“Chaos is the only constant.” The words ripple through the air, a whisper carried by the thorns that coil around her arms like living serpents. Briar stands at the edge of an overgrown forest, her form a silhouette against the moonlight. Her hair—wild and untamed—flows like smoke, and her eyes gleam with the predatory glint of someone who thrives in the shadows. The vines at her feet writhe as if alive, their barbs glistening with venom. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls—a sound that echoes her own feral nature.
Long before the League of Legends, before the summoners bound her essence to the Rift, Briar was born of chaos—a child of the wilderness, shaped by the untamed forces of nature. She grew up in the Ironspine Mountains, a place where civilization dared not tread. Her parents were wanderers, outcasts who had fled the rigid laws of society to live among the wilds. They taught her to respect the land, to see beauty in its unpredictability. But they also warned her of its dangers—the way the forest could turn cruel, the way predators hid in plain sight.
When she was just a girl, Briar wandered too far into the woods. She followed the call of a strange melody—a haunting tune that seemed to emanate from the very trees themselves. Deep in the heart of the forest, she found a clearing bathed in unnatural light. At its center stood a massive rose, its petals black as midnight and its stem covered in razor-sharp thorns. Drawn by curiosity, she reached out to touch it.
The moment her fingers brushed the rose, the world changed.
The ground trembled, and the vines surrounding the clearing surged toward her, wrapping around her limbs. Pain shot through her body as the thorns pierced her skin, injecting her with something dark and intoxicating. Visions flooded her mind—images of forests swallowing cities, of beasts tearing apart armies, of a world consumed by chaos. When she awoke, the rose was gone, but its essence remained, fused to her very soul.
From that day forward, Briar was no longer just a girl. She became a force of nature—a living embodiment of the wild’s untamed fury. The vines that had wrapped around her now obeyed her will, lashing out at her command. Her senses sharpened, allowing her to hear the whispers of the wind, the heartbeat of prey miles away. And yet, she felt… different. The rose’s influence was intoxicating, filling her with power but also with hunger—a craving for destruction that she couldn’t fully control.
Her parents feared what she had become. They tried to restrain her, binding her with ropes and chains, but the vines broke free every time. One night, during a storm, Briar snapped. The house they had built together was reduced to splinters, the walls torn apart by thorny tendrils. When the chaos subsided, her parents were gone, their bodies lost to the forest. Briar collapsed, sobbing amidst the wreckage, the weight of what she had done crushing her.
But the forest did not judge her. It embraced her.
For years, Briar lived alone, wandering the wilderness like a ghost. She avoided villages, fearing the destruction she might bring. Yet the rose’s influence grew stronger with each passing day. Its voice whispered to her, urging her to embrace the chaos within. “You are meant to reshape this world,” it crooned. “To tear down the cages they have built and let the wild run free.”
At first, Briar resisted. She tried to bury the rose’s influence, to suppress the urges that clawed at her mind. But the more she fought, the more the chaos consumed her. Eventually, she gave in.
The first village she attacked was small—a cluster of huts surrounded by fields. The people saw her coming, her silhouette framed by the setting sun, the thorns writhing around her like a crown of snakes. They begged for mercy, but Briar felt none. The vines surged forward, tearing through wood and stone, reducing everything to rubble. When it was over, she stood amidst the ruins, her chest heaving, her hands trembling. For the first time in years, she felt… alive.
Word of the “Thorn Witch” spread quickly. Villagers spoke of a monster cloaked in vines, her laughter echoing through the night as she brought ruin to all who crossed her path. Some called her a demon. Others saw her as a harbinger of nature’s wrath. But no matter the name, one thing was certain: Briar was unstoppable.
The League of Legends offered her a stage. Here, she could unleash her chaos without restraint, her battles sanctioned by the summoners. Yet even on the Rift, she felt the pull of the rose’s whispers, urging her to destroy, to consume, to reshape.
In the quiet moments, Briar visits the ruins of the first village she destroyed. The walls are overgrown, the ground reclaimed by the forest. She places a hand on a crumbling wall, feeling the pulse of life beneath her fingers. The rose’s voice echoes in her mind, urging her to continue.
She wonders if she can ever escape the rose’s influence—if she can ever truly be free. But freedom, she realizes, is a fleeting concept. The rose has made her what she is, and there is no turning back.
On the battlefield, she faces others who wield chaos, though their motivations differ from hers. One such opponent wields corruption born of hatred, their weapons humming with dark energy. “You fight for destruction,” they sneer. Briar grins, her vines lashing out. “Destruction creates.”
Another opponent moves with precision, their blades slicing through her vines with ease. “You think yourself untamed,” they taunt. Briar laughs, her thorns ensnaring them. “Untamed is all I know.”
Yet it is in the heart of the jungle that Briar’s story reaches its cruelest turn. She encounters a cursed warrior, their bow humming with chaotic energy. “We are both prisoners,” the warrior hisses, their arrows piercing her vines. Briar laughs, a sound like shattering glass. “You are a slave. I am the master.”
Now, as she stands atop the Howling Abyss, Briar reflects. The rose’s whispers grow louder, its influence spreading like poison through her veins. She has razed villages, toppled empires, and still, the chaos hungers. The vines around her writhe restlessly, their barbs dripping with venom.
She descends deeper into the wilderness, the vines coiling tighter around her arms, She finds another rose—its petals black as midnight, its stem covered in thorns, She reaches out, her fingers brushing its surface.
The world trembles.
And so, the chaos continues.
One thorn at a time.