Galangal

  • Ghûlheim

    Ghouls do not build. They are parasites and scavengers, eaters of carrion. The city they call Ghûlheim is something they found, long ago, but did not make. No one they call knows (if anyone human ever knew) what kind of creatures it was that made those buildings, who honeycombed the rock with tunnels and towers, but it is certain that no-one but the ghoul-folk could have wanted to stay there, or even to approach that place.

    Even from the path below Ghûlheim, even from miles away, Bod could see that all of the angles were wrong — that the walls sloped crazily, that it was every nightmare he had ever endured made into a place, like a huge mouth of jutting teeth. It was a city that had been built just to be abandoned, in which all the fears and madnesses and revulsions of the creatures who built it were made into stone. The ghoul folk had found it and delighted in it and called it home.

    A dark and disjointed scent: smoke and black musk, bladderwrack, opopponax, galangal, and pepper.

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  • Loup Garou

    The wild, untamed essence of lycanthropy. Primeval in its raw power and insatiable hunger: juniper, cypress and galangal with the barest touch of eucalyptus.

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  • Ranger

    Untamed wilderness: buckskin accord with Terebinth pine, Russian birch, black ironwood, elder bark, hay, armoise, juniper, patchouli, galangal root, Spanish moss, and cabreuva.

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  • The Hag

    The Hag is astride,
    This night for to ride;
    The Devill and shee together:
    Through thick, and through thin,
    Now out, and then in,
    Though ne’r so foule be the weather.

    A Thorn or a Burr
    She takes for a Spurre:
    With a lash of a Bramble she rides now,
    Through Brakes and through Bryars,
    O’re Ditches, and Mires,
    She followes the Spirit that guides now.

    No Beast, for his food,
    Dares now range the wood;
    But husht in his laire he lies lurking:
    While mischiefs, by these,
    On Land and on Seas,
    At noone of Night are working,

    The storme will arise,
    And trouble the skies;
    This night, and more for the wonder,
    The ghost from the Tomb
    Affrighted shall come,
    Cal’d out by the clap of the Thunder.

    Black musk, bay leaves, galangal, bourbon vetiver, blackcurrant, and rum.

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  • Tzadikim Nistarim

    Also called the Lamed Vev, two letters in the Hebrew alphabet that translate to the number thirty-six. In this violent, ugly, strife-riddled world of ours there are thirty-six men, the Hidden Just Men or Hidden Saints, who bear on their shoulders the burden of all our pain, sorrows and sins. The Tzadikim Nistarim move in obscurity, and are usually found among the poor, the downtrodden and the meekest among us, and are chosen for this task because of their righteousness, stalwart sense of genuine justice, and the true goodness of their souls. When one of these men dies, God chooses another to take his place. It is for their sake and for love of them that God does not destroy His imperfect creation. As long as the Lamed Vav serves humanity, the world will continue to plod on, but once one of them dies and God cannot find another worthy to take his place, the world will be destroyed. In Qabala, the thirty-six men of the Tzadikim Nistarim together combine to symbolize the seventy-two bridges, corresponding to the seventy-two names of God, that connect the concealed and revealed worlds of our universe.

    The scent is one of unadulterated spiritual purity, with a taste of the world’s eternal pathos, and the joy of suffering with grace: frankincense, olive, spikenard, hyssop and galangal.

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