“O, Nerull, Tharoth the Reaper, Foe of All Good, Hater of Life, Bringer of Darkness and Bearer of Lifecutter, hear my prayer. We have spilled the blood of many in your name so their souls are yours to take, almighty ruler of the Crypt.
We freed them from the shackles of life so your kingdom will grow in numbers.
With murder as your message, we are your messengers.
With death as your gift, we are ever celebrating.
The blades of the half-elf Oslando have made red rivers flow.
He even claimed the sword of the angel Hadriel and now wields its wrathful flames.
He is your vessel and you are his master.
The spear of the satyr Bruq struck down the heretic cultist Simion.
He ended the gospel of false prophecies so no one will hear the tales of these untrue gods.
He is your vessel and you are his master.
The gun of the siren Lyssa blew apart the blood golem that intended to kill me.
She stopped the vengeance of the Dorgomonos family, part of the clergy of Pelor.
She is your vessel and you are her master.
The spells of the construct Merodius have made many a foe bleed.
Growing more powerful with every kill, all to make sure he can be your humble servant.
He is your vessel and you are his master.
The sceptre and claws of your truest servant, me, the sivak Dargothoth have laid low many.
Now whole cities quake with fear when hearing your name, all reminded of murder and death.
I am your vessel and you are my master.
And now we have entered an unknown dimension, already spilling the first blood.
Although their animal souls are not worthy of your plane, they were slain for your glory.
Every step I will take in this world will make the ground soak with blood.
The wave of my sceptre will break bones and every uttered word will break spirits.
Grand us the strength to keep spreading death.
Grand us the health to take it away from others.
We all pray to you, Nerull, for your omnipotent aid.
You are the one and the only, the god of death.
In your name, we revel in the slaying of the living.”
Dargothoth lowers his hands and opens his eyes again. The faint lifeless glow that surrounds him spreads rapidly and passes through his allies. In contrast to the wand of healing, the restoring energy that pierces them now is cold. It sends a shiver down their spine, but as it does so, a calmness grows inside them that takes away the pain.
“Do you feel less miserable?”
Dargothoth looks at them with his eyebrows raised. He smiles at them. He already knows the answer.
“Yes, my leg feels so much better”, the demon exclaims joyously. “The bleeding has even stopped. Thank you!”
The cleric smiles again, this time not to prove his point to the others, but to himself. Nerull hasn’t left him. Who else would grant him and his allies healing while praying to him? Other gods don’t listen to prayers not addressed to them, he guesses, so this must be Nerull.
“I also feel better”, Lyssa says nervously, “but you can spare the grim incantations next time.”
His smile widens even further.
“I knew you would all feel this way, but your wounds have been tended to. That means Nerull thinks of you as one of his servants. Now we have to keep spreading his influence to maintain his divine connection, even if we pray in the temple of a different deity. Only if you want to be sure I can aid you, of course. If you prefer dying over living, you don’t have to. In death Nerull has plans for everyone as well.”
None of them looks as displeased as Bruq. Being nothing more than an instrument angers him. To hunt is a choice, a way of survival, not something you do because you’re pressured into it. He hates it and his displeasure with having Dargothoth in their group grows because of it.
“Who is Nerull? And who are you all, actually?”
The demon looks baffled. Now that they have the time to look at more of his features up close, he looks surprisingly human. At least, they think he does. They haven’t seen that many demons before, except for Cyrzana and the demon summoned in the church at the beginning of their adventure.
“He is a god unknown to your world”, Oslando says quickly before Dargothoth has the chance to start preaching again. “We are here to aid the people of Abaddon with some difficulties. It’s a long story and I don’t know how much time we have. Please, can you tell us if that’s the temple of the Father of fear?”
The half-elf points to the black building they saw before. Without the growling sound of the wolves and the demon’s call for help, they can hear screaming coming from the temple.
“Yes, that’s the gûldun Gor-Thar’el”, he answers. “Why would five outsiders seek his temple?”
The demon’s eyes start glowing faintly as he looks above their heads and beside their bodies.
“Oh my...” The tone of his voice gives away how concerned he is. “You are all unblessed. You should go to the temple quickly before someone else finds out. Let me grab my stuff back at my camp and I will walk with you. I left in a hurry when those Chimian moor wolves attacked me.”
He points to the direction he came from.
“It’s behind that small hill, where the smoke is coming from. Let’s go.”
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