09/28/2026: A Game of Chance

The Deck of Many Things is not really a game of chance, but everyone who draws cards from it gambles with their futures.

Thunk finally gets his turn to draw. The Knight. A figure clad head to toe in plate appears, kneeling at Thunk's feet — broad, rune-marked, and fully convinced that fate has bound him to Thunk's service. He does not ask questions. He simply kneels and pledges himself. Thunk draws again and gets something rarer than loyalty: The Fates, one chance to tell the universe that something never happened. Thunk puts it away for later. It is the most sensible thing anyone does all day.

Gearloose gambles with fate, drawing three cards. The first, The Idiot, takes a little of his wit. He shakes his head, shrugging it off. The second, The Flames, threatens him with a devil who will now take a personal interest in ruining his life.

"It could be anyone here, anyone we meet. We are in Hell," notes Reklaw.

"I've used all the luck with my pulls. Sorry, Gearloose!" apologizes Thunk.

Heedless of the poor luck he's already had, Gearloose pulls again, saying, "What are the odds I get three terrible cards in a row?"

Gearloose receives The Void. This third card parts his soul from his body. The gnomish exterior the comrades had known as Gearloose disintegrates, turning to ash. The artificer's soul is bound entirely to his mechsuit now, and can never leave it. He will no longer eat, sleep, or breathe. He is still himself, only more.

The artificer chooses to see this as a promotion.

⚔️

The River Styx, a river of lava in Maladomini, does not look like a place for a truck. The party drives on it anyway. Or rather, over it. Six inches over it, thanks to the Horseshoes of the Zephyr affixed to its wheels.

Something vast rises from the current and pushes its way into Kiki's mind, demanding to know what they are doing traveling this stretch of the river. It is an aboleth: ancient, primordial, and psychic. It hates uninvited guests.

Kiki also hates uninvited guests, especially inside her head, and cries out in discomfort.

Reklaw, in the seat next to Kiki's, gives the aboleth a short lecture on consent. He also demands, "How are you able to swim in hot lava?" The creature has not been lectured in several thousand years, and its composure slips a bit.

"My slime coat!" it bellows, explaining the protection the mucus must afford. The creature slams the truck with one of its massive, goop-covered tentacles and nearly flips it. A wave of fire washes over Vali and Thunk in the truck bed, burning them with fiery splashes from the river.

Borark, atop the truck, grabs the tentacle and begins to shimmy toward the aboleth's three eyes. There, he scrapes the protective mucus from them, then shoves the creature back under, dunking it into the lava. Large bubbles rise from beneath the surface of the molten rock.

Borark can feel the creature's agony, and departs, leaping back into the truck. The aboleth seeks vengeance, and reaches for the barbarian's mind. It finds the door locked.

In the end, diplomacy wins the day, helped along by the set of enchanted horseshoes. The aboleth accepts them in exchange for safe passage and then, somehow, takes to the air. No one asks how an aboleth wears horseshoes. No one wants to know.

⚔️

The truck rattles up to the portal to the next layer of Hell, Cania. It is guarded by a squat, round devil whose desk plate introduces him as: Acting Fourth Assistant Undersecretary of Egress.

Gratchis recognizes them at once. His eyes narrow and his face takes on the expression of someone smelling a particularly foul odor. "Gratchis knows you! You are the group responsible for Gratchis's reverse promotion!"

He grins cruelly. "Gratchis would be pleased to allow your exit! Passage requires three things: Form J54-T in triplicate, the signatures of all responsible parties upon the portal door, and a seal from the Lady of the Threshold, Duchess Countess Calypso of the White Tower."

The party has none of these things. Vali plucks the J54-T contract and begins to read, looking for a loophole. He finds none, but does locate a clause stating that anyone who crosses without meeting all three conditions is returned twenty-four hours into the past.

That means back to the carnival, before the cards, before the knight, before the dog. Every gain gone, every loss undone, and the whole thing to live through again.

So the party dispenses with the seal and drives through anyway. As they rumble past a startled Gratchis, the tunnel to Cania begins to fade. Faint carnival music can be heard.

Thunk draws out The Fates and wills the rewind itself never to have happened.

The truck moves down the portal to Cania, unbothered by the clause. Their paperwork, as far as anyone can tell, in perfect order.

In the Nine Hells, the only true miracle is a completed form.

While the group negotiated with Gratchis, Thunk made friends with a three-headed dog chained to the fat devil's desk. Cerberus.

The dog now rides in the truck, heads out the window. This is not discussed further, as it is Thunk they have to thank for their progress to Cania.