Got inspired over the weekend to create a new character for my 99 cent novellas. This guy is a Cleric- a holy priest that wields might and magic. Take a look:

99 Cent Novellas: Path of the Cleric, Book One

All ideas and concepts by The Disfigured, 2013

“’Sadness and hate blanket much of our world. There are souls wandering the planet, trapped between blood and spirit. Some are good. Victims of unfortunate circumstances, terrible incidents, and sometimes? A grisly demise. Some are evil. Twisted, terrible monstrous shades that barely can still be called…earthly.’”

“’Necromancy is a magical art that taps into the pain and agony of the dead, summoning such spirits and the emotions they carry with them in order to help, defend, and guide each and every Necromancer here. Remember this, acolytes. The dead that we call forth for our aid are doing us a favor. They are not our slaves. And in exchange for helping us, it is our duty to guard the land of the dead, and insure that each and every noble soul has an opportunity to find rest, and face the judgment of their god. We are the Necromancers from the Order of Glendoul, and we. Are the Keepers of the Dead.’”

The Cleric sat at his kitchen table, staring intently over a wooden goblet filled with warm tea. His armor exchanged for more relaxed outfit of robes, his mace resting next to him on the table, his hand near its grip. There was much to be done in Melias. Many wrongs to be righted, many dark deeds unpunished, but for now? His morning cup of tea was getting cold, and his disposition wasn’t fairing any better.

He missed the Temple. The jungle, and its people. But the need to destroy evil burned inside him. He was not a Paladin. No, he was  Cleric, a priest trained in both combat and the divine arts. He did not quest for righteousness with blind zeal. He watched both sides of the line, and walked the middle, clad in steel and silken robe.

This Cleric was religious like most. But he was also different. Wisdom lurked behind his eyes, as well as a sense of awareness that kept his mind and soul open to the churning cauldron of emotion that was Melias. He did not waste time with ritual, ceremonies, or sermons. He travelled to places of great evil and darkness and sought only to bring light and to scatter the demons lurking in the black.

But today was different. He could feel turmoil in the heart of Melias. He could hear the miserable wailing of lost spirits calling out incoherent and tortured gibberish. Quickly, he refocused his mind and shut the trap door where he tiptoed through the land of the dead. The Order of Glendoul were making the Golem once more. He was certain of it, and he knew that he must prepare quickly, or Melias could fall into a time of great darkness.

Of course it’s a first draft, but I’d love some feedback.