Benevolent Winds Guide You

I’m the map!

Ezreal’s first reaction was to turn up his nose at the blatant ignorance in the face of the cartography equivalent to cave paintings dating thousands of years back. Sure, they were drawn with the materials aviable at the time and highly stylized, but that didn’t make them any less impressive! So what if he didn’t have a proper pen to sketch the lay out of Zaun’s shortcuts and hidden passages he found along the way, given what he had to work with, he’d say no cartographer alive could make a map as accurate and detailed on the fly! With Progress knows what dirtying up his pages and a metal stick he’d sink in what he hoped was anything like ink, it would be a miracle it could even be read. But of course it could, he made it after all.

“Well, I’m sorry, I don’t exactly bring my tools to Zaun, of all places.” He usually didn’t make maps as much as he made sketches of routes and landmarks, trusting his gut and incredible spatial awareness to fill in the blanks. Still, he took the spirit’s reaction as an insult. “It’s only a reference, mind you, it takes a really gifted mind to make due with what you guys have down there, and make it work in any level.”

Gisha couldn’t hear her own footsteps over the emotional weight that hung on her neck. In fact, she could hardly hear anything as she ran recklessly through the pipped alleyways. Although she had known grief in the past, it was hardly comparable to the anguishing image that had been burned into her psyche.

Not minutes before, she had stood amidst a large group of those she considered her peers. Membership among their ranks was all she sought, as she had yet to solidify her position in any particular gang. A sense of belonging was something that was rare to her, and it was an opportunity she gladly accepted. But that was before the final trial. That was before they demanded a kill.

Despite all of her practice, all of the conditioning and experience on the streets, nothing could have prepared her for that. Vuscen, one of the few friends she had, bloodied and bruised for execution… and Gisha refused. Not once, but many times before her comrades to be pulled the trigger and abruptly ended the initiation ritual… and Vuscen.

Now here she was, attempting to flee this city but getting no where. The image of her friend’s fresh corpse still burned in her mind even as the gray clouded her path. So distracted was she that she never saw the pipe spanning the alley until her foot had already struck it. The young girl fell face first, a burst of fire forming upon her breath in surprise. Although she caught herself on her hands, she still tumbled into the wall and came to rest there. Unwilling to even stand up, she started to sob quietly to herself, unable to come to terms with what she had just witnessed.

As tears streamed from her face, she searched her memories for anything. Anything that might sate her guilt. All the could think of was her childhood with Vuscen. Games, walks, talks and stories… stories about heroes and villians and myths and spirits. What was that one that she loved to talk about? Janna?

That was Vuscen’s favorite and a frequent request amongst younger children at the orphanage. They were always stories with happy endings where orphans found wealth, riches, family and fame. How naive she had been… Gisha couldn’t imagine a crueler irony than the fact that Vuscen had suffered and died by Zaunite orphans. Her childish whims had done nothing to quell the violence in these children’s lives.

Gisha continued to sob in the dank, secluded alleyway. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered whatever came to her mind. “Janna… how could I allow this… to happen?

It was always worse when it was the orphans who called to her. Children who had no one to turn to, no one to show them that they matter, no one to cry on. Janna always gave these pleas her most undivided attention. For hopefully even just one person telling them that things will be okay could be enough to turn things around.

The air around the Zaunite began to clear; the gray blew away, allowing her to inhale fresh air. The temperature warmed, sheltering her from the cold. And soon delicate hands found themselves on Gisha’s shoulders.

An other-wordly woman knelt in front of the child. Her sky blue eyes gazed down at her somberly before pulling the sobbing girl into her arms.

“Shh.” she hushed, “It’s not your fault.”

This poor girl has suffered far more than any human deserved. It broke Janna’s heart. She stroked the girls hair and clutched her to her chest, rocking her gently. “None of this is your fault.”