GM Niles Iron Gods (Inactive)

Game Master nilesr

The Awakened Spire is the first, and so far, only Transmortal Sanctuary in the land. The philosophy focuses on self-perfection to the nth degree, with an ultimate goal of transcending one's current place in the cosmos, and immortality being a key prerequisite to this goal. One of the Spire’s founders, Surazal , helped begin the Transmortal movement some XX years ago, alongside two friends and a small group of zealous acolytes.

Surazal - Raza to his friends - is a Genesis Acolyte in the Awakened Spire. This is a fancy way of calling him a founding member. The Spire is an academy/temple dedicated to philosophical transmortalism: sentient life forms seeking to unlock their full potential; to go beyond any presupposed limitations of their race. It also serves as a sanctuary to any ostracized as an “other”.

40 years of technologic, necromantic, and mystical enhancements; along with a deep philosophical study on the nature of life and death has left Raza on the very edge of humanity. The residences of Hakados call him a cyborg, but mundane labels mean little. What matters is that he has gone beyond his cosmic station, and that greater potential yet remains to be unlocked. Empowered by his dedication, his skills honed by the most prodigious mind and the most dangerous living weapon to ever cross his path; Raza is a jack of all trades defending the like-minded from the shadows.

Raza is quick-witted, slow to anger, and prefers to solve problems before anyone notices something amiss. He is completely dedicated to his cause, and almost nothing is off the table on his road to transcendence. He even keeps a living construct as his familiar so that he might see what life as an object might be like. The two get along well enough, though the tiny metal dragon claims a deep shame for being bound to someone other than the one who crafted his body. As it turns out, entities conjured into constructs take no small amount of pride in their craftsmanship. Haughtier ones, like Raza’s companion Zink, consider commissioning the body as a copout.

Nonplused familiars aside, the Spire’s oldest members are well respected in the region (barring a few philosophical or spiritual impasses). Even among nobles and the monarchy, the wisdom and power of the Spire is well respected. More than one deadly conflict has been quelled by early transhuman intervention.

Having neither real drive nor goals in his youth, Surazal had always wanted for direction or purpose. Death had visited friends and family early in life, so he soured on the idea of long-term ambitions at a young age. Instead, he invested half measures in a swath of frivolous hobbies solely designed to distract; it’s breadth rivaled only by its fluidity. As such, Surazal is fond of saying that his life didn’t start until his 30th summer, the night his conviction first summoned divine magic.

5 years before the event, when Surazal began collecting books on necromancy, magic constructs, timeless planes, and the healing arts, he was certain this fascination with longevity would just be another distraction that would dull with time. This notion was dispelled the day he met a kindred spirit while visiting a monastery dedicated to Irori. Surazal had no intention of becoming a monk, but unarmed combat always fascinated him. And the Dwarven god’s teaching of self-perfection leads many monasteries to be more open with the techniques they develop.

Surazal was taken aback when first greeted by his instructor; a pale, human girl standing at least 6ft tall. Tutelage in martial skill and physical health were one thing, becoming an inner member of the monastery as an outsider was quite another. The girl, a living weapon even this early in her life, introduced herself as Yewna. It turned out Yewna’s dedication to physical-perfection was nigh unmatched among her peers. The intensity of her zeal sparked something in Surazal (Or Raza as she called him. A profane, yet playful, Dwarven pun), and the two became quick friends.

After a year under Yewna’s guidance, Raza (as everyone now called him) was healthier than he’d ever been, and his limbs might as well have been honed blades to the unarmed and untrained. The two friends both now believed that the self-perfection they each sought went far beyond any conventional wisdom. They would need to venture out and immerse themselves in the study of immortality and transcendence; find the other kindred spirits and pool their knowledge together.

To this end, the two friends each set off for various major academic hubs. Raza’s longest and final stop was at a Gnome college for magical construction. While there, Raza encountered two things that would prove crucial on his journey.

The first fateful encounter happened on his first day, when he, like everyone, met the headmaster’s familiar. It was a tiny mechanical cat, one the headmaster built himself from gears, springs, and potent magic. The native gnomes were obviously more accustomed to these “clockwork” creatures - as Raza would later learn they were called - none of them seemed all that phased by this one leading the lecture on planar energy conservation. Raza wouldn’t feel the impact of this first meeting for another decade, when one of his fellow alumni, now a professional Clockwork craftsman, drops by the Spire. The effects of said impact can still be seen today. The small Dragon that Raza paid a king’s ransom for generally is found perched upon his shoulder explaining very slowly to Raza the depths of his own incompetence. Raza took to calling the creature a “daily reminder that all which shines is not gold”.

The second encounter was with a prodigious, half-drow arcanist (and open necromancer) by the name of Tai-Zen. Only 14, Zen was already at the top of most classes. And he was writing a thesis on the overlap of Soul Storage in magical constructs and the manipulation of Life Force in necromancy. Zen’s clinical breakdown of this taboo art demanded Raza attempt to bring him into the fold. An easy pitch, as it turned out. Tai-Zen jumped at the opportunity to work with those who could see the potential in the “darker” crafts.

Two years later, the two had learned all that the College had to offer on their topics of interest. Raza had learned a great deal overall, while Tai-Zen had blended formulas for binding souls to constructs with those used to move souls around in necromancy. He had gained a mastery of life and death – at least on paper – that could make a lich blush. So, without much fanfare, they packed up and left on the first warm night of summer. Yewna had sent word in early spring that she was ready to meet, and was waiting at the rendezvous.

It was just after nightfall, about a fortnight after departing the College, when the two first spotted the Cow’s Skirt pub. It and it’s disturbingly name-appropriate sign stood as silhouettes against a low-hanging full moon. A few yards away, a large figure darted to and fro across the lunar backdrop, displaying agility and grace uncanny for something its size.

Raza was generally equal measures of impressed and ashamed watching Yewna practice. After so long apart, some of her movements had even come to seem supernatural. That didn’t strike Raza as odd at first. Supreme skill was part of Yewna ‘s personal journey; one she’d started years before having met Surazal. Any hint of dissonance he might have been sensing had all but faded when Zen chimed in with something odd...

“It’s no loss to me, but if we don’t hurry, your friend is going to die. I’m always willing to help you, Raza, but I won’t go out of my way to save a stranger if you aren’t concerned”

What? Zen’s callous attitude was nothing new, but Yew was perfectly fine …*crash*. One of Yewna’s kicks had connected with the ground; the force of the strike obliterated a cubic foot of earth. Two silhouettes now stood stark against the moon on either side of the crater; one was hunched and heaving slightly, the other stood tall with an air of narcissism and affluence. Color fled Raza’s face as he took off at a full sprint towards the ongoing skirmish.

Surazal hadn’t cleared half the 40-yard gap when Tai-Zen overtook him. The Elf-kin’s hands and mouth moved at speed, spinning arcane gestures and words into tangible power. A ball of flame a foot across hurdled between the two combatants just in time to halt their next clash. Zen stopped about 5 yards shy of Yewna’s crater and gave her assailant a thorough assessment. It turned out to be just as he suspected. The young Drow hoped Raza’s faith in his friend’s skill was not unwarranted. The three of them were to face living death in the form Z’s favorite children, and nothing short of arcane and physical perfection would let them see daybreak.

When Raza made it to his companions, he immediately fell to one knee. The raw power of unlife radiating off of the creature that assailed Yewna was so massive that it physically pressed Raza down into the dirt. This was the power of a vampire – a sentient immortal, the apex of everything Surazal strived for – and he wasn’t ready to face it. A bringer of death in a timeless vessel, this creature embodied all of Raza’s fears and ambitions and laid them bare in front of him.

Raza was not prepared. His mind floated in a sea of an existential quandary; flittering in and out of consciousness as the skirmish raged on. For a brief moment, he saw Yewna lying unconscious a few yards away, then he was lost again. Tai-Zen kneeled - sweating intensely, his breath was ragged – before a pillar of light. Energy crackled and hissed as the creature inside drew its nails across the wall with a condescending smile. The exhausted elf knew his spell wouldn’t last, and that without early dawn, neither would his life.

Raza - all but lost to a torrent of emotion, epiphany, and self-reflection - finally managed to drag himself out of his personal abyss by holding fast to the only constant in his mind: a feeling of sublime insignificance. The cosmos was trying to punish him. It demanded Surzal and his friends' surrender. That they yield to its preordained hierarchy; that they live and die like all mortals. It would come for them like a coward in the night and force this structure upon them. This act of cosmic barbarism could not be allowed to stand. The self-righteous fury that filled his soul at that moment would forever be a shield and elixir for all who would challenge the cruel whims of fate…

As Surazal finally rose to his feet, his body began to let off a faint, otherworldly aura. Seeing the silvery film turned their captive’s face from smug to vaguely nauseous; though he otherwise maintained his unbothered demeanor. As Raza made his way towards Zen’s barrier, the creature clicked its tongue in annoyance.

“A Drow necromancer nearly died to seal me for perhaps an hour, and you expect me to fear the divine light of some greenhorn acolyte. This, admittedly prodigious, spell can’t last; the elf has been wrung dry. I’m going to get out of here. And then I’m going to drink you, all of you… slowly.” The creature taunted.

Upon hearing this, Raza looked their prisoner in the eye for the first and last time. He tilted his head slightly and his face wore a look of profound confusion. “Wrung dry? I’ve never seen the boy looking hardier.” Sure enough, by the time Raza reached the enclosure, Tai-Zen was already on his feet. All of the elf’s major wounds had closed, and at least one dislocated joint had reset. Yewna followed suit shortly after.

“In fact, I’d bet my life on his spell holding till sunrise. Summer dawns are dreadfully early.” Raza said, having turned his back to the box to in order to help Yewna to her feet. The imprisoned creature offered no retort. It never begged for mercy, nor did it cry-out when Raza’s prediction came to pass and the morning sun burned its body to cinders. With the threat having passed, the trio fell to the ground in exhaustion.

It was in this sudden reprieve that Raza finally noticed the warm itch on his neck. He later learned that something about the power he channeled earlier had left a normally subtle birthmark several shades darker than it had ever been before; clear as day to most people from as far as 20ft. The trio decided that this couldn’t be coincidence, and thus they designed the Transmortal crest around the mark.

Once the group had had a chance to rest and recharge, Yewna immediately drops a bombshell on her recently (re)acquired companions. She had received word of a city built from ancient machines that fell from the stars. There are rumors of sentient constructs that run on captured lightning, as opposed to raw magic. Human’s replacing their failing hearts and tainted blood replaced with clockwork and oil. The possibilities are endless.

No discussion was required. The group paid their tab and left for Hakados. When they arrived, they found a small group of Yewna’s acolytes already at work on what would one day be the Spire. Though it would spend several years as a “glorified schoolhouse” (as Zen had called it when pitching the Spire-proper), first. Over the years, as it grew in scope and size, the Spire became a respected marriage of academia, spiritualism, and physical perfection. Rogue AI and cyborgs of varying biology levels all flocked to the Spire’s open arms; each simultaneously learning and teaching volumes about the nature of sentient life and its soul. Raza would use what he learned about these technologic beings to enhance his own abilities early on, on to slow the effects of time later in life.

Surazal would continue his training under Yewna for the sake of his own well-being but would seek-out Tai-Zen for lessons when the Spire became large enough to draw real threats. Zen was a pure arcanist at heart, but he’d also been raised in a semi-traditional Drow household. So, like with everything else, he excelled with his ancestral weapons and the unsavory tactics that went with them. What was most important was the Drow’s focus on blending spellcraft with swordplay. Raza would need to know how to make the most of his new found magic in close combat, and Zen would make for the perfect instructor.

40 years after its construction, Surazal remains the Spire’s only divine caster powered by dedication to the transmortal mission. He and Yewna now lead the Spire’s defense force; a small squad of arcane casters and martial experts dedicated to maintaining the peace through a swift application of minimal force. All the while, a young-blooded Tai-Zen scours the land for every scrap of hidden or profane knowledge on death and entropy in existence. A small gaggle of witches follows the elf on his journey.

The philosophy of transmortalism lacks any sacred dogma. Instead, transmortalism centers on ideals, priorities, and goals that form a code of ethics. The Code is updated yearly in a week-long open forum. One only needs to have been present to witness the previous debate in order to bring forward changes for consideration.

Most that identify as transhumanist do their best to live by the same guidelines when circumstances allow. After all, The Code only exists to facilitate the priorities of the Spire's members. Thus, the annual forum offers an incentive for individual members to extrapolate and reflect on any shortcomings that may remain.

The Code may be ever-changing, but it does have 3 core principles that have withstood 25 consecutive debates with unanimous approval: 1. A timeless form is key, entropy is the enemy of all mortal endeavors. 2. We must forge the future we seek, give it shape as a potter to clay. 3. We must strive to see and protect the potential in all mortal kind, the fiery spirits of sentient life only serve to amplify one another.

Each principal (or pillar, as they are also known) is drawn from an area of concern taken from one of the Spire's three "Ascended Mentors". These mentors are deities that appeared to the earliest members of the Spire. Each Mentor, having achieved godhood as a lesser being, approached the members as peers; offering perspective and advice regarding the road to Transcendence.

Lythertida, The Eldest Sister reminded them of their potential as intelligent life forms. Coming from a pantheon of transcended deities, the value of this potential is etched into her psyche. Its malicious theft enrages Lythertida, and she cried for vengeance in the name of the fallen. "Never doubt your boundless, burning potential as sentient souls. Let your light burn so bright that it might sear the flesh from those who would see it extinguished.”

Brigh, The Unflappable Tutor proposes that they must shape their future as a smith shapes iron. That with patience, time, and proper application of hindsight, all is possible. She also pleads for open-mindedness and compassion towards unique sentient creatures, especially living constructs. "Shy not from toil nor tedium, the eternity that you seek is equal measures of both; embrace them if you can. Shy not from the impossible, nothing less will suffice in this endeavor. Curse, not your failures, they are your greatest mentor. Respect all types of sentient life, you are likely to experience many new forms on your journey."

Urgathoa, The Lurid Predatorinsists that single-minded necromancy - Lichdom and Vampirism especially - will grant us our deepest desires. "My children have long known the secrets you seek. Lifeforce, like all energy, can be stored or siphoned by those will the will and knowledge to command it. Tear your enemy's essence from her veins, or bind your own to more timeless elements. Transcendence is not as far from your grasp as you might believe. Don't let the archaic notions of the unwashed masses to hobble you on your journey. Call forth my servants in your endeavors, see the power an undead form holds for yourselves."

Being a member of the Spire doesn’t make one a devotee to any of the Mentors. The Spire welcomes all whose faith permits, and who obey the rules of the Spire while within its walls. The Mentors are just as their name suggests. They offer guidance when it suits them, and their vote counts during the annual forum (on the rare occasion they cast one), but none hold nor seek any authority in the movement. The Mentors clearly have their own motives, each falling along the neutral plane. But the Spire is nothing if not pragmatic, and looking this gift horse in the mouth would benefit no one. Their name loaned the Spire legitimacy in its early days and allowing divine council on any level plays well with older traditionalists.