They followed a god that was considered an "evil god". A god of darkness and shade. And yet, their entire lives, they helped those in need. Those stuck in a cycle of pain and torment were given gentle hands so that they may be guided into more peaceful, more fulfilling, lives. -- Anon Guest
Do not utter the name of the goddess of death, lest you gain her attention. So many call her Mistress Dark, the Last Host, She With Many Guests, and the One Over All. These same people freely name the Daughter Moon without knowing that that is also her.
That is the loophole by which Schyphahn the Elf could whisper her goddess' name.
Ze tried not to cause alarm or trouble. People couldn't understand hir choices. They tended to fear death. Schyphahn couldn't fathom why. It was just another part of life. That said, hir oaths caused enough trouble as it was. Hir fault for thinking those oaths were easy to keep as a child.
Ze had promised to live humbly and carry no gold. Which can be a problem when ze joined with Adventurers as the team Cleric. It wasn't just not carrying gold. It was also the living humbly.
If ze wasn't so good with ghosts, ghouls, and other undead things, Schyphahn suspected they might just leave hir behind to hir fate. But that was all right. Death was an old friend. Ereshkygal and Schyphahn kept meeting again and again. And so too did both abominations and servants.
"Ghouls," muttered Ephiar, the Harukh Wizard. "You'd think this lich would get sick of throwing ghouls at us."
Schyphahn had already given the crew charms to protect them from the undead, and ze had hir permanent aura to repel such creatures. Given by the goddess. Having a ghoul close enough to identify it as such should not have happened.
Yet here it was.
Happening.
"This is not a fault in my goddess' blessings," Schyphahn whispered. "This is something else."
Then the ghoul... spoke. "Adventurers! Thank the gods."
Not a ghoul. A lost soul with illusion magic enough to keep them avoided by most other intelligent creatures in this labyrinth. Injured. Half-starved. They'd been surviving on wits alone until they met with Schyphahn and Ephiar and the sullenly silent Denro the Fury.
Her name was Jantam, and had been with a different party before a host of vampires and spawn got to most of them.
"You were bitten," said Schyphahn. Ze could sense it. "But you did not die."
"I'm still alive," begged Jantam. "I got away. There has to be a cure, right?"
"I can try," said Schyphahn. "It will be a great risk to both of us." For Jantam, because she would be bargaining with Death for her life. For Schyphahn, because ze had to say hir goddess' name in front of people who knew it... and hated it.
Death and hir were old friends. Perhaps, this time, would be the last time they met.
There were candles. There were runes and a sigil on the floor. And there was bloodletting. And then there came the goddess. Ready to judge.
A soul was saved.
Hir crew let Schyphahn wake up after all was done.
"Why didn't you tell us?" asked Denro. "You heard everything we said about the Last Host's cultists."
"I didn't tell you because of everything you said about her cultists. Especially the bit about all of them deserving death." Schyphahn didn't cringe. Didn't flinch. Didn't beg for hir life. "I'm ready for my judgement."
"Hate to disappoint," said Ephiar, "but we already decided you're very much the opposite of the usual lot. We've heard your prayers. There's not an atom of malice in you."
"And you literally put your life on the line for me, a stranger," added Jantam. "That's not the act of someone who wants death for the whole world all at once."
[Photo by Timothy Dykes on Unsplash]
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