Fé: Crônicas da Tribo

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About this game

The river took Thomas today. You are their god, and the tribe calls you Lord.

Years pass in your village, and the chronicle grows. A goat giving birth to two kids under the same moon. A stranger who drank from the spring and left without saying his name. The cedar tree beside the well, cracked by lightning. The first rain on the summer dust. Years pass—and you read what the tribe writes.

In Faith: Chronicles of the Tribe, you don't see a map or a menu of units. You see your village on a parchment sheet, and a chronicle growing beneath it. Each touch on +Year makes a year pass: sometimes the harvest filled the barn to the brim, sometimes fever took three beds, sometimes a child from the House of Ur-Adar takes their first step in summer. Most years pass in silence. In some, the tribe asks for your ear.

Everything begins before the first year. In one of your tribes, Thomas returns from the river, kneels before you, wet and filled with gratitude, and asks you for a name. In another, it is Esther who rises before the hearth, removes the veil he forced her to wear, and calls you Lord for the first time. Two priests. Two voices. Two tribes that will never know the same faith.

You gave the name to the god. Now choose what he loves most, and what he detests most. Abundance, vengeance, compassion, honor, hospitality, courage. The threshold is marked, and none of your people should cross it without heaven covering them. The faith is founded. Rise—the tribe awaits you.

And so it was, in the first year.

Years later, when your Glory grows enough, you may raise your hand. An omen to make speak the signs that the elders have not yet learned to read. A sign in the sky for the tribe to kneel before that which no one doubts. A plague, when some threshold must be remembered with weight. Your hand is costly. Each decree is paid for in glory—and glory is earned by what you have done before, not by what you will do.

The tribe lives without you too. Families are born, grow, fight for the land beside the new water. Children learn to open a fish for the first time and return with bleeding hands, and laughing. Old men stop crossing the square and leave their staffs leaning against the wall. A sanctioned priest may take a husband among the houses—and not every word spoken at the table is a blessing. The river recedes from its bed; the cedar cracks; a fox dies at the foot of the altar and no one could explain how it got there. The chronicle remembers everything. The chronicle is the game.

And sometimes the threshold of the altar weighs too heavily—and the priest seeks you out. Thomas returns from the cold stone where he aged in his office, or Esther, with her daughters now grown women. They sit before you, bringing what has accumulated: a strange harvest, a death that weighed more than others, a complaint that echoes through the altar courtyard every dawn. You speak. He listens. And the doctrine changes in what he keeps—because the priest does not repeat you; he transfigures. This is the only room where your mouth and his meet. In everything else, you are the god, and he is the office; here, you are two.

When an era is complete, you can seal it—Glory is paid, and the end of that tribe is written in the book. The page unfurls like papyrus, and you give it to whomever you wish to witness. A pantheon silently awaits the gods who slumber with their tribes—yours, one day, too.

Some decisions you will not choose. When the patriarch's house falls, the staff rolls from his hand to the clay floor, and the heir enters silently and raises it without a word. When the voice of the altar falls silent at dawn, the tribe kneels before the temple door, and you look. In Faith, mercy can be complicity. The game does not turn its face away—and neither do you.

Faith: Chronicles of the Tribe is a single-player, offline game in Brazilian Portuguese. It doesn't require registration, displays no ads, and demands no rush. When you return tomorrow, open it—the years continue where you left them.

The tribe lives. You read.