It would also make things more difficult for his opponents. And perhaps that was no bad thing. After all, a warrior worthy of fighting at his side in the battles against the monsters from beyond would need to be adaptable. He heard the clatter of armor and the whisper of a blade cutting air. Jax held up a finger while he finished his egg. He licked his lips then settled his mask back over his face before looking up at the warrior standing before him.
The man was powerfully built, broad of shoulder and thick of arm. Armored head to foot in gleaming warplate of burnished steel, he carried a double-edged, hand-and-a-half sword. He swung his lamppost around to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. The man was fast and strong enough to wield his sword in one hand. Jax swayed aside from the first blow, ducked the second and parried the third. The metal buckled and the man went down on one knee with a grunt of pain. Jax gave him a moment to still the ringing in his head.
The man tore off his helm and dropped it to the bridge. Blood matted the side of his head, but Jax was impressed at how the man controlled his anger. The man took a steadying breath and attacked again, a series of blisteringly fast cuts that went high and low, a mixture of sweeping slashes, lighting thrusts and overhead cuts. Jax ducked a risky beheading strike and switched to a one-handed grip on his lamppost.
Jax caught it deftly in his free hand. The Demacian drew his dagger and rushed him. Jax shook his head at his foolishness.
He threw the sword from the bridge and sidestepped a series of blisteringly fast thrusts. He ducked a sweeping cut and caught a thunderous right cross in his open palm. He nodded toward the river. The man splashed down into the river and Jax planted his lamppost on the cobbles. She wore a silversteel breastplate, and a long-bladed sword was scabbarded at her hip.
She marched past the men at the end of the bridge and strode toward him, moving with a perfect economy of motion, utterly in balance and supremely confident in her skill.
Her features were angular and patrician, framed by dark hair streaked with crimson. Her eyes were cold and unforgiving. They promised only death. Axamuk was the last of the Mage Kings, the final ruler to fall before the Shuriman Sun Empress when she led her golden host of men and gods into the kingdom of Icathia. Var is my mother and Choi my father. Only Kohari is a new addition. The fit is new, but already feels natural. The name is now part of me, and I bear it with a pride that burns bright in my heart.
The Kohari were once the life-wards of the Mage Kings, deadly warriors who dedicated their lives to the service of their master. When Axamuk the King fell before the god-warriors of the Sun Empress and Icathia became a vassal state of Shurima, every one of them fell upon their swords.
But the Kohari are reborn, rising to serve the new Mage King and reclaim their honor. I bear their sigil branded on my arm, the scroll-wrapped sword. I repeat it over and over, holding onto what it represents. Was it only this morning I and the rest of the reformed Kohari marched through the streets of Icathia?
It seems like a lifetime ago. The wide thoroughfares were thronged with thousands of cheering men, women and children. Clad in their brightest cloth, and wearing their finest jewelry to honor our march, they had come to witness the rebirth of their kingdom. For it was Icathia that was reborn today, not just the Kohari. Our heads were high, my chest swollen with pride. We marched in step, gripping the leather straps of wicker shields and the wire-wound hilts of our curved nimcha blades.
To bear Icathian armaments had been forbidden under Shuriman law, but enough had been wrought in secret forges and hidden in caches throughout the city, in readiness for the day of uprising. The city had been filled with screams, as baying crowds chased down and murdered every Shuriman official they could find. Resentment for centuries of humiliating laws intended to eradicate our culture—and brutal executions for breaking those laws—came to a head in one blood-filled day of violence.
They were servants of the hated Sun-Emperor, and needed to die. Sun disc effigies were pulled from rooftops and smashed by cheering crowds. Shuriman scriptwork was burned and their treasuries looted. The statues of dead emperors were desecrated, and even I defaced one of the great frescoes with obscenities that would have made my mother blush.
My memory recalled the smiling faces and the cheers, but I could not pick out any words. The sunlight was too bright, the noise too intense, and the pounding in my head unrelenting. I had not slept the previous night, too nervous at the prospect of battle. My skill with the nimcha was average, but I was deadly with the recurved serpent bow slung at my shoulder. Its wood was well-seasoned, protected from the humidity by a coat of red lacquer. My arrows were fletched with azure raptor feathers, and I had carved their piercing heads from razored obsidian sourced from the thaumaturges—the magickers of earth and rock.
A young girl, her hair braided with silver wire, and with the deepest green eyes I had ever seen, placed a garland of flowers over my head. The scent of the blossoms was intoxicating, but I forgot it all as she pulled me close to kiss my lips.
Or at least until morning! Saijax was the beating heart of the Kohari, a shaven-headed giant with skin pockmarked by the ravages of a childhood illness, and a forked beard stiffened to points with wax and white chalk. Colgrim was his right hand, a brute with cold eyes and a betrothal tattoo, though I had never heard him talk of his wife. These men had grown up together, and had learned the secret ways of the warrior since they were old enough to hold a blade.
But I was new to this life. My father had trained me as a lapidary—an artisan of gemstones and maker of jewelry. A meticulous and fastidious man, such coarse language was anathema to him, and unfamiliar to me.
I relished it, of course, eager to fit in with these leather-tough men. Meant as a brotherly pat, it rattled the teeth in my skull, but I welcomed it all the same. He shifted the long, axe-headed polearm slung at his shoulder. The weapon was immense, its ebony haft carved with the names of his forebears, and the blade a slab of razor-edged bronze.
Few of our group could even lift it, let along swing it, but Saijax was a master of weapons. I turned to catch a last glimpse of my green-eyed girl, but could not see her amid the tightly packed ranks of soldiers, and the waving arms of the crowds. I was filled with youthful enthusiasm, but I still remember the look that passed between Saijax and Colgrim. Saijax nodded, but said nothing, and I knew to ask no more. My father had not wanted me to see it, fearing it would enflame the desire to rebel that had smoldered in every Icathian heart for centuries.
The memory of exactly what it looked like is gone now, but I remember it was enormous beyond belief, inhuman and terrible…. We formed up on the gentle slopes before the crumbling remains of the city walls.
Since the coming of the Sun Empress, over a thousand years ago, we had been forbidden to reclaim the stone or rebuild the wall; forced to leave the rubble as a reminder of our ancient defeat. But now an army of stonewrights, laborers and thaumaturges were hefting giant blocks of freshly hewn granite into place with windlass mechanisms that crackled with magic. I felt pride at the sight of the rising walls.
Icathia was being reborn in glory right before my eyes. More immediately impressive was the army taking position athwart the hard-packed earthen road leading into the city. Ten thousand men and women, clad in armor of boiled leather and armed with axes, picks, and spears. The forges had worked day and night to produce swords, shields and arrowheads in the days following the uprising, but there was only so much that could be produced before the Sun Emperor turned his gaze upon this rebellious satrapy and marched east.
I had seen pictures of ancient Icathian armies in the forbidden texts—brave warriors arrayed in serried ranks of gold and silver—and though we were a shadow of such forces, we were no less proud. Two thousand talon-riders were deployed on either flank, their scaled and feathered mounts snorting, and stamping clawed hooves with impatience. A thousand archers knelt in two long lines, fifty feet ahead of us, blue-fletched shafts planted in the soft loam before them. Three blocks of deep-ranked infantry formed the bulk of our line, a bulwark of courage to repel our ancient oppressors.
All down our line, crackling energies from the earth-craft of our mages made the air blurry. The Shurimans would surely bring mages, but we could counter their power with magic of our own. Saijax did not answer me, but led the Kohari to our place in the line before a stepped structure of granite blocks. Shuriman corpses were impaled upon wooden stakes driven into the earth at its base, and flocks of carrion birds circled overhead.
A silken pavilion of crimson and indigo had been raised at its summit, but I could not see what lay within. Robed priests surrounded it, each one weaving intricate patterns in the air with their star-metal staves. I did not know what they were doing, but I heard an insistent buzzing sound, like a hive of insects trying to push their way into my skull.
My teeth felt loose in their gums, and my mouth filled with the taste of soured milk. I gagged and wiped the back of my hand across my lips, surprised and not a little alarmed to see a smear of blood there.
Saijax shrugged. Something the thaumaturges found deep underground, after the earthquake at Saabera. Even those thrice-damned god-warriors. The sun was close to its zenith by now, but a shiver worked its way down my spine. My mouth was suddenly dry. I could feel tingling in my fingertips. I had never seen such a host, nor ever imagined so many men could be gathered together in one place.
Columns of dust created clouds that rose like a gathering storm set to sweep the mortal realm away. And then, through the dust, I saw the bronze spears of the Shuriman warriors, filling my sight in all directions. They marched forward, a vast line of fighting men with golden banners and sun-disc totems glimmering in the noonday sun. From the slopes above, we watched wave after wave come into sight, tens of thousands of men who had never known defeat, and whose ancestors had conquered the known world.
Riders on golden mounts rode the flanks, as hundreds of floating chariots roved ahead of the army. Heavy wagons the size of river barques bore strange war-machines that resembled navigational astrolabes; spinning globes orbited by flaming spheres and crackling lightning.
Robed priests came with them, each with a flame-topped staff and an entourage of blinded slaves. Much else fades from my mind; the blood, the horror and the fear. But the sight of the god-warriors will follow me into whatever lies beyond this moment….
I saw nine of them, towering over the men they led. Their features and bodies were an awful blend of human and animal, and things that had never walked this world, and never should. Armored in bronze and jade, they were titans, inhuman monsters that defied belief.
Their leader, with skin as pale and smooth as ivory, turned her monstrous head towards us. Enclosed in a golden helm carved to resemble a roaring lion, her face was mercifully hidden, but I could feel her power as she swept her scornful gaze across our line.
Our army shrank from the scale of the enemy force, on the brink of fleeing before even a single blow was struck. Steadying shouts arose from our brave leaders, and an immediate rout was halted, but even I could hear the fear in their voices. I, too, felt an almost uncontrollable urge to void my bladder, but clamped down on the feeling.
I was Kohari. My fear lessened. They can bleed, and they can die. It is ours by right and by birth. Aye, we are outnumbered, but the warriors our enemies have sent are slaves, and men whose only loyalty is to coin.
He raised his weapon high and the sunlight shone from its polished blade. He was glorious in that moment, and I would have followed him to the very end of the world if he asked me to. This is our home, and it is a land of proud people, of free people! There is nothing stronger than that, and we will prevail! It echoed from the rising walls of our city, and was carried to the Shuriman host. The god-warriors spoke swiftly to their attendants, who turned and ran to bear their orders to the wings of the army.
Almost immediately, our enemy began to move uphill. They came slowly, their pace deliberate. On every third step, the warriors hammered the hafts of their spears on their shields. The noise was profoundly unnerving, a slow drumbeat that sapped the will of we who were soon to feel the tips of those blades. My mouth was dry, my heart hammered in my chest. I looked to Saijax for strength, to take courage from his indomitable presence. His jaw was set, his eyes hard.
This was a soul who knew no fear, who rejected doubt and stood firm in the face of destiny. Saijax ate the other, and the pair of them chewed thoughtfully. I looked back and forth between them, unable to reconcile the mundane nature of their words as an all-conquering army marched upon us. And yet, I felt soothed by it. The Kohari were laughing, and soon, without knowing why, our entire army was laughing.
The fear that had threatened to undo us all now fled. Fresh resolve filled our hearts, and put iron in our sword arms. The Shurimans halted two hundred yards from us. I tasted a strange texture to the air, like biting on tin. I looked up in time to see the spinning globes on the war-machines burn with searing light. The priests attending them swept their staves down. It landed in the midst of our infantry, and burst in an explosion of pellucid green fire and screams. Another sphere followed, then another.
I gagged as the smell of roasting flesh billowed from the ranks, horrified at the carnage being wrought, but our warriors held firm. More of the spheres arced towards us, but instead of striking our ranks, they wobbled in the air before reversing course to smash down in the heart of the Shuriman spearmen. Amazed, I saw our thaumaturges holding their staves aloft, and crackling lines of magic flickered between them.
The hairs on my arms and legs stood up in the shimmering air, as if a veil was being drawn up around us. More of the searing fireballs launched from the Shuriman war-machines, but they exploded in mid-air, striking the invisible barrier woven around our force.
Cheers overcame the cries of pain in our ranks. I watched those piteously wounded men dragged to the rear by their comrades. The temptation to remain there must have been tremendous, but we Icathians descend from explorer kings, and not a single warrior failed to return to their place in the battle line. The strain on our mages was clear, but their power was holding the Shuriman barrage at bay.
I glanced over my shoulder to the pavilion atop the pyramid. There too, the priests were straining with all their power. To what end, I could not imagine. While this is pure speculation, on Jax's info page you can see a shadowy figure resembling Aatrox in the back of Jax's splash. It is said that there are 5 Darkin left, but Riot has only confirmed Aatrox to be one. Varus, Nautilus, Brand, and Tryndamere may also be one of these Ancient warriors.
In Jax's lore it states, "Before joining the League, Jax was an unremarkable soldier-for-hire. For reasons known only to the former leader of the League, High Councilor Reginald Ashram, Jax was put on the top of the list of candidates to receive a League Judgment - the interview process that either accepts or rejects a prospective champion. His Judgment was the quickest in League history, where the Doors of Acceptance glowed and slowly swung open as soon as it began.
Jax faced no recorded Observation or Reflection during his Judgment. Some people believe that Jax is Reginald Ashram. Only Reginald Ashram knows why Jax was put at the top of his list. It would be very easy for him to put himself on the top of the list so he can truly test how well he can match up against the champions. It also says in his lore that, "Jax proved himself to be an immediate terror in the Fields of Justice. The self-proclaimed Armsmaster of the League rattled off a streak of consecutive wins that to this day has not been matched.
One thing that supports this theory is that Jax has the quote "Surprise I'm Back" which would be Ashram saying he is back but nobody knows it. That's all I have for Jax, as always, if you enjoyed be sure to follow me and watch the topic! I post these quite often and you don't want to miss any of these posts! However, if you did miss any of them, you can find them or maybe check out my rants below! Some skins I've seen him with 5 fingers..
What creature is he anyway? Is he even human? Or they never explained it. User Info: zeppelin zeppelin 8 years ago 3 he is a teenage mutant ninja turtle support rango gogogogogoggogogogo. User Info: Minders Minders 8 years ago 5 He's a miserable pile of secrets. Is Arcane accessible to non-leaguers? Anyone else feel like Viktor's getting shafted ingame compared to Arcane? Items shouldn't lose stats when upgraded.
Tech Support. Main menu screen to big? How do I equip the new Pulsefire boarder for league?
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