In the gentle hills and scrubland a day’s travel east of the city is an old shrine to a pastoral deity that serves double-duty as storage for the local goatherds and farmers. The shrine is not officially tended by any priests or clerics of the faith – but on special occasions, the locals come dressed in plain brown robes to sanctify their seed, their children, and their harvests.
Always present outside the shrine is an unassuming goatherd and their charges. The goats never wander far from the herder, and thus they can spend their time contemplating the world and their knowledge of it. Gifted by the pastoral deity with no need for food or drink, this sorcerer doesn’t so much guard the shrine as mutter curses on those who would defile or ransack the premises. While capable of greater magics in their defence, they generally stick to…
View original post 161 more words