confessions of a broken blade

A warrior's blade reflects the truth in their heart. Mine is black, and broken

[bladeundone]

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ BLADEUNDONE.  an independent, semi-selective, low-activity roleplay blog for RIVEN from LEAGUE OF LEGENDS as imagined by Jieun

A story of war and its consequences, of solitude and companionship, of guilt and redemption, of forgiveness, of self-discovery.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀carrd (wip.)⠀ // ⠀rules⠀ // ⠀©

[bladeundone]

the new cinematic... miss elise... one chance...

[bladeundone]

believe it or not, i want to help you. — from yasuo

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

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Help, huh.

It feels as though she’s found herself on the receiving end of that word more and more since her return to Ionia. Though even before then, Ionia had always been much too kind to her. Much too warm, too forgiving, even to a sinner like her.

Still, she can't help but think it funny that she would find the scarred swordsman here—the very man she would have let cut her had their paths crossed under different circumstances once more. Back then, his blade would have been her penance, the price for the blood she had spilled. Now, they stand together, changed by the passage of time.

It’s unsettling, this reunion.

She could still remember how easily he could have killed her, had he wanted to, and how swift he had been in saving her father.

She doesn’t rebuke his offer. Instead, she gives him a quiet, grateful nod.

The large vulkodalk Riven had been fending against clicked its teeth and hissed as though to greet its new enemy, snout scrunching with each sniff: cautious, yet ravenous all the same. It thinks of them as its next meal, even when it had been met with nothing but trouble during its earlier fight with Riven.

“We are surrounded by Serpentleaf. Try not to let the leaves touch you.” The Noxian exile offers, her tone almost casual, though she’s certain the swordsman is already well aware of the plant’s dangers. She spins her blade with a practised flick of her wrist, testing its weight before settling into her stance. “... And do me a favour—keep its horn intact. Fa-ir has a use for them.”

What an odd pair they make, like this—two lone wanderers, once adversaries who crossed blades, now entrusting each other with their backs.

[bladeundone]

i shall be more active here come post-christmas. sorry for the inactivity, promise i'm still alive!

[blood-starved-beast]

I feel like this sums up Irelia's and Riven's interactions in SOL pretty aptly

[fervonian]

@bladeundone

[fervonian]

defector. ft. @bladeundone

So why does it feel like I can’t? Riven gingerly thinks to herself—nearly says it out loud, even, bitter and scathing—but no amount of apologies and act of kindness, or guilt and apology, can ever undo the horrible sins she’s committed. Her hands shall forever be tainted with the blood of those she killed, and for all that she’s done in the past, she shall always be greeted first with much contempt. Treated with disgust, seen as a monster, before anything else. And she deserves it all. This much, she knows. But gods, does it sting. Try as she might to redeem herself, to follow Fa-ir and O-ma’s advise, to try and move on from her past, to do more good than she has done bad, her past will always, always haunt her. “I see you, Blade Dancer.” She starts, slowly at first, to see if she would be allowed to speak. When no objection comes, she continues, a small, barely-there smile curling from her lips. “I see how you let your actions speak for themselves, how you stand tall with that quiet confidence, never needing to explain yourself. It’s admirable.” A pause. The silence stretches, filling the space between them, thick and palpable. Her shoulders fall just slightly, her gaze dropping to the ground. Riven wishes she could let her actions speak for themselves too. But aside from Asa and Shava, has anyone ever truly bothered to see? Or will she always be trapped in the shadow of her past, forever known as the Butcher of the Bay?

lower  lip  juts  out  as  irelia  purses  them  in  contemplation.  the  noxian  accent  in  riven's  speech  cuts  like  an  unsharpened  knife;  a  roughness  that  is  especially  prominent  in  the  last  syllable  of  her  words.  just  as  the  bitterness  of  unripe  fruit  cannot  be  covered  with  syrup,  there  is  no  concealing  her  noxian  birth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀but  spirits,  she  tries.

⠀⠀⠀⠀the  tanning  upon  her  skin,  the  callouses  on  her  fingers,  it  all  points  towards  the  kind  of  manual  labour  irelia  remembers  seeing  on  her  own  fa-ir.  sure,  the  battle  scars  remain,  but  just  like  her  noxian  tongue  -  the  ionian  influence  upon  riven  is  undeniable.  there  is  no  forgiveness  to  be  found  in  the  captain  of  the  guard's  icy  blue  eyes,  but  there  is  acknowledgement.  one  day,  perhaps  even  respect.

⠀⠀⠀⠀riven  speaks  as  if  every  word  is  taking  up  space,  every  breath  stealing  more  air  from  where  she  stands.  but  there's  no  sense  of  glee  to  that.  how  dare  a  noxian  stand  where  the  blood  of  her  countrymen  flowed?  and  yet,  the  tempestuous  rage  of  her  youth  has  all  but  burned  out,  and  in  its  place  remains  a  quiet  and  poignant  grief.  a  sigh  parts  from  her  lips  before  she  responds.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“  i  do  not  want  your  praise,  riven  konte.  ”

⠀⠀⠀⠀the  pairing  of  names  sours  irelia's  expression  -  a  furrow  in  her  brow  noting  her  displeasure  at  merely  combining  an  ionian  surname  with  the other's  noxian's  birthname.  “  your  actions  have  indeed  been  noted  by  your  community.  if  nothing  else,  it  is  a  start.  ”  a  step  towards  reparations,  if  such  a  thing  is  even  possible.  irelia  does  not  return  the  praise,  as  she  has  no  desire  to  share  backhanded  compliments.  her  heart  needs  far  more  than  merely  seeing  a  despondant  defector  to  be  swayed.

[bladeundone]

Widened eyes. Then, a heavy exhale, though it hardly carries the weight to match the heaviness in her chest. She hadn’t expected Irelia to call her in full, and the name—Konte, an Ionian surname she’d neither earned nor deserved—hangs in her ears like a ghost. It’s a gift she still isn’t quite sure she should accept, yet it’s one she continues to return to nonetheless. A family who continues to welcome her despite everything she’s done; always with such warmth, always with such kindness she knows she shouldn’t even have the gall to accept.

“I—I didn’t mean to… praise you, exactly,” the Noxian defector starts, her tone careful, her words carefully plucked as if each one could be her undoing. “It was merely an observation.”

Her fingers curl slightly, instinctively brushing against her palm as though she could feel the weight of her broken blade. Even after all this time, she sometimes feels its true heft in her hand—a weapon that had once defined her, and the countless lives it had claimed.

A start, Irelia had said. Perhaps that was true. But what did one step matter when the path ahead only stretched endlessly, marred by sins she could never truly atone for?

Still, she thought, clenching her right hand into a fist. I have to keep on trying. Even if it may seem hopeless—endless. Because if she stops now, then she would only be trampling what little trust these people have for her and the chance they’ve given her to live anew.

The silence that follows is deafening, and for a moment, Riven considers leaving it at that, bowing out with whatever fragments of dignity she can still salvage. Instead, she stubbornly remains. It was she who called out to the guard captain, though it had been more out of instinct than intention, surprised to see Irelia pass by. That the Blade Dancer had even paused, let alone come to spare her a moment of her time, is a surprise in itself—a fleeting chance Riven feels undeserving of, yet unwilling to give up just yet.

“How… have you been since?” Her words come clipped, awkward and stiff, and she winces at her own sorry attempt. She’s never been good at small talks, nor at finding the right words when she needed them most. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

You seem tired, she almost adds, the words lingering at the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it down.

[bladeundone]

i think i'm owed an explanation.

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

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A crinkle of her nose, followed by a scoff. The noise came in an instant, almost reflexive, but it carried that bitter edge Riven had long been carrying and, really, who could blame her for being so bitter about this?

Katarina’s demands for an explanation were like a thorn digging into her side. Sharp. A nuisance. Riven huffed out another half-hearted laugh. As if she owed anyone anything, most especially a Noxian cold-blooded assassin. They were no sisters of war. No allies forged in the heat of battle. Not even friends. Riven owed Katarina nothing—not a word, not an explanation, not even the courtesy of a glance.

Thus, she remained silent, back against the cold stone wall of the Reckoning Arena’s cells, her gaze stubbornly fixed on the floor—anywhere, but the assassin whose presence alone seemed to demand undivided attention.

“I don’t owe you anything,” she finally says, her voice cutting through the suffocating silence between them, harsh and final. She could still feel the weight of Katarina’s glare no matter how hard she refused to meet it, and a deep, almost involuntary part of her recoils from it.

She quietly curses at herself. Perhaps, deep down, she’s still just another Noxian dog, bound by unspoken rules, unable to resist their relentless demands. The thought stings, bitter and foul, like poison on her tongue.

“Leave.”

[bladeundone]

you don't have to talk if you don't want to.

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

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No words come. She parts her lips as if to answer, but much like before, her voice fails her. It isn’t that she doesn’t want to speak—it’s that she can’t. How should one address something—someone—Elysian, to begin with? With utter reverence? With unbending honesty?

It’s… overwhelming, in a way Riven could hardly put into words. Golden eyes meet hers, gentle and knowing, and it only seems to pierce straight through her, stripping her bare of any pretence. None of it feels real. From the faint shimmer of her skin to the way it glows softly in the dim evening light.

She takes a shaky breath, her mind reeling. Maybe she drank one too many bottles of alcohol with her father earlier, but to call this a mere hallucination feels too dismissive, and tricks of the mind do not mend woods, do they? They do not sew them closed with a small dance of light, leaving no signs of it ever being there.

Riven feels small—unworthy—as if her voice would shatter the fragile stillness surrounding them, and what a sin would that be, to taint something holy and precious with her presence.

So she swallows hard and nods faintly instead, unable to trust herself to speak.

[bladeundone]

you can't just leave me here!

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

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“I can.”

And with that, she does, eyes shifting back to the map in her hands as she walks deeper into Ionia’s ever-changing forest. Behind her, Ezreal’s boots crunch against the forest floor, though Riven doesn’t even bother to spare a glance to see if he’s following.

The dense foliage only seems to swallow them whole, the few spots of sunlight that manage to filter shifting into unreadable patterns. The leaves and branches weave tightly around them with each step deeper into the forest—as though the woods themselves wish to trap them within its embrace. She’s noticed the way the terrain shifts, paths that were once clear disappear, and the atmosphere feels heavy with something ancient. As though something, or someone, is always watching them.

She halts and looks around her briefly before pursing her lips into a thin line. The marks she left behind to aid them have disappeared again.

A heavy sigh escapes her lips, the edge of her broken blade glinting faintly at her side. Finally, she turns.

“Well, pretty boy? Didn’t you call yourself an adventurer of some sort? Go on, venture us out of here, then.”

[bladeundone]

" i let my actions speak for themselves. "

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

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So why does it feel like I can’t? Riven gingerly thinks to herself—nearly says it out loud, even, bitter and scathing—but no amount of apologies and act of kindness, or guilt and apology, can ever undo the horrible sins she’s committed. Her hands shall forever be tainted with the blood of those she killed, and for all that she’s done in the past, she shall always be greeted first with much contempt. Treated with disgust, seen as a monster, before anything else.

And she deserves it all. This much, she knows. But gods, does it sting. Try as she might to redeem herself, to follow Fa-ir and Emai’s advise, to try and move on from her past, to do more good than she has done bad, her past will always, always haunt her.

“I see you, Blade Dancer.” She starts, slowly at first, to see if she would be allowed to speak. When no objection comes, she continues, a small, barely-there smile curling from her lips. “I see how you let your actions speak for themselves, how you stand tall with that quiet confidence, never needing to explain yourself. It’s admirable.”

A pause. The silence stretches, filling the space between them, thick and palpable. Her shoulders fall just slightly, her gaze dropping to the ground.

Riven wishes she could let her actions speak for themselves too.

But aside from Asa and Shava, has anyone ever truly bothered to see? Or will she always be trapped in the shadow of her past, forever known as the Butcher of the Bay?

[bladeundone]

great conversation.

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

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She winces at that. Yeah, this is turning into quite the one-sided conversation, isn't it? Riven wasn’t even sure why the blue-haired stranger kept talking to her—honestly, she’s long since tuned the woman out, only to snap back to reality and realize she’s still going on.

How long has it been since she made the mistake of responding to that offhand comment about pushing the noisy guy off the ship? What were they even talking about two seconds ago? She runs a hand over her face, letting out a slow sigh as her shoulders slump. It doesn’t look like the ship they’re hitting land any time soon either. Perfect.

“I—spaced out, sorry. You know how it is… motion sickness and whatnot.” She forces a smile, though it comes more like a grimace. “Continue. I’m listening.”

[bladeundone]

" this would be so much easier if i knew your name. " / ruination moment? light mage meeting a sentinel of light... sighs dreamily

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

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A quirk of her brow. It’s the only hint of surprise Riven allows to let slip as they both stop by a crumbling fountain—a once popular meeting spot, it seems, before the Black Mist had consumed the area—and though the shroud no longer fills the square, some buildings were still marred by claw marks, some walls still stained with traces of the Black Mist’s corruption.

Her first response comes in the form of a hum, as with many of her previous answers.

She’d bumped into her golden-haired guide not far from the area, and somehow, the young woman had decided to accompany her without a second thought. Riven hadn’t protested, not because she needed the help, mind—she was certain she could navigate on her own—but because, well, it was hard to say no when someone offered so earnestly.

And while Riven had already anticipated her guide to be somewhat welcoming to strangers just from that, she certainly hadn’t expected it to be to this degree. She almost feels sorry for responding to her mostly in hums and mere nods.

“ Aren’t you supposed to share yours first before asking? ” She finally says, her lips curving into a lopsided smile as she glances at the other.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH *  assorted dialogue for the person who doesn't say much and the person trying to talk to them, adjust as necessary

FOR THE PERSON WHO TALKS A LOT.

i heard you speak.

why don't you ever want to talk to me?

you can understand me.

are you at least going to ask me my name?

you could at least say thank you.

i just saved your life.

you spoke to them! why won't you speak to me?

are you going to say something back?

let's just stand here in awkward silence.

feels like i'm talking to myself half the time.

you don't have a lot to say.

could you at least tell me your name?

great conversation.

i'll do all the talking.

i think i'm owed an explanation.

will you please answer me?

could you at least give me a yes or no answer?

not a fan of talking, huh?

you don't have to talk if you don't want to.

i guess you don't owe me a thing.

i'm just going to call you [nickname] for now, until i learn your real name.

i know you can understand me.

where are you going?

you can't just leave me here!

what do you want me to do while you're gone?

feels like i'm talking to a wall.

i'm just going to pretend you said yes to that.

did you just huff?

don't roll your eyes at me.

if you'd just tell me what it is you want...

this would go a lot smoother if you communicated with me.

you don't work well with strangers.

if i knew what you needed, i'd help.

believe it or not, i want to help you.

this would be so much easier if i had your name.

FOR THE PERSON WHO DOESN'T TALK MUCH.

not now.

get behind me.

not yet.

wait.

stay here.

is that it?

you're welcome.

stop talking.

not interested.

are you done?

i have nothing to say.

talking is a waste of time.

i let my actions speak for themselves.

stop that.

nice try.

go.

get out of here.

you're being loud.

that's enough.

i don't like people.

words are useless.

see that?

you don't need my name.

get lost.

no more.

i'll handle it.

not this again.

leave me alone.

i don't like strangers.

just call me [nickname].

[bladeundone]

😳😳😳

😌😌😌 🔪