Making Hounds Modern (Bookhounds of London)

I know you’re away from your excellent blog at the moment for personal reasons, but when you’re back (not sure if you take suggestions) I’d be really interested in how you’d generally approach updating Bookhounds to the present(ish) day.

Thanks to Fred for the suggestion! 

Would I update Bookhounds to the modern day, as in 2020s? I'm not sure. 

Part of my hesitation is due to the simple fact that there are plenty of modern-day horror games already, some of them very well established. Night's Black Agents and Esoterrorists being the two obvious examples. True, they have a different feel, being espionage-tinged rather than mystery-oriented. But they would be fighting for the same thoughtspace. 

That's a minor issue. 

The larger point has to do with M.R. James and emotional resonance.

Eton's master of ghost stories, M.R. James, was known to wax lyrical on the subject of atmosphere. 

 ... the setting seems to me all-important, since in it there is the greatest opportunity for variety.

It is upon this and upon the first glimmer of the appearance of the supernatural that pains must be lavished. But we need not, we should not, use all the colours in the box. In the infancy of the art we needed the haunted castle on a beetling rock to put us in the right frame: the tendency is not yet extinct, for I have but just read a story with a mysterious mansion on a desolate height in Cornwall and a gentleman practising the worst sort of magic. How often, too, have ruinous old houses been described or shown to me as fit scenes for stories.

‘Can’t you imagine some old monk or friar wandering about this long gallery?’ No, I can’t ...

Roughly speaking, the ghost should be a contemporary of the seer. Such was the elder Hamlet and such Jacob Marley. The latter I cite with confidence and in despite of critics, for, whatever may be urged against some parts of The Christmas Carol, it is, I hold, undeniable that the introduction, the advent, of Jacob Marley is tremendously effective.

And be it observed that the setting in both these classic examples is contemporary and even ordinary. The ramparts of the Kronborg and the chambers of Ebenezer Scrooge were, to those who frequented them, features of every-day life.

In a story-heavy game of this sort, you need to hit the key notes. You need to be able to persuade the players that this is where they want to spend their time. James makes an excellent point about the supernatural: the setting should be contemporary and ordinary.

But.

Emotional resonance requires a shared emotional state. You need to bring the players with you on the journey. You need to make this setting Bookhounds and at the same time make it modern. It needs to feel contemporary to those who inhabit the setting. 

The question then becomes, what makes a setting Bookhounds as opposed to, say, any other game setting, and how to make that modern while at the same time retaining its Bookhounds qualities? 

Once you know that, you can nail the Contemporary bit down.

The global Depression has driven an unprecedented number of collectors – both individual and institutional – to sell off their holdings for whatever they can get. The global crisis has also driven an unprecedented number of over-educated, morally bankrupt aristocrats and resentful would-be Great Beasts to experiment with black magic … including the Cthulhu Mythos. Between the two groups, sellers and buyers, a specialty market has sprung up in blasphemous tomes, no questions asked.

You cater to that market ...

Now, you could argue that sounds a lot like the 2020s, and broadly speaking, you're not wrong. However, I would argue there's a better version of London you could use. One that more accurately fits the great Depression/Great Depravity model, with its resentful Beasts and whinging aristocrats. One that is more Bookhounds than the 2020s.

The London Nobody Knows (James Mason)

Say hello to the late 1960s early 70s. 

You've had the Wars. You've had Suez. Mau-Mau and Maylasia. The Empire is on its way out. There's war damage, bombed out wastes and the occasional still-ticking bomb hidden away in the mess. Thirteen Wasted Years! (of Conservative rule). Vietnam is smoldering away and, while the UK isn't directly involved in that mess, several thousand troops are Over There along with a massive quantity of British made munitions. Mind you, if you don't like Over There there's always Across The Water, in Ireland, where things are getting very nasty. The economy's sputtering and while we haven't quite reached the age of constant strike action, you can see it without a telescope. The country (the world) is months away from an oil crisis, an economic collapse, a banking crisis, and in Britian's case a collapse of the government.

You've got a UK that's all but on its knees, and a London that still hasn't excavated itself from the rubble left behind by Nazi bombs. A London that's lost its shipping status and now has eight square miles of derelict land right at its heart, where its Docklands used to be. 

If that isn't ripe for horror storytelling I don't know what is. 

Added to that, you have the bonus of Fall of Delta Green, which is also a Gumshoe setting. This is happening at about the same time, and you can liberally borrow from it to enhance your game.

How would I adapt the existing rules for this setting? 

Well, the great thing about picking a period like the 1960s-70s is there's less of a need to adapt the character sheet or invent new abilities. Yes, technically there is Computing, but it's such a specialized skill and directly affects the lives of so few that I'd be inclined to leave it to the Boffins, to the NPC experts. Other than that, I don't think there are many, if any, abilities that need to be added or modified. 

I would be inclined to steal the Chase and Thrilling Chase rules from Night's Black Agents, if only to recreate The Sweeny.

                                                                                                                                                                        I don't think I'd change the character creation rules with its heavy emphasis on creating characters who run away. Running away is a good idea. There's no reason to create combat monsters. This still isn't a combat game.

Not sure I'd steal the Cherry rules. Again, this isn't that kind of game. You still aren't playing hyper-competent people. If anything, you're creating barely competent people. Flawed heroes. More likely flawed protagonists - forget the hero part.

What I might steal are the achievement rules. This feels like the kind of game where pools deplete more quickly than the original, and a means of instant refresh midway through a scene could improve play. Besides, in gaming, achievements aren't limited to the Halo and Modern Warfares of this world. Any game can have them. Even point-and-click adventures.  

The biggest rules draw, from my POV, is that you wouldn't have to change the Auction rules.

Auctions are at the heart of Bookhounds. A Bookhounds game without some backroom shenanigans and Lovejoy antics at the sales room just isn't a Bookhounds game.

Lovejoy Action At The Auction

I can't help but think, however, that if you introduce the internet and outside bids to the auction room you need some kind of rules finesse to account for it. Greater Auction pools, possibly, or some means of making the auction a Thrilling contest in the same way Night's Black Agents makes chases thrilling. Which would also mean bigger Auction pools or at least an easier way to get Auction refreshes mid-contest.

Admittedly in the 1960s-70s you have the option of telephone bidding, but it's relatively rare, in-period. You don't need a rules finesse for that.

In any setting change, TBH, one golden rule ought to be Keep It Simple. You can tack on a Stupid, there, if you like, for the whole KISS. Any settings change that lets me keep the major mechanic of the setting intact, no finesse or additional rules, is a good thing.

That's the rules bit discussed. 

However, the biggest setting change would have to be international travel.

There's a travel component in Bookhounds 1930s. You're expected to wander off to forgotten libraries in the Home Counties, perhaps to attend auctions on the continent. No further, though. It is Bookhounds of London, after all. Edinburgh, perhaps Berlin, is about as far afield as anyone expects you to go.

The 60s, though, is the dwindling of the Jet Set era. 

The Jet Set kicks off in the 1950s-ish, with international travel winging across the ocean blue. It's the purview of the rich and brainless, of course. The ones with cash to pay. But it's getting cheaper and cheaper all the time. By the time the late 1960s roll around, flights become truly international. Anyone can go anywhere. 

Which means your Bookhounds might as easily be in New York as Norwich. 

In fact, from a game perspective it might be fun for them to spend some time in New York since that city's famous Book Row still exists. It's dying off, of course. But from a plot perspective a dying Book Row is evocative, as well as a handy source of book stock. Besides, American buyers have deep pockets. You need buyers to keep yourself in the manner to which you would like to become accustomed.

Plus, if this is early 1970s then we're a couple short breaths from turning New York into a Warriors simulator. Which has its own plot lure.

However, and going back to London for a moment, one of the biggest draws to relocating Bookhounds to this period is London itself. You can still find relics of the Victorian age, the Edwardians, Art Deco rubbing shoulders with Nazi bomb sites. Anything you want to still be there in the 1960s can plausibly still be there in the 1960s. This becomes less and less likely the further you head into the future. Many of the things seen in the James Mason documentary (the full version of which is on YouTube) will be gone within a decade or so. 

Not all of them, mind. I'm reading the book on which that documentary is based and just come across a bit where it waxes lyrical about the Bunch of Grapes, a fun little pub on the river currently owned by Sir Ian McKellern and which hasn't changed all that much since it was built. 

AP Archive

Not every pub can have a famous savior, of course. The vast majority of the Docklands the Grapes was built in has long since vanished, including all the pubs that used to be next to the Grapes. Still, the boozer's a highly recommended venue, if you have an hour or two to spare in London. That rear balcony overlooking the river is not to be missed.

Leaving aside locations, this is also the last time period you can reasonably expect to have veterans of the First and the Second World War still living. Retired, probably, in the case of Great War vets, but still living. Whether this is useful to you will depend on your plots, but it can be very handy to have someone still living who remembers X - whatever X may be - and was a first-hand witness to events.

The main book goes to great lengths to describe each section of London and none of that has to change. The East End is still the East End. You don't see the great regeneration of the 1980s and 90s. Canary Wharf isn't even a glimmer in a developer's eye. 

If you've already played Bookhounds in the 1930s then you probably have established locations, NPCs, rivals, bookstores. Some of them will probably still be around. Even the ones that aren't leave memories behind. A place like Du Bourg's, for instance, which was already on its last legs, might have gone under at some point during or after the War. The building may still exist. Is its cadaverous founder still down there in the basement, waiting for its people to read out the finances of the last year?

What I'm getting at is, if you've already played 1930s and now want to move on, relocating to the late 1960s doesn't mean you have to throw everything away. The greasy spoon the 1930s characters went to time after time can still exist. Or, if it's changed and under new management, the management can be the kids or grandkids of the originals. Same for the pubs, the shops, the auction houses - everything stays broadly the same, just with greyer hair and a paunch. 

That eager beaver young constable, for instance, who walked the beat in the 1930s is probably still alive in the 1960s. Retired, likely, or very close to it. Probably had a promotion or two. But he still exists. Old Doctor Farringdon is most likely dead but the surgery he worked in is still there. The pub everyone went to at end of day is still there. Cracks in the walls, most likely, and there may be bomb damage. But it's still there.

Basically, if you go this route, then London is still London and is recognizably the London your players are already familiar with. Changed, yes. But still with enough similarity to the original that you don't have to start reinventing any wheels.

It's also one of the last times you'll see Old English traditions and customs in their unpolished state. Guy Fawkes. May Day. Old football. Cheese rolling. Yes, some of these things still exist in touristified form today, but it is touristified, made safe, made innocuous. It's not the way it was, for good or for ill.

From BFI's Barley Mow documentary

I don't think you'll find that one on YouTube but I recommend seeking out the BFI DVD if you like that sort of thing. Might be on the BFI Player as well; not sure.

In summary: 

If you want to update Bookhounds to a modern(ish) setting, have at it, but I would recommend the late 60s early 70s rather than current modern day. There's enough left of the past that you don't need to change much in your historic background. The rules can stay broadly the same, with some minor tweaks. The major markers of the setting - economic near-destitution, rocky politics, the desolation and depravity of the great and good - are all still there.

Enjoy!

                     

     

I Hate Drawing (RPG All)

 

OK, that might be exaggerated. Hear me out.

I'm not a visual thinker. If I want to describe a scene I don't picture the far-off hills or the shadowed forest paths. I suspect one of the reasons why I go for the Rule of 4 and Rome is that these rules force you to think about what goes into the soup, to create a recipe. That recipe can be made to fit different paradigms, but it's the same recipe. The recipe used to make tiramisu can be adapted to make ice cream. Theoretically the recipe used to make carbonara can also be adapted to make ice cream, but I make no promises as to taste. Eggy, though. Creamy. With a hit of salt and umami.

Drawing leaves me cold. Forcing the recipe to fit into a particular box is no fun. I appreciate the necessity. Not everyone thinks the way I do, and some people need the formula. 

Ratatouille 

Yes, there is a flow to the diagram. It directs along certain lines and paths. Theoretically you can refer to it when in need to provide a sense of plot direction. But because it's not how I work or think, I find this kind of thing frustrating. So long as your technique is on-point you should be able to flow with the recipe and embrace the end result. 

But!

Let's think about this from a design perspective. 

Let's say this is a murder mystery, It doesn't matter, for this example, whether it's a locked-room puzzle, a cozy, a whodunnit or some other kind of mystery. There is a body on the floor and our heroes have to find out how it got there, and why.

The body is the opening scene. Theoretically there can be a scene prior to this where the characters are introduced to the victim before they hit the floor, find out a little about them, what-have-you. But for purpose of this example the body is the opening scene.

From that scene, questions follow.

What did they die of?

How was the means of death administered?

When was the means of death administered?

Who had the opportunity, means or motive to administer the means of death?

Some of these questions can be answered in the opening scene. If the victim's head was bashed in, and there's a bloody crowbar lying nearby, safe to say you've found out what they died of and how means of death was administered. You may also have eliminated the weedy secretary from the list of suspects, since it would take significant upper-body strength to do what's been done and the secretary's arms are scrawny.

That said ... suppose the victim was poisoned first and lying on the ground. A toxicology report would show that one way or the other, as might blood splatter. The weedy secretary might be back in play, since it would be easier to do what's been done while the victim's lying face-down. In fact, since that's the only way the weedy secretary might have done it, and that's the way it was done, signs are beginning to point in a weedy direction ...

Point being, each of these questions can be a scene in and of themselves, which means they all need a spot on the diagram. What began with one box becomes many, with arrows pointing hither and thither. 

Let's start with two boxes.

One is the opening scene. The inciting incident. Call it what you will.

The other is the end scene. However the detectives get there, this is where they'll end up. The murderer revealed.

All those boxes in the middle? Some of them are set dressing, some red herrings. Notice in the drawing above that the boxes are color-coded and shaped in a particular way. That allows me to see at a glance which scenes are directly relevant to the plot and which not. 

There will always be something interesting to do in any scene. Whether or not the interesting thing is also plot-relevant ... well, Doctor Watson's in Sherlock Holmes for a reason. Without him, the stories would be a boring recitation. This-is-how-it-was-done. Yawn, But, with him, a plot-relevant character wanders in and out of intriguing situations, finding things out. Not all those things are as important as they seem at the time, but they all seem important at the time. Eye-catching.

So, to sum up: the diagram might look like a spaghetti nightmare. Nevertheless, it follows a recipe. It has the same rule of 4 and Rome as any other plot. Difference being, it fits those things and Rome into a skeleton which can be referred to, as needed, to give you a sense of plot direction. 

The important things remain the same, Something interesting to do must be in each and every scene, whether it's set dressing, a red herring, or something else.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some drawing to do.

 

Did Someone Say Murder? (CP RED, Gumshoe)

 

Writing and Design by Linda Evans and N Joll Art Direction by Winterjaye Kovach

Cyberpunk, as a system and setting, is something I've loved for a while. Mysteries are my bread and butter. When I saw this free RPG product offering from Talsorian, I was intrigued. Now I've read it, I'm still intrigued, but I wonder ...

OK, the very basics. CP RED is a combat game, with attitude. Its core mechanics revolve around the base concept of reducing something's Hit Points to 0, in creative and interesting ways. First, you have to hit it, which is a skill check. Then you do damage. 

I suppose it makes sense that this supplement says you should give a Mystery Hit Points and represent the investigative process by reducing those Hit Points to 0 in creative and interesting ways.  The system doesn't have Pool Points for investigative abilities, so it has to invent them by giving a number of clue types (Gossip, eg) and assigning those clue types existing skills within the game to provide the skill check. There's no such thing as a Core or 0-point clue and there's an argument that it's not very player facing, since the system relies heavily on a series of challenges set up like a shooting gallery by the GM. 

Or, as the text puts it, It is up to the GM to decide on the best course of action for their table.

Short version: I like it, but I wonder if I like it because I'm wired that way. I acknowledge that the groups which like playing CP RED aren't wired the same way as I. This is the sort of thing that has me enthusiastic, but if the rest of the table isn't, it's going to be a problem.

Also that It is up to the GM bit kinda grates on me. The GM is not and should not be the chef de partie. 

But!

There's an interesting concept buried in the text. Long Term Investigations.

An Edgerunner looking for someone who killed her lover five years ago may make a single Evidence Check per week as a side project when not focusing on other jobs. 

There are two ideas in there and I want to talk about both, in Gumshoe terms. 

First, it suggests that players may have individual, character-backstory mysteries to solve. This isn't something I've seen any Gumshoe setting do. I suppose that's to be expected. When the central mystery of the Campaign is whether or not the Dracula Dossier can lead the players to a final resolution of a tussle that's been consuming the brainpower and manpower of generations of spies through, among other things, two world wars and the Cold War, there's not much time for the less dramatic mystery of what happened to Uncle Bob two decades ago.

Second, it indicates that a mystery can go beyond the scenario. That it might take several scenarios to work out. Even, potentially, an entire campaign arc. 

In part, this is what Rome is all about. The central mystery that underlies all the other mysteries. The Truth. The Man Behind the Curtain.

The Wizard of Oz

But not entirely. After all, Uncle Bob isn't Rome. Also, Uncle Bob isn't a priority that the GM chose. It's a priority the player chose. 

It probably won't happen often, but there will be times when a player chooses a project to work on that's outside the campaign structure but which does require a certain level of mechanical input to close out. The closest I can think of in GUMSHOE is the Dreamhounds General Abilities Art-Making and Dreamscaping, both of which imply that something can be created or developed after passing a test. However, in neither case is the long-term nature of the project explored. It's just assumed that Player States X, a die is cast, and X either goes ahead as planned or it doesn't. 

However, there's something we can work with here.

Let's say for the sake of this example that the player has expressed an interest in a long-term goal. It doesn't matter what that goal is. Simply that, at the end of the project, the player expects to get a result of some kind which can be clearly expressed. Nothing nebulous, nothing Deeper Into The Mystery. An actual result.

Example: the player, whose character has the Revenge drive, wants to engineer a final confrontation between themselves and the vampire who killed their squad, back when they were still a trooper with the Black Watch. 

Fine. From the Keeper's perspective, this is an achievable result. Getting that confrontation doesn't have to be a campaign-ending event, not unless that vampire was Dracula. A fight to the death with one of Dracula's minions is what this kind of game is all about. 

But! The player doesn't know, at the start of the project, who that vampire is or where they are right now. Just that a vampire did it. 

When the project is announced, the Player and Keeper should get together to brainstorm. The goal here is to identify how many milestones this project has. Two? Four? Six? After all, from the Keeper's perspective this confrontation might be a relatively minor event. or a major one, or a campaign-shaking one. The bigger the bang, the greater the leadup to that bang.

From the Player's perspective, this long-term goal may be the biggest thing they've ever done. Regardless of its impact on long-term plot. The Keeper should bear that in mind. The Player expects big things, even if that doesn't impact long-term plot.

Each milestone should represent a clue along the way, perhaps even a physical artefact. Milestone one might be getting hold of the Top Secret after-action report on the encounter between the Black Watch and whatever-it-was. Milestone two might be a tense, secretive encounter between the player and the secret agent who set the encounter up to see what would happen. Milestone three might be interrogating a Conspiracy goon or technician who has the complete scoop, from the Conspiracy's POV. And so on, but the point is this: whatever the milestone, it has a concrete result which is specified in advance. The Player doesn't know what's in that after-action report, but the Player does know there's an after-action report out there to be had.   

Why? Because Players react positively when they're invested in what's happening at the table. It's why this game is player-facing to begin with. The Player will be interested in the result of their long-term goal first, if they chose the goal, and second, if they have at least a rough idea of what they're getting out of it. The shiny loot. The clue. Remember that brain-storming session. They helped you decide what each Milestone was going to be. Let's not cheat and say that the Milestone you thought was X was Y all along. Red herrings can be entertaining; bullshit seldom is. 

OK, you've brainstormed, you have the milestones. Now what?

Now the Player needs to build up a pool to get those milestones. That pool can be made up of XP, gained at the end of every mission, or Clues gained during a mission. X number of pool points = 1 milestone. The Keeper and Player should agree between them as to whether a particular Clue counts towards the pool. The number of points needed to get a milestone should be agreed in advance and may vary, depending on the campaign importance of the end goal. 

In DD terms, an end goal that involves Dracula in some way, or some other campaign-ending result, should be more expensive than an end goal which does not touch on such a sensitive subject.

Now, XP is valuable stuff. It can be exchanged for permanent character boosts. If you're going to exchange XP for milestones, that milestone ought to be some kind of permanent thing. The after-action report, eg, counts as 1 pool point Research for campaign purposes, that sort of thing. The player can always use it for their stated goal without drawing on that Research point, but if they want to use it for anything else (divining a vampiric Bane, eg) then that Research point must be spent. 

As with all of this, the actual value of any given Milestone should be agreed between Director and Player. 

What happens when all Milestones are met?

The final result is achieved. There is a combat scene between the Player and the Vampire, on the Players' stated terms. Or they finally find out what really happened to Uncle Bob. Whatever the stated end goal is, that's what's achieved. 

I doubt this will come up often. Most players are happy with the campaign as is. But some of them are going to be invested enough to come up with special projects, now and again. Some end result that is outside the campaign framework.

Did Someone Say Murder points to a means by which that need can be met.

Enjoy!

Yes, I Listen (RPG All)

Sourced from JoCat

Well, that last post on wandering encounters did some pretty decent numbers.

Looks like you folks enjoy campaign design. Fine, okay, and righty-o.

With that in mind, the next few posts will have me writing campaign design for a setting of your choice. If only this thing let me post polls! Alas, it does not.

So!

If you could choose, which system/setting would you rather?

• Dungeons and Dragons (Ravenloft)
• Dungeons and Dragons (Radiant Citadel)
• Serpentine (within the City)
• Serpentine (outside the City)
• Gumshoe: Tombhounds 
• Gumshoe: Night's Black Agents
• Cyberpunk: RED

??

I deliberately put systems I want to write for on the list because, contrary to appearances, I'm not a complete idiot. Yes, I know Dreamhounds and King In Yellow exist. I'm not in a hurry to write anything for either setting. Ditto Wraith and Vampire, for much the same reason: I don't feel comfortable enough with the setting/rules to go into detail.

Setting to include the first campaign arc, on the assumption that there are three arcs total leading to some kind of Rome. What kind? Well, that will depend, really. Let's see what transpires. 

The last time I did something along these lines I was talking about Blair's UK. This time I'd like to do something a bit different, but as to what ... well ... 

Happy long weekend, to those of you enjoying a long weekend right about now!

Wandering Encounters (GUMSHOE)

Sourced from Ginni Di

One thing Dungeons and Dragons does well is filling in downtime and travel time, often with wandering encounters. 

Your group penetrates the dim, lightless reaches of the haunted forest on their way to [insert dungeon here] and, quite by chance, discovers [roll dice] a dozen zombies. These zombies are former villagers from [insert village here] and if proof of their deaths is returned to that place, the heroes will be rewarded with [reward]. 

Or, your group penetrates the dim, lightless reaches of the haunted forest on their way to [insert dungeon here] and, quite by chance, discovers [roll dice] a dolmen, under which rests the remains of sacrificial victims. It’s not immediately clear who sacrificed them or to what end (religion rolls may be helpful here) but among the belongings is a magical sword ... possibly cursed ...

It’s rare that Cthulhu or its iterations has random encounters. Partly this is because the whole random encounter system depends on what can only be described as Ye Ancient Ways. Gygax did it therefore we do it. The only reason Ye Ancient Ways survive is because Dungeons and Dragons survives; had it dropped off the twig, as might have occurred at several points in its career, wandering monsters would vanish like a magician’s assistant in a colorful, coffin-shaped box.

I can’t think of many other systems that use random tables, and this is because the ones that do are about as old as Dungeons and Dragons or are stealing their design philosophy directly from that system.  Cyberpunk, for instance, has random tables, but then Mike Pondsmith is as old as dirt. (Sorry, Mike, but you know it’s true.) 

I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, in some of the earliest iterations of the game, Call of Cthulhu had them too, since CoC (and BRP for that matter) are also old as dirt. It doesn’t have them now.

Partly this lack of random tables is because random encounters assume travel from A to B and Cthulhu and its variants really don’t do travel. At all. 

There are whole scenarios based around travel. Pelgrane has its Mythos Expeditions and CoC has Fearful Expeditions, but those stories aren’t about travel, really. They’re about what might happen to the group if they decide to catch a Tabor aircraft to Constantinople. The encounters aren’t random. They’re preplanned. 

Similarly with long campaigns about going from A to B, like Horror on the Orient Express or Masks of Nyarlathotep. There are travel segments, and things might happen. However, almost none of the encounters are random. There are no dice rolls to see if there are orcs, or the equivalent, round the next bend. It’s all Keeper’s Choice. 

In most cases, in Cthulhu and horror games generally, the action is broken up, not by journeys, but by scenes. The players want to go to the British Library. Boom. Next scene, at the Library. Have the players finished at the Library? Boom, next scene, at the pub. There’s no question of travel from [wherever] to [wherever next]. If there is any hint of travel, say, from the town to the haunted house, then it takes less than a day. It isn’t a ten-day hike across wooded terrain, in which anything might happen.

That said, going back into the misty recesses of time, space and RPG history, there was a game that used random encounters which also divided action up by scenes.

The James Bond RPG (Victory Games) had two encounter tables, one Hot, one Cold. Director’s choice as to which was used at any given time, point being one was for an active encounter area and the other for a more peaceful zone.

Roll a d6 and then a d6. Did you roll 2 and 2? Is this a Hot zone? Then the agent found a dead body. Is it a Cold zone? Then the agent finds James Bond his own self. On vacation, presumably. A brief description came with each. The dead body might have a clue on it to the villain’s location. James Bond might be willing to help for a scene. 

What I like about that idea isn’t so much the table itself. It’s the dividing up of possibilities. Hot, or Cold?

Dracula Dossier does something similar. Whether it’s Whitby or Varna or some forgotten castle in the piney woods, the location can be Cool or Warm. A former bastion of wickedness long gone to seed, or a germinating pustule about to burst. This duality fits horror nicely. Maybe the investigators are somewhere relatively safe, where they might get information. Maybe they’re somewhere dangerous, where they might get killed – or get someone else killed. 

Let’s take this a step further. I’m going to presume Gumshoe rules, and for purposes of this example it doesn’t matter whether the game’s Trail, Bookhounds, Tombhounds or something else. Let’s keep this as generic as possible and assume it’s a Horror Game of Some Description.

Let’s further assume two possibilities: Hot, or Cold. Dangerous, or (relatively) safe.

Starting with:

Cold

1. Helpful civilian, who works with an agency or entity that the protagonists want to get closer to. It might be the police, or the local museum, or the state intelligence agency, or something else. Point spends turn this civilian into a Network Contact.

2. Lucky break. The protagonists get a bit of luck, for once, and can either refresh 1 point in an Investigative pool of their choice, or 2 points Stability. Perhaps they find a helpful source of information, or perhaps they just have a quiet, Stability-refreshing moment in a safe location.

3. Minor Threat. This threat (it might be a small cult, or a supernatural threat) has been left over from a time when this area was more important than it was. Though its information is outdated, if defeated the threat does have information on nearby threats that can be traced to more important assets.

4. Minor Location. This was once of importance and now very much is not. However, a thorough search may uncover an item which can be recovered and used against the enemy.

5. Minor Brush with the local law. This may mean a temporary halt to investigations while the protagonists untangle their messy legal situation.

6. A chance meeting with a hunter, or an agent from a supernatural-curious agency. The agency can be anything from a state actor to an academic or religious institution. This agent is willing to exchange ideas and information, if the protagonist offers to do the agent a small favour ...

Hot

1. Unhelpful civilian. This person works with an agency or entity that the protagonists are trying to get close to and is blocking their efforts. Is this because they're being bribed by the enemy? Or are their motives purely personal?

2. Bad Omen. The protagonists encounter a particularly significant supernatural event, a 2-point Stability check. Clearly they're getting close to their prey, but at what cost?

3. A brush with a cult or cult-equivalent. The protagonists discover unmistakable evidence that a cult is operating in their current location. This seems too easy; is it a trap?

4. A significant location. It might be a pawnshop or antique dealer selling items that look remarkably like supernatural items, or it might be a church or similar with a very significant history. Either way, there could be all sorts of things down in the basement ...

5. Significant brush with the state intelligence agency. This agency is keeping a close watch on the protagonists, perhaps because of things they got up to in the past or because they look remarkably like terrorists/bad actors. Either way, until they shake this tail any significant or violent action taken by the protagonists provokes a response. Possibly an armed response, depending on how badly the protagonists have behaved before. Were they careless with matches?

6. A chance meeting with a significant supernatural threat. This entity isn't looking for a fight but will oblige if provoked. However, this entity also isn't on good terms with the major threat of the scenario/campaign and can, if appropriately rewarded, dish all kinds of dirt on the real enemy. 

That's it for this week!

Yes, I know there still seems to be problems with Many Mansions. Honestly, that Beta program is far more trouble than it's worth. I'm trying to fix. Watch this space! 

Maids of Honor Row (Bookhounds)

From London Cameos (A.H. Blake):

This extremely fine row of houses, built in 1724, flanks one side of the green at Richmond, once the old tilting-ground of the palace ... 

J.J. Heidegger, Master of the Revels to the first two Georges, lived and died here in 1749. He was the ugliest man of his age and is caricatured by Hogarth in his print 'Heidegger in a Rage.'   He was said to be the originator of the masked assembly which had great vogue on account of the license it allowed. People are willing to do things when masked which they would never dare to do when they were recognizable ... 

From Wikipedia:

... the functions of Master of the Revels gradually became extended and the office acquired the legal power to censor and control playing across the entire country. This increase in theatrical control coincided with the appearance of permanent adult theatres in London. Every company and traveling troupe had to submit a play manuscript to the Office of the Revels. The master read the manuscript and sometimes even attended rehearsals. Once a play was approved, the master would sign the last page of the manuscript. The licensed manuscript attesting to the Master of the Revels' approval of a play was a treasured item for playing companies. When traveling and taking a play into the country troupes had to carry the licensed copy of the play manuscript. There was a licensing fee charged by the Office of the Revels for the approving of plays. Tylney charged seven shillings per play ... 

From The Book of Days:

The Duke of Montague gave a dinner at the 'Devil Tavern' to several of the nobility and gentry, who were all in the plot, and to which Heidegger was invited. As previously arranged, the bottle was passed round with such celerity, that the Swiss became helplessly intoxicated, and was removed to another room, and placed upon a bed, where he soon fell into a pro-found sleep. A modeller, who was in readiness, then took a mould of his face, from which a wax mask was made. An expert mimic and actor, resembling Heidegger in height and figure, was instructed in the part he had to perform, and a suit of clothes, exactly similar to that worn by the master of the revels on public occasions, being procured, everything was in readiness for the next masquerade.

The eventful evening having arrived, George II, who was in the secret, being present, Heidegger, as soon as his majesty was seated, ordered the orchestra to play God Save the King; but his back was no sooner turned, than his counterfeit commanded the musicians to play Over the Water to Charlie. The mask, the dress, the imitation of voice and attitude, were so perfect, that no one suspected a trick, and all the astonished courtiers, not in the plot, were thrown into a state of stupid consternation. Heidegger hearing the change of music, ran to the music-gallery, stamped and raved at the musicians, accusing them of drunkenness, or of a design to ruin him, while the king and royal party laughed immoderately ... The master of the revels, turning round and seeing his counterpart, stared, staggered, turned pale, and nearly swooned from fright. The joke having gone far enough, the king ordered the counterfeit to unmask; and then Heidegger 's fear turning into rage, he retired to his private apartment, and seating himself in an arm-chair, ordered the lights to be extinguished, vowing he would never conduct another masquerade unless the surreptitiously-obtained mask were immediately broken in his presence. The mask was delivered up, and Hogarth's sketch represents Heidegger in his chair, attended by his porter, carpenter, and candle-snuffer, the obnoxious mask lying at his feet.

From this:

The Bogus Hogarth

The Hounds are asked to authenticate a collection of Hogarth prints that one of their regulars wants to buy.

The alleged collection was compiled by Hogarth contemporary George Steevens and was found at Maids of Honour Row during a clear-out of one of the houses. It's part of a general auction of contents of that house, to be held at the house in a week's time. 

Steevens. a Shakespearean scholar and an ardent bibliophile, is known to have been a collector of Hogarth and to have compiled his etchings and sketches into one of the most complete bound, annotated volumes known to exist. Steeven's library was sold at auction when he died in 1800, and the sale catalogue of the auction is kept at the British Museum.

Study of the catalogue will want a 1-point spend, to get access to the British Library, and shows that there was a collection of Hogarth prints sold at the auction to one William Alderson, a known member of the Phoenix Club, an offshoot and successor to Dashwood's more famous Hellfire Club.  

Alderson is known to have lived at Maids of Honour Row, according to parish records, for a period in the later 1790s. Steevens died in 1800, which is when Alderson is supposed to have acquired his collection. Could Alderson have left his copy at Maids of Honour Row when he decamped to the Americas in 1805, with scandal hot on his heels after an alleged devil-summoning?

The collection itself is a folio-bound collection of prints, annotated by the binder. It is in remarkable condition for its age and seems to have survived the passing centuries without a stain either on its character or pages. 

Close study reveals a curious anomaly. There is a print of Hogarth's Heidegger in a Rage. However, the print in the book does not match the known Hogarth version of that print. In this version, the Heidegger seems fearful rather than outraged, and the mask on the floor isn't the vaguely Punchinello version known to exist in other editions. It's an altogether more sinister version, which someone with Mythos will recognize as resembling the Pallid Mask of Yellow King lore. Assuming the collection is a genuine set of Hogarth with this one curious anomaly, how did this come to pass?

Option One: Fakery. The collection is bogus, planted by a shop rival who wants to lure the regular over to their establishment. They think if they can humiliate the Hounds by getting them to authenticate a fake, the regular will quit the Hounds in disgust and take their money with them. The Heidegger is less a Mythos relic and more evidence of the forger's disturbed mind. The forger has gone one step too close to the mysteries and it is showing up in their work. This could cause problems; funny Hogarths aren't the only thing this forger has managed to bring into the world ...

Option Two: Hellfire Fakery. The Hogarths are real and the Heidegger is an artefact of the period. However, it is not a Hogarth. It was made by Hellfire Club enthusiast William Alderson who deliberately tipped it into the Hogarth collection as a clue to a hidden treasure: his personal copy of the King In Yellow. This isn't the traditional version of the play as it is known to Mythos scholars; the French play was published in 1895, and Alderson was dead long before then. This, according to some scholars, is a translation of the Greek which was the inspiration for the French version. This branch of scholarship has long since been discredited; nobody with sense believes there was a Greek version of the King in Yellow, still less that it was penned by Aristophanes. The idea's absurd. But Alderson clearly believed it ... and Alderson was dead long before 1895, so he might have been onto something ,,, 

Option Three: King Fakery. Technically this isn't a fake. It's completely genuine. It just doesn't belong in this timeline. Can a thing be real if it shouldn't exist in this reality? How did it get here? Why do its pages shimmer in the moonlight? Why does everyone seem to be wearing masks? Who are those curious dancers fluttering just on the edge of perception, and why do they smile so oddly? The answer may lie with the shop regular, whose pursuit of the King In Yellow has led them to see elements of that forbidden piece of literature everywhere they go. It's becoming a problem for everyone, as the regular's obsessions are bleeding out into mundane reality.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Playing With Real Toys: Pod Hotels (RPG All)

… it did give any blog idea for the springtime. A search for news articles about trending pod hotels, similar to the article you did for the techno train or novelty hotels. I was also considering working in threat profiles too …

Well now.

A pod hotel, or kapuseru hoteru (capsule hotel), is basically a collection of very small sleeping pods intended as cheap, overnight accommodation. Maybe you can’t afford anything better, or maybe you only want to be there for a night and can’t be bothered with all the extras you aren’t going to have time to enjoy anyway.

They vary. I see the NYC chain Pod Pads offers quite nice accommodation, assuming you intend to stay a month. Their one bed (aircon, kitchen, sitting area, amenities) goes for a little under $200/night but you need to book for 30 nights. So you’re spending roughly $6000 for a month’s accommodation in NYC. That’s honestly not too awful, for NY prices.

However, if you go for the standard pod for a couple nights then you get a bed, possibly a workspace, and shared bathroom, for roughly the same price per night. Less time = less comfort, but you still get the same location which may be all you want. I know I’ve stayed in places that are less than ideal, comfort wise, knowing that the location is all that matters to me.

After all, Midtown West, just blocks from tranquil Hudson River Park and steps to 8 subway lines is an attractive offer. Plus gym on-site? Tempting indeed, even if the bed is about the size of a modest toolbox.

Incidentally the shared bathroom is probably what will put many people off pod hotels and cheap hotels in general. People will put up with a lot for the sake of a private en-suite.

In RPG fiction this is typical Cyberpunk accommodation, but isn’t often seen outside Cyberpunk. I’m not sure why. Particularly in fantasy settings the average tavern or inn always has remarkably roomy, middle-class accommodation. If there’s a shared bedroom area, it’s still pretty nice by comparison to a pod hotel.

Nothing like the fourpenny coffin, say. Or the conditions described by Orwell in Down & Out. 

I’ve been reading a chunk of World of Darkness stuff recently, for example, and I don’t recall coming across anything that isn’t resolutely comfortable. Your Brujah, Nosferatu et al have their expenses handwaved as points in a pool, without anyone going into detail about whether they sleep in a bed or a cardboard box. Or what it means to sleep in a cardboard box.

It’s almost as if the intended audience are nice middle class kids looking for a few illicit thrills.

After all, pod hotels in the West, intended for tourists, are almost nothing like the capsule hotels of Japan, intended for salarymen, which in turn bear very little resemblance to the coffin homes of Hong Kong. Intended for those who have no other options. Literally named after cheap, charitable mortuaries. 

Compare that to Berlin’s Space Night Hotel, for instance. Or the Hosho chain. 

It’s all very quirky. TBH if I want quirky I’ll find myself a fun place, not a box that tries to sell itself as a fun place. Still, takes all sorts.

From an RPG standpoint, which game does this suit?

Probably not Night’s Black Agents. Even the Dust version is trying to be a Spy game, not a Tourist game. It’s difficult to picture, say, James Bond checking into a pod hotel. I can’t think of that many spy stories that feature the hotel as part of the plot, not unless the hotel also includes a casino.

Of course, if the pod hotel was an enemy asset, that’s a different story. Perhaps the whole complex is a massive brain-sucking entity or draining psychic energy for future use. Maybe that antenna on top of the building is actually some kind of focusing device for the mind laser.

Pod Hotels work really well in settings that depend on sci-fi or dystopian future elements. Cyberpunk’s the obvious one here; City of Mist spin-off Otherscape would probably also work quite well. I can see pod hotels popping up in Mutant City Blues as a scene location, but probably not a full-scale plot element.

A dream or nightmare-inspired scenario would do very well in a pod hotel location. Delta Green once did something very like with the King In Yellow scenario Night Floors; the characters had to investigate an apartment building where someone had vanished into the King In Yellow’s mysterious domain. Normal during the day, nightmare scenario after hours. A pod hotel that presented itself as resolutely normal and small on the outside, only to become luxurious and vast once you cross the threshold, could be very interesting. 

That said, the whole point of a pod hotel as a location is that it is a pod hotel; to immediately negate that quality seems pointless. It’s a plot twist that could play out at almost any location. You don’t need a special one.

Oddly, the problem reminds me of a scenario I wrote some time back: Sisters of Sorrow, set aboard a Great War U-Boat.

I said at the time:

But I had a problem: there was no way the complicated haunted-house story I had in mind could play out on a tiny little thing barely fifty foot long. If every single crewman stood up at once - assuming they could - they'd fill the boat from end to end. The very idea that someone could get lost in one was silly; it'd be simpler to imagine someone not being able to find their way out of a public toilet … However the problem presented me with its own solution. A situation in which people are crammed together in a stifling, small space, helpless in the face of danger; that breeds paranoia and fear.

A similar solution for the pod hotel, perhaps. You’d need to introduce the characters to their neighbors, somehow. Maybe down in that on-site gym? Or a nearby bar? Then, once they’re all inside and snuggled up in their beds … 

OK, all that said, let's gamify this.

A Place With Many Doors

The characters are in town for a completely separate reason and it does not matter, for plot purposes, what that reason is. Let's say they've been asked to go to X to find a missing person, who for this example will be Sarah Lovett, a lawyer from Chicago who likes to explore places on the cheap. According to her social media profile, her last posts came from a pod hotel in X: The Happiness Quotient.

The Happiness Quotient is a resolutely cheerful place in one of the more expensive parts of town. It has its own bar, its own gym, and is very close to public transport and other amenities. Its color scheme is very, very bright, and frequently features the hotel mascot, a jolly, grinning panda named Frank. The Quotient's user reviews are nearly all ecstatic, and many of them feature photos of the gym, the bar, and the penthouse apartments, all of which have fantastic views of X. 

Lovett's last few posts were all made from the Quotient. According to her profile (and her bank account) she paid for a month's stay in one of the penthouses. 

Investigators who pay close attention to the social media posts notice that some of the penthouse suite pictures show a view that actually doesn't exist at all. According to these shots, the hotel has a view of a park that doesn't exist, yet it can be clearly seen in photographs. AI generated art at work, perhaps?

Option 1: Devil's Idle Hands. The hotel is the preferred hunting grounds of a solo killer or an entity like Fear Itself's Blood Corpse, something that isn't particularly intelligent but whose actions are being covered up by the hotel's owners and its manager, Theo Salter. They can't afford the scandal. They can't afford the killings. But they keep hiding the evidence and denying the problem, and Salter's dwindling resources will eventually be insufficient to cover up the losses. Meanwhile the solo killer flits from room to room, taking what it needs and going dark for a night or two, until it needs to kill again.

Option 2: Frank's Forest. He may look like a happy little mascot but there's something very nasty hiding behind that relentlessly cheerful smile. Those who pay attention to Frank notice that his posture and demeanor changes the closer it gets to nightfall. After nightfall Frank gets positively shifty and mean-looking. Come midnight, Frank vanishes altogether, from all the walls of the hotel. When that happens it's best to stay tucked up in bed and try not to think about going to that shared bathroom or the 24-hour gym. When Frank's playing games, nobody's safe; and God forbid you should somehow find yourself in that hidden park outside the hotel. You may never find your way back in, if that happens.

Option 3: Penthouse Problems. This issue only affects people who rent the penthouse apartments, and not all of them. However, for those of a sensitive or psychic disposition, it's possible you'll find yourself in the House With Many Doors. You're perfectly safe, so long as you never try to leave the penthouse. After all, why would you? Look at that view. You can see the whole city from here. You can see the park. You can watch people playing in the park, walking their dogs, having a fine old time. They can see you, too. They wave at you. They seem to know exactly where you are, what you're doing. Just never try to leave the penthouse. There are many, many doors in this hotel, and none of them go outside.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

The Clue Trail - Dead, Dead, Deadski (GUMSHOE All)

Beetlejuice

Once upon a time I discussed the Clue Trail and recommended, among other things:

Rule of Four. There are Four ways in: Academic, Technical, Interpersonal, General. What you need is one clue for each of the ways in, so one Academic, one Technical, one Interpersonal, one General. 

Why do it this way? Well, apart from the usual benefits that come with the Rule of Four, you get one extra: split four ways among the four Ability lists, someone in the group will have at least one of those Abilities with points to spend. That means no matter how Scooby Doo it gets one of your dream team will find their way to the mystery. 

I went further and pointed out that this works best when dealing with the unexpected. You didn't think the characters would go to Berlin, say, this week, but here they are, scarfing up the curried bratwurst. What to do when they go looking for trouble?

Now, let's say that this wasn't an accident. Let's say this was planned. Let's say that Berlin was always on the menu and that you had time to design something more in-depth.

Does that change anything?

Not really - but it does allow you to play with the spine.  

The spine, for those of you shaky on the concept, is that part of the scenario structure which holds everything together. It's the bit that connects the dots. The clues characters find along the way are the nerve endings, the capillaries, that wrap around that skeletal structure and put some meat on its bones. Some of these clues lead to valuable information that draws the characters further down the spine. Some are dead ends. Some go unhelpful places. But, in the end, they all lead to the End. The question is, which End?

Let's talk about unhelpful places and dead ends.

Now, in RPGs generally and in GUMSHOE in particular, there should be no such thing as a completely dead end. By which I mean, there should be no such thing as a dead end with nothing fun to do, or nothing interesting to be had. A dead end does not lead any further into the plot. That does not mean it's a complete waste of everybody's time. 

In that sense a dead end is very similar to capture scenes, which I've written about before. The same principle applies: as Director it is your job to make sure the characters have something to do if they find themselves in a dead end scene.

A dead end, strictly speaking, is a position with no hope of progress; a blind alley. Your players thought this clue led somewhere, but it doesn’t. Or that this network contact, this McGuffin, this whatever-it-may-be would have a result, but it doesn’t.

Or – and this is the one to keep an eye on – they ignore a clue that could have led somewhere and, because they did that, now it leads nowhere.

Let’s say for the sake of this example that their network contact Anton was working on [X] and said ‘I’ll have more information for you tomorrow.’ The agents then wander off and commit their usual misdeeds, only remembering about a month later (in game time) that their dear old pal Anton was supposed to be working on [X]. Whatever happened about that? Well, nothing happened. Maybe Anton’s information is out of date. Maybe Anton’s dead. Maybe he’s a vampire now because he got too close to the Conspiracy.

In all those cases what could have been a promising spine trail now is not, because there’s nothing more to be gained by going down that path.

However, just because it’s a blind alley doesn’t mean there’s nothing whatsoever to be gained by going down there. It won’t advance the plot, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun with the notion.

Here’s some ways you can do that.

• Antagonist Reaction. There are bad things down that blind alley and they want to twist your head right off its delicate little neck. This can be a useful moment to kick off a fight scene, a chase scene, or some version of the Thrilling moment.
• The Nature of the Beast. You don’t get any useful plot clues but you do find out a little bit more about the nature of the things you’re chasing. Maybe they twist time and there’s some evidence of that down the blind alley, or maybe they have necromantic powers and you discover some of their revivified victims. Oh look! Zombies!
• The Nature of the Plot. Just because that laboratory burned down, taking all of its research experiments with it, doesn’t mean you can’t gain something by sifting through the ashes. Or maybe you notice that there’s things missing from the debris that ought to be there. If that safe was empty when the building burnt down, that tells you the records are still out there somewhere, even if you can’t find them at this location anymore.
• The Nature of the Game, aka Rome. There may be nothing down that blind alley, but if it’s an evocative nothing, if it chills the blood and quickens the pulse, then it’s not a complete waste of everyone’s time. This is the moment most likely to cause a Stability check. It’s also the most likely to contain squick. Or, as Stephen King famously said, “if I find that I cannot terrify, I will try to horrify, and if I find that I cannot horrify, I'll go for the gross-out. I'm not proud.”
• The Location of the Plot. This is probably the most useful blind alley, though it may be useful by default. Let’s say that the players had three choices as to where to go next. They went for option A, and it turned out to be a dud. That means the plot’s got to be in B or C, and now they’ve wasted valuable time on A they have less time to deal with whatever’s in store at B or C.

This last option is also the option most likely to frustrate the players so it should be used sparingly. However, there’s juice to be had from building up tension. If the players know it’s a race against time and they realize they’ve wasted some of that precious time following up a bad lead, then their natural reaction is going to be increased motivation spiced with panic.

OK, let's head back to Berlin.

In that example there were the following Clues:

• Academic – History. One point gets the agent a general history of Teufelsberg plus the idea that the NSA left behind some interesting artefacts, buried in the rubble. 
• Interpersonal – Tradecraft. One point gets the agent a general history of Teufelsberg plus some old NSA files, slipped to the agent by a friendly at the local CIA station.
• Technical – Urban Survival. One point gets the agent a general history of Teufelsberg plus some maps and design schematics from back in the day, giving the agent a free Architecture bonus should they want it.
• General – Sense Trouble. One point gets the agent a general recent history of Teufelsberg plus some spooky extras (unexplained deaths, criminal activity, ghost activity, whatever suits best). 

Now, for whatever reason, Teufelsberg is a dead end. Doesn't matter why; it just is. In that case you still have to slip something in there for the players to chew on. It might be an Antagonist Reaction, a clue to the Nature of the Beast, Plot, or Game, or it might be the Location of the Plot. 

For this particular location I favor an Antagonist Reaction. There are enemies at that location, and they will do the characters harm, or try to. 

Now, the players spend their one point of History, Tradecraft or whatever it may be. That means they get to Teufelsberg. 

What if they spend two points? That usually gets them extra bennies, right? What kind of extra benny can be had in a dead end situation?

Answer: advance warning that it is a dead end, or advance warning of what's waiting for them up there. In this case, the creatures lurking up that dead end give themselves away somehow. Maybe the characters notice peculiar shadows or get a warning of supernatural activity. It's quiet. Too quiet. That kind of thing. 

This gives them the opportunity to avoid the antagonist reaction or play into it. Point being, it gives them a choice. 

It gives them something interesting to do, even if this is a dead end.

That's it for this week! Enjoy!

The Perils of Witchcraft (Bookhounds of London)

Some housekeeping: no post next week, as I'm off-island wandering through the bowels of New York.

Also, a question to the masses: what GUMSHOE title would you like me to see write about in 2025? Bookhounds, NBA, Trail, something else?

Now, an extract from the Folklore of Guernsey (Marie De Garis, 2014 reprint, original 1975):

Until the First World War, the purlieus around the town church constituted a popular pied-a-terre for several charlatans and sorchiers. These were largely patronized by country people who, sure that they were being bewitched by certain neighbors or acquaintances, would visit those town quacks in hope of being given some counter-charm or advice ... The credulous wife of a well-known farmer residing in the higher parishes, used to be a regular visitor to one of these consultants, a certain Mrs. H. The wife's husband bore one of the most respected and honored names in the Channel Islands and was a man of standing in his parish. The foolish woman gave Mrs. H such huge sums of money that she beggared her husband entirely. The shame of being declared bankrupt so affected her husband that he hanged himself. The house was broken up. The mother went to live with her son but, so far from having learned her lesson, still continued to visit the town crone, passing her son's money to her until she nearly ruined him also. Her two unmarried daughters had to fend for themselves. One followed her father's example and committed suicide, while the other went to work as a maid somewhere ... When the mother finally died, her children felt so bitter about the ruin that she brought upon them that not one of them even wanted her portrait. 

Purlieu: The area directly around or outside of a place.

The Town Church of St. Peter's Port, aka Town Church of St Peter, Apostle & Martyr, dates back to the 1400s in its current form. There has been a church on that spot since the year 1000, more or less, and the building's history probably goes back to the Romans.

It's extremely close to the Market and there's a pub, the Albion House, a mere 18 inches away. That pub has been there since the 1700s, so when the writer talks about the church's purlieus, she probably means in or near the pub and what is now the market.   

St. Peter Port is the capital of Guernsey and, at the time of Bookhounds, it would still have been much as it was for centuries prior: a sleepy fishing port, occasionally enlivened by smuggling and war. It's watched over by Castle Cornet which, again during Bookhounds, is largely reduced to watching over the pond for toy boats built nearby, in the 1880s.

All that said:

Mrs. H.'s Library 

The Hounds buy a job lot in an auction, only to discover that most of the books they bought in that box of miscellanea belonged to a notorious fraud from Guernsey. 

Mrs. H, a well-known character in Guernsey circles, recently passed, and what's left of her family wanted to make sure that her memory was properly expunged. This meant, among other things, disposing of her belongings outside Guernsey. They could have burned it all, but her children share one thing with their parent: they're far too covetous to pass up a chance to make a shilling.  

This means her hand-written witchcraft journals and the scraps of knowledge that Mrs. H apparently picked up from a genuine Mythos text are now the Hounds' stock. 

As books these texts aren't worth much; about 1 point stock, more or less, History (witchcraft). If the Mythos text Mrs. H cribbed from could be found, that would be worth more. That, presumably, is in Guernsey. Lord alone knows precisely where, or even if it still exists.

Soon after the Hounds buy the job lot a widow from Guernsey turns up at their shop, a Mrs. De Beauvoir. She was a regular client of Mrs. H and, since the Hounds now have Mrs. H's books, they must be as knowledgeable as Mrs. H used to be. Mrs. De Beauvoir is being plagued by witchcraft. Can the Hounds help?

Options:

• Ghost Hunters: Mrs. De Beauvoir has driven her family to penury thanks to her obsessions and she brings with her a collection of ghosts, all of whom hate her guts. That's why she thinks she's being plagued; she is, just not by witches. If the investigators aren't careful, these ghosts will turn their attention to the Hounds and the shop. When that happens, Reversals are sure to follow.
• Crawling Chaos: Mrs. H isn't as dead as people like to think. She picked up just enough knowledge to become a kind of crawling one after death, only to find that Guernsey isn't as accommodating to her after death as it was during life. The undead Mrs. H is looking for a new home, and as 'Mrs. De Beauvoir' she's hoping that the Hounds will be gullible enough to assist.
• Family Pressures: Mrs. De Beauvoir thinks that her family doesn't know that she's stolen their savings to make a trip to London to see the Hounds. They very much do, and they want that money back, along with anything that Mrs. De Beauvoir might have given the Hounds. Break-ins, ambushes, tearful scenes at auction houses in front of God and everybody - anything is possible. This may cumulate in an accidental Megapolisomantic effect, as a slice of Guernsey interacting with London mystic forces is just the kind of spice that creates a very peculiar soup.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Improv Stats (RPG all)

This is where improv comes in. I’m sure I don’t need to describe improv to you. The basic point is this: you need to have just enough random facts at your disposal that you can deploy them as necessary in a yes, and situation. If this becomes a crime scene, you need to have some stats for cops. If this becomes a fight, you need some stats for mooks, monsters, what have you. If this becomes a criminal conspiracy, you need some criminals, and so on.  

The great thing about these improv stats is, you don’t need them for one scenario. You need them for all scenarios. Which means you can re-use them as needed. 

Money Heist

It’s not often you see an armored car taken out by bank robbers armed with anti-tank weapons. 

A while back I mentioned Improv Stats. What does that look like? 

In any game, no matter the setting or system, there is some kind of law enforcement. Someone represents The Man. In some games the players fill that role (hello Mutant City Blues, didn’t see you there) but in most cases the police are potential antagonists, or at least complications to a scene.  

I’m going to use Night’s Black Agents in this example, but this could apply to any system or setting. 

Night’s Black Agents, the spy v vampire thriller espionage RPG, does provide stats for police, dogs, vehicles and weaponry. A quick cut and paste makes an easy cheat sheet for those moments when it’s all gone a bit Pete Tong and you have to run a combat or a chase on the fly. A few extra cut and pastes make more cheat sheets for chase complications (is the street busy? Narrow? Is that a busload of nuns?). Is that what I meant by improv stats? 

Not exactly. 

Don’t get me wrong; I loves me some cheat sheets. They have saved my bacon more times than I care to count. But when I mentioned Improv Stats I was talking about how a potential actor in a scene might Act or React. 

Think of it like this: 

When someone Acts, they take the initiative. In this case, they do a thing that complicates the scene. 

When someone Reacts, they take the back seat. Because you complicated the scene, they had to do something.  

I deliberately chose that scene from Spanish crime thriller Money Heist because the Heist writers are very good at sketching in characters who they use again and again.  Colonel Luis Tamayo (Fernando Cayo) from the clip is a case in point; he barely appears in the early seasons, then shows up as the main police antagonist in the remaining seasons. Meanwhile his predecessor Colonel Alfonso Prieto (Juan Fernández Mejías) features heavily in the early seasons but still shows up in the later ones as the man you love to hate. You know who these people are the minute they walk on screen, and what they’re likely to do.  

There’s a quote that has been attributed to several different people and which may be apocryphal, about German officers and their qualities. It goes like this: 

I divide my officers into four classes as follows: the clever, the industrious, the lazy, and the stupid. Each officer always possesses two of these qualities. Those who are clever and industrious I appoint to the General Staff. Use can under certain circumstances be made of those who are stupid and lazy. The man who is clever and lazy qualifies for the highest leadership posts. He has the requisite and the mental clarity for difficult decisions. But whoever is stupid and industrious must be got rid of, for he is too dangerous. 

Once upon a time I talked about things to steal from D&D, and I’m going to add another thing to steal: the social map, in which non-combat encounters with NPCs are affected by whether or not that NPC is Hostile, Indifferent or Friendly.

Zee Bashew

With those two things in mind, Improv Stats: in which everyone can be classified as Clever, Industrious, Lazy, or Stupid, with the qualifier Hostile, Indifferent or Friendly.

Physical stats – how strong they are, how charismatic, what pools they may have in Scuffling and similar, all are irrelevant to Improv Stats. Those are things that might affect player versus NPC tests – combat tests, effectively – and that’s not what Improv Stats are about. Improv Stats are about giving you, the (Director/DM/What-have-you) something on which to base your portrayal of the NPC in question.  

Let’s say the policeman is Friendly, Stupid and Industrious. In any given encounter with your players, that’s what this policeman is like. These three qualities ought to give you enough to portray the NPC in any given situation. It doesn’t matter if the policeman is also, say, bald, or gangly, or wears an ill-fitting uniform. That kind of thing isn’t useful. It might lend a bit of spice, but that’s all.  

With those qualities, you have Inspector Clouseau. That’s exactly what he is: friendly, stupid, industrious. If he were friendly, clever and industrious he'd be Inspector Zenigata. Either one can Act, or React, depending on those characteristics. What happens next can be developed in play.

You don’t need a character sheet for this or a spread of stats, or potential pool spends. That kind of thing is helpful but not critical to your portrayal. But if you know he’s friendly, stupid and industrious then you have a rough idea of what this particular policeman will do in any given situation.  

You can add more to Improv Stats, of course. It might be great to have a picture, or a list of potential names, a standard equipment list. But you don’t need any of those things. All you need is a brief description, with that list of qualifiers giving you the bare bones of the character. 

Let’s say that this is a heist, and your players are walking out of the bank in the dead of night with their arms full. Bags of cash. Swag. The getaway car is just a few steps away.  

Into the scene walks Friendly, Stupid, and Industrious, either Acting or Reacting.  

What do you think he’d do? Because that determines what will happen next. 

That’s all for this week. Enjoy! 

Rome (RPG all)

So, every chance you get, hammer that home. The cultist, the innocent victim, the peculiar item - all those roads lead to one Rome. Make sure that is forefront in everyone's mind.

Where is Rome?

Bearing in mind you need to design this before the first session of the campaign, how much detail does Rome need?

That will depend on the nature of the campaign. I’m going to use Bookhounds in this example, but you can use the same design principles in any RPG setting. 

First, you need to have a clear idea what the end point looks like. Any Cthulhu setting has an advantage, in that there are Old Ones with distinct personalities that can act as the end point. A setting like Ravenloft has a defined endpoint provided in the campaign narrative: the Darklords. Whether it’s Strahd, Mordent’s ghostly Lord Godefroy or one of the many other Darklords, that entity, its plans, and its assets are the endpoint. Cyberpunk has Corporations, the obvious target, but the endpoint could as easily be a corrupt police force, a boostergang, or something else. Vampire’s endpoint could be a particular entity, a group like the Sabbat, the Second Inquisition, or something else. 

Point being every ruleset, every campaign setting, has at least one entity, group or problem that can be used as the end point. Or you could make your own.

Say this is Cyberpunk. Say you want the game to be about a group of scrappy Punks who want to open a comedy club on the edge of Little China and the Hot Zone (hey, rent is cheap). In that case Rome is the finished version of that club, whether finished means ‘the new hotness’ or ‘burnt to a crisp.’ The setting didn’t come up with that; you did.

Once you have that clear idea, you need to flesh it out a little. What does it mean to face off against Arasaka, or to build a new comedy club amid the rubble of a nuclear explosion? If Rome is Strahd, what is it like in a land ruled by a vampire overlord?

To begin, you need to pick some keywords.

You’ll notice in the Bookhounds example below that I pick out specific keywords from the text and expand on each of those, using those keywords as a jumping-off point to describe some campaign-relevant situations. I also divide the situations up by Arabesque, Sordid and Technicolor because those are the possibilities available in Bookhounds and I don’t know, at the start, which of the three the group will prefer. 

Remember when I talked about four things? 

Whether the players are dodging horrors in Cairo or arguing the finer points of literature and history with Shakespeare, it's all vampires, all the time. In the Four Things parlance, vampires are the Fourth Thing.

Using this example as a template then whenever I describe an event, location or NPC going forward, the end point, the Rome, is going to be the Fourth Thing, just as Vampires were the Fourth Thing in the Cauldron. 

So if the keyword is Thus-And-So, and the event/location/NPC fits within that keyword, then that event/location/NPC as Rome in its Fourth Thing slot.

Enough preamble. Let’s look at the example:

What is Rome?

Cthugha

“For this shape was nothing less than that which all the world has feared since Lomar rose out of the sea, and the Children of the Fire Mist came to Earth to teach the Elder Lore to man.”

Through the Gates of the Silver Key

From the Trail main text: Cthugha is a neutral force, a repository of energetic information. The race known as “fire vampires” established their own caches of Cthugha on many worlds, including Earth. Under the guise of the Magi, the ancient fire-priests of the Aryan Persians, they created the Elder Lore of fire-magic, the infrastructure to access Cthugha on our world.

Additional Stability +3  Additional Sanity +1

Keywords: energetic information; Magi, the ancient fire-priests; Elder Lore of fire-magic.

Arabesque

From Bookhounds main text: “Baghdad on the Thames.” In an Arabesque London, anything might happen around any corner … Strange conspiracies claim unutterable lineages and vanish with the sunrise; sentient dreams and plausible strangers shake the Investigators’ hands and lives. Arabesque London has mighty temples inside shabby warehouses, underground civilizations, hypnotic detectives, and immortal hidden races.

energetic information: the electric hum of telephone wires carry with it the whispers of the dead; gas lamps can be asked three questions and will reveal three secrets; television, in its infancy, shows a window to another reality.

Magi, the ancient fire-priests: monomaniacal engineers work to create the 1670 airship design invented by Jesuit Father Francesco Lana de Terzi, with the objective of flying beyond the atmosphere, to the stars; bartenders in certain clubs serve cocktails that open the drinkers’ third eye; hidden souls in earthly disguise remain incognito until triggered. 

Elder Lore of fire-magic: the ABC Rail-Guide hides secrets on every page and only the worthy can find them; Daniel Defoe’s Daily Post is still being published, but only for a select audience; there is a 25th book of the children’s 24-volume encyclopedia The Book of Knowledge, which contains peculiar truths.

Sordid

From Bookhounds main text:  London, as Watson says at the beginning of Study in Scarlet, is “that great cesspool, into which the idlers and loungers of Empire irresistibly drain …” The Sordid London is the London of prostitution, drugs, poverty, desperation, extortion, and cruelty. Gross villains whore children to grosser clients; old women die by inches in the gutter while those who step on them curse the inconvenience; self-congratulatory cliques of the “best people” justify their neglect with cant about inevitability.

energetic information: Jack the Ripper is worshipped as a Charon-figure by some policemen, who claim that the worthy are vision-priests of the damned; photographs taken in certain parts of London show more than they ought; drowned men have proven very useful to students of optography.

Magi, the ancient fire-priests: a small group of homeless veterans of the Great War create new butcheries in pursuit of a truth they saw on the battlefield; the wreck of the SS Princess Alice near London’s sewage pumping network spawned a peculiar legend of one who drank the tainted waters but did not die; among students of optography the medical student Arthur Notwood is supposed to be the most knowledgeable. 

Elder Lore of fire-magic: those who go to the gravesites of the passengers of the Princess Alice hear whispers that, when pieced together, have hidden knowledge; the daily log at some police stations – the right log – reveals ghastly truths; opium fiends who take their dose at the site of a recent murder see things that ought not be seen.

Technicolor

From Bookhounds main text: There is another London, garish and glorious. This is the Technicolour world of Hammer Films, in vibrant colour – and the colour is always bright red or lurid green … Technicolour London has more than the eye can encompass: overstuffed bookcases, opulent drawing rooms, rat-infested labyrinthine attics, dripping tunnels of slime-coated stone. Pentacles – and manacles – are lined in silver or some shining metal … 

energetic information: there is a song that echoes through time, which can be heard through stone tape reading; a particular blend of tobacco from an East Indies island nobody has ever heard of gives prophetic dreams; some telephone boxes do not exist entirely in our reality and can be recognized by a peculiar hum.

Magi, the ancient fire-priests: a clutch of cultists who follow a vampire-priest claim to have the secret to reality; military scientists experiment to find a death ray; a group of businessmen wish to harness the powers of creation in their own commercial projects.

Elder Lore of fire-magic: tarot cards owned by dead occultists retain peculiar powers for up to a week after the deaths of their owners; blood can be set aflame and the secrets that the flaming blood tells are not to be spoken aloud; certain tobacconists are not of this reality and one should be very wary of any deal they offer.

Tainted

From Bookhounds main text: A Tainted character is one that has come into contact, wittingly or unwittingly, with the Cthulhu Mythos.

Arabesque: The ones who know are fascinated by technology but it never works as it ought, in their presence.

Sordid: The ones who know sweat blood, in the presence of Mythos items and creatures.

Technicolor: The ones who know prize youth above all things and cannot be apart from youth for long; life is too painful for the old.

OK, let's review. 

I divided into Arabesque, Sordid and Technicolor because that's in the text. I expect that, in session zero, after discussion with the players, one of those three options will have been chosen. In other RPG settings where there is only one option, I don't have to do that. Or there may be different options; Ravenloft, for instance, has several different kinds of horror, and just as with Bookhounds I expect to offer these options to the players in session zero and have them choose which they'd rather have.

Always remember that this is a collaboration; you can't expect the players not to experiment with the main concept. Or anything else, really.

The one thing I haven't touched on so far is the Fourth Thing. The part of the narrative that all roads are leading to. 

Well, we already know that the ultimate destination is Cthugha. Whatever that Fourth Thing is, it has to be related to Cthugha in some way. It seems only fitting that the Fourth Thing be fire. Fire-related, perhaps. The dancing light of blue flame; the way that every spot tainted by Cthugha mysteriously burns to the ground, or how every book written about Cthugha can never burn or be touched by the elements in any way.

Arabesque: Those patterns may look like scorch marks, but they move in a peculiar, hypnotic way. Stare at them too long and you may learn truths; or you may feel your mind detach and float into the never-know-where.

Sordid: Those orphans play with fire not because they enjoy it but because they are compelled to. Every firebug has seen something in the flames. Those arson attacks may not be arson at all.

Technicolor: Every place touched by this evil has a shrine of some kind. That sign of the god with the great green eye might be painted onto the side of a building, hidden in some secret room or tattooed onto the corpse of a sacrificial victim but it is always there. Always.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!