[center][h1][b][color=#2b2b2b]💀[/color][color=#8b5a2b] Ganga [/color][color=#2b2b2b]🗡️[/color][/b][/h1][/center] [center][h1]&[/h1][/center] [center][b][h1]Saries[/h1][/b][/center] [center][h1]&[/h1][/center] [center][h1][b][color=black]🎲[/color][color=gold] 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 [/color][color=black]🎺[/color][/b][/h1][/center] [center][b]I[/b][/center] The Sun changed everything for Ganga’s tribe and it was not gentle. Where once they moved cautiously, conserving strength and avoiding needless risks, the sudden blaze of real daylight stirred something restless in them, predatory. The world felt louder, brighter, harder to ignore. Shadows no longer hid threats for long and hunger became an issue faster beneath the heat. The tribe began to hunt not just when they needed to but whenever something crossed their path, beasts, strays or unlucky travelers alike. Survival stopped being quiet and became bloody and immediate. Plants exploded across the land, choking old paths and birthing new hiding places for prey. Game animals multiplied, then scattered, then grew aggressive themselves. Every hunt became a contest of speed and violence and the tribe adapted quickly. Spears flew faster. Knives were used more freely. The Sun burned overhead like a challenge, pushing them to take more, eat more, move more. Ganga noticed it first, how the people came back from hunts breathing hard, eyes bright, hands shaking with something close to excitement. Others noticed too and they came. Stragglers, broken families, lone survivors drawn by smoke, noise and the promise of strength in numbers. Ganga did not turn them away. She watched them first, measured how quickly they learned and how eagerly they joined the hunts. Those who hesitated were eaten. Those who adapted stayed, growing the ranks and feeding the appetite that had taken hold of the group. With more mouths came more pressure. The tribe hunted deeper, longer, stripping areas bare before moving on. Old taboos thinned. Where once there had been rules about restraint, now there were only priorities. Eat first. Rest later. Ganga led from the front, sharp-eyed and faster than most, making sure the violence stayed purposeful. She did not let it turn inward. Not yet. But she felt how close it hovered, waiting for a weaker hand to slip. At night, beneath a sky now split between blazing days and colder darkness, Ganga listened to her people sleep. They muttered, dreamed, twitched as if still running. The Sun had made them strong, yes but it had also made them restless, hungry for motion and blood. She knew this could not last forever. Aggression was a tool, not a home. Still, as long as the world kept burning so brightly, she would ride the edge of it or be swallowed by it. On one such night, Ganga called for a halt. The Sun had bled away into the horizon, leaving the land covered in long shadows as even the most restless among them were slowing. The tribe circled up in a shallow rise where the ground was dry and visibility wide, close enough to the treeline for cover but not so close that something could crawl into camp unseen. Fires were kept low, more embers than flame, enough to cook and see hands. Sentries were placed without argument. Pairs at first, then singles as the night deepened, posted at measured distances around the camp. Those with the sharpest eyes took the outer ring, those with quick legs the inner paths between fires. Weapons stayed close. Sleep came in turns. The tribe did not push through the night. For once, they waited, breathing in the dark and listening to what might try to come for them. [center][b]II[/b][/center] Its usual form was too large, too bulky. And so it became smaller, leaner, and darker. Its glow was never gone, just muted, and every time one of the tainted things came near, it grew. But it could not let them know it was there, not during the day, not whilst its chosen were near. And so Saries waited and stalked and watched whilst the Twins and their protector put distance between this ugly place and themselves. Tonight, they had finally gotten far enough. These tainted things were armed and kept watch throughout the night, this much Saries knew. They were unnatural even when it came to their sleeping patterns – Not that it would do them much good. One of them passed by, walked along their dirt path, so Saries slipped into its shadow. The man heard and felt nothing and eventually he arrived at his destination, some sort of guard post on the outskirts of the things’ camp. Another man – who was sitting on a tree stump, drinking some kind of broth out of a bone bowl – perked up and stood up as soon as he saw the approaching man. They both exchanged strange noises, and then the man with the bowl left and the man who unknowingly carried Saries took the spot on the tree stump. Minutes passed, and no one else came. Saries could feel it emanating from the man’s beautiful fur coat. The shame and humiliation of its progeny – A mighty leopard, with its jaw broken and left unable to hunt its rightful prey, forced to debase herself just to feed her cubs. Only to be chased and murdered by demons wearing Sarhush’s skin. The man had been alone one moment. The next, his fire went out. And then a great glow cast his shadow on the ground in front of him. The realization came slowly – He wasn’t alone anymore. There was no scream. When dawn broke and the next shift’s guard appeared, she saw a a campfire painted in crimson. A broken hand was on the tree stump, a foot that had no toes lie half-burned in the now-cold campfire, and a trail of blood led deep into the treeline, marked with pawprints the size of a man’s torso. She ran. [center][b]III[/b][/center] The news reached Ganga just after first light, carried by a runner whose eyes refused to settle on anything for long. Words stumbled over each other. A sentry gone. No struggle worth naming. Just pieces left behind. A hand on a stump. Blood dragged into the trees. When she asked what did it, the answer came slower, quieter. Paw prints. Not tracks, prints. Each one as wide as a man’s torso, pressed deep enough into the dirt that water had already begun to pool in them. Ganga went to see it herself. She crouched by the ruined fire, fingers brushing the darkened soil, the smell was wrong. This was not hunger. This was not a beast killing for food or territory. The marks told a different story, deliberate, patient, confident. Whatever had walked here had not rushed. It had known it would not be challenged. Her gaze followed the trail until the trees swallowed it whole and for the first time in weeks she felt something cold coil in her gut that had nothing to do with fear of starvation. She straightened slowly, mind already turning. Fangs had vanished in the valley. Now [i]this[/i]. Ganga said nothing to the gathered tribe at first, just ordered the camp broken and the dead made food. But the paw print stayed with her. A predator that didn’t fear a large group of people. It had to die. To be taught a lesson. [i][b]No one[/b][/i] messes with her tribe. Ganga did not call it a hunt. She called it a precaution. Her voice stayed low as she gathered the elders and the quickest hands, pointing back toward the ruined fire and the crushed earth beyond. Something that large could not be chased, not with what they had and not without losing more people. If it wanted to stalk them, then they would make the ground itself answer back. A beast that trusted its weight would trust the land beneath it. That trust will be broken. She chose the place herself, a narrow stretch between trees where the undergrowth thinned and the soil stayed soft even after the sun climbed. The paw prints had passed close by there deeply. They marked it with stones only she understood the meaning of, then set to work. Digging began before the sun fully cleared the horizon, hands and crude tools tearing into the earth until sweat darkened skin. The pit had to be wide, wide enough that something massive could not simply step across it, deep enough that climbing out would be hard. Spears came next. Not hunting spears, not meant for throwing but sharpened stakes hardened in fire and hammered into the bottom of the pit at cruel angles. Dozens of them. Enough that weight alone would do the work. Ganga watched every placement, correcting angles, ordering more when it did not look right. This was not about skill or bravery. It was about inevitability. Fall once and the fight would already be over. If it wasn’t, part two of the plan would commence When the pit was finished, they covered it carefully. Thin branches laid first, then leaves, then soil brushed back over the top until it looked untouched. Too untouched. Ganga kicked dirt across it herself, scuffed footprints nearby, broke branches on purpose. A trap that looked perfect was a trap that failed. It had to look like nothing at all. As the work ended, tension crept through the camp. Some sharpened tools that would do nothing against the owner of the paw prints that size. Ganga let it happen. Fear kept people sharp. False comfort got them killed. She reminded them only of one thing. No fires near the trap. No wandering at night. If the creature came, it would come on its own terms. That night, Ganga sat awake longer than most, eyes on the dark line of trees. She did not feel triumph. Only pressure. Whatever had torn a sentry apart without a sound was not some mindless animal blundering into death. If it fell into the pit, good. If it did not, then this would have taught it something else instead. Either way, the ground had been set and the next move would the creature’s. [center][b]IV[/b][/center] Even in the midst of the hunt, there were still smaller – but not lesser – duties to attend to. In the face of the unnatural, it fell upon Saries to make things right. Not by simply willing challenges away, no, that was not its style – but by physically comforting and helping those who needed it. By carrying the orphaned to new parents or easier lands. By bringing food and water to the sick. By sharing warmth with the scared. It had been carrying out such a duty – three malnourished cubs had been riding on its head – when it stepped onto hollow ground. Like the sound of thunder, the ground gave way and Saries fell. Sharpened stakes stabbed into its flesh as it fell, and by the time it found itself on all four paws at the bottom of the pit, it had at least a dozen stakes stuck deep into its body. Some went entirely through its paws, others stabbed into its legs in awkward angles, and some were long enough to actually go into its gut and chest. It burned. Not just because of the pain – poison had been smeared onto some of the stakes. Saries flinched – A spark of sharp pain came from its right ear, where one of the cubs was biting onto its ear for dear life. The others bit onto fur or tougher skin, but this one must have seen it fit to grab onto the biggest thing around. As uncomfortable as the stakes were, they were no issue. Saries’ bloodflow slowed until nothing leaked from its wounds, and then in a single motion it freed itself from the stakes by merely shaking. Flesh tore where it was meant to tear, and stakes broke when they were leveraged against bone. When it was free, Saries then broke and removed the stakes from a small corner of the pit and placed the three cubs on it, then stood itself between the cubs and the opening above. It could hear them coming. A lot of feet, running, approaching. A Tormenta flew overhead, and Saries called it with a bark that shattered the remaining stakes. The bird was fast, and in a moment it had found its way into the pit and perched itself onto Saries’ snout where the two exchanged a look. Then the Tormenta looked at the cubs and, after tensing its wings in a shrug-like manner, picked them up and flew out of the pit. Normally, Tormentas like the one Saries had just called would prey on cubs like the ones it had just saved… But when fighting the unnatural, one had to become slightly unnatural as well. The first 3 humans to arrive came at the right time to see Saries jumping out of the pit and landing only a meter from their faces. The ground shook such that the three of them fell onto their hands and knees and the beast, drenched in its own thick blood and with broken spears and stakes stuck into its body, looked at them. Saries sniffed the air and growled – One of the humans dared mark this territory as his, in front of It?! Saries bit the man’s head off and spat it into the pit so fast that his body collapsed only after Saries had pinned the other two humans under its paws. It was then that it lowered its head towards each of them and bit their skulls with its sharpest fangs, penetrating bone as if it was butter and finally stopping as soon as it felt their brains. The first one to be cursed was the man – Young, with a parent’s scent about him, but also completely wicked in the tormented furs that he wore and the sickening flesh that melted in his stomach. He was cursed to become half-man half-beast. To forever be an outcast and a slave to his hunger and instincts. There was a brief flash of fire coming from inside the man’s skull as Saries withdrew his fangs, and then the screaming started. Flesh tore as bones grew and reconfigured themselves, and at one point the man had screamed so much that the only thing that came out of his mouth were hoarse gasps. That was when Saries shifted its focus from the man, to the woman under his other paw. Now, it understood. They weren’t marking the territory – These creatures merely had weak bladders, prone to losing control. It huffed and did the same thing to the woman’s skull, penetrating it like nothing with its fangs. This one was cursed in a different manner, though. Whilst the man was forced to be an outcast for the rest of eternity, the woman would be forced to remain with other humans, for her hunger would be one that no other creature would sate. She would feed off the blood, and the emotions, and the flesh of other humans and nothing else. Fire filled the woman’s skull as soon as Saries removed its fangs, and she screamed also. It only lasted a few seconds, but by the end of their transformation, the two were no longer humans. The man was a hideous mixture of a beast and a man – hunched over, with sharp claws on his fingers and toes, fur along his limbs and a misshapen snout filled with razor-sharp teeth. Where there once was a spark in his eyes now remained a dull, reactive glance. And the woman. Her skin had become dark as coal, eyes white as snow, and her teeth had all been sharpened so that even touching her own lips to them drew blood. Her veins glowed a pulsing white that rearranged itself into strange shapes and sigils along her skin. Where there once was a spark in her eyes, there was now an unmistakable aloofness to them, as if she wasn’t entirely there anymore. Saries would give them no names, because they did not deserve them. To it they were merely monsters, an example of what corrupted humans amounted to in Saries’ eyes. And so, whilst the Cursed were looking over their new forms, a multitude of humans arrived. [center][b]V[/b][/center] The news reached Ganga in pieces, shouted, half-sobbed, tripping over itself as runners crashed into the camp. The trap, they said, worked. The ground had broken, the pit had taken something massive, something that bled thick and dark. Relief flickered through the tribe for a heartbeat, sharp and desperate. Then the rest followed. It climbed out. It did not die. It stood back up. And worse than that, two of their own no longer looked like people when they came screaming out of the trees. Ganga did not wait for the panic to finish spreading. She pushed through bodies, shoved aside hands that tried to stop her, and moved toward the site with fury. When she saw it, her breath caught despite herself. The pit was ruined, shattered, stakes broken like twigs. And there it stood. Enormous, glowing faintly like a mockery of the stars, blood clotted through its fur, eyes too aware, too judging. Near it, things that had once been human twitched and screamed, wrong in ways her mind resisted naming. The cursed were familiar enough that recognition hurt. One moved like a man dragged down by an animal’s frame, hunger written into every crooked line of him. The other stood too still, her eyes empty and sharp all at once, veins burning pale beneath darkened skin. Ganga felt something cold settle into her gut. This was not death. This was punishment. This was a future worse than being eaten, and whatever had done this had done it deliberately. This was not a simple predator. It was something [i]worse[/i] “Fire,” Ganga said, her voice cutting through the terror. “Burn them. Burn them [b]ALL![/b].” Torches were already in hands, flames shaking as fear fed them. The first torch flew, then another, then a dozen, arcs of fire streaking through the dim light toward the glowing beast and the cursed shapes in front of it. Smoke billowed as flames – having grown far too big and far too suddenly – caught fur, flesh, old blood. The air filled with near-human screams, and the tribe surged forward. Ganga did not stay behind them. She tore a torch from another’s grip and ran with it, feet pounding, teeth bared in something between a snarl and a scream. She hurled the fire with all her strength, then followed it, grabbing a fallen spear and driving it forward into the flames with reckless intent. She did not care that the thing was massive, that it had shrugged off their trap. It had stepped into her people’s blood, and that was enough. But the flames obscured the shapes of monsters, and when they cleared, Ganga saw her spear stuck not in the glowing beast, but in the gut of the man-turned-beast. It snarled at her, skin smoking and melting off the bone in parts, burning the image into Ganga’s eyes. Its eyes were gone, but there was a glow to him, not unlike that of the glowing beast, and then the eyes grew back and stared at Ganga. To her side, three warriors had struck into the equally stunned woman-turned-monster, but a similar thing was happening. Melted flesh was regrowing, blood returning to its vessel. It was a sickening feeling – the reverberations that echoed down the shaft of her spear from bones and flesh moving around, the gurgling sounds of the man-beast’s drowned screams as they came from his exposed throat rather than his mouth. All the while, the glowing beast behind them only watched, untouched by the flames. Ganga drove her spear further in, then thrust her torch into the man-beast’s face. One of her tribesmen came to her aid by bringing his heavy adze down onto the man-beast’s shoulder, the sharp stone grinding and fracturing bone as it went. And then the glow became more intense, and the monsters tensed, and the adze and the spear shattered as flesh and bone closed in around them, and the man-beast grabbed the torch and tore it from Ganga’s grasp and thrust it into her tribesman’s gasping mouth. Ganga slipped on the melted flesh of the man-beast when she took a step back in retreat. Then the fight dissolved into chaos. The monsters moved like nothing the tribe had ever fought. They did not avoid pain and they seemed completely unable to die. The man-beast moved as fast as slingshot and gutted men with his claws and bit into their limbs and throats like a feral beast, completely unhindered by his mutated anatomy. And the woman-monster moved with an ethereal grace, almost as if she was dancing, as she avoided every single thrust and swing and slash from all the warriors. And when they did get struck, the wound simply knit itself back together in front of their eyes. Fire spread faster than fear ever could. The flames climbed dry brush and fallen hides, jumped bodies, turned the clearing into a choking, screaming cage. Ganga felt it then, not as panic but as certainty, death was no longer circling, it was standing right in front of her, waiting for her to make one more foolish step. One she feared she already took. The monsters did not slow. The glowing beast still watched. And the tribe was breaking, not routing yet, but cracking in a way she had seen before only in slaughter. This was not a battle that could be won. She shouted the retreat until her throat burned raw, grabbing the nearest living bodies she could reach. Five. Then six. That was all who answered, eyes wide, skin scorched, weapons dropped or broken. As they ran, something tore into Ganga’s side, a bite from one of the creatures. Pain exploded through her flank, sharply and her leg buckled beneath her as she hit the monster with her torch but she did not fall, not fully, but the strength fled her in a rush, blood hot against her skin. Hands caught her immediately. Not furred hands, not scaled, but bare, shaking ones. Two of them hauled her weight, one arm slung over each shoulder, and they dragged her as fire licked at their heels and monsters snarled. Ganga echoed the snarl through clenched teeth, forced her legs to move, but she was no longer running so much as being carried forward by stubborn loyalty. Every step sent agony through her side, breath coming short and wet, vision blurring at the edges. They did not stop until the screams were distant and the glow was swallowed by smoke and trees. Six figures collapsed into the dark, coughing, bleeding, alive. Ganga sank to her knees at last, hands pressed hard to her wound, supported on both sides so she would not topple face-first into the dirt. Behind them, the fire roared. Ahead of them was only night, loss and the knowledge that something had followed their people into the world that would not be easily outrun. [center][b]VI[/b][/center] Alechior had been draped across the high air, limbs folded loosely as if the sky were a hammock made just for them. The Happy Cloud slid above like slow cards being shuffled, the world far below reduced to patterns and movement without meaning. They were half-asleep, drifting in that pleasant state where thought unraveled into idle amusement, when something tugged, sharp and rude, at their attention. Not a prayer but violence, loud enough to annoy them. Their eyes opened and the sky seemed to pull itself tighter around them. Firelight flared far below, too sudden, too hungry, blooming near Gamberdise valley like a bad wager gone worse. Alechior sighed, the sound carrying no wind, only intent. A flick of will folded distance like paper, and they drifted downward, unseen, unannounced, invisible to mortal sight. The air thickened with smoke and heat as they drew closer, the noise resolving into screams and something else, something different. Godly. They hovered just beyond the reach of flame, watching without being watched. Mortals ran. Mortals burned. And at the center of it all stood shapes that did not obey the usual rules, glowing wounds knitting shut as if pain were a suggestion rather than a fact. Alechior tilted their head, interest fully awake now. “Well,” they murmured to no one at all, “someone is cheating and getting some divine help.” Then Alechior dipped into a slow, exaggerated bow in the air, one hand pressed to their chest and the other swept outward, a gesture of courtesy offered toward the great glowing wolf below, aware that the wolf could clearly see them. The wolf merely glanced back for a split moment, before its narrowed eyes turned back to the slaughter unfolding in front of them. Alechior watched the brief glance from the great wolf, then the immediate dismissal and audibly scoffed. Loudly. They pressed a hand to their chest in exaggerated offense, posture wounded. “Wow,” they muttered, floating in place, “no bow back, no acknowledgment, no nothing. Leave it to the big wolf to forget their manners.” They sighed, long and theatrical, then leaned back in the air as if settling into a seat. It was clearly slowing down at this point and upon seeing this, the glow surrounding the two unnatural humans faded. Alechior let the moment stretch. Flames crackled. Bodies fell. The glow dimmed and with it the certainty of victory. By this point all the mortals, monsters included, were heaving and moving sluggishly. From the great band of warriors remained four, two of whom were clutching wounds with one hand and holding knives with the other, and other two who were glancing around them at the monsters and the fires. The man-beast took a single step forward, arms slack to his sides and mouth dripping with blood. One of the last warriors dropped his spear and turned around and ran. The other three charged. A club struck the man-beast’s raised arm. Bone shattered and at the same time his opposite arm sliced into the man’s gut and through his spine. A knife stabbed into the man-beast’s side and in response he bit his attacker’s face and tore jaw from skull. And then there was only one warrior remaining before him. But the man-beast’s lungs burned. It coughed and blood sprayed, and its bones weren’t setting, not as fast as earlier. He dropped to a knee, a growl turning into ragged panting as his one good hand grasped the knife lodged in between his ribs. Then he pulled the knife out and threw it at the remaining warrior’s feet. “Nngh…” The man-beast groaned, now dropping onto his good hand as his other arm started to slowly, excruciatingly, set bone back into place. The warrior did not miss his chance. He lunged, wielding both knives, and slashed at the man-beast’s throat – Only for the blades to be caught in the monster-woman’s claws, and shatter. She chuckled, then she looked around and laughed. And all of a sudden the laughter stopped and she grabbed the warrior by the throat, her claws digging far enough into the skin to draw blood. “Ahh, the flesh of a great warrior,” She said, her voice as sweet as honey, but devoid of any warmth, and her veins pulsing with a violent rhythm of light. “I can already savour you, boy.” Alechior’s expression shifted from mock offense to interest, head tilting as the man-beast slowed, as the woman’s laughter rang sharp through the smoke. They watched the final exchanges like a gambler watching dice roll across a table, already knowing the outcome but enjoying the tension anyway. “Ah,” they murmured, “there it is. Hubris. Always shows up late to the party.” When the woman-beast seized the last warrior and bared her teeth, Alechior finally moved. There was no announcement, no thunderclap. One moment the air was empty, the next a hand was there, as they moved at an impossible speed. Alechior’s fingers closed around the woman-beast’s throat just as she leaned in to bite, stopping her. Not a strike, not a shove, just an iron grip that made the air itself seem heavier. Her claws scraped uselessly against their wrist as her eyes snapped wide in sudden, furious confusion. At the same instant, the man-beast lunged. Alechior did not look at him. A second hand reached back, almost lazy, and caught him by the throat mid-charge. The impact lifted the man-beast clean off the ground, legs kicking as Alechior straightened in the air, holding one monster aloft and the other frozen in place. Flames flickered around them, reflected dimly in Alechior’s golden eyes. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” They clicked their tongue, shaking their head. They finally looked at the man-beast, lifting him a little higher for emphasis. “Really? Charging headfirst?” Alechior said, voice light, almost amused. “I would have thought the one with claws for nails might understand the concept of reach.” Then they glanced to the woman-beast, tightening their grip just enough to make the point painfully clear. “And you,” they added, “biting mid-monologue? That is just sloppy villain work. I expect MORE!” Alechior exhaled, the sound warm and dangerous and smiled. “You know,” they went on, still holding both creatures effortlessly, “I step away for one nap and suddenly everyone forgets basic etiquette. No biting guests, no killing the last fighter before the scene ends, and absolutely no ignoring a god who bothered to show up.” Their grin widened. “Honestly, I am hurt. And when I am hurt,” they added cheerfully, “I tend to get very hands-on.” Alechior turned their head at last, still holding both monsters as if they weighed nothing, and inclined it slightly toward the great wolf. Not a bow this time, but a polite tilt of their head. “Well then,” they said lightly, voice carrying just enough to matter, “since we are apparently sharing a battlefield.” Their eyes gleamed as they looked Saries over, glow answering glow. “Alechior. A pleasure, I assume. God of odds, wagers and all the delightful messes that happen when chance is nudged or the fun of life!” adding the last part with a grin. They gave the man-beast a small shake, then tightened their grip on the woman-beast’s throat for emphasis. “Now,” Alechior continued, tone curious rather than hostile, “what exactly is your intention with these two?” A brow arched. “Are they pets? Warnings? Art projects?” A faint grin followed. “Because they did just try to strike a god, which is usually grounds for very permanent consequences. I would hate to step on your toes, but if you plan to keep them, I would like to know before I decide how creative I am feeling.” The wolf-god huffed. Along with the huff, came visions. A burly man-god repeating the name ‘Saries’, the smell of man-eating-man, and the purposeless suffering of predator and prey alike, killed not for food but for sport. And then Saries’ stare softened just a bit, as if to say it didn’t care what happened to the two monsters. Alechior laughed, brightly, the sound ringing against the smoke and death. “Oh, that?” they said, waving the vision away as if it were a bad card draw. “Yes, yes, I see it. Big man, big name, very serious about it. Cannibals too. Honestly, dreadful table manners.” Their grin sharpened then dulled. “Killing for killing’s sake though, that’s the real offense. No tension, no stakes, no wit. Just noise and waste. Completely joyless.” They looked back at the two monsters hanging in their grasp, struggling, glowing faintly as their borrowed divinity sputtered. “You’re right,” Alechior went on, tone settling into something almost respectful. “What’s the point of ending them now? They tried to strike a god, yes, which is bold, stupid and usually fatal. But there was intent there, hunger twisted into something else. That makes it interesting. And interest deserves continuation.” Alechior loosened their grip just enough to let the implication sink in. “So they live,” they said simply. “Not because they deserve mercy, but because existence itself will punish them far better than I ever could.” Their eyes flicked back to Saries. “As they are now, they won’t last long in this world. Hunted, feared, not understood. Life will grind them down slowly. Unpredictably,” Alechior added with a small, satisfied smile, “is far more my style. I'll be granting them a gift and let us see where the dice lands. If that's okay with you,” they continued with a wink ", wouldn't want to step on your paws." Saries simply sat down with a tail flick. Alechior snorted softly. “Ah. Of course,” they said, hands spreading in exaggerated understanding as two other hands appeared to hold the beasts by their necks. “The strong, stoic type. All presence, no commentary. Truly, the most intimidating form of conversation.” They tilted their head, peering at the wolf-god with mock seriousness. “You know, some of us use words. It’s a hobby. Very popular. Should [i]totally[/i] try it!” Saries tilted its head. Alechior glanced between the silent god and the two creatures. “But no, no, I get it,” Alechior continued lightly. “Why waste breath when you can brood? Tail flicks are basically full sermons where you come from, right?” A grin tugged at their mouth, amused but not unkind. Saries gave nothing back but a huff and Alechior hummed. “Figures.” Then the tone shifted, just a notch. The air around Alechior tightened, pressure building like a held breath. Gold light began to pool in their chest pulsing. It crawled upward along their throat, down their arms, gathering in their hands until their fingers glowed like molten coins. “Alright,” they said, voice steady now. “Silent approval accepted.” The golden power flowed from Alechior’s palms and poured into the monsters, sinking beneath fur and flesh, threading itself into bone, blood, and curse alike. Both beasts convulsed as the light took hold, not burning, not healing but rewriting something fundamental, like dice being shaken before a throw. When Alechior finally let go, the glow faded back into their skin, leaving the two creatures gasping in the dirt, momentarily stunned, changed in ways they could not yet understand. Alechior rolled their shoulders and looked down at them, smiling. “Congratulations,” they said pleasantly. “You’ve been cursed. Or blessed. Depends how well you play the hand you’ve just been dealt.” Alechior straightened, the last traces of golden light fading from their hands as they turned fully toward Saries. A wide grin spread across their face, the kind that treated gods and beasts alike as equals at the same table. “Well,” they said lightly, gesturing back toward the valley, “if you, your offspring and any of your followers feel like stepping somewhere a little less on fire or dangerous for all but us, you’re welcome in Gamberdise.” Their tone carried warmth rather than command. “My temple’s open. No tricks, no wagers required to cross the threshold.” They tilted their head, hands spreading in an exaggerated show of hospitality. “Rest, talk, argue philosophy, glare silently, whatever suits you. The people there know how to coexist with odd divinities and strange guests, and I make sure no one starts trouble they can’t finish.” A brief chuckle followed. “Consider it neutral ground. If you choose to come, you’ll be received with open hands, and if you don’t,” they added with a shrug, “no offense taken. Invitations, like games, only matter if you decide to play. Byeeeee!” Rising to the air, Alechior looked at Saries's head and contemplated petting his head before thinking better of it. [hider=Summary] Ganga’s tribe grows aggressive after the Sun changes the land, hunting constantly and abandoning old rules. When a sentry is killed and huge paw prints are found, Ganga sets a trap for the predator. The creature, Saries, escapes, kills guards, and curses two humans into monstrous forms (Therianthropes and Parasithropes). The tribe attacks but fails, suffering heavy losses before fleeing into the night. Alechior arrives, stops the fight, and alters the Cursed further. Alechior then offers Saries an invitation to Gamblerdise. [/hider] [hider=Actions] Saries Conviction Expenditures: -2 - In Domain Action -2 - In Domain Action Alechior Conviction Expenditures: -2 - In Domain Actions [hider=Curse of Therianthropy] Saries spent 2 Conviction creating the Curse of Therianthropy. This is an infectious divine disease that can be passed along via bodily fluids such as blood and saliva. Those who contract this disease will find themselves mutating into a Therianthrope within a few weeks, with the physical and mental changes gradually becoming more and more severe until remaining in Human settlements becomes impossible. Therianthropes are cursed to be in an eternal state of gnawing hunger which can only ever be temporarily sated by hunting and eating anything that moves. They are blessed with enhanced regeneration (can regenerate a lost limb in a week and can heal from a stab wound in a day), enhanced durability (can survive a stab wound to the heart or severe brain damage, but will die at a certain threshold of damage depending on the individual), as well as enhanced general physicality, such as speed, reflexes, strength, etc. As an example, the first Therianthrope was a wolf-man who had claws for nails, a snout and sharp fangs. Alechior spent 1 Conviction to Enhance the Curse of Therianthropy with a Gambler’s Mercy. This divine modification weaves chance directly into the existing curse, introducing an element of risk, hope and cruel irony. Every 30 full day-night cycles, those afflicted with Therianthropy are subjected to a cosmic roll of fate. There is a 40% chance that the curse temporarily loosens its grip, allowing the afflicted to revert fully to their human form for the next 7 consecutive nights. During this time, all physical mutations are suppressed, hunger subsides to mortal levels, and regeneration and durability return to that of an ordinary human. However, this reprieve is not without its bite. The afflicted have no control over when the gamble succeeds or fails, nor any forewarning of the outcome. When the 7 nights end, the curse reasserts itself violently, forcing the body back into its therianthropic state within moments. Memories of the human nights remain vivid and painful, often worsening the psychological torment of the curse. [/hider] [hider=Curse of Parasithropy] Saries spent 2 Conviction creating the Curse of Parasithropy. This is an infectious divine disease that can be passed along via bodily fluids such as blood and saliva. Those who contract this disease will find themselves mutating into a Parasithrope within a few weeks, with the physical and mental changes gradually becoming more and more severe until it becomes impossible to move far from any human presence. Parasithropes are cursed with only receiving sustenance from Humanoid blood, flesh, and emotion, hence their inability to isolate themselves for any meaningful length of time. Like Therianthropes, they have enhanced regeneration and enhanced durability, but whereas Therianthropes are supernatural powerhouses, Parasithropes merely have fast reflexes. As an example, the first Parasithrope developed skin black as coal, veins that pulsed with light, white irises, claws for nails, and teeth so sharp she constantly sliced her lips open on them. Alechior spent 1 Conviction to Enhance the Curse of Parasithropy with the Dealer’s Smile. This divine alteration bends perception and emotion around those afflicted, turning social interaction into a dangerous game of influence rather than brute survival. All Parasithropes now emanate an unnatural aura of calm, subtle but pervasive, that passively affects anyone within close proximity. The presence of the afflicted induces feelings of ease and comfort as though nothing in the moment could possibly be wrong. Those who meet a Parasithrope’s gaze for more than a few seconds experience the effect far more strongly. Prolonged eye contact causes the target to feel elated to be in the Parasithrope’s presence, lowering suspicion, dulling fear responses and weakening resistance to suggestion or persuasion. The afflicted do not gain direct mind control but their words carry unnatural weight and their requests feel reasonable, even desirable. Victims often rationalize their behavior afterward, unaware that their emotions were ever influenced. This is a blessing that acts strong in the original but as more descendants are infected, the power will be reduced. [/hider] [/hider]