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Gardrok, the Troll Shaman

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IS16820420a4c8f3

Senior Member

04-06-2013

Lore

The acceptance of all kinds of strength has always been the hallmark of the Ruhgosk trolls. Whether it was cunning, brute force, or charisma, those who knew how to use their strengths to their advantage would be the ones to have the last laugh. Gardrok was one such troll. Born with an innate ability to see patterns within the world around him, and to know how to use those patterns to his advantage, he quickly climbed the social ladder which characterizes a young trolls life. He learned that stomping on the weak in order to further strengthen the rest was the key to be a successful leader. It was with this in mind that Gardrok advanced to become one of the most respected shamans within the tribe.

However, all was not well. The Ruhgosk had been cursed centuries ago by a vengeful necromancer, and desperately needed a cure. Gardrok found that cure. The combined might of the shamans could bind all of the tribe's curse into a single troll. After a few failed experiments, a hopeful specimen came into view: Trundle, a troll with innate regeneration so strong that he appeared as if he didn't bear the curse. Convincing Trundle that he would be respected for sacrificing himself, Gardrok conducted the ritual and removed the curse from his tribe. Trundle, now an outcast for his horrendous appearance, left. That was when Gardrok realized that the trolls innate regeneration was gone. Consulting all of his knowledge, Gardrok tried for almost two years to find a way to get it back, with out avail. He knew there was only one way to ensure his own, and his tribes, survival: To retrieve Trundle, and curse his tribe once more. Do that, or perish in the harsh wilderness.

"The strong will survive." - Gardrok.

League Judgement

Candidate: Gardrok

OBSERVATION

The sounds of tinkling bells and the pungent odors of troll incense arrived at the Great Hall before the one causing them did. Despite the fact that his clothing clearly appeared to have been worn throughout his entire journey there, Gardrok walked with an aura of confidence. He was strong, after all. He stood in stark contrast with the white material surrounding him, and the shamanic relics he always carried with him appeared to be of a more exotic nature when compared to the monotonous architecture. Highlighting his peculiarity is his fighting staff, small for a troll, which glowed with the disturbing, yellow hue of the filthy swamps from which Gardrok comes.

Looking around, he could tell that the creator of such a fine piece of art had cared a bit too much for aesthetics. Such an architect probably didn't have the strength to face the true challenges in life, such as warfare and leadership. Nor could such an architect grasp the strength of the troll who stood before those well-designed doors now. The only troll who had been capable of traveling to the Great Hall, through the dangerous territories of tribal enemies, without the need for regeneration. His rituals had sufficed to protect him. Looking at the inscription on the door, Gardrok read it allowed to himself.

The truest opponent lies within.

Curious as to what was to come next, and confident that he could deal with whatever it was, Gardrok walked up to the doors only to be pleasantly surprised when they opened on their own accord. Perhaps this architect could comprehend his power better than originally thought. The elder shaman proceeded to march inside, prepared for anything.

REFLECTION

In front of Gardrok was a makeshift alter, surrounded by a circle of runes. Each rune was the point of focus of one of the shamans, with Gardrok channeling all of their might into a single ritual. The subject of that ritual lay on the altar, held there by four impaling daggers, one for each of his hands and feet. Gardrok peered into the youthful Trundle's eyes, full of naive hope and excitement. Both of which had been planted by Gardrok himself, grooming the younger troll into the tool the Ruhgosk needed. As Gardrok attempted to focus on the matter at hand, he found that he didn't need to. His body appeared to know exactly what to do without any instruction at all. Instead, he found himself observing the ritual keenly.

Looking at the scene now, he could see why he had believed it was one of the most glorious moments of his life. The flow of power from his compatriots gave him a high he had never before achieved, and the knowledge that his high would affect his tribe tremendously only served to strengthen it. Alas, the ritual came to fruition, but it brought just as much fear as it did hope. His tribe soon found that although they no longer lost flesh for merely existing, they did not regenerate that flesh back either. In a group as dependent on war as the Ruhgosk are, a loss of regenerative prowess would lead to their downfall, just as the curse may have. Gardrok knew now that he must continue to examine the curse to a higher extent, if a cure were ever to be conceived.

Looking at the ritual around him, he could visibly see the plague leaving his brethren, and, now that he knew to look for it, their regenerative strength as well. Trundle absorbed all of this in a state of pure agony, unknowingly dooming and saving the tribe simultaneously. The runty troll would hate his kin forever, Gardrok knew, but it was all worth it in order to resurrect the power of the Ruhgosk. Sacrifices are necessary to preserve strength, after all. However, this sacrifice had been poorly made, simply throwing the tribe into further dismay. Gardrok wondered where exactly he had gone wrong...

"Why do you want to join the League?" Gardrok snapped out of his reverie and returned to the world around him, only now noticing the silence that had fallen, the shamans that had vanished, and the now maturely solemn face of the troll he had betrayed, still laying, impaled, to the alter. Gardrok, of course, had his answer already in mind.

Preparing the noblest tint he could add to his naturally crude voice, he declared. "To bring you back, and so that I can revive the strength of the Ruhgosk."

Trundle sneered up at the elder shaman. "What if I told you that I could give your tribe back their regenerative abilities right now? What if I told you that I wouldn't?"

"THEN I'LL MAKE YOU!" Gardrok, as he unleashed his furious cry, grasped his eery, ritualistic staff, raised it above his head, and smashed it's point directly into where Trundle's center had been just moments before. Now, it crashed only into the stone altar of which he so often thought of. As it shattered under the might of Gardrok, so did the room surrounding him, leaving him surrounded in utter darkness.

A summoner wearing concealing, shadowed robes appeared from the darkness and cautiously approached the troll from behind. "Calm yourself. We already know your real motive, the one every summoner who chooses you will know. We just need you to come out and say it. So, I ask you again, Gardrok of the Ruhgosk Tribe, why do you want to join the League?"

Gardrok, knowing exactly what the summoner was talking about, but not sure how the summoner had come about the knowledge, gave what might have been the troll equivalent of a sigh, then proceeded to speak in a tone tinged with melancholy, "I cannot have failed. I am too strong, too smart, and too powerful to have failed. I will prove that I have not failed. I must destroy the curse, while keeping our strength intact. That is the only way I will be able to live with myself."

The summoner replied, in a cold, mechanical fashion, "How does it feel, exposing your mind?"

Grimacing, the shaman replied, "Not as good as one might think." Then, suddenly, the darkness dissolved, leaving Gardrok within a long, white corridor. Quickly placing his mask of confidence back on, he strode forward into the League of Legends.


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