What is a god without worshippers? What is a god without idols, prayers, or tomes exalting their very existence?

Nothing.

The Forgotten One was once a powerful being, a less god, but a god none the less. Tasked to scour battlefields and harvest the souls of mortals worthy of neither eternal glory or damnation, The Forgotten One saw his task as menial, lesser work.

Growing weary of what he saw as eternal servitude, he rose up against the other gods. Battling valiently, he was struck down, his form rent asunder and scattered into the winds like ashes. His very self was torn to shreds and imprisoned in limbo.

From here, he saw time flow. Civilizations rose and fell. Empires rose and crumbled to dust. As the mortals forgot his name, soon too, did he forget his.

Millenniums later, the very blade that struck him down was discovered floating in a river of lava. Almost lost to time once more, it was fished out by a vagrant whose desire to sell the lavish blade cost him his arm, and soon afterwards, his life.

The blade is chilled, painful to touch even when held with the thickest of gloves. Those that dare touch its hilt with bared flesh swear they could feel something crawl into their minds.

Perhaps not all of The Forgotten One was banished...