#memoryfragments

[mustmed00]

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[wanderingsummoner]

Entry 7

The cards: I have scattered many business cards about Runeterra since the fall of the institute. These are an artefact of my own crafting, taking advantage of my unique... Biological and Magickal signature and makeup.

You see, as much as I have an exceptional grasp of both Transmografication and Divination magicks, I am still not a perfect being... And though my essence easily merges with that of the worlds, I still cannot see all and find all, as I sometimes like to claim...

And that’s where the cards come in. They function as... Pylon points for my power. Wherever one sits, I can see it perfectly. I can track it effortlessly. The reason for this is, in the eyes of most mages, likely, somewhat disturbing.

They’re made out of me.

That is to say, each card is... Constructed partially from normal paper. You know, ground up, reconstituted wood. However, mixed in with each card is a small amount of bone. As in, I shatter off a small shard of myself, grind it up, and put it into each card.

My ability to regenerate these pieces, usually by returning them to my person, made this initially difficult, however, I did find a solution. It’s a very complex work of Necromancy and Abjuration, constructing each card to be self sustaining off of the latent mana in the air, combined with a shielding spell built into each card. This prevents it from killing anything, along with causing it to... Implode should anyone try to replicate the effect.

Essentially I have made a series of tiny beacons of light, for this world of darkness, out of myself.

Now if only I could find a way to prevent the magicks of the Shadow Isles from so thoroughly interfering with my own...

[takingteainwonderland]

Memory Fragment 35

"Oi feel sorry for da docta´. ´Aving to look after a manical bird like dat Liddell girl. Da docta´ is a saint fer even ´aving da patience fer such a lost case, bless `im."

[wanderingsummoner]

Entry Six

My name, is Evenos Dare, now more well known, as Sauron Bane. I once served in the Demacian military, approximately fourty-eight years ago as a field medic, and low-ranking battle-mage. 

I write this now, as a log to explain to myself, on the off chance my memories falter once more, who I am and what happened to me...

---

During the third year of the fifth rune war, I was stationed to defend Bogton, my home, along with a contingent of twenty foot soldiers. The location was mostly a staging ground for medic facilities, which I headed.

We came under attack, by a Noxian force, that came out of the Ironspike Mountains, marching down in secret through the bogs and marshlands, to arrive at our doorstep, with no warning. 

They outnumbered us vastly, and though I attempted to stall them, to give time to allow our civilians to be extracted, they immediately began bombardment of the town with their battle-magi, ceasing only when I gave our unconditional surrender.

What transpired thereafter, I have never forgotten, even when in my least lucid state... We were taken to a secret facility, where Noxian scientists attempted to replicate an ancient ritual they had uncovered, to create a human weapon.

Of the... Sixty-six people taken captive, I am the lone survivor. All others were either slain in the twisted attempts to create a weapon, or destroyed during my awakening... I was not a success, though as close to one as will ever be accomplished. I am unsure of how long I spent there, though I estimate it to be... somewhere near fifteen years. The experiments were many, and I was the last to be tested upon, due to my inherent magick.

When I finally was tested upon... I killed every man, and woman, in that facility. Slaughtered them during my awakening, ripping them apart. I will never be able to forget the screaming, or the blood. I'm still not sure if I forgive myself for it.

Nonetheless, I escaped the facility, damaged, and less than human. I wandered, for an unknown number of days. Eventually I wandered across a leyline, that I tapped into to revitalize myself, and my mana. I have lived a long time since, under the Moniker Sauron Bane, with a fragmented recollection of what occurred to me. I have regained myself. I hope for that to stay. 

If not, at least this is written, as a memoir of who I was... And who I might once again be.

[wanderingsummoner]

Fifth Entry

"———! ———!" A voice called me to wakefulness,  a sharp knocking on my door accompanying it. I dragged myself to it, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. 

"-----!" A woman's face. I recognize her. She's scared... Terrified even. I can't tell what she said.

A voice. Mine.

"What's going on?" I sound tired. Exhausted. Confused.

"They're attacking! The Noxians are attacking us!"

I feel my eyes widen. Fear? Hatred? Both rush through my mind, and I'm moving, shouting as I do so, "Get in the house. Stay down. I'll check with the troops."

--------

I'm running to the outer wall, calling out as I near it. A soldier steps up, clad in Demacian blue. A swift salute is given, which I acknowledge in turn. My voice rings, tense, in the air, "Report."

"Noxian soldiers spotted marching this way, Magi ______. We're looking at twenty to one numbers..."

I raise a hand, wiping down my face, agitated? Afraid? I can't tell. A low sigh escapes my lips, and a I shake my head. I point back to the town behind me, "Get the woman and children to the centre of town. I'll see what I can do... Maybe work a deal."

The soldier nods, and moves behind me. I don't tell him what I'm going to do... I step out to the gate, signal it to be opened. Wait, impatiently, irritably.

Why were they here? In Bogton? It was too north of the fighting to be of strategic value. To small to hold anything of importance. Hell, the only reason it was fortified at all was because of the farmlands to the west. 

The gate opened, creaking with each slow motion. As soon as a gap large enough appeared, I stepped through, signalling for parley with the Noxian commander. As Magi, I was the highest ranked man in the forces here. We numbered only twenty men and women, protecting fourty-six civilians. 

A single man, body entirely hidden beneath dark-plate armour, came forwards, on horse-back. He stopped approximately fifty feet shy of the walls, in shouting range. "We request, your immediate surrender. Lay down your arms, or we shall open fire."

I stand there, and shake my head slowly. A low sigh escapes my lips, before I open my mouth, to shout back...

--- The entry ends here, followed by several diagrams that appear to be troop movements, and maps, though nothing is labelled in a discernable fashion ---