I know what you have heard about men of the Church. I promise you, I am not like them.

Many people claim to know the gods. Those people are fools, or liars. One may know OF the gods. One may even be known TO the gods. But to claim to know them? Tis folly. The gods are not to be understood. The gods are not to be questioned.

Who are we to cast aspirations on those who created the heavens? Who are we to question the will of those who gave us life?

I served them in life, aye, and I am honored that they still have use for me. I do not feel worthy, but they asked, and I answered. It is as simple as that. For who am I to question the gods?


The Stoneborn Priest grows somber as he kneels before the grave. He murmurs to himself, a prayer for the dead – or, perhaps, for the living. He raises one hand, and his request is answered by a soft glow that fills the ancient tomb with light, warmth and music.

The Guinecean Priest speaks over the angry crowd, his small voice seeming to carry far beyond his diminutive stature. He begins to chant, words and notes that seem both foreign and familiar. He sings a song of gods and heroes, of sins forgiven and families reunited. The crowd goes silent to listen.

Clerics are known by many names in life: priests, prelates, bishops, pontiffs. Some follow a single god, but most are pantheistic, devoting their lives to the study and devotion of all of the gods and studying the language of the All-Father to lessen the pain and suffering of others. Most Clerics are also warriors by trade, knowing that the maelstrom of battle presents the best and most frequent opportunity to use their skills to the fullest. As Crows, Clerics spend the afterlife much as they lived, in the service of mankind and at the behest of one god -- or many.

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