leagueoflegendsarchive - Tumblr blog

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Aatrox

Biography: Once honored defenders of Shurima against the Void, Aatrox and his brethren would eventually become an even greater threat to Runeterra, and were defeated only by cunning mortal sorcery. But after centuries of imprisonment, Aatrox was the first to find freedom once more, corrupting and transforming those foolish enough to try and wield the magical weapon that contained his essence. Now with stolen flesh, he walks Runeterra in a brutal approximation of his previous form, seeking an apocalyptic and long overdue vengeance. Whether mistaken for a demon or god, many tales have been told of the Darkin Blade... but few know his real name, or the story of his fall. In ancient times, long before desert sands swallowed the empire, a mighty champion of Shurima was brought before the Shurima's Legacy Sun Disc to become the avatar for a now forgotten celestial ideal. Remade as one of the Ascended, his wings were the golden light of dawn, and his armor sparkled like a constellation of hope from beyond the great veil. Aatrox was his name. He was at the vanguard of every noble conflict. So true and just was his conduct that other god-warriors would always gather at his side, and ten thousand mortals of Shurima marched behind him. When Setaka, the Ascended warrior-queen, called for his help against the rebellion of Icathia, Aatrox answered without hesitation. But no one predicted the extent of the horrors that the rebels would unleash—the Void quickly overwhelmed its Icathian masters, and began the grinding annihilation of all life it encountered. After many years of desperate battle, Aatrox and his brethren finally halted the Void's perverse advance, and seared the largest rifts shut. But the surviving Ascended, the self-described Sunborn, had been forever changed by what they had encountered. Though Shurima had triumphed, they all had lost something in their victory... even noble Aatrox. And in time, Shurima fell, as all empires must. Without any monarch to defend, or the existential threat of the Void to test them, Aatrox and the Sunborn began to clash with one another, and eventually this became a war for the ruins of their world. Mortals fleeing the conflict came to know them instead by a new and scornful name: the darkin. Fearing that these fallen Ascended were as dangerous to Runeterra's survival as the Void incursions had been, the Targonians intervened. It is said that ZoeSquare the Aspect of Twilight gave mortals the knowledge to trap the darkin, and the newly reborn PantheonSquare Aspect of War united many in fighting back against them. Never fearing any foe, Aatrox and his armies were ready, and he realized only too late that they had been deceived. A force greater than a thousand dead suns pulled him inside the sword he had carried into battle countless times, and forever bound his immortal essence to it. The weapon was a prison, sealing his consciousness in suffocating, eternal darkness, robbing him even of the ability to die. For centuries, he strained against this hellish confinement... until some nameless mortal was foolish enough to try and wield the blade once more. Aatrox seized upon this opportunity, forcing his will and an imitation of his original form onto his bearer, though the process quickly drained all life from the new body. In the years that followed, Aatrox groomed many more hosts—men and women of exceptional vitality or fortitude. Though his grasp of such magics had been limited in life, he learned to take control of a mortal in the span of single breath, and in battle he discovered he could feast on his victims to build himself ever larger and stronger. Aatrox traveled the land, searching desperately, endlessly, for a way return to his previous Ascended form… but the riddle of the blade proved unsolvable, and in time he realized he would never be free of it. The flesh he stole and crudely shaped began to feel like a mockery of his former glory—a cage only slightly larger than the sword. Despair and loathing grew in his heart. The heavenly powers that Aatrox had once embodied had been wiped from the world, and all memory. Raging against this injustice, he arrived at a solution that could only be born of a prisoner's desperation. If he could not destroy the blade or free himself, then he would embrace oblivion instead. Now, Aatrox marches toward this merciless goal, bringing war and death wherever he goes. He clings to a blind hope: if he can drive all of creation into a final, apocalyptic battle—where everything, everything else is destroyed—then maybe he and the blade will also cease to exist. Powers/Abilities: 1. Deathbringer Stance 2. The Darkin Blade 3. Infernal Chains 4. Umbral Dash 5. World Ender

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Alistar

Biography: Always a mighty warrior with a fearsome reputation, Alistar seeks revenge for the death of his clan at the hands of the Noxian empire. Though he was enslaved and forced into the life of a gladiator, his unbreakable will was what kept him from truly becoming a beast. Now, free of the chains of his former masters, he fights in the name of the downtrodden and the disadvantaged, his rage as much a weapon as his horns, hooves and fists. Powers/Abilities: 1. Triumphant Roar 2. Pulverize 3. Headbutt 4. Trample 5. Unbreakable Will

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Annie

Biography: Dangerous, yet disarmingly precocious, Annie is a child mage with immense pyrokinetic power. Even in the shadows of the mountains north of Noxus, she is a magical outlier. Her natural affinity for fire manifested early in life through unpredictable, emotional outbursts, though she eventually learned to control these tricks. Her favorite includes the summoning of her beloved teddy bear, Summon- Tibbers Tibbers, as a fiery beast hellbent on destruction. Lost in the perpetual innocence of childhood, Annie wanders the dark forests, always looking for someone to play with. Boram Darkwill’s last years on the throne were a time of great uncertainty for Noxus, and many with an aptitude for magic left the capital for the relative peace of more distant provinces. Gregori the Gray and his wife, a witch by the name of Amoline, preferred to demonstrate their Noxian strength by taming the borderlands, rather than partaking in the political intrigue of the noble houses. The young couple claimed a piece of land beyond the Ironspike Mountains to the north, finishing their small home just before winter and the arrival of their first child. During their journey, other colonists’ tales of the great shadow bears that once roamed the territory had captivated Amoline—now heavily pregnant, she passed the time sitting near the fireplace, creating a toy version of the protective creatures. Just as she finished sewing the last button eye on the stuffed bear, the quickening of labor overcame her. Gregori remarked later that his daughter was eager to play with her new toy, for there, on an ember-warmed hearth, Amoline brought Annie into the world. When Annie was still a toddler, she and her father took ill. As night fell, Annie began to burn with fever, and soon she was so hot, she could no longer be held in her mother’s arms. Amoline grew desperate, deciding at last to fetch icy water from the nearby river. The next morning Gregori awoke, weak and groggy from his sickness. In the crib, a now-healthy Annie played with her stuffed bear, Tibbers, but Amoline was gone. Naïvely, Annie believed her mother would one day return. Gregori would often find the girl sitting in her mother’s rocking chair near the hearth, hugging Tibbers and staring into a crackling fire, where he was sure there had been nothing but cold ashes. He chalked up these slips of the mind to the burden of parenting a child alone. Years passed, bringing more colonists to the region. And in time, Gregori met Leanna, a woman seeking a new life outside the capital with her own young daughter, Daisy. Annie was eager for a playmate, but spoiled by the indulgences of being an only child, so acclimation to her new stepfamily was difficult. Whenever Annie’s fiery temper erupted, it left Leanna uneasy, and quick to take her own daughter’s side. It fell to Gregori to keep an uneasy peace between the three. Unused to the dangers of the untamed borderlands, Daisy’s playing ended in catastrophe for the family. Leanna, of course, blamed Annie for the loss of her daughter, focusing her rage and grief on her stepdaughter’s most prized possession: Tibbers. Annie was horrified as the last physical memory of her mother was threatened. The girl’s terror grew to an unbridled rage, releasing her latent and powerful pyromancy, and the stuffed bear was brought to life in a maelstrom of protective fire. When the flames died down and the swirl of ash settled, Annie was left orphaned and alone. Believing most city adults to be like her stepmother, Annie has kept to the wilder parts of her frontier homeland. On occasion, she will use her disarmingly adorable exterior to be taken in by some pioneer family long enough to be offered new clothes and a hot meal. However, fire and death awaits anyone foolish enough to try parting Annie from the stuffed bear at her side. Kept safe by Tibbers, she wanders the dark forests of Noxus, oblivious to danger—and the dangers posed to others by her own unchecked power—hoping, one day, to find someone like her to play with. Powers/Abilities: 1. Pyromania 2. Disintegrate 3. Incinerate 4. Molten Shield 5. Summon: Tibbers

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Aurelion Sol

Biography: Aurelion Sol once graced the vast emptiness of the cosmos with celestial wonders of his own devising. Now, he is forced to wield his awesome power at the behest of a space-faring empire that tricked him into servitude. Desiring a return to his Starsurge star-forging ways, Aurelion Sol will drag the very stars from the sky, if he must, in order to regain his freedom. The appearance of a comet often portends a period of upheaval and unrest. Under the auspices of such fiery harbingers, it is said that new empires rise, old civilizations fall, and even the stars themselves may tumble from the sky. These theories merely scratch the surface of a far more bizarre truth: that the comet's radiance cloaks a cosmic being of unfathomable power. The being now known as Aurelion Sol was already ancient by the time stellar debris first coalesced into worlds. Born in the first breath of creation, he roamed the vast nothingness, seeking to fill a canvas of incalculable breadth with marvels whose twinkling spectra brought him considerable delight and pride. A celestial dragon is an exotic creature, and as such, Aurelion Sol seldom encountered any equals. As more forms of life emerged to fill the universe, a multitude of primitive eyes gazed up and beheld his work with wonder and breathless pondering. Flattered by this audience of countless worlds, he became fascinated by their fledgling civilizations, who crafted amusingly self-centered philosophies on the nature of his stars. Desiring a deeper connection with one of the few races he deemed worthy, the cosmic dragon selected the most ambitious species to grace with his presence. These chosen few sought to unravel the secrets of the universe and had already expanded beyond their home planet. Many verses were composed about the day the Star Forger descended to a tiny world and announced his presence to the Targonians. An immense storm of stars filled the skies and twisted into a massive form as marvelous as it was terrifying. Cosmic wonders swirled and twinkled throughout the creature's body. New stars shone brightly, and constellations rearranged at his whim. Appropriately awed by his illuminant powers, the Targonians titled the dragon Aurelion Sol and presented him with a gift as a token of respect: a splendorous crown of star-gems, which he promptly donned. Before long, though, boredom drew Aurelion Sol back to his work in the fertile vastness of space. However, the further from the reach of that tiny world he traveled, the more he felt a grasping at his very essence, pulling him off his path, directing him elsewhere! He could hear voices shouting, commanding, from across the cosmic expanse. The gift he'd received was no gift at all, it seemed. Outraged, he fought these controlling impulses and attempted to break his bonds by force, only to discover that for each attack against his newfound masters, one of his stars vanished forever from the firmament. A powerful magic now yoked Aurelion Sol, forcing him to wield his powers exclusively for Targon's benefit. He battled chitinous beasts that tore at the fabric of this universe. He clashed with other cosmic entities, some of which he had known since the dawn of time. For millennia, he fought Targon's wars, crushed any threats to its dominance, and helped it forge a star-spanning empire. All of these tasks were a waste of his sublime talents; after all, it was he who birthed light into the universe! Why must he pander to such lowly beings? As his past glories slowly vanished from the celestial realm for lack of maintenance, Aurelion Sol resigned himself to never again bask in the warmth of a freshly ignited star. Then, he felt it - a weakening in his unwilling pact. The voices from the crown grew sporadic, clashing, arguing with each other while some fell ominously silent. An unknown catastrophe he could not fathom had thrown off the balance of those who bound him. They were scattered and distracted. Hope crept into his heart. Driven by the tantalizing possibility of impending freedom, Aurelion Sol arrives on the world where it all began: Runeterra. It is here the balance will finally tip in his favor. And with it, civilizations across the stars shall bear witness to his rebellion and again play audience to his might. All will learn what fate befalls those who strive to steal for themselves the power of a cosmic dragon. Powers/Abilities: 1. Center of the Universe 2. Starsurge 3. Celestial Expansion 4. Comet of Legend 5. Voice of Light

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Bard

Biography: A traveler from beyond the stars, Bard is an agent of serendipity who fights to maintain a balance where life can endure the indifference of chaos. Many Runeterrans sing songs that ponder his extraordinary nature, yet they all agree that the cosmic vagabond is drawn to artifacts of great magical power. Surrounded by a jubilant choir of helpful spirit meeps, it is impossible to mistake his actions as malevolent, as Bard always serves the greater good... in his own odd way. Bard travels through realms beyond the imagination of mortal beings. Some of Valoran's greatest scholars have spent their lives trying to understand the mysteries he embodies. This enigmatic spirit has been given many names throughout the history of Valoran, but titles such as Cosmic Vagabond and Great Caretaker only capture a fleeting aspect of his true purpose. When the unknowable structure of the universe is threatened, Bard steers all existence away from utter annihilation. Powers/Abilities: 1. Traveler's Call 2. Cosmic Binding 3. Caretaker's Shrine 4. Magical Journey 5. Tempered Fate

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Brand

Biography:

Once a tribesman of the icy Freljord named Kegan Rodhe, the creature known as Brand is a lesson in the temptation of greater power. Seeking one of the legendary World Runes, Kegan betrayed his companions and seized it for himself—and, in an instant, the man was no more. His soul burned away, his body a vessel of living flame, Brand now roams Valoran in search of other Runes, swearing revenge for wrongs he could never possibly have suffered in a dozen mortal lifetimes.

The son of a Freljordian healer, Kegan Rodhe was born an outsider. The little magic and herbcraft his mother possessed allowed them both to survive on the fringes of a small coastal community named Rygann’s Reach. Friends were few and far between. Even as a young boy, he knew his father was an enemy reaver, and that he—and Kegan by extension—was the reason his mother was shunned. The villagers called him “the reaver-bastard”. Kegan allowed his loneliness and resentment to smolder, often turning violent.

After enduring years of seemingly endless winter, his mother’s frail body finally gave in. As Kegan spread her funeral ashes, he thought of the people she had spent her life healing. None had come to pay their respects. He knew they wished him to disappear into the cold air as well.

He would oblige them, but not before he took his revenge. He burned down the village and fled into the night, leaving himself with scars that would never heal.

Kegan wandered the frozen tundra of the Freljord. He told himself that he was searching for his father, but he knew deep down he was looking for a friend... or, at the very least, a kind face. Finding neither, he holed himself up in a cave, and waited to die.

It was not death that came to him, but another outsider.

The mysterious mage named Ryze saw potential in this half-frozen young man, and took him on as an apprentice. Teacher and student struggled as Kegan’s nascent, wild magic frustrated them both, and Ryze’s requests for patience and humility often fell on deaf ears.

Unfortunately, instructing Kegan would always come second to Ryze’s original mission. He had long sought to collect and hide away a power that could be Runeterra’s unmaking—the legendary World Runes. After tracking down one such fragment, Kegan faced the same desperate temptation that had driven so many before him to madness. The Runes were the source of all magic in the world and, against his master’s warnings, he chose to seize that power for himself.

Ryze was forced to watch in failure as his apprentice was burned away by the raw magic, Kegan’s soul utterly consumed. The creature that was born in that moment was no longer the bitter young man Ryze had rescued from the snows, nor the Freljordian mage he had come to know as his friend.

Rather, this vengeful being of fire and fury that now walked the mortal realm would eventually become known as Brand.

Cursing his former master, and every other living thing that would ever come between him and the Runes, Brand lashed out with magical flames, and Ryze barely escaped with his life.

Over the centuries since that day, Brand has lived an anarchic, wildfire existence, taking and never giving anything back to the world. At times, he blazes across the heavens like a comet. At others, he sinks into the cold earth and slumbers, waiting for the unmistakable scent of magic that will lead him to another World Rune… and should he find one, there are precious few in Runeterra with the power to stop him.

Powers/Abilities:

1. Blaze

2. Sear

3. Pillar of Flame

4. Conflagration

5. Pyroclasm

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Evelynn

Biography:

Within the dark seams of Runeterra, the demon Evelynn searches for her next victim. She lures in prey with the voluptuous façade of a human female, but once a person succumbs to her Allure charms, Evelynn’s Last Caress true form is unleashed. She then subjects her victim to unspeakable torment, gratifying herself with their pain. To the demon, these liaisons are innocent flings. To the rest of Runeterra, they are ghoulish tales of lust gone awry and horrific reminders of the cost of wanton desire.

Evelynn was not always a skilled huntress. She began eons ago, as something primordial, shapeless, and barely sentient. This nascent wisp of shadow existed, numb and unroused by any stimulation, for centuries. It might have remained so, had the world not been upended by conflict. The Rune Wars, as they would come to be known, brought an era of mass suffering the world had never known.

As people across Runeterra began to experience a vast array of pain, anguish, and loss, the shadow stirred. The nothingness it had known for so long had been replaced by the manic vibrations of an agonized world. The creature quivered with excitement.

As the Rune Wars escalated, the world’s torment grew so intense that the shadow felt as if it might burst. It drank in all of Runeterra’s pain, which it experienced as boundless pleasure. The sensation nourished the creature, and over time, it transformed into something more. It became a demon, a ravenous spiritual parasite that fed on the basest of human emotions.

When the wars finally ended, the world’s suffering waned, and the demon found itself growing desperate. The only pleasure it had ever known was born of other creatures’ misery. Without their pain, it felt nothing, just as it had in its earliest days.

If the world would not provide the suffering the demon needed to thrive, it would have to make its own. It needed to inflict pain on other beings so that it could experience that elation again.

At first, catching prey was a challenge for the demon. It could move undetected in its shadow form, but to touch a human, the creature needed to manifest as something tangible. It made several attempts to fashion a physical body from its shadow-flesh, but each result was more monstrous than the last, scaring off her prey.

The demon realized it needed a shape that was pleasing to humans, one that would not only lure them right into its claws, but would offer them ecstasy born of their own desires, so that their pain would be that much sweeter.

From the shadows, it began to study those it sought to prey upon. It tailored its flesh to their liking, learned to say what they wanted to hear, and to walk in a manner they found alluring.

In a matter of weeks, the demon had perfected her physique, leading dozens of enamored victims to be tortured to death at her hands. Though she relishes the exquisite pain of each of her victims, she always finds herself wanting more. Each human’s desires are so small, and they always expire too soon. Their pain, too fleeting to give her anything more than tiny morsels of pleasure, is just enough to tide her over to the next feeding.

She yearns for the day she can plunge the world into utter chaos, and she can return to an existence of pure, rapturous ecstasy.

Powers/Abilities:

1. Demon Shade

2. Hate Spike

3. Allure

4. Whiplash

5. Last Caress

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Fiddlesticks

Biography: Fiddlesticks is a ghastly, living scarecrow who stalks the darkness, wielding a cruel scythe and preying upon the unwary. Once a lonely man accused of bringing famine to his village, he was tied up and left to starve in his own barren field. Resurrected by the savage murder of crows that fed on his remains, Fiddlesticks now relishes terrorizing his victims before claiming their lives amid a flurry of feathers and blood-splattered beaks. Powers/Abilities: 1. Dread 2. Terrify 3. Drain 4. Dark Wind 5. Crowstorm

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Fizz

Biography:

Fizz is an amphibious yordle, who dwells among the reefs surrounding Bilgewater. He often retrieves and returns the tithes cast into the sea by superstitious captains, but even the saltiest of sailors know better than to cross him-- for many are the tales of those who have underestimated this slippery character. Often mistaken for some manner of capricious ocean spirit, he seems able to command the beasts of the deep, and delights in confounding his allies and enemies alike.

In ages past, the oceans of Runeterra were home to civilizations far older than those of the land. In the depths of what is now the Guardian’s Sea, a great city once stood—it was here that the yordle Fizz made his home. He lived alongside the artisans and warriors of that proud, noble race. Even though he was not one of them, they treated him as an equal, and his playful nature and tall tales of adventures in the open sea made him welcome at any gathering.

But the world was changing. The oceans were growing warmer, emboldening fierce predators to rise up from the deepest trenches. Other settlements had fallen silent, but the rulers of the great city could still not agree on how to deal with the threat. Fizz pledged to roam the seas in search of survivors, or anyone who knew what had happened.

Then, one dark day, the gigalodons came.

These huge dragon-sharks stunned their prey with fell shrieking, and the avenues of the great city were soon clouded red. Thousands died in a matter of hours, the immense bulk of their killers crushing towers and temples in a monstrous feeding frenzy. Scenting blood in the water, Fizz raced back, determined to join the fight and save the city.

He was too late. There was nothing left of the city to save. When the debris finally settled, not a single living creature remained, nor any stone upon another, and the ravenous shoal had moved on. Alone in the cold depths, Fizz sank into mournful despair. As his yordle magic began to fade, he let himself be carried by the currents, drifting in a catatonic torpor, dreaming away the millennia…

It was only chance that reawakened him. A handful of copper coins fell from above, scattered to the seabed in the wake of a huge, wooden fish that swam upon the surface. This was no gigalodon, but Fizz was alarmed nonetheless—he knew little of the world overhead, but surely no fish could survive up there? He ventured up and peered into the salty air for the first time.

There were people, people who lived outside of the water and sailed in wooden fish of all sizes. Fizz found the thought both frightening and exciting, but the curious gifts they cast into the water made it clear that they wanted to be his friends. In time, following their movements to and fro across the oceans, he came to the port city of Bilgewater.

To the inhabitants of that lawless place, this strange and slippery creature quickly became something of a legend—the Tidal Trickster, a spirit of the ocean itself. It is said that he can summon great beasts to do his bidding, hole a ship’s hull with his stone trident, and breathe air or water as it suits him. Many a misbehaving child has been warned on a moonless night: “Go quickly to sleep, or the Trickster will come and feed you to the fishes…”

Fizz is good-natured, but mischievous even for a yordle, and delights in confounding the people of Bilgewater. The most seasoned fishermen know, just as the ocean may rise and fall, the Tidal Trickster is as likely to lead them into windless doldrums as to an easy catch that would fill their nets. Even so, Fizz does not take kindly to the greedy or selfish, and more than one haughty sea captain hoping to make a quick pile of silver has found that her mysterious guide has led her crew not to safety, but to shipwreck.

Powers/Abilities:

1. Nimble Fighter

2. Urchin Strike

3. Seastone Trident

4. Playful/Trickster

5. Chum the Waters

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Gragas

Biography: Equal parts jolly and imposing, Gragas is a massive, rowdy brewmaster on his own quest for the perfect pint of ale. Hailing from parts unknown, he now searches for rare ingredients among the unblemished wastes of the Freljord, trying each recipe as he goes. Often intoxicated and extremely impulsive, he is legendary for the brawls he starts, which often end in all-night parties and widespread property damage. Any appearance from Gragas must surely foreshadow drinking and destruction—in that order. The only thing more important to Gragas than fighting is Happy Hour drinking. His unquenchable thirst for stronger ale has led him in search of the most potent and unconventional ingredients to toss in his still. Impulsive and unpredictable, this rowdy carouser loves cracking kegs as much as cracking heads. Thanks to his strange Barrel Roll brews and Drunken Rage temperamental nature, drinking with Gragas is always a risky proposition. Gragas has an eternal love of good drink, but his massive constitution prevented him from reaching a divine state of intoxication. One night, when he had drained all the kegs and was left wanting, Gragas was struck by a thought rather than the usual barstool: why couldn't he brew himself something that would finally get him truly drunk? It was then that he vowed to create the ultimate ale. Gragas' quest eventually brought him to the Freljord, where the promise of acquiring the purest arctic water for his recipe led him into uncharted glacial wastes. While lost in an unyielding blizzard, Gragas stumbled upon a great howling abyss. There he found it: a flawless Shard of True Ice item shard of ice unlike anything he had ever seen. Not only did this unmelting shard imbue his lager with incredible properties, but it also had a handy side effect - it kept the mixture chilled at the perfect serving temperature. Under the spell of his new concoction, Gragas headed for civilization, eager to share the fermented fruits of his labor. As fate would have it, the first gathering to catch Gragas' bleary eyes would shape the future of the Freljord. He blundered into a deteriorating negotiation between two tribes discussing an alliance with AsheSquare Ashe. Though Ashe welcomed a break in the tension, the other warriors bristled at the intrusion and hurled insults at the drunken oaf. True to his nature, Gragas replied with a diplomatic Body Slam headbutt, setting off a brawl matched only in the legends of the Freljord. When the fallen from that great melee finally awoke, Ashe proposed a friendly drink as an alternative to fighting. With their tempers doused in suds, the two tribes, formerly on the brink of war, bonded over a common love of Gragas' brew. Although strife was averted and Gragas hailed a hero, he still had not achieved his dream of drunken blissfulness. So once more, he set off to wander the tundra in search of ingredients for Runeterra's perfect pint. Powers/Abilities: 1. Happy Hour 2. Barrel Roll 3. Drunken Rage 4. Body Slam 5. Explosive Cask

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Gnar

Biography:

Gnar is an excitable yordle whose playful antics can erupt into a toddler’s outrage in an instant, transforming him into a massive beast bent on destruction. Frozen in True Ice for millennia, the curious creature broke free and now hops about a changed world he sees as exotic and wondrous. Delighted by danger, Gnar flings whatever he can at his enemies, be it his bonetooth boomerang... or an uprooted tree.

Before the ice had given the Freljord its name, there existed a land brimming with wonder—that is, if one could see the world through the eyes of Gnar.

A young yordle with boundless energy, Gnar and others like him lived openly among the hardy tribes of the northlands. Though barely big enough to leave footprints in the snow, his temper rivaled that of beasts ten times his size, and he would erupt with a babble of curses the moment anything went amiss. For this reason, he felt more kinship with the greater and wiser creatures, who kept their distance from mortals. To Gnar, they looked like overgrown, white-furred yordles… and that was good enough for him.

While the tribes foraged across the tundra, gathering wild berries and tasty moss, Gnar collected more essential items, like rocks, pebbles, and the muddy remains of dead birds. His greatest treasure was the jawbone of a drüvask. When he tugged it from the cold earth, he squealed with glee and flung it as far as he could.

It landed two hops away.

Thrilled by this early success, Gnar carried his “boomerang” wherever he went. The world would try its best to offer him new delights—shiny lint, sweet nectar, round things—but none could match the pure joy he felt in throwing and catching his cherished weapon. He now considered himself a hunter, and trailed herds of wild beasts that paid him no mind.

But even he could sense change coming to the land. The sky seemed darker. The winds felt colder. The mortal tribes who had once foraged together, now appeared to hunt each other…

The big white yordles would know what to do. Gnar would go to them.

Using all of his hunting skill, he tracked them into the snow-capped peaks of a vast mountain range, much farther than he had ever wandered before. As he approached unseen, he also saw more mortals than he could count. This was exciting, but no one else seemed too happy about it.

Then the ground shook, and split apart. For the first time in Gnar’s life, it seemed as though everyone else was throwing tantrums. The mortals yelled. The big yordles roared.

But the monster’s arrival silenced them all.

Heaving itself up from the newly opened abyss, it bore huge horns, whipping tentacles, and a single eye, burning with strange light that made the fur on Gnar’s back crawl. While some mortals fled at the sight, he began to feel an odd pain in his chest—it was like the thought of losing his boomerang, or never being hugged again. This horrible thing wanted to hurt his new friends.

And this made him angry. In that moment, Gnar truly raged.

All he could see was the monster. In a flash, he was in the air, leaping toward it. In one paw, he grasped a snowball… or so he thought. In fact, it was a boulder plucked from the mountainside, for Gnar had grown as large as the big white yordles. He would send this monster back where it came from, by walloping its face!

But the blow never landed. Gnar felt a chill colder than any winter, one that seemed to turn the air itself into ice—truly, this elemental magic froze him in place, biting through his shaggy fur. Everything, including the monster, became quiet. The yordle’s strength and anger melted away. A deep tiredness crept into his limbs, and he fell softly asleep.

Gnar napped for a long time. When he finally awoke, he shook the frost from his shoulders, breathing heavily. Everyone else was gone. With no monsters to fight and no friends to protect, he felt very small and alone again.

The land was very different, too. There was snow everywhere, blanketing everything as far as his wide eyes could see. Still, he let out a happy yelp when he saw his beloved boomerang lying beside him, and scurried away to find something to hunt.

Even now, Gnar has no grasp of what took place that fateful day, nor how he escaped. He simply marvels at the world before him, with so many oddities to collect and places to explore.

Before the ice had given the Freljord its name, there existed a land brimming with wonder—that is, if one could see the world through the eyes of Gnar.

A young yordle with boundless energy, Gnar and others like him lived openly among the hardy tribes of the northlands. Though barely big enough to leave footprints in the snow, his temper rivaled that of beasts ten times his size, and he would erupt with a babble of curses the moment anything went amiss. For this reason, he felt more kinship with the greater and wiser creatures, who kept their distance from mortals. To Gnar, they looked like overgrown, white-furred yordles… and that was good enough for him.

While the tribes foraged across the tundra, gathering wild berries and tasty moss, Gnar collected more essential items, like rocks, pebbles, and the muddy remains of dead birds. His greatest treasure was the jawbone of a drüvask. When he tugged it from the cold earth, he squealed with glee and flung it as far as he could.

It landed two hops away.

Thrilled by this early success, Gnar carried his “boomerang” wherever he went. The world would try its best to offer him new delights—shiny lint, sweet nectar, round things—but none could match the pure joy he felt in throwing and catching his cherished weapon. He now considered himself a hunter, and trailed herds of wild beasts that paid him no mind.

But even he could sense change coming to the land. The sky seemed darker. The winds felt colder. The mortal tribes who had once foraged together, now appeared to hunt each other…

The WillumpSquare big white yordles would know what to do. Gnar would go to them.

Using all of his hunting skill, he tracked them into the snow-capped peaks of a vast mountain range, much farther than he had ever wandered before. As he approached unseen, he also saw more mortals than he could count. This was exciting, but no one else seemed too happy about it.

Then the ground shook, and split apart. For the first time in Gnar’s life, it seemed as though everyone else was throwing tantrums. The mortals yelled. The big yordles roared.

But the monster’s arrival silenced them all.

Heaving itself up from the newly opened abyss, it bore huge horns, whipping tentacles, and a single eye, burning with strange light that made the fur on Gnar’s back crawl. While some mortals fled at the sight, he began to feel an odd pain in his chest—it was like the thought of losing his boomerang, or never being hugged again. This horrible thing wanted to hurt his new friends.

And this made him angry. In that moment, Gnar truly raged.

All he could see was the monster. In a flash, he was in the air, leaping toward it. In one paw, he grasped a snowball… or so he thought. In fact, it was a boulder plucked from the mountainside, for Gnar had grown as large as the big white yordles. He would send this monster back where it came from, by walloping its face!

But the blow never landed. Gnar felt a chill colder than any winter, one that seemed to turn the air itself into ice—truly, this elemental magic froze him in place, biting through his shaggy fur. Everything, including the monster, became quiet. The yordle’s strength and anger melted away. A deep tiredness crept into his limbs, and he fell softly asleep.

Gnar napped for a long time. When he finally awoke, he shook the frost from his shoulders, breathing heavily. Everyone else was gone. With no monsters to fight and no friends to protect, he felt very small and alone again.

The land was very different, too. There was snow everywhere, blanketing everything as far as his wide eyes could see. Still, he let out a happy yelp when he saw his beloved boomerang lying beside him, and scurried away to find something to hunt.

Even now, Gnar has no grasp of what took place that fateful day, nor how he escaped. He simply marvels at the world before him, with so many oddities to collect and places to explore.

Powers/Abilities:

1. Rage Gene

2. Boomerang Throw

3. Headbutt

4. Trample

5. Unbreakable Will

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Ivern

Biography: Ivern Bramblefoot, known to many as the Green Father, is a peculiar half man, half tree who roams Runeterra's forests, cultivating life everywhere he goes. He knows the secrets of the natural world, and holds deep Friend of the Forest friendships with all things that grow, fly, and scuttle. Ivern wanders the wilderness, imparting strange wisdom to any he meets, enriching the forests, and occasionally entrusting loose-lipped butterflies with his secrets. In the early days of the Freljord Crest icon Freljord, Ivern was a fierce warrior with an iron will and unflinching resolve. However, he was powerless when the Iceborn rose to prominence and looked down upon Ivern and his kind as hapless mortals who dared challenge their will. He plotted with his kinsmen to overthrow their sorcerous masters. Ivern the Cruel and the battle-hardened battalion under his command set sail from the frozen harbors of Frostguard profileicon Frostguard for a faraway land that, according to legend, was the source of all magic. If Ivern could seize such a power for his own, then he could break the Iceborn. As the fleet crested the horizon, they sailed out of memory and into myth, for they were never seen again, and faded from Freljordian history like tracks in the winter's snow. The sea, in abject rejection of their noble goals, fell on them with waves like crushing jaws, and shook the resolve of even the heartiest of men. Ivern, after putting many mutinous cowards to the sword, landed his armada on the shores of Ionia Crest icon Ionia and mercilessly cut down the native resistance. The Ionians surrendered, and led the Freljordians to a sacred grove known as Omikayalan, the Heart of the World. Most of Ivern's men thought this a gift to the conquerors, a sign of loyalty. But it was there, in that strange and verdant garden, where they met the fiercest resistance. A mysterious new foe arose. Chimeric beings, half human, half animal, stalked the dwindling battalion, relentlessly cutting down the would-be conquerors. Undeterred, Ivern pressed on until the remnants of his army, battered and few, discovered what the Ionians held so sacred: the God-Willow, a massive tree, dripping with long gossamer leaves that shimmered with golden-green light. While his men were being slaughtered in a final assault, Ivern stood transfixed by the mystical tree. Seeking to shatter the resolve of his foes, he gripped his battle-axe, and swung at the tree with the force of ten men. He felt no impact. He felt nothing. There was only blinding light when he felled the God-Willow and extinguished all the lifeforce within it. What happened next was even stranger - his hands fused and became one with the battle-axe and God-Willow's hardwood. His limbs grew in length, and became knotty and rough to the touch. He stood helpless as the rest of his body followed suit. Within moments, he was ten feet tall, staring down over a field of his slain comrades. He could not feel his heart pumping, but he was awake and aware. He heard a voice deep inside him. "Watch", it said. In what felt like seconds, the bodies decayed under legions of colorful mushrooms and buzzing insects. Flesh fed the carrion birds and wolves alike. Bones rotted into fertile soil, and seeds from fruit eaten by the conquerors budded and sprouted into trees with fruit of their own. Hills rose and fell, like lungs gently filling with breath. Leaves and petals pulsed like colorful hearts. From the death that surrounded him, life exploded forth in ways too numerous to believe. Never had Ivern beheld such beauty. Life, in all its forms, was tangled together like an impossible knot that didn't want to be untied. He reflected on the mistakes he'd made, the cruelty he'd visited on others, and felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow. He wept, and dewdrop tears sprang up on the bark and leaves that now covered his newly tree-like body. Am I now becoming the God-Willow? he wondered. Then the voice inside Ivern told him something new. "Listen", it said. So he did. At first, he heard nothing. Then: the whimpers of countless beasts, the bawling of rivers, the howling of trees and the dripping tears of moss. They lamented the God-Willow's death in a symphony of mourning. Remorse washed over Ivern, and he cried out for forgiveness. A tiny squirrel snuggled at his legs. He felt the gaze of nearby animals. Plants reached out for him with their roots. Nature's gaze fixed on him, and he felt the seeping warmth of forgiveness. When Ivern finally moved, over a century had passed and the world felt new. The violence and cruelty of his old self were echoes in his heart. Never again would he be the man who wrought so much destruction. He even asked the voice deep inside, why him? Why was he spared? The voice spoke a third time. "Grow", it said. This puzzled him. Was he supposed to grow or help the world grow? He decided it was probably both; after all, who couldn't use a bit of extra growth? Ivern looked at himself, his barklike skin, the mushroom on his arm, the family of squirrels tucked away in the area where his scabbard used to reside. This new body astounded him. He found he could dig his toes deep into the soil and commune with roots and insects alike: even the dirt itself had opinions! Ivern decided an excellent start was to get to know all the world's inhabitants, and so he did. It took a few centuries - how many exactly, Ivern couldn't say, because time flies when one is having such a good time. He wandered the world and developed close kinships with all creatures great and small. He observed their foibles, delighting in their little habits, and occasionally offering a helping hand. He shortened the inchworm's path, played tricks with mischievous Red BramblebackSquare bramblebacks, hugged thorny elmarks to happiness, and laughed with wizened elder-fungus. Everywhere Ivern went, forests blossomed in perpetual springtime and beasts dwelled in harmony. On occasion, he rescued creatures unjustly wounded by careless predators. In one instance, he found a wounded DaisySquare stone-golem. Knowing the poor creature was on the verge of death, he fashioned her a new heart from a river pebble. Adhering to the tradition of all mineral beings, the golem became Ivern's devoted life-friend. He named her Daisy! Daisy, after the flowers that mysteriously sprouted from her stone body. Today, if Ivern is threatened, she Daisy, wait! races to his side. Sometimes, he encountered communities of humans, many of them somewhat peaceful. They called him Bramblefoot or the Green Father and told tales of his strange benevolence. But how they took more than they gave, how they could be cruel and human, unnerved Ivern, and he retreated from their company. Then the voice inside of him spoke for a fourth time. "Show", it said. Ivern left the woodlands and journeyed out to meet a world blanketed in mankind. The resolve he'd once felt returned, but this time it wasn't driven by malice or cruelty. One day, he hoped to replace what he took. If he was called to be the new God-Willow, he needed to cultivate humanity, help them watch, listen, and grow. Being human once himself, Ivern knew this would be difficult, so he smiled and challenged himself to complete this task before the final setting of the sun. He knew he would have the time. Powers/Abilities: 1. Friend of the Forest 2. Rootcaller 3. Brushmaker 4. Triggerseed 5. Daisy!

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Jax

Biography: Unmatched in both his skill with unique armaments and his biting sarcasm, Jax is the last known weapons master of Icathia. After his homeland was laid low by its own hubris in unleashing the Void, Jax and his kind vowed to protect what little remained. As magic now rises in the world, this slumbering threat stirs once more, and Jax roams Valoran, wielding the last light of Icathia and testing all warriors he meets to see if any are strong enough to stand beside him... The self-styled Grandmaster at Arms known as Jax is a mysterious warrior and sometime mercenary renowned for his prowess in combat and biting sarcasm. While exceptionally skilled with virtually every conceivable weapon, he often chooses to fight with a mundane implement, such as a lamppost, in order to give his opponents a sporting chance. Powers/Abilities: 1. Relentless Assault 2. Leap Strike 3. Empower 4. Counter Strike 5. Grandmaster's Might

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Kayle

Biography:

A great hero and the strongest among her kind, Kayle is an angelic warrior dedicated to purging those beyond redemption. After conflict divided her people, she took up her enchanted armor and flaming sword in the name of order, disowning her very flesh and blood in the process. When Kayle descends upon the field of battle, her justice is swift—for none can escape the light of divine and righteous fury.

In a world far away, where an ancient war still rages, Kayle was a great hero – the strongest of an immortal race committed to destroying evil wherever it could be found. For ten thousand years, Kayle fought tirelessly for her people, wielding her flaming sword forged before time itself. She shielded her delicate features beneath her enchanted armor, the sole remaining masterpiece of an extinct race of craftsmen. Though a beautiful, striking creature, Kayle, now as then, avoids showing her face; war has taken a terrible toll upon her spirit. In her quest for victory, she sometimes would try to lift the wicked up from their morass of evil, but more than often she instead purged those she herself deemed beyond redemption. To Kayle, justice can so often be an ugly thing.

Ten years ago, Kayle's war against evil was nearly won... until her rebellious sister Morgana, a pariah amongst their people, suddenly gained power which threatened to bring Kayle and her people to their knees. To save her world, Kayle had no choice but to turn her fiery blade toward her own sister, disowning her, and drawing the line forever between them. Powers/Abilities: 1. Holy Fervor 2. Reckoning 3. Divine Blessing 4. Righteous Fury 5. Intervention

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Kindred

Biography: Separate, but never parted, Kindred represents the twin essences of death. Lamb's bow offers a swift release from the mortal realm for those who accept their fate. Wolf hunts down those who run from their end, delivering violent finality within his crushing jaws. Though interpretations of Kindred's nature vary across Runeterra, every mortal must choose the true face of their death. Kindred is the white embrace of nothingness and the gnashing of teeth in the dark. Shepherd and the butcher, poet and the primitive, they are one and both. When caught on the edge of life, louder than any trumpeting horn, it is the hammering pulse at one's throat that calls Kindred to their Mark of the Kindred hunt. Stand and greet Lamb's silvered bow and her Dance of Arrows arrows will lay you down swiftly. If you refuse her, Wolf will join you for his merry hunt, where every Mounting Dread chase runs to its brutal end. For as long as its people have known death, Kindred has stalked Valoran. When the final moment comes, it is said a true Demacian will turn to Lamb, taking the arrow, while through the shadowed streets of Noxus, Wolf leads the hunt. In the snows of the Freljord, before going off to fight, some warbands 'kiss the Wolf', vowing to honor his chase with the blood of their enemies. After each Harrowing, the town of Bilgewater gathers to celebrate its survivors and honor those granted a true death by Lamb and Wolf. Denying Kindred is to deny the natural order of things. There are but a wretched few who have eluded these hunters. This perverse escape is no sanctuary, for it only holds a waking nightmare. Kindred waits for those locked in the undeath of the Shadow Isles, for they know all will eventually fall to Lamb's bow or Wolf's teeth. The earliest dated appearance of the eternal hunters is from a pair of ancient masks, carved by unknown hands into the gravesites of people long-forgotten. But to this day, Lamb and Wolf remain together, and they are always Kindred. Powers/Abilities: 1. Mark of the Kindred 2. Dance of Arrows 3. Wolf's Frenzy 4. Mounting Dread 5. Lamb's Respite

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Malphite

Biography: A massive creature of living stone, Malphite struggles to impose blessed order on a chaotic world. Birthed as a servitor-shard to an otherworldly obelisk known as the Monolith, he used his tremendous elemental strength to maintain and protect his progenitor, but ultimately failed. The only survivor of the destruction that followed, Malphite now endures Runeterra's soft folk and their fluid temperaments, while struggling to find a new role worthy of the last of his kind. Powers/Abilities: 1. Granite Shield 2. Seismic Shard 3. Brutal Strikes 4. Ground Slam 5. Unstoppable Force

[leagueoflegendsarchive]

Morgana

Biography: Driven by vindictive obsession, Morgana is a potent mistress of suffering and the black arts. Once a being of grace and light, she was ripped from her kind during an ancient conflict that broke her soul, turning her into the cruel tormentor she is today. Comforted by a prophecy that claims she will strike the final blow and gain her revenge, Morgana lies in wait, her lust for power growing endlessly. Powers/Abilities: 1. Soul Siphon 2. Dark Binding 3. Tormented Soil 4. Black Shield 5. Soul Shackles