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The acrid scent of battle smoke hung heavy on the crisp mountain air. Theon, a hulking warrior with a shaved head and a beard the color of sun-bleached bone, knelt amidst the carnage. His chainmail bore the scars of countless battles, a testament to his years as a mercenary. Yet, today, a different kind of wound gnawed at him – a spiritual emptiness.

He had prayed to countless deities in his travels, each god a fleeting hope in the face of danger. He had prayed for victory, for strength, for the safety of his companions, but the answers, if any, came in whispers rather than roars. Today, however, silence was his only response. His last prayer, uttered over the fallen body of his closest friend, Kai, remained unanswered.

Theon slammed his fist against the rocky ground, a guttural cry of frustration escaping his lips. "Who... who am I supposed to pray to? Who even cares if we live or die up here?"

A voice, like the sigh of the wind through ancient pines, resonated in his mind. "There is always someone who cares, Theon."

He whipped around, searching for the source, but found only the desolate mountain peak and the endless sky. Doubt gnawed at him. Was this grief-induced madness?

The voice came again, this time clearer, filled with a quiet strength. "Look within, Theon. Look for the flame that burns even in the harshest winter."

Theon closed his eyes, focusing on the cold gnawing at his heart. Then, a flicker – a memory. Kai, sitting by the campfire, his face illuminated by the warm glow, a gentle smile etched on his lips. He wasn't just a skilled fighter; he was a protector, fiercely loyal and always ready with a helping hand.

Suddenly, the flame in Theon's heart intensified, not with anger, but with a newfound purpose. Opening his eyes, he saw the world bathed in a new light. He looked down at his calloused hands, hands that had taken lives but also protected the weak. Hands that could build as well as break.

He understood. His god wasn't a deity perched on a distant cloud; it was the spirit of resilience, of loyalty, of unwavering protection that resided within him and those like him. It was the flame that kept burning against all odds.

Theon rose, a newfound strength coursing through him. He wouldn't pray for victory anymore. He would fight for it, not just for himself, but for Kai, for all those who fought for a better tomorrow. He would be the embodiment of the flame, a beacon of courage in the face of despair.

Theon, now a cleric not by the name of a god, but by the fire in his heart, raised his head to the sky. He wouldn't be alone. He had found his purpose, his god, and a legacy to honor. "Thank you lord" Theon said as he released his grip on the holy symbol hung from his neck.

Cleric Class Dice

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