UK Booty Haul

OK, last week it was all about the books and blu-ray. This week it's the RPG stuff.

Cranfield was ... odd ... in the vendor hall department. I mean, the establishment's huge. But the vendor section was a room behind the bar. Nice room. It got a little hot in there, not much air flowing through. I wouldn't want to be in there all day. Drifted in and out a couple times, was tempted by this and that, thought of my suitcase with tears in its nonexistent eyes, that sort of thing. 

In the end I walked away with:

Rivers of London, main book, Underground/Overground. 

Yes, I know. I know! But some temptations can't be resisted. I really admire Aaronovich's work. That's why I agreed to write for the setting, but I never did get the physical of the main book and Underground/Overground collects all the short scenarios including the one I wrote. I already have the physical of Liberty's Shadow. That's enough for now. 

Plus, Underground/Overground has variant spell rules and a system for playing foxes. How hard can any gamer's heart be? Could you resist those soulful brown eyes? I remember seeing Reynard all over London, when I lived there. A natural fit for the game.

I wasn't that tempted by the pleather version. Granted, pretty. But our climate is death to that sort of thing. That said, your milage (and climate) may vary.

Campfire Tales: Scouts Against Cthulhu.

OK, this one had to sell itself. I enjoy a bit of nonsense. But this was setting off alarm bells. Honestly, if several of the organizers hadn't turned up in full Scouting rig (mentioning no names, in part because I can't remember them) I might have turned my head. I shan't say they inspired me. I shall say they caught my attention, and the book did the rest. 

This is meant to be a more survivable kind of BRP, which I think probably suits it best to an in-between kind of game. A relaxing change of pace between more grueling adventures. But I could be selling it short. A campaign of this might be what the doctor ordered. 

I'm not sure how much use I shall have for Westhaven, the setting in the book. I mean, this is Cthulhu. Arkham's right there. Kingsport too. It makes more sense to my addled mind to use those locations. But your milage may vary. 

Malleus Monstrorum. Because you need something with tentacles in your life. Plus, it was on sale. It did force the Arkham book out of my hands, though. There wasn't a chance I'd squeeze both this and the Arkham book in the case. Hard decisions had to be made. Over 150 entities gruesome and otherwise? OK, sold. I didn't pick up the cards, though. Again, suitcase. There are limits to any creature's endurance and I knew I'd be going to Birmingham later.

Speaking of.

 

That is the queue for badges and entry passes, Thursday afternoon. Good night. The picture does not convey the heat. There was very little air down there and no air conditioning. It was no joke. I flat out do not understand how anyone thought building an Expo center like that without functioning HVAC was a good idea. You might as well fling gunpowder into a furnace.

But!

The queue moved quickly. I picked up the bits for myself and a mate, and we braved the nonsense on Friday from the moment the halls opened. 

Did I buy books? I did not.

Was I severely tempted? Yes. But not by books, so much. I did get a small pile of other stuff, special dice, mats, that sort of thing. You can't find these down here. Cons are the only chance I have to get them. 

No, I was tempted by this:

Footsore Miniatures

Now, this might in part be because I was with an old tabletop buddy (Keiran, you villain!) but I felt the tabletop urge again. I used to be an enthusiast. No good at painting, mind, which is about 90% of the hobby as far as I can make out. Much like about 90% of tabletop RPG is talking about playing, rather than actually getting around a table and playing. But it was a big part of my life. Skirmish gaming is always easier to find a group for than Napoleonics because, although the Napolean crowd is dedicated, it takes a lot of time to set up and play. I still shudder at the memory of one dark day when we spent the better part of an hour setting up and placing units, only for the other player to concede two turns in. No, the other player did not help put the terrain back. 

Whereas a brief skirmish between two or more factions on the streets of Rome (or in my case back in the day, a gunfight in a nameless Western town) is much quicker to arrange and play. 

Pictures like these are the crack in the cocaine. You look at something like this and inspiration hits. Never mind that my painting skills are not up to the task. I can see this, in my minds eye, spread across a table at gaming night.

I did not buy it. Nor did I buy any of the solid, paintable Bloodbowl (or possibly Bloodbowl knock-off) stadium sets I saw on sale. I still have a team hiding in a box somewhere. Two, actually. Nor did I buy any of the Chicago Way stuff, tempted though I am by its setting.  I think I still have the ruleset somewhere, though that may have changed.

That's the rub, honestly. You get to a point in your collecting career where you look the temptation square in the eye and say, I haven't the space or the time. Other things bring me joy. I shall pay attention to the other things.  

There will be a period, about a month, where I wonder whether I ought to have done thus or so.

Then the image will fade and I shall go on to other things. 

Till next week!

A Regular Picture Palace Drama: Rivers of London

Today's post comes from a place of exhaustion, as I spent the last few days prepping for a BMDS cast party which came off last night. I'm so tired my eyelids have filed for divorce. However! I've never let that stop me before.

The bright eyed and bushy tailed among you - fiends that you are - will have noticed that Chaosium's Rivers of London features my work in its latest, In Liberty's Shadow. I just got my author's copy this week. God bless international shipping!

Some snippets for those of you who like snippets.

The title is borrowed from M.R. James' short story Haunted Doll's House, which is one of my favorite pieces of fiction. The story, as you might have guessed, is about a haunted doll's house which reenacts a hideous incident, and one of the characters says about it: 

... was I going to tell customers: ‘I’m selling you a regular picture-palace-dramar in reel life of the olden time, billed to perform regular at one o’clock a.m.’? Why, what would you ’ave said yourself? And next thing you know, two Justices of the Peace in the back parlour, and pore Mr and Mrs Chittenden off in a spring cart to the County Asylum and everyone in the street saying, ‘Ah, I thought it ’ud come to that. Look at the way the man drank!’—and me next door, or next door but one, to a total abstainer, as you know. Well, there was my position.

The scenario as published isn't exactly how I wrote it, but I'm not complaining. Editors do as editors must. However, it does give me an opportunity to publish here what wasn't published there, and as I'm in need of material, and as my eyeballs keep quivering in their sockets, time to data mine the lost and forgotten:

Cecil B. DeMille

Film director, producer, and one of the leading lights of Hollywood in the age of silent movies and early sound pictures, DeMille is best remembered for his spectacle films. Thousands of extras, purpose-built elaborate sets, and as much nudity as he could plausibly get away with were his hallmarks. 

The Ten Commandments, one of his best-remembered pictures and the second highest grossing film of 1923, featured—among other things—an Exodus set featuring a recreation in wood and plaster of the wonders of Egypt, pharaohs, sphynxes and all, put together by over 1,600 workers. It was left to rot and vanished under the Guadalupe-Nipomo Dunes in Santa Barbara; parts of it were rediscovered by archaeologists in the 2010s. 

Tom Mix

Thomas Hezekiah Mix was a genuine son of the West, an expert rider and pistolero, who made it big in Hollywood. In his day, he was one of the most famous and prolific Hollywood stars, appearing in hundreds of films, most of which are now lost. Radio, comic books, merchandise; Mix was a brand before anyone really understood what brands were. He had his own set, Mixville, complete with an Old West main street built especially for his pictures, and he performed most of his own stunt work. He was King of the Cowboys; the image of the wild and woolly West.

Deck of Cards

[note: as written, the gun store owner has magical interests and is also planning on writing a book about Montana gunslingers. That's how she knows about the Buntline's true worth and is also why she's very interested in anything to do with Montana gunslingers like Yestler. The deck of cards, along with other items, is at the gun store. It's intended to be a hint as to the gun store owner's true talents.]

This last item rests in a padlocked metal box welded to the bottom of the cabinet. An Art Deco pack made in the 1920s, it has strong vestigia (icy cold, wet, yelling; no roll required) and is haunted ... by a pale-faced man with a crooked smile and a hole in the back of his head. Whenever anyone uses the cards, shuffles them, or otherwise touches them, this man’s reflection appears in every reflective surface—mirrors, sunglasses, and similar—in the room.

According to Celia’s files, the cards were owned by Roger “Smiles” Miller, a 1930s-era Montana bootlegger turned bank robber who nearly made the FBI’s most wanted list. He was sought by FBI Special Agent R.D. Brown who pursued him across the state, through neighbouring Wyoming, and into Colorado. Smiles died under mysterious circumstances in Colorado, and the investigation ended. 

Culver City

[note: the home of Arrowsmith.]

Culver City is a relatively small township (less than 40,000 people) within the greater Los Angeles area. It’s the home of Sony Picture Studios—formerly MGM Studios—and the former home of RKO, Desilu Productions, and a whole host of others. This is where they shot King Kong, E.T., Hogan’s Heroes, and Jeopardy. Howard Hughes made airplanes here. The city has almost as many parks as it has people, is as pedestrian-friendly as it’s possible to get in a car-happy state, and is stuffed to bursting with art galleries, upscale restaurants, museums, and theatres. The Culver Hotel, a wedge-shaped 1924 landmark —which has hosted Reagan, Clark Gable, and the Munchkins of Oz in its time —is one of the city’s links with its storied past. Symantec and Apple Inc are headquartered in Culver City, along with NPR West and cannabis company MedMen. 

Tucked away in very private offices on Venice Boulevard is Arrowsmith, the film preservation corporation. Every once in a while, Arrowsmith hosts a film festival, funds a scholarship, or produces a play at the Kirk Douglas Theatre. Nothing too flashy, just enough to keep up appearances. Ask the average Culver City resident, and they’ve probably never even heard of Arrowsmith. Ask the people in the know—city officials or the establishment—and they’ve nothing but good to say about the company.  Arrowsmith is a pillar of the community, above reproach.

Even from the street outside, a successful Sense Vestigia roll notices that there’s something potent inside Arrowsmith’s offices, but it’s not clear where. A successful Science (Engineering), Research, or Social skill roll obtains the building’s floorplans. Studying them notices that the film vault is remarkably over-engineered, even given California’s long history of earthquakes. It’s practically apocalypse-proof. Clean room conditions, museum quality protection, water-free fire suppression, security cameras throughout. There’s also private screening rooms, sufficient to show six films at once. Only Arrowsmith shareholders are allowed to use these private facilities.

The investigators may try to bluff their way into the building (a successful Hard Social roll) or break in (a successful Hard Locksmith or Stealth roll). Anyone who succeeds at the Hard Social roll is given the guided tour; they are shown almost everything except the film preservation vaults. Proprietary technology, they are told, is used to preserve Arrowsmith’s collection, and that technology must be protected at all costs. 

The floors are patrolled nightly by robot security guards whose programming instructs them to alert outside security at the first sign of trouble. Anyone who breaks in and trips robot security protocols—a failed Stealth or Locksmith roll, or frying the robots’ circuits with magic—will have about ten minutes before human security turns up in force. Armed guards—former military with combat service, provided by Silence Security—arrive with orders to forcibly remove any intruders and to prevent any damage to the film vault by whatever means necessary.

All of this top-notch security is because Arrowsmith preserves films ... It’s an incredibly difficult process, transcribing magical films onto ordinary film nitrate ... The process hasn’t gotten any easier with time, and digital preservation is a no-go. Arrowsmith has preserved every single film ... and only ever allows these films to be seen by Arrowsmith shareholders in the building’s screening rooms. Any attempt to secretly record these films and show them outside the building is punishable by loss of the defaulter’s Arrowsmith share. To date, nobody’s ever risked it, though there have been complaints from shareholders outside the US that travelling to Los Angeles is highly inconvenient. Some shareholders have asked for alternate venues; Hong Kong and Cannes have both been suggested. Discussions are ongoing, but Arrowsmith’s Board is, at best, unwilling to be persuaded. 

Investigators who try to hack Arrowsmith’s computer archive find it remarkably difficult. The company polices everything from scrap paper (which is shredded and incinerated on site) to individual computer use, including phones and portable tech. Any mobile device or laptop capable of connecting to the internet is not allowed in ... However, a successful Hard Computer Use roll gets into Arrowsmith’s system and discovers a peculiar list of film titles in its archive. The directors, actors, and crew are all familiar names ... but a lot of the titles aren’t; even those that are have the wrong cast and crew. One or two of the unrecognised ones might have previously been lost films—as in, they did exist once, but nobody has a copy now—but this many? Where did they all come from? 

Aldo Munoz

A bit of dialogue:

“Hell, it’s not just the boss men—I’ve heard talent, juicers, even the fucking crafties want a piece. Not because anyone in video fucking village has a hope in hell but because they all know, if they help the bosses get hold of the thing, it’s guaranteed job-for-life shit.” 

GM note: the “blow-out” was the Buntline theft. Talent = anyone on camera. Juicers = electricians. Crafty = works in craft services. Video village = the area in which viewing monitors are placed for the director and other production personnel, usually too full of people hanging round, hence village.

Operation Moses

Some unsung genius within the ASU came up with what ought to have been a simple scheme: make the enemy come to us by offering them what they want. A genuine magic item, up for auction. That should bring the pigs running to the trough, at which point they have a date with a sausage grinder. That is Operation Moses.

Which wasn’t a completely awful idea, but secrecy was the key and the ASU isn’t as good at keeping secrets as it thinks it is. That’s why everyone from Los Serpientes to those upstanding librarians out in New York know the ASU’s behind the auction. And no so-called leech is going to attend that auction in person, not when they can send a proxy—unless they’re desperate, of course.

That’s problem number one. Problem number two is that nobody within the ASU appreciated just how valuable the thing they’d gotten a hold of was. They were expecting perhaps half-a-dozen seekers into the mystery, and now all of Hollywood’s abuzz. Many ASU members in California work in the business—the talent, juicers, crafties, and video villagers Aldo mentioned. They all know how much the bosses want this thing. Some of them are wondering whether their devotion to the cause outweighs their desire for a rich and easy life.  

The City of the Pharaoh

[note: this scene assumed an auction would take place, which no longer appears in the narrative.]

Providing it takes place, the investigators may try to attend the auction, either to gather information or—if they haven’t managed to retrieve the Buntline—because they think it’s there. Then again, they may have some other reason to visit DeMille’s lost set.

The Guadalupe-Nipomo Dunes, now a public park, are a unique ecosystem—a mix of uplands with sandy dunes, and wetlands with marshes and mud flats. The dunes are constantly monitored by conservationists, ecologists, and state-funded parks workers.

Back in the day when DeMille built his Exodus set—employing, among many others, Yestler—he buried the set after filming completed, to prevent anyone else from ever using it. This Lost City of DeMille was eventually rediscovered in the 1980s, and parts of it are on display in the Dunes Centre, a natural history museum dedicated to the park and its past. The vast majority is still out there, where DeMille entombed it.

The ASU plans to hold the auction at the Oceano Dunes State Vehicular Recreation Area, 5.5 miles (almost 9 km) of open beach and the only part of the park open for off-highway vehicle use. It’s also available for camping, which is why the ASU chose it; they’re conducting their auction in plain sight by pretending to be a group of campers.

If the auction goes ahead, it’s well attended, but not by the kind of people the ASU hoped to attract. Instead, it’s dozens of studio hangers-on, C- and D-list celebrities, influencers, bloggers, or crystal-gazing wackos, along with one or two who have links to magically-backed groups—pretty much all people who are not themselves talented. The ASU had hoped to get some useful intel, but even that’s going to be difficult with so many people here ...

The ASU auction is being handled by Thom Reich, a reality TV auctioneer who’s appeared on an A&E Network show. He’s not an ASU member, and hasn’t any idea what’s going on. He figures someone’s got hidden cameras out there somewhere and plays it as if he’s being filmed. His salt-and-pepper hair and Vegas charm is barely familiar to anyone who watches a lot of reality TV. Otherwise, he’s another well-tanned face in a town that’s full of ‘em. 

A handful of ASU intelligence gatherers move through the crowd, taking names and pictures. From the ASU’s perspective, the whole thing’s a bust. They’re not going to catch a leech, nor are they likely to get any useful intel ...

As the auction reaches its peak, any sensitive investigator—i.e., anyone with the Magic and/or Sense Vestigia skill, or a member of the demi-monde brave enough to risk attending—feels a peculiar kind of tension building. Something’s out there; something big. Then a susurrus begins to pick up, a wordless noise that gets louder and louder, as if hundreds of people just out of sight are chattering amongst themselves. Just as the noise drowns out Thom Reich’s patter, someone bellows “Go!”

That’s the cue for the lights, and every other electronic device, to go dead, their chips turned to dust in a heartbeat. Most of the vehicles will be completely inoperable. 

What happened was this: inadvertently, the ASU brought Cecil B. DeMille, the cast of The Ten Commandments, and the Exodus set itself back from the past, for one night only. The thing is, movies were very different before sound. There was no “quiet on the set.” So long as you weren’t in shot, it didn’t matter if you were talking. The actors could be mid-scene while the carpenters and set painters were still working on the scenery a few feet away—as long as the camera couldn’t see them, it was all good. “Go!” was DeMille signalling to the cast that they should start acting ...

Half a dozen bystanders take this as their cue to rush the truck and steal the Buntline. This isn’t an organized theft, just good old-fashioned opportunism. One of the [Chasers]—if present—may also have a crack at it, and will probably succeed ... The ASU goes into meltdown since all the notes they were taking vanished thanks to their now-dead cameras and tablets. A few of the C- and D-lists have hysterics and demand people pay attention to their needs ...

Cue a chase, Pink Panther-style, as everyone tries to get away from the scene of the crime. Park rangers show up after a while to take care of the crowd ... So long as nobody gets jittery, there will be no gunplay, but if some careless idiot looses a shot there will be return fire—not just from the hired guards but also from several in the crowd who brought their legally acquired weapons along. 

Of which there are many. This is California, after all.

That's it for this week. See you around!

Forgotten London: The Tyburn Tree (London)

This post inspired by the YouTube channel Plainly Difficult.

So how can this be gamified?

There are a few things that can be played with:

• The gallows themselves.
• The location of the gallows.
• The artifacts associated with the hangings eg broadsheets.
• The psychic impact of the event.

The gallows are a folkloric gold mine. Most people with any interest in horror folklore know about the Hand of Glory, and how it can be used by sorcerers. The condemned on the way to the gallows were especially prized for their curative hands, both before and after the event. There would always be a congregation of sufferers gathered at the three-legged tree hoping for a stroke from the soon-to-be departed, and the hangman could often be bribed to let the chronically ill have a few minutes with the corpse after its last jig was done.

However it wasn't just the hands that were valuable. The gallows themselves were magically potent. Plainly Difficult notes that the permanent gallows Tyburn is famous for were eventually taken down because of persistent vandalism. People were taking great chunks out of the gallows because they believed the wood itself was magical after being watered with the blood of the condemned, a theme that recurs again and again in ghost stories. The wood could cure ague, toothache, and bring luck at cards. 

So, a story seed:

John Rann's Chair A pub in East London claims to have an antique chair made from wood taken from the gallows that took the life of Sixteen String Jack, hung in 1774 for his many crimes. It's said the chair was originally made at the instruction of one of London's most prominent gamblers, Samuel William Rowlinson, a regular at notorious gambling club Brook's. Rowlinson is supposed to have died of a heart attack while playing Hazard at Brook's. Two nights ago a pub regular died sitting in that chair while playing cards, and there's been talk of a curse. What's going on? 

The location of Tyburn Tree is slightly in doubt. It's popularly supposed to be at the junction of Oxford Street, Edgeware Road and Bayswater Road, there's reason to think it might actually have been at Connaught Square.  This Georgian landmark is very exclusive, and has a private shared garden park in which a party is held each year. 

So, a story seed:

The Unwelcome Corpse Each year, the night before the party, the heads of each Connaught Square household gather for a quiet ritual at which they 'hang' a corpse - usually a dummy, though in the early days it's said they obtained their corpses from medical schools - with the intent of keeping Tyburn Tree quiet for another year. This ritual has been going on for longer than anyone can remember, and deadly secrecy is essential since some of the country's most important citizens live at Connaught Square. They couldn't afford the scandal. However this year Connaught Square was horrified to find an actual corpse strangled at the very spot their ritual was to be carried out. Nobody knows who did it, or who the body belongs to. Can this scandal be hushed up? How did this happen, and why?

Bookhounds of London characters will be interested in the broadsheets. Printed cheap and sold for peanuts, surviving copies of these scurrilous rags can be very valuable to collectors. Often the condemned sold her life story to the highest bidder, and had the satisfaction of seeing it sold at the same moment her limbs twitched for the last time. Or perhaps it was a poem, a song, some kind of political pamphlet - but whatever it was, there's bound to be a market for it. Even the lies are valuable, and Lord knows there were plenty of lies to go around. When in need of copy, broadsheet sellers plagiarized old sheets and added just enough new detail to make it seem as if the current condemned actually did all those things. Sex & violence always sells, particularly when mixed with a healthy dose of punishment for the wicked.

Provenance A book scout fallen on hard times and sodden with drink keeps coming up with vintage Tyburn broadsheets, which sell for just enough to keep the scout sozzled. In almost every respect the sheets seem genuine; the right paper, subject material, historical details, even the ink. The one thing wrong about them is they seem too good. Nothing that's been around for two to three hundred years has any business being in this condition. It's as if they were printed yesterday. Where is the scout finding these broadsheets? Why does the scout keep going back to Tyburn?

A Tyburn execution was a popular event. A famous one drew crowds to watch the condemned on his two mile procession to the Tyburn Tree. Wealthy spectators had their own stands built, or rented rooms along the route at one of the many inns or houses, while the poorer mob stood in the heat or rain - and in Britain rain is more likely. The trip to the gallows might take as long as three hours, as the condemned's passage was constantly interrupted. The prisoner often stopped at an inn to have one last drink - after all, a drunken prisoner was a compliant one, particularly if someone thought to slip drugs in his drink. Sometimes the prisoner would be pelted with rotten vegetables, eggs and other things, if they were unpopular or their crimes particularly heinous. More likable condemned would be better treated, but they all came to the same place in the end. 

Traffic Violations The church of St Giles has a traffic problem. Three times in the last three months there's been a serious accident in the street outside its gates, and each time the driver or passenger of the vehicle involved swore the accident happened because the road was slick with what seemed to be blood. Loose talk links the accidents with Tyburn dead buried in the churchyard, and some parishoners are getting hysterical. What's really causing these accidents? Is it to do with Tyburn, or something else? [Esoterrorists Keepers take note: this could be a scheme to weaken the Membrane.]

That's it for this week!

Akkat, Mother of the Sunrise: Part 2, City Builder

Last time I discussed the basics of this city build: what kind of place is it, what is it famous for, where (roughly) is it located? Now the time has come to go into a little more detail. What, exactly, is this city like?

When I've discussed character design before, it's always been in the form of question-and-answer.  Exactly the same process can be followed here, slightly altered. So where I might ask about the character's name, age, ethnicity and gender, I now ask about the city's name, age, ethnic makeup, and landmarks.

To give you some examples:

Name: Akkat, Mother of the Sunrise. The title Mother of the Sunrise derives in part from the city's most valuable find: the Sunrise star gem, currently held by the Lugal, or ruler, of Akkat.

Age: People have been living here for uncounted generations. However the current rule of the guilds is less than a century old; in the time of grandfather's father, Akkat was ruled by the Lugal, who in turn owed his fealty to the great Raj of the Northern Kingdoms. The Northern Kingdoms in their mountain fastness have ceased to be a concern ever since the great rebellions, and the Lugal hasn't been a serious force in local politics for many decades.

Ethnic Makeup: Akkat is majority human. There is a much higher proportion of Tieflings here than anywhere else in human lands; about a fifth of the city are Tieflings, including many of its most important guildsmen. Though there aren't many half-orc citizens, nearly all the guild guard are half-orcs, with human officers - though the officers are largely for show, the guard being commanded in practice by its non-coms. Halflings and Elves are uncommon but not unheard of; many of the riverboat captains and crew are members of these races. Dwarves, gnomes and dragonborn are among the least common, and dragonborn are especially distrusted, since the old Raj of the Northern Kingdoms was led by dragon-kin.

Three Landmarks:

• The Thousand Window Palace, where the Lugal traditionally holds court, is an architectural wonder, and its stained glass windows are a superlative example of the glassblower's art. The scenes depicted there show the great moments of the Lugal, and the Raj. Though the Palace is meticulously preserved, no new windows have been added for a hundred years. The Palace Guard is headquartered here, and the Lugal's Court is open daily, so the Lugal can hear the concerns of his people. The Palace Guard, as distinct from the city guard, is entirely human, and ceremonial. In days long gone, it was often the case that a new Lugal achieved power thanks to the quick and stealthy blade of an influential Guardsman. As a result, these days the Guard aren't allowed anything sharper than a wooden staff. They even eat their food with wooden utensils.
• Destiny Quarter, the ghetto where most of the Tieflings live, is alive morning, noon and night. When Tieflings began coming here, at first they were confined to a small section of the city that nobody else wanted. Over time, as more of them arrived, their political power increased. Now some of the richest citizens of Akkat live here, side by side with the finest merchant mansions, the most expensive and famous inns and eating houses. The one thing that hasn't changed in all that time is Destiny Gate, that used to mark the way in and out of the walled ghetto. The Tieflings prefer it that way, as a reminder; the ghetto walls may have come down, but if you seek your Destiny, you go through that gate. 
• The Permit House is where you have to go if you want permission to build anything. Since the very rocks of Akkat are impregnated with magical materials, and since merely digging a foundation might uncover priceless wealth, building rights are very strictly controlled. There are only three licensed building contractors in the entire city, each of them richer than a king. Building without a license, or hiring yourself out as an independent contractor, is  brutally punished; the hands of those who try are cut off and nailed up above the Permit House door. Applications for new build, or to repair existing buildings, often vanish within the labyrinthine corridors of the Permit House, never to be seen again. Of course, grumble ordinary citizens, Tieflings never seem to have any trouble getting permission ...

Economy: Akkat's most famous, and lucrative, export, is the star gems from which it gets its name and reputation. These highly magical items are sought after by wizards, sorcerers, liches, kings and princes. There are only a handful of official mining operations, and unofficial diggings are harshly punished - hence the Permit House. This increases the scarcity of an already rare commodity. Moreover the wizards and Tiefling jewelers of Akkat are supposed to have an especial affinity for these gems; a magical device incorporating a star gem shaped and polished by their cunning hands is said to be especially powerful, and valuable.

However it does not stop at gems. The forges of Akkat, incorporating that same magically potent stone, are supposed to be capable of producing the finest magical blades. The very best swordsmiths are, it is said, working on sentient items to rival the creations of mythic wonder-workers of times past. Whether or not this is true is besides the point; a magical blade from Akkat, with the mark of one of the Guild's swordsmiths, is worth twice as much as any other of its type, whether or not it has any kind of extra potency. 

Finally there are the glassblowers. This is a relatively recent innovation for Akkat; the first master glassblowers relocated here forty years ago. However in that brief time they have become renowned for their skill and delicate craftsmanship; alchemists and lovers of art alike swear by Akkat glass, which, so it is said, captures sunlight like nothing else on this earth. The thing that puzzles visitors to Akkat is, why do these glassblowers not add new windows to the Thousand Window Palace? Yet, to date, none have.

There is one other branch of the economy that the Guilds and the lords of Akkat prefer did not exist: poppies. Again, thanks to the magical qualities of the city, its people are themselves slightly magical. You can't live all your life surrounded by material from the far-flung stars, and not pick up a tiny amount of background radiation. Even the animals are a touch fey. What this means is, the night-soil of the city - excellent manure - is the perfect food for a particularly delicate flowering plant, commonly called the Sunset Poppy. The seeds of this plant, properly processed, produce an addictive narcotic, sold throughout the Southern lands as Sunset, Moonglow, or Journey's End. The Thieves' Guild makes a very tidy profit from cultivation of these poppies; most, if not all, of the night soil collectors of Akkat are on the payroll. It's safer that way. Those who resist meet unfortunate accidents. The fields, and processing facilities, are outside the city proper, high up in the hills; it makes it that much easier for the lords of Akkat to ignore a problem on its doorstep.

***

What I'm getting at is this: as a designer of worlds, you can create cities and characters in exactly the same way. If you want to design a character, you ask how old they are, how they make their money, what they look like, what they value, what they want, what they dream of, what their secrets are. For a city, you ask exactly the same questions. The difference is merely scale. A city needs more, makes more money, has grander vistas, and outlives even its oldest citizen. But the questions remain the same.

Don't think this just applies to fantasy cities. The same technique can be used to design your version of London, or Macau, or wherever it might be. Sure, a lot of that information can be found in Wikipedia, but you're after the stuff that's not in Wikipedia. Say you're building a version of London much like that Ben Aaronovitch uses for his Rivers of London series. It's very like the London of today - but not exactly like. For the bits that don't fit established modern London, you ask exactly those questions I've asked here - and design your version of London around that.

Which brings me to adventures. Once you design a city, the kind of adventures that happen there should flow from that design. Such as:

A swordsmith has crafted a particularly fine longsword, that he wishes to sell to a nobleman far away. However he needs someone to guard the weapon on its journey South. The swordsmith's rivals are very jealous of his work, and one of them will stop at nothing to prevent the sale - but which of them paid off the bandits that attacked the adventurers?

A Tiefling, on coming of age, or marking a particular life triumph, walks through the Destiny Gate as part of a ceremony that usually involves days, sometimes weeks of feasting, masquerade, and song. The masquerade balls are particularly famous; the grander the masquerade, the more important - and wealthy - the Tiefling host. However this particular Tiefling, on walking through the Destiny Gate, somehow opens up a small, personal connection to the Abyss. Nothing so dramatic as a flaming portal through which can be heard the wailing of the damned; rather, unexpected and swift corrosion, say of furnishings, clothing, or food, or a brief plague of Abyssal small fry, like Dretch, or Manes. Each time this happens, it's centered on the unfortunate Tiefling who walked through the Gate. Naturally this complicates the masquerade somewhat, but it also provokes a human backlash. Can the adventurers defuse the situation, before an angry mob tears through Destiny Quarter?

An innkeeper has, through accident or design, dug a very small pit in the cellar of her inn. Only the tiniest of scrapings, but if the authorities ever hear about it, her hand will be nailed up above the Permit House door. However, if she were somehow to obtain retroactive permission for her illegal excavation, all will be well. Can the adventurers forge, or otherwise obtain, that all-important permit?

That's enough for now. Next week, something completely different!