Naqqash
Un son familier dérive à travers la forêt tordue d'Elkesis, un bruit de respiration laborieuse et de lourdes chutes de pas. Un bon rampant entre les tress, profond dans son esprit méditant la souffrance du monde. Il pensait à ceux qui étaient encore dans l'esclavage qu'il ne pouvait sauver, aux misérables perdus et seuls dans le monde qui lui rendaient hommage. Il a versé des larmes de sang pour les âmes qu'il ne pouvait conduire à son oasis à Elkèse. Ses pas étaient la douleur car il se concentrait sur lui-même comme sur les autres, les éperons cruels et les pointes sur ses os griffant et coupant sa peau à l'intérieur et à l'extérieur. Le sentiment d'os déformés grincant et se penchant avec le stress comme sa tête a souffert du casque cruel fusionné à elle... et pourtant il marchait. À travers des brambles et des vignes bordées d'épines, il traque, apparemment ignorant de leur existence.
Après tout, c'était sa terre. Aucune bête n'oserait nuire à leur Dieu, à leur gardien, à leur créateur. Elkesis prospérait à son sujet, les sorciers filés s'éloignaient de lui pour trouver d'autres proies. Les plus grands d'entre eux s'inclinèrent la tête avant de tourner, sachant que c'était eux qui devaient rendre hommage. Il gémit tranquillement dans la douleur et l'angoisse, écoutant les âmes dans la douleur dans ses oreilles qu'il ne voulait que soulager leur souffrance. Les arbres semblaient se séparer devant lui et les plantes se prosternaient presque devant ce roi des épines.
Eventualy il a entendu les sons d'un de ses groupes folk libres dans une clairière. Ils dansaient autour d'un grand feu, chantaient des louanges et se réjouissaient même dans cette terre dévastée. Les enfants nés ici riaient et jouaient, et les plus anciens d'entre eux racontaient des histoires de leurs cicatrices et du grand dieu de la douleur, de Naqqash qui marchait parmi eux. le dieu vivant du peuple libre. Un sourire a trouvé sa place sur Naqqash alors que ces âmes chantaient pour lui, se réveillant dans leur force et devant leurs grandes douleurs qu'ils dansaient à son image. À travers les arbres, il vint à un grand nombre de gorgés de son peuple, alors qu'ils s'inclinaient devant leur dieu. Il marcha vers un grand arbre abattu, les gens libres se précipitant autour de lui dans l'admiration comme leur dieu tournait devant eux. On entendait le bruit des os qui grinçaient et des déchirures de la peau comme le dieu pâle qui avait la peau s'asseyait lourdement sur le bois noir, un soupir de douleur qui échappait à ses lèvres. Il s'est adressé à son peuple pour lui demander de s'asseoir.
Tout le monde l'a fait, les oreilles et les yeux ouverts à leur seigneur, leur sauveur. Il n'était pas un à perdre de vue. "Un conte, un bon peuple, des chaînes que j'apporte et le clash qui est assis au-dessus. Un grand vieil homme qui se flétrissait en dessous, et qui priait les étoiles d'en haut. Non pas pour la miséricorde non, pour cela il n'y avait pas de plaidoyer, mais pour la strngth dans ses bras et l'amour dans son cœur à répandre à d'autres comme lui. Il dit au ciel: «N'enlève pas mes cicatrices, car tu vois le bon ciel, c'est eux que je dois remercier pour la force en moi.» Nos cicatrices ne font que nous rendre tous plus forts, car sans elles nous serions moins. N'oubliez jamais vos cicatrices de bons gens, car ils ne partiront jamais.", c'était alors l'appel du gardien qui sonnait dans sa tête, et Naqqash soupirait une fois de plus alors qu'il se tenait et faisait ses adieux à son peuple. En un éclair de lune, il avait disparu, ne laissant que les yeux étonnants de son peuple, et l'histoire qu'il avait laissée derrière lui.

Naqqash est arrivé dans le hall peu après Ilyona. Quelle dichotomie, pour que le soleil rayonnant soit suivi par des épines grotesques du dieu inférieur. Il ne gémit plus dans la douleur ou l'angoisse, car maintenant cela n'a plus d'importance. Il ne réfléchissait pas à la souffrance, et sa force l'emportait, et il ne ressentait aucune douleur. Il regarda la pièce à tous ceux qui étaient arrivés. Oksana, tueuse de son père et de celui qui a tellement obité le retour de son centre. Ferrum, un homme qui s'était opposé à la guerre dans la rébellion mais que Naqqash n'avait rencontré que brièvement. Puis il y eut Aesis, le dieu de la mer qui semblait encore se moquer de la mort de son propre père, le grand-père de Naqqash. Il avait l'air... paisible pour un roi mort, pensait Naqqash. Bien sûr, Ilyona n'était pas loin de Naqqash, mais il n'avait jamais rencontré la déesse du soleil, ne sachant pas quoi penser d'elle ou du Gardien qui était assis à la tête de la table à côté du trône.
Naqqash prit tranquillement sa position près de l'extrémité de la table, un peu derrière ses pères vieux fauteuil, où il ne pouvait pas s'asseoir... un autre léger pour lui à porter. Il regarda seulement à Ferrum long wenough pour donner un clin d'oeil de la légion d'achnol, avant de finalement parler. Sa voix lourde portait bien, mais était étrangement soumise néanmoins, "Bonjour. Je suis humble de me retrouver ici une fois de plus, même si les circonstances sont... douloureuses. La perte des grands-pères est un autre fardeau à supporter, et je la supporterai, comme nous le devons tous. »
Name: Naqqash
Gender: Male
Appearance



Naqqash was born a grotesque. Were he not a demigod he no doubt what have been born dead. His bones were warped and many fused together, great spiky growths ripped free of his skin and his skeleton was dotted with cruel bone spurs. His skin was rent and torn, tougher than leather by the time he reached adult hood. His face was so rictus and terrible his father had it hidden beneath a thick helm... through which the spines grew and eventually fused it to his skin like the rest of his armour. He stands at about 13 feet tall, and is well muscled despite his twisted form.
Personality: Naqqash is a serious God, he is slow to jest or joke as he believes such things can be distracting. However, despite what you'd expect, Naqqash is neither dowre nor depressed. Indeed, he carries himself with a poised since of hope and determination. He is never idle or lazy, intent on making his hopes and the hopes of his followers a reality. He lets not his pain stop or hinder him, turning it into his strength, a cross to bear turned into tool rather than a crutch or hindrance. He practices what he preaches, he accepts his suffering and moves on, keeping it from hurting him more than it absolutely must. So, while not jovial or seemingly happy, he is kind and understanding. He wishes ill will on very few, only the holders of the lash who do so without thought or remorse. His amiable nature gives way to endless determination when the need arises, stubbornness is a trait he keeps from his father.
Major Domain: None
Minor Domains: Pain and Loss
Your Avatar:



A massive three headed dog,large as many other avatars standing several hundred feet tall.
Stance: Naqqash is yet to declare an alleigance, too afraid of making the same mistake as his father and backing the wrong Gods. But, suffice to say he hopes to find a side to back that gets him his fathers Center of Power, an item he longs for an believes is his by birthright.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: Naqqash sided with his father, the God of Greed, who had sided with War. During the war Naqqash was his fathers principle warrior, being his only child. the Demi god was a talented warrior, said to be able to outlast any opponent in a fight. Some claimed he could not tire, and that no amount of pain could stop him. That his thick skin, dull reaction to pain and thick bones made him nearly un-beatable. While simply a myth made during war, he remained unbested until the very end. Once his father was slain by the Goddess of the storm Oksana, Naqqash immediately surrendered. It was no longer his fight.
After that he bent the knee to the King once more, his stake gone with his fathers death.
Center of Power: Naqqash has no center of power... his father did. But that is lost to him, or rather kept from him, by the King of the gods so he cannot become a full god. This is due to the fear of the King and Oksana that greed is untrustworthy inherently and would inevitable betray them again. Naqqash is convinced he would do no such thing, and deserves his fathers center.
Relations
-a good friend and spiritual son of Sekh, god of pestillence (Obscene)
-Under the suspicion of the Goddess of time, andd trying to prove himself to her and others (Kit kat)
-enemy of Oksana, slayer of his father and one of the primary people keeping his fathers Center of Power out of his hands
-Ahru is a friend and positive influence on Naqqash, who is often happy to see the trickster even when neing the subject of jokes and pranks
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Powers
Naqqash is a dangerous combatant, though his grotesque form could suggest otherwise. Though slower than many other Gods, almost none can match his resilience. In fighting Naqqash relies on his strength and ability to take damage and keep fighting. Though taslented in his own right, the strength he has gained from his life of pain and hardship is his greatest tool. Rare is the fighter who has even a chance to outlast Naqqash.
Godly Equipment
Golden thorn: Naqqash's personal weapon, it is a fusion of his own old blade and his father's Gods-bane sword.
Fused armour: His armor has long since fused with his body, meaning unlike many others who wear armour he is far less slowed down by it. In addition, the armour is nearly impossible to seperate from his body.
Bone Spines: His body is covered in cruel, sharp protrusions that torment his form, and are extremely sharp and make fighting him up close exrtremely hazardous.
Demi Gods:


Naqqash's one and only child, his daughter Scylla is quite young compared to many other demigods having been sired and born shortly after the rebellion. She, like her father, was born a monstrosity though in quite a different way. She is composed of two bodies, one of a monstrous beast below, and her more human but still warped half placed atop its shoulders. Her face is rumoured to carry the marks of a beast as well. She dotes on her father, even taking a mask like his own to cover he face, and seeks to support him in all endeavours.



Name of your Land: The followers of Naqqash and indeed Naqqash himself have no lands, being the dispossessed and enslaved. His worshippers are the cults beneath the lash, the gatherings of slaves in the night and the grotesques in the gutters. Those who are lost, in pain, who see no end to their own suffering.
These are his worshippers. The young god has far less than others, but thhey are truly fanatical. His priests are the ones who whisper frantically in the night about hope, about freedom and prosperity. He likes it this way. To help the desperate and destitute, and give them hope when it seems there is none. The closest to a land he has are the wilds of Elkesis, a place of deep gnarled woods and disturbing beasts. The beasts and wilds like their creator are twisted and warped and in much pain. Some shoulder it like their master, others are cruel and ornery predators. Also in these woods are his only 'organized' churches. Escaped slaves and grotesque pilgrims dance amongst the trees, embracing their pain and celebrating it together.
It is their home, and Naqqash loves it this way.
Lands: The Wilds of Elkesis are like something out of a terrifying tale or painting. The trees are blackened and twisted, their trunks gnarled and made up of extremely tough wood. The branches have deep red leaves or no leaves at all, creating a desditute and dark look. The beasts are little better, often large and as disturbing in appearance they prowl the woods fighting eachother or seeking food and always in pain or with some other suffering. Massive hairless dogs with black and cracked skin and a mouth filled with rock like teeth seemingly placed happhazardly along their jaws. Long reptiles with wrinkled scales and pained expressions, beasts stranger still prowl the thick woods with dead foliage that seems to always grow.
Gnarled roots and vines seem to try and drag the inhabitants down... but still people live here. The free folk as they call themselves are all quite alike. All have suffered greatly in one way or another, and bear their scars happily. Former slaves and grotesques, shunned children and bastards, victims of abuse at the hands of loved ones or others, prisoners unjustly imprisoned and tortured. All have suffered in their own way, and live together now in the great cults of their lord. They walk through the wilds, often armed and armoured to survive, but exalting their freedom. At night they will build great pyres and dance about them, the scars of life apparent on their flesh in all their own unique ways. Sometimes one of the cults will be visited by their god, whi will join them in revelry, or tell great stories of his suffering, or even set them on a mission to bring more like themselves to this holy land.
Here all are free.
People: The people of Elkesis were by and large not born their. Most are runaways and wanderers, pilgrims and oasis seekers. They say in order to find his land as a mortal you must have experienced a great pain in their life, and that the gnawing ache will lead there as scars throb and even bleed as they get closer. They are from everywhere and it shows, sking colors of every range are seen and members of many different races find salvation here. And all kinds are welcome, for we all seek a place where we suffer no longer.
Culture: Nomadic, the people of Elkesis move where the food is in the wilds, unable to farm the top soil. But they do not do so with frowns, and complain very little. they are stoic and determined to survive in their new lives of freedom, free from thie old pains. All worship Naqqash here, for only his worshippers would ever stay in such a place, let alone find it.
Technology: The technology is largely primitive or mix and matched as the populace simply brings whatever they can with them to this oasis.
Capital: The closest thing to a capital is the great thicket. A massive patch of briars, thorns, and downed trees. Its said if you can get to the middle it is where Naqqash lives when he is not travelling.
Beings