DOTA 2 CONCEPT ART BOOK

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We have selected some of the best Dota 2 illustrations, both from the official team We received far too many artwork to show all of them so «only» heroes. I can't remember exactly but wasn't there something about Valve creating an artbook for all of the Dota 2 concept art? I remember hearing. We received far too many artwork to show all of them so «only» heroes This is a communuty project, also if you are a Dota 2 artist or a.


Dota 2 Concept Art Book

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Various DOTA2 hero concept illustrations. Drew Wolf. Artist/Designer. Follow A collection of sketches, designs and concept illustrations of heroes from DOTA2. Features Thousands of Art Book Reviews, Art Products, Supplies Valve's Dota 2 Character Design Guide PDF Download The guide is in the form of a free page PDF that covers concepts like silhouette, colours, The goal of the guide is to enable artists to use those tips to create in-game assets. Dota 2 Concept Art. Dota 2 concept art is digital, print, drawn, or model artwork created by the official artists for the developer(s) and publishers of the title.

Enchantress Aiushtha appears to be an innocent, carefree creature of the woods, and while this is certainly true, it is hardly the sum of her story. She well understands the suffering of the natural world.

She has wandered far, and fared through forests bright and drear, in every clime and every season, gathering friends, sharing news, bringing laughter and healing wherever she goes. For in worlds wracked by war, forests are leveled for the building of ships and siege engines; and even in places of peace, the woods are stripped for the building of homes, and as fuel for countless hearths.

Aiushtha hears the pleas of the small creatures, the furtive folk who need green shade and a leafy canopy to thrive. She lends her ears to those who have no other listeners. She carries their stories from the wood to the world, believing that her own good cheer is a kind of Enchantment, that can itself fulfill the promise of a verdant future. Enigma Nothing is known of Enigma's background. There are only stories and legends, most of them apocryphal, passed down through the ages.

In truth, Enigma is a mystery for whom the only true biography is description: he is a universal force, a consumer of worlds. He is a being of the void, at times corporeal, other times ethereal. A beast between the planes. There are stories that say he was once a great alchemist who tried to unlock the secrets of the universe and was cursed for his arrogance. Other legends tell that he is an ancient being of strange gravity, the abyss personified—a twisted voice from out the original darkness, before the first light in the universe.

And there are older legends that say he is the first collapsed star, a black hole grown complicated and sentient—his motivations unknowable, his power inexorable, a force of destruction unleashed upon existence itself. It remains a mystery why this being from another dimension believes the struggle for the Nemesis Stones is worth entering our physical plane, but apparently an upset in the balance of power in this world has repercussions in adjacent dimensions.

Time means nothing to Darkterror, except as a way to thwart his foes and aid his allies. His long-view of the cosmos has given him a remote, disconnected quality, although in battle he is quite capable of making it personal. Grimstroke The people of Ashkavor crowded around the temple square, eager to witness the ascension of their new guardian — to stand near the man as he bound their souls to his own.

But as his final brush strokes fell against the runestone, and the bond of a new Ascended One was forged, everyone — even those who'd stayed in their homes — could sense that something had gone terribly wrong. He knew the cause instantly. The droplets of ichor he'd procured to amplify the potency of his inkpots had instead contaminated them, and the power of the binding spell he'd cast now threatened to consume him.

An inky corruption snaked upward from the runestone, along the handle of his brush, soon overtaking his hands. From there it spread quickly. Once it overcame his face and his mouth, he couldn't have screamed even if he'd wanted to. All of his life he'd calculated on how to attain ever greater powers than the limits presented by his teachers would allow—going so far as to break the sacred prohibition against augmenting the inks.

Indeed, with the wellspring of the Ascended bond open to him, he felt a measure of power coursing into his soul like he'd never imagined. His greatest triumph was upon him, if he could only survive it. He drew deep from the power of the bond, pushing back against the corrupted ink flow.

A great moan filled the air — the collective cry of his people.

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Some swayed on their feet. The weakest collapsed. Many tried to run. And still deeper he pulled from their bloodline reservoir. But it wasn't enough to stop the ink tide. It was only when the breath trapped in his lungs began to fail him, and the inkpool darkness fully encased him, that he saw his way out. The bond he'd made with the Ashkavoran people — his people — meant to be drawn upon only in service of their protection It flowed two ways.

With a final surge of strength — this time directed by more than just blind repulsion — he pushed the ink torrent into the bond itself. Slowly, he felt the tide retreat When at last the ink relented, his eyes opened upon a world changed.

The Ashkavoran people as he knew them were gone. Every last soul was transformed into terrifying shades of their former selves — comprised no longer of blood and bone, only viscid, tainted ink.

Gyrocopter After serving through a lifetime of wars, upheaval, riots, and revolutions, the brass figured Aurel had seen enough. But in addition to a few trinkets and his considerable pension, the erstwhile engineer left with something far more interesting: a long-forgotten, incomplete schematic for a Gyrocopter, the world's first manned, non-magical flying device.

Retiring to the tropical obscurity of the Ash Archipelago with little else but time and money, he set to work building the device. As the years wore on and the remains of failed prototypes began to pile up, he began to wonder if mechanical flight was even possible.

A decade and a day after his retirement, on a sunny afternoon with a southerly breeze, Aurel sat in his latest attempt bristling with indignation and expectant failure.

With a grunt of effort he pulled the ignition cord and covered his head, waiting for the inevitable explosion. However to his great surprise he began to lift and, following a few panicked adjustments, stabilize. Within an hour, he was ducking and weaving with the breeze, level with the gulls, and Aurel found himself filled with the breathless wonder of flight.

As dusk settled in he set a course back to his workshop, but no sooner had he turned his craft when a cannonball tore through his tailfin. Disentangling himself from the wreckage, he swam toward the nearest piece of land in sight, and cursed to see the ship responsible for the cannonball collecting the debris.

Days later, when Aurel returned to his workshop, he set to work on yet another gyrocopter, this one capable of carrying a much heavier, more dangerous payload. Huskar Emerging from the throes of the sacred Nothl Realm, Huskar opened his eyes to see the prodigal shadow priest Dazzle working a deep incantation over him.

Against the ancient rites of the Dezun Order, Huskar's spirit had been saved from eternity, but like all who encounter the Nothl he found himself irrevocably changed. No longer at the mercy of a mortal body, his very lifeblood became a source of incredible power; every drop spilled was returned tenfold with a fierce, burning energy. However this newfound gift infuriated Huskar, for in his rescue from the Nothl, Dazzle had denied him a place among the gods. He had been denied his own holy sacrifice.

In time the elders of the order sought to expand their influence and Huskar, they agreed, would be a formidable tool in their campaign. Yet becoming a mere weapon for the order that denied him his birthright only upset him further. As the first embers of war appeared on the horizon, he fled his ancestral home to find new allies, all the while seeking a cause worthy of unleashing the power his total sacrifice could bring.

Invoker In its earliest, and some would say most potent form, magic was primarily the art of memory. It required no technology, no wands or appurtenances other than the mind of the magician. All the trappings of ritual were merely mnemonic devices, meant to allow the practitioner to recall in rich detail the specific mental formulae that unlocked a spell's power.

The greatest mages in those days were the ones blessed with the greatest memories, and yet so complex were the invocations that all wizards were forced to specialize. The most devoted might hope in a lifetime to have adequate recollection of three spells—four at most. Ordinary wizards were content to know two, and it was not uncommon for a village mage to know only one—with even that requiring him to consult grimoires as an aid against forgetfulness on the rare occasions when he might be called to use it.

But among these early practitioners there was one exception, a genius of vast intellect and prodigious memory who came to be known as the Invoker. In his youth, the precocious wizard mastered not four, not five, not even seven incantations: He could command no fewer than ten spells, and cast them instantly.

Many more he learned but found useless, and would practice once then purge from his mind forever, to make room for more practical invocations. One such spell was the Sempiternal Cantrap—a longevity spell of such power that those who cast it in the world's first days are among us still unless they have been crushed to atoms.

Most of these quasi-immortals live quietly, afraid to admit their secret: But Invoker is not one to keep his gifts hidden. He is ancient, learned beyond all others, and his mind somehow still has space to contain an immense sense of his own worth Io Io is everywhere, and in all things.

Denounced by enemies as the great unmaker, worshiped by scholars as the twinkling of a divine eye, this strange Wisp of life-force occupies all planes at once, the merest fraction of its being crossing into physical existence at any one moment. Like the great twin riders Dark and Light, and yet another ancient traveler whose true history is lost to the ages, Io the Wisp is a Fundamental of the universe, a force older than time, a wanderer from realms far beyond mortal understanding.

Io is nothing less than the sum of all attractive and repulsive forces within the material field, a sentient manifestation of the charge that bind existence together. It is only in the controlled warping of these electrical waylines that Io's presence can be experienced on the physical plane. A benevolent, cooperative force, Io bonds its strange magnetism to others so that the power of allies might be enhanced. Its motives inscrutable, its strength unimaginable, Io moves through the physical plane, the perfect expression of the mysteries of the universe.

Jakiro Even among magical beasts, a twin-headed dragon is a freak. Equal parts ice and fire, cunning and rage, the creature known as Jakiro glides over charred and ice-bound battlefields, laying waste to any who would bear arms against it. Pyrexae dragon clutches always contain two fledglings. Famous for their viciousness even from the first moments of life, newly hatched dragons of this species will try to kill their sibling while still in the nest.

Only the strongest survive. In this way is the strength of the Pyrexae line ensured. By some accident of nature, the freak Jakiro hatched from a single egg, combining in a single individual the full range of abilities found within the diverse Pyrexae species.

Trapped within the armature of its monstrous body, the powers of ice and fire combine, and now no enemy is safe. Juggernaut No one has ever seen the face hidden beneath the mask of Yurnero the Juggernaut. It is only speculation that he even has one. For defying a corrupt lord, Yurnero was exiled from the ancient Isle of Masks—a punishment that saved his life. The isle soon after vanished beneath the waves in a night of vengeful magic.

He alone remains to carry on the Isle's long Juggernaut tradition, one of ritual and swordplay. The last practitioner of the art, Yurnero's confidence and courage are the result of endless practice; his inventive bladework proves that he has never stopped challenging himself. Still, his motives are as unreadable as his expression. For a hero who has lost everything twice over, he fights as if victory is a foregone conclusion. Keeper of the Light Upon a pale horse he rides, this spark of endless suns, this Keeper of the Light.

Ezalor long ago escaped the Fundamental plane, separating from the other ancient forces to which he was bound within the great Primordial harmony. He is a power grown sentient in the dawn of the universe, and now rides forth in all planes at once, one step ahead of pursuing chaos, bearing his gift with him at the end of a radiant staff.

His majestic truth lies hidden beneath the outward appearance of a slightly doddering old man who barely stays in the saddle. However, when faced with the challenge of chaos, or the forces of darkness, his primordial light bursts forth, and his full power is revealed, transforming him once again into a force to be reckoned with. Kunkka As The Admiral of the mighty Claddish Navy, Kunkka was charged with protecting the isles of his homeland when the demons of the Cataract made a concerted grab at the lands of men.

After years of small sorties, and increasingly bold and devastating attacks, the demon fleet flung all its carnivorous ships at the Trembling Isle. Desperate, the Suicide-Mages of Cladd committed their ultimate rite, summoning a host of ancestral spirits to protect the fleet. Against the demons, this was just barely enough to turn the tide. As Kunkka watched the demons take his ships down one by one, he had the satisfaction of wearing away their fleet with his ancestral magic.

But at the battle's peak, something in the clash of demons, men and atavistic spirits must have stirred a fourth power that had been slumbering in the depths. The waves rose up in towering spouts around the few remaining ships, and Maelrawn the Tentacular appeared amid the fray.

His tendrils wove among the ships, drawing demon and human craft together, churning the water and wind into a raging chaos.

What happened in the crucible of that storm, none may truly say. The Cataract roars off into the void, deserted by its former denizens. Kunkka is now The Admiral of but one ship, a ghostly rig which endlessly replays the final seconds of its destruction. Whether he died in that crash is anyone's guess. Not even Tidehunter, who summoned Maelrawn, knows for sure. Legion Commander They came without warning.

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Within the city walls of Stonehall there came a rumble and a terrible sound, and from blackness unknown came a force of beasts numbering beyond count, wielding flame and foul sorcery, slaying and snatching mothers and sons to dark purpose. Of once-mighty Stonehall's military strength only the Bronze Legion, led by the indomitable Commander Tresdin, was near enough to answer the call of battle.

They rode into their city, fighting through bloodstained alleyways and burning markets, cutting their way through the monstrous throng to the source of the sudden invasion: an ethereal rift within the city square, and at its precipice thundered their dreaded champion. Enwrapped in a corrosive shimmer, the leader of the abyssal horde swung its massive blade, cleaving a legionnaire in two as his flesh began to spoil. Tresdin lifted her blood-stained sword and settled her sights on the beast.

It turned, smiling at her through a maze of teeth. Heedless of the battle raging around them, they charged one another. Deflecting blow after blow, the pair danced their deadly duel as the Bronze Legion met its end around them. Tresdin leapt forward as her foe swung its sword to meet her. The odds turned.

The attack smashed into Tresdin suddenly, a brutal thrust from the side, but even as her balance slipped she rallied her strength for another stroke. Blade scraped on blade, beyond the hilt to the gnarled paw below, carving it in two in a fearsome spray of sparks and blood.

The vile audience looked on in astonishment as she pressed the attack, driving her blade through her foe's flesh into the stampeding heart within. With a scream that split the clouds above, the beast erupted in a torrent of gore and anguish. The stygian portal wavered, the power sustaining the chasm beyond vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.

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The remaining invaders fell quickly to Stonehall steel. Though victorious, the survivors saw little to celebrate: the city lay in ruins, and survivors were few. Fires continued to spread. Unfurling her banners of war, Tresdin gathered what allies she could. Her anger smoldered as she pledged brutal vengeance upon the forces of the abyss, and damned be any who would dare stand in her way.

Leshrac Leshrac, Tormented Soul, is an entity torn from the heart of nature, a liminal being that exists half in one plane of existence, half in another. His penetrating intelligence is such that he can never ignore for a moment the agonizing horror at the heart of all creation. Once a great philosopher who sought the meaning of existence, he plumbed the depths of nature with the haunted Chronoptic Crystals, and was forever altered by the hideous mysteries thereby revealed to him.

Now the darkest depths of his enlightenment are illumined only by the fitful glare of his arrogance. Like other elemental characters, he is completely at one with nature, but in his case it is a nature lurid and vile.

He alone sees the evil truth of reality, and has no use for those who believe the cosmos reserves a special reward for those who practice benevolence. Lich In life, the frost-mage Ethreain not yet a Lich had used the threat of destructive ice to enslave entire kingdoms. His subjects, aided by a few desperate magicians, eventually grew bold enough to ambush him. Armed with enough charmed rope to bind him forever, they tied the frost mage to adamant weights and dropped him in a pool known chiefly for being bottomless.

It wasn't. He only fell for a year or so before an outcrop snagged him. There he rested, dead but undecaying, until the geomancer Anhil thought to verify the legend of the supposedly bottomless Black Pool. Anhil's plumbline snarled with the ropes that bound the drowned magician, and up he hauled an unexpected prize.

Thinking that by rendering the dead undead, he could question the Lich about the properties of the pool, he removed the bindings and commenced a simple rite of resurrection.

Even the descendants of Ethreain's enemies were long forgotten by time, so there were none to warn Anhil against imprudence. But he learned the error of his judgment almost immediately, as Lich threw off the shackles and consumed him.

Lifestealer In the dungeons of Devarque, a vengeful wizard lay in shackles, plotting his escape. He shared his cell with a gibbering creature known as N'aix, a thief cursed by the Vile Council with longevity, so that its life-sentence for theft and cozening might be as punishing as possible.

Over the years, its chains had corroded, along with its sanity; N'aix retained no memory of its former life and no longer dreamt of escape. Seeing a perfect vessel for his plans, the wizard wove a spell of Infestation and cast his life-force into N'aix's body, intending to compel N'aix to sacrifice itself in a frenzy of violence while the mage returned to his body and crept away unnoticed.

Instead, the wizard found his mind caught in a vortex of madness so powerful that it swept away his plans and shattered his will. Jarred to consciousness by the sudden infusion of fresh life, N'aix woke from its nightmare of madness and obeyed the disembodied voice that filled its skull, which had only the one thought: To escape. In that moment Lifestealer was born. The creature cast its mind into dungeon guards and soldiers, compelling them to open locks and cut down their companions, opening an unobstructed path to freedom while feeding on their lives.

Lifestealer still wears the broken shackles as a warning that none may hold him, but on the inside remains a prisoner. Two minds inhabit the single form—a nameless creature of malevolent cunning, and the Master whose voice he pretends to obey.

Lina The sibling rivalries between Lina the Slayer, and her younger sister Rylai, the Crystal Maiden, were the stuff of legend in the temperate region where they spent their quarrelsome childhoods together. Lina always had the advantage, however, for while Crystal was guileless and naive, Lina's fiery ardor was tempered by cleverness and conniving.

The exasperated parents of these incompatible offspring went through half a dozen homesteads, losing one to fire, the next to ice, before they realized life would be simpler if the children were separated. As the oldest, Lina was sent far south to live with a patient aunt in the blazing Desert of Misrule, a climate that proved more than comfortable for the fiery Slayer. Her arrival made quite an impression on the somnolent locals, and more than one would-be suitor scorched his fingers or went away with singed eyebrows, his advances spurned.

Lina is proud and confident, and nothing can dampen her flame. Lion Once a Grandmaster of the Demon Witch tradition of sorcery, Lion earned fame among his brethren for fighting on the side of light and righteousness. But adulation corrupts.

With powers surpassed only by his ambition, the mage was seduced by a demon and turned to evil, trading his soul for prestige. After committing horrible crimes that marred his soul, he was abandoned. The demon betrayed him, striking better deals with his enemies. Such was Lion's rage that he followed the demon back to hell and slew it, ripping it limb from limb, taking its demonic hand for his own.

However, such demonoplasty comes at a cost. Lion was transfigured by the process, his body transformed into something unrecognizable. He rose from hell, rage incarnate, slaying even those who had once called him master, and laying waste to the lands where he had once been so adored.

He survives now as the sole practitioner of the Demon Witch tradition, and those who present themselves as acolytes or students are soon relieved of their mana and carried off by the faintest gust of wind.

Lone Druid Long before the first words of the first histories there rose the druidic Bear Clan. Wise and just they were, and focused in their ways to seek an understanding of the natural order.

The arch forces of nature saw this, and so sought the most learned among them. Wise old Sylla, clan justiciar and seer, stepped forward for his kin, and to him was given the Seed with these words: 'When all of the world has dimmed, when civilization has left these lands, when the world is slain and wracked by the endless deserts at the end of ages, plant the Seed.

Vast knowledge burst into his mind. He found himself able to project his very will into reality and, with some concentration, alter his own physical form as well.

Yet subtle whispers and cruel ears brought word of the Seed and its power to other peoples, and a terrible war crashed upon the Bear Clan. As his ancestral home burned, Sylla took his burden and fled to the wild places.

Ages passed, and time and myth forgot the Bear Clan, forgot Sylla and the Seed, forgot wondrous civilizations that rose and fell in Bear Clan's wake. For millenia Sylla has waited, waited for word from his deities, waited for peace to come to the ever warring realms, waited in exile and in secret for the end of all things and for the conclusion of his sacred commitment, preparing himself always to face and destroy whatever would dare threaten his purpose.

Luna How had she been reduced to this? She was once the Scourge of the Plains, a merciless leader of men and beasts, and able to sow terror wherever she dared. Now she was far from her homeland, driven half mad from starvation and months of wandering, her army long dead or worse. As she stood at the edge of an ancient forest, a pair of glowing eyes spied on from an elder branch. Something beautiful and deadly sought a meal in the wilting dusk.

Without a sound, it turned and left. Fury overtook her.

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Clutching a rust-eaten dagger, she charged after the beast determined to reclaim even a shred of her past glory, but her quarry would not be caught. Three times she cornered the creature among the rocks and trees, and three times she pounced only to witness its fading shadow darting further into the woods.

Yet the full moon shone brightly, and the creature's trail was easy to follow. Arriving in a clearing atop a high hill, the beast's massive feline form sat in the open, attentive and waiting. When the woman brandished her dagger, the creature reared and roared and charged. Death, it seemed, had come for her at long last in this strange place.

She stood, calm and ready. A flash of movement, and the beast snatched the dagger from her hand before vanishing into the forest.

Hooded figures approached. In reverent tones they revealed that Selemene, Goddess of the Moon, had chosen her, had guided her, had tested her.

Unwittingly she had endured the sacred rites of the Dark Moon, warriors of the Nightsilver Woods. She was offered a choice: join the Dark Moon and pledge herself to the service of Selemene, or leave and never return. She did not hesitate. Embracing her absolution, she renounced her bloody past, and took up a new mantle as Luna of the Dark Moon, the dreaded Moon Rider, ruthless and ever-loyal guardian of the Nightsilver Woods.

Lycan Banehallow was noble-born to the house of Ambry, the greatest of the landed castes in the old kingdom of Slom. Before the Fall, as the King's wants grew strange, and his court grew crowded with sorcerers and charlatans, the house of Ambry was the first to rise against the avarice of the throne.

No longer willing to pay homage and fealty, they instead sent six-thousand swords into the capital, where they were wiped out in the Massacre of the Apostates.

And then came the teeth behind the old truth: When you strike a king's neck, you had better take his head. Enraged by the betrayal, the king exterminated the vast Ambry bloodline, sparing only the lord of the house and his youngest son, Banehallow. Before all the royal court, with the disgraced lord chained to the ornate marble floor, the King bade his magicians transform the boy into a wolf so that he might tear out his own father's throat.

But though his body was changed, his spirit remained intact, and instead of biting the exposed neck of his father, he attacked his handlers, tearing them to pieces. A dozen of the King's knights perished under the wolf's teeth before they managed to drive it off into the night. Lord Ambry laughed from his chains even as the King ran him through with a sword.

Now the heir to the lost house of Ambry, Banehallow wanders the trail as the Lycan, part warrior, part wolf, in search of justice for all that he lost. Magnus The master-smiths of Mt. Joerlak agree on only a single point: that the horn of a magnoceros is more precious than any alloy. And of all such horns, the largest and sharpest belongs to the beast they call Magnus.

For half a generation, Magnus took easy sport goring hunters come to claim the treasures of his kin. Each time he would return to his cave with hooves and horns stained red, until his Matriarch urged him and all their kin to seek refuge to the north beyond the shadow of the mountain.

But Magnus scoffed, having never failed to defend his people. The magnoceroi would stay, he decided, for a magnoceros does not believe in chance But when Mt. Joerlak erupted without warning, and half his kin perished in the fire and ash, Magnus changed his mind after all. The survivors pushed north, until they reached a blockade watched over by a hundred hunters armed with bow and steel.

Magnus expected no less. He led his fiercest brothers and sisters in a charge against their enemies, and fought with a ferocity matched only by the fire-spewing mountain at his back.

Meanwhile the magnoceros elders, mothers, and calves vanished into the drifts. The master-smiths are divided about what happened next. Some say Magnus reunited with his kin, while others claim he suffered mortal injuries and expired alongside the body of his Matriarch.

Neither theory is correct. Magnus did vow to rejoin his kin Joerlak and watching them die upon his horn, for a magnoceros does not believe in chance. Medusa Beauty is power. This thought comforted Medusa—the youngest and loveliest of three beautiful Gorgon sisters, born to a sea goddess—because she alone of the sisters was mortal.

It comforted her, that is, until the day masked assailants invaded the Gorgon realm and tore the two immortal sisters from their home, unmoved by their beauty or by their tears. One of the invaders seized Medusa as well, but then cast her aside with a disgusted look: 'This one has the mortal stink upon her. We have no use for that which dies.

Power, so I can dedicate what life I have to rescuing my sisters and avenging this injustice! Never for a moment has Medusa regretted her choice. She understands that power is the only beauty worth possessing—for only power can change the world. Meepo "If you ask me, life is all about who you know and what you can find.

When you live up in the Riftshadow Ruins, just finding food can be tough. So you need to cut corners, you need to scrounge, you need to know your strengths. Some of the beasts up there can kill you, so you need a way to trap the weak and duck the strong. On the upside, the ruins have history, and history is worth a lot to some people. There used to be a palace there, where they had all these dark rituals.

Bad stuff. I took me another 6 months from that moment to have the guts and the economic stability to leave my full-time job and dive completely into creating items and sets for Dota.

Challenges Because of the nature of its gameplay, with a top down camera, Dota 2 items have quite heavy restrictions in both polycount and texture resolution. The biggest challenge of creating assets for a game like this is to push detail and design as far as I can, while keeping it within the polygon and texture restrictions at the same time.

For example, in my early creations, I would start sculpting a model and adding all sort of interesting visual elements to it without worrying too much of what was to come after. Low Poly Modeling Usually I start my pipeline of production in Zbrush , with or without a defined concept.

I usually will spend several days deciding what looks good and what needs changes, until I reach a somewhat final stage of design, with all the elements in place.

From there I start detailing things and adding minors touch-ups until I have a nice looking final sculpt. During retopo I always try to make an efficient use of my triangles budget, dedicating more geometry to silhouettes, and leaving surface details and shapes to the normal map.

Materials For my texturing process I rely a lot on the detail of my Zbrush sculpt and my baked textures. All heroes have a basic damage-dealing attack, in addition to powerful abilities. Each hero has at least four abilities, all of which are unique, which are the primary method of fighting. Activating an ability costs a hero some of their " mana points ", which slowly regenerates over time. All heroes have three attributes : strength, intelligence, and agility, which affect health points , mana points, and attack speed, respectively.

The map also features a day-night cycle, with some hero abilities and other game mechanics being altered depending on the time of the cycle. Camps are located in the area between the lanes known as the "jungle", which both sides of the map have. The most powerful neutral creep is named "Roshan", who is a unique boss that may be defeated by either team to obtain special items , such as one that allows a one-time resurrection if the hero that holds it is killed.

In order to obtain an item, players must be able to afford it with gold at shops located on the map, which is primarily obtained by killing enemy heroes, destroying enemy structures, and killing creeps, with the latter being an act called " farming ".Deflecting blow after blow, the pair danced their deadly duel as the Bronze Legion met its end around them.

Retrieved June 29, Aggressive ward objectives: To provide vision which can be used to set up ganks To provide vision which can be used to pressure opponents These two wards provide vision in areas that are highly frequented by the dire in a given game state. Nature's Prophet When Verodicia, Goddess of the Woods, had finished filling in the green places, having planted the coiled-up spirit in the seed, having lured the twining waters from deep within the rock, having sworn the sun its full attention to the growing things, she realized that her own time had reached its end, and like one of the leaves whose fate she had imprinted in the seed, she would fall without seeing the fruiting of her dream.

Valve grants a percentage on the returns of every unit sold to the authors of an accepted asset. Life flourished upon the world below, oblivious to the dangers imprisoned within the softly glowing moon, or of Zet's struggles to contain them. He rose from hell, rage incarnate, slaying even those who had once called him master, and laying waste to the lands where he had once been so adored. Retrieved March 2, They made great art though!

Clocking in a substantial submissions "I deleted some stuff, otherwise the count would be closer to