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strcwbcy · 5 years

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The Soldier Who Had No Soul

‘And thus, she realised that he too was frozen in an age that had passed him by, forgotten by anyone who might once have held him dear.’

A fairytale set in the Soviet wasteland of 1933; a young witch stumbles across a yugoslav soldier frozen in time, escaped from the palace of the white tsar. When he collapses, the witch must go to the palace of the white tsar in order to save her friend's soul.

A fairytale I wrote in @katabasiss’ inbox at 4am. It is also available on wattpad and inkitt

It all started in 1933, when a Russian witch fell passionately in love with a Yugoslavian member of the people's army

She had lived for 200 years, but with the age progression of her kind she matched his maturity perfectly.

She found him while she was wandering through the woods looking for mandrake, and she found the shape of his body in the logs downstream. At first she thought he was dead. This didn't depress her, in fact at first she thought of the possibilities, of what potions she hadn't made in decades.

But as she reached out to touch him, his eyes burst open. She found she could not kill him, not least of all because he was possessing of a gun, and cool dark eyes that didn't dare underestimate her.

With the knowledge that she couldn't exactly kill him, she took the soldier to her cottage in the woods. She touched him gently, but even as she helped him he never once trusted her. When they reached the house she searched until she found some clothes belonging to her late father.

Although the soldier was freezing, he regarded her with those same cool eyes and said 'I will not wear them. They may be poisoned.'

Reluctantly she admitted that she had not had the foresight of a visitor and thus had not poisoned them. To prove it she touched it to his fingertips, promising that if it was poisoned she could amputate the finger.

And because he was dying from hypothermia, his lips cracked and bloody, he finally pulled it on.

After a bit of silence she finally managed to get him to reveal that he was an escapee, from a palace in the north of Siberia, where the sun had not shown for 20 years and where the crops had turned coal black. He had been captured in 1914 by a mysterious tsar of snow white eyes and fingertips stained blue with lack of love.

The witch listened, and although she didn't exactly feel sympathy or a desire to keep him alive, she found herself curious at a man like this; frozen in time like herself. Upon further asking, she quietly realised that he too was frozen in an age that had passed him by, forgotten by anyone who might once have held him dear. Grieved by those who saw not his face.

And thus, when the man stood to make his leave, the witch stepped in front of the door. She didn't know exactly what possessed her, but she asked for him to stay. He was too sickly to survive the winter, she said. When he gave her a look of suspicion, she said, 'If I had wanted to kill you I would have'

And so he stayed.

The months passed, and the man's body returned to him. He had evidently been strong and handsome before the tsar had captured him, and although he held some of it when she'd found him, he had clearly wasted away.

As his strength returned, so did his kindness. He began to trust her. But the witch found herself faced with a quiet unease whenever he talked to her in the quiet voice that sometimes possessed him, a voice that could only belong to the northern parts of the world where sunlight exists only in dreams. Whenever he looked at her with a silence that left the witch feeling odd.

It was on a quiet night that the young witch watched him. As he watched the fire, his voice was as dead and grey as gunpowder. It was when he looked at her that she realised what was wrong with him- he didn't have a soul.

The witch didn't know how to deal with this information. She had been on her own for years, had wandered among townships rarely, and had known the animals of the wood like she knew her own name. Still, the lack of soul felt toxic and ugly. She knew that he missed it, but didn't know if he knew it himself.

Then just as she was beginning to wonder if it even mattered at all, the young soldier, now fit and young and handsome, keeled over into unconsciousness

He didn't wake up, even after hours passed. The land of the frozen tsar had stolen his soul, but the land had filled that hole with ice and cold as a temporary seal. Now that he was free, the ice had thawed and left behind nothing.

With her friend on the verge of death, the witch found herself unable to stomach the concept of a world without him. Those long forgotten potions seemed now ugly and corrupted, and the witch knew that the only thing she could do was save him. In the dead of night, when the young soldier was tucked beneath the bedsheets, with hot coals burning hopefully by his body-their flame protected by a spell- the witch packed her bags and fled toward the dark.

It had been years since she had entered this world, and the world had long since changed. The hair and skirts were shorter, even in certain places in the countryside. The women were louder, although their hands still carried the weight of work

The witch avoided these women, for once holding a deep fear for that which she didn't know. Instead she kept her mind on what she had to find. She didn't stop walking until she reached a river between the towns. Ducked deep between two rocks, she came across a rusalka tucked beneath the river. 'What are you doing out here, so far from the forest?' the witch said, recognising her own.

'I could ask the same of you,' the rusalka said; gliding a comb of fish bone through her sea of black hair. 'The men come here wondering at the sight of elusive flesh. You have missed much, my sister of the darker lives'

'I seek to help a friend of mine. Have you heard the name of the white tsar?'

With that the rusalka's eyes did change, flickering for a moment into viciousness. 'What is in your bag, sister?' the witch's food was mostly eaten, replaced by only rusk and cheese. Aside from it lay a comb, a stocking and a piece of string. The rusalka took a moment before she smiled, a flash of all her sharp white teeth. 'I will help you, but those of our kind believe in payment. 'Take the comb into the town and tell them that it is mine. They will know me'

If this were another story, perhaps the witch would have paused in face of the truth she knew. Perhaps she would have found a kinder way, a way of morals. But she was a witch of the darker life, and metal can only bend so far. Indeed, the witch didn't even hesitate as she led a man from the village back to the place where he would perish. She watched from the woods as the rusalka satisfied her hunger, as she tore the man beneath the lake. She was clean as she worked, sharp gleams of red appearing and then disappearing beneath the riot of the stream

Finally the rusalka appeared, her eyes bright and friendly. 'I am ready to help you, sister.' The witch sat beside her kin.

'Tell me of the white tsar. Tell me how to find him.'

The kindness in the rusalka's eyes flickered as she thought of all the cold things in the world. 'The white tsar lives in a country of ice. The crops bloom grey and lifeless. They say the rivers are thick and green with the sorrow of his people. They say he will consume the souls of those he takes into his possession'

'Please,' the witch said, 'Tell me where to find him.'

The rusalka merely smiled sadly. 'I am sorry, but you know I cannot do that. Travel, my sister, and you will find him'

The witch felt anger in her breast, but knew that she could not argue. These were creatures like her. They lived outside the kindness of our own, in a kindness of their own types of limitations. So the witch carried on. She carried on until she came across a marsh a way out from another small town. She knew before she arrived that she would find one of her own.

She came across a vodyanoi, a man with scales upon his body, his face bloated and frog-like, his hands webbed. But a deep sadness rested in his eyes. 'Why do you cry, my brother of the waters? Why do you wander so close to those who are unlike us?'

The vodyanoi's voice came, deep and unpredictable and terrible, 'I have been alone a long time, my earthen kin. I seek for them and yet they fear me, my bloated face, my wretched hands. I have an empty ache in me, for a companion to keep me happy.' The witch regarded him sadly. 'Can you tell me about the white tsar?'

For a moment his sadness seemed to double, and the witch paused at the sharp burst of regret. 'Open your bag, i will see if you can pay me.'

The witch did so and the creature picked up the single stocking. 'I will help you, for your payment. Take the stocking to the town, and use it as a leash. Bring me anything, anything as company'

The witch did so, knowing that she could not give him just anything. To her luck, however, she came across an old woman with too many infants to love. She picked one up, and noted that it its lips were blue with cold and its cries quiet with starvation. The witch wrapped the stocking around the child and carried it back to the vodyanoy. The toadman's eyes did dance with glee as he took the infant to his arms. 'I cannot thank you enough,' he said with tears building in his eyes. The witch smiled.

'Tell me of the white tsar.' It was enough to dampen his mood.

'He spreads throughout us all now, that man with hollow chest. I bid, dear witch, follow to the south. Walk until the forest rises in wicked shapes, until the crops are black with grief. That is all I can tell you'

More satisfied than with the rusalka, the witch carried on toward the south, until her feed did near go red with blood. Her heart nearly gave out, until she was stopped by the sound of sobs.

Far out from civilisation, she walked until she came across a leshy, his hulking frame wrought with grief, his once- beautiful hair gone lank and streaked with soot. 'Tell me why you wander, brother? Why do you cry, my brother and my friend?'

'The world has stolen my song, sister of the darker life.' And with that he extended a hand. She noted that his fingers were calloused and hard and nearly grey. 'I used to summon tears with this.'

'Do not cry,' the witch said, 'I will help you, if you can help me. If you can help me find the white tsar.'

The leshy closed his miserable eyes. 'Open your bag.' She did so, knowing there was only one thing in there. He picked up the piece of string. 'Please,' he said, his voice a whisper, 'take this to the township over the next rise. Please give me my song again.'

The witch did so. She went to the township and found the first artisan she could. She had him carve a violin, and weave the string into the frame. She took the instrument back to her large friend. He nearly cried harder, but instead he held out a hand.

'Please, I need to find the white tsar.'

'You have given me more than I have ever taken. I cannot grant you every wish, but I will help you as much as I can.' And with that he lifted the witch in a steady hand, and wandered 'cross the land. His footfall long and the world whipping angrily beneath them, he took them as far as he could go. Until they wandered unmistakably to the kingdom of the white tsar

The white tsar's kingdom had many names. Its trees were indeed of ice, and its crops rose high in streaks of grey, but it was not what the witch had imagined. In the years to come, the kingdom would grow many names within itself. It had outgrown some names already. St Petersburg, Petrograd, Leningrad. One day it would be St Petersburg, again.

The white tsar's kingdom existed within it all. We cannot outrun the wilderness, nor can we outrun those to whom it belongs. In much the same way of foxes or of birds, the creatures of our fairytales lingered still, linger still, between the space between our eyes. They tuck beneath our noses, sprint beneath our footfall. The kingdom inside the kingdom; the tsar inside the echo. He was as real as you or I, a king of what we long not to acknowledge.

The leshy walked as far as he did dare, but finally it was too much. The witch would have to finish her journey alone. 'They say there is a beast beneath the palace, guarding all his souls. I am sorry, I can go no further.'

'Thank you. I can never display my gratitude.' And so the witch carried on through the streets of St Petersburg or Petrograd or Leningrad. She walked until the icy trees dared freeze her ears, until the grey crops of buildings made her taste ash. But she did find it. Tucked between two buildings, a palace as fine as anything you or i have seen. Its frame was carved in splendid colours; spires of red and doors of green; windowsills of vibrant lilac.

The door opened, and the witch found herself staring at a dead eyed servant. 'Show me to the tsar.'

He did so. Bigger on the inside, he led her through winding passages to the courtroom of the tsar. The words were true. Sitting on a deep blue throne, the tsar was thin and dry and cold. Even so, she could see his power. 'I thought you were the white tsar,' the witch said. 'Everything here betrays that.'

The tsar lifted his head as though waking from a dream. He was lazy and his body dragged at every movement. 'I thought the colours would make me happy. I thought those reds and blues would fill me,' he said with a voice as low as death.

The witch watched him. 'Sir, I need a place to stay tonight. Will you help me?'

'What do you have as payment?' the witch froze. She was quiet with dread, but she opened her bag to reveal only the rusk and cheese.

'Give them to me,' the tsar said. His voice sounded old and tired. 'It will have to do'

So the witch got herself a bed for the night. But the witch didn't sleep a wink. Indeed, she got up at midnight, and found her way through the palace. Creeping beneath shadow, she didn't stop searching until she found a stairwell. Praying that it would be the right one, she crept deep into the cavern beneath the world. She found herself in a room as tall as a cathedral. It was elaborately carved, its walls covered in shelves. Most striking, however, was the emptiness, of books or wine or bodies. The only thing was a small rope in the bottom shelf. This was the only place the soul could be. Quietly, the witch started looking through the shelves.

There was a low growl in the hall behind her

The witch whipped around in time to see a shape spool from the shadows of the hallway. Its limbs moved precisely, quietly, but its body filled half the room. The leshy came only to its elbow. Its claws were long and sharp, lizard-like. This shape moved onto the torso of a gargantuan bull, its body thickly muscled. But it was the face that caught her. It was awful and awesome, terrible and sublime. Its mouth possessed a thousand teeth over a blood red tongue. Over its mouth lay over a thousand eyes.

The witch stared, and the beast let out a deafening yell. The cavern released rock from the ceiling, debris falling around her. But the witch could only stare at those thousand eyes. She knew what she was looking at. She knew that the soldier's soul was in the creature's eyes.

Then the creature started to run. The room was about the length of five streets, but every step took the creature closer and closer. The witch was pinned, and she looked around her desperately. Finally she focused on the rope and yanked it from the ground. She climbed up the shelves, praying that they'd hold her weight; that she could get high enough before its awful mouth could find her.

She stopped at the top shelf and waited for the animal. The moment it was beneath her, it started to lift its great body backward onto its haunches; its length easily enough to touch the ceiling.

The only thing the witch could do was fall. And so fall she did. She jumped from the shelf and forced her eyes open as she plummeted toward the creature's face. A thousand, tens of thousands of eyes watched her as she crashed into the creature's face and held onto the hairs of its face, barely longer than a teaspoon. She stared into the thousand eyes, and felt the creature start to roar. She forced herself to climb over the creature's face, looking desperately for the soul that had to belong to her soldier. The creature bucked and shrieked, but finally the witch stopped just over the creature's nose. She could feel its massive breath against her feet. But it was enough- she was looking into the soldier's soul.

Although it killed her to leave it, she forced herself to climb back up the angry monster's face and grip the monster's neck with her thighs. Then she picked up the rope, tying it into a lasso and throwing the opening wide. She didn't stop until it passed the creature's titan head, sliding down its throat. When it finally did, she crept up and tightened the lasso until the creature finally collapsed into unconsciousness

Exhausted and trembling, the witch crept down the monster's face until she found her soldier's missing soul. Then she lifted its eyelid, tired and dead, and tore the eye from its socket. And then the next eye. She tore the creature as blind as she could before sliding them into her sack.

As it were, she could waste no time. By the time she was up the stairs, the palace staff were after her.

The sobs of the tsar echoed through the hall, until she nearly collided with him at the doorway. "Please," the tsar sobbed a deathly note, "Please. They were going to make me happy."

The witch wound around him and ran. Behind her she heard the tsar's sobs turn into sounds of rage. She couldn't turn and look; she knew that soon the beast would wake. She was nearly at the edge of the town when the beast tore free. She felt it beneath her feet, heard its shriek in the icy air. She heard the splitting of stone and wood as the tsar set him free.

She ran until she left the town, upon which she saw the leshy fast approaching. She gripped onto his pant leg. "Please help me!" the witch gasped "I will do whatever I can."

She felt something being thrust into her hand, and she looked to see a string.

"Throw it behind you when you have nothing left." She began to run again, when she heard the beast roaring behind her. She ran until she thought she could hear its breath tearing through the broken wind. Finally she threw the thread back and heard the beast cry out. She knew then that it wouldn't hold, that it would tear itself free.

So she ran until she came upon the marshland. She felt the beast break free miles away from her, but what were miles to a vicious need. She found herself tumbling into the vodyanoy's arms. "Please!" she looked behind her, "The white tsar's beast seeks me." She could hear the sound of the vodyanoy's baby in the background. Resistance trembled in his eyes. "Please," she gasped one more time and yanked his wrist forward. She slipped a fistful of eyes into his palm. "Keep these and you will never be lonely again."

Eyes gleaming with gratitude, the vodyanoy handed her the same stocking she had given him. And she was given the same advice; that she should throw it. She ran until she could hear the creature gaining once more, until she could see its reflection in flashes of the water in front of her. Finally she threw the stocking and heard it wrap tightly around the beast's legs, until it collapsed in a pitiful yell.

The creature was done, but over the wind came the quiet but visceral scream of the white tsar. 'They were meant to fill me! THEY WERE MEANT TO BE MINE!' Her stomach dropped as his anger pushed him forward on the northern wind. He raced forward with every step she took.

Finally she ended up at the rusalka's river, colliding with her sister. 'Please help me!' the witch did sob. 'Please, I'm begging you to help me! The white tsar is on his way!' The rusalka nearly tore away from her but the witch grabbed for her wrist and poured eyes, poured souls into her hand. 'Keep these and you will never be hungry!'

The rusalka only had time to shove the comb into her hand. There would be no throwing this time. The witch ran until the white tsar was above her. Then she heard his body dropping like a stone and his weight sending cataclysms through the world beneath them; throwing her to the ground and sending shockwaves through her body. She looked up, and the tsar was no longer the frail man that had accepted her rusk and cheese in exchange for a bed. He was as tall as a house, his hair white as snow and his fingers stretched into talons.

The witch pulled back as he started to attack her, his nails trying and tearing at her skin. She struck out with her limbs, but it was only when she struck out with the comb that he collapsed above her. She had struck his throat. Terror in her throat, the witch pushed him from her body and watched the white tsar's body. Its limbs stark and blue. She had run so long already, but she forced herself to stand. She watched him, the steady silence empty and dead around her.

After a millennium the witch finally started to walk home. Finally, she arrived at the house, yanking open the door to her soldier. His lips were blue as ice, even though his body still looked fit. She sat beside him and pulled out of the souls. Then she made a cry, for his eye was not there

Bone-dead, the witch realised that she had to have given it to the rusalka or the vodyanoy. Frozen, she gripped the soldiers face in her hands and started to sob hard. With the tsar dead, the souls would be making their way back. Who knew if the rusalka would have eaten him already.

She leaned her head back and screamed out loud, tearing to her feet and scouring all the potion books, all the chests and all the drawers. It was no use looking for a life potion, as he was not dead. He needed a soul, and there was not a spell for that.

Slowly, the witch collapsed to her knees and started to sob. Steady cries that were near human in nature, broken and wet and messy as the best of us.

Then there was the sound of branches crushing outside. The witch froze, wondering if the beast had not been bound as tightly as she thought, if he was back for his revenge. The witch did the only thing she could and grabbed a poker from the fire, shoving the door open. She paused at the sight of a towering man. It was the leshy, his beard long.

'I heard you,' was all he said. The witch collapsed to her knees again, sobbing.

The leshy slowly moved to his own knees. He merely watched her, waiting until she fell silent. 'Please look at me.' She looked up and stopped dead. In the centre of his hand lay a single, unmistakable eye. 'It fell from you while you ran. It was too close to your heart.' The witch stared as he slipped it into her hands. It looked big, now, compared to on that beast's face. She hadn't had time to look at it properly.

Then she reached down and pulled a thread from her skirt, handing it to the leshy. He took it, and although he didn't thank her his eyes held depths deeper than she'd ever seen. "I don't want you to keep screaming," the leshy said, interrupting her gratitude. 'Now wake him up.' The witch looked up at him. Then the leshy pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his fingernail and tapped it to her forehead. 'Goodbye, my little lonely friend,' he said. Then he stood up. 'May we meet again.' And then he was gone.

The witch didn't have time to dwell on such a large creature vanishing so effortlessly. She ran into the cottage and opened the soldier's mouth, shoving the eye under his tongue. Then the witch just watched. The moments ticked by, longer than she had ever felt them. But then, finally, she heard stirring beneath the covers. She opened her eyes and found herself staring into the eyes of her young yugoslav. There was no unease, no quiet in the way he looked at her. And the witch threw herself into her human's arms. And in that moment, she was human too.

#kasabasiss #my work #oc's #writeblr #full story #fairytale #its good for the short time i wrote it in #and my sleep deprivation #shout out to simon for putting up w my bs all the time

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leagueoflegendsarchive · 5 years

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Janna

Biography:

Armed with the power of Runeterra's gales, Janna is a mysterious, elemental wind spirit who protects the dispossessed of Zaun. Some believe she was brought into existence by the pleas of Runeterra's sailors who prayed for fair winds as they navigated treacherous waters and braved rough tempests. Her favor and protection has since been called into the depths of Zaun, where Janna has become a beacon of hope to those in need. No one knows where or when she will appear, but more often than not, she's come to help.

Many of Runeterra's sailors have strange and unusual superstitions, which is no wonder as they often live or die by the tempestuous whims of the weather. Some captains insist on pouring salt onto the deck so the sea doesn't notice they're from the shore. Others make sure to throw the first fish they catch back into the water as a show of mercy. It's not surprising, then, that most implore the wind itself for steadfast breezes, calm seas, and clear skies.

Many believe the spirit Janna was born out of these prayers.

She started small. Seafarers would sometimes spot a bright blue bird just before a healthy tailwind billowed their sails. Others could swear they'd hear a whistling in the air right before a storm, as if to warn them of its approach. As word of these benevolent omens spread, sightings of the bird grew more common. Some swore they had seen the bird transform into a woman. With tapered ears and flowing hair, this mysterious maiden was said to float above the water and direct the wind with a flick of her staff.

Seafarers created ramshackle shrines of seasparrow bones and shining oyster shells which they tucked into the bows of their ships. The more successful vessels built their shrines as figureheads on their masts, hoping their more ostentatious displays of faith would be rewarded with even better winds.

Eventually, Runeterra's seamen agreed upon a name for this wind spirit: 'Janna', an ancient Shuriman word meaning 'guardian'. As more sailors came to believe in Janna and made increasingly elaborate offerings to gain her favor, she grew ever stronger. Janna helped explorers traverse new waters, blew ships from treacherous reefs, and - on particularly starless nights - wrapped the comfort of a warm breeze around a homesick sailor's shoulders. For those sailing with ill intent - pirates, raiders, and the like - Janna was sometimes said to blow them off course with sudden squalls and storms.

Janna took great joy in her work. Whether helping people or punishing the deserving, she felt happy to watch over Runeterra's oceans.

For as long as Janna could remember, a single isthmus separated the western and eastern oceans of Valoran. In order to move from the west to the east, or from the east to the west, ships would have to brave the long, incredibly dangerous waters around the tip of the southern continent. Most ships subsequently made offerings to Janna for strong winds that would expedite their perilous journey around the rocky coast.

The city fathers of the bustling trade city on the isthmus' coast tired of watching ships make the long trek around the southern continent, which could often take many months. They hired the most innovative scientists to use the rich chemical resources recently discovered in the area to create a massive waterway that would unite Valoran's major seas.

Word of the canal spread like a pox amongst sailors. Such a passage would open up boundless trade opportunities, allow for easier passage through dangerous waters, reduce time at sea and introduce the transportation of perishable goods. It would bring the east to the west, the west to the east, and above all: it would bring change.

With the canal in place, sailors wouldn't need Janna's winds to keep their ships safe from Valoran's cliffs. They wouldn't need to build elaborate shrines or watch the stormy horizon for bluebirds. Their ships' safety and speed no longer depended on an unpredictable deity, but the ingenuity of man. And so, as construction progressed over the decades, Janna fell out of favor. Her shrines grew ragged, picked apart by gulls, and seldom was her name whispered, even as the waters grew sharp and choppy with winter.

Janna felt herself weaken and her powers fade. When she tried to summon a squall, she'd only conjure a light draft. If she transformed into her bird form, she could only fly for a few minutes before needing to rest. She'd meant so much to those at sea only a few years prior - was this how easily they could forget someone who just wanted to keep them safe and honor their prayers? Janna was saddened by her slow decline into irrelevance and, as the canal reached completion, all that remained of her was a faded breeze.

The opening of the canal was a joyful celebration. Thousands of chemtech devices were placed across the isthmus. The city fathers gathered for the ceremonial igniting of the charge as travelers from all over the world watched and waited, smiles on their faces and pride in their hearts.

The devices activated. Chemical fogs of molten rock bloomed. Booms echoed through the isthmus.

The cliff faces began to crack. The ground began to shake. Those assembled heard a roar of water and a hiss of gas.

That is when the screaming started.

In the years to come, no one would know the exact cause of the disaster. Some said it was the instability of the chem bombs, while others argued it was a miscalculation by the engineers. Whatever the cause, the explosions caused a chain reaction of earthquakes that shook the isthmus to its core. Entire districts collapsed into the ocean, and nearly half of the city's denizens suddenly found themselves fighting for their lives against the clashing currents of the western and eastern seas.

As thousands sank beneath the tides, they begged for help, praying for someone to save them. They called out for the name that, until recently, their hearts had always beckoned in times of great danger on the high seas: Janna.

Struck by a sudden surge of desperate pleas for aid, Janna felt herself materialize with greater power than she'd ever felt before.

Many of those who had fallen into the water had already drowned, but as clouds of toxic chem-gas leaked from cracks in the streets, poisoning and suffocating the hundreds of people unlucky enough to breathe them, Janna knew how to help.

She disappeared into the bleak, billowing gas, its acrid grasp overwhelming the helpless victims of the great canal's birth. Holding her staff high, she closed her eyes as wind swirled around her, the vortex so powerful that those who had summoned her feared they might be swallowed whole or ripped to pieces. Her staff glowed a brighter and brighter blue until she finally slammed it down, blowing the gas away in one ferocious burst of air. Those who had summoned Janna caught their breath and looked upon the woman who had saved them, vowing never to forget her again.

With that, a gust of wind blew through the streets, and Janna was gone... though some swore they saw a bright blue bird make a nest high atop the iron and glass spires overlooking the city.

Years after the city called Zaun was repaired and the shining town of Piltover was built above it, Janna's name endures in countless stories that tell of the wandering wind spirit who appears in times of great need. When the Zaun Gray grows thick, some say Janna blows it away, then vanishes as quickly as she came. When a Chem-Baron's thug goes too far or a victim's screams go unanswered, a fearsome torrent of wind might sweep through the alley and aid those who others are unwilling to help.

Some say Janna is a myth: an optimistic fairy tale that Zaun's most desperate tell themselves to bring an ounce of hope to their hour of need. Others - the ones who think of Janna when the wind whistles through narrow corridors of the city or huddle around handmade shrines (now crafted of scrap and gearworks rather than bird bones) - know better. When the gust rattles the shutters and blows the laundry off the line, Janna is surely in the air. Every Progress Day, no matter how cold the weather, the believers throw open their windows and doors so Janna can blow away the stale air of the year past and welcome the new. Even skeptics can't help but feel their spirits lift when they spy a curious blue bird swooping through the streets of Zaun. Though none can be sure when, how, or if Janna will appear, most everyone can agree on one thing: it's nice to have somebody watching over you.

Powers/Abilities:

1. Tailwind

2. Howling Wind

3. Zephyr

4. Eye of the Storm

5. Monsoon

#Janna #League of Legends

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poolwiseliving · 3 years

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chilly-territory · 7 years

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10 questions about Tekkadan that the producer of IBO, Ogawa Masakazu, answered in December issue of Animage (and a bonus question from Otomedia+ Winter while I’m at it)

Q1: How big has Tekkadan become? A1: It indeed grew bigger, but it's still only a few hundreds of members. The Dawn Horizon pirates had 10 ships and about 2500 members, so I guess Tekkadan is about a tenth of that. Since their core was always basically only the 3rd group of CGS, they never boasted having a lot of people. I always imagined that only about 100 members came down to Earth in the second half of season 1, and a lot of them died there. Even with the addition of new members later, Tekkadan's total head count is about 200-300 members, I think. They're still only a relatively small company, as you can see. I think it's the reason why Orga said to McGillis, "Just how much are you overestimating us?"

Q2: How famous is Tekkadan right now? A2: As per my answer to Q1, despite Tekkadan not being a big group, they are quite famous because the job they'd finished was high-profile. At the very least there's no one in the same line of work who wouldn't hear about them. On the other hand, their fame makes others envy them. They fit the image of a venture enterprise. A small number of employees and rising profits make for a promising picture. Only, when you do join that kind of enterprise, you discover that working there is not exactly a walk in the park... not unlike an anime production company, in a sense, eh. You join one because they make entertaining shows but then, a reality check... (*strained chuckle*)

Q3: What kind of organization in nature is Tekkadan? A3: On official papers, they're a business enterprise. A civilian security company, to be exact. But since it's basically harsh physical work, in structure they're close to a military, with a chain of command with the danchou at the top and down from there.

Q4: We've seen the commando unit, the 1st frontline corps and the 2nd frontline corps. Are there any other units? A4: To share a bit of insider information with you, we did have a talk about introducing the 3rd and 4th units but perished the thought upon closer consideration because there are simply not enough named characters for that (*a lopsided smile*) So we'd just grouped the main characters into two corps.

Q5: Tekkadan had an influx of new members, but do they usually make effort to recruit members? A5: Quite a few people seem interested in joining them, but increasing their numbers isn't practical for Tekkadan as an organization, so I don't think they usually make effort to recruit anyone. Their bitter experience in CGS where they never saw paychecks worth mentioning makes them want to pay a proper monetary compensation to Tekkadan's members. But there are only so many members they can do it for with their organization's present scale. Still, since there's only a month between when Hush and Dane joined, they probably keep their member count restricted to a certain extent but allow new people join as occasion calls.

Q6: Are there conditions or necessary qualifications in order to join Tekkadan? Do they have an entrance test? A6: I think probably no conditions or qualifications are required to join. As to the entrance test, I believe there is a physical fitness test. The job is basically physical fighting, and the new recruits are thrown into real combat soon after joining, so unless it's a person capable of handling it to an extent from the get-go, it will simply be dangerous. So what is requited is physical resilience, youth and willingness... If you think about it, a workplace where youth and willingness is a must has to be a scary one (*laugh*) But the social condition of their world makes for no shortage of that kind of willing youths, so the acceptance rate is probably high.

Q7: What is the average age for Tekkadan's members? A7: I think it's probably late teens. Tekkadan likely has a few adult employees in positions of accounting, office and technician work, but their number is limited. Ultimately, Tekkadan is a place that fulfills the role of a haven for boys who have nowhere to go. That part didn't change one bit since Tekkadan's formation, in my opinion.

Q8: Does Tekkadan have females members other than Merribit and Atra? A8: With how they are right now, they probably don't. The only other female members are only those who are on a temporary loan from the Turbines. Tekkadan's main work being fighting makes it hard for females to join. There might be girls in some off-screen places, like maybe Atra's helpers, but they're not official Tekkadan members. If anything, I think they're employed by Admoss company, rather.

Q9: What about pay and days off in Tekkadan? I have a feeling the conditions should be pretty nice, no? A9: Director Nagai Tatsuyuki said that the senior members get paid quite handsomely. Especially the leaders get a nice paycheck... converting it to Japanese yen, their annual income would measure in 8 digit sums, except they don't know how to use all that money. Most just use it for bare necessity needs like food and clothing, some spend it in the pleasure quarter to blow off some stream, like Eugene and Shino, I think, but you can only spend that much on things like that. In short, for its founding members, Tekkadan is the place of belonging, so there's no line between work and their private time for them. For that reason, even if their money is getting saved up in their personal account, they only get puzzled about what to do with it. So they end up using it to make their organization bigger and better or, alternatively, there are even some who entrust it to Admoss company, requesting it to be used on farm funding or on orphanage operation. Perception of money is where they and we of the modern world are different. Needless to say the members get days off, but they're a bunch who would rather spend their downtime training or something in the same vein (*chuckle*)

Q10: How is Tekkadan generally regarded by the public at present? A10: Taking the social system in all its sizable scale, to children and young people they're a group to look up to because they have accomplished something with just their power. But from where adults stand, they're a trigger-happy group, a dangerous unpredictable bunch. I suppose there are some adults, like Teiwaz's McMurdo, who regard Tekkadan with approval and consider them lively youngsters, but those are few and far between... Either way, standing out too much may be quite risky.

And another question from Otomedia+ Winter that Ogawa answered.

Q: What would Orga, Eugene and Mikazuki do on a cold, cold day off?

A: At present Orga is so busy he won't care about it being cold, I think (*laugh*) Tekkadan's member count grew bigger alright, but they still have only a handful of those who can handle office work or can do organization management. So I think Orga would work even on his day off.

Eugene would work, too, I'm sure. He said it himself that he has a lot of things to do, so, being true to his words, he would read a tactics book or study even on his day off.

Mikazuki, on the other hand, would probably be sleeping in a warm place (*laugh*) The hangar where Barbatos is kept is warm, and we've already seen him sleeping in there.

#gundam ibo #g tekketsu

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bloobsconceptdesign · 6 years

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Animation Concept Script

The Bloobs- Kate Burney

From outer space to outta control!

Genre: 3d animated action/comedy Format: 26x11 minute episodes Target audience: 6 – 10 year olds

Log-line:

Charlie’s world swings from fake, made up, fantasy adventures to the very real thing, all thanks to the chaotic alien Bloobs and their misunderstandings of how life works for us on this dusty old planet Earth.

You see, when the Bloobs ‘squish’ themselves together, their powers can make things real. Really real, and if your friends had that kind of power, wouldn’t you try to make life a little more…interesting?

Overview:

Charlie’s great at making up imaginary stories in his house that is chock bang full of stuff his adventurer parents have collected - a dinosaur’s tongue, a puff of wind that blows a ship in bottle, a picture of a ghost… His excitable baby brother Sammy is an accident waiting to happen.

The bullies who live next door are a real pain too, especially when they have Charlie hanging upside-down in his undies.

When Charlie accidentally stumbles upon the three Bloobs in his house, he quickly learns they have the power to make all his imagined adventures come true. When the Bloobs smoosh together they can animate anything, making them more interesting, fun and destructive than Charlie could ever have imagined.

With the Bloobs’ unpredictable nature, chaos is never far away, and Charlie must do his best to make sure the Bloobs are never discovered – or he may lose them, and his adventures, forever.

Characters:

Charlie

Charlie is a quiet, unconfident but curious eleven-year-old.

The discovery of the Bloobs is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. Charlie is put in difficult situations where he must defend himself from bullies, crazed animated objects and aggressive toy armies…

He is built for hiding rather than confrontation - but when he is pushed, he is quite proficient at maintaining a video game fight pose and a steely glare.

He can come up with solutions…just not very quickly. Maybe not the best solutions either, but he tries.

Mostly though, Charlie is excited by the freedom the Bloobs exude, he is drawn into their chaos. If the Bloobs can make the world into anything, Charlie can do anything in the world!

Jasper

Jasper is Charlie’s best friend.

He is the Cowardly Lion if the Cowardly Lion was a know-all and didn’t know when to close his mouth to stop it from spouting all manner of rubbish.

Jasper’s head is too big for his body and his hair can never stay flat and his eyes bulge with excitement, which means they are always bulging because everything is exciting for Jasper.

He is a loyal friend to Charlie and sticks by him through thick and thin.

The Bloobs

The Bloobs are aliens who crash-landed on Earth – they look like three different coloured malleable squishy balls – Red, Green and Blue.

Charlie’s parents bought them at a garage sale confused as to whether they are dinosaur eggs, or Mr Potato Heads missing all their facial bits and pieces.

The Bloobs have the ability to bring things to life when they squish together – whether smooshed on purpose or by accident.

They don’t quite understand things like time, gravity, relationships, or danger – but they think Earth is just great. So much to learn! So much happening, and that’s just in Charlie’s house!

They are all still learning how to control their powers, and due to this the Bloobs accidentally cause chaos and destruction wherever they go, even when they are trying to help their new friend – Charlie.

They currently live in the can cupboard in the kitchen, among all those non-perishable foods that no-one ever uses.

Sammy

Sammy is just a rollie polly little Michelin man of a toddler, scampering about like an escaped spaniel. His main hobby is finding walls he can’t bounce off and getting Charlie into trouble.

He loves Charlie and is often left in Charlie’s care. When he meets the Bloobs all hell breaks loose, he thinks they are the best toys ever! Sammy often instigates trouble by squishing the Bloobs together, thus initiating their powers.

The bullies

The three ogre children who live next door to Charlie.

They know Charlie is somehow different from them - better, smarter, but they don’t know why and that makes them mad.

They are always around, hiding in the shadows, biding their time, rising their wicked little eyes over the windowsills always gathering information…

Whatever the ambush, Charlie and Jasper (with the help of the Bloobs) always manage to escape and exact their revenge, proving it’s not about size - it’s about heart.

Charlie’s parents

Charlie’s parents are enthusiastic but slightly neglectful ex-adventurers who had children and had to stop adventuring, therefore they live in their past-times, the ‘glory days.’

They are the type of eccentrics who would forget to put on an important item of clothing to wear out to town - like pants.

Now all their energy is spent finding oddities at markets and being completely oblivious that there is Bloob-created chaos happening all around them in their own home.

The world:

The action takes place in or around Charlie’s house.

It is a creaky, colourful old place, with nooks, crannies and it’s bursting at the seams with piles of….stuff.

The house has an amazing ability to take a battering, and then be put back in order just in the nick of time. The Bloobs can turn the house and its insides into any setting. There are tsunami sink explosions, toy armies, wild furniture fights and kitchenware and machinery come to life marching out the front door into the world.

Cluttered with bits and bobs a perfect battleground for Charlie, Jasper and the Bloobs to take on whatever adventure their powers have conjured up.

Springboards

The Ice Man Cometh

Charlie and Jasper want to go ice skating.

They shake a snow globe at the Bloobs, show them a picture of an ancient Neanderthal man in the snow. They open the freezer door and let the Bloobs feel the cold.

Got it! The Bloobs smoosh together - the floor crackles with cold and soon Charlie and Jasper are playing ice hockey using Sammy as a baby sized puck.

When the ice grows out of control, with chattering teeth Charlie and Jasper call for the Bloobs to make it stop. But the Bloobs are now frozen solid and unable to help!

Up the stairs is a horrifying sight - the Neanderthal man from the picture.

Charlie and Jasper show him matches, and he makes a fire in a kitchen pot.

The Bloobs thaw out, and un-magic the ice age. The boys mop up the melting house, it sparkles cleanly for Mum and Dad.

The Neanderthal picture has changed. He’s now sitting in front of a roaring fire eating an elk kebab, holding up a box of matches and grinning.

The Baby and the Bath Water

Charlie is giving Sammy his bath when the Bloobs bring to life the flock of yellow rubber ducks bobbing in the bathwater. Before Charlie has realised what’s happening, the ducks have lifted Sammy out the bath and flown out the window with him, quacking and honking angrily at Charlie as rubber ducks who have come to life tend to do.

A chase ensues.

Outside, a climactic battle takes place, the ducks diving and weaving like spitfires with the baby above them…Charlie, Jasper and the Bloobs desperately try to restore order amongst the chaos while keeping the flying danger above a secret from the parents who are performing their monthly sacred Mayan rain dance in the garden.

The Battle of the Kitchen

It’s a boring rainy day and Jasper and Charlie are picking at each other.

In love with a Russian nesting doll, the Blue Bloob convinces the other Bloobs to bring it to life.

The Bloobs’ power is too great - it sets off the whole house. Inanimate objects spring to life and Charlie uses some of them to attack Jasper.

In the battle between Jasper’s kitchen army and Charlie’s living room army,

Charlie rides his vacuum cleaner steed, while Jasper orders his knife and fork army to take no prisoners. Spoons act as slingshots, unleashing a torrent of frozen peas.

When the vacuum cleaner sucks up the Green Bloob, it causes a massive explosion of the vacuum cleaner bag.

The dusty and battered Bloobs put everything back together …

But the iron has a nozzle. The coffee pot is a now a vacuum cleaner bag. A chair has spoons and knives for legs.

Charlie’s parents sit at the table and don’t notice it’s actually part ironing board. Shamefaced, Charlie and Jasper make up.

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