Yasuo (Ya-soo-oh)
The Unforgiven
“Death is like the wind—always by my side.”
Biography
An Ionian of deep resolve, Yasuo is an agile swordsman who wields the air itself against his enemies. As a proud young man, he was falsely accused of murdering his master—unable to prove his innocence, he was forced to slay his own brother in self-defense. In time, his master’s true killer was revealed, and his brother mysteriously returned from death, yet Yasuo still could not forgive himself for all he had done. Now, he wanders the world with only the wind to guide his blade. As a child, Yasuo often believed what the others in his village said of him: on the best days, his very existence was an error in judgement; on the worst, he was a mistake that could never be undone. Like most pain, there was some truth to it. His mother was a widow already raising a young son, when the man who would be Yasuo’s father blew into her life like an autumn wind. And, just like that lonely season, he was gone again before the blanket of Ionian winter settled over the small family. Even though Yasuo’s older half-brother, Yone, was everything Yasuo was not—respectful, cautious, conscientious—the two were inseparable. When other children teased Yasuo, Yone was there to defend him. But what Yasuo lacked in patience, he made up for in determination. When Yone began his apprenticeship at the village’s renowned sword school, a young Yasuo followed, waiting outside in monsoon rain, until the teachers relented and opened the gates. Much to the annoyance of his new peers, Yasuo showed natural talent, and became the only student to catch the attention of Elder Souma, last master of the legendary wind technique. The old man saw Yasuo’s potential, but the impulsive pupil refused his tutelage, remaining unbridled like a whirlwind. Yone pleaded with his brother to set aside his arrogance, gifting him a maple seed, the school’s highest lesson in humility. The next morning, Yasuo accepted the position as Souma’s apprentice, and personal bodyguard. When word of the Noxian invasion reached the school, some were inspired by the great stand that had been taken at the Placidium of Navori, and soon the village was bled of the able bodied. Yasuo longed to add his sword to the cause, but even as his classmates and brother left to fight, he was ordered to remain and protect the elders. The invasion became a war. Finally, one rain-slicked night, the drums of a Noxian march could be heard in the next valley over. Yasuo abandoned his post, foolishly believing he could turn the tide. But he found no battle—only a raw grave for hundreds of Noxian and Ionian corpses. Something terrible and unnatural had happened here, something that no single blade could have stopped. The land itself seemed tainted by it. Sobered, Yasuo returned to the school the next day, only to be surrounded by the remaining students, their swords drawn. Elder Souma was dead, and Yasuo found himself accused not only of dereliction, but of murder. He realized the true killer would go unpunished if he did not act quickly, so he fought his way free, though he knew this would all but confirm his apparent guilt. Now a fugitive in war-torn Ionia, Yasuo sought any clue that might lead him to the murderer. All the while, he was hunted by his former allies, continually forced to fight or die. This was a price he was willing to pay, until he was tracked down by the one he dreaded most—his own brother, Yone. Bound by honor, they circled each other. When their swords finally met, Yasuo’s wind magic overcame Yone’s dual blades, and with a single flash of steel, the outcast cut his brother down. He begged forgiveness, but Yone’s dying words were of the wind techniques responsible for Elder Souma’s death, and that his brother was the only one who could have known them. Then he fell silent, passing on before he could grant any absolution. Without master or brother, Yasuo roamed the mountains distraught, drinking away the pain of war and loss, a sword without a sheath. There in the snow, he met Taliyah, a young Shuriman stone mage who had fled the Noxian military. In her, Yasuo saw an unlikely student, and in himself, an even more unlikely teacher. He trained her in the ways of elemental magic, wind shaping stone, embracing at last the teachings of Elder Souma. Their world changed with rumors of a risen Shuriman god-emperor. Yasuo and Taliyah parted ways, though he gifted her the treasured maple seed, its lesson now learned. As she returned to her native desert sands, Yasuo set out for his own village, determined to put right his mistakes and find his old master’s true killer. Within the stone walls of the council hall, Elder Souma’s death was revealed to have been an accident, one brought about by the Noxian exile known as Riven—and one for which she felt deep remorse. Even so, Yasuo still could not absolve himself of the choice he had made to abandon his master or, worse yet, how that choice had ultimately led to Yone’s death. Yasuo eventually journeyed to the spirit blossom festival in Weh’le, though he held little hope that its healing rituals would ease his heart. It was there he encountered a demonic creature that sought to devour him, an azakana that fed on his pain and regret. Yet a masked intruder intervened, striking down the creature with righteous fury, and Yasuo realized he knew this man—it was Yone. Fully expecting his brother to take vengeance, Yasuo was surprised when Yone let him go with little more than a bitter blessing. With nothing left for him in the First Lands, Yasuo has embarked on a new adventure, though he knows not where it will lead, his sense of guilt the only thing weighing down the free wind.Brotherhood by Ariel Lawrence
The source of the crying is a boy. Six, maybe seven summers. He sits cross-legged with his back to me, in front of a tall sapwood. The weeping settles into sniffling, wet hiccups. I stop at the edge of the trees, and look back at the shade of the road below. The midday sun is merciless, streaming bright into the boy’s meadow. He doesn’t seem hurt. The clearing is open. Unprotected. You’re not needed. Keep to your path. The voice rings clear in my head, though I haven’t heard it spoken aloud for some time. I turn, but about-face at the sound of a deep, racking sigh, ending in renewed little sobs. When I am about three sword lengths away, I step on a dry twig to announce my arrival. The boy starts at the sound. “Teo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” The boy’s rushed apology is muffled by the swipe of his sleeve across his face. He stops dead at the sight of me. He retreats so quickly that his back thuds against the tree. “Emai paid the Brotherhood,” he stammers. “I wasn’t playing on the road.” At the mention of the group, my hand goes to my blade. The boy stares at me; his crying gives over to a series of shallow gasps. Of course. He thinks I’m some Navori thief coming to take something from him. He thinks you’re a criminal. I release my grip, trying to appear more friendly. “No, I’m not with the Brotherhood,” I say. “I heard someone from the road. Sounded like they were having a tough time.” The boy wipes his wet cheek with his sleeve again, trying to save face in front of the stranger standing before him. “Know anyone like that?” I ask. The boy starts to shake his head slowly, but the truth tumbles out of him. “It was me,” he admits, shame roughing his voice. “I… I just wanted to play with it.” He points up. There among the tree’s uppermost branches is an old festival kite, its silk tails fluttering in the light breeze. “It’s Teo’s.” His eyes start to water again. He shows me the palms of his hands, covered in sap, darkened with dirt and bark. “I tried climbing the tree, but it’s too tall. Teo’s going to be so angry with me. He told me not to.” A moment passes between us. “Brothers often say that,” I murmur. There is a small pile of broken soil in front of the boy. I kneel, wiping away the top layer to reveal a newly sprouted sapwood nut. “My emai is a woodweaver. I’m learning. I thought…” The boy hangs his head, embarrassed at the idea. Woodweaving even a sapling would take far longer than an afternoon. I keep the smile from my lips. “An admirable effort.” The boy’s gaze lingers on the fluted edges of my pauldron. “That pattern isn’t from our village,” he says, caution edging into his voice. “Or the village in the next valley.” “I’m on my way to Weh’le,” I reply. “I was making good time on the Noxian road. Even if the stone is a bit hard on the feet.” I try to smile, but with the thought that Noxus could leave us anything of value, I know it comes off a grimace. “Can you help me?” he asks. I look up at the kite sitting delicately in the high branches. “It’s been a while since I’ve climbed a tree, kid.” “Joab,” he says. “My name is Joab.” I offer him my hand, my own name hesitant on the tip of my tongue. It’s been too long since I've said it with anything but shame. Come on. You’ve been called worse. “Yasuo,” I say, and pull him up from the ground. I step from the shade of the tree, and back into the sunlight of the clearing to get a better view. The day is hot and still. I close my eyes to feel the tiny currents of air lingering at the edges of the meadow. A small breeze picks up, pushing the wisps of hair from my face. “I wish I could just blow it down. Woodweaving is useless,” Joab mutters, frowning from the kite to his sapwood seed. “There was an elder once who could move the wind, but he’s dead. And his student could too, but emai says he’s dangerous, that he killed the elder…” I reach for the blade at my side. As I draw the weapon, I focus the magic. Eddies of wind swirl around it, gathering in tighter and tighter whirls. Dust and dead leaves dance on the blade until I shape the whirlwind to my liking, then release it with a flick of my wrist. The invisible force hits the tree dead-on, the trunk shuddering with the impact. The branches shake as if some unseen spirit rises through them, finally reaching the kite. The colorful silk lifts off gently as the air returns to the sky above, and drifts slowly into my outstretched hand. The boy’s mouth hangs open a bit, but he closes it quickly. The fear is back. “You?” he asks. “The elder’s student?” All of Ionia knows what you are. Joab looks to the forest road, maybe for someone to come hunting for me. “Did you escape?” he whispers, but I shake my head. “Did they let you go then? I mean, were you pardoned?” “I can’t be forgiven for a crime I didn’t commit.” It’s just a technicality, but I say it before the voice in my head can. But you killed the others… I take a deep, steadying breath, concentrating on the cool breeze at my back and the kite in my hand to keep the memories at bay. Joab chews on his own thoughts for a moment. Just as his mouth opens for another question, a glint of metal emerging from the forest catches the sun. I raise my blade in anticipation, only to find a slightly older mirror of Joab carrying a small farming tool attached to a long rope. I lower my weapon quickly, but too late—fear and wariness settle into the meadow. Too fast to react, too slow to stop. Never enough for him. It’s my whole life in miniature. Joab’s brother watches us. He does not leave the safety of the forest edge. “Joab,” the older boy calls out. Joab runs over obediently, but stops when he sees the tool and the rope. I pull on the light breeze, straining to hear. “What’s that for, Teo?” Joab asks, realization turning to anger. “You knew I would take the kite?” I shake my head. Of course he knew. Big brothers always know what little brothers will do. “Yeah, always the exact opposite of whatever I tell you, Joab,” the older boy says, still watching me. “Who’s that?” Joab glances back, then leans over and whispers in his brother’s ear. Teo’s eyes grow wide for a moment, then relax into a dismissive scowl. “Emai says it’s time to eat,” Teo says as he turns to leave. Joab pulls on his arm, trying to slow him down. He whispers again in Teo’s ear. I try to quiet the wind that carries the next words, to stop listening, but it’s too late. “No, he can’t come,” Teo says. “He’s xiiri.” Xiiri. The word catches in my throat as the wind finally stills around me. Xiiri is something unwanted. A misfortune brought by outsiders or greed. A little pest that follows big brothers around… The sun beats down, heating the blade at my side. It’s a word I’ve heard all my life. You’re not needed. Keep to your path. I steel myself, and walk to the brothers. “Listen to him, kid,” I say, handing the precious silk bundle to Joab. “Brothers know best.” Before either of them can answer, I walk on, returning to the road ahead.
Current Location
Species
Ethnicity
Age
31-34
Birthplace
Ionia
Spouses
Siblings
Yone
(Brother)
Children
Pronouns
He/Him
Sex
Male
Gender
Man
Related Myths
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