[Attention Riot] Mina-The Tyrant(from Dawngate)

Mina was a popular Shaper from the MOBA that is now taken down because EA sucks and can never keep a game running -.- but she is one of the most loved Shapers from the game, she is a possessed porcaline doll, who practically hates everybody and is only nice to the ones who obey her... LOL she was so cute, and funny, and i LOVED how funny her attitude was, i will now show you her lore, abilities, and some things she says in game (she had A LOT OF QUOTES. so i will just show you the video link. i was thinking can't Riot and the league of legends company... buy!? the character!?!?!? THAT WOULD BE AWSOME! and thats the reason i decided to make this post :D

LORE A luminary of our fair and esteemed city has, tragically, become a widower. The wife of Baron Cenno Prisardi failed to return from festivities on the final night of the Festival of Glass.

It is thought the Baroness may have fallen into the sea during a late inspection of the Counts offering for the Blessing of Dolls. The bereaved cenno lamented that he allowed the late Baroness enjoy her cups during the traditional Vizalla Butterfly Watching. He confessed that he had found her quite drunk that evening.

As has become common in recent years. Baron Prisardi had commissioned a lavish offering to the spirits, in hopes of receiving an heir. This year he engaged the prestigious Messori & Sons of Flotta Street to complete a full-scale sailing caravel. The magnificent vessel was "Captained" by a life-size doll in bisque porcelain commissioned from P.F. Gemell of Sarissa. As gesture of mourning, the doll, a juvenile likeliness of the late Baroness, has been removed from public display.

Cognoscenti estimate the cost of the enterprise to be in excess of forty thousand gold marins. This would bring Prisardi's investment to recent festivals ti a staggering total of one hundred thousand marins.

The city watch has not ruled out foul play. As many of our city's most repugnant and detestable poor have used the excuse of the recent holidays to infest the waterfront. A cull has been scheduled for the coming week.

In happier news, Baron Prisardi has announced a contract of engagement between himself and the youngest daughter of Count Brenulli. With transferal of rights and estates to be concluded by the close of business on Junil 13. The editors of the broadsheet are certain they speak for all when we wish Cenno a prosperous and fruitful engagement.

-Account of All Distinguished and Commemorable News, Aprelle 19, 1543

Lore #2 MAIN LORE the other one was a news paper written for her city. (she is the countess) WARNING THE LORE IS A LONG STORY HAVE FUN READING

She snapped awake, breathing fast, heart hammering, eyes darting through the dark.

No. Nothing. Just the pattering of the rain on the tin overhead, the shush and roar of slate-grey breakers smashing and foaming against the shore. She lay back against a pile of rags, stained and reeking of grease, and tried to close her eyes.

A gust of wind slapped rain across her ankles, caused the sheet of tin to lift and spatter and warble-boom back down. Did that wake her up? She scrunched her knees back up against her chest.

The light was funny, on the roof instead of the floor.

She rubbed her eyes and tottered to her feet, peering out into a world streaked and smearing, sideways and grey from the storm.

The sea glowed, moon-cold luminance flickering up through the snarled, shuddering waves, casting the rain into shadow-specks and silver highlight.

Only when she turned light-headed did she realize she was holding her breath.

She looked up and down the shore. Away south, where the plantations and vineyards began, all was darkness. To north, the street-lamps of Tessua turned the iron belly of the clouds to rust.

No one.

Pulling the rags tighter, placing bare feet carefully around broken glass and bent nails, she padded out into the teeth of the wind. Cold water slashed her, slapped strands of hair across her cheeks. The thin frock and shawl were soaked in moment, plastered against thin arms, pale, scarred legs. She stumbled across the salt-lashed rocks, hissing at hidden sharpnesses, wiping water and hair from her eyes. The ghost light beneath the sea seemed a tangle of bright wires, a waving forest of seaweed.

A dark shape bobbed to the surface, flung limply to and fro by the tempest. The light faded like morning fog.

A body. A child. Even smaller than her.

Frigid air raked against the back of her throat. She tore off the shawl and plunged into the blinding salt-spray. Icicles stabbed her ankles, legs, chest, swimming, spitting, thrashing the angry sea and throwing it aside.

The body was cold and hard to the touch. But it made a small and broken sound, barely heard over the hiss and roar of the sea.

She slung an arm around the child and fought for shore. It was heavy, wrapped in layer upon layer of soaked fabric. Winter crept through her limbs, numbing fingers and toes. She fought for each breath, air made of shattered glass. Sky and sea were a haze of grey. Everything tasted of salt and rot.

Sand. Sand beneath her toes.

She staggered out of the sucking, clawing waves, dragging the cold, limp body behind her. Every limb shuddered and quivered. She tumbled to her knees, wrapping her arms around herself. But the only warmth in the world were the tears.

The body lay where she’d dropped it, limbs in a tangle, long wet hair tattered and strewn across the sand. A little girl. She’d die if left here.

She tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t work. They’d dissolved into a tingling fog. “H-help,” she breathed, trying to drag herself over to the other child. “Someone. S-someone. Help.”

She could barely hear herself over the anger of the sea. She was going to die. “Help,” she breathed.

The child she’d pulled from the sea pushed herself up from the sand, bone-colored limbs creaking faintly under the wind, ringing as porcelain scraped.

Eyes cut from turquoise glass turned to face her.

“This is the Spirit realm?” the doll rasped.

The girl whimpered unsteadily, and fell on her side. Wet sand smashed across her cheek, clinging ice.

The doll laughed brokenly, tiny shoulders slumping, and pawed at her glittering eyes. “I can’t cry. I can’t – can’t feel my-” She stared at her pale, articulated fingers, jewel-eyes wide. She folded in half to retch into the sand, but nothing passed her painted lips.

“What did it do?” she groaned.

The girl’s trembling limbs twitched and guttered to a stop. The grey world faded away.

Shivering woke her to a world dim and strange, to the cloying, nauseating stench of grease.

Face covered.

Couldn’t move.

Arms wrapped.

Pinned.

She kicked and squealed, throwing her head side to side, rolling. Metal banged and clattered beneath her. Glass burst and scampered, hot pinpricks stabbing into her heels.

“Stop thrashing, stupid!”

She froze, eyes screwed closed, panting. “Get ‘er off,” she groaned, fighting to keep her hands still. “Please.”

The chiming of fine bells. Cool air.

She gasped, opening her eyes to dim grey sunlight, the sound of gulls. She was wrapped and buried under the pile of rags in her shelter.

“What is the matter with you?” the irritable voice asked.

“I dun like-” she looked up into sea-glass eyes, hairline-cracked porcelain.

“You do not like what?” the doll said, impatiently, tiny fists planted on her hips. Her eyelids clicked faintly as she blinked up at the girl. “Speak up, child.”

She huffed out a breath, dizzy, disbelieving. “Small – small places. Things over my face.” The doll’s ringlet hair trailed across the floor and out on to the grass, matted and filthy with sand. “You saved me?” she asked. “Brung me back here?”

The doll sniffed and put her tiny nose in the air, setting the bells in her earrings to sway and sing. “I suppose so.”

She unwound one arm from the tangled rags. “Why?”

The doll gathered a mass of her tattered red hair, running it through her hands, picking out grains of sand and salt. “Because you were – because I – I just did,” she said, crossly. “Do not complain.”

“I weren’t.”

“I did not have to, you know.”

“Thank you.”

The doll made a snorting noise, and turned her back. “Gratitude is not required.” Arranged on the ground before her were shards of a broken mirror. She kicked them away, silver insects scattering to the corners of the hovel. “It was a whim. Nothing more.”

The girl shuffled up on to her knees, a height not much greater than the doll’s. She reached out and touched the back of its head, where the waves of long ruby hair trailed out from pinholes. Her flesh felt like the cold stones at the edge of the sea, worn smooth and round by the pounding of uncountable tides.

The doll continued to toy with her thick falls of hair, sniffing and muttering as she picked out endless grains of sand. “I require a long soak,” she grumped. “And this dress simply must have the salt washed out.”

The girl drew a quick-bitten fingernail across the back of her porcelain head and felt the ringing vibrate through its hollowness.

“What are you doing?” the doll yelped, slapping her hand away. She cried out at the impact, cringing, cradling bruised knuckles against her chest. The doll pulled back, eyes darting from her own stone hand to the girl’s flesh one. “Wha-who raised you?” she stammered, eyes wide. “Just – just coming up andtouching a lady’s hair?” She shook her head, setting bells to ringing, and pulled her hand behind her back. “Never without her leave. That is – it is creepy.”

“Sorry,” she said, sucking on a freshly- split knuckle. “No one raised me. Not like that, I mean. Not knowin’ what’s proper an’ what ain’t.”

The doll looked skeptical. “Were you born to wolves?”

“No, M-m’lady?” She halted, tripping over instinctive words. “Miss. Ma’am?” One of the doll’s fine, painted eyebrows rotated upwards by some hidden mechanism, delicate and doubtless expensive. “I came from somewheres, sure ‘nuff. My ‘pere worked in the mills. Got pulled int’ the works when I were four. Caught his sleeve, like. After that my ‘mere drank ‘erself to sleep all the time. One day she din’t wake, is all.” She scrunched her nose and picked awkwardly at her ear. “Leastways, that’s what they tole me.”

The doll turned away on the heel of her fine little boot, black leather and polished brass. The slate sea rolled and spit, crusting the edge of the world with bits of dead fish and broken ships. Her gem-eyes clicked to look at her sidelong. “And you have been alone since?”

She swallowed and looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. “More ‘er less, M’lady.”

The doll looked back out at the sea, fingertips tapping and ringing faintly as they fretted against each other. “That is… unfortunate.”

She sniffed and wiped her runny nose on the back of a hand. Her frock was still damp in parts, and stiff and chafing from salt where it wasn’t. She remembered tossing her shawl aside when she dove into the sea, and wondered where it had ended up. A swell of breeze off the sea sliced through her, setting her to quaking.

“Oh, stop shivering!” the doll spat, folding her arms across her tiny chest. “I will not hurt you. Your hand was… I did not intend… You surprised me.”

“I’m cold,” she chattered, grabbing at the scraps of fabric near to hand.

“I do not feel cold,” the doll grumped.

She leaned back against the swaying, rotted wall, and wrapped some of the smelly old rags around her cold feet. Back and forth, looping and twining, tying off each strip with a simple knot. “D’ya think it’s warm, then?” she asked, voice rising to an incredulous crest.

“I find it neither warm nor cold,” the doll replied briskly, and leaned forward to waggle a slim finger before the girl’s nose. “Understand, I cannot abide a servant who cowers in fear of me.”

She looked up from her crude knot-work. “Er, pardon, M’lady. Servant?”

“Yes,” the doll said. She clambered up the side of a broken crate, short legs scrabbling indelicately for purchase, and primly settled herself on the edge. She affected an air that suggested the splintered, oil-stained wood was a throne of marble and velvet. The doll moved to cross her legs, place one small knee over the other, but hidden joints beneath her dress scraped and rang. Her painted lips canted downward, and she let her legs dangle, crossing them at the ankles instead. “Clearly you need refinement. Your speech alone is atrocious. For my part, I require aid adjusting to… my new circumstances.”

“Eh.” The girl scratched her hair, then flicked away the salt and sand that caught beneath her nails. “Why me?”

The doll’s gem-eyes flickered away, her hands occupying themselves with futile smoothing motions over the stiff, salt-stained folds of her dress. “You aided me, and for no repayment. It would be discourteous to let that pass without reward. And what better reward than being in my service?”

The girl tiled her head to the side, thinking maybe the words would make more sense if her brains could tumble them into a different order.

Abruptly, the doll began to swing her dangling legs back and forth, like an excited child. She knotted cold stone fingers together in her lap. “You must tell me your name, servant.”

“They calls me Letti.”

“They call you Letti,” the doll corrected.

“Yes’m.” She curtseyed, and then thought to wonder why she had.

The doll nodded. “Very good, little kitty. First, my dear Letti, you must find me a comb.” She looked down in dismay at the ruby rivers of hair streaming across the floor of her shelter. “Is there a place nearby to obtain clean water? I cannot allow my hair to be dragged all over the ground like this. It must be washed and re-curled.”

“Think we’d have to fetch water from the river,” Letti said. “Prob’ly easier to bring you there, if you’re looking to wash.” She swallowed, scratching at a nervous itch, and chanced to add, “It’d be easier if we went towards night. When there’s fewer folk about.” She shifted her weight from one bare, goose-bumpy leg to the other. At last, she prodded, “Eh… what’s your name, then, M’lady?”

The doll’s chin lifted. “I am Countess-” She stopped abruptly, porcelain jaw hanging wordless, eyes dead blue glass.

“Mina,” she finished, in a voice thin and small as a starved songbird. “I am just Mina.”

The moon painted the face of the waters in silver.

“Why I gotta carry you?” Letti asked, adjusting the weight of the doll perched on her shoulders.

“Why do you have to carry me,” it replied, flicking a grain of sand from its massive pile of hair.

“That’s wot I wanna know.”

She heard the clicking of Mina’s eyes, and the doll sighed with obvious annoyance. “You have very long legs. All right?”

“You mean you got shor-”

“I mean,” the doll said firmly, “that you have freakishly long legs.” She paused, then allowed, “Comparatively speaking.” She tugged on Letti’s hair. “I see no one. To the river, kitten.”

Letti took a hesitant step out from the shadows, the night-damp soil cold beneath her feet. Waves of cricketsong rolled behind the rustle of leaves and the creak of frogs. The voice of a single nightingale piped and burbled in the distance. No voices, though. No footsteps. No whickering of horses. The ghost of the moon spun out from behind the clouds, revealing nothing. She peered around, willing her eyes to see deeper into the absences of light.

“You are being too circumspect,” Mina grumped, plopping her chin down on the top of Letti’s head.

The girl winced at the stone impact. “Dunno what that means,” she said, padding carefully down to the bank, the weight of the impatient doll swaying. “But there’s folk about who steal a fine dol- uh. Who’d steal ya.”

“I would certainly not permit it,” Mina sniffed.

She knelt by the river’s edge, cool mud squishing around her knee. “They’s bigger’n me, M’lady.” She reached behind her back to help the doll, but only got another thoughtless swat for the trouble. “Most’re bigger’n me, tell ya true.”

Mina hopped down, and the girl took an involuntary breath. The doll’s water-colored eyes were glowing faintly in the dark, trailing wisps of something that looked like smoke, but moved against the wind.

“I am certain we could persuade them to leave,” she said. “Unlace my dress, servant.”

“I like you callin’ me kitten more.” She fumbled with the tiny laces at the back of the doll’s neck, fingers thick with cold.

“Then when you please me, I shall call you so.” The dolls fingers tapped and fretted as Letti worked the knots at the back of her neck loose. “I had a lovely cat,” Mina murmured into her collar. “Blue like smoke, with a long tail. She hated everyone, but would sit on my lap for hours.” Her eyes clicked and blinked. “I expect she has been killed.”

“Oh,” the girl pulled at the complicated lacing. “I had a pet once. Or mebbe she had me. Just hung around all the time, like.”

“A cat?” Mina asked, the decorations woven into her hair seeming to perk up higher.

“No, M’lady. A rat.”

The doll visibly shuddered. “You jest.”

“She was real bright,” she said, looking up into the night. There were places under the trees untouched by moonlight or starlight. “Brung me stuff a’times. Shiny things. Bits a’ food, even, when she seen me eatin’… stuff what ought not to be.”

“Rats carry disease,” Mina said dismissively. “Everyone knows this. And they relieve themselves everywhere they go.”

“That’s just how they is.” Letti sniffed and scratched her tangled hair. “She were a good mate,” she said. “Best I had. When the snows came lass year, she slept wid me nights.” The stars were blurring. She wiped the mess away and said, “Kept each other alive, so we did.”

A final tug, and the mass of the doll’s complicated dress fell slack, hanging loose from her thin shoulders. “You sure yer fine with this? Water’ll be awful chill this late.”

“I do not feel cold. That will be sufficient, Letti,” Mina said, holding loose folds of the dress up to her neck. “Turn your back while I bathe.”

She stared down at the doll’s bare shoulders; bronze joints, finely inscribed. “Uh, but yer-”

“A lady,” the doll said. “Turn your back, and keep watch for me.”

Mina muttered and complained behind her, and eventually splashed into the waters. She heard the rasping of fabric on fabric as the doll scrubbed her dress. “Ugh,” she groaned.

“You all right, M’lady?”

“Yes. I just… there are clouds of filth coming off my hair. Clouds.”

“Kin I ax you something?” Letti ventured.

“I suppose,” Mina said, doubtfully. “Oh, how I wish we’d found soap.”

“Yer hair. Was it – is it really that color?” The splashes stopped. Over the chatter of water dancing through the shallows, she could hear drops plonking from the doll’s limbs. “It’s jes’ pretty, M’lady. Never seen the like, meself.”

“Yes, Letti,” Mina sighed. “I was – this was made to resemble me. To look as I did when I was a child.”

“You ain’t, then? I mean,” she added, hurriedly, “you ain’t a kid like me?”

“No.” Mina sniffed, and the girl thought to wonder why. Did a doll need to breathe? Was it habit? “You could be my daughter. If I had a… Pass me the comb,” she said, too loudly. “Do not look, just hold it out behind you.”

“Yes’m.”

Tiny fingers, river-cold, brushed across her palm, lingered on her wrist. “Your fingers are… bent.”

A tremor passed through her. “Some of ‘em got broke.”

“You have so many scars,” Mina said, softly.

“Naw,” Letti said. “No more’n anyone.”

Silence. The cold spots wandered across callouses and old injury. The girl shivered at their passage in the dark. “I can feel how deep they run,” the doll said behind her, an odd resonance in her voice. “All the way to your heart.”

A twig snapped in the wood.

“Please finish yer bathin’, M’lady,” the girl whispered, pulling her hand back.

“Is that-?” the doll began, uncertainly.

The underbrush cracked and whispered. A little familiar cackle of a laugh.

Letti’s stomach churned. “Get under the water,” she whispered, hoarsely.

“I certainly will not,” Mina huffed. “You wish to drown me?”

She glanced over her shoulder. The doll was standing in water up to her belly, holding her elaborate dress up against her porcelain chest. Damask and lace rippled downstream in the moonlight, dark and wet. “But, M’lady,” she said, “ya don’t need to breathe.”

The doll looked down at the face of the water, strewn with pearls where the moonlight struck it. “I suppose not,” she said.

The noise of feet came closer. A coarse mutter of obscenities and a snicker.

“Truss me,” she hissed, pinching her lower lip, hugging herself tight. “Get under an’ don’t come out ‘til they leave.”

The doll wadded up her dress and walked further from shore, until the darkness had slipped up to her shoulders. Her gem-eyes clicked to Letti’s face a last time before she sank from sight, only a few wisps of ruby hair marking her place on the surface.

A pack of feral teenagers tumbled out of the woods, shoving and muttering one another. “Hey guys,” the leader called, leering down at Letti. “It’s rat girl.”

“H-hey Kerra,” she stammered, trying not to scrunch as they circled her, grinning, brown and yellow teeth luminous under the moon.

“What ya doin’ here-bouts?” the taller girl asked. “Late, ain’t it? Can’t see who-all’s out in the dark with you.”

She looked off to the side. “Just – just needed a drink.”

Kerra grabbed Letti’s chin and yanked it around to face her. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Scars. The smell of sweat and cheap, stinging alcohol. Letti inhaled sharply, blinking away the pain in her neck and the sting in her eyes . “My face ain’t over there, rat girl,” Kerra said.

“S-sorry,” she said.

The older girl’s fingers squeezed, ragged fingernails digging into Letti’s cheeks as the other girls pawed at her dress. “Ain’t nothin’ on her, Kerra,” one of them called.

“Aw, now ain’t that a shame.” More teeth appeared. “How we gonna know we’re all friends if ya ain’t got nothin’ nice for us?”

“Sorry,” she repeated, trying not to let the tears spill out.

“Why you cryin’, rat girl? We are all friends here, ain’t we?”

“Y-yeah,” she said.

“Lookit,” one of the other girls snickered. “She’s shaking. Bet she pisses herself again.”

She set her jaw to hold the whimper in.

Kerra motioned to one of the other girls, and Letti’s legs disappeared from under her.

“Ah!” She rolled on to her hands, the back of one knee throbbing with pain.

“Careful, rat girl. Almost hit me on the way down. Weren’t tryin’a hit me, were ya?”

“No, Kerra,” Letti said, tears dotting the ground around the other girl’s feet.

“I’d hafta break another finger.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she repeated. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

The other girls shuffled around her, bare feet thudding into her side, laughing as the world went silver and swimmy.

“Leave my servant be,” a small voice attempted to bellow.

She rolled on her side, panting. Mina was striding from the water, chin up, dress forgotten, ruby hair spread across the waves like a veil. Water streamed out of a hole through her chest, visible by the shimmer of the moon on water behind her. A nimbus of silver-blue smoke surrounded her, snapping and fluttering against the wind, glinting off brass hinges, porcelain limbs. Her jewel-eyes lit the mud, the milling girls, the blood and tears.

“M’lady, no,” Letti groaned.

She folded around Kerra’s kick in an explosion of breath.

“Shuddup ‘vaca,” Kerra said absently, as the smaller girl vomited into the grass. “Whassis now? Some kinda dolly?”

“I am a lady,” Mina said, her phosphorescence pulsing back the darkness. “Do not call me dolly.”

“Yeah? Ya look like a rich fella’s toy ta me.”

The pupils in her cut-glass eyes slitted, like a cat’s. “Not anymore.” She stopped beside Letti, laying one tiny hand on her as she glared up at the other girls. Her radiance hissed. “I will thank you for leaving my servant be. Go about your business now.”

She only came up to Kerra’s waist.

The other girls were shifting, moving away from the glowing doll. Kerra’s lips twisted up on one side, a canine fang showing through. “Bet this thing’s expensive. Someone’d pay a lot for it. That what you were hidin’ from us, Letti? Hidin’ from yer friends?”

Mina snapped her fingers up at her. “You will address me. Not my servant.”

Kerra laughed down at the doll. Mina’s fingers curled into claws.

“Don’ make ‘em mad,” Letti wheezed, bile dripping from her nose.

Mina looked down at her sharply. “Why do you not stand up to them?” she demanded. “Why are you afraid?”

“M-m’lady,” Letti sobbed. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her eyes burned, and fell to the silver-lit ground.

The doll’s eyes clicked and flared. “Show me your heart,” she said, the small voice resounding in her head like thunder.

The doll went limp, collapsed in a clatter. But Mina stood there still, carved from light, an ethereal key swirling out of her corona. “Show me,” she hissed, and stabbed it like an icicle through the heart of the girl quaking at her feet.

Little whiskers tickling her tear-stained cheeks.

Tiny paws wrapped around shining gifts.

Black eyes shining in a hundred morning lights.

The warmth and weight of a small life on her shoulders, curled around her neck.

Laughter and delight as the rat darted to and fro, pursuing insects.

The hush of snow numbing her back as she curled around her fur, huddling together as they both shivered and breathed together, praying for spring.

Hands that never punched or clawed or shoved. Eyes that held only cleverness and love.

Why, what a sweet little creature, Mina’s voice swam across the memories, unexpectedly.

Kerra’s grin as they held her down. The bricks smashing one finger, then another.

Pleading, babbling, a torrent of hysterical words.

“Ya gotta do something for us.”

Her friend dangled in the air before her, black whiskers bent, writhing and swinging as she tried to claw and bite the fingers holding her long pink tail.

“You kin do it,” Kerra said. “It’s easy. Grab the head, grab the shoulders. Twist ‘til ya hear the snap.” She grinned. “The faster ya do it, the less it’ll hurt ‘er.”

The little nose wet against her cheek. Whiskers tickling.

“Or do we start on the fingers again?” the older girl said, hefting the brick.

She tried to make it painless. She tried so, so hard.

Kerra leered down, split lip pulled back to show her fangs.

“Now eat it.”

She was back in the night, knees and palms caked with wet black earth, tears flowing hot and fast.

The doll’s ethereal hands were cold on her shaking shoulders. “You b*tches,” Mina hissed, glaring around at the terrified girls. “You made her – you should all rot in the ground!”

“Stop it,” Letti sobbed. “N’more. Please.”

Kill her, Mina’s voice hissed from behind ear, from the back of her mind.

“No,” she shook her head, breath ragged. “I won’t.”

You want to. My teeth are in your heart, servant. I taste your hate. You kept it locked inside to age, like fine brandy. Now it is black and ripe with it. Soaked through. You can lie to yourself, but not to me. I can make you strong.

“Don’t make me,” Letti sobbed.

You know she deserves it, the doll’s voice slid through her. Bilious memories surged up from the back of her throat.

The humid metal of blood on her tongue.

Kill her.

Tiny bones cracking between her teeth.

Kill her.

The scourging of laughter and applause.

Kill her.

Kerra’s foot on her back, pressing. “Every last bite, puvaca.”

Kill her.

The world was clad in silver. The darkness was gone. The cold was gone. There was just anger, memories crowding close, playing and replaying. Echoing laughter, burning tears, and power – power trembling through her thin and scarred limbs.

And fluttering before her, a wisp of life, quailing in terror from hands wreathed in otherworldly fire.

It was easy. Take a good hold, and twist until it snaps.

It took her a moment to remove herself. The other girls ran while she slid her key back into porcelain and brass.

“I think they have learned a lesson,” Mina said, as she sorted the tangle of her limbs. “Ugh. Next time I must leave this body more cautiously. Perhaps lay it down first.” She looked over to Letti, who was crying in the dark by the river. “Well? I believe some thanks are in order.”

“Let me alone,” the girl sobbed. “You made me – oh, Spirits,” she retched again, gagging into the grass. Thin streams of spit and bile ran from her mouth; there was nothing left within her.

Mina folded her arms across the hole in her chest. “You needed that. I only did it to help you.”

The girl shook her head, curling up on the ground, hiding her bloodshot eyes behind scabbed knees. “Yer evil,” she whispered.

Mina stared at her for a moment, fingers clicking as they flexed. “You saw evil,” she said at last, voice tight as a violin string. “And you did nothing.” She leaned close. “This place is sick. Sick people with sick values. I will not stand for it anymore.” She stood, and glared down at the weeping child.

“I am leaving,” she declared, tossing her ruby hair back over her shoulders. “If you wish to remain my servant, follow.” She gathered up her soaked dress, and marched purposefully into the night.

She never saw Letti again.

Abilities

Mina is a ranged, magical damage Support who dominates teamfights with a combination of mobility, crowd control, and powerful debuffs or buffs. Mina is suited best for the Tactician role, supporting her lane partner in several different ways. Welcome to the MOBA-Champion first look for Mina, the Tyrant.Of all the supports currently released in Dawngate, Mina appears to have the highest skill cap and requires excellent micromanagement and awareness. With the ability to deal damage, slow, fear, shield, provide damage reduction, damage amplification and become unforgettable, her kit provides her with more than enough tools to turn the tides of any team fight.

Spite (Q) Mina fires a ghostly projectile in target direction, dealing magical damage to the first target hit. If the target was a Shaper, Mina or her Host gains a buff - differing depending on Mina or her Host's archetype.

Carry, Mage, Assassin: deals bonus damage to the next Shaper they damage. Support, Bruiser, Tank: deals bonus damage and slows the next Shaper they damage.

Range: 950 Cooldown: 11/10/9/8/7

Key to the Heart (W) Mina becomes untargetable and jumps into ally Shaper, shielding them. Mina continues to shield them as long as she remains within them. Mina may reactivate Key to the Heart to jump to target location, shielding herself before damaging and fearing nearby enemies.

Range: 600 Cooldown: 12/12/12/12/12

Siphon Soul (E) Mina instantly deals magical damage to target enemy, sharding off a piece of their soul to grant Mina or her Host damage reduction for a short time.

Range: 650 Cooldown: 14/13/12/11/10

Sever Ties (R) Mina deals magical damage to all enemy Shapers in an area and separates them from their souls for a short time. During this period, all affected Shapers take % increased damage from Mina's team - doubled for Mina or her Host.

Range: 550 Cooldown: 130/115/100

Skill Order

When considering a skill order, its important to examine how an ability scales with levels, both in its damage/healing/shielding and its cooldown. In Mina's case, the cooldown of her Q and E are reduced with each point, but the cooldown of W is constant across all levels. All flat damage and healing scales in Dawngate, and the slow on Mina's Q also scales with level. However, the percentage damage reduction on her E does not scale with level.

Maxing Q will provide the most DPS in lane, provided you can hit your skill shots and you or your host is able to make use of the followup damage.

Maxing W will give the most damage prevention in lane and does grant increased damage. However, the damage share stays flat at 40%, the fear duration is constant 0.75 seconds and the cooldown is not decreased. Thus, I would recommend maxing Q before W in most cases, unless you really need the increased shielding.

Mina's E is a bit of an enigma. Due to the scaling cooldowns, Rank 3 of E will grant the same cooldown as W at all ranks. Adding points to E will increase damage, but not by as much as Q or the combined shielding or healing from her W.

With this in mind, my initial impression is to max Q first at level 9, followed by E to rank 3, and then max W, while taking your ultimate at each opportunity. Place more priority on your W if you want to play more offensively.

Gameplay Tips

Since your Q can be blocked and damages the first target hit, try to distance yourself slightly from your lane partner. This way you can launch your Q from your current position or from your allies, reducing the cover your enemies receive from their allies. (Don't outrange your passive though!) You can also disengage from your host to get a better angle on target. The damage reduction from your E scales well with your target's resistances. Protecting a tank's damage intake by 20% can cause them to seemingly live forever. If the enemy carry is fed, consider shifting your focus to your own front line. The fear component of your W can be used offensively to disorient the enemy team, or defensively to peel for your allies. Properly usage of your fear can make or break team fights. Try to use a carry as a host when using your ultimate to vastly increase their DPS You can cast your Q on an enemy bruiser/tank/support to proc the slow, and then apply the slow on a carry or mage. Your W can be used to juke incoming enemy spells. Offer yourself as bait, and then inhabit an ally to waste opponent cooldowns. Mina will follow Hosts over walls, and can even hop a ride on Dibs for extremely cute global pressure. Defiance and Harmony synergize really well with Mina's kit. With high levels of haste/CDR, you can permanently offer damage reduction to an ally.