"Hell," says Brother Maercal, and it's not clear whether he's reacting or simply repeating the location of his god's temple. He frowns at the black spot, shaking his head. You wonder what you're supposed to do now—how does one track down a temple in Hell?
"Semita iustitiae luce videri potest permittere - Templum Neheod," says Malibran, praying for knowledge of the path to the Temple of Neheod.
The results are...odd. The idea of suicide appears in his mind as the most direct route to Hell, then is wiped from his mind like chalk from a blackboard. Other ideas appear and are similarly erased: plane shifting, teleporting, and other magical means of transporting oneself across planes are all momentarily suggested and dispensed with. He feels an increasing sense of confused searching for something that is not there and perhaps never was. Then there is nothing. No path presents itself. Even Pholtus, it seems, does not know how to reach the Temple of Neheod.
"Nothing, huh?" says Brother Maercal, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his robe. "That's what everyone gets. Sages, wizards—they come by, try their spells, shake their heads, and wander off muttering. No one can figure out where the temple is except that it's in Hell and you can't get there from here." He shakes his head sadly. "But the temple was taken only hours ago. Perhaps one of the sages or wizards will come up with something. Or maybe you will." He doesn't sound hopeful.