Rekkuza

CHANBARA [Suits, Swords, and Sorcery]

@ERode Cooked up a little CS, lemme know what you think and if i need to change or clarify anything
no i am totally not a devil summoner soul hacker fan, what made you think that

Super Hacker 9000

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Character Image:

Full Name: Masahiro "GH0ST" Minegishi

Gender: Male

Age: 28 (started training at 26)

Summary of Qualifications: Looking for thrills and a decent salary; willing to work in dangerous, potentially mortal situations. Skilled in informatics, and has both potential for sorcery and the will to develop it. A promising asset overall.

Work Experience: Has a high-school diploma, IT training certification, but no further education. Worked as a contract freelance programmer (9 years of experience, started in high-school), and as an IT technician (5 years of experience).

Graduation Certificate

General Assessment: Great at sorcery studies, with a clear thirst for more knowledge in the subject; absolutely awful at anything physical that isn't aiming and shooting something. The smoking habit certainly isn't helping there either. Calm, friendly, sociable, and generally well-liked, though some recruits report feeling unnerved by his tendency to dig for personal information. Protective of kids, and vocally disapproving of their presence in the program. There was an incident where a security breach led to some low-level employees' records being accessed by an unauthorized party and leaked; the blame fell on some unimportant IT guy, but some instructors suspected that Masahiro might've had something to do with it. Nothing ever got proven, though.

Courses Taken:
[Interpersonal Investigation and Interrogation] Cost: 2
[Firearms Licensing] Cost: 2
[Sorcerous Conditioning] Cost: 4
[Object Reinforcement] Cost: 2
[Combat Fatigue Management] Cost: 4
[Latent Sorcery Induction] Cost: 2
[Active Technique Training] Cost: 4
[Specialized Technique Training] Cost: 2
[Archival Sorcery Studies] Cost: 2
Total: 24 points spent

Martial Arts: N/A. Masahiro doesn't know any real hand-to-hand techniques, but he's got a gun! That counts for something.

Sorcery Technique: Contracted Spirit.
By negotiating and reaching a mutual agreement with spiritual beings like ghosts or demons, Masahiro can form a contract with them. Contracted spirits can be called to assist him in battle or in other tasks, and in exchange they can feed off of his spiritual energy.

The spirits must help Masahiro to the best of their abilities, but they are not compelled to follow his exact orders, and will chose to disregard his directives if they do not trust him and/or believe they've got a better plan. So unless a close bond is formed, spirits can be unpredictable and sometimes unreliable.

Negotiating the contract in the first place can be dangerous as well, since the spirit can always turn against Masahiro as long as the contract isn't in place. The more powerful a spirit is, and the more are contracted at the same time, the more draining it is: having more than 3 low-level spirits active for long periods of time leads to fatigue and weakness.

Noteworthy Boon: Greatly proficient at programming, of both the mundane and the cybercrime varieties. Has spent nearly a decade active as a black hat hacker under the alias "GH0ST". Hacked for thrills and minor personal gains, even forming a group of like-minded individuals at some point, and so has gained a lot of experience in bypassing cybersecurity measures by exploiting both software, hardware, and the basics of social engineering.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Ma'otah

When the Great Fire ignited, most people were simply too shocked, too in awe to do anything but stare at the sky. They felt Its dry heat, adding to the already too hot dry season. They looked at their hands, at their home, at the clouds, seeing new colors, or perhaps just old colors as they always were. They looked at each other, seeing all the little nuances that they couldn't before, how some had slightly lighter skin or hair or eyes, how some had moles and some hadn't, how ever single one of them was different in infinitely subtle ways. And when their faces began to burn, they instinctively ran to the respite of their homes.

The first day passed without much getting done at all, everyone too shaken by the new change. When night fell, some hoped that the Great Fire was just a strange, momentary occurence. They were proven wrong when the morning came, and the Fire came back, proving Itself to be a new, permanent fixture in the sky.

Many things happened on that second day. The weavers got to work first, harvesting the suddenly much taller grass around the village. Their clothing had always been simple, nothing more than woven grass skirts, sandals, and other legwear, for the constant heat was too intense to wear beast pelts, or even cover their chests outside of the rainy season. Skirts did little to protect from the Great Fire's burning light, however, and so many, many hats were woven that day, with large brims to shelter one's head and body in soothing shadows.

Then followed the soil-tenders, those who understood the ground and the life that grew from it. They went to their herb gardens, and saw how each plant had grown multiple weeks' worth in a single night, and were growing still, flowering and rotting before their eyes. A great rush followed, trying to salvage what they could from the harvest, laying roots and leaves to dry and be preserved.

Fire-tenders saw one of the first benefits; no longer did they need their fire to burn bright constantly. Their work lessened during the day to only keeping a few embers alive for when the dark night would come, and the subsequent decrease in firewood usage made every woodcutter very happy. After all, chopping wood in their savanna, where trees are few and far between, is a long and complicated affair that necessitates far too much planning, and more free time is always welcomed.

Gatherers rushed to the growing wild grasses, harvesting as many flowers as possible, hoping to extract new pigments from them. Hunters struggled as preys now were much better hidden in the waist-high grasses. The plant rot set in, the sudden abundance declining rapidly, the soil tired and overworked. They started to rely on their food stockpiles, the wild not giving enough to feed everyone anymore. People began to pray to the Great Fire, though they were split as to why: some gave thanks for the light and colors, others asked for mercy and abundance once again.

Ma'otah did not stop them. She too, prayed. To the Great Fire, to Khthon, to any God or Spirit willing to listen. She knew, as they all did, that by witnessing the birth of the Great Fire, they had witnessed a God at work. It made sense, she supposed: if the One That Lay Beneath ruled the Earth, then it followed that there would be One That Stands Above that ruled the sky. The Great Fire must've been Its body, now revealed to all mortalkind.

Thankfully, some of their prayers must have been heard, for while the plants continued to grow too fast, the soil seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and grew rich and fertile once more. The rot was swallowed, leaving space for new growth, and slowly they started to rebuild their food stocks.

Changes had to be made to suit their new situations, with more work to be done to ensure their subsistence. Grumbling followed, especially from their most dedicated craftsmasters, who now did not have as much time to practice their crafts, though all eventually relented. The elders argued about logistics, about the lessened trade and visitors since the Great Fire appeared, about whether they should burn any eventual offerings to It or leave them high up for It to reach, about if they should do more controlled burns more often now that the grasses grew to full maturity in barely a few days... the list went on and on.

But they had reached an equilibrium. They remained fed, though uncertainty still lurked. Art was still made, though in lesser amounts. Khthon kept to his word, offerings always leading to new minerals. Everything could still break at any moment, but for now, they would survive, as they always had.

Summary

Ma'otah's people witness the birth of the Sun. They are amazed by all that the light brings, especially their new ability to see color much better. They adapt as well as they can to the Sun, and weave sun hats to protect themselves from sunburn. When the soil starts depleting, many pray to the Sun, which they call the Great Fire, hoping for a return to normal plant growth. They believe the Sun to be the body of a God that rules the skies, to which they give the title of "the One That Stands Above".

When the soil are re-enriched, the village manages to reach a fragile state of stability, where they can survive and feed themselves by spending less time crafting and more time working, to the displeased acceptance of many.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

🎲 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 🎺

&

Khthon

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 like 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 thief. 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.

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

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.

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

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. ”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?”

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.”

”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.” Khthon hummed, a sound reminiscent of rocks cracking and sand flowing. ”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…”

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…

”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.” 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 me!” 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.

”Tell me, Alechior. Your people, do they craft?” Khthon asked, curiosity in his voice. ”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.”

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

”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,” 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.”

”So you propose a trade, then. I give them materials, and receive the fruit of their labour. Yes, that is a fair bargain,” Khthon said, nodding along. ”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.”

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

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. ”Soft stone, easy to work, easy to carve,” 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. ”Beauty to ignite the heart,” he continued. Then he solidly grasped both ends of the rock, and pulled, impossibly stretching it out, lowering its density. ”As light as stone can be, light enough for mortals to take with them.”

With something approaching reverence, the arms handed the piece of stone to Alechior. ”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,” 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. ”I do not believe I would like that place very much,” he admitted candidly. ”I am most comfortable in silence and solitude, and it sounds like a loud and crowded place.” 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. ”But I will surely visit one day, if only out of curiosity, and to honor your invitation.”

”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…” With barely a glance, the cave’s crumbled entrance opened again, connecting it once again with the distant surface. ”Perhaps you have a better idea?”

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.”

”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." Khthon smiled, a rare touch of humour in his voice. ”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.”

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?

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.

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.

A collab between @Timemaster & @Rekkuza

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Ma'otah

The first man-made metal object wasn't a knife, or sword, or any kind of blade or weapon. It was a vessel, something between a large cup and a small bowl, just large enough to boil a single portion of soup, tea or herbal medicine.

It was made by taking the biggest chunk of copper Ma'otah's expedition had brought back and hammering it flat with the flat side of a large stone attached to a stick. The hammers they usually used weren't as crude, but they were also wooden, and much too soft to ever put a dent in the hard, cold metal.

Each strike rendered the metal a bit thinner and a bit harder. When it was nothing more than a thin, round, pockmarked sheet, it was carefully folded and stretched until a small bowl took form. That bowl saw much use: it did not burn like wooden ones, crack like clay ones, and boiled water much faster than soapstone ones. It was well-liked by cooks who used it to simmer small portions of easily digestible soup for the old, the ill and the pregnant. Firetenders used it to transport embers and small portions of fires, and medicine-men used to it dole out their remedies.

The leftover copper was fashioned into small knapping and carving tools, and protective amulets. It was while making these and experimenting that a craftswoman discovered that when the metal grew too hard under cold strikes and threatened to crack, that burying it under the village's biggest fire for a few hours, until it became hot and red, would soften it again, permitting further shaping.

Ma'otah was soon asked to plunge back into the Earth's depths to look for more of the material; she was the only one who had ever led a successful expedition so far.

She did so, over and over. Each time, she buried an offering, calling upon Khthon, asking for protection and permission. Each time, she brought different people with her, teaching them how to spot where the ceilings were at risk of collapsing, where toxic gases could emerge or where the ground could crumble and swallow your leg and not let go, for even when the Earth was not actively trying to kill them, it still remained a location hostile to most life (especially to those of the careless).

Each time, they emerged with new treasures. More copper, of course, but also a bit of silver, too soft for tools but much more easily shaped for ornaments. One time, they came back holding a handful of small shining jewels, so hard they could not be scratched with even their hardest tools. Another, with strange colorful rock, that when crushed and mixed with water, made brighter paint than anything else found beforehand. Most recently, the came back with a bag of black, crumbly, staining stones, even darker than their skin, their use still undetermined.

That very same night, Ma'otah received a dream. No, not a dream, a memory. She saw the center of the world, and she saw the Man-God piling up rocks. She saw how he built a cavity, with a hole at the top. She saw how he filled it with the same black stones they had found. She saw how they ignited, hotter than ever possible, melting even stone, even metal, the Earth itself shuddering under the strain.

She woke up in a cold sweat, shuddering. She barely took a second to breathe and calm down before rushing outside her home and to where the village kept their construction material for houses. She picked up as many adobe brick she could carry, and began building a small cavity, leaving a hole at the top, just like she had seen the Man-God do. She fetched the bag of coal, and poured it into the furnace's open maw, put a small stone bowl filled with a few silver nugget on top of the pile, and then threw a few burning ember in.

The fire burned slow at first, then faster and faster, until the heat made sweat drip down her face. It burned for hours, and she watched it without pause, unheeding of her fellow tribesmen's concern for her. When the fire finally extinguished, and the bowl stopped smoking from the heat, she picked it up through a few layers of cloth, and yelled in joy as she saw how the silver had melted and taken the shape of the bowl's bottom.

She rushed to the edge of town, where small mounds marked where the many necklaces, bangles and sculptures dedicated to the One That Lay Beneath were buried. She dug a small hole, forgoing any kind of tool, and put the bowl of silver inside. "Great Khthon, I am thankful for the wisdom you have given me. Here is the first of the fruits of that wisdom. It is not much, but soon, great works will emerge from it. That I am sure."

And she was right. Their tribe had already been more artistically inclined than others, decorating their abodes and bowls and tools with carving and paint, but now, with access to new materials, new paints, new tools, new techniques... their craft expanded beyond anything seen before. Carvings became larger and more elaborate, unfired clay pots and bricks could now be fired and even glazed in their new furnace, materials for stone spear heads were chosen as much for their beauty than for their workability, jewelry incorporated metal amulets, and gems were sometimes woven or fitted in. Beauty became not just an indulgence, but a necessity.

After all, the beauty of their craft is what gained them their God's favor. Ma'otah, the first to have returned and the only one to have spoken directly to Him, officially became their first priestess, although her role did not change much. Amulets first worn to ward off evil through unknown means now served as emergency offerings to Khthon, should the wearer ever need protection from danger. The occasional wanderer or peaceful nomad tribe that came around would trade supplies for their craft, leaving them more time to hone their skills now that immediate survival was assured. Some of these wanderers even admitted that they had made a detour in their journey specifically to visit them.

Life was changing quickly in their formerly sleepy village.

Summary

Ma'otah's village experiment with cold-working copper, creating a small bowl in the process. A craftswoman discovers how to warm-work it, by heating but not melting it. Ma'otah is sent to find more materials underground, as she's the only one to ever be successful. She does so, sending offerings to Khthon each time. Throughout the months, she finds more copper, some silver, different oxides that can be used as pigments, and coal.
The same night she finds coal, Khthon sends her a vision of how Sarhush built a furnace when they created magma. Inspired by it, she builds her own small furnace, and using coal as a fuel source, manages to melt a small amount of silver. Having discovered the basics of how to smelt metal, she rushes to bury the silver and thank Khthon, promising that her tribe's craftsmanship will improve with his help.
She is correct, and the tribe's artwork becomes more elaborate using the new tools and materials at their disposal. Beauty as important as usefulness, Ma'otah becomes Khthon's first priestess, and passing travelers and tribes are willing to trade supplies for their craft, which leaves them even more time for crafting. Some even go out of their way to visit and trade. The village gets more and more busy as trade, crafting and foot traffic increases.

Conviction spending
- Khthon sends a vision to Ma'otah (Lucid, 0 conviction)

CHANBARA [Suits, Swords, and Sorcery]

sounds really cool, I'm interested!

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Whoohoo! Happy page 5 of IC chat!!! :D

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Kthon

Their meeting had been a complete coincidence.

Ma'otah's group had come to these caves in search of treasures. A lone wanderer had come to their tribe's camp, bringing with him small pieces of fiery metal, and grim tales of what lay beneath the earth. She and her friends, the young fools that they were, had completely disregarded the man's warning, too enraptured by the foreign material. They'd badgered him without ceasing, asking him more details; where had he been, what had he found, what had happened to his companions?

Soon enough, the weary traveler gave up and told them everything, warning them one last time that the earth did not let go of its secrets easily.

The next day, she gathered the supplies, some tools, some hemp rope, and a few days of rations, made sure to wear her amulet pendant for protection, and led the charge as she and four other companions descended in a nearby cave network.

That was two days ago. They were now only three.

One was lost as he rushed ahead without thinking, and perished when the roof caved-in on him. Another fell as the air turned to poison, and choked the life out of her lungs.

Ma'otah had given up the hopes of finding anything of value. She regretted not listening to the traveler's warnings; now two of her friends were dead. She could only hope to find a way out without further casualties. A hope that seemed to get further and further away with each collapsing tunnel blocking their way back to the surface.

It happened when they'd found themselves out of the narrow cracks and tunnels and into a larger cavern. To her surprise, a dim light shone from the ceiling, rendering her worn torch useless. Her gaze stayed on the ceiling, both observing the delicately glowing crystals weaving through the stone, and looking out for any sign of instability or impending collapse.

Which is how she noticed the stone torso protruding from the wall and... fussing over the crystals?

She signaled to her group with an arm, stopping their advance, and held her breath, trying to not make a sound. She had heard the stories, both from the lone wanderer that had kickstarted this whole expedition and from others. She knew about how the earth seemed to have a mind of its own, had now seen it with her own eyes. She knew the whispers of a being protecting the caverns from would-be plunderers, of a spirit bending stone to its will and thwarting explorers. She'd even heard of a few people who had a friend who knew guy who had sworn he had encountered a being of living stone wandering the surface, before the Cataclysm came and sundered the earth. But above all, she knew that the moral of these stories usually was that attracting the attention of beings greater than yourself was more risk than it was worth.

Her effort at stealth unfortunately was for naught; the sputtering from her torch, or perhaps her simple presence, seemed to alert the being, who turned to face her and her group.

"Ah, mortals. A strange sight, to see your kind so deep. Tell me, what are you doing here?" The being asked, almost nonchalantly. Ma'otah tried to mumble out an answer, but all she could manage was a weak, terrified squeak. The being seemed to have no patience for stuttering, though. "Speak up, before I tire of your presence," it intoned.

"M-m-m-metal! W-we're here looking for metal!" she managed to say, trembling. "W-we met s-someone who f-f-found some, and... and we wanted to f-find some too..."

"Ah, thieves then, thinking they can simply take what they want. I have no love for thieves." It hummed. "I am surprised you are still alive. The caverns usually sort your kind out by themselves..."

Ma'otah could feel her breathing get even faster in her panic. "W-we meant no offense! She shouted, tears in her eyes. One hand came to clutch her necklace as she argued for her and her friends' lives. "We didn't know, we... We haven't found or taken anything. We learned our lesson, please, we just want to leave..."

She held her breath again as the stone being stayed silent for a few long moments. She could feel its heavy gaze, and she hoped, nay, prayed that it would spare her and her friends. Then, it finally spoke again.

"You wished for metal, yes? I believe I can fulfill this wish, for a price. A fair trade. I will give you some of my treasures, and you will give me some of yours." It vaguely gestured to her with its head. "What you wear around your neck. I desire it. What says you? A small price in exchange for the riches of the earth, no?"

Ma'otah looked down at her necklace, surprised. Everyone in her tribe owned one of those. It was a pendant, bearing a carved bone amulet dyed red and many similarly carved beast teeth. It was precious and important, for the elders claimed it warded off evil, but it was still a surprisingly... mundane request? From the stories about spirits she'd heard, she'd have thought the being would request a human sacrifice, or something like that.

"My... necklace? That's all?" She asked, skeptical.

"Yes. It is beautiful. I am fond of beautiful things. I will gladly trade some of my own creations for it."

She shuddered. It's creations? Was this being... more powerful than she thought? "Then... for my necklace, you will give us metal... and safe passage back to the surface."

She could feel more than see the being's smile. "You're a clever one. Very well, I accept these terms. Leave your offering on the ground, and come near; behind this wall, you shall find a rich copper vein. You can fill your bag with as much as you desire, but no more. The tunnels will lead you back out of my realm."

"None can steal from a God, and expect to remain unscathed. But I may be open to further exchanges. Should you desire more trades, then call upon Khthon, and bury your offerings so that they reach me; you shall then be spared from the earth's wrath." With those parting words, the God sank into the stone, the amulet shortly following him, and leaving Ma'otah and her friends alone in the silent cavern.

They soon discovered that the God had spoken the truth, and that just a few inches behind the wall, laid a large vein of the same metal the wanderer had shown them. They quickly got to work, prying and breaking off as much as they could with their crude tools, and finally managed to fill the hide bag they'd carried with them. It wasn't much, not nearly enough to make up for her friends' death, but it was better than nothing. At least it was enough to make something out of it, Ma'otah was pretty sure.

When they went to leave, they found that the narrow passages and collapsed tunnels, which only seemed to drive them deeper, now simply and straightforwardly brought them closer and closer to the surface, until they finally emerged back out the fissure they had first entered. The ash-filled sky and burnt air seemed so much less oppressive, now that they had known the claustrophobic underworld.

Soon they would be back home to their tribe. Soon they would be able to mourn the loss of their friends, share the wealth they had found, and spread the story and message of the One That Lay Beneath.

Summary

A small spelunking party of young mortals, led by a young woman called Ma'otah, encounters many difficulty while looking for precious minerals. One member carelessly dies in a cave-in and another asphyxiates after breathing in toxic gases. They eventually find their way to a larger cave, where they meet Khthon as he takes care of the crystal roots. He questions their intentions, and accepts to trade some copper as well as safe passage back to the surface in exchange for Ma'otah's bone necklace. He lets them know that if they wish to make more exchanges and find more metal, that they should call his name and bury their offerings before venturing in his caverns. Ma'otah and her surviving friends get back to their tribe, ready to share their encounter with Khthon and their new wealth.

Conviction spending

- Let mortals take some copper without any drawbacks, and made sure they could get back to the surface safely (In-domain, Minor, Lucid. 0 conviction.)

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Saries is just... really going through it, huh? Not a single break in sight from the moment It crossed path with Sarhush. Poor doggy...

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Khthon

Khthon stood looking at the shattered crystal veins and felt... grief. Yes, grief for the lost beauty he had never gotten to know. Grief for their unforeseen, yet necessary sacrifice. A tragic side-effect to the awakening of the Earth.

He knew his acts had plunged the surface into chaos, the destruction up there much more intense than within his realm. It hadn't been his goal, per say, but he had known such things would happen. Perhaps his indifference, or rather, lack of understanding, towards life made him more callous than he should, but it was an unfortunate truth that the surface had grown before the depths had been finished, and that rectifying this error would damage his God-Siblings' work. Yet, the Earth could not remain inert, it needed movement, energy, and power. It needed the capacity to change. A dead Earth would lead to a dead world, at least in Khthon's eyes.

The initial chaos would eventually subside, and do so even sooner with Khthon's help. He spread his awareness through the Earth, feeling the bubbling and the raging of liquid stone. His will ascertained itself, and the raging... calmed. It was not gone, for such activity was necessary for the new resource to find its natural place, but it was lessened, less violent, and the surface should tremble less. In time, magma would integrate itself into the cycles of the Earth, and become a transformative force, sometimes constructive, sometimes destructive, just like the winds or the rains.

But oh, the crystals, their loss stung differently.

The God sent one last forlorn glance to the shattered arrays, now forever dimmed. Never again would they shine, and though they were still beautiful in death, theirs was a tragic beauty, a remainder of what he had lost.

But one could not remain still and grieving when so much remained to be done. These crystals may be dead, yes, but many still remained, more or less intact. He could save them, redirect them, help them adapt. They, too, were of the Earth, and the Earth persisted through all. Khthon would make sure of it.

The God began moving from root to root, trying his best to help them acclimate to the new heat. He would murmur soft reassurances and apologies to the most panicked of crystals, as if reconciling with a jilted lover, trying to soothe their glow. He would redirect the most fragile of roots away from the harsher depths, towards the cooler, calmer caverns. He would cool the superheated ones, the ones on the brink of shattering from the excess heat, cycling the surrounding stones with cooler ones to have them reach a certain equilibrium. He would encourage the few roots actively reaching towards magma, sending them with a caress what little energy he could spare to strengthen them and help them survive the heat.

They would adapt, they would survive, and they would come to understand how harness the heat. The Earth would not die yet; it had just started living.

Summary

Khthon mourns the death of some of the crystal veins. To him, their loss is more tragic than the loss of life on the surface, which he had expected from his little stunt. He still sees it as a necessary sacrifice for the animating of the Earth, and understand that while the creation of new cycles is turbulent, they will eventually stabilize. He first calms the raging magma, settling it in a calmer, but still very active state. He then begins moving around and visiting each surviving crystal root, trying his best to help them adapt and survive the new changes, by calming and protecting the more fragile ones, and encouraging the stronger, more inquisitive ones to assimilate magma in their way of living.

Conviction spending
- Calming a natural disaster - Khthon calms a lot, but does not entirely stop, the earthquakes and eruptions on the surface. For reference, let's say it goes from "the world is actively ending" to "a bad but not catastrophic year in a volcanic belt". (In-domain, lucid, 0 conviction)
- Attempting to calm, protect, strengthen, and just generally help the crystal veins as they adapt to the new Earth. (In-domain? Unsure if Lucid or Hazy, 0-1 cost.)

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Welp, the massive loss of life and global mass-extinction events are unfortunate side-effects, but at least we've got igneous rocks and intrusions now! Can't imagine a world without laccoliths, sooooo... Totally worth it!
Even if it hurt the crystal roots, which we can all agree is the real tragedy here 😔