A devilish mixture drawn from the bad dreams that frequent each aware brain, the thing known as Nocturne has become an early stage power of unadulterated dread. It is liquidly confused in angle, a nondescript shadow with cold eyes and furnished with fiendish looking cutting edges. In the wake of liberating itself from the soul domain, Nocturne currently ceaselessly slips upon the waking scene, to benefit from the sort of dread that can just flourish in evident murkiness.
While everything wizardry can be perilous and flighty, there are a few structures or trains that even the most gifted mages and alchemists will disregard, and all things considered. For quite a long time, the act of “shadow enchantment” was everything except prohibited across Runeterra, because of a paranoid fear of stiring the detestations it once released upon the world. The best of those abhorrences has a name, and its name is Nocturne.
Towards the finish of the Rune Wars, edgy for triumph, secrecies of champion mages looked for any preferred position they could discover over their enemies. Albeit no record names the first of them to push off their fragile living creature and enter the soul domain, it is realized that they came to follow each other on the combat zone, yet in scenes formed by their own subliminal musings and feelings. Unconstrained by the laws of actual reality, they battled in manners that more everyday personalities could hardly understand, in any event, conjuring unpretentious, etheric professional killers to do their offering. Shadow mages appeared to be especially talented at such things—thus it was, for a period, that they came to rule the soul domain, projecting it into nightfall.
The considerations of humans wherever were moved by this murkiness. It sapped their confidence and tainted their fantasies, with anonymous apprehensions nagging them day and night, driving some to submit perpetually ghastly acts against their own family.
Nobody can say for certain whether such a lot of experiencing made Nocturne nothing, or on the off chance that it simply ruined a lesser professional killer build into something more adamant and savage, yet the shadowy animal that came about was one of deficient structure and fathomless fear. Nocturne saw nothing of generosity, honor, or honorability—it was fear made show, with none of the restriction important to control itself.
This evil animal wailed inside the soul domain, and set upon those silly, deviant mages who had given it life, whipping in franticness for a finish to its own misery. It was in torment, and that torment made it merciless, yet it immediately gained a preference for mortal dread. Time has small importance in that other spot, yet Nocturne hauled out every single interest for as far as might be feasible, enjoying the prey’s misery prior to cutting their life’s shimmering string in a moment. Before sufficiently long, there were none left who set out to enter Nocturne’s space.
Would the result of the Rune Wars have been extraordinary if the evil presence had not had its impact past the shroud? It is hard to state for certain, however a while later, what little survived from the legend of shadow sorcery was concealed away, and its training conveyed the sentence of death in numerous terrains.
Caught in the soul domain, and with not very many interlopers to continue it, Nocturne started to starve. The main thing near the heavenly eats of dread it had once tasted was when mortal personalities unconsciously floated through the ether in the long periods of rest. Drawn on flows of sorcery to where the two domains partition—and where serene dreams can undoubtedly become night dread—Nocturne figured out how to show itself into the waking scene.
Existing now as a shade, eyes igniting with cold light, Nocturne has become an evil impression of the most base feelings of trepidation of the numerous people groups of Runeterra. From the clamoring urban communities to the forsaken fields, from the mightiest lord to the lowliest worker, the evil presence is attracted to any shortcoming of soul it can curve into mortal fear, and never-ending obscurity.