the cleric

[kyumills]

Harnessing the powers of divine magic doesn't require intense study, like most other forms of magic. There is no special school, no special training, just togetherness with the pantheon. 

Clerics are no ordinary priests; clerics are imbued with divine magic gifted to them by the gods. They are intermediaries between the mortal world and the plane of the gods, mouthpieces of the will of the gods.  As varied as the god he serves, this cleric strives to embody the handiwork of his god;  he is the conduit of Asclepius’ mighty power of healing.   

When a cleric takes up a life of adventuring, it is usually because the gods demand it. This cleric knows as much. It involves braving the dangers of things outside of civilization, things that no ordinary fighter or paladin can take care of; things like smiting cursed evils of unholy origin or seeking holy relics. Of course, this cleric is no different: Asclepius blesses him with the divine power of healing to aid those injured in battle. Who is he to deny what Asclepius calls upon him to do? 

To deny Asclepius’s will is to deny the divine magic that grants him his power. 

This divine magic, as the very name suggests, has the power of the gods flowing from them. Clerics manifest this power as what mortals will call ‘miracles’,  miraculous effects to benefit humanity. This is a power not given to everyone who seeks it out, but only those chosen to fulfill this higher calling, making true clerics like this one rather rare. Harnessing divine magic is not something that has to be practiced or studies. Formulaic prayer and ancient rites are learned, sure, but the real power of clerical magic comes from devotion to the deity in which they serve and an intuitive sense of their deity’s wishes; in this particular cleric’s case, the devotion to Asclepius and his mighty power of healing. 

Clerics usually combine the magic of healing and inspiring their allies with spells that hinder foes. They can provoke awe, lay curses of plague, and even call flames from the heavens to consume their enemies. Clerics also depend on combat training to let them wade into battle with the power of the gods on their side. 

How this cleric ends up at The Selene is rather simple: the need to help. 

He’s heard stories of The Selene from the traveling priests, a place where brave warriors rest their heads after an evening of intense adventuring. Thousands upon thousand of brave adventurers frequent The Selene, many in dire need after battles that nearly claim their lives. Asclepius, as a great healer himself, gave this cleric intense and clear visions of this inn; in a way Asclepius himself had guided this cleric to this inn.

Thus it was settled. Who was he to deny the will of Asclepius? 

The journey is long on foot; The Selene was three towns from the town in which this cleric was raised, the western most costal town of Medela, leaving him on a long seven day journey to the central city of Tellus.  From Medela to Silva, Silva to Ornare, Ornare to Lapis, and finally to Tellus, the journey on foot is long and arduous, but the cleric finds it worth it in the end when he lays eyes on The Selene. He enters the doorway.

The innkeeper, from what this cleric can assume—a man with honey-brown hair and kind eyes—looks at him as the bell at the door chimes. “Ah, a cleric,” the innkeeper says, “What brings you here?” 

“To help,” the cleric replies, “I’ve read plenty of stories of the battles fought by the residents of this inn. I’d like to help, if you’d accept it.” 

“Of course I’d accept,” the innkeeper says, “A cleric with the mark of Asclepius? You must be an extensive healer.”

“Some could say.” 

“We could use any help we could get, so thank the gods for your arrival young cleric. Follow the bard to your room,” the innkeeper smiles, “They will show you the amenities and help you set up the clinic in the back. We’ve long lost our medic and were in dire need-” 

“Surely I must pay—”

“Absolutely not, your assistance in healing is more than enough,” the innkeeper smiles, “Now tell me your name, dear cleric, so I may keep it in the records.” The innkeeper looks up at him, eyes kind; he’s waiting with the quill in his hand. 

“Most call me Youngjae,” the cleric says, “but friends call me Eric.”