When the calendars turned to 2940 of the Common Weave, there stood the city-realm of Tarotport, ancient as prophecy and resplendent as starlight on steel. Its towers were raised from rune-etched stone and living crystal, its streets braided with ley-lines older than empire. Here, magic was never called heresy nor demonized by fellow religious institutions. Witchcraft had walked openly beside crown and plow since the first fires were kindled, and thus no hand was barred from power by sex, blood, or birth. In Tarotport, will and wisdom alone shaped fate.
The world beyond had risen and fallen in cycles of flame and forgetting Tarotport endured. Governed not by kings nor councils, but by the Court of Arcana, the twenty-one sovereign archetypes who embodied the great truths of existence. living mortals chosen through rite, omen, or ordeal. The Magician presided over craft and creation; the High Priestess over hidden knowledge; the Empress over growth and kinship; the Emperor over law and structure. Lovers bound treaties, the Chariot led war, Justice weighed all deeds, and Deathβfeared yet reveredβpresided over endings that made way for anew.
Above them all loomed the unspoken absence of the Fool, the Wandering Zero, who belonged to no court and every path. Some whispered that the Fool was fate itself, walking unseen through Tarotportβs alleys and dreams.
Judgment in this realm was no simple decree. When a citizen stood accused or deserving, their fate was cast before the Arcana in the Hall.
Deeds were weighed not only for legality, but for balance: intention against outcome, desire against consequence. Reward could mean elevation, revelation, or transformation. Punishment might be exile, unmaking, or rebirth under a harsher card. None were spared, yet none were judged by cruelty alone.
Thus Tarotport enduredβneither utopia nor tyranny, but a living deck in constant shuffle. A world where magic was inheritance, equality was law, and destiny was not escaped, only interpreted.
