Yordles have always been looked down upon by the people of Runeterra: that is a simple truth that Keelan learned very early on in life. Though most choose to hide their true faces from humans, Keelan was different; she boated a bright, friendly personality, and never seemed too intimidated by creatures several times her size. Because of this, Keelan often got herself into trouble, being scolded about how dangerous the world outside Bandle was.

Still, Keelan’s fearlessness was a trait that followed her all her life, and the more she heard of the outside world, the more she sought to explore it. In-particular, Keelan grew fascinated with the tales of Mount Targon, a place where only the bravest dared to venture, and few returned from. Even so, Keelan set out to tackle the mountain, aiming to prove that even though she was small, the size of the mighty Targon did not intimidate her.

Thus, Keelan began the trial many had perished attempting before her: reaching the peak of the sacred mountain. The task proved far more arduous than anticipated, but Keelan did not relent. The mountain, at times, seemed to taunt her, as though she were nothing more than a flee on the back of a mighty beast. Rockslides and snowstorms threatened to claim her life, yet she continued climbing, ever-resolute in her goals.

The higher Keelan climbed, the more she felt a strange power seeming to guide her upwards. In truth, her natural atunement with magic as a Yordle let her harness the mysterious energies resonating from the mountain. Keelan felt her body becoming lighter, albeit more exhausted as she neared the top.

It was only when Keelan’s hand slipped that she realized what had happened to her. Instead of plummeting to her doom, the Yordle found herself suspended in the air, and her body resonated with a mysterious glow. Though at first confused, Keelan soon learned that she could levitate at a whim, defying the natural law of gravity with the magic borrowed from the mountain.

After reaching the peak and finding nothing interest, Keelan chose to set out on even greater adventures. Donning a mask fashioned from Targon’s own rocky surface, Keelan seeks to prove that she can rise above any challenge, in-spite of her small stature.

Demacia is a nation founded on the ideals of truth, honor, and justice; this was something Maximilian Windspear had been taught his entire life. Though not particularly wealthy, the Windspears had a long-standing history with the Demacian military, and Maximilian was expected to enlist as soon as he came of age. However, those plans changed when Max's mother was discovered to have a terrible affliction: magic.

As it so happened, Max’s mother had been a mage, and his father, afraid of what would be done to her, had tried for years to conceal the fact. Anullers came to the household at twilight to detain the entire family, but Max resisted, unsure, at the time, what was going on. In was in the midst of his struggle that Max unlocked something within himself, and summoned forth a mighty whirlwind that tore apart the entire house.

When the dust settled, Max’s eyes widened in horror as he realized both his parents, as well as the anullers, were dead, buried in the rubble. Horrified, Max did the only thing he could think of, and ran, fleeing Demacia’s walls and leaving the nation he’d called home behind.

For many moons Max was filled with bitterness. First he blamed himself for what had occurred, then he directed his ire onto the anullers that disrupted his family’s life. Then, slowly, Max’s hatred grew to encompass all of Demacia as a whole, for branding his mother a monster and trying to ‘cure’ her.

So as some of you may know, I partook in the LeagueOCchallenge a while back, where I had to come up with an original character for every major faction in Valoran. Unfortunately, there was a portion of the challenge I never completed: picking my favorite and designing a more intricate backstory or kit for them. Well, I’ve been working on this for freaking ages, but I think I FINALLY have at least a half-decent kit for Mojo, the Chaos Manifest.

Of course I’m no game designer, so it’s probably fairly sub-par to what an actual Rioter could do (I didn’t even ATTEMPT to work out the numbers for damage, cooldown, etc.) but I think, at the very least, it works for a tanky AP top-laner.))

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Day 14: Favorite OC

Tori Lin, Ionian OC

(Not really sure if I actually had a favourite of the ones I created. Rat is also pretty high up there, but I basically already wrote a drabble for her in her bio. So let me correct that: OC that I most wanted to write a drabble for.)

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She’s 5, and the weapon is tiny in her hands. The lessons of the week are easy to remember, the words recalled almost instantly. The child raises her bow without hesitation, the arrow flying straight and true. There is nothing but the sound of movement as her teachers advance to check her accuracy, then return to nod in approval and compliment her with a simple ‘Well done.’

She’s 6, and the ground below her is of no notice, the breeze playing through her locks as she sights on a target. A relative spots her, yet their yell makes no impact on her focus as she draws back the string, releases the arrow to fly straight and true as always. She climbs down from the tree with nimbleness befitting her figure, the relative turning to stare in surprise at the target - to which a single leaf is pinned, dead centre in the bullseye -  then her.

She’s 8, and the tree-climbing has extended to tree-jumping, as it were. ‘Little bird’ is her name now, the moniker one spoken with bemused affection by all her family as they humour her for her strange ways of archery from the trees around her.

She’s 11, and there is only dead silence. Funny how such a thing can so deeply colour the air around her. The smoke too - the stench permeates for miles, no matter where she flits. And flits she does, from branch to branch. The blood and gore and destruction of her village have faded into the background, as has the shouting of the Noxian soldiers hunting whoever is picking them off with such deadly accuracy. And then suddenly, noise in her vision, as troops in Ionian colours storm in, routing up the stragglers that are split up in their hunt for the girl with a bow, dancing through the trees.

She’s 14 and she refuses to touch her bow. It lies, uncared for and abandoned, sitting in the room that she’d been given - much like each tree she passes now, refusing to look at them, not caring for the branches and breeze that once called her name. She turns instead to books, calligraphy, meditation - anything peaceful that might hopefully bring peace, stave off the dreams that haunt the night.

She’s 15 when word reaches her new home of the Lady Karma’s fight, and her fierce will and use of magic. She sees in Karma something that she herself once carried - except that where the girl retreated from the world, the Duchess stood strong and proud, proclaiming her own path towards inner peace.

She’s 17 when she finally finishes the last details of embroidery on her new armguards, the stylized dragons a symbol of Ionia, of will and spirit and determination - things that she does’t carry now, but will one day.

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Day 13: Independent OC/Sentient Race OC

Name: Celia Storyweaver Age: 37 Occupation: Weaver Status: Healthy Location: Unknown (previously resided at the Institute of War) Appearance: Curly blonde hair, blue eyes, short and average build.

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Bio

Born to a middle-class family in a small unnamed village, Celia grew up in a world where she was always assured of her family’s love. A daughter of a sheep farmer, she grew up around wool and fabric of all sorts. It was only natural that she would get involved in some way. However, with three older brothers, she was hardly ever with the animals - not that she liked them much, admittedly.

No, Celia had a much greater interest in the wool and thread that her family produced. When she grew bored of spinning thread, she began to weave it.

A visiting aunt noticed the girl’s obvious creativity and took her under her wing. Weekly visits finally culminated in the girl’s first work: A small square depicting one of the many fields that her family’s beloved sheep grazed upon. It was immediately hung over the mantlepiece in the main room, and Celia had found her heart’s calling: To weave, not just her family’s life, but the life of anyone that she could. A few years after she came of age, she took her leave of her family with their blessing, intending to seek her fortunes elsewhere. “Elsewhere”, however, became the Institute of War, the woman intrigued by the politics and motivations behind its founding. Fascinated, she set foot in the doorway - and never looked back, the library and history enrapturing her. Granted a room and adjoining workshop of her own, the woman set to work with a zeal. Her interesting activity and subsequent reputation (she’s not sure where the name ‘Storyweaver’ came from, but she accepted it as her own nonetheless) spread first throughout the Institute and then slowly began to make its way through Valoran. Visitors would find her drowning in untangled threads as the woman pursued her dream of creating a tapestry worthy to hang in the halls of the Institute.

Day 12: Piltover

Name: Corrin Winter Age: 29 Occupation: Police Officer Status: Healthy Location: Piltover Appearance: Hazel eyes, Light brown hair, tall and slim.

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Bio

Corrin is a highly decorated officer with the Piltover Police Department. Despite her accolades and high success rate with cases, the woman herself has never had much interest in rising beyond fieldwork. She confesses to have very little interest in paperwork or a desk job - the woman seems to function best when chasing down a thief or directing traffic at intersections with malfunctioning lights.

It had always been expected of Corrin to follow in her parents’ (and later, her siblings’) footsteps. She was, after all, born to a family of academics. However the ‘bookish life’, as she called it, never appealed to her. Her family were doubly shocked - not only did she graduate with ‘mediocre grades’ (“No Winter has ever scored below an 75! “), but she then enrolled at the police academy…where she then began to excel.

It took a while for her parents to come around to the fact that perhaps their daughter didn’t have to be intelligent to excel, that maybe being street smart was a worthy and valued sort of intelligence as well. However, come round they did, and Corrin has become part of the family again - at her expense when the topic comes up during friendly family banter.

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It is said that behind every great hero and warrior is a weapon equally-worthy of legend. In many parts of the world, it is believed a man is only as good as what he wields, but some say that is the weapon which makes the warrior. Sorn, the Anvil Master, firmly believes in the latter, and strives to make every blade, shield, and piece of armor he crafts flawless.

Sorn’s origins are a mystery. Some think he’s from the Freljord, while others claim him to be of Noxian descent. Still others think he was an apprentice of the famous blacksmith Doran, but whatever the case, Sorn’s work is praised throughout all of Valoran. Spears, swords, helms and bucklers-Sorn freely accepts commissions from every nation, and goes to great lengths to ensure they are fitted to the wielders’ style of fighting.

In truth, the man known as Sorn swears no allegiance to any nation, and goes as far as to cover himself head-to-toe in armor blackened by the ashes of his forge. Many have attempted to steal the secrets of his smithing techniques for a variety of reasons, so Sorn always stands ready to drive back those that would try to do him or his business harm.

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Day 11: Void/Icathia

Name: The Nothing Age: N/A Occupation: N/A Status: Healthy Location: Lurking in Icathia somewhere

Bio:

(This OC is partly based off the DarkMind from Nalini Singh’s Psy/Changeling series. I recommend this book if only for the worldbuilding which I found largely unique - in comparison with other series of many other authors, of which I can often draw parallels of logic and coincidences of worldbuilding.)

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When the rift opened between the Void and Icathia, the Void creatures most commonly known and seen weren’t the only things that stepped through. A vast, oily blackness followed, seeming to detach from the Void itself, flowing invisibly into the next world without hindrance. From there it melted into the natural shadows of the ruins around it before settling in to wait and watch.

While having no true appearance, the shape it settled on was that of a genderless figure, likened to the human silhouette of Malzahar that it glimpsed as the seer stumbled away to his new destiny. Any who look at it see only a deep, endless black, a nothing. They are drawn inexorably forward, filled with a need only to touch. The few that have seen this figure have thus vanished into its depths - consumed by or merged with the blackness, nobody can ever know, as none who have encountered it have survived. Some have seen it, from the corner of their eyes - of course, however, they put it down to jumping at shadows. 

It would surprise some to know, then, that the Nothing is incredibly lonely. Having no way to call to its fellow Void creatures, the being wishes only to be in the company of those like it - for those creatures that lived in the Void are ones that can make contact and survive. The Nothing reaches out whenever one encounters it, but they are not of the Void and are thus lost.

Voiceless beyond the strange tugging it prompts in other humans and creatures of Valoran, The Nothing continues to reside in what was once Icathia, drawing victims to it with its strange mute summons. Perhaps one day it will find another who can make it less lonely.