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So I've given the matter of the new StarFox game's art direction a lot of thought these last couple of days. I've seen a lot of back-and-forth across the internet regarding the new designs, hearing both sides of the argument, and examining them myself.
I've come to the conclusion that I don't like them.
I can understand why some people would, and I respect the vision of trying to make them look more like the puppets on the old-school box art. To me, though, a number of characters just look and feel too uncanny.
Like, it feels as though everyone is doing actions their anatomy just straight-up isn't built for, and as much as I want to be able to suspend my disbelief and ignore it, my brain can't help but notice how unnatural it seems in the footage we have.
I think Falco is probably the worst offender. I hate his feather fingers. I'm no expert on avian anatomy, but I'm pretty sure feathers do not have the muscles or joints to move and bend in the ways required of the character. It feels like Falco's fingers she snap if he tries to press a button, steer a ship or hold a blaster. His talons also just make it look like sitting down in a cockpit should be uncomfortable.
Again, if you like the new designs, I'm not saying you're wrong. This is just one of those things that's going to bother some people way more than others and no amount of back-and-forth is likely going to change anyone's opinions on whether or not they vibe with the art style. I just personally don't care for it.
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So, saw something recently that in my opinion kinda misinterprets the sister's dynamic and what it represents, and I wanted to let it go but my brain started doing it's thing so now I wanted to talk a bit about them.
For those who don't know, Kayle and Morgana each represent half of the Aspect of Justice, and by that I mean it literally, each is incomplete without the other. Kayle represents Retributive justice and Morgana represents Restorative Justice, in other words Kayle is about punishing wrongdoing, Morgana is about fixing why the wrongdoing happened.
As time went on from when they got their power, each would slowly start to represent their different versions of justice more and more, which caused a lot of personal problems for Morgana as her justice is more empathic, but in the case of Kayle, the problems are for everyone else
Often times I see people wondering why Kayle is the one that's a bit more demonized in the lore, when the answer is quite obvious, when you go overboard with 'An Eye for an Eye' half the world ends up blind. When you believe that a hungry thief should have his hand cut because he stole an apple, you end up with a hungry man with a stump.
Justice means punishment for Kayle.
There is no redemption, there is no improving, there barely is a repenting. What matters is that you commited a crime, and you are being punished for it, because that is what justice is.
By contrast, the worst thing that can happen when Restorative justice goes overboard is that sometimes someone who deserves the punishment walks free or time is wasted trying to reform them. And while true in some cases, most people that commit crimes don't do it because they are irredeemable, but because they are desperate, and if you can help them they will improve. Demonstrably so.
And mind you, Kayle is also lucky to live in a fantasy world that actually has monsters and horrors beyond human comprehension where she can objectively be the good guy by simply swinging her swords at them. Don't get me wrong, some people certainly do deserve their heads being parted from their bodies, but it's not the mayority.
The point that I'm trying to get at is that while both versions of justice are wrong while not applied correctly, there's only one that in excess becomes immoral. There's only one that when taken to it's logical extreme ends up with the punishment for every crime, ANY crime, means death.
So one of the biggest issues in League's official canon is how many Champions tend to overlap their base concepts, and Viego and Mordekaiser are no exceptions. Both are undead tyrants with near-limitless power to corrupt and transform souls to do their bidding. They're pretty different in terms of personality and presentation, sure, but there's still a lot of overlap between their powersets.
Thus, I decided to try and better differentiate them.
It's been stated multiple times that in my version of the story, the Black Mist is not simply some vague necromantic power; it is pure negativity made manifest. For a brief refresher: the monks of the Blessed Isles would perform a ritual literally siphon the darkness out of sinners, leaving their worst criminals without the capacity for hatred, envy, greed or any other intense feeling that would drive them to evil acts.
That darkness was sealed within a magical lantern, slowly coalescing for centuries. When Viego opened that lantern, he became a vessel for the darkness, and unleashed it upon the isles as the Black Mist. Those whom the Black Mist touches have their worst desires and inner thoughts brought to the forefront, and amplified to the point that it can physically warp someone into a manifestations of their worst selves. In truth, it can be argued whether or not the Black Mist even truly turns someone undead, but it DOES enhance the worst aspects of someone's soul while burying or even crushing the goodness within them.
Mordekaiser, by contrast, using his understanding of True Names to enslave the spirits of the deceased. If the soul is a manifestation of the self and represents someone's identity, Mordekaiser effectively erases a person's identity to bind them to his will. His undead minions are stripped of their memories, their ideals, everything they were in life until they are little more than nameless specters bound in iron restraints.
To summarize: Viego turns you into the worst version of yourself, while Mordekaiser erases your sense of self altogether.))
Coming at you all with a little bit of a fanfic today. Riot wants to tie Xin Zhao into the Darkin storyline? I've got my own ideas about how that could've gone...
Where Loyalties Lie (A League of Legends fanfiction)
Note: This story features Xin Zhao and Aatrox as depicted prior to their VGUs.
The palace was quiet this evening. Xin Zhao’s footsteps were the only sound to reach his ears as he strode through the moonlit corridor. He knew the king would likely insist that he get some sleep, but the Seneschal would not be content until he finished making his rounds. In times of war, one must never grow complacent. That was a lesson that had been firmly engraved into Xin Zhao’s mind, to the point that it had become instinct. His instincts were seldom wrong.
Even so, as Xin Zhao walked, he could not help but think back to the recent battle. The Mage Rebellion had grown quieter since their leader, Sylas, was forced into hiding. However, their forces still posed a significant threat. Xin Zhao sympathized with them, of course. Having spent his youth in Ionia, the Seneschal never agreed with Demacia’s intense distrust of all things magical. Regardless, he’d sworn an oath to defend the kingdom, and that was an oath he intended to uphold.
The battle would have ended almost bloodlessly, too. The mages had coordinated the assault well, but they were outnumbered, and their powers meant little in the face of petricite weapons and armor. When Xin Zhao himself took to the field, it seemed as though the rebel strike force had been ready to surrender… But then he appeared. That inhuman swordsman, whose eyes burned like embers and whose blade pulsed like a beating heart.
The swordsman did something to those mages. His very presence seemed to instill them with an insatiable bloodlust. In an instant, they ceased casting spells, took up whatever weapons they could get their hands on, and charged the Demacian knights like wild beasts. They were disorganized, untrained in proper combat, and barely armored. In spite of that, each mage under the swordsman’s spell fought with inhuman strength and ferocity. It reminded Xin Zhao of that Noxian abomination, Sion; they became beasts that seemingly felt no pain and pushed onward until their bodies were too broken to move. It was nightmarish.
Xin Zhao had engaged the swordsman himself. They had dueled amidst the chaos of the battlefield, and the swordsman was unlike any foe the Seneschal had ever faced. The swordsman’s eyes were filled with that same ceaseless fury, but his movements were more composed; more refined. There was not a single wasted sword strike. Every attack was deliberate, and he only defended when Xin Zhao’s spear aimed for a vital point that could kill or cripple. It was terrifying, but also breathtaking…
The battle had ended when Demacian reinforcements arrived. The mages were killed to the last, and much as Xin Zhao would have preferred to take them prisoner, he wasn’t sure if that would have even been possible given their frenzied state. In the end, only the swordsman remained. Despite being woefully outnumbered, the swordsman showed not an ounce of fear. Xin Zhao thought for a fleeting moment that his foe would have fought the entire force of Demacian knights alone, and it was likely he would have killed most of them…
But then, the swordsman simply stopped. As if realizing there was no point in continuing to fight, he turned, and swung his blade through the air. A vicious wound seemed to open into the world itself. The swordsman walked through, the rift closed, and the battle ended. It had been a victory for Demacia, and yet…
Suddenly, Xin Zhao stopped. In an instant, he spun around, raising his spear. There, illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through the windows, was the swordsman. Like a phantom manifested from the Senechal’s own memory, the creature stood there unmoving. Xin Zhao gripped his spear tighter. “You!”
“Lower your spear,” the swordsman commanded. His voice was ancient, like a long-dead corpse brought to life and forced use vocal chords that should no longer function. “I am not here to fight.”
“And why should I believe a word you say?” Xin Zhao asked.
“Because in battle, words are meaningless.” The swordsman had his hands crossed on the hilt of his blade, its tip resting on the ground in front of him. “A true warrior need only speak with their weapon when facing an opponent. Right now, you are not my opponent.”
Xin Zhao narrowed his gaze. It could very-well be a trap, but he sensed that the creature’s words were genuine, and the Seneschal trusted his instincts. Reluctantly, Xin Zhao lowered his spear. “What do you want?”
The swordsman replied with a question of his own. “Do you know who I am?”
Xin Zhao took a deep breath. Of course he knew. Legends of this creature existed all across Runeterra. He’d heard stories of the Darkin Blade in all three nations he had called home. Some called him a hero, others a monster, but his name was carved into the bloody history of Runeterra itself. Even as Xin Zhao spoke that name, he felt both dread and reverence. “Aatrox. You grant victory in battle, but at the price of sanity. You turn soldiers into monsters and reduce them to savagery.”
“I merely reveal that which is already there: the fury that lurks in the hearts of all men. The savagery you speak of is simply the true nature of all who take to the battlefield.”
“You lie,” Xin Zhao replied. “That cannot be true.”
The Darkin merely shook his head. “Think what you will. I have not come to debate philosophy with you.”
The Seneschal raised his spear. “Then I ask again: why are you here?”
For a brief moment, Aatrox was silent, as though contemplating the reason himself. “I have fought in countless battles and faced innumerable foes across the millennia. Very few have stood against me as you have, and even fewer can claim to have defeated me. And yet… There is something different about you.”
Xin Zhao raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about it?”
“Why do you fight, Xin Zhao?” The question struck like a blade, and before the Seneschal could respond, Aatrox continued: “For what reason do you wield your spear?”
Xin Zhao’s answer was immediate. “To serve Demacia and protect the ki-”
“No.” Aatrox interrupted Xin Zhao before he could even finish. “That is not why you fight.”
“What? Of course it is! I pledged my loyalty King Jarvan III himself, and then to his son.”
“Yes…” Aatrox cast his gaze out the window. “And before that, you pledged your loyalty to Noxus after earning a name for yourself in the Reckoning. Before that, you pledged to defend your Ionian village from any who would threaten it. So tell me: what are your pledges truly worth?”
Xin Zhao was speechless. The Darkin’s words cut deep. Finally, the Seneschal found his voice again. “Are you calling me a traitor?”
Aatrox returned his gaze to the spearman. “Can you truly betray those to whom you harbor no loyalty to begin with?”
“Who are you to question my loyalty!?” Xin Zhao snapped. “You hold no allegiance to any nation or faction! Your blade has spilled blood from every corner of the world! You fight for whoever suits you at a given moment, for reasons I can scarcely fathom!”
“Then perhaps we are kindred spirits.”
In that moment, something in Xin Zhao broke. He rushed forward, closing the distance between himself and Aatrox. The Darkin reacted instantly, stopping the Senechal’s spear with the gauntlet that seemed fused to his right arm. The tip of Xin Zhao’s weapon managed to pierce the metal ever-so-slightly, but not enough to draw blood. Then, effortlessly, Aatrox forced Xin Zhao back, his blade still lowered.
“You strike at an opponent who has not even raised his blade?” The Darkin questioned. “Is this the honor that you Demacians hold in such high esteem? Or are you truly Demacian?”
Xin Zhao gritted his teeth, then stopped. He’s trying to provoke you. Don’t let him get in your head. The Seneschal took a deep breath, took a step back, then entered a combat stance. “Then raise your blade. Let us finish what we began during the rebels’ assault”
“As I said,” Aatrox replied. “I did not come to fight. I have no reason to face you now.”
“I have no more interest in talking,” Xin Zhao replied. “If you’ll not face me, then leave.”
Aatrox stared at the spearman in silence for a moment. Then, finally, he raised his weapon. “So be it.” For a fleeting moment, Xin Zhao thought that Aatrox would attack him. Instead, the Darkin turned, and once again cut an opening into the air. The ancient swordsman began walking through, his wings billowing like war banners as he spoke.
Before Aatrox vanished completely inside, however, he glanced back over his shoulder. “My thanks, Xin Zhao.”
The Senechal blinked, confused. “For what?”
“For answering my question. I believe I now understand why it is you truly wield your spear, even if you yourself do not.” Aatrox gave Xin Zhao a knowing smile. “I look forward to the day when we face one-another again.” With that, Aatrox vanished, and the portal disappeared.
Xin Zhao wasn’t sure how long he stood there in silence. The Seneschal knew he shouldn’t think too deeply about the Darkin’s words, and yet they echoed relentlessly in his mind. What did the swordsman mean? Why did he truly fight? Where did his true loyalties lie? Xin Zhao had fought faithfully for Demacia for years, yet had he not fought with the same dedication when he called himself Noxian, or Ionian? Could he truly call himself loyal to the kingdom when he found himself sympathizing with the rebels that were meant to be his enemies? Would he someday turn against the crown to fight on behalf of the mages who were wronged…?
“Lord Seneschal?” A voice jarred Xin Zhao from his thoughts. He turned to see a Demacian Knight standing behind him. “Is everything alright? I thought I heard something...”
Xin Zhao faked a smile. “My apologies. I was feeling restless, so I thought to get in some late-night training.” He only hoped that the knight didn’t ask why he would be doing so in the middle of the hallway, rather than the training grounds… “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“Oh, not at all,” the knight replied. “I’m part of the knight watch, so I’m used to staying up late. I’m, um… I’m sorry I interrupted your training.”
The Seneschal shook his head. “No need. It’s good that you’re so diligent. I suppose I ought to be retiring soon myself. Keep up the good work.”
“Yes, sir!” The knight offered a Demacian salute, and Xin Zhao returned the gesture. As he did, though, he couldn’t help feeling it was wrong for him to do so. He was not truly Demacian, nor did he think himself Noxian or even Ionian.
As Xin Zhao returned to his quarters, doubts continued to nag at him. For who and what did he wield his spear? Perhaps, tomorrow, he should seek the answer for himself…
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Summarizing Bios for my Rewritten Champions (Part 1)
There's a lot, so I'm putting it all under a cut.))
Aatrox
An ancient and enigmatic entity who has helped to turn the tides of countless battles across Runeterra's history. He and the other Darkin are actually creations of the Aspects of Targon, embodying all the "impure" traits they deemed were unbecoming of divinity. Aatrox himself was split off from Pantheon, and represents the horror and cruelty of war.
Twitch
A lab rat who escaped containment and now claims rulership of Zaun's sewers. Twitch was subjected to an experimental chemical meant to increase strength and intelligence, but his transformation far surpassed his captors' expectations. His proportions and brain both steadily became more and more humanoid until he managed to break out and flee into the underground waterways. Now, Twitch bides his time, hoping to one day overthrow the surface world and the humans he sees as the architects of his torment.
Shaco
A demonic jester who brings suffering through merriment. Shaco preys upon those overcome with sorrow and despair, offering respite from their misery. His games often start out innocent, but quickly devolve into horrendous acts of murder and destruction. Those who fall under his spell are unable to realize the full weight of their deeds until Shaco abandons them to deal with the aftermath, laughing maniacally as they themselves become the butt of his twisted jokes.
Varus
An Ionian warrior who made a pact with Paalas, a Darkin who was split off from the Aspect of Justice. Varus once protected the temple where Paalas's bow was sealed, but when Noxians invaded his home, Varus was forced to make a choice between his duty and his family. Upon finding the corpses of his husband and son, Varus swore revenge, taking up the accursed weapon he was meant to safeguard. He knows it's only a matter of time before the Darkin consumes his mind and body completely, but before that happens, Varus will hunt down everyone he deems responsible for the tragedy that befell his home and family.
Shyvana
A strange hybrid of human and draconic blood. Shyvana belonged to a clan of dragon-worshipers who sought to actually become dragons, and infused themselves with the blood of their so-called 'deities' in an effort to achieve this. Many failed, but the young Shyvana proved to be one of their few successful experiments. The dragon Yvva learned of this and sought to destroy these half-breeds, viewing them all as abominations. Shyvana alone escaped, and lived in hiding within Demacia for many years. When Yvva finally tracked her down, Shyvana confronted the fire dragon with the aid of Prince Jarvan IV, and narrowly emerged victorious. Now, she faithfully serves the kingdom, despite the fear and prejudice many harbor toward her...
Warwick
A former mercenary turned into a monster by inhuman experimentation. Warwick once lent his skills to the highest bidder, not caring who he hurt as long as he got paid. That all changed when he witnessed the devastation of Ionian villages during Noxus's invasion of the island. Warwick attempted to turn on Noxian forces, only to be captured and eventually handed over to the mad scientist Singed, who had become fascinated with the chimeric beings known as Vastaya. Warwick became one of many test subjects in Singed's attempt to recreate these fascinating beings, infused with Vastayan blood and augmented with strange devices. Eventually, though, Warwick managed to escape confined. He now prowls the streets of Zaun, clinging desperately to his humanity while animalistic urges threaten to consume him...
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