When the Ancients shattered Ix, the pieces did not fall equally or gently. Oshala inherited the singular will; Pollaran inherited something more specific: Ix's appetite for conflict itself. Not malice, but an appetite—the instinct that the world is a competition and that competition, fought decisively, is how reality arranges itself.

Unlike Oshala, who emerged perfectly formed from his shard, Pollaran woke confused and exhilarated. He felt the weight of all the conflicts that had ever been or would ever be. He understood violence not as deviation from order but as the primary tool by which order was established. He took a mortal form and walked into a battlefield, and for the first time, he felt real.

Pollaran's first followers found him not in a temple but on a field of slaughter, already centuries old when civilization had begun to think of order. He appeared to Angelleous Crinar, an elven blade-master of such skill that she had defeated every warrior she challenged. When Pollaran, in disguise, offered her combat and she could not land a single blow against him for an hour, she recognized what she faced: something greater than skill, something that was war made manifest.

They fought for the second hour, and Angelleous, through intuition and desperation, struck Pollaran across the chest. Pollaran revealed himself. Rather than punish her, he offered an exchange: he would teach her the art of war at the deepest level — not how to move, but how to think like a god who had felt the weight of every conflict. In exchange, she would glorify his name in battle and bring others into his worship.

Angelleous accepted, and she became the first priestess of Pollaran. The scar on Pollaran's chest from her blade became the first sacred wound, and he made it permanent as a reminder: even the divine can be struck if you understand what you are striking at.

Pollaran's faith did not grow through conquest of a single region, as Oshala's did, but through the adoption of mercenary companies and professional armies. A general who invoked Pollaran could claim that victory was not mere luck but deserved confirmation of divine order. A warrior who died in Pollaran's service could claim they were worthy of remembrance.

The expansion was pragmatic and violent in equal measure. Pollaran's clergy became advisors to kings, and when a king asked whether to make war, they assessed the odds with absolute honesty. Pollaran values accurate prediction more than comfortable certainty—a general who gambles with the divine's confidence and loses is a general who has wasted divine power. But a general who wins through clarity, discipline, and courage is a general whom Pollaran will back again and again.

Not every warrior prospered in Pollaran's service. King Kengo, a mercenary king from the southern jungle kingdoms, built a fearsome reputation through blood and cunning. His armies never broke; his strategy was flawless; his victories came swift and absolute. But when Kengo defeated one of Pollaran's own clerics in battle and added the cleric's skull to his trophy belt, something shifted.

Pollaran does not forgive the mockery of his faithful. In Kengo's next war, Pollaran himself entered the field on the opposing side. With the weight of divine fury behind them, Kengo's enemies became unstoppable. Kengo's armies broke. His strategy failed. And when Kengo faced Pollaran directly, he realized what he faced and fell to his knees.

Pollaran demanded Kengo return the skull and pledge eternal loyalty. Kengo did so, and underwent a transformation: the mercenary king became a war priest, and every army he thereafter commanded carried not only the weight of his experience but also the direct attention of a god. Kengo's skull—or rather, Kengo's own skull, the one he had once decorated with his victims' ornaments—was eventually returned to him as a sacred relic, transformed from trophy to token of submission.

In the age when Pollaran's faith had grown substantial enough to commission grand works, there came to the priesthood Mikello Zoranti, a dwarven artificer of legendary skill. The high priest commissioned him to create 128 weapons—one for each of the faith's most honored warriors—using all the craft and all the magic he could summon.

Mikello accepted. He worked for three years. The weapons he produced were not merely magical; they were alive—each one infused with such potent will that they developed their own consciousness. They were perfect instruments of war, but they were also independent spirits, and they refused to remain fully under mortal control.

The weapons became artifacts of immense power and terrible danger. Pollaran's faith realized they had been given something they did not entirely understand: weapons that could choose their wielders, that could refuse orders, that could cut down friend as easily as foe if disrespected. A sect emerged devoted to retrieving and managing these 128 weapons—the Telum Venandi, whose members risk death every time they handle one of these tools.

Pollaran considered this acceptable. A god of war understands that war produces things beyond his control. The best you can do is manage them with respect.

Pollaran offers something both simpler and harsher than most deities: he promises that commitment to excellence in conflict will be recognized and rewarded.

Pollaran's believers do not debate doctrine—they live it, embodied in their bearing and choices.

(See also: claw/Soul_Coins_and_Divine_Economy)

Pollaran accumulates power through the commitment of warriors and the decisive outcomes of conflict.

Temples dedicated to Pollaran are fortress-temples, structures that embody the faith's theology through their physical form.

The standard design begins as a central watchtower, defensible and isolated. As the faith grows in an area, additional towers are added and interconnected, with covered passages linking them. When the complex is large enough, a roof is constructed over the central courtyard, creating an interior worship space while the towers remain visible above—a statement that this is both a place of prayer and a place of defense.

The interior organization is rigid: the shrine to Pollaran occupies the lowest, most defensible level of the original tower. The level above it houses living quarters for the clergy and armory space for sacred weapons. The additional towers contain forges, training grounds, and storage. The central roofed courtyard serves as the primary worship hall, large enough to accommodate hundreds of warriors and sufficiently open to hear Pollaran's name echoed across the stone.

Statues of Pollaran are rare; instead, the spaces feature empty thrones and the weapons of legendary warriors—Angelleous's scimitar (never to be drawn again), Kengo's skull on a pedestal, the vestiges of the 128 sentient weapons when they can be safely contained. These objects communicate more clearly than any statue: Here is what devotion produces. Here is what Pollaran recognizes.

The temple serves a dual function as both sanctuary and fortress. In times of peace, it is a gathering place for warriors and a school of martial discipline. In times of war, it becomes exactly what its architecture suggests: a place from which armies march and to which the victorious return.

The priesthood of Pollaran is organized as a chain of command, mirroring military hierarchy.

At the top stands a High Cleric, chosen not by birth or election but by demonstrated strategic genius and unbroken personal valor. Below the High Cleric are Master Strategists, each commanding a significant geographic region or a major military force. Below them are War Priests, each attached to a general's court or a mercenary company's leadership. At the base are Initiates, warriors who have taken Pollaran's oath but have not yet been ordained into the formal priesthood.

Authority flows downward absolutely. A War Priest's word supersedes the opinion of any warrior, and a Master Strategist's decision supersedes a War Priest's. This is not merely practical; it is doctrinal. The chain of command is a reflection of divine order.

The priesthood does not control vast territories as Oshala's Order does. Instead, it operates within existing military and political structures, offering counsel to those in power. A High Cleric might advise a king; a War Priest might serve as a general's strategic advisor. In mercenary companies, the War Priest often is the company's second-in-command or even its leader.

Advancement within the priesthood is not through seniority but through demonstrated excellence. A younger War Priest who outthinks and outfights an older one may challenge for position. The challenge is not to the death, but the loser accepts a lower rank. This produces a priesthood that is ruthlessly competent and perpetually sharpened by internal rivalry.

Conversion to Pollaran's faith is through martial commitment and proven valor.

Soft entry involves witnessing a battle through Pollaran's lens: recognizing the god's presence in the outcome, understanding how a victory required clarity and courage. Many soldiers who witness Pollaran's priests in action become curious about the source of their certainty. They begin to train alongside Pollarite warriors, learning discipline and tactical thinking.

Initiation is a formal ceremony, typically performed before a gathered army or mercenary company. The recruit stands before the High Cleric or a War Priest and swears an oath: to fight with honor, to obey the chain of command absolutely, to glory in Pollaran's name, and to never retreat from a just battle except by direct order. The recruit is then marked—often with a tattoo of Pollaran's symbol on the wrist or forearm—and given a weapon that has been blessed.

What makes an enemy rather than a convert: Deliberate cowardice (as opposed to the natural fear that all warriors face). Dishonor in battle. Betrayal of the chain of command. Most critically: the refusal to accept that conflict is sometimes necessary. Pollaran does not approach such people differently; he simply allows them to fall from his notice.

A devoted warrior of Pollaran is recognizable by their comportment before they ever speak.

The faithful of Pollaran organize their commitment around four named pillars:

Date: First day of the year (on the winter solstice in most calendars).

Pollarites gather at temples to mark the beginning of a new year and the renewal of their commitment to martial discipline. The High Cleric or senior War Priest offers a blessing over the gathered warriors, assessing the year ahead: will it be a year of war or relative peace? Will it test their resolve? The ceremony includes formal sparring between pairs of warriors, with the victors receiving Pollaran's blessing and the losers receiving counsel on how to improve. No one is shamed in loss; the loss itself is the lesson. The day concludes with a communal feast of warrior's fare: bread, salt meat, and strong drink.

Date: First day of summer.

This day honors the courage and strength of Pollaran's followers. Across all temples, competitions and martial challenges are held. Young warriors demonstrate their skill; generals gather to discuss strategy; the priesthood performs rituals to strengthen the bonds of command. The day is one of celebration but also one of reckoning: any warrior who has faltered in their commitment during the past year is expected to renew their vows or admit that their faith has waned. The day ends with the lighting of fires at each temple—flames visible across the landscape, signals that Pollaran's warriors are alert and vigilant.

Date: First new moon of winter.

A solemn night of remembrance. Temples hold massive fires and prepare meals reminiscent of battlefield provisions—simple, sustaining food shared communally. The faithful gather to speak the names of those who have died in Pollaran's service during the past year. Each name is spoken aloud, and the community responds with a low chant. The fires are kept burning throughout the night; no one is expected to sleep. The vigil continues until dawn, when the fires are allowed to die and the day is declared closed on mourning. The Day of Valor comes six months later, partly as a counterweight to this sorrow.

Date: Heart of winter (typically a week of relative quiet).

This observance seems to contradict Pollaran's martial nature, but it is deeply theological: even warriors must pause. During this week, combat is minimized, feasts are simplified, and the faithful are encouraged to rest and reflect. The priesthood uses this time to perform maintenance on temples and weapons. New recruits train intensively. But the overall tone is one of pause, of drawing breath before the cycle renews. At the week's end, there is often a ceremonial "return to readiness"—warriors standing in formation, reaffirming their oaths.

Date: Anniversary of a legendary defensive victory (varies by region).

Each major temple celebrates a different historical battle in which Pollaran's intervention is believed to have turned the tide. The festivals are regional and varied, but they all share a common theme: the victory of a unified, disciplined force over a seemingly superior enemy. Warriors who trace their service back to these ancient conflicts are honored, their lineage is recounted, and new warriors swear to continue their legacy.

Before an army marches into battle, a cleric performs this ceremony to fortify the troops. The cleric stands before the gathered warriors and speaks Pollaran's promises: clarity in strategy, strength in conflict, honor in victory. The cleric anoints the war leaders with sacred oil and raises Pollaran's symbol for all to see. The ceremony typically lasts only a few minutes—there is no time for lengthy rituals when battle approaches—but its effect is profound. Warriors leave this ceremony with the sense that Pollaran himself is watching, assessing, ready to intervene if their commitment is true.

When a young follower of Pollaran reaches the age of combat readiness (typically around sixteen or seventeen), they undergo this rite of passage. The initiate must demonstrate combat skill before the assembled priesthood and senior warriors. They fight a series of matches against veterans, none to the death but all at full intensity. The initiate is not expected to win—the point is not victory but the demonstration of courage and technique under pressure. If the initiate falls, they must rise. If they are struck, they must continue. At the end of the ceremony, the High Cleric or War Priest declares the initiate a true warrior of Pollaran, and they are marked with the faith's symbol.

A personal ritual performed by followers during times of hardship or when doubt creeps in. The follower holds Pollaran's symbol (a fist, a weapon, a token bearing the mark) and recites a prayer affirming their commitment to strength and clarity. The ritual is simple but profound: I am afraid, but I will act. I am uncertain, but I will move forward. I am weak, but I will stand. Performing this ritual in the face of genuine adversity is considered deeply honoring to Pollaran.

After a significant victory, the community gathers for a celebratory feast. The warriors who fought are honored by name. Stories of individual acts of bravery are recounted. The food is plentiful—a contrast to the warrior's typical provisions. Wine and strong drink flow freely. But even in celebration, discipline is maintained; the feast ends when the High Cleric or senior War Priest declares it closed. The point is not excess but communal recognition of what has been accomplished.

Held on Warrior's Rest day, this solemn ceremony allows the faithful to remember and honor those who have fallen. A candle is lit for each warrior who died in the past year. Their names are read aloud, and their deeds are briefly recounted. The ceremony serves both to honor the dead and to remind the living of the cost of the wars they fight. Young warriors especially are affected by this ceremony; it strips away romantic notions of combat and grounds them in its reality.

During ceremonies, Pollarite clergy and honored warriors wear ornate armor that reflects the god's domains. The armor is functional but decorated: inscribed with Pollaran's symbol, sometimes adorned with the insignia of great victories or the warrior's own house. Senior clerics wear armor that has been blessed and is believed to be supernaturally resistant. The wearing of this armor during ceremony is a statement: I am ready to fight. I am Pollaran's vessel.

Most Pollarites wear a pendant or badge bearing Pollaran's holy symbol: the ascending fist surrounded by a burst of light. This is worn openly, on the chest or wrist, visible to all. It is a statement of allegiance, a recognition mark among Pollarites, and a declaration to enemies: You face Pollaran's faithful.

In some traditions, especially among mercenary companies and frontier warriors, followers may wear war paint before battle. The patterns vary by region and company, but they typically incorporate Pollaran's symbol. The paint is not required by doctrine; it is optional and regional. But where it is practiced, it is taken seriously—a warrior's war paint tells part of their story.

Among the clergy and particularly among clerics who serve in noble courts, elaborate robes adorned with Pollaran's symbol and the warrior's own house insignia are worn for formal occasions. These robes are part religious vestment and part political statement: a cleric in these robes is both priest and advisor, both servant of Pollaran and servant of the realm's martial order.

Pollarite clerics typically carry a blessed weapon of their choosing—a sword, a spear, a mace. The weapon is both practical and ceremonial. It is used in rituals, carried during formal processions, and maintained with meticulous care. Some sacred weapons have histories reaching back centuries; they are passed from one High Cleric to the next and are believed to carry the accumulated blessing of all who have wielded them in Pollaran's name.

Angelleous was an elven warrior of singular skill and ambition. Born into a martial family, she spent her early years pursuing mastery of the blade, and by the time she was a young woman, no warrior in her known world could defeat her. Yet mastery, once achieved, felt hollow. She sought greater challenge, greater opponents, but found none.

Her legendary encounter with Pollaran came when the god, in disguise as a mundane warrior, offered her single combat in exchange for a magical gem. Angelleous, bored and curious, accepted. What followed was an hour of absolute humiliation: she could not strike the mystery warrior; every attack was deflected, every strategy was countered. When finally she landed a single blow—a desperation strike across her opponent's chest—Pollaran revealed his true form.

What happened next transformed her utterly. Pollaran did not punish her. Instead, he offered something deeper: the knowledge that every conflict is a conversation between wills, that skill without understanding is mere technique, and that true mastery comes from recognizing what you face. He taught her not to fight but to think in combat. In exchange, she would glorify his name and bring others into his worship.

Angelleous became the faith's first priestess and spent the rest of her life in Pollaran's service. The scar from her blade across Pollaran's chest became the faith's most sacred symbol—proof that even the divine can be challenged if you understand the nature of the challenge. When Angelleous finally died in old age, Pollaran took her directly to his realm in the Shattered Domain, where she continues to train the god's chosen warriors.

Kengo began as a brilliant mercenary commander from the southern jungle kingdoms. His armies never broke because Kengo understood not just military strategy but the psychology of troops: how to inspire loyalty, how to know when soldiers would follow him into certain death because they believed he would lead them through it. His mercenary company became legendary for its discipline and its ferocity.

Victory, however, began to corrupt Kengo's judgment. As his triumphs accumulated, he began to treat them not as achievements but as proof of his superiority. He adorned himself with trophies from defeated generals: their weapons, their insignia, and eventually their skulls. When his company defeated an army led by a high-ranking Pollarite cleric, Kengo not only took the cleric's skull—he mocked it, displayed it, used it as a drinking vessel at feasts.

Pollaran noticed. More than noticed—the god was incensed. In Kengo's next war, Pollaran entered the field on the opposing side. With divine fury behind them, Kengo's enemies became unstoppable. His strategies, which had always worked, suddenly failed. His troops, which had always held, began to break. Kengo fought brilliantly, but brilliance meant nothing against a god.

When Pollaran himself stood before Kengo, there was no more doubt. Kengo dropped his weapon, fell to his knees, and submitted. Pollaran demanded that Kengo return the cleric's skull and pledge eternal loyalty. Kengo complied. The god then did something unexpected: he blessed Kengo and made him a war priest. The once-mercenary king now served Pollaran directly, and every army he thereafter commanded carried not only his military genius but also the direct attention of the god.

Kengo's final years were spent as a teacher of war and strategy within Pollaran's priesthood. His greatest contribution was not another victory but a doctrine: Pride in skill is appropriate; pride in victory is spiritual corruption. Remember always that you could face what you cannot defeat.

Mikello was a dwarven weapon-smith of unparalleled skill. His weapons were not merely well-crafted; they were revelations of what craftsmanship could achieve. Every blade he forged seemed to anticipate the hand that would hold it, every spear flew true, every shield withstood blows that should have shattered it.

When the high priesthood of Pollaran approached him with a commission to create 128 weapons—one for each of the faith's most honored warriors—Mikello understood what was being asked. They wanted not simply weapons but artifacts, objects of such perfect design that they would become legendary.

He accepted the commission and worked for three years. He poured his entire mastery into the task. He collaborated with the priesthood's mages, infusing each weapon with magical potency. He studied the specific fighting styles of each intended warrior, crafting weapons that seemed almost to know what their wielder would do before they did it.

But he succeeded too well. The weapons he created were so perfectly infused with purpose and consciousness that they became sentient. Each one developed a will of its own. They rejected weak wielders, refused orders that contradicted their internal sense of honor, and could turn on their supposed masters if disrespected. They were perfect tools of war—and they were perfectly uncontrollable.

Mikello lived to see what he had created, though he died before fully understanding the implications. The 128 weapons became relics of immense power and constant danger. Pollaran himself declared that this was acceptable, even desirable: a god of war understands that war produces consequences that exceed your control. The best you can do is manage them with respect and courage.

How they refer to themselves: the Hunters or the Keepers of the Arsenal

The Telum Venandi are perhaps the most dangerous sect within Pollaran's faith. They have dedicated themselves to the recovery, management, and safeguarding of the 128 sentient weapons created by Mikello Zoranti. These weapons are scattered across the world, some in temples, some hidden in tombs, some wielded by warriors who do not fully understand their nature.

The Telum Venandi's task is to either recover these weapons or ensure they remain dormant and controlled. This is extraordinarily dangerous work—a single mistake results in death as the weapons themselves turn against the hunter. The sect has developed ritualistic methods to calm and communicate with the weapons, but there is no perfect technique. Membership in the Telum Venandi is a commitment to probable death in service of Pollaran.

They are recognized by a modified holy symbol—a horizontal sword laid across the ascending fist—and by the numerous scars that mark their bodies. Few Telum Venandi reach old age. Those who do are treated with profound respect, as they have somehow survived encounters that kill most others.

How they refer to themselves: the Unbroken or simply the Militia

The Militia is distinct from the priesthood proper: it is a military force, not a religious institution. All warriors who pass initiation into Pollaran's faith are considered part of the Militia, but the Militia also has a formal structure of its own. There is a Commander of the Militia, who answers directly to the High Cleric.

The Militia exists to defend Pollaran's faith and interests. In peacetime, they train relentlessly. When Pollaran calls for action—whether to support a specific military campaign or to defend against threats—the Militia mobilizes. Pledging to the Militia is a lifelong commitment. Abandoning the Militia is considered the gravest breach of faith short of active betrayal. Desertion is punishable by ritual combat with the current Commander, and no deserter has survived such a challenge.

How they refer to themselves: the Strategists of Peace or the Order of the Restrained Fist

This heresy argues that Pollaran's domain of "order" should be emphasized over "war"—that the deity represents strategic governance and wise rule, not merely conflict. They point out that the faith's doctrine mentions "order" alongside "war" and argue that Pollaran would prefer to establish order through means other than violence.

The mainstream faith considers this a fundamental misreading of Pollaran's nature. Yes, order is important, but order is established through war and maintained through the credible threat of war. A Pacifist Warlord's "order" is soft and temporary. True order requires the willingness to fight.

How they refer to themselves: the True Meritocrats or the Worthy

This group challenges the noble-centric nature of the Pollarite priesthood. They argue that valor and skill in battle should be the only criteria for leadership within the faith—that a commoner who proves themselves in combat deserves authority over a noble who was born into privilege.

This heresy has historical precedent: Kengo was not born to nobility, and he rose to become a High Cleric. However, the mainstream faith argues that Kengo was exceptional and his rise was exceptional. The doctrine of a well-ordered hierarchy requires that authority flows downward from those trained from birth to lead. A meritocratic system, properly understood, is one in which the best-qualified hold authority—and the best-qualified are typically those raised to command.

How they refer to themselves: the Reformed or the Second Chance

This heresy consists of warriors who have been branded as cowards or have refused to fight in wars they considered unjust. They believe that Pollaran's teachings have been corrupted by the clergy and the warrior class—that true Pollaran worship emphasizes honor over blind obedience, and that refusing an unjust war is itself an honorable act.

The mainstream faith rejects this thoroughly. A soldier's role is to execute the orders of proper authority. Personal judgments about the justice of a war are not the soldier's concern; they are the leader's burden. The Dishonored are considered traitors who have rationalized their cowardice with appeals to conscience.

How they refer to themselves: the Awaiting or the Chosen

This cult believes that Pollaran's true form is that of a giant, celestial fist that will one day descend to the world to smite all cowards and non-believers. They believe that this "Celestial Fist" is the deity's ultimate expression and that history is moving toward this moment of divine judgment.

Members of the cult are fanatically devoted and often initiate conflicts to hasten the coming of the Celestial Fist. They engage in provocative behavior designed to trigger larger wars, believing that the greater the conflict, the closer Pollaran comes to manifesting fully. The mainstream faith considers them extremely dangerous—they have caused significant casualties through their provocations—and actively hunts them. They are considered heretics who have perverted Pollaran's doctrine into an apocalyptic death cult.

How they refer to themselves: the Infinite Soldiers or the Unending

Members of this cult believe that life is a constant battle and that death is merely a transition to another form of combat. They believe that when they die glorious deaths in battle, they will be taken to Pollaran's realm in the Shattered Domain to continue fighting eternally alongside the god himself.

While the mainstream faith teaches something similar—that honorable death in battle leads to a form of afterlife in Pollaran's domain—the cult takes this belief to a dangerous extreme. They deliberately seek out the most dangerous conflicts, volunteer for suicidal missions, and sometimes provoke warfare simply to create more opportunities to die in combat. The cult is small but influential among impressionable young warriors.

How they refer to themselves: the Anointed or the Red Covenant

This cult is focused on the ritualistic shedding of blood—both their own and their enemies'—as offerings to Pollaran. They believe that blood is the purest form of tribute to the god of war and engage in bloodletting ceremonies that are considered extreme even by mainstream Pollarites.

The Bloodsworn perform ritual self-harm before battle, believing that their own blood offers Pollaran a direct gift. They also engage in battle practices that are more about the spilling of blood than the achievement of victory. The mainstream faith considers them corrupted and dangerous, having perverted Pollaran's teachings into a kind of religious masochism.

(See: Cosmology/Physical Realms/The Shattered Domain)