A small insignificant god that is the patron deity of minute fragments of crockery, slimy things that go "plop" in puddles who has somehow managed to gain absolute control over the life of some poor soul named Legendar. Yorazno's view of it's hero has varied from indulgent cooing to wrathful vengeance, rarely in favour of said hero. He sends meaningless drivel messages with frequency and has bid me to write this miserable paragraph because he can't be arsed. If you know what's good for you, don't worship this god, if he decides that he doesn't approve of your acctions, you'll soon smell the stench of charred flees emanating from your lightning-struck rear end; or worse yet he may provide some encouragement in the form of a swarm of devouring flies.
Noone knows of the origins or mythology of this infernal sovereign, and frankly, noone cares: if you fell like fleshing out this description, feel free, all imput is welcome.