[Champion Concept] Dane, the Silver Star
Artwork is by Brenoch Adams
http://i.imgur.com/jDqtKd1.png
A hot, tasteless wind blew over the burning dust, whisking away the rancid smoke. An acrid, reeling wave of death that in itself rotted beneath the baleful glare of the sun above, forcing the mind to stare into the withering heart of man, through the decay of the human soul.
Day by day it would sear the rasping rivers, and split the earth to wrench the final drops from their tomb. It was merciless, a demon in the sky; almost surreal in its spectral throne, watching its dying kingdom choke on its final breath.
**It was under this sky he wondered, whether he pulled the trigger, or merely watched his will cave in to his desire. The distance did nothing to hide the remorse, eyes that longed for rest. It was the slow burn of time, his conscience drifting lazily from the barrel. **
#Lore (WIP, read at your own risk)
Fyrone was a man of remarkable will, unyielding to even the harshest of what nature had to throw at him. Responsible for charting nearly half of what lay south of the Great Barrier, Fyrone took immense pride in his work, no matter what he found was immediately relayed back as exciting news, much to the chagrin of the Demacian court he reported to.
When the chance to start a city in the depths of his most recent discovery arrived, he took the offer and rode off without hesitation. The area he claimed lay just south of Shurima; dry in every sense of the word, even the sands had been burnt to dust. Oblivious to the prospect of defeat, the few lured by his charismatic charm helped him build a small outpost within a nook of a rock formation, in hopes of escaping the scathing gaze of the sun.
All that remains of Fyrone’s efforts now lies as a bandit’s hold, Demacia’s anthem has long since echoed over the blasted flats. His failure only further served to alienate the blister of Valoran, only those escaping justice fled to its scalding heat; no arm of law would dare reach into the heart of Fyrone, lest it singe of the tips of its fingers.
As such honorable work is scarce, the few who thought themselves above thievery often founded ranches to whittle the time away, if only to escape the cutthroat business typical in lawless lands. It was a simple life, adrift in a torrid sea of cattle and grass. For their ranch there was a small, gnarled shack hiding behind the rotting fences, and behind that a collection of stones and unsettled dirt, a rusted spade or a shovel leaning across the back wall.
When Dane first opened his eyes it was to a sunken wooden ceiling, a ghastly light creeping its way to the far corner. It was sunset then, and as the years went by he knew those lights better then he knew himself.
Always reaching, never touching.
The sun cast its hellish glow over the barren fields, its fires feasting on corpse and soul alike. Alone Dane studied the illusory horizon, the way it buckled and bowed, the phantoms that drifted silently on the edge. His legs hung limp over leaning post, a sultry breeze grazing on his heels, a faint rustle of grass to drown the pounding silence. Hypnotized, he gazed longingly at the furious heat, eyes flitting between the days since passed.
Uneventfully a few shades broke off from the dotted stream, black wings aloft in lazed interest. His nose twinged at the odor, hands clasping at dry, metallic flakes. Slowly they churned, trying to rub the stain out in anxious rhythm. The beat of wings and heart in tandem.
There were five of them, each with his own horse and peacemaker.
then the hammer cocked once more, the barrel scratching against his temple. He could smell the powder, hear the trigger pull.
Click.
His throat was hoarse, a dribble of spit grinding its way through swollen sides. The sun had set an hour ago, ravens already picking apart at the bodies strewn around him. Flashes of distant lightning reflected off their beady, bloodied eyes . Losing interest, one flew over to the fence, landing beside him, preening its feathers idly with quivering beak. They listened to the roll of thunder, eyes transfixed on the ever yawning horizon.
"You don't give a shit, do you?" The bird glanced inquisitively, then departed with the unkindness, melting into the blackened sky.
"God damn birds."
Rushing out he only found the rasping breath of his fallen father to break the eerie silence, the others did not stir from their sleep. Dragging him inside Dane laid him on the kitchen floor, unable to move him any further he brought a wool blanket in hopes of calming his violent tremors. The gun lay of his heaving belly, tormented eyes peering through their fogging windows. In his last lucid moments he babbled incoherently about the revolver, making sliding motions against his bleeding gut.
Dane watched from a chair above him, counting each shallow breath as if it were suddenly his last. Sweat poured from his head, for two sleepless nights he held vigil, the dull sheen of the revolver glinting off the moonlight.
His father passed away on the third night in their sleep, Dane woke up alone the next morning. Taking the revolver he went outside to an overpowering stench of decaying flesh. All the bodies had rotted in his absence, and he quickly went back inside to escape the fetor.
Finding himself with darker company within he made the decision to make a quick burial. It wasn’t clean, two holes behind the house and slumped corpses to fill them. His tears had long since dried up, every breath tore at his anguished throat, the fumes of the dead
Small stones marked their graves, and after burying them he had no strength left to bury the others. Drinking from the well sated his thirst, but his hunger only grew as the hours went pass. The only food left was spoiled, and with that eaten the ranch held nothing left for him; his inheritance rested in a single family heirloom and the painful memories it brings.
Walking to town was a death sentence without water, the most he could carry was held in a large flask strung across his back. All the horses perished or ran similarly with the cattle, the only creatures left at the ranch consisted of vultures and the occasional rat, neither of which would aid in his travels. He pointed the gun briefly at the nearest vulture, but both knew that hammer wouldn't leave its rest.
The road was harsher than expected, stories of men crawling through the flats felt all too real. By the time he reached the inn the straw mattress was a cloud of silk, the keeper's voice seemed like a distant memory. Barely a minute passed before the sun rose again and with it a quick boot from the room.
It would be long time before he set foot in an inn again, between those times his descent into thievery and the seedy underworld that it brings had been all but complete. Through those days he never once brought himself to kill a man, though it was quickly shown as a matter of guilt and conscience than of incompetence. When the time came for guns to draw his was the last to fire, but it never never failed to hit its mark; usually the arm or wrist. As the years wore on he got quicker and quicker, to where a gun was shot out of their hands before it was ever pointed his way.
Despite his perceived fame among some circles, his life was far some satisfying to him. The damage he did to one hand was merely replaced by seven more, each with an even bigger aim to take him down. He made no difference in the state of Fyrone, and he could never stop what happened at the ranch the way he was going. He needed a new life, and the road was happy to oblige.
The town of Galvinston was made of outcasts from Uristan, a recent quake bringing them southbound to Fyrone. It was a small and simple town, a deputy and sheriff looked over affairs, which is more to say than most towns there.
The office was a small clay house by the water pump, a scrawled parchment read ‘HELP WANTED’, more of a joke than a serious offer. The old sheriff died in a dispute with a local drunk, the deputy had been busy arranging his burial when he arrived.
Farl was a heavyset man, though scars of harsher times were carved into his eyes he stood tall and proud. When he noticed Dane he gave a dry welcome and told him to take a seat by the three-legged table, of which he politely refused.
“The name’s Farl.” His handshake was unmistakably firm, his expression turned to joviality. It was obvious he hadn’t slept the night before.
“Dane." He said in an equally parched voice. "Been hearing how you seem to be in need of a sheriff.” The deputy chuckled to himself quietly, clearing his throat briefly.
“Well that was quick, what makes you think you’re up for the job?”
“Been waiting for it my whole life.”
"Ha! Have you now?" Farl's grin now went ear to ear, thoroughly amused with the stranger in front of him. "You from around here?"
"No, but I could be." Dane returned a dry smile, a small snicker stirring the dust in the office. Reaching into his pocket Farl produced a small medallion, a silver star encircled by an iron ring. Slightly malformed, the star gave off sheen not unlike Dane's revolver, an entrancing dull shimmer that proved both ancient and captivating. In an instant it held the attention and breath of the room, reaching forward Dane slowly pinned it to his duster, adjusting both to accommodate.
Crime was a natural part of Fyrone, in a way Galvinston became its own little world the day they came to office. No matter who strode into town, or what they planned to do, there was no challenge greater than besting the sheriff and his deputy.
When word got around Dane had become sheriff few bothered to make note of it, though it was the gunslinger that held onto every, single letter. He was a man of action, a man of rage. If pay was involved he wasn’t interested in seeing it until a few bodies dropped for it, and no one would deny him that if he took down the most infamous criminals of Fyrone. He had already strung up a few heads by the time he heard, and it didn’t take long for him to be heading his way.
He rode in on a silver steed, a cloak covering the similarly colored weapon he aimed to use. In a style of brazen audacity he demanded the sheriff duel him at once. Dane came out half-expecting a nut job with a bullet between his teeth, only to find a madman pointing a gun between his own.
A sudden shot nearly clipped the revolver out of the gunslinger’s hands, but he had been expecting no less from him; turning his gloved hand and firing two shots. In an instant Dane let out a sickening grunt, and as the pain began to set in he realized one of the bullets had entered his left arm, ripping the gun out of his grip.
As he fell the splintered earth a muted voice rang in his ears, both taunting him and begging him to get up. The black removed the confusion.
The lines seemed to mesh together, forming a distinctive blur that eventually settled into the familiar office. His arm screamed at every effort to move, daggers striking at every breath. He could only stare forward, straight at the contorted ceiling above him. Each hours was long and painful, the occasional murmur was he all had to hold onto consciously.
“…Thirsty?...I’ll take care of it…”
By the time movement was possible the sun had dropped far into the evening, faint memories of the gunslinger flooded his pounding head. Slowly but surely he tested the limits of his broken body, each second seemed to pass with increasing importance. With a sudden jerk he brought his legs to the side of the bed, internal screams of agony passed through gritted teeth. Supporting himself with his good arm he rose from his straw bed, biting through his lip in the process.
He staggered over to where his duster hung, collapsing on the wall beneath it. Upon dragging it off the hook a holster fell along with it, Farl’s old one to be exact. Putting both on was excruciating, the only comfort lay in the lesser pains throughout his body.
Managing through the door felt like entering the gates of hell, and once outside he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.
The fields glowed with the evening ire, tongues of flame gasping for air in the putrid haze. Vultures circled overhead, their wings hung lazily, eyes picking for spoils. The gunslinger stood across from the fallen deputy, a worn smirk etched in his features. Dane strode between the two, each step brought an audible crunch.
“Howdy.” Dane didn’t return the gesture, nothing appeared to register on his placid face. Methodically he swept his coat aside, reaching behind his exposed revolver to grab a smoke from his back pocket. Striking a match on his now dead arm, his hand trembled violently as it attempted to find the cigarette, only lightning it after scorching the tips his fingers.
“How’s that arm of yours?” He blew the match out before throwing it into the thirsty fire at his boot, watching the embers gnaw at the cackling wood. As if in response to a distant cry he looked up, and as the gunslinger came into view his eyes slowly came back into focus.
“Fine.”
“Well then,” he chuckled, “When’d you become a righty?” Dane’s already rigid posture stiffened, a wisp of smoke lolled from his bloodied lips.
“I’m trying something new today.”
“Quite the day to be shaking things up.”
“It’ll be over soon enough.” The gunslinger scoffed at that, bringing his palm to the butt of his gun. In the absence of words a sharp crack echoed across the flats, a hollow clap of thunder that followed the wake of a lightning draw.
The force threw his gauntly frame onto the withered grass, a gnarled face of horror and pain peered over his chest at his killer. The barrel and owner huffed a thin trail of smoke in response, pausing briefly before stooping to his feet, then carrying his deputy home.
#Base Stats
|Stat|---|Base Value|---|Per Level|--- |- |Health||397||+83| |Health Regeneration||4.8||+0.65| |Armor||17||+3.1| |Magic Resist||30| |+0| |Range| |550| |(Ranged)| |Attack| |49||+3| |Attack Speed| |0.658||+3.3% | |Movement Speed| |335| |+0|
#Kit
#Passive: Deadeye
Dane uses an ammo system, each autoattack uses 1 bullet from the 6 chambers his revolver has. Upon reaching 0 bullets or when out of combat Dane will reload his revolver over:
- (3 seconds) – (Current AS) seconds = reload time
- EX: (3 seconds) – (2.5 AS) seconds = .5 second reload
Getting stunned/displaced interrupts this process, and Dane will restart the reload after the effect has ended. Dane can move around while reloading.
Innate: Dane’s critical strikes are aimed at specific weak points, causing the enemy to bleed for 20/60/100 (+.15 AD) physical damage over 2 seconds and slow for 5% (max 30%). This effect can stack repeatedly (Max: 3 stacks on monsters).
Scales at levels 1/8/16.
#Q: Disarm
Dane fires a disarming shot in a thin line, dealing 40/60/80/100/120 (+.7 AD) physical damage to the first enemy hit and preventing autoattacks and spells to be used/cast by that enemy for .1/.2/.3/.4./.5 seconds (also interrupts current autoattacks and spells).
Range: 950 units
Cooldown: 2 seconds
Cost: 1 Bullet
#W: Quicksilver
Dane fires off all the bullets in his revolver in an intense salvo over 2 seconds (1 bullet every .33 seconds), each dealing 50/80/110/140/170 (+.6 AD) physical damage. This applies on hit effects but cannot crit. If a critical strike were to occur, then Deadeye will be applied but not the critical damage.
Hitting an enemy with Quicksilver will reduce the damage of additional shots from Quicksilver, each shot to hit the enemy after the first deals 15% reduced damage, down to 40% of the total damage.
*To aim this ability (with smartcast) hold down where the first bullet will fly then drag to the left or right depending on where you want the bullets to fan out. These shots will always start from where you start the drag and the last shot will travel on the farthest side of your fan. Max of a 60 degree cone. *
One can also have all the bullets travel in one singular line by simply clicking the ability without dragging.
Range: 1100 units
Cooldown: 14 seconds
Cost: Current amount of Bullets
#E: Blazer
Consecutive attacks and abilities against an enemy unit applies stacks of Blazer, stacking up to 5 times. Missing an ability or attacking another enemy unit resets Blazer stacks.
Attacking an enemy afflicted with Blazer with autoattacks/abilities deals 10/20/30/40/50 (+.1 AD) additional physical damage and grants a 10%/12%/14%/16%/18% AS buff for each stack of Blazer the enemy had before the attack.
AS buff lasts for 3 seconds, if you switch targets the AS buff persists while the damage bonus is lost. If you build up a stronger AS buff while the current, weaker one is still active, then it will be replaced by the stronger buff at full duration.
#R: Setting Sun
Dane uses his final bullet to finish off his opponent, firing in a line after a .35 second wind up and dealing 190/380/470 (+1.0 AD) physical damage and applying 1/2/3 stacks of Deadeye. This cannot hit minions or monsters, and does not pierce.
This ability can only be cast when Dane has only one bullet left.
Range: 1700 units
Cooldown: 100/80/60 seconds
Cost: 1 Bullet
#Quotes
#Selection
“Looks like y’all need a good peacemaker.”
#Spawning
(Not Howling Abyss) “Sun’s up, let’s roll.”
“Fresh start.”
“New day, same old.”
#Movement
“The sun don’t shine, it just burns.”
“Law only needs one arm.”
“Chasing freedom, or fleeing justice?”
“Tired feet meet restless hands.”
“Seems like the whole world’s built to burn.”
“Second chances don’t come easy.”
“Fyrone ain’t got cold trails.”
“You do what’s right, and you’ll find that line awfully hazy.”
“You don’t cheat death, it’s been playing you from day one.”
“A smoking gun is guilty in its own right.”
#Attacking
“I’d step down right about now.”
“This way I won’t have to tell you twice.”
“Hot blood doesn’t stay very long.”
“No more.”
“Dead or alive, you choose.”
“How about we just skip the formalities?”
“Another fine day shot to ruins.”
“I guess your luck just ran out.”
#First Blood
“I wouldn’t do that again.”
“You’re gonna need more gun than that.”
“Maybe now you’ll realize I ain’t playing.”
“Settle down hotshot, you’ll find that I don’t miss very often.
“Thirsty, brother?”
“Cripple? Now that’s just cold.”
“You’re about as dim as a door.”
#Interactions
“I hear you can stop bullets outta thin air, be a shame for you to miss one.”
“Now here’s a man of greed. Let’s see you con your way outta of a bullet.”
“Forgive me if I’m not a big fan of your work.”
“Justice’s a pretty word, I wouldn’t toss it around like that.”
“Be real nice to have a force, or a deputy, or an office.”
“Let’s see how your fancy new gun holds up to ol’ rusty.”
#Item Purchases
”Can’t say I’m familiar with this one.”
“I’ll be sure to remember when I’ll need to use this.”
“This one’s for you….”
“You and me are gonna get along just fine.”
“Good, I needed a new pair a…hold on, what am I supposed to do with one?”
“Bird’s eye view.” ”See you coming a mile away.” “More eyes, less surprises.”
“King’s a poor way to settle things, guess he found that out a little too late.”
“Blood don’t wash clean, what’s another scarlet coat?”
#Extras
Now you are probably wondering how a one-handed sheriff can load his gun, well here’s his secret:
Once the reloading process begins Dane puts his revolver in his holster, then folds it back a bit like this:
http://i.imgur.com/feRTFFK.png
Once open he uses a speedloader:
http://i.imgur.com/NU0IX9j.png
After all bullets in place he snaps the revolver back into place, ready to be used again.
Recall animation
Those of you who have played** SWTOR** will be familiar with this animation. Dane flips a coin several times before shooting it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QM1Xy3aDTgc
Taunt animation
Dane flourishes his revolver, spinning it on his fingers until it rests directly before his lips, wordlessly blowing the smoke from the barrel.
Joke animation
Dane sweeps duster aside to reveal his revolver, then reaches behind to grab a smoke and a match. He lights the match on his left arm, lights the cigarette, then tosses the match to his right. Recasting it a second time causes him to blow a smoke ring then cough violently, removing the cigarette and followed shortly by a sigh or clearing his throat.
#Skins/My Other Concepts
Liked Dane? Check out my other concepts below:
A Mountain to Sunder: Compendium #1
Shrike, the Stormchaser, my previous concept
Maud, the Zaunite Spitfire, my previous ADC (I recommend you check her out)
#Skins
Classic Dane: http://i.imgur.com/jDqtKd1.png
Dane’s Holiday: Because let’s face it this guy seriously needs one. Gets a Hawaiian tropical shirt and swimming shorts, and he shoots a dinky water pistol.
Underworld Dane: Somewhere along the line everybody kicks the can, and unfortunately for Dane his torment has only just begun. Gets a sickly green appearance with an underworld duster, the left arm of which is ripped clean off, revealing the ectoplasmic skin. He shoots phantom bullets and leaves a faint trail of emerald fire.
Artic Dane: When the going gets cold, you get more furs. Dressed similarly to Woad Darius while having his entire left arm covered in furs, Dane utilizes chilling sound effects and particles while boasting a modified Nagant M1895 (seven bullets is cheating!)
Special Ops Dane: Runeterra faces a grave threat against the void in the future, and for that they needed to call upon the most skilled and often ruthless guns of the past. Gets an experimental hextech suit (due to most of his body being in poor condition when they found it), and his old revolver modified to fit standard means. It now operates similarly to railgun and can shoot electric charges.
