Jax played by _wulfric

Jax

The kingdom of Demacia, a nation founded on the principles of Duty, Honour and Tradition.

Seen as a beacon of Hope throughout the land, most people in need turned to the High Walls of the City for protection. The complete antonym of it’s neighbouring nation, Noxus, the city was all towering spires that pierced the heavens, grand halls and temples all made with the finest marble and the famed Petricite. A pale, magic-resistant stone from an age gone by, used in the forging of many weapons and the creation of the grand monument, Galio the Colossus.

The capital was truly one of the many wonders of the known world. Though even one as picture perfect as this had it’s demons hidden away in the depths. A nation known for it’s sense of duty and honour yet Demacia openly expressed it’s distaste for Mages. From the Kingdom’s Mageseekers to the Illuminators, the people of Demacia were kept in a dream of their own making. A dream where mages were no more than vile, evil sorcerers tasked with the destruction of all they held sacred. Soon that view on magic was to change, with the great rebellion lead by an unshackled man of immense magic prowess and fuelled by an unbridled hatred for his supposed people. Demacia realised one could not simply lock magic away in the dark forever.

Everything is bound to surface, one way or another.

With the death of the old King, the remaining embers of rebellion still fresh, the White City was no place for a man such as he. Perhaps in a few more years, the golden gates would open to let the stranger through and seek out more warriors for his cause. But it would not be today.

With every other rhythmic tap of the lamp stave, the magical flames flared to life, guiding him forth through the Demacian wilderness, leading him to an unexpected meeting. As the sun finally dipped behind the mountain range, casting the land in shadow, the stranger came to a halt as he found the remnants of an old dirt path leading northward. The tattered remains of a wooden sign, the words Everpeak faintly etched across it, pointed him further inland. An unspoken promise of shelter, perhaps a good meal and a soft bed to lay his weary head upon.

“Yeah right.” the stranger snorted to himself, shaking his head as he slowly set off, the rhythmic tapping of his lamp stave the only sound to break the peace around him. “It ain’t ever that easy.”

What felt like minutes turned to hours before finally he came upon a derelict farmhouse, left to rot by the wayside. The stranger stood in silence, hidden gaze studying the woodworm rotted home, a silent wonder of what stories it held within it’s silent abode before exhaling.

Now was not the time to reminisce, not when a storm was brewing overhead. The rhythmic tapping signalled his approach as he pushed open one of the large barn doors, slipping into darkness, save for the light offered by his stave. For a moment the stranger stood, the faint smell of smoke reaching him through his mask, followed by the faint, dying embers of a freshly snuffed out campfire.

It barely took a fraction of a moment for the man to piece things together as he chuckled softly, shaking his head. The stranger tapped his lamp stave twice in rapid succession, with a final resounding crack for the third as the magic fire flared to life, dousing the room in light.

“I ain’t lookin’ for a fight.” he croaked, his masked gaze meeting that of the woman clad in armour, the tip of her lance aimed square at his chest. “I’m just lookin’ for a place to rest. Don’t mean no harm.”

Calliope

Calliope liked to spend her free days flying. When there wasn’t a chore to do, an odd job to take up, or a battle to fight in, her first instinct was to hop on Mercy and take to the clouds. Something about the wind in her hair and the clouds at her fingertips was calming, and the fair weather Demacia often had this time of year meant that she could get lost in herself for hours in the skies, daydreaming if she was among the clouds and people-watching if she was a little lower. But what had looked earlier this morning to be a day of blue skies and a shining sun had been but the calm before the literal storm.

Not wanting to get caught up in the rain, Calliope had immediately made for her home, swooping down and quickly depositing Mercy in the stables— much more well-kept than the house itself— with a warm thank you before dashing into the residence just before the rain started falling.

She hated storms like this. The dull, pessimistically grey skies. The winds that could easily blow her off course in flight. And of course, the rain. Mercy hated getting rained on just as much as she did, if not more, and because of this she just couldn’t fight in that type of unfavorable weather. It made her feel guilty, each and every time, when she heard of a border skirmish or bandit raid that she couldn’t swoop down onto to dispense her invaluable aid. It wasn’t exactly a step backwards from the tireless work she put in with the goal of becoming the sort of heroine everyone talked about, but it certainly wasn’t a step towards it.

The house was a little cozier on the outside than on the in. She had a small table towards one corner of the room, on which she took her meals, and a fireplace with all the necessary cooking implements to feed herself and thus, keep herself strong. It was roomy, and although the stairs leading up to the second floor which presumably contained a bedroom were so rotted she dare not attempt to climb them— the one time she tried, it had ended in disaster— she had fashioned herself a sleeping area separated from the rest by curtains. It certainly wasn’t a luxurious place to live, but it was home. And it had been for years now. Maybe one day she’d try to fix it up.

The first thing she’d done when she got home was set the kettle up to boil so that she could make herself tea. It was one of her only non-fighting pastimes, and she could do it quite well. Her mother, a second-generation Ionian woman who grew up in Piltover, had instilled into her her ways since she was very young. Her clay tea set was one of Calliope’s most treasured items to this very day.

She was exceptionally lucky to have brewed the tea when she had. Just a few minutes after, the fire had gone out, and she was plunged into darkness.

“Stupid damaged chimney,” she muttered. “When I start rebuilding this place, that’ll be the first thing I fix.”