Note: Copied to a proper update page.
The announcer’s megavox-enhanced voice boomed across the Fields of Justice.
“By decree of the Council of the League of Legends: let this battle begin!”
The crowds burst into cheers. A sleepy-looking Summoner, a soldier-turned-scholar nicknamed Porkchop, wove the spells necessary to empower the sensefilm transcriber that would record today’s events for the League’s archives.
Above the common crowds, on a raised balcony reserved for the esteemed Champions of the League, Udyr watched the empty Field of Justice below. As in the Mirrorwater dispute over a year ago, Udyr had remained on the sidelines, not yet declaring for either Ionia or the Freljord. It was widely rumored that he was about to make his decision as to which side he would support in the battle for Nyroth. The Spirit Walker was known to respect proven strength and demonstrated resolve over ideological posturing, and it was believed that the outcome of this clash between Ionia and the Freljord would lead him to his decision.
One by one, Champions materialized around the fountain platforms on each side of the Fields.
Shen held his hands in a posture of prayer and bowed to the Fields, in a gesture of respect for the League which strove to maintain the peace in Valoran. His awareness sharpened as Summoner Eli Tebam reached out to assist him through the ethereal link.
Varus coldly slipped an arrow onto his bow and nocked it there. Summoner Catbox, still wary after having been stricken down by an arcane surge in a critical tournament not long ago, found a strange strength in the bitter rage that flowed through the cursed archer’s veins. Together they would slay their enemies on this Field.
Master Yi flicked his blade from its sheath and gave it a twirl. He glanced over his shoulder at the shopkeeper. “Would you…pass me that potion?” The merchant shrugged and adjusted the sliders on the well-worn abacus, deducting thirty five “gold” points from Yi’s account. In the summoning chamber, an acolyte handed Summoner Revoluxionist a ruby-red flask, ready to be poured out into the summoning circle to heal Yi during the match.
Karma swept her arms out and breathed deep of the enchanted forest air. “May Ionia prevail,” she proclaimed. She strode down the steps, and felt Summoner Murasaki “Purple” Bavarois, among the first to voyage to Nyroth, watching over her.
Ahri giggled as she coalesced from a beam of light, tails drifting and fluttering as her feet touched stone. She smiled warmly as she sensed her Summoner entering her thoughts, amplifying her power and broadening her senses. She sent a playful greeting through the link. Always a pleasure, Sophie-chan.
The Freljord gathered its Champions on the other side of the Field.
Anivia’s glorious avian form crystallized from a gust of icy wind. She knew Summoner Aniv well: she was amused to see that the root of her own name persisted in the modern Freljordian language, and that this particular Summoner had acquired it as a name. Many times they had fought together on the Fields of Justice.
Sejuani gave her mount a smack and charged swiftly down the platform. She sought swift victory, and had no desire for any further bickering with “Queen” Ashe today. No sooner had Summoner Clifton entered her mind than she barked her orders. No fumble-spells today, mage.
Ashe herself smirked as she brushed a lock of hair back from her eyes. Alright, Wrath, let’s see some Wrath. Her Summoner, known as the “Wrath of Avarice”, unconsciously adopted the very same smirk, as Ashe’s pride flowed through the link between them. As you say, Your Highness.
Braum followed Ashe as she descended the platform. Have courage, Tanadon my Summoner friend! We fight together.
One Freljordian Summoner, called Alkomon, still had not yet called forth a Champion. Tanadon, eyes glowing purple from the link-energy, glanced over. “Well?”
Alkomon hesitated. “Just another minute…”
Welcome to Summoner’s Rift!
“We’re running out of minutes. You’re going to get disqualified.”
Alkomon made no answer, instead looking up to hear the patter of tiny fuzzy feet. A breathless yordle messenger scampered into the chamber, waving a scroll. Alkomon took it, unbound the sealing-rune with a brief invocation, and grinned at the revealed contents. “Thank you, my friend.” The messenger frowned, still panting from the sprint, but cheered up as he caught a gold piece the Summoner flipped his way—a most generous tip. “By Your Grace’s leave!” He bowed with a flourish of his paw, then left to get himself a nice refreshing drink.
Tanadon arched an eyebrow at the scroll, which bore the imprint of the Council. “They passed it?”
Alkomon held it up. “Petition granted. We’ve just gained some reinforcements.”
A column of brilliant light flashed down onto the Freljord’s platform. Trundle’s gave a gnarly laugh as he appeared, grinning wickedly and patting his enormous club of true ice into his palm. “Time to troll.”
Trundle, the Troll King, has been recruited by petition to the League of Legends, and will fight for the Freljord.
Udyr walked down the pathway between the delegates’ galleries to take his place before the panel of Summoners charged with hearing petitions for entry into the Nyroth dispute.
“We greet you, Udyr, esteemed Champion of the League of Legends. Bring you now a petition to the Council?”
Udyr looked aside to the Ionian delegation. He met Karma’s eyes for a moment. She gave a respectful nod of her head, which he returned, before looking forward once more.
“Nyroth’s destiny lies with the Freljord. For them, I will fight. Such is the will of the spirits.”
Udyr, the Spirit Walker, will fight for the Freljord!