Goibiniu

Goibniu the weaponsmith supplies arms that never miss and always kill, aided by Creidhne the metalworker and Luchtaine the carpenter. The three craftsmen comprise a triple deity working in tandem, but Goibniu also sits on the People’s war council. Though he works with hammer and anvil more often than sword and sling, the Fomorians consider him and his Scions the greatest threats to their victory, and try to destroy them at every turn. When Brigid’s treacherous son ran him through with a spear of his own making, he yanked it out to slay his attacker with it, took a dip in the leech God’s well, and went back to his forge without so much as a complaint.

The smith hosts a grand feast in his Otherworld realm, where the Tuatha quaff his magical ale that cures all ails and keeps them immortal. He upholds hospitality as the highest form of honor, though mortal visitors to his table should beware; his fae brew prevents drinkers from returning home until they’ve fulfilled all their duties as guests — and these ancient rules weren’t written to accommodate humanity’s limitations. When more prideful Gods wanted to oust the Gaels from Ireland, Goibniu helped Ériu convince them to accept Honor’s dictates and leave the World to those who’d won fair and square.

Goibniu shapes Scions on his anvil as whole-cloth creations as often as he fathers them. They work as hard as they play. They’re tough cookies: hearty, hale, and difficult to kill, with a resourceful streak. They’re generous providers and enthusiastic hosts who make friends easily, but don’t take well to slights and betrayal. They tend bar and fix cars, volunteer in soup kitchens and run guns for honorable causes, manage boarding houses and ply artisanal trades. They like to be in the thick of things, which only emboldens the titanspawn who paint targets on their backs, knowing they’re just as dangerous as their maker