Pan is god of the wild, scribed by Darien MacGregor, voiced by Michael Munley.
Know Your God
Height: Mortal – 5’7″ As a God – 6’7”
Weight: Lean and Athletic in mortal form. Strong and Muscular as a God
Hair Color: Chestnut brown always tied back in the God form but allowed to flow wildly in his mortal form to hide the smaller horns.
Facial Hair: Well-maintained beard
Eyes: Golden colored eyes
Distinguishing Features: His eyes have rectangular (goat) pupils unless he remembers to hide them
Siblings: Too many to list here
Spouse: A fair many throughout the years. Currently, he’s in a relationship that he’s not quite ready to reveal.
Children: Hector Opan, Satyroi chieftain
Pan is the founding member of the Wild Revellers, a Pagan band of sorts that, through one way or another, has become known for the wildest shows. Energetic music that gets people up and dancing and feeling, the shows are always in the wildest parts of the wild, the stages and arenas chosen to have the least impact in both their coming and going.
When you step off the elevator you come to a small entryway with a security checkpoint. Once passed the faithful guard dog/security mook (Pan calls him Steve) you stand before a pair of hand-carved doors, with carvings of nymphs sculpted into the wood, the knocker taking the place of a belly button ring on each nymph. As the door opens the recycled HVAC smell of the Olympus building air conditioning disappears and is replaced with clean fresh air and the smell of trees and plants. Before you on the ground lies a well-worn dirt path. Tall grass and prairie land greet your eyes, with a Nordic longhouse in the distance, backing up to an impossible forest full of evergreens and tropical trees intermixed, and you can hear the sounds of giggling and splashing from a river that is just out of sight. The door bears a knocker in the ancient Pan face, with a braided bronze knocker held in its jaws. When the door opens, the rustic exterior melds into a modern interior that wouldn’t be out of place in New York or LA. Marble floors polished to reflection covered with various mismatched carpets as you look across the room. The floor plan is open, rarely interrupted with furniture, and you can see an open-air kitchen off in one corner overlooking the outdoors. The rest of the place is portioned off into closed rooms, except a giant jam session area littered with guitars and drums and music stands. Welcome to the home of the Wild Revellers.
General Overview: Pan is widely-travelled, and has been to six out of the seven continents with his various bands (never made it to Antarctica). He is fiercely loyal to those he considers friends and family. He rarely knows a stranger and has been known to perform outrageous acts of generosity when the mood strikes. He has spent time in other planes with other groups of beings and often has wild stories to tell. He has been and will always be a protector of the wild places and wild animals and gives generously to charities that support those ends. Honorable, in his own way, and will rarely start a fight, but will always finish one.
Likes: Wine, women, music of all kinds, listening to stories and telling tales, absolute fiend for gambling. Spending time in the wild places of the earth with friends and lovers. The high life of a big city clubbing scene. The smile of a beautiful woman or the grin of a beautiful man, he’s not picky.
Dislikes: Pan doesn’t know a stranger, but if you step on hospitality, or break a word, you will live to regret mistreating this guest. Abuses of power and mistreating of your fellow man is a good way to get his goat, and having this angry Satyr on your tail is one place you don’t want to be in.
Flaws / Weaknesses
If I had a weakness, it would be that sometimes I care too much for those I know will leave. Mortality hurts, but as the cycles turn, my options are never bares for things or people to fall in love with all over again.
Primal Instinct. In periods of heightened emotion or pain, Pan’s control over his form becomes more tenuous and can result in unintentional shifts of form that can be dangerous to others and himself.
Untamed. When Pan is in his wrathful beast form, Pan the God is no longer in control and must wait for the wrath of the Beast to subside before he can return to his regular immortal form.
Skills / Abilities
Immortality. Technically immortal. Immune to the effects of aging, cannot die by any conventional means, and is immune to all known mortal diseases and infections. As a deity, they are able to teleport, or "pop" anywhere in the mortal plane with a few exceptions, the God Floors of the GC HQ are mystically protected, so no teleporting to or in between them, anything on the non-mortal plane, i.e., the Underworld, Atlantis, and the Void, are non-accessible without a guide.
Babble-Speak. Strong affinity for understanding animals, and can speak with them telepathically, in addition to speaking/understanding all mortal languages.
God of the Revell. Where he tends to spend a lot of time parties tend to form and, we’re not talking about high class social events, we’re talking about wild benders.
Patron of Satyrs. Sharing their shape, he is very close to the Satyroi, often being referred to as their father. He was once their protector, but lost a lot of favour during the Industrial Revolution. He still keeps his chosen kin close to his heart.
Enchanting Music. Pan’s instruments can produce melodies that induce emotion, depending on how he plays it. Soft and quiet music might lead to a romantic feeling that builds as the music picks up, while a particular drumbeat can inspire people to paint themselves in blood and march to battle. With enough of a buildup, these feelings can take over a person, leading to everything from an entire amphitheatre crying their eyes out or wading through a pool of blood after a fight. Mortals charmed by Pan’s music do not remember the events once they are over. Immortals may choose to allow Pan’s music to affect them, and being consenting, always remember doing so.
Satyr Shifting. Having adopted them as his kin, he has become more like the Horned ones, having three major forms: the human form (regular Immortal form); the casual satyr form of a man with goat legs and horns that jut from the crown of his head and sweep back (Satyr form); and the form of the horned beasts’ wrath, a massive eight to nine foot obelisk of muscle and anger that resembles a bipedal cyprine creature with a goat’s head and feet and ram’s horns (Beast form). When Pan has given himself over to Beast form, Pan cannot wrest control back until the object of his rage has been destroyed or the frenzy of the moment has passed.
The Thousand Faces of Pan. As a part of a trickster trio of him, his best friends growing up were Hermes and Triton. He learned a few things, in particular how to cause maximum mayhem. He can change his shape: taller, shorter, fatter, thinner, more muscular, more lean, however he wants to look. He often uses this trick to vanish in a crowd, though he learned it to resemble others it’s never perfect and will always fail if given close scrutiny. The most common give away is his golden eyes. Intense emotional responses make it difficult if not impossible for Pan to maintain the illusion due to his primal instincts.
Friends of His Father. He can always call upon Maenads, maidens of the wine, the mythical maidens of Dionysus, though he cannot create new ones (outside of the old fashioned way). He can inspire them to their ecstatic frenzies, and bring those descended of Maenads into their full gift. Once summoned, it is difficult to sway the Maenads from their cannibalistic, orgiastic frenzy. This is a risk Pan takes whenever he uses this power and he has felt its consequences more than once.
Knowledge of the Misty Old Ways. A favour he’d won in a drinking match with one of the Shining folk, Pan has won the favour of one of their ferrymen, to escort him without passage price from any body of water to the closest one to his destination. If Pan wants to bring anyone with him, he must negotiate the price for their passage.
Normal Daily Wear: Pan usually keeps a human appearance since washing up in America, dressing in jeans and a band t-shirt (usually his own) when he’s bumming around, but his closet contains clothes for every occasion, no matter how great or small.
While at home or being casual, Pan has discovered the love of kilts, especially in his Satyr forms.
A bag of drachma, a bag of beaten coins from the old days, a memory of home and much needed payment for certain people.
Alternative Dress Wear: He will dress to suit the occasion.
The instruments of Pan – pipes that can be any wind instrument, a drum that can he can change in shape and size at will and lyre than can be any stringed instrument, thought of late is more often a violin.
The Horn of Pan – the true relic of Pan. While Eris’ apple may cause chaos, the Horn of Pan will drive those that hear it to into a wildness that often can’t be contained. Men and women, no matter their background, tear off the trappings of civilization and become like beasts, looking upon those around them as predator or prey. Once blown, the horns note will last for a full night and day. Only then do people become aware of what they’ve done.
“Jolt” – the bolt he stole from Hephaestus – the worst trick he ever played. Jolt embedded itself in a mark on his hand. Pan can summon it up as a lash of lightning, or just to charge a fist (brass knuckles made from lightning), though it commonly will ache to remind him of his crime.
Various prizes from his gambles and games throughout the ages – Pan has won and lost a great number of prizes and relics and commonly has to go to his vault store to know what’s in it.
Pan is most commonly depicted as part man, part goat. He is the god of wild groves and is often depicted as a fairly amorous god, most notably chasing the nymph Syrinx into a Marsh where she transformed into reeds, which he cut down and fashioned himself his often recognized panpipes. Echo was another nymph he set his eye on. She was a singer and dancer and in some version had a love for no man, in others, was infatuated with Narcisse. As is often the case with Greek gods, Pan got jealous and had her torn to pieces and spread across the earth, and the goddess of Earth Gaia received her and let her voice carry on in the song and words of all living things.
Pan is one of the very few gods that is actually referenced in mythology as having died. The Egyptian sailor Thames sailed across the sea to Greece during the rise of the Christian church, and Paul’s many writings of the letters in the New Testament, and as he came near the western shores he heard a divine voice say “The great god Pan is dead.”
He is certainly not often depicted as one of the primary gods or Olympus, as was not worshipped in Athens until the Battle of Marathon. His original home was Arcadia where he was worshipped and he served as a god of the wild, nature, shepherds and flocks, mountains, and often associated with masculine fertility and sexuality. In some other cultures, he is compared to the horned god worshipped still today in many Wiccan and Pagan practices, but his qualities are not directly attributed to the horned god aside from his appearance and affinity toward wildlife.
The light rises as a hush falls over the crowd. The anticipation in the air is electric. The air is thick, even after all my training and all my practice, I will never ever be able to stop that hesitation on the first note.
This concert is in one of the few wild places that the humans had had the wisdom to preserve. Every concert begins the same way, with one deep breath. I pull my pipes off my hip, and remember all the bardic ways I learned from the Tuatha de Danann after I fled my home.
The second breath, and I can feel the stolen lightning in my hand gripping my panpipes. The weight in my chest as I set my breath to play, lungs filling and ribs expanding as I raise the ancient pipes to my lips.
The exhale, the sound of my pipes coming to life. Hundreds of mortal feet and more than a few immortal ones find their hearts enchanted by the tune of the pipes, the unearthly urge and passion of my music. The irresistible desire to embrace the wild within and dance – my gifts run free once again, the inspiration and seduction to joyous revelry. The wilderness itself seems happy to hear my music floating over all the trees and rocks and rivers again.
Hours on end, until the rising light, the party doesn’t stop. For here, in these wild places, man and beast remember who they are, remember the primal feelings they’ve forgotten, and that’s why they love me. I make the real world seem so far away, so distant that they can forget that magic doesn’t exist. They’re wrong, of course, but who am I to correct them?
Nothing in their minds, and the only thing they can feel is their own blood pumping, the closeness of the bodies around them and the pounding of the music.
The music trails off into silence as it hits me, as the missing piece of myself returns to me, that spark that I set aside to try to escape. I look up at the horizon – the rising sun was just faint with color over the trees – and I couldn’t stop myself.
“I guess the party can’t last forever,” I think, not quite surprised, but a little saddened.
Beneath the stage, my adoring fans look up to me, bewildered. I’d never stopped before. I was always the All-Night-Piper. I snap back to myself, realizing that they could feel all I felt. That was usually what I wanted, and I tended to get what I wanted in this area.
“Forgive me, my friends, I was getting lost in wishing I could be down there amongst you all. Now, enough of all this distraction! Get those drums back to the beat!”
The drummers pound out a new beat to get me started and for the first time in too long, I need them to save me. I begin to play again and by my mother’s blessed breasts, it didn’t seem like they noticed that my mind was elsewhere.
It was well after dawn, and approaching midday when I had a chance to think about it again, that spark that I had felt just after dawn. To think that I would have to become Pan of Olympus again, instead of just the mad piper everyone referred to as Pan.
I stood over the little wild shrine that I created before all of my concerts. “Well, I hope it was a wild one, and thanks for the time while it lasted.”
As I stood there, I could feel it all coming back, no longer just hearing the sound of babbling rivers and air moving as a breeze,but hearing the whispers on the wind and the laughing river nymphs.
Instinct beckons me toward the river, and who would blame me as the father of Satyrs? But now’s not the time for it. They’ll be looking for me before long, and that’s not the way I want them to find me, neck deep in the ladies of the waters.
Or is it…I mean, why defy so many expectations?
- Metamorphoses by Ovid ISBN: 978-0140447897
- Plutarch’s “The Uselessness of Oracles”