Fiddlesticks

Something has woken up in Runeterra. It is old, and it has no interest in being understood.

Fiddlesticks does not belong to a nation the way most champions do; it stalks the edges of mortal society across Runeterra itself, drifting toward places thick with paranoia, because paranoia is what it feeds on. It carries a jagged scythe, held together as much as built, and it reaps fear the way other creatures reap crops.

Those who survive an encounter with it rarely come away unmarked; the ones unlucky enough to live through it are left with shattered minds rather than any story worth telling. It announces itself, when it bothers to announce itself at all, through the sound of a crow’s call or a half-human shape glimpsed at the edge of vision.

Its abilities carry that same quiet dread into battle. A Harmless Scarecrow, its passive, replaces its trinket with scarecrow effigies, a small, unsettling detail that fits a creature built entirely out of disguise. Terrify strikes a hidden or targeted enemy with fear, forcing them to flee. Bountiful Harvest drains health from everyone nearby before finishing with a burst of execute damage. Reap slashes an area, slowing everyone it touches and silencing anyone caught at its center. Its ultimate, Crowstorm, surrounds it with a flock of crows that tear into every enemy standing in the area. Nothing about Fiddlesticks invites easy explanation. Unlike most champions, there are no field notes on how allies or enemies ought to approach it in a fight — an absence that suits something whose entire nature resists being studied or pinned down at all. No faction claims it, no record explains where it came from, and no pattern reliably predicts where it will surface next. It simply returns, again, whenever fear has had time to grow somewhere new, and vanishes just as completely once it has fed.