Apostles of Doom

Stevos grinned again. “No, a daemon is a magical construct that carries out certain tasks on behalf of its owner. In this case, the HALO is an offload mechanism for avatars. It provides us with our primary link to the god pool, and if needed, pantheon pools. It is also something that allows us to ‘hang up our links,’ so to speak, so that we do not have to manage all of them all of the time.”

Teragdor had never thought of such a concept. “It holds links for you; that’s very odd.”

“Actually, there are a number of holy artifacts that can do this. Wizards can also construct such devices. Each avatar is very closely linked — bound, in fact — to our HALO; it’s part of the canonization process. It can automate tasks for us, such as processing the mana in illumination streams so that we don’t have to do it manually ourselves,” the saint told him.

“So what about when someone does a ritual that requires your permission?” Teragdor asked.

“We are able to instruct it on how to handle certain prayers from various priests. We can pre-approve certain rituals and mana expenditures for specific illuminaries, and we need to do nothing, the HALO grants permission. If it is something that requires evaluation, or is beyond the pre-approved limit, I am notified and can review and approve or deny the request.” Stevos grinned. “As you can imagine, this can sometimes occur during inconvenient times, such as when I decide to sleep for a while.”

“What about normal prayers from priests or worshipers?” Teragdor asked.

“There is a prayer queue in the HALO. Certain key words or certain people can trigger alerts and the prayer will be routed to me immediately, but all others are recorded with great detail as to emotional state, thought process, all the information I would need to judge the prayer,” Stevos said. “The HALO also allows me to research the combined wisdom of Tierhallon, particularly in the context of the prayer and the one praying, so I can more properly judge the situation.”

“Wow. That sound impressive!” Teragdor exclaimed."

“It is quite wondrous,” Stevos said, nodding. “It also helps me connect with other avatars, passing along prayers, requests, and decisions to others above me or beside me. For example, if a situation requires the assistance of another saint, I can quickly share information from my HALO to their HALO and get them up to speed very quickly.”

“I never really thought of all the things a saint would have to be doing behind the scenes before,” Teragdor said.

“I don’t believe anyone does until they get to saint school.” Stevos chuckled. “As mortals, we all have these grandiose ideas of what it means to be an avatar of Tiernon. It seems so glamorous, glorious, triumphant, being an inspiration and leading the Forces of Good into battle against Evil.” The saint shook his head. “No one ever stops to think about the administrative overhead, the day-to-day grind of ensuring that Tiernon’s glory, light and justice are deployed properly day in and day out.”

Teragdor laughed. “My mentor once said nearly the same thing about being a priest!”

Stevos grinned, nodding. “It’s just the next rung up on the Holy Ladder of Success!”

Tierhallon

Hilda tried to calm her breathing and still her heart rate. She was afraid her stomach was going to twist itself into knots. Beragamos had escorted her to the Hall of Justice and into an anteroom. When she asked when they would be going in, he’d nearly floored her by smiling and telling her that only she would be going in — it was a private audience.

Hilda’s stomach had gone through the floor, and she was now desperately wishing she had a bottle of wine. Although maybe going before one’s all-powerful deity sloshed to the nines might not be the best idea, she thought. She shook her head to try and clear it. She then tried again to meditate to regain her composure, but that wasn’t working.

Beragamos had left her alone in the waiting room about a quarter of an hour ago. He had told her that they’d arrived early so that she would have some time to compose herself. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand in support, sensing and probably anticipating her nervousness.

She released a deep breath, trying to reassure herself that everything was fine and it was perfectly reasonable to be nervous about meeting one of the primal forces of the multiverse. A being whose very existence was a pillar of reality, providing shelter and protection to the weak against the vast powers of darkness. She let out another deep breath, finally starting to relax. It was all about setting up a realistic perspective.

The door to the next room opened gently and a man in his mid to late thirties with closely cropped dark hair, wearing an elegant tunic and breeches with a truly magnificent belt and buckle at the waist, peered out.

“Hilda?” the man asked.