The deacon's smile softened. "Seems you've been misinformed. Certain psykers, like Navigators, are vital to the Imperium's survival. Now, tell me, what troubles you about them?"
Uncertainty gnawed at you. Was this one of those "false churches" your catechism teacher had warned about? Heretics in disguise, twisting the Emperor's word? You stammered, "Just... that, Father. Thank you."
But the deacon's gaze held a quiet insistence. "Are you sure, son?"
"...I'm just going through a hard time." you say, trying to change the subject.
"Of course." he said. "Let me know if you need any help."
You hesitated, then decided to take a chance. "Actually, Father," you began, voice hesitant but firm, "I've been struggling to find a job here, a little nudge in the right direction, would be great." You hesitated, then added, hoping to sound sincere, "And I wouldn't mind getting started with tithing, doing my part for the Emperor you know." (Internally, you winced a little at the last part. You still didn't know if to trust these guys.)
His smile widened considerably at the mention of tithing. "Ah, the Emperor appreciates a diligent tithe-payer! We do have various... options for those seeking work within the Ecclesiarchy," he explained, his eyes gleaming with a hint of opportunity. "However, you don't strike me as someone destined for menial labor of atonement. Though," he trailed off, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "can you write? How's your hand with calligraphy?"
Caught slightly off guard, you stammered, "Uh, yeah, I can write. I'm alright at it."
A satisfied look spread across the deacon's face. "Excellent. We have a backlog of documents in need of copying, scriptures and records that require a careful hand. Something to consider," he suggested, leaving the offer hanging in the air.
"Ah, right. Thank you, Father," you mumbled.
He left. Then, with a few more final whispered prayers to the God Emperor, you seal your lips and rise from the pew. A newfound resolve courses through you, as your indoctrination fires the right chemicals in your neurons. Discreetly, your hand dips into your pocket, fingers brushing against the sleek, polished of the Tarot deck. They felt hot, ready to go.
You wander out of the church, and hidden by the anonymity of the crowd, you began a practiced shuffle.
* You may now draw cards (
>>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.
