The air reeked of stale engine grease and discarded dreams as you and your fellow passengers were unceremoniously dumped with the rest of the voidship's waste. None of you ended up at the grand passenger exit, a place of glittering lights and lively music you could only glimpse past the imposing silhouette of the space station docking bay.
Confused yet relieved to finally be on the fabled Glitterglobe, you reached for your deck, the cards buzzing with residual energy. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of confusion and cautious optimism.
"Do you know how to get to a hotel from here?" one passenger asked another. "Is there a decent restaurant around?" Others, more tech-savvy, consulted their data-slates, seeking answers in the digital void. Still others simply wandered off, drawn by the distant allure of the station's dazzling lights.
Besides the Emperor's Tarot and the clothes on your back, you had a meager 100 credits – enough back home for two weeks of basic meals, but here, an unknown quantity. Hunger somewhat gnawed at your stomach after the long journey. You noticed a group of middle-aged folks huddled together, seemingly lost but also trying to find sustenance.
"Excuse me," you ventured, your voice hesitant, "do credits work here? How much does a meal typically cost?"
A woman glanced up from her data-slate, a restaurant menu displayed on its holographic screen. "Ah, about 30, 40 creds," she replied, offering you a tired smile.
"Thanks." you reply. Emperor alive, 30 creds?
* Like before, we're going to draw cards now (like in
>>5943408), and then vote. *
1-3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81- 97: [NO].
98-100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
