Upon the shadow and light wreathed realm of Skazka, the gods reign - not always as shepherds of the weak, but sometimes as immortal tyrants of unfathomable power. Worshiped by humans, elves, and other mortal kine, these beings drift far above the trifles of the living. Their eyes, if they turn toward the world at all, do so, for the most part, with indifference. For the fates of mortals are but fading embers in the furnace of their ancient wills. Yet even such distant divinities are bound by a grim truth: their strength is tethered, in part, to the devotion and dread of those who kneel before them.

Some of these gods were not born to the heavens, but clawed their way into them. Once mortal, their deeds in life twisted the balance of cosmic judgment so profoundly that the fabric of creation itself yielded, exalting them with a grim and terrible divinity. As they lived, so they ascended. Thus was Lolth forged — once a mortal weaver of webs and whisperer to spiders, who bent the arachnid swarm to her vendettas. In death, she rose as the Spider Queen, goddess of venom and shadow, dark matron to the cursed Drow.

like the Annarr, were wrought not from flesh, but from the will of the Vekya — the Primal Forces that shaped the stars and stirred the void into being. The Vekya are not worshiped, for they are not gods in the eyes of the devout, but something older, colder — foundations upon which reality shivers and stands. Their essence is revered in silence, honored in dread, for they do not speak, yet all things speak of them. Their truth is whispered in every dying flame, in every birth cry, in every quiet grave.

And so the gods walk Skazka, or watch from afar, terrible and eternal—born of reverence, of wrath, of myth, and of monstrous purpose.