Mora, Saint of the Death Unjust

Her name in life is unknown, records lost, but after death she was called Mora, Saint of the Death Unjust. Listen now, for this is not a story that bears telling twice.
She has lost everything -- her husband, her siblings, her home. All the woman had left were the clothes on her back, and her little daughter in her arms. It was winter, cold and dark, and they found themselves begging for a little warmth from the fire, a sip of milk or a crumb of bread, at a local szlachta's midwinter feast. The family was proud, and embarrassed that their guests should see the town's imperfections, so they had the woman thrown out, dragged from the hall by hair and left beaten in the snow outside. The woman and her daughter were unable to find shelter, and spend the night wandering until they could wander no more, finally collapsing on the side of one of the hills that would have made Morav a beautiful town, if not for its rulers' pride. It was too much for the little girl; she died as the sun rose, her mother's broken curse the only sound to break the dawn's silence.
The town's lords refused a proper burial, citing lack of resources for the fire, and although they have taken the girl's body to be stored with others who have died recently, the woman was thrown out for disturbing the town's peace and forbidden from entering the boundaries again. So she walked away, each breath a curse upon the lords and ladies of Morav, and hasn't stopped walking until she reached the North-Eastern coast; today the place is known as the Coast of Murmuring Souls, but the First Saint lived in a time before people knew to revere the death goddess or fear her land. Then the woman turned around, and began visiting North-Eastern towns and villages, always entering at Ancestors' Eve, begging shelter from kind strangers. At dawn after Dziady (Ancestors' Night) she'd disappear again, leaving small blessings for those who welcomed her and sharp curses for those who turned away.
For years this continued, until one day she found herself in the town where it all started. She remembered the wrong done to her, and the curses she promised for it. At dawn after the Dziady, the woman stood in the spot her daughter breathed her last breath, looked down at Morav gleaming red and gold in the rising sun, and with a steady-handed slash of a bone knife Mora unleashed hell onto it.
You see, during all her travels she wasn't just surviving, she was collecting. Souls of the murdered and the murderers, of the drowned and the burned and the broken, all bound to her life, all feeding off her rage and despair. Now as her life was draining out of her and seeping into the white snow, these souls were given shape and purpose. Unholy abominations, by all accounts: still bearing marks of their deaths, some decaying, some whose flesh blended into thorns or rock, young rose branches wrapped with maggots crawling where fresh leaf buds should be, blooming grey and brown and black moths, blood in their teeth and under their fingernails.
A dozen of these demons descended upon the unsuspecting people of Morav, first aiming at the szlachta's holdings, then outwards at those not quick enough to flee. The whole day the slaughter continued, and the whole night. No one is sure who started the fire or when, but by dawn the next day the town was aflame. It was left burning; for days only the most desperate dared enter, and their dying screams could be heard even over the blaze.
Morav never recovered. They say Mora's body is still there, untouched by fire and the passing of time, the first and last temple to the Lady of Murmuring Souls.

Summary

Mora is regarded to be one of the first Saints of the current era. Driven to madness after the loss of her family and home, she gave herself to the Lady of Murmuring Souls in exchange for revenge on the people who killed her daughter. In a span of a few days, the town of Morav ceased to be, the temple to the Lady of Murmuring Souls was made, and the legend of the First Saint was born.

Historical Basis

There are only few records of a dziadówa matching Mora's description from before the time of her death, but the event itself and the immediate aftermath is well documented. Eye-witness accounts have been gathered and common threads noted by the investigators the Rosdravian family sent; the records are still stored in the royal archives, though access is highly restricted.

Spread

Mora's story is on most people's minds when they encounter a wandering beggar/peddler, as a warning should they think to ignore or be rude to them. The story has spread through Northern Rosdravia and Eselvehr with a stream of refugees.

Variations & Mutation

Some stories say Mora used an artifact, gifted to her by the death goddess, to bind the souls; some have the souls bound to Mora herself.
Sometimes she's a witch; when the then-young death goddess refused to bring her daughter back, Mora destroyed her in a fit of rage and went mad, unable to tell real from not, right from wrong, dead from the living.
Sometimes Mora doesn't die at the end: if she's a witch, often she's cursed to be wandering the lands forever, stuck between living and dead, demons of her own making eating at her body; otherwise she's at the death goddess' side, one of the spirits guarding the temple or the First Priestess.

Cultural Reception

The circumstances of Morav's destruction led to an adjustment of the Rosdravian death rites and Dziady (Ancestors' Night) celebrations. All dead were to be burned, regardless of status or manner of death, to purify the souls and prevent them from rising as demons. The ashes would be stored at special shrines and buried during the spring or autumn Dziady, at which the souls of the departed would be given one last chance to taste food and drink, bathe, be warmed by a fire, tie any loose ends.
Wandering beggars and peddlers were assumed to have knowledge of the divine, and power to cast terrible curses if treated badly. It became tradition to ask them for blessings and advice, especially in matters relating to death, in return for gifts and shelter.