Legends of Runeterra

I first encountered the hybrid vastaya after I set foot on the fertile coast of Ionia. My initial motivation was to seek an antidote to a ailment endemic to Piltover: ennui—a lingering, unrelenting ennui that grew out of the sophisticated, opulent daily life of the City of Progress, where I was fortunate enough to earn a living as a moderately successful writer.

In the warm, magical heart of Ionia—a place not usually explored by cartographers who weren't born and bred there—I set out on an adventure, seeking something beyond my ken. Something strange, strange, beautiful, and breathtaking.

When I discovered Vastaya, I knew immediately that my trip was worthwhile.

I first encountered a vastaya late one quiet night, rummaging through my camp, searching for something to eat. I nearly scared it off when I woke up, but I managed to soothe it with a handful of sweet cakes and a pillow song my mother had taught me (as a soprano, I have a knack for rhythm and can always sing a melodious, soothing tune).

Though it walked on two legs like a human, its physical features were a mishmash of many other creatures, some of which I had only read about in books, others I had witnessed during my travels. It had long, cat-like whiskers and a pointed snout, its body covered in python-like scales, and its limbs possessed the strength of a Bilgewater saltwater beast (because it had quickly devoured the cake, I was able to witness it effortlessly lift me over its head and set me down only after confirming there were no other candies hidden in my sleeping bag).

After a moment, the creature fled into the darkness, and I knew my goal: I decided to continue exploring these vastaya (as the locals called them).

The text you see below records the various Vastaya people I encountered during my journey in this mysterious continent.

If I were to make a hypothesis about the origin of these creatures—and as a gentleman of physical science I think I am qualified to make such a hypothesis—I would conclude that the vastaya are not confined to any particular species, but belong to a wider taxonomic category, and should be classified under the order or phylum Vastaya.

In short, although there may be many Vastaya who look similar (this conclusion was hard-won, as I followed the cat-snake-ape child back to his village, only to be rudely driven away by his compatriots of the same appearance. Perhaps they mistook me for a malicious scout or a predator at the top of the food chain, so they followed me back to the camp and took away all my rations), the differences in appearance and behavior between different tribes and populations are still huge.

After my first encounter with the vastaya, I followed the path of water, following the Whispering River (a name I gave it because of the loud noise it made, and like many old men, I have a penchant for cynicism) near their village, knowing that other vastaya tribes would be drawn to the water. Sure enough, a few days later I found a completely different tribe. These vastaya had furry, otter-like faces that made you want to hold and squeeze them. But from the waist down, they had the tails of seals.

I tried to offer them my glasses as a peace gift (since I noticed many of them were carrying bags filled with glowing gadgets, I assumed they were a bartering community), but that didn't work. So I started an impromptu "I come in peace and hold no malice" dance (a move that emphasizes the use of my knees, and my kneecaps are absolutely pristine). Inspired by the dance, my fellow vastaya accepted me and fed me a warm dinner of what I can only describe as medium-rare, fishy-tasting meat.

Although they remained silent during my gestural peace offering, I later discovered, when they politely requested a cup of a pale yellow, salty, spicy powder, that they spoke my language fluently. Their accents and dialects were unfamiliar to me, but I understood every word they spoke effortlessly. My curiosity, now surpassing my previous appetite, ignited me with a barrage of questions about their history.

I learned that the vastaya's origins date back to a distant land in Ionia, where a group of humans fled the Void World War (I've written numerous, well-worth-it books on the subject, available in Piltover bookstores). These refugees encountered a race of intelligent shapeshifters, deeply attuned to the magical energies of nature. This symbiotic union between these two groups ultimately gave rise to the vastaya I know. Over time, the descendants of these two groups settled in diverse regions, taking on diverse forms: some became the winged humanoids of Ionia, others the multi-limbed sand-trolls of the Shurima desert, and still others the scaly sea cows of the Freljord, their faces perpetually grimacing with a look of profound suffering.

I wanted to stay and learn more about the otter people, but one of my questions seemed to have violated some major taboo of theirs, and I was abruptly thrown out of the village, and their friendliness and goodwill were gone. To prevent others from making the same mistake, my last question was about whether the original pairing of the two groups was purely magical or more practical (make no mistake) contact.

My composure vanished along with my supplies, but my thirst for adventure never waned. I set out again in a new direction, my only weapons of defense now: ambition and elaborate rhetoric. For months, I subsisted solely on Ionia's abundant fruits and vegetables, thankfully readily available hanging from branches or fallen to the ground, as readily available as food from a frontier market stall.

I could only count time by sunrise and sunset, and happily forgot all the red tape I had once taken for granted in Piltover. Later, after wandering around Ionia for so long, I started to smell.

I stopped, undressed (making sure no one was around—a gentleman never forced himself to be seen naked) and walked into a lake that smelled of berries and grass.

There I saw the most wonderful sight I have ever seen in my entire life. Even if I could live to be a thousand years old, I would never see anything more wonderful than this.

More human than any vastaya I had ever seen, closer to the beauty of nature than any human, this creature before me, bathing on the other side of the lake, had fox ears and a tail, but was completely naked—I won't describe it in too much detail here so as not to upset young or sensitive readers—making her look very, very much like a human woman.

very alike.

Soaking in the pond, I could only vaguely see her figure, tongue-tied, water dripping down my gaunt body as my mind desperately searched for words of greeting. Perhaps I could claim to be a famous writer and recite her some glowing review. Or perhaps I could sing her a folk love song I'd composed, specially prepared for this situation.

But before I could even think, a sudden commotion in the bushes behind me startled me. Instinctively, I turned to see where the noise was coming from, but nothing was there. Turning back, I found that the dazzling fox woman had vanished, leaving me bewildered and bewildered. Questions filled my mind, and the first words on my lips were, "Oh, my dream, my love, the companion I longed for," a look of indelible embarrassment etched across my face.

I had originally decided to beat the thing that made the noise and ruined my night until it fainted, but I didn't expect it to be a human being, a ginger fruit vendor from a distant village. Although his ginger fruit looked delicious, I didn't taste it because I was not sure if I could resist the urge to slap the ginger fruit on his smiling face.

Shay (his name) sternly warned me not to bathe in the pond because the water and the fox woman who occasionally bathed there were both dangerous to my health. I told him that scaring a naked, lustful man was even more dangerous to his health, but he just laughed.

After I was dressed, the merchant agreed to take me back to civilization and answered many questions. In exchange, I gave him my hat (Jin Rushi Men's Clothing Store, retail price: fifty-three silver wheels).

He told me that his family had known this strange woman for generations—so, like other vastaya, she lived longer than ordinary humans. Some vastaya were said to live for thousands of years, while others were immortal in legend and tale. Shay told me the local Ionian name for these creatures. Previously, I had always called them "phantasma," but this merchant now mocked my nomenclature. Therefore, I have changed the name from "phantasma" to "vastaya" in all records, primarily out of compassion, because my eloquence is matched only by my modesty.

We walked together for days, and he'd occasionally stop to sniff, like a hound on its prey. I asked him what he was doing, and he simply smiled and told me he was searching for treasure. While his inexplicable behavior was somewhat repulsive, his wolfhound-like sniffing behavior suddenly reminded me of a question, which I immediately asked him: If the vastaya are a fusion of humans and ancient shapeshifting ancestors, what would happen if this bloodline was diluted to the limit through reproduction and spread? What would it be like to be someone with vastaya blood, but not enough to manifest in a hybrid animal form?

At this point, he stopped sniffing, opened his eyes wide, looked at me, smiled, and said, "In that case, they should be able to change their forms, don't you think?" Then the bastard turned into a pig and dug a piece of silk matsutake out of the ground.

I was surprised to encounter not only one shapeshifter, but three different species of vastaya in just a few months. While luck often favors someone as knowledgeable as me, it's a bit too frequent. Of course, I have to point out that "a man who can transform into a pig" is a step backward from "a charming and seductive fox woman."

At this rate, the next vastaya creature I encounter might be a cockroach that walks on its feet.

In recent months, I've been diligently researching the different types of vastaya in Ionia, hoping to establish a comprehensive taxonomy of the vastaya across Runeterra's fauna.

While I've gathered a wealth of information about the vastaya, there's still much to discover—and I suspect that by limiting my research to Ionia, I'll only be seeing a fraction of the diversity within the phylum.

But for now, it's time to move on—I've opened the vastaya's door, and now it's time for other journalists to enter. Today, I'm turning my attention to Runeterra's other mysteries, their stories still unknown. Like the terrifying living weapons, the darkin. Like the corrupted avatars, the creatures of the void. Like the legendary, elusive little faeries, the yordles. These stories must be told, and to keep my promise, I'm embarking on a journey of discovery. After all, I'm the only one capable of doing so.

Editor's Note:

Two weeks after submitting the manuscript for this issue, Mr. Santangelo returned to Ionia on his own behalf, stating that he was "seeking more information about the fox woman—purely for the needs of the second edition."

A few weeks later we received a letter from Mr. Santangelo which read as follows:

"I have been struck with misfortune. I have been kidnapped by a band of ruthless men who call themselves the Navoli Brotherhood, and they suspect me of being a spy for Piltover. This is absurd. I am a man of high reputation, talent, skill, and charm [abridged for space], and such an accusation is an insult to me."

Still, I managed to convince them to hold me hostage for ransom, rather than execute me on the spot. So, if you could please send me some precious minerals, or perhaps food or weapons, in an amount that reflects my value to you as a writer, I would be incredibly grateful. Of course, the exact amount you spend to buy my freedom is entirely up to you, but I believe you will sell your publishing house and convince all shareholders to contribute as a minimum. Clearly, your expense will be well worth it.

After receiving the ransom note, we sent the entire expected profit from Mr. Santangelo's new book, consisting of a handful of change and an expired cake.

He has not been heard from since.