Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

The Sepulcher of the Creator is the primary religion of Pexate, specifically the Revelationist branch as opposed to the Incarnationists prevalent in Layyia. “Sepulcher” is a word for tomb, and that is in fact the purpose of the various religious buildings dotting Pexate, from the Grand Royal Sepulcher in Simnel to the ramshackle “barn Sepulchers” in Ioxus.

As detailed in the Epitaph, the Creator fashioned the world-that-is out of abiding love and the desire for something to lavish that love upon. Neither male nor female, It was all-powerful and all-knowing and all-good, and It wrought many beautiful works. The Creator worked alone and was Itself self-created–the details on that point have never been particularly important.

At one point, the Creator decided to fashion a group of Children for Itself. Rather than the children that were every living thing on the world, these Children were far closer to the Creator in nature. It took aspects of Itself and made them independent, using these children as servants and confidants in ways that mere mortals never could be. The Revelationalists believe that It was trying to create new worlds, each with their own Creator, as a final and logical next step after the triumph of creation. The Incarnationalists insist that the Children were an experiment, preparation for raising mortals to the level of demi-Creators themselves.

In either case, it was not to be. The Creator’s Children rebelled against their progenitor, to a one, and elected from among their number one to lead them against the Creator to unseat It and take control of the world-that-is for themselves. This Child was the only one of their number to have the audacity to take a name and a gender: he became known as Muolih the Spreading Darkness, and in this act severed the silver cord that had once bound him and his fellow Children to the Creator.

Sorrowfully, the Creator did battle with Its rebellious Children. One by one they were slain in great battles spoken of in the Epitaph, until only Muolih himself remained. In the fair fields of Noaad, they met one final time. After combat lasting a whole year, in which the land was blasted into a barren desert, Muolih and the Creator each struck a final blow simultaneously. They killed one another at a stroke.

Before the battle, though, the Creator had appeared in a vision to St. Xarius, the founder of the modern Sepulcher. The Creator, having forseen Its own death, assured Xarius that It would not truly die but would, instead, dwell in deathly dreams for an eon until, healed, It would return. The Creator promised that, even in death, it would hear supplications. On the day of Its rebirth, all would be granted, and all souls who had waited in the afterlife would be ushered into paradise. Until then, the Creator promised to work only subtly and dreamily for the betterment of Its loyal children.

St. Xarius took these visions and collected them in the Epitaph, bidding all those loyal to the Creator to build It grand tombs that It might not fade from their memory. And, in turn, adherents claim subtle miracles worked by the dead and dreaming Creator on their behalf. Of Muolih, nothing more is written: if the Spreading Darkness had a similar plan, it was lost or hidden. But to this day, the Sepulcher of the Creator forms the largest belief system in the world-that-is. The elven Eternal Way and the dwarven Dual Throne do not proseletyze, nor do the goblins who revere Muolih as their fallen champion. Only the orcish Hamurabash and the Way of the Three rival the Sepulcher, and many would argue that neither is a faith in the same sense.

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Argentsail the Dispossessed
The far-flung Island of Anpok is nearly a thousand miles out to sea, and was undiscovered until a goblin longboat was blown off course in a storm and into Anpok’s small harbor. Its captain, exploring the area, found the veins of argent silver which saw the island go from uninhabited to supporting a population of 2000 miners within five years. He was able to sell the title of the island to the crown of Layysia in exchange for a tidy sum every year. This provided him with a good income until the crown, on trumped-up charges, ceased payment. In retaliation, Argentsail sold a quitclaim to the King of Pexate and guided an invasion fleet to oust the Layyians. Thus it was that Argentsail became (technically) dispossessed, yet maintained his name.

Ryntap Rawfingers
Musician, storyteller, and itinerant bard, this goblin composed ballads on the ryntap, the traditional goblin lute-drum. His epic stories, told in song and verse, were the life and times and family history of Mycnu Rollfall, a mighty goblin warrior. Named for his ability to roll with the punches and think on his feet, Mycnu Rollfall was a goblin living in what became the Kingdom of Pexate in the time of King Eyon I and leading a band of his fellows against the incursion of the King’s conquest. His exploits won him the respect of his adversary but did not spare him from death in furious battle. Playing his fingers raw while spreading his ballads, Ryntap won his name and reknown. The only detail, which never seemed to bother Ryntap or his listeners, was that Mycnu Rollfall (and his lovely mule wife Nyubl) never existed at all.

The Stitchwound
Anatomist, healer, and all-around doctor, The Stitchwound tended to the wounds of both sides of the catastrophic Battle of Buckethill, earning his name for saving the life of a baron by stuffing his wound with maggots and stitching. As legendary for his insults as he was for his healing, The Stitchwound would likely have earned a name for himself when he told the Crown Prince that “he was not afraid of a man who took ten years to learn his alphabet.” Later, when attending to the Baron Varrett, the Baron’s son worried that his father would be poisoned. “Have no fear,” The Stitchwound told him, “for no man in Varrett would take away your father’s life to make you baron.” Spurning any other names, he insisted on being known only as The Stitchwound (with an integral article) until his death tending to a goblin chief during a raid across the border of Layyia.

Tpaukep Skinpeeler
When the famous Amber Crown of Layyia was stolen by gutsy brigands from the Crown Jewels, the King of Layyia brought together the best trackers and minds in his kingdom to try and see to his treasure’s return. A goblin answered the call, certain that her methods of deduction were superior to those tried by the better-known and more expensive hunters. The royal steward derisively let her try. Realizing that it had to have been an inside job, the goblin tracked down where every single person with keys had been the night of the theft. The only one with no alibi was kidnapped and interrogated with a flayer’s knife; it only took one arm peeled like a potato for him to divulge his accomplices. The goblin then tracked the thieves using the same methods; the last purpetrator reportedly lost every inch of skin on his torso before he divulged the crown’s location. Tpaukep literally means “yellow-stone,” amber, and “Skinpeeler” explains itself.

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