Karthus
Karthus, the harbinger of oblivion, is an undying spirit whose eerie songs signal the arrival of a nightmare. While the living dread the curse of undeath, he sees in it a serene union--life and death intertwined in perfect harmony. From the depths of the Shadow Isles, he emerges not with malice, but with purpose: to spread the grim gift of death, a devoted apostle of the unliving.
Opening
Welcome back, lore-lovers, to Liandrug--your sanctuary for the forgotten tales, whispered legends, and chilling truths hidden deep within the world of League of Legends. Today, we follow the sorrowful path of Karthus--the Deathsinger, the harbinger of oblivion, and a soul reborn in death's embrace. Gather close... and listen well.
The Chronicle
Karthus, the harbinger of oblivion, is an undying spirit whose mournful songs herald his ghastly presence. While mortals recoil at the thought of eternal undeath, he sees in it a serene unity--life and death bound as one. From the Shadow Isles, he steps into the world not as a destroyer, but as a bearer of death's grim joy, devoted to spreading its embrace.
He was born in the shadow of Noxus, where crumbling shanties clung to the outskirts of the great city. His mother perished giving birth, leaving his father to raise Karthus and three sisters amid filth and famine. Their home, an overcrowded almshouse riddled with rats, offered little but hunger. Among the starving children, Karthus proved the best hunter, often returning with rodent corpses for the pot.
In the slums, death was ever-present. Each dawn carried the cries of parents finding their children lifeless beside them. Karthus came to cherish those cries, watching intently as the tally-men of Kindred carved marks and carried the dead away. At night, he wandered silently through the narrow rooms, seeking those near death, yearning to witness the soul's departure. But death remained elusive--its timing always uncertain--until it finally came for his own blood.
In the crowded misery of the almshouse, disease struck often. When plague found his sisters, Karthus watched over them with unwavering devotion. While his father turned to sorrow and drink, Karthus remained by their sides, tending to them as illness drained the life from their bodies. One by one, he watched them die, and with each passing, he felt something stir within--a pull toward the unknown that followed death, a yearning to uncover the truths hidden beyond the veil. As the light faded from their eyes, he sensed a fleeting connection, a moment of clarity that left him longing to understand what lies between life's end and death's embrace.
When the tally-men came to claim the bodies, Karthus followed. He filled their ears with questions--questions no child should ask: Could one remain in that brief moment between breath and stillness? Might there be a way to hold it, to grasp the essence of both life and death?
The tally-men saw something in him--a rare understanding, a mind drawn not to fear death but to study it. They welcomed him into their order. He began humbly, digging graves and building funeral pyres, then moved on to the solemn duty of corpse collection. Each day, Karthus pushed his bone-cart through Noxus's streets, gathering the fallen. His voice echoed through alleys and stone corridors--sorrowful dirges that painted death not as an end, but as a release. The living found comfort in his elegies, their grief eased by his haunting songs.
In time, Karthus was brought into the temple itself, where he tended the dying. With gentle words, he stood beside those on the edge, seeking answers in their final breaths. He spoke to each soul as it departed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the truth in their dimming eyes.
Eventually, Karthus reached the conclusion that he could learn no more from mortals, that only the dead themselves could answer his questions. None of the dying souls could tell of what lay beyond, but whispered rumors and tales told to frighten children echoed of a place where death was not the end - The Shadow Isles.
Karthus emptied the temple's coffers and bought passage to Bilgewater, a city plagued by a strange black mist said to draw souls to a cursed island far out at sea. No captain was willing to take Karthus to the Shadow Isles, but eventually he came upon a rum-sodden fisherman with a mountain of debts and nothing to lose. The boat plied the ocean for many days and nights, until a storm drove them onto the rocks of an island that appeared on no charts. A black mist rolled out from a haunted landscape of gnarled trees and tumbled ruins. The fisherman freed his boat and turned its prow in terror for Bilgewater, but Karthus leapt into the sea and waded ashore. Steadying himself with his notched tally-staff, he proudly sang the lament he had prepared for the moment of his own death, and his words were carried on a cold wind to the heart of the island.
The Black Mist tore through Karthus, its ancient sorcery searing both flesh and spirit. Yet his hunger to transcend mortality proved stronger than death itself. Rather than being unmade, he was reborn--no longer bound by flesh, but remade as a revenant in the island's dark waters.
In that moment, revelation took hold. Karthus had become what he was always meant to be: a soul balanced perfectly between life and death. The stillness of this eternal threshold filled him with awe, and the tormented spirits of the island stirred, drawn to his newfound purpose like sharks to blood. Among them, Karthus found kin--beings who understood undeath not as a curse, but as a gift. With fervor burning in his hollow chest, he knew he must return to Valoran and offer that gift to the living, to release them from the chains of mortal suffering.
The Mist carried him over the sea, returning him to the world he had left behind. A lone fisherman stood trembling before this spectral figure, begging for mercy. Karthus answered with a song--his mournful voice rising in tribute as he ended the man's suffering and raised him as an immortal spirit. The fisherman was the first of many. Soon, the Deathsinger led a growing host of wraiths, bound to his voice and purpose.
To Karthus, the Shadow Isles had stagnated, its dead lost in aimless drift. He would breathe purpose into them, forging an army to deliver the beauty of oblivion to the living world. With every soul he freed, his ranks swelled, and his laments carried far beyond the shores of the isles--haunting dirges echoing over cemeteries and battlefields, the herald of death drawing ever closer.
Champion's relations
From his story we now know that, Karthus once served as a tally-man of Kindred, a solemn keeper of death's order. Even now, he wears the old vestments of his calling and bears the staff of his former life. With each soul he releases from the grip of mortality, he carves a new mark into the worn wood--honoring the ancient rite he has never abandoned.
Closing Words
Thus ends the tale of the Deathsinger--his lament still echoing across graveyards and battlefields. If Karthus's journey stirred something in you, be sure to like, share, and subscribe. And join our Discord, where the lore-lovers gather to weave stories, swap theories, and build a cozy haven for those who live for legends. Until next time... keep seeking the stories behind the silence.
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