A woman, shining brightly with Mishakal’s blessings and power, bore the staff of healing in her left hand and a burning mace with the other. On her left stood a cleric, pure of heart and dedicated to solely to the healing arts. On her right stood another, a warrior, a new aspect of their faith – peace bought through the perils of battle. A warrior that waged war for the preservation of life.
~A vision granted to the Clerics of Mishakal

Amia stood next to the slow flowing river, a stone’s throw away from the Temple of Mishakal. Her son, nearly three years old now, played under both Glitter's and Saerileth’s watchful eyes in a shallow inlet.

A great deal had changed in the past days with Isabella’s departure. The faith – already fractured and weakening, seemed to fall apart before Amia's eyes. The divide was so deep and so contested that a large minority whispered among themselves and possible allies in the clergy of a split from the main church.

Having long grown accustomed to her unique position outside the ranked clergy and having grown comfortable with her decision to reject the path of pacifism, she had not been sure which side or solution she would advocate.

Her gaze fell to her son. It was beyond her to advocate for a path had harmed the church as their stance on aggression and fighting had. The deaths of nearly of their acolytes, the catastrophic battles (won only through the grace of the Gods and the strength of her sword arm) perpetuated by the Dragon Army near Portsmith, the war, and the slow attrition of disillusioned clerics had eaten away at their base of power and influence.

She could not, on the other hand, advocate the militarization of all Mishakal clerics either. The entire faith could not be made up of militant clerics, ready to do battle at all times. To forget this vital history would be to lose something essential to their past. Nostalgia, sentiment, or whatever – remembering and honoring their past was important.

Needless to say, she had been in a shaky position. She couldn’t just up and leave – her son required protection and so did their less aggressive sisters and brothers. Her dilemma had not settled itself the day she was abruptly summoned to the temple.

The experience had been…unique. Never fully accepted by the clergy, she had never spent much time in the Temple building. It made her uncomfortable. That she couldn’t help but notice that the clerics, initiates, and faithful that came to the temple that day were studiously trying to seem as if they were not watching or whispering about her presence didn’t make the experience any less awkward.

She was shocked, absolutely blown-away by the prophesy and interpretation of that vision. That nearly half of the gathered clerics did NOT look angry or worried was a gift. The faith that these people put into her new ideas was both humbling and empowering.

Now her dilemma centered on figuring out how to lead her fellow faithful followers of Mishakal forward in this new and more proactive direction without losing their identity as merciful aid and healers to all who needed them.