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Your name is JERICHO SWAIN. You are currently the GRAND GENERAL of NOXUS, having fought tooth and claw to attain the highest power possible in the ranks of your brutal city-state. You have a variety of INTERESTS, mostly INTELLECTUAL PURSUITS relating to MILITARY STRATEGY. This unrivaled mastery of BATTLEFIELD TACTICS would normally win you widespread recognition as an EVIL GENIUS, but you are too much of a pragmatist to associate yourself with such a loaded phrase.
If you had arms in this depiction, your frame would have accommodated a perch for your good friend BEATRICE. Ever since your induction into the NOXIAN MILITARY, she has never left your CURRENTLY NON-EXISTENT SHOULDER. So deep is your bond with your corvid companion that her comely visage tends to :::>< Precede your speech at all times.
Your name is RIVEN. You have just woken up from a restful nap on a PARK BENCH. You were once an ELITE SOLDIER in the service of NOXUS. Unfortunately, thanks to a MILITARY DISASTER that shook your faith in your city-state, you are now wandering in SELF-IMPOSED EXILE. You have a variety of INTERESTS, but your current IMPOVERISHED STATE prevents you from partaking in any of them.
You equip your RUNIC BLADE, or at least WHAT REMAINS OF IT, to your 1/3BLADEKIND SPECIBUS and go off looking for a fresh supply of NEWSPAPERS.