rudetalesofmagic

Rude TAROT of Magic: Four of Coins

Added 2023-06-12 11:00:03 +0000 UTC

You've become separated from your party. You are lost and disoriented. You swear you used to know how to navigate by the stars but the stars here are different... wrong. They won't seem to stay put. Some of them are bizarre new stars you've never seen and some are your old friends, copied and pasted to far corners of the night sky. Is it just your mind playing tricks on you ever since the fresh water ran out yesterday morning? Is that crashing through the trees even real? Is that massive silhouette emerging from the mist death finally coming to shepherd you off to the lands beyond living? No. No, this smell is nothing like death. It's... coconut? What is that? You're not from a coconut region, you have no frame of reference for this smell. The massive shape steps into the dim light. That's not death, it's a huge guy. He kneels. The sound of metal is deafening. He speaks in a rich bass: "Traveler. Becalm yourself or taste the cold kiss of steel." Instantly, and quite against your will your muscles relax and a fuzzy image of your grandpa in a cabana shirt smoking a cigar on the edge of a pool enters your mind. The smell of chlorine fills your nose, doing 1d4 +1 relaxation damage to your sinuses. You breathe in deeply and look up at this bull of a man. He smiles at you, frowningly. He offers you sangria from a wine skin. "Drink," he commands "or spill your lifeblood on my blade." You protest. You really couldn't. Sangria is ultimately dehydra- "Then you have chosen death." He unsheathes his steel blade. "Okay, maybe a little. I would hate to be rude." In the morning a search party finds your tattered belongings underneath a small piece of firm, glossy paper nailed to a tree not native to the region. It's a brightly colored postcard featuring a crab in sunglasses: "Weather is here, wish you were beautiful!" You are never heard from again.