[u]Name: [/u]
Dust, Minor God of the Desolace

[u]Age: [/u]
Upstart

[u]Appearance: [/u]
He takes the form of a goblin.  He is thin to the point of malnourishment, tiny by human standards, 
with unkempt black hair and a large nose and slightly perky pointed ears.  He has large, watery, dark brown eyes.  
He's probably green-skinned beneath the dust and grime.  He wears a very worn, dull brown hooded robe that is 
several sizes too large and held by a simple hemp cord at the waist.  He would be easily mistaken for a mound of 
rags if it weren't for the small wooden sword at his hip.  The sword itself is simple, a training device or possibly a 
child's toy, but burned to the point of charcoal, with cracks along its surface that glow amber when he summons his 
power.

[u]Nature: [/u]
Independent

[u]Personality: [/u]
He has spent countless ages alone and normally does not seek out humanity.  When he speaks, it's 
with a small, raspy, nasally voice that seems to apologize for intruding upon the world.  He has knowledge of life 
beyond the nothing of his land, and of the war that raged between the gods long ago, but no desire to become 
explicitly involved in either.

[u]Skills and Abilities: [/u]
As a minor deity born of barren wastes and long-dead ancient ruins, he has some control over 
fire and ash.  His wooden sword can spout light and flames at will, and he can summon (or even transform into) 
whirling clouds of ash and dust to shield himself and confound opponents.  He can't be harmed by fire, whether 
natural or magical, and will simply burn to ash and reform himself.

[u]Backstory: [/u]
Black winds howled and ashes roared throughout the desolate land.  A war, or possibly a blistering 
drought, or maybe unfathomable and unholy magics, had torn all life from it countless ages ago.  The intelligent 
races avoided it believing it cursed with the hungry souls of the dead, and all other life refused to enter its 
borders.  In the very center of the wasteland, witnessed by no mortal or immortal spirit, a golden light flickered 
briefly through the ebon storm.  The everlasting clouds parted, a single ray of sunlight breaking through for the 
first time in thousands of years.  Dust breathed in, the cinders filling his lungs and opening his eyes.  He looked up 
just as the light faded and the clouds churned across the sky once more.  He looked before him, mountains barely 
visible at the limit of his vision.  He walked.

[u]Connections:[/u]
None so far.

[u]Religion: [/u]
He was likely born from mortals' idle thoughts of a lonely god haunting the desolace, but has no 
followers of his own.  He leaves the higher gods to their petty disputes and wanders the land alone.

[u]Nation: [/u]
His land has been dead and its history lost for centuries, and has no name beyond "the desolace" or "the 
wastelands."