Introduction for the Game Master
The purpose of these encounters is not to provide information.
The purpose is to create unease.
Thomas Dumiroir has spent years trying to forget who he is.
The three fortune tellers exist to divert that path.
Each encounter should leave Thomas with the growing suspicion that there is something hidden within him—something neither he nor the fortune tellers understand.
The encounters are most effective when scattered naturally throughout a sessions. Do not present them as a sequence. Allow them to emerge organically while Thomas moves through New York pursuing his own goals.
The first encounter should feel like coincidence.
The second should feel unsettling.
The third should feel impossible.
By the end of the encounters Thomas should no longer believe coincidence is a satisfactory explanation.
Using the Encounters
Insert the fortune tellers between ordinary activities.
- While walking between locations.
- While looking for information.
- While leaving a bar.
- While crossing a park.
- While waiting for a subway train.
The city itself seems determined to place them in his path.
No matter which route Thomas chooses, eventually he encounters all three.
After the Third Encounter
Once Thomas has experienced all three incidents, the phenomenon ends immediately.
Should he actively seek fortune tellers afterward, he finds only frauds and entertainers.
- Palm readers who recycle generic predictions.
- Tarot readers who know less than they pretend.
- Psychics who spend more time discussing prices than visions.
- The pattern becomes almost absurd.
Any fortune teller with genuine talent is unavailable.
- One has unexpectedly closed for the evening.
- Another is attending a family emergency.
- A third has gone on vacation.
- A fourth simply cannot be found.
Every promising lead ends the same way.
The city appears to have run out of genuine prophets.
What the Fortune Tellers See
The Game Master should never fully explain what the fortune tellers witness.
Even they do not understand it.
Each glimpses only a fragment.
A contradiction.
A truth too large to fit inside the framework of the mortal mind.
They are about to perceive Thomas as he truly is—or as he may become.
The revelation is enough to destroy them.
Not because the truth is hostile.
Because the unenlighted mind was never meant to contain it.
The Light
Immediately before each death, the fortune teller briefly glows with an inner radiance.
This should not be presented as something sinister.
The moment should feel beautiful.
Peaceful.
Almost transcendent.
As though the individual has suddenly seen something wondrous.
Only afterward does terror follow.
For a fraction of a second each fortune teller experiences perfect certainty.
Then their understanding exceeds the limits of what reality allows them to know.
The result is combustion.
Not punishment.
Not attack.
A consequence.
The Desired Effect
By the end of these encounters the players should be asking questions.
Why did three unrelated fortune tellers react the same way?
Why did each immediately focus upon Thomas?
What did they see?
Why did they die?
Most importantly:
What is hidden within Thomas Dumiroir that causes reality itself to recoil whenever someone attempts to glimpse his destiny?
The Crystal Seer
Near an all-night bodega sits a folding card table beneath a faded umbrella.
The woman behind it looks impossibly old.
Her skin resembles yellowed paper stretched over delicate bones. Layers of shawls hang from her narrow shoulders. Rings cover nearly every finger.
A cloudy crystal ball rests upon a velvet cloth.
As Thomas passes, her eyes snap open.
They are startlingly clear.
She smiles.
“Young man.”
Her voice is surprisingly strong.
“Come. Let old Rosa tell you what waits at the end of your road.”
She gestures toward the crystal.
“Only five dollars. Truth costs less than cigarettes.”
The crystal ball appears dull and lifeless.
Yet as Thomas sits down he notices something peculiar.
The surface briefly catches a reflection from somewhere.
Not from a streetlight.
Not from a passing car.
A warm golden glow flickers deep inside the sphere before vanishing.
The old woman places both hands upon the crystal.
Her expression becomes distant.
Seconds pass.
Then her smile disappears.
The crystal clouds.
The old woman’s eyes widen.
“No…”
Her voice becomes a whisper.
“No, that’s impossible…”
The crystal begins filling with light.
Not reflected light.
Light from within.
For a brief instant Rosa herself seems illuminated from the inside, as though a lantern burns beneath her skin.
The wrinkles vanish.
The cataracts disappear.
She looks young.
Awestruck.
Terrified.
Then she screams.
A blinding flash erupts from the crystal ball.
The table overturns.
The umbrella catches fire.
When the afterimage fades, only drifting ash remains where Rosa sat.
The crystal ball has cracked cleanly in two.
The Tarot Reader
Several blocks later Thomas notices a small crowd gathered outside a basement café.
A young man dressed entirely in black sits beneath a handwritten sign.
TAROT
$10
NO BULLSHIT
Black nail polish.
Silver piercings.
Dark eye makeup.
The reader looks barely twenty-five.
He notices Thomas immediately.
A crooked grin appears.
“There you are.”
He taps the deck.
“I’ve been waiting all night for someone interesting.”
The crowd laughs.
The young man gestures dramatically.
“Come on. Let me ruin your evening.”
Thomas sits.
The reader shuffles expertly.
Cards snap through pale fingers.
“Name’s Julian.”
He places the first card.
Then another.
Then a third.
The grin slowly fades.
His hands stop moving.
The surrounding sounds seem strangely distant.
Julian stares at the spread.
The cards no longer resemble the cards Thomas saw moments earlier.
The illustrations appear different somehow.
Older.
Impossible.
A faint golden radiance begins leaking from the edges of the cards.
Julian’s pupils widen.
“What the hell…”
He draws another card.
Then another.
Then another.
Each reveals the same image.
A crowned figure seated upon a throne of light.
Julian’s face becomes pale.
The glow intensifies.
For a moment the young man appears translucent.
Thomas can see light moving beneath his skin like liquid sunlight flowing through veins.
Julian begins laughing.
Not from amusement.
From pure disbelief.
“You already died.”
He laughs harder.
“No…”
His voice breaks.
“That’s not it.”
The light brightens.
The cards ignite simultaneously.
Julian rises halfway from his chair.
His eyes blaze like miniature suns.
For a single instant he appears beautiful.
Almost pure.
Then he explodes into a cloud of burning paper and sparks.
The tarot cards flutter through the air as blackened ashes.
The crowd scatters screaming.
The Fortune Machine
Near Times Square stands an aging arcade squeezed between newer attractions.
Inside, forgotten machines gather dust.
A fortune teller machine.
Glass cabinet.
Red curtains.
A mechanical gypsy seated behind a crystal ball.
Its painted face has faded with age.
A brass plaque reads:
ZOLTAR KNOWS ALL
INSERT $1
The machine hums softly as Thomas approaches.
Its eyes suddenly open.
The movement is entirely mechanical.
Yet somehow it feels aware.
A speaker crackles.
“Greetings, seeker.”
The voice is warped and metallic.
“Would you know your destiny?”
The machine rattles.
A ticket begins printing.
Thomas inserts a dollar.
The gypsy nods.
The crystal ball inside the cabinet lights faintly.
Again there is that strange glow.
Not electric.
Not mechanical.
Something warm and golden moving beneath old gears and tarnished metal.
The machine freezes.
The printer continues running.
The paper keeps emerging.
Longer.
Longer.
Longer.
Far longer than any fortune should be.
The gears begin shaking violently.
The speaker emits distorted static.
Then a voice emerges.
Not the recorded voice.
Something else.
A whisper buried beneath the machine.
“No future found.”
The lights flicker.
The printer accelerates.
Paper floods onto the floor.
The gypsy’s painted face begins glowing from within.
Light leaks from its eyes.
Its mouth.
The joints of its mechanical fingers.
The entire machine shines like a furnace hidden beneath thin metal.
The whisper returns.
Louder.
“ERROR.”
A pause.
Then:
“SUBJECT NOT CONTAINED.”
The crystal ball inside the cabinet erupts.
Glass explodes outward.
The machine folds inward upon itself with a shriek of twisting metal.
Fire blossoms inside the cabinet.
When the smoke clears, nothing remains except a mountain of scorched fortune slips.
Every slip contains the same line.
Written over and over again.
“IT IS FORGOTTEN”.
Ignis Aeternus WH 40K campaign notes 