The Summoners🔮

Mystery Gift here!

mybb@mybb.ru (kfrolex) — Sat, 29 Oct 2016 07:22:11 +0300

Sino na po ba ang nanalo dito?

Looking for Party [RANK & NORMAL]

mybb@mybb.ru (Jinxu) — Thu, 27 Oct 2016 14:53:29 +0300

Hi. Pag nakuha ko na lappy ko by nextwk (if ever) LET'S PLAY! :D My ign is my forum name hehehe!

HOW?

mybb@mybb.ru (Jinxu) — Tue, 18 Oct 2016 14:45:33 +0300

How can you forgive someone who lied to you a lot of times?
How can you feel the love again?
How can you build the trust again?
How can you forget everything?

I've become a brute, to the fact that I've been punching my bf (not a girly punch but PUNCH as in VI PUNCH na bugbog na sya) whenever I recall the time he lied to me bcs he met up with his EX! Tsk. I wasn't like this before, and I don't want to be like this. I am broken. His friends, his ex, and him, ruined my whole entity. He can no longer fix me. And as I try to fix myself, I keep falling and break into pieces over and over again. I'm long dead.

It was just a lie. It's already in the past, but it keeps haunting me. I already know the reason why. It's bcs I trusted him so much, that I couldn't accept the fact that he lied to me; that the person whom I gave my everything lied to me; that the person who told me he'd keep his promises lied! And my friends, to top it off, told me that meeting an ex is considered as CHEATING. It hurts. My kokoro is in pain every single minute in every single day.

All I want is their SINCERE APOLOGY. From his friends, his ex, and from him though he already did say his sorry.

I just love him that it's breaking me apart.

JINXU'S POWPOW EVENT - I

mybb@mybb.ru (Jinxu) — Tue, 18 Oct 2016 14:28:37 +0300

Hi Im Erlle
CONGRATULATIONS ON WINNING THE 1ST PRIZE OF THE EVENT!
I WILL BE ADDING YOU TO MY LOL ACCOUNT. PLS ACCEPT, MY IGN IS: Jinxu
THANK YOU FOR JOINING AND FOR YOUR HARDWORK! :)

2016 Worlds Quarter Finalists

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Mon, 17 Oct 2016 01:21:20 +0300

The SK Telecom T1 and ROX Tigers proceeded to the Semifinals.. and only One Spot left.. Will it be the last hope of EU or the surprise Wildcard Team???
#H2KWiN or #ANXWIN

What do you think about the revealed Victorious Maokai??

mybb@mybb.ru (ejdct) — Fri, 14 Oct 2016 22:49:53 +0300

Syempre sobrang saya free champion and free skin. Hahaha

Suggest animu

mybb@mybb.ru (Jinxu) — Thu, 13 Oct 2016 18:23:31 +0300

I guess Imma put Nanbaka on my list then. Hahaha!

Hmmm... Deadman Wonderland is not a comedy tho. Hahaha! How abt Trickster :) it's also new and cool ^_^

2016 World Championship: Group Stage Week 2

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Sun, 09 Oct 2016 15:34:51 +0300

Day 8: Group C Grand Slam

Game 1: I May VS Flash Wolves
Game 2: Cloud9 VS SKT T1 Telecom
Game 3: Cloud9 VS Flash Wolves
Game 4: SKT T1 Telecom VS I May
Game 5: I May VS Cloud9
Game 6: SKT T1 Telecom VS Flash Wolves

*Day 8 Will begin at 4:00 AM October 10, 2016- Philippine Standard Time

Ivern, The Green Father - Now Available!

mybb@mybb.ru (Janna) — Thu, 06 Oct 2016 16:46:36 +0300

Ivern, The Green Father - Now Available!

200 RP | 6300 IP

"Wildflowers bloom in his footsteps as he laughs with trees, plays tricks on rocks, and dines with moss on the sun�s delectable rays. When the Green Father traipses into your lane, he brings all the secrets of the forest along with him."

Khada Jhin Champion Bio

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Thu, 06 Oct 2016 12:22:31 +0300

The Vituoso
"Art contains certain cruelty"
Jhin is a meticulous criminal psychopath who believes murder is art. Once an Ionian prisoner, but freed by shadowy elements within Ionia�s ruling council, the serial killer now works as their cabal's assassin. Using his gun as his paintbrush, Jhin creates works of artistic brutality, horrifying victims and onlookers. He gains a cruel pleasure from putting on his gruesome theater, making him the best choice to send the most powerful of messages: terror.
For years, Ionia�s southern mountains were plagued by the infamous �Golden Demon.� Throughout the province of Zhyun, a monster slaughtered scores of travelers and sometimes whole farmsteads, leaving behind twisted displays of corpses. Armed militias searched the forests, towns hired demon hunters, Wuju masters patrolled the roads - but nothing slowed the beast�s grisly work.
In desperation, the Council of Zhyun sent an envoy to beg Great Master Kusho for help. Upon hearing of the region�s plight, Kusho feigned an excuse for why he couldn�t help. But a week later, the master, his son Shen, and star apprentice Zed, disguised themselves as merchants and moved to the province. In secret, they visited the countless families emotionally shattered by the killings, dissected the horrific crime scenes, and looked for possible connections or patterns to the murders.
Their investigation took four long years, and left the three men changed. The famous red mane of Kusho turned white; Shen, known for his wit and humor, became somber; and Zed, the brightest star of Kusho�s temple, began to struggle with his studies. Upon finally finding a pattern to the killings, the Great Master is quoted as saying: �Good and evil are not truths. They are born from men and each sees the shades differently.�
Depicted in a variety of plays and epic poems, the capture of the �Golden Demon� would be the seventh and final great feat in the illustrious career of Lord Kusho. On the eve of the Blossom Festival in Jyom Pass, Kusho disguised himself as a renowned calligrapher to blend in with the other guest artists. Then he waited. Everyone had assumed only an evil spirit could commit these horrifying crimes, but Kusho had realized the killer was an ordinary man. The famed �Golden Demon� was actually a mere stagehand in Zhyun�s traveling theaters and opera houses working under the name Khada Jhin.
When they caught Jhin, young Zed marched forward to kill the cowering man, but Kusho held him back. Despite the horrors of Jhin�s actions, the legendary master decided the killer should be taken alive and left at Tuula Prison. Shen disagreed, but accepted the emotionless logic of his father�s judgment. Zed, disturbed and haunted by the murder scenes he had witnessed, was unable to understand or accept this mercy, and it is said a resentment began to bloom in his heart.
Though imprisoned in Tuula for many years, the polite and shy Khada Jhin revealed little of himself - even his real name remained a mystery. But while a prisoner, the monks noted he was a bright student who excelled in many subjects, including smithing, poetry, and dance. Regardless, the guards and monks could find nothing to cure him of his morbid fascinations.
Outside the prison, Ionia fell into turmoil as the Noxian empire�s invasion led to political instability. War awoke the tranquil nation�s appetite for bloodshed. The peace and balance Kusho had famously fought to protect was shattered from within as dark hearts rose in power and secret alliances competed for influence. Desperate to counter the power of the ninja and Wuju swordsmen, a cabal within the ruling council conspired to secretly free Jhin and turn him into a weapon of terror.
Now with access to the Kashuri armories� new weapons, and nearly unlimited funds, the scale of Khada Jhin�s �performances� has grown. His work has brought fear to many foreign dignitaries and to Ionia�s secret political underground, but how long will a serial killer, craving attention, be satisfied working in the shadows?
ctto: League of Legends

6.20 Patch Maintenance

mybb@mybb.ru (Janna) — Wed, 05 Oct 2016 14:22:43 +0300

Greetings Summoners,

We will be having a scheduled server maintenance tomorrow, October 6, 2016. This is to give way to our 6.20 Patch Deploy.

Ranked Queues will be disabled at 4:30 AM. Servers will shutdown at 6:00 AM and is expected to be back at 10:00 AM. Please be advised that up-time is subject to change without prior notice. Kindly avoid playing near the downtime to avoid any account issues.

Regards,
LoL PH Team

Source

Aurelion Sol Champion Bio

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Tue, 04 Oct 2016 16:27:41 +0300

Cower . Worship. Marvel. They are all appropriate responses. �
Aurelion Sol once graced the vast emptiness of the cosmos with celestial wonders of his own devising. Now, he is forced to wield his awesome power at the behest of a space-faring empire that tricked him into servitude. Desiring a return to his star-forging ways, Aurelion Sol will drag the very stars from the sky, if he must, in order to regain his freedom.
The appearance of a comet often portends a period of upheaval and unrest. Under the auspices of such fiery harbingers, it is said that new empires rise, old civilizations fall, and even the stars themselves may tumble from the sky. These theories merely scratch the surface of a far more bizarre truth: that the comet�s radiance cloaks a cosmic being of unfathomable power.
The being now known as Aurelion Sol was already ancient by the time stellar debris first coalesced into worlds. Born in the first breath of creation, he roamed the vast nothingness, seeking to fill a canvas of incalculable breadth with marvels whose twinkling spectra brought him considerable delight and pride.
A celestial dragon is an exotic creature, and as such, Aurelion Sol seldom encountered any equals. As more forms of life emerged to fill the universe, a multitude of primitive eyes gazed up and beheld his work with wonder and breathless pondering. Flattered by this audience of countless worlds, he became fascinated by their fledgling civilizations, who crafted amusingly self-centered philosophies on the nature of his stars.
Desiring a deeper connection with one of the few races he deemed worthy, the cosmic dragon selected the most ambitious species to grace with his presence. These chosen few sought to unravel the secrets of the universe and had already expanded beyond their home planet. Many verses were composed about the day the Star Forger descended to a tiny world and announced his presence to the Targonians. An immense storm of stars filled the skies and twisted into a massive form as marvelous as it was terrifying. Cosmic wonders swirled and twinkled throughout the creature�s body. New stars shone brightly, and constellations rearranged at his whim. Appropriately awed by his illuminant powers, the Targonians titled the dragon Aurelion Sol and presented him with a gift as a token of respect: a splendorous crown of star-gems, which he promptly donned. Before long, though, boredom drew Aurelion Sol back to his work in the fertile vastness of space. However, the further from the reach of that tiny world he traveled, the more he felt a grasping at his very essence, pulling him off his path, directing him elsewhere! He could hear voices shouting, commanding, from across the cosmic expanse. The gift he�d received was no gift at all, it seemed.
Outraged, he fought these controlling impulses and attempted to break his bonds by force, only to discover that for each attack against his newfound masters, one of his stars vanished forever from the firmament. A powerful magic now yoked Aurelion Sol, forcing him to wield his powers exclusively for Targon�s benefit. He battled chitinous beasts that tore at the fabric of this universe. He clashed with other cosmic entities, some of which he had known since the dawn of time. For millennia, he fought Targon�s wars, crushed any threats to its dominance, and helped it forge a star-spanning empire. All of these tasks were a waste of his sublime talents; after all, it was he who birthed light into the universe! Why must he pander to such lowly beings?
As his past glories slowly vanished from the celestial realm for lack of maintenance, Aurelion Sol resigned himself to never again bask in the warmth of a freshly ignited star. Then, he felt it�a weakening in his unwilling pact. The voices from the crown grew sporadic, clashing, arguing with each other while some fell ominously silent. An unknown catastrophe he could not fathom had thrown off the balance of those who bound him. They were scattered and distracted. Hope crept into his heart.
Driven by the tantalizing possibility of impending freedom, Aurelion Sol arrives on the world where it all began: Runeterra. It is here the balance will finally tip in his favor. And with it, civilizations across the stars shall bear witness to his rebellion and again play audience to his might. All will learn what fate befalls those who strive to steal for themselves the power of a cosmic dragon.
AURELION SOL
TWIN DAWNS
This world�s familiar sun still hides below the horizon. Crude and unpolished earth unfurls below. Mountains contort into barriers that stretch like fingers across empty scrub lands. Palaces, or rather, what pass for palaces, fail to loom over anything but the squattest of hills. The curvature of the planet meets the stars with a serenity and grace few of the dwellers below will ever witness. They are so scattered across the globe and grasp so blindly for any sort of understanding that it�s no surprise they�ve been conquered and don�t even comprehend their predicament.
The fiery sheen I�ve gathered as I streak toward my preordained destination illuminates the world beneath me. Pockets of warring, fearful, rejoicing life tucks itself into any fertile nook it can find below. Oh, how they gaze and point as I streak over their heads. I�ve heard the names they call me: prophet, comet, monster, god, demon� So many names, all missing the mark.
In a vast stretch of desert, I feel the twinge of familiar magic emanating from the seat of the premiere civilization amongst these savages. Lo and behold, a massive Sun Disc is under construction. The poor enslaved laborers beat their heads and rend their clothes in my wake. Their cruel masters see me, a streaking bolt of fire, as a portent of good omen, no doubt. My passing will be etched in their uncouth pictograms upon common stone, an homage to the great comet, the blessing of the sky-god gracing their holy works and so forth. The Disc�s sole purpose is to funnel the sun�s majesty into the most �renowned� of these fleshy humanoids, transforming them into exactly what this planet needs: more insufferable demigods. This effort will undoubtedly backfire. But I suppose they might last a brief while, perhaps a thousand years or so, before they fall and are supplanted by others.
The desert below fades into the night trailing behind me as I streak onward across lonely steppes, then over rolling brown hills gently flecked with greenery. The pastoral scenery belies a field spattered with blood and littered with the dead and dying. Survivors hack away at each other with rough-hewn axes and scream battle cries. One side is losing quite badly. Stag skulls rest atop pikes stuck into the soil, next to writhing warriors. The few still on their feet are encircled by soldiers riding great shaggy beasts.
Those defeated, surrounded few see me and valiance seems to surge through their veins. The wounded rise and grasp their axes and bows in a final stand that throws their foes off guard. I don�t linger to see the rest of the little clash play out because I�ve seen this scenario unfold a thousand times: The survivors will scratch my comet likeness onto their cave walls. In a thousand years, their descendants will fly my image on banners and undoubtedly ride into a tediously similar battle. For all their efforts to capture and record history, one ponders why they do not learn from their mistakes. That is a lesson even I have had to suffer.
I leave them to perpetuate their bleak cycle.
My trajectory reveals more inhabitants. Their collective repertoire of reactions span the typical gamut: pointing, kneeling, sacrificing virgins upon stony altars. They look up and see a comet and never ask what lies beneath the blazing façade. Instead, they stamp it onto their own self-centered worldviews, muddying the splendor of my visage. The few more advanced life forms�and I use that description loosely�gaze up and jot down my coordinates in scientific almanacs instead of using me as prophecy fodder. It�s mildly refreshing, but even their developing notions of intellect seems to indicate I am a regularly appearing phenomenon with a predictable orbit. Oh, the feats they could accomplish if only� Well, no use dwelling on the wasted potential of the simple-minded terrestrial born. It�s not entirely their fault. Evolution does seem to have a difficult time gaining traction on this world.
But alas, the novelty of such infantile antics has worn thin. The grasping energies of my magical bondage have dragged me from one paltry world to another for centuries. Now it has led me back to this familiar and unpleasant rock. The star that floods its surface with light was one of my earliest creations, a confluence wrought of love and radiance. Ah, that cherished moment when she flared to life with colors only her creator could see. How I miss a star�s crackling new energy warming my face and trickling through my fingers. Each star gives off a unique energy, precious and reflecting its creator�s soul. They are cosmic snowflakes burning in defiance of the infinite dark.
Unfortunately, the memories I long to dwell upon are tainted by betrayal. Yes, this was the place where Targon lured me into servitude. But now is not the time to linger on past mistakes. Those musty Aspects want me to seal yet another breach� in their name of course.
Then, I see her. This world�s imbued warrior is alone at the peak of one of the smaller summits, brandishing a starstone spear. She watches me through a veil of annexed flesh, a mere spark masquerading as lightning. A thick braid of auburn hair is draped over her shoulder, falling over a golden breastplate that covers pale, freckled skin. Her eyes, the only bit of her face not shielded by a battle-worn helmet, flash a jarring shade of red.
She calls herself Pantheon�the warring fury of Targon incarnate. She is not the first of this world to wear the Pantheon mantle. Nor will she be the last.
Her glittering cape flaps out behind her as she raises her muscled arm and makes a motion like she�s pulling on a great chain. The tug on my crudely enchanted tether wrenches me off course, toward the mountain upon which she stands. And she�s yelling at me.
She cries outs with a voice that booms inside my head, transmitted through this insufferable star-gem coronet. All sounds fade as she invades my mind.
�Dragon!� she says, as if I am a weak-winged beast of base orange flame, lucky if it can ignite a tree.
�Seal their gate!� she commands, gesturing to the bottom of a rocky crevasse with her pointy little spear. I don�t need to see the violet erosion of reality swirling below. I could smell the festering miasma that poisons this world before I even arrived. I fix my eyes on Pantheon instead. She expects me to fall in line like a dog on its leash. Today will be different, for I�ve learned from my mistakes.
� Dragon ,� I purr. �Are you sure commanding me with such a low name is wise?�
Pantheon�s grip on her spear loosens just enough for her to fumble the weapon for a fraction of a second. She takes a step back, away from me, as if a single stride�s distance could protect her from my ire.
�Seal their gate,� she says again, barking louder as if perhaps the previous command went unheard. Her volume does little to mask the quiver in her voice. She thrusts her spear toward me, as if such a tiny weapon could pierce me.
This is the first time I�ve ever seen an Aspect of Targon shaken. She is not used to having to tell me twice.
�I will deal with those chittering horrors in due time, dear Pantheon.�
�Do as you are commanded, dragon� this Pantheon shouts, �or this world is lost.�
�This world was lost the moment Targon surrendered itself to arrogance.�
I feel Pantheon�s seething mingle with confusion as she struggles to grab hold of my immaterial reins. She�s only just now sensing what I have come to learn.
Targon is distracted and does not sense its magic faintly ebbing from my bonds.
Pantheon bellows once more, and this time, I cannot resist. The crude enchantment regains sovereignty over my will. I turn my attention toward the source of the breach, nestled in the basin of the once-verdant valley, now strangled with creeping, purple miasma. I sense the Voidborn perversions of life tunneling through reality�s firmament, sending tides of unseen energy coursing through the aether. They shred the veil that separates nothingness and form with their unwelcome passage.
They�re drawn to me, those multi-eyed, carapaced abominations. They seek to devour me, the greatest of their threats. From the reaches of my mind, I conjure an image of the solar furnaces I kindled, before my fettering, which once ignited the hearts of stars. I lance out beams of pure starfire and incinerate wave after wave of those gnashing horrors, driving them backward into their oblique infinity. Smoldering husks rain from the sky. I�m a little surprised they aren�t wholly disintegrated, but then again, the Voidborn don�t know how things work in this universe.
A pulsing sickness lingers in the air. From the epicenter of the corruption, I feel a will� hungry and indomitable, and far from the typical mindlessness I�m accustomed to from these Voidborn aberrations. The pulsating wound on reality yawns and buckles, distorting and warping all it touches. Whatever exists on the other side is laughing.
Pantheon shouts another command at me, but I ignore her words. This anomalous fissure in the universe entrances me. This is not the first of its kind I�ve had to deal with, but this one feels different, and I can�t help but admire the marvelously terrifying manipulation of the barriers between realms. Few beings could fathom its complexities, let alone possess the sheer magnitude of power needed to rend the fabric of existence. In my heart, I know a wound so exquisite could never be orchestrated by scuttling creatures. No. There must be more behind this intrusion. I shudder at the thought of what kind of entity is capable of inducing such a volatile rift. I don�t need Pantheon�s barked orders to tell me what do next; her array of requests has always been of a rather limited imagination anyway. She wants me to hurl a star at the rift, as if one can simply cauterize such moldering inter-dimensional abrasions and be done with it.
These obtuse demigods are my captors?
Fine. At least they�re not too far off in their �logic� by thinking a few searing cosmic wonders will remedy this problem. I will play the role of the obedient servant just a little while longer.
I enjoy what I do next, partly because they�ll remember it, partly because it feels good to let a little of the old power loose, but mostly because I wish to remind whatever intelligence that controls this Void incursion that nobody laughs at me in my plane of existence.
The base elements in the atmosphere rally to my cause, accreting into a plasmic anomaly. The swelling stardust detonates at my unspoken command. The result is a dwarf replica of one of my majestic glories burning in the depths of space. After all, I can�t fling a full-fledged star at this fragile world.
The young star�s shimmering brilliance flies from my hands. It�s joined by two sisters, always by my side. They careen around me in a radiant ballet, their white-hot cores devouring the gathering clouds of dust and matter I draw toward us. We become a storm of stars, the night sky incarnate, a maddening gyre of starfire. I conjure eddies of searing stardust, exhaling a heat so pure and dense it collapses the aura of this world just the tiniest bit, forever marring the planet�s curvature. Coruscating strands of stellar flame pirouette from the center of the rift. Gravity melts in undulating waves of color most eyes will never be able to witness. My stars warp matter as more fuel coalesces into their cores, causing them to shine brighter, burn hotter. The whole spectacle is breathtaking, a cascading dance of blinding light and searing heat so hot that for a fleeting moment, new spectra are birthed into existence. My spine tingles just a little bit at how good it feels.
Trees splinter. Rivers evaporate. The mountain walls of the valley crumble in smoky avalanches. The tireless laborers erecting their Sun Disc, the soldiers taking the hill, the stargazers, the worshipers, the terrified, the doomsday prophets, the hopeless, the rising kings� all those who beheld the streaking comet with selfish eyes witness the ensuing supernova as an early dawn. Across this pitiful globe, my radiance turns darkest night to blinding day. What fictions will they conjure to explain this phenomenon?
Even my Targonian masters have rarely witnessed such a display of my power. Certainly, no terrestrial world has ever born scars as severe as what is left of that once-verdant valley. When I am finished, nothing remains.
Not even this incarnation of Pantheon. I can�t say I�ll miss her or her mindless barking.
In the glowing aftermath of my carnage, the smoldering once-mountains collapse into the molten rubble streams now flowing through the valley. This is the scar I have left upon this world. A surge of damning pain shoots through my body, radiating from that infernal crown. I am about to pay.
My head snaps up, and my eyes drink the bitter sight of a dying star. My hearts clasp shut. My minds reel. An overwhelming sense of despair ricochets through my very soul, emanating from a deep and immediate sorrow, like the pulsing realization you�ve lost something precious and know it�s all your fault.
Some curious life forms I met long ago once asked how it was possible for me to remember every star I�ve created. If only they could feel what it was like to create a single star, they would understand the sheer irrelevance of that question. That�s how I know when even one of my darlings winks out from existence, ejecting jets of energy and, with it, the very substance of my own spirit. I see her death knell in the heavens above. She shines brightly one last time in a pyroclasm that momentarily drowns her brothers and sisters. My heart shatters as the heavens are diminished in brutal retribution for turning my power on one of Targon�s own.
A sun is the price of a single Pantheon. This is the cost of my unfettered wrath. This is the kind of boorish sorcery I must deal with.
Within seconds, they have regained control of my reins and call me to a new task. On no other world have I exhibited such a display of freedom, no matter how fleeting it was. What�s more is that I have learned from their mistakes. A bit of me is free now, and in time, I will return to this world, tap into this mysterious well of energy and cast off the rest of my tether.
I tune into that essence of war, twisting and contorting within fleshy vessels scattered across the cosmos. It wasn�t happy about losing its mortal avatar on this world. Already, a new doomed host has been chosen to transform into the next iteration of Pantheon � a soldier from the Rakkor, a tribe who cling to the base of Targon�s mountain, siphoning off its power like barnacles. One day, I shall meet this new incarnation of Pantheon. Perhaps he will learn to find a new weapon and abandon that ludicrous spear. I sense Pantheon�s celestial kin, scattered across the cosmos. In a single instance, all of their attention is focused on this world, where one of their earthly Aspects was vaporized by their own weapon. Their confusion is mingled with a growing desperation as they contend with each other to regain their control over me. How I wish I could see their faces.
As I launch myself from the gravity of this world, this Runeterra, I sense an emotion I have never felt from Targon before.
Fear.
ctto: League of Legends

Champion Spotlight: Ivern, The Green Father

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Tue, 04 Oct 2016 08:46:26 +0300

I think he'll do well with rengar..
😍😍

Harrowing 2016

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Tue, 04 Oct 2016 07:02:33 +0300

A new set of Halloween Skins are about to be release in this year's Harrowing. Champions receiving new skins are:
Morgana
Teemo
Tristana.
*Harrowing Skins are released before or after the Halloween season.
Source: surrender@20

Taliyah Champion Bio

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Tue, 04 Oct 2016 05:39:15 +0300

The Stoneweaver

�This world is a tapestry of our own making .�
Taliyah is a nomadic mage from Shurima who weaves stone with energetic enthusiasm and raw determination. Torn between teenage wonder and adult responsibility, she has crossed nearly all of Valoran on a journey to learn the true nature of her growing powers. Compelled by rumors of the rise of a long-dead emperor, she returns to protect her tribe from dangers uncovered by Shurima�s shifting sands. Some have mistaken her tender heart for weakness and paid the price for their error, for beneath Taliyah�s youthful demeanor is a will strong enough to move mountains, and a spirit fierce enough to make the earth tremble.
Born in the rocky foothills bordering Icathia�s corrupted shadow, Taliyah spent her childhood herding goats with her tribe of nomadic weavers. Where most outsiders see Shurima as a beige and barren waste, her family raised her to be a true daughter of the desert and to see beauty in the rich hues of the land. Taliyah was always fascinated by the stone beneath the dunes. When she was a toddler, she collected colorful rocks as her people followed the seasonal waters. As she grew older, the earth itself seemed drawn to her, arcing and twisting to follow her tracks through the sand.
After her sixth high summer, Taliyah wandered from the caravan in search of a lost goatling that had been placed in her charge. Determined not to disappoint her father�the master shepherd and headman of the tribe�she tracked the young animal into the night. She followed the hoofprints through a dry wash to a box canyon. The little beast had managed to get high up the rock wall, but could not get down.
The sandstone called to her, urging her to pull handholds from the sheer wall. Taliyah laid a tentative palm against the rock, determined to rescue the scared animal. The elemental power she felt was as urgent and overwhelming as a monsoon rain. As soon as she opened herself to the magic, it poured over her, the stone leaping to her fingertips, bringing both the canyon wall and the beast down on top of her.
The next morning, Taliyah�s panicked father tracked the skittish bleats of the goatling. He fell to his knees when he found his daughter unconscious, covered loosely in a blanket of woven stone. Grief-stricken, he returned to the tribe with Taliyah.
Two days later, the girl awoke from fevered dreams in the tent of Babajan, the tribe�s grandmother. Taliyah began to tell the wise woman and her concerned parents of her night in the canyon, of the rock that called to her. Babajan consoled the family, telling them that the patterns of rock were evidence the Great Weaver, the desert tribe�s mythical protector, watched over the girl. In that moment, Taliyah saw her parents� deep worry and decided to conceal what really happened that night: that she�not the Great Weaver�had pulled at the desert stone.
When children in Taliyah�s tribe were old enough, they performed a dance under the face of the full moon, the manifestation of the Great Weaver herself. The dance celebrated the children�s innate talents and demonstrated the gifts they would bring to the tribe as adults. This was the start of their path to true learning, as those children then became apprenticed to their teachers.
Taliyah continued to hide her growing power, believing the secret she carried was a danger, not a blessing. She watched as her childhood playmates spun wool to keep the tribe warm on cold desert nights, demonstrated their skill with shears and dye, or wove patterns that told the stories of her people. On those nights, she would lie awake long after the coals had burned to ash, tormented by the power she felt stirring within.
The time finally came for Taliyah�s dance beneath the full moon. While she had talent enough to be a capable shepherd like her father, or a pattern mistress like her mother, the young girl dreaded what her dance would truly reveal. As Taliyah took her place on the sand, the tools of her people�the shepherd�s crook, the spindle, and the loom�surrounded her. She tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but it was the distant rocks, the layered colors of the land, that called to her. Taliyah closed her eyes and danced. Overwhelmed by the power flowing through her, she began to spin not thread, but the very earth beneath her feet.
Startled cries from Taliyah�s tribe broke her out of her spell. An imposing braid of sharp rock reached up to the light of the moon. Taliyah looked at the shocked faces of the people who surrounded her. Her will over the stone broken, the earthen tapestry crashed down. Taliyah�s mother ran to her only daughter, to protect her from the falling rock. When the dust finally settled, Taliyah saw the destruction she had woven, the alarm on the faces of her tribe. But it was the small cut across her mother�s face that justified Taliyah�s fear. Though the cut was minor, Taliyah knew in that moment that she was a threat to the people she loved most in this world. She ran into the night, so weighed down by despair that the ground trembled beneath her feet.
It was her father who found her again in the desert. As they sat in the light of the rising sun, Taliyah confessed her secret in choked sobs. In turn, he did the only thing a parent could do: He hugged his daughter tightly. He told her that she couldn�t run from her power, that she must complete her dance and see where her path would take her. Turning her back on the Great Weaver�s gift was the only danger that could truly break his and her mother�s heart.
Taliyah returned with her father to the tribe. She entered the dancer�s circle with her eyes open. This time, she wove a new ribbon of stone, each color and texture a memory of the people surrounding her.
When it was over, the tribe sat in awe. Taliyah waited nervously. It was time for one of her people to stand as her teacher and claim the student. What felt like eons stretched between Taliyah�s hammering heartbeats. She heard gravel shift as her father stood. Next to him, her mother stood. Babajan and the dye mistress and the master spinner stood. In a moment, the whole tribe was on its feet. All of them would stand with the girl who could weave stone.
Taliyah looked at each of them. She knew that a power like hers had not been seen in generations, perhaps longer. They stood with her now, their love and trust surrounding her, but their worry was palpable. None among them heard the earth call as she did. As much as she loved these people, she did not see the one who could show her how to control the elemental magic that coursed within her. She knew that to stay with her tribe was to risk their lives. Though it pained all of them, Taliyah said farewell to her parents and her people, and set off alone into the world.
She journeyed west toward the distant peak of Targon, her natural connection to rock drawing her toward the mountain that brushed the stars. However, at the northern edge of Shurima, it was those who marched beneath the banner of Noxus who discovered her power first. In Noxus, magic like hers was celebrated, they told her; revered, even. They promised her a teacher.
The land had raised Taliyah to be trusting, so she was unprepared for the smooth promises and practiced smiles of Noxian dignitaries. Soon, the desert girl found herself on an unbending path, passing under the many Noxtoraa, the great iron gates that marked the Empire�s claim over a conquered land.
The crush of people and the layers of politics within the capital city were claustrophobic to a girl from the open desert. Taliyah was paraded through the tiers of Noxian magical society. Many took an interest in her power, its potential, but it was a fallen captain who swore to take her to a wild place across the sea, a place where she could hone her abilities without fear, who made the most convincing case. She accepted the young officer�s offer and crossed the sea to Ionia. However, it was made clear as their ship dropped anchor that she was intended as a glorified weapon for a man desperate to regain his place at the highest ranks of the Noxian navy. At dawn, the captain gave her a choice: Bury a sleeping people in their homes, or be discarded in the surf.
Taliyah looked across the bay. The cooking smoke had not yet risen from the village�s sleeping hearths. This was not the lesson she had come so far to learn. Taliyah refused, and the captain threw her overboard to drown.
She escaped the tide and the fighting on the beach and found herself wandering, lost, in the wintry mountains of Ionia. It was there she finally discovered her teacher, a man whose blade harnessed the wind itself, someone who understood the elements and the need for balance. She trained with him for a time and began to find the control she had long sought.
While resting at an isolated inn, Taliyah heard that the Ascended Emperor of Shurima had returned to his desert kingdom. Rumor had it this emperor turned god sought to gather his people, the disparate tribes, back to him as slaves. Even with her training unfinished, there was no other choice; she knew she must return to her family to protect them. Sadly, she and her mentor parted ways.
Taliyah returned home to the sand-swept dunes of Shurima. As the punishing rays of the sun beat down on her, Taliyah pushed farther into the desert, determined to find her people. Hers was a will of stone, and she would do whatever was necessary to protect her family and her tribe from the danger that loomed on the horizon.
TALIYAH
ECHOES IN THE STONE
Taliyah was outrunning the sandstorm when she first noticed the water. In the beginning, it was faint, just a cool dampness she felt as she lifted the stones from deep beneath the sand. As she drew closer to old Shurima, wet streaks dripped from each new stone as if they were weeping. Taliyah knew the rock had stories to tell as she sped across the desert, but she didn�t have time to listen, to hear if they were tears of joy or sadness.
When she was close enough to be covered by the shadow of the great Sun Disc, water from underground aquifers began to pour off the stone she rode like little rivers. And when she finally arrived at the gates, Taliyah heard the deafening water rushing along the bedrock. The Oasis of the Dawn, the Mother of Life, roared beneath the sands.
The people of her tribe had followed the seasonal waters for hundreds of years. The best chance of finding her family was to follow the water, and to Taliyah�s dismay, the water in Shurima now flowed from a single source as it had in ages past. The tragic remains of the capital city had always been avoided, almost as much as the great Sai and deadly creatures that hunted there. Even thieves knew to keep their distance from the city. Until now.
Taliyah brought the rock she rode to a sudden halt, nearly stumbling from it as she pushed the stone quickly below the desert�s surface. She looked around. The woman from Vekaura had been right. This place was no longer a forgotten ruin, haunted by ghosts and sand; indeed, the makeshift camp just outside the walls scrambled with life, like an anthill before a flood. Not knowing who these people were, she decided it might be best to reveal no more than was necessary.
It seemed there was tribal representation from all four corners of her homeland, but as Taliyah searched their faces, she saw none that were familiar. The people here were torn. They argued about the merits of staying in their temporary camps versus seeking shelter within the city. Some worried that just as it rose, the city would fall again, burying any caught inside. Some saw the storm that bristled with unnatural lightning and thought their chances were better within the walls, even if the walls had once been lost to the sand for generations. All of them moved quickly, packing haphazardly and worriedly glancing at the sky. Taliyah herself had won the race with the tempest, but it wouldn�t be long before the sand lashed against the gates.
�Now�s the time to decide.� A woman called out to her, her voice almost lost to the noise of the churning oasis waters and the rising storm. �Are you going in or leaving, girl?�
Taliyah turned to face the woman. She was Shuriman, but other than that, unknown to her.
�I�m looking for my family.� Taliyah gestured to her tunic. �They�re weavers.�
�The Hawk-father has promised protection to all those within the walls,� the woman said.
�Hawk-father?�
The woman looked at Taliyah�s concerned face and smiled, taking her hand. �Azir has returned to us Ascended. The Oasis of the Dawn flows again. A new day has come for Shurima.�
Taliyah looked around at the people. It was true. They were hesitant to move far into the massive capital, but the fear that worried their faces was more for the unnatural storm than the city or its returned emperor.
The woman continued, �There were weavers here this morning. They decided to wait out the storm inside.� The woman pointed to the throngs of people pushing in toward the newly beating heart of Shurima. �We must hurry. They are closing the gates.�
Taliyah found herself being pulled toward one of the capital�s great gates by the woman, and driven from behind by a crowd of strangers who had decided at the last minute not to brave the sands by themselves. Still, there were a few groups clustered near their circled beasts, determined to face the storm as Shuriman caravans had for generations. In the distance, strange and threatening bolts of lightning crackled at the edge of the whirlwind. Old Shuriman traditions might not survive the storm�s passing.
Taliyah and the woman were pushed across the golden threshold that separated Shurima from the desert surrounding it. The heavy gates swung closed behind them with a resounding thud. The immensity of old Shurima�s glory stretched out before them. The crowd hugged the thick, protective walls, unsure where to go. It was as if they sensed the empty streets belonged to someone else.
�I�m sure your people are somewhere within the city. Most have kept close to the gates. Few are brave enough to go farther than that. I hope you find what you are looking for.� The woman let go of Taliyah�s hand and smiled. �Water and shade to you, sister.�
�Water and shade to you.� Taliyah�s voice dropped off as the woman disappeared into the milling crowd.
The city that had been quiet for millennia now pulsed with life. Silently watching over Shurima�s newest denizens were helmeted guards that wore desert cloaks in gold and crimson. Though there was no trouble, Taliyah continued to feel there was something not right about this place.
Taliyah reached out to the thick wall to steady herself. She gasped. The stone throbbed beneath the flat of her palm. Pain. A terrible, blinding pain overwhelmed her. Tens of thousands of voices were etched into the rock. The fear and torment of their last moments, before their lives were cut down and their shadows were seared into the stone, screamed in her mind. Taliyah tore her hand from the stone wall and stumbled. She had felt vibrations in stone before, reverberations of memories long since past, but never like this. The knowledge of what had come before felled her. Wild eyed, she stood and stared, seeing the city anew. Revulsion washed over her. This wasn�t a city reborn. It was an empty tomb risen from the sand. The last time Azir had made promises to the people of Shurima, it had cost them their lives.
�I must find my family,� she whispered.
ctto: League of Legends

Kled Champion Bio

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Mon, 03 Oct 2016 12:38:49 +0300

THE CANTANKEROUS CAVALIER

The earliest known story of Kled traces back to the empire�s infancy and the Battle of Drugne. In the dusty hills of those badlands, the First Legion was on the run from a barbarian horde. Having lost the two previous battles, the men�s morale was low, the army had been forced to abandon its supply train in the rout, and they were a week�s march from the nearest outpost.
In command of the Legion was a gaggle of wealthy nobles bedecked in spotless golden armor. They were more concerned with their appearances and the intrigues of their class than the men they were commanding. Worse, these commanders�though well versed in assassination and tournament fighting�had proven hopeless on the field. With the remains of the army surrounded by enemy forces, the nobles ordered the Legion into a defensive circle in hopes of negotiating ransoms for themselves.
Then, as the morning sun rose, the mysterious figure of Kled appeared on the hilltop overlooking the battlefield. He rode Skaarl, an immortal desert drakalops. The mount stood on only two legs; its ear-like forelimbs fanned from the side of its head, hanging down apologetically, like a butler who had accidently dipped his hands in soup.
The lone rider stood on his steed�s saddle. His weapon was rusted, his armor was worn, and his clothes were tattered� but a relentless anger burned from his one good eye.
�I�ll give you one chance to get off my land!� Kled announced to the barbarian horde, but the yordle didn�t wait for their answer. He spurred his steed and angrily screamed his charge.
Desperate, starving, and furious with the nobles, the Legion�s anger ignited like blasting powder at the yordle�s insane act of bravado. The enlisted men rushed after Kled and Skaarl as they tore into the center of the enemy formation.
What followed was the bloodiest melee the Legion had ever fought. The initial success of its surprise attack was crushed when the barbarians� reserve forces smashed into the Legion�s flanks. With the battle turning against the Noxians and the enemy attacking from every side, Skaarl panicked, threw Kled, and abandoned the fight. Like the cowardly lizard creature, the Noxian soldiers faltered. But at their center, Kled fought on, chopping down foes, kicking out teeth, and biting faces.
Enemy bodies piled around Kled, and his clothes were soaked with blood. Despite the casualties he inflicted with every swing of his long axe, he was still forced back by the barbarians� relentless tide. He screamed louder challenges and cruder insults. Clearly, the yordle was willing to die before ever backing down.
Courage and cowardice are as infectious as the plague, however, and seeing Kled�s determination, the legionnaires pressed on. Even Skaarl stopped running and turned to watch the Legion�s last stand.
Then, as the Noxian line was breaking and the enemy�s superior numbers pulled Kled to the ground, the drakalops triumphantly returned and crashed into the barbarians� rear. Snarling and clawing, it dove into the churning melee until it freed its master. With his mount again beneath him, the reinvigorated Kled became a whirlwind of death, and it was the barbarians who broke and ran.
Though precious few of the Noxian soldiers survived, the battle was won. The tribes of Drugne were defeated, and their lands were added to the empire. The bodies of the nobles, and their fine golden armor, were never found.
In time, most of the empire�s other legions acquired similar stories of Kled, proving no defeat is certain in the face of insane courage. It is said he rides wherever the legions travel, claiming the spoils of war and land for himself and Skaarl.
Most Noxians find the truth of these tall tales questionable at best. But in the legions� wake, signs can always be found proclaiming each new territory �Property of Kled.�
The Northern Steppes ain�t the place for fancy undies and golden piss pots. It�s tough land. Ain�t nothing go here but barbarian raiders, poison grass, and harsh winds. To survive, you gotta eat rocks and crap lava. And I�m the toughest, meanest, killingest bastard in these parts. So I figure that makes these plains mine.
�But how did I end up here? And why am I alone with yer dumb yella hide?� I say out loud, starting it off again.
Skaarl snorts her response from the rock she�s sunning herself on. Her scales is dark metal with hints of gold. Ain�t nothing can break that drakalops�s skin. I�ve seen a steel sword shatter against her leg.
Don�t make her farts smell any better though.
�I�m callin� you a damn coward. You got somethin� to say about that?�
�Greefrglarg,� it says as it looks up and yawns.
�It was a hooked grouse! No bigger than my hand. And you run� Darn dumb, stupid animal!�
�Greef�rglarg?� Skaarl asks as it swats the flies away from its half-opened eyes.
�Oh, good retort! Yeah, real funny, right? Ha ha ha! I�m damn tired of yer heretical pontifications. I should leave ya here to die. That�s what I should do. You�d die o� loneliness. Hell, you wouldn�t last a day without me.�
Skaarl lays its head back down on the rock.
There ain�t no use communicating with her. I should forgive her�but then, and no doubt to mock me, her sphincter splutters rhythmically as she breaks wind. The smell hits me like a frying pan.
�That�s it, you bastard!� I throw my stinking hat onto the ground and march away from the campsite, swearing I�ll never set eyes on that foul-mouthed drakalops again. �Course, it was my good hat, so I have to trot back and snatch it off the ground.
�Yeah, keep sleeping, ya lazy flaprat,� I say as I walk away. �I�ll do the patrol!�
Being ten moons from any farmstead don�t preclude doing the patrol. It�s my land. And I aim to keep it that way. With or without that treason-ish lizard�s help.
The sun�s dragging its way down to the horizon by the time I reach the hills. This time of day, the light plays tricks on you. I meet a snake who wants to discuss pie crusts. Except it ain�t a snake, it�s the shadow of a rock.
Damn shame. I have some durn specific notions about pie crusts. At least when I remember what they are again. I ain�t had a proper conversation about the subject in years.
I�m about to take a swig of my mushroom juice and explain my views to the snake, when I hear them.
Drake hounds howling and braying. It�s the sounds those beasts make when they is herding elmarks. And if there�s elmarks, then there is humans. And those humans is trespassers.
I scramble up a nearby boulder and check north first.
The rolling hills of my grasslands is empty, save for the iron buttes scattered across the horizon. The braying sounds might be the mushroom juice playing tricks on my head� But then I turn south.
They is about a half day�s walk from this hill. Three hundred elmarks grazing. Grazing on my land.
The drake hounds circle around the herd, but there�s no horses. A few humans walk around them on foot. Humans don�t like walking. So it don�t take a genius to figure they must be part of some larger convoy then. �Course, I am a genius. So that was easy to figure.
My blood begins to boil. That means more damn trespassers, disturbing my peace. Here, when I was about to have a lovely conversation about pie crusts with that snake.
I take another sip of mush-juice and head back to the campsite.
�Get up, lizard!� I say as I grab my saddle.
It raises its head, grunts a response, and returns to lying in the cool grass.
�Get up! Get up! GIT UP!� I yell.
�There�s trespassers, invading the peaceful serenity of our environs.�
It looks at me blankly. I forget sometimes she don�t understand me when I�m speaking.
I buckle the saddle onto its back.
�There�s humans on our land!�
It stands, and its ears perk up nervously. Humans. That word it knows. I jump into the saddle.
�Let�s get those humans!� I roar, indicating our southward destination. But the damn beast immediately starts going north.
�No, No, NO! They�s that way! That way!� I say, using my reins to pull the cowardly beast back in the right direction.
�Greefrglaaarg!� the drakalops cries as it kicks off. In an instant, she�s running. The insane speed of it makes my eyes close. Scrub grass whips painfully against my legs. A cloud of dust billows behind us. What�d take me half a day of walking is past before I can get my hat tied down.
�Greefrglorg!� the drakalops screeches.
�Now, don�t be like that! Weren�t you saying you wanted company last night?�
The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon when we reach the herd. I slow Skaarl to a trot as we approach the humans� campsite. They�d already started a fire and have a stew going.
�Hold, stranger. Show your hands before you approach,� a human in a red hat says. Their leader, I figure.
I slowly take my hands off the reins. But instead of putting them up, I pull my long axe from its saddle loop.
�I don�t think you understand me, old timer,� the human in the red hat says again. His fellows ready weapons: swords, lassos, and a dozen repeater crossbows.
�Greefrglooorg,� Skaarl growls, ready to leave already.
�I got it under control,� I tell my lizard, before turning my attention back to the humans. �I ain�t impressed with your fancy, city-folk weapons. Now I�m giving you one warning. Get off my land. Or else.�
�Or else what?� a younger human asks.
�You boys best know who you�re dealing with,� I say. �This is Skaarl. She�s a drakalops. And I�m Kled, Lord Major Admiral of the Second Legion�s forward artillery�cavalry multiplication.�
Several of the humans start snickering. I�ll learn them soon enough�once I�m done talking.
�And what makes you think this is your land?� asks the human in the red hat, smirking.
�It�s mine. I took it from them barbarians.�
�It�s property of Lord Vakhul. He was granted it by the High Command. It�s his by rightful dispensation.�
�Well, High Command! Why didn�t you say so?!� I say before spitting on the ground. �The only law a true Noxian respects is strength. He can have it. If he can take it from me.�
�You and your pony best be moving on, while you still can.�
I forget sometimes humans don�t see us like we see them. It�s the last straw though.
�CHARGE!!!!� I scream, and snap the reins. The drakalops kicks off, and we rush them. I meant to make a clever retort first, but I got ahead of myself.
The humans let loose their first volley, but Skaarl raises her ears. Like giant bronze fans, they shield us as the crossbow bolts ricochet off her impenetrable flesh.
She roars happily as we dive through their camp at the leader in the red hat. Swords clang against Skaarl�s hide, while my axe swings. I turn two of them humans into confetti. The bastard in the red hat�s quick. He ducks under my blade as we pass by. Another volley of crossbow bolts hits us.
Skaarl screams in fear. Damn thing�s unkillable and immortal, but easily spooked. Problem with magical beasties, they don�t make no sense.
I yank the reins, and we ride back into the middle of the humans. I easily kill the rest of his men, but the red-hat bastard�s a tough one. My blade slams into him�but the blow clangs dully against his heavy breast plate. That should give him something to think about, anyway.
That�s when the ballista fires. The bolt is longer than a wagon. It smashes into the drakalops, knocking my long axe from my hand, and sends us rolling to the ground. Skaarl ain�t hurt. But she shakes me off the saddle and runs for the hills.
�You ungrateful bastard! We had the frassa-gimps in the razabutts!� I mean to scream more insults, but my words start tripping over themselves.
I roll to my feet. Dust and grass cover my face. I throw my hat toward the cowardly lizard�s path, then turn back to kill the man in the red hat.
But behind him, on the hill line, is another hundred of them humans. Iron warriors, bloodrunners, and a wagon-mounted ballista. Red-hatted blurf-herder brought most of a legion with him.
�You ain�t nothing but a durn sneaky-sneak!� I scream.
�You don�t look like much,� he says, �but I guess you�re the one who�s been giving Lord Vakhul�s ranchers so much trouble.�
�Vakhul ain�t no real Noxian. Your lordship can kiss my lizard�s puckered mudflap!�
�Maybe I�ll let you end your days in Lord Vakhul�s fighting pits. If you can learn to keep your mouth shut.�
�I�m gonna rip your lips off and use them to wipe my butt!� I roar.
I guess he don�t like that, �cause him and his hundred friends start running at me, weapons drawn. I could run. But I don�t. They�ll pay dearly to kill me.
Red Hat�s fast. He�s nearly on me before I can recover my weapon from the ground. His blade is high. He�s got the killing stroke. But I�ve got my hidden scattergun.
The blast sends him to the ground. It knocks me back, too. I tumble end over end. The single shot buys me some time. But not much.
The bloodrunners are closing fast. Their hooked blades is ready. I�m gonna die in this turd-stain. Well, if it�s my last stand, might as well make it a good one.
I dust myself off as the first line of bloodrunners attacks. I�m carving those dark magical bastards apart, but they�re cutting me to ribbons. I�m beginning to tire from the effort and loss of blood.
Then the iron warriors scream their battle cries, as they charge in their thick black armor. They�ve split into two groups, doing one of those �pinching� maneuvers. Plan on using those two walls of metal to crush me flatter than a Noxian coin.
Damn it.
Any hope I got of surviving this, it�s gone�
And that�s when I see her. The most loyal, trustworthy, honorable friend an undeserving bastard like me could ever have.
Skaarl.
Riding like hell toward me. Faster than I�ve ever seen her run. A rooster tail of dust is shooting up behind her. The damn lizard even picks up my hat on her way to me. I run to her just as those black-clad warriors are about to crush me.
I leap into the saddle, and we circle around the iron warriors. There�ll be time to kill them after we get rid of that ballista.
�It�s been a while since we took on a whole army together,� I say.
�Greefrglarg,� Skaarl screeches happily.
�Back at you, buddy,� I say with a smile wider than a croxagor�s.
�Cause there ain�t nothing I love more than this dang lizard.
ctto: LEAGUE OF LEGENDS

2016 World Championship Standings

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Mon, 03 Oct 2016 10:36:51 +0300

Group Stage Week 1 - Day 4 Updated Standings
Group A
ROX Tigers: 2W-1L
Counter Logic Gaming: 2W-1L
Albus Nox Luna: 2W-1L
G2 Esports: 0W-3L
Group B
SKT T1 Telecom: 2W-1L
I May: 1W-1L
Cloud9: 2W-1L
Flash Wolves: 1W-2L
Group C
ahq E-Sports Club: 2W-1L
INTZ e-Sports: 1W-2L
H2K: 1W-2L
Edward Gaming: 2W-1L
Group D
Royal Never Give Up: 2W-1L
Samsung Galaxy: 2W-1L
Team SoloMid: 2W-1L
Splyce: 0W-3L
*W= Win, L= Lose

Ivern: The Green Father Champion Bio

mybb@mybb.ru (Hi Im Erlle) — Mon, 03 Oct 2016 02:10:13 +0300

GIFT OF VENOM
For most people, a hundred years is a very long time. In a century, one could explore the entire world, meet thousands of people, or complete countless works of art. Now, anyone could easily assume that standing in one spot for over a century would be a colossal waste. But during that time, Ivern Bramblefoot accomplished more than any could dream.
For instance, he settled a longstanding dispute between a colony of lichen and their host boulder, helped each generation of winter squirrels find their forgotten autumn acorns, and coaxed a lone wolf to rejoin her pack, despite the fact that they once called her howling �shrill.�
Ivern�s toes burrowed deep beneath the topsoil, curled between vigilant tubers and oblivious earthworms to mingle with the roots of older trees, and the forest around him bloomed. There was much more, of course, but those examples alone are proof enough of a good century�s work.
Things were going swimmingly until the sassafras started murmuring about dark doings on the edge of the forest.
Hunters! they cried through their roots, alarming half the forest.
Ivern knew sassafras to be anxious trees, raising their leaves in panic over the slightest stray saltsnail, and after all, hunting wasn�t so bad, for nothing is wasted or senseless in the cycle of life. But the sassafras had worried the robins, who told the butterflies, and if butterflies knew a secret, so did the entire forest.
So Ivern stood up, and after briefly soothing the clipper ant colony whose ancestral home he had just displaced, he stalked away, shaking off layers of crusty bark. With each flower-blooming step through the forest, the alarm grew more frantic.
Three of them, nattered the squirrels.
Eyes like twin blood moons, gibbered the scuttle-crabs as they hid in the river.
More bloodthirsty than elmarks, proclaimed the elmarks.
The peregrines swore the hunters were after their eggs. The ivory-wreathed chrysanthemum feared for her illustrious petals�that worried Daisy, who loved her flowers dearly. Ivern calmed each of them, and urged them to hide until trouble passed. He pretended not to notice Daisy following him, since she thought herself to be quite sneaky.
He saw an eight-tusked shagyak dead in the grass. Three arrows were thrust deep into the thick hump of muscle at the base of its neck. As a sappy tear escaped Ivern�s eye, a squirrel he�d named Mikkus scampered up the Green Father�s chest and lapped it off his cheek in solace.
�Hunters take meat for food,� Ivern said aloud. �Hunters whittle bone into toys and tools. Hunters sew pelts into garments and tan skin into boots.�
The corpse was missing its eight shimmering, pearlescent tusks. Ivern touched the ground, and a circle of daisies bloomed around the dead shagyak. He saw a baby stonescale viper slithering away. Stone-scale vipers are wise beyond their years.
�Ssssssssafe?� the snake hiss-asked.
Ivern knew snakes were embarrassed by their lisps and for a long time had avoided words with sibilant sounds. He�d challenged them to embrace the words they feared the most, but they took the lesson to heart and now spoke exclusively in words beginning �s.�
Snakes; such overachievers.
�It�s safe now, little one.� Poor thing must�ve witnessed the whole ordeal. �Coil up here and watch the shagyak for me,� Ivern urged the baby viper. �I�ll return once I get to the bottom of this.�
The shagyak horns clacked relentlessly with each step Risbell took, so much so that she had to stop and repack the tusks lest the noise scare off their next kill. Upriver, those horns would earn them a fortune. City people paid well for half-cocked backwater remedies these days.
Niko, the square-jawed hunter with one eye, uncovered another set of shagyak hoof prints. She beckoned behind her to Eddo, the rich city man with the whalebone bow, and grinned. Eddo�s toothy smile and malicious eyes made Risbell, the youngest of the crew, shiver.
Up ahead, in a glade, another eight-tusked shagyak grazed on its very favorite variety of grass. Each of the three hunters approached slowly and quietly, rustling nary a dead leaf.
In rehearsed synchronicity, all three readied their bows and took careful aim. The shagyak�s head was still bent low, as it dined on the soft mulderberries and scullygrass, obscuring the knot of muscles at the base of its neck. When pierced, the hump would keep the blood flowing while the hunters hewed off horns. It was very important that the shagyak still be alive when the tusks were harvested to increase their potency, Eddo said.
Sweat beaded down her neck as she waited for the shagyak to raise its head. Just as the beast�s head swung up, the glade of low scullygrass bloomed impossibly fast, from ankle height to over their heads in a moment. The stalks stretched toward the sun, flowers blooming instantly in an array of radiant petals. A flowering wall of scullygrass completely obscured the shagyak.
Eddo dropped his bow. Niko�s one good eye looked as if it was going to bulge from its socket. Risbell�s arrow errantly soared through the air. She didn�t command her fingers to release the bowstring. She backed up against the nearest tree, terrified.
�I told you these woods were cursed,� Risbell whispered. �We should leave now.�
�I�ve dealt with sorcery before,� Niko said. �I will do this the old way.�
She placed her arrow back in her quiver and pulled a long, mean-looking dagger from her belt.
Eddo did the same. They both beckoned for Risbell to stay put with the tusks as they stealthily disappeared into the wall of grass. She waited and held her breath, but couldn�t even hear their footfalls. One day she hoped to be as silently deadly as her companions. Still, she couldn�t shake the unnerving feeling that the wall of vegetation was a warning to be heeded. Stories her grandmother told her, of the strange creatures of magic that wandered this world, came back to her. Just children�s tales, she reminded herself.
An eerie and unfamiliar sound echoed through the glade. It wasn�t the shrieking of a shagyak, but the heavy sound of rocks smashing into ground with loud, splintery thuds. Whatever caused the sound, it was enough to make Eddo and Niko race out of the brush, running at full tilt. Their skin was pale and their eyes were wide. Then she saw what had caused her companions to flee.
A flower, a simple ivory-wreathed chrysanthemum, was dancing on top of the grass. It was a rather curious sight.
Then Risbell realized it was getting closer. The grass parted, and there stood a behemoth of stone and moss. A living incarnation of granite, massively strong, and moving with rhythm. In the moment it took Risbell to reconcile what was happening, she heard a calm voice calling to the creature.
�Daisy! Be careful. And... gentle!�
Risbell grabbed the satchel of tusks and ran after Niko and Eddo, trying to remember the route that led back to their camp. At each tree, a new wall of grass sprouted up. Something stalked within the grass, rustling through the leaves as it walked, giggling as Risbell spun in circles trying to find her way out. She was alone in a strange forest, and behind every infernal tree lurked more grass, springing up nearly instantly.
Risbell realized she was being corralled the same way grandmother used to herd sheep. Knowing full well that she was walking into a trap, Risbell squared her shoulders and followed the grass.
Ivern watched as the young hunter stepped out of the grassy maze and approached the shagyak�s body. The poor thing looked positively terrified. She clearly had never seen anything or anyone quite like himself before. He tried to be gentle, but humans tended to be so individual in their reactions. Unlike, say, the caterwauling of smug mewlarks.
�Please. Don�t be frightened. Unless that is your natural state. In which case, fright away. I�ll wait. I really don�t mind.�
It wasn�t Ivern�s intention to frighten anyone. But no one can account for another being�s experience.
�Get on with it,� Risbell said. Her voice quavered and her eyes flinched. �I�ve trespassed, I know. I�m at your mercy. Just let it be quick.�
�Be quick?� Ivern shrugged. �Certainly. It didn�t cross my mind that you might have better places to be. Very well then.�
The girl closed her eyes and lifted her chin, exposing her throat. She reached her hand back toward the scabbard at her belt and wrapped her knuckles around the dagger. If he came for her, there would be a surprise.
�But I only want to know why,� Ivern said in a voice filled with merriment. He gestured with his branchlike fingers to the shagyak�s body. His arm stretched longer than it should, to the dead beast�s back, where he lovingly stroked its blood-mottled fur.
Risbell drew her dagger and then felt a sharp pain in her ankle. A cold sensation spread up her leg. When she looked down, she saw the culprit: a stone-scaled viper, the most venomous asp in all the Aulderwood.
Out of anger and instinct, she lashed out at the snake.
�No!� Ivern shouted.
Viney roots sprouted up from the soil and caught her arm, preventing her strike. They wrapped around her wrists and ankles and knees. She dropped her dagger in her struggles to break free.
�I�m going to die!� she cried. The venom�s coldness spread up past her knees.
The serpent slithered to Ivern�s feet and coiled up the outside of his leg, climbing up and around his body until it vanished into his armpit. It emerged from the back of his head, curling around one of the branches, and licked its forked tongue at Ivern�s ear.
�Sssssssorry,� hissed the snake to Ivern. �Ssssstartled.�
�Please,� Risbell said. �Help me.�
Ivern thought for a second.
�Ah yes!� His honey eyes twinkled with an idea. �There�s one thing that loves shagyaks. Especially dead ones.
�And please, forgive Syrus; he�s only recently hatched and doesn�t know how to control his venom. Gave you a full dose, I�m afraid. He�s asked me to tell you that he�s awfully sorry. You startled him and he reacted purely on instinct,� Ivern said. �Now, watch.�
The tree man knelt before the shagyak�s body, closed his eyes, and hummed a deep, earthy tune. His hands were in the soil, fingers splayed out. Twinkling green pops of light cascaded from his rune-carved head, down his arms, and into the dirt. Odd purple mushrooms popped up from the carcass. They were tiny at first; then their stalks rose as rot overtook the shagyak�s corpse. Soon there was only fur, bones, and an army of violet mushrooms.
�Ah, stingsalve fungus,� Ivern sighed. He plucked one delicately. �Always so punctual.�
The vines retracted from Risbell�s body. She collapsed in a heap. Her hands immediately shot to her heart. The icy pangs of stone-scale venom had reached her chest.
�Eat this,� Ivern said, offered the purple mushroom to the dying woman. �It might not taste like salamander dew or sunshine, but it�s not as bad as lippertick apples.�
Risbell had no idea what the strange treeman was on about, but her options were severely limited at that moment. A voice came back to her from the past. Her grandmother�s. Trust in nature; the Green Father never leads you astray.
She grabbed the mushroom from Ivern�s hand. It tasted like bitter tea and mulch; a disappointing final meal. Then the icy grip around her heart thawed and retreated. Within minutes, her legs worked again.
As she recovered, Ivern made her a tincture of odd leaves, tree sap, and water from a spring he�d discovered with his toes. He served it to her in a bird�s nest cup that a peregrine dropped into his hand.
�You�re him, aren�t you? The Green Father.�
Ivern shrugged as if he didn�t know. �You know what we could do here?� he said, turning his attention to the shagyak bones. �Moss always loves to pretty up the place.�
As soon as he said it, a thick carpet of moss crept over the bones. With the mushrooms, what once had been a grisly sight was now beautiful.
�Sheldon would love how beautiful his bones turned out to be. Badgers will use his ribs as shelter from the autumn storms. Nothing is ever wasted,� Ivern said, turning his attention to Risbell. �It seemed so senseless, but it makes perfect sense. If it wasn�t killed, you wouldn�t have lived.�
�We wanted its tusks,� Risbell said. She fixed her eyes on her boots in shame. �Rich people clamor for them. Willing to pay a lot.�
�I remember money. It�s rarely a good motivator.�
�I knew we shouldn�t have killed it. My grandmother used to tell me that if one must kill, one must use all parts to honor the beast.�
�I would love to meet your grandmother,� Ivern said.
�She is gone to the ground.�
�Returning to the soil that which the soil gave is noble.�
�I�m sorry,� Risbell said after a long moment of silence.
�All life is precious.� The gentleness and warmth and forgiveness in Ivern�s voice moved Risbell to tears. Ivern patted her on the head. �I probably couldn�t have handled the whole thing better myself. I�ve so much to remember about humans, and so much to I had forgotten to ever learn.�
Ivern helped Risbell to her feet.
�I must be off now. I promised the tadpoles of Southern Pond that I would monitor their elections for the king of lily pads. It�s quite the contentious race.�
A while later, Risbell emerged from the tree line near the river. After gulping down some water, she dug a hole on the banks and tenderly placed the shagyak tusks inside. She scooped up a handful of dirt and recited the prayers of honor her grandmother had taught her. She repeated this ritual until the horns were buried. Then she bowed her head in reverence and left the site marked as a grave.
From the depths of the Aulderwood, Ivern smiled at the gesture. The shagyak herd would be proud.
ctto: League of Legends

Harlequeen [HQN]

mybb@mybb.ru (Jinxu) — Sun, 02 Oct 2016 18:44:25 +0300

Team Harlequeen is a legit All Female E-Sports Team. WE PLAY FOR FUN, NOT FOR FAME. About the tourneys - well, it has already been taken to consideration as long as it could help us grow as a gamer and gain good experience from it. Why not?

Along with the team building activities we have, we also build our friendship - especially with Team Harleking (the vise versa of Harlequeen).

If any female gamer wants to join our team ~ well, you're welcome to apply!
(NOTE: There will still be some screenings that will happen before you can join! This is to test whether you're IN or OUT.)

Requirements to Join: :flag:
1.) LEGIT Female
2.) Lv30 (Preferably: Jungle/Mid/Top)
3.) Active Gamer
4.) IGN must be SIMPLE & NEUTRAL; that describes who you are as a gamer. We don't require on putting our tag to our IGNs, however, your IGN should not have any tag from other clans, or else you're OUT.
5.) 3 Games for Screening
6.) Skype with Jinxu or Apol (for proof of gender)
7.) With Sportsmanship
8.) Good Character

Enlistment: :writing:
STEP1: Like our page: Click.
STEP2: Fill out the Enlistment Form: Click.
STEP3: Just wait for the confirmation & update. GLHF!

Also, please Like Team Harleking's Page (All Male E-Sports Team): Click.

TEAM MEMBERS!
Jinxu
Apol
Lizzy
Hqn Aedelyn C.
Hqn Meowmaine
Airasaur
Dweynie Senpai
Hqn Eilsirc

*** HQN ***
:shine:

2016 World Championship: Group Stage Week 1

mybb@mybb.ru (Jinxu) — Sun, 02 Oct 2016 11:31:48 +0300

Hi Im Erlle
Thanks for the info! :)

Keep it up!

SUGGEST KAYO!

mybb@mybb.ru (Jinxu) — Sun, 02 Oct 2016 11:28:48 +0300

Wacker
Tapos ko na yan :<

Confused!

mybb@mybb.ru (Jinxu) — Sun, 02 Oct 2016 09:01:51 +0300

Hi Im Erlle
Diba? Diba? Hmmm.. but I told my cousin who's into computers as well, he said ASUS. Haha! Maybe bcs when it comes to Graphic Designing and Gaming ASUS prolly is the best. I just dunno now T_T

Season 6 Victorious Skin

mybb@mybb.ru (Shigeo Kageyama) — Sat, 01 Oct 2016 19:03:19 +0300

Epic morg size/Last gif Hahahaha

Poll

mybb@mybb.ru (Shigeo Kageyama) — Sat, 01 Oct 2016 18:27:11 +0300

Pick Gnar. If your team doesn't have a tank.

Yorick. For Epic lane sustain wohohohoho.

2016 World Championships

mybb@mybb.ru (shinkai23) — Sat, 01 Oct 2016 17:44:12 +0300

Champion