Tower

After entrusting the canyon's defense to a grim-faced snakeman, the elder priest, a picture of weathered scales and ancient wisdom, respectfully ushered Galen and Bwonsamdi into the desecrated temple behind him.

"Welcome to the Tower of the Skycaller," the snakeman rasped, his voice a dry whisper. "I am Warwick, Serpent Priest of the Devout. It is… an honor to host you." He gestured around the cavernous chamber, his scales flushing a faint, embarrassed green. "The temple, as you can see, was recently… redecorated by the unbelievers. We paid a colossal sacrifice to reclaim it."

Galen surveyed the chaos – overturned altars, shattered relics, scorch marks on the ancient stone. It was clear the snakeman priests couldn't offer anything beyond a warm draft and the lingering scent of battle. Neither he nor the troll death god cared for such trivialities. Galen cut straight to the bone.

"Bwonsamdi and I were dispatched by Sethraliss herself," Galen announced, his voice echoing with authority, "to aid her beleaguered followers."

A flicker of something akin to amusement, or perhaps a mischievous glint, danced in old Bwonsamdi's eyes at the mention of the serpent goddess. But the loa of graves was cunning; he kept his ancient face impassive.

"Now that we have fulfilled her request," Galen continued, a subtle emphasis on the pronoun, "it is time for your spirit to uphold her promise."

Warwick, the Serpent Priest, stiffened. His eyes, already brimming with weary devotion, instantly ignited with a blazing fanaticism. "Sethraliss! Our beloved goddess! When Mythrax ravaged our lands, threatening to extinguish us, it was she who halted him, sacrificing her very life to save us all!" His voice swelled with conviction. "Unlike those faithless traitors, we still feel her presence, we believe that one day, she will return to us!" He bowed deeply. "Tell me, my two distinguished guests, what did Sethraliss promise? We snakemen will strain every scale, every muscle, to fulfill it!"

Galen nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. Warwick was sensible. Or, more accurately, utterly desperate. The Devout Snakemen were at their weakest, clinging to the Tower of the Skycaller by a thread. Without Galen and Bwonsamdi, they would have been annihilated by the Faithless long ago, forced to retreat to their last, miserable stronghold on the west coast. That meant not only losing countless lives but also abandoning the sacred remains of their goddess. Sethraliss herself would be twisted by the unbelievers into a dark, monstrous Loa, a perversion of her divine essence, forced to fight for the vile K'thir. A truly devastating blow to their faith.

"Sethraliss promised the Great Bwonsamdi," Galen declared, "the right to gain followers among the sethrak and spread his faith throughout your kind."

Warwick's face, already pale, drained further, his scales shifting to an alarming shade of grey. But Galen, ever the pragmatist, gave him no chance to object. "In return," he added, his voice firm, "Bwonsamdi will personally oversee Sethraliss's recovery process and assist you in crushing the Faithless army."

The condition was generous enough to make Warwick's head spin. He could almost hear his own goddess, in some ethereal plane, sighing dramatically at the thought of sharing her flock. Why would she agree to let Bwonsamdi siphon off our faith? he imagined her lamenting. But the alternative was annihilation.

"I… I will assist Master Bwonsamdi's priests in their missionary activities," Warwick stammered, his resolve buckling under the weight of the offer.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Old Bwonsamdi is very pleased with this deal!" the death god cackled, his voice a rattling symphony of ancient bones. "I will have my priests contact you as soon as possible, Warwick. Expect them to be… enthusiastic." He shot Galen an approving look. This time, through Galen's shrewd lobbying, Bwonsamdi and the snakemen had struck a truly win-win cooperation. For everyone involved, that is, except perhaps the sethrak who were about to have a new, rather demanding loa in their lives.

"So, honored guest," Warwick asked, his relief palpable, "what did Lord Sethraliss promise you?" With Bwonsamdi's formidable backing, Warwick felt a surge of confidence against the Faithless. He was already envisioning Sethraliss's glorious return, and now, he hoped Galen would bring even more aid.

"Allow me to introduce myself first," Galen stated, his chest swelling imperceptibly. "I am Galen Trollbane, King of Stromgarde." He paused for effect, letting the title sink in. "Your goddess asks me to give you a substantial amount of supplies and weapons."

Warwick's jaw, if snakemen had jaws, would have hit the floor. "So, your majesty," he stammered, utterly bewildered, "what did Lord Sethraliss promise you in return for such… generosity?"

Galen leaned in conspiratorially, a glint in his eye. "I don't ask for much. This is the first time I've encountered your… unique race of snakemen. I'm simply very curious about you, and your gods." He paused, letting the tension build. "In exchange, the Honorable Sethraliss promised me that I could visit her temple and have a chance to see her true face!" He finished with a flourish. "And, of course, Priest Warwick, you will be my personal guide throughout this… educational tour."

Warwick stared, his face a mask of utter confusion. That's it? he thought, his serpentine brain struggling to compute. He'd heard whispers of Stromgarde from exiled Zandalari nobles – the most powerful human kingdom in the Eastern Kingdoms, they'd said. But no matter how mighty, why would they just give away supplies and weapons for free?

Warwick, poor, devout Warwick, had clearly never heard the old human adage: Free is the most expensive.

That day, Bwonsamdi returned to his shadowy Hades Palace, already selecting his most zealous priests to establish a new foothold among the sethrak and spread his faith. Meanwhile, Galen, with a satisfied smirk, followed the utterly perplexed Warwick deep into their holy place: the Temple of Sethraliss.