The Divine Lay of Protector Ulthul, Adorned of the Holy Warriors of Suffering
On wings of wood and steel and smoke, came the Protector to the befouled lands…a place where the Tears of Talona threatened to fall, like dark rain.
His quest, inspired by the pain of penance; his need for forgiveness to conquer ancient guilt, the empowering gentle bound hands of the Crying God, all he had to hold him up.
In the darkest watches of Selune’s Feast came he to the wounded Dale, through Uktar’s blinding snow, seeking to cure and heal the scourge that he had, through holy rite, envisioned; but alas, the Crone’s claw had raked, greedily, over the simple folk even as the Sister had finished her descent from her icy skyward perch.
To the Suffering One he cried, and plead, in dread confusion; the healing he sought to bestow to the afflicted, now fell short, and the Crying God wept no more. For the Shaking could not be eased; and thus his guilt, not redeemed, but doubled.
And where Ilmater’s cleansing tears fell not, there instead, like corpulent hail, came the Tears of the Crone.
Now, in rage and pain, Talona’s poison tears washed away the Protector’s faith, like a torrent of ever-bloodied water over clean linen bandages.
Now to the Eternal Eye does the servant turn – for if the Crying One had left him in this, his hour of greatest need and redemption, his last chance for guilt to be cleansed from the stained robe of his past – then to other forces, dark and masked, must he lie prostrate.
Hear the Lay of the Protector! Faith! Faith in healing redemption, only that can stand against blackest, poxy night! Pray for Ulthul, Adorned of the Holy Warriors! Pray that his gaze returns to that which can save, and away from that which can only corrupt…