|The Grandmaster at Arms|
|Release Date:||February 21, 2009|
|Health:||592.8 (+ 85)|
|Health Regen:||8.5 (+ 0.55)|
|Mana:||338.8 (+ 32)|
|Mana Regen:||7.576 (+ 0.7)|
|Attack Damage:||69.97 (+ 3.375)|
|Attack Speed:||0.638 (+ 3.4%)|
|Armor:||36 (+ 3)|
|Magic Resist:||32.1 (+ 1.25)|
- 2nd bio
- 1st bio
|The self-styled Grandmaster at Arms known as Jax is a mysterious warrior and sometime mercenary renowned for his prowess in combat and biting sarcasm. While exceptionally skilled with virtually every conceivable weapon, he often chooses to fight with a mundane implement, such as a lamppost, in order to give his opponents a sporting chance.|
| "Who wants a piece of the champ?"
|NONE SHALL PASS
Jax sat cross-legged at the center of the bridge with his long-hafted polearm resting on his knees. Demacia had not changed much since he had last traveled this way, but that didn’t surprise him. Its people zealously protected their borders, which had turned them into pretty decent fighters. Well, some of them anyway, he thought, wiping a spot of blood from the softly glowing head of the lamppost. He flicked the droplet over the parapet to the river below and reached into his robe to pull out his third hard-boiled egg of the day. Tapping it on the cobbles, he slowly peeled the shell as he heard the warriors at the end of the bridge try to decide which one of them would face him next.
Jax lifted his mask and bit into the egg. He took a deep breath, tasting sun-ripened crops on the wind and freshly turned earth from the expanse of farmland stretching to every horizon. Jax sighed; to see a realm at peace made him homesick for a land that no longer existed. He shook off the chill of memory, knowing thoughts of Icathia would only distract him. His robes were heavy, but the sun’s warmth didn’t reach the mottled and oddly hued skin beneath. No part of his flesh was visible, which was probably just as well. He wasn’t even sure what his skin looked like anymore.
A cold wind scudded over the snowcapped mountains to the north and a distant storm disgorged rain over distant fields and settlements. Where Jax came from, there was little in the way of clouds, and even less rain. Perhaps the storm would come south and make the cobbles of the bridge slippery. That might make this more challenging for him.
It would also make things more difficult for his opponents. And perhaps that was no bad thing. After all, a warrior worthy of fighting at his side in the battles against the monsters from beyond would need to be adaptable. He heard the clatter of armor and the whisper of a blade cutting air.
“Stand and face me” ordered a powerful voice.
Jax held up a finger while he finished his egg. He licked his lips then settled his mask back over his face before looking up at the warrior standing before him. The man was powerfully built, broad of shoulder and thick of arm. Armored head to foot in gleaming warplate of burnished steel, he carried a double-edged, hand-and-a-half sword.
And looked like he knew how to use it. Jax approved.
“You seem like a man who can hew ironbirch trees all day and still have energy left for a tavern brawl” said Jax.
“I’ll not waste words on you, monster” said the warrior, assuming the same fighting stance all the others had. Jax sighed, disappointed the defeat of the fifteen men before this one hadn’t taught them anything.
“Monster?” he said, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. “I could show you monsters, but I fear you wouldn’t live long enough to tell anyone what a real monster looks like.”
He swung his lamppost around to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. Not that he needed to, but he’d been fighting, on and off, for the last four hours and it might make the man facing him feel like he at least had a chance of winning this duel.
“For Demacia!” shouted the swordsman and he attacked with the same tired, predictable strikes all the others had. The man was fast and strong enough to wield his sword in one hand. Jax swayed aside from the first blow, ducked the second and parried the third. He spun inside the swordsman’s guard and hammered his elbow against the side of his helmet. The metal buckled and the man went down on one knee with a grunt of pain. Jax gave him a moment to still the ringing in his head. The man tore off his helm and dropped it to the bridge.
Blood matted the side of his head, but Jax was impressed at how the man controlled his anger. Demacians had always been sticklers for discipline, so he was glad to see that hadn’t changed. The man took a steadying breath and attacked again, a series of blisteringly fast cuts that went high and low, a mixture of sweeping slashes, lighting thrusts and overhead cuts. Jax parried them all, his lamppost in constant motion as it deflected the Demacian’s blade and delivered stinging, bruising ripostes to the man’s arms and legs. He feinted left and hooked his lamppost around the opponent’s legs, putting him flat on his back. He jabbed the butt of his post into the man’s belly, doubling him up and leaving him gasping for air.
“Had enough yet?” asked Jax. “I can swap hands if it makes it easier.”
“A Demacian would rather die than take succor from an enemy” said the warrior, lurching to his feet. The man’s stoic facade was crumbling in the face of Jax’s mockery, and when he attacked again, it was with a ferocity untempered by discipline and skill. Jax ducked a risky beheading strike and switched to a one-handed grip on his lamppost. He spun his weapon under the man’s sword and rolled his wrist. The Demacian warrior’s sword was wrenched from his grasp and flipped through the air. Jax caught it deftly in his free hand.
“Nice little weapon” he said, spinning the blade in a dazzling series of master fencer’s strokes. “Lighter than it looks.”
The Demacian drew his dagger and rushed him. Jax shook his head at his foolishness. He threw the sword from the bridge and sidestepped a series of blisteringly fast thrusts. He ducked a sweeping cut and caught a thunderous right cross in his open palm. He nodded toward the river.
“I hope you can swim” he said, and twisted his wrist, lifting the armored warrior from his feet and flipping him over the bridge’s parapet. The man splashed down into the river and Jax planted his lamppost on the cobbles.
“Who’s next?” he said.
“That would be me” said a woman dismounting a gray gelding at the end of the bridge. Her horse’s flanks were lathered with sweat, her cloak dusty from a hard ride. She wore a silversteel breastplate, and a long-bladed sword was scabbarded at her hip.
She marched past the men at the end of the bridge and strode toward him, moving with a perfect economy of motion, utterly in balance and supremely confident in her skill. Her features were angular and patrician, framed by dark hair streaked with crimson. Her eyes were cold and unforgiving. They promised only death.
“Who are you?” asked Jax, intrigued.
“My name is Fiora of House Laurent” she said, drawing her weapon, a dueling saber that gleamed with a perfect edge. “And this is my bridge.”
Jax grinned beneath his mask.
Finally, an opponent worth fighting!
|It is seldom the case where a champion is defined by his actions after joining the League of Legends rather than before. Such is the case with Jax, for whom the argument could be made that he is the most prolific tournament fighter currently at the Institute of War. Before joining the League, Jax was an unremarkable soldier-for-hire. For reasons known only to the former leader of the League, High Councilor Reginald Ashram, Jax was put on the top of the list of candidates to receive a League Judgment - the interview process that either accepts or rejects a prospective champion. His Judgment was the quickest in League history, where the Doors of Acceptance glowed and slowly swung open as soon as it began. Jax faced no recorded Observation or Reflection during his Judgment.
Jax proved himself to be an immediate terror in the Fields of Justice. The self-proclaimed "Armsmaster of the League" rattled off a streak of consecutive wins that to this day has not been matched. A number of summoners in the League grew concerned that the perceived objectivity of the League of Legends would be questioned by the presence of an unknown fighter who was unbeatable. For this reason, the new leader of the League (following Reginald Ashram's disappearance), High Councilor Heyward Relivash, created special restrictions for Jax to fight under. This was something the League had never done before, and something that has never been done since. The burly fighter responded by imposing his own special conditions; as a means of protest, he permitted himself to fight using only a brass lamppost. Neither the League's sanctions nor his own has affected his winning ways. The League has since rescinded its sanctions, but Jax has not; he fights and fights well with his trusty brass lamppost.
| "Be advised - there has been an outbreak of lamppost-shaped bruises in the League of Legends."
|The most prolific tournament fighter at the Institute of War, the self-proclaimed "Grandmaster at Arms" rattled off a streak of consecutive wins 152 long. No one had ever achieved even half of that number before, but what made it even more remarkable was that he did so while fighting only 152 matches. Concerned the peace accords that ended the Rune Wars would be threatened by a fighter who was unbeatable in the arena, the League hastily banned Jax from the arena all together. But in the spirit of the Institute, the League eventually relented, stating that a champion’s skill was no reason to remove a realm’s access to the governing powers of the tournaments. Jax was reinstated, but with one rule: He is only allowed to fight with weapons the League deems suitable. For now, that list includes a lamppost, a chicken’s foot, a spatula, and a fishing rod.|
Journal of Justice
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