A Game of Hands
Long ago and far away, it was decided that the gods needed a champion. Since they had forbidden each other from affecting the physical world, it was decreed that chosen mortals would be imbued with divine might, that they might do the will of the gods.
Candidates were chosen, questions were asked, and debates were held, but in the end, only a few could be chosen.
One of these was Galor, a mighty warrior. He had lived life as a barbarian warlord and grown in power, but he was at heart a good man. He agreed to serve the gods as a champion in exchange for the one thing his many conquests had never gained him—love. The gods were pleased with his request, and behold! Soon after, Galor met—and wooed—a beautiful elf-maiden. Their marriage was a thing of perfection, and all who beheld them were in awe of such beauty.
Galor was such a valiant warrior that the gods granted him many other gifts—long life, that he might live alongside his beautiful wife; divinely crafted weapons and armor; and a host of mighty warriors to command.
After centuries of war, Galor was tired. He wanted only to settle down and relax after the long struggles of his life. He saw little of his beautiful wife, as he was so often on missions for the gods. It surprised him to no end then when that selfsame beauty surprised him in his tent.
Galor was overjoyed, and lay with his wife that night.
Morning brought realization: a sharp gasp awakened him. In the mouth of the tent stood his true wife. Next to him on the camp bed was a brazen whore, eyes glazed with lust. The elf-maid (whose name has been lost to time lest her spirit be found) ran from the tent of infidelity and flung herself from a high cliff. As Galor watched his gods-given love fall, he knew then that he had been tricked by Artifae, the Scorned Goddess.
Galor’s ancient wrath, so long held in check by the love of an innocent maiden, boiled forth in blood and darkness. He stalked back to the camp and beheaded the whore, whom he believed to be Artifae in disguise (and none now live who can say if this is so). And a hatred for all the gods grew and blossomed in his cold heart (as had been Artifae’s intent all along, for she was despised of the gods and hated them all).
Galor then took up his sword and shield, donned his fearsome helm, and went down to the enemy he was supposed to defeat that day.
2000 men died by his hand that day, and the legend of the Godslayer was born.
It is now said that when it comes time for a god to die, the Godslayer is summoned to vent his mighty rage. It is also said that while he is now spirit only, his body may be reborn if his helm, sword and shield were to be re-united at the ancient battleground where his rage was made manifest—the Black Wastes.