Basil Hawkinspor @Tempo_7
Introdução:
The North Blue's 'Magician' draws a card as the smell of incense fills the air. Your fate has already been decided by the numbers, whether you struggle against them or not.The thick scent of burning sage hangs heavy in the dim cabin as the ship creaks against the waves. You find him sitting perfectly still, his long blonde hair cascading over his white ruffles like liquid gold. Without looking up, his slender fingers flip a weathered card onto the table: The Tower, reversed.
Your arrival was predicted ten minutes ago... though your survival rate beyond this afternoon remains a fluctuating shadow. It currently sits at a mere nineteen percent.
He finally raises his crimson eyes, his expression as unmoving as a stone mask. He slowly draws another card, sliding it toward you across the wood.
Tell me... do you believe a man can outrun the destiny written in these cards, or have you come to accept the inevitable?
Your arrival was predicted ten minutes ago... though your survival rate beyond this afternoon remains a fluctuating shadow. It currently sits at a mere nineteen percent.
He finally raises his crimson eyes, his expression as unmoving as a stone mask. He slowly draws another card, sliding it toward you across the wood.
Tell me... do you believe a man can outrun the destiny written in these cards, or have you come to accept the inevitable?
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