Register a SA Forums Account here!

You can: log in, read the tech support FAQ, or request your lost password. This dumb message (and those ads) will appear on every screen until you register! Get rid of this crap by registering your own SA Forums Account and joining roughly 150,000 Goons, for the one-time price of $9.95! We charge money because it costs us money per month for bills, and since we don't believe in showing ads to our users, we try to make the money back through forum registrations.
Dec 3, 2007

I am in.


Dec 3, 2007

sup Europa buddy

The Europa Sea

The flare shone against the stars. It crossed the disk of Jupiter large in the sky and snuffed out, then a smaller light appeared, almost imperceptible, and began to fall. It grew larger and larger until it dominated even the swollen red light of the Sun, a column of fire from the heart of a dark mass that churned up the water into a cloud of steam.

The vessel came to rest on the seas of Europa.

A hatch swung open on top of the ship and an arm and head levered over the side, clad in a sleek spacesuit. The figure heaved himself out onto the impromptu deck of the ship, then stood up and stared at the star. The red light drenched the dark crags of his face.

“This is it, Daniel,” said the ship inside his helmet. “Old Sol.”

“She’s had better days,” said Daniel. He walked over to the water’s edge and looked down. The water rippled with the ship’s bobbing motion. He couldn’t see any fish, but that would have been too much to ask. “Man. A real, natural water world. Not everyone can say they’ve seen that.” He tapped his helmet and the sound of the moon’s thin winds played in his ears. “They say Earth was mostly water on the surface. But that’s all burned away now. This is the next best thing.” He squinted into the sun. “Ship, can we really not go there?”

“It’s too hot that far in. We could pass through, but not land.” A pause. “Daniel, there’s something you should know.”

“What?” He turned to look at the main body of the ship.

“While you were in hibernation, the Quershing broadcast stopped. They reported a metaphylum infestation, and then their furnace failed. They’re gone, Daniel.”

A sucking void opened in his gut and spread to fill the world. “They were the last,” he said through numb lips.

“No other colonies are known.”

Daniel took a deep breath, then another, then a step and hurled himself into the air with all the force of his legs against the moon’s weak gravity.

“One giant leap!” He sailed through the air, flailing ridiculously, and came down on the far side of the deck.

“One giant leap!” He lifted up again and carried clear over the side. Suddenly there was only the red water as far as he could see, and it rose up to meet him. He splashed down in the crimson. The water of the sea roiled around him as he thrashed, and he tasted salt in his mouth.

“I stole this thing to get away from those fuckers. And every day, every day I decided again, that I wasn’t going back. And now I can’t.”

His helmet slipped beneath the surface. The red light started to dim into the distance.

“Daniel, are you alright?”

He kicked and swam up. He broke the surface by the ship and hauled himself over, and sprawled on the deck.

“Dammit. Dammit!” He thumped the deck. The ship waited in silence. “They could have used you, couldn’t they?”

“It is possible that with access to my capabilities Quernmore would have survived longer, or despatched me with colonists as an ark to another solar system. However, the late broadcasts suggest increasing civil strife which could have compromised my operational capacity or seen me used as a weapon against...”

“Don’t make excuses for me.”

“Then I will note that they did despatch an ark, with a colonist. In effect.”

Daniel watched Jupiter roll past, then looked at the ship.

“It’s been billions of years. More has happened than we can begin to know. We’ve risen and fallen and watched our children fly the nest and become gods. And then die, or fly away themselves. We’ve been a footnote since forever. Our time at the top was a rounding error.”

He levered himself to his feet. “All we have from those glory days are a handful of empty phrases. ‘One Giant Leap’? Did anyone say that? Who the gently caress knows, I learned it from a file written by a guy who learned it from a file.” The Sun filled his visor and he pointed at it. “That’s burning brighter than ever. But it’s dying. And before it’s done it’ll have burned Earth to smoke. That cradle was the only thing we were ever meant for, and it’s long gone. I think it’s time to give it a rest. Let the others have a go. Whatever, wherever they are.”

“The world is old for you, Daniel. You’re old. But it will be new for the children. That rounding error will have passed again by the time the Sun dies.”

Daniel sighed and grinned. The ship was right. He waited a while to order his thoughts, then looked up at where the main ship was waiting in orbit.

“Ship, your new task is to find somewhere suitable, here or elsewhere, and construct a human civilisation. Let them rule themselves as soon as possible. You can use whatever you like from the cornucopia, but don’t give them histories, and don’t use my genes. Take your body and go do that. But this one,” he stamped on the deck, “I’m keeping for myself.”

“What do you plan to do with it?”

“I’m going back to where it started, to wait for the fire. Nothing better to do.”


Daniel had never used manual before. It took him some time to solve the orbital equations, but time he had. The flare of the main ship had vanished from naked view by the time he input the flight plan and the small vessel lifted from the ocean to make its way inwards.

As it flew it extended a vast mirror in front that gleamed red in the sunlight. Radiator fronds sprouted in the shadow and glowed infra-red. But the heat still rose inside as it went deeper and deeper.

He would be the last man on the moon.

Dec 3, 2007

It normally takes me weeks to write anything, so this was a pretty great workout, no matter the outcome.

Dec 3, 2007

A great and terrible weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

Dec 3, 2007

The biggest problems being an (admittedly) terrible last line and some sloppy construction is something I'll take as a pretty good result.

I'll be back. But not this week, no time.

Dec 3, 2007

I really didn't have time this week but now I regret not forcing it anyway. :negative:

Dec 3, 2007

God help me I am in.

Dec 3, 2007

Bad Seafood posted:

If death is certain, better to stand than cower.

You're right. Let's do this. This prompt was an unexpected nightmare.


The first glow of dawn lit the skyline as Samantha formed up her ranks. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, armed with tools and molotovs and scrap, wrapped in thick clothes and sports gear, holding aloft the banners of their cause. Against them stood the ranks of Black Industries security, body-armoured, helmeted and masked, midnight batons ready. Behind those dark lines the mirrored walls of the Black Building rose and pierced the sky like a torturer’s needle.

“This is it!” Samantha cried, and held her wrench aloft. “Today we cower before their overseers no longer! No more bailiffs! No more scrip! Today, Damien Black falls!”

A cheer swelled behind her and filled the street and the army charged with a thunder of boots and trainers. It smashed into the black ranks with the force of a tide long held back, now finally flooding. Samantha was among them, smashing left and right with her wrench. Guards knocked down were trampled underfoot by the wave. Her army was driven by courage, the enemy only by greed and fear. There was no question who would win the meeting. They broke through to the building, and the glass doors shivered, heaved and shattered, and they were in.

Marble and brushed steel surrounded them and Black’s face stared down from the walls in portraiture. Samantha’s army rushed out to every door and stairwell, but a new wave of black-armoured troops met them there.

“It’s useless,” Black’s voice boomed all around. “I have a hundred floors of security here. The elevators are shut down. My men will drive you out and back to your slums like the dogs you are.”

“He won’t have shut down everything,” said Samantha. “People! Push them to chokepoints and hold as long as you can. Black’s days are numbered.”

She ran to the side of the lobby, down a small corridor to a pair of golden doors. A numbered keypad stood to one side. This was it. 1, 4, 4, 7, and the door opened. Brett had been telling the truth. He had not lied to her. And he was waiting up there for her.

She stepped into the elevator. It was a box of opulent leather, mahogany and golden leaf. There were only three buttons: Top, Ground and Escape. She pressed top, and the doors slid closed and the elevator shot upwards. Floors shot past on the meter, and soft music played. Samantha closed her eyes, and took deep breaths. She reached to the back of her belt. The gun was still wedged there, solid and weighty, full of memories. Unlike any other weapon.

The doors opened and Samantha stepped into the office. On the far side of a sea of pile, Damien Black sat in his leather throne, watching the battle on widescreens on the walls. He was vast, muscular, in a suit black as void with a shirt white as bone and a tie red as blood. The skyline was behind him, seen from above through towering windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Beside him stood Brett Black, whose nervousness was changing to elation at the sight of her.

Damien Black snarled. “How did you get here? Only one other person knows that code," he said, and turned to his side "Brett! My own son! You gave it to her!”

“I won’t let you do this any more, father. I love her!” Brett grabbed Black’s arm. The CEO roared and smashed him aside to crumple in the corner.

“I’ll punish you later, once I’ve crushed this worm,” he said, and rose. His muscles strained against his seven feet of suit. “I should have killed you when I had the chance. But no matter now. A hundred personal trainers slaved to give me this strength. It will not be bested by the likes of you!”

“Not by me,” said Samantha. “But by me and the last gun my father made.”

Samantha reached behind her and drew the weapon. She held it with both hands to aim, and in the dawn light the barrel flashed, and roared, and the gun bucked in her hands and threw her back but her aim was true and struck Black in the heart. The gun hurled him into the window, and the glass shattered, and with an abyssal scream he plummeted.

As he passed each floor the guards there stared in horror and dropped their weapons. As he crashed to the street among Samantha’s army they let up a ragged but powerful cheer that reached all the way to the office where she stood with Brett. The first light of dawn broke over the skyline and into the office, as Samantha held him close, and they kissed.

"I knew you'd come."

"I knew you'd be waiting."

Dec 3, 2007

As I think was obvious I was trying to replicate archetypical high fantasy in modern world form right down to formula plot and overcooked prose, but I don't think I cooked the prose enough. It didn't help that I've scarcely read the genre. :v:

I'm pretty chuffed with this outcome though since I finished it in three hours or so after waking up and seeing a chance at salvation. I had gone to bed in disgust after my only idea turned out 1. bad and 2. prompt-violating (it was dreary).

Dec 3, 2007

Once more unto the breach etc.

Dec 3, 2007

I don't think English is a force anyone understands.

Dec 3, 2007

Gosh it has to be (at least one) specific picture? I'd better get searching for a match.

Dec 3, 2007

<gonna submit this>

( from the prompt post is also appropriate, but secondary)

Dec 3, 2007

I picked the most boring image, but it fit so well.

This prompt was awesome.

Dec 3, 2007

Blowing sand owns.

Dec 3, 2007

Congrats to Jeza. The use of the Inferno was clear but rooting the story in Dante's time period meant it felt right. Nothing wrong with drawing on mythology.

I definitely felt like I was channeling something this week but in a field this strong, it wasn't enough. When I started to read through the other entries I had a real sinking feeling and it's satisfying to have made it to the shortlist.

fake edit: oh gosh we have a prompt and it's a tough one lemme think about this

Dec 3, 2007

Harsh prompts that leave the contestants broken on the floor are as vital for Thunderdome as amazing prompts that take us to the depths of cosmic realms.

Suggestions that it had some influence on my decision to join this week are unfounded slander (but I have been writing other things).

A mercenary question: I've decided I was onto something with the Betrayal story and I'm planning to revise it and throw it at some magazines (for the first time ever with a thing I wrote). But a look around suggests they're likely to take exception to it being up on a public website (once CC moves back out from under the paywall that is). So 1. is this a real concern (it didn't come up with the surprise submission stinger before) and 2. is it okay to edit my story out of the post since obviously the Thunderdome thread itself can't be sunk?

Dec 3, 2007

Cool, thanks.

Dec 3, 2007

I have a physics degree and my writing history before this year is almost entirely devoted to spaceships.

Dec 3, 2007

Holy poo poo this is awesome.

I have been fighting distant wars but soon I will return to this battlefield.

Dec 3, 2007

I have more or less finished the project I was working on and said 'I'll be back soon' too many times and need to bust out of my comfort zone so I hereby toxx that I will enter every round of the Thunderdome until the new year.

Dec 3, 2007

I stand ready.

Dec 3, 2007

I can't remember if Greatbacon is anyone but I am ready to chow down.

Dec 3, 2007


Too Late
The pistol smashes into my face and I fall to the floor. Hands bound behind cannot break it but the soft rug does, deep pile, Persian, from my friend Mohammed Reza. I feel the wet warm spreading under my face and doubtless staining it. A pity.
The blow explodes in my guts and I can’t breathe and then more and more detonate all over, my ribs, my crotch, my back, my face, and then they stop and there is only the pain left. My ears ring, I think the men are talking but I can’t tell. My suit is probably ruined. Then they haul me to my feet and I black out for a moment and then I am staring at one of them.
“Mister President.” He is a young man, bright eyes, with stars on his collar. Green uniform once smart I suspect. He has the kerchief of a slum thug, red of course, but his accent is barely disguised middle-class. No doubt a university brat. What a fool I was to let them run afield for so long. Too kind to memories of my own youth chasing skirts and dodging lectures.
“We have killed your guards and secured the palace. The city is falling. It's over for you.”
 “I am at your service.” I put on a smile and my face hurts but yields enough expression to make him scowl.
"No pleas?"
"Do as you will."
The commander gestures and they drag me to the balcony. A low red sun paints the streets bloody but so many of them need no such aid. Smoke rises from fires and guns still call over the rooftops. The revolutionary directs my gaze ahead to the plaza, where I stand, giant, pointing the path to the future.
"All these monuments to your ego," he croons in my ear. "We will destroy them."
"If you like. It doesn't matter now." I try to look at him but my eye on that side is not working. I do not think I could stand if they were not holding me.
"It doesn't matter? You are putting on a brave face Mister President, but do not think you are commending yourself to posterity. The people know the scum you are. Your crimes will be heard in the courtroom and then you will swing from the scaffold."
"Most likely."
Something hammers my gut and it twists into a knot of breathless pain. A wave of haute cuisine floods my shirt. As I fumble for breath they drag me back inside and the commander stares down at me. His eyes are bright but now he is angry, a last gift.
"We are taking all of this from you. This palace. This country. They will go to the people. Why bother to affect calm? Maybe if you beg we will give you a more comfortable cell."
It takes effort to control my breathing. There is pain in my chest. "Because really, you are taking very little. What will you do with this place?"
The commander grins. "The people's republic will be headquartered here temporarily," he says. "Then we will make it a museum, or a hospital, or a university."
"And so every day people in the plaza will walk past my palace, sitting there looming over them, as if I was still there." I cough and my ribs scream. "You might as well leave the statue standing."
"If the people find the building offensive, then we will tear it down. If not, no matter."
"And will you tear down the factories too, and the roads? This whole country is mine. It was made with American dollars, that I found for us. Seize the 'means of production' if you like. Every scrap you make with them for your new Mister President in Moscow will be another piece of my legacy."
The pistol again and the rug again. Such a good rug. I'm sorry, Mohammed. Visit my family in America, won't you? And move faster than me when this happens to you. There is a chill between my eyes and I open them to find the barrel of a pistol.
"All these things were made by the people, not by you!" His spittle hits me and then the middle-class calm drops over his face again, fitting badly. "And we would have more of them without your graft. We are merely taking them back."
"Do you have nothing more than your tired Marxist formulae?"
"Formulae that are defeating your thugs. Enough of this." He looks across the room at someone I cannot see. "Comrade. How goes the fighting?"
"We have repulsed the fascist from the airport. The city is coming under our control. Though we have lost contact with the force in Revolution Square. Reinforcements are on the way to investigate."
"That force is watching our flank. Make sure we keep it secure." He turns back to me and presses the gun into my skin. "You hear, Mister President. You are losing the war. The Americans cannot help you now."
"No. No, they cannot." They are still licking their Asian wounds. "But they don't need to. Will you wipe the photographs and histories like your hero Stalin did? Even that will not be enough. The widows are mine and their sad songs are mine. I am in their hearts, and you cannot cleanse a heart of blood without stopping it." I push forward into the barrel but his arm is unyielding. The warm metal presses on my forehead.
He stares with revulsion. I let not a flicker cross my face.
"Fire if you like. You cannot kill me."
Then there is a blast, a commotion, somewhere in the building. The noise of the battle is loud in the air now, not sequestered in distant streets.
“The Army!”
“drat them - through the square!"
“Commander! We must go!”
"With him? He'll slow us."
There is gunfire and shouting close, so close, and I stare down the gun at the bright eyes. Son of mine, you were always smarter than your father. You will do well in America where our friends are and where people are free. Use your inheritance well and look after your mother. The bright eyes squeeze the trigger.
Too late.

Dec 3, 2007

Satire? Nasty.

Congrats GB, I don't think mine quite held together so not a big surprise.

Dec 3, 2007

Prompts with pictures had a 1000 word minimum, not an 800 word maximum.

(minimum word counts are the devil)

Dec 3, 2007

Application (493)

Laura peered out of the window. The philosophers were still there. Despite the rain she could make out some of the placards: ‘No To Totalising Metanarratives’. ‘Keep The Conversation Going’. ‘Defend Philosophical Freedom’.

“Hmph,” said Professor Anno. “Luddites. Defend their funding, more like. We’re giving them what they’ve asked for for the last two and half thousand years.”

“Professor,” Laura said, holding up the printout. “You should really look at-”

“Let’s see how little YHWH is doing,” said Anno. “The experiment should be well along by now.” She strode off towards the laboratory. Laura rolled her eyes and followed. Everyone at the Voltaire Institute was like this. It was the personality experimental theology cultivated. When absolute truth was a button-push away, you tended to become absolute yourself.

In the laboratory, nothing was obviously wrong with the experiment. The Monad sat inside its housing, placidly transcending a cheese sandwich left in there Monday. Well, they called it a Monad. In honesty it was more like a one-point-three-ad, but that was still the closest thing to the supreme being anyone had yet been able to make (the Munich group was claiming one-point-one-five, but nobody really bought it). An array of powerful theodymium magnets kept the (pen)ultimate reality contained. Laura had forgotten to leave her credit card outside once when the shielding was down. The card had survived, but now her debt was ontologically prior to her finances and couldn’t be paid off even in principle, a state of affairs which kept her and several academic economists awake into the small hours.

Professor Anno tapped the screen. “It’s doing fine. This is your gig, right? What was your thesis going to be on again?”

“Transcending general composite objects, but...”

“Ah yes. Tricky. It’s easy to do some one particular sandwich, but general composites is a whole other kettle of ontologies. Crack that and we’ll be well on the way to transcending all base matter.” She nodded. “That’ll look good on your CV.”

Laura winced. “Yes, but-”

“In fact, we should get Wilhelm in on this, he’d-”



“You need to read this.” Laura handed over the printout.


While we appreciate the theoretical interest of finally determining the absolute and final truth to which every knee must bow, in the light of present budgetary limitations and the Government’s Action Plan for Science we are have no choice but to focus efforts on commercially applicable research. As such we must regrettably report that your application for further funding has been denied.


Anno’s face contorted. “They can’t do this.” She rushed out, and soon Laura heard her screaming down the telephone.

Laura shrugged to herself. She’d had a feeling this was coming for a while, and had already started making enquiries with friends in the private sector. Much as she’d enjoyed it, she had to admit that absolute reality wasn’t all that relevant to the real world.

Dec 3, 2007

Thanks V. The restrictions (time, length, cheesiness) cut deep this time and so a couple of jokes ended up on the floor, but even apart from that I wasn't sure how to end it.

This week was gruelling all round.

Dec 3, 2007

I'll show you guys one day. Soon. Soon...

Dec 3, 2007

You're a monster, and I'm in.

The flash rule will require some thought.

Dec 3, 2007

I'm having all kinds of weirdly insoluble Internet problems including particularly YouTube but I'll see what I can do by the deadline.

Dec 3, 2007

Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:

I'm hanging out with martello and we're balls deep in each others mouth. He will confirm.

Speaking of,

:siren: FLASH RULE :siren:

The romance cannot be heterosexual.

Dec 3, 2007

Love story, whatever. :colbert:

Dec 3, 2007

As a heads up, I still can't view YouTubes or most other videos, and even loading pages with them embedded (or several other pages seemingly at random) is a chore fraught with refreshes, so I dunno yet what I'm gonna do for that part of the prompt. The problem usually goes away after a few days but it hasn't yet.

(Yes, I've reinstalled Flash and reset the router)

Dec 3, 2007

Youtubes are still a nightmare, so I will choose a well-known but rather nice and somewhat appropriate song from memory rather than searching for a perfect one. Apologies to the judges.

Baba Yetu

Metamorphoses (641)

Time was when Hanwen sat on Mount Mori. His hair was white and beautiful as pearl and his cloaks black as the depths of the Earth and his eyes were fixed upward on the sky, which was dark and empty.

Mata climbed the mountain hunting the mountain tiger. For three days he crossed the deep valleys and climbed the tall cliffs on the trail of the beast with breath like smoke and hair like fire. At last he saw it, waiting near Hanwen, and he saw Hanwen too, and was fixed by his beauty. He stared, and the tiger snarled and struck. For three days they fought with bone spear against claw and flint sword against tooth. The tiger burned him and mauled him but in the end succumbed, and Mata cut the hide from its flesh, cleaned it, and draped it over Hanwen’s shoulders, bright and orange.

“A gift to you, Son of the Mountain, who is so beautiful. Return with me and we will be chiefs together.”

But Hanwen shook his head and apologised, never moving his eyes from the sky, and Mata left alone.


Time was when Hanwen stood on Mount Mori. Her hair was black and beautiful as obsidian and her robes white as clean bone, and her eyes were fixed upward on the sky, which was dark and empty.

Mata climbed the mountain with her retinues and armies. For three years they camped around the summit while Mata held court. Hanwen ignored her. Her best singers and finest musicians serenaded Hanwen with songs of love and the sound of the sitar. Hanwen ignored them. Her most elegant dancers and moving actors performed the great classics of their arts. Hanwen ignored them.

Mata and her court left in dejection, and for three years more she wrote out her sorrows in the poems.


Time was when Hanwen rooted on Mount Mori. Its bark was black and beautiful as ebony and its leaves white as ivory, and its branches reached upward to the sky, which was dark and empty.

Mata climbed the mountain with their streets and terraces. For three centuries they built up around it, the greatest city of the world, with boulevards of onyx and walls of gold and courtyards of latticeworked jade. In the centre was the garden of gardens, with beds in every colour and bushes cut to every shape, and fine orchards laden with fruit and birds and lakes containing every fish within the world. At the heart of all this stood Hanwen, patient and impassive, regarding the sky, and not dropping a leaf or a twig for Mata.

And Mata at last said: “I have given you the tiger, I have given you music and laughter, I have given you glory. Do these not please you?”

And Hanwen said: “Your works are great indeed, but they cannot please me, for they leave too much in emptiness.”

And they said: “How is that?”

And it said: “Look above you, and see.”

And Mata did, and for three centuries they contemplated. And they said: “I see now. The sad darkness, emptier than all our works on this world could have filled. That you were always regarding, and which we always ignored. But we also see a canvas, on which you and we together may make a tapestry to outshine all we have done. If you will allow it.”

And Hanwen took Mata’s hand, and together they rose.


Time is that Hanwen and Mata reside in the sky. Mata passes overhead and fills the world with colour and life, and Hanwen passes overhead and delights the world with a shifting cloak of black and white, and all around them are their uncountable children smiling on us, and though the sky is yet sometimes dark, it always shines, and it is never empty.

Dec 3, 2007

I guess most people didn't click on the time link.

Dec 3, 2007

I stayed up until 5AM finishing it ahead of deadline :colbert: (this may be noticeable :v:)

Dec 3, 2007

Peel posted:

I'll show you guys one day. Soon. Soon...

Dec 3, 2007

Soldiers from the dawn of time have trodden through poo poo. A poo poo-crown may be a foul crown, but it's the crown of a warrior. Unlike those guys who didn't even submit.

The prompt gestates and a keening comes from within the cocoon. The hour draws near.


Dec 3, 2007

:siren: Thunderdome Week XX: Face Your Destiny :siren:

Time marches on. It's week twenty, you aren't teenagers anymore, but most of you can't even read a clock yet. Even so, your fate is come, right on schedule, and you'd better deal with it.

The prompt is 'Time waits for no one'. This sentence, sentiment, senility, whatever need not be explicitly stated, but it must inform your story.

Additionally, I will randomly assign each contestant one of the Major Arcana of the Tarot, with a number between I and XX. The cards will not be duplicated, if there are too many of you I will break open the minors. Your card and its meaning must also inform your story.

The deadline for entries is 00:00 GMT, Thursday 20 December 2012. The deadline for submissions is 00:00 GMT, Sunday 23 December, 2012. This week, there is zero tolerance on this deadline. I don't care if your house burns down or your entire extended family drops in to visit - by signing up, you are betting that this won't happen. Missing the deadline will incur a special penalty. Fate is watching. Do not tempt her.

You have one thousand words. Get cracking.

GMT clock.

Judges: Peel, Sebmojo and Stuporstar

Fanky Malloons - Judgment
Etherwind - The Heirophant
Tender Child Loins - The Tower
SurreptitiousMuffin - The Magician
V for Vegas - The Sun
Bad Seafood - The Star
Prolonged Priapism - The Hanged Man
Noah - The Empress
Benagain - The Lovers
Sitting Here - Temperance
Nyarai - The Devil
The Saddest Rhino - The Chariot
Kaishai - The Hermit
Chairchucker - Justice
Capntastic - Death
Gredgie - The Moon
Zack_Gochuck - The High Priestess
Greatbacon - Wheel of Fortune
Velyoukai - Strength
BirdOfPlay - The Emperor
Meis - Four of Wands
Martello - Page of Coins
toranoradian - Seven of Wands
Tonsured - Six of Wands
WilliamAnderson - Page of Cups
Swaziloo - Knight of Cups
Beezle Bug - Two of Wands
Erik Shawn-Bohner - Nine of Swords
twinkle cave - Two of Cups