She was the first. That’s a heavy title to carry in a community as volatile as professional gaming. Maria "Remilia" Creveling didn't just play League of Legends; she shattered a glass ceiling that many people didn't even want to admit existed. When she locked in Thresh during the 2015 Challenger Series, everyone knew she was different. Her hooks were prophetic. She played with a sort of aggressive, psychic desperation that made her the focal point of every match.
But being the first woman and first transgender player to qualify for the LCS (League of Legends Championship Series) wasn't a fairy tale. It was a grind. It was brutal.
History often flattens people into statistics or "trailblazer" archetypes, but Remilia was a person—complicated, sensitive, and fiercely talented. To understand the legacy of League of Legends Remilia, you have to look past the highlight reels of Flay-Box combos and dive into the actual infrastructure of esports that failed her.
The Renegades era and the cost of a dream
Remilia’s rise was tied to Renegades, a team that became infamous for all the wrong reasons. They won their way into the LCS in August 2015, defeating Team Coast in a 3-2 nail-biter. It should have been the happiest moment of her life. Instead, it was the start of a countdown.
She almost didn't play in the LCS at all.
There was this immense pressure. Fans were ruthless. Reddit threads were minefields of vitriol. Remilia famously deleted her social media accounts multiple times because the "support" she received was often drowned out by a sea of bigotry. She initially stated she would step down after qualifying, but she stayed. She played.
What really happened behind the scenes
Chris Badawi, the co-owner of Renegades, is a name that comes up constantly when discussing League of Legends Remilia. Riot Games eventually banned Badawi for life from the LCS ecosystem. Why? Because the "environment" at the Renegades house was described as unsafe and unprofessional.
Specifically, there were claims regarding Remilia’s gender-affirming surgery. Reports surfaced—and Remilia herself later corroborated—that a deal was struck where the team would fund her surgery in exchange for her competing. However, the medical care provided was substandard. It left her with chronic pain.
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Imagine trying to compete at the highest level of a mental esport while your body is literally screaming in pain because of botched medical procedures funded by your employer. It’s nightmarish.
The mechanical genius of the "Thresh Queen"
We have to talk about the gameplay. If Remilia wasn't good, the drama wouldn't have mattered as much to the history of the game. But she was terrifying on playmaking supports.
Her Thresh was a permaban. If you didn't ban it, you lost the bottom lane. Period. She had this specific way of using the lantern not just for saves, but as a psychological tool to force enemies into bad positions. It wasn't just mechanics; it was a deep, intuitive understanding of the "fog of war."
- She popularized the "Madlife" style of predictive hooking in the North American scene.
- Her Morgana was equally oppressive, hitting Dark Bindings that seemed to curve around minion waves.
- She played a high-risk, high-reward style that necessitated her team playing around her vision control.
The meta shifted, but her impact on how support was viewed in the NA Challenger scene stayed. She proved that a support player could be the "carry" of a brand, the face of a franchise. That was rare in 2015.
The exit and the aftermath
On February 5, 2016, Remilia stepped down from the Renegades starting lineup. She cited anxiety and self-esteem issues. The public narrative at the time was that she simply "couldn't handle" the pressure of the LCS.
That was a lie of omission.
The reality was a cocktail of physical agony from her surgery, a toxic team house environment, and a developer (Riot Games) that was still figuring out how to protect its players from predatory owners. When Riot eventually nuked Renegades and forced a sale of their spot, it was a massive scandal. But for Maria, the damage was done.
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She didn't disappear, though. She tried to make comebacks. She played for Kaos Latin Gamers in Chile. She played for FlyQuest Academy. She streamed. She was always trying to find that love for the game again, but it’s hard to love something that became the catalyst for your deepest traumas.
Why we still talk about her in 2026
The conversation around League of Legends Remilia isn't just about nostalgia. It’s a cautionary tale about player welfare.
When she passed away in December 2019 at the age of 24, the shockwaves were massive. It wasn't just the loss of a talented player; it was a moment of reckoning for the community. How had we treated her? The answer, for many, was "not well enough."
Esports has changed because of her. We see more robust player associations now. There’s a (slowly) growing awareness of the need for mental health professionals within team houses. The "Wild West" days of 2015, where an owner could manipulate a player's medical needs, are mostly gone.
Navigating the legacy of a pioneer
Honestly, Remilia hated being called a pioneer. She just wanted to be seen as a great League player. She didn't want the "woman" or "trans" prefix. She wanted the "LCS pro" title to stand on its own.
The tragedy is that the world wouldn't let her have that.
If you go back and watch the VODs of the 2015 Challenger Series finals, you see a player who was purely in the zone. You see the flick of the wrist, the perfectly timed Exhaust, the Flay that interrupts a Tristana jump. That’s the version of League of Legends Remilia that deserves to be remembered. Not the victim of a bad team owner, but the girl who was better at Thresh than almost anyone else in the world.
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Actionable insights for the modern League fan
Understanding Remilia’s story requires more than just reading a wiki page. If you want to actually engage with this history and ensure the scene stays better than it was, here is how you should approach the legacy:
Look at the archives, not the rumors.
If you want to see her skill, watch the Renegades vs. Team Coast 2015 series. It is a masterclass in support playmaking. Don't rely on second-hand accounts of her "attitude"—watch how she communicated through her pings and her positioning.
Support player-first initiatives.
The reason Remilia suffered was a lack of oversight. Support organizations like the LCS Players Association (LCSPA). When players complain about "team house conditions," listen to them. History shows us they aren't usually exaggerating.
Call out the gatekeeping.
The toxicity Remilia faced in 2015 still exists in Solo Queue. The best way to honor her memory is to make the game a place where the next talented player, regardless of who they are, doesn't feel like they have to delete their social media just to survive a Tuesday.
Recognize the "Badawi Effect."
Be skeptical of esports organizations that seem to "own" their players' lives. Professionalism in gaming means clear boundaries between management and personal health. If an org is overstepping, they are the problem, not the player.
Maria Remilia Creveling was a person who loved a video game so much she was willing to go through hell to play it at the highest level. She reached the mountain top, found out it was crumbling, and tried her best to stay upright. The hooks will always be part of the legend, but the person behind the mouse was what really mattered.