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The seas were harsh, and those who had a mind knew well to stay away. The fact simply was that as much as you hoped, the seas would calm for no one, not even the finest of sailors, or the most elite of men could even hope to tame the monster that was the sea. The only one who could, in fact, calm it, was the wind spirit Janna, an entity that all sailors respected and prayed to when hoping a safe voyage to and from their destination. She would almost always comply, of course, commanding the winds to rest, if even for a moment, to allow the sailors to pass through the isthmus that was the bays of Piltover and the vast, terrifying ocean.
The underground in Zaun was just as harsh. The disorder and chaos that were the gangs of all ages, from young children who’d been forced into the reality of violence and deceit to survive, to the time-worn adults, people that knew how to get around the toxic-borne air, those who saw blood and slaughter as the average day in the streets. Could they do anything about it? Probably not. Not while those snobbish Pilties got their wits about them and looked down every once in a while at the street rats below them, instead of having their heads held high and ignorant. The fact was that this was how it always was, the divide between order and advancement, in the sky, with the Piltovians, and the chaos and tradition of the Zaunites.
So when the rumours spread of a voice, the interests of the gangs in Zaun piqued.
The ‘Voice’ told them stories. Enticing, rich, flavourful stories of warmth, luxury, comfort. Stories of what life was like in the above, in Piltover , of all places, somewhere that people had never even thought about having the opportunity to go, but entice them, it did. The ‘Voice’ also told them of a way. A way to have it all, and more. It was risky, no doubt, but by the time word had spread far, deep to even the bottom levels of the murky city, he’d gained a following of crowds, hundreds of people clamouring to even enter the room from which the voice spoke.
It didn’t take long for the idea of rebellion to settle in the minds of the ‘Voice’’s followers. Before, there had been small chatter of rebellion, young boys who wanted to have a taste of what it was like to live in the light rather than the dark, or gangs that’d been sick of their life of violence. But they were all too small to make an impact. This time, it would be different. The ‘Voice’—or the Spider , as some people referred to him, promised them so. Zaun had finally been united under one person, and his name was Urgot. He would lead them to victory—to freedom.
Spiders soon adorned every wall in Zaun. It was comforting, to them, knowing that they had a chance, and the only thing they needed to do was to wait for the right moment. Their thoughts buzzed with the idea, the rebellion, when Piltover could maybe even be theirs for the taking.
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Janna could hear it. It was soft, at first. Just whispers in their mind as they—the Zaunite sailors—prayed to her for a safe journey. The Spider . Whatever did it mean? Could it be that there had been an accident that one of the scientists had spilt some kind of mutative substance onto a spider? There had been talk of a similar one in Noxus, and to have one in Zaun was just as likely. She’d ignored it, at first. It was none of her business, anyhow. But then, their voices grew louder. Drunken Zaunites who’d made their way to the docks had spoken of it too, to the world in the hours before morning, yelling in glee and delusions of victory. They spoke of rebellion, of strength, of power. They spoke of a guiding voice, the Spider . It wasn’t long before Janna grew curious of what the voice meant, and who the spider was.
Disguising herself as a lowly Zaunite girl, Janna made her way towards the heart of Zaun, a market of sorts where information could be swapped for a bit of gold. She wrapped a ragged brown cloak around her body, hoping that it would at least make her seem less suspicious, less like one of those Pilties . To learn about the voice, she didn’t even need to ask. It was practically everywhere, spiders on the walls weaving talk of freedom. After investigating further, she came upon a dingy, ominous shack, the entrance at the end of an alleyway propped up with bits of corrugated metal and a door fashioned out of a net.
She took a few uncertain steps towards the shack, her breaths slow and even. The only sounds that could be heard were the dripping of sewerage pipes and rats squeaking as they fought over an uneaten piece of moulded bread. The Spider was staying here, right? So why weren’t there any people in the area? With the amount of gossip about him , she would’ve thought that more people would flock to hear his stories.
Janna’s questions were quickly answered when a voice suddenly echoed through the alley, and she jumped at the sound.
“The Spider’s sessions are not currently on,” it said, breathing through what sounded like a gas mask. “Go home, little girl.”
Janna blinked. Then straightened herself up to seem somewhat more confident.
“Oh, but sir ,” she said, fluttering her lashes. “He’s requested to see me , specifically. You know how men are.”
“Oh, is that so?” He responded, as what sounded like metal creaked ever so slightly. “I don’t recall ever requesting anyone. Who might you be?”
Her heart started beating faster, thinking up of some lie to tell him. Clearly, she was talking to the Spider himself. How could she get information from him?
“I—I go by Janna. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” She’d given up on lying altogether. It was too much of a bother to keep up her stories, anyway.
More metal creaking. But now, it seemed as though someone— something— was stepping toward her, the sound of metal on stone seeming to silence any other sound.
Then, he came into the light, and she saw his face for the first time. A hideous, hideous face, hidden behind a mask.
“ You .” He spat, a look of contempt in his eyes. “You’re that wind spirit, aren’t you? What do you want?”
Janna could only stare. He really did remind her of a spider, his mechanical legs moving altogether. She could only imagine what the green substance in the pipes attached to his mask were.
“I, um, I just... wanted to listen—hear what you had to say,” she replied, a nervous smile tugging at her mouth. “Is that too much to ask?”
He looked back at her, amusement dancing in his countenance. He seemed to be deliberating his options, for all was silent for another minute as they stared at each other, both wondering how they should make their next move.
“ Well, there’s no harm in telling you, I suppose,” the Spider shrugged, moving further into the light.
And thus, tell her he did.
Minutes fell away as she listened intently to his stories, the Spider telling them as though he were telling them for the first time. She didn’t know who this man was, and why he seemed to be in such a sorry state, but she knew that he seemed passionate about his cause. As she bade her farewells, she transformed back into her ethereal form, bidding him good luck with his ambitions.
After all, she knew that the Piltovians were not people to be reckoned with. Not with their police force.