A powerful Thracian musician with the power to charm all living things, he is most famous for his descent into the underworld to reclaim Eurydice. He was torn apart by Maenads for failing to honor Dionysus. Other myths credit him with the invention of civilization, vegetarianism, homosexuality and a set of magical practices called the Orphic mysteries.
I love the late Terry Pratchett's approach to the issue: ALL the overlapping myths are true because stories are a parasitic life-form that reproduces by making the stories happen over and over, so at any one moment you might have DOZENS of young women pushing their evil grannies into ovens, gods creating lands by ripping off their father-gods' genitalia (so messy!), abandoned babies who turn out to be royalty, and young musicians defying underworld gods to get their wives back.
I've used a similar idea of godhood in my fantasy game (when I have enough gamers to run it); there are only four gods, elemental, but each one has many aspects, often related to how the local sentients perceive them; hearthfire vs. wildfire vs. volcano and all the rest.
My older sister and her husband were here for Christmas, back from a Quaker group trip to the Isle of Iona & thereabouts, and she brought me a couple of those British decorated tea-towels: one with cute li'l hedgehogs, and the other from Lindisfarne, printed with a mix of map, monastery, and those decoratively interwoven capital letters. And I'm afraid I still can't stop seeing those interlaced dragons and suchlike as, you know, more Beowulf than Bethlehem. But that's my problem, not my sister's or the long-dead monks, so I try not to worry about it.
I just wish our species wasn't so hardwired for inventing divisions and oppositions: Let's split into teams and hate each other! Plergb; I'm off to eat some good dark chocolate and look for where I might have packed Pratchett's JOHNNY AND THE BOMB.