futurology | video; un: cardmaster

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[Twisted Fate is sitting comfortably in the mess hall, his feet propped up on the table as he leans back in his seat. In his arms is a guitar ~~where did he get that, don't think about it too hard~~ that he's strumming idly.]

Well, now that I figure we're all either settlin' in from getting recruited, or recovering from time travel shenanigans.

[Another faint guitar strum.]

I had a thought, on account of our dragon-y friend offering flights. And hell, I certainly don't see any reason to oppose the concept.

I'm feelin' a little generous, folks. A little creative.

Tell me what sort of story you'd care to hear, and I'll spin you a tale.

[And a final guitar strum before he fiddles with the strings.]

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You're sharing stories? It's been a while since I've done that, and usually it's around a fire or a round of drinks but all right.

What about your favourite story? I'd like to hear that.

[Well, that's generous. Fiona tips her hat back, looking forward to a break from all the stupid drama that's been going on lately, and smiles.]

Let's hear something about riches.

[Well... why not.]

Tell me a story about a king.

[ Without the benefit of video, his haunted voice sounds even more scratchy and ethereal. There's the sound of ice clinking in a glass as he mutters. ]

Speak of a hero.

[He notices. Carefully, Twisted Fate swaps to audio.]

Soundin' a little rough around the edges, frostbite.

Didn't peg you for a man interested in hearin' much about heroes, but if that's what you want, I'll oblige.

If you feel better gettin' me a drink for it, I won't argue.

My favorite story? Hell, I got me a few, but I'll bite.

[He rolls his thumb over the strings.]

There once was a farm boy livin' outside of the noble lands of Noxus. Now, I figure it's a good opportunity to explain: Noxus is a place where they all live under the ideal that only the strong are fit to live and lead. Bit of a nasty place, but damn fine mead, if I say so myself.

He was also the caretaker of the dreaded harkon mounts: draconian things with a foul temper.

One of the war captains, whose hair as fiery as her resolve, learned that he was one of the best in their land. She ordered him to care for her mount, an angry beast almost as intimidating as her. Yet, he obliged, and would do it time and again when she ordered him.

Over the course of many visits, it became less of a matter of business and a matter of finding herself away from her life of conquering and war -- to this farm that was so quiet and a man who denied her nothing and gave her everything. She found herself in love, and asked for his hand in marriage. The farm boy considered, and requested time to determine his choice. Reluctantly, the war captain accepted, giving him a week to consider.

A week did pass, and sadly during that time pirates had come and attacked the land, taking the mounts with them and kidnapping the farm boy. The captain was enraged. If she left, she would be outcast from the army, unable to return. She tried to tell herself that the farm boy was at fault for his own weakness for having no ability to fight. But in the end, she knew what she had to do.

She stormed the pirates at sea, relentless in her pursuit and determined to rescue him. And indeed, she was successful, taking him away back to land. Though she had no army to return to, the farm boy was not deterred, and welcomed her into his life permanently. They married, and somewhere off into the sunset they traveled, to live and love together.

Well now. I couldn't possibly refuse the request of a lovely lady.

[Fate tweaks the strings of the guitar.]

There's a city known as Piltover, the City of Progress -- technologically advanced, and money flowing like a fine river. There are a lot of ways to find your pay in the city; you can become an engineer, you can invent, maybe teach at the university. Join Piltover's finest under the crackshot sheriff.

But what's all hard work and no play?

The mighty sheriff in Piltover is one that many criminal feared for a long time. But there was a man that rarely could let any concerns outweigh his desires if he could plan the perfect getaway. He considered his challenges, and determined what would be the best monetary benefit.

There was the famous Clockwork Vault, and no man had ever broken into it. No man, until him.

The destined night came, and he was able to break in. He knew that the guards were gonna be quick about emptying the vault before he could even think to touch the goods inside. Which is fortunate, seein' as how he was able to trick the guards into dumping the riches into his getaway vehicle.

Only one real clue was left behind for the sheriff to find, a calling card with the letter "C". There were many other heists "C" pulled off over the course of time, and each time he'd left a taunting calling card for her, like a promise she'd never discover him or get ahead of him.

After all, so long as the price was good, he'd always be there, ready to make his escape.

Ahhh, royalty. Hell of a bunch.

[He lets out a sigh.]

There's a story whispered by old fish wives in the depths of Bilgewater. Across the sea, there's a place known as the Shadow Isles. Word is, wasn't always a place of death and fear, but a beautiful place called the Blessed Isles. The king that once ruled there also guarded a sacred power that could be used to heal any ailment.

What he never anticipated was the untimely death of his wife, though.

Distressed at the loss of his wife, the king used the powers of the isles to attempt to resurrect her. It'd never been done before, and for good reason; once the king attempted to bring her back to life, she returned wrong, an undead creature only interested in taking away the life of the living. The isles became poisoned, and the once loyal citizens were changed forever.

And the king? Well. It's said he's around somewhere on the shores, now guarding his queen as her strongest warrior, the shambles of a man he used to be.

[ He's as rough as sandpaper, and the nickname rankles him besides. He growls out his response. ]

Oblige me, then.

Maybe I will. There should be something around here to drink surely.

[But he won't go looking now, not when he can settle more comfortably on his bed, legs drawn close to his chest and eyes fixed with eager curiosity as the other man begins his tale. It's been a very long time since he's had the pleasure of listening to stories, and while it's a bit odd to do so over the network and he misses the closeness of in person company, there's still the raw delight in listening to a skilled storyteller weave words to paint a picture in his mind. The story itself is similar to others he's heard but different and captivating in his own way, and Meallan shifts to lean close to his amulet as it progresses, lets out a pleased hum as the tale draws to a close.]

I can see why you like it. The captain chose her heart over her pride and duty and there's something about it being that simple in stories that's nice.

Perhaps because it's rarely that easy in life.

A story's a good one 'cuz either it's exaggerated from the truth, or it's somethin' that probably wouldn't happen.

[He chuckles a little.] And a story can always be improved with pirates.

Is that why you like it as well? Because it's exaggerated, false, or because there's pirates?

[He laughs as well.] I wish I knew something about pirates to share in return, if that's the case.

[There's a sigh, but no further pursuit. Koltira can hear him strumming the guitar for a moment before he starts to speak:]

Zaun's a peculiar place, known for the science and magical development, though often in the most uncouth and unethical ways you can imagine. The biggest manufacturers ain't shy about usin' slaves to do the hard labor, so long as they can cover their tracks and make themselves look good.

Not to say that they're all like that, but all of them? They have an ego. All successful folk do. There was such a lady who manufactured enchanted armor no man's seen before, and she worked hard for the Noxian armies who were lookin' to begin their march to the East. She was confident in her work, arrogant as all get out, and she knew she was good.

But the Noxians were impatient with her, and took her away from her home. They demanded she work harder to provide for them and their needs in war. For once, she was at the bottom of the barrel, needin' to work for herself. She agreed to help -- but knew she needed to plan a way out. So, in secret, she started workin' on armor like no other, fitted for her own self.

The Noxians never saw her comin'; she broke out, and none of their weapons nor magic were able to leave so much as a scratch on her. She was almost invincible, and they realized they made a mistake.

For her? She found herself in a dilemma. The armor she made could fall into no one's hands. And if they were that desperate for such goods, and they will surely go to more unsavory folk to get what they're lookin' for. So she decided she would hit the streets of Zaun. She'd break into warehouses and stop any shipments to Noxus, and free any slaves she'd find, using her armor for herself and no one else.

She had no interest in being successful anymore, just stoppin' war hungry people from gettin' their hands on things they shouldn't.

Why not a bit of all three?

Hell, don't worry about it. Anyway, they're like sea bandits, but drunker.

And they buckle swashes or something, don't they? I read a story about it once and tried to ask a friend what it was like and he wasn't very helpful in explaining.

Near as I can tell there's a lot of jumping on things and shouting 'yar'.

[Twisted Fate snorts, terribly amused.] Swashbucklin'. It's a way of sayin' that they're involved in daring adventures and glory.

That only depends on how drunk you are. Which is a lot, usually.

Does that mean that we're involved in swashbuckling as well then? We get up to enough fighting and saving the day and other adventures that we could be pirates without the banditry.

[He gives a wide, gap-toothed grin.] And I'm fairly certain that a large number of people would be willing to add more drinking as well if that helps.

Sure, we just need to be a little more flashy about it. I think we could stand to have a few more ruffles in these uniforms anyhow.

I figured we'd be in agreement on that.

So, might I have the pleasure of havin' your name, stranger?

It's Meallan, and would I be able to have the name of the storyteller? It might help if I need to find you and get you that drink we discussed before.

Twisted Fate's the name. [He says, with a tip of his hat.] It's a pleasure, Meallan.

[ A story about enchanted armor, smashing up slave rings, and a person who fought for their own reasons. Pretty on the nose.

Again: the sound of ice, clinking against glass. ]

A fine tale. Did you write it yourself?

Came up with it on the spot. I've got old tales rattling around in my head, or I fly by the seat of my pants.

Depends on the mood I'm in.

[ The thunk of the glass against wood. ]

So there is no truth in it.

I ain't ever heard a tale of a hero I ever believed existed outside of legend.

I believe the pleasure's been all mine with that story. Thank you, Twisted Fate.

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