Immortalis - Lore

Background
In the early years of the Arena Games, many battle mages began working together and formed guilds. All across the Splinterlands, they combined their resources to construct halls, lodges, barracks, stores, and even arenas where they hosted brawls—tournaments that pitted guilds against one another in a series of battles to prove which was the best.
Immortalis, one of the most powerful battle mages of the era, was the leader of one such guild. His training regimen was brutal and demanding, and he required nothing less than absolute perfection from those he accepted into his ranks. The weak were soon weeded out, while the strong flourished and grew even stronger. Immortalis and his guild proved all but unbeatable, and spectators from across the Splinterlands packed the stands to watch him swagger into the arena and direct his guild members as they mercilessly crushed their opponents.
Guild brawls continued to grow in popularity and, recognizing an opportunity to expand its influence and profit, the Order of the Scale formally subsumed guilds into the combat arena industry, requiring them to purchase a charter to become officially sanctioned organizations.
But Immortalis detested bureaucracy and the restrictions and regulations placed upon the guilds. Also, although he could still best nearly all who stood opposite him in the arena, he was growing older and wearied of teaching the latest generation of battle mages the tactics and strategies that, to him, were instinctive and seemed rudimentary.
Thus, Immortalis passed the baton to his most trusted and combat-hardened disciple: the battle mage Clove Sevintian.
She promised to make him proud. He told her that he knew she would… and to not be surprised if she should chance to look into the stands and catch sight of a white-bearded man with a shepherd’s crook in his hand and a mountain dog by his side.
“You can take the man out of the Games,” he said, “but you can’t take the Games out of the man.”
Then he slung his pack over his shoulder and, with his loyal canine, Siwel, at his side, he left the keep of the guild known as Immortal Gods and disappeared into the horizon.

Story Snippet
“The champions of the brawl!” the presiding official, a short man dressed in bright colors, shouted. “Immortal Gods!”
In the past, the stands of the arena would have erupted in a raucous, ground-trembling tumult of cheers and stomping feet. Now however, the spectators responded with a prudent smattering of applause. The Chaos Legionnaires in the crowd, however, jeered and tossed half-eaten turkey legs, balled-up food wrappers, and empty mugs into the arena as they laughed and elbowed one another.
Clove Sevintian and the other guild members of Immortal Gods stood in the center of the arena, heads held high and ignoring the legionnaires’ taunts. A portcullis at the arena’s far end rolled open with a grinding rattle, and several porters carrying oversized and elaborately designed chests emerged from the darkness, hurried across the arena, and lowered the chests to the ground with a thud. The presiding official opened them. They were filled with stacks of coins: the merits and crowns used to purchase Gladius cards and upgrades to the guild’s buildings.
Clove’s gaze roamed over the contents and, satisfied, she gave a curt nod.
“Hey, boss,” Ediam Curioso, a fellow battle mage and one of her co-leaders, said. “We got trouble.”
The legionnaires had scrambled over the wall and dropped to the floor of the arena. Now, they strode toward Clove and the rest of her guild, grinning wickedly.
“Quite a haul you got there,” one said, eying the chests. “Gonna be quite a hefty tax on it, too.”
Clove narrowed her eyes, and her face flushed with anger. She took a step forward, but one of her guild members placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her back. “We can’t,” they said.
Years ago, the Chaos Legion had conquered the last of the great empires and kingdoms. They controlled the major cities of the Splinterlands, the trade routes, and even the Arena Games. Few had dared to oppose Silus of the Rift and his legions of thugs and butchers. Those that did either found themselves hanging by a short rope from a tall tree, with their head in a basket at the base of a guillotine, or—more likely—facing a very slow, painful, and public death to serve as a warning to others: those who sought to light the fires of rebellion would be burned.
But every fire starts with a spark.
As the legionnaires bent before the chests and began scooping out handfuls of crowns and merits and filling their pouches and packs, Raynie of clan Aguila, Clove’s other co-leader, drew a card from her satchel.
“Enough,” she said.
The ethereal image of a woman wearing a top hat and a half mask appeared behind her as Raynie imbued herself with the essence of Splinterfest’s proprietress, Lux Vega. Raynie drew another card and read aloud the runes written upon it. As she did, it rose into the air and began to revolve around her, and the elemental manifestation of a massive three-headed dog swirled into existence behind the Chaos Legionnaires. Most were intent on filling their pockets, but one glanced over his shoulder.
“Oy!” he said. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The massive canine leaped on him. The legionnaire screamed as three sets of jaws clamped onto his limbs and body. The heads shook ferociously back and forth. A sound not unlike celery torn in two filled the air. Blood splashed the arena ground and sprayed his companions.
They whirled and drew their weapons and slashed at the three-headed beast. It collapsed to the ground and faded into the ether.
“Immortal Gods,” Clove hollered. “Prepare for battle!”
The members of the guild stumbled backward as they imbued themselves with various summoners and called forth their own elemental manifestations. Mana swirled and took shape between the guild and the legionnaires: treants and golems, fiends and all manner of beasts. The arena’s presiding official and porters sprinted away toward the open portcullis. The crowd watched on in stunned silence. From somewhere high atop the arena, a bell began to toll.
“Get them!” a dark elf dressed in black and gold armor shouted.
The legionnaires charged. The summoned creatures met their charge. Blades flashed. Magic flared.
When the dust had settled, the legionnaires lay strewn about the arena floor in spreading pools of crimson. One stirred and groaned. Clove flicked her wrist, and an animated skeleton brought its sword down, separating the man’s head from his body. She wiped a sweaty strand of hair from her brow and exhaled as her and her guild’s summoned manifestations faded from existence.
The creaking of wood, and the great gates of the arena swung open. A host of Chaos Legion goons poured through the opening, blades flashing as they let out a warcry.
“Too many,” Curioso said.
“I’ve barely enough left in me to summon a cocatrice,” said another guild member.
Clove stared at the oncoming tide of helmets and shields and blades and armor. She sneered in defiance and turned to her guild—her brothers and sisters. “Then we make our stand here, together,” she said. “And we die together. And we make damn sure we leave a mark that they”—She swept a hand toward the crowd—“remember forever.”
The thunder of a hundred boots shook the arena as the Chaos Legion stormed toward the guild. The distance between them closed rapidly. Clove could see the bloodlust in their eyes. She saw her own face reflected in the steel of a sword. She saw her death on the edge of its blade.
She clenched her teeth and raised her fists. If this was the end, she sure as hell wouldn’t go down without a fight.
A blinding flare of white light burst from the crowd of spectators in the stands. It shot across the arena and slammed into the Chaos Legion goons. A tremendous explosion boomed. Pinwheeling bodies and great gouts of earth were flung skyward.
The Chaos legionnaires, spectators, and members of Immortal Gods all turned toward the source of the explosion. In the stands stood a man with a white beard. He wore a robe and carried a shepherd’s crook. At his side stood a black, brown, and white mountain dog, its hackles raised and its teeth bared.
“Immortalis,” Clove breathed.
“We are Immortal Gods!” His voice boomed through the arena, and he slammed his crook into the earth. “We are Immortal Gods!” He repeated again and again, punctuating each sentence with another slam of his crook as he turned and met the gazes of those around him.
Soon, the chant began to spread, until everyone in the stands was shouting it. “We are Immortal Gods! We are Immortal Gods!”
Several of the Chaos Legion’s officers were hollering orders to the remaining legionnaires, who glanced around with wide eyes as they shifted about, but their voices were drowned out in the tumult.
Immortalis flung a bolt of white lightning from his open palm, and another explosion slammed into their ranks. The crowd roared and cheered. Then they were spilling out of the stands and into the arena. They charged toward the legionnaires.
Clove let out a warcry and charged after them. Curioso, Raynie, and the other members of Immortal Gods followed after her.
Every fire, a spark.