February 28th, 21 CLE

For once a task worthy of my time! I am to be part of Piltover’s delegation in an Institute sponsored research project. Esteemed colleagues from across Valoran are to gather at the Institute of War for an initial briefing.

After years of wading through dusty corridors relegated to cataloging the countless crumbling tomes of Piltover’s University, finally a chance for real field work!

On arriving at the Institute of War I was reminded of a once intelligent mans favorite comment. In life there are naïve fools aplenty one of whom lives in my household. It was him, as no such person finds themselves here, at the beating heart of Valoran.

The briefing was short. Our research expedition is to travel to the Plague Jungles accompanied by a Summoner to guide and protect us. An appropriate escort!

On concluding the briefing we were formally introduced to the other delegations. I find them to be an ultimately boring collection of characters that are considerably less esteemed than was advertised. Fortunately I need not suffer the ‘pleasantries’ for soon we depart with what I imagine to be research prospects aplenty to distract me along the way.

Summoners are as bad as Noxian dictators! The day we departed he horded us like cattle in wagons. Not at all fitting for a relative of Demacia’s Royals! Now he’s apparently deaf as well.Over the course of our journey he has almost without fail, completely ignored my quite audible protests of wasted research opportunities as we blurred through the wonders of Valoran. The mighty barrier at Mogran, the glorious Pyramids of Shurima bathed in scorching sun, the dense humid wilds of Kumungu. Worlds flown by.

The pleasantries continue. Devastating.

Once I suffered the snootily dreadful parties of Demacia with my fool of a father. Now I gaze upon such astonishing beauty, abnormalities aplenty the air heavy with a thick brew of magic and mother nature. So much to research! I can hardly contain myself!

April 8th, 21 CLE

Last night there was an incident.On a routine excursion a reported freak magic occurrence caused some sort of organic explosion. Several colleagues were hurt in the blast, and have been quarantined as a precautionary measure.

Given the magical nature of the incident the Summoner has insisted he examine them.

We buried three more last night. A cure must be found soon lest it consumes us all.The Summoner has concluded that the disease is viral in nature given it has spread so rapidly. This virus moves with terrifying lethality, those who fall sick quickly exhibit symptoms of convulsions, fevers, growths and orificial bleeding which severally worsen despite the Summoner’s curative efforts.

Many have fallen sick, many have died.

I feel sick, will I die?

Presumably in an endeavor to lift the spirits of the sick the Summoner would often mention the progress of the healthy. He no longer does.A delirium has set upon me, as of late my dreams have become so vivid. A nightmarish concoction of moaning, noxious odors and magical blue lights. Am I still dreaming?

The bleeding has resumed, and with it a sensation as though burning tendrils crawl beneath my skin. The pain is unbearable.

Do I want a tomorrow?

Focusing what little coherence remains, I write.For the past few days we’ve journey with all due haste to the Institute. Both my health and hope have deteriorated rapidly, fortunately for both since we reached the main roads our passage has been smoother.

From the looks the Summoner gives me, I infer my stench has worsened and my prognosis likely no better. He’s informed me that on our return to the Institute the living are to be admitted to a medical ward for intensive observation.

Glimpses out my wagon unveil the brilliant lights of the Institute in the distance. We are not far, my journey is almost complete.

The Summoner smiles often; I see him smiling now.

Why?

Spore Pulse Diagram