Chapter Text
Every culture has their myths. Even more have ones based on real events, places, and even people. This myth in question is the latter, of course. While Warwick is only known to those in Piltover and Zaun, he is a well known cryptid surrounding the deepest parts of the undercity. With only a select few knowing the truth behind the story, that truth being that he isn't a myth. Because of this fact, many avoid the Lanes at night; that of course being the crawling grounds of the Zaun-born cryptid. The undercity, if you asked anyone who did not live there, was dangerous enough during the day anyway. Which means that many have only thought of verifying the truth of the myth and seeing Warwick in the flesh if he so had any. Children dare eachother and many a drunk yell boldly of their false stories of seeing such a creature and fending it off with naught more than a bare fist. That said, only those who are used to the many alleys of Zaun or the pointed buildings of Piltover have more smarts than curiosity, this story is of someone who found themselves in the middle of discovering why come night fall, no one travels through the Lanes.
You are that someone. With this new technology heralded by some guy in Piltover, you were able to take a ride to visit the city of progress in all it's shimmering glory. And if time called for it, a quick look into the quietly spoken of undercity, Zaun. From the window of your quickly moving luxury blimp you saw spiraling towers and large buildings adorn with gold and blue trimmings. You shiver, the zap of something electrical hitting your skin even from inside, you prepare your little bag you took with you, and prepared for the surprisingly smooth landing. From the sky you knew these buildings were large, but looking up at them made you feel…insignificant. Nonetheless, there is touring to do, and you have a one way ticket to the best sites and tourist traps this city has to offer.
The tour guide was very kind, and you are known for asking many questions. You find out that the creator of this Hextech is named Jayce, and that his discovery of turning magic into a controlled science is how you got there. You suppose that is interesting, but the tour followed a strict path with hardly any people in the streets, which meant slipping away to find out about Zaun would take a pretty hefty distraction. Or in your case, truly hope that the next big important thing was near a crowd of maybe fifty. You don't do well with confrontation if more than one person could see you cause a scene.
All things have to end eventually. The tour was interesting, you think. After the fifth demonstration on how genius Hextech is and how much it means to the city of progress you tuned it all out. The crowd scatters, with everyone doing their own thing, you realize now is the time if any to find your way to Zaun and see it for yourself. You had heard from someone on the blimp that there were many ways to get there, but the easiest way was a bridge that connected them, you figure they may be right since all they spoke of was being from Piltover. They were kind enough to tell you what you wanted to know, with a vague warning that the undercity (which is what they called it, almost in disgust) was dangerous, and while the sun shone on Piltover, only the shadows hold Zaun. Whatever that could mean. Only one real way to find out.
In your humble opinion, with how the Piltians speak about Zaun, there shouldn't be a bridge so easy to cross between them. There was probably a lesson about this during the tour, but your brain fogs up trying to remember. Regardless of history, no one seems to stop you, and some people are walking past you from both cities. No time like the present, so you take your first few steps into Zaun, and the difference was stark. Large white buildings and clean streets to dark wooden homes and forcefully made dirt and rock paths. The layout of the place was confusing, and the air smelled slightly of poison. You've made it this far regardless of the feeling of unease this city gives you, and to back down from secrets is unlike you. No stone left unturned, Zaun has no idea what's coming.
Zaunites are very polite, actually. Of course there are the rude, loud and downright unwell in every place, but for the most part Zaunites are kind. They could tell just from your clothes that you weren't piltie as they call it, and Zaun while large in populace was small, no one knew who you were, but as long as you were respectful to them, they were the same to you. Many zaunites took the time to help you out, breathing techniques and places to go for food, some even took the time to tell you of the history of Zaun. A city built on a past of hard labor and revolution. Rivetting! You've always adored a place with culture, and if you are being honest with yourself, Zaun feels more alive than Piltover does. You follow a few people to the largest place in the city, a bar named The Last Drop. The outside wasn't much to go on, but warm light shone from the windows, and you could hear the conversations from where you stand. They tell you the bartender there, he's the one you go to for anything, people deem him as the leader of Zaun. He sounds intimidating, but who are you to back down now? You're already here, so you might as well.
The inside of The Last Drop was cozy, you feel like you could stay here forever. Looking around, you saw a few rowdy folk, but for some reason they kept their violence to a minimum, most bars you go to would have atleast one person bleeding over a broken table. You sit at the bar not remembering the last time you've had a proper drink. The bartender has his back turned to you, but you can tell from the pure wall of muscle that he's huge. No wonder there's no bar fighting here. You wait patiently as he deals with other patrons, he's just one guy, one big guy but just one. You stare at the wood of the bar and zone out to the sound of the music from the jukebox in the corner.
After a bit of waiting around and watching back and forth from people well into their third or fourth drink, a tap on the bar gets your attention. Looking up, you can finally see the face of the bartender, and wow. He has kind eyes, and brows that make him look always atleast a bit concerned, he looks well kept with greying hair pulled only partially into a bun. Staring doesn't get you drinks though, so you shrug and gesture to the vaguely brown looking bottles behind him. You really can't think about the last time you had a drink, but you know from just looking at him you need atleast one before you can pull yourself together to say a single word. He pours the drink for you, keeping quiet and only nodding once it's placed in your hand. The look of it makes your head spin, when was the last time you did this? Well, bottoms up.
Halfway through your first sip it hits you. It's strong, and burns the back of your throat before you can taste it, and maybe you shouldn't have asked for something that tasted so flammable but it was too late for that. You were never much of a lightweight but it seems like you won't need more than just the one cup to embarrass yourself if you aren't careful. The taste lingers after you put down the cup, and you feel yourself loosening up. Liquid courage most people call it, and now you feel you understand the sentiment.
Soon enough you feel the courage to say something, anything to the bartender. With the drink heavy in your stomach making you feel like you can pull this off without fumbling, you go to speak. That is until a patron besides you gets a bit too rowdy. The bartender turns to calm him down, and takes his hardly empty mug from his hands with a look that says he's had enough. The rowdy idiot protests loudly, and the sound of chatter dies down as the others in the bar turn to look at the issue. You shrink in your seat and hold your cup to your chest, this has nothing to do with you and you are not going to get involved.
"And I'll fuckin tell you what!" The idiot starts, slurring his words to the point that it seems impossible for anything to make sense. "You can all fuck right off! I ain't scared of none of you! Know why? I faced Warwick!" You sip your drink, and the idiot looks around with his fist raised in the air. For a good three seconds there was silence before everyone bursts into laughter. People falling over themselves and eachother as the idiot blushes in frustration. "Quit that!" He exclaims, fists now balled to his side like a toddler being told no. "I'm telling the right truth! I faced it myself and made it out alive!" You raise an eyebrow at this proclamation, but it's swept under the rug when you hear an amused snort from behind the bar.
"Right, and that ain't something I heard before." The bartender's voice makes you jump. The gravelly, smooth cadence resonates in your ears and hits you in the chest. You feel like you've just taken another sip of your drink that you had forgotten about with all the nonsense and mirth happening all at once. Unable to tell if your face is hot from the settling of the alcohol or the fact that you spent more time thinking about the single sentence that was said, you cover your face with your cup and decide it's better to not draw attention to yourself.
"You know what, to hell with all of you!" The idiot stumbles head first from the bar, the laughter finally dying down as a few stray chuckles are tossed into open air. Soon everything goes vaguely back to normal, and the bartender tends to a few empty glasses and mugs. Your cup is just about empty at this point, first drink and you're already trying to keep steady. Leaning against the bar, you watch as the bartender focuses on cleaning the same cup over and over. His fingers are very meticulous, you notice almost instantly, and despite how large his hands are he holds the glasses with poise as if he's been doing it for years which, judging by the look on his face he definitely has.
He notices you staring before you do, and with a gently raised eyebrow decides to strike up conversation. "You must be one of them tourists from topside." He tosses the dry rag over his left shoulder and places the cup down. Leaning against the bar just close enough for you to get a good look at his surprisingly grey-blue eyes and wow, his eyes are blue? Your face steams a bit again, and you almost reach for the empty cup. You nod, and realize that you may need a bit more liquid courage before jumping into speaking with him. He notices this, atleast the empty cup, and takes it upon himself to pour you another. "Unusual for someone to come all the way here, any particular reason why?" He hands you the full cup, and you down half of it. Regret stings the back of your throat like you've never felt, but it gets your blood flowing in your brain again.
"Saw a bridge during the tour, wanted to know what was on the other side." You tell him, putting the now half empty cup on the bar. This was the truth, for the most part. You don't know how to openly tell him that you heard whispers on the ride over and wanted to see what the fuss was about. He chuckles deep, and you start feeling like you'll need a third cup sooner rather than never. "That's a new one." He stands up straight, taking a glass from a patron that thanks him and places a few coin onto the bar. "See you next week eh, Vander?" The patron says as they leave, the bartender, who you now know is Vander, nods as they close the door and turns to grab his wet rag. "Hell, most pilties keep out of here, and they definitely don't come this far in." He turns to you, wiping the glass clean clearly curious still. He gestures for you to elaborate, and you realize you don't have much of a reason.
You shrug, truth be damned you just wanted to see what it was like here. You have no regrets in satiating your initial curiosity, but after the little spat that happened, you have more questions. "Really, I just wanted to see what was going on. Kind folk led me here, that's all." You actually sip your drink this time after explaining yourself, something about his face just feels comforting the more you look at it. You're almost positive that isn't the drink talking. Vander gives a half smile, maybe you said something he liked? You are truly unsure. You finish off your drink and decide against a third. Placing a few bits of currency that you aren't sure can be properly exchanged here. "Sorry…" you feel embarrased, you don't know about the foreign money policies here, but Vander doesn't seem to mind. "You paid, and that's good enough in my books."
After a few more minutes of a very comfortable silence, you decide that it would kill you to not atleast ask. "What's a Warwick?" Vander glances at you as he dries off a few more mugs and cleans off the bartop. "A myth." He says simply, case closed. Except that isn't good enough. "Sure, a myth. But that weirdo was adamant about seeing whatever it was…" He puts the mug he had dried down a bit harshly, cutting your sentence off. "It's a myth, he was drunk. That's it, alright?" He raises a brow at you, and you take that as a hint that you shouldn't push. You nod and stand slowly. "It's…probably late right? I need to find a hostel or something." You try to guess the sun position from the window, but no luck. You pick up your bag and sling it over your shoulder.
"Be safe." Vander says as you walk towards the exit. You would have waved off his words if not for two very important things. First being you were certaintly more than a bit tipsy. The second and most jarring is well, you have no idea how to get back to that bridge. The smart thing would be to ask someone for help, and even inebriated you knows better than to wander on your own. However, you are feeling particularly stupid after two cups, and you want to know where these alleyways go. Before you can talk yourself out of something as stupid as getting yourself lost while drunk, your feet start moving. Soon enough the lights of The Last Drop fade into the distance, and if you looked back you wouldn't know which right or left would take you back. It's cold in a dark alleyway, you've learned just now. How could you be so damned stupid? You decide that it's better to stop. Your legs hurt, and it could be easier to get back to the bridge if someone walked by. You sit on your bag and look at your surroundings, you somehow stumbled onto an opening. The problem? No one is around. From the looks of it, anyone who would be around left not long before you showed up. It was eerie and quiet, and you have no idea how it became night so fast.
You need to keep moving, is the thought you had. The chill air and sudden feeling of being watched sobered you enough to a point where you realized how dumb you had just been. Getting to your feet you take your bag and sprint. Paranoia has you assuming something is following you, the quiet of the city is convincing you that you may just be going a bit mad. Either way, you catch yourself getting more lost, and you eventually collapse from the pain in your legs. Damn it all, why didn't you just stay at the Last Drop? Exhaustion hits you before frustration, and you are too tired to scold yourself for this blunder. Leaning against a wall you take time to catch your breath, the smoggy air of Zaun filling your lungs and making you choke. Whatever. You close your eyes, and as much as you'd prefer a warm bed, this is the best you're getting for tonight.
Until something wakes you up. It isn't ideal to be awoken mid dream, but you figured it was some passerby wondering who you were and why you were asleep against a wall. For a time, you don't open your eyes, and try to ignore whoever is standing over you. That doesn't last long though, because this person refuses to leave you alone, your brows furrow as you realize you aren't going to get any sleep this way. With a huff you open your eyes, and you expected a person, like a normal Zaunite doing a nightly sweep or something. Instead, you see a large, hulking beast. All fur and fangs and two eyes with different colours staring you down with an intention you can't read from your exhausted state. You freeze in fear seeing this thing tower over you like this, and you bet that even while standing it could dwarf you with ease. You have no idea what it is, and before you can proccess anything it reaches for you. Between the several feelings you have and the speed this thing can move, you find yourself saying one final thing before you were knocked out cold. "Warwick?"