Albatariq

"The cold is not cruel, it doesn't hate you. Your fingers may ache and your breath may turn to frost, but the cold simply is. It strips the unnecessary away, leaving only what is strong enough to stay. That's the trick, really; surviving. Not in spite of the cold, but because of it. Now, about your boots... They'll last another mile, if you're lucky. After that, well, we'll see how much you've learned."

— Albatariq, to a traveler lost in the frost

The Tumultuous Tundra

In the moments when the world breathes out a frozen whisper and the stars seem closer for the chill in the air, the Boreal is there, holding the world still, just for a moment. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if time itself respects his measured pace. His realm is the endless tundra, where snow stretches to the horizon and the cold cuts sharper than any blade. Yet, there is a quiet dignity in his dominion, a peace that only comes with surrendering to the inevitable.
He is clad in a mantle of frost, the edges shimmering faintly as though kissed by distant auroras. His features are sharp, carbed as if from glacial stone, and his pale eyes glint with a wisdom older than mountains. Around him, the faintest echo of a bird's cry lingers, a sound as fleeting and cold as the wind. Subtle details mark his connection to creatures of the ice, the elegant curve of his cloak mimicking the shape of a penguin's wing, his boots leaving prints in the snow that seem to waddle rather than stride, and the shadows that gather around him sometimes resemble sleek, black-feathered forms.

The Gelid Glaciers

The Boreal does not rage like the Tempest or roar like the hearth's fire. He is a god of silence, his power lying in his ability to strip away all distractions until only the essential remains. His presence is a lesson in survival, in finding strength within when the world outside offers none.
Mortals do not often seek the Boreal, for his lessons are hard and his blessings cold. Yet, those who find themselves in his frozen embrace speak of an unexpected warmth, a resilience awakened in the face of harshness, a clarity uncovered in the stillness. He teaches that ice, though unyielding, is not without beauty, and that sometimes, to endure is to triumph.
The Boreal's followers, few though they may be, honour him in their quiet acts of persistence. A fisher cutting a hole in the ice, a weary traveler navigating an arctic expanse, or a single torch lighting a frigid cave; these are his devotions. For the Boreal is not a cruel master, but one of balance, a cold hand to steady and shape the world.

Divine Classification

The Boreal, God of Ice