He doesn’t look impressed nor does he show compassion for the soul whose body burned down in mere seconds. Instead, Dargothoth kicks his ashy remains into the air, disappointed by the lack of magical items, and spits at the blackened sand. “Nearly broke my wings, wet piece of kobold shite.”
He kicks again, moving more dust than ashes. He continues swearing as he shreds the wrapping around the letter. He inspects the parchment closely, observing seven intertwined silver circles behind the black written text.
“What in the Nine Hells do the angels want from me?”, he mutters, confused and disconcerted.
“Dargothoth, Hand of Nerull,
I think we can both agree times are desperate when angels are in need of the aid of demons. We know of your hidden life, the life you spend eating children and gaining power in the name of a pernicious god. We might not see eye to eye when me meet, but we add to each other’s interests.”
His face shows every sign of distrust and suspicion. He looks again at the place of impact and then throws his gaze towards the sky, questioning if a next lightning bolt is going to strike him down.
“If you look deep in your heart, as far as so-called priests may claim to have a heart, you know you only desire one thing: power. You want to dominate and control and to become your own master. You say you follow this god, but no creature desires his own godhood more than you do. Because you haven’t stopped reading by now means you know I speak only in truths. You feel we can give you something you desire.”
Although he doesn’t like to admit it, these words do peak his interest. He knows very well that celestials despise the god Nerull, as he is the Hater of Life and Bringer of Darkness. Addressing him for help is a sign of despair and that puts him in a more powerful position to negotiate the terms. Good.
“Something of the highest importance has been stolen from our temple and we want it back. Somehow, one of our prophecies spoke of a priest with a taste for flesh and power and I believe this priest is you, Dargothoth. You get to save the world and mean something for once in your wretched life.
I know I can’t persuade you with words or try to play you with kindness. You want might, power, something that grants you something. We both know Nerull isn’t going to give it to you. The Raven Queen killed him in his own realm eternities ago and all his followers feel his absence just as well as you do. I would like to make you an offer.”
“Radiant piece of winged rat shit”, he hisses. “Nerull will never die! Never!”
His shouting is directed at the sky, presuming every angel within range could hear his angered plea. His shoulders are heaving, moving in the same rhythm as his loud breathing. Although he knows the author of this cursed letter might be right, he refuses to believe it.
“I think you care more for power than for Nerull, even though you might not want to admit it. You might not even know this yet. I want to show you something that will grant you more power than any mortal follower of any thinkable god has ever experienced, but to do this I need the artefact back. I know this sounds mysterious and goes against your gut feeling, but it will be worth it. You have my word.
Come visit me as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting for you at Crimson Gulch. Although I am very certain everyone will be here on time, if I were to doubt, my doubts would lie with you. I will not wait if you don’t show up, but I know you will. You hunger for power. Don’t let your rigid beliefs make you miss a once in a lifetime opportunity.
Was signed,
Hadriel, First Descendant of the Seraphim”
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