HERO OF IONIA.

eciled:

    A fighting spirit, even after her blade is shattered?

     Irelia wastes little time ruminating on the subject as her periphery is consumed by blade to the right and blade to her flank, a situation that she herself has created-- and a situation she is all too equipped to handle.

    Instead of right or left, Irelia takes a new approach: down.

    A phalanx of her own blades stretch forward and back as her form collides with the dirt. There is a suction of effort, then she springs a somersault that takes her behind Riven, her ploy now revealed: the blades now flicker with deadly precision as they make for the position she was just in and the very same Riven happens to be barreling towards.

    “I said your rank, exile!” Irelia yells behind. “Speak now or what will only answer you in the coming moments will be the spirits as they depart with your soul!”

    It is dark outside. Crickets malinger with their chirps bordering barks, a sizzle that threatens to rise from the grass and through tatami floorboards. The room is motionless, if not at all quiet. Bed, ready made. She is splayed out on top.

   There is disquiet inside. The fever of insomnia is unfortunately terminal, although that is nothing she doesn’t already know. Sleep, too, should it ever come, is not to be celebrated: the only thing worse than being unable to rest, Irelia Lito has learned, is when the rest is no rest at all. She hesitates to call them nightmares-- she never wakes afraid. She wakes in a sad, slow shock, with her legs twitching and her hands in fists.

    Is this the fate of every hero? She squeezes her eyes shut. A plague from within? A consumption without cure? Her fingers rake the ends of her sheets. She twists. She curls. But the frustration only mounts. She will not sleep tonight. She will pretend to wake when the insects’ barking is replaced by morning birds, walk outside and greet the bells of Navori even as they know she is lying.

    Perhaps this is why they declare heroes over their gravestones.

    My initial plan for Irelia is that she has created the Guard in response to the Brotherhood’s existence, putting herself at the seat as Captain. The Guard campaigns for unity in Ionia as the maker of peace over harmony or discord; it does not matter what Ionia has become, rather it must be united as one, no matter the cost.

    She allowed leadership in Navori to the hands of others at the conclusion of the war, saying that although she rallied Ionians in wartime, she had no desire to use her power to rule after peace was secured. Over the course of the last decade, she has seen what her inactivity has wrought-- madmen and brigands declaring that Ionia should have never been freed.

    She has had enough.

    If she must route her own countrymen to keep the boundaries of peace in her own country, she will. There will be order in this land-- that is her promise.

    I will figure out what I will and won’t include of Irelia’s lore now that her (and Ionia’s) new lore has been released, but my general opinion is that while her biography is okay, I don’t like that Riot chose to include exactly zero cues from her old lore at all, and the personality shown in her short story, on the other hand, sounds like a different person compared to her VO. If nothing else, my interpretation will stay closer to the themes and personality expressed in her VO than her lore.

eciled:

    In an instant, the spark of fire in Irelia’s heart blazed white.

    Teeth punctuated her grimace; the vortex grew ever stronger, her hair whipping behind her as blade after blade sprung to life.

   What kind of dog still marches in the land in which their countrymen were expelled from? 

    Irelia, then silent only for a second, hissed a curse while the vortex shoved, pushing the deserter and her blade with her off of her as she prepared a second stance. Six blades thrummed behind her, poised and ready to fly.

    “What was your rank?” A demand, not a question. “Your superior? Tell me, Noxian, was it the horrors you wielded or the fact that you were losing?”

    Yet, for her fire and fury, allowing a neutral position between them meant that this battle was no longer lopsided-- scarce to admit it, Irelia wanted to see what this Noxian could do when handed an opportunity. Should she waste it on turning tail, the Hero of Ionia would be merciless.

    “Prove yourself.” She raised her leg. “Or I will not let you continue to live.”

    Though the Hero of Ionia may play the part of appearing as a roaring, unquenchable storm on a battlefield, it says little of the times of quiet.

    Irelia has had a decade to smoother over her fiery and coarse composure, and while old habits nevertheless spring to life when the land or her countrymen are threatened, the life Irelia leads when there aren’t countless eyes searching her for hope is deliberate, thoughtful; she may even call it peaceful (to a point). Thrust into a role of leadership and a campaign for the defense of all of Ionia, shedding the public mentality to the private persona eludes her often.

    As it were, a perpetual spotlight was-- and is-- bound to take its toll.

   That is not to say Irelia is primed to seize any possible moment of retreat, far be it from her to ever retreat, but she would be lying to say that it isn’t a temptress hard to resist. After being of little not during all of the war preceding the victory at the Placidium, fame had been dropped in an unsuspecting, unprepared lap. Yet she must not race to an epitaph.

    Irelia wonders if this burden offers her much choice.

    Since I’m coming back to this blog after a break in the wake of the incoming Irelia rework, I want to say something:

    Please do not hawk me in my DMs, inbox, etc. I don’t mind people passively enjoying my content, that’s a given, but if we aren’t mutuals and you continue to hawk me despite my repeated disinterest, the only way I will resolve the situation is to block you.

    I want to enjoy this blog but this has been bothering me since its very inception. I don’t mean to be mean or cowardly, but please understand my limits.

THIS LAND KNOWS ME.

     I WILL NOT FORGET WHAT HAS BEEN DONE TO HER.

                                 AND I WILL NEVER FORGIVE.

     The fields are quiet; there are no birds, not a bustling wind, nary a tree on the horizon of which the sun appears triumphant as it passes the height of Navori’s towering bells. The bells, too, are still— as if they have been for hundreds of years.

    The quake in Irelia’s heart, however, is not.

    It is easy to wonder why she is here— the Blossom Festival is a time of renewal, not of mourning. The scene before her is unchanged. The white poppies laid before have not begun so much as to wilt. At night, should she stomach the sight, lanterns would burn so brightly to become fireflies framed by shadow.

    In truth, mourning has not been her purpose since the markers’ first rise.

    Irelia sighs, approaches, and sits with her head to the sky.

    “I hope you are at peace.”

    It is for company.

    She inhales. “We’ve won. I’ve said it before, but we won. What remains of Noxus in this land are the deserters.”

    Against her sensibilities, she does not stand to practice her kana. The thought brings a sad smile to her eyes.

    “I suppose I’m still embarrassed to perform in front of you. You were always wondering when the war would take you to the front lines. I couldn’t be sure if dancing soothed you so much as taunted you…”

    A fist forms tight.

    “… But I know I was foolish then. Even Mother said as much and I refused to believe her.” Beat. “I believe all of you now.”

    Could he hear her? Could any of them?— Irelia stares forward, finding no shape but her own in the clouds. It feels wrong to assume either. Even if he couldn’t, it is her responsibility to think otherwise.

    The fist becomes fingers that caress the petals of poppies atop a flat mound.

    “I promise that I am not rushing to meet you,” she said at the marker. “No matter the cost.”

    Then, she is standing. She breathes. She is ready. Her palms face out and a quintet of blades begin to manifest from azure molds.

    “You deserve this after all this time, Zelos.”

CHARACTER AESTHETIC: SEX / ROMANCE EDITION.

bold any that apply to your muse, italicize any of your  muse’s turn-ons/likes, strike any of your muse’s turn-offs/dislikes. REPOST, DON’T REBLOG.

heterosexual. bisexual. homosexual. pansexual. asexual. demisexual. graysexual. monogamous. polyamorous. long-term relationships. casual relationships. rough. loud. growling. screaming. crying. sobbing. gentle. tender. whispers. moaning. touching others. touching self. being touched. lingering caresses. kisses. french kisses. licking. nibbling. biting. scratching. hair pulling. dominance. submission. switch. power play. struggles. wrestling. hugs. cuddling. shower/bath sex. up against a wall. being held down. spanking. body worship. breasts. butts. legs. thighs. feet. hands. ears. love bites. innuendo. choking. breath play. bondage. leather. silk. velvet. lace. being watched. watching others. half-clothed. bared skin. teasing. indoors. outdoors. public.  private. lingerie. stockings. corsets.

tagged by: @eciled !? tagging: no u