Sunday, 10 November 2019

Cuban Mysteries & Ladies Vanish

Once upon a time when the world was slightly saner than it is today, I mentioned a Cuban drama in which diplomats claimed to have fallen foul of a sonic superweapon. Incredibly, that story still has legs. Only this week the Guardian claimed a freedom of information victory, and got its hands on diplomatic cables and other official communications that, the paper claimed, shed light on the mystery.

Except … it kinda didn't. For all the fanfare, the released documents shed as much light as a snuffed-out candle. Nobody knows what happened. The Americans aren't in a hurry to find out. The Cubans, mightily pissed, are confident the whole thing's nonsense from beginning to end. There's some madcap Canadians who think the diplomats might have been unintentionally poisoned by insect spray.

The big, and probably unintentional, result is that diplomatic relations between Cuba and the US broke down, and frankly, given that the Jackass is currently disgracing the Presidency with his presence, those diplomatic relations were dead in the water. If it wasn't this, some other crisis would have come along and the GOP would have found an excuse to pull the plug. After all, the diplomatic rapprochement was an Obama administration policy, and the GOP's done its damndest to kill off every other Obama policy.

However the sonic superweapon got me thinking: what exactly do you need to design a spy thriller? High stakes? International locales? Femme fatales, or high-speed action sequences? Sinister superweapons? Diplomatic intrigue?

The answer to this question comes from Hitchcock, as you might expect.

Hitchcock made spy thrillers where ladies vanish on trains. Saboteurs send young children across London, with bombs hidden in film cans. Secrets that could change the course of world politics are whispered by dying men to total strangers. An ad executive meeting his mother for lunch is mistaken for a superspy. An American physicist defects to Moscow to steal rocketry secrets. Hitchcock knew the spy genre inside and out - and his spy thrillers were the simplest possible.

You need a McGuffin, one important enough to get people worked up. You need an interesting situation. You need tension. That's it.

Consider The Lady Vanishes (1938).

In that film, as is so often the case with Hitchcock, the McGuffin is never revealed, or even described. We know it's important, because everyone treats it as if it is important. Miss Froy, the elderly Englishwoman who has the McGuffin, vanishes - and it's as if she was never there. Miss Froy's chance companion, Iris Henderson, at first is puzzled, then horrified, as person after person says there is not, and never was, a Miss Froy - and it's her horror that propels her over the threshold and into the spy thriller. Who can she trust? Who's in the enemy camp? What happened to that dear old lady?

Hitchcock was a past master at building tension with very little, cinematic bricks without straw. A modern director uses flashy car chases and impossible parkour sequences; Hitchcock got the same result with two buses, one after the other, slowly traversing the countryside (Torn Curtain). This is where the interesting situation comes in, and Hitchcock was smart enough to realize that any situation can be interesting, under the right conditions.

With The Lady Vanishes, the interesting situation is the train journey. A few score strangers jammed together for hours, days at a time. A definite time limit - that train will eventually arrive at its destination, and once that happens, all chance of saving Miss Froy is gone. Mile after mile of unforgiving countryside, with nowhere to go, nowhere to turn for help.

Imagine for a moment a Night's Black Agents sequence where the agents are on the London Underground. They know there's an enemy agent on the train who wants to kill them, but they don't know who that agent is. It could be any one of the twenty-odd people in the carriage. So they wait. At Westbourne Park three people get off, two get on. The agents wait. Several more leave at Latimer Road. They wait. More get off at Shepherd's Bush, and now there are only half a dozen suspects left from the twenty-odd who were on board at Paddington. Of course, the agents could provoke a confrontation, but if they get it wrong then their cover's blown to no purpose. In the worst case, they might get a civilian killed. Hammersmith's coming up, the end of the line. If they wait till then, they may have a much better chance of telling the assassin from the commuters - but Hammersmith could be what the assassin's waiting for. They could get off the train before Hammersmith - but what if the assassin follows, mingling with the other passengers?

All this aboard an ordinary Hammersmith underground train. The Hammersmith and City runs hundreds of times a day, pretty much every day God sends. It takes about an hour. Imagine running a full hour of a game session where the agents have nothing to do but wonder - is it that kid? The old man? The woman with the baby carriage? Or, since it's vampires we're talking about, is the bastard hanging onto the roof waiting for me to get off?

A McGuffin. A situation. All that's wanted is tension, and we're off to the races. That tension, those thrills, don't have to come from gunfights or explosions. They can come from something as simple as a boy walking across London with a film cannister under his arm. What matters is, there are stakes - the explosion - and a definite timetable. If X doesn't happen by Y, then ...


Sunday, 3 November 2019

Vampire Trolls (NBA)

Does Dracula need an African troll factory?

Probably not … but ...

If you've been following the news, then you may have noticed Russian troll factories popping up again, as Facebook has closed down accounts linked to inauthentic Russian accounts across central Africa. These accounts were being used to influence leadership and political contests, and allegedly are linked to Russian troll magnate Yevgeny Prigozhin, who includes involvement with a PMC, Wagner Group, among his many hobbies. Wagner may, or may not, be a deniable branch of Russia's Ministry of Defense; the MoD and agencies like GRU have been very helpful to Wagner in the past. Prigozhin himself is a good friend of Vladimir Putin - so far as anyone can be said to be friends with Putin.

Troll factories are part of modern political and social life, now. Anything that pops up in your social media feed could be bait, or chum spread by those anonymous thousands of workers who get paid to tell lies.

At about the same time the Facebook story broke, a Polish journalist came out with their own version of life on the troll farm, and the kind of people who work in those misinformation factories:

'A majority of Cat@Net’s employees are understood to be disabled, allowing the company to derive substantial public subsidies from Poland’s National Disabled Rehabilitation Fund. According to the Reporters Foundation, the company has received about 1.5 million zloty (£300,000) from the fund since November 2015.

“Many of them are really good people – they are compassionate, they do charity work and engage in social activism in their spare time, but their disabilities mean that their employment opportunities are limited,” Pruszkiewicz told the Guardian. “For them it was just work and that’s it.”'

So, what would the Conspiracy do with a troll factory? What would Dracula want with one?

The answer's twofold, and part of it's obvious. The Conspiracy, and Dracula, need troll farms because they operate in the real world, and need to get influence over public figures, even governments. They're in it for the same reason Putin is - they want to make sure the right people are in power, and those opposed to them are publicly crushed. Is that journalist or political figure getting too close to the truth?  Is this government getting a little too bolshy, or is that President displaying an unwelcome independent streak? Time to unleash the dogs of social war.

That's the level of operation which won't really affect the agents, at least not directly. It does affect their bosses, though. Any Network ally or agency contact could get badly bruised or broken by the factories. Imagine what might happen if the Mr. Johnson the agents have been working with up till now suddenly has to deal with troll-inspired internet outrage!

But what about the agents, I hear you ask? How can I, a mere Director, get them with trolls?

Well, consider this: the agents work in the real world too. The high-level bring-down-governments stuff isn't for them, but there's plenty of other ways to troll people into submission, as the internet proves on a daily, even hourly basis. Ask yourself: what does it really mean to have pool points in Law, Occult Studies, Research, and especially High Society?

Ahh, High Society … that entrée into James Bond's shaken-not-stirred world. Anyone with points in High Society exists within High Society. At the very least, they have a milliWheaton's worth of followers on social media accounts. They are seen. Maybe they don't merit a full-color spread in the red tops, or an interview in Vogue, but if some Instagrammer's snapping candids at the club opening, there's a decent chance the agent will be in the background. Or even be the one taking the candids.

A similar but not identical case can be made for those with points in many of the academic abilities. Research is a small world. Anyone with points in that pool probably knows people in that world; they may even have been published in obscure academic journals. Military Science implies military experience, possibly at rank. Law suggests a former career as a lawyer, maybe even in an institution like the JAG or Crown Court. Remember how everyone seems to know James Bond, no matter where he goes? This is why.

If the agents have status, however they have it, that means they have something to lose.

As gamification, consider having Troll Attack as one of the Row One responses on the Conspyramid response sheet. It could be very applicable in Dust games in particular, where the emphasis is on nitty-gritty realism. As an effect, convert the characters' pool in the applicable Investigative ability into the equivalent in Heat gain. So an agent with 2 points High Society immediately gains 2 points Heat, which will remain so long as the internet furor is active. Putting a stop to the attack could provide the agent with Cherry-level Digital Intrusion a chance to shine!

As per p88 of the main book, the Director has the option of increasing this Heat gain depending on circumstances. Is the troll attack the equivalent of informing on the agents with the local law? That's a +1 gain. Did it reach the attention of the equivalent of the national media - ie. is it trending on Twitter or Facebook? That's a further +1 heat - and so on.

The troll attack could also be a very useful clue trail to somewhere the Director wants the agents to go next. 'Funny how all those troll attacks came from Wroclaw, Poland … I wonder if we should check into that.'

So, does the Conspiracy have a troll factory as a full-fledged Node? Eh … probably not. That's too much expensive talent to keep on the payroll for only occasional use. However troll factories are notoriously mercenary, and if there's one thing the Conspiracy's got a lot of, it's cash. It's not like the trolls will be asking questions either. The Poles looking to boost their income rather than survive on disability benefit definitely aren't asking questions.

Plus, the troll factory could link in nicely with the Conspiracy's ultimate goals. Does Dracula intend to gain control over Vladimir Putin, for instance? Then Dracula might choose to get at Putin through his dear friend Prigozhin ...


Sunday, 27 October 2019

Thrilling Seige (Night's Black Agents)

The NBA Resource Guide is out, and I highly recommend it. Every Keeper should have these tools in her blood-soaked toolkit. New Monsters, Initiations for those pesky agents, special Operatives, combat tweaks, mission skeletons, locations - all you could ask for, really.

I've a special fondness for Thrilling Scenes, where the agents engage in an extended contest for Fabulous Prizes. Are you still alive at the end of it? Congratulations, that's your fabulous prize! There's Duelling, Hacking, Heists, Interrogation, Negotiation, Sneaking, Trailing … have I missed anything?

Well, there is something left on the table, and I thought I'd discuss that today.

Thrilling Sieges.

Normally, as fragile bags of meat and blood, the agents prefer to avoid drawn-out combat; those unhappy moments where either you have to break through the enemy's defenses, or they force their way through yours. That's when even the best falter. However there may come the day when something unspeakable's scratching at the door, or far too many (or well-armed) mooks are outside, and all they want is to come in and kill you.

 As with all Thrilling scenes, the pursuer [besieger/attacker] wants to reduce the Lead to 0, while the runner [besieged/defender] wants to increase the Lead to 10, or whichever threshold is set by the Director. If the Lead goes to 0 then the attacker achieves its victory condition, which is almost certainly to get inside and slaughter everything they find. If the Lead goes to 10 then the defender achieves its victory condition, which may be simply to hold out (we made it till dawn, guys!) or find a way to escape.

This Scene involves a chase ability. Normally a Thrilling scene is one-on-one, so a General ability is used, like Digital Intrusion or Driving. In this instance no one General ability covers all the bases, and in any case a Siege implies many against many. There may even be Civilians or similar non-combatants in the agents' group, who don't normally have useful combat skills but who can at least point a gun in the direction of the enemy and pull the trigger. For that reason, the Chase Ability is a special pool created by the Defender from the Defenders' available pool of Investigative abilities.

Each Agent/defender contributes as many points as they wish into this pool, but each point has to be justified. For instance, say the attackers include supernatural entities. Occult Studies or Vampirology might be useful. "I sprinkle salt from the canteen over every doorway and windowsill, to keep the ghosts away!" Military Studies, Architecture, Electronic Surveillance, Human Terrain, Intimidation, Streetwise, Cop Talk might all have their uses, but it's up to the agents to justify their use. Spend is 1 point buys 1 point; theoretically in a Dust game it could be reduced to 1 point buys 1/2 a point, but that's up to the Director. The agents could also justify pool boosts by bringing in extra assets. Each otherwise useless civilian who is given a gun will boost the pool by 1 point, for example - always assuming the civilians can be persuaded to fight.

There could be other ways to achieve the same result. An otherwise useless civilian who's put in charge of monitoring the security cameras ("don't touch anything, just shout out when you see the bastards on camera,") could also count as 1 pool point. Ultimately it's up to the agents to create this pool and justify each point they put in it.

The Director determines the attackers' pool, preferably in advance. A good rule of thumb is 1 point per armed (or otherwise useful) Mook, 2 points per leader or trained special forces type, and a score equal to half the entity's Aberrance pool for each supernatural type. So 20 mooks led by a special forces type is 22 pool. Or six werewolves with 8 Aberrance each is 24 points, and so on.

'Otherwise useful' in context means 'able to contribute in a way that doesn't involve outright violence.' So the mook who's in charge of flying drones overhead to scout out defenses is worth 1 point, and the mooks in charge of running digital security, blocking out cell phones and other electronic options with their signal jammers, are worth 1 point per mook, Mooks disguised as cops directing curious onlookers away from the scene of the action, special purpose troops like dog handlers, exorcists, scientists who keep the super-science opposition under chemical control, and so on.

The benefit of this system is, it creates a Pool by which Thrilling progress can be measured, while leaving General abilities intact - in case you want to use them later in a bloody showdown. Or escape sequence. It's highly likely the attacker will have more points than the defender, so the defender will have to spend carefully during tests.

Next step: establish the setting. Are they in an old spooky house? Abandoned military complex? A tangled necropolis, a decommissioned police precinct, somewhere else? Whatever it may be, allow the agents to derive up to 3 Pool points from the setting, so long as it can be justified. "I know these old Soviet bunkers," says the agents with military training. "We can establish choke points here, and here." Or, "I bet there's some useful corrosive chemicals in the biolab." However it's done, so long as it's plausible (Director's call), the agent gets 1 point per justified use of the setting.

Now - Showtime!

In a Thriller Seige, both sides take whatever action they see fit. Ideally each agent involved in the siege should get a chance at controlling the spotlight, but play our the scene as works best for you. The action may involve outright attacks, Digital Intrusion attempts to get control of the security cameras, Infiltration to exploit weaknesses, whatever. Each side then makes checks, against a Difficulty of minimum 4. This Difficulty may rise or fall, depending on the circumstances that prevail at the time. Does the enemy hacker have special equipment, or Cherry level ability? Then unless the agents can justify countermeasures - hey, our hacker also has Cherry level abilities! - the Difficulty for the enemy's Digital Intrusion check is 3. Are the agents well protected and on higher ground? Then the enemy's Difficulty to shoot them goes up to at least 5 - and so on.

Note that this is written as if the agents are being besieged, and the Conspiracy is besieging. This is what I expect to happen, most of the time. It's unlikely that the agents and their private army will have Dracula and his eight goons besieged in the Royal Mint of Spain, but it could happen. If it does, just switch the consequences as needed for Attacker or Defender Wins.

There are four potential outcomes:

Both Sides Fail: Neither side suffers much. If the attacker has the better margin, the Lead decreases by one, and if the defender has the better margin, then Lead increases by 1. Ties go to the defender. The Director should let the agents decide exactly what that means. Did the security cameras fail? Power go offline? Was an important attacker injured by a stray bullet? It's only a difference of 1 point, so it's not going to be a major event, but still ...

Both Sides Succeed: Much as Both Sides Fail, except this time Lead increases or decreases by 2. Has an important defensive point been overrun? Did some of those civilians messily die? Has the enemy successfully sabotaged the vehicle the defenders were planning to use to escape?

Defender Succeeds, Attacker Fails: Lead increases by the margin of success, or the enemy loses an important asset. Losing an asset reduces the enemy's pool by 2, and eliminates the asset. So that special forces leader, for example, might have tripped a booby trap and had her leg blown off. She might not be dead, but she certainly isn't participating in the siege any more. That means she's not eligible for combat, can't shoot, and can't lead her mooks. Or that tank the attackers were relying on just blew up, the chopper crashed, one of the werewolves freaked out and is now running across the moors - whatever best suits the situation at the time.

Attacker Succeeds, Defender Fails: Lead decreases by the margin of success, or one of the agents takes a hit to Stability or Health equal to the margin of success +2. Say the margin of success is 6. That means one of the agents takes a hit equal to (6+2) 8 points. The agents get to choose which happens, thus allowing the agents to take the hit themselves rather than lose Lead. The agents get to decide exactly what happens to the injured agent. Is Cornelius the bang-and-burner a little too close to his latest blast? Was the sight of that bloodsucking horror too much for Maria the wetworker?

Thrilling Moments: I'm on the khazi! [Dog Soldiers] A siege implies the defenders are protecting, or at least trying to survive in, a structure. The agents work best as a group, but imagine what would happen if the enemy got inside, and started splitting the group up. Sarge's trapped  in the khazi, the rest of the team are trying to hold out in their own little defensive positions, or desperately attempting to regroup, come what may.

I'm boss up here. [Night of the Living Dead]. Perhaps best for Mirror or Dust games, the defending group splits into opposing factions, for whatever reason. The civilians trapped in here with the agents prefer to do what their boss says, rather than what the agents think is right. There's a sarcastic, sniping know-it-all among the hostages who Just. Won't. Shut. Up. Is one of the agents a traitor, working with some shadowy organization, or is the brainwashed black ops badass finally realizing who put them through that pain all those years ago?

We're in the middle of a city. Inside a police station! [Assault on Precinct 13] The agents may feel, with some justification, that they're in a safe spot. Maybe they're holed up in a church, or on sanctified ground. Maybe they're in a very public place, where outright violence ought to bring heavy police response. Take that security blanket away. The church is desecrated, the cops are in bed with the Conspiracy, and nothing will ever be the same again.

Famous Siege Moments: Beau Geste. The heroes are holding out in the fort, but it looks grim. Any moment now the enemy are going to come swarming over the battlements, especially when they realize how few defenders there are. So what does our hero do? He puts corpses up on the battlements as if they were soldiers, so the enemy thinks there are more Legionnaires than there are.

Men of Harlech. The lads at Rourke's Drift are down to their last few rounds and a prayer, with innumerable Zulu baying at the gate. Morale is at an all time low. [Stability checks went very badly.] What to do? Have a sing-song, that's what. If nothing else, it might raise those ebbing Stability pools.

Koulikov Jumps First. The defenders may feel pretty safe in their bunker, but the time will come when they have to change position - or be lured into changing position, along a track that the enemy have a sniper positioned. Here's the moment when the agents find out just how lucky they are.

The Final Moments

Either the defenders win, or the attackers do.

If the defenders win, then they hit their victory condition, which presumably was either to hold out for long enough, or to escape. They get away with it. The vampires drift away before dawn gets them, the mooks run away, the special forces retreat. All's Quiet on the Western Front. Time to go! No escape rolls needed, and if there was a McGuffin the agents were trying to steal or protect, consider it stolen or protected.

If the attackers do … well, things probably go very badly for the defenders. Anyone who's not one of the agents dies, or is captured. Each agent takes damage to Health or Stability, agent's choice, equivalent to 1D6+5 (roughly the same as Near range, Class 5 explosive, except the damage can be psychological rather than physical). Anyone who survives that gets a chance to escape, or to hide amongst the dead and hope not to be spotted. Rolls will be required, to get away with it. Some agents may be captured, requiring a rescue later. Or perhaps, when that agent returns … they'll have switched to the Vampires' team.


Sunday, 20 October 2019

Dear Jessica (Night's Black Agents)

Some of the information in this post comes from LexisNexis.

The Lexis database lists the Jessica (aka HMYJ5, Grand Union, Lian Shun 9), as a prohibited General Cargo vessel from North Korea, banned from entering US waters under the Countering America's Enemies Act and North Korea Sanctions Act. Lexis doesn't go into specifics as to why Jessica made the list, but there could be all sorts of reasons. Over 59 vessels have been sanctioned by the US Treasury, usually because they're smuggling cargo into, or out of, the dictatorial regime of North Korea.

It's not difficult to change the appearance of a ship. Smugglers have been doing that since the age of sail, and it's just as easy now as it was then. A new paint job, a new name on the stern, change out the flag and some of the fittings, and you're done.

As the CNN article points out, modern means of tracking are easy to falsify - or, in the case of transponders, turn off as soon as you leave port. File your company in Hong Kong, so you have a neutral(ish) port of call and flag to fly. That company owns the ship, and if you have trouble, just transfer the ship to another company. And another. And another. None of this is any more sophisticated than it has to be. The people who run these operations know nobody's looking too hard at them, and when someone does, they can just vanish, to be replaced by another faceless entity.

When a ship's well and truly burnt, its shadowy owners cut ties, just as happens to spies now and again - something your agents know all about. With ships, it's a little different.

You may recall me mentioning Rats, Glorious Rats, and Derelicts before. Also the Seaman Guard Ohio incident, and the nasty cargo found aboard the Hai Sin, when it was broken up at Guangdong port.

When you no longer want a ship, the best course of action is to dump it. The CNN article above references the Hao Fan 6 and says that, in its final stages, the ship's transponder had it going in circles for weeks and weeks. The author suggests this is a tactic to throw off investigators; with no legit port to go to, it just stays at sea. It could also mean that the crew disembarked weeks ago, kept the engines running, and tied off the wheel. Whereas the Hai Sin was sold to a scrapyard, but that was back in the 1990s, when transponders were less common, and the West's media didn't pay anything like as much attention to things that happened in Chinese ports. [Not that it pays a great deal of attention now, mind.]

There are plenty of graveyards all over the world. The UK has a few, France has a few, but if you want to dump your unwanted illegal cargo ship somewhere unremarkable, Africa and Asia are still your best shots - though I note that the largest of them all, Nouadhibou, is being cleared up, with China's help.

If you don't want to ditch it, for whatever reason, and you can't afford to send it to a scrapyard, your next best bet is to scuttle it. Sounds easy, doesn't it? People have been sinking ships for centuries, usually unintentionally. However scuttling your vessel can prove difficult. Ships are built to float, and sometimes stubbornly remain afloat despite the best efforts of those aboard. That's how ghost ships like the Lyubov Orlova with its cannibal rats get their start.

So, to gamify:

Jessica's Cargo

The agents are hired, either by shadowy go-betweens or by an agency like Edom, and sent to Bangladesh to take possession of the Jessica, a ship on the prohibited list for various smuggling offenses. The Jessica is believed ultimately to belong to North Korea, but is legally owned by a Hong Kong holding company. The Hong Kong holding company and the American authorities, possibly with CIA backing, are battling for control of the Jessica, so the agents must expect competition. The Bangladesh authorities are proving less than helpful, so the agents will have uncooperative bureaucracy to deal with too.

The Jessica turned up in Bangladesh in the old-fashioned way: it beached itself during a storm. It was swiftly claimed by a local scrapyard, for salvage, and a claim was put in with the ship's owners. Unfortunately for the salvage yard, its claim is on hold, and likely to remain so, as the shipyard owner's eldest son has been kidnapped by local gangsters. Though the shipyard owner is very reluctant to say so, one of the conditions on his son's release is that he drop all claim on the Jessica or its cargo. He won't want to cooperate with anyone, whether it's the agents or one of their rivals.

Why all this fuss? Is it because:

  • The Jessica wasn't supposed to beach, whether in Bangladesh or anywhere else. It was supposed to be delivering a very illegal cargo for North Korea's regime. North Korea wants to know why the Jessica ended up in Bangladesh - and the Conspiracy, which hitched a ride through contacts in North Korea, wants to cover up its involvement in the affair. What was that cargo? What Conspiracy asset was aboard the Jessica, and where is it now?  
  • The Jessica's carrying cargo meant for delivery in Bangladesh, but for whatever reason the crew went missing and now the cargo's God knows where. Did someone steal it, or did it walk away? Is this an elaborate attempt by a Conspiracy asset to defect?
  • The Jessica's part of a NSA operation designed to draw out Chinese assets working with North Korea. The NSA's been tracking the Jessica for months, and there was an op in place to recruit the ship's captain. Then the captain began relaying some very peculiar data, just before the Jessica went silent - two weeks before it ended up on Bangladesh's shoreline. The NSA wants to know what went wrong, and if the American vampire's in play, he may be assigned to find out.

Sunday, 13 October 2019

Is It, or Is It Not? (Bookhounds)

Inspired by this tweet from @arkhamlibrarian, aka Rebecca Baumann.

Sir Thomas Browne possessed an incredible intellect, able to parse the Kabbalah, witchcraft, and angels, yet at the same time pursuing the art of the debunker, becoming a follower of Paracelcus, and an esteemed physician. The particular item mentioned in the tweet would have been part of his famous library, some of which became foundational volumes in the British Library.

In 1986, American scholar and researcher Jeremiah Stanton Finch discovered that, when Sir Thomas' extensive collection was eventually sold at auction - an event attended by the likes of Jonathon Swift and agents working for Sir Hans Sloane - not all of the items in his library made their way to the auction house. Presumably some were kept by relatives or friends, or possibly sold privately.

However, taken in conjunction with this imagined Bibliotheca, which contains some remarkable Books, Antiquities, Pictures and Rarities of Various Kinds, scarce or never seen by any man living, we get:

An Imaginary Catalogue

The Bookhounds often go through old sales catalogues, just to see what was sold when, and, if possible, to whom. There's always a chance they can pick up a useful tip that will lead them to a rarity.

However this time they are startled to discover, in a catalogue from 1922, a specific reference to an item found in Sir Thomas' imagined Bibliotheca. The item is catalogued as 45. A picture of the Antique Land whereat the fabled City Carcosa, now Ruined, once stood. Indeed, the 1922 catalogue and Sir Thomas' description match almost word for word. Almost. The 1922 catalogue leaves out the words now Ruined.

Research (Oral History, Flattery, Library Use) discovers that the 1922 auction was attended by several people who the Bookhounds know, either professionally as fellow booksellers & scouts, or as customers. These people may be able to point the Hounds at whoever it was bought the item. The Hounds also discover that the auction took place on the same day that Sir Thomas' disinterred skull, taken from its burial place in 1840 by workmen who discovered the coffin by accident during building works, was reburied at St Peter Mancroft, Norwich.

Further, they learn from news and Norwich gossip (Streetwise, Cop Talk, Library Use) that there's been a recent scandal at St Peter Mancroft. Someone broke into the church, late at night. Fortunately they didn't steal anything. Whoever it was seemed intent on breaking into the vaults, for some unsavory purpose. The church authorities are doing their best to play it down.

Only a short one this week! Next week will be longer, I promise.


Sunday, 6 October 2019

The Man Who Collected Berkeley (Bookhounds)

At that time, there is said to have lived in the village, which is called Berkeley, a certain woman of evil life, a glutton and a wanton, pursuing her wickedness and practicing the black arts even in her old age, persisting in her whoredoms until the hour of her death. On a day as she sat at meat, her pet crow began to chatter something or the other, whereupon the knife fell from her hand, and her face grew ghastly white … 

From The Geography of Witchcraft, by Montague Summers.

As you might guess, it ends badly for the Berkeley witch. She confesses all her crimes, and begs that, when she dies, she be laid to rest in such a way that the Devil cannot claim her. She bids her friends to sew the corpse up in the hide of a stag, and place her in a stone coffin, binding it with heavy bands of iron. Fifty psalms are to be said each night, and fifty masses each morning. So long as this is done for three nights, from that point forward she is safe.

The first night, throughout the chanting, demons wail and scream outside the church. On the second night, the fiends burst open the church door, but are kept at bay by prayer. One the final night a powerful tempest shakes the building to its foundations, and the Devil himself bids the witch to arise and come with him. She pleads, from the coffin, that she cannot; those iron bands hold firm. The Devil responds by breaking the bands as though they were paper, ripping open the stone coffin, tearing up the hide and demanding again that she rise. Stark naked and terrified, she does. The Devil leads her outside, where a coal black horse awaits, and the two of them ride off to Hell, her shrieks of fear the last thing the holy folk at prayer hear.

This is a very old tale, and appears in many places. William of Malmesbury cites it in his Gesta Regnum (1125), and it appears in the Nuremberg Chronicle (1493) and the 13th century Flores Historiarum. However it is best known thanks to the poet laureate Robert Southey, who uses the story as the basis for his ballad The Witch of Berkeley (1799).

Southey, poet laureate for thirty years until his death in 1843 at the age of 68, is one of the lesser known poets laureate, in part because he had to compete with the likes of Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Wordsworth. It didn't help that he was the second choice for the job; Walter Scott turned it down. You know his work even if you don't think you do: he wrote Goldilocks and the Three Bears. He began as a radical, supporting the French Revolution, and age mellowed him, till he was embraced by the Tory establishment. He very briefly stood as MP for the pocket borough of Downton, as one of his political friends advanced him to the position, but he begged off, pleading he didn't have the money or the ambition to be a politician. He was very much against what he called the Satanic School of poetry, the sort championed by Byron and Shelley.

Possibly the most scathing assessment of him is this: "He wooed Liberty as a youthful lover, but it was perhaps more as a mistress than a bride; and he has since wedded an elderly and not very reputable lady, called Legitimacy."

The Ballad appears first in Tales of Wonder, a collection compiled by Matthew 'Monk; Lewis, most famous for his own work of gothic horror, The Monk. It's been republished many times since then, in many different formats.

Which brings me to:

The Seeker

Patrick Quinlan is an enthusiastic collector and amateur historian, obsessed with the works of Robert Southey, and The Ballad in particular. He thinks it is the great unsung masterpiece of the 19th century, easily better than any of the trash put out by Byron or Shelley. The Bookhounds know him as an easy mark for anything to do with The Ballad, whether it's a new Czech translation or a reproduction of the woodcuts from the original. Quinlan doesn't have a lot of money to spend - he's an unpublished poet, and a crime novelist under the pen name Edgar Dawson. Still, if presented with something tempting, he'll scrape together the cash somehow.

Arabesque: Quinlan thinks he and Southey are kindred spirits, brothers separated by time, and wants somehow to open a connection with his literary hero. He dresses like Southey, behaves like Southey, would eat the same foods and live in the same house, if he could. That's why he champions the forgotten laureate; a slight against Southey is a slight against Quinlan.

Technicolor: Quinlan believes in witchcraft and wants to emulate, not Southey, but the Witch. After all, she had a good life right up to the end. Quinlan hasn't a prayer of getting anywhere near the Nuremberg Chronicle, but he keeps studying and searching, hoping to find a clue to the real Satanic heart of the story.

Sordid: Quinlan, at heart, is a cruel, petty man, who sees himself as an avenger. The Devil in the story, to him, is righteous punishment visited on a deserving old hag. He'd never put any of his plans into action, but he often amuses himself with the thought that, one day, like the Devil, he'll astound the world with his swift acts of vengeance.

The Bookhounds know Quinlan as a bit of a pest, but a reliable spender. All that changes one day, when he starts going around with a crow on his shoulder. Eccentric, certainly, but the bird seems to have inspired him with new confidence - and he has more money than he ever did before. Perhaps his alter ego Edgar Dawson's made a few sales - but can that really explain the kind of money he's been throwing around?

What's more, his latest obsession is a rumor that there's an original Monk Lewis out there with an erratum, an extra woodcut in the Ballad. It's mentioned in the more obscure bibliographies, but nobody's seen it for many years. Quinlan is convinced it exists and is held in a private collection, possibly in the town of Downton, which Quinlan is convinced Southey visited after his short-lived and unexpected election victory.

The Bookhounds may be tempted to brush all this off as a collector's fantasy, but Quinlan has an uncompromising look in his eye, and his money is good. Moreover that black crow on his shoulder is positively uncanny, and seems to have human intelligence - think Rat Thing, in avian form. Where did it come from? Why does Quinlan treat it like a king? What will it do, if it doesn't get its way?

[Note: the town of Downton is in Wiltshire, and Downton Abbey is in Yorkshire. Still … that book's got to be held somewhere, and Downton Abbey does have a rather splendid library …]


Sunday, 29 September 2019

The D Pill - Moscow Rules (Night's Black Agents)

Only time for a quick post this week.

I'm reading Antonio & Jonna Mendez's The Moscow Rules, about the difficulties and triumphs of running a spy network in Moscow during the Cold War. You may remember Antonio Mendez from the movie Argo:

You may remember his wife Jonna from a post I put together a short while back about disguises:

This isn't a review, so I'm not going to say much about the book, except that I recommend it wholeheartedly.

One of the stories it tells is that of Russian diplomat turned CIA asset Aleksandr Dmitryevich, who died by suicide after being taken by the KGB. He used what was called an L-Pill to do it, hidden in his pen.

It occurred to me that Night's Black Agents, and the assets they run, face a peculiar dilemma in their line of work. An L-Pill, or in this instance a D-Pill, is no guarantee.

The whole point of killing yourself in these unhappy circumstances is to avoid interrogation. However in a world where vampires exist, death is no defense at all. Whether Damned, Supernatural, Mutant or Alien, there's every possibility that a dead agent can be revived, or their soul preserved through necromantic or alien scientific means. So they can be interrogated - perhaps forever.

This is something that's bound to prey on the minds of Network contacts. A player character is probably happy to take that risk, but a Network asset doesn't have to be so self-sacrificing. That person would probably like a way out, if the worst happens. The problem is, how to achieve that?

Polluting the body, perhaps with a substance like Polonium, which in theory ought to render the victim a form of immunity from vampire attack. No bloodsucker is going to want to tap that glowing keg. However there are two obvious problems here. The first is that a substance with that level of lethality is difficult to manufacture, transport, and use. In the case of polonium, even standing near the substance is enough to leave potentially lethal traces.

The second is, it doesn't kill you quickly enough. There's no point rendering yourself immune to vampire attack, if you leave yourself wide open to conventional interrogation.

Using a conventional poison in combination with vampiric banes or blocks, perhaps by eating garlic every day in anticipation of the final event. That's probably going to have complications unique to that particular bane - 'why does Natasha always smell like garlic pizza?' However it does rely on accurate Vampirology. If garlic doesn't actually work, then all that pizza smell was for nothing.

It may also be that the concept of a D-Pill negates the bane. Suicide is a sin. Holy water used in combination with a D-Pill probably won't work, since the sin negates the water. It might be catastrophic in certain circumstances, particularly with Supernatural or Damned vampires. If you end up in Hell, there's a decent chance your former enemies can visit you in your eternal torment, and, as Hellblazer's Ric the Vic discovered, easily break you.

Dying in such a way as to reduce the possibility of necromantic or scientific revival. They can't put your brain in a jar if you go up in a glorious napalm fireball. While this has some merit, it lacks the convenience of a D-Pill. It depends on specific circumstances to work, where the L-Pill's utility comes from being able to use it wherever, whenever.  Dmitryevich had already been captured, stripped all but naked, and was being forced to write his confession when he got his hands on his L-Pill. 

No, the plain fact of the matter seems to be that a conventional D-Pill is out of reach, without accurate Vampirology and a convenient, ingestible Block or Bane. However there is one possibility, and while it won't negate revival, it might provide a certain comfort. 

Use a radioactive tracer. That way, at least your allies will be able to find your body. Heck, there's a decent chance you may be able to spread the substance to your attacker, giving your allies a chance to find whoever did you in before they can give away vital intel to your enemies. 

It's not a D-Pill, but it's better than nothing.


Sunday, 22 September 2019

The Dead Don't Die - I Wish They Would

Recently Hurricane Humberto breezed past the island, and when that sort of thing happens I download a horror film and break out the beer. This time, I figured I'd try something different, and went for Jim Jarmusch's comedic zombie apocalypse feature,  The Dead Don't Die.

Starring a ton of people, set in an unmemorable little town called Centerville, featuring everyone's favorite ghoul.

If you don't want spoilers, stop reading now. I didn't like it. I didn't laugh once. Make of that what you will.

Now, on with the show.

Bill Murray, Chloe Sevigny and Adam Driver are cops in a town that makes no sense. Centerville's big enough to have three cops, a juvenile correctional facility, a diner, a motel, a cemetery, a funeral parlor, a gas station-cum-memorabilia-store, and a hardware store. Nobody actually lives there, or if they do, you couldn't tell it from this movie.

There's one point, where Murray and Driver are in the squad car headed back to home base, and they're discussing whether or not to warn people the zombies are coming. They decide warning people is a good idea. Then Driver says, "You know, we passed by Farmer Miller's place, back there. Should we go warn him?" To which Murray replies, "No, Miller's an asshole." Which is fine so far as it goes, except, as they're delivering this witty banter, they're passing by half a dozen other houses, all of which presumably have people living in them who might like to know about the impending apocalypse. I guess those folks were assholes too.

Into this town pour an assortment of misfits, including, but not limited to, a woodlands hermit (Tom Waits), Selena Gomez and a pair of hipster sidekicks, passing through, Tilda Swinton in the Kill Bill funeral director role, Iggy Pop and Sara Driver as coffee-obsessed zombies, and, and, and, and … oh dear God, there are too many warm bodies in this movie about dead bodies.

This is the film's besetting sin. With so many people doing so many things, nobody, bar Murry and Driver, gets more than two minutes' screen time, much of which is wasted. I lost track of the number of times I said to myself, 'you could cut that line. And that line. This entire bit of business could be cut. Why are we spending any time in the JDC? None of these characters are relevant to the plot or doing anything interesting. They're just reacting to what's on the TV screen - any other cast member could do what they're doing. Cut this. Cut that. Cut the other thing." All of which makes the film feel bloated, and given the damn mess is 1 hour 44 minutes long in an industry that's tending towards two hour films, that's an achievement.

Frankly, towards the end I began to wonder whether the whole thing wasn't some misguided scheme on Jarmusch's part, to give fifty or sixty of his actor friends a paycheck and, for the kids, something to put in their showreel.

The actor I feel sorriest for is Chloe Sevigny, who's the third wheel in the cop shop and never gets to do anything cool, or have any big scenes. I hoped there'd be at least one defining moment before the inevitable, but I guess there wasn't enough time to shoehorn that in. Plenty of time to shove in another dead-on-arrival George Romero reference, though.

None of the actors seemed to be having any fun. Their whole shtick was deadpan delivery, so I suppose that's a partial explanation. But Tilda Swinton really seemed to revel in it, and so did Iggy Pop, where Tom Waits drifted, disconnected, and Murray just looked bored, most of the time. He was much more engaged in Zombieland. Waits was more fun to watch in Buster Scruggs. What the hell went wrong on the way to … wherever this is supposed to be?

That's the central problem. This is a film that doesn't know where, or what, it wants to be. It tells a few jokes, and shuffles off the stage. But a comedian that wants her career to last more than five minutes doesn't tell a few disconnected giggles and hope for the best. That comedian puts together a whole routine, and polishes it to a mirror shine. Till they can tell it in their sleep. This film is unpolished. It's a bloody mess.

So, bottom line: if you like Jarmusch's work and are prepared to sit through a flatulent, overcooked garbage pile featuring just about every single indie film maven you can think of, and others whose names you can't quite remember but are sure were great in that thing with the stuff, then by all means, see The Dead Don't Die.

Otherwise, avoid like the plague.

Side note: I see Hurricane Jerry's due to visit Bermuda next week. I wonder what I'll rent?

Sunday, 15 September 2019

Assassins (Shaun Hutson)

I forgot I had this.

When I was living in the UK, the first time around - so, late 80s early 90s - I loved the tattered horror paperbacks that seemed to spawn, unasked and unannounced, in second hand shops. This was roundabout the era of the British Horror Writer, folks like James Herbert, Clive Barker, Graham Masterson (The Mirror enthralled me, and I cannot for the life of me tell you why), and, of course, Shaun Hutson. I'm not sure what it was about the 80s that brought their particular style to prominence, but there were a couple things you could absolutely guarantee would be part of any novel any of these people wrote: gore, in large quantities, and sex, in not quite so large quantities. So basically squirting bodily fluids, and squirting bodily fluids.

Assassins is very much in that category. There's a moment in it when a zombie gets a blowjob, and I think I can safely say this scene sums up the story - maggots and all.

Hutson's an author after my own heart. "I have to get money … basically, that's how it works. Someone says 'here's an obscene amount of money, Shaun, would you like to go and write a book,' and then the Muse descends with incredible speed .. I do get writer's block every morning, at ten o'clock when I get into the office. I'd love to sit here now and say 'I go into the office at ten, then I drive my Ferrari for an hour, go write another chapter, then go off to Bermuda and do the first draft. But one doesn't. One clears off into the office, sits there - and I stare at a blank screen sometimes for two hours at a time - until something clicks into place. That's how you have to do it."

I don't know how much I'd like his stuff now. It's been a while since the 80s. I loved different things. Re-reading Assassins was a guilty pleasure, but it's a bit like re-reading Rats or The Mirror, both of which I enjoyed at the time, but would probably feel a bit meh about now. Which doesn't entirely make sense. Sure, they're trashy, but then so are most horror films - particularly if they're about zombies - and I still watch those.

Must admit, what I don't understand is how they made a film out of Slugs, but not this.

Still, if you were wondering what Hutson's style is like - now you know.

Gore isn't something you see a lot of in tabletop. Gunshots, yes, messy deaths, o Lord yes, explosions, Why Yes I Would Like Another. But I suspect if you tried something like this you'd get banned from the table:

Where there should have been a mouth there was just a gaping hole which seemed to stretch from the remains of his nose to the point of his chin. It was surrounded by wisps of grey hair and strands of rotten flesh which hung down like obscene raffia curtains over the gaping maw. The lips were little more than pieces of shriveled flesh which slid back to expel a blast of air so foul that Adam almost passed out. And, from the center of that reeking hole, a tongue emerged. Blackened and covered with thick yellow sputum which dripped like mouldering pus, it writhed like a bloated worm with a life of its own, twisting and turning in that putrescent gap, flicking in and out …

For starters, too many things are Like Something Else. For another, words are jammed together that make no sense together - mouldering pus, for instance.

But I have to admit, there's something there which grabs my attention. There's a quote about James Herbert which fits: Herbert doesn't just Go There, he Goes There, sets it on fire, and sells hotdogs.

I've been Keeper, Director, and what-have-you for more horror games than I care to count, but I can only think of one time I really got under the players' skin, in the same way writers like Hutson and Herbert do. That was the time I had a victim cut to bits and flushed down the toilet, except it didn't quite work, so the bathroom flooded. Happy days of youth, I suppose.

As with all gaming advice, I preface this with a 'check with your players before you do it' mantra. That said, if everyone's on board, (remember Consent, folks), then my advice for creating horror at the table has nothing to do with vampires, things that go bump in the night, or even atmosphere.

No, my advice is this: be prepared to Go There, set it on fire, and sell hotdogs.

Do I recommend this book? Christ Almighty, no. It's bloody awful, not least because the zombie assassins - the whole reason the book exists - vanish about halfway through and don't turn up again till the climax. Instead Hutson tells the story of the Sharon Tate murders, again. And again. The characters are two dimensional and utterly pointless, and the whole thing's about as engaging as Hammer Horror at its worst. Hutson basically takes Get Carter (complete with 'avenge dead brother' plot), Charlie Manson and Graham Ingels, jams it all together, and adds some softcore porn. There's nothing remotely complex about it.


There's something worth learning from the bad as well as the good.

I see Assassins has been reprinted again and again, and can be had right now, in paperback, for less than the price of a pint in London. Even Foyles has it in stock. So there must be something to it, mustn't there? Hutson's published an average of one novel a year since 1982. That's a success story a lot of us would kill for.

Here's my takeaway. First, that the author only ever writes for an audience of one.

You can try to please everyone, and sometimes succeed. After all, Robert W. Chambers made an entire career out of pleasing a particular audience, and deliberately changed both style and subject matter when he felt the audience wanted something else. He wrote The King In Yellow.

Now, without visiting Wikipedia, name six other novels he wrote. The man churned out well over a hundred, and at least a score of them were turned into movies. It shouldn't be that difficult.

(If you managed it, well done, Ken Hite.)

Therein lies the problem. Most writers who try to please an audience churn out bland mush. Popular mush, sometimes. Dan Brown's rolling in lucre, after all. But mush is still mush, and unless you like the same damn thing every damn day, you're going to get bored writing it. Perhaps not bored spending the money, if you're making Dan Brown paychecks. But that would only carry me so far, and I suspect the same can be said of many of you.

Write to please yourself, and to hell with anyone else.

The second is, stop worrying about art, or the muse. I very much doubt Huston cares one bit about what I think of Assassins, or anything else he writes. He cares about the blank page, and he knows the only way to fill that blank page is to sit in front of the keyboard and make something happen.

Stephen King has, in the course of a long and successful career, said many things, but his writing advice is solid. I want to draw your attention to two from King.


You have to stay faithful to what you're working on.


I recognize terror as the finest emotion, and so I will try to terrify the reader. But if I find I cannot terrify, I will horrify, and if I find I cannot horrify, I will go for the gross-out. I'm not proud.

Hutson ticks both boxes. Faithful to the subject, and gross-out almost every time, because he cannot terrify and only occasionally horrifies. Not that he cares. He's still writing. He's been sitting behind that keyboard for a very long time; he's not going to quit now.

So next time you're behind the GM screen, and you've the complete attention of a group of wide-eyed horror groupies, remember:

Go There.

Set It On Fire.

Sell Hot Dogs.


Sunday, 8 September 2019

Royal Flush (Night's Black Agents)

Ian Fleming's Casino Royale is his first Bond novel, and sets the scene for everything else. In it, neophyte 00 Bond has to beat the treasurer of a French union at cards. The union boss, Le Chiffre, is thought to be connected to Soviet intelligence, and the idea is to flip Le Chiffre by bankrupting him, then offer to bail him out of his financial troubles. In exchange, Le Chiffre betrays his Soviet masters. The 2006 movie changes this up a bit by making it terrorists, not Soviets, but otherwise the plot remains broadly the same.

This can be adapted to Night's Black Agents, and to do this I'm going to draw on a recent article about princelings. Deutsche Bank had to pay out $16 million in fines, thanks in part to its habit of hiring functionally useless, politically connected princelings from China and Russia. It doesn't matter that these little darlings are "a liability to the reputation of the program, if not the firm." Daddy says, so kiddie gets.

Now imagine what might happen if kiddie works for a Node. Probably a Level 3 at the least; you don't send princelings off to work for a downtown sleazepit. Naturally nobody's going to put this walking disaster in charge of anything important. They get a nice office, a secretary, a high-flying title, and are firewalled out of anything truly important. Except, darn the luck, being both nosy and bored is a bad combination, and the princeling gets hold of … the McGuffin. In this instance the McGuffin is probably data, which means it can be stuffed in the cloud or on a data stick.

The bored princeling then decides to take a vacation, and jets off to, say, Macau, for a nice, relaxing time at the tables.

The agents get wind of this, through unusual channels. Tradecraft or Traffic Analysis notices a sudden uptick in activity from the affected Node, as the powers that be realize what's happened. In a supernatural or similar game, Occult Studies indicate very dark portents gathering around Macau. High Society knows the princeling works for the Node, and also knows where the princeling is now - social media's a very useful tool. Negotiation hears whispers on the grapevine about the McGuffin, and how someone (naming no names) wants to use it to raise capital fast, to cover their debts at the table.

Opening Scene - Bad Feng Shui

The princeling is staying at a high end suite at the Venetian, and if the agents want to get close to the princeling they'll need to find a way in. A high-roller Cover or some form of disguise is needed. Disguising as casino employees may not be an option, unless the agents can convincingly pose as Chinese, or possibly a high-end prostitute. The Venetian doesn't employ that many Western staff, and those who are there all know each other reasonably well, by sight at least. That means disguising as Western staff increases Difficulty for tests by 1.

Failure in this instance doesn't mean the agents are kicked out of the Venetian. It means the agents attract the attention of the Triads, and gain 1 Heat. The Heat gain represents interest from Chinese military intelligence, not the police. The Macau police have very little interest in interfering with anything that happens at the Venetian. They know what's good for them. Agents prepared to spend at least 2 Streetwise can claim prior friendship with the Sun Yee On, which smooths the path, and the Director has the option of granting a Network contact.

The scene opens on the Cotai Water Jet from Hong Kong. The journey is smooth and luxurious. Passengers chatter among themselves, and oo and ahh at the traditional Chinese junks that the TurboJet speeds past - uncomfortably close, enough to set the junks bobbing in the backwash. Streetwise or Tradecraft (0 point) picks out a few obvious bad characters - Triads, grifters, probable low-level Chinese Military Intelligence assets. None of them have Conspiracy links, so far as the agents are aware. Think Casablanca, without the air of desperation.

1 point spend High Society recognizes the mark, or 1 point Streetwise realizes there is a mark but not who he is. The princeling may not realize the danger, but daddy does, and he sent a high-powered Hong Kong lawyer, Grenville Egan, an Australian who's lived and practiced in Hong Kong for more than 40 years. Egan's a criminal defense lawyer, semi retired, brought back into service in a last-ditch attempt to save the princeling's life. Egan doesn't know anything about the Conspiracy or the McGuffin; he knows the McGuffin exists, and it's his job to use it to bargain for the princeling's life. However the Conspiracy isn't having that, so a Hong Kong Node hired (X=N, where N is the number of agents) Triad to whisk Egan off to a quiet hotel room, far from the Venetian, where he'll be kept incommunicado until this mess is done. One Triad has a taser, the others knives. They intend to ambush Egan as he gets off the TurboJet, and hustle him into a waiting limo.

The agents don't have to intervene, but if they do then they get Egan's support for the rest of the scenario.

Treat Egan as a civilian with 3 points Law, 3 points Bureaucracy, 2 points Negotiation. The Triads are thugs, one has a taser, and one is a gym rat with 8 Weapons (cleaver). Overt violence here buys the agents 1 extra Heat; China doesn't like brawls on the doorstep of the Venetian, particularly brawls involving Westerners and high-flying Hong Kong lawyers.

The Rules of the Game

Macau casinos are relatively relaxed. You still have to dress like you belong in the High Roller lounges, but everywhere else is more accepting of casual attire and smoking. The Hong Kong dollar is the only currency accepted on the gaming floor. Drunkenness is frowned on.

Anyone with Streetwise realizes several of the security detail are Triads, as are some of the pit bosses.

The Venetian offers a wide variety of games of chance, from Caribbean stud to fan tan, but the princeling only plays at the high roller baccarat tables.

The princeling has courtiers. A local Triad boss, who operates one of Macau's many tourist concessions, realizes how connected the princeling is, and has made it his business to make sure the princeling isn't bothered by petty nuisances like, say, the agents. At any one time the princeling has at least two Triad bodyguards and seductive/handsome arm candy (civilian, but with 8 Athletics and 10 Hand-to-Hand). The bodyguards stay outside the princeling's door whenever the princeling retires to the luxury suite. Nothing but the best for daddy's little angel.

The Triad boss is from a different group than the ones which ambush Egan. The two groups have no formal contact, so the Triads the Conspiracy hired have no easy way to get this Macau group to lay off.

Ways to Get Close

Use Egan as an intermediary.

Gamble head-to-head with the princeling until the princeling is broke, at which point the princeling will agree to anything.

Persuade the Triad boss whose bodyguards are keeping the princeling safe that the princeling isn't worth protecting. This will require a Streetwise or Network spend.

Cunning plans, eg. slip something into the princeling's drink to make the princeling appear drunk. Rich or not, the casino bosses won't tolerate drunks on the casino floor.

Rope in a powerful third party. This can include supernatural entities; after all, someone's in charge of Macau, and it might not be the Conspiracy.

Where's the McGuffin?

Possible locations include:

In the safe inside the luxury suite.

Hidden in the luxury suite.

On the princeling's person.

Downloaded onto the hotel complimentary smartphone. No, the princeling really isn't bright at all.

Stolen by the seductive/handsome arm candy.

Held by the Triad boss for safekeeping; he doesn't know what it is.

The princeling knows the McGuffin is important, but doesn't know how important. So the princeling will take a little effort to hide it, but isn't clever or determined enough to really take trouble to hide it.

What will the OPFOR Do?

The Conspiracy is mad as hell, and there's no way the princeling's getting out of this alive (unless the agents protect the princeling, that is). However the McGuffin complicates matters. The Conspiracy doesn't want that McGuffin to slip though its cold, dead fingers, so, like the agents, the Conspiracy needs to secure the McGuffin before it can deal with the princeling.

Also, the Conspiracy would rather not cause a major incident in a world-famous tourist destination.

If the Conspiracy has access to abilities like mental attacks or mesmerizing, its first target is the arm candy. The Conspiracy then gets the arm candy to lure the princeling somewhere useful - a late night gondola ride, say, that ends with an unfortunate drowning. Shapeshifting into the eye candy, blood magic to make the princeling sick enough to call the hotel's doctor (calling Doctor Killpatient …) - whatever works. The Conspiracy can afford to be subtle, but it can't hang around in Macau forever, so its primary goal will be to get the McGuffin quickly, kill the princeling, and then get out.

Conspiracy assets on the ground include at least one supernatural assassin of vampire quality or similar, and (X=N) Triad thugs from Hong Kong, one of whom is an expert (6 pool) at Infiltration.  He'll need to be, since the princeling is just vampire-aware enough to put blocks on his hotel door and windows; no turning into mist and sneaking under the door.

If the Conspiracy has no strong Nodes in Hong Kong, the supernatural assassin may be hired help rather than someone directly connected to the Conspiracy. This means the assassin will be more concerned about their own skin than about completion of the mission, so Intimidation or Negotiation has at least a slim chance of success.

The OPFOR knows it must get the McGuffin at all costs, and is willing to let the agents, and even the princeling, live, if it means the McGuffin returns to the Conspiracy.

That's it for this week! Sorry about the missed post last week; I didn't get internet back till Weds, and by that point it seemed sensible to let it slide rather than post late.


Sunday, 25 August 2019

The Last Suit You'll Ever Wear (Gumshoe, Night's Black Agents)

I've been tangentially aware of DEF Con for a while, but I began dipping into some of the video panels over the past few weeks. This one is worth watching if you have any interest whatsoever in cyber security. If you don't want to watch it all the way through, scoot to about 30 minutes in. That's the bit I want to talk about today.

This stuff fascinates me. You may have seen the speaker elsewhere, or read his work. He's Jayson E. Street, and he's had articles in Forbes as well as talkathons in Las Vegas. He's an ongoing (if that's the right word) speaker at DEF Con, and there are several videos of his on YouTube. I'm going to quote one sentence from the Forbes article, because it ought to be engraved in words of fire on the beating heart of every IT professional: 'it appears ease of use will once again trump security.'

Now, let's talk about that suit.

"If I am in this suit, I am out to screw you over terribly," says Street. Well, so are your Night's Black Agents. So what is it about the suit?

It does two things.

First, it fits in. Look at that conservative cut. He wouldn't be out of place in any North American business environment, and probably not in most places in Europe. He'd melt here in Bermuda - the waistcoat (vest o'doom) is not your friend in our climate.

Second, it allows him to transport any number of Trojans, horses and otherwise, without suspicion. USB pens, a flashlight that is also a video recorder, you name it. "When I walk into your facility, I am a walking, talking Google street car." Except this street car can leave things behind, like those pens, so he can pick up on your conversation later. Or plug in an external hard drive, if he wants a chunk of data. Bring along a tablet packed with useful apps. Who knows? But it's all hidden there in that vest o'doom, detectable if he goes through some form of X-ray security, or is just plain given a pat-down, but otherwise unseen.

The key to his entire talk, but especially this section, is this: anyone can do what he does. Most of the tools in his vest o'doom are commercially available, particularly in the US. Street bought some of his gear from Think Geek, for crying out loud. I shop at Think Geek (or I used to, anyway). Admittedly I wasn't buying USBs packed with keyloggers, but still ...

So how can we gamify this?

You could treat it as a simple Electronic Surveillance spend, where every 1 point spent buys 2 points Digital Intrusion. That seems a little bland. You could make it a combined spend, by saying that the agent can spend Bureaucracy or Flattery as well as Electronic Surveillance, each point adding to the pool, provided at least 1 point Electronic Surveillance is spent. So 1 point Bureaucracy plus 1 point Electronic Surveillance equals 4 points Digital Intrusion. That's probably enough to crack most OPFOR installations.

As a Cooperative task (p50 main book), assuming the agent with Electronic Surveillance is not at her best dealing with people, it could be: lead character (the one with Flattery/Flirting/Reassurance and Disguise) goes in, and secondary (with Electronic Surveillance) talks the lead through the technical stuff, presumably using an earpiece. So the secondary spends Electronic Surveillance to give the lead a Digital Intrusion pool. Or, using broadly the same trick but with Preparedness, reduce the Difficulty of future Digital Intrusion checks, or reduce the opposition's defensive pools. "Yeah, we thought of that. Which is why I sent Billy in during the day with my special vest o'doom, posing as one of the external audit team. Boy, are they going to be pissed when they find that nasty data stick of mine, plugged into the CFO's desktop!"

Or you could chain it to some Technothriller Monologue, to refresh 4 points Digital Intrusion. This may require some Disguise spends, mind you. "What they don't know will hurt 'em, I think to myself, as I dip into the vest o'doom for another of my specialty pens. This one goes in the CFO's office, this one for the CEO, and, oh, look, is that the exchange server? Let me just pop my tainted data stick in that little beauty."

Or it could be a great way to drop a clue. The agents find a nerdy-looking corpse stuffed behind a dumpster, but whichever goon did the deed didn't search the body thoroughly. Here's this funny vest, and it's stuffed full of data, or maybe it's still receiving output from those special little pens. The agents have to get to the data somehow, but that's their problem.

That's it for now. Enjoy!

Sunday, 18 August 2019

Shadows Over Père-Lachaise (Night's Black Agents)

Hook: A young student has been found dead in Père-Lachaise Cemetery. The police say it was a regrettable accident; the 19-year old tripped and hit his head on one of the tombs. Witnesses are not forthcoming. Among the items found in his possession is a copy of the 1920 first French edition of Stoker's work, Dracula, l’homme de la nuit. The agents are hired by le Milieu (underworld) go-between to recover the book from the Gendarme; it is heavily implied that the book is stolen property that belongs to a Godfather in Marseille. The agents are to recover the book and deliver it to its rightful owner.

The Book: This soft-cover first French edition is rare, but not spectacularly valuable. Cryptography notices marks in the text, made recently in pencil. The positioning of these marks suggests the novel has been used as a book cypher by an amateur. Perhaps the Marseille Godfather wants to recover the book before the Gendarmes realize what they've got hold of?

Père-Lachaise Cemetery: This is one of Paris' most well-known landmarks, and the most visited necropolis in the world. It's the first garden cemetery, built far outside Paris proper so it could sprawl, a somnolent verdant memorial. Among its famous dead are the lovers Abelard and Heloise, Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Frederic Chopin, and Marcel Proust. Its 108 acres are easy to get lost in, and, with its mix of monuments and architectural styles, it has a timeless quality. Though in the past it has suffered from outbreaks of crime, its status as a tourist draw ensures the gendarmes keep half an eye on it. Only half an eye, which explains how, for instance, noted art thief Verjan Tomic was able to hone his parkour skills by jumping from tomb to tomb, and to break into nearby houses by using the cemetery wall as a boost. Thousands of people walk through every day, especially around the tomb of Jim Morrison, decreasing Disguise and Surveillance difficulties by 1 - it's easy for the agents to get lost in this international crowd. The cemetery does have security officers on call; treat them as Police, but without stab vests and heavy armament (ie. submachine guns). The cemetery opens every day and closes at 530pm. Though it's not Fort Knox, it's secure enough that casual Infiltration is doomed to failure; Difficulty 3.

The Police: There are two obvious ways to secure the book. Bribe the cops, or break into the evidence locker. The agents find unexpected resistance if they go the bribe route, and their Heat increases by 1. They'll need to spend 2 points to find a willing accomplice in the Préfecture de police de Paris, but spending the extra point confers one other benefit: the agents discover the flics have been suborned by the Conspiracy. It's not clear who's in and who's out, but someone on high has already been bribed more than the agents could ever afford. The agents may discover this as a consequence of having their police contact murdered. Securing the book through bribery increases Heat by 3. Alternately the agents may try to Infiltrate the gendarmerie. Difficulty 5, reduced to Difficulty 4 with successful Disguise, Digital Intrusion or similar tests. According to the logs the book is kept in an evidence locker, but this is not so; it's actually on the desk of an inspector in the anti-crime division. This man is working with internal affairs (nicknamed the stew squad, or boeuf-carottes) to uncover the mole within the department. The stew squad believes there are elements within the Paris gendarmerie working with organized crime in Marseilles to protect the drug trade. The anti-crime inspector, Dallest, is their informer, but he's personally invested in this as his partner was murdered, so he's investigating the book on his own time. If the agents went the bribe route, Dallest handed over the book because he realized he was in way over his head and wants to get out alive. This won't happen; the Conspiracy can't afford loose ends.

Potential Twist: the vampires have either smuggled in a Renfield, or a full-fledged vampire, to search for the book. Their own informant ought to have taken it easily, but the informant didn't know about Dallest. If a vampire, the undead is lurking in the morgue, but a Renfield could be anywhere in the building. 

The Body: Jan De Vries, 19, a student of theology pursuing a doctorate at Tyndale seminary near Amsterdam, died from repeated blows to the head (Forensic Pathology 0 point). The first blow was probably delivered by a baton - a 12 inch concealable would do the trick. Once incapacitated, De Vries was smashed against a nearby tomb with extreme force. Marks on his clothing (grass & gravel) indicate he was dragged to where he was found, then killed. He arrived in Paris two days ago, and was staying at an apartment very close to Père-Lachaise. None of his friends or supervisors knew he was planning this trip. Bullshit Detector: his tutor, Sophie Visser, knew. She's the one who sent him. She's working with an anti-vampire group; Director's choice as to which. If the agents don't follow up, the Conspiracy will silence Visser soon.

What Happens Next?

There are several possibilities, revolving around the book, the Cemetery, and the alleged Marseille connection.

The Marseille Godfather is … an important part of a Marseille-based Node. Or has reasons of his own to be hunting Vampires, and went to Sophie Visser for help. Or is ignorant of the Conspiracy, but is heavily involved in narcotics smuggling. The Conspiracy wants to absorb the Marseille smuggler into its organization, and figures raising the Godfather's Heat is a good way to do that. "Having problems with those pesky freelance agents? We can help …"

Père-Lachaise is … A convenient haven for visiting Vampires. There's any number of tombs the Conspiracy use for temporary homes away from home, and Visser found that out. Or the real secret is in the tomb of Russian aristo Elisabeth Alexandrovna Stroganoff, died 1818, who promised that anyone who could spend a whole year and one night in her tomb would get her fortune. Some tried, none succeeded, and though people still volunteer now and again the Cemetery staff refuse to allow it. Visser and her student De Vries were about to crack the mystery, when De Vries was killed. Or the cemetery is a drop-off point for drug smugglers; leave the packets near such-and-such a tomb, and someone else picks up. De Vries stumbled on this and was killed. No vampire connection, but given who De Vries was, and working for, people make all kinds of assumptions. 

The Book is … a codebook that indicates the actual location of a stash hidden in Père-Lachaise. Or it contains Forged pages which describe an alternate adventure featuring Dracula and one of his brides in Père-Lachaise, and includes a description of the tomb this alleged incident occurred in. Or it's impregnated with some kind of reagent or similar substance that allows the user to detect vampires or vampire-haunted locations. [works best in Supernatural or Damned campaigns]. Or is a fake, a poison pill planted on De Vries by whoever killed him. The intent being to use the book as a weapon or false lead, distracting investigators from the real reason De Vries was killed - whatever that may be.

Who Are The Opposition?

Criminals from le Milieu, who want the book for their own reasons. Bent gendarmes. Conspiracy goons. Sophie Visser and whoever hired her to investigate Père-Lachaise. Vampires or other supernatural agents unconnected with the Conspiracy, but who have a connection with Père-Lachaise. The ghost of Jim Morrison, who's annoyed that all this activity is distracting people from his shrine. Père-Lachaise security cops, who just want a quiet life.