Description
Norvos towers at nearly fifteen feet, his frame lean but powerful, like a
spike of ice carved to a sharp edge. His skin is a rough pale gray, marred
with old scars that cross his limbs and chest like the spidering cracks of
ancient ice. His hair, a heavy mass of white, is bound in thick braids
threaded with shards of bone and darkened iron. Broad shoulders taper into
arms wrapped in heavy shrouds, stained and stiff from years in cold. Cold
breath steams from his mouth in slow gusts, and his deepset blue eyes gleam
beneath a heavy brow.
Role
The Seer
Added Fri Apr 25 16:07:22 2025 at level 5:
Norvos had been born into chains. Not the crude iron ones you could see and
curse, but the subtler kind, contracts and collars inked in languages he
could barely speak. He grew up a slave to the dark-elves, a towering frost
giant bent into the shape of a servant, beaten into silence, taught early
that his strength was meant for other men's gain.
His days belonged to Seraphys, a merchant of such wealth and arrogance that
he barely seemed mortal. Norvos tended his every need, hauled his burdens,
guarded his door, and watched. Always watched.
At first it was simple curiosity, the way a battered dog watches a cruel
master from the corner of the room. Seraphys would sit at his high table and
make his bargains, his voice slick and honeyed, his gestures small and cruel.
He spoke with the confidence of a prophet, predicting the turns of fortune,
the twists of loyalty, the crumbling of enemies. Time and again, he would
boast to Norvos, See how easily they fall? See how well I know them? and
Norvos believed he was seeing true magic.
For a long time, longer than he cared to admit, Norvos believed his master
had some dark power, some infernal sight that let him look into the hearts of
men and drag their futures out into the light.
But truth, like ice, is slow and cold and sharp when it breaks.
One night, left alone to clean the merchant's study, Norvos found a book. Not
grand or gilded, but quiet and dangerous, the teachings of a god he had never
known by name before: Nycruvae. A god of debt, of promises, of ledgers
written not in ink but in flesh and fate.
It slid into him then, like a shard of glacier through the ribs. Seraphys had
no magic. He had debts. He had chains invisible to the eye, but heavier than
any Norvos had ever worn.
He was not a seer. He was a collector.
And Norvos, poor stupid Norvos, was just another debt unpaid.
The hunger woke up in him after that. The hunger to know, to see the future
the way Seraphys had seen it, not through spells, but through leverage. To
walk through the world not as a beast of burden, but as a master of chains.
But chains were chains, whether of gold or ice. Norvos was still a slave.
Still bound. Still waiting.
Waiting to be free. Waiting to begin.
Gratitude and Debt
Added Fri Apr 25 16:08:12 2025 at level 5:
He knew, then.
Seraphys followed the ways of Nycruvae. It wasn't magic, it
wasn't luck. It was cold law, heavy as stone and thin as a razor's edge. And
if the master lived by the rules of the ledger, then the ledger could be
turned against him.
Ironically, it was Seraphys himself who gave him the key. One night, in that
careless way of his, after too much wine and too much boasting, the dark-elf
spoke of a meeting with an ill-tempered orc, a creature more beast than
businessman, and prone to outbursts. "He may turn nasty," Seraphys said,
waving a hand like it hardly mattered. "Be ready, boy."
Norvos was ready.
He made certain, by a whisper here, a glance there, that when the time came,
he would be the only guard in the room. No backup. Just him, Seraphys, and
the orc.
The orc snarled and bared a knife the moment the debt was called in. Just
like Seraphys had said. But for all his arrogance, Seraphys had not seen
Norvos's plan.
The dagger flashed, fast and mean, and Norvos moved. Not with thought, not
even with fear. Just cold certainty. It sank into his shoulder like a shard
of winter, a jolt of raw, biting pain that lit his bones on fire. But it gave
just enough time. The doors crashed open. Other guards swarmed in. The orc
went down screaming.
When Norvos woke, he was lying on a pallet of rough cloth, the scent of his
own blood thick in his nose. The room spun slowly, like the world was
reluctant to return to him. Seraphys sat nearby, arms crossed, his face a
mask of disgust poorly covering something else.
Gratitude.
Norvos could barely move his lips, but the words came out anyway, low and
broken:
'I guess you owe me your life.'
There was a flicker, a flash like a blade catching the sun, in Seraphys's
eyes. A scowl carved itself into his fine features, deeper and colder than
any Norvos had ever seen. Without a word, the dark-elf turned and left.
Becoming the Master
Added Fri Apr 25 16:08:35 2025 at level 5:
Norvos drifted in and out of sleep after that, each time feeling the pull of
something changing, something snapping tight like a snare around the
dark-elf's neck.
When Seraphys returned, he dropped a pouch of gold and a bundle of armor at
Norvos's feet like a man throwing away rotted meat.
'I owe you nothing now, Norvos. Go.'
No warmth. No farewell. Just the flat finality of a man severing a tie he
could not bear to leave knotted.
Norvos went.
He left the estate behind, the bloodstained walls, the chains, the endless
cold calculations that had once bound him. But he carried something with him,
something sharper than any blade, heavier than any collar.
He carried the hunger. The hunger to know. The hunger to see the future as
his master had, not through guessing, but through owning.
Somewhere, out there in the frozen wilds and crumbling cities, was this Lord
Nycruvae, the architect of invisible chains, the god who could teach a frost
giant to weave fate like a net and drag the world down with it.
Norvos smiled once, the smile of a man who had seen the ledger of the world
and decided he would write his name in the largest hand.
And he walked into the cold, free at last, but bound to a hunger that would
never leave him.
Not until he found the one who had taught his master to rule without a crown.
Not until he learned to do it better.
True Power
Added Sat May 3 12:49:38 2025 at level 51:
Norvos was no longer cold by nature. He had become cold by design.
His frost no longer came from his skin, but from the Ledger etched beneath
it, the one no flame could thaw. The one that grew heavier with every broken
word, every false oath, every debtor who still breathed air they no longer
deserved.
As an Imperial priest, he bore two symbols upon him now. One was visible, the
seal of the Divine Sect. The other was felt, not seen: the weight of Lord
Nycruvae's favor, of his chains, of his whispered promises whispered not in
prayer, but in contracts scrawled in smoke.
And Norvos had learned. Gods, had he learned.
Once, he had bled for a master who never asked him to. Once, he had idolized
a man who confused command with captivity. Once, he had believed that power
meant being obeyed.
Now he knew: Power means being owed.
Seraphys had taken lives without a ledger. He had forced servitude with no
terms, no binding, no sanctity. Norvos had come to view this not as cruelty,
but as slothful weakness. True subjugation wasn't loud, it was quiet, tight,
voluntary, until the debtor no longer remembered where the leash began or
ended.
And worse than slavers were the Outlanders. Not just because they refused
order. But because they had once benefited from it. They were born in houses
built by laws, fed by cities that remembered their names. And now they raised
spears against that.
They claimed freedom, but they owed. And Norvos would collect.
He had begun to travel beyond the imperial halls, down into the ditches where
broken oaths festered. His sermons were not words but judgments, and his
blessings were chains.
He did not shout. He did not threaten. He offered terms. He gave choices. And
when they refused, he recorded their name in the invisible margins of the
Ledger, and proceeded to fulfill what the gods had already ruled: payment in
blood.
Norvos hunted not for vengeance, but for balance. He was too cold for such
anger.
'This is not punishment. This is fulfillment.'
The Outlanders would be next. The Ledger remembers.
PK Wins
Apr 28, 2025|Lv 36|Fortress of Light|Delmanius vs 2: [36] Norvos (39%), [40] Vemunih (60%, stab)
May 2, 2025 |Lv 46|The Wastes of Nonviel|Kericht vs 1: [46] Norvos (100%, slash)
May 3, 2025 |Lv 50|The Imperial Lands|Xellius vs 2: [50] Norvos (43%), [45] Nhazlihaen (56%, circle stab)
May 3, 2025 |Lv 51|The Eastern Road|Vorrgar vs 1: [51] Norvos (100%, fatigue)
May 3, 2025 |Lv 51|The Redhorn Mountains|Kericht vs 2: [51] Norvos (55%), [51] Ihmeria (44%, claw)
May 4, 2025 |Lv 51|The Imperial Lands|Dunke vs 2: [48] Nhazlihaen (41%), [51] Norvos (58%, KB)
May 4, 2025 |Lv 51|The Imperial Lands|Steiya vs 2: [51] Norvos (8%), [51] Skauzyn (91%, cleave)
May 5, 2025 |Lv 51|BattleRager Village|Tuva vs 2: [51] Norvos (0%), [51] Skauzyn (100%, divine power)
May 5, 2025 |Lv 51|The Imperial Lands|Tuva vs 3: [46] Felyndiira (14%), [51] Skauzyn (78%, divine power), [51] Norvos (6%)