on us, we must purge those horrors! The Solars can wait”. Once the sky finally cleared, the peoples of the valley and the mountain saw the dark omen, as apart from the rain some sort of dense magic of an unnatural black was covering the Sun. The omen had been acknowledged. “May my revenge begin”. The ancient magic

It was finally there. After a neverending journey, she had walked down the same path as her family, from the cursed city of Icathia to the slopes of Mount Targon, hiding from the Empire and from the hunger-driven creatures it released. Her only guide were the tales of her beloved grandmother, the only things that gave her the strength to reach her goal. At the entrance of the great temple depictions of the greatest priests of the city were engraved, and it didn’t take long for Shandra to recognize her ancestor Arbokk the summoner between all them. Just thinking that the horrors she so much despised had been summoned by her very family not only made her angry, but she felt some sort of pity towards them. “Only utter fools would fight against an unbeatable enemy with such an uncontrollable evil”, thought the woman. The journey had worn her out. The scars which the monsters of the Void had given her when she still didn’t know how to avoid them stood out on her dark skin. Around her neck she kept her greatest trophy: Cho’Gath’s tooth, who almost devoured her at the time. She pulled herself through the ruins of that rumored place. Many times she had been warned that it was a cursed, haunted, full of horrors place, but she didn’t care. The smallest creatures were terrified simply by the necklace she kept in clear view. She didn’t mind them, but she still had to be careful. “The bigger they are, the better they hide”. She figured that out first hand. In the distance she spied the entrance to the dome, a place that, according to the tales she had heard as a child, was at the origin of the ritual. As she got closer to the door she felt the ground trembling. In a couple of seconds a giant, purple monster appeared before her, a monster so horrid that could have scared even the most fearsome Demacians and the cruelest Noxians, but not her. To her, it was merely another dog to step on for her objective. She grabbed her trusty whip, a spiked tentacle stolen from very first one of them she had ever killed, and she started tearing through that being, which now resembled a defenseless, big rat more than anything else. It didn’t take long before that filth began its retreat. In any other situation she would have followed it, but this time she had something more important to do. With the entrance finally in the clear, she made her way into the great hall just to find a huge, black puddle in the center. According to her studies it should have been the catalyst for the ritual, a substance as pure as platinum, now corrupted by darkness. A long journey, full of perils and that put her life in danger multiple times, just to have a sip of that dark purple sludge, in the hope that it would give her the power to defeat her enemies once and for all. Her cold and calculated mind gave in to greed, and after drinking the dark substance from her

hands, the sky turned black. It wasn’t rain, it barely ever rained in the Shurima desert. In a matter of seconds, she started feeling the Void magic flowing as blood in her body. Her whip became an extension of her arm, fusing with it until they became one, and she started seeing all the living organisms around her as clear as day, from plants to the monsters of the Void. Had she become part of the Void too? Only one thought invaded her mind like a mantra: “Let the Hunt start!”

TO THE ROOT “Dear diary, My long journey has almost come to an end. It seems like yesterday the day I left Targon, and now I’m finally here, in the land where my roots are in, Ichatia. To guide me, I only had those old tales from my grandma. How much I used to like them… But here I am, in the end I made it. The city is haunted by horrors, most of them of small calibre. They don’t present a problem, luckily, since they keep away from the Cho’Gath’s tooth around my neck. The journey was tiring and perilous beyond belief. My body is now covered in scars. Each and every one of them reminds me how not to die in my endless battle. It was hard at the beginning, but I’ve learnt, first to run away, then to fight, and lastly, to win. I lost a lot by following this path: my family, my house, my hand. As of now I only earned a tooth and a whip, but things will change soon enough. At the entrance of the temple there was an engraving of my ancestor, Arbokk. I don’t think there has ever been a more cursed name from my family after the fall. I should only feel hate for them, because of what they’ve done, but I can’t help but feel pity for them. Those poor fools did nothing but contribute to this nightmare. What were they trying to accomplish? What did they think they could have done? These are nothing but questions void of meaning, now.”

1

“Dear diary,After the last entry I have arrived at the entrance of the dome, believed to be the place where the ritual took place according to the Shuriman historians. Hidden in the shadows there was a creature as big as a Demacian platoon. But Demacians would run away at such a sight. I’d have done the same, if I hadn’t grown acquainted to this madness. The beast was almost slain relatively easy, but it ran away before I could finish it off. The bigger monsters have either left the city since

centuries ago or been slain by the Ascendants during the great battle. Once I made my way inside the dome I found a huge puddle of a sludge-like substance, as black as the Void. I read in my Alchemy books that it was used as a catalyst for the summoning ritual, made of a substance as pure as platinum. Some researchers used to refer to it as a rune. Apparently, it used to have a solid form before the ritual took place. It must have been a brutally challenging ritual for a relic so legendary to be rendered this way. But it doesn’t matter: this is the reason I put myself through this journey, I won’t back down when I’m inches away from my objective.”

2

“Dear diary, It’s been less than a minute since the last entry, yet everything has already changed. I left my whip on the floor to drink the rune more easily. For a moment I wasn’t myself anymore. I felt like them, like one of those… things. But it was only a moment. I kept my mind, I didn’t give in to the Void. That fool of a warlock said I would have died if I tried something as dangerous as this. Maybe he was referring to my descendancy? Yet, what matters is that I’m still alive and kicking, and I can see. I see everything. Everything that is alive around me, I can see it, feel it. And in the same way I feel the Void essence flowing inside me, but it can’t corrupt me. I don’t let it. My trusty whip has merged with my arm. I feel more powerful than ever. Dear diary, you’ve been my only true friend since I lost everything. Dear diary, I leave you here, for the intrepid travellers that will challenge theur fate the same way I did. The Hunt is on.”

Original post with body description: qui