Gavioria Games: The Prologue (IC Thread)

[Galathir]

The Gavisoria Games: The Prologue
Official IC Thread


Over the course of the last five days, you have made your way across the land towards the imposing High Citadel of Corvantia located in the center of Gavisoria. The Citadel itself is situated on the apex of a towering hill which, by magic or the convenient forces of nature, is surrounded by a vast plain of grasslands and swelling rises of ground bisected by a small, but lively river. Around the base of the hill is located the majestic city of Kolding which was founded only recently, but carries about it an air of dignity, as if it had been there for years untold.

The Breygan River flowed past the outskirts of the town, with the multitudes of jetties and wharfs giving it the look of a mouth full of broken teeth. The city walls are short but thick, and seem well-guarded even during this time of relative peace. As you make your way through the city, the inhabitants bustle about their daily work and seem lively and free. The fears and toils of a life in the outside world is unknown to them and most of them gaze at you with respect and even a bit of awe. It is clear that figures of your stature and power are not frequently seen within the city walls. The shops are simple and rustic, but crowded and filled with brisk trade. Regardless of your location in the city the Citadel constantly towers overhead, a blunt reminder of the power that keeps the citizens safe. Despite your unfamiliarity with the area, you can make your way towards the great hill with relative ease. Once you reach the bottom of the hill, however, you meet your first obstacle.

Four narrow roads, each paved with massive marble stones lead up the hill towards the structure at the top. A small detachment of guards waits at the bottom, and keeps you under close attention as your approach. At first glance, the guards seem almost innocuous, but your experienced eyes note the unwavering attention they give to you, and the way they casually, but skilfully keep their hands besides their weapons. A tall stocky man briefly holds up his hand, motioning you to stop when you reach a comfortable talking distance. He looks you up and down, and asks you to state your name and business. You answer his questions to his satisfaction and he allows you to pass. He instructs you to take a specific road which soon turns out of sight of the other three.

You slowly trudge up the steep winding road. There is no one else in sight, and as you pace out the distance to the peak, a warm winds makes itself more noticeable. At first it is only a gentle whisper but it gradually turns into a brisk breeze, scented with saffron and evergreen. As you reach the top of the hill, you are suddenly reminded of the air from your dream . . . you feel the same rush of alertness and energy and your muscles, worn from the climb, are refreshed and renewed. You draw in a deep breath and take stock of your surroundings. The bright sun not yet reached the noon hour, but it still illuminates the walls of the great Citadel with a brilliant glow. You are standing on a small platform of worked stone. Behind you is the path on which you arrived, and before you is a tall golden door. Carefully crafted scripts in a language unknown to you scrolls around the outside of the entrance. Delicate filigree work details scenes of ancient importance though the events depicted are no doubt lost in the annals of history. The doors are shut without even the smallest crack to reveal a keyhole or separation between the halves. The tower itself is crafted from living stone, each nook and cranny filled with an ancient sense of mystery and imposing strength. The very stone exhales a friendly warmth and feels almost alive to the touch.

You stand before the door engrossed in the ancient displays of valour and victory, and time seems to lose its meaning. Suddenly you are jolted to consciousness as the door before you gives a small shudder and a faint crack appears down the middle. You notice that the sun is now almost directly overhead and you anxiously peer though the widening fissure as the doors slowly glide open. Inside you see a large, dimly lit room with a towering ceiling and several simple benches placed along the walls. You enter, and perceive, not without a faint stirring of unease, that the doors behind you have shut. There are three other doors in opposite quadrants of the chamber but they appear to be shut no less firmly. A flame-like light from high above brightens the room and you can see each other clearly now.

Without any warning, you are interrupted by a deep rumbling voice layered with benevolence and wisdom, full of earnestness but tempered by patience learned over the course of many years.

"My friend, I am glad to make your acquaintance at last. Long have I laboured in anticipation of this day and I trust our future relationship will be one of trust and love. My name is Novartis, ruler of these lands."

As he finishes speaking, the magnificent gold dragon that appeared to you in your dream, soars gently down to the edge of the room. A faint rush of air around his wings echoes around the room, and he seems to glow with an internal fire.

"I have followed your deeds with interest, and your actions have not gone unnoticed. Since years long past I have traced your paths to greatness and have considered your strengths and weaknesses. I have called you here for great purposes and vast rewards and I will assure you that your trust in me will not be forgotten."

As he speaks, a tender passion rises in his voice. His voice grows deeper and softer, and his carefully chosen phrases flow off his tongue in a kind of rhythmic poetry.

"For indeed, a great trial is upon this land, a trial that has been foreseen and been prepared for. Forces of some evil are gathering power and soon will make their move. It is with this in mind that I have chosen you, and others, as agents for the right, to defend the will of this land and prove the triumph of the righteous. However, I can not with force or strength of will commit your minds to join as one. The fellowship that I require must flow from each and all of you. I ask for your allegiance and your service and I trust that in each one of you my hopes will be fulfilled."

"For through all of my considerations, one thing has been made clear to me. Against the darkest vilest foes, sheer force of arms and strength of numbers is not the key to victory. The power of friendship and strength of unity all grounded in our Robin’s service are quite sufficient to rend the will of those who would in strife resist against us. The future of our land is now a venture, but no matter length or difficulty should the path of freedom prove, I am convinced that this, this band of brothers through our wisdom and our grace, will in our righteous might win through to victory absolute."

Novartis pauses for a long few seconds and looks carefully at you. His great eyes blink momentarily then he continues with a whisper.

"So, what say you? Have I your trust?
There is no obligation or demand.
I only beg you ask your heart
And if it’s nay, in peace depart."

Silence fills the room and the air is heavy with expectation.

[RaggedAngel]

Big Ole' Backstory:
Maekrix Ux Tibur Spellscale was born with a much less complicated name and in a significantly less auspicious body. He was born a spellscale, and he was named Orn, the draconic word for silver. Other than his fairly rare coloring Orn was a rather average child; he was unusually charming, perhaps, but among his naturally charismatic people such a personality was common. As he matured Orn found that he was inclined to combat, and though he was nothing special he took to martial challenges better than the average spellscale. In the early years of his training Orn was frequently harassed by the elders of his small community; his innate charisma and draconic blood would make him a powerful sorcerer, if he chose to follow that path. His talent, they said, was wasted with a sword, and he should do what was best for his community by pursuing arcane power.

Orn left his home at the cusp of adulthood, unwilling to stand further pressure to be something that he was not. He was deep in the badlands, and his small community had been the only minor oasis for miles around. He left with nothing but a sword, some light armor, and his own unerring confidence.

Confidence, he soon discovered, was not something that one could live on. He was frequently assaulted by wild animals and he sustained enough injury to slow his travels. Foraging for food was also not one of his skills, and he was quite hungry most days. Whenever he could find food it was tough and vile; even the animals that he managed to slay tasted gamey and diseased, and after about a week he wanted to turn back. Like most spellscales Orn had never traveled far from home; the only ones that did were sorcerers, and they traveled by flight or teleportation. He was tougher than the average spellscale, but a week of combat, starvation, and hard walks in the blazing heat were too much for him. He collapsed into the dust, the sun blazing down on him, miles from shelter.

He awoke that evening with a strong and vile scent in his nose, and it took his pain-addled brain a moment to understand what it meant. There was a pause, and then understanding shot through him like a spear. It was the scent of an acid rainstorm, the scourge of the wastes, and something that was utterly deadly to anyone without protection. The strong southern wind that was carrying the smell had already begun to sting Orn’s skin, and he felt his heart grow cold with fear. He realized, with a bit of shame, that such storms were common in the wastes, and that he was entirely unprepared for them. He was going to die.

He settled down on the parched earth, and he closed his eyes. Orn was not especially religious, and he had never held to the worship of deities. As he sat there, about to die, he realized something about himself. He was not religious, but he believed in a higher power. He believed in the power of dragons. He was of dragon blood, but his lightly scaled skin and moderate charm were mere shadows of the tyrants and forces of nature that were the progenitors of his kind. The true dragons, both of the present and of ages past, were gods in semimortal form, gods given flesh and fire. Dragons, he realized, were powerful and passionate and vital in a way that no god or lesser creature could ever imitate or replicate. He smiled, and he felt calm in his heart. If he died, he would die with understanding.

As he smiled he was surprised to find that his lips were already moving, flowing through a fluid chant in a guttural tone. His hands, hard and callused as they were, were moving through a series of gestures. He looked like he was casting a spell, but as his heart began to burn he knew that it was something more. He snapped open his eyes and he saw that the dust around him was swirling manically, forming a distinct oval around him. The fire in his heart began to spread, and within moments it had consumed him, filling his body with a blazing heat and power. His chant grew louder, more powerful, and though Orn did not understand the words he understood their purpose. His movements became surer, more purposeful, and the dust and sand began to condense into a shell.

He was speaking a rite of transformation. His words, he realized, were ancient draconic, similar to the modern language, but far more powerful. The words had inherent magical potential, innate power. He was being guided by some unseen force, ancient and intelligent. His unspoken prayer had been answered. He was going to live.

The next morning the sun rose on a beautiful platinum shell, an egg made of a reflective silver substance. The acid rains had passed, and left the world barren in their wake. The beautiful egg stood there, perfectly still, as the rising sun climbed into the sky. Finally, a tiny crack appeared near the apex of the egg.

There was a pause, and then the crack spread, tracing its way down the surface of the shell like a web. Suddenly, the egg exploded, and the silvery material flew away in jagged shards. Orn stood tall inside the remains of the shell, and he smiled broadly. He closed his eyes, flexed, and spread his wings for the first time.

He was taller than he had been, and he was magnificent. His scales had grown and hardened, becoming protective rather than cosmetic. His face had shifted, becoming truly draconic rather than lizardlike. His hands were tipped with powerful claws, dark and sharp. He breathed in deeply, and he felt the incredible health and vigor of his new form. He felt like he could run for a week and then climb a mountain when he finished.

He found his sword and armor lying outside the shell, though he did not remember removing them. He tested his swing, and he realized that he was noticeably more powerful than he had been. Orn laughed, and it was then that he realized that his coloration was different as well. He was no longer silver. He was platinum, bright and clean and glorious. He was a color unfound among either dragonkind or dragonkin. His name was no longer applicable, and the final vestiges of that power that had shaped his words and hands the day before supplied him with a new one. Maekrix Ux Tibur Spellscale. He was no longer a spellscale. He was a dragonborn, a true draconic being. He was powerful and hale and clad in gleaming scale; what was more, he felt a solid knowledge burning in his heart. He knew, finally, what was meant with his life. He was meant to return the nobility to dragonkind. For too long his kind had concerned themselves with politics and power mongering, with war and conflict and other mortal refuse. If he was to return the valor and nobility to dragonkind, he had to purify the world that had corrupted them.

Maekrix felt a small change in his bearing, as he continued his march. He was headed in a slightly different direction than before. He put it to faith, and went with the feeling in his heart.

Maekrix began to do good wherever he was able. He fought terrible monsters and vile humanoids, creatures of inherent evil and of learned malice. He was buoyed and supported by his force of will, which empowered his strikes and his defenses with a faint divine potency. As he gained skill, however, he realized that he was not using his power to its fullest. His old masters, it seemed, were correct; Maekrix had significant sorcerous potential. With a bit of resentment he began to develop his power, and within a few months he realized the foolishness of his original scorn; spellcasting had astounding combat potential, though it heavily restricted the armor that he could wear. He learned to both harm and protect with magic, and his incredible force of will became apparent; he advanced in arcane might quickly, though it did force him to partially neglect his combat skills. After a time, however, he learned to combine the two disparate disciplines, and he even learned to cast his spells in light armor.

Maekrix was strong, and noble, and he had begun to obtain real power. More importantly, however, he had a purpose. He was going to save dragonkind. And along the way, he was going to save the world.

Maekrix enters the room carefully, keeping his wings tight to his body until he is able to judge the full size of the space. Once inside he relaxes them, flexing the powerful muscles in his chest that power them. He leans on his long ranseur a bit and then adjusts the straps of his custom-made pack.

As Norvartis soars into view, Maekrix smiles. Norvartis was majestic, a true paragon of his kind, and it heartened Maekrix to see such a dragon in flight. A small, hard part of his heart had to fight harder than normal to force him to close his eyes. When he reopened them he saw the world, for a moment, in the light of morality. It took only a moment for him to verify the nobility of Novartis's heart.

A younger version of himself would have been enraged by the mere thought of magically checking a great dragon's morality. Maekrix had never been wise, especially for a paladin, but he was not a fool. He recognised his frequent inability to judge the hearts of others, and he felt no shame in using the magic inherent to him to fulfill that task.

After that brief moment, Maekrix's face broke into a wide smile; his bared teeth would seem unsettling and threatening if it was not for the remarkable honesty of the expression. When Maekrix smiled one knew that he was happy, and that genuineness filled the expression with meaning.

"It is an honor, noble dragon, to be summoned by you, let alone to be offered a chance to serve your aims. It is my duty and goal in life to restore the honor and nobility of ancient times to our kind, Novartis, and I truely believe that working to aid you is an important step in that process." Maekrix kneels before the great golden dragon.

"Furthermore, I agree with your means. Teams filled with the spirit of brotherhood are far more powerful than individuals, however powerful those individuals may be. I give you my word, as a dragonborn and as a paladin, that I will serve you with every fiber of my being as long as your intentions are just and pure."

He rises, pride in his eyes and a strong smile on his face. "I look forward to working for and with you, sir."

[Galathir]

Norvartis makes a small motion with his right hand, and in a brief moment the dragon disappears and in his place is a rather average looking man. Nearly six feet tall he is clothed in a flowing white tunic cinched around the waist with a wide metallic sash. His eyes remain a piercing gold and his face is firm with a mystic blend of youth and wisdom. He motions with a nod of his head and a simple wooden table appears with two plain chairs. He takes a seat and motions you to join him.

"I am honoured by your trust, my friend. I also feel as you do that the bond of friendship and trust is worth incomparably more then one of fear and threats. I also share your loathing for the war that is dividing our land and threatening the liberties and freedoms of those who inhabit it. I wish to see the end of hostilities as quickly as possibly, but I refuse to capitulate to those who do not share our honour of Robin and the values of righteousness."

"With that in mind, I have, though long study, uncovered the location of several powerful artefacts throughout the land. Hidden in secret locations before the rise of Robin, these weapons and tools will enable to us better fight against the encroachments of our enemies and hasten the end of this bitter conflict. However, I fear that our foes have also uncovered some amount of knowledge about these devices and therefore, time is of the essence if the advantage is to be ours. I have already send a band of like-minded individuals to begin retrieving them as soon as possible but one of their members has recently fallen and I fear that her absence will hinder the party. I thus require you to join them and assist in any way possible. They will be expecting you."

"Unfortunately, my duties as ruler of this land require my retention here, but I will spare what power I can to assist you in your task. If I can not be with you in person, at least I can be with you in spirit. If you are willing, I will perform a small ritual that will transfer some of my power to you for the duration of your quest."

[RaggedAngel]

Maekrix sets his ranseur on the floor carefully and then sits at the small wooden table with Norvartis. He pondered, for a moment, why a dragon would deign to become like a mortal, even for a time. The purpose, of course, was to make the meeting easier on Maekrix; still, the dragonborn could not imagine the humbleness and wisdom required to intentionally lesson oneself simply to make a guest more comfortable. It warmed his heart; more than his power to detect evil could ever tell him, this was a subtle sign that Norvartis was not only good, but noble and wise. Maekrix had truly found a patron.

Maekrix listens attentively to Norvartis, and then responds. "I understand the urgency of the situation, and I can set out to join the others immediately. I can fly there, actually, if you can give me directions; I have not been able to sustain flight for very long, but I am learning quickly. One day, perhaps, I will be like a true dragon in that respect."

He muses for a moment, and then continues. "As for your generous offer, I would be a fool to do anything but accept, and to accept with infinite gratitude and thanks. Everything I am, both body and mind, I owe to dragonkind; the thought of being further bound to a noble dragon does nothing but hearten me. If I may be so bold, may I inquire as to the specifics of the ritual?"

[Galathir]

Norvartis closes his eyes for a few moments, the stillness of his body suggesting the depth of this thoughts. He slowly looks back at you.

"Yes . . . flying. An excellent suggestion. I must beg your pardon on my lapse. I have many matters on my mind. I believe I will be able to help you reach the party. We shall see. And you wish to be a true dragon? An honourable destiny, though one fraught with its own trials and tribulation. Yes, there is power and strength, but it must always be tempered with wisdom and restraint. I have seen that you possess both of those, and your future holds great promise. I shall look after you and proffer what assistance I am able."

"As to the ritual, it is quite simple, at least, for you. You have full use of your limbs? Then you are set. The Dragon's Favour is not a gift to be taken lightly by either of us, and it will make your enemies think twice before attempting to cross the path of the chosen ones of Norvartis."

Norvartis reaches a hand into his voluminous robes and draws out a flattened globe of some polished stone or crystal. Its surface is a glossy pearly colour with specks of some kind of golden thread running through it. It seems to emanate a sense of timelessness and almost suggests that the dragon himself must seem young indeed to an item of such age. As you look at it, there seems to be an energetic swirling of colour beneath the surface almost as if it were alive. He places it in the centre of the table, and looks directly at you.

"This, my friend, is the great Orb of Xeinophyx and it will be the focus for the ritual. There is nothing to fear and nothing required of you but to place your hands upon while I grant you my Favour."

[RaggedAngel]

Maekrix waits patiently and quietly while Norvartis thinks, and then he listens to the dragon with interest, drinking in his words. In all his time as a champion of dragonkind Maekrix had never actually met a true dragon, and the splendor and grace of Norvartis astounded him. Until this day Maekrix had counted himself a true dragon; now he could see that he was but a feeble imitation of the real thing. For now, at least.

Maekrix nods once Norvartis finishes and he reaches out for the orb, carefully and slowly placing his hands on the beautiful gold surface. He takes special care to not let the long claws on his fingers touch the orb, for fear of damaging it. He doubts that he could, but there is no need to take a risk with an item so ancient and powerful. "I am ready, sir, whenever you are, and I again thank you for the gift."

[Galathir]

After you place your hands upon the Orb, Norvartis covers them with his own hand. The ritual itself is rather anti-climatic. You each feel a faint ripple of energy from from the Orb pass up your hand and through your body and then a moment of pure silence. Norvartis withdraws his hand and sits back.

"Well, it is completed. I will consider you as my Avatar and I have bestowed upon you five favours with which you may call upon my assistance when needed. Use them wisely for my power is not unlimited and performing the ritual is more draining then it might appear."

"Now, do you have any further business, or should I send you on your way?"

OOC: Ritual Details
Avatar of Norvartis

Languages: You can communicate telepathically with Norvartis at a range of 100 miles.

Favour of Norvartis (Su): At the conclusion of the ritual, you are granted five favours. You can spend any number of favours as an immediate action to gain one of the following benefits.

- Energy immunity: You can spend a favour to gain immunity to fire with a duration of 10 minutes.

- Frightful Presence: You may spend a favour to gain frightful presence with a range of 150 feet. Whenever you charge or attack, creatures that have fewer Hit Die then you must succeed on a Will save (DC 10 + 1/2 HD + Cha modifier) or become shaken for as long as they remain within range. A creature that successfully saves can not be affected by the same frightful presence for 24 hours.

- Draconic Flight: If you clasp hands with at least one other Avatar and each spends one favour, you all gain fly speed 200 ft. (poor) for as long as you continue holding hands.

- Insight of Norvartis: An Avatar may spend a favour to tap into the draconic wisdom that flows through the mind of Norvartis. Doing so provides a glimpse of the possible future - enough to grant a +4 bonus on the Avatar's next saving throw or next attack roll.

- Sanctum's Return: You may spend two favours to use word of recall. Your sanctuary is the entrance chamber of the High Citadel of Corvantia.

- Sanctum's Rebirth: If you take damage that would reduce you to -10 hit points, you can instead spend all your remaining favours (at least one) to instantly return to the entrance chamber of the High Citadel of Corvantia, unconscious and with 0 hit points.

[RaggedAngel]

The draconic paladin leans back a bit, contemplating the power that had just surged through him. It was interest; almost divine, in a way, and yet still the sharp arcane feeling of dragon magic. His platinum brow furrows a bit, and then he looks back up at Norvartis, jerking out of his contemplation.

"I have no other needs or requirements, my lord, and I thank you for the gracious blessing that you have bestowed upon me. I promise you that I will use your power carefully and only in times of utmost need, and I hope that I will not require it at all. I am prepared to leave, sir; all I ask is a heading and the distance to the people I am to aid." He rises and bows, then picks up his ranseur. He stretches his wings wide, and the gleaming platinum scales on them catch the light.

[Galathir]

Sliding the polished orb back into his robes, Norvartis reaches for a scrolled bit of parchment lying on the table. He unrolls it, revealing an ornate and brightly coloured map of the lands surrounding his citadel. "We are here" he says, pointing out your current location. "The party has travelled along this path and is probably making camp along the valley bordering the edge of the desert. If you make good time, you should be able to reach them before the night is over. I have a bit of a talisman that will enable you to fly for as long as you require to reach them." He reaches into his tunic again and pulls out a humble ring, the metal worn smooth and glassy by countless years of use.

"Simply put it on and it will amplify your current ability. Its power is limited, but it should see you though the night." He place his hand on your shoulder and looks into your eyes. "I know you will not disappoint me: stay strong and fight well."

[RaggedAngel]

Maekrix accepts the ring with surprisingly nimble fingers; despite the hard scales and long claws he clearly has the manual dexterity of an arcane spellcaster. He looks at the ring with marked interest for a moment, and then he puts it on. "You have again given me a remarkable gift, and for that I thank you. This will save me considerable time and effort; I will admit that I do not currently have the skill to fly constantly; I must glide for a time between beats. With this I should indeed be with them by the morning."

He bows to Norvartis, the movement strong and respectful. "I thank you for the blessing, sir, but I thank you even more for the opportunity you have given me. I am a paladin, sir, but not one of Robin, nor one who strives merely for a vague goal of 'law and good'." He smiles, and his sharp teeth show. "I am a paladin of dragonkind, a paladin who strives to represent and further the interests of the most noble race in this world. You have given me an opportunity to prove my worth and my purpose, and for that I thank you. Now, if you have no other requirements of me, my lord, I will be off."

[Galathir]

"May the grace and peace of Robin go with you." Norvartis give a small flick of his wrist and one of the doors silently opens revealing the fading sunlight of late afternoon.

You spread your wings and take off toward the allies you are to meet. The air feels alive around you and the motions of flying seem natural and almost effortless. You can go faster then ever before and the city and surrounding areas are soon out of sight behind you. The country below you glows in the peacefully dreamy purple and orange shades of sunset. Keeping the map in your head, you are able to pick out the path along which the rest of the party has travelled. The great wasteland of Arkios is just visible as a white gleam in the distance. As you travel, the lush forests slowly give way to marshes, and tangled shrubs dotted with the occasional farmstead and small villages.

The sun is completely set when the moon begins to rise, illuminating the terrain with its pale ashen glow. Valleys and hills stand out in stark contrast and the shadows and shadings of the trees make the entire view seems a bit unreal. After a few hours, you near the edge of the desert and see the thin black line of the valley separating the two lands. A tiny pinprick of red light marks a small fire and your senses tell you that this is where you are to meet up with the party. You begin to descent and prepare yourself for the meeting.