[Champion Concept] Wan'no, the Eternal Traveller

THE RlVER KlNG·4/15/2017, 3:34:57 PM·17 votes·2,824 views

http://i.imgur.com/PNEEF5q.jpg Original drawing by our very own RefinedTableSalt!

##Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mHNllxzUv94

This is my entry for the April CCOS. Any and all feedback is very much appreciated!

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#OVERVIEW

Attack ■■□□□□□□□□ - [2] Defense ■■■■□□□□□ - [4] Ability ■■■■■■■■■□ - [9] Difficulty ■■■■■■■■■■- [10]

Name: Wan’no Gender: Male Race: Vastaya Allegiance: The Glade Alignment: Neutral Good Class: Controller (Primary) / Warden (Secondary) Role: Bottom

The singular being known as Wan’no is an enigma. Many theories exist as to its origin, of course: a malformed demigod sentenced to a life of exile on Runeterra, an ancient vastaya doomed to wander for eternity, a grief-stricken pyromage who took to a life of solitude after destroying his home and family, a benevolent Void creature that has adopted to the life of Runeterrans. None can be sure, and Wan’no is content with that. As humble as he is reclusive, Wan’no roams the world beneath his robe and mask, studying the stars and sands in search of enlightenment. All those who think themselves lost or astray have heard his call, and know their salvation is at hand when they hear the gentle swish of his robes and the clink of his enormous hollow beads. And when the time comes to depart, Wan'no's memories coalesce into ghostly shades of his past self, remaining behind to continue to light the way. Wan’no is the patron of the traveller, of the roamer, of the wanderer, the gentle flame on a desert night and the dry, hollow laugh of a kindred spirit. The world's history is intertwined with his travels, and each new journey unlocks the inner mysteries of Runeterra even further. In-game, Wan’no is a roaming support that creates pockets of safety for allies that follow in his wake, and inhibiting the attempts of enemies that try to do the same.

There are probably a couple last grammatical errors I didn't catch in here because of how hard it is to edit large walls of text on this interface. Forgive me if you spot any.

900 Years Ago

The vastaya do not believe in walls.

Looking back, I think that may be why we followed him with such fervor - he certainly took such especial delight in destroying them. We were in awe at how he could even move, wrapped in that metal cloak as he was - ‘armor’ they called it in the human tongue. Few among us ever saw him, and those that did rarely spoke of it. Sesh-rakshata, we called him. The Iron Conqueror. How foolish we were to equate a conqueror to liberation.

A vast army followed him, leaving naught but destruction and death in their wake, but an even greater host of vassals, underlings, vagabonds, and wanderers followed behind, choking on the trail of dust and carnage that remained where his iron feet lay tread. Crops burned and streams and rivers dried up wherever he and his army went. Even the mud dried up, and sometimes in the cracks of the hard brown earth we found guttering pockets of red flame instead. That, the vastaya knew. The Scourge had put many of our people to it before our diaspora. We followed Sesh-rakshata nonetheless, for his path of war and destruction was all we knew. Safer to hide in the shadow of the conqueror than risk annihilation at the fearful hands of the cowed and conquered, no? But an even greater reason? Sesh-rakshata kept sorcerers. Wasteful, cruel, and wanton ones at that, who left their magical taint everywhere. The vastaya thrive on the presence of magic, and so we were grateful to those vile and sepulchral magickers. Sesh-rakshata left death and dearth in his wake, but also magic, and an abundance of it at that.

The humans would describe my father as birdlike, and my mother had the whiskers and tail of a great jungle cat. My father told me once that I had a brother, but he came out of my mother sickly and dying. He had been buried before I was conceived. My father once dreamed of being a cobbler, but the vastaya are a practical people. We prefer our feet as close the the ground as possible, one with the earth that sustained us, and so father was laughed at for his backwards ambitions. On the long marches he contented himself to serve as a tailor instead, sewing the tears and rips that naturally formed in abundance at such a life. My mother did little. A virulent disease had bent her back and weakened her legs when she was young. When I was born, she wailed to the vastayan gods above.

I came out of the womb stunted and ugly, more lizard than child. I had a tail, a pointed snout, and talons instead of chubby baby fingers. Sallow eyes the color of piss were set deep into my long face, and a long, forked tongue weaved in and out of neat little fangs instead of teeth. I wailed like a baby, though, which the other vastaya delighted in grumbling to my mother about. I was the first reptilian vastaya in a hundred years. Growing up, I stood upright like a man, and had no difficulty with the intricacies of either Vastayan or the clumsy human tongue, but where there should have been feathers or fur I had scales and cold reptilian flesh. Spines grew from my elbows and hard ridges formed on my back, and my luminescent eyes frightened the younger children, as did the long, sharps teeth I tried and failed to keep hidden. My tail grew longer and thicker with each passing year. Mother and Father loved me, but the other vastaya misliked me. They whispered amongst themselves as I walked about camps, turning back to their fires when I chanced to look their way.

All but one. Most called him he-tanl, ‘foolish bird’ in the Vastayan tongue, and it was only much later that I learned his real name was Taewin. He was birdlike, with a coat of dingy white feathers sprouting from his arms and running down his back, large, intelligent eyes the color of the sea, and a small, fan-like tail of purple feathers. His nose was beak-like, his feet ended in three ribbed talons, and he walked with a funny limp due to inverted knees, but strangest of all was his speech and manner - by no means malicious or cruel, but eccentric and off-putting nonetheless. The vastaya whispered that he ate his wife and children many a moon ago, that the Scourge was his father with a half-breed vastayan woman, that he consorted with daemons and fae alike. Our interactions were limited in my childhood, but he was always kind to me, and for that I was grateful. It was he that taught me how to climb the tall, sad yrashir trees, with their stooped trunks and billowing boughs. It was he that brought fish and clams to our tent when he could, muttering about not needing the extra meat. It was he that laughed at my jokes and told even bawdier ones, and he that played tricks on the older vastaya boys that called me names and pulled my tail about my legs so that I would trip. It was he that showed me how to hold a bow, clean a fish, and tie a knot, and he that told me the stories of the ancient vastayan heroes that slayed dragons and rescued fair vastayan maidens from the clutches of evil human sorcerors. He was my only true friend, that Taewin.

Everything changed the day Sesh-rakshata visited the vastayan horde.

We knew something was wrong. The enormous trail of the Conqueror’s forces, like the tail of slumbering wyrm, had been stationary for almost a fortnight now, and across the respectable distance we kept from them we could see fires blazing and hear the loud cries of men. Our people had emissaries, of course, who knew the human tongue best and sometimes parlayed with the rear guard, but our relationship with their leader was nonexistent. The vastaya were not the only race to follow in his wake - humans, mostly, but a few bands of minotaurs and trolls as well - but we were by far the largest, a few thousand strong. It made nearly twenty years that Sesh-rakshata had been at war, against the rogue disparate forces of the continent he sought to bring under his dominion, at least fourteen of which I had thus been alive. Thus far he had not made any attempt to encroach us, as we had him, and for that we were grateful. In an odd way, as much as we feared him, wrapped in cold metal and death, we were also grateful to him, for sheltering us all these years in the odd way that he had. We were the blood-sucking insect, and he the strong-willed ox, who thought it beneath him to stop for a legion of magic-starved vastaya.

It was early in the morning that he came, but not so early as to catch us completely unawares. Our far-rangers went about each tent and fire to rouse the eldest, speaking of a van of dark horses that were approaching. They carried the scarlet banners of Sesh-rakshata, and at their head, atop a destrier the color of night, rode an enormous man clad entirely in metal. Simultaneously, a great hush and chaos went about the vastaya that day, and those with the most aptitude for the human tongue, my father among them, were rounded up in a sort of delegation to greet him. Just as well, we found our fiercest fighters, often those with the poorest linguistic skills, to accompany them.

I wore a heavy green cloak to hide my face, and stood beside my mother. Even at my age, I towered above her, and her ginger-and-white tail flicked in anxiety, her paws balled into trembling fists. At the time, I thought us the luckiest, to be standing so close to the delegation as we were. Though we were not in the front-most rows, my height and general proximity gave me a clear view of Sesh-rakshata and his men as he approached our vastayan delegation. They stopped their horses several yards away from where we had all stood, and Sesh-rakshata was the first to clamber down from his huge mount. All in all, there was about fifty or sixty of them, well armored, with swords, lances, and axes strapped across their backs. Their leader, of course, carried his huge mace, an ugly silver thing several meters tall and with a head nearly as big as my mother’s whole body, with cruel spikes jutting out two feet long. He carried it slung over his soldier. Such great a weight would have toppled a lesser man, but to look at him bearing it aloft on his metal shoulder, it seemed the easiest thing in the world.

Sesh-rakshata reached up with two armored hands to pull his fearsome helm from his head, revealing a head so brutal and sheer I nearly gasped. He was handsome, to be sure, but in the most primitive and cruel way possible - it looked as if some vengeful sculptor had taken his tools in a fury to carve life into rock. He had thick black hair cut raggedly short at the forehead, braided elaborately to the nape of his neck with bits of bone and steel. Even from where I had stood I would never forget eyes such as his, such piercing blue that they seemed to each hold a raging storm. Around the eyes he had had someone paint his skin black with charcoal, across the bridge of his nose and the temples as well to create a menacing and foreboding looks. He was clean-shaven, but by no means young, and his heavy jaw carried the weight of a hundred battles.

“You are the vastaya I have heard so much about, then.” Sesh-rakshata spoke softly for a man his size and appearance, but in a voice so impossibly deep and powerful that it carried the force of a shout. Even several meters away I heard it as if he had screamed it into my face. “I have come to meet my most…..persistent followers.” He took several steps forward, and about a dozen of his men followed.

Several of the vastaya moved forward to meet him halfway - my father among them, wringing his hands before running them through his orange, feathery hair, shot with grey. Beside me I heard my mother take in a short breath of air, almost as if she were choking back a sob. I put my arm around her for comfort, hoping that she could not feel my cold flesh through her wrappings.

The boldest of us, a bear-like hunter named Haiben, extended a paw forward as they grew closer. Sesh-rakshata regarded the gesture with a sneer, and I could see a few of his men back near the horses snicker under their helms. Haiben recalled his arm and waved about at the men. “We ask why you have come to see us today, after so long a time, m’lord.” Several of the vastaya around both me and him nodded in agreement. Mother spoke poor human, and so I whispered loose translations to her softly.

Sesh-rakshata kept the sneer as he spoke. “I do not know what you creatures think of me, and neither do I care. It is by my will and the blood and arms of my men, that this continent will soon be completely under my thrall. I did not care to bother with your kind whilst I was busy with such important a task. But the apex of my war is long since past. My dominion was assured many months and years ago. All that is left to oppose me is a few scattered bands of savages and heathens.” Sesh-rakshata looked out over the vastaya, seeming to imply that we were the savages and heathens he spoke of. He grimaced, his huge jaw set in a sneer. For a moment, I could have sworn that his awful blue eyes met mine, even beneath the cloak. “The question I have found myself asking these past few nights is what to do with a race of creatures such as yourselves.”

Haiben looked at his fellow delegation before responding. “We are a simple folk, m’lord. It is magic we crave, and little else. You’ll find no trouble from us, m’lord. We’d - we’d support your rule.”

Sesh-rakshata regarded him with those awful eyes of his. “I’m sure you would…...but a farmer does not till his land based on empty promises from his animals. And I am a much greater man, with much greater aspirations, than some paltry farmer. I am the emperor of a soon-to-be glorious empire.” Sesh-rakshata regarded Haiben coolly. “I will need slaves to fuel that empire in the years to come.”

A great uproar went up amongst the vastaya. The walls of fear for Sesh-rakshata had cracked and crumbled, and we all began to shout and speak at once, some in Vastayan and some in the human tongue. Sesh-rakshata seemed almost amused. Haiben scowled. “The vastaya are slaves to no one. We will not challenge you, m’lord, but neither will we be your slaves.” Several of the vastaya around him offered their agreement. Even those among us who knew little of the human tongue knew the word slave, and all around me the vastaya continued to grumble and scowl.

Sesh-rakshata’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “If you would not serve me as slaves, then I will take pleasure in building my empire from your bones. Kneel now, and I will forgive this insult. Continue in your folly, and I will annihilate your people.”

Haiben turned to look at us all. In his broad, furry face, I saw fear, but also determination. The vastaya were a proud people, and strong. It was magic that ran in our veins, and our hearts beat as one. He turned back to Sesh-rakshata. “The vastaya do not kneel.”

Sesh-rakshata nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Haiben’s face. He was quiet for a long time, before turning to leave, his armor clinking and rattling.

Just as fast, he turned back again, and in one ferocious motion lifted his mace high in the air and brought it down upon Haiben before he could react. The mace cleaved his head open like a knife to butter, and smashed all the way down to his groin, so that he stood like some crumpled X, before falling to the ground in a pool of torn flesh and blood. Someone screamed, and then the whole world seemed to spin. My mother pressed against me, whispering in the vastaya tongue to go. Sesh-rakshata raised his mace high in the air, the spiked head still smeared with blood and gore, and let loose a bloodcurdling war cry. ‘MEN! SURROUND THE VASTAYA!” he shouted to the sky, awash with the reds and oranges and purples of sunrise. “KILL ALl WHO RESIST AND PUT THE REST IN CHAINS! BURN THEM! ANNIHILATE THEM! DESTROY THE VASTAYA!” And with that he began his gruesome work, turning on the delegation. Several of our warriors ran to meet him with cudgels and lances and swords, but he flattened them all, caving their heads and chests in with a blow of his might mace. Several vastaya in the crowd drew their bows and loosed a hail of arrows at our foe, but they glanced harmlessly off of his armor. Our translators scattered, and I lost sight of my father.

The field descended into chaos. Men, hundreds of men, thousands of men, burst from the bushes and caves and woods around us, men on foot, on black horses, on great black scaly lizards that walked on all fours and belched flame. A cadre of hooded sorcerors, shadows and flame pooling from their fingertips, emerged from behind a rock near Sesh-rakshata, who was locked in combat with an enormous golden vastaya with the mane of a lion, wielding a greatsword and a scowl across his scarred muzzle. Vastaya screamed around me as arrows and flame rained down upon them. I pulled my mother close and began to run, back to our tent to gather our things. She screamed and cried for father, shouting out his name, but I pulled her along with grim determination. Sesh-rakshata’s men had already fallen upon the vastaya, and were hacking and slashing at any who strayed too close to their great dark horses. I looked above me and saw huge winged shapes, the shadows of wyverns that breathed jets of flame down on the horde. Vastaya screamed and died in the dust and flame and iron of Sesh-rakshata’s lust for conquest.

We reached our tent, and I shoved mother inside. Panic and adrenaline had taken control of me. In Vastayan I told her to pack only what she needed, and began stuffing my own things into a pack. Outside I could hear screams and the clash of metal, the roar of flame and the twang of a hundred vastayan bows. I grimaced, feeling my fangs scrape against my cold, dry lips.

Behind me I heard the flap of the tent. I turned to see a soldier looming over me and mother, a sword in hand. “What d’we have here?” His mouth was a crude slash beneath his helm, but he smiled nonetheless. He took a step forward, raising his sword.

A blade sprouted from his navel with the awful sound of metal puncturing metal, and he died with a look of surprise on his face. As he fell, he revealed Taewin standing behind him, as disheveled and unkempt as ever, his face squinty yet determined. A long, jagged dagger was clutched in one hand, the end smeared with the soldier’s blood. His face broke into a scowl. “Pack your things, kid. Your mother too. It’s time to leave.”

I slung my pack over my shoulder. My family carried no weapons, but my father kept a needle for the minotaurs and larger vastaya, about four feet long and plenty sharp. I snatched it up and turned to mother, who was standing in the corner of the tent, looking down on father’s sleeping place. I could hear her crying softly. I put my arm around her and pulled her towards the opening of the tent. “We have to go, mother.”

Taewin was standing outside, another soldier’s corpse at his feet. One birdlike foot tapped against the ground impatiently. He turned to look at me. “What took you so long, then? Come on, they’re closing in on the tents. Our departure beckons.” And with that he took off at a brisk trot. I pulled mother along after him.

Around us Sesh-rakshata’s men were closing in. The vastaya were putting up a good fight, but we were losing, that much was clear. A loose perimeter had been formed around the main campsite, but everywhere else was chaos. The vastayan trail had stretched for miles, and I could see that the other groups had not been so lucky. Sesh-rakshata had hidden his men in the rocks surrounding the hills we had been crossing, and had sent a portion of his army to the thick wood behind us. That part had looped behind us, slaughtering and enslaving as they went, hoping to press the survivors into the hungry mace of Sesh-rakshata himself. From the sides had come the cavalry, the wyverns, and the sorcerors, so that we had nowhere to run but forward, into Sesh-rakshata and the main horde. From where Taewin and mother and I ran, I could see him. He had donned his helm again, and he looked some shining spectre of death, beautiful but terrible. Wherever his mace swung bodies flew broken and bloodied. Around him we had concentrated the main portion of our forces. He had caught us by surprise, but the vastaya were quick to respond. He and the sixty or so men that had ridden up with him were surrounded by a couple hundred vastaya, but the latter were too afraid to approach for fear of meeting a grisly end by the head of his mace.

I looked behind us. Sesh-rakshata’s rear forces were pressing up in a great dark cloud, brandishing metal and fire as it went. A little smile went to my lips when I saw the minotaurs and trolls rushing to meet them, shouting and roaring and brandishing clubs and spears. The vastayan archers had set up behind them, raining arrows down on the enemy. I even saw some humans taking up arms, clad not in the dark armor of Sesh-rakshata’s men. Taewin turned so that he was running backwards, his inverted knees moving up and down like a hinge. “Where - where are we going?” I panted. Mother was wheezing, her legs churning frantically. I knew she was in agony. “Taewin, Mother can’t handle much more of this.”

Taewin bit his lip, slowing to meet up with us. “I can carry her. Cassandra, come here.”

With unexpected strength he reached to my mothers knees with one hand and put the other on her back, before lifting her up and holding her like a child. He seemed relatively unhindered by the effort. My mother clung to his neck with both arms, shivering slightly. Taewin jerked his head. “Let’s go.”

To my left I heard a roar, and turned my head to the left. Taewin had fallen into my right. A pack of trolls and a vastaya with tough, leathery skin, covered in quills and spines, had been beset upon by the cavalry. Horses were kicking the trolls aside, and swords flashed down to meet them. But the vastaya covered in quills was having none of it. Nearly eight feet tall, he was pulling riders bodily down from their mounts, taking horses’ heads in his huge spiny hands and crushing their muzzles. Quills flew from his arms and back, finding %%%%%s and holes in the soldiers’ armor. Until a wyvern careened down from above and engulfed him in flame. He fell to the ground, bellowing in pain, his spines sticking up like soldiers before crumbling to ash in the fire. The remaining cavalry charged towards us. Taewin cursed in Vastayan and began to run. I followed, the robe flapping about my shins, my tail waving in the wind behind me. I could hear the horses behind us gaining; there must have been a dozen at least.

The world flipped upside down. I had tripped on my robe and the rocky ground rushed up to meet me. I tasted blood in my mouth, and my tail whipped back in forth as I tried to right myself, rolling over onto my back. Three of the horses had nearly reached me. I heard Taewin yell and curse behind me, and my mother screamed. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst.

I heard a roar and opened my eyes. A minotaur came charging in from my right, his head lowered and his huge, muscular arms outstretched. The three closest riders turned to meet the new foe, shouting and drawing their swords, but they were too late. The minotaur slammed into one of the horses, and it let loose a screech of pain as it fell over like some huge domino. The other two riders were caught in the minotaur’s clothesline, and all three fell. I heard a crack as one rider was crushed beneath two of the horses, and the remaining two hid the ground with a thud. The minotaur bellowed and began to stomp the ground with huge hooves, cracking one soldier’s ribcage and smashing another’s leg in. They screamed in agony, whimpering and spasming. The minotaur reached down and bellowed again, reaching its massive purple hands below one of the fallen horse’s flank and picking it up, the veins in its arms popping. The horse screamed as the minotaur flung it toward the other riders, and it crashed into their line. Those that didn’t go under scattered, their horses careening wide around. The minotaur turned and bellowed at me in clumsy Vastayan to leave, before turning to face the mess of horse and man he had made in front of him. He raised his arms and roared, charging forward.

I heard Taewin’s voice in my ear. “Enjoying the show?” he hissed. “Get up, you’re wasting time.” I felt his hands close around my armpits and he lifted me up.

We continued to run. The smoke was burning at my eyes, and I had to blink away thick, milky tears that leaked down my scales. Taewin shifted my mother in his arms, pointing to the press surrounding Sesh-rakshata and his men with his shoulder. “We have to loop around him.” He looked behind us. The rear guard was continuing its bloody advance, and only a small band of minotaurs and trolls were left to challenge them. The vastaya archers had retreated, and several were running along behind us on swift feet. On our sides the cavalry continued to press in. A pack of wolf-like vastaya were keeping the forces on our left at bay, with several larger vastaya wading amongst the enemy in front of them, pulling men from their mounts and stomping them to death in the dust. To our right, I took savage pleasure in seeing that several of the sorcerors lay face down in pools of their own blood, arrows in their backs. More of the minotaur were hurling dead horses at the cavalry, and a massive vastaya with magnificent eagle wings was leading the charge against those that broke through, although the remaining sorcerors were making it difficult. Several wyverns were continuing to cavort about, raining fire down on the vastaya, but several of their corpses lay twisted on the ground. All around me vastaya were dying, and not enough of Sesh-rakshata’s forces seemed to be paying for it.

We had reached the ring surrounding him. Taewin shifted my mother in his arms, drawing his dagger. He began to shove his way through the ring of vastaya, and I followed in his wake. Vastaya surrounded us, shouting and yelling, shoving their swords and spears in the air. I had to be careful not to be impaled by some errant blade. Finally we broke through, and I saw him.

The leonine vastaya, a warrior named Fayar, he had been fighting against lay face down on the ground, and Sesh-rakshata had one iron boot on his back. In one hand he was swinging his mace, and in the other he held Fayar’s maned head by its hair. Fayar’s eyes were open and bulging, his tongue lolled out, revealing huge, curved fangs. Scars crisscrossed his muzzle, and blood still dripped from his neck beneath his mane. Sesh-rakshata had lost his helm again, and his one eye bulged as he screamed, an ugly and primitive sound. One of his eyes had been torn out, a bloody red ruin left on one side. A huge red scar ran through it, curving from his brow to his jaw. He bared his teeth as he screamed, blood dripping from his lips. With one huge motion he reached back and flung Fayar’s head into the crowd, blood and hair cartwheeling off of it as it spun in the air, the early morning sun glinting against the golden fur. “ARE YOU COWARDS? COME AND FACE ME, MONGREL FILTH!”

The vastaya began to shout in the native tongue, chanting and roaring in unison. Sesh-rakshata screamed back at them, all composure gone. The very air around him seemed to darken and twist, and his bloodied features, so contorted and grotesque, seemed like some ancient war mask worn by the Ionian conquerors of old. In that moment I saw the Scourge, his hat tilted at a rakish angle, his high-vaulted metal boots, his two elaborate crossbows that had taken many a vastayan breath, his horrible bird with angry red eyes on its wings. Sesh-rakshata screamed, and so did the Scourge. The smoke and stench of war soured the vision, and it passed. Sesh-rakshata took his mace in both hands and swung it before him in a huge arc, the armor on his shoulders rippling. And then he leapt.

The vastaya scattered before him. Three were flattened beneath his mace, and at least a dozen more were sent flying in the resulting swing. Taewin snarled and began to push through the throng, but the press of bodies was too thick. I turned in place to see that the back line had all but shattered. A huge mass of black horses and shining steel was pressing towards us unhindered. Minotaur corpses lay everywhere. Over the sea of vastayan heads, I could see that to our left, the wolf pack had scattered. To our right, more minotaur corpses greeted my eyes, and the vastaya with the wings of an eagle had lost his head like Fayar. I felt Taewin grab my arm and looked down on him. He had slung my mother over his shoulder, and his other hand held the crooked dagger. A look of fear and anger twisted his face. “This is not going according to plan.”

I laughed, a short, sharp sound. “You think?” The screams were getting louder. Sesh-rakshata was growing closer to us, his mace scattering vastaya wherever it flew. The rear guard was closing in as well, and the remaining cavalry from each side were slowly cantering forward, edging the survivors closer and closer to Sesh-rakshata. Taewin scowled and grabbed a hold of my wrist, beginning to chant.

I tried to break free, but his grip was like iron. “Are you crazy? This isn’t the time to pray!” Taewin ignored me. I looked around in a panic. Sesh-rakshata’s mace sang through the air with an iron screech, and then it was just empty ground between him and us. His face, already twisted with manic, gruesome glee, seemed to contort even further at the sight of us. He pointed with one metal finger. “STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” he bellowed, and began to charge, holding his mace out to his side.

I looked down. Mother was limp in Taewin’s arms. Blood streamed from his nostrils, and he coughed out each word, in a strange language I could not decipher. I looked down. Fiery runes had begun to encircle us, rotating and dancing to the cadence of his prayer. Sesh-rakshata was fast approaching from behind Taewin. I looked up at the sky. It was cloudless, and shot with colors - red, the pale and beautiful color the water wears when the sun stretches its arms in embrace. Orange, the color of my father’s hair, soft and thick, full of dust and grey. There were greens and yellows too, like the leaves of the yrashir tree, its gentle boughs swaying in the wind, and soft purples like the dancing shadows of the mountains. I smiled, and looked at Taewin.

Sesh-rakshata’s mace crashed into his side, and the whole world went black.

We did not have a body to bury, but I piled up the sand nonetheless. I could not write, and so I had Taewin write her name in the traditional Vastayan script on a small stone with his knife. On the other side, I had him write father’s, in the same manner. I laid the stone down in the sand, knowing it would be lost forever in a few days anyway.

Taewin told me later he had cast the spell only out of desperation. The spell was an ancient and eldritch one, and even a shapeshifter as accomplished as he struggled to perform it, even in ideal conditions. Sesh-rakshata’s mace had caught him in the ribs just as the spell was completed, crushing his chest and arm and knocking mother from his arms. He had been visualizing one of the few free human cities, but we ended up somewhere in the desert instead.

The flames cast strange, flickering shadows across Taewin’s face. In their light, he looked ghoulish and malformed, and his grimace of pain did nothing to alleviate that fact. He was propped up against a boulder, his chest criss-crossed with bloodstained bandages. He slept most nights, and I watched over him and the fire. Our rations were dwindling with each passing day, and his condition worsened accordingly. I did little but stare into the flames and shiver myself to restless dreams.

Sesh-rakshata featured prominently in my nightmares. In one, I was Fayar, fending off blow after blow from his enormous mace. I cut out his eye, slashed at his knees, but then the time came when my sword arm faltered, and his mace came hurtling toward my head. I felt everything as my head was torn clean from my neck, and the world spun as my head rolled to the ground. It hurt even worse when I felt his iron fingers clutch me by the mane and hold me up for the vastaya to see. In the crowd I could see my own face, and Taewin’s, and an uncountable array of people I once knew, now all dead or enslaved by the metal monster we once followed. In another, I was Haiben, up until his gruesome end, and another, a minotaur trampled by cavalry, except the men on the horses were all Sesh-rakshata, and their hooves were all the heads of his mace. I screamed and bled and awoke to the freezing desert air coated in sweat.

Taewin said something, which broke through my stupor. I turned my head. He regarded me with flat, broken eyes, like glass washed with oil. “Come here, boy.”

I gave the fire another baleful look before putting my hands on my knees and moving over to kneel beside him. His mouth was tight with pain, and his long, feathery hair was slick with sweat. As I came closer, he raised a hand and put it on my own, not flinching at my cold and scaly flesh. He looked at me with mournful eyes, soft and sad and shattered. “I will die.”

I didn’t answer. He licked his lips and moved his eyes to the fire, which crackled soft and loud behind me and in front of him. “But I refuse to allow that to happen to you.”

I wound my fingers through his. “I won’t leave you.”

The ghost of a smile touched Taewin’s lips. “You won’t, don’t worry.” One of his arms was in a crude sling, but the other reached up and pulled something from the folds of his shirt, above and slightly to the left of the bandages. It was a simple cord necklace, wound with a dozen or so wooden beads, shining in the firelight. “Take this,” he wheezed.

I let the necklace slide from his fingers to mine, and held it up to my face to inspect it more closely. The beads were unremarkable, smooth and blemishless, about the size of my thumbnail. The black grain, sometimes grey, sometimes yellow, curved and looped around each, but otherwise they were quite ordinary. The cord was black string, thin but sturdy. I lowered the necklace. “What is this for?”

“A powerful relic, designed to carry the user wherever he may wish.”

“Why - ”

“ -didn’t we use it back on the battlefield? Many reasons. For one, the incantation to activate the beads is even more exerting than the spell I used.. For another, its range is limited, and its means corporeal. We would have been cut down before we made it very far. Lastly, your mother would not likely have survived the ordeal. This spell is not a gentle one.” He winced. “I am truly sorry. I loved Cassandra as a true friend.”

“I loved her like a mother.”

Taewin nodded solemnly. “As you should have, my boy. As you should have.” He wheezed, pressing his other hand to the bloody bandages. “Place the necklace around my neck.” He leaned his head forward slightly so that I could do so, although the motion obviously caused him great pain. As I slid the necklace around his head, he leaned back again, breathing heavily, before he began to speak.

“Ka-santu bo rindshi. Ka-santu heki meki relu. Ka-santu Wan'no mo nishi bo sto-hekl. Ma-rami, ma-rami, bo rindshi. Ka-santu ju-nidl.”

As he spoke the words, the beads began to glow, With a soft snap the necklace broke, and the beads began to float off the string, growing in size and humming softly. Around and around they went, circling Taewin’s head like some bizarre desert bird. Soon they were the size of a fist, and then my head. As they danced, they rose higher and higher, and the humming soon outgrew the crackle of the flames. I scrambled back, afraid. Taewin laughed. He had long since stop saying the words, but the beads continued to grow and dance and spin, humming a tune to themselves. They clacked against one another as the revolved, and soon they began to fuse, forming a long, winding shape like a snake. The snake of wooden beads began to twist and shudder and contort, before slithering around Taewin’s head one last time and coming to a stop at my feet. By that time it had grown to nearly five or six meters long, and I could not have wrapped my arms around the width of any one of the beads. Taewin laughed again, but it was a strained sound, and sweat was pouring off of him like rainwater. “You’ve overexerted yourself again,” I chastised. Taewin shook his head. “I will not be long for this world. This is my final gift to you. Touch the beads with your hand when you are ready” He gave me another sad smile. “But first you must promise something to me.”

I approached him and knelt down, and he whispered it in my ear. I refused at first, but the look in his eyes told me he would do the deed himself if I did not oblige him. “I want it,” he said. “You are doing me the kindest mercy there is in this world.”

Behind me, the beads hummed and clacked against each other. Taewin took my hand in his, and the knife was between my fingers, clumsy and cold and shaking. He put the tip to his heart. “Be sure to press hard and true. I want a clean go of this, you hear me?”

There were tears in my eyes. “Do you remember the waterfalls? Where you taught me to swim?”

Taewin smiled. “Of course.”

I mirrored his smile, and our eyes met, broken glass reflecting light off of its sister fragments. “The way the light from the sun spilled across the water as it fell, so it made rainbows on the pebbles? Do you remember? How my tail kept slipping against the rocks and I would always fall and bang my head?”

“And I was always there to pick you up when you fell, although it got harder and harder the more times you soaked yourself through.”

The words were pouring out of me like the water from the waterfalls now. “And father watching us anxiously from the grass, with his spectacles and his book, making sure I didn’t drown in the ankle-deep water? The little pink and orange fish that swam amongst the pebbles, and the crabs you showed me how to catch with my thumb and a stone? The way the water gushed out clear and strong from the stone crevice, and the way it parted near the - “

I pushed. It was easier than I thought it would be, and Taewin sighed as I did so. His eyes went glassy and his fingers went limp in my palm, sliding down my wrist to his stomach. He slouched slightly, and the gentle tug that was pulling his mouth up into a smile disappeared, so he seemed to be resting, but his eyes were open, glassy and broken and shattered. I reached down with two scaly fingers and closed them by the lids. It looked as if he were sleeping, and so I wrapped him up in his blankets, gently pulling the knife from his heart and flinging it far off into the dunes. A few drops of blood spattered into the fire, and it hissed and crackled. I stamped it out, and gathered my things, slinging the pack onto my shoulder. I looked at Taewin, where he was sleeping, and wished him pleasant dreams. “You as well,” he seemed to say, in that sing-songy voice of his.

The beads were waiting for me. If they had witnessed anything of what had just transpired, they gave no sign of it. I looked back at the cold and empty fire, and Taewin’s sleeping form. “Goodbye,” I whispered, before closing my eyes and placing my hand on the bead closest to me.

My eyes were forced open, the way the bowstring snaps forward when one looses an arrow. The beads shot off like spurred horse, clacking and twisting and jumping and soaring, bound together by a thin line of golden-orange flame. My whole body was alight with fire as well. I felt its warmth, the gentle tickle of its dance, but it neither burned nor smoked. Tears coursed down my cheeks and my lips flapped in the wind, the frigid desert air rushing through my teeth and into my eyes. My limbs and tail flapped about like flags in a storm, save for the hand pressed tight against the bead, which had sunken deep within the wood, encased within it like clay or plaster. The world beneath us seemed to spin faster and faster, forward, the horizon rushing to greet us but never completing the embrace. It felt as if we had been traveling for years, or only seconds - an hour, a day, a lifetime. The whole world seemed to be these strange little wooden beads, that clacked and dance and swam through the desert air, pressing forward at impossible speeds. Many times I tried to close my eyes to sleep, but the wind and the fire forced them to stay open. Sand blended with sky to form impossible purples and yellows, greens and blues and reds and browns. The sounds of a thousand desert animals fused together to one long, mournful cry, and the taste of fire and sand and wind in my mouth was ever-present. I felt myself age on those beads, precious years slipping away, although I knew it was only a sensation.

And then it was over, and I went flying through the air, crashing unceremoniously onto hard stone. I groaned, fingering my ribs, wondering where the beads had taken me. Rolling over onto my back, and was greeted by a strange sight.

There were three of them, hunched over on their carved wooden staffs, wearing long, tasseled robes that trailed behind them on the sandy stone. Their faces were hidden behind elaborate masks carved of wood, bone, stone, and clay, smeared and painted with shapes, lines and pictographs, in a crude but deliberate fashion. Feathers stuck up from the tops, and dangling bits of string and woven plant material dangled from their chins and necks. Two had enormous horns curling up from atop the masks, seemingly made from the bones of an animal, while the third had a sculpted crown of dried grass and twigs. They regarded me with huge, bulbous eyes of colored glass, stuffed with sand and rocks and bits of twig and bone, hooting and chortling softly to themselves. They were much bigger than any human or vastaya had any right to be - eight or nine feet tall, but willowy and thin. A nice strong wind could probably have knocked them all over easily. I scrambled up, backing away. They continued to study me with their false eyes, inching forward. Behind them stood the tall and foreboding shadows of desert ruins - fallen columns, huge, broken slabs of stone, ancient archways blocked by rubble. A globe of blue fire floated two feet off the ground near to their left, a few meters away. Magic.

The one with the grass and twig crown reached out with a hand. Even in the weak, ghostly light of the fire, I could see it: dead and brown and twisted, like that of a corpse that had long since dried up and shriveled. The fingers were like twigs, half-decayed husks bearing black talons six inches long. Its fingers twitched and shivered before me, and I looked up at its strange and alien mask - or was that its true face? In the flickering light it was impossible to tell. I felt a tugging at my waist and saw the beads, shrunken back into their original size, tuck themselves neatly into the pocket of my loose cloth pants. The being’s hand trembled violently, an impatient noise emanated from behind the mask. I reached forward with one of my own tentatively, and the being shooks its head slightly, its hollow, stuffed eyes gazing down on me. They seemed to drift towards my waist, although I knew it was only a trick of the light. I recalled my hand and reached into my pocket, pulling out the strand of beads. The other two beings hooted and clapped, and so I reached forward to place the beads on the third’s wrist. As I did so, I could feel its silent, unforgiving eyes bore holes into the top of my head.

The bracelet fit its wrist neatly, and it retracted the hand almost immediately, slipping it back into the folds of its long, trailing robe. “Wan’no, wan’no, wan’no,” it chanted. If the color grey had a voice, it would be this being before me - soft, haunting, enigmatic. “Wan’no, wan’no, wan’no.” The other two were hopping from foot to foot and spinning in place, clapping, their staffs discarded. They joined the chant. “Wan’no, wan’no, wan’no.” By this time I felt lost and confused.

The third being joined the dance, hopping from foot to foot, hooting and chanting. “Wan’no, wan’no, wan’no.” And then the air above their heads began to shimmer and change.

The air above them rippled as if someone had thrown a rock into a pool of water. Shining orange waves of quicksilver fire pulsated from the ripple point, and the space of chilly night air above their heads coalesced into a brilliant flaming mirror, slowly revolving in place. The beings began to clap again, and the sound echoed through the desert. The face of the mirror blurred and swirled before images began to coalesce. As the beings held their hands above them, clapping fervently, the sleeves of their robes had fallen to their elbows, and so I could see the bracelet on the third one’s arm, the one with the crown above its mask. The beads were glowing.

At first, I did not recognize the images before me. A village in ruins burned and fell, and a face swam across the face of the flaming mirror, a grizzled old vastaya with a wolf’s snout and piercing green eyes. The image passed, and I saw the same vastaya dead, his belly full of arrows, laying in a pool of his own blood as shadows moved in the darkness. The leaves and fronds of a dark forest rushed past from the eyes of an unseen character. More images flashed, faster and faster - forests and plains, mountains and valleys, torchlit crypts and the high-vaulted cathedrals of the human cities. Sorcerors in gilded robes that breathed flame, knights in full plate wielding swords that glowed with light, fearsome beasts I could not describe running and charging across the mirror’s face. A human woman’s face, soft and gentle, a dark tavern, a candlelit bed. Elaborate banquets featuring food of all description and chilly nights by an empty fire with no food but snow and acorns. Books and scrolls and treasure dead things pickled in jars, staffs and swords and axes and bows as tall as a man. Minotaurs and trolls and dragons and vastaya, rats and spiders and crocodiles and dogs and other beasts that stood on hind legs like men. An enormous, pig-like vastaya with an even bigger smile tucked behind his tusks, his shiny bald head adorned with a drooping hat and his substantial belly covered by two coats stitched together; an old man hunched over a ponderous tome, a huge clock strapped to his back, a small child with white fur and a dark mask, a shadow with fiery blue eyes twisting and writhing about her as she nocked an arrow into a small, curved bow And then it changed once more.

A tiny baby brought wailing into the world, covered in slick green scales, a stubby little tail thrashing back and forth. A trail of dust and smoke wafting over a long trail of vastaya, plodding along behind an even larger horde of men in dark armor. Waterfalls splayed with rainbow light, fish thrown onto the stone and a little boy with the face of a lizard beaming up into the mirror. Looking down the shaft of an arrow nocked into a bow, perched in the branches of a tree. Innumerable stars twinkling and glimmering in a sky the color of ink, and a hot yellow sun pouring invisible flame onto a baked ground of dry dirt. The sun filtering through the branches as the unseen perceiver climbed with nimble hands. The beings had stopped chanting, and the only sound to be heard was the hollow, dry sound of their hollow, dry hands striking each other. I reached up with a hand and viciously wiped away a tear in the corner of my eye.

A man covered in metal brought the head of an enormous mace down on a vastaya. A wave of fire crashed down on a line of tents. Ten men died in the span of ten seconds, and one more in the span of five. A young man with the face of a lizard pulled his mother along from within the mirror, and then the mother was gone, and then the boy. The mirror faded to blackness, and then there was just the face of the boy, pointed and reptilian, his eyes wet and his mouth shut tight. There were stars behind his head, innumerable, each like a tiny pearl in a vast black oyster that never closed. And then the mirror went white, and cracked, and exploded into a million tiny orange shards that gleamed with the power of a star. They vibrated in the air for a moment before falling to the ground.

I rushed forward, pushing the beings out of my way. They had been standing in a loose semicircle, their arms at their sides, their heads bowed over their staffs. As I expected, they were like scarecrows, weightless and without substance. I fell to my knees, gathering up what few pieces of the mirror I could reach, but they were melting like putty, sluicing over my fingers and dripping to the ground. “No!” I cried out. “Show me more!” One of them let out a mournful hoot behind me. I whirled on it in anger, my teeth bared. “Who are you? What are you? Why did you do this?”

One of the others reached out and tried to touch me, and I slapped its hand away. As I did so, its arm exploded into sand. Its robes crumpled to the ground, its mask falling to the ground with a clack. The other two stared at me with their stuffed-glass eyes mournfully, giving no indication that I had just destroyed their compatriot. They made a soft hooting noise again, and I turned.

The mirror shards had all melted away into a bright orange pool, but some of it was rising up in small globs, spinning and contorting itself into spheres. The liquid was like water, thin and transparent, and from within the floating globes I could see a faint light, weak but persistent. As I watched, the whole pool formed itself into six of these spheres, and they hung there for a moment, motionless aside from the sparkle of light from within. One began to float slowly toward me, and I backed away, but it passed by me without heed. It floated over to the robes and mask of the being I had killed, and sank deep into them. With wonder I watched as the robes ballooned up with sand and wind and ghostly fire, and the mask floated up to nestle itself neatly into the hood. The being gave a little shimmy with its shoulders, shaking the loose sand off, and cocked its head, its glass eyes seeming to blink in the light of the orbs. It was as if nothing had happened.

I fell to my knees again. The other five orbs began to circle me, like a dance. The being with the grass crown pitched its arm toward me, as if it were tossing something underhand, and the bead bracelet flew through the air towards me. I caught it midair, and as I did so, the orbs began to revolve, slowly at first and then faster and faster. It was nothing but a frayed cord of string now, the beads gone. The beings reached up with their dry, dead hands, removing their masks and letting them drop to the ground with a clatter.

The two with the horns had the skulls of a cow or deer, their antlers twisting up and around each other, their eye sockets filled with orange flame that quivered and danced and bobbed back and forth. But first one, the one who had thrown me the bracelet, had a human skull, with a pair of iridescent yellow eyes, like mine. There was wisdom, and strength in those eyes. Coarse brown hair, dry and twisted, braided intricately, flowed down from its scalp and past its shoulders. I knew I should have been unsettled, but the skull did not frighten me. It raised one hand in salute, and the other two behind it did the same. One by one they began to dissipate into sand, and on the stone floor of the ruins their masks did the same, until all that was left was a pair of yellow eyes gazing at me thoughtfully, suspended in the air a couple of feet above my own eye level. We looked at each other for a long while, before they burst into flame and disappeared, leaving me alone in the desert with Taewin’s memories.

My lips quivered up into a smile, and I turned my attention back to the orbs. They were moving so fast now I could not distinguish them from one another, only a fiery, blurred ring. Without a sound, they contracted, affixing me around the waist like a belt, hardening and darkening into huge brown beads the size of my fist. They fit me snugly, and as I looked out into the desert horizon, I kept that smile, full of wonder at the possibility that lay before me. That is the thing about the vastaya, I recalled Taewin telling me many years ago.

They do not believe in walls.

Present Day

“Wow, that was a long story, mister,” the little yordle said, looking up at me with her big green eyes. She yawned a little, her impish little fairy flying circles around her head “Was it all true?”

I laughed, slapping my knee beneath the robe and rocking slight back from atop the crystal-studded boulder. Age had stolen my voice and then given it back to me, but it was a different creature now, coarse and deep and rumbling. “Of course not, little thing. Do you think I could have possible survived all that?”

Lulu shrugged, her hat wobbling slightly to the side. “I dunno, mister.” She regarded me thoughtfully for a few moments. “You’re sure you made all that up?” I nodded sagely, and she continued on breathlessly. “That was a sad story, I think. Do you know any happier ones?”

“Of course. But I’m saving those for a different time.”

“Okay! But you have to promise you’ll tell me them soon.”

I laughed again. “Of course, little one. Now run along and play.”

Lulu scurried along, her fairy Pix not far behind, transmogrifying trees into squirrels and squirrels into trees as she went. I followed her with my eyes, chuckling to myself. It made nearly half a century that I had been in the Glade with her, although time passed funnily in this place. It was past time to move on, although the little yordle had grown on me, and I would be sad to leave her. But the journey always beckoned me back, and I could never resist it for very long. My tired old feet still itched for the feel of the earth beneath it, and the beads on my back longed for a new friend.

Lulu was running around her staff now, Pix beating his little purple wings to keep up. She fell onto the enchanted grass, shimmering with magical dew in a thousand myriad colors, breathless, her hat falling off her head and rolling a few feet away.

I reached into the folds of my cloak, searching, my withered, scaly fingers, scrabbling amongst the heavy, thick fabric for what I was looking for. My fingers closed around it and I pulled it out, inspecting it in the multicolor sunshine of the Glade. Time had shrunken it, so that it was barely longer than my pinky finger now. Where there had been black there was now only dirty, faded grey, but I recognized it all the same.

A short little circle of string, weightless and humble, looped about my aged old fingers.

Friends:

Enemies:

#STATISTICS

|Stat-------------------------------|Value at Levels 1-18| |- |Health:| 530 - 2128 |Health Regen:| 5.4 - 14.8 |Mana:| 350 - 1285 |Mana Regen:| 10 - 20.2 |Attack Damage:| 52 - 107 |Attack Speed:| 0.625 - 0.850 |Armor:| 23.5 - 95 |Magic Resistance:| 30 |Attack Range:| 525 | |Movement Speed:| 330 |

#ABILITIES

##OVERVIEW

[P] Journey of an Elder Prophet: Wan’no’s presence causes seven Lost Memories to form on the Rift. Wan’no can activate these Memories to cause them to spawn Tears of the Traveller that grant experience, heal, and restore mana to allies who collect them. Wan’no can cause more Lost Memories by moving across the Rift.

[Q] Touch of Flame: Wan’no rolls a ball of fire that deals magic damage to enemies hit and reveals them. Wan’no can reactivate this ability to cause the ball to explode, dealing magic damage and grounding enemies hit. If the ball hits a Tear of the Traveller, then it will continue to roll.

[W] Blazing Spirit: Wan’no polymorphs himself or an allied champion, granting a massive increase in movement speed and leaving a fire trail that damages enemies. If the target touches a Tear of the Traveller, then the effect is extended.

[E] Wanderer’s Corridor: Wan’no creates a small zone at his current location that lasts for a few seconds. He can reactivate this ability to transport all units within the zone to a nearby Lost Memory.

[R] Dance of a Thousand Suns: Wan’no channels, adding up to ten initial beads to a counter. When the channel ends, Wan’no gains control of a large bead serpent that moves at increased speed and damages and knocks up enemies it strikes. Allies can ride with the serpent, and upon the duration expiring the serpent will fall apart, spawning a Tear of the Traveller for every bead it had upon death.

http://i.imgur.com/U4TGGUx.png[/img]

##Ability Notes

Lost Memories appear on the mnimap for Wan'no, and he can see whether they have been activated yet or not.

http://i.imgur.com/LcMVEYp.png[/img]

http://i.imgur.com/RxIviPP.png[/img]

http://i.imgur.com/39lDgpA.png[/img]

http://i.imgur.com/GyMt3Rq.png[/img]

##Ability Notes:

The bead serpent gains the effects of any auras Wan'no had upon cast.
Wan'no may use item actives and summoner spells while controlling the serpent.

Here is the Google Doc for the kit. I will do my best to keep the images updated with any changes I make, but otherwise please refer to the Doc for judging.

##RECOMMENDED ITEMS

Starting

Core:

Essential:

Offensive:

Defensive:

Situational:

#QUOTES

Wan'no has a voice not unlike Grandmaester Pycelle's true voice.

##Upon selection:

Not all who wander know their way. But there are few who are ever truly lost.

##Upon being banned:

We will meet in another lifetime.

##Upon game start:

Let us forge new paths.
We are all travellers. I am simply much older than most.
Come. Come! There is so much to see!

##Movement:

I tend to get lost from time to time, but then again, who doesn't?
I have seen many sunsets in my travels. All were magnificent.
May the gods above guide me.
The stars are poetry written by the cosmos.
It is a beautiful day to go wandering.
Life is the marriage of creation and beauty.
_All one needs is a pair of good feet and the will to succeed. _
The world is an unfinished story. I will complete my chapter in time.
Where one path ends, another is usually hidden nearby.
Each bead is a story I wish I had the time to tell.
A good set of travelling robes can go a long way.
This world has been kind to me, I think.
Which constellations can I see?
Dust is the footprint of the past.
Life gives us opportunities to improve, and we should take them.
I weep not only for the past, but also the future.
Put one front in front of the other, and soon you'll find your way.
Ah, it's good to get in a good stretch every now and then.
This place is not as bad as they made it out to be.
The traveller is the quintessential innovator.
I want to see more.
Each new place is a memory.
Each sunset is the prelude to an even greater sunrise.
I shed tears for the paths I have never walked and the faces I have never seen.
Soon I will move on, but for now I will enjoy the journey.
It is impermanence that makes a thing beautiful.
The journey teaches us about the nature of the destination.
There is no such thing as a wrong path, only a misguided one.
All beings have within themselves the means to do good.
Only a fool spends his entire life in the place where he was born.
I am but a humble traveller, peddling his craft.
All men search for something.
I am brother to creation and enemy to the stagnant.
A new age is dawning.
There are many reasons to wander, but not all are good.
If you listen, you can hear the footsteps of those who came before you.
Ah. This world is beautiful.
I am witness to this world's history.
I have gone by many names, but traveller is most apt.

##Attacking:

Cease your yammerings, insolent being.
Threaten my compatriots no longer.
End these frivolous rebellions and forge a new path.
I do not like bullies.
Fire is not only for illumination, you know.
You have stagnated, and thus failed in your quest.
Why must we mortals sqaubble amongst ourselves?
This is your final warning.
Hush now, child.
May these flames serve as a warning.
I see you need a little more persuasion.
Do not presume to invoke my ire.
I may look frail, but I carry the wisdom of a thousand travels.
Flame burns as diligently as it lights the way.
I will not enjoy this.
You are but another small bead of this world's necklace.
I take no pleasure in humiliating a worthy foe.
We are not enemies, you and I.
You seek to halt my journeying.
I will not stand for this, I warn you.
You are forcing my hand, ruffian.
I'll have you know - agh! Never mind.
Do not test me!

##Taunt:

I'm afraid I'm not one for witty banter or petty insults.
I have no quarrel with you. I would advise a long walk and a soothing cup of tea.
Oh all right....hmm....let's see.....your mother is not a very nice person?
After this battle has passed, you would be welcome to join me in my travels.
I acknowledge your efforts to hinder our progress. You are a worthy foe.
We will meet again, never fear. Perhaps as allies, or even as friends.

##Upon an Enemy Champion Taunting Nearby:

Hmpf. I suppose that was pretty good.
Spend less time lambasting your peers and more time looking inward.
Oh yes, very witty, very witty.
Yes, good one. Now look behind you.

##Taunting a nearby Ahri:

Do not let your more closeminded peers dissuade you from what you desire, child.
I see much of me in you, Ahri.
Persistence is the key to success.

##Taunting a nearby Aurelion Sol:

Your children have kept me company on many a lonely night. I thank you.

##Taunting a nearby Bard:

Ah, you, Caretaker. Our paths cross once more.

##Taunting a nearby Ezreal:

Knowledge is a weapon. Bear it well on your travels, child.

##Taunting a nearby enemy Galio:

Poor creature. Doomed to an eternity of standing still.

##Taunting a nearby Illaoi:

I am much too old to be taking any sort of test, but I daresay I would pass yours, Truth Seeker.
I have known many Truth Seekers. Forge your own path, Illaoi.

##Taunting a nearby Ivern:

Oh, I quite like you. We should get a cup of tea sometime.

##Taunting a nearby Kindred:

You are a wanderer too, and you are never alone.

##Taunting a nearby Lulu:

Hello again, little one.
Hello, old friend. How have you been?
Ah, my sweet Lulu. It has been much too long.
Let's go polymorphing again after this.

##Taunting a nearby enemy Mordekaiser:

So this is what has become of you, Sesh-rakshata_._
I did not think I would ever see you again.
I forgive you, Sesh-rakshata_._
You will be judged for your crimes soon enough.

##Taunting a nearby enemy Rakan:

You would do well to learn from the tortoise, flashy songbird.
Blind love is no excuse for xenophobia.

##Taunting a nearby enemy Swain:

That vastayan blood was not yours to take.

##Taunting a nearby enemy Tahm Kench:

Long ago I learned that 'bully' means the same thing as 'coward'.
You are a selfish and pitiful creature, demon.
You exploit man's thirst for adventure for your own primal desires. Shame on you.
I do not hate you. I hate that you are necessary.

##Taunting a nearby Taliyah:

I could be your guide, Taliyah.

##Taunting a nearby enemy Xayah:

Be careful, child. You might get exactly what you wish for.
You are but the youngest of a long line of vastaya. Do not bring dishonor upon your ancestors.
You mistake xenophobia for hereditary pride.

##Taunting a nearby Yasuo:

If you want others' forgiveness, you must first forgive yourself.

##Joke: Wan'no takes a seat on the ground and enchants a small fiery creature to dance around him, before it runs away.

Buy one polymorph and get another free - no, wait come back!
Oh, how cute - wait, wait, get back here you little -
I think I'll call you.....Fred. Fred? Fred, don't leave me all alone!
(humming playfully) - Ah, what am I kidding, I knew it would do that.

##Dance: Wan'no's totem begins to glow and emit the muted instrumental of some music as Wan'no himself nods his head.

##Laugh: Wan'no throws his head back slightly and chuckles.

##Upon Casting Recall:

Another path beckons.

##Upon activating a Lost Memory:

Ah, I remember this one.
Hello, past me!
Serve my friends well, shade.

##Upon a nearby ally collecting a Tear of the Traveller:

A gift, my friend.
Do not waste my tear.
Hold the light within you, child.
Take my offering.

##Upon a new Lost Memory Forming:

Have I really travelled this far again?
A new journey, preserved forever in my wake.
Every step is a memory, but not all are perserved.
I must go, and unlock past secrets.

##Upon casting Touch of Flame:

Light the way.
Give us warmth from the cold.
A touch of flame.

##Upon casting Blazing Spirit:

I unlock the fire within you.
Roam free, kindred spirit.
I have set you free.
Use this gift while you can.

##Upon creating a Wanderer's Corridor:

Over here!
This way!
This one looks promising.

##Upon activating a Wanderer's Corridor:

Time to go.
Farewell. Our paths must now diverge.
A circle of flame shall be your salvation.
I make my own path.

##Upon channeling Dance of a Thousand Suns:

Ka-santu bo rindshi. Ka-santu heki meki relu. Ka-santu Wan'no mo nishi bo sto-hekl. Ma-rami, ma-rami, bo rindshi. Ka-santu ju-nidl.

##While controlling the bead serpent: The bead serpent sounds like serpent blocks from New Super Mario Bros. Wii.

Out of the way!
Hop along for a ride, friends!
Join the beads' dance!
Hiss, hiss, hiss.
Heads up!
Join the dance!
(Wan'no laughs)
This is liberating!
I am flying on woven wings.
Of all my travels, this is my favorite.
I am the wanderer.
I am the traveller.

##Upon death:

My path.....yet still......remains.
Follow my path....it will always remain.
Do not....forget me.
I hope....I have wrought good.....in this world.

#CHANGELOG

##V1.0 - 4/15/17 Posted

[Champion Concept] Wan'no, the Eternal Traveller

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