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John Stanford (free product)
CJ Carella 70.116.5.45
 A Game of Magic and Dark Secrets
They are the Gifted. Feared for their unique pow-
ers, they have been hounded for centuries, and
forced to practice their Arts in secret.
The time for hiding is over.
A Time of Reckoning draws near. It marks the end
of an era and the beginning of a new one -- or the
destruction of all things. The choices the Gifted
make will determine what the future will hold.

WitchCraft is a complete roleplaying game.

In it, you will find:
A
A fantastic
fantastic setting
setting filled
filled with
with magic,
magic, witches,
witches, sorcerers,
sorcerers, psychics
psychics and
and the
the mystical.
mystical.
Detailed
Detailed character
character creation
creation rules
rules for
for the
the Gifted,
Gifted, Lesser
Lesser Gifted,
Gifted, Mundane
Mundane andand Bast.
Bast.
A
A full
full exposition
exposition of
of the
the Unisystem
Unisystem rule
rule mechanics,
mechanics, useful
useful for
for any
any game
game in
in any
any time
time period.
period.
Background
Background information
information on on six
six Associations:
Associations: thethe Wicce,
Wicce, the
the Rosicrucians,
Rosicrucians, the
the Sentinels,
Sentinels,
the
the Cabal
Cabal ofof the
the Psyche,
Psyche, thethe Twilight
Twilight Order
Order and
and the
the Solitaires.
Solitaires.
Comprehensive
Comprehensive descriptions
descriptions ofof four
four Metaphysical
Metaphysical Arts:
Arts: Magical
Magical Invocations,
Invocations, The
The Second
Second
Sight,
Sight, Necromancy
Necromancy and and Divine
Divine Inspiration.
Inspiration.
An
An overview
overview ofof the
the supernatural
supernatural elements
elements ofof the
the WitchCraft
WitchCraft setting,
setting, including
including spirits,
spirits,
ghosts,
ghosts, undead,
undead, and
and other
other creatures
creatures from
from beyond
beyond mundane
mundane existence.
existence.

$35.00
$35.00 (US)
(US)
EDN4000HC
EDN4000HC
ISBN
ISBN 1-891153-40-2
1-891153-40-2
All Artwork ©1999 CJ Carella
Cover Art ©1999 Eden Studios, Inc.
CJ Carella’s WitchCraft™, The Unisystem™,
specific game terms, icons and
personalities are copyright ©1999 CJ Carella
All Rights Reserved.

John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5.45

John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 Eden Studios
Writing and Game Design 3426 Keystone Ave, #3
C.J. Carella Los Angeles, CA 90034
Additional Writing and Development CJ Carella’s WitchCraft ™ , The Unisystem™,
M. Alexander Jurkat and John M. Kahane specific game terms, icons and personalities are
Project Managing and Primary Editing copyright © 1999 CJ Carella. All Art © 1999 CJ
Carella. Cover art © 1999 Eden Studios.
M. Alexander Jurkat All Rights reserved.
Rules Editing, Editing and Playtest Coordinating
John M. Kahane Produced and published by Eden Studios, Inc.
under exclusive license.
Proofing
Darren Evens No part of this book may be reproduced without
written permission from the publisher, except for
Indexing review purposes. Any similarity to characters, sit-
Bernard C. Trombley uations, institutions, corporations, etc. (without
Layout and Graphics satirical intent) is strictly fictional or coinciden-
George Vasilakos tal. This book uses settings, characters and
themes of a supernatural nature. All elements,
Cover Art mystical and supernatural, are fiction and intend-
George Vasilakos ed for entertainment purposes.
Interior Art Reader discretion is advised.
rk Post, Fred Hooper, Guy Burwell,
Heather J. McKinney, Dan Smith Comments and questions can be directed via
Playtesting the Internet at www.edenstudios.net/witchcraft,
via e-mail at edenprod@aol.com or via letter with
Kathy Bauer, Steve Bauer, Marlyn Bumpus, a self-addressed stamped envelope.
Scott Coady, Michael Farmer, Joanne Fry,
Maryanne Fry, Andrew Gravendick, Tim Second Printing, October 2000
Paul, Tammy Powers, William Reich, Nick Stock EDN4000HC ISBN 1-891153-40-4
Printed in the U.S.
Roberts, Steven P. Ross, Wayne Shaw,
Toby Spellman, Heath Wilson,
Stefanie Wilson

A Word to the Wise Wise One) are portrayed as having some of the beliefs and
principles of real world Wiccans, but are as fantastic as the
The WitchCraft RPG is, first and foremost, a work of fic- Christian-oriented, monster-hunting Sentinels also depicted
tion meant to entertain. A number of facts have been mixed in this game. To learn more about Wicca, go to a local
with a liberal dose of fantasy in these pages, and people library or bookstore; there are plenty of non-fiction books
who seek information, spiritual guidance, or an excuse to on that subject.
do stupid things should look elsewhere. The witches in this
game are as unrealistic as the wizards in Tolkien's tales; Finally, anybody who has problems distinguishing fanta-
none of the secret organizations and conspiracies in this sy from reality and who thinks this or any other game
book are meant to be exact replicas of real world groups. depicts actual occult practices should stay away from this
Having said that, I would like to point out a few real and similar books. They should also stay away from televi-
facts. Wicca is a real world religion, based on ancient folk sion, books of all kind, and most forms of mass media; in
beliefs and practices from Europe. During the Middle Ages fact, they should not leave their homes. Any off-beat soft
and the Reformation, followers of Wicca were persecuted drink commercial may prompt them to jump off a tall build-
by the Christian Churches. Wicca has nothing to do with ing. Parents of minor children should, of course, exercise
Satanism, and is a religion with as much legitimacy (if per- their judgment as to whether this and other roleplaying
haps a less comprehensive organization) as Christianity or games are appropriate for their children. Everyone else, I
Buddhism. The "Wicce" in this book (Wicce is nothing but hope you enjoy this book.
the female form of the ancient Anglo-Saxon word Wicca, or -- Carlos J. Martijena-Carella

C h a p t e r O n e 2
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 Table of Contents
Chapter One: Introduction 4 Chapter Five: Associations 160
Summary of Chapters 14 The Wicce 166
Conventions 15 Brotherhood of the Rose Cross 170
Roleplaying 16 Society of Sentinels 175
The WitchCraft RPG 17 The Twilight Order 179
The Cabal of Psyche 183
Chapter Two: Setting 18 The Solitaires 186

Chapter Three: Roles 36 Chapter Six: Metaphysics 190

Character Concept 41 Magic 194
Character Type 50 Essence 194
Character Associations 56 Invocations 195
Attributes 67 Using Essence Defensively 199
Qualities and Drawbacks 71 Intent and Magic 199
Skills 89 The Crowd Effect 200
Metaphysics 101 Random Essence Effects 201
Possessions 101 Rituals 201
Finishing Touches 102 Places of Power 202
Archetypes 103 Times of Power 203
Symbols of Power 204
Chapter Four: Rules 120 Items of Power 204
Dice 123 Group Magic 205
The Basic Rule 124 Essence and Immortality 208
Tasks -- Using Skills and Attributes 124 Lesser Invocations 209
Tests -- Using Attributes Alone 124 The Sight 225
Unskilled Attempts 125 Necromancy 237
Resisted Tasks/Tests 126 Divine Inspiration 242
The Rule of 10 126
The Rule of 1 127 Chapter Seven: Supernatural 248
The Outcome Table 128 Spirits 258
Getting Scared 130 Nature Spirits 260
Turns 132 Elementals 262
Running Combats 132 Wildlings 264
Multiple Actions 134 Ghosts 266
Close Combat 134 Relentless Dead 269
Improvised Weapons 135 Vampyres 272
Ranged Combat 135 Bast 276
Damage 137 Demons 277
Poison 140 Seraphim 279
Disease 142 The Mad Gods 281
Armor 143 Minions of the Mad Gods 282
Breaking Things 148 Dark Covenants 285
Injury 149 The Combine 288
Recuperation 153
Diceless Roleplaying 155 Chapter Eight: Chroniclers 290
Experience 157
Appendix 298

3 I n t r o d u c t i o n
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 C h a p t e r O n e 4
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 5 I n t r o d u c t i o n
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 Desmond’s Motor Lodge The glowing head’s pretty features narrowed
Pennsylvania in annoyance. “You know very well that
2:13 a.m. Locating you precisely enough would be even
The motel room was small, the bed had a thin more energy-consuming, both in power and time.
and springy mattress, and the faded carpeting had But that is not important. We have need of
a faint, moldy smell. It was the best he’d been you.”
at in over a month, and this time he had actually Crap. Not that he was surprised. A witch
been able to pay for it with what he made playing in Rhode Island didn’t spend the energy to con-
the guitar. The local coffee house patrons had tact a wanderer in Pennsylvania for no reason.
coughed up enough “You know I don’t
cash to let him buy a get involved anymore.
full tank of gas for I don’t even practice
his Harley and get a the Craft.” Well, he
motel room. Even bet- told himself, not much,
ter than the money, at least.
the emotional
“This is very impor-
response of the
tant. Lives are at
crowd had left him
stake.”
feeling slightly
buzzed. A respon- Dan sighed. “They
sive, willing audience always are. Tell me
was better than what’s going on and
booze, better than I’ll tell you my
drugs, better than . . . response.” Which
well, better than will probably be
almost anything. ‘Screw off,’ he
thought.
Dan switched the
TV off; he was “Somebody in your
glad he didn’t get a area is awakening
chance to watch that Nath-Shagraa.”
crap too often. As “Nah-what?”
he settled down to “I forgot you never
sleep, he considered bothered to learn much
his plans. He could beyond the basics.
stay in town for a Nath-Shagraa is one
couple more days; a of the Mad Gods.”
couple of college
girls seemed pretty interested in becoming better Triple crap. “In Pennsylvania? Who’s doing
acquainted with him. On the other hand . . . it?”
A glowing female head appeared over his bed. “As far as we can tell, one Gifted magician.
Dan started, nearly falling out of bed. “What A Solitaire, perhaps. Or, more likely, some-
the . . . ?” body who stumbled onto a book nobody should
have written, somebody with enough raw power
“It’s been a long time, Daniel Gaiman.” to use what he discovered.”
Fiona. Damn. “Why the hell won’t you use “So, what do you want me to do? Aren’t
a phone, Fiona? It’s a lot less expensive.” there any Covens around?”

C h a p t e r O n e 6
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 “Two, actually. One is nearly powerless; only of continual chanting; he had been sipping Kool-
two of the Gifted among them, and both of less- Aid all night long but had eaten nothing.
er power. It was one of them who first sensed Despite the hunger and fatigue wracking his
what was happening. The other will not deal body, he did not stop. Another day, and he
with us; they may or may not do something, but would be done. Then hunger and fatigue would
we dare not wait and see.” mean nothing.
“Any others?” Many among the Wicce The teenager sat on the floor. The Marilyn
refused to accept the fact that they were not the Manson T-shirt he was wearing was dirty and
only ones who could work magic in the world. damp with his sweat. Dry blood was caked over
“We’d have to find them; it would take more his left cheek and forehead; it was not his own.
time than we are likely to have. We cannot send His parents had left him under the care of Aunt
our entire Coven there, so we need you to help. Beth, hard-drinking Aunt Beth, who had not
If we cannot gather thirteen, we must try with even noticed Ben creeping up behind her with a
five; failing that, we will do what we can with butcher knife, and had barely struggled as he
three.” murdered her. He had needed her blood to draw
the circle to summon the being called Nath-
Daniel considered this. Thirteen, seven, five, Shagraa -- not its real name, since its real name
three; there was power in any such combination would burst the eardrums of humans and liquefy
of numbers, the larger numbers being the more their brains should it be spoken out loud -- into
powerful. “So, if I decide to take part in this this world.
insanity, who are the other two?”
The book had been in his aunt’s attic for
“The strongest Gifted in the area, and decades. Aunt Beth had told Ben that her
Julienne.” great-grandfather had collected strange books
Julienne. He already felt vaguely sick; hearing until his nervous breakdown and eventual death
that name made his guts twist. “I’m surprised in an insane asylum. “I should have burned them
she’d want to work with me,” he managed to say long ago,” she had commented when Ben started
evenly. rummaging in the attic. “But it’s the only legacy
“This is too important to make allowances for of my family, and I just can’t bring myself to
petty personal feelings. She will do as she must. do it. You should stay away from the attic,
As you must.” Ben.” What little humanity remained in the
chanting teenager knew that the books should
Petty? Julienne and I almost killed each
have all been burned and their ashes scattered in
other! “I could say no, y’know. I’ve been living
the wind; now it was too late. Despite his
a nice quiet life for almost a year.”
aunt’s warnings, he had sneaked into the attic,
“If it harm none, do what you will,” Fiona’s had opened dusty boxes, and had found the books.
glowing head said. “Will your inaction bring no And among them, he had found the Book that
harm?” had changed his life.
Dammit. “I will be there.” Ben opened the Book; the leather and the
parchment in the pages had been made with
White Rock, Pennsylvania human skin; he knew that instinctively. His read-
Harrison House ings had utterly warped his mind, making him
5:57 a.m. sensitive to some things, utterly callous to every-
The dawn’s sunshine stung Ben Harrison’s thing else.
strained eyes. He had not slept a wink all night;
Ben continued chanting.
as soon as he closed his eyes, images too horri-
ble to comprehend forced him into terrified wake- Inside the blood circle on the wooden floor,
fulness. His throat was raw after thirteen hours something unspeakable started taking shape.

7 I n t r o d u c t i o n
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 She could not care less about what he felt.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania “Have you secured a car?” Julienne had no
3:21 p.m. desire to ride pillion on his motorcycle. Such
Julienne knew it was necessary to work with close physical proximity would be painful in too
Daniel; the rest of her Coven was already many ways. She had her own shields around her,
involved in a dangerous ritual, and she was by although she did not make them flash openly; the
far the best in the arts of Banishing and magical constructs would not prevent physical
Cleansing. Julienne must go to White Rock contact, but the two shields would grate against
and confront the evil being raised there. But to each other, sending psychic reverberations lancing
do it alone would be madness; other people with through both magicians.
the Gift would be needed to deal with the defens- Daniel nodded. “Laura is waiting outside
es a servant of Nath-Shagraa would have pre- with a car.” He sounded dubious when he men-
pared against intrusions. Daniel was nearby; tioned the Wicce woman that would be joining
even better, he was an accomplished magician. him and Julienne in the effort to stop the Mad
The facts did not banish the burst of anger she God. “She’s awfully young, Julienne. I don’t
felt when she first saw him at the bus station. think she is up to this.”
Four years, and he had barely changed. Still
wearing his hair long, he hadn’t bothered to shave “We need her; she has the strongest Talent in
for a few days. His jeans and shirt were worn the area aside from you,” she replied as they left
but clean, and he still favored that silly cowboy the station.
hat. And he glowed with stored Essence; to a “We’re gonna get killed,” Daniel muttered
Gifted such as her, his magical shields burned under his breath, but followed her.
bright, a gorgeous display of magical light that
the Mundanes crowding the station did not White Rock, Pennsylvania
notice. Make that not quite notice; people 4:12 p.m.
seemed to draw away from Daniel, respecting Ben Harrison stopped chanting for the first
his personal space, unwittingly kept at bay by the time in twenty-three hours. “They are coming,”
protective energies swirling around him. he said. His voice sounded hoarse and inhuman
to his own ears. The living room had grown
Daniel was letting his shields show as a
dark; the abomination growing within the circle
message for her. He was ready to defend himself
seemed to be sucking the light in the house into
should she decide to carry on their last argument,
itself, like the black holes Ben had learned about
and he was purposely keeping her away from his
in science class. At the same time, a different
inner self. His aura, thoughts and emotions were
type of darkness seemed to be seeping into his
hidden securely behind the glowing shields. In a
mind, blinding him and at the same time making
way, she reflected, that had always been the case.
him know things. He knew outsiders would even-
“You’re late,” he said, coolly and without emo- tially find the farmhouse.
tion.
The chanting started again, but it had a differ-
“Coincidence, I hope,” Julienne replied in the ent pitch and tone. In the parlor, Aunt Beth’s
same tone. “Or perhaps not. When a Power of body started stirring. It sat up with jerky,
this magnitude is being awakened, chance will mechanical movements. Ben smiled as he sensed
bend to favor Its purposes.” the corpse start to change, to be remade in
“I know,” he said, raising an eyebrow, a sign Nath-Shagraa’s image.
of annoyance she knew well. He obviously felt “That should take care of them,” he said to
he did not need a lecture. himself, and went back to work.

C h a p t e r O n e 8
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 Outskirts of White Rock, Pennsylvania Julienne knew they were on the right track
6:37 p.m. when they were within half a mile of the farm-
They had to stop at a gas station to fuel up house. Although there were no clouds in the
and ask for directions. They were getting close, sky, it was getting darker as they approached.
but even Julienne’s best rituals had yielded no An increasingly oppressive feeling began to
success. Her failure was making her irritable, affect her at about the same time.
she knew, but most of her anger was focused on Laura snapped briefly out of her semi-trance
the shiftless bastard whom Fate had forced to to stare out the window. “Look!” she said,
her side once again. pointing toward the surrounding fields.
Laura, the local “Crap,” Daniel
woman -- a girl, really, said between
Julienne had to admit -- clenched teeth.
had not been as helpful Julienne said noth-
as Julienne had hoped. ing, but could not
Laura was staring stop a short gasp.
fixedly forward, her Several cows were
short blonde hair in the fields on both
disheveled, her complex- sides of the road.
ion pale. She had been Some were running
biting her lips throughout in circles; others lay
the entire trip, hard on the ground in a
enough to draw blood. mess of blood and
And that was after entrails. Even as
Daniel had woven they watched, several
shields around her, pro- of the remaining ani-
tecting the girl from the mals turned on one
worst of the psychic of their own, goring
malaise that suffused the and kicking. As
area. The problem was their victim fell
that Laura was a Seer twitching, six cows
with only rudimentary surrounded it and
knowledge of magic. The howled up at the sky.
girl was too sensitive to Julienne had grown
the waves of alienness up on a farm; she
that were but the harbin- had never heard ani-
ger of the Mad God’s coming. mals make such a noise, and she prayed never to
Daniel came back to the car. “I think we’re hear it again.
in luck,” he said. “The guy at the station, he Daniel’s knuckles were white on the steering
might have just a touch of the Second Sight wheel. “You’re not thinking of quitting, are you?”
himself. He just couldn’t stop talking about Julienne said. He glared at her for a moment,
something weird going on at the Harrison farm- but then looked down. “I won’t let you down
house. I think that’s the place.” this time, Jules,” he said in a subdued voice.
“We’ll have to try it,” Julienne said coldly.
For the next several minutes, the drive was
made in silence.

9 I n t r o d u c t i o n
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 He had not called her Jules since weeks It had gotten very dark and very cold, impos-
before the final fight so many years ago. Daniel sibly so for high summer. Despite the darkness,
had not been ready to follow her path, to give they could clearly make out the Harrison farm-
himself fully to the duties of the Coven -- to house. It was surrounded in a sickly purple
commit himself not only to Julienne, but also to glow that made his temples throb if he stared at
the responsibilities of the Gifted. He had made it too long. The purple light was pulsating
this perfectly clear by seducing a young student, around the property -- and every pulse made it
and making sure Julienne found out about it. extend a little further, shine a little brighter.
In a rage, Julienne had done the unthinkable: Daniel’s magical senses were screaming inside
used her magicks against a fellow Wicce out of his head. He knew that something was growing
anger. The mage duel had been short and fierce, inside the house, was becoming fused with the
and had ended with the guest house of the Coven house, and would soon consume the entire area
going up in flames. Daniel rode off in a cold as a prelude to the slaughter to come.
fury, andJulienne had to pay a painful price “So are we going to do it or what?” he said.
undoing the harm she had caused. They had been staring at the madness below for
“See that you don’t, Daniel,” she hissed. “See several minutes now.
that you don’t.” “We must wait a little longer,” Julienne
said. She had always had a good eye for judging
White Rock, Pennsylvania a magical matrix, for understanding the weavings
7:11 p.m. of a spell -- and discovering its weak points.
“It’s cold,” Daniel muttered. “Colder than a “Soon the three of us will be able to turn the
witch’s t . . .” caster’s own Essence against him.”
“Shut up,” Julienne growled. “Or her,” he said sharply. Julienne was
He grinned at her in defiance but said nothing always ready to cast males as the villains. It
else. Even his feeble attempt at humor had been had been just one more reason for his refusing to
grossly inappropriate. The fact that he was try- join her little magic club, although he had to
ing to get a rise out of Julienne was just proof admit it was only a small one. The enormity of
of how scared he was. what he had been asked to do, to stand guard
Daniel Gaiman did not scare easily. Even over the world, waiting for things like this to
after leaving the Coven, he had been in his share rear their ugly heads, had been too much, too
of tight spots, supernatural and otherwise. soon. He had wanted to enjoy life; Julienne
None of his previous experiences had prepared only cared about her personal Crusade (and had-
him for the sight he and his two companions n’t she been angry when he had called her cause
faced after cresting the shallow hill. It had been that? To Julienne, the Crusades and the
his idea to leave the car a short distance behind. Inquisition were two sides of the same hated
“No sense advertising our presence,” he’d said, coin). He’d had to make a break, and cheating on
and Julienne, bless her cold heart, had agreed. her had seemed like the easiest way to do it . . .
Looking down at the farm, he now realized that “It’s time,” Julienne said, cutting through his
they could have driven an M-1 tank into it and reveries. Daniel shook his head; for a few sec-
nobody would have been the wiser. In fact, hav- onds he had actually managed not to pay atten-
ing a tank around might not have been a bad idea. tion to the Harrison house. The glow was much
Daniel had a .38 revolver with him -- he hated bigger and brighter. “Let’s get started.”
guns, but sometimes magic could not compete The three of them held hands, making a small
with a bit of lead traveling at thousands of feet circle at the top of the hill. Julienne led the
per second -- but the weapon seemed woefully chant, calling on Diana and Cerunnos, on the
inadequate.

C h a p t e r O n e 10
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 powers of Nature and Balance. Daniel and around his right forearm instead of his neck. It
Laura lent her their strength, and by being three, tightened its grip, and Daniel was insanely
the closed circle they made added its own power reminded of one of those machines that take
as well. With his mind’s eye, Daniel could see blood pressure; his right hand went numb almost
Julienne start to glow even through her shields, immediately, and the useless gun dropped to the
as Essence built up inside of her. ground. He tried to dig his heels in; as a result
Laura screamed in mindless terror. Her wide he wasn’t pulled but dragged towards the crea-
eyes stared at something behind Daniel. ture’s mouth.
Forcing himself not to let go, he turned his “No!” Julienne screamed. She had been stor-
head. ing the combined Essence of the circle. She
Some . . . thing was rushing up the hill released a portion of the magical energies against
towards them. Torn pieces of an old-fashioned the monster.
green dress clung to the creature, the only indica- A wave of white light washed over the crea-
tion that it had once been human. It ran on all ture, and it ignited like a paper doll in a blow-
fours like some ungainly animal; the head was a torch’s flame. The tongue released Daniel an
wide-mouthed horror, with a yards-long tongue instant before it burst into flame, and then the
that was swinging back and forth like a tentacle. creature was rolling down the hill, a howling,
The monster’s eyes protruded from stalks greasy, flaming ball. It came to rest against a
extended far beyond the once-human eye sockets. tree, setting it ablaze as well.
It gibbered in sadistic glee as it rushed towards Julienne helped Daniel to his feet. “Laura
the circle. . . . ?”
Daniel let go of the circle. He was dimly “Dead,” he replied.
aware of Julienne’s cry of anger and despair,
and even caught a brief flash of her thoughts: “Only the two of us, then,” she said. “It
Betrayed again. No time for explanations; no won’t be enough, I believe.”
time -- no energy left -- for magic. His fingers Daniel wanted to be angry, to scream abuse at
groped for the gun just as the monster closed. her, at her Coven for sending only one of their
It might have been a woman before, but it now members, for dragging him into a suicide mis-
massed far more than any two men. Its lumber- sion. Instead, he grimaced and said “Do you
ing charge knocked Daniel and Julienne to the want to live forever?” before taking her hands in
ground. The lolling tongue darted towards his and channeling what little power he had left
Laura. Her scream was abruptly cut off as the into the incomplete invocation. Julienne nodded,
pinkish coil whipped around her throat and and carried on.
squeezed. The girl was yanked towards a fanged A small beacon of light shone on the hill, a
maw large enough to swallow a human head. candle flickering against an approaching storm.
There was a single, horrible crunching sound.
Inside the Harrison House
Daniel fired from the ground, emptying the 7:18 p.m.
gun as fast as he could pull the trigger. At The thing that had once been Ben Harrison
least four of the six shots scored on the beast. felt the destruction of the Beth-creature but did
Reddish-black ichor spurting from its wounds, not pause in its chanting. Over the last ten min-
the creature let go of Laura’s corpse and turned utes, painful boils had erupted throughout his
toward him. The .38’s hammer made a pitiful skin; some had burst, and he was now covered by
metallic sound -- empty. The thing’s tongue a new film of slimy blood, all his own this time.
whipped towards him. Daniel managed to inter- As above, so below: the corruption he was
pose a hand, and the obscene limb wrapped itself bringing to the Earth was first working its will

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 on his body. Ben had little concern over matters permission to join your circle.” Without missing
of the flesh anymore. His senses had been twist- a beat, Julienne had nodded, and five more peo-
ed and transformed, enabling him to see the early ple had joined in, making it seven, a strong num-
manifestation of Nath-Shagraa without being ber. Julienne had taken the added power and
destroyed. He could also sense the magic ritual done what she had always intended -- shut down
of the intruders being resumed. It was of no the doorway between Earth and whatever dimen-
consequence; the Beth-creature had done its job, sion Nath-Shagraa came from.
killing one of the Three, leaving the circle The dust settled in the bare patch of ground
undone, too weak to stop what he had started. that once held a house. The psychic waves of
Soon the chanting would be over, and he and his mindless rage also subsided, but Daniel knew
master would become as one. Then he would that people for miles around would be having
show the interlopers that their friend’s death had nightmares for several weeks, and that anybody
been no small mercy. staying in this area for more than a few hours
The shape in the darkness had become huge, would be tormented by even worse dreams. The
and was barely contained within the circle that taint of the Mad Gods did not die easily. The
had served as its womb. It was about to burst danger over, Daniel turned to see who his res-
free when Ben felt a sudden surge of energy cuers were.
coming from outside. Nath-Shagraa roared in Not of the Wicce, that was for sure. There
angry surprise. were three men and two women, ranging in age
The magical attack was precisely timed, and from twenty to over fifty. They were all dressed
backed with more power than should have been in expensive suits, more appropriate for a
available. The connection between Ben Harrison Chamber of Commerce meeting than for an expe-
and Nath-Shagraa was severed. The growing dition against the supernatural. And he had
form inside the circle collapsed unto itself. sensed their magic as they added their power to
For one searing instant, Ben was no longer the invocation. He had seen the rigid, carefully
protected from the horrors he had been trying to organized weaving of the flows of Essence.
unleash. His mind and soul were utterly obliter- “Rosicrucians,” he said. Ceremonial magicians,
ated -- and an instant later, his body, and the who sought control rather than balance. Not
entire house, followed suit. Daniel’s favorite people, but they had indeed
saved the day.
Outside the Harrison House Julienne looked even less happy than Daniel,
7:19 p.m. but she spoke first. “You have done all of
Daniel watched the house implode, the walls humankind a favor.”
and roof sucked into a spot on the ground. It The oldest man present was balding and had a
didn’t look as impressive as it should; he had sharp gray goatee. Behind thick spectacles, his
seen more dramatic renditions in the movies. eyes considered the two Wicce like a corporate
But what the destruction lacked in the FX CEO appraising a competitor. “We know. We
department it more than made up in psychic ema- would have come sooner, but it was a four-hour
nations. Only his shields saved him from having drive, and it did not seem prudent to tip our hand
his brains turned to jelly. He, Julienne and the by relying on Magick.” He seemed to be imply-
newcomers all staggered under the furious mind- ing that his merry band would have teleported
screams of Nath-Shagraa. here otherwise. Hey, Daniel told himself, maybe
Help had arrived suddenly and unexpectedly. they could. Two of the younger members were
Daniel had not even noticed their arrival until letting their shields show, and they were damn
somebody had spoken behind him. “We ask for strong, close to his own in power. Maybe

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 Julienne’s Coven could match the raw power of
this group -– and maybe not.
“I believe the danger is over,” the man contin-
ued. “I think my organization will purchase this
property to ensure that this incident does not hap-
pen again.”
Julienne obviously did not like the idea of sur-
rendering an area of unstable magical and dimen-
sional energies to a “rival” group, but she nodded
stiffly. Daniel knew she wanted to grieve for
Laura, but she would not lose control in front of
the strangers.
Perhaps the Rosicrucian leader was more sen-
sitive than he looked. “We will leave you to take
care of your companion now,” he said. “We will
take care of the authorities.”
Alone, Julienne turned to Daniel. “We will
have to take Laura’s body back to her Coven.
They will know what to do.”
Daniel nodded sadly. She was not going to
lose control in front of him, either. Maybe if he
hung around for a while, and did not take off as
soon as possible, she would start trusting him
again. Did he want that? He did not know.
He tried not to think about it as he helped carry
the corpse of the young woman to the car.

13 I n t r o d u c t i o n
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 Introduction
gaming companies seem to be dropping like flies,
Eden has been consistently expanding, supporting
Tales of self-discovery have always been popular in their existing game lines and developing great new
fantasy fiction. Whether they depict a comfortable games. For WitchCraft, this move opens all kinds of
Hobbit realizing that he holds a magical item that exciting possibilities.
may change the fate of the entire world or a waitress This revised Eden Studios edition of WitchCraft
who finds herself targeted for destruction by a time- cleans, clarifies and polishes a number of features of
traveling cyborg, these stories place plain, normal the game world, and the Unisystem. The changes are
people in terrifying and unusual circumstances. for the most part minor; most add to the previously
During the course of the stories, these people discov- published material. Some adjustment to the
er unexpected sources of heroism and strength within Invocation casting rules, the initial character points
themselves. The WitchCraft roleplaying game (RPG) and the Quality, Drawback and skill lists are the high-
is designed to tell this type of tale. The protagonists lights. Others are too numerous to mention here.
(the characters created by the players) are people who
discover they are Gifted or Mundane with unusual Summary of Chapters
abilities and knowledge. The characters come to the
realization that there are hidden forces and beings in Chapter One: Introduction contains these intro-
the world, forces that are often malevolent and dan- ductory remarks, and an overview of roleplaying.
gerous. By being numbered among the Gifted or Chapter Two: Setting covers the basics of role-
knowledgeable Mundanes, or simply by stumbling playing, and the WitchCraft universe. This informa-
onto the dangerous truths, the characters are in a posi- tion provides new and more experienced roleplayers
tion to make a major difference in the world. This with a good grounding in the game and its trappings.
will also put them in danger, for there are many who Chapter Three: Roles details character creation
like the world just the way it is, and will go to any for the players. Strong, interesting characters are the
lengths to preserve it. most important part of an interactive storytelling
WitchCraft is also a game of magic and adventure. experience. Concepts, Types, Associations,
The characters can be heroes in the traditional sense, Attributes, Qualities and Drawbacks, Skills,
experienced warriors and magicians fighting Metaphysics and Possessions are addressed in turn.
unspeakable evils. It is a game of horror, where the The sections on the Associations are brief and
strange and the bizarre lurk in the most unexpected focused on character generation. More in depth dis-
places, where magic exists and beings that pretend to cussions of the individual Associations are contained
be human prey on unsuspecting people. This combi- in Chapter Five: Associations. The chapter finishes
nation of horror, fantasy and present-day adventuring with a series of ready-to-play Archetypes.
can be modified to produce any type of game desired. Chapter Four: Rules provides a variety of game
Welcome to the world of WitchCraft. Do not go mechanics for adjudicating conflicts and bringing
gentle into that good night . . . order to the storytelling experience.
Chapter Five: Associations reveals background
The New Order information on a number of groups that inhabit and
influence the WitchCraft world. This information is
This revised Second Edition of the WitchCraft
intended primarily for Chroniclers, but players may
main rulebook completes the initial phase of a new
have access to it.
era for the WitchCraft RPG line. As of the summer of
1998, Myrmidon Press no longer produces Chapter Six: Metaphysics presents a number of
WitchCraft books. Eden Studios (the creative folks different abilities of Gifted characters. From
behind the Conspiracy X RPG and the Abduction card Invocations to the Sight from Necromancy to Divine
game) will now produce and market all WitchCraft Inspiration, Gifted Powers vary greatly. Sources of
(and future Unisystem) products. At a time when Power are also discussed in the chapter.

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 Chapter Seven: Supernatural reviews a number
of the more fantastic elements of the WitchCraft
Dice Notations
world. Background information on Animal Spirits, D10, D8, D6 and D4 mean a ten-sided die, an
Elementals, Ghosts, Relentless Dead, Vampyres, and eight-sided die, a six-sided die and a four-sided die,
Demons is also discussed. The vastly more powerful respectively. When a number appears before the nota-
Seraphim and Mad Gods are also given their due. tion, that number of such dice should be rolled, and
Finally, evil Gifted humans are detailed. their results should be added together. For example,
Chapter Eight: Chronicling gives those that mod- 2D6 means roll two six-sided dice, and generate a
erate and create WitchCraft Stories some direction result between 2 and 12. Multipliers are expressed
and suggestions. after the dice notation. For example, 3D10 x 4 means
roll three ten-sided dice, add the results together, and
Appendix includes a glossary, a number of handy multiply that total result by 4. This generates a num-
reference charts, an index and character sheets for the ber between 12 and 120. A number in parentheses
various Character Types presented in this book. after, or in the middle of, the notation is the average

Conventions
roll. This number is provided for those that want to
avoid dice rolling and just get the result. So the nota-
tion D6 x 4(12) means that players who want to skip
Text Conventions rolling just use the value 12. Some notations cannot
This supplement has a number of graphic features provide a set number because their result depends on
that identify the type of information presented. The a variable factor. For example, D8(4) x Strength is
text you are reading at the moment is standard text, used because the Strength value to be plugged into
and it is used for general explanations. that notation will vary depending on who is acting.
Certain other text is set off from the standard text. Gender
This material is fiction presented to enhance Every roleplaying game struggles with the decision
or describe WitchCraft Stories and the about third person pronouns and possessives. While
WitchCraft world. For the most part it the male reference (he, him, his) is customarily used
appears in this font. On special occasions, the for both male and female, there is no question that it
look is different (see ancient parchment at p. 20) is not entirely inclusive. On the other hand, the “he or
but the intent is the same. she” structure is clumsy and unattractive. In an effort
to “split the difference,” this book and all books in the
WitchCraft line use male designations for even chap-
ters, and female designations for odd chapters.
This is sidebar text. It contains
additional, but tangential infor- Measurements
This book primarily uses U.S. measurements (feet,
mation, or material supplementing yards, miles, pounds, etc.). Metric system equivalents
the standard text. appear in parentheses. In the interests of ease of use,
the conversions are rounded relatively arbitrarily. For
example, miles are multiplied by 1.5 to get kilometers
(instead of 1.609), meters are equal to yards (instead
This information provides ready-to-use of 1.094 yards), pounds are halved to get kilograms
examples of non-Cast Members that can be (instead of multiplied by 0.4536), and so on. If a
used as allies or Adversaries. Chronicler feels that more precision is necessary, she
should take the U.S. measurements provided and
apply more exact formulas.

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 About the Author
take on the roles of heroic versions of themselves,
while others want to “be in the shoes” of completely
C.J. Carella was born in New York and has lived in different people. Many elements of improvisational
Peru, Venezuela, Connecticut, Florida, Michigan, and theater can be found in roleplaying. The player has to
Connecticut once again. During his travels he has yet come up with the “lines” of her character as the sto-
to experience any genuine supernatural events -- and ryline develops.
he is not going out of his way to do so. Storytelling: During a game, the Chronicler and
A full-time writer, C.J. has authored some fifteen the Cast create a story, shaped by the actions of the
RPG books for such companies as Steve Jackson Cast Members and the conflicts and situations pro-
Games and Palladium Books, as well as numerous vided by the Chronicler. A Story is being experienced
articles for The Familiar, Pyramid and White Wolf at the same time it is being written. Because there are
magazines. WitchCraft was originally written for multiple authors of this tale, however, the creators do
Myrmidon Press, and has been revised and reissued not know how exactly how it will end. Each charac-
by Eden Studios. ter’s actions impact the result, as do the conflicts and
drama injected into the story by the Chronicler.
When not writing, C.J. spends his free time on
computer games, novels and comic books – research A Game of Chance: The uncertainty of not know-
material, he says. He currently lives in West Haven, ing the end of the story is enhanced in many games
Connecticut, with a feline familiar. by the use of dice, cards and other randomizing ele-
ments. This gives roleplaying an aspect similar to
Roleplaying sporting events and to games of chance: what will the
outcome be? This provides an excitement similar to
The book you hold contains a roleplaying game, its the feeling that many experience when watching a
setting, and its rules. So what is a roleplaying game? football game or a boxing match. The skills of the
Simply put, it is a combination of board game, strat- participants play a big role in what the results will be,
egy game, and improvisational theater. It is a more but the final outcome remains uncertain until it is
mature version of the games of “let’s pretend” that we over. Some gamers prefer to reduce or even eliminate
all played as children. The rules are meant to avoid randomness altogether, preferring to let the needs of
the old disputes about exactly what happened (“I shot the story dictate the outcome. The Unisystem is
you! You’re dead!” “Am not!”). To enforce the rules designed to please both those who like the chance
and provide a coherent setting, one of the participants element, and those who wish to minimize it, or elim-
assumes the role of Chronicler (known as Game inate it outright.
Master or Referee in other contexts). The rest of the An Outlet to Imagination and Creativity:
players assume the role of one character each, or a Instead of being a passive form of entertainment, like
Cast Member. The player controls the actions of that watching television or reading a book, roleplaying
character, limited only by the rules, the character’s exercises the players’ imagination and creativity.
abilities and limitations, and the player’s imagination. Each shares the responsibility of producing a good
Roleplaying games have been around for more than and entertaining experience. Each brings humor,
two decades. They run the gamut from mindless com- drama and suspense to the game. In roleplaying, the
bat scenarios to nearly ruleless, story-driven acting goal is not to win, but simply to have fun and help
exercises. The Unisystem, the game rules of the others have fun.
WitchCraft game, concentrates on the following ele- In sum, by playing a roleplaying game, the Chronicler
ments. We consider these to be the main characteris- and the Cast Members weave a Story together. The
tics of a good roleplaying game. adventures, triumphs, and tragedies of the characters
Acting: Participants in a roleplaying game are act- will be part of a larger tapestry. In effect, the gaming
ing out the part of a Cast Member, a fictional charac- group is creating and experiencing a novel or play, expe-
ter (or, in the case of the Chronicler, several charac- riencing the double thrill of the creative act and the
ters). The character may be as similar or different enjoyment of reading a book or watching a movie.
from the player as desired. Some players prefer to

C h a p t e r O n e 16
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 The WitchCraft RPG
All roleplaying games have at their hearts the “What if . . ?” question. In WitchCraft, the question is “What
if you were a person Gifted with supernatural powers, or a Mundane familiar with the supernatural world?”
What would you do if you could do things that most people only dream of, or experience things beyond imag-
ining? What if those powers or knowledge also attracted the unwanted attention of strange creatures and shad-
owy organizations? By taking on the role of such a character, players have the chance to find out.
WitchCraft is a game that combines elements of horror (there are monsters in this world, and they hunt
humans) with mystic self-discovery (characters have the power to work magic, read minds, speak with gods
or spirits, or know those who do) and conflict (the characters may know the truth; what is she going to do
about it?). The remainder of this book explains how to enter the world of WitchCraft and build Stories that
challenge, amaze and delight players and Chroniclers alike.

17 I n t r o d u c t i o n
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John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 C h a p t e r T w o 18
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 19 S e t t i n g
John Stanford (free product) 70.116.5
 In the Beginning, there was Essence, the Potentiality of all things
to be. And the Creative Force, whom we would call the True God,
wished for change, and Essence gave shape to Reality . . .
Two manner of beings were born in the cauldron of Creation. First
were the Sephyr, who were sent forth to make the Creator’s wishes
come true; they were living tools of Creation, and they did their
Maker’s bidding. Then came the Naturas, the embodiments of all new
aspects of Reality, the first sentient beings of the new universe . . .
The Creator moved on afterwards, leaving the Sephyrs and the
Naturas to their own devices. There was strife and division among
these ancient Powers as they multiplied and sought to gain mastery
over each other. The most powerful Sephyr and Naturas followed the
Creator into unknown parts, and were heard of no more. The others
became Angels and Demons, ancient Gods and Spirits, the Dragons
and Sidhe we know to exist between the folds of Reality . . .
When Humanity was born, it carried within the same Essence and
Potentiality of the Creator. We were made in Its Image, and the
Science of Magic is but an expression of the Creative Force. The
Gods and Spirits, the Angels and Demons, they can be bound to our
service, and many resent and fear us because of it. It was not our
Creator who cast us out of the Garden of Eden, but Its jealous ser-
vants. And one day we shall rise high enough to reclaim what we lost.
-- Excerpts from Treatises On Reality, by Christian Hagges,
Rosicrucian Grand Master.

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 The World
and legend flocked to the large cities of Europe and
the Americas, shunning the poor and primitive areas
We are born, live and die in the material world, of the world where the ancient lore had not been for-
what the Norse referred to as Midgard, Middle Earth, gotten. In the heart of the world of Reason, monsters
the place of the living named Malkuth in the lurked for centuries; their crimes remained largely
Cabalistic Tree of Life. Even before humans learned undetected and for the most part unpunished.
to read and write, they knew that the physical realm This is the world of WitchCraft. On the surface, a
was but one of many worlds, that there were other world just like our own, but with a secret, dark side
places we visited in dreams and trances, places we that can strike without warning. It is also a changing
arrived in after we died or came close to death. world, where the strange and the bizarre are becom-
It was also well known that other beings also visit- ing increasingly frequent.
ed our world from their own realms.
Those who could see and interact with the other
The Time of Reckoning
worlds were the first magicians and priests. Their Nature moves in cycles. Day follows night. Planets,
connection to the realms of spirit allowed them to stars and universes are born, grow old, and die. “As
transcend the limits of the flesh. Some could talk with above, so below.” This ancient magical formula indi-
the souls of the dead, or with spirits of nature. Others cates that all things, great and small, are bound by the
could directly affect the material world with the force same laws. From the smallest microbe to the mighti-
of their wills. They were the Gifted. They have been est spirit, the cycle is largely the same, with a begin-
feared, worshipped and persecuted through the ages. ning, middle, and end, followed by a new beginning.
Eventually, beliefs in the Otherworlds became reli- The end of one such cycle is drawing near. The
gions. Mistakes disguised as dogma hid and confused world, and all within it, are in a transition stage, a
the truth. In Europe and the Americas, the Church time of change that may doom humankind, or lead to
protected its people from the supernatural and a true Golden Age. Like many great events, it moves
became the only legitimate conduit to communicate slowly, almost imperceptibly. The world of
with the world of spirit. All others were persecuted, WitchCraft is undergoing a radical transformation.
forced into hiding, or killed outright. Valuable knowl- Its first symptom is the increase in numbers of
edge was lost or suppressed; only a few dedicated those with the ability to sense and communicate with
believers kept the ancient secrets alive. Later still, as the supernatural -- those who are called the Gifted.
technology allowed humankind to master the physi- People born with the Second Sight, the ability to
cal world, belief in all things spiritual decayed. Why manipulate the world through mystical power, or the
pray for luck and protection when electric lights, capacity to see beyond the barriers separating the liv-
guns and concrete buildings provided comfort? The ing and the dead, become more numerous each day,
vast majority of people embraced the mundane and and their actions can no longer be dismissed by
forgot the spiritual, except in a perfunctory way. Science. Even more disquieting is the increase in
The Otherworlds do not care about belief or disbe- unexplained occurrences, disappearances and grue-
lief, however. They continued to exist, and those who some crimes. Predators from the Otherworlds are
knew how were able to cross over and acquire unique multiplying. More and more spirits of the dead are
abilities, which they used for good or for ill. Instead staying in this world instead of moving on. All this
of persecution, they had to face ridicule and skepti- indicates an approaching time of crisis and chaos.
cism. The same skepticism protected beings who The madman carrying a sign saying “The End is
looked human but were not. Able to operate in a Near” may not be wrong. Those with greater under-
world that neither knew of nor accepted their exis- standing are beginning to believe that a Time of
tence, the Predators of myth and legend were able to Reckoning is at hand. Their actions will determine
hunt with impunity. Ironically, the monsters of myth whether the world will survive the process.

21 S e t t i n g
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 A walk in the night.
Mundanes by the hundreds, by the thousands, traipsing through the streets, confident in the
neon lights that ward off the darkness. Happy drunks and yuppies going home after a show,
people looking for sex or drugs or both, and vendors only too happy to oblige them. And then,
of course, there are the others.
I see them as I walk. The spot that was now the street corner at Howard and Third had
seen no less than a hundred people die in the past two centuries. It had been a Place of
Power before the white men came; building a crossroads on its location only increased its
strength. As I cross the street I see the ghost of the insane medicine man who continues to
wage war against the invaders. He has gathered enough power to cause a car accident and claim
more victims. I pause; hidden in the pockets of my trench coat, my hands make gestures of
power. The ghost howls in fury as I dispel his power. Throughout the street, some people
hesitate as if they had heard something, then shrug it off and move on. I do the same. The
spirit will not be able to kill anybody tonight. He swears vengeance on me in an Algonquin
dialect as I pass by. I ignore him; the spirit is bound to this location, and his power is weak-
er than mine.
Three blocks down, hookers display their wares. One is not what she seems. Too pretty for
a street walker, her red hair cropped short, I know she has been a hooker since just after that
term was coined; she was one of the original members of “Hooker’s Division” in Washington
D.C. -– during the Civil War era. She smiles at me as I walk past. I nod to her. She is a
Vampyre, but the little life force she drains from her customers is never enough to do harm.
She knows that if she steps over the line, I will come after her.
A few blocks down, the streets become darker, less populated. Six Hispanic youths are sit-
ting in front of an apartment building. One of them scowls at me; I am too white and too well
dressed for this neighborhood. Before he does anything, one of his friends grabs his arm.
“Cool it, ese,” he whispers. “He’s a brujo.” The gang members stare at me but let me pass
unmolested. Most of them know the truth about the string of murders in Angel Square, and
that I destroyed the entity responsible.
I have nearly completed my walk; a man can do only so much, and I can only put a portion
of the city under my protection. As I am about to turn back, I sense something. A surge of
power, ancient and evil. A demon. I head toward it. Maybe some stupid kid listened to the
wrong record played backwards, or a conjurer’s magic finally worked. Demons rarely use their
powers openly, but sometimes they become angry enough to take direct action. Unless I get
there soon, the imbecile who summoned the creature – and possibly an entire block of buildings
– will be consumed by flames.
I start to run toward the source. I can see unearthly lights playing inside a building. A
scream of primal terror echoes through the streets.
Just another night in my world.

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 The Gifted Essence
Since the dawn of time, there have been people The Tao of Asian culture. The Baraka of Arab mys-
with the power to see and do things beyond the reach ticism. The Mana of the witch doctors of the South
of others. They were accepted as shamans and medi- Pacific. The One Power. Essence is all that and more.
cine men, priests and sorcerers, hunted and reviled as Beyond matter and energy, Essence is the basic
witches, or mocked and institutionalized as madmen. building block of reality. It is present in all things, liv-
They are the Gifted. Psychics and magicians, sum- ing and unliving. It also flows invisibly in pure form,
moners of spirits or miracle-wielding saints, they are undetected by most living things except on a primal,
the selected few who can interact with the emotional level. Magicians learn to manipulate Pure
Otherworld. In theory, all humans have the potential Essence to change the world.
to use these abilities; the Spark of Creation is in each
of our souls. What most people lack is the will and Pure Essence can be found in living beings; this is
the knowledge to make use of it. By choice or cir- the energy that makes up the soul, the Ka of ancient
cumstance, the Gifted have managed to unleash this Egypt and the Chi (“breath”) of Asian mysticism.
potentiality and are now able to influence the world Whereas matter and energy are emotionless forces
around them in strange and marvelous ways. that follow the laws of physics, Essence in its raw
form is controlled by emotions and the creative
The source of the powers of the Gifted lies in impulse. In some ways, it might even be considered
Essence, the primal force and element of reality. The to be a living force, responsive to stimuli.
Gifted are attuned to the flows of Essence, and they
can hold and manipulate these energies, the powers of Essence, unlike common energy, is not an imper-
Creation itself. This attunement allows them to see sonal force. Even in its pure form, it has emotions,
many hidden truths, and to perform incredible feats. attitudes -– it can even be good or evil. In living
things, Essence is arranged in a matrix that stores the
This power does not come without a price, howev- knowledge, memories and personality of the person
er. Being of the Gifted entails giving up the blindness or creature. After death, the soul lives on, moving on
that comforts and protects the mundane. In a world to other planes of existence, or, in the case of ghosts
where monsters prowl in the shadows, ignorance is and other beings, remaining in the physical realm for
bliss. Knowing too much is always dangerous; there one reason or another.
are those who will do anything to protect their
secrets. Moreover, something about their very nature Mundanes, people without the powers or knowl-
makes the Gifted more likely to become involved in edge of the Gifted, often manipulate Pure Essence
strange and dangerous situations. Perhaps their link without being aware of it. Strong emotions often trig-
to the currents of Essence somehow leads the Gifted ger a release of Essence; this is one of the causes
toward places and incidents where those flows are (besides the typical biological ones) for the “drained”
strongest. Perhaps they are “guided” by the Hand of feeling people often experience after strong bouts of
Fate, God’s Will, or some Greater Power. In any anger, fear or grief. The Gifted can control the release
event, no matter how much the Gifted try to lead of Essence in numerous ways. They can also perceive
quiet, peaceful lives, they will eventually find them- the flows of this power, allowing them to “see” things
selves in bizarre and life-threatening situations and and creatures that cannot be detected with lesser,
adventures. As a result, many actively search out such more mundane senses.
situations, hoping at least to deal with them on their
own terms.
The Gifted are the central characters of WitchCraft.
Like the witches of old, they are often misunderstood
and persecuted. In their hands is the power to save or
destroy, to heal the world or send it to its doom.

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 He was a modern hunter among the teeming masses. His prey was a small boy, obviously lost and
scared in the shopping mall. No one suspected him as he approached the crying child; the hunter
looked like everyone’s grandfather, his stooped body, white hair and kind, open face concealing a dark
maelstrom of forbidden passions. The old man leaned over the little boy with a placating smile.
“You look like you need a friend, kiddo,” he said.
The child looked up. “I’m lost, mister.” Apparently, his parents had neglected to warn the boy not
to talk to strangers.
“Why don’t you come with me? I’ll take you to the central office, and they will call your parents
right away.”
The boy looked dubious for a moment, and then said “Okay.”
As they walked, he took the old man’s hand. The killer had to force himself not to tremble with
anticipation. They still had to make their way out of the mall unnoticed. Nobody paid attention to
the pair: a boy and a grandfather were not an uncommon sight. The old man was ready to surrender
his prey should the child’s parents appear; he had learned the virtues of patience. But nobody called
out, nobody stopped them.
Even after they left the mall, the boy did not seem concerned. His tears had dried and he looked
serious but calm. The old man hid his true smile behind a complacent facade. Soon new tears and
worse would begin.
“Are we going away?” the boy asked as the old man opened the side door of his van.
“It’s easier than walking all over the mall,” the man said. “Come on, now.”
The child jumped into the van. The old man followed. Time to secure the prey and be on his way.
He closed the sliding door and turned toward his victim.
The young boy was staring at him intently. Something in his eyes made the old man hesitate for a
moment. They seemed a little bit darker than before, even accounting for the darkness of the van. It
didn’t matter. The old man lunged, ready to stifle any outcry.
Small limbs met his grasping hands. Tiny hands grabbed the old man’s wrists, and squeezed.
Breath was driven from the killer’s body by pure agony. He heard a crunching noise and his hands
exploded in pain. The child heaved, and pushed the man down while still holding on to his wrists.
Blood started running down the killer’s arms.
The old man tried to scream, but the child was kneeling on his chest, stealing his breath. “Bad
luck for you, old man,” the child said, and the killer exhaled a wheeze of terror, for the voice was
gravelly and totally inhuman. “In the order of things,” the child-thing continued, “there are levels of
predator and prey. You have finally met one who preys on your kind.” Even as he spoke, the last ves-
tiges of humanity melted away from the creature’s face. Once again, the killer tried to scream, to
howl out in horror. A small part of him found it ironic that he would spend his last few moments
of life in the same mindless terror as that of his own victims.
The busy mall goers did not noticed the slight rocking of the van, nor the small noises coming
from inside. A small pool of dark liquid accumulated underneath, but everyone expects to see oil
puddles beneath a car, and nobody noticed that the liquid was not oil.
Finally, it was over. A young boy opened the passenger door and left the van behind. Looking
lost and forlorn, he vanished back into the crowded mall.

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 The Dangers
Every culture in the world has tales of strange and terrible creatures, beings of the night and darkness that
prey on the unwary or helpless, beings of power that must be appeased lest they become enraged. The legends
have been forgotten and trivialized, but the creatures of the dark continue to exist, and to hunt. One of the for-
bidden truths the Gifted learn in the course of their lives is that there are things that walk the world in human
guise but which are utterly alien. Many of them need the Essence of others to survive, while a few have
unknown purposes, but most are predators who hunt humans, protected by the unbelief of the mundanes. The
predators come in many shapes and varieties, with different powers and weaknesses. Some are no threat to an
adult human, and prey only on the young or the weak. Others are simply beings from the Otherworlds who
venture into the physical realm, or the souls of the dead, who some-
times linger in search of revenge, redemption or immortality.
Others have more devious or alien purposes. There are such
beings as demons, who seek to tempt and corrupt the mun-
danes. These and others are nearly impossible to defeat with-
out relying on Magic or other Gifted Arts. Their numbers
and boldness have been growing -- a sign that the
Reckoning is near.
The supernatural is not the only
source of concern for the Gifted.
Mundanes are perfectly capable of
destruction, pillage and worse, for
the sake of power, greed or their
twisted lusts. There are those who
poison and despoil the world for
fun or profit, and are not afraid to
crush anything -- or anyone -- that
gets in their way. There are many
groups of manipulators who enjoy
tremendous power over the lives
of the mundanes, and who will
strike at anyone who threatens the
secrecy upon which they thrive.
Whether brought about by the
machinations of monsters or the
blind greed of mundanes, the
Time of Reckoning may destroy
the world as we know it. Worse, it
may replace it with something far
worse. The Gifted and their allies
are in a position to help deter-
mine the outcome. Every
small victory will help.

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 The Covenants
the signs, and they have often benefited from the rise
in the numbers of the Gifted. What they plan to do (if
The Covenants are gatherings of the Gifted, soci- anything) about the troubles ahead varies from one
eties created over the centuries with the purposes of group to another. Many are ignoring the signs; only a
teaching, self-defense and, in some cases, the quest few are taking action.
for power. No two are alike. There are dozens of different Covenants in the
Each Covenant developed its own beliefs, cosmol- world, not counting the splinter groups, rebels,
ogy, and customs. Some Covenants were designed as heretics, and other dissident factions within the vari-
secret societies from their inception, keeping their ous Covenants. Their sizes range from a few individ-
very existence hidden from the people and authorities uals to thousands of followers. Five are depicted in
of their time. Others were forced into this book: the Wicce, the Rosicrucians, the Sentinels,
hiding during the time of persecu- the Twilight Order, and the Cabal of Psyche.
tions that plagued Europe and Others will appear in future publica-
the Americas. To this day, tions. Naturally, Chroniclers and
most Covenants continue players are encouraged to
to operate in strictest devise their own Covenants.
secrecy, both to protect
their members from Metaphysics
ridicule or outright The Gifted have
persecution, and to many abilities which
hoard their precious allow them to tran-
secrets and powers scend normal human
from outsiders. limits. They are tradi-
The level of organi- tionally known as
zation and hierarchy “Metaphysics” or
in each Covenant “Arts” among occult
varies widely. Some, circles. There are
like the Wicce, are lit- many Arts in the world
tle more than a collec- of WitchCraft. The
tion of Gifted mem- most common of these
bers with similar reli- are the four depicted in
gious or magical this book: Magic,
beliefs, loosely band- Sight, Necromancy
ed together to assist and Divine Inspiration.
their fellows in times Each has its own limi-
of need. Others (the tations and advan-
Rosicrucians and the tages. In some cases,
Sentinels foremost among them) are highly organized to practice one of the Arts one must forsake any inter-
and have an established chain of command. At the est or aptitude in the others, or accept a lesser degree
other extreme are “Covenants” like the Solitaires, of mastery in the rest. Some of the Gifted have man-
who are less an organization than a class of Gifted, aged to master more than one Art in their lifetimes,
lumped into one category by other Covenants. but most specialize.
All these Covenants realize that the Time of
Reckoning is drawing near; their occult knowledge
and abilities have been able to detect and understand

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 So far, the woman had been a perfect hostage. the back and opened the trunk. Gino was finally
She had not struggled as they dragged her out beginning to look worried; he kept staring at the
of the bank, and she was sitting quietly in the highway, expecting a cop car to show up. Vic
back, sandwiched between Bruno and Leo. was less concerned. They had timed the robbery
They would probably have to waste her after perfectly, shortly before closing. Nobody had
they left the Interstate, but Vic was no mon- seen them come in or out, and it would be hours
ster – he would make it a clean kill, a shot in the before the people in the bank were missed. They
back of the head, quick and painless. He drove would have a head start, and no witnesses.
carefully, scrupulously staying within five miles “Relax,” he told Gino as they unloaded the spare
of the speed limit. No sense attracting atten- and the jack. “Everything’s under control.” Vic
tion. Next to Vic, Gino laughed maniacally. closed the trunk . . .
Vic grimaced; they should never have let that . . . and saw Bruno and Leo, their heads
psycho join in. Thanks to his itchy trigger fin- lolling limply on the headrests, appearing to be
ger, they were now responsible for nine murders unconscious -- or dead. The woman was out of
– the seven bank employees and two luckless the car, hands down at her sides, staring at them.
customers. After Gino shot the first one, they Gino went for his gun -- and fell to the
had no choice but to eliminate all the witnesses. ground, twitching. Vic saw the woman’s eyes
And the law being what it was, you would fry narrow in concentration. Gino kicked feebly at the
as bad for one as for ten, so what could you do? ground, then lay still.
Vic sneaked a glance at the soon-to-become “Brain embolism this time,” the woman said
victim number ten in the rearview mirror. Late coldly. “Two heart attacks are going to be
twenties, maybe, good-looking in a bookish way, strange enough; three would be too much.”
wearing a flowery skirt, a denim jacket and sen-
sible shoes, long brown hair running straight Old childhood stories came flooding back to
down, her blue eyes hidden beneath thick glasses. Vic’s mind. “Strega,” he whispered in Italian.
She had been the third customer, and Vic had Witch. The woman smiled grimly.
decided they could use a hostage. She had been Vic dropped the gun and fell to his knees. “I
quiet and subdued since the hold-up, her eyes give up.” Better to face life in prison or the gas
closed, her lips moving silently. Praying, proba- chamber than this.
bly. Couldn’t hurt, Vic guessed. The woman nodded. “You have made a wise
The left front tire blew out. “Shit!” Vic was choice.”
a good driver, and the car was going slow The police found a crack pipe in the car; the
enough to let him keep control of the vehicle. coroner did find some traces of drugs in the sys-
After a short swerve, Vic led the car to the tems of the three corpses, but not enough to jus-
shoulder. The way the car staggered to a stop tify the freak deaths. The doctor knew his report
told him the tire was utterly destroyed. was a lie, and he slept uneasily for many days
“Damn! Gino, help me out. You two, keep her afterwards. The woman’s name was never
quiet.” Bruno nodded and shoved the silenced released to the papers; shortly after the incident,
Beretta pistol into her side. The woman gasped she left the state, and could not be found. No
but said nothing. matter; there was enough evidence found in the
“Why do I get to help you?” Gino asked car to satisfy prosecutors. Vic discovered reli-
insolently. gion during the seven years between his sentenc-
ing and, after many appeals, his execution, and he
Because it’s your fault we’re in this mess, died while praying for his soul.
Vic thought but didn’t say. “Because I’m run-
ning the show, butthead. Capiche?” Gino scowled What awaited him at the other end is another
but did as he was told. The two men went to story for another time.

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 Magic
“Amanda is the most precious child,” Gloria
The most versatile and widespread of the Arts, said proudly to her friends, the other wives and
Magic has been known and practiced throughout the mothers. They all agreed effusively, trying to
world, in hundreds of different styles and cultural tra- allay Gloria’s concerns. “Still waters run deep,”
ditions. Whether performed by an Eskimo shaman in Mrs. Rutherford added, somewhat lamely.
the frozen north, or a ceremonial magician in 20th-
century London, Magic has the same basic elements: “Yes,” Gloria agreed. “She is a thinker, and
the will of the magician, a series of rituals and sym- so smart! It will take her a while to get used to
bols to focus that will, and the belief that the will can things; kindergarten is such a new experience.”
affect the world. Essence is the fuel of Magic. Again, her friends chorused their agreement,
Channeled by the will of the magician, Essence can trying vainly to mask their concerns. Little
affect reality in ways limited only by the knowledge Amanda had no friends; the other children
and imagination of its wielder. seemed to hate her, to be afraid of her. She had
been beaten up twice in the two months since
Magic works by the use of Invocations, the “spells” school had started. In all fairness, it had been
and rituals of legend. Each Invocation rules one small an ill-starred school year, what with the tragic
aspect of reality. An Invocation acts as a focus for the death of the Gifford boy.
Essence released by the witch or sorcerer. Additional
rituals or symbols also allow magicians to tap into the “She will be all right,” Gloria said, and hur-
flows of Pure Essence that circulate invisibly around riedly drank the last of her coffee, using the
all things, greatly increasing the power available. motion to help suppress the tears in her eyes.

Becoming a magician is long, hard work. The In the backyard, Amanda played with her
apprentice’s world view must be reshaped through dolls. Her mother’s concern reached her from
endless hours of study, meditation, and initiation rit- across the house. Amanda stopped playing for a
uals. Each Invocation learned does not involve a mere moment; it always made her sad when Mummy
repetition of words or formulas, but involves a dedi- worried so. And some of her friends were not
cation almost unheard of in the materialistic world of being nice, some were happy that Mummy was
today. Only those with the strongest aptitude and unhappy. They better watch out, or something
desire ever learn to master these abilities. bad would happen to them, like it happened to
Freddie Gifford, the boy who had kicked her.
Freddie would not be coming back to school
anymore. Amanda had made Freddie go away.
The little girl went back to her game. After
making sure nobody was around, she concentrat-
ed. Her favorite Barbie stood up and started
walking towards the dollhouse, her legs marching
stiffly, one-two, one-two, like those soldiers in
the old movies Daddy liked to watch. “One-
two, one-two,” Amanda said softly.
Like good obedient soldiers, all the dolls
stood up and started to march.
Amanda giggled.

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 The Sight
There have always been people who, without training in the magical Arts, have been blessed or cursed
with the Second Sight, the ability to see and affect things with the mind alone. In the past, the Sight was
considered to be another form of witchcraft, and those unfortunate enough to show signs of it were perse-
cuted. Now, these so-called “psychic” abilities have become more widely accepted in popular culture,
although the scientific establishment continues to deny their existence.
The powers of the mind are manifold. Those with the Sight, Seers, can communicate without words,
move things without hands, see past physical barriers, and even catch glimpses of the past and future. How
these powers are related is not known, but those Gifted with the Sight have the potential to learn and mas-
ter any and all of those abil-
ities. In some ways, their
link to Essence is more
basic than that used in
Magic, for they can affect
the physical world direct-
ly, somehow manipulat-
ing the Essence that exists
within matter and energy,
rather than the “pure” Essence
of souls and spirits. The Seers
can perceive the invisible
worlds and the supernatural, but
most of their power is confined to
the material world.
The Sight is an inborn talent.
Some of the Gifted have it;
those who were not born with
it can never gain it in life,
although Magic can match
or mimic many of its abili-
ties. Some think that the
Sight is actually a trait that
characterized a subspecies
within humankind, and
that it may represent the
next step in evolution.
Others believe that these
powerful abilities exist in
all of us, but require extra-
ordinary circumstances to
be awakened.

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 Madame Slovana (born Gertrude Finn) was awakened from a sound sleep (courtesy of several
ounces of the best Scotch her money could buy) by the doorbell downstairs. Her sleep was normally
deep enough to allow her to ignore the sounds, but whoever was there kept ringing it for several min-
utes, finally rousing her into angry wakefulness. She looked out the front window of her apartment,
right above her place of business. She could make out a young kid, no older than twenty-five (to
Madame Slovana, anybody under her own fifty-three years of age was a child), fairly well dressed,
standing determinedly at her door. She frowned at the sight. The youngster did not match the demo-
graphics of her clients (most of whom tended to be female, middle-aged, often lonely, and always
endowed with more money than common sense). An angry relative, perhaps, come to confront her for
bamboozling his aunt or mother or grandmother. Madame Slovana didn’t need that. She ignored the
ringing; the sign on the storefront said “Madame Slovana’s Psychic Services Center. Sessions
By Appointment Only” and she had no appointments today. Eventually, the kid would go away.
He didn’t. “Listen!” he shouted. “I know you’re in there! We need to talk; it’s for your own
good!”
That sounded like a threat. Madame Slovana spoke through the intercom system at the door of
the storefront. She did not even try to use her phony Russian/Middle-Eastern/German/French
accent. “Stop bothering me or I’m calling the police,” she growled.
“Listen to me,” the kid said. “Your life is in danger, and the police cannot help you. I’m the only
one who can!”
Madame Slovana had heard plenty of lines during her checkered career, and had come up with
some of the best ones herself. She was not impressed. “I’m calling the police right now,” she said
loudly into the intercom, and headed towards the phone to make good on her threat. The police didn’t
like her, but they had often come and stopped distraught friends and relatives of her clients from tak-
ing the law into their own hands.
She truly did not see anything wrong in what she was doing. Like those “psychics” on television,
what she did was for entertainment purposes only. If anybody was stupid enough to believe that she
– or anybody for that matter – could contact the dead, that was their lookout. Dead is dead, money
talks, and let the buyer beware; that summed up Madame Slovana’s philosophy.
Which did nothing to prepare her for the voice she heard when she put the phone to her ear.
“I am going to get you, Gertrude” the phone snarled instead of the dial tone she was expecting.
The voice was unmistakable; it belonged to Lucille Metz, until recently one of Madame
Slovana’s best clients.
Until recently, that is, because Lucille Metz had died six weeks ago.
Madame Slovana was not so easily convinced, however. She hit the Reset button on her phone
several times, trying to get the dial tone. Mrs. Metz’s voice repeated her message over and over.
That little twerp downstairs must have messed with the phone somehow.
Suddenly, a beautiful Elvis commemorative plate that hung on the wall by the door exploded, show-
ering Madame Slovana with shrapnel. She shouted, more in surprise than pain. Another hanging
plate (Madame Slovana was one of the Franklin Mint’s best customers when it came to decora-
tive china) exploded, then another. Some pieces started flying around the room like so many startled
birds.
“What is happening?” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “What is happening?”

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 A blurry figure took shape in front of her, and Madame Slovana howled in terror, because the
semi-transparent form was Mrs. Metz, complete with the fake red hair and expensive make-up she
had worn in life. The spirit grimaced at her, revealing a mouth full of razor-sharp fangs. “I found
out you had been lying to me all this time, Gertrude,” the spirit hissed. “Gertrude! You aren’t even
Rumanian! You never contacted my dear David! I finally saw him again, and it turns out he hasn’t
had a good thought about me since he died! You took my money, and my hopes, and my dreams! And
now,” the ghost said, leaning over the gasping medium, “I’m going to get my pound of flesh.”
Mrs. Metz shoved her right hand through Madame Slovana’s forehead. The hand did not break
skin or bone, but Madame Slovana shrieked in the purest agony; the heavy-set woman thrashed like
a speared fish, anchored to the ghost and held there with superhuman strength.
“Stop!” The kid from downstairs rushed into the room; he must have broken in. Mrs. Metz’s
ghost hissed and released Madame Slovana, leaving her on the ground, panting and sobbing. The
kid advanced towards the spirit. “I cannot let you do this,” his voice echoed as he spoke to the
ghost.
“Why not? She deserves it. All the lies . . .”
“It’s not for her sake alone. If you kill her, you may acquire a taste for it, and may decide to stay
in this world, punishing everyone who ever did you wrong. The chaos and grief you can cause will
be greater than anything this charlatan has ever done.”
Mrs. Metz’s face became inhuman in her fury. “No!” The spirit sprang at the kid.
He extended his hands, and a flash of white light lashed out at Mrs. Metz. With a cry of agony
eerily similar to Madame Slovana’s own cries of pain, the ghost seemed to shrink into itself -– and
was gone.
The kid -– the man -– turned to the gasping woman on the floor. “She is gone. I tried to warn
you; I almost did not get here in time.” The echoes of pain still resonating inside Madame
Slovana’s head like the mother of all migraines seemed to underline his words.
“You’re for real,” she gasped. “You can actually control the dead.” Despite the pain and fading
terror, Madame Slovana started making calculations. Hire him, bribe him, anything, and she could
make double, triple what she made now. “Listen, kid . . .”
“No, you listen. Most of your clients are old women. How many more have died in the last few
years? How many more will die in the next few? You’ve hurt a lot of people, ‘Madame Slovana.’
And those who get involved in the supernatural -– even fakes like yourself -– often end up getting
their just desserts in this life.”
Madame Slovana’s mother had not raised any fools. “What can I do?” she said pleadingly.
The man told her.
Madame Slovana’s Psychic Services Center closed down for good that day. Refunds were
mailed to as many former clients as could be found. Madame Slovana, Incorporated, filed for a
Chapter Eleven shortly thereafter. In another city, far away from her former stomping grounds,
Gertrude Finn became a fairly efficient, if somewhat ill-humored, White Castle manager. She had
no further contacts with the supernatural, and died at the age of ninety-seven.
Her enigmatic last words, witnessed by the nursing home’s resident doctor, were, “I’m coming for
you, Mrs. Metz.”

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 Necromancy ment of the undead, or any of the myriad of other
superstitions with which the term has been laden over
In the world of WitchCraft, death is only a state of time. In ancient times, Necromancy was used for div-
transition, a move to a new stage of existence. The ination purposes, to learn about the past or the future,
souls of the deceased, made up of pure Essence, can to discover secrets from beyond the grave. Due to
do many different things. Some Move On beyond the their dealings with ghosts and spirits, Necromancers
physical world to whatever reward or punishment were often shunned and feared, even in the cultures
awaits them. Many are reborn on Earth, their memo- that accepted Magic and other Arts. During the Time
ries of the past deeply buried. And a few remain in the of the Persecutions, trafficking with spirits was
physical world, bodiless but refusing to die, invisible believed to be akin to dealing with demons, and those
and often weak, but never powerless. The with the ability were hunted down as witches and
Necromancers are Gifted humans with the power to devil-worshippers.
see, interact with, and even control the spirits of the More recently, however, those who could contact
dead that for one reason or another have remained in the dead became less feared. As mediums and
the material realm. spiritualists, they became accepted by
Necromancy does not come easily, or without a some, although they were still exposed to
price. A traumatic event usually creates the link ridicule and disbelief. These modern
between the Lands of the Living and the Worlds day Necromancers offered their ser-
of the Dead. Interestingly enough, many, if not vices to contact the spirits of the
most, Necromancers survived a brush with departed, often charging money for
death early in their lives. Crib death, their services.
the strange malady that claims so Most of these “mediums”
many young lives, may be related were fakes; the real ones con-
to the creation of a Necromancer, tinued to operate in relative
for many of the practitioners of secrecy, or used their powers
this Art survived the onset of sparingly, relying the rest of
crib death, but were forever the time on trickery and
marked by the contact. deceit. Necromancers who
Many occultists have tried to give their clients
linked some of these their money’s worth often
deaths to the activities of found that the World of the
lesser evil spirits; perhaps Dead is too terrifying for
the Necromancers are most mundanes.
the few with the Even worse, some
strength to of the messages
resist their they brought back
depreda- from beyond the
tions. As they grave were not what the
grow up, they dis- customers wanted to hear.
cover that they can see Often, the dead had harbored secret resentments
the spirits of the dead, and eventually, they and even hatred for their friends and relatives, and
can affect the spirit world in a number of ways. some were only too happy to make them known.
Necromancy is the most misunderstood of the Arts. Only the charlatans who contrived to tell their clients
The term itself refers to communication with the spir- what they wanted to hear prospered. The rest had to
its of the dead, not demon-worshipping, the enslave- go back into obscurity.

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 He had his burden to bear, and he bore it gladly. It was, after all, God’s Burden.
The wind-swept dust blocked all vision beyond a hundred feet. Paul could barely make out the rest
stop and gas station -- two buildings on the side of a road that almost nobody used. These build-
ings offered shelter to the poor unfortunates who found themselves lost in the dust storms that
would unexpectedly sweep the highway from time to time.
Paul parked his battered car in front of the two buildings. A sign said Food and Gas -– Last
Chance. Sand-laden winds whipped at his face as he walked towards the diner. The wind was sur-
prisingly cold, making the black trench coat he wore a more appropriate piece of clothing than he had
thought.
A bell rang as he entered. There were three people in the diner, all employees -– surprising, given
how unlikely the place was to attract enough customers to justify so many workers.
A large man, his belly bulging against a dirty apron, was mopping the floor by one of the tables.
He strained the mop into a bucket full of reddish water; his eyes were fixed on Paul. Behind a
counter, a middle-aged, skinny woman in a faded uniform looked hungrily at the newcomer. Her smile,
meant to be welcoming, struck Paul as being nothing but predatory. Standing by the same counter
was a girl, perhaps sixteen, attractive in an unkempt way, also in a uniform. She turned toward the
kitchen. “Pa!” she shouted. “We got more customers!”
The curt chopping sounds that had been coming from the kitchen stopped for a second. “So take
care of ‘em, then,” said a man in a gruff voice.
Paul’s gaze surveyed the diner. He saw the two tables where there was still food, the wet red
spots by the tables and the surrounding chairs. It fit; he had noticed two parked cars outside.
The young girl approached him, a menu in one hand, the other holding something behind her back.
“Table or bar?” she asked.
“Neither,” Paul replied evenly. Something in his voice stopped all three of them. The girl stopped
ten feet away, her eyes coldly appraising him. The fat man let the mop drop and stood up, wiping his
hands on his apron, leaving bloody trails on the dirty cloth. Paul took a deep breath. There was no
doubt in his mind or heart. He was ready.
The woman behind the counter spoke first. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am Retribution,” Paul said, reaching into his trench coat.
Things happened very quickly after that.
The girl howled like a wolf and leaped at him, the butcher knife she had been hiding looking incon-
gruously large in her hand. Paul’s first shotgun blast caught her in mid-air; he sidestepped the flail-
ing body and fired once more into the back of the girl’s head.
Growling incoherently, the fat man slammed into Paul. They fell to the ground in a tangle of arms
and legs. The man’s mouth opened, much wider than a human face could accommodate. A lolling
tongue dangled between huge canines. He tried to bite down on Paul’s face.
Paul heaved, feeling the strength of the righteous coursing through his sinews. The fat man sailed
through the air, landing with a bone-crushing thud on the bar. His body bowled over the older woman,
and the gun she had taken from beneath the counter flew from her hands. Paul picked up the shotgun,
brought it to bear.
“Stop, stranger.”

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 The door to the kitchen was open. A man stood on the threshold. His aura glowed darkly,
intensely.
“Guns will do you no good,” the man said, his voice icy. His eyes were solid red orbs. He gestured
behind Paul, where the girl’s corpse was beginning to flop about and move, despite the two mortal
wounds. “You are nothing, mortal. We will feast on you like we do on all other travelers, and we
will laugh over your bones.”
Paul let the gun drop. He extended his hands to his sides, palms spread in supplication. “God, give
me strength,” he whispered.
The monster and his family advanced towards him. The girl was almost at his back; her laugh
was distorted and wheezing as she shuffled closer. “Where is your God now, mortal?” the leader of
the clan said triumphantly.
The girl who was a corpse grabbed Paul with a blood-drenched hand – and let go, hissing in
agony, her fingers ablaze. The flames
spread and consumed her. Paul never
turned around, but could tell what
was happening by the heat behind him
and the horror-stricken look on her
family’s faces.
“In the Name of the One Who
Is Our Father, I cast you out!”
Paul shouted. The fat man in the
bloody apron exploded in flames. “Get
thee behind me!” The older woman
tried to run away; she fell after taking
two steps, her hair on fire.
The leader did not run or plead.
Howling in desperate rage, he attempt-
ed to summon flames of his own.
Paul countered the evil magicks with
the strength of his Faith, and the
hellfire was extinguished. A torrent
of divine flames cascaded upon the
murdering monster. As the human-
like body writhed under the cleansing
fire, Paul felt an immense sense of
fulfillment. This must have been what
Gabriel felt, as he cast Lucifer down
from Heaven in the Lord’s name.
This must be what Michael shall
feel at the end of the last battle.
Paul looked at his handiwork;
weariness was beginning to replace
the divine exaltation. He still had
work to do, finding the remains of the

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 many victims of these predators, and then hiding his participation from the earthly authorities.
It was a burden, but it was God’s burden.

Divine Inspiration
They are the servants of a Higher Power, and in Its name they can work miracles. The Inspired are people
whose belief and Faith in an all-powerful divinity somehow allows them to transcend the limits of the flesh.
Some argue that it is their belief, and not the existence of an omnipotent God, that fuels their miracles. The
fact remains that only people with unshakable beliefs become the Inspired, and their powers last only as long
as they know themselves to be fulfilling the purposes of the force they serve.
In the past, the Divinely Inspired have been healers, prophets, teachers and saints. They have been the
founders of many religions, and have led exemplary lives. All too often, however, their words and deeds have
been twisted after they were gone by others who sought to gain power and wealth. Also, it is easy to fall from
grace, and many Inspired have been seduced by pride and greed. The results of that fall are never less than the
loss of the connection with the Divine that had given them their amazing abilities.
Sadly enough, most of the Divinely Inspired appearing in the world of WitchCraft are not prophets, but war-

Religion in WitchCraft
In the setting of WitchCraft, all religions are considered to have an element of
truth in their teachings, often distorted by centuries of dogma and misinterpreta-
tion. The beliefs of Christians, Pagans, Muslims and others all have a degree of
validity, and none should claim supremacy over the rest (although many do). In the
old times, different religions accepted the existence of others with tolerance and
even a degree of shared belief –- yes, one's gods were considered to be superior, but
believers accepted the existence of other gods, and might on occasion adopt a new
deity into their pantheon. The rise of monotheism (the belief in One True God)
put an end to such tolerance, and all other beliefs were persecuted or eliminated
altogether. Some Gifted believe that monotheism and its dominance over the
Western world was the result of the actions of the Seraphim (angels) who felt
the Creator was not receiving His (or Her) due.
Although most students of Reality agree that there was a single Creative Force,
they also affirm that a number of god-like entities of great age and wisdom also
exist, and in some cases are more accessible than the omnipotent deity that is
apparently far removed from the affairs of humankind. In that way, then, both
Pagans and Christians are right -- not that they will ever agree with each other.
All the concepts in WitchCraft are, of course, fictional, and they do not presume
to represent any real "truth." Whether in defining aspects of Christian belief or
Pagan dogma, the game is not intending to accurately represent real world doc-
trines. It is just a game, with a cosmology designed solely to fit the game's needs.

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 riors. They come forth to do battle with the supernat-
ural forces that are growing in numbers. The time for
a Final Battle is fast approaching.

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 “As I will it, so mote it be.”
“So mote it be,” Garth repeated.
“So mote it be,” said Jennifer.
Three was a strong number, but Bonnie did not know if it would be enough. Her two compan-
ions looked pale and grim in the candlelight. Less than a block away, the sound of gunfire inten-
sified. The creature that had once been Henry Slaughter continued its rampage. A flurry of
shots ended with a scream of pure horror and agony, a scream that was quickly cut off. In her
mind’s eye, Bonnie could picture the scene: a policeman, perhaps, emptying his gun at the advanc-
ing, grinning corpse until it finally reached him and tore him apart with its bare hands. Shaking
her head, she continued the chant. They needed to take advantage of the time the cops and other
innocents had unwittingly purchased with their lives.
The screams and the gunfire ceased. Did that mean the people in the streets had finally all fled
the area, or had Henry killed the last of them? The three witches had managed to escape him in
the middle of a crowded street, bustling with nightlife. Frustrated, the creature had attacked the
passersby. How many dead, because Bonnie had decided they could not stand up to the monster
without a lengthy ritual? Time enough for mourning later, she told herself. She turned her fear
into anger, and then subsumed it into a cold determination. The chant intensified its tempo.
A crash, nearby; the three witches had taken refuge in a store whose clerks had fled after hear-
ing the commotion outside. Bonnie knew that the plate glass doors would not withstand Henry’s
fury. The sound of shattering glass confirmed it. Essence flowed through her, reinforced by the
ritual and the circle. Garth and Jennifer jumped to their feet.
“He’s coming!” Garth shouted.
Jennifer grabbed the nearest weapon at hand, a broom handle. Silly-looking, but Jennifer was
an experienced kendo and bo fighter. She whirled the stick expertly as the walking corpse burst in.
In life, Henry Slaughter had been a medium-sized man, prematurely balding at twenty-six, with
a gentle, ordinary face. Nobody had suspected he was responsible for the ritual killing of over a
dozen young children. In the end, however, he had gotten cocky and his depredations had been
noticed. When the angry mob cornered him, Henry had been mutilated with knives and red-hot
irons. His corpse had been buried in a shallow grave by the local sheriff, who had participated in
the lynching. Three days later, in a grotesque mockery of the Resurrection, the murderer had risen
again.
The creature had not changed much since it clawed its way to the surface of its grave. The ani-
mated corpse was still a burned, slashed, decomposed horror. Only now, the blood of its victims
covered its arms to the elbow. It grimaced horribly and advanced.
Bonnie unleashed a torrent of Essence towards the monster, as Garth and Jennifer charged
forward to confront it physically.
The store became a maelstrom of light and fury, blood and screams.

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 Introduction
Players should also try to keep in mind that role-
playing is a group activity. Creating a character for
Characters -- Cast Members -- are perhaps the the exclusive purpose of dominating the game or
most important building blocks of any story. hogging the spotlight may be fun for a particular
Without well-defined, compelling characters, the player, but it will ruin everyone else’s enjoyment --
best plot line will fail to attract the reader or view- and may lead to no games being played by anyone.
er’s interest. So it is with a roleplaying game. Each If the Chronicler disallows a character idea or con-
player controls a character in the game. In effect, the ception, she probably has a good reason. Respect
player is both playing a part and scripting it. Each her judgment.
player makes the decisions for her character, and the
Chronicler and the other players come up with the How to Create a Character
consequences of those decisions. Through the give Would-be WitchCraft players should be familiar
and take of this process, a Story is created. with the setting of the game. WitchCraft is a game
This is one of the parts of roleplaying that works of occult discovery, mystery, and magic. What type
most like writing a short story or a script. The play- of character appropriate to such a setting would be
er gets to create a fictional persona, someone she desirable to play?
would like to portray in a game. This character can The Chronicler should give the players an idea of
be heroic, cowardly, sensitive or silly. The Cast the specific location and main themes of the game.
Member’s habits, personality and typical behavior For example, if the game is to start in a small Maine
are completely in the player’s hands. The character village dominated by the Wicce, playing an Inspired
can be a carbon copy of the player, or an utterly dif- witch-hunter is probably not a good idea, unless the
ferent person. There are limitations, however. A initial plot line makes it possible (say, a common
character must fit the story, or in this case, the game enemy lurks nearby, forcing an alliance of conve-
setting. Rambo would be out of place in a Noel nience between the two groups). In some games, the
Coward play, and he would look silly and unrealis- Chronicler may drastically restrict the choices avail-
tic in a Tom Clancy novel, for example. The schem- able to players. For example, the basic plot line of
ing, treacherous and complex Iago could not jump many possible games might require that all the char-
from the pages of Othello into a four-color super- acters are members of the same Covenant. Even so,
hero story -- at least not as a main character (he players should not feel they are being forced to play
would make a great villain, though). characters with little or no variety. Even within a
This is not to say that all characters need to be Covenant, there are many choices and possibilities
heroes, or even the white-hat-wearing “good guys.” for different characters.
They can be flawed, selfish or misguided. Some players may feel overwhelmed by too many
Generally, however, they should be similar to fic- choices. Although the Unisystem used in
tional characters in a story: interesting, fun to WitchCraft allows players to create a character fair-
observe (and play) and, most importantly, crucial in ly quickly, deciding what kind of character to play
the shaping of the Story, the final goal of any role- can take a while. Sometimes it helps if the
playing game. Chronicler takes the time to help each player with
The Chronicler will influence the character cre- the creation of her character, before the first game is
ation process. Ultimately, it is up to the Chronicler scheduled. If all else fails, the Archetypes (the ones
to decide whether or not a given character is appro- in this book as well as those in future supplements)
priate for a campaign. In some cases, she might may help.
decide that a character does not fit into the current
Story, or might be too powerful (or weak) for the
tasks and troubles the Cast is likely to face.

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 Archetypes Character Elements
For those who wish to jump into the game right Characters in WitchCraft have eight basic elements.
away, several Archetypes are available at the end of Some elements are conceptual (what kind of charac-
this chapter. These pre-created characters are almost ter is this?), while others are numerical attributes
ready to play. Once given a name, they can be played (what are the character’s actual abilities?). As players
as is. Otherwise, they may be modified to suit the make each selection, they narrow down the possibili-
individual player’s tastes. Finally, the templates may ties of the character, until they finally have a clearly
be used for inspiration to come up with a separate defined fictional individual ready to play.
creation. For those ready to create their own personas The different elements are listed in a sidebar placed
from scratch, the remainder of the chapter provides nearby, and are discussed in detail in the remainder of
the means to do so. the chapter.

Character Concept
Character Elements First of all, the player should decide what type of
character to play. The Character Concept is a brief
1. Concept: What are the char- summary of the character’s goals and personality. It
acter's goals and principles? also helps to determine the most important parts of
2. Type: Select from the the character’s story and background. Each Concept
has a number of related questions, likely Qualities
Gifted, Lesser Gifted, Mundanes and Drawbacks, professions (which helps decide
and the Bast. which skills the character should know) and
3. Association: What group or Associations. These questions are among the most
important steps. By answering them, players can start
organization (if any) does the fleshing out the character before they even start
character belong to? choosing other elements. Players may answer the
4. Attributes: What are the questions quickly, jotting down short notes on a piece
of paper, or may spend more time working through
character's natural abilities, both them in detail. Some players may decide to answer
mental and physical? them later, as the other character elements are picked.
5. Qualities and Drawbacks: Coming up with a Character Concept is not indis-
What innate advantages or pensable; if a player does not find it helpful, she can
always move on to the other creation steps. Also,
penalties affect the character? sometimes it is better to select a Type and Association
6. Skills: What does your char- before moving on to the Concept, or even save the
Concept for last. Each player should determine what
acter know? works best for her.
7. Metaphysics: What super-
natural abilities does the charac- Common Character Concepts
ter possess? Listed on the following pages are a few common
8. Possessions: What does the Character Concepts. Chroniclers and players are
encouraged to make up their own. Also, players can
character own? pick more than one Concept and mix their questions
and suggestions into a unique whole.

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 Avenger
Someone has wronged you, and now you seek revenge. Your tormentors could have been individuals, or
might belong to an organization. In the latter case, you might be seeking revenge against all members of that
group. Whatever was done to you (or a loved one) was so horrible that now you are obsessed with the thought
of paying your tormentors back.
Defining Questions: Who wronged you? Was it an individual, or a group? What did they do to you? Why
did they do it (do you know why, or do you care)? How did the injury or insult affect your life? How are you
going to get your revenge? How has your desire for revenge affected your life?
Qualities and Drawbacks: You tend to have an Obsession with the target of your revenge. You make ene-
mies (acquiring the Adversary Drawback), including those you are trying to destroy, any friends or allies of
your target, and the authorities, who rarely approve of vigilante justice.

Character Concept Example

Julie is creating a WitchCraft character, Lilith. She decides she likes the idea of a
grim Avenger type, and starts answering the defining questions.
Who wronged you? Was it an individual, or a group?
Julie decides that the offender in this case was a Vampyre. She needs to decide if
Lilith's grudge is against that particular Vampyre, or the entire species of undead.
She chooses the individual Vampyre as the sole object of her hatred.
What did they do? Why did they do it?
The monster seduced and then murdered the character's mother. Why? Just for the
fun, she guesses -- Lilith does not know and probably doesn't care!
How did the injury affect your life?
Lilith was left with her father, who never recovered from her mother's loss and
became cold and distant. At this point, Julie decides that this experience probably
left Lilith unable to express emotions to others.
How are you going to get your revenge?
Lilith was recruited into the Rosicrucians in college; she learned the Art of Magic
to be able to find and destroy the monster.
How has your desire for revenge affected your life?
Driven by revenge, Lilith has had a disastrous personal life. She has never been good
at making friends, and has never had a long-lasting or successful relationship. She
spends most of her time honing her body and mind to become the perfect weapon.
She is haunted by nightmares that replay her brief vision of the Vampyre, leaning
over the lifeless body of her mother, blood staining his lips red.

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 Professions: You may come from any walk of life. Professions: Your typical professions include stunt
Stereotypically, you are a former soldier, police offi- man, acrobat, cat burglar (for the challenge more than
cer, or someone with combat training of some kind. the money), and test pilot (except the brass doesn’t
An interesting Avenger type is a previously mild per- like it when you risk multimillion dollar planes as
son with a mundane occupation (accountant or well as yourself).
teacher, perhaps), who was totally transformed by the Association: Any, but you are usually a Solitaire;
crime(s) to be avenged. most Covenants do not take kindly to risk-takers,
Association: You can belong to any Association. especially the Magic Covenants.
Those of you who join the Wicce and Rosicrucians
are constrained by the fact that your anger and hatred Fanatic
may work against you (see Intent and Magic, p. 199). You are a True Believer. This may be a religion, or
The Sentinels among you are often guided by anger. a Cause, or some political ideal, but whatever it is you
In that case, you may be seeking revenge not for think it is the most important thing in the world, and
yourself, but for your beliefs. you are willing to lay down your life (and, in some
cases, the lives of others) to serve your beliefs.
Daredevil Depending on what those beliefs are (and who you
You love to take chances; to you, life without ask), you could be considered a dedicated hero or a
adventure and risks is not worth living. That is why dangerous madman. Patriots, religious leaders, and
you insist on getting involved in dangerous capers, visionaries can all be Fanatics. Delusional paranoids
legal or not, whether you need the money or not. also fit the bill. Which one are you?
Maybe you crave the rush of adrenaline you feel after Defining Questions: What do you believe in? How
surviving yet another mad stunt. Or you may just love did you become a follower of this belief or principle?
the challenge of pitting yourself against dangerous What made you a fanatic (as opposed to a normal fol-
foes or situations. lower of this belief)? What do you do to follow this
For you, danger is the spice of life. You may belief in your everyday life?
become jaded by previous shocks or experiences, or Qualities and Drawbacks: Zealot is the universal
you may be convinced that you are immortal and can Drawback for you, of course. You often make many
get away with anything. In any case, you can often be enemies (see the Adversary Drawback, p. 73), and
as dangerous to others as you are to yourself. One fellow fanatics can provide contacts and allies (as per
day, you will take one chance too many and pay the the Contacts Quality, p. 75).
ultimate price.
Professions: Some of you are priests of a religion
Defining Questions: What turned you into a dare- or cult; some have normal professions and occupa-
devil? What do you do for thrills (and is it legal)? tions and worship or serve your beliefs in private. If
Would you risk someone you love as well as your- you happen to be patriotic, you often serve in the mil-
self? Do you always take chances, no matter what the itary of the nation you love.
stakes, or do you at least consider the consequences
of failure before you jump into danger? Have your Association: Many of you are Sentinels, although
stunts gained you any rivals or enemies? fanatical members of other Covenants are not
unknown. Wicce Fanatics include radical environ-
Qualities and Drawbacks: Many of you have a mentalists, while the Rosicrucians occasionally pro-
Delusion (“Nothing can happen to me/I am invinci- duce ultra-conservatives. The other Covenants do not
ble”) worth 2- to 3-points, depending on how far you espouse strong political views, but you could easily
are willing to test that notion. Note that in the dan- be an exception to the general rule.
gerous world of WitchCraft, the 3-point Delusion is
quite deadly. Most of you gain a reputation that may
reflect in positive or negative status, either as a hero
or a dangerous lunatic.

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 Forsaken Association: Forsaken characters are not common
in most of the Covenants depicted in this book,
You have lost everything and nobody cares about except for the Solitaires. Some Wicce in intolerant
you -- or at least you think so. Maybe you ran away regions are likely to find themselves ostracized from
from home or are an orphan. Perhaps you committed their communities, however.
a crime so heinous that all your friends and loved
ones turned away from you, or perhaps you were Fugitive
falsely accused of such a crime. You could belong to They are after you. “They” could be anybody -- the
a group or society that is despised by the mainstream, authorities, the Mafia, the Combine, or the reanimat-
or could be afflicted by a severe problem or disease ed body of someone you did wrong, come back for
that makes you undesirable or contemptible in the some beyond-the-grave payback. Whoever They are,
eyes of others. This might not be your fault, yet the you know you don’t want Them to catch you. To
effect is the same: you are alone, an outcast. avoid getting caught, you may be on the run, wander-
You usually have few friends but you are very loyal ing from place to place, never staying anywhere for
to those who would befriend you. You might be bitter too long, or you could be in hiding, maybe under a
toward the world that has rejected you, or you might false identity -- one you might have used for years,
blame yourself and be consumed by self-loathing. living a lie while still looking over your shoulder. You
Among you are runaways, prostitutes, the homeless, could be guilty of whatever you are wanted for, and
and people with unconventional lifestyles (punk, gay, are avoiding your just punishment, or you are inno-
gothic, and similar fringe or underground groups). cent and are trying to prove your innocence while
Unlike the Weird Ones, your behavior or history staying one step ahead of your pursuers.
make most people react negatively to you. While a Defining Questions: Who is pursuing you, and
typical Weird One inspires puzzlement and maybe a why? Did you do something to deserve the pursuit, or
little fear, you attract repugnance and contempt. were you falsely accused? What are you doing to
Whether or not you have earned such feelings is up to escape pursuit (running, hiding or both)? Do the peo-
each individual character story and is left to the play- ple around you (friends and companions) know of
er and Chronicler, of course. your plight? Did they take you in or accompany you
Defining Questions: What made you an outcast? anyway? If you were framed, who framed you (if you
Was it something you did (or people think you did), know)? What are you doing to prove your innocence
or just who you are or what group or minority you (if anything)?
belong to? Why isn’t your family on your side? Do Qualities and Drawbacks: Your pursuers are, or
you even have a family, and, if not, what happened to will become, Adversaries. Generally on the run, you
them? How do you feel about being Forsaken? Do probably have very low Resources and Social Status.
you return society’s contempt with your own, or do Those of you who are pretending to be someone else
you wish you could change? have a Secret instead of an Adversary. Most of you
Qualities and Drawbacks: You usually have very end up developing the Paranoia Drawback.
low Social Levels and Resources. Many of you are Professions: Any.
Addicts or suffer from such mental Drawbacks as Association: You are most likely a Solitaire --
Delusions, Emotional Problems or Paranoia. Some membership in a Covenant almost guarantees some
have Contacts among other people who find them- measure of protection from the outside world.
selves on the fringes of society. Exceptions are not unknown, however: you might
Professions: You generally work in marginal jobs, have made enemies that the Covenant cannot easily
either low paying (like busboy at a low-rent diner) or handle, like the FBI or the Combine. Another, more
illegal (panhandling, prostitution, petty theft). ominous possibility could be that you are being per-
secuted by your (former) Covenant, for some reason
or another.

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 Reluctant Hero game. This doesn’t mean that you are wholly evil --
sometimes you act with perfectly good intentions, but
All you wanted was a normal life, but Fate had your path always seems to lead to trouble. You can be
other things in store for you. Time and time again, humorously incompetent, or coldly efficient. Many of
you were faced with danger. Somehow, you actually you are con men, gifted with charm and a good eye
came through and did a good job at it, but now peo- for human weakness. Even when fighting for a good
ple are expecting similar acts of heroism from you. cause, your methods are often questionable.
And you have the feeling that, instead of running Keep in mind that using this Character Concept
away like a sensible person, you will do something does not necessarily excuse acting against the inter-
really stupid like getting involved once again. ests of other Cast Members. You do have friends and
You are someone who finds yourself doing the allies that you would not betray. Furthermore, even a
right thing despite what common sense and your villainous or weasel-like character like you will not
sense of self-preservation tell you. Many of you are foolishly endanger your position (or your life) by
Gifted. You do not seek danger, but trouble seems to incurring the wrath of powerful companions. If you
follow you wherever you go. Although you often hate needlessly provoke others, you will not be protected
doing it, you end up doing the right and heroic thing from the consequences of your actions.
-- and then complain about it afterwards. Defining Questions: What made you into a
Defining Questions: If you hadn’t been dragged scoundrel? Were you deprived as a child, making you
into unusual adventures, what would you do with desperate to accumulate wealth and fortune? What do
your life? What turned your life around and forced you want to acquire -- money, power or knowledge
you to become a hero? How did the incident affect -- and how far will you go to acquire it? Do you seek
your life? to exploit everyone around you, or do you have some
Qualities and Drawbacks: Some of you have the limits? Would you betray a friend for a large enough
Clown Drawback, and jokingly demean your actions reward, or do you save your dirty tricks for strangers
and the dangers of the situation. Many of you have an or your enemies?
Honorable Quality that forces you to help others. Qualities and Drawbacks: Most commonly, you
Professions: Any, although most of you have fair- are Covetous. Those among you who are successful
ly safe and boring occupations. Circumstances, not may have high Resource levels, but you are usually
your jobs, force you into dangerous situations. relatively poor and hungry (which motivates you to
do anything to get ahead).
Association: Any. Your types are fairly common
among the Cabal of Psyche and the Rosicrucians, Professions: You often belong to illegal or quasi-
groups who do not encourage their members to get legal professions, such as confidence man or thief.
involved in other people’s affairs but whose members Sometimes, you belong to mainstream professions,
often end up taking action anyway. You are rare but but tend to stick to the seedier aspects, such as ambu-
not unknown among the Sentinels and the Wicce, lance-chaser lawyer or used car salesman. You often
who are more committed to action. exaggerate your knowledge and power to impress and
exploit the gullible.
Scoundrel Association: You are rarely found among the
You are always looking out for number one, always Wicce and Sentinels, as their moral code precludes
ready to lie, cheat or steal. Even when you do the your type of behavior. Most of you are Solitaires. On
right thing, you often try to squeeze out some profit rare occasions, you might be a Rosicrucians (if you
or benefit for yourself. You may or may not exploit are power-hungry).
your friends, but strangers are almost always fair

45 R o l e s
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and, after chatting some time, we two walked with Sir Benjamin to
New College, where we saw the gardens surrounded by the old city
wall; the chapel where William of Wykeham's crosier is kept; and the
cloisters, which are fine, but gloomy, and less beautiful than those of
Magdalen, which we saw in our walk on Thursday before going to
the Museum. After lunch we went to the Bodleian, and then to the
Sheldonian Theatre, where there was a meeting à propos of
Palestine Exploration. Captain Warren, conductor of the Exploration
at Jerusalem, read a paper, and then Mr. Deutsch gave an account of
the interpretation, as hitherto arrived at, of the Moabite Stone. I saw
squeezes of this stone for the first time, with photographs taken
from the squeezes. After tea Mrs. Thursfield kindly took us to see a
boat-race. We saw it from the Oriel barge, under the escort of Mr.
Crichton, Fellow of Merton, who, on our return, took us through the
lovely gardens of his college. At supper were Mr. Jowett, Professor
Henry Smith, and Miss Smith, his sister, Mr. Fowler, author of
"Deductive Logic," etc.
May 28.—After a walk to St. John's College we started by the train
for London, and arrived at home about two o'clock.
May 29.—Mr. Spencer, Mrs. Burne-Jones, and Mr. Crompton came. I
read aloud No. 3 of "Edwin Drood."
May 30.—We went to see the autotypes of Michael Angelo's
frescoes, at 36 Rathbone Place. I began Grove on the "Correlation of
the Physical Forces"—needing to read it again—with new interest,
after the lapse of years.
Dr. Reynolds advises Mr. Lewes to leave London
again, and go to the bracing air of the Yorkshire Letter to Miss
Sara Hennell,
coast. I said that we should be here till the 13th June, 1870.
beginning of August, but the internal order
proposes and the external order disposes—if we are to be so
priggish as to alter all our old proverbs into agreement with new
formulas! Dickens's death came as a great shock to us. He lunched
with us just before we went abroad, and was telling us a story of
President Lincoln having told the Council, on the day he was shot,
that something remarkable would happen, because he had just
dreamt, for the third time, a dream which twice before had preceded
events momentous to the nation. The dream was, that he was in a
boat on a great river, all alone, and he ended with the words, "I drift
—I drift—I drift." Dickens told this very finely. I thought him looking
dreadfully shattered then. It is probable that he never recovered
from the effect of the terrible railway accident.
We have been driven away from home again by the
state of Mr. Lewes's health. Dr. Reynolds Letter to Madame
Bodichon, 23d
recommended the Yorkshire coast; but we wanted June, 1870, from
to know Cromer, and so we came here first, for the Cromer.
sake of variety. To me the most desirable thing just
now seems to be to have one home, and stay there till death comes
to take me away. I get more and more disinclined to the perpetual
makeshifts of a migratory life, and care more and more for the order
and habitual objects of home. However, there are many in the world
whose whole existence is a makeshift, and perhaps the formula
which would fit the largest number of lives is "a doing without, more
or less patiently." The air just now is not very invigorating anywhere,
I imagine, and one begins to be very anxious about the nation
generally, on account of the threatening drought.

I did not like to write to you[11] until Mr. Lytton

sent word that I might do so, because I had not Letter to the Hon.
Mrs. Robert Lytton
the intimate knowledge that would have enabled (now Lady
me to measure your trouble; and one dreads, of all Lytton), 8th July,
1870, from
things, to speak or write a wrong or unseasonable Harrogate.
word when words are the only signs of interest and
sympathy that one has to give. I know now, from what your dear
husband has told us, that your loss is very keenly felt by you, that it
has first made you acquainted with acute grief, and this makes me
think of you very much. For learning to love any one is like an
increase of property—it increases care, and brings many new fears
lest precious things should come to harm. I find myself often
thinking of you with that sort of proprietor's anxiety, wanting you to
have gentle weather all through your life, so that your face may
never look worn and storm-beaten, and wanting your husband to be
and do the very best, lest anything short of that should be
disappointment to you. At present the thought of you is all the more
with me because your trouble has been brought by death; and for
nearly a year death seems to me my most intimate daily companion.
I mingle the thought of it with every other, not sadly, but as one
mingles the thought of some one who is nearest in love and duty
with all one's motives. I try to delight in the sunshine that will be
when I shall never see it any more. And I think it is possible for this
sort of impersonal life to attain great intensity—possible for us to
gain much more independence than is usually believed of the small
bundle of facts that make our own personality. I don't know why I
should say this to you, except that my pen is chatting as my tongue
would if you were here. We women are always in danger of living
too exclusively in the affections, and though our affections are,
perhaps, the best gifts we have, we ought also to have our share of
the more independent life—some joy in things for their own sake. It
is piteous to see the helplessness of some sweet women when their
affections are disappointed; because all their teaching has been that
they can only delight in study of any kind for the sake of a personal
love. They have never contemplated an independent delight in ideas
as an experience which they could confess without being laughed at.
Yet surely women need this sort of defence against passionate
affliction even more than men. Just under the pressure of grief, I do
not believe there is any consolation. The word seems to me to be
drapery for falsities. Sorrow must be sorrow, ill must be ill, till duty
and love towards all who remain recover their rightful predominance.
Your life is so full of those claims that you will not have time for
brooding over the unchangeable. Do not spend any of your valuable
time now in writing to me, but be satisfied with sending me news of
you through Mr. Lytton when he has occasion to write to Mr. Lewes.
I have lately finished reading aloud Mendelssohn's "Letters," which
we had often resolved and failed to read before. They have been
quite cheering to us from the sense they give of communion with an
eminently pure, refined nature, with the most rigorous conscience in
art. In the evening we have always a concert to listen to—a concert
of modest pretensions, but well conducted enough to be agreeable.
I hope this letter of chit-chat will not reach you at a wrong moment.
In any case, forgive all mistakes on the part of one who is always
yours sincerely and affectionately.
Aug. 4.—Two months have been spent since the
last record! Their result is not rich, for we have Journal, 1870.
been sent wandering again by G.'s want of health.
On the 15th June we went to Cromer, on the 30th to Harrogate, and
on the 18th July to Whitby, where Mrs. Burne-Jones also arrived on
the same day. On Monday, August 1, we came home again for a
week only, having arranged to go to Limpsfield next Monday. To-day,
under much depression, I begin a little dramatic poem,[12] the
subject of which engaged my interest at Harrogate.
We, too, you see, have come back to a well-tried
refuge—the same place that soothed us in our Letter to Miss
Sara Hennell,
troubles last October—and we especially delight in 12th Aug. 1870.
this deep country after the fuss which belongs
even to quiet watering-places, such as Cromer, Harrogate, and
Whitby, which are, after all, "alleys where the gentle folks live." We
are excited, even among the still woods and fields, by the
vicissitudes of the war, and chiefly concerned because we cannot
succeed in getting the day's Times. We have entered into the period
which will be marked in future historical charts as "The period of
German ascendency." But how saddening to think of the iniquities
that the great harvest-moon is looking down on! I am less grieved
for the bloodshed than for the hateful trust in lies which is
continually disclosed. Meanwhile Jowett's "Translation of Plato" is
being prepared for publication, and he has kindly sent us the sheets
of one volume. So I pass from discussions of French lying and the
Nemesis that awaits it to discussions about rhetorical lying at Athens
in the fourth century before Christ. The translations and
introductions to the "Dialogues" seem to be charmingly done.
We shall return to town on Monday, various small
reasons concurring to make us resolve on quitting Letter to Madame
Bodichon, 25th
this earthly paradise. I am very sorry for the Aug. 1870.
sufferings of the French nation; but I think these
sufferings are better for the moral welfare of the people than victory
would have been. The war has been drawn down on them by an
iniquitous government; but in a great proportion of the French
people there has been nourished a wicked glorification of selfish
pride, which, like all other conceit, is a sort of stupidity, excluding
any true conception of what lies outside their own vain wishes. The
Germans, it seems, were expected to stand like toy-soldiers for the
French to knock them down. It is quite true that the war is in some
respects the conflict of two differing forms of civilization. But
whatever charm we may see in the southern Latin races, this ought
not to blind us to the great contributions which the German energies
have made in all sorts of ways to the common treasure of mankind.
And who that has any spirit of justice can help sympathizing with
them in their grand repulse of the French project to invade and
divide them? If I were a Frenchwoman, much as I might wail over
French sufferings, I cannot help believing that I should detest the
French talk about the "Prussians." They wanted to throttle the
electric eel for their own purposes.
But I imagine that you and the doctor would not find us in much
disagreement with you in these matters. One thing that is pleasant
to think of is the effort made everywhere to help the wounded.
Oct. 27.—On Monday the 8th August we went to
our favorite Surrey retreat—Limpsfield—and Journal, 1870.
enjoyed three weeks there reading and walking
together. The weather was perfect, and the place seemed more
lovely to us than before. Aloud I read the concluding part of Walter
Scott's Life, which we had begun at Harrogate; two volumes of
Froude's "History of England," and Comte's "Correspondence with
Valat." We returned on Monday the 29th.
During our stay at Limpsfield I wrote the greater part of "Armgart,"
and finished it at intervals during September. Since then I have been
continually suffering from headache and depression, with almost
total despair of future work. I look into this little book now to assure
myself that this is not unprecedented.
Yesterday, for the first time, we went to hear A. (a
popular preacher). I remembered what you had Letter to Miss
Sara Hennell,
said about his vulgar, false emphasis; but there 18th Nov. 1870.
remained the fact of his celebrity. I was glad of the
opportunity. But my impressions fell below the lowest judgment I
ever heard passed upon him. He has the gift of a fine voice, very
flexible and various; he is admirably fluent and clear in his language,
and every now and then his enunciation is effective. But I never
heard any pulpit reading and speaking which in its level tone was
more utterly common and empty of guiding intelligence or emotion;
it was as if the words had been learned by heart and uttered without
comprehension by a man who had no instinct of rhythm or music in
his soul. And the doctrine! It was a libel on Calvinism that it should
be presented in such a form. I never heard any attempt to exhibit
the soul's experience that was more destitute of insight. The sermon
was against fear, in the elect Christian, as being a distrust of God;
but never once did he touch the true ground of fear—the doubt
whether the signs of God's choice are present in the soul. We had
plenty of anecdotes, but they were all poor and pointless—Tract
Society anecdotes of the feeblest kind. It was the most superficial
grocer's-back-parlor view of Calvinistic Christianity; and I was
shocked to find how low the mental pitch of our society must be,
judged by the standard of this man's celebrity.
Mr. Lewes was struck with some of his tones as good actor's tones,
and was not so wroth as I was. But just now, with all Europe stirred
by events that make every conscience tremble after some great
principle as a consolation and guide, it was too exasperating to sit
and listen to doctrine that seemed to look no further than the retail
Christian's tea and muffins. He said "Let us approach the throne of
God" very much as he might have invited you to take a chair; and
then followed this fine touch—"We feel no love to God because he
hears the prayers of others; it is because he hears my prayer that I
love him."
You see I am relieving myself by pouring out my disgust to you. Oh,
how short life—how near death—seems to me! But this is not an
uncheerful thought. The only great dread is the protraction of life
into imbecility or the visitation of lingering pain. That seems to me
the insurmountable calamity, though there is an ignorant affectation
in many people of underrating what they call bodily suffering. I
systematically abstain from correspondence, yet the number of
acquaintances and consequent little appeals so constantly increases
that I often find myself inwardly rebelling against the amount of
note-writing that I cannot avoid. Have the great events of these
months interfered with your freedom of spirit in writing? One has to
dwell continually on the permanent, growing influence of ideas in
spite of temporary reactions, however violent, in order to get
courage and perseverance for any work which lies aloof from the
immediate wants of society. You remember Goethe's contempt for
the Revolution of '30 compared with the researches on the
Vertebrate Structure of the Skull? "My good friend, I was not
thinking of those people." But the changes we are seeing cannot be
doffed aside in that way.
Lying awake early in the morning, according to a
bad practice of mine, I was visited with much Letter to Madame
Bodichon, Nov.
compunction and self-disgust that I had ever said a 1870.
word to you about the faults of a friend whose
good qualities are made the more sacred by the endurance his lot
has in many ways demanded. I think you may fairly set down a full
half of any alleged grievances to my own susceptibility, and other
faults of mine which necessarily call forth less agreeable
manifestations from others than as many virtues would do, if I had
them. I trust to your good sense to have judged well in spite of my
errors in the presentation of any matter. But I wish to protest against
myself, that I may, as much as possible, cut off the temptation to
what I should like utterly to purify myself from for the few remaining
years of my life—the disposition to dwell for a moment on the faults
of a friend.
Tell the flower and fern giver, whoever it may be, that some strength
comes to me this morning from the pretty proof of sympathy.
I have it on my conscience that I may not have
given you a clear impression of my wishes about Letter to Mrs.
Congreve, 2d
the poor pensioner who was in question between Dec. 1870.
us to-day, so I write at once to secure us both
against a possible misunderstanding. I would rather not apply any
more money in that direction, because I know of other channels[13]
—especially a plan which is being energetically carried out for
helping a considerable group of people without almsgiving, and
solely by inducing them to work—into which I shall be glad to pour a
little more aid. The repugnance to have relief from the parish was a
feeling which it was good to encourage in the old days of contra-
encouragement to sturdy pauperism; but I question whether one
ought now to indulge it, and not rather point out the reasons why, in
a case of real helplessness, there is no indignity in receiving from a
public fund.
After you had left me, it rang in my ears that I had spoken of my
greater cheerfulness as due to a reduced anxiety about myself and
my doings, and had not seemed to recognize that the deficit or evil
in other lives could be a cause of depression. I was not really so
ludicrously selfish while dressing myself up in the costume of
unselfishness. But my strong egoism has caused me so much
melancholy, which is traceable simply to a fastidious yet hungry
ambition, that I am relieved by the comparative quietude of personal
craving which age is bringing. That is the utmost I have to boast of,
and, really, to be cheerful in these times could only be a virtue in the
sense in which it was felt to be so by the old Romans when they
thanked their general for not despairing of the republic.
I have been reading aloud to Mr. Lewes this evening Mr. Harrison's
article on "Bismarckism," which made me cry—it is in some passages
movingly eloquent.
Dec. 2.—I am experimenting in a story ("Miss
Brooke") which I began without any very serious Journal, 1870.
intention of carrying it out lengthily. It is a subject
which has been recorded among my possible themes ever since I
began to write fiction, but will probably take new shapes in the
development. I am to-day at p. 44. I am reading Wolf's
"Prolegomena to Homer." In the evening, aloud, "Wilhelm Meister"
again!
Dec. 12.—George's mother died this morning quite peacefully as she
sat in her chair.
Dec. 17.—Reading "Quintus Fixlein" aloud to G. in the evening. Grote
on Sicilian history.
Dec. 31.—On Wednesday the 21st we went to Ryde to see Madame
Bodichon at Swanmore Parsonage, a house which she had taken for
two months. We had a pleasant and healthy visit, walking much in
the frosty air. On Christmas Day I went with her to the Ritualist
Church which is attached to the parsonage, and heard some
excellent intoning by the delicate-faced, tenor-voiced clergyman. On
Wednesday last, the 28th, Barbara came up to town with us. We
found the cold here more severe than at Ryde; and the papers tell
us of still harder weather about Paris, where our fellow-men are
suffering and inflicting horrors.
Here is the last day of 1870. I have written only one hundred pages
—good printed pages—of a story which I began about the opening
of November, and at present mean to call "Miss Brooke." Poetry halts
just now.
We spent our Christmas in the Isle of Wight, and
on Christmas Day I went to a Ritualist church and Letter to Miss
Sara Hennell, 2d
heard some fine intoning of the service by a clear, Jan. 1871.
strong, tenor voice, sweet singing from boys'
throats, and all sorts of Catholic ceremonial in a miniature way.
It is good to see what our neighbors are doing. To live in seclusion
with one's own thoughts is apt to give one very false notions as to
the possibilities of the present time in the matter of conversion
either to superstition or anti-superstition.
In this cruel time, I no sooner hear of an affliction than I see it
multiplied in some one of the endless forms of suffering created by
this hellish war. In the beginning I could feel entirely with the
Germans, and could say of that calamity called "victory," I am glad.
But now I can be glad of nothing. No people can carry on a long,
fierce war without being brutalized by it, more or less, and it pains
me that the educated voices have not a higher moral tone about
national and international duties and prospects. But, like every one
else, I feel that the war is too much with me, and am rather anxious
to avoid unwise speech about it than to utter what may seem to me
to be wisdom. The pain is that one can do so little.
I have not read "Sir Harry Hotspur," but as to your general question,
I reply that there certainly are some women who love in that way,
but "their sex as well as I may chide them for it." Men are very fond
of glorifying that sort of dog-like attachment. It is one thing to love
because you falsely imagine goodness—that belongs to the finest
natures—and another to go on loving when you have found out your
mistake. But married constancy is a different affair. I have seen a
grandly heroic woman who, out of her view as to the responsibilities
of the married relation, condoned everything, took her drunken
husband to her home again, and at last nursed and watched him
into penitence and decency. But there may be two opinions even
about this sort of endurance—i.e., about its ultimate tendency, not
about the beauty of nature which prompts it. This is quite distinct
from mere animal constancy. It is duty and human pity.
I write to say God bless you for your letter to the
Times, of this morning. It contains the best Letter to Colonel
Hamley (now
expression of right principle—I was almost ready to General Sir
say, the only good, sensible words—that I have yet Edward Hamley),
seen on the actual state of things between the 24th Jan. 1871.
Germans and the French.
You will not pause, I trust, but go on doing what can be done only
by one who is at once a soldier, a writer, and a clear-headed man of
principle.
March 19 (Sunday).—It is grievous to me how little,
from one cause or other, chiefly languor and Journal, 1871.
occasionally positive ailments, I manage to get
done. I have written about two hundred and thirty-six pages (print)
of my novel, which I want to get off my hands by next November.
My present fear is that I have too much matter—too many momenti.
I happened to-day to be talking to a very sweet-
faced woman (the sister of Dr. Bridges, whom I Letter to Mrs.
Bray, 3d April,
think you know something of), and she mentioned, 1871.
à propos of educating children in the love of
animals, that she had felt the want of some good little book as a
help in this matter. I told her of yours, and when I said that it was
written by Mrs. Bray, the author of "Physiology for Schools," she
said, "Oh, I know that book well." I have made her a present of my
copy of "Duty to Animals," feeling that this was a good quarter in
which to plant that offset. For she had been telling me of her
practical interest in the infant and other schools in Suffolk, where
she lives. We have had a great pleasure to-day in learning that our
friend Miss Bury is engaged to be married to Mr. Geddes, a Scotch
gentleman. There is a streak of sadness for her family in the fact
that she is to go to India with her husband next November, but all
else is bright in her prospect. It is very sweet to see, and think of,
the happiness of the young. I am scribbling with an infirm head, at
the end of the day, just for the sake of letting you know one proof,
in addition doubtless to many others which you have already had,
that your pretty little book is likely to supply a want.
We are very much obliged to you for your kind,
methodical thoughtfulness as to all which is Letter to Mrs.
Gilchrist, 19th
necessary for our accommodation at Brookbank, April, 1871.
and also for your hints about the points of beauty
to be sought for in our walks. That "sense of standing on a round
world," which you speak of, is precisely what I most care for among
out-of-door delights. The last time I had it fully was at St. Märgen,
near Freiburg, on green hilltops, whence we could see the Rhine and
poor France.
The garden has been, and is being, attended to, and I trust we shall
not find the commissariat unendurable.
It seems like a resurrection of a buried-alive
friendship once more to have a letter from you. Letter to Mrs.
Peter Taylor, 6th
Welcome back from your absorption in the June, 1871.
Franchise! Somebody else ought to have your
share of work now, and you ought to rest.
Ever since the 1st of May we have been living in this queer cottage,
which belongs to Mrs. Gilchrist, wife of the Gilchrist who wrote the
life of William Blake the artist. We have a ravishing country round us,
and pure air and water; in short, all the conditions of health, if the
east wind were away. We have old prints for our dumb companions
—charming children of Sir Joshua's, and large-hatted ladies of his
and Romney's. I read aloud—almost all the evening—books of
German science, and other gravities. So, you see, we are like two
secluded owls, wise with unfashionable wisdom, and knowing
nothing of pictures and French plays. I confess that I should have
gone often to see Got act if I had been in town, he is so really great
as an actor. And yet one is ashamed of seeking amusement in
connection with anything that belongs to poor, unhappy France. I
am saved from the shame by being safely shut out from the
amusement.
How about Madame Mohl and her husband? I have
been wondering through all the horrors whether M. Letter to Madame
Bodichon, 17th
Mohl had returned to Paris, and whether their June, 1871.
house, containing, too probably, the results of
much studious work, lies buried among ruins. But I will not further
recall the sorrows in that direction.
I am glad to see the words "very satisfactory" in connection with the
visit to Hitchin and Cambridge. Ely Cathedral I saw last year, but too
cursorily. It has more of the massive grandeur that one adores in Le
Mans and Chartres than most of our English cathedrals, though I am
ready to recall the comparison as preposterous.
I don't know how long we shall stay here; perhaps, more or less, till
the end of August, for I have given up the idea of going to the Scott
Festival at Edinburgh, to which I had accepted an invitation. The
fatigue of the long journey, with the crowd at the end, would be too
much for me.
Let us know beforehand when you are about coming.
George is gloriously well, and studying, writing, walking, eating, and
sleeping with equal vigor. He is enjoying the life here immensely. Our
country could hardly be surpassed in its particular kind of beauty—
perpetual undulation of heath and copse, and clear views of hurrying
water, with here and there a grand pine wood, steep, wood-clothed
promontories, and gleaming pools.
If you want delightful reading get Lowell's "My Study Windows," and
read the essays called "My Garden Acquaintances" and "Winter."
Get the volumes of a very cheap publication—the "Deutscher
Novellenschatz." Some of the tales are remarkably fine. I am reading
aloud the last three volumes, which are even better than the others.
I have just been so deeply interested in one of the stories
—"Diethelm von Buchenberg"—that I want everybody to have the
same pleasure who can read German.
We are greatly obliged to you for the trouble you
have so sympathetically taken on our behalf, and Letter to Mrs.
Gilchrist, 3d July,
we shall prepare to quit our quiet shelter on 1871.
Wednesday, the 2d of August. During the first
weeks of our stay I did not imagine that I should ever be so fond of
the place as I am now. The departure of the bitter winds, some
improvement in my health, and the gradual revelation of fresh and
fresh beauties in the scenery, especially under a hopeful sky such as
we have sometimes had—all these conditions have made me love
our little world here and wish not to quit it until we can settle in our
London home. I have the regret of thinking that it was my original
indifference about it (I hardly ever like things until they are familiar)
that hindered us from securing the cottage until the end of
September, for the chance of coming to it again after a temporary
absence. But all regrets ought to be merged in thankfulness for the
agreeable weeks we have had, and probably shall have till the end
of July. And among the virtues of Brookbank we shall always reckon
this, that our correspondence about it has been with you rather than
with any one else, so that, along with the country, we have had a
glimpse of your ready, quick-thoughted kindness.
One word to you in response to Emily's note, which
comes to me this morning, and lets me know that Letter to Mrs.
Congreve, 13th
by this time she is probably in the last hour of her July, 1871.
unmarried life. My thoughts and love and tender
anxiety are with her and with all of you. When you receive this she
will, I suppose, be far away, and it is of little consequence that I can
make no new sign to her of my joy in her joy.
For the next few weeks my anxiety will be concentrated on you and
yours at Yarmouth. Pray, when your mind and body are sufficiently
free from absorbing occupation, remember my need of news about
you, and write to me. The other day I seemed to get a glimpse of
you through Mrs. Call, who told me that you looked like a new
creature—so much stronger than you were wont; and she told me of
Dr. Congreve's address at the school, which raised my keenest
sympathy, and made me feel myself a very helpless friend.
Please give my love to the children, and tell Sophy especially that I
think her happy in this—that there is a place made for all the effort
of her young life to fill it with something like the goodness and
brightness which she has known and has just now to part with. I
expect her to be your guardian angel, perhaps in a new way—
namely, in saving you from some fatigue about details.
I still feel that I owe you my thanks for your kind
letter, although Mr. Lewes undertook to deliver Letter to John
Blackwood, 15th
them in the first instance. You certainly made a July, 1871.
seat at the Commemoration Table[14] look more
tempting to me than it had done before; but I think that prudence
advises me to abstain from the fatigue and excitement of a long
railway journey, with a great gathering at the end of it. If there is a
chance that "Middlemarch" will be good for anything, I don't want to
break down and die without finishing it. And whatever "the tow on
my distaff" may be, my strength to unwind it has not been abundant
lately.
À propos of bodily prosperity, I am sincerely rejoiced to know, by
your postscript this morning, that Mr. Simpson is recovered. I hope
he will not object to my considering him a good friend of mine,
though it is so long since I saw him. The blank that is left when
thorough workers like him are disabled is felt not only near at hand,
but a great way off. I often say—after the fashion of people who are
getting older—that the capacity for good work, of the kind that goes
on without trumpets, is diminishing in the world.
The continuous absence of sunshine is depressing in every way, and
makes one fear for the harvest, and so grave a fear that one is
ashamed of mentioning one's private dreariness. You cannot play
golf in the rain, and I cannot feel hopeful without the sunlight; but I
dare say you work all the more, whereas when my spirits flag my
work flags too.
I should have liked to see Principal Tulloch again, and to have made
the acquaintance of Captain Lockhart, whose writing is so jaunty and
cheery, yet so thoroughly refined in feeling. Perhaps I may still have
this pleasure in town, when he comes up at the same time with you.
Please give my kind regards to Mr. William Blackwood.
Thanks for the prompt return of the MS., which
arrived this morning. Letter to John
Blackwood, 24th
July, 1871.
I don't see how I can leave anything out, because I
hope there is nothing that will be seen to be irrelevant to my design,
which is to show the gradual action of ordinary causes rather than
exceptional, and to show this in some directions which have not
been from time immemorial the beaten path—the Cremorne walks
and shows of fiction. But the best intentions are good for nothing
until execution has justified them. And you know I am always
compassed about with fears. I am in danger in all my designs of
parodying dear Goldsmith's satire on Burke, and think of refining
when novel-readers only think of skipping.
We are obliged to turn out of this queer cottage next week; but we
have been fortunate enough to get the more comfortable house on
the other side of the road, so that we can move without any trouble.
Thus our address will continue to be the same until the end of
August.
Tennyson, who is one of the "hill-folk" about here, has found us out.
This morning your husband's letter came to us, but
if I did not know that it would be nearly a week Letter to the Hon.
Mrs. Robert
before any words of mine could reach you, I should Lytton[15] (now
abstain from writing just yet, feeling that in the Lady Lytton), 25th
first days of sorrowing it is better to keep silence. July, 1871.
For a long while after a great bereavement our
only companionship is with the lost one. Yet I hope it will not be
without good to you to have signs of love from your friends, and to
be reminded that you have a home in their affections, which is made
larger for you by your trouble. For weeks my thought has been
continually going out to you, and the absence of news has made me
so fearful that I have mourned beforehand. I have been feeling that
probably you were undergoing the bitterest grief you had ever
known. But under the heart-stroke, is there anything better than to
grieve? Strength will come back for the duty and the fellowship
which gradually bring new contentments, but at first there is no joy
to be desired that would displace sorrow.
What is better than to love and live with the loved? But that must
sometimes bring us to live with the dead; and this too turns at last
into a very tranquil and sweet tie, safe from change and injury.
You see, I make myself a warrant out of my regard for you, to write
as if we had long been near each other. And I cannot help wishing
that we were physically nearer—that you were not on the other side
of Europe. We shall trust in Mr. Lytton's kindness to let us hear of
you by and by. But you must never write except to satisfy your own
longing. May all true help surround you, dear Mrs. Lytton, and
whenever you can think of me, believe in me as yours with sincere
affection.

I read your touching story[16] aloud yesterday to

Letter to Miss
Mr. Lewes, and we both cried over it. Your brother Mary Cross, 31st
wrote to me that you had doubts about giving your July, 1871.
name. My faith is, that signature is right in the
absence of weighty special reasons against it.
We think of you all very often, and feel ourselves much the richer for
having a whole dear family to reckon among our friends. We are to
stay here till the end of the month. When the trees are yellow, I
hope you will be coming to see us in St. John's Wood. How little like
the woods we have around us! I suppose Weybridge is more
agreeable than other places at present, if it has any of its extra
warmth in this arctic season.
Our best love, to your dear mother supremely, and then to all.
I always say that those people are the happiest
who have a peremptory reason for staying in one Letter to Mrs.
Peter Taylor, 2d
place rather than another. Else I should be sorry for Aug. 1871.
you that you are kept in London—by Parliamentary
business, of course.
There is sunshine over our fields now, but the thermometer is only
64° in the house, and in the warmest part of the day I, having a
talent for being cold, sit shivering, sometimes even with a warm-
water bottle at my feet. I wonder if you went to the French plays to
see the supreme Got? That is a refined pleasure which I enjoyed so
much in Paris a few years ago that I was sorry to be out of reach of
it this spring.
About the Crystal Palace music I remember feeling just what you
mention—the sublime effect of the Handel choruses, and the total
futility of the solos.
Thanks for your little picture of things. Eminently
acceptable in place of vague conjectures. I am a Letter to Mrs.
Bray, 3d Aug.
bitter enemy to make-believe about the human lot, 1871.
but I think there is a true alleviation of distress in
thinking of the intense enjoyment which accompanies a
spontaneous, confident, intellectual activity. This may not be a
counterpoise to the existing evils, but it is at least a share of mortal
good, and good of an exquisite kind.
Are you not happy in the long-wished-for sunshine? I have a pretty
lawn before me, with hills in the background. The train rushes by
every now and then to make one more glad of the usual silence.
A good man writes to me from Scotland this morning, asking me if
he is not right in pronouncing Romŏla, in defiance of the world
around him (not a large world, I hope) who will say Romōla. Such is
correspondence in these days; so that quantity is magnificent en
gros but shabby en détail—i.e., in single letters like this.
We shall stay here only till the end of this month—
at least, I have no hope that our propriétaires will Letter to Mrs.
Congreve, 14th
be induced to protract their absence; and if the Aug. 1871.
lingering smell of paint does not drive us away
from the Priory again, we expect to stay there from the first of
September, without projects of travel for many, many months.
We enjoy our roomy house and pretty lawn greatly. Imagine me
seated near a window, opening under a veranda, with flower-beds
and lawn and pretty hills in sight, my feet on a warm-water bottle,
and my writing on my knees. In that attitude my mornings are
passed. We dine at two; and at four, when the tea comes in, I begin
to read aloud. About six or half-past we walk on to the commons
and see the great sky over our head. At eight we are usually in the
house again, and fill our evening with physics, chemistry, or other
wisdom if our heads are at par; if not, we take to folly, in the shape
of Alfred de Musset's poems, or something akin to them.
Yesterday we returned from Weybridge, where, for
a few days, I have been petted by kind friends Letter to John
Blackwood, 29th
(delightful Scotch people), and have had delicious Oct. 1871.
drives in the pure autumn air. That must be my
farewell to invalidism and holiday making. I am really better—not
robust or fat, but perhaps as well as I am likely to be till death
mends me.

Your account of Mr. Main[17] sets my mind at ease about him; for in
this case I would rather have your judgment than any opportunity of
forming my own. The one thing that gave me confidence was his
power of putting his finger on the right passages, and giving
emphasis to the right idea (in relation to the author's feeling and
purpose). Apart from that, enthusiasm would have been of little
value.
One feels rather ashamed of authoresses this week after the
correspondence in the Times. One hardly knows which letter is in
the worst taste. However, if we are to begin with marvelling at the
little wisdom with which the world is governed, we can hardly expect
that much wisdom will go to the making of novels.
I should think it quite a compliment if the general got through "Miss
Brooke." Mr. Lewes amused himself with the immeasurable contempt
that Mr. Casaubon would be the object of in the general's mind.
I hardly dare hope that the second part will take quite so well as the
first, the effects being more subtile and dispersed; but Mr. Lewes
seems to like the third part better than anything that has gone
before it. But can anything be more uncertain than the reception of
a book by the public? I am glad to see that the "Coming Race" has
got into a fourth edition. Let us hope that the Koom Posh may be at
least mitigated by the sale of a good book or two.
As for me, I get more and more unable to be anything more than a
feeble sceptic about all publishing plans, and am thankful to have so
many good heads at work for me. Allah illah allah!
We who are getting old together have the tie of
common infirmities. But I don't find that the young Letter to Miss
Sara Hennell, 22d
troubles seem lighter on looking back. I prefer my Nov. 1871.
years now to any that have gone before. I wish
you could tell me the same thing about yourself. And, surely, writing
your book is, on the whole, a joy to you—it is a large share in the
meagre lot of mankind. All hail for the morrow! How many sweet
laughs, how much serious pleasure in the great things others have
done, you and I have had together in a past islet of time that
remains very sunny in my remembrance.
Dec. 1.—This day the first part of "Middlemarch"
was published. I ought by this time to have Journal, 1871.
finished the fourth part, but an illness which began
soon after our return from Haslemere has robbed me of two months.
If you have not yet fallen in with Dickens's "Life" be
on the lookout for it, because of the interest there Letter to Miss
Sara Hennell,
is in his boyish experience, and also in his rapid
development during his first travels in America. The 15th Dec. 1871.
book is ill organized, and stuffed with criticism and
other matter which would be better in limbo; but the information
about the childhood, and the letters from America, make it worth
reading. We have just got a photograph of Dickens, taken when he
was writing, or had just written, "David Copperfield"—satisfactory
refutation of that keepsakey, impossible face which Maclise gave
him, and which has been engraved for the "Life" in all its odious
beautification. This photograph is the young Dickens, corresponding
to the older Dickens whom I knew—the same face, without the
unusually severe wear and tear of years which his latest looks
exhibited.
Dec. 20.—My health has become very troublesome
during the last three weeks, and I can get on but Journal, 1872.
tardily. Even now I am only at page 227 of my
fourth part. But I have been also retarded by construction, which,
once done, serves as good wheels for progress.
Your good wishes and pleasant bits of news made
the best part of my breakfast this morning. I am Letter to John
Blackwood, 1st
glad to think that, in desiring happiness for you Jan. 1872.
during the new year, I am only desiring the
continuance of good which you already possess.
I suppose we two, also, are among the happiest of mortals, yet we
have had a rather doleful Christmas, the one great lack, that of
health, having made itself particularly conspicuous in the
surrounding fog. Having no grandchildren to get up a Christmas-tree
for, we had nothing to divert our attention from our headaches.
Mr. Main's book broke the clouds a little, and now the heavens have
altogether cleared, so that we are hoping to come back from a visit
of three days to Weybridge with our strength renewed—if not like
the eagle's, at least like a convalescent tomtit's.
The "Sayings" are set off by delightful paper and print, and a binding
which opens with inviting ease. I am really grateful to every one
concerned in the volume, and am anxious that it should not be in
any way a disappointment. The selections seem to me to be made
with an exquisite sensibility to the various lights and shades of life;
and all Mr. Main's letters show the same quality. It is a great help to
me to have such an indication that there exist careful readers for
whom no subtilest intention is lost.
We have both read the story of the "Megara" with the deepest
interest; indeed, with a quite exceptional enjoyment of its direct,
unexaggerated painting.
The prescription of two days' golfing per week will, I hope, keep up
your condition to the excellent pitch at which it was on your return
from Paris. Good news usually acts as a tonic when one's case is not
too desperate; and I shall be glad if you and we can get it in the
form of more success for "Middlemarch." Dickens's "Life," you see,
finds a large public ready to pay more. But the British mind has long
entertained the purchase of expensive biographies. The proofs lately
given that one's books don't necessarily go out like lucifer matches,
never to be taken up again, make one content with moderate
immediate results, which perhaps are as much as can reasonably be
expected for any writing which does not address itself either to
fashions or corporate interests of an exclusive kind.
It is like your kindness to write me your
encouraging impressions on reading the third book. Letter to John
Blackwood, 18th
I suppose it is my poor health that just now makes Jan. 1872.
me think my writing duller than usual. For certainly
the reception of the first book by my old readers is quite beyond my
most daring hopes. One of them, who is a great champion of "Adam
Bede" and "Romola," told Mr. Lewes yesterday that he thought
"Middlemarch" surpassed them. All this is very wonderful to me. I
am thoroughly comforted as to the half of the work which is already
written; but there remains the terror about the unwritten. Mr. Lewes
is much satisfied with the fourth book, which opens with the
continuation of the Featherstone drama.
We went yesterday to the Tichborne trial, which was an experience
of great interest to me. We had to come away after the third hour of
Coleridge's speaking; but it was a great enjoyment to me to hear
what I did. Coleridge is a rare orator—not of the declamatory, but of
the argumentative order.
Thanks, not formal, but sincerely felt, for the photographs. This
likeness will always carry me back to the first time I saw you, in our
little Richmond lodging, when I was thinking anxiously of "Adam
Bede," as I now am of "Middlemarch."
I felt something like a shudder when Sir Henry Maine asked me last
Sunday whether this would not be a very long book; saying, when I
told him it would be four good volumes, that that was what he had
calculated. However, it will not be longer than Thackeray's books, if
so long. And I don't see how the sort of thing I want to do could
have been done briefly.
I have to be grateful for the gift of "Brougham's Life," which will be a
welcome addition to my means of knowing the time "when his
ugliness had not passed its bloom."
Your letter seems to pierce the rainy fog with a
little sunlight. Cold and clearness are the reverse of Letter to Mrs.
Congreve, 22d
what we are usually having here. Until the last few Jan. 1872.
days my chief consciousness has been that of
struggling against inward as well as outward fog; but I am now
better, and have only been dragged back into headachiness by a
little too much fatigue from visitors. I give you this account as a
preface to my renunciation of a journey to Dover, which would be
very delightful, if I had not already lost too much time to be
warranted in taking a holiday.
Next Saturday we are going to have a party—six to dine, and a small
rush of people after dinner, for the sake of music. I think it is four
years at least since we undertook anything of that kind.
A great domestic event for us has been the arrival of a new dog,
who has all Ben's virtues, with more intelligence, and a begging
attitude of irresistible charm. He is a dark-brown spaniel. You see
what infantine innocence we live in!
Glad you are reading my demigod Milton! We also are rather old-
fashioned in our light reading just now; for I have rejected Heyse's
German stories, brand new, in favor of dear old Johnson's "Lives of
the Poets," which I read aloud in my old age with a delicious revival
of girlish impressions.
Jan. 29.—It is now the last day but one of January.
I have finished the fourth part—i.e., the second Journal, 1872.
volume—of "Middlemarch." The first part,
published on December 1, has been excellently well received; and
the second part will be published the day after to-morrow. About
Christmas a volume of extracts from my works was published, under
the title, "Wise, Witty, and Tender Sayings, in Prose and Verse." It
was proposed and executed by Alexander Main, a young man of
thirty, who began a correspondence with me by asking me how to
pronounce Romola, in the summer, when we were at Shottermill.
Blackwood proposed that we should share the profits, but we
refused.
I do lead rather a crawling life under these rainy
fogs and low behavior of the barometer. But I am a Letter to Miss
Sara Hennell,
little better, on the whole, though just now 29th Jan. 1872.
overdone with the fatigue of company. We have
been to hear Coleridge addressing the jury on the Tichborne trial—a
very interesting occasion to me. He is a marvellous speaker among
Englishmen; has an exquisitely melodious voice, perfect gesture, and
a power of keeping the thread of his syntax to the end of his
sentence, which makes him delightful to follow. We are going some
other day, if possible, to hear a cross-examination of Ballantyne's.
The digest of the evidence which Coleridge gives is one of the best
illustrations of the value or valuelessness of testimony that could be
given. I wonder if the world, which retails Guppy anecdotes, will be
anything the wiser for it.
To hear of a friend's illness after he has got well
through it is the least painful way of learning the Letter to John
Blackwood, 21st
bad news. I hope that your attack has been a Feb. 1872.
payment of insurance.
You probably know what it grieved us deeply to learn the other day
—that our excellent friend Mr. William Smith is dangerously ill. They
have been so entirely happy and wrapped up in each other that we
cannot bear to think of Mrs. Smith's grief.
Thanks for the list of sales since February 12th. Things are
encouraging, and the voices that reach us are enthusiastic. But you
can understand how people's interest in the book heightens my
anxiety that the remainder should be up to the mark. It has caused
me some uneasiness that the third part is two sheets less than the
first. But Mr. Lewes insisted that the death of old Featherstone was
the right point to pause at; and he cites your approbation of the part
as a proof that effectiveness is secured in spite of diminished
quantity. Still it irks me to ask 5s. for a smaller amount than that
already given at the same price. Perhaps I must regard the value as
made up solely by effectiveness, and certainly the book will be long
enough.
I am still below par in strength, and am too much beset with visitors
and kind attentions. I long for the quiet spaces of time and the
absence of social solicitations that one enjoys in the country, out of
everybody's reach.
I am glad to hear of the pleasure "Middlemarch" gives in your
household: that makes quite a little preliminary public for me.
I can understand very easily that the two last years
have been full for you of other and more Letter to Mrs. H.
B. Stowe, 4th
imperative work than the writing of letters not
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