I like cruise liners. They're especially useful locations for horror narratives. An enclosed space, often exotic or opulent, far from shore (and the authorities), populated by an ever-changing cast of characters. In the classic period of liner travel (broadly 1890s through to 1940s) these queens of the ocean serve two purposes: first, ambassadors for their nation. Second, transport for the vital, lucrative immigrant trade. The Titanic of legend, for all its gilt and glory, was practically an immigrant ship, earning its money off her 709 Third Class passengers, the vast majority of whom drowned - including most of the Third Class children.
This time out I want to draw your attention to MS Saturnia, launched 1927 by the Cosulich Line, later the Italian Line. Built in a Monfalcone shipyard, she's capable of carrying 2,196 passengers from Italy (Trieste, Venice) to New York, or 279 First Class, 257 Second Class, 310 Third Class, and 1,350 Fourth Class. That last are the ones going to New York permanently; the rest are probably only there to visit. She's capable of 19 knots on a good day with her twin screw engines, or a little over 20 miles per hour.
Inside, she's a Beaux-Arts wonderland, gaudy marble, stained glass, wood paneling and more Gods (Roman, naturally) than you can shake a stick at. Her indoor swimming pool is practically a Roman bath. Her pride and joy is a vast internal gallery locked off from the rest of the ship with wrought iron gates, which was probably intended for those passengers (First and Second Class, most likely - no Fourth Class plebeians here) who didn't enjoy ocean travel and wanted to be as far removed from shipboard life as possible. Here they could relax in an atmosphere that wouldn't shame a feudal banquet hall, never having to so much as smell the sea.
Naturally things did not go well for her during the War. She became the American hospital ship Frances Y. Slanger and most of her finery, including her bath and gallery, was torn out and not replaced. She went back to Italy after the war and continued to carry passengers until 1966, when she was scrapped. The Italians had a very slight advantage in the age of jet travel; their ships tended to be smaller, so they lost less money than did the larger Queens of the Sea. However, that advantage wasn't enough to save MS Saturnia. Nor was it really enough to save the Italian Line, which operated at a tremendous loss (on government subsidies) for many years and only saved itself by switching over to freight shipping. These days what's left of the Italian Line is part of Hapag-Lloyds, though in a Dracula Dossier game there's always a chance HGD Shipping bought her out instead.
Her glory years are the 1930s, which is the same period as most Trail games. She's also not a bad pick for some pre-War Night's Black Agents gaming. The Gestapo regularly used cruise liners as transport for its couriers; no doubt the Servizio Informazioni Militare did something similar. In an age before jet aircraft ocean liners are the only way from Europe to the New World, so if your Big Bad wants to get to New York then hi ho the ocean waves, and let's hope seasickness isn't a vampire Bane.
Or perhaps someone wants to get their occult item of choice from Europe to the Americas. Even an occult building of choice, since the 1920s-30s is also the time when eccentric American millionaires are buying up European monasteries, castles and churches, and dragging them across the ocean blue. William Randolph Hearst brought St. Bernard de Clairvaux from Spain to New York city in 1926, though it ended up in Florida. Gothic chapels, Renaissance chateaux, manor houses, practically anything with a patina of age on it could be uprooted, sailed across to New York, and planted somewhere scenic. The Depression put a bit of a gloom on the market for historic buildings, and by 1939 you couldn't unload a castle for anything like what you might have paid for it in 1929. That said, your basic antique masterpiece was still making the journey from the Old World to the New right up to the outbreak of war.
Image sourced from the Museum of the City of New York
For similar images please go to the Museum's website. There's a ton of useful resources there.
With all that in mind:
The Transporter
You and your companions have been hired to shepherd an Italian castle from Venice to New York, aboard MS Saturnia. You're a short-notice replacement for the original custodian, who fell critically ill at an unfortunate moment. You must make sure all the crates are safely stowed, shipped and delivered to its new owner, the architect Philip Lehmann, who hopes to sell it on to an American buyer. He's already had several offers. Hearst himself is said to be interested.
Castello della Fontana, built 1180 and allegedly a Templar stronghold once upon a time, has a nasty reputation. A ghostly nun and a headless knight, as well as two demonic children, are supposed to infest its gloomy corridors. It's said the Inquisition burnt the children at the stake, though the details of the trial are not known. However, Lehmann's only interested in the castle as an architectural and historic artefact, not as some kind of carnival spook-show. He's packed every least item, down to the candlesticks, each with a detailed description of where it was in the castle and where it should be put. He's gone ahead to New York to make arrangements for storage. It's the investigators' job to make sure nothing happens to his precious castle.
If the characters are an unprepossessing mix of unemployables and occultists, then Lehmann probably hired them because they speak English. He distrusts foreigners. This is especially likely if any of the investigators are American.
The initial load, on the docks of Trieste, is fraught with the usual brushes with catastrophe. Is a box missing? Was that box that landed with an almighty thump the one marked delicate that contained the antique, irreplaceable china and crystal goblets? Why is that customs official going crimson with rage?
However, during all this the investigators notice a family that is taking more than the usual interest in them. Papa, mama, two small children, all impeccably turned out, clearly upper class. Yet they never speak, and have no servants, which seems unusual for people of their social standing. Whenever the investigators pay close attention to them they are nowhere to be found, yet whenever something goes wrong with the load they are on the sidelines, watching closely.
Throughout the journey the investigators see them again and again. Never in the dining rooms, never eating or drinking - but they're always there, in the gallery, near the pool, in the music room, the reading room, on the first class stairwell, window shopping in one of the many fashionable stores on board. They seem to stand apart from the rest of the crowd, and they always stare at the investigators with unfathomable, dark, hypnotic eyes.
What's Going On:
The Knight, Nun and Demon Children: The castle ghosts are just as keen to get out of Italy as Lehmann is to get their castle to New York. However, the last thing they want is for something to go wrong with the journey, so they're paying extra attention to the investigators to make sure that doesn't happen. Of course, if the investigators do something that might imperil the shipment (or let that precious china crack) then they're fair game. Carelessness must be punished ...
Exorcists: The 'family' is a cover for a group of occultists determined to put an end to the castle's demons once and for all. The 'father' is an ex-Vatican exorcist, the 'mother' his devoted sister, and the children her children, brought along because there was no way she was leaving them with their deadbeat, atheist, Communist father. Trouble is, bringing children along gives the castle's demon kids opportunities for possession ...
The Autumn Moon is Bright: Did you know that when Lycaon sacrificed his son and turned him into a pie to serve to Zeus, who then punished Lycaon and his fifty sons by making them lycanthropes, that Lycaon's son Peucetius went to Puglia in Italy, bringing the family's werewolf curse with him? Well, now you do, and so will the investigators when they learn that the castle comes from Puglia, notorious werewolf haven. The family are the castle's true owners, who want to escape Italy and live in the New World, but they refuse to leave the family home behind. So they bullied Lehmann into buying their castle - 'do as we say or you will share our werewolf curse.' That's why he was so eager to get to New York, and leave the shipping to a bunch of nobodies who could, for all he cared, get eaten alive. Of course, it's a long journey from Italy to New York, and the children aren't used to fasting ...
Enjoy!
No comments:
Post a Comment