Elemental Clerics (EAFW)

: Grak and his bandits sacked the nomads' wagon in seconds. They had found little of value, and the women and children huddling together only angered Grak more.
: "Where is your treasure?" he shrieked. "Surely even sniveling dogs like you must have a bone tucked away for a stormy season!"
: One of the women shielded her child and pointed to a barrel on the back of their ruined wagon. "There! There is our treasure! Take it and let us be."
: Grak turned his head slowly, watching her for signs of deception. He had learned long ago that nomadic women were 85 capable in combat as their men. He tore the skin that covered the barrel, hoping to find a few scraps of metal or hides, or other valuable goods, but inside there was only murky water, contaminated with debris and the sand that had seeped in from the desert.
: "Aaaaah!" he screamed. "This is no treasure, woman! This is a bucket of slop fit only for beasts and nomads!"
: The woman's eyes grew as big as ceramic pieces. A barrel of water in this desert was worth more than its weight in gold—these men must be mad from the sun. She put her hands deep inside her robe, searching for the dagger hidden within its folds.
: "Keep your blade where it is, woman, or I'll be giving you a taste of mine!" Grak roared as his frustration grew. He knew his bandit companions would not be satisfied with the measly belongings of the nomads, and they might even take out their anger on him. What the needed was a show of force to keep them all in line. He grabbed the lip of the barrel and slit its restraining cord with one quick slash of his knife.
: "Here is what I think of your treasure!" Grak pulled the barrel from the wagon and let it smash into the rocky soil. In moments, enough water to quench a hundred thirsts vanished in to the scorched and greedy earth. Grak waited to see the woman s reaction. It would make him feel good to see shock and horror creep across her leathery features.
: But when he looked into her narrow, brown eyes, he saw only the satisfied gleam of revenge. She was looking past him...
: Grak turned. Standing on a rock only a few feet away was a tall figure dressed in flowing blue robes and carrying a crude spear. Long, brown hair cascaded down, flowing over his broad shoulders. His watery blue eyes frothed with rage.
: "You would spill the life's blood of the land for the sake of terror? he shrilled.
: Grak waved his blade slowly around his head, giving the signal for his men to attack, but with one gesture of his battered staff the stranger stopped the brigands in their tracks. He raised the staff once more and looked to the heavens. He muttered something in a language Grak didn't understand, and then leapt down from his rocky perch.
: "You will leam the value of water, desert rat—and then you will die." Grak stumbled back and smashed his head on the ruined barrel. When he cleared his vision, the stranger and the nomads had vanished into the night.
: He stood and inspected his men. Strangely, they were still motionless. Grak felt a burning thirst in his throat and undid the lip of his waterskin. He raised the container to his lips and almost choked when coarse sand poured down his throat Frantically, he took the skins from his men and tried to drink, his thirst growing stronger with each passing moment It was no good, for every skin he touched turned to sand.
: An hour later, Grak sat among the ruins of the nomads' wagon and watched as his men finally recovered from the stranger's spell. They were a day away from their spring, and the harsh sun was just edging over the horizon. As the realization of their situation finally dawned on them, Grak knew that he would be the first to die.
: — The Nomad's Tale
The clerics of Athas are like the rare snows that blanket the highest peaks of the Ringing Mountains. Though the cascading flakes all seem the same, the pattern of each is as different as the faces of men are from muls. Indeed, clerics are like snowflakes, each preaching preservation and the elements, but no two of them do it for the same reason.
This makes these environmental warriors an extremely diverse and interesting class to play. Some are merely power-hungry, some seek revenge, and some are honestly struggling to save their dying planet and reverse the ancient environmental disaster. Regardless of motivation, every cleric under the dark sun of Athas is a force to be reckoned with.
There are four types of elemental clerics—Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Each has its own peculiar strengths and weaknesses, as well as access to powers and spells not normally available to the others.
To be an elemental cleric, a player character (PC) cannot be in the service of two different elements. The planar powers rarely put their energies into a single, fragile mortal, and particularly not if that individual is working for another plane.
Clerics may be multiclassed, and cleric/wizards are all preservers. Defiler clerics are extremely rare and are living a contradiction—they are in constant danger of breaking their pacts. Note: The DM should only run these characters as nonplayer characters (NPCs).
Clerical PCs must have a Wisdom of at least 9, and they gain a 10% experience bonus if their Wisdom is 16 or higher.
All races may be clerics, although gith, halflings, and giants will usually be shamans.
A cleric's element is his holy symbol. Earth clerics use small chunks of granite, quartz, silver, gold, or any other kind of rare earth. Some embed the ore in a staff or a medallion, while others simply carry the piece itself.
Clerics of water always have a vial of pure water, worn about the neck or mounted on a staff. If the vial should break, the priest will have to find another and fill it by a create wateror similar spell.
Fire clerics use obsidian stone, often carved or melted into the skape of raging flames.
The priests of air are the most fortunate of the elemental clerics, since they are not tied down by material possessions. the holy symbol of air is a gentle puff of the cleric's own breath.