Campaign Design Night's Black Agents Burn Stakes II

 ... I see this kind of vampire as something that arises from a shared delusion, created less by a Sire and more by a Circumstance. At the back of it all might be a Dionysus figure but, ultimately, these vampires arise from supernatural occurrences and places and are drawn together by that shared experience, by the madness that propels them forward, always forward, in search of that elusive melody that lingers in the back of what is left of their mind ...

OK, no storms forecast for this weekend so with a bit of luck I can finish this thought.

Duckman

I see this vampire divided into two types. 

The Pentheus is the planner, the organizer, the one trying to make sense of it all. They're the backbone of the Conspiracy. They accept their condition but are trying to prevent themselves sinking into madness. They don't really grasp the true nature of their condition because, if they did, they'd stop functioning. They see the others as a kind of Awful Warning. In a Dracula Dossier game, Dracula is the ultimate Pentheus, hanging onto sanity by the atoms on the tips of their fingernails.

The Maenads, on the other hand, are children of madness. They fulfil the commands of Dionysus, or at least that is what they say they do. They carry on a ritual whose purposes have long been forgotten. They have no idea if what they're doing is what they are supposed to do. They see themselves as driven by a higher power. Think of them as you would the Cthulhu Cult, except there is no Cthulhu, no promise of anything divine or beyond mortal understanding. Where they go, bloodshed follows. 

At the heart of it all is the Ritual, which is how you get more vampires. 

This, ultimately, is location-based. In the earliest days it would have had sacred fanes high up on the mountain top, some grove or cave or other hidden place where the rituals are conducted. There the Omadios, eater of raw (human) flesh, awaits its portion, and in exchange grants a kind of extended life. Brings the dead back from the lands of Hades. At least, so goes some of the tales. 

Now, in this degraded modern life, a sacred fane might as easily be a site of mass murder. A place where blood soaks the soil, perhaps because of a terrorist attack, or some other hideous deed. From this horror madness springs eternal, and a corpse left in this place, treated appropriately, might come to life once more. It might help if that corpse, in life, committed some atrocities, or shed their brother's blood, or, or, or ...

Because that is the horror of the Pentheus. They don't know how it works. They serve the Ritual in hope of getting more Pentheus to carry on the tradition, but when it comes right to it the vampires don't understand the whatever-it-is that made them so there's no way for them to reliably make more. Instead, they flock to places where tragedies happen, sometimes engineering events so that a tragedy happens, and all the while it could be a colossal flop. All that effort, and no vampire to show for it. Or, which is slightly worse from the Pentheus' POV, all that effort and only a Maenad to show for it. 

Meanwhile the Maenads flutter off like exploding butterflies. They have absolutely no self-control. They do not care what happens to them and they definitely do not care about other people. At all. A Maenad is driven by the song. They can hear it at the back of their minds. They might constantly hum it, or tunelessly sing it. A Maenad with some musical ability might perform it, but never perfectly, never the way they know it ought to be performed.

These creatures die off, but not before doing tremendous damage.

This kind of Conspiracy best resembles a terrorist organization. We think of these the same way we do organized armies. They have generals, officers, troops, a mission; they work towards a defined goal. This absolutely is not how these groups work in practice. Yes, there may well be a guiding brain - the Pentheus - out there somewhere, trying to make sense of all this. There may be schemes. There may be long-term plans. But the organization itself is as loosely structured as it is possible to be, because that's the only way it can survive and recruit. Everyone's hand is against it. It cannot afford the kind of structure an army has, because armies can be identified and met on the battlefield. This is, at its heart, a civilian organization. Destructured. Disorganized. 

Lethal.  

Next time: an RPG exploration of numinous sound and ritual locations, with a view to creating a new kind of Node.

The Magical Battle of Britain (UK, RPG All, Bookhounds, Dreamhounds, Trail)

 Cometh the hour, cometh the woman.

When war breaks out and the Phoney War becomes all too real, as the Germans push through Belgium in May 1940, as the Battle of France begins and ends in a heartbeat, Dion Fortune does her bit to save England from the Germans.

She organizes the Magical Battle of Britain, with a cycle of rites beginning July 1940.

Bear in mind, that’s a busy month. You’ve got bombing raids on mainland Britain, the Cardiff Blitz; the Germans are chewing up the RAF in the Kanalkampf in preparation for Unternehmen Seelöwe; Vichy is the new French government, allied with its conqueror Germany; the country’s plunging into debt to fight a war in which it seems it will soon be the sole Allied combatant, with Churchill telling the country they’d fight on alone, seeking no terms or parley; the buying and selling of new cars is banned, the first of a series of stringency measures; everyone thinks the German invasion is imminent, including the Germans. It’s one of those times when you daren’t read the newspaper because you know what the headlines will be. It’s enough to scare someone into spiraling depression.

In all this, Fortune marshals the occultists of Britain to … actually, it isn’t entirely clear what the point is.

With a title like ‘Battle of Britain’ you expect, well, combat. Of some kind. Lonely duels high in the sky, where life and death is seen as a scattering of contrails punctuated by crashing aircraft. Explosions. Derring-do, that kind of thing.

What actually happens is a little less exciting.

Fortune gathers together a number of people, not all of them occultists but all known to her personally. She persuades them to meditate on a particular subject at a particular time and write to her with the results of their meditations. She then wrote back, instructing her correspondents that they weren’t to open or read the letters until just before the next session, at which point the cycle begins anew.

Fortune openly admits that what she’s attempting is more about morale building than anything practical. Victory, if it is to be had, must be fought for and won in the physical realm. What she’s after is more of a spiritual victory.

You know what that reminds me of?

ITV News

Again, bear in mind when this is happening. This is the bleakest point in the war, for the English. The news isn’t going to get better any time soon; the actual Battle of Britain is about to see some of the heaviest casualties, the most significant engagements. The Hardest Day is coming in August. Everyone knows a family where someone’s died, or is that family mourning a loss. Food is running short. Meanwhile Charles Lindberg the celebrated American aviator is telling his fellow Americans not to get involved; that so long as America is strong, none will dare invade her, and she need not intervene on another’s behalf.

People need to feel as though they’re doing something, even if it’s a gesture of defiance.

Foreign Correspondent (1940, Hitchock)

I have to wonder whether Fortune was drawing on her own war experiences in the Women's Land Army during the First World War. That was all about rallying round and doing your bit, even if it was less than spectacular and didn’t require a lot of derring-do. It’s also where she allegedly had her first serious spiritual experience and began her communications with the Ascended Masters. Was she intending some kind of mass recruitment to the esoteric cause? Introducing her followers to the Ascended Masters that first intrigued her so long ago, during another war?

As the war news improves, Fortune loses interest in the effort. It becomes more about what will happen after the war, when peace returns to the green and pleasant land. She begins developing ‘the Arthurian Formula’ where Arthur and his knights become dim and distant reflections of Atlantean forebears. Not that she has long; leukemia will claim her by 1946.

OK, that’s what actually happens.

How to gamify?

Probably the simplest method is to assume that Fortune embarks on the Arthurian/Atlantaen bit a good deal earlier than she does. The occultists she recruits - the player characters - are all Knights in her Arthurian army, and there are dragons on the horizon attacking the very soul of Britain itself. Their job is to use scavenged Atlantaen rituals (and later, technology) to establish a perimeter - castles, in her vernacular - first on the coast and, later, when those are bombed in the Battle of Britain alongside the coastal airfields, further within. From these castles the Knights defend the realm against foreign psychic incursion. The intent is to provide aid at first, when the country's need is greatest, and later, when the tide turns, a base for assault across the Channel against those same foreign dragons who were ravaging the countryside a few short months prior.

All Arthurian stories need a Mordred figure and in this instance there's one ready-made: occultist Aleister Crowley. He seems friendly enough to Fortune, but his smiles hide evil intent. He may present as an ally at first, but someone's working with the dragons, and it may well be the wickedest man alive. 

Now, some options:

Option One: Yithian Malice Fortune isn't a free agent. She's been corrupted by the Yithians, who see the outbreak of war as their last chance to scoop up as much Pnakotic material and lost technology as they can before the war ravages what's left of their network. The Yithians intend to gather all this at their Oxford Camelot, a secret base where they'll hide all of their secrets until some future date when they can re-establish their network. The Yithians see this as a rescue mission - shades of Three Damsels of the Fountain - but the player characters may disagree, particularly since the Yithians follow an old human maxim: no witnesses. In this version, Crowley is Mordred, but Mordred isn't the real enemy of mankind.

Option Two: Dragons of Dream Fortune is facing real threats, but these are threats to the English Dream. The Dragons ravage the nightmares of all who listen to Haw-Haw's broadcasts and it's up to the player characters to perform miracles of resistance. They may be assisted in this effort by whatever's left of the Dreamhounds of Paris who may be trying similar methods of resistance in occupied France. In time the characters may become a kind of psychic Special Operations Executive; entirely unofficial, but there were many such unofficial, undocumented operations. A supernatural Small Back Room, with Fortune as the lead brain and Crowley as the greasy politico.

Small Back Room

Option Three: Accidental Arthur This borrows from Pagan Publishing's Golden Dawn and Pelgrane's Dracula Dossier, but neither are required reading. In the dying days of the last century Golden Dawn occultist Randolph Northcote attempted to bring back King Arthur to save Britain, but his attempts ended in disaster and Arthur's plans to reestablish his Shub-Niggurath cult were thwarted. Temporarily, at least, though some of Arthur's ideas and forbidden texts he and Northcote consulted found their way into the archives of a secretive supernaturalist organization within Military Intelligence. Now that same obscure branch of Military Intelligence is drawing on those old ideas to create a new Arthurian cycle, and in the process bringing back Arthur's Shub-Niggurath cult. Fortune the Golden Dawn inheritor, in this version, may be the heroic resistance, or may be a willing catspaw of British Intelligence; if the latter, then Crowley/Mordred is what little's left of the heroic resistance. The ultimate goal is to bring back Arthur the same way Northcote did, but Northcote didn't realize what he was bringing back, and neither does Military Intelligence. 

That's all for this week! Next week, something completely different.  

Violet Firth aka Dion Fortune

 Last week I talked about ritual magic and this week it's Dion Fortune. Some of the material I'm going to discuss comes from Francis King's The Rites of Modern Occult Magic. 

Violet Firth (born 6 December 1890 died 6 or 8 January 1946) was introduced to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn in 1919, when she would have been in her late 20s. MacGregor Mathers, the founder of the Golden Dawn, had died the year before during the influenza epidemic and the Golden Dawn was under the occasionally shaky leadership of his widow Moina Mathers, working in partnership with an ageing J.W. Brodie-Innes. Brodie-Innes was himself not long for this world and would pass in 1923. 

Firth came from a wealthy background and was well educated. Her father, anxious not to be seen as a money-grubbing parvenu, adopted the motto God, not Luck - Deo, non Fortuna - from which she would derive the pseudonym by which she is best known. Though in her view Dion Fortune wasn't so much a pseudonym as Violet Firth was her deadname. 

Fortune had a long-standing interest in occultism before being introduced as a neophyte in Alpha et Omega in 1919. She was well versed in psychotherapy, the works of Freud and Jung, and had experience as a medium and psychic sensitive. She'd also served in the War in the Woman's Land Army but had never been posted overseas. 

King says something interesting, though it's a bit of a non sequitur. He describes Fortune as a 'slim young girl' in 1919 and goes on to add that 'later she was to become very fat; for some reason most mediums seem to do this - probably there is some relationship between mediumship and the glandular balance of the metabolism.' Which, frankly, sounds like utter garbage, but in a game world where Y'Golonac exists there is something to be said for a fictional universe where mediums become enormous under psychic influences.

Fortune soon becomes disenchanted with the Golden Dawn's mismanagement and its lack of a rigorous training program. It doesn't help that Mathers is milking it for every spare dollar, pushing Alpha et Omega as if mystical learning is a self-help experience. Initially Fortune counters this by trying to bring in new blood, with Mathers' blessing. New recruits were a good thing for Mathers the Empire-builder. This creates the Fraternity of the Inner Light, a sub-group within Alpha et Omega, in which Fortune is a leading player. Mathers hates that idea; in Alpha et Omega, Mathers is Imperatrix, the only leading player.

Fortune and Mathers soon fall out, and Fortune alleges that Mathers engages her in psychic assault. This takes the form of a plague of cats. "I suddenly saw, coming down the stairs towards me, a gigantic tabby cat, twice the size of a tiger. It appeared absolutely solid and tangible. I stared at it petrified for a second, and then it vanished. I instantly realized that it was a simulacrum, or thought-form that was being projected by someone with occult powers." Fortune beats off this attack with her own occult powers but not without cost; when she goes to bed, she sees she has been scored as if by claws. 

Again, going back to gaming, this can be significant in a game world in which dreams, mystic cats, and Bast worship exist. Was Mathers secretly a worshipper of the cat god, or had she, by chance, discovered a means of using Bast's powers? Was Mathers a Dreamer?

This becomes even more important later, when Ms. Netta Fornario, a member of Alpha et Omega, dies under very mysterious circumstances. She travelled to Scotland in 1929, evidently engaged in some kind of ritual exercise on the Isle of Iona, and was later found dead there. Possibly her death was the result of exposure to the elements, but there were deep score marks on the body and, before her death, Netta claimed she was being attacked psychically. Fornario and Fortune were friends. Fortune believed Mathers was responsible for Fornario's death.  

By this time Mathers was dead; in fact, she died the year before Fornario's trip to Iona. Any further breach between Fortune and Mathers was irrelevant, at least in the physical realm, though Mathers' psychic influences may have remained.

Again, going back to gaming, this could also become in-game relevant if Mathers was a Dreamer, and if her Dream-self survived. Particularly if you, as Keeper, intend this to run contemporaneously with Dreamhounds of Paris, since Mathers will be in the Dream fomenting occult dissent just at the time the Dreamhounds are sculpting the Dreamlands in their own image. What would Mathers do if her Egyptian, Bast-centric artistic vision is interrupted by French Surrealists while she, at the same time, is continuing her feud with Fortune?  

By this point Fortune is utterly disenchanted with Alpha et Omega. Fortune has effective control over her own Fraternity, and she's more interested in personal development than getting bogged down in psychic attacks and the day-to-day bother of running an esoteric society. She begins corresponding with other occultists across Europe, expanding her horizons and generally making a name for herself. Not just living occultists either; through meditation she contacts Madame Blavatsky, and more esoteric entities. Her career as a writer begins to flourish, and her most well-regarded book, The Mystical Qabalah, is published in 1935. 

Ultimately, she approaches paganism, abandoning her former Christian beliefs. She begins to develop a mystical practice entirely her own, based on rituals of her own devising.

War approaches. The mystical Battle of Britain is about to begin ...

Hind Horn (Bookhounds)

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

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

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

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

With that in mind:

Hind Horn in Winter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's it for this week. Enjoy! 

 

The Perils of Witchcraft (Bookhounds of London)

Some housekeeping: no post next week, as I'm off-island wandering through the bowels of New York.

Also, a question to the masses: what GUMSHOE title would you like me to see write about in 2025? Bookhounds, NBA, Trail, something else?

Now, an extract from the Folklore of Guernsey (Marie De Garis, 2014 reprint, original 1975):

Until the First World War, the purlieus around the town church constituted a popular pied-a-terre for several charlatans and sorchiers. These were largely patronized by country people who, sure that they were being bewitched by certain neighbors or acquaintances, would visit those town quacks in hope of being given some counter-charm or advice ... The credulous wife of a well-known farmer residing in the higher parishes, used to be a regular visitor to one of these consultants, a certain Mrs. H. The wife's husband bore one of the most respected and honored names in the Channel Islands and was a man of standing in his parish. The foolish woman gave Mrs. H such huge sums of money that she beggared her husband entirely. The shame of being declared bankrupt so affected her husband that he hanged himself. The house was broken up. The mother went to live with her son but, so far from having learned her lesson, still continued to visit the town crone, passing her son's money to her until she nearly ruined him also. Her two unmarried daughters had to fend for themselves. One followed her father's example and committed suicide, while the other went to work as a maid somewhere ... When the mother finally died, her children felt so bitter about the ruin that she brought upon them that not one of them even wanted her portrait. 

Purlieu: The area directly around or outside of a place.

The Town Church of St. Peter's Port, aka Town Church of St Peter, Apostle & Martyr, dates back to the 1400s in its current form. There has been a church on that spot since the year 1000, more or less, and the building's history probably goes back to the Romans.

It's extremely close to the Market and there's a pub, the Albion House, a mere 18 inches away. That pub has been there since the 1700s, so when the writer talks about the church's purlieus, she probably means in or near the pub and what is now the market.   

St. Peter Port is the capital of Guernsey and, at the time of Bookhounds, it would still have been much as it was for centuries prior: a sleepy fishing port, occasionally enlivened by smuggling and war. It's watched over by Castle Cornet which, again during Bookhounds, is largely reduced to watching over the pond for toy boats built nearby, in the 1880s.

All that said:

Mrs. H.'s Library 

The Hounds buy a job lot in an auction, only to discover that most of the books they bought in that box of miscellanea belonged to a notorious fraud from Guernsey. 

Mrs. H, a well-known character in Guernsey circles, recently passed, and what's left of her family wanted to make sure that her memory was properly expunged. This meant, among other things, disposing of her belongings outside Guernsey. They could have burned it all, but her children share one thing with their parent: they're far too covetous to pass up a chance to make a shilling.  

This means her hand-written witchcraft journals and the scraps of knowledge that Mrs. H apparently picked up from a genuine Mythos text are now the Hounds' stock. 

As books these texts aren't worth much; about 1 point stock, more or less, History (witchcraft). If the Mythos text Mrs. H cribbed from could be found, that would be worth more. That, presumably, is in Guernsey. Lord alone knows precisely where, or even if it still exists.

Soon after the Hounds buy the job lot a widow from Guernsey turns up at their shop, a Mrs. De Beauvoir. She was a regular client of Mrs. H and, since the Hounds now have Mrs. H's books, they must be as knowledgeable as Mrs. H used to be. Mrs. De Beauvoir is being plagued by witchcraft. Can the Hounds help?

Options:

• Ghost Hunters: Mrs. De Beauvoir has driven her family to penury thanks to her obsessions and she brings with her a collection of ghosts, all of whom hate her guts. That's why she thinks she's being plagued; she is, just not by witches. If the investigators aren't careful, these ghosts will turn their attention to the Hounds and the shop. When that happens, Reversals are sure to follow.
• Crawling Chaos: Mrs. H isn't as dead as people like to think. She picked up just enough knowledge to become a kind of crawling one after death, only to find that Guernsey isn't as accommodating to her after death as it was during life. The undead Mrs. H is looking for a new home, and as 'Mrs. De Beauvoir' she's hoping that the Hounds will be gullible enough to assist.
• Family Pressures: Mrs. De Beauvoir thinks that her family doesn't know that she's stolen their savings to make a trip to London to see the Hounds. They very much do, and they want that money back, along with anything that Mrs. De Beauvoir might have given the Hounds. Break-ins, ambushes, tearful scenes at auction houses in front of God and everybody - anything is possible. This may cumulate in an accidental Megapolisomantic effect, as a slice of Guernsey interacting with London mystic forces is just the kind of spice that creates a very peculiar soup.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!

Human Lanterns (film, Shaw Brothers)

 

Human Lanterns trailer

Two warring noble houses, each alike in dignity, find themselves played for suckers by a third party. The third party has a deep grudge against one of the nobles, and that noble, not realizing the depth of the third party's enmity, asks the third party to make him some fantastic lanterns so the noble can win a competition. 

The third party obliges ...

I've seen some peculiar films in my time but, brother, this one's a doozy. You think you know what's coming. Then you see what's coming. All of it. 

It's mostly shot in-studio on a handful of sets, and that allows the filmmakers to really lavish detail on their setpieces. The villain's lair is a horror-show. The main actors are some of the best, both in martial arts prowess and as actors. The villain's costume, which seems a little comical at first glance, works remarkably well and there are more than a few moments when that grinning death's head provokes an involuntary shudder. 

Definitely one to watch, on a cold Halloween night ...

But let's talk gamification. 

First, that lantern festival. Fantasy settings seldom have festivals, or parties of any kind, unless it's a celebration of the Hero's Victory or 'Christmas, but with Orcs.' Which is a shame, because festivals are a good excuse for inciting incidents and character development. The film doesn't go into a lot of detail about its festival, probably because the Shaw Brothers assumes most of the audience knew all about it. Given that it's a 2,000-year-old tradition drawing on a mix of folkloric and historic sources, there are all sorts of ingredients to choose from. 

I quite like the tradition of the lantern riddle:  "The lantern riddles are done by a host blocking one side of the lantern and pasting riddles on the remaining three sides of the lanterns. Participants will guess the blocked side by solving the riddles, which is called "breaking/solving lantern riddles"." If you guess correctly you get a small prize, but the bigger prize is prestige. 

In games like Dungeons and Dragons where riddle-tests are popular, you could easily sneak one of these into a festival and have the 'reward' be transportation to a small dungeon area, where the characters then have to find their way out again. Along the way they complete a minor quest of the riddle-makers choosing. 

Ravenloft's I'Cath setting would work well with a scenario seed like this one. The characters encounter the riddle-lantern as part of a festival in the dreaming world, and are pushed out of the dreaming world into the waking one with this quest: find a way to bring the riddle-maker's family out of I'Cath. There are some riddle lanterns in the waking world that will bring characters back to the dreaming one, but who knows who (or what) made those lanterns ...

Or in Swords of the Serpentine there could be a lantern festival organized either by a cult or some foreign faction, which is suddenly adopted as a fashionable craze by the aristocracy. Everyone flocks to the lantern makers for their latest creations, each noble house trying to outdo the other. The finest, most fantastical lanterns are prized possessions. But in a sorcerous twist, some of the best lanterns are Tainted ...

Next, the lantern maker. 

In the film it's heavily implied than the lanterns have some peculiar quality all their own, as a consequence of the method of their creation. Even knowing what they are, the hero calls them beautiful. Their luminous seductive image is the last thing he thinks of, when everything else is done.

The film doesn't answer the question, 'what happened to the lanterns?' It's set in nebulous before-times which, for the purpose of this discussion, I'm going to assume is 1800s-ish. Heavy on the ish, and probably closer to 1800 than 1850.

So in a Bookhounds game those lanterns are, perhaps, 80 years old.

Not that long at all, really. 

Antiquities with Bite

A customer of particular importance to the shop has gone Chinoiserie-mad. 

It all started with a glimpse of some antique lanterns in a Limehouse dealer's storefront. The customer, Martyn Bower, swears blind that they felt the power oozing off those lanterns, and they must have them. Except they couldn't persuade the shopkeeper to accept Martyn's bona fides and, wouldn't you know it, Martyn just didn't have the cash on them at the time. Won't the Hound do Martyn a favor and come with Martyn to the store, to help them convince the shopkeeper that Martyn's credit is good? 

Either the Hound does or does not do this. If they do, then Martyn cannot remember exactly where the shop is and they spend the rest of the day looking all over Limehouse for it. 

Disconsolate, Martyn spends the next few weeks moaning and kvetching about how those lanterns were almost theirs. Martyn seeks out anything to do with lantern making, which at least means the Hounds can pick up a few bob catering to Martyn's new craze. 

Then Martyn drops out of sight for a month or two, which at least means the Hounds don't have to listen to Martyn's whines.

When Martyn pops up again, they are looking for a particular book: The Daedalus Mysteries of Light and Art, 1743, English translation of a supposed Chinese original, author unknown, translator Dawes Hapson. Allegedly the original is a text from Shanghai but, as the only person who ever knew for certain is Hapson and he's long gone, tracing that legend is near-on impossible. 

Martyn says they got the lead on Hapson's work from his inquiries in Limehouse.

Option One:  Cult Activity. The text is real and moderately well-known to members of the Hsieh-Tzu Fan. In fact, it was one of the cult who first interested Martyn in all this: it was in the cultist's shop that Martyn saw the peculiar, bewitching lanterns. Now the cult is trying to ensnare Martyn by having Martyn create some lanterns of his own, but to do that they need to make sure that Martyn gets what he wants ... in as unsuspicious a manner as possible. Enter the Hounds.

Option Two: Dreamlands Adjacent. Martyn didn't see those lanterns in a shop in the waking world. Martyn saw them in the Dream and awoke so befuddled that he confused the Dreaming shop he saw them in with one he remembered in Limehouse. Ever since he's been trying to retrace his steps and, in so doing, treads a ritual path through London. He's on the verge of creating an Oernic Gate entirely by accident, and the Daedalus Mysteries are the final piece of the puzzle. If he gets that and makes the lanterns he's craving, London (or at least that bit of it containing the Hounds' shop) could be plunged into waking nightmare.

Option Three: Devilish Inspiration. Martyn has always been devil-obsessed. His feverish imagination has taken him a step too far. Now things are noticing him and ensnaring him in their machinations. The Daedalus Mysteries aren't about lantern making; that's just a cover. It's actually a text written by the astrologer-priests of Daoloth, who used lantern making as a metaphor - bending light itself to their own ends. The idea being to create the tiniest piece of Daoloth in this world, the most microscopic portion, which could then be used to illuminate a kind of lantern-oracle. One of the descendants of those astrologer-priests is using Martyn as a catspaw, to bring this about. Once the lantern is made, assuming Martyn survives the process, the astrologer-priest's descendant intends to take that lantern and use it in their own rituals.

That's it for this week. Enjoy!  

 

Another Mask Behind You

I've seen it in his eyes. Screaming mad. Starkers! And dishonest! Hiding his face behind a fright mask. Well, no masks for me! I have nothing to hide! Joker, Batman: Arkham Asylum (Rocksteady)

Opening scene, Halloween, John Carpenter

“Who dares,”—he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him—“who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him—that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, from the battlements!” Edgar Allen Poe, The Masque of the Red Death.

Camilla: You, sir, should unmask.

Stranger: Indeed?

Cassilda: Indeed, it's time. We have all laid aside disguise but you.

Stranger: I wear no mask.

Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda.) No mask? No mask! Robert W. Chambers, The Mask

Masks are odd things. 

You don't often see them outside of carnival, traditional dance and ancient theatre. The Greeks and Romans were fond of masked actors taking on archetypes - the drunk, the old man, the soldier, the wife, the cuckold, the prostitute or wanton. Sock and Buskin, aka Comedy and Tragedy, come from this tradition, as does Commedia dell'arte

In mythology you often hear about masks allowing the wearer to take on archetypes, whether heroic or tragic, but the difficulty with mythology is that it's impossible to check your data. All the people who actually knew what it was supposed to mean are long since dead. Dead, dead, deadski. Almost no written records survive, which means you can make things up as you go and there's nobody to tell you different. 

Then, of course, there is Halloween. Where masks are the only thing separating us from the normal people. Originally a time to honor the dead, it has become a Saturnalia of booze and chocolate, fun as much for the adults as the kids. The original Myers Halloween mask, the iconic one in the film, is actually a William Shatner mask suitably modified - $1.98 at a costume shop, they were on a budget - but now it's so iconic that, if you mention Halloween to people, odds are one of the first images that springs to mind is that blank, hideous non-face worn by the most evil kid who ever lived. 

You don't often find them in ghost stories, funnily enough. Sometimes they float to the surface along with the other mental flotsam and jetsam lurking in the deeper waters of the psyche, but usually they don't appear except in the old-time tales of the likes of Poe. 

Onibaba Trailer (1964)

In film, masks work best when establishing mood, or defining a character. Everyone remembers Jason; everyone remembers Scream. Even if they didn't watch any of the films, they know just by looking at them exactly what kind of character they are. As cinematic shorthand, they work wonders. Even a mediocre film - and God knows there are plenty of those in both franchises - becomes just a little bit memorable when those masks appear on screen.

Why wear a mask?

• Performance
• Ritual
• Protection

You want it to enhance your performance (which can include performance in combat), provide magical assistance or evocation in a ritual, or to protect you against some form of attack whether natural or supernatural.

In the superhero genre - and possibly only in that genre - masks are used to protect identity. Which is ludicrous, but there we are. I've lost track of the number of people who know who Batman is (there must be a list somewhere), but it never makes any difference to the ongoing plot. It sometimes feels as if the 'protect identity' bit is an excuse for ever more elaborate costume concepts, each more evocative than the last. 

In our world 'protect identity' becomes 'play a part.' At Halloween the part is pretty simple - sexy nurse or sexy pirate? - but there are more elaborate versions. Carnival, a masquerade, a pantomime - all these involve ritualistic behavior of one kind or another, played by actors whose job it is to impersonate the characters that everyone knows and loves. Harlequin plays an important role in early pantomime, St George and the Dragon are traditional characters in a Mummer's Play. The modern version is the Pantomime Dame, the comic mother figure, and a host of others - but the Dame is the most recognizable. 

The old May Day traditions follow in this train. You abandon your identity to play another and your role is preordained - the fool with his bladder, for instance. 

Wicker Man

The chief benefit - or problem - in all three cases is that masks are impersonal, therefore unsettling even at the best of times. A gas mask protects against inhaling poisonous or dangerous gases, but there's no denying that the odd inhumanity of them frightens those who see them. The Samurai mask in Onibaba was meant to be unsettling. Jason's blank fright mask empowers Jason and terrifies his victims. All of which is to say that they work just as well on your friends as your enemies; it's terrifying either way.

Yet often - as with Onibaba - the true horror comes when the mask comes off. When Michael Myers removes his mask he stops being the Killer; he's just a little boy. When the Scream mask comes off, the killer, a friend, is revealed.

All that said, how best to use them in, say, Night's Black Agents?

OK, you could adapt one of the ideas like Pantomime or Carnival and stick them in a scene. The major event in the scenario takes place at Whitby during May Day, that kind of thing. It could also work well in a dream sequence - your nightmares are masked and you're being chased through, oh, your old high school, why not. 

But. 

What if the vampires are the masks?

Works best in a Supernatural or Damned setting, but picture this: ancient vampire spirits bonded with the masks they used to wear in Saturnalia or the Bacchanal - too many crimes made the man less than a man, the mask more than a mask. Now the only way the masks can survive is to bond to another human, effectively superimposing its vampire spirit onto the host. Every time the host dies, a small part of it becomes part of the vampire mask. The first few times this happened it was accidental, but they've spent their centuries perfecting the technique so that now, for instance, the traditional mask makers of Venice are one of their many Nodes, manufacturing new vampire masks to join the cult. 

The masks can extend the lifespan of the host and give them powers beyond comprehension, but only while wearing the mask. Even an extended lifespan eventually ends, but before that happens the host has to make sure the mask is passed on to someone else.

As the host ages, the signs that they're tainted by the mask becomes more obvious. The masks have developed special techniques to disguise these marks but they become less effective the older the host becomes. Which is why that renowned actress, for example, retired early from film and spent the rest of her days in her mansion, refusing all calls for an interview. Or why that industrialist is so reclusive, never leaving their yacht. 

You could, if you choose, go for a classic mythology route. One interpretation of the Medusa myth is an ancient cult used Gorgon masks to frighten the profane. When their shrines were overrun, the masks stolen, mythology interpreted the event as the beheading of Medusa. Suppose Medusa didn't die, and her cult lived on through one mask that survived the event? That the cult rebuilt using that mask as a prototype? Then your characters have the opportunity to literally behead Medusa; if they destroy that one ancient mask, the others lose their power and the cult is broken for good. Dracula Dossier for the ancient Greek history enthusiasts.

Why go this route?

First, it works in any setting. I mentioned Night's Black Agents but you could as easily use this in Trail, Fear Itself, Esoterrorists, D&D - whichever you fancy, really. Details change, the concept remains the same. The mask is the monster; the monster wears the mask.

Second, it becomes a means of setting friend against friend. Your Network Contact, your friendly NPC at the tavern, whoever, whenever, can fall under the spell of the mask. You can never be sure who's on who's side. Think of it like an addiction mixed with Possession; the person wearing the mask can't bear to be without it, but at the same time you never know what will happen if they put the mask on.

Third, it sets up an enemy that is both iconic and undying. Sure, you can burn the mask, drop it in acid, whatever you fancy - but there will be another mask. Someone's making them. Who? To what end? If the enemy wears a Michael Myers mask does that mean they become Myers? Share his abilities, obsessions?

Finally, it might just set up a moment like this:

Twilight Zone 'You're caricatures! All of you!'

Which, as the ending of a one-shot, is priceless.

Enjoy!

 

One of Them (NBA, Esoterrorists, Trail)

This week's entry comes courtesy of Marie de Garis' Folklore of Guernsey. I don't recall seeing anything similar in any other folklore collection. The story goes something like this:

There are people who can spread vermin by touch. Often referred to as i'une de chs-s-la (One of Them, and spelling is as it appears in the book) these people are usually cold to the touch and are regarded with fear, as one who is in close contact with Satan. Their curse is always the same: the target is infected, overrun with lice and vermin. This cannot be countered by any normal means, and lasts for three days. After that, the insects vanish as mysteriously as they arrived.

How is it contrived? asks de Garis. Inquiry does not lead us very far. Some people say it is by touch … others by incantations and/or prayers; most blame the 'bad books.'  By which de Garis means the Alberts, Grand and Peitit, those well-known grimoires which feature so prominently in Brittany folklore. The most recent incident de Garis was aware of happened during the German occupation, so at some point in the 1940s.

The Vermin Curse is an embarrassment rather than something dangerous, but it could become dangerous in the right circumstances. Body lice act as vectors for spreading human pathogens, after all. Fleas have been known to carry all manner of horrible plagues. However in the instances quoted by de Garis the attack is always the result of some kind of grudge or spite, and never does long-term harm.

OK, so where is this going? Here we have a person, a suspected Satanist or at the very least with bad blood running in their veins, who likes to spitefully annoy their neighbors. It's the kind of curse you'd use to bully people, which suggests the person using it is a natural bully, someone who doesn't think twice before taking a swing at whoever they dislike. They're not naturally powerful people, but they sound like the kind who'd really like to have power.

I'd assume a Civilian base, possibly with a Gym Rat bump. They're not directly linked to the Conspiracy nor are they vampires or Renfields. They're what's left over after centuries of biological tinkering, the bye-blow of countless examples of vampire blood getting into the population. They don't know anything and they don't have any real power, but they're the type who might really get interested in, say, a Satanic Cult of Dracula. Or in a non-NBA setting they could be natural Esoterrorists, would-be witches who never got very far in the craft. Or in Trail they could be some remnants of long-forgotten Elder Thing experimentation.

They all have Aberrance 4, and one Ability (cost 1 per use): Summon Vermin Swarm. Like NBA's Heat Drain, the possessor is cold to the touch, but where heat drain does +0 damage this does -3 damage (minimum 0) and the vermin effect lasts for 3 days. The vermin cannot be counteracted by any ordinary means.

So using the NBA categories of Mutant, Supernatural, Damned and Alien:

Mutant: One of Them is what happens when Renfields breed. It's something in that swamp-like bloodline; they just don't behave like ordinary folks. Often they band together in clans or groups, for self-protection. When that happens only one or two in the group are genuinely One of Them, but they all behave as if they were.

Supernatural: One of Them can be created in several ways, but one of the more common (or it used to be more common, anyway) is to fall asleep inside a fairy ring. The spirits take notice of you then, and sometimes give you a gift.

Damned: One of Them is a descendant of witches, those who pledged their tainted blood to the service of Satan. Or perhaps One of Them read one of the forbidden books, and is now cursed. These debased creatures are well aware of their situation, and use it to their advantage so far as they can, by terrorizing others into feeding and caring for them.

Alien: This is what happens when you drink water tainted by the Color Out Of Space. Or perhaps get too close to a dolmen, or spend a night in a pyramid. You're just far away enough from the tainted source to not be completely annihilated - but it changed you forever.

Enjoy!

Laying Ghosts (Night's Black Agents)

I've discussed ghosts before, in relation to Trail of Cthulhu and, to a lesser extent, Bookhounds. What about Night's Black Agents?

There's a long tradition of combating, even defeating, ghosts. Sometimes the combat can be brutal and spectacular; it took twelve ecclesiastics to beat Black Vaughan down, for instance. Generally in these tales the objective is not to force the spirit to move on to a different place. The idea is to imprison it here, on earth. As a spirit, it can't be killed, and as it's malevolent, it can't be sent to heaven. The only option, short of somehow sending it down below, is to keep it here, but in such a way as to render it harmless. Shove it into a grandfather clock, throw it down a well, put it in a room and seal the room - however you care to do it, do it, and then forget about it.

Much like vampires, really. Except that vampires have a specific list of banes where ghosts have only one recorded weakness: prayer, especially when delivered by sanctified holy men.

Night's Black Agents is a more active setting than Bookhounds. The agents are expected to be capable, combative people. It's less about arcane knowledge and more about how many rounds you can put downrange.

I gave these guidelines for Bookhounds ghosts, or spirits of place:

1. The truth of the haunting will probably never be known for certain, since most of the facts are unavailable.
2. It cannot be dealt with in the same way as, say, an ordinary antagonist encounter. Ghouls, for example, can be shot, or bargained with. There is no way to communicate with a haunting of place, and probably no way to kill it.
3. It has a great deal of power behind it, possibly magical power. That means other people besides the protagonists are going to be interested in it. That also means it could be very dangerous.

I'd modify them for Night's Black Agents, as follows:

1. The truth of the haunting must be linked to the Vampire background. If vampires in your game are mutant creations of science, then ghosts should have a scientific background as well. A Satanic vampire game has Satanic ghosts, and so on.
2. It cannot be dealt with in the same way as an ordinary antagonist encounter. Ghouls can be shot or bargained with, but ghosts don't have the same weaknesses. Bargaining may be possible, but difficult.
3. It has power behind it, but that power is going to depend on the method of its creation. It ought never to be as powerful as, say, a Renfield, let alone a vampire. This isn't a major player; it's a mood piece, possibly even a booby trap.
4. These ghosts can be defeated but probably not destroyed, in the same sense that vampires can be defeated, but can come back from the grave. 

In NBA vampires come in four delicious favors: mutant, supernatural, damned, alien. What kind of ghost stories can be told with the same premise?

Mutant: Their markers are medical symptoms; their emphasis is infection. The ghost is a vampiric remnant, something that lingers in those areas where vampiric infection has occurred. Say the vampire attacks and kills someone; the ghost is what's left behind, and can be dealt with by cleansing the area in the same way crime scene cleaners deal with the aftermath of a bloody murder. It might be inhaled, or infects through contact with unprotected skin. It might be some fragment of memory from the victim - their daughter's first birthday party, say, which causes anyone infected by it to relive that day again, and again, and again. It might be something left behind by the killer, an eye infection that causes the victim to see, say, blood, whenever they look at, or are in the presence of, certain things. Say the murder victim was a blonde female teen. Now, every time the agent sees a blonde of about the same age and gender, the agent hallucinates blood. Dealt with by medicines, or injecting liquified Banes.

Supernatural: Their markers are strange superstitions, their emphasis hunger. This best fits the traditional ghost story, and is the best candidate for magical manipulation. If, through magic, an unruly ghost can be imprisoned in, say, a grandfather clock, then it can be used as a supernatural bomb. Send it to the target, and sit back and watch the fun. Casting the Runes is the prototype. It's never clear, in stories like these, whether the ghost is a human spirit or some kind of older, pagan thing. A semi or demi God, perhaps. Some remnant of, say, the Great God Pan. A ghost of this sort probably has limited intelligence and free will, and the older ones can be very dangerous. You don't survive several hundred, or thousand, years, without learning a trick or two. Dealt with through arcane rituals found in worm-eaten texts.

Damned: Their markers are holy symbols and spiritualism, their emphasis is seduction. These ghosts are the bargainers, the promise-makers, the succubi and incubi. They are likely to be demons in their own right, capable of possession. They have a great deal of power when they're linked with a mortal soul, much less so without a suitable host. The Exorcist is the best example. Hungry Ghosts work well in this paradigm too. Of course, exorcists come with their own baggage, and rising demand for their services probably indicates widespread despair; the world is burning, and it must be the Devil's fault. Dealt with through spiritual intervention.

Alien: Their markers are various uncanny effects; their emphasis is invasion. In this version ghosts might be the aftereffect of alien tech, or just the presence of aliens. Quatermass and the Pit is the best example. Deep beneath the earth the last Martians lie entombed, and wait for the day when they can take over, piggybacking on our minds to recreate Mars. Until their rocket is uncovered, they can only throw out psychic shocks and disturbances - which is why Hobbs Lane, the London street that is being dug up, has such a shocking reputation. The Devil lives there, they say. Sure enough, there have been strange sightings, eyewitness reports, and horrible scenes there since the beginning of recorded history. In this instance ghosts are almost a warning, the canary in the coal mine - for if you see them, you know this is a tainted place. Dealt with through avoidance, or some kind of prophylactic treatment. Tin foil hat, anyone? 

The big takeaway, and the difference between these and the Bookhounds ghosts, is that they can be understood, challenged and defeated. It may require magic, or some kind of chemical cleansing, rather than a Glock, but the end result is the same. 

Ghosts of this type should generally not be very powerful; that spot is reserved for the vampires. Their main function is to squick or mislead, not defeat or kill. Aberrance rating, except for particularly powerful entities like the Great God Pan, ought to be low; somewhere around 5. No Free powers, and some will be more common than others. Possession seems one of the most likely for Damned ghosts, for example. 

The other thing to remember is, these ghosts can't be killed easily, but they can be diverted, imprisoned. Which means the agents can also weaponize them, if they can work out how to do that without getting caught in the blast radius. That's a story in and of itself. Figuring out how to do it is one thing; pulling it off in the heat of the moment, quite another.

Enjoy!

Christmas Keepers (Trail, Lovecraft Country)

This is going to be my last post for the year. Happy holidays to all, and I hope you have a great New Year!

Let's talk Christmas in New England, that jolly time of year when eating a mince pie can get your ears cut off.

When the Puritans settled in New England they brought their customs with them, and being a joyless bunch of asshats one of their most beloved customs was a hatred of all things cheerful. That included Christmas. The holiday season was a complete anathema to those stern Yankees, so much so that in 1647 laws were passed to ensure nobody kept Christmas, or any saint's day, and certainly didn't make mince pies, attend Christmas masques or dramas, dance, or play any musical instrument. Decoration was also banned, which meant no holly or mistletoe; that might encourage kissing, God forbid!

The first Puritans arranged things as they liked, but were constantly threatened by those among them who weren't Puritans and who enjoyed festive cheer. One such was Thomas Morton, who was caught by Miles Standish having a good time in his own home, and promptly banished from Plymouth Colony.

Thomas Morton was playing the Lord of Misrule, which was a particular grievance to good Puritans. The Lord of Misrule was a traditional Yule figure in English folklore, now not often seen in its Christmas role. Each year the Lord, usually a peasant or of low birth, would be appointed and go around the neighborhood dressed in green and orange, with bells at his ankles, dancing with his celebrants, leading the crowd in games and singing. The band would make a nuisance of themselves until given money, at which point they'd go off and find some other householder to torment. Often the merry pranksters would invade the church and interrupt the solstice sermon, which is why the Puritans so disliked the Lord. The tradition may have come from the Roman Saturnalia, but its origins are obscure, and in any case people usually don't need much excuse to get drunk and go round in a group making a nuisance of themselves. The 'getting drunk' part of the ceremony encourages any kind of bad behavior.

Being Puritans, the colonists' treatment of those caught in the act were severe. Morton was lucky to get away with banishment; cash fines, time in the stocks, branding, or having your ears or nose cut off were typical punishments. This was all intended to bring people to Salvation, for on the Day of Doom the Lord would judge impartial, but stern, and woe betide the sinners who passed on Christ's left hand side.

This worked so long as the colonies were made up entirely, or at least in the majority, of Puritans. However as time went by more Catholics, Episcopalians and Universalists arrived in New England, and public opinion changed. By 1681 the laws banning Christmas were repealed. It took time for people to become used to the idea - a small entertainment, called 'educational', here, a modest party there - but over time even the Puritans came to accept some Christmas frivolity.

However even after the law was repealed good Puritans, of whom there were many, treated Christmas like any other day. They did not close their shops or schools; as far as they were concerned, Christmas was a day of work, not play. It wasn't until 1797 that a churchman felt safe enough to call for a celebration of the holiday, and up to the 1870s schools kept on teaching right through the holiday period. It wasn't until after the Civil War, when Christmas became a Federal holiday, that New England really embraced Christmas. By that point the season was becoming commercialized; a time to work so you can buy and give presents, not to play games or dance around with bells on your ankles.

Now, to gamify:

Crack Nouts and Cry Yule

The Hook

The weather this Christmas is particularly harsh, and Arkhamites nervously joke about a return of the great 1921 ice storm that blanketed the town and nearly froze the Miskatonic. People don't hang around on the streets after dark; they hurry home, where there's warmth and cheer.

There's a story going round that a gang of carol singers are making a nuisance of themselves in East-town, the seedy and decaying residential section once so beloved of Arkham's upper class. Rumor has it that they use the singing as a distraction to burgle the houses they visit, and there have been several letters to the paper about it. Where are the police, they ask, and why can't more be done to stop these thieves?

However those with History, Occult or possibly Library Use notice a pattern. The lead figure of these criminal characters is dressed as the Lord of Misrule. The Lord never removes his mask or participates in the thievery, but it's clear from the accounts of those who've seen him that the Lord is the most menacing of the group. The attacks seem to radiate out in a circle from a central point: the First Unitarian Church of Arkham, on Federal Street. Further, every location where the carolers have been is visited by another mysterious figure with a much more violent MO. This character, whoever he is, attacks and brutally injures people outside after dark. Four attacks have been recorded, and in each case the victim lost extremities - noses, ears, always due to frostbite. Those who go into this further notice that, according to the hospitals and doctors (Charm, with a bonus die for those with Medicine above base), six people with that kind of injury have been treated by local hospitals or doctors.

The Awful Truth

The Minister of First Unitarian, Doctor Spencer, recently hired a professional archivist, Norton Deane, to help bring the church archive into some kind of order. This was more a question of charity than need; poor Norton recently had a great shock that required a stay in a sanitarium, and this job was meant to put him back on his feet.

Unfortunately for Deane some of the earlier documents in the archive, related to early Christmas traditions in Arkham, contained Mythos knowledge. The revelations Deane encountered, in his weakened mental state, drove him over the edge. He became the Lord of Misrule, visiting nearby houses to spread Christmas insanity.

His first two visits were solo affairs, as the investigators will discover if they talk to newspaper reporters or cops. However a bunch of criminals joined in, seeing an opportunity. These might be young Arkham hoods (the Finns, the Rocks), or more experienced bottom-feeders. Deane doesn't object to them following in his wake, so long as they dance and sing. He insists on that, and they're too frightened of him to object. The level of violence has increased since they joined in, but the Lord of Misrule doesn't mind that; violence is part of Christmas.

However something else has joined in the celebration. Icy Cold Ones are closing in on the Lord of Misrule, determined to put an end to him. They wouldn't be able to do it without the freezing weather, but so long as ice storms threaten they can roam the streets at night. The Mythos texts that Deane found draw these Cold Ones in, so they too congregate around or near First Unitarian. The church at night is a very hazardous place to be.

The two injured men who aren't part of the official tally are part of the gang of crooks that follow Deane, and if they're interrogated they can tell the investigators about the Cold One attacks and the Lord of Misrule. 

Defeating the Lord of Misrule, or burning the Mythos texts, drives off the Cold Ones and end the threat.

There is a time limit on this. The longer the Lord of Misrule, and by extension the Cold Ones, are allowed to do their work, the more likely it is that the gathering Cold Ones will cause an ice storm more dangerous than the 1921 event. Should that happen, the weak and vulnerable of Arkham will die off, frozen to death in their own homes. Assume there is a 10% chance, cumulative, per week, that this will happen. This deadly storm causes a SAN penalty of 1/1D6+1.

Enjoy!

Halloween (RPG All)

Tis the season, so let's talk about ghosts - or at least, about the day on which ghosts are celebrated. What exactly is Halloween?

It's a holiday now remembered for its place in the Christian calendar. Formerly celebrated in May, Halloween is the day before All Saints, also known as All-Hallows or All-Hallowmas. All Saints is celebrated each November 1st, and is, as you might expect, dedicated to all saints and martyrs known and unknown - which conveniently covers those gallant souls who perished somewhere forsaken and alone, as well as those more spectacularly martyred where everyone could see it happen. The festival was introduced by Pope Boniface IV in the 7th Century, probably to supplant a pagan ritual dedicated to the dead. Boniface's saint day is in May, which, when he first invented the festival, was also when All Saints was celebrated - May 13th, to be exact.

The date was changed by Gregory III to November 1st and has remained so to this day. It's not clear why Gregory felt the need to change the date. Gregory's time in the Papal seat is only a century after Boniface's. He was a great opponent of iconoclasm - the destruction of religious relics, on the grounds that idolizing relics is anathema - and was an enthusiastic builder, or rebuilder, of churches, shrines, and holy places. His changing the date may have had something to do with the changing emphasis of the church; up till now, its focus had been on the East, and the former Empire, but in Gregory's day the focus shifts to Northern Europe, Germany, and really anywhere Gregory could get support to help him against rampaging Muslims and Lombards. Since All Saints is ultimately an end-of-year festival, it may be that this shift in Papal focus, and climates, meant a shift in dates was prudent.

All Saints is followed by All Souls, on November 2nd. All Souls is when everyone who isn't a saint gets a place at the table. Many cultures have a similar point in their spiritual calendar, a day, or perhaps a festival, set aside for remembering the dead. For the Japanese, it is the Feast of Lanterns. China's fifteenth day in the seventh month of its lunar calendar is its Ghost Day, when the gates of Hell open and the living offer sacrifices to the wandering dead. In each case the day of remembrance is usually towards the end of the year, when crops have been harvested, new fields sown, and there is nothing to do but wait.

So technically Halloween, which in the West is celebrated on October 31st, is only the start of a three-day festival of the dead, and probably the least important of the three, but it's the one that's been drummed into us by commercial interests as being the only day worth remembering. However if you're worried about ghosts returning, the day you want to pay attention to is November 2nd, All Souls. For those Keepers setting their games in the 1920s and 30s, this is also when Catholic traditionalists will set out food and presents for the returned dead; I doubt it's something many Catholics in the United States do nowadays, though south of the border on the Dia de Muertos the ritual is still remembered.

Incidentally, Dia de Muertos was originally a summertime ritual - but as often happened, when Catholic Christianity took over, the date was changed to better reflect Catholic tradition. On the 31st children build altars to persuade dead children to return; on the 1st, the adult dead come back; and on the 2nd the living visit the dead in their tombs.

The trick-or-treat part of the celebration is a 1920s invention. There's always been a tradition of mummery or going about in fancy dress - ceremonial dress, really -  but sending kids out in costume to get candy by threatening the neighbors isn't really a thing until the later 1920s, and then only in big cities. The idea caught on, and it should hardly be a surprise that it did - just then. We think of the 1920s as the Roaring Twenties, the Bootlegger Era, and tend to forget that it was also the decade of the booster, the advertiser, and the Boom. If it could be sold, you could bet your bottom dollar they'd sell it. For them, Halloween was a gift from Heaven. Postcards, costumes, decorations, accessories, and best of all, candy, candy, candy, all yours at never-to-be-beaten prices. Rather like Christmas, Halloween was heavily kid-oriented, the purpose being to get children on board so they would nag their parents to buy things for them.

Give me a child until he is seven and I shall show you the man, Aristotle is supposed to have said. If only Aristotle knew what he was letting the rest of us in for. Soon trick-or-treat becomes part of accepted tradition, accepted because adults who remember it fondly support their children's habit, who then grow up to do the same.

So what does all this mean from a gaming perspective?

Well, among other things it strongly suggests that if your game is set in the Victorian period or earlier, there really isn't a Halloween as you know it today. There may be an extra service on the 31st, but that's about it. On the other hand, come the 1st, or better yet the 2nd, sparks begin to fly. The Keeper may choose to use this as set dressing - food for the dead laid out on the table, that sort of thing - or may decide to dig a little deeper.

This is the point at which I turn to some very good advice in Trail's book Rough Magicks, where Ken Hite says the Keeper should decide ahead of time what Magic really is. It might be spare energy left over from the creation of the Universe, or genetic inheritance from the Old Ones, or any of a dozen other things. Whichever Magic it may be, will determine to a great extent what ghosts are, which in turn affects Halloween and its attendant rituals.

Let's say that magic requires blood sacrifice as a means of providing your 'public key' to the cosmos. delivering DNA to Yog-Sothoth, and that sacrificing something other than yourself - babies, cattle - is like hacking the universe using someone else's account. So it's all about blood - the ritual's less important than the claret.

In this instance, a ghost is created by blood. It may even crave it, in vampiric fashion, but probably lacks the intelligence to set traps for it or otherwise get it directly. An excess of blood spilt - like a battlefield, or a gruesome murder - creates excess energy, by hacking the building blocks of the universe and then not doing anything with the power that results. A ghost is spoilt magic. It has no real human characteristics, but since it was created by humans it mimics them to an extent - borrowing human form, creating sounds, and so on.

In this version of events, the All Souls rituals - the feasts, candles, and such - are humanity's response to this spoilt magic. In order to give ghosts something to do, other than cause mischief in their relentless search for blood, humanity creates a magical ritual, which varies from place to place but always has the same intent: pacify or get rid of the dangerous dead.

Of course, as time goes by people become less observant. All Souls stops being the important date in the calendar; now it's Halloween, the 31st and not the 2nd, and now it's not about the dead at all, but about the living. Which would be fine if people stopped shedding blood, but instead they gush gore more enthusiastically than ever. Moreover they do it just at a moment, after the Great War, when a massive excess of bloodletting creates more specters than has been seen before. Humanity hacked reality, and then left reality's doors wide open. The 20th Century becomes the Century of Ghosts, as blood-hungry creatures roam the earth seeking just that little bit more, that drop, that gusher, which will slake their thirst - for a while.

Say you're running a different game, Night's Black Agents perhaps, or anything with a modern setting. In this kind of game ritual is often de-emphasized; it's less about Latin and incense, and more about doing cool things and looking cool while doing them.

At that point Halloween becomes more set dressing than ceremony. It really is about the parties, the costumes, the laughter and the free-flowing bacchanal. Depending on where you are - Italy, say - there may not be a Halloween at all, and All Souls is still the important date. Some locations may really play up the ghosts and goblins side of things. Whitby, for instance, has a Goth Weekend in the final days of October, and that's all thanks to Stoker and his charming fiend. If you're playing Dracula Dossier, and your agents want to visit Whitby, you'd be nuts not to take advantage of the local color.

That's it for this week! Enjoy.