Level Up (A5E) Sins of the Scorpion Age: Deities, Gods, and Religion

[Bolares]

Perhaps a few specific examples with some guidelines for DMs to expand on it as much as they feel comfortable.

I believe this is the best way to doo this kind of things. You present interesting stuff in the world, give examples of it, and let the DM/Player make the setting thier own.

Though I would like to note as this will be a setting book, these kinds of subsystems will probably be the majority of the available crunch for the setting...

Oh sure, the problem I often encounter with this things is that with setting books, the DM/Player doesn't need to only learn the crunch, but also the fluff of the setting, so even if ina vacuum it looks like a small amount of crunch, it can feel taxing to learn, even more for new players, that are also trying to learn the basic rules of the game.

I think this can be mitigated, with good editing and templating, and being certain this rules are in the right place and are easy to find.

 

[Steampunkette]

In Achelb, the valley city, city of thieves, home of wonder and vice, there is a tale which is shared from miner to miner. It speaks of a man named Moadi. Moadi was born to slaves within the green valley, and raised to farm and to gather for the great city upon the hill in the shadows of the mountains. But this was not the life he wished. He thirsted for freedom and sought it.

Moadi took up a hammer from the barn before returning to his sleeping chamber in the night. And as the watch checked to see the slaves were secured, his hammer flashed out and crushed the guard's skull. Bathed in blood, he used the hammer to shatter the pins of the door to the pen and fled across the green valley toward freedom.

But the guards of Achelb are cunning. And as he sought the pass they snared him in a trap of clever devising, another slave was trapped along the path in a gibbet, and called for aid. And as Moadi brought his hammer upon the lock the guards fell upon him with clubs and cloaks. Imprisoned, his master sold him to the mines that he might be rid of the man.

Moadi in the mines took up the hammer anew. But no simple bludgeon would break his chains, no. And the guards watched his every movement down into the darkness of the mines. Deeper, and deeper, they delved into a cavern of blazing heat and river of stone. And it was there that Moadi made his escape.

With the molten rock he weakened his chains. With hammer in hand he destroyed his captors, and deep he fled into the darkness beyond the river of fire. It is said that he wanders the darkness, yet. That his hammer rings out upon stone far beneath. As he continues to seek a path back to the world from his new prison of stone and shadow.

But I have heard it said in hushed whispers beneath furtive gaze, that Moadi did not remain in the darkness. That what he unleashed in the depths below rose up and haunts the mines he worked. That some ancient terror stalks the mines of Achelb... though if you speak such things you will be quickly dismissed. The mines were closed as they played out. Not for fear of demons in darkness.

Not for fear of Moadi's Hammer.
-The Chronicler-

Like the story of Am-Tet, this could be a literal tale or a myth couched in metaphor hiding history. Moadi's Hammer could be a Slavebreaking Organization looking to break chains across the land. Or it could be a magical weapons empowered by death, freedom, and the Dweller. Or even the Mountain itself. It's a tale that could be told from different sides, like the story of Isra and Ukada.

 

[Steampunkette]

The Tempest. The Eternal Sky. The Endless Winds. The Storm. Words turn to him in deference, in reverence, in pleading for rain, for calm seas, for gentle winds. And are just as often met with howling gales and driving rain for the temerity of asking.

From the haboobs of Annam to the typhoons of Orlay, the Eternal Sky reigns over all and chooses upon whom to let water flow upon, and who shall be burned with blast-furnace winds. It was the Tempest which drowned ancient Mussara, whose rage set great waves against the fleet of Garash, whose lightning burned down the city of Horadh.

 

[GuyBoy]

Sarga, also known as Healer’s Gift, is a pale orange flower ( with a more blue-ish variant growing in colder climes or altitude). It’s scent is mildly pleasant, but it is treasured for its healing properties.
Fresh Sarga petals grant d4 healing if ingested in a tisane. Dried petals lose some efficacy and heal d2 points. In either state, Sarga petals grant advantage on saves v disease, either ingested for internal disease, or as a paste for infections due to bites or similar.
Sarga is a common symbol used by followers of the flower.
It is not unknown for unscrupulous merchants to pass off Hillrose flowers as Sarga to unwary customers. The Hillrose is harmless enough, but brings no benefit, which can be fatal for those who felt secure in possession of their “Sarga”

Just an idea. I love what you are building here.

 

[GuyBoy]

Bantaur:
In fury, The Beast shook his fur, dislodging the parasites that lived on his skin and causing them to fall to ground. The Beast laughed. He had far greater plans, of course, but he knew these creatures would worsen the lives of all. This is how the Bantaur came to be.

I haven’t designed the creatures, but envisage a dog-sized scavenger/ pack hunter, with an evil nature due to its ancestors feeding on the blood of The Beast.

 

[Steampunkette]

Bantaur:
In fury, The Beast shook his fur, dislodging the parasites that lived on his skin and causing them to fall to ground. The Beast laughed. He had far greater plans, of course, but he knew these creatures would worsen the lives of all. This is how the Bantaur came to be.

I haven’t designed the creatures, but envisage a dog-sized scavenger/ pack hunter, with an evil nature due to its ancestors feeding on the blood of The Beast.

Immediately made me think of Conan Exiles' Sand Beasts.

Something torn between a Cat and a Scorpion. Bloodthirsters who stalk the sands.

 

[Steampunkette]

So... the deities I initially chose, and the Tempest, represent things that people do not have control over, for the most part.

The Dweller as a death-entity trapped in the afterworld, becoming a psychopomp, represents Death. You can fight death, you might even win for a while. But eventually we all perish. Everyone falls into the Underworld and we tell stories to make it more palatable.

The Weaver works alongside the Dweller, giving mortals "Meaning" in life and death. That we have a specific end, a specific life, allows for a fatalistic nihilism where one will fulfill their destiny and die when the time comes.

The Mountain as an uncaring force of creation and destruction represents obstacles beyond our power, but also Earthquakes and Thunder. Battles between the Tempest and the Mountain ring out with the impact of his weapons.

The Serpent represents survival in harsh environments. Outside of arctic places there are always snakes and scaled beasts. But it also represents wisdom, betrayal, and the inherent danger in the world that you can't always control.

The Beast is every vicious animal, poisoned plant, and Australian Death-Cuddler out there willing to end your entire existence in half a blink. He's every night's terror and howl of wolves or jackals just outside the gate.

The Witch is everything we -don't- understand. Oh, she gave us magic. But that's like handing fireworks to a child. The child doesn't truly understand what he's got in his hands, the dangers of it, or how it works.

The Tempest is the storm, the wave, the tide, the cycles of life and death. The tornadoes that destroy villages, the hurricanes that wipe out communities. Gale winds and lightning-fire with no more care for what it strikes than a falling tree.

And the Flower represents our attempt to control it all. To elevate ourselves to it's level and hold some foolhardy hope that we can keep the Beast at bay. Death from taking us. The Storm from destroying all we hold dear. Or the Earth itself swallowing us up, whole.

S'why I didn't really go in on the Blade. Sorry, @Faolyn!

 

[Faolyn]

That's OK; having the gods represent uncontrollable elements makes a lot of sense!

 

[GuyBoy]

Teerka followed the silvery meanders of the stream as it flowed down twixt the two beehive dwellings and into the dark, low opening in the low rise. It was as if the Mountain devoured the Serpent.
She shivered at the imagery and glanced down at the Serpent tattoo that ran down her right arm, her spear arm, guiding her aim as a hunter of the wild lands. She remembered the Calanth artist who had created the art, coloured with powdered Kerit venom and lapis dust. It’s guidance had not failed her yet.
Both huts were deserted and crumbling. The leftmost had remnants of broken furnishings, created of ghost elm, but little else. The rightmost was more disturbing. It contained remnants of a fire pit, not recent yet more recent than the crumbled furnishings. And on its interior walls, strange art, seemingly made by thin, clawed hands, six-fingered and dipped in either ochre or...........before being pressed to the walls in a spiral pattern.
Teerka resolved to spend the night in the first hut and then to move on in the morning. Using the remaining light, she gathered some Sarak root from the stream banks; nourishing if tasteless when boiled, and she had plentiful water and broken furnishings to burn.

Later, she slept fitfully, dreaming of Xrione, of the venom-emeralds and of Zlabarsh i’Kood who had taken both. It was the tingling of the Serpent tattoo on her hand that warned Teerka awake as the malformed shadow of the thing that emerged from the cave rippled obscenely in the moonlight.

Hey, Steampunkette; you inspire.

 

[Steampunkette]

The Tempest laid his curse upon the lands between Imba and Achelb... Where once great winds and torrential rains swept through, periodically, drenching the arid grasslands with life-giving waters, re-awakening the great watering holes of the savannahs, and renewing the cisterns and small lakes of the various cities, there... No rains came. In the first year there were thousands of dead. And the animals of the plains suffered and fled if they could. Soon, the people would follow as the sands came in terrible storms.

Lakes and rivers became as mud, and people choked upon the sandstorms and haboobs that spread the desert ever more quickly. Those who could tried to hold out, shoveling paths free, unburying small buildings. But as the water vanished, eastward they wended toward the great Cobra. Leaving behind their homes, their temples, their businesses, entire towns conquered by the indefatigable sands. Consumed by them.

Even the great Temple Cities and Pyramids were abandoned to the encroaching wasteland, and the priesthood flagellated themselves for their failures, or were put to death by the Pharoah for the same. Even the vibrant grasslands of Musarra, once green from river to river, dried and cracked and died. Sending the Kyran horselords East and North ahead of the sandstorms, ahead of the spreading curse...

Yet the rains still came to fill the Cobra to bursting, to flood along and over the riverbanks. And it became the blessed lands from tail to head. And the capital itself was moved to Il'sha-ah in the north, at the Cobra's hood.

The Curses of the Gods have taken much from us all... but none so deeply as the Tempest Curse.
-The Chronicler-