Why does hecarim get banned

Since his release way back in League of Legends in , Hecarim has been a menace to his opponents on the Rift.

His threat has never been truer than now, as the champion has seen a 70 percent ban rate across all servers in Diamond-ranked matches and above. When the Shadow of War manages to slip through the ban phase, the champion wins 52 percent of the time, the fourth highest win rate amongst all jungle champions. Most players feel frustrated when Hecarim is a dominant force in the meta, because it can feel helpless playing into his inescapable crowd control and mobility.

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It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website. Home Gaming. League of Legends: Hecarim is now totally out of control by DuongNguyen. April 15, Share on Facebook Share on Twitter. The similar thing also took place in LCK Spring His ban rate in solo queues has risen to This is one of the mentioned complaints and this post has received over upvotes on Reddit.

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We also get your email address to automatically create an account for you in our website. She looked at her hands, glowing from within and as insubstantial as smoke. Ledros saw confusion, then anguish play across her face. Then her features hardened. I could have ended it before it came to this. No one would have questioned his death. No one would have mourned him.

The cold mask had dropped over her features, and she turned and strode away. Despair clutched at Ledros. He saw himself in the early years after the Ruination, stalking the spirits of those who had killed her in life, convinced that destroying them would free her. He saw himself felling the arrogant cavalry captain, Hecarim , hacking his head from his shoulders and rendering him back to the mist.

That one had struck Kalista the final, fatal blow, and had long toiled, seeking his end. Time and again they fought, as the years, and decades, and centuries rolled by, and the unseen stars turned overhead. But Hecarim was strong of will, and he returned from the Black Mist, of course, each time more monstrous than the last.

Either way, it changed nothing. Kalista became steadily more lost as she absorbed the vengeful spirits of the mortals who pledged themselves to her, seeking her aid against their own betrayers. Once, he had brought Kalista face to face with Hecarim, a feat that had taken dozens of lesser deaths to achieve.

A moment of satisfaction, and then it was past. At one point, despair drove him toward self destruction. All the moments preceding his banishment blurred together in a never-ending cavalcade of horror and defeat. He roared as a purple-skinned sorcerer cast him back to the darkness, tearing him asunder with runic magics. He laughed as a sword impaled him on its length, but his amusement turned to agony as the blade burst into searing light, burning with the intensity of the sun.

Every time, he returned to a land locked in stasis, waking in the same place, the same way. A being of lesser will would have succumbed to insanity long ago, as so many of the spirits had. But not him. Failure clung to him, but his will was as iron. His stubborn determination to free her kept him going. That was what ensured he came back, over and over again. Snapping back to the present, Ledros watched Kalista stalk away from him, intent on her unending mission.

She was sleepwalking through this nightmare, unaware of its true horrors. Would she thank him were he to wake her? Perhaps she would despise him, wishing he had let her be.

Ledros shook his head, trying to dislodge the insidious notion, even as a vision of Thresh—smiling, predatory—appeared in his mind. A new idea came to him suddenly, banishing his lingering doubts and fears. He loosened his sword belt, and cast his scabbarded blade to the ground.

It all happened so fast, but I should have been faster. We could have faced them, back to back. We could have cut our way through them and been free, together! I betrayed you with my inaction, Kalista. I failed you. Ledros unstrapped his shield and threw it aside as she broke into a loping run. He opened his arms wide, welcoming what was to come. His had been the true betrayal. A second spear drove through him, hurled with tremendous force. He staggered, but stubbornly remained standing.

Her third spear plunged through him, and now he dropped to both knees. He smiled, even as his strength leached from him. Yes, this was it. This was what would finally break her from that awful, unending spiral. He was sure of it. They stared at each other for a moment, a pair of undying spirits, their insubstantial forms rippling with deathless energy. In that moment, Ledros felt only love. Her eyes were wide, and seemed to fill with shimmering tears.

She rushed to be beside him as Ledros fell. Kalista reached out to comfort him, but her fingers passed through his dissolving form. Her mouth moved, but he could not hear her over the roaring madness of the Black Mist. His armor fell to the ground and turned to dust, along with his sword. Blind terror beckoned, but he went into it gladly.

Dimly, he registered the pale specter of Thresh, watching from the shadows with his fixed, hungry smile. And behind it all was the insatiable hunger—the yearning to feed on warmth and life, to draw more souls into darkness. The cacophony was deafening—a million screaming, tortured souls, writhing and roiling in shared torment. And only the strongest of souls could escape its grasp. Only those with unfinished business. None of this was real. This was but an echo left behind, the residual pain of his death, hundreds of lifetimes earlier.

How long had it been, this time? There was no way to know. Decades, or a few minutes—it could have been either, and yet it hardly mattered. Nothing changed in this vile realm of stasis. Then he remembered, and hope surged through him.

It was not a sensation he was familiar with, but it blossomed like the first bud of a seemingly dead tree after rainfall. He turned, and she was there, and for a moment he knew joy, true joy. She was herself again, and she had come to him!

Then he saw her expression. The cold, severe mask, the lack of recognition in her eyes. The hope inside him withered and died. Reaching out with his will, Ledros felt her now far away. Someone had called to her, from a distant continent to the north-west. Someone else who had traded their soul for a promise of vengeance against whoever had wronged them. They knew not what horror awaited.

She was trapped for eternity, as were they all. Only pride and stubbornness had made him think he could solve it, like a riddle, for all these years. Pride and stubbornness—traits that were as much his bane in death as they had been in life, it seemed.

The cursed Chain Warden was right. It was a selfish desire to free her, he saw that now. Kalista may not be herself, but at least she was not tormented like he was. At least she had purpose. Ledros yanked the pendant from around his neck, shattering the links of its thin chain.

He hurled it into the mist. To even hope for anything more was foolishness. There could be no peace, not unless the curse that held these isles in its foetid grasp was broken. Thresh stepped from the darkness. He glanced around, ensuring he was alone. Then he knelt and picked up the discarded silver pendant. The fool had been so close.

He was on the brink of bringing her back… and now, after countless centuries of trying, he had abandoned his task, at the very moment of success. Thresh smiled, cruelly. He liked seeing hope wither and die, like blighted fruit upon the vine, as what could have been sweet turned to poison.

It amused him. He opened his lantern, and tossed the pendant within. Then he stepped back into the darkness, and faded from view. Icy waves crashed on the bleak shore, red with the blood of the men Hecarim had already butchered.

The mortals he had yet to kill were retreating over the beach in terror. Black rain doused them and stormclouds boiled in from the mourning heart of the island.

He heard them shouting to one another. The words were a guttural battle-cant he did not recognize, but the meaning was clear; they actually thought they might live to reach their ship. True, they had some skill. They moved as one, wooden shields interlocked. But they were mortal and Hecarim savored the meat-stink of their fear. He circled them, threading crumbling ruins and unseen in the shadowed mist rising from the ashen sand.

The echoing thunder of his hooves struck sparks from black rocks. It gnawed at their courage. He watched the mortals through the slitted visor of his helm. The weak light of their wretched spirits was flickering corposant in their flesh. It repulsed him even as he craved it. His voice was muffled by the dread iron of his helm, like the corpse-rasp of a hanged man. The sound scraped along their nerves like rusted blades. He drank in their terror and grinned as one man threw down his shield and ran for the ship in desperation.

He bellowed as he galloped from the weed-choked ruins, lowering his hooked glaive and feeling the old thrill of the charge. A memory flickered, riding at the head of a silver host. Winning glory and honor. The memory faded as the man reached the dark surf of cold breakers and looked over his shoulder. His ebon-bladed glaive pulsed as it bathed in blood. Hecarim drew the power of the island to him and the bloody surf churned with motion as a host of dark knights wreathed in shimmering light rose from the water.

Sealed within archaic plates of ghostly iron, they drew black swords that glimmered with dark radiance. He should know these men. They had served him once and served him still, but he had no memory of them. He turned back towards the mortals on the beach. He parted the mists, revelling in their terror as they saw him clearly for the first time.

His colossal form was a nightmarish hybrid of man and horse, a chimeric juggernaut of brazen iron. The plates of his body were dark and stamped with etchings whose meanings he only vaguely recalled. Bale-fire smouldered behind his visor, the spirit within cold and dead yet hatefully vital. Hecarim reared as forking traceries of lightning split the sky. He lowered his glaive and led his knights in the charge, throwing up giant clumps of blood-sodden sand and bone fragments as he went.

The mortals screamed and brought up their shields, but the ghost-knights charge was unstoppable. Hecarim struck first as was his right as their master, and the thunderous impact splintered the shieldwall wide open.

Men were trampled to bloody gruel beneath his iron-shod bulk. His glaive struck out left and right, killing with every strike. The ghost knights crushed all before them, slaughtering the living in a fury of thrashing hooves, stabbing lances and chopping blades. Bones cracked and blood sprayed as mortal spirits fled broken bodies, already trapped between life and death by the fell magic of the Ruined King. The spirits of the dead circled Hecarim, beholden to him as their killer and he revelled in the surging joy of battle.

He ignored the wailing spirits. He had no interest in enslaving them. Leave such petty cruelties to the Chain Warden. This effect can stack up to 2 times. Devastating Charge's remaining duration pauses during Onslaught of Shadows. Hecarim himself will only move to the targeted location. The riders will always move the full distance. Base armor decreased; armor growth increased.