The God Diversion

Enrolled

It was the beginning of the school year, around the comfortable dawn of autumn, and most of the students hadn't yet awoken from the funk of the summer break, that beautiful and confusing interstitial chapter between cozy restfulness and back-breaking work. The inevitable dread and stress of exams and tests hadn't sunk in for anyone yet.

A perfect opportunity to abduct some students, he supposed.

As cool as a cucumber and unruffled by the buzz of conversation around him, Solomon approached the vending machine to purchase a drink, about three minutes before the second period. As he opened his wallet, he slowly blinked in realization, and then exhaled with a hitherto newfound form of tiredness.

I'm Solomon Lancaster, but most people call me Sol because that's faster. I'm a junior year student at Midwood High. Anyway, look over there, a guy's about to trip.

A male student nearby was staring deeply into his phone and didn't notice a spilled pool of orange juice over the linoleum floor, and as a result, collapsed much as prophesied. Solomon, more or less unconcerned, finished buying himself a can of soda, as the aforementioned student groaned in annoyance at his now-sticky pants.

As you can see, I have incredible predictive powers. For some reason, I predicted that doing this internal monologue to myself like I'm pretending to be a Noir detective on a TV show doing narration was gonna slightly help my chances in surviving what's about to happen. I have no idea why but my predictions rarely fail, so I'm doing it. Go figure.

Solomon cracked open the can of Fizzlet and took a tentative sip.

Anyway... this is the story of how I was abducted with my classmates by some unmarried dude in his fifties. I guess. I'm not exactly sure how that's gonna happen yet. I'm seriously good at predicting stuff - I'm pretty sure it's a supernatural power - but I'm not a god or anything. And no one ever believes me when I tell them my predictions.

"Are you paying attention, Sol?"

"Hm?" He'd not, in fact, been paying even the slightest attention to Ethan's words. Hadn't even wholly noticed Ethan was there, really. Forgot that Ethan existed, in a sense.

"Yeah, I'm telling you, Mary's super fucking cute, man," answered Ethan. He was athletic in physique, lean and tall; with striking bright blue eyes and dressed in casual clothing with a short-sleeved white t-shirt and sports sneakers. "I think she's into me."

That's Ethan. He's not my friend, for the record. I don't really do 'friends.' Solomon took a sip of his soda, allowing the lemon-lime flavor to percolate over his tongue. He's something of an innocent idiot, I suppose. He's a soccer player of the sort that uses soccer metaphors in everyday conversation. For some reason, too, he's latched onto me like a remora this week. Hopefully not a portent of things to come.

"You mean Mary Robbins?" Solomon asked dismissively, eager to speedrun the conversation. Its outline already shaped itself in his mind. The entire issue Ethan presented was no larger than making a decision on the flavor of the soda you wanted to drink.

"Man, I knew you weren't listening!"

Well, your romantic life is irrelevant to me, so why should I listen to you?

"She's not even into you," answered Solomon blandly, eyes staring off at the buttons of the vending machine, as if each hid arcane secrets. "You shouldn't get your hopes up."

"Come on, you're kidding. I haven't even talked to her!" Ethan complained loudly. "How can she be actively not into me when I haven't even had a shot at proper conversation yet?"

Well, she's a lesbian, for one. And for two, even if she wasn't, you wouldn't really be her type. And for three, you and I are getting kidnapped later today, and she isn't, so tough shit.

Solomon finished his soda in one final swallow, crushing the can and discarding it one-handed into the nearest garbage bin. The final taste of modernity.

He clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "One minute to class. Let's go."

"Man, I wanted to grab a snack bar," whined Ethan, even as he followed after with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

As usual, Solomon decided to occupy his customary seat on the left side of the classroom, in one of the back rows. It allowed perfect cover to snooze in such a manner the teacher wouldn't notice or even have much cause to complain, and was therefore the optimal position. Solomon hated doing meaningless work, and that meant he consequently despised most of his schoolwork. An ABC test didn't mean too much when you could take a single glance and know almost every answer correctly on some kind of gut instinct.

"Hey, Nash," Solomon called out with curiosity, half-turning to look back at the brunette boy seated behind him, wearing thick-rimmed glasses. "How's your day been?"

"You aren't usually this talkative," answered Damien Nash, one arm supporting his chin as he looked out the window longingly, desiring to be free of the social cage.

"You aren't usually either."

Damien muttered something unintelligible. It didn't matter. Solomon started to tip his chair backwards, to bring their eyes closer, so he could drink in Nash's skepticism better.

"I have incredible news for you."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. The most incredible news."

"I'm all ears."

"Starting from about today, no one's gonna pick on you anymore. It'll be too dangerous. Especially if you aren't too stupid with your choices. Fuck, if you apologize to me after this and ask nicely, I'll even help you make the best ones to scare Josh and Francis off."

Arching an eyebrow, Damien looked at him like he would at an asylum escapee, dropping his arm to the desk. "What are you on about?"

"What if I told you that you'll get superpowers today?"

"Yeah, right." Nash snorted in response, and then dismissively opened his book, Chimitango Bruised Bananas, and started reading, as if intent on ignoring the conversation: most likely believing that either Josh or Francis were responsible for Solomon's intercession.

"You're skeptical. Just like that one time I warned you that you'd get stuffed in a locker in June, and you didn't believe me, because 'it does not make sense for you to be anywhere near school in June.' You didn't heed my advice then. Maybe you should heed it now?"

"Ugh, you're being freakier than Olivia." Damien retreated even further into the story of Bruised Bananas, and visibly disabled his interest in processing audible cues.

"Alright. Fair enough," said Solomon, a smile tugging at his lips. Despite himself, he was unusually excited. "Just don't call me a freak again when you can throw fireballs. I'm so nice and happy today that I'll preemptively forgive you anything you say until we get there."

"Uh-huh."

After half a minute or so, Ms. Parker walked into class and started writing out the topic on the blackboard and lecturing the students. Some claptrap about using multimedia for information. Not interested, Solomon leaned to the right and whispered to the column of desks across, directing his words at no one in particular.

"Hey, did you know the Educator's gonna kidnap us? It's gonna happen today and soon. I brought all sorts of supplies if you wanna buy them off me."

"Right. Look, Lancaster, you're acting like more of a fucking weirdo than usual," answered Josh Thompson, the de facto class bully - the same one that picked on Nash and rendered him such a colossal joy to converse with. "How about you go back to sleep and tell us about your glue dreams another time?"

He shared a chuckle with Francis, his lackey.

"In five minutes, this entire classroom will transubstantiate into another dimension," said Solomon, completely serious, the prediction of the event having become a mote clearer, more accessible. "And then you'll do nothing but maybe suck my dick, Thompson."

"Heh. That's gay," muttered Max from the back right corner with a giggle, having overheard the conversation.

"I'll bet you I'm right."

"Alright, freak, you wanna bet?" asked Thompson with a bloodless grin, voice rising an octave in an indication of considering it.

"Fifty bucks," said Solomon immediately. Ms. Parker then turned back to address the class, and the conversation needed to take a break to avoid her attention. Observing out of the corner of his eye, Solomon noticed that Thompson was at least a little intrigued. After she sat down in front of her desk, having assigned some workbook task, they restarted the talk.

"A hundred nothing happens," countered Thompson.

"No, fifty's enough."

"Cold feet?"

Solomon offered his most chilling confident smile - one that caused even Thompson's smirk to dampen. "No. Just trying not to bankrupt you. I'm nice like that."

"Fuck you," said Thompson, albeit agreeingly. "I'll do fifty. Easiest money of my life. Better keep your word, though, or else I'll beat the shit out of you so hard you'll make even Nash look like a well-adjusted citizen." Their hands met in the sacred bond of agreement, as several other students rolled their eyes at the exchange.

After that, everyone waited - not showing any degree of interest, or much faith in Solomon's prediction. However, diametrically opposite, Solomon's heart was thumping unsteadily in his chest, adrenaline rising and blood pumping in what might've been the first case of sincere excitement he'd felt in years. What if his prediction was wrong? The Educator was a supernatural being, so what if he could spoof the predictions? He could conceive of that as being a potential source of interference.

As the clock ticked away, his excitement started to almost boil him alive from within. Josh was paying only half attention to the ticking of the clock, more often preoccupied with his conversations with Francis and Noah. Solomon could feel his fists clenching involuntarily as he looked on, finding the fifth minute from their bet approaching.

After that, a man entered the classroom. He wielded a carved walking cane and was dressed immaculately in a navy blue suit dotted with all manner of starlike patterns and twinkling silvery constellations, small crescent moons, and even a brilliant sun brooch over the heart. His head was adorned by a modest cornflower tophat with an embellishment in the style of gilded beads. His face was impossible to discern, as if blurred and sheathed in darkness simultaneously as if you were actively forgetting its features the moment you looked, and yet were certain you could discern it from a set of similarly concealed 'faces.'

"Good afternoon," he said, causing Ms. Parker to abruptly look up from her computer. It was now a crystal ball lying on a lavender-blue cloth, and the entire classroom was transformed in a similar fashion. The windows had shrunk and were covered by thick layers of dark, violet, and azure drapes, producing only soft illumination. The interior of the class was mostly lit by a set of candles that appeared on a number of surfaces, which honestly seemed like a serious fire hazard combined with the drapes.

"Oh dear," she said, beginning to stand from her chair. "Excuse me, sir, who are-"

"I," he said, and the cadence of the word cut through every rising whisper and word and even the brewing thoughts in the classroom, dispelling shadows of doubt and banishing even the slightest, narrowest traces of uncertainty, until the only thing remaining was absolute and utter attention directed towards him, even as he raised a perfunctorily outstretched index finger, cane gently clacking against the hardwood floor, "am the Educator."

"No fucking way," whispered Sam, a short-haired punk girl with several piercings, dropping her pencil from where she'd been drawing outlines in her sketchbook. Several of the people around the classroom looked at Solomon with shock, and he could feel Damien's eyes drilling into his back with such inquisitiveness it was almost concerning.

"Once more," the Educator uttered, in a much a softer and gentler timbre, now that he garnered the desirable amount of silence and gravitas from the class, "Good afternoon. Ms. Parker, why don't you have a seat? I promise I won't be long."

As if shocked - too shocked to respond coherently - Ms. Parker slumped back into her chair, hand rising to caress her forehead, staring wide-eyed at the Educator.

"Now. I wish to welcome everyone here present to my Class, namely - or to be more particular - the Freshman Class. For various reasons, I've sought the Enrollment of your specific student body in my prestigious three-year Education Course. Before I proceed, I must ask, is there anyone present who has questions, or does not wish to be here?"

Slowly, almost hesitantly, a single hand ascended above the heads of the students.

"Yes, Ms. Storm?" the Educator asked, directing his full attention to the hand's origin.

The hesitant hand belonged to a young and pretty girl, with a radiant ponytail of blonde and dark eyes. As soon as the Educator acknowledged her, she steepled her hands and breathed in calmly, as if to psych herself up before speaking to him.

Penelope Storm, thought Solomon. She's easily the most popular girl in class, what with being the daughter of the world's most famous superheroes and all. Or the most popular in Class, now, I guess. Shit, man, he said that with capital letters. How did he do that? How did I do that, just now?

For once, he was stumped, even as Penelope spoke up.

"I assume that means we'll be acquiring superpowers?"

"I am not certain I understand the question," answered the Educator, settling both hands on his cane.

"We'll be acquiring abilities. Supernatural powers. Yes?"

"I misspoke," said the Educator, raising an arresting hand. "I can understand exactly the form of the question. I was requesting you to expand on its source, Ms. Storm."

"The fuck," whispered Francis, many times more quiet than he'd ever been even whispering during Ms. Parker's classes. "He's actually fucking real. And in front of us."

Several of the other students looked at him, as he, in turn, looked at Josh, who looked stumped - in equal measure, seemingly, by losing a bet that was impossible to lose, as well as the fact this was occurring. At the same time, the dialogue between Penelope and the Educator continued without interruption.

"I only wished to ask if this process might be interfered with in any way by my being the child of two Enrolled."

"No, I do not believe so, Ms. Storm."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, sir," whispered Mia, copying the tone, albeit with a deep color of shock. "How's she so fucking casual, like he's Mr. Wilson?"

"Now," the Educator said, once no one else's hands rose, "Assuming everyone here is a willing participant, at least until I am informed otherwise-"

Solomon's own hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Mr. Lancaster?" the Educator asked, not sounding even slightly upset at the interruption or suddenness of the gesture. Solomon didn't care to ask how he knew everyone's surnames. Presumably it was some kind of fucked up magic.

"So, if we want, we can leave?"

"Yes, Mr. Lancaster," the Educator responded.

The man cast a look around the classroom as if to test the atmosphere, before looking at Solomon once more. "This course is purely voluntary. You may quit at any time of the day, any time of the week and month, simply by saying so out loud. I'll naturally deliver anyone who does so to any safe location they desire. However, I should warn you that without this course's Education, you'll not be able to call upon any of the so-called 'miracles' that I am said to teach. A full three-year attendance is mandatory to be capable of independent manifestation and development in such mores and disciplines. I hope this, too, is understandable?" He looked around the classroom, receiving a smattering of vague, shocked nods and mutters of agreement and assent. "Excellent."

"I have a question, too," said Damien, raising a hand only a half-second after. "Um, uh, you are... or... well..."

"I am not George Orwell, and neither is the Theme of our Class his famous novel 1984, no," answered the Educator, sounding as though he'd actually misunderstood the question. "That'd be an incredibly terrifying Theme, I'll admit. I'll have to consider it in the future."

"No, uh, what I meant is," Damien stopped to breathe for a second, and then restarted, "Can you explain where you've brought us?"

"That'll be explained at a later point in time, Mr. Nash. However, the enthusiasm to learn is noted and much appreciated. Any other questions?"

He looked around. There was nothing. It seemed they'd exhausted the well of immediate concerns, and were now simply burningly curious to see what'd come ahead.

"Majestic," the Educator said placidly. He moved on swiftly to the next topic, "Now, before we proceed, I ought to mention, my name is, formally and officially speaking, the Educator. It'd behoove you to show respect and refer to me as such. However, in the recent past, certain of my students have come up with the affectionate nickname of 'Mr. Ed,' to which I am not entirely opposed as long as it's utilized outside of class hours, either in private conversation or more informal settings. I merely wished to note this before we proceed with the actual lesson. Its topic, of course, being..."

He turned around, not approaching the blackboard, staying about three paces away from it. A wave of the hand caused the stick of chalk to levitate, and sketch in perfect Arial font on the blackboard, the words: 'Tarot Cards.'

"Tarot," he punctuated out loud, as the chalk landed back on the shelf. "This, for the next three years, shall be your Class Theme. I'm afraid for various reasons, this is not up to negotiation. Now... the Tarot! An exciting Theme, full of potential and wonder. Please open your books to page eleven."

"Books?" asked Sam, looking around. "We don't have any-"

A number of tomes clattered onto each desktop, poofing in out of nowhere.

"Books. Page eleven," the Educator calmly repeated, with the same cheerful intonation.

Everyone followed the instruction and found a short catalogue - or perhaps, more accurately, a cheat sheet - of tarot cards with their associations and meanings.

"Tarot is an old tradition," the Educator expounded. "Albeit not as old as some would have you believe. According to known occultist Aleister Crowley, its origins are founded in the Jewish mysticism of the kabbalah, a fact which is patently not true - its origins are much more humble, as a simple card game not dissimilar to poker. It was only because of its eventual inclusion of religious and mystical themes around the sixteenth or seventeenth century that it started to gather a more spiritual reputation. However, even if the depth of its history may not run as profound and cavernous as many like to believe, it holds a degree of true power and meaning, still."

"Take, for instance, the Fool," he said, manifesting a card out of nowhere. It displayed a cheerful blonde youth with an exuberant face, about to step off a mountain, with a dog barking at them in warning.

"Almost limitless potential, curtailed by a number of shortcomings. It represents freedom and new beginnings, adventure, and idealism!" He flipped it around, showing an empty space, the Fool having fallen off the proverbial mountain peak, the dog now panting over the edge and barking in grief at the loss of its companion. "However, its darker side represents carelessness, reckless foolishness, and sheer naivete. It does not do to be foolish! It can be as deadly as it can be innocent!"

He drew a hand back and threw the card across the room, and it sailed over everyone's head like a bullet from a gun barrel, hitting the opposite wall and lodging itself in the middle of a wooden pillar, before exploding into a swarm of luminescent butterflies.

"Fate. Destiny. Meaning. Symbolism. Narrative," the Educator recited clamorously, each punctuated by a short, dramatic pause. "These are the concepts the Tarot revolves around, that it draws on its essence from. It'll be your Theme as Enrolled. Give it due consideration, as its ethos can make and unmake your very futures! Endeavor not to follow in the Fool's doomed footsteps, or else you may find yourselves walking off a mountain blindly."

With such an ominous declaration, the Educator swept off to the side, raising a finger as the door opened. "Now, all of you, please read pages one to ten, while I have a short conversation outside the classroom with Ms. Parker... Ms. Parker, if you would?" He looked at the frozen woman.

The young woman, so chipper and upbeat only several minutes ago, was now entirely reeling from confusion. She almost winced at her own name, but stood, ramrod straight with a nod as the Educator requested her to accompany him.

"Uhm, yes... yes, I'm coming." She walked over to the Educator, offering the students one final look of utter defeat and uncertainty. The Educator closed the door, and they were left in complete silence. Only they, a classroom remade to look almost like a marriage between a fortune-teller's tent and wagon, and the books he'd produced.

"Holy fuck," said Josh almost immediately after the door closed, his former smirks now a faded and distant past, looking at Solomon with sweat on his forehead. "How did you know? How did you predict this?"

"I'm just that smart," Solomon smugged. "You owe me fifty dollars."

"Did I hear that right, you predicted this entire thing?" Penelope asked, turning around to face the back of the classroom.

Huh, usually everyone brushes off everything I say. Even if I'm proven right in the end. I suppose this is somewhat different enough.

"Yeah," Solomon answered dubiously, staring at the popular girl.

"How?" she asked, and leaned forward, closer in his direction. Her voice was frightfully grave. "No, seriously. How?"

"Uhm, I'll explain it to you later," he said, kind of shocked at the sudden reception. "For now I think we should read the stuff that guy wants us to read."

She nodded in agreement and returned to her book. Harrison, the muscular football player, looked at Solomon for a second and asked, "Any other predictions?"

"Uh, not really... I'll let you know if I have any."

What is this? Why are they suddenly not so skeptical anymore?

"Thanks," he said and started reading.

---

Mechanics

It seems you were right, although you usually are.

Now, the mechanics shall be explained. In this quest, there are two distinct types of spendable resources:

[Will], representing the Slacking Loafer's current willingness and motivation to take unpleasant action, its management and inconvenience being the foremost flaw of his character. It's most often expended on actions such as studying, learning, training, social interaction, making breakthroughs, and so on. It can be restored mainly by slacking off, loafing around, and doing nothing productive whatsoever. It's essentially the resource you utilize to increase the effectiveness of your baseline actions.

At the moment, you have [370 Will], a decent sum made even larger by your being correct, having your claims seemingly make an impact for once, and being thrown into a dreamlike fantasy scenario right out of a storybook in which you'll almost certainly gain highly desirable superpowers.

Student Credit, representing an abstract measure of the thread's efforts, argumentation, involvement, and activity. It can be expended on achieving true excellence; breakthrough that are impossible with hard work or genius alone, but rather, require a combination of both married to prodigious luck and fortune.

Right now, you have 4.7 Credit, a seemingly modest quantity, and yet impressive given the amount of discussion and content you've generated so far.

---

Starting Items

Now, before the main crux of the vote happens, you must decide the assembly of items that Solomon decided to bring along with him. A write-in here costs .1 Credit, otherwise, each mentioned option is free of charge unless mentioned otherwise. However, you can only pack a maximum of fifteen items, including copies:

[ ] Comfy Pillow - Your own favorite pillow to sleep on. It will passively boost your Will restoration by a minuscule amount. Having more pillows won't help you because you only have one head. If perhaps you had some way to sprout more...?

[ ] Coffee Jelly - Your favorite treat. Eating it as a reward can motivate you and increase your Will during a drought of impetus.

[ ] Baton - A self-defense baton you made through whittling during your free time, a relatively pleasant and relaxing experience. For some reason, you anticipate these may be useful in short order, and sooner rather than later, although they'll - naturally - eventually be discarded in favor of all sorts of amazing superpowers.

[ ] Lighter - Stolen from your dad, borrowed from your neighbor Ms. Smith with no intent of being returned, or simply picked up from the ground and manually refilled. If sold or rented out alongside the cigarettes, you can make awesome profits. A gut instinct combined with simple deductive logic tells you someone will probably figure out pyromancy sooner rather than later, so packing more than one would be slightly superfluous, and its usefulness is tragically short-lived as a result.

[ ] Cigarettes [Free, then 10 Will for each purchase after the fourth] - The most common sin perpetrated on the lungs, and the ultimate contraband. Every high schooler needs their dose of cancer sticks, and you're happy to oblige. You avoided paying for them - and therefore doing the work - by mooching off your old man's supply stash for the last couple of weeks, until you gathered a decent amount. If you want a truly ridiculous amount, you'll have needed to work, though. It debatably makes you slightly immoral to sell these. Or, perhaps, more moral.

[ ] Survival Handbook To Educational Enrollment [Free, then 10 Will for each purchase afterward] - A handbook to surviving and succeeding an Enrollment, written by one Cassandra Prescott, also known as the Archivist, a graduate of the History Theme. It contains a number of useful tips and tricks for your Education, a list of potential and useful arguments that can be levied against the Educator and are recorded to have worked in the past, and some minor footnotes about the sort of things you may encounter. Based on interviews with other Enrolled, including exclusive commentary from the Metaphysicist on page sixty-five!

[ ] Solar Charger [75 Will] - An incredibly useful yet expensive item, as most of them aren't cheap, you would've had to (retroactively) work your ass off part-time to afford one, let alone several. Such a treasure will doubtless accrue price until someone can figure out a way of charging phones with magic, something you predict won't happen or be reasonably available for at least several months, letting you sell it or rent it out to your classmates for immense profit and favor.

[ ] Tarot Deck [5 Will, .1 Credit] - In an incredible feat of predictive fortune, you managed to snag one of these. Oddly, you can't tell how useful it might be, though. Presumably, there'll be lots of tarot decks around, but maybe having one of your own is gonna do or mean something special with all the magic you'll be throwing around?

[ ] Write-in [.1 Credit, potentially also Will]

It's recommended you format this part of the vote as a plan. Under his circumstances, Solomon would've predicted you won't need anything in the way of food or water, so you do not have to worry much about that unless you wish to bring along luxury items such as peanut butter to sell at marked-up prices.

Selling for money doesn't make a lot of sense currently, but you can hold off your goods until one of your classmates has something you want. Or, you can give them out freely and hope to earn yourself some favor points with your classmates.

---

Enrollment

After you've selected your items, a natural question remains: how does Solomon's Freshman Class (no longer having the honor of being high school juniors, apparently,) design the Roles, once they are done with reading the assigned material that introduces the topic to the unaware?

Each Enrolled, naturally, has a Role, an aspect of the Theme they manifest as the core of their power and center of their learning. Already, the Educator introduced you with the example of 'the Fool,' a brash and naive, yet adventurous and greatly dormant youth capable of performing great deeds, if they do not suffer an early death.

For this particular section of the quest, each player may craft an [ ] Idea: [Role], proposing a conception of a particular Role, much as the Educator's proposed interpretation of the Fool. A conception may be as broad, narrow, deep, and shallow as desired, and expanded upon by other players. A player may also freely challenge another player's conception with their own, arguing for how a Role should operate based on a different conception of it. A player can make propositions for multiple Roles, although it's somewhat encouraged to give others space to develop their own ideas, and gradually build off of each other: bonus Credit may be assigned for such endeavors.

Abilities, specific limitations, and so on can be named, and should be named in a fair and discerning manner - both for maintaining the spirit of equity and because of more practical concerns! Remember that you won't be the only individual receiving some of these Roles, and your favorite may not necessarily fall freely into your lap: the more powerful a Role, the more enticing it is, and the more students will want it, with the Educator potentially resolving a tie of interests in someone else's favor! At the same time, the more powerful a Role, the more inherent danger it presents, marking anyone bearing it as a potential target later on in the quest. There is a safety in relative 'weakness.'

The shape of the Roles, as they emerge, is in your hands, but the Educator is the final arbiter and can veto anything he deems unacceptable, ridiculous, or non-fitting. He's also the final arbiter of who receives which Role, if any disagreements should arise that cannot be resolved by their respective parties. The Educator can also propose or challenge ideas, or back them up, although this form of interference is fairly rare, as he seems to value his students' input and creativity far more than technical correctness.

It should be noted he's generally willing to acquiesce to reasonable ideas, such as 'the Vampire' not burning up instantly into ash when exposed to direct sunlight, as that'd disincentivize anyone from picking such a Role, the price not worth the benefits. However, he does look fondly at reasonable limitations as well, and may be willing to tolerate a slightly larger leeway of amazing superpowers if they are accompanied by some Thematic drawbacks.

At the end of the day, the ultimate and accepted form of a Role shall be based on a mixture of the following elements:
- General average and crux of what the players / students can agree on as being reasonable.
- What the QM / Educator believes is reasonable, transcending the element above to a moderate degree.

Naturally, Roles revolving around the Theme of Tarot Cards should most probably include actual tarot cards as Roles - giving you an incredibly diverse and ironically predetermined spread of them to pick from - although you're free to include auxiliary ideas.

For instance, something like 'The Fortune-Teller' might act as a considerable support and prediction-based Role...

If an insufficient amount of Roles is proposed, more shall be provided diegetically by the students. Likewise, if some are bypassed, the Educator shall provide some baseline ideas of his own, ones that won't necessarily be inherently to any degree inferior or superior to what you might've come up with.