Brand

In a faraway place known as Lokfar there was a nautical pirate called Kegan Rodhe. Similar to his kin's way, Kegan cruised far and wide with his colleagues, taking fortunes from those sufficiently unfortunate to get their consideration. To a few, he was a beast; to others, only a man. One night, as they cruised through the icy waters, peculiar lights moved over the solidified squanders. There was something sleep inducing about them; it was something that attracted them to it like moths to a fire. Trekking over the solidified waste, they went to a buckle canvassed in antiquated runes. The importance of the runes missing to them, Kegan drove the route inside. There, inside an ideal confine of ice skimmed a moving segment of fire. There was no chance a wonder such as this ought to be consuming, particularly not in this place. Be that as it may, its development was as mesmerizing as a siren's tune, enthralling and enchanting. While the others remained back, Kegan really wanted to approach it while holding out his hand... That is the exact opposite thing Kegan Rodhe recollects, until further notice his body has a place with Brand. It is an animal of time long past circumstances, maybe even a setback of the Rune Wars. It is referred to in old messages as the Burning Vengeance. It is an animal of unadulterated searing scorn that exists for no other explanation than to ruin the universe of men and cordless. Nobody is very certain how Brand discovered his approach to Valoran, however, he started his predations without a moment's delay. Overcome by Demacian strengths, he was given a decision: battle inside the limits of the League or kick the bucket. Actually, he utilized his damaging forces in the League, for the present... ''This place will consume, not by soot flying or breath of twist, but rather by the retribution of my hand.'' - Brand

• User Cloud

• Upera

Blitzcrank Skin

Zaun is a place where both enchantment and science have gone amiss, and the unchecked idea of experimentation has incurred significant injury. In any case, Zaun's indulgent confinements permit their analysts and creators the room to push the limits of science at a quickened rate, regardless. It was under these conditions that a group of doctoral understudies from Zaun's College of Techmaturgy made a leap forward in the field of keen steam robotization. Their creation, the steam golem Blitzcrank, was produced to practice judgment on-the-fly so as to help with Zaun's risky waste recovery handle since regularly the conditions did not take into consideration human supervision. Be that as it may, he soon started displaying unexpected practices. After some time, the researchers could recognize an exhibited learning procedure, and Blitzcrank quick turned into a big name. As is unfortunately frequently the case, however, credit for the golem's creation was gathered up by another - Professor Stanwick Pididly - however, most now know reality. In the wake of the resulting legitimate frenzy, it ended up plainly apparent that neither gathering genuinely had the Steam Golem's best advantages on the most fundamental level, and Blitzcrank submissively requested of for individual self-rule. Upheld by overpowering help from general society, it took the liberal Council of Zaun just half a month to announce Blitzcrank a completely autonomous, aware element. An extraordinary being, the golem left Zaun, troubled by the debate and feeling there was no place he could fit in. Presently he looks through the terrains of Valoran to discover a place where he may some time or another have a place. In spite of the fact that Blitzcrank may player anything that stands in his direction, he truly shows at least a bit of kindness of gold...encased in a structure of iron...in a carapace of steel.

• User Cloud

• Upera

Bard Skin

Bard goes through domains past the creative energy of mortal creatures. Some of Valoran's most prominent researchers have spent their lives attempting to comprehend the riddles he typifies. This cryptic soul has been given many names all through the historical backdrop of Valoran, however titles, for example, Cosmic Vagabond and Great Caretaker just catch a brief part of his actual reason. At the point when the mysterious structure of the universe is undermined, Bard guides all presence far from absolute demolition.

• User Cloud

• Upera

Azir Skin

Arisen Azir strolled the gold-cleared Emperor's Way. The tremendous statues of Shurima's most punctual rulers – his precursors – watched his advance. The delicate, shadowy light of pre-dawn leaked through his city. The brightest stars still shone overhead, however they would soon be snuffed out by the rising sun. The night sky was not as Azir recollected that it; the stars and the groups of stars were misaligned. Centuries had passed. With each progression, Azir's overwhelming staff of office struck a desolate note, resounding through the capital's vacant lanes. At the point when last he had strolled this way, a respected monitor of 10,000 tip top warriors had walked afterward, and the cheers of the group had shaken the city. It was to have been his snapshot of brilliance – yet it had been stolen from him. Presently, it was a city of apparitions. What had happened to his kin? With an imperious signal, Azir ordered the sands next to the roadway to rise, making living statues. This was a dream of the past, the echoes of Shurima given shape. The sand figures looked forward, makes a beeline for the enormous Sun Disk hanging over the Dais of Ascension a large portion of a class ahead. It hung there as yet, announcing the radiance and energy of Azir's realm, however, nobody stayed to see it. The little girl of Shurima who stirred him, she who bore his heredity, was no more. He detected her out in the betray. Blood bound them together. As Azir strolled the Emperor's Way, the sand-echoes of his kin pointed up at the Sun Disk, their happy articulations swinging to frightfulness. Mouths opened wide in quiet shouts. They swung to run, bumbling and falling. Azir watched this all in miserable quiet, demonstrating the veracity of the last snapshots of his kin. They were decimated by a rash of inconspicuous vitality, decreased to tidy and thrown to the winds. What had turned out badly with his Ascension to release this calamity? Azir's concentration limited. His walk turned out to be more unfaltering. He achieved the base of the Stairs of Ascension and started to climb, taking them five at any given moment. Just his most confided in officers, the ministry, and those of the regal bloodline were permitted to step foot upon the Stairs. Sand variants of these most supported subjects lined his way, faces upturned, scowling and crying peacefully before they too were cleared away by the winds. He ran, making the strides speedier than any man could, claws diving into the stonework, cutting wrinkles where they got. Sand figures climbed and were then wrecked, to either side of him as he climbed. He achieved the best. Here, he saw the last hover of spectators: his nearest assistants, his counsels, the devout ministers. His family. Azir dropped to his knees. His family was before him, rendered in impeccable, unfortunate detail. His better half, overwhelming with the tyke. His bashful little girl, grasping his better half's hand. His child, standing tall, on the precarious edge of turning into a man. With sickening apprehension, Azir saw their looks change. In spite of the fact that he realized what was to come, he couldn't turn away. His little girl concealed her face in the folds of his better half's dress; his child gone after his sword, yelling in rebellion. His better half... her eyes broadened distress and sadness writ inside. The concealed occasion impacted them to nothingness. It was excessive, however, no tears welled in Azir's eyes. His Ascended shape rendered that basic demonstration of despondency always lost to him. With a substantial heart, he drove himself to his feet. The inquiry stayed in the matter of how his bloodline made due, for it most without a doubt had. The last reverberate anticipated. He progressed, ending one stage beneath the dais, and looked as everything played out before him, reenacted in the sand. He saw himself, in his mortal shape, ascend into the air underneath the Sun Disk, arms wide and back angled. He recollected this minute. The power coursed through him, mixing his being, filling him with its perfect quality. A newcomer shaped in the sand. He confided in bondsman, his magus, Xerath. His companion articulated a noiseless world. Azir watched himself smash like glass, detonating into bits of sand. "Xerath," inhaled Azir. The double crosser's demeanor was mysterious, yet Azir could see only the substance of a killer. Where did such detest originated from? Azir had never known about it. The sand picture of Xerath rose higher into the air as the Sun Disk's energies centered into his being. A unit of first class watches hurried toward him, however, they were all extremely late. A ruthless shockwave of sand flared out, crumbling the last snapshot of Shurima. Azir remained solitary among the withering echoes of his past. This is the thing that executed his kin. Azir dismissed, similarly as the main beams of the new first light struck the Sun Disk overhead. He'd seen enough. The sand picture of the changed Xerath fell behind him. The day break sun reflected blindingly off Azir's faultless brilliant protection. Right then and there, he realized that the backstabber still lived. He detected the magus' substance noticeable all around that he relaxed. Azir lifted a hand, and a multitude of his world class warriors ascended from the sands at the base of the Stairs of Ascension. "Xerath," he stated, his voice tinged with seething. "Your violations won't go unpunished."

• User Cloud

• Upera

Aurelion Sol

Aurelion Sol, the Star Forge "Fall down. Love. Wonder. They are on the whole fitting reactions." Aurelion Sol once graced the huge void of the universe with divine marvels of his own conceiving. Presently, he is compelled to use his magnificent power at the command of a space-faring realm that deceived him into bondage. Seeking an arrival to his star-manufacturing ways, Aurelion Sol will drag the very stars from the sky, on the off chance that he should, with a specific end goal to recapture his flexibility. The presence of a comet frequently predicts a time of change and distress. Under the sponsorship of such red hot harbingers, it is said that new realms rise, old human advancements fall, and even the stars themselves may tumble from the sky. These hypotheses only touch the most superficial layer of a much more peculiar truth: that the comet's brilliance shrouds an enormous being of incredible power. The being presently known as Aurelion Sol was at that point antiquated when stellar flotsam and jetsam initially mixed into universes. Conceived in the main breath of creation, he wandered the huge nothingness, looking to fill a canvas of endless broadness with wonders whose twinkling spectra brought him impressive enjoyment and pride. A divine mythical serpent is a colorful animal, and in that capacity, Aurelion Sol from time to time experienced any equivalents. As more types of life developed to fill the universe, a large number of primitive eyes looked up and viewed his work with pondering and short of breath contemplating. Complimented by this group of onlookers of incalculable universes, he ended up noticeably captivated by their youngster human advancements, who made amusingly narcissistic methods of insight on the idea of his stars. Coveting a more profound association with one of only a handful couple of races he regarded commendable, the infinite winged serpent chose the most aspiring species to beauty with his quality. These picked few tried to disentangle the privileged insights of the universe and had officially extended past their home planet. Many verses were created about the day the Star Forger slid to a minor world and declared his quality to the Targonians. A monstrous tempest of stars filled the skies and wound into an enormous shape as superb as it was frightening. Astronomical miracles twirled and twinkled all through the animal's body. New stars shone splendidly, and groups of stars adjusted at his impulse. Properly awed by his illuminant controls, the Targonians titled the mythical serpent Aurelion Sol and gave him a blessing as a token of regard: a splendorous crown of star-pearls, which he instantly wore. A little while later, however, fatigue stepped Aurelion Sol back to his work in the prolific immeasurability of space. In any case, the further from the scope of that small world he voyaged, the more he felt a getting a handle on at his exceptional substance, pulling him off his way, guiding him somewhere else! He could hear voices yelling, charging, from over the enormous scope. The blessing he'd gotten was no blessing by any means, it appeared. Offended, he battled these controlling driving forces and endeavored to break his bonds by compelling, just to find that for each assault against his recently discovered experts, one of his stars vanished everlastingly from the atmosphere. An effective enchantment now burdened Aurelion Sol, driving him to use his forces only for Targon's advantage. He fought chitinous brutes that tore at the texture of this universe. He conflicted with other vast elements, some of which he had known since the beginning of time. For centuries, he battled Targon's wars, pulverized any dangers to its strength, and helped it produce a star-spreading over the domain. These assignments were a misuse of his brilliant gifts; all things considered, it was he who birthed light into the universe! Why must he pander to such humble creatures? As his past glories gradually vanished from the heavenly domain for the absence of upkeep, Aurelion Sol surrendered himself to never again relax in the glow of a naturally touched off star. At that point, he felt it–a debilitating in his unwilling settlement. The voices from the crown became sporadic, conflicting, contending with each other while some fell forebodingly noiseless. An obscure fiasco he couldn't understand had diverted from the adjust of the individuals who bound him. They were scattered and diverted. Expectation crawled into his heart. Driven by the tempting probability of looming opportunity, Aurelion Sol lands on the world where everything started: Runeterra. It is here the adjust will at long last tip to support him. Also, with it, developments over the stars should take the stand concerning his disobedience and again play gathering of people to his strength. All will realize what destiny occurs for the individuals who endeavor to take for themselves the energy of an astronomical mythical serpent.

• User Cloud

• Upera

Ashe Skin

With every bolt she fires from her antiquated ice-captivated bow, Ashe demonstrates she is an ace toxophilite. She picks each objective deliberately, sits tight for the correct minute, and afterward hits with power and accuracy. It is with this same vision and center that she seeks after her objective of joining the tribes of the Freljord and fashioning them into a compelling country. As a youngster, Ashe was dependably a visionary. She wondered about the giant, relinquished fortifications of her progenitors, and invested hours by the fire turning into stories of the Freljord's legendary champions. Above all else, she cherished the legend of Avarosa, the prestigious Queen of the once eminent and joined Freljord. In spite of the fact that her mom criticized her stupidity, Ashe swore one day she would join the scattered and warlike tribes of the tundra. She knew in her heart that if her kin would stand together yet again, they would achieve enormity once more. At the point when Ashe was just fifteen, her mom was murdered while instructing the tribe on a reckless strike. Abruptly pushed into the part of a pioneer, Ashe settled on the troublesome choice to take after her adolescence vision as opposed to looking for the retribution she hungered for. She talked energetically against her tribe's interest for retaliation, announcing the time had come to set blood quarrels aside and facilitate an enduring peace. Some of her warriors scrutinized her wellness to administer and soon brought forth a treasonous plot to slaughter the youthful pioneer. The professional killers struck while Ashe was in a standard case, however, their arrangement was hindered by the notice cry of an incredible sale. Ashe thought back to see her tribesmen drawing nearer with swords drawn. Dwarfed and overpowered, Ashe kept running for a considerable length of time. She got herself somewhere down in unfamiliar domain, her weapon lost in the pursuit. When she heard another cry from the peddle, Ashe put her confidence in the interesting animal and tailed it to a clearing. There she found the winged creature roosted on a heap of stones - an old Freljord entombment cairn. With a last look at her, the peddle shrieked and took off. Moving toward the hill, Ashe felt her breath swing to ice and an unnatural cool chill her deep down. The stone at the highest point of the cairn was set apart with a solitary rune: Avarosa. The professional killers blasted into the clearing. Ashe lifted the runestone from the cairn to protect herself, uncovering something covered up underneath: a lavish bow cut from ice. She got a handle on it, shouting out in torment as ice shaped on her fingers, and tore the bow from its resting place. Cool spilled out of the charmed weapon into Ashe, arousing an enormous power that had dependable lived inside her. Ashe swung to confront the professional killers. She drew the bow, and by sheer sense, willed bolts of unadulterated ice to shape from the chilly, fresh air. With a solitary solidified volley, she finished the revolt. Painstakingly supplanting the cairn stone, she expressed appreciation to Avarosa for her blessing and returned home. Ashe's tribe quickly perceived the unbelievable weapon in the toxophilite's hand as a gift from the antiquated Freljord ruler herself. With Avarosa's bow and her vision of tranquil unification, Ashe's tribe soon swelled, turning into the biggest in the Freljord. Presently known as the Avarosan, they stand together with the conviction that an assembled Freljord will at the end of the day turn into an awesome country. ''One tribe, one individual, one Freljord.'' - Ashe

• User Cloud

• Upera

Annie Skin

There have dependably been those inside Noxus who did not concur with the shades of malice executed by the Noxian High Command. The High Command had quite recently put down an upset endeavor from the self-announced Crown Prince Raschallion, and a crackdown on any type of dispute against the new government was in progress. These political and social untouchables, known as the Gray Order, tried to leave their neighbors in peace as they sought after dim arcane information. The pioneers of this untouchable society were a hitched couple: Gregori Hastur, the Gray Warlock, and his significant other Amoline, the Shadow Witch. Together they drove a mass migration of conjurers and other scholarly people from Noxus, resettling their supporters past the Great Barrier toward the northern scopes of the unforgiving Voodoo Lands. Despite the fact that survival was a test on occasion, the Gray Order's settlement figured out how to flourish in a land where such a large number of others would have fizzled. A long time after the mass migration, Gregori and Amoline had a youngster: Annie. At an early stage, Annie's folks knew there was something extraordinary about their little girl. At two years old, Annie wonderfully ensorcelled a shadow bear - a fierce occupant of the petrified backwoods outside the province - transforming it into her pet. Right up 'til the present time she keeps her bear ""Tibbers"" close by, regularly keeping him entranced as a stuffed doll to be conveyed like a kid's toy. The blend of Annie's genealogy and the dim enchantment of her origin have given this young lady enormous arcane power.

• User Cloud

• Upera

Anivia Skin

              Anivia is a being of the coldest winter, a supernatural encapsulation of ice enchantment, and an antiquated defender of the Freljord. She charges all the power and anger of the land itself, calling the snow and sharp breeze to shield her home from the individuals who might hurt it. A kind yet baffling animal, Anivia is will undoubtedly keep vigil over the Freljord through life, demise, and resurrection. Anivia is as much a piece of the Freljord as the endless ice. Well before mortals had ever set foot on the land's freezing tundra, she had lived endless lifetimes and passed on the same number of passings. The beginnings and finishes of her unceasing cycle constantly proclaimed awesome change, from the quieting of seething tempests to the back and forth movement of ice ages. It is said that when the cryo Phoenix kicks the bucket, a period closes; and when she is reawakened, another time starts. In spite of the fact that Anivia's past lifetimes have blurred from her memory, she knows her motivation: she should secure the Freljord no matter what. When she was last reawakened, Anivia saw the ascent of a compelling and joined the human tribe. She watched their territories with satisfaction as they thrived, however, such solidarity couldn't keep going forever. The considerable tribe broke into three, and after that change, Anivia watched the general population of the Freljord wind up plainly involved in fight. As she endeavored to quiet the turmoil shredding her home, Anivia started to detect a more prominent danger: an antiquated underhandedness developing profound inside the earth. Sadly, she felt the unadulterated enchantment of the ice itself end up plainly darkened and degenerate. Like blood in the water, haziness crawled into the Freljord. With her predetermination so attached to the energy of the land, Anivia knew whether such underhandedness flourished in her home, that same haziness would discover its way into her heart. She could never again remain a simple watchman - the cryo-phoenix needed to act. Anivia soon found a partner in Ashe, the Frost Archer. Ashe too trusted in unification as a conclusion to the Freljord's never-ending strife, and Anivia offered the tribal pioneer her guide. Presently, with war not too far off, Anivia plans to battle for peace, yet she knows the unavoidable truth of her predetermination. One day, fiendishness will ascend from the ice, and she should decimate it - regardless of the cost. ''I am the anger of the tempest, the chomp of the breeze, and the icy of the ice. I am the Freljord.'' - Anivia

• User Cloud

• Upera

Amumu Skin

''Isolation can be lonelier than death.'' A forlorn and despairing soul from old Shurima, Amumu meanders the world looking for a companion. Reviled by an old spell, he is destined to stay alone always, as his touch is demise and his fondness destroy. The individuals who claim to have seen him depict Amumu as a living corpse, little in stature and canvassed in swathes the shade of lichen. Amumu has propelled myths, fables, and legends told and retold for eras - to such an extent that it is difficult to isolate truth from fiction.

• User Cloud

• Upera

Alistar Skin

            As the mightiest warrior to ever rise up out of the Minotaur tribes of the Great Barrier, Alistar guarded his tribe against Valoran's numerous threats; that is, until the happening to the Noxian armed force. Alistar was attracted from his town by the ruses of Keiran Darkwill, General Boram Darkwill's most youthful child and officer of the Noxian expeditionary drive. At the point when Alistar returned, he discovered his town copying and his family killed. Crying with seething, he charged a whole regiment of Noxus' world class, butchering them by the hundreds. Just the intercession of some of Noxus' most gifted summoners checked Alistar's fierceness. Gotten chains to Noxus, Alistar spent the interceding years as a warrior in the Fleshing, set in the interminable fight for the excitement of Noxus' well off pioneers. Alistar's once respectable soul gradually ended up plainly bent, and he would have been headed to craziness notwithstanding Ayelia, a youthful hireling young lady who got to know him and in the long run organized his escape. All of a sudden free, Alistar joined the recently framed League of Legends to battle as a champion, planning to one day correct his last retribution upon Noxus and discover the young lady who had reestablished his expectation. At first unwilling to take into account his big name status as a champion, Alistar has since found that there is control in popularity, and he has turned into a vocal promoter for those whom the Noxian government treads upon. He likewise calls to light things that the Noxian military would incline toward stay covered up - something that has made him extremely disagreeable with Noxus' nobles. His altruistic work has earned him a few humanitarian honors, which fill in as a fascinating complexity to the wrath and demolition he conveys to the League of Legends. On the off chance that you expect to get the bull by the horns as a summoner, Alistar may have something to say in regards to that.

• User Cloud

• Upera

Akali Skin

There exists an old request starting in the Ionian Isles committed to the protection of adjust. The request, confusion, light, haziness - all things must exist in consummate congruity for such is the method for the universe. This request is known as the Kinkou and it utilizes a triumvirate of shadow warriors to maintain its causes on the planet. Akali is one of these shadow warriors, depended with the sacrosanct obligation of Pruning the Tree - taking out the individuals who undermine the harmony of Valoran. An intemperate military craftsman, Akali started preparing with her mom when she could make a clenched hand. Her moms teach was persistent and unforgiving, yet predicated on the crucial standard: ''We do what must be done.'' When the Kinkou enlisted her into the request at fourteen years old, she could cut a dangling chain with a slash of her hand. There was no doubt - she would succeed her mom as the Fist of Shadow. She has needed to do much in this part which others may discover ethically flawed, however to her it is in an administration of her mom's sacred precept. She now works with her colleagues Shen and Kennen to implement the adjust of Valoran. This sacred interest has obviously driven the triumvirate to the Fields of Justice. ''The Fist of Shadow strikes from the front of death itself. Try not to block the adjust.''

• User Cloud

• Upera

Ahri Skin

             

Dissimilar to different foxes that meandered the forested areas of southern Ionia, Ahri had dependably felt a weird association with the supernatural world around her; an association that was by one means or another inadequate. Somewhere inside, she felt the skin she had been naturally introduced to was an evil fit for her and longed for one day getting to be noticeably human. Her objective appeared to be always distant, until the point when she chanced upon the wake of a human fight. It was a terrible scene, the land darkened by the types of injured and biting the dust troopers. She felt attracted to one: a robed man encompassed by a fading field of enchantment, his life rapidly disappearing. She moved toward him and something somewhere within her activated, connecting with the man in a way she couldn't get it. His life pith immersed her, carried on imperceptible strands of enchantment. The sensation was inebriating and overpowering. As her dream blurred, she was enchanted to find that she had changed. Her smooth white hide had retreated and her body was long and flexible - the state of the people who lay scattered about her.

In any case, however she seemed human, she realized that in truth the change was fragmented. A finesse animal, she adjusted to the traditions of human culture and utilized her significant endowment of magnificence to draw in clueless men. She could devour their life substances when they were under the spell of her tempting charms. Bolstering on their cravings conveyed her nearer to her fantasy, yet as she took more lives, an interesting feeling of disappointment started to well inside her. She had reservations about activities which never grieved her as a fox. She understood that she couldn't conquer the strings of her advancing profound quality. Looking for an answer, Ahri found the Institute of War, home of the most talented mages on Runeterra. They offered her an opportunity to accomplish her humankind without additionally hurt through administration in the League of Legends.

''Leniency is a human extravagance... also, obligation.''

- Ahri

• User Cloud

• Upera

Aatrox Skin

               Aatrox is a legendary warrior, one of just five that stay of an antiquated race known as the Darkin. He uses his huge edge with effortlessness and balance, cutting through armies in a style that is mesmerizing to observe. With every enemy felled, Aatrox's apparently living cutting edge drinks in their blood, engaging him and powering his fierce, exquisite crusade of a butcher. 

The soonest story of Aatrox is as old as written history. It recounts a war between two awesome groups recalled just as the Protectorate and the Magelords. After some time, the Magelords won a progression of squashing triumphs, abandoning them on the very edge of devastating their sworn adversary for eternity. Upon the arrival of their last encounter, the Protectorate armed force got themselves dwarfed, depleted and inadequately prepared. They supported for an unavoidable thrashing.

Exactly when all expectation appeared to be lost, Aatrox showed up among the positions of the Protectorate. With however a couple of words, he asked the officers to battle to the last before devoting himself completely to fight. His essence motivated the urgent warriors. At, to begin with, they could just watch in stunningness as this obscure saint separated through their foes, his body and sharp edge moving as one as though one being. Before long, the Warriors got themselves pervaded with an intense hunger for the fight to come. They took after Aatrox into the shred, each battling with the angry quality of ten until the point when they had won a most far-fetched triumph.

Aatrox vanished after that fight, yet the Protectorate armed force's newly discovered anger did not. Their shocking triumph prompted numerous more until the point when they could at long last return home successful. Their compatriots hailed them as legends, however, they had spared their whole progress from pulverization, haziness waited in the brain of every warrior. Something inside them had changed. After some time, their recollections of fight blurred, just to be supplanted with a troubling disclosure: their demonstrations of valor were, truth be told, ruthless abominations submitted by their own particular hands.

Stories like these show up among the myths of many societies. On the off chance that they are all to be trusted, Aatrox's quality has changed the course of probably the most vital wars ever. Despite the fact that these stories recall him as a hero in dull circumstances, Aatrox's actual inheritance might be a world loaded with struggle and strife.

''Some battle for respect, some battle for radiance. It makes a difference just that you battle.''

- Aatrox

• User Cloud

• Upera