The Adventures of One Prodigal Explorer

by Talon of the Phoenix

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Crossover, Human, Comedy
Length: 3809

A warless, poverty-less, and almost sadness-less utopia? Sounds cool. Populated with talking horses? Sounds weird. Filled with a smorgasbord of things that want to kill me? Sounds dangerous. I'm in.

A warless, poverty-less, and almost sadness-less utopia? Sounds cool. Populated with talking horses? Sounds weird. Filled with a smorgasbord of things that want to kill me? Sounds dangerous. I'm in.

Welcome to the League of Legends-My Little Pony LoHAV crossover, featuring Ezreal, the Prodigal Explorer.

Knowledge of League of Legends is COMPLETELY unnecessary. I will explain everything in the story as needed. For those who do know LoL lore, I will be rewriting/expanding on a large amount of it, as well as making many changes to Ezreal himself in order to make this a decent story, so fair warning.

My first real attempt at a fic. My previous (pathetic) attempt doesn't count. Criticism is welcome, be it constructive or downright mean. Preferably constructive, though

Heavily inspired by other LoHAV fics, not the least of which is Headless, not Heartless.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-07 21:23:10 UTC

Ch. 2 (Rewrite) - Missing in Action

They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die.  That’s the only reason why I thought I wasn’t dead and off to a better place.

~c. 1,300 years ago~

        I stared at my reflection, appraising it with the keen eye of an eagle.  Or, more accurately, the frantic gaze of an overzealous fanboy.  Given the amount of cash I dropped on putting together this costume, I had better be the spitting image of Ezreal.  I wasn’t, unfortunately, but I was close enough that I felt the money was well spent.

        I met my own gaze, confirming that my naturally brown eyes had been transformed by the off-blue contacts.  My newly blonde hair obscured my vision slightly, but the temporary hairstyle was no worse than my typical long-ish haircut.  Glancing downward, I saw my new brown leather vest, accenting my shirt, as well as the ridiculous belt that Ezreal, and thus by extension I, wore.  Completing my costume were a pair of goggles resting on my head, a pair of boots, a glove for my left hand, and perhaps most importantly, a gauntlet for my right.

        The gauntlet was nearly perfect, if I did say so myself.  It was incredibly difficult to make, much more difficult than any other piece of the outfit.  Making a paper-mache glove was hard enough, but allowing the fingers to move was even harder, involving assembling each finger and sliding piece separately, and then stitching/tying them together in such a way that they can still move.  Then, I had to spray paint the whole thing a brassy gold color, and then hand-draw a few runes on for good measure.  But the effort was well worth it, and the gauntlet was nearly perfect, except for one “small” detail.

        The gem in the center was missing.

        I spent weeks searching the internet, local stores, everywhere, for a suitable crystal that would fit snugly into the indentation I left for it, but I couldn’t find anything.  True gems were out for obvious reasons, but most of the various pieces of quartz, glass, and even plastic were either too imperfect or too expensive to be essentially the centerpiece of the costume.  After all, the ancient artifact that granted Ezreal control over his moderately large magical might can’t be a beat up piece of junk can it?

        But today was the day of the convention, the perfect gem had yet to appear, and I only had minutes, not days or even hours, before my ride would come for me.  I would just have to deal with my costume’s flaw, and hope nobody would notice.

        I watched as my friend John drove up into the apartment building’s parking lot.  We’d been friends since the start of college, hitting it right off when we learned of each other’s shared interests (and also because I saved him from failing physics).  How he manages to stay alongside me in the mechanical engineering major with such a bad math sense is beyond me, but regardless, he was one of the best friends I had ever had.  Thankfully, he was a better driver than mathematician, and I trusted him behind the wheel, except for that one time last week when we both got smashed in celebration of my 21st birthday.  Not that he even wanted to try to go home with that massive hangover.  Also, unlike most of my friends and myself, he actually has a car.

        And thus, with slightly less reluctance, John had been elected as the one to ferry all of us to Chicago-con.

        As I climbed into the passenger’s seat, I glanced him over.  I didn’t even have to glance lower than his helmet to figure out who he was going as.  Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing the goggles currently, or my trust in his driving would have probably been misplaced.

        "I can’t believe you’re so shameless as to go as Master Right-click himself,” I said.

        True to his character’s champion design, his costume made no sense.  A helmet, complete with armored ponytail.  Goggles, with 7 lenses.  Boots, with friggin swords in them.  He even had a giant metal sword to use as his main weapon, though he lacked the classic rings embedded in it that truly defined Yi’s weirdness..  His costume was perfect.

        “I can’t believe you never found a single goddamn crystal you like.”

        I winced.  I wasn’t really hurt, of course.  John and I traded far more caustic comments on a regular basis, and routinely made typical league of legends all chat seem like preschool name-calling in comparison.  Still, I was sore that I never could get that last piece of my costume, and that’s probably why he taunted me.

        “Well at least I’m not going as the next step up from Teemo.”  Two could play at that game, and I chose to exploit his hatred of that furry little rodent-devil, who existed for no other reason than to incite rage and devour souls.

        He huffed playfully.  “You’re just jealous that I have to carry your fat ass every time we play together.”

        As he began to drive us away, I let loose my ultimate attack.  “Well, as Ezreal says, ‘It’s all skill”, and at least I have some.

        Needless to say, from there, things escalated quickly.

        As we approached the con itself, our ridiculous bickering finally drew to a close.  Along the way, our dastardly duo of two had expanded to a merry band of five as we picked up more of our friends.  Sitting in the painfully cramped back seats were Nick, David, and Josh.  David and Josh were having a conversation of their own, although not nearly as rancorous as the one I had taken part in.  David, a hardcore PC fan, was continuing to attempt to convert Josh, a console zealot, an effort that seemed to be futile, as usual.  David displayed his PC patriotism with a passable costume of what I was told to be called the Lich King, although I had never played any Warcraft games so I couldn’t confirm anything other than he looked mildly creepy.  Josh, on the other hand, came with a much better costume of a militia pilot from Titanfall, although the badass effect was ruined when he was forced to swap an authentic-looking airsoft pistol for a dinky cardboard cutout due to the convention’s rules.

        Finally, Nick, gazing out into the distance as usual, was dressed as another League of Legends character named Gragas.  I initially gave the idea to him as a joke, due to him sharing a weight class with the obese drunk.  I was surprised, to say the least, when he actually rolled with it, even demonstrating one of Gragas’s signature moves, Body Slam, when prompted by my continued teasing earlier that day.  Needless to say, I shut up after that.  Still, his costume was pretty good, although it was mostly comprised of a shredded set of pants, a giant barrel, and a skin-colored shirt which he threw on at the last minute at our insistence that he shouldn’t be that disgusting in a public setting.

        I jerked my eyes back forwards as we came to a jolting stop.  Luckily, it was only the curb at the end of the parking spot.  I did say John was good at driving, but I never said anything about parking.  Now eager to escape for yet another reason, I grasped at the door handle, desperately waiting for it to unlock.

        As I burst back into the sunlight, I took large, deep breaths of that sweet, fresh air.  I love my friends to death, sometimes literally where games are concerned, but five costumed guys stewing in a car for upwards of an hour is a recipe for nastiness.  As I looked about, I got my first glimpse of the appropriately-if-blandly named Chicago-con.  Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect.  Nick told me about the upcoming convention a month or two ago, but didn’t know much more than it was full of “panels, merchandise, and fun!”, or so the slogan claimed.  Despite the lack of specifics, though, it seemed that most everyone I knew had heard about it one way or the other.  And if everyone else was there, then it would probably be entertaining at the least.

        What met my eyes was… less than spectacular.  Granted, “Chicago”-con was actually being held in a small suburb nearby, and I suppose that lowered the standards slightly, but the convention still seemed slightly pathetic.  It was being held in the city convention center, which, aside from a banner, showed no sign of the convention’s existence.  Still, they say you can’t judge a book by its cover, and I saw a multitude of people walking around inside, even from a distance, so as soon as we were all ready, we headed inside.

Despite my hopes, the inside of the con turned out to be very disappointing.  By “panels, merchandise, and fun!”, they must have meant “2 panels, a bit of merchandise, and fun with your friends because they showed up for some reason”.  My friends seemed to be similarly put off by the lack of interesting activities to partake in.  Truly the most impressive thing I saw was the sheer number of people who turned out, my friends and I among them.  But we showed up, so we may as well look around, so with a wave, I split off from my friends and headed into the mediocre merchandise section.

There were only a dozen or so stalls, but despite the lack of variety, the quality of much of the merch was amazing.  I took my time working down the single line of vendors, inspecting everything in detail, half out of interest and half out of boredom; it wasn’t like there was anything else to do here anyway, and Josh said we wouldn’t be leaving for a few hours at least, even given the lack of entertaining activities.  There was a stand that sold swords and armor, seemingly made of legitimate steel.  Another sold trinkets and jewelry, made of, if not gold, something strikingly similar.  One even sold “futuristic” technology, and though I have no idea how they projected that hologram, it still looked really cool.  Even more surprising was the low prices of everything.  Sure, the best pieces were still well over $500, but the products themselves were probably worth many times that, even by my amatuer appraisal.

Finally, I reached the end of the line, and stopped at a stall that sold nothing but gems and crystals.  Big ones, too.  They were displayed beautifully, some resting on the table, others hanging from posts set up on top, and a few were, inexplicably, floating in the air, not connected to anything that I could see at least.  Even glancing at the ceiling above and inspecting the desk underneath them yielded no answers, and, curiosity getting the better of me, I turned to ask the merchant how he was doing it.

I met his gaze, for the first time noticing that he was heavily scrutinizing my costume.  It was kinda creepy, honestly, the way his mismatched eyes looked me over, with the purple-and-gold combination being particularly unnerving.  I opened my mouth to finally ask him how his crystals were floating, but he held up his hand, silencing me.  He began to mutter under his breath, and though I had to strain my ears, I was able to catch a few words.

“Ezreal? … Yes, yes, of course … I have it, yes … Are you sure? … Alright.”

I began to back away slowly.  His muttering had started to weird me out, and I felt like I didn’t need to know the answer to my question if it meant having to talk to a probable madman.  But as I started to move away, he suddenly blinked twice, shook his head, and then smiled gently, somehow much less menacing.

“Oh, sorry, I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said, this time directly at me.

I blink in surprise.  Something about him was different, but I couldn’t tell what it was.  “Oh! No, no, you didn’t scare me.”  I sounded almost panicked, but as I continued to meet his golden eyes, I seemed to be calming down, and I inwardly wondered why I felt fearful in the first place.  “It’s just, uh, I figured I don’t have enough money to buy any of your wares!”  I smiled sheepishly.

He frowned for a moment.  “It’s just a condition, as I’m sure you’re wondering.  I am on medication, and it isn’t harmful.  You’re hardly the first to notice it.”

I suddenly felt ashamed for jumping to such a damning conclusion that he was insane.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you so harshly.  But I honestly don’t have enough money to buy anything you have.  It all looks so expensive.”

His calming smile returned.  “Cost is no issue.  These crystals are actually relatively cheap to acquire, and the prices on the tag are just the price for the unworthy.  I have something just for you, actually.”  He bent over, and began rummaging behind the stall.  “Ezreal, right?  Well I have something for you.”  He resurfaced triumphantly holding -no, floating- a bluish crystal in his hand.  I was dumbstruck as he grinned, not because of the levitation, but because how the crystal seemed so perfect, as if it were made for my costume, as if it were meant for Ezreal, or perhaps was already his.  “Well, what do you think?”

I dumbly nodded, vaguely realizing my jaw hanging open, but not caring to do anything about it as I reached for my wallet.

He suddenly shook his head vigorously, and held out his hand.  “Ah, ah, ah.  You don’t need to pay me.  I told you that this is for you, and it would be wrong to make you pay for it.”  He smirked.  “No, this is for you, as a gift.  You’re welcome.”

If my jaw was dropping before, now it was floored.  Wordlessly, I accepted the crystal from him and gazed down at it, noting that it felt almost electric as it floated above my hands, as if it was filled with lightning waiting to strike.  “I don’t know how I could thank you for this.”

He gave me a knowing smile, replying “Trust me, you don’t need to.  Now don’t let me keep you here.  Go have fun!”

I smiled back for the first time, and slotted the crystal into its rightful place in my gauntlet as I turned my back, ready to go show my friends my new toy.  But as I looked away, I suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, not to be rude, but wasn’t one of your eyes purple earlier?”

I turned back to the stall, but to my surprise, he was gone.  There was a sudden flash on my left, and I almost gasped as I felt my gauntlet get heavier, as if it was turned into lead.  I looked down at it, seeing the glowing crystal in its place, the shimmering blue runes, and the metallic sheen of the device itself.  It flashed again, and I covered my eyes with my over hand.

When I could see again, I moved my and and looked down beneath me to see a glowing box pattern of runes around my feet.  Even as I watched, more symbols inscribed themselves into the floor around me.  I tried to get out, but my hand met a flash and a burst of heat as I tried to move away.  Noone else seemed to notice as the box completed itself, and began glowing brightly.  No one but Josh, who, as I watched, seemed to be sprinting towards me in slow motion, one hand outstretched, his newly ringed sword lagging behind him in the other.  But just before he reached me, my vision was filled with white as the convention faded away in the box’s glow, and then everything went black.

Ch. 1 (Rewrite) - Locking In

They say all men seek immortality.  Imagine my face when I found it.

        You wouldn’t believe how unbearably boring being a statue is.  I mean sure, the constant, suffocating feeling of being unable to move paired with the constant, suffocating feeling of not being able to breathe can keep you on edge for the first couple of years, but after that you just stop caring.  Then, you can only entertain yourself by watching the ponies walk by, completely and blissfully oblivious to your predicament.  That, and counting how many times the birds poop on your head. 386 by the way.  I suppose I should be thankful, though, ‘cause I heard poor old Loony got locked up on the moon, which, I suspect, contains even fewer diversions.  People Ponies have been saying she’s been freed now, but unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for me.        Today’s a special day for a couple of reasons.  It’s my birthday, though I have no idea how old I am at this point.  I’ve learned to keep track of the date by listening in on conversations around me, but I gave up counting the years once I passed 500.  The current number is most likely well over double that, and despite my ability to do the math and calculate the value, I really couldn’t be bothered.  On the other hand, I apparently have extra entertainment today in the form of a rather large group of what sound like children.  Foals, I suppose.  Perhaps part of some field trip, or maybe a camp.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t see them to confirm my suspicions, despite, or perhaps because of, the beautiful side of a hedge that had occupied my vision for the last eternity.  At least I can hear them, though, and that’s better than most of the fairly few visitors who visit the castle’s statue garden.

        I inwardly chuckled at the sounds of arguing and fighting off in the distance.  No doubt they had found the statue of Discord.  I could feel his aura from here, albeit barely, but the compulsion he gives off to cause chaos is very strong, much stronger than my own aura.  I could occasionally inspire someone to go Create something if they got close enough, usually a foot or two on a good day.  But Discord had managed to start the foal equivalent of a drunken bar brawl.  Of course, it’s probably all part of his plan to try and break free.        I was well aware that these prisons weren’t invincible.  Besides the fact that they couldn’t be, I had been chipping away at mine from the moment I was imprisoned.  The petrification spell itself forces the victim to bleed off mana by generating an aura, but on the occasions when I can overwhelm the mental defenses of a “victim”, the burst of energy I get from them accepting my “element” gives me the chance to chip away at the prison itself.  Discord was probably getting a veritable feast of mana from such an overt display of his influence.

        I was only moderately surprised when I felt a burst of chaos magic.  It would probably take me upwards of a million years to break free of my own prison, despite my best efforts, but it made sense that one as powerful as him could do it in much less time.  I’m happy for him; he didn’t really deserve to get locked up.  Still, it doesn’t do much to help me.  Of course, Discord was one of maybe fifteen beings on the planet who knew the counterspell for the prisons, myself included, but I’m doubtful that he would help me.        But apparently my doubts were unfounded.  He appeared in front of me with a flash of gold and a snap, and freed me with another.  I fell to my hands and knees on top of my pedestal taking my first gasping breaths in probably over a millenia.  Eventually, I was able to catch my breath and return to my feet to look him in the eye.        The draconequus gazes back disdainfully, his mismatched arms crossed against his chest.  Although he normally towered over me, the few extra feet afforded to me by the pedestal allow me to match him in height, and both of us waited for the other to speak.        “You know, I could have just left you there, but I didn’t want to leave my good friend hanging like that,” he started.        I glared at him.  “Drop the pretenses, Discord.  I know you didn’t want to free me.  What do you want.”        He pouted, but anyone with eyes could see that it was an act.  “Such hostility from an old comrade?  You wound me.  But fine, I’ll be Honest.  You’ve always been awfully good at stirring up trouble for old Celly, and we both know I’m not long for freedom.  Even now, I’m sure the ponies are rallying themselves to stick me back in that tomb.  But you could slip away, not unnoticed but overlooked amidst the chaos, and be a thorn in the Princess’s side for long after I’m gone again.”        I’m surprised by his invokement of Honesty, an element of Harmony no less, but it does allay my suspicions of deceit.  Still, I feel mildly insulted.  “Is that all I am?  An agent of chaos?  I figured you would have to have ulterior motives in freeing me, but that’s still cold.”        He looked at me grimly.  “I’ve shown you my hand, and you are my ace.  I can’t control what you do - actually, I can, but I won’t - and I’ve already told you what I want you to do.  You owe me, and I hope you repay that debt, but I won’t make you.  I trust you will do what’s necessary.”        I glance away, biting my lip.  He’s right: I owe him in more ways that one.  And even in the old days, I was excellent at getting under people’s feet, particularly the princess’s.  But I still have a mission to take care of, one much more important than causing chaos.  Ultimately, I look back up.  “I’ll probably cause some along the way strife, but I need to find it again, Discord.  You know why, I’m sure.”        He sighs, breaking eye contact and turning his back to me.  “I expected as much.  You were always one of those silly morales.  But I’ll be watching you with interest.”  He lifted his fingers to snap, but hesitated a moment.  “Just… don’t forget about me.  For old time’s sake.”        “For old time’s sake,” I agree as he disappears in a customary golden glow.  For better or worse, I’m free, and need to make the most of it.  I steel myself, turning around, ready to take my first steps in the new world that had forsaken me for so long.