Once a minor spirit of feasts and contests, Inpad clawed his way into the ranks of the divine not by merit, but by sheer audacity. Broad of girth and louder still of voice, he demanded honors from mortals and immortals alike, declaring himself the “equal of kings, the tutor of sages, and the beloved of all women.” His arrogance knew no bounds, and yet, by some trick of charm and swagger, he gathered worshippers who delighted in his brazenness.
Legends tell that Inpad carried a spiked club he claimed was taken from the spine of a Storm Giant, though most say it was little more than a crude bludgeon. He dressed in skins, strutted as a conqueror, and drank as though the heavens themselves had been distilled for him. His priests were boasters and liars, fond of crowning their patron with empty titles.
Other gods despised him, mocking his vanity with the epithet the Presumptuous. Yet mortals prayed to him in taverns, gambling dens, and war camps, asking for boldness when caution failed. Some whisper that his downfall came when he tried to establish a throne and call all to worship him, only to be cast down, laughing still, convinced he had almost won.
