Janoar
“The one who grants every person a gift shall attain godhood.”
Planet Janoar’s task was rather simple. A gift could be anything from a glistening necklace to a humble daisy. But as centuries passed and denizens grew, achieving godhood seemed impossible. Yet, a chemist Qxorash had an idea to make the task more manageable.
Qxorash developed a deadly, self-replicating potion able to spread through the waters. It infected anyone who consumed even a single drop of contaminated liquid. The blight reached all rivers, lakes, clouds and eventually the oceans themselves.
As people’s numbers dwindled, Qxorash hung the corpses atop the great pine. He awaited until a single person was left alive, and gifted them “Freedom”. As a final gift to himself, Qxorash set the pine ablaze and watched the scorching ember cover the skies. When the last sparks fizzled away, an earthquake shook the planet. An enormous, long-necked creature emerged from the depths, its human face staring down at Qxorash. The chemist rejoiced as he looked into the monster’s eyes, gained its vast knowledge, and ascended into the first god, Janoar.
Relationship with Shemokmedi
Janoar feels indebted to the Sun for granting him immortality and power. He shares the view with gods Fobroah and Agvustu, while deeming those who defy the Sun as ungrateful children.Appearance
Janoar is a tall, pale man with a long, icy-white beard. Vivid yellow eyes give him a stern, yet crazed glare.A brown wool coat covers his body, enriched with blue embroidery. A crown of antlers adorns his head, with vines woven in-between the branches.
The First God is invisible during the night. Yet, some have caught glimpses of him over the years. Most art depicts Janoar as a gentle and caring grandfather. While others show a more monstrous visage depending on the story.
Trusted Companions
Each year, during the Month of Janoar, the First God grants presents to every Ayonerran. His trusty companions, a hawk and a hound, traverse the lands, gathering people’s wishes and reporting them to Janoar.Stories warn of the god’s wrath striking those who pursued his partners.
“And so, the wicked folk plotted a vile deed. To catch the First God’s rabid hound! They tailed its drool, following the icy-white dog into the deep woods. The men spoke of wishes they’d demand from Janoar’s companion. Lives filled with exotic foods, lustrous gems and ever loyal servants.
At last, they caught a glimpse of the hound’s crazed yellow eyes. As they dashed to snatch the cornered dog, their hands snapped and twisted into paws. The men tried to scream, but only ear-piercing howls escaped their snouts. When they returned home, villagers greeted the drooling hounds with stones and arrows, shooing them back into the woods.
Every Month of Janoar, the mandogs howl day and night, pleading for the First God’s mercy. To no avail.”
At last, they caught a glimpse of the hound’s crazed yellow eyes. As they dashed to snatch the cornered dog, their hands snapped and twisted into paws. The men tried to scream, but only ear-piercing howls escaped their snouts. When they returned home, villagers greeted the drooling hounds with stones and arrows, shooing them back into the woods.
Every Month of Janoar, the mandogs howl day and night, pleading for the First God’s mercy. To no avail.”
The Ungrateful
Parents tell children stories of ungrateful youngsters not appreciating Janoar’s gifts. Many believe those who died in the Month of Janoar were smitten by the First God.
Once upon a time, lived a woodcutter with two daughters. The Older Daughter often tagged along the Father, helping him carry the branches to keep the house warm. The Younger Daughter sat in front of the fireplace, preferring its warmth over the outside breeze.
One day, in early Month of Janoar, the two sisters became bedridden with sickness. The Father brought in doctors, but each shook their heads, unable to help the children.
“Oh, I’d trade my life for my beloved daughters,” said the Father.
“Oh, let my dear sister spring into health,” whispered the Older Daughter.
“Oh, if only I was healthy again,” thought the Younger Daughter.
When the rooster croaked, the daughters’ cheerful giggling awoke the Father. He rejoiced as all traces of fever had vanished and the three carried on the humble life.
One day, in early Month of Janoar, the two sisters became bedridden with sickness. The Father brought in doctors, but each shook their heads, unable to help the children.
“Oh, I’d trade my life for my beloved daughters,” said the Father.
“Oh, let my dear sister spring into health,” whispered the Older Daughter.
“Oh, if only I was healthy again,” thought the Younger Daughter.
When the rooster croaked, the daughters’ cheerful giggling awoke the Father. He rejoiced as all traces of fever had vanished and the three carried on the humble life.
When the Month of Janoar was coming to an end, the Younger Daughter crossed her arms and scoffed. “The Old God has forgotten me. All the girls have new dresses, dolls and sleds. And I got nothing!”
“One does not demand a god’s favour, child,” warned the Father in a hushed voice.
On the final day of Janoar, the Father tucked the daughters in bed. As he kissed their foreheads, the Younger Daughter’s skin scorched his lips. The fever consumed the ungrateful child, and she let out her final breath before the Month of Fobroah arrived.
Pffft 100% accurate.