Enric's parents raised him right. He grew up knowing the names of the old gods, what good and evil are, and that a good life still takes you to heaven even if hell rules on earth. He learned to hold on to every bit of truth and light and family and community that's left and pass it on generation after generation, keep good alive until the old gods come back and bring the age of glory.
For years Enric did the best he could, for a peasant living in a village in Infernal Cheliax. He always worked hard (and every few years, there was a blessing on the fields from a real cleric). It was up to everyone to make sure the village had enough to spare for his uncle who got sent to the 'wound and came back less an arm and a leg, for the orphans who would get taken to the city if no one could take care of them here, and even the halflings when the lord of the manor cut off their rations as a punishment. Enric kept his head down and didn't try to stand up to the cleric of hell or the manor-lord and his men, but he's proud to say that he's never given anyone up to them. Not when they offered money if he could name a neighbor who still sang songs of the old gods, not when they asked if he had seen a traveler heading for the Andoran border, not even when they pretended someone had already turned on him.
Every day he tried to find some good to do, hopefully enough for heaven someday. Every night he gave thanks to Erastil and Jadis and The Sun for everything the world provides, and asked Aroden and Iomedae and Milani to come back with the age of glory as soon as they can.