![]() ![]() His unique bass was the perfect tool to crush the soft rock of Shurima but often had the side effect of liquefying the sand to a degree where many of the workers excavating the tombs were buried alive. He helped excavate the tombs of long-dead emperors, which allowed him to spend a great deal of his time in the darkness underground - something his fellow diggers certainly appreciated. Sunlight was something new to Yorick, something he avoided for fear of people recoiling from a face not even a mother could love. The hooded and hunched figure of Yorick headed south from the bloody carnage of the Freljord and did not stop until he reached the sun-bleached wastes of Shurima. It would be the comeback tour to end all comeback tours. After all, shared woe is better than solitary woe. In the aftermath, Karthus and Kayle pledged the Vocalist's Oath to return stronger than ever. What followed was a drunken woe-off, a night of debauchery, gothic poetry, and operatic singing that saw the men and women of the Slaughter Docks hurl themselves into the monster-filled ocean rather than listen to their maudlin duets. She heard the depthless well of misery in his despairing lyrics and knew Karthus alone could understand her own sorrow. A slow descent into madness and obscurity beckoned until the radiant form of Kayle arrived in Bilgewater. So Karthus toured the most squalid and fetid dive bars to sing at the drunken wakes of murdered pirates, instead - what with grim dirges being a vast improvement on sea-shanties. ![]() This had an unexpected health benefit to natives of Bilgewater, as people started looking after themselves rather than have to put their families through such an ordeal. Karthus pitched up in Bilgewater, earning a crust as a hooded reciter of funeral dirges. As the rock of the mountain cascaded down, the band fled to the far corners of Runeterra to escape the wrath of Freljordian battle queens and the raft of inevitable blood feuds. Yet, for all the heart-rending emotion contained in her lyrics, none of her audiences could truly understand the depths of her woes, no one could hear the sorrow of her existence without immediately perishing.Īfter the disastrous end to their last live performance, where Mordekaiser destroyed the entirety of the Freljordian crowd, Karthus gave the fateful order for Olaf to drum the 'Worldsplitter Rhythm' that sundered the land and brought down the icy realm's highest peak upon Mordekaiser. But since each song was typically many hours long, they had time enough to put their affairs in order before death took them. The depthless sorrow of these operatic arias pierced the hearts of all who heard them and her listeners were frequently overcome with such overwhelming melancholy that they simply dropped dead at the end of her performance. So rarefied was Kayle's divine speech that she could only communicate via grand, symphonic metal operas that told of her plight. Planet Earth had failed to produced warriors of mettle, so she travelled to Runeterra in search of warriors of metal. Gleaming in jagged warplate, she was a golden warrior goddess from a strife-torn world in search of allies to fight an epic war against the diabolical hordes of her faithless sister. These are just two of the legends of how Kayle came to walk among mortals. ![]() Thus did Pentakill's last live performance end.Īccounts of Kayle's arrival in Runeterra variously speak of her borne by a fiery comet that split the sky or straddling the girth of a glittering, serpentine dragon. Only by bringing a mountain down upon the metal giant was his rampage halted. They whisper that not even his brothers could restrain his fury. None lived to tell of this grim night but, sometimes, a reckless taleteller speaks of a berserk axeman reaping lives with his axe. Some claim it is no more than a legend invented to frighten youngsters, others claim that even to speak of it is to invite the return of those metal warriors from their tour of the realms beyond. It is a tale only spoken of in hushed, awed whispers. When the sky in the far north of the Freljord grows dark and warriors gather around the hearthfire embers, they sometimes speak of a deathly night on the ice, of murderous rage unbound. But Pentakill didn't stay dead for long and, now, no stage can escape the grasp of the undying. Their last performance ended the band - and the lives of the audience. The infernal prophecy of Pentakill: born of shadow, forged in flame, metal as hell. We asked Pentakill how much to charge for the record but the only number they gave us was the beast's. ![]()
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