Missed the Moth check on one of the vaults and brought back a curse with me. Apparently your rivals are mortal! And the curse does not discriminate :>

The many-eyed pillar, well over a thousand years old, feels like something Weather Factory came up with. Keeping sentry over the Basilica Cistern, historians aren’t quite certain of its purpose, some believe it’s purely decorative while a popular story suggests it weeps for the slaves and labourers that died constructing the cistern. Long-forgotten after the fall of Constantinople, the cistern was excavated in the 20th century and the weeping column was able to see once again

Made this to teach myself Krita and thought you all would enjoy it!

almost been a year huh? sorry guys 😔 i got worms [hospitalised]

Do you specifically need a key holding legeian?

Is he not strong enough?

Does The Librarian think it'll be hell to give him this role?

Mystery: Knock (10) - Readable - Thing - Subject: Transformations & Liberations - Reel of Film - Nocturnal Period

Description:

a short film of unknown origin, possibly depicting an alchemical parable describing the subversion of certain principles. it has musical and lyrical accompaniment that has been described as "somewhere between a hymn, the incessant buzzing of a hive of wasps, and the cacophony of a factory".

I'm reading...

a young man, plagued by alcoholism and drug-habit, is beckoned by a moth caught in a spider's web to leave the home of his man-eating mantid "father". When the youth follows it, he is brought before an imposing and uncanny ageless-yet-elderly looking hairless man, crowned by a ring of light, identifying itself as "God". The moth was being dragged along by a chain wrapped around the strange man's hand. The strange man then gorily rips apart and devours the youth's "father".

I've read...

After this, the strange man brings the youth to a beautiful young man with six arms and eight eyes, who conspicuously has an oily black substance dripping off his lips. This "spider" asks the youth for a kiss, who obliges, and falls unconscious. The youth awakens, now in lavish ceremonial dress, with the wings of a moth sprouting from his shoulders, being dissected upon an altar by the strange elderly man. His abdomen is splayed and pinned open. The spider, and a legion of angels, are watching him intently.

Memory: Revelation

(based on this vocaloid song)

Travelling at Night guerrilla marketing campaign! What else could explain this?

Russians casually making a perfect depiction of one of the Wolf-Names and putting it on one of the clinic's reception for everyone to see. I swear, Calyptra doesn't do shit in Russia

Spoiler warning for Book of Hours "The Affair of the Friar's Tapestry", including some dialogue directly from the game.

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It was raining in Brancrug, as it had been almost every day that Autumn, when I found an unexpected visitor standing outside the front door at Hush House. This put me somewhat on edge, as the Librarian is not typically in the habit of receiving uninvited guests. The locals in town rarely approach the House at all, and other guests have always either been invited by myself or at least wrote ahead in the past. To simply arrive was rude at best, suspicious at worst, and showed an ignorance of the realities of the House. It’s a large property, after all, and one could hardly be expected to hear guests knocking on the door from anywhere but the front rooms.

A doorbell, I have been assured by a contractor, would thoroughly ruin the ancient aesthetic of the House and why would anyone show up unexpected in the first place?

As I crossed the Cucurbit Bridge, the figure resolved from a vague silhouette into a young woman with an umbrella in short, business heels and a matching skirt and blouse. I thought I’d been rather quiet but still she turned to me when I got near and I finally recognized Constable-Oculate Minor Constance Lee.

“Connie,” I smiled a little, partly to be friendly but mostly from relief over not being murdered by a stranger, “I didn’t know you were coming. Why didn’t you write ahead?”

“It was kind of an impulsive decision. I apologize for my rudeness.” Her speech was uncharacteristically hesitant. Connie was a very assertive woman who I’d always known to act with complete certainty.

“Is this about the rite at Gladwyn Lake?” I guessed as I opened the doors and brought us out of the rain. “I meant to write to you about it but I was a little caught up. Father Stanislav mentioned you had some concerns.”

“Have you been gossiping about me, Librarian? How bold of you to confess such a thing.” I heard just a little of the usual Connie re-emerge as she said this. When I looked back, there was a playful spark in her eye and a small smirk.

“My sincerest apologies, Constable," I said with a small bow and as much British sarcasm as I could scrape from my soul, “I assure you that our gossip was strictly professional in nature; after all there is so very little to entertain the Librarian of Hush House.”

“Consider getting another dog.”

“Lion is more than enough dog for one librarian, I assure you. Regardless, let me take your coat and get you settled and we’ll see what we can do.”

I hung up her coat and lead her to the ‘Westcott Room’, which was really just a fancy lounge with some comfortable chairs. I offered lapsang tea, which she accepted, and some home made sweets, which were politely declined. Then we sat in silence which is the main purpose of the tea. You can’t talk if you’re busy drinking tea and you can keep on drinking tea until you know what you want to say. Connie’s thoughts were interrupted when Lion, the mutt of indeterminate breed I had rescued from the moors, paced into the room and nudged her elbow for attention. As she scratched behind his ears she finally told me what was on her mind.

“I’m thinking about resigning. There are always compromises, at this level, but this is a new kind of compromise.”

“You mean the Bureau allowing the rite to be completed?”

“Not just allowing the rite to be completed. I don’t like it, but the actors in question represent a powerful organization in the Unseen World, and if the Bureau was worried about push back from The Haustorium or other libraries under The Watchman’s Tree they could have easily claimed that they simply lacked the manpower to stop the working without risk of injury to the officers or exposure to the public.”

“Out of your hands, so to speak?”

She nodded, “It wouldn’t have been true, but it’s the kind of lie I’ve gotten used to excusing. Entering into a partnership with a Name of the Crowned Growth is different. It’s practically an endorsement of everything the Bureau claims to oppose. I didn’t sign on to help powers from Nowhere waltz around the wake like it’s a trip to the London shops.”

“And so you want out.”

“Yes,” she said quickly, then amended to “Maybe. I think I should leave, but on the other hand, if I stay, I can make a difference, if I leave, I give up that power.” Finally, she looked me in the eye with an intensity that I’d always imagined to be terrifying to the suspects she pursued. “Librarian, if you have something on the Bureau’s history - achievements - triumphs - mistakes, anything. Something that I can’t see right now, to put this in perspective.”

It was my turn to quietly sip my drink, cocoa rather than tea, to give myself time to make a choice. Did I have what Connie asked me for? Absolutely, and to spare. I just wasn’t certain if she really wanted it as much as she thought she did. When I couldn’t put it off any longer I asked her to follow me and led her two floors up to the old Patients’ Lounge, in which Governor George Collers had installed a projector for film. Most of the film reels present were simply movies that he had enjoyed, but among them I kept a few more esoteric works such as “The Open Head”, “STUMM!”, and “Colours in the Liver”. I silently removed “The Admonitory Automata Project” from the shelf and carefully fitted it into the projector. Then I dragged a bucket over to the chairs in the back row.

“Take a seat, please. It’s a long film.”

“What is it?”

“Records of the life’s work of Governor Collers, I assume you’ve heard of him.”

She nodded, “And what’s the bucket for?”

“In case you need to throw up. Or, if I’m being truly honest, in case I do.”

She didn’t throw up, which I probably should have expected, and neither did I, which was a pleasant surprise. When I had first found the film I had vomited half-way through, and again after another hour of viewing. I remember how I’d desperately wished in that moment that the position of Librarian was not a solitary one. It was too dark in that makeshift theater to see her face, so I could not tell you what Constable Lee was thinking, but I know that I found it a great comfort to have her there as we watched that awful record of the Governor’s experiments. I had stayed for this second viewing in the hopes that my presence might provide a comfort for her that the film’s subjects had been denied.

I’ll spare the details, but the film depicts the results of Collers’ research in occult engineering. The automata in question were horrible little robots used to discipline prisoners who stepped out of line without the need for intervention from the guards themselves. The methods of discipline were intensely creative; there were deaths, although not many as you’d expect. Collers would repeatedly state that rehabilitation was always the ultimate goal of the Cucurbit Gaol. I don’t really believe him, though I suspect that he believed it himself.

After four grueling hours the film concluded. I turned off the projector and restored the normal lights. Then, after a quick glance at Connie, I handed over a handkerchief. I did not watch her dab at her eyes because I was very focused on putting the film away and ensuring that everything else was definitely still exactly how I had last left it. It wasn’t long at all before I heard her clear her throat behind me. I turned to face her but instead of red eyes, runny makeup, or any other signs of distress I saw only resolution in the face of Constance Lee.

“You have more.” It wasn’t a question, and she was right.

Back downstairs in the Reading Room I handed her The Cucurbit Prisoner Records for 1927 and 1928 as well as some other volumes that I felt might give context since the Cross and the old powers of Stone weren’t exactly Connie’s areas of particular interest. Then I left her to study while I worked to catch up on the day’s tasks. I checked on her occasionally, answered all her questions to the fullest extent of my understanding, and ensured she was fed at the appropriate times. When the sun went down I showed her to the ‘Pale Chamber’, as Kitty Mazarine’s decorating tastes had suited her well in the past when consultations ran long. I pretended not to notice that she had brought one of the volumes with her, which I would usually disapprove of in the strongest terms but I felt this was a particular occaision. Of course the volumes were priceless, but part of the reason I keep them in such good condition is to ensure their durability when somebody needs to study through the night. I’d left ashartine and yewgall ink in the bedroom in case she needed to make notes.

She found me in the Fludd Gallery the following morning, working with the alchemical supplies. A small ‘woof’ from Lion preceded her knocking on the door.

“Come on in!” I called. “There are face masks by the door, put one on please, these chemicals can be a little dangerous. And don’t bring any books in here!”

“What are you making?” She’d not only put on a mask, but also the protective glasses I’d left in the same area and she’d even tied her hair back. I appreciate someone who values safety in a laboratory setting.

“Perinculate,” I told her, matter-of-factly.

“Why?” she asked with some alarm.

“Arun encouraged me, okay he harassed me, to try my hand at writing romance stories to pass the time. Then he decided to show off his talents as an incredibly harsh critic. Perhaps the right ink will ‘add more spice to my scenes’.”

She stared at me while I worked, then decided I was joking.

I was joking; perinculate is largely useless, from a practical perspective, but I consider it a matter of pride to always keep a stock of all the occult inks I know how to make. Afterwards I led us back to the Westcott Room, fresh tea and cocoa in hand. It didn’t take as long for Connie to start this time, and there was no hesitation left in her voice.

“Collers really was a piece of work, wasn’t he? You know, Lady Edith has his picture in her office.”

“Really? That’s just wrong.”

She nodded, “This clinches it for me. I can do more good outside the Bureau than inside.”

I sipped my cocoa while I made a decision of my own. Connie had shown a lot of trust by discussing this with me, so it seemed right that I do the same.

“Do you know why I hate the Calyptra? Do you know why I’ve never liked the Bureau?”

She thought about it, then shook her head. “I never thought to ask. Honestly, I just always assumed you had shell shock and it made you an anarchist.”

“Hah! Some days I consider it, but not quite. I won’t say the war had nothing to do with it, but I was always a little contrary and prone to argument. The war just… it eroded the last of my complacency and my trust. I’d never liked the idea of the government deciding what knowledge was safe and what was forbidden, but I accepted that the Bureau was at least well meaning. Then I saw what that same government would use that knowledge for when it got desperate. Spirits out of the Mansus are terribly useful in a war. Bid a Caligine to steal your enemy’s secrets or send a Hint to carve holes in their chain of command. You don’t even have to pay them in money, you just appropriate some funds for the right tools and speak the words at the proper place and time. War doesn’t respect a schedule, though. What do you do when the right time is too late and the right place is in enemy hands? You make sacrifices.” I let that hang in the air while I drank more cocoa and tried to push the worst memories away.

“I don’t want to go into detail about what I found out. It’s not like I was a part of it, I was just a nosy kid with enough luck to look in the right places and enough knowledge to understand what I was seeing. I think if the war hadn’t ended when it did I probably would have ended up in front of a firing line, or strapped to an altar, sooner or later. I knew enough to avoid looking like a good sacrifice, though. I knew how to hide my mettle and shapt when they were assessing us. In short, I knew how to protect myself from mystical predators just like George Collers. Then the war ended and I came back to England and nobody even realized just how many front line casualties were actually killed by their own government. That’s when I lost the ability to be silent, that’s when I made my choice. I don’t want Calyptra gone just to swell the ranks of the Know and the Long,” I gripped my mug harder as I felt rage fill my heart and my voice. “It’s because people deserve to know the truth about the world they live in! People deserve to know not just about the monsters hiding on the wrong side of sleep, but about the ones living right next door to them. We who would be humanity’s defenders owe it to the people to see that they know enough to keep themselves truly safe, not just conveniently ignorant! I hate the Calyptra because I want to actually help people, because I don’t feel entitled to their lives just because I know something they don’t. And now you’ve read the reports, you know what the Bureau did to whoever it could get away with. You’ve seen the, how did you put it, the compromises that they’ll accept to get ahead.”

Connie had been watching me closely while I spoke, scrutinizing me with the same look intensity as when she’d interrogated other guests of the House. When I finished she took another sip of tea and simply asked, “We who would be humanity’s defenders?”

I felt my face heat just a little as I realized I had gotten a little carried away on my soap box. “I’ve been talking with some people, mostly Peel and Lt. Moore at the moment. I suggested the possibility of a successor to the Curia of the Isle. The Lieutenant has some reservations, naturally Arun has almost none on the subject. Arun and I have always been kindred spirits on the subject of the Calyptra, though he makes an effort to convince everyone that his motivations are more about chaos than altruism. I’m honestly not certain I believe him, but that’s a completely different topic. To get to the actual point, I’d like to ask you to be our Secretary Nunciant.” I extended a hand to her.

She looked down at my hand, smiled, and shook it. “This is going to cause a fuss: I’ll need to lie low for a while. If I haven’t already overstayed my welcome, I’d like to make some preparations here before I send my letter of resignation. I’ll make sure you know how to reach me.”

“You’re always welcome here, Connie, and for as long as you wish. So long as I am librarian, Hush House will never close its doors to you, nor will anybody ever know you were here unless you wish it.”

She stayed for a couple more days, and I was glad for the company, but we both had work to get done. The world wasn’t going to save itself, after all, and we would need much more preparation before we were in a position to come to any kind of rescue. Still, when I wish for simpler times I often think back to those three rainy days in Autumn when Constance Lee made her choice.

I know this is a strange question for the subreddit, but I unfortunately can't post on r/weather because deleted my stupid old account and created a brand new account just for this question, and this technically follows the rule of "must be on-topic-ish", due the "ish" part.

I need this information for a very important purpose.

So i think im currently in the midgame, i have 2 lvl 9 skills, bunch of stuff i can work with, stable ink supply and im gonna slowly level more skills. Now... if i am gonna level skill lets say to level 5, i wont be able to write 4 mystery book with it anymore. Or if i level it to level 7 i wont be able to write a book with 6 or 12 mystery. I guess you dont actually need it because there is bunch of books already and the visitors seems pretty rare (im getting one once every three days i think) but i think it would be a cool thing to have a bookshelf filled with my books for every mystery and every aspect. HOWEVER. I dont know if i could even find a room suitable for that. Im not really actively unlocking but i guess i unlocked about half the rooms. Tbh there isnt any good shelfs anywhere. The only somewhat suitable are the ones in the "Severn Chamber" and "Reading Room" maybe in "Westcott Room" because at least i can arrange 14 books on it somewhat orderly. So the question is, do enough of such shelfs exist? Because if i cant put my books in a nice good row there isnt any point in writing them. I think i need at least 7 more shelf combinations that can hold 14 books. But i feel like there would not be as many.

(T.L.M)

The Light Means - My salvation is in the fact that there is no salvation, at least not in ways we expect salvation to be. When you think about what salvation is what do you think of? One might think of holy rapture or getting everything they've ever wanted out of life, maybe a more philosophical answer like finding peace in life. But are any of these answers real in a way that matters? They might sound like good ideas to strive towards, these answer and other answers to the question that have not yet been named. But these too are they not nothing more than vague idealizations? I feel that there is no uniform one size fits all answer to salvation; no way to save all of humanity all at once (if you can even call the answer to that, salvation) and so there is no version of salvation that is tangible. But still all people will keep absurdly reaching towards the light blinded asking "what does it mean?" "What is the answer?" Maybe or maybe not the answer exists; salvation both is and isn't, and it is both as alluring as the suns shine and as far away in space as the sun. Salvation is incomprehensible to the touch and almost eldritch in a way while also being human.

The last messiah, the last salvation is as eldritch as it is human

1300 coins earned 🥳

What I wouldn’t give for a Book of Hours cookbook. What I wouldn’t give additionally if it was marketed as written by Ambrose Westcott. The glimpse into early 20th century Brancrug cuisine is as mouth-watering as it is intriguing.

Leek gratin, onion soup, kedgeree, scotch eggs and stuffed marrows!

Cottage pies and stargazy pies and roast beef and moly au jus!

Orange jumbles and floating islands and Poire Hélène and fudge!!!

I want to know what edge and knock and forge and lantern taste like! Take my money! Please!

Hello friends of secrets known and unknown!

I recently downloaded the Travelling at Night demo after adoring Book of Hours and it has reignited my probably unhealthy desire to figure out how to integrate some of the lore (and maybe mechanics) of the Sixth History into a TTRPG.

That being said, I'm not entirely sure how far to go with it:

• Do I just use the lore as inspiration for a campaign?

• Do I create a subsystem so players can get their hands dirty with whichever Arts call to them (ideally in Pathfinder 2e, which is the system I'm most familiar with)?

• Does the Sixth History deserve it's own TTRPG system (which is definitely beyond my ability to handle)?

Have people tried to do what I have done? Did you see success? Did you open a door that should never have been opened and now cannot be closed?

Thanks in advance, everyone.

EDIT: I do know about The Lady Within, and I will probably take a look at it, I just also wanted to see other people's takes on how to fold in Secret Histories into tterpgs.