Am I the only one that thinks they are the same species? Some kind of symbiont or parasite that controls a host body and lives for generations.
Both of them have lived for a very long time.
We know that Leblanc transfers from one body to the next. ... Probably anyways. "Leblanc" could just be an assumed personality that the current Leblanc acts like, but I doubt that and believe that Leblanc is a consciousness that is directly influencing the host body.
Now Lissandra also switches identities over the course of lifetimes. It could be that she simply lives that long and just changes her outward appearance constantly, but I think she actually jumps between host bodies, which would be remarkably similar to Leblanc's method of sustaining her life (again, assuming "leblanc" isn't just a persona that everyone acts like).
And continuing that line of thought of these beings jumping bodies, it adds a new possibility to the Leblanc / Jarvan connection. It could be that she hijacked his body for a moment. It wasn't an illusion, that was really Jarvan there, and Leblanc was controlling him.
We know from Leblanc's Judgement that the host body still knows what its doing and can act on its own separate from Leblanc, but it could also be that Evain can only act on her own because Leblanc allows her to. Following that through, if she took over Jarvan's body it would mean that he knew and saw all that was going on but couldn't do anything about it. Likewise the with Lissandra. The natural born Lissandra would still be alive and aware but buried under the controlling personality of Lissandra The Ice Witch.
Well this i can see happening. If i dont missrecall (but perhaps i am because this is something i read like 2 years ago) there was an item that actually held like the spirit of Le Blanc, that item was like passed or something to the next Le Blanc (in this case Evaine), I really should read the Bio and judgement again but its a good place if you want to go and correct me, or even try to find more evidence of this.
Again, nice catch
EDIT: Here is the judgement, interesting...
LeBlanc's measured strides carry her along the polished marble with unparalleled grace and decorum. Her ornate magician's garb, stylish and well-kept, lends her a stately appearance seldom seen outside of a royal court. In her delicate hands she clasps a long staff topped with a series of multi-faceted crystals suspended by an unknown force. Pinned in lustrous her hair sits another such crystal, scattering the torchlight in all directions as she passes.
She comes to a halt in front of an ornate door, taking a moment to peruse the inscription. "The truest opponent lies within," she reads whimsically. The irony curls the edges of her lips to a brief smirk, but only for an instant. A moment later, her face is implacable once more; an emotionless puzzle, but still captivatingly beautiful. She reaches out a single perfectly manicured hand, easily parting the doors despite their obvious weight. She peers for a moment into the oppressive blackness before taking even strides into the murk.
The darkness grew cold. She pulled the robe close about her to ward off the chill, suppressing a slight shiver. A cowled figure shuffled by with a hooded lantern in its hands. In the dim lamplight she could make out the stones and mortar on either side. Water was dripping somewhere further off, and the stink of mildew filled her nostrils.
Another shadowy figure shambled by her, part of a procession. Falling in behind the rest of her ilk, LeBlanc took a moment to examine herself. Draped over her traditional court finery was a jet black cloak, bound with an onyx black rose. Her staff was gone, as was the brooch in her hair. Ahead, the tunnel broadened into a chamber, and she could see a crowd forming in the darkness. LeBlanc pushed her way through to the front. The crowd parted before her and she gasped. There, in the middle of the throng of onlookers, she stood face to face with herself. Well, herself in a manner of speaking. The situation was instantly familiar, and she waited patiently for her moment to come.
One of the hooded onlookers stepped forward, addressing the doppelganger. "LeBlanc," he rasped to the woman at the center of the circle, "Why have you summoned us? These are dangerous times for the Black Rose to meet in numbers."
The woman opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp wheeze cut her short. She snatched an embroidered handkerchief, speckled in blood, from the folds of her dress and used it to stifle a cough. She cleared her throat. "Brothers and sisters," she spoke weakly, "I have summoned you because I am old, and I have grown frail. I shall be one with the earth soon." She smiled, "The time has come for me to abdicate my position as Matron of the society." She coughed again, louder this time.
"There is one among you who has shown great promise and leadership," she continued, "One whose talents are outstripped only by her ambition and loyalty." She plucked the sparkling brooch from her hair, and the illusion fell away. Her porcelain skin turned ashen, her hair thin and stringy, and her eyes sunken. She extended a wrinkled hand towards LeBlanc, "Evaine, step forward and be recognized." LeBlanc stepped forward, accepting the bauble and nestling it into her neatly styled hair. Her predecessor offered her the staff. "Strange," remarked the old woman, "It's like looking in the mirror." LeBlanc accepted the staff, and the scene about her fell away.
A moment later she was sitting in her study, the staff cradled delicately in the crook of her elbow as she sipped tea from an ornate cup. Across from her sat a decrepit figure, his fragile body enveloped in a tightly pulled military garb. A large raven sat perched on his shoulder.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visitation, Jericho Swain?" she asked. Swain's crooked hand curled around the handle of his teacup and he put the steaming hot beverage to his lips.
"Exquisite," he rasped. "Matron LeBlanc, you have always had impeccable taste."
"I have," she agreed with a smile; but there was only sadness in it. She stretched an arm across the table, clasping his scarred hand in hers. "But then, you already knew that. You knew it before you sold yourself."
Swain pressed a thorned onyx ring into her hand. "It is true. I have made sacrifices. But I made them for us. The Black Rose is yours, Matron, but I have become something greater." As if in agreement, the raven on his shoulder cawed. "The time has come. Join me in fellowship, and we can restore what was taken from us by Boram Darkwill."
She gazed at the ring, "You have forsaken your identity to gain Darkwill's trust. The rest will not be so eager."
"Perhaps. But there are other ways," Swain continued.
A porter arrived in the doorway to announce an additional guest. "General Du Couteau is here to see you, Matron."
LeBlanc shot Swain a curious glance. "Send him up," she replied. The porter exited the study. "Du Couteau is that vulgar General's lapdog," she spat. "He will be of no use to us, Jericho."
"Perhaps you're mistaken, Deceiver. He is of noble blood," said Swain.
LeBlanc held up the ring. "But he is not one of us!"
Swain nodded. "Why do you want to join the League, LeBlanc?"
"I mean to reclaim my people's birthright," she proclaimed, flames burning in her eyes, "And believe me. I shall succeed."
Jericho Swain got up from the table and gently caressed her face. "How does it feel, exposing your mind?"
LeBlanc threw back her head and laughed. "You think that I'm exposed, summoner?" she jeered. "You will never know LeBlanc. She is far older than I. She is older than your precious League." Swain nodded. The doors before her flew open, leaving her alone in the light. The League of Legends awaited her.
Rading this gave me chills... And apparently the thing that held the "spirit" of Le Blanc was a brooch apparently, perhaps also the staff. Anyway, we know less about what exactly did Lissandra do to pass from body to body but its posible that both Le Blanc and the Ice Witch are both from similar origins
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