Nurulamba looked down at the finely woven silk shirt he had bought to honour his dead friend, Prince Erling of Skogaholm, who had bravely sacrificed his own life to save the City of Irilian from the encroaching Deorc! As a paladin, Erling had worshipped his own gods, but privately, Nuru prayed that his friend’s soul had somehow found its way to the River Styx and been guided by Charun Cippus to the very gates of the Underworld, there to be admitted by Charun Lufe, to live in everlasting grace, as his sacrifice deserved.
Taking a burning brand from the Chanterman in attendance, the Elven cultist kindled the incense-soaked garment so that it exploded into bright multi-coloured flames, reaching into the very heavens. After a few minutes, all that was left of the fine item of clothing was dark grey ash.
Nurulamba then turned to Tabby Rot, who stood beside him, a coin in each hand raised to his deity, and said: “The time for travelling has come, my friend.” He turned to look back at Chrun, his ecclesial theurge friend, who had not partaken in the ritual but who had agreed to accompany Tabby and himself on their quest to find a True Temple of Cherun. Since the vanquishing of the Deorc, the Chanterman had been most accommodating, but the half-elf witch, Tabby, had expressed a deep desire to worship in an actual Temple of Cherun. Nuru, a simple elf from the far away village of Estenom, had no knowledge if such a temple even existed in their lands, but agreed with Tabby, that it would warm his own heart to find one.
Bidding fond farewells to Rendar and his dog, and once more to the Chanterman, Nurulamba, devoted Cultist of Charun, accompanied by two trustworthy companions, but with limited knowledge of his own religion, took his first steps out of the City and on to a path that travelled to he knew not where.