THE MONKEY
The hobo with the monkey mask, before being a hobo, had at various points in time been a sailor, a carny, a beatnik, everything inbetween, and all of that all at once. One night... Who knows how long ago and who knows where... The hobo was playing cards with a peculiar stranger. They were playing for peanuts, pocket lint and odd bits of scrap, and the hobo had him clearly beat. When the stranger had nothing left to wager, he offered up a small chest. The stranger was a self-described explorer and adventurer. He claimed to have looted the chest from a monkey temple deep in the Amazon jungles (though the markings on it were clearly Sanskrit). Unimpressed but sympathetic, the hobo accepted. The river card flipped and the hobo won it on a pair of 2s. Later that evening after he and the stranger had parted ways, he opened the chest. In it was a very unremarkable white plastic monkey mask. Little did the hobo know at the time that much of magic, especially if it's powerful, is unremarkable in its mundane form. Like all magic masks, you should never put them on lest you seek to become what it represents. The hobo put it on of course. But who can really say if the hobo wanted to be the monkey king, or if the monkey king wanted to be him. If a normal god must work in mysterious ways, how much more mysteriously must a monkey god work?