Red Moon Roleplaying

The latest from the strange lands. In Africa the country of Nywere has disappeared. Just like that. In London Cheseds old girlfriend Nekemi is still alive and hiding in an attic rented by me and Seymour. I feel a bit like the icon on the card. A white man giving water to a black man. Or in this case woman. I’m offering something small for the knowledge of a continent. The lovers talk about new relationships. Time to bring love into the center stage to of your life...

It’s the 22nd of December 1892 at Sandburn prison in Clapham in the southwest of London. It’s almost Christmas… and a hell of a time to be burying a body. Thus begins our journey through the legendary KULT campaign “Taroticum”, written in 1992 by none other than our favorite people Gunilla Jonsson and Michael Petersén. Taroticum is our second Patreon bonus campaign and this is the first of three episodes that will be released for all of our listeners so that you can get a taste of it...

There was so much going on behind the doors of the upper classes. All the drugs and the fornication and experiments in magic. We reveled in it. And I just loved it when Crowley tore up the Golden Dawn. All those pretentious little brats. Me, Elsa and Seymour loved him. All that carnal magic. The transformations and ecstasies. Of course the high and mighty loved him and kept him at an arm’s length. We went all in. Especially Seymour. “Do you know”, he snarled. “The way I view the tarot...

“Gamichicoth is the angel of false hope”, Seymour said. “The sixteenth card. It is called “The Tower” in the more mundane tarot.” “The false friend and helper.” Elsa said. “But the tower signifies tragedy or disaster”, I said. “Change. At least change.” All these contradictions and new truths. All these things you and your friends find so new and interesting. The Golden Dawn that at first turned the world into a much more spiritual and interesting place...

The pool of London. All these ships. All this dirt and the humanity and the rats climbing all over it. Me and Elsa could walk the docks for hours just taking in the spectacle. All that is empire. Greed and lust and strength. Lust and greed and the strength it gives. All these colonial riches. And I am exactly where I want to be. London. Strong and rich and so full of this lust I’ve learnt of. All this power. All these bodies...

There is always a woman involved. Somehow. Or at least a ying to the yang. Not a succubi or a whore but a priestess. A teacher. She came to me this fall, my third term in Oxford. A daughter of one of the professors. She had traveled with her father all over the Middle East and to India. A true daughter of the empire. Very resourceful. Very unwomanlike. And hence a perfect goddess. She had everything I had searched for. Everything I dreamt of after reading all those silly romance stories...

In 1402 the Bohemian priest and scholar Jan Hus denounced the Catholic Church as corrupt and began preaching about reformation of the church in the land. The people listened as the church was indeed corrupt and so many, especially Czech’s, supported this cause that the pope ultimately had to declare a crusade against these “Hussites” who had even had the gall to occupy the castles of Prague...

I was fourteen when my father died in Abyssinia. Did he die fighting the Mad King Theodosius? No. He died from dysentery. Shat himself to death. Better mutter something about the Mad King. And glory and Empire. All these sad, lonely deaths I’ve seen being turned into something glorious and purposeful. And my mother wore black for a long time. In fact I cannot recall ever seeing her in anything but black afterwards. On the other hand, I do not remember the last time we met...

I met Seymour the Young Magician in school when I was nine. In the college of most holy saint silly of the blessed boredom he was my partner and best friend and not much of a magician then. I do not think we were different from any other messed up sons of servants of the empire. Not much. We were bullied and bullied back. We played soldiers and explorers and tried to learn Latin and French because that was what young gentlemen were supposed to learn. We buggered and got buggered...

The great sacred tarot you only throw once in you life stated that I was born under the sign of Nahemoth. What a bliss! What a favorable sign! “Oh, dear. Rupert was born under the aegis of Nahemoth, god of the twisted freak.” Praise be, the silly angel of ugly. I was a pretty child. So I have been told. My first memory is darting around on a lawn. My parents sit, both of them together, at a small table. They are talking about something I do not understand...