Reminiscence
Thank you for your patience, fellow Wuju disciples. It's been a rough few days, but I'm really happy to have finished my little passion project for Master Yi. I hope you all enjoy it; expect many more in the future. It's a decent chunk of dashboard space, so I'll be hiding the meat of the content underneath the cut.
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It has been several years since the Noxian-Ionian war, and as laborers work to bring Ionia back to its former glory, they remember the brave warriors who fought to protect their sacred land. One such man--Master Yi-- is still shrouded in a sense of mystery to many. This 'Wuju Style' he speaks of... does he intend to teach it soon? And if so, when? As it turns out, Yi is a hard man to keep track of, which leads men to wonder just what he could be up to in his times of solitude.
Ionia’s forests have grown overwhelmed in magic. As the traumas of a distant war fade to the sands of time, nature has begun to run its course once more. Foreign chemicals conjured in greed and conquest have worked their way into the soil of the First Lands, and with it trees have taken shape. Twisting and writhing vines that bear foreign bulbs have sprouted with a ferocity that Ionian arbomancers struggle to maintain. It has left many of Ionia’s natural pathways blocked by wicked thorns and aggressive vegetation, much to civilization’s chagrin.
Natural landmarks and childish hiding spots have been barred from entry to those of feeble frame and mind– though that doesn’t stop the curious and the brave from trying. In these packed woods one such landmark roars against the trees. The powerful ambience of the rampant waterfall quakes against bark and shakes leaves of its dew. It’s here that one man has found solitude. It’s here that one man peers into the depths of his own mind, searching for answers.
Though his teachings of Wuju solidified the importance of discipline, solitude, and a strong sense of self, the looming need to disobey never quite escaped him. In truth, Yi never cared for being alone--it simply came with his duties as a Wuju disciple. Today, his inner child was more rambunctious than ever, focusing on the trivial and mundane. Levitating above the jagged boulders below he drew a sharp breath from his nostrils, swelling his chest with salty air. His mind dwells on how the ivory whites of his pants stuck harshly to his legs and how the daggers of icy waters threaten to pierce his shoulders with every crashing wave. Strands of his stringy and sticky hair kissed every corner of his face–from the tattoo branded to his forehead, to the triangular beard that rested comfortably against his chin. The waves beckoned for his attention, and craved for his consciousness; in temptation, Yi nearly answered the call .
With an exhale, his frustrations slipped slowly from his lips, as a familiar voice rang through his mind. ”The temptation to quit is greatest just before you succeed.” Yi thought. Master Hurong always found a way to quell his nerves it seemed. His spirit tightroped for equilibrium. It was true, that this antsy sensation was something all too familiar to him, and though he longed to cease his levitation and return to the warm confines of his lodging, he knew better than to yield. Another sharp breath stirred within his chest, as voices slowly escaped him, being replaced by dancing colors that painted in broad strokes of red and grey. As his shoulders relaxed, Yi reminisced about the subtle tinge of smoke.
In moments, Yi’s body took a familiar weightlessness, as his mind is pulled towards the spiritual realm. The roaring waves of waterfall are methodically drowned out by the crackling clicks of dancing flame and the slow clang of armored steel. He stands steadfast in a critical moment in time, a time when the neighboring village of Tevasa was on the brink of destruction. Walls of stone and rooted trees– once carefully cultivated by arbomancers– were in shatters. Blinding smog spewed from the mouths of trees splayed apart, and villagers grieved for them. Try as they might to defend their home of tradition, family, and culture, the looming dread of defeat spread through darkened skies, as soldiers of black and red celebrated the murderous storm they had created. Yi managed to focus on a few steel-clad soldiers, just as the men focused on him.
Their eyes met, one pair after another.
“How many lives have these men squandered for their own selfish gain?” Yi thought. “How long ago had the temptations of the physical realm seduced them?” He could find no answer, for as he stared into the abyss of their eyes, the abyss stared back. The sounds of waterfall tickled at the back of Yi’s neck as he shakily inhaled, and steadied himself. Even years after meeting these men, their stares have stained his nerves like the blood that stained their tattered fabrics and armors. A filthy reminder that could never be washed away from his soul.
As memories fill Yi’s mind and body, a fiery flame seeps through his pores. The whimsical flames twirl and saunter with such a graceful ferocity, that the heavy rains of the waterfall have parted in awe–eager to admire from afar. Yi’s once labored breathing has reached an all time low, as what could be described as zen has washed over him. He has immersed himself within the spiritual realm, embracing the moment within.
As he embraces this moment within his deepest consciousness, so too does he embrace the fear of battle. His opponents slowly approach, eager to nurture the Ionian soil with the blood of its ancestors, and sprout the grotesque nature of their conquest in its stead. Yi rests a hand on his blade, and prepares for the worst. His eyes remain shut both in the spiritual and physical self as he searches deeply for answers unknown. The ways of Wuju have taught him the way of the pacifist--to leave one's blade sheathed and to leave one's hand steady-- though at this moment, Yi trembles. There is hardly enough time for him to best the three opponents that surround him, let alone the Noxian warband that works to lay claim to this land. With this mounting pressure he feels fear, and the looming threat of failure burdens him. He digs deeper into his spirit; searching. If he fails in this moment there will be no Tevasa Village; there will be no Wuju.
There will be no Wuju.
 As his eyes slowly open, his eyelids glow with flames– burning lights of green and fiery gold. The flames that seep from his very core erupted wildly into a swirling cataclysm of spiritual essence. The soldiers of steel, strife, and strength approach him with blades drawn. Yi however, hears nothing, feels nothing, yet he knows all. He unsheathes his blade, and begins to work.
With his finely carved crescent sword imbued in fantastical green, Yi dashes into action. His physical self has split into shimmering afterimages that dart and whizz across the village. Each image is free of thought, slicing and carving through Noxian flesh with a precision that’d terrify if it wasn’t so beautiful in its grace. The state of flow lasts for only several seconds, though the destruction he manages to unveil was a feat worthy of several hardened men. In an instant, Yi returns to the center of the village with his sword in hand, and the enemy apprehended. One soldier remained standing in front of him, his steel cauldrons and armor sliced with several cuts of various angles. Yi stares at his opponent with a blank gaze, expecting a man of nothingness to stare back at him. He is tragically mistaken. As the soldier draws his final breath of humanity, he fills himself with life. His eyes flood with color and fear and Yi–absent in thought– smirks. He barely has the time to comprehend the weight of this moment, before the Noxian topples over in defeat, and Ionians rush from every angle to murmur in confusion. “What– what happened?” They inquire. “All of the Noxians, they can’t be dead, can they?” As villagers and laborers survey the defeated pillagers, Yi observes his surroundings, and his people. Men and women who look like him, draw from the same cultures as him, and speak like him, strangely stare at him like a foreigner. In this moment of triumph, never had he felt so alone. He feared wrongdoing as the palpable silence surrounded him… that was until a child emerged from the growing crowd– naive and curious. The child stared up at the swordsman wide-eyed, and said. “It was you, wasn’t it? How did you do that?”
Yi feels the chilled embrace of waterfall beginning to clamor against his robes as roars of nature beckon him to awaken from his meditative state. He smiles as the child slowly fades into mists of fanciful colors and replies.
“Wuju Style. Perhaps one day, I can teach you.”
