[center][h1][b]🧭 [color=goldenrod]The Trade Caravan[/color] 🧭[/b][/h1][/center]
[center][h1][color=white]Excelsium[/color][/h1][/center]


Excelsium was ever-growing.

Today was no different. Men with primitive tools were tilling the soil so it was ready to receive the seeds. The hill in the background was getting more and more covered by peculiar, wooden buildings. The earthquake-resistant techniques were maintained by the demanding foresight of Pira, First Citizen of Excelsium. Back in the fields, further away, a hulking creature of wood marched. Ropes were strapped to its back, dragging shallow rakes through the soil. It was surrounded by eager mages examining their own work.

The river crossing passed without incident. The water was steady, the current mild enough that even the heaviest packs made it across with no issue. Once on the far bank, the caravan reformed quickly, shaking out cloaks, tightening straps and resuming their northward path as if the river had been nothing more than a pause in conversation. Luck held, for now.

Beyond the river, the land opened into wider plains. Grass rolled gently with the wind, broken only by patches of worked earth and faint tracks pressed into the soil by repeated passage. This was not wilderness anymore, not quite. The signs were subtle at first, trampled paths, straightened ground, a way to the land that nature did not choose on its own. The caravan slowed, eyes lifting toward the horizon.

Shapes emerged in the distance. People, dozens of them, scattered across the fields. Men and women bent to the soil with crude tools, moving in rhythm. Farther back, a hill rose, its slope increasingly crowded with wooden structures stacked and braced in careful ways, unmistakably deliberate. Even from this distance, the settlement felt busy, alive, expanding.

Game Master Eht’Redart raised a hand and the group eased into a tighter formation. “Eyes open,” they called quietly, not alarmed but alert. “No trouble expected, but we don’t assume kindness.” Their gaze lingered on a massive figure of wood moving through the far fields, ropes trailing behind it as it dragged rakes through the soil, people clustered nearby like parents admiring a dangerous child. Civilization, clearly.

A child saw the strangers first. Excelsium had a few families living further away who often visited the village. They did not look like them. Her eyes locked onto the strange, gleaming circle on their foreheads. The girl screamed and ran over to her mother. Her father came out wielding a stone hoe. Other men gathered from the fields. A young boy was already running for the hilltop village. Everyone was keeping their distance, until one man stepped forward.

“Hail stranger.” One older man said. “You’re not from these parts, are you?”

Eht’Redart lifted one hand and the caravan halted as one. She stepped forward alone, unarmed, her pace calm. When she reached a respectful distance from the old man, she bowed her head gently. A smile settled on her face, warm and practiced.

“You would be correct,” she said lightly, her voice carrying. “If we were from these parts, I imagine I’d recognize the soil on my feet and it’s clearly offended by my presence.” She glanced down briefly, then back up at the man, amusement flickering in her eyes. “We come from the south, from Gamblerdise, ever kept safe under the watchful eye of our great God protector.”

She straightened, hands open at her sides. “We’re traders, not scouts and certainly not dangerous,” Eht’Redart continued, tone easy. “Food, some crafted goods, a bit of curious stone and conversation, if it’s welcome.” Her gaze swept the gathered faces, then returned to the older man. “So I’ll ask plainly, before chance decides for us, do you allow strangers into your village or would you prefer we admire your fields from a distance and move on?”

“It’s not for me to say but…” The old man looked back at the group of people behind him. More were coming from the village. “There is common hospitality here for strangers.” He said with a smile. “Come! Come.” He said as he motioned them to come closer. The crowd, at first on edge, was now quickly dissipating again. Families from far away had come to Excelsium before. Many of them took the bread and joined. Once the possibility of danger was gone, they all returned to work.

The old man, Zhegrim, guided the new ‘traders’ closer towards the hill. Near the foot of it was a small clearing filled with simple benches. “Sit, please. Pira, our leader, will appear soon.” Said Zhegrim, he returned to the field. His word was true. Barely a few minutes later, a procession came from the village with an old yet fiery lady at the front.

Eht’Redart inclined her head to Zhegrim, the smile never leaving her face. “Hospitality is a language we speak well,” she replied, then turned just enough to lift two fingers. The caravan moved at once, silence only broken by jokes made between the other members, following her toward the hill. When they reached the clearing, she waited until benches were taken before kneeling to loosen the straps of her pack, setting it carefully on the ground. One by one, the others did the same, food sacks, Fortunie and packs of jewellery laid out openly, nothing hidden, nothing clutched.

“You must be the strangers. I am Pira.” The old woman greeted Eht’Redart with grandmotherly warmth. A few older children moved from behind her, bearing crude vessels of water and cups. Pira herself took the first cup poured and drank from it. “In all my life I have never seen anyone the likes of you.” She croaked a little. “Tell me, where are you from?”

She rose as the procession approached, giving Pira a respectful bow, slower this time, acknowledging age and authority both. “Gamblerdise,” Eht’Redart said when asked, her voice calm and steady. “A valley south of here, tucked away enough that most people only find it when chance decides they should.” She gestured vaguely, not toward any path but toward an idea of direction. “We only started trading as we've found ourselves have surplus of crafted goods.”

As cups were passed and the others settled, murmurs turning into laughter, Eht’Redart accepted the water but did not drink yet. “You asked where we are from and there will be more questions, I imagine,” she said, eyes bright. “In Gamblerdise, we find it faster and more honest, to answer such things with a game. Fewer speeches, less posturing, better truths. If you’re willing, Pira, I would rather play than lecture.”

Around them, the rest of the caravan began to occupy themselves. Dice appeared in hands, bits of bone and wood laid out on the ground. Quiet contests formed without announcement, counting games, chance throws, pattern guessing. Nothing loud or aggressive, just motion and focus while they waited. Eht’Redart glanced back at them once, satisfied, then returned her attention fully to Pira. “One simple game,” she added lightly. “You ask. I answer. Then my turn.”

“I haven’t played many games since I was a little girl.” Pira let out a little giggle. Her attendants looked a bit confused. Excelsis did not explicitly frown upon games, but the implicit waste of time was not looked upon favorably. “You will find Excelsium, this place, to be a place of posturing. It's not unearned, I would add. Anyway, I have asked and gotten my answer. I believe the rules make it your turn now.” She said with a gentle smile. The attendants around her remained ready to offer fruits and water. Eyes wandered over the baubles and jewelry gleaming in the open. Yet no one moved. More eyes than theirs were watching the scene.

“…You haven’t played many games?” one of the group echoed, as if the words needed to be tested aloud. There was no accusation in the tone, just disbelief. Another one let out a short, surprised laugh before catching themselves, hand rising to their mouth. “I mean, not many is one thing, but…” They trailed off, glancing around as if the rest of the group might supply a missing explanation.

“That’s…impressive,” someone else said after a beat, uncertain whether it was meant as praise. “Or tragic. I can’t quite decide.” A bench creaked as its occupant leaned back, studying Pira with renewed interest. “You’re telling me not cards, not dice, not even some idle nonsense?” The question was softer than it sounded, edged with genuine curiosity rather than judgment.

A low murmur followed, quiet exchanges overlapping. “How do you pass the time?” “What do you wager on, then?” “No games at all, not even forbidden ones?” The last earned a few crooked smiles. Even those used to restraint seemed unsettled, like discovering a shared childhood story that one person had somehow skipped entirely.

In contrast the young attendants of Excelsium looked nervously at each other but didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. For those lacking the sacred spark, a life of discipline was implicit. Pira, for her part did let out an almost childish giggle at the idea of forbidden ones. The young ones could deny all they wanted but she knew that sometimes they were played.

Eht’Redart coughed once, sharp and deliberate and the murmuring died instantly. “Alright, that’s enough chatter and staring,” she said, waving a hand. 

“Listen, games make everything better. Work, rest, arguments, life. In Gamblerdise, chance isn’t a flaw, it’s the point.” She leaned forward, voice warming as she spoke. “Jobs are drawn, not assigned. Daily tasks, decided by roll or spin. We play for who cooks, who cleans, who forages, who follows. Disputes are settled with rules instead of grudges. And yes,” she added with a grin, “we play every day. If you don’t, the day feels unfinished.” She reached out, took one of the cups from Pira's attendants, and drank it in one smooth motion. Then she grabbed from her pack, a waterskin filled with a sugary, alcoholic in nature substance, filled the cup she had and offered it to Pira “Come on,” Eht’Redart said lightly, “it’s easier to understand games after a drink.”

There was a silent horror that rippled through the attendants, through Pira and then through the other people that had gathered. Whispers spread fast. The idea of constantly switching jobs was anathema to expertise. How could a farmer know his field well, if tomorrow he could be a shepherd? No, Excelsium had no time for such frivolity. Even with the excess of food.

As soon as Pira would take the cup, the question came. "Do you serve a God or have you been abandoned by your creator? We ask to know who we give thanks for the hospitality."

“We worship all the gods. All the gods known to us at least. Like Khton, the lord of the stony depths. But the one god who blessed us all is Excelsis, the Lord-Eminence.” Pira explained. Afterwards she took a slight sip of the cup and fought to keep it down. She took a second to look at the cup. “Did you give me the… grog?” She asked, hoping she’d get the half-pleasant buzz instead of the illness. Grog was another thing Excelsium didn’t favor. It took too much, many of the thinkers and great fighters of the village thought. Of course, some people still consumed it. Pira hoped to never have to drink it again after she got a particularly potent sickness of the stomach from it.

Eht’Redart burst into laughter at the question and shook her head as if to chase away the very idea. “No, no, not the grog,” she said, still smiling. “Alechior’s grog isn’t for everyone. Honestly, it’s barely for anyone.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I love it, of course, but I also enjoy poor decisions and strong outcomes. That one,” she nodded at Pira’s cup, “is the polite version.”

“It’s just alcohol, really,” Eht’Redart continued, tapping the rim of the cup with one finger. “Fermented, softened with fruit so it doesn’t bite back quite as hard. Sweet enough to trick you, strong enough to remind you why you shouldn’t rush it.” Her grin widened. “Grog doesn’t trick you. It announces itself and dares your stomach to argue.”

She inclined her head respectfully as Pira spoke of the gods. “We know Khton,” Eht’Redart said evenly. “The stony depths don’t forget their due. Every seven suns, we pay tribute. Not because we fear him, but because he’s honest. Stone takes, stone gives. That’s a kind of fairness we respect.” A few of the caravan folk nodded along, as if this were routine rather than revelation.

“As for Excelsis,” Eht’Redart went on, her tone turning curious, “that name is new to us. Lord-Eminence...we don’t know of her.” She gestured toward Pira and the village beyond. “If there’s a representative, a voice, a hand that speaks for Excelsis here, we would like to meet them. It’s only polite to greet the one who blesses a place, especially when you’re sitting on their land and drinking their water.”

“There is… a piece of him around here, named Meris.” Pira said carefully. “But he has a rule. Mortal matters demand mortal attentions. He will not want to meet with you. I do hope you will not take it as an insult.” Pira said as she took the tiniest sip of the alcohol. “The water and land here are not his. What you are drinking is of us, Excelsium, the people.”

“In the age of calamity, he guided us here, taught us how to tend the lend and build in such a way that a quake will not destroy it. He promised to silence the volcano and-” She raised a hand and motioned towards the Monster in the background. “It has been quiet ever since. He also blessed a few worthy among us with genius. In return he asks that we prepare ourselves for our divine destiny.” Pira knew she was polterizing but something inside of her compelled her to do it. In Excelsium, all gods were worshipped but Excelsis was elevated above them all. As he should be. After all he did not just raise them up. He also gave them the metaphorical tools to to keep climbing themselves.

 “I suppose by the rules of your game it is now my turn.” Pira said, and then pondered the question. Her eyes looked over the baubles and goods spread around. People would gather around the new strangers soon to see what was happening and some would want the shiny things. “Would you mind terribly if I unleashed the ruckus? My people will be wanting to trade for these goods of yours, and it might cause a bit of noise.”

At the mention of “a piece of him,” something shifted at the far end of the caravan. One of the traders, a woman who had remained quiet until now, lifted her head sharply. For the briefest moment, the small yellow circle on her forehead brightened, not flaring, not demanding attention, just enough to be noticed if one happened to be looking. Then it dimmed again, settling back into its usual soft glow.

“A piece of a god that prefers mortals to solve mortal problems,” she said lightly. “That sounds familiar.” She inclined her head, respectfully. “Ours does much the same. Alechior pulled Villagxor and the first of Gamblerdise out of certain death and dropped them into a valley that didn’t care much for rules. Then left them to figure out how to live with that.”

She let out a short laugh. “They gave us happiness, games and a sense that survival does not have to be grim to be earned. The rest,” she gestured vaguely behind her at the caravan and its people, “we built ourselves. Slowly. Loudly.”

When Pira spoke of noise, Eht’Redart’s amusement deepened. “Noise?” she echoed, then laughed outright. “If Gamblerdise ever went quiet, we’d assume something had gone terribly wrong.” She lifted her cup in mock solemnity. “Dice clatter, arguments, singing, groaning over bad odds, cheering over worse ones. That’s just breathing to us.”

She took another drink, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded once, decisive. “So yes,” she said easily. “Unleash the ruckus. If your people want to trade, let them come. Noise means interest. Interest means life.”

Around them, the caravan shifted in response to her tone. Packs were nudged open a little wider. Shiny Fortunite charms caught the light. The traders did not push forward, they simply waited.

Eht’Redart looked back to Pira, expression open and sincere beneath the humor. “If Excelsium climbed because a god gave them tools,” she said, “then we are not so different. We just prefer our tools...a bit unstable and our steps decided by chance.”

Pira returned the sincere look. “We may be very different, but we have a lot in common indeed.” She said with a smile, then raised her arms in an almost theatrical ritual that would banish some sort of invisible barrier that kept discipline. As she held her hands high she let out a sigh and said: “Go have your fun.” And dropped her arms quickly.

Around Pira and Eht’Redart the ruckus exploded. The band of Excelians rushed around them to start talking with the traders. Many of them offered the one thing Excelsium had in massive excess: food. Carrots, cabbages, potatoes and more were offered. From the shepherd tribes that first assimilated thanks to Hector dried meat was also offered. Bigger offers were made: an invitation for a home cooked meal or the  promise of a hearty stew. One thing was certain though, Excelium had no fear of strangers.

“Come, I should show you the village.” Pira said as she stood up. As First Citizen she felt it was her duty show her through the village. Despite the ruckus with the traders, there were plenty of people in and around their houses. All of them gave Pira a pleasant wave as they busied themselves. It didn’t take long for her to reach the central plaza.

“That-” Pira said while she aimed at a very open building. “Is our temple.” It was hard to even call it a building. It had barely any walls or a roof. She stepped inside and showed the many pedestals of wood. One bore the wooden carvings of a half stone-half man creature that Pira explained to be a likeness of Khton. Another looked more like a crude cloud. Yzechr, the murky guide. Then there was Orranoth, first of the Magi, shown as a man wielding lightning. “There are more gods, but these are the ones we know of.”

Fortunite wrapped in cloth, small glinting shards catching the light. Bottles of alcohol changed hands quickly, sniffed, sampled, laughed over. Fortunite jewelry seemed to get the most attention, they were not ornate, but warm to the touch.

When Pira stood and gestured for her to follow, Eht’Redart went readily. They moved through the village at an unhurried pace, the sound of trading fading into a background hum. Whenever someone waved at Pira, Eht’Redart returned it with a respectful nod, trying to match their intent. 

The temple came into view quickly. Open, unfinished, honest. Eht’Redart studied the pedestals one by one. Khton, solid and grounded. Yzechr, vague and uncertain. Orranoth, lightning caught mid-declaration. She tilted her head, thoughtful. “You’re missing one,” she said gently. “Alechior isn’t here.”

Before Pira could answer, footsteps sounded behind them. Familiar ones. Soft feet, an unhurried pace Eht’Redart had seen a hundred times on the road. She turned already expecting one of the caravan, then stopped short.

The air shifted, subtle but undeniable. Not a threat, not a flare of power, just a quiet pressure that settled into the chest and refused to be ignored. Eht’Redart’s eyes widened as instinct finally caught up with sensation. The face was known. The posture was known. The presence behind it absolutely was not. She bowed low without thinking, heart skipping. “No…” she murmured. “You were with us the whole way.”

The woman looked exactly as she always had. Dusty feet wear, travel-worn clothes, the faint yellow circle on her forehead glowing brighter than before. She laughed at Eht’Redart’s tone, warmly. “I mean,” she said, “I didn’t lie. I just…didn’t explain.” She spread her arms as if this clarified everything. “Hard to enjoy a trip if everyone starts panicking and praising me...”

Eht’Redart straightened, awe and disbelief mixing on her face. The power she felt was unmistakable now, not hers, not anyone mortal’s. Alechior’s, without question. She swallowed and dipped her head again, deeper this time. Mini’A caught the motion and grinned. “Oh don’t do that too much,” she said, waving it off. “I’m not [i]here[/i] here.” She gave Pira a playful nod. “Mini’A. avatar of Alechior,” she added. “Trader, terrible secret-keeper, occasional mistake.” Her smile sharpened with delight. “And yes. This trip? Still incredibly fun.”

A sense of worry went over Pira. “You should be more careful.” She warned immediately. “I do not know the customs of gods, but I doubt any would enjoy subterfuge. If Miras were to know that you entered through obfuscation…” Pira let the sentence dangle like a noose. Mortal matters demand mortal attentions. Divine matters demand divine ones. 

Mira’A tilted her head, considering Pira’s warning with an expression that was far too relaxed for the implication. “If I wished to be hidden,” she said calmly, “I would have stayed that way.” She gestured lightly around the temple, the pedestals, the sky above. “I walked in here on my own feet. No masks, no tricks. You said it yourself, divine matters demand divine hands. This,” she added with a small smile, “counts.”

Then she laughed, as if the thought truly amused her. “And if that still isn’t reassuring enough,” she went on, tone playful, “then don’t worry.” She tapped her chest once with a thumb. “Daddy dearest would step in long before anything unpleasant happened.” Her grin widened. “They’re very protective. Pretends they aren’t, but they absolutely are.”

“Do you think they would be fast enough?” A voice that wasn’t quite human asked from behind her. There stood the large figure of Meris. He did not look particularly pleased with Mini’A. “You have three sentences to convince me you will not be the source of pain and trouble in this land.”

Mini’A’s grin widened the moment the voice reached her, delighted in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. She turned slowly, eyes already alight with recognition of godly power and offered Meris an exaggerated, theatrical bow. “Oh, there you are,” she said cheerfully. “I was wondering when Excelsis would send someone tall and ominous to loom properly.” She straightened and tilted her head. “For the record, Daddy Dearest does not need to be fast when it comes to other avatars. Only with Excelsis herself. Different leagues, different rules.”

She clasped her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels as if this were a pleasant social visit rather than a divine inspection. “Neither Alechior nor I are your villains,” Mini’A continued, her tone light but no longer careless. “We protect what is ours. Gamblerdise exists because we pulled people out of certain death and gave them a place where chance is kinder than fate ever was. Refugees arrive there almost every other day. Starving, hunted, broken. They are fed, sheltered, taught and allowed to stay if they wish. No chains. No oaths forced down their throats.”

Her smile softened, just a little, enough to let the weight of her words settle. “There is pain in this land, that's true, but it is not coming from us,” Mini’A said, meeting Meris’s gaze. “We clean up what the world discards. We keep people alive long enough to laugh again. If that is trouble, then it is the gentlest kind you will ever encounter.”

Meris’ judgement did not come fast. His eyes locked onto Pira. “They’re a frivolous sort.” To Pira, that was a terrible and harsh condemnation. Though she doubted Eht or this Mini’A would comprehend it as such. “Consort with them, but be sure the people do not… become them.” He said, before walking away.

Pira let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. Then she looked at Mini’A and the other pedestals around. “Well… Mini’A… We’ve never had a representative of another god here in Excelsium. Could I convince you to make a likeness of your… father for our temple?”

Mini’A tilted her head, lips curling into a grin that was far too pleased for a freshly delivered judgement. “Frivolous,” she repeated, tasting the word like a sweet. “That’s almost flattering. I was expecting reckless, heretical or irresponsible. Frivolous feels gentle, too gentle.” She glanced in the direction Meris had gone, then leaned in towards Pira, conspiratorially. “I’ll take it. My father collects titles and that one is new.”

She straightened, eyes bright with mischief. “And that bit about consorting, but not becoming us,” she added, unable to help herself. “Oh, that was my favorite. As if devotion were contagious. Stand too close and suddenly you’re rolling dice, questioning destiny and smiling at bad odds.” Mini’A chuckled softly. “Very generous of him, really. Permission to visit but not to enjoy it too much. That sounds exactly like someone who has never tried.”

Turning to Pira, Mini’A reached into her pack and withdrew something heavy with a solid motion. A single die, but very large, a mortal would struggle to hold it, caught the light. Its faces were very well cut. She held it out in one hand, respectful despite the humor still dancing in her eyes. “No need for convincing,” she said simply. “Alechior doesn’t require persuasion, only acknowledgment.”

Her smile softened, just a touch, as the die rested between them. “A likeness can be made, of course,” Mini’A continued. “Statue, symbol, story, whatever suits Excelsium’s sensibilities. But this,” she tapped the die, “this is closer to him than any carved face. Chance given form. Possibility made honest. Use this, Pira. Consider it a gift.”

The old woman’s eyes lit up. “That would do most wonderful indeed!” She said. “If you could put it on an open pedestal, then we’ll make sure it gets the acknowledgement and worship it deserves.”

Mini’A glanced at the open pedestal, then back at the die in her hands, eyebrows lifting as she grinned. “Are you sure you don’t want to put it there yourself?” she said lightly. “Wouldn’t want to drop it. Fortunite has a sense of humor about gravity.” As if to prove the point, she began to juggle the die lazily from one hand to the other, the heavy thing moving with ease. After a heartbeat, she stepped forward anyway, the joke spent and set the die squarely upon the pedestal herself.

At her side, Eht'Redart tried her best not to laugh a Mini'A's antics but couldn't help herself and a polite chuckle escaped her lips before covering it up with a cough. 

Pira, for her part, let out another sigh of relief. She was not looking forward to being tested with such a large and sacred object. “Thank you. Well… I think that only leaves the Magi.” She said as she began to walk out of the temple. “I must warn you, they are a… strange lot.” Which was underselling it. Aristel’s students were a strange mixture of genius and maddened. They spoke in weird ways, either ignored you or bombarded you with questions and often made requests for the strangest of materials. If they didn’t bring great prosperity to the village, she would’ve considered exiling them all.

Mini’A waved a hand over her shoulder, already half turned, and snapped her fingers once. “Eht’Redart, off you go,” she said cheerfully. “Rejoin the caravan, make friends, you know the drill.” The Ehr'Redart hesitated only a moment before obeying, retreating toward the bustle beyond the temple. Mini’A watched her go, then glanced back at Pira with a grin. “I’ll keep touring with you. And I promise I’ll behave. Consider me one of you for now.”

At the mention of a “strange lot,” Mini’A laughed outright. “Oh, that’s my favorite kind of warning. When people say strange like that, it usually means interesting or dangerous, or both.” Her amusement grew as the Magi came into view, eyes distant, hands in the air or muttering to themselves. Mini’A stepped closer, cleared her throat theatrically, even gave a small wave. None of them noticed. One walked straight past her, another stared directly through her as if she were furniture. The grin on her face slowly twisted into something impressed.

She leaned toward Pira, lowering her voice just enough to sound genuinely curious. “Alright,” Mini’A said, tilting her head as she watched a Magus moving around absentmindedly, “what exactly are these people?” Her eyes flicked back to the group. “And more importantly, what in all the odds is a Magi?”

“As I understand it: they call upon a Patron of something through a ritual and then somehow bid it to do something for them. If the ritual is performed right, the Patron does what is asked. Like there.” Pira pointed deeper into the small field where the Magi were working. One was in the process of making a wood golem as they spoke. The ritual was just finished, but instead of the wood moving, the Magi casting the ritual shuddered for a second and then fell backwards. Stiff as a board. “Sometimes they don’t get it quite right, and that happens.” Pira said with a half-smile.

“Still, they are very important to Excelsium. You might have seen the golems working the field as you entered the village. Without them, we’d have to toil even harder for even less food.” Pira explained. The Magi weren’t paying them any attention still. Most of them didn’t even look after their paralyzed colleague. They were drawing circles in the dirt and bringing forth strange objects like a femur or animal fat. In the distance, a loud debate erupted over the use of burned, burning, or yet to be burned wood. 

Mini’A went quiet for a moment, eyes tracking the fallen Magi, then the stubbornly wooden golem that refused to become anything more. “So,” she said slowly, thoughtful rather than annoying for once, “you ask a very specific something to do a very specific thing and if you phrase it wrong, you get a nap you did not agree to.” She glanced at the stiff body on the ground, then back at the circles and bones. “That sounds less like magic and more like aggressive paperwork.” A beat passed, then she smiled. “Effective, though. When it works. I’ll give it that.”

She watched another Magi smear animal fat into a rune with absolute confidence. “Can anyone learn to do this,” Mini’A asked, turning to Pira, “or is this one of those situations where the universe picks favorites and laughs at the rest of us?” Her gaze flicked back to the rituals. “Because if this can be taught, I imagine there are a lot of people who would love to trade farm aches for accidentally paralyzing themselves once a week.” She tilted her head. “And if it cannot be taught, who decides who gets to bargain with these…Patrons?”

After a moment, curiosity properly sparked, she added, “Also, you said ritual magic like it was a category.” She grinned again, sharp and eager. “Does that mean there are other kinds? Different rules, different risks, different ways to mess it all up?” Mini’A gestured vaguely at the arguing Magi. “Because if this is just one flavor, I suddenly feel like I walked into the kitchen and found out the menu is much bigger than I thought. Daddy dearest will be very…interested in this.”

“Aristel, the… discoverer of this Magicks theorized in the last few days of his life that there were other ways to channel Ideals into desired outcomes, but he did not have the time to turn his theories into practice. For now, Excelsium focuses on Magick.” Pira explained, at the best of her abilities. The Magi Arts were still very esoteric, down to almost arbitrary to her. She was told the items used in the rituals were of some significance to the called-upon Patron but she never saw the connections.

Instead of answering the questions of Mini’A further, and probably inaccurately, she called out one of the Magi she knew. “Cenna.” She said. “This is Mini’A, one of the traders. She would like to know more about Magick, it’s pushback and how it can be learned.”

The man, Cenna, looked rather bored having to speak to the women. He scoffed and said: “Anyone can learn Magicks, if you've got the time and the patience for it.” He said with a dismissive and prideful tone. “But are you willing to take the risk? See Julian over there?” He pointed at the paralyzed Magi still on the ground. “Screwed up Locomotion. Locomotion! Useless. The pushback’s not bad, as you can see. But if you think that’s the worst, think again.” Cenna showed his other hand, missing two fingers. “Patron of Fire took my heat. Damn near froze to death!”

Mini’A listened to Pira with genuine interest, her usual restless energy held in check as the explanation went on. Aristel’s unfinished theories clearly caught her attention, eyes narrowing slightly at the idea of paths not taken, of power left unexplored simply because time ran out. “That tracks,” she murmured, half to herself. “Big ideas always die with the people brave enough to think them first.” When Pira called out to the Magi, Mini’A straightened, curiosity transforming into something more pointed, like a gambler spotting a new game across the room.

She looked Cenna over as he spoke, head tilted, expression politely neutral right up until he started talking about risk. When he gestured to the paralyzed Magi and the missing fingers, she blinked once, then laughed, utterly unimpressed. “That’s your warning?” she said. “Falling over and losing a couple of fingers? I was expecting something with screaming or at least dramatic lightning.” She waved a hand vaguely. “Risk is only frightening when you think you have something to lose.”

Then her smile sharpened. “Since we’re being educational,” Mini’A continued, “I should probably clarify who you’re talking to.” She stepped a little closer, and for the briefest moment the air around her bent, like heat over stone, luck and inevitability pressing down in a way that made the ritual circles itch and the Magi’s chalk lines feel suddenly fragile. It was not overwhelming, not violent, just enough. A reminder. “I’m Mini’A,” she said calmly, “avatar of Alechior. Risk and consequence are family to me.”

The pressure vanished as quickly as it appeared and Mini’A was grinning again, as if nothing strange had happened at all. She turned back to Pira and gave her a quick, cheerful wave. “This has been lovely. Educational. Slightly concerning. I promise not to accidentally invent a new school of magic in your fields.” A beat. “Probably.” Then she pivoted back toward Cenna before Pira could respond.

“So,” Mini’A said, already walking alongside him, words tumbling out with renewed enthusiasm, “let’s start from the top. How do you even find the right Patron and how specific do you have to be? Is it like calling a name or more like vibes? And what actually decides the pushback, the Patron’s mood, your wording or just bad luck?” She glanced at his hand, then at the ritual site. “Also, can you get your heat back or is that a permanent sort of lesson?”

[Hider=Summary]

The Trade Caravan reaches Excelsium and Eht’Redart chats with Pira, their leader. The conversation is light and a bit confusing for the traders upon hearing that Excelsium doesn't care for games as much. When given the tour and reaching the Temple, one of the caravan members joins them and reveals that she is the avatar of Alechior and she left her duties as a guardian of Gamblerdise to join with the caravan…for FUN! 

Eventually they meet Magi and Mini'A gets very curious about them.

[/hider]