In those days, I was like a field mouse that did prowl the grass beneath the watchful falcon’s wings. And when the time did come to escape from the scorching gazes of Svarog’s worshippers, as returned along my path, the words of the priest did come back to me like an echo:

Weak are the gods of the cattle tribes! And weak are their worshippers! Their fear is bigger than their faith, and their moans louder than their prayers! And out of their fear and moans, Chors was born.

When the sunshine did fall beneath the ground, Chors does steal the last beams and wreathes a crown from them for himself. He does use its shine to lure all Nightly creatures, with the Horrors and Monsters amongst them. And he does lead them against the men! To feed them with more dread like it was the most sweet nectar.

Beautiful and terrifying he is, as pale as death and as grim as night; he has two faces like the Moon can be full and new. And great is his charm: he does attract the souls to himself like moths and does lead them to their downfall. Do not be fooled by his shine!

This is the kind of god he is, made from the human’s fear and mingling with the Monsters!