King Brodd

Brodd is old enough to remember when his father's snoring shook mountain ranges. Mightiest of the World Titan's true sons, he spent long ages as gargants do — eating, wandering, being enormous — until the day Behemat woke, raged, and died beneath the God-King's storm. Every gargant in the realms felt that death like a bell tolling in the bones. Brodd felt it as an orphaning and an insult, and he came out of his grief carrying something no gargant had ever carried before: a grudge against godkind itself.

Where other mega-gargants collect loot or fights, Brodd collects gargants. He walks from tribe to tribe preaching a simple, seismic gospel: the littl'uns' gods murdered our father, the littl'uns' coin has made us their hirelings, and the realms will go on treating gargants as monsters or muscle until every Stomp walks as one. When the earthquake god Kragnos burst free upon the world, Brodd read it as an omen and marched his followers to the siege of Excelsis at the rampaging deity's side. The city's walls held — but the sight of a gargant king making war on the gods' own scale changed something in the tribes, and the tribes have not forgotten it.

Brodd goes to war beneath a club that littler folk would call a monument, and every swing of it is a sermon. To the free cities he is a walking apocalypse; to the scattered, squabbling children of Behemat he is something far more dangerous — an idea. Gargants have always been the biggest things on any battlefield. King Brodd means for them to become the biggest thing in the realms' story, and he is patient the way mountains are patient, because he intends to outlast everything smaller than himself. Which, as he sees it, is everything.