How to Play: The Almanac of Sanguine Paths

The Almanac of Sanguine Paths is a a GM-less letter-writing and journaling game for 1-2 players. Discover the wolf within as you play as werewolves who write to each other after receiving a mysterious book.

This game is currently funding on Kickstarter: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/montfordtales/the-almanac-of-sanguine-paths

Below you'll find my own game notes from creating a character and playing one round of The Almanac of Sanguine Paths. These notes aren't edited - on purpose - so that you can see how the game evolves authentically. I am very much a "write to find out" player, and happily go wherever the words lead me.

Each section is preceded by a tutorial video. However, the salient points are summarised in the text, albeit very briefly as this post is long.

Full playlist here.

Building a world

The example playthrough uses the world created in the first 'how to play' video. The outcome of this video is summarised in the drop-down boxes below.

Building a character

Character creation is explored in the second 'how to play' video. The steps are followed below, and all questions are answered in character.

Define your origin

My name is Penelope Quirk, I use she/her pronouns and I am not a werewolf. Not yet. I lived a fairly normal life in the suburbia around London, and just finished university.

Discover your Almanac

I’m almost done packing up my things at the end of the final term of university. The walls are bare, except for the odd piece of blu-tack I’ve yet to coax from the plaster, and the pile of boxes stacked in the middle of the cramped room is taller than me. I can see other students already leaving through the window, giving goodbye hugs to friends they don’t know if they’ll see again. Some are crying. Some are hooting with joy.

I feel cold. I shouldn’t, it’s summer, but I’m suddenly wishing for the jumpers that are packed in one of the boxes near the bottom of the pile. Maybe it’s nerves. I have no plan for what to do next or where I go after university.

I hear the rustle of an envelope being pushed under my door but no knock and don’t hear anyone walking away. I pick it up and open it. It smells new.

Inside is a smallish magazine: the Lycan Subscribe. I laugh at its pun and open it. The paper is rough, it feels like someone’s printed it on the uni printers and stapled it in a hurry, but it’s cool. Some of the ink rubs off on my fingers.

Later that afternoon, I’d gathered up every single overdue textbook that had been sitting in my room. Half of them I couldn’t remember borrowing, but I’d finally found them, and at last, I was going to get to wipe the smug look from the librarian’s face. I was just about to back into the doors to get them open when Trevor came along to derail my day.

I like him, I swear I do, but right in that instant when I had an armful of books, I wished I’d bumped into him just two minutes later. Of course, he had some new gadget, and of course, he wasn’t looking where he was going, and of course, he collided with me and sent books everywhere. It really ruined the mood when I then had to dump ten much dirtier books on the librarian’s counter.

I got back to my room, and the Lycan Subscribe was still where I left it on my desk. Well, almost where I left it. I thought I’d left it closed, but it was open on the first page. Probably a breeze from… I don’t know where. I put the thought aside and closed it again.

It’s got that feel about it like someone has cared deeply about putting it together. I haven’t even had a chance to sit down and read it yet, but it makes me feel like that little spot near campus I always go to when I need a moment. It’s one of those fenced-in gardens that the surrounding houses share, but someone always – always – leaves the gate open. It’s so calm in there. It feels like my own secret world. I think I’m going to take this there to read it. It feels right.

I’m on my way to my secret garden when I pass Gina and her cronies. They’re huddled in a shop doorway, and laugh when I pass them. My palms clench, and it takes everything I have to keep on walking. They’re laughing about yesterday, of course. It’s like Gina planned the whole sodding escapade.

I’ve never been good at making friends, but I thought I’d finally broken that curse. Found someone who understood me and who actually gave a shit about the same stuff I give a shit about.

But no. No, it was a ruse, more proof that you can’t depend on anyone and everyone’s just going to let you down. Being dumped isn’t fun. Being dumped on camera is worse. No doubt the whole world will know before the day’s end. And Gina, of course, orchestrated everything.

I clench my newfound magazine hard in my hands. Something about this spoke to me, and maybe then I can be less of a gullible fucking fool and not fall for Gina’s tricks again.

Engage with your Almanac

It’s nearly midnight, and I’m sitting on a low tree branch in my secret garden, phone torch in one hand and the Lycan Subscribe in the other. Once the moon’s out, I need the torch less, it’s full and bright, and you can even see the odd star in the clear sky.

A car honks its horn suddenly just beyond the garden, and it startles me so much I drop my phone onto the grass below. Fuck. But then I see…I can still read the magazine. It’s not faint or anything, it’s like the pages glow. The shadows that were still before now dance in the garden below me, and the moon itself seems bigger and brighter than it has any real reason to be.

The wind brings the scent of night-blooming jasmine to me, from who knows where - I’ve never seen any around here - and what else is that: petrichor, the smell of rain, but it’s been dry for days.

I feel a shiver down my spine, reverberating across my skin as I wonder... What is this magazine?

I’m filled with suspicion, and I look around for anyone who might be watching. Recording. Is this Gina’s work? Is she laughing at me from some hiding place? Is she trying to scare me, because I don’t scare as easily as she thinks I do in that case.

I don’t see anyone. The shadows still dance, and the moon still glows brighter than it has any right to, but I don’t see anyone else in the garden with me.

I don’t know what’s going on, though, and that plants a seed of worry at the back of my mind.

The last time I was given something that made me feel special – unique – didn’t end well. I hoped this wasn’t the same, but… the doubt was there. Last time was an old-school mix tape filled with every song I told him I loved. I had nothing to play it on, but he said it had all my favourite songs on it, so I believed him.

Now it’s like someone made a magazine just for me, filled with all the topics I love to talk about. And.. surely they wouldn’t pull the same trick twice?

I get to the middle and stop. I’ve already read this magazine three times, but it’s never looked like this. All the pages are different in the moonlight, but the centre spread stops me in my tracks.

It’s me. Undeniably me. Someone’s drawn a map with me at the centre. I know one thing instantly: I am going to find out who sent this to me. And if it was Gina, I was going to make her pay.

I noticed the page numbers aren’t consecutive across the spread – some must’ve been torn out – but it didn’t matter. I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t like it. And I was going to make whoever thought they could pull another prank on me so soon pay for it.

I lept down from the tree. Found my phone and a big stick. And set off to see where this map leads.

It looked like a cluster of trees in Hyde Park, with a little path going off into it and no lights to lead the way. I was more convinced than ever before that this had to be Gina’s doing, and when I found her, I was going to – I was going to do what exactly?

I clutched my stick more tightly. Suddenly unsure of myself.

But I wasn’t going to let her get the last laugh, that was for sure.

So.. against my better judgement. I walked in. I found the place where I was “supposed” to be, and I sat on a tree stump, with a stick in one trembling hand.

Everything was quiet.

Until it wasn’t. There was a growl, low, terrifying, and then I felt – nothing.

I woke up in a hospital bed three days later. They’d received an emergency call from my phone and found me there in the woods.

Everything hurt.

When I find out who did this and why, they’re going to suffer.

Swear an oath on your Almanac

I will never, ever, betray someones trust.

Add a complication

[Add a new Actor Asset] The doctors keep turning away a visitor. Whoever they are they seem concerned with my health.

Let's play!

The gameplay loop is summarised in the third video in the 'How to Play' series:

Letter Phase

Dear Editor,

I don’t understand why I have a copy of your magazine. I don’t know who gave it to me or why, but I do know I ended up having a lucky escape when I followed your instructions in it. I could’ve died. The docs said if that creature had caught me just an inch higher, it would’ve torn right through my throat. You’re lucky I feel fine – the doctors are pretty amazed – and that the police don’t believe in magazines with maps that glow in the moonlight.

I don’t know what you’re playing at. But I don’t scare easy – and Gina, if this is your doing, just stop.

- Penelope.

Almanac Phase

My fingers tingled from my frantic key tapping – I’ve never written an email as urgently as this one. I pause before hitting send. There’s still something I want to do before I send it off into the ether. I save it instead. A rare thing for me to do, but better than sending something I might regret later. I sit back in the coffee shop and let the background noise fill my senses. Last night had been intense. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Another magazine had found its way to me. This time it dropped through a friend’s letterbox - they were letting me sleep on their sofa, but I knew I couldn’t stay there long. I don’t know how it got here, it’s not like I updated them about where I was, I wouldn’t even know how. But there it was, and I read it with trepidation over breakfast.

It looked normal, which was utterly disappointing. There wasn’t any glowing text, and definitely no picture of me in the middle of it this time. And the letters to the editor were all people complaining about politics. Nothing of mine was there. I almost put it in the bin, but then a glint of something catches my eye. An indentation on the page, as if someone’s written on a piece of paper on top of it and left the impression behind. I do the old graphite and paper trick, and, yeah, there’s something there.

It’s not addressed to me or anything. It’s like a shopping list, maybe? Torch, rope, are those coordinates?

I made a mistake like this a month ago, and it almost killed me. If I was sensible, I’d move on and forget about it all: BUT. But I couldn’t. I’d been sleeping on this friend’s sofa all week, and I was DESPERATE to get out. I had an interview lined up for later in the day, but the idea of a 9-5 made me feel sick to the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to run, it was irrational, but I couldn’t shake the urge to explore and be free.

So I checked the co-ordinates. Two hours by train, a bus, and then a long walk would get me there, to this random little spot I’d never heard of in the Cotswolds. This was reckless. But I picked up my bag, which I’d never unpacked, left a scribbled note for my friend just in case the worst happened, and then left. I bought a torch on the way to the train station. I didn’t want to get caught out in the dark again, but… better safe than sorry.

The closer I got to those coordinates, the more electrified I felt. I was elated to be outdoors, roaming, and doing something incredibly stupid. I crossed a creek that made my skin crawl, it was filled with rubbish and smelled vile, I had to get away as quickly as I could. I think there’s an abattoir nearby, just a general reek of death around.

Eventually, I found it. A tree stump with a wolf’s head carved into it. There was a small plastic bag with a letter folded up in it and more instructions to follow. I did as I was told and tramped through woodland until I thought I’d never see the outside again. There was a little camp. It was abandoned, but functional, with a camouflaged tent and a little lockbox inside it. The letter had a code on it that opened the box. Huh.

There was a stash of paper inside. Notes on local politicians, their allegiances, who among the police were corrupt, and planning permission for a large power station that just felt … off. There was a journal too. The last entry was a few months ago, and they seemed to have been hiding from something or someone. Their handwriting was terrible. But they talked about a lot of things that resonated with me. The restlessness, the feeling of being an outsider, everything really.

Over and over again they talk about the power station, and how it’s going to destroy the woodland. They desperately wanted to stop it - there’s something ancient here that they care about. I took another look through the bundle of paperwork, trying to figure it out, and then I found the missing pages. The ones that had been torn from the first issue of the Lycan Subscribe that was pushed under my door a month ago.

I sat for a while, listening to the birds. It was getting dark, and it was a long journey home, but here was a campsite already waiting for me. It was peaceful here, like my secret garden back in London. The moon would be full again tonight, one whole month since I was attacked by some big dog in Hyde Park. In a sense, staying here tonight was an act of defiance and an attempt to re-own the night.

Owls hooted, and something howled when the moon came up. I opened up issue two of the Lycan Subscribe and held it up to catch the moons rays. It tickled where it landed on my hands, then burned. Silvery words crossed the page: “Do not be afraid.”

I don’t scare easily. I keep telling myself that as I feel... Wrong.

I woke up the next morning naked and alone, with blood smeared across my face and a rabbit carcass nestled under my chin.

I did eventually stop screaming and find my way back to the campsite. It was still empty. Everything of mine was still there. The damned magazine was still there with the words “don’t be afraid” still faintly glowing on it. But in the cold light of dawn, everything felt different.

I cleaned up as well as I could and hightailed it out of there. The walk back to the tiny town took forever and whole time the noises of the woodland rang loud in my ears: so sad and filled with longing.

I found a coffee shop, downed three black coffees, then checked the news.
I was certain of one thing. Gina had nothing to do with any of this. I was up to my neck in something, and I felt consumed by the same passion as whoever’s journal I had. Something was wrong here, and I thought that – maybe – I could stop it.

Chronicle Phase

Intention: I want to find out more about the danger the journal-writer was talking about, so I check the newspapers. What do I find?

I spent the next few days covering my friends sofa in newspapers. They weren’t too pleased, especially when they learned I’d missed my interview. But this felt important, so I didn’t pay too much attention to their worries.

I found hints here and there, about a power station that was going to be built in the middle of the Cotswolds, near where I’d been camping. There’d been protests about it, with people saying it would disturb the wildlife and destroy the homes of several endangered species. But every time, when the dust settled, another local politician was on the power station’s side.

This had to be what my journal-friend had been writing about. But while the power station didn’t sound like a great thing, it also didn’t sound like it should inspire fear in someone, like they’re involved in a life or death struggle.

Clearly I had to go back. But at least time I knew where the work site was.

I packed up my things – not that I’d actually unpacked, I’d had this feeling I’d be moving on soon anyway – and prepared for a few nights camping in the woods. I took both issues of the Lycan Subscribe. There was something there to piece together. Maybe I could find out what happened to me out there?

Anyway, as soon as I closed the door behind me I felt immensely better. Like I had a purpose again.

I arrived later that afternoon. I’d intended to take a walk past the building site and see what I could see before heading back to the campsite. I thought there’d be diggers busy at work, but instead I saw a woman lying down on the ground in front of an excavator and refusing to move. There were people shouting at her, while she squelched in the mud and sang at top of her voice. There were others behind her, attempting to glue themselves to the diggers, but they didn’t seem as confident as the woman did.

I have no idea what possessed me, but I ran right over there and squelched down in the mud next to her. She gave me the oddest look, but for ten minutes we lay next to each other and denied the big yellow machines their pound of dirt.

Then the police came.

Add depth

I’ve never woken up in a cell before. I’m cold and there’s a stale, metallic taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of. I recognise it, it tastes like the rabbits blood from ... that night. It’s all a blur, actually.

I remember the police approaching us. The woman next to me kicked at them as they got closer and screamed something about our right to peaceful protest. But they didn’t seem to be having it. My stomach dropped, picturing the list of corrupt police in that journal. Quite possibly we were going to get dragged off to a cell and then the whole thing would be hushed over by someone with money.

It was wrong. They smelled wrong. One tried to drag me up and I twisted out of their grip. Another swore at me, and I wretched as they got closer. The smell was… something else. I kicked them too. Then it was like a red fog of rage came down on me. I was acting on instinct, and I don’t know where that instinct came from.

I remembered it in flashes as I sat on a hard bench in a lonely cell, hanging my head between my knees. I’ve never done anything violent before. I don’t know where this came from. But I bit them, I clawed at them, I punched through them. I wasn’t me, I was something else.

I think I killed one. Maybe two.

I threw up at the thought. Vomit spattered around my feet.

What was going to happen next? I had to get out of here. I could feel my panic rising at the thought of being contained behind bars.

Intention: Intention: I need to escape from this cell. How do I do it?

Day six of sitting in one cell or another soon came around. They’d moved me a few times, and I’d gotten to speak to Nikki even – that was woman I’d joined in the dirt. They let her off with a caution, but me… well. She said she was going to take care of everything, that she understood what I’d been going through and that it was going to be alright. Stay calm, and don’t be afraid.

Don’t be afraid. Just like the Lycan Subscribe said.

We shared a long look, and I did feel better. I think it was the confidence and experience I felt in her gaze. It was going to be okay. I was going to get out of here.

A new guard came to my door that morning of day six. The only one to have smiled at me so far. They didn’t say much, but they gave me a book to read, paper and pen to write with, and extra pudding. Then they told me ‘don’t be afraid’ and left me alone.

The book was Watership Down, I’d never actually read it, but.. Heck, I had time. Within the first pages I realised that this was a message of rebellion against the machines that would tear up the forest for their own profit, and a warning against tyranny and oppression.

When I was transferred again, days later, I left the book under the mattress, hoping its next occupant would find it and it would affect them as much as it had me. I also left little messages behind me, wherever I went. Just short, hopeful, things. Nothing that should get me in more trouble if they’re found – not that I could make my situation much worse – but.. Yeah. Everyone needs hope.

The same guard who’d given me Watership Down escorted me to a van and put me in the back. I didn’t bother asking where we were going. What was the point?

We drove for 30 minutes, maybe, then the van stopped and someone else got in the front. I could hear laughter. Happy laughter. Another hour or so passed before the van stopped again and the door opened. Nikki was there, holding out a hand.

We ran – all three of us, me, Nikki, and the guard – off into the woods. The van sat, abandoned and empty.

I was on the run. They’d send people to find me. I’d killed someone, after all. But I had hope, and hope – I’d learned – is precious.