Name(s): Ferith-Null
Titles: Lord of Undeath, the Preserved, the Preserver, the Formaldehyde Lord
Alignment: NE
Portfolio: Undeath, Preservation, Science, Torture, Lack of Ethics, Desperation
Domains: Undeath, Knowledge, Water
Realm: The Realm of Blight: the Towering Tomb

Patron of those who seek to escape death, Those who seek to escape aging, those who seek to unravel the mysteries of the universe and turn it on it’s head, and those who wish things to not change. He is the Patron god of the Sogrovashi and co-patron of the Fyakki
Cleric Training: Clerics of Ferith Null must undertake extensive scholarly training and exhibit a desire to perform experiments, research, and general modifications with little morality behind their actions. The lower ranks are researches and assistance, looking into the deepest, darkest secrets of magic and reality, finding the nature of death, and eventually, learning it’s loopholes. The higher ranks are composed of clerics that have moved on from taking apart the universe and seek a way to stop the process of aging and decay and death on themselves and possibly others, in other words, the secrets of immortality. The very highest echelons have become intelligent undead. Sometimes corporeal, sometimes incorporeal. Often, they are liches, who have found a way to preserve themselves as undead, forever. Well. As forever as any mortal can truly get.
Philosophy If something is beautiful to look at, or pleasant to smell, or fine to touch, or priceless to experience, it is but a transient thing, a sensation. If it were forced to remain as it was in the moment of pleasure forever, unchanging, uncompromising, it would be an eternal moment, a treasure. People, environments, places, things. All are not immune to the entropy of age and time and the slow creep of death. And they should be.
Worshippers: Intelligent undead worship him, low-ranking undead fear him. Liches pay heed to him. Necromancers often draw their power from him. Ecoterroists invoke him to preserve the land they love from encroachment by the civilized world. And many Cataclysm-Orphaned species worship him dearly.
Prayers: Prayers to him are soft and subtle. The language can be of any known language (though he prefers the higher Blight languages) but will always carry a cold, eerie wrongness to it. Witnesses have described the tone as being chill and sinuous, but clean. Very clean, sterile. Typically, prayers initially stoke his ego, using grand titles such as “You, the master of preserving the timeless, in thy body of never-corrupting flesh and thy mind of forever keenness” or some such thing, and are in archaic flowing language. That said, the flowing and erudite language does not interfere with the matter-of-fact nature of the prayer, which states it’s purpose and objective, continues, and such. This is the same for ritual prayer and personal prayer alike.
Prayers typically are for devotions, as in morning or evening prayers, rituals, as in rituals of everlasting life or for spells, and for aid in knowledge.
There are many small rites associated with Ferith, but the creation of a lich is the most common and universal one. The lich-to-be makes many ritualistic arrangements and preparations: ensuring the preservation of his body, preparing the Phylactery, making arrangements for it’s safety, et cetera. Then they set things up, draw a complicated and intricate ritual circle, usually in chalk mixed with blood, and perform a complicated ritual designed to draw in the Duke of Undeath’s power into their own body, quenching it’s life and animating it, while simultaneously binding their soul to the phylactery and maintaining their sentience. Though difficult and somewhat of an ordeal, they become transformed into a powerful undead, able to ‘live’ forever.
Attitudes (Good and Bad)
Cold Analysis
(Gods Allied: Alyssa, Brobbet, Fuuca)
(Gods Hated: Nyrevin, Tak-Atun, Istara, Merrasat, Galderos )

Symbols: A Grinning white skull atop a pile of neatly-folded black cloth on a teal-blue background
Known Relics:
Favored Weapon Dagger

Favored Appearance:
Ferith-Null appears as a whithered, preserved corpse of some sort of horned monstrous tail-less humanoid of about 5’6’’. His face is skeletal and corpselike, with withered lips and glowing verdigris-green eyes with white pupils, often behind glasses. He is topped by a bald head with three sets of small stubby horns erupting from the brown, tight cadaverous skin. He is typically topless, revealing a sunken, stretched-thin, cured-flesh brown chest showing each rib with perfect clarity and squeezing inward at the middle. At this point, his spine is clearly outlined against the skin, as it is on his exposed, straight back. He wears a grey and teal kilt, reaching down to his knees. His thin, bony calves are exposed, straight and walking upright on human-like legs, ending in human-like feet, shriveled from preserved decay in laced, practical tan sandals. Runes, glowing teal-blue, sometimes shimmer across his skin. He is adorned lightly with jewelery, mainly on his ears, neck, and kilt. These are typically made of Silver or Iron, untarnished or corroded, and contain gems, some of which are actually preserved leaves, animals, and other ephemeral things, preserved so that they would become eternal jewel-like things. Despite this jewelery, the dark god does not seem to care for finery.

Ferith-Null is a cold, fanatical, methodological, cruel, immoral scientist, who hates to see ANYTHING lost to his brand of cruel science. He creates undead in his lair as ‘experiments’ (though mainly for fun), and performs hideous tests and dissections and alterations and preservations on willing or unwilling subjects, taking them apart and putting them back together with relentless precision.
If anything, he can find common ground with gods opposed to change, and even support among them for his plans of preservation.
But he goes too far.
Say, a worshipper invokes him to preserve a forest with a rare species of bird in it, and he listens and works a miracle. The forest will be preserved, the animals within it will be preserved… in form of permanent stasis. The forest will be silent as the animals and plants and all life and death is held still in a chemical fog that prevents all change and kills any who venture too far in, preserving them too forever, trapped body, mind and soul.
Or the forest would be locked in permanent, magical ice, frozen so fast that leaves were caught mid-drop, the birds in flight, in nesting, in feeding. Caught alive in ice, their sparks of light held fast and stationary until someone tries to thaw the creatures within and it escapes into death.
That example is him in a nutshell, taking perfection and preservation to the extreme.
His motives for conquering, aside from waking Mother-Who-Sleeps, is to preserve the beauty and wonder of the living world in this cold, lifeless way.


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