|Overview||Gallery||Statistics||Match History||Ban History|
|The Exemplar of Demacia|
|Release Date:||March 1st, 2011|
|Real Name:||Jarvan Lightshield IV|
|Health:||571.2 (+ 90)|
|Health Regen:||8.175 (+ 0.7)|
|Mana:||302.2 (+ 40)|
|Mana Regen:||6.755 (+ 0.45)|
|Attack Damage:||55.712 (+ 3.4)|
|Attack Speed:||0.658 (+ 2.5%)|
|Armor:||29 (+ 3.6)|
|Magic Resist:||32.1 (+ 1.25)|
- Previous Bio
- League Judgement
|Prince Jarvan IV comes from a lineage of kings, and is favored to lead Demacia in the next era. Raised to be the paragon of Demacia’s greatest virtues, Jarvan IV often struggles with the heavy expectations placed upon him. On the battlefield, he inspires his troops with his fearsome courage and selfless determination, revealing his true strength as a leader of men.
Though the Demacian ruler is chosen by a high council from a selection of worthy candidates, the last three kings were descendants of the same line. As King Jarvan III’s only child, Jarvan IV was groomed since birth to continue that tradition. His family’s intentions were reflected in all aspects of his life, from his courtly duties to his name. Educated by the finest historical scholars and tutored in the ways of ruling a kingdom, Jarvan IV also studied the techniques of war.
During Jarvan’s combat training, he was often paired against a young warrior named Garen, who was preparing to serve as the next ruler’s Crownguard. Jarvan admired Garen’s sheer fortitude, and Garen, the prince’s quick thinking. The two were soon inseparable.
When Jarvan IV came of age, his father bestowed upon him the honor of serving as a general in the Demacian army. Though Jarvan IV had studied the theories and tactics of warfare, and could win a duel against his swordmaster, he had never stood on the front lines of a battle, much less taken a life.
Determined to prove his worth through victories in battle, Jarvan IV led his troops against bands of Winter’s Claw reavers, warring tribes, and even a coven of rogue mages. Though he commanded his troops to great success, Jarvan was always flanked on all sides by guards sworn to protect him, and felt that his impact as a fighter was often stifled.
When Noxian warbands raided the farmlands near Demacia’s border, Jarvan IV led his troops to defend the nation. He and his men rode for days in the wake of the Noxians. To Jarvan’s horror, the atrocities were far worse than he had anticipated. The Noxians had razed entire townships and slaughtered hundreds of Demacians, with only a handful of injured survivors left to tell the tale.
His officers advised the prince to withdraw and send for reinforcements. But Jarvan was shaken by the faces of the dead, and he could not turn his back on survivors in need. He would protect the wounded while ensuring the enemy forces did not escape without a fight. Besides, he reasoned, a secondary force of Demacian soldiers could not possibly arrive in time to face the Noxians. He was convinced that he had to act now.
Jarvan split his troops, ordering some to remain and care for the injured civilians, while he led the remaining soldiers onward. They ambushed the Noxians during the night, but in the chaos of battle, Jarvan was separated from his guards. He fought fiercely and slew many enemies, but was ultimately overwhelmed. The Noxians took Jarvan IV prisoner, to be paraded through the Immortal Bastion in chains upon reaching Noxus.
As Jarvan was dragged further from Demacia during his weeks of captivity, he was ashamed that the rashness of his decision to pursue the Noxians had led to needless Demacian deaths. Crushed by the loss, he came to believe he no longer deserved to live in Demacia, let alone inherit its throne.
One moonless night, Garen and an intrepid band of soldiers known as the Dauntless Vanguard attacked the Noxian encampment. Though the Demacian warriors could not reach Jarvan, he used the distraction to fight his captors and escape. As he ran, a Noxian soldier shot an arrow into Jarvan’s side, but the young prince persevered and fled into the wilderness.
Jarvan sprinted until he collapsed, hiding in the hollow of a fallen tree and bandaging his wound as best as he could. He lay for days drifting in and out of consciousness, knowing his death must be near. Unsure if he was awake or dreaming, Jarvan would later recall a purple-skinned woman with eyes of fire who carried him to a remote Demacian village. There, he rested under the care of local healers, who treated him with medicinal herbs as they nursed him back to health.
As Jarvan regained his strength, he found solace in the small settlement nestled in the wild hills of outer Demacia. For the first time in his life, he was free from the pressures and demands of his royal duties. He felt at peace in the village that had welcomed him so openly, though he was a stranger. Jarvan also learned that his strange, purple-skinned savior was a fellow newcomer known as Shyvana.
The serenity of village life was disrupted when a monstrous dragon terrorized the nearby communities, burning buildings to cinders and farmlands to ash. Jarvan knew the settlement would not survive a dragon attack, so he led the villagers to a nearby stronghold - Castle Wrenwall.
That night, Jarvan caught Shyvana leaving the compound. She confessed that she was half-dragon, and that the ruinous creature plaguing them was her own mother, Yvva, who resented Shyvana as a blemish on her bloodline. The monster would not stop until Shyvana was dead. Like all Demacians, Jarvan had been raised to distrust the magical beings of the world - but he saw Shyvana’s goodness and strength, and was determined to repay his life-debt to her. Only together could they take down such a fearsome enemy.
With the dragon’s return an ever-present threat, Jarvan trained the Demacian villagers to fight alongside the soldiers of Castle Wrenwall. He chose the ancient petricite ruins to the west as the scene of their battle. The structure had once been a high temple built during the cataclysmic upheaval of the Rune Wars, but now the magic-nullifying stones would serve as their best defense against the dragon. He even tipped their arrows with sharpened petricite, knowing that only by drawing all their efforts together did they have a chance of killing such a mighty beast.
Jarvan and the soldiers hid themselves nearby, while Shyvana stood in the center of the ruined courtyard. Jarvan watched in awe as she transformed into a dragon, roaring plumes of fire into the sky as an open challenge to her mother. Though the villagers backed away in fear, Jarvan steadied their courage, reminding them that Shyvana would help destroy their enemy.
Soon enough, an even more fearsome silhouette blackened the sun, and Yvva, the great dragon, was upon them. On Jarvan’s command, the soldiers loosed dozens of petricite arrows into the dragon’s back, weakening her powers with every strike. The dragon reared up in pain and exhaled streams of flame. Soldiers were charred in their armor, but still more arrows flew and the close confines of the nullifying ruins anchored her to the earth.
Jarvan stood in awe as Shyvana and her mother collided with earthshaking force. The colossal beasts battled in a furious blur until Jarvan could hardly tell them apart, and he held his archers back in fear that he would wound his friend. He despaired as Shyvana collapsed back into her human form with blood streaming from her neck. But she looked her mother in the eyes and, with flaming claws, tore the steaming heart from her breast.
With the threat vanquished, Jarvan IV finally felt worthy of returning home. He had come to understand that true Demacian values were not simply about victory, but about standing together as one, no matter their differences. To reward Shyvana’s bravery, he promised that she would always have a home in his kingdom. But they both knew Demacia as a kingdom remained deeply suspicious of magic, and Shyvana vowed not to reveal her dual nature as she fought at Jarvan’s side. Together they traveled to the capital with the skull of the dragon Yvva in tow.
Though many were thrilled to see their prince return safely, others questioned Jarvan’s judgment in recruiting Shyvana into his guard, and suspicions grew as to why he had not gone to the capital immediately after escaping the Noxians. No matter what King Jarvan III himself thought, outwardly he welcomed his son back into the court. As Jarvan IV resumed his royal duties, he swore to uphold Demacian ideals by building a nation that valued each one of its citizens, uniting them together against whatever threats they faced.
|Words may make a ruler, but only actions make history.|
| IVORY, EBONY, JASPER
General Miesar slid an ivory cone across the map. Jarvan wondered at the simplicity of the white piece. No head, no features denoting a face. Just a simple rounded shape, neutral and plain, with no resemblance to the hundred Demacian soldiers it represented.
“If we lead our knights south now, we can attack the argoth head-on before they reach Evenmoor,” said General Ibell, a stout woman with commanding eyes.
“The argoth are fiercest in swarms,” said General Miesar as he paced the length of the tent. “They rely on overwhelming numbers to defeat direct attacks. If we cannot divide them, they will slaughter us long before we reach their queen.”
Jarvan strode to the edge of their tent, parting the fabric and gazing out across the valley. He might have enjoyed the view – morning light made the verdant landscape sparkle with dew, and the village of Evenmoor looked peaceful from a distance. But an ominous gray shape swelled on the the horizon as the horde thundered in the distance.
The argoth were not enormous creatures; fighting one alone would be easy enough, but in large numbers, they were subject to the dominating will of a queen, able to move and fight as one vicious unit. This swarm was bigger than any Jarvan had seen before.
Miesar wiped sweat from his brow. “They’ll be here by this evening?”
“Sooner,” said Ibell. “We have an hour, maybe two if we’re lucky, until the argoth overwhelm Evenmoor.”
Jarvan turned back to the map. Ten ebony cones representing the argoth stood at the outer edges of Evenmoor, overshadowing the single Demacian cone. The queen was marked by a smaller figurine of red jasper, right in the heart of the ebony mass.
“Any charge would need to fight through hundreds of argoth to get near her,” said Jarvan, gesturing to the red stone. “What do you propose?”
Miesar halted his pacing. “I’m afraid you won’t like this, my lord, but we could retreat. Surrender Evenmoor. Return on the morrow with forces strong enough to cut through the horde and slay the queen.”
“Leave Evenmoor to the argoth?” asked Ibell. “That’s a death sentence for these people. They will be overrun in a matter of hours.”
Jarvan stared at the ebony and ivory until they merged in his mind’s eye. All he saw was the red queen stone.
Ibell raised her eyebrows. “You see something?”
“A desperate plan,” Jarvan replied, “but it is all we have. We conceal our fiercest fighters within Evenmoor and lay an ambush. With such a small band they won’t anticipate our attack. Then, when the queen is within reach, we strike hard and fast. With her death, the swarm’s unity will be broken.”
“Into the center of the argoth, my lord?” Miesar said. “That, too, may be a death sentence.”
“But we give Evenmoor a chance of surviving the attack,” said Ibell.
“No plan is without risk,” Jarvan said. “I will lead only those willing to join me, and will not engage until our hope of victory is greatest. We bide our time until the eye of the maelstrom is upon us, and then strike from within. With the queen dead, it will be a simple matter to fight our way out.”
Ibell slid a single ivory cone to the village on the map, then moved the circle of ebony pieces forward until they overlapped Evenmoor entirely. The jasper queen stood at its center. With a flick of her finger, she tipped the red stone over. That done, she slid two more white cones to join the fight.
“This is our plan,” said Jarvan. “Ibell and Miesar, you and your troops will lead the second wave.”
“Aye,” said Miesar.
“And you, my lord?” Ibell asked. “Where will you be?”
“I have a queen to kill,” Jarvan replied.
|As the royal family of Demacia for centuries, members of the Lightshield line have spent their lives waging war against any who opposed Demacian ethics. It is said that every Lightshield is born with anti-Noxian sentiment in his blood, and Jarvan IV is no exception.
As his forefathers had before him, he led Demacian troops into bloody engagements with Noxian forces, and on many occasions he has bled alongside wounded allies and fallen comrades. His most crushing defeat came at the hands of Jericho Swain, where he was outmaneuvered and captured by a Noxian battalion. This mistake nearly cost him his life at the hands of Urgot, but he was rescued by the Dauntless Vanguard, an elite Demacian strike force led by Jarvan's childhood companion, Garen.
Those close to him believed that his capture changed him. Xin Zhao was quoted as saying: His eyes never seemed to look at you, only through you to something he could not look away from.
One day, without warning, Jarvan IV hand-picked a squad of Demacian soldiers and left Demacia, vowing to find atonement. He began by tracking and hunting the most dangerous beasts and bandits he could find in northern Valoran, but he soon tired of such prey. Seeking something that only he understood, he ventured south of the Great Barrier. He wasn't heard from again for nearly two years.
After many had assumed the worst, he returned to glorious fanfare on the streets of Demacia. His Demacian plates were adorned with the bones and scales of creatures unknown. His eyes bore the wisdom of someone twice his age. Of the twelve soldiers who had departed with him, only two returned. In a tone as cold and steady as steel, he swore to bring the enemies of Demacia to their knees.
|"There is only one truth, and you will find it at the point of my lance."|
|Candidate: Jarvan IV
Date: 2 March, 21 CLE
The Demacian junior summoner who was initially appointed to greet Jarvan, alas, experienced an unfortunate accident. He needed to be replaced at the last minute by a young summoner from Bilgewater with an eye for both coin and advancement. It seems the new boy penciled Jarvan in for an early Judgment, and judged he will be, though not by the League.
He approaches the Great Hall reeking of arrogance. He, like his father, struts as though others should feel privileged to behold him. His armor is flashy and impractical, adorned with bits of slain beasts, a braggart without uttering a word. He has the jutting countenance of all the Lightshield dogs, men better built to wield clubs than authority. He is spoiled, haughty, and altogether undeserving of the respect laid at his feet.
He marches to the chamber doors, a proud, strong beast in need of domestication. He steps through the portal, out of the light…and into the palm of my hand.
Welcome Jarvan, I've waited a long time for this.
Royalty has its perks. The measured tones of his father, King Jarvan Lightshield the Third, interrupted Prince Jarvan's thoughts. Despite his protests, the King had insisted that Xin Zhao recount his League Judgment in detail so Jarvan would know what to expect. This was against the mandates of the League, but, as his father put it, "a necessary infraction". The test seemed hardly worthy once one knew the gimmick. Enter the room, be confronted by a disturbing vision of the past, and answer a couple questions. Jarvan was bitter about having his opportunity to fairly overcome the trial stolen. What worth is a Prince who cheats to best an obstacle surmounted by his subordinates?He frowned; it was an expression often denied to a leader of the public, but one befitting the dark, silent surroundings.
Xin had described the Reflection Chamber as "thick with abyssal murkiness," a depiction which had proven itself overdramatized. It was dark, yes, but altogether ordinary. The absence of light even failed to obfuscate some other person or entity present in the room. Jarvan was content to stand idle, letting him, her, or it carry on with the silly masquerade.
On the opposite side of the cramped antechamber, the figure stood in the shadows. It couldn't have been more than ten feet away from Jarvan. He paid it little attention, waiting for his vision to commence. However, instead of being swept into a fantastic mirage as he'd expected, Jarvan was left in the unremarkable blackness when the being attacked.
Jarvan was unprepared. The form in front of him spread broad, onyx wings and lurched forward. Jarvan attempted to back into a defensive stance, but piercing talons dug up from the ground beneath him, stabbing into his legs and locking them in place. Black creatures swarmed through the air around him, pecking at his exposed flesh. Pain jolted his senses. The shade was upon him now, bearing down with unmistakable purpose. Six eyes burned redder than blood and hotter than embers above him, hatred sizzling the air around them.
Jarvan ripped his legs free of the talons, heedless of the pain as they cut through his skin. His lance plunged forward, thirsty for the heart of its target. It met the winged figure's chest, driving deeper and deeper. With a bloodcurdling cry, Jarvan lifted Swain into the air over his head and hurled him backward into the wall. The looming silhouette crashed against the cool stone surface and slid to the ground in a heap.
Jarvan turned, venom welling in his eyes. "If you wanted a demonstration, you picked the perfect opponent!" He charged, intent on removing Swain's head, illusion or not. He only managed to take one step before energy arced through the air, burning him through his armor. A charred smell filled the room as the beam rushed through him. He was enveloped in anguish, and he could not hear himself screaming.
Torches lit around the room, and Swain, now human, stood where he had been thrown. His raven hovered in the air next to him, the bolt of energy surging from its mouth. A deep crimson stain was spreading across Swain's chest.
"I need no demonstration, Prince." Swain spat the title as though it were a maggot in a bite of steak. "Your 'unfortunate' demise due to an oversight of the League will be quite satisfactory, and I have no doubt you'll provide that. I wonder what your father will think of his treaty then..." He clenched his hands into fists and bright currents of magic appeared, flowing into them. He opened them and the magic burst forth, amplifying the raven's power. Jarvan's eyes went wide as the agony intensified. He fell to his knees.
"You are so painfully foolish, Demacian. No tact, no finesse. It sickens me to call you my rival. I can't wait to be rid of you, in hopes that a fitting opponent will rise to take your place.” As he spoke, Swain's form began to shift. He was swelling, stretching, transforming hideously before Jarvan's eyes. Ravens spawned from his body, descending on Jarvan and tearing him apart. As the birds swarmed, the torches in the room flickered, blinking out one by one. When the last torch was extinguished, all Jarvan could see were six bright, bloodthirsty dots on Swain's disfigured head. The dots blurred together as his vision failed him, and eventually there was nothing left but blackness.
Jarvan was in a place he'd been before, far from the Institute, at the lonely crossroads of life and death. He stood at the precipice of eternal peace, the gateway of slumber. He reached out, as he had many times before, to feel its warmth on his skin. Someday... not yet.
Eyes shut, a sound grew from inside him, somewhere deeper than the body, deeper than the soul. It rippled outward, unfolding and cresting. It burst from his heart, burned through his veins, ignited his muscles. When it escaped his lips, it was a living thing, as formidable and furious as the ravens snipping at his flesh. The sound was filled with the voices of his ancestors. It was the battle cry of a Demacian warrior, the roar of a Prince. When the sound reached his ears, Jarvan's eyes snapped open. They were no longer the eyes of a man. They heralded with fire the arrival of a beast, the awakening of a King. They came to focus on Swain.
Jarvan leapt to his feet, snapping the grips of talons, shattering the clamps of beaks. He dove forward, abandoning his lance. Swain's eyes betrayed surprise as Jarvan gripped his neck with one hand and lifted him from his feet. Jarvan kept moving, slamming Swain bodily into the wall behind him. He tightened his grip against the soft sensation of air struggling for passage beneath his fingers. He grinned wickedly at every choked gasp.
"Tact? Finesse? In war there is only the victor and the dead, Noxian!" Jarvan was loosely aware of ravens ripping chunks from his body, carrying his life-force to Swain. He felt death creeping at the edge of his vision. He poured all his remaining energy into the vise grip, determined to not to die until he watched the life flee from Swain's bulging eyes. The two were locked together, blood pooling on the floor, both unwilling to die before the other.
"ENOUGH!!!" A voice rang out, echoing down the stone corridors of the Institute. Jarvan suddenly rocketed away from Swain, propelled through the air by an unknown force. He stopped just before he would slam the opposite wall, suspended four feet above the ground. Swain dangled at the same height on the other side of the room, now human. Save for his favorite pet, the ravens were all gone.
High Councilor Vessaria Kolminye removed her hood and glared, first at Jarvan, and then at Swain. "What do you think you're doing, Swain? This is a hallowed place. Your treacherous games will not be tolerated here." She turned to Jarvan. "You will be accepted into the League for obvious reasons, but do not think your political ties will protect you against the League should you seek retaliation." She gritted her teeth. "Pray I do not discover you again in the midst of such disrespect or you will yearn for the fates you plotted against each other this day."
Vessaria flicked her wrist and Swain tore through the air, swept from the room as casually as a hurled doll. Vessaria stormed out after him, shaking her head with disgust. Jarvan clattered gracelessly to the floor, grunting as his wounds cried for attention. He leaned on his lance, struggling to his feet. The doors to the League seemed miles away. He contemplated dying. While he gathered the will to limp onward, his father's words echoed in his head. A weak smile played across his lips.
Royalty has its perks…
- Jarvan IV's Champion Page
- Universe of League of Legends Page
- Champion Sneak Peek: Jarvan IV, the Exemplar of Demacia
Journal of Justice
- Ionia Demands a Rematch with Noxus
- Kalamanda in Chaos
- The Mailbag of Justice (1)
- Reinforcements Arrive in Kalamanda
- The Mailbag of Justice (2)
- War in Kalamanda
- Our Forward March
- Intruder Discovered in Kalamanda's Prison
- Jarvan IV Returns to Demacia
- Institute of War Accused of Conspiracy & The Path We’ve Tread
- Heywan Relivash and Ralston Farnsley Arrested
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