Let Justice Be Done, Though the Heavens Should Fall.

2015 and 2016 Notes.

10-09-2015

[Game 1. Cafe Mox. All players present.]

We receive 2XP for time passed. When last we met it was spring, it is now June 28th, 1778. France has recognized our bid for independence. The heat is unbearable, at least 100F. We are in Monmouth, New Jersey. This is marshland, and we are donning thick wool uniforms under the command of General Christopher Lee. Soldiers are sweating, vomiting, and passing out from the exertion under the dreadful heat and humidity. Christopher, Connal and I (Linus) are encamped with the troops. Christopher is pulled into the command college, while Connal is a major player in code design. Sam and Hecuba are flying and doing ritualistic magic. Sam has built his broomstick and can ride it, with Hecuba’s guidance. They seem to be getting along pretty well. Jonathan is in command of a unit of young, stupid idiots. Christopher gets the command to “go over the hill and attack,” but he’s not sure what that means. Jonathan is bothered by a young soldier named Steve who tells him that Earl raped a guy, and the men are going to kill him. Jonathan manages to intimidate him tremendously and the young soldier nearly shits himself trying to get away. Meanwhile another soldier, Philip, continues to sass him. Jonathan smacks him and kicks him and he finally leaves. Meanwhile, I have dealt with 54 heat stroke deaths at the hospital! A seemingly crazy woman is bringing water to everyone in the hospital [most do not quite understand that water will help relieve heat stroke symptoms]. I have about 400 patients who are suffering from heat stroke, and I care for them in unconventional but effective ways. We hear the sounds of artillery. A guy in one of the medical tents suddenly grips my arm, whispers something about “the Saurians,” and dies. Sam shows up at Jonathan’s command tent carrying a giant broom. I wander over there as well, wondering what’s happening. A nutty Irish woman runs past me and demands water from Hecuba. She slices open a dead body to try to find water, and she sees that a thirty minute broom trip to the Delaware River is one option. The Irish gal Molly thinks this is inadequate. Christopher tells Molly to fill several barrels with dirt, and claiming he can turn the dirt into water. A general comes rushing in looking for the Transcendental Division. Jonathan engages him and he and the general exchange war stories. Jonathan learns that he is now under the command of General Benedict Arnold. Many cannon balls, about 40, hit my OR. The deaths are over 500, and it’s the greatest loss of life I’ve ever personally witnessed. Almost everyone I’ve worked with or cared for since I’ve been in this camp is now dead. I run and tell everyone in the leadership camp. Benedict Arnold has taken over and is quite overconfident and smarmy. He insists that we eat boiled beef and drink up. He also has a mission for us. The British Museum has lost a thing, something that came over on a boat. Molly is grateful to all of us for making the trip to get water to save the soldiers. She gives us a magical pitcher that holds more water than its volume, and the liquid in it is always pure and uncontaminated. George Washington walks in. He shakes everyone’s hand, including The Crabbit. He even promotes her to Magi, equal to a general. Washington is the leader of the Magi. Sam is assigned to be a scout. Washington also explains that Arnold has not explained the mission correctly. Basically some young sorcerer has brought the thing Arnold referred to over from Scotland, and he wants to understand it. He wants us to find out what it is and to see whether we can acquire it. We must go to Trenton, NJ for this. Hecuba and Sam fly there, and Connal and I join them. (Jonathan and Christopher walk.) We land and go into a Cathedral. A rotted body is there, and it slowly heals and reanimates. A brown man stands in front of us. He slams us around telekinetically. He is an Egyptian mummy, and Hecuba feels his curse. [We ask for XP and Matt refuses. We negotiate terms, but Matt insists that we fail. He is clearly agitated. In the end, he reluctantly gives us 2XP for the evening.]

10-30-2015 Devil’s Night

[Game 2. Dolliams. All players present.]

[I get 1XP for sending last session’s notes to Matt.]

We believe now that “the thing” may be this mummy. [I use my occultism skill] to think back about my formal teachings in The Occult and I remember that mummies have all their organs removed so they have no physical vulnerabilities that I can remember. I know there are secret rights that make a mummy: they have a spirit and a physical form, and if one survives, the other survives. Mummies are often created to guard things, and have the ability to instill terror in trespassers. Interestingly, Hecuba has now been cursed by the mummy [happened last game]. She will lose one health per day until she dies. The mummy can assume multiple forms but I don’t know what they might be. Sam uses his hunting skill to understand that the mummy has an astral form and a physical form, and he understands some of its other forms, including the locusts that it is now using against us. We must make a fright check. Locusts are ripping into our faces. I automatically put my hands over my face to defend against their assault. Meanwhile, Christopher and Jonathan are walking toward the Cathedral. They approach Trenton, NJ and witness a carnival. Jonathan has 6-10 dudes following along behind him, excited about the carnival. The soldiers run off for carnival/carnal knowledge. The locusts fly away.

10-21-2016

[Game 1. Ray and Anna out of town.]

11-04-2016

[Game 2. Todd’s. All players present.]

“Something” happened. There were locusts ripping into my face, and then a period of amnesia. The first thing I remember is waking up in a small room and board in Point Amboy (later known as South Amboy), a port town approximately 40 miles from Trenton. I have a job working on the docks, helping to haul in shipments from the Lower New York bay. Along with my physical duties, I heal the sprained ankles and pulled backs of my fellow dockworkers. Sometimes I do minor surgeries or deliver babies in exchange for alcohol. Every night I read voraciously about ancient Egyptian history and lore.

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I'm not dead yet.

As usual, I’m sent off with no expectation of returning, maybe even preferred if I didn’t. Maybe I’d rather not.

This cold northern corner of the continent is surely forsaken. Why else would I be here.

I’ve been on the lookout for spies and infiltrators for months now. The only things I’ve found is the bottom of several bottles at the local tavern.

These yanks don’t see me and that’s probably all for the better. It allows me to be ignored while I listen to their plans while I enjoy reading these books abandoned in my cabin.

This expectation of my death does nothing but steel me to persist and endure. Whiskey is good for courage when delving into those things that should not be found, that should not be allowed to exist. Doesn’t my interest in them just give them a reason to exist? Maybe that’s what the whiskey is for, to help deny their being perceived. But what if it’s the whiskey that lets me see them?

More research is necessary.
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Meow meow My vacation meow meow
what I did on my winter, spring, summer, and fall in the Adirondaks

Meow meow, I spent a lot of time sleeping, making more cats, and hunting small game meow meow.
Meow meow I also studied hard at Hecuba’s side, watching her try to return me to human, meow meow
Meow meow I practiced trying to use critters I could catch as sacrifices to do magic in my cat form, and using the cats around me to practice sex magicks Meow Meow!
Meow meow I spent time reading any spell books, and recipes that Hecuba had laying around our hovel meow meow
Meow meow my focus was on spells for divination, and tracking meow meow

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Escape from Gulph Mills
Debate then Action!

The earnestness with which this troupe of misfits throws themselves at a danger is quite refreshing from the day to day doldrums of making paper and printing propaganda.

After escaping Philadelphia in this deadly cold winter, I was relieved to find General Washington at Gulph Mills. He needed to be warned of the witch’s omen. I cannot recall how many of her visions have come to pass, but I have a sense about her magicks, and they are surely as real as the knife I have at my side.

I never spoke with General Washington. The baker’s reputation for savory treats bought him access, though. He reported Washington was afflicted by some confusion and this surely was a catalyst for the doom our beleaguered army. In fact, he had made this baker a Colonel in the army, given him a tidy uniform and some expensive sidearms. Much like one would dress a comical dwarf in a side show performance. But in Washington’s addled brain, this was perfectly normal.

After meeting with Martha Washington, I was given new orders, which seemed to indicate the source of a sorcery afflicting the General. I and any of the others in the Committee of Secret Correspondence were to find an English camp and neutralize its occupants. “At last!” I thought. My garrote would get some use.

The rest of our merry band was fixed like the northern star on a mundane solution to the problem of evacuating these troops. Our learned doctor even spent an evening with a French dandy to hopefully find some clue to move forward.

My father has a temper. A deranged and evil man if there was one on God’s earth. His fits of rage I came to learn and even to predict like a sailor can smell a storm. In those few seconds before violence erupted from his stout body, I learned to quickly place myself behind a chair, a table, anything to protect myself. It was in those moments I learned that action must be taken. To delay would mean a cracked rib or a broken finger, bent under my father’s rage.

It was this action that moved me to search the surrounding area for a logical place to find the camp. Clearly, on the ridge outside of town, my eagle eye spied a glint of something that belongs not in the natural surroundings of a light forest. I pointed this out to our band and the witch and the doctor were chosen to fly to the ridge, while the two colonels, the hunter, and I would trek up to the camp.

We watched the witch and the doctor fly toward the camp, and as they neared the area, they plummeted from the sky. Surely they should be dead, I thought. But, when we reached the camp it was deserted and the doctor and witch were inexplicably alive. They provided no explanation for why the camp was deserted nor for their survival.

After searching the area we discovered what I can only describe as magical talismans that fed the General’s confusion. These items were easily destroyed, thus freeing General Washington to relocate his troops to Valley Forge.

Washington_and_trooops_in_a_snowstorm.jpg

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10/10/2014 Notes
A good and proper accounting of events

[Game 2. Snuggery of the Godless. All players present. Knushy Facetiming from Hawaii.]

Recap: Philadelphia had fallen to the British. Hecuba [Knushy] divined a rock in Gulph Mills, PA. She saw the troops—a massive battle where the colonial troops were slaughtered—and it was all centered around a small rock. We decided to investigate because we are afraid this will come to pass. As we ended last time, we were looking out over Philly.

Hecuba arrives first in Gulph Mills. The rest of us are on horseback, wanting to meet up knushyh her. Many horses are in Gulph Mills (100-150), and they don’t have the uniformity of British steeds. Hecuba senses magical energy coming off the rock. Blue light from the rock hits her and lays her out for 30 minutes. That’s when we come upon her and see her smoking and unconscious. Sam [Bret] picks her up to help her, and puts her on his horse, but she is convinced he is raping her.

Sam and Connal [Monsewer] remember we were looking for Nathan Green. We approach a house and ask about him. Jonathan [Chaoboy] asks the soldiers about Green. Hecuba is still smoldering and we all look super fucked up to them. The soldiers take our weapons and tell us that The Madam will see us now. We are brought into a drawing room and given tea. A normal looking lady enters. I [Linus] recognize her as Martha Washington. Martha tells us the rock may be a totem, and reveals that she may be a practitioner of magic. Martha also tells us that the army is moving toward Gulph Mills, but she believes it’s a bad place to house an army. They/we would not be able to winter down in this place. Martha wants to discuss some things knushyh Connal.

Hecuba goes back out to the rock, and she feels nauseated around it. Meanwhile, we get more tea and cucumber sandwiches. I see that one of the guards is actually interested in Jonathan. Jonathan notices that Christopher the baker [Treaty] now has an officer’s saber and two beautiful new pistols. Christopher also gets scotch from 1520 as a gift from a soldier. Now we all head out to the rock. Hecuba lifts up her dress, starts to poop, and falls asleep [we all believe she falls into her poop but Zalkabol claims he didn’t necessarily specify this].

The Continental Army is coming, but they must be relocated! It’s not safe, but George Washington is not in his right mind. Sam is trying to convince them it’s not safe. [I spend an XP on Fast Talk (=IQ).] I win over the French General knushyh knowledge of food, wine, and literature. The rest of the group wants to destroy or somehow stop the magic of the rock.

The army is now here and they are completely incompetent…not able to carry weapons, eating quickly through their food stores, etc.. Sam realizes that the rock is an asteroid. Hecuba searches everywhere for George Washington…she wants to break the spell he’s under, or remove his possession, or whatever is affecting him. She’s questioning George Washington and he’s confused, he can’t decide what’s right, and he keeps repeating himself. She tries to make him fall in love knushyh her knushyh a potion, but he’s clearly been protected by another magic user and does not succumb. [I have an interesting discussion knushyh the French General and he agrees to provide me knushyh anything I need: food, clothing, ammunition, survey maps.] The rest of the group assaults a random Native. Hecuba wants to find the shaman Mandoag and questions this poor Native aggressively. She learns Schuylkill River is where the shaman may be!

I decide to fly to Schuylkill River knushyh the knushych Hecuba. The magic is drained from her broom when we approach a camp of masons/mages and troops. We start to fall quickly, but in the end we merely float to the ground and land safely. I hail them and they welcome me. I introduce Hecuba. She casts a fear spell and the troops scatter, as do a few of the mages. She intimidates the remaining mages and they offer to induct her into their organization, but she refuses. They had recognized her as Hecuba The Poisoner. We reach a stalemate and they disappear.

The rest of the group comes to join us, believing we are dead as they watched us fall from the sky. They are surprised to find us alive. Hecuba accuses me of knowing something about why we survived, but I steadfastly deny having any information. She screams at me and the group wonders what’s going on. I hold my ground and the awkwardness passes, for now.

We search the camp and I find a note that’s specifically about me [check private area of the forums]. Hecuba finds documentation of a spell (Spell of Job), explaining that Jonathan has been guided into his horrific situations to be intentionally brutalized, and the more he suffers the more power it generates. She also finds the plans to take down the Continental Army. We all notice that the troops had been prepared for aerial as well as terrestrial combat (magic!). We must get rid of the power stone.

I suddenly remember about the spiritual movements of the 1500’s and 1700’s, and how disrupting a lay line can be done by conjuring a demon or entity from the spirit world to do it for us. None of us know how to do this. I find a masonic cypher book. Connal finds Washington’s cyphers, which show he has been compromised. Sam found a rock, a piece of that magic rock from the middle of town. Hecuba tries to dispel the magic from this rock. The group chants for 5 days [not me, I don’t have magery or thaumatology]. The group’s tedious efforts pay off and the Continental Army moves on to Valley Forge. [We get four experience points! Matt seems happy knushyh our progress and we enjoy his approval. I should take Magery 0 for 5 points, Monsewer suggests.]

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Good Enough

Christopher Ludwick

I remember it as though it were yesterday. I was four or five years old, sitting on a tall chair, alone in my uncles kitchen. My uncle was a grain trader, but I did not know what that was at the time.
I believe my parents had business elsewhere and had left me there that day, planning to come back for me later. I sat alone, looking out the window into the cobblestone streets, watching towns people pass creating shadows in the sunlight that was streaming through the window.

The sunlight flickered onto the floor making it glitter like gold. A soft hazy shade of gold almost hard to believe, like magic, rippling across the floor. What was that on the floor? Finally I slid down from the chair because I wanted to touch the yellow stuff that lay scattered everywhere. The whole floor was heaped with this dry, crackling stuff.

It was not pleasant to hold in my young hand. In fact, it frightened me. Stalks that had looked smooth as silk felt sharp and raw. Their dry brittleness bit into my palm and their smell was sharp. They had long soft hairs growing from hard little heads. It seemed to me I had often seen this on the street, though never glowing golden like this. Wasn’t it the same stuff that spilled out of the feed bags of horses when they ate? I was afraid of horses – so I began to cry. My uncle came back into the kitchen carrying a box. He wondered why I was crying.

“Why are you crying silly? Don’t you know what that is?”
He held it against my cheek. It tickled and pricked at the same time. I pulled my head away.

“It’s grass,” I stammered.

“Grain samples, that’s what it is” My uncle said. “There’s no reason to cry about it.”

I asked, “What is grain?”

My uncle smiled. “When you go home you’ll find it on the supper table. Look at it closely. then you’ll see that you like it.”

When I arrived home, very tired, there was nothing golden or yellow on the table. My father, a tall slim man, bent over and cut the bread. The crust of the bread was brown and glossy as my fathers sideburns, and inside the bread was as white as my fathers quiet face. In the light of the oil lamps the bread seemed even quieter and more peaceful. Safety and stillness emanated from the loaf of bread, and from my father’s hands.

I forgot what i was supposed to ask him. It seemed silly to me to imagine that the strange yellow stuff from my uncles kitchen floor had any connection with the familiar bread on the table. No, it did not even seem silly. i had forgotten the other thing completely; the bread was just there – it could not be any different.

Years later I recounted this childhood experience to a dear friend named Ben. A local scholar and inventor who had facilitated Philadelphia’s first Fire department and university. He laughed briefly.

“You were wiser than your uncle,” He said “and right on every count. It is legitimate to fear a stalk of grain. Even though one does not know it’s history. one knows that it is indeed a hero with it’s plume, a miracle of statics with it’s stone armor of petrified silicic acid. That is why grain crackles when the wind plays among the stalks. The wild Germans and Slavs were terrified by it when they entered the Roman Empire and heard this sound for the first time.”

I stared at him in fascination as he spoke.

“It was the most natural thing in the world, your not being able to identify the grain and bread. How unlikely it seems. Like a magic trick of nature to transmute one to the other. It took man ten thousand years before he learned to make bread out of the grains he had roasted or eaten as a porridge.”

“Who invented bread?”

“We don’t know. But it was undoubtedly an individual of that unique nation which combined the peasant’s patience with the curiosity of the chemist. Undoubtedly an Egyptian.”

“Then since the times of egypt, bread has always had it’s place at our tables?”

“Not at all; much too rarely,” he replied hesitantly. “Often the farmer could not plant grain because his tools were taken away or he was too oppressed by taxes. It is a piteous tale. But there are happier tales about bread. The most wonderful story I know is, perhaps, that this bread, thousands of years old though it is, is not yet finished in the baking. The entire story of bread goes deep – it’s social and technical, religious, political and scientific story.”

“Religious?” I asked.

“Certainly, bread has played a tremendous part in the life of religions. most of the great cultural faiths strove first to become and to remain ‘religions of bread…’”

“Why don’t you write the story?”

His expression became very wise and very old. His tone changed suddenly to that of the great scholar or retiring statesmen.

“Why don’t YOU try to write it? Write the story that is not yet finished! All there is to do is to examine everything there is in human history from chemistry and agriculture to theology, from economic history to politics and law. Take notes for twenty years, and then peer into the future itslef. Only then may you begin to write!”

I can easily recall his smile, It was kind – but not without irony. I sat for several seconds in silence considering his proposal.

“No,” I finally said, “It is good enough for me to simply continue to bake it I believe.”

- Adapted/stolen from the prologue to:
Six Thousand Years of Bread” -H.E. Jacob

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Give us this day our daily bread.
Offerings for Demeter

Christopher Ludwick
Plat-bread-1.jpg

Bread
1 Take 3 quart of a pound of fine searced flowr: 2 spoonefulls of new barme
worke this together wth hotte licore and cover yt close and let it stand and rest one houre & yt wilbe risen enough,
then worke yt & breake yt well
make small loaves & sett into the hotte oven the space of halfe an hour or lesse


Bread
1 Take [for each] 3 quart of a pound of fine searced flowr: [use] 2 spoonefulls of new barme
worke this together wth hotte licore and cover yt close and let it stand and rest one houre & yt wilbe risen enough,
then worke yt & breake yt well
make small loaves & sett into the hotte oven the space of halfe an hour or lesse


Bread
For four 4-ounce rolls, place 3/4 pound (12 oz) of unbleached all purpose white flour in a bowl,
work together with 38g of new barm together with enough water that is 90F to 110F to a stiff but supple dough with a temperature of around 78F,
cover and let stand for one hour, which is enough time for it to rise,
and then knead it by hand and further work the dough under a brake or with your feet until it is very smooth and elastic,
make into rolls and immediately without proofing set into a hot oven to bake for at most thirty minutes.


Bread
1. Put 12 ounces of freshly ground wheat (sifted and bolted to produce white flour) into a bowl or use 12 ounces unbleached white flour, preferably purchased in bulk.
2. Add 2 spoonfuls (38g or a little over 1oz) fresh unhopped ale barm or 7g dried ale yeast
(or 7g bread yeast if you can’t buy ale yeast)
3. Mix with 1oz water and 5 oz warm (90F) to hot (100F) water to produce a supple yet stiff dough with a dough temperature of around 78F.
4. Mix, adding small amounts of water if needed. Cover, let stand one hour, which is enough time for it to rise.
5. Work well by hand and then use a brake or a rolling pin to work the dough until it is supple, elastic, and even a little whitened by the working.
6. Let rest for a few minutes and then form into rolls. (No mention is made of how to score the rolls so score as you like.)
7. Immediately, without giving the bread time to proof, put into a hot oven (425 to 500F) and bake for no more than 30 minutes.

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