Timemaster

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

@SilverPaw Alechior needs to have a chat with you. Reincarnation? Amazing, you can gamble and gamble and gamble and then you die...only to be reincarnated and so it all over again! Ofc, all while being happy about it!

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

@Vec As requested, I've written up what Alechior did + a description of the valley, ahem, I mean. Gamblerdise!

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

🎲 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 🎺

The psychic scream hit Alechior without sound. It was a pressure behind the eyes, a tightening in the chest, the unmistakable feeling that the world itself had just made a terrible, irreversible move. This was not chaos for fun, not a reckless gamble with amusing stakes. This was something deeper, heavier, the psychic backlash of reality being forced into a shape it did not want.

Alechior stopped, expression wiping clean of mirth as the sensation rolled through them again, stronger this time. Somewhere, gods had overplayed their hand.

Then the horizon moved. The ocean did not surge or rage, it withdrew. Mile by mile, water slid away from the land as if obeying a silent command, exposing seabed that had never known air. Alechior watched coral die in real time, watched fish writhe where waves should have been, watched the balance of the world fail.

There was no joke to be made here. They turned and went, lifting from the ground, as they flew faster than fast towards Tribxor's island. They were in the path of whatever their godly siblings did and they were not about to lose a winning hand just because.

They reached Tribxor’s tribe just as their fear began to find words. Alechior did not waste breath on speeches. Their presence alone was enough, urgency pressing down like a weight. Sleep, they whispered, and it was not a suggestion. One by one, the tribe sagged, bodies lowering gently to the ground as consciousness slipped away. Alechior lifted them up all in the air and rose once more.

Flying as fast as they could without killing the Changelings toward the Gamblerdise. The land below shuddered as they passed, distant rumbles hinting at worse things waking beneath the crust. Alechior did not look back until the valley came into view, still green, still whole, still random. Only once the tribe was laid down safely, sleep unbroken, did Alechior pause. Their gaze drifted toward the broken horizon, expression tight, knowing full well that this rescue was not heroics. It was damage control, and the house was already on fire.

Alechior did not linger long after the tribe was safe. Once the last body was laid gently into the grass and the sleep held, they turned toward the heart of the valley. The Anchor waited where it always had, half-buried, half-present, reality bending around it like a loaded die that refused to settle. Alechior approached with care. Whatever this was, it predated the current them but it had rules.

They reached out to change it. Alechior pressed their will against the Anchor and felt the pushback immediately, the valley stuttering through possibilities, colors wrong for a heartbeat, gravity briefly optional. "Fine, then," Alechior thought. "You want to stay strange. We can work with strange."

Channeling their divine power through it, they began to weave a lattice of protection around the central area. The Anchor became a sentinel, a living extension of Alechior’s will, pushing chaos away, softening its edge.

Rocks that fell too fast broke into harmless dust before striking the ground. Fissures that opened beneath the sleeping mortals closed themselves and sudden bursts of magma cooled instantly, turning into harmless stone before they could reach the heart of the valley. It did not stop every disaster, nothing could, but the most immediate threats were caught, absorbed, or redirected, leaving a somewhat safe at the center.

Alechior did not micromanage each event. Instead, they set rules, probabilities, and priorities, allowing the Anchor to act like a conductor. Flames bent aside, sudden storms fractured into gentle showers, and creatures that might have torn through the center found themselves slowed, confused or diverted entirely.

The Anchor did not create order, it mediated it, transforming the most violent expressions of the Cataclysm or whatever would come after, into something survivable.

Even as the valley’s edges remained wild, rolling dice with every step and wind, Alechior stepped back, hands still resting on the Anchor, eyes scanning the center. The Anchor hummed in satisfaction, its essence intertwined with Alechior’s own, a living safeguard against annihilation. For now, at least, the heart of the valley held, and those within it could breathe, move, and survive, even while the rest of the world writhed under the Cataclysm’s fury.

Alechior leaned close to Tribxor, a faint smile tugging at the corner of their mouth. “Well, sleepyhead,” they said, “time to open those eyes. The world just shuffled the deck a bit, and you’re going to want to see this hand.” Tribxor blinked confusion obvious over his face. “I-I’m awake? Wh-what happened? The ocean-it just left?”

Alechior’s grin widened. “Yes, yes it did. Big players, bigger tantrums, and a touch of divine creativity. But don’t worry, you didn’t miss the fun part.” Tribxor’s eyes darted toward the horizon, still trying to wrap his mind around the sight of exposed seabeds and upturned islands. “All of it...just—gone? And the land here…it’s…different.”

“You got it, kid,” Alechior said, waving a hand toward the valley. “World reshuffle. Chaos deluxe. But lucky for you, you’re not stuck out there playing cards with certain death. No, you’ve got a table of your own.” They tapped the soft grass at the center, where the Anchor hummed faintly. “This is Gamblerdise. Your own little table in the casino of chaos. The Anchor’s got your back, everything around it is safe. Most of the time.”

Tribxor frowned, a small crease forming between his brows. “Most of the time?”

Alechior chuckled, a bright, careless sound. “Ah, yes. Nothing in life’s ever perfect, kiddo. But here’s the trick: you watch the patterns, you read the rolls, you learn when to step forward and when to duck. And if you can laugh while doing it? Well, that’s just bonus points.” They leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Now, wake the others. Tell them they’re about to play the most interesting game of their lives. Make it fun, just make sure they don’t sit in the wrong spot when the dice start rolling, lest I need to find myself other subjects.”

"Oh, and to be clear, you'd all be dead if I wouldn't have saved you and, you will probably die if you don't learn the rules of this place. Fire is sometimes not fire. Water can burn, sometimes or become earth. Don't worry, you'll figure it out. Careful now, ta!" Alechior added with a laugh before disappearing from their mortal view, already leaving Gamblerdise in the hopes of finding out what exactly happened.

Summary/Actions

Alechior saves Tribxor's tribe and moves them to the Valley. Before leaving them there, they add some of their divine power to stabilize a central part of the valley to make it fully safe but Alechior also made it that most of the disasters that would fall upon the center to be mitigated by the Anchor. Magma turning back into earth or ice or air. Boulders getting redirected by gusts of wind that weren't there before, ground disappearing transforming into a hole before closing down etc.

In Domain Action - -1 Conviction - Hazy

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

❚█══Tribxor══█❚

A few days after Alechior’s interference, Tribxor found the camp transformed in a different way than he expected. Everyone spoke now as the Bronze Tongue had turned grunts and gestures into arguments, laughter, and instruction. The new people from Sarhush's did not demand attention, but it found them anyway. They spoke of ordinary things with confidence, food, warmth, tools, the quiet mechanics of staying alive when strength alone was no longer enough.

They began with food and the contrast was sharp. Tribxor’s people had never hunted in the way the others described. They took what the valley surrendered, animals already dying, fallen, or too weak to escape, carcasses claimed before rot set in. It was survival without pursuit, endurance without dominance. The changelings did not mock this even if they didn't understand it, but they showed how even such meat could be handled better, cut cleaner, cooked slower, turned safely over fire rather than burned in haste or eaten raw. When Tribxor tasted the result, he understood how much strength his people had been wasting.

Clothing followed. Hides that had once been worn stiff, if at all, were scraped. Stitching was taught not as preservation, seams that held warmth where joints bent, bindings that did not tear after a day’s work. Tribxor had always worn what survived the cold. Now he saw the sense in shaping garments to bodies, in reducing injury, in keeping the heat trapped in. His people moved more freely at dawn, less sore, less slow.

The final lessons cut even move. Flint knapping, tool making, and fire treated as something guided, not endured. Stone split where it was meant to split. Edges born sharp instead of lucky. Fire fed and maintained so it did not gutter out or rage out of control. Woodcutting became on purpose, trees chosen only when needed, never wasted. Tribxor practiced until his hands ached, listening as a new changeling corrected his angle, his force, his patience. Each spark and clean edge chipped away at an old truth he had lived by, survival was not about taking more from the world, but about learning how to need less from it and not destroy nature. Nature was meant to be preserved as much as they could.

Next few days, Alechior’s influence crept into work itself, not as doctrine but as play. Tasks were no longer assigned outright, they were wagered. A morning’s woodcutting was to be decided by tossing marked stones, winner choosing the lighter duty, loser taking the heavier load but earning first claim on the best fire spot that night. Flint knapping became competitive, whose edge would last longest, whose blade would cut cleanest, with small stakes laid down, extra rations, choice hides, the right to rest while another took your place. It did not slow the work. If anything, it made it better. People paid attention now, because attention meant winning and winning was fun.

Even the harder labors bent to this new way of working. Fire keeping rotated through chance, ensuring no one carried the burden forever and no one escaped it entirely. Cooking became a shared gamble, whose stew would turn out richest, whose seasoning would earn praise or playful jeers, judged by the whole camp at dusk. Laughter followed failure more often than blame, and success carried no resentment, only expectation to stake it again tomorrow. Tribxor watched it all with merriment. The games did not make his people careless, they made them invested. Work stopped being something endured together and became something shared, risked and celebrated.

The First Party began as the sun went low and the sky turned orange. Someone had dragged fallen wood into a wide circle and by the time the fire caught, it was tall enough to throw sparks all around. Grog Tree fruits were passed hand to hand, their skins split open with excitement. Everyone knew the odds. Half the bites brought that perfect warmth, the world just getting a bit better, confidence swelled, laughter came easier, steps feeling a bit lighter. The other half brought groans, hands clutching bellies, a few unlucky ones stiffening where they sat, temporarily locked in place and loudly regretting their choices. No one panicked. The rules had been explained. The risk was the point.

Laughter rolled through the gathering as reactions became obvious. One changeling leapt to their feet, arms raised, declaring the fire the most beautiful person they've ever made, then immediately tried to hug it before being pulled back by friends howling with amusement. Nearby, two others lay flat on the ground, cursing the fruit between bouts of laughter, unable to move their legs but very much able to complain about it. The sickness passed as promised, slowly but harmless, and even those who suffered wore it like a badge. You had to taste chance to belong, after all.

As the fire grew brighter, the jellyfish made their appearance. They had been gathered earlier and when squeezed, their bodies pulsed and released clear, sharp-smelling liquid, collected in crude cups and shared around. The drink burned a little, warmed a lot, and carried the faint taste of the sea. Some mixed it with crushed fruit, others drank it straight and made dramatic faces to prove their bravery. A few immediately tried dancing better than before and failed making a mess of themselves , which only encouraged the crowd to try even harder.

By the end of the evening, the fire was the heart of everything. Shadows stretched and twisted as bodies moved, feet stamping, hands clapping, voices rising into songs that had no words yet but plenty of feeling. They danced in loose circles, sometimes collapsing into laughter, sometimes pulling others up to spin with them. The night filled with noise, warmth and even those sitting out, nursing bad luck or sore stomachs, watched with bright eyes. It was not order that bound them together then, but shared risk and the understanding that tomorrow they would gamble again.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

@Legion02 Also, does it affect *all* mortals or just all ur-humans?

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

❚█══Tribxor══█❚

&

🎲 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 🎺

Tribxor stood very still at first, as if afraid any sudden motion might shake the words loose. His lips moved without a sound, testing the new machinery in his mind. Then he straightened to his full height, shoulders rolling back, chin lifting. Not swaggering. Not cowed. Something between the two, a balance born of instinct and the flicker of new understanding.

“You,” Tribxor said slowly, voice rumbling like thunder, “you…gave me this.” His hand touched his throat, then his temple, as if confirming that the words were real. His gaze tightened on Alechior. “Why?”

Alechior chuckled. “Straight to the point. Good. You’ll need that.” They paced a half circle around him, shoes skimming the grass without bending a single blade.

“I’m not your maker, Tribxor. That job belongs to someone else entirely. But if you’re looking for a god willing to bet on you, you’re talking to them.”

They tapped their chest with two fingers.

“Call me your patron, Alechior. Someone who sees potential in you, likes the odds and enjoys pushing things along.”

Tribxor listened without interrupting, a feat that impressed Alechior more than the accidental organization he’d built among the ooga-booga mortals. His eyes were sharp now. Respectful but not terrified, cautious but not meek. A natural leader waking up inside him.

“I do not know why you choose me,” he said, choosing each word with slow precision, “but I will not waste what you have given. The people here, they…follow me. They look to me. I want them to live, not just survive.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “If you guide us, I will use what you teach. I will lead well.”

A faint breeze rippled the grove, plants humming softly around them. Alechior raised a brow, pleased. “See, that’s what I like. Ambition that doesn’t trip over itself.”

Tribxor squared his stance, voice growing steadier. “Then tell me what you expect of us. If you walk with us, I will stand worthy. If you leave, I will still lead my people.”

A grin spread across Alechior’s face. “Careful, Tribxor. Keep talking like that and I might actually believe in you. Also, you might get boring and I'll discard you.”

Alechior let the silence stretch for a moment, watching Tribxor hold his ground like a boulder in a storm. Then they clapped their hands together once, sharp enough to make a few nearby mortals flinch.

“Good. Then here’s your first task as a man with words. I want you to build a city here, in my image,” they said, gesturing broadly at the valley, the Singing Grove, the hills beyond and everything on the island. “A home for the ones who will come after you. A city of Changelings.”

Tribxor blinked. Once. Twice. Slowly. “What is a Changeling?” he asked, the unfamiliar word tumbling from his mouth, “Are they monsters? Spirits? Children? I do not know what you want built if I do not know who it is for.”

Alechior laughed. “Relax, big guy. I’m not asking you to make a shrine for something with too many teeth.” They stepped closer, tapping Tribxor lightly on the chest. “Changelings are your descendants. Well, your people’s descendants. The first generation born under my blessing.”

Tribxor’s confusion deepened, but he listened.

“My touch makes the blood…playful,” Alechior continued, circling him with a glimmer of amusement. “The next children you mortals have will come out different. Small changes at first. A little taller. A little shorter. Strange eyes. Strange skin. Maybe a bit shiny. Maybe able to see in shadows. Nothing dangerous. Just a bit interesting. Different.”

Tribxor looked from his hands to the sleeping imports Alechior had brought. “Different how?”

“Think of it like branches on a tree,” Alechior said, making a splitting gesture. “One generation gets tiny oddities. The next shows bigger ones. Eventually, you’ll have whole new kinds of people. Tall Folk. Short Folk. All the kinds. Whatever rolls out of the cosmic dice. And some will carry a yellow mark on the forehead, showing my influence in the blood.”

Tribxor absorbed that slowly, but eyes bright with thought. “So, a city for many kinds. For the ones not yet born.”

“Exactly,” Alechior said, smirking. “A city built to handle change. A city that expects diversity, not fears it. You’ll be the first leader of the first generation of a people who will keep splitting into new shapes. New strengths. New paths. Fun, in other words.”

Tribxor exhaled, steady and thoughtful. “Then I understand.” He placed a fist over his chest, something between a salute and a vow. “If your blessing shapes our children, then I will shape the home they need.”

Alechior grinned. “That’s the spirit. Now let’s get you a city worth gambling on.”

Alechior gestured toward the sleeping figures they had unloaded earlier, the ones Tribxor’s people were still poking with sticks like uncertain wildlife. “By the way, those newcomers I dropped off, they aren’t here just to look pretty. They already know things your tribe doesn’t. Fire tending, tool making, shaping stone, cutting wood without smashing their own feet. The basics.”

Tribxor studied them with a calculating gaze now, the way a leader weighs assets. “They are different,” he said slowly. “They smell different. They stand different, even asleep.”

Alechior snapped their fingers with a grin. “Exactly. They’ve been touched by my blessing as well, same like you. Sarhush’s little flock grew up with tools and lessons, so they’re ahead of your people in skill. Means they can teach you. Teach your tribe. Teach your future.”

Tribxor’s eyes flicked from his own people to the sleeping imports, then back to Alechior. “So they will show us how to make fire. How to shape stone. How to feed more. Build more.”

“Right.” Alechior crossed their arms, satisfied. “Your tribe has heart and structure. Theirs has knowledge. Put them together and you get momentum.”

Tribxor nodded, slow but firm. “They will learn from us how to follow a leader. We will learn from them how to shape the world.”

“That,” Alechior said with a pleased hum, “is exactly what I’m betting on.”

Alechior rested their hands on their hips, watching Tribxor piece everything together with that new mind of his. The big fellow was already tracing the shape of a future he couldn’t quite understand nor name yet. Good. Time to stack the deck a little more.

“Since we’re talking about teaching,” Alechior said, “I might as well give you a bit of what I specialize in.” They lifted a hand, fingers crackling with soft golden light. “Minor things. Nothing world shattering. Just a bit of culture.”

Tribxor tensed, like a commander standing in front of a loaded ballista.

Alechior tapped his forehead with two fingers. A golden spark sank inward and leaving a faint golden circle imprint on Tribxor's forehead.

Tribxor staggered back, inhaling sharply as images, instincts, and half formed concepts unfurled behind his eyes. His tribe looked at him, waiting, unsure whether their leader had been enlightened or roasted.

Alechior gave him a second, then continued.

“First lesson. Gambling. Not the high stakes kind yet, just the small fry stuff. A way to trade without fighting each other over who gets the bigger fruit pile. You’ll roll stones, draw sticks, flip shells. Winners pick first. Losers grumble. Everyone laughs. Keeps things fair, keeps things fun.”

Tribxor blinked, then nodded slowly. “Games to decide worth.” He frowned. “Strange. But good strange.”

“Exactly. Now second.” Alechior snapped their fingers again, and this time a strange mix of sweet earth and salty brine drifted through the air.

“Two things I made long before you ever drew a breath. First, the Gambler’s Grog Trees. They look like willows, but their fruit hangs heavy and low. Eat one, and there's a chance to feel brilliant, bold and ready to take on the world, or you end up with your guts twisting, maybe even a brief paralysis.” A few Changelings gulped. A few grinned like fools already imagining the fun.

“Second, out in the ocean there are alcoholic jellyfish. Their bodies are full of drink instead of blood. If you gather them right, you get something strong and sharp. If you gather them wrong, they sting you numb faster than you can scream.”

Alechior shrugged, amused. “Both are gifts. Both are risks. Both will make your gatherings louder, your celebrations wilder, and your choices interesting. Which is the whole point. Make sure you gather them while the ocean is calm, otherwise my brother's "gift" will make you regret your existence.”

“Third little gift,” Alechior said, making a circling motion in the air, “celebration rituals. Nothing formal. Just a spark of instinct that tells your people when to feast, when to gather, when to clap each other on the back like idiots. Merriment isn’t just noise. It ties people together. Keep them at your Singing Groves. Be loud about it and if you want real fun, combine it with alcohol.” Alechior said before adding, with a wink, "Trust me."

Tribxor exhaled deeply, grounding himself. “I think I understand. These things make us close. Make us trust. Make us strong in the same direction.”

Alechior gave him a proud little smile. “Exactly, chieftain. Knowledge keeps a tribe alive. But joy keeps it together. And games keep it pointed forward instead of eating itself.”

Tribxor bowed his head with a seriousness that almost surprised Alechior.

“We will use your gifts well.”

“Good,” Alechior said, dusting off their hands. “Now let’s see what your people do with their first taste of fun. I'll be around but know I'll be watching!” Alechior added before turning invisible, curios about how Tribxor will handle the new responsibility.

Tribxor stood there long after Alechior vanished, eyes narrowed at the empty air where the god had been. He glanced at the new additions to the tribe, at the grog fruits, at the distant shimmer of the sea. Then he exhaled through his nose like a man handed a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“…Fun,” he muttered, as if testing the word for weaknesses. “Fine. I will make it work.”

He straightened his shoulders, already slipping back into that accidental leadership Alechior had sparked in him. “Everyone, follow me. We start with learning. Then we build.”

A few seconds passed and he added under his breath, “And maybe we try the fruit later.”

Summary/Actions

Alechior has a chat with Tribxor and lets him know that his race is now called Changelings and then explains what Changelings are and what to expect. OCC-ly, Tribxor slaps everyone with the Bronze Tongue to teach them how to talk. Tribxor accepts the burden of command and because he impressed Alechior, they decide to give them a few blessings.

All Lucid - In Domain - Blessings
- Gambling Knowledge to settle disputes or trade between one another.
- Knowledge of Alcohol and what it does + where to gather it from.
- Celebrations/rituals - Alechior taught Tribxor the meaning of parties. A way to bring communities together.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

🎲 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 🎺

The valley would need residents soon, that much was obvious. A paradise of chance with no one living in it was just a fancy coin tossed into an empty well. Before wandering off to scoop up Tribxor and his tribe, it made sense to check in on the first batch of mortals. The ur-humans, as Sarhush insisted on calling them.

They stepped through the curtain of distorted space that marked the valley’s edge. Reality pinched, stretched, then flipped itself. A few heartbeats later, Alechior stood on the shoreline of the first island, the one where everything began.

And everything had changed.

Smoke curled from several controlled hearths even as the rain kept pouring, lightning striking from time to time from some birds that flew above. The scent of cooked meat lingered in the air, not the accidental kind either.

Clothing. Primitive, yes, but clothing nonetheless was present too!

Tools lay neatly stacked near the water. Stone flakes littered the ground around knapping spots where the ur-humans had been practicing. Freshly sharpened axes leaned against a fallen tree, their edges chipped but obviously used for woodcutting. Built shelter.

Alechior leaned back on their heels, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” they muttered, “someone’s been busy.”

The mortals themselves wandered the camp with some purpose, not the frightened stumbling Alechior remembered. They moved confidently between tasks, talking with a shared vocabulary that had grown past pointing and grunting. Sarhush had not just taught them skills, he had given them direction.

Alechior grinned, sharp and pleased. “Looks like Sarhush has been spoiling you lot. Good. Saves me time.”

They strolled forward, curious eyes wandering, but still invisible to the human eye. If the valley was going to become the ultimate gamble, then finding mortals ready to handle risk instead of tripping over their own feet was a pretty solid starting hand. Sarhush’s efforts meant Alechior could focus on choosing who fit best rather than babysitting.

These ur humans, seemed promising. Skilled enough to survive, still naive enough to be fun. Perfect.

Alechior’s attention snagged on a strange little scene near the treeline. One of the more primitive ur humans, a fellow with the vacant stare of someone still figuring out which end of a stick to hold, was holding a bronze tongue. A literal metal tongue, crudely shaped yet clearly divine in origin.

Before Alechior could decide whether to laugh or sigh, the primitive one smacked another ur-human across the arm with it. The struck mortal flinched, blinked twice, then suddenly blurted out a perfectly structured sentence. Not a guess, not a mimicry, full language, as if someone installed grammar in his skull. Alechior pinched the bridge of their nose. “Sarhush, what in the golden odds are you feeding these people?”

The choice was simple. Alechior stepped forward, lifted a hand, and the primitive ur-humans slumped gently into sleep. The bronze tongue slid from his fingers, caught mid fall by Alechior’s own. Then, with a flick of their wrist, they touched each mortal on the forehead. A golden spot bloomed under their fingertip, warm and faintly shimmering.

Actions

Blessed two ur-humans of Sarhush with happiness. These two will always be happy and try to make others happy as well, either via jokes or simple actions they do. In Domain - Lucid Action - 0 Conviction

These two blessed ur-humans have also been taught the meaning of gambling. In Domain - Lucid Action - 0 Conviction

Also they've both been changed with Alechior's Random Genetics!

Alechior drifted through the settlement with a sharper eye now, scanning the clusters of ur-humans until a handful stood out. These ones moved differently, with purpose. One knapped flint with clumsy but clear strikes, another tended a fire without panicking, and a third scraped bark into strands that vaguely resembled clothing.

They weren’t geniuses, but they got it, the way a gambler spots someone who understands the rules well enough not to fold immediately. Perfect candidates for relocation.

A chuckle escaped them as they raised a hand. One by one, the chosen ur-humans slumped gently into sleep, caught mid movement as though paused by a benevolent puppeteer. Alechior gathered them up with grace, mortals drifting weightless in the air around them like oddly shaped balloons.

“My peps are going to need a few who at least know which end of progress to hold,” they mused. With that, Alechior rose into the sky and crossed the sea, descending upon Tribxor’s island before setting the sleepers down in the grass. A neat little starter kit for civilization.

Alechior arrived carrying the sleeping ur-humans like a pile of luggage, lowering each one gently onto the grass at the edge of Tribxor’s "camp" which seemed to be a Singing Grove, a unintended but definitely good side-effect of the Happy Plants. Tribxor’s tribe gathered in a cautious semicircle, poking and sniffing at the newcomers as if expecting them to sprout horns. Alechior simply dusted off their hands, satisfied.

“Fresh imports,” they said, “slightly smarter than the local stock. Try not to eat them.” Then, with the new arrivals settled, they turned to find Tribxor.

The difference, upon spotting Tribxor and the main part of his group was immediate. When Alechior had left, they were little more than wandering stomachs with limbs, but now they moved in loose formation, reacting to Tribxor’s gestures and vocalizations with something close to coherence.

No fire, no tools, no tricks, but they at least weren’t walking in circles or trying to eat rocks anymore. Tribxor stood at the center, arms raised, issuing something that resembled commands. It was crude leadership, but leadership nonetheless.

Alechior watched for a moment with a proud smirk. Tribxor spotted them and let out a booming greeting, the whole group turning to follow his focus. They were still primitive as sin, sure, but they moved with direction now. The structure was there, in spirit if not in skill, and that was enough to make Alechior’s fingers itch for the next nudge.

They stepped forward, pulling the bronze tongue from their belt. “I name thee, Tribxor,” they announced with amused gravity, “you have done well. Time to level up.” Before the giant could ask or grunt or flex, Alechior tapped him lightly with the bronze tongue. Something snapped in Tribxor as he blinked and froze for a heartbeat.

He inhaled sharply as meaning flooded in, words forming where there had only been instincts. The mortals stared in confusion, waiting to see whether their leader would explode or ascend. Alechior just grinned. “Welcome to language, big guy.”

To be continued

Summary

Alechior relocates some of Sarhush's people to their island and teaches, using the Bronze Tongue of Words which they also relocated from Sarhush's people, Tribxor how to talk. To be continued in a different post.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

🎲 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 🎺

Alechior took one confident step forward and the ground simply decided it had better things to do. Their foot landed on empty air and for three long seconds they stood there, suspended, as if the valley was trying to figure out whether gravity still applied to gods. Then the place remembered itself and yanked downwards all at once. Alechior dropped like a stone, only for the air beneath them to harden into marble mid-fall, turning the plummet into a far too dignified landing.

“Cute,” they muttered, brushing imaginary dust from their shoulder while a river to their left flowed sideways into the sky. Every part of this place was gambling with the laws of existence and losing with style. A bird rewound past their ear in reverse chirps. A patch of grass combusted into ice. A mountain peak vanished and reappeared behind them. The valley wasn’t broken, it was improvising, which Alechior could absolutely respect.

The flickering pillar at the center pulsed again, harder this time, like a heartbeat belonging to a creature that did not care for consistency. It flipped between stone, ice, shining metal and something that might not even exist yet. Alechior felt the pull of it, not a beckoning but a dare, a challenge, an open seat at a table no one sane would sit at.

They grinned. “Now this… this is a proper game.”

They strode forward as the valley reshuffled beneath their feet, every step a new spin of a cosmic wheel. The air crackled with instability but, for once, Alechior didn’t bother to nudge the odds. They wanted to see what the valley would try next.

Alechior paused where the ground had dissolved beneath them, hovering midair with a twirl of their fingers. The valley around them flinched, sand turning to water then to glass, rain flicking upward in spouts, boulders floating in spirals before crashing down. With a grin, Alechior decided it was time to see what they could coax from the chaos. They reached toward the central pillar, fingertips touching the flickering surface and let their influence spread. The valley hiccuped at first, reality shivering like a cat but gradually the chaos bent to a pattern. Not complete control, just nudges and boundaries. The rain still ascended, but in predictable arcs. Floating stones followed loops that could be anticipated, time hiccuped in short skips rather than endless randomness.

As they flew through the valley, eyes shinning as they tested the limits of their touch. They lifted a shard of ice-turned-metal from the ground, watching it spin, then let it go, noting how it followed a looping curve instead of plummeting at a hundred different angles. Sparks of lightning fizzled into flower petals before vanishing, yet the pattern repeated with every sweep of the hand. Alechior's laughter echoed faintly through the valley. Nothing here would ever behave normally, but the valley could be played with, like a board set with rules invented by Alechior.

Alechior laughed and laughed for what felt like hours, the sound rolling across the unstable valley. Every time the ground shifted beneath them, every flicker of rain or twist of time, it felt like a dice roll, unpredictable yet thrilling. “Ah,” they murmured to themselves, “this is a gambler’s paradise. Every step is a wager. Every breath a chance. Every blink, a roll of the dice.” Fingers traced arcs through the air as they floated, watching a boulder twist into a spiral and descend exactly where it shouldn’t, the patterns teasing the edges of sense.

The deity’s thoughts spiraled along with the valley, excitement clear on their form. “Almost no rules, except those I allow. Nothing guaranteed…yet everything possible. Here, even the air itself cheats, bends, tests, taunts. Fortune favors no one…except maybe me, if I roll right.” Alechior’s grin widened, eyes scanning the chaotic horizon. Every step, every gust of wind, every errant spark of lightning promised a gamble, and that promise was intoxicating.

With a very, loud shout, Alechior said "I just LOVE THIS PLACE!"

Actions / Summary

Alechior wove a faint stabilizing influence over the valley. Gravity, time, and matter still fluctuate wildly, but now each change follows a rhythm, letting those who are observant learn the patterns and while sometimes not everything acts exactly as the pattern demands, it mostly does. A good player will know what to expect and when to expect it, to a degree.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

@Rekkuza Aww, named gold after Alechior's color! Thank you :D

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

❚█══Tribxor══█❚

Tribxor watched the deity vanish into the sky, the last traces of Alechior’s presence fading fog. The group of mortals around him blinked up at the empty air, already forgetting the shape they had just witnessed but not the strange feeling it left behind. Tribxor felt it more sharply than the rest, a pressure in his chest that wasn’t fear or hunger, something like knowing he had been given a task.

He looked at the others as they poked at the grass and wandered aimlessly and something inside him got triggered, an understanding that their safety was his burden now.

Tribxor glanced at the ooga-booga mortals who now stared at him with half-curious, half-confused eyes, and began to move among them. He guided them with simple gestures, gentle nudges, a presence that kept the wandering ones from straying too far. The Happy Flowers hummed around them, keeping every spark of anger harmless.

Tribxor didn’t know what leading meant, not yet, but he knew he was supposed to keep them together. And as he watched them shuffle and grunt and follow his path, a thought began forming in his mind, small but persistent. There had to be a way to do this better.

Tribxor stood still for a long moment. Thinking and thinking. There had to be a way to do this better.

Keeping everyone bunched up was good, sure, but it wasn’t enough. They wandered, they drifted, they forgot where the others were unless he physically herded them back. He didn’t know the word for pattern, not yet, but the concept started clicking into place. The others needed something to follow, something to copy, something they could understand without him pushing them every five seconds. He scanned the grass around them, then the scattered stones, then the trees. Shapes. Things that stayed put, that didn't move too far.

He moved to a clearing and began arranging stones in a circle, obvious enough for barely thinking minds to notice. A place to gather. When a couple of the mortals wandered too far, he guided them back to the circle, tapped the stones, repeated the motion until they blinked and understood just enough to linger. Then he took the fallen branches nearby and broke them, setting them in lines pointing toward the nearest green patch of edible plants. He didn’t have words for “road” or “direction,” but he had hands and enough intelligence.

The others imitated him clumsily, dragging sticks and piling rocks in ways that were wrong but close enough. Tribxor felt something loosen in his chest. They could copy. They could learn. They just needed shapes to follow.

But then something happened. Something that'd prove quite problematic. The sky darkened.

Tribxor didn’t know what the sky was doing, only that something was wrong. The air changed, it got cold, and the ooga-boogas began to whine and fidget. A drop hit his cheek and he flinched, swiping at it like it was an insect. More drops followed, then more, until the whole sky felt like it was spitting on them. The others panicked immediately. Half of them tried to swat at the falling water. One fell over while looking straight up. Another started trying to fight the sky with his fists. Tribxor had no idea what this strange falling stuff meant, but every instinct screamed that being out in the open was a bad idea.

So he looked to the ones who did understand. A bird darted into a bush, vanishing into the leaves. A fat creature waddled under a bent tree root and huddled. Tribxor didn’t know why they hid, but hiding felt smart. He imitated them.

He guided the mortals toward the thickest tree trunks, nudging them beneath the roots where the ground formed natural hollows. He pointed to a creature sheltering under a rock, then pushed a confused mortal beneath a similar one. He grabbed broad leaves and placed them gently over their heads, showing them to crouch low so the strange falling water hit the leaf instead of their faces.

And slowly, the frightened group followed his lead, tucking themselves into the natural shelter the land offered, trembling but safe from the sky’s sudden temper.

It looked like being a tribe leader, even if he didn't know that he was one yet, wouldn't be easy for Tribxor.