A party of adventurers normally consists of a balance of the various "professions" in order to secure the best chance of success.
It doesn’t take a great deal of imagination to picture the roles we play within the group. Thieves act as scouts, lock smiths and trap removers, the magic users provide intellectual input and use of the arcane mysteries in order to protect the group, while the fighters … well, let's just say that they generally kick several lumps of "good for the roses" (using a variety of interesting methods) out of anything that gets in the way.
The Cleric, however, has a role that appears to be a little more complicated when one is introduced into an unsuspecting band of adventurers.
How can I begin to define the Cleric’s worth to the group? Some people describe them as the mortal extension of their Deities divine power. The Players handbook gives us several insights into the wise old Cleric:
The Cleric class is similar to certain religious orders of knighthood of the middle ages: The Teutonic Knights, the Knight Templars, and Hospitalers. These orders combine military and religious training with a code of protection and service. Members were trained as knights and devoted themselves to the service of the church.
The cleric receives his spells as insight directly from his deity as a sign of and reward for his faith, so he must take care not to abuse his power lest it be taken away as punishment.
The cleric is also granted power over undead – evil creatures that exist in a form of non-life. The cleric is charged with defeating these mockeries of life.
One important, and potentially life-saving, combat ability available to priests is the ability to turn undead. This is a special power granted by the character’s deity. Through the priest, the deity manifests a portion of its power, terrifying evil, undead creatures or blasting them right out of existence.
OK, before we all start reaching for a bucket, let's do a reality check here (d20 : Int –2). Let's just remove those rose tinted specs for a while and set down the latest Mills & Boon. Clerics may well have been invoked with the power to heal, but let’s be honest, they cause most of the pain and suffering in the first place.
Within the many groups of adventurers who operate under the banner of Dragonslayers Inc., there are numerous clerics whose sole (soul ?) purpose seems to be:
In my ample years of adventuring I have had to suffer many indignities at the hands of a Cleric. Fathomi, a Cleric of some stature, follows the path of Paquia - a water Goddess. Fathomi was the leader of our group which brings with it additional responsibilities beyond that of a normal Cleric.
Time is far too short for me to list every last infuriating deed that was bestowed upon us by the inimitable Fathomi. In the abbreviated list below, however, I have attempted to give you a flavour of his competency both as a group leader and, more importantly, as a cleric.
Clerics have always, traditionally, held a special "working" relationship with those denizens of the negative plane, the undead. Fathomi, however, took this concept to the ‘N’th degree by forging an extra special love-hate bond with those cold-hearted creatures.
Like moths to the flame (or flies to guano – whichever analogy you prefer) the undead and Fathomi seem to go out of their way to seek each others company (a real downer when you just happen to be adventuring within the plane of Ravenloft). This particularly "endearing" problem came to a head one dark and stormy night. The majority of the party were ensconced within the pseudo protective walls of Castle Ravenloft’s library, trying desperately to soothe those frayed nerves and recover from an endless onslaught of battles with the nightmare creatures from hell (literally in many cases). The library was like a fragile bubble of safety, like that elusive spot of calm known as the "eye" of the hurricane. And within this comforting environment, everyone tried to repair the ravages of the last couple of hours and attempted to prepare their souls for the inevitable coming battles. Everyone, that is, except Fathomi.
With all the determination of a person who is protected from the indescribable horrors by virtue of being totally insane, and being the sort of individual who thinks that, if they get into trouble, all they have to do is click their heels together three times, Fathomi decided to embark on a jolly little ramble along a few of the unexplored corridors of the castle.
Some time later, while I was in the middle of revising a particularly good spell, I thought I caught the sound of running feet in the distance. The sound got closer and closer until, suddenly, the door to the library flew open. Stood there, framed by the doorway and grinning like an idiot, was our illustrious leader, Fathomi. Regaining his composure he closed the door and nonchalantly shuffled through the middle of the room to the only remaining exit. Without further ado, and without any words of warning, Fathomi hastily opened the door and departed. The rest of the group rolled their eyes then returned to their tasks/sleep etc and I continued to revise my spell – this was not unusual behaviour for Fathomi and raised no comment from the rest of us. Seconds later, however, the door to the library burst open and six wraiths stormed into the room. I will never know what Fathomi said or did to them, but these guys were seriously pissed, we were in their way, and they were just spoiling for a fight.
My recollection of the remaining events of that evening, are a little hazy. I’m pretty certain there was a huge amount of swearing, a lot of running away and perhaps the occasional fireball. Fathomi had some swift retribution coming his way.
Fiz
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