In a misty room a man sits before two cards. The middle-aged father perspires as he stares down at a card reeking of misfortune before him. Laying under an inverted moon, he could feel the thick, cloying blanket of the arcane magic around him.
"Mmm." The seer moaned. "Not much good here. Trying to change things, huh? Not much you can do with these cards."
Shaking, the mans hand crept to the leftmost stack of cards in front of him. Trembling, he drew a card. His face became animate and his hand relaxed as he placed the Temperance card before him, closer to him than the others.
"I need this one for my son. He's not doing so great; 'is Mom dead and all."
"One more card and he's free from him vices." The seer looked him over expectantly, knowing the mans luck had run short long ago. He was on his last legs and his face showed it. His eyes were heavily lined around the corners and his brow was wrinkled almost permanently from worry.
He drew the next card expectantly. Discouraged by what he saw, he tossed the card to the table. It was the card of the Tower. He grimaced at the card.
He watched the magicked card as a tiny man in his resemblance fell from the crumbling tower.
Again, his hand moved forward hesitantly.
"One more card could draw your fate. Just one." The seer smiled lightly.
He touched the top card of the stack closest to him. You could smell burning flesh as his fingers connected. He screamed and drew his hand back with the card still attached.
"No." The man gasped as the color drained from his face. He stared the card down for the second time this evening. His body turned to ash and was blown out of the seat by an unseen wind.
The card once held in his hand fell to the table upright.
Death.
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