WAREK

"Ready for battle!"

Warek is a strength-based warrior hero of the Mauler faction whose role is to mainly destroy enemy formation and deal sustained damage.

While performing his multi-striking melee ultimate skill "Bloodlust", damage he receives is greatly reduced and he becomes immune to crowd control effects.

The caller drew a deep breath, sweeping his gaze across the assembled Maulers and the noise of the crowd subsided slightly in anticipation.

"Next in the arena! Warek!"

He lumbered forward through the rough-hewn gates to a hail of cheers, jeers, and taunts. The best were always adored and hated in equal measure. Many of those here to watch the bloodshed would've seen former clan mates and family fall beneath the great bear warrior who now stood before them. He knew he was one of the best in recent memory, but memory in the arena never lasted long. It was constantly washed away in an endless river of blood.

He knew that even the best would fall under another's rising star, and his seemingly unbreakable string of victories was never taken for granted. He had seen as much happen to his own people.

The bear clans who once occupied a place of privilege at the highest echelons of Mauler hierarchy were now a laughingstock, cast down in a day after a decisive defeat by the centaurs. They now lived in chains, masters of nothing, including their own fate. Warek looked over the faces of the howling spectators and remembered how strange it had felt his first time in the fighting pit. He had been to the arenas prior to that, but always had to watch. An elder or sometimes his father would put a heavy paw on his shoulder and ask him about the fights he had seen.

"The dead one. What did he do wrong, Warek?"

"He thought he had already won when the fight began. He was putting on a show. He forgot that he could bleed."

"Right. He knew he was the better fighter, and so did his opponent. His opponent used that. His opponent is alive."

The voice of the caller cut back into focus. "Who dares step foot in the arena! Who will face a fighter with nothing to lose! A warrior of the bear clans! Proud people brought low, thirsty for revenge! Who has the guts?"

The caller continued goading the crowd. Maulers were fierce and often reckless, but they wouldn't embark on a suicide mission for a moment of glory in the pits. Warek knew this, but took no pleasure in it. It didn't change the reputation or the status of his people. It didn't restore their territories, now carved up among a dozen other clans. It didn't erase the memory of his brother's last spluttering breath in his arms, and it didn't bring their chieftain back to life.

The bear clans were now headless chickens. No leadership. No focus. No pathway before them that led to redemption. Warek saw only one way. That way was one he would tread first on his own, and hope for others to follow. He would pave his way with the crushed bones and hot blood of his opponents. The tears of their clan mates would nourish he and his people on their road to deliverance, and their wails would herald their return to glory. He would lead the way, and vengeance would be terrible to behold.