the-frost-queen:

Demolishing buildings was not only time consuming but rather exhausting. The Marauder took refuge at the last standing building, watching the skies bleed themselves over the earth. There was a low drumming in the distance, the growing howl of a freight train before a tornado would strike. A Warden was coming.

She turned her gaze over the crumbling ruins of the city. It was peaceful, all of the rubble suspended in its destruction as an anthem of perpetual war. A sight that would bring a tear to the eye would you have built it. The Marauder tightened her grip over her bow and turned to exit her safe house.

The streets were slippery. The frost would a clear sign if Tryndamere were still alive. Hues of red and violet reflected off the prismatic crystals bathing the world around her. There was no blood, no casualties - that’s why her path felt peaceful.

The howling grew louder. There would be a ship over the horizon to bring the Warden to their target. The woman stood at the city square and watched the mechanical monstrosity come and go without breaking the city limits.

They were here.

She fired first, pivoting her stance and loosing a hail of arrows into the skies towards the landing point.

Reports are saying no one has been hurt but they do not understand why.  These circumstances were confusing and although many were grateful, it did not add up.  Marauders were dangerous, destructive and deadly things.  Painted as demons.  Yet, maybe that was just the painting.  Wardens were seen as angels but it was clear Tryndamere was not and those he worked beside were nothing close to the image of a holy, celestial body.  

As the boat hit the shore, Tryndamere surveyed the world around him.  Beautiful.  There was something pretty about it all.  Many have lost their homes, having to be relocated to a more inhabitable place but despite that, it was perfect.  Maybe without the disruption of mankind, that made it even more precious.  A peaceful work of art the marauder created.  

“Look out!”  A Warden behind Tryndamere shouted.  The widowed king looked up to see a rain of dark arrows targeting the boat they were on.  

He had little time to move so he raised his mighty sword above his head to defend himself from the bite of the arrows.  

After the storm died, Tryndamere looked around to find red and purple crystals spiking out of the newly, wrecked Warden ship.  He grunted as he saw his reflection on the icicles that stuck out his blue and golden sword.  Tryndamere jumped off the ship and onto the crystallized world of the Marauder’s design.  The arrows and ice that stuck onto his sword gave a more frustrating weight on his right.  He took that side of his sword and smacked the ice onto the ground below, breaking some of it off.  

This is her creation.  It had to be.  And it was up to Tryndamere to find her. 

He walked into the slippery wonderland with care, leaving the other Wardens behind him.  

the-frost-queen:

“The Ice Age’ people call it - the brink thereof. A tragic story, really - the three pillars that held the Freljord at a constant standstill fell short and the entire land collapsed. The Avarosans fell first, their Queen having disappeared in what seemed like the shadow of night. Some called her a coward - frightened of battle so she took her chance to avoid it; others claimed foul play. A war sparked between the two known armies and it wasn’t a month into the fight that Lissandra unveiled herself as a participant. Southern citizens believe she froze the two armies in solid ice so the land was constantly fighting itself. A morbid painting.

There was a short lull in the Freljord, the world holding its breath for the victor. Lissandra stood tall and her wicked cackles could be heard as far south as Shurima. She threatened the world, and it wasn’t until she was at their gates that the world recognized her threat.

The city states came together to form a hasty union. They enlisted heroes under one title to protect the lands closest to the border, to delay Lissandra’s assault as much as possible. A barrier of wardens. Their protection worked, too - for a while. It didn’t take long before those who savored the taste of fire decided they wished to sample the ice.

They were called Marauders. Enemies to the Wardens, these dark-clad warriors took their battles away from the border into villages and smaller city-states. The Wardens could not all abandon their task in the North, so the introduction of technology joined the fight. It soon became that once a Marauder was spotted, a Warden would be sent over to extinguish the problem. If the problem persisted, the Warden was to retreat and allow the new weaponry to clear it out - no matter the casualties.

The two factions were well known, as were the people who made up the teams. There were a handful of ‘villanous’ marauders - a wolf, a bull, a viking - all of which had their strengths and weaknesses on file in the Warden home base.

But a new Marauder appeared. Civilians spread the word when the devilish black armor and red cloak passed through small villages. Most of their concern was why their homes were left standing; Marauders were ticking timebombs in their eyes.

The word spread of a mysterious figure as they counted a half dozen villages left unharmed. A ticking muttered between bartenders at every sighting. The fuse finally blew at a small city outside Piltover.

A hail of arrows came singing from the heavens, all armed with explosives that shattered the ground as quickly as the pieces were suspended in frost. The thunder of the bombs was enough to deter civilians, but it wasn’t enough to garner the attention of the Wardens. The Marauder altered their plan and targeted buildings, collapsing them one by one to create their own apocalyptic playground. Everything was coated in a frost that almost welcomed a dreamer come play with them, but the homes and roads set to ruin became the silent Marauder’s path. The six villages beforehand watched the news in fear of another Lissandra rising from the ashes as town after town crumbled into wintry desolation. She finally halted at the closest town to Piltover, watching the skies and daring the Wardens let her through the city gates.

@tryndcmere

A withered man he has become, Tryndamere stood beside the Warden’s for a glimpse of hope but he hated them all.  He was given the armor of the Warden which he should wear with a bit of pride yet there was so little of actual pride.  His sleepless face hidden under the helmet of gold, blue and feathers.  Cowardice design.  Everything about the Wardens were cowardly. They do very little with caution and everything out of fear, and the Ice Witch, as well as, the Marauders see through all of that.  They are aware.  These orders are not the ones Ashe would allow.  Ashe told her soldiers to never show fear.  “Fear is weakness’’.  If she was here.  

People kept telling Tryndamere that she was gone: dead or worse.  He used to hate when they talked of her the way they did.  With such passiveness, as if she was a paper in the breeze.  She was not to him, his Queen was a human of gold.  An analytical confident being who did not fear.  She would not have run and if so, why?  Why would she?

It did not bother him much anymore.  He accepted her passing.  

Until, the news flew onto his ears of the archer Marauder with the blood colored cape.  The archer caused frost to appear in the normally bright lands of Piltover, bringing mayhem and ice with her.  Tryndamere did not want to allow anyone to take this enigmatic archer down.  There was something in his gut.  Ashe.  It was Ashe.  But she wouldn’t do this.  What happened to his timid wife?  Her peaceful nature.   

Maybe it was just some hope but that is all he had left.  Hope.

He requested this mission alone.  He was sick of Sivir’s face, the popularity she had among the other Warden’s, and her view of gold and gold alone on this subject of Marauder’s and the Ice Witch.  She was hired as a Warden, Tryndamere viewed her as the reason the Warden’s take little seriously.  Sivir was a toxin and everyone was getting drunk off of her.  

The very thought made him angry as he stared at himself in the mirror.  How he had aged over only a year or was it two?  Two years, he believed.  His once rich emerald eyes held dark circles under them and his mouth slouched in a manner that poets would describe as pure misery.  

He placed on his Warden armor to hide the broken pieces of him. Did he join the cowards?  Or did he not want the archer to see him? The once King set out for the journey to the icy world of outer Piltover to find this chaotic archer.