Longetalos writes "Not a story of common priests, this tale demonstrates the miracles performed by the monks of Pelor.
Author: Richard Di Ioia
Brother of the Sun God
By: Richard Di Ioia (email@example.com)
(Used with Permission. Do not repost without obtaining prior permission from the author.)
The monk was pleased on this fine day. The face of his god shone down on him from above as he walked through the gates of Hochoch. Since he left the monastery he had traveled for a few weeks by foot to get here. This city was the perfect spot for him to put into practice the skills his god had granted him.
As the late winter wind whipped by him, the monk tightened his white cloak to keep himself warm. The monk approached on of the guards at the gatehouse. The guard was dressed for war, wearing chain mail and a religious symbol with the seven bolts of Heironeous emblazoned on it.
"Telchur blows strongly today, doesn’t he friend." Spoke the monk in a friendly tone.
"He does indeed. His last gasps before he passes on the weather to his daughter. So how can Hochoch help Pelor today?" Asked the guard.
"I am looking for shelter for a few days. I hear that there is a need for Pelor's services in this town. Can you please direct me to an inn. Not too expensive though, my funds are sorely lacking and I will have to rely on charity in exchange for my services."
"Of course. Just follow this road and the inn will be on your left. It is called the Fiery Maiden. Many mercenaries reside there and will surely have need of your special talents."
The monk walked down the cobbled street, quickly drawing attention from the inhabitants of the city. The monk was a striking figure in comparison to the residence of Hochoch. Although he wore no weapons, a strange enough occurrence in this town, his uniqueness was in his physical appearance. He was close to 6 feet tall and broad of girth. He had a handsome and strong face, but with features softened by kindness. His long strides and mannerism denoted a man of strength and in prime health. He walked proudly through the streets of the city with a holy symbol of Pelor swaying back and forth on a gold chain around his neck. When he neared the Fiery Maiden, he made a silent prayer to his god and walked through the entryway.
The inside of the inn was dark and smoky. There was grumbling and muttered curses as the patrons shrank back from the light of the sun and the brisk wind that entered with the monk. After the door was closed and the eyes of the patrons re-adjusted to the gloom, the room grew silent once the nature of the monk was known. The soldiers and mercenaries in the inn had seen followers of Pelor before, but never in these kinds of surroundings. The monk was oblivious to the stares thrown his way. The monk walked up to the main bar.
"Good innkeeper, I require a room for a few days. I do not have much money, but I am strong and for a short time I can do some chores around the inn to earn my keep. Once I have earned enough money by doing Pelor's work I will repay you." Promised the monk.
The innkeeper looked at the monk suspiciously. Priests of different gods had routinely come into his inn and tried to convert his patrons. It was always bad for business having a meddlesome priest accosting his paying customers.
"Sorry Father, we're all full. And I have all the help I need." Responded the innkeeper.
"I understand good innkeeper." The monk turned to leave the inn.
"Wait one moment priest." Shouted one of the mercenaries. "I have a deal for you."
The monk paused and turned to the mercenary. "What deal is that? Before you state your terms, I must inform you that I am not a priest but a monk. As such, I am forbidden to perform many of the ceremonies associated with Pelor, including giving mass."
"Bah, I don't care for religious ceremonies much. The deal is that I'll pay for your room and food for a month if you heal my arm." As the mercenary spoke these words he held up the stump of his arm. The arm had been removed at the elbow and then seared with fire to stop the blood loss.
"That I can try to do. Unfortunately, I cannot accept payment in exchange for the gifts of Pelor. Allow me to try and heal your arm and if Pelor finds you worthy of his gift your arm will become whole." As he spoke these words the monk walked over to injured mercenary and placed his hands on the stump. The monk started chanting prayers to Pelor. After 10 minutes of praying, the monk silently withdrew his hands from the stump. As he did so, the stump began to elongate and gave off a bright yellow glow. A few moments later the mercenary's arm was whole once again.
The mercenary looked at his arm with obvious happiness on his face. The monk smiled as well, for the mercenary's look of pleasure and the joy of healing gave meaning to the monk's life. The monk thanked Pelor once again for blessing him with the ability to heal. The mercenary took his eyes off his arm long enough to ask the monk a question.
"So, you won't accept payment for this service you have given me?" asked the mercenary.
"No, I cannot sully the gift of Pelor by accepting personal gains." Responded the monk.
"Well in that case, consider this a charitable donation to Pelor. These funds are to be used to house and feed the followers of Pelor so that they may further his goals of healing." And with these words, the mercenary tossed the monk abag of coins.