[center][h1][b][color=black]🎲[/color][color=gold] 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 [/color][color=black]🎺[/color][/b][/h1][/center]

Two weeks after the business with Fangs concluded, life returned to normal in Gamblerdise. Dice still rolled. Laughter echoed. Arguments ended in games instead of violence. 

The disruption came with the sky. When the Sun first rose, panic followed fast. People gathered in front of the temple, shielding their eyes, convinced some great burning God had finally noticed them. That panic lasted right up until Alechior appeared, pointed dramatically at the blazing yellow thing, and explained to Villagxor that it was not in fact an angry god or a divine weapon but “just a really enthusiastic light.” They may have added that if it were dangerous, they would have said so, probably with fireworks. The explanation worked. Mostly. Villagxor repeated it with less flair and more authority, and the village settled, if not reassured, then at least functional.

The days that followed brought practical problems instead of fear. Gardens exploded into uncontrolled growth, crops stretching too fast and too tall. What once took weeks now took days, sometimes hours and not all of it was useful. Some plants bloomed beautifully and then died just as fast, leaving soil tired and thin. Ash that had long dulled the air began to clear, revealing skies that felt too wide, too honest. Gamblerdise adapted as it always did, by arguing, experimenting and turning every solution into a contest.

For now, the village held together. Schedules changed. Work shifted to mornings and evenings. Games were played at dusk under true shadows instead of starlight. Alechior, naturally, declared the day-night cycle a “feature, not a flaw,” and Villagxor began quietly planning how to keep people fed when the soil stopped cooperating. Gamblerdise was not in crisis yet. But the table had changed, the light was new, and everyone could feel that the next roll would matter.

[hr][hr]

Alechior drifted high above the valley again, arms folded, eyes narrowed, watching paths instead of fields. Trails. Gaps between rocks. The places where people would come from if they came at all. Cannibals, raiders, the desperate, the bored. Mortals with too much hunger and not enough imagination. “Plants grow,” they muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s a tomorrow problem. People stabbing other people is a now problem.”

They dipped lower, gliding along the forest edge. “Alright,” Alechior said, ticking points off on their fingers. “Walls. Ugly, boring, too serious. Traps. Too lethal, too final and Villagxor would give me that look.” They shuddered dramatically. “Guards? No. Absolutely not. The whole point is that no one here knows how to stab properly.”

They stopped midair, spinning slowly as ideas piled up and immediately fell apart. “What I need is something that says ‘you can come in,’” they said, then tilted their head. “‘But you really, really shouldn’t.’” A grin tugged at their mouth. “Fear without blood. Risk without death. A bad hand that still looks tempting.”

Alechior hovered there, silent now, eyes tracing imagined movements, ambush lines, hesitation points. How someone like Fangs thought. The trick wasn’t to stop people from entering. That only made them curious. No, the trick was to make them choose not to. 

Then it hit them.

They snapped their fingers, laughing aloud, light flickering around them in sharp, excited bursts. “Oh, that’s perfect,” Alechior said, already turning back toward Gamblerdise. “A game. A fair one.” They grinned wider. “Let’s see how many people are brave enough to roll the dice.”

Alechior settled in midair and drew their hands together, light folding inward instead of spilling out. The glow around them tightened, compressed, humming louder with every breath until it felt less like divinity and more like pressure. Then they pulled. Not violently, not painfully, just firmly, like drawing a thread from fabric that should not come loose. The light snapped outward in a soft burst and something small tumbled free.

The new figure hovered, wobbling for a second before righting itself. It was Alechior. Mostly. Shorter, dimmer, less gold and more warm amber, like someone had taken the idea of Alechior and turned the brightness down a few notches. The Avatar blinked, looked itself over, then squinted up at the original. “Wow,” it said flatly. “So this is what we look like to everyone else? No wonder mortals keep staring. Subtle is clearly not our brand.”

Alechior laughed, hands on their hips. “Please,” they shot back. “You’re just mad you didn’t inherit the good glow. Budget divinity suits you though. Very practical. Very approachable. Ten out of ten, would trust you with something incredibly dangerous.” The smaller Alechior snorted, folding its arms in a mirror of the gesture, light flickering in mild offense.

“Alright,” Alechior continued, tone shifting just enough to matter. “You get one job. One. You roam the valley. Edges, paths, clearings. Anywhere someone might wander in thinking this place looks easy.” They leaned closer, tapping the Avatar lightly on the forehead. “Anyone who isn’t from Gamblerdise, you stop them. You smile. You offer them a game.”

The Avatar’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, I like this already.”
“Of course you do,” Alechior replied. “If they win, fair’s fair. Let them pass. No tricks, no punishments. But if they lose,” they continued, tone light but deliberate, “you ask them to leave. Politely. Calmly. Give them a chance to walk away with dignity intact.”

The Avatar tilted their head, considering that. “And if they don’t and decide to go on anyway?”
Alechior grinned wider. “Then,” they said, tapping the air as if pressing an invisible switch, “you tune into the Anchor. You don’t strike them. You don’t chase them. You simply remind the valley that someone has overstayed their welcome.”

“So we give them an out,” the Avatar said slowly. “A fair loss. A clear warning.”
“Yes,” Alechior replied. “Games only matter if people are allowed to quit. What happens after that is no longer about the game, it’s about consequences.”

The Avatar grinned and gave an exaggerated bow. “Got it. Wander. Wager. Ask nicely. Ruin their day if they refuse.”
Alechior waved them off as they drifted away, already laughing. “Go,” they said. “Be charming. Be irritating. Be unforgettable. And remember, if anyone asks who you are, you’re not me.”

The smaller Alechior glanced back over their shoulder, hovering just above the ground. “Obviously,” they said. “I’m the polite one.”

Alechior turned towards the Avatar again, light flaring softly as if they had almost forgotten something important. “Oh and one more thing,” they called, finger raised. “Make sure the games are actually fair. Good ones. The kind people can enjoy even if they lose. No nonsense, no rigged misery. Chance is sacred, don’t cheapen it.” Their eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re not here to bully, you’re here to play and safeguard Gamberdise."

They tilted their head, smiling wider. “And adjust to your audience. If a child wants to pass through, give them a child’s game. Something simple. Something kind. Pebbles, riddles, counting stars, whatever makes them laugh. If an elder comes, give them something slower. Thoughtful. Everyone deserves a fair roll, no matter how small they are.” Alechior waved their hand dismissively. “Now go. Make me proud. And try not to traumatize anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

[hider=Actions/Summary]
With their usual flair, Alechior calms the mortals down when the Sun appears then, they consider the dangers and enemies that Gamberdise might face in the future and after running through some really cool but totally unpractical ideas, they get an idea. An Avatar! They make an Avatar that will pose a game to anyone trying to go into the valley, if they pass the game, they can go unopposed...other than the valley's inherent randomness, if they lose, then the valley turns against them. 

Actions:

-1 Conviction - In Domain - Creation of an Avatar/Echo
[/hider]