The fighter (Jacques) from my Curse of Strahd campaign suggested I try asking you for a reading! :)
My PC is a tiefling cleric named ✨Orianne✨
a whimsical, charming girl who’s struggling with her mortality and the fact that her adoptive elvish family will outlive her, leaving her forgotten and alone once more.
Currently in the campaign, she tries her best to help the people around her, but only ends up making things worse and leading people to their demise (a few people she helped were killed afterwards).
She feels lost and disconnected from her goddess Selûne, the Moon Maiden, which only makes her feel even more distant from her family (who are all clerics as well).
A different goddess has answered her prayers: Sune, the goddess of love and beauty, who is almost forgotten in the cursed lands of Barovia.
Orianne is struggling to find herself, to find the light in the darkness, to accept her mortality, and to endure the evil of the world. She hates herself for not doing enough—for not being enough—and fears that she will never see her beloved family again.
Welcome to Barovia, my dear. I know it may seem a terrible place when first you cross its threshold, a land of shadows and sorrow, but I promise you, not all is lost here. Many of us have grown to love its valleys, its quiet woods, even its storms. You, kind soul, are a welcome light among us.
The first to grace the table is The Beast. A high card, and I must tell you, it has been some time since I have drawn it for another. Its presence means this message carries great weight. The Beast speaks to the fire that burns within you, to the depth of your passion, to the way you chase goodness as though it were sunlight slipping through your fingers. It is a beautiful thing, this devotion of yours, this yearning to make the world gentler, but the card warns that even the purest drive can become a chain when it blinds the eyes. Those who hunger for control know how to play upon the hearts of the good. They will sing your own song back to you, promise you the power to do what you think is right, and in your faith, you may follow them into ruin. Take care that your compassion does not become the weapon another wields.
Next comes The Diviner, reversed. A continuation, yes, and a deepening of the warning before it. The Mists are thick with whispers, my dear, and though some voices speak with kindness and truth, many more hide thorns beneath their honeyed words. There are those here who wear the guise of righteousness, who smile and bless and speak of noble purpose, yet every phrase they utter drips with deceit. You, bright-hearted one, are drawn to such words, for they echo your own desires. Guard your heart against those who mirror you too perfectly, who promise only ease and certainty. The truest allies you will meet will not charm you, but challenge you, and they will love you enough to question your path.
Now we come to The Missionary, also reversed, and the heart of the storm reveals itself. This card speaks of false prophets and false faiths, of voices that echo divinity but carry none of its grace. Many who wander here have heard their gods fall silent, their prayers swallowed by fog, and in that silence, something else answers. Something clever. Something listening. It takes the names you once trusted and wears them like a mask. I have seen it too many times to count, my dear. Those who serve the light must tread carefully in these lands, for even the stars here can lie. If a new voice calls to you, do not rush to kneel. Watch, wait, question, and seek signs that cannot be forged. True faith does not demand haste; it invites discernment.
Ah, but I see your ache. You who long for your goddess, who mourn the distance between you and your family, who carry the weight of every loss upon your shoulders. You are not alone, though it may feel so. I asked the cards if there are any powers within these mists who might hear your cry and offer a hand in friendship, and three answered: The Paladin, The Healer, and The Enchanter.
The Paladin stirs beneath the banner of the Morning Lord, who kindles light upon these cursed lands. His name is often twisted by false tongues, yet in his truest form, he remains a beacon for those who wish to bring dawn to darkened hearts. He is hope itself. If he comes, it's in a rising sun.
The Healer is Hala, my own gentle goddess, keeper of the Weave and mender of broken people. Her covens have long been scattered, her altars burned, but her kindness still lingers in every act of care, every hand that lifts another from despair. If she comes, it's in the arrival of many snakes.
And the Enchanter belongs to Mother Night, the dusken queen, patron of moonlight and endings. Many here fear her, blaming her for their sorrow, yet she is as necessary as breath itself. There is no dawn without dusk, no life without its shadow. Perhaps she, too, still listens. If she comes, it is in the form of creatures of the night forests, or of the moon.
Take these names as you will. You need not reach for them now, but remember them if ever you feel unseen. May the Mists be kind to you, Orianne. You carry a tender spirit in a cruel place, and that tenderness is not weakness but courage.
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