Joan
Boo held on to her sisters thumb as she tried her best to balance herself on her hand. She cowered at the other deities, who she didnt know much of and who looked a lil scary to her. She looked up at her sister and asked "Can we go somewhere else where it's not so high up?" 
She was figuring out she was afraid of heights. But she would also like to meet others even if she was a lil scared. Maybe she could ask someone to help her with her stomach pains and her wings not working properly.
Jaimie
The branches of the great tree has given way to many a magnificent form. Dazzling marvels of entities who were birthed in spectacular ways. Beautiful creations of Gaia who would go on to create even more. But not every fruit goes on to bear a stunning seed. Among the shapes of the astonishing fruit on the high branches of Yggdrasil desperately clung a misshapen and bruised form. The fruit was blackened and moldy, its skin shriveled, its stem weak and barely able to support its own weight any longer. The juices now serving as a coating of slime. All it would take was one stiff breeze among the great boughs and then... It would fall.

Tumbling, tumbling down. Soft thump after soft thump until at last it would strike a larger sturdy branch, and end with a quiet *Splat*. The fruits innards, a sickly orange-green color, would coalesce into a messy circle around the broken rotted figure of the fruit. And it would remain there for a time, seeping into the wood. Whatever life to be borne from it seemingly never to be. Then it twitched. The shriveled skin began to ripple with activity as a single bug burst forth, followed by another, and another. A swarm began to be and the lifeblood of this dead fruit began to move back inwards towards its source. The bugs were a flurry of motion now, covering the entirety of the skin except the stem which stuck out like a new shoot desperately struggling to not be strangled.

Suddenly, the insects would quickly build on one another as if forming a small bridge striking out from the writhing mass. The beginnings of a hand could be seen straining to reach beyond its confinement before it would collapse in a shower of tiny bodies. The pests would quickly skitter back to the hive and a moment longer would pass before a second attempt was made. This time two vaguely-looking appendages would spring up and out from the top of the corpse of the once fruit. The abnormally formed hands would slap the ground as something tried to push itself out of -

- the rot. Two darkened holes would appear in the mass, one could assume to be a crude imitation of eyes, as a gaping maw still tied together by various strings of bugs would wrench itself open in a silent scream. Then sound finally came. A throaty cry of what could be agony was produced by the mass as a small mound began to slowly rise up. The arms were now more solid and certain as a head began to form, then a neck, then a torso, and the half-silhouette then lurched forward placing one hand fist down on the wood of the branch to prop itself up. The forearm of the other appendage was some paces ahead as the head bowed and the humanoid form began to crawl its way forward.

The forearms were used heavily as the thing dragged itself out and across the ground. The insects were now forming a pair of legs as the entity began to realize itself further. The tiny creatures were now growing still in the upper body as the more detailed pieces came into place and a gasp could be heard along with labored breath. The skin was pulled taut and the eyes began to shift as the hair grew in. A man could now be identified and he would quickly turn himself over onto his back. Propped up by his elbows the older man would calm somewhat as he witnessed the last of his toes come into being. Fear was quickly replaced by curiosity as he wiggled them before sitting up completely and looking over his hands with close inspection.

Mold would cover him in patches across his body. Several mushrooms sprang out from his skin and were quickly growing. Not just growing. *Spreading*. Looking to the husk that he just crawled out of he instinctively outstretched his hands towards the blackened and dead thing as if beckoning it to him. The shriveled and dry skin would instantly leap towards him, and wrap itself around the man. Tattered old clothes would begin to form, and as he stood on his own two feet for the first time a brown cloak would descend around his shoulders in a regal manner. He looked down -

- at his hands once more. The being could feel the growths on him slowing as if calmed by the presence of his new attire. Finally comfortable. That feeling of explosive growth coupled with a rush of what seemed like panic was gone. Dissipated by a strange sense of familiarity. Whatever that panic was, that struggle, he didn't like it. He didn't want to feel it ever again. With a deep breath he gazed around at his surroundings. He stood atop a great tree with a single name implanted in his mind. *Gaia*.

His eyes finally rested upon the last traces of the form he pulled himself free of. A dark spot where his lifeblood seeped into the wood. Even now a small amount of mushrooms began to root themselves where it once spilled. They would go no further. The older man took a single step forward and knelt down next to the spot, his brown cloak billowed around him. Despite his haggard appearance he carried an air of regality that definitely did not fit his outward character. He pinched the weak stem that had kept him aloft on the tree and then grasped it fully.

The stem would enlarge and twist at his command. This power was new to him, yet it felt like second nature. Like he had done it all his life. The stem became a walking stick though the state of it wouldn't be much better. The wood was rotted and falling away leaving splinters and shavings as it was lifted by its master. He took it in both hands and examined it carefully before a small grin would crack across his face, and his lips turned slightly upward. He set it down and turned away from the trunk staring outward towards the edges of the branches.

A second thought entered his mind. A second name. One he would come to know quite well. He did not know where it originated or from who it was sent by. Gaia perhaps? It's origin was of no concern. He simply knew it was his and his alone. -

- "My name..." A weak voice spoke before he paused and collected himself. The confidence in his first words wavering for a moment before they returned with a staunchness. "My name is *Norgg*."

The voice was stronger now, sturdier. The voice of someone who could command great strength... But perhaps that wasn't befitting of his stature for now. It did not fit this old and frail man. For now he needed to explore and experiment. To find out what exactly he must do. When he spoke this time he sounded like the man he appeared to be.

"Now, let us explore this grand tree hm?" Norgg said to his stick. He scratched at his unclean and crazy grey hair, a few bugs falling out. And off he went, slowly picking his way down the bough of his birth.
Carla
*The fruit was one of many, its appearance unusual - which was, in and of itself, very usual. If each fruit truly reflected its God, then this was no different. For one, this fruit was stuck to its branch by two stems rather than the more normal single stem, gently swaying to and fro. Secondly, it was doing its best impression of a disco ball.

The seam was top-to-bottom, right in the middle of the fruit. One half was bright and vibrant colours, pastel pink and shining yellow and regal purple, yet it gave off an air of trying to hide itself. Perhaps the fruit, if such an attribute can be ascribed to a fruit, was humble in its beauty. 

The other half was... Duller, admittedly, which made its own beauty shine all the more. Dark crimson and a deep ocean blue and more opposing shades to its other side, yet sparse twinkles of light broke through the skin. That was only the day, of course. In the night, the whole fruit shone pure silver, whole and reflective of the innumerable stars.

Something... Happened, though. Not every fruit need flower, after all, and many go without blooming. This seemed to be another one. A rot, spreading from the stem nearest the vibrant side, had begun to spread. The rot grew, slowly, creeping along the oblivious fruit. It was, in a way, more Godlike than the fruit itself. One is unborn, stagnant, and may only exert its will upon blooming into a true Deity, while the rot can eat and devour and consume as much as it likes with nothing holding it back.

Only... The rot was, in fact, held back. A sort of pustule formed on the vibrant side, then multiplied into blisters that quickly calcified into ivory-white bones. The blisters spread, faster than the rot, effectively cutting the fruit in half along the seam between light and dark. Perhaps the rot was contained. Perhaps this would be a God of Medicine, of plague-halting, of lepers and diseases? They would protect those that had already been harmed, save those that require saving, flitting from realm to realm in a heroic journey of-

All of a sudden, one of the stems holding the fruit aloft* ***Snapped,*** *And though the calcified bone was able to withstand the sudden change, the fleshy half wasn't. The fruit tore in half, revealing not even rotten flesh within the bone. It had been eaten, in its entirety, from the inside out by the rot, either not strong enough or not lucky enough to survive to Godhood. 

And
The
Healthy
Half

Fell.*

*It plummeted for eons and for no time at all. The distance between the upper branches and the fruit branches was, after all, a Divine distance, incapable of being truly measured by knowledgeable minds. The fruit half, spouting juices (that would taste suspiciously like tears, if consumed) out of its great gaping wound, tumbled past the limbs of Yggdrasil. 

At some point, it ceased to be a fruit. There was no observable process, for the ways of Gods are fickle things, everchanging and only static so long as they are static, with no rhyme or reason besides. Perhaps, however, there was some process.

If such a process existed, one would see the fruit grow. It would form a shell around itself, that fruit acting as the centre and the heart of a nascent God. This would mean a part of it was forever missing, forever taken from it by nothing more than a whim of an uncommon, Divine rot. The fruit, of course, didn't know anything about rot, and wouldn't remember a second of its birth.

If such a process existed, one would see that heart begin to beat, and at that same second, everything would pop into place. The winds, loud and howling as the not-quite-fruit tumbled downwards, would coalesce into pale flesh in some organized shape. Twigs, cracked and falling with the former fruit from its long journey to some destined branch, would slide neatly into place, bypassing the wind-flesh entirely. The heart would grow, grow into organs it knew not the purpose of, only the schematic from which it must take its shape. From its crying wound, blood would come forth, and that blood would fuel the Divine body that is now made physical.

But such a process does not exist, and none would see such things.

The body, nameless, would crash into a sturdy branch. It would lay there for maybe minutes, maybe millennia, breathing and beating and living except for the horrible grief. A bone-deep jarring horror that made its recently-created stomach churn, that made bile rise up its never-used throat. It didn't know why. Though the body came from the fruit, it is not the fruit, and it does not know the agony it just went through. The body can never know the pain of the fruit, for they are two different things, eternally separate, even with their shared legacy. 

Eventually, however, after endless torment, the body would rise and think its first thought.*

*It-

No.

No, that was false, not an It, never an It, that denoted something lesser, something that would lay down and die, something. Something. It was not Something, It was Someone, and Someone was...

Visarni. The name comes to Him through the shadows of His mind, something ephemeral in a language long-forgotten. Or... Was the language soon to be made? He did not know, and that didn't quite frighten him, but certainly worried. With unsteady legs, He strides (more wobbles) across the branch. Where the wood has dipped down, a puddle of translucent liquid has formed. Rain? He doesn't know what rain is, and doesn't know if rain exists, but that is the first word that comes.



The visage that greets Him is... Well. A visage, to be certain. His head is a skull, the word might be, of some animal he doesn't know. It is elongated and triangular, and what should be a mouth is split right down the middle. Two possibly deadly mandibles, straight edged and shining wickedly, make up His teeth - He can move them, side to side and up or down, in a disconcerting motion. On the side of His head are asymmetrical and gnarled antlers (another word), which certainly bare some resemblance to the wood of Yggdrasil.

Yggdrasil. Big word, that.

The rest of Him, His body looks... Almost famished. What should be fingers are curved talons, thin and spindly, while His torso is drawn inwards, simultaneously thin and robust. If He had ribs, He would surely be able to count them, but instead there is only... Almost a vortex of sorts, skin whirling in on itself like water down a plug. A skirt of some sort preserves his modesty (why would He care? Why was He formed with this? Well, one of many questions...), and He isn't remotely surprised when there turns out to be an extra claw by His ankle.

A body. Visarni's Divine body. Divine? Is He a God? Well, He wouldn't be thinking it if He wasn't, so problem solved.

New problem... What does a God do, on a lonely, massive tree? Visarni leaves the puddle behind, stowing that strange feeling away (it is sorrow), and goes forth. The branch scars ever so slightly with the click of his ankle-claws, but it heals unbeknownst to him and the tree probably forgives him, if the tree could.

He needs... He doesn't know what He needs. Power? More bodies? More trees? He needs something, and He will have something. Soon.*