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Cleric 101: Exploring Your Inner Self
by Avantos, Lord Uhrman

Of all the professions to be within the realms of Elanthia, the most difficult spiritual path is tread upon by the clerics. By our very nature, we use our powers to channel the spirit world by use of our magics and the remainder of our spells are granted to use directly by our deity.

Additionally, we perform all sorts of ceremonies including weddings, ministering to souls of our followers and the miracles of resurrection and commune. The various agents of Liabo and Lornon are in our everyday life more so than others. The relationship with an Arkati is as important a decision as is blunt vs. edged weapons, or what manner of dress to adopt.

Other professions' magic is usually generated internally, or from a tome or summoned demon, but not through supernatural agents. Specifically, a clerics' magic is granted by ONE of the various deities. The history texts show that these deities were originally the servants of the great Drakes. They remained in this world after the Drakes passed from it. Current theology believes that most deities subsist on the faith of their followers, so it stands to reason, the greater the belief in a deity, the stronger its powers will be. Translated simply, the higher the priest's standing with their deity, the stronger they will be.

While Elanthia is generally regarded as polytheistic, it is understood that the Arkati have territories and egos that need gratification. For that reason, a priest who attempts to venerate more than one religion will have much less standing with any of the beings they worship. A priest who does this risks angering them all, and bringing their wrath upon himself. A priest may ask his god for intercession from another (a priest of Koar asking for Koar to call upon Lorminstra for a resurrection), but to bypass Koar entirely would just be asking for trouble.

How a cleric comes to this understanding, examples, and some suggestions for how to improve one's standing with the God(dess) are expounded on below.

A cleric's basic education begins when leaving the turnip farm. Arriving at the local convent or monastery, the basic tenets of organized religion were quickly taught. Service was expected, primarily as an altar boy/girl, deacon, or assistant. More classes followed, including training in arms and armor and the fundamentals of magic. When ready for the real world, the service was compensated by supplying some basic equipment and silvers, and a map which led to the gates of the local town.

One fact impressed on the aspiring priest is how the power to cast your spells is given to you by your Deity. However, the choice was left up to you to select one to worship. Where to start?

A visit to the town library proved to be worthwhile. In the Priest's section was a well-read volume entitled 'Cleric 101.' In the book, you discovered all about the various Arkati, their demeanor and spheres of influence, and what colors and symbols represent them. A quick glance at a World Atlas in the Ranger section showed where various shrines exist. To this day, you have a vague feeling while many shrines are known, others are still kept secret from commoners.

With all this newfound information, many paths to finding the deity most appropriate for you opened.

You might wish to interview prominent priests with strong ties to a deity (Truekillr to Lorminstra, Praytus to Luukos, Avantos to Koar, Benallian to Andelas). Learn as much as you can about the sect from them.

Another way might be a pilgrimage or quest to each of the various known shrines seeking enlightenment.

Other priests will simply feel the call and are drawn to service.

Two examples of how to acquire a deity come to us from Benalian and myself.

Ben spent his early years without a deity at all. It was only when he was granted the use of the Commune spell that he knew the time had come. He put forth considerable time and effort, journeyed unto the Hall of Gods in Icemule and using items deemed holy to him, attempted to contact his deity. His deity did come unto him and chose him. No greater joy is there than a personal audience with your deity that will be with Ben until the end of his days.

Avantos knew what he was from the time he began honoring Voln in his quest to free the undead souls from their prison. He discovered Koar on one of those quests, and finding the sect woefully lacking followers, decided it was his life's work to be his direct representative in Elanthia. The recent discovery of Koar's shrine in Pinefar during the recent incursions by the Vvrael and being the key to sealing the rift just magnified the power of the Father of the Arkati.

After choosing or being chosen, attempt to follow the examples of your deity. Worship them constantly.

Spread word of your deity's deeds. Actively seek their help with your problems and ask yourself "What would __________ do in this situation?" It's not only the big events that will impress your deity, it's how often you include them in your everyday life. Attempt to behave in a manner consistent with whom you worship. A priest of Lorminstra should not be causing random acts of murder, though a priest of Luukos might.

Truekillr hears supplications to Lorminstra in her temple frequently. Aschren has been attempting to rebuild the sect of Ronan. The Sisters of Perpetual Adoration was founded to honor Oleani.

Begin or join in the efforts of your High Priests to bring your deity to greater prominence,

Take the time to fully explore your agent's place in the greater scheme of things and how you can help expand their influence. To do so takes considerable time, effort and patience. The rewards may at times seem few in comparison to the time spent, but then again, when has anything worth doing been easy?.

May Koar bless you in all things.

Gods of Lornon

The following started as a little contest between a few of our friends. The object was to identify which 'dark' Arkati went with which clues. An attached brief summary of the god's mannerisms and such was recommended we decided to attach a couple short stories of indirect (or perhaps not so indirect) encounters with the couple of gods to which it applied. The other stories are occurrences that were often told to us while we were growing up in Rhoska-Tor. We have other stories to share as well, but they weren't on the list of clues. Perhaps, though, we may share them with you another time. Until then, we bid you farewell; may your dreams be ever horrid and your journeys terribly unsafe.

SHERU

We walked alone down the forest trail, the cold wind biting at the back of our neck. We pulled our hood over our head in hopes of shielding the gale. As we trekked deeper into the forest, we noticed that darkness was closing in all around us. Odd, we thought, since the sun had been positioned in mid-sky not more than an hour ago, as we neared the forest's edge. We looked above, thinking that perhaps the sudden shadow was due to some missing breaks in the forest canopy. We saw, however, black sky above; stars twinkled slightly, as if to cry out one last time before some hidden force forever snuffed them out. Not quite understanding this sudden madness, we relied on heightened senses, granted to us upon becoming an initiate of Andelas. They were of no use, though... we saw nothing. Heard nothing. Smelled nothing. Felt nothing. It was this last part that bothered us the most. We could not feel the forest floor beneath our feet; no harsh wind stung our back. Soon, everything faded into blackness, and we found ourself floating in some nightmarish monstrosity of the Abyss (the eighth level of the Nine Hells, a probably fictitious place which was often included in childhood stories we'd heard of legendary battles between light and dark). For the first time we could remember, panic flooded our senses. We struggled to break free of the chaos that surrounded us, but futile were our attempts. Soon we realized that fighting would not help, and we let ourself slip into the insanity that embraced us like a loving parent.

After many months spent mentally fighting this place with the aid of skilled empaths and clerics, we finally won... or so it seemed. We have never been quite the same since that experience, despite our seeming "victory." Many have told us that we speak as if we mean "more than one," but we don't understand it. We seem to speak fine, it's just that other peoples' ears hear different. But then, perhaps it is our ears that are hearing different. Or maybe our mind.

After some minor research, we came to the conclusion that our encounter was with none other than Sheru, Bringer of Night and Nightmares, Lord of Insanity, and greater Arkati from the pantheon of Lornon. We weren't sure that it was the correct conclusion until we happened upon a vital piece of information: Sheru appears most often as a towering, sinewy man with a black-furred jackal's head. We recalled seeing an image of such a being flash before us many times in that swirling mass of terror. It was then that we were positive about what had happened... we had been touched by Sheru.

EORGINA

"Onar!" echoed a strong female's voice, the sound easily able to be heard all throughout the dark side of the large moon called Liabo.

This forever dark spot was known among mortals on Elanthia as "Lornon's Shadow." It was said that the gods of light often dwelled on Liabo, hence the title of the pantheon under which they fell. Because the moon's revolution was just as fast as Elanthia's revolution, one side always faced away from observers on the ground. This side, which was said to be forever in the darkness, was properly dubbed Lornon's Shadow, and its inhabitants did, indeed, classify as Arkati from the pantheon of Lornon.

A being seemed to suddenly rise straight up out of the ground, as if the shadows collecting there served as its door. Moving silently, it kneeled at the foot of the Dark Queen's throne. Draped from its shoulders was a remarkably long cloak that dropped to the floor and sank back, becoming one with the deep shadows. The figure's hood served to create deep, nightmarish, black shadows that obscured the entity's featuresóif it had any features in the first placeóbeyond recognition.

"My queen?" came a voice from someplace within the hood.

"Onar, I have a... task... for you to perform. Koar remains in power, 'ruling' with Lumnis at his side. As I'm sure you know, it is my duty to take his place; to rule alone," she stressed the word "alone," and paused afterward to further emphasize it, "over the remaining Arkati. But we must move with caution and patienceótoo much haste will thwart our plans."

"What plans?"

Eorgina looked annoyed. Her cold eyes fixed on the being in front of her, she continued. "Our plans to replace Koar, of course. But it is not Koar who must die now. I have summoned you to be rid of his queen, Lumnis. Then I will take her place at his side. When he has outlived his usefulness, I will take the pleasure of being rid of him as well."

"Yes, of course, my queen," Onar nodded slightly.

Where ever there was one being oppressing by another, or even an opportunity for such to happen, Eorgina was sure to be overseeingóor, as in this case, actively participating inóthe transpiration. She thrived on tyranny and domination; it was food for her hunger... her hunger for power. It was her plan to rule over all the Arkati and the lesser races that populated Elanthia. She had always been planning to usurp the throne of Lumnis and become 'Queen of the Gods', ruling alongside Koar. But she wanted more... she needed more than that. And until both Koar and Lumnis are out of her way and she dominates everything she can lay eyes upon, she will not be satisfied... perhaps she will never be.

ONAR

The figure glided silently through the alleys, the shadows serving as his cloak, the air serving as his mount, and the need to kill serving as his driving force. It wasn't that Onar really was loyal to Eorgina--he could care less about her petty "plans." He just wanted to kill. Not lead. Kill. Not serve. Kill. That was the reason of his existenceóthe art of silent death.

As he neared the more populated area of town, he stepped from the shadows that kept him concealed. When he did set foot on the street, though, he was a mere boy of no more than sixteen turns of the wheel. Dressed in rags and some poorly constructed leather shoes, he ambled through the port town and out the main gates to the north. He darted down forest paths, crossed small creeks, and climbed over fallen trees. His disguise, however, he kept. He kept it even when he reached the shrine of Lumnis, hidden deep within the woods, shrouded in ivy and moss... though the goddess would surely feel a force emanating from the boy that was beyond normal, an attack from such a boy would be far more unexpected.

A lizard that blends in with the rocks does so to catch a fly.

The boy's prayers were convincing, and Lumnis was curious as to whether this boy with the strange aura might hold great potential as a priest. She received flashes of darkness all about her, but she was insistent upon determining whether the boy gave off these emanations himself, or if he was in great danger and needed protection from some unseen force.

A great swirling of mists filled the chamber, and from them rose an aged woman in fine gray robes, her raven hair flowing with a shock of gray that shot back in a single line, beginning at her forehead. She opened her mouth to speak, but Onar was upon her in his true form. She struggled to gain an advantage as they fell into the gray mists, plummeting downward into a vast nothingness. Onar's wicked black stiletto drew nearer to her throat, and it took all her strength (mental, ethereal, and physical) to keep the otherworldly blade away and held in place so as not to strike her in any other vital spot.

Onar, not accustomed to a struggle being involved in his normally easy assassinations, decided that it would be better to strike again at another time, and in an instant, he was gone. Lumnis found herself kneeling on the cold stone floor of her own shrine once again, her mists collecting into one image: that of a giant, broken skull, the infamous symbol of Onar. Seeing this, horror twisted her face, and she knew he'd be backóOnar never left a job unfinished.

V'TULL

We had a little encounter with V'Tull just a while back. We don't think it could classify as an actual encounter with the Dark Lord of Combat and Bloodlust himself, but it was an encounter relating to him nonetheless. We were quite drunk one evening, and ol' Helga had had enough of us for one night, so she tossed us out and onto the street. We suppose we wandered around rather aimlessly for quite some time, as one might do when one is intoxicated with the rum of black demons, and soon found ourself lost deep within the Upper Trollfang. It was here that we ran into one of V'Tull's little... puppets...

Seemingly coming from nowhere, a little halfling leaped in front of us. It was a hilarious sight, especially to a drunken dark elf, since the little fuzzy-footed fellow was toting around a massive two-handed sword. Hesitating for only a fraction of a second, the little guy took a swing at us. Now, even though we were drunk, we weren't wasted enough not to know what was happening. We managed to avoid the blade, but our bottle of rum, unfortunately, did not. It shattered under the force, spilling the rest of our "happy drink" all over the ground. This made us rather mad, and we sobered up real fast... the pudgy little tart-muncher needed to be taught a lesson. Before we could draw our sword, though, the bastich had taken another swing. This time, he drew blood.

"Crow," we muttered under our breath as we gingerly probed the fresh slash across our belly.

The halfling, cackling gleefully at the sight of our freely-flowing blood, hacked at us some more. We dropped, tumbled, and rolled away, narrowly avoiding each chop. Somersaulting onto our feet, we tore our longsword from its scabbard and took off the halfling's left hand with ease. His monstrous blood-letter clattered to the hard-packed ground, and he backed away. But, like the raving lunatic that he was, the sight of his own blood-gushing stump sent him into fresh spasms of gleeful, morbid laughter. It made him want our blood all that much more.

He lunged at us, head on, and it was then that we noticed his eyes. They were black and empty. No signs of life were present. We believed him to be some form of the undead, and we sliced him into threads without hesitation. We left him there, a bloody stain on the road, and eventually discovered the way back home to the Landing.

Over a year later, we were doing some research on the Arkati as a result of a skirmish with Sheru, and read that V'Tull, this towering, marble-skinned Warrior-God-Thing with armor covered in blood, was the god of combat and bloodlust and all things related, and that he sometimes possessed mortals, filling them with his own fury and need for bloodshed. We started to wonder if this was what happened, and it was decidedly so when we read that such victims' eyes became the same black as V'Tull's own.

We felt a little disappointed when we learned that the poor halfling wasn't just some mindless undead creature, but a living being that had the misfortune of being temporarily possessed, and felt just a tad bit guilty for making ribbons outta the guy... who knows, he might have had a family that may still be wondering what ever happened to Daddy that night he left for the market. But ah well, life is strange as well as short (though humans' lives are far too short), and there isn't any time to worry about silly little things like whether or not you turned some cute little pudgy-wudgy halfling child's daddy into a huge, smelly red stain on the ground.

So, until next time, we remain..........

Thoryn Elvsquin, pauper extraordinaire and Keeper of the Shanty

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