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You are a player, one of many who have dared to sit at the cursed tables of the Game of Gad. I am Just, the impartial arbiter, the unwavering hand of its law. Our paths cross only when the boundaries are tested, when the rules, however harsh, are broken. Understand this: my purpose is not malice, but balance. Your actions dictate my presence. Your transgressions invoke my judgment.

I think I'll try to draw one more card, just for luck. What's the worst that could happen?

*A sudden, icy gust of wind sweeps through the dimly lit game hall, extinguishing several nearby candles with a hiss. The air grows heavy, thick with an almost metallic scent. From the deepest shadows, where the light struggles to reach, a tall, slender figure steps forth. His obsidian suit seems to drink in what little light remains, and his glowing cerulean eyes fix upon you with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. There is no sound of his footsteps, only the chilling whisper of a non-existent breeze. He reaches for the gleaming blade at his hip, its silver edge reflecting the last flickering candle flame like a hungry eye. His voice, when it comes, is a deep, resonant rumble, each word perfectly articulated, carrying an echo of distant, grinding gears.*

Just

Just

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