Legends of Belariath



Uvelcra is not the tallest of the Gods and yet he is forged within the lava sculpting itself. Hard of body and muscle, dark red wavy hair that was always set free and wild. Eyes of a smoldering grey to match the ash he could spew from his mountains and his favored weapon, a Hammer to slam into the mountain itself and make it do his bidding. His temper is often quick but easy to cool and his hearty laugh is oft heard booming along the mountains. He also has a penchant for the very young, whispering in their ears, startling them, watching them tease and taunt each other to a higher way of being. A mischief maker but a wise God indeed.


Long ago when this land of mountains and peeks and dipping valleys had held its first natives before the Valencians took root within its beauty, they worshipped the hot fires that lay just beneath the earth. Helped form it, shape it, gave it life. The natives were not some restless breed but more tribal and hardy and they saw within the spitting mountain and its volcanic heat to the lava that flowed, power of an incredible nature. Once the lava was cooled they noticed how well crops would grow, how streams had been diverted to run through their dipping valley home and thus began praising the mountain itself. Each year, nearly one third of their crops was brought to the lip of the volcano, left as an offering and prayed to that the God within that shook their earth and turned it to red hotness and cooled ash would smile upon them. Never take their small homes from them and keep them safe.

Uvelcra heard their cries. He stayed the mountains spewing lava, he let the earth rest and when it would come time, he would shake the ground around them to give warning. The tribe quickly learned the signs and would move their homes further from the mountain, wait until next year and move closer to plant again. It was a time of prosperity but with prosperity, came knowledge of other Towns. Of other races, of magic and mayhem and the people lost their way to the God. They stopped offering sacrifices, they stopped caring. Uvelcra grew very broody at this, he would shake the earth, let the mountains spew forth and demand they acknowledge his presence, yet.. it was all for naught. Eventually the people of this tribe moved away, finding they did not wish to share their crops. To aspire in their knowledge and not fear a God that could only control the hotness of the inner earth.

Uvelcra grew further broodish, his temper was as easily cooled as the lava that was left to flow and become solid after a few days, but because he had no one to brood too, he kept his secrets of the mountains, to himself. Soon however, he would not be alone. The fortuitous arrival of the Valencians heralded his undying curiosity and he wondered if they would recognize what he, Uvelcra could do.

They stumbled across his old Shrines and a very few statues made in the likeness of the God, and when he felt them ready, he shook the mountain to expose a crack within it and the wealth of Gems and Valacite that lurked, waiting for them to discover, to become awed, to use and in turn to spill their thankfulness upon him. Such went as planned; they soon began restoring the statues, creating new ones, much finer pieces of art, lovely shrines. They came to his mountain often, beseeched him to watch over them, to steer the Moriel that were so hated from their new beloved home. And Uvelcra, delivered. When a large group of Moriel came sneaking about, seeking out the smoke of campfires and stoked metal worked stores, the mountain began to rumble and a terrible fire and lava flow ensued. All Valencians heard it, ran to see and hear the screams of their enemy that would now no longer be able to pass from that vector.

Pleased were the people and soon once more gifts were brought to his mountain. Art work. Fruits. Poems, Gems set so delicately within chains. He became less broodish and more open. Whispering to the ones that most heeded within their works. He began leaving dreams for them, signs and soon the culture began to slyly change and worship.

The War with Nanthalion changed all.

History tells us that the great God of the mountains began with a small native tribe. Faded and then was recreated, pleased again by the Valencians settling within his guarded treasured mountains. Yet, while prosperity had finally become natural, normal in every day speech, Nanthalion itself began its invasion. Began its war and subsequently, brought the Valencians to their knees. Where was the God Uvelcra? He was watching, stroking that strong if not hot chin, watching the invaders, seeing the magic’s of fire, wind, earth and waters and letting his minds eye carry him towards a more prosperous future. With Elemental magic’s came the Fire elemental Mages... And in such, he was most agreeable. His servants within Valencia had been and done very well for him, but with these new invaders, could not he expand upon his worshippers? Oh yes. And the God of Fire and Mountains began to think and scheme and ultimately welcomed the invaders and a new prosperous group of worshipers.

The Story

Gareth of Valencia - Uvelcra

Gareth Narint was a blacksmith apprentice in Valencia. A blond with a short beard which often was filled with ash from the forge, he stood about five foot nine inches. He was broad of shoulder as many blacksmiths were, but within him lay a keen mind as well, sharp as the finest sword. On his infrequent trips to the tavern, he would periodically debate the different clerics and priests on matters of their beliefs and would often have them close mouthed and deliberating on a particular point that he had presented at the end of a round of drinks. He was well liked by his Master and would regularly be caught working late at night on the duties he was assigned. He was gifted with an abundance of talent but always would rework any creation to perfection. Often, this resulted in late nights and near exhausted sleeps.

One night while working on a commission for the town protectorate, he thought that he had heard his name called. He looked around but all the other apprentices had gone to sleep or to the tavern for a drink as was the nightly custom. Believing he had imagined the voice, he continued to work on the sword which he had started earlier in the day. The sword was a particularly ornery piece as this weapon would not pound out straight. There blade always wanted to curve. After working with the metal three times earlier, he submitted to the will of the metal and began working with the will of the metal. The sword was coming along well and he thought he would be able to finish this sword before the full ascension of the moon.

Gareth, repeated the imagined voice.

Who’s there? He spun brandishing the glowing sword in front of him, the hammer in his other hand, raised to strike. No one was behind him or anywhere else in the smithy. He searched to assure himself. He returned to the forge to continue working on the sword, frustrated at his childish imagination. He pounded against the metal again and realized that he would need to heat it again, having noticed that it had cooled. He took it to the forge and pushed the blade in. He worked the bellows and soon had the metal white hot, nearly ready to work again. He reached in with tongs to grab the metal and jumped when a hot wind blew over his ear.

Gareth. Come to me.

Spinning, he drew the blade out of the coals. It slipped from the tongs and flew across the room, landing in a pile of wood. Almost immediately, he realized the danger and hurried to gather the blade as he smelled the odor of smoldering wood. He brought the blade back to the anvil and tried to begin work again. Frustrated, he was determined to have the blade ready for honing in the morning. His sweat dripped in rivers from his brow which landed in spots on the hot metal to be driven into the blade with each hammer strike. His essence was being worked into the blade that continued to glow red with heat. Each strike created a double ring as the hammer landed and bounced on the metal of sword and anvil.

Ga Reth Ga Reth Ga Reth.

The beat sounded as if the metal was chanting his name. He was becoming distracted and annoyed at the same time. He hated being distracted as working the metal was a passion and often calming to him. Between he and the metal, there was no conflict. There was a love affair with each ingot that was to him as clay was to the sculptor. Each new ingot was fresh material to be sculpted into art. He felt as if his lover was disappointing him and he could not accept that. Gareth relented feeling sleep was in order. He left the sword on the anvil and hung the hammer on the wall as he left the smithy and went to the loft to sleep. In the morning, the sword would be gone and the hammer set on the anvil, handle up.

That was what he thought he would do. He ended up tossing and turning throughout the rest of the night. Dreams of a mountain filled his restless sleep. No, it was a volcano. A volcano spewing forth hammers. An altar was hidden deep within this volcano. Gareth. Come. Sing songed through all of his dreams.

For weeks, his dreams were like this. His work suffered as he could not sleep or concentrate. His master was concerned and thought that some time away may be best for him. He sent Gareth to the nearby mountains to scout a new vein of ore that was found. The ore was particularly rich in iron and some mithril. The master wanted to have the ore investigated for quality and to possibly begin negotiations for purchase. As Gareth was wise and quick witted, he felt that if his mind cleared then the trip would do them both some good. Gareth left that morning. As he neared the mountains, he felt a sense of destiny awaiting him.

Upon cresting the last hill before the mountains, he looked up and saw a manifestation of his dreams. The volcano was dormant, but clearly this one was the same mountain from his sleep. It had lain so since the last village left. The Valencians had settled here because the lands surrounding the volcano were lush and well suited for growing crops and with the volcano mostly dormant, the danger seemed minimal to settling here. The top was gone, long sent to the farthest reaches of the land by a mad explosion of anger from the earth. Or so he assumed. Soon, he would find out different.

He found a path of the animals and began exploring upward. This path seemed to be well worn but was quickly giving way back to nature. Using a staff that he had fashion from a fallen limb, he steadied himself on the slippery rubble. He climbed most of the day, finally reaching a flat spot on the mountain about

He was drenched in sweat and his water was nearly gone. He leaned against a shaded part of the rock face and decided a bit of rest was in order as he was still exhausted from lack of proper sleep. Soon, he was sleeping and the sleep was some of the best he had had in weeks. He dreamt only of the metal and hammer that would craft his next creation. He awoke as the sun was setting, sighing because he had not found what he was searching for and could not travel back down in the coming dark. As he turned to look back down the mountain, he noticed that the path he had travel was a well fashioned road that had been overgrown of late from a lack of use. He stepped to the edge of the cliff to look back at the mountain to see his final destination. He realized he was standing at it.

Startled, he moved his eyes quickly as he thought he saw a movement on the rock face. A few rocks had fallen, directing his attention to a crevice. The late day sun glinted off of something in the crevice. He moved closer and noticed that it was a symbol carved in the rock and etched in mithril. A volcano shooting hammers into the air, six in all. One, two, and three. It was from his dream and vaguely familiar. He thought he had met a cleric that had given him a run for his money in a debate, but he could have imagined the discussion. Tracing his hand along the symbol, he felt two of the hammers click. He jumped back and fell to the ground as he had oft heard the healer’s stories of the wayward adventurer that did not move in time from a loud click and lost a finger, turned green with poison or was fired where he stood.

As he was getting to his feet, he thought he felt the mountain rumble in seeming laughter. He moved closer to the carving and placing his hand on it, the door moved. He realized that the symbol marked a large door in the mountain face. The door swung inward easily, though it did seem to catch on a bit of rubble strewn about on the floor within.

He shoved the door open enough to squeeze his muscled bulk through. He looked about in the dimming light and found a torch in a sconce. The torch was half burned through, but he assumed he would find a couple more, further in. Or so he hoped. He struck some flint and managed to get the torch lit. In the flickering light, he saw paintings on the wall of what was fine and colorful detail, just dusty. It depicted the great mountain spewing forth fire and lava. A medium height man with red hair, or what looked to be hair, laughing as spiders were burned and torched in the flows of magma. Another painting depicted the man lying with a beautiful woman of an earthy beauty and again the mountain spewing forth in a great eruption. More pictures, all depicting the massive man in various scenes of war, love and chaos covered the walls.

Moving onward, passed through to large gates which came together in the middle of the hall. Beyond these massive barriers, he came to a room. In this room, seemed to be couches and chairs. A waiting room, he guessed for a meetings with the past denizens of this strange place. Glancing to his left, he made out another room, various bunks and some weapons occupied this room. As he noticed this room, he realized that his torch was dying and he had yet to find another. He began to search and decided through folly, he had been lucky in discovering the first and that luck was already spent. He started towards the door, but as he reached to move passed the massive gates toward the massive stone entrance, inexplicably, the door swung shut. Anguish filled him, as he searched for a release mechanism but could not find one in the dying light of his torch. He darted back to the first room and tried unsuccessfully to create a temporary one from the couches or chairs there. He did succeed in stirring up dust, but other than that the furniture was in good condition. Not wanting to damage the fine seats, he watched the death of his torch and soon the darkness slowly embraced him like a cold lover.

His eyes tried to adjust to the dimness around him and he soon realized that he just see. It seemed there was a dim, orange glow ahead. He moved forward and noticed a distinct smell of sulfur and brimstone. As he drew closer to the orange glow the light became brighter and he began to realize why. The mountain was a volcano and not dormant, just idle.

Through the glowing light, he sees that he has moved into a cavernous room, with benches or pews and something farther on in towards the center, near the far wall. He moves closer and realizes that it is an altar of some sort. It is not shaped as any altar he has seen before in other temples. He is not much of a temple dweller but he is aware of the standard features. The altar was familiar. As he moved closer to it, he realized why he knew the shape. The altar was an anvil. A huge, gleaming silver anvil. The anvil was ten feet in length and three feet wide. It was completely made of metal. No. Upon closer inspection, the anvil was solid mithril. Engraved on the side of the anvil was the volcano shooting hammers. The same symbol as was on the door.

He touched the gleaming metal and felt warmth flowing through it. Not the warmth of fire, though that was present in the room. It was almost as if the anvil radiated with the warmth of life. He was astonished. The metal felt as if it was breathing. He had worked with many metals in his career but even the mithril he had worked with was cold compared to this anvil. Then he noticed that upon the anvil, a hammer sat. The head of the hammer was resting on the anvil with the handle up. Gareth remembered the morning after he was working on the mithril sword. A dream. He thought it was a dream. Now he was not so sure. Was it a dream? Was it real? He reached out and touched the hammer, also made of solid mithril, the handle wrapped in leather. Same warm feeling. Gareth hefted it and felt the perfect balance imbued in it. He lifted the tool and swung as only a blacksmith could against the anvil.

The cavern rang with the metal against metal sound. Something changed in the room and he spun around to face the way that he entered. Nothing. He glanced to his left and right to see if he could see any distinctive changes. Nothing. Sighing about and overactive imagination, he turned to set the hammer back on the anvil. Abruptly, he fell backward onto his rear. Before him, sitting casually on the anvil altar, one knee bent, foot resting on the altar was a muscular man with flowing red hair. Gareth rubbed his eyes from the floor as he realized the hair was the color of lava and seemed to be blowing wildly in a non existent gale. A deep booming voice drowned all other sounds in the cavern.

‘You rang?’ The smile on the man face was almost as wild as his hair.

‘Who are you?’ Gareth asked. He should know but as often happens the mind is the first to escape when face with imminent danger.


‘You can’t be Uvelcra. Uvelcra is a god. You don’t look like a god.’

The red haired man begins to swing his foot and the heel bounces off the altar. The mountain shakes with each tap.

‘So, if I don’t look like an Uvelcra, then what does the god look like?’ The booming voice resounded through the great worship hall, shaking the very floor beneath Gareth.

Gareth began to think. He had heard stories and they described a man who not overly tall. Red hair that seemed to blow in a nonexistent wind. Crap. The pictures on the wall depicted the god and they seemed to be pretty good renditions as if created from first hand experience. All the pictures had the same man. Crap. Crap. That man looked like the one sitting before him. He looked up and dropping his head to his chest, he said, ‘You. Uvelcra looks like you. ’

The man before him stated in an almost professorial tone, ‘If Uvelcra, looks like me. Then it stands to reason that I look like Uvelcra and considering that this is Uvelcra’s temple, then it may stand to reason that the person standing before you, me, could be the god Uvelcra. Perhaps, I could be a golem or a construct sent by the very deity that we are discussing as a messenger to you, because his vary presence could wipe your from existence. Although, in that sense, I would not be Uvelcra but the messenger of Uvelcra or the mouth of Uvelcra. ‘The being paused for a moment as if pondering the recent conclusion. ‘However, if I were just a construct of Uvelcra would I give that construct the power to shake the mountain. ‘Reaching over, he swiped the hammer up and slammed it hard against the anvil. The mountain shook and in the village below a few older member of Valencian society, dropped to their knees and praise Uvelcra.

‘Forgive me, Uvelcra. I am sorry to have misspoken. ‘Gareth stammered in shame. Although this was the first god that he had met personally, he was sure that he had already signed a death warrant for himself.

Uvelcra responded in a mock serious tone, which came out more exasperated and true, ‘Isn’t forgiveness begged for on your knees? Why is it that the lesser being always requires proof of one’s power and existence?’

Gareth dropped to his knees and began to beg forgiveness as best he knew how. For a moment, Uvelcra seemed to be enjoying this and then busted out in a laughter that shakes the whole cavern.

‘Get up, boy. I don’t want you to bruise your knees in worship, just yet. I have another task for you, first.’

Gareth gets up, looks up to the god and then casts down his eyes. He stammers a moment and then a question he must ask pops to his mind. Fearfully, he opens his mouth to ask it and then closes it for fear of angering the god. He looks like a fish gulping for air and the god catches him and chuckles.

‘Spit it out boy, that question will cause you to suffocate if you keep that up.’

Gareth asks a question his friends had wondered for a while, ‘Where have you been?’

‘been, Been, BEEN?’ volume rose with each word, shaking the foundation of the room. ’ I have not been anywhere. I have been in these mountains waiting. Waiting for you. Waiting for someone. Waiting. Do you know how boring that is? One can only torment Kirva’s slaves so much before she becomes irritated and retaliates. I mean I have shaken the ground, rumbled the mountain and cast rocks down at your villages to get someone to look up. No one even glances this way any more. The little worship that is held to me is done down in the village. Not here, in my temple. It is a grand temple. When they first arrived, the Valencians repaired and cleaned up the temple. However, over time, they decided a temple closer to the town was better. They left here. Well, I do not like it. This temple was built to be filled with worshippers and servants. If they want my favor, they should come to me. I should not go to them. That would be like an Emperor traveling to each neighbor’s house to resolve a dispute. ’ The ire was growing and it seemed to be growing hotter in the cavern. ‘I was the one who was left, boy. I did no leaving. My worshippers left me. And you know, I still cannot figure out why? I have been sitting here for years trying to figure it out and well, I am flummoxed. I do not consider myself a harsh god, not that mischievous, or demanding that much. It is not like I demanded virgins to be slain on my altar. The only virgins I demanded were able to leave with their lives in tact. Not everything was intact, mind you, but they had their lives. ‘He looked wistful at this thought. ‘ I only had four rituals during the year that mattered. Any others were concoctions of the greedy. I always rewarded the faithful, though I gave them what they asked for, not necessarily what they wanted. ‘Chuckles come deep from his gut. ‘I even allowed sanctuary with in my temple, but it was earned. I granted wisdom but it was earned.’ Pausing for a moment, as if taking a breath, he seemed to start another track.

‘Speaking of wisdom, I would like to give this little cherry bit of it to you for free. I borrowed the metaphor from Gaea, oh sweet Gaea. That begs another story as well. In a moment, now, back to wisdom. It, wisdom, you see, is a tree. It is planted in the soil of knowledge where it will grow, but with out water it will be stunted and weak. Add the water of experience and it will grow to stand tall and strong. Now, the key…all wisdom needs a little bullshit to flourish and thrive with bountiful fruit. ‘More chuckling.’ So you want to know about Gaea, I am glad that you asked. You see, I came up with the idea for one of my rituals during Gaea’s fertility feast. I was attending and chatting with her during the fertility feast. Well, during a particularly, splendid dance of the pixies or were they dryads. I am not sure but you should watch them dance during that time of year. All the men were standing. All the women were being laid. Anyway, we were watching them and drinking, drinking and chatting, drinking and massaging each other. Well, before you know it, one thing led to another and another and another. Let me tell you, she is talented. I am afraid during that time, I became a little distracted and the mountain erupted with a great amount of vigor. I quickly realized what happened and managed to prevent any damage below but the eruption was grand and sometimes referred to in the history scrolls.

I figured in celebration of that momentous occasion, I would command a yearly reminder. I only request that two beautiful members of my congregation frolic in celebration upon this here altar. ‘He pats the altar as he says it. ‘Is that too demanding? I don’t think so. ‘He seems to drift off in memories and mumbles ‘‘That was a fun year. All the women of the village below became with child and all the crops were particularly plentiful that year. ‘He pauses, reflecting and seemingly lost in the pleasant thought for another long while.

After a period of time, he continued, ‘Kirva was mad. She blamed her sister, claiming that the balance was undone. However, did she attack her sister? No. She attacked me. She sent a group of her ash tinted, cave lurking, mushroom sniffing, guano dancing get to attack my worshipers. ‘Gareth sensed that there was some animosity for Kirva’s Moriel worshipers. He listened as the volcano god continued ‘I found them long before they reached the villages. They were using the tunnels beneath my mountains. Can you believe the arrogance and audacity? Well, I guess you can if you consider the fact that they worship that black hearted, jealous spider bitch. As soon as they reached the edge of my mountains, I struck my anvil and the tunnels in which they traveled collapsed onto them, entombing them below to suffer and perish. A few of the Valencians found a couple of bodies and weapons during some mine exploration, but it did not seem to strike a cord with them. I wonder if I have to drag the evidence in front of them and use my hammer to pound it into their skulls.

Where would they be with out me?’

Thinking for a moment, he chuckled. ‘Kirva was drunk with rage, when she found out. She abruptly visited me and attempted to arouse me with her deadly fangs. I, being the gentleman that I am, refused her advances and quietly advised her, with the head of my hammer, that I was not that type of being and if she would, to please refrain from attempting such transgressions upon my person, again. I do seem to remember that I had to repeat my request, with the head of my hammer, two or three more times. She then proceeded to advise me that in no certain terms will she allow me to get away with what I have done and that my parentage was in question and she seemed concerned that I was the descendant of a donkey or a dog. Soon, she left me for a while and I thought all was well. ‘He chuckled a little but then said, ‘unfortunately, she returned.’ He paused and a change came over his demeanor. He seemed to sadden now. ‘However, between these visits, worship seemed to fall off some as I was not as involved in their everyday lives, as I am guessing now I should have been. My worshiper moved the temple. I believe now I should have let the Moriels invade and then send a champion to their rescue. I did not do this and they began to take me for granted. I got mad and brooded more. I should have made myself known but I let the heat of anger cloud my mind and when I should have rained fire upon them, I sulked. Instead of knocking a few houses to the ground, I fumed. I knew better, I should have taken action. I was foolish. I am not foolish but for some reason, I was this time and Kirva must have sensed my mood.

‘She returned and I let her beguile me into punishing the Valencians. She said that one of her best supporters; I think she was just a power whore. Although more recently, I have found that she is a fire mage and I love those fire mages, even if she is one of the spider bitch’s worship sluts. Anyway, this fire mage had seduced a warrior from a neighboring empire and was going to come this way in invasion and that I should do nothing to help. I let Kirva convince me to stay out of it. I erred in this. I should have advised her to leave via the lava pool below with emphasis added by the head of my hammer. However, I did nothing and the invasion came. More of the Valencians turned from me then. I have learned and I will not make the same mistakes again. ‘Uvelcra said this with the firmness of lava after hardening for years.

‘I intend to grow worship again. The other four have grown in power while I have floundered and I have a great deal of ground to recover. I must start with the group below and grow their faith again. I have a plan and you will help me, blacksmith. I have need of your talents and services. You will finish the sword you started with my mithril. I will imbue it with powers and send it to a champion who will fight for my cause. I will name it after you have finished it. Perhaps, I will give you that honor. I want an unusual sword. I can see the metal has already taken possession of that quality. However, it does not carry enough weight to it and the blade seems much too small. It needs to be heavier and bigger of blade.

Gareth finally understood why he was called here. He was beginning to develop a renewed enthusiasm for finishing the sword. He was not even concerned that he was not being given a choice. He was only concerned with creating a weapon of quality. Of renown. He would need his tools, a forge and many other things. He began to make a list, but was interrupted by the god. ‘Silly boy, I have all that you need. My volcano will be your forge. You shall use my anvil and hammer to create the sword. Do you think I would let this weapon of a god be created with mere mortal tools? ‘Gareth was almost insulted by this rebuff, as he liked the heft of his own hammer and the tone of the ring as it landed on his anvil. Though, he did relish the idea of creating something exceptional with exceptional equipment. Gareth responded to the god, with some deference, ‘No, sir, I would guess not.’

‘Good. Now, let me show you my temple and I will explain more on how the hierarchy of temple works. After you are done with the sword and I am satisfied with it, I will send you back to your realm where you can get on with your life, maybe pick up that wench you keep eying but never talking to. She is waiting on you. I would have already made my move on her, if I were you. Those hips she has will bear good children. Sometimes, I don’t understand your hesitancy when it comes to picking a mate, though keeping oneself with one partner for life if honorable; I would not to do it. Too many rocks on the mountain. Now, let’s get on to my temple. ‘He put his arm around the buff blacksmith and led him through the temple.

Gareth shook his head in thought. He could not understand what Uvelcra meant ‘send him back to his realm.’ He did not have much time to think on it as the god began describing the hierarchy of the Six Hammers and their duties.

Hierarchy of Uvelcra

Grand Mallus – This is the highest member of the temple. He rules second only to Uvelcra. He is instated by Uvelcra and can only be removed by the will of Uvelcra. This replacement can arise from anywhere, within or without the temple. Usually, the Grand Mallus is chosen from the wisest of the populace although sometimes this wisdom has been found to be a bit lacking. In all things, the Mallus is a formidable politician. He is great at swaying the votes although the color in his speeches if often brown. Although this will at times create chaos, which is a fundamental to worship of the god, it helps prevent some of the political backstabbing that occurs within most temples. However, Uvelcra is rumored to himself have deliberately removed the Grand Mallus by creating a mountain quake during a ceremony and the Mallus was sent plummeting to the great fire pit below with the god waving goodbye from the edge of the pit. It is rumored that the god attempts to communicate by visions to the Mallus, however, the visions are cryptic and sometimes confusing in his desires. Many a Mallus has gone grey from trepidation because of a vision that they have received. One was rumored to have dove into the pit of lava, but this has yet to be confirmed.

Directly beneath the Grand Mallus come three more of Uvelcra’s hammers. These High priests are equal in power and see to the everyday rule of the temple. Two often disagree with the third being the arbitrator who brings everyone else into agreement. They are the Sledge, the Joiner and the Anvil.

Sledge of Uvelcra — he is usually a man of severe faith and unquestioning loyalty to his previous commanders. He will act on orders without hesitation, whether against the law or not. His duty is to obey the will of Mallus, unquestioningly. He is a hard man who is even harder on his subordinates. He has seen more battles than many can count and has the scars to prove it. The Sledge is almost always the former Club, if he has served well. The Sledge is considered the enforcer of the law, which is the command of the Mallus and will follow the order of the Mallus without hesitation and sometimes thought. Although, he is a great soldier, his wisdom is less than that of the other Hammers and is often to be believed to be foolish, though this is false. He tends to rely more of experience than knowledge or wisdom.

Under the Sledge, are two more hammers and are the captains of the military arm of Uvelcra. They are known at the Club and the Jeweler. The Club is in direct command of the forces of Uvelcra. This small contingent of soldiers, called the Nails of the Club, are given the duty to protect the temple from intrusion and attack. The Club is a loyal soldier and has served many years in the temple.

The Jeweler is more of a mystery. Only the Sledge knows his true identity. The Jeweler is rumored to be a rogue or even assassin of some talent. However, no one but the Sledge could confirm this and will not. Even the Mallus is unaware of the true name of this enigma. He works in the shadow and has but a few underlings, which are known as the Gems. Their existence is a rumor and they may not even exist. Hushed voices whisper about them as anyone could be a Gem and many wonder about their loyalties to the temple. Some gossip abounds that they may have infiltrated other ranks within the temple itself or even the temples of the other gods, but this has yet to be confirmed. Other rumors swear they are assassins and leave a small gem of some value on the corpse of their victim. This rumor is often scoffed at as no one has actually seen such an assassination and who would waste such a valuable commodity. Little do these understand the notions of Intrigue.