Woodworking was a profession most often conflated with brutish strength and a lack of finesse. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Cobalt’s brawny appearance belied his intellect. He was strong but very gentle. The process of centering a nail and driving it into bandlewood was extremely difficult given its magical properties. It was a dense substance, many times stronger than the oaks of Runeterra, requiring boring and filling to provide a sturdy fixation. He had spent months on this project, from sawing to sanding, cutting and applying piece by piece. Their negotiated price was renegotiated as the project dragged longer than intended. He had little time for outside work. It was nearly enough to stifle his creativity.

But with this commission he was learning new things, things he normally wouldn’t experiment with were integral to the completion of this project. Waterproofing and insulation had been his biggest obstacle yet. Applying a complete layer of insulation to a vardo with complex dimensions was an area where his expertise was lacking. And if the waterproofing wasn’t intelligently applied, leakage into the interior would severely warp the lumber, in turn damaging the Hextech that was being installed. The engineer his client volunteered was an expert in her own right, demonstrating a mastery over technology he hadn’t encountered in any Yordle. But then again, he didn’t get out often.

He watched from a distance as the machine worker busied herself beneath the vardo, tampering with some sort of glowing, blue crystal. Her attire suggested she was a Piltover native, which only furthered his growing curiosity about who exactly his client was. He so badly wanted to ask about her or at the very least gauge her tastes from a third party. The engineer was attractive but he had his sights set. He wagered that his ultimate attraction for his employer would override his awkward fear of women enough to let him ask some questions.

He sawed idly at his two-by-fours, prepping to lay down the wooden flooring the moment she was done. His client requested he add extra storage in the form of hideaway compartments. One of the more rudimentary inclusions. It was a task that fell away from his absent mind as he sought to muster his courage. Go! He’d tell himself, internally encouraging his body to take action. But his form betrayed his conscience, stubbornly keeping him working instead of turning to go talk to the redheaded engineer. Don’t be such a baby, Cobalt! Come on! He reasoned to himself, exhaling in frustration.

His frenzied contemplation was abruptly interrupted when a surge of angry electricity burst out from the underside of the vardo, forcing Merryl to shield her face with her arm. Cobalt, driven by instinct, ran to pull her out and back to safety - wheeling her creeper away. The wheels squeaked as he slid her clear of the Hextech that still fluctuated with unstable electrical currents. He turned back to watch as it fizzled out a moment after, leaving thin smoke to populate the air beneath the vardo.

“Are you alright?” Cobalt asked, eyes low with worry.

“Yeah… Yeah- Just a miscalculation with the fixing. Thank you.” Merryl wiped her visage with the rag at her hip. It was obvious from her wired expression that she was reeling from her near-death experience.

Cobalt brushed the wood chippings from his worker’s apron, helping the woman to her feet. “Is Piltover technology usually that volatile?”

“All depends on who’s handling it. I’d like to think of myself as less of an ameatuer and more of an expert, but that mistake was rather ameatuer of me,” Merryl laughed somewhat nervously.

“Just an offday, I’m sure. You should take a break, maybe I could get you something to drink?” Cobalt said, showing his most hospitable side.

Merryl nodded. “That would be great.” Then she wandered over to the lounge on the other side of Cobalt’s workshop.

Cobalt had always lacked self-awareness, but it was the kind of shortcoming that refused to let him see himself in a positive light, as opposed to a negative one. He was well aware of when he was being too abrasive or too annoying but his mind was oblivious to his progress, his accomplishments and his own appeal. The successful conversation he’d had with Merryl was entirely swept under the rug when the thought of Lois sprung into his mind on his way to the back. He was beginning to think his curiosity was slowly becoming some sort of juvenile obsession. He tried to stow the idea into his subconscious but he struggled still. Cobalt swung open the door to his icebox, grabbing a pitcher of Cider and a glass to pour it in.

When he did return to Merryl his collected demeanor had all but vanished. He handed off the glass meekly and sat down beside the Yordle, trying his best to relax against the sofa. Merryl let her gratitude be known with a warm smile.

“So… I never uh- Caught your name?” Cobalt murmured.

“Oh. I’m Merryl, you’d think Lois would’ve mentioned that beforehand. And you?”

“Cobalt.” His name spilled from his mouth in an almost forced manner that caused Merryl’s brow to perk. It dawned on him that this was the first time he’d heard her name. Lois… And what an alien accentuation it had. He mouthed it just to let the impression last on his lips. Then he blinked, snapping back to reality. “Yeah, about her… You’re friends, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Merryl admitted with some suspicion.

“Well-... What’s she like?”

Merryl looked him up and down for a heartbeat. “Are you… Attracted to her by chance?”

“No, no, no, no! She’s just so mysterious, I’m curious, is all!” His voice rose several octaves at trying to conceal his truth.

“Right…” Merryl clearly wasn’t buying it as she sipped on her Cider. “Well, Lois is a business woman. She and I own a two-in-one alchemy and antique store. She does the potions, I do the antiques. Recently she’s been out and about adventuring.”

“So she’s an Alchemist? She must be pretty successful.” Cobalt imagined.

“She’s made quite the name for herself back home.”

The sound of footsteps caught their ears, prompting Cobalt to rise in hopes of a new customer. He rounded the corner only to find it was the devil they’d just spoken about dressed in a most imposing ensemble. For as much as Cobalt knew about the woman, he imagined adventuring in any capacity was far beyond Lois. Especially given the stunning dress she proudly adorned - the same shade of crimson as her eyes intelligently paired with a black short-coat. His own eyes nearly burst from their sockets at seeing his object of obsession in such a way. Her hair was styled up in a knotted bun and she even wore make-up. Was this the business woman Merryl had foretold?

“How are things?” Lois inquired, her voice still as unenthused as always.

“Uhhh…” Cobalt was left speechless, mouth comically agape.

“Things are fine, “Merryl said, emerging from the lounge with her glass of cider in hand. “There was an issue with the Hextech but it’s nothing I can’t iron out.”

“Good. Merryl, it’s time we told you our intentions. ‘Little Elixirs and Antiques’ now wholly belongs to you. You’ve been a fantastic business partner but our life path has led us down a different road. We’ll make sure you’re well compensated for the loss of revenue during your reorganization.” Lois laid everything out plainly.

“You’re… You’re leaving?” Merryl was absolutely dumbfounded. “But what about your status in Piltover? People still need potions!”

“And they’ll have them. Every market must adapt, Piltover is no different. It’s no secret that competitors have been eager to step into our limelight, and we’ve made enough money as is. Just… promise us you’ll save some things, we’ve made a lot of memories there and we intend to visit often.” There was a tenderness not easily noticed in Lois’ tone. But Merryl knew her well enough to discern it.

The two of them came together for a warm embrace. Despite being more business partners than friends, there was a mutual respect and deep understanding of one another. Merryl could sense this chapter of Lois’ life closing simply in the way they held one another. All she could do is hope it was for the better… And not for the worst.

Mica had almost acclimated to her new life, bound to a set of wheels for locomotion. It didn't change the disdain she still harbored for what happened, or the status quo. If anything she had become even more restless, holding out hope that their one ace would show in the future’s hand; Lois. She bided her time with machine work. It was something she’d become even more adept at with such a large void of time to fill. Her inventions were far less refined than the Hextech engineers of Piltover, but she was carving out a respectable talent for herself. She started small, doing some rudimentary upgrades to her drill.

Her first addition was a stationary center with a rotating exterior, this would make the device as a whole a lot more safer to manipulate. The second was a more reliable cord-pulley system. Her drill was prone to malfunction in the past and she wanted to eliminate the unreliability. Soon her imagination for what her drill could become expanded into the realms of impossibility. Or at least as of now. In a disconnected and arbitrary dream she saw herself riding fast through a field, not on a horse or on a wheeled contraption, but on her drill. It spun along the ground like a wooden top forwards, back and in wide circles. When she awoke she dismissed it. But the more she applied herself to her tinkering the more her fantasies became theoretical reality. Almost anything was possible with magic.

She began blueprinting for a design that would bind her drill to a glove. She sent her sister Rutile to the Bandle City Athenaeum to retrieve books on Hextech design only to find there were none. Rutile returned, reporting that apparently Hextech, despite its universal acclaim, was a jealously guarded and rather experimental craft - only accessible to people of status within Piltover and Zaun. She reckoned that was an intelligent way of going about things, though. The power of Hextech was universal, and as such highly sought after. As she sat at her workstation, cobbled together from stray tables and tools she managed to borrow mostly from Cobalt, the front door creaked open. She gasped and wheeled herself down the ramps and into the foyer pit to see Chelle’s weary form meandering towards her.

Her expression was worn, tortured almost, she looked as if she’d seen a ghost and Mica was oblivious as to how true that errant thought was. “Hey…” Mica said, letting her misgivings be known.

“Hey,” Chelle droned back.

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.” She admitted, her hair dragging behind her like a broken wedding train. She started past Mica, sights set on the bed they both shared. And Mica eagerly followed.

“What’s wrong?” Mica dug.

Chelle swung open the doors to their bedroom, getting out of her roadwear and into something more comfortable. Mica pulled herself into bed, having become adept at maneuvering unassisted. There was a moment where Mica imagined Chelle wouldn’t come to bed as every movement she made was painfully sluggish. But eventually she threw herself into the comforting compass of their mattress, sprawling out with a big sigh.

“Chell…” Mica’s hands found one of Chelle’s many braids, undoing it to straighten out the clumps of strands. “What happened?”

“I… Kind of met my family today…”

Mica frowned. The story of how Chelle lost her loved ones had never been told. Mica just knew they were all gone. Dead in some freak accident. It was a topic her lover avoided, and for good reason. The trauma of losing everyone you grew up with all at once was enough to make the average jovial Yordle suicidal. In a way Mica admired Chelle’s steel. It took strength to be witness to something so gruesome and wake up with enough courage to take on every new day.

“There’s this thing called the Harrowing. It happens every few years or so…” Chelle fought back tears as the recent memory of those voices played again and again in her mind. “The mist comes and it brings all the lost souls from the Shadow Isles. I barely made it out with my life… And I heard them, all nine of my Brothers calling out to me...”

Mica took a moment to sit her up and face her away, reclining against the headboard while she groomed Chelle’s hair, comforting her by running her fingers gently along her cascade of luminescent locks.

“‘Chelle”, they screamed, ‘Come back!” She sniffled as a single tear ran the length of her cheek.

“...When I was younger my family and I were Voyagers. We brought goods from Piltover and Zaun to Bilgewater, mostly… This one time we were investigating an ess-oh-ess from our sister ship. Some storm had swept them south and we found their wreck beached in the Shadow Isles. Mom and Dad told us all to stay on the ship while they went to check out what happened, but like the stupid rebelious teenager I was I snuck off with the other sailors. I can still hear them calling for me, looking for me, I thought it was so funny at the time...” Chelle let her regretful frustration be known, bawling her fists against the sheets.

“I remember being so enthralled with everything, it was all so… Different? We got a few hundred paces from the ship when the mist showed up and started devouring the most curious of us. I heard them cry and shout as the mist took them… And then nothing. The rest of us ran but it was clear we weren’t fast enough. I wasn’t far from the ship when I got caught on something. My hair was wrapped around this ugly tree branch and the mist was right behind me, creeping up my strands. After I cut myself free I got back and went looking for my family. They were in the middle of transferring cargo from the sister ship. I looked for them, I tried to warn them, but the mist reached us before I could scream loud enough. There were seventeen barrels of gunpowder aboard and it all went up... Somehow I survived, and when I woke they were all gone…”

Chelle sunk her face into her palms. “It’s all my fault and they know it.”

“No it isn’t…” Mica rolled her chin over Chelle’s shoulder, hugging her close. “Those sailors would’ve gone regardless of what you did. It’s not your fault, Chelle.” Her voice was sweet and endearing, appealing to her partner almost like a Mother would her daughter. Chelle’s silent tears still flowed despite Mica’s best attempts at consoling her.

“However you feel, just know you did nothing wrong… Okay? Nothing.” Mica swore.

But I did everything wrong.

Jhin never did like the jungle. It was often home to the basests creatures in all of Runeterra, home to wretched, poisonous reptiles and insects with toxins so lethal they could kill a man ten times over. And not to mention the diseases. It was unsanitary, unconducive to a performance of this magnitude. But whatever the stage a good performer should always be able to adapt. So adapt he did. He looked about the deck of the Ionian vessel they’d been supplied specifically for this mission. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship with crimson fully-battened sails that ran about parallel with the length of the ship. The deck was rounder towards the middle and boxier towards the ends with the stern being elevated far higher than the average sea-faring vessel. He had a commanding view alongside Matsuro who cooly reeled and rolled at the helm.

The wooden awning kept him and most of their party out of the rain. This was a delicate operation so only the most gifted and less brutish of their elite were brought along. Akaiken, Yuzaru, Haken and Aijin were counted amongst his team. He wasn’t all happy that this assembly was split half and half between the genders. Women were emotional creatures by nature, and emotion in an operation as precarious as this one could be potentially detrimental to its success. He tried to debate this fact with Matsuro but he insisted these were the right followers for the job.

“Aren’t we at all worried about the jungle’s magics?” Aijin asked aloud to Matsuro, fighting the din of the downpour against the awning above.

Before them was the Serpentine Delta, the inlet that gave access to Ixtal, and more specifically Ixaocan, its capital city. Ixtal was a sprawling jungle, about as ancient as the fallen Icathia, Shurima and Targon. Once believed to be uninhabited wilderness on the eastern edges of the mostly desert continent, recent events involving Piltover’s failed mining and deforestation operations revealed otherwise. This prompted a surge of curious adventures into the jungle, most of which mysteriously disappeared. But the Blood Moon’s operatives were far from eager adventurers. Master Jikan and Brother Matsuro since the formation of their order were wholehearted believers in knowing thy enemy. Every enemy. Even the enemies you had yet to make.

Their spies revealed an internal power struggle. The infamous elementalist, described as a woman with white hair, dark skin and a ring-blade by the Piltover man who survived the encounter, was in fact the youngest in a line of nine sisters, all successors to the Ixtali throne. This woman, Quiyana as their spies reported, was and still is eager to see power transferred to her, despite being last in line to receive it. Matsuro wagered the only reason she hadn’t taken the power for herself is because despite her prowess she hadn’t the backing to steal the throne for herself. A problem they were soon to remedy. With the might of the Blood Moon on offer Quiyana would have no reason not to challenge for power. And the best part was, she was already notified of their arrival.

“Not at all. The Ixtali are arrogant, they believe they hold the most powerful magic in all of mortal Runeterra. They just haven’t met us yet.” Matsuro said, smugly.

“You think us mortals, Brother Matsuro?” Haken stepped into the equation, her perfect white hair damp from the gusty, wet winds. Sister Haken, yet another Priestess of the Blood Moon. In her previous life she was an assassin of rapport within the Noxus empire. Now she was something else entirely. Like the beast Ikari she’d become more Demon than Human to the point of it being obvious to any onlookers with an inkling of Spirit World knowledge. Where normally worshipers of the Blood Moon would wear a mask a majority of every day, Haken’s mask sat to one side of her head almost like an accessory, much smaller than the average vizard and more stylized, too.

Her skin had taken on a ghostly blue-purple pigment and a single horn, red at the base, purple towards the center and light blue at its tip, curled out of her forehead. Her navy blue and red-trimmed robes were kept short, revealing the plush of her upper-thighs before thigh-high leather tube-socks descended into red metal greaves. Her right arm, sleeved tightly in similar leather, was protected by golden plates along the upper and forearm. Her outfit was a perfect amalgamation of silent killer and bloodletter.

Matsuro turned and looked into her luminescent purple pupils and red sclera. “What would you call us?” His lazy drawl couldn’t hide his curiosity.

“Something in between.” Haken replied, her voice smooth and mature in the same vein as Sister Aijin’s.

“Demi-Gods?” Akaiken looked past the banister and out to the length of the ship where almost a hundred cultists knelt in columns facing outwards, dressed in crimson robes and armor fit for combat underneath.

“Perhaps... Perhaps,” Matsuro pondered aloud.

Despite contacting Quiyana covertly beforehand there was no way of knowing if she’d be receptive to a coup, no matter how convinced Brother Matsuro was that she’d play along. And even then there was no way Quiyana could convince her people to let outsiders into the heart of their introverted jungle kingdom. So they brought numbers in excess, both to breach the exterior defenses and deal with the guards if necessary. The river was the most direct route into the center of Ixtal and undoubtedly the safest, too. The alien magics of the jungle would have a harder time reaching them there.

As they sailed up the Serpentine Delta it became obvious everything was much more alive than they had at first figured. Yuzaru was quick to check the map, matching the fishing villages populated with tribal denizens to a settlement called Venaru. Excitement stirred amongst the locals at the sight of a new and unfamiliar ship. They sailed out with their river boats to greet the foreigners, offering their perceived valuables in return for currency or trade of any kind. Jhin watched as they clamored for attention on either side of the ship, unphased by their hospitality. These islanders were unlike their counterparts deeper in the jungle. Much less exclusive than the reports spoke of.

Jhin turned his gaze to Matsuro as a silent call for action. Matsuro shook his head. “Give ‘em cause for alarm and they’ll run to tell their cousins.”

Jhin could respect maintaining the element of surprise, but the racket they created against the side of the boat almost pushed him to action, his hand hovering over the carbine at his side for more than a few seconds. When they’d finally bypassed the little excited fishing village Jhin breathed a sigh of relief. Relief that he hadn’t foiled the plan if nothing else. With Aijin on the bow directing them away from shallows they continued further into the jungle.

Not but a few hours into their journey a wave of unease washed over the crew. Any inexperienced adventure would be none the wiser, blaming it on their nerves, but the lot of them knew this was the aura of the jungle - an unknowable sorcerery as old as time itself. A defense mechanism to preserve the natural order of things here in Ixtal. Their mole on the inside claimed it subsided as they got closer to the center. These effects were but childs play to the hardened and longstanding veterans of the Blood Moon. They had peered beyond the veil and bonded with the monsters on the other side, curses and hauntings were trivial affairs.

Their kin still knelt, reciting their ancient rites aloud to fight these invisible curses with the magic of belief in their deity. Night was soon upon them and visions cast by the esoteric atmosphere of warding magics plagued every tree and shadow, creating disapproving nightmarish faces where there were none. Bristling vines that hung over the river from the canopy above posed as reaching tendrils one moment and plant life again the next. They shared their visions amongst one another with a cool disposition, knowing beforehand what obstacles awaited them hardly made them obstacles at all.

They sorted to the cabin around midnight, leaving the deck to be manned by no less than ten individuals at any given time. Matsuro took first watch with nine Brothers and Sisters, using this time to discern the weak-willed of them. Their devotion to the Blood Moon, if true, was protection enough against the malevolent aura that infused them now. He informed Yuzaru and Haken to execute anyone who showed signs of panic on their respective watches. When morning came there were only two corpses lying on the deck. They were dumped in the river, the bodies left to rot and bloat in the blue-green tropical waters.

The following day brought with it new tribulations. The canopy was growing thicker and the water more shallow. Their smaller frame allowed them to continue sailing but the canopy was fast becoming a problem for their larger sails. Aijin used her Moon-blade to cut away the most persistent veins between banks but around midday it was clear they would go no further in their boat. Rations were packed and travel kits were prepped, they turned the boat back northward for their return trip and started into the jungle, keeping close to the eastern bank until the river “forked generously in an eastern direction”, or so their head informant described.

Headcount was taken every hundred paces and two columns were established so everyone was walking side by side with another soul. The system worked well, but wasn’t flawless. Another three kin were lost to the jungle when night came. Eventually Ixtal made an attempt on their health with ugly red cysts that began to spread amongst their ranks, but they were easily dispelled thanks to the healing properties of their blood magic. If anything Matsuro and his ilk were more suited to this challenge than any would-be adventurer. He’d heard tales of a Noxian expedition into these lands that failed miserably, forcing them back to the Ixtali shores with tails tucked between their legs, a fate he was confident they could avoid at this point.

Where the river forked they continued south-east, sending Akaiken into the tallest tree to spy for the village of Parthea where their mole should be waiting. The smoke on the horizon told them they were near. Following this strain to the end should see them near the village. Jhin was growing tired of the heat, it spoiled his garments with moisture and perspiration, and though he had changed into robes befitting days worth of trekking in the Ixtali jungle, he was annoyed to find that the costume he’d saved for their audience with Quiyana was foul as well. This was many times worse than the jungle paranoia and buzzing insects. Any exposed skin had been covered the moment they left the boat, contracting some virus from an errant mosquito, while hardly dangerous to a group of Hemomancers, would slow their progress.

When finally they arrived at the village of Parthea Matsuro sought out their mole personally. They waited until dark and Matsuro, along with Haken and Akaiken infiltrated the sleepy village. “A leather tent on the edge of town,” their informant noted. Easy enough to find considering Parthea consisted mostly of white stone adobes with angular golden latticework along their exteriors. Akaiken was surprised at the level of detail they managed to capture in their architecture. The image many of them had conjured was a far cry from the city they saw. Towards the center was a terraced temple pyramid of sorts with a flat top and a structure crowning it. Steep stairs ran up all four sides of the pyramid and a single massive green crystal spiraled idly in the air above it.

They encountered the tent on the western side of the village, well away from the buildings. Matsuro wasted no time dashing aside the flap of the temporary home. Before he could study its interior a massive blade met his neck, held there by an equally massive hand covered in white fur. A massive arm connected to a larger torso. A Vastayan hunter wreathed in patchwork hides, bone trophies and metal plate towered over him. Two gargantuan pauldrons adorned with the horns of deceased prey sat across his broad shoulders and a mane of white braided hair ran down his back.

“Rengar. Just like you to be up at this hour.” Matsuro jested.

Rengar stared him dead with his one good eye, his menacing feline visage scrunching into a snarl before he snapped away, pulling the blade from Matsuro’s neck. “You wear a mask now?” His deep and always wrathful voice was interlaced with involuntary growls.

“For this occasion. I’m here on business unrelated to my usual line of… ‘work’,” He said. “I’m surprised you kept up with your reports.”

“I do as I say.” Rengar retorted, almost offended he’d been cast in such a dishonest light.

“A man of your word, then. How did you manage all that information anyways?” Matsuro’s brow perked beneath the mask.

“Nothing ever happens in Ixtal. These people get bored and they talk. I just listen between hunts and they tell me everything I need to know.”

“Fair point,” Matsuro shook his head. “Easiest payday of your life, I suppose. We’ll be ready to move in the morning.”

Rengar protested, baring his bestial teeth.“No. We go at night, the Path Wardens patrol more frequently during the day.”

“I will defer to your judgment, then.” Matsuro said in a matter-of-factly manner.

Rengar packed extremely light, so light he was ready to set out before Matsuro could turn his back. As they started away Akaiken leaned in.

“So, what’d you give him to do the job?”

“What’s the only thing that interests a hunter?” Matsuro countered her question with another.

“Prey?” Haken and Akaiken said in unison.