They say she was a woman who loved life, lusted after it so recklessly that she was cut down too soon, by some accident or misplaced trust, whatever dangers the world has to offer were as exciting to her as its pleasures. Loving them as she did, Urgathoa had no wish to move on – they say she swam upstream against the River, threw herself back onto the living dirt of the Road – that she laughed and kissed the ground and the grass, that she praised Desna for all the adventures yet to come. That Desna recoiled, staring in awe and horror at the world’s first undead creature.
The goddess Hunger cannot taste food, cannot feel sated. None of the pleasures of the flesh which she so craved were available anymore. But she could not, would not, return to death and the unknown. She could not make herself face the possibility of unmaking. Instead she lingered, walked the world encouraging anyone who would listen to live their fullest lives…or sometimes their most grotesque and opulent lives, she sort of…lost track of sensibility after so long removed from the experience.
They call themselves the Famished. The cult of Urgathoa is hedonism taken to every extreme. She is everything that craves more, every urge demanding to be satisfied without restraint, every guilty pleasure, and they live that she might live vicariously through them.
Some don’t think to worship so much as study and emulate – jealous of her achievement, hungry to be like her, powerful and immortal yet still possessed of memory and personality. It is a hunger they rarely see as worship, and yet. She might tell them not to be jealous of her despair, but they will share it soon enough after all, as she watches their lives consumed with searching for the key to Forever at the cost of Now…and then, when they’ve died without living, she offers them another chance. Not a perfect chance, but they are so desperate to accept.
“You take what you can get,” is a popular saying among the Famished.
Holy places of Urgathoa are, somewhat paradoxically, great revels, feasts and festivals, places of indulgence and enjoyment, where the lifeblood runs strong – except, of course, that you won’t hear anyone praising her name at such an event. Practically nobody holds them in her honor, and they would never consider to be grateful for Hunger and Despair. However, there are times…some times, when bandits or goblins threaten a great celebration, when things could’ve turned sour…and nothing happens. Possibly the day after, some bones are found in the bushes nearby. Possibly there are a few graves disturbed, or somebody remembers that one fellow who laughed too loud and stared too intensely, he left earlier than anyone expected. (Similarly you might find her likeness in some brothels alongside
Calistra, depending on the attitude there.)
Urgathoa’s favored weapon is ingested poison – lichdust, arsenic, starving nettle, whatever makes your last meal memorable. Carrion eaters are her protected creatures – rats and vultures, beetles of all stripes. You take what you can get, after all.
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