@zauns-benevolent-wind / zauns-benevolent-wind.tumblr.com
Kissing booth is open! All earnings are going towards charity—- don’t you feel better about making a selfish decision now?
“Well... I do wish to help people... I will donate!” 5 washers come floating up over Janna’s hand.
Baby you sweep me off my feet!
Kissing booth is open! All earnings are going towards charity—- don’t you feel better about making a selfish decision now?
“Well... I do wish to help people... I will donate!” 5 washers come floating up over Janna’s hand.
1. “Was this map drawn with a crayon?” (@Zauns-benevolent-wind)
Ezreal’s first reaction was to turn up his nose at the blatant ignorance in the face of the cartography equivalent to cave paintings dating thousands of years back. Sure, they were drawn with the materials aviable at the time and highly stylized, but that didn’t make them any less impressive! So what if he didn’t have a proper pen to sketch the lay out of Zaun’s shortcuts and hidden passages he found along the way, given what he had to work with, he’d say no cartographer alive could make a map as accurate and detailed on the fly! With Progress knows what dirtying up his pages and a metal stick he’d sink in what he hoped was anything like ink, it would be a miracle it could even be read. But of course it could, he made it after all.
“Well, I’m sorry, I don’t exactly bring my tools to Zaun, of all places.” He usually didn’t make maps as much as he made sketches of routes and landmarks, trusting his gut and incredible spatial awareness to fill in the blanks. Still, he took the spirit’s reaction as an insult. “It’s only a reference, mind you, it takes a really gifted mind to make due with what you guys have down there, and make it work in any level.”
Janna gingerly rotated the map and tilted her head as she squinted at the crayon lines. “You didn’t bring your tools but you brought crayons?” She lowered the map, clearly confused by the rough outline sketches. “Sometimes you are more complex and mysterious than the artifacts you uncover...”
The spirit drifted over beside the explorer and held the map up for him to see as she slid a finger down one of the lines. “Is this supposed to be the northern sumps?”
Gisha couldn’t hear her own footsteps over the emotional weight that hung on her neck. In fact, she could hardly hear anything as she ran recklessly through the pipped alleyways. Although she had known grief in the past, it was hardly comparable to the anguishing image that had been burned into her psyche.
Not minutes before, she had stood amidst a large group of those she considered her peers. Membership among their ranks was all she sought, as she had yet to solidify her position in any particular gang. A sense of belonging was something that was rare to her, and it was an opportunity she gladly accepted. But that was before the final trial. That was before they demanded a kill.
Despite all of her practice, all of the conditioning and experience on the streets, nothing could have prepared her for that. Vuscen, one of the few friends she had, bloodied and bruised for execution… and Gisha refused. Not once, but many times before her comrades to be pulled the trigger and abruptly ended the initiation ritual… and Vuscen.
Now here she was, attempting to flee this city but getting no where. The image of her friend’s fresh corpse still burned in her mind even as the gray clouded her path. So distracted was she that she never saw the pipe spanning the alley until her foot had already struck it. The young girl fell face first, a burst of fire forming upon her breath in surprise. Although she caught herself on her hands, she still tumbled into the wall and came to rest there. Unwilling to even stand up, she started to sob quietly to herself, unable to come to terms with what she had just witnessed.
As tears streamed from her face, she searched her memories for anything. Anything that might sate her guilt. All the could think of was her childhood with Vuscen. Games, walks, talks and stories… stories about heroes and villians and myths and spirits. What was that one that she loved to talk about? Janna?
That was Vuscen’s favorite and a frequent request amongst younger children at the orphanage. They were always stories with happy endings where orphans found wealth, riches, family and fame. How naive she had been… Gisha couldn’t imagine a crueler irony than the fact that Vuscen had suffered and died by Zaunite orphans. Her childish whims had done nothing to quell the violence in these children’s lives.
Gisha continued to sob in the dank, secluded alleyway. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered whatever came to her mind. “Janna… how could I allow this… to happen?
For as long as Janna could remember, she has been helping people in need. The helpless, the sad, the fearful, men, women, children. For centuries she has given her comfort and love to those that beckon her. And despite so many years of exposure to such emotions, it never got easier.
It was always worse when it was the orphans who called to her. Children who had no one to turn to, no one to show them that they matter, no one to cry on. Janna always gave these pleas her most undivided attention. For hopefully even just one person telling them that things will be okay could be enough to turn things around.
The air around the Zaunite began to clear; the gray blew away, allowing her to inhale fresh air. The temperature warmed, sheltering her from the cold. And soon delicate hands found themselves on Gisha’s shoulders.
An other-wordly woman knelt in front of the child. Her sky blue eyes gazed down at her somberly before pulling the sobbing girl into her arms.
“Shh.” she hushed, “It’s not your fault.”
This poor girl has suffered far more than any human deserved. It broke Janna’s heart. She stroked the girls hair and clutched her to her chest, rocking her gently. “None of this is your fault.”
The wanderer's fingers curled around a handful of prayer beads as he sat in solitude. A prayer to his ancestors, or to the spirits, and perhaps the wind itself was not much of a hope of answer, but more a comforting ritual, something he had practices for years as a pupil in Ionia. "O, divine wind. Accept this prayer from your sole surviving child. Let the ones who hunt me be dissuaded without blood, and let my hands ne'er blister and my conviction as strong as my steel."
As the exiles prayer reaches it’s conclusion a faint breeze begins to build into a gust. It caresses Yasuo and covers him in a comforting warmth. As quickly as the sudden wind had appeared it was gone. The air was still and the surroundings were filled with a deafening silence.
“I’ve not been to Ionia in decades.” A woman’s voice broke the peace.
In front of the wanderer sat Janna on her knees. Her hair was blowing in a wind that was not present and her eyes took in the natural beauty of their surroundings.
Are there any altars for her? How does she feel about them? Do they make her more powerful? And, what are her thoughts on Pilties?
Janna doesn’t have as many altars as she used to. Back when sailors relied on her for calm seas her altars could be found in many ports around Runterra. Some still exist but many outside of Zaun are not visited or well kept.
Janna is grateful for these alters and idols and such. She sees them as a thanks from the people who ask for her protection.
The altars, like prayers and stories, do make her more powerful. So long as memories of her exist, she will as well. When no altar is left standing, no charm or idol are left intact, and when no one utters Janna’s name, she will cease to exist.
Janna does not show any ill-will toward Piltovans. People are people. Some are good and some are bad. She will do what she can to help those who are good and give her the power she needs to help them. She will also punish those who go too far in doing evil. Whether they’re Piltovan, Zaunite, etc.
time goes on, things change, your art gets better. Life is good. :V
((Aw thank you, my friend
New blog avatar for ze RP blog.
"Welcome to the god ranking , little wind!" "Happy to have you here. Have an apple"
“You’re not going to shoot the apple with your bow are you?”
Do you like clown hugs?
“Not particularly, no.”
How good are you at blowing things? ;)))))))
“Honey, I’d blow you away so hard you’d swear you weren’t in Valoran anymore.”
I like stabbing things,you?
“Having known what it’s like to be stabbed, no.”
‘I only speak the truth Darling, now go make me another.’
“I’m not your servant. Go fetch it yourself.”
