The light was blinding, even to the assembled crowd. It was rare that the gods would need to gather for any reason, and it was only because of their present company that it was even possible.



The decadently long haired woman with fair skin, and seven silver motes of light floating around her head bowed delicately to the entity at the head of the room, indicating agreement. The man at the other end of the room, fully clad in spiked black-iron armor, with thick black guantlets coverings his hands, also nodded. The other gods followed their cue, nodding in agreement.



There is a overwhelming flash of light, and all of the gods shield their eyes.



The silent woman, dressed all in black, with hair and eyes to match, does nothing but scowl at the star-orbited woman, as if blaming her for everything. She alone makes no sound as her followers find themselves wrenched from their powers. When it is done, the Gods begin to teleport out, walk out, phase through the floor, conjure stairs and walk through the ceiling, and many many other ways. For a brief moment, there is absolutely no squabbling. Enforced by a hand larger than theirs, the gods relinquish the powers they have once freely granted to their followers.



~

Within the Realms, priests and clerics and shamans across the Realms wake up and find themselves stripped of their power. Many of these clerics were unorthodox priests: The wandering conquering Banite find his travelling powers stripped from him. The Tempuran who, blessed with a mind for terrain, used earthen powers to enchant his troops. The Mystran who was viewed as warlike, but took to the battlefield against evil and was hailed as a hero for it. Big and small, powerful and weak, across the realms, Priests found their powers stripped from them, sometimes in the middle of combat. Skirmishes collapsed quickly as both sides retreated in the face of failing magic.

In a short time perhaps a day or two, the cosmological earthquake was done, and powers were restored to the clergy; but all outliers found themselves forcibly wrenched into line. Vague messages from their gods seemed almost... apologetic. Or regretful. Or annoyed. Or irritated, depending on the deity. But their spells are returned to them, and in many cases are replaced with new, powerful magic. For when the gods realized their true Strength led within their portfolio, they discovered what they had known, and forgotten in their quest to appease and listen to their followers as they strove to do ever since the Time of Troubles. Within their portfolio was new aspects of power: Bane recalled the true power of Tyranny and Hatred, and bequeathed them to his chosen followers. Mystra granted the True Magic and Spell to her devotees. Selune brought forth the Moon, and Moradin gave the power of the Dwarf ancestors, and their Rune Magic to his priests.

Though the gods' fury had turned to eager plans with what to do with their newly re-discovered aspects and Domains, their affect on the mortal Realms has yet to be seen....

((If your cleric already had BOTH domains of your god, either before the changes or after the changes, you are not affected.))

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Davion Telemos - Monk of the Four Winds
Korthan Isharnos - Dragon Shaman of Thunder Spirit Zamasham

A raven-haired priestess wanders through the Amian Frontier, sticking to the shadows as she watches a newly ordained priest of some lesser god. The young man fought valiantly and confidently against the goblins until the moment one of his spells failed to work. His confidence shattered and his defenses beaten, the man turned tail and began to flee the battle. With an amused chuckle, the priestess stepped out of the shadows and, clutching her holy symbol from the pocket of her robes, muttered an invocation that stirred the very ground into movement. The building earthquake leveled the goblins, killing them with the force of the moving earth. The fleeing man narrowly escaped the same such fate. The woman scowled and briefly considered chasing the man and finishing the job, but ultimately decided against it and faded into the shadows of the nearby trees once again.

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Remember when I knew a boxer, baby

Rikkudai awakes with a sharp burning within. He feels his weakness, he feels he is not pious enough, nor worthy of his lords attention. Crawling off the simple flea-ridden bed-roll he falls to his knees upon the rough stone floor with an audible crack. Blood begins to slowly pool about the offended regions as he prays. And prays. And prays.

Hours upon hours he prays, refusing even the crust of bread or water offered by the Avengers. Tears fill his eyes, sorrow wells deep in his soul. He had offended his lord by attaining to much to his past and not fulling emptying himself to be used as a vessel for Hoar's soul purpose.

He must be cleansed of his own sinful nature once more, and no longer rely on any of his own learnings. Only those of Assuran matter now. Divine Retribution is all that mattered to the Lord Assuran, and to this he must adhere, his every waking moment. Less he be overcome with these emotions so deep, so profound and so anguishing.

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The Peacock wrote:

[GreatPigeon] is better than me.

Aly'dra is found before the idol of Eilistraee, collapsed in a sweaty heap, having danced herself into near-unconsciousness, begging for some kind of sign for whatever she's done wrong, so she can fix it, and regain her lost favour. Worry for her child is the only thing that drops her before exhaustion can, but she's still too tired to move, dress, or seek shelter.

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Aly'dra Zau'ana: Priestessish Of Eilistraee
Danika Nefzen: Druid of the Earthmother
Delia Am'Anodel: Paladin of Torm

In a fire-warmed room in Endir's Point, Erisidis reflected on the the days past as she prepared for sleep and the day ahead. The nightly ritual was more than a personal accounting; it was an act of piety that opened her in ways that let her speak to the Divine and listen in kind.

Though the details were ever changing, were always a bit different from night to night, the act prayer was the same. She filtered through her thoughts and made her plans until all felt cohesive and ordered, until she felt centered within the Presence of the Red Knight.

For Erisidis, it was like any other night.

The following day, Erisidis became aware of a spiritual plight of some other Devout, and she paid it due observation. Whatever had happened, it warranted attention. It would be important to know and adjust her plans accordingly.

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Erisidis Kaïssa, Holy Strategist

A particular elven actor, always keeping an eye open on the activities of the clerics of the isle in any case, is rather amused by this development.

"Well well, isn't this something. It'd be interesting to know what caused these fluctuations. Serves them right for trusting their own and the lives of other to the divine liars in any case. I wonder what will come out of this..."

Being careful to keep his oppinions to himself save for his most trusted companions, the elf nevertheless continues to keep a keen interest in the activities of the various powerless clerics.

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-Caldor Fereth, self-proclaimed Thespian, Fencer and Lover Extraordinare.

The shelter she finds, is in the arms of her mate. He covers her, and holds her for a long while. His hand finds the medallion of Eilistraee that is clasped near the brooch of Mielikki, on his cloak. The young family prays together to the Dark Maiden.

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A priestess within Kohlingen speaks quietly with a mustached wizard as a young half-elven girl tugs at her robe. They had seen the effects of the turmoil caused by failing magic and for two Mystrans it was a topic of keen interest. It was a subtle difference, the change, and Escine noticed it even without the cries of friends and allies within the holy city. Her magic and blessings came to her without pause, and after some experimentation she realized there was even more she could do with the gifts granted by her goddess. Perhaps it was her utter devotion to Mystra which allowed her spells to go unhindered, where others who dabbled were stripped of many abilities previously granted to them.

After a quiet prayer to the Lady of Mysteries the small family turned to other topics, their mood light as their speculation at the cause for the turmoil of other priests concluded, for now.

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Saylgarix in Wharftown, in his Hand of Ieryn uniform, will stop outside the temple of Selune and observe what they are doing. Sometimes the pause in his patrol is long, palpable. But whatever thoughts he has about the situation, he seems content to keep them to himself. For now.

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I play:

Barring external contact by any Clergy, the Gnomish Wizard quietly sits in the temporary residence of the Mystrans whom remain in Kohlingen, contemplating many a matter.

In the settlement of Djedet a lone priestess to the lady of rivers is seen partaking in the waters as is her morning ritual... she would look back to the settlement and smile slightly... the people would need her more then ever now... there was much work to do and prove for herself to prove.

She walked through the city greeting those around and offering council to those who needed it.

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"It is by the holy beans of Java that thoughts acquire speed, the hands acquire shakes, the shakes become a warning, it is by Java alone that I set my mind in motion."

A certain Elfling however finds herself unaffected, at least negatively, shortly after the event she gains new powers from the Defender, becoming an divine upholster of law she finds that not only will Undead fleee from her, but Fiendkin, and those that serve Chaos.

Evening was darkening to night as Salema slipped out of the Temple of Love. The cool breeze washed over her barely clothed body, practically nude in the way her thin satin and silk garments conformed to the contours of her flesh. Hearing the brief rush of wind in her ears she inhaled deeply, a smile spreading across her face as she simply enjoyed the sensation of the air swirling around and in her.

It wasn't until she took the first step down the stairs that she felt something was wrong. No, not wrong. Amiss. Like a chord on a mandolin she felt it resonate through her, forcing a startled gasp as something of the divine took her over. There were absolutely no words she could form to describe it, and so she all but crumpled to her knees. Alone in the night she clutched at her heart, eyes widened as she looked up into the clear starry sky.

Feeling something out of place, the young priestess, almost fearful, uplifted her arms and cried out. O Sharess, O Bast! Mother of Cats and Princess of Passion! You who speaks to us to delight in the wonderful myserty that is Life! Speak to me! Hear my plea, tell me what You wish of me. I beg You!

No sooner did the words leave her lips did she feel it. Not the relash that some had felt from their respective deities, but the warm radiant glow of Her love. Overwhelmed, Salema wept. She lay down against the stone steps, basking in the approval bestowed upon her for following true to her mistress' path. For perhaps hours she lay there, or even just minutes, until she felt that warm soul-lifting glow ebb and become replaced by the coolness of the night once more.

Lifting her head she pushed the dark hair from her face, pulling it back as she looked up to the sky. I am here to do Your works. Forever am I in Your debt, my Lustful Maiden. Never shall You have to worry, for I am Yours. Smile upon me with your wise beauty and light me steps until I draw my final breath and join You in Rapture.

// OOC note: The 'glow' and such is just how she interpreted Sharess' blessing for following Her domains, since I felt it logical Sharess in particular would smile upon those that did. I don't want anyone mistaking me for metagaming a deity haha.

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Whomst've'll'd'mn't I play:
Salema Nefahri :: A penny for your thots
Zrae'a'stra'fryn :: That which nightmares are made of
Khasir :: From the East a storm is coming

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[In a room at the Nomad in Cordor, a priest has a troubled sleep, dreams of his god being commanded by another. He sees how things unfold and knows that once more, the gods are touched as if they were mortals. He awakes, sweat on his brow, heart pounding. He tosses the covers off, pulls on his armor and prepares himself for a lengthy time of prayer. He places a small shrine in before him made of marble, his ankh placed before it with a bowl with rose pedals, cup of wine, some salted bread and begins reciting his prayer.]

"I serve Osiris Onnophris who is found perfect before the ancient gods. He hath said: These are the elements of my body perfected through suffering, glorified through trial.

The scent of the dying rose is as the repressed sigh of my suffering and the flame-red fire is the energy of mine undaunted will. (ignites the rose petals)

The cup of wine is the pouring out of the blood of my heart, sacrificed unto regeneration, unto the newer life. (pours and drinks the wine)

The bread and salt are as the foundations of my body, which I destroy in order that they may be renewed. (eats the bread and salt)

For he is Osiris Triumphant, even Osiris Onnophris the justified one. He who is clothed with the body of flesh yet in whom flames the spirit of the ancient gods.

He is the lord of life. (He feels the touch of Osiris and casts Cure Minor wounds on himself)

He is triumphant over death. Whosoever partakes with him shall with him arise. (Calls his Deathless companion , then releases it)

He is the manifestation in those whose abode is the invisible. He is purified. (He feels the flow of energy increases and casts Bless)

He stands upon the multiverse and is it's reconciler with the ancient gods. He is the one that perfects matter and without whom the multiverse does not exist."

He places his khopesh sword and large shield down before the shrine, putting his ankh over them both. He continues to raise up his voice in prayer.


"I am AkhenOsiris Amon Khu, Priest of Osiris the Justified One of the House of Osirant. All blessings are from Osiris Onnophris who is found perfect before the ancient gods. Only through his death and rebirth are we shown the path to purification and perfection. Blessed be those that follow Ma'at. Blessed be the chosen people. Honor and glory to the God-King and his people."

He feels the flow of power to him is never broken, his touch with Osiris remains strong throughout the flux yet he never stops his prayers until it passes.

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Ya see, long time ago, me father taught me somethin that be right true.
An amateur practices until they get it right. A professional practices till they can't get it wrong.
Dwarves are professionals at what we do.

"So, I guess there be no more 'I got wood' comments, eh?"

"They weren't a loss."

It was late. The crisp autumn night was exacerbated by the storms that had plagued the coast, causing the hin's breath to mist in the air before his face for a few brief moments. Even for the chapel of Selune, it was late enough to be empty. A few acolytes had turned in for the night, leaving him alone with the sounds of the night. And his shard. She didn't care for his jokes, though.

"Righ', so, no more barkskin 'en. I guess bein' a caster is jus' bein' forced on me all th' more quickly. Good thing I was plastered instead o' fightin' when this shit went down." The tall planetar rolled her eyes. "Other clerics have survived fine without being cheesy." The older hin snorted. "How many o' 'em are in their sixties lass? eh?" The shard gave him an arrogant smirk. "Some of them are elves."

"Point. All righ', so, on a scale o' one t' five, how fucked am I?" "Not at all. Willow's told you before. I've told you. You can still fight. This is good for you to be stripped of something you depend on for melee fighting." The hin sighed. "I guess so. Don' mean I got t' like it. 'nd even if I can cast spells t' destroy shit," The Shard had long stopped wincing at her companion's harsh language, "I still lack all th' teeth I 'ad as a warrior."

"Trust in the Moon Maiden, Lord Torrowfire. She'll provide. With the power of the Moon, the sky's the limit." Lyle's eyes drifted lazily over to his celestial companion. "Tha' include kickin' arse?" The shard gestured to her twin swords in answer. "I'll see wha' I can come up with," he relented. "Hell, maybe I can even turn lunar energy in t' a bloody cannon. Or a shield. Gonna miss tha' barkskin joke, though."

"I'm sure you can come up with something equally juvenile and dirty to giggle with your wife about."

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Andrew Fryar: Cordor's Folk Hero
Bobrin: Eccentric Avenging Executioner
Lyle Torrowfire: Retired badass
Marigold Cobcruncher: Perceptive Priestess

Deep underground scarlet eyes narrowed as the divine power was not granted for a spell that she had used many times before. The priestess paused and attempted a different one.

Suddenly she was on her back, the ozone still thick in the air, not to mention the slight charring smell of flesh and fine silks after a lightning strike. Fortunately, there were no witnesses. She came to her feet in a rush and left her house after using an invisibility potion.

This was a test from her amazingly chaotic Queen. She had read of such tests and she was caught between feeling honored and smug and feeling fearful that she might not interpret this event correctly. But the fear was fleeting as she marched towards the deeper caverns and her goal. She would prove she was worthy.

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Ari'aerath Dlues'athsha ~ Silver Singer with the Bow of the Sun
Clarette Feohn ~ Magic is Art.
Victoria Marrs ~ "I have an herb for that."

His vacation was going quite well. Amia was an interesting place with so much potential, but with Candy and Platypus and everyone else gone, Theios had decided to make a trip to somewhere special. Oh, they had known he was coming though. Their god had likely warned them of it. That or the letter he had sent three days ago, stating he would be coming. Naturally he had appeared a day early, while the sun still slept. While the majority of the villagers and warriors still slept.

Everything had gone quite well, except for the blade that now pierced through his armor and left side. Holy fire radiated from it, righteous fury scorching flesh and searing his mind, seeking his dark core to purge from the world. It reflected the anger of it's wielder.

This one. This one had survived to the end, held something in his eyes. "How could you do this?!? HOW?!?" Ah, such anger, such rage, such wonderfully boring and mundane dark sentiments and hatred, even though he was a so-called paragon of good and virtue. Perhaps this was it, after all? Death by someone so normal and human.

Then the most curious of things happened. The holy flames that kept him at bay died, the air bleeding thin. The look on the other man's face was priceless, both before and after he used a dagger to carve out his eyes, kicking him away as he roared in pain.

As the man tumbled away, Theios remained ignorant of his own pain and near-death, striding forward in ruined armor with blade still impaled upon his body, only able to see out his right eye. That was more than enough, though.

His own sword erupted in unholy flames, even as the world around him remained silent of the presence of the gods. Unholy flames from a source not so weak as those gods. Things had gone this way once before, all those many years ago. He could still remember it like it was yesterday...

"Why...?"

Suddenly reminded of his temporary nemesis, he raised his blade high.

"Don't worry my friend. Even without your eyes, I'm sure you can still see the hells coming quite well."

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Who are you. What are you. Why do you scream at me?

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~Sharess on AmiaWiki~
Priestess, politician, prostitute
"[They] were moving in on me like Sharessans on a new broad in the bath house" - Tracer Bolt
AmiaWiki mod (mostly inactive)