#scorn destiny

[bogbiter]

League Concept: The Scorn

Surprisingly, The Scorn have little fanfare. While yes, they were the main antagonist in Forsaken, it seems their hype stayed there. While Witch Queen gave them a bit to do, it felt like bungie just didn't want to use them. Which sucks because I personally love The Scorn. As a concept and with things like The Ravagers, Chieftains, and Abominations, they felt really fun. While the Eliksni have this semi-sleek Scavenger/Space Pirate Vibe, The Scorn are armed with borderline Fallout Raider and Mad Max tier equipment. They use round shields and mails and crossbows and shotguns. And combined with The Barons can come back it was legitimately sick.

And Runeterra is no stranger to the undead. So making another zombie or ghost champ might be you know... not groundbreaking.

But there is another aspect to the Scorn you should remember. They came from a well-meaning wish, twisted by a creature of genie-like power. And a character spawned from a wrll-meaning wish turned into a monster... that's the stuff of tragedy.

CONTENT WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Hanging.

Aighty here we go!

----

In absolute pandemonium, there was no law. And with no law, no single power could hold court. For what could the words of one party hold over hundreds of greater or equal strength. But there was one, a fleet owned by the Court of Scrimshaw, heralded by Archon Rypskriks, The Herald. They landed their vessels off Bilgewater, and at first there was no oroblem with that. Even if these newcomers came with split jaws, and many arms, and many eyes. When asked what they were called they simply called themselves the "Lokuii", but as they built in the jagged rocks of the southwestern shore, and the northern swamps, they became known as the "Bone-Builders". And they believed in many things, but there was law, and punishment for breaking the law. They held trials, and were honor bound to their castes and traditions. The same pleasures and bargains commonplace amongst sailors and thieves of Bilgewater held no power amidst the Bone Citadels. And thus, with a new power on their doorstep, and a refusal to conform, hatred amidst the seediest of mobs and gangs grew. They were alien, too Alien, and though many of their own societal runts went into gamble and fight, those Courts of The Bone Citadel were far tougher on it occurring within their walls.

And yet some mobs pushed their luck, chasing after the flowing Ether the Loku-ii had brought with them. The beverage had become highly prized within Bilgewater, as not only did it taste sweet and smooth, but it was framed to make a man stronger should he drink it entirely. But the Court of Scrimshaw was very strict on its distribution, for the drink was intended to help with the after-effects of molting, which aided the Lokuii in their vulnerable state and aided in their growth. To hand this out so casually, could put strain on its availability. So how did it enter the docks of Bilgewater? The answer is simple: robbery. Skilled rogues and cutthroats stalked the guards, waiting for the times in between shifts to make out with the fluid. But the Monks of the Loku-ii noticed that their inventory would be at times short, and so devised a plan to place some captains within the storerooms. One band of thieves, under the employment of smuggler Blackeye Malora, were caught. They did not stand down, and the lives of four guards were taken that night. Out of five smugglers, the captains killed three, and captured the other two. On trial, the Court could not dock them, for humans only have two arms. And the humans in their stubborn pride, did not see the error of their ways. Only upset they had been caught.

That day, two heads were freed from their bodies.

Blackeye Malora was livid, and so were many others in secret. The Bone-Builders seemed unwilling to play by the rules of Bilgewater. So how do they remedy this situation? How do they regain control? Retribution? Twas simple, you hurt those close to the court.

Their prince.

Among one of the sons of The Archaon was Prince Herald Prygsis, who seeked not to be the next Archaon, but rather an artist. And to him Bilgewater's gruff exterior hid a very beautiful muse. Something that reflected fear. Not just of the deep, but of people, and personified itself as cutting edges, scaled spirals, amd fearsome fangs. An open maw welcoming both friend and foe to witness. Prygsis thought it alien to his kind's own style, of orderly patterns and soft crescent curves. And so he'd often leave the Bone Citadels to watch the work in the daughter docks, and the front pieces and designs of the ships that visited port. His love for this unspoken art did bring attention to him, including his beloved friend Stilleto. She saw his works: of censors, shawls, staffs, shields, and threading needles and was bewildered.

At first watching as a bystander, she had no intentions of interacting with the Bone Crafters. It was, after all, frowned upon to engage with them. But she had to know about this roaming, starry-eyed creature from the southern seas. And to her surprise as she grew to talk with him, the more she wanted to learn. Yes he was curious, and near naive. But he was without fear. And his investment in things she once considered for well, sheltered needs, began to change as well. To Stilleto, Prygsis was no longer an oddity, but a mind eager to grow, to learn. Who's love for people and arts was contagious. She would steal not just for herself, but would rob tomes and journals for him to read through, and watch him prattle on about the intricacies of the story or piece. She was so enraptured in his wonderful worldview, she had forgotten how hated his kind had become. There was only the Prince and The Thief in her mind.

Reality came crashing down on one fateful night, when was speaking back into the Archon's Citadel with her at her side, the two the tiniest bit buzzed when Malora's Goons crossed paths. Despite their ale tongued joy, they could sense something was very, very wrong. The goons told them how they were the talk of the town, and Stiletto realized exactly the predicament they were in. They continued to walk on, as she put herself between him and the following goons. The words they spat out at though, made the message clear.

"You ain't welcome around here no more! You might as well go on and go back to your daddy's cooking! We see you Two together, outside your little Bone towers! It's over."

Stiletto would help escort Prygsis to the tower, though she was now worried. How could she protect the prince and still feed his wonder? How could they still be at each other's side if some odd folks in Bilgewater seemed to plan for their necks wrapped in rope. The answer was simple… it was impossible, unless she upped her game. Though she was not the most, artsy person around, she took to making her own songs and art for him. And in hooded cloak she took to the docks, listening in on the stories of sailors. Of merchants, and when she was lucky, or royalty and musicians. She compiled these in a book, and equipped herself in a custom made Pistol her father once wielded, so when she was caught and held at blade's end, it would only take one shot before she disappeared back into the shadows. When she'd climb the spire in secret and slink in through his window, she'd regale him on the stories she heard, show him the sketches she made, and attempt to speak on matters of music and literature to try and engage him. Though he might be confined to the tower and the Bone Citadels for his own safety, she could at least make it engaging.

So at night, after he had tended to his duties under the watchful eye of the Archon and his siblings, she would visit, bringing both inspiration, and being his muse. Prygsis admired the thought, and soon reflected in tapestry the stories she told. Though he always added his own twist. Of kingdoms in the sky, of wish dragons, of battles waged between brothers, and of epic grudges. He seemed to change as well. He seemed unwilling to stay in the tower, and more daring, hanging his work up on ledges and the very tips of gates and dangling from balconies. And Prygsis slowly and surely, despite Stilleto's best efforts, realized how hated his kin had become. For why else did she recommend not entering the docks when they once spent all day there? And soon, he became infatuated with leaving the Bone Citadels, but he always reigned himself in from leaving the borders of his people's settlements. Prince Herald Prygsis found solace in his art and the companionship of Stiletto, and to escape that to seek answers, he already knew, was foolish.

He was hated, but he dared himself to never give them that victory. Yet a couple nights in a row, Stiletto did not appear. He figured life had taken charge over her, and so he patiently waited, filling his room with great spiraling murals. His father the Archon noticed this, and asked that since he seemed willing to decorate the room, to come up with a mural for the town center of their settlements. Ecstatic at the offer, he complied, and for nights on end planned a grand piece. All without his friend. After a month, he had finished his piece, and presented the plans to his father. His father was intrigued by the concept art for the mural, which showed Barrons, captains, and surprisingly humans. Those who in bilgewater stole from them, and had recently begun to persecute his people outside of the walls, and so the sight of one of them amidst figures of grandeur, it sat on his tongue bitterly. And the Archon spoke:

“You see humans as allies?”

The prince answered with neither a raise of his claw or tone-

“In all their forms, even if some have grown to hate us?”

“Tell me son, how much of their kindness have you garnered, compared to their cruelty or indifference?”

“One good madam, who has treated my curiosity with kindness in tow.”

“It takes more than a fleeting gesture to weather the storm. I appreciate this son, but perhaps you edit this so as to not dredge up… poor memories.”

The Archon spoke in a manner calculated and thorough, not one up to discussion as he awaited his son’s response. The Lokuii herald chittered his mandibles and left, taking the art with him. Humanity was not a creature for which one descriptor fit all specimens. Just like his kind! In fact, the only real differences he believed between the groups were physical. His friend was proof that good existed within humanity, in both kindness and wisdom. As he sat in his den-bed though, he wondered what had come of his friend. While she was strong, and he knew that, he needed answers. And so, he crept out of his open window and scuttled into the night, under the cover of shade and moon-dim light, deciding to go out and find Stiletto.

Winding through the roadways towards the dock grounds themselves, he ventured into the seedy bustle of Bilgewater's streets, a sense of unease settled in his chest. The night seemed darker, more sinister, as if shadows danced around him with malicious intent. The feeling of fear drove him forward through the winding alleys and hidden corners.The nightlife of Bilgewater was bustling, loud, and composed of hardy souls who were either brave enough to venture to the gambling rings and “exotic” shows through their own merit or liquid courage. However the stretches in between were always full of would be ruffians, murderers, and thieves, waiting for someone to let their guard down, or show any form of weakness, to beset themselves upon them. Luckily, Prygsis had many limbs, with barbed carapace that allowed him to scale up walls and traverse across the rooftops to avoid such murderous folk, his many eyes laser focused ahead to avoid bumping into the denizens of the night. Yet, unbeknownst to Prygsis, Blackeye Malora and her gang of thugs had been tailing him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. They had originally been searching for another query, but their diligent gaze caught sight of a Lokuii jumping from roof to roof. Knowing they had let him off pretty easy, and he had not heeded the warning, they saw an opportunity to deliver a pretty obvious warning.

As Prygsis maneuvered through the docks, he caught sight of Stiletto, seeing her turn the lantern’s off on her balcony floor. There was a sadness in her expression he felt compelled to dissect. She seemed the same woman, with sunkissed skin and curled black hair. But her demeanor spoke of an event she seemed constantly haunted and reminded of, with bags beneath her eyes pointing to restless nights spent tossing and turning. Just as he was going to jump over to her residence to see what was up, he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He turned, his mandibles clicking in alarm, only to be met with a sudden shot of a handgun landing at his feet, and the cursing of a man in ragged cloth as he loaded another round. It was Blackeye Malora's henchmen. He searched himself for a weapon, and found only a dagger gifted to him by Stiletto, and suddenly went in for the kill. As more henchmen and their weapons appeared, he weaved around their strikes seeking to end his life with uncanny reflexes, before landing the daggers blade into his knee, causing the man to yell out in horrific pain, dropping his now loaded weapon to the ground. The odds were against him, but he did not care. Consequences be damned, they were trying to kill him! He rolled out of the way of a barbed club and shot the swinging assailant point blank under his shoulder, watching as the man stumbled around awkwardly before falling on his back. Without any ammunition he simply turned the pistol back around to crash it against another assailant’s temple, while his lower pair of arms drove the blade into their stomach with a harsh jerking motion, twisting it as he pulled back.

Yet the odds were against him, outnumbered and surrounded by a gathering mob of angry cutthroats. And as one man tried to keep him in a headlock and several more men came up with kukris and gutting knives, he heard a gunshot that echoed through the air, and felt the aerosol blood soaking his head carapace. As the massive man holding him in place fell off the roof, he saw Stiletto, pistol in hand, joining in the firefight. As soon as she did, others woke up in this stretch of the docks, seeing only someone getting jumped on top of a roof. Many watched on, but a few joined. They took up their blunderbusses and handcanons, firing at the henchmen, drawing them away from Prygsis as he struggled to get up, his chitin mangled as he got up this feet, and continued the fight. Yet each glancing blow cut deeper and deeper, every bullet landing its mark more and more frequently. Stiletto tried to assist her friend, fanfiring at those henchmen trying to climb up to reach him, while eventually going to sharpshoot her friend’s assailants off of him, the roof now flowing with blood and soot that began to run off the top of the housing and into the street drains below. Landing him a chance to escape, Prygsis ran, hoping to make it to the next rooftop. Yet he was suddenly tackled by one of the henchmen, causing him to land harshly on the stone cobble.

The man began to take off with him, as the prince began violently maim his face. Stiletto attempted to go after her friend, but soon found a blade tucked deep into her thigh. She screamed in pain, and shot her assailant point blank, sending bone shards violently to the side. Many of the men began to retreat, and unrelated gangs soon took to the streets to look for scraps. She had to hide, and taking the blade from her thigh with a wet, sickening squelch, she winced in agony, but limped into the shadows, pursuing her friend. As she did, she found the man who had taken him, missing his nose and baring a cutthroat. He was dead, but she saw no signs of Prygsis, but she did find a yellowish blood trail leading deeper into the streets. In a desperate attempt to escape, Prygsis darted through the shadows, his chittering breaths echoing in the narrow alleyways. He heard the footsteps of hidden men after his trail, only for them to stop suddenly and give him a moment of respite before starting back up. His heart pounded with both fear and the overwhelming urge to find shelter and hide.

But fate was cruel that night. As Prygsis rounded a corner, his path collided with Blackeye Malora herself, a wicked grin stretching across her scarred face. With a swift motion, she pulled out her blunderbuss and shot his knees, downing the prince as the pain coursed through his veins like liquid metal. Prygsis gasped in pain as his body crumpled to the ground, the world around him spinning in a haze of agony and dissociation. His vision blurred as darkness threatened to consume him, but never fully fading into that inky blackness. He soon felt someone lifting him up, the woman laughing at hims as his head slumped behind him, looking to the chain soon wrapping around his neck, her voice oddly sweet for the barbaric act they were setting up-

“A parting wreath for the esteemed guest.”

Then suddenly his body was lifted off the ground by strong hands, the chain tightened around his neck, as Malora asked him a simple question:

“Any last words, boy?”

He had always fancied himself prepared to give a chilling reply, but could not fathom a proper send off for his life at that moment, and so quietly responded.

“Hell… its coming.”

The Brutes laughed, even the man behind him that was holding him off the ground. He realized that the man had crawled atop some fair sized boxes, supsending him some 13 feet off the ground. He was going to be hanged, and one of the men preparing his murder simply chipped back-

“Yeah, for you!”

-before he felt himself drop, and choke. As he expired, he felt them dock his arms, and remove his jewelry, laughing to each other as if it were a simple function. He was in so much pain, that it became almost comforting, like a blanket. There was nothing else to feel as they poked his body, spinning it around as though he was a children’s toy. He couldn’t feel it now. He couldn’t hear anything anymore.

He couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t do anything.

Stiletto, plagued by a sense of unease, had scoured the trail he had left in the labyrinth of the city in search of Prygsis. Panic and dread gnawed at her heart as she imagined the worst possible scenarios. When she saw the bloody boot prints, even with that awful gash in her hips, it just drove her further, manic in her steps as she hobbled forward. Her fears were realized when she stumbled upon the lifeless body of the prince, dangling motionless above a pool of his own blood. She couldn't believe it, choking out a repeated series of apologies and bargains, as she aimed her pistol at the chain, firing and lunging forward to grab his body. She felt something in her leg tear, and she screamed out in pain, burrowing her face into his chest, panting as the white flame pain subsided, into the realization there was no breath or beating in his chest. Grief overwhelmed Stiletto as she knelt beside Prygsis's lifeless form, clutching it like a doll to be taken away from her. Tears streamed down her face, her sobs echoing through the desolate alleyway. So enraptured in her own despair, it took her a moment to hear the whistling coming for her from ahead. But as soon as she heard its deep-swamp melody, she froze up in horror, letting a low and friendly voice accompany wet, heavy steps.

“All the world's a river, and I am its King,

I live just to deliver the damned to their lost things.

But all those sinners with gold rings,

I'll drag them down…

Below~

So tell me what's your poison? How may I help your strife?

Maybe you're tired of toilin' and want to stroll through life,

Or if you want help avoidin' the scarecrow's scythe

I'll hide you down below…”

She looked up to see a great whiskered catfish with frog-green skin and terrible golden eyes look down at her, its great head atop a fat body with tailored suit and its crown a fine leather-brown felt bowler hat. She knew not his name, for this opportunist simply called her, “friend”. Even if his fearsome grin emerged from the shadows unnannounced, and toldf Stiletto he was drawn by her anguish. She told him if he wasn’t here to help, he could “piss off”, and instead of them growling back at her or, as his form would suggest, eat her whole, he acted wounded, and told her was only here to help.

He offered her a deal, a chance to bring Prygsis back from the brink of death. But the price was steep, for he usually worked in wealth and people skills. But he knew she couldn't live with herself after such an event. He let her in on the fact that the corpse before her, her friend, had only came here to visit her, missing her comfort and humor. Stiletto was stunned, and asked how he, this random fishman, could help her. He chuckled in response, giving her a toothy smile as he licked his fangs wet before popping his lips and speaking:

“I know just where to return the lost, you only need to pay the fee. Now, how good a friend are you to even make that payment? You value his life over yours, or your friendship?”

It was now blatantly apparent this was the legendary River King, a man - no, demon, who could do the impossible. But none could outsmart his terms and services. Stiletto knew the consequences that would follow. And yet, she knew she had to take it. If not for her sake, then his people’s. She told him there was no price too steep, and accepted his terms, sealing her fate with a pact she could never undo. The demon cackled after their palms met and the deal had been realized, sinking into the earth via a pool of muddy water. As he did, she heard Prygsis’s body begin to move. Yet when she turned to face it, it twitched upright, with milky eyes that luminated the ground like head beams. It slinked its twitching head out from underneath the chains, before grabbing at the chain with gnarled hands. The soft joints of his limbs and shoulders cracked to reveal disgusting blue-glowing boils, and the carapace on his body remained damaged, his teeth more far more like that of a mako’s as his head crest expanded outwards and his jaws and mandibles seemed polished and charred. Fire erupted from the creases in his carapace, and his chest seemed to glow like a furnace near the explosion point. Stiletto's heart shattered as she looked upon the monstrous form of the one she called friend. The sight of him sent waves of horror and sorrow crashing over her. She could no longer see Prygsis within this twisted visage, only a semblance of the prince she once held dear. She tried to call out for him, but she found his name could not be spoken. No matter how much she tried, it only resulted in her screaming. The creature glared at her, speaking out her voice in an infernal echo, and that alone made her bolt for it, screaming for him to get away. Her mind could not comprehend the sight, and any time she tried to remember her friend, his name would elude her, and instead all she would see was that mutilated beast standing with her.

The monstrosity was left to its own devices, and yet it did not pursue her. As it could see its own reflection in the glass bottles littering the streets. Prygsis remembered everything, and he remembered things he shouldn’t be able to remember. Like the path his killers took. How they wrapped his limbs in his clothes. Or how Stiletto sobbed into his chest. At first he weeped, rasping as he marched out of the alleyway, dripping blue and orange ichor that ignited behind him. He just marched forward, knowing he was far too deformed to be seen by his father or siblings, so deformed his best friend screamed and ran from him. He tripped into crates and barrels, causing the boils to pop and ignite, firing running down his body as he instinctively scrambled up and tried to douse himself. He ran not for the sea and instead ran to the streets, pleading that someone would put him out. Those few souls who watched were in awe at this corpse before them, before many suddenly broke out of sight to hide. He slammed himself into a door to a bar, the force of which caused the overhanging lantern to fall atop of him, which caused him to-

Do nothing. He heard it clank to the ground, and as he looked back at it, he realized something. As the flames died down, he couldn’t feel anything but a mild heat. In fact that was all he felt. He could not smell his skin, and as he looked down at the lantern he realized he didn't feel it collide with him. He didn’t even feel the door.

He couldn’t feel anything.

And suddenly, he was no longer filled with sadness or worry. Those watching him saw him take the heavy metal lantern and brutishly connect it to the end of the chain he clenched. He walked out of the bar, as people screamed at him what his deal was, who he was, or what he was. He didn’t respond, and that seemed to anger one sailor, not wanting some sort of Shadow Isles infestation, immediately took to him with a blunderbuss to the back. He couldn't feel it, but he could hear it, and see the ichor dropping down his back. He slowly turned around, looking at the man who fired. He wailed out at him, spinning his chains around, as fire trailed down the metal and into the lantern. A wheel of flame approached the sailor, who tried to duck from the strike…

Only to land directly in the line of impact, the sound of broken bones filling the air as Prygsis took the lantern away from the sailor’s ragged body. He found himself salivating that same ichor from his lips, before he suddenly lunged for the same alleyway he had sauntered down, running and laughing like a hyena into the night. Leaving only a trail of flames, as soon the district he ran through began to catch a blaze, sending dark smoke into the sky. The city, once accustomed to lawlessness and chaos, now trembled in the wake of his wrath. Many mistook his blind rage for a hatred of all life, not knowing he was on the trail of his murderers, and so they too fell like leaves against the typhoon. Those who were the catalysts of his transformation, would not be able to savor their victory tonight. And any that tried to stop him only delayed inevitable retribution.

Prygsis descended upon Blackeye Malora's hideout like a vengeful storm, his Flaming Lantern swinging with devastating force through the steel door that hid their den. The man behind was none the wiser as his scorched torso and head flew off from his crumpled legs. The crackling flames licked at his enemies as he seemed to be an ever burning inferno, cackling as he took their shots point blank and charged forward. Each powerful strike broke the floor of the establishment, reducing any struck by his blows to mere ashes, though it was not a sudden death, for their' cries of pain and terror echoed through the building, a chilling chorus of their impending demise as fat and skin boiled before finally being reduced to chalked debris. As Prygsis moved through the crumbling structure, his every strike left behind a roaring fire that engulfed the tables and wall in their ravenous heat. His flames danced with a furious intensity, turning the hideout into a charred, twisted monument of his righteous anger. The echoes of his victims' screams reverberated in his ears, a haunting reminder of the pain they had inflicted upon him. He had found Blackeye Malora herself stuck underneath falling debris, still breathing. This infuriated him. How dare life cling to her bones, even now?! He stopped striking at everything that moved, and looked to the chains and rope yet to be ignited. Hatching the perfect execution, he grabbed them and bound them in rope. Those still alive, kicking and screaming, he already tied the chain around their neck, mumbling under his breath as he would ram their heads against the wall.

People followed the trail of smoldering bodies, straight to the den of Blackeye Malora, only to find her and seven of her men, dangling atop a bent light post, their bodies bruised and paleish blue as they swayed from nooses of chains. Their bodies were bound, and a few of them seemed to have been conscious in their final moments by the tears that stained their faces. They saw the trail of flames go north, and immediately the town went into a state of emergency as they tried to contain the inferno lighting up Bilgewater.

Those in the Bone Citadels north of them saw the blaze erupting at the docks, as no one had run to them for aid. The Archon ran to Prygsis’s room to awaken him, only to find no one there. Fear immediately hit him as he called out for the guards all over the Lokuii’s territories to be on alert, sending men to run to every settlement to deliver the news the prince was missing, and bilgewater was under attack. As he ran to the front gates of the Citadel, he heard other Lokuhii screaming and running to the town square. Confused, he marched forward, only to see guards before an open gate paused with slack mandibles. One was clutching the prince’s clothes, and his docked arms within them. The Archon immediately fell to his knees, reaching out and taking them as his chittering became more like the sound of grinding bones, the man wheezing. Yet the words he heard next brought him no solace, only more questions.

“He… is eating the man that delivered his remains sir.”

The Archon hadn’t even heard the screaming. Looking over to a see a human outside the gates screaming in pain as his body was wrung and being devoured on the spot, slick, black congealed blood falling to the ground as he hollered, somehow not dying from the shock and blood loss as his shoulders were stripped to the bone, and his legs fully twisted around as what was once Prygsis satiated his own cravings with the last of the bastards that killed him. The moment he saw his father though, he stopped, and dropped the man, before stomping through his chest to finally silence him. Around his wrist was all of his jewelry, and as he moved forward, the guards lowered their halberds, ready for him to strike. Prygsis did not move forward further, but instead tore some cloth off the man, deposited the precious symbols, gemstones, and chains into the cloth, before wrapping it tightly and throwing it to the guards. He roared into the air, before finally shouting to them:

“I WONT BE NEEDING THIS WHERE I AM GOING! LIVE WELL! AND LET BILGEWATER REMEMBER ME! AND NEVER LET THEM FORGET!”

He ran off into the surrounding swamp, and though the Archon sent many warriors and captains after him, none could find him. Those soldiers who came into Bilgewater were mortified by the sight: smoldering buildings, injured townsfolk, incinerated corpses, and hanging bodies. Though the Lokuii asked if the prince did this, none could… or would answer.

To this day, many refer to that fiery specter as The Hangman. And while many know he is not dead, for the Marai have seen him march along the bottom of the open sea, none know why he still shambles. And none know if he will ever return to Bilgewater. If you ask the Lokuii in the Bone Citadels, none will answer, for they fear the creature that was once their beautiful prince artist. And Stiletto has gone into hiding, unable to recall the man, and only able to recall his voice repeating her name. All in bilgewater dare not recall more beyond the fires, and the site that was once Blackeye Malora’s den is now an abandoned plot none dare walk. And though the bodies did ignite, their nooses still hang.

Passive: Persecuted- Upon damaging an enemy champion, the Hangman marks them as "persecuted" for a short duration. During this time, the Hangman gains bonus movement speed when moving towards marked enemies. Additionally, the Hangman's basic attacks and damaging abilities deal bonus magic damage based on a percentage of the enemy's missing health, appearing as flames on the accused.

Q - The Censer Barer:

The Hangman swings his massive Flame Cauldron in a wide arc, dealing damage to all enemies in its path. The closer the enemy, the higher the damage. Each successful hit grants the Hangman a temporary bonus to attack speed.

W - Forsaken Path:

The Hangman slams his censer on the ground, creating a line of flames that rapidly burn away at the enemy's shields and health. The flames linger for a short duration, damaging enemies who pass through them. If an enemy is caught at point-blank range, the Hangman unleashes a powerful shockwave, knocking them back and dealing massive damage.

E - Concealed Truth:

The Hangman transforms into smoke, becoming immune to damage and nearly invisible for a few seconds. During this time, he gains increased movement speed and can pass through units. Activating the ability again allows him to dash in a targeted direction, leaving behind a trail of flames that damages enemies caught in it.

R: Hangman's Noose- The Hangman lassoes any unit caught within the arc with the chain and brings them towards The Hangman. Each unit is marked with "Persecuted", giving The Hangman a brief buff in speed and damage output, healing back after each successful kill during the duration.

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Yep, I chose The Hangman Baron Reksis instead of say... Fikrul. I think Reksis is just a solid baron and visually pretty unique. Plus his fight gave me literally goosebumps when he started to pick up speed with the end goal of fucking damming the flaming censer directly into my titan's chest.

A desperate friend making a Faustian bargain with an entity with ill intent, which feeds on the subsequent suffering of the people making the deal. It feeds the Riven narrative with The Scorn in my opinion really well. And the Scorn are ultimately a tragedy. Forced into existence and maddened, now seeking to make themselves their own people but ultimately all they can do is destroy and become pawns of greater forces.

I imagine The Hangman is in a similar boat. He can't feel anything, which separates him from the world. He saw his best friend runaway from him in fear, unable to say his name. And all that can replay in his head are hos last brutal moments.

A fun write, but I just feel bad for our undead prince. All he wished to do was become an artist.

[conniemb]

Sirrah, Arcweaver

Okay so I got a tonne of oc stuff lying around in my brain and I wanna get it out before I lose it so here's some info dumping.

Sirrah is a dreg belonging to house exile known for her amazing sharpshooting abilities. It is said that she was once seen take out a gaurdian by bending the shot of her wire rifle around a corner catching the gaurdian by surprise. This act garnered the name "Arcweaver". She self docks her arms whenever they grow back as a protest to the hierarchical system of most fallen houses in turn showing her aliegance to house exile. She is somewhat smaller than most dregs only being 5 foot tall but she uses her height to her advantage to be able to hide in small spaces while waiting for her target to appear.

Sirrah had a rough upbringing within house exile as her family lived in an area just beyond the hellmouth meaning her family would constantly have to fight off hive to survive. Her story truly begins when a fireteam of hunters scout out the area looking for weak points in the hellmouths entrance and stumble across their camp. The hunters immediately try to massacre the small exile village and all but slaughter the settlement until a strange titan gaurdian wearing tangled web armor donning the house of judgement banner on her titan mark appears standing in-between the hunters and Sirrah along with her older and younger brothers. While trying the deter the hunters Sirrahs older brother Traxor attempts to save the titan from the hunters for sticking up for them but is killed. Seeing her brother murdered in front of her Sirrah is in shock and unable to move.

The female titan fights off the hunters disabling them with void energy and taking Sirrah and her younger brother to her ship where she drops them off at another house exile settlement.

Sirrah lives in this settlement for some time living out her days working as an exile scout and sniper eventually building up her reputation as the Arcweaver. Unfortunately the arc weaver meets her end defending her settlement from an oncoming horde of xivu araths hive. After killing 100 of the hive single handedly she is taken out by a knight and dies on the moon.

After some time Sirrah wakes up in a Scorn base unaware of her surroundings, who she is or what she is. She has been ressurected as the first ever sentient Screeb. Having lost all her memories of her previous life Sirrah devotes her life to Fanicks the Mad Bomber who takes interest in Sirrah for being such an oddity amongst screeb and gifts her the name Korvusk. Korvusk then goes on to work directly under Fanicks as his personal bodyguard and head sniper.

This is very bare bones for this character but I'm really enjoying how it's turning out! I'll post more soon when I think stuff up :33

[lavenderarts]

Thin Line

Sometimes you forget which side you're on.

[telestoapologist]

DESTINY 2 AS TUMBLR TEXT POSTS 💠💬✨

(31/?)

[flowers-of-io]

Destiny + text posts 16/?

[fandom-geek]

vaguely fascinated by osana sov's naming choices. she chose for her daughter a name that can mean "bitter (strength)" or "lady" in two ancient languages (hebrew and aramaic) and for her son a name that means "old friend" in another ancient language (old english)

like every other golden age character has a name that's pretty normal by our standards, which tbh includes mara, then osana just names her other kid uldwyn. then again, even osana's name is either a variant of the hebrew hosanna or after an obscure and possibly fictitious old english princess-saint whose name means something along the lines of "godly solitude", so i suppose mara might be considered the odd one out

[steel-peach]

Warlock & Wizard gfs - teaming up in the Throne World

[darkpredacon]

Personal black and white sketches

[tacko3d]

This is Crazy

You know whats an insane implication about the Screeb hatchlings?

It implies the Scorn can reproduce.

Not only are they're numbers able to increase for every Dead Eliksni, but they could keep making more.

Its gonna be very important this next season with Fikrul.

Because since the Witness' defeat, hes the only being that we know of that are able to raise Scorn. And with whatever that fragment is, its changed them somehow.

In this week's video they called it a Vampire hunter season. So are the Scorn able to make more scorn with a bit now?

This post Witness era just started and its already going crazy.

[grody-cosplay-n-crap]

Forget the light I'm going to beat the Witness to death with my bare fucking fists.

[captainsaturnart]

“Avatar of Entropy.” Taken scorn fanatic? Here you go!

[prince--ofnothing]

BE PROUD OF YOURSELF. RAISE AN ARMY OF SCORN AND FATHER THE DARKNESS.

BE GAY, DO CRIME, LOVE IS LOVE!

[telestoapologist]

SOL'S GUIDE TO TROUBLED INDIVIDUALS

(part one?)

[flowers-of-io]

Destiny + text posts 15/?