Ahri/Background | League of Legends Wiki | FANDOM powered by Wikia
Ahri Innately connected to the latent power of Runeterra, Ahri is a vastaya who can reshape magic into orbs of raw energy. Ahri tested her self-control by consuming small quantities of life essence, enough to absorb a .. Ahri and Wukong. I just finished watching the LaLaLaDemaCia Season 2, the last episode was so sad and romantic (albiet strange, how Ahri fell for a monkey). Think Riot should. Ahri tested her self-control by consuming small quantities of life essence, often used in a familial relationship, though she was not sure why.
Hirin told the fortune of a witch doctor shrouded in veils, receiving a copper for her troubles. She used the coin to buy a piece of bread, which she devoured in seconds… In a seedy tavern, a raucous group played cards. A man with eyebrows resembling butterfly wings gambled a golden Ymelo stone while Hirin watched from the shadows… Hirin tracked Ahri as she walked through the market.
One of her fox tails peeked from beneath her cloak. She drew the vastaya into her caravan— Enough. Ahri stopped, her head spinning with renewed vigor. With each memory she stole from Hirin, she felt energy rush back into her weakened muscles, cleansing them of the poison.
Strengthened once more, she slowly shook her limbs awake, and flexed her tails with a shiver. They tingled with pinpricks. Hirin stood wide-eyed and dazed, still very much alive. It was she that would wake tomorrow, good as new—less a few memories that she would not miss. Hirin would not remember her, or their encounter. But Ahri had left the trade with a name to hunt—Ymelo—and the image of the man with soft-winged eyebrows was burned in her mind.
Nami Nami's champion bio from her Universe page - "A headstrong young vastaya of the seas, Nami uses her mystical Tidecaller staff to reshape the tides and defend her fellow Marai from danger. The first of her kind to leave the ocean and venture onto dry land, Nami faces the unthinkable with grit, determination, and daring mettle. In the seas to the west of Mount Targon dwells a tribe of vastaya known as the Marai.
Long ago, these mermadic creatures discovered a rift in the depths. The rift bore a horrible, creeping darkness which sought to exterminate all forms of life. At the center of their village, the Marai placed a glowing rock known as a moonstone, which is said to be infused with the celestial magic of the heavens. Its haunting, ethereal light protects the Marai from the creatures that crawl from the abyss. At that moment, the tribe chooses their fiercest warrior and bestows upon them the title of Tidecaller.
The Tidecaller must plunge into the icy darkness of the rift, survive the horrors within and retrieve an abyssal pearl. It is an arduous ritual that holds the fate of many in its illusive hands, but the exchange has kept the creatures of the dark contained. In the past, the Marai had sent troops of their most elite warriors to collect the pearl, but they learned the more forces they sent into the rift, the stronger the monsters became, as if it fed on their energy.
While an army would be annihilated by the abominations below, a single scout — armed with a legendary Marai staff capable of controlling the tides — could potentially elude the dangers of the deep long enough to escape with the pearl. Nami had always wanted to be the Tidecaller, but she was impulsive and young. A fierce fighter, she was known amongst the Marai for her stubborn determination, which often got her in trouble.
Nami attempted the trial of the Tidecaller. Due to her impulsiveness, however, the elders chose Rasha, a prudent warrior known for his level head in battle, as their Tidecaller. Rasha dove into the depths of the abyss. A week passed, then another. No Tidecaller had ever failed to return. It might as well be her. Nami ascended to the surface and rode the tide to shore to meet the landwalker.
The stonebearer, however, was nowhere to be found. Instead, an elderly woman waited on the beach. The woman, whose grandparents bore witness to the last Tidecaller exchange, explained that there was no moonstone. The Aspect of the Moon was the only being who could conjure a moonstone, but she had fled Targon.
Nami was unwilling to accept this. She vowed to find the Aspect and retrieve the moonstone. The lives of her people depended on it. Using the power of the mystical Tidecaller staff to summon a perpetual pool of moving water beneath her fins, Nami took to land to continue her quest. Determined, the Tidecaller swam into a brand new world. It sounded like a wanderer: No one had ever heard of a celestial appearing from the ocean, though. More likely, the young girl was playing games.
But when a woman with crimson eyes swam into their village, held aloft by a pool of water that ebbed and flowed at her command, the villagers realized it was no game.
I am a Marai, a creature of the blue. I mean you no harm. Perhaps they were taken aback by her appearance. Without it, they, and possibly all the world, will succumb to a hungry and merciless darkness. Only a sleepy, four-legged beast went unfazed by the appearance of the mermadic creature in the village, as it carried on pulling mouthfuls of dried grass from a wheeled cart and smacking its slobbery gums. Nami stood in the silence, tapping her staff awkwardly.
Nami looked around the village and saw small, fluttering lights all around. Anchored to small pillars of wax or large, wooden sticks, the lights indeed seemed to be alive, but not sentient. They fluttered in the breeze and crackled with energy.
From the many layers of draped fabric, Nami deduced he must be some type of elder.
Surrender at Vastaya Lore & Stories - Ahri, Rengar, Nami, Wukong
Or perhaps he was just cold. Did he worship and wish to protect it, or did he consider it an enemy? Nami weighed the options. Surely, she thought, no one would be so unwise as to make an enemy of the moon itself.
Nami stared at the tips of the spears now flickering with orange light spirits. Their dance was mesmerizing, but radiated heat. Nami suspected touching one would be incredibly unpleasant.
Happy Valentines Day! Lets talk about LoL couples by AssassinKID | Game Debate blog Feb
Nami stared at them for a moment, her face hard. This was it — her first test as a landwalker. She knew, that if need be, she could defend herself against everyone in this village. Nami did her best to ignore it. She moved forward and planted her staff in the ground. She moved with such confidence and fearlessness the villagers were taken aback — physically, in one unfortunate case. A young villager stumbled backward, his spear of heat skittering out of his hands, landing beneath the cart of dried grass.
The dancing heat spirit grew taller. It licked the grass, spreading its own energy to the pile of dry hay. Within moments, the entire cart was ablaze with the hot, volatile energy.
The grazing beast brayed in terror and turned away from the blaze. It kicked its muscular legs in confusion, knocking the cart onto its side, launching the burning grass into the air.
The villagers scrambled to fetch bucketfuls of water from a nearby well. Nami watched in frightened fascination as they hurled the liquid at the hungry spirits. The hissing smoke swirled as the spirits drank up the water and danced on along the rooftops, turning the blue night orange. Nami raised her Tidecaller staff, her knuckles tight. Nami tightened her grip and closed her eyes, pulling back her staff to draw the seawater toward her.
It stretched itself into the air high above the village, a sheer wall of tidal ferocity hovering at the ready. Nami thrust her staff forward, pointing its headpiece toward the dancing heat. The wave crashed forward as if to drown the entire village. Just before hitting the ground, the water twirled and twisted into an enormous, turbulent tentacle. It snaked through the air, sniffing out the ravenous trails of heat and rage.
The tendril of ocean water encircled the angry light, coiling around it like a serpent, constricting and squeezing the brightness in a suffocating collapse.
With one last smoky gasp, the spirits fizzled, their glow replaced with the quiet blue of night. Nami exhaled, loosening her grip on the staff. The tentacle of water lost its shape in an instant, and splashed to the ground to the startled delight of onlookers.
The elder and his sentinels dropped their buckets. They looked upon their visitor with new eyes. The moon and the tide were as brother and sister. Wherever the moon went, the Tidecaller staff would be drawn. Sorry about the, er The elder called after her. It keeps us safe, but it can be Rengar stalks his prey neither for food nor glory, but for the sheer beauty of the pursuit. Rengar was born to a tribe of east-Shuriman vastaya known as the Kiilash, whose society venerated the honor and glory of the hunt.
He ignored his child, assuming the runt would starve to death. He subsisted on grubs and plants for weeks until one day, he was nearly killed by a legendary human hunter named Markon. Rengar spent months following Markon, feeding off the corpses the hunter left behind. Rengar still hoped to one day rejoin his tribe, and so took great care in observing how Markon took down his quarries.
After some time, Markon grew sick of the pathetic Kiilash following him around. He tossed Rengar the blade and kicked him down a ravine, where he was forced to make his first kill to survive. From then on, Rengar spent years pushing himself almost to breaking point.
- Ahri and Wukong
- Vastaya Lore & Stories - Ahri, Rengar, Nami, Wukong
He scoured Shurima for the most powerful and dangerous prey. Though he would never be as big as other Kiilash, Rengar was determined to be twice as ferocious. Over time, instead of coming back to his camp each time with fresh scars, he began to come back with trophies.
Then, when he decided the time had come, Rengar returned to his tribe, ready to be accepted as a true hunter. Ponjaf scoffed at Rengar and his trophies. He decreed that only by bringing back the head of an elusive void abomination would Rengar be welcomed back into the tribe.
Blinded by his eagerness to return to his tribe, Rengar allowed this wily beast beast to get the drop on him. Furious and defeated, Rengar admitted his failure to Ponjaf.
As expected, his father chastized him. Rengar interrupted his father and called him a coward. Many Kiilash were blessed with strong bodies or comfortable homes. Rengar, conversely, was born facing death. He had taught himself how to hunt, and had the trophies—and scars—to prove it.
Even his own bloody eye socket was a trophy—proof that though Rengar was born with disadvantages, he never gave up. Rengar leapt onto his father and gutted him from neck to belly. The fiercest hunters of the tribe crowned him in flameroses, marking him as their new chieftain.
All he needed was adrenaline pumping through his veins as he chased down his prey. Rengar left the village, without pausing to take a trophy from what was left of Ponjaf—the chieftain was not worthy of remembering.
Instead, he set off determined to find and kill the void creature that had tried to blind him. Not to satisfy the village, but to satisfy himself. Their swords were strewn about the meadow, as useful as dulled cutlery. He knelt, licking blood from the ground. Cold to the tongue. Still sweet, yet bitter with the taste of iron.
It had been spilled less than an hour ago. Turning over one of the stray limbs in his hand, Rengar found a line of greenish saliva dangling from where the arm had been ripped from its body. He raised the stump to his nose and sniffed. The saliva smelled foul, like a corpse that had rotted in a puddle of excrement. Just raising it to his nose nearly made Rengar want to vomit, and he had a stronger stomach than most. He smiled his wide, toothy smile.
The creature who inflicted these wounds would be easy to track. It howled in disappointment, evidently unimpressed by the lack of a crunch.
Time to silence screams. Pain on the back of its neck. Another pain, then another.
Something with a weapon. Something with some fight in it. Rengar held onto the kirai saber with one hand as the razorhide bucked back and forth, trying to dislodge him. The razorhide dropped to its stomach and rolled over, taking Rengar with it. It was fast—much faster than Rengar would have thought for a creature of its size. He barely had time to dislodge his blades and jump away. The two combatants got to their feet. Combined, the scales made for a nigh-impenetrable defense and a thousand small weapons all at the same time.
It circled Rengar, sniffing the air. Not to mention the big honour of becoming the heir of this ancient fighting style. Master Yi was the best that could happen to Wukong. Yi is what changed his whole life for the best.
Even the monkey knows more about being a human than she does, which leads to both fun making and lots of arguing. Sometimes including loud screeches and hisses. Nautilus - The poor monkey is creeped out by him for not having a body under that suit.
Rammus - Ok Renekton - Wukong is notably weaker than him, which makes battles so exciting. The monkey also enjoys teasing him around and making him angry.
Soraka - The goat lady would be the closest to a motherly figure he had since he lives among humans. She dodged another volley of arrows before leaping for the nearest tree, coiling her tails to spring from its trunk, back towards her assailants. The Noxians scattered as she landed in their midst. The man closest to her thrust a knife, but the blade cut only air.
Ahri danced through her foes with blinding speed. The fiery motes around her engulfed the three nearest men.
White flames seared them, but Ahri had more than brute force in her arsenal. She vaulted from tree to tree, rising higher with every bound. She spotted the squad's captain crouched between a tangle of tree roots, his bowstring taut. Given half a chance, Ahri knew he'd put an arrow through her eye.
She crept silently to the branches above the captain's shelter and spoke, her soft words laced with beguiling power. Through no will of his own, he set down his bow and walked from cover.
He looked up, eyes wide with desperation and desire. The captain, utterly in her thrall, scrambled for footholds on the tree trunk. Ahri summoned a sphere of lambent energy to her palm, its innocent appearance belying its vast power. She drew back her arm, allowed herself a vulpine grin, and hurled it downwards. The orb streaked through the captain before flying back to Ahri's palm, and his smoking body fell to the forest floor with a thud.
The remaining scouts fled in terror, but running proved every bit as futile as hiding. Ahri vaulted from branch to branch, tails whirling behind her as she struck two men down with thunderous bolts of energy. The last man collapsed in a tangle of limbs, clutching at his broken bones as Ahri landed gracefully beside him. She grabbed the Noxian's throat, and put her face an inch from his. Only one task remained. Ahri had no qualms about gaining her humanity by taking it from men who had no use for it.
She knelt over the fallen Noxian, feeling his pulse fade. She placed her hands to either side of his face. The light of his essence flowed from his eyes and mouth, and a thrilling sensation surged through Ahri.
His humanity poured into her, and she felt the fox within withdraw with every heartbeat. Her tails curled in pleasure, her expression rapturous.
Yet even lost in that glorious sensation, Ahri heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The villagers, hearing the sounds of combat, were coming to investigate. She couldn't let them see her like this, draining what remained of a dying man's life.
To their eyes she would seem a terrifying mystery: Reluctantly, Ahri turned from her feast, seeing shapes moving through the trees and bushes.