[center][h1][b] [color=black]🎲[/color][color=gold] 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 [/color][color=black]🎺[/color] [/b][/h1][/center] A few days after the tribe settled into the center of Gamblerdise, Alechior returned. There was no announcement, no sign, no dramatic arrival. One moment the air felt lighter, the next stones began to shift where no one was touching them. Tribxor noticed first, then the others, watching as a half-buried slab eased itself upright as if reconsidering gravity. Alechior appeared shortly after, already walking among them, as though they had never really left, only went away to get the newspaper. And this time, Alechior stayed. Not always present, not hovering but close enough to matter. When the tribe worked, they helped in ways that made effort feel optional. Timber rose and aligned itself without ropes. Stones lifted, rotated and settled into place without a single hand laid on them. They never strained, never gestured more than necessary and never pretended this was anything but trivial to them, it was fun to see the mortals work. The message was clear without being spoken, this cost them nothing but chose to do it anyway. The village took form around the Anchor, clustered in the stable heart of the valley. Space was left open, a wide, empty ring where no structure stood and no fire was lit. No one had to be told to avoid it. Alechior had plans for that place, so, the Anchor remained untouched, the center everything else bent around. Tribxor watched all of this with a mixture of relief and unease. He spoke with Alechior when he could, asking questions, trying to understand why a god who had already walked away would choose to come back. Alechior’s answers were rarely straight, but they were consistent in one thing, this was a choice, not an obligation. Beyond the village, Gamblerdise remained what it was, the forest shifting to the north, the fields to the south refusing predictability, the lake half calm and half wrong. So the tribe built inward, close to safety. Alechior eventually called the tribe together. The sound simply carried, bending just enough to reach every ear that mattered. They stood near the open space around the Anchor, hands clasped behind their back, posture relaxed in the way only someone entirely unconcerned by the cataclysm outside. Their eyes lingered on the half-built homes, aligned stones, the effort turned into structure. Then they smiled, the kind that suggested a joke had been brewing for a while. “Alright,” Alechior said, tilting their head toward Tribxor, “You have a problem. You are no longer just a tribe leader. You are running a village now. Buildings. Paths. Responsibilities. Very dangerous stuff.” A pause, just long enough to let Tribxor frown. “Which means your name is outdated. Can’t have that. Terrible branding.” They raised a hand in a theatrical way. “From this moment on, Tribxor, you are Villagxor. Overseer of roofs. Decider of where things go. Protector of the boring but important middle.” A few members of the tribe laughed, unsure if they were allowed to but Alechior waved it off. “It’s official. I said it. Congratulations! Villagxor!” Then with a whisper, almost conspiratorial, Alechior added, “Try not to hate it. Names stick when they’re funny.” Villagxor opened his mouth to argue then closed it again. He rolled the new name around in his head like a stone with a strange weight attached to it. Villagxor. It sounded wrong. Too big. Too organized. He glanced back at the village, at the lines of stone, the cleared ground around the Anchor, the way people were already starting to treat the place like something permanent. “I don’t like it,” he said at first, blunt as ever. A few seconds passed. Then a short breath escaped him, halfway to a laugh. “But, I get it.” He scratched his beard, eyes flicking back to Alechior. “Tribe followed me. Village needs someone to stand in the middle and make sure it doesn’t fall apart. Guess that’s me now.” A low chuckle escaped out of him, surprising even himself. “Villagxor,” he repeated, testing it again, this time with a grin. “Creator help me, that sounds ridiculous.” He shook his head, shoulders lowering in a half-defeat. “Alright. Fine. If you’re handing out names, I’ll wear it. Someone has to.” He looked at Alechior then, not confused, not wary. Just used to them. “Next time you change it, warn me first.” Another laugh followed, louder this time. “Hard to keep up with you, you know?” Alechior burst out laughing, the sound carrying across the clearing like music. “Oh, Villagxor, if I warned people before big moments, half the fun would evaporate,” they said, wiping at the corner of their eye an invisible tear. Then they turned, clapping their hands once. “Alright, everyone, listen up. Lovely progress, truly inspired, ten out of ten survival instincts.” A pause, grin widening. “Now kindly move away from the Anchor. All of you. Yes, even you, standing very confidently too close.” They gestured lazily and the air itself seemed to encourage obedience. “I am about to do something big. Capital B, ruin-your-day-if-you-are-too-near big. Nothing personal, I just need space.” Their eyes flicked back to Villagxor. “Think of it as a festival rule. When the god of merriment asks for a clear floor, it’s because the next act involves fireworks, probability, and a very interesting argument with reality.” Alechior stepped into the cleared space with a stretch, rolling their shoulders like someone about to lift something very heavy, even though they never planned to touch it. “Alright,” they muttered to themselves, “let’s make this impressive without breaking anything important.” They raised their hands, palms facing one another and the air between them thickened. Light gathered, bright and golden, threaded through with white so clean it almost hurt to look at. The power hummed steadily, like a slot machine that just hit jackpot. The ground around the Anchor answered first. A perfect circle flared to life, lines etching themselves into the earth. The light spread outward, stopping exactly where Alechior intended. Stones rose from the soil, lifted by invisible hands, snapping neatly into place. The Anchor remained visible at the center, untouched, its strange presence piercing upward as the structure formed around it. When the light dimmed, a tower stood where there had been nothing. Circular and clean. Three levels tall rising just high enough to command attention without challenging the surrounding valley. Its walls gleamed white and gold, surfaces smooth, carved with subtle patterns that suggested order without ever quite promising it. Openings along each level allowed the Anchor to be seen clearly from every floor, its form running straight through the heart of the tower like a spine. Alechior lowered their hands, admiring the result. “There,” Alechior finished, voice bright with satisfaction. “First one’s always the hardest.” They glanced over their shoulder at the gathered tribe, then fixed their gaze on Villagxor in particular, eyes glinting with unmistakable pride. “Congratulations. You’re standing in front of my very first temple. No pressure. Try not to burn it down.” They drifted closer to the wide-eyed Changelings, gesturing upward as if presenting a particularly elegant trick. “This isn’t a place for kneeling until your knees hurt or whispering apologies to the floor,” Alechior said, tone casual but firm beneath the humor. “This is a place for noise. For laughter. For dice hitting stone. For cards, bones, coins, riddles, bets that almost go wrong and stories that get better every time they’re told.” They tapped the air and the sound echoed faintly through the tower, as if the walls themselves approved. Alechior turned back to Villagxor, pointing directly at his chest. “Every day,” they continued, “something gets played in here. Doesn’t matter what. Games of chance, games of skill, games someone just made up five minutes ago. Celebrations too. Parties, wins, losses, near-misses, survivals. If someone lives through something worth remembering, it belongs inside these walls.” Their smile softened, just a bit. “Merriment isn’t a luxury. It’s maintenance.” They took a final step back, letting the full tower frame the Anchor behind them. “This place isn’t here to control the valley,” Alechior added. “It’s here to remind everyone why they’re still playing.” They spread their arms wide, theatrical as ever. “So, Villagxor, Keeper of the Center, Host of Gamblerdise, first of my Clerics, you and your people keep the games going, and I’ll keep the odds from turning completely unfair. Deal?” Villagxor just stared and stared. Wide eyed. Not at Alechior, not at the tribe, but at the tower, his mouth slightly open, breath caught somewhere between awe and confusion. He took a slow step forward, then another, eyes tracking the way the Anchor cut cleanly through all three levels like the world itself had been threaded onto it. His hands lifted, uncertain, as if he half-expected the whole thing to vanish if he blinked too hard. “You, you made rock listen,” he said finally, voice low. “Stone does not do that. Stone fights. This,” he gestured helplessly at the tower, “this just…happened.” He looked back at Alechior, something almost childlike in his expression, the kind of wonder that had no words ready for it yet. “We have been alive such a short time,” Villagxor said. “First fire. Then tools. Then games. And now… this.” He let out a breathy laugh, shaky but still. “If this is how gods build, I think I understand why the sky listens to you.” He straightened, planting his feet like he was bracing himself against being swept away by the moment. “We will play,” he said, more confidently now. “We will laugh. We will make noise inside your tower. We will remember.” He paused, then scratched at his beard, expression twisting into something uncertain. “But you said a word. Earlier. Cleric.” He tasted it slowly. “Is that a job? A game? A rule?” Villagxor tilted his head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Do I become one because you built this?” he asked. “Do I speak for you? Throw dice for you? Or is it just another name, like Villagxor?” He glanced back at the tower, then at Alechior again. “I will do it, whatever it is. I just need to know what kind of thing I am agreeing to play.” Alechior laughed “Oh no, no, slow down,” they said, waving a hand as if Villagxor had just tried to bet his entire future on the first roll. “You’re not signing your existence away, and you’re definitely not throwing dice for me. I like watching far too much to outsource it.” They drifted closer amused. “A cleric isn’t a boss or a warrior or a sky-shouter,” Alechior continued. “A cleric is a keeper. You keep things moving the way they’re meant to move. In my case,” they tapped the tower, “that means making sure this place stays loud, fair, and fun.” They held up a finger. “First rule. Games are played here. Not hidden, not hoarded. Dice, contests, wagers, silly dares, clever bets, all of it belongs inside these walls.” A second finger joined the first. “Second rule. No cheating. Ever. Winning because you’re clever is good. Winning because you lied is boring and I hate boring.” Their grin sharpened just a touch. “If someone cheats, you stop the game. You remind them why all of you are there. They do it again, call me. If you're inside the temple, I'll know when you call...no matter where I am.” A third finger. “Third rule. No one loses themselves to it. Games are spice, not food. If someone stops working, stops laughing, stops caring about anything but winning, you pull them out, sit them down and remind them they’re alive.” Alechior’s tone stayed light, but there was something solid under it. “Fun that eats people is no fun at all.” They paused, then laughed again and added, “Oh and one more thing. Keep the games fair. Properly fair. Neutral. You can’t make a game that only works if someone’s tall as a tree when everyone else is like a shrub. That’s not clever, that’s just rigged with extra steps. Games should challenge people, not exclude them.” Alechior gave Villagxor a knowing look. “If everyone at the table could win, then you’ve done it right.” Villagxor nodded slowly, attentive, absorbing every word as if the weight of a whole new world rested on his shoulders. “Alright,” he said finally. “I-I can do that.” He looked up at Alechior, then at the gleaming tower then back at Alechior and nodded again. “Fair. Fun. No cheating. Everyone can win. Got it.” Alechior’s smile was bright and mischievous and with that Alechior went inside the tower and took a divine nap. First time since they woke up on that beach. [hider=Summary/Action] Alechior returned to Gamblerdise, surprising Villagxor and the tribe, and declared that Tribxor would now be called Villagxor, the official leader of their new village. They instructed everyone to clear the area around the Anchor, then used their divine power to conjure the first temple in Alechior’s name. Alechior explained to Villagxor the duties of a cleric: to ensure games are played fairly, openly, and for fun, without cheating or obsession, and to maintain balance and accessibility in all contests. Villagxor agreed. Temple of Alechior – Description: The Temple of Alechior is designed to instill calm and mirth in all who enter. Within its walls, worries are muted and mental clarity is enhanced, allowing individuals to think and act with a lighter, more focused mind. Simultaneously, the temple dampens one’s natural caution, reducing the sense of risk and subtly encouraging boldness and playful experimentation. Visitors feel confident, engaged, and eager to participate in games, contests, or challenges. Music drifts through every chamber of the temple, always shifting to match the prevailing mood within. At times, subtle sounds ripple through the space in response to victory or loss, cheers, chimes etc, enhancing the emotional weight of the moment without overwhelming it. Throughout most rooms, spaces for games naturally form, tables of stone or wood rising smoothly from the ground whenever play is desired. -1 or -2 Conviction ([@Vec] please confirm) action to build a Sacred Temple for Alechior. [/hider]