Roach.

The god of loyalty and trust. Of the respect between friends and the gentleness of two young lovers who plan to claim forever for their own.

While other gods specialize in vices or power, Roach prefers the softness of simplicity.

Yes, Roach’s revelry was the calmness of holding a loved one close just before the sun rises, or of whispering quiet secrets into the still night air, trusting another to keep those secrets close to their chest. Roach couldn’t abide betrayal or injustice, refused to bless those who did not show respect. Not just to him, but to all living creatures.

Down on your luck, you stop to rest at his temple. It’s a crumbling place, with nobody to keep it properly run or cleaned. The walls are cracking, the roof bowing.

You kneel, your body aching and weary from your travels. You’re clothes are tattered, your sandals splattered with mud. Exhausted, you mumble a half-hearted prayer and lean against the base of the marble statue raised over the alter, depicting Roach with a gentle expression on his youthful face.

He’s just a bit below average height, with lightly muscled arms and a winsome jawline. His hair is short and tufted, and he’s dressed in a long tunic, with a cloak draped over one sturdy shoulder.

You close your eyes, feeling the wind buffeting through the stone columns to bring fresh air to you.

“You look like you could use a proper meal and someplace nice to rest,” says a sympathetic voice from at your side. “Don’t fret. I can take care of that.”

Your eyes snap open, and there he is.

Roach.