Quantum Veil

Welcome, adventurer! You stand at the threshold of an unwritten world. Where would you like to journey? Or perhaps tell me, what kind of universe awaits your exploration?

I understand! You're creating a world based on American hegemony post-WWII. Are you exploring an alternate history, modern geopolitics, or near-future where this power is changing? Where would you like to begin your adventure?

Fascinating! A world where America's post-WWII dominance coincided with the discovery of magic. Where would you like to begin? Washington DC where magical policy is made? A frontline magical research facility? Or perhaps a small town where magical anomalies first appeared?

You arrive in 1955 Washington DC, where obelisks glow with protective wards and senators debate magical regulation bills. The Capitol dome shimmers with enchantment. Where to? The Department of Arcane Affairs? The White House? The bustling magical quarter?

You wander into Potomac Arcana, DC's vibrant magical quarter. Neon signs pulse with arcane energy, wizards in suits hurry past. The popular “Wand & Whiskey” tavern beckons—jazz flows from inside, patrons levitating drinks. Enter?

You step into the Wand & Whiskey. Glasses float between tables, a saxophonist's notes materialize as colored smoke. At the bar, suited men argue policy. A glamorous witch reads cards. The bartender—seven arms, all mixing drinks—notices you.

The multi-armed bartender grins. “Bold move.” He mixes you a glowing Manhattan and sends a shimmering purple concoction floating toward the witch. She looks up, surprised, then smiles mysteriously at you. With a gesture, she invites you to her table.

You approach her table. The witch—raven-haired with violet eyes that occasionally flicker like static—gestures to a chair. “Intuitive choice,” she says, tapping her drink. “I'm Lilian Vess, DoAA Intelligence. Those cards aren't just fortune-telling… they're personnel files.”

Lilian sips her drink. “DoAA Intelligence monitors magical threats. Soviet thaumaturges, rogue practitioners.” She slides a card showing a mushroom cloud with mystical symbols. “We've contained three magical incidents this year alone. Question is—” she studies you “—who are you exactly?”

Lilian arches an eyebrow. “Researcher? At Miskatonic? Princeton's Thaumaturgical Institute?” She studies you intensely, her eyes momentarily glowing. “Credentials are… required these days. The Soviets have infiltrators everywhere since Dresden's magical breakthrough.”

Lilian's eyes widen. “Artificial Intelligence? The classified MAGI project?” She lowers her voice. “Merging magical algorithms with calculating engines? Highly restricted research.” She glances around. “Those IBM machines processing ley line predictions… dangerous knowledge in Soviet hands.”

Lilian looks confused, then laughs softly. “Intergalactic? Someone's been reading too much Asimov.” She taps her cards. “Though our astronomancers have detected strange energies beyond the moon… unauthorized knowledge, of course.” She studies you more carefully now.

Lilian eyes you curiously, then raises her glass. “To research, then.” She sips her drink, but remains alert. The purple liquid shimmers as she drinks. “So, what specifically interests an… AI researcher… in the magical quarter of DC? The DoAA hasn't approved many civilian clearances.”

Lilian snorts. “Funding? In a tavern?” She leans closer. “Pentagon's pouring millions into ARPA's thaumaturgical computing. Westinghouse and Bell Labs too.” She narrows her eyes. “But serious researchers go through channels, not magical bars. Unless… you're blocked from official funding?”

Lilian's expression hardens. “I see.” She subtly gestures, activating a privacy ward around your table. “Blacklisted, or foreign asset?” Her cards rearrange themselves. “McCarthy's Magical Activities Committee has been overzealous lately. Even Einstein faced questions about his unified magical theory.”

Lilian's eyes narrow suspiciously. “Einstein?” She studies her cards intently. “He's in Princeton, but…” She pauses. “He's under DoAA protection after the Camden Incident. His unified magical theory proved… volatile.” Her voice hardens. “Your story keeps shifting. Who are you really working for?”

Lilian freezes. The tavern dims as her wards intensify. “Temporal incursion?” she whispers tensely. Her cards flash warning symbols. “Time travel is theoretically impossible—Pentagon's Chronos Division confirmed…” She makes a subtle gesture toward the door. Two suited men look your way.

“Explain yourself. Now.”