Name: Cotazur

Form: Cotazur takes the shape of a man of average height, early in the eve of his days as characterised by his gray hair and wrinkled features. A well-kempt and smooth-cut mutton chop beard trails his jaw and bridges across his upper lip, exposing a strong, cleaven chin. Much more skin is hardly visible on the man, as the rest of his body is covered in a marine blue overcoat of cotton over a mighty cuirass yet over a long mail underskirt. A striking ribbon of red velvet upon white silk cuts across his torso from right shoulder to left hip, and gleaming cold rims every corner and strip of his armour - the hips and shoulders themselves protect themselves with thick plates. Down his back, Cotazur sports a cumbersome, overflowing cloak of silvery fur from a magnificent beast of legend.



Personality: Every inch of Cotazur’s form radiates authority. With a silhouette as broad as a boar and a scowl as harsh as the winter, his presence alone would bring the silence of a graveyard to the rowdiest of feasts.

Except that’s about where his authority ends - if it even reaches here at all. Cotazur commands no crowd with his voice - it is small and unconvincing, while his words are grand and empty. Even with divine power, Cotazur cannot seem to do anything right - his ravenous ambition is constantly sabotaged by his inability to communicate properly with others. He knows well what a failure he is, and it irks him to no end. He is therefore quick to snap at his peers and even exercise violence in want of other ways to express himself - and violence, he has learnt, usually gets you whatever you want.

Will:

Cotazur has the Will of Glory. Cotazur wishes to be heard, to be seen, but it runs deeper than that: His deepest desire is for people to recognise him for something other than his endless mistakes and to worship him for his successes. However, this will twists and ferments in his impatience, and his yearning for glory may lead him on a bloody path of conquest and despotism if that’s what it takes.

Had Cotazur ruled all the nodes, then maybe this would have sated his inner desire; maybe this would have been some form of victory that people would recognise him for. That is, if there are any left by the time he’s done.

Favorite Color:
Burgundy

Name: Grym, The Unfinished

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.

Favorite Color: Bright Red

Name: Rock



Form: A solid piece of earth, mostly circular in appearance bar some imperfections to its exterior. Around 5 inches in diameter, this rock would in no way, shape or form be considered a mere pebble, but neither would it be defined as a boulder. Its peculiar shape and size allows it to perfectly fit in between various nooks and crannies, as well to easily be carried across distances, should it happen to be picked up by an able being.

Personality: Rock is generally calm and collected, allowing it to take in its surroundings and the ever-changing essence of nature. Although small, it nevertheless used to be one with a much larger piece of the earth, and due to some freak accident or divine retribution/intervention, it simply broke off at some point, a great tragemdy. It generally likes to go with the flow, takes things in stride, and it definitely does not break down under the stress and pressure of everyday life. Truly, rock solid.

Will: The earth generally shares one will, that of nature. However, Rock has been separated from that, let to wander the lands forever and ever. It takes in the sights of the world, forever cursed to be an observer and never a player in this grand game of existence. Perhaps, its greatest desire - should one suppose a mere rock would possess anything close to the very thing that makes sentient beings what they are - would be to once again become one with its source, wherever and in whatever form that may be. Ah, what a sedimental scene that would be.

Favorite Color: Brown.