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There b no time to prepare. He's almost on you. You know another arcana and it's one that will distract Him, because it has always obsessed Him. As He bursts in on you a brutal iron fist with overwhelming strength you draw your hand up to meet Him. Your opening hand. Just three cards in a classically simple Trionti spread. The High Priest still zealous despite his long exile to curse your father’s blood. Then The Crone gibbering and milk-eyed, to entangle your lather's mind with rancid meaningless prophecies. Then The Silver Door, to shut Him out You have never set much store by caitomanry, but you are quite familiar with the tarot's symbols and their significances. The cards always seemed to you an imprecise method, the mummery of Sigiies and warlocks, sometimes effective in divination, but always so vague in their elastic meanings, and thus largely unreliable. Now you have ascended as a psychic initiate you have a new and ardent appreciation of their empyric function. They are sigils of imagination Binding intuitive non-verbal definitions to archetypes of the cosmos, the cards are a high and arcane art capable of subtle interaction and piercing pnecognitive effect But here in your realm, awash with the warp, their symbology goes beyond mere precognition. Rather than interpreting outcomes, they can set them They can determine the user's desired effect and then manifest the cause to produce it They are spurs to impel destiny to obey your will. Your father has always been preoccupied with the cartomantic art He constructed His own ded You wonder if He has ever tried a reading in the warp. You play Him at His own game.__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Silly Alfabusa, the Emperor would never play a children's card game
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