Tenebrosity envelops the world. Not so much as a glimmer of light pierces the veil of the blacked plains, upon which one finds themselves feeling as vacant as the surrounding land. The scintillating texture of a cerulean butterfly serves as the only interruption to this sprawling darkness, its figure appearing alien here as it fluttered forth. The butterfly disappears. The world is blank, silent, waiting and begging for interruption. A voice speaks, providing that disturbance which this reality seemed to wish upon itself.

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These three elements comprise the fundamentals of basic liberty for a member of humanity. The operative clause in this statement is not life; it is not liberty, nor happiness. Instead, the cardinal word to bear in mind is "pursuit". You see, the word "pursuit" conveys a degree of uncertainty and insincerity. The word pursuit bars one from immediately attaining their aspirations, but at the same time allows the potential for growth that is never provided otherwise. The element of pursuit is integral, for it not only aids humans in realising their true potential, but allows that happiness and merit gained from completion to be unquantifiably more satisfactory. It is an elegant system, allowing for the exchange of enthusiasm into enjoyment, providing a fool the means to conquer the world.

Such fools are prevalent across the globe, the untapped potentials of countless masses remaining squandered amidst the flock as fear grips an entire planet. The events to follow are the result of negligence and terror; particularly the latter. The fools to which I refer are those who have yet to embark upon a grand adventure, and within an adventure of such a magnitude, I have no doubt that a surge of such individuals will rise to the task in order to restore to humanity that faint glimmer of hope which has otherwise escaped them.

The first of the four, the Fool of Cups, steps forth as a browbeaten yet diligent pupil. Attentive and mild-mannered, this individual finds themselves conflicted between a pursuit of knowledge counterpoised against a fear of the unknown. This pupil is known to favour both reason and adaptable strategy, and is said to be capable of turning the tides of even the gravest of conflicts. They are bound to a land of water, populous with sprawling beaches and laden with seaside attractions. It is a land where enjoyment is bountiful, where one can find themselves quickly overwhelmed by the spectacular beauty and possibility which beckons them. However, idle distractions can serve to halt one's pursuits; one must be wary of the cost incurred by futile leisure.

The second of the four, the Fool of Swords, steps forth as a courageous yet vacant pupil. Reticent with an innate resolve, this individual is guided more by the whims of fate than any internal desires or passions spurring them to action, finding themselves in new terrain by arbitrary circumstance rather than anything of their own doing. This pupil is one of unrivalled swiftness, both of body and tongue, with a rapier wit and the sleight of hand to match. With their prowess, they are capable of not only moving mountains, but perhaps even the hearts of their foes. They are bound to inhabit a land of gentle gales, where upon the breeze the words of passersby can prove beneficial to one's own growth, perhaps even lending advice and spurring change forth. However, one should be cautious of action and unwelcomed change; it can serve to be dire with negligent preparation.

The third of the four, the Fool of Pentacles, steps forth as a stoic and cold pupil. They appear like an atlantean figure, bearing upon their shoulders the weight of both expectations and aspirations, pursuing glory in an attempt to reach above that which has been granted to them. This pupil is disciplined, and their innate ability to prosper is said to be contagious, rubbing off on peers and helping them in their pursuit of wisdom and worldliness. They are bound to a land of earth, where an eternal pursuit of financial prosperity has sown the seeds of disaster. Great affluence lurks as an looming possibility, but it is a gift only granted to the frugal and discerning, attained through tireless labour and strife.

The final of the four, the Fool of Wands, steps forth as an assertive and impulsive pupil. A firebrand tenacity dwells within this pupil, one which has led them to tread a path not commonly considered orthodox, and has found himself a new path in order to avoid the ramifications of his former ways. A certain fear is imposed by this pupil's mere presence, and it is said that their radiant aura is capable of both striking fear into the hearts of foes, and fury into the hearts of friends. They are bound to inhabit a land of fire, where inflammatory instigation has fostered tension and dissent. Should one be cautious, allies will find solace in the arms of a trustworthy individual, but one must take caution to avoid foolhardy and detrimental decisions.

Four routes lay ahead, four pursuits to reach that end. The choice it seems is in your hands, let us brave unwitnessed lands.


The engulfing darkness begins to fade as the voice stops. As the world starts to take some form, the silhouette of a solitary yet somewhat welcoming individual comes into view. In his right hand he holds a talisman, bearing in gold the image of a knapsack and a jester's hat, which he clutches tightly. In his left hand, he bears a flare gun, and upon his face he wears a warm and endearing smile. The remainder of the world enters view. A small stone-brick fence stands before the solitary individual, and he quickly ducks for cover behind it as a spear flies overhead. A call echoes from beyond.

"Hey, little assistance here?" The voice asks.

He nods, brandishing his flare gun. Before him, a shadowy horseback lancer stands imposingly, towering over the rabble beneath it. The shadow appears to have the upper hand, and to the unsuspecting viewer it would seem as if the eight individuals facing off against it would stand little chance; that would not be the case. The shadow attempts to pike one of the individuals surrounding it, yet to no avail. She deft-footedly dodges, striking his horse with a serrated bowie knife across the rear of its hindquarters. The horse whinnies and retaliates with a firm kick to the gut, sending her sprawling across the castle courtyard and knocking the wind out of her. It was time.

"Persona!" The solitary boy calls, as he lobs his talisman into the sky. Upon the cry of those words, the amulet transmogrifies into an almost otherworldly figure, bearing a chalice in one hand and clad in golden plating. Though it appeared humanoid, it was easy to tell from an initial glance that it was anything but, as it bore a tar-black face that was only scarcely visible beneath its helmet. "Mediarama!" He yells, invoking the ethereal abstraction to reinvigorate his party. He raises his flare-gun, aims it with a steady and unwavering hand, and aims directly toward the horse's muzzle.

The horse bucks instinctively as it is startled by the oncoming flare, colliding with its face as it frenzies. The blunt force of the flare did little, but the adverse psychosis resulting from the flamboyant projectile was more desirable. The warrior falls to the ground, his horse fleeing to some other section of the Castle in which they stand. His allies surround the downed lancer, the disgruntled figure appearing tame and somewhat disreputable as he remains at the mercy of the assailing crew. "Orders, Tom?" One of his companions asks. He ambles over; slowly, as to make his opponent uneasy, but just briskly enough to ensure that his temperament does not flare. He stands above the colossal knight sprawled on the ground.

"A rather poor position I'm in, eh?" The warrior says.

"Indeed," the boy replies.

"So, do I get any last rites?" The warrior asks.

"Well, have you committed any soul-rending atrocities as of late?" The boy queries.

"Not particularly," the warrior says. "I would have thought you were the ones committing atrocities and whatnot."

"We're knights ourselves, defenders of the humanity within," the boy replies, "If we commit sin, it is in the name of higher virtue."

"Like standing over a man, with a pistol in his face?" The warrior retorts.

"You are no man," the boy replies. "And this is not a pistol."

"Surely I can barter my way out of this," the warrior inquires. "Is there something you want that I can acquire for you?"

"Knights accept no bribes," the boy replies. "The only method for survival open to you is a pledge of allegiance."

"Allegiance?" The warrior asks.

"Fight alongside us," the boy says.

"I suppose our motives are rather coalescent," the knight says. "We both fight for justice, in some sense of the word."

The knight deliberated for a second, before rising in a blue haze. It was a ritual they had seen countless times before, yet it still managed to scare most of the squad to wit's end. The knight began to float in midair.

"I shall wage war in your name then. I shall spread justice as you see fit, and fight in accordance with your desires, for they are mine as well. Let us work together harmoniously," the knight replies. As it does so, its otherwise gigantic figure begins to compress, contorting into an amulet similar to that which he had thrown into the air earlier. It gravitated towards the boy's arm, and he reached out, clutching it in his outstretched hand. He placed the talisman in his pocket.

"Looks like you've got another one. Damn, you sure got a knack for this," one of the boys accompanying him says.

"It was a team effort," he replies. "We all have a knack for this."

The team strolls onward, toward another section of the castle. Yet, this was not the beginning of their tale; far from it. Corbenic is a sparse land, ulterior to theirs. Thus, their arrival here was an enigma in itself, seemingly brought forth by contrived and otherwise unknown means. The cause of this disturbance was elusive, but they had a purpose here - a noble plight to protect friends and family from the influences that were commonplace in this realm, and slowly seeping into their own. This place gave rise to the shadowy desires left in the murk of unchecked hearts, desires which could create travesties in the conscious realm.

That is the enemy they fought. However, this was not the beginning of their story. This is the pursuit of the Fool of Cups, the first of four sleeping knights braving Corbenic for the sake of humanity.


Note: This is intended to be a small writing project in order to bolster my capabilities. As practice, I have decided that writing a Persona fic will be the most beneficial, due to its reliance on seamless dialogue and the prospect of creating gripping and gritty battles. To start off, any response as to which route should be taken would be great. I'm not expecting a great influx of replies, but I remain somewhat hopeful that this bizarre adventure might garner some limited attention. Also, do feel free to contact me personally at any time: the flow of this story is reliant on the input of its readers. Anyway, thanks for giving me the time-of-day to reach the bottom of the page. I hope that we can prosper together in future, attentive reader.

Yours Truly,

elusiveEmperor