Nunu&Willump
Long ago, a boy set out with a heart full of courage, dreaming of becoming a hero by vanquishing a terrifying monster. But the creature he found was no villain, it was a solitary, enchanted yeti who longed not for battle, but for companionship. That day, the boy, Nunu, and the yeti, Willump, forged an unbreakable bond, tied by ancient magic and a playful love for snowball fights. Ever since, the two have roamed the icy lands of the Freljord, their wild adventures shaped by dreams and memories. Through it all, they chase a single hope, that somewhere amid the frost and wind, they might find Nunu's mother. And in saving her, perhaps discover the heroes they were meant to be.
Opening
Welcome, lore-lovers, to another tale from the frostbitten corners of Runeterra. I'm Liandrug, and today, we journey into the heart of the Freljord, where ancient songs echo across icy winds, and a boy named Nunu travels with a yeti born of legend and imagination. This is a story of magic, memory, and the wild adventures that come when dreams meet the snow...
The Chronicle
Nunu was born among the Notai, a wandering tribe that roamed the snowy vastness of the Freljord. From his mother, Layka, he learned that every person, every place, every moment carried a story. As they traveled together, she gathered those stories and wove them into song. Village after village, Nunu would sit wide-eyed, listening to Layka's voice as it danced through legends of ancient heroes. Wherever the Notai arrived, they brought with them a final spark of joy before winter's deep hush, music, dancing, and warmth beneath the cold sky.
With Anivia's frost trailing across the heavens and song pulsing in his chest, Nunu saw the world as a place of endless wonder.
On his fifth nameday, Layka placed a flute in Nunu's hands, a gift to carry her melodies into the world on his own. Wrapped in furs beneath the canvas of their cart, they followed the twisted string of Layka's heart-song, tracing every path they'd taken together as the years moved quietly along.
Then came the raiders. The caravan was thrown into chaos, and in the confusion, Nunu was torn away from his mother. The surviving Notai dragged him to safety, but Layka was gone. He listened for her voice on the wind, hoping for the sound of her song to return. Snow drifted from the sky. The days stretched on.
Nunu longed for his mother with every breath, but the Notai insisted that no child could brave the dangers of finding her. Even when he raised his flute, now christened Svellsongur, a name he imagined for a mighty blade, they dismissed it with gentle smiles and saddened eyes.
Isolated and restless, Nunu withdrew into his memories of Layka's songs. He clung to tales of ancient champions and dreamt of becoming one himself, perhaps a warrior as revered as those among the Frostguard, strong enough to have saved his mother. He once crossed paths with their leader, Lissandra, who listened intently to his stories, ever curious about a particular song from Layka's collection.
But the other Notai children mocked his dreams. While they trained with daggers, Nunu clutched his flute and sang melodies no one else remembered. Still, the songs burned bright in his heart. One night, driven by determination, he found a way to make them see. He would become the hero of his own story.
He had heard the whispers, of a terrifying beast that lurked in the wilds, powerful enough to crush all who hunted it. Year after year, brave souls were sent, but none returned. Yet a fragment of a melody remained, one of Layka's songs, and Nunu found himself humming it again and again.
In that moment, everything became clear. He would face the monster. He would give it a name, call it forth, and strike it down with Svellsongur.
With his flute as his guide, he lulled a herd of elkyr into helping him slip away into the night. And so, one boy ventured alone into the snow, chasing a legend, ready to carve his name into the songs his mother once sang.
If you're enjoying this journey, take a moment to toss a snowball at that like button and strike the subscribe bell with the might of Willump himself. It helps my channel grow, and lets me craft even more stories for you, brave lore-lovers of the realm.
Long ago, the yeti reigned high above the Freljord, a proud and mystical people dwelling in the mountain peaks. But their greatness crumbled in a terrible cataclysm of ice, scattering their kind and stripping them of the magic that once bound their souls. As their minds dimmed and their voices fell silent, one yeti resisted the descent into savagery. He became a guardian, sworn to protect the last remnant of their power, a gem filled with the frozen dreams of those who dared come near.
Alone and timeless, the guardian lingered within the ruins of his shattered home. Though his duty was clear, to hold the magic until the day a worthy vessel arrived, none who ventured close held hearts free of greed. To such intruders, he showed only teeth and fury. Over the years, even his own name faded into the storm. The memory of song, of laughter, of kin, was lost. Then, through the snow, came a boy.
Prepared to strike, the yeti felt the gem awaken. From the child's mind burst visions of warriors and epic feats, dragons slain, titans toppled. The boy leapt forward, brandishing his flute like a blade, roaring a challenge worthy of legend.
But as the guardian loomed and the boy stood defiant, something shifted. Through the swirling magic, the songs of the past whispered anew. The child blinked, and saw not a monster, but someone alone, someone forgotten. Then came the first snowball.
The beast reeled, startled. A second followed. In stunned silence, the guardian stood as the boy declared their battle had begun, not of blood, but of snow. Slowly, something deep within the yeti stirred. The laughter of a world long buried returned with a spark. His claws softened, his fur thickened, and his growl turned to mirth. The monster became a friend. A new song had begun.
In the midst of laughter and swirling snow, the joy between boy and beast came to an abrupt halt, the yeti, with one careless motion, snapped the boy's flute in two.
Tears welled in the child's eyes, and as they fell, something stirred within the guardian. A sorrow, ancient and echoing, coiled around the gem he had watched for centuries. Where once he had glimpsed only ruin, the fall of his kind, the secret they had hidden, the betrayal by the blind one, now he saw a different vision. Flames engulfing a caravan. A mother's voice carried on the wind.
And then he felt something unfamiliar in the boy's presence. Not ambition, not hunger for power, something far deeper. A love unshaken by loss, a quiet resistance to despair. In that moment, the guardian understood. The salvation of the Freljord did not rest in the gem's magic alone, it lived in the heart of this child. The ancient power he'd kept for so long was no more than a vessel. What mattered now was who would wield it.
With a silent nod, the magic passed from the gem into the boy's hands. His imagination surged, reshaping the broken flute into something stronger, bound by dream and ice, True Ice, born of memory and will. And from the depths of that dream, a name formed on the boy's lips. Willump. His best friend, at last, made real. Across the wide, frostbitten plains of the Freljord, a boy and his yeti run free. With Nunu's boundless heart and Willump's mighty strength, they chase the kind of adventures neither could reach alone. Guided by the fading echoes of Layka's songs, they tumble from village to village, snowballing their way through the world, clinging to a single hope, that somewhere, out beyond the mountains and storms, his mother still waits.
Yet deep beneath the laughter, Willump carries a quiet knowing. Magic, like dreams, is not without weight. Someday, the games will stop. The snow will still. And the dark ice buried at the heart of the Freljord... will begin to melt.
Relations
From his mother, Layka, Nunu grew up surrounded by the rich legends of the Freljord, stories of Anivia, Braum, Lissandra, Ornn, and Volibear. Among them, Anivia held a special place in the hearts of the Notai, serving as a spiritual guide through the endless snow. Braum, with his kindness and strength, became a shining figure in Nunu's eyes. In secret, he dreamed that if ever they met, he might ask Braum to be the father he'd lost.
After the raiders scattered the Notai, Nunu was taken in by the Frostguard. It was there he encountered Lissandra, a woman of secrets and power, who spoke of a monstrous creature hidden in the wilderness. That very beast would one day become his closest companion, a friend born of frost and imagination. He would name him Willump.
Closing Words
And so our tale drifts to a pause, like snowfall settling over the plains. If this story warmed your heart or sparked your imagination, leave a like, share it with fellow lore-lovers, and don't forget to subscribe for more lore-fueled adventures. You're also welcome to join our cozy Discord campfire, where lore-lovers like you gather to share, wonder, and dream together.
Until next time, stay curious, and keep the stories alive.
Back to Home