40k: Bighead and the Pale Pinks of Hieronymus Bosch

I'm working on a new miniature painting project. I'd like to create an army based on the works of Hieronymus Bosch and Pieter Bruegel the Elder. It's not really a 40k project. I'm not sure these miniatures will ever be used for a game, but it's a fun experiment.

The Miniatures

The core of the project is Mike Darpa's Chaos Army sculpts from Eureka Miniatures.

 

Supplemented by a few sculpts from the Pond Wars range.

And some miniatures from Ana Polanšćak (best known for Gardens of Hecate).

Along with a few odds and ends from the bottom of the bits box.

 Rejected Minis:

-The Triumph of Death by Skull and Crown. Right theme, wrong genre.

-The Nightfolk by Northumbrian Tin Soldier. They're nice sculpts, but a little too stylized for this project. They've got comically squashed proportions.

-Bruegelburg by Lead Adventures. I like the other lines Lead Adventure has, but this line has always felt a bit odd. Lots of squashed proportions and extraneous detail. The focus is on Bruegel's comic/allegorical/pastoral scenes in any case.

-Medieval Demons by Antediluvian Miniatures. The line is a curious mix of 12th-14th century marginalia and 16th-17th century daemonology, like The Lesser Key of Solomon and similar works. I like a good multi-faced demon, but they feel predictable and formal alongside the chaotic anti-symbology of Bruegel and Bosch.

-Medieval Marginalia by Old School Miniatures. The concept is nice, but the sculpts are a bit crude.

Spooky Scary Skeletons

Despite employing every element from the natural and manufactured world, there is one classic symbol missing from the hells of Bosch and Bruegel. Human skeletons never appear. 

In the medieval code of symbology, the Skeleton-as-Death is a fixed property. Animal skeletons (particularly horses and birds) appear, but humans, even when mangled, eviscerated, or contorted, are still pink and whole. The medieval skeleton, skin stretched over ribs, would be as symbolically inappropriate. 

In contrast, Warhammer demons have skulls all over the place. Even Ana Polanšćak can't resist putting a skull on her demonic snail. I've tried to avoid skulls and skeletal limbs on the majority of the converted figures.

Picture of just the Eureka Miniatures pieces, plus a few extras.
The 3 Chaos Giants (back row) were sold as "Big Nose", "Big Head", and "Big Chin", so I thought "Big Stick" (Lord Buckethead) was an appropriate theme for a 4th giant or general or something.

Sculpture Groups

I've chosen to use square bases for this project to help force the miniatures into a coherent sculpture group. The idea of an utterly chaotic army - in size, colour, and composition - neatly stacked in rows appeals to me. It also makes them easier to store.

I'd like to make a special wall cabinet for this army, with a painted background and some gold leaf, like a little icon case. I'm not sure if I'll adapt an antique or make one myself.

 

Detail and Elaboration

French-Burgundian culture of the waning Middle Ages counts among those cultures in which beauty is replaced by splendor. Late medieval art reflects the spirit of the late Middle Ages faithfully, a spirit that had run its course. What we had posited as one of the most important characteristics of late medieval thought, the depiction of everything that could be thought down to the smallest detail, the oversaturation of the mind with an endless system of formal representation, this, too, constitutes the essence of the art of that time. Art, too, tries to leave nothing unformed, unpresented, or undecorated. The flamboyant Gothic is like an endless organ postlude; it breaks down all forms by this self-analyzing process; every detail finds its continuous elaboration, each line its counterline. It is an unrestrainedly wild overgrowth of the idea by the form; ornate detail attacks every surface and line. That horror vacui, which may perhaps be identified as a characteristic of end periods of intellectual development, dominates in this art.

-Autumn of the Middle Ages, Huizinga  

Bosch and Bruegel, while still reveling in the joy of details and overgrowth, reject the formal and stagnant symbolism of high medieval art. Their demons are anti-symbolic, a hideous mix of humans and assorted animals, of funnels and casks, fish, frogs, and musical instruments. The elements invite interpretation without adhering to any code known to the viewer.

Some classic symbols creep in. The Beast of Revelation, with seven heads and seven crowns, is buried beneath the avalanche of assorted demons in Bruegel's Fall of the Rebel Angels. Inversions abound; a man kissed by a lecherous pig in a nun's habit, a knight devoured by his hounds, etc. But what can we make of a pair of ears, pierced by an arrow, and sprouting a knife? The strange man-tree-eggshell with boats for feet? Pink stone towers with crystal rods? Are these dream-images or features deliberately chosen for their lack of clear symbolic connection?

This anti-symbology, combined with inversions, can lead to elements of farce. The demons are disconcerting but rarely frightening. They're a sort of divinely sanctioned wunderkammer; a mix of curious animals, vegetables, and minerals. Anything strange in nature can be included.

There is one area where the addition of ridicule to the most serious matters seems garish: the dark arena of the belief in devils and witches. Although the fantasies about devils were directly rooted in the deep fear that nourished this belief, the naive imagination nevertheless rendered such figures so childishly colorful and so familiar to everyone that they sometimes lost their terrifying aspect. It is not only in literature that the Devil appears as a comic figure; even in the gruesome seriousness of the witchcraft trials Satan’s company is frequently fashioned in the manner of Hieronymus Bosch and the hellish smell of sulfur blends with the fluff of the farce.

-Autumn of the Middle Ages, Huizinga 

Paint

I'm going to try to paint the figures with oils, using only colours available to Bosch and Bruegel. If you think my techniques with acrylics are a bit slapdash, just wait until you see what I do with oil paints. It'll be a glorious disaster.

• Flake White (not the real stuff, but replacements are available. Seems weird to paint actual-lead figures in not-lead paint, but that's the age we live in).
• Bone Black
• Burnt Sienna
• Raw Sienna. (Nobody can cook Sienna properly. Why is that?)
  
• Yellow Ochre
• Madder Lake
• Azurite 
• Lead Tin Yellow (Ok, actually Naples Yellow, but since art historians couldn't tell the difference for decades it's probably a decent substitution).
• Carmine
• Verdigris. I tried making my own verdegris pigment, but it faded almost immediately and didn't react well to blending. When a tutorial says it's too much trouble to attempt, listen to the tutorial. I'm using phthalo green instead.
  

The Garden of Earthly Delights, Bosch.

Basing

The ground in the works of Bosch and Bruegel is typically very flat, designed to highlight the figures. There are tufts of grass and distinct trees, but meadows or earth are almost featureless. Distance is implied with a gentle gradient; tricky to do with miniature basing unless you arrange the figures in the same configuration every time.

I'm going to try a layer of fine sand mixed with very fine flock to create a slightly textured but mostly flat layer. I need to put something on the base to cover up the pewter slots and injection marks. I think I'll mostly stick to earth tones.

An example of painted Eureka miniatures from Analogue Hobbies.

Final Notes

I've primed the miniatures and I'm experimenting with painting techniques. Oils are fun but difficult. It's been many years since I've worked with oil paints, and it definitely shows.

If anyone knows of any other ~28mm miniatures that would work for this project, let me know.

OSR: Medieval Things, Part 3

Medieval Things: 1, 2

Apocalypse, Normandy ca. 1320-1330, BL, Add 17333, fol. 8r
Discarding Images

Sir John Mandeville recorded a curious heresy in the hinterlands of Dalmatia. Groups of armed monks roved the land, tossing any peasants they could capture into pits, ditches, or caves. They took care not to harm their captives, but once deposited, the monks abandoned them to their fate.

According to the famed traveler, the monks were working on a great project, the completion of which would restore universal peace and harmony to the world. The peasants, though greatly inconvenienced by the arbitrary abductions of the monks, seemed to agree that the project was praiseworthy. Yet they did not help the monks, for that would defeat their aims and spoil the scheme.

A later commentator, drawing on sources I cannot fully trace, names the monks as the Monks of Babel, and explains their strange behavior thusly:

• The Tower of Babel was made of bricks joined by tar. Bricks are worked separately and drawn together; tar is manifest corruption. Its antithesis must be made of air, which requires no working and no mortar.
• The Tower of Babel was created by people working together. Its antithesis must be made separately, or not made at all.
• The Tower of Babel rose towards heaven. Its antithesis must descend into the earth.
• The Tower of Babel was a vainglorious project. Its antithesis must carry no honour or prestige.

The Monks of Babel therefore kidnapped unwilling people and tossed them into pits. Once a sufficient number of people have been appropriated into the project, the Lord would see the ancient sin of Babel was cancelled by the perfect antithesis, and all people would speak the universal language once more. Since the root of all conflict is a lack of understanding, wars would instantly cease.

And that is why your replacement character is in the dungeon.

Ormesby Psalter, England c. 1300, Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 366, fol. 109r
Discarding Images

Many theories about the presence of snails in medieval marginalia neglect to mention that snails are inherently amusing. They are small, harmless, slow, and timid, and probably an endemic pest in damp monasteries. They could not be less suitable as antagonists or hunted quarry. They do not need to represent knights (in armour) or stand for a hidden class war.

Tales of "flying snails" are to be treated with deep suspicion.

The alternative explanation, that giant snails once infested Europe and terrorized the locals, has been carefully refuted. No giant snail shells have been found, and the gnawed bones in certain graves can be attributed to famine, toothless wolves, or flowing water.

Saturn Devours His Children
Boccaccio, Des Cas des nobles hommes et femmes, Lyon c. 1435-1440, BnF, Français 229, fol. 7v
Discarding Images

Medieval convention depicts past historical or mythological figures in contemporary dress. Galen and Hippocrates appear as 13th century doctors; King David dresses like a local king. Moses wears spectacles. Modern media tends to dress angels and demons in suits and ties, but the idea of a medieval lord drinking Starbucks coffee or bottled water sends the internet into paroxysms of fury. For shame!

Book of Hours, Arras ca. 1296-1311, Cambrai, BM, ms. 87, fol. 138r
Discarding Images

By the late middle ages, books of urology had become so advanced that apes could perform basic medical diagnostics. Like most birds, owls produce an undifferentiated guano, making urology difficult or impossible. Perhaps the illustrator knew this, perhaps not. The "wise" owl seeking medical advice from the "foolish" ape is possibly another jab at physicians.

Macclesfield Psalter, England ca. 1330-1340, Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum, MS 1-2005, fol. 68r
Discarding Images

A 14th century charlatan, posing as the famed alchemist Albertus Magnus, promised to produce a "Death Ray" for the King of England. When unleashed, the final result proved to fulfill the letter, if not the spirit, of the original contract.

What became of the ray, and the charlatan, is not recorded.

‘Hours of Joanna the Mad’, Bruges 1486-1506, BL, Add 18852, fol. 299r
Discarding Images

Sadly, the Bagpipe was extinct by the late 1400s. This depiction may have been drawn from life, or from a preserved specimen in a collection. They were the only ratidae found in the British Isles, and perfectly adapted to dark and boggy environments.

OSR: The Heavenly Leech and Viper Treacle

It is difficult to make medicine gameable.

Actually, I should clarify. It is difficult to make medieval medicine gameable in an OSR context. Systems of diagnosis and treatment are too complex to replicate without pages and pages of explanatory text on historical or fictional notions. Adding complexity to the healing process in RPGs seems to just slow down access the "interesting" part of games. Nobody turns up to game to roll on the "hemorrhoid treatment progress" table.

So instead of trying to come up with a "Doctor" class, I've put a few miscellaneous and interesting quotes and observations in this article. Enjoy!

Chirurgia, Roger of Salerno. Christ the Physician applies several treatments.

The Nature of Suffering

Suffering purifies the soul, or so Christian theology said. The body is a corrupt vessel. Why bother maintaining it, clothing it in soft cloth, feeding it delicious food, and gratifying carnal desires when they might impede progress towards eternal bliss? If you become diseased, it's because you are being tested or punished. Accept it.

On the other hand, Christ - the heavenly leech of the title - healed the sick, so clearly suffering isn't entirely laudable. And aside from a few saints, most people, when faced with disease or injury, sought treatment of some sort. Virtuous suffering is easy until you have to pass a kidney stone.

If treatment was unavailable or ineffectual, victims could console themselves with theology.

But if we not only hear this word "death," but also let sink into our hearts the very fantasy and deep imagination thereof, we shall perceive thereby that we were never so greatly moved by the beholding of the Dance of Death pictured in Paul's, as we shall feel ourselves stirred and altered by the feeling of that imagination in our hearts. And no marvel. For those pictures express only the loathly figure of our dead bony bodies, bitten away the flesh; which though it be ugly to behold, yet neither the light thereof, nor the sight of all the dead heads in the charnel house, nor the apparition of a very ghost, is half so grisly as the deep conceived fantasy of death in his nature, by the lively imagination graven in thine own heart. For there seest thou, not one plain grievous sight of the bare bones hanging by the sinews, but thou seest (if thou fantasy thine own death, for so art thou by this counsel advised), thou seest, I say, thyself, if thou die no worse death, yet at the leastwise lying in thy bed, thy head shooting, thy back aching, thy veins beating, thine heart panting, thy throat rattling, thy flesh trembling, thy mouth gaping, thy nose sharping, thy legs cooling, thy fingers fumbling, thy breath shortening, all thy strength fainting, thy life vanishing, and thy death drawing on.

If thou couldst now call to thy remembrance some of those sicknesses that have most grieved thee and tormented thee in thy days, as every man hath felt some, and then findest thou that some one disease in some one part of thy body, as percase the stone or the strangury, have put thee to thine own mind to no less torment than thou shouldst have felt if one had put up a knife into the same place, and wouldst, as thee then seemed, have been content with such a change -- think what it will be then when thou shalt feel so many such pains in every part of thy body, breaking thy veins and thy life strings, with like pain and grief as though as many knives as thy body might receive should everywhere enter and meet in the midst.

A stroke of a staff, a cut of a knife, the flesh singed with fire, the pain of sundry sickness, many men have essayed in themselves; and they that have not yet, somewhat have heard by them that felt it. But what manner dolor and pain, what manner of grievous pangs, what intolerable torment, the silly creature feeleth in the dissolution and severance of the soul from the body, never was there body that yet could tell the tale.

-Thomas More's Last Things.

  
Side Note: I normally use translated or transliterated primary sources on this blog, but the original text is worth reading:

I saye, thy selfe yf thou dye no worse death, yet at the least lying in thy bedde, thy hed shooting, thy backe akyng, thy vaynes beating, thine heart panting, thy throte ratelyng, thy fleshe trembling, thy mouth gaping, thy nose sharping, thy legges coling, thy fingers fimbling, thy breath shorting, all thy strength fainting, thy lyfe vanishing, and thy death drawyng on.

The next time you're ill, be sure to describe your symptoms in these terms.

Since immorality and selfishness caused disease, it followed logically that righteous living would not only be good for the immortal soul but also likely offer immunity against earthly pestilence. As San Bernardino urged his Italian congregations in the early fifteenth century, charity rather than physic should be there first resort during epidemics; there could be no better preventative medicine than almsgiving, which pleased God and disposed him, in turn, to show compassion. But knowing from personal experience that generosity alone could not guarantee survival, or ease the spots and stains of sin, medieval men and women also sought to safeguard their physical, as well as spiritual health, through prayer and pilgrimage.

[...]

The rich might choose to pay for special masses to be said during epidemics; or secure for themselves the promise of a year free from the malign effects of 'want, emptiness, loss of cattle, fumes and evil vapours, cramps, dropsy, cancer, leprosy, asthma, unclean spirits, shame, bad luck... water, fire, lightning, tempest, plague, and sudden death' simply by fasting on bread and water and having a mass of St Anthony said on their behalf.

-Medicine & Society in Later Medieval England, Carole Rawcliffe

High Mortality

The myth of 40 being old age has been so thoroughly demolished it's barely a myth anymore. Infant mortality skews the average downwards, and infants died in all sorts of horrible ways. Aside from the usual infections, poisons, and fires, anyone who raised both pigs and children took a chance. Open wells, mad dogs, ponds, woodpiles, and wagons claimed their share.

Chances are good your everyone in your class on your first day of school was/will be alive when you turn/turned 20. Death, in the modern west, is a rare and tragic event. In medieval Europe, death was a constant companion, even in periods without sweeping epidemics. PCs in OSR-type games are often a bit blase about the tragic demise of their companions. I'm not sure that's a problem.
 

Pain Relief

There's a persistent idea that pain relief, aside from alcohol, wasn't available in medieval Europe. This isn't true. It was easy, even trivial to make sleeping draughts and soporifics.

It was very difficult to make sleeping draughts and soporifics that didn't kill their victims.

The two main ingredient of powerful medieval soporifics, opium and hemlock, could easily be lethal. Proportions were given in widely varying measures. Freshness of ingredients, or even their local name, also defied standardization. But there's a sort of brilliant logic to medieval draughts. They typically contained a soporific (alcohol, henbane, opium, lettuce, and/or hemlock) and a laxative or emetic (henbane, briony, gall, wine). The patient would be rendered insensible by the potent soporific, but, ideally, the drug would pass from their system one way or another before permanent harm resulted.

Side Note: yes, lettuce used to be mildly soporific.

Wound Man, the medieval superhero.

Oof Ouch My Bones

Medieval medical theories (below) might be obtuse, but battlefield surgery tends to sweep away theories and focus on practical results.

Removing a dart or arrowhead before the wound became critically infected was a difficult task. Hammers, tongs, and curses were commonly employed. If possible, removal was postponed until a natural cyst formed around the foreign body. Styptics of dried egg and resin helped with external bleeding where cauterization was not possible, and stitches helped close wounds, but serious internal injuries were often beyond a surgeon's power.

Skilled medieval surgeons managed to perform cataract surgery without anesthetic, bright artificial lights, or stainless steel. Thick ropes and strong servants, recommended by medical textbooks, helped.
 

The Death and Dismemberment and Disfigurement Table

A classic Death and Dismemberment table should include some hideous wounds.

An examination of the skeletal remains of Sigh Hugh Hastings, a Norfolk Landowner who died in 1347 aged less than forty, reveals that he suffered from osteoarthritis, probably caused by continuous practice with a broad-sword or other heavy weapon, and compounded by the physical wear and tear of military campaigns in France. Although he was the son of a nobleman and had spent time at Court, he evidently consumed coarse bread containing particles of grit (of the sort eaten by the peasantry), which had caused progressive dental deterioration. A blow to the mouth had, moreover, deprived him of at least five or six front teeth, so that by the time of his death he must have found eating very difficult indeed.

Facial disfigurements were by no means uncommon during this period: the heroes of one of the most popular chivalric romances of the fifteenth century, Le Mort d'Arthur, regularly identify each other by their most recent wounds; and in this respect, at least, the author (who must have sustained quite a few cuts and bruises during the course of his own turbulent career) seems to have been drawing on personal experience. We know that in 1374 a quarter of recruits serving in the Provencal army were badly scarred on the hands or face; and that many English soldiers mutilated in the wars with France returned home in a parlous condition to beg. Even allowing for the exaggeration common in such cases, we cannot but marvel at the powers of survival mustered by one Thomas Hostell, whose misfortunes had begun in 1415 at the siege of Harfleur. There he had been

smyten with a springolt through the hede, lesing his oon ye, and his cheke boon broken; also at the bataille of Agingcourt, and after at the takyng of the carrakes on the see, there with a gadd of yren his plates smyten in sondre, and sore hurt, maymed and wounded; by meane wherof he being sore febeled and debrused, now falle to great age and poverty, gretly endetted, and may not helpe himself.

-Medicine & Society in Later Medieval England, Carole Rawcliffe

Or if you'd prefer a modern source:

A lot of rural people in Iowa in the fifties had arresting physical features - wooden legs, stumpy arms, outstandingly dented heads, hands without fingers, mouths without tongues, sockets without eyes, scars that ran for feet, sometimes going in one sleeve and out the other. Goodness knows what people got up to back then, but they suffered some mishaps, that's for sure.

-The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid: A Memoir, Bill Bryson

 

The 4 Humours

Straight from Wikipedia:

Humour	Season	Ages	Element	Organ	Qualities	Temperament
Blood	spring	infancy	air	liver	warm and moist	sanguine
Yellow bile	summer	youth	fire	gallbladder	warm and dry	choleric
Black bile	autumn	adulthood	earth	spleen	cold and dry	melancholic
Phlegm	winter	old age	water	brain/lungs	cold and moist	phlegmatic

But that's boring and dry. Instead:

Sanguineus:
Of yiftes large, in love hath grete delite,
Iocunde and gladde, ay of laughing chiere
Of ruddy colour meyne somdel with white;
Disposed by kynde to be a champioun
Hardy i-nough, manly, and bold of chiere.
Of the sangwyne also it is a signe,
To be demure, right curteys, and benynge.

Colericus:
The coleryk: froward and of disceyte,
Irous in hert, prodigal in expence,
Hady also, and worchith ay by sleyght.
Sklendre and smalle, ful light in existence,
Right drye of nature for the grete fervence
Of heet; and the coleryk hath this signe,
He is comunely of colour cytryne.

Fleumaticus:
The flewmatyk is sompnelent and slowe,
With humours grosse, replete, ay habundaunt,
To spitte invenons the flewmatic is knowe,
By dulle conceyte and voyde, unsufficiaunt
The sutill art to complice or haunt;
Fat of kynde, teh flewmous, men may trace,
And know hym best by whitness of his face.

Malencolicus:
The malencolicus thus men espie:
He is thought and sette in covetise,
Replenysshith full of fretyng envye;
His hert servith hym to spende in no wise,
Trayterous frawde full wele can he devise;
Coward of kynde when he shuld be a man,
Thow shalt hym knowe by visage pale and wan.

-The Four Complexions

Humorial theory was the core of theories about the body. Diseases caused an imbalance in the body's humours; a physician could, by applying the correct treatment, drug, diet, or environment, correct this balance. It was rarely as simple as an excess or defect of one humour. Instead, the complex interplay of age, location, organ, diet, and personal balance contributed to the balance and dictated the necessary treatment.

Since virtually every condition and treatment could be described in these terms, humorial theory flourished. It is a perfect self-contained paradigm; any challenges are absorbed without disturbance. Since the human body can recover from many injuries without (or in spite of) the aid of dubious medicines, the theory seemed to be successful.

Practical preventative medicine focused on simple and recognizable advice: eating sensible portions with fresh vegetables and fruit, regular sleep and exercise, avoiding conflict and stress, moderate drinking, and quiet living. Then as now, people tended to ignore this advice and do whatever they wanted.

Off To See The Whizzard

Gunshow

Most medieval illustrations of physicians have them examining a flask of urine. Uroscopy was, for centuries, the defining trait of physicians, and an easy target for satirists. Charts linking urine's colour, texture, sediment, and odour to a variety of diseases were readily available.

Now in every man is body is foure qualitees: hete and colde, moyste and drye. Hete and colde they ben causers of colours. Drynes and moystene they ben causes of substance. Hete is cause of rede colour; drynes is cause of thyn substance; moystenes is cause of thycke substaunce. And thus, if the uryn of the pacient be rede and thicke it signifieth that blode is hote and moyste. If it be rede and thyne hit sheweth that colere hath dominacioun, ffor why colere is hote and drye. If the uryn appere white and thicke hit betokeneth fleume, ffor fleume is colde and moyste. If the uryn appere white and thynne, it signifieth malencoly, ffor malencoly is colde and drye. Then thu hast considerid wel as this, then beholde the diversite of colours of the uryns.. . 

-Wellcome Library, Western Ms, 537 ff. 16-16v, quoted from Medicine & Society in Later Medieval England, Carole Rawcliffe

Uroscopy allowed discreet analysis at a distance. Rich patients dispatched daily urine samples to distant physicians, who sent back daily advice or reassuring notes. Fortified with charts and frequent practice, physicians felt reasonably confident in their diagnoses, and experienced practitioners probably drew reasonable conclusions about the heath of their patients. Analysis of blood, feces, and sweat was also encouraged.

If anyone feels like making this gameable, they're on their own.
  

Practical Medicine

Treating humorial imbalance according to the complex instructions of medical authorities was rarely practical or affordable. Physicians used their judgement, and a healthy dose of practical folk remedies, where more complex cures failed.

Some cures seemed worse than the disease.

Note, it is necessary for lethargics, that people talk loudly in their presence. Tie their extremities tightly, rub their palms and soles hard; and let their feet be put in salt water up to the middle of their shins, and pull the hair and nose, and squeeze the toes and fingers tightly, and cause pigs to squeal in his ears; give him a sharp clyster [enema] at the beginning... and open the vein of the head, or nose, or forehead, and draw blood from the nose with the bristles of a boar. Put a feather, or a straw in his nose to compel him to sneeze, and do not ever desist from hindering him from sleeping; and let human hair, or other evil-smelling thing, be burnt under the nose. Apply moreover the cupping horn between the shoulders, and let a feather be put down the throat, to cause vomiting, and shave the back of the head, and rub oil of roses and vinegar, and smallage juice thereon.

-Rosa Anglica

That'll cure your lethargy, if only to get away from your physician.

Bloodletting, as a preventative measure as well as a cure, was very popular. Unlicensed and lightly trained phlebotomists were widely available. Healthy and hearty people chose auspicious days for bloodletting; the sick, aged, or infirm sought it as a last resort. As no effective methods for stopping blood flow existed, accidental deaths were common, but the practice seemed to carry significant benefits. It's well known that the more invasive and impressive a placebo is, the greater its effects. A placebo injection carries more weight than a placebo pill.

At the Augustinian priory of Barnwell, in Cambridgeshire, for instance, the brothers were bled on average seven times a year, being allowed to take three days' rest in the infirmary on each occasion. Since they were exempted from the punishing round of liturgical practice, allowed a more generous and nourishing diet than usual and permitted to take as much gentle exercise as they wished, it is easy to see why they felt much better afterwards.

-Medicine & Society in Later Medieval England, Carole Rawcliffe

If direct bloodletting was too dangerous, leeches or cupping were available. Cauterization, burning infected flesh or creating new wounds to remove superfluous cold or moist humours, was also common. A treatment for "stubborn headaches, dropsy, epilepsy, disorders of the eyes, throat, nose and ears, coughs, nosebleeds, and 'flux of the wombe that cometh of the reume' went as follows:

bid the patient open the bowels with an evacuant which will also clear his head, for three or four nights, according to the strength, age, and habits of the patient. Then tell him to have his head shaved; then seat him cross-legged before you, with his hands on his breast. Then place the lower part of your palm on the root of his nose between his eyes; and where your middle finger reaches mark that place with ink. Then heat an olivary cautery. Then bring it down upon the marked place with one downward stroke of gentle pressure, revolving the cautery; then quickly take your hand away while observing the place. If you see that some bone is exposed, the size of the head of a skewer or a grain of vetch, then take your hand away; otherwise repeat with the same iron or, if that has gone cold, with another, till the amount of bone I have mentioned is exposed. Then take a little salt in water; soak some cotton in it, apply it to the place, then leave it for three days.

-Albucasis, quoted in Medicine & Society in Later Medieval England, Carole Rawcliffe

Cauterizing the head or limbs was merely agonizing. Cauterizing the neck or torso was more dangerous, and could, if done improperly, cause the patient to burst.

The Baby-Eating Bishop of Bath and Wells

Treacle

To most people, "treacle" is molasses or golden syrup; a thick sugary liquid that belongs in the kitchen, not the pharmacy.

But in late medieval Europe, treacle (or theriac), was the most potent cure on the market. It was hailed as a panacea, a universal cure. Applied internally or externally, in small or large doses, it was the preferred treatment of anyone who could afford it.

Treacle was compounded and aged according to a variety of ancient recipes. On the principle of opposition, treacle was made partially of known poisons, so better to counteract other poisons. The flesh of vipers was a common ingredient, but the general principle seemed to be to be to mix every known medical or pseudomedical ingredient in honey. Like the ingredient list of a modern energy drink or some fictitious drugs, a little bit of everything was thought to help.

Transport from its point of origin in Italy or Greece to Europe afforded many opportunities for adulteration or dilution, so any lack of effect could be blamed on the age or concentration of the cure-all. Treacle's mistique and association with ancient esoteric texts may have helped its reputation. Honey and opium can't be entirely unpleasant, even if mixed with bitumen and roast viper.
   

Astrology

Knowledge of practical astrology was vital for medieval physicians. The time and place of treatment could only be determined by careful examination of the stars and their effects on the humours of mankind. Using astrology for medical purposes was tolerated. Using it for predictive purposes was dangerously close to witchcraft.

Since astrology is also a total system - it is self-contained, difficult to directly disprove, and willing to absorb criticism - it is difficult to use in RPGs. Making up new constellations and their attributes, then adding fake planets, tends to result in pages of tedious background information. Using "real" astrology for a fictional world seems anachronistic, like having Wales next to Faerun.

It's difficult enough to remember to use weather in D&D-type games. Astrology seems like one more thing to forget to track.

Retroactive Identification of Causes

In October 1348 Phillip VI of France requested the faculty of medicine at the University of Paris provide him with a consultative document explaining the causes of the Black Death, then endemic throughout his kingdom. The ensuing report, which was drawn up by some of the leading medical authorities of the day, and represented the most scientific thinking in Europe, unequivocally - and perhaps conveniently - attributed the outbreak and severity of the disease to circumstances beyond the control of any human agency. Indeed, the fate of its victims had already been decided at one o'clock on the afternoon of 20 March 1345, when there took place

an important conjunciton of three higher planets in the sign of Aquarius, which, with other conjunctions and eclipses, is the cause of the pernicous corruption of the surrounding air, as well as a sign of mortality, famine, and other catastrophes...The conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter brings about the death of peoples and the depopulation of kingdoms, great accidents occuring on account of the changes of the two stars themselves... The conjunction of Mars and Jupiter causes great pestilence in the air, especially when it takes place in a warm and humid sign, as occured in this instance. For... Jupiter, a warm and humid planet, drew up evil vapours from earth and water, and Mars, being excessively hot and dry, set fire to these vapours. Whence there were in the air flashes of lightning, lights, pestilential vapours and fires, espeically since Mars, a malevolent planet generating choler and wars, was from the sixth of October 1347 to the end of May of the present year in the Lion together with the head of the dragon. Not only did all of them, as they are warm, attract many vapours, but Mars, being on the wane, was very active in this respect, and also, turning towards Jupiter in its evil aspect, engendered a disposition or quality hostile to human life.

-The Black Death and Men of Learning, A.M. Campbell, quoted in Medicine & Society in Later Medieval England, Carole Rawcliffe

Since we are currently in the middle of an epidemic, I'd like to commission any bored individuals with knowledge of astrology to check for unwholesome conjunctions in Wuhan between 6 October 2019 – 11 December 2019.

I've tried using sites like this one, but they require a degree of specialized knowledge I can't be bothered to obtain. COVID-19 is obviously a phlegmatic disease (cold, wet, associated with the lungs and lethargy), so that's a good starting point.  It is extremely odd that these two plagues are both associated with the 6th of October. The only other plague I can find that began on October 6th is Instagram.

Coincidence?

Yes, coincidence. But still. I'll send a free PDF of MIR to the person who produces the most coherent, fully cited, and comprehensive astrological origin for COVID-19.

OSR: Medieval Things, Part 2: Moderately Blasphemous Time Travel Campaign

This post brought to you by Bunnahabhain single malt scotch whisky (18 yr). And a wee cup of water.

Prologue:

The setting is France, ~1390.

A mysterious metal box appeared in a field just outside of Paris. It's the size of a small cottage and shaped vaguely like an enormous upright coffin. King Charles VI orders it brought to the royal court for examination. Everyone gathers around to offer advice. The box has a door, it's discovered, and some strange markings inside in a language no one can read. After a few days, a monk discovers that one of the panels displays numbers in a mangled form of arabic numerals, and a dial can adjust them. There's also a map of the world - at least, it seems to be, but nobody's quite sure - and a way to adjust where the map is focused. Before he can do anything else, the box fills with light. A very confused identical copy of the monk appears.

After a lot of screaming and fighting and a few tests by hot iron, it's determined that the monk is from the future, three weeks away, and knows how the dials work. He explains it to his past-self, who promptly tests it and vanishes.

King Charles declares the box off-limits for a few days, and then makes a revolutionary announcement to his court. The box is divinely sent. It is clearly an invitation to the virtuous nation of France to right the wrongs of history... starting with the obvious source of all trouble. If the Crucifixion can be stopped, he declares, and Christ rescued by the French, all will be right with the world. The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand!

Travels of Marco Polo

The PCs

The PCs are standard medieval peasants or knights or monks or whatever, but for some reason, have been inducted into the newly created Ordo Salutis, the Order of Salvation. They are being sent back in time to stop the Crucifixion, rescue Christ, and right all the wrongs of history. To aid in this, they have been given the very best armour, weapons, tools, and advice medieval France can offer.

King Charles and most of the reigning nobles have already vanished into the box, so something must have gone awry. You might also need to rescue them.

The Problem

Somehow, the perfidious English got their hands on their own magic box. In fact, there are dozens of the things. The Mount of Calvary is a chaotic brawl. The English are fighting the French, the French are fighting the Romans, the Romans are fighting crazy bearded men in skirts; it's all chaos and confusion. Every time a box is used it it creates a new box (unless there's one already present).

The PCs are given orders by a weary Oliver de Clisson to stop the English by assassinating King Arthur. Without their mythological founding king, the English would be easy prey and probably vanish completely. It's a long shot, but off the PCs go.

Except King Arthur's a myth (or is he)?

So they decide to assassinate the Emperor Claudius instead. No Claudius, no Roman conquest of Britain. No Roman conquest of Britain, no troublesome English kings.

Except now the Romans now have time machines in 43 AD and 32 AD...

Oh yeah, you should also make sure you've got a good sound effect for time travel.

The Chaos

With multiple competing factions running through time, the game is more or less immediately going to devolve into gonzo time shenanigans. As more and more paradoxes and alternate histories are created, each with their own time machine, the situation grows more complex. Halluci-nations spring up like weeds.

And then the future gets involved, and tanks and laser guns start showing up. Can the PCs find a nice stable point in history and also get rich? Can they acomplish their original goal? What sort of inaccuracies and trouble can they cause, bearing in mind their inaccurate grasp of  history.

War Elephant, BL, Add 11283 fol. 4r

Play Materials

The GM should have access to the internet and a good reference library. The wikipedia pages for each year are useful too. Don't worry too much about accuracy; just skim for interesting bits. Caricaturize.

The players have access to the first few chapters of "1066 and All That" and their own memories. The GM is never to point out inaccuracies in the players' memories; if they can't remember if Charlemagne died in 418 or 814, let them pick a date and a location. They're off!

The GM should build a table of factions and roll on it as required to see who else has turned up to any major historical event. I'll write actual tools if people like this idea.

Ludicrous music too. Mix all the genres.

Cannot find source; have scotch.

The Machine

Has a resolution of about 6 miles and 0.01 years (4 days, give or take). Tends to arrive in historically amusing times and locations.

OSR: Medieval Things, Part 1

In which I caption images from this blog and add relevant (but not actually linked, historically) selections from this book whenever I remember.

This post was made possible by Harviestoun Brewery's Old Engine Oil. And it shows.

Sea Turtle
Jacob van Maerlant, Der Naturen Bloeme, Utrecht, ca. 1340-1350
Den Haag, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, KA 16, fol. 110v

This is a turtle as drawn by someone who had never seen a turtle but who had seen many fishes.
Monk 1: So it's like a fish.
Monk 2: Yeah, except it says here it has a nose.
Monk 1: Ok, nose added.
Monk 2: And legs.
Monk 1: What? Legs? Ok...
Monk 2: Legs that end in flat paddles.
Monk 1: Weird. Done.
Monk 2: And the whole thing is in a hard shell.
Monk 1: Like a snail shell? Ok, I think I've got it. How does this look?
Monk 2: Badass. That's definitely how I imagined a turtle.

Among the Indians in the part called Keras, they say that there are small fish which wander about on dry land, and then run back again to the river.
-de Mirabilibus Auscultationibus, pseudo-Aristotle

Berserker Fish

Wants: warm blood, things to bite
Armor: plate shell, leather limbs
Hit Dice: 1 (6 HP)
Move: normal
Morale: 10
Damage: 1d6 biting.
Armoured fish that live in the Brine Sea. Calcium-rich shells and decent running legs. Will happily chase down a goat and drag it back to the water. They fill the same niche as crocodiles, but evolved to combat giant herons and their armour-piercing beaks. Of course the local peasants don't give two shits about evolution or giant extinct herons or calcium shells. They just want the fish to leave their flocks and boats alone.

Snailfight
‘Fieschi Psalter’, Cambrai ca. 1290-1295
Baltimore, The Walters Art Museum, Walters Manuscript W.45, fol. 52v

Medieval monks loved to draw knights fighting snails. We don't know why. I think it was just amusing to them; they had a sense of humour after all, and the juxtaposition is pretty hilarious. Some people think it's about the inevitability of death, but monks had plenty of other ways to show that off. This seems different. Look at that amusing little shield! And the snail itself, balanced on a hastily drawn mountain because the artist pulled a Liefeld and drew the characters before figuring out the composition.

Battle Snail

Wants: flesh, horrific snail sex
Armor: plate shell, leather head
Hit Dice: 1 (6 HP)
Move: 1/4 normal
Morale: 6
Damage: 1d4 biting.
Battle Snails grow to the size of pumpkins. They don't want to fight you. They want you to fight other people. They'll eat the remains. Everyone within 10' of a Battle Snail must Save each round or attack the nearest vaguely threatening target. If there is only one target left, they might attack the Battle Snail... but it's so cute and harmless and cheerful that most sentient creatures will flee instead. Animals will simply ignore it. It's not a threat. You can usually find them gnawing on deer that have battered each other to exhaustion or eating the remains of a frantic mouse kin-slaughter. Their shells make decent helmets and their flesh makes a wonderful berzerker brew.

crowned cat
Scheibler Armorial, Germany ca. 1450-1480
München, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Cod.icon. 312 c, p. 258

Dogs have gods, and their gods are vaguely shaped like people. Cats are assholes and have kings instead.

They say that dogs only pursue wild beasts as far as the peaks of the so‑called Black Mountains, and that, when they have followed them as far as this, they turn back.
-de Mirabilibus Auscultationibus, pseudo-Aristotle

This is the King of Cats. He looks dumb because he is dumb. You think the Hapsburgs had it bad? Nobody was breeding them for looks. This guy's name is Melville and he's the end result of a careful breeding program. Every single one of his genes is recessive. Some of his genes have receeded so far that Melville is barely eukaryotic, but the aristocrats who bred him don't know what genes are. They do know that whoever controls Melville controls all cats. Mostly. Some of the time. Anyway, it's better than not controlling all of the cats. And it keeps the wild dogs away.

They aren't sure how to use Melville to make money, but they're getting close to a plan.

The King of Cats

Wants: unknown
Hit Dice: 0 (1 HP)
Move: 1/10th normal, if motivated. Mostly just sits there. Falls over if not propped against something.
Morale: 12. Nothing will ever frighten the King of Cats.
Damage: 0. 1d6 if Melville is thrown at someone, but otherwise, he's completely harmless. He might not be aware he has claws.
Whoever controls Melville controls all cats, in the same way that whoever controls a large sack of money controls all bandits. Control is transferred by Melville bonking his head into you several times. His bonks are impeded by his giant gold crown. No one, not even the aristocrats who bred him, knows where the crown came from or if it can be safely removed.

Astronomers
Bartholomeus Anglicus, ‘Livre des propriétés des choses’ (‘De proprietatibus rerum’, French translation of Jean Corbechon), Bruges ca. 1470
BnF, Français 134, fol. 169r

Portals to other worlds are fairly easy to open.

Surviving the fall is not so easy.

And also, most of the worlds the Astronomers have found are very tiny and full of elves. This is usually a bad thing.

Peleus and shape-shifting ThetisOvide Moralisé, Paris ca. 1330
Paris, BnF, Arsenal 5069, fol. 149v

In Arabia they say there is a species of hyaena, which, when it sees a beast in front, or comes into the shadow of a man, produces dumbness, and such paralysis that it is impossible to move the body. It has the same effect on dogs.
-de Mirabilibus Auscultationibus, pseudo-Aristotle

Snuggle Lions didn't evolve. Everyone agrees they are the sort of thing wizards inflict on the world through carelessness or spite. They are friendly, kind-hearted animals with grey-black pelts. They love human contact and will happily spend hours climbing onto humans, rubbing their heads on humans, and trying to play games with humans.

There is just one problem. Snuggle Lions produce an incredibly powerful paralysis field. If they stand in a person's shadow or stare at them, the person is paralyzed and rendered mute. This isn't usually a problem. If you were stalked by a giant black lion and then suddenly paralyzed, you would probably be frightened. The Snuggle Lion knows you are frightened. It doesn't mind. It will bonk into you for a few hours and then leave. If you aren't afraid of the giant black lion that just ambushed you, things are less pleasant. The Snuggle Lion can smell the absence of fear. It knows that anything that doesn't fear it could be a threat. So it bonks into you a few times and then, almost sadly, bites off your head.

Snuggle Lion

Wants: companionship, food
Hit Dice: 2 (12 HP)
Move: 2x normal, very stealthy.
Morale:8
Damage: 1d6 claw / 1d6 claw / 1d8 bite. Or it just bites off your head.
Dogs or humans within 30' that the Snuggle Lion can see must be Save each round or be paralyzed and unable to speak. If the Snuggle Lion is standing in your shadow you can only Save once each minute.

Saints
Hours of Louis de Laval, France ca. 1480
BnF, Latin 920, fol. 180r

When there's no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth. Everyone knows that.

Heaven is getting crowded. There's a small worry in theological circles that the saints will come marching back down the celestial staircase.

Lion
Liber medicinae ex animalibus, Netherlands ca. 1175
BL, Harley 1585, fol. 66v

Monk 2: It says here lions are horrible flesh eating beasts with shaggy manes.
Monk 1: Right. Like a horse.
Monk 2: No, says here they are more like cats.
Monk 1: I'm going to go with... horse. With a man's nose. And big fearsome teeth.
Monk 2: You call those fearsome teeth?
Monk 1: Yeah!

False Lion

Wants: horse things. Neurotic.
Armor: none
Hit Dice: 1 (6 HP)
Move: normal
Morale: 4
Damage: 1d4 biting.
Lions are always in demand in menageries and fighting pits. Lions are difficult to breed and capture.

Horses, on the other hand, are comparatively easy to breed. With enough patience you can make a horse look like almost anything. Many credulous nobles  have purchased superb lions with shining hooves and glossy manes. False Lions will even eat flesh, though they get no nutrition from it, and it usually gives them terrible wind.

Conception of Alexander the Great, Les faize d'Alexandre
(translation of Historiae Alexandri Magni of Quintus Curtius Rufus), Bruges ca. 1468-1475

The Conception of Alexander the Great, ~1475

Posted without comment.

The Macedonian queen Olympias, mother of Alexander the Great, sits holding her belly as her ladies-in-waiting leave her bedchamber, unaware of the ram-headed man slinking into the room. This strange figure is actually the magician and Egyptian king Nectanebo. Most versions of the legend of Alexander claim that Nectanebo, the last native Egyptian pharoah, prophesied for Olympias that she would be visited and conceive a child by Ammon, an Egyptian god with the body of a man and a ram's head. While King Philip was away on military campaign, Nectanebo disguised himself as Ammon, visited the queen's bedroom, and impregnated her. The resulting child was Alexander, whose legendary life was widely celebrated in the Middle Ages. In the Getty Museum's copy of the Mirror of History, Alexander's popular story is told in a series of eight miniatures.
-J. Paul Getty museum

St. Matthew writing his Gospel
Gospels, Britanny 9th-10th century
Bodleian Library, MS. Auct. D. 2. 16, fol. 28v

Alternative caption "student reacts to a math exam."

Pontifical of Guillaume Durand, Avignon, before 1390
Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, ms. 143, fol. 165r

Remember the Battle Snail from earlier? Some creatures are immune. Most dogs are not, but greyhounds are. Rabbits are also immune.

Imagine the chaos you could cause by throwing a juvenile Battle Snail into a castle or a formation of soldiers. Rabbits are hampered by their short lifetimes and natural timidity, but they are preparing a revolutionary army one snail-grenade at a time. Rabbits freeze and stare at you because you've caught them spying.

Thrown Battle Snail

Cost: 35gp. Raised by rabbits.
All creatures within 10' of the snail must Save each round or fight the nearest vaguely threatening target. The snail does not affect rabbits or greyhounds. The rabbits will sell you one, but they will also suggest hiring a rabbit mercenary to deploy it for you.

Pabenham-Clifford Hours, England ca. 1315-1320
Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum, MS 242, fol. 40v

Right. So this is why you don't volunteer to help the wizard. Any more questions?

Book of Hours, Flanders 14th century
Walters Art Museum, W.90, fol. 108v

"Oh, one or two..."

Riding Squirrel

Wants: nuts, combs, and a well-defended territory
Armor: none
Hit Dice: 1 (6 HP)
Move: 2x normal
Morale: 8
Damage: 1d6 clawing or biting.
For the fashionable lady-knight from Foreign Parts. The riding squirrel is a temperamental animal, likely to startle or flee from strange sights. Then again, so is horse, unless properly trained. And riding squirrels are definitely well trained. You probably can't afford one. They are very warm.

Devil and God
Rudolf von Ems, Weltchronik, Regensburg ca. 1400-1410
LA, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms. 33, fol. 209v

And finally, God, here played by Sam Elliot, is absolutely fed up with the Devil.