@Alex Marquardt​

You stay. Where others have come and have gone, you have stayed. The light of their smile grows and they lean across the table, chin in both their hands, to listen as you offer more. Ask more. The more distress they see in the set of the armor and hear in your voice, the happier they seem to be. Rook's hands practically tremble as they land on the back of the cards and draw the first without pause. A woman sits on a granite throne, peering endlessly with a quiet sorrow into the overflowing chalice she holds, though her reflection is peaceful. The water turns into her gown and in turn into the sea. Her hair is a hantle of clouds that wisp away into the sky.

Queen of Cups, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

Snakes in shadow and in light. Their dens beneath boots or across tables. How to outplay masters of cheat and of chess? You can't. Some can. You can't. You can shed their skin and see them though, crack the masks. Reliance on others breeds an imbalance of power. They will use you and so you must take the fiery emotion from it. Muzzle it, let it live and breathe within you but sense must rule the day. Illusions of grandeur are damnation. Look your belief in the eye. Do not doubt your gut. Heros are stories. Your legend must be living, honed to be forged.

They shuffle once more, so excited they stick to their hands rather than magic. Rook grins down at a card that comes quickly to hand before placing the magnificent sight, upside-down, before you. A powerful woman draped in robes with gleaming pauldrons on either shoulder clasped by a great cloak stands in the middle of the tarot card. Her eyes are sightless, but their gaze unnerves you. You can almost see the scales in her left hand shift. The sword in her right hand gleams.

Justice, Reversed
Nearby, one of the odd trinkets lifts gently and floats to circle you as the caster speaks. They don't seem concerned about the development and let it stay with you when go.
​

The Scales (Very Rare - Pet) This pet is a beautiful, golden set of scales that float gently around those they judge. The two sides vie for balance, but rarely find it around the wicked and fickle hearts of men. On one side rests a white feather. The other is empty. It's impossible to know what they see as worthy, whether it is their opinion or that of their owner that decides.

Rook

And who deserves the clasp of cuirass? Who the guard of gauntlet? The plackart, the greave, the bevor? This place, game it may be in short of sight, demands more. There is consequence and danger and they cannot- will not be avoided. Though difficult, if The Suit of Steel can look in the mirror and see themselves without shame then surely the path will lead right. The decisions will be right. Difficult. That is how We know they're right. If ever there is doubt in those who protect. Judge them. Worlds are not black, are not white, but there is no room for doubt. Those you meet eye-to-eye and know no doubt? Can look at yourself in pride when serving them? Guard those few.

The golden light that pierces into your soul and weighs it without mercy is made warmer by the next card they draw from a simple shuffle. Rook sighs, an expression like the nostalgia of seeing an old friend clear on their face. Judgement rests beside her reversed counterpart with a welcoming gaze. The figure is indistinct and some animal part of you fears her, for she is death come calling into the unknown, but the graveyard of gleeful hands reaching for her make you jealous. Regardless of being judged worthy, to bask in the light must be peace made true.

Judgement
In the light of the card, you receive understanding.
Coupon: 25% Off Death Affliction Healing​

Rook

Where steps the sabaton that is in righteousness? Where to that it shall not stray? She is Absolution. She is sister to Justice, ruling in heart and head where her sister demands logic alone. She is your only option. To reflect upon your own measure. To find balance in you that you might see it in the world. You are so close. They nearly hiss the words, quiet like a secret, but exhausted like the wait has been agony. But there is still so far to go. The depths of a soul are deep. Tread careful in your own.

 

As Sean revisited the Fortune Teller, he put 50g down with a sigh. "So I didn't survive the battle. So I've come to ask, how much will my future be changed by it? I already deducted what it is, I just want to know how much it matters."

 

This... wasn't usually Seigi's thing. No, not at all. While the hero-girl wanted to believe in the unseen truth and believed everybody through the benefit of doubt she was, in the end, also convinced that one had to be a witness rather than blindly believe the words of others, much less some power called 'Fate'. It was a weird case of hypocrisy. Or maybe it was because Seigi was simply drunk.

Nonetheless, she liked to forge her own Fate. And maybe it was because of this that the small girl decided to do this. Simply... just for fun? Or was the girl actually desperate? Did it even matter?

"Y-Yooo... YOOO! I'm Seigi... Ling! THE Hero." Surely everybody must have already heard of her. The underaged drunken Fool that wasn't yet aware of her timely demise through the Ale.

"Alright. So... it's really simple, you know! In theory, at least. Put in lots of GUTS and... and... what was it again?" Urgh. If this continued on who would even take her serious? Fuck. The. Alcohol. Seigi, literally, punched herself. Right, she also had to pay him 50g!

Maybe it was a Miracle that had helped to have a clear enough head for just a few seconds. Well, except for the fact that she now talked so fast that one had to wonder if Seigi was even breathing?

"I believe one can attain anything if they dedicate their everything to it. Guts, and Effort. Simple as that. I want to be - I am - a Hero! Unwavering Conviction. To always stand up no matter how often, or hard, you fall. To always seek the truth no matter how painful. To live without regrets no matter the consequences." The girl had actually gotten quite worked up.

Was this a question more of... general life advice? Nonetheless, having calmed down a bit, Seigi looked down for a second before also adding. "To not kill with those, but rather Love and Embrace All." Remembering how powerless she had been in the war... . Yeah, the reason Seigi, overall, did not decide to use any weapons aside from fists was so she could hands. "So... tell me!" Tell her what exactly...? But... the girl paid, so?

Nevertheless, with her cards being read to her the girl had to excuse herself a second to let out some more vomit. Ale... was really not great. After this, she'd never do it again. Never again... . Oh, if only Seigi knew.

"A...Another one!" Seigi proclaimed as she hammered down another 50g. Maybe this was just an innocent desire? Similiar to having a girly sleep-over, talk about boys and read horoscope nonsense? ... Was that even a thing?

"It's... about my fiance!" Seigi nodded. Yup, talking about this here, the place she used as an escape. Definitely not in her right mind. "My dad... is very demanding. But also understanding! I... I love him, yeah! TOTALLY. But he wants me to marry this totally disgusting... NOT HERO. Yeah. A not-hero. A villain, one could even say. A Snake! He... HE SPEAKS WITH FOOD IN HIS MOUTH!" And he was supposed to have manners, huh?!

"It's political... or something. In this age and year... but... but... I believe in true love. You... you know? Emotions and stuff!... Urgh my head. So... I feel super conflicted and try not to think about it... him. I definitely don't like him. His face is also pretty punchable... he... hehe... yeah! True Love. THAT'S THE THING." Seigi nodded multiple times as to confirm herself. "And... I know it's SUPER CHEESY to ask for love advice and stuff BUT please please please do not give me something like... like... if I wear Orange I'll meet my special someone! I... I don't even know if I swing that way or the other... yeah... IT'S ALL ABOUT THE EMOTIONS. ... Anyways, I... I sue you, all heroically. If you do that, yeah!" Didn't Seigi kinda answer her own question with how she wants to continue her life anyway? Eh, whatever.

 

Roland sighed as he arrived at the tent. Most of the activities at the festival....agitated him for some reason. His recent pledge to go alcohol-free was being heavily tempted as well, leaving him in a sour mood. In truth, he wasn't sure why he had even bothered if only to cool down from the recent events that he had encountered. In fact, he had gone out of his way to avoid others since the fight to exit the prison and the ensuing raid on Theo, leaving the fallout to the rest. After the events with @Vermillion (XIII), he really didn't feel up for politicking. The thought of the pink haired menace made Roland's hair stand on edge. He had entered with the intent to find more information about her but after some careful consideration, he had decided another route. Slowly he guided himself closer to the odd mystic, hearing but not really understanding the man's words.

Roland sighed heavily, this was probably a waste of time, still, he forked over fifty gold placing it on the table in front of him before cocking his head to the side in an inquisitive manner, "Is it three cards to one question? Or three questions?" Roland shook his head not waiting for a response, "It doesn't matter if it's the later, answer it three times. I'm looking for information on a man named, 'Narth', a good-looking fellow likely posing as a butler somewhere. What can you tell me...?" He asked letting the question hang in the air. If anyone knew how to get back to that awful palace it would be the man who took him there.

 

A drunk Zelrius stumbled around and followed all and everyone to where they were going, as the Event and Festival seemed to wrap up. He couldn't tell or decipher much, other than everyone forcing him into a line of sorts. Eventually he kind of got the system, sitting at the table and throwing fiftyg or so gold down, saying the first three things that came to mind, and then trying his best to add a questioning inflection to it. "Piracy, Falderen, MONEY...?"

He now offered himself up to fate. Sometimes this luck turned out, sometimes it did not.

 

@Cain Darlite​

As you return with an unmasked persona and resolute questions, steel backing the tone and jokes cast aside, Rook goes quiet. Still. They stare with an unreadable expression and refuse to look away as their magic shifts the cards and draws. No fancy twists or light touches. A man hangs by his ankle. Vines and branches that are half-withered but strong as steel cables curl around his heel and down his calf. His other leg is free and his hands are hidden. His face is both immeasurably sorrowful and peaceful in welcome resignation at the same time.

The Hanged Man
Gain a Death Affliction.
​

Second Thoughts (Death Affliction) The world is wide and the paths are many. At each crossroads you come to, be it physical or metaphorical, all possibilities must be considered. You can see every way it can go oh so right and oh so wrong. Should you charge ahead without thought, you feel the burn of rope curling tight around your ankle. The weight on the other end is the weight of the world.

Rook

For the Thorn-set Justicar. Caught up in thorns, tangled in a web, in machinations of other sorts. The light and bite of her god's blade cast aside in service, in sacrifice to another. Armor once ensnared and restricted gave. Buckled under pressure. Under heel. Her own. Collared is a hunting hound where once stood a knight. Martyrdom can go too far.

When the caster goes for the deck once more, you notice the lines of their posture have shifted. The tone of the room, the mystic lights of Arcanamancy dimming. Dangerous, but not from within. Rook, for a second, almost seems worried as they ask of their cards the answers. The reversed card the fortune teller lays before you is stalwart and stern in body and in tone. He sits upon a metal throne that melds seamlessly with the earth. In his right hand stands tall a massive, double-edged sword. The sky is clear, but a shadow rests over him and casts his face in a grim light.

King of Swords, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

For the Purpose Lost To Be Found. Blind in the red haze, lost in the tall maze. Another pawn, but ill-leashed. Control be damned. She carves out through power abused and turned against heart and others. Impulsive. Cruel. Over corpses she'll find the way, the goal lost. She was nudged off it and went willing onto another unable to see she was ever there. They pause, listening to something else and for a moment you swear that you can hear it too. Oh, Ella.

They speak no more on it, their shuffling of the deck near frenzied and they gaze hazy. They're still listening to something. Or someone. No- no, definitely something. The next is drawn and Rook's expression is still a grave sort. The Faerin is distracted by the previous cards or something else when they draw the next, but gather themselves enough to read. The next is reversed. The same double-edged sword the king wields is held in the hand of a charging knight. He is young and excited, wild-eyed. His steed likewise. A dangerous storm looms on the horizon behind him. He is unaware or unconcerned.

Knight of Swords, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

For a girl yet without a title to her name. A hero looking for her tale. Impatience kills the weak, like a trap sprung. Reckless abandon steals away the eyes and blinds them to direction. The energy of a tempest, the whirlwind of brilliant lives turned to scattered storms. A child lashing out in attempt to feel empowered. Maturity is yet beyond her and This One hopes she finds it. Lest she pull down all the pegs as she topples from her Horse On High. Careful not to stray into the gravity of a collapsing star, Bard.

For a moment, they remain. Half curled over the table and peering back at you with an unhealthy interest. With delicate fingers they take each card by the edge and return them to the middle of the deck. Hiding them. Not from you, you feel. "The Voices In Other Planes do not know the limits of The Third Eye. This One hopes she does not know. For you, Ivory-Masked Queen." They tilt their head and Rook's pity is for you this time. "Leave."

 

@Sean Poteitoku​

When you ask, Rook simply lifts a narrow eyebrow as if to ask "if you know, why ask," but they do not deny you your spread. After all, you've paid. They crack their knuckles and snap their fingers to send the cards up into a flurry. One lands apart from the rest. A bountiful forest, heavy with fruit and new growth spreads across the top of the reversed card. A great hand of clouds hangs in the middle of the sky. A single gold coin rests in its palm, the gold leaf of the card catching the light brilliantly.

Ace of Pentacles, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

What manner of change has come on ill tides? Why? Delays and poor plans lead to failure. Exploitation of the weak, a poor grasp of the forest for an obsession with the trees, chop them down and kill the whole of the growth. Rushed into the jaws of defeat. Perhaps look closer into the steps you take next foray into wilder roads?

A glimmer of purple magic draws a few cards from the bottom and places them on the top. The deck cuts in half, switches, and the top card flies free. A young man stands alone in a barren wasteland, but his face is one of joy and curiosity. He holds a single staff and, with effort, perhaps the empty earth around him is to become a canvas for something greater.

Page of Wands
Nothing happens.​

Rook

The weight of your future upon the tides of your fate. Like the anchor? No. It ends not here. You alone would hold back the future, for what? In opposition of unbridled energy and a hunger for the new? It is permissible to be young. To be immature and spontaneous. Take care not to grow impulsive. Reckless. All is fine as is, but take care not to become The Fool.

The final card is drawn directly from the middle with a flash of purple that teleports it from within the deck to without. Rook circles a finger in the air and the card, obliging, flips for them. A wary figure stands cautiously in the corner, peering up at seven splendid chalices. In each are strange items. One pours over with gold, in another rests a deed, a cup to the side burns with incense, on the uppermost rests a crown. A dragon sprawls lazily over one, it's eyes dangerous. In another the swaddled form of a child. In the center is one containing pure light.

Seven of Cups, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

How great the drop of your life in the ocean of it all? It isn't. There is a greater current to sweep up the rest. The world you, you all, craft is illusory and free of consequence. But there is confusion beneath the careless dream. A time of reflection could call away the cloudbank, make clear fog. They shrug idly. But they don't care to. Alas.

 

@Seigi​

Rook watches you warily as you enter and rant, golden eyes narrowed on the green sick sheen of a drunken haze. They are clearly worried for the cleanliness of their tent. And possibly the rate of the intricate rug you both sit on. Nevertheless, they piece together the rant and nod. And draw. A grand figure stands amidst a flourishing garden of books and the card has a feel of magic beyond Rook's Arcanamancy. The staff in his hand radiates power and his eyes are lifted toward something beyond even himself.

The Magician
You catch sight of a gilt of fabric in a chest as you leave later and Rook only smiles passively with a wave to investigate freely. You take it as you go.
​

Loot

Scarletite Mantle - Costume

An outfit worthy of only the greatest of mages. The fine robes are a pure white, the inside of the cloth a glittering gold. A heavy red sash trails from the back of a metal Usekh that blazes in the light like fire. Runes are embroidered into the sash that power an eternal, faint breeze around the wearer that makes for a dramatic entrance. And a dramatic everything else.

Rook

No questions asked, so This One craft queries. Can they? How can one defeat a dragon by will alone, is the core of a lone being enough? A new cycle begins, your dawn come. Wield what you have with confidence and with creativity. Intuition and skill and focus are the gateway and the key and the path to success. However, power without a goal is easily corrupted and turned upon the wielder. Know your heading. Or lose it.

The next is drawn without much fuss, the shuffle quick and orderly. The next card lay upside-down, depicting a woman at a forge. She labors as she crafts perfect golden disks. perhaps shields, perhaps wheels, perhaps something meant to be so unknown. They are, without question, perfect. She ignores the world outside and focuses on her task. The fires grow greater before the bellows.

Eight of Pentacles, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

How to the Chrysalis become more? What an eye to keep upon the future? Your eye is captivated by the goal. By the gleaming mantle of the hero's journey. The world is not so orderly. It is not so contained or perfect in its nature. The world is not black or white and it does not need heroes or villains. It needs only everything in between. Aiming for that which is impossible, or that which is unwanted, ends only in two. Failure. Or shame. Play not the fool. Adapt when the time comes and accept the world as she is.

As they return to the deck to shuffle once more, they pause. Rook's fingers rest on the back of the card and they draw a long and slow breath. They steady themselves, knowing who awaits, and lay it before you with a serious expression. The game fades for a moment and their voice takes a quieter tone, like speaking to a frightened animal. A damned tower stands, the top sundered by the lash of a bolt of lightning. The foundation of it cracks, the stones of its side spilling out into the black sky behind it. It is foreboding to look at and you, for a moment, see the shapes of figures falling in the pitch black of the air around the peak.

The Tower
When you go to leave after the fortunes are done, you look down to realize you're missing an extra 100g. You're not sure when it was lost or who might have taken it, but it's gone now.
Send 100g to @System.​

Rook

Where does it end? With what tone will your story- the story all share- end? Upheaval. Disaster. A reckoning and a realization. It is not your burden alone. It may be for a time for one or another, but all will be called to answer. Your fortune, your fate, your beliefs, your loves ones. All are pitiable sights beneath fate's gaze. But after the fall is an awakening. For better or for worse. It is an honest freedom. One day, perhaps, you and The All will know it like an old friend.

 

@Seigi​

They screw their nose up at the barf break you take, but don't bother mentioning it as you ask for another round of cards. Rook nods and cuts the deck a few times before another hang of fate is dealt. Nine blades hang over a figure curled in a mournful, twisted shape. The slump of their shoulders is one of exhaustion, but no blade bears down and whatever nightmares that plague them are nothing more than fleeting shadows only they see.

Nine of Swords
Nothing happens.​

Rook

A loyalty to a father, a pact of familial right. Is the blood of the covenant or the water of the womb thicker? That no Fate can answer, but the truth of your current depths it can show you clear. Anxiety cannot shadow you, the fear of the future hobbles even the greatest. Others have their rulings, but you are your own master. Should you suffer, it is an unwillingness to move yourself. Cast aside base fears. Ill expectations within become ill realities without.

The fortune teller draws the next card with a pleased smile already on their face, happy to see the art on the other side. A grand woman of some divine nature towers over a graveyard in full bloom. Hands reach up to her, some young, some old, some soft and others scarred. All, be they right or wrong in life, are called by her to be judged. It brings with it a feeling of caution and peaceful resignation. You know instinctively that she would be fair.

Judgement, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

All manners of rats and snakes, devouring each other in turn and all that stand between fang and tail. What of you and the one they would set upon you? For all the control you lack in the world, some always remains in hand. Your destiny belongs solely to you and to whom you share. It weighs heavy, but it must be shoulder to be shirked and left to embrace the next. Change is natural. Do not stand passively when you can pick which way the tree falls.

The final card they lay beside the other two is a kin to the one of the suit of swords. A wall of eight staves stand behind a warrior's back. She is injured and leaning on the ninth staff, hands tight on the grain of it in her weariness, but it is not pain or worry on her features. She has won her fight and stares down the distance in defiance. No matter how many more battles await her, you believe she will triumph.

Nine of Wands
Nothing happens.​

Rook

Advice for forward steps and the coming dawns. The eyes that must open and fate's willing hand lent. What do They see? It is hope. It is a success won that awaits, a victory after a hardship. For you? One within. Days, weeks, months, years, all culminating into the now. The responsibility is a sword. You may wield, sheathe, or walk away. Resilience will win you your happiness. Stand your ground. Meet the eyes, and the horns should need be, of the bull. Wrest from it a new day with a skyline of your choosing.

 

@Zelrius​

Your questions earn nothing but a blank look, the sort of tired resignation seen on any number of retail worker's faces. The Faerin lifts the deck and shuffles it swiftly before they draw their hands away. Their magic continues for a second before three cards and swiftly pulled from the top, the middle, and the bottom of the deck. The first flipped is a young man, upside down, with a single staff in hand. The world around him is bleak and barren, yet he calls up to the heaven with boasts. For what is he so proud in the Land of Nod?

Page of Wands, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

Of crime. You are set upon by ideals and ideas of a new venture. Setbacks abound and a lost, meandering path awaits. It is as unsure are your goals. The dawn some distant haze. A single star in the dark of night. Indecision, impulse, impatience, or immaturity could stand between golden shores and the nowhere you are. Find it. Fix it. Or remain wandering.

The second reveals itself simply enough. A grotesquely realistic heart is shown, pierced by three longswords. Upsidedown it seems that the great storm raging is beginning to wash away the blood from the metal and, in the distance, a glimmer of sunshine pierces through them.

Three of Swords, Reversed
Nothing happens.​

Rook

Of a nation. Dark times have come and gone. Misery and death and decay ruled for far too long and now the troubles have been struck. Stuck through. Slain and laid low and it is time for the world to heal around the hurt. The tempest is lined with silver and She Who Stood Against Tides will suffer quietly within but steel herself without. She will rise and, like the phoenix, bring her peoples with her. They must grieve. Then they must let go. This is not the end.

The final card is turned onto its back by thin fingers and Rook's chin rests with boredom in the palm of the opposite hand. The figure of a young man stands in the middle of great waves, a gleaming golden coin in each hand. He balances on the shifting waters with one foot, the other raised to better shift his weight. His expression is one of focused caution. He is aware of what is at stake, but confident he will overcome.

Two of Pentacles
Nothing happens.​

Rook

Of wealth. Fortune and life are two different beasts, though they are like the moon and tide. Balance is preferable and investment is the clever path, both in business or in people. Flexibility serves all masters well and an alert eye can spy the chance to climb ever higher. Take chances where they may and remain open to options. It comes to those who wait in time, but those who take in the appearance of being given sooner.

 

@Roland Rutledge​

The fortune teller smiles blandly at you as you enter, both elbows on the dark surface of the table and their head held gently in their hands. The deck sits in the middle as you offer up your gold and ask your lone question. Their lips quirk further when you ask it asked thrice and Rook shrugs as they reach out. The faint purple glow spreads across the cards and they begin to spin and shuffle about. The tarot cards find the order fate and whatever other hands prefer. It sits once more in the middle and Rook reaches forward to flip the card.

Wheel of Fortune, Reversed
The card catches fire as soon as it hits the table!
​

Rook suddenly flicks a hand and you feel the faint tremble of magic in the air since you entered vanish all at once as the Faerin cuts the connection. They jerk forward and desperately pat out the card. They glare at you, furious and trembling. For a moment the shadows in the room grow darker and, from the nervous expression on the strange individual, you are entirely aware that it is not of their doing.​

Rook

Who did you ask for? Whose eye is brought?! Out! Get out and take that gaze with you! You chase worse than dark and fouler than the thorns! We will have none of it. You endanger The Many Voices That Clamor in this! Leave and forget, drink until the name dies violent on your tongue this last time! Outoutout!

The fortuneteller is quick to rise to their feet and haul you up and out by your armor as they speak. Their magic flickers back to life and you see items beginning to lift and tuck themselves away in satchels and chests. The thick fabric of the walls is pulled and folded and bundled up. The rug rolls up as soon as both your feet leave it. Whatever has happened hasn't just upset the caster, it has them frightened. You are shoved out of the opening between the colorful curtains. They don't spare you another glance.

 

This booth is now closed.