lirvothethird

  I was allocated a rundown shack near the workshops.

  I don't know why I was just put here and what they were going to do. They seem nice so I guess I'll stay for a little bit, learn some Ionian words, ask them for directions on some good scenic locations.

  In the meantime, I'll just make some pottery and trinkets to sell. Back to carving stone for things. Magic is really convenient. After quickly

  tidying up the shack, I went out for a walk.

  I was turning heads everywhere, with my explorer's gear, stone armor, and being someone new here in general. Groups of old women sat in the shade, working their hands but watching me like a hawk. As I continued down the dirt main road, I ended up near a training ground.

  Childish shouts filled the air as a troupe of children mimicked the instructor in front. This, this I've never seen this before. What was the purpose in doing this? Does everyone in Ionia do this at a young age?

  "Hmm."

  I tapped my chin in thought. The instructor called out something before moving through the ranks with a green stick, tapping and pushing areas that needed improvements. He walked in front of me before speaking in Ionian.

  "You don't look like you're from around here."

  "I don't speak Ionian."

  Another impasse.

  "Ionia? Hmmm... Non fron Ionia? What did the traders sometimes say. You!"

  It was thickly accented. But it seemed like there was some people I can still talk to. What a relief! The time taken to learn some Ionian will be shortened.

  Maybe I can ask if there was anyone that knew foreign nguages here. I started with rusty Demacian.

  "Is there anyone that speaks Demacian? De - ma - ci - an."

  He nodded no, and I continued with Noxian.

  "Noxian?"

  A heavy hand rested on my shoulder as he stared me down.

  "No, not Noxian. Non non."

  I shook my head as an apologetic smile appeared on his face as he gestured towards a wooden bench under the eaves of a house, bringing me to sit down under the shade.

  "It's fine, I don't like Noxians too. I understand."

  Another nguage switch.

  "Piltover? Shurima? Piltover?"

  Nod, shake, nod. I tried at least to see if there was some Demacians here. Shouldn't there at least be some? Maybe they're just further in.

  "You. Want come?"

  The instructor of the kids gestured and invited me to join their training. Hurriedly, I shook no. Training with these brats? I'm going to get ughed at. He returned to teaching them, yelling and ughing.

  This is what could've been.

  The higher you go up a mountain, the thinner the air becomes. This is because of the higher concentration of celestial mana.

  There was still a ways to go with a dirt trail still there. Taking a moment, I turned around and looked back down towards the vilge. The stone stairs that lead me here had no railings.

  The small specks of color were moving about like ants below, weaving in and out of the straw huts.

  Cold wind blew as my sweat worked against me. The easiest way for me to warm up again is to continue climbing. Right when I turned past a bend! There he was.

  The swordsman floated in the air slightly with one leg crossed over the other. The green sword hung in the air as well. His eyes opened, as a sharp green light erupted for a split second before vanishing like the wind.

  "I wait was."

  Somehow, I had managed to finally decipher a full sentence. Let's test if it is correct... I pointed at myself and asked.

  "I?"

  Ugh. Why was it so weird sounding?

  A slight shock and a hint of approval appeared in his eyes as he nodded. Gesturing, he made me follow him towards a slightly ftter area, where a few pieces of untrimmed logs stood upright.

  "Demonstrate your skills."

  "Huh?"

  I tilted my head quizzically. What was he saying? He pointed his sword towards the logs and tapped one. Hit it? Sure.

  I stooped down to formed a fist of solid dirt. Then, I punched quickly and lightly, sending a shockwave on the wood. The outer bark held for a moment before crumbling into pieces, revealing cracks in the shape of a circle. Stepping back, I admired my handiwork.

  I was capable of fighting back instead of running now. I turned around to see him shaking his head. Kicking a piece of wood up, a few fshes of green carved the air as a rough stick was formed. Dumbfounded, I held it as he handed it to me.

  Using the dirt still on my hand, I strengthened the stick with it. Maybe a stone stick would be better.

  Half of it flew off into the woods as it broke while hitting the log. A hand patted me on the shoulder as the swordsman shook his head before gesturing to follow.

  We trekked through the woods before arriving at a strange looking open house. If we looked from above, it would be a hexagon with bck shingles and pointed curves. Two old men and a old dy sat at a polished stone table, drinking, while a young child stood in the back tending to a fire.

  "Master Doran."