Now we come to some of the oldest gods in the Northern Marches pantheon:
The Ender of Days is one of dozens of gods of the pantheon
of the Northern Marches. The Ender, as it is known, is the bringer of the End
Times, Of the Great Cataclysm, that will destroy not only the Northern Marches,
but the entire world. He is the World Destroyer. Reviled, feared, and banished
by all of the other gods of the Northern Marches, he sits on his throne of burning
coal and cinders on the Plane of Ash, waiting for the time of his calling. It
is prophesied that first will appear the form of his Herald, who will have but
a small sliver of his power, to make ready the realm he will End. He is not a
blood thirsty god. But certainly a Malevolent one. He is not a scheming god,
but an inevitability. While he deals in wrath, he is not filled with hate. And
his game has always been the long one. For when it is time, he will come forth
and claim his privilege.
It is also this long game that makes the Ender not the front
of mind in peoples day to day concerns. He is used as the bogey man to
children, his cult are non-violent and brewers of fine liquors, his worship is
done openly and is seen as those who have lost hope. Open and visible, The
Enders prophecy is well known, and only really feared as all end of the world
stories are, not at all.
But come he shall, when called by his Herald that the
preparations have been made.
The Cult of the Ender of Days are the followers and
disciples of the Ender and his Coming on the Material Plane. They are a
pleasant enough group. Non-violent farmers, craftsmen, brewers, distillers, and
makers of potions. Although they are a doomsday cult, they are not bloodthirsty
or evil. They worship the inevitability of the Coming of the Ender of Days. And
in so recognizing this, they value the here and now, without having a need to
hasten or quicken the inevitable destruction of the world. If the time is
right, they will do what it takes to help it occur, but until that time, they
are worshippers of a doomsday god that is more a legend and bogeyman than
active diety. Made up mostly of those human souls who have lost hope, or who see a future of never ending toil, exhaustion, and pain. The Cult provides a peaceful existence of community and welcomes Humans of all ages, including families.
The Valley of The Ender
The Valley of the Ender of Days is the serene and peaceful setting for the headquarters of the Cult. It is a valley defined by a ring of hills and mountains, a winding river through its middle, flowing to the east, fields, buildings, and small villages of cult members. The headquarters of the Cult lies in the far west of the Valley, where the Cult leadership, temples, worship areas, workshops, distilleries for the Elixir, breweries, and the Icon of the Ender of Days.
It is an idyllic and peaceful valley, populated with followers in work clothes, working happily, with few cares. The money from Elixir sales from Melad Crossings, Javelin Hill, Harbor Town, The Imperium, and points in between, fund all operations and life in the valley, shared amongst its members.
The Elixir
The Ender’s Elixir is a widely distributed spirit made by the Cult from botanicals grown and distilled in the Enders Valley on the Western edge of the Northern Marches. It is marketed and distributed as a strong liquor, and it lives up to its name. The Elixir is an alcoholic drink, although a potent, rare, and expensive one, and to some a highly potent hallucinogen,
Grindlerot is the goblin god of trickery and lies. Grindlerot
is the first god of the goblins. As a petty god, he has dubbed himself ‘First
among all others’ or simply ‘First’ of the goblins. Grindlerot is mischievieous,
narcissistic, callous, deceitful, and an exceptional liar. As the First,
Grindlerot was a lonely, covetous, and jealous creature. He saw the power of
the Bringer of Light, and his terrifying partner Nagda, Mistress of the Dark. He
gazed up at the beauty of Salune bathing him in golden light in the darkness. He
shivered at the coldness of her sister Sable in the lightless sky. He saw all
of the others and their precious progeny start to take root and be nurtured or
tortured, as gods are wont to do, and none were his. None were there for him to
teach and swindle and deceive and love and be worshipped by. Why not?
And his rage grew and his hatred grew and he hatched a plot
to steal one of each kind and boil them in a stew and feed them to the other
gods. And so he plotted and schemed and slowly collected a menagerie of
creatures big and small, above the ground and below. And he began to make his stew.
Some he chopped up to fit the pot. Some he put in whole. He enchanted the stew
to taste of lovely grains and succulent meats from the plains, and plump fish
from the sea. A lusty terrestrial feast. He shredded the bones in small
splinters and danced in full delight in his cave by the light of the fire. And when he was done, he delivered a portion
to all the gods in hopes they would choke on the bones of their progeny. He
presented them in enameled pots he had made with his fine hands. He told them
they were a gift from his master. He wove tales of their making. And he left
with a bow and toothsome grin.
Grindlerot had no idea what he looked like to them. Small,
filthy, mouth full of pointy teeth and beady yellow eyes, hands like talons. He
fooled none, but one took pity on this wretched creature, Ara – Goddess of Compassion
and the Harvest. And as she lay choking and dying on field where he had presented
her with his gift, Grindlerot ran as fast as he could to his cave, cackling the
whole way. But Typhon, Lord of the Skies and Rain, lover of Ara, tore open the
heavens with his tears, flooding everything visible.
And the water grew ever higher to the mouth of Grindlerot’s
cave. He knew he could not leave, so he deled deeply to the back of the cave
and into the depths of the young world. As water filled the caves he was chased
ever deeper, until he found a side route, escaping the flood waters. The caves
were filled with base, wretched, pale ravenous creatures. But in them he saw
himself, and in them he saw his children. So he embraced them and breathed his
life into them. He taught them treachery, deceit, and lies. He showed them that
en masse they could defeat the large cave creatures that fed on them. That
through tricks and traps and feints they could not be killed and could feast on
the now outmatched larger creatures. And he also taught them to covet. Gold,
jewels, anything that others had and cherished, he taught them that it was
theirs, and how to get it. And so, Grindlerot found his children. And they
loved him.
Today, the Deep Goblins, the Tribe Goblins, and the Woodland
Goblins all worship Grindlerot as their ‘First Among All Others’. Totems of
different sorts to Grindlerot can be found where goblins dwell, and can often
signal the territory of a tribe or clan.
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