For GLOGtober, I think?
Grod Gral Fyn
He’s long and grey, with stretched and rooty limbs, and a crude-metal mask for a face. He has two tails and halfmoon horns. He lives in a black bog pool, under the roots of the deepest trees. He’s got seven shadows, which whisper cruel truths to him when the moon is full.
He’s a little god, of rot and stagnant pools. He sleeps down there, or swims in circles. Coax him to the surface at the water-riven cave, with fox-corpse and dripping tallow.
What does he want?
A draught of dreamless sleep.
Misery distilled.
The eyes of a sheep-king.
Your last breath - death will chase you closer.
What are his boons?
Invisibility. The crudest kind.
Fog, wrapped in bundles of fur.
Poison of sleeplessness, in a stone cup.
One of his shadows, to whisper you secrets.
What are his banes?
Icy chill, which others feel. It sours drinks and scares animals.
Hungry, chasing fog, which eats dreams first and your name last.
Welts and blemishes, blue and black.
Shadow-theft - shapeless under the sun, you are now Fyn’s thrall.
Rughi
She’s perched up there, in the branches above your head. Corded muscle, and plumes of green and dun feathers. Her huge and crooked wings hold round her like a cloak, as iron-taloned fingers grip the branches. She has a monkey’s face, red and big-eyed. There is a second shape, far above, made of cloudstuff, which follows her as she moves. It is huge, but indistinct.
Her voice is low and crooning, faintly sing-song. Coax her to a meeting with burnt fruit and scattered salt, at the old petrified tree.
What does she want?
Secrets from the realms of folk.
Disgusting booze made from wild fruits.
A song from a far-off land.
Your allegiance.
What are her boons?
Knowledge of the language of birds, taught by eating a rotten quince.
Old shiny treasures retrieved from high-cave vaults.
A storm-bezoar. Looks like a black hailstone, makes you immune to lightning.
You can easily break any bindings you’re put in.
What are her banes?
Stony limbs, slow and cracked.
Lightness, so light the wind could snatch you.
Birdshit - not birds shitting on you, bird shit.
Open, taloned violence, biting at your face.
Egyl
He walks among the trunks. He drags his stony heels in the leaf-mould as he hums off-key and cackles at nothing. He used to be a little god of hidden places, but they burned his shrine. He’s bitter, now, bitter and twisted.
He’s shaped like a little grey man, with an egglike head and black pitted eyes. Those fish-egg eyes worm in his sockets, as his branch-thick limbs creep for his axes and cord. Summon him rudely, with burnt wood and banging drums at the charcoaled copse.
What does he want?
Fire, in strange and unseen kinds.
Dismembered animals.
Compliments and grovelling.
Wanton destruction.
What are his boons?
Strong cord, so strong even a big god couldn’t break it.
Hot blood, smoking and steaming. People will give you a wide berth.
Boots which eat the sounds of your footsteps.
A black glass eye, to replace one you might have lost. It sees grudges.
What are his banes?
The worm mark. You look like easy prey.
Lockjaw.
Structures and vehicles you touch will collapse over the course of weeks.
Flammability.
Caligos
He was brought here by an army in older times, bound to a mile marker and mounted on a wagon. He boomed their war chants, he sang the songs, revelled in praise and adulation. Then, defeat, and abandonment. His marker has lain in a foetid pond beneath a weeping willow for some centuries now.
What shape is he? None can see, but the pond smells of gore, and the breath of horses, and the smoke of rusted guns. Attract his attention at the willow-bridge, with a bit of blood and an old marching song.
What does he want?
Admiration and camaraderie.
Weaponry, good weaponry.
Freedom.
Horse heads. By the dozen.
What are his boons?
A shiny old sabre. The bane of horses.
Soldier’s bones. They rattle when a foe draws near.
The general’s helmet. During a first meeting, you have charisma and authority.
The warp-spasm.
What are his banes?
Horrific nightmares of no-man’s-land and screaming mitrailleuses.
Hatred spreads out from you like a disease.
Dysentery and trench-foot.
Halitosis.
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