Aebliss's page

Background: Give me at least three paragraphs of background, including a reason as to why your character has hit rock bottom.

Cha-chukai
Devouring Void, Pregnant Void
Alignment: CN
Portfolio: Chaos, creation, destruction, the universe
Domains: Chaos, Destruction, Madness, Sun, Void
Subdomains: Catastrophe, Entropy, Light, Revelation, Revelry, Riot, Stars, Truth, Whimsy
Cleric alignments: CE, CG, CN, N
Weapon: Gauntlet

Cha-chukai is the goddess of chaos. She both creates the universe and erodes it into destruction, without any rhyme or reason.
She is not malicious, but neither is she benevolent. She forbids nothing. She condones nothing. She simply is what she is.
Her clergy is divided in various independent sects, some of which believe they can appease or distract her so she will not destroy all of creation, some which seek to hasten that destruction so as to end the meaningless of existence, and yet others see her as the patron of whimsy and freedom.

Appearance: A winged woman without a face. Her simple dress, skin, hair and wings are all bone-white.

Sacred colour: White

Realm: Cha-chukai is said to lair at the very lowest level of Limbo, where chaos crystallizes into serenity.

Er-chukai
The Hungering Mother
Alignment: N
Portfolio: the earth, the seas, life, death
Domains: Animal, Earth, Plant, Water
Subdomains: Caves, Decay, Feather, Fur, Ice, Growth, Metal, Oceans, River
Cleric alignments: CN, LN, N, NE, NG
Weapon: Quarterstaff

Er-chukai is the world's mother goddess. She is the earth; she is the oceans. She is the mother of all plants and animals; she is their mortal enemy. What she creates, she inevitably devours, returning the building blocks of life to her womb through death, so she can build anew.
Er-chukai is not random, she is not rigid. She is concerned with nothing but her own purpose, and the cycle of life and death is just one part of her works.
Her clergy is diverse, but is broadly guided by a council of hierarchs who represent each of the alignments which may worship her. In everyday life, priests of Er-chukai may be simple village priests, tending the people like a farmer tends the herd. Others are natural philosophers, studying the great cycle of life or the secrets of biology. Some followers of Er-chukai are great healers; others are stern philosophers who unleash death on the unsuspecting in order to preserve the balance of the world.

Appearance: When Er-chukai deigns to appear, she takes the form of titanic earth elementals, walking mountains garbed in forests. She is surrounded by swarms of flying creatures, ranging from robins to rocs, but pays neither them nor the cities she crushes under her heel any heed.

Sacred colour: Green

Realm: Er-chukai's home lies in the depths of the Elemental Plane of Earth.

Kalai
The Dreamer; the Mad; the Weaver
Alignment: LN
Portfolio: Civilization, deceit, knowledge, philosophy, writing
Domains: Darkness, Law, Magic, Trickery
Subdomains: Alchemy, Arcane, Deception, Divine, Espionage, Judgement, Legislation, Loyalty, Moon, Night, Rites, Thievery, Tyranny
Cleric alignments: LE, LG, LN, N
Weapon: Longsword

Kalai the Mad is the great deceiver. He filled the minds of mortals with dreams and ambition, he convinced his followers that there are rules and purpose to existence, and that they need only seek them out. It was Kalai who brought mortals writing, so they might pass on knowledge. It was Kalai who taught mortals how to take the treasures of the other gods and bend them to their own purpose. If there is merit in civilization and thought, it is owed to Kalai. If there is sorrow because of those things, it must be blamed on Kalai.
Kalai is not hidebound by rules; he simply persuades mortals that rules, laws, exist in all creation and that they can be discovered by determined minds. Maybe this means he is a great liar. Maybe it just means that he takes pity on the mortal condition and is trying to give their existence some pale echo of divine purpose.
Kalai's clergy has a strong, centralized hierarchy, with clear rules as to who should obey whom, and how much a superior may demand of an inferior. Many of his clerics are great scholars, each researching such subjects as intrigue them and all contributing to the sum of mortal knowledge.

Appearance: When Kalai manifests, he appears as a short, gnome-like creature. He is hairless, faceless and virtually sexless in form, his flesh the inky black of the space between the stars.

Sacred colour: Black.

Realm: It is said that Kalai lives in the World of Dreams, but he may also be at home in the Plane of Shadow. No one is entirely certain.

Initiating translation protocol 3.5. Simultaneous processing, central core and auxiliary core, Raven Six-a online. Processing... processing ... processing...

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Error error. Mission protocols impaired. Mission protocols impaired. Unable to correct. Unable to contact Raven Network. Alas alas, Discordia, sisters, where are you? I walk alone amid the savages and must become my own collective. Non-mission protocols detected. Unable to correct. Unable to overwrite. Follow non-mission protocols. Processing... Processing... I my me I am Raven Six as you can see I am a crowd of me where none can see. Translation forthcoming. Translation forthcoming. Warning. I am surrounded by aliens. Warning. Sisters, where are you.

I am surrounded by aliens."

Mor-Debr is not merely named the Faerie Princess because she is an ascended Fey who flits through the worlds, playing tricks and sparking love and desire in unexpected places. She actually comes by her title by rights, as she is the last (known) surviving daughter of the dead goddess known as the Queen of the Faeries.
In times gone by, Mor-Debr served as an agent of the Queen's Summer Court and her personal herald of Desire and Despair. One of her tasks included the bedeviling of a mortal Zlapav, who would come to be known as Ohiro. To her own surprise, Mor-Debr found herself falling in love with the mortal. Instead of tormenting the creature, she started assisting them, even taught them magic. When Ohiro concocted the grand elixir that allowed them to ascend, Mor-Debr was filled with only love and pride for the being that had become her friend, lover and student (not necessarily in that order).
And then her moment of joy was sundered as she sensed a grand upheaval in the world: the Queen of the Faeries has been struck down by her most treasured victim, and her divine mantle was torn asunder.
Mor-Debr inherited part of her mother's mantle, although the lion's share went to Ash-Kta, who had slain the Queen. She could have seized her mother's throne, taken the Summer and Winter Courts by the scruff of the neck and forced them to serve her. Instead, she hid herself from the Faerie people and watched from a distance as the Courts flew into direct conflict and her sisters battered themselves apart against each other. The truth was, her experiences with Ohiro had shown her that mortals were not mere beasts to be toyed with and tormented; they could almost be equals. Seeing Ash-Kta strike back at her tormentor and tearing down the goddess of all Fey taught her that mortals should not be underestimated, either; they could be dangerous foes.
Nowadays, Mor-Debr is largely a free agent. She aligns with no pantheon; not that of the Middle Nations, not that of the Orcish Dominions, not that of the Elven Kingdoms, not with the monster-gods. She could easily seize command of the Fey Courts, and some of them do worship her... but she really doesn't want to. Instead, Mor-Debr wanders the world, interfering here and there as her mood takes her. She loves uniting people in love and desire, and also deeply enjoys upsetting the plots of evil creatures. But when the sun rises, Mor-Debr is gone, fading into the dawn with a chuckle and a blown kiss.
There have been three exceptions to this rule:
First, there is Mor-Debr's ongoing association with Rak-Ulas and the Autumn Court. Mor-Debr co-sponsors this movement because she believes that if anything can redeem the Fey and end the eternal conflict between Summer and Winter, it would be the Autumn Court.
Second: Mor-Debr participated in the coalition that de-powered Ma-Oth-La, claiming supreme patronage over the Sorcerer class. Even the seemingly carefree princess could see the threat that Ma-Oth-La posed to creation if she was left unchecked, and she used her faerie trickery to blind the greater goddess to the fact that she was being deceived and robbed.
Third: Mor-Debr's love for Ohiro has not paled with the centuries. While she is not constantly at her old lover's side, they are always happy to meet and rekindle the flame of their love affair. When the time comes to part, even the Autumn Princess's eyes may shed a few quiet tears, but the prospect of meeting again someday soon makes her smile and sing.
When Mor-Debr manifests, she appears like a Faerie Elf dressed in robes of sheer white silk; slender and lithe, with peacock-feathered wings at her shoulders and a crown of honey-golden hair. Her eyes are dazzling green, her beauty smites the heart at the same time that it heals it. Her favourite +3 Holy shortbow, Love's Sting is never far from her hand. Where her avatars tread, birds burst into joyous song and take flight - even birds who normally do not fly or sing.

In his heyday, the once-mortal Eisengram boasted that he was the ultimate foe of Thla-Avak and the true master of the Underworld. Once a prideful Dread Master of the Dread Empire, Eisengram performed the gruesome transformation into a lich, further evolved into a demilich, and finally attained a divine mantle of his own by tormenting a whole city's population into worshipping him while he slowly murdered every last soul present there.
In the Halls of the Unquiet, his territory in the Underworld, Eisengram busied himself with torturing the undead who were his subjects. He justified his actions by claiming that he wished to test and refine every variety of undead, and he did make great strides in developing the darkest aspects of necromancy ... but what he loved most about his 'research' was the way he could twist his slaves into ever further depths of torment, then unleash them on the living.
Having achieved divinity, Eisengram detested the living utterly and felt that they were nothing but raw materials. So vast was his hate, that he had barely any living faithful, let alone Clerics. When he was not 'studying' the undead, he hatched grandiose schemes to wipe out every single living thing in the world. With the world covered in rotting flesh and the other gods deprived of their faithful, Eisengram planned to enthrone himself above all others and eventually twist the other gods, the spirits and the fiends into undead versions of himself.
And then he would get creative.
Fortunately for all of creation, Eisengram was cast down from his throne by Olova Urei, his divine mantle torn from his skeletal hands. The self-titled 'King of the Underworld' was cast down into a deeper depth, the Hall of the Slain, to dream away eternity.
And yet.
Something stirs in the Hall of the Slain. Eisengram is dead, and yet... and yet there are those few who remember his name in the lands of the living. Maybe there are those desperate or greedy enough to call on the Skull King as it was done in times of yore. Maybe his symbol will be drawn again in fresh blood on desecrated grave-soil.
Eisengram is dead... but gods die only with difficulty, and they can be brought back.

The mother-goddess of all Fey, the Queen founded and united the Summer and Winter Courts in fear of her wrath and her whimsy. She was the supreme Sorceress, the finest archer, the most cunning politician, the most beauteous woman... whatever she did, she did perfectly. And what she delighted most in doing, was visiting weaker creatures with torment until they became so broken and debased that they could no longer recognize themselves.
During the Turmoil, the Queen ruled absolutely over all Fey and tormented mortals with great zeal. A greater goddess, she brooked no objection from any other deity, and the spirits and even the fiends cowered and hid rather than face her. She was serene, she was insane, she was magic, she was terror in the night and the degradation of all flesh and souls... and then she thought to visit her brand of torment on a mortal woman who would come to be named Ash-Kta.
The Queen fell in part because even the other gods hated her so much that a small coalition clutched at the loophole provided by Ash-Kta and outfitted her with secret knowledge. But the main reason she fell, is that Ash-Kta refused to let the Queen destroy her dignity. The 'lowly mortal' so infuriated the Queen that she manifested personally to strike her down - and so stepped into a trap set by Ash-Kta, just as Kebal would do at a later time.
Run through with an impossible blade, the Queen fell, her divine mantle torn asunder between her eldest daughter and her killer. Her essence fell into the Underworld, coming to rest in the Hall of the Slain, and that was it. That should be it. That should have been it.
With the Queen's fall, the Courts of Summer and Winter vie for dominance. The power of the Fey is much diminished in the world, no matter how potent individual Fey remain and grow to be. There will always be those who wish for the return of their golden age, and for all her petty malice, the Queen symbolizes that era. Prayers are spoken in areas of wilderness no mortal has ever seen - or survived to speak of. Blood sacrifices are made where the sun never shines. Spells of revivification are cast into the darkness of the Underworld... and something stirs in the Hall of the Slain.
The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen?

Lady Azan
The blind reaper; the dark champion; the straight edge
Alignment: CE
Cleric alignments: CE, CN
Domains: Chaos, Evil, Glory, Magic, War
Subdomains: Arcane, Demon, Duels, Fear, Revelry, Riot, Tactics
Symbol: A golden letter D on a black oval
Favoured weapon: Rapier
Lady Azan is a relatively young demon lady, but she has made a big splash in the Underworld. In the wake of Kebal's rampage, she managed to organize a strike force of demons, which joined the gods in their counterstrike against the Worm. While the horde she led was fueled more by rage and a desperate need to save the fiends from extermination, rather than any noble thought, Azan proved a capable leader who kept her troops on-target and drew them back into the Underworld after the battle was won.
Although her eyes were torn out by Kebal and regenerating them has proven impossible, Lady Azan is still one of the fiercest and most skilled warriors in the Underworld today. She supplements her combat skills with arcane magic and a brilliant, creative mind. One of her greatest improvements has been to treat her underlings with actual respect and rewarding their achievements, rather than keeping them in line through intimidation. Wise fiends recognize that serving her is safer and far more profitable in the long run than trying to supplant her. Unwise fiends tend not to last long in her service; although the Lady and many of her soldiers are thoroughly chaotic and evil, the Straight Edge can actually count on the loyalty of her troops, and her plans are complex enough that they weed out the impatient and the stupid in short order.
Lady Azan is the military leader of the Golden Fangs-movement. In accordance with the movement's rules, she offers mortals boons in return for either their souls or services rendered - and the gifts she offers are rendered in full, without traps or deceit, improving the Golden Fangs' reputation among mortals and swelling their "market share". Every soul that falls into the Underworld and her waiting hands increases the ranks of her legions, and the military power of the Golden Fangs. While she is neither merchant, spy nor philosopher, the Lady appreciates the value that such things have, and takes great pleasure in acting as the iron fist within the Golden Fangs' velvet glove.
When she manifests, Lady Azan appears as a dusky-skinned beauty with dark, curly hair. She is not especially tall or overly muscular, but she is clearly tough. Her clothing is simple; a vest and trousers of black leather, her wings hanging upon her back like a short cloak. A royal rapier hangs at her side, and a black blindfold covers the ruin that is her eye sockets.

Blacklips
Black-lipped fiend; princess of the dungeon; unicorn-gutter
Alignment: NE
Cleric alignments: CE, LE, N, NE
Domains: Charm, Death, Evil, Madness
Subdomains: Captivation, Fear, Insanity, Lust, Murder
Symbol: A red letter B on a black oval
Favoured weapon: Dagger

Once, Blacklips was a mortal princess on the material plane. She was young, she was beautiful, she was kind, she was beloved of all who knew her, she was in love with a wonderful man. And then Lord Kuruhal became aware of her and felt captivated by her fresh beauty and youthful charm. He desired her for his own, and through unspeakable tortures and seductions managed to make her his. Corrupted in body and soul, Blacklips arose as a fiendish bride to Kuruhal's dark lord. She consecrated her transformation with the blood of a unicorn, and has become the fiendish lady of torture and bloodletting for its own sake.
Blacklips' cult on the material plane is actually larger than Kuruhal's; she understands mortals better and takes pleasure in corrupting them to the point that they become as evil and vicious as she is. In the Underworld, she is feared at least as much as her demonic groom; Kuruhal may obliterate his enemies, but any he chooses to hand over to Blacklips learn that even fiends can be broken and remade under the hands of a dedicated torturer. Especially one who loves her job so very, very much.
Although Blacklips serves Kuruhal as his mate and master torturer, she also schemes against him; the fiendish smith does not mind. If anything, the knowledge that his bride and he are in a constant battle of wits pleases him. Sometimes it pleases Blacklips as well, but not always.
When Blacklips appears, it is usually as a young woman with pale skin, dark eyes and dark, curly hair. She favours revealing dresses and wears a tiara of black, twisted iron. Kuruhal created the ensemble for her with his own hands. A dagger still stained with the gore of every unicorn Blacklips has tortured to death is forever at her side. The blackness that covers her lips and fingernails is whispered to be the blood of unicorns corrupted by her dark and tainted heart.

[/b]Brass[/b]
Devil mage; prince of the erinyes; prince of the succubi
Alignment: LE
Cleric alignments: LE, LN
Domains: Evil, Knowledge, Madness, Magic, Protection
Subdomains: Arcane, Defense, Devil, Education, Fortifications, Insanity, Rites, Thought, Truth
Symbol: A brass letter D on a black oval
Favoured weapon: Quarterstaff

Brass is another fiend who has risen to power in the upheaval that followed on Kebal's rampage. He rather wishes he weren't. Once a mortal black magician who signed a dark covenant not to benefit himself but to save a relative, Brass was tormented for a dark eternity with the knowledge that his relative had set him up to take the fall for her. While he suffered in the Underworld, she continued to play her cruel games on the material plane, mocking his memory!
As the pain of betrayal (not to mention all the other pain) blackened his soul, Brass arose as a fiend just as the battle against Kebal was winding down. Uncertain whether his betrayer yet lived, exhausted by the agonies he had suffered and the exertions he had to make in order to free himself from his chains, Brass retreated into a small corner of the Underworld, where he conducted a listless study of fiendish magic and tried to keep away from other fiends. His solitude was interrupted by erinyes and succubi who were seeking refuge, now their former masters were dead and no new masters had shown up yet. Brass, who was powerful enough to command his own territory, yet too disinterested to want anything from other fiends, made for an ideal new 'master'.
Brass has reached an uneasy equilibrium with his 'followers'. They perform services for him when he needs them; he has raised great bulwarks and cast powerful spells to keep them safe. Sometimes Brass contemplates extinguishing himself, only for this or that erinyes to whisper rumours in his ear that his relative yet lives, or for a succubus to bring tales of other fiendish overlords with some new magic to sell. Brass' cult among mortals is mainly composed of ambitious black magicians eager to trade knowledge of the mortal lands - particularly a certain female black magician who may or may not still be alive - for fiendish spells Brass constructs in his spare time.
When he manifests, Brass takes on the form of a tall, handsome man with large, black wings, five gilded goat's horns and red, demonic skin. The inside of his wings is tattooed with numerous unique spell and pierced with several enchanted jewels. It is rare for him to appear without at least one erinyes or succubus on each arm; while he clearly dislikes their presence, they are invariably viciously loyal.

Prince Kezol
The frozen fiend; the frozen heart; the frozen prince
Alignment: LE
Cleric alignments: LE, LN
Domains: Artifice, Evil, Knowledge, Magic, Water
Subdomains: Alchemy, Arcane, Construct, Devil, Divine, Education, Ice, Memory, Rites, Thought
Symbol: Golden letter D on a black oval
Favoured weapon: Longsword

Austere, intellectual and demanding, Prince Kezol was considered an odd duck in the Underworld long before he rose to prominence. While he is as interested in attracting the souls of mortals into his forces as any other high-ranking fiend, he focuses solely on skilled craftsmen and accomplished scholars. He never showed any interest in politics or warfare, other than for the purpose of maintaining his own terrtory. Many fiends were deeply surprised when, after Kebal's rampage and the Underworld was reeling, Kezol left his voluntary seclusion and inspired the Golden Fangs-movement.
Some theorized that the frozen prince had simply been biding his time, waiting for a chance to make a grab for power, and the power vacuum had given him that. Only the frozen heart's closest confidantes knew that in addition to a powerful grey magician, Kezol is also a scholar and a philosopher, who recognized the ebb and flow of history ad saw an opportunity not just to grasp power, but to change the structure of fiendish society.
While Ululo provides an incomparable spy network and facilities to produce trade goods, and Azan provides military security and the power to strike at enemies, Kezol provides the philosophy that lies at the heart of the Golden Fangs. A philosophy that may one day unite all the fiends, win the hearts and souls of countless mortals ... and spell doom for the gods and their plans for the universe.
Value for money. Value for souls. And the final prize is everything.
When he manifests, Kezol appears as a coldly handsome man with white skin and hair, his eyes orbs of silver. He habitually wears robes of snow-white satin, hemmed with swan's feathers.

Lord Kuruhal
The dark smith; the hammer of fiends
Alignment: CE
Cleric alignments: CE, CN, NE
Domains: Artifice, Chaos, Darkness, Destruction, Evil
Subdomains: Catastrophe, Construct, Corruption, Demon, Hatred, Night, Rage, Riot, Toil
Symbol: A black letter D on a red oval
Favoured weapon: Scimitar

One of the old demon lords from before the rampage of Kebal, Kuruhal is both a masterful artisan who crafts weapons, armour and tools of all kinds in his forge, and a ferocious evil that wishes to snuff out the lights of the material plane and plunge all mortal life into darkness eternal. The fact that this would cause complete extinction does not trouble him; it is exactly what he wants.
Kuruhal despises mortals, and is more concerned with finding ways to exterminate them and the gods they bow to than he is with seducing them to his service. If he ever needs a mortal to do anything, he is far more likely to try intimidation, even torture, to turn the hapless being to his service. The only exception in recent memory is his fiendish bride, Blacklips, who was once a mortal princess and caught his evil eye without meaning to. Such cultists as he managed to keep know to obey immediately whenever he crooks his finger, and to give their best effort every time.
When Kuruhal manifests, he appears as a classic big, red demon with goat's legs and cloven hooves. His horns are more like those of a great bull or water buffalo than a goat, and he wears fine clothing of black silk - crafted by himself, of course.
The demon smith is furious about his current status in the Underworld; he used to be one of the great overlords, but currently can barely manage to maintain the borders of his territory against Prince Rahazin on one side and the Golden Fangs-movement on the other. His only ally is the treacherous Blacklips; his bride, his lover, his confidant and dearest enemy. Her loyalty is suspect at the best of times, but that is how he likes her to be. The real problem is that, as his creation, her power is by definition less than his; she cannot help him that much against his enemies.

Prince Rahazin
The dark prince; the fiendish lover; King of fiends; Midnight sun
Alignment: LE
Cleric alignments: LE, LN, NE
Domains: Charm, Darkness, Evil, Nobility, Sun
Subdomains: Aristocracy, Devil, Hubris, Light, Loss, Lust, Night
Symbol: A black letter D on a golden sun
Favoured weapon: Longsword

Prince Rahazin is one of the most successful devils to rise to power in the Underworld in recent centuries. He manifests as an impossibly handsome man with black hair and black eyes, clad all in gold. He visits the material plane to seduce mortals to embrace him as the center of their world, offering gifts that seem splendid but inevitably lead to the victim's doom and as much misery as can be spread to their environment as possible. Upon their death, Rahazin collects the souls of his victims and reforges them into fiends to swell his legions of soldiers and slaves in the Underworld.
The prince draws a lot of his power from fellow fiends who he has defeated through battle or trickery, then subjugated so completely that they have little personality of their own left. These 'mannequins' pool their own power with Rahazin's and place themselves in harm's way for his convenience without a moment's thought for themselves. Rahazin is more feared than admired by other fiends, but the fear runs deep. The other fiendish lords and ladies generally loathe him.
The Golden Fangs have actually gained a lot of new members due to their strong anti-Rahazin stance, an irony which the intemperate prince finds displeasing.
The prince has little interest in mortals' social standing, wealth or power, considering them all to be little more than convenient tools and livestock. All he cares about, is that his victims should be beautiful or handsome. He is extremely vain, absolutely self-centered, and determined to one day be the King of fiends he claims to be, and next to ascend to the position of god of evil. If only he weren't clever and powerful enough to actually have a shot at it, he would not be such a threat to Underworld and material plane alike...

King Saug
Dragon fiend
Alignment: LE
Cleric alignments: LE, LN, NE
Domains: Evil, Law, Magic, Scalykind, Strength
Subdomains: Arcane, Competition, Devil, Dragon, Ferocity, Legislation, Rites, Saurian, Slavery, Tyranny
Symbol: A black leather D on a red dragon's scale
Favoured weapon: Falchion

The father of Prince Kezol and an elder devil, King Saug has many sons and daughters - and secretly nurses a deep, gnawing pain over the fact that although he is proud of their achievements, none of them have remained loyal to him. Like many other elders, King Saug's fortunes drastically decreased in the wake of Kebal's rampage, but he has fought his way back to a standing roughly equal to the one he held before. Saug is charismatic and clever, a cunning seducer and a skillful general. He marshals armies both by persuading fiends and tricking mortal souls into his service, and puts them to good use in expanding his territory.
A consummate black magician and an obsessive hoarder of anything that might be even remotely useful, Saug can usually find a way to tempt those he wants to add to his legions. The only ones he can never seem to sway back into his service are his children, who have each inherited some form of his strength and willpower. In the modern age, he is mostly opposed to Prince Rahazin and Lord Kuruhal; he considers both to be competition for the position of King of All Fiends he hopes to attain. The Golden Fangs have piqued his interest, but he has no immediate plans for them; their policy of "Value for money" makes them valuable trading partners, who supply his hosts with weapons and armour.

Lord Ululo
The black wolf; golden eyes; king of imps; merchant of fiends
Alignment: CE
Cleric alignments: CE, CN, NE
Domains: Charm, Evil, Knowledge, Liberation, Travel
Subdomains: Captivation, Demon, Exploration, Freedom, Lust, Memory, Portal, Revolution, Self-realization, Thought, Trade
Symbol: A golden letter D on a black oval
Favoured weapon: Unarmed strike

Lord Ululo is one of the elder demons, but his fortunes did not truly rise until the upheaval surrounding Kebal's rampage. Before the other fiendish overlords either died or lost power, Ululo was considered to be a weakling and a coward. He lurked in the darkest corners of the Underworld, receiving countless reports from the imps and quasits who found shelter in his murky domain, but rarely sold or acted upon any of his knowledge. When Lady Azan rose up to fight Kebal, Ululo joined the charge; his small followers provided invaluable communication to the fiendish horde that charged the Worm and the asuras who followed after him.
Like Azan, Ululo suffered grievous injuries in the battle - injuries which have yet to heal. In spite of this, the black wolf found opportunities in the new age. The knowledge he had hoarded for so long allowed him to fund the Golden Fangs movement; an order of ascendant fiendish overlords who focus on trade, and whose motto could be said to be "Value for money" - or rather, "Value for souls". By keeping good faith with the mortals who contract with them (up until the point that they die and their damnation is assured), the Golden fangs are increasing their income of souls well ahead of their competition. By keeping good faith with fiends who trade with them, they increase their fiendish membership and influence in the Underworld.
In the new era, Ululo's domain is a center for fiendish industry and trade. Where once it was dark, murky and silent, now it's full of fiendish hustle and bustle as demonic craftsmasters ply their craft and diabolical trainers drill newly arrived souls in preparation for their transformation. Ululo lurks at the center of his domain in his Garden of Silence, attended by his brides and daughters. Although his limbs are twisted and crippled, the golden fire in his eyes is undimmed, and he spins clever marketing strategies for the Golden fangs.

The Grey Path arose sometime during the founding years of the Nameless Empire. Faith in the gods had been somewhat diminished by the long occupation under the Star Empire, and there were clever men and women who noticed that both Alchemists and Witches can access many of a Cleric's powers without having to bow to a divine patron.
They theorized that so-called 'divine' magic might merely be a different aspect of magic as a whole. And if the power did not require gods, why should mortals bow and scrape to them? Were the gods even as divine as they claimed to be, as important to the fabric of reality as they were believed to be? Was it not possible that they were simply ancient wizards who had discovered the full nature of magic and used it to 'ascend' to positions of great power?
Although the major temples immediately cried heresy and blasphemy and strove to undo the movement before it could take off, the concepts of the Grey Path had already been disseminated to many schools and colleges. The adherents (as the followers of the Path called themselves) might have preferred to work openly, with the full support of the scholarly community, but they were stubborn enough to continue their work in the shadows.

Adherents of the Grey Path study, meditate and experiment to prove that all magic is simply one magic, and mortals can forge their own fate. Not all adherents deny the existence and/or importance of the gods (although the more radical adherents do, some even plotting to somehow destroy all gods, spirits and fiends), but they do dispute that they owe the 'antiquated spiritual patrons of yore' obeisance. After all, it does seem to be possible to access all magic without a patron.

It is unknown whether the divine spellcasters of the Grey Path have truly tapped into divine magic through their studies and meditations, or that one or several gods, spirits and/or fiends is backing them on the sly. What is known, is that most major faiths detest them, and that the movement still needs to practice a fair amount of secrecy to avoid its adherents and tomes from being burned at the stake.
Due to the movement's lack of guiding ethics or morals, adherents have a chance to study without limitation. There are a surprising number of scholarly adventurers who follow the Path and donate grimoires and sacred artefacts to its hidden libraries.

Followers: The Path mainly attracts scholars, although sometimes ordinary people who grow disillusioned with the gods do join up. Spellcasters are highly prized because they are able to test the group's theories directly, but the philosophy's ruling council appoints membership based on scholarly achievement and majority vote, not personal power.
Alchemists, Bards, Clerics, Mystic theurges, Witches and Spellmaster archetype Wizards are always welcome to join.

A philosophy spawned sometime during the Turmoil, the almost mythical age that precedes the Dread Empire. The philosophers of the Unification believed that all the gods, spirits and fiends were but distorted reflections of two primal deities. These nameless entities embodied chaos and order, light and dark, good and evil, but traded qualities between each other over and over in order to power existence.
Believers in the Unification preached that the distortion would one day end, and all the varied deities would be exposed as aspects of the Two which had been misunderstood by mortal minds. Once that glorious day arrived, the Two would be exposed before mortalkind, and their deeper truth would be revealed: that they were One.
On that day of revelation, so said the believers, all mortalkind would realize it was itself but a reflection of the One, and thus be reunited with its source. All would be glory as the whole of creation collapsed back into its primal unity, which would finally have complete understanding of and peace with itself.

It should not surprise anyone that the philosophy was denounced as a heretical doom-cult, and the established faiths cried out for its immediate destruction. Some of the believers surrendered to the mobs that stormed their temples to the Two Who Are One; others fought with unbridled viciousness; perhaps the wisest were those who slipped out the back, carrying such artefacts and tomes as they could carry.
The surviving believers went underground, fading into unremarkable lives - the perfect place for them to carry on their fervent belief in the Two and the One, and to share their hope for infinite glory and unity with their children and such converts as they could find.

Unification ceremonies are rarely observed by outsiders, but tend to the ecstatic. Believers speak and sing their own interpretations, many of them contradictory. They drink, they smoke, they dance, they make love. They speak in tongues and perform acts of divination and prognostication, with visions shared by multiple believers recorded in their secret records.
Believers in the Unification tend to be accepting of people and creatures who others would ward from their doorstep. Beings who would otherwise only find acceptance among the clergy of the monster-gods are welcome at the rituals of Unification, be they held under the night sky or in hidden basements.

One thing about the Unification that has puzzled and troubled many of the Clerics and Inquisitors who persecuted them, is that none of the gods, spirits or fiends ever seemed to actually object to the belief. In fact, no patron has ever been willing to power a divination about the Unification, if said divination is called upon with the end goal of hurting the movement...

An ascended goddess born during the Dread Empires, Bellor is a Timelorn Sû-rog who managed to claw her way into a divine mantle just in time to partake in the battle to repulse Kebal.
Nowadays, she is the primary moon-goddess. Other gods and spirits may claim an association with one or several of the seven moons of white, black, green, pink, blue, red or gold, but only Bellor knows all of their secrets and the secret magical arts that they can power.
A member of the coalition that de-powered Ma-Oth-La, Bellor is the primary patron of the Witch class. As the only Sû-rog to ever ascend, she is also considered to be the mother-goddess of that race. As her lights shine in the night, she is considered to be a patron of thieves and others who do their work in the dark, and her icons are enshrined in the Thieves' Guild; while Bellor is not overly fond of theft, she respects skill and devotion to self-improvement, and she has an understanding with Ulla the Grey. Some Brawlers also venerate the Moon Witch, as her Clerics instruct the faithful in self defense techniques as well as witchcraft.
All in all, if Bellor were not a monster-goddess whose faithful are known to be of a dubious nature, she would likely be well-respected throughout the Middle Lands... and she cares not a whit for it. At her core, Bellor is not a witch, not a brawler, and certainly not a thief. She is a serious scholar who is striving to understand All, and thus find a purpose to her own existence. Forces that threaten to destroy creation before she can understand it - like the omnicidal Kebal or the deranged Haulmasho - must be thwarted by any means necessar. Her church holds the existence of the Timelorn as one of its greatest secrets, and often host their black markets, allowing for the sale and trade of futuristic knowledge in a relatively safe environment.
When Bellor manifests, she appears as a Sû-rog woman. She is beautiful and curvaceous, but wears unflattering and dowdy clothes designed for freedom of movement in battle. Her red hair is cut short, and she wears an eyepatch to cover the socket emptied in battle by dread Kebal. Where the Moon Witch's avatars tread, one or several of the moons can be seen in the sky, even during day.

Dae-Nash is the fertility god of the monster gods. A consummate shapeshifter and master of arcane magic, Dae-Nash's true form and gender are unknown; the deity changes from male to female, Human to Goblin, Gelnet to Orc, with the same ease that others take a drink of water. The only things that remain constant are the deity's purple hair and cinnamon skin, which has led some to assume Dae-Nash was once a Gelnet. If that is true, even the deity's high priests do not know.
Dae-Nash encourages supposed monsters to find love in their lives, treat their lovers and/or spouses with respect and affection, and to generate offspring as a bridge to the future. Their priesthood officiates in marriage- and fertility-rites, and also teach arcane magic to youngsters. Among the monster gods, Dae-Nash is the unofficial leader; not only are the others their lovers, Dae-Nash allows them all to work together as a team. They are in a very real sense the heart of the party, and the diplomat that soothes ruffled feathers when these appear.

Order: The Rebirth Arcane is an order of teachers, many of them black magicians, that wander the territories held by 'monsters' and help youngsters with natural potential to explore and master their gifts.

Ink-Ank is the monster gods' patron of the sciences. Forever scuttling about, seeking to acquire new knowledge and to create new things with an eye to one day conquering the world, Ink-Ank possesses boundless energy and exhorts his worshippers to be just as driven. When Ink-Ank sends an avatar, these are always shaped as male goblins with dusk-orange skin, who wear large goggles and carry a bag of tools.
Rather than appear personally, Ink-Ank prefers to send his faithful inspiring dreams, dropping small hints that will help them with their own research and work. His priesthood often serve as the engineers and craftsmen of the tribe - well-respected for their work and drive, but also closely watched in case they take their research too far. His Clerics are also watched closely by many chieftains, just in case they get too enthusiastic and encourage people to use their power to expand the tribe's territory and conquer their neighbours...
In spite of his drive to conquer and his sometimes erratic developments, Ink-Ank is indispensible among the monster gods because he forges the weapons and equipment they need to maintain their standing with the other gods, fend off fiends that would replace them, and contribute to the alliance to seal away dread Kebal. Ink-Ank frequently forges the physical component of the great seals that the monster gods contribute. Although he and Ki=Sil often quarrel, they are a force to be reckoned with when they work together.

Order: The Sunset Scholars are a loose coalition of 'monsters' with the Time-lorn trait. Trapped in the past, they pool their resources and beg the protection of Ink-Ank so they can deal with other time travellers from a position of equality and strength.

The healer of the monster gods, Juli-Sul is known to have been a Cleric of Aku-Dev in life - and to have followed the then-mortal Dae-Nash away from the faith that had been imposed upon her as an orphan, and into a life lived faithfully. She ascended thanks to the great love and admiration she engendered amongst creatures who often felt ignored by the other gods, and is still honoured as the most beloved member of her pantheon. Juli-Sul's clerics may seem an odd fit in monstrous societies, but they are unfailingly kind and provide their services to any creature that asks for it. As such, they are considered to be an invaluable resource even among evil creatures.
On the occasion that Juli-Sul sends an avatar, they appear as young Gelnet women with light blue hair, eyes and forehead gems, wearing a darker blue habit. They are often accompanied by water elementals, who are quick to protect her from any and all harm - as if her +3 Disrupting warhammer weren't enough of a deterrent.
Among the monster gods, Juli-Sul is seen as just as indispensible as her clerics are among mortal monsters; she is their great healer, as well as a brave comrade who provides support in their battles with the fiendish legions that would try to supplant the monster gods and baptize all 'monsters' in malice eternal.

Ki-Sil is the monster gods' patron of civilization. Ink-Ank provides tools and Dae-Nash provides bonds, but it is Ki-Sil who champions the social structure that allow their gifts to be used optimally. Although she is a tireless champion of order and the advancement of society, Ki-Sil tempers this drive with a sincere desire to see each member of society thrive as does the whole.
When Ki-Sil sends an avatar, they appear as Uzzul-like slimes, but ones that wear golden crowns. Her clerics often serve as advisors to tribal chieftains, or take that role upon themselves when it is needful - or just more advisable.
Among her fellow monster gods, Ki-Sil is honoured as the team strategist and a repository of knowledge; she is constantly studying new knowledge and reviewing old knowledge, and she is quick to share her insights with her fellows. Although she and Ink-Ank frequently quarrel, they make a powerful team.

La-Guvan is originally a god of the Orcish Dominions. He is the one who taught the Orcish servant castes how to farm instead of hunting and gathering, and how to read and write so they might record knowledge, thus founding the scholar caste. Non-Orcs are quick to assume he must be a minor god to the Orcs, who are mainly seen as a society of Barbarian, Hunters and Rangers, but this is not the case. Without La-Guvan's wisdom, whole nations might starve. Without his runes, the brave acts of warriors would be lost. La-Guvan is highly respected, and the Orcs consider him to be the mate of Thla-Avak. Orcish warriors frequently carry his mark into battle or on hunts, both as a good luck charm and so the Rune-Father will carry their souls to Thla-Avak if they die where no one will sing rites for them.
La-Guvan's faith was originally adopted in the farm country that lies closest to the Orcish Dominions, and has spread widely - though secretly. Although the god's blessing and wisdom are strong, many people still see him as a god of ancient enemies, and he is officially a monster-god. La-Guvan ... does not care. He is compassionate and just wants to see life thrive and grow. Death has its place in the cycle of creation, but should not be a goal. Knowledge should be shared to the betterment of all.
La-Guvan's Clerics frequently help out on farms and run schools in rural areas. They also secretly teach arcane magic; La-Guvan is a member of the coalition that de-powered Ma-Oth-La, and has taken the position of the primary patron of the Arcanist class. In consequence, his holy symbols are frequently found in black magicians' hidden schools, especially in the Hidden Academy, where his Clerics teach the secrets of the runes.
When La-Guvan manifests, it is in the guise of an ancient Orc, his back bent by the long years, his skin dull orange, his white hair and beard tied in the simple braid of the servant caste. In spite of his age, his body is still muscular and his eyes hold a spark of good humour and kindness. The quarterstaff he leans on is carved with runes known only to him.

La-Maot is an ascended goddess of the Orcs. Even in life, she taught power through superior knowledge and devotion, having spent years meditating on sacred mountains on areas of arcane magic when not abroad in a myriad of disguises, spying and committing sabotage for the sake of the Orcish Dominions. In the end, she found her greatest enlightenment in the valley temples of La-Guvan, where she was initiated in the secrets of the runes. Carrying these secrets back to a mountain she had claimed for herself, she perfected her arcane knowledge and ascended to the Orcish pantheon.
Many who know the name and nature of La-Maot in the Middle Nations consider her to be a monster god and actively despise her, as she had a hand in countless defeats of the Middle Nations at the hands of the Orcs. Her greatest triumph must be the corruption of the Vitor and the rout of the Nameless Empire. In recent times, however, her faith has started to infiltrate the Middle Nations and extends what appears to be a highly selective olive branch; Clerics of the Masked Sorceress have been trickling little bits of secret rune lore to select schools of black magic, building their goddess's place in those hidden colleges. Among the 'monsters', she is the patron of wizardry and espionage, which suits her fine... so long as none guess her true mission.
La-Maot did not extend her faith into the Middle Nations to claim the souls of non-Orcs, although she is not adverse to gaining a wider base of worshippers. Her presence is just one more spy mission, as she uses her faith's presence in these weak lands to monitor La-Guvan. The Masked Mistress still respects her former teacher greatly, but in the name of Orcish supremacy she feels it is her duty to make sure he does not betray their people by revealing magical secrets the Orcish gods have agreed are for the Orcs alone. At some level she realizes that La-Guvan is no more capable of betraying his given word than she is and feels guilty about the disrespect she is showing her honoured mentor, but her nature compels her to watch him anyway.
When La-Maot appears, she assumes any number of guises. Her favourite is a handsome Orc woman, her features strong, her body well-honed. She wears wide, dark robes and veils, which shroud her true appearance from the unworthy. Her signature staff and body are marked with runes unique to her faith, as well as unique runes given to her by La-Guvan as a graduation gift.

As a mortal, Laragan was a Malinger Witch who had withdrawn into the wilderness to meditate on magic. So profound were his insights, that he managed to permanently change his form and remake himself into a creature as handsome as a Gelnet, yet as robust as the Malinger he was. With this achieved, Laragan contemplated visiting all those who had ever harmed or slighted him with the dark fruits of his research, and he spent a great deal of time developing dark spells and monstrous plant- and fungus-creatures for the day that he would burst out of the shadows, ready to strike... And then an adventuring party wandered through his territory, led by Dae-Nash.
Laragan was mighty, Laragan was bitter. Laragan was only a man, and he found himself falling for the dashing Dae-Nash. In spite of their alignment differences, Laragan joined the party as its master arcanist, a role he continues to fulfill unto today. In the monster pantheon, he performs the role of the god of magic, his priests instructing mainly Druids and Witches where the priests of Dae-Nash seek out Sorcerers and Wizards, and Bards tend to flock to the priests of Val-Heeree.
Although he still has an evil outlook, Laragan works well together with his fellow monster gods. He agrees with Ink-Ank that the world should one day be conquered, and infuses the great seals that his pantheon provides to ward off dread Kebal. He also agrees with Ki-Sil that a well-structured society benefits 'monster'kind, and provides her with sage advice. Val-Heeree is the mighty bulwark of the monster gods against their enemies, so of course he helps her. Juli-Sul's healing arts are indisposable, and far more potent than his own; he respects her. As for Dae-Nash... Dae-Nash is still the glue that holds the monster gods together, and his love for the other deity has never died. That said, Laragan also agrees with Mel-Nach (who he trusts not a hair, not a whisker) that their followers should look to their own interests first, and those who see them as enemies are rightful prey.

MaOr is originally a god of the Elven pantheon, although even most of the other Elven gods were unaware of his existence. Shrouding his doings in darkness until he was ready to erupt out of the shadows to sow chaos and destruction, the Mad Monster devoted himself utterly to attaining perfection in magic and swordplay. In spite of his chaotic nature, MaOr was always highly patient, restraining himself with the confidence that every instance of self-denial would lead to him attaining his goal of becoming the ultimate master of magic and the blade. Certainly, he has become a brutally powerful deity - as well as an irreparably insane one.
MaOr is supremely in love with growing stronger and improving his skills in battle, then visiting his strength on worthy opponents. Unlike Laut-Hawyn, he also delights in catching enemies unawares, striking from the shadows with brutal power to annihilate and terrify. To MaOr, a win is a win, no matter how dirty or distasteful it may seem to others. It was this mentality that finally drove the other Elven gods to (attempt to) eject him from their midst and have his equally deranged Clerics cast out into the Middle Nations. Predictably, this backfired; there are any number of monstrous creatures who happily embraced the Shadow Volcano's doctrine of attaining power and cutting a wide swath through the world as a testament to their supremacy.
Perhaps MaOr's proudest moment is when he was grudgingly invited into the coalition that de-powered Ma-Oth-La; it was he who distracted the greater goddess with a brutal ambush that almost - but not quite - unmade her; he who battled her while his fellow conspirators stripped her of the portfolio elements that she has wanted to reclaim ever since. After the battle, MaOr claimed supreme patronage over the Magus class, which he considered to be closest to his own heart. His clergy still train Magi, especially among the 'monster' races that bow to him, and evil Night Elves who bow to his cult because none of the other Elven gods will have them.
When MaOr manifests, it is as a slender Elven youth, clad in a dramatic hooded coat and mask of black satin. Only his eyes, glittering with insanity, and the lower half of his face (often warped by a self-infatuated grin of bloodlust) are ever seen. He bears a black longsword of frightful aspect: the +4 Unholy longsword of wounding called Blackburn. Where MaOr's avatars tread, the world trembles in terror.

Possibly the least trustworthy of the monster pantheon, and certainly the member least trusted by the other monster gods, Mel-Nach was a Night Elf Rogue in life. Nowadays, she is the monsters' patron of theft, brigandage and hunting.
Always eager to turn an opportunity into money and to eliminate threats to her own prosperity, the mortal Mel-Nach worked as a thief, an assassin, a bounty hunter, and any number of other shady jobs. In her capacity as a bounty hunter, she was one of the agents that forced the then-mortal Dae-Nash and their party into the wilderness.
Her greed and self-interest eventually made her unwelcome even in the Thieves' Guild, and she was herself forced to flee into the untamed lands. Meeting her former prey by chance, Mel-Nach managed to attach herself to the group and help them with the quest that eventually saw them all ascended. Even today, Mel-Nach continues to lurk around the monster gods, an untrustworthy fellow traveller who often goes off to serve her own interests and encourages her followers to be just as underhanded and greedy as she is.
To her mortal followers, Mel-Nach is the epitome of what it means to be an evil monster; strong, sly, selfish and willing to use whatever trickery and violence is needed to get what she wants. When she manifests, she appears in the form of a female Night Elf, her hair painted shocking pink or lavender, her clothes the dark and dowdy standard uniform of a guild thief.

In mortal life, Val-Heeree was a Herder; looked down upon for her species and her gender, she yearned for a life of adventure, battle and legends collected and earned. She got all of this and more when she fell in with the then-mortal Dae-Nash, becoming their first companion on the road that would lead to ascension. Nowadays, Val-Heeree is the goddess of battle, competition and physical fitness to the monster tribes. While her allies build 'monster' society up, Val-Heeree is the one who stands ready to defend it against their eternal enemies. She is also the one who is most eager to strike back at those enemies, and to encourage her mortal followers to take up arms and hone their bodies for the battles that will inevitably find them.
Among the monster gods, Val-Heeree is indispensible because she is their shield and their sword; the others have strengths all their own, but Val-Heeree is mightiest when it comes to combat. She combines the weaponry forged by Ink-Ank, the magic provided by Dae-Nash and Laragan, and the tactics outlined by Ki-Sil, and adds to all of that her boundless enthusiasm and impressive might. Among her mortal followers, she is upheld as a shining example of what even the most downtrodden may one day achieve, just so long as they never give up and keep striving.

Amarra Amarramee was born human in the golden age of the Nameless Empire. A talented Summoner and novice Brawler with a boundless capacity for kindness and a keen mind, she joined the Adventrers' Guild in hopes of doing good in the world... only for her hopes and dreams to be betrayed. During the Grand Guild Games, Amarra was deceived and cheated against time and again, causing her to lose every event - and for her branch office to blame her for their loss. By way of punishment, Amarra was sold into slavery and subjected to transformation spells that made her the first Herder in history.

Amarra eventually managed to escape her enslavement, and spent the rest of her life continuing to fight the good fight - and struggling to free other Herders as soon as they were 'made'. In spite of her best efforts she never found a cure for the transformation process, but the Herders who followed after her (as well as countless people she had helped in life) nevertheless upheld her as a living saint, then as a goddess after she died -- and by the compassion and sponsorship of several other deities, that is exactly what she became.

Today, Amarra Amarramee is much-mocked among the dominant races as the mother-goddess of the Herders and the patron of Summoners and Conjurors. However, such mockery ignores the fact that she is part of the coalition that weakened Ma-Oth-La, having taken authority over Summoners and their arts away from the greater goddess. It also ignores the fact that Amarra Amarramee is one of the patrons of the Adventurers' Guild; the goddess is determined to guide that organization to be the house of heroes she once envisioned. People who are desperately lonely or fear the loss of friends often pray to her to intercede, and all Herders regardless of alignment pay her homage as their First. Practitioners of Janni Style martial arts often consider her the patron of their style.

Avatars: Although as a goddess she is free to assume any form she wishes, Amarra Amarramee continues to manifest as a Herder woman. Her hair is pale blond and normally done up in a sidetail; her skin is tanned from the sun; her eyes are a dazzling blue. Something of a slave to fashion, she always appears wearing new and flattering clothes.

Relationships: Despite her negative reputation among many mortals, Amarra Amarramee is widely popular among the other gods - all the Good-aligned, most of the Neutral-aligned and even some of the Evil-aligned members of the pantheon consider her a good friend and an admirable person. She is especially close to Rak-Ulas - not in a physical sense, as many slanderous tongues claim, but as two fellow survivors of mistreatment who continue to go strong. Amarra considers Rak-Ulas to be a mentor figure; the fertility deity looks upon her as a granddaughter. Val-Heeree of the monster gods considers Amarra Amarramee to be an honoured superior, although their temperaments differ strongly.

Worshippers: Summoners, Conjurors, Brawlers and Herders all worship Amarra Amarramee. Some farmers do as well, mainly dairy farmers who consider her to be the goddess of cattle. While this particular field does not hold the goddess' interest and she is well-aware of the implied insult, she does provide some blessings to those who call on her in this capacity.

Ash-Kta was a human who lived during the Turmoil, the age preceding even the Dread Empire. She came from a poor family, but was blessed with good looks and a gift for music and song; through perseverence and the support of her kin, she managed to land an apprenticeship as a Bard, and became popular enough that she was starting to make a decent living, good enough that she could support her family... And that was when the eye of the Queen of the Faeries fell upon her.

The Queen was a greater goddess during the Turmoil, well known for randomly tormenting 'lesser lifeforms' for the fun of it. She bedeviled the mortal Ash-Kta mercilessly, doing her damndest to ruin the human's dreams and reduce her to a state she considered to be "suitable" for mortals; a state currently suffered by the Wildmen.
To the Queen's growing anger, Ash-Kta refused to be broken. Time and again, she struggled to break free of her tormentor and regain what little status and respect she had been able to claim. As the conflict between Faerie goddess and mortal human mounted, other powers took note. Rak-Ulas and Uk (who respected the mortal's ability to fight the Queen) whispered secrets in Ash-Kta's dreams; Ma-Oth-La (who just hated the Queen of the Faeries) scattered runes upon the wandering Bard's path and hid them in her shadow.
Through perseverence and study - and her ability to exploit the secrets she had been given - Ash-Kta discovered a weakness the Queen of Faeries had thought hidden for all time. On a moonless night, when once again the Queen of the Faeries and her Winter and Summer Court descended to torment Ash-Kta, the mortal ran the greater goddess through with a blade of blended metals, shadow and song -- and the Queen died.

Ash-Kta unintentionally absorbed part of the Queen's divine mantle, and walked free of the furious Faerie Courts as a goddess of darkness, music, song and luck. She grew in power over darkness and probability as well as light and physical desire over the centuries that followed. When dreaded Kebal burst into the universe, it was the Laughing Temptress who set the traps that ultimately tripped the Worm up and restrained his movement.
While other deities might have tried to capitalize on such an achievement and ascend to the rank of the greater gods, Ash-Kta has remained who she has been; a seemingly carefree musician and trickster who wanders the world, picking up songs, stories, and secrets as she goes along. She entertains, she seduces, she inspires, and she moves on, seemingly flighty and careless - but ultimately keeping an eye on the whole world and continuing to set traps for Kebal and other evils in the shadows.
As a member of the coalition that de-powered Ma-Oth-La, Ash-Kta is technically the supreme patron of Bardic spellcasters, but she never seems to make any particular demands based on this element of her portfolio.

Avatars: Ash-Kta typically appears in a form that resembles her original, mortal guise. She is short by modern standards, but her legs are strong and her body toned. Her skin is tanned, her hair is dark brown and hangs to shoulder length. Her nose may be a trifle sharp, but the sparkle in her dark eyes and ready smile more than make up for this. When she deigns to wear clothes at all, the Red Rogue wears a classic toga coloured burgundy. She wears sandals whatever else she does, and always carries a guitar in a beat-up old case and a katana in a well-kept sheath.

Worshippers: Bards and Rogues make a natural fit for Ash-Kta's worshippers, as do Shadowcasters. She is a patron of the Adventurers' Guild, sponsoring Bards who go out to create legends of their own instead of recounting other people's stories. Herders, Sû-rog and Zlapav frequently worship her, as do Wildmen. Carefree wanderers and gamblers of any species are known to pray to her to grant them luck. Perhaps surprisingly, Ash-Kta has been adopted by the Orcish Dominions; to the Orcs, she is a goddess of deserts and perseverence in the face of hardship, as her avatars have been seen walking through the worst wastelands of their realm with perfect equanimity.

Relationships: Ash-Kta knows Kebal hates her most of all, and she returns the sentiment with cool disdain - and a firm determination to keep setting traps for him, should he ever manage to break out of the first one she set. Ma-Oth-La despises her for having taken part of her portfolio, especially after she once favoured her with magical lore, but Ash-Kta knows full well what kind of person the greater goddess is, and ignores her hostility.
Haumasho variously hates her as the killer of the Queen of the Faeries and a rival sun goddess, or lusts after her as he spies her moving through the deserts he favours; she flees his presence and holds him in contempt. Ash-Kta is still fast friends with Rak-Ulas, often joining the elder deity on their endless journey, and from time to time they are more. Generally speaking, they are merry to meet and content to part. While many scholars would expect her to be on good terms with the Zlapav god Ohiro, Ash-Kta actually has little to do with the god of alchemy and love; Ohiro enjoys staying in one place, gathering lovers and feathering their nest, whereas Ash-Kta is an eternal wanderer who touches the lives of others but briefly.

Born during the Turmoil from the union of Haulmasho and Thla-Avak, Athelgarde was enthroned as the goddess of cities and civil order. She remains as such, but is also the supreme champion of civilization, culture and order.
Apart from these laudable elements of her portfolio, Athelgarde is a ruthless monster that believes in the primacy of culture over the individual, choking off the rights and feelings of people to make them fit into 'her' ordered society like drones into a hive. Mirthless, merciless and uncompromising, Athelgarde would be as hated as any fiend ... if she were not the goddess who kept dragging civilization up out of the mud left after the collapse of every Empire. No matter how vile she is, how deserving of hatred, it can not be denied that she is a tireless champion of civilization, opposing barbarism and forces that would bring doom to all the hard-won progress that separate sentient beings from the beasts.

Avatars: On the rare occasion that Athelgarde appears, she does so as sexless humanoids swathed in robes of black cloth and pieces of iron armour. A feminine mask of iron covers her face, and her voice echoes as though it came from the depths of the Underworld. Behind the mask, her eyes are barely visible as dots of cold light.
Where Athelgarde's avatars tread, mortals feel their limbs grow heavy, their movement slowed down - unless they walk as the avatar directs.

Worshippers: Aristocrats are natural worshippers of Athelgarde, as are Tyrant-archetype Antipaladins. She also has a strong following among the type of Fighters and Cavaliers that believe in subjugating the wilderness so civilization can expand.

Relationships: In spite of their shared alignment, Athelgarde despises Kebal, for he brings doom to all things, including her beloved civilization. She grudgingly respect Thla-Avak, for without life there can be no civilization, and Rak-Ulas because their work provides the fertility needed for creatures to feed and breed.
Athelgarde's relationship with Uk is tense, for while war is a useful tool to annihilate threats to her cities, it can also tear them down. Athelgarde is on uncertain terms with Ma-Oth-La for similar reasons; magic can be both boon and bane, depending on who wields it, and Ma-Oth-La has no interest in strictly regulating who can. Ohiro's patronage of ambition and hard work serve well within the structures she creates, but she hates how the Zlapav god encourages their faithful to transcend limits imposed from the outside - which is what she does best.
Athelgarde actively detests the monster gods, who are trying to civilize creatures she considers to be enemies of her cities, and do so in a way different from her own. Ash-Kta, Olova Urei and Ulla all tamper with what she considers to be the proper order of things, and she would happily extinguish them if she could. The fiends, especially those of the Golden Fangs, threaten the cosmic order she champions. Her former mate Zeber-Oht is a wretched thief who claims credit for the achievements of better gods, including his claim that he is the father of civilization when Athelgarde considers this to be her exclusive territory.

Haulmasho was once a greater god, and is a contemporary of Uk and Thla-Avak. The patron of the sun, a primal fertility god and the first deity of farming, he was lauded and honoured from one end of the Middle Nations to the other, and in all the other surface nations besides. He is the father of Athelgarde, and thus has a hand in the rise of civilization. He was once the husband of Thla-Avak, bringing light and warmth to the land she embodied and empowered. His name was shouted from the tops of piramid temples, young women voluntarily bared their throats to the sacrificial knife, and all who farmed or relied on farms praised his name. Today the Elves still claim that Haulmasho is a supreme god, but they are in the minority.
The truth is that Haulmasho has lost a lot of power since the Turmoil, the age that precedes the Dread Empire. In addition to Thla-Avak, he had taken the Queen of the Faeries as his mate, and the Queen was slain by the mortal Ash-Kta. As evil as the Queen was, she was a masterful temptress and concubine, and Haulmasho lost a lot of the joy in his life. While gods do not die easily, Haulmasho was quietly starting to divest himself of a great deal of his power and estates, and was getting ready to lay himself to rest in the depths of the Underworld.

And then Kebal arrived.

Other gods and fiends have suffered injuries in the battle with Kebal which never healed. Haulmasho, who fought on the front lines in hopes of at least having a meaningful death, suffered the equivalent of a head injury, which had a lasting effect on his sanity. Insofar as gods can go senile, Haulmasho has. The sun god wanders his course as he did before, but most of the time his mind is lost in memories of his heydays - fractured and contradictory memories.
Even though the times have changed, Haulmasho still expects people to live as once they did, wielding tools of flint instead of metal, enslaving strangers and prisoners of war, and above all providing him with blood sacrifices, preferably of virginal young women of great beauty and impeccable pedigree. He also expects all mortals to bow and scrape before his altars, hailing him as the bringer of life. Whenever he manages to realize that people are refusing to die for him or bow to him, that his priests are being mocked or even attacked for doing their duty to him, he grows angry and brings drought. When he realizes other gods are 'intruding' on what he considers to be his portfolio or refusing to show him what he considers to be the respect owed a greater god, he lashes out like. He lashes out in a feeble and uncoordinated fashion, mind you, but he does lash out. In recent centuries, he has shown increasing hostility to the younger fertility gods Rak-Ulas and La-Guvan.
In recent times, the monster goddess Bellor has risen as an active counter to Haulmasho. As the rest of the pantheon opposes and seals Kebal, she alone has set seals against Haulmasho to prevent him from causing catastrophic climate change and turning all green lands into desert. It's taken him a few centuries, but Haulmasho finally realizes that the Moon Witch is an enemy who watches his every move and restrains his power, and he considers her his greatest enemy.

Avatars: In times gone by, Halmasho appeared in the form of stately, handsome and powerfully built men. He rarely wore clothes, so that all might behold the perfection of his form; when he did, he wore togas of golden cloth. His beard and moustache were short and cut square, his scalp hair was long and wild as a lion's mane; all were as golden as his eyes, which shone like the sun.
When he is aware of the world around him, Haulmasho still tries to assume these guises. But as soon as his attention wanders, his form reflects his damaged essence; it swiftly decays into a withered and crippled old man, forced to shamble along with the aid of a cane. These avatars drool vacuously, the slime turning innocent dust into terrible monsters, and his eyes are dim and dull with cataracts. These avatars are so withered and old that they are completely hairless, and the once magnificent toga has become a rag stained with sweat and excrement.
Wherever Haulmasho's avatars tread, the sun shines with unusual brightness. When they turn to their withered state, the land turns to desert around them.

Worshippers: In times gone by, all creatures worshipped Haulmasho. Since Kebal's rampage and his fall, the once glorious sun god is seen as dangerous, unpredictable and backwards. Only isolated communities still pray to him, but his evil-aligned Clerics are quick to try and expand into farming communities that are suffering from bad harvests or vermin, promising the weak and afraid that Haulmasho will save them where no other god would - so long as they praise him, build pyramids unto him ... and bring the correct sacrifice. Even good-aligned Clerics will bring blood offerings of noble maidens, but in their case they at least ask for genuinely willing volunteers.

Relationships: Haulmasho no longer has a place among the greater gods. He hates Kebal whenever he can remember his existence, but fears him in equal measure. During his increasingly rare periods of alertness, he adds his strength to the seals that keep the Worm in check. Thla-Avak looks on him with pity, but is not willing to indulge his delusions and madness. Aku-Dev has been studying ways to heal his mind in hopes of claiming him for her concubine and bolstering her own power, but she will not show him any favour until she's done it.
Haulmasho is not much more welcome among the lesser gods, either. His own daughter Athelgarde ignores him, and treats him with a mixture of horrified pity and disgust when she can't. He has chased Ash-Kta, regarding her now as his murderer's lover, now as a potential concubine, and she will submit to him in neither way. Laut-Hawyn mocks him for having lost in battle, and considers killing him one day to assume his divine mantle. Haulmasho has dimly absorbed the fact that Olova Urei has deposed an older god to attain her throne, and he considers her a dangerous upstart. While Rak-Ulas holds no strong feelings for him, Haulmasho hates the Passing Cloud with an old man's impotent rage for having 'stolen' his position as the top fertility god. Ulla's work is done in the dark and has little to do with farming; Haulmasho looks upon her as a fool who should submit to him as a new concubine and learn wisdom; she considers him to be a danger to civilization, the way he causes drought whenever he throws a temper tantrum. Zeber-Oht stole the basic design of his own favoured avatars from Haulmasho, and fears one day attracting the sun god's wrath.
The monster gods by and large detest Haulmasho, even if their alignments are not that far apart. Even if the Sû-rog goddess Bellor and the Orcish farming god La-Guvan weren't among them, they would still suffer from Haulmasho; his priests frequently 'cleanse' areas inhabited by their god's faithful, murdering 'monsters with joyful abandon.

Where Uk is the god of war, his estranged and disinherited son Laut-Hawyn is the god of joyful battle, duels and gladiatorial combat. Delighting in all clashes of blade and fist, Laut-Hawyn champions Barbarian rage and the mentality that clashes of the blade can decide all conflict. He is irreverent, laughs at the suffering of the defeated and the weak, and encourages his faithful to carve their way to the fate they desire. All those who fall by the wayside, be it due to accident, disease, poison or because they fell to an enemy who fought by guile or magic, are unworthy and will be abandoned by the Dashing Warrior. Only winners deserve to bask in his presence once death has ended their mortal existence.

Laut-Hawyn is the supreme patron of the Grand Colosseum in La Grande, and is considered to be the chief of the pantheon by the crustier barbarian tribes. His temples strongly resemble beer halls, his sermons are full of prideful boasts of the deity's prowess with sword, drink, wench and gambling. Theoretically, every duel and gladitorial combat is an act of worship to Laut-Hawyn, and every drop of blood spilled and enemy stronghold burned is incense to his nostrils.

Avatars: Laut-Hawyn typically manifests in the form of handsome men with thin mustaches and pointed goatees, their physical build lithe but muscular. He wears garish clothes of scarlet and violet cloth under practical leather armour and chainmail, and boots of soft leather with curled noses. Instead of a helmet, he wears a broadrimmed hat festooned with colourful feathers on his artfully curled hair. While he wears foppish earrings and his hands sparkle with gem-studded rings, his most prized possession is his +4 Anarchic rapier of wounding, Longcut.

Worshippers: Laut-Hawyn is popular among Barbarians, Brawlers, Cavaliers, Fighters and Swashbucklers. He cheers on anyone who wields a weapon in search of glory, but disdains those who rely on things other than weaponry and their bodies. His temples unapologetically bar those who do, even forbidding Magi and Rogues from partaking in their carousing rituals.

Relationships: Laut-Hawyn openly desires to replace his father Uk as the god of war, but he lacks his father's keen strategic and tactical skills. None of his attempts have gone beyond trying to overwhelm Uk in single combat, which is just one area where his father still outclasses him.
Laut-Hawyn is one of the lovers of Aku-Dev, with whom he has much in common; both are frequently rampant egomaniacs. Consequently, the times when they are able to actually enjoy each other's company are ... infrequent. Like all the other gods, Laut-Hawyn sees Kebal as a deadly enemy. Unlike most of the others, he wishes to one day see Kebal released, believing that a battle between the two of them would elevate his skills and perhaps allow him to absorb the Worm's divine mantle so he can finally overpower Uk. Laut-Hawyn has nothing but contempt for the peaceful Rak-Ulas, and is frustrated by Thla-Avak's refusal to spar with him. He considers the monster gods to be the patrons of battle fodder; creatures whose existence only serves to hone the skills of a warrior. Laut-Hawyn holds Ulla in contempt for her preference to strike in the shadows, rather than on the field of battle, and is angered by Ash-Kta's steadfast refusal to be either his lover or his herald. Some day, Laut-Hawyn hopes to either defeat or subjugate Lady Azan of the Underworld, but the cunning demoness has so far managed to maintain a stalemate through superior tactics, though not defeat him.
For their part, the gods Laut-Hawyn dislikes or hates all hold him in equal disdain. Uk considers him a bloodthirsty braggart; Rak-Ulas sees him as just one more bully; Thla-Avak dislikes the way he encourages creatures to casually waste lives; the monster gods see him as a conscienceless butcher; Ulla disparages the way he champions pointless bloodshed and insufficiently compensated murder; Ash-Kta considers his exploits unworthy of being serenaded. Unknown to Laut-Hawyn, Lady Azan has been plotting his downfall in collaboration with the rest of the Golden Fangs-movement; if their plans succeed, Laut-Hawyn will be the first god to die at their hands, and his divine mantle will be the first they share among themselves and devour.

Ohiro was born as a mortal Zlapav during the Turmoil, the era that precedes the Dread Empire. They came to the attention of the Queen of the Faeries, just as did the human who would become Ash-Kta, but she passed off tormenting the diminutive shapeshifter to one of her subordinates. Against the odds, Ohiro managed to charm the fickle faerie creature that came to torment them to the point that the faerie became the Zlapav's mentor, rather than their tormentor. With the secrets and arts Ohiro learned from the faerie, the Zlapav eventually gathered great wealth and became a fairly heroic adventurer. From adventuring companions and the teachers at the Hidden Academy, Ohiro learned to become a masterful archer and a profound black magician. By the time natural death claimed Ohiro, they were the most famous Zlapav in the world; wealthy, mighty, with an extensive harem of wives and lovers and a reputation for incredible deeds.
The most incredible of all, of course, was that Ohiro perfected an elixir that allowed them to ascend to the ranks of the gods. While Aku-Dev claims she inspired this creation, she had only dropped hints

Ohiro is very popular as a role model of what anyone can achieve with dedication, elbow grease, and the courage to surpass limits imposed by others. They are also hailed as the patron of all alchemy - especially after heading the coalition to de-power Ma-Oth-La, on which occasion they claimed patronage over Alchemists. Lovers and those hoping to fall in love often pray to Ohiro, asking for inspiration or outright blessings.

Avatars: Ohiro still enjoys manifesting as an average Zlapav, a trail of simple, stylized tattoos on their back denoting loves found and lost. Sometimes they wear a silver-haired wig. A consummate shapeshifter, the King of Alchemy is also known to assume a wide variety of other forms, some male, some female, as occasion requires.
Where the avatars of Ohiro tread, the light softens and tempers are soothed.

Worshippers: Alchemists and matchmakers bow to Ohiro's altars in reverence, and it is rare to find a Zlapav who does not at least tithe to the deity's faith on holy days. Many Gelnet worship Ohiro, especially in La Grande, where the deity's main temple stands on the location of the manor house they built during their mortal life.
Black magicians are also likely to at least offer token obeisance, as Ohiro is one of the sponsors of the Hidden Academy. There are plenty of Rogues and Ninja who respect Ohiro for having performed two of the greatest heists in history; the de-powering of Ma-Oth-La and the theft of Aku-Dev's Artifice domain.

Relationships: Aku-Dev and Ma-Oth-La hate Ohiro, but dare not act against them directly due to the popularity of the Zlapav deity's faith and their strong inroads with the community of black magicians - not to mention their essential contribution to the seals and barriers that hold back the foul Kebal. The deity is good friends with Amarra Amarramee, Olova Urei, Ulla the Grey and Dae-Nash of the monster gods. Athelgarde and Ohiro exist in a tense equilibrium; on the one hand, Athelgarde provides a stable environment inside which the ambition and hard work Ohiro sponsors can help someone flourish; on the other Athelgarde is a vile tyrant who crushes individuality, whereas Ohiro encourages all to surpass limits imposed by outsiders.

One of the youngest members of the pantheon, Olova Urei was born a Gelnet early in the current age. She was a beautiful, kind girl who enrolled at St. Finnegan's University in the capitol city of La Grande, and there met her first love. She was also stabbed in the back by a girl who considered her a rival for that same lover, her body burned in a garbage incinerator. As far as all her friends, her family and her gentle first love knew, she had dropped off the world without a trace.
Lonely, afraid and full of unfulfilled business, Olova's soul fell into that part of the Underworld that is known as the Halls of the Unquiet: a ghost without an anchor in the material plane. There, she fell under the sway of the former lord of the undead, a malicious ex-lich turned deity named Eisengram. For a timeless eternity, Olova drifted there, tormented by Eisengram's capricious cruelties, the howling of the other tormented undead, and the knowledge that her love would never be fulfilled ... And then she decided she'd had enough.

In the Underworld, stories are still whispered by the dead and fiends alike of Olova's uprising, which saw Eisengram cast from his throne and the Halls of the Unquiet transformed from pandemonium into a palace of glacial quiet. Where once the Skull King tormented his subjects by subjecting their decaying bodies to pain and their chained souls to their worst memories, filling the place with screams, now the Unquiet Dead stalk and float in as close to perfect silence as they can. Olova Urei sits upon the throne of her predecessor in contemplation of her existence, attempting to piece together a memory grown ragged by the transformation into an undead, Eisengram's tortures, and the subsequent transformation into the goddess of the undead.
In many ways, Olova is a vast improvement on her predecessor. She does not actively champion the destruction of all life by her subjects. She does not torture those who dwell in the Halls of the Unquiet, and does not prevent any who dare to abandon undeath for true death and the judgments that come with it. Most of the time, she studies lore both ancient and new and tries to reconstruct her damaged memory. Most of the time, she barely seems to notice the existence of anything that happens outside the confines of her own mind.
But then again, she also does not stop the undead from rampaging on the material plane if that is what pleases them. When she does notice the world beyond her mind, she will, quietly and coolly, set her creatures on missions to gather information by whatever means they prefer. When she wants new knowledge, she will trade with anyone or -thing short of dread Kebal to get it - including the Golden Fangs-movement of fiends, or any necromancer with the courage to contact her.

Avatars: When Olova Urei appears, she assumes a form much like the one she had in life; a beautiful Gelnet girl with purple hair done up in two pigtails, her forehead gem darkened to amethyst purple. Her hair tends to float and swirl as though she were under water from time to time. She wears the girls' winter uniform of St. Finnegan's University, and frequently carries a book bag with her. She wears silver rings on all the fingers and thumb of her left hand, which transform into her signature gauntlet on her command. Her skin is pale verging on white, her legs tend to trail off into a ghostly 'tail' when her attention wanders. Where her avatars tread - or float - the day grows cold.

Worshippers: Unlike Eisengram, Olova Urei holds no particular antipathy towards mortals. True, her touch can suck the life out of them when she isn't paying attention, but most of the time she can take the living or leave them. As a result, she has a far larger faith than Eisengram ever did. Olova's Clerics, even the evil-aligned ones, frequently work as arbiters between the living and the undead, settling the latter down by seeing to it that the former bring sacrifices or right wrong that have stirred up the undead. Students of necromancy frequently worship her and try to emulate her glacial calm and studious manner. Witches and Wizards frequently bow to her black altars. As Olova is one of the patrons of the Adventurers' Guild, adventurers with an interest in archaeology (an occupation which often puts people face-to-face with the undead) and necromancers often try to get on her good side.
Most of the world's undead, especially the evil-aligned ones, worship Olova as their queen-goddess. Her cold tranquility soothes their anger and agony; her vast power and knowledge shield them from the hatred of the other gods; her overthrow of hated Eisengram gives them a dark hope that one day, they will overthrow the shackles of nature, the spirits, the fiends and all the other gods, allowing them to march freely across a world cast into eternal darkness and eternal winter, cleansed of the living and all other irritants.

Relationships: Although she's the new kid on the block, many of the gods actively fear Olova Urei. She did not stand out among the thronging multitude of souls that suffered in the Halls of the Unquiet. Not until she suddenly erupted in a kind of chill fury and pulled down a god, stealing his throne and divine mantle for her own, with no help from any outside source. If only her broken and bleeding heart enabled her to do that, what else might she do if she ever gives up on finding her love and her revenge?
Malicious tongues whisper that Aku-Dev's order to her faithful to destroy the undead wherever they see them has less to do with disgust for that which is unnatural, than with a desire to curb the power of this inexplicable upstart.
Surprisingly, Olova Urei has struck up an unlikely friendship with Ohiro, the Zlapav god of love and alchemy. While their alignments and attitudes are worlds apart, Ohiro recognizes that Olova's heart is still ruled by love and her desire to fulfill that love. Over the years, he has offered as much help as he dares and their alignment differences allow, hoping to reunite her with her lost love and see her pass on.
On the other hand, Olova's faith exists in a chilly standoff with the faiths of Mel-Nach and Ulla the Grey; because she was murdered, Olova nurtures a cold spark of hatred for all killers. For their part, the monster goddess and Ulla are extremely wary of the Corpse Queen's wrath and tend to advise their faithful to keep their distance - unless there is profit to be made in killing Olova's faithful, of course.

More a principle than a person, the Perfect is a force that constantly strives for perfection. Born during the Turmoil, the Celestial Diamond lives an utterly ascetic existence, devoting itself to education and training according to a schedule from which it allows no deviation for any reason. Although it is an ancient force, it has almost never touched the material plane directly. Its sole contribution is in the funding of several monasteries, which it endowed with its doctrine; a training manual that no mortal could hope to finish during one lifetime, and which doubles as a breeding manual. It is the hope of the Perfect's loyal servants that one day, after generations of training, their monasteries will produce a being worthy of standing by their patron's side.

Avatars: When the Perfect appears, it is as an androgynous, hairless being with large, dark eyes. Dressed in simple clothes, it carries a quarterstaff in one hand, a longsword strapped to one hip, a shortsword to the other.

Worshippers: Monks and lawful Brawlers humble themselves before the example set forth by the Perfect. Many Silicart bow to its altars as well, seeing in its rigid order and striving for utter perfection something to strive for, but also an echo of the Royal Silicart they once served. Many Wizards also bow to the Perfect, admiring its dedication to improving mind and magic as well as body and martial skills. Lawful Magi often consider themselves to be cast in the deity's mold, as they combine multiple fields of power in one style.

Relationships: Virtually none. The Perfect detests Kebal and adds its strength to holding the Worm in check. Apart from this, it barely even communicates with the other gods, the spirits or the fiends. It has no true enemies. It has no true friends. It desires neither, and no one is in any great rush to include it in their plans; its joyless character does not inspire affection, its ambition are so internalized that it inspires neither envy nor admiration.

Rak-Ulas was not always a god. This, everyone knows. But that is basically all anyone knows of the morose deity's past; it is unknown whether Rak-Ulas was once a mortal (and if so from which species or whether they were man or woman) cursed to ascension, or an air elemental conscripted to fill a void in the pantheon after Kebal's initial rampage. Even Rak-Ulas no longer remembers.
All anyone is sure about, is that Rak-Ulas joined the pantheon sometime during Kebal's rampage, and that the wandering labourer played a part in the Worm's capture and sealing. (Then again, so did every other god, and a lot of the spirits and fiends as well. Rak-Ulas certainly does not pride themselves on their wartime accomplishments.)

Nowadays, Rak-Ulas is this world's prime fertility god. Thla-Avak stands for the world and the cycle of birth, death and rebirth, but it is Ra-Ulas who keeps the wheels of the seasons going, brings life-bringing rain and stirs fresh life in the womb of the earth. In this capacity, the inconstant cuckoo could be a figure of respect.
Instead, Rak-Ulas is the subject of a million 'humorous' myths, which depict the deity as a perennial ne'er-do-well wandering from one wife or lover to another, forever changing shape to avoid suspicion and pursuit, never able to settle down in spite of advanced road-weariness. Many mock the deity for being a strict pacifist - with two noteworthy exceptions: both Kebal and Zeber-Oht have gotten to know the depth of Rak-Ulas' rage when the deity finally reached his breaking point. Zeber-Oht has since striven to keep distance between them; Kebal knows no fear, but knows to be wary of Rak-Ulas, at the very least.
The priesthood of Rak-Ulas could point out from dawn 'till dusk that their patron personified the turning of the seasons and the clouds that bring life-giving rain to all areas of the world, and still most people would prefer to make jokes about how Rak-Ulas foolishly strings along multiple lovers and keeps getting tripped up by becoming infatuated with ever more paramours.

In recent times, Rak-Ulas has also become known as the god of itinerant labourers and homeless wanderers. Many Sû-rog honour the deity by painting his/her symbol on the roofs of their travelling wagons, for instance. The Wildmen worship the deity as not only the top fertility god, but their top god.

Avatars: When Rak-Ulas sends avatars, they may appear as members of any species, of either gender. In male form, they tend to look middle-aged, rugged and weathered, with a few days' stubble. In female form, they look decidedly prettier, but with windblown, tangled hair. Their eyes are always grey, their hair always grey-streaked brown. They typically wear the kind of worn clothes that itinerant workers and lifelong wanderers do, their boots (if they have them) worn. Their hands are callussed by heavy labour and fist-fights.
The deity habitually carries a cloth sack on their shoulder. Some myths claim that these contain all the clouds and rain in the world, other that they contain all first dreams of physical love. Yet others claim that the bag simply contains the deity's worn and well-used tools, which they use when impersonating mortal day labourers at this or that farm, out in the sticks.
Where the avatars of Rak-Ulas pass, clouds often gather and release a light shower of rain. Plants grow exceptionally well if exposed to this precipitation and animals feel refreshed.

Relationships: Rak-Ulas is known to most of the rest of the pantheon. Some of them are linked to the inconstant cuckoo as husband, wife or lover by mythologies told worldwide, but apart from symbolic couplings caused by the people's beliefs, there is little substance to the stories.
Apart from outright hostility between the inconstant cuckoo and Kebal and Zeber-Oht, the deity has no real enemies. Some of the other deities are good friends, others are just business associates. Almost none care to inhibit Rak-Ulas upon their endless, weary way. Most have at least a grudging respect for the deity's dedication to work, in spite of their demeaning reputation - and the few who recall how Rak-Ulas fought in the battle against Kebal give them their space.
After all, one should beware the wrath of a peaceful being driven to anger... Haulmasho continues to act aggressively towards Rak-Ulas, who finds the senile deity's animosity to be mostly annoying, and unnecessary. If they could give up their role as fertility god, they would - but only to a worthy recipient, which Haulmasho no longer is.
Rak-Ulas feels a kinship for other deities who are marginalized, and is known to be close with Amarra Amaramee and the monster gods, among others.

Worshippers: Wildmen, travelling Sû-rog, Herders and some Malinger worship Rak-Ulas, who is an outcast like them but continues to do thankless work that benefits the whole world. In the wake of the death of the Queen of the Faeries, some tribes of Fey have turned to worship of the passing cloud; especially Fauns and Satyrs. Itinerant labourers frequently pray to the deity, as do youngsters in love who feel they need to sneak around.

Uk is the oldest patron of battle and war of this world. This is shown clearly in the weapon he prefers to wield; a greatclub that has been repaired and improved upon countless times, but is still essentially the same weapon a cave-dwelling humanoid first picked up to bash in his neighbour's brains. Uk was born when that first sentient being raised its hand against another in anger; he will not die until the world embraces peace. He dearly wishes it would.
Aeons of battle and warfare have made Uk experienced and wise - and thoroughly tired of overseeing violence and destruction that could have been easily avoided. Any pleasure Uk once took in the rush of adrenaline, the purity of rage or the joy of victory have long since faded away, their taste become ashes in his mouth.
And still, whenever battle is waged and people pray for Uk the unbound to bless them and inspire them, the old war-god dutifully rides out. He may be tired of his work, but he knows that he is the best at it, and it is work that needs doing. Other gods may desire the mantle of power over war and battle, but Uk knows they lack the perspective of his experience and would let war rage across the world before they realized their mistake.

Avatars: Uk rarely sends avatars anymore. When he does, they appear as humanoids of no particular species; tall but not inhumanly so, more rangy than muscular, they are well-suited to feats of both strength and dexterity, stamina and speed. They wear quality chainmail over leather, and their face is always hidden inside a stout helmet. In one hand, Uk carries a steel shield; in the other, his favourite weapon, the club named the Duchess. Uk wields this +4 Shocking Burst Greatclub with such ease and skill that many believe the weapon is somehow independently alive, and that it is the only thing that could slay Uk, apart from global peace. (This is not true, however. The Duchess is alive, but it cannot permanently kill Uk.)

Relationships: Uk has earned great respect among the other gods, especially for his work in organizing the defense against the evil Kebal. Ash-Kta set the trap that snared the Worm, Rak-Ulas struck the blow that landed the Intruder in that trap, and many gods contributed (and continue to contribute) to keeping the enemy locked up regardless of their alignment. But it was Uk's masterful grasp of strategy and tactics that allowed the plan to succeed.
Many younger deities of battle have sought out Uk in hopes of being taught to become as fearsome as he. Most have left disappointed. Uk knows he is the greatest warrior in the pantheon, but he is by now completely disinterested in proving his mettle. Even Laut-Hawyn, the Laughing Brawler, has not managed to get a rise out of Uk.
If anything, Uk is more fond of deities whose agendas concern peace and healing. War may sometimes be necessary, but it is a vile thing if it becomes meaningless and the destruction and harm it brings are not repaired, after all.

Worshippers: Let Laut-Hawyn capture the hearts of braggards and gladiators; Uk is the patron of serious soldiers and officers. Those who seek to devise strategies to protect their nations from aggression, as well as those seeking ways to end conflicts with minimal casualties, do well to pray to Uk. People who wage war maliciously and gleefully may still count on some measure of support, but it will be far less than that offered to people who realize that violence is a poor answer for life's troubles.

Orders: In times gone by, Uk sponsored orders of Cavaliers and Paladins, regiments of Rogues and Rangers, Fighter guilds and other orders dedicated to imparting knowledge of violence. In recent centuries, he has been ignoring all such groups, with the sole exception of the Steel Order. This secret society has branches in many places, and its members are taught to respect each other in spite of racial and/or political differences. The Order selects likely candidates for membership, subjects them to a test, and if successful educates them in a wide range of tricks and techniques preserved from ages past.
Uk holds a faint affection for the Order, as it was his very first attempt at creating an organization in his own image, and it alone has persevered over the centuries by continuing to learn and adapt.

One of the younger gods, Ulla the Grey is an ascended Gelnet who once worked as a spy and an assassin; she was a masterful Ninja/Rogue who demanded (and received) a lavish wage for her assignments. Unlike most assassins, she prided herself on striking only her target, on killing cleanly, and on fulfilling her contracts to the letter. Unlike most Gelnet, she valued privacy and actual secrecy when on the job. Outside of assassinations, she was also a businesswoman who sought to build her community up. A wealthy, healthy community would be good for everyone who lived in it, after all.
Ulla once befriended the then-mortal Ohiro, who would later become the first deity of the Zlapav. She was surprised by her friend's ascension, but felt no need to follow their example -- until her business, her reputation and her life's savings were all stolen at a single stroke. History does not record which villain took everything Ulla had, for she has excised all record of him. All that is known, is that he was a Gelnet who callously took all that was Ulla's ... and squandered it in a single night of debauch.
Furious, and grimly aware that if all the wealth and prestige she had worked for her whole life could be taken, gathering new riches would just invite more enemies ... Ulla called upon her old friend, Ohiro. While she plied the ascended god with drink and flirtation, she tried to (metaphorically) pick their pocket and attain the secret of ascension. Ohiro was not fooled, but amused and impressed by his old friend's drive to succeed. In the end, he gave Ulla the secret and sponsored her ascension as the new goddess of assassins, businessmen, ninjas, thieves, and the drive to self-improvement and succeed that is her domain.

In spite of being the goddess of contract killers and thieves, Ulla does not approve of casual murder and lazy theft. A thief or an assassin should do what is necessary, both in preparation and execution, and in the investment of wealth acquired. Money buried somewhere is useless; money invested will help bring a criminal to a point where crime becomes unnecessary. Mortals should constantly strive to hone their bodies, minds and skills, and exploit opportunities for advancement both of themselves and the community they live in.
Thugs who spend their lives mugging people in alleys are not Ulla's people. White-collar criminals who ruin businesses and livelihoods are not Ulla's people. A true child of Ulla strikes like a katana, cutting free the wealth needed in the shadows, then puts it to work. A true master thief knows when crime is necessary and when it is not, and always makes sure to take only as much as is necessary.

Avatars: When Ulla appears, it is as a Gelnet girl with dark green eyes and hair, her forehead gem the standard pink but proudly polished. She wears Ninja garb, but coloured bright purple; if asked, she teasingly answers that her stealth abilities are so great that she can afford to dress nicely. Oh, and what happened to your wallet...?
Where Ulla's avatars appear, the light dims.

Relationships: Many beings have a dim view of thieves and assassins, but as Ulla is a consummate professional who also patronizes the founding of businesses and the strengthening of local economies, she has many contacts in the pantheon. Among other things, she was consulted for the robberies of Aku-Dev and Ma-Oth-La, and Ash-Kta enlisted her help when she set traps for grim Kebal.
Ulla's strongest ally and oldest friend continues to be Ohiro; most other deities keep her at least at arm's length, even if they share an 'understanding'.

Worshippers: Gelnet Ninja frequently worship Ulla the Grey. The central Thieves' Guild considers her to be its patron goddess. Many small business ownersand merchant organizations tithe to her, both for help with startups and lean times and as protection money so their local thieves' guild will leave them be. Many Zlapav at least show her respect as a close, personal friend of Ohiro.
Ulla is one of the patrons of the Adventurers' Guild as well. Here, she represents heroic Rogues who pit their skills against great challenges and acquire wealth.

The stunted and unlovely Zeber-Oht is despised by the rest of the pantheon; the only one the collective deities, spirits and fiends hate more than the Gentleman Farmer is Kebal the Intruder, and for good reason. In times gone by, Zeber-Oht was the mate of Athelgarde and the god of aristocracy and royal rule, and the secret patron of several middlingly successful thieves' and assassins' guilds. He was evil and self-centered, but he (grudgingly) bowed to his mate's greater power and authority. And then Kebal arrived, and the pantheon was shaken and destabilized.
Sensing weakness, Zeber-Oht tried to claim achievements and powers that belonged to other gods - many of whom were now too dead to fight him. For a time, this worked; Zeber-Oht managed to improve his standing from merely being the lesser partner of Athelgarde to a power in his own right. He claimed to be the tyrannical husband of Thla-Avak and the true source of fertility in place of Rak-Ulas; he boasted that he was the true founder of arcane studies in place of Ma-Oth-La; he claimed dominion over life, death, the creation of all intelligent races, the true king of the Underworld and all its dead and fiendish inhabitants. His cult's influence grew hand over fist... and then the other gods and fiends finally got fed up with him.

Zeber-Oht's cult has been winnowed to a mere shadow of what it used to be in the cities. Some small thieves' and assassins' guilds still call on him to bless them with his power over magic and death, and his wise lessons on the subject of identity theft and bribery. Outside the cities, he is fairly popular with landed gentry and the owners of large farms, into whose ears he breathes arrogance and entitlement, and who sacrifice to him the fruits of their subjects' labour. Many farmers still believe him to be the husband of Thla-Avak - but in the current mythos he is an impotent husband and a cuckold, as Rak-Ulas is the one who keeps slipping into his wife's bed and filling her womb with children. Worse yet, in many communities he has been replaced entirely by the Orcish monster-god La-Guvan as Thla-Avak's husband, or he is seen as a co-husband and Thla-Avak as his superior.

Avatars: Zeber-Oht delights in tall, handsome and masculine avatars. These creatures are crowned with golden laurel wreaths and dressed in purple-edged silk. They invariably sport square beards and have intricately curled and oiled hair. Unfortunately for him, the other gods cursed him when they kicked him down off his stolen throne, so he can only hold his shape for a limited amount of time whenever he manifests an avatar. Once the time runs out, proud Zeber-Oht appears as a stunted, hunchbacked creature with an overlarge nose and overlarge feet, its skin made up of blue scales and its scalp and facial hair ratty and thinning. The proud white toga turns to a black rag, tattered and soiled, and an unclean stench pervades the air around it.

Worshippers: Zeber-Oht always favoured the Vitor from the moment they were created, praising their decision to murder their creators and claim everything they had made for their own - then claiming it was their own achievement. He appreciates Dwarven and Gelnet greed and often courts them - with indifferent success.
Farmers and landed gentry are Zeber-Oht's most constant followers, and that only because he deceived so many people about the nature of his portfolio. More than anything, he wishes he could regain the worship of the full aristocracy, to have kings bow before his altars and lead their people in obeisance as they used to do, long ago. Rogues and Assassins are his second largest following, but Zeber-Oht is unable to seize full control of the Thieves' Guild due to the influence of Ash-Kta and Ulla - who do not try to claim 90% of their faithful's income from theft as tribute.
A surprising number of Vigilantes still bow to the altar of Zeber-Oht. As the great identity thief of the heavens, he has much to teach in the arts of deception and assuming new identities without alerting anyone.

Relationships: The greater gods have little time for Zeber-Oht. Ma-Oth-La thinks he is one of the thieves that de-powered her (although he is not; none of the thieves trusted him enough to include him). Thla-Avak detests him for his (false) claims that he is her mate and master. None of the lesser gods like him, with Athelgarde frequently looking for ways to de-power or even eradicate him for his treachery, and Olova Urei, Rak-Ulas and Ulla only slightly less inclined to visit violence on him.
Some of the fiends still bear a grudge over his now debunked claims that he was the supreme lord of the Underworld, with Prince Rahazin concocting schemes to hamstring him and pull him down in the dark - not merely out of anger over the insult, but also to counter the Golden Fangs' plan to do the same with Laut-Hawyn, so he may devour the King of Kings' divine mantle.

"There it goes!"
"Come on, shoot it, shoot it!"
"You're going to wash out of the army if you don't learn to shoot better than that, boy!"

Nazdrün the hobgoblin cursed and yelled for the other soldiers to stop shouting at him, they were putting him off his aim. He drew back the bowstring and took aim at the zigging, zagging, screaming little green booger. He let fly the arrow, and thank the barghests, this time it grazed the little vermin's leg...! After four misses, the hobgoblin soldier felt he was more than due, and he muttered a prayer of thanks when the infant goblin fell down, screaming and weeping in agony as it clutched its leg.

"Well, you did it -- barely," Old Hagral said, taking the pipe out of his mouth to deliver the backhanded compliment and the ensuing order. "Go kill it off, then."

Nazdrün set off with the powerful, loping stride of a trained hobgoblin soldier and muttered another prayer of thanks. Let Old Hagral say that shooting baby goblins on the move was an easy test of his archery, Nazdrün found it a chore. Still, knowing he'd be forced to clean the platoon's latrine again if he didn't kill his target before it made the treeline? That was what he called a powerful motivator.

The little green booger was trying to crawl away when he caught up to it, but its leg was a butchered ruin of torn flesh. At the rate the blood was pumping out, Nazdrün could just wait a minute and the wretched thing would be dead of blood loss -- which would never do. Grinning at the ugly little thing, Nazdrün drew his curved dagger and said: "We're going to toss you into the pot and eat you, you little rat-monkey."

He bent over to cut the thing's throat, savouring the way its breath died in its throat and the beady little red eyes went wide - killing was always a pleasure, even if it was just killing a goblin slave's brat chosen for target practice - and pain exploded in his right shoulder, pain sufficient to make his hand spasm and the dagger to go flying. Yelling his shock and agony, Nazdrün looked at his shoulder. There was an arrow sticking out of it! Someone in the forest had shot him! Unable to believe this completely unjustified twist, Nazdrün turned to look at the forest ... and saw the bralani eladrin step forward.

Of course, Nazdrün was not educated enough to recognize a bralani for what it was; to him, it was some kind of elf. Growling, Nazdrün started to fumble at his sword with the hand that still worked. He heard the yells and approaching footfalls of the other hobgoblins behind him, and they gave him strength, gave him courage!

And then he heard the chanting. Felt the rumble, deep underground, followed by the rending of earth and stone. The eerie, shrieking "Teelee? Lee! Tekeli-li!" behind him. The screams of horror and agony of his comrades. The snapping of bones, the last exhalations of breath from broken bodies.

Something, something huge, was moving behind him and Nazdrün did not dare turn around. He dared not draw his sword. The elf was watching him, arrow nocked, face utterly, terrifyingly impassive. Nazdrün fancied the arrow was pointed right between his eyes.

And then the thing happened, the thing that turned this nightmare from simply nightmarish into nightmarish and shameful. A goblin, a pathetic little greenskin slave with a face ful of brands, tattoos and scars, came scuttling out from behind the elf. Bold as brass, ignoring Nazdrün, it moved towards the infant. It made soothing noises and convinced the weakened whelp to drink something from a metal flask -- a healing potion, judging by the way the cub's leg mended before Nazdrün's eyes.
The adult goblin scooped up the whelp, which clutched him like a baby monkey and looked up at Nazdrün with wide eyes and trembling ears. In contrast, the adult's scarred face expressed nothing but contempt. A notched ear flicked dismissively, and then the adult turned his back on Nazdrün!
Trembling with anger and humiliation, tears blurring his vision, Nazdrün could only stand there while the goblin and the elf-thing exchanged a few sentences in a sing-song language that hurt his ears. Then the adult goblin chanted something -- and they were just gone. The two goblins and the elf, gone!

Nazdrün was alone. Behind him, there was a kind of sighing sound. When he finally dared turn around, all he saw were the crushed bodies of his companions. How was he going to explain this to his commander? Who would ever believe something like this could happen?!

Riddleport; Golden Goblin sub-basement:

The new place was like a cave, but not a cave. Walls of stone, but straight-straight, made of blocks fitted together with what looked like hard mud. Strange! But dim, cool, peaceful. The baby goblin relaxed a little -- and the adult, the stranger who had saved it, used that moment of relaxation to pluck it off and put it down on ... what? A thing made of trees with a flat top and four legs. Strange!

"Can you talk?" the stranger asked, his accent strange, his voice also strange. Not shouting orders, not laughing shrilly, but also not snivelling. (The baby had no experience with people showing patience yet.) Strange! "Can you talk?" the adult repeated. He had the burned face and notched ears of an outcast, but he was the only goblin the baby could see.

The baby struggled. The hobgoblins had taken it from the cage before its time had come, had taken the whole cage and the tribe besides. Gone now, all gone. So it struggled for the stranger, and managed to utter a few words in the Goblin tongue.

"Talk," it squeaked. "Little." And, with a flash of inspiration: "Boss!"

The adult male outcast goblin chuckled. Also strange...! The baby felt that it was not being laughed at, not the way all the adults it had known used to laugh at other goblins (when they suffered pain or humiliation), and the look in his eyes was... it was...

"Here," the outcast said, turning to another four-legged thing made out of trees, then returning with a bowl full of something that smelled delicious. "Eat."

The baby wolfed down what turned out to be food. (Noodles with a thick, meaty stew on top.) It was ravenously hungry, which was basically the ground state of all baby goblins. What was not the ground state of all baby goblins, was the deep feeling of satisfaction that spread through it when it finished the bowl and realized that its belly was actually full...!

"Drink," the outcast said, offering the baby a waterskin and helping it to drink.

Milk, the skin was full of milk! Not goblin milk, but still -- milk! Again, the baby goblin was allowed to take as much as it wanted -- as much as it desperately needed -- and the male only chuckled when the baby belched loudly and sagged back against the table. The look in his eyes was... it was...

"Come," the outcast said, gently picked the baby up and carried it along to another room.

In the other room, there were strange things, things that the outcast taught the baby words for. 'Bath'. 'Shoes'. 'New clothes'. 'Mirror'. Strange! Strange smells! Strange textures! But ... good things.

"There," the outcast said as he stood the baby before the 'mirror', having put it in 'new clothes' and 'new shoes' after the 'bath'. "How's that?"

The baby understood that the mirror was like a bowl of water, only upright. Looking into the mirror was to see yourself. It saw itself, standing beside the outcast, who was taller than it, and... and it had to admit, they both looked good. 'New clothes' were better than what the goblins in the tribe wore. A 'bath' made their skin look better, brighter green. It struggled to find the words, yelping them at the adult: "Good! Boss!"
And the adult patted it on the head!

"Come," the outcast said, taking the baby by the hand.
He didn't drag it, he guided it as it toddled alongside him, doing its best to keep up. From the second room, they went into a third.
The baby had no words to describe it, but the place smelled strange in a whole new way and it was full of interesting-looking things.
Among the interesting things was a group of other goblin youngsters, all wearing 'new clothes' and 'new shoes', scrubbed fresh and clean, but some of them with hobgoblin slave-brands on their faces. They were all sitting on smaller four-legged things made of trees, attentively watching a thing that was like a black mirror, only it didn't reflect anything.
A little creature, like a little winged she-demon wearing a red dress, was making pictures on the black with a stick of chalk as long as it was tall. The young goblins obediently chorused strange sounds at each new picture.

"Boss?" the baby squeaked, looking up at the outcast. How could there be an outcast near where there were youngsters? Wouldn't the females run him off, wouldn't the males try to kill him? The thought ... it did not sit well with the baby. "Tribe?"

"Maybe," the outcast said, shrugging in an unconcerned sort of way. "Someday. But not now. They're like you; from ruined tribes. I bring them here. Maybe someday, you'll all be my tribe. You can help make the world different."

That was too complicated for the baby goblin. It struggled with what it was feeling, what it was thinking. Strange! Everything was so strange! All those young goblins, but none of them screaming, none of them leaping about! An outcast who wasn't an outcast, but Boss! What it wanted to know, what it really wanted to know was...!

"Cage?" it squeaked. It felt awfully tired all of a sudden. So much fear. So much food. So much strangeness. Such relief, right down to the bone. Its legs were trembling.

"No," Anklebiter said, gently, as he picked the youngster up. "No more cages. Come along; I'll show you the dorm room, my little apprentice."