Post by sheriffcaitlyn on Jan 2, 2013 21:19:38 GMT -5
It was routine. There was only one door and two Summoner sentinels at all times in front of it. They had but one task, to assure whatever was in never got out. A relatively simple task, all things considered, since it never bothered to escape. It never tried. The wooden creature only moved when summoned to the Fields of Justice, only killed when it was met with opposition, and it never cared. It never smiled, it never laughed, it never cried. This creature is the Harbinger of Doom, Fiddlesticks, and it never had a single thought of ever leaving the room. Not in one year, not in five years, not in two decades had the creature known as Fiddle sticks ever moved from its singular spot.
One of the Summoners suddenly stirred, blinking his eyes. He nodded his head and started to hum with energy. His shift was over, he was not tired but the League had strict rules of forced sleep after several weeks of wakefulness. Suddenly a scythe spun out, striking him in the forehead. He collapsed to the ground, dead. The other guard barely had time to breath as another scythe decapitated him, embedding itself in the wall. Appearing out of thin air, a jester silently landed. Grinning widely, his quiet footsteps brought him to the door. Scratching his chin, he tapped the wooden frame. The sound of thick wood echoed. The jester laughed, "Are you serious? Really?" He cackled once more, "It's just wood! That's it!"
He grabbed the door knob and turned it to no avail. It was locked. He mockingly pouted, "Oh poo, if only there was a way to open this door! If only I had the long, ridiculous series of keys and seals needed to unlock this one, singular lock!" Miming his hands in midair, he made the shape of a box. In a moment, a physical box plopped onto his palms. He rested it on the floor and looked at the door. He dragged his finger back and forth through the air several times, from the door to the box, and frowned. He thought aloud, "Hrm, going to need to angle this somehow…"
A wicked smile spread across his face, he looked at the fallen guard. Reaching over a shiv popped out of his sleeve, "I hope you don't mind giving me a hand, ol' buddy ol' pal?" The jester changed his voice into a deeper tone, "Not at all Shaco, you are a prince of men and the greatest lover ever!" Shaco turned his head to one side, holding his hand to his cheek like an ashamed schoolgirl, "Oh Corpse McGee, you say the most saucy of things! You sure make a gal like me blush!"
The jester laughed as he sliced the hand off and stuffed it underneath the box, angling it upwards. Tapping the top of the box, it sprung open and a miniature face of Shaco popped out. It quickly and violently spat magical bolts at the door, ripping the wood apart within moments. Shaco stepped back and leaned over to the ruined door. Seeing that it was out of reach, another shiv appeared in his hand to try and touch the body of the door. He eventually contorted his entire body on a single toe, stretching the rest of his limbs out, and gently pushed the door. Its hinges creaked as it slowly opened by a single, slow inch. He disappeared in a flash, smiling all the while.
For minutes, nothing happened. Slowly but surely, a gnarled, wooden hand grabbed the door frame.
---------------------------------
The village was a quiet one. It laid on the outskirt of Demacia, and it was under Demacian protection. They were not very prosperous, but a happy town. Always a rather bountiful harvest, no real problems ever afflicted them. Children ran about, screaming happily while their fathers worked the fields. The wives at this time were either airing the laundry, cooking or doing yard work themselves, the young women were flirting with boys and trying to evade their responsibilities. The strange thing about today was that birds had started gathering a little bit more thickly than usual.
A woman looked out from her porch, watching her son and daughter run back and forth with glee. They were playing tag. The girl shoved the boy a little too hard and he fell to the ground. She called out to the girl, "Jenny! Don't be so mean to your brother!"
Jenny looked and giggled, "Sorry m-"
The soft sound of flesh ripping stilled Jenny's mouth. She gurgled blood and looked at the blade that was sticking out of her little chest. The weight of the scythe dragged her down to her side. She was still alive, looking at the mortified stares of her brother and mother. This was quickly changed by screams of horror as crows flew in and started peeling the skin off. Her brother's eyes were quickly pecked out, when he tried screaming a crow pierced his throat with a vicious strike of its beak. Jenny's eyes started to flutter close, the world becoming darker and things becoming harder to hear. She could not hear her mother's screams as the crows tore out chunks of her breasts, staining her once bright white clothes with crimson.
Suddenly Jenny's body lifted from the ground. The disgusting sound of bone cracking was drowned out by the cawing of the crows, fresh blood spurted out of Jenny's mouth. The soft slurp of the scythe slicing through entrails was barely noticeable as Jenny's intestines hung off the now sanguine scythe. Fiddlesticks walked forward, not acknowledging the three had had killed. After all, there was more to be done.
The men noticed the large flock of birds, particularly crows, far too late. They descended upon them like a torrent of black rain. Dragging back pieces of still bloody flesh to their master, they were death incarnate. Fiddlesticks saw one man try to run and hurled his scythe at him. The scythe cleaved through the young man's skull with ease, splattering his brain matter all over the hard worked field he had just planted.
Fiddlesticks strolled through town, his crows returning to him the bounty they had so easily and readily found. A young woman tried rushing at the Harbinger, brandishing a pitchfork. The emerald glow of the creatures eyes blistered brightly. The woman grabbed at her body and started to vomit blood. The crimson liquid never touched the ground, it simply dissipated in midair. In mere moments, the woman was nothing but skin and bones, quite literally. Fiddlesticks walked over and examined the woman. She was most definitely dead. The creature grabbed her clothes and promptly ripped them off, leaving her naked. It reached down and grabbed her skin, and ripped it open. Turning it upside down, it was almost comical. The bones rattled out of the body with no difficulty. No tendons, no muscles, no pesky organs weighed the bones down or hindered their departure. Fiddlesticks took the now empty skin and slowly stuffed it into its mouth. It had no teeth, it did not bite or crunch, it simply packed the skin in like a good suit in a closet. The Harbinger looked about, its crows were still bringing more flesh to it. More people lived.
Hours later, a young girl, barely more than sixteen, hid in the corner of a blood stained house. Her blouse was stained with vomit; she had just watched her entire family be devoured by crows. Her parents forced her into the house, the last act they would ever do as they succumbed to the flock. She rocked herself back and forth, the sound of the crows actually lessened. The sound diminished, the flapping of wings disappeared. The girl was foolish enough to relax for just a moment. The front door creaked open, the Harbinger stepped in. The girl started to shake again, cowering at the emerald eyes emptily staring at her. The creature took a step forward, crows flooded the room and surrounded her, all staring at her with those same, emerald eyes. The creature raised its hand up, its gnarled, wooden claws cracking and groaning when a surge of blue light ruptured behind it. A voice called out, "Enough, Fiddlesticks!"
More lights shot around the creature. It did not seem to notice, or care for their presence. The crows fluttered over and rested on Fiddlesticks. The Summoners raised their hands, magic surging from them, "You will stand down!"
The Harbinger's head cracked 180°, looking at the first Summoner who commanded it. The girl could see each Summoner now quaked in fear, their magic sputtering out of the sheer terror they felt of this one being. Then, it spoke. It spoke its raspy, supernatural voice, "My room."
The Summoners looked at one another and nodded. Their magic crackled and started to flow less shakily as Fiddlesticks remained perfectly still. The girl screamed out in a frenzied, fearful voice, "Kill it! Kill it, damn you! Kill it!"
The first Summoner who spoke looked at her and shook his head, "We cannot do that. Fiddlesticks will be tried under League law and punished accordingly."
The girl screamed incoherently, rambling nonsense. She was near her fireplace, and with it a fire poker. She grabbed the iron tool and ran towards Fiddlesticks, intent on running it through its black heart when its head suddenly snapped back in place. It stared at her with those horrid, emerald eyes. "Melanie Daniels." That was all it said.
The girl, Melanie, fell to the ground, babbling nonsense. It knew her name. It knew her gods damned name. The Summoners and Fiddlesticks disappeared in a flash of light.
---------------------------------
Months later, in the same dusty room, in the same dusty spot, Fiddlesticks stood. Unmoving, uncaring, unnoticing of the world around it, it remained still in its one spot. The door suddenly creaked open, maniacal laughter filling the room. The edges of Fiddlestick's mouth tugged upwards. The floor was covered in layers upon layers of dust, save for the spots where it had taken its first steps all those days ago.
And it walked the same steps as it did before.
One of the Summoners suddenly stirred, blinking his eyes. He nodded his head and started to hum with energy. His shift was over, he was not tired but the League had strict rules of forced sleep after several weeks of wakefulness. Suddenly a scythe spun out, striking him in the forehead. He collapsed to the ground, dead. The other guard barely had time to breath as another scythe decapitated him, embedding itself in the wall. Appearing out of thin air, a jester silently landed. Grinning widely, his quiet footsteps brought him to the door. Scratching his chin, he tapped the wooden frame. The sound of thick wood echoed. The jester laughed, "Are you serious? Really?" He cackled once more, "It's just wood! That's it!"
He grabbed the door knob and turned it to no avail. It was locked. He mockingly pouted, "Oh poo, if only there was a way to open this door! If only I had the long, ridiculous series of keys and seals needed to unlock this one, singular lock!" Miming his hands in midair, he made the shape of a box. In a moment, a physical box plopped onto his palms. He rested it on the floor and looked at the door. He dragged his finger back and forth through the air several times, from the door to the box, and frowned. He thought aloud, "Hrm, going to need to angle this somehow…"
A wicked smile spread across his face, he looked at the fallen guard. Reaching over a shiv popped out of his sleeve, "I hope you don't mind giving me a hand, ol' buddy ol' pal?" The jester changed his voice into a deeper tone, "Not at all Shaco, you are a prince of men and the greatest lover ever!" Shaco turned his head to one side, holding his hand to his cheek like an ashamed schoolgirl, "Oh Corpse McGee, you say the most saucy of things! You sure make a gal like me blush!"
The jester laughed as he sliced the hand off and stuffed it underneath the box, angling it upwards. Tapping the top of the box, it sprung open and a miniature face of Shaco popped out. It quickly and violently spat magical bolts at the door, ripping the wood apart within moments. Shaco stepped back and leaned over to the ruined door. Seeing that it was out of reach, another shiv appeared in his hand to try and touch the body of the door. He eventually contorted his entire body on a single toe, stretching the rest of his limbs out, and gently pushed the door. Its hinges creaked as it slowly opened by a single, slow inch. He disappeared in a flash, smiling all the while.
For minutes, nothing happened. Slowly but surely, a gnarled, wooden hand grabbed the door frame.
---------------------------------
The village was a quiet one. It laid on the outskirt of Demacia, and it was under Demacian protection. They were not very prosperous, but a happy town. Always a rather bountiful harvest, no real problems ever afflicted them. Children ran about, screaming happily while their fathers worked the fields. The wives at this time were either airing the laundry, cooking or doing yard work themselves, the young women were flirting with boys and trying to evade their responsibilities. The strange thing about today was that birds had started gathering a little bit more thickly than usual.
A woman looked out from her porch, watching her son and daughter run back and forth with glee. They were playing tag. The girl shoved the boy a little too hard and he fell to the ground. She called out to the girl, "Jenny! Don't be so mean to your brother!"
Jenny looked and giggled, "Sorry m-"
The soft sound of flesh ripping stilled Jenny's mouth. She gurgled blood and looked at the blade that was sticking out of her little chest. The weight of the scythe dragged her down to her side. She was still alive, looking at the mortified stares of her brother and mother. This was quickly changed by screams of horror as crows flew in and started peeling the skin off. Her brother's eyes were quickly pecked out, when he tried screaming a crow pierced his throat with a vicious strike of its beak. Jenny's eyes started to flutter close, the world becoming darker and things becoming harder to hear. She could not hear her mother's screams as the crows tore out chunks of her breasts, staining her once bright white clothes with crimson.
Suddenly Jenny's body lifted from the ground. The disgusting sound of bone cracking was drowned out by the cawing of the crows, fresh blood spurted out of Jenny's mouth. The soft slurp of the scythe slicing through entrails was barely noticeable as Jenny's intestines hung off the now sanguine scythe. Fiddlesticks walked forward, not acknowledging the three had had killed. After all, there was more to be done.
The men noticed the large flock of birds, particularly crows, far too late. They descended upon them like a torrent of black rain. Dragging back pieces of still bloody flesh to their master, they were death incarnate. Fiddlesticks saw one man try to run and hurled his scythe at him. The scythe cleaved through the young man's skull with ease, splattering his brain matter all over the hard worked field he had just planted.
Fiddlesticks strolled through town, his crows returning to him the bounty they had so easily and readily found. A young woman tried rushing at the Harbinger, brandishing a pitchfork. The emerald glow of the creatures eyes blistered brightly. The woman grabbed at her body and started to vomit blood. The crimson liquid never touched the ground, it simply dissipated in midair. In mere moments, the woman was nothing but skin and bones, quite literally. Fiddlesticks walked over and examined the woman. She was most definitely dead. The creature grabbed her clothes and promptly ripped them off, leaving her naked. It reached down and grabbed her skin, and ripped it open. Turning it upside down, it was almost comical. The bones rattled out of the body with no difficulty. No tendons, no muscles, no pesky organs weighed the bones down or hindered their departure. Fiddlesticks took the now empty skin and slowly stuffed it into its mouth. It had no teeth, it did not bite or crunch, it simply packed the skin in like a good suit in a closet. The Harbinger looked about, its crows were still bringing more flesh to it. More people lived.
Hours later, a young girl, barely more than sixteen, hid in the corner of a blood stained house. Her blouse was stained with vomit; she had just watched her entire family be devoured by crows. Her parents forced her into the house, the last act they would ever do as they succumbed to the flock. She rocked herself back and forth, the sound of the crows actually lessened. The sound diminished, the flapping of wings disappeared. The girl was foolish enough to relax for just a moment. The front door creaked open, the Harbinger stepped in. The girl started to shake again, cowering at the emerald eyes emptily staring at her. The creature took a step forward, crows flooded the room and surrounded her, all staring at her with those same, emerald eyes. The creature raised its hand up, its gnarled, wooden claws cracking and groaning when a surge of blue light ruptured behind it. A voice called out, "Enough, Fiddlesticks!"
More lights shot around the creature. It did not seem to notice, or care for their presence. The crows fluttered over and rested on Fiddlesticks. The Summoners raised their hands, magic surging from them, "You will stand down!"
The Harbinger's head cracked 180°, looking at the first Summoner who commanded it. The girl could see each Summoner now quaked in fear, their magic sputtering out of the sheer terror they felt of this one being. Then, it spoke. It spoke its raspy, supernatural voice, "My room."
The Summoners looked at one another and nodded. Their magic crackled and started to flow less shakily as Fiddlesticks remained perfectly still. The girl screamed out in a frenzied, fearful voice, "Kill it! Kill it, damn you! Kill it!"
The first Summoner who spoke looked at her and shook his head, "We cannot do that. Fiddlesticks will be tried under League law and punished accordingly."
The girl screamed incoherently, rambling nonsense. She was near her fireplace, and with it a fire poker. She grabbed the iron tool and ran towards Fiddlesticks, intent on running it through its black heart when its head suddenly snapped back in place. It stared at her with those horrid, emerald eyes. "Melanie Daniels." That was all it said.
The girl, Melanie, fell to the ground, babbling nonsense. It knew her name. It knew her gods damned name. The Summoners and Fiddlesticks disappeared in a flash of light.
---------------------------------
Months later, in the same dusty room, in the same dusty spot, Fiddlesticks stood. Unmoving, uncaring, unnoticing of the world around it, it remained still in its one spot. The door suddenly creaked open, maniacal laughter filling the room. The edges of Fiddlestick's mouth tugged upwards. The floor was covered in layers upon layers of dust, save for the spots where it had taken its first steps all those days ago.
And it walked the same steps as it did before.