Brakka is a towering outsider-god who looks carved from dusk-brown basalt and old scar tissue. Their skin has the grain of river stone, yet it warms slightly near the hands as if an ember lives beneath the surface. Their face is severe and statuesque, but one corner of the mouth often softens into an almost shy expression when children are near. A crown of fractured iron halos their head, each shard suspended without visible support, while a single white flower grows from the seam above the left temple, fresh and stubborn against all reason. They move with the careful certainty of a fortress gate closing, every step measured, but they often carry themselves like a grieving midwife protecting a cradle.