Moder

History
The young wildclaw was fast asleep, at the edge of the river. Above him loomed the creature, its wretched hands touching, seeking the grief it sensed within. A fire, within the den- loved ones calling for help. And this one ran, abandoned them. Knew he would die with them. And yet, he blames himself. Knows there were other options. The guilt, the pain- they were fathomless.

And within those fathomless glowing eyes, it swallowed the agony, drank it in, and the wildclaw relived every moment of it. He thrashed and cried in his sleep, screaming himself into wakefulness. Its claws held his head close to the ground, demanding it stay. Demanding he witness it. Demanding he witness his guilt.

It spoke in its language to the broken one, and he understood what it said because it articulated his pain. Its hand recoiled, but the dragon did not move, accepted it, the pain, embraced his new purpose. As the deity turned its back to its new servant, the young wildclaw followed, head bowed in reverence.

And the god was pleased. About
From one of Void’s portals came an unfathomable creature. Deep within the Styx, its shoddy, earthen hide lit blue from the fungi, its hooves scraped the damp stone. It stood on four limbs, sodden fur hanging from its moose-like legs. Behind the ribcage, a small pair of human limbs sprouted, tucked against its belly. Tailless, its spine broke through its rotten skin, jutting up in branch-like spines. Up and up they went to its withers, where its sturdy neck held up a gruesome skull.

Human-like, the torso vein-ridden and gray and arching back, its legs turned to sharp, twisting antlers. Its arms extended down, framed by massive, barren jaw bones like those of an elk. Flesh and fur mingled, a dripping shroud, covering the empty pit tucked between those grasping, withered forearms. Two hollow, glowing eyes stare with an ancient intensity, one demanding respect and fear. It is a jotunn, Moder, loathed child of Loki, and it had been freed from its forested prison.

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Moder was quick to establish a territory in the Pit. The furthest part of the underground expanse of the Styx, where the moss is so thick on the stalagmites it resembles a forest. Any who entered first received no warning, impaled upon the sharp stones. The smell and the sight became enough of a warning then, and Saskia was eventually forced to investigate.

She didn’t cross the line into its territory, and eventually the creature came, stared her down from across the boundary. When it did not cross to challenge her, and she didn’t do the same, she got up and announced that everyone stay the hell away from that place. That part of the Styx wasn’t being used- the weird elk monster could have it for all she cared.

Sashenka began to try to communicate with it, as its ancient language was brought to light and they tried to understand what it was. But it was impossible to decipher- it spoke in tones no dragon could replicate.

It became clear what it was capable of when a young wildclaw entered its territory, unaware of what lurked and seeking a way to end his pain. As he slept beside the Styx, contemplating his existence, his loss, his grief, the creature emerged, and stood before him. When he tried to stand, it leant its weight upon him, its gnarled fingers holding his skull against the stone. Part of him understood, then. It could not leave its territory- would not- but he could. He would be its eyes and ears.

From then on, though he does not know it, Beckett was granted eternal life, a life where his body would decay and rot and yet his soul would persist. He worships the monster, believing it is a deity. It, in turn, allows him to tread its territory unharmed.