A goddess with a holy object of veneration in every pocket, wallet and bank; as well as down the sides of the big comfy chair in the inn.
Late is the hour, dark the night. Clouds blanket out the moon and stars. A lone figure is seen slipping out of the forest and onto the main road leading into the village, in search of it's doctor.
Most of the other old men I talk to about life discuss defining days that separated their lives into a before and after. My life does not have any such days, no single event changed the way I lived my life. This life of mine is one unbroken field, different crops have been planted and reaped, but the ground has remained the same. There is one day though that scars that field like a stump or stone that cannot be plowed under. I have spent many seasons pondering that day, but have never found a comfortable place for it.
"Dat woman... She was terrible to behold. Terrible but beautiful. She sat on a great throne, surrounded by her gatorfolk servants. She stood and she looked mighty angry. She look down at me an' Tergryn an' de rest, and she yell in some strange tongue - de elf-folk, I tink. She had a fury in her soul, an' I could feel her evil eye on me. Doric - hui, poor Doric! - she had 'er gatorfolk slash his belly wit' his claws and tore out his entrails. De gobbled dem up... Poor Doric..."
- Jorif Grisold, survivor
She is the high priestess of Jampiri, the outcast of the Kanaar, the guardian of the gatorfolk. Swynmoor's resident witch is powerful and knowledgeable, keeping the natural balance in the swamps.
A dwarf's fear of the ocean is not baseless. In the unknowable depths lurks an evil that will punish any dwarf arrogant enough to be on anything less than solid land, and unfortunate enough to die.
An agent of the Vatican, Father Titus is one of it's highest ranking and most effective special agents.
A demon unleashed... to make the world a better place.
The Prophet John's life and, indeed, death was a mystery. Some say that the gods placed him on this earth for his purpose without a past, and others, a rare few, claim that he was a god himself.
Herein lies the histories of Warpriest Lazarus, righteous fist of Tridoa. Lord Lightward the Lunar Hammer.
Herein lies the birth of Lazarus Lightward the Hellpriest; Trickster of Devils and Master of the Bloodied Moon.
30 cult members, of varying levels of sanity and skill. Divided into Guilds for convenience and clarity. Could potentially be used as 30 gang members, depending on your needs.
Slumbering within a prison of ice and snow, adrift in the oceans of the north, Gundrak dreams without end.
Lady Evica is one of the prides of the Hesayan Church--it shows that even monstrous, overtly sexual, colossal mermaids can be brought to worship in Iasu's light. Except not really.
The Leader of the Corpael Etasen maintains the appearance of a socialite trying to save the souls of humanity, but most definitely has other goals.
His faithful will devour the world
He had done it a hundred times, taken eyes. It was so easy by now, he rarely used a spoon or knife, but, with his own fingers, would pilfer those beautiful orbs from the skulls of the deceased...
Some of the gods worshipped in Teleleli and surrounding lands.
An optional pantheon of deities for your fantasy setting.
"Oh, yes, I know of him. That half-mad disciple of the Storm, you’d never think he was dangerous to look at him - until he pulls out those twin blades of his and screams in his high voice ‘Blood for the Storm God!’ - you wouldn’t think a pixie could make your blood go cold like that."
-Anatos One-Eye, speaking of Raziel of the Crimson Storm
As the world grows and changes, so to do the gods. One such creature is Verdichtung, Reaver of Steam.
Scale and bone and tooth and claw,
All are symbols of His law
Mourn not the fallen, sick, or weak,
They are His to claim and His to keep!
...among the items identified was a dolphin-shaped bathtub of marble and porcelain, a winged-back, high-chair of teak and velvet studded with fire opals, the gear-thing contraption from the dungeon-laboratory of Dr. Bezemot, the oil portrait of the rubicund Madame Orundilde Tarwygg, and a strange item known only as the Last Candle.