stevekenson | [gaming] Agents of Fate

The desert seems endless, rolling dunes of white-gold sand under a cloudless blue sky, but without a sun, just pure light coming from that azure expanse. It certainly isn’t your concept of heaven, and that’s a real concern, since you’re fairly sure you’re dead and if this isn’t heaven...

Then you see the street, literally a road in the middle of nowhere. It could be Main Street in any small 20th Century American town (assuming you know what a small 2oth Century American town looked like). It stands there, surrounded by empty desert, almost as if it, too, was dropped into the midst of this desolate expanse. The metallic green street sign reads “Eternity”.

You’re drawn to the small teashop for reasons other than thirst, although you can’t say why. In front of the beaded curtains, the hand-stenciled sign in the window says “Fortunes Told.” A small bell rings as you step inside and a woman’s voice comes from the curtained room behind the counter, along with the warm scent of baking.

“Have a seat,” she says. “I’ll be right out.” Turns out you’re not the only one here, and your fellow guests look as confused as you, and possibly from a lot further away (whatever that may mean here). The tables are covered with antique lace, and the walls adorned with tapestries. The curtain parts and an old woman appears, dressed in layers of gypsy fabric and shawls, bearing a tray laden with a tea service and plates of delicacies.

“Here we are,” she says, “just a little something. Tea and sympathy, as they say, and I’m afraid you are in need of some sympathy, my dears. Yes, yes,” she says, brushing off the questions forming on all of your lips as she sets down the tray. “Who am I, where are you, and all of that. I’m getting to it. Have some tea and I’ll explain.” She begins to do so as she pours.

“You can call me Nona Weaver, it’s as good a name as any, and you’re... well, let’s say ‘in between’ states of being. You’re all here because you’ve technically died, but also because you have great potential, and that’s something I need, which gives me the opportunity to spin your threads in a different direction.”

Nona points out a tapestry hanging on the wall of a giant tree with spreading branches. “See that?” she says. “That's the whole of creation. Not just the world you knew; each thread in that fabric is a universe and its entire history, from the very beginning until the very end.” Ignoring your gaping expression, she continues. “Now, just like a solid fabric, every thread relies on every other for its place to maintain the strength of the weave. Sometimes there are snarls, or threads come loose, or get chewed on by... well, you get the idea. The whole of creation is a delicate fabric and I am a weaver in need of some help.”

“So,” she says, turning to face you with a cagey gleam in her eye. “Here’s the deal. If you agree to help me to fix those pesky loose threads that are mucking up the fabric of Creation, I can pull some strings to find you a place to settle down, a chance at a new life... eventually. If you’d rather go on to whatever awaits you in the Great Beyond, that’s your business, but don’t ask me for any previews: it’s beyond my purview, outside of the Tapestry altogether, so I couldn’t tell you what to expect, even if I wanted to.”

“If you’re agreeable, you’ll see worlds most only dream about, be a part of making history, and I’ll see to it that you have what small help I can give to get the job done, but I’ll warn you: it won’t be easy, or safe. There are others out there who would undo all my delicate work and a second death... well, there won’t be much I can do to intervene then.”

“So then, my dears, what do you say: are you willing to help an old lady keep the house in order... willing to become Agents of Fate?”