Quinn is an elite ranger-knight of Demacia who undertakes dangerous missions deep in enemy territory with her legendary eagle, Valor. The two share an unbreakable bond that is uniquely deadly, and their foes are often slain before they realize they are fighting not one, but two Demacian heroes.
Quinn and her twin brother, Caleb, were born in Uwendale, a remote mountain hamlet in the northeastern hinterlands of Demacia. Raised to believe in the nobility and righteousness of their homeland’s values, the two were inseparable. Uwendale was a thriving town of hunters and farmers, protected by mountain rangers expert in intercepting and killing any monsters that came down from the high peaks to hunt.
While the twins were young, King Jarvan III visited Uwendale on an inspection tour of the East Wall, the barrier between Demacia and the lawless, tribal states beyond. Hoisted high on her father’s shoulders, Quinn thrilled to the pageantry of the king and his warriors, resplendent in gleaming sunsteel plate. Quinn and Caleb were captivated, vowing to become knights of Demacia and one day fight alongside the king. Their childhood games cast them as heroic knights, bravely defending the land from vile monsters, savage Freljordians or black-hearted Noxians.
They spent every moment they could in the wilds surrounding Uwendale. Their mother - one of the village’s foremost rangers - taught them how to track beast of the forest, how to survive in the wild, and, most importantly, how to fight. Over the years, Quinn and Caleb developed into a formidable team, working together in a way that brought out the best in both of them; her keen eye for tracks, his skill at baiting their prey, her aim with a bow, his prowess with a hunting spear.
But one excursion high into the mountains north of Uwendale ended in tragedy when the twins encountered a party of Buvelle nobles hunting a giant tuskvore, a predatory killer known for its thick hide, long razorhorns and ferocious temperament. The nobles had failed to kill the creature outright, and the wounded beast turned on them, goring several of the family’s young scions to death. Quinn and Caleb were quick to intervene. They drove the tuskvore off with a flurry of arrows to its skull, but not before Caleb was gored to death by the creature while saving the Buvelle matriarch’s life. The nobles thanked Quinn profusely and helped her bury her brother before gathering their dead heirs and returning home to mourn.
Caleb’s death almost broke Quinn. They had dreamed of fighting as a pair, and without her twin by her side, Quinn’s hopes of becoming a knight seemed hollow. She fulfilled her duties to her village, as was expected of any daughter of Demacia, but her heart was broken and the joy that had previously energized her dimmed like the last light of summer. Without her brother by her side, her prowess in the wilderness waned and she started making mistakes. Nothing life threatening, but she missed easy tracks, her aim was off, and became dour and uncommunicative.
Quinn regularly visited Caleb’s grave at the site of their battle with the tuskvore, unable to move on and forever reliving her moment of loss. A year to the day after Caleb’s death, she returned to the mountain clearing as she had many times before. Lost in grief and reflection, Quinn didn’t hear the approaching tuskvore. Amid the razorhorns crowning its skull were the broken shafts of arrows she and Caleb had loosed in their previous battle with the beast. The monster charged, and Quinn desperately fought for her life against the enraged beast. She fired a dozen shafts at the creature, but none of her arrows were accurate enough to find the weaknesses in its thick hide. Exhausted from the battle, Quinn stumbled, and the beast was upon her. She dived from its path, but not quickly enough, and the tip of its horn sliced her from hip to collarbone. Badly wounded, Quinn fell as the beast circled around to finish her.
Quinn looked the beast in the eye and knew this was her death. She reached for the last arrow in her quiver as a flash of blue sliced through the air. A beautiful, blue-pinioned bird swooped in and raked its claws over the tuskvore’s face. The bird was an Azurite Eagle, the breed said to have inspired the winged symbol of Demacia and long thought extinct. The screeching bird dived again and again, its claws and beak ripping bloody gouges in the tuskvore’s skull even as the beast’s horns gouged its body and tore its wings.
Quinn slowed her breathing and drew back her last arrow as the monster bellowed in fury and charged. She loosed, her bowstave snapping with the force of her draw. But her aim was true, and the arrow flew into the monster’s open mouth to pierce its brain. The tuskvore’s body plowed a great furrow in the earth toward her, but it was dead and Quinn let out a shuddering breath of relief. She crawled to where the eagle lay, its wing broken, and saw in its eyes a deep well of kinship.
She bound the wounded bird’s mighty pinion and returned to Uwendale with the tuskvore’s horns as a trophy. The wounded bird perched on her shoulder the entire way, refusing to leave her side. She named the eagle Valor, and nursed him back to health. The bond that formed between them rekindled the fire in Quinn’s heart, and, once more, her thoughts turned to serving Demacia in battle. With her father’s help, she crafted a new weapon from the horns of the tuskvore, a finely-wrought repeater crossbow capable of firing multiple bolts with a single pull of the trigger.
With her parents’ blessing, Quinn and Valor traveled to the capital and petitioned the drill-masters of the Demacian army to join their ranks as a ranger-knight. Ordinarily, years of training were required to serve in the highly disciplined Demacian military.
Quinn did not have such training, but she easily passed every test the full ranger-knights set her.
The drill-masters had no idea how such an individualistic hunter and her unique eagle might fit within their rigid command structure, so prepared to reject her petition. But before their verdict was delivered, Lady Lestara Buvelle, the noblewoman whose life Caleb had saved, intervened and vouched for Quinn’s courageous heart and great skill.
Quinn was immediately inducted into the Demacian army and though she proved a fine ranger-knight, she struggled with the inflexible hierarchy and (in her view) needlessly prescriptive regulations. Her fellow warriors acknowledged her skills, but still viewed her as something of a wild card, a Demacian who preferred operating outwith the established order, who crafted her own missions and came and went as she pleased. She never remained within the city walls for long, preferring to live out in the wild as opposed to keeping the company of her fellow soldiers. Only the fact that she was so successful in uncovering nascent threats and rooting out hidden enemies allowed her a degree of leeway unheard of in Demacian ranks.
When a Noxian assassin struck down Castle Jandelle’s commander on the Day of Lost Light, Quinn’s talents proved themselves once again. The killer escaped battalions of knights dispatched to capture him, but Quinn and Valor tracked and killed the assassin after a night of lethal traps, counterattacks and ambushes. She returned with the assassin’s blade, earning the nickname, Demacia’s Wings. Quinn remained in Jandelle just long enough to receive her commendation before she and Valor once again departed the city to return to the wilderness where they were most comfortable.
Since then, Quinn has ventured far and wide in service of Demacia, risking journeys to the far north of the Freljord and deep into the Noxian empire. Each time she and Valor have returned with intelligence vital to the security and defence of Demacia’s borders.
While her methods do not easily fit within the heavily codified strictures of the Demacian military, none can doubt Quinn and Valor’s preternatural brilliance in the field.
- Rules of Survival
Quinn waited for the Noxians to light a fire in the forest clearing and drink two wineskins. Drunk soldiers were easy to predict. She wanted them drunk enough to be stupid, but not reckless. Mistakes got you killed in the wilderness, and these men had just made two big ones. Lighting a fire told her they were overconfident, the wine that they were sure no one was in pursuit.
Rule One: Always assume someone’s after you.
She eased herself through the mud on her belly, using her elbows to pull herself toward a hollowed out, rotten log at the edge of the clearing. The rain had turned the forest into a quagmire, and she’d spend the next few hours picking bugs and worms from her clothes.
Rule Two: Survival never takes second place to dignity.
Careful not to look directly at the campfire and lose her night sight, she counted five men - one less than she expected. Where was the sixth man? Quinn started to ease herself upright, but froze as the hair stood up on the back of her neck, a warning from above.
A shape moved from behind a tree in the darkness. A warrior. Armored in boiled black leather. Moving with skill. The man paused, scanning the darkness, his hand never leaving the wire-wound hilt of his sword.
Had he seen her? She didn’t think so.
“Hey, Vurdin,” called one of the men seated around the fire. “Better hurry if you want any of this wine. Olmedo’s drinking it all!”
Rule Three: Stay silent.
The man cursed, and Quinn smiled at his obvious frustration.
“Quiet,” he hissed. “I think they heard you back in bloody Noxus.”
“Ach, there’s no one out here, Vurdin. The Demacians are probably too busy buckling on their armor and giving it a polish to bother with coming after us. Come on, take a drink!”
The man sighed and turned back to the fire with a weary shrug. Quinn let out a slow breath. That one had some talent, but he too believed they were alone in the wilderness.
Rule Four: Don’t let stupid people drag you down to their level.
Quinn smiled and glanced up, seeing the smudge of night-blue darkness of her eagle companion against the rainclouds. Valor dipped his wings, and Quinn nodded, their wordless communication refined over many years together. She circled her right fist, then raised three fingers, knowing Valor could see her perfectly and would understand.
Rule Five: When it’s time to act, do it decisively.
Quinn knew they should just take these men out quietly and without fuss, but the affront of Noxians this deep in Demacia was galling. She wanted these men to know exactly who had caught them and that Demacia was not some primitive tribal culture to be crushed by Noxian ambition. The decision made, she pushed herself to her feet and strode into the campsite as if her being there was the most natural thing in the world. She stood at the edge of the firelight, her hood raised and her oiled stormcloak drawn tightly around her.
“Give me what you stole and no one has to die tonight,” said Quinn, nodding toward a leather satchel stitched with the winged sword symbol of Demacia.
The Noxians scrambled upright, blinking as they scanned the edge of the forest. They fumbled to draw their swords and Quinn almost laughed at their surprised ineptitude.
The one who’d almost walked right over her hid his shock well, but relaxed as he realized she was alone. “You’re a long way from home, girl,” he said, raising his sword.
“Not as far as you, Vurdin.”
He frowned, put on the back foot by her using his name. Quinn saw his mind working as he tried to figure out how much more she knew. She kept her cloak pulled tight as the men spread out, surrounding her.
“Give me the satchel,” said Quinn, a note of boredom in her voice.
“Take her!” shouted Vurdin.
It was the last thing he said.
Quinn swept her cloak back over her shoulder and lifted her left arm. A black shafted bolt from her repeater crossbow buried itself in Vurdin’s eye, and he fell without a sound.
A second bolt tore into the chest of the man to his left. The remaining four came at her in a rush.
A screeching cry split the night as Valor swept down like a lightning bolt from a clear sky. His wings boomed as he spread them wide and swung around in a scything arc.
Hooked claws tore the face from one Noxian, and the eagle’s slashing beak clove the skull of the soldier next to him. The third Noxian managed to raise his weapon, but Valor sank his claws into his shoulders and bore him to the ground. The eagle’s beak slashed down and the man’s struggles ceased instantly.
The last Noxian turned and sprinted for the trees.
Rule Six: If you have to fight, kill quickly.
Quinn knelt and loosed a pair of bolts from her crossbow. They hammered into the Noxian’s back and burst from his chest. He managed to reach the edge of the trees before pitching forward and lying still. Quinn remained motionless, listening to the sounds of the wilderness, making sure there were no other enemies nearby. The only sounds she heard were those she’d expect to hear in a forest at night.
She stood, and Valor flew over to her, the satchel of military dispatches the Noxians had stolen held in his claws. He dropped it and she caught it with her free hand, looping it over her shoulder in one smooth motion. Valor perched on her arm, his body rippling with the thrill of the hunt. His claws and beak were red with blood. The eagle’s head cocked to the side, and his gold-flecked eyes glittered with amusement. She grinned, her bond with the bird so strong she already understood his thoughts.
“I was wondering that too,” said Quinn. “How did these Noxians get this far into Demacia?”
The eagle gave a shrill screech, and she nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” said Quinn. “South it is.”
Rule Seven: Trust you can rely on your partner.
- Quinn's Journal