The Masks of the Kindred

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The woman hadn't slept well for days, the stresses of her current work consuming her mind. Perhaps that is why shadows of the Fates manifested before the flames, their masks silhouetted in the light.

To believe in only those who believe themselves.... Words that came to mind...one of the sayings she had come to associate with the pair...specifically the lamb.

It seemed that different lessons were told about them around Runeterra as a whole...different values to abide by....different representations.

That doesn't devalue what she saw...that doesn't devalue the fear the swordsman felt. She knew mercy had been granted once... there was no chance in the Hells she would be granted it again.

Carefully, they twinned with their shadows, lurking in the flames of a childs campfire. They shifted forms as easily as true shadows, taking the form of different Aspects of themselves, this one from the islands of Ionia, this from Noxus, this third from a small, isolated community that none had heard of in more than a hundred years.

Thus, it was not pain that the Lamb felt when magic was forced through the chain that ensnared them, it was something far simpler to comprehend for the ancient impossibility; tiredness, the unfathomable exhaustion that only comes from existing for so long that even Time was but an infant compared to your old bones.

Xeraths attempts at warping the fabric of the thing was hopeless, only one artifact could have ever affected the Kindred as they were now; a simple knapped flint axe, stained even now with whatever had passed for blood within the veins of the Grey Man. Certainly it distracted the Lamb, but an endless warping of life was far more familiar to its other half, the great monster that was the Wolf, and it revelled in the attempted Changing that Xerath tried to force upon them.

Blue fires passed clean through the Wolfs fur and frame, fire merely showing an echo of the true frame of the mighty creature, rather than the simple floating head that was so often its form.

Their deity was the culmination of human will itself, unbound by flesh. He had risen from the dirt surpass the mightiest of lords. He had bathed in Celestial power, allowing it to burn away the constraints of mortal flesh and fuse with his very spirit. He had mastered arcane secrets that would drive most beings to madness. Even centuries of isolation, which had broken even the minds of those who dared call themselves 'Ascended' before did little more than give Xerath abundant time to plot out his grand victory.

Yes, as Wolf drew closer, these were the thoughts that drove the Herald and the other Acolytes to show their devotion. The Great Magus had ensnared one of the spirits, but it did not seem like he would have time to break them... The faithful were waning in number, and the ancient seal upon their master was the one thing keeping him from total victory.

"Great Magus! My life, as all our lives, belong to you! Take them! Show these relics your true splendor!" Before Wolf's jaws could claim her, the Herald turned and evaporated into pure energy, as did all the remaining Acolytes and Devout.

Wisps of mana flowed from their remains into Xerath's core, causing his form to swell and pose. With Lamb still bound, the Magus erupted into a torrent of power which cracked the very earth beneath him. When the light faded, Xerath now towered over the Kindred, his presence alone emitting a pressure that would force most mortals to their knees. His voice echoed and shook the very air around him.

Lamb watched, no longer struggling against the chain which sought to bind them, as the Magus grew in power, might and sheer physical size. This was something that was familiar to the Kindred, full well had they watched the carnage the Ascended had committed on many a battlefield, growing to monstrous size and performing monstrous acts.

With a simple toss of their head, what passed for hair of the masked Lamb passed through the chain that sought to bind them and cleanly severed the thing, as if it were made of naught but a thieves oath of fidelity.

The Kindred watched the light, eyes slitted against the glare of the Magus' Ascension, paltry and weakened though it might be thanks to the ancient seal which still bound the thing. With a laugh that belled from one or both of the figures, they replied 'We are the Kindred. None worship us, for all know our truth. Run from us, beg us for more time, fight us, this truth you shall relearn today; We are coming for you.'

As they spoke the words, a simple trick of the light occured; the two figures, which had been separated by many meters, suddenly flowed together like mercury, and the two were suddenly larger than they had been before, as if the figures one saw when one saw the Kindred was not the whole of the thing, but merely the beginning; the start of the path into Death.

Perhaps, deep down, the Magus did feel some semblance of fear. However, there was another sensation that far overshadowed it: a rage that grew ever more intense with each passing moment. "Do not speak as though you know me. Do not speak as though you understand me. I am Xerath: He Who Felled the Sun! I have usurped gods, emperors, and fate itself. Death? What have I to fear from death?"

The space surrounding the Magus began to fill itself with arcane runes. "The laws of the universe are mind to command. Reality itself bends to my will. You could not even contain a weakling such as Azir. I... Am above you."

Patience, dear heart came the silverfin-quick impulse from the Lamb, who was dutybound, flesh blood and what passed for bone amongst the pair, to the other half of the Grey Man's final hope; what else does the harvest have to hope for, save the care of the Reaper Man?

The Magus used a somewhat distorted version of the Rite of Ascension to transform his followers, filling their bodies with raw mana in place of Celestial power. Now, he was attempting to perform something similar on the environment itself. As cosmic energies affected the landscapes of Targon, Xerath was attempting to transform the surrounding area into a domain twisted by his own power: a domain where his will was law.

The ground splintered and cracked, with fragments enveloped in azure fire rising into the air. That same air was unbearably heavy with with a pressure that would crush most beings. Then, all at once, the brunt of that pressure narrowed on the Kindred. Both physical and spiritual space rippled with Xerath's power. If nothing else, he intended to rend the hunters' forms, just to prove that he was capable of it.

All this was to say, when Xerath began throwing out a 'bubble' of magic within which he sought to change the very laws of reality to suit his whim, neither the Lamb nor the Wolf were too inclined to stick around. With a happy laugh echoing through their link, the Two that were One skipped across the skin of reality, piercing the bubble that Xerath strained so mightily to create with all the ease of piercing a soap bubble, flickered through six different realities and ended up about a foot from where They had started, with the same (or possibly different, multiversal travel was not the forte) Xerath straining to fix this bubble in place.

This thing is known, Lamb thought with great regret. Xerath would always, no matter the reality, attempt something similar to this if and when the Kindred came for him. It was a fact of reality; the former slave would do anything, even destroy reality itself, to preserve his hide from the arrows and teeth of the things he deemed monsters.

Thus, it was not pain that the Lamb felt when magic was forced through the chain that ensnared them, it was something far simpler to comprehend for the ancient impossibility; tiredness, the unfathomable exhaustion that only comes from existing for so long that even Time was but an infant compared to your old bones.

Xeraths attempts at warping the fabric of the thing was hopeless, only one artifact could have ever affected the Kindred as they were now; a simple knapped flint axe, stained even now with whatever had passed for blood within the veins of the Grey Man. Certainly it distracted the Lamb, but an endless warping of life was far more familiar to its other half, the great monster that was the Wolf, and it revelled in the attempted Changing that Xerath tried to force upon them.

Blue fires passed clean through the Wolfs fur and frame, fire merely showing an echo of the true frame of the mighty creature, rather than the simple floating head that was so often its form.

Their deity was the culmination of human will itself, unbound by flesh. He had risen from the dirt surpass the mightiest of lords. He had bathed in Celestial power, allowing it to burn away the constraints of mortal flesh and fuse with his very spirit. He had mastered arcane secrets that would drive most beings to madness. Even centuries of isolation, which had broken even the minds of those who dared call themselves 'Ascended' before did little more than give Xerath abundant time to plot out his grand victory.

Yes, as Wolf drew closer, these were the thoughts that drove the Herald and the other Acolytes to show their devotion. The Great Magus had ensnared one of the spirits, but it did not seem like he would have time to break them... The faithful were waning in number, and the ancient seal upon their master was the one thing keeping him from total victory.

"Great Magus! My life, as all our lives, belong to you! Take them! Show these relics your true splendor!" Before Wolf's jaws could claim her, the Herald turned and evaporated into pure energy, as did all the remaining Acolytes and Devout.

Wisps of mana flowed from their remains into Xerath's core, causing his form to swell and pose. With Lamb still bound, the Magus erupted into a torrent of power which cracked the very earth beneath him. When the light faded, Xerath now towered over the Kindred, his presence alone emitting a pressure that would force most mortals to their knees. His voice echoed and shook the very air around him.

Lamb watched, no longer struggling against the chain which sought to bind them, as the Magus grew in power, might and sheer physical size. This was something that was familiar to the Kindred, full well had they watched the carnage the Ascended had committed on many a battlefield, growing to monstrous size and performing monstrous acts.

With a simple toss of their head, what passed for hair of the masked Lamb passed through the chain that sought to bind them and cleanly severed the thing, as if it were made of naught but a thieves oath of fidelity.

The Kindred watched the light, eyes slitted against the glare of the Magus' Ascension, paltry and weakened though it might be thanks to the ancient seal which still bound the thing. With a laugh that belled from one or both of the figures, they replied 'We are the Kindred. None worship us, for all know our truth. Run from us, beg us for more time, fight us, this truth you shall relearn today; We are coming for you.'

As they spoke the words, a simple trick of the light occured; the two figures, which had been separated by many meters, suddenly flowed together like mercury, and the two were suddenly larger than they had been before, as if the figures one saw when one saw the Kindred was not the whole of the thing, but merely the beginning; the start of the path into Death.

Perhaps, deep down, the Magus did feel some semblance of fear. However, there was another sensation that far overshadowed it: a rage that grew ever more intense with each passing moment. "Do not speak as though you know me. Do not speak as though you understand me. I am Xerath: He Who Felled the Sun! I have usurped gods, emperors, and fate itself. Death? What have I to fear from death?"

The space surrounding the Magus began to fill itself with arcane runes. "The laws of the universe are mind to command. Reality itself bends to my will. You could not even contain a weakling such as Azir. I... Am above you."

Patience, dear heart came the silverfin-quick impulse from the Lamb, who was dutybound, flesh blood and what passed for bone amongst the pair, to the other half of the Grey Man's final hope; what else does the harvest have to hope for, save the care of the Reaper Man?

Thus, it was not pain that the Lamb felt when magic was forced through the chain that ensnared them, it was something far simpler to comprehend for the ancient impossibility; tiredness, the unfathomable exhaustion that only comes from existing for so long that even Time was but an infant compared to your old bones.

Xeraths attempts at warping the fabric of the thing was hopeless, only one artifact could have ever affected the Kindred as they were now; a simple knapped flint axe, stained even now with whatever had passed for blood within the veins of the Grey Man. Certainly it distracted the Lamb, but an endless warping of life was far more familiar to its other half, the great monster that was the Wolf, and it revelled in the attempted Changing that Xerath tried to force upon them.

Blue fires passed clean through the Wolfs fur and frame, fire merely showing an echo of the true frame of the mighty creature, rather than the simple floating head that was so often its form.

Their deity was the culmination of human will itself, unbound by flesh. He had risen from the dirt surpass the mightiest of lords. He had bathed in Celestial power, allowing it to burn away the constraints of mortal flesh and fuse with his very spirit. He had mastered arcane secrets that would drive most beings to madness. Even centuries of isolation, which had broken even the minds of those who dared call themselves 'Ascended' before did little more than give Xerath abundant time to plot out his grand victory.

Yes, as Wolf drew closer, these were the thoughts that drove the Herald and the other Acolytes to show their devotion. The Great Magus had ensnared one of the spirits, but it did not seem like he would have time to break them... The faithful were waning in number, and the ancient seal upon their master was the one thing keeping him from total victory.

"Great Magus! My life, as all our lives, belong to you! Take them! Show these relics your true splendor!" Before Wolf's jaws could claim her, the Herald turned and evaporated into pure energy, as did all the remaining Acolytes and Devout.

Wisps of mana flowed from their remains into Xerath's core, causing his form to swell and pose. With Lamb still bound, the Magus erupted into a torrent of power which cracked the very earth beneath him. When the light faded, Xerath now towered over the Kindred, his presence alone emitting a pressure that would force most mortals to their knees. His voice echoed and shook the very air around him.

Lamb watched, no longer struggling against the chain which sought to bind them, as the Magus grew in power, might and sheer physical size. This was something that was familiar to the Kindred, full well had they watched the carnage the Ascended had committed on many a battlefield, growing to monstrous size and performing monstrous acts.

With a simple toss of their head, what passed for hair of the masked Lamb passed through the chain that sought to bind them and cleanly severed the thing, as if it were made of naught but a thieves oath of fidelity.

The Kindred watched the light, eyes slitted against the glare of the Magus' Ascension, paltry and weakened though it might be thanks to the ancient seal which still bound the thing. With a laugh that belled from one or both of the figures, they replied 'We are the Kindred. None worship us, for all know our truth. Run from us, beg us for more time, fight us, this truth you shall relearn today; We are coming for you.'

As they spoke the words, a simple trick of the light occured; the two figures, which had been separated by many meters, suddenly flowed together like mercury, and the two were suddenly larger than they had been before, as if the figures one saw when one saw the Kindred was not the whole of the thing, but merely the beginning; the start of the path into Death.

Opening his mouth impossibly wide, The Wolf belled out a great howl once more, freezing even the magery that flew through the air for a brief instant, a psychic roar that told the laws of physics and reality itself to take five minutes for a coffee break.

The creature lunged, total animal hatred seeping from every psychic pore, yet Xerath had made but one simple mistake; Assuming that the Lamb and the Wolf were two totally separate entities; one the primeval, emotion-driven animal, and the other the knowing yet unknown human.

Meanwhile, Xerath's followers continued to assail the Wolf. The Devout were more mindless, but his acolytes seemed surprisingly aware of themselves. A few even spoke.

"Glory to the Great Magus!"

"Capture the beast!"

For the most part, It failed on that final point, what passed for the souls of these things was too tightly bound to the life force of the Magus himself; once the foundation of the magic was removed and the Magus sent screaming to whatever awaited him past the Wolf's terrible jaws, the acolytes and other monsters that Xerath had created would follow their Master, perhaps finding a peace of their own in the grave.

It was perhaps the great irony of the Magus' existance; that he had fought for so long against slavery of both mind and body, and yet now resorted to it himself in order to attain power.

The Lamb was just opening its own mouth to attempt to guide the crackling monster to the peace of the grave when 3 enormous chains of magery and might were conjoured from the very bones of the world, and hurled, like a toy that had irked an angry toddler, at the spirit.

Breathe meant nothing to the Kindred, but Lamb exhaled softly as it stepped beyond the weft and weave of life to avoid the chains; one sailed past without the Lamb even moving, the second passed through what could be considered the 'throat' of the thing without disturbing even a hair on the mask of the thing, but the final chain, perhaps 'forged' in a slightly different manner, perhaps refined differently, caught onto the flesh of the Lamb.

Lamb, elusive though it may be, was ensnared by one of his chains. In that instant, Xerath sent a wave of power coursing through it. Indeed, he knew that to truly best the Kindred, he could not rely on simply assailing their physical forms. No, Xerath's spells were focused on the spirit; the very essence of being. Much like he'd warped the souls of his followers, Xerath attempted to warp Lamb's essence, pouring copious amounts of raw mana into her.

Thus, it was not pain that the Lamb felt when magic was forced through the chain that ensnared them, it was something far simpler to comprehend for the ancient impossibility; tiredness, the unfathomable exhaustion that only comes from existing for so long that even Time was but an infant compared to your old bones.

Xeraths attempts at warping the fabric of the thing was hopeless, only one artifact could have ever affected the Kindred as they were now; a simple knapped flint axe, stained even now with whatever had passed for blood within the veins of the Grey Man. Certainly it distracted the Lamb, but an endless warping of life was far more familiar to its other half, the great monster that was the Wolf, and it revelled in the attempted Changing that Xerath tried to force upon them.

Blue fires passed clean through the Wolfs fur and frame, fire merely showing an echo of the true frame of the mighty creature, rather than the simple floating head that was so often its form.

Opening his mouth impossibly wide, The Wolf belled out a great howl once more, freezing even the magery that flew through the air for a brief instant, a psychic roar that told the laws of physics and reality itself to take five minutes for a coffee break.

The creature lunged, total animal hatred seeping from every psychic pore, yet Xerath had made but one simple mistake; Assuming that the Lamb and the Wolf were two totally separate entities; one the primeval, emotion-driven animal, and the other the knowing yet unknown human.

Meanwhile, Xerath's followers continued to assail the Wolf. The Devout were more mindless, but his acolytes seemed surprisingly aware of themselves. A few even spoke.

"Glory to the Great Magus!"

"Capture the beast!"

For the most part, It failed on that final point, what passed for the souls of these things was too tightly bound to the life force of the Magus himself; once the foundation of the magic was removed and the Magus sent screaming to whatever awaited him past the Wolf's terrible jaws, the acolytes and other monsters that Xerath had created would follow their Master, perhaps finding a peace of their own in the grave.

It was perhaps the great irony of the Magus' existance; that he had fought for so long against slavery of both mind and body, and yet now resorted to it himself in order to attain power.

The Lamb was just opening its own mouth to attempt to guide the crackling monster to the peace of the grave when 3 enormous chains of magery and might were conjoured from the very bones of the world, and hurled, like a toy that had irked an angry toddler, at the spirit.

Breathe meant nothing to the Kindred, but Lamb exhaled softly as it stepped beyond the weft and weave of life to avoid the chains; one sailed past without the Lamb even moving, the second passed through what could be considered the 'throat' of the thing without disturbing even a hair on the mask of the thing, but the final chain, perhaps 'forged' in a slightly different manner, perhaps refined differently, caught onto the flesh of the Lamb.

As the new creatures approached, Lamb turned its expressionless mask towards them, beholding yet more crimes. These things were not alive, not dead, not even held in state like such tragedies as Sion, instead they were an amalgamation of mortal and magic, as much puppets as puppeteers.

Xerath turned to Lamb and addressed her once more. "Soon, you will be nothing!" With but a single wave of his hand, the Magus commanded his creations into action. Sensing their master's will, they charged Wolf, attempting to berate the black spirit with bolts of pure magic.

Opening his mouth impossibly wide, The Wolf belled out a great howl once more, freezing even the magery that flew through the air for a brief instant, a psychic roar that told the laws of physics and reality itself to take five minutes for a coffee break.

The creature lunged, total animal hatred seeping from every psychic pore, yet Xerath had made but one simple mistake; Assuming that the Lamb and the Wolf were two totally separate entities; one the primeval, emotion-driven animal, and the other the knowing yet unknown human.

Once the Gods and other things had discovered Him, they felt the chill of prescience touch the back of their neck; for this being, no matter how He might cut and change and alter throughout time and culture, was the Death of ALL things, even those things that could not die.

However, it didn't sit well with the Wolf to simply stand still while there was prey to hunt, and so after only a split instant of stoic watching as assault after assault thundered through their etherial bodies, the great monster let loose a howl, so loud and piercing that it would be interpreted as thunder or a storm or the call of God Themselves throughout the world, and leapt, seeking the preys throat.

However, with the right means, that foundation could be reshaped by those with even greater wills. It had worked on Renekton. It had worked on his followers. Xerath was sure it would work on the Kindred, however these beings might define themselves. He just needed to break them down...

The Wolf pounded, though of course, Xerath didn't have a 'throat' to gouge out. Even so, the black spirits fangs weren't exactly corporeal, so the Magus did certainly feel a sharp sting in his being. Despite this, he managed to unleash another pulse of magic in an effort to throw Wolf off, only to see a volley of shimmering arrows raining down toward him.

As the new creatures approached, Lamb turned its expressionless mask towards them, beholding yet more crimes. These things were not alive, not dead, not even held in state like such tragedies as Sion, instead they were an amalgamation of mortal and magic, as much puppets as puppeteers.

"We are eternal." AND YOU ARE MEAT.

The so-called spirits of death... Xerath fully intended to bend both of them to his will. Not only would such a feat prove his power without a shadow of a dealt, but the Kindred could make for a powerful weapon, equal to or even greater than Renekton...

Once the Gods and other things had discovered Him, they felt the chill of prescience touch the back of their neck; for this being, no matter how He might cut and change and alter throughout time and culture, was the Death of ALL things, even those things that could not die.

However, it didn't sit well with the Wolf to simply stand still while there was prey to hunt, and so after only a split instant of stoic watching as assault after assault thundered through their etherial bodies, the great monster let loose a howl, so loud and piercing that it would be interpreted as thunder or a storm or the call of God Themselves throughout the world, and leapt, seeking the preys throat.

"We are eternal." AND YOU ARE MEAT.