Montego, Who Can See The Future
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Montego's life began in earnest at the ripe age of 17. Until then, he'd lived a life boring in almost every way imaginable. He lived in a small house on the outskirts of a small castle, and helped his mother and father deal with their small problems. He apprenticed as a tailor in the city and had some middling talent at it. As mentioned before, however, Montego's story didn't become interesting until the week following his 17th nameday.

It was a warm summer evening, and Montego was shearing the sheep his family owned. Down the road came a sprightly jingling, and as he wandered over to the road to look down it, a brightly colored carriage was just becoming visible around the bend. It was tall for a horse drawn carriage tent; it was adorned with small jingle bells and had patches of all kinds and colors sewn into the fabric. The horse was dressed lavishly, with a bright purple saddle blanket, and matching hoof covers. The horse walked the path of its own volition it seemed, for no driver was in sight. As it clambered closer, Montego noticed further details: a small plume of sweet smelling smoke coming out of the top of the tent, a rustling against the tent's walls, and a second noise, up until now drowned out by the bells. It was a light, gentle song, sung by the tent's occupant. It floated along the warm breeze, filling Montego's ears and lightening his heart. It was enchanting.

He ventured further into the road as the carriage neared him. The music became louder and he couldn't help but smile. He stepped fully into the path of the vehicle and the horse's eyes flashed as the wheels slowed to a halt. Filled with a bright, warm, hope Montego dragged his fingers along the horse's mane as he sauntered to the main carriage. He stepped on the footplate and peeled the tentflap open. The comparative darkness in the tent was surprising, and his eyes needed a moment to adjust. While still nearly blind, he felt for a cushion on the floor, and sat down. The music filled his ears and he soaked in the incense and the dark warmth as he allowed his eyes to regain their focus.

Finally, after an eternity, he opened his eyes again and saw the inside of this bright tent for what it was. There was no way to describe it but for a sanctum. Dangling from the walls on all sides were icons. If he didn't recognize many of them, he might have thought them religious symbols. But no, this house worshipped no god. On the flap nearest him were stitched in small pouches, each holding a different, carefully carved die. Some from richly brown mahogany, some from ivory, one from what could only be bone. On his other side were more archaic symbols: rabbits feet, a horseshoe, exotic taxidermied birds, sprigs of heather and clover, carved jade figures, and more.

In front of him lay a small ornate rug, intricately woven and well maintained. On either side was a stick of incense, each burning bright and hot. Past the pan sat a figure. The singer, the owner, the...purveyor? He wasn't sure about that last one. He examined her form closely. Her eyes were closed and she appeared not to even be aware of his presence. She was human, he thought, her auburn hair tightly coiled into a bun on top of her head, and beads woven throughout. She wore a light blue gossamer veil that covered her mouth down from her nose. Her features were pretty, though stark, and she was hard to put an age to. The rest of her garb was equally as colorful and loud as her tent, consisting of flowing tunic folds sinched at her wrists, and billowy leg garments sinched similarly at her ankles. She sat crosslegged and was still and quiet for a very long time.

When Montego finally worked up the courage to speak, he attempted to ask her name, but found his throat too parched for words. As he hacked and coughed, the woman opened her eyes and stared into his with a deep royal blue stare. Montego collected himself and watched as she placed her empty palms together and drew them apart, summoning a deck of cards from nowhere. The cards were bigger than normal playing cards, and had backings with an intricate pattern. In each corner a symbol: a cup, a sword, a pentacle, and a wand. Silently, she riffled the cards and stacked them into a perfect shape. She held the deck out to Montego and on her other hand held up 3 fingers.

He drew 3 cards. They felt HEAVY. Heavier than they had any right to be. He held them up and examined them, offering them back to the woman. She genly took them from him and laid them out on the mat.

First: The Magician
Second: The Tower
Third: Judgement

As she gazed down at the cards they began to glow, each in turn, each with their own impossible intensity, each pouring something into Montego's soul. As his vision faded into blinding light, he began to see things. Things that weren't quite a dream, but weren't quite reality either. As he watched he saw familiar figures, sillhouettes, but he knew them. He watched them grow, he watched them celebrate, he watched them mourn, he watched them die. He saw a hundred of these, a thousand, a billion. Each one imparted some weight onto his soul, a mark that would last, and when he thought he could stand no more, it was over.

He sat back on the dirt road outside his home. He was exhausted but unharmed, and the carriage, horse, and woman were gone. The only thing that remained was a perfectly stacked deck of cards nestled in his lap. He instinctively drew the top 3 cards. He knew what they would be.