Azarus approached Moka’s burning statue. As he drew close, a flashing button, hovering over her head, gained clarity.

[Start Run]

Azarus reached out and pressed the button with a paint stained hand. Noticing the paint, he whirled toward the mirror, intent on fixing his appearance. In his reflection, a rainbow of haphazard color marred his long, faded coat. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Some of the paint had dried in streaks and splatters, some had run down in meandering lines. There was even a bright yellow handprint. And that was just the coat.

He looked like a painted fool, with smudged green and white paint across his lower face where he had massaged his scruffy beard. Azarus stared at the slack jawed, wide-eyed man in the mirror. He watched his own hand tighten into a fist.

Azarus closed his eyes and quickly crystalized his self-image in his mind. This appearance did not represent him! He refused to let Moka’s first impression of him in this run be defined by this. He opened his eyes, facing the Mirror of Eons and ready to see his restored appearance. What greeted him was a screen. He tried to wave it away, but it was uncompliant.

Welcome to run number: [2]!

A god’s role is to guide their believers from beyond the veil.

[Upgrade Token] detected! You may use this to evolve any selection, or save it for a future run.

To begin, please select your Champion’s [Archetype]

Azarus selected [Peasant] without further ado. It was still the only option, and he planned on saving his Upgrade Tokens until he knew their value. With his selection, the screen flashed away. Another followed quick on the first’s heels. Between screens, Azarus tried to glimpse himself in the Mirror of Eons. The screens blocked his vision with seamless precision.

Generating Potential Classes from Archetype…

Please choose a Class for this run.

[Handyman]: In the harsh living environments of a [Peasant], things break and cannot be replaced. These folks make things functional, the best they can with what they can.

Minor gifts in Knack, Vigor, and Savvy.

-

[Weaver]: A thin layer of clothing is often the difference between life and death to the lowest of society. These folks create that barrier with whatever they have on hand.

Minor gifts in Savvy, Knack, and Spirit.

-

[Fisherman]: These folks brave the insidious and overwhelming might of the ocean to gamble their lives on feeding themselves and those around them.

Minor gifts in Luck, Resilience, and Perseverance.

Azarus blinked at the new screen, his appearance momentarily forgotten. Up till this point, he had thought [Peasant] only offered the three original classes. In fact, he had already decided he wanted to see how well Moka would do as a [Farmer] as opposed to a [Tribesman]. He felt a smile grow as he studied the new options, his hand unconsciously drifting up to stroke at his paint-caked stubble.

Azarus’s skin tingled, like a thousand lightning-mites danced beneath his travel worn clothes. Boredom was suddenly less of a concern than it had been moments ago. Trapped as he was, Azarus craved the new and unfamiliar. Here it was, presented to him on a screen in small doses at regular intervals.

Azarus noted two new gifts. Savvy and Resilience. He doubted Moka needed much resilience, considering her last showing. However, that made him wonder how well a gift of Resilience and Perseverance would build on her natural talents in that direction. Would it be equivalent to a moderate gift of Luck? He was pleased by how the world seemed to bend around Moka’s Luck in the last run. [Fisherman] was definitely an option.

Azarus’s thoughts turned to the last run and how it went. After some careful deliberation, he dismissed [Fisherman] as a choice. The last thing he needed at the moment was Moka being more successful in her murderous endeavors. He had vowed to the woodcutter boy, Silas, that the next time would be different. It was not a promise he made lightly. A god’s promise never was.

With that in mind, Azarus weighed the two remaining options. The descriptions, as flavorful as they were, made [Handyman] and [Weaver] seem similar. Almost identical gifts made them more so. To Azarus, the decision hinged on whether he preferred his Champion to have Vigor or Spirit.

In the end, the road untravelled called to him more.

Generating starting Skill from [Handyman]…

Please choose your Champion’s first Skill.

[Clever-fingers]: Your Champion’s fingers are more nimble when they work with their hands; based on their gift of Knack.

[Dawn-to-Dusk]: Your Champion has a deep store of energy, allowing them to continue to work past their limits; based on their gift of Vigor.

[Good Enough]: Materials your Champion uses to build or repair work better than they should; based on their gift of Savvy.

Azarus regarded the skill list with a certain fondness. Each Skill was new, and as good as the last. He was still unsure exactly how Moka used the abilities, but he was confident she could adapt. The screens’ continued untrustworthiness aside, having three equal options made it more difficult to pick. He was unsure how he felt about it. Difficult dilemmas were for mortals, not for him.

Azarus shifted his perspective. Instead of viewing the skills through the lens of what was best for Moka, he thought of what was best for his vow. He had a nasty feeling that both [Clever-fingers] and [Dawn-to-Dusk] would make Moka a more efficient killing machine. That seemed counter-productive. Although, if she managed to not kill the villagers this time, she would presumably still have to face the fire-wielding bandit terrorizing them. Those skills would surely aid her with that task.

Azarus chose [Good Enough]. Moka might use the skill to create herself an arsenal of weaponry, but that was a risk he would take.

As soon as he made his selection, a new screen crowded into his vision, robbing him of the opportunity to see his reflection.

Searching for [Domain]…

[Domain] unrealized.

Generating Boons…

Please choose a Boon for this run!

[Boon of the Unbroken]: Your Champion gains +1 to gifts of Will, Resilience, and Perseverance.

[Boon of the Prodigy]: Your Champion’s Class upgrades.

[Boon of the Archmage]: Magic runs through your Champion’s veins.

Azarus immediately dismissed [Boon of the Unbroken]. It was a great Boon, but it did not excite him. The other two were both fascinating. So fascinating that he was stuck. No matter how hard he thought, he could not decide which one was more interesting. He wanted both. Magic for magic’s sake, and an upgrade to see the potential effect of his token.

Azarus gave the screen a withering glare. It was blocking his view of the Mirror, making it impossible to change his form. Other than forcing him to maintain his current dishevelment, it was also keeping him from creating a coin to flip. This was the perfect opportunity to test his affinity with luck. He checked the dice on his pommel. They continued to spin, with no sign of slowing. A pity. Even or odd was as useful as heads or tails.

The newborn god closed his eyes, sinking into his domain as much as he could. It felt like trying to carve runes with numb hands. He reached out and made a selection, trusting his domain to guide him.

Upgrading [Handyman]!

Please select the evolution.

[Tinkerer]: Inspired by the divine ability of creation, these folks build machines with whatever scrap they can find.

Moderate gifts in Savvy, Luck, and Knack.

-

[Architect]: Each grand design begins with a single step: conception. These folk are dreamers who plan to change the world.

Moderate gifts in Reason, Foresight, and Savvy.

-

[Jack of All]: Either through experience, greed, or fear, these folks have decided they want it all. They do not excel, but they have no weaknesses.

Minor gifts in Perseverance, Knack, Will, Reason, Vigor, and Luck.

Staring at the outcome of his decisiveness, Azarus let out a long, inaudible sigh. The [Boon of the Prodigy] was fantastic. Moderate gifts for two of the selections, and six minor gifts for the other. However, he had a hunch that whatever Class he chose, there would be an additional Skill selection afterwards.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

With that in mind, he discarded [Jack of All] as an option. So far, there had been one Skill option per gift. He was not going through six more options.

That left [Tinkerer] and [Architect] as considerations. Azarus took a moment to imagine Moka with the power and knowledge to build machines out of whatever she could find. Less than a second later, he selected [Architect].

Generating additional Skill from [Architect]...

Please select your Champion’s additional Skill.

[Hidden Flaws]: Your Champion’s has a heightened ability to detect flaws; based on their gift of Reason.

[Hypothesis]: Your Champion can view how their decision might alter the immediate flow of fate; based on their gift of Foresight.

[Course-correct]: Your Champion’s ability to find a solution to sudden complications is heightened; based on their gift of Savvy.

Azarus’s finger hovered over [Hidden Flaws], a hair’s breadth away from selecting it. He looked at his hand, still covered in haphazard streaks of paint, and decided that the Skill was a two-edged sword. Giving his champion the ability to see his flaws did not seem like the best course of action. That acknowledged, he saw no reason it would increase the likelihood of Moka going on a murder spree.

With little to go on, Azarus closed his eyes and let chance settle the debate again. If pressed, he would be the first to admit it gave him a thrill. Entertainment was a poor resource in the near-empty hall. He selected a Skill with blind confidence.

Generating available Achievements…

[Divine Bloodsport] applied.

Beginning Attempt Number: [2]

[Speak to your Champion]

The screens dispersed. A fraction of a second later, Moka’s ruby eyes came to life. They alighted on Azarus’s painted figure, widening to show the whites. She reached up to touch her throat. Azarus, prepared for the brief window of time they had to speak, began talking before she could process what was happening.

From his vantage point, Azarus could see his painting out of the corner of his eye. His attention lingered on the lanterns containing emerald fire, lighting the path and protecting travelers from tragedy where they could. Beyond the reach of their light, the alchemist now held the silver dagger in hand, her hair drifting through the air like gossamer strands as she turned to look behind her. The broken hero was straining against the boy, who now held him in a vice-like grip, trying to drag him down.

Azarus’s domain hummed with unprecedented vigor at the sight, affirming his decision. He gazed upon his Champion, who had been burning with an emerald flame of her own a split-second before.

“I, your god Azarus, have a task for you, my Champion,” he said, doing his best not to rush through his prepared speech. His time with her was short, but a god must be commanding. “Find the hopeless and change their fate.”

The words had barely escaped his lips when Moka shattered into a torrent of viridescent fire. The fire consumed the surface of the mirror, changing it once again.

Azarus looked down at his stained clothing, then back to the mirror. He once again attempted to change his appearance, but his reflection was nowhere to be found. Resigning himself to being a mess until the end of this run, Azarus checked the mirror to see if the forest outside of the village held any changes. To his surprise, it was more difficult to find similarities than differences.

Moka stood in a forest with sky-scraping trees. The clouds hung so close to the canopy, they looked like rivers of mist exploring the treetops. Vines as thick as Moka’s waist wrapped the trees in their embrace, decorating the trunks with white flowers big enough for her to sleep in.

This time, Moka appeared wearing a fine, tailored black and brown tweed suit, woven from sturdy materials with pads on the elbows and knees. Over the suit, she had a thick, woolen navy-blue overcoat with polished horn buttons. The coat hung down to her mid-thigh. Her hair was up in a loose bun, held together by what Azarus recognized as a pencil. It was quite an interesting look when paired with her green skin and glowing red eyes.

Over one shoulder, a leather duffel bag hung from a sturdy strap. As she shifted, the bag let out the muffled clinks of well-packaged tools.

The same as last run, a series of screens scrolled up the side of the Mirror of Eons, showing Azarus the notifications Moka was receiving.

Welcome, Champion of the god Azarus. Your task is to explore the [Village] and change its fate according to the nature of your god. To aide your quest, your god has granted you:

Class:

[Architect]: Your god recognizes that everything you once loved has been stolen, the rest burned to ash. Now, you have the potential to build something that will last.

+Minor gift of Vigor

+Minor gift of Knack

+Moderate gift of Reason

+Moderate gift of Foresight

+Major gift of Savvy

Starting Skill [Good Enough]: Use what you must to make what you need.

Additional Skill [Course-correct]: If your path isn’t good enough, step off the trail.

[Boon of the Prodigy]: The sky was once the limit. With this Boon, the sky will be just the beginning. Weather the storms and rise above.

As a mark of favor, your god has also granted you:

+Minor gift of Violence

Moka stood there in stunned silence. Azarus did not mind. It was much better than her running off to kill the nearest human. As she processed her new information, Azarus examined the gigantic forest. Gigantic compared to Moka, that is. It would take her a quarter hour to climb up to the lowest branch of the smallest tree, even if the thick, craggy bark and bulging vines would make it rather simple.

This was not the same forest as the last run. It was lush and thriving, not some desiccated winter woodland. The forest floor displayed a dense network of massive, winding roots with patches of untouched soil in between. Azarus thought the roots resembled a naturally occurring labyrinth. Glimpses of a mountain peak shining through the slender openings between the immense tree trunks showed the only landmark in the area. The canopy boasted odd, irregular leaves reminiscent of umbrellas.

Different Class, Skill, and Boon choices. A whole new forest. Azarus found the implications exciting and unpleasant in equal measures.

Until now, he had assumed that there was rhyme or reason to the Classes, Skills, and Boons the screens offered. He even hoped that when he unlocked a new champion, he could save the ones he had passed by before. The human and the elf were likely candidates as a second Champion, to help Moka even out her darker urges. Unfortunately, the change in scenery for his second run, and the large variety of new options, suggested a random element. His promise to the dead boy weighed on his mind.

Moka pulled Azarus from his brooding. She had scattered her tools across the ground and was taking inventory. With careful consideration, she claimed a chisel with a long straight blade roughly the length of her forearm and as wide as two fingers. Next, she selected a sharp-toothed saw and a heavy mallet. The rest she re-wrapped and tossed back into the bag.

Looking like a more traditional goblin, she scurried above and below the twisting roots as thick as she was tall, stopping to check various plants and fallen branches as she did so. Stopping next to a knotted piece of dead wood, she measured out two paces near the thicker, broken end. The dead branch was on the comparatively small side, only two feet in diameter. With a quick staccato of mallet blows, she drove the upper third of her chisel into the wood to mark her measurement. Then she pulled out the saw and cut the shattered end of the branch away. Looking like an experienced woodworker, she cut herself a three-foot length of the knotted wood, trimming off the bark as she went. Without pause, she left her prize and combed the area, collecting materials as she went.

The light seeping through the cloud cover grew lighter, then dimmed as Azarus watched Moka work. She gathered various chunks of wood, stripped and sorted with increasing confidence. The wood went into a pile next to lengths of rope-like vine and a petal from one of the large, white flowers. For the life of him, Azarus could not figure out what she was doing.

Moka processed the bits of wood she collected, splitting the log-like branches lengthways into the rough form of boards. She planed, sanded, and cut, until she had a pile of uniform planks. Her work becoming quicker and more streamlined as she progressed. The sky above grew darker, the calls of birds and the roars of beasts echoing through the great forest as it seemed to come to life. Moka’s eyes were like pinpricks of red in the dim light as evening fell. She did not stop working.

Using her mallet, she drove four hand-carved posts into the ground, forming a rough square nestled in the roots of the tree she had appeared next to. Her overcoat was filthy, covered in dried sap and sawdust. Sweat stained the collar of her once white, buttoned shirt, turning it a pale yellow. Heedless, she lashed several planks to two of the posts, creating the skeleton of a wall. A dark frown lighting her face as she stepped back to examine her work. Loud, wet sniffling could be heard from somewhere nearby, but other than readying her long chisel and taking occasional glances in that direction, she ignored it.

After a long moment of thought, she disassembled the wall. Returning the vines to the pile, she approached the trunk of the tree with her chisel and a chunk of scrap bark. She poked around the tree until she found a deep crag where the bark’s protection wore thin. Hefting the chisel in an underhand grip, she raised it overhead. Azarus recognized the stance, but was curious about what Moka was hoping to achieve by stabbing a tree.

A minute of vicious hacking later, he found his answer. Sap. She scooped it out from the oozing wound in the trunk, scraping as much as she could on to the dried bark she had brought with her. Walking fast and wasting no time, she brought it back down to the posts, where she lathered the sap onto the ends of the planks and stuck them in place. Several sap-gathering trips later, she had three walls she appeared satisfied with.

Azarus suspected that [Good Enough] and [Course-correct] were at play, feeding off of Moka’s major gift of Savvy. The walls seemed professionally built, not the work of a lone goblin.

With the remaining planks, Moka created the frame of a roof over the three walls. She draped four enormous umbrella-shaped leaves over the frame, lashing them into place with the vines. With a few innovative cuts and deliberate layering, she created a water-proof roof that acted as rough camouflage.

Wrestling the sizeable chunk of knotted wood she had prepared first into the shelter and placing it in the center, Moka set her chisel to wood and hefted her mallet. The snuffling had long since faded. A warm wind whispered through the roots, coming and going like the breath of a great beast. Even with her gift of Knack, Moka nicked her hands countless times as she wrestled the difficult wood into submission. Her blood soaked into the wood, leaving dark stains that seeped deeper than they should have.

Bit by bit, the wood took shape. At first, it formed the crude image of a person in a dress. Then, Moka split the dress open, and it became a coat. With careful precision, she shaved off a paper-thin slice of wood at a time, bringing her concept to life. For the first time since beginning this run, Azarus saw his reflection. To his dismay, the whorls in the wood, carved in his likeness, looked much like irregular splotches of paint; an irritating flaw in an otherwise admirable representation.

Azarus swallowed his irritation, refusing to let his thorny pride ruin the moment. This was the first idol a mortal had created in his image. He felt his shoulders fall back and a smile tug at the corner of his lips.

Lost in indulging his feeling of validation, Azarus did not notice Moka pulp and grind a vine and the flower petal. If he had, he would have seen that she was very careful to keep the two in separate, hastily carved wooden bowls. She dipped one finger at a time into the pastes she had created, alternating between white and green.

Azarus bit back a shout when he finally realized what was happening. Before he could consider using the [Divine Store] to stop her, Moka smeared the goop across the statue’s face. Using a claw, she drew a line across her forearm. Blood ran down her forearm, pooling into her plant-stained palm. She whispered a prayer that tolled like the bells through Azarus’s mind.

“Great god of Chaos, father of goblins, please accept this offering,” she said, pressing her bloody hand on the statue’s stiff wooden coat.

Without looking, Azarus knew that her hand placement was almost identical to the bright yellow handprint on his chest. That thought was a distant one. His attention was focused on the painful lurch he felt in his domain, at the very core of his being. He was not the god of chaos, nor was he the father of goblins. This did not represent him.

Heedless of his inner turmoil, a screen appeared in front of Azarus, blocking his vision.

Achievement Unlocked!

[House of Worship]

Your Champion has enshrined an image of you, cementing your position as their god.

Even though your Champion’s hands crave bloodshed, she built a monument in your honor. May you be half the god she thinks you are.

+Moderate gift of Faith when equipped

Reward: Achievement Points, Divinity Points, [Through Mortal Eyes]

Unable to stem his burning curiosity, despite his wariness, Azarus reached out and pressed [Through Mortal Eyes].