The Man In The Middle (RPG All)

This post comes courtesy of Dorothy Sayers and the Armitage Files.

I've been rereading Sayers over these last few weeks. She's a remarkable talent with a very human writing style. Her views are not mine, to put it candidly, and there are times I have to grit my teeth and bear it, particularly when she starts talking about Jews or any non-white character. Yet she has a knack of showing (not telling) what makes people, people, and that's what draws me in. 

I've also just finished an Armitage Files game, and became intrigued by the setting only to realize I had a copy but had never read it. So I waited until the last remnants of humanity had gone up in a puff of ashes, and then downloaded the .pdf from my Pelgrane shelf. 

The Sayers I've been reading most recently is Murder Must Advertise, in which her aristo sleuth Lord Peter Wimsey puts off the ermine and pretends to be an ordinary citizen in order to infiltrate an advertising agency. He does this because he has reason to believe that someone in the agency is neck-deep in crime, and murdered a fellow employee to keep their nefarious doings secret. 

It turns out this particular nogoodnik is a mere cog in a larger machine, a man in the middle trying to stay afloat in choppy waters. It occurs to me that characters like this get short shrift in most games, which is a shame.

Take Orlando, for instance, whose machinations in the first season of HBO's The Wire kicks off one of the major plotlines of that season.

Orlando's entire value to the organization he works for is that he's a clean face, with no record. He exists, and gets paid, to do nothing but be honest and run a nightclub. Doing nothing is boring, so Orlando wants to get into the game, sell a little narcotics on the side. 

It's that little itch, greed, cupidity, that gets him deep in trouble. 

The Armitage Files, and for that matter the Dracula Dossier and a host of other games, are all about conspiracies and, by extension, organizations. Nothing gets done by doing nothing. If you want to take over the world, you're going to need help. Sure, this means you hire a lot of people with guns, magical knowledge, what-have-you. Troops. Mooks.

It also means you hire a lot of middle men. Honest fronts. Cogs in the machine.

To borrow a line from Bioshock, somebody's got to scrub the toilets. There are jobs that need to get done, bribes that must be paid, ongoing deals that need to be managed which by their nature don't need some necromancer or armed thug in charge. If your criminal organization owns a restaurant for whatever reason - to launder money, to prepare cannibal feasts, whatever it may be - someone's name has to be on the lease and liquor license. 

In the Wire, Orlando is that middle man. The club is a front for a criminal group, but the club still has to appear honest. So they need someone like Orlando. 

In your occult-tinged spy thriller, apocalypse drama, or cold war witch hunt (with real witches), your conspiracy is going to need an Orlando too. Someone who appears honest because they are honest. They're paid to be honest. Being a bland-faced stooge is their whole deal.

In the Armitage Files, much like Night's Black Agents and some of the Pelgrane titles that come after it, NPCs are multipurpose. They might be Stalwart, which means they're against the dark powers that threaten to consume the world. They might be Sinister, which means they're working with those same dark powers to bring about the apocalypse. Or they might be Innocuous - exactly as honest and naïve as they seem. 

I propose this: even if they are Innocuous, that doesn't mean they're Innocent. They could be Middle Men. They don't realize that the messages they pass on every other month are actually related to a sinister conspiracy. That the newspaper clippings they've been told to collect are some kind of occult code. That the purchases they make on behalf of their benefactor are actually helping to bring about the End of the World.

Further, like Orlando, they may not understand that the things they do to benefit themselves - like branching out into a new line of business - might anger their backer. Until it's too late, of course.

I don't want to use any of the Armitage Files NPCs as an example, as that might spoil something for someone. Ditto Dracula Dossier. However, Double Tap has some useful Cameos that won't spoil anything for anyone, so let's have a shot at the Building Superintendent.

Branko

Conceal 3, Infiltration 2, Mechanics 2

It’s not that Branko is a bad man, he’s just apathetic. Always wearing a stained sweat suit, unshaven, and reeking of  Gitanes and cheap slivovitz, his building slowly falls apart around him. But he’s been super in this building for a while, and he’s seen the neighborhood change … and not for the better. (Cop Talk, Intimidation, Negotiation)

At this point I could detail his role as a Sinister or Stalwart character. Maybe the occultist up in the penthouse seems like a Crowley-esque supervillain, but Branko down in the basement is the one holding the strings. Basically, a Casablanca set-up except Sam's the one who really own's Rick's. Or maybe Branko's operating a one-man war against vampires, and his super's office is stocked full of Banes and Blocks. 

However, that's not Branko's role today. 

No, Branko is a Middle Man. That means he's exactly as Innocuous as he seems, but he has his uses and the powers that be are manipulating him, for whatever reason. It could be something relatively simple. His name's on a lease, or he's signatory to a bank account that is of interest to the Conspiracy. But it's more fun to play with the set dressing.

Let's say that this is a Night's Black Agents game with Supernatural (or Damned) vampires, and that this particular game has a significant occult element. Branko might be getting an extra something every week to maintain a shrine out in the graveyard, or to bottle ghosts and deliver those bottles to the empty apartment up on the second floor, or to buy a particular foreign language newspaper and cut out all the obituaries, pinning them to a notice board in the apartment house lobby. Branko doesn't know what he's really doing. He's just going where he's told to go, wave a seemingly harmless bottle around for a few minutes, put a stopper in it and bring the bottle to somewhere that as far as Branko knows is normal.

Of course, if he gets bored one day and doesn't bother to wave the bottle around as he was told, but just sticks a stopper in it and takes it up to the empty apartment, that could lead to unfortunate consequences for all concerned. Especially Branko. 

Or, let's say Branko gets to talking with some nice, plausible player characters and they ask him what he's doing. He has no reason to hide. He tells them everything. He even lets them come along and watch as he waves the bottles around in that spooky alleyway he was told to go to. It's all a big game to Branko. 

It's not a game to the Conspiracy. 

In Sayers' Murder Must Advertise, the murderer is also a middle man. This middle man is effectively a messenger, passing on information about narcotics shipments. He knows, roughly, what he's doing and why, but he needs the money. 

This is a little different from Branko, in that Branko might not know what he's about. Branko might be a complete stooge. Murder Must Advertise uses a different kind of middle man, someone who understands what's at stake and may not like what he's become, but is too far gone to do anything about it. 

Orlando in the Wire is in a similar predicament. He knows exactly what's going on, but boredom and hubris get him into trouble. He could have kept making easy money and that would have been fine for everyone - but no. He wants what he can't have.

Using Branko again, let's say that Branko is that kind of middle man. In that case, he's not going to be talking to plausible agents, not unless they can guarantee him immunity from prosecution. He's still as Innocuous as he seems, but he's just too compromised to be entirely comfortable in his role. 

As to what he's up to, well ... let's say that the apartment on the second floor is used by Conspiracy operatives as a killing floor. They lure targets back to the apartment and butcher them, taking the bodies somewhere else to be dumped. 

Branko isn't directly involved either in the lure or the corpse clean-up. However, the Conspiracy pays him a stipend every month to keep an eye on the apartment and report back to them if the cops, or anyone else, starts poking around. Maybe he's been asked to deep clean the place a few times. Maybe he's had to find a new bed mattress after the old one got ... stained. Or throw some shoes and dresses into the building's furnace.

So now Branko knows more than is good for him. He doesn't have the full picture, but what he does know could get him into a lot of trouble and he's scared. 

Technically that leans more towards the Sinister side of the ledger, but Sinister carries with it the implicit assumption that the NPC will take action against the PCs if threatened or given adequate cause. That's not a middle man's role. No, a Branko will fold under pressure. He won't harm anyone. He's the guy who, in the Interrogation scene, says 'you don't understand. They'll kill me if I talk!' Then, just as he's about to spill his guts ... blam! Bullet to the head. Or explosive device, or what-have-you.

Middle man = walking, talking, Clue. Possibly a Core Clue, but in any case destined for a bad end. With Stability losses for all concerned.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

For The Sound of His Horn (Ravenloft)

British Movietone Newsreel (1937)

D'Ye Ken John Peel

I don't often self-promote here, but as I'm getting close to completion on one of the two Ravenloft titles I'm working on I thought I'd tell you a bit about it.

The people of Oaksey, a small village in Mordent, once were part of the Huntingtower estate, now defunct. Oaksey’s alderman, Sanders Murdoch, suffered a near-fatal hunting accident in pursuit of his favorite prey, the fox. Sanders suspects foul play and promises to severely punish whoever is behind the attacks. Some say what happened to Sanders isn’t natural, and they’re right. The hunter’s horn has wakened something best left sleeping ...

Fox hunting's a major story element. I've never been on a hunt but I've known several who did, and I've spent a fair amount of time out in the countryside where fox hunts were common, back in the day. 

The English have a peculiar attachment to fox hunting. Despite the 2005 ban the issue comes up again and again, a kind of political totem for the traditionalist right-wing. The last time it came to a vote, in 2015, the Conservatives under David Cameron were soundly whipped by Nicola Sturgeon's SNP. The Scots didn't give much of a damn about fox hunting, and in fact the hunt is still legal in Scotland. The SNP just wanted to give the Tories a bloody nose, and they succeeded.

Mind you, two anemic girl scouts and a Luigi cosplayer could have whipped David Cameron, but all power to the SNP. 

Some activists claim fox hunting persists in England despite the ban. So-called trail-hunts, sending hounds after a pre-laid scent, are allegedly just cover for the old sniff-it-out-and-kill-it fox hunts. Or that illegal hunts carry on despite the ban, since enforcement is next to nil.

Labour traditionally claims to be the anti-hunt party, probably because Tony Blair's government banned it the first time round and Labour feels obliged to stick to its past, but there's never been any enthusiasm for it on Labour's side beyond some dedicated animal rights campaigners and ancient holdovers from the 1980s. Tony Blair himself said he regretted passing the bill. 

Meanwhile the Tories come back to it every once in a while, but beyond using it as a stick to beat Labour and the lefties with there's not a whole lot of enthusiasm there either. Possibly because wrapping yourself in the Union Jack and blootering on about traditional values is best left to ardent Brexiteers and other gammons. 

As a hobby, it stopped being a countryside pursuit long ago. Reading old manuals and memorials published in the 1920s and 1930s it's easy to see why. Even then they complained that stockbrokers from London and day trippers were ruining the hobby. Now it's an excuse for tourists to come on a gallop, an excellent moneymaker but hardly a community event. Siegfried Sassoon wouldn't recognize it.

I'm mildly surprised there hasn't been a murder mystery with the John Peel title or theme. I understand there's a 1935 film with that title - never seen it, and don't know anything about it other than the IMDB plot synopsis which suggests it has nothing to do with fox hunting. I vaguely remember a Rumpole of the Bailey short about fox hunting, and no doubt there are other UK cop dramas that have dipped into it now and again. Most likely in the 1980s and 90s, when the ban was still a political issue. Google tells me there's an American detective series about fox hunting in the Virginia mountains but to my knowledge there's not an English equivalent.

Which is perhaps a little odd. If fox hunting was integral to the English character you'd think it'd have had a Carry On film by now. Or some not-quite-Belgian with little grey cells a-quiver would have made the theme his own, rather than stick to nursery rhymes about clocks and mice. 

Not even comedians will touch it. Oscar Wilde made the oft-repeated observation that fox hunting is the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable, but Wilde's been dead and dust for years. I don't see Dara O'Briain sketching any side-splitters on this topic any time soon. Tweets, yes, but those aren't going to make their way into his act.

Anyway, I came to this to talk about the scenario and I suppose I ought to be getting on with my self-appointed task.

The story is set in Mordent, which is Ravenloft's answer to M.R. James and E.G. Swain. Ghosts-a-plenty, in a countryside designed to feel a little like Dartmoor and a little like Cornwall. In Mordent, nobody ever dies - not entirely. They return, whether to plague the living, beg forgiveness or for some other purpose. There are those who claim the mysterious Apparatus, built for reasons unknown, is the cause of it all. 

In my own little corner of Ravenloft the Huntingtower family, dead and gone, is the ultimate cause of the problem the PCs face. The last Huntingtower, Gelbert, committed an unspeakable crime and now Oaksey is cursed to repeat his follies. Desire a thing too much, and what starts as longing becomes obsession. Obsession is a dangerous thing ...

The scenario's intended for PCs from level 1 to 3, and could be an introductory scenario either to the setting or the game itself. Like many other D&D writers I've found Challenge Ratings a bit tricky to handle, but don't worry - I'm sure some of the PCs will survive.

Unlike Cthulhu there isn't a Sanity mechanic but there is a Fear and Stress mechanic, which I'm finding very useful. Mind you, fail too many Stress tests and that old bugbear Challenge Rating will become even more difficult to manage. Still, I'm sure those resourceful PCs will solve that problem - or die trying.

Its climactic moment takes place at the Meet, when Oaksey sets off in pursuit of the fox once more. If the PCs haven't got a solution to the problem by then, things are likely to get very messy ...

The other scenario, The Three Crows, is still in production so I shan't say much about it, except to hint that if you like slasher films set in vampire country, have I got the scenario for you!

Anyway, that's it for this week. Next week, back to the usual weirdness! 

Forgotten London: The Ashburnham Bell (Bookhounds, Esoterrorists, Night's Black Agents)

Old Chelsea Church, 1959, via Pathe 

This bell will be found in the porch of old Chelsea Church. It had an interesting history before it found its last resting place under the tower in which in old days it hung.

The story goes that the Hon. William Ashburnham, Cofferer to Charles II, lost his way walking by the river at Chelsea in 1679. He fell into the water and might well have been drowned had not the sound of the clock at the old Chelsea Church striking nine guided him to the bank, and safety.

In gratitude for his deliverance he gave this bell to be rung at nine p.m. every evening from November till March, and also left a sum of money to pay the verger for his labour. The bell was rung regularly until 1822.

The bell remained in the tower until it was pronounced unsafe, when it had to be taken down and hung in its present position. 

Old Chelsea Church is not only a place of worship but a museum of historical treasures well worthy of being visited.

London Cameos, A.H. Blake, 1930.

Old Chelsea Church has one item that will interest Bookhounds in particular: a chained library, the last survivor of its kind. A chained library keeps its valuable books chained up, so people can't just walk off with them. It includes in its collection the so-called "Vinegar Bible" of 1717 - an elegant display piece riddled with errors, including ‘The parable of the vineyard’ (Luke 20) which instead reads, ‘the parable of the vinegar’ - two volumes of Foxe's Book of Martyrs (1684 edition), a prayer book (1723) and Homilies (1683). 

The Hounds' forger in particular will want to see these, for inspiration if nothing else, but it's a valuable resource for anyone who wants to check the provenance of a so-called relic of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries against genuine articles of the period. 

Blake doesn't make it clear when the tower restoration took place, but as his book was published in 1930 it's reasonable to think it happened at some point roundabout the turn of the century, so probably before 1920 and well within living memory of most Bookhounds characters.

A cofferer, incidentally, is a treasury official. William was a contemporary of Samuel Pepys, who mentions William in his famous diaries. Not to be confused with the 2nd Baron Ashburnham, also a William, but born in 1679, the same year his namesake slipped into the drink.

The video shows the church in 1959. It was bombed heavily during the Blitz, such that they had to hold services in the hospital adjacent, and restored in the 1950s, work completing in 1954. So the church seen in the video is in much better condition than in Blake's day. It was re-consecrated in 1958 with the Queen in attendance. The Bell survived the bombing, and still hangs in the porch.

This has the makings of a good Victorian-era ghost story, one where some luckless soul gets into difficulty - whether in the river or in some other way - and is guided to safety by the old bell of Chelsea, perhaps rung by some wraith-like verger who sticks to his post come what may. 

As a Megapolisomantic lever it has links with royalty, money, luck, safety, and the river, which suggests it could be used to assist workings of those types. Someone has almost certainly already taken advantage of this, and may already have established their own claim to the Ashburnham Bell. Perhaps they've encapsulated this in some kind of talisman, which they have to recharge at the Bell at least once a year to keep it fresh.

In a different setting - Night's Black Agents, say, or Esoterrorists - the Bell might have had a different function. Say there was reason to think that there was a significant Outer Dark presence near the church, or that the Membrane was particularly weak there. The Hon. William Ashburnham might have had a completely different, covert reason for having it hung, and rung each night at nine of the clock. Perhaps he was trying to reinforce the Membrane at that particular time, or perhaps he was trying to weaken it somehow. If the latter, then maybe that peculiar historical society which wants to re-establish the nine-o-clock ringing has a sinister purpose in mind. 

Or say that the vampires in your setting - presumably Supernatural or Damned - have an aversion to the ringing of church bells. The fact that the Hon. William wanted this bell rung at that time of night may mean there was a presence here, back in the days of Charles II - and perhaps there's something worth finding at old Chelsea Church. Sounds like an Architecture spend to me, or possibly Theology. Is that old vampire story as dead and gone as it appears to be, or did something come back to Chelsea once the bell stopped ringing?

Finally:

The Ashburnham Presence

Hook: One of the Hounds' regulars has a fetish for nobility. Ashburnham - as they prefer to be called - will do just about anything if the Hounds can prove (through forgery or legitimate means) that Ashburnham is indeed a relict of that branch of the family which in former times hung the bell at Chelsea. Ashburnham even claims to have a strong spiritual link with that bell, and it seems to pan out. Whenever Ashburnham goes near it, the bell hums with energy and a faint ringing noise can be heard. Does this imply some kind of psychic symmetry?

Awful Truth(s):

1. Ashburnham is a member of a Witch Cult, and that's why the bell hums whenever Ashburnham is near; it's a warning. It's warning people that the books in its chained library are at risk. Once a month, at midnight, there can be seen an extra chained book in the collection - a fabled Book of Shadows, put here by the Hon. William for safekeeping.
2. Ashburnham is nothing to do with the family, and in fact Ashburnham isn't even their real name. It's Spinks. However Ashburnham is a natural Megapolisomancer and the bell is reacting to Ashburnham's innate power. The longer Ashburnham stays in contact with it, the more likely something awful will happen.
3. Ashburnham has nothing to do with the bell, and is conflating his presence with its activity - post hoc ergo procter hoc. In fact the bell reacts to nearby Yithian presence, with accompanying time distortion effects. It's reacting as though it were nine of the clock, and time to ring. The more often, and louder, this happens the stronger the Yithian influence - but why here, in Chelsea? What's causing it?

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Bitcoin or Cannabis? Smoke it and See (Night's Black Agents, Esoterrorists)

 

From Moment News

West Midlands police thought they were raiding a cannabis farm when they bust into an industrial storage unit in Great Bridge Industrial Estate, Sandwell, on 18 May this year. All the signs were there: a drone they'd sent for a fly-by spotted massive amounts of heat gain, almost certainly caused by the lamps needed to grow all those valuable plants, and surveillance noticed people coming and going at all times of day and night, again indicative of nogoodniks up to shenanigans. If all that wasn't enough the unit bristled with surplus wiring ducts and new vent systems, suggesting massive energy use and a need to throw off heat as efficiently and quickly as possible. 

So in they went, and found a bitcoin farm instead. One that was stealing power from the local grid to the tune of £16,000 a month. While mining isn't illegal, theft from the power grid definitely is. Birmingham Mail seems to think 'three English nerds' are the mastermind behind this scheme, which ... I mean, it probably was computer geeks, well spotted, glad to see we've got journalists of that calibre working in British media today.

The Mail also alleges that the value of the electricity stolen was twice that of the bitcoin mined. Which just goes to show that crime doesn't pay, or at least doesn't pay as much as the criminals thought it might. 

Whether or not you think bitcoin is a scam, bitcoin mining is a big operation. Gone are the days when your PC humming away in the corner could earn you retirement money. The Sandwell operation, though one of the largest in the area, was a few hundred units altogether, a mere drop in the ocean compared to the massive setups that exist elsewhere.

From Top 5

Which looks remarkably like a Night's Black Agents scenario in the making.

I've discussed Facilities before. The Sandwell operation looks like a Low Security, Medium Monitoring Manufacturing facility. The miners clearly had no idea how to keep their operation away from prying eyes, beyond 'stick it in a shed and hope for the best.' They needed to monitor it often, to make sure its systems were working properly. Overheating must have been a major concern. 

The bitcoin mines mentioned in the Top 5 are clearly Medium Security, High Monitoring Manufacturing facilities. They have their special needs, cooling being critical, along with access to uninterrupted electricity supplies, and a compliant political environment. If your facility mines, say, 20 bitcoin a day, then at current prices it's earning something like $780,000 each day, easily billions of dollars each month. Well worth going to all that effort, even if as manager of the facility all you get is a cut of the net. 

Of course, that assumes those units are actually mining bitcoin. In game worlds where pseudo-science rules apply, all that computing power could be going towards ... almost anything. Uncovering all the secret names of God to collapse the universe. Mapping Satan's DNA and tracing His Satanic Majesty's lineage on earth. Creating a virtual reality environment powerful enough to store human minds. Creating a race of obedient AIs capable of - you get the idea. 

Let's say this is Esoterrorists. That setting is all about weakening the Membrane so strange entities can creep through into the mundane world, and the Terrorists of the title are the ones who want that to happen. Then the so-called Bitcoin Mine is actually some kind of esoteric device that either is deliberately intended to weaken the membrane, or which does so accidentally while in pursuit of other goals. 

One potential side effect is that smaller, less important entities may creep through just by accident, perhaps as a symptom of a larger problem. Like roaches round a garbage spill, these entities aren't main-plot relevant but the fact that they're here at all is evidence that things are going badly wrong.

An interesting twist could be that the 'bitcoin miners' are actually trying to repair the membrane with their esoteric device. They see something wrong in the immediate area and, since they don't have a Commissioner Gordon-style phone to call in the ghostbusters of OV, they do their best with what they've got. So destroying or disabling the device could actually make things much worse. 

Or it's intended as a remote working device. There are some entities which, when they burst through the membrane, destroy everything in the immediate vicinity. The casters know this, so rather than do the dirty work themselves - and get killed - they set up the bitcoin mine to remotely activate the ritual. Perhaps when the cops burst in, so the summoned entity has something to munch on.

Let's say this is Night's Black Agents. In that setting, the 'bitcoin mine' is either the creation of a vampire Node, or someone who wants to get the Node's attention. So whatever it's intended to do will depend on the kind of setting you, as Director, are shooting for. 

Supernatural: vampires are the result of magical or other supernatural activities on Earth; spirits, ghosts, witchcraft and the like. The bitcoin mine is one part of a larger ritual. Just as standing stones once established nodes on a network of ley lines, channeling supernatural power, so too do these new 'standing stones' establish connective points on a new network of supernatural energy. Their calculations are but a part of a larger ritual mystery, perhaps intended to bring forward the date of the apocalypse.

Damned: Vampires are the work of Satan or other explicitly demonic creatures opposed to mankind and God. That isn't a bitcoin mine, it's a demon summoned forth from Hell to serve at its master's pleasure. Maybe it's some kind of footsoldier awaiting command, or maybe it's an independent contractor scheming to its own ends. It undoubtedly has control over the internet in some fashion, perhaps just in its local area - for now. Or maybe the bitcoin it creates are themselves Satanic in some way, a corruptive influence to bring more people under the sway of His Satanic Majesty. 

Alien: Vampires are alien beings, or earthly beings who nevertheless follow different laws of physics. The aliens either want to go home or to make Earth more like home. For that to happen requires significant mathematical calculations, of a sort that just weren't possible till now. Sure, a mathematician working with an abacus in a cave could manage it eventually, but eventually takes a really long time. Now the aliens are able to significantly advance their plans, with borrowed technology. Even the mines' affect on climate change - all that heat - could be part of the aliens' ultimate goal. After all, they need Earth to be just like home ... whatever that is.

Mutant: Vampires are earthly beings infected or changed by (or into) some freak of nature. Even freaks of nature need funding. Up till now the vampires have had to rely on conventional means to make a dollar, but now they can generate cash literally out of thin air. This was just an experiment, to see what they could get away with. The next stage in the project is an even bigger mine, and now they know what mistakes to avoid to reduce the chance of detection.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!