Julich1610

I will have to look this up - thanks!

I have a book entitled Miracles and the Protestant Imagination by Philip M. Soergel which treats of the Evangelical Womder Book in Germany. I think the Protestant and Puritan worlds were no less supernatural, but there is a moral element. For example, the church father Irenaeus in his Mirror of the Waters sees miracles as a way God might intervene in the natural order to convince the godless of their error: In the sky, parhelia, many suns and moons at the same time, great eclipses and darkness, comets, thrashing brooms, chasmata, burning heat or fissures, fiery flames, fiery rays, fire-shooting, fiery tracks, fiery balls, fire and blood rains, fiery swords, fiery crosses...all of these are considered by Irenaeus to be signs from God. So, I think it would be quite possible to convince your Puritan of the divine source and moral end of the miracles wrought by alchemy, as long as your alchemist attends church regularly.

This is a narrative, in part, from a recent adventure played with friends in Jamestown, VA. The year is 1609. Perhaps well to remember what is was like to be an immigrant with this President in England. Interestingly, many of the leaders of Virginia around the time of The Revolution claimed descent from Pocahontas rather than Gabriel Archer. Arrival without Fanfare Before the rough-hewn, river-facing gate of the triangular wooden palisade, bulwarks bristling with cannon at each vertex to the dismay of salvadges darkly lurking amid the dappled branches of the Virginia forest, the adventurers were scarcely greeted upon their late arrival, so teeming was Jamestown’s muddy confines with earlier colonists from the fleet, more than 300 souls added to the 120 or so inhabitants who had survived the privations of the previous winter. Everywhere, muck and sweat and stench crowded upon this bivouac of humanity cast ashore, not rising to the level of the meanest human habitation. The burial grounds in the northwest corner, situated within the palisade to protect the colony from whatever notions among the Powhatan might else arise that the English be only human after all, subject to the ordinary demise of all God’s creatures…even the burial grounds were encroached upon by those brought here from the mother country, she having dropped her litter thus unseemly in the virgin territories. "More mouths to feed," was perhaps the only muttered imprecation heard upon the arrival of the adventurers in Jamestown. Having set sail down the Thames on June 2nd and thus at sea nearly four months, following the hyrcano, landfall in Jamestown was most welcome despite the lack of courteous reception! The Favorite Daughter And others had preceded the adventurers, causing a stir and distraction quite apart from their own arrival. At the gate, facing a delegation of well-dressed colonists, was a lithe and diminutive native girl of perhaps 14 summers, wearing a necklace of shells and copper ornaments and not much besides. Next to her stood an older native of sturdy build, carrying a basket of flowers and yet disturbingly in appearance after the fashion of Old Scratch himself, feathers like horns and animal tail! The outlandish couple was met at the gates by a short (5’ 5”), bearded man, with crooked teeth, carrying a stave of office. He had wounds on his hands which seemed to resemble healed stigmata. Surprisingly, the girl spoke English, after a fashion... “I have come to see Captain Smith”, she said, with strangely accented words. “Is he here?” “I am sorry to tell you Captain John Smith is dead," the short, bearded man replied. "He died of wounds suffered in a skirmish with the Nansemond. We have learned you salvadges can’t be trusted. You must not come to our gates any longer, promising friendship and then sneaking up from behind with arrows and war clubs. Leave Jamestown and do not return!” The older brave attending her, a strong and mature warrior, spoke: “Caucorouse (Captain) say you go home. Vittapitchewayne (you lie!). More Otasantasuwak (those who wear trousers) come here! Casakunnacak, peya quagh acquintan vttasantasough?” Tears were streaming down the girl's cheeks. ” Opechancanough is Werowance of Pamunkey, brother of Wahunsenecock, my father whom you call Powhatan. Opechancanough asks in how many days will there come here more English ships? He is angry because…John…told my father the English were soon leaving Virginia, but now more have come. ” The short bearded man with the stigmata replied: “That is not a concern for you salvadges. Good King James rules our town. He decides who comes or goes. If Smith lied to you, then he must give an accounting to the Lord for it, which I imagine will take some time.” The young woman’s dark eyes blazed. “You have hated my people, Gabriel Archer, since the wounding of your hands when the English first came ashore here. Have you forgotten the lady of our people who pressed wisakon in your hands to save you the use of them? And now you use those healed hands to bring your revenge on us, you point at the sun!” She pointed to the sun. “Many years from now, men will find the bones of your hands, put them where others can see them. Your vengeance against my people will be done upon us, but not by you! The shadows grow long on the day of your life.” The salvadges left the gate, but not before Temperance, an adventurer, pressed to the young girl’s side. Such was Temperance's charm that despite the tears running down her cheeks, the young girl smiled, said her name was Pocahontas, she who was the favorite daughter of The Powhatan. Was there any hope for peace between the English and the people of this New World? Temperance asked. Perhaps only in a single thing, Pocahontas replied. There was a treasure from the Temple of Okeus in Nansemond, which the English destroyed while stealing their corn. This artifact, a turtle shell rattle, was sacred to her people. If it could only be recovered, returned to The Powhatan in Werowocomoco, perhaps a peace could be made, even now. She would plead before the judgment seat of her father herself, as she had pleaded for the life of John Smith…who was now dead…her eyes became downcast and disconsolate, as she walked sadly away into the forest.

I listed some of the texts in the Biblioteca Palatina, the great library of Heidelberg in The Heydelberg Horror before carted away to Rome following the sack of Heidelberg by Tilly in 1622 and there are other selections available online from Heidelberg University today: http://digi.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/en/bpd/bibliotheca_palatina/geschichte.html As noted in The Heydelberg Horror, books were so valuable they were actually chained to the library benches to prevent checkout. John Dee had a famed 4,000 volume library at Mortlake until his death in late 1608. There is a catalog of his books put together but out of print now, nothing I can find online. There is, however, a hand list of 100 or so of his books exhibited by the Royal College of Physicians available online. Given that Dee was Queen Elizabeth's conjurer, there may be a bit more magic than you would like, but otherwise this was one of the most famous libraries in the early 17th century: https://www.rcplondon.ac.uk/news/lost-library-john-dee One may also wish to include volumes on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, a list of the prescribed books originally created by the Sacred Congregation of the Index of the Holy Roman Catholic Church in 1572. The term omnia opera means all works by the author (eg Giordano Bruno) are banned. There is an online database of these works that can be sorted by the period of censorship to provide a nice listing of prescribed books. http://search.beaconforfreedom.org/search/censored_publications/result.html?author=&cauthor=&title=&country=8052&language=&censored_year=&censortype=&published_year=&censorreason=&sort=pc&page=3

Of course, the book was written in 1957, so a dollar in 1957 would be worth $8.93 today. With a cost of $90 - $100 or more in today's dollars, the beaver pelts become a more attractive alternative at checkout.

From a colonial perspective, I have a book entitled "Guns on the Early Frontiers" by Carl Russell that describes the Dutch trade with the Mohawk Indians in the first half of the 17th century, despite a law in New Netherlands that carried the death penalty for selling firearms to Indians. It cost 20 beavers for one gun and about 10-12 guilders for a pound of gunpowder. A guilder was about the modern equivalent of 4 USD, Russell says. So, if you don't have $40-50 in your wallet, your characters might have to "give a dam" at checkout for their gunpowder.

I hear what you are saying about historical realism, but I would hesitate myself to tell the mere truth with facts. As a GM, I like explaining actual events with what G.K. Chesterton in Orthodoxy might have described as "The Ethics of Elf Land". The "why" part of history is a sheer fiction, I think, no matter how many well-informed commentaries are offered to explain historical events. Julius Caesar's commentary on the Gallic War, for example, was pure propaganda. So, I have no compunction against providing my own fantastic explanations for historical events. G.K. Chesterton suggested that all daisies look alike because the Creator never got tired of making them that way, that the Creator is both older and younger than we. Ethics of Elf Land are my house rules but to each his own, of course. Perhaps I shall grow up some day... Reflecting on the engravings of Jacques Callot or the text of Simplicissimus, one might conclude that reason had very little to do with the Thirty Years War. The most insane explanations would therefore seem appropriate!

It was looking like a long year for Elias Wetzel, Obristmeister of Kolmar. As chief magistrate elected by tradition following the feast of St. Lawrence on August 10th, serving a one year term, Elias had chaired the meeting of the council at the Rathaus (town hall) earlier that evening to discuss the political situation created by the sudden demise of the emissary from Mülhausen. The small folk might well believe the Nachtkalb was responsible, but the uncanny death of this Martin from the Decapole would likely require a more human scapegoat to satisfy the inquisitive concerns of the powerful Duke Friedrich of Württemberg. The absence of visible wounds would suggest poison at the banquet to His Ducal Grace, no fool despite the open mockery he suffered in The Merry Wives of Windsor by Shakespeare, playing upon the snub offered the Duke by the late Queen Elizabeth who only sent an invitation when too late to attend his investiture as Knight of the Garter , an honor the Duke had long pestered the queen to offer him; an oversight on Her Majesty's part, no doubt. It was probable that imperial officials from nearby Ensisheim would soon arrive within the walls of Kolmar to make an inquest on the Duke's behalf. The Duke had pressured Kolmar to sign the Lutheran Formula of Concord, but Kolmar aligned confessionally with Rhenish Calvinism instead, which continued to stick in His Serene Highness' craw. The newly elected Elias had political problems closer to home as well. While he felt confident of the support of the Meisterschaft (Magistrate) who served under him, the Schultheiss or chief justice Lorentz Obrecht, the three Stettmeisters who served variously as city treasurers and advocates for cases before the council in its capacity as Superior Court, along with the city clerk Klaus Hurst, who was responsible for keeping all city records and directed the city's chancery and the court clerk, Hans Goll, who performed a similar function for the courts. No, it was the council itself that troubled him, the 30 representatives of the guilds that provided the administrative offices of the Magistrate with the political support needed in an advisory capacity. They could be troublesome. Most important of these were the XIIIers (Dreizehner), ten guild representatives and the three Stettmeisters from the Magistrate who made policy for the town. Then there was a senate of ten guild representatives and finally the guild masters themselves. Elias mentally recited the guilds to whom most of the 1,200 households on the tax rolls, perhaps 7,000 citizens in all, belonged: Zur Treue - merchants, tailors, pursers, ropemakers, drapers, glaziers, apothecaries, retailers, spice merchants Zum Riesen - innkeepers, coopers, barbers, surgeons, writers, beer brewers, vat makers, musicians Ackerlute - peasants, carters Zum Haspel - gardeners, foresters Rebleute - vineyard workers Zum Lowen - butchers, fishermen, boatmen, bathhouse keepers Zum Kranzchen - bakers, millers, second hand retailers Zum Adler - weavers, furriers, hat makers Zum Holderbaum - wheelwrights, carpenters, armorers, locksmiths, brick makers, moneyers, goldsmiths, clock makers, joiners, masons, potters Zum Wohlleben - tanners, shoemakers, saddlers Müßiggang ist aller Laster Anfang - Idleness is the Devil's workshop, the proverb says, Elias remembered. What better place to look for such Devil's work as poisoning, a form of witchcraft really, than in the shop of a Zunftmeister (Guildmaster) elevated among his peers, hands idle, but mind a bit too keen for its own good? Someone would have to burn for this.. Note: An excellent source for this history is Communities and Conflict in Early Modern Colmar: 1575 - 1730 by Peter G. Wallace. Lots of details, great for gaming! Duke Friedrich of Württemberg

The Decapole itself was sign of its times. The First Estate, the clergy, both sacerdotal and monastic orders, were charged with carrying on the work of the good Lord in redeeming the souls of the scalawags who peopled the earth. Yet, as Chaucer warned, For if a preest be foule, on whom we truste, / No wonder is a lewed man to ruste; / And shame it is, if a prest take keep, / A shiten shepherd and a clene sheep... The Second Estate, that of the Nobles, paid lip service to the ideals of Chivalry, saw themselves variously as King Arthur, Launcelot, or one of a thousand other heroic figures from the chansons de geste, protecting the Church, defending the faith, succoring the defenseless from the oppressor, combating tyrants, resting in the lap of courtly love. But in the wake of The Hundred Years' War, in which the defenseless peasants were robbed by their betters (sometimes even their laundry was raided to provide patches for the shirt of a knight in the field) so the poor man had naught to eat but a handful of rye or barley, his wife surrounded by four or six little ones, huddling next to an oven which might perchance warm them, asking their mother for bread and receiving none, screaming from hunger. As if this misery were not enough, the plunderers of many nations gathered at the door of the poor man's homestead, despoiling him of all else he might claim as his own in this world, leaving only hunger and hopelessness in the pits of the survivors' stomachs. The Third Estate, villeins with no distinction between rich burghers and mud-bespattered peasants in the eyes of the higher classes, also disappointed. Their betters expected of them the servile virtues; humility and hard labor, unquestioning obedience to the King and his ministers, and docile bowing and scraping at the feet of the Lords who loved them less than the dogs accompanying them on the hunt. Nothing good was expected of these dirty, brutish creatures. It was only from the nobility that any virtue could possibly find expression and yet, watching them rob and plunder and murder continuously for a hundred years, is it any wonder a pessimism took hold of the souls of the late middle ages? The villeins had to band together in organizations like the Decapole just to protect themselves from the chivalrous fiends murdering them from horseback until cut down themselves by Edward III's 10,000 peasant longbow men at the Battle of Crecy. The knights had become common soldiers; it was only they who believed otherwise of themselves. Far from being the model of princely virtue, a deserter might at least provide a meal to the peasants he starved, if caught out. Not the heroic quest on which he might have embarked as a squire. And so the people might have descended still further into bleak reverie over the failure of man to live up to his own ideals, had not Petrarch discovered the Romans wrote a far more eloquent Latin than the Church indited in tedious volumes of doctrine and moreover the Romans possessed a stoicism, an educated optimism, the current times sorely lacked. It was a cunning linguist who gave birth to the humanist vision of the Renaissance, in which the human himself was considered worthy, quite apart from how well he conformed himself to the religious, chivalric or societal ideals propagated from one generation to the next. The liberal arts became the humanities. What a piece of work is man! the Bard wrote. And so he became, crafted himself like the Vitruvian Man of Da Vinci.

True to the words carved in the stone frieze above the entrance to the Ploughman's Guild in Kolmar, EH VERACHT ALS GEMACHT ("FASTER UNDONE THAN DONE"), much was undone in the world since the founding of the Decapole 250 years before. In the wake of the Black Death and the time of three popes, each condemning the followers of the others so that it was impossible for anyone to hope for paradise, a poet like Eustache Deschamps summarized the feelings of despondence and despair that had come over mankind at the end of the middle ages: if all the sky was made of gold leaf, and the air was starred with fine silver, and treasure borne on all the winds, and every drop of sea-water was a florin, and it rained down, morning and evening, riches, goods, honours, jewels, money, till all the people were filled with it, and I stood there naked in such rain and wind, never a drop of it would fall on me. The panoply of costumes for every rank and station in society, each one having their assigned part on the stage, rituals for every occasion, the lively spectacles of religious procession, the grisly executions of prisoners for the edification of the crowd, passion plays that left all spectators weeping, had given way instead to the dark night of the soul, a dull malaise and impoverishment of life, in which nothing but death seemed to promise improvement. The spirit of the middle ages thus entered into a time of renunciation like an old man (age 50) or an old woman (age 30) looking back on a wasted life that once seemed so full of promise and now knowing both men and women, for all their striving, praying, birthing, burying, devotion, love, sacramental compliance, would most likely be dead by their 60th year. There were only three escape routes the medieval mind might follow to overcome this impasse: renunciation, reform, or relapse into the comforting illusion of an ideal past that might yet be relived, paradise regained. Of all of these, reform was the most heretical for it implied that the existing institutions were something less than perfected and hadn't God ordained them?

It is my idea here to start a story for others to join in, as though we sat around the fireplace of a weinstube in Kolmar spinning yarns. Jump in when you feel like it, introduce a character, add to the description, whatever. Perhaps we can collectively create a bit of trope for The Heydelberg Horror. Martin sat heavily at Schwendi Fountain, not far from the Koifhaus, the Custom House of Kolmar, where he had been feted as one of the ten representatives of the Decapole, the League of Ten Imperial Free Cities in the Alsace formed on 28 August 1354 to mutually defend the rights of the citizens from domination by powerful barons in the region. It was Martin's honor to represent the city of Mülhausen at the banquet held to remember the foundation of the Decapole 250 years ago. Ach! but Martin had enjoyed a bit more of the fine Rechenwyr wine than was his usual wont. And he had sung along with the boys from the Meistersingerschule founded by Georges Wickram in 1548, who were brought to the banquet as entertainment, toasted the Kaiser's health with more enthusiasm than he actually felt toward the Habsburg ruler. He was out of breath. A man of his years, prone to sanguine humors, was ill-advised to indulge quite so heavily in the pursuit of Bacchus, according to the solemn warning of his learned physician, announcing the later hours of his life like the forlorn tolling of the bells of the local collegiate church, echoing the words carved in the red and yellow sandstone of that ecclesiastical edifice - "memento mori" (remember you must die) - to presage the doom awaiting all folk, great or small. It was nothing really new, after all; one more sermon from the good Doktor. So many physicians felt themselves to be spiritual authorities in the wake of Paracelsus. But Martin was sure that his head would be pounding in the morning as though battered by Hercules' club, the design of which the thrifty founders added to the arms of Kolmar when the wine-addled hero of old had wandered off without it, according to local legend. It was a new moon and Martin resisted the tradition of bowing to it - superstition! It was dark, but with the thought of an impending hangover, Martin of Mülhausen staggered in search of an open weinstube down the cobblestone street loomed over by the hunched half-timbered walls above it that tended to be wider from the second story to the roof, since the imperial tax was levied according to the area taken by the first floor only. His thirst was unslaked and he belched to no one in particular Mitgefangen, mitgehangen! ("in for a penny, in for a pound!") . The streets were empty. The weinstubes would close soon with the tolling of the ten o'clock bell and afterward, anyone found wandering the labyrinthine streets would be questioned at length by the vigilant watch patrol. Eager to avoid such an extensive explanation of his sodden behavior, Martin quickened his pace. They found Martin of Mülhausen next morning, face upward in Schlüssel street, a look of abject terror on his round face. Not a mark on him. The rapier at his side, which he was privileged enough to wear, had never been drawn. That night, at Der Schlacthof, a weinstube in the narrow and rather odoriferous street of the tanners, many theories were proposed as the fire crackled on the hearth, stinging the eyes with smoke. "It must have been the Nachtkalb," a be-wizened grandfather sagely observed, "no one sees that awful beast and lives to tell the tale. They say if there is a death on the night of the new moon, it will be followed by three more deaths before the next new moon. Anyone who falls ill the day after the new moon is likely to die." The out-of-towners, playing cards together, didn't quite know what to make of that, so they ordered another round. Strangers they were, so introductions were doubtless in order...

You should definitely add Highroad to the Stake by Michael Kunze to the list of books. It deals with actual historical events in Munich 1600 but told in a way that brings to mind the life of those times, particularly the lives of the destitute for the most part, who lacked title and often hope.

Too bad, had I known you were that close we might have gathered at a brauhaus for a well-earned glass of Kolsch last October when I was in Cologne.

Working on it, Baron! These things take time and not my day job, alas! Much progress has been made, nonetheless. Prepare for a boat ride down the Rhine from Heydelberg to Koln, where political turmoil, guild clashing with guild in the Alter Markt and Rathaus, and supernatural horror, confraternities not what they seem, await in the Free Imperial City where nothing except the air is free. My ancestors took that ride all the way from the Palatine to Rotterdam, at the invitation of William Penn, following the devastation wrought by the Sun King, thence to the new world. It was a great pleasure for their descendant to take the boat the other way! Hope you will find it worth the wait...

It is a daunting task, even approaching the complexity of the Realm known as The Holy Roman Empire. In fact, I purchased Realm Works from Lone Wolf Development to help organize the material. This flag helped me understand the top of the hierarchy - the Emperor and the Imperial Electors: At the center is the double-headed eagle, arms of the Habsburg Emperors; next, at one o'clock, the Archbishop of Mainz; at 3 o'clock, the Archbishop of Trier; at 5 o'clock, the Count Palatine of the Rhine; at 6 o'clock, the Duke of Saxony; at 7 o'clock. the Margrave of Brandenburg; at nine o'clock, tat 9 o'clock, the King of Bohemia; and at 11 pm, the arms of the Archbishopric of Koln. Easy, huh? There will be a pop quiz.

Saw "The Day of Wrath" tonight on Amazon Video. What is really interesting to me is that the beautiful, young wife in the movie, the luminous Lisbeth Movin, became the old widow in the film version of Babette's Feast, based on the book by Isak Dinesen. In fact, it seems the director Gabriel Axel of Babette's Feast rounded up the survivors of Carl Theodore Dreyer's films, "The Day of Wrath" among them, to be his dark and gloomy villagers so memorably well-fed. There is also an oblique, tributary reference to "Babette's Feast" in The Heydelberg Horror.

Really an excellent question! I didn't suspect the Thirty Years War existed until I stood in the Old Square of Prague in 2013 wondering what the 27 crosses painted there represented. The Thirty Years War hasn't gotten much play in English, though the daughter of King James, Elizabeth, was a key participant. It is therefore more difficult for modern folk to assemble a coherent picture. That is also a great opportunity for writers in English, to popularize what was never popular. Fascinating histories to unearth! I have hundreds of books on the subject, most of them historical. Peter H. Wilson, R.J.W. Evans, C.V. Wedgewood are just a few of the great historians who wrote about the period. I also really like "The Sleepwalkers" by Arthur Koestler, which underscores the changes going on in the cosmology of the times with the likes of Brahe, Kepler, Galileo. Giordano Bruno said it best when he recognized the implications of Copernicus' heliocentric theory in asking the question, "which way is up?" The whole picture of the universe that comforted people in the middle ages was quickly fading away, but not without a struggle! Bruno was burned at the stake for heresy in 1600. From a literature perspective, one of the very first novels, Simplicissimus, written by Johann Grimmelshausen in 1668, is all about The Thirty Years War. This was also a period of enormous literary achievement in England - the Alchemist, by Ben Jonson, and The Tempest, by Shakespeare, were both written and performed about the time of the story (I rather liked Helen Mirren as "Prospera" in the 2012 movie version). Don Quixote was published in 1605, the Man of La Mancha of musical fame.. From an art perspective, this is the time of the Dutch Masters - Rembrandt, Steen, Vermeer and Hals - will really give you a flavor for the times. Rembrandt's heads of Jesus didn't come from Greek art, Hercules, but rather from the Sephardic Jews who were his neighbors in Amsterdam. Music - well, hearing The Ring of the Nibelung, an abbreviated one night version, in Vienna, still lingers. The overture to Das Rheingeld was what came to me when I was travelling up the Rhine from Amsterdam to Switzerland. From a more modern perspective, I really enjoyed the 2005 movie The Headsman by Simon Aeby. Gives you a good flavor of the times, leaves a mark! Here is a link to 10 movies set in the 17th century you might want to consider, though some will doubtless be difficult to obtain: http://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/lists/10-great-films-set-17th-century There are also any of Oliver Potzch's novels (e.g., The Hangman's Daughter) to consider, the Captain Alatriste series (also a movie with Viggo Mortensen in the title role) by Arturo Pérez-Reverte, and the somewhat erotic Witch of Cologne by Tobsha Learner. But I tend to elaborate based on historical sources. Mad Princes of the Renaissance by H.C. Eric Midelfort made me realize there was a lot of cray-cray and therefore Cthulhu potential in the 17th century. Neil Gaiman has an entertaining book entitled Norse Mythology and unashamedly admits he was a huge fan of the Thor comics. Me too! There was even a series of them on the Ring of the Nibelung, in comic form. Excelsior! Hope you visit the Rhineland itself some day and view the shattered castles overlooking the river, particularly Heidelberg! This all happened, but German history beyond the World Wars was never much part of the Anglo curriculum.

The movie Excalibur comes to mind when Arthur, unhorsed, is so easily overmastered by a mounted Lancelot that it is only good sportsmanship for Lancelot to dismount and continue the battle on foot. It is a great disadvantage for a man on foot to fight a man on horseback given the speed, height and weight differences. The Aztecs, when they first encountered Spanish horsemen, thought they were fighting centaurs; horrible monsters half horse, half man! Weapons like the pike were developed to counter cavalry charges. Perhaps a formation of pikemen would negate the unfair advantage a horsed opponent would otherwise have. Missile weapons such as the long bow (witness the flower of French chivalry slaughtered at Agincourt by English yeomen) have ever been the bane of cavalry; what a target someone who stands out above the crowd presents! It only got worse with firearms, cannon. Witness The Charge of the Light Brigade (Charge for the guns, he said/Into the valley of Death/Rode the six hundred). So perhaps t'is better for an unmounted opponent to take cover behind a rock and let fly! A few close combats under the existing rules would doubtless convince survivors of the wisdom in that tactic when facing mounted foes. That said, the Latin phrase Cuius regio, eius religio ("whose realm, his religion") was applied to a ruler's right to determine the religious practices of his loyal subjects. This applies equally to game masters and the rules of the house, of course, so I would by all means modify the rules of your domain to suit!

Bad potluck for Jack!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chalma,_Malinalco Would it surprise you to learn the Black Christ is for real, an avatar of Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror (obsidian), another aspect of Nyarlathotep in my thinking? Fact is often more intriguing than fiction! The whole process of syncretism is interesting - and dangerous, from a cult perspective - but really worked out well for the game, I think. I was brooding about Tezcatlipoca prowling at night like a jaguar through the hills near Guadalajara when I was last there on business. Also bought some Huichole art and obsidian statuary there that continue to inspire broodings...

Thank you. Very glad you like the book! . A lot of work went into it; artists, editing, layout. C&W was great to work with from start to finish; they made it happen! The period just before the Thirty Years War has fascinated me since I was in Prague in 2013. It was a whole new era to explore and the factions were the vehicle I used. The nice thing is now that it's done, I feel like there is a foundation for a lot more adventuring beyond what I have written so far. I can imagine clever and inventive gms using that foundation to build their own intrigues far beyond my own dabblings in the period. As a gm myself, I know what you mean about the need to be in the know. In an adventure around the uncanny, the players have to be kept wondering, continually thinking "there is more here than I understand" to maintain the dramatic tension necessary for that kind of game to be entertaining. How can the gm provide that atmosphere if he/she doesn't get it? So, I wrote the outline of the campaign, but hopefully left out the details enought to keep the gm a bit intrigued about what is to come, knowing where the story is going but how it gets there. Truth is, until it is published, I also don't know every detail of the final copy! That's the excitement and really the fun for me that I am happy to share with others, which is what a gm does every gaming session. Thanks to all who join me on what I hope will be a memorable cruise down the Rhine for them, back in time and with those eerie Jungian detours through the unconscious to be found in the depth of Lovecraft!

Working on it late last night mein Freund!

I don't see anything definitive in the rules for splitting an all-out attack. My interpretation would be based on the following from Renaissance Deluxe: "A character with over 100% can split his skill to perform multiple attacks and Parries or Dodges." This implies it is rather a skilled character who can split his/her attacks among defenders. From my own slight experience with rapier, it is very difficult to deal with more than one opponent at a time! An all-out attack with multiple opponents seems a bit dangerous, even foolhardy to me. A great deal of skill is called for to pull it off (more than I have!), so my house rule here is consistent with what is said in Renaissance Deluxe about this situation: "Numbers count. If you are facing off against multiple opponents, even weak and unskilled ones, you are quickly going to run out of attacks and Reactions. In practical terms, this means that your Adventurer may, at best, reduce the number of attackers by one per round, while only being able to protect themselves against one of several incoming attacks." This certainly suggests, in the case of multiple opponents, that you will only be able to take out one of them in any given round, hence the average bloke won't be able to focus on more than a single opponent in a round, even with an all-out attack That said, whatever feels right in the context of your game is probably the "right" answer.

More than willing to answer questions, entertain suggestions, endure rebukes, bayonet the wounded... Most of all, hope you will enjoy playing The Heydelberg Horror and beyond to the Great Free City of Koln downstream. http://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/208684/The-Heydelberg-Horror?src=newest

Each to his own, of course. In a world of alternative history, however, where diabolical clockwork, alchemy and witchcraft are accepted facts of life, it is difficult to avoid a certain fantasy element, Lovecraft or no. How it is handled is perhaps the essential question. History is no Masterpiece Theater. Those who shy away from insanity, a central theme of Lovecraft, should probably avoid The Thirty Years War entirely, when deserters were eaten on occasion by the starving populace, when children who tried to smuggle bits of food into a besieged city were hung in sight of the walls. See, for example, the woodcuts of Jacques Callot from that period, a village of people hung from the same tree by soldiers. Famine from a rise in the price of grain drove whole families to join hands and walk calmly to their deaths together in the cold, green waves of the ocean, rather than watch each other individually starve to death. The more fantastic or horrific elements of a game become, perhaps, the more important it is for the other elements of the story to be authentic, to convey the normal world against which the not-so-normal world stands out in stark relief. If everything were Mordor, there would be nothing worth defending left in the Shire. I remember a Japanese exchange student asking me, after we saw the Fellowship of the Ring together at the movies, how Frodo and Sam could possibly hope to overcome the Dark Lord? "With friendship," I replied. Lovecraft was actually not too strong a writer of the commonplace, in my opinion, from which his works of horror sometimes suffered a loss of credibility, relying too much on archetype and perhaps not enough on the more subtly nuanced depravity of everyday life. A GM, however, may adopt the strengths of Lovecraft while not also laying claim to his weaknesses.