In the age before Nyxollox gave death a face and a theology, dying was a thing that simply happened — an intrusion without meaning, a door that opened randomly and took whoever stood before it. The old gods watched it happen without intervention, neither offering mercy nor explaining purpose. Death was not ruled; it was not guided. It simply was.

Then Ix shattered.

Among the Shards that fell into the world was one piece that contained something the other gods had overlooked: the understanding that death was not aberration or failure, but the necessary structure that made life coherent. That every life that ended made room for lives yet to come. That the process of dying could be witnessed, honored, and eased.

Nyxollox inherited this shard and woke into it fully formed, knowing exactly what he was: not an agent of death (death needs no promotion), but its witness. Its chronicler. The one who stands at the threshold and says: this was a life, and it mattered, and now it ends with dignity.

Nyxollox's earliest clergy were not appointed by him. They were discovered by him — mortals who were already doing the work. A woman kneeling beside the dying in a plague town. An old man who had spent his life washing corpses with ritual care. A warrior who cradled the enemy soldiers he killed, whispering forgiveness into their final moments.

He appeared to them in dreams. He gave them the practice, the prayer, and the marking: the paint that would identify them as set apart, as belonging to the threshold between worlds. He did not demand followers; he recognized those who had already chosen to follow.

The founding priest of the order was a man named Bakwan Occal, a father who had buried his own child — a boy of one year, taken by fever despite all the best efforts of every healer in the city. In his grief, Bakwan came to Nyxollox's temple in desperation, seeking not resurrection (which he understood was not the god's way), but reassurance that his son had not suffered in the transition.

Nyxollox granted him this: the knowledge that the boy's passing had been swift, that he was now at peace, and that Bakwan's love did not end at the moment of death — it continued, transformed but real. This meeting moved Bakwan so profoundly that he entered the priesthood. He shaved his head and marked it black in mourning for all the dead. He added a single white line down from his chin, one stripe for each child he had failed to save — which, by his count, meant starting with one.

The mark became tradition. The order grew around it. Today, every death-priest bears the black paint from the day of their initiation, with white lines added as they progress through the ranks. Not as punishment, but as witness: I have stood with the dying. I have held their hands. I have counted the lives that I could not save, and I carry their memory in my face.

In a period so distant that the exact century is disputed, two nations warred along a river. For years, the violence went on — young soldiers marching away, returning maimed or not returning at all. The cities hollowed out. The fields went untended. The temples of other gods filled with people praying for victory, or survival, or vengeance.

Then a group of women — daughters, sisters, widows — took a different action. They walked onto the battlefield where the fighting was fiercest. They did not take up weapons. They walked among the wounded and the dying, regardless of which side had employed them. They bandaged. They comforted. They bore witness to suffering without claiming to end it, because they understood that the dying needed witnessing more than they needed false hope.

The effect was not mystical. It was human. Soldiers on both sides, seeing their own sisters and mothers among the fallen, laying hands on the wounded without asking which banner they had followed — something broke in the hearts of those still fighting. The violence did not end all at once. But it ended.

Nyxollox appeared to each of these women in a dream. They understood what they were meant to do: to formalize what they had begun. They entered the priesthood together, their heads marked like Bakwan's had been, but with an additional distinction — their white stripes ran longer, broader, more visible. Not because they were higher in rank, but because their witness was collective. They became the founding cadre of the faith's expansion, traveling to other war-torn regions and teaching the practice: go where the dying are. Stand with them. Let them know they are not alone.

Nyxollox offers what might seem like the hardest bargain of any god: he promises not to prevent death, but to make it bearable.

The faith of Nyxollox is built on a few unshakeable premises:

(See also: claw/Soul_Coins_and_Divine_Economy)

Nyxollox's economy is strange among the gods: he accumulates power precisely when others expect him to lose it.

Temples dedicated to Nyxollox are built from reclaimed wood — salvaged timbers, repurposed doors, the materials of structures that have already stood and sheltered life. Nothing is wasted. Nothing is new, or at least, not by tradition.

This choice is both practical and theological. A temple made from reclaimed wood tells a story: other buildings have stood here; other people have lived here; others have died. We carry their memory into this new structure. The temples are not imposing. They are often small, multiple-chambered buildings designed for intimacy rather than grandeur, because dying is a private act.

A typical temple includes:

The power of a Nyxollox temple is tied to the dead who rest near it. A temple that has received many bodies, that has witnessed many passings, becomes a thin place — the boundary between the living world and what comes after grows permeable. Some report that they can sense the presence of the dead in such temples; the death-priests say this is exactly as it should be.

The priesthood of Nyxollox is strictly hierarchical, but the hierarchy is based not on power but on witness — on how many dead a priest has stood beside, how much accumulated grief they have borne, how well they carry the weight.

Rank is marked in paint: a single white stripe for an initiate, additional stripes for priests who have progressed through decades of service. A high priest may bear five or six stripes running from chin to the back of the head, each one a record of commitment.

Authority flows through these ranks, but unusually: a senior priest cannot simply order a junior priest. They mentor. They demonstrate. They model what it means to stand at the threshold without breaking. The order manages its own discipline through a council of the most senior priests, who consider cases of misconduct — a death-priest who refused comfort to the dying, or who broke the confidentiality of what they were told at a deathbed.

The priesthood deliberately rotates its workers to prevent moral collapse. A death-priest might spend five years at the bedside, then move to archival work, then to training new initiates, then back to the bedside. No one is expected to carry that weight forever.

Recruitment into Nyxollox's priesthood is not active in the way that other faiths recruit.

Soft entry typically begins when someone has experienced profound loss. A family that has been cared for by the death-priests during a terminal illness may later produce one or more new initiates. The clergy do not pressure. They simply make the offer: if you wish to transform your grief into service, there is a place for you here.

Initiation is the shaving of the head and the first marking — the single white stripe. The initiate is brought before the high priest and before the community of death-keepers, and they make a simple vow: I will stand with the dying. I will witness their passing. I will honor their memory. I will not turn away from grief.

Then they choose: to leave the ceremony, or to have their head painted black and accept the stripe.

What makes an enemy rather than a convert: Deliberate defacement of corpses. The practice of necromancy. Mockery of the dying. These are not people the order attempts to convert; these are people the order opposes directly.

A death-priest of Nyxollox is recognizable by what they do and how they carry themselves.

Date: First day of each week.

On Burial Day, all those who have died during the week and received the blessing of Nyxollox's clergy are buried together, in a single communal ceremony. The families are present, but so are members of the broader community — even those with no connection to the deceased. The ritual is simple: each corpse is named aloud. The name is entered into the record. Then it is consigned to the earth.

The phrase "Till next week" has entered common speech — used to mean the beginning of a new phase in life, a renewal after change, or sometimes simply a joking way of saying goodbye. The phrase acknowledges Burial Day without mockery.

Date: Last new moon of the year.

On Revoco Night, those who have lost a loved one gather in the temple to mourn together. The word Revoco means "call back" — not to summon the dead (which is forbidden), but to call back their memory. The ceremony involves the lighting of candles, the singing of songs of remembrance (different in every region, but always collective), and the sharing of food — typically the favorite dishes of those being mourned.

The temple provides a modest amount of food, but families are encouraged to bring their own contributions, creating a feast that honors both the dead and the living who remember them.

Date: Third full moon of the year.

Bakwan's Day commemorates the meeting between Bakwan Occal and Nyxollox — the moment when the first death-priest understood what his calling was meant to be. This is the most sacred day of the faith's calendar, and it is observed with a ceremony that is closed to all but the ordained clergy and their chosen apprentices.

On this day, the priests remove their paint in private ritual, revealing the unmarked skin beneath. This unmasking happens only once yearly, and it symbolizes a kind of renewal — the shedding of accumulated grief, and a return to the source. Only after this does the paint go back on.

Performed immediately after a person's death, Moridies is the ritual that begins the transition. The death-priest stands at the corpse's head and makes a simple declaration:

"This was [name]. They lived. They died. They are remembered. We commend their soul to the arms of Nyxollox, who will guide them to the place beyond. May their memory not fade. May their rest be peaceful. May they know they did not die alone."

The body is then washed with ritual care, dressed in clean white cloth, and positioned for burial. The family is invited to speak final words, to touch the dead one last time, or to remain silent if they prefer. There is no formula; there is only witness.

When a new priest is brought into the order, they are brought before the high priest and the gathered clergy. The candidate's head is shaved bare. Then, using paint prepared specially for the occasion, their head is painted black from crown to chin — the base coat. A single white line is then marked, running from chin to the back of the head, extending downward. This stripe represents the priest's first acknowledgment: I have stood with one person in their dying. I carry that memory in my face.

Long, flowing robes of simple dark cloth, embroidered (if at all) only with the symbol of Nyxollox — the clasped hands. The robes are not decorative; they are functional, designed to move easily and to remain undamaged through long hours of service.

The distinctive mark of the priesthood. Black as the base, with white stripes applied according to rank — each stripe representing commitment, witness, and the accumulation of grief borne. The stripes run from the chin toward the back of the head. Higher-ranking priests may have stripes that extend down the sides of the face or across the scalp.

Worn by all ordained priests. Usually cast in silver or simple metal, depicting the two hands of Nyxollox's symbol — one aged, one youthful. It serves as both a holy symbol and a practical mark of office.

Carried by high priests during formal ceremonies. Topped with a representation of clasped hands, often carved from the wood of the temple itself. The staff is used to mark the threshold at burials and to gesture toward the beyond during funerary rites — a physical representation of guidance to the other side.

Simple footwear made from natural materials — leather, cloth, untreated wood if possible. These shoes mark that the wearer has prepared for the last journey, and is ready to guide others toward theirs.

Worn across the chest during formal ceremonies. Typically woven in a color that contrasts with the black robes — white, grey, or pale blue. The sash is embroidered with symbols representing both life (sprouts, light) and death (stars, gates, resting hands). This garment is not worn daily; it is reserved for Burial Day and the most solemn rituals.

Bakwan was a man unmade by loss. When his young son died of fever, the world suddenly made no sense to him — all his knowledge as a parent had become useless, all his hopes had been erased in a single night. He came to Nyxollox's temple not seeking salvation but seeking some form of bearing witness to the fact that his child had existed.

What Nyxollox gave him was not resurrection, not even comfort in the modern sense, but the understanding that his son's brief existence mattered eternally. That the passage his son had made was sacred. That Bakwan's love could continue, transformed but real, beyond the boundary of death.

Bakwan entered the priesthood and developed the practice that defines the faith: the marking of the head, the record-keeping, the presence at the deathbed as witness rather than savior. He understood that death needs no promotion and no denial — it needs only to be seen clearly and honored.

His legacy is not a text or a law; it is a practice. Everything the death-priests do, they do because Bakwan did it first.

These women (whose individual names were never recorded — the faith considers this fitting, as they stand for a collective rather than individual achievement) revolutionized the understanding of grief during wartime. They demonstrated that compassion at the moment of death was not weakness but the most profound strength.

When they moved onto the battlefield and began to tend the dying without asking which side they belonged to, something shifted in the hearts of the soldiers. The violence did not end because they asked it to; it ended because people saw something that made violence seem suddenly shameful in comparison.

Nyxollox appeared to each of them in a dream, acknowledging the work they had already chosen to do. They became the founding wave of the faith's expansion, traveling to other wars and teaching the practice everywhere they went.

The Daughters' legacy is the understanding that the death-priests serve not just the faithful but everyone — the enemy is just as much under Nyxollox's care as the ally. Death is impartial, and the priesthood must be impartial in kind.

Shanoa was a halfling healer whose gift was the creation of remedies and potions. For years, she served her village well — broken bones mended, infections cleared, pregnancies that were going badly were brought safely to term. Then a plague came, one that no herb and no potion could touch, and Shanoa watched her village die around her.

In desperation, she pleaded with the gods — not for power to save everyone, but for knowledge. Nyxollox answered by giving her the understanding of how to make the antidote. She saved the remainder of the village, but not before dozens had died.

The deaths broke something in her. But instead of leaving the priesthood to heal, Shanoa realized that healing and death-tending were not separate callings — they were two halves of the same work. She entered the priesthood of Nyxollox, becoming the first healer-priest.

Distinctively, Shanoa marked herself differently: her head was painted white instead of black, with a single black stripe. This was not rebellion against the order; it was a different expression of the same truth. She wanted the paint of her head to reflect her focus: not on death's finality, but on the life that could be preserved, the passing that could be eased through healing.

Her legacy created the sect of Shanoaites — death-priests who also tend to the living, understanding that the boundary between healing and dying is not as sharp as it appears.

Mikkaw was a human nobleman who loved unwisely and was destroyed by the consequences of that love. When his mistress died in a tragic poisoning—by the hand of his own wife—his grief became indistinguishable from rage.

He fled to a temple of Nyxollox seeking refuge and solace. What he found instead was an opportunity to pervert the faith entirely. He began to seek out the grieving families of murder victims and to preach a doctrine of vengeance disguised in the language of Nyxollox's theology: justice for the dead, honoring their memory through retribution.

He never committed the murders himself. He never had to. He simply whispered to the bereaved, guided them toward their enemies, and ensured that when violence came, it was slow and cruel. His actions were discovered eventually, and he was excommunicated with a ritual that removed his marks — a rare and terrible punishment. But his legacy persists in a hidden sect of death-priests who have perverted the faith's teachings.

The orthodox order names him as a lesson: this is what happens when we begin to use Nyxollox's office for purposes other than witness and honor.

How they refer to themselves: the Healers or the Life-Keepers

The Shanoaites are a sect that practices both healing and death-tending as expressions of the same calling. They understand that Nyxollox's domains include life as much as death — the good death is one that comes when it truly cannot be postponed, and much of the priesthood's work is in recognizing the difference between a death that must be accepted and a death that can still be prevented.

Shanoaites travel to plague zones, battlefields, and regions struck by disaster. They work with the living as much as with the dying, and they often serve dual roles as healers in their communities. Unlike other death-priests, who mark their heads black with white stripes, Shanoaites mark their heads white with a single black stripe — a reversal that represents their emphasis on the life side of the threshold.

Shanoaites do not advance through the standard ranking system; their sole stripe marks them as fully initiated, and they remain at that level regardless of how long they serve. This is not considered a limitation but a different path. They take their authority directly from the high priest and answer to no intermediate ranks.

How they refer to themselves: Witnesses to Combat or the War-Priests

The Warborn are death-priests who specialize in service on battlefields and in war zones. They have developed techniques for rapid assessment (who can be saved, who must be allowed to pass peacefully), for moving through combat zones safely, and for performing truncated versions of the full funeral rites in situations where time is critical.

The Warborn gain their rank through battlefield service. A stripe is added not for general tenure but for significant combat zones survived — a priest with three stripes has stood amid three major conflicts. They are among the most respected members of the priesthood, though their work is considered too harrowing for long-term practice. Most Warborn rotate out of active combat after a decade, moving to training, archival, or counseling work.

The Brooches of the Kallian Daughters are primarily carried by the Warborn.

How they refer to themselves: the Archivists or the Memory-Keepers

The Silent Keepers dedicate themselves primarily to the maintenance and expansion of the archives — the records of the dead. They are death-priests who rarely (or never) attend deathbeds; instead, they record every name, preserve every account, maintain every ledger.

The faith considers this work equally sacred as the direct tending of the dying. Without the archives, the dead would be forgotten. Without preservation, death loses one of its sanctifying elements. The Silent Keepers see themselves as extending the work of bearing witness across time — ensuring that the dead are honored not just at the moment of their passing but centuries hence.

How they refer to themselves: the Hasteners

The Accelerationists argue that Nyxollox's true role is to facilitate death rather than merely to witness it — that the faith has become too protective of life when it should be embracing death's inevitability and even speeding the process along for those suffering greatly.

They argue that a death hastened by compassionate means is not murder but mercy, and that Nyxollox should be understood as the patron of mercy-death. They target the terminally ill with arguments about dignity and the right to die quickly.

The orthodox faith considers this a fundamental misreading: Nyxollox stands at the threshold but does not rush people toward it. The act of dying should be neither prolonged nor forced; it should be allowed to unfold at its own pace with presence and dignity.

How they refer to themselves: the Life-Eternal Keepers

The Immortalists emphasize Nyxollox's domain over life even more than his domain over death. They argue that the proper interpretation of the faith is to extend life as much as possible — to use magic, medicine, any means necessary to avoid death indefinitely or at least to postpone it for as long as possible.

They see Nyxollox as a god of life preserved rather than death honored, and they consider the orthodox priesthood's acceptance of death to be a failure of will and imagination.

The orthodox faith regards this as a direct violation of the core doctrine: death will come. To spend all one's effort denying that reality is to miss the actual work of Nyxollox, which is to make the meeting with death bearable rather than terrifying.

How they refer to themselves: the Traders

The Soul Merchants believe that the souls of the deceased can be treated as commodity — that dead souls can be offered to other gods, demons, or even mortals as part of bargains and exchanges. They argue that since Nyxollox is the caretaker of souls, gaining his favor through such trades will give them special privileges.

This heresy strikes at the very heart of Nyxollox's doctrine: the dead are sacred and inviolable. A soul that has passed is beyond trade; it belongs to itself and to memory. Using the dead as currency is the deepest corruption the faith recognizes.

How they refer to themselves: the Starless or the Darkness-Embracers

This cult has fundamentally misread Nyxollox's nature, identifying him as the god of darkness rather than the god of death. They believe that death is merely the vehicle for entry into an eternal darkness that is sacred in itself, and they work to spread darkness through the world as an act of worship.

They perform rituals that plunge entire regions into magical darkness, believe that death by suffocation or deprivation is especially pleasing to Nyxollox, and have been known to create pockets of perpetual night that trap people in disoriented, traumatized states.

The orthodoxy condemns them absolutely: the darkness of death is metaphorical, not literal.

How they refer to themselves: the Renewers or the Returned

Founded by a figure claiming direct visitations from Nyxollox, the Circle of Rebirth denies the finality of death. They believe that true followers will be reborn multiple times, cycling through lives under Nyxollox's watch, and that death is therefore not an ending but a transition within an eternal cycle.

They teach that each death brings a person closer to understanding, and that the goal of the faith should be to cultivate the conditions for rapid rebirths, not to accept the single death Nyxollox's priesthood emphasizes.

The orthodox faith regards this as a corruption of the afterlife doctrine: Nyxollox does not oversee reincarnation. The dead pass beyond. What happens after that is mysterious and not the priesthood's business. To claim otherwise is to invent theology where the faith deliberately maintains silence.

How they refer to themselves: the Purified or the Light-Bearers

This cult was founded by Elara, a former death-priest who claims to have received a personal revelation from Nyxollox instructing her to invert the paint markings: head painted white with a black stripe instead of black with white stripes.

Elara teaches that this marks a state of purity — a shedding of the accumulated grief and stain of death-work. She and her followers refuse to participate in standard death-rites, arguing that their purity makes them unsuitable for such work. Instead, they focus on meditation, celebration, and the elevation of life above death.

The orthodox priesthood condemns them as fraudulent: the paint marks are not claims of purity; they are records of witness. To invert them is to deny the fundamental work of the faith.

(See: Cosmology/Physical Realms/The Shattered Domain)