It had been weeks, or maybe even months, since Vatarr retreated behind his recently erected walls and trenches. Griffith had screened the border with “men” and deliberated an assault. Reports had come in about the emergence of new fauna that seemed suspiciously effective against the offspring in a manner he’d not encountered in any other realm — surely Vatarr’s doing. Talia and her group gathered a variety of these plants and herbs for the magi to study. Nea was still tied up in stabilizing the leaderless 22nd realm, Dorian and Duncan hadn’t been heard from since they left, and now Grym had a real army knocking on their door.
Gryf couldn’t afford a drawn out engagement, even one where he’d win, so he hatched a plan. He staged a retreat during the night with his entire force, an act so obvious that it couldn’t be missed or ignored, all the while Talia’s numbers would disperse throughout the 26th realm starting a number of fires throughout the realm to create chaos. Gryf pushed up to the 27th realm’s Northwestern border and feigned an assault, hopefully prompting Vatarr to act as rashly as he’d done when he invaded the 23rd realm and draw him out. And there amid the northern foothills of the 27th realm, Gryf got his answer.
The wind was particularly ragged that morning, with a freezing chill coming in from the East, a chill that brought a smile to Garravar’s face as he walked alongside Gryf, a smile that set everyone on edge.
“The winds of change are upon us,” was all Garravar said when prompted about his mood, settling the matter as quickly as it came up. The pair of gods turned from one another and looked back over the hills, where smoke was rising here and there from their screening forces and in areas the atmosphere cleared, a sickly yellow haze of spores hung. For a fake assault, it was quite convincing.
“And it’s about dam time. I’ve been idling on Vatarr’s border for weeks.” Gryf scoffed. “Once we kill Vatarr, we should speak — the north has begun to move.”
All at once the air behind Garravar shimmered and a resounding bang exploded. The heavy ball of Vatarr’s weapon, Death, slammed against the winter god’s head, shattering it into a cloud of crystal flakes. The antlered god smiled, his face visible for just a moment. “Kill who?”
With a flush, Garravar’s body shattered and drifted into the wind only to reform next to Gryf, an unamused glare stuck on his face. “Some things are just beyond coincidence.” But as Garravar’s quip left his mouth, Vatarr was already invisible again.
Gryf's vision shifted from side to side looking for any sign of movement, one hand firmly clenched around the grip of his blade. As he drew the hefty blade from its sheathed, he turned directly toward Vatarr's current position with a boisterous smirk.
"Vatarr." The name slipped out just above a whisper. A faint vermillion glow appeared around the blade, one that also outlined and revealed Vatarr to him as well. The name became etched into the base of the blade itself and Gryf charged a bewildered Vatarr, swiping at him through the chaotic mist with reckless abandon. Perhaps he'd be fast enough to enter and leave before its effects took their toll, but Gryf was fully prepared to lose an arm if it meant cutting off that smug bastard's head.
The blade tugged on rotting flesh and just as Gryf’s right hand began to melt, he passed through the cloud. Turning back he could see the magical outline of Vatarr stumble for a moment. A surprised “...How?” fell from the deer god’s mouth — the arm that held healing had been severed, his weapon on the ground. He reached for it, but a frosty hand —simmering endlessly in the chaotic cloud— picked it up first.
An evil smile stretched across Garavar’s face as he backed away from the fight. “This will be interesting.”
Not giving Garravar more than a growl, Vatarr spun around, Death swinging wide at Gryf.
“Ow ow ow, fuckin’ son of a- nnnngh!” Gryf whined. Unlike his predecessor, Gryf’s body had warm flesh and live nerve endings with which to feel the excruciating pain of his arm nearly being dismantled. It remained mostly in tact, though somewhat deformed from the chaotic decomposition and fungal spores sprouted in various spots. Not much time was left for him to whine however, as Vatarr reacted. Afraid of being caught in the cloud again, Gryf threw himself horizontally away from Death’s aura. This hasty reaction put him in a rough tumble through dust and rubble, allowing him to avoid the worst of Death’s effects, but further inhibiting his misshapen appendage. Gryf’s silhouette slowly appeared to stand in the billow of dust that had kicked up, only now the blade was in his left hand as his right was clearly of no use now.
“At least when you die, it won’t be nearly this painful. Maybe that’s what I’ll put on your headstone, “Vatarr died painlessly; a courtesy he never bestowed on others.” Gryf slurred through his partially melted face, wincing toward the end of his quip.
“You’re right, you won’t find that courtesy from me!” Vatarr hissed before swinging again, goopy gore spilling from his open wound from the movement. Garravar’s voice called from behind Vatarr.
“Finish this.”
Gryf charged directly toward Vatarr once more. It looked, at first, as if he were going to repeat the traded blow to rend Vatarr’s remaining arm but his eyes were fixed on Death. He purposely plunged into Vatarr’s range and waited for him to lunge forward to counter before reversing his grip on the hilt of his blade and propelling himself off the ground into a high arcing leap over the dangerous mist. No sooner did Gryf’s feet touch the ground behind Vatarr did he pivot and drive the claymore like a javelin toward Vatarr’s skull. Vatarr had reacted quickly, whipping around with Death in hand, but did not expect to see the pointy end of a claymore mere inches from his face. There was the beginnings of a visceral shriek that abruptly ended once the weapon perforated a gorish hole all the way through Vatarr’s head. An expression of disbelief remained memorialized on his now lifeless face.
The mists of Death slowly began to dissipate as a cold breeze came wafting in. A red pulse formed in the sky, but something was different.
“Strange,” Garravar announced as the reddened sky stayed red. “Another dead north of us, what coincidental timing…” Before Garravar could finish the thought, a shattering sound rocked the battlefield and a blackened crack wedged itself in the sky, splitting the bloody atmosphere in half.
“We have to move quicker than we have been.” Garravar was staring upwards at the sky, no sign of fading from either the black or red.
“We’re in the end game then, eh? Where are you headed off to then, G-money?” Gryf rends the blade from Vatarr’s skull, its aura fading and the engraved lettering gone. He took Death for himself while motioning for the Offspring to ‘re-enlist’ Vatarr. In doing so the revivified Vatarr grew a new arm from the spores, several root-like features emerging and intertwining from the gash to resemble a limb. The rupture as well as his frozen expression remained, presenting a creature that can only be described as blasphemous.
“The same place as you,” Garravar answered. “We have to head north, there is one final battle to be had before the crucible can be decided. You control the 18th node, yes? Change the climate to one of winter, we will make our stand there.”
"Yes, I'm aware. Those northerners have been very rude guests for some time. No time left for pretense then." Gryf ordered most of the offspring under his command to begin indiscriminately infect the mortals of Vatarr's realms now that chaos from the wildfires had thrown them into disarray. He would return north with just the mages, while the offspring here would multiply and form an auxiliary hive as a backup plan. Gryf did not need to win the northern war if he made it impossible for the North to conquer the South in their weakened state, though he was trying to win the war all the same. This was more of a backup plan, anything to prevent the ascension of a singular God.
Gryf got bored of watching Vatarr play Civ IV in his little cities and making plants that harmed the flood, blablabla. He retreated to draw Vatarr out and had his warriors set various fires in the realm to destroy the corrosive fauna and inflict general chaos. Vatarr took the bait, fought with Gryf and Garravar, and Vatarr died. Garravar has Life, Gryf has Death, Vatarr is flood Vatarr now and the party’s headed north after a long rest/level uuuuuuup.
-4 Might Nameless Blade: When drawn, the wielder of this claymore gives it a name. The name given to the sword is who it’s bound to kill. The one named is unable to hide or conceal themselves from the wielder (i.e. invisibility or other methods of hiding ones presence/disguising appearance are null). The blade can pierce any armor or barrier created by its namesake and can inflict damage/kill its namesake in whatever form they take. The blade is not guaranteed to kill in a single blow and its injuries can be healed normally, however, barring a fatal blow of course. While the blades namesake cannot hide from the wielder, this effect only extends up to about 100ft. so it isn't as if they can be tracked at all times. The blade emits a faint aura within this radius of its namesake and the same aura can be seen emanating from the named individual, revealing them. This aura is only visible to the blade's wielder. Anyone can wield or name the blade. The blade can only have a single name at a time and that name cannot be changed until the blade has killed its namesake. It is also incapable of harming any individual aside from its namesake. If its namesake dies by means other than the blade then its power is lost. A divine may empower the blade again should this happen, using a measure of divine might equal to what was needed to create it in the first place. Once its namesake is killed by the blade it becomes Nameless once again.
Clouds slowed until utterly and eerily still, the sky around them dulling to grey before flashing a scarlet that consumed the horizon. Grym felt intuitively that this phenomena was probably not localized and would continue outward until every being in the Crucible had seen it, the marking of a dead God. It reminded him of a similar instance that occurred during the march South, though lacked context that now had been provided through first-hand experience. If anything, such a sign would only provide more credibility to the thread he’d spin — assuming anyone would hear him out. Garravar wasn’t wrong to be suspicious, but this wouldn’t be fun without a gamble.
Plenty had to be done before Grym could leave the 22nd realm. Of course he’d claimed the node at this point but, unfortunately, Brey had made it more difficult by hiding his wealth of knowledge and evacuating the main city to surrounding settlements and safe havens. Grym tasked Nea with finding and relaying Vatarr’s brutal murder of Brey to the peoples, lending Akky to facilitate the process. She was better suited for the job and he knew better than to personally interject, considering the last time he’d visited it was with an army bent on conquest.
Meanwhile, Grym scryed into Brey’s memories using his skull as a medium to determine where the geezer hid an entire library’s worth of knowledge. Finding out was simple enough, but returning the vast amount of texts to their shelves (and cleaning up the library itself) was an incredibly time consuming task. Luckily the offspring proved immensely useful in this regard, acting as manpower and being particularly proficient in organizing the library properly through their shared network of information. The offspring were to restore the library and then amalgamate around the node to create a sub-colony with which to reproduce and communicate with the Cradle. Nea would paint Grym as an interceptor who failed in defending Brey, but managed to force the ruthless Vatarr to flee — and the offspring, ever-obedient guardians.
Grym felt comfortable leaving Nea and the offspring to finish tidying up once the projects had been set in motion. No warning bells had been rung in his absence, meaning the Cradle hadn’t been overrun or attacked yet, but it did strike him as strange. Whatever was going on up there, it would be better for him to get ahead of a potential conflict before it’s too late. He already knew next to nothing of the northern realms, aside from Monica’s retelling and that was ages ago it felt. So he fashioned an extremely large saddle for his new flying, fire-breathing megalodon and made haste for his home.
After passing the threshold to 18, he made a few quick stops along the Southern settlements to inquire about any potential developments. Most mortals didn’t travel north out of fear of the Cradle, even though they’d not been bothered, but the few who had mentioned minor skirmishes with an unknown force toward the northern border. Grym boarded his noble steed once again and made a beeline for the Cradle. It was probably too late to prevent a battle now, but that didn’t mean all was lost. For now, he’d have to see the situation for himself and decide from there.
The brave mortals of the eastern army who had marched out to face the insidious eldritch hive glowered out from behind their fortifications at the mosterouse legions that their invasion had stirred from slumber.
Incidentally the fortifications they were currently holed up in were exactly the same ones that they had marched out from, because their glorious leader had taken one look at the hordes of offspring and had about turned the army and marched them right back on the double. Opinions were, to be frank, a bit mixed on this strategy.
“Look, I know it doesn’t look good, but we are now at a strategic advantage!” The heavy set General Damio insisted from atop the walls of a fortress of dirt which were overlooking the siege line. He was speaking with a delegation from the Eumonian council who wanted to know why they had received reports of him setting out, only to then find him having returned back to his initial position without drawing a single drop of blood.
“The enemy is right at our door, yes, but that is what we set up to do in the first place! Really you should be mad that I jumped the warhorn before the east finally got its act together not that I came back” he insisted, which got some grumbling from the delegation but they let him continue “Now we’ve got our defenses primed and ready to meet them, and some new toys to hold them back. We’ll hold them here and grind them to dust if they dare to come at us!”
Indeed, the various trenches and forts that were spread across the pass between the 13th and 18th nodes were extensive and well dug in. Not only that, but their compliments of spears and crossbows were now augmented with a fresh delivery of magitech disk launchers and even the odd stone thrower, though those portable magic weapons where fewer in number than even their big brother artillery pieces, the 12th realm still having a way to go till they could start mass producing the intricate personal weapons.
Arrayed against them, well out of range of any of the siege weaponry, was where Grym found his offspring, who had acted on instinct to respond to the invasion and now that it had been chased back to its starting point where simply standing there. Menacingly.
“Oh dear,” were the words that reflexively fell from Grym’s mouth upon reaching an almost barren Cradle. The path of flattened earth leading north meant the Cradle had clearly mobilized nearly everything it had, but for what reason? He couldn’t help being excited to see for himself, despite initially intending to wait for Nea to catch up. In his new armor and sword-spear in hand, he followed the treaded path aboard the flying, fire-breathing megalodon. Surely, they’d understand he came to vouch for peace.
Soon enough, hordes of offspring appeared over the horizon. They had organized into legions, clearly prepared for an assault and yet stood ominously still just away from the border. It was difficult to say from a glance alone, but the path ended where they stood and there were no signs of a battle waged.
“Did I make it in time? How unlike me.” Grym said aloud to himself. “You guys stay right here. Little G’s gonna see what’s up.” He addressed the offspring directly. “And uh, if I’m not back in a few hours you can feel free to kill everything north of the border.”
His orders were met with a cacophony of dissonant groans. I’m sure they get it. He thought to himself and then turned his attention toward the encampments in the distance. About halfway through no-man’s-land, Grym dismounted the shark and ordered it to join the horde while he proceeded alone; waving a tiny black flag. Until the distance between himself and the trenches was about one hundred meters, assuming the visitors didn’t turn him into a pin cushion on sight, he’d continue waving the flag to signal a request for parley.
“Who in the world is that and what is he doing?” Damio asked out loud when he spotted the parohcing figure, before lifting up a newfangled spyglass and taking a closer look at the figure who aptly matched only one known description.
“What the piz, is that Grym?!” the general identified the incoming figure, right before his head snapped to the side at the sound of crackling magics. One of the new disk clauncher crews had done the same identification routine as him and, as waving flags around in no way being a universal request for peace in this place, they responded as they would to an attack, which was to panic and immediately fire at the incoming god.
Before the general could stop them, a round shield sized disk when hurling off towards Grym, the hastily fired slamming down into the dirt beside him, kicking up a ploom of dirt before it started flashing menacingly.
Soldiers scrambled in their trenches with the echoes of confused yelling audible enough to hear from where Grym stood, but not clear enough to identify exactly what was being said. One rather decorated gentleman seemed to stick out among them, squinting directly at him. Just as the huss and fuss was dying down, a dangerous looking disc zipped through the air and hit the dirt several feet short of him — causing him to wince.
“In hindsight, maybe I should’ve made a sign.” The short-sighted God muttered to himself. Staring at the disk crackling and trembling in the earth, he pointed toward it and loudly asked, “Is this thing dang-”
His question was both interrupted and answered by the disk’s shattering explosion, sending shards of metal and a shockwave of destructive energy in every direction. This sent him into a backward somersault through the air, his cape flailing dramatically before swooping in front of him and becoming pinned once his torso smacked the ground. The armor of armorness had definitely done its job, but this is what Grym imagined getting the wind knocked out of you felt like. While dusting himself off and fixing his cape, amongst other re-arranged particulates, an idea came to mind — one he hoped no one on the other side would realize he could’ve done from the beginning. He cleared his throat and again spoke, only this time his voice boomed loud enough for the realm to hear.
“Maybe you don’t do that again? I’m gonna start with some questions, cool? Cool. Let’s start with who are you people and why is there an army on my doorstep?”
There was more distant confused yelling mnong the armed forces arrayed against him in response to that, and then once voice broke through the chaos as one man raised a weird cone thing to his mouth and barked loudly at the army: “Anyone else fires without my says so gets a knuckle sandwich from Angela and their pay docked from a month, so hold fire!” before the big bald bejeweled man turned his shouting horn towards the god “and you, stay right where you are!” while holding up and hand for him to halt, and then finally agreeing “and then we can talk”
There was a bit more arguing going on atop the dirt rampart between the man, two warrior women and the delegation about that offer, before he raised the trumpet again and informed the god that “We were here to dispose of the abominations you have blighted this land with, but seeing as you are here, Grym, we are here to levy charges against you for your crimes”
The man was handed a document by one of the delegation members, who had put him up to this, cleared his throat and then read it out “Grym, on behalf of the council of the 13th realm you are hereby charged with: Breaking the oldest agreement by claiming node 18 Slaughter of a divine creation Theft of said divine creation Property damage Grave robbing Corpse defilement Returning an evil thogut slain back to live via incompetence or malic And having a stated intent to attempt to kill the people’s gods“
There was a short pause before the man asked “How do you plead?”
Grym listened to the plethora of accusations being made, most vague and lacking context. He certainly had an idea of what many of the items referred to, but the list itself felt like more of a show of force than formal accusation. From the looks of their encampments, these men had been here for some time. While it was impossible for him to discern the exact reason they’d delayed a direct assault, the fact is they had reason to hesitate. These men, women, and strange folk were nothing like the scholars and peasants of the Southern realms, being well outfitted and organized. Grym got the feeling they wouldn’t be pushed around, but he’d have to feel out their tolerance for his - shall we say - unorthodox demeanor.
“It isn’t much fair to paint me into a corner with a loaded question like that, is it? I don’t know of your treaties or agreements and never consented to your laws. I don’t know you blokes, never seen any of you in my life, so why are you here in my realm, enforcing laws I know nothing about? I am rather preoccupied at the moment, but I get the inclination you’re not just going to leave. If you’ll agree to speak on equal grounds instead of spouting accusations, we could avoid a whole lot of bloodshed.”
A gruff hand wrenched the speaking horn from the general. Captain Pricilla pushed the horn to her mouth and yelled through it. “Or we could smatter you into the next crucible with enough firepower to make a node shit itself.” She stuck out her hand to keep the fat general from wrestling the horn away from her, his face squished under her palm. “If you want equal grounds, you’ll have to give it to us first; your invasion of the 18th node has cut off commerce from the south and endangered neutral parties. Give a show of peace, and then we can talk.”
There was another moment of struggle as Angela, Damio’s right hand woman, then proceeded to wrestle the horn out of the captain’s hands in turn, and then man was about to thank her for the help when she raised the horn to her lips and yelled “Your creations are nasty and the world would thank us for getting rid of them” before finally handing it back to the general. He signed and tired to back too it when one last interruption came from the blond haired priest who had insisted he read out the the list of accusations in the first place (and who was a key member of the council delegation) inserted himself into the mix to swiftly add “Ignorance of a law is not a valid defense against breaking it” and at that point the general just gave up and awaited a response from the accused.
“Give the horn back to one of the feisty ladies, robe guy sucks.” Grym booed and pointed a thumbs down toward the priest dressed in what looked like a gaudy dress (priest robes). Not a single chuckle from the crowd, just an awkward cough that felt louder than it should have been. These guys were stiffer than corpses, and he would know. With an exasperated sigh, Grym crossed his arms behind his back and went into boring monologue for the self-righteous invaders.
“Whatever your preconceptions are of me, I have no fuckin’ clue who you are. I’m not defending myself against laws that aren’t mine and to which I’ve never heard of. I’ve not prevented trade and I’ve not attacked you. Did you think it a coincidence that your realms remained unbothered, or that you made it to my doorstep without being intercepted? The Cradle is obedient, my people live in peace, and I am trying to compromise with you lot despite your little ambush. I could have met you in force, yet I came alone. Realize the concessions I’ve made and at least speak with me,” A pause. Grym turns and points toward the cluster of docile offspring in the distance, before facetiously adding, “Or we can fight a bloody battle where many, many mortals die.”
“Being honest here, I’m hearing a lot of words coming from someone we’re apparently not letting speak with us. Only reason you aren't in the midst of exploding is because I have prevented it.” Damio retorted, before continuing “and despite all the air coming out of that skull, all I’ve heard is sidesping of responsibility and now threats.”
“But if you want me to spell things out for you: Did you or did you not claim node 18, kill and reanimate Bena’s hydra, defile our shared creator’s corpse by doing the same to it and re-release the blight that is Garravar on this world, declare your intentions to kill all gods before a witness, and then head to the south, which has ever so consistently turned into a right bloody mess at near exactly the same time as you went there? To a place where a god has died? Did or did not these things happen?” he concluded by jabbing an accusatory finger over the long long distance that separated the two.
Over and over these mortals insisted upon their laws and an unfounded jurisdiction over a land they’d never seen. It was proving rather difficult to manifest a facade when clearly their minds were made up —- had Monica really been that convincing of a witness? No, there could be more to it that he isn’t aware of. Letting his impatience steer the encounter wouldn’t prove better than simply failing to persuade them so, for now, he’d answer their questions to the best of his ability.
“The 18th realm belongs to me. The Hydra attacked me; I took it. By the time I had taken the node, Peninal’s corpse had already disappeared.” A lie. “Garravar is from the previous Crucible if Pop’s memory serves, so how could he be alive?” And another. Grym’s voice deepened with emotional fervour; he was really getting into it now.
“Your lot knows nothing of the South, of the alliance that bonded the Southern realm until Vatarr betrayed it.” Even the weather swayed in wake of the tide of meticulously portrayed passion, sounds of thunder echoing while an overcast sky threatened rain. He took a daring step forward, and then another, and another, pacing methodically as he spun his thread.
“I watched Brey die at the hands of Vatarr; his people reel from the loss as we speak. Vatarr ravages the South unchecked, Asvarad is absent, and I’ve been left to mend Brey’s realm as well as my own. Any mortal could tell you the same.” That last part isn’t entirely true. There were plenty who still feared Grym, if only for superficial reasons. He’d never actually committed any atrocities against them and none of Brey’s scholars or magi had witnessed the wizard's death — Brey made sure of that. Plenty had witnessed Vatarr attack unprompted, though, including Duncan. It was a compelling narrative, at least Grym thought so. Still, chances were this debacle was rigged from the start, but the God had answered their questions. If relations continued to sour, the offspring would, at least, finally get a true field test.
Pricilla turned to Damio. “An enemy of the Hydra is an enemy of the North, the 18th realm belongs to the Northern Alliance.” She looked down past Damio and towards the other Artack elites who lined the fortifications alongside cannons. Leaning in, she glared at Damio. “We await the order.”
“Wait,” Another captain piped up and leaned in to conspire with Pricilla and Damio. “Have him relinquish the 18th node back to the Northern Alliance as a show of faith… do it on the grounds that we would put forth a query to the alliance on helping him stabilize the south (if his claims be true). If he is lying, he won’t agree.”
Damio held his fist over his mouth as he thought about this as the priest pointed out that “He has already lied about the fate creator’s body,” something the knew about only from the admittedly somewhat unreliable source of Monica, who had a habit of declaring everyone her enemy, but the priest took Xavior’s theory about that reported reanimation being the source of Olipha’s old foe’s return as gospel, “how can we possibly trust any of his other words”
“We’re not, but buying time can hardly hurt us either” Damoi replied at last, before surupticialy sending a few aids away with a few short instructions, and then turning his attention back to the god.
“That not one but two divine creations stood guard over the node claimed by our creator should have let in on the fact that it belonged to someone else” he started off by poking a hole in the god’s claim, before offering the concession, “Despite that, we’d be willing to ask the northern alliance for forgiveness on your behalf, and even request aid for your work in attempting to stabilize the south, if you're willing to pay your debt by giving up your claim on the 18th realm as a show of good faith.”
“I’ve no attachment to the nodes or intention of claiming the Crucible, and would gladly grant permission to your Gods, as well as safe passage to your men, but what you are asking for is the impossible. I can’t uproot my base of operations in the middle of a war and the Cradle can’t be moved. Besides, you’ve given me no reason to trust you. Despite that, I would greatly appreciate your assistance. The most I could do currently is offer up the 23rd realm, with the promise of my other nodes once the conflict is over.”
Damio furrowed his brow and crossed his arms “Tch. Tricky bastard” he glanced too the others and asked “Thoughts?” knowing they’d be giving them anyway.
“We’ve got no reason to think he’d keep his word, and it would be committing to a war with the rest of south with someone who could easily stab us in the back” was Angela’s take, before adding “besides, we’re under contract to remove the hive” and leaving the rest of financial implications unsaid.
“He is a foe of our gods and our states, negotiating with him gives him credence and respect he does not deserve” the Priest insisted.
Pricilla shook her head. “General, allow me to speak with the god.” She held out her hand for the horn.
“Fine,” he said, offering her it but adding a final word of caution “Just remember what it is we are facing”
With a nod, Pricilla snagged the horn and held it up. “You’ve been in the south for some time, so I will forgive some of your ignorance — but now allow me to quickly bring context so we can stop floundering. The 18th node has been claimed by you, but it shouldn’t have — to fix this, you are not to give permissions, but allow the recapture of it by the Northern Alliance. Next, you have murdered the Hydra, which was the Queen’s first creation in the 8th crucible — to make amends, you must relinquish its body and ask for the pardon of the Queen herself. Next, you’re at war in the south — you should know that the gods south of the 18th node are lesser in nature to the gods north of the 18th node and are not considered for inheritance, thus the Queen may see fit to aid you, should it prove worth. If you wish to truly become a friend of the North, it’s not an easy road — we are not the beings of the South. Do you truly wish to begin this journey, or should I mark you as another obstacle?”
“Lesser? Ouch.” The God winced playfully at the remark. “You’ve made it painfully obvious how I’m seen through the lens of the North. Even if I were to concede to your demands, what guarantee is there that you wouldn’t betray me? There isn’t. The great northern kingdoms stand above all others, it seems.” He answered his own question, slowly raising one hand and emitting a distinct whistle. Faint rumblings began behind him where, in the distance, a cloud of dust was kicked up by the legions of now advancing offspring. The horde moved, less forward and more outward, fanning into a sprawling formation that resembled a regimented defense. Were there to be a battle, Grym intended to use his home field advantage. He had no reason to meet the northerners at their battlements, after all.
“I will avenge Brey’s death on my own and only when that’s done, I’ll secede my lands to the kingdoms of the North; no hassle. You can leave peacefully now and you won’t be pursued or, if you insist-” And he glanced backward. “then we can skip the fuckin' around and get straight to where you find out.”
“Even if he doesn't just attack us while we are trying to withdraw, he would leave the west of the 12th wide open for invasion at any time, not to mention the whole of the 13th” Damio said, assessing the situation, and finding it unacceptable. The fanning out legions were intimidating, but, tactically and strategically, “we need to hold this border one way or the other” be it by repelling the foe or simply standing, expensively, in his way.
“Everything behind me already belongs to the alliance, we can hardly leave the front door open for untrustworthy folks to just waltz on in” he informed the god via a reclaimed horn, drawing a line in the sand, and on the map, “so you can either back off, put up your own door, or come and try and break ours down”
At that he raised an forearm and fist and sent alertness rippling down the alliance fortifications, soldiers and engineers who had dropped their guard to listen to this protractor argument going back on alert, weapons primed, loaded and at the ready, fliers taking to the skies, magitech devices thrumming and readying to unleash magmatic devastation.
"Oh? How admirable, valiant even." He chortled with what would've been an arched brow. "I don’t know how many times I've got to say it before it gets through your thick skull, fats, but I've no intention of invading your precious Northern lands."
Akasha emerged from his shadow in a wisp of ethereal black smoke. She rested her cheek in his hand with which he affectionately caressed in turn, and then saddled himself.
"It must cost quite a bit for you to be out here and I expect that number goes up by the day, but the offspring require little; so I can wait. If you choose to fight, then you'll have to command your men to invade my lands and die when unconditional peace was an option."
With that, Grym flicked Akky's reigns and took flight back toward his defensive line.
He had a point there, it was very expensive, and nobody knew that more than the merchant turned general. Plus, every moment they sat idle was another where Grym could take more control of the south for whatever ends he had. That said, that did give him an idea.
“I say we hold, for now” the general said, and before anyone could protest he pointed out “He’s given a bit of the game away. Seeing as we know he’s fighting in the south, we don’t even need to risk our own to find out what these ‘offspring’ can do. We just need to send people south, and see if he’s as full of shit as he sounds”
Pricilla cracked a grin. “General Damio, you managed to talk a horde into waiting. I’ll send word to the Commander of the Pristine Palace — I’m sure he will take delight in knowing the enemy is planning on sitting.” She leaned in close. “And with a few choice words, so long as we hold this position, using Vatarr we can fight him from the south up.”
“Hmmm, yeah I did, didn’t I?” he said, cupping his chin and nodding to himself, before adding a correction “Or rather, we did, which I think calls for a celebration!“
“I’ll crack one the wine store then” Angela announced, immediately striding off to do just that.
“A more modest celebration” he called after her, to which he only got a “too late!” before she disappeared from view, leaving the man shaking his head while looking forward to the evening to come regardless.
“And the troops general?” an aid asked
“Hmmm. Stand half down, and a small bonus for those who stay on guard. Just in case” he instructed
Pricilla nudged the general and whispered. “No, keep them on alert and put in a rotation, this is still war.”
“And then after half an hour, if nothing goes wrong, put em on the paladin’s standard rotation” he corrected, once again thanking his god for having sent someone with propper military experience his way.
A subtle nod from Pricilla, and then they were off to celebrate.
Grym retreated to the Cradle, leaving his forces on alert where they stood. At the entrance of the hive he sent Akky back to Nea in the 22nd realm. He entered the depths of the Cradle's cavernous structure and made his way toward Garravar's map located in the deepest reaches.
"Fiddlesticks." Grym exclaimed to himself.
The north had been conquered and Vatarr had gone on a bit of a spree in the south, himself. It was a great misfortune that no divine had been present during this little showdown. The mortals proved to be self-righteous and even xenophobic. Nevertheless, he'd bought himself time and they appeared content in leaving their assets on his doorstep — that would be a mistake he'd make them regret.
He turned from the map and placed his hand against the Cradle. A low gentle resonated throughout the endless corridors and dugout caverns. The floor appeared to bulge and bluster, as if something was trying to break through, until several tendrils emerged. They coiled tightly around one another in a shape that resembled a flower about to bloom. The 'flower' pulsed with a harsh vermillion glow and then it bloomed, releasing a blinding light that consumed the area.
What emerged was humanoid in shape, if nothing else. It was quite a bit taller than Grym and had a slender, dense figure. It was clearly a manifestation of the Cradle, but sturdier and more refined. There was a face with identifiable features; a mouth, four pitch black eyes, and a sea of thin vines sprouting from its scalp that almost resembled hair. It had four arms and two legs, though the rest of its parts remained mostly androgynous. In comparison to its analog offspring brethren, this one gave an impression of purpose and individuality. When it spoke, the Cradle shook as if its words struck every one of its nerves at the same time.
"Finally, a voice with which to speak and a body with which to act." The being had a distinctly feminine voice and spoke well, though it could never be mistaken for human in tone.
"You know me, chronically late."
"So, what will we do? About the fat one and his folk."
"Tunnel beneath them. Use isolated tunnels that don't lead back here, of course. Dig deep enough that they won't be found on accident and dig only during the day so any noise will be drowned out."
"Oh ho, interesting. Then we strike while they sleep. It'll be a massacre!" Her voice trembled with anticipation.
He nodded. "Keep most of your kin at the front for now, though. Make them think we're just waiting — until we're ready to strike."
"Pish posh, Little Grym." She protested, before laughing it off. "A mother’s got to put food on the table! And with a meal like that just waiting on my doorstep, I’ll make sure it all goes perfectly."
Grym comes back to the 18th node, and finds that his hive’s offspring have sallied out from their home base. He finds them on the border of the 13th node, where they have (bloodlessly) pushed the invading forces of the northern alliance back to their fortifications.
After getting blown up once, he engages in negotiations with the mortal armies headed by General Damio. They first accuse him of a list of crimes before bandying offers, counter offers and finally threats at each other regarding an alliance against Vatarr, Grym giving up node 18, who should withdraw from the border. Nothing is resolved and so the two forces end negotiations by hunkering down for a prolonged standoff.
The north thinks they’ve won by getting Grym to back down from attacking them, and scheme to go around his back to contact Vatarr inorder to find out what they are up against, which has always been a concern of the skittish army.
Grym meanwhile returns to the hive and creates for it an avatar to act as his own general on the front, instructing her to tunnel underneath the northern forces in order to ambush them from below while they sleep.
Starting Might: 2
-1 point spent using Brey’s skull to scry into the whereabouts of his absconded peoples and where he’d hidden the contents of the library.
-1 point on creating The Cradle Mother Cradle Mother: The Cradle Mother acts as an Avatar of the Cradle itself. The Mother acts as a “brain” to the Cradle’s “nervous system.” She is a fully realized agent of the Cradle itself and has a will of her own, which she can inflict upon the offspring in the same capacity that the Cradle can. In the same vein she is as connected to the Cradle and offspring as any other of her kind, sharing information and able to communicate through the vast network of offspring that exist within the Crucible. She is capable of speech and projecting her voice through other offspring. Her body is sturdier than most offspring and she can freely manipulate it to suit her needs. Killing her isn’t impossible, but she does not die in the same manner mortals do. Her will lives on within the Cradle and she can even host herself in other offspring if need be, though the creation of another vessel similar to her original would require the expenditure of divine power; as with her initial creation.
Her appearance: What emerged was humanoid in shape, if nothing else. It was quite a bit taller than Grym and had a slender, dense figure. It was clearly a manifestation of the Cradle, but sturdier and more refined. There was a face with identifiable features; a mouth, four pitch black eyes, and a sea of thin vines sprouting from its scalp that almost resembled hair. It had four arms and two legs, though the rest of its parts remained mostly androgynous. In comparison to its analog offspring brethren, this one gave an impression of purpose and individuality.
It was a very quiet march. The warriors had divided into two parties; a smaller group led by Talia to scout their advance and the remaining majority of their small group herding the offspring. Nea was not so considerate as to give Grym space to breathe. In Dorian’s absence she elected to shadow him. It was unusual of her to volunteer in this way, but she followed quietly for a time. Only when Grym looked up, toward the node’s border approaching on the horizon, did he notice Nea’s fixated stare in his peripheral. He got the impression that she’d been staring for a while, though it didn’t resemble the same callous animosity as when they’d first met — more like he was being audited. She was probably waiting for him to realize it because as soon as Grym unclenched his jaw to speak, she stole the first word. “Is this really all you are?”
Even without context, he had an inkling of what she meant. Nea saw through him like this from the beginning, and she continued to be his most demanding critic.
“Half measures. Compromise. Bravado.” She continued, since Grym hadn’t mustered a response. “You promised us power and stature — protection. And you said you wanted everything, no? The stars in the sky, the sky itself, the oceans, blablabla.” Her tone became infantilizing.
He knew she’d keep piling on to stir up a response, not that it hadn’t already provoked him at this point. “Yes!” He burted in exasperation. “I’m aware of my.. Mis-steps.”
“Not mis-steps.” Nea cut in. “Cowardice.”
Grym stopped walking and turned to face her. “I know.” That was all he could muster; he didn’t dare apologize.
“You know.. It’s not about winning, Little G. We followed you because none of us want our fates decided on a whim by any of those holier than thou fuckin’ pretenders. So either get it together or get out of the way.”
That’s right; It isn’t about winning. No, it never was. There weren’t any words with which he could respond right now. Nea was the type who preferred you to show, not tell; so he merely resumed marching on toward node 26. Whatever the outcome, he couldn’t afford to waiver again.
As they walked, a sudden anxiety started to freeze in the chest, until a familiar voice laughed behind the walking pair. “Little G?”
Garravar had appeared out of thin air, walking behind them with a glint in his eye that matched the glint on the edge of his spear.
"Well, see, you're Big G; though I prefer G-money, so Talia started calling me Little G. I'm great with the pet names, as you're aware." Grym nearly jumped out of his remaining skin when he heard Garravar's voice. Really, how does he just poof like that? He would've asked about it if he wasn't so preoccupied with the anxiety of two failed deicides. It felt like being visited at university by your step dad - because Peninal was his real dad - who's paying for your classes, and now you had to tell him you're flunking out.
Garravar seemed to forget that he had even asked and changed subjects entirely. “Your actions have forced another god to claim two additional nodes.”
"Aren't the real nodes the friends we made along the way?" Grym bantered and then, on seeing Garravar's unamused mug, paused before waving dismissively at his own comment.
"Don't answer that. I don't know who's taking what, but as you can see I'm very much on my way to genocide an idiot's city. I'm getting better, I promise!" He nodded earnestly.
“No, you’ve done good, theoretically,” Garravar answered — but keeping a neutral tone. “It just means more nodes will fall into an unwilled state when Vatarr is removed. As for Brey, let me show you how it’s done.”
"You're gonna help me kill Brey? Really? Ooh, I knew you were a softie. I don't care what they say about ya!" He hummed excitedly.
There was a brief hesitation where Grym glanced between his marching army and the immaculate Garravar, but such indecision quickly vanished as a familiar cardinal flame emerged around him. "I've actually been brainstorming an idea just for such an occasion. You're the inspiration actually, though it pales in comparison to your transcendence of the Crucible. If only I'd had more time.." The last bit he more mused to himself as his voice seemed to trail off. Reservations be damned, the time to act was now.
The volatile energy hissed and bubbled, deepening in shades as a form took shape — separating from Grym's body. Its silhouette first appeared as a tiny crystal that emanated a deep, yet subtle glow. From the crystal sprouted a body of a human man similar in size to Grym. He had flowing red hair and a rigid physique. The hexagon crystal took the place of his left eye, shrouded by an eye-patch, while the man himself was adorned in a simple tunic over furs fashioned as clothing; at his side, a sheathed claymore. In contrast to Grym, the man was an exemplary product of mankind; the second side of the same coin.
"Wow, flesh feels weird.. Tight, really." It spoke.
"Happy birthday, me-you. I'm your dad, but also you." Grym greeted, confusing even himself somewhat.
"I know we're us because I made me. We should know that; you do know that. We’ll call me.. Gryffith! Or Gryff for short. Less confusing that way." Gryff and Grym nodded in agreement with themselves before turning in unison toward Garravar and asking, "Be honest; what do you think?"
“Using your signature to make a copy of yourself via crystal vehicle,” Garravar arched a brow. “Simple but effective. I assume you have a plan for Gryff?”
“Simple, yes. I hoped to recreate your miracle anomaly, but enough of that. Plan’s simple.” Gryff responded to Garavarr, pointing toward the horizon where node 26’s border lies. “I’ll keep heading South to kill Vatarr, while you and me head North for Brey. I can only imagine what’s happening up North that drove you down here to get me — I must be taking too long.”
“The north has completed the capture of the nodes, we are behind schedule in the south — besides, I want to show you something that requires the death of a god,” Garravar answered, “then I will reveal the secrets to you.”
"Let's go kill an old fart." Grym agreed and gestured for Garravar to lead the way. Gryf waved farewell, if only as a courteous gesture, as he would continue the March south with a bewildered Nea.
Brey’s facial expression was dead serious. There were no people in the city, as the illusionary images of people in Molbrew wandered back and forth doing their duties and going about their lives. The false images of mages and soldiers were all armed with steel, medieval weapons, long bows and the like. Brey was viewing the horde of traitors and other enemies with his telescope, and took note.
With the people fleeing the city only hours earlier, Brey didn’t have long to prepare. All the books were gone. The shelves were empty, and the old man deity was not in his wizard’s robes. He was now armed with the magic axe, and wore a powerful magical armor, covered in runic protection wards. His ring finger on his right hand still wielded the power that made it so coveted by the other mages.
Through his magic, Brey unleashed a disembodied voice to the invading armies. “Turn back.”
Garravar was floating far above, frozen air hugging his form as he looked down at the library. He had his spear in one hand while the other rubbed his chin in a quiet contemplation. Without a word he slowly descended until his boots tapped the tiles that lead up to the library door. The sky above was swollen grey, silhouetting the scene in a dusk.
He stepped through the open portal and into the interior of the library, each footfall echoing off its recently bare walls and shelves. Any semblance of warmth escaped the building and flames turned blue, throwing a wintery chill over the scene. Behind Garravar, Grym descended in tow, notably holding his own swordspear and accompanied by one hundred offspring of various degrees. His disheveled plate mail softly clanked into a resting position as he touched the ground, drowned out by Garravar's heavy footfalls — footfalls which were only more pronounced by the barren shelves of the library they'd appeared in. This caused Grym to frown in whatever way he could express such. There was a tinge of curiosity gnawing at him still; how Brey anticipated them, where and how he'd hidden the contents of this massive library.
"There will be something of him left once we're done, I hope. Gotta add him to the collection." Grym glanced back toward the offspring.
Brey chuckled, invisibly, under his breath, in his powerful, newly created magic armor. “I’ve chosen to move on from this life.” Brey stated mysteriously. “I’ve also chosen to fight.” “Life is full of surprises, so I’m surprised myself at the potentiality of an afterlife for gods.” “Nevertheless, things are as they are.”
“Perhaps you would like to sample the delicacies I’ve laid out on the table in the center of the library. Or are you more enticed by something. . . else?” He stated rhetorically. “I hope you don’t mind the lack of a waiter.”
“Anyway. Now I have you where I want you.” Brey exhales a single breath, and the small army invading the library go blind. The gods leading them are likewise unable to see.
“I already know the outcome of this battle, but I’ll show you that I’m not a venerable old man.”
“I’m amazed, then.” Garravar blindly stepped forward, his steady walk slowly approaching the node as the minions of Grym saturated the entrance. “That you had the foresight to know what happens next, but what does happen next? Do you really know?”
“I fight. Likely die, and won’t make it even half easy!” Brey’s vocal statement was ominous.
Garravar placed his hand on the node. "Do you even know what you're doing here?" The black structure started to glow.
“What does it matter?” Brey responded. “You don’t need to worry about my education. Here, I am headmaster.” A mysterious rumbling of thunder filled the entire building.
“Allow me to lecture you, then,” Garravar said with a palm placed flat on the node. “You have about an hour to strike me down before your node bends to my will and I replace your library with a frozen wasteland.”
“In the meantime, enjoy the finest hospitality I have to offer!” The honeyed fish on the table transforms into a huge honeyed Megalodon. “Get em’ Donald!” The flying Megalodon immediately began breathing a searing flame on the Cradle’s soldiers. The fire was intense, but Brey’s fire wards stood firm.
Grym snapped his fingers and a reverberating hum consumed the library, restoring sight to all those affected. He gazed longingly at the incredible beast bellowing flame. "You've always been generous with your homecoming gifts, old sport."
The offspring, which had stood motionless even while engulfed in flames, suddenly sprang forward at once in a concentrated frenzy. Simultaneously, thunder signaled the appearance of an expanding cloud just below the library's high ceiling; raining down upon the empty shelves and dousing flame. Screeching thralls hounded the shark, leaping and climbing shelves to chase it wherever it might scurry. There wasn't much space for the large beast to escape the infectious spores, much as it tried to shake its voracious pursuers.
It wouldn't be long before the shark succumbed to the Cradle's blight. Grym then turned toward Brey.
"Let’s see if your armor holds up, old boy." He let loose the spear right at Brey's chest, just as he should've let Dorian do all those days ago. It grew quickly in size to something several times larger than even the largest ballista, intending to plaster Brey and his armor all over the library's walls.
Oh give me a break, Brey thought. The armored figure would leap onto the large Ballista like spear, running along the shaft and jump , throwing the magical axe towards Grym. It was immediately then, that he telekinetically took hold of Grym’s body,, attempting to distract him before the flying axe would find its mark.
Grym watched the axe fly toward him, realizing it was difficult move so he opted not to. When the head of the armament found purchase it was not Grym that had been struck but rather one of his juggernauts that had intercepted to bare the brunt of the blow. One of its arms had been clearly sheered in two with the axe having driven further and embedded itself in the juggernaut’s chest. The juggernaut, while battered and cleaved, was still alive and turned toward its master who ripped the axe from the offspring’s chest by its haft. It was at this time Peninal’s spear had returned to its original size, having left a gaping hole in the walls of the library where light shone in, and whizzed back toward Grym. He had stayed where he was precisely for this moment, the moment when the spear returned and Brey wouldn’t expect it to plunge through his back on its way back to Grym.
So the Megalodon was still alive, briefly while it unleashed a large torrent of flame against the Infected, slapping away some of them with it’s massive tail from the air. Brey chanted three syllables instantaneously, thus he unleashed a powerful thunderstorm. At nearly the same moment he raised a mage shield. These thunderbolts were intended to hammer the whole army with it’s assault, with both enemy gods included.
Brey’s Ring Of Archmagi displayed it’s might as the thunder storm raged in the library. Rain pounded down with the storm as the clouds cracked and spat. Sounds of thunderclaps deafened the arena and conquered all sound, all sound save for an eerie melody. Chimes clinked and clattered over the sound of the storm, and the rain turned to sleet, and the lightning grew irritated and swollen. The library began to chill and the walls grew slick with ice. Garravar released his hand from the unclaimed node and grinned at Brey.
“You’re not the first to try elements.” The god of winter held up Tolbog and pointed it at Brey and as he did, the chimes died out, as did the sound of the storm and the sounds of battle. The air was deafened until it popped in the ear and fizzled as if time itself became mute, and then all at once a brilliant flash erupted from Garravar as he kicked off from the ground.
Garravar turned comet was wreathed in destructive power as he aimed Tolbog at Brey. The magic forcefield around the wizard screamed with sudden and immense strain until it shattered and the blue comet crashed through (GO)
Knocking the wizard god to his feet, he was astonished at the power of Tolbog. Nonetheless,he managed to feign being unfazed. Multiples of the corrupted soldiers began to slash, lunge and slice at the wizard’s form, which rolled on the ground. Suddenly the wizard sprang up and began to destroy more of the corrupted. Ironically, he eschewed lightning for now in order to telekinetically just tear some of them apart through sheer force.
Eventually though, Donald, the flying Megalodon stopped cooking the infected soldiers into fried intruders, and turned around. It was covered in bleeding wounds and it’s eyes suddenly changed into a sickley dark green within green. The wizard immediately raised his mage shield again, this time, he furthermore side stepped the large stream of fire from the transformed creature.
Brey couldn’t see the corrupted soldiers anymore, and his head snapped to see Grym on one side, and then Garravar on the other. Raising both hands in the air, Brey commanded the clouds in the sky to storm on himself. The thunderbolts crashed through the building. Multiple thunderbolts surged through his physical form, and through sheer discipline, he would remain unmoved through the massive energies coursing through every vein of his body.
Several seconds would pass as the dangerous thunder began to slow down, and his skin, and body would be transmuted into ash. Only his life less, and fleshless skull would remain to send a shockwave up to the sky through the crumbling roof, bleeding the heavens into a blood red as to signify the death of a god. As the incredible energy of his suicidal annihilation rendered much of the library now unfit for habitation, the wards against fire on the book shelves, and tables failed, and whatever that was flammable within the ruins was now on fire.
Garravar let Tolbog shimmer into thin air before turning to Grym. “Even at the end, he preferred suicide to dying at your hands.”
Grym had swung Brey’s axe from on high, intending to fell the stubborn goat with his own weapon. Only, instead of the satisfying sensation of flesh tugging against its edge he fell forward into a cloud of soot and ash. The momentum of his swing caused him to trip while the axe itself wedged a fissure into the floor of the library, becoming stuck. Feeling deflated yet again, despite the apparent success, Grym just laid where he fell trying to accept things as they were.
“Fuckin’ old man just had to have the last word, huh?” He audibly mumbled in response, picking himself up from the ground.
From behind one of the far shelves came the sound of slow, incremental clapping followed by a snarky, yet familiar, voice. “What’s that saying? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you? Take the W, Little G; I’m honestly impressed for once.” Nea remarked, stepping out from her little hiding spot. She’d snuck through the portal by mingling with the offspring.
“Nea? But you were supposed t-” Grym began, though he should’ve known better by now.
“Apologies, Master Grym.” Nea interjected, faux apologizing and facetiously bowing. “Anyway, I needed to see if you had what it takes, when push comes to shove. You did, shockingly enough. Plus, I wanted to see G-Money in action.” She turns to Garravar with a beaming smirk. “Legend, by the way. Geezer probably zapped himself just so he wouldn’t get pasted over his own walls by you.”
"Perhaps." Garravar looked to the node, the black pillar standing as still as usual. "There will be plenty others but first, Grym, look at the node and tell me what you see." Nea was visibly delighted by Garravar's response. She gathered the spoils of battle in a blissful trance, fantasizing further conquests.
With a little razzle dazzle, Grym wretched the misshapen armor he'd been born with from his body and magically adjusted Brey's armor to fit him in its place. It was woven with many intricate runes that pulsed and glowed. The metal itself gleamed a mythril hue, accented with silver trim — fitting of the one who'd made it. As an added personal flair, he manufested an impressive burgundy cape that reached down to his calves.
Garravar's question pulled Grym's attention once more, obliging him to look toward the node in contemplation.
"A monolith of indecipherable power, the single (as far as he's aware) remaining constant throughout every iteration of the Crucible. They provide an avenue of creation without rhyme or reason. I can only imagine they're at the crux of it all, maybe even the triggering event."
“More immediately,” Garravar corrected, “it’s a stable node, in spite of its owner's demise. There is no longer any will transfixed upon it and yet nothing collapsed into the chaos, and nothing has changed.”
Grym hadn’t thought of that, but it was a fair point. “Mm.. You’re quite right. Why is that the case, and what are you getting at by making the point?”
“I promised you answers,” Garravar stated. The winter god folded his elbows square behind his back and walked over to one of the large holes in the wall. He looked over the great expanse outside of the library and stood tall with Grym to his back. “Come the triggering event, the crucible will check the nodes for a single will — the will that controls every node — and design the world accordingly. That will is attached to a god, same as Brey’s was attached to him before we killed him, so as long as that god lives, their will is law in such a state, and if the will begins to crack, so does their reality. Furthermore…”
A pause as Garravar turned to Grym, peering at him with icy eyes. “Upon the end of the triggering event, all life is extinguished to be remade as per the will. So what if there wasn’t a will?” He looked to the node. “What if the world was stabilized, but the wills that stabilized it had perished, leaving the nodes without will but the world in a state of stability. What would happen then if the triggering event had no will to mirror but no chaos to sow?”
Grym sat down and wedged a honeydew, offering an enthralled Nea a slice before taking one for himself as the two listened intently to Garravar’s grandiose speech. Nea couldn’t help but giggle anxiously when Garravar turned back toward the pair — their mouths stuffed with melon. Grym’s chewing slowed, his jaw oscillating intermittently in a manner that mimicked the gears turning in his mind.
“I was actually close to the mark, eh?” He finally said in a bewildered tone. “Your question is all I’ve ever wanted to know. I was born wanting to free the nodes from the will of God's, only reason I sought the nodes myself. There's this unavoidable curiosity to find out. What would happen and what would it be like?” The realization hit him and he darted up, pacing toward Garravar. “That memory at the end of the last cycle. G-money, you rascal! Almost did it, didn't you?” Grym leaned in and nudged a playful elbow into the big guy's ribs.
A deadly silence followed. Garravar simply stared at Grym, the younger god’s elbow still in his rib. The stare lasted long enough for everyone to become uncomfortable, and perhaps worried before Garravar spoke again, Tolbog back in his hand. “I was close, but now your own decision is before us. Will you capture this node and die later to free it, or will you leave it blank?”
“Oh don’t be so miserable, ya big lunk. If we fail, there’s an infinite number of iterations after this where we get to try again.” Grym rescinds his elbow, stepping up to look toward the horizon beside Garravar and adding, “So long as one of us makes it to the next one,no? Let’s be honest, something I hate doing, and admit I neither have the time or power to take all the nodes. I was never that ambitious. Taking the nodes was a mean to an end and I’m only now getting the full picture. It’s too late to get serious now.”
A pause, while he collected his next thought, because he rarely spoke this candidly and found the act taxing as well as boring. “I’ll take the node for now. I think our best bet is to let another take the nodes and assassinate them as the triggering event begins. This assumes I survive long enough, but that’s why I made another me. He’s insurance and a means to keep Vatarr busy. All I have to do is convince the North I’m a good guy. Pin Brey’s death on Vatarr, plead for aid in ending his tyrannical warpath, and hopefully join their little alliance. After that, I help them take nodes and bring peace. Then, you and I find the perfect time to strike right before the triggering event.” At the end of his long-winded tirade, Grym lets out an exasperated breath. His head tilted toward Garravar, eager for his reaction and hoping to glimpse even the smallest of cracks in his unyielding, icy demeanor.
“You have spirit, but no one is inclined to believe you,” Garravar insisted. “Instead I will directly recruit from the gods to come south. I know of a few who would only benefit in helping me carve up the nodes. In the meantime we should put pressure down here, perhaps I will go directly to Vatarr — I know of a winter land he had created, and I’m inclined to see it.”
“Perhaps, if I were on my own. Luckily, I have one of Brey’s trusted advisors to vouch for me. He’s currently on a little errand for me, relaying to Asvarad of Vatarr’s unwarranted assault, but he’ll be back soon. No one in the North knows me, so if I cry wolf after and point a finger at Vatarr; who’s to say I’m lying?”
“Very well,” Garravar conceded, ”I’m interested in seeing how it would work your way, regardless. I will be close, and definitely watching — just remember the goal: every node must be blank yet stable.” The winter god leaned over and picked the ring of archmagi off the ground. He held it up to his face and with a quick puff of air, he sent the ash dusting from its surface. With a small look and nothing else, he pocketed it. “We will be in touch.”
“Jewelry doesn’t suit me anyway.” He waved his bony fingers. Once Garravar left, he returned to Nea who had been fumbling around with Brey’s skull. There was much to do.
So this is the post where Brey dies, it’s a bit all over the place but here are the basics:
Brey spotted the army coming and so he hid all his books and people (location undisclosed) and then donned the armor of armorness (it’s really tough) and then he was like oh ho ho you approach me? To which Garravar called him a cockledoodledoo and so in response, Brey ignored him and sent a flying fire-breathing megalodon to fight Grym’s lackeys. Grym tried to stab Brey but Brey got out of the way and cast a lot of shit. Then Garravar unleashed the 8 Buddhist hells into a single strike to which Brey was like “Oof” and then he killed himself.
A red flash covers the sky, indicating a god has died.
After that, Garravar and Grym talk about the nature of the nodes and also Grym makes his signature artifact which splits him into two (might summary for more) and Grym decides to try and deceive the south with lies about Vatarr to which Garravar shrugs, but hints at his own malicious plans (or are they truly? I mean he did spend a bit of dialogue talking about how to save all the lives of the crucible that would be destroyed if certain things happened… idk you pick) The end.
Brey: starting 8
4: Armor of Armorness, a really tough full body armor that’s really tough 4: Fire-breathing flying megalodon (now infected)
Ending 0
Grym: Starting 8
Signature Artefact - Soul Gem: The soul gem is a small hexagonal gem roughly the size of an eye. Its a deep shade of red that appears almost black unless exposed to bright light. It is nigh indestructible, requiring an extremely powerful force or cataclysmic event to destroy it. The gem serves as housing for half of Grym’s soul. Upon creation, the gem was granted a form to inhabit. This body acts as a second self and, thus, is still divine in every sense of the word. Aside from its appearance, the being is for all intents and purposes Grym — though he calls himself Gryffith (Gryf for short) to distinguish between the halves. This means that experiences and thoughts are linked between the two. What one learns, the other now knows; when one acts, the other is aware. While they can operate individually, they are irrevocably the same being. This means they share a single pool of divine might (no fuckery here). When Gryf takes a node, it is in the name of Grym. Either one of them can die without affecting the other, though the only way to kill Grym entirely is by destroying both deities, and then destroying the gem itself.
Gryf appears as a healthy and muscular young man with red hair, dressed in furs and armed with an ordinary claymore sheathed at his side. He also wears a patch of black fabric over his left eye, where the gem is housed in place of an eye.
In the event of Gryf’s death: The gem cannot be removed unless Gryf is killed. In such a case, the gem still remains with half of Grym’s soul encased within it but cannot take root unless fused with another host. Additionally, if Gryf loses his form he is still able to communicate telepathically with anyone holding the gem and can even create an astral projection of himself within ten meters of the gem. This projection cannot interact with the world in any way, aside from verbal communication and gestures, and can be dampened/silenced by the will of whomever has possession of the gem. Grym is able to sense the general location of the gem in the event of Gryf’s death, but not to an unnatural degree.
Throwing this up now because I been busy and Vatarr has been waitin on me lol. Post is technically done, but will be editing for formatting and adding the Summary/Grym's might section tomorrow.
The returning march to 23 was a quiet one. The magi shuffled anxiously behind the horde of uncaring offspring, probably wondering why they had been pledged as tribute to such a sudden stranger. Grym’s warriors flanked in turn, in opposition to their forward placement during the intended invasion. One might get the feeling that they were watching for deserters. Grym spearheaded the march toward the node, with Peninal aboard Akky overhead.
Thoughts of his shortcomings and misgivings during node 22’s siege played on the mind; that old man had sated him in a dissatisfactory fashion. He couldn’t let himself be distracted again. He had the Cradle mobilize most of its reserves from 18 to converge at 23, considering his previous inadequate estimates. At about mid-day of the fourth day, Grym finally saw the silhouette of 23’s obelisk over the horizon. It was during this day that reinforcements from the north had caught up as well; considering the roughly equal distance between 18 and 23, and 23 and 22. Another thousand or so offspring seamlessly ordered themselves behind the warriors, nearly doubling their current ranks.
All of the warriors had seen the mass of offspring integrated from the north, but Nea was the first to break the silence. “Isn’t this a bit much?” On this rare occasion she sounded genuinely concerned, her gaze shifting between the subdued magi and flanking offspring.
Nea wanted to belittle Duncan and his unwarranted opinion, but something stopped her. There was a sensation of genuine understanding that he exuded in his response — one that she instinctively chose to listen to.
“Almost like he’s afraid, but.. that’s not it. If I had to guess, he isn’t satisfied with how things turned out — like he can’t accept what’s already done.”
“Why not?” Nea heard herself say before she had the time to think.
“Because he’s a gluttoun. Without taking the node or killing Lord Brey, it’s like his tail is between his legs right now.”
“But he proposed the treaty.” Dorian pointed out.
“Exactly. That decision represents compromise in the face of hardship. It’s a feeling I know too well, and the reason he blames himself — cowardice.”
Duncan was right. Grym brooded at the front of a force of thousands. His hunger had been stunted by the whimsy of a quirky old man; in all honesty, he’d been duped. Anger was not an emotion that came naturally to him, but in this moment this perceived inadequacy weighed heavily. He had spent so much time and effort preparing to eat a meal, only to settle for scraps. The only thing he could do was stew in this resentment. The group reached had reached the node, where Grym remained for a second time. 23 must be an unlucky number for him. Barely more than a day went by before one of Grym’s warriors, Talia, reported the approach of someone or something from the West. Talia was tall, at around 6’1”, with broad shoulders and tree trunks for legs. She’d been the one to spot Grym when he first skulked around the village in 18 and felt no hesitation in interacting with him, in contrast to most of the other warriors who were put off by Grym’s appearance and divine authority. It was she who insisted upon her employment as a scout in his service and, truthfully, the main reason his warriors operated cohesively.
The mist seemed to be moving toward the node from that direction, but there wasn’t any way to identify what it was or who (if anything) inhabited it. Reports stated that all plant life and animals corroded in the wake of the mist’s touch, dissuading Grym’s warriors from attempting to engage or interact with whatever this was. Whatever it was, Grym reckoned it would head for the node; considering most everything had a reason to seek the nodes. He readied himself and company in anticipation for the arrival of who or whatever dared invade.
To say that everything in Vatarr’s wake was left corroded and dead was untrue. If anyone had cared to look behind the reported ‘mist cloud of death’, they might have noticed that fresh plant and fungal life was sprouting up in the aftermath of the destruction. However, as was the nature of mortals, they seemed to take more interest in destruction than creation.
The deer skull headed god had seen some of the ‘monsters’ that the humans had fled from at least two nodes for himself from the recently claimed Volcanic Bulwark that had formerly been called Node 28… and Vatarr had deemed the matter worthy of going on the offensive. Under normal circumstances he would have happily left matters as they were but… the creatures he had witnessed were not life.
They were a perversion of life. A sickness that corrupted actual living creatures in order to create an army that was shackled to the will of another entity. It might have been a deity at the center or it might have been akin to one of the chaos beasts that favored the unstable realm around unclaimed nodes or maybe even something else… but whatever it was needed to be stopped.
It was a corruption of the Cycle and if left unchecked, it would dominate the world for an untold period of time before it died, likely leaving the planet shattered and broken in the aftermath. It needed to be snuffed out now.
And so he made his way towards the Node, where he could commit to the purging of this region in a fast, timely manner before making plans for the heart of the beast as it were.
“Well, what is it then?”
“Couldn’t say, sir. Our best guess is it’s being controlled, considering the direct path it’s taking toward the node. Matter appears to morph and shift unnaturally in the mist, so much so that it’s impossible to pick anyone out that may be using it for cover.” Talia explained.
“Alright, alright.” He huffed dejectedly, waving a hand in ascribed direction of the cloud’s approach. “Send.. uuuh-hundred-ish offspring toward it to see what happens. Take Pops on Akky and watch from a safe distance to see what happens.”
Talia nods and gave the big guy a good smack on his shoulder guard, curling her lips into a sympathetic smile Some hundred offspring gathered at the beckon of a distinct whistle with Talia trailing behind the bunch; twenty Stalkers; twenty Flyers; the rest a medley of Thralls and Bombardiers. The idea was to breach the mist from the air, ground, and underground to see all possible outcomes of various approach options. In addition, Talia conscripted thirteen of Brey’s magi to accompany her in the flank. They were to employ their illusory magicks to give the impression that the grounded offspring would be mistaken for mortal refugees fleeing from the airborne Flyers while the Stalkers could ambush unnoticed from underground. One of the magi would be reserved to prevent the magi, and Talia, from being seen in the flank.
The plan had been organized and executed like a well-oiled machine with Talia at the helm. In no time the operation commenced toward the cloud’s beelining path. The screams of desperate mortals grew closer to the mist as the magi worked their magic, while Pops trailed behind the group of flyers ‘chasing’ said mortals. Grym remained by the node, sparks of excitement beginning to kindle his dampened flame. It was time to see how the mist, or whoever had brought it, would react.
Vatarr’s march towards the node continued, even as the screams and cries of mortals fleeing from the monsters reached his ears and gaze. Their pleas and screams would go unheeded and unanswered as he continued his advance and ignored them. While callous, there were several factors that decided this outcome.
The first and most important was that these mortals were already doomed; Vatarr’s plan to purge the region of tainted life would, by its nature, purge untainted life as well. Even if he took the time to assist these humans, there was no way they were going to make it outside of the region before the purge began. While it would provide little comfort, they were at least going to die without having to exist as meat puppets.
The second was the suspicious nature of this group of mortals. Even before he began his trip to claim the two nodes and set up the Volcanic Bulwark, the trickle of refugees from the invaded Nodes were already slowing down. For a group of humans to still be alive and untainted after all this time had passed was… highly questionable. More likely that these were actually meat puppets being employed for some kind of theateric ploy. The last and admittingly most selfish reason was simply the fact that he didn’t wish to waste the strength to save a group of humans who, if they still were humans, were going to die soon anyway. The act of purging alone was going to be a taxing one and he didn’t know what other obstructions were going to have to be dealt with in order to get to that point. Better to be conservative then.
So if the ‘humans’ ran into the mist alongside their pursuers, they would die just the same as anything else as their organic parts underwent a swift and admittingly painful decay as flesh and muscle effectively melted off bone within seconds of exposure as it liquefied into an organic sludge that soaked into the soil and proved a fertile mixture to spout new life from that grew and decayed in the cycle that the twin mists represented.
In comparison to the surface and airborne, those creatures underground had a much easier time of things. While the mist did seep down into the ground, the ground itself diluted the effects of the mist enough that it would take minutes to rot and decay those in contact with it rather than seconds.
They would even be able to tell that there was a bipedal pair of feet that was moving at a divine jogging pace around the middle of the cloud… though those that tried to get closer wouldn’t live long enough to find anything else out. The first one that tried to burrow closer would be met with something punching through the surface of the ground to slam it directly, instantly killing it and flooding its tunnel with the same mist that purged life on the surface… alongside threatening any tunnels that connected to that one.
Predictably, a few stray ‘mortals’ were not enough to deter the mist’s path. Talia’s group observed intently from afar as the ground forces entered the mist and, one by one, their silhouettes shifted into the unrecognizable. From above, flyers bombarded the cloud with a payload of over one hundred swarmers. Many came in contact with the cloud, deforming and reshaping, while the remaining majority splattered into bits in the area surrounding the cloud; releasing infectious spores. All twenty Stalkers plunged upward from beneath the stranger not to kill him, but grapple him in place for what little time remained before they decomposed. Peninal’s swordspear cut through the sky with tremendous force toward the immobilized target — growing to a colossal size during its descent.
Truth be told Vatarr almost pitied the creatures digging up through the ground towards him. It brought back memories of the battle for what was now called the Ashen Plains region as its chaotic guardian would manifest tendrils, limbs, teeth and claws from any and all possible directions. By comparison, these creatures were so slow and predictable that he sensed the ambush coming long before any of them had truly gotten close.
Instead of playing his hand too quickly through, Vatarr instead focused a small bit of his power in order to alter his own form. When the creatures from below burst out in order to seize him, they latched onto something. Unfortunately for them, what they had coiled around and tried to lock down wasn’t Vatarr anymore, but rather something more akin to an exoskeleton or shell as the actual Vatarr abandoned it, bursting out of the side at high speed and punching through the Stalker that had been covering that side in a shower of shell and gore.
The new form that Vatarr had taken was in a way similar to his old one, though there were differences. He was a lot slender and faster, with a set of fly like wings buzzing from his back and sides as he darted through the air and took flight, hovering above the ground as he watched as a stupidly large weapon came down on his former shell, smashing it and its attempted jailers to bits.
No longer limited to moving along the ground, the now flying Vatarr turned and started to fly safely away from the ground as he started to zoom along the shaft of the giant weapon, intent on finding the wielder in order to have… words as Life and Death easily drifted behind their master while locked in his grip.
From the point of view of those outside of the mist, the center/source of the mists seemed to have changed from somewhere on the ground to somewhere in the air, it was now moving a lot faster then it had been before… and while it was still traveling towards the Node, it seemed to be following the divine spear that had attempted to slay it back to its master.
While Talia was finally able to see the being clearly, Grym only just glimpsed the rocketing blur emerging from the mist cloud into the sky; as the mist soon followed in tow. Whoever it was, had taken flight to avoid the ambush and now swept through the air.
“Akasha.” Grym called, once the spear had returned to Peninal’s custody.
She whinnied in response, nose-diving toward the ground at breakneck speeds her pursuer couldn’t hope to match. Just as she was to collide with the earth, she instead vanished in a flash of black smoke leaving Peninal’s spectre to meet the ground with a spectacular boom. Again, Peninal craned his arm back and again the spear flew through the air toward his pursuer. This time, however, the magi of Talia’s forward squadron dropped their own veil to produce an illusion around the spear itself — to make its trajectory appear completely off target. In reality, though, the spear barreled toward the assailant and split iinto a volley of one hundred identical spears during its flight.
Grym watched on in renewed vigor. I wonder which of the Gods was crazy enough to charge in alone. How audacious. With a twinkle in those empty sockets he relished the theatric battle, motioning with a preoccupied gesture for Nea and Dorian to ready the main force for direct conflict.
The fact that the next spear seemed to be completely off target seemed odd. The first throw had been completely accurate after all. It was as the spear entered the mist that the oddness of the situation clicked in the already questioning mind of Vatarr: The spear didn’t interact with the mist at all. It just kept flying through without the disturbances that a physical object passing through something like mist would cause.
What did cause a disturbance were multiple spear shaped ‘voids’ in the mist that were traveling rather accurately right towards him. There wasn’t enough time to dodge… Well, not all of them at any rate. Too many projectiles, too little distance of forewarning. That didn’t mean that all was lost.
It was a matter of an instant. While the result or the process to create it was by no means flashy, those more intune with divine power would easily feel the sheer amount of it that flared to life within the green mist for a moment.
The logic was simple: Since dodging wasn’t an option, resisting and enduring the strikes was the only real option. Since Vatarr didn’t want to find out if he could tank dozens, if not hundreds of divinely thrown spears in a matter of seconds by himself, he created armor. A divinely strong living carapace covered his body, inhumanly strong despite its seemingly organic nature, unnaturally light so that he could move and fly around unhindered and capable of changing its form in order to match whatever form he happened to be wearing at the time. It even boosted his speed and reflexes somewhat.
Trusting in his creation to protect his body from the worst of the onslaught, Life and Death were spun in their respective circles in order to provide a physical barrier between the attacks and his wings, for while the armor did provide protection to that region it was by nature lighter there and he didn’t want to stress test how much damage they could take.
Even as he weathered the storm, thoughts ran through Vatarr’s head as he felt the collisions of spears against Life, Death and his new carapace, but found that it was holding. He had wanted to keep some power in reserve for the fighting and purge ahead, but the requirements of staying alive had forced him to spend it early. Even if he pushed on, killed the god who had made this defilement and even claimed the node… he wouldn’t be able to cleanse the area.
Considering his current armements and new armor, there was a quick thought given towards outcomes of this fight. Had it been the army alone or even the deity in one on one combat, Vatarr couldn’t help but feel like victory would have been his to claim. But both at once… and without the divine reserves to deal with the changing situation that would no doubt come from the god currently in charge of the Node… the outcome was unclear.
The moment that the barrage of spears ceased, Life and Death were swung and their mists fired off in a path that was heading straight towards where the spears had come from in order to make it appear that he was continue his assault… while in truth Vatarr turned and started to retreat back to his own territory.
Considering the speed of the divine combined with flight, any of the abominations that might have a prayer of catching up with him would have had to invest so much in pure speed that they wouldn’t be able to do anything more than keep track of his progress. The rival god might be able to catch up, but unless they could already fly (not to mention the starting distance), they would have to tap into their own reserves of power to do so, alongside having to leave their army behind due to the fact they simply wouldn’t be fast enough to keep up.
If they wanted to throw away their advantages to engage in a one on one fight Vatarr wouldn’t mind, but surviving this skirmish meant that the war was only beginning.
It wasn’t accurate to say there was nothing to do about the fleeing juggernaut, though at this point it felt more wasteful to keep playing cat and mouse. From Grym’s angle it was plain to see the mist covering the God’s escape. If Grym were to go by the map, then he could handily surmise that it had been Vatarr. Duncan might be able to corroborate the theory as well, mayhaps, but that determination could be left for later on. Talia was sharp enough to recognize a lost cause, and withdrew to report her experiences.
“What a brute, ay T?” Grym whimsied.
“What is it with you and the nicknames? Nobody likes the nicknames.” Talia shook her head.
“That’s not true. Didn’t you see the smile on Garavarr’s face when I called him ‘G-money’?”
“The guy’s a walking catatstrophe, Little G.” Talia continued, consummating her own pet moniker in response and ignoring Grym’s attempts to further derail the conversation. “Could’ve killed him from the beginning if you hadn’t dawdled, but that armor he’s got is gonna make it even harder next time.”
“Oof, that’s harsh. I suppose I can’t disagree, though. I think we still have the advantage, assuming they in fact waltzed up here all alone. We’ll still invade the South; leave the rest to me.”
With the men readied, Grym spared only minutes before proceeding to march his entire force South toward node 26. The little time he’d taken was to relay two messages; one to Brey via the offspring and a written note to be delivered to Asvarad. For this second task, he sent Dorian and Duncan on horseback to find the elusive serpent.
Dearest Brey,
I recently met with your compatriot and friend, Vatarr. By the time I had returned to my lands, he had been lying in wait to strike against me. I tried reasoning with him and Duncan did his best to deter his aggression, but nothing satisfied him. I am not sure what madness ails your friend since you last saw him, but I was barely able to drive him off. Whatever happened has displaced all reason in him, so please be careful. I have not yet met with your other compatriot, Asvarad, but I will be reaching out to warn him ahead of my arrival as well. Your magi and Duncan remain well, if not a bit shaken over the sudden betrayal. We should speak soon.
Be well, Your friendly skeleton
Greetings,
My name is Grym. You may know of me, though you’ve never met me. I have written this message to you for two reasons. One of which is to alert you of my introduction and alliance with Brey, as Duncan’s willing presence should indicate. In this regard, I’d like to extend my hand to you as well and hopefully arrange a meeting where we might speak plainly to one another. The second matter is of recent development, concerning a god by the name of Vatarr. It seems you, him, and Brey are currently aligned so what I am about to say may be shocking. Just after meeting with Brey, I was returning to my realm when I was ambushed by Vatarr. Duncan attempted to explain the situation and resolve through conversation, but Vatarr had went mad. He heard no reason and did not hesitate in decimating countless mortals within node 23 during his attempt to kill me. An indescribable madness has taken over him and it took most of my might to simply force him to flee. I hope this message finds you well and pray that we might meet face to face soon. Treat my messengers well; I look forward to your response.
Regards, Grym the Unfinished
Vatarr Start: 5 (due to Quiz)
1 Might to create a new form for Vatarr.
4 Might to create an artifact in the form of carapace armor. Said armor is naturally highly resistant to attack, but is also light and changes shape in order to perfectly match the wearer. It also boosts reaction speed as well.
A chorus of dissonant footsteps grew closer toward the boundaries of node 22. Tireless offspring marched through dusklight, purposely timed so that their approach might be masked by the blackness of night. Above the horde rode not Grym but Peninal aboard an anxious Akky, who mingled rather stealthily with the night sky. Peninal, now with a gaping hole in his chest, had been placed strategically in the air with his spear while Grym (still disguised as Monica) marched with Dorian at his side.
A few dozen ‘flyers’ accompanied Peninal in the air. They were grotesque winged offspring with spacious gular like that of a pelican and, were it not so dark, one could see each of their pouches were brimming with swarmers. Various forms of grounded offspring made up the remaining bulk of Grym’s reserves. Despite their unbecoming appearance the offspring had organized, with Grym’s guidance, into a deliberate military force. At the front were about two hundred bombardiers, who were ranged specialists capable of dispatching volleys of infectious projectiles; behind them stood the meat of infantry, totalling roughly seven hundred offspring of various close-range combat types [Juggernauts, Thralls, Rushers, etc.]; and hidden from plain view were some hundred Stalkers that covertly burrowed beneath the ground.
Offspring had been advised to kill and infect fleeing mortals the further they advanced toward the heart of Brey’s land. Refugees from node 22 would have probably made the resident God aware of node 23’s invader, but they wouldn’t be permitted to spoil this surprise visit. Grym had sent the rest of his warriors ahead with a single accompanying Stalker, to scout their path and utilize the Stalker to communicate relevant information. They were advised to maintain a low profile and take post as close to the heart of Brey’s settlement as possible prioritizing the gathering of relevant information until the assault force caught up.
When the invasion arrived it would be surprised. The technology level of Node 23 was modest, to say the least, but there seemingly hundreds of thousands of people in the Great Library’s city. The City of Molbrew’s soldiers were armed with copper tipped arrow bodkins, but the bows themselves were very well crafted. The people had brass knives and were armed surprisingly well for such technologically backwards folk. But that was not what was the most off putting, nor was the fact, the Wizard God brandished his magical axe in the anticipation of an assault.
The defenders also had fliers. Many thousands of Mages flew through the air, capable of unleashing devastation on enemies, far in excess of their technology level, with weaponized spells that were far superior even to ranged weapons that would be compared to flint lock muskets. In the mean while, there was an army stationed in the enchanted library. These magicians unleashed magical illusions to confuse the monstrous, corrupted swarms to attack each other. Brey, from his observatory, came down from his study and immediately alerted the defenses. Illusionists from the safe walls of the library could unleash their spells from the windows.
Magical illusions of auditory and visual hallucinations would assault the invaders. The infected would be surprisingly vulnerable to these spells, as their minds were dulled. More ever, healing mages, enchanters, and all magicians knew the arts of Alchemy. Healing potions, poisons, sleeping potions and others were ready to be unleashed.
Finally, enchanted wards were set up to alert the city folk when the invaders entered. This way mages could be alerted to intercept them in case any managed to get through the defenses. Although the Node was not enchanted with a message of alert, it lay in the heart of the city, inside the Great Library, and possessed an enchantment that blinded any with ill intent inside the grounds. Any that would make contact with the walls technically counted as being inside.
These were not the only preparations Brey had laid on the city and particularly it’s library. Enchantments would make it difficult to set fire to anything. Lastly, not only was the city of Molbrew very surprisingly large for it’s level of technology - the fact remained that there were tens of thousands of mages ready to strike.
Reports from the city walls revealed it to be far more structurally fortified than initially expected. He had to commend the resident God for preparing so quickly, though the offspring thrived in situations where warm bodies were so heavily concentrated. Upon approach, Grym stopped some 500 yards outside the walls before continuing to the foot of the with only Dorian at his side.
He cleared his throat in a ceremonious manner before letting his steady voice boom through the entire node realm. “I am Monica of the northern alliance. I came here seeking Brey. If I cannot speak with him, I’ll reduce your city to rubble.”
It was a quite the threat. His attitude toward this incursion had shifted in wake of this node’s advancements. Perhaps killing Brey would be a disservice. All the more reason Grym hoped his grand gesture would draw Brey out, if only to respond to the incredible threat at first.
The large wooden, double doors open, and out came the powerful Archmage, Brey. “Come inside. I have been expecting. . . something like this for quite some time now. I give you my word. There will be no trap waiting for you inside.” The Wizard God was serious, but surprisingly hospitable.
Not killing the Wizard God and, in fact, deciding to leave peacefully
While Grym’s stiff mug could not show it, it was offputing how nonchalantly Brey had taken his appearance. The elderly man had opened the door, greeted him, and invited Grym in with his back turned. Was it gross naivete or explicit confidence; he couldn’t say. It was only when a current of red danced in his peripheral that Grym reeled himself in, turning to look just as Dorian had wound up. The giant of a man had cocked one arm back with an open palm, materializing what looked like an enormous ballista bolt he was primed to drive forth like a piston straight through the geezer’s chest. Grym stepped in the line of fire, shaking his head frantically and waving his hands.
“But I thought you said to go for the kill first chance we g-” Dorian’s response was muffled by Grym physically using his hand as a muzzle — the sensation of a rotting hand suddenly cupping Dorian’s mouth did evoke a few stifled gags. Panicked Grym does a double take, praying Brey hadn’t noticed the almost assassination. Thankfully, the old coot kept walking.
“I’ve changed my mind.” Grym whispered.
“Just now?” Dorian matched the whisper.
“Just now.” He confirmed.
“Why?!” Dorian’s tone became harsh that it nearly echoed through the tunnels of this large doorway. He was justifiably frustrated.
No answer Grym mustered would paint his whimsical decision in a better light. Brey’s ingenuity had intrigued him, so he wanted to see the rest of the city before deciding. It was an understandable position, had he the forethought to consider it ahead of time. Instead Dorian scolded Grym like a troubled child and threw his arms forward in unison. “Lead on, then.”
Giggling in near silence, Brey snapped his fingers once again, revealing blue shimmering energy surrounding him as a force field. He continued to walk to an open space, surrounded by book shelves, but with a long table with delicacies and various foods on it’s surface. Brey’s famous honeyed fish and venison lay there, awaiting the hungry mouths of whoever would eat.
“It’s normally inadvisable to be serving a feast during battle, but this food is enchanted with healing properties. However, since there is no need for them right now, the spell also enhanced the food’s flavor.”
“Should you feel the need, sit, and eat. The wizard god sat at the far end of the table. “So. . . I have questions for you. I assume you have questions as well.”
Grym gladly sat at the table, while Dorian stood a ways back from the table staring daggers. He reached for the honeyed haddock and yanked the whole fish off its plate, waving it indicatively at Brey before tearing a chunk out of its midsection.
“I think my -gulp- initial intention is pretty obvious,” Sputtering bits of fish flew from his jaw as he spoke. “But your library and your knowledge interest me. Your mortals also appear quite capable; I’ve not heard of mortals who can employ divine magicks-” Just then, it hit him that he had still been slobbering over haddock still dressed as Monica. He dispelled the illusion, revealing himself, and smacked his chest to clear his throat.
“I am Grym, at your service. Disregard my previous appearance, as its intended purpose no longer applies. I was not present during the birthday party, but I suppose I am a divine. My goal is to understand the Crucible in its entirety and I have recently met someone who may be able to bring me closer to that goal. Now that I’m here I understand your proficiency for knowledge and its acquisition, which I now believe is worth preserving. I’d like to share ideas and tell you what I’ve learned, but I need to know if we can be friends, old boy; if you are amicable to cooperation in spite of our rocky introductions.”
“Don’t worry about it.” “ I have a proposition. You can join my little cadre of deities, and in return, I will tell you everything I know.” Brey smiled at Grym, nodding to Dorian as he spoke. “Your friend is not a polite dinner guest.”
“Oh, Dorian? He’s actually just mad at me, for reasons.” Grym elected not to elaborate more than that. Dorian did not react to being thrown under the bus and instead took a seat at the table, snatching the haddock out of Grym’s hands for himself.
“Fool needs all the help he can.” Dorian mumbled inaudibly before digging into the exquisite feast.
“Your cadre, huh?” Grym leaned back in his seat, stewing in the implications of Brey’s proposal. “Might I be so bold as to speculate this coalition includes your neighbors, Vatarr and Asvarad?”
“Yes. That is a very accurate assertion.” Brey confirmed. “We are not fools that we would forsake such a powerful ally.”
“Let me be transparent with you, Brey old boy. I know of these individuals, but I do not know them. I think you and I have much to discuss, between your knowledge and my learnings of the Crucible’s true nature. I think there is something to make of our commonality. I would like to tentatively agree on an alliance and set terms with you specifically, with the stipulation that I should meet with these others first before officially cementing the pact. That we, you and I can set terms now and I will uphold my end of the bargain to introduce myself hereafter.”
“This is acceptable.”
“Wonderful!” Grym rose from his chair and skittered over to Brey’s side of the table where he sat down again. With a momentous clap there lay a full and ripe watermelon plopped into existence upon the lavish hickory table.
“Then let’s get boring terms out of the way so you and I can move onto the fun stuff!” Using one of the steak knifes to slice even wedges, he distributed a succulent slice to Brey and Dorian both — and then one for himself of course.
“My primary request is that you share permission of your node and future nodes with me, while I will do the same in return. I would like this to be true of Vatarr and Asvarad as well, which I will voice during our meeting. This only benefits the progression of our unified strength by permitting each of us to advance our territories regardless of however many nodes we individually own. In addition, I would request a number of magi from your reserves. I ask this for a few reasons: to bolster my current forces, to employ them as teachers of divine magicks for my own people, and to utilize your peoples’ overall knowledge to expedite the development of my territories. In exchange, I would guarantee your protection and my military aid in the event of an incursion. You will also be supplied with a sort of ‘messenger’ that would allow you to contact me, or anyone else in our coalition, instantly through my Cradle’s information network. I hope my long-windedness didn’t spoil your melon, but please give your honest opinions in regard to these two conditions.” “These are acceptable if we are to be allies. In fact, this is most equitable. I might request permission to keep access to Node 23 and work on the land. Other than that, these are fine conditions.”
“I will grant permissions to 23 upon my return and I hope you will be able to do the same for 22 for myself. That much is fair. In addition, I would also request a trusted delegate from your court to act as an arbitrator in my dealings with Vatarr and Asvarad. I don’t exactly come off as trustworthy, you see. Having someone that can vouch for your endorsement and the agreements made here will hopefully soothe any misgivings they harbor.”
“You may have my most competent apprentice, Duncan as your delegate. All other conditions are in agreement with me.”
“Then I believe we can settle things for now. I’d like set aside time for us to discuss future logistics such as trade routes and general interactions between our peoples, but for now I’m content. Now then…”
Grym reached around to cup Brey’s shoulder in a half-embrace like they were old schoolmates. “Let me tell you something interesting, Brey old boy. Do you remember the memories our dear Pops showed to us before his death?”
This question had clearly piqued Brey’s interest and Grym bombastically recounted the event of Garravar’s revival and the conversation that ensued, detailing possible secrets of the Crucible that yearned to be discovered; all except for the deal with Garravar. Now that conditions had been discussed and agreed upon, Grym finished his dinner in Brey’s hall. Toward the end of the encounter one of the thralls was brought into the dining hall. Its malleable organic body morphed into a static monolithic receiver. Any of the Cradle’s offspring could fulfill the duty of communicating, but Grym didn’t want to spook Brey nor draw concern by having a thrall wander the domain; so he jury-rigged this particular offspring into an innocuous sort specifically tailored for communications.
"Duncan, come along." Grym beckoned like one would lost pup. "Gather 500 of your scholars to make the journey with me to 22. I promise my hospitality and will grant your permissions to the node upon my return. We’ll be in touch~”
Three days past before Brey could prime and muster five hundred of his best to accompany Grym. They were sure to be skeptical of being sent to serve a mysterious new ally. In the meantime Grym apologized to and filled in Nea's group who had been left on watch for hours in "enemy" territory during his little soiree.
"Dorian, I cannot believe you left us outside that whole time." Nea fumed.
"Why are you mad at me?! I went in thinking we were going to kill the geezer and split! I nearly did, but-"
"BUT then that moron changed his mind; I know. You still stuffed your face and brought fuck all for the rest of us."
"Master Grym did exit rather abruptly-" Duncan softly interjected before being cut off.
"Shut your hole, Duncan." She snapped and stormed off.
"Don't take it personal, lad. The big guy drives us all to madness, he do." Dorian snickered and gave Duncan a hard slap on the back, causing the timid mage to shuffle forward from the impact. When their faces met however, Duncan's expression only looked more concerned than before.
Once preparations had been completed, Grym left with his lot back to node 23.
Grym advanced into Brey's lands with an army, ready to wage war. Intel of his library and magic caused the curious Grym to give his plans a second thought. Upon confronting one another, Brey invited him in and they managed to hash out conditions of an alliance. Aside from a pledge of military aid, Grym also promised to grant access to node 23 for Brey while Brey does the same for Grym with node 22. Grym was also granted a reserve of 500 magi to take with him. Brey is now also in the possession of a single harmless offspring which will allow for the relaying of messages/information through the use of the Cradle's information network. Ultimately, Grym leaves after negotiatians.
Preparations were being made to mount an expedition. Given the information Monica had relayed, the Northern region appears to have a majority rule. Marching up there alone with an army would put an end to young Grym too quickly. He was selfish, not suicidal. To contend as a player in the game he’d have to play a bit of catch-up. The map told him the South remained mostly unchecked. Some Gods continued pushing deeper into the chaos while others hunkered down to develop their lands. It was uncanny how differently the two regions had developed. Without unity, a surprise attack from the central node would surely grant him a bounty. To do so, he needed an army and the Cradle would provide.
To provide the numbers he needed, it took a few weeks for the Cradle to birth a full force by itself. Grym could have infected mortals to accelerate the process, what few didn’t flee, but he had a point to make. He hadn’t addressed even a single mortal yet, but for the few who stayed he wanted them to understand they weren’t under threat. Even as the number of offspring grew exponentially, they remained explicitly close to the Cradle. Not a single mortal had been harmed. These were the denizens of his realm after all. Grym could be unreasonable and flippant, but ruthless? No; at least, not indiscriminately.
While Grym waited for his army to amass he wanted to introduce himself to the remaining denizens of node 18. Most that remained were either too weak to flee or afraid to take the chance. So few had stayed that they gathered within a single settlement to the southern tip of the node. It was as far away from the Cradle that they could manage without leaving. A group of able-bodied volunteers had opted to defend the vulnerable population. Such defiance in the face of assured destruction, captivated him. Mortals had all the heart and mind of a God, but without their power. Their determination was endearing as well as admirable.
To approach them, he shrouded his rusted plate and rotted flesh with a long overcoat. He also fashioned a pristine helmet with a neckguard. During one of the group’s excursions for food and materials, Grym managed to snag the buck they’d been stalking as a show of good faith during his introduction. He wasn’t received as warmly as he’d hoped, however. A scowling woman heading the group had her expression fixed on the deer, and then Grym as he grew close.
“Who the hell are you? And why did you take our quarry?” The woman, Nea, barked before Grym even began.
“Name’s Grym, lover of melons and fun. I stopped this from fleeing, so you’re welcome.” Grym consoled, seemingly deaf to the point Nea was trying to make.
She furrowed her brow in disbelief, and then disbelief turned to frustration. Nea exhaled slowly through her nose and composed herself enough to speak through gritted teeth.
“He wasn’t going to get away. And if you were going to take the kill anyway, why the hell didn’t you do it before we spent an entire day?!”
Grym audibly clamored in response to the accusation. He hadn’t a good answer. All that came out was, “Y-you knew I was following you?”
A man by the name of Dorian, who’d been lingering toward the back till now, piped up. “Mate, you’re 7 feet tall and clatter like a full kitchen. Of course we heard you. You’ve been eyeing the village for days.”
“Really? But how did you know it was me?” Grym couldn’t recover at this point. Not only had he underestimated these mortals, but his perspective was completely disconnected from theirs.
“Your opinion of mortals must be 'dumb as bricks' if you thought a coat and helm would do the trick.” Nea remarked. “That or you’re simply lame in the brain.” She tacked on, nodding agreeably at her own summation.
He was no match. Playing at benevolent provider really wasn’t his strong suit anyway. A defeated silence consumed the meadow. Grym rid himself of the fabric and tossed aside his helmet, his ego completely deflated. The mortals had bested him, but most importantly had humbled him. He still insisted they take the deer from him, as he had no use for it, and properly introduced himself as a supposed divine. None of them accepted the revelation after such an embarrassing display, though they couldn’t deny that his unfinished body could not human. Warily, Nea agreed to permit his company back to the settlement.
It was here that Grym regained himself slightly and re-entered the interaction in a more transparent manner. Nea, Dorian, and a few other trusted humored Grym’s request for conversation; out of curiosity and desperation.
“These lands and its recent circumstances are results of my actions.” He began earnestly. “I am Grym, of divine nature and influence, but I would not harm or subjugate you. The creatures to the North that you fled are of my creation and it isn’t a coincidence that you’ve gone unbothered.”
The conversation continues with Grym detailing the Cradle and the nature of its offspring. He regales the state of the Crucible, what the appearance of divine beings means for the future, and what his own goals are regarding the Crucible.
“So, what; you intend to kill every other God because you can’t trust them?” Nea inquired. “Why would we trust you, then?”
“I’m not decided yet. I certainly don’t trust any one God to rule the Crucible. I want a world where Gods are not chained to destiny and the world isn't chained to Gods.” “So why should we trust you?” Dorian insisted.
“You don’t have to, but I’m asking for your help because I need it. I wouldn’t ask without offering something in return. Accompanying the risk you’d take there will be plenty to gain and I will guarantee the safety of your kin.”
The group of 50 or so went quiet, their minds caught in deliberation. Nea requested three days for each of them to decide individually whether to follow him. Grym agreed, returning to the node for the time being to organize his assault force. Peninal and the Hydra had assumed commanding authority in his stead. His army was just about ready to march. The remaining days were spent preparing his horde to march, totaling around a thousand offspring and counting. The Cradle would continue to reproduce in Grym’s absence and would be granted the autonomy to defend itself or advance within reason. Node 13 to the north would probably be the Cradle’s first stop once it could produce a smaller splinter force, but Grym would take the current standing force with him to the Southern region now.
On the dawn of the third day Grym marched his force Southward, with him soaring ahead on Akky to reconvene with the mortals. Roughly 30 of the 50 fittest had elected to join him. Some outright decline while many maintained their commitment to assisting the vulnerable denizens of their village. Nea and Dorian led a group of volunteers to where Grym stood with Akky at the edge of the settlement.
“Glad to see you both.” Grym mused.
“Can’t leave an idiot like you to his own devices.” Nea paused, giving Grym a once-over. “ You are a him, right?”
“We would be fools to sit idly by while the rest of the world moves toward this triggering event. Unfortunately you’re the God we’re stuck with. Don’t disappoint me, ay tin man?” Dorian added.
Grym acknowledged their statements in a rare display of solemn respect. The half-man stepped toward them and had his disciples line up. The ground shook, cracking beneath them, as an aura of fierce fiery light crept up from these fissures.. Blood erupted from their bodies and intertwined with the divine energy to singe their skin, burning permanently into various patterned markings. These innocuous scars were auburn in color, resembling dried blood, and had no contrasting texture compared to ordinary skin. From here on, these men and women were blessed as his faithful. Grym had used the rest of his pooled might to do this and arm them with suitable equipment.
“You are now officially patroned by yours, truly. Those markings recognize you as Warriors of the Blood Oath, as well as the power you’ve been granted. Now, we head South. Just one more detail you should know before we go.”
Grym explained his late arrival to the Crucible left most Gods unaware of his existence. The one God he’d met, Monica, only had relations with Gods in the north. He intended to hide his identity for as long as possible during the campaign, instead taking Monica’s appearance to stir up Southern politics. With a legion of offspring on the horizon, Grym joins them with his faithful to march into node 23. All one could hear was the thumping of marching as the great force made its way into the heart of node 23 essentially unchallenged. This node he knew to be neglected and unattended by the God who claimed it. It was rather similar to node 18, a stabilized land and nothing more than that. Peninal accompanied Grym at the front with the vanguard at the rear, as they approached the node. Claiming it was a formality in this forgotten land, though he had exhausted his divine influence so this was currently as much he could muster. Despite how simple it was to capture a second node, Grym elected to rest some. He’d been pushing himself over the edge just to get to this point so he’d decide his next move cautiously. Not to mention, something had been bothering him about Pops. Grym felt an unusual change from him ever since the reanimation. If the head had been taken for a reason by the other Gods, then it must have some value. It could be that something lies inside Peninal’s body as well, but who knows what?
Grym prepares for a campaign in the South. He meets with the single remaining settlement of mortals that hadn't fled during the creation of the Cradle. He offers a deal of cooperation with the most able-bodied of the bunch. A group of them accept his offer and are given a powerful blessing. The group is henceforth named "Warriors of the Blood Oath." With a vanguard of mortals at his side and Peninal's revivified corpse as a personal bodyguard, Grym heads South disguised as Monica to stir things up. The Hydra is left with the Cradle to defend node 18. Node 23 is effortlessly taken, though Grym lacks any remaining power to influence the realm. He decides to take a brief reprieve and deliberate his next action.
Starting Might: 5
-4 Might: Spent on an advanced group blessing. Created 32 Warriors of the Blood Oath.
- The Oath of Blood is Grym's first act of divine intervention with mortals. The blessed have had their blood and bodies altered forever, allowing each warrior to extract and utilize their blood as a tool. Their blood contains several unique properties, being able to change states of matter at will. In a solid form it becomes a tough black matter that is able to contend with the finest steel, while in a liquid state it can be manipulated adeptly (think water bending). Each warrior is only able to manipulate their own blood, as it's been altered by the blessing for this purpose. They can use it to create weapons or objects or harden it within their veins to soften blows or prevent blades from rending through flesh easily. It also allows them to circulate blood through their body without their heart and re-attach limbs to continue fighting, though a permanent means of healing amputation is not possible through this ability alone. Their blood is now a medium for utility, with its uses and limitations up to the individual user.
-1 Might: Spent on copying and taking on Monica's form/voice.
“I am positively hideous.” Grym gawked at a reflection of himself through the surface of a great lake that spanned most of node 18’s northern hemisphere. Akky snorted and shook her head, acknowledging the consensus. The two had ventured out from the cave for a late-night drink. Akky did not require water, though it was still refreshing to indulge, and her partner enjoyed the sight of a mirrored starry sky cast over the water. Out of all the things he’d observed in this mortal world during the last several weeks, it was the sky and the stars that continued to demand his utmost admiration. They remained a perfect example of a realm outside divinity’s reach. It was their very nature that made him question the destiny of all “Gods.” If the stars and the sky could exist without the intervention or guidance of beings like him, then there was no need for pretense; no promise to keep.
“Peninal-... Dad, you were wrong.” Grym spoke aloud. “It wasn’t cowardice to avoid your imposed destiny. Whatever we are, we aren't Gods. The stars shine themselves, without us. This world too does not need us once the nodes are stable. So I will act selfishly and without remorse to make sure that all others can do the same in a world unabated by any singular prevailing power.”
Grym reveres the cosmos with open arms and bellows, “I will capture every bit of land and sea underneath this Godless sky and throw it all away. To show you that this is already enough. It’s perfect.”
Perhaps it was too early in his lifespan to say so, but Grym was not the type for grandiose dramatics. This exception was a sort of proper goodbye to his predecessor in the form of a declaration. So with that Grym let out an exasperated sigh and let his shoulders slouch. Akky met his side and stooped low so that Grym could saddle himself properly before embarking on a journey back toward the node.
The map that denoted all other nodes had been the object of interest Grym hadn’t been able to inspect during his chaotic ascent. The stone guardian had returned to its disheveled post atop an almost ruined tomb and the hydra slumbered around the node yet still, probably unsure of what else to do now that the node was captured and its master was nowhere to be seen. Akky made her dissent toward the pedestal housing the map like that of an owl’s; graceful and silent.
Grym had to hold his skeletal jaw still to prevent it from chattering with excitement. The map contained far more information than he’d ever anticipated. It relayed in real-time the layout of every node and who controlled which ones. This would prove to be an invaluable resource for keeping track of events as they unfold. It was lucky nobody else had the foresight to trace back and capture this node.
And as if purposely timed, Grym felt the presence of another divine cross into his threshold. The truth is he’d been staring at the map for roughly an hour trying to decide whether to go north or south first, so this broke the stalemate in his mind at least. Aboard Akky he made his way back up north toward the lake where he was sure to run into whichever divine had returned home.
The sun was brimming just below the horizon now and it only occurred to him mid-flight that he hadn’t cleaned up the place or gotten ready a ‘welcome home’ gift. Frantically he tried to think of a simple, yet cordial gift. Rays of emerging sunlight revealed the approach of a female figure gliding in from across the northern shore. Grym reached out ahead holding a large fruit and announced his bone-faced greeting.
“I am Grym. Please accept this welcome home watermelon.”
The pale winged-woman came to a halt before him, held aloft with magically influenced winds softly whirling around her and granting her the grace of flight. She hesitated before speaking, an anxious expression affixed to her face as she introduced herself. “I am Monica. Hmm, thank you… for your generosity, Grym.”
She slowly flew closer; her forward movement more akin to walking across an unseen bridge hovering in the sky as opposed to natural flight, though considering the impractical placement of the wings upon her back on a shape that was evidently not designed to fly, the strange sight was as sensical as any other means of otherworldly magical motion. Her hands were hidden beneath wide white sleeves, but even so she still managed to grasp the watermelon and held onto it securely afterwards while wearing a small smile during the exchange.
“I am afraid I have nothing like this watermelon to give to you, so please forgive me for my unintentional rudeness.” She murmured with a mixture of forlorn melancholy and bashfulness which contrasted with her immediate close proximity - close enough for Grym to easily hear her quiet voice almost whispering into where his ears would be, close enough to feel the ethereal warmth of her presence where both the pristine and the putrefied skin still clung to his form. She seemed utterly unfazed by his decaying and rusted visage, until she realized how she was imposing herself upon him in her current position and flew back a short distance.
Grym cocked his head and thoughtfully clinched the part of his jaw where a chin would normally be. Then with a gasp he remembered and waggled a pointed finger in her direction. “Yes, yes.. Monica, the goody good girl. You were given quite the runaround during our little birthday bash. By the clever one; Benea was it? From the look on your face, you must have realized by now.”
He arrested his gaze from her and turned toward the sunrise climbing over the water’s horizon. There was much he needed to know that the map couldn’t tell him. At least Monica might be able to fill in the blanks and perhaps he might have a lasting effect on her indecisive nature. The silence broken by a single clap, summoning a checkered sheet into existence. It fell evenly upon the loose dirt of the lake’s shore, where Grym wasted no time sprawling lazily on a portion of the blanket.
“You should sit, Monica. We’ll have melon and you can indulge some of my questions; then I, yours. I’m sure you’re curious why I know such things after all, and why I knew of your arrival in the central node. I’m a great deal curious as well.” He spoke plainly. Whatever Monica might think, there was no obvious angle to his inquiry; no intimation of intent for which to gauge him.
“If that is what you would like then…” Monica alighted upon the blanket, folding her knees underneath her and resting beside Grym. “Ask your questions, and I shall answer.” She said in a demure manner as she caressed the watermelon and continued to watch him with a studious shimmer in her eyes. Though it was not difficult to discern her troubled thoughts and innocent intentions based upon her words and actions, the difficulty lay in experiencing the cold pressure of her complete attention which was akin to being peered at by the many heads of the serpentine monster that idled around the 18th node. She possessed the eyes of a predator, prepared for violence.
In another mundane act of creation Grym conjured a crude knife with which to split the melon, quartering it evenly for the both of them. He offered a wedge to Monica before taking one for himself. Each bite he took let loose chunks of sweet melon. Some of which sat in the cavity of his jaw while others spattered over the face of his skull and the rest of his armor. Notably, none of it appeared to find its way into his actual body. Nothing connected the swiveling skull to its host, after all. The mess being made was certainly obvious, but Grym finished “eating” all the same. Whatever sense of ominous surveillance Monica had brought with her, the man she met was not concerned.
“Thank you, dear. I knew you’d oblige.” Grym mimicked Benea’s demeanor for a moment, deliberately so to see if it provoked her. It may have been incorrect before to say that he wasn’t at all concerned with whatever baggage Monica had brought with her. Grym was particularly less concerned with her potential ire and, in fact, would aim to push her over the precipice of whatever crossroads she found herself. In a way, her flagrant display of turmoil provided an irresistible opportunity for Grym to stir the pot. He couldn’t resist poking a cornered beast.
“Let’s start with the basics then. How about you tell ol’ Grym the details of your adventure with Benea and company? All of it that lead you alone back to my humble home. ” Unlike Grym, Monica did not deign to eat her slices of watermelon, only momentarily inspecting a single slice before causing it to regrow its cleaved sections and form into a whole watermelon once more. She then laid the fruit closeby and closed her eyes as she regaled Grym with what happened throughout her journey alongside Benea and Xavior, and their eventual separation. She spoke with little inflection, lifelessly sharing her story of claiming her node and the creation of Maelite, where she awoke to find a world filled with death and darkness, at which point after a lingering silence has passed in her telling she offered to share a vision to truly let Grym comprehend the nightmare that was her realm, should he wish for the details that no description could convey.
During Monica’s retelling of events Grym gave his full attention in digesting it all, though one could be mistaken in thinking him distracted as his sight had been fixed upon the melon she’d regrown. Like an apparatus for which the purpose was not yet known, it was evident that a great many instruments were moving internally; the gears ever turning in the elongated stillness toward an end Grym would know when he reached it. With a sharp exhale he broke the silence and returned his physical attention to Monica, meeting her eye to socket.
“You know, Momo, I am confused. Outwardly, you act purely and avoid confrontation. However, your mannerisms clearly display a sort of dissonance with this behavior. But most importantly, you didn’t eat my melon. You.. “fixed” it instead. I think you’re a confused sort, Momo. You saw your realm and maybe you were so afraid that it came from you, that it shook your conviction to the core.”
Grym stood up and approached the base of the shore, close enough that water would wash over his boots when the tide rolled in. The sunlight cast an imposing shadow over his silhouette and he cocked his head halfway around to address Monica once again.
“What I dislike about you is your indecision. You won’t indulge yourself, nor can you truly commit to another’s cause. You’re clearly in anguish and still, you continue to put on a facade of neutrality. But I’ve got plans, Momo; plans to free the sun and the stars. For those plans, I’ll need help. Now I don’t care what you decide, but if you can’t pick a side right now I think I may try killing you to see what happens.”
“Will you answer my questions before you resort to murder?” Monica impassionately inquired.
"Well of course. I promised, so ask away dear girl." Grym clasped his hands behind his back in eager anticipation for her questions. Hopefully her questions were interesting.
“Hmm… You say I fixed your melon, but what does that mean and why do you consider it most important that I did not eat it? I confess, I was curious how it seemed to be continually changing before you cut it, and I was going to eat it after enjoying a thorough analysis to better grasp… what a watermelon is… Lastly, I should mention that I was preoccupied with providing the details of my travels alongside Benea and Xavior, making it an arduous task to simultaneously eat as well. Now, allow me to reiterate, it was never my intention to be rude.” Monica asked and added afterwards, holding the aforementioned fruit aloft with one hand as though it were a trophy she had claimed, or perhaps a piece of evidence in a mystery she sought to uncover.
Grym turned to face her again, scratching his scalp in a contemplative manner.
"Why is the melon important?" The way he phrased this reiteration was as if he was not quite sure either. Gusts from over the lake swept through to fill a brief pause before he piped up to answer his own question.
"Because it's a delicious summer fruit that ought to be eaten when offered. A snack is too much of a task to endure during a simple conversation, yet you allow Benea to tell you your worth and how to act. You're missing the point, Momo. You came back to the central node alone and brooding, you entertain a stranger's confrontation with a facetious courtesy when you've evidently brought baggage, and you've given almost no reaction when threatened with violence."
Akky once again emerged from his shadow with wings outspread and the full face of the sun cast a great shadow toward where Monica sat.
"I want to know who you are, Monica. As you are now, you're boring. Just a ball of pent-up passive aggression with no will of her own. Not a selfish bone in you and it's infuriating."
Grym saddles himself to Akky and idly strokes her mane. "But, as I said, I'm a busy man. If you're willing to take a chance, indulge your own desire for once, then come with me. I ask only for your company, not your subservience nor your loyalty."
Akky begins her ascension and Grym reaches out a hand toward Monica for her to follow him if it suits her. He was headed back to the node again. He'd already dallied too long here and there was something he needed to do before the other Gods catch wind of the central node's capture.
Monica remained rather reticent; refraining from divulging whether she would take the chance and accompany him, yet she still silently traveled with him to the node while carrying the watermelon.
He clasped his hands and nodded. “A step in the right direction!”
A Step in the Right Direction
With that, the two made their way toward Grym’s sole node. When the two drew near he motioned for Monica to tread cautiously, for the hydra still lingered warily by it. It was anyone’s guess how the guardian would react to Grym’s presence as well, now that it belonged to him. Luckily they both could remain at an altitude high enough that they wouldn’t be bothered.
“Your realm of darkness,” Grym remarked, seemingly out of the blue. “It doesn’t define you, Momo. You could simply change it if it bothers you; that is obviously within your power. This world is here for us to shape, apparently. I disagree with many of the things Pops said to us, namely our destiny to bring the nodes under a single banner, but I do agree with one thing-”
Grym levied a sudden break mid-speech, allowing a low rumbling from below the node to grow until it completely consumed the silence he’d left. Shrieking earth broke from all around the node, forcing dirt and dust in an upward current while the panicked Hydra clung tightly to the pillar. A brilliant crimson glow gleaned from the depths below, the same hue of energy that surrounded Grym’s body. The Hydra disappeared in the mess and the tomb buried, destroyed beyond repair now. An oppositional rasp boomed in contrast to the symphony of sundered earth.. Tendrils of a sickly yellow-green slithered up from the bowels and spread outward far as the eye could see, more and more of them until the epicenter of the mass had conglomerated into this colossal hive enveloping the protruding part of the node. Contact with the node caused the node itself to resonate as well and this continued even as the node became surrounded by the indeterminate organic mass that had sprouted into being. Tunnels and pathways became apparent as the mass grew and from above one would be able to tell that it rounded out into the shape of a hemisphere once reaching its monumental peak. Once it had finished growing it, the totality of this thing was comparable in size to a small town and resembled a nest. The cries of unnameable creatures echoed from within its walls while puttering blisters scattered its surface. There were most definitely creatures residing inside this hive, but perhaps more frighteningly the hive itself was alive and sentient.
Just when it seemed Grym was going to make his point after creating such a monstrosity, he didn’t yet. There was still something he was waiting for, the icing on the cake. First the Hydra burst out from inside the hive, but it was distracted and in indescribable agony. The same blisters that plagued the hive had appeared all over its body and the observant eye would be able to see its skin bubbling as if something had invaded the creature’s body. Before long the creature’s wailing ceased and it collapsed, though minutes went by and it rose again; this time seemingly unafflicted and calm. Its body remained covered in puss and blisters and its scales had dulled in color. At this, Grym didn’t bat an eye. Instead he held his gaze on a particular cavity within the hive, anticipative of another surprise. A silhouette took shape in the void, becoming clearer as it exited the recesses of the hive, and Grym eagerly leaned forward on Akky to see it properly. From the hive walked a familiar figure plagued by the same ailment as the Hydra, albeit headless. Despite the oddity, Grym was then satisfied.
“We are free to decide and shape the world as we see fit.” He continued. “You see him down there? Dear ol’ pops, the one who told us who we are and what to do. Look at’im now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not his fault. His mistakes are what allowed me to understand the truth, that none of us deserve the entire world to ourselves. I will free every node and oust every God from their post. Then, I will rest as well in the world that thrives without Gods.”
Monica glanced at Grym, with a furrowed brow after she studied the scene below, then spoke softly. [b]“Your creation obscures the map of the Crucible, may I move it aside to view which nodes have been claimed and which ones have not, please?”[/i] She asked, tilting her head with curiosity.
Grym ponders the question for a moment. “You might lie, but I’ll ask regardless. What will you do with this information, Momo?”
“Ah, well Maelite is lonely, so I must sing and dance in the shadows and darkness again. I would know where I should go once I have acquired the knowledge I seek here.” Monica answered, and a faint smile appeared as though she thought that proclaiming she would aim for another node would appease him.
“I’ll give you one thing, Momo. You aren’t as easy to bully as I’d anticipated. Whatever you do, decide for yourself. It’s less boring that way.” Grym lurched his head toward where the map is generally located. “Now, go see the map and be on your way. The Cradle won’t attack you unless I will it. Just remember this courtesy is a one time deal. That is, unless you properly share a ripe melon with me. Then I’ll consider being nice.” He snickered to himself in that tacky “I know I’m not funny” kind of way.
“Thank you for your kind words. I wish you good fortune in your endeavors, and await our next encounter with sorrow and joy in my heart. Farewell, Grym.” She said, before she descended into the section of the hive where Grym had gestured towards.
“Live selfishly, Momo.” Grym lamented as he watched Monica fly toward the map. He’d remain close enough to monitor her should she do anything too ambitious, but he wasn’t particularly concerned right now. With the hydra now under the will of the Cradle, as well as Peninal as his vanguard, things had begun to shift. Grym used the remainder of his reservoir to replace Peninal’s missing face with a new one and armed him with a flashy swordspear.
Grym dwells on his course of action utilizing the map of the nodes when Monica returns to the central node. The two meet for the first time and Grym prods at the sheepish God, trying to get a rise out of her. Tired of her indecision, Grym threatens violence before leaving to enact his own ambitions. She follows him to the central node, where Grym raises a great mythical beast that feeds on divine might to survive and grow. The parasitic hive revives the body of Peninal for Grym to employ, while the Hydra is overriden with and now under his command as well. Monica is allowed to use the map before leaving.
Starting Might: 8
Spent: 8 The Cradle [5 Might]: The Cradle is essentially a living, sentient hivemind that survives by feeding off of the energy of divine might. It was created and entwined with node 18 purposely, providing it with a constant source of food. It is inseparably attached to and built around the node. In totality, it is the size of a small town with roots that spread through essentially all of node 18's lands. In accordance with its parasitic nature, it is capable of infecting those with or without divine might through spores that any of its offspring carry inside their bodies. It primarily seeks out and attacks those with blessings of divine might [Champions, Scions, blessed individuals, etc.] or sources of divine might such as other Gods or even nodes. It will generally only seek out mortals as a last resort or if ordered to by Grym. The Cradle is capable of acting on its own in accordance with its desires, though Grym does have the ability to control it/its offspring as well as give orders.
The Cradle itself is capable of producing several different types of offspring to suit whatever needs are required. Swarmers which are essentially hand-sized grubs with legs that exist to suicide bomb for the sake of spreading parasitic spores, thralls which function as fodder and are usually seen in great numbers to overwhelm smaller forces, scouts which aren't combat-oriented and fly around for surveillance (they are also capable of carrying a small number of swarmers for aerial assaults), and juggernauts which are hulking behemoths made up of the same dense matter that the Cradle itself is made of. Other forms of offspring exist or may be created depending on what is necessary. The Cradle functions as a hivemind for all of its offspring, meaning it is aware of everything involving these creatures at all times. This information can be relayed to Grym as well, through the Cradle itself if he's close enough (inside node 18) or through one of the Cradle's offspring. The offspring of the Cradle act as Grym's legions and main acting forces, as he has yet to interact with or employ any mortals. The Cradle is powerful enough to even raise dead beings, although it's more of a reanimated corpse with just the properties of the original being still intact. The Hydra, for example, was infected and turned while alive while headless Peninal was raised from the dead.
Pop's Sword-Spear[3 Might]: The weapon was created with several unique qualities. Primarily, when it is thrown there are 3 possible outcomes: 1. The spear can be thrown normally. There is nothing special here. 2. The spear will split into 100 spears in a volley that encompasses a wide area. After impact is made, all but the original dissipate. 3. The spear increases in size significantly during flight; mostly effective against larger beasts or structures.
The Spear can be thrown quite a bit farther than an ordinary spear as well and will always return to its wielder after it's thrown
Why am I the only one who didn't get to grope our dead dad?
It sure is cramped and dark down here. Grym thought to himself. The only reason he had a semblance of down was the numerous voices chattering above him. His best guess told him he had come into being inside of the earth itself, though the how and why remain a mystery. Other than the voices that told him where he wasn't, there weren't any other clues to determine where he instead was. So, at first, he chose to listen. Despite his predicament, the voices of his predecessor along with those of fellow deities came through clearly. Enough was said to grasp the gist of what had happened and what will happen in the future. The caveat to this was all of the... curious touching of dear old dad once he died. Not sure what that's about, but the "ooh's and ah's" implied some modicum of importance. The chatter did eventually die down and an agreement had been loosely accepted among the divine before a gradual departure.
An indiscernible amount of time passed before Grym had the sense to think. They had left him, didn't even notice him, and he never agreed to nor had a say in their treaty. They even locked up dad, making it very difficult for him to cop a feel like everyone else. Imagine groping your dead dad and locking him up so no one else can; unbelievable. If his skull weren't vacuum-sealed by bedrock right now he'd be shaking his head in disapproval. Luckily, he wasn't one to hold a grudge. Who would expect a deity born stuck underground, after all? All of this gave Grym an idea to make the best out of his circumstances. Whether they had asked him or not, he'd never have agreed to a pact of neutrality right off the bat. The others had only gone along out of self-interest to prevent an all-out war from the jump. Fair enough. Boring, but fair.
Grym could feel the node resonating with his divine essence. It guided him toward the surface. No concept of time yet existed for him so there was no way to keep track of how long it took him to reach the node. Eleanna's attempt as well as the other's intervention gave him a rough idea of how the nodes worked. They took time to capture and were imperative to the world as well as the Gods. That was enough for now. The compacted earth took time and effort to loosen and burrow through but became easier to do so the more ground he managed to loosen around him until a membrane of loose gravel allowed him to traverse properly.
Between his superior physical prowess and a notable lack of sensory feedback, Grym was able to tirelessly advance underground until the light of the node validated his efforts. He was aware that even one of the guardians above would probably best him right now. Even if he could somehow manage one, the idea of undermining such a monumental effort to protect the node in this fashion was one that got him giddy with excitement. Imagine their faces when their mighty beasts are defending MY node. Hah!
In a not so graceful manner, Grym burrowed a bit further until his body was pressed against the node to activate capture progress. A reactive luminescence emitted from the node making it evident that it had begun. There were inquisitive hisses from the hydra up above and the shifting of stone that soon dampened. Grym's gamble had paid off. While he wasn't sure exactly how far underground he was, Grym had tried to remain far enough below that the sentries wouldn't detect nor be able to reach him once the process began. Had he a brow to sweat, there would have been anxious beads along it. Hours passed uneventfully if somewhat restlessly, as the guardians above shifted cautiously about.
Then it happened. The resonance of ethereal power culminated in the creation of a new domain, the domain of Grym. A plethora of ascendant knowledge became known at once. The power to shape one's domain and the might to reshape existing ones. The node he'd stolen had a pre-existing landscape and Grym could muster the resources necessary to change it, but that wasn't necessary. It would be a waste even. No, no, there was barely time to lose. The power and the node didn't even matter. The best part would be the faces of those silly Gods once they see the node taken despite their efforts. Priceless.
Grym goes into overdrive, burrowing to the surface with reckless abandon now that the node was his. A skeletal hand clad in an iron vambrace burst from the earth in the fashion of a classic zombie uprising, followed by his shoulder which thrust the rest of his upper body out from below. A gasping and triumphant cry erupted, cut short by a harsh cough as pounds of gravel fell from the skull's agape jaw. He wasn't really coughing, as he hadn't a throat or lungs to choke, but it made for a dramatic scene. The beast and the guardian stood in shock for a moment as Grym swiveled his sockets between them.
"I'm sure we can settle this peacefully."
The stone guardian rose its unwieldy blade to swing.
"I suppose not," Grym keenly evaluated before leaping to avoid the strike.
In avoiding the guardian's blade Grym was not so lucky as to avoid one of the Hydra's many heads latching onto his midsection and flailing about until launching the God toward the tomb. Grym's body crashed against the exterior of the tomb. The iron plate blanketing his body had dented, ribs cracked, yet this did not seem to inhibit him much; to his own surprise as well. He quickly scurried into the tomb to shelter himself and devise a method of escape.
Peninal was inside. The name wrang in Grym's mind as if the cadaver were a forlorn friend.
"Hey dad," The tomb shook as both creatures bore down onto it. Grym laid down next to the Old God. "Don't got a lot of time. I'm just gonna touch you and uh.. leave. Cool? Cool." The stone shook violently again. This time light pierced through a forming crevice, mirroring the introduction of the vast knowledge that Peninal's corpse bestowed. It all became clear and Grym shook his head. "Oh, pops.. that won't work. You're evidence of that."
Hellish red light plumed from the battered stone, giving cause for the siege to briefly pause. Before the beasts could resume their barrage a blur shot from the ruins of the tomb. It zoomed past the two before circling back into the sky above. Treading in the sky well out of reach was Grym aboard a pegasus, black as coal. Grym gave the guardians a brazen wave and then flew South. He'd remain within this zone just far enough to not be bothered by those guardians in an abandoned cave. The cave appears to have been inhabited until recently. Now that the node had been claimed it was time to get an idea of what's transpired. Grym hadn't the faintest idea how long he'd been out of the game after all. The disruption may draw some back here. He'd wait and see for now.
Grym woke up with the other Gods, albeit dozens of feet below the ground for some reason. Unnoticed, he was left to fend for himself. He heard everything that transpired above. After the Gods left he devised a plan to capture the node from underground before emerging and hopefully escaping the enraged guardians. He managed to succeed, as well as touch Peninal's corpse to gain the same knowledge as the other deities, before summoning a spectral steed to escape the hydra and stone guardian. He is now contemplating his next action in Croll and Zed's old cave.
Trusty Steed, Akasha [-2 Might]: Spent on creating a spectral black pegasus of extraordinary speed, allowing Grym to traverse great distances in a short time. She does not tire and does not require feeding. She can be summoned or dismissed at will, though Grym often keeps her around for her company. She understands all languages that Grym can and is able to travel great distances without Grym. [i.e. To deliver messages] She is not able to be killed necessarily, but fatally injuring the creature will cause her to vanish and prevent Grym from summoning her for 24 hours. Grym does become aware of the severed connection if this occurs, but will not be granted details of the event.
Form: Perhaps the most immediately noticeable feature he portrays is his face or the lack thereof. His entire head, in fact, is just an average human skull floating serendipitously above the rest of his corporeal form. His head sits abnormally still as if it were attached to an invisible neck, though if someone were to grasp at such a thing they would not find purchase. He is able to turn his head 360 degrees and his mouth parts do chatter when he is speaking. It isn't particularly necessary for him to emote to speak, but he is an expressive individual in spite of his lack of... features.
The rest of him is similarly humanoid in shape and stature. His body remains in a state of shambles by design. Rot and decay are rampant throughout the entirety of his being. The aesthetic is closest to what you might picture a typical undead thrall to look like. Parts of his body remain nearly pristine with musculature and skin seemingly intact while other areas display rot so advanced that bits of dry, bloodied flesh barely cling to the bone.
Grym is usually seen wearing a full suit of iron plate armor indicative of his dilapidated condition. That is to say, it is also ridden with rust and wear including a gaping hole in the left breast of the chest piece. The suit is clumsily adorned as his body is too asymmetrical from the advanced decay for it to ever look quite right on him. The rusted plates and joints shuffle around more than they would normally due to the ill fit. At a distance, it can even be kind of funny to see this misshapen figure hobbling about in a suit of armor that clearly doesn't fit. Mortals who've seen him up close are usually instilled with a morbid compulsion to stare at the rotted carapace. Those who experience the sight often warn of the tell-tale metallic rattle and recommend to those that hear it to cast their eyes down at their feet, without so much as a glance, until the sound fades completely.
When it comes to the elements, Grym is not particularly resilient nor susceptible to anything beside the extremes. As a God, he does not require food or warmth. Long exposures to cold may freeze the joints of his battered armor or cause the bits of remaining flesh on his body to seize up, slowing him, but he feels no physical sensations as a result. In contrast, heat does not have an observable effect on him. Without the need to hydrate or seek shelter the only real threat in this regard would be fire; not that there is much flesh left on him to burn. Most forms of outright physical damage can damage him, though the threshold for such damage to take tangible effect is higher. Damage is relevant in the sense that the bones in his arm being crushed to the point of non-function would prevent it from functioning, but anything short of that statute would at best be an inconvenience. So long as his form remains "functional," then he can continue to make it function. He can still be hurt or restrained or moved (etc.), but the threshold for effective injury is, dare I say, God-like?
Personality: Grym is kind of like a cat. The fact that his face is just an unshifting skull looming just above his body makes him hard enough to get a read on and yet he's the type of man who you will always notice is in the foreground of events. Not necessarily at the center of it all, but never far off and certainly unafraid to take the spotlight should it suit him. What his physical features do to betray this fact, he does not hide the inherent curiosity of his character. He takes great pleasure in simply being a part of the world, another cog in the machine. Sometimes he is the cog that moves others and other times it is others who spur the actions he takes. At the bare minimum, he requires himself to be present during the exciting world-altering events; at most he revels in being the one to shape the world. It is an ebb and flow of consistent involvement where his influence upon events is dictated purely by his interest in what's happening.
If you set aside his appearance and look only at the actions he takes, it is evident he puts forth great effort in being present. The fact that he is noticed in the corner of your eye during a discussion or that he answers a summons meant for another is never a coincidence. Grym is a man who enjoys watching, interacting, and meddling to see what happens. For him the world is as massive as it is incomprehensible. That's the way he likes it. The way he interacts could be interpreted as almost innocent or childlike. He asks questions and responds in kind, he will openly like or dislike others, and he'll take action so long as the result doesn't limit him in the future.
This idea hangs on the cusp of his sole motivation to take the nodes. His desire to control the nodes is simply so that another can't impose their singular will upon the world. The way things are now, in constant flux, is where Grym would keep things. His medium of control over the world would simply be the prevention of any other being, himself included, from imposing too much control or principle. He believes that such conformity would take all the fun out of it and would dissuade others from acting as freely as they normally would in response to the ire of whoever held the seat of power. If the seat of power is never taken, then everyone remains emboldened and the world continues to be interesting.
Will: Hedonism. Freedom. Forever. Grym is unbelievably selfish. It is said when he awoke that his empty sockets first saw the starry sky and he thought to himself, "I would have the world if only so that the starlight would always be mine to bask in." The will of Grym is simply to exist in a world unabated by a singular, constant influence. Seeing the dying God that birthed the new pantheon solidified that sentiment. Of course a single entity couldn't bring the world under its dominion; an ambition like that was nothing short of insanity. Now the new Gods bicker over who the next failure will be. You'd have thought the very sight of an all-powerful would illuminate them, but no. Only Gym could see the quintessential flaw of a crown that spans the world. It is too heavy a burden for anyone and the world nearly became lifeless, and more importantly dreadfully boring, because of misplaced ambition. The sight of the night sky had struck awe in Grym's wake and the rest of the world continued to enamor him. The fact that these Gods felt they could improve upon this was blasphemous. The only recourse was to prevent stagnation. It was his duty to stop short-sighted Gods from ruining a world already perfect. They weren't capable of seeing beauty in the world that already is, but Grym is willing to oblige his foolish fellows in forsaking their broken system. By whatever means necessary, of course.
Form: Perhaps the most immediately noticeable feature he portrays is his face or the lack thereof. His entire head, in fact, is just an average human skull floating serendipitously above the rest of his corporeal form. His head sits abnormally still as if it were attached to an invisible neck, though if someone were to grasp at such a thing they would not find purchase. He is able to turn his head 360 degrees and his mouth parts do chatter when he is speaking. It isn't particularly necessary for him to emote to speak, but he is an expressive individual in spite of his lack of... features.
The rest of him is similarly humanoid in shape and stature. His body remains in a state of shambles by design. Rot and decay are rampant throughout the entirety of his being. The aesthetic is closest to what you might picture a typical undead thrall to look like. Parts of his body remain nearly pristine with musculature and skin seemingly intact while other areas display rot so advanced that bits of dry, bloodied flesh barely cling to the bone.
Grym is usually seen wearing a full suit of iron plate armor indicative of his dilapidated condition. That is to say, it is also ridden with rust and wear including a gaping hole in the left breast of the chest piece. The suit is clumsily adorned as his body is too asymmetrical from the advanced decay for it to ever look quite right on him. The rusted plates and joints shuffle around more than they would normally due to the ill fit. At a distance, it can even be kind of funny to see this misshapen figure hobbling about in a suit of armor that clearly doesn't fit. Mortals who've seen him up close are usually instilled with a morbid compulsion to stare at the rotted carapace. Those who experience the sight often warn of the tell-tale metallic rattle and recommend to those that hear it to cast their eyes down at their feet, without so much as a glance, until the sound fades completely.
When it comes to the elements, Grym is not particularly resilient nor susceptible to anything beside the extremes. As a God, he does not require food or warmth. Long exposures to cold may freeze the joints of his battered armor or cause the bits of remaining flesh on his body to seize up, slowing him, but he feels no physical sensations as a result. In contrast, heat does not have an observable effect on him. Without the need to hydrate or seek shelter the only real threat in this regard would be fire; not that there is much flesh left on him to burn. Most forms of outright physical damage can damage him, though the threshold for such damage to take tangible effect is higher. Damage is relevant in the sense that the bones in his arm being crushed to the point of non-function would prevent it from functioning, but anything short of that statute would at best be an inconvenience. So long as his form remains "functional," then he can continue to make it function. He can still be hurt or restrained or moved (etc.), but the threshold for effective injury is, dare I say, God-like?
Personality: Grym is kind of like a cat. The fact that his face is just an unshifting skull looming just above his body makes him hard enough to get a read on and yet he's the type of man who you will always notice is in the foreground of events. Not necessarily at the center of it all, but never far off and certainly unafraid to take the spotlight should it suit him. What his physical features do to betray this fact, he does not hide the inherent curiosity of his character. He takes great pleasure in simply being a part of the world, another cog in the machine. Sometimes he is the cog that moves others and other times it is others who spur the actions he takes. At the bare minimum, he requires himself to be present during the exciting world-altering events; at most he revels in being the one to shape the world. It is an ebb and flow of consistent involvement where his influence upon events is dictated purely by his interest in what's happening.
If you set aside his appearance and look only at the actions he takes, it is evident he puts forth great effort in being present. The fact that he is noticed in the corner of your eye during a discussion or that he answers a summons meant for another is never a coincidence. Grym is a man who enjoys watching, interacting, and meddling to see what happens. For him the world is as massive as it is incomprehensible. That's the way he likes it. The way he interacts could be interpreted as almost innocent or childlike. He asks questions and responds in kind, he will openly like or dislike others, and he'll take action so long as the result doesn't limit him in the future.
This idea hangs on the cusp of his sole motivation to take the nodes. His desire to control the nodes is simply so that another can't impose their singular will upon the world. The way things are now, in constant flux, is where Grym would keep things. His medium of control over the world would simply be the prevention of any other being, himself included, from imposing too much control or principle. He believes that such conformity would take all the fun out of it and would dissuade others from acting as freely as they normally would in response to the ire of whoever held the seat of power. If the seat of power is never taken, then everyone remains emboldened and the world continues to be interesting.
Will: Hedonism. Freedom. Forever. Grym is unbelievably selfish. It is said when he awoke that his empty sockets first saw the starry sky and he thought to himself, "I would have the world if only so that the starlight would always be mine to bask in." The will of Grym is simply to exist in a world unabated by a singular, constant influence. Seeing the dying God that birthed the new pantheon solidified that sentiment. Of course a single entity couldn't bring the world under its dominion; an ambition like that was nothing short of insanity. Now the new Gods bicker over who the next failure will be. You'd have thought the very sight of an all-powerful would illuminate them, but no. Only Gym could see the quintessential flaw of a crown that spans the world. It is too heavy a burden for anyone and the world nearly became lifeless, and more importantly dreadfully boring, because of misplaced ambition. The sight of the night sky had struck awe in Grym's wake and the rest of the world continued to enamor him. The fact that these Gods felt they could improve upon this was blasphemous. The only recourse was to prevent stagnation. It was his duty to stop short-sighted Gods from ruining a world already perfect. They weren't capable of seeing beauty in the world that already is, but Grym is willing to oblige his foolish fellows in forsaking their broken system. By whatever means necessary, of course.