The Deck of Horrendously Bad Decisions
by Reverend Dungeon MasterYou were warned. The old man at the crossroads muttered something about “the folly of mortal hands.” The barkeep wouldn’t stop laughing when you mentioned it. Even the town drunk, the same one who mistakes his boots for goblins, gave you a knowing look before slinking into the shadows.
But no. You just had to draw a card from the Deck of Many Things because gambling with your very existence sounded like a great idea. Now here you are, standing in the dim glow of flickering torchlight, a single card hovering between your fingers, humming with the energy of a thousand terrible life choices. Your party watches with the detached amusement of spectators at a bear-baiting pit, because they know that this can only end in two ways: ridiculous fortune or catastrophic ruin.
You flip the card. The magic flares. And now it’s happening.
Maybe you disappear on the spot, your soul yanked from reality and stuffed into a dungeon nobody has heard of, leaving your companions to argue about whether you were worth rescuing. Maybe your alignment flips overnight, turning you from a law-abiding hero into a gleeful arsonist, or worse, someone who suddenly believes in taxes. Maybe you gain a castle in a distant land, complete with surly peasants who already despise you. Or maybe, just maybe, you just made an enemy so powerful that assassination attempts become part of your morning routine.
Oh, and let’s not forget the classics. You could pull a card that erases all your wealth, leaving you as the proud owner of absolutely nothing. Your last copper? Gone. That fancy sword you looted last week? Gone. Even your boots? Vanished. The goblin you robbed earlier now has a better financial portfolio than you.
If you’re particularly lucky, or catastrophically unlucky, you might have to fight Death. And no, not in some poetic, metaphorical way. A skeletal figure materializes before you, gripping a blade that drinks the light from the room, and it does not negotiate. If you win, congratulations! You’ve survived an encounter most people wouldn’t be stupid enough to start. If you lose, well, your party already rolled your corpse for loose change.
But maybe fate smiles upon you. Maybe you pull a card that gifts you untold riches, gleaming gemstones spilling through your fingers, a fortune so vast it defies reason. This sounds wonderful until you remember that you are currently in a dungeon, surrounded by individuals who have no qualms about looting a dead friend. You might also receive a powerful magic weapon, still crusted with the blood of its previous, less fortunate owner.
Or maybe you draw a card that grants you wishes. Real, powerful, world-altering wishes. The gods themselves lean in to listen, waiting for you to say something idiotic. And you will. You will. Because you can’t help yourself. No one ever can. That’s how this works.
If you’re still breathing, your party either cheers or edges away from you in preparation for whatever horror comes next. If you vanished into the void, the group has already begun debating whether they should attempt a heroic rescue or just pawn your belongings for ale. If you fought Death and won, congratulations! You are now profoundly traumatized, but at least you still exist.
Someone clears their throat. They glance at the deck. A question lingers in the air.
“Want to draw another?”
You do. Of course you do.
The DM smiles and mutters something about “player agency.”
Art: Fear of Death by Maloonu on DeviantArt
