Amazingly enough, I actually got around to publishing a second chapter. This one is for Syndra, the Dark Sovereign. I've been having quite a bit of fun with her in-game ever since she got buffed, so I figured she was due to get a write up here. For the most part, I see Syndra as essentially being a confused teenager with enough power to rip a monastery off its perch on a mountain - a horrible combination, as anyone who knows teenagers should know. Let me know what you think!
One other note: I typically try to only write for champions that I've played as, so it may be some time before I'm able to write a Judgment for newly released champs like Nami. I promise I will get around to them eventually though.
League of Legends and all characters are owned by Riot Games.
Date: September 13th, 21 CLE
She enters the hall soundlessly, her bare feet gliding just above the surface of the earth. Her entry is silent, but she brings with her the restrained force of a hurricane. Arcane power emanates from her form, causing even the most uneducated in magic to feel its presence as a slight pressure on their bodies. A trio of spheres, each one darker than the night, orbits her form lazily, restrained by merely a trace of her dark power. The mage gives a chuckle at the inscription above the door of the Reflection Chambers, just before shoving them wide open with a shout of magic. The darkness beyond swallows both the mage and her slowly revolving orbs, even as the doors shut behind her.
Syndra hesitated as the doors closed, plunging her entire world into darkness. She could sense the arcane energies swirling about her dimly, on the edges of her perception, but that type of magic was beyond her. The mage forced her dark spheres out from her body, widening their orbits in case she needed to respond to a threat quickly. There was no telling what the Summoners would try to do to her. "I'm waiting," she hissed into the void.
"It's for the best," the voice of her father said suddenly. Syndra froze at the sound. The last time she had heard from him had been the day they'd taken her away, so many years ago. "Father?" she whispered quietly into the darkness, and suddenly she was there once again, standing in the doorway of her home. Her parents stood together, watching her with tears in their eyes, and she felt again the iron-clad grip of the Ionian soldier who had been sent to take her away to the monastery. "Time to go," the man had said, gruffly pulling at her wrist. "Let's get a move on."
She had fought them that day, clawing with tooth and nail and resisting with all her might until two others came to take her. Her powers boiled up within her and she sent their bodies flying like ragdolls, but the energy it cost left her defenseless. She had screamed in rage, in fear, in sadness, as they finally carried her weakened form away from the house and into their cart, screamed until the screams became sobs and tears decorated the wooden bench on which she sat. There was an elderly man with her, one of the elders of the village, but she heard none of his speeches about how this was "best for the village" and "in the interest of preserving balance." All she knew was that they'd stolen her from her family and that she'd never see them again.
In the blink of an eye the cart, the soldiers and her slowly receding home disappeared. Syndra found herself standing once more in the stone hallways of the monastery she'd grown up in, eyes locked on the door that led to her mentor's quarters. The soft sound of a meditative chant filtered through the thick, scarred wood, but Syndra was in no mood to allow her master to finish. With a minor burst of her magic, the door flew open, banging against the wall with a harsh clack. "I must talk to you, Master," she said, her tone belying the politeness of her words.
The old man rose slowly, stiff knees unbending and raising him up to his full height. "Speak then, young one," he said in a kind voice.
"You promised to teach me magic, not to keep my powers from me," Syndra hissed. "Why then are my powers growing more slowly each day?"
The old man eyes grew wary and thoughtful then, and Syndra knew that her suspicions had been right. "Syndra, you must listen to me," the man began, holding out his palms in a gesture of peace. "Know that what I did was for your sake. Yes, I have been dampening your powers with my own, but it was only to teach you restraint and balance –"
Syndra had heard enough. Her anger, so long held in check, finally reached a breaking point. They had taken her home and her family from her – were they now to take away her powers? "You LIAR!" she screamed, arcane energy flowing through her body. Her hair rose from her shoulders as her magic potential fought against the bonds which had held it for too long. Small objects lifted themselves from the floor, drifting in silent orbits around her body. "You feared me, you always did! You're nothing but a liar and traitor!"
Her mentor backed away, real fear showing for the first time in his eyes. "Syndra, calm down!" he pleaded over the sound of the rising magical storm. "You must learn to control yourself or –"
"I have ALWAYS known how to control myself," she snapped, advancing on him through a maelstrom of flying debris. "Release my powers. NOW!"
He cowered before her then, nothing more than a sniveling coward threatened with true might. "If you cannot control yourself, I will be forced to nullify your magic completely," he stated with finality, hands shielding his face from her terrifying visage. It was the last straw. Syndra saw red, and in that moment she did something she had never consciously done before - she seized the old man's frail body with her dark powers and hurled him with all her strength. With a sickening crack, he struck the wall behind him, landing with a wet thump on the floor.
Objects fell from around Syndra as the arcane storm she'd inadvertently summoned died away. She felt a moment of guilt, and turned away from the corpse, closing her eyes to scene – but just for a moment. As she fought to come to terms with what she'd done, she felt her magical prowess grow within her once more, pushing past the arbitrary limits set in place by her so-called "mentor". The arcane energy filled her being, brushing aside the doubts and guilt that she felt. The old man had been an enemy attempting to keep her power locked away. She was justified in killing him. "He deserved it," she whispered to herself.
"Why do you want to join the League, Syndra?" said a voice. Syndra whirled about to find the old man once more on his feet, his lined face drawn in an expression of boredom. She stumbled backwards from the reanimated corpse, confusion and fear raging within her. This was not how the memory had gone. "You're dead," she managed to choke out. "I killed you."
"Answer the question, please," the old man said with an impatient gesture. "Why do you want to join the League?"
Syndra forced her bewilderment down, regaining some of her composure. "There will always be others seeking to control my power," she began. "The sniveling cowards that rule in Ionia will no doubt come for me. But even they must answer to the supreme governing body in Valoran – the Institute of War. Keep me from their hands and I shall fight your battles on the Fields of Justice."
The apparition of her deceased mentor nodded. "As you wish," he stated with a slight bow of his head. "How does it feel, exposing your mind?"
Her eyes narrowed at the question. "I will deal with it if I must," she said through clenched teeth. Another nod met the answer, and then suddenly she was back in the Institute of War. A pair of doors stood before her, waiting expectantly. Syndra recalled her dark spheres towards herself and floated forwards. The League of Legends, and her freedom, waited.