The Priest Class (EAFW)

The clerics and druids who inhabit the wastes of Athas are very different from those of a standard AD&D® campaign. They do not pray to patron deities, for they have no deities. Priests beneath the dark sun pledge themselves to the very powers that dwell on the elemental planes.
Like the Athasian deserts, the elemental powers are neither benevolent nor malevolent, caring only that their natural forms are preserved in the material world. This is the source of their power, and the impending ecological collapse in this realm has created an unusual and dynamic power struggle on the inner planes of the elementals. The priests of Athas are the pawns of this titanic struggle.
Resisting the efforts of the clerics and druids are the templars. The templars are men and women who have become the minions of the sorcerer-kings. They enforce the dictates of those wilful tyrants with fanatical fervor in exchange for small scraps of personal power. The kings and queens they serve are the greatest wizards Athas has ever known.
Tales of the ancient priest class are woven into the fabric of life on Athas—tales of power and greed, and wanton, wasteful destruction.
Jurgan, an earth priest who lives in the shadow of Hamanu of Urik, understands the nature of these titanic struggles all too well....
: Jurgan, the mad" priest of Urik. That's what some call him, behind" his back. A screaming lunatic prattling on about Jays so long ago they are far beyond the years of even the most ancien t elf. The templars ignore him as harmless—his ramblings too ridiculous even for the children who gather around him like awed little rasclinn.
: Still, his rants are ominous. And sad. And he tells one tale that will shiver the spine of any man.
: "Listen well, my children, "Jurgan said as he sat by the well and watched the blazing sun slide toward the horizon under an olive sky. "Once there was a time when men like myself were as common as injustice is today. Men and women, pledged to the earth, or to fire, or water, or the caressing wind, roamed the green fields of Athas in large numbers. Few are left now, a desperate and scattered few vainly trying to pump the lifeblood back into the dried-up well of our world.
: "Hamanu; the others, Kalak, Mibenay, Lalali-Puy, all of them, were but sandmites compared to the real power. Compared to the power of the earth and the sky. Then one day, they discovered a terrible, dark secret They fixed their little spells to feed from the energy of the elements, and they magnified their power a hundred-fold! The land and every living thing in the land fed their vile sorcery. And the land and its creatures were sucked dry by their defiling magic.
: "Elemental clerics and the mysterious druids banded together to oppose their blasphemous power, but it was too late. The dark sorcerers and their snivelling minions slew priests by the score, and the deserts ran red with blood. It would be the last such drenching our parched world would know.
: A few clerics remained when the slaughter was over—they were fortunate compared to the druids. The defilers knew as little about them as we know about the thoughts of a thri-kreen. The defilers did know that druidic power was derived from the land, and they assumed the druids were in competition for the same resources. This was not entirely true (no one knows more than I), but the sorcerer-kings and the thousands who now followed them saw the druids as a threat, and they became as kirre fighting over the same herd of erdlu. That which they did not understand they had to destroy.
: "Some hunters went into the wastes in search of the druids, but they met with little success. After years of fruitless searching, the sorcerer-kings began to ravage the land, knowing that the druids must come out of hiding to do battle or allow their lands to wither at the defilers touch. The tactic worked; the guardians emerged from their hiding places.
: "The years of frustration wore heavily on the defilers' brow, and the druids paid for their elusiveness in flesh and blood. When the winds of Athas no longer bore the screams of its defenders, the sorcerer-kings returned to their citadels." Jurgan sighed and paused, a distant, sad look creeping in to his ancient eyes.
: Finally, he continued, his voice hoarse and troubled. "The druids are no longer hunted in force. The kings believe there simply aren't enough left to threaten them. But the templars, and even some elves I know, have been well rewarded for delivering the heads of wasteland druids.
: "As for the elemental clerics, some say we are mad—driven insane by the chaotic beings we serve. But others see the gleam of patience in our eyes, and know that one day the clerics and druids of Athas will throw off the yoke of oppression and return the flowing rivers and the sprawling forests to our withered lands."
: A templar walked by Jurgan and his assembly. He patted the obsidian sword at his side and shot the madman a disapproving look. Jurgan suddenly screamed at the heavens, and the sorcerer-king's watchman moved on, apparently content that the old priest was indeed a raving fool. Jurgan smiled and tiny sparks of light flashed in his earthy eyes.
: —Jurgan's Tale