A spirit of judgement and punishment
The story of an old gnome who makes an exceptional living off of designing and building unique strongholds.
A new story is frequently being whispered in the dark corners of taverns across the country, telling of a traveler that occasionally appears in quiet, rural towns; that draws with him a plague worse than any other: a dragon's wrath.
I'm different. I have a different constitution, I have a different brain, I have a different heart... Dying's for fools, dying's for amateurs.
Welcome to my humble home. Feel free to stay as long as you like, if you remain at all. Do be warned, though, the place is a bit... unstable...
I once sought vengeance, I have since been consumed by vengeance and that is that is left of who I was
Bells tolled continually, announcing new deaths.
Some of the gods worshipped in Teleleli and surrounding lands.
Robotic Poet or Paperweight
The Voice of Time
An optional pantheon of deities for your fantasy setting.
Tales grow in the telling and heroes grow in stature, even the tiniest can stand tall among their own.
The Eldest of the Oraki, and for long their leader, Lifthrasir-1 has helped his children survive the throes of their birth, and has at last stepped aside, so that his waning years do not bring harm to his people.
"I hear that he walks the North these days, strides amongst the Silver Firs of those harsh lands. His followers struggling behind in the frost mist. New ones joining the lines everyday the, drawn to him by some mysterious force."
Orn himself was a past peasant hero and champion, in a largely rural and agricultural area, who dared to stand up to a conquering force, and inspire his fellows to do the same.
As the world grows and changes, so to do the gods. One such creature is Verdichtung, Reaver of Steam.
"In all my years of research, perhaps the best way I have found to summarize the Hermit of Wither Tor is the name given to him by the inhabitants of the Grassdancer ghettoes. These unfortunates call him, in their own tounge, AnÃ‚Â´rah GrunÃ‚Â´dar Ahr, which roughly translates into He-Who-Speaks-With-His-Fists....."
From "Locastus and beyond", by Darius Moak
I have lost everything which is dear to me… I am… Lacrimosa.
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!
In dark times people are willing to do and say anything for their salvation.
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.