Varus | Prologue
A thousand Noxian invaders lay dead on the western coast of Ionia, their camp totally destroyed. Varus stood, surveying the fruits of his labor.
"Not enough," the husk of a man said, dropping to his knees. This many dead Noxians only equated to one of his fallen brethren. For everything Noxus took from Ionia, Varus would take a thousand-fold.
There was much more work to do.
He tried to stand up, but he fell to his hands and knees instead. How many wounds did he receive in that battle? He examined his body only to find it a bloody mess. He hardly noticed the pain until he struggled to move.
Succumbing to overwhelming weakness, he collapsed onto the ground. As he drifted off into unconsciousness, he could feel the corruption repairing his wounds, but also consuming more flesh not already tainted. At this rate, he would be completely lost in a matter of months...
...
...
...
Nightmarish images of his slain family and comrades suddenly plagued his mind, their corpses mangled and their killers standing over them, smiling wickedly. Then, through his own eyes, he felt himself walking toward the Pit of Pallas, unable to control his body. He desperately tried to stop himself from entering it, but to no avail. As he inched closer and closer to his doom, he braced himself for the inevitable pain that would come.
He screamed in agony, experiencing it all over again: the corruption trying to take hold of him, and his body rejecting it. It felt like he was being baked alive in a thousand-degree oven for what seemed like an eternity. The pain, it just wouldn't stop.
It wouldn't stop.
He awoke with a gasp, then immediately stood up without any trouble. He moved his limbs around, checking to see if he was still in control before sighing in relief.
He attempted to conjure his bow from his hands, but to his surprise, he couldn't. The corruption that stained his flesh felt like it was inactive; it was not writhing as it usually did.
Varus wasn't sure what to feel about this predicament. He didn't have to worry about how much time he had left to live, but he also didn't have access to the power that he nearly died for.
Even though he had little to no knowledge on his curse, he assumed that this was merely a period of dormancy. When he looked around the room and realized that literally everything was unfamiliar and unusual, he began to reconsider. He got the feeling that there was a greater power at work here. Was it some new form of Noxian magic?
He listened to the conversations that people were having, unsure of what to do. How long had it been since he last socialized with people? All he could remember was endless strife, death, and destruction...