"What? Wasn't me. I promise."
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"No!!! It's not what I meant!" Urgathoa screams.
"A prayer is a prayer, just because the word 'f~#$' isn't in your vocabulary..." Urgathoa spits, "Claim him all you like, but Arimar was my chosen and he will never be a cleric of the Healing Light!"
"No! He still prayed to me first! You saw it! Make him mine!" she demands of Abadar.
The Pallid Princess smiles a victorious smile.
"It's all about the prayers is it? Well, let's see who he prays to first! If it's his choice, then let us see who he chooses for his morning prayer!" Urgathoa loses her patience.
"He only lives because of me and the gift I gave him!" Urgathoa screams, as though after being unable to speak her words have been building up like water behind a dam, "When he was in trouble, the gift is what saved his life. When he was being oppressed by the Pharasmins, my priests healed him and took him under their wing. "He then chose freely to follow me," Urgathoa adds, "And then she undoes my holy test of his faith, the lack of taste - something she had no right to do! - and suddenly he is overjoyed. Who wouldn't be? Of course he's coming to you after that. You poached him! "But he is mine. Look how he lied and twisted his way out of the situation in Magnimar. Hardly a fitting follower of 'the Dawnflower' now, is he?"
Abadar's domain is Aktun, the closest district of Axis to Pharasma's Spire. The hated outcropping at least shaded Urgathoa from the lights that filled the streets of Axis as she made her way to the citadel where Abadar would oversee the battle for ownership over her chosen with that b$@#~ Sarenrae. Arimar will be mine, and once Sarenrae is forbidden from interfering, I will have him painfully killed and raised to serve me for all eternity. Urgathoa is the first to arrive and is escorted to a mock courtroom. The, currently empty, galley is more like a stadium, rising in all directions around the judge's bench. Abadar sits there, resplendent in his gold plate mail with a short cropped beard that went out of fashion in Golarion centuries ago. "Is locating it here really necessary?" the half-woman, half-skeleton goddess asks, gesturing to the grand courtroom, "A simple meeting room would have sufficed."
Urgathoa fumes as she paces across the wastelands of Abbadon. The Citadels of the Four are visible in the far distance, and daemons scurry out of her way. Any who stray to close are hewn in two with a mighty blow from her scythe. "The audacity of that bloody whore Sarenrae!" she screams, "Protecting one of my gifted and claiming him as her own! Well, I am not beaten yet. The eyes of the dead see all. You think you have suffered, Arimar? Well, let us redefine the meaning of that word." The half-woman, half-skeleton waves her scythe before her and a brightly reflective pool of purest blood appears on the ground before her. She kneels down, defying physics as her skeletal half somehow holds her in position with no muscles there to stay her legs. A blurry image of a necromancer dressed as a ship's captain appears in the pool and the Lad of Despair smiles an evil smile. She dips her scythe in, causing ripples to originate from the man's head. She pulls the scythe out and a string of rapidly coagulating blood connects the weapon's tip to the man's head. With a yank, Urgathoa jerks hard upon the string and tugs it free of the pool. |