scholarship of erenth: Vastirah

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Index of the Deities & Demigods

CREATOR

Ere All

PRIMOGENITORS

The lords of the Besnir were Aenire who came to Erenth in service of the Ere All, but were deceived into doing the work of the enemy, Agelleas. And yet their work was redeemed and they became great forces for good.

and the Betrayer himself,

Agellas

However false the many other "gods" were in respect to divinity, they were very much true and powerful in their ascendance. Prideful beings were they, in that they desired recognition and acclaim more than anything, and peculiar were they in that the more they received, the greater their power became.

PRETENDERS
The Pretenders were those beings which came to Erenth from their original plane of existence, and finding it peopled by lesser mortals, set themselves up as rulers and kings. While not immortal, the Pretenders were nonetheless very long lived, and would have persisted for centuries.

It is believed by some that they rode a fiery chariot which crashed into the Ramparts. Others say that they were born along by the lightning of a storm which swept through many worlds. Still others say that they were brought here by a collision between this world and theirs. The last theory is that some magic of the Elves or Dragons pulled them into our world, perhaps even separately.

And the unmet Prince who is invoked to move Heimos

Brand the Suffering

VASTIRAH
The Vastirah are those who would have been of mixed Erenthean and extra-planar blood. These became the patrons and patronesses of cities and tribes.

To this order of demigods belongs the rest of the Westrun Decadon -- the Faith of the Ten Divines who were born of Heimos and the human women he took to wife.

Along with the Southrun demigods:

The brothers Amir and Bhamut, born of Umirra and the Marida
Sekhat (f)

And the Giant God:

Jendul

In Eastrun

Jen Shu the Conquerer

In Southrun

AENIREDE

The Aenirede were the Aenir who came to Erenth in judgement of the Vyrum Empire and this includes their lesser children, the Titans, all of whom have sacrificed their first estate and must now remain on Erenth.

Their offspring the Titans

DEMIGODS

The demigods were old powers who came to Erenth as Aeniresa and some became Agathinon (raging spirits with physical bodies) or had offspring such as the foul and fair Nefilnir, and these were worshipped as gods.

In Northrun

Terraq

In Southrun

In Eastrun

In Westrun

HEROES
Finally, the heroes were the offspring of demigods and other mortals. They were men and women of renown who made names for themselves among their tribes and nations. Some of these are legends and not known if they actually exist.

Zariel the Golden

Zariel the Golden is the son of Amir. He is also said to be the god who bears the sun and stars across the heavens. His golden chariot, drawn by steeds of fire, is said to drag the very orbs of light through the firmament, bringing dawn and twilight in his passage. The common name “Zariel” is used in hymns and prayers, while “Sustarre” is the older and more mystical epithet, whispered in rites of divination and celestial augury.

He is depicted as a radiant man crowned in solar rays, clad in golden robes that blaze like a thousand torches. His eyes are said to burn with the light of morning, though many legends hold that those who look too long upon him are struck blind. In Southrun, his cult associates him with the discipline of astronomy and the fixed order of the stars.

Zariel is the upholder of cosmic order. Just as the stars turn in their endless cycles, so too must mortals honor the turning of seasons, the keeping of law, and the fulfillment of appointed times. His priests teach that light reveals truth, that no oath sworn beneath the sun may be hidden, and that his presence watches over every laborer beneath the day’s sky.

Shrines to Zariel are built with great open roofs, designed to catch both the sun’s rays by day and the sweep of stars by night. Fire is his sacred element, kept perpetually burning upon his altars. His festivals fall at solstices and equinoxes, where celebrants greet dawn with trumpets and mirrored shields to catch and scatter his light.

When the gods sought to bind the heavens into order, it was Zariel who volunteered to drag them unceasingly across the sky, lest chaos return.

Some tell that he is twin to Utunos, the chained god of the sun, though others dispute this, saying that Utunos drags by brute strength what Zariel commands by divine majesty.

Mortal kings often claim patronage of Zariel, styling themselves “sons of the sun,” but his devotees know that no man, however great, may rival the charioteer of heaven.

In tales of heroes, Zariel is invoked as a guide through the wilderness, for he marks the way by sun by day and stars by night. In some myths, he has been known to lend his fiery steeds to mortal champions for a single ride—always at a terrible cost, for no human flesh can endure their flames.

Utunos

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Timsor the Crocodile

Timsor the Crocodile is a son of Bhamut, called the Lord of Depths and Father of Monsters.

He appears as a massive crocodile-headed god, armored in scales, wearing the tattered regalia of river-kings. He bears a stone hammer heavy enough to shatter ships.

Timsor embodies the ferocity and abundance of rivers — at once giver of fertile soil and bringer of drowning death. Inherited from Bhamut, his blood carries the essence of divinity crossed with the chaos of his beastly mother, making him feared even among gods.

He commands crocodiles and river-serpents, and his roar is said to shake mudbanks into collapse. Timsor’s hammer is not a tool of craft, but of destruction — when it strikes water, it summons sudden floods.

He is both guardian and devourer: farmers pray for his floods to bring fertile silt, yet they fear his appetite, for he drowns those who fail in their offerings.

Devotees see him as a necessary terror: harsh but life-giving. They pour blood and fish into the waters to sate his hunger. His festivals coincide with the annual floods, celebrated with feasts on riverbanks and ritual boat races in his honor.

Timsor despises his cousin Talan of the Waves, seeing the dolphin-rider’s freedom and lightness as mockery of his own heavy, lurking power. He shares an uneasy pact with Sabha the Jackal: the crocodile rules the rivers, the jackal the tombs. Between them, water and death meet.

Talan of the Waves

Talan of the Waves is a son of Amir and a mortal woman of the coast.

He appears as a strong man clad in sea-green and gold, crowned with spray, often shown astride a dolphin with a trident in hand.

Talan is the patron of seafaring, tides, and the living creatures of the waves. Where Amir governs like a tempest, Talan tempers it, guiding ships through chaos — or dashing them to ruin if offended. His voice is said to carry over leagues of sea-wind, calming storms or rousing them at will. Dolphins are his heralds, and sailors say a dolphin alongside their ship is proof of Talan’s favor.

Born of Amir’s union with a fisherwoman, Talan was said to have been cradled by the sea itself, carried ashore on the back of a dolphin. In his youth, he bested the Leviathan of the Deep, driving it into the deep with nothing but a net, a spear, and his courage.

He taught mortals the art of navigation by stars and waves, a gift that allowed them to voyage beyond sight of land. Rivalry burns between him and Samak, god of contemplation and silence, for though both rule the waters, Talan embodies its wild living power, while Samak governs its still depths.

Talan is honored by sailors with libations poured into the sea before setting out. His shrines are rare on land but often found on islands and coastal promontories, marked by tridents driven into the ground. Fishermen invoke him when casting nets, and ship captains sacrifice a silver coin or pearl to him at their voyage’s outset.

Ta'lab the Fox

Ta'lab the Fox is a creature of great mischief, the patron of gamblers and actors. He is also called The Laughing Shadow, The Red Mask, and sometimes, the Lord of the Dice

Ta’lab is the spirit of risk and disguise. He can change his shape at will, though he delights in slight flaws in his disguises that only the clever notice.

Gamblers swear that when the dice roll strangely in their favor, it is Ta’lab’s paw tipping them. Actors invoke him before plays, believing his spirit gives them charm and wit to captivate audiences.

It is said Ta’lab once tricked both the Moon God and the Sun Knight, convincing each he was the other, and sowing enmity between them for a generation. He won the Mantle of Luck by gambling against three gods in a single night, walking away with his prize only because he wagered his own tail — which he promptly regrew.

Stories often portray him as both hero and villain, helping mortals escape tyranny one day and plunging them into chaos the next.

Soroushan the Messenger

Soroushan, the Errant Messenger, patron of omens, accidents, and chance encounters.

Always shown with a staff crowned by wings, symbol of divine authority, and a scroll in hand, representing messages not always delivered as intended. His robes are priestly but travel-worn, suggesting endless wandering.

Soroushan does not run, ride, or fly — instead he teleports from place to place. But his leaps are never perfect: he may appear a mile away, a day late, or in the wrong court entirely. This "error" is not weakness but said to be a design of fate. The gods speak most clearly through Soroushan’s mistakes

A famous tale says he was to deliver a warning of invasion, but instead appeared in a poet’s home. The poet recorded the message in verse, and centuries later, it became the prophecy that ended a dynasty.

His staff is said to leave a shimmer in the air when he departs, like the distortion of heat or water.

Merchants, wanderers, and diplomats make offerings to him, asking that their words arrive safely — but often adding, “or else arrive where they must.” His devotees are often errand-runners, couriers, or bearers of secret news. They embrace mistakes, teaching that one must read the meaning in what seems like chance.

Sekhat

So Umirra and Marida, the daughter of the khedive, were wed and soon produced triplets -- sons Amir and Bhamut; and daughter Sekhat. But Marida died in childbirth and in his grief, Umirra followed -- a victim of his own hand. So the khedive cast the infant brothers out of his presence and handed them to the rulers of dry land to raise them, saying, "These are children of the land." But the daughter he allowed to remain for she resembled her mother and the khedive could not bear to part with her.

The sister of Amir and Bhamut, Sekhat was "not of the land" and was heiress to the realm of her grandfather, a spirit of the sea. As adults her brothers returned to the place of their birth, and not recognizing Sekhat sought to make her their wife. In their dispute, Sekhat was slain, therefore the Khedive pronounced a curse upon the land and those who live on it.

Among other devotees, Sekhat has a specific cult of women called the Akwali Sekhat which serve as a House of Assassins.

Samak the Fish

Offspring of Bhamut, Samak is the god of contemplation and silence. He is a patron of sea voyagers and armorers. His face is a mask -- blank, unblinking, serene, unsettling. His silence is absolute.

His tail is often depicted as bronze or iron-scaled, binding him to both sea and forge.

His presence is said to be felt in the deep hush before dawn at sea, or in the rhythmic pause between hammer strikes on the anvil. He embodies the practice of inward silence, reflection, and patience. Monks and hermits sometimes take him as patron.

Sailors offer him tribute before setting sail, believing that silence and steady thought will keep them safe. His shrines may be little more than stone cairns on cliffs, facing the waves.

He blesses the forging of armor rather than weapons — things that endure, that protect. His priests say that every good piece of armor is a prayer of silence hammered into shape. Worshippers practice silent vigils at the shore, listening for the sea’s voice. Smiths might hammer three times without speaking before starting a work, invoking his patience. Offerings at sea are often weighted with bronze or iron and cast overboard in silence.

In stories, Samak rarely speaks — when he does, his words are said to echo in the listener’s mind like the toll of a deep bell.

Some myths say he was once a fish who listened so deeply to the sea that he became divine, learning the silence that underlies all things. Others say he was born at the place where the first armor was quenched in seawater, fusing smithcraft and the ocean forever.

Safaya the Pure

Safaya is the goddess of innocence, clarity, and the incorruptible spirit. She is depicted always as a young maiden in flowing white, her garments unstained even when she walks through dust, blood, or shadow. Where she steps, water springs clear and flowers bloom, for she is the embodiment of untouched purity.

Unlike many gods, Safaya carries no weapon. Her power lies not in force, but in her very presence, which drives back corruption, dissolves deceit, and lays bare the truth of hearts. To the righteous, she appears as comfort and healing; to the guilty, she is terror itself, for none can hide their sins beneath her gaze.

Myth tells that she is sister to both light and darkness, bound to neither but shining beyond them. She once descended into the depths of the underworld to reclaim a mortal boy whose innocence had been stolen by cruel fate. Clothed in her white mantle, she walked unafraid through legions of shadow and lifted the boy by the hand, restoring him to the world above. For this, she is often invoked by mothers and healers, who pray to her for the protection of children and the preservation of the uncorrupted.

Her followers wear white veils or sashes and bring offerings of milk, lilies, and silver to her shrines. Her temples are simple, unadorned halls of pale stone, where silence and honesty are kept above all else.

She is remembered in song as the Bright Maid, the Untouched, and the Veil of Mercy. To see her in a dream is said to foretell cleansing, but also judgment, for though Safaya is gentle, she is unyielding to those who betray innocence.

Sabha the Jackal

Sabha is feared as the silent sentinel of tombs, a god who walks the border between mortal and divine. Sabha conceals his own bestial visage behind a golden mask, so that mortals might never gaze upon the terror of his true form. His followers say the mask is not to hide shame, but to shield the living from madness, for his face is the visage of death unending.

He is a deity of guardianship, vengeance, and incorruptible justice. Where Death guides souls, Sabha keeps their resting places inviolate. Carvings of his mask are often set above the sealed doors of crypts, a warning that he watches with tireless eyes. His presence is invoked with hushed prayers by masons and devotees during burials. To omit his name is to invite desecration.

Sabha’s hatred of thieves is absolute. It is said that if a tomb marked with his likeness is disturbed, there is a chance he himself will come. Those unlucky enough to encounter him speak of a shadow in the torchlight, a figure half-man, half-jackal, whose steps are silent as the grave. He strikes without warning, and his vengeance is brutal—thieves are found with throats torn, their blood staining the dust of the tomb floor.

Legends tell that Sabha wields no weapon, for his body itself is the instrument of divine wrath. His claws rend through armor, his fangs drip with the chill of death, and his gaze alone can stop a man’s heart. Yet the most dreaded thing about him is his silence—he never speaks, never bargains, never relents. They say that those who faithfully honor Sabha may rest in peace, but those who defile the dead will suffer his eternal pursuit—even into the afterlife.

Thus he is remembered as the Warden of the Dead, the Masked One, the Silent Avenger, and the Jackal of Tombs, whose justice is swift, and whose hatred of thieves knows no end.

Roya the Diviner

Roya is a son of Amir and was gifted from an early age with a true sight of the future. As he grew into adulthood, his visions and dreams continued and increased in frequency. As a child his premonitions were often dismissed as imagination, but their accuracy swiftly became undeniable.

Roya's visions tended toward doom and gloom, which provided no end of consternation to those who sought him out. As he entered into adulthood, that same tendency is said to have driven him to fits of despair and madness. He could be seen rocking back and forth, fluctuating between laughter and tears and muttering to himself.

In late adulthood, Roya accepted his visions and became somewhat stoic regarding them. He frequently warned those who came to him that their forecasts were not as bright as they wished, and that the future held no comfort for any of them. To avoid contact with others, Roya went deeper and deeper into the desert wilderness until it was said that he only kept counsel with scorpions and spiders.

Some say he still lives in the mortal world, just far removed from any who might recognize him.

He is considered the patron of diviners.

Raqasa

Depicted as a belly dancer, she is a goddess of fertility, allure and desire. Raqasa teaches that longing is a power meant to be used. Her veil both reveals and withholds, reminding supplicants that consent is the first rite of love. Her devotees are keepers of thresholds—matchmakers, midwives, and tutors of festival etiquette—charged to protect the willing and silence the coercive drum.

Her myths braid fruitfulness with grace. She sways beside parched orchards and the trees bud; she stamps a rhythm and the ewes quicken; she circles a grieving home and the will to live returns. Once, she danced before a tyrant’s army until their spears slipped from open hands, and the campaign ended in betrothals and treaties. Offerings are pomegranates split like laughter, copper bells, kohl mirrors, saffron, and vows spoken plainly.

Devotees keep the Night of Anklets: lamps of myrrh and rose are set in windows, couples renew their covenants, and the barren ask her mercy. Celibates also dance—turning allure toward art and service—because Raqasa blesses chosen restraint as surely as a union.

Qerd

The Monkey is often seen as another incarnation of La'eba and is the god of merriment and of debauchery. Qerd rules the bright edge between joy and ruin. In street tales his gold eyes promise jokes, jackpots, and trouble in equal measure. Children learn a proverb at harvest feasts: “Qerd opens the door; you decide how far to walk.”

Devotees of Qerd—jesters in bells or masked dancers with painted tails—serve as licensed misrule: they tell truths kings cannot hear from courtiers, break stiff moments with laughter, and lead rites that “loosen the knot” of fear. Offerings are simple: sweet fruit, new music, fermented drink, and forgiveness given freely.

His myths swing between blessing and caution. He steals a magistrate’s seal to erase a famine tax; he also bets away a baron’s sobriety and must spend a year sweeping kitchens to teach the cost of excess. Yet even the least devout keep one night for La’eba’s Monkey—lanterns, drums, masks—because a society that cannot laugh soon breaks.

Qett the Cat

Sister to Bes

Nurah the Lightbringer

Nurah the Lightbringer is honored among the Southrun peoples as the god of wisdom, illumination, and the quiet clarity that dispels confusion. His sacred emblem, the oil lamp, is more than a tool for light—it is a symbol of enlightenment, guiding mortals through the darkened paths of ignorance and folly. Stories say that when the world was young and veiled in shadow, it was Nurah who first lifted the flame, bringing order to chaos and reason to fear. Unlike gods of thunder or war, his power is not measured in might but in the brilliance of understanding, a force no less transformative.

Nurah is often invoked by scholars, judges, and elders who seek not only knowledge but discernment—the wisdom to apply truth with justice. His followers believe that to sit beside a lamp in study is to sit in his presence, and so oil lamps are lit before debates, councils, and trials. His temples are modest, but always filled with light, each flame representing a spark of divine wisdom.

Yet Nurah is not without severity. Those who reject wisdom or misuse it for deceit are said to find their lamps extinguished, their paths darkened. For to carry Nurah’s light is both a blessing and a responsibility.

Noilos

Twin brother of Ninurtos, Noilos, god of the moon, is a figure of serenity, mystery, and quiet dominion.

Inspired by the celestial harmony between night and light, he was said to govern the tides of sea and soul alike. His staff, etched with ancient runes, was said to channel the pull of the heavens, shaping both the ebb of oceans and the turning of mortal hearts.

In his other hand he carried a fragment of the moon’s glow—an eternal flame of pale silver, never dimmed, never extinguished. This fragment embodies his gift to mortals: guidance in darkness, clarity in dreams, and the promise that light endures even in shadow.

Noilos was revered as the keeper of secrets, for under his light confessions were whispered, oaths were sealed, and hidden truths revealed. His worshipers often gathered by moonlight, raising hymns when the silver disk hangs high, believing his presence was closest when the world was still. His dominion over the eclipse was feared and taken as proof that even the brightest fire bowed to him.

Gentle yet inexorable, Noilos taught that power need not roar—and yet may move.

He is the husband and half-brother of Ningula.

Ninurtos

Twin brother of Noilos and patron of Menea, Ninurtos imagined himself the god of the earth’s deep strength, this deity of agriculture was known among mortals as the Bringer of Harvests.

Where his father embodied the stone, soil, and unyielding bedrock, the son represented their flowering potential—the green shoots, golden grains, and ripening fruits that sustain life. Farmers revered him as the silent companion in their fields, believing that each furrow cut by the plow was guided by his unseen hand. It is said that when his gaze fell upon a crop, the corn ripened early, and when he blessed an orchard, the fruit swelled beyond its natural measure.

He carried with him both the bounty and burden of agriculture. On one hand, he fulfilled the promise of life: wheat, maize, and barley sprang forth at his command. On the other, he gave the reminder of toil: blight, famine, and storm might follow when his favor was withdrawn. Rural traditions hold that he walked the fields at dusk, cloaked in the smell of turned earth, his presence marked by the sudden stillness of animals and the hush of the wind.

Above all, he was a god of balance, teaching that sustenance demanded labor, and prosperity required humility.

Ninlee

Ninlee is the wife and sister of Heinil, god of the air. She shared his dominion over the winds and skies, but her aspect was gentler, more protective. Where Heinil commanded the tempests, Ninlee was the steady current and the breath of life that sustained. She was revered in Peakshadow not only as patroness but as guardian of the city’s lofty spires.

It was said that many pilgrims credited her for safe passage along the perilous mountain paths. It is still said that no storm can strike Peakshadow without first contending with her vigilant gaze.

Legends tell of Ninlee’s role in the founding of Peakshadow. When mortals first dared to build their homes among the jagged cliffs, she spread her cloak across the heights, shielding them from the fury of her brother-husband’s storms. In gratitude, the people raised shrines in her honor, offering woven banners and wind-chimes so that their prayers might ride the air directly to her.

Ninlee’s power extended beyond the city. Travelers and exiles whispered her name for safe journeys, and falconers invoked her when training their birds of prey. She was depicted as the embodiment of grace in motion, a reminder that even amid the howling chaos of the storm, there exists a guiding wind to carry the faithful through.

Ningula

Ningula, daughter of Heimos, embodies the consuming darkness that lurks in both the world and the heart of mortals. Cloaked in perpetual twilight, she is a figure of both beauty and menace. She walks the line between allure and terror, drawing followers with whispered promises of power and sowing strife among gods and mortals alike.

Ningula is both the half-sister and consort of Noilos. While Ningula is reviled by the majority of the Decadon pantheon, Noilos alone tolerates her with quiet love and unwavering loyalty—a bond that often perplexes other gods and mortals.

She was known to be cunning, bitter, and unpredictable. Ningula delighted in exploiting weakness, corrupting hearts, and undermining order wherever she could. Her priests operated in secrecy: assassins, spies, and corrupt officials often served as her unknowing emissaries. Shrines to Ningula were rare and hidden, often situated in shadowed valleys, abandoned ruins, or deep caverns, and her rites involved acts of deception, betrayal, and subversion.

Ningula governed all that thrives in shadow—both literal and metaphorical. Darkness, subterfuge, seduction, chaos, and the slow decay of trust fell under her dominion. Mortals who dedicated themselves to her often found power in secrecy, intrigue, and manipulation. Her influence was subtle but pervasive; wars were won by her whispered lies, and domains crumbled under the weight of treachery she inspires.

Her faithful were drawn from those who had been wronged, who sought power without regard for morality, or who simply delighted in watching the world unravel. Assassins, spies, corrupt officials, and ambitious manipulators were her most common devotees.

Ningula is armed with the Shadowblade: A dagger that grows sharper in darkness, and thirsted for blood spilled in treachery.