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Sobek

Sobek1Croc

Level

Stage 3 Monster

400 XP

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"It could be easily forgotten that he was once human, for the visage of the crocodile fits his love for bloody battle so well..."

"So many long years in the dark with that betrayer filling his head with words of hate and resentment, breeding contempt for his brother. It only fueled his rage, made him stronger."

"When he finally has a chance at revenge on his brother Nasus, Renekton will stop at nothing. He will destroy all, and Shurima will again be left a ruin."

Renekton's memories had abandoned him long before he finally emerged from the darkness of the tomb. Inside the prison, Xerath had poisoned his mind with cruel whispers--and when freed, Xolaani's influence simply cemented conviction in his singular goal.

His brother had betrayed him. His emperor abandoned him. All of Shurima had left him to rot for centuries upon centuries. No one and nothing deserved to live. With reckless abandon, he would destroy everything

starting with the monster he'd once called "brother"

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Savagery And Carnage Forever

They try to make prey out of predator. Instead, the hunter becomes the hunted.

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Gods do not walk the sands, only men and monsters. Clad in dust-caked armor of dull gold and rusted bronze. Eyes of jaundiced yellow, rugose flesh of green and ochre. Blood drooling between dagger-like teeth in red ropes. Its mighty head was bowed, the crocodilian snout sniffing for fresh meat. “Where. Is. He?” demanded the god. His voice was rasping and dry, raw from an eternity of screaming. Renekton looked around at the ruins, blinking, as if only now seeing its devastation. “Rulers must know all, see all! All the whispering liars. Honeyed words and falsehoods. I heard them. No one listened. No one ever listens to Renekton...”. “Nasus?” Renekton flinched at the name of his legendary brother, as though the sound of it caused him great pain. His grip on his crescent blade slipped and he pressed a clawed hand to his brow at some unknowable madness. “You deny my vengeance while you squat in this ruin of his making!” he roared. Renekton fell into the fire and rolled. Flames licked his flesh black and sparks flew into the darkness. He shook his crocodilian head and spat, blood dripping from his fangs. “You know where he is!” Renekton bellowed. “I see his liar’s face looking out through your eyes. Tell me!”. Renekton was staggered by ferocity, by pain one of his kind had likely not known in centuries. His stance faltered and his yellowed eyes clouded as though reliving jagged memories and visions of triumphs and deaths long since consigned to the dust of history. “Please!” bellowed Renekton. “Brother! He is too strong! It must be done!”. “All you had to do was tell me where my brother was,” he said. “But now it is too late.”“For you to live,” said Renekton.

A pale emerald glow built within the god, running through his flesh in forking lines of searing light. The sand lifted from the battle circle, surrounding Renekton in spinning loops of dust as he rose to his full height. This was not the hunched figure who’d entered Vekaura, and Raz saw the true face of the ancient god as his form swelled with long-forgotten magic, his dimensions stretching with power harnessed from the sun itself. His wounds sealed, the skin reforming without scar and pulsing with radiant vitality. The blood spilling from his torn scales turned from black to vivid red before lifting from his body in floating ruby droplets. His clawed hand, twisting on its sinewed thread, re-fused to knitting bone as the gold and bronze of his torn armor flowed like lustrous wax to renew itself and regain its luster. Eyes that were once jaundiced yellow now burned with the light of newborn stars, clear where before they had been clouded with madness. Every warrior around the battle dropped back to their knees in willing supplication. Even Raz, who knelt to no man, felt no shame in bowing before such a being. This was a being that demanded awe, a god-warrior of such potency that no legend could ever hope to capture his true majesty. “Little mortal,” said Renekton, his voice echoing from the shattered walls of the city. “I am an Ascended being. I have crushed armies, torn down cities, sealed the gates and set them to flame. I laid waste to the world uncounted ages ago, and you thought to stand against me?”

“My time of leading blade-hosts is long passed,” said Renekton, “I desire no army, nor crave followers as I will seek the scent of my brother beyond these walls. You would do well to be far from these lands when I find him.”Renekton laughed and shook his mighty head. “You are less than nothing to me,” he said. “I seek the heart of a god. I merely pass this blade to you as a sign of your ascension to, what did you call it? Preystalker, yes, that was it. You are now the Preystalker.” Renekton sighed, his eyes taking on the faraway look of a mind lost in bitter memories. Renekton turned and strode back the way he had come, passing once again to shadow. As darkness swallowed the ancient being, it seemed his form diminished from its towering, lustrous god-form, returning to the hunched and forlorn wanderer lost to madness who had first entered Vekaura.

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