IMPORTANT NOTE: All numbers can be changed. The concept is key, though.
Advice, comment and constructive criticism is always accepted.
Izo, the Blizzard Prince is a custom champion in League of Legends.
Hello, summoners. This is Green Moriyama again, apologizing for the long wait... if anyone waited for me that is. Been busy, along with being on a slump with many of my life projects, which does include champion concept creating. But I present to you today my next champion concept from the icy lands of the Freljord: Izo, the Blizzard Prince. With his mystical blade that is made of True Ice, Boreas, Izo fights his way by slowing his enemy as he hits them hard with his frosty blade.
Concept-wise, he was clunky when I first found him, along with being too much aspired from Jin Kisaragi. I kept to the reference, but wished to make a difference between the two. Hopefully though, he features an agreeable background and a workable kit, yet cannot exactly guarantee it that much. But since he has been in the works and is one of the more complete concepts among the folder, may you enjoy what Izo has to provide. -Green Moriyama
Rumors have begun, stating that a young swordsman of unknown lineage, but of visible passion to grace, roams the land of Freljord. Claiming nothing to his name, he travels from village to village with no clear goal stated to others. Some have seen him fighting other warriors, thus they hypothesize that he is a mercenary or a duelist. Others have seem him plainly sitting on a rock and daydreaming, so they believe he may be a plain traveler. But with his stiff and cold demeanor and his blade Boreas at his belt, he seems to hold powers that control the icy tundra of Freljord, as if they are servants bowing on their knees before him.
"Let them fight over the Freljord and tear it apart. My land's only borders lie around my heart."― Izo
Years ago, right before the start of "The War of the Three Sisters," other small clans existed. One of them was called "The Northern Gale" and was a clan that sought for something different than what many Iceborn clans around sought for. They sought for royalty and culture in the same vein of the current Demacians, but still found themselves tribal as people of the Freljord. Eventually, they found a way to forge a blade out of True Ice, making it a vessel to their deity and protectors, the winter spirit Boreas and the blizzard wolf Bolverk. Soon enough, other clans wished for refuge under the Gale's unanimous and peaceful rule, expanding the clan's power. And when they had become large enough, they had built a small castle that was located right in the center of where are currently located, building their small kingdom around it. Being the first forgers of True Ice weapons, they gifted the leader of each faction with a present: a True Ice Bow to Avarosa, to Serylda, and to Lissandra. The Northern Gale hoped these gifts would prevent any war to be waged on them, if not prevent any war.
But their independent reign soon fell when the War started. Declining to join any of the Sisters in the war, even after the death of the Watchers, the Frostguard lead bysaw their unity and exquisite capability to create True Ice weapons as a possible threat. Moreso, wished to have her hands on the True Ice blade Boreas, not pleased with the that had been offered to her. In response, the Frostguard sent an army of Trolls that were undying in their service to attack "The Northern Gale." Even with their unity and their skilled army men, the Gale surrendered to the unending onslaught of the Trolls. The royalty of the Gale and a handful of survivors had fled for their life, hiding themselves away for centuries to come, never to be heard of again. Although the clan had died and their legacy sealed away from ever being known, the Frostguard did not find the True Ice blade they were looking for.
The Past of Izo
"Mother," a young boy calls out to his mother while under his bed blankets. "Can you tell me that story again?"
The mother sighs, but not in disappointment. "You never get tired of it, do you?"
"Please tell me. Please, Mother. Please."
The mother stares at child, smiling as she brings a stool to sit on.
"Alright. But you have to sleep right after, okay?"
"Yes, Mother," the child agrees, excited to hear the tale her mother is about to tell him.
"Long ago, in this land of Freljord that we live in, there lived many clans. Most of them were barbaric, calling to skirmishes and war. But one clan was different. It did not seek to be powerful in the way of blood and bones. It sought for something different. It wished to be cultured and refined. And its name was th-"
"The Northern Gale!" the young boy spouts.
"Yes. Yes. The Northern Gale. Eventually, it had conceived what other mages wished to make: a weapon made of True Ice. There were other weapons made of the magical ice, but none had been crafted by the hand of a man. This weapon... this blade the Northern Gale had crafted was made by the clan's royal king. And by the blessing of the clan's guardians Boreas and Bolverk, it was made of True Ice. A blade that controls the blizzard, anyone who touched the blade would find themselves chilled to the bone."
"And from there, the clan went on a conquest to unify the surrounding clans through culture than through bloodshed. But whenever they faced an opposition, the king would draw his sword of True Ice and show to his enemies their power. In the end, after only a few years, the small clan of the Northern Gale had become a combined kingdom. With their master craftsmanship of creating True Ice weapons, they gifted the Three Sisters with special presents in hopes that war will never occur."
"But, their wishes for peace were not answered, as th-"
"The Trolls!!" the boy interrupts her mother's story, jumping ahead of the story line. "The Trolls attacked the kingdom an-"
"Ssshh...," the mother shushes her child. "No need to hasten the story."
"Yes, the Trolls eventually attacked. One of the greater kingdoms, the Frostguard, had just lost their leaders, the Watchers. Seeing the Northern Gale's unity as a potential threat, they sent an army of Trolls to vanquish the Northern Gale. And even with their numbers, their master etiquette in war and their unity, the Northern Gale was crushed by the Trolls' tremendous power and unstoppable rampage."
"But the Northern Gale did not die. Remnants of each smaller clan, along with the royalty of the Northern Gale, had fled from the terror that had come upon their small kingdom. They especially brought along the True Ice blade the Frostguard sought for. Those who stayed behind were honoured to sacrifice their lives for the survival of the rest."
"Years passed, and the remains of the Northern Gale continued to live on. Although their legacy had become lost into the mire of history, they lived quietly in anonymity. They still chose someone to wield the True Ice blade, even when harm never came to the Northern Gale ever again."
With the story finished, the room becomes quiet. Then the young boy finally brings up a question he has never asked before.
"Why doesn't the Northern Gale reclaim its fame?"
Although the mother is surprised by his question, she eventually smiles and answers. "Because the Northern Gale believes it is not necessary to bring their name to fame. The land they once ruled may have been taken away by someone else, but their land is in the heart, not in the physical landscape of the mountainsides."
"But-," the young boy attempts to speak up, before being interrupted by someone else.
"Mother! Mother!?" another boy calls out from just beyond the doors of the young boy's room. "Father is calling for you."
"Yes, Rinzo," the mother answers. "Tell Father that I will be on my way."
The young man named Rinzo, older brother to the young boy, walks away.
"Did you have another question?" the mother asks her little child.
"No, Mother. Good night," the young boy states as he casts his blanket over himself.
On the snowy mountain-scape of an unknown location in the Freljord, three men are on the hunt for the week's meal. Chasing a couple deer, the three chase on foot at the same speed as these wild animals. Two of them wield a bow, but the last one uniquely holds a short sword in hand.
As one of the bowmen misses his shot, the eldest-looking of the three shouts, "Rinzo, get that deer!"
"Yes, Father," the other man with a bow, named Rinzo, responds to his father. Rinzo draws his bow skillfully and, upon shooting, hits his mark. The deer that had been struck by Rinzo's arrow falls to the floor without a flinch.
"Good shot, son," the father, Enzo, compliments his eldest son. "You've already superseded me in the use of the bow. The only thing you need to brush up on is your skill with the blade."
"Thank you, Father," the man shows his gratitude to his father, but begins to retort to Enzo's latter claim. "If it's the blade though, I believe Izo is better off."
Rinzo points towards the last hunter who wields the blade: Izo, Rinzo's younger brother and Enzo's youngest son. As Izo dashes forward, he is unyielding in his chase of the last deer. Even though any man would chose a bow over a blade when hunting speedy animals such as a deer, Izo's affinity to the blade never draws him away from using it in any situation. And with his distance closing in on the deer, Izo makes one last spring, slashing his target. In one quick sweep, the deer submits to the grave wound it had been inflicted, stumbling into the snow.
"Fantastic, Izo," Rinzo compliments his brother.
"I was afraid that your love for the blade would impede your skills as a hunter of our clan and as a man, but it looks like I was wrong," Enzo claims in relief. "It seems Mother's stories raised you into a fine man."
"Thank you very much, Father. Elder Brother," Izo thanks both his brother and father. For years, he had been told about the True Ice blade Boreas of the Northern Gale clan. And from that, a desire to become a wielder of this mythical sword has aspired him to train his blade-work. The sword he holds right now is one that was specially made by the village's blacksmith, imitating the looks of the legendary blade. He has been using it ever since he had reached the appropriate age of manhood close to 7 years ago, and it still remains as his trusted blade. At the same time, he had trained himself to become swift so as not to impede his other clan members who prefer using the bow, although they still train with a sword or axe.
"Well, let's get our game and head back home. I'm sure Mother is waiting to make some deer stew with what we have gotten today," Enzo announces.
"Yes, Father," Rinzo and Izo simultaneously respond as they take out their kit to start collecting their game.
Couple hours later, the three are on their way home. Happily chattering, they expect to be welcomed by their fellow villagers. But the expected does not happen. As the three arrive, they see no one is at their home or walking around the village. And as they approach the village center, spot a crow gathering around the Elder's home. At its edge, Enzo's wife stands.
"What's the matter, Yora," Enzo asks his wife, the mother of Rinzo and Izo. "Why is everyone flocked around the Elder's home?"
"It's horrible," Yora states, about to break into tears. "Two of the villager scouts had come back wounded, and the Elder... she has foreseen a terrible fate on this village..."
"How...? This village is protected by...," Enzo contemplates on what he had been told. But before he is able to reassure his wife, the village Elder comes out of her hut.
"Dear villagers. As I have proclaimed, grave danger is coming. I would like everyone to stay in the village's central hold, aside from a handful of able-body men to guard it." With this announcement, although everyone wishes to clamour, they obey and head to the hold as some men agree to be the guard. Then the Elder approaches Enzo.
"Send your son," the Elder simply tells Enzo before heading to the hold. Finally receiving this message, Enzo is both bewildered but also proud.
"Son," Enzo holds the shoulder of his eldest son. "It is time. Go and retrieve the blade."
While a bit surprised at the fast pace of the surrounding events, Rinzo knows what is now going on.
"Yes sir," Rinzo answers. Having been prompted for years what this message would mean, he heads outside the village, towards the South.
"Father? Where is Brother heading to?" Izo asks his father. But his father remains silent as he heads off to get his armour and arms. Thus, Izo looks to his mother.
"Mother? Do you know what is happening?" Izo inquires her mother. Although she wishes to remain quiet, she feels obligated to tell her son the truth.
"My child Izo... I'm sorry for telling you a small lie," she begins her apology. "The truth is... we are the clan, the Northern Gale. And your brother, as fate declares, is the destined one for the True Ice blade. He has the blonde hair and snowy blue eyes that has been passed down to all wielders of that blade. He will fight the evil that is coming."
Izo is shocked by this simple yet sudden reveal. On one side, he feels proud that he has always been a part of the Northern Gale and that he is the brother to the destined Boreas-wielder. But on another end, he feels disappointed that he was being deceived, especially because he was never the destined one to wield the blade. Even then, he believes in his brother.
"I'll fight too, Mother," Izo claims in a firm tone. "I'll fight with Father and the others so that Brother will have time to come back and save us."
Yora is at first exasperated by her son's claim. But seeing the determination in his eyes, all she does is hug her baby child. "Please... stay alive."
"I will, Mother," Izo embraces his mother back before heading off to where his father had gone.
"Be safe... my child," Yora whispers as he heads to the hold.
A blizzard approaches as Izo and other men stand right outside the village. Each man wields their own unique weapon, from large axes to a spear-and-shield. His father, Rinzo, sits on top of a horse, dressed in a special armour that is unfamiliar and looks centuries-old. Not knowing of who their enemy is, aside from being a powerful entity or entities that have come to break the peace of the Northern Gale, the men wait.
"But... wasn't the Northern Gale protected by Boreas?" Izo mumbles as he holds his trusted sword. On the other hand, the armour he wears is uncomfortable, as he rarely wears any, preferring a free range of motion.
"Father?" Izo begins asking his father a question. "How far away is the blade?"
"It isn't too far away," Enzo answers calmly, although his gaze is still trained on the blizzard. "Rinzo should be back very soon before the blizzard hits." This answer reassures Izo.
Finally, a flicker is seen in the distance from where the blizzard blows. Thus, Enzo commands, "Men, at the ready. Shield men at the front."
The men all follow Enzo's orders. They do not cower, whether if the enemy is a large group of bandits or an army of ghouls. But they are greeted by something even more haunting.
From the blizzard cloud, large humanoid-looking giants emerge. To be more exact, they are the Trolls, the terror that had ended the reign of the Northern Gale centuries ago. And at the frontline of them is one large Troll, wielding a unique club...
The Trolls stop, along with the blizzard behind them. The men of the Northern Gale begin to shake in fear as they feel a magical presence from within the blizzard. And Enzo is able to tell who it is...
"...," Enzo says under his breath. Although he too is scared now that the Northern Gale is for sure doomed, he remains calm for the sake of his men's morale. But seeing how long his eldest son has been taking, he asks a favor of his youngest son.
"Izo... go and get your brother. He is taking too much time, and we need him now," Enzo asks with as much manliness as he can summon. "He is to the South of the village. You'll find a temple there."
Although wondering why his father asks this, Izo responds appropriately. "Yes, Father."
As Izo heads off towards the aforementioned temple, Enzo gives out a separate message to his men. "My men... retreat to the hold. Only the strongest of us, remain. We do not need any unnecessary casualties, if possible."
Some of the men begin to worry, but in the end, they understand what Enzo intends. He would rather not let men be lost easily to the Trolls and trust that they can hold long enough for the wielder of the True Ice blade to return.
Minutes later, Izo finds himself trudging in the middle of the snow. A small snowstorm guards the temple, but Izo is able to bear the sudden coldness as he wears the warm armour he had been given. But his blood suddenly goes cold upon seeing a horrifying sight.
"Brother!!" Izo drops his blade as he runs over to what seems to be a fallen body in the snow, partially drenched in red. And for sure, it is his brother. The fact that his footsteps do not lead from the temple shows that he didn't make his journey.
Rinzo notices his brother's approach, weakly looking up with what strength he has leftover.
"I... zo?" Rinzo speaks softly as he reaches his arm up. Izo begins to prop his brother's upper body up, but notices the red in the snow is from his crushed legs. Something or someone had crushed Rinzo's legs like squeezed lemons.
Izo's mind starts to become blurred as he becomes afraid as to what is happening, but his brother calms him down by holding his cheek. "Go... inside... the Troll..."
"Troll!?" Izo becomes alert. And upon looking around, he spots large footsteps leading into the temple. A Troll had done this to my brother. Unforgivable.
"I'll be back for you, Brother," Izo claims as he gently lays his brother's body, covering it with his bulky and uncomfortable armor to keep him warm. Picking up his blade, Izo heads into the temple, following the large footsteps.
Rinzo though knows he does not have much time. "Please... oh Boreas... and Bolverk... protect my brother..." Rinzo slowly falls into his deep slumber as snow piles on top of him.
The icy temple of the Northern Gale. While small, the inside is intricately designed with many long corridors and staircases, leading into the ground below. Anyone would become lost, and Izo is no exception.
"Where... where am I supposed to go," Izo questions as he navigates through the halls. Left. Then right. And left again. He keeps going through the halls but feels lost. And to make matters worse, there is a Troll among these halls too, possibly just as lost as Izo. If he ever encountered...
Just as Izo turns the next corner, he is greeted by exactly what he didn't want to bump into. The Troll. But with its back to him, Izo has time to run. Yet, it does not change that the Troll notices Izo's approach, thus it starts chasing him in the halls. Izo runs for the sake of his own life.
A voice calls to Izo, and as he follows the voice, he slowly goes down through unfamiliar corridors and stairways. With his speed, he finally loses the Troll.
After a couple more turns, Izo enters a large room, taller than any hut he has ever seen and filled with intricate designs. And on the other side of the room, he could see an illustrious drawing of two wolves carved into the wall, right above a special-looking chest.
"This... this must be the room...!" Izo exclaims as he believes the chest holds the legendary True Ice blade. He hurries to the other side of the room, towards the chest. "I've finally found the blade. I need to give it to Rin-."
As Izo opens the chest though, he is flabbergasted to see nothing inside the chest. He quickly looks around the room, but finds that there are no other possible place where a sword could be placed or hidden.
"Is it in another room? But...," Izo thinks about heading out of the room, but to his bad luck, the Troll has finally found him once again. "Oh... no."
The Troll, with a thunderous roar, swings a large club made of wood as it enters the domain of the room. Izo attempts to draw his sword, but cannot bring himself to do so out of all his fear.
But, just about when the Troll is a couple meters away from Izo, close enough to crush him with his large club, large spires of ice emerges from the floor. They stab the Troll, bringing its body into the air. And after a few moments of struggle, the Troll is lifeless. This instantaneous event leaves Izo mesmerized.
"I can't believe that they had allowed a Troll to infiltrate my temple," a voice speaks from the wall. Izo looks towards it and sees that one of the wolf drawings beginning to glow. And from it emerges a wolf spirit, which quickly approaches Izo with a scowl.
"Who are you, young one?" the wolf spirit beckons.
"Young? I'm already past the age of be-," Izo attempts to argue, but the spirit shuts him up with a loud growl.
"Don't talk back. You are speaking to the great spirit, Bolverk," the wolf spirit warns Izo. "Do you not know your manners?"
Izo becomes quiet upon learning that this temple is also the home to the great spirit he has only heard of in tales. And before he thinks about asking questions now, he answers Bolverk's question. "I... I am Izo."
"Izo, eh? Hmmm...," Bolverk observes Izo's looks, seemingly surprised. "And yet, you are not blond and blue-eyed..."
"Oh... it's because it's my brother who is destined to wiel-," Izo attempts to explain the circumstances, yet he is interrupted again by Bolverk.
"Destined? There is no destiny through mere physical assets caused by one's bloodline. It is you Northern Gale fools who placed a heredity requirement, when there is none needed to wield the blade," Bolverk snarls in mockery. Izo remains entranced in the fact that he is conversing with the great spirit.
"...where is Boreas?" Izo's curiosity finally gets the best of him. Interestingly enough, this question hushes Bolverk.
"Boreas... oh, Boreas," Bolverk stops bearing his fangs. "She has been guarding the Northern Gale ever since she blessed the blade. And even when the clansmen began abusing the blade as a diplomatic tool to assemble the clans, she carefully watched over them. As her companion, I remained at her side. And when the Northern Gale wished to hide themselves away from the world, she abided by their request."
"But... eventually, she had become weak. Thus, she left the sanctuary of this temple and kept true to the promise she had made. She used the rest of her powers to protect the perimeter of the clan for centuries..."
Bolverk hushes down, with Izo feeling sorry in hearing this tale.
"But...," Bolverk growls once again. "It seems that the Evil... the Ice Witch has come once again. She has killed Boreas and invaded this land. There is no time to waste."
"Then... then hurry to my brother's side and grant him th-," Izo states again, but he feels the powerful stare of Bolverk. As he howls, the icy chest opens up, shining a bright blue light. And from it, the True Ice blade emerges.
"Izo... destiny does not adhere to what others say. This blade does not choose on looks, but on the heart... do you wish to wield this blade, young one?" Bolverk inquires with a tone of mysticism. "I see you fit of being its master, and drawing a different path with it than what others have carved before."
Izo doesn't believe what he is being told, but in all of his excitement and determination, he only has one answer. "Yes."
This solid answer pleases Bolverk. "Good," Bolverk states proudly.
It is at that moment that Izo is magically lifted into the air. And as ice magic starts to flow through every inch of his body, he finds himself donning the royal garbs of the Northern Gale. "You are now the Blizzard Prince, Izo," Bolverk declares.
Izo looks at the garb he now wears. Almost as if they were made for just him, the royal garbs are fitting and grant him the flexibility that he prefers. While there is no crown, the bits of golden markings on the garb show to Izo the sense of royalty. And now, instead of his imitation of a blade, the True Ice blade Boreas rests in his hands.
"Now go, Izo," Bolverk announces as he infuses himself into the blade. "Vanquish the Evil."
The Trolls have broken through the gates of the village, breaking down huts and murdering any villager in sight. With the hold now breached and the villagers killed, Enzo and his men keep on fighting for their lives.
At the lead of the Troll army is the king of Trolls,, wielding his great club made of True Ice. Under the command of the , he seeks to find the blade of True Ice.
"Where is the Ice blade!?" Trundle roars as he fights the nimble Enzo. But Enzo knows he will not last long.
With himself being the last one left now, fending off at least a hundred Trolls, there is little hope for his life. As much as he would like to trust his sons, he hasn't seen any signs of their coming. There seems to be no more point in fighting off the invaders.
Trundle, seeing hesitation in Enzo's movements, takes the opportunity to swing his club at him with all his might, sending Enzo crashing into the wall of one of the huts. Incapacitated, Enzo feels his conscious fading as he sees Trundle about to give him one last blow. "Rinzo... Izo... Yora... I'm sorry..."
It is at that moment that a bright light shines from the sky. Both the Trolls and Enzo look as to what the light is. And in a blink, someone sunders right in between Trundle and Enzo. Trundle retreats backwards in suprise as Enzo looks at who had intercepted the Troll King's attack.
"I apologize for how late I am, Father."
Enzo gazes, with the last of his wits, at a man dressed in the clan's ancient royal robes of white, red and blue, lined with gold. A translucent blanket of ice magic veils from his body as he holds the True Ice blade Boreas in his hand. And as Enzo looks up to see that this mighty warrior has snowy-white hair...
Izo looks back, showing proof that it is him by nodding. But with the battle only paused for the moment, Izo readies himself as Trundle notices what Izo has in hand.
"The True Ice blade!!!" Trundle beats his chest as he starts to swing his club. Other Trolls charge at Izo, pushing each other to get a swing at the prize.
But Izo does not feel overwhelmed as he quickly evades Trundle's attack. And while other Trolls are about to swing at him, he swings back effortlessly, parrying every attack. Izo's defensive soon turns into an offensive, with him now slashing one Troll after another, freezing them solid by the touch of his blade.
One large Troll attempts to smash Izo from over head. Instead of matching his blade to the club, Izo summons Bolverk to counterattack the attacker, biting his limb off. As the large Troll reacts in pain, Bolverk bites the Troll again, this time sucking whatever leftover energy the giant brute has left.
Trundle, after witnessing the powers of this mighty warrior for the last five or so minutes, had taken a step out of the fight to get ready to summon a sheet of ice that snags every Troll's feet and keeps them from moving. But Trundle is not halted by this and almost instantly breaks free from the icy prison.from right under Izo. Seeing through the Troll King's plan, Izo plants his blade into the ground, casting
"Fight me, True Ice blade!!" Trundle taunts Izo into a dual. And Izo affirms, not with words but by the action of his next attack.
Izo charges forward as he conjures a mass of ice magic into his blade. Attempting to finish the dual in one single sweep of Boreas Boreas, Izo aims to stab the Troll King in the chest. But Trundle easily blocks Izo attack with his club of True Ice, surprising not only Izo but Bolverk too. Izo attempts to strike the Troll many more times, but the Trundle keeps up a good fight.
By this time, some of the other Trolls have broken free of the icy floors and are now charging towards Izo once again. Seeing that his blade is useless against the Troll's Bonshiver and that a needless battle would be ahead if he were to fight this army of Trolls one-by-one, Izo amasses together a large amount of ice magic, with the help of Bolverk, to coat the ground with ice. This time though, the icy floor is much stronger than the last, encapsulating many of the Trolls in ice. With some dead and others incapacitated from the fight, only a handful of the Trolls such as Trundle are able to get out of the ice prison, although not unharmed.
Seeing that the Troll King still has some wit to keep fighting, Izo sends out a spire right in front of Trundle's face as a warning.
"If you don't want to die... leave," Izo proclaims. Trundle begrudgingly accepts, believing that this single enemy has more than enough power to kill the rest of them mercilessly. He does not realize though that Izo is also at the end of his straw in regards to mana and the spire he summoned was nothing more than a hollow shell.
Meanwhile, away from the village, Lissandra feels the distrubance in the tide of battle. Even though she had successfully killed Boreas and successfully destroyed the Northern Gale's village, she could tell that her plan on taking the True Ice blade wouldn't happen. Seeing Trundle and the leftover of his army return, she could tell that she hadn't killed the True Ice blade wielder before his arrival. "It seems I had failed. But, I will be back another day." Lissandra quietly announces as she retreats with the Trolls.
Izo sheathes his sword and approaches his dying father. Bleeding all over, there is little time for Enzo, so Enzo asks a question. "How... is Rinzo?"
While not expecting this question, Izo proceeds to answer.
"He did not make it," Izo states with remorse. "I tried to save him, but he was beyond help."
Bolverk appears from the blade. Although this surprises Enzo for a moment, he is not alarmed by the presence.
"Although your son Rinzo did not pass honourably, he has arisen to a better place, just like your wife and everyone else. Soon... you will be there too."
Grief strikes Enzo's heart upon hearing this news. Yet, he is calmed by hearing where they had gone to and where he will find himself soon.
"Is... that so...," Enzo mutters with a half-heartbroken soul. His vision begins to fade, showing to him that he has only a minute to spare.
"My son," Enzo heaves with the last of his breath.
"Yes, Father?" Izo answers with his eyes averted downwards.
"Go venture the world... but not with hate... or suffering," Enzo states as his breathing becomes shallow. "There is more you can do... for the world out there. Carve your own destiny... and make it a better place, filled with true peace. And... your home... will always be here."
Placing his hand on Izo's chest where his heart beats, Enzo breathes his last breath. Izo takes these last words of his father true to the heart.
"I will... Father," Izo holds his dead father's hand. "I will."
The next day, right before sunrise.
"It is time to go, Izo," Bolverk states. "On your journey."
"Yes, I know, Bolverk," Izo answers as he finishes his last prayer to the graves he had made for his family, friends and villagers. "Let's go find the answer for why this happened... and what may resolve it."
Izo sets off on his journey to find his answer of peace for the Freljord by venturing the "outside world" he has never seen. Bolverk accompanies him by becoming part of the blade that once housed his companion's spirit. His home, decimated by the Trolls, is now blanketed in a fresh sheet of snow. Even if his home is gone, he knows that the land of the Northern Gale will remain in his heart. And as the sun finally rises, Izo feels that there is hope to be found in his journey.
Thus, the journey of the Blizzard Prince begins.
"They say destiny is determined. But I believe in carving my own path. No, it does not require hate or sacrifice. All it needs is an undying heart filled with determination, because this life is my own destiny."― Izo
Tales of the Wanderer
At the northern edge of the Ironspike Mountains, where it connects with the land of Freljord, I have arrived at a small village purposed as a post for travelers of all kinds coming in or going out of the Freljord kingdom. As a simple start-up merchant with a single cart, selling fur-coats and other leather-works that I had made back home in Piltover, it is my first visit to the north. Although this village is only at the border of Freljord, I can for sure feel the winter air. Even then, I arrive at this village now because of a chance invitation by a Freljord seller named Golhen who wishes to see in-person my wares. While his letter says to meet in the early evening today, I am already here at noontime as I had rushed a bit to get up here.
With the time I have till the meeting, I settle my cart in a safe location with my hired guard watching over it. Thereafter, I enter the village's only tavern.
I am greeted with the laughter of other travelers and the sound of others scrapping food from their plate. But I did not enter to get a meal or enjoy myself. At least, not just yet. I head towards the main counter.
"Oh, a new face around here? Welcome," the bartender, who I also presume is the owner of this tavern, greets me. "What would you like today?"
"I... I would like a room," I reply. "Just for today and tomorrow."
"Oh...," the man exclaims with a hushed tone. Could it be that there are no rooms left? But before I could answer, he speaks up again. "May I ask?"
"Do you mind if I place you with another traveler?" The bartender asks of me.
Put me in the same room with another man? That's an odd question to ask. Is he saying that there is enough room in a room to slide two separate guests in? Not that I mind, as long as this roommate will be civil in one way or another.
"No, I do not mind at all," I respond with a small smile. The bartender returns my smile with his own.
"Good. Then, follow me," the bartender puts down the cup he was cleaning and steps out of the counter-space.
I am led up to the third and top floor of this tavern, reaching the very end of the hallway to a door on the left. From the looks of the architect, this is a pretty nice tavern, so I can see why this place would be packed.
"Here you are. This will be your room... with the other guest," the bartender reports as he hands the keys to the room. But one thing bothers me.
"Umm... is this traveler dangerous... or anything like that," my paranoia triggers. Even though I said 'yes' to this room, I remembered that not only merchants but also mercenaries travel through this town. And if the person is a headhunter, I would for sure be uncomfortable as ever just by being in the same room.
"Dangerous? No. Not really," the bartender answers with a surprised expression on his face. Seems like I do not have to worry. "Rather than dangerous, he seems to be just a simple traveler. I wouldn't offer a room if it was a barbaric mercenary in the room."
The bartender, or should I call him 'innkeeper,' makes a good point. He doesn't seem like the uncivil kind of owner I have read about in books, so I should believe that he is providing a room because the other guest would be alright with sharing it.
"Thank you very much," I thank the bartender as he returns downstairs.
I enter the room. But what I feel next is unusual. The air is a bit chilled. Yes, I know this is the Freljord, but I seriously mean that the air is chilled compared to what I was feeling outside. I'm even wearing this thick fur coat and I'm starting to feel the cold air creep into my pants.
I look around the room which is undeniably a humble room of the size that befits two guests. As I look to my left, I can see that there are the two beds a small nightstand between them and lamps that are lit above them. I start to scan towards my right, gazing at the windows across the room and the bear rug on the floor. The windows are closed, so the chilly atmosphere couldn't be from cold air entering the room from the outside.
Yet, as I scan more to the right, I see the other guest. The wall is decorated with some plain picture frames with a small table setup. And sitting at the table is this other guest, a person wrapped in a brown cloak. His head is covered by a hood too, so I cannot see his expression, but from his posture, he might be asleep. Yet what catches my attention the most is what he has on his lap.
"A... a sword?" I mumble to myself as my curiosity clicks.
I start to approach the man, step by step. As I do though, the air feels colder and colder. Could it be that this man is the source of the chilliness in this room? Is he some kind of mage who controls ice? I don't know.
For sure, my focus is trained on the sword he holds. Its intricate designs do not look Avarosan, not that I could actually judge that. Blue in colour, the silver that lines the scabbard is almost like the frosty mist of the mountains. The sword itself seems to be curved, something you wouldn't see being wielded by a man from Freljord. Is he a foreigner like myself?
As my interests grow deeper, I find myself reaching towards the sword without being aware of it. And right when I am about a few inches away...
"Stop there," a deep, husky voice snarls at me from somewhere.
Alerted, I look around to check where the voice came from. It surely didn't feel like it came from the man, but there is no one else in the room.
I then hear the grumbles of the man. As I peek into his hood, I see the face of a young man with silver hair, sleeping with a hint of struggle. Is he having a nightmare?
"S-... sir? Are you alright, sir?" I call out to the man. And to my call, he stops resting.
It is at that moment that the room begins to become warm again as the chilly atmosphere recedes. So he really was the source of the cold air. Now, I am greeted by golden eyes, eyes that look at me with a piercing glare.
"...why are you here?" I am asked by the man. While his voice is soft and young, there is this undertone that frightens me.
"I... I was given space in this room to share with you by the innkeeper, sir. I do not mean any harm," I reply with caution.
Silence befalls on both of us. His stare now spaces out, aiming at the floor below. Meanwhile, I feel the need to continue a conversation.
"Well, err... what would your name be, sir?" I ask. "My name i-"
Before I am able to introduce myself, I am interrupted by this stranger's sudden movement as he stands up alerted. Did I do something wrong? Maybe asking for his name was not a good idea.
But I do not seem to be the cause of his alert. He at first closes his eyes while trying to hear the sound within the silent breeze, then he sets his eyes on the window. Is there something outside?
The man begins to walk over to the window. And as he does, his cloak slides off of him, revealing to me that he wears an intricate attire. Lined with gold over the blue, red and white textures, the garments he wears are so finely tailored that even I, a start-up clothes merchant, find myself envious of the skills of whoever made his attire. If I were to be told that he is a prince of some kind, I would be convinced. But that is besides the point.
He finally arrives at the window, opening its shutters open to the outside landscape. Snow is subtly falling on the background of the town and mountains, but I do not see any irregularities. The man then speaks up.
"I... must go."
"G-, go where?" I beckon from the mystery of this man, along with some interest of what his words mean. "Who... who are you!?"
The man turns to face me as he sits on top of the windowsill, with his left hand holding his sword and his right hand holding the top of the window frame. For a moment, I feel like I can see a wolf's head appear behind the man, almost haunting in appearance.
"I am just a man, traveling this land to find the answer."
With those words, he immediately jumps through the window, causing a great gust of wind and snow to erupt through the room. All I do in response is flinch as I cover my face with my arms. And when I'm done flinching, I lower my arms, seeing the man has gone. A bit of snow has fallen in the room by this mysterious man. Is he... a wanderer?
Four more hours have passed since the wanderer had left the room. He did not leave behind anything, so I assume that he was already ready to leave the room. But when I consulted the bartender, I was told that the wanderer did not specify when he would leave. Did he have an urgent business to attend to suddenly?
Now I await Golhen's arrival, which is still a few hours away. I had finished eating my lunch earlier, which was boiled deer meat with sauteed Wintergreen herbs and mushrooms. I could take a rest until the time, but I've been told by my mother that resting after a meal will only make me become fat like a monster frog. I was thinking of organizing my merchant's journal to be ready for the meeting, but I had taken care of that prior to arriving in this town.
Before I am able to step up the stairs towards my room, I hear the sound of people clamouring outside. What could that be?
As I exit the tavern, what I see is not people clamouring but them grouping up in surprise as they look towards the way into the Freljord kingdom. And the reason why they are all muttering about is because they see the approach of a caravan line, some carts that are part destroyed and smoking.
"Ge, get the guards," one villager calls out. And right at his order, guards head out to escort the caravans. What happened to this caravan?
Only five or so minutes later, the caravan line is within the boundaries of the town. And contrary to what I believed, these ten or so wagons are not one single band of traders but multiple individual merchants. I recognize one of them because it is a wagon that had left the town right as I had arrived. As I look around more, I notice that one of the merchants is familiar.
"...Golhen?" I inquire as I face this man, large in stature with distinct tanned skin and glowing tattoos. These are Golhen's descriptions of himself that I was given in the mail.
"Oh, are you the Piltover store man I'm supposed to meet?" is the response I receive. It seems like my guess is correct.
"Yes, I am," I affirm Golhen's thought with a smile. "Nice to meet you finally."
"Oh... ahahaha!" Golhen begins to laugh. "You are so much shorter than what I was expecting. I knew that many Piltovians are not as tall as us Freljordians, but this is much of a surprise for a first meeting."
As much as others may be offended by this comment, I am not angered as I am quite used to this claim. I am short even for a Piltovian, and that is that. Golhen here is just making a comment of observation.
"What happened, Golhen?" I ask right away in regards to the damaged caravan line. "Did you and the other merchants get attacked by some bandits?"
"Oh yes, that is quite right," Golhen responds. "We were attacked by a large group of bandits. And not just any bandits, but a band of over a fifty that were well armed in metal plating and well-crafted weapons. And of all places, it was in a narrow mountain pass."
"Then... then why are you here, and why is all the rest of the caravan not distraught by the attack!?" I further inquire. If he and the other merchants were attacked by such a well prepared attack, they shouldn't have survived. Of course, if they had a good set of guards, it might not have been a problem, yet none of the merchants including Golhen look like the rich kind who would have the money to pay for such well-fitted guards. There also are no guards attached to any of the other carts, but maybe all of the guards died in the attack...? Doesn't seem likely.
"Oho, that is the mystery here. But what I know is that we were saved," Golhen reports.
"Saved? Saved by a passing group of mercenaries?"
"No no. He was no group of mercenaries, but a single man who had cleared the battlefield single-handedly," Golhen rejects my claim, only to announce something unthinkable.
"A single man... took out over fifty well armed bandits?" I say with astonishment.
"Yes. Right when the bandits had hit some of the caravans," Golhen begins to explain what had happened, "A man had appeared from the top of the mountainside. He slid down the snow as if he was a hawk gliding down before he had entered the fray. Everything happened in a flash, from when he incapacitated most of the bandits in a thick sheet of ice to the leader of the bandits that he killed with a single sweep of his blade. He must have been some kind of warrior of the cold."
Upon hearing this, assumptions are made and questions come to mind. "What did the man wear? And was his blade curved?"
"Yes, his blade was curved. And he wore garments of blue, red and white, lined with some gold," Golhen answers. "Most of all, when we asked who this man was, all he answered was,'I am just a man, traveling this land to find the answer.'."
So my speculation was correct. The man who had saved Golhen and the other merchants was the wanderer. Who is this wanderer, and what are his intentions...? But that is a question I should ask later. What is more important now is the meeting. This is something we can talk about after the meeting, over a nice hot meal.
"Golhen, is it alright to get onto the meeting?" I ask politely.
"Mhm. My cart was not damaged, so let's start that meeting right after I park it somewhere."
"One thing for sure, that man must have gone through a lot, contrary to his looks. Nonetheless, he emits this air that the winter is at his back. Wouldn't like to get on his bad side..."― Golhen, Freljord store-keeper
Theoretical Item Build
Skins & Trivia
Skins & Splash-arts
- Spirit-Blade Izo
- King Izo
- Bloodstone Izo
- Wanderer Izo
- Full Metal Izo
- Izo is based on the character from BlazBlue, Jin Kisaragi. This is reflected in his looks and his abilities, especially his weapon of choice, a curved blade that is much like a katana.
- Izo’s name means "legacy" (遺贈; izou) in Japanese. The name has also been depicted as meaning "ice" in couple languages although this definition does not have a standing reason to it.
- Izo's profile art is by maotou.
- Izo's blade, and the winter spirit it is named after, is named after the Greek god of the North Wind, Boreas.
- Izo's disco dance begins with the ever famous John Travolta pose from Saturday Night Fever.
- The hypothesized look Izo would take if he ever became the king of Freljord. Yet, he is not interested in becoming a king at the moment.
- The attire can also be depicted as the same attire worn by the ruler of the Northern Gale before the clan had to go into hiding.
- He shares this theme with .
- He shares the Bloodstone theme with and .
- This skin is based off of the Rounin, a masterless Samurai.
- This also indirectly references to , a wanderer from a different nation.
Full Metal Izo
- This skin is a reference to Hakumen from Blazblue.
- He shares the Full Metal theme with , , and .
- Some of Izo's quotes, especially his main quote in his background, is influenced from the musical Chess, more specifically one of its songs, Anthem.
- Compare Izo's "Let them fight over the Freljord and tear it apart. My land's only borders lie around my heart" to Anthem's "Let man's petty nations tear themselves apart. My land's only borders lie around my heart".
- Izo's relationship with many of the ruling factions of Freljord are unsatisfactory. The ruling factions do not pay as much heed to him due to how he is an independent, though.
- While he too seeks for peace, Izo does not agree with the concept of peace the Avarosan has attempted to place on Freljord. Thus, there is a minor tension between Izo and the & .
- Izo has a distaste for the Frostguard who had ravaged his clan, both in the past and in the present.
- Even if the Frostguard were not the destroyer of his clan, Izo does not follow the Frostguard's ways, having seen through 's disguise.
- As much as he likes the battle spirit of the Winter's Claw, it does not change his dislike of war.
- Finds a liking to the free-spirited .
- to other Freljordian denizens, when approached by , Izo would like to face both entities so that he can fight & struggle to the best of his ability until the very end. This entails that while he would love to die peacefully, he wishes to keep on living until he fulfills his life goal.
Blizzard - Two Steps from Hell (from the album "SkyWorld")
"Do remember when uploading pictures to a wikia, with the format (Yourname)_(FileName).jpg, without brackets." - Mineko Charat Lucky
Use this link to make your own custom champion concepts: http://leagueoflegends.wikia.com/wiki/Special:CreateBlogPage?preload=User_blog:Mineko_Charat_Lucky/Behold,_a_Sandwich