Luxury On The High Seas

It’s not often that you see a cuckoo outside your coffee shop window.

I’ve been admiring the Ritz-Carlton's liner Evirma (from the Greek, Discovery) this week. It's conducting its first home port visit; the ship's on the Bermuda register, so it's been on Hamilton dock for a few days as I write this and will be gone by the time I post it, with some very well-heeled passengers aboard. It has the look of a ship built especially for vampires, all black and formidable. 

If you’re not familiar with the modern cruise ship market you might wonder why this seems remarkable but, trust and believe, it is.

The usual cruise liner packs them in like sardines and is painted like a kid at a clown festival. You know what it is by the tunes blaring out at ULTRA HIGH VOLUME (80's and 90's, please, none of the modern shit unless it's Beyonce) and the peculiar water slide that cannons guests into the pool which, as a visual, sticks out like a sore thumb. The Titanic's owners would go into conniptions at the very idea.

Whereas the Evirma is more like the classic ships of yore. It accommodates 238 people at a time in 148 suites and is much, much smaller than the modern liner. That means it can navigate ports that would otherwise be closed to a modern ship.

Bear in mind most of the ports that liners used to visit were originally established back in the 1800s or earlier and have narrow navigational access. Our own port of St. George’s is like that. The navigation channel through the reefs was blasted back in the early 1900s and assumed that all liners would stay petite; once their waistlines ballooned St. George’s lost access to the cruise liner trade.

The Evirma’s also a good deal more civilized than the norm. Michelin restaurant? Palatial staterooms with private balconies that actually are private balconies, not just glorified handrails that look over the ocean? Yes, please.

In game terms, a ship like Evirma has more in common with superyachts than it does with liners, with the caveat that the Evirma isn’t one man’s toy. It has several hundred guests aboard. So, while the rules effects remain broadly as before the scale is larger by far. It’s not just a handful of stews, crew and guests. Now it’s hundreds of passengers, scores of staff devoted to their welfare, plus the crew, cooks, and so on needed to keep this floating hotel functioning.

Why would the Conspiracy be interested?

Well, money’s always attractive. If there’s someone aboard that the Conspiracy wants, it’s a no-brainer. A ship that size is bound to have a fortune aboard, perhaps scattered in safes located in each stateroom; enter Raffles, or his equivalent, stage right. If there’s an exclusive franchise aimed at high-end patrons, like Belle Magie from the Edom Files, then there’s a decent chance there’s an outlet aboard the Evirma (or your campaign equivalent).

Or it may be that it’s not the ship itself that’s important to the Conspiracy, but its destination. Say there’s an old port that used to be high-end, back in the 1930s, but which fell off the radar and has become a shadow of its former self. Still picturesque, especially with that old monastery up on the hill, but not on the luxury itinerary anymore. Now the Evirma, built to get to out-of-the-way destinations like this, is going to pay a call. That exclusive tour of the old monastery might be more exciting than the guide suggests, but what happens when some bitten guest goes back to their suite on the Evirma?

If you aim for the pulpier end of the market and have organizations like the Satanic Cult of Dracula in our campaign, then perhaps some of the high-end patrons have booked this cruise for … let’s call them religious reasons. Got to use those Loyalty points, y’know. Perhaps there will be hideous rituals behind closed doors, out on the ocean deep where governments and those pesky Edom spies can’t reach.

With all that in mind:

The High Life

The agents find out (through their usual sources) that the Conspiracy intends to conduct a ritual aboard its latest acquisition, the high-end liner Trandafir, while it is in home port for its inaugural voyage. It's not clear what that ritual is, but it's something that has to be done on its first trip, not before in the shipyard or afterward. Perhaps it's something to do with attuning a Red Room, or perhaps it's something else. But if the agents want to know what, they have to get aboard and find out. Bonus points if they identify who it is conducting the ritual.

Option One: Board Meeting. Important members of the executive council will be attending to take formal possession of the ship. Once this ritual is complete those same members will be able to keep an eye on the ship remotely and, in certain special suites, use mental and magical powers (mind control, spread nightmares, that sort of thing) as if they were present in the room. They intend to use these suites to gain control over the high-end persons travelling aboard the Trandafir. 

Option Two: Time In Flux. Technical wizards employed by the Conspiracy, perhaps as third parties, will set up certain suites as pocket time capsules, perhaps to assist the creation of new vampires (see also Zalozhniy Quartet) or as miniature torture chambers for the unluckiest of patrons. It's difficult to keep your cool - and your control over your finances - if you think you're being aged to death in the space of a day ...

Option Three: Ghost Busters. The suites are being set up as haunted rooms, using artefacts sourced from Romania's finest castles. Each suite has its own special surprise, to be unleashed at a moment of the Conspiracy's choosing. In some cases the intent is simple possession; the visitor walks out a whole new person. In others, intimidation, or information gathering. The Michelin starred restaurant is the key; the menu is to die for. 

That's it for this week. Enjoy!