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Riftquest was supposed to be fun. I mean, it’s not like they aren’t having fun, but looking over the boys from behind her dm screen, Alune probably should have seen this coming.
“I told you, Jarro Lightfeather doesn’t steal, he just…liberates stuff from worse hands.”
The pop star speaks with his own hands, waving them around like it’s supposed to mean something. Kayn is sitting across from him, shit eating grinned as usual.
“You just said the same thing twice.”
He leans over the square table as he speaks, meeting Ezreal’s gaze head on.
“Maybe we should ask this shopkeeper what she thinks, hm? Alune, Kayn is gonna go up to the shopkeeper and tap her on the shoulder. Then he’s gonna point at Jarro and politely tell her ‘Miss I am so sorry to bother you, but I think this gentleman over here is stealing your wares’”
Really, Alune should have known better. I mean, it was Ezreal that suggested the whole thing to begin with—undercover nerd that he is, and when Ezreal is that invested in something? Kayn abusing his interests to piss him off is basically just inevitable.
“Okay, no?? He can’t do that. We’re supposed to be a team, you can’t let him do that Alune.”
Ezreal is playing as handsome rogue-paladin, Jarro Lightfeather. An elf who may or may not be an actual knight (he’s more mysterious and cool that way) who gives off some of the least paladin vibes the party’s (or their poor DM)has ever seen.
“Can too, princess. No rules to Riftquest, remember?”
Kayn, on the other hand, has opted to play an edgy human warlock-rogue (Ezreal helped him figure out multiclassing, but Alune is half convinced he only decided to multiclass so he could see how long he could provoke Ez by getting stuff wrong). He’s refusing to change his name though, and swears Rhaast is his patron. It’s obvious that he’s trying to pretend he’s not into this, but the whole table can tell otherwise. He’s almost as much of a nerd as Ezreal. At the very least he is about the things his boyfriend likes.
The rest of the table is rolling their eyes as they have been doing every ten minutes for the last hour since they started (read: tried to start) the session. It was supposed to be a simple oneshot. No more than four hours long, find the beast, slay it and go home happy with time to spare. Instead, much of their time so far has been occupied with the couple’s shitty attempt at flirting that literally everyone but them can see right through.
“Aluneeee tell him to stop”
(Aphelios warned her this would happen. Probably she should have listened to him.)
It is after all, everyone but Aphelios’ and Ezreal’s first time playing. Which makes things a lot harder for the third-time-DM. At least the rest of them were helping each other, for the most part. And hey, at least they actually had a balanced party for once—even with their two ever so stupid competing rogues. Sett is playing a fighter gnome, K’sante is a tiefling paladin, Yone is a cleric dragonborn, and Aphelios is a drow ranger.
And Alune is trying her damn best.
“Ez. Kayn. Can you guys quit fighting for two seconds?”
“He started it—”
She holds up her hand to stop the popstar before he can whine any more, his lips already pursing into one of his signature pouts. He puffs his cheeks and crosses his arms but says nothing else. They both know Alune is far too experienced to fall for that.
“Right. Okay. Can we try this again? Maybe this time we don’t steal from the tutorial NPC?”
Ezreal isn’t meeting her eyes, but after a moment he lets out a breath and a quiet grumbled “Fine.”
“And maybe if our party mate does decide to steal, we don’t throw the party into chaos by ratting him out?”
Kayn’s stance mirrors the other’s, and Alune nearly rolls her eyes at the way he turns up his nose and refuses to answer for a beat. Then another. Then—“Fine.”
Thank god.
“Good. Okay. Then let’s try again. No more tutorials this time, let’s take it from the top.”
Our adventure begins in a small town in Ionia. Ionia is sort of like a big island—its economy has a lot of fishing, and there’s a large variety of people that live there. Gnomes, elves, vastaya, humans–but their common ground is their connection with nature. And, by extension, the natural magic of the land.
Ionia is a peaceful place most of the time, but as all places which allow magic to roam freely, its inhabitants are not always as friendly as they seem. Especially lately, the townspeople you’ve spoken with have urged you to stay inside after night falls, lest you become a mystery too.
And so, it’s evening when each of your characters find themselves at a bar and inn, the only one in this town. It’s fairly empty besides yourselves and an old yordle bartender with a name tag which reads “Kennen”.
“If you want to describe what your characters are doing, now would be the time. Ezreal? Why don’t you go first?”
“Right!”
Jarro Lightfeather sits reclined at a booth in the corner—uh, there are booths right? Yeah. So he’s lying back and he’s got his boots kicked up and a glass of something strong in hand and—
“Say, are there women at this bar?”
“Sure?”
“Cool.”
Yeah so he has one on each arm. He’s blond and half-elvish, so his ears are sort of pointy and he’s dressed in a green cloak with golden bits of armor woven in. He’s blond and handsome with green eyes and a couple braided rattails. Oh and most importantly, his weapon is a super cool looking magic gauntlet that shoots arcane blasts and stuff. Does this inn allow weapons? Uh, either way he brings it. He’s also a knight.
“He is not a knight.”
“Uh, my character and my description, Kayn, he is in fact a knight.”
Right. So, Jarro Lightfeather is in the corner doing his thing. Okay Phel, what about Noctum? What’s he doing right now?
Noctum is sitting at the bar, probably talking with the bartender. He’s tall and his skin is a dull purple grey and he has a couple dark, moon themed tattoos over his face. A dark line connects his lips to his chin and he’s dressed in leather armor that’s been carved to look like phases of the moon. He’s here investigating something for his people in Targon, and he rolls his eyes at Jarro when he sees him.
“Hey!"
He rolls his eyes because he is here for duty, not for women. He also doesn’t believe his whole knight thing. Obviously.
“Okay, that’s just entirely uncalled for.”
“I think it’s very called for, actually.”
“Guys can we try and get through the intro at least?”
Okay, so we have Jarro in the corner and Noctum at the bar talking to Kennen. Oh and Boss—you’re already here, right? Let’s have you introduce yourself next.
Yeah so no one knows Boss’ real name. He’s a real intimidating guy, which is sayin a lot cause he’s also a gnome and how tall did you say gnomes could be? Like, three feet? Yeah. Ain’t nobody’s messing with Boss. He’s a crime boss in Ionia, but he’s nicer than he seems, cares lots for his family and especially his ma. He’s been sittin in this bar for days now waitin to get a crew together with his own out on account of a bad fight with a real angry badger. He’d probably approach em before doin anything else, but I’ll let ya finish before I do it, Lune.
Thanks Boss. Halfway there—okay, next up, K’sante. What’s Lionheart up to?
Oh! Yes, Lionheart. He’s a yellow tiefling, with big ram-like horns and locs decorated with flashy gold jewelry. He has a big smile and tries to meet everyone at the bar with a friendly handshake—and the occasional arm wrestle. He hails from Shurima, and has been making a name for himself since. Ionia is the next stop for his heroics, and with his trusty ntofos, it takes a real mud for brains to pick a fight with him. He is chatting with the commoners, telling heroic stories of his conquests and laughing in the face of another threat.
Perfect—and Yone, Akazana?
Yes. My character—ah, right, yes. Akazana is a silver dragonborn. He sits quietly sipping a glass of whiskey nearby Lionheart, listening to his stories.
“Anything else you want to add, Yone?”
“Not particularly. I still don’t quite understand this ‘game’.”
“Aww leave the old man alone. He’s skipping naptime to be here.”
“Like how you’re skipping dishwashing for this?...that’s what I thought.”
Okay well, last but not least, Kayn. How about you tell us what your character is doing?
Kayn is—
“Are you seriously still sticking with Kayn? You could choose literally any other name you know.”
“Fine.”
Cain is leaning against the wall of the bar looking far cooler than ‘Jarro Lightfeather’. He is also surrounded by women and men, and his gold and red eyes are trained on that bartender. He is also from Ionia, and is part of a rival clan and that innocent bartender is his target.
“Kayn, please.”
Okay fine, maybe he isn’t his target. But he doesn’t like him, that’s for sure. Also, Cain has like super long dark hair in a braid with a streak of blue and his patron is the almighty Darkin Rhaast who lends him his strength in exchange for one day taking over his body and mind—although Cain has other ideas for how their story will end.
You know what, good enough. So that’s how we start, our six heroes in a tavern, like so many other tales about so many other adventurers.
Now, beyond the fact that most places aren’t open past dark, and you shouldn’t be outside at night at all if you can help it—there’s another reason to be at this specific bar on this specific night.
In fact, each of you were actually directed to meet here by a mysterious letter signed with nothing but a rose emblem, and a black seal…
Jarro Lightfeather—hero of Nottingham, Demacia, couldn’t say he was thrilled to find himself in the company of this new group. It wasn’t that they sucked or anything—moreso that he was just so much better at all things adventure, and the likelihood of them wearing him down was far higher than his preference. Then again, the likelihood of making him look significantly better by comparison? Well, maybe that made it worth it.
Is what he would say if that asshole warlock wasn’t travelling with them.
I mean, Lionheart? Amazing, lovely guy. Jarro would happily adventure with him any day. Noctum was a little edgier than his usual taste, but he seemed capable enough. Boss clearly had connections they could use. And Azakana is a healer—enough said, every travelling party always needs a healer. Jarro’s figured that out the hard way.
And then there was Cain—which, for the record, Jarro isn’t even sure is his real name. Cain who decided it would be a good idea to join the group with a Darkin in his head telling him to kill people every five seconds. Cain who can not seem to leave him alone for two seconds.
“Is Jarro even listening?”
Shit. Right. That old guy—Kennen or whatever was talking, wasn’t he?
“Yeah, sorry. I was just uh. Thinking about another one of my awesome adventures.”
“Uh huh.”
Jarro forces a smile, trying not to let any cracks through. Thank gods it seems to do the trick cause before long Kennen is back to rambling about the Golden Demon or whatever and the stupid quest they have to go on before they can get to the cool stuff.
“So, that’s all? Track him down and free your student and we’re good? Seems simple enough.”
“Simple? Dear boy, this is a man who’s taken down hundreds of heroes just like yourself. If you are not careful—”
“We’ll take care of him.”
The half-elf can’t help but resent the arm on his shoulder, even if he knows the tiefling has good intentions. Perhaps the best out of any of them there, if he’s being honest. Not that he’ll ever admit it—heroism is kinda his thing already.
“Good. Then, I shall give you some room keys. You may stay upstairs till morning. At breakfast, I’ll tell you what we’ve found.”
Because Jarro Lightfeather has become the unluckiest man in the world, he’s the one that ends up stuck sharing a room with Mr. Edgypants himself. Again.
Edgy pants cause apparently the guy just refuses to wear a shirt to bed, which. Great. Super duper awesome. And to make matters worse? Only one bed. Which is. Awesome. Just fantastic. Exactly what he needed—
“You know, Ez I love ya, I do, but I really dunno if that part is necessary to the plot.”
“Of course it’s necessary?? I’m not the one who asked what we were doing in our room, okay??”
“And what are we doing, little prince?”
“I–UGH.”
Jarro would rather sleep on the floor than with Cain so. That’s what he’s doing. And he isn’t saying a word to him either.
(It’s at this point where one would probably question the relationship between the two musicians. Why they feel the need to fight every chance they’re given, yet are found passed out in each other's arms on the couch at least three times every given week. Perhaps this is an outlet for them, a way to express pent up emotions they haven’t brought to light. Maybe it’s just foreplay. Whatever it is? It’s driving the rest of the party crazy.)
Sett is first to break the silence.
“Bathroom break?”
“Yeah, probably a good idea. Grab a snack or a tea and we’ll start back up in thirty, okay?”
It’s by the skin of their teeth that Alune had led them this far and frankly? It’s a modern day miracle all their characters are still standing.
Especially with Kayn on the loose tormenting Ez again.
‘Sorry, Rhaast told me to’ was rapidly becoming the catchphrase of the afternoon as the assassin put them in increasingly worse positions time and time again.
By now it’s been about two hours of playing, and K’sante and Yone have left to get the group a pizza from a shop nearby. Aphelios and Sett are unwinding doing who-knows-what in Phel’s room. And the other two? Well, they haven’t moved an inch.
After a moment of careful consideration, Alune gets up too, exhaling loudly as she smooths a hand through her hair and glances at the remaining gremlins, noting the suspicious silence that follows.
“If I put on a kettle, can I trust you two to behave till I get back?”
“Oh please, we’re not children Alune. Well, I’m not a child. I can’t speak for him.”
Ezreal gets a flick to his head in response to that, something he swiftly retaliates with a smack to Kayn’s hand.
Really, it’s ridiculous it took them so long to get together. Even before they did, Alune had seen the posters bravely left on Kayn’s walls first hand, and gods, the way Ezreal checks out his back when he comes home from working out? Like their attraction to one another wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world to anyone but them. Like “Shut up loser” meant anything but “Kiss me” coming from either of their mouths.
It’s only when Alune is out of earshot that the two finally let themselves burst into the laughter they’ve been holding back all session.
“You’re so annoying, you know that?”
“And yet, look who’s still here.”
“Touché.”
“Everyone ready to start again? Awesome. Let’s finish this thing.”
As it turns out, the so-called lead was unnecessary. After finding the innkeeper’s body not just passed out but extremely, super dead in some brutal art arrangement that would almost be floral if it weren’t for all the blood and stuff, the party find themselves at an impasse.
Azakana had searched the scene, resulting in a calling card with simple instructions written in an elegant script: Temple of Kanjuul. Midday.
“We should go after him.”
While Jarro Lightfeather has never been afraid of danger, even he’s hesitant to move so obviously into a trap.
“And if it’s a setup?”
“It’s definitely a setup. But we ain’t got many choices left now, do we?”
Pouring himself an early morning whiskey, Cain prods at the corpse with the edge of his scythe.
“We could just send blondie. If he lives, great! If not? Even better.”
“Oh you asshole, I would not die. Jarro Lightfeather is way stronger than you seem to think.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m literally a knight??? It’s my job to save damsels and stuff.”
To the rogue-paladin, the flick to his delicate pointed ears is the worst thing that could happen to him.
“I don’t even think you know what a knight does, sweetheart.”
Fine. Second-worst thing that could happen to him. Being called ‘sweetheart’ by Cain? Definitely number one.
Gods he wants to punch him.
“If you love-birds are done squabbling, we should hit the road. No student, no pay, remember?”
“The guy who’s hired us is fucking dead, there’s no pay either way!”
“But isn’t the real pay the friends we made along the way?”
“Lionheart I swear to gods—”
The path there is long and winding, and though the sun is nice, its warmth doesn’t quite penetrate the leaves of Ionia’s woodlands.
Aside from the giant spider, and the mimic (I mean Jarro, did you really think there was a random treasure chest in the middle of the forest?? I know you’re part elf, but come on) and the several bandits Sett and Lionheart scared away, the journey to the temple is mostly smooth and it’s not much longer before our heroes stand at its entrance.
Before them is a structure unlike any you’ve seen before, tall and polished with a strange type of wood you’ve never seen before. Gemstones and gold adorn its archways, and the structure is in shockingly good shape despite its apparent centuries of use.
Noctum surveys the area, but finds nothing. Not even a trap.
So when Azakana walks in, and is promptly swept up into what looks almost like the bud of a lotus flower from a contraption hidden in the floorboards, no one is prepared.
“You’re all surprised. Roll initiative.”
If it weren’t for Ezreal and Aphelios, Alune is pretty sure they’d have all died in the first round of combat. Lucky for them, Ezreal was a minmaxer, and Aphelios was a lot more patient than anyone else, especially when it came to teaching people like Yone. He probably just thought it was fun, seeing him fumble around with his character sheet and trying to find the stats he needs to cast anything. It was part of the reason Yone had opted out of the last fight, after all—even going so far as to have suggested that little twist himself.
“To see how much they care about me,” he had joked.
Now they stand at the crux of the final battle planned for this oneshot, and Alune takes great pride in the way their eyes stay trained on her (even Ezreal’s!) while she narrates the villain’s classic evil monologue. Even Sett—whose character had died jumping in front of Aphelios (how appropriate) as he was shot seems to be invested in how their story will end.
“Ah-ah, put that bow away. Or would you rather see your friend torn to pieces? I assure you, no one gets out alive if the stage manager dies. Believe me, you will be playing my game either way. But cooperate, and you might get out with more of your pieces intact. And besides that, wasn’t seeing your fighter downed enough?”
“So before your final performance begins, I shall offer you one last choice.”
The masked man has an odd way of walking, his movements sharp and precise, his limbs straightened like a puppet on strings as he leads them past the mass of flailing traps and machinery into a room like a theatre, complete with a crimson lit stage.
“Theatre is about roles we play. But only the best masterpieces get to be performed on stage.”
With a snap of his fingers, the curtains pull back—revealing a dangling mass of wires, metal, and vines. In its writhing centre are three flowers, propped up by delicate silver string connected to the ceiling. Two of the buds are closed. The centre two are open.
“I believe you can guess what these are for. So, here is my proposal: I am in need of two more leads. So choose. And the rest will go free. For what is art without an audience? I assure you that all of you will become a part of this painting one way or another. Kill me and they die. Attempt to free them, and you’ll activate its mechanisms yourselves.”
The faintest shine of silver scales glints through the turned up petals, and for a moment the party is silent.
Then—
“I’ll do it.”
Lionheart steps up, his chest puffed out, his eyes determined. He is not one to let himself die, but he will not let others die for him either.
“There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t”
A chuckle from the masked man as he beckons the paladin closer.
“I am sorry. My god would not like me dying for another.”
Step by step, he moves towards the stage. The petals of the two open flowers begin to spin, and the moment Lionheart steps up—the first clamps shut over him.
“Lionheart—”
“He can’t hear you now. One part left now. Who will it be?”
For once in his life, Jarro Lightfeather doesn’t immediately have an answer.
“What are you doing? We have to do something.”
“I just—we have no healer. We can’t—”
“Fine. I’ll do it myself”
Noctum raises a hand, points to himself. Cain cocks an eyebrow, but the drow gives him a look.
As he steps up closer to the mechanism and the masked man, he quickly moves his bow, aiming at the closest wire—trying to knock the cages from their holds, trying to free the victims within it.
The Golden Demon moves faster, and still weak from the previous battle, Noctum falls incapacitated on the ground. The arrow hits its mark, but it’s not enough. It joins its master, stilled and broken.
“Any other smart ideas?”
Fuck.
“Shit I—Cain, you’re gonna have to run. I’ll just. I—I’ll do it. Maybe figure out a mechanic from the inside but I can’t—I can’t be responsible for another death.”
The paladin-rogue’s voice has gone pleading, and it’s obvious he’s trying to do that noble, heroic thing like any other stupid classic knight would.
But Cain isn’t about to let himself be rescued by Jarro fucking Lightfeather.
So instead, he just lends him a smile.
“I don’t think so.”
“Huh? But—”
“Hush, princess. You all tried this your way. How about this time, we try it mine?”
Cracking his knuckles, the party’s lone human moves confidently to the centre of the temple.
“So you have decided?”
The Golden Demon’s voice echoes through the empty space. The bodies of their party members and Kennen’s student lie unconscious as the lotus in the centre slowly spins.
For a moment, the party is almost fooled. Then, Cain raises his scythe, forcing the Darkin to crackle with an ancient magic.
“He’s not sacrificing himself,”
The realization comes, and Jarro can’t help but shake his head in disbelief, praying he’s wrong about what he’s already certain is about to happen.
“Cain are you sure because this is a very delicate situation in a very delicate and important religious relic—”
The rogue-warlock raises a hand, flashing a stupid smirk at the only other party member standing.
“Nono, Lightfeather. I got this. Lunie? I cast Fireball.”
“So? Is it everything you ever dreamed of?”
Hours later, Kayn lies on his side, watching popstar’s pastel sheets gently bounce beneath his weight as Ezreal moves to sit down beside him.
“I dunno if I’d go that far but. It was fun. Mostly.”
He gives his boyfriend a pointed look, the one that raises his eyebrows and purses his lips in a way that begs to be kissed stupid. But that would be exactly what he wanted, so Kayn shrugs, cocks a brow and looks at him with that infuriating knowing look Ezreal can never get enough of.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you could mean.”
A soft huff from the shorter man, now absently prodding at the other’s arm.
“Yeah right.”
“What? It wasn’t my idea to burn down the place. That was all Rhaast.”
“It was an important temple! And you’re the same guy!”
Kayn holds up a hand, the nails Ezreal painted having just started to chip.
“Nuh-uh-uh, princess. Different spelling, remember?”
“I hate you.”
He says it in a way that has the rapper’s lips curling into a smirk.
“No you don’t. You love me.”
Before he has time to blink away, athletic arms jut out to wrap around the popstar’s torso, pulling him close even as he giggles and whines and gently punches his arms like he’s making any real effort to escape at all.
“Awful. You’re awful.”
The bridge of Kayn’s hooked nose gently brushes over his nape until the rapper has set his head comfortably on Ezreal’s shoulder.
“Is that why you’re letting me get so close? Jarro Lightfeather?”
The popstar’s head tilts—amusement, light surprise, who cares. All Kayn knows is it’s the opening he’s looking for to lift his chin, and pull him closer.
After all, what good is a story about a knight if it doesn’t end in a kiss?