Last post before I fly. I'll be offline for two weeks; won't see you again till the beginning of June.
Reminder: I'm one of the hosts of a Friday panel at the UK Chaosium thing in Cranfield. Come say hi!
***
Wild West shows were a big thing, once upon a time. Buffalo Bill is supposed to have started the first, after Ned Buntline's novel made him famous, but in their day they were the Great Big Thing of entertainment. By the 1880s there were several troupes travelling the US and making a big splash abroad. They began to die out around about the 1890s, and the biggest and the best, Buffalo Bill's, fell to bankruptcy shortly before the First World War.
Broadly speaking, the format was the same across the board. Daring displays of horsemanship, shootist talent, and glammed-up frontier life, capped with an Indian raid on some burning cabin or other, repulsed by the brave cowboys and their allies. Historical accuracy was so far from the point as to be living in another country under an assumed name. Buffalo Bill and his fellow entrepreneurs knew one thing and one thing only:
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
This is why Stoker uses a cowboy stereotype in Dracula. Not that he gives a damn, but he knows what his audience likes. They knew cowboys. Dime store novels and Wild West shows told them everything they needed to know about the heroes of the prairie.
In the 1930s, Wild West shows are dead and gone. The West as a genre of entertainment is still alive and well; the riders and daredevils move on to film. There are still novels, just not dime novels.
There are collectors who want those novels.
Ghost Woman
The Hounds know that someone out there wants all the copies of Doc Cantrill's Burning Sagebrush they can get their hands on. It's not clear why.
Burning Sagebrush is a tell-all that first saw print in the States back in 1908, went out of print for a while, then saw a new edition in 1931 as a tie-in for a Tom Mix flicker. Mix's film wasn't a faithful adaptation of Burning Sagebrush, which is just as well since the novel's next door to pornography. At its release, there were calls for it to be banned under the Obscene Publications Act.
Sagebrush is the story of a wild west desperado who rides with a Wild West troupe, having adventures across the US and, in the final chapters, in Europe. Bedroom antics made it notorious, in its day. Cantrill's tour of the boudoirs of Europe, in company with his ride-or-die Indian queen Ghost Woman, kept boys awake at night.
In the film, much is made of the final chapters in which Cantrill and Ghost Woman restore a Ruritarian monarch to the throne, in the guise of a thrilling Wild West show which is actually an excuse to smuggle guns to the rebels. In the novel, this bit takes up less than a chapter and is capped by a daring raid and 'rescue' of Princess Kinbote from an unhappy marriage. Kinbote joins Cantrill and Ghost Woman in the show. This never happens in the film.
There's a lot of money on the table, but why is someone so eager to get all the Burning Sagebrush they can handle?
Option One:Hollywood. The buyer is a studio executive who realizes that the novel is actually coded for some sort of 'kookie European cult'. The executive wants in on the cult and figures that they can curry favor by presenting them with a gift: covering up their deeds. The cult in question is the Keirecheires, which the executive thinks is some kind of upper-class supper club. The Keirecheires is the inspiration for the Ruritarian romance. The cultists don't mind the book so much, but they become concerned when Hollywood comes knocking on their door. Surely this little man doesn't want to film their activities?
Option Two:Kinbote. Formerly Annie Love, a star of the British stage who happened to go round with Cantrill's show for a while as the poor victim rescued from the clutches of wicked Ghost Woman. There's a bit in the British version of Cantrill's novel that Annie Love, now a woman of leisure living in Brighton, really would rather the world not know about. Turns out those clutches were clinches, and there are photos to prove it in the British version. Unfortunately for Love the ghost of Cantrill is just as eager to see his work in print as she is to keep it out; it's a struggle between a dead man and a living woman as to who will come out on top.
Option Three:Ghost Woman. Formerly May Lillie, a kid from Brooklyn who saw the world on horseback and ended up running cabarets in Soho through the 1920s after Cantrill's show went bust. She supported herself during the war with unsavory photographic displays; very artistic, but not the sort of thing she wants publicized. However, the Keirecheires, who took those photos, are keen to get them back out there for cult reasons of their own. May Lillie knows the cult of old and is gathering friends from her Wild West days to put a stop to it. She's willing to use the Hounds to find out where the Keirecheires is hiding, but the Hounds aren't friends of hers. She'll sacrifice them to get the information she needs.
FACILIS descensus Averni' might well be the motto for any article or chapter dealing with the above comprehensive 'avocations.' Once started on his career, the book-thief may be regarded as entirely lost. At the Middlesex Sessions a few years ago a genius of the name of Terry was sentenced to six years' imprisonment for stealing books. On inquiry it was found that this same person had already been in prison six times, two terms of eighteen months each, one term of five years' penal servitude, and another of seven years, all for stealing books.
Each thief has his own special modus operandi, which he varies according to circumstances. There are those who do it without any adventitious aid, and those who cover their sin with various accessories. First, the ordinary book-thief, who watches his opportunity when the shopkeeper is not looking, and simply slips the book quickly under his coat and departs. This method is plain and simple in execution, but sometimes dangerous in practice. Then there is the man who wears an overcoat, the lining of the pocket of which he has previously removed, so that he can pass his hand right through while apparently only standing still looking on, with his hands quietly in his pocket, possibly with one hand openly touching something, whilst the other is earning his dinner.
An amusing incident was once the experience of a London bookseller. While sitting behind his counter inside the shop, he was amazed one day at seeing a man running at a tremendous rate, and, momentarily slackening his speed to seize a book off the stall, he had disappeared before the astounded bookseller was able to get to the door. And it is remarkable that, though many people were about, no one seems to have noticed the thief take the book, though they saw him running. Another favourite device is to carry a newspaper in the hand, and when no one is looking deposit the paper on a carefully-selected book within the folds; or having an overcoat carried on the arm to quickly hide something under cover of it. This latter method requires, of course, a well-to-do-looking man, and obviously is chiefly confined to the stealers of the higher class of valuable books. It also requires, like every well-managed business, a certain amount of capital, for it is absolutely necessary—in order to lull suspicion—that small purchases should be made from time to time in the hunting-ground that has been chosen for the season.
If a thing has value, someone will want to steal it.
The Shop has plenty of things it keeps under lock & key. If it has a copy of a Mythos text, whatever that text may be, it's probably not up front with the Agatha Christies. It'll be in some locked glass-fronted cabinet, some secure-yet-public location. After all, if the public don't know it exists they won't try to buy it, so it's got to be somewhere visible (ish).
But most of its stock will be out. Where people can touch it.
That exposes it to risk.
The thief is also exposed to risk. Arrest. Prison time. Roberts casually mentions a four-month bit for one unlucky book thief, which seems remarkable. It's difficult to imagine a shoplifter getting that kind of sentence, but then we're talking about valuable merchandise. But there's also the public shame, the damage to reputation. After all, when we're talking about book collectors we're talking about a small group of people whose identities are well-known. If it's public knowledge that they steal, then they'll have difficulty getting into shops, or buying on credit, or buying at all. That can be a fate worse than death for a bibliophile.
But the chief thing to bear in mind is, this risk means everyone involved is going to be careful about what they do and how they do it. The simple quick-grab described above works for the stuff kept in an outside stall, but how many truly valuable items are going to be out there?
I've mentioned Book Row before. That New York institution demonstrates just how dangerous an organized book gang can be. Harry Gold and his confederates robbed libraries and Book Row blind and, at the same time, profited from Book Row by selling on his trophies. They developed book theft as a kind of organized network. There would be someone at the center - the Gold character - organizing the mob, giving it targets, giving it direction. There would be operatives who would go out and identify the most valuable items. Then, on the heels of those operatives, someone would actually do the stealing. They'd seem polite, knowledgeable, not suspicious at all. But when they left your shop or library your collection would be lighter.
From the Hounds' perspective an organized book theft ring is both a threat and an opportunity, assuming they're not the ones organizing the ring. Their collection is at risk. However, their collection can be expanded, if they're willing to buy stolen goods.
In game terms, the presence of book thieves can represent a Reverse. Someone's been targeting the shop's stock, so it could also be represented by reducing the Stock pool in some way. It could also be considered a ding to Credit Rating, which can affect the shop's ability to do business. In role play, this could be represented by an uncomfortable moment with a disappointed client, or an impervious bobby taking a statement.
"What went missing, sir? I see. [scribbles in notebook]. A valuable item, would you say? I see. [scribbles]."
The professional thief is relatively well equipped and will have a decent Filch score as well as a means of hiding the goods, perhaps in a capacious overcoat specially equipped with hidden pockets. Or they may have a confederate waiting in the wings for a hand-off, but judging by what's written about book thieves they seem to work as lone operators most of the time. It's not like shoplifting, where a team might work the shop.
Also worth bearing in mind is that thieves work for money. Seldom do they steal to enrich their own collections, if they have a collection. That being so, they're not going to steal anything which doesn't have a definite worth but they will steal to order, if asked to do so. Which suggests that they know a little about what they're stealing, but just enough to know valuable from tat. Not any real Magick, or any understanding of the Mythos.
Sounds like plot hook material to me.
With all that in mind:
Sticky Fingers
Rumor has it that someone's been targeting book shops.
That's nothing new. Thieves have always been a problem in the trade. The Three Blind Mice are a known quantity. But whoever this new chap is, they have a very specific type. They like occult grimoires, and particularly Mythos texts. You know for a certainty that several libraries have been pilfered, and that the British Library takes the threat so seriously it's taken special precautions over its copy of the Necronomicon.
But who is this thief, and who are they trying to impress? There must be a well-heeled collector out there somewhere who's funding the show. Is this purely for someone's collection, or does the collector have a particular goal in mind?
Perhaps more pressing, how to stop this fellow from getting at the shop's stock?
Option One: The Amateur. The collector is Jacob D'Aster the ghost hunter and vampire enthusiast. Jacob has decided to create the world's foremost collection of material related to hauntings and bloodsuckers and has brought someone over from the Continent to get this done. The Frenchman goes by the nom de guerre Flambeau, possibly borrowed from a popular novel. Flambeau, ironically, knows a bit more about the topic than his employer and is stealing things that D'Aster wouldn't know what to do with, but these are the genuine articles and D'Aster doesn't want to look a fool, so he keeps paying for them. Problems will arise when some of the owners band together to get their mythos grimoires back.
Option Two: The Professional. The collector is a member in good standing of one of the cults of London - it might be the Keirecheires, or the Witch-Cult - and seeks promotion into the inner circle. For that to happen the collector needs a specific text but they don't know exactly what it is. Or where it is, for that matter. Their seniors guard that secret closely. However, not to be denied, they have embarked on this enterprise hoping that, as the thefts progress, they will find out what it is they want when their superiors start getting nervous and hiding the good stuff. The thieves are a small pack of shape-changing ghouls who are in the collector's service to pay off a debt. Once paid, they want nothing more to do with the collector.
Option Three: The Gifted Amateur. The collector is someone with a God's blood in their veins. If ever anyone had the In The Blood Drive, this poor soul does. They are convinced their time draws near and that they will be drawn up into the stars to face their destiny but, before that happens, they feel compelled to finish a particular ritual. This will ensure that they please their ancient fathers, when they ascend. But they don't know, exactly, what that ritual entails, so they're raiding the libraries of the occult to find out. They have brought on board the brood of Eihort; in fact, the brood may be the reason why the collector thinks they're on the verge of ascendance. The homunculi wanders from shop to shop, library to library. No ordinary lock or door can stop a flood of spidery creatures from getting where they want to go ...
“All my lifetime I’ve been a-dealing a little in rats; but it was not till I come to London that I turned my mind fully to that sort of thing. My father always had a great notion of the same. We all like the sport. When any on us was in the country, and the farmers wanted us to, we’d do it. If anybody heerd tell of my being an activish chap like, in that sort of way, they’d get me to come for a day or so.
“If anybody has a place that’s eaten up with rats, I goes and gets some ferruts, and takes a dog, if I’ve got one, and manages to kill ’em. Sometimes I keep my own ferruts, but mostly I borrows them. This young man that’s with me, he’ll sometimes have an order to go fifty or sixty mile into the country, and then he buys his ferruts, or gets them the best way he can. They charges a good sum for the loan of ’em—sometimes as much as you get for the job.
“You can buy ferruts at Leadenhall-market for 5s. or 7s.—it all depends; you can’t get them all at one price, some of ’em is real cowards to what others is; some won’t even kill a rat. The way we tries ’em is, we puts ’em down anywhere, in a room maybe, with a rat, and if they smell about and won’t go up to it, why they won’t do; ’cause you see, sometimes the ferrut has to go up a hole, and at the end there may be a dozen or sixteen rats, and if he hasn’t got the heart to tackle one on ’em, why he ain’t worth a farden.
“I have kept ferruts for four or five months at a time, but they’re nasty stinking things. I’ve had them get loose; but, bless you, they do no harm, they’re as hinnocent as cats; they won’t hurt nothink; you can play with them like a kitten. Some puts things down to ketch rats—sorts of pison, which is their secret—but I don’t. I relies upon my dogs and ferruts, and nothink else.
Mayhew, LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR
One thing London is not short of is vermin.
It might be insects, it might be rats or mice, it might be termites or this or that or the other, but there is something that walks, slithers or crawls and you want it gone. Yesterday.
The Hounds might want it gone for practical reasons. These are the things that damage book stock.
Or perhaps it's not the Hounds but someone else, a neighbor, a friend. Their house, livelihood, whatever it may be, is under threat, and they need a remedy.
Enter the Exterminator, of which probably the most familiar is the ratcatcher.
These tend to be mobile workers. They go where the trade is. However, with the rise of the urbis comes a spike in vermin population, and with it a chance for a settled life. No more traipsing from town to town. Now you can establish a business, get regular customers, have a share of a burgeoning market.
Jack Black, the hero of Mayhew's piece, relies on ferrets but even he knows a little about poisons. In the 1920s there would have been a tendency to the scientific method. Not that the ferret became extinct, but that in a world where technology is the New Normal people will be looking for technological answers.
Given that the world's just had a War, there will be a number of ex-servicemen in the ratcatching business. It's a decent job, relatively well paid, and a lot of time you're outdoors. Perfect for the man who can't stand being cooped up thanks to spending too long in the trenches.
Don't forget, rat-catching is the Law thanks to the 1919 Act:
Rats and Mice Destruction Act 1919
Which is a useful bit of trivia to fling the Hounds' way should you want an excuse for the Council (or whoever) to stick their interfering nose into the Hounds' business. Why, the Council's man has a perfect right to be here, in your shop, marching about with his big hobnail boots. Do you want a twenty quid fine? No? Then shut up.
All that said:
Claudia (Ratcatcher)
Athletics 5, First Aid 3, Scuffling 8
Claudia was a ratcatcher's wife, before the War, and did all the work keeping the dogs and ferrets. Then her Charlie and her son Bill went off to the trenches and never came back. Now she's the sole representative of Saxon and Sons, Exterminators, but she's a big believer in keeping family in the family business. That's why all the people who work for Saxon and Sons are her nieces and nephews, of which Claudia has a small army.
That doesn't mean Claudia doesn't muck in. She still goes out on jobs; not for her the office life, that's what lazy people do. She can clean up and dress like a lady when she feels like it, but she doesn't often feel like it, even these days when she has a Council job and has to deal with the muckety-mucks. That Council contract's good money for Saxon and Sons. She won't let anything threaten it, or her family's livelihood.
As Ally
Claudia can contribute 1 point The Knowledge of her patch of London; there's nothing she doesn't know about her Council. If the Hounds need some ferrets, some dogs, or a bit of friendly advice about Biology (particularly as it relates to rodents) Claudia's the go-to. If the Hounds need to ding someone else's Credit Rating Claudia can manufacture a rat problem that will temporarily inconvenience them.
As Clue
Claudia's almost as good as a tosher; look at this peculiar thing she found in some hole or other underneath London. Is it medieval? Roman? That peculiar rat behavior underneath (wherever it may be) might be an indication of some Mythos activity, and Claudia can pinpoint where the problem originates. She knows bites, and is almost as good as a forensic surgeon when it comes to identifying which animal made which wound.
In Play
Bluff, hearty and no-nonsense. Try not to disturb her on the 15th July; that's when her Charlie and Bill got theirs, at the Battle of Delville Wood. She's in low spirits from the 15th to the 3rd September. When not out in the field with dogs at her heels, Claudia's doing her best to understand the modern methods, her nose buried in a book. No poison, thank you; she can't stand the stuff. Anything else, and she's a willing student.
The scribbler writes columns, or stories, or fiction, or all three simultaneously, for a Fleet Street newspaper, magazine, tabloid, or tip sheet. He (sometimes she) dresses badly or flamboyantly or both; even tailored suits look off-the-rack or worse hung on a scribbler. He wants news, scoops, gossip, and tips; he’ll offer up his own on a tit-for-tat basis (Oral History) Bookhounds Main Text p 43
This unkind verdict springs from tales of Grub Street.
Grub Street doesn't really exist anymore. Once upon a time it was a cheap place to run a printshop. Newspapers sprang up there like mushrooms and with them came writers, fleas on the dog's backside. This is the kind of scribbler Bookhounds is talking about: write anything for pay, and the pay's better if you make it entertaining. Grub Street became a byword for hack journalism, and the name continues to this day even if the street does not.
However, among the Gods of Grub Street are the likes of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Kipling, H.G. Welles and John Buchan. They don't really fit the scribbler mold. Yet they dabble. Welles dabbled in science and technical journals. Buchan was an editor of the Telegraph and went on to write propaganda during the War. Kipling was a prolific writer on all things Colonial and Conan Doyle ... well, he has a reputation for psychic investigation.
You could hardly call any of them scribblers in the classic mold.
No, for that you're looking at someone like Edmund Curll, who I've mentioned before. Writers of yellow journalism. Clickbait artists. Someone with more than a hint of Sax Rohmer. They know what they're talking about, for the most part. Truth has no meaning for them. What sells, that's what matters. They might be subject experts in [whatever it may be] but their expertise is just a screen. They'll use their talent to dress up a fiction rather than publish fact, because the audience doesn't want facts. It wants titillation, gore, and a bit of violence. Good must triumph over evil, of course. Everything needs its resolution. But before you get there, you first must have Villainy with a capital V.
Oddly, one of the best examples of the type in cinema is James Cagney, Picture Snatcher.
This one's famous for, among other things, damn near killing Cagney. There's a moment about halfway through, more or less, when Cagney's disreputable former gangster turned newsman Danny Kean is caught in a gunfight. He sticks his head out of a window and almost has it taken off in a burst of machine gun fire. According to legend the director just told the guy with the tommy gun, make it look real but don't hit him. So he did.
According to Cagney the director, Lloyd Thompson, finished the film in fifteen days. The usual turnaround for quickies in those days was twenty-one days. Cagney used to kid Thompson that he was getting a bonus for bringing it in ahead of schedule.
Cagney's Kean is the epitome of the scribbler. Almost as much crook as creative, the scribbler lives on scraps and dreams of the big time. Their bosses are just as crooked as they are, but the scribblers are the ones on the sharp end, getting things done. They take risks. They might get a reward, but they'll blow the loot soon enough on some thing or other. Then it's back to the streets for more stories.
The Scribbler
Disguise 4, Filch 5, Fleeing 8
Miko was a supercargo aboard a ship impounded on smuggling charges, and the ship's owners cast the crew adrift. Lost in an unfamiliar city, Miko vanished into dockland looking for whatever work he could get. He has two great talents. He can draw like a draughtsman, and he has a gift for languages. He used both to parlay his way into contract work for the papers. At first it was a few gigs here and there, then a steady stream. These days he's on exclusive for the Illustrated News. Editor Bruce Ingram calls Miko the Conscience of the East End; there's nobody knows what's what better than Miko.
As Ally
Miko can help spike an unfavorable story, if he's promised something better. Miko knows every disreputable bar and nightclub in the East End and is no slouch when it comes to Soho either. If you want to know what's going on at the Police Courts, or want to get into the Court when it's in session, Miko can get you in by pretending you're a reporter.
As Clue
If you want to know what the police really think and don't have Cop Talk, Miko knows the score. Miko has his sketchbook with him all the time and got a pretty good look at [whatever it may be]. If you don't have the Languages pool for a conversation with [whoever] Miko's a good interpreter. Miko collects books from his home country and if you're looking for something from that part of the world Miko knows where it can be found.
In Play
Miko can play clueless foreigner for the whites, but he's sharp as a tack. His love life is a tangled mess and he's always trying to get out of one entanglement while pursuing some other girl. Thanks to a lifetime diet of gangster films, he sounds more like an American than an Englishman.
Peaky Blinders reminds the world that there were gangs before the Krays made it look cool.
Broadly speaking, there are at least two kinds of Rough Lads. Those that do it for profit, and those that do it for fun or out of conviction.
The ones that do it for profit are straightforward souls. They might have been in the military; they may have battlefield experience. Were it not for that, they might have found some other trade. Others may have fallen into it by other means, or because they had no other options.
However, whether this is so or no, the profit-seeking Rough Lads have few convictions of their own and will do whatever seems most reasonable at the time. Not for them the political rallies, or fighting for a cause of some kind, or refusing to surrender. No, this type of Rough Lad will cheerfully back down if it means money in their pocket.
Some of them can be bought very cheaply. A round of drinks at the pub, or a bottle of the pure. This kind of Rough Lad probably isn’t all that much in a conflict, but you never know; there could be a tiger hiding under that unprepossessing exterior.
The ones that fight for fun or conviction can’t be bought. These are the ones in it for thrills, or because they believe in what they’re doing. They might be committed communists, committed fascists, or just plain ordinary one-shy-of-a-bushel, but whatever the case may be, they can’t be bought because, as far as they’re concerned, they’ve already been paid. In the only currency that matters. There will be a few who do it for love of the game, or because they took one too many shots to the head and now don’t know how to stop, never mind when.
There’s no talking to these people. Rationality went out the window a long time ago. The best thing about them is, they’re predictable. Given the chance to do X, whatever X is, they will always do X. They can’t help themselves.
A Rough Lad uses whatever tools are at their disposal. In Peaky Blinders, the rough lads use razor blades sewn into the peaks of their flat caps as impromptu slashing weapons. It's a basic form of concealed carry.
There's a nice moment in Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels when Rory Breaker pulls a similar oldy goldy out of his pocket:
Lock, Stock Pub Scene
Shout-out to Daniel John-Jules, a bloody good actor. Rough Lads have been pulling that trick since the days of yore.
The only thing a Rough Lad probably won't do in a hurry is pull a pistol. The firearm laws in the UK are remarkably strict even in this period, when it's still (broadly) legal to own a gun. Just having one in your possession is probably enough to get you arrested; actually using one will get you the rope. It will also get you the undivided attention of every single copper around. Many's the cautionary tale of a hoodlum with more guts than sense who managed exactly that.
The Blue Lamp intro
From a Keeper's perspective, assume any weapon, concealed or improvised, used by a Rough Lad is equivalent to a knife, for damage purposes. A trick like Rory Breaker's is at best a Molotov, which is +1 at Point-Blank.
All that said:
The Rough Lad
Shadowing 3, Athletics 5, Scuffling 8
Red James is a bright feller, went to the Grammar on a scholarship. But you can't teach this dog new tricks, and his love of the fight game eventually got him expelled for gambling. Undeterred, he went into the ring full time for a while before busting a knuckle and retiring early. He drifted around for a while as a trainer and impromptu medic, even spending a little while as a backstage hand at a theatre before finding his true calling: violence on demand.
Red James is a kind of Rough Lad fixer. He knows all the faces, he knows who's in chokey and who's looking for work. If you need reliable hands for a job, he can steer those hands your way. He still takes up the cudgel from time to time and misses his time in the ring, but he's philosophical. You can't change the past, he says. You can only learn from it.
Pools he definitely would have if he were a PC: the Knowledge, Medic, Streetwise.
He's called Red James because of his hair, not his political convictions. That said, he's willing and able to bluff his way through a conversation with a Radical. He knows enough of the cant to pass for a Communist or a Fascist, though he sides with neither.
As a reader, he has eclectic tastes but is beginning to be enthralled by this George Orwell character. Orwell speaks his language. If Red James hadn't made a mess of things, he thinks, he might have been an Orwell.
Still, you can't change the past, can you?
As Ally
Can supply 1D6 Rough Lads as backup, on demand. Can provide a temporary safe house for those on the run from the law, or something very like the law; this only lasts for a day or two, but a day or two may be the difference between life and death. Knows a little about a lot, and can provide 1 pool point in Knowledge, Medic or Streetwise. Thanks to his time in the theatre, if someone needs an actor or actress for a dinner date or something like, he can oblige. Not that kind of date - Red James is no pimp - but actors are always on the lookout for a free meal.
As Clue
Red James knows who hired those thugs who [insert crime here] and knows where to find those thugs, if the Hounds want to talk to them. Red James saw [insert character of ill repute] at the theatre the other night; would the Hounds like to know who [character] was with? In an extensive history of treating unusual injuries Red James has seen it all, and he can make an educated guess as to what caused this injury. Not quite the same thing as a dedicated pool of Forensics, but in a pinch it will do. Red James can also tell the difference between arson and accident, but don't ask him how he knows that.
In Play
Red hair turning to grey, a little prematurely, and he's sensitive about it. As Sordid, he may be on the edge of a narcotic habit to dull the pain of a lifetime's worth of regret and old injuries. Still as fit as a butcher's dog, and willing to prove it on demand. Buys drinks for the house when he's flush and is the life and soul of the party even when he isn't flush. If someone's playing the joanna (piano) he's right there next to them, singing his head off.
The street-sellers of stationery, literature, and the fine arts, however, differ from all before treated of in the general, though far from universal, education of the sect. They constitute principally the class of street-orators, known in these days as “patterers,” and formerly termed “mountebanks,”—people who, in the words of Strutt, strive to “help off their wares by pompous speeches, in which little regard is paid either to truth or propriety.” To patter, is a slang term, meaning to speak. To indulge in this kind of oral puffery, of course, requires a certain exercise of the intellect, and it is the consciousness of their mental superiority which makes the patterers look down upon the costermongers as an inferior body, with whom they object either to be classed or to associate. The scorn of some of the “patterers” for the mere costers is as profound as the contempt of the pickpocket for the pure beggar. Those who have not witnessed this pride of class among even the most degraded, can form no adequate idea of the arrogance with which the skilled man, no matter how base the art, looks upon the unskilled. “We are the haristocracy of the streets,” was said to me by one of the street-folks, who told penny fortunes with a bottle. “People don’t pay us for what we gives ’em, but only to hear us talk. We live like yourself, sir, by the hexercise of our hintellects—we by talking, and you by writing.”
But notwithstanding the self-esteem of the patterers, I am inclined to think that they are less impressionable and less susceptible of kindness than the costers whom they despise. Dr. Conolly has told us that, even among the insane, the educated classes are the most difficult to move and govern through their affections. They are invariably suspicious, attributing unworthy motives to every benefit conferred, and consequently incapable of being touched by any sympathy on the part of those who may be affected by their distress. So far as my experience goes it is the same with the street-patterers. Any attempt to befriend them is almost sure to be met with distrust. Nor does their mode of life serve in any way to lessen their misgivings. Conscious how much their own livelihood depends upon assumption and trickery, they naturally consider that others have some “dodge,” as they call it, or some latent object in view when any good is sought to be done them. The impulsive costermonger, however, approximating more closely to the primitive man, moved solely by his feelings, is as easily humanized by any kindness as he is brutified by any injury.
The patterers, again, though certainly more intellectual, are scarcely less immoral than the costers. Their superior cleverness gives them the power of justifying and speciously glossing their evil practices, but serves in no way to restrain them; thus affording the social philosopher another melancholy instance of the evil of developing the intellect without the conscience—of teaching people to know what is morally beautiful and ugly, without teaching them at the same time to feel and delight in the one and abhor the other—or, in other words, of quickening the cunning and checking the emotions of the individual.
Among the patterers marriage is as little frequent as among the costermongers; with the exception of the older class, who “were perhaps married before they took to the streets.” Hardly one of the patterers, however, has been bred to a street life; and this constitutes another line of demarcation between them and the costermongers.
These next few posts are going to delve into Bookhounds territory, with some Cameos.
Cameos are an idea I'm going to borrow from Night's Black Agents. Briefly, a cameo is a short description of an NPC the agents may meet. It's stat-light and intended for immediate use, the point being that you, as Keeper, may need to pull a rabbit out of a hat at short notice and this is as good a Lapine as you're going to get, Mr. Magician.
Each writeup includes: important abilities, a physical description, a story hint in the text, and the preferred Interpersonal method to win their cooperation. Then come three things they can provide as an asset (for the vampires or for the agents), three clues they possess, and three handles for roleplaying them.
Henry Mayhew published his work in the 1850s and 60s. The great thing to bear in mind is, if Mayhew's writing about it in the mid-19th century, then it probably still exists in some form in the early 20th century. Not exactly like, obviously; but enough like that you, as Keeper, can borrow ideas Mayhew expounds for your own work.
We're looking at someone older. Someone born in the 19th century, who grew up in the shadow of the greats - or at least, the people they thought were great. They live by the dodge, whatever their particular dodge is. They have a line of patter that they have practiced and used a thousand thousand times before. They're a bit like comedians, in that they make a complicated spiel seem effortless. Their self-esteem is impervious to the battering of fate. Whoever this is, they probably belong to what Mayhew would have described as the third class of patterers:
those who, whatever their early pursuits and pleasures, have manifested a predilection for vagrancy, and neither can nor will settle to any ordinary calling.
They are constantly on the move and probably operate from a barrow, which they either push around themselves or have a donkey to do it for them. Their wares are broken down and tired, but that doesn't matter. Their bones ache, but that doesn't matter. They have an inner well of pure optimism that sustains them through the coldest winter, and they know things. All kinds of things. In fact, if there is one Bookhounds pool which they have in abundance, it's The Knowledge. They may or may not know a little Magick as well, depending on the nature of your chronicle.
With all that in mind:
The Patterer
Auction 3, Conceal 5, Shadowing 7
Grocer George/Judy, so called because their parents were grocers in Leadenhall Market, has been a fixture of the scene for as long as the Hounds can remember. Nobody's sure how the Grocer came to be a street vendor. There are all kinds of stories. The most popular is that they were wronged in marriage, and went on the dodge immediately afterward.
The Grocer allegedly has family still living, scattered across the City of London. It's true that children flock to the Grocer, their so-called nephews and nieces, but whether any of them are actually the Grocer's family is an open question. The Grocer has a way with children. The stories the Grocer tells keep them wide-eyed and begging for more.
The Grocer is a superstitious soul and will not sell or do anything on a Sunday, except huddle under a bridge or somewhere else safe and wait for the day to be over. It's impossible to get the Grocer to do a stroke of work, or any other thing, on a Sunday. They barely eat on the Sabbath. Yet on the Monday they rise bright and early, march off to Smithfield for a hearty breakfast, and then get about their weekly routine.
The Grocer's main gaff is fortune telling. There's many a merchant who swears by the Grocer's ability to see into the future by the patterns birds form when they fly. The jury's out as to whether this is some kind of druidic survival into the modern era, or whether the Grocer is a servant of darker powers.
As Ally
Access to any one London location or resource capable of granting 1 point Mythos or Magick. Grocer happens to know the secret of this particular location/resource and can get the Hounds to it without trouble. If the Grocer were not there, then the Hound either will not find the location/resource or will have to fight to get it.
As Clue
The Grocer knows who's been troubling Fate recently; the Grocer remembers, after the course of a very long and disreputable life, where old secrets are buried; the Grocer, through their Knowledge, can tell the Hounsds the history of a particular London location or show them the location of a London secret.
In Play
The mysterious old soul, part Falstaff, part Chaplin, who flits in and out like a sparrow. They run impossible risks and make it seem effortless. When talking, they do not shut up, but when not talking they pay attention to everything, no matter how small or meaningless. They always have an old crust or dab of food hidden somewhere on them. There's always a new bit of clothing, it might be a hat, a scarf, a shoe, and the Grocer can never remember where it came from. As an auctioneer, the Grocer never takes a bribe or favours one side or the other; they are scrupulously honest and not easily fooled, when an auctioneer. At all other times, they're as bent as a dog's hind leg.
OK, we've discussed the Shop and the Neighborhood. The other thing the characters are going to be coming up against on a regular basis are the Opposition. Not the enemies of the campaign, necessarily, though that might be part of the problem. No, the point here is that there are rival groups, enemies, recurring faces which may not be part of the campaign's main problem but which complicate the characters' lives just by being there.
The big difference between antagonists like these and the band of orcs a bunch of murder hobos meet once, stab to death, and never think about again, is that these are recurring threats. Over the course of a campaign the investigators must expect to deal with these threats, but not necessarily defeat them.
It's useful to divide these antagonists into groups, as follows:
Minor Recurring (Normal)
Major Recurring (Normal)
Minor Recurring (Thematic)
Major Recurring (Thematic)
In any game the Minor players are going to outnumber the Major ones by a factor of at least two or three to one.
These are the folks, the things, the events, the rats in the walls which crop up again and again and again. They are as much part of the setting as the furniture and the floor. They are integral to the ongoing plot in that they reinforce the ongoing plot and provide opportunities for the players to gather resources and get support in their ongoing tasks. Or they frustrate the players by taking away those resources and support.
Just as the neighborhood and the shop, they may have their Dark Side.
That doesn't mean every fatberg in the sewage pipes below the shop comes straight from Cthulhu's nethers. Frankly, life would become boring if everything could be blamed on ol'squiddy. However, there always ought to be the possibility that these blocks, these stones, these worse than senseless things (knew they not Pompey?) have sinister ties. The players never ought to think 'this is harmless.' They ought to think 'this is probably harmless, but ...'
The Recurring (Thematic) antagonists, by definition, have a touch of Mythos around them. Thus they have Dark Sides built in.
Thematic ... differs from the Normal in that a Thematic antagonist reflects the Theme of the campaign. In Night's Black Agents the Thematic antagonists are the vampires, ghosts, Renfields and other damnable creatures of the night. In Call of Cthulhu the Thematic antagonists are cults, ghouls, Deep Ones and other elements of the Mythos. It's not simply that in a horror game you have horror things - it's that the antagonist fits the core activity of the setting. The Nodes and Mooks that work so well in Nights Black Agents are completely out of place in Cthulhu, just as Cthulhu is out of place in a slasher flick.
But that's not where I'm going today.
The Minor and Major Recurring (Normal) are, by and large, Normal. That's the point. But this is a horror game. Even the normal things in such a setting have the potential to be sinister.
Let's take a closer look at Normal. Using the examples from last time:
Normal, Minor:
That One Weird Customer. Maybe it's the smell, his lack of respect for personal boundaries, or his obsession with a particular genre or author, but it drives the characters nuts. He just won't go away; perhaps he's protected by Mister Bourg, or perhaps he's rather more familiar with the locks and bolts on the doors than he ought to be.
The Water Pipes. They knock, they leak, they freeze, they burst. Nothing anyone can say to Mister Bourg gets the place re-plumbed; it's a maze of old pipes and patch repairs everywhere you look. Is your section flooded again? Better call the plumber.
The Rival Book Scout. How does he always get to the latest sale or trove of rare books before you do? Is the man psychic? Whether he is or isn't, he's the reason du Bourg's hasn't had a Windfall by now.
Normal, Major:
The Rival Store. It's not quite as old as du Bourg's and hasn't got its storied history. What it does have is staff that know what they're doing, premises that aren't crumbling to bits, and prices that are better than du Bourg's. Some of our oldest customers are being tempted away - and that has got to stop.
These are all antagonists, sure, They don't all have Dark Sides. Sometimes a pipe is just a pipe. But any one of them might have a Dark Side.
The Hounds ought always be in doubt. 'Is it? Does it? Should I be worried?'
OK, fine. That's the threat. What's the action?
Well, in this case, it ought to be something that provides information as well as threat. In all the other instances the Dark Side has been a potential problem of one kind or another. A straightforward threat. But this is something that is, by definition, an antagonist. It already is a threat. Not a life threatening one, perhaps, but the characters already think of it as a kind of enemy. Adding threat on top of threat isn't interesting. It might raise the stakes, but that's it, and raised stakes aren't necessarily interesting. Thrilling, perhaps, but not interesting.
No, what's interesting is Information. Clues that lead to something. Clues that lead to Rome. Something mysterious about this particular Opposition figure gives the Hounds more information about the setting, the real threat, the Mythos hiding behind the curtain. In mechanical terms, uncovering the Dark Side of the Opposition ought to convey the equivalent of a 2-point Pool spend, and possibly other benefits as well, like 1 point of Mythos. Honestly, given the nature of the setting the Keeper probably should push out Mythos often and early. It's always useful, from a Keeper's perspective, to have one or two active characters in the game with points of Mythos to spend.
Should you assign this Dark Side to a particular Opposition figure?
No.
Honestly, this is one thing you should leave up to Fate and the players. If you assign it to a particular Opposition figure, and the players decide they're not interested in that figure and won't engage with it. then it's work wasted. But if it's attached to something the players are interested in, it becomes more interesting, more valuable. It adds extra sparkle to the thing that, in their eyes, was already shiny.
But you should at least know what that Dark Side is, so you can plug it into whichever of the Minor/Major Opposition figures gets it.
Mechanically I've discussed this in relation to Pool Points, which is a Gumshoe mechanic. That doesn't mean other systems can't use the same thing. The key is, they get information. All systems have information of one kind or another. However, if I were using this in Bookhounds and wanted to assign a Dark Side to the Opposition, I'd describe it something like this:
Dark Side (2 point gain Academic or Technical Pool, potential 2-point Stability check, with a clue that leads to 1 point Mythos if the Hound follows it up. That peculiar smell? It just won't go away. There's something causing it. Under the floorboards? Behind the skirting board or the wainscoting? Or, if a person, hiding somewhere in their pockets? It would explain those insects which keep scuttling back and forth, the ones you haven't been able to identify in any entomology text. That said, you're certain you've seen something like it described in one of the esoteric tomes locked away in [INSERT LOCATION HERE]. If you could somehow get access to that text you might be able to figure out the mystery ...
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.
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.
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.
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.
Anyhow, I'm going to take the weekends up to the New Year off, so be aware: no post next weekend. Service resumes in 2026.
I'm giving serious consideration to going to the Chaosium event in May 2026, in the UK, so if anyone wants to be the tipping point and persuade me to attend now's the time to say.
A brief story snippet based on an item found in Funk & Wagnall's Folklore: the Gandreið, aka witch's ride, which in some versions of the tradition took place at the Epiphany. Briefly, this is a feast of the dead which, if the dead attend in great numbers, signifies good fortune in the year to come.
It can be customary to remove Christmas decorations at the Ephiphany; at the Museum of the Home in London it was customary to have a public event for exactly this purpose, though I don't know if they still do it. I liked to attend, when I was living in London. The cards, wreaths and other decorations, which would be this point be looking a little ragged, are taken out and burnt. The ceremony is accompanied by singing and festive drinking. At the Museum, of course, they didn't burn the actual decorations - those are historic - but there was a mimicry that did the same thing round an open outdoor fire.
This Bookhounds short assumes that the shop had Christmas decorations on display and are now getting rid of them, at the Epiphany. Whether or not they have a full ceremonial fire or just sweep everything in the bin on Twelfth Night is up to the players.
The Gandreið
It's an especially cold and breezy Twelfth Night this year. All the news is full of it, and people joke about another Frost Fair. A little nervously, perhaps, but they still joke. The last time the Thames froze over was over a hundred years ago, but this year seems destined to be a record-breaker so who knows? Perhaps this will be the year the Thames freezes.
Most of the shop's regulars are out of London. The well-heeled ones are enjoying comfortable Christmases in the country, or abroad. The less fortunate are huddled at home, not wanting to risk frostbite even for a first edition. Most, bar a few die-hards, and Eliza Gatewell, who either doesn't feel the cold or doesn't let it bother her.
Eliza is convinced there's a copy of an 1835 first edition (German, naturally) of Jacob Grimm's Deutsche Mythologie out there, and she wants it. Wants it so badly she can taste it. This is the book that, among other things, first described the witches' ride - the Gandreið. Eliza has a bit of a reputation for witchery herself; perhaps deserved, perhaps not. Perhaps that's why she wants it.
The Hounds have heard rumors of a private collection about to go up for sale which may have the elusive volume. A Bright Young Thing in need of readies to fund her Christmas drinking is dying to liquidate her late uncle's stash. The collection is in Belgravia, Westminster, as is the Bright Young Thing - temporarily, anyway, until she can clear the place and relocate somewhere a little less stuffy. The Bright Young Thing might be approachable; her Cleaner is supposed to be bribable, if the Hounds prefer a different approach.
The question is, does the collection include Grimm's work and, if it does, can it be had for a bargain?
Option One: Bright Lights The Bright Young Thing, Melody, has her own witchery ambitions. She doesn't mind selling Grimm's work but she wants to know who she's selling to, and Eliza is keen that her name not be associated with the purchase. Melody has her own means of finding out secrets and if the Hounds aren't careful she'll find out who the buyer is. That could go poorly for Eliza; Melody and her Nightgaunt allies could come calling on Epiphany. Melody doesn't mind a good deal, but she shan't tolerate a witch rival.
Option Two: Twelfth Night. The Bright Young Thing is clueless as to the book's true value. Eliza could pick the thing up for a mere nothing. However, the cleaner, Mrs. Karswell, worked all her life for that miserly uncle and all she got out of it was a small legacy. Mrs. Karswell was hoping to liquidate the uncle's collection herself, or at least the best bits of it. After all, the Bright Young Thing's clueless as to the true value of the collection, or even what's in it. This would be the easiest fraud ever, were it not for the Hounds and their client. Now Mrs. Karswell and her Rough Lad friends need to tread carefully and snatch the thing before the sale, or that pretty little Christmas bonus she was counting on will vanish like a witch's promise.
Option Three: The Gandreið. The dead uncle isn't as dead as he's supposed to be. In fact, the old fellow, a longtime amateur practitioner of witchcraft, became a Ghoul, aided and abetted in the deception by his devoted servant Mrs. Karswell. The uncle, Stephen Norwich, expected to be able to carry on as before, only with a little more subterfuge, after his ghoulish transformation. He wasn't expecting to be declared dead by a rapacious niece, nor was he expecting his collection to be sold off to pay for the niece's Christmas hullaballoo. Now he wants his books back, and he doesn't much care how he does it. He'll need new digs, too; his Belgravia apartments are off limits. Perhaps he can kill two birds with one stone and occupy the Hounds' shop? New management, that's the ticket. After all, reasons Norwich, even if my bank account's been pilfered by relatives and my apartment's being lived in by a regrettably high-profile Bright Young Thing who can't be murdered quietly, I still have Magick on my side, as well as a ghoul's appetite. What Hound could resist a little light extortion? Especially at Christmas?
You can't tell me about a drunk trash panda and not expect me to use that material.
Besides, it's December, which is basically silly season.
Tricky Taxonomy
Written as Bookhounds but could easily be transposed to a different setting.
Your Hounds open the shop one day to find the place an absolute mess. Liquor's all over the floor; someone got into someone's booze supply. The devastation does at least make it easy to trace the culprit, passed out in one of the offices (or lavatory): a small, hairy creature unlike anything anyone's ever seen. Possibly some rare breed of fox? Or an animal escaped from someone's private collection of exotics?
Physically the thing is about the size of a smallish housecat, with very prominent and evocative eyes. Its brown hairy body is somewhat ratlike, and its mouth is full of razor-sharp teeth. It could be mistaken for a raccoon by someone who has never seen a raccoon in real life which, if this is Bookhounds, is entirely possible; Londoners don't have much opportunity to see North American wildlife. Even zoos don't keep anything as common as a raccoon, not when there are penguins and tigers to entertain the public.
The liquor, if (for plot or character reasons) it doesn't belong to the Hounds, belongs to one of the staff. They've been hiding it and drinking on the sly during working hours. This staff member is very determined to ensure the Hounds don't figure out whose booze it is.
The creature, when it wakens, has a hideous hangover and will not want to move anywhere for a while. However, it is wild and will lash out if provoked. If forced off the premises, it hangs round, because it has nowhere else to go. This may mean it takes up residence on the roof, probably somewhere near the chimney or in the attic since it's cold outside. If encouraged to stay it is relatively tame, has tidy toilet habits and eats meat with the voracious enthusiasm of a starving weasel. It will bite if given the opportunity, or cause.
Identifying the creature is a problem. Consulting texts in the shop (Biology, History, Outdoorsman) identifies several possibilities, none of which are native to the UK. Maybe it escaped from someone's collection?
Consulting Mythos texts will find descriptions of a similar creature: the Zoog, an inhabitant of the Dreamlands. A relatively intelligent inhabitant ...
Option One: Dreams Made Real Someone connected with the shop - either a Hound or someone who's there regularly, like a customer or a staff member - is a Dreamer. They may not know it. Their dream life may be entirely separate from their waking existence. However, their dreams are beginning to break through into the waking world and this Zoog is merely the first sign of a weakening membrane. The focal point is that comfortable armchair tucked away in a corner of the shop, where they stop to slumber for a minute or two now and again. That chair, and its immediate environs, is becoming a little too close to the Enchanted Wood where the Zoogs live. The Hounds can find this out if they notice the fresh shoots and plants springing up on and around the chair.
Option Two:Moving Right Along The Zoog is from a collection of exotics. This is the star attraction of Professor Phlogiston's Palace of Delights. The Professor, aka Morton Polk, is a Boston native who's brought his collection across the water and, as luck would have it, he's taken up residence not that far from the Hound's shop. His landlady is at her wit's end trying to keep her house in some semblance of order, with all these creatures roaming the place. Polk wants his star attraction back at almost any cost, but he's allergic to spending money. Breaking and entering is more his cup of tea.
Option Three: The Perils of Publication The Zoog escaped from the Dreamlands via a text that the Hounds recently acquired. This text is sitting in the back room while the Hounds work out how much it's worth, and the Zoog is actually one of the illustrations. The Hounds can work out which illustration because now there's just a blank space where it used to be. However, the Zoog isn't the only illustration in that book; there's all sorts of peculiar creatures described, and the Zoog is bright enough to know how to get the others off the page and into reality - if given half a chance ...
Amen Court is entered from the junction of Warwick Lane and Paternoster Row ... Of the old houses NOs 1-3, No 1 is interesting as R.H. Barham, then a minor canon, lived here from 1839 - 1845 and wrote The Ingoldsby Legends during his occupation. ... [the pre-Reformation processions allegedly] began with the Lord's Prayer in Paternoster Row and got in their Amen at Amen Corner. They said their Hail Mary in Ava Maria Lane, then their Credo in Creed Lane, and heard their exhortation in Sermon Lane ...
London Cameos by A.H. Blake, 1930
I have a copy of Legends, picked up on a whim in Guernsey. Well worth your time. When I posted about them before I said:
The Ingoldsby Legends. Picked up at Curiosities, an antiquarian shop in Guernsey. It’s often worth your while poking your nose in that sort of place, particularly in somewhere not often frequented like Guernsey. You never know what might be hanging around. This is the 1898 Richard Bentley edition, with illustrations, and is a collection of all three books. The originals would have been published in the 1840s as single volumes. Comic ghost stories and verse. I'm not a huge fan of comic verse - it goes on a little long and I find it wearisome - but the stories are entertaining Gothic and might give you inspiration for your own tales.
One other landmark that would have been close by is Newgate Prison. A portion of the old prison wall still exists at Amen Court. It's slightly surprising Blake didn't mention it; the prison was still there well up until his period, finally being demolished in the early 1900s. In its day it was notorious both as a prison and as a place of execution; the Newgate Hornpipe, ie. hanging, is immortalized in song.
Odd side note. The iron gallows door that led to the place of execution allegedly found its way to Buffalo New York and is now at Canisius University. At least, so says Wikipedia and the internet is never wrong. Not sure how it got across the water, or why; it sounds like the sort of thing that ought to have been put up outside a speakeasy. There was a Newgate Prison in Buffalo, but it was contemporaneous with the existing one in London.
The Legends first appeared in Bentley's Miscalleny, a monthly that boasts Charles Dickens among others as its editor, though Dickens soon fell out with Bentley over editorial control concerns.
With that we get:
Legendary Correspondence
A book scout, Elliott Parker, claims to have discovered some as-yet unknown correspondence written by Dickens to Bentley and approaches the Hounds hoping for a quick sale. The two pages Parker proffers are clearly part of a larger collection, written to Bentley while Dickens was still associated with Bentley's Miscalleny. Parker claims to be acting on behalf of an unnamed seller, and further investigation (eg. tracking Parker's movements) discovers that this seller lives at Amen Court, though it's not clear who the seller is or where, exactly, on Amen Court they live.
The Hounds can determine that the papers are genuine and, if there are more of them, could be sold for a tidy sum.
At one point in the small portion the Hounds have in their possession, Dickens talks about a draft of 'a horrible, gothic little tale' he's working on. It seems to be an early version of his tale, The Haunted House, but if so then it's a version that never saw print. Finding that could be a real boost to the shop.
Spending 1 point of any relevant investigative pool discovers that Parker, when he visits his unnamed seller, always goes to that part of Amen Court closest to the old Newgate Prison.
Option One: Liar. Parker has discovered some Dickens but it's incomplete and has faked up the rest to encourage gullible buyers. He used the good stuff as bait and is relying on the fakes to seal the deal. He's using a false front at Amen Court to sell the story, relying on Rough Magick to get him from his Amen Court false front to his actual hideaway, not far from there, traveling by shadow and subterfuge. However, this repeated use of Magick is making for some very peculiar side effects at Amen Court, and the canons who live there are starting to get worried.
Option Two: The Real Deal. Parker has a genuine seller at Amen Court. The seller discovered these papers during a home refurbishment and thought they would be able to sell these for a small amount. Parker knows their true value and is hoping to fleece the seller. What neither the seller nor Parker appreciate is that the papers are part of a larger stash of lost and found items, hoarded by a supernatural collector. The collector is very unhappy that their stash was found, and is attempting to reclaim the papers.
Option Three: The Newgate Hornpipe. Parker didn't get those papers from Amen Court. He got them from the shadowy remnants of Newgate, gone these many years, which Parker gets to via a magickal door in the wall of Newgate Prison located at Amen Court. Once there he steals the items from the Newgate Hangman, who still exists in that death-touched world beyond. Theoretically the Hounds could copy Parker's technique, get into Newgate and take the papers from their keeper. So long as they're willing to risk a grisly end in the execution cell ...
