[Champion Concept] | Fronde, Cusp of the Cold |
#CCOS ENTRY: Fronde, Cusp of the Cold
######To those who are confused by the Bonus Links, and the specification that this is a CCOS Champion Concept Entry, I'm entering in a monthly champion concept contest hosted by the Archivist Echoing. You can find this month's CCOS post here. I really suggest you offer feedback, enter, or if your daring be a judge for one of the entries, as it can be a lot of fun while granting some insight to champion design and gameplay.
#Art and Visuals:
######All art is mine unless specified otherwise. I have no deviant art or anything like that.
##In Game Icon:
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/347229237268447267/347639328647675904/fronde_icon_2.png
##In Game Description:
For the duration of the game, Fronde is atop of her closest Jimmselk, Chaste. While moving at out of combat, she leans over while riding the elk. When in combat, she leans back as she pulls back each shot of her long bow. Between her Jimmselk's antlers is a thick string she draws back with large arrows, which she uses for all arrow attacks in her kit. While her model is rather large for a marksmen, she would likely receive something similar to “The Aurelion Sol Treatment.”
##Sketches:
http://i.imgur.com/gimsLe9.jpg
http://i.imgur.com/oRSRj6j.jpg
##Splashart:
http://i.imgur.com/MDMsdKE.jpg
##From Other Artists:
http://i.imgur.com/PcfU82O.jpg
http://i.imgur.com/qhxR4Oe.jpg
#Overview:
##Role:
Primary: Marksmen
Secondary: Artillery Mage
##Basic Attack Range:
450
##Movement Speed:
325
##Resource Bar:
Mana
##Niche:
Telegraphed, High Damage Attacks Which Allow Movement Between Shots
##Power Budget:
Offense ■■■■■■■□□□ Defense ■■□□□□□□□□ Utility: ■■■□□□□□□□ Safety: ■■■■■■■■□□ Range: ■■■■■■■■■■
#General Information:
##Full Name:
Fronde Koldt'kuld Frelsjeirn
##Gender:
Female
##Race:
Urc-Troll
##Birthplace:
Boc’Ll, the Freljord
##Residence:
Nomadic
##Weapons:
Longbow attached to Jimmselk mount’s antlers
| Fronde Origins |:
Roaming the outskirts of the Freljord and all that freezes within, Fronde, Cusp of the Cold, searches for the remaining Jimmeslk, a divine race of elk and the key to snatching her home from eternal winter. After learning of her task in her youth, having it thrust upon her with none to turn to, Fronde is a prodigy of the Urc, trolls, and the Freljord as a whole.
#Arrival
I trudge through deep white fields, passing between hills and trees, like our gates that once stood high. The gates which led the people of the Urc on their journeys, on roads of troll design.
Boc’Ll, the Urc village has been dancing in and out of view for the last half hour. The blizzard yanks its curtain, back and forth, hiding my home for brief periods. Its silhouette reminds me of who resides within, empowering me. I will not rest, not yet.
Consistantly I catch myself looking back. For a moment I’m wracked with worry for them, but I force myself to believe they’re safe. I face back towards Boc’Ll and focus on who else I’ve got to protect.
She’s so thoughtful and careful. It worries, and scares me. I truly don’t think she spends her days merely fishing, hunting, weaving, and so on while I am gone. As she would put it, she wouldn’t limit herself. But then, what does she do?
Boc’Ll is large for the Urc. Our nomadic people have stayed to these planes for a very long time, in comparison to usual. I remember the huts and pits being built and dug as I brought her into these flats.
Fronde, my little girl, awaits by the entrance to our band, gleeful but patient for me to walk through the gate. By tradition, she must wait for me to pass the line of entry, a ceremonial stripe marked at the front of Boc’Ll. Now seeing her with my own eyes, I begin a heavy sprint towards her. My exhaustion is forgotten for the moment. I embrace Fronde, her body small but tough. After a long pause, I release her. Standing once more, I hold my daughter’s large hand, squeezing it, a spot of warmth in this endless expanse of cold. With hand secured in mine, we pass through the village, uniquely calm for a troll camp.
She tugs at my own hand and stares at me, with a sinister, mature look. Too mature describes Fronde perfectly. It was often eerie how she acted for a young Urc. After a moment she asks, “How did your journey go matron?”. I don’t reply, assuming she’s not interested enough to continue asking. However she nevertheless advances. “Matron?” the little Urc asks, taking the time to let the word slip from her lips with grace unknown to most trolls. “Is something wrong?”, she pushed. Tired, I reply, “Nothing you can help with. Not now at least.”
Turning towards her as I kneel and bring her hand to my stressed, wrinkled face. Tears break to the surface and escape to my face. Fronde stares at me in fear, confused. “Matron!” she cries. It's so cold my tears begin to freeze already. “Life is a burden, that is all Fronde. Every journey becomes more and more desperate.”
I stand back up and begin walking once more down the central trail of Boc’Ll with my little girl’s hand in mine. I do not stare at her, only enjoy her presence as we walk in unison to our hut. Other trolls take notice of my return as we pass, however none greet us.
We don’t make it far before an earth crunching boom sounds a distance away, making one wince. Whatever made the noise was not pretty.
Turning to the origin of the sound, a mass of sea colors moves towards Boc’Ll some distance away. Some rusty and pale spots also appear in the approaching war band. After a moment of progress, the blizzard gives way and I can clearly see them. One blue troll with a rusty, red beard stands leading the confident crowd of warrior trolls. They sway and lurch like a ship in a sea storm, unorganized and chaotic. I feel Fronde’s arm go limp and the blood drain from my face.
Her time has come so early…
Slamming his True Ice weapon once more into nearby terrain, another explosion is heard. Trundle’s warband shakes the earth as it advances and Boc’Ll descends into chaos.
#Recall:
The snow swirls in front of my face, without any guarde to protect it. All I can tell is we’re running from Boc’Ll. I’m following mother blindly through the white winds, the only indication of her position being my hand in hers. The earth cries out a mile away near Boc’Ll as Trundle asserts dominance over yet another tribe.
Whispering, ”Fervil”, to the reckoning we’ve left, I know I won’t return to Boc’Ll as we know it.
The ground solidifies under my feet, frigid stone supporting my weight now rather than deep snow. I can see boulders and stone structures pass near me. An extremely tall wall appears, as if of a fort, and it only grows larger as we approach it’s vastness. And suddenly with an unexpected yank_ from matron, I’m pulled into darkness._
The pitch black shields me from the blizzard that no longer barrages me. Opening my fearful eyes, my surroundings come into sight. My mother and I stand in a rough cave. Behind me, the entrance to it is carved into the face of some massive rock formation. In front of me, scaffolding and carving still marks a stone corridor leading on. Shivering with frozen tears, mom turns to me, still holding my hand. Looking into her face, I see her terror dissipating, replaced by relief.
“We’re here... “ she mumbles to herself, lost in thought. Turning her attention back to me, she starts speaking, “Fronde, I can’t believe I’m pulling you into this too. I had to lead you away from Trundle’s warband. I couldn’t risk it.” I try to comfort her, but I still don’t understand. After Trundle made his entrance, mother just demanded I follow her away through the back of Boc'Ll. Only the blizzard shielded us from being seen.
“Matron,” I begin, trying to sound calm, “Why did we leave Boc’Ll? And why are we here?”.
For a moment she looks around the cave, avoiding eye contact with me. She opens her mouth, closes it, then finally starts to speak rather quickly, “We have a duty Fronde. I think you’ve known this. No god or queen forces our hand, but we cannot sit idol.
“Mother!” I snap, done with wandering blindly into the future with only her vague explanations. “I want to understand.”
She squats down, and even now she must look down into my young eyes. I look up at her aged and exhausted..
With sorrow, she explains, “Fronde… Boc’Ll is a nomadic village. You know, the way of Urc. It is not my first home nor yours and if not for Trundle’s attention it would be leaving these flats soon. I raised you here in Boc’Ll, so we would always be close to here, our Urr Site.” I scramble for a second to collect the fragments she offers. An Urr Site was an Urc’s, or any troll’s, ancestral burial ground. Some Urr Sites claimed to have blood pacts.
I speak up, attempting to keep a level voice, “What? Wh-why are we here? Mom. Tell me what we’re doing here…”. My mother stands back up and turns away, looking down the cave hallway. In a quiet, eery voice, she responds, “I’ll show you.” She reaches for my hand, which I give, and immediately begins down the corridor.
As we make our way through the cave, I take notice of its features. Clearly someone once planned to carve this area into something nicer. Although their hopes were not fulfilled. Ancient scraps, such as nails and cloth, were scattered occasionally across the ground. In my matron’s palm, a glowing light illuminates the tunnel, a result of Urc proficiency and skill within the Freljord.
Sooner rather than later, we enter a new room. Wide in one way but not in the other, the room bared teeth, stalactites hanging from above. Around the room, embeded into the walls, dozens of tablets stood. Etched into each of the stone plates, wretched glyphs and carvings surround a crude painting of a red ruby.
My mother turned to me once more, locking eyes. Her face was stiff and hard, as if it were a fault under extreme pressure. She whispered, “Fronde. I can explain everything to you. I’m going to show you what I’ve done and what you will do. My time to Roam is approaching, but it appears I’ll depart tonight.” I knew what she meant.
I lock up for a moment, then launch myself to her body. I screamed resistance in her ear, embracing her fragile soul. She tries to hold me close as I thrash. Speaking to me, “Fronde, please. There is a saying of the Urc. ‘How one dies shows how one lived’...”. She paused before speaking once more, “I’ve lived for you, and now I die for you.” The poor women ran a hand down my underdeveloped horns.
”You can show me! I need you-you don’t need to-” I tried to reason. She interrupted, “Fronde. You know you're like no other Urrc. Or trolls. We have been kissed by both the Jimmselk and our ancestor’s grace. If I ignored my purpose… I have already overstayed my welcome. Words cannot give you what you’ll need. You know I and our ancestors wouldn’t risk leaving you to your journey alone.”
I let it all sink in, like poison. I was like her very much, as in we’re both stubborn fools.
”Matron” I called, her hands now holding my face.
”Yes?”, She replied.
”Who do you really live for? The Jimmselk, or your daughter?” I ask, revealing my limited knowledge of the divine elk to her. She never directly told me of the beasts herself, but I was eager and interested.
Another tear, yet to freeze, rolls down her face. Without an answer, she slaps her hand against an uncarved tablet, new and fresh, causing an unsettling burst of force, and then my vision slipped.”
#Departure:
The world fills in around me, the color swirling and pouring into objects like clay-tainted water. My skull feels exposed, as if one has cracked it open to peer inside. My entire focus is on now, and not what was.
Immediatly, I can tell this is clearly some dream. I feel welcoming radiance and warmth all around me, something utterly alien to the Freljord.
And then I looked up.
Shock, like that of thunder, fills me as I take in a brilliant sky, still marked with cloud and snow, but clean of the bitter cold I’ve grown accustom to. I’m shaking and trembling, admiring the lack of wretched blizzards and frigid winds. Dropping to my knees, I took notice of my surroundings.
The flats that homed Boc”Ll, still surrounded by a ring of hills, now blossom with life. Snow still blankets the world, but not with the shivering spite I knew. I marvelled at the wonder. Boc’Ll was not seen, but instead nature flowed undenied through me and the flats.
With a giddy start, I begin sprinting into the world. One of the smiles my mother always cherished blooms like the flaura on my face. This felt just so much more right. This world was honest and raw, still the Freljord, yet without the unnatural, bitter, cold.
However my joyous celebration, like a lone flame in the Freljord, did not last long.
The world starts shifting once more, the colors and shapes dissolving. A feeling of foreboding begins to form, and I look about as the final pieces come together. A tall, weakly forest stands around me. The sharp smell of blood is disgustingly strong in the air.
I turn, taking in my surroundings. It is dusk, the sky filled with contrasting colors. To the west there is bitter cold, spreading its claim slowly. To the east, dozens of corpses lay. Some have bled out, others froze to death. Some appear to just be sleeping, with no clear cause of their demise. However, some twenty five corpses stand out. They are elk, and I can tell they are the Jimmselk.
Like the forest, their corpses are sickly and thin. Their once massive antlers decay. The frost has yet to claim these dead.
This dream, or memory perhaps, is clearly not mine. Without further visions, I can tell; this is not the first massacre of the Jimmselk, nor the last.
Again, the world drifts away, changing into a totally new area. A troll women, specifically an Urc, stands on a hill. A caravan-group of Jimmselk, follows her. She is leading them to safety.
“Why is she alone? Why do not others help her?” I whisper to myself. A firm voice answers in a tongue unknown to me, however I understand it as, “She is troll. Man trusts not and Trolls care no more of her task. The Jimmselk have learned to trust only those blessed by their aura.” I still have questions, but hold my tongue.
Around me the world flies by, the land shifting and changing. Time is rapidly passing and I feel the pain and purpose of my Urc forefathers and foremothers. This magic is bound by our bloodline.
The knowledge of the dead illustrates the brilliance of the Jimmselk. Their aura of prosperity and growth. They are the soul of this land, they breath in it divine life. These majestic elk are torch that keeps away the cold.The Jimmselk bring affluence.The dream is still showing me and filling me with purpose, exposing those who aim to crush the soul that is the Jimmselk as my enemies.
_ As the memories of my mother and our ancestors flood into my mind my questions begin to have answers. The Freljord has not always been bitter and vile. This ice is dark and hostile, and the magic foreign to our lands. The Jimmselk are dieing because… because of what!? A voice, long dead, slurs a name into my thoughts: “The Watchers…”. A hatred grows in my breast of these Watchers, despite my lacking knowledge of them. I feel I once knew them, but the fragments are missing._
I do not know who the Watchers were, or are, but I do know what my own, my mother, and our predecessor’s duty is. The dream-world’s rapid changing slows and it begins to flatten. Something has changed.
I raise my head, feeling the cold wrap me once more. I find myself in the cave once more, the ghastly tablets surrounding me. There is no indication of my mother, save for the once empty tablet she had pressed her palm to. Now covered in carvings, of her journey in life, and a softly painted red ruby, the tablet sits quietly like the others.
I sit alone in the cave and the dust in my mind settles. And then, for the moment, I allow myself to weep.
#Short Story: Purging of Black Ice
##Date - ᨕᨊ ᨔᨂᨈᨘᨍ
I think I’ve finally figured out how I’ll track the Jimmselk down beyond wandering in their regions.
Over the years, after my matron’s death, I’ve learned so much more. My progress has been irritatingly slow, but every year I feel so different.
Beyond the knowledge my ancestors have granted me, I’ve refined my innate troll magic. I still won’t ever rely on something so capricious, so I’ve taken the stringed bow and feathered arrow as my weapon of choice.
Despite all this change however, I keep in mind the Urc creed. The Urc stay restless. We are nomads and for good reason. I have not returned to Boc’Ll and I move my camp often. For my own safety and the future of the Jimmselk, this is necessary.
The question today however, is if I’ve refined my abilities to a sufficient degree.
I’m at the top of a hill in the Sloping Spires, north of Boc’Ll and on the eastern half of the Freljord. I’ve had exceptionally better luck finding Jimmselk in the east, who’ve migrated long ago due to the corruption beginning from the west.
I turn to the peak of a nearby Spire, tall and rounded. I begin walking towards it’s shadow, long and slightly sinister. Once I’m enveloped in the shade, I hold out a single palm to the Spire, then hold another hand over it.
Next I turn the second hand, as if gripping a jar or attempting to wrench open a container. Around the Spire ley lines form a circle. The glowing lines extend out, like limbs. I focus my power, with finesse and grace. The limbs of the ley line maw begin to shift, their numbers all turning to a single direction. North. The ley lines have formed a compass, each limb having pulled into a single pointer, strong and radiant, indicating the Jimmselk should be near.
Finally, I drop the ritual, causing the ley lines to instantly fall dormant once more. Turning north, it is still early in the day, the sun having recently risen. If the ley lines are accurate, this is an incredible step forward. For the moment, I smile, a rare luxury.
I jog down to my camp site, preparing for a bustle.
”How long has that bastard been following me?”, I whisper to myself. I’ve been marching through a wet, soggy forest since I departed from my camp.
I can’t see him anymore, once I did he took notice slowed down significantly. But I’ve left some triggers for him, indicating he certainly was still following me. He was hooded and large, but the night veiled any other features.
I would not be taken by surprise. I already painted my skin with white chalk earlier when the light shone, but I’ve put out my torch too. Taking steps with extreme care, I squat behind cover and wait. This forest is tight and clumped, providing cover for both him and I.
After waiting for half an hour roughly, the dust begins to stir. I hear foot steps, crunching frozen leaves and pressing icy snow. He passes me, takes a look up to the trees, then turns his eyes directly to me. I tense up, distracted by how strange he's acted. I straighten up, my bow already drawn, and fire a perfect shot. He is only a dozen or two feet away, yet his hand flies up in time and suddenly he holds my arrow.
Without hesitation, I immediately fire another shot, this time low and unpredictably. In sync with my release, he makes an inhuman roar, giving off a powerful aura of rich jade. The aura fades and the arrow lies broken at his feet.
I back away from him, still unable to make out many features, and shocked at his power. I prepare to draw another arrow, but return the arrow to my quiver. I remove a long dagger, curved and exotic.
Before I speak out, he explains in a harsh voice, “Try as you might, troll, your deep scent will give you away every time.”
He takes a few steps closer, into one of the small patches of moonlight the thick forest allows. He is a monk, well muscled and clearly disciplined. Contrasting his humble look, his skin is dirty and his hair grows wild. On each fist a painted wooden semi-gauntlet guards his rough hands. He wears a fine kilt, clearly sewn in a distant land, that struggled against nature’s rough brutality.
”Lower your blade troll.” he demands. I lunge at him, meeting his wooden gauntlet with my dagger. He deflects my attack and and I spring away. “Urc troll”, he calls, “Let us talk, or are you another fool?”.
I lock my eyes onto his. I am low with my dagger poised. I start, “Why the hell are you following me?”. I open one hand and begin channeling something chaotic and unrestrained, a Shatter. He takes notice, and speaks quickly. “You wander north, to the Ice Witch’s lands which I stalk. This is not questionable for a troll, but a female Urc alone peaks my interest.” He nods toward my troll magic, “And you clearly have some rare finesse for a troll.”
”So what now_”? I bark, standing strong. I cannot give him opportunity._
“Would it aid you to know that I am the Spiritwalker?” he claims. I scrunch my face and create more distance.
His abilities were interesting, but nothing indicated he was the Spirit walker. “Show me” I reply with anger.
The forest lit up as the vessel of the pheonyx burst before me. Flames radiated from his divine power and the graceful wings of the bird burst into existence. After the shocking moment passed, the flames went out and he recollected himself. He tried to hide his satisfaction while I tried to hide my stunned reaction.
”Yo-What is your business with me?” I stammer. Suddenly I hold tremendous respect for this man. This custodian of the natural order must have goals akin to my own. I lower my dagger and after a delay sheath it.
He answered, “I predict we could be very valuable allies to one another…”. He started up again, “I know you are searching for something. I think I can help”. The man lifted his thick brows while he waited for a response.
I’m still angry about his approach. “What’s your name stranger?” I ask, gritting my teeth.
“Udyr”, He supplied, solemnly.
The wretch then had the arrogance to turn without another word and walk away. He forced me to choose: stay and lose the opportunity, or follow him. Damnit. I had to pick the latter.
I kept the Shatter channeled in my hand, a glowing, sharp, force ready to be released.
We tread through heavy snow, the forest beginning to become less and less dense. Suddenly Udyr takes a turn around a hill. He turns to me and waves for my attention, ushering me closer. I’m wound like a trap, ready to spring the second he pulls anything.
Around the hill something lies in the snow. Its a Jimmselk, freezing to death. Its sick and snow coats its dieing body. Its state fills me with fury, putting the Shattering in a dangerous state. I squash the Shattering, along with any risk of me losing control over it.
My breaths are loud and full, my blood is boiling. The weak Jimmselk however is breathing poorly and freezing to death. I turn to Udyr_, fire lit behind my eyes._
“Who’s done this?” I shout, trying to keep control and tame my temper. I know who’s done it, the Ice Witch and her black ice. Udyr knows too, and doesn’t answer.
I forget the monk for the moment and turn to the Jimmselk. Its body is sick and it lays on its side. I examine its body as gently as possible, anger keeping me quick. I search for any wounds, but I find nothing. Nevertheless, blood has soaked into the snow under the Jimmselk.
I’ve never considered I might possess the ability to heal. But it won’t hurt to try. I place each of my hands on her defiled body, trying to cleanse it of the black ice’s corruption. I can feel some weight, like a coat of lead, lift as my limited power surges, however nothing else occurs. Another hand is placed on the Jimmselk’s body, big and worn. Udyr is kneeling next to me.
“Allow me to help.” He offers confidently. He really is an arrogant fool.
He begins to mumble a Freljordian mantra, sharpening his mind. It sounds clean over the silent fall of snow that has begun. The wind too stopped, as if to honor his words. I know this song. After a moment, I too begin singing, setting aside my anger towards him.
The Spiritwalker shot me a look for just a moment, his face surprised but dire. We channeled the same power the Jimmselk expel constantly, healing and rich. At first, nothing changed.
I felt warmth flow through me, the man, and the elk. It was rejuvenating. And suddenly the frost and snow around the Jimmselk began to melt. Color returned ever so slightly to its body and an eye twitched open.
I poured my energy into the beast willingly. I had to limit how much I gave. Suddenly I felt my strength begin to vanish, slipping away with speed. I leaned away, breaking our connection. Udyr already had stopped, crunched over. Fatigue began to creep up on me and accelerated until I felt utterly exhausted. Me and Udyr sat, gasping for breath after what we had done. It was as miraculous that the man truly was here to aid, as was what we had done.
Something shuffled before us but I had no energy to raise my head. I was still hunched over, recovering. After a few minutes however, I looked up into thoughtful eyes. The Jimmselk looked down at us, her antlers stretching to an incredible width.
The elk is free from the black ice and it’s corruptive properties. She is pure. I whisper to myself for a moment, not quite sure what I am saying. But then after a moment of gathering my senses, I decide to call this Jimmselk, Chaste.
#Lore Notes:
- Chaste feels in debt to Fronde and refuses to take refuge in Fronde’s Jimmselk haven.
- Fronde learns more of the bigger picture regarding the Jimmselk, corrupted Black Ice, Ice Witch, etc. over time but is still missing key parts.
- Only patient trolls with certain degrees of finesse from certain bloodlines can tap into the natural magic they have access to.
- Udyr and Fronde have gone their separate ways after saving Chaste through their combined effort, however they departed with extreme respect for each other. They very likely will meet again.
- Trundle does not raid villages like Boc’Ll. Instead he’ll siege, intimidate, or kill the leader of whatever faction he desires influence over. Once the band, village, or group has bent a knee to him, they are under the control of both Trundle and the Ice Witch.
- Leylines run through the ground and connect at areas of importance like the Sloping Spires.
######-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
#Abilities and Kit
Passive: Urc’s Craft:
Fronde benefits from only 60% of the attack speed she gains from items. Fronde will take .1 less second to draw her bow to full power for each 10% bonus attack speed she gains from items. While not basic attacking Fronde draws her longbow, increasing the range, damage, and attack speed of her next basic attack. Fronde can charge her bow for up to 3 seconds, at which point it her bow can no longer be charged but will remain charged till fired.
- ######Self Targeted Buff: Maximum Bonus Range: 300 | Attack Speed For Fully Charged Shots: 2.5 |
Q: Refined Influence: Fronde can quick tap this spell to fire a Shattering or charge it to fire a Shimmer.
When Key is Tapped: Fronde fires off a fast moving bolt of magic, a Shattering, that deals 100/150/200/260/310 (+75% of Total AD) single target physical damage in a long line.
Single Target Linear Projectile Spell | 180 Units Wide | 1100 Cast Range | 1125 Projectile Speed |
When Key is Held: Fronde slings a Shimmer, a wide orb of sparkling power forward in a long line, traveling slowly. Enemies hit are slowed by 35/40/45/50/55% while they are within or touch the Shimmer.
Multiple Target Linear Projectile Spell | Cast Range: 1050 | 375 Units Wide | 1125 Projectile Speed
If the Shimmer is hit by a Shattering it explodes dealing 80/130/185/240/290 (+65% of Total AD).
- ######Multiple Target Circular Area of Influence Spell | 400 Units Wide |
W: Curative Semblance: After a delay, Fronde’s Jimmselk, Chaste, emits an aura of prosperity and healing to the land, creating a Curative Zone for 3/3.5/4/4.5/5 seconds.
While Fronde is on the Curative Zone, she has 75% tenacity and charges her bow 25/30/35/40/45% faster. Every hard crowd control that hits Fronde reduces the bonus tenacity she receives by 30%.
Self Buff | Ground Targeted Area of Effect Spell | 500 Units Wide | 400 Unit Cast Range
E: Patience: Fronde takes aim and fires a beautifully crafted bolt in a target direction, impaling the first champion hit and marking them.
Patience deals 50/75/100/125/150 (+50% of Total AD). Marked enemies take 10/12.5/15/1.75/20% of damage dealt by Fronde as bonus physical damage after 3 seconds.
- ######Single Target Linear Projectile Spell | Cast Range: 850 | 175 Units Wide | Projectile Speed 2100
R: Comeuppance: Fronde leans and draws the bow to its maximum potential, nocking 6 arrows. During the .75 second delay, an indicator will reveal the area Fronde intends to fire. After the delay, she fires the volley of six arrows, equally spread in a 50 degree cone. An enemy can only be affected by a single arrow but can block multiple shots.
Comeuppance inflicts a 65% slow for .3 seconds, deals 100/140/180 (+60% of Total AD), and marks enemies with Patience.
- ######Multiple Target Linear Projectile Spell | Effect Radius 1150 | Collision Radius 15 | Projectile Speed 1900
######-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
#Gameplay Overview:
Fronde is a true artillery marksmen aimed for bot lane or even mid lane, bringing some extreme damage at the cost of being both telegraphed and delayed. While Fronde does use the gating resource known as mana, without a doubt her most valuable resource is time. With time she can charge her bow, complete Shimmer and Shatter combos, deal damage to marked enemies hit by Patience, and so on. The more time a Fronde has, the more damage she'll have access to.
The Cusp of the Cold has some fierce strengths. She has some significant range, naturally as an artillery champion, and nasty damage. Particularly if she can stay within her Curative Zone, staying safe from lockdown and raining hell on her enemies. While she isn't swift or fast, Fronde is slippery. Between her slows, extreme amounts of tenacity, and range, enemies will have a hard time cutting down a well positioned Fronde.
One of Fronde's biggest strengths is the ability to move around during fights, drawing her bow as she goes, while not losing out on damage in the long run. Unlike a high attack speed marksmen such as Kog'Maw, Fronde isn't forced into standing still to deal her damage.
While Fronde can deal some crazy damage from afar in team fights, while also able to poke down her foolish foes, she's got some clear weaknesses. Without a strong attack speed steriod and requiring to boost her attack power via Urc's Craft, Fronde's going to have some trouble taking down towers and objectives. In addition, Fronde lacks mobility to quickly reposition in fights. Finally, Fronde's damage is risky. She needs to draw her bow over time, relies on skill shots, and has delayed damage via Patience.
In general, Fronde is a high risk, high reward marksmen who rewards the player for decision making. How long should I charge my bow further or shoot now? Should I go for single target burst via a Shatter or an AoE attack combo? Would it be better to zone with my charged shot? I could stand my ground on my Curative Zone, or I could retreat.
In the end, Fronde is a fierce defender of what she believes in.
Thanks for taking the time to look at my concept, Fronde, Cusp of the Cold! I hope you enjoyed the read. Any and all constructive feedback is greatly appreciated and if you liked this concept please give it an upvote so others can see it to! See you next time!