The Order of the Stick: Utterly Dwarfed
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  1. - Top - End - #91
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    DruidGuy

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    Default Re: Deities and Legends for Everyone

    Quote Originally Posted by jqavins View Post
    Dang! that is such a cool goddess that I couldn't resist replying, and now I feel obligated to come up with one myself. I'll edit this post when I've god something good.
    Also following. Will return.

  2. - Top - End - #92
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Bohandas's Avatar

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    A Parable of the Abyss

    There is a story told in the Abyss of three spirits lost in a desert.

    A Celestial, a Devil, and a Demon each independently found their way into a vast cursed desert where they began to waste away. In the middle of the desert grew a single skinny tree laden with delicious fruit.

    The Celestial was the first to happen upon the tree. He said "if only a had a piece of that fruit to eat I might survive long enough to make it out of the desert". The Celestial then went off to find materials to make a ladder, so that he might pluck a piece of fruit from the tree. Such materials are scarce in the desert however, and before he could gather them he died.

    Some time later the Devil happened upon the tree. He said "if only a had a piece of that fruit to eat I might survive long enough to make it out of the desert". The Devil then went off to find materials to make a saw, so that he might pluck a piece of fruit from the tree. Such materials are scarce in the desert however, and before he could gather them he died.

    Finally the Demon happened upon the tree. He said "if only a had a piece of that fruit to eat I might survive long enough to make it out of the desert". The Demon took hold of the skinny tree and uprooted it, throwing it it the ground. He ate all of the fruit and had the strength to make it out of the desert alive.

  3. - Top - End - #93
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    HalflingPirate

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    Default Re: Deities and Legends for Everyone

    A God Of Adventurers

    Jaren The Explorer

    S/he is known in many cultures by many names. In the Deserts of Olar she is Yarin, who rides Maddath the three-hump black camel. In the Ular Taiga he is Jaakan whose string of black reindeer pull Malth, his magical flying sleigh. On the islands of the Greymane Sea he is Javed who sails the black longship Almat.

    In the dominant culture of the campaign Jaren is a young-mature male who rides the black mare Marras. He leads a group of three to twenty followers who explore the world and guide mortals to treasure. He is depicted as a young man with long black hair with a white glory stripe at the part.

    Unusually for a non-nature deity, he is True Neutral in alignment. Though his clerics may be of any neutral alignment, including TN, he does not grant divine power to druids.

    His dogma claims he came first of all deities out of the void and into the world, which he found in his early explorations. This conflicts with the dogma of other deities, and the clerics of some of these claim this is blasphemy and cause to repress the cult, but neither Jaren nor his priests seem to care.

    The Church of Jaren teaches that self-suffiency is the best way of life and that there is shame in able-bodied adults accepting charity. It supports the practice of "Wandering Years" during which late-teens are encouraged to explore the world, especially with the goal of finding new and valueable things and ideas. Those who return pregnant, with a spouse, or with a baby, are said to have been blessed by Jaren.

    Those who 'answer the call' and become adventurers are held in high esteem by the church, and the church supports clerics who take time off from official duties to go on quests.

  4. - Top - End - #94
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Wizard_Lizard's Avatar

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    Default Re: Deities and Legends for Everyone

    Cthuwu
    god of adorableness and ancient unknowable horrors.
    Current characters:
    Drakirr (Blue Dragonborn Warlock)
    Alyfyldyr Hyalythki (Rock Gnome Wizard)
    Harilidir (Half-elf Bard)
    Kazaharad Akaztkl (Goliath Barbarian)
    Luft (air-genasi druid)
    And of course Lizard Wizard (Lizardfolk Sorcerer)

  5. - Top - End - #95
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Aniikinis's Avatar

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    The Hunter Clad in Wrongness
    It is said that there exists a hunter out in the wilds, one who seems to be natural and like all the other humans you've seen, at first. No one knows where he comes from or even what he is. It is said that he comes from a world that is not our own. Some say he found our world after solving a grand labyrinth. Others that he passed through reality itself and threatened the gods of his home, only to be flung into ours as penance. Yet still others call him a creature of some outer plane or the far cloaked in the flesh of the living. But there is a small number who fear that he is something else entirely.

    However, all legends and stories agree on a few things. The man is profoundly other, not in the raw arcane way that sorcerers or warlocks are, but in a way that seems to corrupt the very essence of reality surrounding him. The man loves the hunt, specifically of beasts that would make mortal men go white with terror or have their heart seize, and he is known to take trophies from his kills. The man almost never seems to be where he should be, as though he is askew with the way the world is oriented. His weapons are few but powerful and he may will them into his hands with nary a thought and will them back with less. And finally, that to look into his eyes is to know all of the flaws of creation.

    Some tales say the man slew the great tarrasque and stole its' regeneration for his trophy, but others say the beast still slumbers and he took something else. Some tales tell of a dark creature stalking the night and feasting upon the souls and dreams of villages, turning nightmares into reality and every moment into a waking hell for the inhabitants, only to be slain with but a strike of his sword and its' head taken. A few tell of the man dueling with a cunning beast who drove entire countries into disarray with its' power, but falling to the man after being shorn in half with an axe large enough for a giant to wield. Tales abound, each stranger and more unbelievable than the last, but each ending in the same way. Save for two, that is.

    The first tells of a young boy lost in a deep wood for many days. The boy fled from beasts and monsters, from the very darkness itself that wished to feast upon his flesh, only to encounter the hunter in a secluded glade his sword freshly buried in his newest kill. The boy ran forwards fearfully, believing that a death by the hunter would be more painless and quick than whatever lay behind him, only to meet the hunter's gaze and stop dead in his tracks. He was in no danger and could see all that was hidden to, and from, him in those blackwhitemagentawrong eyes.

    The hunter embraced the boy and gave him shelter, feeding and giving him drink, and the boy felt safe for the first time in days. When the boy awoke the next morning he was in the center of his village with no marks or anything noting he had been lost, save for a single scarf left him by the hunter, woven with the same wrongness that had been so comforting the night before. The boy lived the rest of his days peacefully, knowing that he could thank the man for saving his life that night and that he'd always have a piece of the one spoken in hushed tones to prove his story whenever he spoke it.

    The second tells of a young man in a distant land. Walking along one day he happened to find a wooden door in a flat stone wall where there was none before. He found this odd and saw that there were no markings to tell that the door was there or had ever existed. Upon opening the door he felt a strong urge to walk within though it lead to bare rock. His legs moving on their own carried him through the wall and into another world. The man found himself in a strange place with no door behind him, only flat walls and a dim light suffused throughout. Without any other recourse, he set about to find an exit.

    Corridor after corridor, room after room, next to no noise even from his own footsteps, he traveled. The scenery almost never changing. The same walls, lighting, and floor wherever he went. He found many exits, but none to his own world, few to those he could survive on, and even fewer that would have counted as inhabited. Barren worlds of tombs, of ruins and ancient necropoli were more common than worlds of lush vegetation or even sparse scrub-land. What he learned from exploration into these worlds, he applied to his journey towards finding a new home. The skills of survival, of tracking, hiding, running, mapping, and more were taught to him in Darwinian ways. He either adapted to this life, or he would die, and he refused to die before finding his home.

    Years passed, and the young man grew. His time learning, surviving, and plundering the tombs and treasures of long dead lands had made him into a force to be reckoned with. After so much time searching, he had given up on the hope of finding his original home and upon had finding a world similar to his own he decided to make it his home. He found happiness for the first time in ages. Living, learning, and befriending people in this new world had given him something he had needed since he was brought into that endless maze, and for many years it was perfect.

    Then, came the Being. It cared not for what it found, only for what it could feed upon and corrupt. This thing threatened the man's new home and he vowed to stop it. Using all of the knowledge, skills, items, and relics he had gained on his journey he set out to slay the monster tearing his world asunder and after many grueling months of battle, strategy, and observation, he succeeded. The clash with the beast brought to play every trick and skill he had learned in his long life and nearly broke him completely. This thing was not of this worlno, this thing couldn't exist and yet it did. It fed upon and corrupted everything it touched and devouredabsorbederased its' victims from existence itself. He had to kill it, if only to save his home.

    In the end, the thing died leaving a desolate expanse of nothing surrounding it and the man fighting it, but it was too late. The man was heavily wounded and, upon striking the final blow, realized what ruin had been wrought. Their fight had torn so much of the world apart, that it was dying with no way to fix it as too much had been erased or succumbed to the corrupting influence of the beast. The lone man himself was even effected. He had taken many blows from the creature before he could bring it down, and he felt his on body beginning to give way to the being's erasure.

    With a scream of terrible, abhorrent rage, the man called to what was left of the sky and proclaimed that he would not die to this being's curse, forcing the touch of the beast to bend to his will and merge with his very being. He called out to the gods that were worshiped by the people of the world and in a torrent of blasphemous proclamations, vowed that he would kill them himself for their inability to stop the beast. This act of defiance and hatred caught the attention of the gods, who, after a few quick decisions, brought him to their realm. Upon arriving in their sanctum, the man began his assault, but was instantly restrained and forced to be tried for the crimes of blasphemy, interfering with divine will, and, worst of all, being a nuisance to the gods who had ordered that his home be erased completely by a being they had neither control nor knowledge of.

    This kangaroo court had found him guilty in all forms and flung him across the realms to a land similar to his original home. There he remains, protecting the inhabitants from beasts and abhorrent things. All the while honing his skills, steeling his nerves, and searching for an opening to that terrible maze. Hungering for the day he may find the land ravaged by that terrible thing and enact his revenge on those beings that had been called gods. That day will come, and when it does, the man may finally find peace.

    Of course, all intelligent people know that those stories are all false, right? ...right?
    Last edited by Aniikinis; 2019-09-22 at 06:28 AM. Reason: Woo! 5am posting! Quite a few typos and forgot a few things
    Quote Originally Posted by Quarian Rex View Post
    Sometimes you need more than well crafted crunch. Sometimes you need well crafted crunch that is playable in the game.
    Black for normal/uncaring/bored. Purple for in love. Blue for being a jerk/sarcastic bum.

    Black(Blue and Green) or Sultai is my khanate, and my colour alignment.

    For some strange reason I have a severe reaction to sunlight when it hits my eyes, no clue why or what causes it so yeah...
    The Rest of my Signature
    My Hombrew

  6. - Top - End - #96
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    jqavins's Avatar

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    Beatrice the Beloved (also the Queen, The Mad)

    (I stole the basic idea here from Terry Pratchett, with just a little dose of Diana Spencer.)

    Beatrice was, in life, a most beautiful, kind, and loving lady. She married the king in her native land, and was adored by her people, for good reason. Her husband was as good a ruler as the most kings and better than many, but not a "man of the people". While the king dealt with matters of policy and state Beatrice moved among the people, often bringing help to the sick, needy, or disaster-stricken, always gracious and kind, and always beloved.

    When she fell ill, the country's greatest healers came to her bedside, but they could not stop her decline. When she fell into a coma, cries of grief rang through palace and hovel, city and field alike.

    No one truly knows whether, at first, she clung to life (or perhaps life clung to her) due to the skills of the healers of the prayers or the people. In time, though, the healers and the king agreed that the time had come to let her go. Yet she did not die; it seemed that the prayers of the people sustained her. The prayers were to gods both favorable and indifferent, and no clerics reported that these gods had intervened, yet Beatrice did not die.

    Over years, while the queen's body withered and faded, the prayers slowly changed from "Please, my deity, save Beatrice" to "Please, Beatrice, live." Her heartbeat and breathing grew faint, she faded to only skin and bones, yet the healers' spells revealed that, yes, life was still there (even when no other means could tell it). And people began praying to her for other things, the very sorts of help for those in need that she had brought when she was still vital. Sometimes, it seemed, those prayers were answered, and help arrived. Or miracles happened.

    Her body, still lovely of form and beautiful of face, did not decay, but continued to fade. After decades, she was literally translucent and weighed less than a skeleton, and still, inexplicably, life remained. When, eventually, her body disappeared entirely, still the healers and clerics still could not say that she had died.

    People continued to pray, and prayers still seemed to be answered, even if sometimes the answers didn't make sense. When a sheep's milk dries up, and a farmer prays for help, saying that his neighbor the goat herder has milk, who could deny that a miracle has happened when the sheep start giving goat's milk?

    Often, help comes just as it is hopped. But, if the victims of a flood pray to Beatrice for the waters to recede, so beloved is Beatrice that no one blames her when the creeks and wells all go dry.

    In fact, Beatrice wants to die. Life with no body is torturous, and the beloved queen wants nothing more than to join her parents, her husband, by this time even her children in the afterlife. The pain and longing of life without life have driven her insane.

    So long as she has life, and she hears the cries of her people, she wishes them well and helps if she can, even if she does not understand how this happens, and all too often gets it wrong. If she could send one message back, make one request in return, it would be "Let me go."
    -- Joe
    “Shared pain is diminished. Shared joy is increased.”
    -- Spider Roninson

    Always remember that anything posted on the internet is, in a practical if not a legal sense, in the public domain.
    You are completely welcome to use anything I post here, or I wouldn't post it.

  7. - Top - End - #97
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Kobold

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    Just subscribing to the thread. I do have some ideas to post, but I don't really have time to go into detail now.
    Easydamus says I'm a neutral half-elf wizard 1/druid 1.
    Strength- 11
    Dexterity- 13
    Constitution- 11
    Intelligence- 15
    Wisdom- 13
    Charisma- 12

    When in doubt, Hail Dread Cthulhu.

    Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.

  8. - Top - End - #98
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Devil

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    A tribute to one of the first absolute loonies I ever played with.

    Dram, of the open jar
    Symbol: An ale cup.
    Favoured weaponry: Brass knuckles and similar weapons.

    The deities of the dwarves are often regarded as a well worn and homogeneous group, at least by outsiders. A parade of noble kings, loyal soldiers, careful smiths and dutiful scribes. Then there stands Dram.

    Accepted into the pantheon as patron of brewers and the process of fermentation, Dram's true nature is less noble, but more valuable, than this. Drunkards are his domain, not drink. All manner of anti-social and disruptive behaviour falls to him, he is the dwarven race at it's worst, for he is drunken, violent, disruptive, argumentative and stubborn. He sits all day within the halls of the exalted and drunkenly bemoans his lost honour, his diminished wealth and the decay of his people.

    Once the High Gods of the dwarves were asked, why did they tolerate the presence of one who embraced all that was worst in their people. Their answers were three.
    First, he is kin, for all that he is all that can be weak in the dwarven race he is still of the dwarven race. Kin is kin, clan is clan and this alone should be answer enough. Rude, argumentative and troublesome though he is, Dram has never broken the traditions of Kinship.
    Second, the best and highest of us will often ignore or overlook what they do not wish to acknowledge. Dram has no qualms with declaring what other take for principle as stubbornness, or honour as pride for decorum can be the foe of truth.
    Third, whilst he sits within our halls we each can see where our failures may lead and have measure by which they may check themselves and also to measure the troublesome from the treacherous.
    GNU Terry Pratchett

  9. - Top - End - #99
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    jqavins's Avatar

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    Quote Originally Posted by Evil DM Mark3 View Post
    Dram, of the open jar...

    Once the High Gods of the dwarves were asked, why did they tolerate the presence of one who embraced all that was worst in their people. Their answers were three...
    If you will permit my interjection, it seems to me that there is a fourth reason. The nature of gods being what it is, all parts of the dwarven character will find their mirrors in the gods. Dram's "drunken, violent, disruptive, argumentative and stubborn" character are, though distasteful, undeniable aspects of drarven character. By embodying these aspects, Dram takes that burden off of the other gods.

    "By being the worst of us, he allows us to be our best."
    Last edited by jqavins; Today at 11:12 AM.
    -- Joe
    “Shared pain is diminished. Shared joy is increased.”
    -- Spider Roninson

    Always remember that anything posted on the internet is, in a practical if not a legal sense, in the public domain.
    You are completely welcome to use anything I post here, or I wouldn't post it.

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