The Preacher

Ostiarium Forests

The tattooed man sat in the forest facing the low burning flames. He was naked saved for a pair of leather breeches, and the ceremonial boars' head he wore as a symbol of his station and to hide his identity.

Since the Purging centuries ago at the hands of the new Gods, the so called Pillars and their Sanctus Warriors, The Preacher had to protect his identity. To keep it a secret from everyone, even from most followers. It was the only way to assure that their faith lived on. The the Creed of Slivikhi did not disappear as many others had. Others that had not submitted to the Five. Others that had not betrayed their beliefs.

Three years ago he had found his way to Arcadia. Aboard a ship sailing into the unknown, across the Sea or Storms to find a mythical land. And with him he had brought Slivikhi, The Boar of Winter. Three years ago when the famine threaten to kill them all and leave nothing but their bones to be found by the new ships from Helias in the Spring, The Preacher had performed the ritual of The Tree.

Their luck had changed that Winter with the sacrifice buried deep into the hollow of the oak. He had also found Felfar from the natives, a way to commune with his god, who was ready once again to stalk these lands. More people joined the Creed in the years after. Witnessing the power of the Boar, seeing Him in their visions and His deeds, as Ostiarium prospered after every Winter. As Slivikhi received his due sacrifice so that Spring would come and the world turned again.

Much had happened in the last few days. Sooner or later they would were bound to be found. The carvings, the killings and disappearances, the prolification of Felfar and now it seemed a girl with fiery red hair had come close to unravel all their plans.

People were on their trail, they had killed one already, captured another but not without loss to their own ranks. One of the believers was now in the custody of Sir Zane. An enemy he had not want to confront just yet. His family already disposed of so that no one else could be connected to them.

The Preacher looked up to a nearby tree. The older city guard was gagged and bound to it. He pulled the stone knife from his belt and made his way to the man.
Defiance and frustration met his visage.
~May His tusks drink deep...~ he growled cutting the man's naked throat in one quick movement, letting the blood flow across the prisoners chest and into the wet Winter ground.

Later when they found the dead city guard he would simply be resting against the tree trunk as if he was sleeping. No bonds or gags would be found.

The Preacher walked deeper into the forest. One more men had seen the god. Another he would need to bring to the cause..