Sing muse! A tale of darkness and grime. A tale of hope and of purity. A tale of heroism and adventure in a place opposed to both and in a place naive to both. Sing a tale of invasion and destruction, of insidious outsiders who wish only great harm on all things. A tale of a world in peril and a world destroyed by blight. A tale of a city by the sea, situated on a smattering of islands, and the actions of its inhabitants.

Down in the darkness below the bustling streets of Port Delta, all that can be heard is the sound of rushing water. Nearly inaudible, below the level of the flowing sludge is the almost silent scratching of small rodents searching for savory morsels of food in the rapids. These rodents may once have been able to be called rats, however if we could see them (which we can, as omnipotent viewers), they would look little like the familiar plague vectors we know and love. Horribly mutated as they are, many have more limbs and teeth than expected, while some others still have fewer. One even appears to have transcended physicality entirely, and bobs serenely through the air as a ghostly rodentine apparition.

Our story isn’t about them though, interesting and transfixing though they may be, we suddenly see a light appear from one of the many side passages, illuminating as it approaches the sturdily constructed brick walls with incomprehensible sigils glowing with powers both apocryphal and arcane. The approaching light is cast without appreciable heat, from what seems to be a normal torch held by the shorter of two figures. He also carries with him an ancient, beautiful but viciously pragmatic looking war-axe and is clad in a time worn yet somehow functional chain shirt. His taller, but still average height companion awkwardly wears cheap, second-hand looking chainmail with a notched greatsword. They both carry mops. They have most certainly been walking in silence for some time, the awkward uncomfortability of two strangers forced to spend time together in order to earn wages.

“Hey Dougan, why are we here?” The human asks his dwarven companion

“Look, lad. I know it’s your first day, but try to keep up: we’re here because there was an extradimensional disturbance somewhere near the outskirts of the sewer, and the college has a standing agreement with the city not to allow anything dangerous into the general population’s sewers. Since none of them high and mighty wizard types are likely to come down here and get their fancy robes all mucked up, we’re the suckers getting paid to do this. It was only an hour ago that we were told this, you ought to try to keep up,” Replies the dwarf, obviously a little chuffed at have to explain this.

“No, I mean more generally,” The human replies.

“Um, well. You see… I suppose perhaps you should be talking to a priest, lad,” The dwarf says, obviously treading uncertain ground here.

“Okay, maybe a bit more specifically than that” The human is obviously growing exasperated. “Why are humanoids still used as janitors in these places?”

“Ah. You’re new, aren’t you lad?”

“Well, yeah, you said yourself it’s my first day”

“No, I mean do you have any previous experience?”

“Not as such, but I’m pretty sure I’m qualified. My grandfather was a wizard.” This time it was the human who sounded uncomfortable.

“Ah. Well, you see, my father was a wizard’s janitor, and his father before him, and on back three generations, and I myself have been doing this close on 350 years now. All told, my family has more years of janitorial experience than the city senate has been around. I’ve been put out of this very job by any kind of horrible tame beastie you can imagine, only to have to come back and clean up after their messes. Go on and propose yourself a replacement for the likes of you and me.”

“Ok, well I guess we should start with the most obvious: animated constructs! Surely they would be thousands of times more productive than even a pair of sentients like us, and don’t require any pay at all. Not to mention the advantages of no longer needing to follow labor laws, deal with union negotiations, or worry about employees not liking each other. They’re even immune to most magic, so don’t need all these expensive magical safety precautions.” The human asks, pulling at the rune engraved rubber hip waders he was wearing over his loose armor.

“Aye, they’ll work all day and all night, but don’t rightly know when to quit. This means they usually require full-time supervision to make sure they aren’t doing something they aren’t supposed to. In fact, they’re the very reason why the college’s sewers connect up with those of the town proper. Some hapless neophyte fell asleep at the control rod while they were expanding the sewers, thinking as you do that there isn’t much that can go wrong. Before he knew it, the university’s dirty laundry is crawling up somebodies outhouse and rampaging through the town proper. Suddenly my job becomes part of the safety of the city, and requires tracking down and killing anything even remotely dangerous.

Besides that, do you have any idea how expensive those things are?! I’ve heard it took the full graduating tuition of a dozen students to pay for one of the blighters. Mind you, that’s just to pay for their creation; say nothing of the upkeep cost, control rod cost, and paying for one of the neophytes to babbysit the damn thing for the whole time it’s in use. That limits their usefulness as well, since not many neophytes are willing to stay up all night looking after a hunk of rock and metal and magic that ought to be able to think for itself. Not to mention the fact they smash up everything with their constant stomping about, you think these rune engraved dwarven bricks are cheap? Even if all those weren’t good enough reasons, some of the monsters down here are smart enough to smudge off the animating rune on the damn thing’s face, or kill the squishy little sentient holding the rod and doing the commanding.”

“Okay, Okay, those are some very good points. Well, what about just getting an enormous army of the undead. Sure they’d also need more supervision, but they’re cheap, tireless, and replaceable. It’s not as though there isn’t a surplus of people dying each day, they may as well be used for something that helps others. Plus it allows for family members to visit with their dead relatives, which has to be worth something.”

“Aye, but they stink to high heaven. Ye’re also neglecting just how difficult a veritable mountain of corpses is to come by without resorting to shady tactics, that lot upstairs are academics not adventurers. Besides that, they’re prone to carrying all kinds of dreadful diseases, and are otherwise considered by even the roughest of company to be more than a little off-putting. But the end-all, be-all, number one reason not to use mindless undead as cheap manual labor is that it screams out for all to hear in great blazing letters: Hello, all nearby religious institutions and paladin organizations, please quest on up to our doors and proceed to shove your burning holy longswords right up our collective jacksies.

You’re acting like you don’t even know the story of how a few students of one of the universities went off into the adventurer’s districts to have a few drinks (against university rules, mind you). They wound up in a loud discussion about how that darn necromancy college is probably up to all sorts of weird shady things, no matter how many senate led investigations were mounted into the belly of that black obelisk they used as a school. Some group of murder happy adventurers got it in their head that these dark necromancers had to be up to something fishy, and rounded up a group of the more religiously minded murderhobos to teach those black wizards a lesson or two in respecting the sanctity of life. That’s the very reason there isn’t a necromancy school in the city to this day, nobody wants to get murdered by a bunch of drunken zealots with more faith than sense.”

“Ah. That is an excellent objection on moral grounds. Okay, well what about those organic consuming oozes like gelatinous cubes, or one of those horrible garbage eating aberrations?”

“Oh, aye, just stick them in the hole and forget about ‘em, eh? Well, those cubic bastards absorb whatever junk they eat. Leave the buggers down there long enough and they wind up as half mad, part ethereal, frozen, electric, acidic, extraplanar monstrosities. Euch, that one was a terrible fight. Killed my grandpappy before we even had any idea that the bastard was anywhere near us. Just sucked him into its quivering mass, froze, shocked, teleported and ultimately dissolved him before we even knew it was near us.

Same goes for those horrible otyughs. Just gain an unfortunate amount of magical abilities that make it damn near impossible to fight without burning a crap load of magical charms and potions yourself, barely worth what we spent in order to murder the bugger. I still have nightmares about one of those tentacles reaching through a portal toward me, imbued with every kind of energy you can imagine, all while the bugger slung some horrible mutated spells at random. The worst was that I could see just a bit of the world it was smacking me through in a bit of the portal. Twisted alien landscapes inhabited by similarly twisted and alien monsters, near enough to drive a person mad… Both of those monstrosities killed over twenty students, and that tentacle-beast killed me own brother.”

“Okay, that’s something I wouldn’t have thought of. Well, what about bound outsiders? Demons, devils, angels and the like? They’re damn near invulnerable compared to most nonplanar creatures, and have all kinds of amazing spellcasting abilities that don’t have the limitations of what normal spellcasters have. Besides that, they’re tireless, powerful, and many are actually very excellent critical thinkers.”

“Well, you know all those lovely sounding positives you just listed off? Those are the main reasons they aren’t used as bloody janitors. I’m sure you can tell the biggest issue there is grudges. Those bound outsiders will always outlive their binders, and odds are they’ll come back and take revenge on whatever foolish organization hired that chump who enslaved them. Provided it still exists, and even if it doesn’t some of the more spiteful buggers will go after the offspring of anybody who was associated with the organization. Sometimes they’ll kill people who just walked by the building once, if they’re mean enough, and strong enough to get away with it. That’s if they don’t have pals back on their respective planes willing to come and bail them out, usually by murdering everybody that wizard has ever even heard of, and then murdering the wizard and devouring his soul and dissipating it into the astral plane. The higher planes are not good places to have on your bad side, no matter which plane you’re talking about.

The chaotic planes resent your intrusion onto their freedoms, and really don’t have the attention span to accomplish anything anyways. Besides that they aren’t terribly strong physically or reliable at all. The lawful planes will follow commands and are physically quite capable, but always think they have better things to do and see you as interfering with their purpose. The problem with evil planes should be evident, as they’re just waiting for somebody stupid enough to show up to torture. The good planes are the worst of the lot though, since binding one of them interferes with their holy mission making you the most evil sort that a mortal can be, who deserves whatever horrible punishment they can think up for you.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I get it now. Why don’t the colleges just hire adventurers then?”

“Ah, now you’ve hit the nail on the head son,” The dwarf said, while checking a map and turning down one of the many sewage offshoots.

“I have?” The young man asked, perplexed.

“Oh yes. Don’t you see? They did exactly that,” The dwarf said.

“Now listen. I don’t know about what you do in your nights and weekends, dwarf, but I’m certainly no adventurer,” The young man stated, a little offended at the implications.

“Well, not in name, and the city certainly doesn’t see you as one (not that I’m too torn up about that) but by all other accounts the biggest difference between us and adventurers is that an adventurer would have to be crazy to go into the same crypt or tomb or cavern every day for their entire professional lives. They know very well they cleaned the joint out of treasure the day before, but who’s to say there aren’t any more beasties come to tear them a new one? Or that they didn’t miss some, or that some weird experimental magic interacted with a ley line and broke open a portal to the elemental plane of earth.”

“That can happen? Wait, so you’re saying we’re basically on-call adventurers for a group of jerks living over a dungeon? That we basically exist to do daily troubleshooting for any dangerous messes or monstrosities that may pop up in the basement?” The young man was obviously beginning to become distressed.

“Well, look at it this way: how many unbelievably sized rats did you yourself kill on our way to get to this point today?”

“Oh god…” A look of horror slowly crept over the young man’s face, “my father will be more displeased than I originally thought.”

“Well, very few people think of it that way these days. Most humans, especially, forgot that we were ever looked at this way (no matter for how short a time it may have been). Besides, the job was created by a treaty between the city and the universities. That automatically adds an air of authority to any occupation, even one as smelly as ours. We also protect the city from all sorts of unspeakable magical creations every few days, whereas a group of adventurers could only claim to have done it once or twice in a decade, any good metropolis destroying plot requires decades to come to fruition. All them wizards upstairs manage to make it happen in the course of a few weeks, what with all that magic they dump,” The dwarf explained, holding his light close to map straining his eyes to see where he might be going.

“Wait, monsters? I sort of thought this job was just cleaning up messes from the wizards,” The young man sounded worried now.

“Well, you didn’t think we were going to be swabbing an extraplanar stain did you?”

The young man simply gulped.

“Ah, think of it this way lad,” the dwarf began, seeing the young man’s concern, “You’re getting paid a steady wage to do what an adventurer only hopes is going to pay off big. Adventurers are mad gamblers, stumbling into whatever holes they find and praying to whatever deity they worship that there is a stinking huge pile of gold or gems or some kind of magic doodads to make the whole thing worthwhile. Then they return topside and head straight to the nearest tavern to drink themselves into a stupor and fight a whole gaggle of other adventurers. They don’t get vacation time, no lunch breaks, no union representation. Hell, they aren’t even allowed into the regular parts of the city unless they’re registered and agree not to cause any trouble or damage. Conversely, we get paid time off, sick leave, compensation if ye’re injured on the job, and we know we’ll be getting a nice paycheck at the end of every two weeks.”

“Plus the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t have to sleep in the sewers a couple of days in a row,” The young man chimed in.

“Aye, now you’re getting it. Now ye ought to be quiet now, we’re coming up on the area where the ping sounded off. Put them goggles on so ye can see once I turn this light off, and ready that chopper.”

The young man placed the goggles over his eyes, and pulled his greatsword out from its sheath (but not without some difficulty) and signaled his readiness.

With that, the dwarf whispered a quiet word over the light, and it winked out leaving the pair in total darkness.

“All right kid, let’s get going towards whatever this thing is. Be quiet, keep behind me, and follow my lead, right?”

“Gulp” Was all the human could manage.

Port Delta RPG stuff Short stories

Kauai is the goddess of vacations, relaxing, trips to exotic locales and tropical islands. She is another imported deity, since Port Delta is temperate in climate. A group of islanders brought her with them on a trip looking for further trade routes for their kingdom, several sailors heard tell of the place and decided it might be worth it to head over to see what it was all about. Upon arrival, they discovered a tropical island paradise, and the locals discovered an important and nearly inexhaustible source of money. They ratcheted up the price of normal everyday goods, and set up luxury inns on the beach. Some of the sailors realized the goldmine they had found, and started an ocean travel line with the locals, bringing tourists in and charging for passage. The locals set up a block of time for their goddess of vacations (then relaxation and beaches) to have services at the temple of small gods as advertising.


The services have a roasted pig served to the congregation and guests, along with various other island delicacies such as island roots, tropical fish and fruits. Flavorful alcohols are served and islanders perform many of their traditional dances, including beautiful young women and grass skirts and muscular young men juggling fire sticks. The music and atmosphere are designed to relax and distract the people of the city, and convince them that they might want to travel out to the island sometime. This is an effective strategy, as the name Kauai has become synonymous with vacationing and has become city shorthand for their island.


Her symbol is a pair of crossed palms, heavy with coconuts and jutting happily from the sand of a warm beach. She is depicted as a beautiful woman in the traditional grass skirts of their dancers wearing a garland of flowers around her neck.


Now, speaking of the goddess of vacations, this site is going to be going on one (a vacation, not a goddess) until early June, then we’ll open with a fun short story alternating every two weeks with another serial story. I’m also considering other forms of content, and would love some ideas, if you want to toss them at me.

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods

Button is the goddess of orphans and abandoned children. A mother and caretaker to the downtrodden and the forgotten children of the city. Her followers are those who have been left to their own devices as long as they can remember, those who may never have known the comforts of home and the loving embrace of a parent. They are the urchins and ragamuffins who form gangs and roving bands in order to get what they need, food, water, shelter, protection. These gangs are fiercely protective of their deity and their protector, going so far as to damage and destroy the property of other churches that they see as “rivals” to their “mother.”


She began life as an orphanage owner, caring for the children of the city and doing her best to feed and protect them. Her children were her life and she was theirs, and they believed her to be a God, and this belief (as strong as a child can believe in a thing) caused her transcendence to divinity. She still owns her orphanage, and many of her followers are there, but she can only provide so much space and there are many children who would rather be on the street.


Her services are grand soup kitchens attended by the homeless and orphans in the city. Her earliest wards have become her most trusted priests and helpers, running her church and establishing the logistics of running a soup kitchen for all the homeless and parentless in the city. They use the money earned from the sale of miracles to purchase supplies, and have begun satellite orphanages and care facilities throughout the city.


Her symbol is a pair of angelic wings with a halo. This symbol wasn’t her idea, and was instead The design of one of her charges. She is depicted as she is (one of those few odd living gods that cause so many census problems), a matronly woman whose face is careworn with hair in a utilitarian bun.

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods

As’holia is the God of jerks. The deity of dicks, the patron of punks, and the Lord of louts. His followers are those who take pleasure in the pain and suffering of others, and seek actively to create such emotions to feed upon. They steal food from children, ask irritating questions they already know the answer to, park their horses and carts right in the way of traffic and also right in the way of the door to a business. The priests are scions of these acts, the pinnacle of the sport of creating misery where none currently exists and causing as much irritation as possible. They’re more likely to perform a miracle at random, charge you for it, and then pretend they didn’t hear you when you said what you wanted. They’re the kind who show up late to their services, half-ass things, and then knock off for the day early. This fairly accurately describes exactly how the services are run.


The content of the services is a complicated ritual of bizarre and uncomfortable motions made in a specific order, as a kind of ritual dance. The effect of watching this dance in its entirety is to become extremely nauseous and need to lie down. The congregation then continue on to chants that alternate between high and low pitched wailing, these make listeners feel as though they have forgotten to stub their toes on something hard (and proceed to kick a nearby object with an intent to hurt themselves). From there They move on to silent prayers for the strength to create the most misery and mayhem they possibly can within their lifespan.


His symbol is an unusual shape that is at once impossible to conceal or hold comfortably. It pricks and pokes to remind the bearer to cause irritation and pain to those around them (and provokes them in the wearer). He is depicted differently each time, so nobody knows who the person is in the picture, or what is going on.

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods

Yuck is the God of oozes, spines, jellies, puddings and various other unusual amorphous abominations of nature. These organisms are surprisingly common in the city, especially considering the extent and age of the city sewers. They wander the sewers, eating organic matter and protecting what they perceive as their territory. It is postulated that they live in vast colonies somewhere in the sewers, deep in some warm moist crevice below the earth. To this day, none of these colonies has been discovered, though part of this may be due to the absence of expeditions into the sewer, and poor rate of returns from those who do set off into the darkness.


The services are a topic of discussion in the city, mostly since no humanoid has ever been present for them. The sounds heard emanating from the windows of the temple are described by those daring enough to go near as liquidy sloshing or slapping, and a sort of bizarre humming vibration that you don’t hear as much as feel in your bones. There also happen to be odd flashes of light, as though there was some kind of unusual storm going on within. Nobody ever sees any of the things arrive or leave, but most assume they simply goo up through storm drains or the temple basements. Outside the temple stand odd cloaked men, who appear moist and slick even on the sunniest of days. These are the ones who perform miracles for visitors, and they do so quickly and quietly. What noises they do make are very wet and throaty, as though they are struggling to swallow while speaking.


Yuck’s symbol is an amorphous, wet blob of unknown origin and composition. It is incredibly disgusting and burns slightly to the touch. He is depicted as an enormous green blob who takes a vaguely humanoid shape, though seems to have disdain for facial features (as he doesn’t have any).

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods

Em-Eye is the God of heart attacks. He is worshiped by very few in the city (in fact he has only one true follower), but is paid tribute to by many of the city’s population, especially the elderly. He is a God who gives little and takes everything is those who he “blesses” possess. He comes with little warning and leaves just as quietly, taking many in their sleep, but just as many with tasks yet left undone.


His follower is an ancient man whose name is unknown. He appears in the temple on the days his God has reserved, and sits to receive prayers for protection, offerings and bribes to ply his god’s favor and stave off unexpected death for as long as possible. He gives aid to those who are willing to pay for it, but few are willing to risk owing the God for these miracles so only the brave or ignorant will purchase such services. When the time is through, the man disappears, never followed and not seen untilTyne next scheduled time.


This man and his God are the subject of much theological debate, as he does not appear to change appearance at all between services, even though the church has been active for years now. Some posit that he is a powerful wizard, chained into the God of heart attack’s services as part of a deal to save his life. Still others say he is the God of heart attacks, and that he came to exist simply out of fear of sudden death. Others think this is silly conjecture, and that he is simply a private citizens and upstanding member of the theological community.


Em-Eye’s symbol is an anatomically correct heart made from rusted iron, Brown with the appearance of decay and still as an unbeating heart. He is never depicted, for fear it will bring his attention to the artist.

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods

Anathema is the goddess of bad manners. Her followers are those who shun the traditional societal views of how people should behave, and seek to break as many of these rules as they possibly can. They believe that humans should be allowed to behave exactly as they wish, and not force themselves to be held to some ridiculous standards just because rich people say so.


Her services are great feasts, with buffet style serving and long tables to seat the entire congregation. The worshipers feast, eating voraciously and a touch bestially. No utensils, no napkins, elbows propped on the table and hands wiped off on shirts. Alcohol is swilled and spilled all down faces, with no regard for how they are viewed by outsiders. Various smells and disgusting human noises are made, a veritable assault on every sense a being might have.


Her symbol are a pair of hands, stained with food and gripping a turkey leg tightly. She is depicted as a filthy human, gripping the turkey leg and putting her feet up on the dinner table.

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods

Moistivus is the God of spitting. No one is quite sure how he became this, but he most certainly is now. His followers are few, but arguably talented? They have been gifted with an ability to spit distances that push the very limits of human ability and inspire aspirations in the hearts of young boys everywhere, who wish to be able to spit even an appreciable fraction of the distance they have achieved. This accomplishment is due to the training regimen contained within the sacred book of Moistivus, adhered to in every free moment of their lives, and a steady intake of water (to keep the mucous membranes wet).


His services are gross, but impressive. Each member takes time praying and meditating, trying to attain the zenlike state required for the maximum spitting distance. They empty their minds of all distraction, and fill their mouths with the most cohesive and voluminous loogey they can summon without completely draining their body of moisture. They take turns standing in a ritual circle, preparing themselves for their performance and offerings their final prayers for glory. All are silent now, watching the petitioner with breath held and attention transfixed. The man in the circle, until now perfectly still, becomes a blur of motion. Moving his body in an imitation of the waves of the ocean he flings his head back, and then forward. Once, twice, and on the third time his face contorts into a rictus of pain and concentration, forcing the liquid from his mouth at incredible speeds. All eyes watch as it speeds through the air, landing an unbelievable distance away. The acolytes run to measure the distance, marking it down in the book of great deeds. The next man stands and the cycle begins anew, his prayers going to the God of spitting.


His symbol is a drop of water (or spit) small end to the left and larger end to the right, as though speeding in that direction away from a mouth. He is never depicted in polite company.

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods

Mumbles is the goddess of wrestling, wrestlers and spectacles of physical ability. Her followers believe in strength and physical ability, as well as providing an excellent show and giving the crowd an incredible spectacle and display. Many have pseudonyms and masks, fighting and performing as alter egos both in order to protect their identity and to create an air of mystery to add to the show. Others use their real names and personality as an attempt to have success in the ring catapult them to personal success, fame and wealth.


She was brought into the city by a group of large oiled foreigners who wore masks and shorts and nothing else. They began organizing spectacular displays of their abilities, wrestling each other in the streets and putting on a grand show for those who passed. This began to acquire quite a following, and betting on the matches became commonplace. This lead to match fixing, which eventually became so complicated and common that betting ceased entirely. People still watched for the stories, however, and the matches were moved to the temple of small gods.


The matches and shows have become the services, with wrestlers fighting and grappling in front of the crowds in a grand elevated ring. The fights have grown in popularity and showmanship, to the degree that it has come to be considered an art form by many city denizens. People will pay a small fee for entry, and then petition services from priests who oversee the matches. The stories have become the main draw of the matches, and attendance has come to rival that of some of the largest plays put on throughout the city, and each wrestler has acquired a following of their own, some actively becoming larger than life.


Mumble’s symbol is a mask of black straps and steel, the overall effect being considerably intimidating. She is depicted as a muscular woman wearing the aforementioned mask, and she is always shown surrounded by black robes, hooded druids. No one really knows why this is, and chalks it up to being from a foreign country.

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods

LaSalle is the God of soldiers, armies, mercenaries, marines, navy and all other organized bands of folks fighting under some kind of leadership. He is something of an older deity, harkening back to when the city and Senate were allowed to raise and hold a standing army, instead of the current system in which the armed forces are raised and organized by the platinum houses. This has lead to a sort of bizarre schism in the followers of LaSalle, where each platinum house’s personal army is untrusting and cold towards the others, sometimes even coming to blows during the services themselves.


LaSalle himself was a cavalry officer during one of Port Delta’s many quests towards the acquisition of new lands to add to the nation’s holdings. He was well decorated, and highly respected by his men, seen as a great leader (if not the greatest tactician). During a battle with a group of hobgoblins holding a mountain range rich in metal ores, LaSalle was ordered to perform a holding action to prevent a route and slaughter during a retreat. LaSalle and his men bravely charged directly into the heart of the much larger hobgoblin force, causing panic and disorder in their ranks. Seeing this, a counterattack was ordered to take advantage and support LaSalle, but he was cut in half by a hobgoblin. His men and those who knew his reputation began to venerate the man and prayed to him before battles.


The services are ceremonial presentation of arms, and swearing subordination and fealty to their superiors through thick and thin. This gets confused due to the schism, and winds up being a humble of words and oaths. The group’s then set up to recruit new members from the population, competing with each other to provide services and hire on new folks.


His symbol is a helm with a plume with a sword in front, blade down. He is pictured as a swarthy man wearing a breastplate and extravagant pantaloons, and a large handlebar moustache.

Pantheon RPG stuff setting building small gods