[Champion Concept] Soz'rath, the Shadow Lich

THE RlVER KlNG·2/15/2017, 5:05:31 AM·9 votes·2,805 views

http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/gamelore/images/1/1c/Phylactery_Lich.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20141111133120

"Phylactery Lich" by Michael Komarck, a talented artist who does work for Magic the Gathering, Game of Thrones, World of Warcraft, and Warhammer, among other franchises.

CCOS Good Neighbor Review here

Any and all feedback is appreciated! This is a rework of a previous concept of mine, Soz'rath, the Lich Prince. If you are interested, feel free to check it out as well!

#OVERVIEW

Attack ■■□□□□□□□□ - [2] Defense ■■■■□□□□□□ - [4] Ability ■■■■■■■■■□ - [9] Difficulty ■■■■■■■□□□ - [7]

Name: Soz'rath, neé Walaani Mkuu Gender: Male Race: Lich Allegiance: Independent Alignment: Neutral Evil Class: Battle Mage Role: Mid

Soz'rath is a lich, an immortal spectre of darkness and malice fueled by the necromantic energies within his phylactery. Soz'rath never truly dies - instead respawning at his phylactery to wreak havoc on his foes with potent dark magic. Capable of creative and long-range ganks, Soz'rath works best making a pick from afar and wearing down a singular target over time. In lane, he looks for opportunities to go for the kill with his ultimate and roam to sidelines with a powerful AoE flee, and transitions into a ruthless burst mage that shrugs off death with impudence. But if his enemies manage to find and destroy his phylactery, Soz'rath is locked out of a key portion of his playstyle until it returns.

#STATISTICS

|Stat-------------------------------|Value at Levels 1-18| |- |Health:| 532 - 1962 |Health Regen:| 6.42 - 15.8 |Attack Damage:| 54 – 111.4 |Attack Speed:| 0.625 - 0.875 |Armor:| 23.2 - 84.8 |Magic Resistance:| 30 |Attack Range:| 525 | |Movement Speed:| 335 |

#ABILITIES

http://i.imgur.com/oR2Tepx.png ##Ability Notes:

The phylactery is roughly the size of a Thresh lantern.

Soz'rath has no say in whether or not he will respawn, but can shop whilst doing so.

While being relocated, the phylactery will occupy its own unique item slot.

http://i.imgur.com/QEyGheF.png ##Ability Notes:

The cooldown of this ability starts after the channel.

In case it wasn't clear, only the %HP portion of the damage is sent back as health to the phylactery.

Naturally, the channel will break if either Soz'rath or the target move out of range.

http://i.imgur.com/jX2B0Rj.png

http://i.imgur.com/OdfWur4.png ##Ability Notes:

This ability is essentially like Zac's E in that it is a long-ranged, channeled dash. However, the shape of said dash is inverted from Zac's (being a parabola that extends from Soz'rath instead of a wide cone). Soz'rath will always appear at the vertex of the parabola, which always follows his cursor. The parabola is longer than it is wide and its dimensions increase with each rankup of the ability.

The health cost is incurred upon cast, so even if this ability is interrupted Soz'rath will still take damage.

http://i.imgur.com/0dYUl98.png ##Ability Notes:

The afflicted champion's model will grow darker and darker with each stack of Shadow.

DoT abilities will only apply one stack of Shadow, and the auto-attacks of summons will not apply any. However, other effects, such as the explosion damage on Shaco's clone or the summon damage on Tibbers will apply one stack as normal.

Here is the Google Doc for the kit. I will do my best to keep the images updated with any changes I make, but otherwise please refer to the doc for judging.

#LORE

The Shadow Lich is an enigma, and a terrifying one at that. Mothers put their children to bed warning of a night with no moon or stars, for then you know the Dark One has come to steal you away from your bed and all those you love. A horrifying spectre from beyond all worlds, Soz'rath has seen much and knows even more, especially of the twisted and howling shadows that haunt the vast reaches of space beyond that of even the Void. The darkness has consumed his black heart completely, and the whickering purple fire that burns in his hollow eyes and fanged mouth sears away all who dare stand against him. For shadows loom longest when the sun sets low, and darkness begins to creep across the land.......

But this was not always so. Many millenia ago, Soz’rath was the young and powerful warlord Walaani Mkuu, who led his band fearlessly across all of Runeterra in search of beasts to slay and peoples to conquer. Assembling a vast and expansive empire rivaled only by the neighboring Shurima, the fledgeling states of Noxus, Demacia, and Piltover were helpless to stop Mkuu's blood-soaked trek across Valoran. The war prince's notoriety and influence only grew, and he soon stood at the precipice of threatening Shurima itself - something thought impossible save for the most ancient and powerful of the desert gods. Mkuu's lust for power and domination escalated daily, and a vast panoply of suffering and corruption was built in his name across all of Valoran. His mighty empire sprawled the reaches of the continent, save for the now fully enclosed desert, and the impetuous young emperor set his sights on the last bastion of resistance.

But the prince's arrogance was his own downfall. Betrayed by his closest advisors, a wide-scale coup was enacted that slaughtered his most ardent of supporters. Civil war was iminent, and Mkuu would only watch as his once-untouchable empire tore itself to shreds. Hurried away to Ionia by the few agents who remained loyal to him, the man who would have ruled the world could only watch from afar as his legacy crumbled from the inside. His bloody conquest, forged by flesh and iron, was over, and while history would not forget the period of his rule, it would forget the name of the man who perpetuated it. This Mkuu knew, and this he loathed. Disguised as a lowly landowner, Mkuu lived out the rest of his days twisted by misanthropy and regret, tilling a plot of land with his oblivious Ionian tenants. As the years passed, Valoran picked itself up off its feet, and the steady march of history trudged out of the deep and churning pit he had worked so hard to dig.

Elderly and riddled with the symptoms of old age, Mkuu sent the sons of the sons of those who were once loyal to him out on a journey all across Runeterra to search for any way, no matter the cost, to keep him alive. Years passed, but still Mkuu clung to the last spiderwebs of vitality his wily fingers would yet allow. Finally, as his last wheezing breaths set upon him, the grandson of his favored concubine returned on his doorstep alone, clutching a frayed scroll and a mysterious object wrapped in black fabric. As Mkuu lay dying, his final attache explained what they must do.

Mkuu had his tenants dismissed and his doors locked. In a clumsy Ionian dialect, Mkuu's messenger read the scroll's contents aloud - the creation of a phylactery, and the transformation of a mortal soul into that of a foul and evil lich. Mkuu licked his dark, scarred lips with glee. Immortality would be his, and this time no one could rob him of it. The young attache unfolded the fabric to reveal an intricate amulet, its purple stone glinting malevolently, and produced a small vial of jet liquid, motioning for Mkuu to drink. The aged warlord did so greedily, and as the final drop passed through his lips, he spasmed violently before passing on to the next life. Walaani Mkuu was finally dead. Consumed by guilt and distraught over the loss of such a priceless relic of the past, his attache committed ritual suicide. Soon, two corpses lay alone in an Ionian cabinet, the final members of an empire that once spanned all of Runeterra.

But Mkuu was not dead - at least, not in the way a mortal might think of hit. His heart had stopped; it had been replaced by a burning ember of black fire. Blood no longer coursed through his veins - shadow and ice did instead. His soul was locked away inside an amulet stone forged from the blood of innocents and cooled by the breath of the dead. Screaming with pain he could no longer feel, his eyes and tongue were burned out with unholy violet fire, the flames of enslaved souls past, now doomed to another eternity of endless hellfire. Mkuu awoke in his bed a skeletal apparition, and reveled in his new form. Sinking into the shadows cast by his final servant's corpse, the newly created lich vowed to destroy all those who had opposed him in his past life. When he emerged from the cold, hard darkness, he found himself floating in the vast reaches of the beyond, beyond Runeterra, beyond the numerous galaxies and stars forged by the Aspects, beyond even the twisted grotesqueries of the Void. Mkuu found himself joined with the oppressive darkness that pressed inward on the world, a cold and wicked realm of entropy and madness. Here he heard the whispers of liches past, alongside the frigid nothings of the faceless spectres of the beyond, clamoring for a new name - Soz'rath, the dark messiah. Mkuu smiled, as tendrils of blackness began to wrap themselves around his form, as fire like ice guttered and spat where eyes once were. He would bring the full forces of darkness upon those who had betrayed him, and the world would burn in his black fire.

Salati Kum brooded.

The cold outside had sung harsh white songs against his tough, brown flesh, but the hearth before him sang a gentler and warmer song as it cast long and brooding shadows across the floor. Salati’s face was impassive as he contemplated the flames’ dance, one arm clutching at his chair, the other lost in the folds of a hot towel.

The other patrons paid him no mind. Freljord was a queer place, Salati often found himself thinking. The diaspora of his people had occurred long ago, but Salati would never forget the steamy jungle sun of his homeland - nor the rich, sweaty brine of the air, the cool touch of a dew-soaked frond, or the mournful howls of the mnyama late at night. Salati wiped an imaginary drop of sweat from his lined brow, frowning at the memory. That time had long since passed, and it would do him no good to dwell on it. “The present is a gift, and gifts must always be opened,” his mother had once told him. “Give thanks for what you are given, and do not lust for that which you do not yet have.”

The fool Mkuu was to blame, Salati thought to himself, raising his fingers to his lips. The warlord’s spiteful and self-destructive grandiosity was what had ultimately led to the downfall of his empire, and it had been Salati’s father and the others who had tried to stop him. At least, this was what Salati had always been taught to believe. His father, Mwongo Kum, had died with those words on his lips. “Curse Walaani Mkuu,” his father had whispered before he succumbed. “Curse the man who made himself king.”

The glory days of the Mshindi were over, and it was up to their ancestors, like Salati, to continue their tradition. Salati glanced around the inn, and its odd and variable collection of patrons. Ice-fishers in full parkas, wily pickpockets, their arms adorned with clan tattoos, deserters and brigands and cold-folk and more. Salati spat on the ground, setting his jaw as he shifted his gaze back to the fire. Fire was a blessing amidst the blizzards and subzero temperatures of the Freljord. Salaati, a creature of humidity, had adapted some years ago, but a day did not go by that he didn’t wish for his father and mother again, back home in the Nzuri, back when the Mshindi ruled the continent. It was Walaani Mkuu who had spoiled the precious balance of power, and it was Walaani Mkuu who had stolen his people’s lives right from under them. “Curse Walaani Mkuu.” Salati spat, squeezing the hot towel between his fingers. He could feel his nails prick against the hard, calloused flesh of his palm. “Curse the man who made himself king.”

The hearth guttered, the muted orange flames darkening to an ugly shade of violet. They roared brightly, and two dancing shadows the hearth cast fused into one, lengthening and twisting to form one long and terrible silhouette. Salati scrambled up, his hot towel dropping to the floor. The shadow began to thicken, solidifying as it folded in on itself at the middle, raising up and up and up, a towering black monstrosity. Darkness began to creep across Salati’s field of vision, and he coughed, holding a hand up to his mouth as he squinted at the unholy shadow. To his right he heard the scrape of chairs against the wood floor, and gruff voices shouting something in the native dialect. And then the flames of the hearth went out, and the inn plunged into darkness. The only sound to be heard was the howl of the wind outside and Salati’s own bated breath, pluming in a small white fog before his face.

With a flickering snap a pair of sinister purple eyes blinked open before Salati, whickering and dancing with malevolent purple fire. He took a step back, but a skeletal hand shot out from the darkness and clasped its long, cold fingers around his wrist. “So te ra nai, telsurnir?” it whispered in a voice like death, in native Mshindi. Where is the prodigal son?

Salati gasped, trying to step away, but the creature’s grip was like iron. He felt himself rooted in place, unable to step away. His teeth chattering and his heart beating a tattoo on the inside of his chest, he responded in his native tongue. “Hilgo nor ne telsumir. Salati Kum shae, he ra nai.” He is here. I am Salati Kum.

Salati could have sworn that in that moment the creature’s pale, deathly face broke into a smile, but it was impossible to tell in the darkness. He heard some of the other patrons call out in a Freljordian dialect, and the creature’s attention shifted to them. Salati could barely make out its shape in the darkness - flowing and semitransparent, more shadow than flesh. He shivered, and the creature’s grip tightened.

Something happened there in the darkness to those other men, something that Salati did not see and imagined that he would not have wanted to. There was a brief gasp and then the sound of bodies hitting the floor, and the creature turned its attention back to Salati, its horrible purple eyes seeming reinvigorated somehow. A wave of cold ran through Salati, and he staggered. The creature dropped him. “Salati Kum shae, oso ra nai pelko? Ja ka na, notso feerikum se nanai.” Salati knew that voice anywhere, even behind the layers of shadow and age that now tainted it. Salati Kum, is that right? Ah, many years it has been.

Salati fell to the ground, humbled by the creature’s awesome presence. It laughed, a horrible and dry sound, the sound a blade makes when it scrapes against stone. His lips fumbled for a response, and in his mind he saw his master alive and well again, a scowl marring his handsome brow, the scars of his many hunts etched across his face. “N-nore ra nai, Mkuu jemurnim?....H-ha, h-ha konoka areltorni ra nai jemurnim…..” He bowed his head, standing on his knees and arms, his eyes closed. How, my King Mkuu? What is it that you have done in order to return, my king?

“I looked death in the eye and spat, morubindi.” Salati recoiled at the insult, an ancient word that meant bastard and oathbreaker. “I ripped out my heart and burned it in the black fires beyond all worlds, son of the traitor. I bathed in the darkness that birthed this pitiful universe, and I was born anew in its terrible might. I turned my back on the world that had turned its back on me.” The creature that was once Walaani Mkuu turned, and in the shadows Salati could make out parts of its face. Strings of white hair, once black and strong, hung as dry as a cornhusk from its ancient and terrible face. Arms like sticks, ending in cruel taloned fingers as yellowed and papery as an old book, hung loose and drifting at its side, one of them clutching a pronged staff. Salati’s eyes bored holes in the wood of the floor, and he felt exhaustion setting in. In that moment he would trade anything in the world to be able to curl up and never speak or move again, and to see his mother and father in the afterlife of his people.

“I never once doubted the irrefutable power and divinity bestowed upon me by the gods, you filthy, red-blooded traitor. I never once faltered in my unswerving loyalty to the empire, and your precious father rewards me with this?” The creature spat a bolt of dark fire, which struck the shivering, empty flame and fizzled in the equally cold and empty air. Salati felt the strength go from his arms, and he fell to the ground, curled up in a ball. It felt as if something were being taken from him, something deep and irrevocable inside. He looked up to find the creature that was once Mkuu towering over him, cloaked in swirling robes of shadow and night. Its horrible purple eyes, malevolent and sepulchral, glared down at him, and in a single hand it held a shifting, coiling mass of a wispy grey substance, the shifting tail of which curled towards Salati. Salati’s lips were dry and cracked, and his eyelids heavy. Every breath was a struggle. “Soko….ra nai…..Mkuu je- Mkuu...jemurnim….” What is that, my King Mkuu?

The creature didn’t even bother to bend down as it spoke to him, in a chattering, whispery tone. “I never found your father, little Kum. Mwongo was crafty, I will give him that. He had spells….enchantments to keep me out.” It laughed, and what little light left in the room seemed to be sucked right back up into its fanged and skeletal mouth. “But that is of no consequence now. Wherever your father is, I hope he watches as I kills his son, to pay for the blood he spilt all those years ago. To pay for the empire he shattered, to pay for the legacy he ruined.” It waved its arms, draped in shadow, and laughed a third time.

Salati felt a burning pain in his chest, and he clutched at it, wheezing and gasping for the cold night air. His eyes were burning, seared away with black and purple fire, and what little he could make out in the darkness swirled back into the entropic void from whence all things came. He heard the voices of his ancestors call out to him, and an array of all manner of noises indescribable - whispers and screams from the shadows, the cacophonic wails of any number of souls long since passed. And loudest and clearest of all he heard Walaani Mkuu’s horrible laughter, dark and oppressive. His heart was pumping faster and faster and faster, so much so that he felt it would burst. His thoughts came slowly now, as if underwater, and the only thing now he could sense was the unbearable and sweltering agony in his chest. In Salati Kum’s final moments, the blackness faded away, and everything became white - and then he saw him, the man who made himself king, silhouetted by the pure ivory glow of a world without shadow. As Salati Kum smiled, and as the last of his soul siphoned away to the grasping fingers of the monstrous lich before him, the darkness came crashing back down in one horrible and final wave, and the whole world turned black.

“So serusanai, ebero soki gatkuro maz tornim maraklo. Gatkuro maz tornim maraklo.” Soz’rath said, his form slowly fading back into the shadows.

For the night is dark and full of terrors, my child. Dark, and full of terrors.

(Fun fact: Walaani Mkuu literally means 'cursed prince' in Swahili, Kumsalati means betrayer, oathbreaker, and Mwongo is liar or thief, Nzuri is 'great place', and Mshindi loosely translates to winner, or champion, or great person/people)

#QUOTES

I cannot hear Soz'rath's voice in anyone's but Ron Perlman's.

##Upon selection:

In the vast reaches of the cosmic darkness, I reign as the lord of shadow and flame.

##Upon game start:

The beyond beckons to us all.
The shadows of this world run deep and true.
Shadow begets darkness....and darkness begets utter ruination.

##Upon placing the phylactery:

Reveal what is hidden - and protect what is mine.
None shall discover my true name.
The souls of the beyond roil and churn beneath your stone.
Teskalanah, penduram.

##Movement:

I drift on the shadows of those long passed.
This world has many shadows.
I am forever.
This world will fall like all the others.
A shadow leaves no footprints.
I regret nothing.
My shadow is the longest of them all.
The darkness beyond worlds will consume this place.
My black heart's fire races with each passing moment.
Death flies on black wings. We are not so different.
When all is left to ruin, only I will remain.
My shadow will be the final one cast.
The darkness beyond all worlds undulates before me.
Men fear what slumbers and coils in the darkness.
Every shadow has a story to tell. This place is full of both.
What is life, to a being such as I?
I serve no one, and all serve me. They simply do not know it yet.
I once ruled this world.
This world's pitiful light will be snuffed out in time.
I shall reclaim what was once mine to destroy.
Before there was time, there was nothing. And before that nothing the first lich ruled the darkness.
Embrace what will eventually come.
The shadows of this world are white compared to the true darkness I have seen.
This world knows little of true shadow.
Graves are as shallow as their shadows. Only I will last forever.
All lives are but shadows cast by the world's many fingers.
They flee before me.
This world is much too bright.
Only a world forged by my blood can cast so many shadows.
I am the maker of this wretched continent.
Without me, they would still be drawing circles in the mud.
My shadow has stretched throughout all of history.

##Attacking:

The shadow you cast is but a reflection of a memory.
I will tear you and your shadow to shreds.
Your pale, weak flesh offers little protection against the likes of me.
Mortals are much too fragile.
I can feel your heart beat, weakling.
The mad beat of terror is intoxicating.
I will consume your lifeforce and laugh at its taste.
Consider it a privilege, to feel the cold touch of the darkness at my hands.
Waste away, and embrace the beyond.
Flee!
Cower!
Take solace in what little time you have left.
Your spines and knees serve but one purpose - to bend.
All will burn in the fires of shadow and night.
Hope is for dying men and martyrs.
_ I have devoured creatures that could balance this world on their finger._
You are descended from traitors and thieves.
I will undo what this world has so clumsily wrought.
I will show you suffering the likes of which you cannot imagine.
Do you feel it, mortal?
You shall serve as an example to others.
Your cowardice is unbecoming.
Succumb to your fear.
The darkness is not merciful.
The darkness comes for us all. For you, much quicker.
You brand me a villain, and make vain attempts to destroy me.
I am the shadow that quells every flame.
You have only one life to offer. Such a shame.
Aren’t you cold, child?
I am the end, and I have come for you.
Darkness envelops me. It wil soon consume you.
You are utterly alone.
I have seen a thousand worlds, all wreathed in shadow. Yours is next.
Leave this place, and drag your impotence along with you.
That which makes you mortal is a curse I seek to rectify.

##Upon phylactery being destroyed (global):

No!
You will pay for your transgression with shadow and blood!
(Soz’rath gasps chokingly)
None shall know my true name! None!
Your first mistake was to dare take steps to move against me.
The darkness damn you, insignificant creature!
You have merely delayed the inevitable!

##Upon reviving:

It is in this moment that I feel truly alive.
And they thought they could defeat me....
A pity that I must return.
I am become death….the destroyer of worlds.
I look forward to seeing the naked surprise on their faces.
They think themselves safe. Fools.
The darkness enables my immortality.
May this cycle prove more fruitful than the last.
(Soz’rath hums Heart and Soul)

##Upon actual death: ~~Soz’rath rises into the air, convulsing, before exploding into black dust, his robes and staff falling to the ground.~~

NO!......NO!
This wasn’t supposed to happen!
No, no no no no no! I am a god! I am immortal!
No! I have been cheated once more!
(faintly) A part of me….always remains……
(whispering, crazed) This world doesn’t appreciate me, yes, yes, that’s it.....fools....I will move onto another, yes....yes, this world does not deserve my notice......
(Soz’rath laughs manically, ending on several tortured breaths)
(Soz’rath spits disdainfully) A minor setback. Nothing can truly stop me.

##Upon casting Life Tap:

You misuse your lifeforce.
Your suffering fuels my glory.
The darkness beckons us both, now.
My thirst shall never truly be quenched.
Hir sanoh, ban to mat.
Tor sakah, fel namash....

##Upon casting Breath of Night:

But a taste of the darkness to come.
The shadows of those doomed for eternity.
A fraction of the beyond's true enormity.
Your eyes betray you.....
Dalgh maks falnir!

##Upon casting Shadow of the LIch:

Behold...the true power of the darkness....
My shadow will loom above all....
Sor gallr, hirno ko mo!
Desnorar, funakir!

##Upon reaching the vertex of Shadow of the Lich:

Behold, mortals - your reckoning.
The darkness will unmake your fragile forms.
A lich's power knows few bounds.
Flee from your doom.
Cowards run - it is the wise who embrace their shadow.

##Upon casting Child of Darkness:

Your time is now past, mortal.
Death comes for you from the shadows.
The shadows are hungry for their next victim.
Your shadow will soon cease to be cast.
Estornog elmonen, zelfanai soltens.
Ke soro silm, fo sha teku namai.

##Upon recalling:

My shadow will remain.
I leave this place only to breed darkness elsewhere.
I shall return, mortals.

##Joke: Soz'rath belches flame loudly, and then coughs a plume of shadow.

Eck, must be something in my throat.
(coughing) Ugh, lich-ball.
The souls of your enemies aren't too easy on the stomach....

##Laugh: Soz'rath raises his arms and laughs, rising into the air.

##Dance:

Soz'rath hums Heart and Soul while performing a dance with his staff akin to this.

##Taunt: Soz'rath waves his staff disdainfully in front of him.

You may be strong, but I am beyond strength. I am the end.
You worry about ‘good’ and ‘evil’, and do not accept they are manifestations of the same thing.
Fear is a disease that only affects the weak-minded. Is that why you are afraid?
There is no good, or evil. Only power, and those too weak to seek it.

Taunting an enemy Aatrox: