Awksa Dzilvawta Ala

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Rakash favors are unlike any other favor in Kermoria. Instead of being tied to an altar for the Immortal or God that you desire, they are instead granted by use of a stone shard that has been split from the famous Redivawzis rock which is mentioned in the book Rakash Traditions and Dawvs. The method which this shard was brought to the East is details in the visions granted to the user, which are detailed below. Upon the establishment of the Rakash village of Siksraja, the shard was given a permanent home in the cave of a nearbly mountain. It is this cave which is known as the Awksa Dzilvawta Ala, or In Deep Cave/Cavern using the common language.

The God which grants the favor is determined by the offering made by the player, in this way all three of the Rakash divine trinity are represented.

How to get a Favor

Rakash Favors are gained in cave near to Siksraja.

  1. Gather at least three branches and light a fire. (Syntax: Light a branch that is on the ground. Put a second branch on the burning branch. Put a third branch on the fire. Continue adding branches.)
  2. Kneel and place your offering in the niche.
  1. Offer (item) in the niche.
  2. Remain kneeling while the visions continue until you feel stronger.

Acceptable offerings can be purchased at the general store in Siksraja. Once you experience the visions any attempt to enter any other commands will disrupt the process and cause a failure to occur.

Note: Failure can occur if any item other than your offering is in the niche, and it is possible to put things in the niche which then don't show up with a LOOK. Always check IN/ON/BEHIND/UNDER the sliver in the niche to make sure no one's stuck something in there if you get messages like "Something prevents you from placing the Mrod statuette in a small niche and you realize you probably should wait a bit."

Favor Visions


Warmed by the bright fire, the redivawzis shard suddenly begins glowing with a multihued intensity, as if lit from within by the combined light of the moons. A warm glow begins to emanate from the niche, spreading a shining golden light that completely fills your field of vision. The world around you fades, and you are left drifting in a never-ending plane of grey. You are drawn slowly toward a yellow light in the distance.


The triple moons arise above the battlefield, Yavash half obscuring Xibar and Katamba half obscuring both, the new moons in conjunction creating the vague illusion of a howling wolf. The cloudless sun shines upon the barren field, the moon-wolf howling at it. A line of Rakash troops edges one side of the battlefield, dressed in tribal leathers signifying their packs, and staring westward at the hollow woods.

The grassy field is quickly trampled the fierce battle taking place upon it. Swords clash with bone, bone clashes with flesh. Prydaen and Rakash half torn apart spring upon those still whole, intent on dragging them downward to share the same fate. The undead surround the warriors, many still equipped with the weapons that had slain them.

The army of Rakash, once numbering thousands, has been reduced to hundreds, the ranks of the undead swelled by the fallen. Chaos rules the battlefield, many magical explosions and immolations lighting up the darker areas, the fight becoming more and more desperate. Suddenly, a ray of light from the sun pierces the center of the battlefield, illuminating the figure of a large Rakash in moonskin form.

Sunlight spreads across the battlefield, starting in the center and working its way outward as the moons slowly leave the path of the sunlight. Weaker skeletons and zombies burst into flame as the light touches them, falling away and crumbling to dust. Stronger undead turn their eyes, shunning the light. The tide of the battle turns strongly in the favor of the Rakash, who roar with renewed vigor, beating back a previously overwhelming foe.

The last of the undead foes defeated, the beaten and battered Rakash turn toward the crouching figure standing in the center of the field. The eclipse passes entirely, sunlight fully returning to the world once more. Three captains approach the newcomer in moonskin, briefly getting a glimpse of the huge, feral warrior. The warrior suddenly turns and disappears before the warriors are able to attempt speaking to him.

The moon-wolf slowly passes over the face of the sun, darkening the world with its shadow. A shockwave goes through the field, making ripples in the waves of grass. Snarls are heard throughout the Rakash ranks as the army begins charging westward, shouting howls and battle cries in an old tongue. In the distance, skeletal figures begin pouring from the woods.

A field of golden flax ready for harvest stretches out around you. You bend slightly, and draw your scythe back preparing to swing. Just as you are about to bring your blade down, your heart begins to pound violently in your chest and your mind fills with terror as a decaying hand reaches up out of the ground and grabs your ankle. The last thing you hear are terrified howls from your pack before the world goes silent and darkness comes crashing down around you.

You feel a slow chill crawl over your body, as if it was shifting suddenly into moonskin and then back again. You find yourself staring into the dark surface of a pond, and a feral face gazes back at you. The image in the water moves as you move, but then suddenly stops and bares its fangs in a low snarl.

A small, cloaked figure sneaks quietly among what remains of a gathering of undead after a great explosion. The figure stoops to pick something up from the ground, before turning to run. An adolescent girl lies dead on the ground, ragged claw marks etched across her face and body. Her tiny hand clutches a small shard of familiar rock. Cold tears stream down your face as you recognize both her sacrifice and bravery.

The rising sun shines over the distant horizon, wisps of cloud turning brilliant hues of crimson and purple. The air holds the still, tense quiet that often precedes a storm. A large, grassy field stands completely empty, the slowly waving grass slightly yellowed from lack of recent rain. A lone Rakash in human form stands upon a large grey rock facing westward toward an expansive forest on the edge of the plain.

The deserted town lays still, quiet and abandoned as a hoard of undead marches into the town, led by a figure seated on a skeletal horse. Houses are entered, carts overturned, possessions trampled; but not a single living creature is found within the village. Furious, the necromancer turns and leads her puppets away from the town, and the wary townspeople resume normal life once more.

Skeletal hands reach for a tree where a whimpering Rakash boy is hidden within its branches. A low chanting is heard as one of the cloaked figures takes a hold of the lowest branch of the tree. Suddenly, a brilliant white light cuts through the darkness, searing the undead to ash. A moonskined High Priest gently lifts the boy out of his hiding place, seating him lightly on his shoulder.

You see a small, makeshift rowboat floating upon a lake, a lone fisherman paddling in search of fish. Children play at the water's edge, skipping stones across the surface. Suddenly, a bell starts sounding frantically, and the town becomes a flurry of activity. Mere seconds pass and the town lays quiet again, now completely deserted.

Stars sparkling like shards of glass in the sun fill the sky above you. A chill wind gusts around you, drawing your attention to the warmth of a nearby campfire. Dozens of warriors in moonskin huddle around the flames, signs of exhaustion apparent on all of their faces. As you move closer, you are able to hear the tale of a great battle that one of the warriors is recounting. His words pull you in, and fill your heart with feelings of triumph and pride before everything fades.

Visible through the branches of towering pine trees, rosy clouds reflecting the light of dawn drift lazily across the sky. A cool morning mist rises from the ground, shrouding a cluster of what appear to be statues dressed in battle raiment kneeling before a rock. It is not until one of the forms tilts its head back and releases a bloodthirsty howl that you realize your mistake. As the warrior's call ends, a warm glow begins to emanate from the rock, briefly coating the figures in shining golden light before completely filling your field of vision.

You watch in horror from a great distance as a necromancer surrounded by shambling undead hands lifts a black dagger and plunges it into the heart of the high priest. His blood drips down onto the sacred rock he lies on. All traces of blood vanish from the rock's surface as if the stone itself drank the red liquid. With the priest's last breath, the ground begins to tremble violently. You are thrown to the ground by a powerful blast, and the world goes black.

Tears fill your eyes and a sense of loss constricts your heart as you look back at the piles of ash and burning rubble that was your childhood home. Slinging what meager belongings you were able to salvage onto your back, you join your pack and begin what you hope will not be a long journey.

Dust, everywhere is dust, so thick it chokes you and makes your eyes water. Your stomach growls again, but you ignore it knowing that there are others in your pack that need sustenance more than you do at this time.

Following the snaking line of Rakash that stretches on as far as your eyes can see, you march on in darkness, the sun having set long ago. You guess it is sometime in spring, but you no longer mark the passage of time. Each day is like the rest, continuous walking, interrupted only when the body of a dead pack member must be ritually burned and the ashes buried to prevent corruption by dark magic.

A Rakash storyteller, her elderly form decorated with beads and feathers, sits cross-legged in front of a small group of children, their ages and races varying greatly. A small butterfly alights on her shoulder, and as she speaks to them, the sky begins itself to shift, the clouds and moons painting the images the storyteller weaves with her words.

Twilight falls. A Rakash child sits hidden in the rough branches of a tree, warily watching six cloaked figures move about in the woods below him. A slight shift and snap of branches betrays his presence, five heads jerk sharply to gaze upward.

Your muscles are weary, and your heart is heavy as you trudge forward following your pack. Children and elderly ride in carts, but you know that this ease of travel has not prevented hundreds of them from dying on the road.

A murmur of hope sweeps back through the long line of migrants. You rush forward to view what has caused people;s spirits to lift.

Hundreds of your pack line up along the shore of a beautiful green lake. The water's surface seems to be alive as it shivers and shimmers in a strangely random pattern.

You drop to your knees in awe as millions of pale green butterflies lift off the lake's surface, taking to the sky. A lone badger pokes its head out from a burrow under a large boulder, briefly sniffs the air and ducks back in. Closing your eyes, you weep with joy realizing you have come home.

Your sight swirls and shifts, the world fading into darkness. Everything is black, to the point that even your hand is invisible when held in front of your face. Your ears sharpen in the absolute darkness. The pounding of tribal drums can be heard faintly in the distance, which is soon accompanied by a chorus of howls. Suddenly all noise ceases, and light returns once again.


As the light dims, the room slowly comes into focus, and you find yourself back in the cave, kneeling limply before the small niche. The redivawzis shard, which was glowing intently, is slowly fading back to a darkened red. Your body feels completely drained by the ritual, and you wish nothing more than to take a long rest. However, despite your fatigue, you feel somewhat stronger.


  • The visions bleed from your mind as you awaken from your trance. Heat from the fire begins to overwhelm you, causing you to yelp and quickly jerk your arms back in pain. You are left with a feeling of failure and disappointment. Your statuette falls from the niche, striking your temple and stunning you before it shatters on the ground. A voice in your head whispers, "Nothing worth having is gained with haste, learn the first lesson of a petitioner, be patient and wait."
  • The visions bleed from your mind as you awaken from your trance. The first sensation you experience is a devastating chill as you realize that the fire has gone out and no longer warms the cavern. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierces your skull as the statue that you reverently placed inside the niche tumbles down and strikes you, leaving you sprawled across the stone floor. A feeling of emptiness pervades your soul as you lie stunned, cold and utterly alone.