Slivikhi

The Boar of Winter, as it is know, was once a household spirit who performed helpful tasks in exchange for prices or demands, among the first tribes of Men in the lands of Kru'll, often causing mischief when these demands were not met. Back then He was known to appear either in the form of a diminutive naked and bearded old man or in the shape of a small child about the age of four. In child form he could appear either a spirit of a dead child or a child corpse, bleeding from many cruel wounds. Those tales and myths are now lost to the mists of time and not even those few that follow the Creed remember it. But He does.

When the Scattering came and the first tribes of Men left the lands of Kru'll to populate the rest of Helias, they carried him with them. They came to rely on him, for protection, for guidance, for hope, for battle, judgement and atonement. Upon their deaths, He awaited their spirit to voice the words of damnation or salvation. He was the First. The First of all that were to come after Him. And as the world changed and the horizon of Men grew so did He.

Eventually he came to appear as a tall muscular man, with broad shoulders covered in bristly grey hair and a bullet head with thick hair on a short neck. His small narrow eyes were set below heavy brows. The lower half of his face was dominated by long, curling and large yellowed tusks pushing clear of his lips. His barrel chest covered in the tattoo of a Boar, burned into his skin . His tusks likely made speech impossible, so he spoke in a low, heavy voice directly into the minds of those he wished to communicate with.

Gods die. And when they truly die, they are unmourned and unremembered. Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end. And where once they sacrificed hundreds of children to Him at the end of Winter to beg for longer days, stronger crops, more prey, stronger mates and healthier offspring, with the coming of the Five he was supplanted and forgotten.

He lives now only in the mind of a Few. In the mind of the Creed. But His tusks still crave blood every Winter. So that the world continues to turn...