Happy New Year!

Lest old acquaintances be eaten by gruesome gribblies, and all that.

According to Funk & Wagnalls the New Year, as in 1st January, is a relatively recent innovation adopted at various times by various nations. You wouldn't see general acceptance in the West until (roughly) the mid-1700s. 

There's a school of thought that says the drunkenness, debauchery and let-the-good-times-roll atmosphere is a hangover from the Roman Saturnalia, but this probably isn't so. When Julius Caesar made January the first month, way back in the before times, that meant the first month fell directly after the Saturnalia, and nearly every Christian of the day (and later) deplored this as irreligious. You just don't celebrate a new year after getting bladdered in the last days of the old one, was their point. It verged on Satanism. The Council of Tours, to name but one, insisted that the New Year begin with fasts, expiation, the banning of dances and frivolity, and so on. Most Christian communities of the day had similar views: you might get toasted at Christmas (grrr, how very Satanic) but God help you if you tried the same at New Year.

Funk & Wagnalls goes on to point out that many cultures celebrate the New Year with parties and jollity, not just the West, which suggests that the celebration's joie de vivre isn't based on one cultures' idea of what is proper. Everyone thinks the new year should begin with celebration, so it does. The form that celebration takes is determined by the culture. It can be as relatively benign as first-footing (being the first to walk over the threshold of the house in the new year) or as robust as flinging balls of fire about the place.

Sourced from Steve Marsh's feed

Let's gamify this.

The NBA Resource Guide has this to say about markets:

A crowded market on the streets of an old city. Is the market themed – a Christmas fair, stalls full of antiques and old books, local crafts, or mass-produced plastic junk? Is it a seasonal event or a fixture of the city? Old European cities often have warrens of narrow streets and alleyways full of small shops; North African cities have a similar medina quarter. Push through the crowds, grab a snack from a food cart, and follow your target as they browse the bazaar. A street market’s a good place to meet a contact or pick up rumors and intel from the streets – and that fishmonger deals in black-market weapons if you know the right passwords ...

We've already established that this particular 'market' is in fact a New Year's event. You won't see that many stalls; plenty of food & drink stalls, mind, less so the antiques and plasticky tourist crap. Nobody will be selling fresh fish. While there will be stores, they'll be shut and shuttered. There will be an increased Police presence, which in game terms means Heat goes up by an extra point for any dodgy dealings, and up by two extra points for anything involving overt violence. So, punching out that mook out in the open earns you 2 extra Heat on top of the usual 1 point you'd get for what amounts to a mugging. On the other hand if you lure that mook down a dark, deserted alley before you give him a thumping that only earns you 1 extra point. Better for you, really, to find some other means of dealing with the pesky little fellow. 

I'd argue that one of the better 'quiet violence' options is to wait until there's a suitable distraction. A bunch of bagpipers and some firey balls ought to do it. Then you could bounce the little weasel's head down a dark alley without gaining extra Heat. Time it right and you could get away with no Heat at all. Say, if you dinged him and then covered it with 1 point Reassurance, Cop Talk or similar. 

Bond, Thunderball

All that said:

Rescue/Hunt the software expert, aka Candles Go Out.

Erika Donnadieu, Kube Group's star, has broken from her dubious employers and tried to alert France's Direction générale de la Sécurité intérieure (DSGI) but, due to Conspiracy influence within that organization, her alert only brought more Heat on her. Now she needs to get out of the country but the Conspiracy is hot on her trail. She's made it as far as Lille, on New Year's; she just needs to get out of France. In this scene the action takes place at the Grand Place, at the height of the celebration.

The Grand Place is where the Christmas Market traditionally sets up, complete with Ferris Wheel and other carnival rides. During the New Year's celebration it will be absolutely packed with locals and tourists. 

sourced from Wikipedia

Personally, I enjoyed going to Lille over Christmas while I was in the UK, which is why I picked it. Plus, thanks to the Eurostar you can get pretty much anywhere from Lille, which is a bonus from Erika's perspective. 

Erika's booked a room at Couvent de Minimes, a former convent turned four-star hotel, under an assumed name (effective 2 points Cover) and has disguised herself as a postgraduate arts student. Little does she know, her cover has been blown and the Conspiracy knows where (and who) she is. A snatch team made up of a half-dozen mooks, a Renfield team leader and local supernatural talent, a Strix left over from the 1630s witch hysteria outbreak, are in place to grab her. Their plan is to do it while disguised as an ambulance team; Erika will just be another poor unfortunate who got a little too merry and had to be taken to hospital during the celebrations.

It's the agents' job to get to her and get her out before the Conspiracy spirit her away.

The agents are acting as third parties; their employer is an anti-vampire organization (or individual, eg. the Mysterious Monseigneur) who knows about Erika and wants to get her out of harm's way, probably for their own nefarious reasons. 

Possible variations:

• In a Satanic campaign the Couvent is a natural Bane to vampires as it maintains an air of sanctity despite its modernization.
• The Stryx is all that's left of headmistress Antoinette Bourignon who started the witch hysteria. She still runs a school of sorts: a school of cultists. Thank heaven for little girls, as they say ...
• Perhaps Erika takes refuge in the Ferris Wheel, which mysteriously breaks down at the perfect moment. Time for an aerial rescue?
• There is a famous Lille ghost story set at Place du Lion d’Or, not far from the Cathedral, in which a small boy is said to have been tortured to death by his schoolmaster. He haunts the room where he died, trapped in an iron cage. Dickens used it for his A Christmas Tree collection, in which he transposed the legend to England and made the boy's tomb a wardrobe rather that Lille's iron cage. In real life Place du Lion d’Or is some distance from the Couvent, but why rely on real life? A ghostly child emerging from a wardrobe (iron cages are so last century) whether at someone's command or by pure accident (to add to the chaos) has to be worth your time. In a Supernatural game perhaps Erika knows the story and uses the ghostly wardrobe as part of her getaway plan ...

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

NYC Book Loot

Still a bit on the stuffy side but I have returned with spoils, so it's only fitting I talk about those spoils. I'm not going to discuss anything bought as a present; this is just for me. 

Head-Hunting in the Solomon Islands Caroline Mytinger, 1942, McMillan. Bought at the Argosy.

... we were unencumbered by the usual equipment of expeditions: by endowments funds, by precedents, doubts, supplies, an expedition yacht or airplane, by even the blessings or belief of our friends and families, who said we couldn't do it. We especially lacked that 'body of persons' listed for expeditions by the dictionary. We were a staff of two rather young women: myself, the portrait painter, and Margaret Warner, the bedeviled handyman, who was expected to cope with situations like God - if machinery was lacking, then by levitation. Her expedition equipment was a ukelele.

If that opening sentence does not tell you why I bought this book you have no soul. 

I'll only add that, once upon a time I was part of a team that worked on Pelgrane's Expeditions book. We spent such a lot of time calculating what an expedition might need, how best to simulate that in play.

Two middle class white kids and a ukelele. Jaysus H. 

They'd stop in a place for a while, earn a crust by painting portraits, and when they had enough in their pocket they set out for the next stop. Eventually they reached their destination, which they only knew about from books. It's pretty Trail-friendly; it covers an interesting part of the world in the right time period. But seriously, how could I pass this up?

The Pyrates George MacDonald Fraser, 1983, Knopf. Bought at the Argosy.

MacDonald Fraser is best known for his Flashman series, and those never seem to go out of print. His other books have vanished into the ether, for the most part. I got a copy of Black Ajax and Mr. American while I was in the UK, and I strongly suspect that those two remain in print only because Flashman or his antecedents appear briefly in them. His MacAuslan wartime comedy stories are still in print, but his own war memoir is more difficult to find. Pyrates, and his Hollywood memoirs, have eluded me. Now I have Pyrates. Can the memoirs be far behind?

Murder at the Manor, Final Acts: Theatrical Mysteries, Death on the Down Beat, all British Library Crime Classics, bought at the Mysterious Book Shop. 

Again, how could I not? Death on the Down Beat has a particularly interesting premise: a conductor is shot dead, and the shot can only have come from the orchestra. But which player could it have been? This one's a bit gimmicky but it's saved by brilliant writing, and the location - fictional UK town Maningpool - is worth stealing for your campaign, if only for its eponymous Lumps. 

Scandinavian Ghost Stories, edited by Joanne Asala, 1995 Penfield Press, bought at the Strand.

The Strand's mythology section isn't up to much but occasionally you find gold. Bought and read in the same day, which should tell you how much fun I found it. 

Dictionary of City of London Street Names Al Smith, 1970 Arco Publishing, bought at the Argosy

Well, that's the budget blown, I thought. I honestly wanted to only spend about a hundred at the Argosy. Silly me and my haughty airs. It is literally what you think it is: the title does not lie. Every so often there's a gem, and even if there isn't one on every page it's packed with information about Baghdad-on-the-Thames.

The Mafia is not an Equal Opportunity Employer, Nicholas Gage, 1971 McGraw-Hill, bought at the Argosy.

A useful little bridge between Prohibition and the 1960s, which means it's Noir Country. Based on investigative reporting by the author, who I presume is the same Nicholas Gage who was involved in Watergate's reporting though this book isn't listed among his published works. Which may mean Wikipedia got it wrong. 

Forgotten News: The Crime of the Century, Jack Finney, 1983, Doubleday, bought at the Argosy.

An investigation - more of a histori-fiction retelling, really - into the 1857 murder of Harvey Burdell in New York, and a half-dozen other 1800s-era misdeeds. Finney, the mind behind the Bodysnatchers, has a talent for this kind of work. 

The World And The 20s: The Best From New York's Legendary Newspaper, edited by James Boylan, published Dial Books 1973, bought at the Argosy. 

I mentioned this last week, but it's worth repeating: if you want to write historical fiction it is useful to know what they thought, said and worried about. You can't do better than by reading their news.

That's it for this week! Enjoy.

2022

I have returned from New York and, while my journey was trouble free, not long after returning home some doorknob-licker passed on their head cold. I'm not dead but I'm a little stuffy so, rather than do a whole post on the loot - that will be a later post - I want to talk about one purchase:

The World And The 20s: The Best From New York's Legendary Newspaper, edited by James Boylan, published Dial Books 1973, bought at the Argosy. 

I trust you can work out why I bought this one. For a CoC & ToC enthusiast this is a no-brainer. History as talked about by the folks who were there to witness it, and to publish same in the New York World, Joe Pulitzer's paper. At this point in its run Joseph's sons Ralph, Joseph and Herbert run the show, with famed Herbert Bayard Swope as its editor. 

I shan't do a potted history - again, head cold - but at one point the boys in the print room decided to pontificate. What would life be like, they wondered, a hundred years hence? What would the United States be like in the year of our Lord 2022?

Well.

Shame to pass that up, really.

To begin: 

David Wark Griffith (yes, the fella who directed The Birth of a Nation) thinks we'll do our reading on the screen. Talking pictures will have been perfected (remember, this is published early 1923) and perhaps have been forgotten again. For the world will have become picture-trained, so that words are not as important as they are now. All pictures will be in natural colors, the theatres will have special audiences, that is, there will be specialty theatres. 

Absolutely spot on so far as it goes. However, he goes on to say that I do not foresee the possibility of instantaneous transmission of living action to the screen within 100 years. There must be a medium upon which the dramatic coherence can be worked out and the perfected result set firmly ...

He didn't anticipate reality TV, streaming or news broadcasts, and he has a writer's eye for content. Writers aren't always the best judge of what makes a good performance. Otherwise, very perspicacious.

Henry L. Mencken thinks the United States will become a British colony. Its chief function will be to supply imbeciles to read the current British novels and docile cannon fodder for the British army. Mind you, he also thinks that Woodrow Wilson will be a talking point in 2022. Sarcasm detected.

William H. Anderson thinks that Prohibition will still be in place. The beverage use of [alcohol] will be utterly unknown except among the abnormal, subnormal, vicious and depraved, which classes will largely have been bred out of the race in America.

Oops. 

Mind, this is the fella who did two years in Sing Sing for fraud, over the Anti Saloon League's bogus financials. That would happen about two years after this article was published.

Cordell Hull thinks that The principles of democracy being eternal, they will necessarily exist a hundred years from now, and the achievements of government through the application of those principles to changing conditions will logically be greater than they have been in the last 100 years. That there will be two political parties then as now seems almost inevitable ...

He's not wrong, exactly, but recent events seem about to make him a liar.  

Margaret Sanger thinks that Birth control will have become part of education in health and hygiene. Women especially will be keen in demanding it. They will realize that it is a foundation of freedom and intellectual development for them. Women cannot make real progress today so long as they are haunted by the fear of undesired pregnancy. The results, in much shorter time than four or five generations, will be happier homes, greater mutual respect between husband and wife, honeymoons lasting two to three years before children arrive, with husband and wife thoroughly equilibriated to each other, because there has been time for mutual understanding ...

Another one with their finger on the pulse. Ms. Sanger is a bit more optimistic about the end result than perhaps she ought to have been, but she nailed the details.

Mary Garrett Hay thinks that Women's drudgery in the household will be eliminated, her care of the family will be lessened, as new inventions come in and new methods of work. Broadly true. Keeping house is certainly easier than it would have been in 1922. Politically, women will be powerful. They will share with men the real constructive work of government. Many will hold office. If there is not a woman President, the thought of one will shock no-one. That last bit isn't 100% accurate but it's getting closer to 90%. Co-operation will be the magic word in 2022.  Oh dear. The thought bubble burst. Still, it was a good run.

John S. Sumner thinks there will be no censorship. I do not foresee a censorship over books in this country, nor any official censorship of the stage. Um. I mean, compared to the censorship that existed in 1922 he's not wrong, but ...

James Weldon Johnson thinks there will be no lynching or racial antagonism. The Negro problem will probably be reduced to a thin and wavering line of opposition to social recognition and intercourse. Long before 2022 such a primitive manifestation of racial antagonism as lynching will be unknown, for the reason that the Negro will be in a position not to tolerate it and the country will be sufficiently civilized not to want to indulge in it.

Again, compared to the situation as it existed in 1922 he's not wrong. He's a bit starry-eyed and optimistic, but he's not wrong.

What strikes me about all of these articles is how optimistic they are. Admittedly, the World wouldn't have printed doom & gloom. The bits here are only a selection of what was actually printed in 1923 but I suspect, for example, that anything which predicted a second world war or some kind of jeremiad against the future would have been toned down or cut.

The only exception is Mencken, and I wish he'd taken the assignment seriously. It would have been more interesting, even if he was flat wrong, to read his actual thoughts, not his scattershot attempt at humor. 

That said, consider: these are people who just came out of a catastrophic military conflict. Who just survived a global pandemic. Economic conditions aren't exactly rosy, not in 1923 at least (it would get better). Yet they are full of optimism about the future a hundred years hence. Not one of them predicts disaster, yet it won't be long before a global depression seems to threaten global anarchy, and fascism at home and abroad threatens the roots of democratic government. 

They think they can survive. Thrive.

It would be interesting to see a similar article written today. I wonder what thought leaders would say about the United States, and the future, a hundred years from now?

The Gambler (Bookhounds of London)

First, housekeeping: I shall be in New York for a few days and so will not post on Sunday. It’s my Christmas trip. I’m hoping to see the Boy & the Heron while I’m there. 

On to the subject!  

Taken from Adventures in American Bookshops, Antique Stores and Auction Rooms by Guido Bruno, published 1922. 

The Gambler 

On Thirty-fourth, near Lexington Avenue, Jerome Duke has opened a bookshop of a peculiar sort. It is not exactly a book shop because there are antiques and curiosities all over the place. The books are thrown together topsy-turvy, Latin authors, modern novelists, theological books, old French tomes and German philosophers. I asked the proprietor about his books and his answer was: 

“I don’t know anything about them. I never read books and would not be bothered with them. I buy them at a certain price and I try to sell them at a profit. In fact, I intend to buy anything I can get cheap enough, no matter what it is. I went into the book game in order to gamble and I am going to gamble on anything that people bring in here. 

“There is one thing I have just refused to buy because the man wanted too much for it. He said that he had recently returned from Europe, had been a soldier, and wanted to sell me the embalmed finger of a German general. I forget the name of the general, but the man said that it was authentic and that he would sign a document before a notary public, swearing that he had been present at the time the finger was cut off of the general’s hand. Now, if he had asked fifty cents or a dollar, I would have been willing to take a chance, because it would make a good window display in this time of war; but he wanted five dollars, and I couldn’t see my way clear. That’s too much of a chance, to stake a five-spot on an embalmed finger of a German general. So I bought a slipper instead. It belonged to a Madame Jumel, and she is supposed to have worn it on the day that she got her divorce from Aaron Burr. I paid a dollar for it and I consider it a pretty sound gamble.” 

“How so?” I asked. 

“Well,” he answered, “because Aaron Burr was the second Vice-President of the United States.” Of course that argument was final, and I wished him luck with his purchase. 

Gutenberg can be a useful source of inspiration.  

They’re not all winners, but you can find some historical oddments and useful architectural drawings. The great thing is, even if it’s nonsense, it’s period nonsense told by the folks who were there, in their own words.  

Take that German general’s finger. I have absolutely no idea if any World War One generals lost a finger. Or, for that matter, two fingers. I couldn’t tell you which generals fought in the war. Not even Wikipedia can tell you that, though it does have a list of colonel generals if you’re at all interested. 

As a rule generals don’t die on the battlefield; they tend to succumb of some disease or other, safely behind the lines. At least, that’s the case for modern generals, and World War One is sufficiently modern for death by ouchie to be less of a risk. Lord alone knows how that finger came to be severed. Odds are pretty decent that it belonged to someone of less consequence than a general officer.  

However, as a period souvenir it ticks all the boxes. War plunder? Sure, why not. There might even be a little testimonial from someone who was there when the finger took flight. Trench art flourished during the war; I have a couple ashtrays made of artillery shells, for instance. People did make trench art out of body parts, and it’s within the realm of reason that someone might have made a reliquary out of bits of shrapnel. 

Plus, there’s the enterprising Jerome, who strikes me as a perfectly good foil for any Bookhounds game.

With all that in mind: 

The Duke’s Mess. 

Duke’s Head is the informal name for a bookshop in [pick a district] recently opened and getting a reputation. It’s a bit of a catch-all place; you can find anything there. About one step above a junk shop, really. No organization, no method. Some book scouts favor it as a hunting ground because the owner, Jerome Duke, apparently has no head for books – though some scouts say this is all a ruse, and Jerome knows more than he’s telling. 

Jerome Duke is an American, a former serviceman settled in London after the war. He says his people used to be Cockneys and he’s just reclaiming his roots, but his Noo Yawk accent is as thick as boot leather. He’s a manic gambler, card sharp and risk-taker. Cop Talk knows his shop is a well-known gambler’s house, with all kinds of illicit games in the back room after hours. It’s a regular shebeen, but so far Duke has avoided any consequences.  

Duke’s Head is best known for its collection of History, foreign Languages, and Craft. He does have some Occult texts but he doesn’t specialize in that stuff. He just picks up whatever’s on offer.  

The other thing Duke’s is famous for is trench art. He brought in a few things from his time in the trenches but after a while his collection grew and grew. If you want some odd bit from the war made of bullet casings and shrapnel, Duke is the fellow to see. He’s also the fellow to see if you want to offload trench art, and even ten years after the war there’s a plenitude of the stuff to get rid of. 

Duke’s collection includes an odd reliquary with a crucifix made entirely out of bullet casings. Inside the home-made reliquary is a mummified finger. Duke made this one himself and he won’t tell a soul how he got the finger, or why he thought it was a good idea to seal it up in this peculiar little artwork. 

Option One: Ghoulish Tendencies. Duke is a ghoul, made such by his experiences in the war. His American persona is one he adopted early on, and it stuck with him. He has other disguises, but Duke is the one he comes back to again and again – out of habit more than anything else. The finger is a memorial to his first official meal as a ghoul. 

Option Two: Megapolisomantic Guru. Duke speaks the language of cities and listens to their secrets. He settled in London because this is the best place to practice his craft. He may be willing to teach the art, or other Magick techniques, to people willing to devote themselves to London and its story. The finger is an artefact he’s crafted, which holds 4 points of Magick he can call on to help his castings. The pool can be refreshed every full moon, if he leaves the reliquary out in the moonlight. 

Option Three: Things Just Happen. Duke is one of those people who attracts problems. Occult problems. Mysterious problems. Maybe he just has one of those faces, or maybe he has a Drive that points him in the wrong direction. Take that finger, for instance. He cut it off himself, from a monster he says he encountered in the trenches. The monster – a vampire – would like it back but, so far, the vampire hasn’t been able to track Duke down. So far … 

Jerome Duke: Health 6, Scuffling 6, Fleeing 8, Firearms 4. Honest face, complete with Abraham Lincoln chinstrap beard; does not like loud noises; a friend to horses everywhere.  

Held In Pawn (RPG All)

There comes a time in any hero's life when they find themselves in need of easy credit.

Traditionally this role has been filled by the humble pawnbroker, who lends on collateral. 

The Pawnbroker

The traditional symbol of the pawnbroker’s shop is three balls hung a little bit like an inverse Club. Nobody knows why. There are all kinds of theories some of which may have some validity; it almost certainly comes from heraldry, but its actual origin is obscure.

There’s the slight possibility that the image originates from the tale of St. Nicholas, who once gave three bags of gold to three impoverished women, daughters of a pious man who had been brought to penury by Satan. If Saint Nicholas hadn’t stepped in, the daughters would have been forced into sex work. Because of this legend St. Nick is supposed to be the patron saint of pawnbrokers.

In order to know how much to lend you first have to know what the item is worth, which means you have to know a little about a lot. If you’re unscrupulous you can lowball the value to reduce the risk you’re carrying; the less you pay out the better, since so many of your clients default on payment. If that wasn’t a risk, they probably wouldn’t be knocking on your door to begin with.

If the client doesn’t pay up, then the item is sold to recoup the loan cost and hopefully provide a little profit on the transaction. From a buyer’s perspective that means you can find almost anything at a pawnbroker’s, and it’s usually better quality than you’d find at a junk shop – though possibly not by much.

There are other means of forcing payment. According to this Gutenberg text Chinese creditors had the option of taking their cause to the magistrate but preferred not to, as the magistrate’s love of bribes (gifts) was notorious. Instead, some of them went to the debtor’s place of business and camped out there, giving the hairy eyeball to all and sundry until they got paid.

Of course, if your setting happens to be magical (Swords of the Serpentine, eg) you have even more options at your disposal. Sorcery is the obvious route; lay curses on your debtor’s head until they pay up. In a game where social combat (Sway) is just as important as physical, you could also hire a professional slanderer to do your dirty work. They follow the target wherever they go, repeatedly sniping with Sway attacks.

Say:

Chatter Pappa is a well-known Derogatory. Short, slim and trim as a pirate’s sloop, they offer their services to the highest bidder. They don’t attack with their rapier (though they’re no slouch in that department - think Haughty Duelist, with a tongue that wags even more often than usual). Instead, they follow their target about Eversink, repeatedly targeting them with vicious barbs and slanders. If the target barricades themselves behind closed doors Chatter Pappa takes up their vigil outside, their tongue ceaselessly wagging so all passers-by know what kind of lowlife is hiding inside. Like all Derogatories, Chatter Pappa wears the silver badge of their trade. Guardsmen and city officials know better than to interrupt a Derogatory on their mission; while not technically approved by the courts, a Derogatory is a dangerous person to quarrel with. Chatter Pappa often works for the loan shark Vido the Rock, and it’s rumored that Chatter Pappa works for free, possibly because of some debt Vido holds over Chatter Pappa.

Having said all that let’s go to London and put a pawnbroker into the Bookhounds mix.

Howard and Thripps, Oxford Street

Mr. Howard, a former pugilist, and Mr. Thripps, a mousy little accountant, went into partnership ten years ago when Howard retired from the ring. Physically they closely resemble the comic characters Mutt and Jeff, and they have several strips clipped and pinned in the shop.

Four Things:

Howard is a prodigious drinker and when not at the shop he can usually be found at his favorite boozer, The Hanged Man, just around the corner. Thripps despairs whenever Howard drinks; Thripps is teetotal.

The shop has several rooms and a large elaborately decorated safe from John Croft & Sons, engineers. Nobody knows who John Croft is; the business probably expired years ago. The safe came with the shop. Thripps is the only one who reliably remembers the combination; Howard says he does, but often forgets.

Thripps is an enthusiastic investor in odd inventions. If you want to raise money for your latest Heath Robinson farrago, he’s the man to see. However, so many of these businesses fail that the shop has an impressive selection of oddball inventions in its inventory.

Fourth Thing Arabesque: one of the discarded inventions in the shop window is a prototype television set of peculiar design. According to the brass plate it’s the brainchild of Theo. Muswell of Croydon, whoever he is. It turns itself on and apparently has no power source; the fuzzy images it shows are hypnotic and threatening.

Fourth Thing Technicolor: cultists of the vampire priest often pawn their religious artefacts to raise funds for their projects, or to cover an emergency deficit. They always recover the items they pawn, but sometimes it’s a close-run thing.

Fourth Thing Sordid: A collection of photographs piled in a miscellany in a box on the counter includes several candid shots of the SS Princess Alice, post-sinking, its remains beached on the Thames. Those who pay the shots too close attention hear unsettling whispers from the drowned dead.

That's it for this week! Enjoy.

The Grey Man of Berlin (Night's Black Agents)

I'm going to draw on some information from the Dracula Dossier, Double Tap (ekimmu, the Babylonian possessing spirit p107-8) and this article about Beckett's Head, Berlin.

What came before: the German Vampire Project, pre-war, experimented with various necromantic techniques to create their supernatural crew and one of the less successful projects was Rattenfänger, which created one successful prototype but was unable to replicate its work. 

Its prototype, the Ekimmu that came to be known as Herr Flint, escaped the lab in the hectic last months of the Nazi regime. It survived the immediate inter-war years by making itself useful as a freelance operative serving the Americans, British and Russians; Herr Flint knew where the bodies were buried, literally and figuratively. It passed itself off as a low-level research assistant who just happened to know where the good stuff was kept, swapping information for security. Twice its cover was penetrated, and twice it faked its own death only to pop up again months or years later as an informant. 

When the Berlin Wall shot up Herr Flint saw an opportunity and, using the contacts it had made in the inter-war years, became an independent information broker between the living and the dead, whether Conspiracy dead or just regular. It wore out several bodies but accumulated a small fortune, as well as a significant amount of favors - currency, in the Cold War.

Recently Herr Flint decided to retire, after a close brush with permanent death thanks to the Mysterious Monseigneur. However, it's under pressure from a Conspiracy node, the Bankhaus Klingemann. Lisle wants Herr Flint to do one last favor for her, and as a substantial portion of Herr Flint's assets are held by the Bankhaus the Ekimmu finds Lisle's blandishments difficult to resist.

However, Herr Flint doesn't want to have anything to do with Lisle's schemes and has hit upon a solution: the Yojimbo option.

Enter the agents.

From the Guardian:

Beckett's Head is unmarked save for an eerily glowing photograph of Samuel Beckett in the window, so you'll need to ring a doorbell to gain access to this Prenzlauer Berg bar. Inside are two elegant, dimly lit rooms (one reserved for smokers) with low tables and chesterfield sofas. The comprehensive drinks list – ensconced between the pages of a Beckett tome – is divided into sections such as fresh and funky, and herbal and floral, and always features seasonal specials. The ice is hand-cut, and staff are happy to tailor-make drinks for the undecided. Absinthe fans may wish to sample the bar's take on the classic Monkey's Gland, made with English marmalade.

From Double Tap:

The ekimmu was a spirit of an unburied (or improperly buried) man that wanders the earth (or the underworld) bringing bad luck, disease, or a supernatural curse to its victims. Most often, the ekimmu possesses or attaches itself to a living victim, but some ekimmu animate corpses ... the ekimmu spends most of its time attached to or possessing a human or corpse, not least because (barring necromancy) it requires a human voice to interact with its Conspiracy colleagues. If it remains in the corpse too long, the skin shrinks over the bones and becomes pale or gray ... 

A Quiet Night Out

Information through the grapevine (tradecraft, streetwise or similar) suggests that important information concerning a Conspiracy operative is going to be traded in Berlin. One half of the deal is the infamous Grey Man of Berlin, but nobody knows who the buyer is. It might be interesting to find out ...

Opening

The agents pick up the Grey Man on the underground or U-Bahn, on his way to the meet. Surveillance is needed to avoid being spotted, and Sense Trouble notices a pair of disguised Bodyguards (p69 main book) following his every move. Herr Flint pretends not to notice these two, but he makes sure that they're never far away. 

The bodyguards look like a pair of students on a night out. Herr Flint looks like a bag of bones wrapped in an expensive suit. People on the U-Bahn avoid sitting near him if they can help it; he seems unwell. He has an expensive-seeming leather suitcase chained to his wrist. Anyone who pays him close attention also notices the gun he has in a concealed holster under his armpit. Agents with Law know that guns are heavily regulated in Germany; he's taking a big risk carrying something like that.

If the agents are spotted, Herr Flint tries to lose them by switching trains repeatedly on the U-Bahn (Difficulty 4 to keep up). It's a busy night and there are plenty of people trying to get home or to go out for a good time; a big crowd scene. If the bodyguards get an opportunity, they try to block the agents' path without seeming to do so deliberately.  

However, Herr Flint wants the agents to keep up with him so, if it looks like his attempt is successful, he'll deliberately sabotage it with an act of seeming carelessness. Clever agents with Sense Trouble may pick up on this deception and wonder why.

Agents who make a Sense Trouble Difficulty 5 notice that they're not the only suspicious characters on the U-Bahn tonight. A duo with special forces training (the agents may recognize them as members of the Gendarmerie Corps of Vatican City State) are trailing Herr Flint and have identified the agents as potential threats. If the agents recognize them, it raises a question: what are the Vatican's people doing quite so far from their turf?

Agents who pay close attention to the Vatican's people see them conferring every so often with what can only be surveillance assistance somewhere off-site. So there are more of them out there somewhere.

Arrival at Beckett's Head.

This cosy high-end cocktail bar is the sort of place anyone with High Society might start an entertaining evening, and tonight a group of execs from Bankhaus Klingemann are enjoying the finer things in life. Among the group is Lisle, the queen bee, holding court. They're in the smoking section, which (tonight only) is marked off for a private party.

Agents with Vampirology or Occult may notice that Herr Flint reacts badly to Lisle's bright red dress; the color red is a Dread for his kind.

Herr Flint takes up a spot at one end of the non-smoking section, enjoying a herbal cocktail. His bodyguards, who saunter in after him if they're still in it, are not far away. 

The Vatican group take up observation outside the Beckett's Head. The agents may notice a nondescript van parked not far away; the Mysterious Monseigneur or one of his senior henchmen is paying close attention from that observation post. Meanwhile the two special ops types the agents may have seen from before work their way around to a back entrance; they expect Herr Flint to make his way there and are planning to hit him when he does. 

Herr Flint is toying with a chess problem and using a board in the bar to play it out. He's paying it close attention. What he's not paying attention to is his leather case, which is by his side, unchained. 

Lisle saunters over and pretends to be interested in the problem as well, as is one of her inebriated colleagues. Though Herr Flint isn't too happy about her choice of costume he accepts her interest with polite decorum.

The inebriated colleague wanders off in search of the bathroom, but not before picking up the leather case. His instructions are to check the goods and, if satisfactory, leave Beckett's Head. If unsatisfactory, he rejoins the party.

That's what Herr Flint was hoping for. As an Ekimmu he has a special ability: when wounded his blood becomes an aerosol phantom that takes the shape of a predatory bird or storm cloud. He booby-trapped the case with a blood bomb; the colleague sets it off as soon as he opens the case. Herr Flint used 5 of his Health to make the phantom, which is one of the reasons why he looked so unhealthy tonight.

The first the agents may know about this is when the blood bomb goes off and the Bankhaus Klingemann exec comes stumbling out, drained dry by the blood phantom and breathing his last. While this distraction is going on, Herr Flint collapses. 

Except not really. Herr Flint has decided the time has come for a change of body. He had intended to take Lisle but she protected herself by wearing red. Now he has to choose someone else.

His options, in descending order: the agents, the Vatican agents, a Bankhaus employee at the party, some random civilian.

Meanwhile his bodyguards, not realizing his deception, leap to the defense of their principal. 

Thus starts a three-way melee. Herr Flint's bodyguards are almost innocent bystanders in all this and are armed with non-lethal weaponry, but they are a complicating factor. The blood phantom is immaterial and is partly controlled by Herr Flint, but it lacks a motivating force and is basically draining everything it can. The Vatican's people will intervene as soon as they realize what's going on, but that will take a few combat rounds. Meanwhile Lisle, who has a bodyguard of her own at the party who doesn't believe in non-lethal weaponry, will first try to get hold of the briefcase and then, when she realizes it's a scam, make her exit.

Herr Flint's objective is to find a new body and get out.

The Vatican's objective is to put an end to Herr Flint once and for all, and they have the Banes to do it but lack a target - at least until they find out which body Herr Flint now operates from. 

Lisle and Bankhaus' objective was to get hold of the data Herr Flint promised them. Once they realize the data is a sham, their next objective is to get hold of Herr Flint.

Once Herr Flint has a new body he'll move outside, where he has a fast motorcycle stashed not far from Beckett's Head. This may provoke a Chase scene, as Herr Flint makes his getaway. 

Herr Flint has a safe house luxury apartment in Berlin where he'll stay the night and, if he isn't tracked down, he'll leave Berlin soon after in his new body. The Grey Man lives to fight another day ...

Interesting footnote: Prenzlauer Berg has been a center of youth counterculture and squats that, today, is undergoing gentrification. The old hippies are being squeezed out, but it's still a youth-trending neighborhood. Added to that, there are any number of WWII era bunkers under Berlin, including Prenzlauer Berg. You're spoilt for choice: that safe house could be in one of the few bits of Prenzlauer Berg that hasn't succumbed to gentrification, daubed with Cold-War era graffiti, or it could be in a lost Nazi bunker beneath Prenzlauer Berg. Either way, an excellent and evocative spot for a final showdown!

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

   

The Small God of Belluccia Bridge (Swords of the Serpentine)

The phrase small gods make a lot of people think of the Pratchett novel of the same name. I first encountered the idea in the Fritz Leiber short story Lean Times in Lankhmar, where barbarian Fafhrd becomes the shaven-headed devotee of a very peculiar God and his long-time companion Mouser tries to drink him out of it. 

In our world probably the closest equivalent is Mecca, pre-Muhammad. Before the Prophet captured Mecca and turned it into the heart of Islam Mecca was a hotbed of paganism, home to all sorts of since-forgotten gods. This was probably a relic of Mecca's trading post past; where the world's peoples gather and worship, peculiar practices become the norm. You might walk down any street - in Lankhmar it would have been the Street of the Gods where deities rise and fall by their position on that ill-destined thoroughfare - and find a divine who predates Rome and is now all but erased from history.

Mind you, as Leiber put it:

... the gods have very sharp ears for boasts, or for declarations of happiness and self-satisfaction, or for assertions of a firm intention to do this or that, or for statements that this or that must surely happen, or any other words hinting that a man is in the slightest control of his own destiny. And the gods are jealous, easily angered, perverse, and swift to thwart ...

With all that in mind: 

The Small God of Belluccia Bridge

Location: under the shadow of the Well of Tears, Ironcross. Some prisoners can see Belluccia Bridge from their cells. It's some distance from the Bridge of Tears, though those unfamiliar with Ironcross sometimes mistake the two.

Description (day): A crossing point between two busy streets and a narrow alley, used mainly by bureaucrats, lawyers, and relatives of those who might find themselves in the Well of Tears. A trick of architecture encourages chill breezes at unexpected moments, threatening the security of wigs and hats. A statue of some unnamed person looks out from the bridge across the waters, their face and features long worn smooth by the touch of unnumbered hands. Those who bother to notice it at all call it the Cheese, and there is a persistent rumor that the Cheese is a nickname of a long-forgotten judge in whose honor the statue was made. Legend has it that if the Cheese favors your case you cannot fail, which is why so many lawyers have caressed its worn face over the years.

Description (night): A lonely and unremembered stretch that seems longer, somehow, and narrower than it does during the day. There is no breeze at night, and the air is, if anything, unnaturally still. Without the bustle of lawyers and clerks Belluccia Bridge echoes at every footfall, and when there's no-one around the gentle lap-lap of the water below becomes oppressive, as if each watery caress is the tick of an eternal clock slowly winding down to nothing. There is a statue of a sharp-faced man here whose staring eyes seem to follow every visitor. In one hand he holds a dirk, in the other a key. The key, a symbol of knowledge, is in the left hand which some consider a sign of sorcery - knowledge of sorcerous techniques is called the left-hand path. The dirk, in art and sculpture, is sometimes called the martyr's point.

Rumor: if you seek knowledge or success in a legal cause, you must make your appeal to the Judge at the dead of night at Belluccia Bridge. If your appeal is heard and granted, your action cannot fail. If the Judge can be bribed, as so many earthly judges can, nobody knows what offering would find favor in his eyes.

Danger: At least three people claim to have met a shadowy duelist on Belluccia Bridge. Of those three, only one escaped without injury and there have been seven corpses found in the waters underneath the bridge, all run through the heart, that might be victims of this unknown assailant.

The Small God

all want to learn, but no one is willing to pay the price ...

It calls itself the Balance. When the Well of Tears was first built (and few remember when that was) it came here as the last resort of the unfortunate, the one who put its thumb on the scales of justice to release souls from confinement. 

Not bodies. Souls.

The Balance considers itself a God of Law. However, it's not blind justice. This is the kind of law which, with a nudge and a wink, adjusts the scales in favor of one side or the other. The kind that uses rules of procedure and precedent to get what it wants.

The very first lawyers who came to the Well to see their clients were the first devotees of the Balance and they learned a great deal about their profession from the God. However, despite its blandishments it could never persuade any of these clerks and scriveners to become its champion, its proselytizer.  They took; they did not give back.

In time the Balance soured.  It forgot why it settled beneath the Well of Tears and began to obsess about the lost and damned inside the jail, the ones who never saw trial, who vanished inside its innards. It forgot the law. It forgot precedent and justice. It wanted revenge. 

It whispered at night to the duelist Lorenzo Vasari, betrayed by his employer and left to rot in jail for an assassination disguised as a legitimate duel. Vasari wanted out; his lawyer kept promising freedom but never delivered. Lorenzo came to believe that the statue he could see from his cell was speaking to him at night, that it knew a way out of the Well and would help him - for a price. 

It did know a way out. Now Lorenzo is the skeletal duelist, strong right hand of the Small God who will take vengeance on those who displease it. At its urging Lorenzo comes out of the water below, slime oozing from its ruined finery, its sword still gleaming bright.

The Balance still offers legal advice to those who know how to ask for it, and it will lend its supernatural support to those willing to work in its service. It can get souls out of the Well. It may even be able to get bodies out too; nobody can say for sure.

If it is displeased, it has its strong right hand. Vasari has the stats of a duelist (p47) and the weakness of a skeletal giant (p197). Vasari cannot be defeated unless its Health and Morale are both at 0, and Morale regenerates at the end of every round. Vasari cannot die so long as the Small God remains at Belluccia Bridge, but he can be defeated and if that happens he sinks beneath the water. He will be able to return the next night. 

There is one special condition that will rid Eversink of Vasari for good. If it can be proven to the duelist that both its lawyer and its former employer are dead, Vasari will be released from the Balance's service and never be seen again.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

The Hook (GUMSHOE All)

 

Casablanca Opening Scene

What makes a good hook?

In GUMSHOE and in most investigative games the hook, or opening scene, is used to lure the characters into the plot. It alerts them that something is going on; it gives them a rough (and possibly misleading) idea of what is to come; it may even give a hint (again, possibly misleading) of the kind of opposition they will face. 

Take a look at the opening scene of Casablanca. In less than two and a half minutes, you know where you are, when you are, how serious the situation is, and the broad strokes of the kind of narrative you're about to witness. You even know the name of one of the main characters, M. Renault, the prefect of police. 

But you don't see M. Renault, nor do you see any other main character. You see two minor characters, and one recurring character, briefly. NPCs, all. You see the signage for Rick's Café Américain, but you don't see Rick. 

In any RPG setting some of this heavy lifting is done for you. You always know when you are: Cyberpunk is a game of the dark future, not 1890s London. Trail is a 1930s setting, Call a 1920s setting (for the most part) and so on. The rest of it is up to you.

But that gives a clear indication of the nature of a good hook. It tells you how serious the situation is, and the broad strokes of the kind of narrative you're about to experience. It should also give you a clear indication of where to go next since, unlike Rick and M. Renault, your players don't have a script to work with.  

I'm going to borrow the example I used last week for Night's Black Agents:

An apartment in a Wandsworth council house exploded thanks to a mistimed suicide vest, which the powers that be are covering up under DORA as a gas leak. There's an official investigation; the agents are parachuted in as 'experts' by whichever agency sponsors them. Edom, why not.

As Director you already know that this is a modern spy game set in London with supernatural opposition as the major players in the shadowy underbelly of Europe. You know where you want the agents to go. The question is how to get there.

Some of an opening scene is setting rather than information: you set the tone. 

Rain spits from grey skies as you pass the police tape line. Nobody looks you in the eye. Not the plod, not the people. They don't know who you are, but they know what you are. Only the CCTV, sprouting like fungal growths off every wall and corner, doesn't look away. The electronic eye sees all. 

Inside, the apartment is meat feast mixed with brimstone. Forensics in their noddy suits are going over every inch and you watch their progress as you get into noddy suits of your own. At least three people lived here, according to the police report. Two of them accounted for; that would be the pile over there, and the plonker who set off the bomb by accident whose constituent parts now decorate the walls. Nobody knows where the third, the brother, Marcus, is.

The scene lead, Inspector Dawkins, is conferring with one of the forensic techs. He pretends not to notice you.    

You could add more but that's enough to be getting on with. That's the tone set. The Casablanca moment.

The next thing to think about is the clue trail. You want the agents to find clues that lead to the next scene, or at least lead to a scene which is interesting. 

Key point, that. You can have as many red herring trails as you like but they all have to be interesting. Either they lead to an action moment of some kind, or they introduce something unique to the plot. 

For example: brother Marcus might not be involved in the main plot at all. He might have taken to his heels when he saw the bombs go off. Following him doesn't lead to main plot. But he almost certainly knows something useful and the OPFOR know he knows something useful, so chasing that lead gets to either:

• an action moment where Marcus has to be saved from certain death, or,
• a horror moment when the agents find out what hideous atrocities the OPFOR inflicted on Marcus. Eaten by ghouls, say, or turned into a zombie, or used as a ritual sacrifice.

The next question is, what clues to leave? Where do they go?

It's useful for any hook to have at least one Clue per specialty, and one Clue for Rome. 

In Night's Black Agents there are three specialty pools: Technical, Academic, Interpersonal. The geek skills, the scholar skills, the talky skills. Other systems follow similar lines. If we were talking about D&D, for example, it would be STR based, WIS based, CHA based and so on. All GUMSHOE systems follow broadly the same Technical, Academic and Interpersonal principles. 

In this particular setting there are also Network contacts that the agents can call on if there's a skill pool that they lack. So even if none of the agents have significant Technical pools, say, they can call on someone who does.

Now, in each heading there are various different possibilities. Technical, for example, includes Astronomy, Forgery and Pharmacy, among others. Does that mean you have to have a Clue for all three? For all Technical possibilities?

Of course not. If you know the agents' capabilities from the start you can tailor the Clue trail to those capabilities but assume for the sake of this example that you don't know what the agents are capable of. In that case, just assign an Academic, a Technical and an Interpersonal skill, and let the player choose how they got there. They can use any Academic pool they like to get the Academic Clue, and so on.

There are two advantages to this. One is that it allows creative players to make use of pools that don't often see play. Astronomy is my personal bugbear; I can't imagine a use for it outside of a particularly restricted set of circumstances. However, a creative player might come up with an idea I haven't thought of, and if it's not completely Scooby Doo and fits the narrative, why not use it?

The second is that it allows easy jump-off to the next scene. If, say, you planned it so that only Forensic Science would work, and nobody has Forensic Science, nobody thinks of a way to use it in the scene, or nobody uses the magic words 'I'd like to use Forensic Science, please, Director,' then the Clue trail stops dead. Which is the very last thing you want to happen, especially in the opening scene of the scenario.

Understand, I'm not suggesting that you do this in any other scene but this one. Nor am I suggesting that you only have four clues in the opening scene. What I'm saying is that, in order to guarantee smooth passage from here to the next moment, have at least four clues and don't worry about assigning particular pools for these clues. Just make sure there's one each for Technical, Academic, and Interpersonal, and one for Rome so the agents get a sniff of what they're dealing with.

Put it this way: James Bond fails all the time. He never fails in the opening scene. Later on, sure, he might be captured, bungle a rescue, whatever. But in the first ten minutes Bond does nothing but shine. Occasionally he wears a seagull on his head. But he shines.

OK, so let's put this to work.

We already have the opening moment. We know what Casablanca looks like. The agents are on the bomb site poking through the debris. We need at least four clues to propel them from here to somewhere else. 

• Academic: there's information here about someone's medical history over the past two years; their last appointment was four months ago, for a consultation at London Bridge Hospital - the Shard, where they keep their fertility clinic. How did this lot afford it, and why were they keen to see a fertility specialist?
• Point spend: the doctor at the Shard, Felicity Pocock, is a suspected Conspiracy asset, but it's never been clear whether she has any status or is just a cog in the machine.
• Technical: the explosive vest is fairly low-level tech; even so, it's beyond this mug's technical capability. It must have been put together somewhere else and brought here.
• Point spend: there's a terrorist group, Groupe Islamique Combattant Marocain or Moroccan Islamic Combatant Group, known to have 'acquired' C-4 exactly like this from USAG Benelux. The GICM have links with a London coke and hash smuggling group, the Fassih Collective. Is that how the C-4 got from Belgium to London? 
• Interpersonal: Inspector Dawkins is a known face, and a dogged investigator. However, his career has taken some pretty serious alcohol-related dings in the last few years. There are other candidates just as skilled as he; why is he assigned to this case?
• Point spend: Dawkins has an angel in his corner. Someone high up the chain has taken an interest in his career and is pushing him forward, which means Dawkins has politics on his side. Someone at Assistant Commissioner level in the Met, at least. 
• Rome: the people who lived here went to a lot of trouble to protect their electronics against EMP damage. It didn't work; there's a pile of discarded watches and portable electronics, completely fried. 
• Point spend: damage to electronics is a possible indication of supernatural or vampiric activity. There have been a few other crime scenes with similar markers, and three out of the five were in the Greenwich area. There's an informant down that way, runs a phone shop on Powis Street; Babichev, aka Fat Bob. Links to Russian criminals, Turkish - a very popular lad, is Bob. 

There you go.

You can have more clues, of course. I encourage that. But with this little trail the agents have two defined places to go (the Shard, Fat Bob) and two potential lines of enquiry (the Fassih Collective, Dawkin's angel in the Met). Plenty to be getting on with. 

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Playing With Spines (GUMSHOE)

 

original source Randy Writes a Novel

If you're new to this whole GM/Director/Master of Minds malarkey, you'll probably look at the section on Clues and Spines in the main book and say 'crikey!' Possibly also 'foozle!' and 'pob!' because you have a full vocabulary.

A straightforward investigation can be seen as a series of scenes arranged in a straight line, with multiple ways to move from each scene to the one following it. Improvisation consists of reacting to the players by switching the order of scenes around or interpolating new scenes in this order. This is simple to write and run, but difficult to hide.

A looser structure will still consist of an investigative line, in which the Investigators pursue a series of core clues until they achieve a resolution of some sort. This is called the spine.

 Trail of Cthulhu p192

Let's play amateur chiropractor. 

The main setting for this example is Night's Black Agents, a modern-day spies v. vampires game.  Characters for this example are Fibber McGee, a bang-and-burner; Molly, the black-bagger, Gildersneeve, the former crime scene investigator turned Cleaner, and Belulah, the wetworker. The setting is London.

Someone's blown a hole in it.

A very small hole, but a hole nonetheless. An apartment in a Wandsworth council house exploded thanks to a mistimed suicide vest, which the powers that be are covering up under DORA as a gas leak. There's an official investigation; the agents are parachuted in as 'experts' by whichever agency sponsors them. Edom, why not.

That's the Hook, and since I like to start with action the scenario will open at that point, with the agents and the official investigators poking through the crime scene in an uneasy, mistrustful partnership. This is the inciting incident and also the first point on the Spine.

Let's take a step back.

As Director, you already know a few things. For instance:

• You know who the OPFOR are;
• You know what they want;
• You know where this is going to end.

You probably also know your players' characters well enough to be able to plan around their MOS and investigative pools. That's not a given, though; this might be a one-off for a completely fresh group. However, if you do know that, say, Molly is a fan of Electronic Surveillance and Architecture, then you can plan for a few clues that allow her to make use of those pools.

You also know one other thing.

You know the type of scene that makes up the Hook.

Some scenes are action scenes, with all the explosions and broken bones that an action scene implies. Some are investigative. Some are interstitial; that is, it transitions from one moment to another. Whichever kind of scene it is will determine, to an extent, the kind of clues the characters might find, which in turn determines how they get from point A to point B. 

This is an Investigative scene, which means agents will be drawing primarily on Technical and Academic pools. It's reasonable to assume that every group has at least some Technical and Academic expertise. Each character had the option to buy all sorts of pools at creation. 

Fibber, being a bang-and-burner, is likely to be bringing his Forensic brain to bear on the equipment and debris found at the scene. Molly will want to use Electronic Surveillance, finding security camera footage from nearby businesses and combing through it. Belulah might use Streetwise or Urban Survival to find out if any local criminal groups supplied the bomber. Gildersneeve will be drawing on his Human Terrain abilities to track the bomber's social media posts and see if there's a connection to known extremist organizations. 

All these are means by which each agent can find a clue that leads to the next Core scene. Possibly it will be a direct jump. There may be an interstitial moment, or an antagonist reaction, but ultimately clue A leads to scene B.  You, as Director, know that the agents will do this; that's how it's supposed to work. Each point in the Spine is riddled with clues that are designed specifically for this purpose. 

But.

Suppose we don't want this to be straightforward? Suppose we want a parallel spine?

In this example let's say that the OPFOR, being an extremist group puppeted by the Satanic Cult of Dracula, are meant to be detonating suicide jackets on the London Underground, spreading not just terror but also a vampire-spiced bioweapon that will create quasi-Renfields among those exposed, civilians and crime scene investigators alike. The intent being to create a subgroup of people desperate to join the Satanic Cult so they can get relief from their symptoms, while at the same time spreading terror and distrust of the bumbling authorities who let this happen.

Fine. That's what they want. 

But they're not the only people in the game. 

Which creates a second spine.

The first spine is about finding out who the bombers are, what their target is, and what their timetable is. If the agents are successful, they prevent the attacks. If they're only partly successful, or if they fail, then the bombs go off. That means conclusion of that spine comes when either there is a scene where the bombers are captured, or a scene in which the bombs go off.

Let's go a step further and say that there is a faction within Edom led by, Nails, why not, which wants those bombs to go off. If they do then it furthers his scheme, which is [whatever it may be]. Fort, who is the agents' sponsor, doesn't know which of the Princes is playing with fire and suspects this faction exists but has no proof. 

This spine is completely separate from the main event. Since the opening scene of the main event relied heavily on Technical and Academic pools, it seems reasonable that this parallel spine relies on Interpersonal pools. Which, in this example, Belulah happens to be good at. 

That gives the characters who didn't invest heavily in the other two pools a chance to shine on this parallel spine. While Fibber and the gang chase up Technical or Academic leads, Belulah breaks bones and blandishes informants in her Interpersonal search for the parallel truth at the end of the second spine. 

Which ends when the agents either expose Nails' shenanigans or fail to do so, which pleases or embarrasses their sponsor Fort. 

If I were to represent this with a diagram (I'm bad at drawing) it would look as if each spine started from the same point and then diverged. There might be occasional points where they intersect again. There might not. Both spines can be completed, or one might be completed and the other not, or the agents may fail to complete both.

Why do this? 

First, because complication and conflict drive plot and plot is the objective in every investigative game, whether it's Night's Black Agents or Mutant City Blues. You want plot. You want the players to bathe in plot. 

Second, because it gives the characters two chances to win. 

Think about it. If the bombs go off then the characters lose entirely, if there's only one spine. However, if there's two spines then there are two chances to win. OK, one win - bombs go off but Nails is exposed - is at best a Pyrrhic victory. However, every victory is a victory if you're fighting an unholy war in the blood-soaked shadows of London. 

The two spines can touch, in certain Core scenes. Let's say that the NPC investigative team is being led by someone who's indebted to Nails, for whatever reason, and tries to sabotage it so Nails' plan can succeed. The agents might use Interpersonal abilities like Cop Talk to find this out, or even to trace the team leader to a clandestine meeting with Nails. 

However, for the most part it's a completely separate chase. Will the agents uncover Nails' involvement? Will they chase up the bombing angle without ever realizing that they're making an enemy within Edom, whether they foil Nails or embarrass Fort?

One last thing. I said at the start that knowing where this is going to end is one of the three definite things in every scenario. Well, there's one more thing.

You also know that there will be consequences, no matter which outcome occurs.

If the agents foil the bombing and expose Nails, then the consequence is the Satanic Cult lashes out, Nails may be removed and replaced, and Fort's star rises. All of which gives rise to future plot. 

If the agents foil or partly foil the bombing and do not expose Nails, then Nails stays but is angry, Fort may also be embarrassed and angry, and the agents will catch hell. All of which gives rise to future plot. 

If the agents do not foil the bombing and do not expose Nails, then there's a bunch of people out there - including them, perhaps - desperate for the cure that the Satanic Cult offers. Meanwhile Fort is off to Edom's equivalent of Slough House and Nails is reaping the rewards of service to Dracula.  All of which gives rise to (sing along with me now, folks) future plot.

No matter which is the case, those consequences create more spines. Which creates complication and conflict. Which drives plot. 

Goodness. Did I just mention Slough House? That's because this is exactly what Mick Herron does. There is an A plot, the supposed main plot, the bit that the blurb on the back of the book talks about. Then there is the B plot, the actual plot, the one you really ought to be paying attention to. The great advantage for Herron is that, as he has so many characters, he can split them along the different plotlines. That is exactly what I'm suggesting you do.

Enjoy!

Bertie's Dross & Cast-Offs (Night's Black Agents)

 

Sourced from The Guardian

The heirs of Silvio Berlusconi inherited billions from his empire but now they are faced with a dilemma: what to do with his vast collection of mostly worthless artwork, including paintings of nude women and the Madonna, stored in a warehouse opposite his home near Milan.

The former prime minister, who died in June at the age of 86, reportedly amassed the 25,000 works during the final years of his life, buying the majority from late-night shopping channels in his quest to become a top collector.

Vittorio Sgarbi, an undersecretary at the culture ministry, art critic and close friend of Berlusconi, said the compulsion for buying art sold through TV auctions began in earnest in 2018 as a result of “sleepless nights”.

He told Report, the investigative series broadcast on Rai, that Berlusconi spent an estimated €20m on what Sgarbi described as a collection of “crusts”, and the focus appeared to be on quantity rather than quality.

Oh dear. 

Well, billionaires have their little quirks. Berlusconi's heirs will probably burn or otherwise get rid of the vast majority - they'll go to 'the most appropriate destination' according to the latest from the heirs - as it costs close to a million Euro to fund the warehouse where his collection's stored. Given than the average piece probably isn't worth $2, with frame, that cost must be eating away at their souls as well as their wallets. 

After all, a billion - one measly billion - would only fund about a hundred year's worth of storage. 

However, let's step back from the schadenfreude and gamify this. 

Let's say that there's a deceased billionaire. Accidents happen. Let's further say that they have an extensive collection of 'art' hidden away in ... oh, their mansion on the Côte d'Azur and a warehouse near Nice, why not. The news caught the silly season and there are some amusing TikToks and YouTube diatribes, but there the matter rests. 

Or does it?

The agents' Network hints at other developments. Someone connected with the Conspiracy is taking an interest. Who is this mysterious art speculator and why are they interested in Bertie's soon-to-be bonfire material? 

A point's worth of investigative pools finds out the identity of the buyer, but perhaps the real question is, who's put them up to it?

The Buyer

Options: 

• The Art Forecaster (p103 DD), and rumor has it that they're after a particular piece but don't want to say which of the many, many bits of tat they're after.
• The Online Mystic (p126), who claims that forces beyond the veil have directed them to make the buy.
• Van Sloan (p87) and not even his closest friends know why, but his catspaws are already on their way to the Riviera. 

But why do this?

The Art Forecaster wants to cover up two unfortunate facts. One is that the Forecaster was the billionaire's art expert who curated the collection; it's time to burn the receipts. The other is that some of the collection was actually an esoteric effort at mind control; it's not the bad art but the sigils on the canvases, obscured by the art, which are the key. Sure, if they're burned that solves a problem, but only if all the affected canvases are destroyed and the Forecaster wants to make sure of that. The billionaire was supposed to live for at least another decade to further the Conspiracy's goals, but cocaine and sex parties wore him out before his time.

The Online Mystic really has been directed by forces beyond the veil, but those forces are actually trying to lure the agents into a trap. The warehouse near Nice is the real target; the intent is to draw the agents into a killing zone and burn the place down, with them in it. If the agents dig a little deeper into the Mystic's social media posts they may discover clues that suggest the Mystic's talking to the Human Trafficker (p119) with the goal of hiring fascist thugs to carry out the ambush.

Van Sloan wants closure. The billionaire isn't just any old billionaire; he's the son of one of Van Sloan's wartime contacts in Italy. Van Sloan is the boy's godfather. Van Sloan left an artefact in his safekeeping: the Portrait of Dracula. It's this portrait (whether major artefact, minor, or fake) that started the billionaire on his art buying spree; he wanted to get the Portrait out of his head and tried to do that by drowning it in bad art. Van Sloan feels guilty. He feels he poisoned the boy's life. He wants the portrait back or proof of its destruction.

That's it for this week! Enjoy. 

Flipping The Personal Mystic (Night's Black Agents)

Servants seem out of touch. Enter the billionaire’s battalion of experts (Washington Post Christopher Cameron)

“There are areas I want to work on,” says Gill, who would prefer not to name the monk she met while at Tibet House US in New York, a cultural center established at the behest of the Dalai Lama. “There’s professional growth, being a better CEO and a better founder. So he helps me by organizing meditations, where we just sit in noble silence, or we may talk about things.”

To deal with stress and practice mindfulness, she joined a holotropic breathwork community with Angell Deer, a shamanic healer, mystic, medicine man, teacher, permaculturist, beekeeper and international speaker, according to his website.

In July, she traveled to Esalen, the storied Big Sur retreat known for its connections to the Human Potential Movement of the 1960s.

“I’m there exploring breath work and these new modalities, but it’s all very steeped in Silicon Valley tech culture. There’s a guy from Google there,” she says. Ben Tauber, a former Google product manager, was CEO at Esalen until 2019 ...

... Personal chemists now help CEOs hack their psyches with psilocybin chocolates, ayahuasca retreats, microdoses of LSD and IV drips of ketamine (Elon Musk is one alleged user). Teams of private doctors, dietitians, scientists, wellness practitioners and trainers help aging executives search for the Fountain of Youth — with occasionally gruesome techniques (like tech mogul Bryan Johnson’s “blood boy”). Shamans guide board room bosses through difficult decisions. Mixed martial artist Khai “The Shadow” Wu trains Mark Zuckerberg. “Pro-natalists” tap matchmakers to secure high IQ partners to produce elite super children for a world they agree is doomed to societal and environmental collapse ...

...  “I placed a full-time, permanent gaming expert,” says a person working for an UHNW family, who could not be identified due to a nondisclosure agreement. “My client wanted someone who was the best at all of the best games.”

Gosh, isn't it just appalling to have lots of money. 

Jeeves & Wooster, P.G. Wodehouse (Fry & Laurie)

We all knew the rich have peculiar tastes and the idea of a personal beekeeper is neither here nor there, especially if they happen to be a shaman on the side. A personal gamer, though? Someone whose sole job is to make psychedelic chocolates? That's a new one on me. No doubt I'm appallingly naive. 

However, it does suggest intriguing possibilities, particularly for Night's Black Agents.

The obvious is that handy-dandy narrative placeholder, the Strange Psychiatric Facility. The place way off in the never-know-where, or it might be Big Sur, that specializes in recovering your peace of mind, for a fee. The owner (or are they a cover for the real owner?) has all sorts of mystic credentials. Anywhere else, if you happened upon an impressive shrine dedicated to hideous beings from beyond the veil, you'd suspect foul doings; but here, that shrine's just part of the treatment. Meditate upon the swirling colors in that portal to another dimension. All will be well. All will be well.

The agent's task in this situation is to infiltrate the Psychiatric Facility to get closer to the billionaire and do whatever it is they've gone there to do. Warn them, remove their handler, extract the McGuffin before the Conspiracy before they get their greasy hands on it, whatever works for the narrative.

I want to go in a different direction.

Let's say that the Billionaire (civilian stats, bodyguards, martial arts trainers, the lot) is someone of importance to the Conspiracy but they're not yet part of the family. Maybe the billionaire has valuable documents they want to steal, or has connections within a particular industry, or valuable proprietary technology, or just lots of money. For all these reasons the Conspiracy might want to infiltrate the billionaire's luxury compound and gain control of the billionaire and their McGuffin. They might promise the billionaire something they really want, like a super-baby, extended life, or just pleasant dreams. 

For purposes of infiltration the mansion is Monitoring 5 Security 5. There's cameras everywhere, a small army of staff, any number of ways a snooper might get caught on the way in. 

The agent's job is to get in, identify the Conspiracy asset, neutralize that asset without killing them as a murder investigation will only complicate matters, and then get out.

The trouble is, which of the many, many possible subjects is the asset? Is it the chocolate maker with their peculiar candies? The Feng Shui expert (a possible Chinese spy, perhaps)? Their personal religious studies tutor, a high-ranking member of the Catholic church? Someone else?

For purposes of gameplay whoever it is has no supernatural background but does have sufficient Aberrance to power their magical/satanic/psychic abilities. Assume Aberrance 6 and the ability of the Director's choice, chosen from the Vampire list. Also assume that the enemy operative can regain Aberrance in some way, eg. by causing Stability loss which refreshes Aberrance on a 1 to 1 basis, blood sacrifice, use of magical/psychic artefacts or some other means.

But who is it?

Is it the Mysterious Monseigneur (p144 DD), providing spiritual guidance (and connections with the Vatican)?

The Medievalist (p122), who's advising the billionaire on his many, many trips to auction houses to refurnish that baronial castle he just bought?

The Retired MI6 Boffin, now a freelance cybersecurity expert for hire? Or possibly an adviser on that elaborate bitcoin mine the Billionaire's setting up in, oh, Alaska, why not?

Or one of the many, many, many flimflam artists, conmen and grifters who've sneaked into the billionaire's inner circle, to plan a party perhaps, or give them advice on the inner workings of the Bildeberg Group?  

Choices, choices ...

For an added bonus, what about flipping the Mystic?

In this version the job isn't to eliminate the Conspiracy asset. The job is to get in there and turn the asset to good use. Persuade them that the Conspiracy doesn't have their best interest at heart, that Dracula killed their Solace, or that the reward they were promised will never materialize. That way the asset will do the agents' bidding rather than Dracula's. Probably not for very long (Dracula will eventually eliminate them), but hopefully long enough. 

Where is this happening?

Well, the billionaire's mansion (one of several) is the obvious choice, as is their superyacht. But it could as easily be somewhere like Monaco or Macau, the Orient Express (or a facsimile thereof), their favorite ski resort, or some debauched party paradise. Anything's possible. Anything goes. 

Anything.

Enjoy!

Another Mask Behind You

I've seen it in his eyes. Screaming mad. Starkers! And dishonest! Hiding his face behind a fright mask. Well, no masks for me! I have nothing to hide! Joker, Batman: Arkham Asylum (Rocksteady)

Opening scene, Halloween, John Carpenter

“Who dares,”—he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him—“who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him—that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, from the battlements!” Edgar Allen Poe, The Masque of the Red Death.

Camilla: You, sir, should unmask.

Stranger: Indeed?

Cassilda: Indeed, it's time. We have all laid aside disguise but you.

Stranger: I wear no mask.

Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda.) No mask? No mask! Robert W. Chambers, The Mask

Masks are odd things. 

You don't often see them outside of carnival, traditional dance and ancient theatre. The Greeks and Romans were fond of masked actors taking on archetypes - the drunk, the old man, the soldier, the wife, the cuckold, the prostitute or wanton. Sock and Buskin, aka Comedy and Tragedy, come from this tradition, as does Commedia dell'arte

In mythology you often hear about masks allowing the wearer to take on archetypes, whether heroic or tragic, but the difficulty with mythology is that it's impossible to check your data. All the people who actually knew what it was supposed to mean are long since dead. Dead, dead, deadski. Almost no written records survive, which means you can make things up as you go and there's nobody to tell you different. 

Then, of course, there is Halloween. Where masks are the only thing separating us from the normal people. Originally a time to honor the dead, it has become a Saturnalia of booze and chocolate, fun as much for the adults as the kids. The original Myers Halloween mask, the iconic one in the film, is actually a William Shatner mask suitably modified - $1.98 at a costume shop, they were on a budget - but now it's so iconic that, if you mention Halloween to people, odds are one of the first images that springs to mind is that blank, hideous non-face worn by the most evil kid who ever lived. 

You don't often find them in ghost stories, funnily enough. Sometimes they float to the surface along with the other mental flotsam and jetsam lurking in the deeper waters of the psyche, but usually they don't appear except in the old-time tales of the likes of Poe. 

Onibaba Trailer (1964)

In film, masks work best when establishing mood, or defining a character. Everyone remembers Jason; everyone remembers Scream. Even if they didn't watch any of the films, they know just by looking at them exactly what kind of character they are. As cinematic shorthand, they work wonders. Even a mediocre film - and God knows there are plenty of those in both franchises - becomes just a little bit memorable when those masks appear on screen.

Why wear a mask?

• Performance
• Ritual
• Protection

You want it to enhance your performance (which can include performance in combat), provide magical assistance or evocation in a ritual, or to protect you against some form of attack whether natural or supernatural.

In the superhero genre - and possibly only in that genre - masks are used to protect identity. Which is ludicrous, but there we are. I've lost track of the number of people who know who Batman is (there must be a list somewhere), but it never makes any difference to the ongoing plot. It sometimes feels as if the 'protect identity' bit is an excuse for ever more elaborate costume concepts, each more evocative than the last. 

In our world 'protect identity' becomes 'play a part.' At Halloween the part is pretty simple - sexy nurse or sexy pirate? - but there are more elaborate versions. Carnival, a masquerade, a pantomime - all these involve ritualistic behavior of one kind or another, played by actors whose job it is to impersonate the characters that everyone knows and loves. Harlequin plays an important role in early pantomime, St George and the Dragon are traditional characters in a Mummer's Play. The modern version is the Pantomime Dame, the comic mother figure, and a host of others - but the Dame is the most recognizable. 

The old May Day traditions follow in this train. You abandon your identity to play another and your role is preordained - the fool with his bladder, for instance. 

Wicker Man

The chief benefit - or problem - in all three cases is that masks are impersonal, therefore unsettling even at the best of times. A gas mask protects against inhaling poisonous or dangerous gases, but there's no denying that the odd inhumanity of them frightens those who see them. The Samurai mask in Onibaba was meant to be unsettling. Jason's blank fright mask empowers Jason and terrifies his victims. All of which is to say that they work just as well on your friends as your enemies; it's terrifying either way.

Yet often - as with Onibaba - the true horror comes when the mask comes off. When Michael Myers removes his mask he stops being the Killer; he's just a little boy. When the Scream mask comes off, the killer, a friend, is revealed.

All that said, how best to use them in, say, Night's Black Agents?

OK, you could adapt one of the ideas like Pantomime or Carnival and stick them in a scene. The major event in the scenario takes place at Whitby during May Day, that kind of thing. It could also work well in a dream sequence - your nightmares are masked and you're being chased through, oh, your old high school, why not. 

But. 

What if the vampires are the masks?

Works best in a Supernatural or Damned setting, but picture this: ancient vampire spirits bonded with the masks they used to wear in Saturnalia or the Bacchanal - too many crimes made the man less than a man, the mask more than a mask. Now the only way the masks can survive is to bond to another human, effectively superimposing its vampire spirit onto the host. Every time the host dies, a small part of it becomes part of the vampire mask. The first few times this happened it was accidental, but they've spent their centuries perfecting the technique so that now, for instance, the traditional mask makers of Venice are one of their many Nodes, manufacturing new vampire masks to join the cult. 

The masks can extend the lifespan of the host and give them powers beyond comprehension, but only while wearing the mask. Even an extended lifespan eventually ends, but before that happens the host has to make sure the mask is passed on to someone else.

As the host ages, the signs that they're tainted by the mask becomes more obvious. The masks have developed special techniques to disguise these marks but they become less effective the older the host becomes. Which is why that renowned actress, for example, retired early from film and spent the rest of her days in her mansion, refusing all calls for an interview. Or why that industrialist is so reclusive, never leaving their yacht. 

You could, if you choose, go for a classic mythology route. One interpretation of the Medusa myth is an ancient cult used Gorgon masks to frighten the profane. When their shrines were overrun, the masks stolen, mythology interpreted the event as the beheading of Medusa. Suppose Medusa didn't die, and her cult lived on through one mask that survived the event? That the cult rebuilt using that mask as a prototype? Then your characters have the opportunity to literally behead Medusa; if they destroy that one ancient mask, the others lose their power and the cult is broken for good. Dracula Dossier for the ancient Greek history enthusiasts.

Why go this route?

First, it works in any setting. I mentioned Night's Black Agents but you could as easily use this in Trail, Fear Itself, Esoterrorists, D&D - whichever you fancy, really. Details change, the concept remains the same. The mask is the monster; the monster wears the mask.

Second, it becomes a means of setting friend against friend. Your Network Contact, your friendly NPC at the tavern, whoever, whenever, can fall under the spell of the mask. You can never be sure who's on who's side. Think of it like an addiction mixed with Possession; the person wearing the mask can't bear to be without it, but at the same time you never know what will happen if they put the mask on.

Third, it sets up an enemy that is both iconic and undying. Sure, you can burn the mask, drop it in acid, whatever you fancy - but there will be another mask. Someone's making them. Who? To what end? If the enemy wears a Michael Myers mask does that mean they become Myers? Share his abilities, obsessions?

Finally, it might just set up a moment like this:

Twilight Zone 'You're caricatures! All of you!'

Which, as the ending of a one-shot, is priceless.

Enjoy!