Arman, the Toiling One

Arman, like the others in the celestial pantheon, was once a mortal man. A man of common birth who cared deeply about his community. He worked as a loriner for most of his boyhood, but clumsily, cutting and bruising his hands until the skin was as thick as leather, and his bones hardier than iron. He performed any task his people needed because even if he struggled, his toil would only make him stronger. He kept a large garden of roses, and he would tell those who would listen that roses are like the best people. They start small and ripen into beautiful communities of vibrant colours. They care not for war and conflict, they never attack. But, anyone who would dare to harm them won't get away without a thorn or two.
Whenever someone in his community was punished, Arman volunteered to take the punishment for them, and if not, with them. He was beaten by soldiers, flogged in the streets, starved in prison cells, and each time he came back broken. And every time, he would heal, miraculously, beyond any human ability.
Historians believe that Arman was the original discoverer of the healing properties of Bloodroses, the dull flowers used in healing elixirs.
Arman toiled for his people all his life, but despite his years, he appeared so young. This along with his seemingly miraculous recoveries painted him in a heretical light, and he was drafted into the legion of the dead. So, with a thousand other heretics, he was forced to march into the feywood with only a deathwalker's cloak and an old sword to face the horrors which dwelled there. Nobody knows the toils Arman faced within the feywood, but he returned once again unharmed and untainted, but changed somehow, naked beneath his deathwalker's cloak, seemingly impervious to corruption.
Since he had been sentenced to death, and his cloak hadn't killed him. He was returned to the capital and burned on a pyre for his heresy. The flames did not seem to pain him, they barely seemed to burn him. He burned for twelve days and nights, never flinching or screaming, never begging. He spoke normally with the men who watched him. He told tales of his toils and the people who he toiled for. Eventually, he convinced the men that this pyre was wasting the people's firewood, their oil, and filling the city with ash and smoke. If they wished to kill him, they needed only remove his head.
Still, the faith demanded he burn, and threatened to burn his people if he wouldn't die. So he forced his body to shut down, allowing the flames to take him. He became kindling for the fire, and as it burned him, the fire glowed golden as he disappeared into golden ashes, scattered in the winds.
And yet, he remained, when the people toiled from that day on, thoughts of Arman made their lot a little easier. When the people were sick and wounded, with no wealth to spare, thoughts of Arman saved them to toil one day more. And when the people prayed, they prayed not to Kormir or Lokar, but to Arman.
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Follower Alignment: Neutral Good, Chaotic Good, Neutral, Chaotic Neutral
Divine Ability: Strength, Constitution
Divine Skill: Athletics
Favoured Weapon: Fists
Primary Domains: Toil, Cities, Protection, Travel
Alternate Domains: Luck
Divine Font: Heal

The mural depiction of Arman wrapped in his cloak of death. Painted in Arman's Pyre within the commons of Gran Sabine.