Love. Hate. Lust. Pride. Greed. Many are the emotions that can inflame the human heart, and of the brightest and strongest of all of these is born, Atarkhul Prince of Passion.
Slumbering within a prison of ice and snow, adrift in the oceans of the north, Gundrak dreams without end.
A sampling of 30 gods, separated into pantheons.
"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."
One of the standard peices of equipment for an adventurer is a sword. But swords were actually very complicated to manufacture. Therefore, an adventurer who owned a sword might have had it passed down through the generations or might have been rewarded by some influential figure. Or simply looted it from a tomb.