The wind howls through the ancient trees of the Kumungu Jungle, carrying with it the scent of moss and earth. Gnar perches on a gnarled branch, his small frame blending seamlessly with the shadows. His oversized ears twitch at every sound, his wide eyes scanning the forest for movement. Somewhere in the distance, the faint hum of hextech machinery echoes—a reminder that the world has changed since he last walked among its people.
Long before the League of Legends, before the summoners bound his essence to the Rift, Gnar was a relic of a forgotten age—a Yordle from a time when Runeterra was young and untamed. He lived in an era when the jungles stretched endlessly, untouched by civilization, and the only sounds were those of nature itself. The Yordles of his time were not like the ones who now populate Bandle City; they were wild, primal creatures, living in harmony with the land rather than shaping it to their will.
Gnar’s early life was simple. He roamed the jungle with his tribe, a close-knit group of Yordles who relied on each other for survival. They hunted together, gathered food together, and shared stories around the fire as the stars painted the sky. Gnar was different from the others—smaller, scrappier, and far more curious. While his peers were content to follow the rhythms of the jungle, Gnar was drawn to the unknown. He would climb the tallest trees, explore the deepest caves, and investigate anything that piqued his interest.
One fateful day, Gnar stumbled upon something that would change his life forever: a shard of True Ice. It lay half-buried in the ground, its surface shimmering faintly despite the heat of the jungle. Intrigued, Gnar reached out to touch it—and the world froze.
When Gnar awoke, he found himself encased in ice, his tiny body suspended in stasis. The jungle had vanished, replaced by a barren wasteland covered in snow. He screamed, but no sound came out. Panic gripped him as he realized he was trapped, unable to move or escape. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the ice cracked.
Centuries passed.
Gnar’s awakening came during an expedition led by Trundle, the Troll King, and his band of scavengers. They had ventured deep into the Frostguard Caves, seeking relics of ancient power. When they discovered the frozen Yordle, they thought him dead—a curiosity to be claimed and displayed. But Gnar was very much alive. With a burst of energy, he shattered the ice and leapt free, startling the trolls with his sudden appearance.
Trundle, amused by the tiny creature’s antics, decided to take him along. “You’re small,” Trundle said, chuckling as he swung his club. “But you’ve got spirit. You’ll make a fine addition to my tribe.”
At first, Gnar was overwhelmed. The world was so different from the one he remembered. The air smelled wrong, the ground felt strange beneath his feet, and the towering figures of the trolls intimidated him. Yet he adapted quickly, using his agility and resourcefulness to keep up with the larger creatures. He learned to scavenge alongside them, collecting scraps of food and materials. Over time, he earned their respect—not through brute strength, but through cleverness and determination.
But Gnar’s connection to Trundle’s tribe was fleeting. One night, while exploring the edges of their camp, Gnar encountered Anivia, the Cryophoenix. She emerged from the snow like a ghost, her feathers glowing faintly in the moonlight. Her presence was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, and Gnar instinctively crouched low, ready to flee.
“Why do you run?” Anivia asked, her voice soft yet commanding.
“I’m scared,” Gnar admitted, his ears flattening against his head.
“There is nothing to fear,” Anivia replied. “You are a child of the past, but your time has returned. Embrace it.”
With those words, Anivia disappeared into the night, leaving Gnar alone with his thoughts. He didn’t fully understand what she meant, but her words lingered in his mind, a spark of hope amidst the confusion.
As Gnar traveled with Trundle’s tribe, he began to notice changes within himself. In moments of extreme stress or danger, his body would swell, his muscles growing larger and his demeanor shifting from playful to ferocious. This transformation terrified him at first—he feared losing control, becoming something monstrous. But over time, he learned to harness this power, using it to protect himself and those he cared about.
His dual nature became a defining aspect of his identity. In his smaller form, Gnar was nimble and mischievous, darting through the wilderness with ease. But when provoked, he transformed into Mega Gnar, a towering force of destruction capable of leveling entire forests. The trolls marveled at his abilities, dubbing him “Stonefist” for his knack of hurling boulders with incredible precision.
Yet Gnar’s heart remained pure. Despite his newfound strength, he never sought to dominate or destroy. Instead, he used his power to defend the weak and preserve the balance of the natural world. This philosophy often put him at odds with Trundle, whose ambitions leaned toward conquest and expansion.
“You’re too soft,” Trundle growled during one heated exchange. “Strength exists to be wielded, not hidden!”
“Strength isn’t about hurting others,” Gnar retorted, his voice firm despite his small size. “It’s about protecting what matters.”
Their clashes grew frequent, each vying for dominance in a deadly game of predator and prey. Yet despite their differences, there was a mutual respect between them—a recognition of the sacrifices they had both made in pursuit of survival.
The League of Legends offered Gnar a new stage—a battlefield where he could showcase his skills and reconnect with the world he had lost. On the Rift, he faced opponents who challenged him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Some, like Rengar, the Pridestalker, shared his affinity for the hunt, their battles a clash of primal instincts. Others, like Zac, the Secret Weapon, represented a fusion of nature and technology, their movements fluid and unpredictable.
But no opponent tested Gnar quite like Renekton, the Butcher of the Sands. Renekton’s raw power and unrelenting aggression posed a unique challenge, forcing Gnar to adapt his strategies on the fly.
“You’re weak,” Renekton snarled during one encounter, his blade slicing through the air.
“Weakness is subjective,” Gnar replied, transforming into Mega Gnar and hurling a massive boulder. “Let’s see which one matters more.”
Their battles were epic, each strike shaking the very foundations of the arena. Renekton’s brute force clashed with Gnar’s agility and ingenuity, creating a spectacle that captivated audiences. Yet despite their animosity, there was a strange kinship between them—a shared understanding of the fragility of existence and the inevitability of change.
Back in the wilds of the Kumungu Jungle, Gnar continued his quest for balance, delving deeper into the mysteries of his transformation. He clashed with Zac, whose elastic form and playful demeanor reminded him of his own duality.
“You’re fun-sized,” Zac quipped during one encounter, bouncing across the battlefield with ease.
“And you’re stretchy,” Gnar retorted, grinning as he hurled a rock. “Let’s see who’s better at breaking things!”
Their battles often ended in laughter, neither taking themselves too seriously. Yet despite their lighthearted interactions, there was a mutual respect between them—a recognition of the resilience required to thrive in a changing world.
In quiet moments, Gnar reflects on the nature of his journey. He has faced countless adversaries, survived numerous close calls, and achieved feats that once seemed impossible. Yet he knows that his story is far from over. The pursuit of balance is endless, its rewards fleeting and ephemeral.
He climbs to the summit of a rocky outcrop, his boomerang resting against his shoulder. The sun hangs low in the sky, its light casting long shadows across the landscape. Below him, the jungle stretches out, its canopy alive with the chatter of birds and the rustle of leaves. Gnar allows himself a rare moment of reflection, his thoughts drifting to the sacrifices he has made and the battles yet to come.
Somewhere deep within him, he feels a flicker of doubt—a whisper of uncertainty amidst the cacophony of certainty.
Is balance truly worth the cost?
He shakes off the thought, focusing instead on the present. The void calls to him, its whispers urging him to continue his mission. Yet he wonders if there is more to his role than mere destruction. Could he, in his own way, serve as a bridge between worlds—a harbinger of both chaos and renewal?
He raises his boomerang, the light of distant stars reflecting off its polished surface. The wind carries the scent of ash and ruin, a reminder of the worlds he has conquered.
Balance will prevail.
One throw at a time.