Shrieking, the banshee closed in on the Irish

Shrieking, the banshee closed in on the Irish pub.

The denizens of said pub huddled around the last candle, sipping of their spirits and praying to

Cthulhu. The denizens of the pub realized they didn't have to use the last candle and went and bought more, before long they had a proper ritual chamber up and running.

They'd obtained a musty Necronomicon from the Ancient Tome Discount Outlet, drawn random sigils on the pub's cellar floor & tapped a keg of ale. When they called up Tsathoggua

he was furious at the depths of their gall. "YOU DARE USE ARCANA FROM THE WINTER CATALOG?!" The cosmic hell-beast was right: it was mid-June. Bamboozled again by the ATDO, they

humbly scrutinized a 1908 Sears-Roebuck catalog and tried to correlate it with the July 1925 issue of The New Arcanist, until Jazzabel rebelled against their hell-beast boss. "Your

demands make my teeth hurt. I resign!" Jazzabel picked up her electric typewriter and staggered towards the door. But her ex-boss reeled her back in by its cable saying, "I don't

know a time you ever turned down an assignment," he pleaded, yanking the typewriter out of her hands. "Jazzabel, our reputation will tank if you leave! Don't make me beg."

fingertips pressing on their very core. The X, Y, Z keys put an end to anyone getting away with finger handling them. That only left the T, O, and P keys at the top of the ranking,