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Avatar Trilogy

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Avatar Trilogy

Mensagem por Igor em Qua Nov 10, 2010 11:46 am

A Trilogia do Avatar é um romance de Richard Awlinson, que se passa no Tempo das Perturbações (Time of Troubles), em 1358 C.V.. Nele, os semideuses, deuses e elementais recebem várias punições de um ser muito mais poderoso que eles próprios, chamado Lorde Ao. Não se sabe a exata natureza de Ao, mas sim que atuou como protagonista da gênese dos Reinos.

Ao's will had been so great that he rose from the swirling mist of Chaos at the beginning of time and set about to create a balance between the forces of Law and Chaos. From this balance came life: first with the creation of the gods in the heavens, then with the mortals in the Realms.

O reconhecimento de que Ao está aquém das forças criadoras e que motivam todo o multiverso é quase que unicamente concebido por aqueles que estão além dos planos materiais ou primários, quais sejam estes, entre milhares, Toril (do cenário Forgotten Realms), Athas (Dark Sun), Krynn (Dragonlance), Oerth (Greyhawk). A resposta da verdadeira natureza deste conhecimento é desconhecida dos deuses, e possivelmente até mesmo do conhecimento do "overgod" Ao. Todavia, não por isso quero dizer que os filósofos e pensadores da questão não existam. Muito pelo contrário, eles movem a roda dos mundos com suas dúvidas, conceitos e vontades.

No romance, Ao deseja que as Tábuas do Destino (Tablets of Fate) sejam recuperadas de quem as roubou, pois elas mantém o equilíbrio entre a Ordem e o Caos em toda esfera de Toril e nos reinos planares das divindades relacionadas aos panteões que compõem o mesmo. Para tanto, os deuses foram exilados de seus reinos e afastados dos seus maiores poderes divinos e enviados para Faerûn na forma de avatares.


Última edição por Igor em Qua Nov 10, 2010 2:33 pm, editado 1 vez(es)
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Re: Avatar Trilogy

Mensagem por Igor em Qua Nov 10, 2010 12:22 pm

O trecho a seguir, que é o prólogo do livro, retrata bem a superioridade de Ao sobre seus vassalos.

PROLOGUE

Helm, He of the Unsleeping Eyes, God of Guardians, stood vigilant, watching his fellow gods. The assemblage was complete. Every god, demigod, and elemental was in attendance. The walls of the great pantheon that hosted the gods had long ago vanished, but the windows remained, hanging on the empty air, and through them Helm looked out onto a universe crumbling into decay. The pantheon, with its many unfinished altars, was located in the heart of the cancerous decay; it had been constructed on an isle that was only large enough to house the meeting place of the gods.

A path made of crumbling gray stepping stones floated outward across the sea of decay to a destination that lay beyond the vision of the gods. It was the only avenue of escape from the pantheon, but none of the gods had been foolish enough to take the first step upon those craggy stones, fearing the path might lead them to a place even more terrifying than this one.

The air around the isle was a white canvas dotted with ebon stars. Streaks of light, so bright that even the eyes of a god could not look into them for long, burned into the ivory tapestry. The streaks formed runes, and Helm shuddered as he read them.

All that has been, is gone. All we have known, all we have believed, is a lie. The time of the gods is at an end.

Then the runes vanished. Helm wondered if one of the summoned gods had sent the cryptic message in an effort to frighten the others, but dismissed the idea. He knew that the runes had been sent by a power greater than any of the gods around him.

Helm listened to the dull roar of thunder as mammoth gray clouds with veins of black lightning rolled in and shadows fell across the pantheon. The pure white sky was obscured by the clouds, and the stepping stones that drifted outward from the pantheon crumbled and fell away into the vast sea of decay.

Helm had been the first to be summoned. One moment he was in his temple, ruminating over his recent failings as guardian to Lord Ao. The next moment he was standing alone in the pantheon. Soon his fellow gods began to appear. The gods had seemed disoriented, weakened by the journey to this place that was apart from all that was known.

The summons had come wearing the face and form of that which each of the gods feared most. To Mystra, Goddess of Magic, it appeared as a harbinger of magical chaos. To the beautiful Sune Firehair, Goddess of Love and Beauty, it appeared as a haggard, cancer-ridden creature, crying out against its fate while delivering Sune to hers. To the Black Lord, Bane, the summons came in the guise of absolute love and understanding, its light searing his essence as it carried him from his kingdom.

Helm had only to shift his gaze slightly to see Lord Bane, Lady' Mystra, and Lord Myrkul in a heated discussion that climaxed with Mystra storming off to seek more appropriate company. Glancing in another direction, Helm saw Llira, Goddess of Joy, wearing a slightly worried expression, wringing her hands without thought, then catching herself and staring down at her hands in horror. Standing beside her, Ilmater, God of Suffering, could not contain a steady stream of laughter as he danced in place, whispering knowing comments to no one in particular.

As Helm studied the faces of the gods, a small group of deities who had not been affected so traumatically by the summons surrounded him. The God of Guardians tried to ignore the pleas of these gods, whose dignity apparently no longer mattered to them, as they whined and clawed at him for more information.
"My home was destroyed! My temple in the Planes was shattered!" God after god repeated the complaint, but Helm was deaf to their words.

"Ao has issued a summons. All will be made clear in time," Helm told each of them, but he soon grew tired of repeating himself and eventually warned the small group of gods away. Change was coming. Of that there could be no doubt. Helm concluded as he pondered the will of his immortal liege, Ao.

Ao's will had been so great that he rose from the swirling mist of Chaos at the beginning of time and set about to create a balance between the forces of Law and Chaos. From this balance came life: first with the creation of the gods in the heavens, then with the mortals in the Realms. Ao, Maker of All Things, had chosen Helm to be his right hand. And Helm knew that it was the power of Ao that brought the gods to this place of madness and confusion.

As Helm stood quietly in thought, Talos, God of Storms, surged forward. "An end to the trickery, I say! If our lord wishes to make a point, let him speak, let his wisdom fill our bankrupt hearts and empty minds!" Talos said "wisdom" with as much contempt as he could muster, but the others were not convinced. His fear was as evident as theirs.

The challenge of Talos was not met, and all who stood within arm's reach of the God of Storms moved away from him. In the silence that followed Talos's outburst there was an answer more unnerving than any proclamation; in the silence was heard the finality of Ao's judgement. It was then that the gods understood that their fate, whatever it would be, had been sealed long before this summoning. That terrible silence filled the great hall, but it was soon shattered.

"Keepers of the Balance, I address you one and all!"

It was Ao's voice, and in that voice was heard the power of a being so great that the gods fell to their knees in response. Lord Bane alone managed to place only one knee on the pantheon's cold floor.

"Most noble was your heritage! Yours was the power to stave off the ever-present threat of imbalance between Law and Chaos, and yet you chose to act like children, resorting to petty thievery in your quest for power..."

Bane suddenly wondered if the being who had given the gods life long ago had called his creations to this place to undo his mistake and begin anew.

"Extinction may be your future yet, Bane," Ao proclaimed, as if the Black Lord's thoughts had been spoken aloud. "But do not let it concern you, for that fate would be most merciful compared to what shall soon befall you — and the other gods that betrayed my trust."

It was Helm who then stepped forward. "Lord Ao, the tablets were in my keeping, let it be —"

"Silence, Helm, lest you suffer a fate such as theirs."

Helm turned and faced the assemblage of gods. "You should know your crime, at least. The Tablets of Fate have been stolen."

A beam of light erupted from the darkness and enveloped the God of Guardians. Wisps of white flame encircled Helm's wrists and ankles, and he was lifted up an unknowable distance, almost beyond the senses of the other gods, who gasped as they watched. Helm, who had never been borne off his feet before, grit his teeth helplessly as he stared into a patch of darkness greater than any darkness ever seen, a darkness that lived and sought to consume, a darkness that was the anger of Lord Ao.

"Stand you with your fellows and not your liege, good Helm?"

Through gritted teeth, the god responded. "Aye."

Suddenly Helm was cast down, his descent too quick and too brutal to be tracked by the senses of the other gods. Bloodied and bruised by the impact, Helm struggled to rise and again face his lord, but the task was beyond him. His fellow gods made no move to help him, nor did they meet his imploring eyes as he fell, face down, to the stone floor of the pantheon.

Occasional flashes of light revealed black bands of energy that moved ever closer to the gods.

"No longer will you sit in your crystal towers, looking down upon the Realms as if they had been created simply to amuse you."

"Exile," Bane murmured breathlessly.

"Aye," said Lord Myrkul, God of the Dead, a chill finding the core of even his lifeless soul.

"No longer will you ignore the very purpose for which you were given life! You shall know your transgressions and remember them for all time. You have sinned against your liege and you will he punished."

Bane felt the coils of darkness approach.

"The thief!" Mystra shouted. "Let us discover the identity of the thief for you and return the tablets!"

Tyr, God of Justice, raised his arms imploringly. "Let us not pay in kind for the foolishness of but one of our brethren, Lord Ao!" Darkness, like the lash of a whip, slashed across Tyr's face, and he fell back, screaming and clutching at his now useless eyes.

"You see nothing but the salvation of your own skins!"

The gods were silent, and the dark bands darted between them, drawing the gods closer to each other, as if herding them together to create a single target for Ao's wrath. The gods cried out — some in fear, some in pain. They were not accustomed to such treatment.

"Cowards. The theft of the tablets was the final affront. You will return them to me. But first, you will pay the price for a millennium of disappointment."

Bane stood his ground against the bands of energy, and suddenly the biting strands of darkness erupted into blinding flames of cold blue light that seared him. He turned from the light and caught a glimpse of Mystra as she, too, held her ground, a slight smile etched across her features. Then the bands caught Bane, and his world became pain such as only a god could imagine or endure.

After an eternity of torment, all the gods were caught in the dark bands of power and drawn tightly together. Only then did the deities find movement and thought once again possible.

And fear. This they knew intimately.

Finally, Lord Talos managed to speak. His voice was weak and hoarse, his words escaping in frightened gasps. "Is it over? Could that have been all?"

Suddenly the pantheon seemed to vanish and the gods, still bound together, found themselves staring full into the face of what frightened each the most — chaos, pain, love, life, ignorance. And each god saw his or her own destruction there, as well.

"That was but a taste of my anger. Now drink deep from the goblet of a true god's rage!"

A sound was heard then unlike any other.

The gods screamed.

Mystra struggled to retain some vestige of control as she found herself plummeting through a fantastic vortex that defied reality. She suffered unbearable pain as godhood was ripped from her. But the Goddess of Magic was not alone in her torments. All the gods, save Helm, were cast from the heavens.
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Re: Avatar Trilogy

Mensagem por Convidad em Qua Nov 10, 2010 4:51 pm

save Helm, hihi.

8D


Tá, essa será uma leitura de férias CERTA.

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A chegada de Bane no Forte Zhentil

Mensagem por Igor em Qui Nov 11, 2010 6:18 pm

Esta é uma passagem foda. Está logo no começo também, logo depois da chegada de Mystra.

In Zhentil Keep, the heaviest rainfall the city had suffered in almost a year engulfed the narrow streets, but Trannus Kialton did not notice. Nothing could disturb his slumber. The shutters of the small rented room he shared with the beautiful but lonely Angelique Cantaran, wife of the most wealthy importer of spices for the city, quaked unnoticed against the forces that raged outside. Only a cool breeze that seemed to suddenly acquire form and coalesce in the darkness threatened to wake him, and then only when it had already floated across the room to the sleeping man and vanished between his partly opened lips.

Thunder roared, and Trannus dreamed of a darksome place where only the cries of the dying brought warmth to the resident lord, who was himself a shadowy figure on a throne made of jewel-encrusted skulls. Fiery red vapors flitted in and out of the skulls' eye sockets, then vanished within the opening and closing jaws of other skulls that seemed to scream even now, long after their agonies should have ended.

The figure on the throne of skulls was too large to be a man, yet it had a vaguely human appearance. What garments it wore were black on black, with only the occasional streak of red to break the monotony. On its right hand, the creature wore a jewel-encrusted gauntlet, streaked with blood that would never wash off.

The room surrounding the throne was enshrouded by bluish mists. Although there seemed to be no walls, no ceilings or floors, there was a sense of oppression that smothered those unfortunate enough to be delivered to the hellish room before their final moments of life elapsed and they looked upon the true face of the hideous creature on the throne.

Yet now the fearsome being seemed content to sit alone, staring down into a golden chalice filled with the tears of his enemies. The lord of this terrible place, the god Bane, suddenly looked up at the dreamer and raised his cup in a toast.

Trannus woke with a start, gasping for air. It was as if he had been so engrossed in the dream that he had forgotten to breathe. Madness, he thought, and yet his hands and feet were numb, and he had to climb out of bed to stamp full sensation back into his tingling limbs. He felt a sudden urge to dress, and the cold touch of leather soon fell upon his skin. Angelique stirred, reaching out to him with a grin.

"Trannus," she called, unsatisfied with only the warmth his body had left upon the silken sheets as a companion. She reached up and brushed the hair from her eyes. "You're dressed," she said, as if trying to convince herself of that fact and fathom a reason at the same time.

"I must go," he said simply, although he had no idea of his destination. All he felt was an urgent need to be free of the confines of the building.

"Hurry back," she said, settling into the comforting embrace of the feather-soft mattress, her dreamy expression echoing her confidence that he would return.

Trannus looked at her and was suddenly taken with the knowledge that he would never see her again. He closed the door behind him as he left.

Outside, the heavy rain soaked him to the skin, and in flashes of lightning the streets of the city were revealed to him. He appeared to be alone, but he knew better than to trust appearances. The streets of Zhentil Keep were never truly deserted; they simply bore the illusion with the practiced grace only cutthroats and thieves could have taught them. In Zhentil Keep, the shadows lived and breathed, and monsters chattered in sharp, high-pitched tones from their dark hiding places. Strangely, he was left alone and allowed passage through the dangerous labyrinth as if the way had been cleared before him by a herald none would dare stand against.

Throughout his journey, Trannus thought of the dream. He imagined the streets were slick with the blood of his enemies, and the rain that fell caressed him like the tears of their widows. Lightning struck and loosed a section of a wall nearby, and debris crashed to the ground around him. And still the cleric traveled on, oblivious to everything except the siren call that gave strength to his weary legs, purpose to his sodden brain, and desire to his deadened heart. Trannus only wondered why he, a lowly priest in the servitude of Bane, had been given this vision, blessed with this desire.

Ahead lay the Temple of Bane, and Trannus stopped for a moment, mesmerized by the sight. The Dark Temple was a silhouette against the night sky, its imposing towers jutting upward like black serrated blades waiting to impale an unsuspecting enemy. Even when lightning flashed and the world was cast in sharp light, the temple was black, revealing not a single crevice in its granite facade. Rumors abounded that the temple had been constructed in Acheron, Bane's dark dimension, then brought to Zhentil Keep, stone by stone, a river of blood and suffering the glue that cemented the temple together.

Trannus was surprised to find no guard stalking the temple's perimeters. Then he heard the drunken laughter of the guard and his companion as it drifted toward him from the shadows. The sound filled him with a rage that was echoed by the storm's fury.

Trannus looked up, and through the rain he could see heavy clouds race across the sky, moving impossibly in directions counter to one another. Suddenly the sky exploded and the great white clouds parted as streaks of black lightning issued forth. The heavens were on fire, the stars struck from view. Huge spheres of flame were hurtled from the sky, and one fireball came sailing down, ever closer, and grew to horrible proportions as Trannus realized it was headed for the temple.

There was no time to shout out a warning before the sphere struck the Dark Temple. Trannus was rooted to the spot, and he watched as the granite spires glowed reddish yellow, then sank into a molten heap. Bits of debris sailed to each side of him, but he was left unharmed. Then the cleric watched as the walls collapsed inward and the Dark Temple glowed red, the blood and torment of its past victims seemingly taking form and bubbling over as brick, metal, and glass were reduced to glowing ash and slag in a matter of seconds.

In the end, there was nothing but a flaming ruin where once there had stood a temple. Trannus moved forward, toward the wreckage of the temple, and wondered if he were still dreaming. The steaming, molten slag beneath his feet did not burn him, and the raging fires that filled his sight merely crackled and died away as he approached, allowing him a pathway to the center of the disaster. The flames reformed and resumed their dance once he had passed.

From the partially standing walls, Trannus knew that he was close to the throne room of his lord, and he stopped as the object of his quest rose up before him. The black throne of Bane had been left untouched. Soft, white mists drifted toward Trannus, and phantom shapes gently encircled the priest's wrists as he was led forward without force until he stood directly before the throne. It was a throne only a giant could have rested in comfortably, and beside it sat a replica, this one constructed for the use of a man.

The jewel-encrusted gauntlet from Trannus's dream rested upon the smaller throne.

Trannus smiled, and for the first time, his heart knew joy, his spirit release. This was his destiny. He would rule an empire of darkness. His dreams of power had been rewarded.

Dutifully he picked up the gauntlet and felt tremors of power surge through him. One of the jewels suddenly became a single red eye that flashed open, then followed the movements of the priest, although Trannus was blissfully unaware of the trespass upon his private ceremony.

Arcane rivulets of gold and silver flowed down from the gauntlet when Trannus gingerly slipped it on, and a biting pain pierced his arm as an evil fire corrupted his bloodstream. A darkness closed over the cleric's wildly beating heart, and his blood became ice that flowed to his brain and washed away any traces of the man's former consciousness. The words "my lord" escaped from Trannus's lips as his soul was exiled from his body in a puff of white mist.

The Black Lord looked out through frail human eyes and felt a sudden weakness. He clutched the black throne for support and his mind, now pitifully limited to human understanding, reeled as he attempted to comprehend the changes taking a human avatar had wrought. No longer could he see beyond the mortal veil, and read or influence the moment and manner of his followers' deaths. No longer could he see beyond lies and hapless circumstance, or bore heavily into a man's soul and know the truth only found in the lower consciousness. And no longer could he witness a near infinite number of occurrences simultaneously, commenting and acting upon them in perfect concert as he occupied his mind with other pursuits.

"Ao, what have you done?" Bane cried, and felt the soft stone of the throne crumble beneath his powerful fingers. He struggled to maintain control of his rage. The others would come soon, the hundreds of other worshipers upon whom he had visited the dream, and Bane would have to be prepared.

The God of Strife sat upon the small black throne, attempting to ignore its counterpart that had once been his. My followers will look upon me and see only a human form, he thought, one of their kind gone mad with claims of visitations and possession by their god. They will put this body to death, once they finish torturing it for information on who truly leveled this temple.

The Black Lord knew then that he had to appear more than human in order to inspire his worshipers. He recalled the visage he had given himself in the dream and set about making it flesh. From contact with his followers, Bane knew that a treasure room was located somewhere beneath the temple, and he formed the image of a jade circlet and delivered a spell that would transport the object to his waiting hand. A moment later, armed with the circlet, he began to recite a shape change spell, his movements perfect and graceful, just as the spell required.

He began with the eyes, setting the orbs aflame within the human's skull. The skin surrounding the avatar's eyes could not accept the strain, so Bane altered the pale flesh until it became black and charred, then leathery with flaps that partially revealed secret hidden ruinations. The skull itself then grew sharp spikes that jutted from the blackened flesh, and the visage realigned itself to the most bestial configurations imaginable while still remaining human.

Bane's hands became talons capable of rending flesh and bone or shattering steel. It became painful to wear the gauntlet, but Bane knew he had no choice if he wished to impress his worshipers. And he could already hear the plodding footfalls of his priests, soldiers, and mages as they made their way through the ruins toward the shattered throne room.

Bane sensed that something was wrong with the spell. He was certain he had performed the casting perfectly, yet the force that moved through him, effecting the changes he desired, had built up momentum and would not subside, despite his mental commands. The air surrounding him felt as if it had solidified, and would soon crush the life from him. He knew a moment of pure human panic and sought to end the spell. Instead, Bane found his new form dressed in black leathers and caked with unholy reddish blood.

The Black Lord shattered the circlet in an attempt to negate the spell, which had moved completely beyond his control. Instead of regaining his human form, Bane found that the effects of the spell had not vanished and he retained the monstrous form he had created.

Bane did not have time to ponder the spell's curious behavior. The first of his flock appeared, armed and ready to destroy the desecrater of the Dark Temple. The Black Lord didn't even give his follower a chance to speak before he stood upon the throne and spoke.

"Kneel before your god," Bane said simply, and held the sacred gauntlet up over the hideously grim head of his avatar. The cleric instantly recognized the artifact and did as he was told, a shocked expression on his face. As more worshipers rushed into the ruined temple, they did the same.

Bane looked into the fearful faces of his followers and held back the laughter that raged within him.
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Re: Avatar Trilogy

Mensagem por Convidad em Qui Nov 11, 2010 6:25 pm

Igor, eu fiquei frustrado com a história dos deuses em Forgotten Realms. Porra, Helm mata uma divindade FODA, Tyr mata Helm, Tyr morre, Torm se torna Divindade Maior...

Helm morre poucos anos depois de quando rola nossa aventura! =(

Por sinal, me tire uma dúvida de jogo... Quando uma divindade morre, o que acontece com clérigos, paladinos, druidas e quaisquer outras classes possuidoras de poderes advindos dos deuses? Eles perdem seus poderes?
Também, qual é o nível do contato dos mortais com os seus deuses? Como os mortais, clérigos, sacerdotes etc, sabem que sua divindade pereceu, ou que certos deuses são aliados ou inimigos? Há um site de fofoca medieval atualizado por bardos/clérigos?

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Re: Avatar Trilogy

Mensagem por Igor em Qui Nov 11, 2010 7:54 pm

Ogng escreveu:Igor, eu fiquei frustrado com a história dos deuses em Forgotten Realms. Porra, Helm mata uma divindade FODA, Tyr mata Helm, Tyr morre, Torm se torna Divindade Maior...

Helm morre poucos anos depois de quando rola nossa aventura! =(

Leu spoiler da QUARTA versão de D&D, né? Agora leia aquela discussão sobre a alma no tópico de Vampiro, especificamente no final deste. Ou seja, CAGARAM com vontade na história SIMPLESMENTE para adequar um cenário a um sistema...

Portanto, exclua segurando o shift, crie um arquivo sem conteúdo com o mesmo nome no mesmo local, delete também, e depois formate isso tudo de sua mente com a maior profundidade possível! Deveria ter feito como eu, que quando comecei a ler, parei antes de terminar.


Por sinal, me tire uma dúvida de jogo... Quando uma divindade morre, o que acontece com clérigos, paladinos, druidas e quaisquer outras classes possuidoras de poderes advindos dos deuses? Eles perdem seus poderes?

Na verdade uma divindade nunca morre no sentido estrito da palavra. Quando eu digo nunca é porque é quase impossível de isto acontecer; quando dizem que morre, é porque só não é mais considerado entre os deuses com seus domínios próprios. Quando um deus "morre", seu corpo descomunal se "menta-materializa" (porque o plano é composto de pensamentos) no Plano Astral.

"While matter on the Astral is sparse, occasionally a traveler will come across a mass of rock that was pulled in from another plane when a conduit initially formed. Much less often, however, the traveler can look closely at one of these rocky masses an note a peculiar, almost familiar shape of essence about it. Such floating rock may actually be a power. A power? A god? A deity? How can a floating rock be a power?

Well, sometimes, a god's brought low. Some think that the power's dead, but that ain't really so."

Como um deus é um ser fruto de sua vontade, mas, principalmente, da vontade de quem o adora - através do conceito que representa, idéias e a própria crença -, quando é "morto", não há lugar senão no Plano Astral para adormecer.

Há dois meios de um deus "morrer". Pela violência física, que só pode ser causada por outro poder divino, e que raramente acontece, pois enfraquece muito os envolvidos, e pela perda da fé de seus adoradores, cujos sintomas decorrem do enfraquecimento do poder da vontade do deus (menos aparições e milagres próprios ou por meio de seus sacerdotes).

No final de 1372, Helm já estava muito enfraquecido pela falta de seguidores, desde depois do Tempo das Perturbações. Muitos dos seus devotos "migraram" de fé para a recente religião Tormita. Se não fosse isso, dificilmente Tyr "mataria" Helm. Não que Tyr fosse fraco, mas, entre outros motivos, dificilmente ganharia do braço direito de Ao, certo?

É por isso que um devoto precisa PROSELITIZAR - passar sua fé, converter, obter devotos para seu deus, agir conforme o caráter de seu deus para que quem o veja saiba que aquilo é apenas um reflexo do mesmo! É uma verdadeira "política divina", mas que funciona como deveria!

E, respondendo a pergunta, SIM. Seus sacerdotes perdem "seus poderes", que na verdade não são seus, mas apenas canalizados através deles pela divindade. Mas o que acontece é que outro deus reinvidica o domínio do "portfolio" (traduzido para domínio) agora vacante, e assim seus sacerdotes também. Foi o que aconteceu com Cyric, que reinvidicou os portfolios Strife e Tyranny de Bane, mas acabou perdendo o último para Iyachtu Xvim, o Filho de Bane. Mas na prática não é um pensamento linear para os sacerdotes. Alguns deuses permitem que eles continuem adorando o antigo deus, mas concedendo suas magias (através do novo portfolio), justamente para converter os mais ortodoxos, por diversão ou por outros planos obscuros. Mas pode acontecer também, como é o caso de nossa campanha, de existir VÁRIOS Banitas ultra-ortodoxos (que adoram um deus que não concede milagre - magia - algum), Banitas apenas ortodoxos, que deram outra interpretação para a morte do deus, e etc...

Também, qual é o nível do contato dos mortais com os seus deuses? Como os mortais, clérigos, sacerdotes etc, sabem que sua divindade pereceu, ou que certos deuses são aliados ou inimigos? Há um site de fofoca medieval atualizado por bardos/clérigos?

Na verdade é o contrário. O deus que faz contato com seus devotos. A resposta depende muito do deus. Existem deuses que fazem contatos numa base diária; outros contatos mais distantes, como Helm; alguns para protegerem diretamente seus altos clérigos (em tese, nível 15+) de um perigo mortal. Isto depende muito do humor geral do deus. Mas é certo que TODO deus fala diretamente com quem guia sua fé naquele plano (diretamente, mas pode ser por meio de charadas, ou como o caráter ou portfolio do deus for). Como pôde ver na segunda passagem do livro, Bane contactou seu clérigo por meio do sonho - o que é muito comum -, mas é tudo muito relativo. Pode ser muito sutil, como a presença de uma única rosa branca que cresceu na porta de um castelo ou um diamante preso na fresta de um muro - que são sinais de aprovação de Torm. Além disso, há milagres (magias divinas) como Comunhão (Commune) que permitem um contato direto com o deus.

Os sacerdotes sentem que há algo errado quando não tem contato com o deus. Seja por estar em algum plano que não haja ligação com o deus em questão ou por outro motivo. Ele não sabe, a não ser o mais poderosos, que seu deus "morreu" de fato. Sabem que ele deixa de falar com eles, de conceder magias, de ouvir suas preces (commune), e acabam, por fim, abandonando-o (que é a segunda forma de um deus morrer).

Se um deus é inimigo ou aliado, apenas pela doutrina da própria igreja e o conhecimento em Religião. Vale o bom senso do devoto em analisar um possível conflito entre os domínios dos deuses em questão - se forem antagônicos, certamente serão inimigos.

Fofocas medievais? Você tem um Mestre online no fórum. Não se preocupe hehiaueh
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Re: Avatar Trilogy

Mensagem por Igor em Sex Nov 12, 2010 12:13 pm

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