Lore of Saladia

The world has an inexplicably large population of cats.

They can't breed, but instead their corpses dissipate upon death, the same cat coalescing from mist within a kilometer of their dying place roughly a week later. This occurs a total of nine times during a cat's "lifetime", after which the cat "dies" for real, and a small kitten appears instead the next week. The kitten has none of its predecessors memories, but will feel an uncommon kinship with any being that the predecessor had a good relationship with prior to its death.
Xizamere Xix Zirel has refused to explain to the other gods the reason for the cats, stating "It was TLG's idea".

Regions worshiping Xizame forbid killing of Cats as they are truly blessed:
It has been said that cats are the offspring of Limal - pools of creativity waiting for Xizamere to find them.
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Followers of Tispakal and Ovhys have waged a constant war for centuries due one Ohysian servant burning down the library of Emres during prehistory.

This unnamed war has created many stories about both sides, but other than these myths the war is unknown for greater civilisation. "Oh, that war is still going on?" is most frequent comment if its current state is told to anyone.
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A crazed hermit by the name of Barithus lives on the top of mount Viluvian. If asked, he'll recite his journey to the Underworld to beseech Nadir for aid in combating a tribe of Minotaurs lead by Moluck that was attacking his mountain village. Nadir not only stopped the tribe, he sent his hounds to wipe out all the beasts in the Viluvian Mountains and captured their leader, and Moluck was last seen strung up upon the Rack of Absolution.

If what he says is true, he would be one of the few mortals to survive the journey back from the underworld.
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Nadir the Jailer is really unappreciated, but he appears in MANY stories:
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Cities who have witnessed Zalkums wrath seldom receive visit of Nadir soon afterwards. Sometimes Nadir tries even prevent Zalkums destructive elements and fights against him with his Flesh Hounds.
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Xumahreliel nor Barak Tuth are not liked by Nadir, and he often releases human prisoners, especially when wrongly imprisoned.
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A rumour says Moluck Tuth is currently imprisoned by Nadir and his Father is plotting to free him.
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Alina, the goddess of Fog and Nadir seem to be fond of each other, but mortals do not know about exact details due limited knowledge about the two gods.
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Once Sohai ended up in the keep of Hordun the Fat.

No words could ever describe The Feast Of the Keep what happened. Only that is known that Cindylla forbid Sohai from ever going on there again, so great the mess and hangover was.

Ever since, if Sohai bumps into Hordun in their travels, there will be A Party. However, both lament that it is just a poor shadow of the Feast Of the Keep.
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Seasons used to last until some god decided they wanted a change of pace or fulfilled a mortal prayer for a change. It was only with the existence of Sritta and Ysell that the seasons began to change and overturn themselves in a consistent and reliable way free from interference by just anyone.

Sritta actively encourages war and despoiling during her seasons, as armies mobilize or settle down. Bloodied and salted fields grow best under a new regime.

Ysell forces armies to stop during winter, but cannot let their loyalty go unrewarded during summer, giving the best campaign season (except when Sritta throws a tantrum and causes a storm).

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Once, a long time ago, Zalkum sought to enter The Thought, realm of Ong. Zalkum desired to enter the protean world to interfere in the dreams of mortals, so he could cause a fear to tear apart a nation. Through months of work, Zalkum bore away at the border between the physical and The Thought. Soon after he entered, his ego got the better of him, and he soon challenged Ong to a few challenges.

They would alternate between who gets to pick what the challenges there are two times, so each creates two challenges. Zalkum went first, and he summoned a chess board for them to play on. Ong won, after conjuring made-up peices from dreamstuff and insterting them onto the board until Zalkum gave up out of frustraion. Ong chose the second challenge, and that was to to create a creature of incredible summoning. Ong was ignorant at Zalkum's inability to create well, and created a ball of unfelling flesh instead of something that wished to die. And so Ong won the second challenge. The third challenge was chosen by Zalkum, and it was to create the best mockery of a powerful god. Zalkum mocked Nimhe, treating him as if he was an amatuer at destruction. Ong won the third challenge, after shifting into Zalkums form and copying whatever he said. Ong decided the fourth and final challenge, and it was to race across Flotsam from one side to the other.
Ong shifted into the form of a great and terrible spider, reaching their long legs across all obastacles. Zalkum destroyed everything in his path, but tripped on a pile of debris and was attacked by a number of nightmares.

Tired, confused, and embarassed, Zalkum huffed out of The Thought, only to be made fun of by the other gods who witnessed it.
Ong is the only one to have crushed Zalkum so utterly in a batlle of wits, and Ong may not even know who Zalkum is, much to Zalkum's shame.

----
The monks and sages of Taj yr Akna live Spartan and stoic lives in their lonely monasteries. Driven from civilization by followers of the more orthodox gods or seeking solitude to clear their minds, their homes are often far out of the way. Whether they are found perched dizzyingly on high peaks and cliff faces or nestled in the bottoms of canyons and caves, they are always austere and unadorned. The monks are a quiet, but not dour, folk who live simply and spend their time reading history, science, and philosophy, hoping that one day they may achieve even a fraction of their god's understanding. They are often disparaged by followers of other gods, talked down to or labelled as misguided, for Taj yr Akna cannot and likely would not treat with them. He has no prophets, and rarely does he appear as an avatar.

Like a distant father though, he is not without occasional displays of appreciation to his devotees. He will often leave artefacts, objects out of time and space, for his followers to pour over and learn from. Because of this, many a clever man has tried to seek out these monasteries, to try to scry some future or past incident they can use for their own gain. Kings, entrepreneurs, and even the faithful of other religions come to see these time lost objects. One more than one occasion an invention has been made because of something in the vaults of monks. This paradoxical loop is frequently to the chagrin of historians and philosophers outside of the monasteries, but the devotees wave them away claiming it is simply beyond the human ability to understand.

The monks are shockingly small for an organized religion, a result of the lack of power it grants. Few of Taj yr Akna's devotees have magical ability, and none have been granted it by him. Even the monks theoretical end goal, the ascension, imparts no greater power. Simply a wider scope to view reality from. For them though this is enough, and they continue their quiet lonely lives.

Many critics mention that the monks themselves would be a lot more popular if not for their convoluted and overly detailed descriptions of the cosmological interactions and ramifications of their faith. Most smallfolk are simply too uneducated to understand the majority of what they have to say and so regard it as entirely jibberish. This ends with the monks themselves being regarded often as crazy people and Taj yr Akna as a god of fools. The worshippers of the monks are generally only slightly more understanding, but have some concept of the gravitas of the subject and so begin to misguidedly worship the monks themselves.

The monks refuse to "degenerate" their explanations, as it would largely go against the teachings they subscribe to. One must be able to understand everything to attain enlightenment, to the smallest minutiae. As such, they expect a basic level of education to even enter their way of life.

The God Himself is largely apathetic to his tiny following, he's content to let things be as they be in the current chronology. Perhaps in the future he will take more action, or perhaps he did long in the past.
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Sirach was once a would-be challenger to The True Judge's authority.

Sirach was never the true head of the Pantheon, although he could have made the claim and lesser divine beings simply didn't have the power to openly dispute him. Before his fall he shaped divine creation to create fantastic, heavenly cities and structures. Envying The True Judge and the might of other Primordials, he took on an aspect of Justice itself, as a divine authority to judge and imprison deities that threatened the Pantheon and creation itself. Many sought his wisdom, but many also resented his arrogance and presumption.

At the height of his avarice, the gods conspired to bring him down. They set upon him a challenge to create the most elaborate prison in creation, one which even the greatest gods would fear. He naturally took the bait and began his greatest work. A labyrinthine prison complex with shifting halls, some areas which defied even the laws of the universe in their nature. At its completion he named it the Golden Gaol, and in his pride he invited every god to its gates to see his accomplishment. It would be here where the gods who sought to bring him down made their move. The other gods, his children, all those who wished to see him brought down bound him in chains and hauled him to the Gaol's center, using his mate (now known as "The Widow") as a hostage to ensure he would lead them to the center. There they bound him and left him, his cursing blackening the walls of his new prison. Now it is called the Black Gaol, and The True Judge struck its location from the memory of all save himself (and maybe a select few). The Widow weeps for his return, gods shunning her in pity and in their own shame. Mortals prey to her for loved ones lost, and she cries for them too.
His highest aspiration was to be a god that ascended to the Primordials, maybe even supplanting The True Judge himself (as unlikely as that may have been).

Now he lays bound and struggles. His Widow cries, his children are part of the Pantheon, his Seeker Seeks.
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The process of accession to Godhood occurs after a great persons death, and is the only way for one to escape the cycle of death and rebirth.

A council of 100 random spirits is headed by the Last Nymph, the Nymph of the Moon. The council decides the fate of every soul that passes into the Underworld by vote. If they should vote to recognize the greatness of a mortal, the Nymph will bestow upon them her power, as her divinity is transferred to the recipient.

When this occurs, the moon disappears from the night sky for a whole year, as what's left of the Nymphs essence is slowly restored to her former glory, allowing her to regain her divinity. It's said that she came to this position while fleeing Zalkum, who wished to consume her divinity whole. She found shelter in the realm of Ballan Sur, who offered to protect her as long as she would come live with him in the Underworld. It's widely believed that the two are lovers, or perhaps secretly married, though the followers of the God of Death deem such accusations to be blasphemous.

Regardless, the creation of a God has only happened about once a millennium, and each time it has singled the coming of a new era.
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There has been tales of one person who was able to host the Wretch.

The Wretch made his way to a town of corruption, Psychopaths have found an unassuming town of democracy and made its political system rotten to the core. Those who were unable to leave were left to fend for themselves in this mockery of peace.

The Wretch when he found himself at the gates was beaten for his coat, at the bars shanked for his hat and his drinking flash taken when he sat down and took a nap. He did not defend himself, how could he? As a guest of this town, his code prevents him from acting out without order of a Host. In his injured state he wandered, searching for someone to take pity on him, so he could be permitted to leave once his stay inevitably causes all to hate him. The Wretch never minded being hated, He didn't know why his transgressions cause so much agony, but he tries to do his best.

A violin interrupted his thoughts, and he followed the music to its owner. A girl not much older than a child was playing a melody. He noticed that the crowds ignored her save for some spare change tossed her way.

The girl noticed the Wretch, and immediately felt an irritation from the depths from her brain. It caused her to lose tempo and sour notes started to creep into her performance. Without a warning she dragged the Wretch into a dark corner and chewed him out. She figured him a psycho who was there to bully and deride her. But the Wretch did not defend himself nor did he smile. All he did was listen as she started to tear up and hit his chest. Only when she calmed down did he reply with a soft 'sorry'.

The girl came back to the busy street to play once more, but this time her rage seemed to help her play. Her little mistakes seemed to have smoothed themselves out in fear of her wrath, and brought forth a sound that enticed listeners and loosened coin purses. Listeners firmed into a crowd and the ground was littered in money.

The girl's pockets were lined with gold and copper pieces, and her smile was one of selfish gratitude. She dragged the Wretch's hands and dragged him through the narrow alleyways into her abode, well crawlspace to be more exact. From there she learned of his talents and immediately set out plans to make things go her way.

For many nights more she played bombastically, an expression of her conflicting feelings towards her guest. Every screetch made to express a value she could hardly stand of the Wretch. And the townsfolk loved it, and danced in concert.

By the second month she was happy, the girl was able to find a nicer living home and even gave the Wretch better clothes to better serve her, despite his inability to make deserts exactly as she liked.

Then people of he wrong sort got into it. Psychopaths inevitably saw the profits and did not hesitate to show violence for a cut. The Wretch even then did not fight back, and only took their blows and kicks wordlessly. In the meantime the girl would run and find a place to hide. When it was over she would come back to see the Wretch battered and bruised, but alive.

The Psychopaths had fun, and even more fun to beat someone who did not defend himself. Soon that fun turned to hate, as no matter how much they stabbed his back and stomped on his guts the Wretch would not die.

By the third month the girl's rage bled even more into her performance, and the beatings increased evermore. The Wretch even then did not feel hate, only happiness over meeting someone who could put up with him.

One night the Psychopaths did not even care about fun, only to hurt him and the Girl. They had their blades and were intent on silencing the girl and man who just, won't, stop, playing.

So they encircled the girl, and tried to lob her head off. The Wretch then felt hate.

Hate towards the town that hurt him, hate towards onlookers who ignored him as he shambled their streets, hate towards himself when he continually failed to meet his Host's demands. And most of all, hate towards the men who dared to harm her host.

The man's sword instead found its taste for its master's neck. The Wretch pulled the blade and leapt into the mass of angry Psychopaths. Arrows dug into his back but he continued on unharmed. Bones broke and screams and tears pierced the night.

When the psychopaths finally decided to run, the Wretch was able to calm down. All he could feel then was the horrified gaze of his Host.

He tried to talk but she ran. He could keep up with her, but decided to stay beind her line of sight.

He knocked on her door, and poorly trued to find the words to calm her. The girl was leaning against the wood, trying to make sense of her Host killing the relatives of the Lord.

The Wretch knew what that meant, so he asked if he could leave to avoid causing more trouble for his Host. The girl did not reply.

The morning after the Lord's police were upon him and had him bound in chains. The Wretch was to be executed for murder.

As he was carted away, he could only say words to help his Host live comfortably, to leave and find a better place than this rat hole.

As the execution came, the Wretch was ultimately calm, at peace with himself. He watched as the people hated him as a way to vent their frustrations. The Axe man walked and prepared to slice off the Wretch's head. Then he heard a melody. A dreadful, pertubed, beligerent tune. It enveloped the crowd, the Lord and his children and they all howled with rage. One punch, then two, then several then everyone. Everyone who listened was beckoned to attack anyone and everyone in their way.

The Wretch tore at his chains and ran towards the song, and around the corner, was the girl's song of rabid resentment. She made it just for him.

She said it was a way to express how much she felt of him, the conflicting emotions between her gratitude and her annoyances and the frustrations of not knowing what to do with them.

She continued to play that dastardly tune, and soon all Psycopaths were drawn to her, tearing at eac others throats. By the time she had stopped, the only ones left were the relatively sane, the Lord and his cohorts were slain in the ensuing madness.

The town's people looked at her with awe and fear. When it came time to reorganize the hierchy of power the girl when she was older was given a position of the musical arts. The Wretch was simply glad to be of service.

As time went on the girl grew into a women and played her unique sounds. Concerts were always full to hear the catharsis her songs gave.

When she was elderly, and her children had children, she was happy to see that the Wretch was still there to the very end, her strange muse.

The Song of the Wretch is considered to be forbidden to play amongst most societies, in fear it would instill the senseless bloodlust in all who listen.

Some say if you were to play it properly, instead of hate, you'd feel a sense of happiness and release when heard.

The Wretch, if tolerated, can give certain benefits. Whether or not those benefits are worth being in his presence is up to those who decude to take him into their abode.
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The Myrean Apocrypha, Sermon XXXVI:

We find our Lady in the desert outside the city of Kardash.

To the east comes the host of Demons, lead by the foul Ny'vlla, cursed be her wretched name.

The foul creature spoke "Begone, Oh weeping crone, your tyranny is not welcome here, you are powerless before the might of my armies."

Our Blessed Lady scowled and replied "To claim one a tyrant while partaking in greater tyranny, have you no shame?"

To this the demon shrieked and charged, still our lady did not falter

Their swords clashed, our lady did not falter.

Angels fell to demons, our lady did not falter

The wretch laughed a hideous laugh, boasting her triumph over the Queen of Tears herself. "What irony! So the Queen falls before a simple servant! Impossible to believe an old maid like you could be Queen of anything."

To this, Our Lady responded: "The Mage who'd yet to grow stubble, shan't not boast to one so wizened that their beard touches the floor".

With that, she let losose the forbidden words, words of power spoken in times long past. One cannot know what they mean, only that Our Lady Myrea, blessed be her name, hath shouted them and blinded Ny'vlla and her demonic host.

With this opening, her angels regrouped and charged. The tide had turned.

The battle raged on, and Our Lady emerged victorious.

So brothers and sisters, let us say these words of power as our lady had said them. Though we cannot invoke the terror she did, together, we shall ward away the foul demons of Ny'vlla, and strike fear in them, as they remember the terror Our Lady hath wrought upon them.

SALADI MONOR
EKRITHAL
TOROON
MIRA NAHALA
VOLTUSH

Amen I say to you, walk with the Lady.
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Excerpt from the writings of the Heresiarch, Jovius Darrow, N'Vylla acolyte.

Nothing irks me more than to hear the gibbering idiots who worship the Tyrant Queen praise her for her oppression. What fools they are, do they not understand what they lost? They threw away power! The power to free themselves of their mortal shackles and take a place at the seat of the table. N'vylla offers liberation to those who serve, the freedom to become immortal, to become a demon. Before she was betrayed by Nimhe, she had taken to the battlefield, side to side with her comrades, to take a stand against the Tyrant Queen. Had not she been betrayed, she would have smote the land with the blood and tears of foul Myrea! The revisionism, the lies, told by the Tyrant Queens slaves to justify their servitude sickens me. To all those who may read this, I hope you show more sense than those who've come before you.

--
The Vayranor known today is a lover of drink and jests and general partying, who makes the most of his (fairly limited) free time, but this has not always been the case. Once he was wrathful. Once he was surly, focused and impatient. Once he was (and we thank the Gods he no longer is) EDGY.

For millenia he had laboured for Marik in the hopes of finding a way to save his lover but all to no avail. There is only so much hope one heart can hold, and Vayranor's well had run dry, causing him to become an annoying ass who bitched about roughly one hundred percent of things. But all this was to change after one night.

Marik discovered a set of ruins in Viluvia, said to contain tablets covered in ancient knowlege. He sent Vayranor to retrieve them and recieved edgy affirmative grunt no 237 in return. Upon arriving at the ruins Vayranor discovered that they were mostly underground and protected by powerful Sorcery (probably put there by some giggling bastard) that would result in him being weakened while within its walls. Not being too fond of fighting hordes of assorted monsters while only being twice the strength of an average mortal, Vayranor set out to find a group of mercenaries to aid him. He did not have to search far.

He found a band in a forest not far from the ruins and appeared before them clad in mortal form. He offered their leader Uric a rather large fortune in return for his aid securing the tablets. Uric was skeptical and doubted that Vayranor had the money he promised them. He enquired who the man before him was, with coffers apparently deeper and fuller than the oceans themselves. Vayranor replied truthfully and Uric replied with laughter. He could not believe that the small man before him was one of the divine and so refused Vayranor's offer. The irritated god asked if Uric wanted proof. Uric said he did and ordered a table and pair of chairs brought to him at once.

Uric stated that if Vayranor could outdrink him his company would aid in the retrieval of the tablets. Vayranor, surprised at the lack of need to murder, agreed just in time for the first barrel to be broken open. At first they drank alone, eyes locked on the other daring them to give up, but the average mercenary isn't one to be sober whilst others are drinking so they joined in, turning the drinking contest into party. soon Vayranor began to become intoxicated but with the atmosphere as opposed to the drink. It had been a long time since he had drank or laughed or sang and soon his own voice joined those of Uric's men, allowing the fears of his life to melt away in the face of deunken revelry.

Time passed and as light flooded the land the next morning it was greeted by the site of a pitched battle between man and beer keg. broken casks and unconcious warriors lay everywhere sav eat the center. There sat both Uric and Vayranor, still standing, or at least sitting. Vayranor noted that their game seemed to be at its end, what with there not being any alcohol left, but Uric snarled back that this game woud only end when one of them was passed out on the forest floor. Impressed at his dedication Vayranor decided to treat the mortal as an equal and recover from the depths of his robe a bottle of the Gods own wine.

He was half through explaining that thsi was divine wine and drinking it could kill a mortal when Uric snatched the bottle and chugged the whole thing. When he finished he offered The startled god a pleased grin before tumbling off his chair and into the dirt.

Suffice to say the tale of the battle to retrieve the tablets is an epic one (as is the tale of how the collective hangovers were dealt with) , But since the day of that contest Vayranor has returnrd to be much as he was before the loss of his beloved, much the same as the man she loved.

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The great exodus

During the era of Fire (previous to era of Metal), and elven Empire Of The Eternal were exterminating humans on the continent of Tidrom. So Balan Sur asked TLG to go and do something with those elves, or otherwise humans would go extinct in this world. So TLG went to their capital named Averlorn and told them to leave the humans alone, or else he would create a legion of kiwi monsters which would rape all elves and force them to flee to other continents. They told him to fuck off. Sadly, he wasn't liying about the whloe kiwi monster legion thing.

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The Northmen are a group of tribes that agreed to unite themselves in order to survive the harsh winters, the wild and dangerous beasts that roam the northlands, humans from other kingdoms who wish to invade their lands looking for slaves, and the gods who posed much more of a threat than anything else.

The tribes are mostly composed of barbarians, berserkers, rangers and beastmasters, who according to the legends, ride griffons, snow bears, and even dragons, should they survive the encounter.

Most tribes have their own way of handling themselves. Some might overthrow the chief if he or she shows signs of weakness when leading them while others are more democratic, but they all answer to the Great Council, a council composed of the 17 tribal chiefs. They meet once every week to discuss how every tribe is doing, what to do to make sure the death toll doesn't reach the hundreds and how to get a tactical advantage over whoever tries to attack them. Then they proceed to party harder than anybody else has ever seen.

While the Northmen are a warring people and seem hostile at first sight, they have a fine eye for culture and arts, having contributed to the continent's identity with thousands of songs, poems and paintings. Also, if you come in peace, they will actually treat you very well, and will even make you one of them if you decide to stay.

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Creature time!
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The Dwerves were created by the combined powers of Adin, Hordun and Pah Enki Ratos. They were molded from the petrified stumps of long-dead trees. They are extremely strong, quadrupedal humanoids often characterized by their beards and muscular bodies. They are very strong and smarter than they might initially look, but they are largely incapable of speech and often roam the cold woods and mountains of the close north, killing and robbing everything they see.
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The Grandolians are a race of giants standing over 3 meters tall and posses incredible strength and durability, and while they live long lives have a very low birth rate so they cherish their young. Simple creatures of strong will and low intelligence, they live in small close knit clans conisitng of no more than 3-5 family groups. Most of these clans have lands up in the farthest rejons of the volcanic wastes to the north.
While lacking in great intelligence they are drawn to seek out knowledge and collect many great tomes simplly beacuse they enjoy possesing such works. Much to the annoyance of scholars Grandolians can amass great hordes of liturature in their caves and forts, over the cource of hundreds of years.
Grandolian youths often depart on quests to obtain such works, traveling far to find the greatest scholars and steal their writings.
They worship gods of wisodom and knowledge and have been known to make sacrifices in the form of those who come to take from their hordes.
It has been therorized the Grandolians where orginally created to be the gardians of great libiraies as their simple minds would not be tempted by the power that such knowledge would grant.

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Nightmares

Female horses of pitch black colour and immense size, these shadow cloaked steeds are the descendants of a breif affair between the god of death and a ancient centauress. Favoured steeds of his preisthood, they possess abnormal intelligence and are quite rare, appearing rarely in most horse herds. Their passing produces uneasy sleep and are said to be able to carry a rider into the underworld (without killing them) on a night with a blood red moon by jumping into a deep water lake with high spiritual power.

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The Darkened Fey

Other descendants of the death god and a brief liason, these caparious little creatures look like gaunt fairys with blackened skeletal wings. They love to live in marshland and make little lights for people to follow. Leading either to their salvation or their deaths.
It is said if you help one in their time of need they will stay with you for life, and even follow you into the realm of the dead.
Like all Fey, they are creatures not to be treat lightly with, but are not part of the dark uncourt of winter.
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The races of Giants guard their lands feircely against all comers who are simular in size to them. As such, they are on bad terms with most drakes, dragons, leviathans (at least, none water bound ones) and other titans.

This is primarily due to the fact that feeding such titanic beings takes enourmous amounts of food. Requiring regular prayers to Gomul Hausa alongside extensive farming and herding operations, they can not afford to share their bounties in the fear that they may starve.
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The Storm Eye cult is ruled by a human majority, but they have a number of servitor races among them. The most numerous of these races is the Canids, vicious Wolfmen known to be created by Mah Yis Rah as her loyal servants. They're believed to be elves twisted into beasts after fleeing from the Laughing God in the Age of Fire, they have only the capacity to bark or speak in their own sign language. Though not stupid by any means, their animalistic nature makes them come across as quite dim and so they're mostly used as hard labor or cannon fodder in Storm Eye armies.

The unofficial leader of the Canids is named Dogmeat. His tale is one of rising through the ranks from a lowely shieldbearer to become the Spiritual leader of the Canids, earning himself a seat on the Storm Eye war council, the only non-human to ever be recognized as such.

Tales of Dogmeats control over the divine, and his extensive powers in mysticism are a source of great pride for the Canids, morbid curiosity for the Storm Eye, and quite terror for everyone else. He is one of the most powerful wizards in the world, if not the most. Some even say he's secretly in cahoots with the god Marik. That it's believed that his power comes from his devotion to the Storm Eye aspect of Myrea, a cult known for its militarism and zeal, makes him a subject of many whispers of a new Storm Eye offensive upon Viluvia.

Jokes are told mocking this, how all you'd need to stop the Storm Eye in their tracks is to throw a couple of cooked geese into the generals tents and you'll be left with a fat, unintelligible wolf leading the war host. The nervous laughter that follows puts a damper on all but the jolliest of festivities.
--

Void Dragons

TLG's and Taj yr Akna's pet project. Originally they were planing to create a race of sentinels, that were supposed to protect the mortal realm while they are fucking around, eating salad and playing Paradox Poker (TLG saw how some guys were playing it in their's pocket reality, and decided to borrow the idea). The result wasn't what they originally expected. What they got was a race of dragons (that shit they got right), but the outcry of the void energy was so strong, that the void dimension was split open, and it poured into the mortal realm allowing mortal to channel void magic and creating a continet of Zoruktor, which shifts eternally, filled with void creatures. Now the Void Dragons have to fight in a constant war to prevent void energy from spreading further. However, they are sympathetic in nature, and if a mortal could reach them, they will aid him, grantin knowledge and power.
But why the fuck would you want to travel to that demon-infested shithole? That shit just doesn't worth it, and only few mortal had returned from Zoruktor alive.

--

Empty Knights

It is said that when a distinguished and powerful warrior dies in battle, a god may revive him with the armor he wore at the moment of his death, yet his corpse is no longer there. The god may also claim his soul for himself and add him to his personal army/angels/etc. but if the warrior wasn't the god's follower in life, this may cause some consequences. This practice is rare for mainly two reasons: because it elevates the warrior to a quasi-demigod status, granting him enormous powers. This causes problems if they are left unchecked. Not to mention it pisses off Ballan Sur, which is not a very good idea.

One such case of an Empty Knight running rampant with his newfound powers was that of the greatest spearman the humans had ever seen, Omerlien. Once a famous arena fighter, he used to travel all over the world looking for someone worthy enough to defeat him, and besting everyone that challenged him. Barak Tuth, having been observing him for quite some time and looking to add him to his own, one day decided to send someone to ambush and fight him, and see if he was actually that powerful. Omerlien effortlessly beat him, boasting and asking for a stronger opponent. Barak Tuth, angry at him, decided to descend in his weakest form and face him to further test his abilities. After three long and uninterrputed hours of battle, Barak was finally defeated. Furious for having lost the fight, Barak unleashed his ungodly powers on him, killing him in the process. He then walked up to the corpse, started chanting and cursing him: "From this day forward, you will be but a shell of yourself. You shall live forever and wander these lands and fight everyone that crosses your path, looking for someone that can best you in battle and you shall not rest until you do so."

Omerlien then proceeded to walk forever, wreaking havoc everywhere he went, killing tens of thousands of people, looking to end his torment. No one has seen him for decades, but some people say he still wanders from place to place looking for someone that could defeat him.

Others say he built a castle for himself and other Empty Knights so that he could train them in hopes that one day someone might best him. Some even say a god took pity on him and ended his unnatural life. Whatever the true outcome of Omerlien's quest, what matters is that this is a power that should not be used in the first place.
~Excerpt from Bestiary: Common Beasts, Mythical Beings and Other Creatures by Thönner Casteralus VII

Empty knights can, however, find their rest at Ballan Sur's midnight march, provided that they wish for it.
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The Nameless Race that dwell atop the Misty Mountains are a mysterious people, born when Marik and Alina first laid with each other.

The Race are keeps of lore in the Mortal world. They hold unto the secrets that no one should ever, EVER know. Even some of the gods. It is for the safety of all that their Libraries are never breached.

No one man climb the mountains. Those that do, are found at the base with the brain removed some their skull. It is eerie how perfectly it was done. The faces of the victims are frozen in terror.
To mortal men, it is unknown was happened to their brains.
Many kinds throughout the ages thought them selves mighty enough to take the Mountains for them selves. Entire armies have been founds dead the base of the Misty Mountains.
Said Kings who order these murder marches are said to vanish days the bodies are found.

Worshippers of Marik and Alina have set up shrines all around the Mountains base, and do their best to ward off travelers looking to climb the mountains.
When they reach a ripe old age, they climb the mountains them selves, sacrificing them selves to the children of their Gods.

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Misc. lore

TLG used to be a famous bard before his ascension
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There's a saying that goes "Remember Trac, be wary of falling swords" used for promises too good to be true. It comes from The story of Borkas, a farmer's son who had dreams of grandeur. He would spend his days dreaming of glory and battle and finer things in life, never content with his place in life. One day, a spirit came to him in one of his many day dreams, promising power and riches. When he awoke, he found a sword plunged in the ground in front of him, seemingly fallen from the heavens. Taking up the sword, he left that day in search of the promises spoken to him. He was found dead, hanging from a tree with that very sword plunged into him by a friend of the family not even a day later.
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Said with an accent, Ballan Sur becomes Balancer.
Hence his nickname "The Balancer" and the saying/curse:
"May the Judge Judge you, and The Balancer take you to his scales"
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There was a time when Queen Myrea liked the Laughing God. No more.
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The Halls of Gul-hib are _inside_ The True Judge.
Otherwise most theologians consider Gul-hib as one of the Scions of the True Judge.
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Dragons are a relatively common pet of Nimhe's. Unintelligent, brutish, and shortsighted, when one appears it lays waste to a few villages, or demands tribute if it is particularly intelligent, and dies in a deluge of adventurers seeking its valuable body parts.
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There is a legend amongst the Gods, that there was something before them. Something before the existence. Something that was destroyed long before the New Existence. Some of the Gods may think, that they were created in someone's image. Maybe those Gods are correct. Because if Ynera is the mother of all human, then who is The Laughing God? He states that he is a human, but he also claims that he isn't related to Ynera. Even TAJYR AKNA, TLG's close friend doesn't know TLG's true origin. And as the rumor goes, only two know the secret behind the existence- TLG and his Scribe.

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The End Myth:
It is said that when tears of Myrea run dry the World will end: For when the Goddess of sorrow has had enough and stops caring, she will destroy the World and battle the Gods to find out who is most powerful of them all.

The prophecy of Myrea's carnage has spawned numerous other prophecies predicting the other gods' involvement in the world's destruction and speculations, and in some cases questions from their prophets, on their thoughts about an apocalypse.
Sohai and Hordun are both thought to regret the eventual death and destruction; Barak and Moluck Thuths are said to look forward to it; Xizamere is indifferent to it, having quoted the ability of his prized creatures as the reason for his calm; The Laughing God simply laughed at the question; Ong hopes not to participate; and most notably Zalkum was remarkably unemotional about it, saying he didn't need to worry, giving rise to speculations as to Arimue's true purpose.
Only the Laughing God survives the carnage, only to continue his mad laughter.

Ballan was born with the first ever breath of the first god. He will die with the last breath ever taken, and walk hand in hand with the last soul into oblivion.
The last person to breathe will most likely be The Laughing God.
When the laughting god finally breathes his last, he and Ballan will walk into oblivion together. Him laughing his ass off in whatever passes for a gods soul form, Ballan probably rather grumpy as to having to walk with him, but reminiscent all the same.