A middle-aged woman in a fancy glitter dress but with a foreign accent similar to yours slid onto a barstool next to you, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes flicked towards the imposing Schola Progenium across the street, then back to you. "But getting into that Schola takes a lot of..." she rubbed her thumb into her fingers for a 'money' sign, a sly grin spreading across her face. "It ain't no place for orphans with empty pockets, hmmm?"
She chuckled again, downing a hefty gulp of her pint.
The bartender, catching the woman's insinuation, boomed with laughter. "Good thing I have you, woman, to pay for so many drinks to keep up with my boy's tuition, eh?"
The woman cackled, throwing her head back and holding up her drink. "That's right you sonnovabitch!", both then erupted into laughter.
---
Anxiety gnawed at you as you retraced your steps towards the imposing Schola Progenium. Keeping a low profile, you tried to merge with the bustling crowd. Nearing the entrance, your gaze snagged on a bulletin board plastered with colorful posters. One advertised a student military parade – a chance for proud parents to witness their offspring's grace and discipline. Another boasted of specialized tutoring classes, while a third, emblazoned with a skull and crossed boltguns, sent a jolt through you – a conference by a Space Marine! Here, at this very Schola?
Reaching the bottom of the board, you spotted a stack of pamphlets. Slipping one into your pocket with practiced stealth, you continued walking, your mind already devouring the contents. The pamphlet extolled the virtues of the Schola, boasting of the finest education Vassioport had to offer. It spoke of unwavering faith, rigorous discipline, and fostering camaraderie amongst students from diverse Imperial cultures – a necessity in such a cosmopolitan city, you supposed. Finally, the pamphlet segued from inter-Imperial friendship to drone on about "tolerance" and "acceptance" in a more ambiguous, broad way. Each repetition felt like a needle prick under your skin. Back in your hive city, such concepts were whispered about with suspicion, even by those who meant well. A Trojan horse to heresy.
---
Your deck of the Emperor's Tarot felt warm again, and Septimus' weighing influence on it seems to have faded away entirely.
* You may now draw cards (
>>5943408). Votes for what action to take come after that, as usual *
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.
