The stage-coach was dark and filled with various occult objects. The old but sturdy velvet seats felt comfortable beneath Sketch, and the scent of various incense hung densely in the air. The sparse light came from a few cracks in the window shutters and a few lumpy candles that were lain on a few seemingly random bits of old wooden furniture. The only sounds that Sketch could hear were the occasional noises from the old donkey outside, and the deep breathing coming from his host, who sat across from him.

The table in front of Sketch was covered in a coarse purple and gold linen tablecloth. On top of the rough tablecloth was a deck of long cards, with three laid out in a row in front of him. The owner of the stagecoach, a particularly haggard old woman with long grey hair, hooked nose and mottled skin, had her eyes closed in fervent concentration with her hands steepled in front of her.

Sketch had come across the purple painted wooden stage coach on the way from one town to the next. Sketch never usually had a destination in mind, his purpose was to simply tell stories. He’d been walking down the road for days, camping every night and enjoying the peaceful quiet that comes with the solitary life of a traveler. He’d seen the carriage from half a mile away, the gaudy colors sticking out from the monotonous grey and brown that came with the winter woods.

Sketch had been interested in the carriage as a pure curiosity, he’d long ago learned to trust his instincts. He’d been drawn to the signs that were placed out near the front door, wondering who they could be meant to attract on a cold winter day in the middle of nowhere. The wooden signs had roughly painted letters across their fronts simply stating, “Fortunes told” and “Knock before entering”.
He thought to himself that he could spare the time it took, he’d had no schedules to keep or appointments made. He approached the coach, about to take the first step when he heard voices coming from the inside. Quizzically, he stood in front of the door for a few minutes trying to see if he could make out the words.

Upon only hearing only one voice, he decided to attempt knocking on the door. He climbed the narrow wooden stairs leading up to the door, and wrapped upon the door three times. The voice inside stopped, and the sound of shuffling objects and clinking glass came from within as Sketch waited for the door to open.

After a few minutes, the purple and gold door slowly opened and the figure of an old gypsy woman stepped into the light. “Who stands before the Great Madam Alelka?” she said, with an over practiced accent. Sketch had to try to not roll his eyes, while she attempted to play the part, she lacked any of the subtle tact of a true showman. “Sketch the Story Teller, madam, at your service.” Sketch said, as he flourished a slight bow with his long arm drawn across his chest. “I came to inquire about your service, if I may be so bold.” He pointed a long slender finger over to the signs. “Ahhh…you wish to call upon the mystical powers of Madam Alelka!” she said, drawing out the words as if she was feeling them slide down her throat.

“I admit to a certain occult curiosity Madam. If your divinations can answer some questions I have, I’d be extremely grateful.” Sketch said, allowing his voice to hold a practiced elegance. “The cards know all, but they reveal what they wish. For a gold coin, I will reveal what mysteries they hold.” She said, with an outstretched hand. Sketch placed a well-worn golden coin into her gnarled hand, and followed her in as she walked inside.

Sketch looked down to the table, at the three cards with their worn, blue backs facing him. She’d lain a basic three card spread, the classic past, present and future fortune telling. After what seemed like an eternity, she opened her eyes with a start, causing Sketch to raise his eyebrow. She lowered her hand, adding as much ceremony as possible and pointed to the leftmost card.

“The past dwells here, sir. Here it lived, and here it died.” She flipped the card over with a practiced grace that comes from constant practice. The image was that of a crowned man holding a large wooden staff. “The King of Wands. Very Powerful. He is a benevolent leader, prone to grand performances and grand acts the will garner praise and attention. His is the energy of the conquering hero, but falls to his ego.” Her voice had the tone of questing and wonder as she went on. She slid the card to Sketch, and he held it in his hand.

“This is the present, where you dwell in the here and now. This card will give you insight into your current thoughts and what surrounds you.” This time, she flipped over the middle card. It showed a man suspended in the air by a single ankle. “Oh, my. One of the major arcana. The Hanged Man. This card shows an inability to impact the world around you as you desire, that the actions in the future will happen no matter what choices you make. It advises that you take the time to learn and study, to reflect and grow while you wait for events to unfold. Very interesting.” The middle card was placed in front of Sketch as well, and looking at it caused him to absently rub the constant bruise that he hid under his cravat.

Her hand waved over the last card for a moment. Sketch looked to the face of the old woman, her features seeming to become exaggerated in the shadows of the carriage, He felt unable to speak, unable to look away. Her voice took on a strange haunting quality. “This card, is your future. What will be, what YOU will be. This is the inescapable fate that will not be denied.” She took the last card and revealed it.

The card had a long foreboding figure, its limbs stretched beyond the human norm, and its eyes had a familiar hollow look, it’s posture in a mocking bow, it’s large grin giving it’s features a manic glee. “And Finally, we come to The Devil. The wild outcast, the power of reckless unchecked emotion. The one whose inner desires are laid out for all, whose passions are worn on their sleeves. He is instinct over thought, and he revels in the primal joys that dwell in everyone. His is the power of the true-self, unrepressed and unleashed. He is both Joy and Fear, Love and Hate. He is the Unfettered King.” These last words caused part of Sketch to jump, and a harsh pressure welled up inside of him. He knew that the name meant something, and it was important that it did. He hated himself for lacking the meaning behind the acknowledgement. His mind swirled with panicked thoughts and frantic
searches trying to put some meaning to this name.

The old woman then looked at Sketch, and they met eye to eye. Sketch realized that her features had drastically extended into a hideous parody of what they once were. The nose, once hooked was now so long it looked as if it was a beak on some monstrous bird. Her teeth were long, sharp and set in a manic grin. Her face was painted with wicked runes that seemed to change shape and flow like they were alive. The most disturbing change of all were her eyes, for they had taken on the empty, soulless eyes of the Grym.

Sketch, still held by the gaze of the witch, sat helpless as a great wind blew the shutters open, and lightning flashes outside. The wicked being that sat across from him cackled deeply with a dark, deep voice that pricked his ears. “These are the keys to what you seek story teller. These are the parts that will lead you to the path WE have set for you. Search and seek, half-man, for after all, When you care not where you roam, Every road leads to home.” With those final words, the world around Sketch began to spin, faster and faster in a sea of wicked laughter.

Sketch felt himself falling, as if in a dream. That laughter of the Grym echoing, and try as he might, he couldn’t block it out.

He woke, lying on the ground in the middle of the road. He looked to the side where the carriage had sat. All that stood were two shapes in the ground, and three small white shapes. He walked over and picked up the shapes. They were the three cards that the witch had drawn for him. The King of Wands, The Hanged Man, and The Devil.

Sketch looked frustrated at the two shapes in the ground, because if he had to guess, the holes looked to him, very much like two large chicken feet.