The burden of the mighty

The blood you painted on yourself that day never faded and never washed away. The knotted patterns you adorned yourself with were now seemingly permanent, the scarlet blood having become a part of you. You did not know that a Raghik’s blood could leave such marks, but then again no one had ever killed one before you. The tusks of that boar became your weapons of choice, they were far superior to any weapon you had ever seen, being every bit as sharp as obsidian and infinitely more durable. Over the next few years you asserted your dominion over the forest, thanks to you humans had now ascended closer yet to the pinnacle of predation. You cut down prey day after day and yet never did your new blades dull or wear. You knew why this was of course, for it was the will of nature. It was a gift, the old magic coursing through you now magnified by the blood of the Raghik. The very land had deemed you ready to lead your kin by example, and bid you save it from the ravages of a greed and complacency. It echoed through the mountains peaks and the forests glens..

"Rescue me. Restore me."

You will heed its call. You are Ogma!