Malcolm Graves nació en la trastienda de una taberna de Aguas Estancadas, y lo dejaron allí con una botella de leche con licor. Sobrevivió a una dura infancia en los barrios de los piratas, usando todo truco que conocía. Con el objetivo de construirse una nueva vida, se marchó hacia el continente en el primer barco en el que pudo colarse. Sin embargo, la oscura realidad del mundo le obligó a llevar una vida desagradable en los suburbios de diversas ciudades estado, saltando la frontera cuando las cosas se ponían feas. En una partida de cartas con apuestas especialmente elevadas, se enfrentó a Twisted Fate. Ambos sacaron cuatro ases en la última mano. Era la primera vez que ambos estafadores encontraban la horma de su zapato. Ambos formaron una alianza, estafando en las mesas y peleando hombro con hombro en los callejones después de las partidas. Juntos dominaban las calles y acumulaban estafas, barajas y antecedentes penales.
Desgraciadamente, Graves cometió el error de ganarle una cantidad elevada al Dr. Aregor Priggs, un oficial y hombre de negocios zaunita de alto rango. Cuando Priggs descubrió cómo había jugado, se obsesionó con la venganza. Se enteró del deseo ardiente que tenía Twisted Fate de controlar la magia y le ofreció un trato: si le entregaba a Graves, le permitiría participar en un procedimiento con el cual cumpliría su deseo. Twisted Fate aceptó el trato; tanto Graves como él conocían bien el acuerdo que tenían entre ellos, pero la oferta era demasiado buena. Una vez conseguido su objetivo, Priggs llevó a Graves a un lugar especial creado para retener a hombres cuyos crímenes (o, mejor dicho, sus castigos) no debían figurar en los libros. Graves aguantó durante años su cautiverio a manos de los guardianes con menos escrúpulos de todo Zaun antes de conseguir escapar. Uno de sus compañeros presos le presentó a un excéntrico armero que modificó una escopeta exactamente según sus especificaciones. Tras hacerle una visita a Priggs, Graves se unió a la Liga de Leyendas con dos objetivos en mente: Twisted Fate y venganza.
"Hay un dicho en el armario: no tengo nada, salvo tiempo para preparar un plan."
"Well, well, it's time I straightened you out, Fate..."
Juicio de la Liga
Candidato:Graves Date: 14 de Octubre, 21 CLE
Malcolm Graves is the picture of resilience. His body, a checkerboard of scars and cracked calluses, remains fit despite his age. His expression is grim, determined. He carries an oversized shotgun in one hand. Its weight is irrational for its function, but it complements him well.
However, the real story lies in his eyes. They seem stubbornly fixed on something beyond his vision, something unachievable, some goal that has always remained slightly out of reach. Nothing will steer him from his course. It's as though he has pursued the carrot-on-a-stick for so long that, even though he learned the trick, it's all he knows how to do anymore.
Same old song and dance, Graves thought. Couple of big wigs trying to put on a show.
Graves wasn't one for theatrics. He preferred to keep most of his social interactions 12-gauge and below. Things hadn't always been this way. Once upon a time, he genuinely delighted in the game, fleecing marks and skipping town before the chips could fall. Back then he had a partner with a like-minded philosophy: the longer the con, the better.
Then Twisted Fate turned on him faster than a foal in a firepit.
Graves was no stranger to the double cross, but somehow Fate managed to blindside him. Never again. He paid a fair chunk of his life for that oversight. It was a hard lesson, but then again the most important ones tended to be.
Now all that was left was to even the score.
The clank of crashing steel broke his thoughts. It was a tone of bitter finality, the chime of swindled life. He knew it well. He spun to find a familiar set of bars lined mockingly between him and the freedom he so recently won. Behind them, the oily face of the man who incarcerated him, Dr. Aregor Priggs, sneered in victory. He raised his arm, happy to put a slug between Priggs' beady eyes, but his hand was empty.
He was trapped, again, in Priggs' privately funded detention facility.
Well, this is a setback.
Priggs grinned broadly, gathering a froth of reeking spittle in the corners of his mouth. He was a bulbous, slimy man whose only redeeming quality, as far as Graves was concerned, was that he had the stones to look his captives in the eye while he kept them holed up like dogs. Graves had worked out that Priggs used this little sanctuary primarily as a place to make high-profile competitors disappear, but he had earned a special cell for taking two of Priggs' more fetching mistresses for a week-long excursion on the sleaze's dime. By the time Priggs' retinue of head-bobbing corporate flunkies tracked all the funds Graves funneled, he and Fate were already in Demacia hustling vacationers on Conqueror Beach.
"I bet you thought you saw the last of me," Priggs wheezed. He always wheezed when he talked.
"The last I cared to," Graves said. "You looked a might improved with that pig face of yours spread across a wall." Every word carried a consequence, so Graves chose to savor them.
"Aren't you curious how I did it?" Priggs was pleased with himself.
"I don't wonder why critters come crawling back, I just stomp harder next time."
"I hope you still have that spirit when I'm through with you," Priggs spat. Graves didn't flinch. He may as well have been a tick for how long he'd held on in that place, with few friends and fewer decencies, tended by whatever trash Priggs found to run the outfit. Pain had long ago become a chore more than any kind of punishment.
"I hope you eat something lighter the next time I make you soil yourself," he returned.
"Why do you want to join the League, Graves?" The question was unusually direct for the wheezing oaf, but when the subject was the most powerful organization in Valoran, perhaps even his chaps got a little chafed.
"Don't know why you'd stop to wonder," he said. "You know my history as well as anyone."
"Miss me that much?" The new voice, a relic from the past, made Graves' blood boil. He grabbed the bars, knuckles white, as Twisted Fate strolled into view behind Priggs.
"Fate! I know you're crooked as a quarryman's spine, but you got a real set of tires throwing in with this sack of stool again!" This wasn't the reunion Graves had planned all these years.
"Why you-" the fat man sputtered.
"Why do you want to join the League, Graves?" Twisted Fate's face was calm, unreadable.
"You let me out of this cage and I'll show you-" Graves roared.
"Why do you want-" Fate started again.
"I'm going to ruin your con, Fate! The world may buy that you're some kind of ‘champion,' but I'm gonna show them what you really are. I will take everything you have, and when I'm done, you'll be lucky to scam the heat off a campfire." Graves took a deep breath. He didn't realize how much Twisted Fate had gotten to him. He silently vowed never to give Fate the satisfaction of seeing him this angry again.
"How does it feel, exposing your mind?" Fate smirked, a simple gesture that was acid in Graves' veins. He swallowed, determined not to lose his cool again.
"Feels like I just squatted with spurs on," he muttered.
Fate chuckled. "It's good to see you again, Malcolm."
With that, he strode out of sight, Priggs close on his heels. Graves sat in his cell, smoldering, until the bars suddenly opened. Cautiously, he exited the cell…
…and found himself standing in the Institute of War, weapon in hand.
Always putting on a show.
Graves clenched his teeth and cocked his gun. He wasn't one for theatrics, but if it was a show they wanted...
Arte conceptual de Riot Graves (por el Artista de Riot Larry Ray)
Concepto de Graves (Nuevo Amanecer) 1
Concepto de Graves (Nuevo Amanecer) 2
Arte conceptual de Graves Veraniego (por el Artista de Riot Charles Liu)
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Adelanto de Campeones
Por Average Gatsby
If you've ever had a nemesis in your life that made you want to call him out for a showdown like the no-good, low-down, varmint, snake-in-the-grass that he is, you'll probably have a bit in common with this next champion. Allow me to introduce Graves, the Outlaw. In addition to being one of those crack-shot renegade types, Graves is possessed of a particular disinclination towards everyone's favorite Southern gentleman, Twisted Fate.
Whatever the result of his arrival in the League, one thing's for certain: Somebody's going to go out with a bang!
Avance de Mecánicas de Graves
Por Average Gatsby
We wanted to take this opportunity to preview some of the gameplay on our newest ranged DPS champion: Graves, the Outlaw.
This rough-and-tumble gunman uses a massive, hextech double-barreled shotgun to rain down death from a distance and punish any foolish varmints that get too close. For example, Buckshot shoots three quick shrapnel bursts in a cone in front of him. Unlike other multi-missile spells, however, all three Buckshot rounds can all hit the same target (although each individual projectile will deal slightly reduced damage).
Graves is also able to make it uncomfortable for foes to fight at his optimal range by throwing out Smoke Screen to limit enemy vision and slow them in an area, while Quick Draw lets him dash in for a quick shotgun blast or escape danger as needed. In this way he can control his positioning to set up maximum damage Buckshots.
Finally, Graves can use Collateral Damage to unleash a skill shot that nukes the first target it hits, spreading a cone of damage behind its target to hit anybody yellow enough to hide behind the tanks. While the single-target use is simple, properly utilizing the cone is what will separate the good Graves players from the great ones.
Our goal with Graves was to make a ranged DPS that had some incentive to get up close or make enemies think twice before getting in your face. While it's completely possible to play Graves as a standard max-range carry, this dichotomy makes for skill differential without adding a high barrier to entry (or any hefty, paragraph-long tooltips). Whether trying to maximize the close-up damage of Buckshot, or setting up the 1-2 punch of Collateral Damage, we're excited to add a champion with true grit to the ranged DPS lineup.
Graves fires an explosive shell dealing heavy damage to the first target it hits. After hitting a champion or reaching the end of its range the shell explodes dealing damage in a cone behind the target.