[center][h1][b][color=black]🎲[/color][color=gold] 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 [/color][color=black]🎺[/color][/b][/h1][/center]
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[center][h1][b][color=black]❚█══[/color][color=red]Villagxor[/color][color=black]══█❚[/color][/b][/h1][/center]


A month after the celebration, Gamblerdise had settled into a new rhythm. Fortunite no longer felt like a miracle fresh from the earth but rather a responsibility. Villagxor stood at the edge of the work area, hands behind his back, watching as small groups of artisans worked the golden stone into necklaces, rings and simple charms. The air smelled of dust, polish, and focus, the kind of calm that only comes after survival is no longer in question.

Production was controlled. Only a handful of miners were ever allowed near the veins, rotated often, watched closely and never permitted to take the stone home unaccounted for. The rest of the work was done here, in open sight, where every shard and shaving was measured, logged and reused. Fortunite was soft enough to shape without great loss and the craftsmen had become surprisingly efficient, their hands steady, their designs modest but thoughtful.

That was the problem. Villagxor frowned as he counted the sacks filled with Fortunite jewellery. Even with restrained mining, pacing and offerings to the Earth God, the numbers kept climbing. Small fragments saved from carving, failed pieces remade, older jewelry reclaimed and reshaped. They were barely wasting anything and the surplus continued to grow.

He walked the length of the worksite, eyes tracking the sacks, each marked with a small Fortunite stone on them, weaved into the sack itself. One sack, then another, then another. Finished pieces waiting for wearers who did not yet exist, stockpiled not out of greed but caution. Gamblerdise did not hoard by instinct, not after what they had lived through but this was becoming something else entirely. An excess.

Villagxor stopped, exhaled slowly and looked back at the artisans. They were doing everything right. That, more than anything, unsettled him. Fortunite had been introduced as a blessing with risk, meant to be handled sparingly, deliberately. Yet here it was, accumulating, and gleaming. Those affected by the need of art, were almost relentless in their craft and that, presented a problem.

Alechior appeared the way they often did lately, without announcement, without ceremony, as if they had simply wandered in like the wind. One moment the sacks were still, the next a warm golden glow spilled between them. Alechior crouched, lifted one sack with a finger, weighed it with a lazy tilt of the wrist, then set it back down. Their smile widened. “You know,” they said lightly, “at this rate you’re going to pave the valley in rings. Anklets too, maybe. Very fashionable. Terrible for walking.”

Villagxor turned, relief and tension mixing on his face. He gestured to the rows of sacks, to the careful order, the restraint that had somehow failed despite all logic. “That is exactly the concern,” he said, voice low. “We limited mining. We limited crafting. We even limited who was allowed to touch it. And still it grows. I fear either misuse or stagnation.” He hesitated, then bowed his head slightly. “I ask for guidance.”

Alechior laughed, a bright sound that cut straight through the worry hanging in the air. “Guidance?” they echoed, standing and brushing imaginary dust from their hands. “Villagxor, you make it sound like the stone is misbehaving. It’s doing exactly what it was made to do. You’re just very good at not wasting things. That’s not a flaw. That’s a problem other people would pay dearly to have.”

They paced slowly between the sacks, fingers trailing over the markings, eyes flicking from artisan to artisan. “You’re thinking inward,” Alechior continued, tapping Villagxor lightly on the chest. “Counting, measuring, worrying about how much is too much for Gamblerdise. But the valley isn’t a closed table anymore. You’ve had new faces arrive. Wanderers. Survivors. Curious fools drawn by rumors. You’re not alone out here.”

Villagxor frowned, following their gaze. “You suggest bartering?” The word tasted strange to him. “Or gifts?” He shook his head slightly. “Fortunite is not grain or cloth. It carries effects. Consequences.”

“Exactly,” Alechior replied, grinning. “Which means you don’t flood anyone with it. You don’t dump sacks over their heads and wish them luck. You widen your circle carefully. You decide who gets to play and under what rules.” They leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Odds work better when more people are rolling.”

They straightened, stretching as if the matter were settled. “The world is bigger than this place, Villagxor. Let it carry some of the weight. You don’t need to stop the stone. You need to let it move.” Their eyes gleamed as they added, “Besides, watching what people choose to do with a little chance in their hands? That’s where things get interesting.”

Villagxor replied straight away, the words of Alechior barely out of their mouth. “You keep telling me to look outward,” he said, finally turning to Alechior. “But what is actually out there?” He gestured vaguely past the valley walls. “We have never been out there. All we have are rumors from those who arrive here half starved and scared. That is not knowledge. That is noise.”

Alechior tilted their head, considering. “Oh, it is dangerous,” they said easily. “No mystery there.” They glanced toward the horizon. “Not the heroic kind of dangerous either. Mostly boring dangers. Desperate people, broken rules, places pretending to be safe,some gods pretending to care. Some monsters exist, sure, but they are honest about it. People lie better.”

Villagxor frowned. “So the stories are true?” he asked. Alechior chuckled. “Some of them, yes. Some places hate luck because it reminds them they lost theirs. Others worship it badly and get crushed by their own greed. And a few will see Gamblerdise and think it is a prize to be taken. No poetry in it as you’ve experienced sometime ago.”

“That does not sound like a world ready for us,” Villagxor said, arms crossing. Alechior waved a hand dismissively. “The world is never ready,” they replied. “You do not wait for safety. You calculate risk.” They smiled. “Besides, I did not say walk out blindly. I said expand your surroundings. That implies planning, not heroics.”

Villagxor exhaled slowly. “Then tell me the plan,” he said. Alechior’s eyes gleamed. “You choose the numbers,” they said. “How many people. Scouts, traders, guards or a mix. You choose what they carry. Fortunite, tools, food, charms, weapons or nothing at all.” They leaned closer, voice light but precise. “Once you decide that, I’ll tip the odds in your favour if briefly.” 

A few hours later, the edge of Gamblerdise was louder than usual as preparations were undergoing. The valley wind moved tugging at straps and sleeves as Villagxor stood with ten villagers arrayed behind him. Each carried a sack slung tight against their back. Some were heavy with food and tools, others clinked softly with Fortunite shards or carefully wrapped jewelry, the golden stone hidden beneath layers of cloth. 

Villagxor walked the line once, eyes meeting each face. Scouts and traders mixed together. They were not the strongest or the bravest alone, but the steadiest. People who could walk away from danger if needed. 

Alechior landed nearby, watching with unmistakable interest. “Ten,” they said lightly. “Good choice. Enough to matter, not enough to mourn if the world misbehaves.” They glanced toward the path leading out of the valley, towards the randomness of it, then back to Villagxor with a smile. “


Alechior stepped forward and placed a finger on the first villager’s forehead.  As contact was made, a small yellow circle appeared where they touched, faint but clear. The villager inhaled sharply, then slowly let the breath out. The tension in their shoulders loosened, fear receding into something quiet..

One by one, they repeated the gesture. Each touch left the same mark, identical in shape but tiny bit different in tone, some brighter, some softer. With every blessing, the air seemed to settle. Thoughts that had been racing slowed. Doubt dulled. The weight of the unknown remained, but it no longer pressed as hard. Whatever lay beyond the valley was still dangerous, still unpredictable, but it felt less overwhelming now.

When Alechior finished, they took a step back and regarded the group as a whole. Ten yellow circles caught the light, quiet and unassuming. “There,” they said simply. “No protection from consequences, no promise of success.” A smile followed. “Just steadier hands, calmer minds and people won’t want to eat you, that much, at least.” The wind shifted again and for the first time since they had been chosen, every one of them felt ready to walk forward.

[hider=Actions/Summary]
Lucid Action - In Domain - Minor Blessing of Merriment - The ten traders of the caravan were blessed with a minor blessing of merriment. Inward, they feel calmer, happier and less bothered by life’s dangers. Outward, they have a small aura around them that makes a person less likely to have violent intentions towards them. 
Villagxor notices that there are WAY too many baubles made out of Fortunite and while being mined at a reduced paced, they are barely losing anything of it, ‘thus, asking Alechior for advice, they tell them to look outside the valley. 

‘Thus, after a small blessing from Alechior, 10 people have left Gamblerdise with more to go later, to trade around the world.
[/hider]