Rivers of London - Campaign Design

Rivers is set within Ben Aaronovitch's magical London, where wizards working with the Police venture forth from the Folly to keep the King's peace. The book series has been in print since 2011, has expanded into graphic novel territory and, if we're all very good and keep Santa happy, may one day expand into other media. After all, if Slow Horses can become an international Apple TV hit, perhaps the British star is in the ascendant.

The RPG assumes that the characters are magical police working in London from the Folly. Potentially there are other options, but that's where the main book spends most of its time, so the implication is clear. The timeline is also a little vague, but roughly present day (ish) and the sections It's Not Gritty and It's Not Horror make it clear this isn't the Cthulhu-esque stuff Chaosium is famous for. Aaronovitch says it's Call of Cthulhu but with added hope, and that's broadly the feel of the RPG.

It doesn't allow much scope for alternatives, which ... I mean, the people coming here will be coming via the books, in a way that isn't often seen. Even the Tolkein-heads who went into the Middle Earth RPG or the Bond nuts who bought into the James Bond RPG didn't do it so they could recreate the stories or the movies. They wanted to play in that world. They didn't want to play alongside Frodo or Bond. Not all of them, anyway.

I'm not 100% convinced the same could be said for Rivers. I suspect a lot of the audience for this series came to it via the books and want the Folly, Molly, the yap-o-meter and all the other doo dahs that go with it. 

But.

Would I, as GM, want to run that kind of game as a campaign, as opposed to one-shots? I'm not sure.

See, one of the great things about Cthulhu as a setting is its elasticity. If I want to set it in 1890s Tokyo, not a problem. 1920s New York? Can do. 1990s First Gulf War? Got you covered. Gothic romance, nihilistic post-apocalypse, techno-horror, body horror, whatever your shriveled little heart desires, it can supply.  

I don't think you could say the same about Rivers. You can set in in the States (there's a whole book about that, you may have heard of it) but the main setting's still relentlessly modern London, and you're a copper. That feels limiting. There's damn near a century between the World War Two devastation that wiped out British wizardry and Peter Grant's recruitment by Nightingale to see off Mister Punch. All kinds of options.

One that leaps out at me straightaway: 

Life on Mars Trailer

The thing almost writes itself. 

Here's a copper from the present thrust into the 1970s through shenanigans that can only be magical. Thanks to those self-same shenanigans the copper picks up a guardian angel: Nightingale, who's still working through his war trauma and is, at this moment, the only official wizard in London.

Moreover, if Ashes to Ashes in in the mix then, mild spoiler warning, there is a very good reason why all those modern coppers are turning up in the 1970s & 80s and it's exactly the kind of thing that would interest Nightingale. 

OK, it's not a setting book Chaosium could publish, for obvious reasons, but at your gaming table you can do as you like, and this is just gagging for it (as Hunt might say).

To be honest, one of my qualms about running Rivers as written is, it feels as though the home team starts with all the advantages. The characters have the resources of the Folly at their disposal, with backup from Frank Caffrey and the Rivers, not to mention Nightingale himself, a Kipling-ish hero with superlative magical ability. 

Stalky & Co

Not always, of course. The Rivers in particular may have their own reasons for not getting involved, but the players are going to be looking for backup at some point, and after a while the GM's going to run out of reasons why, say, Caffrey can't turn up with the heavy mob to help the characters out of a fix.

In that respect it's not a million miles away from Ars Magica, which Aaronovitch has said is an inspiration for his series. You can have grogs and companions in the narrative but, sooner rather than later, all eyes will turn to the wiz-liards to handle the problem. Even if that problem is why the soup tastes funny. It's like putting candy on the table next to the hummus and raw carrots. Fingers will reach towards the chocolate, guaranteed.  

What other, non-Folly routes could be taken? Keeping the central concept of law versus disorder in the mix?

Well, there's always the private detective route. Given that there are foxes and other non-humans in the setting, this needn't be a human private detective route either. There's something appealing about a vulpine Sherlock Holmes who has to work through a human mouthpiece to get clients. Without a Clue, but with a fox in the Watson role. 

Or a ghost. Traditionally in this sort of narrative the ghost must Find Out Who Killed Them (boo, hiss) and stumble into other crimes that need solving along the way. Asian cinema is very good at this kind of story. Too good, honestly. I've been trying to remember the title of a particular film and Google led me to half a dozen others, plus TV series of one kind or another. The Haunted Cop Shop looks like fun, and a lot of the faces are ones I recognize from Mr. Vampire, a mark of quality.

Of course, for many British players, there's only one dead detective worth emulating.

Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) sourced from Umbrella Entertainment

 

Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) 2000

Another route would be to have the police in the center of the narrative but have a fae copper in the main role. Or someone from a different magical tradition. A main character with a supernatural past who doesn't want to be part of the Folly (for whatever reason) but feels drawn to the police as a career. The others in the group might realize there's something funny about their fellow copper but not twig as to the cause. This puts the Folly and Nightingale in a semi-antagonist role. Not that the Folly's about to go on a killing spree, but they don't appreciate non-Newtonians messing about in the doo-dah. This means the main character has to hide their identity both from the police and from the Folly, an additional challenge.

The great thing about both these options is you're not caught in the modern day. They could take place at any time. 1980s London, 1960s London, take your pick. So long as it's after the War, after the Ettersberg massacre of British wizardry, the setting's wide open. 

Of course, you could always have the characters come from a completely different magical tradition and not be police. The Society of the Rose, for instance. They might involve themselves in magical shenanigans without having the backing of the law behind them. 

Or run a game in which the central location, like a bookshop, is the source of the problem. Some of you may think I'm referring to Bookhounds, but there is a magically influenced shop in the Rivers setting which could be expanded on. A Lovejoy campaign but with actual magic, rather than a suggestion of talent, working behind the scenes. The genus loci in the basement provides the juice, but it's the human player characters who have to save the day. Or find that rare first edition. Whichever best resolves the plot.

Another alternative: a magically trained group, like Bock, Loupe and Stag, members of a [whatever best suits] drafted into the Folly on Peter's initiative. The point being, it's a bit more difficult to get up to nonsense if you're regulated. 

But nobody likes regulation, so this sets the Folly up as a not-quite-antagonist. Next door to frenemies. Nobody likes a grass, and the Folly are the prefects and teachers in this analogy. Your group has your own objectives, your own plans, and they might not go hand-in-hand with the Folly's mandate. So you carry on your bits and bobs under the noses of the best of the best of British wizardry, trying not to get caught. To carry the Kipling bit a little further, it's Stalky & Co all over again, except in this version the players are the boys and Nightingale is beloved headmaster Bates. Which presumably makes Peter, Prout. 

Or you could do a tour of the colonies.

If you take the Folly at its word, then it would have gone everywhere the Empire went. Once upon a time the Empire went rather a lot of places, which implies Folly-aligned establishments all over the world. The vast majority will be well and truly defunct. Round the decay / Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare / The lone and level sands stretch far away. However, as the famous Rose Jars of George Buckland prove, the colossal wreck hides forgotten treasures. 

Guernsey's a pretty good choice. One of the oldest British police forces, historical artifacts that go back to the dawn of civilization, right smack in the Channel along established smuggling routes. The Folly's bound to have established something out in Guernsey, and from the modern Folly's perspective a bit of historical research into old business might be just the low-stress test a trainee needs. Whether you could have a long-running campaign out there is debatable, but a run of four to six sessions is perfectly doable. The distance from the Folly proper means the characters can't lean on established characters, but they're close enough - not even two hours flight time - that they can't afford to get careless.

Same with Gibraltar. Again, the Folly's bound to have had something out there, especially during the War. Gib boasts the oldest British police service outside the UK. Spain's right next door, so you have plot options. Old British war installations begging to be explored. Again, probably difficult to have a full campaign out there but four to six sessions is doable, and they're close enough to London they can't afford to get careless. Plus on top of plus, Spain has been the British criminal getaway of choice through the 1970s and 1980s thanks to a (brief) lack of an extradition treaty, and Gibraltar is a pretty decent jump-off point for a Folly investigation into the Costa del Crime. 

That's it for this week. I hope it's given you some ideas!

Guy Fawkes Day (Bookhounds)

 

Image taken from Gutenberg Holidays & Happy Days, HAMISH HENDRY

It's a bank holiday weekend and lightning is flashing outside, which makes me think of fireworks and the likelihood the electricity is about to go out.

With that in mind, a quick Bookhounds seed.

Remember, remember!

The fifth of November,

The Gunpowder treason and plot;

There is no reason

Why the Gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot!

From Wikipedia:

Bonfires were accompanied by fireworks from the 1650s onwards, and it became the custom after 1673 to burn an effigy (usually of the pope) when heir presumptive James, Duke of York, converted to Catholicism. Effigies of other notable figures have found their way onto the bonfires, such as Paul Kruger, Margaret Thatcher, Liz Truss, Rishi Sunak and Vladimir Putin. The "guy" is normally created by children from old clothes, newspapers, and a mask.

Onlooker

With that in mind:

Gunpowder Treason

The streets are alive with the sound of urchins, begging a penny for the guy. Some of the urchins are a little mature; students from the local [medical college/university/fill in the blank] are pooling their resources for what they say will be a spectacular guy, to be burnt two streets from the Bookshop's door. 

One of those students, Larry Tinston, was recently caught shoplifting. At least, that's what the shop staff call it. Larry says he was just borrowing that peculiar book, as it gave him an idea. It's the kind of book [insert occult grimoire here] that the general public really oughtn't have in their possession. Fortunately the book was put back, no harm done.

Except it's gone again. Larry? Where is Larry now?

Option One: A Loud Bang.  The book in question contains alchemical secrets, and Larry wants it because it's given him inspiration for a really good firework. The sort that will get attention for miles around. The plan is to use it to blow the guy's head off, and it will. It will send out a signal to Cthughua too, which Larry does not appreciate.

Option Two: A Cacophany of Devils. Larry, ever the model-maker, wants this book because he wants to design a really splendid, life-size model of devils dragging the guy to Hell. There's something about the illustrations that calls to him. The devils are Nightgaunts, and while the models themselves are harmless their depiction will attract attention from one of the many cults of London. Intrigued, they descend upon the shop. Where is that book? There's a customer who wants it badly.

Option Three: A False Flag. Larry didn't take the book, honest. Someone else took advantage of the situation and half-inched it. Now Larry, amateur sleuth, will clear his name by finding the culprit. The thief is a megapolisomancer who's wanted this book for a while, but, more importantly, they want Larry's help making a model. If Larry agrees, the consequences may be felt later, when the megapolisomancer uses the model in their workings. Perhaps the Hounds should help amateur sleuth Larry before it's too late?

Enjoy!

 

Forgotten London: Amen Court (Bookhounds)

Amen Court is entered from the junction of Warwick Lane and Paternoster Row ... Of the old houses NOs 1-3, No 1 is interesting as R.H. Barham, then a minor canon, lived here from 1839 - 1845 and wrote The Ingoldsby Legends during his occupation.  ... [the pre-Reformation processions allegedly] began with the Lord's Prayer in Paternoster Row and got in their Amen at Amen Corner. They said their Hail Mary in Ava Maria Lane, then their Credo in Creed Lane, and heard their exhortation in Sermon Lane ...  

London Cameos by A.H. Blake, 1930

I have a copy of Legends, picked up on a whim in Guernsey. Well worth your time. When I posted about them before I said:

The Ingoldsby Legends. Picked up at Curiosities, an antiquarian shop in Guernsey. It’s often worth your while poking your nose in that sort of place, particularly in somewhere not often frequented like Guernsey. You never know what might be hanging around. This is the 1898 Richard Bentley edition, with illustrations, and is a collection of all three books. The originals would have been published in the 1840s as single volumes. Comic ghost stories and verse. I'm not a huge fan of comic verse - it goes on a little long and I find it wearisome - but the stories are entertaining Gothic and might give you inspiration for your own tales.

One other landmark that would have been close by is Newgate Prison. A portion of the old prison wall still exists at Amen Court. It's slightly surprising Blake didn't mention it; the prison was still there well up until his period, finally being demolished in the early 1900s. In its day it was notorious both as a prison and as a place of execution; the Newgate Hornpipe, ie. hanging, is immortalized in song. 

Odd side note. The iron gallows door that led to the place of execution allegedly found its way to Buffalo New York and is now at Canisius University. At least, so says Wikipedia and the internet is never wrong. Not sure how it got across the water, or why; it sounds like the sort of thing that ought to have been put up outside a speakeasy. There was a Newgate Prison in Buffalo, but it was contemporaneous with the existing one in London.

The Legends first appeared in Bentley's Miscalleny, a monthly that boasts Charles Dickens among others as its editor, though Dickens soon fell out with Bentley over editorial control concerns.   

With that we get:

Legendary Correspondence

A book scout, Elliott Parker, claims to have discovered some as-yet unknown correspondence written by Dickens to Bentley and approaches the Hounds hoping for a quick sale. The two pages Parker proffers are clearly part of a larger collection, written to Bentley while Dickens was still associated with Bentley's Miscalleny. Parker claims to be acting on behalf of an unnamed seller, and further investigation (eg. tracking Parker's movements) discovers that this seller lives at Amen Court, though it's not clear who the seller is or where, exactly, on Amen Court they live.

The Hounds can determine that the papers are genuine and, if there are more of them, could be sold for a tidy sum. 

At one point in the small portion the Hounds have in their possession, Dickens talks about a draft of 'a horrible, gothic little tale' he's working on. It seems to be an early version of his tale, The Haunted House, but if so then it's a version that never saw print. Finding that could be a real boost to the shop. 

Spending 1 point of any relevant investigative pool discovers that Parker, when he visits his unnamed seller, always goes to that part of Amen Court closest to the old Newgate Prison.

Option One: Liar. Parker has discovered some Dickens but it's incomplete and has faked up the rest to encourage gullible buyers. He used the good stuff as bait and is relying on the fakes to seal the deal. He's using a false front at Amen Court to sell the story, relying on Rough Magick to get him from his Amen Court false front to his actual hideaway, not far from there, traveling by shadow and subterfuge. However, this repeated use of Magick is making for some very peculiar side effects at Amen Court, and the canons who live there are starting to get worried.

Option Two: The Real Deal. Parker has a genuine seller at Amen Court. The seller discovered these papers during a home refurbishment and thought they would be able to sell these for a small amount. Parker knows their true value and is hoping to fleece the seller. What neither the seller nor Parker appreciate is that the papers are part of a larger stash of lost and found items, hoarded by a supernatural collector. The collector is very unhappy that their stash was found, and is attempting to reclaim the papers.

Option Three: The Newgate Hornpipe. Parker didn't get those papers from Amen Court. He got them from the shadowy remnants of Newgate, gone these many years, which Parker gets to via a magickal door in the wall of Newgate Prison located at Amen Court. Once there he steals the items from the Newgate Hangman, who still exists in that death-touched world beyond. Theoretically the Hounds could copy Parker's technique, get into Newgate and take the papers from their keeper. So long as they're willing to risk a grisly end in the execution cell ...

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Forgotten London - Whittington's House of Ease

Yes, I know, I missed last week - Charlie was kind enough to give us a three-day weekend and I used it wisely but too well. 

Second, a quick heads-up: I've been working on some Ravenloft stuff that will go up on DTRPG (DMG) fairly soon. Brief one-shot horror adventures with one simple rule: no more than four pages.

Now, on with the show.

Whittington's Longhouse and Almshouse was built in Cheapside, London, in 1421 and lasted, in one form or another, till at least the 19th Century and possibly the 20th. That may or may not make it the longest-lived public toilet in human history; nobody keeps records of that kind of thing.

Sir Richard Whittington, to give him his proper title, was thrice Mayor of London and a very rich man, but died childless and spent his fortune on charitable works, the Longhouse among them. It could seat 64 women and 64 men and was distinct for having a division between the sexes. One long house, with a dividing privacy wall between the 64 men and 64 women. 

The Almshouse was directly above. If you were desperate and had nowhere else to go, you could go there. Records are a little spotty on this one, and it may well be that the almshouse was used for storage at some point in the Longhouse’s career.

The 128-hole original burnt in the Great Fire but was replaced soon thereafter by a much smaller public toilet that lasted till at least 1851, and probably longer than that. 

‘In 1660,’ says Liza Picard, ‘The usual practice was to nip into an inn, or a friend’s house. But there was always a convenient corner or accepted ‘pissing place.’’ 

Whittington was famous in his day for his charitable works. He must have been a clever gent to think outside the usual church-and-benevolent-fund malarkey and build something that everyone would have found useful regardless of status. Of course, in his day while there would have been division between the sexes there was no division between neighbors; your hole was next to the other’s, which was next to the other’s after that. Given that there were 64 holes per, that suggests a remarkable coming and going in the busy periods.

Whittington is probably better known for his famous, fictitious cat which earned him his fortune – at least so goes the story. There’s nothing to suggest the real-life Whittington had a cat, but stories seldom match. The cat as helper has a very long folkloric tradition, though Whittington’s version has very little in common with its more famous adaptation, as Puss In Boots.

But! Baghdad-By-The-Thames has a long memory, and if Whittington’s Longhouse survived in one form or other until at least the 20th century – which seems possible – then it would be of interest to Bookhounds and Megapolisomancers alike.  

Incidentally there’s all kinds of stories about death on the toilet, from peculiar spiders crawling up the dunny to the legendary (and all too hideous) Erfurt Latrine Disaster. Birth on the toilet too; as Liza Picard notes, there are several instances of babies being found abandoned in toilets and brought up by the Church.

All of which leads to:

The House That Is (And Isn’t) There

Freddy ‘Inkwell’ Rummage, a notoriously sticky-fingered book scout, has lost a commission. Or at least that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

According to Inkwell he picked up a rather choice copy of [insert interesting text] and was on his way to the Hounds’ shop to negotiate a price when he was accosted by some Rough Lads who wanted a word with him about unpaid gambling debts. 

Inkwell was about to give himself up for lost when he saw a public convenience. Thinking to outwit, or at least outlast, the Rough Lads, Inkwell nipped in and found himself in a very peculiar hiding place. 

It was, says Inkwell, a very long and remarkably smelly convenience, with holes rather than the more comfortable compartments he’s used to. He had the feeling there was someone else in there with him but saw no one. 

After waiting what seemed like a short enough time Inkwell risked an escape, only to discover that it was midmorning of the next day! Moreover he no longer had the valuable package; Inkwell thinks he must have put it down for a moment and never picked it up again.

Preliminary investigation suggests that wherever this place is it’s somewhere in Cheapside, but exactly where is anyone’s guess.

Options:

• The grimoire is protected by [something] and it was that [something] that opened a temporary hole in space & time. However, the grimoire is now stuck in that alternate dimension until someone comes to collect it. A Hound roaming Cheapside at the same hour of night that Inkwell got himself into trouble might find their way into the Longhouse.
• Inkwell stumbled onto a long-forgotten secret Fane, protected by Isis and her servants, the cats of London. The real prize is upstairs, in the Almshouse, where Isis keeps a kind of temple – or at least her cats do. Some megapolisomancers know about this secret haven.
• Inkwell stumbled into a Haunting and while he was able to get away with his life others might not be so lucky. By leaving that book behind Inkwell inadvertently created a kind of link that allows the Haunting greater power/longevity than usual. So long as that book is there, the link to the Longhouse is open …

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

The Fourth Element - Bookhounds of London

The East End of London extends as far as Blackwall on the Thames, but it begins at the edge of the City. In fact, the “Bow Bells” (which all true Cockneys must be born within the sound of) are in Cheapside in the City. Jack the Ripper killed one of his victims (Catherine Eddowes) in the City, in Mitre Square, but the others left a bloody trail pointing east. The East End began as marshy ground outside the walls of the city proper, slowly drained by the original “Black Wall” of the Saxons. Since mediaeval times, the East End has been where London put its blood, its stenches, and its death: tanneries, slaughterhouses, and fulling-yards. The docks and canals brought steady work, along with injury and ague; the ships brought crowds of foreign sailors and workmen, and crowds of British whores and thieves. Gin-houses and music-halls sprang up, as did radical politics and dissenting cults. Homes were small and streets were narrow even in Elizabethan times; with factories, gasworks, and workhouses rising in the Victorian era, things got even worse. The East End became “the Abyss.”

Bookhounds main book, p 51

From my boyish days I had always felt a great perplexity on one point in Macbeth. It was this: the knocking at the gate, which succeeds to the murder of Duncan, produced to my feelings an effect for which I never could account. The effect was, that it reflected back upon the murder a peculiar awfulness and a depth of solemnity; yet, however obstinately I endeavored with my understanding to comprehend this, for many years I never could see why it should produce such an effect.

Thomas De Quincey, Murder as considered one of the fine arts, an essay.

OK, so you've decided to set your game - whether it's long or short - in a specific location in London. I'm using the East End, purely as an example. What next?

Trail offers two types of play, Purist and Pulp. Bookhounds refines this further by adding Arabesque, Sordid and Technicolor. Ideally you'd want to sit down with your players in a session zero and discuss tone, and decide as a group which you'd like to shoot for. However, as Director/Keeper/Poor Unfortunate, you often don't have the luxury of coming up with an entire campaign on the back of a session zero. You want to have at least some of the setting outlined in advance. 

But if you don't know whether you're going to be Arabesque, why would you design an Arabesque plot point or location? Surely that's wasted effort? 

No. But then, you wouldn't design an Arabesque plot point or location. You would design the thing, and then assign characteristics as the needs of the campaign develop. Further, you'd have at least some of its characteristics outlined in advance so you can slot them in when necessary.

Let's take the Abyss as a starting point. In any campaign design, when you don't know exactly where this is all leading you never tie yourself to a particular endpoint. What you need at the start is a very clear idea of where you are beginning and, after that, a reasonable idea of where you are headed. 

Let's say you intend to start with a small shop at the edge of the City, in the East End but trying to pretend it isn't East End, not really. Nobody drops their haitches in this establishment. You'd want to leave a fair amount of shop design up to the players but that doesn't mean you leave everything else alone. What's on the same street? Who's the main rival? What's the trade like? Is there a secret hidden under the floorboards or up in the attic? Do the drains work and, if not, what makes up the fatberg that's blocking them?

OK, so you've done all that. Well done. 

What about the reasonable idea of where you are headed?

There's no way to know for certain which decisions the players will make. They may seize on the main plot with cries of joy or dash off after some tangent. Don't worry about that. These things come out in play. What you need to think about is where all this is headed, in broad terms.

Pick a plot. Lord knows there are enough of them. The Bookhounds text gives half a dozen cults and an Old One as a cornucopia to pick from. If you don't like any of them there's London folklore aplenty in any number of texts. Point being, whichever of these you pick, that's where all this is headed. 

Let's say we opt for the Brotherhood of the Pharaoh as the main plot, the destination of this runaway train. The campaign is headed in an Egyptian direction. That doesn't mean you can't have side plots with, say, the Nazis, but after the side plot is over we go straight back to Egypt. In fact - tangent time - it could be a lot of fun to have a Tomb-Hounds of Egypt game running concurrently with the Bookhounds sessions, so the players get to experience the Brotherhood from both ends of the narrative. Also, shoehorn in some Nazis, why not. 

So you've got the start point nailed down and you know where the runaway train is going. The little book store with pretensions on the edge of the City, mired in the Abyss, is going to go on a journey that ends in a very Egyptian denouement. Established. Done. 

The question at the start of this was if you don't know whether you're going to be Arabesque, why would you design an Arabesque plot point or location? Surely that's wasted effort? 

The answer becomes: you design what you need to design and then you add the Arabesque/Sordid/Technicolor extra, as part of the Rule of Four. Effectively, you design something with three elements and the fourth element is the extra.

Let's say we were designing the Crown and Dolphin Tavern which is linked to the infamous Ratcliffe Murders of 1811, which in Bookhounds terms is a little over a hundred years before the start of the campaign. It's that same murder which inspired De Quincey to write the essay quoted above. The alleged murderer's skull is on display at the Crown and Dolphin, according to the Bookhounds main text, and history says the rest of him is buried out in front of the Crown & Dolphin. Cannon Street, where the tavern's located, is in the City proper.  

With all that in mind:

The Crown and Dolphin, 56 Cannon Street

Four things:

The landlord, Horace Glover, is affable and a friend to all; he's also up to his ears in gambling debts and is looking for a way out.

The tavern's brewer, Ashton Gate Brewery Co Ltd, is having a financial crisis and one of the odd effects of this is that the Crown and Dolphin is the only pub in the chain that serves its Dancing Man Premium Bitter. An odd, dark amber brew, it's either loved or loathed by those who know it.

The local Ring likes to hold knock-down auctions in the Crown after hours. If you know who to talk to you can get in on the action but it never begins until the pub shuts. 

Fourth Thing Arabesque: A woman with no known name - everyone calls her Queenie - plays solitaire dominoes every night every Friday, always at the same table and always from 9 till closing. Nobody sees her enter; nobody sees her leave. Nobody dares sit at her table before she gets there, and if a stranger does so by accident they are told to move. 

Fourth Thing Sordid: Horace has turned to drug peddling to pay his gambling debts. He doesn't sell the stuff himself; he lets other people - strange, silent folk - come in and sell their peculiar narcotics. A group of addicts can always be found gathered round the Crown's door waiting for the pushers.

Fourth Thing Technicolor: The ghost of John Murphy, the alleged Ratcliffe murderer, stalks the street outside the Crown and Dolphin. In life John Murphy had hair of the most extraordinary and vivid colour, viz., a bright yellow, something between an orange and a yellow colour according to De Quincey, and it's this color that sets him off; if someone with yellow hair passes by, John Murphy will try to snatch it from their head, with painful consequences for the victim. 

What I'm getting at here is the Crown and Dolphin may or may not become an important part of the ongoing campaign. It may be a side note; it may become a major location. At the start of the game you can't know whether it will be one or the other. 

Therefore you put in just enough detail so you can use it however you need to use it. You have your Four Things, which in this instance is Three Things Plus One Extra. With those Four Things you have enough plot to be getting on with.

But.

What about the Brotherhood? That's where all this is going, after all. 

Easy. You put the Brotherhood in the Fourth Thing. The Brotherhood is ultimately behind the Arabesque, the Sordid, the Technicolor moment. Or the Brotherhood is interested in the Arabesque, the Sordid, the Technicolor moment. The Brotherhood may be the ones supplying those peculiar narcotics, or those dominoes she's playing with could have mystic significance, or the ghost of John Murphy could actually be the result of some peculiar Brotherhood plot or artefact that has the unintended consequence of stimulating ghostly activity and thus provoking John Murphy. 

You don't need to know, up front, how exactly the Brotherhood is involved in that Fourth Thing. All you need to know is that the Brotherhood must be involved because that is where all this is going. The runaway train has a destination, after all, and it will get there. In one piece or several. That's up to the players.

Enjoy!

New Year, New Fear (Bookhounds)

Hello!

First, housekeeping. I've set up a Mastadon account to replace Twitter but I haven't had much time to play with it yet. You can find me at @karloff@mstdn.social. I'll keep the Twitter live for a bit to give me time to clear out bookmarks and deal with any DMs that come in, but in time I'll deactivate the Twitter. 

Second, thanks to those who responded to the poll! A lot of you like the Bookhounds content so that's what I'll be concentrating on first. There were some votes for Swords of the Serpentine too, so that will be on the menu as well. 

To start off with, something light but tasty. 

In the Forgotten London series I often use my copy of London Curios, a book published long long ago that I picked up for a fiver when I was last in Greenwich. I turn to a random page and use whatever's there as inspiration for a seed. 

Someone was kind enough to give me a copy of a Ward & Lock London Guide Book for Christmas, so I thought it only fitting to try the same trick in the first post of 2023. It was either that or an extended riff on Kevin McCarthy, and I think we're all sick of his Speaker's Odessey by now. Not least because we'll have it all to do again when they kick him out, which should happen within the next month or two.

Page 101: In Buckingham Palace Road are the National School of Cookery, the St. George's Baths and the Free Library; and the Royal Sanitary Institute ...    

The National School of Cookery gets its start at the Crystal Palace Exhibition and for a while is based there. It gets a mention in Dickens's Dictionary Of London where, Dickens says, Miss Mary Hooper was entrusted with the formation of a new series of classes for instruction in cookery and every branch of domestic economy. Mary Hooper is herself a writer of no little skill and publishes a number of cookbooks and novels, particularly children's fiction. The school finally finds a more permanent home on Buckingham Palace Road in 1889, where it stays until its eventual collapse in 1962 due to lack of funds.

It specializes in two kinds of cookery: Plain, for the working class, and High Class, for those prepared to pay for fancy food. The High Class cookbook was a moderately expensive production for its time, with gold-blocking on spine and its green leather cover; this was reprinted many times and later editions were in paperback, but the earliest versions were all hardback. Mrs. Clarke, the superintendent of the school, was the person who compiled the recipes.

Dickens - Boz, the son of, not the author - had several children, among them Ethel Kate Dickens, entrepreneur and businesswoman who died of an overdose in 1936. She would have known Mary Hooper, who edited Household Words, the mid-nineteenth century magazine which her grandfather Charles Dickens, the celebrated author, was involved with. 

From that we get:

Four And Twenty Blackbirds

A Bookhounds of London scenario seed.

Several well-heeled collectors have become convinced that there is a special 1896 errata edition of the High Class Cookery Recipes etc published by the National School of Cookery. These culinary book lovers are joined in the chase by an eclectic selection of melopolisomancers who are convinced the 1896 errata edition can be a useful tool in their craft. Both groups believe the errata edition will be sold at a secret auction at the National School of Cookery on the anniversary of Charles Dickens' death in 1896.

The errata edition allegedly contains an extra recipe penned by Dickens himself - or possibly his son, accounts vary. Those who claim to have seen it - and there are few - say that it describes a peculiar feast involving meats and fruits not seen on Earth.

Those who say the book either assists in megapolisomancy or provides a kind of lever claim that the book itself has direct, deep links to the National School of Cookery, which means it has links to Buckingham Palace Road which means it can be used in any working involving the Royal Mews or Victoria Station, two high-profile London landmarks, and for that matter any number of lesser landmarks also on Buckingham Palace Road. Or it can be used as a kind of divining rod to discover old levers from the time this area was Chelsea Road, home to highwaymen and bandits.

Those who trace the rumors about the book to their source discover that the source is Ethel Kate, and depending on when the chronicle is set she may still be alive. 

A short while before these rumors arose she claimed to have dreamed of a peculiar book, a cookbook, in which the most fabulous recipes could be found. At one point in her dreams her grandfather presented her with a copy of this book, at which point it somehow escaped her dream and became reality. She doesn't know how this happened and is frightened of the result.

Options:

• Ethel Kate is a Dreamer and may or may not have had contact with the Surrealist Dreamhounds of Paris. Her dreaming and waking lives are very different. In her waking life she runs a typists school; in her dreams she is an artist of repute. However, in the course of her dreaming career she found herself in a dream equivalent of the cooking school, where she discovered - or created - this book. Now she doesn't know what to do with it, or why it's here in the waking world. In this version the book is a special artefact which may or may not have the powers ascribed to it by megapolisomancers, but it frightens the hell out of Dickens' granddaughter.
• The cookbook was created by a megapolisomancer who drew on Ethel Kate's dreams of her grandfather to create it. However, the book isn't an artefact; it's a trap, for a rival megapolisomancer. The creator of the book is the one who's spreading the rumors and holding the auction at the cooking school, the intent being to lure the rival out of hiding and bring them to a place of execution - and woe betide anyone else who happens to be nearby. Collateral damage is a terrible thing ...
• The cookbook was created by a Dust Thing who, among other aspects, is partly Charles Dickens Jr., or Boz. In his lifetime Boz was a financial failure, an aspect which the Dust Thing inadvertently draws on. That's one of the reasons why the School of Cookery enjoys such poor fortune; they get it from the Dust Thing. Its original book is a copy of Boz's Dictionary of London: An Unconventional Handbook, which the Director of the School keeps in her personal library; if this book is destroyed the Dust Thing is significantly diminished. The cookbook is the Dust Thing's version of a fund raiser, and the Dust Thing will be the auctioneer. Ethel Kate is aware of this through dreams and is doing her (limited) best to prevent the auction, as she feels it is likely to end badly.

The book: skim 1 point Dream Lore, no spells; poring over 1 point Mythos plus one spell, Prepare the Feast of Nodens, cost 3 stability minimum, potentially Sanity, summons but does not bind a Nightgaunt who must, within five minutes of summoning, be given a message or appeal to Nodens. The Nightgaunt then takes that message to the God, which may or may not respond. The chance of a response is a percentage equal to the number of stability spent. For every point of Sanity spent, the chance goes up by 5%. Example: the caster spends 6 Stability and 2 Sanity for a total chance of 16%, being 6 plus 10.

If Nodens is inclined to answer then the feast will vanish - the God eats it. If Nodens is not inclined to answer, then a flock of Nightgaunts descend upon the feast scattering and befouling it. Potential Stability loss if the latter happens: +2.    

Nodens can answer any question pertaining to Dream, the Dreamlands or the effects of nightmare. Nodens can also rescue any one person from a Dream-related situation or prison.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Forgotten London: Cato Street Conspiracy

There is a former stables on Cato Street near Edgeware Road in London that is the last reminder of a forgotten conspiracy against the state.

In 1820 a group of desperate men gathered there on the night of February 23rd to put their plot into motion. Their goal was to wipe out the Cabinet, start a glorious revolution and install themselves as leaders of same, at Mansion House. They called themselves the Spencean Philanthropists, after the radical (and bookseller) Thomas Spence and their target was the home of Lord Harrowby, where the Cabinet was supposed to be meeting for dinner. With all their victims in one place, it would be easy to destroy the hated politicians and Lordships who stood in their way. 

Unfortunately for them the Philanthropists had a spy in their midst, and their plans were well known. The dinner party was a fiction, intended to lure them out into the open. Some of them were immediately arrested when the loft of the stables was invaded by police; one of the policemen was stabbed to death, and those conspirators not caught at Cato Street were nabbed in the days following, as the authorities rounded up the Philanthropist's leadership.

It was a triumph for the Bow Street Runners, who were first on the scene. They were meant to be backed up by a detachment from the Coldstream Guards, but the troopers got lost on the way to the conspiracy so the Runners made the assault themselves. 

Five of the Philanthropists were condemned to death and the rest transported to Australia. The executions were unusual; as traitors, the five were condemned to be hanged, drawn and quartered, but their sentence was commuted to hanging and beheading. Their heads, once cut off, were displayed to the watching crowd and then flung into the coffins with their bodies. 

The Cato Street Conspiracy

The site still exists today.

Gamification:

The Cato Street Cult

Radicals: Fascist, Communist, foreign, Irish, Jewish, what-have-you. The radical has wild eyes and a tendency to hairiness – combs and razors being apparently tools of oppression. Dressed in solidarity with the working class, or in something cheap and warm, the radical carries his (or her) pamphlets, émigré newspapers, manifestos, and grudges wherever she (or he) goes. He (or she) mostly goes to drafty lodge halls, noisy protest meetings, sympathetic art happenings, or cheap tea shops. The only thing she (or he) hates more than The Class System (or the Jews, or the Bankers, or the Arms Merchants) is people who hate it incorrectly ... [Bookhounds p 55-6]. 

It's alleged that the leader of this so-called Philanthropic group sells books and radical pamphlets out of a stall in High Holborn, and can often be found near Tottenham Court Market. That may or may not be so. What is certain is that this group went from ignominious nobodies to public enemies in one fell swoop, when they made an explosive attempt of the life of the Earl of Harrowby. This attempt failed, but several were wounded and one innocent bystander, an employee of Coutt's bank, killed. The Philanthropists claimed responsibility and signed the note they sent to the papers with the name Arthur Thistlewood. Thistlewood was one of the Cato Street conspirators hung and beheaded, the other four being Richard Tidd, James Ings, William Davidson and John Brunt. 

According to those who claim to know these things the core group consists of these five, with a wider net of informants, rough lads and sympathizers. They claim to be working towards the Rights of Man, with the aim of overthrowing the ruling class and establishing themselves as the new power.

Those with occult leanings understand the Philanthropists' goal to be slightly more esoteric. They point to the Philanthropists' original target, the Earl of Harrowby, as proof. Why should an otherwise undistinguished member of the aristocracy be their first target? It seems nonsensical, until a connection is drawn between the current Earl and the target of the original Cato Street conspirators, in 1820. Also, they seem obsessed with obtaining relics of the original conspirators, and are currently searching for the knife hangman John Foxton is supposed to have used to cut off the heads of the Cato Street five. 

Moreover the potter's field in which the conspirators may have been buried, severed heads and all, has been targeted by graverobbers. At the time nobody understood why anyone would bother, but those who ought to know claim that the Philanthropists are very interested in recovering the heads of the original five. Though it's understood that this attempt, like the assassination, did not succeed - possibly because the heads were never there to begin with. A collector of medical curiosities, Arthur Scroggins, claims to have those fateful heads pickled in jars, part of a gruesome collage. Nobody believes he has the real thing - except possibly those Philanthropists ...  

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

Old Chelsea Church, 1959, via Pathe 

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

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

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

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

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

London Cameos, A.H. Blake, 1930.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally:

The Ashburnham Presence

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

Awful Truth(s):

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

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Forgotten London - The King on Horseback (Bookhounds)

 From London Cameos by A.H.Blake:

It stands in a commanding position at the meeting of the ways at Charing Cross looking down Whitehall. 

The spot on which it stands is historical, for here for hundreds of years stood the last of the Elanor Crosses erected by Edward I. It marked her last resting-place for the night in a near-by hospital before her burial in the Abbey on the morrow.

The actual cross, of copy of which exists in Charing Cross station yard, was destroyed during the Puritan regime as savoring of superstition and the site was vacant until the Restoration.

This statue, made for Lord Treasurer Weston during the peaceful years of Charles I's reign and destined for his park at Roehampton, was handed over to a man called Rivett for destruction. He secreted it and brought it out at the Restoration.

After some of the regicides had been executed on this spot, the statue was put up, and in royal fashion Charles I looks down Whitehall to the place where in front of the Banqueting Hall he died.

See it on January 30 covered with wreaths from Stuart admirers, including offerings from descendants of those who suffered for the Jacobite cause in the rebellions of '15 and '45. The statue is by Le Sueur, and the base was the workmanship of Joshua Marshall, the King's mason.

 Image taken from Wikipedia

Blake isn't being entirely frank about those wreaths. Back in the 1890s there was considerable controversy when Jacobite loyalists asked for permission to place wreaths at the statue on the 30th. The government of the day refused them, and there was a minor scuffle with the police before the Jacobites were finally allowed to honor Charles on the day of his execution.

A bold and daring man is Mr. Herbert Vivian [leader of the group], Jacobite and journalist wrote the Western Morning News. He announces to all and sundry that, law or no law, he will... attempt to lay a wreath on the statue. I have not heard whether special precautions have yet been taken to cope with this new force of disorder though, perhaps... one constable may be set apart to overawe Mr. Herbert Vivian.

Before you go crowning Vivian as a hero of the people, he was anything but: his Royalist and Fascist tendencies led him to support Mussolini later in the 1930s.

Said he at the time, the world's galloping consumption will not be arrested until... Kings forget their ancient animosities to unite in a Royalist International uncontaminated and unhampered by the lying, cowardly, malignant Spirit of the Age.

Also, when Blake wrote that piece the statue was incomplete. Back in 1844 someone stole the statue's sword and Order of the Garter, and the items wouldn't be replaced until the Second World War, when the statue was taken under cover for safekeeping during the Blitz. 

So from a gaming perspective we have:

1. A King's monument, built on the spot a previous King's monument stood.
2. Overlooking a place of execution, where regicides were punished for their crime.
3. Honored for centuries by Royalists and cranks.
4. Partly defaced, by removing its sword and medal.

From a Megapolisomancy perspective we have a Lever that could be used in several different ways: as a means of causing death, of causing or punishing rebellion, of inspiring fear, of obtaining favors from monarchs, or of boosting any working that harms or helps monarchy. 

Moreover there's that missing sword and Order to consider. Lord knows where those ended up, or why they were stolen in the first place. It happened in 1844 on the day Queen Victoria opened the new (and current) Royal Exchange, its wooden predecessor having been destroyed by fire. Presumably there's some significance in that, though what is difficult to see. The Order of the Garter is a chivalric award, associated with the Military Knights of Windsor. The symbiology of a missing sword is easy to see. The removal of honor and virility both - assuming someone actually wanted to make a point, and not just to steal shiny things.  

OK, so all that in mind:

Hanged and Beheaded

A prominent Indian speaker and journalist, Nadrenda Patel, has been murdered. The body - most of it - was found at Charing Cross just off the Mall very early on a frosty October morning. The head is missing, and forensic examination can determine that the deceased was hung before the head was removed; Mr. Patel died before being beheaded. 

Aside from the gruesome nature of the crime, one other peculiarity emerges: in his pocket is an 1808 collection of children's rhymes, bought recently - at the Bookhounds' shop. It still has the shop label on the inside cover. 

Naturally the police are deeply suspicious, as is a private detective hired by Mr. Patel's newspaper, Muhammad Parekh, a former military man turned investigator. However the Bookhounds know they never sold that book - or any book - to Mr. Patel. They sold that particular book to a private collector, Mrs. Murray, an unassuming old widow who lives in the West End with three spoilt cats. 

Odd thing about that copy; one of the pages, with the rhyme As I Was Going By Charing Cross, is a tipped-in forgery. It shouldn't be there at all, and further investigation finds the invisible ink mystic inscription that drew the supernatural killer to its victim.

Their troubles deepen when Muhammad Parekh dies the same way Mr. Patel did, also in Charing Cross - though not the Mall, this time, and no book, though he does have a pamphlet with that same rhyme in his pocket. The police are convinced they had something to do with it.

The true killer is a paramental summoned up by Mrs. Murray, a rabid monarchist with Jacobite ancestry, who wants to use its powers to punish those who weaken the Empire or betray the Crown. Indian nationalists were her first pick, but she has a long list of potential targets. 

This paramental acts as an executioner so it kills in the same way the Parliamentarian traitors were executed - first hung, then beheaded, with the heads going up on public display. Mrs. Murray now has a fourth spoilt cat, that same paramental. However Mrs. Murray doesn't have the spiritual energy to keep this going, and her heart is beginning to skip; should she die before putting down what she summoned up, the freed paramental will do as it pleases - to whoever it pleases.

Enjoy!  

Glorious Romance (Bookhounds of London)

Richmond, a township of 20,000 within the bounds of southwest Greater London, boasts many graces, among them Richmond Green. The Green has an ancient history, and once hosted jousting knights; since the 18th century, cricket has taken over. Richmond Green is what's left of the Royal palace that once occupied the site, originally founded by Henry V. With the palace and the King's grace came maids of honor, to care for the Queen, and they needed somewhere to live. That led to the creation of Maids of Honour Row, built 1724.

Number 4, Maids of Honour Row is a series of four terraced houses fronting Richmond Green, opposite the Public Library. The Green was intended to be an elaborate pleasure park, designed by Constantio de Servi, architect to the Medicis, but almost nothing of that design was actually built. The original building where the Row now stands was elaborate and had, among other amenities, a tennis court and gardens, but its fortunes ebbed and flowed with the monarchy, and by the 1700s it was clear the old wreck had to go. Its replacement, Maids of Honour Row, was designed and built by carpenter Thomas Honour, who clearly had an eye for a good pun. 

Among the illustrious inhabitants of Maids of Honour were J.J. Heidegger, Master of Revels to the Court, and the author Charles Garvice.

Heidegger, a Swiss, came to London with very little and made a complete pig's breakfast of his first job, so he joined the Guards. From there he somehow moved to the Opera, where he became known for elaborate set-pieces. His fame increasing, he was hired by the Court to provide amusements as and when required. He had tremendous technical skill, and once lit 1800 candles in under three minutes, for the King's coronation, but is best remembered for his masquerades, and the illicit sexual thrills they offered. 

Charles Garvice is, in the Bookhound's day, an exceptionally famous romance novelist. He had a setback early in his career that taught him a painful, but valuable, lesson: always write for the market. He did so enthusiastically, developing a familiar formulae: innocent young girl plus lascivious nobleman plus some melodrama involving missing jewels or irate parents, mix in solicitors and charming young titled male leads, and the money comes flowing in. Nobody's sure how many books he wrote, as he worked under several different names. He knew he wasn't going to go down in literary history, and he didn't care. Once, when a friend tried to make light of his writing, he pointed to a crowded beach and said, "They are all reading my latest work." They were. He died in 1920, leaving, net, something in the order of sixty seven thousand pounds, or the rough equivalent of $2.5 million in today's money. Most went to his wife, the remainder to his two sons, one of whom died in 1921 in Alexandria, Egypt, where he was Chief of Police. The other lived in Canada until his death in 1964. 

All of which brings us to:

Glorious Romance

Hook: Would-be author Maurice Stowell has pestered the Bookhounds, among many, many others, for years now. He thinks he's an unacknowledged genius. So far, he's just unacknowledged. However his most recent manuscript, given to the Bookhounds for a read-through ("tell me what you think. Don't spare my feelings.") is very reminiscent of Charles Garvice's finest. Except it has an odd, Mythos tinge, particularly in the masquerade scene, presided over by the wicked Count Rochat, a conniving Swiss impresario with designs on the maiden, Cassilda. It's vaguely historical, except the setting is a Richmond Green nobody's ever seen before, complete with elaborate Italianate water gardens and a huge Neptune statue. The stone God has plot significance, as it moves about and, at one point, threatens the hero's life. It's … interesting, but those with Mythos knowledge can pick out sinister influences, particularly from that dreaded text. the King in Yellow. Masked balls, elaborate royal palaces, a terrifying Nemesis figure - where did Maurice get his inspiration?

Maurice Stowell: Three things: always suffers from a cold, limp handshake, uncanny luck at games of chance. If he took more care over it, he'd be a very successful card shark, but what he really wants to be is a writer. Athletics 8, Scuffling 12, Health 6; he was a Rough Lad when he was younger, but that's a mug's game. "Oh dear, I can feel a migraine coming on. Pass me my pills, would you? I cannot function without Mortlake's Concentrated Liver Pills."

Awful Truth: Stowell paid a local cunning-woman, Dicey (Eurydice) Wollard, to help his writing by summoning up the ghost of Charles Garvice. Stowell wanted writing advice, but got more than he bargained for, and so did Dicey. She doesn't know whose spirit she's channeling. At first she didn't care, so long as the money kept rolling in. Now she's very worried she's in over her head, but she can't keep the spirit quiet. The dreams she's been having since this started have become more and more surreal, and lately Stowell's been joining her in Dreamland, wandering through some peculiar, alternate version of Richmond Green. In that version of Richmond Green is hidden a book, some sort of play, that the spirit controlling her and advising Stowell wants found. This spirit, the Count Roche in Stowell's book, won't take no for an answer, and is forcing the two of them to find the book, no matter the cost. Trouble is, there's things hiding in that dream version of Richmond Green that could easily prove fatal …

Enjoy!

Constant but Unhappy (Bookhounds of London)

The Constant but Unhappy Lovers, chapbook, published Ludgate 1707, by E.B. Bumped, woodcut (extra-illustrated), crozier chariot device. No reserve price.

The chapbook tells the story of two lovers, prevented from marrying by her obdurate father, Mr Butler. Broken-hearted, the gentleman, Henry Perpoint, signs up for a soldier and is shot while on duty in Spain. He survives for several days, and writes a letter to her in his own blood, which he sends with a lock of her hair, kept as a memento, and the ashes of his heart. Butler, meanwhile, marries his daughter to a Mr Harvey, a rich but jealous man. When the packet arrives Harvey intercepts it, and sprinkles the ashes in her tea. When he tells her what he has done, she bursts into tears, proclaims that the tea is "a draught so precious that no meat or drink shall ever come upon it." She retires to her room, cuts her finger for ink, and writes a poem in her own blood. She is found dead the next morning.

The author claims to be telling a true story of events that took place the same year the chapbook was published. In fact the subject dates at least to the Medieval period, and probably further, though the details have been updated to the 1700s.

Keeper's note: bumped means the cover is damaged, through careless shelving. Woodcut (extra-illustrated) means that the chapbook contains a woodcut illustration that was not in the original, and is probably an addition by one of the book's owners. Crozier chariot device means the book has a mark by its publisher, a crozier and chariot, most likely a reference to St Erkenwald of London, whose symbol is a chariot and who served as Bishop of St Paul's. This most likely means the publisher's shop was in or near St Paul's. No reserve price means the auctioneer will accept any bid, which is unsurprising for an otherwise unremarkable 18th century chapbook. All of this can be a 0 point clue for Book Scouts, Booksellers and Catalogue Agents, or anyone with a Bibliography pool.

This item is one of a longish list of interesting but not spectacular items, come out of a house sale. The Bookhounds probably attended to see if they can scarf up some material for the group's Forger, or purchase something cheap but interesting for the shop.

However things become heated when the bids for this item surpass all expectations, and a bidding war develops between two people unknown to the characters, or the resident Ring. One, a foreign gentleman with a German accent, (Eugen Grosche, grandmaster of the Berlin magical order Fraternitas Saturni), is bidding remarkable sums, but is being outbid by a shabby woman in tweeds with a Home County accent.  She is Lillian Lewis, an Oxford academic and one of the steamboat ladies who got their degrees via the University of Dublin, at a time when Oxford didn't grant academic qualifications to women. This information can be had by 1 point spends of Occult, Credit Rating or History (Lewis is a renowned historian). Otherwise all the characters know is that one is clearly German, while the other is a redoubtable lady.

The characters can engage in the bidding war if they wish. Grosche has Auction 8 (he has the resources of his own bookstore to draw on) while Lewis has 10. However the bidding is brought to an unexpected end when, at the conclusion, Lewis drops dead of an apparent heart attack.

It later transpires - and the investigators can learn this immediately with Medicine, Forensics or Evidence Collection spends, otherwise they must wait for the official inquiry, which will take days - that Lewis was poisoned. Whoever did it must have injected Lewis with a fatal dose as she was bidding, so they must have been standing close to her. It would take a cool head and steady hand to do that, given the circumstances.

So, what happened to Lillian Lewis, why, and what does this all have to do with an otherwise unremarkable 18th century chapbook?

Facts to be uncovered by the investigators: The chapbook supposedly was once the property of occultist and artist Pamela Coleman Smith, co-creator of the Waite-Smith Tarot deck, though she denies all knowledge of the chapbook. Grosche believes it was hers, and also that the woodcut (extra-illustrated) is her work. That's why he wants it; he thought it an interesting early example of her art, and wonders if the woodcut is a precursor to her Tarot designs. He doesn't know that she denies it. Lewis, so far as anyone knows, had no interest in the occult or Pamela Smith, nor did she have anything like the financial resources to back up her frenzied bidding. Other Bookhounds and occultists believe the chapbook and its famous woodcut really is Pamela Smith's work, and claim she indulged in a bit of forgery to earn some extra cash back in the 1920s, when she was living in bohemian London. The woodcut shows a grieving woman writing a poem, and is similar in composition to the second trump of Major Arcana in the Waite-Smith deck, the High Priestess. Though intended to look as if it is an 18th century original, the woodcut is a modern addition, as 1 point Forgery or Art can realize. The poison that killed Lewis is a derivative of Gelsemium elegans, sometimes called heartbreak grass, a flowering shrub native to India, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Taiwan, Thailand, Vietnam, and China. It is popular among suicides, hence the name, and causes seizures, convulsions, paralysis and death.

Possible Conclusions:

• The killer is a high-ranking member of the Hsieh-Tzu Fan. The chapbook is part of a book code, and the woodcut is a sign to those who understand it that this particular chapbook is part of a two-book cypher set. It ought never to have come to auction; an enemy of the Hsieh-Tzu Fan stole it, and it was sold by his landlord to cover his debts when he turned up mysteriously dead in a back alley. The dead man was Lewis' brother, and she found out about his death too late to prevent the sale. That's why she bid so frenziedly; she knows, through her brother, that something important is hidden inside the chapbook, and is determined to uncover the identity of her brother's killer. Grosche is a red herring, in this version.
• The killer is one of Grosche's Berlin rivals, a potential successor to his position in the Order of Saturn. This Mythos-inspired madman wants to turn the Order to Mythos worship, but Grosche bars his way. The killer spread the word about the auction, knowing Grosche would hear about it. He also sent notice to Lewis, who he knew was a secret occultist who had clashed with Grosche before, in academic battles over literary scholarship  The killer knew that the two would bid furiously, to spite the other. He killed Lewis with an obscure poison, intends to plant evidence that implicates Grosche, and alert the authorities. With any luck Grosche will hang, and the killer will take over the Order.
• The killer is Lewis herself. She met Grosche in Berlin in the 1920s, and became besotted - but Grosche did not return her affection. She threw herself into her work, but a brush with the Mythos fractured her mind, and she began to obsess about Grosche. He, she felt, was the anchor she needed, to bring her back to reality - but he stubbornly refused to accept that. So she manufactured the chapbook, made sure Grosche knew about it, and set up the whole incident at the auction. She used a Mythos variant of heartbreak grass, as grown by the Tcho-Tcho, which only incapacitates, not kills. She bribed the coroner and the funeral parlor with the last of her life savings, to keep them quiet, and then arranged her own funeral. Surely, she thinks, when Grosche attends the funeral ceremony, weeping over lost love and missed chances, he'll fall on his knees in gratitude when she reveals, from the coffin, that she's not dead after all? However if he doesn't show - as is quite likely - then the tantrum this Mythos-knowledgeable scholar falls into is likely to destroy the church, and kill several dozen innocent bystanders.   

Enjoy!

Forgotten London: Rat Queen (GUMSHOE, Bookhounds of London, Night's Black Agents)

From Westwood & Simpsons' The Lore of the Land: A Guide to England's Legends:

The tradition concerns a mysterious, luck-bringing Queen Rat. This was a supernatural creature whose true appearance was that of a rat; she would follow the toshers [sewer workers] about invisibly, as they worked, and when she saw one that she fancied she would turn into a sexy-looking woman and accost him. If he gave her a night to remember she would give him good luck in his work; he would be sure to find plenty of money and valuables [among the garbage that ends up in the sewer] He would not necessarily guess who she was, for though the Queen Rat did have certain peculiarities in her human form (her eyes reflected light like an animal's, and she had claws on her toes), he probably would not notice them while making love in some dark corner. But if he did suspect, and talked about her, his luck would change at once; he might well drown, or meet with some horrible accident.

In Bookhounds, the Flusher (Contacts in the East End) is the theme-specific descendant of the tosher. Flushers know what's been found in the sewers, and who's been lost there, and they know the tangled labyrinth of tunnels beneath all London. The flushers will not talk to those they know despise them … although their sergeant, the Ganger, might unbend for a good reason. Especially if they've seen something Down There that you can show you know something about.

As with most things to do with the Victorian poor, Henry Mayhew is the most useful source.

Were it not a notorious fact, it might perhaps be thought impossible, that men could be found who, for the chance of obtaining a living of some sort or other, would, day after day, and year after year, continue to travel through these underground tunnels for the offscouring of the city; but such is the case even at the present moment … Many wonderous tales are still told among the people of men having lost their way in the sewers, and of having wandered among the filthy passages - their lights extinguished by the noisome vapours - till, faint and overpowered, they dropped down and died on the spot. Other stories are told of sewer-hunters beset by myriads of enormous rats, and slaying thousands of them in their struggle for life, till at length the swarms of the savage things overpowered them, and in a few days afterwards their skeletons were discovered picked clean to the bones …

They carry a bag on their back, and in their hand a pole seven or eight feet long, on one end of which there is a large iron hoe. The uses of this instrument are various; with it they try the ground wherever it appears unsafe … Should they, as often happens, even to the most experienced, sink in some quagmire, they immediately throw out their long pole armed with the hoe, which is always held uppermost for this purpose, and with it seizing hold of any object within their reach … without the pole, however, their danger would be greater, for the more they struggled to extricate themselves from such places, the deeper they would sink … in addition to the long hoe already described [they equip themselves] with a canvas apron, which they tie around them, and a dark lantern similar to a policeman's [with a lens that could be restricted] this they strap round them on their right breast, in such a manner that on removing the shade, the bull's-eye throws the light straight forward when they are in an erect position, and enables them to see everything in advance of them for some distance; but when they stoop, it throws the light directly under them, so that they can then see any object at their feet.

Rat Queen

Athletics 9, Health 5, Scuffling 10

Hit Threshold: 6 (small and nimble) or 4 (human form)

Alertness Modifier: +1

Stealth Modifier +3 (rat form) or 1 (human)

Weapon: -2 (bite, rat form), -1 (bite, human form), claws +0 (human form)

Special: a bite from a Rat Queen does not heal. In game terms, the Health damage heals but the wound still seems recent and will not scar or scab over. This is because the Queen uses these bites to mark her prey, either so she can give her victim good luck, or so she can track the ones she hates. Any bitten victim can be tracked unerringly by the Queen, and her Alertness and Stealth modifiers increase by 2 against those victims.

Armor: none. However a Rat Queen killed, or buried, in London's sewers or the river Thames will re-form one month to the day after being killed. To ensure she doesn't come back, it's best to bury a Rat Queen far from London, or at least to burn the remains and scatter them to the winds.

Stability: +1 in rat form, none in human form unless the person seeing her knows what she really is, in which case loss is +1.

Magic: 8, refreshed each day at sunset.

Spells: Rat Queens are often friendly with ghouls, and many know how to Call/Dismiss Mordiggian. Rat Queens of this type can also summon ghouls, on a 4-point spend per ghoul summoned.

Create Hypertime Gate is also a common Queen trick. All of them know Dominate, and are very familiar with Idiosyncratic Magic. This last is why so many would-be sorcerers seek them out, often at their peril.

A 2 point Magic spend summons one Rat Thing, or a 20-strong rat swarm. Up to 6 points can be spent this way in one scene.

While in the sewers, a Rat Queen can summon dead toshers from the muck where their forgotten bones sank. Treat as zombies for combat purposes, and for each 1 Magic point spent the Queen gets a tosher. They all have weapons, their hoes, which strike for +1.

Rat Queens know where all kinds of peculiar things are hidden, lost, or abandoned. Seekers after treasure, or just a back way in to some well-guarded sanctum, can bargain with the Queen, but her price is usually very high indeed.

Some Bookhounds claim a Rat Queen can, if she wishes, give their store good luck. A Windfall can be had, if the Bookhounds meet her terms. Of course, her enmity works the other way, and any Bookhound store on the Queen's bad side suffers a Reverse. This is why some nervous Bookhounds frequent East End and riverside pubs; they hope to catch the Queen's roving eye.

Killing and properly disposing of the body of a Rat Queen dispels all of her magical effects, for good or ill. So Windfalls vanish, as well as Reverses. However if it ever becomes known who did it, other Rat Queens, Rat Things and ghoulish allies will take vengeance against the killers.

While Rat Queens don't lead cults, they have many friends in the East End and sewer Flushers, and can call on these friends for any aid short of actual combat. Many of these friends have been the Queen's lover in the past, and bear her bite mark; a useful identification aid for Bookhounds trying to work out who to trust.

Night's Black Agents Variation: though Rat Queens can still be found in the East End, and particularly Docklands, the area has transformed since Mayhew's day, and so have the Queens. Now they can often be found in gastropubs, or the latest two-or-three star restaurant, or some banker's multimillion pound den overlooking the shining City and the Thames. They move among the elite, and have become power players in their own right. Their ability to confer Luck makes them very popular creatures, and they trade on this, changing lovers every other week or so. Rats ride high, in this new London. In a Dracula Dossier game, Dracula long ago learned about the Rat Queens, but whether they became his Minions or remain a neutral supernatural power is an open question. If they did not become minions, they surely resent this foreign parvenu and can be persuaded to become temporary, fickle allies, with the right inducement. If they did, a Queen will be in charge of a London-based Node, perhaps a Satanic temple; they accept nothing less than dominance inside their territory, but aren't interested in anything outside London. In a NBA game without Cthulhu or related magic, assign two free and one other Renfield power to a Queen, and Aberrance 10.

Enjoy!

Forgotten London:The Strand, St Clement's Danes Church

Image taken from British Museum Collection

The inspiration for this post comes from Steve Roud's London Lore.

The spot where St Clement Danes Church in the Strand now stands has had a church on it since the tenth century, but the current church is a Wren rebuilt after bombing damage during the Second World War. It's allegedly the church from the children's rhyme: oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clements. But why is it called Danes Church?

Allegedly this is because a Danish King is buried there. According to chronicles, Harold son of Cnut the Great reigned officially for three years; he spent more time as regent, but was opposed in his bid to wear the crown by his two brothers. When he died he was buried at Westminster, but his half brother Hardicanutus, angry because his mother had been usurped by Harold's, dug up the corpse and flung it in the Thames. 'where it was by a fisherman taken up and buried in this churchyard.'

Harold was only in his early 20s when he died. According to legend his death was divine retribution for taking the town of Sandwich from the monks of Christchurch. Though there are other Kings of the period who died as young or younger, usually it was on the point of a murderer's poniard. In Harold's case it was a mysterious illness that laid him low at Oxford.

Harold was one of the first royals to be buried at Westminster, and at the time nobody really understood why. It's thought a royal residence was nearby, but the Abbey may have had particular significance for the Danes, which might explain why Hardicanutus was so keen to get him out.

From 1862 until the later 1920s there was a school nearby, St Clement Danes School, built on land purchased by the churchwardens. It moved twice, eventually ending up in Hertfordshire.

From 1919 onwards there has been a yearly event, initiated by Reverend William Pennington-Bickford, at which oranges and lemons are handed out to boys and girls of the parish.

Sir Christopher Wren's 15th century design was extensively remodeled by the Luftwaffe on May 10th, 1941. Bombs gutted the interior, burnt its organ, and flung the famous bells to the ground. In the 1950s after a fundraising drive from the RAF the church was rebuilt, and since then it has become the RAF's most honored Central Church.

With all that in mind, what could be done with this setting either in Bookhounds or Dracula Dossier?

The temptation with Bookhounds is to either go Arabesque or Sordid. Technicolor could work, but those two directions seem more fruitful.

In Arabesque St Clement Danes becomes the Eternal Flame. The Blitz wasn't the first time the church surrendered to overwhelming blaze. One alternate link to the Danes has it that a party of Danes burnt the church that stood on the site before they were killed, and that's why it is known as the Danes church. No matter whether it's day or night, there is always a burning flame at St Clement Danes - it might be a candle, a bonfire, or an unexplained glow from the stained glass windows. On one special night each year the Rector closes the doors for a sermon to be read to the flames themselves, to keep the church from burning in the coming year. It's said the repentant Danes gather to worship there, one night only. Those who somehow manage to overhear what's said at that sermon gain 1 point The Knowledge or 1 point Magic, in exchange for 2 points Stability. Stability lost in this way cannot be refreshed for one month; it takes time for those memories to fade.

In Sordid the old rhyme Oranges and Lemons plays a part. The children of the parish are encouraged the play the game, in which the final lines are here is a candle to light you to bed, and here is a chopper to chop off your head. Folklorists don't know exactly what the rhyme means; it has an old an murky history, and different versions have circulated since at least the 1700s. The churchwardens have a particular reason for wanting this game played. It allows them to randomly select a child to sacrifice, to ensure the protection of the church. This doesn't happen every year; it only happens when the previous sacrifice fails, at which point the child selected by random ballot - effectively - is killed in a staged accident. The parish always buries that child free of charge, and the body is swiftly taken into a hidden vault where it is interred in a special coffin with a glass lid. So long as the sacrifice holds, the body remains intact - preserved. The minute it starts to rot the protection fails, so the churchwardens have to go looking for another sacrifice. This practice ends after the 1941 bombing, which destroys both the church and the last few churchwardens who know the ritual. A protagonist who assists in this year's sacrifice will be taught many odd tricks of Megapolisomancy, adding 1 point Magic to their pool.

St Clement Danes isn't mentioned in the Dossier and to my knowledge there is no immediate vampire connection - though with these old churches, who knows? However that 1941 bombing looks fruitful, particularly when you consider Edom can never have been entirely sure Dracula's influence was driven from London in the 1890s. There's that Satanic Cult after all, never mind any vampiric by-blows that might have been lurking in the shadows. Along comes the Blitz and everybody's plans are upset, including the Cult's, and many a vampire haven must have gone up in smoke.

I'm particularly lured by an old war film. The Small Back Room, which tells the story of a disaffected scientist, one of the back room boffins, who thinks wartime research is being completely misapplied.

This sounds like a job for Tinman.

Plot core: It's 1941. Edom has become aware of a small pocket of Dracula-inspired resistance in London. Possible suspects include the Servants, Satanic Cult, a Feral, Lucy, or similar. At about the same time German bombers start dropping particularly unpleasant booby-trap bombs during the Blitz, and while these bombs kill people they're also clearly intended to kill vampires. Edom's task is to find a way to deal with these booby-trapped bombs while at the same time trace the lingering elements of Dracula's initial Conspyramid to its lair. Investigative scenes include other booby-trap sites, a bombed-out London where black marketeers trade in questionable, Satanic curios, a former hideout of the Cult now bombed to rubble, all leading up to the climactic moment at the heart of the May raid, where the last remnants of Dracula's by-blow are traced to St Clement Danes. They hide in that church because they've been able to deconsecrate it, using child sacrifice - here is a chopper to chop off your head - as the catalyst. Surely, the Dracula remnant reasons, nobody will think to look for me in a church? At which point the whole church is bombed to blazes, and the characters have to deal with escaping vampires or similar while at the same time defusing the booby-trapped bombs before they take out innocent civilians.

As for the question of why should the Germans want to kill vampires, at least two possibilities arise: the Germans don't want the British to get an edge on their own vampire program, and second, Dracula's using his influence in Germany to wipe out some disloyal former allies. Or something else entirely, of course …

Enjoy!