(Concept + Story) Old Fateweaver

Fateweaver - The grandmother you wish you had

Passive - No auto attack. Right clicking (450 range) on an enemy ward converts it to yours. This will destroy your oldest ward if over limit. [60 sec CD]

Q - Essence Catalyst [4 Second CD] An unstable catalyst coalesces in an area that attaches to the nearest enemy (prioritize champions). Taking any damage sparks the catalyst, damaging and briefly slowing in an area. All damage is attributed to the source of the triggering damage.

W - Fateweaver [18 sec CD] Dislodge a spirit shard from the hostile target. Target is anchored to the shard (300 range) for [1-2] seconds. Shards from champions remain for 1.5 min and provide vision. Can be stood on after the anchor expires to reabsorb.

E - Essence Shift [Toggle] Gain 50% movement speed and reduce your armor / resist by [100-60%]. Speed boost ramps up to total amount over 2 seconds.

R - Selfless Gift [Long CD] Dissolve into a spirit and envelope an ally to protect them for 5 sec; all damage is redirected to you. Armor/resist reduced by [E]. You do not control movement but may continue to cast spells normally. Essense Shift’s speed boost applies to ally for duration of Gift.

Lore -

“Grandma, tell us about the lamb and wolf again.” A young boy sits next to the fire, doing his best to appear adorable. His older sister rolls her eyes at the request and tousles his hair as she walks by. The girl does not want to appear childish but she loves this fable just as much as her brother.

Her grandmother, so old it is impossible to separate her deep wrinkles from numerous scars, begins the story. "Some say they have been around since the beginning. Others think…" The old woman seems to focus on something beyond the walls of the small cottage as the story falls from her attention. “Maybe another time. I'm afraid we have some guests and they have a history of poor etiquette. I need to talk to them alone so their offensive manners don’t corrupt you two perfect angels.” She gives the girl a sly smile yet her tone leaves no room for arguments. “Off to the back room with you.” Her expression turns serious. “These men want something we don’t have and will be angry because of it. Our situation will be much worse if they see you.” She places her gnarled hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Keep your brother safe and silent. No matter what happens stay out of sight.”

There is a loud pounding on the door and her grandmother turns away. The girl holds her brother tight and retreats into the shadows. From her position she can clearly see the strangers but their angry voices are indistinct. One is tall and slightly wider than he should be, like a soldier who eats too many sweet cakes. The other, short and thin as the walking stick leaning against the dark room’s wall. Her grandmother is trying to pacify the men when the big one strikes her with a thick fist, knocking her to the ground. When the thin man begins to kick the downed matriarch her gaze settles on the walking stick. She looks back and is struck by her grandmother’s intensely disapproving stare which remains unwavering through the repeated strikes of heavy boots. The girl makes up her mind.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” The girl steps into the light, wielding the walking stick in her best impression of an intimidating pose. Her resolve quickly fades at the carnivorous and deeply sinister stares of the men. Simultaneously both men rush her. As the large man takes his second step he grabs his chest but his feet continue forward as if he's run into a tree branch, leaving him prone on the floor. The second lunges at her throat with a dirty, twisted hand. She feels a warm glow and is surprised as she narrowly moves out of his reach. He strikes again but she feels lighter than air and easily steps out of the way.

As she dodges she sees a faint rune appear on the man’s shoulder. She swings with every ounce of determination and strength she possesses. It strikes the glyph and there is an explosion of light. As visibility returns she finds the man has been flung against the wall and blood is rushing freely from his torn tunic. Another ghost mark appears and she prepares to strike again. Her nose is suddenly invaded by the acrid smell of unwashed bodies. She starts to turn but it is too late. The first man has recovered and plunges a knife deep between her delicate shoulder blades. Just before the knife makes contact she feels wrapped in warmth and love, like the firm bear hugs of her grandmother. The knife sinks deep in her flesh yet she feels no pain. She turns and brings the makeshift club down on the new attacker, striking the ghost image that appears on his chest.

Several bright flashes illuminate the cottage before the men are fleeing as fast as their damaged bodies allow. The girl is standing in the open doorway gasping for breath when her grandmother puts a leathery arm around her shaking shoulders. “Grandmother, this must be magic.” The girl looks down at the ordinary looking walking stick clutched tightly in her small hands. Her grandma nods and says, “Yes dear, that may be true. Sometimes great magic can be found in the most innocent of vessels.” The girl smiles up at her grandmother but she can’t see the deep crimson spreading from the middle of the old womans back.