Each one of the heroes, when created in the original DOTA days, also incorporates an immersive background storyline, commonly known as lores, to justify their strength they bear.
Dota 2 has been the forefront of world esports for recent few years and millions of gaming enthusiast has been engaging in countless battles to become the best, atleast in their respect server or region. Many of us would in general play with our favourite heroes in ranked match makings to have that extra comfort. However, many of us might not even know that each one of the heroes, when created in the original DOTA days, also incorporates an immersive background storyline, commonly known as lores, to justify their strength they bear. In this article we are going to feature five of the most intriguing Dota 2 hero lores.
Bristleback – Turning his back to a fight might be just the thing
Never one to turn his back on a fight, Rigwarl was known for battling the biggest, meanest scrappers he could get his hands on. Christened Bristleback by the drunken crowds, he waded into backroom brawls in every road tavern between Slom and Elze, until his exploits finally caught the eye of a barkeep in need of an enforcer. For a bit of brew, Bristleback was hired to collect tabs, keep the peace, and break the occasional leg or two (or five, in the case of one unfortunate web-hund).
After indulging in a night of merriment during which bodily harm was meted out in equal parts upon both delinquent patrons and his own liver, Bristleback finally met his match. “Your tusks offend me, sir,” he was heard to drunkenly slur to one particularly large fellow from the northern wastes whose bill had come due. What followed was a fight for the ages. A dozen fighters jumped in. No stool was left unbroken, and in the end, the impossible happened: the tab went unpaid. Over the weeks that followed, Bristleback's wounds healed, and his quills grew back; but an enforcer's honor can be a prickly thing. He paid the tab from his own coin, vowing to track down this northerner and extract redemption. And then he did something he'd never done before--he actually trained, and in so doing made a startling discovery about himself. A smile peeled back from his teeth as he flexed his quills. Turning his back to a fight might be just the thing.
Timbersaw – Trees had shattered the gates and swarmed into the city
Rizzrack could still hear the screams in his mind. He worked, frantically turning wrenches, twisting screws, building and carving and forging. Sleep eluded him; he only built. Months had passed since he had shut himself in his uncle's workshop, and his deliverance was nearly complete. He rubbed his back as his eyes drifted shut, and saw a blanket of flowers floating on the placid waves of Augury Bay before exploding into a cloud of pollen that silenced lives as it seized the lungs. He woke with a choking start. For hours the rhythmic sound of a whetstone filled the shop as he sharpened a set of massive blades, his mind filled with images of strangling vines garrottingneighbours, enwrapping homes. The flooding of Augury Bay had been nothing compared to the violent horrors the waters left to take root beyond the city walls. But the saw-suit would make him strong and safe he thought, allowing himself this sliver of hope before the full might of his fear crashed into his fading mind. Branches and blood. When the city fell, Rizzrack fled trees that walked, and fought, and killed. Trees had shattered the gates and swarmed into the city. Trees had crushed and thrashed and stomped the last that Augury Bay could muster in defense, and stalked the few fleeing refugees. In addled silence Rizzrack unspooled the thick chain from the suit's arm, his hands quaking as he inspected each link and ran a trembling finger along the claw attached at its end. The saw-suit was ready.With his hand trembling he sparked the bladed machine to life. Terror drove him, terror of what awaited him and of what he would have to face to have any hope of calming his mind. As the saw-suit shuddered to life he knew he must face this fear, and he knew he wouldn't like it one bit.
Rubic – Their arts appeared to turn against them
Already a renowned duelist and scholar of the grander world of sorcery, it had never occurred to Rubick that he might perhaps be Magus material until he was in the midst of his seventh assassination attempt. As he casually tossed the twelfth of a string of would-be killers from a high balcony, it dawned on him how utterly unimaginative the attempts on his life had become. Where once the interruption of a finger snap or fire hand might have put a cheerful spring in his step, it had all become so very predictable. He craved greater competition. Therefore, donning his combat mask, he did what any wizard seeking to ascend the ranks would do: he announced his intention to kill a Magus.
Rubick quickly discovered that to threaten one Magus is to threaten them all, and they fell upon him in force. Each antagonist's spell was an unstoppable torrent of energy, and every attack a calculated killing blow. But very soon something occurred that Rubick's foes found unexpected: their arts appeared to turn against them. Inside the magic maelstrom, Rubick chuckled, subtly reading and replicating the powers of one in order to cast it against another, sowing chaos among those who had allied against him. Accusations of betrayal began to fly, and soon the sorcerers turned one upon another without suspecting who was behind their undoing.
When the battle finally drew to a close, all were singed and frozen, soaked and cut and pierced. More than one lay dead by an ally’s craft. Rubick stood apart, sore but delighted in the week’s festivities. None had the strength to argue when he presented his petition of assumption to the Hidden Council, and the Insubstantial Eleven agreed as one to grant him the title of Grand Magus.
Lone Druid (Sylla Bear) –He found himself able toalter his own physical form as well
Long before the first words of the first histories there rose the druidic Bear Clan. Wise and just they were, and focused in their ways to seek an understanding of the natural order. The arch forces of nature saw this, and so sought the most learned among them. Wise old Sylla, clan justiciar and seer, stepped forward for his kin, and to him was given the Seed with these words: 'When all of the world has dimmed, when civilization has left these lands, when the world is slain and wracked by the endless deserts at the end of ages, plant the Seed.' As he grasped his trust, Sylla felt his years recede and his vitality returned. Vast knowledge burst into his mind. He found himself able to project his very will into reality and, with some concentration, alter his own physical form as well. Yet subtle whispers and cruel ears brought word of the Seed and its power to other peoples, and a terrible war crashed upon the Bear Clan. As his ancestral home burned, Sylla took his burden and fled to the wild places. Ages passed, and time and myth forgot the Bear Clan, forgot Sylla and the Seed, forgot wondrous civilizations that rose and fell in Bear Clan's wake. For milleniaSylla has waited, waited for word from his deities, waited for peace to come to the ever warring realms, waited in exile and in secret for the end of all things and for the conclusion of his sacred commitment, preparing himself always to face and destroy whatever would dare threaten his purpose.
Death Prophet (Krobelus) – Death still refused her and threw her back into life
Krobelusused to tell fortunes for the wealthiest of those who wished to look beyond the veil. But after years of inquiring on behalf of others, she began to seek clues on her own fate. When death refused to yield its secrets, she tried to buy them with her life. But the ultimate price proved insufficient. Death disgorged her again and again, always holding back its deepest mysteries. Her jealousy grew. Others could die for eternity—why not she? Why must she alone be cast back on the shores of life with such tiresome regularity? Why was she not worthy of the one thing all other living creatures took for granted? Still, she would not be discouraged. Each time she returned from the grave, she brought a bit of death back with her. Wraiths followed her like fragments of her shattered soul; her blood grew thin and ectoplasmic; the feasting creatures of twilight took her for their kin. She gave a little of her life with every demise, and it began to seem as if her end was in sight. With her dedication to death redoubled, and no client other than herself, Krobelus threw herself ever more fervently into death's abyss, intent on fulfilling the one prophecy that eluded her: That someday the Death Prophet would return from death no more.
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