Why does renekton hate nasus

Yes, Darius becomes more and more team-reliant as the game progresses. Typically hypers are champions that scale really well from time, items, kits, or all of the above. Collectible card games. Is Nasus a dog or wolf? Is Nasus a dog or a cat? Does Renekton hate Nasus? Why does Renekton kill Nasus? Who betrayed Azir? How do you counter damage on Nasus? Who can 1v1 Jax? Mid game with above average stacks he can absolutely obliterate though.

He is simple to play and hard to 1v1. This puts more pressure on the top lane player than other lanes. Force teamfights, force dragon or baron or turrets when you see Nasus farming away, it will cause bad blood in solo q and disrupt their team synergy. Alternatively, you can stay in lane with him, and just kill him over and over again if he overextends. If he farms in lane, Nasus has to stack in a cloud of poison, forcing him to back off, losing stacks.

Akali, Pantheon and Kled offer different approaches. Burst him down when he is weak and get enough gold that you can keep doing it after he has some defensive items. Begin typing your search term above and press enter to search. Press ESC to cancel. Ben Davis June 24, Who are the strongest champions in League of Legends? Who is the hardest champ in league? Who is the weakest champion in League of Legends lore?

Who is the strongest Darkin? Is Jax the strongest champion in lore? Is Azir dead? Xerath drove a wedge into these cracks, corrupting his mind and twisting his perception of what was real and what was imagined. Thousands of years later, the Tomb of the Emperors was opened by the mercenary Sivir, freeing Renekton and Xerath.

Renekton roared his fury and thundered out into the Shuriman desert, sniffing the air for the scent of his brother. Renekton now roams the deserts, seeking the death of Nasus, the traitor he believes left him to die. His grip on reality is tenuous at best, and while there are moments when he resembles the proud, honorable hero of the past, much of the time he is little more than a devolved hate-maddened beast, driven on by the thirst for blood and vengeance.

He no longer knows. Once, perhaps, when the sun disc gleamed like gold atop the great Palace of Ten Thousand Pillars. All his hurts and pain were washed away as the light remade him. If this memory is his, then was he once mortal? He thinks so, but cannot remember.

His thoughts are a cloud of duneflies, myriad shattered memories buzzing angrily in his elongated skull. This place, this cave under the sands. Is it real? He believes so, but he is no longer sure he can trust his senses. For as long as he can remember, he knew only darkness; awful, unending darkness that clung to him like a shroud. But then the darkness broke apart and he was hurled back into the light. He remembers clawing his way through the sand as the earth buckled and heaved, the living rock grinding as something long buried and all but forgotten heaved itself to the surface once again.

Towering statues erupted from beneath the sand, vast and terrible in their aspect. Armored warriors with demonic heads loomed over him, ancient gods of a long dead culture. Bellicose phantoms rose from the sand and he fled their wrath, escaping the rising city as light blazed and the moons and stars wheeled overhead. He remembers staggering through the desert, his mind afire with visions of blood and betrayal, of titanic palaces and golden temples brought down in the blink of an eye.

Was it his? He does not know, but fears it might have been. The light that once remade his flesh now pains him. It burned him raw and seared his soul as he wandered the desert, lost and alone, tormented by a hatred he did not understand. He has taken refuge from its unforgiving light, but even here, squatting and weeping in this dripping cave, the Whisperer has found him.

The shadow on the walls slithers around him; always muttering, always conspiring to feed his bitterness. He presses long, gnarled hands that end in vicious, ebon talons to his temples, but he cannot shut his constant companion in the darkness out.

He never could. The Whisperer tells tales of his shame and guilt. It speaks of the thousands who died because of him, who never had the chance to live thanks to his failure.

A part of him believes these to be honeyed falsehoods, twisted fictions told often enough that he can no longer sift truth from lies. The Whisperer reminds him of the light being shut away, showing him the jackal-face of his betrayer looking down as he condemned him to the abyssal dark for all eternity.

Tears gather at the corners of his cataracted eyes and he angrily wipes them away. The Whisperer knows every secret path into his mind, twisting every certainty he once clung to, every virtue that made him the hero revered as a god throughout That name has meaning to him, but it fades like a shimmering mirage, remaining bound within the prison of his mind by chains of madness.

His eyes, once so clear-sighted and piercing, are misted with the eons he spent in the endless dark. Perhaps he is dying. He thinks he might be, but the thought does not trouble him overmuch. He has lived an age and suffered too long to fear extinction.