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 the far reaches of a long-lost wilderness, there stands a forgotten town inhabited only by children. Though they appear normal enough, their eyes burn with madness, and they speak in a foreign, archaic tongue. Nearly a millenia ago, a powerful spell had gone awry, or maybe it had succeeded - in any case, it ended up blessing, or cursing, an entire generation of children with agelessness. However, as the centuries passed, the children's parents grew old and died, the buildings of the town crumbled to earth, and even the civilization itself faded into history, becoming lost to time. All that remained were the children, driven mad by the psychological toll of living for hundreds of years beyond their age. In time, most children died, killed off by fighting amongst themselves, while many others were driven to suicide. Only a small handful remain, and they are a strange people indeed.