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            more often than not religion and BRUTALITY intertwined with one              another, beyond the diatribe and the ACADEMIC skirmishes. the          divine arms of the FRELJORD descended into the rubble of empirical          genius and CALAMITY outlined as the debris formerly the site of            DEMACIAS demented ploys; the ANGEL OF WINTER, would bring           upon the skewed nest of the musical GODDESS amid an environmental          cacophony of ARROW-streams and turmoil of wound-replete combatants                                              -------  extinguished by the lethality of war.

    was she not clear with her words?

         to her, to the WEAK, these PEOPLE were the lice that spread the plagues             of MISFORTUNE and upheaval within the WORLD. So, it was natural          that they would DIE  as miserably, carelessly, and wantonly as THOSE           germinating sources of endemic SICKNESS.  Taunt MUSCLES under           lavender attire ease, a roiling POOL in her stomach simmering to          nothing short of a bubble of raw fire, a dormant FURNACE one might say.

❝ it gives me strength to have somebody to fight for; I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill. for my people. strength; now that's the key.

         speak on behalf of that pretty yet useless face.❞

          ❝  you seem to BELIEVE that strength will be              the ONLY thing keeping you alive, huh ?  ❞

                          strength is all that matters in the world ? how she wants to believe                  such lies, but knows better than to trust the words from anyone that does                  not originate from ionia or demacia. a WEAKLING such as herself should                  be dead - by default - if the strength is the ONLY mean for living in such a                  wretched world. how entering the LEAGUE OF LEGENDS was a big mis                  - take, but pride and forgiveness will persevere as her reason, her STRENGTH,                   is Lestara. not many know of why the maven’s existence is still present after                    the tragedy, but she is here for her mothers sake.

                          broken. beat down. ABANDONED SINCE BIRTH. strength is not what                           has kept her alive all these years. it was something even GREATER than                           how strong someone is. yes strength will help you SURVIVE in combat,                           especially on the rift, but it’s how you feel towards yourself. it’s more or                           less about how a person is confident in themselves than strength itself.                           sure, it’s nice to be STRONG and live through a fight, but those FIGHTS                           can end in a matter of seconds. the maven merely looks down on those                           who justify that strength is all that matters. she’s look down at SEJUANI.

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        you smell like corruption’s DEVIL. a flighty piece of HELL,           latching itself onto EMPATHY’S very own skeletal kingdom.        do you think her wicked FINGERS can glue you back together ?         or perhaps, you just WANT her to taste the same BLOOD that         swirls around your rotting body. cover the resemblance of light          with eyes & WHIMPERING begs. she will become VICIOUS.

          if she was so intent on THINKING that she could conduct this            with her in control, then She’d STRIP that thought from her.            She’d tear IT DOWN with her bare hand, which, shimmered      with the essence of her release, latched AROUND the promiscuous          noxian’s THROAT with air-thieving chastisement; (( winter is upon us )        closing a resisting gap, soothing WHISPERS in the form of speech.

   ❝ try to entertain me, will you? ❞

               ( I’M HEADING STRAIGHT FOR THE CASTLE,                  SHE WANTS TO MAKE ME HER QUEEN. )

             && there is the fluttering of lashes, rubied hues almost              disappearing behind eyelids as a hand finds itself resting              upon Sejuani’s toned shoulder. Still upon rosied lips rests              a smirk; this distance lends itself well to being CLOSED, where              lips might find each other and let breaths mingle together.

             Riven, however, does not move. This is all just one big              TEST to measure how much the other wanted it.

                     “I shouldn’t have to prove what I already possess.                       If you are more than just your words, I feel it                       necessary that you show me what you want.”

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frost archer drawn in ps, character from lol

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📝 - Story from your childhood.

Chickens are terrifying and should always be considered as such. Why you ask ? Apart from e-coli course, they tend to be territorial and overly curious. When I was seven I knew nothing of this and just assumed that everything would be fine. Going to a farm always seems like a good idea for a parent, let your child roam free while you knock back a few beers with his farmer friend. At that age I was not the type of person to run or throw the sand and find entertaining so I brought with me my Gameboy. To view the figures pixel Mario run across the screen to save Princess Peach, there was always something to catch someone's attention. 

While my dad had a go on with his friend with endless talk of things that adults would not be understood at the time. Occasionally hear the booming voice of my father with his friend and sound whisping of a second can of beer open . Together with my game system that had brought a bag beside me , having left in the back seat of the car parked outside. I moan to myself as I got up to look, to this day I can still feel the heat of the sun beating down on top of my head. My little fingers pull the handle of the heavy door to reveal a sea of ​​fun things spread on the back seat of my father.

Leaning, only the soles of my feet hanging off the car door I stretched my arm to throw the bag to myself. Sliding the back edge of the seat to return to where my father, I felt like something was watching my back. Looking each of my movements. It slowly turning around , all I could see was this great big black bird looking at me with that strange red crest on top of what is now like a chicken resigning. It pounced unto me, scarring and terrorizing my view of chickens. -- And that’s the story of why I hate chickens.

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                                     Adagio, Summoner.

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             when her WORLD itself was obfuscated by WINTER, to know that it            could become DARKER still would have ONCE been an omen             frightening beyond comprehension. Across this ashen, persecuted            hemisphere of Demacia, devastation BLOSSOMED in a wreath of             justice. From a DISTANCE an observer might compare it to starburst:             the pulchritude of sallow pyres formed a patternless MATRIX in a               chronology distinguishing the crumbled settlements. thin lips              curved a smirk.

             she is not an INNOCENT. she has killed, INJURED, left shattered               bones behind. EMPATHY has wrecked her, ripped her apart              until left naked & vulnerable. an EMPTY & enraged SHOUT to                 hell, COAX those demons up out of the ground. the tale of the                MUSICAL damsel was one that berated the league.

    ❝ the strong. or have the WEAK overcome        this once proud land, woman. for strength        is all that matters in this world. ❞

@vintras  ♥ ‘d for a starter !!

          ❝ … What brings you to Demacia, Miss Sejuani ?  ❞

                          Cobalt optics look over the rather tall woman that stood out whilst riding her bear. Like many others, the question as to why someone from Freljord be interested in coming to such a high and, rather, rich-like estate that is Demacia? Is there someone she seeks? Someone she has revenge for? – The questions go on and on. The Maven was out for a stroll to clear her thoughts; she did not expect to come across Sejuani like so. If needed be, Sona can lead her to the Demacian siblings so that they can handle her better than the Maven herself.

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          we are all trophies,  all PRIZED possessions in the symbolism           of the GAMES. riot in streets, CURSE at graveyards, but we             will always find PLEASURE in bloodshed. a primal urge ; to            fight, to destroy, to rebuild. we follow orders that are only (            ( WHISPERED )  in our ears while we sleep.  you carry the            stench of SOLITUDE as if you crave it. it sinks below  ----               ---; your bone marrow. feminine conjecture in speech. 

        ❝ We are willing to usher FREEDOM at any cost while            she conducts our customs like a MEMORY. Her pitiful            GIFT is not what will undertake this war. Battle, DEATH;            -- that’s the answer of the WINTERS claw.

                                  Why do you rally the tale of winter, archer. ❞

« ♡ » —

STORIES of each champion of the Institution of War were something that everyone knew. However, the Leader of the Winter’s Claw Tribe’s  story was something that he still wondered about. Seeing that she was around, the male decided to approach her and get his questions ANSWERED.

          ❝ Sejuani, why did you see Ashe’s                   gift as an INSULT?  ❞

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❝ without contraries is NO progression. attraction    and repulsion, REASON and energy, i come for your     surrender, ARCHER. it is your LAST chance ❞.

vintras fell to a volley of arrows.

    “–lost, or did you come to argue with me once more?”

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You got a taste for blood when you were licking your own wounds.

solitary-sister ( via killcommands )

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Freljord by Quirkilicious

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                                              you OWN what you take.

         a preference of closure, the air COLD & eager to ghost up her          SPINE. she is not all FROZEN & obsessions, you know, a warm             offer from an attractive host is ADDICTIVE, the sly hound & the           CLUCKING hen. your voice is smooth & MELODIC, as if you          were created by hardworking bees, ALL that honey in your voice

       makes a SOUL wither. you know this already, don’t you ? all your           CONFIDENCE & charm seeps within your bones like poisoned gas.          TWISTING you, taunting you, a CREATION to be worshiped & to be              HATED. your audience will cheer you all the way to HELL, & that           is always the great destination, isn’t it; absorbing PERSONAL space.

                                                ❝ then prove your worth ❞.

{ tell me baby, r u mine? }

          “I FIGHT HARDER than I fuck, is that what you said?”

           Another bit of airy laughter as bodies mingle; she remembers how            ATTRACTIVE the Frejlorian looked in a state of dishelvement,             tresses of gold clinging tight to sharp features with hues as icy            as the very place she was forged from.

                To say that fucking her ( so to speak ) is an UNPLEASANT                 thought would be Riven wailing of ‘wolf!’. 

          “You would have to find that one out for yourself.”

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                such WORDS were expected. so utterly expected were they            that they did not RECEIVE   — certainly they did not deserve —               any SUCH response from crepuscular waning and advancing           frame. her imperative, to PROTECT and oversee; the dark angel,             had never been rescinded. they were ( repulsive ) IDEAS formulated          in the mind of one so UTTERLY shielded from what true suffering was,               that the TORMENT to come could NEVER once have been fathomed.

                ❝ to make enemies by unnecessary and willful                   incivility, is just as insane a proceeding as to                   set your house on fire but;

                                                I was born for conquest.

                  fall seated under the winter’s claw ❞.

              a target that would be BEATEN and broken, a simple layer                 (((  to demolish so that both BODY & soul ))) would meet; ---              their END. the mere sight of SUCH eerie alabaster skin would                 cause for overwhelming WAVES of hate, resentment to WASH over.

   (  & the men cry out.  )  of he,   that holds within the passport of the eternal rest,  of self craved gloom & misfortune.  he, the reaper. the lych.  & how thick the air is   ━  ( he dares to tell of when the wind told epic tales about vivaceous queens & ice-born tyrants in the far, far, frelijord ) within the context of the macabre land.  darkest of skies lay above,   shattered clouds do nothing but to make it colder.     the distance whispers ( o so slightly ) the chantics of the wandering, morbid, creatures that the mist enveloped.   it certainly is paradise for karthus. 

                                 ❛   rarity  …     you truly flatter me. 

     his soft tone,  taints to seduce the wicked.  curving wickedly ,  set of ivories appeal to line straight into a mocking grin.  there’s a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

                                  you’re so called winter’s wrath ,   mmh ?

                               i am politely warning you,   woman.   

                                  unless you prefer the void to be the one to carry your corpse instead. ❜