"Hail! You there, farmer. We are in need of aid; do you have a temple or a priest? We ran into some bandits up the road there and are injured. Jonst won’t last much longer." A large man bellowed from the broken roadside.
"Of course stranger. You can find Luayas in the center of the village proper continue on until you see a large apple tree; she can aid your wounded. Please be gentle and offer tithes for her generosity." A gentle eyed man in homespun clothing, simple yet comfortable in the heat.
"Thank you farmer, we are in your debt. What does Luayas look like so that we might find her quickly? Does she stay by the tree often?" saying over his shoulder in thanks as he half pushed, half carried his companion along.
"No stranger." The farmer laughed, "She is the tree."
In a world where it seems that even the smallest of ideals has a deity to call a patron, even bastards have a patron god to call their own.
A young warrior turned warlord with a heart to satify his people’s needs. Yet every golden hero has an obsidian heart waiting to be released.
The players see a small shrine to the local nature deity just of the trail. Before they even approach it, they can smell the foul stench of rotting meat. If they inspect the shrine, they can see it has been desecrated by rotting organs in the last few days. There is no mistaking it for an obscure ritual, the organs are thrown everywhere, not left in specific places as in sacrifice.
If the players try to clean the shrine, they will soon find it has been boobytrapped to fling sharp splinters covered in the rotting gore in every direction. While only doing a few points of damage, they injured players will likely take sick soon unless they get medical attention.