(League Fiction) Memento Mori
Yorick Mori was digging graves when he sensed the new arrival.
Yorick straightened up as much as hunched frame would allow, rolling his shoulders and stretching his back, seeming to work out kinks his muscles could no longer feel... on an objective level Yorick knew that the pantomime was unnecessary; his body had not felt the ravages of fatigue since time immemorial, and Runeterra itself would pass away before that day came again... yet Yorick took small solace in the belief that he must have underwent this ritual while he was still alive, because it just felt Right to do so.
Old habits die hard.
Perhaps it was the thought of old habits, but as Yorick heaved himself out of the grave his mind turned to the past. He knew his name was Yorick Mori. He knew he had come from a long line of Gravediggers, the Moris of the Final Rest, and he knew he had been the weak link in that chain, dying without an heir to take up his shovel and his family's vocation... and he knew that because of his failing he was cursed to continue his life's work into unlife, until whatever it was that had kept him from passing through The Veil tired of him and sent him to his rest... the thing was these were not memories, they were facts, devoid of any context.
This was all that was left of the man he had once been.
Yorick took a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes, trying to feel where the Shadow Isles' newest denizen had appeared. After a moments concentration he decided east was the best direction, and set off at a loping hobble.
Whoever it was that found themselves on these benighted shores, they were in desperate need of a Gravedigger.
Yorick didn't contemplate how far he traveled before he felt he was approaching his goal... topography in the Shadow Isles seemed to be a fluid concept. In the uncounted years Yorick had spent here, he never seemed to come across the same place twice... even familiar paths were unfamiliar each time he trod them. He remembered the time he had decided to figure out exactly how large this particular island was, walking the beaches for days, each time after the first making sure to step only in his own footprints.
He never came up with the same count twice.
Still, it wasn't far before he broke through into a clearing. Sitting in the middle was a small thing, the soul of a child, weeping... Yorick approached cautiously, hoping not to startle the poor thing.
Yorick knew the transition could be... unsettling.
The soul sensed his approach, turning to face him, its ethereal face marked by ethereal tears... Yorick realized it was the soul of a young girl right before the she addressed him.
“Where am I? I was home, in my bed... I was sick... my mother was looking after me... Mommy!”
The last came out in a plaintive wail, fit to pierce Yorick's heart.
Had he one that still beat.
Yorick took a second to appraise the soul before him with the careful eye of a professional... she was unblemished, shining with a light so bright it almost hurt Yorick to look upon her.. she wouldn't need the solitude of the earth, time in the grave to let the sorrows and chains that still tied her to the world of the living slough away... the fact that she had washed up on these shores without her body reinforced that fact... not a single stain of corruption on her form, no tell-tale mark of the Dark Power claiming her for Itself... if she were destined to become a revenant like Yorick, he would eat his shovel.
That left the Altar.
Yorick hobbled closer, careful to keep his shovel down and behind him, as far away from the child as possible, trying to be as non-threatening as an animated, shambling corpse could hope to be, “I am Yorick Mori, Gravedigger, and I'm here to help you. Do you remember your name child?”
The girl seemed unsure, halting her crying briefly as she concentrated... it took a few seconds before her face brightened with her reply, “Joy. My name is Joy.”
“Joy” Yorick repeated, more for his own benefit than anything else. The word felt strange on his tongue... unfamiliar.
It had been millenia since he had last spoke it.
“It's not safe here for you child. I can take you to where you should be, a safe place, but you have to trust me.” Yorick punctuated his words by reaching his empty hand out towards Joy, beckoning her to take it.
Joy hestitated.
“I'm dead, aren't I?” Joy asked, her voice flat and emotionless.
“I'm afraid so.”
“But I can't be dead, my whole life was ahead of me.” Joy shot back, anger creeping in at the unfairness of it all.
Yorick had plenty of experience with anger.
“Your old life is behind you, but there's a new life ahead. You will be reborn Joy, and I shall midwife you through it, if you let me.” Yorick replied, once again proffering his hand.
This time she took it.
Yorick navigated by intuition, feeling for the pull of the Altar and leading Joy towards it... as they walked the forest itself seemed alive with a malevolent intent, the trees that loomed over them bending down their branches towards Yorick's small charge, smaller plants turning to face them, even the grass gently caressing their legs as they passed, and all of them pulsing in time with the throbbing of an unheard heart. Not for the first time Yorick had to repress a feeling of claustrophobia, like the forest was a trick, an illusion, and he was actually walking through the belly of a massive beast... he reassured himself by tightening his grip on Joy's hand and quickening the pace.
It would be safest for her if they did not linger.
“Pretty.” said Joy, lingering to admire a bush with particularly striking vermilion flowers, looking like a cross between a carnation and a lotus.
Deadly things often are, Yorick mused to himself.
As Joy gazed enraptured the bush leaned in closer, begging to be touched... where Joy only saw flowers, Yorick saw twisted, black vines, and thorns that oozed a pustulous sap from their tips. He gently pulled Joy away before she could reach out, not telling her what would happen if she did.
Best not to frighten the girl.
Though oblivious to the dangers, Joy did not prove blind to the oddness surrounding her... “Is this real?”, she asked, motioning with her free hand as if trying to encompass the entirety of the Shadow Isles.
Yorick gave a mirthless laugh that sounded more like a cough in reply, “Real enough... everything here is caught between life and death, as am I, as are you, for the time being.”
The path widened into a glade as Yorick continued, more so to fill the emptiness and keep Joy occupied than to share information, “I suspect The Veil was always thin here, even before the cataclysm that befell this land rent it asunder and made this place what it is today...”
Yorick trailed off as he sensed the approach of Another.
“Stand behind me child.” Yorick said, guiding her backwards with the hand she held, his other hand gripping his shovel tighter and bringing it in front of them both.
The sound reached them first.
It was the clanking and squealing of metal-on-metal, lacking the telltale cadence of a stride... next came the light, brighten the spaces between the trees in front of them, a pale green that spoke of disease and rot, unwholesome even by the measure of the Shadow Isles.
Yorick hoped he would pass them by.
But a Gravedigger's luck was always in short supply.
The thing that emerged from the treeline may have once been human, but it had left that behind long ago... now it was a nightmare given form, a skeletal apparition clad in black robes and wreathed in green light. The hem of its robes barely brushed the ground as it floating towards Yorick and Joy, possessing of the same unhurried grace that a cat uses to stalk its prey.
The only thing that seemed truly real about the specter were its chains.
They snaked and twisted around the figure, contorting its limbs into positions that would have been impossible if they were still connected to muscle and flesh, coiling languidly with a will of their own. The voice of their ceaseless windings was what had announced their master's approach... the demon held the two ends in hand, one topped with a viciously hooked sickle, the other a lantern, glowing with the selfsame light as the creature that bore it... it halted its approach a few yards before the travelers and gazed with burning eyes.
It did not seem surprised to see them.
“What have you brought me Gravedigger?”
“I have brought you nothing Chain Warden,” Yorick spat back, refusing to dignify Thresh with a name, “and no harm can come to this child while she is under my guidance. You know The Rules.”
Thresh seemed to find Yorick's response amusing, laughing with his response, “You and your rules... I never cared for rules in life, and I care even less for them in death.”
Being this close to Thresh, Yorick could just make out the cries and lamentations of those unfortunate souls that were Thresh's playthings, trapped in endless torment within the glass prison that was his lantern... they screamed in pain, they begged for mercy, they prayed for death... how Yorick longed to smash that jail, release the tortured souls within and bring them peace. He knew he possessed the power to do so, but he also knew he could not... those souls had been claimed by the Chain Warden, and that made them his by right, to do with as he saw fit.
All on the Shadow Isles must follow The Rules.
Thresh's eyes glowed bright, turning from a sickly green to a gangrenous yellow as he focused through Yorick and onto the small soul behind him. No smile could ever spread across Thresh's fleshless face, but Yorick sensed one none-the-less.
“Ah, Joy... I remember you. Do you remember me? You always asked your mother to check under the bed, but I was never there when she looked, was I? Still, you knew I was there, and I'll let you in on a secret... I was.”
Yorick felt the Joy's hand begin to tremor in his, and spared a glance behind to see her trembling, her eyes wide and fearful, welling up with tears again.
“Whatever he says, don't listen to him child.”
Thresh continued, “You should listen, because this concerns you... I'm curious, when he found you, did he tell you he was taking you somewhere safe? Did he fail to mention that the plan all along was to bring you here, to me, a present from one monster to another? To give you hope, only to snatch it away?”
“Quiet”, Yorick growled from low in his throat.
Thresh did not listen.
“I've found innocence to be the most delicious of traits a soul can possess, and I shall savor yours as I strip it from you... oh, the depravity you will endure. I can hardly wait. You've done well Gravedigger, but your part is ended. Bring her here. No need to torture the poor girl... that's my job.”
“I won't let him take me!”
Joy let go of Yorick's hand and ran.
She made for the trees to Yorick's right, sheer terror giving her feet wings...he yelled for her to come back, but the damage had already been done; by her actions Joy had abjured Yorick's protection, and according to The Rules that left her at the mercy of anything that would claim her.
Beings such as Thresh were void of mercy.
“Now you're mine.” Thresh stated as he swung his lantern in a lazy circle, carefully judging how much he had to lead the girl... it was only a few rotations before he was satisfied and let it fly.
Yorick could see she'd never make the relative safety of the forest.
The Gravedigger moved far quicker than his twisted form seemed able, cutting off the lantern before it could reach Joy. He swung his shovel to intercept it mid-flight…. instead of the smashing of metal-on-glass there was no sound to accompany the blow, as if the impact absorbed it. The light of the lantern flared bright and the souls inside gave a piercing keen as the two items touched, the lantern hanging in mid-air for longer than seemed possible before its light went out and it plummeted straight down... with an ease borne of much practice Thresh pulled the lantern back and launched his sickle at the still fleeing Joy in one smooth motion... Yorick's shovel-arm had gone numb from striking the lantern, and he doubted he could catch Thresh's hook in the same manner... it flew far faster and deadlier.
Seeing no other option, Yorick threw himself in front of it.
The infernal blade caught him in the meaty triangle where his neck met his shoulder, slicing through his flesh like butter. Yorick felt it glance off his shoulder blade, wobbling as it exited his back, it's flight grinding to a halt shortly thereafter.
Yorick nearly lost his footing when it reversed direction.
The blade dug deep into Yorick's shoulder, hooking bone and holding fast. He dug in his heels, leaned backwards against the pull, but all he accomplished was to slow his advance, his feet leaving furrows in the dirt. He grabbed the bone handle of the sickle, impossibly cold to the touch, with his free hand and attempted to yank it upward and out... but Thresh kept the chain taut, feeding it backwards through his osseus hands with slow, deliberate movements, the living metal coiling itself around the specter's waist with a steady screech that sounded almost mocking to Yorick's ears. With no play in the line Yorick could not hope to unhook himself, so he adjusted his grip and rebraced himself for what was to come.
Even though he could not feel pain, Yorick knew this next part was going to hurt.
Yorick heaved on the sickle, adding his strength to Thresh's own. His grunt turned a yell as the pressure built in his shoulder and then suddenly released... his scapula shattered, his clavicle snapped like a dry twig, and any muscles the hook hadn't shredded on the way in were torn on the way out as Yorick ripped the blade through his own body to break free. The arm attached to that shoulder sank and hung unnaturally low by his side, largely detached from his body by the massive wound he had opened in his escape. He dropped the hook and quickly transferred his shovel to his uninjured arm before Thresh could prepare for another cast.
Raising the shovel above his head, he drove it head first into the earth.
Like everything on the Shadow Isles, Yorick's shovel was more than it appeared to be. It was old, older even than Yorick himself, who counted centuries as mortal men counted days, passed down through countless generations of Gravediggers before Yorick had ever laid a hand upon it... and contained within it was a portion of each of his ancestors' souls, surrendered at the moment of death to aid the Moris to come thereafter in their appointed task.
It was this power that Yorick called on to awake The Sleepers.
Not all who died passed through the Shadow Isles, but those who did could not successfully cross The Veil on their own. Trapped in the limbo between life and death, these orphaned souls required a Gravedigger to aid them, and it was the Gravedigger's charge to safely shepherd them from this side to the hereafter. True to his name, the Gravedigger accomplished this through the power of the grave, the only crucible capable of purifying the spirit. There the dead slept a dreamless sleep until ready... unless a Gravedigger had need of them.
The Shadow Isles were filled with such Sleepers.
Yorick would know, he had buried most of them.
First to heed Yorick's call were the wraiths, those who had slept for so long that whatever material form they had once possessed had passed away, yet still their spirit stubbornly clung to this existence... they rose effortlessly through the solid earth, floating as Thresh did, their countenances glowing with a pale blue light. They began to drift silently towards the Chain Warden, as smoke drifts in a gentle breeze.
The ghouls had to physically dig themselves out, so they took a little longer.
Hands and arms began to erupt up from the earth like putrid flowers, followed by bodies in various states of decay as the dead roused themselves from their slumber... muscles strained against rigor and joints snapped in protest at their sudden use, but such petty concerns only slowed the ghouls down as they staggered to obey.
The dead had risen from all corners of the glade, and the forest was astir with the sound of crashing underbrush and shuffling feet... dozens, perhaps even hundreds all told. Thresh quickly found himself surrounded and set his sickle to work against Yorick's legion, the blade whistling in arcs around him as he sought to hold them back. It passed harmlessly through the intangible wraiths, dispersing them momentarily only for them to coalesce anew, and no matter how he hacked at the ghouls he could not stop their advance... those who lost heads and arms seemed not to notice, while those who lost legs fell to the ground and crawled.
In a final act of desperation, Thresh raised high his lantern.
Walls of green light sprang up around the Chain Warden, matching the hue of his own sickly glow. The Sleepers crashed against them and were checked... if only for the moment. Every second more and more pushed forward, inexorably driven by Yorick's will, crushing each other against Thresh's phantasmal shield, seeking to break through by sheer force of numbers. Gossamer cracks began to spread across the barricade like spiderwebs from where the dead beat upon it ... soon it would be more web than wall, shattered and broken.
Yorick halted his minions with a thought.
They all stopped at once, most in mid-motion, and slowly drifted into a stance of listless passivity. Compared with commotion of mere seconds ago, the stillness seemed complete... even Thresh's chains had surceased their incessant slithering.
The abeyance made Yorick's voice seem all the more powerful.
“Begone Chain Warden, or I will have them break you link-by-link, and you will spend the rest of Eternity languishing in a thousand pieces that I will scatter to the four corners of the Isles.” Yorick paused a moment, a far more wicked idea coming to mind, “Though on second thought, I think your skull I'll keep... I've been needing a new lantern myself.”
Yorick gave a quick shake of his head and his undead host shuffled in response, clearing a path through the sea of bodies for Thresh to go back the way he had come. The Gravedigger awaited the Chain Warden's response.
Both revenants knew it was not mere benevolence that had turned Yorick to mercy.
Yorick sensed another presence approaching, and knew that Thresh must sense it as well... a presence like their own but more so, not tied to a physical form, both insubstantial and boundless... whatever Dark Power held sway in these lands, the Silent Lord they both unwittingly served, their brief altercation had drawn Its attention.
Yorick knew It would not be pleased.
Thresh lowered his lantern, the walls disappearing as if they had never been. He seemed prepared for the dead to surge forward, and, when they didn't, began to drift backwards through the passage offered him. Before he slunk back to whatever hole he crawled out of, he made Yorick a promise.
“The next one is mine, Gravedigger.”
Yorick counted to fifty in his head before he sent the Sleepers back to their beds and set out in search of his lost Joy.
He found her curled up in the hollow of a nearby tree after several minutes of frantic hunting. She shrank back into the shadows when he approached, trying to push herself through the back wall of the hole.
“Don't worry,” Yorick soothed, “I sent him away. He'll trouble us no more.”
“You're not going to give me to him?” Joy asked, not moving from the hollow.
“All lies child. You had to choose to leave my side for him to take you... he was nothing but malice and words otherwise.”
Joy slowly crawled out, eyes downcast and ashamed.
“I'm sorry.”
Yorick shook his head, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Joy looked up, seeing for the first time the ravages her choice had inflicted on Yorick's body. She reached out, stopping just short of touching the space where his shoulder should have been.
“You're hurt.”
“It will...” Yorick started. He was going to say “heal”, but it would never truly heal... he would eventually regain the use of his arm, the magic that sustained him in this mockery of life would see to that, but the wound would never close, never “heal”. It would forever be another scar on his wretched form, a gaping hole in his shoulder, all bleached bone and torn muscle.
He settled for “mend”.
Yorick secured his shovel in a loop on his belt, a difficult task with only one working arm, and reached out for Joy.
“Come, we're almost there.”
As she took his hand Joy gave Yorick a look of utter seriousness, the likes of which only a child can achieve.
“I won't let go again.”
He didn't have the heart to tell her that she would have to.
The Shadow Isles placed no more obstacles in their path and the forest soon began to thin, giving way to meadow. Stones appeared in formations too perfect to be natural, and soon they were traveling on ground that could almost be confused for a road.
It was not long before they reached the remains of a wall, cast down but still impressive, a mound of rubble fifteen feet tall and ten feet wide that extended for a mile in either direction. The road they walked, for now it truly was a road, passed through it, flanked by two massive metal doors that had sunk into the earth, leaning drunkenly but still standing open.
It must have been a great city once, to have lingered so long.
The road they walked broadened into an avenue on the other side of the mound, wide enough for twenty men to walk abreast and once lined with buildings on either side...most shared the fate of the wall, no more than heaps of debris, but some remained intact, empty doors and windows staring outward like the eyes of skulls. In any other land nature would have long ago overtaken this city, but nature on the Shadow Isles was anything but natural... all was ruin and loss, but no vines climbed the walls, no weeds choked the broken cobblestones at their feet. Those structures still standing were adorned with faded glyphs and sigils, the meanings of which were unknown to Yorick.
If they were wards of protection, they had failed in their task.
Yorick led Joy through the crumbling ruin, navigating avenues and side streets until they came to what must have been a park or grove near the heart of the city. The wall surrounded this place still stood, decorated with the same interlacing runes as the rest of the city. Whereas the others had been dead and dark these still glimmered softly, their magic weak but not yet spent.
Here grew real trees, stunted and wan, but not the corrupted things that pullulated over the rest of the Isles... here the air seemed clearer, the light just a meager bit brighter, and if one concentrated one could detect a slight sweetness in the breeze, as if the wind carried on it the redolence of blossoms from a great distance.
This place was the last bastion of the sacred in a blasphemous land.
In the center of the the grove was the Altar, a circular dais of stone inset with burnished metalwork of geometric patterns. The entire edifice was untouched by time, as if it had been newly constructed.
It was Yorick's belief that it was far older than the city that housed it.
Yorick took Joy as far as the Altar's edge, pausing at the steps that led upwards to its center... she climbed two of those steps before she realized Yorick wasn't following her.
Joy turned back to face him, “You're not coming with me?”.
Yorick saw fear in Joy's face, but he couldn't lie to her, “I can't. The way is barred to me.”
Joy considered this before speaking in a soft voice little more than a whisper, “I don't want to be alone.”
“We all die alone. But death is here, on this side. Where you are going there is no death, only new life. You will never be alone again.” Yorick replied.
Joy rushed back to Yorick, hugging him around his waist, burying her face in his stomach... the Gravedigger was taken aback, unsure of what to do... sensing she needed him to do something, he raised his hand and began to clumsily stroke her hair.
Yorick felt something.
It had been so long since he had felt anything, he relished the sensation, small as it was, even if he couldn't place it... he tried to rekindle a memory of a similar feeling, but it was like trying to grab water... every time he focused it slipped away. Finally he found a scintillating small thing, barely a fragment of a memory, and managed to hold it fast …. this, it felt like...
“Joy”
She looked up at the sound of her name, “What if it doesn't work?”
Yorick attempted a smile, but found his face had forgotten how.
“I've never been wrong child.”
Yorick turned Joy back towards the Altar and set her forward with a gentle push.
A pillar of white light burst forth from the runes that ringed the upper platform of the Altar, ascending until it was lost to the sky. Yorick saw Joy take a few hesitant steps towards the light before he was forced to turn away and shield his eyes. When the light had faded Yorick looked again and saw that Joy had disappeared... he had helped another soul across The Veil.
And yet Yorick Mori remained.
