The location, a Victorian manor designated Historic Monument 157 in Montecito Heights, was perfect for the occasion, and the players and host all threw themselves into a 19th century that never was with commendable ardor.
Relating what happened during such an event is a task fraught with dangers. For those who attended, my account is needless; for those who did not, it will likely seem tedious. Consequently, I shall do no more than allude to the mechanical men, willful submarines, dimensional travellers, the boreal dirigible of Baron von Claus, explorers, scientists, tinkerers, spoonbenders, scholars, lightning guns, spiritual dynamos, communicative jade hands, and other miscellanea of the evening. But I do take some small pride in assisting in the salvation of the universe from an extradimensional threat, despite many challenges, not least of which was the suspicion with which I was regarded on account of my being a dead body reanimated by alien technology (and later damaged by the Admiralty).