A Black Archer's Offerings

*Moonlight dances across the cobblestones in shimmering spots as Jhaeros slips into the Temple of the Seldarine during the night, closing the heavy wooden door behind him silently.

As he walks across the massive interior of the temple and approaches the statue of Shevarash, he lowers his red hood. His left ear has been regrown thanks to the healing of kin, though if asked Jhaeros would note its still a bit tender to the touch. A thin line of a scar runs across the back of his ear, near his skull, right where it was cut off. His extensive facial scarring has not progressed any further and remains as a web of mangled skin stretching from below his chin and up to his left eye. To those familiar with the Black Archers, his appearance suggests a life of dedicated work that is mostly unsurprising. To those unfamiliar, he is a grotesque shadow of a once-handsome elf.

His black hair tumbles down his shoulders as he kneels in front of the statue. A golden bowl sits on the pedestal before him, glinting humbly in the temple's candlelight. A few unlit candles of various heights surround the bowl, in addition to a few coins, flowers, and other random offerings left by others. Reaching under his armor, he pulls out a holy symbol of Shevarash, dangling from a dull metal chain, and lets it hang visibly against his chest.

Jhaeros sets a bag at his side, and from this satchel he begins to remove items as he needs them. He first places the blackened ear of a drow in the golden bowl. He produces makeshift matches from his satchel and strikes one against the rough stone floor. He tosses the lit match into the bowl, and soon the flesh inside begins to burn. The flame begins as a small flickering one, but soon grows as the whole lump of flesh is consumed at a greater amount. The dark smoke drifts up toward the ceiling, and the smell is definitely foul.

For this night's prayer, Jhaeros takes extra steps, above and beyond those usually take for a typical day's offering and prayer. He fishes two vials out from his satchel, uncorks them, and pours both into the bowl. One contains a milky-white liquid; the other, black as ink. The fire within does not go out, but instead roars to even greater life than before. He watches the fire a moment and, when satisfied with it, he pulls off his gloves.

His callous beaten hands are wrapped in white first-aid gauze, which he begins to unwrap from both hands. On each of his palms is a raised scar about the width of a dagger. Many other scars of smaller size cover his hands, all of various ages.

Producing a dagger from his satchel, he finds a spot on his right palm and slices his skin open just enough to produce sufficient blood. He does not cringe or flinch as he does this, nor as he repeats the process on his left hand. Once he has done this, he sits up on his knees and holds his bleeding hands, palms-up, over the flaming bowl. The flames stay several inches below his hands, though he can still feel the intense heat.

Closing his eyes, he concentrates on a prayer.*


*When he is finished with his prayer, he opens his eyes and looks up at the statue of Shevarash on the pedestal before him. Looking into the statue's face, he speaks quietly in Elvish.*

"I come to you tonight with more than my usual offerings and prayer. Tonight, I come to you for guidance on two matters.

The episodes continue, Night Hunter. Just yesterday I was in a forest hunting a quartet of drow, only to blink and wake up in Myth Drannor's refugee camp, only to learn I was not where I thought I was... not doing what I thought I was doing... and not seeing what I thought I was seeing. I come before you again for guidance, as I have every other time this has happened.

I do not wish to hurt an innocent by accident while in the midst of an episode, and I merely wish to know the cause and reason for them. If it is a sign or a warning from you, I will welcome each episode as if I were hearing your own words with my own ears. If, however, this is a manifestation of an illness, or I have somehow otherwise been maligned, I ask you for your assistance in ridding myself of it.

Secondly, and in many ways related to my first concern, I come to you to offer myself in greater ways that I already am. I wish to do more to serve the Hunt. I wish to become a Dhaeraowathila.

I must know if I am fit in your eyes to become such a Bane of the Drow and to carry the title of one of your clergy. The full extent of my abilities are yours. My faith is in you and our Maker, and your dogma is mine. If I can understand these episodes and their purpose, I will do what I must to either utilize or remove them in order to become one of the Dhaeraowathila.

I offer myself to you wholly, and will hunt fearlessly."

*With that, he turns his hands over, palms downward over the flaming bowl. The blood that had pooled in his hands poured into the flames. During his prayers and his plea, the flames had steadily been dying down. By the time Jhaeros made this last offering, the flames were small enough that his blood was sufficient in putting out the flames entirely.

Setting back, he wrapped his hands again and slipped on his gloves. He got to his knees, checked that the contents of the bowl had been burned away and the fire was fully out, and gathered up his satchel.

Giving the statue a fist-to-chest bow, he pulled up his hood, turned on his heel, and left the temple, his long red cloak billowing behind him.*

*The elderly priest Brenor sits at the table surrounded by high book-shelves in the dim lit temple.
His pen dances across the pages in a thick volume, dozens of scrolls and lose papers spread out on the table...A half-full glass of wine stands next to him, together with a sliver plate with fruit that has not been touched.
A small candle burns in a holder on the table, and a globe of soft light hovers over the volume as the elderly sun-elf works with a stern look on his face.

As the door to the temple opens briefly, the flame of the candle flickers and the low scratching sound of the pens dance on the parchment stops. Brenor looks up, his emerald green eyes glowing in the soft light from the globe.

As the hooded Jhaeros enters the priest of Corellon glances at the globe and by his will it's light fades and the globe settles down in the pile of scrolls with a soft sound.

He slowly leans back on the chair and follows Jhaeros with his eyes while he reaches for the glass of wine.

As the black-archer begins his ritual and prayers, Brenor mumbles a spell under his breath and everything around the elderly priest falls silent...satisfied that his spell has worked he resumes his work...now in total silence as not to disturb the Archers ritual.

When Jhaeros turns to leave, the elderly priest would incline his head in a respectful nod before returning to his work...as the door to the temple closes softly, the scratching sound of the pen once again fills the otherwise silent hall of the temple.*

" Another faithful for the Mathor-Selmiira perhaps?"

*he glances at the statue of Corellon, then at the smaller one of the Black-archer*

" One to keep an eye on it seems..."

*nods to himself and resumes his work*

However, as he nears the door a blast of refreshing cold air hits him in the face sending a shiver down his spine, looking up at the moon her see's a cloud slowly drift infront of it and for a second, for a split second, a beam of moon light shines down onto a flower, the flower if nearing the end of its life, the pettles gone at its seed's ready to take flight, a second powerful gust of wind catchs the flower sending the seeds into the air and dancing around him for a moment, then finally a third gust of wind would hit him, thing time from behind him, from the temple its self and the seeds would shoot off like arrows, north eastward.

You head north east, the moon still shining down upon, almost as if lighting yourway, the soft cold wind feeling as if constaintly on your back pushing you on relentlessly. You legs burn, your lungs heave but yet you continued onwards until finally you realise you are in the deepth of a wood, the floor recently blasted by unholy and corruption magics which rained down from the city of death and shadows. You take a moment to take your breath, just a moment, thats all you know you should take, all you can take before you once more feel the wind pushing you onwards into the heard of the forest, into a cave and out onto a overlook you find yourself, a river running to the side of you before cascading down the ledge.

Its over now, the wind has stoped and you can rest again, your lungs burn as if you were breathing if fire, your arms and legs lead as if they were made from stone, but you did it. As you look up from the ground you see the seeds from the temple fly around you before floating along above the river until then almost seem to leap down into the waterfall. Looking over the edge, you see a nake elf in the pool below, holding something, he looks up, it's you, and in your hand is a shaft of purest night and coolest stone.

You wake up, slumped agienst the entrance of the temple, your eyes slowly coming back into focus, a soft cool breeze caressing your face.

*Jhaeros' ears filled with the sound of his pounding heart and the soft rhythmic beat of his light footsteps. Over rocks, logs, roots, and uneven terrain, he kept running until he just had to stop for breath.

Stumbling over his own feet, he fell to his knees and sat there, hunched over. He buried his fingers in the dirt in front of him as he gasped for air, each breath sounding ragged. The dirt between his fingers crumbled like dry sand... and it somehow felt wrong. He raised his head and looked around. The area of the woods he was in looked mostly normal, except for the area in which he'd stopped for air. It looked... different. Darker. Wrong.

He could feel it everywhere around him; the unholy magic pulsating with its own beat, and with each beat it spread its corruption just a little bit further.

Quickly pulling his hands out of the crumbling dirt, he shoved himself up to his feet again and took off running once more, nearly flinging himself forward on sheer will. He felt the wind at his back, and it was a comforting sensation.

Shevarash was with him, helping carry him to his goal... wherever that was.

Skidding to a stop, he crouched down and peeked over the ledge. He hadn't sprinted that far or that fast in quite a long time, and his entire body burned and shook. Despite that, he had to push himself further. There was something over that ledge he had to see. He could feel it tugging at him - at his very soul. Something there was calling for him.

Out of habit, he started whispering part of a prayer under his breath.*

"We shall never fear, never falter, Fighting until our last breath. Only then may the joy of life begin anew..."

*The seeds whizzed past his face and then shot down the waterfall, once more guiding his attention. He crept forward more and, hanging on tightly, took a look down to where the waterfall hit the ground before.

His ragged breath caught in his throat.

There was an elf down there, just laying at the bottom of the waterfall, in the pool of water it created. He squinted and furrowed his brow, not believing what he was seeing. The elf down there was.... it was himself?

Surely it couldn't be. That made no sense... but the closer he looked, the more he was certain of it. The scars were unmistakable.

As he stared down at himself, unable to pull his eyes away, his duplicate in the pool held something up for him to see. A stone shaft of some sort, darker than the night itself. From this distance it was hard to tell exactly what it was, and coupled with a hazy confusion in his mind, he was having a hard time figuring it out. Was that an arrow? It looked a bit like one... maybe if he jumped down there... reach for it...

In a blink, it was gone.

Once again, he felt that familiar post-episode daze flood his mind. Shapes and sounds and sensations surrounded him, but for a minute or so none of it made sense. It was not until his vision came back into focus did he realize he was on the ground, slumped against the entrance of the Temple.

He sat there for a time, letting himself come to his senses. How long had he been there? When did he get back? Had he really ever left, or had he just collapsed on the Temple steps?

It was a certainty that this was another one of his episodes, but it left his heart pounding and his mind spinning. He had never had an episode like this. Just as he told Faolaine, his episodes only ever came in two varieties: stalking drow, and dying to drow. This.... this one was new.

This was a sign.

Were they right? Did Faolaine interpret his problems correctly when she said this could be a message from Shevarash rather than some kind of sickness of his? All indications were pointing to yes. Perhaps the previous episodes were just leading up to this one?

But now, more importantly, he needed to figure out what this meant. Seeing himself laying naked in a pool of water holding a black-as-night arrow shaft could mean different things. In his heart and in the pit of his stomach he had a sensation that he knew exactly what it meant. He truly was meant to be one of the Dhaeraowathila. He had held one of Shevarash's own arrows in his hand, and offered it to the night sky, to the Night Hunter.

Would others laugh him off if he spoke of this, and spoke of holding one of Shevarash's own arrows in his hand? Would they think he had finally snapped and lost his mind? Would people think he was misguided or full of himself? Did it even matter what others thought?

Climbing slowly to his feet, he adjusted his chain shirt and hood and stood there for a moment, looking up at the moon. It had moved in the sky, and it was likely he spent an hour or two on the ground.*

"We shall never fear, never falter, Fighting until our last breath. Only then may the joy of life begin anew."

*He repeated this to himself, mind buzzing. He had to find someone and tell them about this. Norlamin, Faolaine, Latheir'doron... someone, anyone who would understand such an event.

Where was everyone this night? He didn't remember seeing anyone in the Temple when he left, and surely if he had just spent an hour unconscious at the door of the Temple, anyone who passed by would have seen him.

He decided his best bet was to head into the refugee camp of the city and look for someone to talk to about this.*

* The elder elf blinks and looks down on the paper, a small ink stain where his pen has rested dots the page.
He grumbles to himself and dispels the glowing orb that hovers next to him...the candle has gone out.

Drifting into revire...perhaps a brake from his work could be justified.

He looks around in the empty temple before gathering his notes and the leather bound book in front of him...his azure blue robes whispers softly as he makes his way to the top of the stair.

He stops as he sees the door...open?...with a stern look on his face he grumbles to himself and steps out in the cool night, closes the heavy door behind him with his one free hand.

As he turns he sees Jhaeros just as he heads down the path from the temple...

The elder sun-elfs otherwise stern face flashes in a quick crooked smile, his green eyes glimt with warmth as he speaks out*

"Hooo there young one...stay thy cause a spell to indulge and old elf"

*He regards the Black-archer with his green eyes...wisdom and cunning both glimting in their pools of emerald green.*

*Jhaeros nearly jumped out of his own skin at the elder's first "Hoo-there". He didn't think anyone was around, so the sudden sound of a voice was startling for a moment. He settled himself, then glanced over his shoulder. The old sun elf looked respectable and harmless enough, so he turned to face him.*

"Oh, hello."

*Jhaeros gave the elder a short bow and attempted a smile as he replied in Elvish. His scarred skin across his left face didn't move as his half-melted lips curved up at the right corner to form a half-smile. He likely made for a disturbing, frightful visage to stumble upon in the darkness, though nothing in his body language suggested any intent to harm the elder.

He gave the elder a quick look-over, studying everything from his robes to the books and papers cradled in his arm. The look of a scholar, for certain, but what kind?

At first he felt a twinge of annoyance that he was being held up and bothered. He needed to address this message he just received, not sit down with an elder over a cup of tea and have him ramble on about the good old days when he was a... er, wait - maybe... maybe he was a priest of some kind? He certainly had the look about him. Maybe he wasn't studying the arcane, but the Seldarine! That would certainly explain why he was at the Temple at such an odd hour.*

"Hnn... I suppose. How about we make a trade? I shall indulge you with answers to your questions, if you do the same for me. How does that sound?"

*Brenor's green eyes glimt with a friendly glow as he regards the scarred elf before him. He straightens and his considerable hight, for an elf, shows.
The face of the elder is marked by centuries but like most elves he has aged with grace, his chestnut red hair with silver lines in it flows down to his shoulders.
His stance and walk as he strides closer to Jhaeros is that of a soldiers and an aura of calm seems to surround him.

He chuckles dryly and his stern face offers a brief smile*

"Indeed..that sounds like a most...interesting offer...one that I shall be happy to take ye up on"

*Brenor motions with his free hand down the path under the sky-bridge*

"I have a small tent down yonder, not much but still enough for it to feel like home...let us speak you and I...over a glass of wine...I have a feeling the Seldarine looks down upon us this night and that alone is reason enough for two of the people to sit down and contemplate on matters...both earthly and divine ehh?"

*his eyebrow raises in an unspoken question as he motions Jhaeros to continue down the path from the temple*

"Sounds like a good enough reason to me. Oh, and introductions are in order. I'm Jhaeros."

*Jhaeros continued down the path as instructed, shifting his bow to the side slightly so he was in no danger of accidentally smacking the elder in the face with it as they walked.

Questions buzzed around in his mind; he was both curious and excited, and he had the distinct feeling that sitting still for any length of time would be difficult for him. He had so much he wanted to know and to say, he didn't know where to start. He moved as quickly as the elder's graceful steps could, so as to not leave the old man behind.

~*~

He found the little encampment to be tidy and homey, not nearly as sprawling as the Arivaela'ruar encampment (which seemed to grow every other day). This was pleasing, since he still wasn't very used to such large gatherings as a city like Myth Drannor.

Following the elder to whatever sitting area he'd be guided to, he remained on his feet. He felt twitchy yet, and he never did enjoy sitting on furniture.*

"I'll let you start, since you approached first. Ask whatever you want of me, and maybe I can answer."

* The elder sun-elf nods with a stern face, a glimt in his green eyes though.*

"Introductions are indeed in order...I am Brenor of the house Hastalion."

*Brenor would walk down the path with long strides towards the azur-blue tent and walk past Jhaeros as they reached the site. With a wave of his hand he brushes the opening aside and gestures for Jhaeros to enter.

The tent being about four by six meters, and high enough for one to stand upright even along its sides, lights up as a globe of soft light appears over the long elegant table standing in the tents center.

The elder elf walks over and as he passes it, he moves one of the chairs out with his free hand before unloading his books, scrolls and notes in an orderly manner along with the other papers.

He stands for a brief moment, taping a book with his index finger, pondering.
Then he grabs a slender bottle of wine and fills two cups, picking both up he walks to the chair opposite the one he pulled out and sets the cups down and takes a seat.

With a satisfied look on his face he reaches for one of the cups and gently pushes the other across the table and motions for the Archer to take a seat.

The orb of light floats down to hover just over the table now barely casting its soft light on the armor-stands and weapon-racks at the far end of the tent. The flickering light reflects in the sliver markings on the full-plate-mail that hangs on one of the stands.

The elderly elf leans foreward, swirling his wine in the cup, regarding Jhaeros with his glowing emerald green eyes.*

"So...did your prayer grant you wisdom, or did you decide to meditate on the very step of the temple as you left ehh?"

*Jhaeros eyed the chair with a level of suspicion he only ever gave to furniture. His backside was used to grass and dirt, not shaped wood. But, in an attempt to be cordial, he sat down and accepted the glass of wine slid toward him. He took a sizable gulp of it, just as he would with water.

He licked his lips a moment and sat back in his chair. Where should he even begin?*

"It did, Brenor.... it definitely did. I've been praying and making offerings almost daily for quite some time now... and I think the guidance that I've needed all this time has finally shown itself."

*He stared down at his glass of wine, gently swirled it around a little, and took another drink - a much smaller sip this time.*

"I've hit two birds with one stone, so to speak. A personal problem of mine that has been plaguing me for months has new light shed on it... and I believe I've received a sign that I have been waiting to see for years.... long story short, I've received a calling from Shevarash to join the ranks of his clergy."

*Jhaeros looked up and stared Brenor in the eyes - his paler mint-green eyes meeting Brenor's bright emerald ones. His stare was unwavering and unblinking, except for a slight twitch in the left side of his face.*

*The elder elfs face is like a mask as he returns Jhaeros gaze, no twitch, no faint smile, nothing but a face cut in stone.
His eyes, filled with the wisdom and cunning of centuries glows brighter than ever and the aura of calm that surrounds him seems to all most solidify in the dim lit tent.

Had Jhaeros been in doubt weather this elder sun elf was a mage or a priest, the feel of divine granted grace and calm would leave little doubt in the Archers mind...
A servant of the Seldarine sits before him.

Brenor holds his gaze on Jhaeros for a seemingly long moment...then a faint smile flashes over his face and he nods to himself, Aproveing of what he has seen.

As he begins to speak, his voice is stern yet soft and low tuned.*

"The path of the Black Archer is a long, lonesome, hard and dangerous road...."

*Folds his hands together in his lap and points to Jhaeros with both his indexfingers, hands still folded*

"But this you know....and embrace"

*nods slowly*

"Priests of Shevarash are few and far between....for good reason....most of the time a ranger will step up and act as media between a group of hunters and the Black Archer.
While I do not question those..wood-walkers devotion and resolve, they are not priests."

*leans back in the chair..his intense eyes not leaving Jhaeros a moment*

"Few carries the determination to truely embrace the essence of Shevarash's teachings....even fewer carries the courage within them to enter in the ranks of his clergy."

*unfolds his hands and reaches for the cup of wine...takes a sip...then regards the wine with a pondering look in his eyes.
Over the edge of the glass he gazes at Jhaeros and speaks in a low voice*

"So...young Jhaeros...do you carry the will, and courage in your heart to embrace what The Black Archer has blessed you with in his vision to you this night?"

"I do."

*Jhaeros responds without hesitation. Brenor's mention of rangers not being priests caused a frown to cross his face.*

"I suppose we will have to respectfully disagree on one point already. I must insist that a ranger of Shevarash is fully fit to be a priest. Perhaps it is not this way with the rest of the Seldarine, but it is with the Night Hunter. It always has, and always will be."

*He takes another sip of his wine, looking like he is going to be steadfast in this position.*

*Brenor purses his lips and a slightly amused glimt flashes in his eyes*

"The position where two reaches the conclusion to....respectfully disagree?....has little merit when one side of the argument has their facts wrong Master Jhaeros.

When you embark on your new found path to become a priest, witch I am certain you will...you will learn that even a novice priest have spells and powers at their disposal, a full fledged...woodsman...will never master."

*takes a sip from his cup of wine*

"While a ranger gets certain powers, he ever only catches a tiny glimt of the god he follows...a priest..stands with an open heart and embraces his god in all the glory and power that god chose to bestow on his faith-full subject."

*folds his hands in his lap once more*

"Can a ranger raise his fallen comrades, bringing them back into the world?
Can he remove all most every imaginable disease, curse and ill effects from his friends?
Can he use his granted powers to shield his allies from death-magics of the most foul sort?
Can he bring down the vengeance of his god upon his enemies, shattering the very ground and hurling divine fire from the sky?"

*leans forward slightly and keeps his eyes on Jhaeros's*

"The answer to all those questions young master Jhaeros...is no...he cannot...

Why?...because the god does not grant the ranger such abilities...not even close in fact"

*leans back in his chair again...hands still folded in his lap*

"A priest who enjoys his gods blessing...is a weapon more mighty than any we elves ever created....when he speaks...his words are like seeds that take root in the souls and hearts of those who listens.

A wise priest understands this...respects it...and treats it acordingly.
It is a gift, to be used with great care and ever only to further the cause of the God.

So while I will not question the faith of those woodsmen you mention...I will, by simple logic, conclude that they are not priests...

Oh..they might act like priests...spreading the word of their faith and staying true to the path of said god...but a true priest or cleric they are not....as you will learn quickly enough when you begin this new chapter of you life."

*Takes a sip from his cup once more and gently sets it down on the table...then side-glances at Jhaeros..the stern look is back but with a friendly glimt in the emerald-green eyes...a faint smile flashes over his face*

*Jhaeros looks visibly irritated at Brenor's words, setting the glass of wine down on the nearest flat surface with a bit more force than is really necessary.*

"They're not? But where do you think all of Shevarash's priests come from? They do not hatch from eggs or appear overnight, you know. A priest is made through life experience, not born ready to serve."

*He leans back in his chair, shifting a bit. He looks to be in some physical discomfort with this sitting arrangement.*

"Some may argue otherwise, that a priest's path in life is bound up in fate, that their soul is primed from the start for what they will do. Maybe that is right for some people, who serve some gods... but it is not true for me. I could have been a thousand different things.... but I am not. I am a Black Archer. I serve Shevarash. And, given time, I will be one of His clergy.

I will carry out His will. I will pray and make offerings. I will serve him with every fiber of my being. Shevarash willing, if I am worthy, He will look upon me and grant me what He thinks I need and deserve.... and if I cannot raise the fallen? If I cannot cure diseases? If I cannot make the sky rain divine fire? Then so be it, I am still one of His. He either grants me the ability to bless my kin and slay drow, or he does not. Either way, I will still be putting arrows through drow hearts until my own stops beating."

*Pausing to take a breath, folding his hands in his lap, he gives Brenor a steely look.*

"It does not matter what I am now, or what I was in the past. Only what I will be in the future. And that, honored cousin, is a Dhaeraowathila."

*Brenor's eyes glimt with amusement at Jhaeros display of emotions...he helps himself to another glass of wine and retuns Jhaeros's stern look...the amused glimt is gone as he speaks*

"If you recall, I did not question the faith and resolve of your fellow rangers, nor dispute the fact that they acts as their God demands.

Nor did I dispute that many priests, comes form a past as Ranger, woodsman or something all together different from the two first.

I will however question your wrong use of, and apparent misunderstanding of the term "Cleric" or "Priest".

Once a Ranger turns onto the path of the Cleric...he stops being a Ranger...and becomes a Cleric..."

*Slight crooked smile*

"As you said yourself, what you are, or what you have been matters not...but in order to carry the title of cleric....you must have the abilities that the world and the gods has come to understand as those of a...cleric.

A Ranger who acts on his gods behalf...is defacto not a priest or cleric....even his own god does not consider him such, or else he would have granted the Ranger the same amount of divine abilities as he does his clergy....No Master Jhaeros...a devout follower he may be, but a cleric?....No."

*lifts the cup from the table and turns it slowly in his hand*

This may sound very....academical to one such as you master Jhaeros...but I find it best dealing with the world in its correct terms...to avoid misunderstandings you might say.

*faint smile as he raises the cup to his lips and takes a sip*

*Jhaeros meets Brenor's smile with a determined look. He was not going to let this old man deter him. Remaining silent, he holds his right hand out to Brenor. Gloved-and-bandaged palm facing up, fingers relaxed, and a gentle golden glow forming along the surface of his hand.*

"Academics and technicalities aside..."

*He starts murmuring a prayer under his breath, very little of it audible other than "Never fear, never falter". The glow builds in intensity for a brief moment before the light silently explodes and fills the small tent, covering them both. It is a simple first-circle blessing, but it certainly came from within him - not a cheap trick with wands or scrolls.*

"... What am I now, Brenor?"

*Jhaeros sat back in his chair, expression neutral as he stared at Brenor and gauged his reaction. The pendant with Shevarash's symbol dangling around his neck seemed to shimmer under its own power for just a moment.*

*The elder elfs eyes glimt with amusement as a faint smile rests on his lips*

"Ahh...youths ability to utterly ignore what was being said, as well as the purpose of those words...never sizes to amaze me.

If you think back a spell...I did not once neither ask you to prove nor question your faith young Jhaeros.

I merely pointed out the fact that a woodsman or Ranger, if you prefer, by definition is not a priest...and so calling a ranger the latter...is not only wrong...but could be considered an insult to those that rightly carry the title cleric or priest, and the god who's favor they enjoy."

*Regards Jhaeros with stern eyes*

"What are you now?...."

*leans forward in his chair*

"Assume you mean this very moment...

You, Jhaeros...are a young, stubborn and proud elf who just wasted a blessing-prayer from his god in an attempt to prove a point...he was not even asked to make in the first place."

*leans back in the chair and says mainly to himself*

"I do so loathe being so direct in these matters, but my subtle attempt to nudge you towards understanding what this really is about, seems to have failed."

*looks directly at Jhaeros his emerald green eyes stern*

"Once a person embraces his gods favor and steps up onto the path of the cleric he stops being anything but that. Regardless of what he may have been in the past.

He is not a ranger, woodsman, wizard, warrior or anything in between....he is a cleric.

For the cleric of the Seldarine two matters stands above all else.
The Seldarine.
And the people.

And because of this...the cleric...."

*points a finger at Jhaeros*

"...must come to terms with the fact that whatever past he might carry with him, the importance of the divine office of the clergy, stands above and beyond all that."

*reaches for his cup of wine*

"So you see Jhaeros....in order to truely become a cleric...you must come to terms with the fact that you from here on out...are a cleric...and nothing but a cleric."

*sips his wine and lets the cup rotate slowly in between his fingers as he regards Jhaeros*

*the elder elf leans forward and places the cup on the table*

"So...Cleric of Sheravash....what will it be.
I believe you said you had questions for me aswell ehh?"

*raises an eyebrow, a friendly glimt lingers in the otherwise stern eyes*