How I Became an Evangelist

You'd like to know about my past? I'm sure you've heard it all before. Serin is a place of struggle and slaughter. I learned that at a young age, as so many before me. Roving bands of travelers sometimes destroy the entire population of a town or city in a matter of minutes, not to gain territory or send a message in war, but for just a little bit more power, a tiny amount of gold, or perhaps only to hear the fleeting screams of the dying. My mother and father operated a small food stand in the country side near Ofcol. We had our own family stories of tragedy and perseverance as did all the people we knew. There was an uncle and several cousins on my mother's side who were accidentally murdered by a raging duergar who carried a giant black battleaxe. Uncle Fred and the boys just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The angry muscle bomb's target was a Justice who was passing through the fields north of Seringale on his way back to his post. From what we heard, that duergar never even realized he left an annihilated family in his bloody wake. I didn't tell that story because it affected me deeply, it's just an example. We knew the world is dangerous and we accepted that. Overall we were able to get by. Like most of the weaker people around Serin we followed a weak god. She goes by the name Myria. I would help Mother to make the floral wreaths for the feast days, and we would cook wonderful food meant for special occasions. Father would read a sacred liturgy in front of everyone during the proceedings and for a while after that everything seemed quiet and somber and full of light. Then one day I came home alone from a trip to the Ofcol market. Only about half of father was around, but I assume that mother and my two brother's corpses had been more successfully animated by the powers of unlife. I couldn't finish him off right then, I had to go outside the remains of our blasted cottage and retch for a few minutes first. After that I dropped the Myria nonsense completely. Obviously this was not a goddess who was suited to my place in Serin. I was alone now, in a hostile world, and she was mostly good at making you feel nice when you're safe around people you love. There are other gods A man mumbled that in his sleep while I was robbing his house for food, and it stuck with me. I wasn't looking for other gods, I was clawing to stay alive and nourished. The right god though, I began to think, might be able to grant me real power and protection. Maybe I could even gain the kind of power that unnamed necromancer had wielded over the decaying flesh of my loved ones. I hated them at first, whoever they were, for the cruelty of what they did to me, for shattering my world and killing the family I held so dear. After a year or two though, my perspective changed. I realized that anything taken away so easily could not really have mattered as much as I thought it did, even if that thing was my own parents and siblings. I finally understood that the necromancer had done me a favor. They had freed me from the delusions of a weak priestly family of a weak god and brought me to the precipice of a better way of living (or perhaps of existing? As long as that remains necessary). I found a book tucked away in a loft. It was about the ancient wars and the Justice cabal. In its pages I discovered the name of Vhrael. He was a Drow, evil as all sensible people tend to be, who nonetheless saw fit to dedicate himself to the cause of Justice. He spent a long full life campaigning for his cause, standing strong for his righteous values and killing all lawbreakers who came his way. Then when his life was over and done, the gods revealed to him that it was all a joke, a lie perpetrated by corrupt officials who murdered his parents as a cruel trick to get him to dedicate his considerable skill and power to their organization. Vhrael found out too late that power is the only thing that matters in Serin, and causes are all empty lies or cynical tools of control. Because of his example these are lessons we don't have to learn for ourselves as we walk this land as mortals. We should all be thankful for that. As soon as I read that the dark Lord Vhrael had become a deity, I immediately began worshipping him. I knew he would understand me as I have grown to understand him. I knew he would give me the power I thirsted for, if only I had the will to take it. I was right on both counts. The dark Lord has granted me potent magics in exchange for my undying devotion. As the story of his life reminds us however, magic and skill alone aren't power, these are tools. Deception is the firmest path to power. The forces that killed our Lord's family and wasted his life never defeated him in battle. All praise be given to him who has learned.