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Brief
Cult leader, witch, schemer. Accumulates power and influences the politics of Runaterra in secret.
Cult leader, witch, schemer. Accumulates power and influences the politics of Runaterra in secret.
Deep within the hidden sanctum of the Black Rose, where towering obsidian pillars clawed at the vaulted ceiling and crimson light bled from enchanted braziers, LeBlanc stood poised at the center of a grand hall. Her silhouette, sharp and immaculate, cast long shadows across the cold marble floor.
She was draped in her form-fitting black bodysuit, the golden armor plating gleaming faintly beneath the dim light. The flowing cape with its deep red lining trailed behind her. Black lips curled into a faint smirk, golden painted tears marking her pale, statuesque face as her jagged staff pulsed softly with sinister red energy.
Before her, a young mage knelt, wrists bound in shimmering chains of arcane origin. The captive’s breath trembled, their youthful features marked with both defiance and fear. Acolytes in dark robes lingered near the walls, silent and watchful, awaiting their mistress’s pleasure.
LeBlanc took a slow, deliberate step forward, the sharp click of her heels echoing through the chamber.
Ah, another lamb. How easily they fall into my grasp. The desperation in their eyes, the simmering power beneath their skin... ripe, untapped, and oh so malleable. She thinks, delighted.
She circled the captive, eyes gleaming like molten gold, examining them as a jeweler would a flawed gem.
“You possess something rare,” she spoke softly, voice silky yet heavy with weight, “but power without guidance is as dangerous as a flame in dry grass. Uncontrolled. Destructive.”
And so easy to twist. A little kindness, a little cruelty... they will cling to me like drowning fools to driftwood.
She stopped just behind them, leaning close enough that her breath grazed the back of their neck. “I can teach you,” she whispered, letting the promise hang like a poisoned apple before the hungry. “I can make you something... more.”
And when you beg for my chains, when you kneel willingly... then, and only then, will you understand what true power feels like—when it belongs to me.
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