[center][h1][b][color=black]🎲[/color][color=gold] 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 [/color][color=black]🎺[/color][/b][/h1][/center]
[center][h3]&[/h3][/center]
[center][h1][color=darkgoldenrod]Khthon[/color][/h1][/center]

Alechior won the last throw of bone dice the way they always did, with a flick of the wrist and a grin that suggested the outcome had been decided long before the dice hit the table, it was all a mind’s game and Alechior’s mind proved, as always, sharper than Villagxor’s. The bones settled, wrong for Villagxor, perfect for Alechior. “Chance adores me,” they said lightly, scooping the dice back up, “and you keep insisting on flirting with probability like it owes you something.”

Villagxor sighed, long suffering and familiar with defeat by now. Still, once the groaning theatrics were out of the way, his posture straightened and his tone softened. Very politely, carefully, he asked whether Alechior could perhaps do something about the soil. The land was tired, the crops thin, the earth stubborn beneath the plow. It was not a demand, not even a plea, more a hopeful suggestion wrapped in manners.

Alechior listened, fingers rolling one of the bone dice across their knuckles. When they answered, it was honest. That was not within their domains. Gambling could bend paths, tilt outcomes, nudge hands at the right moment. Soil was patient work, slow cycles and gods far less entertaining than Alechior handled that sort of thing. “I could make a farmer stumble into better timing,” they added with a shrug, “but I cannot teach dirt to love you.”

With that, Alechior rose, already losing interest in the conversation and finding it elsewhere. They gave Villagxor a casual salute, half mockery, half affection and stepped away as if gravity was a negotiable rule. A moment later they were airborne.

They climbed higher and higher, letting the wind shove and spin them, refusing to choose a direction. Luck would decide, as it always did. Clouds parted and then the valley below shrank into a patchwork of greens and browns.

Eventually, they were carried east, toward the mountain that loomed over the valley like a watchful spine. It stood taller than the others, sharper, its peak biting into the sky. Alechior angled toward it, satisfied, as if the mountain had won a game it did not know it was playing.

They landed near a jagged opening halfway up the stone face, into a cave. The air inside was cool and still, heavy with silence. Alechior stepped into the darkness without hesitation, the natural light behind them thinning as their own golden glow lit up the cavern around.

Alechior moved through the cave with curiosity, feet touching lightly against stone as their glow painted the walls in warm gold. The cavern bore the marks of age, narrow veins of crystal caught the light, shadows stretched and recoiled as they passed. They hummed loudly, a tune with no real melody, fingers brushing against rock.

The tunnel sloped downward, then widened, branching veins of stone leading deeper into the mountain’s body. Alechior slowed, studying the place with interest. This was the sort of moment they adored, choice without consequence or perhaps consequence without warning. The cave split ahead, two paths diverging like a held breath finally released.

They reached into their pocket and produced the bone dice, rolling them once in their palm before casting them onto the stone. The bones clattered, spun and settled with quiet finality. Alechior glanced at the result, smiled and without another thought turned to the right, leaving the other path to whatever fate had lost the toss.

All the while, Khthon watched from within the wall, hiding his presence. He kept close attention to his God-Siblings when it came to his domain, and had felt the other God enter his realm. He kept silent, for now; Sarhush and the Patrons had stoked his irritation through their ruckus, and Excelsis his wrath through his meddling, but Alechior had yet to do anything but wander, and Khthon wished to know what he would do.

He could already tell that the other truly was a lucky one. Through pure chance, the path they’d chosen was the one that would drive him deeper within the mountain, towards larger caverns and further split paths. The other would have led to a dead end filled with fumes which, while unable to harm a God in any ways, would no doubt be unpleasant to one that kept themselves so close in form to fragile mortals.

This mountain was a strange one, riding the edge of a part of the land Khthon preferred to leave by itself. There, the Earth did not follow any rules but its own, every law of geology unravelling as they saw fit. There, granite crumbled like talc, feldspar bent like grass in the wind, and mudstone could shatter any mortal tool. A force more ancient than could be comprehended ruled this land, and so Khthon left it alone; he might not [i]like[/i] it, but he could accept that some parts of his realm were beyond his ability to fully control. At the very least, he knew that the Earth would still not give what was its own without taking something in exchange.

This mountain, though, was thankfully exempt from such a strange phenomenon, though still a bit too close for his taste. Stone still obeyed him, and if push came to shove, Khthon knew he would not be at a disadvantage. Though looking at what his God-Sibling was doing, such thoughts of conflict were likely to be extraneous. They were still only wandering about, filling his caverns with light and song, which while a bit annoying, was completely 
harmless.

Alechior wandered deeper, steps echoing in ways that never quite repeated themselves. The cave shifted subtly as they moved, passages narrowing where moments ago they had been wide, stone textures changing under their fingertips like a deck being reshuffled. Pebbles rolled uphill, stalactites hummed faintly when brushed by their glow and once, for a heartbeat, gravity seemed to hesitate before remembering its job. Alechior laughed at that, delighted. Randomness always had a certain charm to it.


They followed no real logic, turning when it felt right, stopping when the cavern seemed to lean closer, as if listening. Light spilled from them in arcs, revealing walls that bore the scars of pressure, yet arranged in patterns that felt almost intentional. The Anchor’s influence was unmistakable here, probability tugged sideways, chance given too much room to breathe. Alechior rolled the dice once in their palm without casting them, just to see how they felt. Satisfied, they kept walking.

That was when the copper caught their eye. A thick vein ran through the stone, dull at first glance but unmistakably rich beneath the dust. Alechior stopped short, glow brightening as they stepped closer. “Well now,” they murmured, voice echoing, “that is a handsome surprise.”

They reached out and pressed their fingers into the stone, not prying so much as insisting. The rock yielded with a groan and a chunk of copper came free in their hand, still warm with the mountain’s patience. Alechior turned it over, brushing away grit with their thumb, watching how the light played across its surface. “No cards, no dice and still a winning hand!” they chuckled, weighing it like a coin too large to spend.

Holding it up, they admired it, grin bright. “Look at you,” they said to the metal, as if it might blush, “all tucked away in the dark, waiting for someone with terrible impulse control.” Alechior slipped the copper ore under one arm humming again as the cave subtly rearranged itself behind them, as though pretending it had always been this way. 

The walls groaned, not with age or stress, but with Khthon’s displeasure. Of course, they were a [i]thief[/i]. No one ever seemed to know that some things are best left untouched.

The Earth usually sorted mortals out by itself, but a God? That would require a more personal touch. Khthon swallowed his rage, and instead concentrated on the mountain itself. Alechior was lucky, but Khthon could bend the odds. He subtly closed the tunnels through which his God-Sibling passed, leaving no easy exit back to the surface, and bent the ones laying in their path, guiding him deeper in his domain. Walls swallowed exposed ore, hiding them from Alechior’s sight, and the caverns grew smaller and darker, with no crystal roots to illuminate them.

Khthon waited patiently, until Alechior entered one last cave. A dead end. With a thought, the entry crumbled, sealing the other God within. Finally, Khthon spoke, his voice echoing from the stone.

[color=darkgoldenrod]”Despicable [i]thief[/i],”[/color] he hissed, furious. The walls trembled, small pebbles falling from the ceiling. [color=darkgoldenrod]”How dare you come within my home and take what is [i]mine[/i]? Give back what you have stolen, and I might yet be willing to forgive you, God-Sibling.”[/color]

Alechior had noticed the change long before the mountain made its displeasure loud. The tunnels felt tighter with every step, not in a threatening way at first, but in the same way a table suddenly feels crowded once the stakes rise. Passages they had passed through moments earlier no longer carried their echo back, sound swallowed instead of returned. Alechior glanced over their shoulder once, then again, watching stone smooth itself where there had been space, odds quietly re-balancing without asking their consent.

When the final cave ended in bare rock and the way behind them collapsed into a curtain of dust and stone, Alechior did not reach for power or protest. They simply stopped, listening as the last fragments settled. The silence that followed was weighted, like a dealer pausing before revealing the final card. Alechior exhaled, slow and pleased, fingers still curled loosely around the copper they had taken.

Then the voice came, vibrating through the walls themselves, sharp with ownership and older than patience. Alechior laughed, openly and without restraint, the sound bright against the cavern’s anger. It echoed longer than it should have, rebounding in places the cave pretended did not exist. “Oh, this is excellent,” they said, amusement threading every word, as if they had just been caught cheating at a game they never claimed to play fair.

They turned toward the stone, toward the presence pressing in from every direction, and bowed deeply, one arm sweeping wide in an exaggerated flourish. Their glow dipped with the motion, respectful and mocking all at once. “My deepest apologies, dear God-Sibling,” Alechior said, straightening with a grin. “Truly. I didn’t realize the house was watching so closely tonight.”

Alechior lifted their hand and turned the metal slowly in their palm and only then did it become clear that it was no longer a jagged chunk of copper torn from the mountain’s vein. The ore had been turned into shape, edges smoothed, faces pressed flat, corners sharpened with idle precision. A die, clean and weighty, its pips shallow and almost perfect, catching their golden light as if it had always wanted to be this. Whether it had been shaped by unconscious habit or deliberate intent was impossible to tell, even from the way Alechior regarded it with mild surprise, as though noticing a trick they had performed without looking.

They stepped forward and extended their arm toward the voice in the stone, palm open in offering. The copper die rested there, gleaming warmly against their skin. “There,” Alechior said lightly, tone bright and almost cheerful. “A present for you, God-Sibling. I borrowed the copper, I return it with interest.” Their smile lingered, unapologetic, as if gifting a god a die in his own sealed cavern, from his own material, was the most natural resolution imaginable.

Khthon paused as he observed the die. The perfect geometric shape, each side equally balanced, and the way it glimmers in his God-Sibling’s golden light… It was beautiful. Did Alechior know what they were doing by provoking him? Khthon supposed it didn’t really matter; he would get his treasure back. Its new shape was, as Alechior said, interest, though he wasn’t fully sure what “interest” was.

An arm emerged from the stone wall and delicately plucked the copper die from Alechior’s hand, and brought it back within the stone. Soon, it would rest safely beside Sarhush’s gifted axe. Then, a head and torso emerged, armless and eyeless as ever. Khthon turned to face his God-Sibling, and spoke.

[color=darkgoldenrod]”I shall accept this apology.”[/color] He tilted his head, and his mouth clumsily twisted into a frown, as if the act of emoting did not come naturally. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Do not repeat this mistake. The ‘house’, as you say, is always watching when it comes to fellow Gods. You have been warned.”[/color]

Khthon stayed silent for a long moment, simply observing Alechior. He had not seen them since shortly after their birth, and had never spoken to them before. Their presence puzzled him; their very essence seemed contrary to Khthon’s realm. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Tell me. You, who is so bright and loud, what brings you here? This place is dark and silent. It does not suit you. You were not here to plunder from the start, that I know, so why?”[/color]

Alechior laughed, the sound echoing oddly against the stone. “Warned already?” they said, clearly amused. “That has to be some sort of record. I usually get at least a polite lecture first.” Their tone stayed friendly, almost fond, as if Khthon’s threat were less a rebuke and more a quirky house rule they had accidentally tripped over. “Still, I appreciate the hospitality. Sealed caves, dramatic entrances, ominous watching walls. Very memorable.”

As Khthon continued to observe, Alechior seemed to lean into it. They turned slowly in place, arms out for a moment, then clasped their hands behind their back, posture straight and theatrical. A half bow, then a flourish then standing on one foot briefly as if testing balance, before settling again. “Just making sure you get the full picture,” they added lightly. “Angles matter. First impressions too.”

They tilted their head, glow shifting softly as they considered the question. When they spoke again, the humor softened into something more honest, though the smile never fully left. “Truth is, I don’t really know why I’m here. I rarely do. I let luck pick the road, the cave, the bad decisions.” They glanced at the stone around them, unbothered. “Most of the time it works out. Sometimes it doesn’t. That’s the game.”

Their gaze lifted back toward Khthon, attentive now. “This time, luck shined. It led me here, to you, of all places. Which is funny, because my people just asked me for help with soil. Crops failing, ground turning stubborn, the Sun killing the plants...and burning the ground.” A small chuckle. “And I wandered straight into the domain of a god who actually decides what the earth does.”

Alechior spread their hands, palms up, in a casual shrug. “So no, I wasn’t here to plunder. I wasn’t even here with a plan. I followed chance and chance introduced me to someone perfectly suited to solve a problem I can’t.” Their eyes gleamed with open interest. “That feels like a win, even if I did step on a few toes getting here.”

After a brief pause, they inclined their head properly this time, respectful without losing their confidence. “Ah. Right. Manners.” A smile. “I’m Alechior. God of Gambling, Merriment and poor but enthusiastic decision making. A pleasure to meet you.”

[color=darkgoldenrod]”Ahhh, the Sun, that dreadful light. I have felt its influence, the way the plants have become drunk on its brilliance and siphoned the soil of its nourishment. But I do not see reason to worry. What they take in life, they give back in death, and the topsoil will reform in due time.”[/color] Khthon hummed, a sound reminiscent of rocks cracking and sand flowing. [color=darkgoldenrod]”But perhaps such cycles are too slow for you or your people’s liking, for you to ask for help. Mortal lives are fragile, and end so quickly…”[/color]

Of course, Khthon could not fix the root of the problem, that is, plant life’s diseased growth. But enriching the soil on which they fed, and making sure that life could persist on the surface until things stabilize… that would be a trifle to him. And despite the God’s general disinterest in the surface, that did not mean he was hostile towards it. If one of his God-Siblings came to him with an honest request for help, for such a small thing, then he had no real reason to refuse. And he had recently gained an interest in keeping a certain group of mortals alive…

[color=darkgoldenrod]”I will help. I will not fix the problem, for Life lies outside my Domains, but I can give you time. Time to search for a real solution. Time to adapt. For as long as it takes, I will feed the soil, so that it feeds life.”[/color] And with a single thought, it was made so. The soil greedily began swallowing rotten plant matter to replenish itself, faster than should be possible, and new nutrients were created where there was nothing left to reclaim. Life would need to adapt still, but no longer would it starve.

Alechior nodded along as Khthon spoke, expression turning knowingly sympathetic at the mention of the Sun. “Oh, don’t get me started on that thing,” they said, rolling their shoulders as if shaking off remembered irritation. “Too bright, too insistent, always trying to be the center of attention! It even tried to shine brighter than [i]me[/i]!” A laugh followed. “I’ve had my share of trouble with it myself, especially when I’m trying to nap or just exist in peace. That’s why I made the Happy Cloud. Big, slow, comfortable, blocks the worst of the glare. Best decision I’ve ever gambled on. It is like your stones but in the Sun’s way, in the sky.”

They watched the stone-god work its miracle, feeling the soil below the surface correcting itself with inevitability. Alechior’s glow dimmed slightly, out of respect, as if acknowledging a craft done properly. “This is more than enough,” they said plainly. “Time is exactly what they needed, even if mortals never realize how valuable it is until they’re nearly out of it.” Their smile turned warm. “You’ve given them breathing room. That counts.”

A grin crept back in as they folded their arms. “My Cleric, Villagxor, is going to be ecstatic. Truly. Possibly unbearably so. I suspect the prayers will stop being desperate and start becoming very thankful, which is its own kind of noise, but still an improvement.” They chuckled. “You may have just saved me from a lifetime of insistent midnight supplications about soil acidity.”

After a beat, Alechior tilted their head, curiosity clearly genuine. “So,” they said, “what do you want in return?” Their hands opened in an inviting gesture. “Something simple? Something fun? Or something worth a gamble? I do hate leaving a table without settling the stakes.”

Khthon froze. For once, he realized, he had not been thinking of a trade. He had been willing to do this for no gain of his own, and he found the feeling rather strange. But if Alechior themselves was offering… then he would not refuse.

[color=darkgoldenrod]”Tell me, Alechior. Your people, do they craft?”[/color] Khthon asked, curiosity in his voice. [color=darkgoldenrod]”I have seen what mortal hands can make, and I must admit, I am rather enamoured by their tools and what they call ‘art’. There is this village, far away from here, where they know of me, and they create the most wonderful things out of stone and clay and metal. The search for beauty has become their way of life.”[/color]

[color=darkgoldenrod]”If your people can create similar things, then I believe I would like a sample.”[/color] A simple demand, but a fair one, in Khthon’s opinion. His own service had been far from complex, after all.

[color=darkgoldenrod]”Ah, and do warn them not to rob me of my buried treasures. Godly thieves, I personally handle, but mortal ones? The Earth usually takes care of them by itself, and it is not as merciful as I am,”[/color] Khthon added, not as a threat, but as an honest warning, and a kindness of sorts. The simple fact was that thieves and fools would perish underground, and Alechior’s followers would be no exception, something they could now at least try to prevent.

Alechior tilted their head, considering the question with visible curiosity. “When you say craft,” they began, tone thoughtful , “do you mean shaping usefulness or shaping chance?” A soft chuckle followed. “Because if it is dice, weighted perfectly or not at all, painted cards, marked bones, little objects meant to invite fortune or tempt it, then yes. My people do that. Quite well, actually. Beyond that?” They shrugged. “Not yet. They have not needed much else.”

They glanced around the cavern as if imagining workshops where there were none. “Tools for survival tend to come second when survival itself is still a wager,” Alechior added calmly. “They farm, they count, they adapt. Art, in the way you describe it, stone shaped for beauty alone, metal sung into form, that comes later. When there is time to breathe. When hunger is not rolling the dice every dawn.”

At Khthon’s warning, Alechior laughed openly, the sound bright against the stone. “I'm sure that wasn’t a threat,” they said, waving a hand dismissively, “that was the Earth being very honest about its opinions.” Their smile widened. “I appreciate the restraint, truly. Most would not bother clarifying the difference between mercy and inevitability.”

They grew a little more serious then, though the humor never fully left their eyes. “I can tell my people not to mine,” Alechior admitted, “and some will listen. Others will nod, agree wholeheartedly and then dig anyway the moment their luck runs thin.” A small sigh, amused rather than weary. “Eventually, mortals always reach for the ground. It is where answers tend to hide.”

Alechior’s fingers tapped together, thoughtful, already half-playing with an idea. “Unless,” they said slowly, “we give them somewhere else to dig. Something made for them. Something agreed upon.” Their gaze lifted back toward Khthon, inviting. “An exclusive vein, a shared creation. They mine, you receive craft, and no one loses fingers, lives or patience. Now that,” they finished, “sounds like a fair gamble to me.”

[color=darkgoldenrod]”So you propose a trade, then. I give them materials, and receive the fruit of their labour. Yes, that is a fair bargain,”[/color] Khthon said, nodding along. [color=darkgoldenrod]”And for someone of your kind, what already lies in stone is too… mundane, perhaps. You would like something new, something closer to your essence as a God… that also could be arranged.”[/color]

[color=darkgoldenrod]”What do you desire? What mineral would best embody your aspects? Sturdy stone? Brilliant gold? Glittering gems?”[/color] With each enumerated possibility, a sample emerged from the wall, each showing off their unique attributes. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Even bone is an option, should you desire it; the Earth has reclaimed many fallen beasts over time.”[/color]

Alechior clasped their hands together, pleased. “A trade, yes,” they said brightly. “Clean and fair.” They glanced at the samples with interest, like a gambler surveying a table. “You understand me well enough, Khthon. What already sleeps in stone is…serviceable. But serviceable rarely makes hearts race.”

They stepped closer, considering them in turn. “Sturdy stone?” A hum, unconvinced. “Reliable. Honest. Too honest. It promises what it gives and gives what it promises.” Their fingers passed over the gold next. “Brilliant gold is tempting but it shouts too loudly. Everyone will want it, which makes it predictable.” Gems earned a soft laugh. “Beautiful, yes but they invite hoarding, not playing.” Bone made them pause, head tilting. “Symbolic, reclaimed, full of stories…but those stories tend to end the same way.”

Alechior straightened, decision settling in their posture. “Stone,” they repeated, more firmly now. “But not dull stone. Not quiet stone.” Their eyes gleamed. “Something golden, something that catches the eye and whispers promises it might keep. Something light enough to carry, tempting enough to risk and dangerous after it was mined.”

Alechior smiled, the thought clicking into place. “Then here is my proposal,” they said. “A golden stone, warm to the eye and tempting to the hand, that reveals its nature only once it is taken. When mined, chance decides its fate, a clean fifty-fifty. Half the time, it stirs the mind and hands alike, pushing the bearer to create, to shape, to make art for art’s own sake. The other half, it does nothing so loud, instead settling into the soul, calming the heart, easing worry and quieting fear. No wealth promised, no power guaranteed, just creation or happiness, decided by luck.”

Khthon’s answer was to get to work. A pair of hands emerged from the wall on either side of his torso, grasping a piece of soapstone. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Soft stone, easy to work, easy to carve,”[/color] he muttered, concentrating. The surface rippled, the dark color replaced with something lighter, something shining. A golden color bloomed on the surface, revealing a submetallic luster, duller than true gold, but brilliant all the same. The original stone’s subtle dappling remained as small patches of paler yellow and white, giving depth and texture. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Beauty to ignite the heart,”[/color] he continued. Then he solidly grasped both ends of the rock, and pulled, impossibly stretching it out, lowering its density. [color=darkgoldenrod]”As light as stone can be, light enough for mortals to take with them.”[/color]

With something approaching reverence, the arms handed the piece of stone to Alechior. [color=darkgoldenrod]”The physical part is done. Now all that remains is your blessing. The stone knows it is unfinished, and is prepared to follow your will. Whatever you infuse, it will accept wholly,”[/color] he explained.

Alechior accepted the stone with both hands, their expression shifting into something uncharacteristically focused. Golden light gathered in their palms, sinking inward, coiling around it. When their hands pressed against the stone’s surface, the glow bled into it slowly,  threading through its veins as if the stone itself were inhaling. Chance settled into the material, not as chaos but as a balanced tension, a promise that could fall either way and would never apologize for it.

The stone warmed beneath their touch. The dull-gold surface shimmered once, then steadied, as if satisfied, its nature finalized at last. Alechior exhaled, the light fading from their hands as they lifted them away, leaving the blessing sealed within. They turned their head toward Khthon, grinning. “That,” they said, voice light with approval, “is beautiful work. Solid, honest and just risky enough to be interesting. You’ve got a good hand for this.”

They tilted their head, gesturing vaguely upward, toward the distant world beyond stone and dark. “Once Gamblerdise begins shaping it, you’re welcome to see what comes of it. My temple’s doors stay open, always. No traps, no walls closing in, I promise,” they added, with a faint laugh. “If you ever feel like seeing what mortals make when luck and earth meet halfway.”

Kthon tilted his head in thought. [color=darkgoldenrod]”I do not believe I would like that place very much,”[/color] he admitted candidly. [color=darkgoldenrod]”I am most comfortable in silence and solitude, and it sounds like a loud and crowded place.”[/color] His arms took the newly created stone and sank back into the walls, already beginning to weave it in and around Gamblerdise for mortals to find. [color=darkgoldenrod]”But I will surely visit one day, if only out of curiosity, and to honor your invitation.”[/color]

[color=darkgoldenrod]”Now, we only need a name for our creation. I must admit that I am uncharacteristically unsure of what to call it. ‘Fortunite’ comes to mind, in honor of your involvement in its making, yet I am not sure it is fitting…”[/color] With barely a glance, the cave’s crumbled entrance opened again, connecting it once again with the distant surface. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Perhaps you have a better idea?”[/color]

Alechior laughed softly. “Oh, it would be loud, yes. No point pretending otherwise,” they said, spreading their hands in easy concession. “Dice clatter, voices argue, someone always cheering or cursing their luck. But if you ever do come, truly come, you won’t be left to endure it alone. Speak to Villagxor. He’s sensible, quiet when it matters and he knows how to make space for silence. If need be, the village can hush itself for a god who prefers stone over song.”

They glanced at the newly opened path, then back to Khthon, grin widening. “And Fortunite?” Alechior nodded approvingly. “It’s perfect. Simple, playful and just smug enough to tempt people into touching it. A name that invites a choice and doesn’t explain the consequences. I like it.”

[color=darkgoldenrod]”Then be on your way, God-Sibling. Your people are free to harvest the fortunite that fills the earth around their home, as long as they bury some of their work for me to collect."[/color] Khthon smiled, a rare touch of humour in his voice. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Do tell them to not be careless, however. Caverns that do not actively try to kill them do not mean safe caverns. Accidents can always happen.”[/color]

Alechior took a few backward steps toward the light, offering a wave as if they were leaving a neighbor’s den rather than a god’s domain. “Well then,” they said cheerfully, “thank you for the stone, the patience, fixing the soil AND the whole not-crushing me into gravel thing. I’ll pretend not knowing your name is part of the mystique, makes it feel more exciting.” They paused, tapped their chin and added with a grin, “Next time we meet, I’ll try to guess it. If I get it wrong, feel free to bury me a little. Farewell, God-Sibling.”

Khthon stayed still for a moment, and then began to chuckle, the first real laugh to leave him rumbling the surrounding stone in mirth. He truly did forget to introduce himself, hadn’t he?

[hider=Summary/Actions]

Alechior drifts into a mountain in Gamblerdise, accidentally steals a chunk of copper and gets sealed inside the cavern for it. There they meet Khthon. The two gods talk, trade apologies and end up forming a pact in which Khthon enriches the failing soil of Alechior’s people, as well as the rest of the surface world, while Alechior offers crafted works in return. The two of them co‑create a new golden stone called Fortunite that embodies chance.


[hider=Actions]

Khthon enriches the depleted soil on the surface so that it can keep sustaining plant life until everything stabilizes (In-domain, widespread modification of existing terrain (topsoil), Hazy, 1 conviction)
Khthon helps create Fortunite alongside Alechior, a golden stone, and creates veins and deposits of it around Gamblerdise (In-domain, unsure if Lucid or Hazy, 0-1 conviction)


Alechior spent 1 Conviction to enhance the Fortunite Stone. This golden stone forms within the earth at designated sites, its surface golden but less so than actual gold, faintly lustrous, easily mistaken for precious metal but far heavier with meaning than wealth. It can be mined by mortal hands easily and its true effect is only decided at the moment it is taken free from the ground.

Upon extraction, Fortunite Stone resolves its nature through chance alone. There is an even, fifty percent outcome determined per individual piece. 

In one outcome, the stone awakens the Urge to Create. The bearer feels a persistent pull, as long as they're holding the stone, toward making something with the stone or inspired by it. Craft, carving, painting, engraving, architecture, tools, games, art, the exact expression varies by individual, but idleness becomes unbearable. The stone does not grant skill or talent, only drive, pushing mortals to attempt creation regardless of success or failure. Many such works are crude, some are beautiful.

In the other outcome, the stone bestows the Quiet Hand. Instead of inspiration, the bearer is overcome with calm. Worries dull, anxieties loosen their grip and emotional weight becomes easier to carry. The effect does not remove hardship or danger, but it grants resilience, patience and a steady mind. Those affected often become slower to anger, more deliberate in action and less prone to despair, as long as they carry the stone.

[/hider]

A collab between [@Timemaster] & [@Rekkuza]


[/hider]