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libermachinae · 3 years

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Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part II: Breathe - Chapter 5: Thoughts Expand in Blooms

Also available on AO3! Summary: The consequences of Ratchet and Rodimus' chase become known. Chapter Word Count: 2644

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“Try again.”

“Yes, sir. Rodimus, come in Rodimus. This is Blaster, coming to you live from the Lost Light command deck. Do you read me? Status and further instruction requested. Over.”

Years of handling the Wreckers’ fluctuating schedules meant it was no effort for Ultra Magnus to resist rubbing his optics as he watched the progress of their three recovery speeders. Siren, Crossblades, and Waverider had launched with minimal deviations from standard procedure (Crossblades would receive a write-up for nonessential helical rotation) and tracked Arcee’s shuttle up to acceptable pursuit range. That was where the chase had stalled, as Rodimus had provided no further instructions and protocol required command from a captain before they could proceed. Either captain.

Protocol fell apart when one refused to leave his hab and the other had stopped answering his comms. Magnus started mentally writing up a proposal for temporary transfer of pursuit command responsibilities while they waited.

The control panel refreshed as the latest information poured in. The speeders were entering upper atmosphere, rotating in pyramid formation in the shuttle’s trail. Acceleration had decreased to the minimum required to maintain orbit and altitude held steady as they sailed through Scarvix’s exosphere.

“Ultra Magnus, I have a visual on Rodimus’ ship,” Bluestreak reported.

“Pull it up.”

The datafeeds compressed to the right of the screen, replaced with the compound live feed from the speeders, displaying the shuttle’s stern, the glow of its thrusters closer to a lightbulb than anything spaceworthy. The engines were keeping it aloft, but there was an unnatural stillness about it, like debris floating through space.

“Again.”

Blaster adjusted settings on the ship’s communications hub and leaned into the mic.

“Rodimus, come in Rodimus. This—”

There was a crackle and buzz as the ship’s receiver finally picked up a signal.

“This is Rodi—ack, Ratchet, this is Ratchet. We read you.”

Blaster’s shoulders relaxed as he transferred primary input to the third in command’s station, but Magnus did not match his relief. Underneath the fritz of the shuttle’s poorly maintained equipment, Ratchet’s voice was shaking.

“Ratchet, this is Ultra Magnus. Report.”

“Report. Report… um, Arcee’s gone. We lost her. Satellite. Crash. Is Cyclonus there?”

“No. What is your—”

“Get him,” Ratchet interrupted.

“Where is Rodimus?” Magnus asked. Ratchet was supposed to be one of the good ones, recognizing his place within the chain of commands. Making demands was out of character for him.

“Here! I’m here,” Rodimus’ voice crackled down the line. “Present. Available. Get Cyclonus.”

Magnus sent the ping and tagged it urgent. Cyclonus had never been known for tardiness, but that put it on the record.

“What is your status?” he asked as he acknowledged Cyclonus’ response.

“Good! Weird? Ratchet is banged up, which is bad. He suffered impact shock in his lower spinal strut, chance there’s a disk… how do I…”

Magnus’ orbital ridge twitched, a coding bug when expression protocols tried to assign a profile to stress of unknown origin. He wiped the cache, regaining his neutral set, and sent a command to have the speeders approach the shuttle. Visual on the command deck would be helpful, but flight integrity was his main concern. If neither Rodimus nor Ratchet was in the right mind to pilot, they would need to engage in emergency grounding maneuvers.

“Ratchet, are you still there? Rodimus sounds incoherent; what is his status?”

“He’s fine.” His voice was briefly drowned out by shuffling and crashing on the other end. “—cessor’s functioning normally. It’s loud, but it’s working.”

“He’s overheating?” Magnus asked.

“Not his fans, his thoughts.”

“Is his comm link malfunctioning?”

“He’s bright like the goddamn sun. I can barely get two words in. Will you shut that off? ”

“Ratchet?” Speeders were closing in.

“Not you.”

“Stop yelling at me!” Rodimus snapped, volume raising and lowering like he was pacing around the microphone. “I heard you the first time.”

“I don’t see how. I can barely hear myself.”

“Aw, poor Rodimus, doesn’t get to hear his own voice.”

“ You’re Rodimus, that’s my line.”

“Rodimus, Ratchet, Waverider is en route to board,” Ultra Magnus interjected. “If you are able, please lower the hatch for arrival, otherwise he will engage emergency stove—”

“No, don’t!”

It wasn’t just that they shouted at the same time, but that Rodimus and Ratchet’s voices matched in pitch, tone, and cadence which caused Magnus, for the third time in his life, to forget what he had been saying.

“Is Cyclonus there?” Rodimus asked.

“There’s something on board,” Ratchet said. “Don’t know what it is, but you can’t let anyone else get near it.”

“It did a weird thing. I’m Rodimus, but also I’m Ratchet? And both?”

“Those sound like the same things, Rodimus,” Magnus said, half distracted as he instructed Waverider to return to position.

“They’re not,” Ratchet said.

“Sir?” Cyclonus’ voice came as a blessing. Magnus gestured him forward.

“Cyclonus just arrived,” he announced. “Cyclonus, Rodimus and Ratchet uncovered something on Arcee’s shuttle. It’s…” He blanked.

“I can feel Ratchet’s processor,” Rodimus said, rushing like it would make any of this comprehensible. “He’s thinking and it’s all really fast and hard, but it’s not rough like you would expect? Like, the feeling of grit in your gears, I thought it would be like that, but it’s more like there’s just a lot of gears and it takes a lot of power to turn them all, and it’s too hard to decide whether to focus on just one or the entire thing. And he keeps thinking about me and my thoughts and how they’re not like that, and I’m thinking about him, and then I get stuck because all the thoughts start to sound the same and I don’t know which ones came from me or which are Ratchet or even which me is me. It’s all a big thought reservoir, a—a thought battle, an entire brain war and I don’t know which side I’m on!”

Cyclonus’ gaze was steady at the screen. Once it was clear that Rodimus was done, he leaned over the microphone.

“Can you send an image of the object?” he asked.

“Sure,” Ratchet said.

Blaster raised his hand.

“Image received.”

Ultra Magnus nodded and the feed of the shuttle was replaced with a still capture, a calamity of wires and light that took his visual center a full millisecond to parse.

“It’s the Enigma of Combination,” Cyclonus said.

“What’s that?” He could differentiate the orbital plating of the object itself and the red dwarf dew drop at its center, but the light it cast on its surroundings made his spark flicker with a disturbing fuzz.

“A plague,” Cyclonus said. “Considered a long-lost relic even in my own time. I would doubt this was the legitimate article, if Rodimus hadn’t so perfectly summarized its less infamous effects.”

“It can do more?” Magnus asked. What it had already done— whatever it had done, he still was not clear on the details—seemed itself too much for a bot to handle. Or two.

Cyclonus hesitated.

“Well, you see…”

“No. No, no, so much no, you’re kidding. Ratchet, tell me they’re kidding!”

“I don’t bloody well know!” he snapped back. He had sunk back into the pilot’s chair while Rodimus paced the bridge. His spark was spinning like a centrifuge, its engine overfed by the deluge of panicked thoughts tumbling through his mind. It was all Cyclonus and shuttle and Arcee and combination and Drift, new threads knocking each other out of the way so nothing could reach a conclusion, just endless half-thoughts pinged repeatedly. Worst was when Rodimus tripped over the junk now scattered across the bridge as it brought everything to a shuddering halt, like a whole expressway’s worth of engines seized up simultaneously.

He pressed his hands to his face and tried to focus on keeping his vents open, ignoring the storm of queries of Is Ratchet overheating? and Drift is going to kill me.

“I can’t be in a combiner with Ratchet!”

He hates me he hates me he hates me rattled around their processors like screws in a box.

“The Enigma has determined otherwise,” Cyclonus said.

So now the damn thing was having its own thoughts?

“It’s thinking ?” Rodimus asked, earning an additional glare from Ratchet.

“No one knows,” Cyclonus said. “It’s ancient technology, built on the same principles that govern sparks.” Principles that even modern science knew so little about. Ratchet was going to say it but froze when he felt Rodimus grab for it, tossing at it a hundred questions he had no answers to: Is that thing a person and Where do sparks come from and Would this stop if we broke it followed by another run of apologies.

“The Enigma has you in a holding pattern,” Cyclonus went on. “There aren’t enough of you to form the combiner, so it’s keeping your sparks connected until it can interface with at least one more Cybertronian.”

Ratchet saw the image that formed in Rodimus’ mind and his glower deepened.

“I don’t have the knowledge or the skills to disconnect something like that,” he said. “Sparks are complicated, Rodimus, and there’s still so much we don’t know about them. I didn’t even think it was possible to maintain a connection of this magnitude without direct contact.” Rodimus’ next idea was even worse. “Have you met your crew? The moment you put it in a box and tell no one to look, Brainstorm, Skids, and Whirl are all going to make breaking into it their personal quest.”

“Isolating the Enigma will not contain its effects,” Cyclonus added. “Because the holding pattern is an open channel, you have become conduits for the Enigma’s energies. If even one of you encounters another compatible component, it will complete the process, regardless of its distance from you.”

Rodimus stilled, then sunk to the floor, his thoughts miserably coalescing into a single thread.

“So, either we drag someone else into this mess, or we’re stuck in this shuttle, trying to think over each other forever?” Forever was steeped in darker emotions that caught Ratchet off-guard, which Rodimus immediately covered up with nonsense branches of observations about the junk on the floor. A negativity storm, Drift would have called it.

From behind, he heard Rodimus chuckle, though his thoughts betrayed little amusement.

“If I may,” Cyclonus said, interrupting no one. “Ratchet, I do respect you as a physician, but modern medicine is not the only source of knowledge concerning the Cybertronian body. Even modern theology, shallow thought it may be, offers insights to the nature of sparks that your specialty lacks.”

“No.” Ratchet scowled and shook his head, though more so at the way he felt Rodimus stirring that observation than the idea itself. “None of the woo-woo nonsense. Drift’s mindfulness agility course was bad enough.”

Unfortunately, his words made Rodimus’s thoughts expand in blooms, accompanied by shuffling as he stood to lean over the pilot’s chair.

“Drift was always trying to get me into his meditation thing,” he said. “He—he talked about the Rossum connection, how the mind impacts the spark and vice-versa. It was mostly, you know, power poses and cool sword moves, but there was more advanced stuff we didn’t get around to.”

“It could be a lead,” Cyclonus said, his grave voice somehow failing to make a dent in Rodimus’ growing enthusiasm. “I know very little about Spectralism, but if it involves manipulation of spark energies, there is a chance it could be used to counteract the effects of the Enigma.”

“Yeah, remember how Drift can see auras?” Rodimus said. “Maybe he can see where we’re tangled and just undo the knot.”

“There is no scientific backing to that kind of pandering—”

But we don’t have any other ideas.

Rodimus drew him up short, his own dearth of creativity reflected back to him as though in a mirror. Loathe though he was to admit it, Rodimus was right: they had nothing else. No leads, no one to fall back on. Cybertron’s history, the ancient mythologies that might have shed light on this technology, was lost to war and time, and all that was left was the third, fourth-hand accounts of people who claimed to know what was lost.

There was a chance Drift would have nothing to offer them, but even the possibility of guidance was an improvement over the helplessness Ratchet felt when he tried to imagine them fixing this on their own.

He received an image burst: Drift, wild and beautifully unhinged, leaping for the chance to care for Ratchet with literally open arms. Rodimus shut it down, distracting himself by counting rivets in the bridge ceiling, but vibrating embarrassment persisted between them.

“Would it be appropriate to call Drift for this?” Ultra Magnus asked, pulling the further from their internal squirming. “The truth about his role in the Overlord plan came out months ago, and since we’ve made no effort to contact him. To approach him now so he can solve this seems exploitative.”

Ratchet caught only the yellow of Rodimus’ hand before the captain vaulted over the back of the pilots’ chair, landing with a solid bang.

“I’ll take the blame,” he said.

“For what?” Ratchet asked, though he could already see it.

“For not fixing this sooner,” Rodimus said. He shrugged, a movement so automatic Ratchet did not pick up who it had been directed to. “I’m the captain. It was my responsibility and I failed. That shouldn’t doom Ratchet to having to live with my mistakes.”

He avoided Ratchet’s optics as he spoke, but Ratchet still caught his expression, the shiver of his spoiler as he spoke. It struck him that the reason Rodimus was so hard to read from an external perspective was because a single look meant so many things: frustration, guilt, grief, and hope piling on top of each other too quickly to discern where any one emotion rooted. His thoughts were going in so many directions all the time, of course it would be a challenge for everyone else to keep up.

“How do you intend to locate Drift?” Ultra Magnus asked, ever pragmatic.

“I have a tracker,” Ratchet said.

“I memorized the specifications for his shuttle,” Rodimus added, his processor spitting out the codes in full.

“And will that ship be adequate? Do you need additional supplies?”

Ratchet turned in the seat, looking around the scattered contents of the bridge, to say nothing of what their collision might have done to the storage down below. Despite the mess, he saw what looked like intact crates of potable energon, and the shuttle’s own systems were not in imminent danger of running dry.

“We’re stocked,” he said, and catching Rodimus’ primary concern, went on, “Unless Cyclonus know how far the Enigma’s effect extends, it’s going to be too risky to dock back in the Lost Light. We’ll make due with what’s here.”

“I’ll have Rewind compile you a list of known energon distributors with minority Cybertronian populations. That will be your best opportunity to refuel without risking exposure, should the need arise.”

Could the Enigma grab non-Cybertronian mechanicals? Rodimus wondered, a query Ratchet did not have the energy to entertain.

“Thanks, Mags,” Rodimus said out loud. “Take care of the place while we’re gone; you know the drill.”

“Of course, Rodimus. Uh, stay safe?”

Rodimus laughed, a sound that Ratchet felt as a golden thread, spun in a ripple through space before vanishing to nothing. He squinted, trying to make sense of what the hell that had been, but Rodimus’ burst of enthusiasm and plans for the coming journey overwhelmed him.

“Don’t worry, Ratchet’s pride will make sure I get back in one piece.”

You—!

It was going to be a long journey to the outer rim. Though Rodimus was grinning cheekily, the tense coil at the center of his thoughts agreed.

#maccadam #transformers #rodimus #ratchet #my writing #longfic #fault lines

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sivunas · 3 years

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verse : ffxiv.

for as long as sivir could remember, she had been alone.

she lost her family to the terrors wrought upon ala mhigans by the garlean empire, and she barely escaped with her own life. sivir took to the streets with other ala mhigan orphans, and for some time, she became a leader amongst them, of sorts, a small beacon of hope to rise above what cards were dealt to them in life, to reach for a better future. they did what they needed to in order to survive, and as sivir aged, she became a skilled mercenary, thief, and assassin for hire.

sivir accepts jobs from anyone, from any walk of life, without question to their origin or their allegiances or morality or source of their livelihoods, as long as they paid her enough coin for her services. she asks few questions, and only of ones relating to the requirements of the job and when and how much she will be paid.

she’s a fierce warrior, wielding a giant crossblade called the chalicar. despite its size, she is agile and adept, but wielding it shows her strengths.

sivir is extremely quick on her feet and excellent in the arts of stealth from the years spent scaling abandoned ruins and tiptoeing around traps to loot temples and chests left for forgotten. whatever wares and goods she finds hidden within, she sells to the highest bidder and builds her own empire of wealth and riches to sit atop the gold.

some of the gil she collects goes back to those ala mhigan refugees in an attempt to help them better their lives and get them out of the unfortunate hole they’ve been sunk into, but most of it is left to her travels to pay for inns, food, drink, and the occasional bit of information.

when the calamity struck, she was awakened with the echo. it gifts her with visions of the past, of people she comes across and places ridden with memories. she uses it to her advantage when going through ruins if lucky enough to be struck with a vision, but it’s often only in places of deeply ancient treasures and darker magicks, spelling of the bounty and fortune to be found within.

little does sivir know, she is a descendent of ancient peoples of a time long since forgotten to history, a history that the people of eorzea haven’t the faintest clue about. long ago, there was a country distant to ala mhigo called shurima, and it was a reflection of a city lost from the ancients. much like garlemald, it, too, was founded and headed by ascians who survived the sundering, and most notably one named azir, who was its beloved king. azir was known to take many lovers, and several generations down the line, there is sivir, princess and last known heir to azir whose ascian form lies dormant until sivir traverses the lost ruins of shurima with a motley crew of expeditioners who sought to spell sivir’s demise in return for the treasures she helped find, thanks to being led there by the echo.

before this, when she first received hydaelyn’s blessing, she touched the chalicar and was struck with a whirlwind of visions of the past, of a glistening city high in the sands of gilded walls and endless oases. she doesn’t quite understand it all, and she doesn’t at all understand how she fits into it or why she was shown any of this, but she sees it as a glimmering shard of her past and she’s desperate to find the truth, of ancient shurima and the shaded figures that dissipated in its ruination.

the expedition goes terribly wrong when sivir discovers the beautiful treasures deep within the hearts of the broken city. with sivir’s blood pooling into the ground, it awakened ancient magicks and azir’s more or less comatose existence. when she awakens, she is met with azir, and it is here that she learns of the ancients and this kingdom lost and how it is but a shard of another world that once was. azir disappears, but this is yet another trigger that would strike down a much needed path to open sivir’s eyes, and her echo would glean into shurima’s past and into azir, teaching her so much more than she could have ever imagined.

while still holding to her job as a mercenary for hire, sivir transforms into something of a priestess with the gift of the echo. her gray morality only enables her further to involve herself in business with ascians to give rise to this city, that has now risen from beneath the sands when she awakened azir with the pool of her blood.

sivir knows the truth. she sees the truth. more than anything, she’s desperate to share this truth and revive shurima as it was in its days of glory. perhaps not of the one prior to the sundering, but the one neighboring ala mhigo and garlemald. but, only time will tell to see if sivir falls into descent and the warped madness of ascians desperate to reclaim their home.

#HEYYYYY I FINALLY WROTE IT #verse. → ffxiv.

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sapnaptwt2 · 3 years

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one of the biggest n most important question of my life is how the fuck do coke studio n crossblade live guitarists actually sit straight n play like i've played the guitar once fr school n hell i could not even imagine being still n playing the guitar.

#dreamboy.txt

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bollywoodmixtape · 4 years

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youtube

#Dholna #B Praak #Gurnazar #Punjabi #2019 #live

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btw-its-tamanna · 1 month

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Crossblade live uffffff 🤌😭

It hit me hard when Gurnazar added ~

"Ek arsa hogaya ude naal gal na hoi ~

Main unhu das vi nahi sakdi kinni war udde liye royi ~

Unhu dasne nu Dil karda, unhu dasne nu Dil karde ki teri yaadan wich sajna main kiniya raatan to nahi soyi ~"

#Spotify #yaaaar itna deep #thats so 😭#tamanna ki fav lyrics

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mei-mei-doin-roleplay · 6 years

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Starter for @crossbladed💖💖

In the burning base, there was no human sound. All that remained was the constant cry of the flames dotted here and there between broken pillars, bodies and shattered remains of the town base. It had been taken utterly by surprise, and even if the Resistance had noticed, they lacked resources and numbers to defend it properly. The twinkle of the stars against the dark night was masked by the heavy stream of smoke but a flickering presence from within the carnage could not be extinguished- or hidden. Rising slowly from the burning bits of debris laying across her back, the girl returned into the land of the living. Her head swam from a blow that had knocked her out cold and for the temporary moment, her entire world was merely a blur of orange and red. She felt blood drip from her forehead onto a white blaster resting by her hand blackened by ash and her ears picked up the small gasps of someone else gasping for breath. A survivor? She turned her head towards the sound, and wished she hadn’t for she was forced to look into the eyes of a dying man. His body was crushed beneath slabs of stone and every breath he took was an excruciating labor. He was better off dead. The thought was almost foreign but it had most certainly come from her heart. Slowly, she sat up, holding the blaster in her shaking hands and looking down at it blankly. A flash of green was seen from the debris in the middle of the chaos, it flickered for a second but it was enough to garner attention from the Stormtroopers waiting for the rest of their squadron to return. Was it a survivor?

#ayyyy its short but stick ur character where-ever you see fit!#ya know how it goes my pal #( thread: Kylo&Naomi )

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askvectorprime · 3 years

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Dear Vector Prime, is the Dynasty of Primes in the Tyran Cluster really just composed of the Seven Primes? Or is it part of the Thirteen? The Revenge of The Fallen film and comics were never clear on this and has caused a great deal of confusion.

The sum of those we call the first, were they blessed or were they cursed? Names and titles all are lost, and in their place is just the cost Of vainglory, greed, and passion, that cleft the Primes and left them ashen. It matters not the ones who died, all that matters is they strived To keep the Fallen chained away, separated from his prey.

#far sights and mourning songs #ask vector prime #transformers #maccadam #thirteen primes #live action film series #the fallen #onyx prime #crossblades

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unifyingleaguelore · 7 years

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Recently Introduced Lore Tidbits

Demacia

Using lime, ash and the fossilized bark of ancient trees, Demacians create petricite; magic absorbing stone with which they built their walls.

Sometimes known as silver steel or rune steel, Demacian steel is coveted for its durability, light weight and its unique interactions with magic.

Garen and Lux are siblings of the Crownguard family, who traditionally serve as the royal protectors.

Fiora serves as the head of House Laurent in Demacia, a position she claimed upon killing her father in a duel.

Native to the rocky crags of northern Demacia are the rare, ferocious Raptors. Only a few individuals have been known to befriend and ride these beasts.

Galio was created over a period of two years by a legendary Demacian sculptor named Durand.

Demacia's army is often outnumbered, but is arguably the most elite, well-trained army in Runeterra.

Garen left home to join the Dauntless Vanguard, one of Demacia's most elite military forces, when he was only twelve years old.

Quinn and her twin brother Caleb were born in the rural Demacian town of Uwendale.

Noxus

The capital city of the Noxian Empire was founded around the Immortal Bastion; the citadel of a dreaded revenant who terrorized Valoran for centuries.

Basilisks of the Kumungu are sometimes raised from eggs as Noxian war beasts.

Drakehounds, a distant relative of dragons, are kept by some rich, and perhaps foolish, Noxians as pets.

Warmasons are tasked by Noxus not only to plot and plan infrastructure, but also to scout out enemy territory for future invasions.

The sisters Katarina and Cassiopeia are a part of the Du Couteau family; one of the most prestigious noble houses in Noxus.

With his dying breath, Sion killed Jarvan I. The King's crown now serves as Sion's jaw.

Gateways of dark stone known as Noxtoraa are raised over roads in territories conquered by Noxus.

Shurima

The Brackern, a race of enormous, crystal-bodied scorpions, slumber in the sands beneath a hidden valley in Shurima. o Sai Kahleek is one of Shurima's most feared deserts, as it is populated by the ravenous Xer'Sai.

Many Voidborn have names originating from the ancient Shuriman language.

Above the city of Nashramae stands a replica Sun Disc, built long ago to honor the lost legacy of ancient Shurima.

In the Shuriman city of Nashramae, a festival is held celebrating Rammus. Thousands gather to roll and somersault around the city in his honor. o Within the bowels of Shurima's capital lies the “Oasis of the Dawn,” from which almost all rivers in the land flow from.

Some Shuriman nomads have created entire towns upon the backs of the Dormun; enormous, armor-plated beasts that wander the wastes.

The Shuriman city of Zuretta is ruled by Hierophant Hadiya Nejem, who believes herself to be a descendant of the Ascended warrior Setaka.

In Shurima, those who survived a failed Ascension ritual are known as the Baccai, who often are twisted and malformed.

Rengar is one of the Kiilash, a vastayan tribe from Shurima. o Jax's favorite food is eggs, particularly those from a certain caravansary in the Shuriman city of Uzeris.

Sivir's crossblade, the Chalicar, once belonged to Setaka, an Ascended Warrior Queen of Shurima.

Those Ascended by the Sun Disc of Shurima can live for thousands of years.

Piltover & Zaun

The Incognium Runeterra in Piltover was designed to locate anyone in Runeterra, yet its creator mysteriously died before revealing the formula that powers it, leaving it inoperable.

When Zaun's plans to create a waterway between east and west Valoran went awry, Janna prevented thousands of deaths and is now revered by many as a goddess.

Zaun's wealthiest can often be found on the Promenade level of Zaun, which intersects with Piltover's lowest regions.

The Entresol level of Zaun is where most of the city's trade and business occurs.

The Sump comprises Zaun's lower levels. Most of the working class live here, showcasing their vibrant culture.

Ekko is one of the “Lost Children of Zaun,” a band of Zaunite youths known for their mischief across the city.

Thanks to her hextech heart, Camille has managed to retain some of her youthful looks despite her age.

The Ecliptic Vaults were once considered to be Piltover's most secure bank, before Jinx breached its heavily reinforced walls.

Caitlyn's hextech rifle was crafted by her parents for her twenty-first birthday.

Jayce's transforming hammer is powered by a shard from a Brackern crystal from the depths of the Shuriman sands.

When the human girl Orianna succumbed to poisonous fumes, her father Corin replaced her failing body parts with mechanical augments, transforming her into a lady of clockwork.

Before becoming a member of the Wardens, Vi wielded a pair of gauntlets taken from a chem-powered mining golem.

Hextech is the fusion of magic and technology, harnessing the power contained within extremely rare crystals.

Piltover is the center of mercantile trade in Valoran.

Zaun's powerful Chem-Barons keep a loose alliance that prevents the city from descending into chaos.

The Zaun Gray is the thick, chemical atmosphere of Zaun that can be fatal to breathe where densely settled.

Freljord

Artifacts of True Ice hold incredible power, but only the Iceborn can wield them.

Before becoming an Ice Witch, Lissandra was permanently blinded by an Ursine's claws.

Legends speak of how Avarosa, ancient queen of the Freljord, was killed by her own sister.

Tribes in the Freljord are generally ruled by a Warmother. Under them are their bloodkin, steelskins, clawleaders, sisters, icewalkers, thralls, champions and other ranks. Champions are usually husbands to the warmother, and are the biggest bastards in the tribe.

#trivia #world building #demacia #noxus #piltover #zaun #freljord

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