Finnish tradition is organised less around a court of gods than around a landscape full of powers and the specialists who knew how to address them. Ukko, the sky and thunder, is the nearest thing to a chief, invoked for rain and harvest and remembered in the ordinary Finnish word for thunderstorm. But there is no assembly he presides over and no succession he came through.
The figures who carry the narrative material are not rulers but knowers. Vainamoinen works by song and by the possession of origins: to control a thing you must know how it came to be, and knowing the origin is the operative power. Ilmarinen forges. Lemminkainen fails. This is a tradition in which competence, and specifically verbal competence, is the currency.
The world is not made by a creator. It forms from the fragments of eggs laid on the knee of a being resting in the primordial water, and the arrangement of sky, sun and moon follows from the pieces. There is no maker who then rules what he made.
The working religion beneath the epic material is local and practical: guardian spirits of place, of the household, of the dead, of hunting and fishing grounds, sacred stones and groves, and the offerings owed to each.
The tradition was suppressed under Lutheran authority, survived in practice, and has a recognised modern successor community in Finland.