...Bhaal does not appear because he is not fully present in any one place. A blade finds the gap in armor that shouldn't exist. A warrior's hand moves faster than thought and wonders afterward whose will moved her arm. He is the bloodlust that descends on battlefields like fog, the whisper that suggests one more death would feel so right. His children were born of murder and return to it naturally, as though killing is respiration. In a temple of worship that predates most civilizations, cultists chant his name and sacrifice, and he does not answer because answering would imply he was ever truly absent. He is the silence after a killing blow, the certainty in a murderer's eye, the hunger that answers. Is this not what we were meant for? The god is dead but his appetite lives on, patient and eternal, waiting in every heart that's ever tasted blood....