DOTA IDEAS A DOTA 2 INTERACTIVE FORUM

Mirage is an intelligence ranged hero who makes heroes fall in love.
Traits: Dispeller, Magic Amplifier, Crowd Control
About artwork: All rights reserved to their respective owners, I do not own any of it.

FACETS:

Lust Beacon:
Love Beacon will also decrease armor of the enemies per allied unit, however its duration is reduced.
-Armor Reduction per Ally 0.75/1.0/1.25/1.5
-Duration 6 seconds

Flame of Love:
Surviving Heart Mirage no longer grants bonus health and mana regeneration but instead temporarily increases attack damage and spell amplification. Aghanim's Scepter upgrade causes the enemy to have attack damage and spell amplification reduced.
-Bonus Attack Damage 40/80/120
-Bonus Spell Amplification 10%/15%/20%

Glimmering Joy:
Rain Of Glimmer pulls enemy heroes towards their nearest enemy.
-Pull distance 50

In the higher dominions where feeling are measured, labeled, and misused like tools, the Seraphim once believed they've caught a fallen one. Veiled in an aura too radiant for mortal eyes and a gaze too compelling for angelic hearts, Mirage was taken by winged enforcers, captured not for crimes, but for being misunderstood. They thought her dangerous. Too charming. Too different. Too... mortal. But Mirage did not protest. Instead, she watched with quiet amusement as the self-proclaimed authorities of affection fumbled through their orchestrated rituals of love. Love by decree. Passion by prescription. The Seraphim, proud and blind, were architects of emotion they scarcely understood. With only her instincts and brilliance, Mirage redefined their teachings. Not with hymns or halos, but with understanding, empathy, and a shard wit that shattered their sacred traditions. What began as mockery turned into admiration. She became the greatest Cupid, the Heartguider, to ever ascend, a living legend among divine romantics. Yet eternity grew stale. Endless lectures and emotionless praises could not quench the fire in her heart. So Mirage descended, not fallen, but proudly among mortals, veiling her gaze only to spare others from distraction. Here, where love is raw, imperfect, and endlessly fascinating, she would continue her craft not from above, but beside the broken-hearted and blind-eyed. Because love, real love, was never made in heaven. It was forged here, in chaos, in courage, in choice.