Golden Gryfon
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
Golden Gryfon is the character that I'm most proud of the look of. It took more than a year to develop a backstory for him, but here it is. Soon there will be details about his powers and life in Paragon City.
Contents |
Prima Gryfoni
Through the Wall
It was an interminably long siege.
King Richard's forces were entrenched outside the walls of Acre, where they had arrived on June 8th of that year. The Templars under King Guy of Lusignan had been at Acre for nearly two years prior, and had suffered heavy casualties, among them Gerard de Ridefort, the Grand Master of the Templars. Morale was low among the besiegers until the arrival of Frederick, Holy Roman Emperor, and his army the prior autumn. But the turning point was the arrival of Richard of England, and Godfrey of York was among them.
Sir Godfrey commanded a small garrison of foot soldiers that had come to the Holy Lands with him, some tenants on his lands hoping to avoid taxes, some lawbreakers doing a penance for a crime, and some the truly faithful wishing to see God's lands return to Christian hands. Godfrey was a knight of England and a Templar, though not by any means a powerful one. And he was suffused with the pursuit of righteousness.
Godfrey would have traveled to join Guy's troops as soon as word came of the Crusade to take back Jerusalem from the infidels, but for his sworn obligation to his king. Richard had demanded a large tax of all his knights, and Godfrey could not pay it. Much of his land was used for farming, but several years of inclement weather meant his tenants could not pay him, which meant he could not pay Richard. So while his more wealthy Templar brothers in arms were crusading, Godfrey was raising funds. When Richard went to the Holy Lands, however, it meant that Godfrey's journey would suffice to pay the debt, and so he eagerly prepared his men and sailed for Asia.
Godfrey left behind a young wife named Beatrix, who was with child when he left. He hoped he would be able to return to see his son or daughter. He hoped for a son. He would name the child Edward if it were a boy. Beatrix would name her daughter Agnes. These thoughts kept him strong as he voyaged overseas.
Richard arrived and immediately requested a meeting with Saladin, the King of Jerusalem who was personally overseeing the defense of Acre. A truce of three days was declared for the meeting to take place, but Richard fell ill, and then King Philip of France, and so the meeting didn't take place. Godfrey was disappointed. He was secretly hoping to delay fighting as long as possible. The heat and humidity was oppressive, even outside of armor. A knight could only last so long geared for battle, and there was a shortage of water among the attackers besides. Since the conclave between the leaders fell through there was palpable tension on both sides and every day that passed seemed to bring pitched fighting that much closer.
It was while Godfrey was surveying the city walls that news came from King Richard: "Prepare your troops, we attack at dawn." Godfrey was almost relieved; the tension and waiting had evolved into adrenaline and action. He barely slept that night, woke the next morning, donned his armor. He sharpened his axe as best he could. He was one of the few knights that chose to forgo the sword, but he was a towering hulk of a man that could easily heft a battle axe with one hand and carry a shield in the other, and his family had long been woodsmen before he became a squire, and so he was adept in how to handle the weapon. Instructions came, and he lined his troops up according to them.
Battle came hard and swift. Richard's siege engines pounded on the walls of Acre, Saladin's returned fire, and there were casualties on both sides as the heavy ordnance came crashing down from the sky, crushing bodies and equipment and hammering into the stone barricade around the city. Finally, after an hour, the English army broke through and the order to march was given. Archers went first, to try and thin out their counterparts on the walls before the foot soldiers began to pour through the breach, and after it was deemed safe enough, the knights, including Godfrey, were ordered to charge.
Godfrey's heart pounded as he ran toward the gaping hole in the stone wall. Shouts were heard all around him, battle cries of "St. George!!" from the English that Godfrey understood and a dozen other cries from nations that he didn't, and he was strangely at peace. Ever since he was a child, he had yearned to be a warrior. He begged his father to let him become a squire, and having impressed Sir Osbert as a child, he was allowed to live with the knight as a man-at arms and then as a squire, learning the art and science of war from one of the best English swordsmen. He was decorated on the field himself and joined the Order of the Knights Templar, making his family ever so proud of him. He was married well and fathered a child, who he secretly hoped to one day teach the art of battle like he had learned. And he was on a crusade for God and country. His life was wonderful. He was happy. He was calm and blissful as he charged the enemy.
And then an infidel's arrow struck him through the heart, and shattered his world to pieces.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When the battle had raged and subsided, the black cloaked figures searched the battlefield by torchlight for their prize. Time and again they found nothing quite what they were looking for. This one not the right type, that one not large enough, the next one damaged beyond repair. There were hundreds, thousands of them, littering the battlefield, and not one just right for their needs.
Finally one called out to the others. "Good my brothers! I pray you come! Look here!"
His fellows came running over as best as the conditions on the field and their long robes would let them. The first cloaked figure held a torch down to the ground and let the others see what he had seen. They turned it over and inspected it closely. And they agreed that this one would do nicely, but that they would have to hurry. They had found the treasure, the pool, and they had consecrated both, and now they had found the vessel of their crowning achievement.
They had found the body of an enormous Templar knight, with no wounds, save for a single arrow wound to the center of the chest.
The six Adepts of the Ordo Gryfoni of the Knights Templar carefully loaded the mortal remains of Sir Godfrey of York onto a wagon. One of them, presumably a priest, delivered last rites, and then the group wheeled him into the newly captured city of Acre, where the ritual had been hurriedly prepared in the darkness of a new moon and an unseasonably cloudy sky.
Through the Veil
Sir Godfrey's body was placed onto an altar in the center of a massive underground cavern. The marble altar was built near the edge of a natural spring that welled up crystal clear water into a large pool. It had been dug into a circular pit so that the top of the altar was a foot above the level of the water in the pool, and then a channel was dug connecting the pool and the pit so that the altar was immersed in water. Torches lit the cavern dimly except around the altar, where many candles were placed surrounding the edge of the pit. Busy around the cavern was the entire membership of the Ordo Gryfoni, clad in identical white hooded robes like monks, each trimmed at the cuff and hem with arcane symbols in black or red embroidery. Some were chanting, some were tossing golden treasure into the pool, some were anointing Godfrey's corpse with something or other, some were directing others in their activities, and still others were in conclave with one another, apparently discussing the progress of the ritual.
On two similar altars to the one that Godfrey had been placed lay the bodies of a giant eagle and a lion. Adepts were attending to the animals as well, reverently placing herbs and oils on their bodies. The golden treasure continued spilling into the pool, and the water level rose ever higher, closer to the bodies on the altars. The fortune that was being thrown into the water was vast, and it had to represent the plunder of Acre and the wealth of the Templars both. Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the ministrations to the bodies had completed about the same time that the gold caused the water level to just cascade over the top of the altars and touch the bodies of Godfrey, the eagle, and the lion. The busy work stopped, the conversations ceased, and one member of the order, wearing golden robes trimmed in black, began to speak. The ritual had begun.
The Ordo Gryfoni of the Knights Templar were a secret sect dedicated to manifesting a mythical beast on earth – by the definition of their order, a half-lion, half-eagle creature called a gryfon. Generally regarded as eccentrics or worse by the Templars that knew of their existence, they were all knights – some priests, some scholars, some alchemists – who believed that these creatures not only existed, but could be brought to life through alchemical means and divine intervention. After three generations of exhaustive research only shared through oral history, to protect their secret nature, the order believed that they had finally found the means to make a gryfon from nothingness. It would take a lengthy list of herbs, unguents, salves, oils, plus tons of gold, thousands of gallons of holy water, and the bodies of a lion, an eagle, and a Templar knight killed in righteous battle against an enemy. None of the bodies could be damaged beyond a single piercing wound to the heart. Finally all the pieces fit into place here in Acre, in their underground cavern, with its spring, with the Templar's treasure and the bounty of the conquered city, home to a menagerie of exotic animals, among them an eagle and a lion. Templars would be plentiful in the siege, once the order just got through the walls! Finally, after years they did, and moved with almost indecent speed to realize their ultimate goal. Godfrey was just the final piece of the puzzle, chosen at random because of his membership in the Templars, his imposing size, and the manner of his untimely death.
The figure in the golden robe led responsive chants for hours. This thing and that were done to the bodies. The ritual went on for hours on end, without showing signs of slowing or taking a break. This was the culmination of the Ordo Gryfoni's purpose, and physical needs were ignored by everyone present. There was a singular focus to achieve the impossible.
Finally the leader waded out into the center of the pool, and the chanting reached a crescendo as the complete membership of the order stood at the edge of the water. They raised their arms to the sky as one as the ritual reached a fevered pitch and …
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
… Godfrey opened his eyes to discover he was in a prison cell.
Movement came slowly for Godfrey, but he soon realized several things in quick succession. First, he was shackled like a criminal – chained at the wrists and ankles. Second, his back was quite heavy and it felt like there was something … if he had to describe it, he'd say there was something growing out of his back. Third, he had a golden glow to him, as if he had been gilded somehow. And most alarmingly, his fingers were claws – and his lower legs were horribly misshapen, as if his knees had been bent backward and his feet had been replaced by the talons of a monster.
He stood to his feet, awkwardly. His balance was completely off. There was something on his back, but that made no sense – he wore no tunic – and he couldn't manage his monstrous legs. He fell, tried again, fell again, and the noise brought a guard – one of Godfrey's fellow Knights Templar – to investigate.
Godfrey addressed him. "Well met, my brother knight, I am called Sir Godfrey of York. Pray tell, why am I imprisoned thus?" His voice had altered, it was lower, more gruff … almost dangerous sounding. It alarmed him coming from his throat.
The knight made a face and spat at Godfrey, then made the sign of the cross. "I know not what you are, winged abomination, but I know of Godfrey of York, and I saw him felled by an infidel bowman. Take not my good brother knight's name in vain or I will slay you here and now! It is only because His Majesty wishes to see you executed himself that I do not do so. Still your tongue so that I may continue to pray for whatever soul you may possess." The knight turned and left.
Godfrey was dumbstruck. He had died? He had wings?? He turned to look, and to his amazement two giant golden wings rose from his back. What had happened to alter him so? His mind was full of questions. Maybe the guard could help him in his quest. Hopefully someone would recognize him as Godfrey of York and spare his life.
He called out to the guard. "Broth … good sir knight, I pray you tell me, I have lost my memory of what has happened to me of late. Whence did I come?"
The guard shouted back, "Be quiet, demonspawn. I know not how you know my language but I rue the day that you learned it." Godfrey gave up trying to get answers of the knight.
Hours passed. Godfrey was getting hungry. Presently a servant came to bring a bowl of pottage to Godfrey. The servant was apparently curious of Godfrey, and the transformed Templar took advantage of this interest by making his voice as soothing as he could and whispered quickly, "Milady, I mean you no harm, I swear by the blood of Christ. I beg of you, pray tell me what you know of whence I came. I remember not. I beg of you, for my wife and unborn son. Pray tell me."
The servant cast a furtive glance in the guard's direction. There was only light snoring. She looked back at Godfrey and said quietly, "The word is they found you in a cavern surrounded by hundreds of bodies of Templar brethren. They say you killed them all, and so you're to be put to death for murder and being … I don't know … whatever you are. What are you?"
Godfrey looked downcast. "Milady, I don't know. I was once Sir Godfrey of York, a right and true Knight Templar. The guard says I was killed and I have by all accounts been remade a beast of Hell for some unknown sin. My thoughts are a turmoil."
The servant looked long at Godfrey. "Sir Godfrey, I believe you. I warrant I am a fair judge of a person and I judge your story honest and true, and your heart pure. I know not what has transpired to make you what you are, but I am not afraid of you. I do fear, however, that you will be executed on the morrow for your transgressions against your brother knights. Make haste, Sir Godfrey, as you prepare to learn of your eternal judgment. Fare thee well."
Despondency came over Godfrey like a shroud as he ate the tasteless gruel. This was worse than death, he decided, the inability to prove himself to his fellows and to be judged for something he felt sure he was incapable of doing. And yet over all was the matter of his transformation into the beast that he had become.
He had gained a sense of balance with his new legs and wings, and had even discovered that he had a sense of control over the wings themselves. He could move them a little – if he weren't chained, could he possibly even fly?
Godfrey slept fitfully that night, knowing that he would die again in the morning. What did it mean for him to return like this? Why did he glow like gold in the sun? What was the purpose of him being remade into a beast? At one point, he dreamt that he had escaped his captors and was flying far overhead, flying home to Beatrix and his child, leaving this abhorrent episode behind forever. He awoke in a cold sweat on a cold stone floor in a cold prison cell, bound by cold metal shackles, and his hope fell like a stone.
In the morning a detachment of knights came to retrieve him. They shouted derisive, vulgar things at him, they took him at swordpoint and they began to haul him out of the prison up to the courtyard. He felt like he had been punched in the pit of his stomach. This was a different fear than being in battle. There it was a feeling of confidence and boldness and power. Here was nothing but pain and suffering and sorrow and regret and a feeling of his stomach being pulled away from him through his spine and …
… no, that feeling in his stomach was tangible. It wasn't fear. Something was wrong. Was he transforming into something else? Was he dying again before they could execute him? The pulling grew stronger and started to encompass more of his body. He became alert again, poised, ready to spring at a new enemy.
The sensation filled his torso, then started down his limbs to his extremities and up his neck to his head. It was like his wings were being pulled away and his whole body was coming like it was liquid.
And then the blue glow began to envelop him, and he felt his body fall away backward through an unending bright hole …
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Suddenly the sensation ended. He was whole again. It was terribly bright through his closed eyelids, like the noonday sun in the desert of the Holy Land, but harsher, yet it was cool, and there was no humidity. It felt like there wasn't any weather. He heard shouting in a strange language, and he opened his eyes.
And his mind exploded with more than eight centuries' worth of culture shock as the Portal Corporation technicians in Paragon City tried to figure out what had just happened, and more to the point, what the hell had just come through the portal.
Through the Portal
Godfrey considered himself to have a steel resolve, but his mind was shutting down in the glare and noise of this brave new world.
48 hours ago, Sir Godfrey of York was a Knight Templar preparing his men for battle to capture the city of Acre in the Holy Lands. He was a big man, but he was a man, and he was alive. In the time since, he had apparently died in battle; been resurrected as a glowing, winged, clawed atrocity of a creature; been imprisoned and sentenced to death; and finally ripped from his world into a completely foreign one where even such basic things as architecture and language and clothing were totally unknown to him. Yet these were men that chattered around him in this iron cavern, and though they seemed startled to see him, they didn't appear scared of him.
Godfrey cried out desperately. "I am called Sir Godfrey of York and I am a member of the Order of the Knights Templar having successfully lain siege to Acre in the Holy Lands near Jerusalem. I demand to know what manner of sorcery has happened to me and to this place. Speak now, I command thee!"
Silence. Then one person came forward, a slight, bookish woman with mousy brown hair and thick glasses over ice green eyes. She spoke tentatively, in an odd accent that Godfrey could not recognize. "Sir Godfrey. My name is Elizabeth Hamilton. Am I to understand that you believe the current Year of Our Lord to be 1191?"
Godfrey's eyes glittered. "Milady, you are correct. I was one of King Richard's men in the siege, but my memory fails me and thus you see me in my current beastly state. I do not know how or why, nor do I know how I came to this place. I beg of you, pray tell me the answers I seek, for I fear I no longer am certain of the position of the sun in the sky."
Elizabeth responded, "Sir Godfrey, first, I should probably tell you that I do not know what has transpired to turn you to your current state. It is no fault of ours. What I can tell you is that the city that you are in is called Paragon City, and that you have somehow traveled some eight hundred and twenty years into your future. I know this is a shock to you but there are … what is the word that you will understand … advisors here who will help you understand." There was no word for psychologists in Middle English. Elizabeth silently thanked her high school history teacher for sparking her interest in European history enough to pursue that minor in college, and asked one of her colleagues to contact Paragon University for a better translator. She was quickly getting in over her head.
Godfrey asked Elizabeth, "Milady Elizabeth, are we in the Holy Lands?"
"No, Sir Godfrey, we are in a land that was undiscovered by the English during your time called the United States. There will be time to explain later. Tell me everything that you remember." Elizabeth pushed the record button on the portal chamber's audio system so the translator could fill in the gaps that she missed. Elizabeth seemed genuinely concerned about Godfrey's welfare, as did the other men and women in the chamber, at least, according to Elizabeth.
Godfrey told her the tale of traveling to Acre, of laying siege to the town, of feeling the searing pain in his chest, of waking up shackled in prison as a golden winged man-creature, of being given the death sentence by his brother knights, and of the sensation of traveling through time and space to Paragon City. Elizabeth understood most of it, and explained that where she was from people that looked like Godfrey weren't uncommon. Godfrey doubted her story until a giant green dragon-woman with brightly colored cloth wrapped around her neck and lower legs flew into the chamber, waved hello, was greeted warmly, and disappeared into the gigantic glowing circle within the turning metal hoops.
After a time, Elizabeth introduced Godfrey to Dr. Arthur Killebrew, who she said was a professor of medieval studies at Paragon University. Godfrey wondered what a professor and a university was. Doctor Killebrew was much more adept at Middle English than Elizabeth, and helped Godfrey get something to eat and someplace to stay for the night. He promised that together, Godfrey, Dr. Killebrew, his staff, and Elizabeth would get to the bottom of the fallen knight's story.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"He looks like a cross between a man and a lion and a bird!" Elizabeth animatedly exclaimed to Dr. Killebrew in his office the next morning. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he was part-griffin!"
Dr. Killebrew stroked his beard and looked thoughtful. "My dear, perhaps he is."
Elizabeth was taken aback. "Doctor Killebrew, what do you mean?"
The professor went to the bookshelf in his office and after searching pulled down an old leather-bound volume. It was entitled "Secret Orders of the Medieval World and their Implications on European Society" and was by a W.E.D. Pottsmouth, Ph.D., O.B.E. He searched the index and flipped to a page and after skimming for a minute, read aloud: "It is rumoured that the Knights Templar recruited alchemists, scholars, and priests into their number that would not otherwise be suited for combat to research the possibility of creating alchemical life, specifically an heraldic or other mythical beast, but no evidence of what must have certainly been a secret order within the Templars themselves has ever surfaced."
"Do you think they succeeded?"
Killebrew paused for a moment. "Consider the implications of such an achievement. There would certainly be a record of their success somewhere in history. They almost certainly would have attempted again, possibly to create a hippogriff or manticore or worse. And this would have definitely surpassed the height of their supposed power if news of Godfrey's transformation ever became public knowledge, even within the Templars, yet Godfrey comes from the year 1191, and the Templars were in existence until 1312. Unless his creation caused a temporal rift that the portals picked up on somehow, and snatched him up before any record could be made, I can't see this theory holding any water. Consider as well that by Godfrey's own account that he was supposedly killed at Acre. This would imply that the Templars were experimenting with alchemical necromancy, which would be abhorrent to the Christian faith of the time, especially if done among their own brethren."
Elizabeth frowned. "So if he is part-griffin, it's probably not because of Templar intervention. So what do we tell him?"
"We tell him nothing unless we know for certain."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Godfrey slept surprisingly well on a large, luxuriously soft mattress in an air conditioned room in the Portal Corporation compound. Soon after he woke, Elizabeth and Dr. Killebrew met with him to discuss their plans. First, they would work together to teach him modern English. Next, they would slowly begin acclimating him to 21st century culture, as too much too fast would affect him psychologically. Finally, they would try to find a place for him in Paragon City. And together, the technician and the professor felt they had the perfect niche for him in society. He would become a hero, a knight of sorts, protecting his new lands from evil doers. They explained that while the crusade he would undertake wasn't religious in nature, it was inherently good and worthwhile, and he readily agreed to register as a hero when they felt he was sufficiently acclimated to modern culture.
Doctor Killebrew and Elizabeth gave Godfrey a new shield emblazoned with a heraldic lion to honor the king that he fought under in his previous life, and a new axe that was surprisingly similar to the one he took to Acre. They fashioned new armor for him that, while not similar to his old suit, was comfortable, engineered for 21st century weaponry, and, like the shield and axe, infused with gold to match his natural aura. When in armor and holding axe and shield, he shone like the sun.
They took Godfrey to the Architect Entertainment centers throughout the city to keep his training honed sharply, where he could fight modern enemies and learn their behaviors, weapons, and powers without any danger to himself, on his own time, while asking questions along the way. At first he decried the holograms as witchcraft but was eventually convinced that it was simply the technology of the day and age.
Over time, his skills as a warrior grew exponentially. He discovered that he could fly after all, and he mastered airborne combat. Slowly, he grew more accustomed to present-day life and customs, though he preferred the manner of dress and speech of his own time, and eventually the day came when Dr. Killebrew and Elizabeth declared that Godfrey was ready to begin socializing on his own, without their guidance. It also meant that he was ready to become a registered hero in Paragon City, which filled Godfrey with a sense of belonging and purpose, something he hadn't felt in months.
He asked Elizabeth what name he should take as a hero, and she replied, "Godfrey, since the first day I met you, you have always reminded me most strongly of a griffin. You have the wings and talons of an eagle, the tail and mane and claws of a lion. And for whatever reason that we still don't understand, you … well, you shine like gold. So if it were up to me, I would call you the Golden Griffin." Godfrey considered this and agreed – he really did resemble that mythical creature. So the next day he went to the registration office in Atlas Park and signed up, using the spelling that he knew from Middle English: Golden Gryfon. It was less ritualistic, but he felt as if he had been re-knighted. His life had a purpose, he belonged once more.
As he lived longer and longer in Paragon City, he noticed that Elizabeth's words rang true – creatures such as himself were truly not that rare here. There were dragonpeople such as the one he saw at Portal Corporation that first day, pixies, fairies, werewolves, vampires, lagomorphs, and every possible thing in between, and everywhere he went there were people happy to see him and wanting to see more of him.
He often thought about his family. Did his bloodline survive all this time? Whatever happened to them? Did they die old and happy, or young and sick or worse, violently? Did his child – he hoped he had fathered a son – ever become a knight like he was? While his present was rapidly resolving itself, his past was still a tangle of unknowns, and they tugged at him every day. Would he ever find out what happened to make him what he was? As time passed and he grew accustomed to the increased strength and durability and powers that he had, he found himself asking: did it matter anymore?
Of course it mattered. Before he was the Golden Gryfon, he was Sir Godfrey of York, Knight Templar and loyal subject of Richard the First, called the Lionhearted. With the combined efforts of Dr. Killebrew's research, Elizabeth's access to time travel, and Godfrey's perseverance, together the three of them would learn the secret of the knight's beastly origins and maybe, just maybe, return him to his human self and his old life so long ago.
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