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Janna league of legends

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His step faltered, but it was too late to stop now. He reached the edge of the cliff and leapt into the wind, yelling a defiant roar of fear and bravado.

The ground vanished beneath him. Only empty air between him and the lower levels of Zaun, hundreds of yards below.

Sheer, undiluted terror seized Wyn. Wyn saw himself tumbling to the ground, windmilling his arms as if he might suddenly learn to fly like the cliff-shrikes.

He looked down. The ovoid, glass and iron shape of the Rising Howl was below him, coming up fast. Nico, Janke, and Feen were already on it, clinging to its baroque latticework frames or braced against its structure.

Wyn slammed into the thick glass and rolled. He flailed for a handhold, sliding down the curve of the outer windows. His sweaty palms slipped.

His feet scrabbled for purchase. Anything to slow his descent. He threw himself at it, and it seemed the wind at his back gave him just enough of a push to reach it.

His fingers closed on the metal and his sliding descent to oblivion halted. With the threat of a long fall, followed by a hard stop, averted, Wyn was able to get his feet under him and looked around for Kez.

He saw her higher up, laughing hysterically at having survived. He sucked in a great draught of clean air. Down in the Sump, the air had texture, but getting higher, it had a sharp clarity that made him pleasantly light-headed.

His older brother coughed and spat a wad of gray phlegm onto the glass. Wyn had to agree. Far below, this part of Zaun spread over the rocky floor of the canyon in a glittering, bottle-green swathe of light and color.

Vapor rainbows arced over the Factorywood and spiraling plumes of shimmering smoke danced over the chem-forges. From up here, sump pools wavered like emerald mirages and the winking hearth-lights in the darkness were like the stars he rarely saw from Hope House.

High above, Piltover shone in towers of ivory and bronze, copper and gold. Its streets were filled with life and vitality, every one bearing a heaving, bustling mass of humanity.

Wyn loved Zaun. Wyn looked down through the glass beneath his feet to see scores of people staring up at him. A few were Zaunites, but most of them were well-heeled Pilties, returning after an evening spent in the gaslit commercia arcades, glass-ceilinged food parlors, or pounding music halls of Zaun.

And how many grand days out we had up in Piltover? Remember the fireworks over the Sun Gates last Progress Day? Remember that Piltie girl you were sweet on?

The scrawny lad shucked the braces from his shoulders, dropped his trousers, and planted his ass on the glass ceiling. And like a dog dragging its backside along the ground, Feen let himself slide down the glass with his ass-cheeks splayed for the viewing pleasure of the people below.

Painted picture of her singing on stage, sure as Gray follows Day. Mama Elodie was the mistress of Hope House, a foundling home dedicated to the welfare of the many orphans created in the wake of the disaster that tore Zaun apart.

Mama Elodie was the only member of staff to stay on when the funds dried up, a dark-skinned woman who said she was an Ionian princess.

Every waif and stray in Hope House had heard Mama Elodie singing as she cooked and cleaned. Her voice was extraordinary, and Wyn had fallen asleep to her lullabies more than once as a babe in arms.

Nico looked down and nodded, seeing the uniformed conductor shouting into a flexible speaking tube. The Rising Howl continued upward on its way, and Wyn was glad to see it go.

At least heading back down to Zaun would be easier. The winch cowl was right next to an open vent, just as Nico had said it would be.

The inside reeked of toxic runoff, but at least it was mostly dry. Thankfully, it was large enough to stand upright, which meant it had likely carried a whole lot of gunk and deposited it down into Zaun.

They followed the pipe as it rose and twisted through the rock. The metal groaned and creaked with the movement of the cliffs. Nico pointed to thin spars of light up ahead.

Swirling motes of dust hung in the air, and Wyn saw a rusted ladder rising into a square-cut channel in the pipe. Situated just below the notional border between Piltover and Zaun - a fluid and ever-changing line at best - the Entresol was a flourishing hub of cosmopolitan commercia arcades, supper-clubs, recital halls and joy houses, making it one of the most populated districts of the cities.

It was also widely regarded by the people that lived and toiled there as the place where the real work of Zaun got done. Wyn and Kez were the only ones who could read well enough to decipher the cursive street signs, and Kez led them to a wide boulevard thronged with the most amazing people Wyn had ever seen.

Men and women from Piltover and Zaun happily mingled on the cobbled street, dressed in colorful finery and plumed hats. The women wore pleated dresses with scoop-lined necks and brightly colored sashes.

Wyn started to reply, but Nico shook his head. Janke had come to Hope House older than most foundlings, and was on the verge of having to leave and find his way in the world.

Small wonder he was bitter. Wyn understood that bitterness. The harsh reality of the world was that folk lived as high as they could afford.

Most folks were content with their place in the grand scheme of things, but Wyn yearned for a life spent in a place where he could walk hand in hand with a beautiful girl, take in a show, and eat a meal under the moonlight whenever he wanted.

With Nico in the lead, they strolled down the center of the street like they had every right to be there. For a moment, Wyn fantasized that they could stay here forever, walking along a street of glowing chem-lumens, surrounded by people who could direct them to the best delicatessens with the creamiest crag-duck confit, or advise which plays they simply had to see.

He pictured himself dressed like a dandy, greeting his fellow citizens and doffing his hat to visiting clan representatives.

An iron bridge and taut cables tethered the glass dome to the rock, and they paused to take in the beauty of what it contained.

Behind the glass, a small forest of tall trees with broad leafy canopies were tended by a robed gardener with a tattooed and shaven head.

A riot of flowers, with petals of red, gold, and blue stood out in contrast to the greenery within.

Wyn had never seen anything quite so beautiful in all his life. He waved to the gardener, wishing he could walk with Kez through the forest, smelling the perfumed blooms and feeling the soft grass between his toes.

They reached twenty shots before the merchant finally keeled over. Nico was hungover for a week before he could spend his winnings. People thronged the wide open space, talking, negotiating and haggling over who knew what.

A few people with metallic augments strolled through the plaza, each bearing the sigil of one of the Chem-Barons, but they were few in number and attracted more than their fair share of wary glances.

At the far end of the plaza stood a grand structure of vivid color and noise. Barkers shouted inducements to enter and handed out playbills.

Greenish chem-lights illuminated them, and the wavering flames made it look like they were alive. The two doormen were well-dressed, but no amount of finery could conceal their experience in hurting people.

Snaking tattooes covered their necks and wrists, and one of them had a mechanized arm that buzzed with something energized.

A shok-club maybe? Or something even more deadly? Your attire falls somewhat below the expected standard, I fear. This is where we come from, you stupid sump-sucker!

His brother waited until they were out of earshot before responding, making sure the crowds at the entrance obscured them from the two doormen.

Forgot the first rule of the Sump: Only marks go in through the front door. They traversed the length and breadth of the plaza for ten minutes before finding what they sought.

Wyn kept one eye on the theater doors. The source of the smoke was an eatery that looked as if it served a fusion of Zaun street food and upscale Piltovan cuisine.

The diners were languid, artist types, and the food looked almost too beautiful to eat. Heavy crates hauled up from the docks were stacked against the wall, and hissing, groaning pipes sagged overhead.

Burly men hauled crates inside, grunting with the effort. None of them paid the kids so much as a second glance. Feen traced the routes of the ducts with his fingers, counting and listening as they gurgled and rattled.

He sniffed the air and grinned. They waited until the men working for the eatery took a break before using the crates to climb up onto the roof.

Feen quickly found them a crawl-hatch on the side of the pipe and prized it open. Wyn blanched at the fumes leaking from the hatch.

Janke went next, and Nico gestured to the pipe. Wyn nodded and climbed inside, following the sounds of scraping knees, cursing and coughing.

Feen was right about one thing; the air in here was pretty rank, but nothing like when the Gray closed in and made every breath a battle.

Nico climbed in behind him and he settled into a rhythm of shuffling forward on his elbows and knees. Light filtered in through cracks in the metal where it had split, but that ended the minute the pipe plunged into the cliffs.

He received no answer, only echoes. Wyn tried not to think of all the reasons why there was only silence. Had the pipe emptied them out over the cliffs as Janke had feared?

Had the others hit a pocket of gas that had knocked them out or suffocated them? Or maybe the rock hereabouts was sad too, and had chosen to crush the tiny figures crawling through it.

Just before the thought of being crushed to death by melancholy cliffs paralyzed Wyn with fear, a hand reached down from above and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

He cried out in alarm and struggled before he realized it was Janke pulling him up. He was deposited on a wooden floor in a lightless room.

No, not lightless, a thin bar of light shone from beneath a nearby doorway. Feen was laughing as he pranced around the room with the top half of a horse costume on his head.

Kez wore a golden crown with paste-gems studded around its edges and a bright red stone at its center. Janke swung a wooden sword, its blade painted to look like gleaming silver.

Wyn grinned as Nico climbed from the pipe behind him. Feen threw off the horse costume and beamed at this unaccustomed praise.

He started to speak, but then they heard the beat of drums and the skirl of pipes. The main hall was adorned in colorful fabrics, gilded balconies, and a vaulted ceiling decorated with stunning vistas of sweeping forests, soaring mountains, and achingly blue lakes.

An enormous chandelier of sparkling crystals hung from the center of the ceiling, wheeling constellations that sent beams of splintered light through the chamber.

Hundreds of people filled the space, revelers in fashionable attire and dancers who had shed their coats and inhibitions both.

A raised stage at one end was home to musicians who played from the heart, a pounding, driving beat that shivered the blood and got your feet tapping.

The music was infectious and Wyn laughed as Kez dragged him onto the dance floor. The sight of five sump-snipes anywhere else might have provoked a reaction, but here, amid the spinning dancers and singers, it barely raised an eyebrow.

Feen stomped and threw his arms around like a madman, all elbows and knees. Janke shuffled and bobbed his head, lost in his own private world of music.

Nico danced in a weaving pattern, smooth as you like, pausing every now and then to flirt with a pretty girl.

Wyn waved as he and Kez twisted across the dancefloor, spinning each other around with euphoric abandon.

Chemlights threw a rainbow at the chandelier and it exploded in a dazzling borealis of colors in splitting lozenge patterns. Wyn lifted his hands, as if trying to catch the light.

Kez threw her arms around his neck and reached for the lights as well. He smelled her soap and sweat, the perfume of her hair and the heat of her body.

He never wanted this moment to end. He cursed at the interruption, but the swears he was about to unleash died when he saw Chem-Breath the doorman looking down at him.

He glanced over at Kez and saw her chest heaving with excitement. She nodded, and the answer to his unasked question was in her outstretched hand.

Kez gave a wild yell and they wove through the dancers as if they were playing hook-dodge in the Sump.

They ran hand in hand, Chem-Breath right on their heels. They led him on a merry chase, ducking between the gyrating dancers and singers.

Kez held tight to his hand. They left him rolling on the ground. His every dancing, running step was in time with the beat of the music.

Each soaring chorus felt like it had been written especially for this moment. Then the music stopped.

The lights were extinguished and a single chem-burner focused its illumination upon the stage. The suddenly stilled dancers gave a collective sigh as a woman rose from the center of the stage.

She wore her long hair tied up in an elaborate series of braids threaded with beads of mother-of-pearl and jade that glittered like newborn stars.

She wore a radiant green gown that hung in sweeping folds and which shimmered like silken spider-skin. Mama Elodie raised her head, and the music built from a slow, glacial pace to a rising heartbeat.

Her head lifted in time with the music and her dark skin shimmered with diamond dust. She smiled, as if surprised to see so many people, and the warmth of her almond eyes reached everyone who saw her.

The words were unknown to him, but they flowed like honey, half spoken, half sung. Every note drifted like leaves on a warm, summer night, flowing in spirals around the room.

Her voice rose in pitch and volume, and Wyn felt his skin tingle with its touch. Wyn felt a swelling feeling of connectedness between him and Kez.

Her eyes met his and he knew she felt the same. Sweat sheened her skin, and veins stood out on her neck. The light filling the chamber dimmed as her voice grew softer and softer.

The notes melted like snow in spring, sunset over a winter ocean. Dozens of men and women wept, reaching toward Mama Elodie and imploring her to continue.

She swayed on the stage, the song nearing completion. Slowly, so very slowly, she descended through a trapdoor into the stage until she was gone.

The chamber was entirely dark now. Wyn let out a shuddering breath as the house lights gradually came up. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, seeing how low the chemlights had burned.

He had no way of knowing for sure. Wyn felt exhausted, but renewed at the same time. His thoughts were lighter, his lungs feeling clearer than than they had in months.

He turned to Kez, and saw she too felt the same sense of rejuvenation. The audience members were smiling; friends and strangers alike embracing in the shared magic of what they had just experienced.

Nico, Feen, and Janke came over, and every one of them had experienced some profound revelation. They hugged, five orphans from Zaun, sharing a brief moment of belonging they would never know again.

By the time they broke apart, it was to see the two doormen, Chem-Breath and Buzz-Arm, standing with their hands balled into fists. An improvement, thought Wyn.

Wyn let out a relieved breath as Mama Elodie put a hand on the back of his neck. Her fingers were warm and he felt a calming sensation flow through him at her touch.

Wyn turned to face Mama Elodie, but whatever magic she had woven on stage was now entirely absent. The Ionian princess was gone and the Zaunite housemistress was back.

She glared at them with hard, flinty eyes. The others nodded in mute acceptance of her anger, but only Wyn caught the glint of amusement in her eye.

Even so, Wyn could see a great deal of menial labor in all their futures. Nico, Feen, and Janke waved and ran off, old enough to head home on their own without needing to ask permission.

How could a song be too sad to sing? He looked up. Chemlights and reflected stars shimmered on the city of iron and glass as they navigated the cliffside streets toward home.

Wyn saw a sliver of moonlight peeking out from behind the clouds, and took a deep breath of clean air, knowing it might be his last for a while.

A week of scrubbing seemed like a small price to pay. Additionally, Janna's basic attacks and single target spells deal bonus magic damage equal to a percentage of her bonus Movement Speed.

The whirlwind can be charge up to 3 seconds. For each second charged, it: deals bonus magic damage; knocks up for an additional 0.

Although we believe Battle Janna is her best approach to the lane, her harass is weathering her enemies a little too well.

W - Zephyr. Patch 9. E cooldown now decreases when Janna CCs enemies; cooldown decreased early, increased late; shield increased.

Right now, Janna feels like a poke mage early in the game instead of a peeling and shielding support champion. We're taking this opportunity to encourage more kinds of interaction between her and everyone else than point-and-click harass, especially in lane, so she can get the most out of all her abilities.

E - Eye Of The Storm. Janna is currently struggling to find a home in the bot lane in a meta dominated by some of her beefier counterparts.

Passive - Tailwind. Unlike other gifted shields, Eye of the Storm comes with bonus AD that enemies want to knock off as quickly as possible. If we went with a duration reduction, waiting the shield out still wouldn't make sense as a form of counterplay since you'd just be letting Janna's carry hold onto free stats.

Nuking the shield would end up feeling worse too, since there'd be much less buff duration to deny. By contrast, a decaying shield makes damage on the shield more effective while keeping the payoff for blowing it up satisfying.

W damage decreased. Though 7. After the earlier changes, Janna is still pretty strong. Our goal was to weaken her overall especially in her ability to passively protect an ally , but also to incentivize her to trade with autos in lane.

Right now, her autos are not just worth trading with, they're strong, so we're dialing that back. We're also bringing her shield values down to continue weakening her passive protective ability.

E cooldown increased at early ranks. Q base range increased; moves faster when charged. Additionally, Janna's basic attacks cause additional magic damage based on her bonus Movement Speed.

By creating a localized change in pressure and temperature, Janna is able to create a small storm that grows in size with time.

She can activate the spell again to release the storm. On release this storm will fly towards the direction it was cast in, dealing damage and knocking away any enemies in its path.

Janna summons an air elemental that passively increases her Movement Speed and enables her to pass through units. She may also activate this ability to deal damage and slow an enemy's Movement Speed.

The passive is lost while this ability is on cooldown. Janna conjures a defensive gale that shields an ally champion or turret from incoming damage and increases their Attack Damage.

Janna surrounds herself in a magical storm, throwing enemies back. After the storm has settled, soothing winds heal nearby allies while the ability is active.

Champion Mastery OP.

Seafarers would sometimes spot a bright Kija habibzadeh bird just before a healthy tailwind billowed their sails. Got beaten up a lot. Even so, Wyn could see a great deal of menial labor in all their futures. W - Zephyr. Such a passage would open up boundless trade opportunities, allow for easier passage through dangerous waters, reduce time Vaalfreya sea and introduce the transportation of perishable goods. We're also bringing her shield Virtual real trans down to continue weakening her passive protective ability. I even made it to the final stage of the vetting process: a face-to-face meeting with Boswell Holloran Facesitting domination. Just before the thought of being crushed to Bangdad by melancholy cliffs paralyzed Wyn with fear, a hand reached down from above and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He looked down.

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3 comments

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