Claaevius, The Darkin Butcher

Claaevius is a being who enjoys the feeling and spatter of butchering men, and feeds on the tortured meat of his labor. His hunting is gory, and brutally efficient.

In game, Claaevius is a terrifying Assassin/Tank, charging at his prey in a fury, and culling the weak in a few attacks of his cleaver.

Abilities
Passive: Hunger of the Darkin

Nearby enemy minions drop 1 stack of Weak Flesh, while Champions drop a mega stack, equal to 20 individual stacks of Weak Flesh. Each Stack of Blood of the Darkin grants 15 extra basic attack damage and an extra 10% max health for every five pieces, and can stack indefinitely. Basic attacks oneshot minions below 50% health.

Q: Cull

35-55 Mana

5-3 second cooldown

Rend the ground in a line in front of you, slowing enemies by 10-50% of their movement speed and dealing 50-90 damage. Deals extra damage to enemies hit with crowd control.

W: Rend

25-45 Mana

10-6 second cooldown

Mark an enemy with a debuff that shreds armor, and increases movement speed when moving toward the marked enemy.

E: Tenderizing Charge

55-75 Mana

13-9 second cooldown

Charge at a selected enemy, quickly gaining movement speed until hitting your target, dealing 5-25% of your target’s max health, and stunning your target for a few seconds.

R: Great Cleave

75 Mana

120 second cooldown

Send cleaving chains in an arc in front of you for 5-7 seconds, pulling in enemies and dealing heavy damage over a few seconds. Enemies cannot attack, move, or cast abilities for the duration. Can be cast during Tenderizing Charge.

Bi
Claaevius was, no, is a horrifying beast of a Darkin sent in the second wave. He was deadly in his own regard, cutting down waves of enemies with his cleaver, and showing brutal ferocity by ripping apart certain heroes and devouring their flesh. Once he was cornered, he escaped by charging through his enemies and running off into the woods. He was not found for quite some time.

Decades later, Claaevius was found as a butcher for a Zaun slaughter house, ran by a 60 year-old Zaunite war veteran named Mr. Pfennig. He was calm, the polluting chemical fumes and potent magical waste flowing around him acting as a soporific. He was happy, and that's all he cared about.

One day, a gang of Noxian thugs attempted to rob his boss for important funds. His boss was stabbed, though Claaevius was there to get him to safety, but not before ripping Mr. Pfennig's stabber's head off of his sorry neck, with a sadistic grin and soft chuckle. His boss currently recovering from the brutal shanking, Claaevius searches for the rest of the gang that did this, all the while supporting the slaughter house in Mr. Pfennig's, albeit temporary, absence with the gold he makes.

Odd Jobs
Well, another day, another sack of coin. I got up from my bed in the storage room, put on my apron, stained red from cutting meat, and went outside. I looked at a small board that people posted hit requests for me. One, however, caught my eye among the old, dusty papers." A job from Piltover??" I whispered to myself They pay good, no, excellent coin for services like mine. I quickly got my cleaver and coat, and headed for the nearest elevator to Piltover.

Well, this must be the place, I thought. A gorgeous mansion spread out over a few acres in front of me. I used the doorbell, and after, a few seconds, an old man in a tux opens the door. "What's your business, abomination," asked the old man, looking somewhat terrified. I held up the flyer, and said, "I'm here for the contract."

He lets me in, holding open the door, and guided me to the main room. In a large, yordle-hide coat, was a snobbish Piltover bigwig. I hated people like this, and I would've killed her on the spot. But, y'know, money is money.

Couple of hours later, I'm in Emberflit Valley, walking to the door of a large mansion in Emberflit Valley, bringing a portion of poisoned foodstuffs to a Mr. Vikt-Wait a second. WAIT A RUKULOSEC SECOND.

They want me... to terminally poison... my FAVORITE CUSTOMER, and PERSONAL FRIEND, Viktor!? This is why I hate Piltover. Prejudiced shrakh prats. I dumped the poisoned food into the trash. The only thing that wasn't poisoned was ingredients for sweet milk, a guilty pleasure of mine, and the only thing Viktor really likes to eat anymore.

I knocked on the door, and waited for a few seconds. I heard that old, familiar sourpuss yell, "Come in." He was messing with his tendons again. The smell of blood made my chasm of a stomach growl. Keep in the urge to eat, Claaevicius, I tell myself. I can't just eat my friend, even if he's opened up like this.

I heard him ask what the care package was. "It was originally full of poisoned food, sent by a Piltover shrakhead. I dumped the poisoned food into a sump pool," I told him. "Hmmm, they really must be an idiot to think they can send me food to kill me," He said, pulling at a pinched nerve. "Could you please pass me the tweezers? I cannot reach them." His arm was strapped to an operating table next to his desk, and since his arm was pinned, he couldn't reach them.

I gladly handed him his tweezers, which he used to pull the pinched nerve back into place. He used the mechanical laser-firing robot-hand to seal the wound. He unstrapped his arm, and moved his fingers in a tapping motion. "Ya want some celebratory sweet milk? We got the ingredients," I said, holding up the basket of fresh, unpasteurized milk. He promptly got up, and took the basket from my hand and preparing the burners on his stove.