The Highlord
"The formal worship of the Highlord is a relatively recent occurrence, as they are the youngest of the known deities. However, their purity of spirit, unwavering pursuit of good, and countless victories over Yaziri Mourntide has ensconced them as the patron deity of Celenis and the Isle of Krell for nearly a thousand years.
Known more formally as Highlord Aeterius the Sun-Crowned, this deity boasts more clerical followers than any other faith, and has for centuries, leading many to believe that their chosen form of power, the Light, is simply how holy divine magic manifests.
Though their devout followers are numerous, there are known cults within the faith that are more than willing to utilize the Highlord’s absence of Light, ostensibly also in the name of Good."
Description
Hailing from the heavens above, Highlord Aeterius the Sun-Crowned is a recent addition to the deities of Arcanorum, if one can speak of the several dozens of lifetimes that have passed since their arrival as “recent”, however, being the progeny of one of the other deities, a certain allowance must be made.
The center of worship for the Highlord, naturally, is the Isle of Krell, where the theocratic government is centered upon their worship and service. However, adherents of the Highlord can be found far and wide, scattered across the known lands, as missionaries, clerics in service of expeditionary forces, and adventurers.
Tenets of Faith
Do not go gentle into that good night...
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas