Timothy Ferguson's Blog, page 6

Ars Magica 5th Edition Creature Spreadsheet

This is a spreadsheet of the 614 creatures with Might that appeared in the supplements for Ars Magica 5th edition. I hope you find it useful.

Ars Magica 5th edition creature index v3Download

Ebony and Ash: A Tale of Three Wishes by Richard Eli Morse

Richard Morse was one of the circle of people H.P. Lovecraft traded letters with. This was recoded by Ben Tucker. Thanks to him and his production team. I’m attracted to this because it has a certain Venetian feel, particularly because I’ve recently been writing about theriac, their plague medicine.

***

The city lay stricken, in those streets where once the carnival had passed to the sound of lute and hautboy, now masquers of another sort held reign, gray Pestilence, and livid Fever, and black-hooded Death. The houses, so short a time ago bedecked with sweet-scented garlands and precious stuffs, stood bleak and shuttered above the echoing streets. Inside the people crouched, with staring eyes and hands that trembled. No more did song or dance fantastic make bright their chambers; prayer and fasting rather, penance for their sins. “Sackcloth and ashes,” had the gray-robed friars thundered for many a year, and now were their warnings proved indeed.

But there were those who, having made a jest of life, would mock even at Death himself. In tall painted chambers they feasted, where peacocks stalked emerald and amethyst on marble floors, while the banished flute and hautboy murmured softly, and great candles guttered away into perfumed ruin. Wine and jewels and the white breasts of women against the pall of darkness outside. When the feast was ended the guests departed each to his home, hiding his face in a cloak nor looking to right or to left.

But there were three, greatly favored by fortune, who left the feast boldly and unafraid. Florian, Marius, and Leon, friends from childhood, scoffers who feared nothing of the dank and noisome streets. With lanterns of hammered brass in their hands and swords girded at waist they set out, singing a love song, a sugared trifle more befitting to some pleached alley than to this seething night. They had gone but a short way before they came upon an aged crone who feebly leaned beside an empty pedestal. A thousand years seemed lined within the wrinkles of her face, but her eyes were young.

Bidding them stop she cried that she, who ever loved bold youth, would grant to each one wish if such he should choose to ask of her. Believing her mad, yet willing to humor the fancies of a disordered mind, they wished. Florian spoke first and begged that all the wealth within the teeming world be his. Marius next bespoke the fairest of women for his love. Leon last, and hesitating—sought happiness to be his boon. Then laughing they passed on, and coming to the square, parted, each for his home.

Florian went swiftly, for now the moon lay hidden from the earth and darkness rode upon the air. But soon he needst must stop—some vast bulk stopped his pace. Holding his lantern high its gleam came back a thousandfold; from gold and silver and gems heaped high until they seemed to threaten Heaven itself. Falling upon his knees Florian bathed his hands and arms within this precious flood, and threw bright handfuls against the crouching night. But now there was within his grasp something which seemed to whisper of sinister import, and as the dancing rays fell clear upon it he shrieked and threw it far away—a skull. With stricken face he fled, but as he ran, through every vein a swifter racer sped, while shuddering pain was in every member. And the lips of Fever twisted in a jagged grin.

Now the moon tore from her web of shadows and drew strange patterns over rooftops and cobbled ways. Marius stopped short, beholding at an open window a face of beauty such is found in dreams only, and then but seldom. Leaping from the street, Marius grasped the sill. She made no outcry nor murmur even when he caught her in his arms and kissed her curving mouth. She smiled ever, while from between her lips there crawled a bloated worm. And Pestilence laughed aloud.

But Leon lay quiet and forever still in the great square, with two curs worrying at his feet.

King Laurin’s Rose Garden

The first book I wrote for Ars Magica was Sanctuary of Ice which was based heavily on Karl Felix Wolff’s The Pale Mountains. As a matter of personal joy, that book entered the public domain in 2024 and KirksVoice at Librivox recorded a small excerpt. Thanks to the reader and production team.

***

To the east of Bozen rises a strange uneven mass of mountains, called the Rosengarten because on clear evenings the Alpine glow is reflected there so vividly that you might think a rose-red flood had poured down over the barren rocks. But the people who live within sight of the Rosengarten tell the following legend.-

In ancient times there grew on the high mountains east of Bozen a real rose garden, so filled with flowers that in the sunlight it seemed a soft rose-colored mass. This garden kingdom belonged to the dwarf king, Laurin, who lived there with his people.

Deep within the mountains Laurin had many secret rooms and storehouses full of glittering jewels and gold, and to protect his kingdom and this treasure he had, instead of a wall or a moat, a silken thread. This was drawn around the rose garden. And whoever crossed it must fight the king. He was only a dwarf, but he was skilful in the use of magic arms.

Laurin, returning one day from a distant country, brought back with him to the rose garden the lovely Princess Similde. He wished to make her his queen, but Similde, who had come against her will, would listen neither to entreaties nor threats, and in a short time her brother, discovering where she was, came to set her free, bringing with him Dietrich of Bern and several other warriors.

When they suddenly beheld the Rosengarten, they halted, overcome by its beauty. All but one, the ferocious Witege, who rushed forward and, cutting the silken barrier, opened the battle. The warriors had counted on an easy victory, but Laurin exerted all the power of his magic weapons and combined with it the aid of five giants. Nevertheless, the warriors conquered. Laurin was taken captive and carried to Bozen, where they planned to make him court buffoon.

Laurin was silent and uncomplaining. At last a day came when he was left unguarded. He fled from the court, quickly reached the outskirts of Bozen, and began the perilous journey back to his mountains. As his eyes clung to the vivid light of the distant Rosengarten, he suddenly realized that the glow was a curse to him, for its light could be seen from the depths of the lowest valleys; everyone marvelled at it, and everyone sought, and often found, the source .

The dwarf king determined to make his kingdom invisible . It should no longer be observed from the valleys . When people could not see it, they would lose their desire to visit it. So he laid a magic spell on the Rosengarten , a spell making it invisible in daytime and at night . But Laurin had forgotten the twilight, which is neither day nor night .

And in the twilight of every clear evening , the flowers of the Rosengarten spread their soft rosy curtain over the mysterious high spires of rock, and their warm radiance dominates the mountains and valleys , as it did in the old days before dwarfs and men were enemies . Today we call this light the Alpine glow, and when it spreads over the peaks of the Rosengarten, the people in the valley come out to gaze in wonder . But they know nothing of that older time when men were kinder and the world more beautiful .

Venice: Glass and Theriac

During layout of a book there are occasional bits where you need an extra page, or an extra column, to make things sit correctly. Here are the pieces that were added since the first draft went live.

Vitrum flexile : The lost secret of unbreaking glass

It is recorded that in the reign of Tiberius an artisan approached the Emperor and demonstrated that it was possible to make glass as durable and flexible as metal. If this secret could be recovered by the Venetians it would revolutionise their industries and military. Armour as light as glass, that does not need daily oiling to keep rust at bay, is a great boon to the logistics of seagoing nation. Hulls made of poured glass would be immune to shipworm, rot, and fire. Coloured glass could be used like concrete to adorn the city.

Magi might have a clue already hidden in some of their libraries providing guaranteed Original Research. In 1126 a magus of House Bonisagus discovered how to clarify Hermetic books (as per Covenants p. 88). In addition to making books easier to understand this makes them into a sort of glass, so that if taken out of a Magical Aura they decay into sand. Might his research notes have useful insights?

The Borosilicate Alternative

Troupes wanting to make a rapid advancement in glass technology without something as high fantasy as flexible glass could instead invent borosilicate glass. In the real world this was a 19th Century German invention. Glasses of this type are clearer, stronger, more chemically inert, and more resistant to thermal shock than soda-lime glass. English speakers may be familiar with this glass by its first English trademark name: Pyrex. Its properties make it particularly suited for use in Hermetic laboratories or alchemical offices.

The new ingredient, borax, is known to Venetian alchemists, although it is somewhat scarce. It is mined in Anatolia and used as a, relatively expensive, cleaning agent, insecticide and flux for metallurgy. Once it is known to be valuable it, like other minerals, can be created using Creo Terram magic. Rego Terram craft magic creates intermediate ingredients temporarily. It can be used to make borosilicate glass without a supply of borax, once the appropriate techniques have been devised.

“But there was an artisan, once upon a time, who made a glass vial that couldn’t be broken. On that account he was admitted to Caesar with his gift; then he dashed it upon the floor, when Caesar handed it back to him. The Emperor was greatly startled, but the artisan picked the vial up off the pavement, and it was dented, just like a brass bowl would have been! He took a little hammer out of his tunic and beat out the dent without any trouble. When he had done that, he thought he would soon be in Jupiter’s heaven, and more especially when Caesar said to him, ‘Is there anyone else who knows how to make this malleable glass? Think now!’ And when he denied that anyone else knew the secret, Caesar ordered his head chopped off, because if this should get out, we would think no more of gold than we would of dirt.”

– A quotation about indestructible glass from Petronius’s Satyricon.

Glass for covenant income

Magi may make great profits with simple magic in the glass trades. The greatest cost to workers is fuel for the kilns, which is imported for the mainland or scavenged from the waste of the city. Retired gondolas for example, are incinerated in the kilns. Simple Ignem magic gives free heat, and therefore cheap glass.

Diabolists also have a source of limitless free heat but are, for now, more interested in the metal trades.

Size and Material Discount

Flexible glass magic items would fascinate magi because enchanted items could be made far more cheaply. The base cost for glass items is 20% of the cost of base metal items. For example a suit of glass armour costs 20 pawns of vis less than one of steel. For Hermetic Architecture the difference is immense.

***

Notes on Theriac

Theriac is a sovereign remedy compounded in Venice. It is believed to have originally been developed by the priests of Asclepius, then further developed in the court of Mithridates of Pontus, as a panacea and daily prophylaxis. The recipe has been adjusted many times: for example the Venetian version contains fresh snake meat, first added by the physician to the Emperor Nero. It is a dark, sweet, thick liquid. In English it is the source of the word “treacle”

Most apothecaries make theriac only once per year. This is usually in the spring, when fresh snakes can be captured. The best serpents for making medicine come from the hills near Padua. Theriac is so important as an export that it names the profession. Apothecaries are literally people who make theriac.

The ritual of making theriac takes up to two days, and is performed publicly. Some claim that this permits quality control by the State, but it also adds to the mystique and value of the product. The ingredients which the apothecaries display include live snakes kept in small wicker cages. Venetian stories contain the same sort of destruction of vendor’s stalls you see in modern movies, except that this lets loose creatures that can kill bystanders.

Galen, the most prized writer on medicine in 1220, suggests detecting adulterated theriac by feeding it to roosters and then releasing them snakes into their pen. Selling adulterated or counterfeit theriac is illegal, but few forgers are caught by the authorities. By tarnishing the reputation for quality that Venetian theriac has, a person is undermining the income of the city’s most skilled chemists. It is illegal for most of them to sell poison, but they are allowed to brew it for personal use.

A surprising effect of these pressures is that the vast majority of counterfeit theriac comes from monasteries. They are outside the legal limitation for a single batch per year, cannot be forced to make their batches in public, and their members are difficult to poison because of their enclosed lifestyle.

Theriac, once made, is left to mature in sealed ceramic containers. It increases its potency over time, reaching its peak effectiveness after six years, then retaining it for forty more. Apothecaries therefore have cellars of theriac, even if they are able to sell every drop once it matures. This can be stolen, or kept safe, by magi.

Properly-made theriac is a remedy for poisoning and most diseases. It is believed to be the most efficacious medicine available to cure plague. This is particularly the case when plague is caused by dragons spilling their poison into rivers. Serpent flesh contains an antivenin that prevents each snake from poisoning itself. The protective power of this essence is magnified by the compounding and maturation processes. It does not miraculously cure wounds but the substantial dose of opium it contains is analgesic.

Theriac is not dependably a source of vis, although it has been reported as such by some magi. Characters investigating this may discover that some of the serpents imported from Padua are Animals of Virtue and contain Creo vis. Tracking snake shipments back to the Paduan Hills may reveal the lair of a Mother of Serpents (see Realms of Power: Faerie.)

Many apothecaries are limited to a single batch each year. This is due to a mixture of the cost of ingredients, the risk of a ruined batch due to the uncertainties of working in the street, and the physical processes of compounding. A character with a high Leadership score, Verditius machinery, or enchanted laboratory equipment might make a truly enormous batch. A failure in the equipment containing such a large batch could flood the campo and pollute the canals with magical liquid.

The Devil’s Bridge

One of the bridges on Torcello is said to be haunted by a demon in the form of a black cat.

“Just the one bridge?” ask wits from Venice. “Just the one demon? Why, on a warm night during Carnival…” Yes., yes. Settle down and let me tell you about a Faustian bargain.

A girl falls in love with a man forbidden to her by her family. In the original story he’s part of the Austrian army holding the city after the Napoleonic Wars, but you can swap that out. for political rivals within the city.

They agree to elope but he is murdered and his killer goes undiscovered. The girl enters so deep a depression she refuses to eat and begins to waste away. Her family, fearing this is a sort of slow suicide, go to a witch for aid.

The witch agrees to help, and takes a fee from the family. What that was is not detailed in the story, which gives an entry point for the player characters into the story. She makes arrangements with a demon, then takes the girl to a haunted bridge at midnight. The girl walks the bridge toward the demon, who approaches from the far side. A candle in her right hand is the only illumination. In her left she holds a gold coin. She gives the coin to the demon and it regurgitates a key that allows her to unlock Time. Her beloved walks up the bridge from the demon’s side and takes her hand. The candle goes out, some say blown by a gust of wind, others with its wick pinched between the girl’s fingers. In the darkness, the girl and her lover vanish from the world, together forever.

The witch then flees. She had agreed to give the demon one soul every Christmas but has no intention of paying, or ever visiting this island again. The demon, cheated of its price, still appears on the bridge each Christmas in the shape of a black cat. It is waiting for the witch to return and give it the souls it is owed. What happens to those it meets is disputed. Some say it claims their souls in lieu of its promised payment, others that it is happy to make deals, preferably for human sacrifices.

It is important to remember that some demons deliberately allow mortals to appear to trick them. It encourages others to make agreements. Humans, being prone to Pride, think they are of above average cunning, so if someone else can fool a demon, so, clearly, can they. In this case, to talk to the demon requires a person to deliberately miss the ceremonies of Christmas.

A sequel?

The story as told says the witch got her prize, and that the lovers were happy, Hermetic magi might be sceptical. Demons can’t grant life, so the corpse is, at best, a revenant and perhaps simply a malefic illusion. A pious member of her family, believing that a a woman vanishing from an infernally-tainted bridge is unlikely to be in a paradise with her lover, asks the magi if she can be rescued. This is perhaps possible, but how can they know that a demon has not taken the woman’s shape? How can they be assured that the woman has not become an infernalist during her captivity?

Venetian Magistracies

One of the lovely things about using Google Translate is that sometimes it gives truly bizarre responses, particularly if you are telling it Venetian is Italian. In a Faerie-inclined city you can just take those at face value and use them.

Magistrate for the Merceria

One of the most difficult jobs in the Venetian public service is the magistracy responsible for good order and fair dealing in the faerie market. The random way that magistrates are selected in Venice leaves young men with no mystical experience thoroughly overwhelmed. They are dependant on the permanent staff, some of whom no longer even pretend to be human, and some of whom may be moonlighting Merinita magi or Tytalus personae. At least one agent is a magical cat who enjoys puzzles. They always need help. They always have money. They only pay after success has been proven. If you have a useful set of skills the Magistracy is more than willing to let you try to fix one of their problems. They do not mount rescue missions.

Magistracies the make very little sense

Some of the magistracies with offices on this floor are incoherent. A young patrician made magistrate of a particular shade of pale blue, for example, could take the sinecure and do nothing. They could also charge about the city claiming jurisdiction over everyone wearing this colour, which happens to be the most popular shade for clothing outside the patrician class. Dereliction of duty is almost treason, but claiming authority that is not yours is immodest. Which path ends in a prison sentence? Other questions occur: why is the person in charge of forest maintenance also ceremonial overseer of the annual bull decapitation? What exactly does a magistrate for the revision of scripture do? Are they and the magistrates for blasphemy allies or locked in a constant cycle of reprisal? Does a magistrate of feuds try to settle them, or is it his job to pick fights with the other magistrates of feuds until their term expires? Venetian law is changed to suit custom, so the perception of what a magistrate should be doing is more important than what the law says he must do.

The Magistracy of Foreigners

All visitors to Venice should be aware of the Magistracy of Foreigners. This group of judges hear the pleas of outsiders who attempt to use the Venetian court system. They are pernickety lawyers: they deal with disputed contracts between the citizens of Venice and the denizens of Torcello. Being aware of the operations of the Magistracy of Foreigners is simple self-defence. Every so often one of the ruling bodies of Venice says that this magistracy’s members should be randomly selected from the foreigners in the City. The first a player character may hear about it is when a clerk arrives with a chain of office and a full court docket.

I’ve declared a hard cut-off, although I do have space, without adding pages, for one more practitioner of magic. Irritatingly I’ve also found a reuse for one of the monsters I’ve previously published in the Venetian setting, and a small trove of folk tales I’ve not checked out, despite my notes reminding me to. There’s a decent chance another Venetian article is coming, even though I’ve sworn it is done.

The Riddle by Walter de la Mare

Do you ever read a piece of media and say “I want to use that in a game, but don’t know how?” That was how I’ve felt about “The Riddle” by Walter de la Mare. I’ve used his material on this podcast before, but this eerie little story, written for small children, deliberately doesn’t tell you what it is about. I’ll hand you over to Ben Tucker from Librivox, then come back at the end with some plot hooks.

***

(from his Collected Stories for Children [1947])

So these seven children, Ann and Matilda, James, William and Henry, Harriet and Dorothea, came to live with their grandmother. The house in which their grandmother had lived since her childhood was built in the time of the Georges. It was not a pretty house, but roomy, substantial, and square; and a great cedar tree outstretched its branches almost to the windows.

When the children were come out of the cab (five sitting inside and two beside the driver), they were shown into their grandmother’s presence. They stood in a little black group before the old lady, seated in her bow-window. And she asked them each their names, and repeated each name in her kind, quavering voice. Then to one she gave a work-box, to William a jack-knife, to Dorothea a painted ball; to each a present according to age. And she kissed all her grand-children to the youngest.

‘My dears,’ she said, ‘I wish to see all of you bright and gay in my house. I am an old woman, so that I cannot romp with you; but Ann must look to you, and Mrs. Fenn too. And every morning and every evening you must all come in to see your granny; and bring me smiling faces, that call back to my mind my own son Harry. But all the rest of the day, when school is done, you shall do just as you please, my dears. And there is only one thing, just one, I would have you remember. In the large spare bedroom that looks out on the slate roof there stands in the corner an old oak chest; aye, older than I, my dears, a great deal older; older than my grandmother. Play anywhere else in the house, but not there.’ She spoke kindly to them all, smiling at them; but she was very old, and her eyes seemed to see nothing of this world.

And the seven children, though at first they were gloomy and strange, soon began to be happy and at home in the great house. There was much to interest and to amuse them there; all was new to them. Twice every day, morning and evening, they came in to see their grandmother, who every day seemed more feeble; and she spoke pleasantly to them of her mother, and her childhood, but never forgetting to visit her store of sugar-plums. And so the weeks passed by….

It was evening twilight when Henry went upstairs from the nursery by himself to look at the oak chest. He pressed his fingers into the carved fruit and flowers, and spoke to the dark-smiling heads at the corners; and then, with a glance over his shoulder, he opened the lid and looked in. But the chest concealed no treasure, neither gold nor baubles, nor was there anything to alarm the eye. The chest was empty, except that it was lined with silk of old-rose, seeming darker in the dusk, and smelling sweet of pot-pourri. And while Henry was looking in, he heard the softened laughter and the clinking of the cups downstairs in the nursery; and out at the window he saw the day darkening. These things brought strangely to his memory his mother who in her glimmering white dress used to read to him in the dusk; and he climbed into the chest; and the lid closed gently down over him.

When the other six children were tired with their playing, they filed into their grandmother’s room for her good-night and her sugar-plums. She looked out between the candles at them as if she were uncertain of something in her thoughts. The next day Ann told her grandmother that Henry was not anywhere to be found.

‘Dearie me, child. Then he must be gone away for a time,’ said the old lady. She paused. ‘But remember, all of you, do not meddle with the oak chest.’

But Matilda could not forget her brother Henry, finding no pleasure in playing without him. So she would loiter in the house thinking where he might be. And she carried her wooden doll in her bare arms, singing under her breath all she could make up about it. And when one bright morning she peeped in on the chest, so sweet-scented and secret it seemed that she took her doll with her into it–just as Henry himself had done.

So Ann, and James, and William, Harriet and Dorothea were left at home to play together. ‘Some day maybe they will come back to you, my dears,’ said their grandmother, ‘or maybe you will go to them. Heed my warning as best you may.’

Now Harriet and William were friends together, pretending to be sweethearts; while James and Dorothea liked wild games of hunting, and fishing, and battles.

On a silent afternoon in October, Harriet and William were talking softly together, looking out over the slate roof at the green fields, and they heard the squeak and frisking of a mouse behind them in the room. They went together and searched for the small, dark hole from whence it had come out. But finding no hole, they began to finger the carving of the chest, and to give names to the dark-smiling heads, just as Henry had done. ‘I know! let’s pretend you are Sleeping Beauty, Harriet,’ said William, ‘and I’ll be the Prince that squeezes through the thorns and comes in.’ Harriet looked gently and strangely at her brother but she got into the box and lay down, pretending to be fast asleep, and on tiptoe William leaned over, and seeing how big was the chest, he stepped in to kiss the Sleeping Beauty and to wake her from her quiet sleep. Slowly the carved lid turned on its noiseless hinges. And only the clatter of James and Dorothea came in sometimes to recall Ann from her book.

But their old grandmother was very feeble, and her sight dim, and her hearing extremely difficult.

Snow was falling through the still air upon the roof; and Dorothea was a fish in the oak chest, and James stood over the hole in the ice, brandishing a walking-stick for a harpoon, pretending to be an Esquimau. Dorothea’s face was red, and her wild eyes sparkled through her tousled hair. And James had a crooked scratch upon his cheek. ‘You must struggle, Dorothea, and then I shall swim back and drag you out. Be quick now!’ He shouted with laughter as he was drawn into the open chest. And the lid closed softly and gently down as before.

Ann, left to herself, was too old to care overmuch for sugar-plums, but she would go solitary to bid her grandmother good-night; and the old lady looked wistfully at her over her spectacles. ‘Well, my dear,’ she said with trembling head; and she squeezed Ann’s fingers between her own knuckled finger and thumb. ‘What lonely old people, we two are, to be sure!’ Ann kissed her grandmother’s soft, loose cheek. She left the old lady sitting in her easy chair, her hands upon her knees, and her head turned sidelong towards her.

When Ann was gone to bed she used to sit reading her book by candlelight. She drew up her knees under the sheets, resting her book upon them. Her story was about fairies and gnomes, and the gently-flowing moonlight of the narrative seemed to illumine the white pages, and she could hear in fancy fairy voices, so silent was the great many-roomed house, and so mellifluent were the words of the story. Presently she put out her candle, and, with a confused babel of voices close to her ear, and faint swift pictures before her eyes, she fell asleep.

And in the dead of night she rose out of her bed in dream, and with eyes wide open yet seeing nothing of reality, moved silently through the vacant house. Past the room where her grandmother was snoring in brief, heavy slumber, she stepped lightly and surely, and down the wide staircase. And Vega the far-shining stood over against the window above the slate roof. Ann walked into the strange room beneath as if she were being guided by the hand towards the oak chest. There, just as if she were dreaming it was her bed, she laid herself down in the old rose silk, in the fragrant place. But it was so dark in the room that the movement of the lid was indistinguishable.

Through the long day, the grandmother sat in her bow-window. Her lips were pursed, and she looked with dim, inquisitive scrutiny upon the street where people passed to and fro, and vehicles rolled by. At evening she climbed the stair and stood in the doorway of the large spare bedroom. The ascent had shortened her breath. Her magnifying spectacles rested upon her nose. Leaning her hand on the doorpost she peered in towards the glimmering square of window in the quiet gloom. But she could not see far, because her sight was dim and the light of day feeble. Nor could she detect the faint fragrance as of autumnal leaves. But in her mind was a tangled skein of memories–laughter and tears, and children long ago become old-fashioned, and the advent of friends, and last farewells. And gossiping fitfully, inarticulately, with herself, the old lady went down again to her window-seat.

***

De la Mare was once asked if the children died and if the grandmother was meant to be sinister, and his answer was that, yes, the children did die and that the grandmother was no more sinister than she appeared. That’s all the clues we have for his riddle, and even that I’m willing to ignore. We can map out story ideas for either truth value.

So, assuming the grandmother isn’t feeding them to the box, what could be going on.

Most gently, they are just getting transferred to a different world, perhaps the world they came from following the death of their parents. For a time they dwell in this halfway place, and when they are ready they rejoin the world they go out via the box. The grandmother, who is left behind, is unable to complete her mourning for her son, so she stays where she is. At the end she cannot even see the box.

An alternative, the box could be sending them somewhere else. This is the basic Narnia type of story, where the children are whisked away when they are storytelling or dreaming, so they land in a different world. The grandmother is a gateway guardian, but not much of one, serving to effectively constrain only the eldest, Anne, until her conscious mind is dulled by sleep.

The coffin-like box could be inevitable: the grandmother knows that that the children will die, but cannot change the time or nature of their death. The children entering the box could be symbolic of their loss from other causes in the real world. That loss might not even be death: it could be that the children go off on adventures and leave the grandmother. They could be like Susan in Narnia, cursed to survive in the world without. Actually that’s an interesting link: if the grandmother is Susan her children are dying but not in a terrible way, what with visiting Narnia being afterlife tourism of sorts.

A lot of people when this story was published assumed that the grandmother is feeding the children to the box. What does she get out of the process? She lives on? So the box grants her extended life? She is given new and colourful memories from the children, so she’s a consuming gestalt. It repairs her lost memory of her own life? I’m not sure on this – I can’t solve the riddle because my answer, that they are dying and it is a coffin, is just so banal. Please send in alternative interpretations.

The Lovelorn Cuttle

This week an odd little familiar that turned up while I was looking at some Venetian material.

I’ve been reading “Venice is a fish” and there’s a section in it which, to me, seems to be a perfect origin story for a. familiar

Here’s the quote:

“Apart from the inevitable mess left by man’s best friend it is only in Zetterra ins springtime that you need to watch where you put your feet. Some Venetians go there to fish at night using lamps and torches to attract enamoured cuttlefish and catch them in a sort of big butterfly net From the bottom of their buckets the captured cuttlefish catch you unawares by spurting ink into the stones of the shore, staining socks and trousers.”

My idea is a poetic Jerbiton magus is walking along the Lido and sees a cuttlefish. It has been destroyed by love and responds by sending out huge amounts of ink. He thinks “I’ve been there comrade!” and saves it from someone’s dinner.

He eventually binds it as a familiar this leads to some questions as to the practicalities. With a bond quality you could make a cuttlefish able to breathe air. Alternatively you could have a series of halfpipes through the areas where the magus lives filled with fresh water magically, allowing his familiar to follow him around and make itself useful in the laboratory. I’d prefer one that can fly just because I like the idea of him jetting about.

Cuttlefish can taste through their suckers which means in an avian cuttle you’d have a sense of smell. Cuttles are likely interesting to illusionists because they don’t see the way that humans do. They can’t see colour which isn’t all that odd for a familiar but they don’t focus their eyes by reshaping their lenses. In a cuttle the lens actually moves forward and back like the slide on a telescope to create a point on one of two Focus areas on the back of the eye. Cuttles don’t have blind spots because their optic nerve doesn’t come through the surface of the retina and then splay out nerve fibers on the inner surface of the eye. In what is clearly a better design the optic nerve comes to the back of the eye and the optic nerves come through the back of the retina directly to the sensors.

I’m not sure if I want him to be able to speak. I quite like the idea that he communicates with people not his master by flashing written words on his skin using chromatophores. In real life cuttles communicate with each other by chromatophore, but also by changing their texture, posture, and movement. This cuttle might not be limited to letters. It might be able to draw diagrams and hieroglyphs on itself. They produce sepia which can be used as a writing ink and can be altered in the lab to produce a surprisingly wide range of colours.

Their blood is based on hemocyanin which means that it’s bluish-green and it needs to be pumped about faster than red blood. It carries less oxygen. To allow this the cuttle has three hearts one by each gill and one is a general system pump. Magi tend to develop the physical characteristics of their familiars, so does this mean that the Jerbiton magus develops extra hearts?

Some cuttles, in real life, seem to sleep.. That is they enter a dormant state from which they can rapidly emerge. During this they have rapid eye movement, twitching tentacles and chromatophore changes. In short: they seem to dream. I think I’ll call him Ardent. In Latin his name would be ardens and that means he who burns which is a good name for a Flambeau magus.

A sample of the public domain images in Mythic Venice

Goethe: The King in Thule, The Minstrel, and the Cavalier’s Choice.

Our last episode of ballads from Goethe. Thanks again to the Librivox recorders. Shall we start with a potential candidate for cursed treasure?

The King in Thule

A King there was in Thule,
Kept troth unto the grave
The maid he loved so truly
A goblet to him gave.
And ever set before him
At banquet was the cup

And saddening thoughts came o’er him,
Whene’er he took it up.
When Death with him had spoken,
His treasures rang’d he there,
And all, save one dear token,
He gifted to his heir.
Once more to royal wassail
His peers he summon’d all

Around were knight and vassal
Throng’d in his father’s hall.
Then rose the grand old Rover,
Again the cup drain’d he,
And bravely flung it over
Into the welt’ring sea.
He saw it flashing, falling,
And settling in the main.
Heard Death unto him calling

He never drank again

The Minstrel

” What sounds are those I hear, along
The drawbridge sweetly stealmg ?
“Within our hall I’d have that song,
That minstrel measure, pealing.”
Then forth the little foot-page hied
When he came back, the king he cried,
” Bring in the aged minstrel ! “

” Good-even to you, lordlings all
Fair ladies all, good-even.
Lo, star on star ! Within this hall
I see a radiant heaven.
In hall so bright with noble light,
‘Tis not for thee to feast thy sight.
Old man, look not around thee ! “
He closed his eyne, he struck his lyre
In tones with passion laden.
Till every gallant’s eye shot fire,
And down look’d every maiden.
The king, enraptured with his strain,
Held out to him a golden chain,
In guerdon of his harping.
” The golden chain give not to me.
For noble’s breast its glance is,
Who meets and beats thy enemy.
Amid the shock of lances.
Or give it to thy chancellere
Let him its golden burden bear,
Among his other burdens.
” I sing as sings the bird, whose note
The leafy bough is heard on.
The song that falters from my throat
For me is ample guerdon.
Yet I’d ask one thing, an I might,
A draught of brave wine, sparkling bright
Within a golden beaker ! “

The cup was brought. He drain’d its lees,
” O draught that warms me cheerly !
Blest is the house, where gifts like these
Are counted trifles merely.
Lo, when you prosper, think on me,
And thank your God as heartily,
As for this draught I thank you !

The Cavalier’s Choice

A note from the translators: “This lively little ballad occurs in one of Goethe’s Operas, very charming compositions, which probably are less read than they deserve. It is not altogether original, being evidently founded on a popular Scottish ditty, called indiscriminately “Captain Wedderburn’s Courtship,” or ” The Laird of Roslin’s Daughter,” in which precisely the same questions are propounded and answered. Truth compels us to say that, in point of merit, the superiority lies with the Scottish ballad. This being a case of disputed property, or rather commonty, the translator has allowed himself more license in rendering than has been used in any other instance in the present collection.”

It was a gallant cavalier
Of honour and renown,
And all to seek a ladye-love
He rode from town to town.
Till at a widow-woman’s door
He drew the rein so free

For at her side the knight espied
Her comely daughters three.
Well might he gaze upon them,
For they were fair and tall
Ye never have seen fairer maids,
In bower nor yet in hall.
Small marvel if the gallant’s heart
Beat quicker in his breast
‘Twas hard to choose, and hard to lose-
How might he wale the best ?

” Now, maidens, pretty maidens mine,
Who’ll rede me riddles three ?
And she who answers best of all
Shall be mine own ladye ! “
I ween they blush’d as maidens do,
When such rare words they hear
” Now speak thy riddles, if thou wilt,
Thou gay young cavalier ! “

What’s longer than the longest path ?
First tell ye that to me
And tell me what is deeper yet.
Than is the deepest sea ?
And tell me what is louder far,
Than is the loudest horn ?
And tell me what hath sharper point,
Than e’en the sharpest thorn 1
” And tell me what is greener yet,
Than greenest grass on hill ?
And tell me what is crueller
Than a wicked woman’s will “?

The eldest and the second maid,
They mus’d and thought awhile
But the youngest she looked upward.
And spoke with merry smile
” O, love is surely longer far,
Than the longest paths that be
And hell, they say, is deeper yet.
Than is the deepest sea
The roll of thunder is more loud.
Than is the loudest horn ;
And hunger it is worse to bear
Than sharpest wound of thorn
” The copper sweat is greener yet,
Than is the grass on hill
And the foul fiend he is cruellei
Than any woman’s will ! “

He leapt so lightly from his steed,
He took her by the hand ;
” Sweet maid, my riddles thou hast read,
Be lady of my land ! “
The eldest and the second maid,
They pondered and were dumb,
And there, perchance, are waiting yet
Till another wooer come.
Then, maidens, take this warning word.
Be neither slow nor shy.
But always, when a lover speaks,
Look kindly, and reply.

A note here from my own reading. In the Scottish variants, it is the woman who asks the riddles and the man who answers them. This might make her the same type of faerie I made up out of whole cloth for one of the earliest of my Ars Magica submissions, based on the riddle rhyme “Scarborough Fair”

I’d also like to know where “copper sweat” came from in this translation. The Scots versions I’ve seen use the word “verdigris” and that seems a better translation. Copper sweating is, I believe, the process Australians would call soldering. Copper pipes oxidize to a deep green at the joins due to a reaction with the flux and air. Verdigris was made historically, mostly by women as a dye. The usual method was to hang a piece of copper, in a sealed container, over vinegar, so that crystals of verdigris, which is a copper salt, formed on the surface.

A satanic pact from “Wonderful London”

“Wonderful London” was published in 1878 and has a little fragment which is useful in roleplaying games. The anonymous narrator is talking with a late-night coffee seller about his most unusual customers, and there’s an odd little Satanic pact mentioned. Over to Peter Yearsley, from Librivox, with thanks to him and his team.

***

Why, there’s dozens of these unaccountable customers I could call to mind if it was worth while,’ he continued, after a short pause. ^ Just about the end of last year there used to drop in here every Friday night, as regularly as clockwork between twelve and one, an old woman — precious old to be sure she seemed— with an old-fashioned coalscuttle bonnet and a crutched stick just like that Mother Shipton has in the picture of her. I never saw a more ugly old woman, and she looked all the uglier from always coming in company with as sweet a little creature of a child, a girl of five or six years old say, as ever you set eyes on; a delicate blue-eyed little thing, with hair like yellow-floss silk, nearly all tucked away into the dark-cloth hood she wore, and with a complexion that, compared with the old woman’s, was the whitest marble against Spanish mahogany. She didn’t seem unkind to the child, but let it eat and drink what it wished for ; but the old woman herself never on any occasion ate or drank a morsel, though on every occasion of her Friday night’s visit she seemed and the child too as though they had tramped a very long way, being wet with the rain or dusty with the dust, as the weather might be. There was no fear of them taking cold, however, for they were both, and especially the little girl, well shod and as warmly clad as need be. But the puzzle to me was what two such strange
companions wanted out of a night together.

At last — that was after they had paid me ten or a dozen visits — there came in a man while they were there, and as soon as he saw the old woman he looked towards me and winked in a way I didn’t understand. The old woman must have seen him wink, for all in a moment she took the little girl by her hand, and hobbled off with her as quick as her legs would move her bent old body.

“You know who that is?” the man asked me.

“No, I don’t,” said I.

“Well,” says he, ” that’s old Mother Mutch of Stepney. She’s sold herself to the devil ; but the bargain was, that when the old un wanted her he was to fetch her out of her bed at midnight, and that time to be put off as long as she could get a child who had not yet shed its milk-teeth to be her companion. She could roll in money if she liked; and she is under a promise to leave it all to that little girl when her time comes. It is to stave off that time that she never sleeps in her
bed of nights, but wanders about London from dark till daylight with the little child with her.”

Now what do you think of that?’ asked the coffee-stall keeper.

What did Mother Mutch say the next time she came ?’ I asked.

^She never came after that time when she saw the man wink, which / think looks black against her.”

Goethe : Seven Sleepers, The False Lover and The Water-man

The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus

The Seven Sleepers has some deep links in Ars Magica lore., because an Infernal variant of them appears in Tribunals of Hermes: Rome. The Islamic version of this story has a sleeping dog that guards the door of the cave, which has made its way to Goethe. That character entered Sicilian folklore, which was briefly an emirate. He’s called Kytmyr in Sicilian and that could be the name by which he is known in the Order. The relics of the Sleepers are believed to have been scrounged up during the Crusades and are now in Marseilles. That wrecks the idea they are still sleeping, and waiting for judgement or some other responsibility, which seems stronger for game purposes.

Six young men of Caesar’s household
Fled before their master’s anger ;
As a god he claim’d their worship,
Though a sorry god was he.
For an insect, ever buzzing.
Still annoy’d him at the banquet,
Still disturb’d his rest and pleasure.
All the chasing of his servants
Could not drive away the torment.
Ever round the head of Caesar
Did the angry creature hover.
Threatening with its poison’d sting

Still it flew, and swiftly circling
Made confusion at the table.
Messenger of Baalzebub,
The infernal Lord of flies.
” Ha ! “— So spake the youths together
” He a God that fears an insect

Can a God be thus molested ?
Does a God, like wretched mortals,
Feast and revel at the banquet?
Nay ! to Him, the one, the only,
Who the sun and moon created,
Who hath made the stars in glory,
Shall we henceforth bend the knee ! “
So they spake, and left the palace,
Left it in their trim apparel

By a shepherd led, they hasten’d
To a cave was in the mountain,
And they all went gliding in.
And the shepherd’s dog came after,
Though they strove to drive him from them
Thrust himself toward his master,
Licked their hands in dumb entreaty,
That he might remain their fellow
And lay down with them to sleep.
But the wrath of Caesar kindled,
When he knew that they had left him

All his former love departed,
All his thought was vengeance only.
Out in quest he sent his people,
Traced them to the mountain-hollow.
Not to fire nor sword he doom’d them
But he bade great stones be lifted
To the entrance of the cavern
Saw it fasten’d up with mortar

And so left them in their tomb.
But the youths lay calmly sleeping
And the angel, their protector.
Spake before the throne of glory
” I have watch’d beside the sleepers.
Made them turn in slumber ever,
That the damps of yonder cavern
Should not cramp their youthful limbs
And the rocks around I’ve open’d.
That the sun at rising, setting,
May give freshness to their cheeks.
So they lie in rest and quiet.
In the bliss of happy dreams.”

So they lay ; and still, beside them.
Lay the dog in peaceful slumber,
Never whimpering in his sleep.
Years came on, and years departed
Till at last the young men waken’d
And the wall, so strongly fasten’d,
Now had fallen into ruin,
Crumbled by the touch of ages.
Then lamblichus, the youngest,
And the goodliest of them all.
Seeing that the shepherd trembled,
Said, ” I pray you now, my brothers.
Let me go to seek provision

I have gold, my life I’ll venture,
Tarry till I bring you bread.”
Ephesus, that noble city.
Then, for many a year, had yielded
To the faith of the Redeemer,
Jesus. (Glory to his name !)
And he ran unto the city
At the gate were many warders.
Armed men on tower and turret,
But he pass’d them all unchalleng’d
To the nearest baker’s went he,
And in haste demanded bread.

” Ha ! young rogue,” exclaimed the baker.
” Surely thou hast found a treasure
That old piece of gold betrays thee
Give me, or I shall denounce thee,
Half the treasure thou hast found.”
And lamblichus denied it
But the baker would not listen,
Brawling till the watch came forward.
To the king they both were taken

And the monarch, like the baker.
But a higher right asserting,
Claim’d to share the treasure too.
But at last the wondrous story,
Which the young man told the monarch,
Proved itself by many tokens.
Lord was he of that same palace,
Whither he was brought for judgment
For he show’d to them a pillar.
In the which, a stone when loosen’d
Led unto a treasure chamber,
Heap’d with gold and costly jewels.
Straightway came in haste his kindred,
All his clan came thronging round him,
Eager to advance their claim

Each was nearer than the other.
And lamblichus, the blooming,
Young in face, and form, and feature,
Stood an ancestor among them.
All bewilder’d heard he legends
Of his son and of his grandsons.
Fathers of the men before him.
So amazed he stood and listen’d,
Patriarch in his early manhood
While the crowd around him gather’d.
Stalwart men, and mighty captains.
Him, the youngest, to acknowledge
As the founder of their race
And one token with another
Made assurance doubly certain
None could doubt the wondrous story
Of himself and of his comrades.

Shortly, to the cave returning,
King and people all go with him,
And they saw him enter in.
But no more to king or people,
Did the Chosen reappear.
For the Seven, who long had tarried
Nay, but they were eight in number.
For the faithful dog was with them
Thenceforth from the world were sunder’d.
The most blessed angel Gabriel,
By the will of God Almighty,
Walling up the cave for ever.
Led them unto Paradise.

The False Lover

It was a gallant wild and free,
From France he came, this rover,
And oft a poor young girl had he
Caress’d and sworn to love her.
And fondled her, and press’d, and woo’d.
And toy’d as bridegroom only should.
And in the end forsook her.
And hearing this, that nut-brown maid
Was crazed and broken-hearted

She laugh’d, and wept, and swore, and pray’d,
And so her soul departed.
That hour a horror fell on him,
A crawling terror shook each limb,
And on his horse he bounded.
With bloody spurs and visage pale.
He dash’d on fast and faster,
Now here, now there, up hill, down dale,
But no peace can he master

Seven days, seven nights, he rides amain.
Through lightning, thunder, wind, and rain,
And torrents fierce and swelling.
Through lightning-flash and tempest din
On to a ruin rides he,
Ties up his horse and creeps within.
And from the storm-blast hides he

And as he gropes through darkness grim.
The earth falls inward under him.
And down—down—down, he tumbles.
Reviving from the shock, he sees
Three tapers faintly glancing.
He scrambles after them, but these
Three tapers keep advancing

Sideways, along, up stairs and down.
Through passages long, gaunt, and brown,
And crumbling vaults they lead him.
At once he stands within a hall
Where countless guests are meeting,
Their hollow eyes give one and all
A grim and ghastly greeting

He sees his leman down below,
Array’d in garments white as snow,
She turns —

The Water-Man

A note from the translators: “This ballad cannot be claimed as one of Goethe’s original compositions, it being a very close translation of an old Danish ballad, entitled ” The Mer-man, and Marstig’s Daughter.” As, however, it appears in all the collections, and has often been quoted as a favourable specimen of Goethe’s skill in assuming the simple style of the popular Northern ballads, we have deemed it advisable to give a version.”

” Oh, mother ! rede me well, I pray ;
How shall I woo me yon winsome May ? “
She has built him a horse of the water clear,
The saddle and bridle of sea-sand were.
He has donn’d the garb of a knight so gay,
And to Mary’s Kirk he has ridden away.
He tied his steed to the chancel door,
And he stepp’d round the Kirk three times and four.

He has boune him into the Kirk, and all
Drew near to gaze on him, great and small.
The priest he was standing in the quire ;
” What gay young gallant comes branking here ? “
The winsome maid, to herself said she,
” Oh, were that gay young gallant for me ! “

He stepp’d o’er one stool, he stepp’d o’er two
” Oh, maiden, plight me thine oath so true ! “
He stepp’d o’er three stools, he stepp’d o’er four
” Wilt be mine, sweet May, for evermore ? “
She gave him her hand of the drifted snow
” Here hast thou my troth, and with thee I’ll go.”
They went from the Kirk with the bridal train.
They danced in glee, and they danced full fain

They danced them down to the salt-sea strand,
And they left them standing there, hand in hand.
” Now wait thee, love, with my steed so free,
And the bonniest bark I’ll bring for thee.”
And when they passed to the white, white sand,
The ships came sailing on to the land
But when they were out in the midst of the sound,
Down went they all in the deep profound
Long, long on the shore, when the winds were high.
They heard from the waters the maiden’s cry.
“I rede ye, damsels, as best I can
Tread not the dance with the Water-Man!”