curse of the magi 33

Jaumet also felt the light sensation of Elia’s fingers on his cheekbones and temples. Again she shot a small pain spell through her fingers. Jaumet blocked it as minimally as he could.

“You are Janus Terminus. WAT score: 33. Training: Sigma Kappa.”

Randell watched in wonder as a black-ink scorpion sprouted out of Elia’s left middle finger. It scuttled over Jaumet’s face, leaving tracks as it went, like it was traveling on sand, not skin. It scurried to his collar bone and tracked over his unfinished serial number. He opened his eyes and Randell’s breath caught in his throat.

“Jaumet?” he asked. Jaumet look confused.

“Uh, yeah?” Randell sighed in relief

“Never mind.” Jaumet shrugged. As Randell looked at Elia he caught a small smile slip off her face. She nodded.

“Time to go.”

curse of the magi 29

Meanwhile, Elia had slipped, unnoticed into the bathroom. Hovsep had left a white rag on the counter with a note on it. Take it with you. Elia wasted no time; she wet the rag, wrung it out and rejoined Randell and Jaumet.

They had pulled out of their hug and Jaumet was slumped against the wall behind the bed. Elia cocked her head at Jaumet.

“Doing okay?” He nodded distractedly. She made quick work of cleaning and healing where the pain spells had broken skin. She turned to Randell and gave him a questioning look. He nodded his permission and slipped his white blood and sweat-soaked shirt over his head. And Elia cleaned out the new wounds on his back, not mentioning the three
already scarred over. As she worked on Randell’s back, Jaumet turned his head.

“What’s next?” Elia didn’t look up as she answered.

“We find you a place to hide.” Randell turned his head as far as he could without shifting his back.

“Where?”

“In plain sight.”

“What?”

“I’m taking you back to the compound.” Randell and Jaumet made eye contact in one lightning movement. Randell shook his head and Jaumet nodded in agreement. Before Elia could make any move, Jaumet and Randell were at the door. They hit something before
they crossed the threshold, something that made them flinch back and turn to Elia.

Her green eyes were apologetic.

“You have to trust me,” she pleaded. “If you go out there, the sniffers will be on you before you know it. They’ll take you back, and maybe next time you won’t be so lucky.”

Jaumet looked to Randell, who hesitated. Elia saw the look and bit her lip. “Please, you have to trust me.” Jaumet pierced his friend with his eyes. Randell sighed.

“What do we have to do?”

amnesia

intro

amnesia is a lightweight ttrpg – somewhere between DND and a one shot/one page ttrpg. the world building happens mostly in-game, with the intent of taking some of the storytelling pressure off the DM.

it’s intent is to be a collective storytelling experience that is accessible and easy to pick up – even without prior ttrpg experience.

flavor

in 5 seconds, you will wake up in a PREDICAMENT, you will be unaware of your surroundings, and, breifly, unable to remember who you are or what your skills are. But that doesn’t mean you will have no HALP. Regain your bearings, act quickly, and for the love of god, stay on the move. The rest of your team is out there, and you need to find them before anyone else does. The world is on the edge of destruction, and just because you don’t remember why doesn’t mean it’s not still your job to stop it.

meta

this game begins in media res with each payer beginning in a different location with a different predicament. players generate stats and develop their characters as they go as if they were rediscovering themselves after a brief bout of amnesia. In each location, the players will discover a different object that gives them a clue about why the world is about to end and how they can stop it.

DM note: the goal of this game is collective storytelling and the players have a lot of agency in game to collectively build the world, so players discover clues, make sure to ask them and encourage them to describe how each fits into the world and the story.

set up game

roll for location of each clue (tome, “weapon”, and plan)

these are story blocks that drive the narrative forward and keep the players on track.

set up the scenarios for each player as described below.

clues

the tome – the tome is your bible, the informational source that provide the details and history of this post-apocalyptic world. a knowledge roll will give you more information or clues on how to navigate this brave new world.

the weapon – the weapon is the key to stopping the ongoing apocalypse, the ace up your sleeve so to speak.

the plan – the plan is the template for how to stop the apocalypse, the formula that brings together all the other elements, the call-to-action for our characters.

Roll once for each clue to determine its locations. The location of the weapon determines the nature of the disaster that created the apocalypse. (Described below in the location tables).

set up scenarios

Roll for player order: each player rolls a die (d12 maybe so there are no repeats but any die is fine) to determine player order, highest number goes first.

each player rolls for PREDICAMENT and HALP (see below tables) and take their first turn (first turn described below)

dm note: each time a PREDICAMENT or HALP is rolled by a player, cross it off so it can’t be rolled again and re-roll if the inactive scenario was rolled.

roll 1d6 for [PREDICAMENT]

you wake up…

1…in the middle of a desert completely naked

2…in a sewer covered in rats

3…drowning in a vat of toxic waste

4…in the bed of a foriegn ambassador, you remember nothing from last night, they are making you pancakes

5…in a cryochamber, slowly, painfuly defrosting, you’re definitely from the past but, like 5 minutes ago was also the past

6…surrounded by 5 robocops, they want something you have but they are not great at communicating

roll 1d6 for [HALP]

1…maybe this flare gun will be useful

2…clutched to your chest is your beloved copy of “Flowers for Algernon”

3…it’s a good thing you’re wearing flippers and your snorkel

4…and you have one extra condom

5…in your hand is a letter from a long-dead realative

6…crowbar

first turns

Once you describe the PREDICAMENT and HALP for a player, simply ask, “what do you do?”

Answer any questions about the situation players may have (more info found in location descriptions) but let them respond as naturally as possible.

Once they talk it through, decide together on an action you can roll on, and as a dm, you decide which stat (stats listed below) is most relevant. You will be rolling against a 4 and this stat will be the player’s “I got this bro” stat with a value of 4.

(This same assignment method is used to assign the stats for the next skill used)

Repeat for each player

REGULAR TURNS

stat blocks

Stat numbers (skill levels): “I got this bro” 4, “I manage” 3, “I’m good at other things, get off my back mom” 2

Success: Stat number or lower, failure: higher than stat number

fuck off (fight/phyisical skills)

wait wait don’t tell me (think/mental skills)

you could charm the pants off a snake (charm/social skills)

moving

when you choose you move, you’ll roll 1d6 to see if you can reach your chosen destination.

You can either choose to move to a specific location – your roll determining how fast you get there, or you can choose to move to a random location (locations table below).

If rolling for speed, simply use the stat blocks described above.

locations

the 6 locations correspond to the six predicaments

1 – a really cool cactus in the middle of the desert

2 – the city sewer

3 – a questionably ethical powerplant

4 – the foriegn embassy

5 – the cryobank

6 – a weird alley in a sketchy part of town

location descriptions

1 – a really cool cactus in the middle of the desert

It’s a strange-looking cactus, like none you’ve ever seen, the only visible landmark for miles.

Disaster: plant uprising because of climate change

2 – the city sewer

Dripping with bio waste and crawling with failed experiments, the refuge and rejects from a city that long ago discarded traditional morality.

Disaster: a failed experiment threatening to make its way into the city

3 – the questionably ethical power plant

Dilapidated and abandoned, left in a state of disrepair with no one around to tell you which broken button might cause another nuclear meltdown.

Disaster: a Chernobyl style meltdown

4 – the foriegn embassy

The foreign embassy is the only well-kept structure for miles, edged with gold foil and finery with as much luxury as this post-apocalyptic world will allow.

Disaster: War

5 – the cryobank

The once magnificent state-of-the art cryobank had fallen into a state of disrepair. Cryo pods broken, damaged, random blinking lights with no known origin, and long-forgotten frozen bodies of dignitaries old and new.

Disaster: Zombies

6 – a weird alley in a sketchy part of town

This alley, a hub of illegal activity and black market deals is also a favorite spot of the city’s fleet of robocops to set up sting operations and drug busts. If that weren’t enough, the toxic rat infestation keeps all denizens on their toes. Beware: dangers abound.

Disaster: robot uprising

encountering other PCs

for the first turn or two, players will be in separate locations, but when you do encounter another player (either on purpose or by accident) you will roll using the below rules to figure out how your characters know each other.

the player whose turn it with will make the rolls.

you know you’ve met this person before, you’d know [roll 1d6 for body part] anywhere

1 – that left ankle

2 – those toenails

3 – that nose

4 – those eyelashes

5 – that Tuches

6 – that snakebite

but you can’t see to remember how…

active player rolls wait, wait, don’t tell me

on a success, they remember how they know this person and you can ask them how), on a failure, the other person will have to remind them

running the game

the players are collaboraitely building the world and their characters (as if re-remebering themselves for the first time)

the world building (beyond the initial parameters) is mostly up to the players with the dm providing scaffolding and guidance along the way as they see fit.

once the scenario for each player is set up (you have rolled for predicament and halp), turns continue as normal with each turn being one roll.

rolls determine if a player is successul or not, but the player decides what that means and what happens, aka how they succeed or fail.

so after each roll, you as the dm will say tell the player if the roll was success, then ask the player how they succeed or failed.

building stats

in this game, stat-building happens as you go. so the characters start off with no stats and gain them when they take action. the first type of action will determine the highest stat, etc., etc.

A critical success (rolling a 1) or a critical failure (rolling a 6) will give you a special skill or a special weakness, so on a player’s first critical success or failure, make down the special skill or weakness in their character sheet. in the future, this means the player will automatically succeed or fail the relevant skill roll.

character sheets

character name: (optional)

Stats (circle skill level)

fuck off (fight/phyisical skills): 2 3 4

wait wait don’t tell me (think/mental skills): 2 3 4

you could charm the pants off a snake (charm/social skills): 2 3 4

Special skill: [critical success]

Secret weakness: [critical failure]

npc’s

the soothsayer: the soothsayer is the wise man (or woman) of this wasteland world, they hold the esoteric wisdom that you will need to understand the trouble your find yourselves in.

the ambassador: the ambassador holds the keys to the political system of this world, only they will understand the power structures and key players you will need to leverage to get yourselves out of this mess.

dm notes

as a dm, your job is to keep the story moving and keep the players engaged.

you will need to keep track of which players and game elements are in which location as well as character stats and roll. I recommend keeping a personal copy of players’ character sheets to make things easier on yourself.

the windy city 1

“Always a well-dressed fool
Who wouldn’t spare the rod
Never for me”
-“Foreigner’s God” by Hozier

Colm

His fingers flew. Colm was flying, but he wasn’t free. His fingers followed regimented paths, a platoon of soldiers, lining up, striking one at a time, just like they had planned. But one renegade struck out at the wrong time, throwing a sour note into the tail-wind of his violin.

His father’s voice came to mind, crowding his thoughts. Start over, it said. He stopped, ready to start from the beginning. But the judges expected a different path. They held their waiting fingers next to the sour note, ready to move on. His brow-line broke in the center; the soldiers must charge, must go on. There was no starting over.

Now his fingers flew and flew free. The soldiers were fierce and courageous. They followed the lines of their plan, but also their intuition, their innate sense of battle. Colm knew he had messed up again, but the notes flowed in lines and this time those lines felt like music.

Colm had trouble concealing his smile when he bowed, as one judge clapped,
another smiled, and the last one nodded, not in recognition, but in agreement. But his father was watching so conceal it he did.

He had trouble looking at his father when he walked off the stage. But his father was watching so look at him he did.

His father’s face was flat but the lines of his face were angry. Colm had learned to see that anger, no matter how slight, so he could know when to duck, when to brace himself, and when to run away.

This anger was slight but intense. This was when to run away. But there was nowhere to run, so Colm walked straight into battle, into the fray, trying to conceal his fear but in all likelihood failing.

“You made a mistake,” his father said. The words that had been waiting in his father’s mouth now met Colm’s ears. The voice was quiet, more intense, more dangerous. Run. It said. You can’t duck this one. You can’t brace yourself this time. Run.

“Why didn’t you start over, Colm?” The voice continued. Quiet. Intense. Dangerous. Run. “I told you to start over.”

Colm’s voice stuck in his throat thick with fear. He didn’t try to speak because he knew he couldn’t. He knew he would speak wrong. He knew he would
make a mistake. “Answer me Colm.” A warning. Not in the words. In the lines, straight on a calm face. Run. His voice stuck in a throat thick with fear. The voice didn’t need an answer.

“You shouldn’t have made that mistake, Colm. You should have started over.” The
voice still wanted an answer. His throat was thick with fear. His father banged on the ground the cane he never used for walking. “Answer me, Colm,” he snapped.

But Colm could not.

The cane swung backwards, but Colm had no time to react before it hit his head. He sunk to his knees, surprised as much as he was not. But the pain still cracked and stung, hot on his forehead. He looked up, mouth open in surprise. His father had never lost his temper in public. Only in private where bedroom walls would hide his shame.

But he struck again. Again. Pain snaked and cracked and barely escaped Colm’s lips. He had learned a long time ago not to scream. Screaming was uncouth, uncivilized, and, most importantly, it attracted the neighbors’ attention.

So Colm did not scream, but he did attract someone’s attention. The cracks of cane against his skull were louder than the grunts that passed Colm’s lips. His father couldn’t blame him this time. He felt the blood run down the bridge of his nose and gasped in surprise, in fear.

The pain that cracked and bled threatened his vision with black but he saw the eyes of a woman, the horrorstruck eyes of a woman.

He heard shouting. He wasn’t shouting. The voice was coming from outside his head.

And even through the pain all he could think was that his father couldn’t blame him anymore, not this time. Foreign arms pulled his father back. Neighbors.

He had bothered the neighbors. He shook his head. No. No. No. He wasn’t the one shouting.

The woman pulled him against her chest. Like a mother.

And maybe she was. But she was a neighbor; he had bothered the neighbors. Now they were interfering. He was breathing fast and quick. He wasn’t the one shouting; he couldn’t be – the voice was so far outside his own body. Father couldn’t blame him. He pulled his head into the neighbor’s chest. He gasped through the pain. But he wasn’t the one shouting.

“Colm! Colm! Colm!” He knew that voice. Sophie. The neighbor pulled back. His little sister was around him, hidden in his chest. He was supposed to protect her. How could he do that now? He leaned in, his arms barely around her.

“I’m sorry, Sophie,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I failed.”

the philosopher’s agenda 3

“I just can’t pretend anymore,” he cried, turning back to confront her with the lines of anguish on his brow. She looked at him and stepped slowly out onto the deck; her face as usual held no clue to the inner tumult of emotion ardently felt.

“Maybe we don’t have to pretend.”

Alfie held his breath, bated, in his throat, afraid a stray exhale would blow away the possibility it had suddenly occurred to him to hope for. His hand drifted outward in tenuous question. But it remained as far away from her waist as it was from his own. He knew with a stinging realization that if her words did not mean what he hoped, he would cry, and he would cry in front of her.

With stiff face, Rosemary answered the delicate question, catching his wrist and pulling it slowly to her waist. So complete was his disbelief that he required similar encouragement to rest his other hand opposite the first.

Slowly and ritualistically, Aflie bent his head and kissed on the forehead a girl he had admired for months, if not years.

In slow and trembling voice he asked, “How was that?” Rosemary could not keep a smile from shifting visibly under the carefully kept mask of her face.

“Better than Alchemy.” And with similar ritual, the alchemist kissed Alfie gently on the corner of his jaw. He shivered unexpectedly, the combination of excitement and disbelief traveling violently through him.

Rosemary leaned closer and her whisper was softer. “How was that?” Alfie closed his eyes, pressing his chin into the hand she had rested on his neck.

“Better than sex.”

curse of the magi 26

Elia edged up to the palace gates at 2315.

The palace guard gave her a suspicious glare. She glared back.

“I’m here to visit Hovsep.” The palace guard laughed.

“Very funny, now get out.”

“I’m being serious, call him if you want.” The guard raised his eyebrow as he picked up the intercom phone.

“Hello. Visitor for Hovsep.” His voice crackled over the intercom.

“Yup, send her in.” The guard slammed down the phone and grudgingly hit the
button that opened up the gate. Elia raised her eyebrows at him and went through.

pentacle 8

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Adrian, who at this point in time was called Alice, was glued to the kitchen chair. Not literally glued, but figuratively, glued by obligation. Held down by the idea that if they got up, they would have failed. Which would have been the worst thing in the world. Janet placed a china plate on the table in front of Alice. Alice stared at it reproachfully, sure that the pretty pink roses were mocking them. All the roses had to do were be pretty, but Alice was obligated to stay here, and do what was required of them.

“Try it again,” ordered Janet, not unkindly. Alice stared at the plate until one plate turned into two. They were developing massive headache, and it seemed that their forehead as well would split into two. But as hard as they tried and hoped and desperately pushed with their mind, the plate would not move.

“Mom,” Alice pleaded. “I can’t do it. My head hurts.”

“Of course you can do it, sweetie,” Janet said, again, not unkindly. Alice started to cry.

“I can’t, mom, I can’t,” they said.

“Alice,” Janet said sharply. Alice flinched at the sound of their name. “You will do it. So keep trying.”

“No!” screamed Alice through sobs. At this, the plate shot through the air and shattered against the wall, just barely missing Janet’s head. A single shard fell away and sliced its way down the side of her face. Her eyes turned mean.

“Alice,” she said again, quietly, but this time, quite unkindly. Fear shot its way down Alice’s spine. They knew they were in trouble.

pentacle 7

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Adrian and Aiden had retrieved the box. It was smaller than expected and cardboard with “From Bill and Janet” written in thick sharpie on the top. The scrawling script was clearly Bahir’s. Adrian, once again, had gone numb and was staring that the box, but not really at it all. Aiden put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I’ll get a box cutter,” he said. Adrian had not moved by the time he had returned. “It won’t open itself” he said, handing the box cutter over. Adrian nodded silently and sliced the tape deftly. The flaps fell open. The contents were bundled in bubble wrap. Adrian knelt down and carefully unwrapped the first parcel. As Aiden leaned over their shoulder, he could see that the other parcels were exactly the same, all stack on top of each other. It seemed that the box was filled with delicately painted china plates.

The plate Adrain was holding made no sound as it fell and rejoined the others. The plate was painted with tiny pink roses around the rim. Their breath turned shallow and quick as they recognized the pattern, and relived the memory they recognized it from.

pentacle 6

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Adrian was sitting in the middle of Bahir’s bed. They hadn’t moved in nearly five minutes. Aiden was nonchalantly skimming the belongings strewn across the dead man’s desk. A pen was thrown across a half-finished notebook page. An empty coffee mug sat to the left. As if someone was about to pick up the pen and finish their thought. As if someone would come through the door any minute to clear away the empty mug. Aiden finally broke the silence.

“Ok something’s up, spill it,” he said. He held up his hand. “No, I know. There’s a lot that’s ‘up.’ There’s something else.” Adrian stared into space for what felt to Aiden like forever. But in what was actually only 30 seconds, they finally responded.

“I think he really did shoot himself. That seems to be true,” they paused again. Then continued. “On the left side of his head – I mean, there was makeup on it, but you could stills sort of see that -“

Aiden grimaced. “Okay, stop, stop, I get it”

“Oh,” Adrian continued, “well that part seems true, anyways, but Aiden,” for the first time since they had entered the room, they made eye contact, “there were bruises, on his wrist.” Aiden’s eyes went wide.

“Well how could you – I mean don’t they…” he gestured broadly “cover that up or something?” Adrian shrugged.

“Maybe not, if it’s supposed to be covered by the suit.”

“He’s wearing a suit?” Aiden snorted. “Boy, he would hate that.” Adrian let out one short, soft laugh, then another.

“It’s not like the undertaker would let me put him in a Hawaiian shirt,” they managed between laughs. Aiden snorted again. Adrian doubled over. And they each forgot, momentarily, the reason they were in this room alone in the first place. They forgot momentarily that the man they were laughing over was gone.

In the kitchen Joyce looked up from her late friend’s will and raised a single eyebrow at the sound of two friends laughing hysterically in the room of a dead man. She lined up the edges of the pages, slipped them into an envelope, and quietly absconded. Her work did not end here.

“Okay, okay,” Adrian said breathlessly, wiping away tears. “Let’s do what we came here to do.” They looked around, actually taking in the room for the first time. They pointed to the desk. “What’s in that notebook?”

Aiden moved over to take a closer look.

“Oh,” he said, “it’s to you. It starts ‘Yo Adrian!’ “

“It does not,” Adrian laughed. They stood up to [look over Aiden’s shoulder]. “Oh” their voice softened “it does.” [backstory about name goes here??]

Yo Adrian, the letter read, I thought you and Aiden would appreciate. Aiden and Adrian grinned at each other. The contents of this notebook will shock you. They will challenge your reality and introduce you to a world I worked hard to protect you from. I couldn’t protect you any longer, and I’m sorry for that. I ask that you take this information one page at a time. Each will take time to process.

Aiden, I know you are reading this too. The friends exchanged a sheepish grin. You and I both know Adrian. They are proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent. Adrian blushed. But this path is yours too, you will understand that soon. My task for you is to make sure Adrian doesn’t walk this path alone. Be as annoying as compassionate, and as persistent as I know you can be.

Aiden screwed up his face.

“He has to have to last word, doesn’t he,” Aiden complained. “Can’t even give me a break when he’s dead.” Adrian laughed. They both fell silent and tried not to look at the notebook. They failed. Adrian nervously adjusted their hat.

“Here goes nothing,” they said and flipped the page.

It won’t surprise you, Adrian, Bahir wrote, If I say that your adoptive parents did not have your best interest at heart. But it may surprise you to hear why that is. And why they adopted you in the first place. You see, they were interested mainly in your abilities. The reason is part of a much larger picture that will unfold as you continue to read my extensive notes. They died under suspicious circumstances only two years after you were removed from their care.

An article was cut and pasted onto the page. The headline read “Carmel couple found dead in their home” the picture was of the home Adrian had lived in until the age of seven. Seeing it again, even in black and white newsprint, raised the hair on the back of their neck.

What they left to you in their will is in a label box in the basement. Their death was ruled a suicide. But you should know that a suicide is not always self-inflicted.

pentacle 5

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Angel leaned forward.

“There is one thing though,” she said. Abby gave her a one-sided smile.

“Okay, what is it?”

“They’re saying that Bahir’s is really Adrian’s uncle” she revealed. Abby gave her a blank look. Angel sighed. “Oh I know, of course he is. No, what I mean is…ugh. Do you remember when Adrian was removed from their parents’ care. Well, we know Adrian was adopted. Bahir claimed next of kin. We all assumed he was related to Adrian’s adopted parents, but it’s going around that he was related to their birth parents.” Angel leaned back and let that sink in.

“So he knew Adrian’s birth parents?” Abby asked. Angel nodded. “Do you think Adrian knows?” Angel shrugged.

“I don’t know, but, if it’s true, they’re going to find out soon.”