The Bay of Eden, and the Steel House

A few weeks ago I woke up from three interconnected dreams, and I quickly scribbled them down. I think they will make fantastic inspiration for a dungeon location.

The Bay of Eden, and the Steel House over Dolphin City

Partially submerged in a wide and very shallow bay teeming with life, there lay the stone ruins of a basalt fort and settlement, and a strange rusted spire piercing through it's belly. Some older residents of beach-side Craydown and Ementon remember when the area was a resort destination. Their neighbors would wade out  to the walls at low tide, and come back with pockets full of glittering coins and brightly colored crustaceans. They spoke of beautiful mer-people that sang and told stories, and of the laughing dolphins that showed them old treasures in the depths of the crystal clear waters between stone and shimmering sea stars. Some folks even claim to remember the first toxic anemone blooms--back then people dried them into exotic bouquets to hang from their stilted porches over the beach.

Times have changed. Only someone foolhardy or desperate would trek out to the dolphin city these days, though it still looks as beautiful as ever. The sandy floor of the bay is infested with neon anemones with venomous bristles, and the only songs you can hear from the ruins are the cries of pleasure and pain from entranced dolphins and mer-people in a never-ending bacchanal.  When the tide comes in, monstrous cousins of dolphins diffuse past the ruins, to the stilted homes where regular folk live. There they mock and cajole innocent people. All of these changes started sixty years ago, when a metal boat appeared at the mouth of the bay one morning, and its passengers began construction.

A few dozen men feverishly fused lengths of steel together for a week without stopping. Any boaters that came close were scared off by waved guns and knives; even the mer-people couldn't get a close look. Then, overnight all activity ceased, and the men disappeared. They left behind a strange structure, and an even stranger pair of people.

On a clear morning, way out at Plum Bluff you can see the metal spire they built, now rusted. It reaches out from a dark and choppy pool in the deepest part of the ruins, extending over a hundred feet high. And at its peak, there is a small steel house with many chimneys, multicolored windows, and a drain that leaks into the water below, staining it russet. Only one man ever leaves the house, though we know the Prince also lives there.

The Prince's man Jymor is tall and stooped, with bristling sideburns. On clear mornings from Plum Bluff you can watch him make the long and slow descent down the spire, fighting off vicious gulls with a cane. At the water he takes hold of a monstrous dolphin that pulls him to shore. In Craydown he shops for food and strange shaped glass bottles before wading back to his steed, who brings him to Ementon for a drink at the Far Harbor Taproom.

Those who know Jymor say he's polite and tight-lipped whilst sober, and impossibly sad while drunk. He won’t stand to hear a bad word said about his master, but won't say a good word about him either. The Prince allows him to have a guest anytime, but to date Jymor has brought only two people to visit: Francine the glassblower was seen falling to her death nearly a decade ago; and Edgar No-Nose, the simple fisherman has taken up Jymor's offer more than a few times.

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(this is a dungeon I have been working on for a while. Hopefully I'll have version 1 ready soon.)

Skinned Knees and Faeries: Genre Conventions

I read through the Kids on Bikes core rule-book, and while I found myself inspired and nostalgic, I was also sadly disappointed. The book provided so much to whet my appetite, yet so little substance to sate it. I wanted to see a toolbox to play The Goonies, Stranger Things, or Super 8. Instead, I got a book full of gorgeous period artwork, and a hastily-slapped-together story game. To be fair, I am often in the mood to play a character in this kind of game, but if I wanted to actually run it at my table, I'd be left doing all the heavy lifting myself.

I won't be reviewing Kids on Bikes--other people have already done so.  Instead, I want to break down the genre rules that could let this concept flourish under the Player-driven sandbox style of OSR games. Maybe I'll do all the heavy lifting too.

Core Genre "Rules"

 

Let's peel this bandage right off.

DEATH is right off the table (as a consequence for failure). There are many other repercussions to choose from, and they can all be devastating in the right circumstance. Instead, try:

• Lose an item
• Lose a lead
• Lose an ally
• Lose a power
• Make an enemy
• Miss a crucial timing
• Gain a curse/wound/other lingering nasty nonsense

However, the finality of death also leads to strong player attachment to specific, beloved characters. Just ask anyone who plays Rogue-like video games to tell you how they felt when their longest-lived character died. (RIP: Gorkanator2)

This presents an issue for a game emulating the Kids Save the Suburb genre. However, I think we can make the aging of the characters a suitable substitute--or at least the aging out of imaginative play. (More on this in the next article, The Heavy Lifting)

VIOLENCE should be PG-13 at maximum, to respect the genre. If in Home Alone we watched Kevin pierce the internal organs, peel the skin, and destroy the bones of the dopey burglars Harry and Marv, it would have been branded a gore horror film. As the GM of a Kids Save the Suburbs game, we should only describe violence in detail for either comedic effect, or to intentionally give the Players tone whiplash (caution! TV Tropes). 

For many of us coming from the survival-horror background so common in the OSR, this can be a big challenge. I know it has been so far for me. I can't prescribe a solution for this, but what's helped me immensely has been to re-narrate scenes of TV violence in a campy, action-adventure style. For example, I recently re-watched The Raid, and paused after incredible action sequences (like this one) to describe them out loud and drastically lighten the tone. If you can describe even a single fight from this movie in a kid-friendly way, you're more than capable of describing a fist fight between a plucky preteen hero and the neighborhood bully.

Fights should be problem solving challenges at best (think luring the Monster through traps), or incredibly rapid at worst (does the Bully rattle you senseless or not?). This is not a genre about fighting, and it should really feel like a bunch of powerless kids trying to keep themselves whole.

POWER FANTASY: this game ain't about it. Luckily, this is a familiar concept for anyone who plays an OSR TTRPG. As the Kids adventure, they probably won't be gaining super strength, telekinesis, or mastery over shadows (unless you like that stuff). Instead, they will be gaining resources in the form of age, friends, knowledge, and particularly cool bikes. A grizzled Kid of 4 or 5 seasons of adventure might be 16 years old, with a car, a romantic interest, a full knowledge of the maze-like passages behind the DYNAGAMES Arcade, and a friendship with the garden gnomes that live around town.

 It should be easy to see how every obstacle might require cool problem solving. Just spitballing ideas, now:

•  Lucas and Jenny need to find a way into the office of Principal Lardy of Avettown High before school opens tomorrow morning, so they can keep the photo evidence of their favorite teacher's weird behavior out of the hands of the authorities. (Wouldn't the FBI just love to probe his alien anatomy?) Jenny bribes a Sophomore in the A/V club to keep the cafeteria window open when he leaves after the janitors, and Lucas conducts an elaborate distraction from detention to enable Jenny to steal the master key. Then, just after dark the two sneak in, grab the photos and run! But wait, these aren't the right photos! They show Principal Lardy and Secretary Rose shaking hands with some men in black suits, and their hands have too many knuckles...
• The Bleak House sits atop Red Ridge, overlooking the town forest. Even though nobody has seen the old lady inside since '76, rumors say her mastiffs are still well fed behind the wrought iron fence. Pauline's dad is the mailman, so she crushes some sleeping pills she snatched from her parents' medicine cabinet into his bag of dog treats before he leaves in the morning. When the Gnomes tell her the dogs are sleeping, the gang bikes out through the forest to the Bleak Gate. Using bungie cords, a pool cleaner, and some duct tape, they climb the gate, and sneak through a garden overgrown with thorns...
  
  
  

THE ROLE OF ADULTS is mostly to stay out of the way. I can't remember who said it first, but a core element of this genre is that friendly adults are absentee, and unfriendly adults always have an alibi that keeps the Kids' guardians from being concerned. 

 What keeps the friendly adults from helping out? Often it's Dark Shit™, like addiction, abuse, poverty, schizophrenia, overwhelming work/home responsibilities, or any combination. The guardians are so busy with their own life, and the Kids are just being kids--they just don't have the time to deal with this silliness. 

 In TTRPG, how deep you dive into this darkness in the lives of the friendly adults is a personal choice. Personally, I deal with this mundane darkness too often, so I just hint at it enough to satisfy my players' perception of verisimilitude. That being said, keep these fucked-up guardians within reach of the Kids' adventures just in case. Should your game take a nasty turn towards scary, mature themes, (content warning) like kidnappings, enslavement, true violence, etc... it's time for them to show up with the police and a soccer van, in Bear-Mama mode, ready to do what it takes to get their children back safe

 Unfriendly adults, however, are important and antagonistic organizations. I use them heavily to enforce travel and setting constraints. For instance, during the day any well-to-do neighborhood will be infested with straight-laced NIMBYs, eager to call the truancy officer on unaccompanied children or teens. Similarly, certain areas are effectively gated from the players by conspicuous unmarked vans (Warning: TV Tropes), the dreaded Home-Owners' Associations, or territorial gangs.

In the case of active opposition in the form of Unfriendly Adults, it is crucial that they have a "perfect alibi" to prevent exposure. This can be serious or comical, as long as all friendly adults believe it by default. For example, the government-hired paramilitary organization that infiltrated Springville as a new milk delivery service--complete with company vans with giant satellite dishes on their roofs. With a strong disguise, insidious Unfriendly Adult organizations can only be dealt with or exposed by the Kids, who aren't fooled. (More on this in the next article, The Heavy Lifting)

THE BAD GUY is the final piece of this genre-puzzle. However, since I've exceeded my own attention span in the course of this piece, I'll be jamming that into my next post!

Next: The Heavy Lifting

Now that these genre-conventions are clear, I'll be putting together the basic setting details of my own Suburban Town in need of saving, Lichfield.

Mundane Creatures

    Five years ago Arnold K of Goblin Punch wrote a fantastic post which questioned our tendency to split our monsters into the mundane and the magical. The bulk of the post consists of subtle fantastical tweaks to mundane animals.

    I’m enamored with this idea. It’s easy to imagine a game setting of exclusively “mundane” flora and fauna, with few traditional monsters or magic items. Why give players a charm of speak with dead, if they could instead glean the same information by watching how a murder of crows eats the body? Why explore a goblin cave instead of a chimpanzee cave?

Here's my own personal list:

Antbear (vermilingua)

    Sages have often wondered how the humble antbear can subsist off ants and termites alone.  Their sticky, nimble tongues are not nearly long enough to reach the deep chambers of older colonies, yet an antbear can sit atop an anthill, slurping up droves of tiny crawlies for hours!  The same strategy employed by men wielding honey-coated saplings (called formards) quickly loses any effect. You see, it turns out the antbear produces a beautiful whistle through its long snout--too high pitched for the human ear. 

    The lovely lullaby that lures ants and termites so well has the very same effect on any creature that hears it. This rarely proves problematic, as antbears seldom grow to a size dangerous for a human. However, it's not unheard of for denizens of the Grey Dale to lose cats, chickens, or even children to old antbears. While tallow-stuffing the ears of your beloved pets and children won't save them from faeries, it certainly does block the song of the antbear.

Crow (corvus)

    Much maligned as an aggressive scavenger and an omen of death, the humble crow actually provides a valuable service to the living. He is a voyeur of fate.

    The traveler followed by a crow is right to fear for her life. The raucous bird is an omen--he follows the doomed to watch her death. Each step the traveler takes is one step closer to her fate, and the crow can smell her fate like the aroma of a pungent winter stew. Each decision adds another scent to the pot; staying a night at a friend's home adds the richness of intimacy, helping a farmer fix their wagon adds the sweet scent of kindness, and pressing on late into the night adds the savory tang of purpose. The crow may cackle and taunt her, unable to contain his glee, or he may remain a silent tail, afraid to influence fate and so deprive himself of a juicy meal.

    Why, then, do some dead attract crows numerous as flies, while others remain whole and untouched by corvid beaks, bloating like ripe fruit? Clever observers will realize that, while the traveler's path to her doom is like seasoning, the manner of her death determines the flavor of her flesh. These are some questions that live in the minds of a crow as he descends upon a body:

Who came to claim her spirit when she died, and where did they lead it?
Did her spirit linger in the meat too long, lending it's sourness to the flavor?
Did her god pluck her spirit out with haste, leaving the meat too dry?
Was her life too rich in contentment, rendering the flesh oily?

    The crow also has particular tastes, varying from those of his friends and family somewhat. While he may detest the crispness of the untested heart, his uncle may love it.

    By learning the preferences of our neighborhood crows, we can glean great insight into the lives of vagabonds and pilgrims, and all others whose remains are left untended.

Rabbit (sylvilagus)

Rabbits are strange creatures.

    A predator hides at the entrance to a rabbit warren until a cautious rabbit makes his way out. The predator strikes too slowly, and its quarry dives safely back inside!  If the hunter is inexperienced, they might  assume the rabbit will hide and reemerge when it's safer.  However, an experienced hunter knows the truth--their escaped dinner will never emerge from this entrance again.

    In reality, rabbits create warrens which are all indeterminately connected with each other. Also, rabbits are not intelligent enough to reliably navigate their vast mazes of fractal space. While not much is known about these warrens, some things are certain:

1. There are far more entrances than there are rabbits.
2. Any two specific entrances are less than 0.1% likely to connect.
3. Different ingresses are more or less likely to be found from inside the warren.

    Practically, this means that certain rabbit holes can spit out 10, 20, 50 rabbits a day, while others are used only as entrances. Hunters often refer to these as "rabbit-spitters" and "rabbit-suckers".

Fox (vulpes)

    Fur trappers out West will warn you to never kill a thief caught red-handed. They'll tell you to take off that red hand to teach 'em a lesson, but to leave the culprit alive. This is because trappers are tired of dealing with foxes, and they don't want you making any more.

    Whether or not foxes are reincarnated criminals, they are impossible to trap.  The pads of their feet step on the air just above the ground, so weight-triggered traps don't work.  And they have a delicate bite that can steal the bait off a trigger.  No, foxes are greedy, so the only way to catch a fox is to bribe it.

Coyote (canis latrans)

    There is a myth about coyotes, that they always take a different route to their den to avoid being followed. What utter bullshit! The reason you can never find a coyote when you're looking for her is that she knows when you are thinking about her. The moment she crosses your mind, the coyote can smell and hear you, wherever you are.  And worse, if you're thinking about coyotes in general, all coyotes can sense you.  So, the only way to catch a coyote is to stumble across her, or if she catches you!

That said, there are a few successful coyote hunters out there.  Their ways are as mysterious as the animals they hunt.

Goose (anserinae)

Dozens of geese fly overhead to the South-West. Their V has a long left tail, curving inwards ever so slightly, and the leader of the formation slows down and speeds up rhythmically, causing a compression wave to travel through the legs of the V. What does it mean? Your great-grandparents might tell you it's an omen of a dry Springtime, but only a Goose-Augur can say for sure.

The formations flocks of geese make mid-flight are potent, and specific omens.  In contrast to the claims of many mundane augurs, there is no way to translate these omens except for the blessing of a Queen of Geese. And it is almost certain your town's augur has not received this blessing for a few reasons:

1. Few people know how to identify a Queen.
2. Geese are very violent.
3. The Queen only bestows a blessing on someone with perfect courtly manners--a behavior unlikely to serve you well whilst being beaten to death by Geese.

A Queen of Geese is the only docile goose in a greater flock. In contrast with her vassals, she rigidly follows courtly etiquette, so if you manage to gain an audience, she will guarantee your safety for its duration.  However, every other goose and gander in the greater flock is sworn to protect her and very violent, so make sure you have an escape plan.

Deer (cervidae)

Try not drive too fast through town, or you'll spook the deer, and make an enemy of the local coydogs tasked with thinning their population. A surprised deer splits into anywhere between three and seven identical clones, which all run off together.   The best way to avoid spooking them is to whistle holiday jingles as you walk, because it's difficult to be scared when you're in the Christmas spirit.

Relatedly, Redbridge is looking for a new deerherd to take over for Carl who was run over by a car this past autumn. In the time since he passed, the county has been overrun with deer. They've eaten all of the foliage 7 feet high and lower, and the forest is suffering. If you see Hunter Marcus, please notify the Office of the Environment--he's suspected to have some involvement.

Hummingbird (trochilidae)

Hummingbirds come from faerieland. There are plenty more living there, but some come over in the light of dawn, and return at dusk. To follow one on its way home is nigh impossible, but will lead you to faerieland. Nobody know if it's possible to return.

Now I'm bored of staring at this list, so I'll publish it and come back for more.

More to Come!

They say everyone's first game is terrible

I've decided to lay bare the still smoking corpse of my first long-running campaign, which ended a few months ago. Anyone who is interested can watch as I peel back charred skin and sinew to reveal the lovingly crafted, yet misshapen organs and bones beneath. My goal is to put to rest my own conscience--I need to move on before I can run my next game.