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!

                     

     

The Dark Side of the Neighborhood (Bookhounds, RPG All, Campaign Design)

Last time it was the Shop; this time, the Street - or more accurately, the Neighborhood. Why?

Because conflict breeds plot, first and foremost, and the Dark Side is all about plot. 

However, this is also about the Building. 

The Building, if you've forgotten, is that part of the game world where you, the Keeper/Director/Idiot Who Agreed To Write Something expect action to happen. It is where people meet the players, creating plot. You need to have a firm grasp of the Building's scale and what's in it. You do this because the Building is one of the foundational building blocks of the narrative. You need to know where the campaign is going. You need to know where the action is set. Once you have those two things, you can Keeper with confidence.

The Neighborhood is a fundamental part of the Building. This is a part of the game world which the players are expected to inhabit every single session. It might only be for a scene. It might only provide window dressing. Nevertheless, this is the one thing in the game world, apart from the Shop itself, which is a constant. The players will know their Neighborhood backwards and forwards. This applies to all characters. Even the clueless head-in-the-clouds type of character will know where the coffee shop is. The ones who are paying attention will know a lot more than that.

As with the Shop, the players are expected to pitch in and help construct the Neighborhood, at least in rough outline. Each player at the table should contribute one thing. It might be a laundry, it might be a pub, a corner store, a shortcut, a memorial. Whatever that this is, it's theirs. It should come up in play. 

The Dark Side is the Keeper's creation, and it's the one part of the Neighborhood that gets built without the players' input. As before, make sure that the Dark Side you design remains true to Rome and the basic principles of the setting, whatever those may be. That way, you can retro-engineer your Dark Side to fit whatever ideas the players come up with.  

But with those caveats aside, you already know a ton about the setting that you can factor in. You know what Rome is. You know the basic principles of the setting. You know what the East End is like. You have a pretty good idea of what Cartwright Street is like, and you also know that this is your version of Cartwright Street so it doesn't have to be a carbon copy of the real-world version. It can be anything.

Anything at all. 

It may happen that, thanks to decisions made about the Dark Side of the Shop, you already have an idea of what the Dark Side of the Neighborhood looks like. Or at least, an idea of what part of it looks like. Fine. You can expand on that. 

For instance, there's the Dark Side Gang Activity (Cartridge Street).and The Gun public house on the corner. It stands to reason that The Gun is a part of the Dark Side of the Neighborhood. It makes sense to expand on that. 

There's also those quarry pits next door. A few children drown in the pools there in the 1920s. It must have been a desolate, forbidding place. Those pools of water, deceptively deep, freezing cold. Nobody around to hear anything, see anything. If I were the Rough Lads operating out of the Gun and wanted somewhere to hide, say, a body, this would be the place I'd come. 

Added to all that are the Rumors. These are mentioned in the main book; they're clues which may lead to a resource, an item, or something else that the Hounds are interested in. One of these ought to be on the list. After all, the East End is bigger than Cartwright Street. The Hounds ought to have a reason to leave the shop and explore the world around them.

All that said:

The Neighborhood (Bare Bones)

Immediate area: Residential, with Industrial nearby (disused gravel pits).

Wider Area: Mix of industrial and commercial with some residential, mostly low-end. Dock work is one of the main economic drivers. Industries tend to be noxious, poisonous, and not conducive to healthy living. This is reflected in the general health of the people who live and work here. Slum clearance is a government priority, resisted by those who want to keep their homes.

Local Landmarks (Cartwright Street): The Gun public house. The Gravel Pits opposite the shop. The Majestic Music Hall, at the far end of the street. Bomb Damage caused by zeppelin raids, Great War, various buildings up and down the street.

Local Landmarks (East End/Whitechapel): The Crown and Dolphin, where the skull of Ratcliffe Murderer John Williams is kept; Bow Cemetery aka The City of London and Tower Hamlets Cemetery; Execution Dock in Wapping, last used a century ago; Whitechapel Gallery, a public art gallery opened 1901; St George in the East Church; Traitor's Gate, a water gate in the Tower.

In-game, as Keeper, you'd have more information on all of these. However, this is all the information the players get - for now. 

As with any part of the Building, the players decide which parts they want to interact with. If they show no interest in the Gun, say, then the Four Things you have on file will never see use at the table. That's why you don't put a ton of work into any aspect of the Building; it may never pay off. But you need to know enough so that, if the players show interest, you can come back to it later and build on that foundation.

Some of this may see use in a background moment but never be developed. That public art gallery in Whitechapel, for example, might get used in a scene where the players meet an important NPC for the first time. The Gun is bound to be used in a couple throwaway moments involving Rough Lads. So you, as Keeper, need to know that these things exist and can be used for moments like this.

Sometimes things exist just for style points. Traitor's Gate is the obvious standout. There's little chance the Hounds will spend a lot of time hanging around Traitor's Gate. There's even a novel by Edgar Wallace with that title which might see more use, in a game about books and book-buying, than the actual Gate itself. It's unlikely to ever become an important part of the campaign and probably isn't even a big tourist attraction, in the 1930s. But it's undeniably British, undeniably London, If ever you were to put together a montage of London Stuff as some kind of video introduction to the setting, it would be part of that montage. Along with some grimy back alley, a Tube Station, the Shop, and probably an auction in some otherwise unremarkable back room, with peculiar looking bidders all in a sweat over some grimoire or other.

Besides, you never know; the Hounds might fall in love with the Gate as a location, perhaps for Magickal reasons. It's always handy to have a kind of Portentous Location in your pocket. Execution Dock down in Wapping has a similar function. There isn't even anything there to look at, not in the 1930s, but the aura, the vibe, the Magickal potential is crucial in a supernatural/horror game.

There are going to be some things you prep about the Neighborhood that will not be given to the players in advance. Example: the area is a mix of residential and industrial. It stands to reason that, at some point, the Hounds will visit someone's house, someone's business. You may not even have a scene prepped for that moment, but the players decided, and you had to Yes, And. You need to have at least a sketch idea of what someone's house looks like, someone's business. Equally, the police are bound to be involved in your game at some point. Criminals too. You need a rough idea what the inside of a police station looks like, what the criminals' hideout looks like. You may never need to know this in play. But, if you don't sketch something in, it's dollars to doughnuts it will come up at the worst possible time and you won't know what to do. Better to have at least a sketch outline handy.

All that said, let's add the Dark Side.

The Neighborhood (Dark Side)

The Gun (Public House, Cartwright Street) Local Rough Lads use this as an unofficial base of operations but anyone with a sense of History or The Knowledge knows that this pub has had a bad reputation for over a century. The landlord, Henry Crowther, is a fence of stolen goods and was, in his day, a backer of prizefighters. One of the prizefighters he backed, Dan 'Lightning' Jones, is the pub's security and doorman. In any scene involving The Gun, at least 1D6 Rough Lads are on hand. Some of the area's best Forgers pay Crowther tribute and can be found at the Gun by those who need Forgers. If anyone needs a body hidden Crowther can take care of it - for a price. Dark Side Pool: 2

 [What is that pool, I hear you ask? Simple. It's a Pool from which I can draw Stability Affects. Stabiliy can be affected by, say, witnessing violence or being attacked by someone intending to do serious harm. This Pool means that, in any interaction involving the Gun, I have the option of drawing on that Pool to create affects which might cause a Stability check. Not a large one; after all, at the Gun, human opponents are the most likely.]

Gravel Pits (Industrial Waste Site, Cartwright Street) Back when this was still a working site piles of spoil and rubble ended up here, and huge holes were dug. Nobody's used this in a long time but nobody's paid it any attention either. There are rats as big as cats out here; in fact, cats stay far away. On a lonely moonlit night the moonbeams playing on the still waters of the pools in the pits is almost beautiful. On any other night it is a forbidding spot. Rough Lads sometimes come here on their own business, and children make it their playground during the day. Who knows what's hidden out here? Dark Side Pool: 3. Potential Magick: 1

[See Supernatural Creature at a distance is a potential 3 point check and it makes sense that something like that might happen here. Ghosts of dead children, rat things, possibly ghouls ...  Also, Magick is a resource in the game that sorcerers can draw on. Usually it's part of a magician's personal pool but, this being Bookhounds, one of the central conceits of the premise is that Megapolisomancy, the magic of the city, is a thing. It makes sense that parts of the city can be drawn on to create magical levers, or magical affects. Thus in any scene involving this location there's 1 pool of Magick which can be drawn on, by those who know how.] 

Bomb Damage (Zeppelin Raids, various locations) This reminder of past sufferings marks several buildings in the area. Some wear the marks as a badge of honor but there's something not quite right about the places where the bombs landed. Something hideous, like a wound which never heals and oozes blood. You've seen some very peculiar people fetishize these marks, some of whom you know to be magical practitioners. It's not clear what it all means, but it can't be anything good. Dark Side Pool: 4. Potential Magick: 1

[This is something which can be tied directly to Rome, if the characters taken an interest. Even if they ignore this potential plot point, since the Damage is on several buildings in the East End you can have them pop up in different scenes at different times. It's not like, say, The Gun, which can only be found at a particular point on Cartwright Street. The Damage can be anywhere. There were raids up to 1917 and it's quite likely that witnesses to those raids are still alive and living nearby, so if the Hounds want to start using those social skills now's the time to do it. As Keeper, you can invent a raid rather than use a historic one, but it's your shout.]

The Majestic Music Hall (East End) This home to variety acts of all kinds has been here since forever ago, in one form or another. Those with the Knowledge say they used to bait bears and host plays at the tavern that was here, back when Elizabeth was on the throne. The theatre that stands here now was built in 1859 and has hosted pretty much every famous name you can think of. There was a nasty fire back in the 1880s and several deaths, but the place recovered - some would say, thrived - and even the advent of cinema hasn't quite killed it off. It looks a little moth-eaten these days and there are all sorts of unsavory rumors, but you could say that about so many places ... Dark Side Pool: 6, Potential Mythos Encounter (Yellow King related), Potential Grimoire (Yellow King); Potential Magick 2

[It's always handy to have at least one location in your pocket which can turn into a mini scenario at the drop of a hat. You never know when you may need to drop that hat. Sometimes the campaign doesn't go according to plan and you need a distraction for the players while you reorient yourself. Or sometimes you haven't prepped anything and need an emergency backup. That's what locations like the Majestic are for. I see it as a kind of puppeteer location where you can introduce a potential adversary, or as a kind of abandoned tomb (ish) which can be looted by the greedy. 

That's it for this week. Enjoy!
  

The Dark Side of the Shop (RPG All, Bookhounds, Campaign Design)

Hello! Happy New Year!

I'm going to start the year off by noodling with some campaign design notions and I thought I'd start with the Shop. 

I'm using Bookhounds as the primary example, but this concept can be used in any RPG setting where the characters have a home base of some description. It might be a clubhouse. It might be the police precinct they all work at. It might be a railway carriage on the Orient Express, speeding through the night, but whatever it is, it's home to the characters. It's the place they retreat to, the place they store stuff, the place they go to when they want to make plans or brainstorm their way to success. 

It's Home.

It has its dark side. 

In a previous post on campaign design I said:

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?

I'm going to use this East End shop as an example, and this is where we start talking about secrets hidden under floorboards and blocked drains.

The home base is something I expect the players to help design. Each person at the table should contribute at least one thing. Think of it like an ideas potluck. That means, among other things, that you can never be sure what will be in the home base. Which suggests that the dark side, whatever it ends up being, will start life disconnected from the home base's main concepts. After all, you can't establish links to something that just doesn't exist yet. 

No, But what you can do is make sure that the dark side you design remains true to Rome and the basic principles of the setting, whatever those may be. That way, you can retro-engineer your Dark Side to fit whatever ideas the players come up with. 

I mention the basic principles of the setting because it's important to remember that all settings have their quirks. We're using Bookhounds as an example. That means we're talking about shops, trade, auctions, customers, London. It's a completely different vibe to, say, Night's Black Agents, or Cyberpunk. Even if your NBA game is still set in London - at the Bull, for instance - it's a very different vibe from a Bookhounds London. A Cyberpunk campaign can still begin in London - it can even begin at the Bull - and yet be totally different from both Bookhounds and Night's Black Agents. This will determine the basic principles of the setting, which you need to establish in the opening arc of the campaign.

OK. In this example it's Bookhounds, which means basic principles are shops, trade, auctions, customers, London. We're using the East End as a location, which in the main book is the Abyss:

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.”

Further, we already know that this shop is near the divide between the East End and the City, and that it's trying to pretend to greater status than it deserves. All these things feed into basic principles, which will help you design the dark side. 

That being established, we're probably looking at something in East Smithfield near St. Katherine's Docks. Something like Tower Ward, or near as dammit to it. In fact, we're looking at Stepney, within spitting distance of Whitechapel. 

Ahh, Already I can see plot beginning to form. 

A quick look at the vicinity and at St Katherine's tells me it was ridden with plague back in the day, that thanks to its connection with the wharves and trade there's all kinds of overseas influences, immigration, new ideas, and that the construction of the Docks back in the early 19th century destroyed a historic part of London and forced a lot of people to move on.

Sometimes the plot fairy just hits you over the head with a great big stick.

OK, pick a street. Any street, really. Somewhere in Stepney not far from the Docks. Roundabout the border of Whitechapel South and St George in the East South.  That's where the shop is. As Keeper you could invent a street and that would be fine. God knows London has created and lost many little alleys, avenues, Mews and Courts over the years. However, it can also be handy to use a pre-existing location since that location will have a history and sometimes that can be useful for plot purposes.

Cartwright Street is right opposite Swan Lane Open Space, which in the 1920s was a disused gravel pit. Formerly Churchyard Alley, apparently. Or Cartridge Street in Rosemary Lane, presumably depending on which end of Cartwright you were standing in. The whole shebang gets reorganized in the later 1800s when London rebuilds to benefit industry and put up housing for workers. Cartwright sounds much nicer than Churchyard or Cartridge, which presumably is why someone picked it. But with all this stewing it sounds like the perfect place for the shop. Cartwright, aka Cartridge, with the gravel pits just opposite. Disused, of course. Filled with water, in some places. 

The plot fairy's stick, again.

OK, that's more than enough to be getting on with. Let's Dark Side this.

The Shop (Bare Bones)

Location: Cartwright Street, aka Cartridge Street, Stepney, East End, near Whitechapel.

Immediate area: Residential, with Industrial nearby (disused gravel pits).

Age of Building: Georgian (George III) built c 1800 as the town house of a well-to-do merchant. Somehow avoided being knocked down in the 1880s. Used as a boarding house from c. 1870 until 1908, when it fell derelict. The Hounds bought it cheap. 

Style of Building: 3 storey residential, with cellars and attic. 

This is all information the players should be given immediately. They will be expected to add to the bare bones. Name the shop. All that sort of thing. But they need something to build their hopes and dreams on. 

If you really wanted to add to the bare bones, you could include a sketch plan of the town house. I'm bad at drawing, so I shan't be doing that. At best, I'd steal something from the internet. As far as internal walls and rearrangements go, I'd keep them where they are and let the players decide which room gets used for what.

The next bit is something the Hounds don't know about their new home. It's the Dark Side of the building. 

Now, there's a temptation to make the Dark Side all Mythos and supernatural. This is a horror game, after all. I'd resist that temptation. The supernatural ought to be rare, unusual, out of the ordinary. That's what makes it interesting. If it becomes ordinary or, worse yet, mundane, that's a problem for the game as a whole. 

The Shop (Dark Side)

Bad Reputation (Murder). In the early 1900s the boarding house which is now the shop was the site of a grisly murder, which gave the place a bad reputation. This is why the boarding house eventually shut its doors in 1908. Some of the older residents in the area still remember the killing, and the story has only grown in the telling. Details of the killing can be left up to the players. Treat this as a 2-point pool Bad Reputation, which can be invoked by the Keeper at any time to create an effect that impacts Credit Rating or similar spends.

Gang Activity (Cartridge Street). Originally called Cartridge Street because of the gun manufacturing industries in the area, it's now called that because of the Rough Lads that hang around causing trouble. They mostly gather at The Gun public house on the corner, but at any time their actions can impact the shop. Treat as a 3-point pool Rough Lads, which can be invoked by the Keeper at any time to create an effect that impacts the shop or its customers as they come and go.

Unpleasant Smells (cellars). There's something down there that stinks to high heaven. It isn't always evident. You can go for days, weeks, and not notice a thing. Then it creeps into your nose and will not go away. It's especially strong in the summer months, when sometimes the smell hangs round for days, even weeks. Treat as a 1-point pool Stink, which can be invoked by the Keeper at any time to create an effect that causes a Financial Reverse or prevents a Windfall.

Plague Pits (cellars, Mythos). Before the town house was built this was, during the time of the Great Plague, a spot where many of the dead were quickly buried. In the early 1700s it became notorious as a 'damned spot inhabited by the lost and Satan's servants' and in 1752 there was an exorcism that supposedly put an end to whatever it was that was troubling the place. When the town house was built, steps were taken to ensure that 'the holy place' was kept intact, marked with a magical symbol that Mythos experts know to be an Elder Sign. All this can be found with the appropriate Investigative spends, looking at old records or documents associated with the house. However, at some point since then the Sign was damaged, which is why, among other things, there is the Unpleasant Smell. There's just enough juice left in the damaged Sign to prevent the worst from happening, but if something should make the damage worse, well ... 

Now, of those four things, three can be dealt with. The Hounds can come up with clever ways to reduce the 2-point Bad Reputation pool, or the 3-point Rough Lads pool. That provides conflict and conflict breeds plot.

The Unpleasant Smell is more difficult and the Hounds will probably try various means to get past it. However, the effect can be nullified by point spends, if the Hounds prefer to ignore the problem.

That last one, though? That's a scenario's worth of adventure, right there. Waiting to be discovered.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

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!

Hidden Libraries (Bookhounds)

This week’s post is inspired by recent announcements concerning a hidden medieval library discovered it Romania.  

Briefly: the library was discovered in a tower of the Church of St. Margaret in Mediaș, a 15th-century Gothic structure built by the Transylvanian Saxons. It includes hundreds of documents, books and registers, some of which go back as far as the 13th century. It was probably deliberately hidden during a time of upheaval and is remarkably well-preserved.  

There’s all kinds of articles about it but, if you want more information, it can be had here.  

OK, let’s turn this into a Bookhounds seed.  

What are the basic elements? A lost library, meticulously catalogued by its long-forgotten owner, which has recently been discovered. It was hidden during a time of upheaval, possibly religious, to preserve it. 

The events that best fit that pattern in an English timeline are the English Reformation and the Civil War 1642-51. 

The Reformation destroys the Catholic Church in England, replacing it with Protestantism and in the process scattering Church holdings far and wide. It inspires, among other things, many a tale of priest’s holes and other hiding places for Catholics and their goods. It used to be you couldn’t have a decent ghost story in English literature, or a murder mystery in a stately home, without someone mentioning the long-forgotten priest’s hole hidden somewhere in the walls of the family manor.  

Sourced from Harvington Hall

Sometimes these treasures are protected. E.G. Swain’s ghost tales set in East Anglia feature at least two tales of spectral figures guarding Church relics, who go to some trouble to move those same relics when it looks as if Swain’s Protestant Vicar, Mr. Batchel, is about to get too close to the secret. M.R. James features several similar tales, one of the best of which is probably O Whistle! In which a Templar secret is unwittingly discovered by an academic on holiday. However, for my money the best of all is Canon Alberic’s Scrap-Book, in which an academic discovers ‘a large folio, bound, perhaps, late in the seventeenth century,’ filled with collected scraps and illuminated manuscript pages from other books. This is probably the closest to the Romanian story, though the Canon’s Scrap-Book is considerably smaller than the Romanian hoard.  

The Civil War has the added historical bonus of providing romance and a definite termination point to the ownership of this fictional library. Point being that many old Catholic families were scattered or destroyed during the War, which means that you, as Keeper, can trace a definite timeline for the history of this hidden treasure. First kept by the Catholic Church, then moved in a hurry to the family manor of [whoever it may be] to preserve it from Protestant hands, then lost to memory when the last living [whoever] gets killed in the war or dies in exile waiting for the restoration of Charles II. The secret then lies dormant for several hundred years before being rediscovered in the modern era. 

Why rediscovered, though? Could be all kinds of reasons, but let’s say for the sake of the narrative that the manor’s been bought by a new, foreign owner, who has all sorts of modern views about plumbing, electrics and so forth. They wanted to redo the place so it was a bit less like an ivy-clad shithole .. beg pardon, so it was less authentic.  

That’s the kind of owner who could be conveniently off-site when the library is rediscovered. Allowing the Hounds access. 

From all that we get:

The Howling Library

The Buckinghamshire manor Dorney Hall was, at one time, owned by the de la Roche family, but the last of that name died at Chalgrove Field and the Hall has been in the hands of an increasingly impoverished cadet branch of the family ever since. The Rochedales finally decided to offload their white elephant and sold it to an American, Norwell Cupman, who made his fortune in automobiles. The Cupman Comet is an up-and-comer in the racing world and the Cupman Coupe is a solid, commercial brand. 

Cupman wanted Dorney Hall but he wants it to be a little less drafty and damp, so he brought on board an architect, Ernest Brenchley, to do the place up. Brenchley is well known to the Hounds; he's a buyer of Italian incunabula and, depending on your plotline, might have Arabesque, Sordid, or Technicolor flaws.

Cupman is in New York this month so what he doesn't know won't hurt him.  However, he's due to visit the works in a few weeks so time is of the essence. All the more so when Brenchley finds the old priest's hole in a forgotten corner of Dorney Hall.

This, the Hounds can discover after some research, may well be the infamous Howling Library of Dorney Hall. Allegedly salted away by the de la Roche, whose Catholic connections are well known. Rumor has inflated the size of the collection over the years, and its contents, but it could include almost anything from a Necronomicon to an incomplete version of Monstres and Their Kynde, with particular attention paid to something called the de la Roche Changeling. Or perhaps that's just an old wives tale, but there's definitely papers up there and if Cupman ever finds out about them he'll probably give them to Cambridge or some rot. Denying hard-working Hounds a profit.

Option One: Rival Shenanigans. This is actually a scheme cooked up by the Hounds' rivals, who suborned Brenchley with a promise of incunabula. The idea is to get the Hounds to swallow this hook and take on board some cunningly faked-up manuscripts, and then reveal the fraud just as the Hounds are about to make a profitable sale. This will cause a Reversal. Anything supernatural about the Library is a fiction put about by the rivals, who have some magickal skills and use them to fake up a haunting.

Option Two: Mutton Dressed as Lamb. Well, it looked promising. It could still be promising, with a little help from a forger. But the best stuff has gone to the worms; insects got into the Library and snaffled the manuscripts, over the years. Peculiar little things, too, all legs and plump white bodies. Brenchley's looking a little ill, but that may be because he had to make promises to Elihort to keep body and soul together ...

Option Three: The Changeling. Apparently, there's one de la Roche still living, technically speaking, and the Changeling's been standing guard over the Howling Library these many centuries. Hence the name Howling Library; the Changeling's peculiar cry in stormy weather chills the blood. However, there's a near-complete copy of Monstres at stake, with illuminated pages. If the Hounds can figure out a way of keeping the Changeling off their backs, the prize is there for the taking. 

That's it for this week! Enjoy!  

Brown Finger (Bookhounds of London)

Today, friends of his sell sexy French and American magazines. These are nearly all second-hand. Customers who buy such a magazine can sell it back at half-price. 

This way Johnny meets potential customers. Scribbled inside many of the second-hand magazines are pencilled messages using a Monomark or similar box number, and inviting an exchange of letters with the previous reader. 

Anybody foolish enough to follow up on this pen-pal invitation will find himself - or herself - tempted deeper and deeper into obscenities.

Then comes the invitation to the Blue Show! But not until the victim is utterly committed by his own letters ... London After Dark, Fabian of the Yard.

This is a Sordid plot thread. 

The Hounds may or may not sell second-hand sexy magazines. However, even if they don't, they'll know a shop that does. They may find a collection of such magazines in the next auction job lot, or some house clearance or other.

They may find themselves enmeshed by Brown Finger Johnny. 

'He smokes endlessly,' says Fabian. 'His plump crinkled fingers are caked with nicotine. His fingers are also brown with photographic chemicals. It is from both these that he gets his nickname. Johnny began as a commercial photographer, attending weddings and twenty-first parties. He had his own darkroom and made spare-time pin money by developing and printing at cut rates for amateurs. One such roll was of nudes. Johnny developed it. With amazing rapidity the news spread. Soon Johnny found dozens of similar films sent to him to be treated. Commercial firms will never develop any film showing any kind of nude, even if it is supposedly 'artistic.' ... Johnny put up his prices ...' 

From Bookhounds: The Keirecheires are the largest Y’golonac cult in human history … so far. They have nearly 40 active cultists in Brichester, London, Cambridge, New York, and Paris, all involved in academia or the arts. Each branch has perhaps 20 or 30 debauchees (usually called Sons), in addition to the actual cultists in charge.

In this narrative Brown Finger isn't a Cultist or even a Son. He's a convenient middleman for the Keirecheires. He's the one the Hand turns to for new recruits, indoctrinated as Sons at the Blue Show, but not before they're led down hideous paths thanks to those second-hand magazines and the correspondence they provoke. All handled by Brown Finger, who maintains a stable of letter-writers scattered across London to lure the insufficiently cautious in. 

Hounds may notice a pattern in these second-hand magazines, or the correspondence, if they get hold of some. Relatively harmless in and of themselves, closer study shows Mythos-themed subliminal suggestion, just enough to confer 1 point Mythos if 4 or more separate sources are consulted. 

Once that point of Mythos is conferred, and the subject follows up asking for more material, then and only then are they invited to one of the Blue Shows. These are hosted by the Keirecheires and may have a Son in attendance but not a full-fledged Cult member. It's at this point that the Cult starts looking for potential recruits, gauging their susceptibility.  

Meanwhile Brown Finger gets his cut day in, day out. He provides the magazines and the letters, and he provides the venue for the Blue Shows. He knows just enough to know it's better for him to keep his mouth shut and keep taking the Cult's money. That's all he needs to know.

A Curious Pastime.

One of the shop's regulars drops off the radar for a few weeks, to a point that the Hounds may become concerned they've lost them for good. Then the regular shows up again, shaken, a little frightened. 

They ask for help. They're reluctant to say why at first, and Reassurance may be needed. 

It turns out that they were lured away by letters, correspondence with a mysterious figure calling herself Ms. Bloomsbury. The regular claims to have gotten her mailing address from a magazine they bought second-hand. 

It will take the Hounds a scene or two to work out that Ms. Bloomsbury is one of Brown Finger's regulars. Brown Finger doesn't mind losing the shop customer's business; not everyone can be a Son of the Keirecheires after all. However, blabbing cult secrets is a problem that Brown Finger may not be able to deal with easily.

Option One: Brown Finger Intervenes. The middleman is forced to use force. At first this is intimidation courtesy of some Rough Lads, directed mainly at the errant shop customer but also at the Hounds, just to make sure nobody's tempted to do anything they shouldn't. This may limit itself to bruises and broken bones. Brown Finger isn't a violent man by nature, but he knows what will happen if the Cult decides to get involved. A little persuasion now beats a lot of pain later. 

Option Two: Brown Demotion. The Cult finds out about this little discrepancy before Brown Finger can do anything about it, and the Cult is not pleased. Brown Finger becomes a Rat Thing in short order, and his first task as rodent overlord is to deal with the Hounds and their shop. Cue rat packs galore, as Brown Finger starts to get into his new role as Mythos henchman to darker forces. However, the Hounds may be able to turn to Brown Finger's network, and the elusive Ms. Bloomsbury, for assistance. Brown Finger's network is terrified of ending up on the Cult blacklist and is willing to help anyone who can keep them off the Rat Thing's menu.

Option Three: The Fat Man Returns. It gets worse. The shop regular didn't just correspond with Ms. Bloomsbury and say a few indiscreet things. They went to a Blue Show, with disastrous results. It turns out that the regular is absolutely the last person who ought to go to a Blue Show and see its subliminal imagery. The regular's innate Magickal skill, such as it is, plus the Son's ability, plus the Mythos in the Show all adds up to a very bad night, and it hastened the Son's conversion to an Avatar of Y'Golonac. This wasn't something the Keirecheires wanted. Now it has a missing Son to deal with, an unwelcome breach of secrecy, and a particularly messy event to cover up. If only there was some convenient scapegoat to blame all this on ...

That's it for this week! Enjoy.

The Tin Man (Bookhounds of London)

Newmarket has over fifty horse training stables, two large racetracks, the Rowley Mile and the July Course, and one of the most extensive and prestigious horse training grounds in the world.[4] The town is home to over 3,500 racehorses, and it is estimated that one in every three local jobs is related to horse racing ...

Hamilton Stud Lane, on the Exening Road, is the haunt of Fred Archer, the great jockey, who died in 1886 aged 29. He is also thought to ride on the race-course, and to have caused several horses to shy or stumble during a race ... Haunted Britain, Antony D. Hippisley Coxe 

The next day, Monday 8 November 1886, he was at his residence, Falmouth House, Newmarket, under medical supervision. About 2.25pm his sister, Mrs Colman, visited him in his room and he asked her to send the nurse away. Colman was looking out of the window when Archer got out of bed. She then heard him say "Are they coming?" and saw he had the gun in his hand. She sprang towards him, and while she was struggling with him, he put the gun in his mouth and fired the revolver. He died bleeding in her arms, the bullet having passed out of the back of his neck. The doctor was on the scene very quickly and pronounced him dead ... He was buried in Newmarket cemetery on 12 November ... Some of his effects are now on display at the National Horseracing Museum, including the gun with which he shot himself ... News of Archer's death reached far beyond racing. In London, special editions of the evening newspapers were issued, with crowds queuing in Fleet Street to buy them, and omnibuses stopped to allow commuters to read the billboards. ... 

In which an unscrupulous gambler uses a dead jockey to win Newmarket and unwittingly unleashes horror.

Newmarket in Suffolk is horseracing's Vatican. Its jockeys and horses are worshipped, and Fred Archer's name still rings out long after his suicide. The Classics - 2000 Guineas Stakes, 1000 Guineas Stakes, the Oaks, the Derby, the St Leger - are world-renowned, and have been going for decades, in some cases centuries. Someone wins that, and their name is made. Leaving aside the bountiful financial rewards, of course. 

Fred Archer took them all.

He was known to be rich and reputed to be a miser - hence the name Tin Man, as in Tin, slang for money. Not, say, slang for lacking empathy, although it might be fair to say Archer had a bit of that problem. 

Nobody knows what Archer meant by 'are they coming?' though there are plenty of theories. In this scenario, the assumption is that there's some kind of Mythos context, though the exact meaning is left deliberately vague.

For purpose of this storyline, I'm going to use a fictional version of The Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, a sister publication to the Illustrated London News. The Sporting and Dramatic was first published in 1874. Archer would have read it and there would have been a special edition published upon his death.

The Tin Man

One of the Hounds' regulars is pursuing copies of the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic, with intensity. It's not clear why. Nor is it entirely clear which one they want. It's as if they don't know themselves, but they're willing to pay almost any price. 

In its day it was a weekly paper. As might be guessed from the title it isn't always about sports; even Agatha Christie appeared in it, back in 1929. This means copies can be had from those interested in the theatre and dramatic arts as well as racing enthusiasts. The British Library is also known to have a complete set. 

Judging by the regular's buying habits, it seems they're only interested in editions published in 1885 or prior, and they're not interested in anything published before 1880. That leaves a five-year window. Further investigation (Oral History, Reassurance, Flattery, Art History, History) indicates the regular is only interested in those papers in which Fred Archer appears. Given Archer's talents, he appears in multiple editions. Archer won the Derby, the Oaks, 1000 Guineas, 2000 Guineas and St. Leger in that period. Not counting overseas victories at the Grand Prix de Paris or the Prix du Jockey Club. 

In fact, riding the horse Melton, he took both the Derby and the St. Leger in the same year, 1885. Melton went to stud eventually and died in 1910, at the ripe old age of 28. By that point Melton had outlived Archer by 14 years. They both died in November; Archer in November 1886, Melton in November 1910.

If the Hounds pursue this line, they discover that the regular has discovered there's a racing cheat using Mythos Magick to make a gambling fortune and relying on Archer's ghost to do it. The regular wants in on the deal and enlists the Hounds to help them. All the regular knows for sure is that the cheat, a fellow named Auburn Salt, is using the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic to do it, but the regular doesn't know which edition, which is why the regular's chasing up any and all copies they can get their hands on.

Option One: Idle Hands. Salt is a member in good standing of the Devouring Hands, or Keirecheires. Technically he's not a full-fledged member; he's a Son, following one of the cultists based in Doncaster. However, the expenses of being a Son are catching up with Salt and Salt thinks he's found a foolproof means of guaranteeing income. Salt is using techniques borrowed from his Father and copies of the Sporting and Dramatic as well as a horse sired by Melton to assure himself of winnings at those same races Archer triumphed in back in 1885. What Salt doesn't appreciate is that unsanctioned use of Keirecheires techniques will earn him the ire of his Father, and the stern, punishing hands of the Cult.

Option Two: Dead Horse. Salt is Archer, reincarnate. He has the same look, same lean, tall build, and would be a rider himself, were it not for the fact that horses are terrified of him. Salt doesn't understand whether he's actually Archer back from the dead or simply bears a resemblance, and he doesn't care. What he does care about is money. He's cultivated his appearance and adapted his personality to be as much like Archer as possible and has gathered together a small group of like-minded occult types with one goal in mind: take the Derby and the St. Leger. What Salt doesn't appreciate is that his actions have raised the actual Archer, whose ghost is now causing havoc. Or perhaps he does know and doesn't care.

Option Three: Melton Resurgent. Once, long ago, the jockey Archer found himself indebted to the kind of Mythos forces you don't want in your life. It was thanks to this influence that he was so successful, relying on a totem he kept near him at all times to win the day. At least, so says the horse breeder Auburn Salt, who has a colt spawned by Melton in his stables. Salt is doing everything in his power to ensure that his colt, Balfour, performs just as well as Melton did, but for that to happen Salt needs to recreate the totem Archer made. Salt isn't entirely sure how to do that, and his attempts are only causing problems for anyone and everyone near Salt's stables. Not that Salt cares, so long as he races a reincarnate Melton.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Insects (Bookhounds)

 

Behold its antique glory.

First purchased in the early 1900s by a retiring Military officer who was coming to Bermuda to take up a Colonial job, later to live out his days in the subtropics, it has been in the same family ever since. Until now. The owners are going to the UK to be closer to their kids, the cost of shipping was exorbitant, the kids didn't want it, and I said that if their choice was between taking it to the dump or giving it to me, give it to me.

They did.

See, down here, antiques are not prized. Ironically, we have too many of them. Not that the island's a hotbed of things that would make the antiques roadshow crew weep with joy, no no. These are the midlevel items. The decent repair stuff, the slightly dinged, the much-loved. The local National Trust, which looks after old homes and heritage, is always overwhelmed with 'gifts' from people who can't bear to see granny's old whatsit go to the great furniture repository in the sky but who don't want to keep it themselves. The Trust hasn't the heart to tell them that granny's old whatsit is a fairly mediocre example of the brand.

However, I've wanted one of these for a while, because of our insect problem.

I like books. I think you know that by now. I do not like cockroaches, but I have them anyway - not by choice, mark you. Other insects too, for that matter. Some of whom are really far too fond of antiquated binding. Many's the time I've brought home something from the Argosy, put it down somewhere for a day or two, and found a hole chewed in it. See, the little beggars love them some leathery or leather-adjacent goodness, particularly if it's seasoned with dried-out bookbinding glue or old sinews.

There's a couple ways of combating this. A dedicated extermination campaign, for example. More difficult than you'd think, even with the off-brand and probably illegal insecticides you can get in the islands. Some form of internal climate control to reduce humidity and discourage insect activity, which does work but tends only to be available to the ungodly rich, since electricity on that scale costs a bundle.

Or one of these bad boys. 

Removing the books to a place where the insects can't get at them is great. Traditionally I've moved books that might be vulnerable to a place in the house I don't use for anything else; roaches tend to prefer living close to humans, probably because we leave crumbs and other goodies lying around. Now I can start putting the vulnerable items behind a thick glass door. 

It's not a perfect system. There's still risk involved. But it does work, or at least it works better than leaving things out in the open on an uncovered shelf.

There are all kinds of insects that eat books. I'm personally fond of the deathwatch beetle, that beloved staple of old homes and old ghost stories. Their distinctive tapping or ticking noise used to attract mates is what gives them their name. Ghost tradition has it that the knocking is a harbinger of death, and in old books like Bluenose Ghosts you can find ghastly tales of soft knocking on the door from hands that aren't hands - three of those, and you're sure to die within the year. 

Ironically there is biological precedent. The deathwatch beetle has a three-tap rhythm. Males usually tap first, and females tap only in response to males. A female responds within 2 seconds of a male tap. After the female responds, a male will tap again from 2 to 30 seconds later. 

Three ghost knocks.

When I was still in the building surveying trade I was assured that the deathwatch was on its way down the dodo's path, due to lack of available foodstuff. They like wooden wainscoting and similar things, which were prevalent in housing before the second world war but which died out with the modern building boom. Whether that's true or not I couldn't tell you, but that's what we were told.

Bookhounds touches on the subject of insect attacks but doesn't go that far. However, if worms which gnaw on wizards' corpses grow to become wizard themselves, it stands to reason that insects which gnaw on Mythos texts grow to be something hidjeous and vile. 

From which:

Deathwatch

Your store's staff are about to go on strike.

They claim to be terrified of the ghost knocks. Some maleficent entity must have come in the shop after the last big book-buying spree, they say, and ever since it's been haunting the place. Its knocking noise is causing a furor. 

That's not all it's causing. The Hounds notice that some of their most important texts are suffering insect damage. It's getting pretty bad, enough that the shop may suffer a Reverse. You can't advertise a copy of the King In Yellow as calf-bound first edition excellent condition if some little swine has nibbled chunks out of that binding. That brings it down to Reading Copy level pretty damn quick, with consequent knock-on to the price. 

Something Must Be Done.

What?

Option One: Crawling Chaos. It's not deathwatch, though it certainly sounds like deathwatch. It's actually Brood of Ehiort, which came in on the back of a house clearance in which texts beloved of the Severn Valley Cult were purchased. There aren't enough of them to constitute a simulacrum but more and more are breeding all the time. Left unchecked, eventually a pale man will form. Once that pale man forms it will start constructing a Fane in some forgotten part of the shop or basement, and soon after that it will start to contact other Brood in the area. A vast swarm could eventually gather ...

Option Two: Roach Swarm. A peculiar kind of revenant haunts the shop. It can only act through roaches, and it attracts roaches by the dozen. There are only a few of them for now, but they're forming peculiar patterns when they're on the march, and their blood leaves stains on the walls that are uncomfortable to look on. Time to start scrubbing the walls down and getting out the Blast-It bug repellent. Otherwise those roaches will take over the place, and that peculiar chant the staff are repeating will become more than just an earworm ...

Option Three: Enemy Action. This isn't an insect problem. It's a rival bookstore problem. Someone from a competing shop is dealing with its insect issues by making them march across to the Hound's shop. Every so often a staff member from the rival comes to the Hound's place and discreetly disgorges another batch. Perhaps they do this Great-Escape style by having the bugs hid up their trouser cuffs, or perhaps they leave a tainted book on the shelf like a calf-bound Trojan Horse. Either way, that shop's problem will soon become the Hound's problem, unless they take action.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Autographs (Bookhounds)

 “Genuine autograph collecting has nothing to do with autograph fiends and their collecting of signatures. A large collection of signatures well arranged and illustrated with portraits and clippings, is a good thing—but albums of miscellaneous signatures with no system, and begged from annoyed celebrities, are little better than trash. When I buy such a collection I break it up at once. Notes responding to requests for autographs are no better than signatures. They are out of place in a good collection. A letter should contain some of the original thought of the writer, and, if possible refer to incidents of his life or to his writings.

“My regular customers, people who buy constantly whenever I have something to offer them in their special line, are not the movie millionaires you can meet in the art shops and book shops on Fifth Avenue. They are usually retired business men, and physicians, well-to-do or of moderate means, university professors who have to save in order to be able to buy autographs. Every one of them has made a study of some literary or political celebrity, or is interested in some period of our own history. All documents or letters needed to complete their collections are welcome. But I also count among my patrons of long standing, poor men whose only property in this world are their collections of autographs, and they actually often suffer privations rather than part with their treasures.

“Some people are greatly interested in minor literary men of bygone days, whose autographs were never thought worth saving. I have a search department for such cases, and I am often curiously successful.

“You would be surprised to find how almost anything you may want can be found if you do not tire in looking for it and if you know how and where to advertise.

“I advertise everywhere, and constantly. The smallest country paper sometimes means more to my business than the big city paper.

“I have bought many trunks of valuable documents and letters in the garrets of old homesteads in towns whose names you have never heard of—called there by some heir, who read my advertisement in the paper and who preferred to sell the literary remains of his grandfather to me rather than to the ragman!

“And here is the secret of success in this business: constant and wise advertising …

Adventures in American Bookshops, Antique Stores and Auction Rooms, Guido Bruno, originally published 1922. Source: Gutenberg.

Let’s play with this idea.

I’m going to use two parts of this narrative, being:

• I also count among my patrons of long standing, poor men whose only property in this world are their collections of autographs, and they actually often suffer privations rather than part with their treasures …
• I have bought many trunks of valuable documents and letters in the garrets of old homesteads in towns whose names you have never heard of—called there by some heir …

Let’s have two scenario seeds this time.

Before we go down those roads, though, let’s establish the weenie in this narrative. 

Scholar Raymond Begbie was a literary lion of the middle 1800s. He wrote plays, novels, (his Indiscretion is still performed, and De Roquefort is well regarded), and histories, the most famous of which is his history of the Glencoe Massacre, A Bloody Scandal.

Begbie’s scholarship includes studies of various Jacobite activists who published pamphlets in the later 1690s, among them occultist Charles De Wit who published a number of scurrilous tracts linking the assaults at Glencoe to various Mythos sacrificial activities. De Wit alleges that the acts of the Argyll’s at Glencoe were cover for a much more sinister act of sacrifice intended to please dark and hideous Gods.

Begbie had a considerable quantity of De Wit’s papers in his possession, not just the pamphlets he published. Among them are letters written by De Wit to Reinhardt Von Juntz, ancestor of the more notorious Friedrich, whose library (which Friedrich inherited) supposedly set the German eccentric down the path that led to his eventual destruction.

In effect, early drafts/sources which Von Juntz later used in Nameless Cults.

So, the weenie: papers and pamphlets owned by scholar Begbie, written by De Wit, autographed by De Wit, and including letters written to and from an ancestor of Von Juntz in which the two discuss Mythos and cult matters.

Poor Man’s Treasure 

Book scout Allan Chessover (main text) clues the Hounds in on an important development.

An old fellow who lives on an East End scow berthed permanently at East India Docks is very ill and likely to die. Sad, really. The soon-to-be-expired collector has, in his possession, a number of items from Begbie's papers. He's supposed to have got them from Begbie's estate sale in 1903. Nobody's entirely sure what the geriatric collector has. However, rumors abound.

The collector, Samuel Hoskins, is known to be a fly fellow when it comes to the Magickal arts. The last time someone tried to rob him, it's said, Hoskins sent them packing in a sorcerous manner. Tales suggest he has strange beasts or spirits at his command, but whether he's a modern Prospero or a two-bit charlatan has yet to be determined.

Hoskins won't part with his collection while he's alive. But he won't be alive for much longer. The question is, will his protective spirits - or whatever they are - die with him? Or is something going to keep watch over that ship of his, whether Hoskins is alive or not?

Option One: Not So Dead As He Seems. Hoskins is putting this story around to attract young, vigorous souls. He needs a new body. However, the last time he tried this - the time when someone tried to rob him - it didn't go as planned. Now he's trying a more subtle approach.

Option Two: A Ghastly Dilemma. Hoskins' unseen confederate is a Ghoul. In fact, it's Begbie himself, who was tempted to human flesh through his researches into De Wit. Ever since, Begbie has tried to continue his researches, hoping to find a cure for his condition - or at least, some way to mitigate his unending hunger.

Option Three: De Wit Returns The collector, Hoskins, is in fact a Crawling One: De Wit himself, who came back from beyond long ago and recovered his possessions in Begbie's estate sale. However, even Crawling Ones can fall to peculiar malaise, and De Wit is discovering that immortality comes at a price. He needs to relocate to the Dreamlands but he's unwilling to do that without taking his collection with him. He needs someone to help him move house from one realm of reality to another. Enter the Hounds.

Hidden Secrets

The Hounds are contacted by a fellow living in Preston who says he has some of Begbie's work. 

Begbie was, among other things, an enthusiastic temperance advocate and was a member of the Preston Temperance Society. A leading light of the Society, Sidney Livsey, used to give Begbie a place to stay when he was in Preston delivering lectures, performing plays or otherwise in town for periods of a month or more. It's thanks to this association that Livsey ended up with some of Begbie's papers.

Now Livsey's grandson, Charles, wants to dispose of the lot.  However, there's a time constraint. If the Hounds don't make the pickup within two weeks, the whole lot goes off to the papermill to be reconstituted.

Option One: Dusty Books Charles Livsey didn't write to the Hounds. The books and papers did, or rather, the Dust Thing associated with those papers did. The papers know that Charles is going to pack them off to the paper mill, which will destroy the Dust Thing. They have only a limited time before that happens, and they need a savior. Enter the Hounds.

Option Two: A Collector of Juntz.When the Hounds arrive in Preston they discover they aren't the only ones after this collection. A very impatient and choleric gent, Jacob D'Aster, is also after the papers and he's offering a ton of cash. Whether or not he can deliver the spondulicks is beside the point: he's making the offer, and Livsey is tempted.

Option Three: Who's Your Father? The vendor isn't Charles Livsey. There's no such person. The vendor is Begbie himself, who's been living an extended (and unhappy) life thanks to his researches into De Wit's ravings. However, Begbie's at his wit's end (no pun intended) and wants to get rid of the lot, every scrap and tittle, in hope that this will end his suffering. Perhaps it will, perhaps it won't, but in one respect Begbie isn't wrong. There's something very horrible hiding in those pamphlets, and now it's the Hounds' problem.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Hind Horn (Bookhounds)

Last post before the holidays! No post next week. Next post will be the first week of January 2025!

Hind Horn is a Scottish traditional ballad with many, many variations. The story goes that Hind Horn, the hero of the tale, is given a ring as a token of love from the King's Daughter. The ring has diamonds, and she tells him that when those diamonds grow pale and lose their luster, it means her love for him is fading.

They part. He notices that the diamonds are in fact fading. He returns to the kingdom to find that she is being married to another. He approaches the wedding party disguised as a beggar and contrives to show her the ring. When she sees it, she offers to go with him, beggar or no, and they go off together.

This legend is one of the reasons why it became traditional that, should a beggar come to a house where there is a wedding, the beggar be given whatever reasonable thing they ask for.

With that in mind:

Hind Horn in Winter

The Hounds find a job lot of old ballads, loosely compiled, in one of the boxes from the last auction.

On inspection, most of them seem to have come from a house sale somewhere up North, and the Hounds find with the ballads notes on someone's academic work. The parson, or some other minor church functionary, was amusing themselves between sermons by collecting, transcribing and examining old ballads. Most of them seem to have been local to wherever the parson was (that part's not clear) and some of them seem to be much older than first glance. 

If the Hounds examine the documents very closely they find (1 point) that one of them is in fact a 15th Century manuscript, 3 pages long, apparently a version of Hind Horn written/transcribed by Charles of Orléans. God alone knows how that treasure found its way into an obscure parson's trove. 

It's not quite a Windfall but it is a very valuable find. 

The air is chilly, the mornings frosty, and it's getting more and more difficult to heat the shop. As winter draws ever nearer the Hounds find three customers all determined to purchase (or steal) Hind Horn: A Scot cleric, Andrew Baird, lean and corpselike; a young man, John Egan, poor as dirt and importunate; a young woman, Hattie Keeble, an upper middle class coquette. They all want Hind Horn. They seem to know, without telling, that the Hounds have it. If one of them gets it, the other two will be outraged and cause all sorts of scenes. Diplomacy is called for ...

Just as this becomes a problem, a peculiar item turns up in lost property: a diamond ring. A wedding band. Nobody recognizes it or knows how it ended up on the shop floor.

Option One: Dusty Memories. None of this is real. There's a Dust Thing attached to Hind Horn which, in fact, is not a 15th Century original but an 18th Century forgery. It's quite a good forgery, so it will pass muster for all but the most eagle-eyed of experts. The Dust Thing is drawing on the Hind Horn story to create ring, Baird, Egan - but not Keeble. Hattie is real enough. She saw the document at the auction but lost out to the Hounds, and now she wants another bite at the apple. 

Option Two: Dead Men's Tales. Baird is in fact what's left of the parson who, all those years ago, compiled the documents. Baird was also an experienced Dreamer and picked up some very peculiar, Mythos-oriented, views on the origins of human folklore. Baird became convinced that stories like Hind Horn are actually about Mythos narratives, and spent his life trying to prove his thesis. His life, and beyond; his compulsion leads him to defy death itself. Egan, Keeble, the ring and the fable are all dreams, part of Baird's delusion, though he believes they're real enough. If this goes too far, the shop may find itself incorporated into the dead parson's fantasies.

Option Three: Hind Horn Redux. The document was never written by Charles but it is a 15th century manuscript, a Mythos text hidden in a literary code. It is in fact dedicated to Gol-Goroth, the Fisher; it is the Old One who created the ring, which is a holy thing. Gol-Goroth uses text and ring as lures, and it has three on its hook: Baird, Egan and Keeble. Possibly the Hounds as well, if they get too close. If Gol-Goroth manages to lure someone close enough, that person becomes part of the narrative, and the text grows ever longer. Those too close to the story begin to dream of cold climes, far, far colder than London, and of peculiar dark mountains where strange treasures are hid. The text of Hind Horn is part finished; if Gol-Goroth gets all three - Baird, Egan and Keeble - then the text will be complete. Much more valuable, too, from the Hounds' perspective.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!