The Eclecticon

After Action Report: Jailbreak

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 23:26:18 GMT

The notes in the back of Unknown Armies' 2nd Ed rulebook calls Jailbreak 'a convention standard'. It's easy to see why. The large number of players means that someone will almost always be doing something, and the characters' different personalities, obsessions and hangups, to borrow a line, "all fit quite nicely together, like furious, bloodstained sticklebricks". The plot evolved very organically, needing only the occasional nudge from me to keep the tension high. Guns were fired, life changing revelations were covered up and a thing escaped from a chest that everyone, in retrospect, wished hadn't. In fact, I realised (at the point where I had a character's mobile battery fail while she was desperately trying to dial 000) that I was taking a lot my pacing cues from Funny Games. I'm a bad, bad man.

My players, on the other hand, were great. I guess it turns out that if you schedule your game for the late session, the people who turn up will be the people who really wanted to be there, rather than the folks who are just killing time before something else they want to do. It also means that, if you finish a bit early, there's time for some very interesting post-game commentary. This gave everyone an opportunity to go into bits of their character that had been informing their actions, but which didn't ever become obvious to anyone besides me. Anyway, if any of you read this (hi lordriffington! Also, d_fuses, several of them play Shadowfist with you), thanks again.

Some further observations:

UA is a very easy system to teach. From memory, I had one player who had some hands-on experience with the system and another who'd read the first section of the rulebook some time back. By the end of the game, everyone was rolling the right things, flip-flopping, telling me their damage rolls and so on like they'd been doing it since the game came out.

With a game like this, where most of the action comes from the players riffing on each other, having the GM not take a seat and keep roaming around the table seems to work well. When people aren't constantly looking at you waiting for the next bit of plot, they feel a bit more free to have side conversations, make plans and so on. It's possible that having someone constantly moving around is distracting. Again, if you were playing, let me know what you thought of the approach.

I had a few handouts, but one thing I should have had was a map of the house in which most of the story took place. I think all nine people around the table had a different idea of how the house was laid out. Whoops.

After the game ended, someone (I was thinking of you by your characters' names shortly after the game got going. Sorry.) told me that it was a shame that I wasn't running the game again later in the con. I guess they were right. I would have loved another go with a different group. I guess I'll just have to run it next year. Also, Joy and Sorrow, from the same anthology, looks excellent...

So, I'll be at GenCon...

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 08:17:06 GMT

Loooooong time without an update, I know. If you've been missing me (aaaaaaaaaaahahahahahaha!) you can catch me at GenCon.

What: I'm running Jailbreak, a classic Unknown Armies scenario.
When: The evening of the 19th of September, from 7:00pm

Due to Personal Stuff, I only have time for the one session. There's room for nine players in total, and (as of this post) eight places free. The more the merrier, so hopefully I'll see you there!

Killer Theory

Fri, 14 Nov 2008 12:07:06 GMT

Cross-posted to otherspaces.

Darkly Dreaming Dexter was released in 2004, and instantly became a hit. Batman Began again the following year, making Warner Brothers another mountain of money. Dexter hit cable TV in 2006, and that's when I knew for sure that something had started swimming around in our collective unconscious. Why else would we suddenly be obsessing about dark, brooding figures that hunt and terrify the evil people who surround us?

We've always had myths about deadly, terrifying things that lived out in the dark, away from the light of hearth and home. But when Jack became the Ripper, the monster became urban. It became one of us - a human gone all bad and crazy, and Jack ascended to the Invisible Clergy as the Dark Stalker.

Of course, the Masterless Man got to the same place by keeping people safe from monsters and bad men. It was beyond appropriate that the two Archetypes would be eternal rivals - it was inevitable. It was right. Avatars of the Masterless Man go up against Dark Stalkers all the time, and vice-versa. They can't really help it - it's part of the persona they adopt. It might not be that way much longer, though.

Remember Dexter and Christian Bale in a black cape? Something must have changed. I think that in 2004 we got a new Godwalker of the Dark Stalker, and I think he's moving into new territory. This guy (or girl - there have been a couple of successful female serial killers, so it's not an exclusive Archetype) is reinventing the Stalker as The Killer of the Evil That Lurks Among Us And We Don't Want To Face, or something like that. He's probably got a very snappy name for what he thinks he is. He's a dark, deadly figure, who nevertheless protects us from worse things.

Neither the current Dark Stalker nor the Masterless Man can be happy about this attempt to unify the two Archetypes. If I'm right (and I'm sure I am), then we're about to see a three-way ascension war kick off, and my Lord, is it going to be a bloody one.

Watch for gruesome murders of killers and rapists. Watch for martial artists and ghetto gunfighters getting kacked in the worst ways you can imagine. Look for the Eye-Biting Man, who used to be Godwalker of the Stalker, and left a trail of bodies around the US-Canada border. And someone needs to make Jeff Lindsay cough up what he knows.

If anyone can say whether I'm right, it'll be him.

Great Big Gaming Preferences Post

Thu, 16 Oct 2008 03:28:47 GMT

So Shamus Young has asked his readers which gaming systems they like to use. I can't sign in to his site at work (for some reason), so I'm answering here.

What gaming system did you start with when you were learning the game?

My gaming career kicked off with the D&D Red Box, but I was never really satisfied with it. I'd seen one of the Gold Box computer games (Curse of the Azure Bonds, if you're interested) in action at a friend's place, and knew that the rules I had weren't the complete ones. I had a scaled-back, and therefore suboptimal, set of rules, and this could not be tolerated. I moved on to 2nd edition AD&D thanks to generous financial support from Mum and Dad, and fetched up on its complex reef of divergent rules and crusted-on subsystems for several years. Honestly, for ages I assumed that AD&D was it.

It wasn't until years later, after completely failing to run a horror-themed adventure, that I decided I wanted to tell different kinds of stories, and needed different tools to do so. I picked up Call of Cthulhu in 1993 and, wonder of wonders, saw that it did completely different things well. This was kind of a watershed moment for me, and it's led more or less directly to the current proliferation of games on my shelves¹.

What's your preferred gaming system when you're running a game?

It depends on what sort of game I'm trying to run. Obviously I'm more fond of some than others, but generally there'll be a system that feels like the right one for the job.

From my standpoint as a GM with a limited amount of time on his hands, though, Unknown Armies and REIGN (with its ability to generate characters, organisations, cities etc. with one roll) are things of beauty.

What system to you prefer as a player?

I'll level with you - I can count on one hand the number of times I've sat down to a gaming table as a player. I'm trying to get my current Ars Magica group to embrace the troupe play concept that the game has been espousing for yonks, but with little success so far. ArM is a fun system for players (I think) because it's got a lot of fiddly bits to play around with, all of which work well together. On the other hand, UA and REIGN would be favourites too, because they're simple, adapable and put the emphasis on character, rather than statistics.

And because we live in an imperfect world: What system do you actually end up using?

Ah, now - one of the joys of being a GM with a group that's been stable over several years is that I can whinge and cajole them into playing just about anything I like. Over the last four years or so, we've played a Cthulhu campaign, Unknown Armies, a short bout of (original) Deadlands, Unknown Armies again, some Savage Worlds and currently Ars Magica, fifth edition.

I'm not sure what'll be next. I suspect it'll be whatever I'm geeking out over when this campaign comes to an end.

¹Twenty, at last count, plus four that I've decided I didn't like and sold on, plus a handful of others that I'm not counting because they've only been released as free downloads (StarORE, In Spaaaaaace! etc.)

After Action Report: The Appalling Strangeness

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 00:18:38 GMT

You know what running that one-shot was like? Running that one-shot was like putting on your favourite pair of jeans again. It doesn't matter how nice whatever you were wearing was, it's just so good to find yourself in something so completely comfortable. It was like coming back home.

Of course, it helps that the scenario was building on two reasonably successful campaigns, so I didn't have to re-imagine a lot of the world, and I already had locations that three quarters of my group knew fairly well and a cast of characters I could walk across the stage if I needed to.

So, for the benefit of those who weren't there - a quick rundown. You can get the basic setup here. Rachel (suyongli ) and Peter (Mr P) Reed, after some out-of-scenario legwork, tracked Jackie to a bunch called Satan's Chosen Temple, and the Temple itself to its temporary digs in Carindale (while a members parents were out of town). Said member (Lylyth - not her real name - played by sugaryfun) had tied up her boyfriend, T-Joe, while he sucked down a bottle of 'possession juice' in an effort to get a demon to ride him. Demons, of course, love that shit, and one showed up (played by Mr D) just as the Reeds rang the doorbell.

What followed in my head was a five-minute introductory scene wherein everyone made their introductions, established what they were after from the night and went off, arm more or less in arm. Instead, the players turned it into a half-hour dance of shifting alliances (Mr D's efforts to convice someone - anyone - to untie him were enormously entertaining).

Now, one of the fun things I'd built into this scenario was the familiarity of one of the characters. In fact, he was so familiar that I was rewarded with groans of recognition from sugaryfun and Mr P when he started ranting about how he could find Jackie. GMs out there: if you're looking for a way to revitalise an adversary who's gone a bit stale, have one of the players take them over, but don't tell anyone else. You'll be glad you did.

Anyway, the four of them went off to the burned-out tennis courts on Milton Road - Peter and Lylyth more convinced than ever that everything had gone horribly, horribly wrong and Rachel trying to work out what on earth was going on around her. At this point, I more or less sat back and let the pre-established character conflicts do my job for me. (Actually, that's a lie. I did throw an old friend of T-Joe and Lylyth into the mix to test Raymond Chandler's advice about having someone come into the scene with a gun. It works.) There was a standoff, gunshots, woundings, a forced injection of heroin and a reenactment of THAT scene from The Exorcist.

In the end, Rachel and Peter wisely decided to flee the scene (though leaving her car behind to be found by the Police). The Demon pretty much browbeat poor Lylyth into going through the entrance of Jackie's new otherspatial home, before using her as a trojan horse to get itself over the threshold - kicking her out of her body in the process. We left things there - in true I-run-Unknown-Armies-like-a-big-literary-tosser fashion, nothing was completely resolved.

I have to praise the fantastic efforts of my players, all of whom got right into characters they hadn't created and played them to the hilt, often against type (sugaryfun's cries of 'this character is CRAP!' whenever she failed a roll to notice something gladdened my black, dessicated GM heart). I don't think the scenario I had loosely planned in my head would have worked if the players hadn't been willing to play up the areas of friction between them. Special credit goes to suyongli, who had never looked at the game before, but picked up the mechanics with admirable alacrity and ran well with the grungy, bogan nature of the scenario. I like to think she had fun finding 'Fearsome bitching-out: 40%' and similar things on her character sheet.

I mentioned the possibility of running this again - perhaps at next year's Gen Con. Before I do, I'll need to test it on some people who haven't played in one of my campaigns, and won't get all the references to past events. If the whole thing isn't a complete exercise in self-gratification on my part, it should work well with them, too.

Failing that, there's always Jailbreak...

A Brief Announcement

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 07:56:18 GMT

This Thursday, in honour of my birthday falling on gaming night, we're going to take a short break from Ars Magica and play some Unknown Armies.

That is all.

Streets of Albedo

Tue, 05 Aug 2008 02:34:12 GMT

Albedo ain't much to look at, I guess. Just a rock, really - one among millions in this here belt, but it had enough fancy-pants radioactive ore to draw Blue Sun way out into the black. They rode out, built the dome and had a good go at mining the stuff, but there must not've been enough for 'em, I guess. Few years later they up and left.

Course, they couldn't well take the dome with 'em, and it probably weren't cost-eefective to haul the life support back from the frontier either. So for a godforsaken asteroid millions of miles from anywhere, it's got a surprising number of home's comforts. That is, as long as you don't mind the ceiling always bein' on a shade brighter'n' is truly necessary, or the air recyclers covering everything and everyone in old rock dust. Least we're pretty sure it ain't glowin' hot or nothin'.

An' like I said, it's home. To me, and to a bunch of others - prospecters, mostly. Yeah, that's right. Blue Sun left a buncha shiny ore here that was just a bit too much trouble for 'em to dig out, but a man who's willing to live in a half-buried survival capsule while he digs for his big strike can get a lot of rock dug real cheap. Sometimes he'll even find that strike o' his.

Course, when that happens it ain't very useful unless there's someone to sell it to. We've always had a few ships willing to call in and pick up what we've got to sell, and they sometimes drop some folk off who'll set up a store or some such, rather than just grabbin' a rock drill and settin' to. There's even folk walkin' around all fancy-like, talkin' 'bout puttin' together a railgun to fling them fancy rocks all the way back to Londinium.

'Course, the bit news at the moment is the upcomin' election. Sherrif Kwan's been what passes for the law in these parts for as long as folk can remember, but it seems he's comin' up a bit yeller of late. Some of them railgun men, they say he used to be a prison camp guard, back in the Unification War, and that ain't endearin' Kwan to anyone. Might be that this time he finds himself with a real challenger this time, and Lord only knows what that'll mean.

In the meantime, we got surly miners, claim jumpers, vacsuit thieves, spacers lookin' to blow off steam after too long out in the Black and a snake-poison mean witch of a brothel madam. An' that's not countin' the rumours that Blue Sun's gonna make a claim on our profits for livin' in their cast off junk.

It ain't quiet, friend, but it's home.

sugaryfun has been requesting a Firefly/Serenity story for a while now - the Eclecticon (tardily) provides. The Serenity game is the obvious choice to run it, but I think REIGN would also work well. In any case, the themes are those of the franchise you love (or don't, if you're a backwoods-dwelling, foul-scented bog monster who deserves the derision and isolation you receive): independence, persistence and finding family in the weirdest of places.

Attention Weak, Spineless Dogs!

Thu, 31 Jul 2008 22:24:52 GMT

The War on Weakness begins anew on the 14th.

Be watching.

Black Gold

Mon, 07 Jul 2008 22:49:34 GMT

A learned commentator once said that the Lightless Jungle* is "not quite a hell you can walk to, but is certainly the next best thing". Beneath trees so large that the only way to see a whole one is to climb a mountain some distance away, it's full to bursting with venomous animals, carnivorous plants, blind albino gorillas, flesh eating dragonflies the size of eagles and mad, dangerous tribes of shamanistic sorcerors.

Nobody in their right mind wants to go there, but there are plenty of people, many of them very wealthy, who will pay the unsound of mind to venture into the stygian mulch in search of rare animal parts, horrible poisons, fabulous gems, lost cities, the carcasses of three-hundred foot ticks and new and fascinating magics. It's dangerous work, of course, but you don't have to do it for long to retire a very wealthy individual.

You may be crazy enough to venture in beneath the trees, where maps are useless and the normal rules of the world seem to fall away from you. Alternatively, you could just sit back in Hearthlight, the tiny city-state that huddles behind its walls and listens to the screeches of mad, blind birds as it sends cargoes of the jungle's bounty to buyers across the world. After all, there's challenge enough in staying afloat in a cut-throat world of commerce, even without the oppression and interference of the Hearthlight Guild.

Or, if that doesn't appeal, bring religion to Hearthlight's godless heathens, and then, if you dare, spread it to the tribes of the Jungle. Or bring the entire area under the sway of one of the neighbouring kingdoms. Alternatively, stop someone unworthy from doing either, or both.
Just remember that, no matter how far you think you can see, the Jungle always has something waiting for you, just out of sight...

So, another REIGN setup. I like to think that Hearthlight is a lot like Sanctuary in the early Thieves' World books - shabby, ignored for the most part, but with the potential for a lot of fast, dirty money.

*Further information on most of the proper nouns in this entry can be found at Greg Stolze's Reign Wiki.

Dirty

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 06:35:30 GMT

I wouldn't say that anyone really knows Dave West. A lot of people know of him, though. He's not really what people think of when you say 'crime lord'. Hasn't been for years, now. He's like a real crime lord's banker. You want to pull a heist, buy some wholesale ice, whatever, but don't have the cash? You talk to Dirty Dave West, he gives you some money and you pay him back when you get your payoff. The way I hear it, he doesn't even charge more than a token amount of interest - way below what you pay on your mortgage, at any rate.

What he really takes his payment in is favours, and I mean big ones. After all, he's just made a score possible that you never could've pulled by yourself, so that success is partially his. He's been doing it a long time, too, so he's got a network of hard, crimey bastards all up and down the eastern seaboard who'll do whatever he needs doing.

And you know what? A lot of what he needs doing involves kacking dukes and breaking cabals. Sometimes this is pretty direct 'make this idiot disappear' stuff. More often, some big fish who wasn't so very big a little while ago gets a call to ensure that something becomes property of Dave West, and that the health of the current owner isn't a high priority. To the sort of people Dirty Dave West helps, that's as good as an open inviation to bring down the hurt and save themselves some time and energy.

There's all sorts of rumours about why this is. The bullshit-free truth is that there is no great vendetta. Dave West doesn't give a stone cold shit about the Occult Underground. He doesn't care about anything. Dirty Dave West is a myth and his entire network is a front for the Sleepers. Yeah, you heard me. They're proactive, here in Australia - not really a bunch who wait for some freak to go completely balls-out and poke the sleeping tiger. They see you starting to go a bit off the rails outside the comfort and safety of an otherspace and all of a sudden Dave West decides that he wants something of yours and you - yeah, your health isn't a concern at all.

It's clever, you've got to give them that. Of course, like everything else in this world, it's breaking down. It's been going on too long, you see. Everyone who's anyone in the criminal underworld knows that he's around, though, and that he's got an agenda they can't figure out. A lot of them have gotten pretty paranoid, especially the ones who still owe 'him' favours. They're spending a lot of time trying to put a face - or a plan, or anything at all - to the name.

Well, they've succeeded, in a fucked-up, more-trouble-than-it-was-ever-worth kind of way. Not only has something calling itself Dirty Dave West taken direct control of a couple of amphetamine labs in Sydney, another one has called down two hits in Newcastle. There's another doing large-scale standovers in Melbourne and a fourth importing ecstacy into Brisbane, and that's just the four that I know of. He looks different in every city and he can't be found - he just walks into some kingpin's private office, says he's running things now, walks out and disappears. The gangsters are driving themselves batshit trying to figure out where he goes, because they won't believe the real explanation. They can't find anything because there's nothing to find. Dirty Dave West doesn't exist when he's not trying to take over the underworld.

So, problems for them, huh? Opportunity for you and me, though. You see, there's a set of documents the Sleepers created to allow them to use him as a front - birth certificate, passport, drivers license, a hundred points of ID and more. It looks like it's been scattered around the place, but if someone could get their hands on enough documents, I'm betting they could take control of the guy, just like he's doing to the crooks, and that's got to be a prize worth the risk. If nothing else, his bank account's got to be good for a million bucks or so.

You in?

Dirty Dave West is, to borrow a phrase, the greatest character I never created. Rumours about him and his activities floated around all through the first two River Trilogy campaigns, but I could never find a good way to bring him towards centre stage. This is my effort to retcon an explanation for why he never showed.

Tiger Turns the Wheel

Thu, 22 May 2008 01:37:11 GMT

This is what is written in the Book of the Huli Jin:

...and the Greatly August Shang Di sent a dragon of heaven to protect the Kings of Zhou, for before the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, the world belonged to the tigers. The Kings of Beasts, jealous though they were of the successes of men, were held at bay by the power of the Dragon of Zhou.

It came to pass, though, that the last King of Zhou died, and as his vassals had long since made kings of themselves, ceasing to pay due respect to his line, the king's sons did not adopt his title, and the Zhou came at last to an end. The Dragon of Zhou died and, in dying, gave birth to seven new dragons - the Dragons of Qi, Qin, Chu, Yan, Han, Wei and Zhao. As the Warring States battled each other, so did the dragons clash under heaven, for none could find the strength to defeat his brothers.

It was at this inauspicious time, when the dragons were weakened and divided amongst themselves, that the tigers chose to strike...

The story is substantially correct. The tigers, watching and waiting since the end of the Shang dynasty, have seen their chance. The Dragon of Qin has made itself into a lean, fearsome killer, more than a match for any of its brothers, let alone the tigers, mighty though they are. However, in doing so, it has staked everything on its ability to win a final, bloody victory. As the State of Qin is poised for expansion and conquest, so the Dragon of Qin must either kill and consume its brothers or face quick and inevitable starvation.

While the Dragon of Qin may be unassailable, the tigers are as cunning as ever. They have decided to attack its weaker brothers to deny it the sustenance it requires. The Dragon of Zhao, in particular, is ripe for ambush - it still feels the wounds it received years ago while fighting over Changping. As the dragons fall, the end of Qin becomes more and more likely, until the last Dragon starves. Then the world will be as it once was - a place where cunning and skill at arms are the measure of worth, rather than fawning to kings and ministers.

The greatest flaw in the plan is this: while the tigers may come together to bring down one of their timeless rivals, they will not gladly work together at other times. To move his plan forward, Bai Hu, the White Tiger of the West, must gather together a force of men - martial artists descended from the ancient feudal nobility, criminals, renegades and others who have no love for the despotic States. Only they can work together sufficiently well to discover the ancient treasures and conduct the forgotten rituals that will draw the dragons into battle.

And yet... The wisest among these dwellers in the World of Forests and Lakes ponder how remarkably similar the agenda of the tigers is to that of the fabled Sect of Leaning Heaven, who seek to destroy the August Ones and place the world under the heel of Gonggong, the ancient enemy who once set heaven itself askew.

Is there time to answer such doubts? The Dragon of Qin bears its fangs, and the tigers crouch, hidden and unsuspected. Soon it will be time for all things, Heaven, Earth and Man, to leap into battle for the future.

The story is an allegory of things poorly understood. When the ultraterrestrial Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors vanished, they left behind remnants of the great technologies that once wrought and reshaped the planet. Among these was the AI entity that became known as the Dragon of Zhou - a magnificent construction of femtotechnology and dark matter, powered by the geomantic power grid that spans the Earth. When the Ji family assumed the throne and proclaimed themselves Kings of Zhou, the Dragon reassumed its antediluvian service to the ruling power of the Chinese basin. It made minute but significant changes to the family's gene sequences, allowing them to communicate directly with its unfathomably vast intelligence through the use of certain rituals and meditative techniques.

Sadly, with the passing of time and the final end of the Zhou, the Dragon has found itself attempting to serve seven rulers, all equally qualified (in the Dragon's eyes) to command its service. Their mutually contradictory claims and orders have caused significant stresses to its neural network, and now it desperately desires unity of purpose, and therefore political unity. To this end it advises the kings to pursue inhumane policies of oppression, conquest and fear, and the Legalist ministers of state provide no opposition.

Of course, humans being what they are, the gene sequences that allow communication with the Dragon have passed beyond the Ji. Among the population of the China basin there are many who can unconsciously manipulate the same geomantic energies and dark matter that power that power the Dragon. From Lao Zi on, they have learned to perform impossible feats, from superhuman sagacity to lightning speed and the ability to leap impossible distances. Combined with their purely mundane knowledge of alchemy and the martial arts, these wu xia represent a significant unknown factor in the Dragon's plans.

And what of the tigers? Well, in this world, they really could be anything. Ultraterrestrial renegades, human time travellers from the distant future (or the distant past?), even representatives of the Dragon's own unconscious desire to end its existence. In any case, they know where to find the Dragon's interface centres, high on certain mountains, and they know the particular circumstances that will trigger the shut-down sequence. Wu Xia, are you ready and able to free your people from this final inhuman yoke?

In the tradition of the Suppressed Transmissions, and of Taoism itself, bisociate it! Everything is true, especially the contradictory bits. Extraterrestrial AIs, constructed by some ancient reptilian conquerors of Earth, seek to reclaim their unity and halt their entropic decay back down into dark strings. Meanwhile, the spirits of nature, ancient since the world was young, attempt to overthrow the forces of material sapience and return the world to a pristine state of harmonious nature-supernature. Meanwhile, Shang Di, the Most August Heavenly Emperor, has revealed to certain exemplary members of humanity its choice: earn the ultimate freedom of your species from alien domination, or lose the blessings of civilisation and return to a world of darkness, fangs and fear.

So, there you have it. Three options for the secret history behind the end of the Warring States period. Whichever one you choose, it's a great excuse for lots of skulduggery, training montages in exotic locations and all-out, high-flying, set-destroying kung fu awesomeness.

Books of the Dead

Mon, 19 May 2008 03:23:39 GMT

Any golden age is a fragile thing. Surrounded by ruins, carvings in forgotten languages and, above all, the spirits of the long-dead, the necromancers of Persia know this better than most. The greatest empires, the wisest sages and the kings of kings all eventually find themselves passing into the shadows, fading as people forget.

It is in the nature of golden ages, however, that the people living in them cannot bring themselves to forsee their end. So it is that the anatomists who study the works of Galen and dissect the corpses of the destitute, the diviners who summon shades to advise potentates and Shahanshas, even the philosophers who debate the nature of the soul (for neither the Hellenised Zoroastrians nor the fanatical Mazdakites have absolute authority on the matter) fail to see the doom that approaches their ancient art.

The overthrow and assassination of Khosrau II and the weakening of the Zoroastrian faith have created the greatest market for the scholars of death in the world, but they has also left Persia fatally weak. The centralised power of the great Sassinid emperors now lies in the hands of generals and zealots, while the imperial family tears itself apart, fighting for the throne.

Meanwhile, at the far reaches of the empire, the old Byzantine enemy casts eager glances at Mesopotamia and the Caucusus. Even the Arab tribes, once fractious and easily pliable, have united - brought together in an unprecedented union by a new faith born of the desert oases.

The spirits are clear: soon Persia will fall. Its arts, wine, religions, even language itself will be threatened by the foreign rulers. Are you willing to risk the wrath of its conquerors by attempting to preserve the Arts of the Dead that have passed to you from Greece, Caanan, Chaldea and Egyptian antiquity?

Does anyone else out there remember the Complete Book of Necromancers? I think that I got more playable ideas out of that than any other (non-Planescape) product TSR ever produced. To make things a bit more interesting, I've moved the idea for this all-necromancer campaign out of the worlds of generic fantasy and into the last days of Hellenised, pre-Islamic Persia.

Shut Down and Shut Up

Tue, 15 Apr 2008 00:11:52 GMT

You know white noise, of course. Everyone does. You hear it every time you tune a tv, radio, whatever, to a dead channel. You hear it, in fact, even when you think you can't hear anything. By the time you're old enough to understand the things you're meant to be listening for - voices, sounds, music - your brain has already learned to filter out the white noise. You still hear it, but you never think about what you're hearing - and that's bad.

It's bad, you see, because white noise is a smokescreen. White noise is what keeps the Black Noise hidden from us. Put it this way - you know what you see when your tv loses its signal, right? A storm of little white dots hits your screen. The Black Noise is the darkness that slips through between those white dots. It's always there, but we teach ourselves not to hear it.

It's self-defence, as much as anything. The Black Noise gets into us when we're newborn children. It tells us all about fear, and pain, and failure. It's why babies cry so much when there doesn't seem to be anything wrong. I think it's why, in the end, we get sick and die - we've heard so much of the black noise that our minds and bodies can't take the stress of it any more. We stop fighting it and just let ourselves fail and decay.

Well, not me. Not any of us, as a matter of fact. We're going to stop it, and if we can't do that, we'll at least know the truth. The first step is to wake people up to the sounds around them. We need everyone to really listen to what they hear, not filter it all out. Ambient noise - muzak, traffic, radio and tv signals - is the enemy, and it's all got to stop.

That's not all. We've got a child who we've been raising in complete silence - and I mean really complete. Once the world is quiet enough, we'll bring them out and tell them to listen. They'll hear what the Black Noise is telling us all. They'll hear all the lies, threats and hurtful things it says. Most importantly, they'll hear its Plan.

Once we know what the Plan is, we'll know - we'll all know - what has to be done.

CHEKA-mate

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 12:00:51 GMT

In June of 1937, Radio Moscow listeners, expecting to hear of the start of Marshal Tukachevsky's trial, instead hear the dreadful news that the Boss - Secretary of the Central Committee, Comrade Stalin - is dead. The Liberator of Nations, it is reported, died of a massive stroke as he strolled along Moscow's evening streets. Four days later, as his body lies in state alongside Lenin's, the official line changes. Pravda carries the story that the Great Architect of Communism was poisoned by 'counterrevolutionary terrorist elements' using 'an unknown substance'.

The arms of the Soviet government, only nominally under the control of the newly-promoted Vyacheslav Molotov, go into a panic. The NKVD, certain that this is the beginning of a coup by the Red Army, immediately appoints a high-level troika to investigate the assassination. The Red Army, certain that this is the beginning of a coup by the NKVD, creates a special section of the GRU to do exactly the same thing. Both teams take great care to avoid official notice, given that the ultimate perpetrator may well be the new de facto head of state.

Meanwhile, Mexican artist Diego Riviera announces that his house-guest of the last six months, Leon Trotsky, will return to the USSR "to reinvigorate the Communist Party and clear away the errors of Stalinism." The following morning, Trotsky and his wife Natalia Sedova are gone - vanished overnight, aparrently of their own accord. Subsequent riots in Kiev and Irkutsk are immediately blamed by NKVD Director Yezhov on 'Trotskyite agitators'.

As Molotov's government fractures and splinters into paranoid cliques, the great powers of Europe begin to consider the possibility of another civil war. Foreign missions are quickly dispatched - Germans, Britons and Frenchmen all asking difficult questions of the Russians - attempting to discern which way the political winds blow, so that they can act to support or destabilise the USSR as their masters dictate.

As Russia heads into its legendary winter, the Great Terror deepens. Are you intelligent, perceptive and lucky enough to maneuver your way through the nightmare of smoke and mirrors, secrets and lies, hammers, sickles and blood?

We, United

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 08:15:22 GMT

"Times are getting tough, mate. The gold's all been dug up and the wool steamers aren't calling as often as they used to. It's getting harder and harder for a man to find enough work to put food on 'is table, even in this working man's paradise. Trades Hall says we won the eight-hour day, true, but what d'ya take home after only eight hours? It's no wonder even the Union men have taken to working longer'n they ought.

Everyone's feelin' the pinch, mate. The Maritime Officers walked off work back on the 15th, and Trades Hall's decided we've gotta show our support. There's a matter of principle at stake. We've gotta show that you can't screw over the united workers. The only way we're gonna weather the bad times is together."

It all sounded good, and the organiser wasn't wrong - stevedores have to look out for each other, even when it means looking the other way sometimes. The bosses certainly aren't above paying a few heavies to give a man a good kicking, so sometimes you have to just forget when you see a couple of blokes from the picket line dumping a canvas bundle wrapped in chains off the edge of a pier in the dead of night. It's not like it could really have been strugglin' - that was just the bad light.

He wasn't wrong about times bein' hard, either. Everyone's glad to support a striker, but they're a bit more careful about supportin' him with their money. Still, Trades Hall have a lot of that ideological support, and the churches and charities have come out in force to keep you and your family fed until a new deal gets worked out. Every night you go and eat your soup and hear about the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection, just like this hard winter's going to give way to a better, fairer spring. The reverend's gotta be bringing in a few new converts every night, the way he keeps a man's spirits up. 'Course, it doesn't hurt that he did some sailin' himself as a younger man, so he knows what it's like on the waterfront.

Now, if only you could forget the way your mates from the picket line were laughin' as they painted a tarry cross on that bundle and kicked it into the harbour. You tell yourself that you can't keep thinkin' about it. You've got to stand by your people, while the bosses and the police and soldiers try to freeze, starve and crush the spirit out of you. The organiser'd just say it was all for the good of the workers, if you took it to 'im. The Union makes us strong.

Right?

This is a bit of secret-history horror set during the 1890 Maritime Dispute. I think it would work best in Melbourne, but it could be set in Sydney with only a little bit more work (the tensions between the Melbourne and Sydney branches of the Maritime Union would make for an interesting backdrop to the story, considering Sydneysiders miss out on machine-gun nests being deployed around Parliament House).

For maximum effectiveness, I'd have the PCs be a close-knit group of family and friends, both to reflect the clannish nature of the working class at the time, and to heighten the feelings of isolation and conflicted loyalties that come from knowing that the organisation that's meant to be your great strength might be up to something very, very bad. I'd run this with Call of Cthulhu, because it's absolutely what that game does best. Just what might a struggling package be meant for, when pushed into the Pacific Ocean? And why this fascination with the dead returning to life on the part of an ex-sailor turned man of the cloth?

No, THIS is the global banking conspiracy!

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 12:10:45 GMT

Demons create nothing but suffering. This has been recognised by every culture since time immemorial. Like many things, however, it took Taoism to turn it into a serious problem.

All around the world tonight, people will set fire to specially issued banknotes to buy their ancestors out of tribulation in Di Yu, or to get any demonic influence off their back. The amounts involved can be staggering - billion dollar notes are not uncommon - but it's no problem, really. The Bank of Hell will always have the resources it needs to cover its notes, right?

The answer, of course, is that it will. Bear in mind, though, that demons create nothing. They can't even get the miracles of compound interest and money supply increases to work for them properly. This means that the Bank, to satisfy the ever increasing demand for its notes, has to draw in large amounts of foreign currency, and it's not at all picky about how this is achieved.

When you hear about a massive run on a bank, but there's nobody around who got their money out in time, when there's a massive gold heist and the perps are nowhere to be found, when the value of a nation's money suddenly disappears, leaving thousands destitute and starving - that's the Bank, covering its debts like such a good corporate citizen.

Someday, you may stumble across this. Maybe you're a talented thief who ripped off something they really shouldn't have, and now needs help that no mortal can provide. Maybe you're a hard-working fraud investigator who's noticed a worldwide pattern of embezzlement that couldn't be coordinated by normal means without some sort of flag being raised. Maybe you're like me, and you've just worked out that the supposed pillars of the global economy we hear so much about are just ignorant fatted calves, waiting for an eternally-living, blood-sucking parasite to come along and drain them, all because dead Grandpa needs a new pair of shoes.

My advice? Get in on it. After all, nobody else can pay like the Bank can.

Happy Chinese New Year, everyone!

After Action Report: Sons of Chaos, Daughters of Cacophony

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 21:06:32 GMT

It may be time to admit to myself that, despite my best efforts and intentions, I just can't run a straight campaign.

Last night saw the end of the alternate-historical pirate campaign that I'd been vowing to run for ages. I made it clear from the beginning that there'd be no magic in this - the only differences between the 1713 we all know and love and the one in this world would stem from the divergence of the two histories. The concerns of the PCs would be those of any other seafarers - food, navigation and surviving the next broadside.

Forgive me, my players, for I fell at the first hurdle.

The story began in Tortuga, as all good pirate stories should, with a delightful bloodbath culminating in the acquisition of a ship and a treasure map. So far, so good. From this point, things may have gone more in the direction I'd originally intended if I'd been able to ignore the voice in my head that said 'it's a map to THE LOST TREASURE OF THE TEMPLARS! And there should be a CRYSTAL SKULL! YEAH!'

At least the Templar connection is vaguely plausible, I told myself, as I gleefully populated the island with a cannibalistic tribe of Templar descendents. And a crystal skull fits into the Baphomet nonsense that surrounded the Templar trials and the disappearance of the Order's fleet. Of course, where you have crystal skulls, there ought to be apocalyptic visions. The two go together like dark rum and lime juice. My public 'nothing supernatural' policy was going to give me trouble, though.

Thankfully, along came Peeps, by Scott Westerfield, and all its delightful ideas about parasites and the behaviour changes they can cause. The best part is that it doesn't even really need to make sense - parasites that usually infect one type of host can try their luck elsewhere, with little biological success but great storytelling potential. Thus it was that Brigitte of Tortuga, the crew's mass-murdering cannibal cook, was infected via blood-splash with a particular kind of spirochete that caused cysts to form in the part of her brain responsible for recognising abstract symbols.

Of course, between the cannibals' sense of exterior design and her receuperation on a pirate ship, skull iconography was everywhere. Can I really be blamed for the fact that that's what her mind latched on to? In any case, the practical upshot is that one of the more dangerous members of the crew now hears the voice of the Jolly Roger telling her to do what her natural inclination is to do anyway - kill people, do horrible things to the corpses and grow wealthy from stolen property. It also points out things that Brigitte subconsciously worries about, like the fact that the activities of the Franco-Spanish Armada are making the Carribean an increasingly uncomfortable place to ply this sort of career.

Of course, I never said any of this to the players (hi guys!). All they knew at the time was that Brigitte was hearing voices telling her to kill and kill again. Fun times.

Once I let this kind of thing establish the mood, there was no going back. The brave, largely incompetent, crew of the Fortune's Shadow rescued marooned French aristocrats, rescued the imprisoned survivors of an attack on Tortuga, fought the Costa Guarda with a fire ship, signed up for an eighteenth-century insurance scam, took rigged bets on bar fights and lived through a mutiny in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle (the hallucinations and sinking were caused by gasses dissolved under the sea floor bubbling up - sorry, guys).

They also met (and accidentally killed) Captain William Dampier and split a captured cargo with Blackbeard (who has the same disease as Brigitte and talks to what may be the brazen head called Baphomet, and therefore the skull of John the Baptist). They sailed with a Master who had no legs and a hook for one hand, who called himself One Hand Joseph because he liked to empasise his good points. And there was the legendary (and sadly departed) Bleedy McTorso - the finest body ever to serve temporary duty as a negotiating tool.

I'm going to come back to this bunch sometimeand run another campaign with them. This time, I think it'll centre on the Indian Ocean (where the Dutch East India Company is setting itself up as a corporate state and the freaky-talking-skull cult is taking hold among the pirates of Madagascar) and will have more of the same sort of weird stuff. I'm thinking ex-Barbary Corsairs looking for the ruins of Irem, Templar relics as symbols of defiance of the French monarchy and the strange politics of the Atlantic slave trade. In the meantime, though, developments in Gaza have necessitated an update to the Don't Go There guidebook...

Never Get Into a Land War in Asia Ultraterrestria

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 10:41:37 GMT

Timur the Lame, Doom of Baghdad and Leveller of Damascus, has made known his intention to become ruler of the Indias. Throughout his empire, the air is alive with the sound of hammers beating out the swords that will carry out his warlike will. He musters horsemen beyond number on the borders of his empire and sends messengers ahead to demand tribute and submission. Travelling rapidly from palace to palace and potentate to potentate, the news has reached the ear of his greatest foe in the campaign to come.

From his throne in Utter India, Prester John, immortal Christian Emperor of the East and Final Guardian of the Holy Grail, surveys his kingdom and ponders the coming war. His realm is greatly depleted from the days when his namesake and pre-incarnation made to march on Jerusalem. Of the seventy-two kings who once knelt before him, a mere handful remain, and the strength and courage of these cannot readily be known. From his palace to the borders, the priests have begone praying for deliverance from he who they feel certain is the Antichrist.

Between the two realms lies the land of Hypernestoria - a mysterious realm of mountains and rocs, forests and griffins. Here be dragons indeed, for the Great Drake Azi Zahhhak and his manticore legions have strength enough that even He Who Builds Pyramids of Skulls could not be certain of victory.

As the Timurid emissaries press the Great Drake's rakshasa courtiers to favour submission, Prester John has sent his own trusted agents, gnostic Templars sworn to serve the Guardian of the Grail, to counter them. Should they fail, the three empires will be drawn into a war that will rain blood from farthest China to the walls of Jerusalem, and may prove enough to unmake creation itself.

This is high historical fantasy with some mythic geography and a Cold War twist (and damn I love writing sentences like that). PCs could be Timurid emissaries seeking to continue their ruler's self-imposed quest to re-establish the Pax Mongolica of the great Khans or Prester John's Templars seeking to foil them and safeguard the Holy Grail. They could even be a sub rosa combination of the two, trying to keep up a facade of opposition while investigating the machinations of Azi Zahhak and his efforts to bring the two kingdoms to an apocalyptic war.

Jamboree

Sat, 22 Dec 2007 22:06:55 GMT

It's been a while since I've had an idea worth posting. I hope this one was worth the wait.

Since I was six, I wanted to join the Cubs, but Mum and Dad told me there wasn't a group around that I could join, and they told me to stop asking them. I think it was making them sad, because Mum cried a lot and Dad hasn't come back home after work for a while. But it's okay now, because Akela found me anyway and he's a lot of fun.

Akela says he's an old wolf, which is why his teeth are so long and he doesn't have any eyes, and he makes a funny howling noise when he sees me being sad. Sarah is sad sometimes too, but she doesn't seem to like Akela's howling noises. She says that Mrs Beetle doesn't like them, and that she says very bad words when she hears him. I don't know why Akela and Mrs Beetle don't like each other.

I don't like Simon, at school. He's bigger than me and Sarah and he kicked me once and it really hurt. He says that Choggy the Elephant Man can beat up Akela or Mrs Beetle. I don't want that, because I don't want them to go away and leave us by ourselves. Choggy the Elephant Man is bad and nasty and he really scared me before Mum started crying all the time.

Akela says I should do something about Simon and Choggy the Elephant Man. He says that Sarah and me and Cody from year two are our own kind of Cubs now. I talk to Cody sometimes. He brings salami sandwitches to school and has a friend called the Wibbly-Wobbly Thing. Akela and Mrs Beetle tell Sarah and me that we shouldn't talk to the Wibbly-Wobbly Thing.

Tomorrow I think I'll talk to Sarah and Cody and tell them what Akela said. I think they'll like being Cubs, and I know they'll do their best to help me with Simon. Yeah, we'll be great together. Akela says we can bring the Cub Scout Law to the school.

It'll be cool to be the Cub Scout Law.

Those of you who know my fondness for Arc Dream Publishing's games will have recognised this as a seed for Monsters and Other Childish Things, a game described as being "about children, and the relationship-devouring horrors from beyond space and time who love them." The game works on the One Roll Engine, which means I can go wild and plug in the madness meters from NEMESIS, the company rules from REIGN (to simulate the Cub Scouts, Simon's gang etc.).

Chronicle of a Covenant Returned

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 09:25:21 GMT

Even among the Order of Hermes, the Academica Septima Superior was a fantastical tale - a vast complex covering an entire hillside, torn free from the Harz mountains during the conquests of Charlemagne to sail unhindered across the skies of Christendom (and, rumour has it, beyond). The names of its founding magi have become legends: Aosgar Tree-Feller, Xinophedes of Tytalus, Mena the Benificent and great Primus Ulixis Argentus, and many others in the course of its history.

For hundreds of years, the Academica was a feature of Christendom's magical landscape. Beneath its shadow passed Saracen invaders, Magyar horsemen and Norse raiders. Emperors and Popes alike attempted to dominate it, for what man of power could resist the prize of flying land upon which to build a castle or palace? When fear of the Order was overcome by greed, though, the might of the Academica's magi was inevitably sufficient to ensure it remained as it always had been: glorious and proud without lord or master.

Then, in the 1001st year of our Lord, it departed from Gascony and vanished over the western horizon.

Not even the wisest of the Order's magi could say why the Academica had departed, for its members had grown secretive in its final years, and rarely mixed with any but their own. Some whispered of awe-inspiring new magics, hidden away until the Order was wise enough to be trusted with them. Others speculated of a magocracy in lost Atlantis that had invited the Academica as representatives of Christendom. Still others declaimed, as some are always wont to do, that the Academica had become a den of iniquity and Devil-worship, and that Christendom was richer for its loss. Rumours were many. The truth was nowhere.

Now, 219 years after its disappearance, it has been seen again. Hunters in the Scottish Mounths reported seeing a floating hillside, covered in peculiar ruins, tethered to the side of Carn Liath. No communication came forth, however, and the Loch Leglean Tribunal was loathe to disturb the privacy of such strange and fearsome magi without an exceptionally good reason.

Now, the decision has been removed from their hands. Invitations have been issued to young magi at the end of their apprenticeships throughout the Loch Leglean, Hibernia and Stonehenge Tribunals. You are among the few who have accepted, and have begun making the arduous journey, through trackless wilderness, to this most mysterious of destinations.

What awaits you, magus? Do the Academica's magi still inhabit it? What could their agenda be, that it would make them forsake the known world for so long and return so mysteriously? Will you become the latest in the long line of thaumaturgical giants to hail from the Academica, or will you be among the few witnesses to the end of a legend?

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Ars Magica, imagine this: an airborne cross between Gormenghast and Hogwarts roams the skies of early-medieval Europe for several centuries, becoming an incredible storehouse of magical power and knowledge. Then, for no reason anyone can discern, it vanishes. It shows up again, also for no apparent reason, at the arse-end of the world. Dumbledore, McGonagall et al have spent so long wrapped up in their own arcane research projects that they barely notice that all the hired help have died of old age and the building has gone to rack and ruin, but make no mistake - they've got big plans, even if they're too far gone to explain them to you directly.

Sunday Afternoon Foolishness

Sun, 25 Nov 2007 02:47:47 GMT

Mister Chris Eacott has many facets to his person: teacher, philosopher, father and now, Feng Shui character!¹

Body: 4²                Mind: 8
-Move: 4                -Cha: 8
-Strength: 4          -Int: 8
-Constitution: 4     -Per: 8
-Toughness: 4       -Will: 8

Chi: 10                 Reflexes: 6
-Fortune: 0          -Agility: 6
-Kung Fu: 10     -Dexterity:6
-Magic: 10           -Speed: 6

Skills
Info/Eastern Philosophy: 15
Info/Calligraphy: 13
Info/Web Design: 13
Info/Ancient History: 12
Info/Japanese Interior Design: 12
Leadership: 10
Martial Arts: 16

Schticks
Unique Schtick: Base damage with an unarmed Martial Arts attack is Str+6
Crane Stance: Chi 1/Shots 1 - If opponent's Per is under Sensei's Agility, add +5 to his Dodge score (this counts as a Defensive Action).
Wing of the Crane: Chi 1/Shots 1 - Until the end of the Sequence, substitute Chi score (not Chi points) for Strength score.
Beak of the Crane: Chi 1/Shots 3 - With a successful Martial Arts check, an opponent is held immobile until they can break free (Str check vs Sensei's Martial Arts total), or until Sensei performs any action apart from passively dodging.
The Fox's Retreat: Chi 1/Shots 1 - Add +5 to Dodge (this counts as a Defensive Action)
Eyes of the Fox: Chi 1/Shots 1 - After studying an opponent in battle, Sensei may learn one of the opponent's Attribute scores, Skill levels or Point totals.

Wealth
Poor

Melodramatic Story Hook
Hmmm... tricky. How about this: Eacott Sensei, disappointed and fed up with his feckless students, none of whom show any aptitude for, or understanding of, the deeper mysteries of Aiki, is walking the earth, searching for the one who is worthy to take over his position.

______________
¹ Why? Why not?
² Feng Shui players will recognise this as a below-average score. This is because, while Eacott Sensei is quite capable of impressive physical feats, there is a limit to what he can be bothered doing, these days. He's not unlike Chuck Norris/Vin Diesel that way.

What Action Heroes Do on Their Holidays

Thu, 08 Nov 2007 12:47:31 GMT

There are people in this world who, for whatever reason, decide that they have to go somewhere really, really dangerous. Aid workers, journalists, missionaries, entrepeneurs and idiot tourists alike flock to the places where others try desperately to leave, like crows drawn by the sound of gunfire. They come bearing cameras, sattelite phones and expensive adventure-wear. If they're smart, they bring along your books, as well.

The Don't Go There series are by far and away the most popular travel guides to the world's most dangerous and conflict-ridden destinations. Like a more bullet-holed version of the Lonely Planet, they tell you where to pick up a good meal in Mogadishu, where to stay in Oruzgan and what to see in Pakistan's North-West Frontier.

Given how quickly the situations in these places change, it's a full-time job keeping all the information up to date. Fortunately for Don't Go There, you're up to the task.

It's fortunate for a lot of other people, too, because your eclectic skill sets and lack of conventional journalistic ethics mean you're often able to right a few wrongs wherever you find yourself. When everything's blowing up around you anyway, why not take care of a Columbian drug cartel, Congolese death cult or rogue Cambodian militia?

After all, you can always claim your ammunition on expenses...

Another of my half-baked ideas for a Feng Shui campaign. This might also work well as 'filler' between longer-term games, or something for a group that needs a change of pace from its regular game. 'Okay, you've slaughtered your way through three quarters of Undermountain, but there's a good way left to go. We're not going to worry about that, though - the boss says the Chechnya guidebook needs updating!'

Eclecticon's Sci-Fi Campaign IV: The Agoradoxy

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 08:00:31 GMT

Is joining the Agoradoxy dangerous?

Not at all. If you already have a remote access implant, joining the Agoradoxy is no more dangerous than subscribing to an information feed. If you don't have one, then you will need to have one fitted, which carries with it the danger of any invasive surgery. The implantation is a standard procedure, though, with thousands carried out every day across the system, so the risks are minimal.

And your brain isn't destroyed?

No, definitely not. While it's true that we offer destructive uploading, and our technology and expertise are superior to that of other providers, we certainly don't require it.

We do like our members to distribute themselves over time, which always requires some sort of mind-upload, but plenty of members don't like the idea of a complete, destructive upload. For them, we offer a non-invasive scan, like the process used to create an AI shadow. This gives us a low-res picture of how their brain works. Then we monitor the output we receive from their implants. The more active they are in the Agoradoxy, the more brain activity we can observe, and after a few years at the most we have a model of their brain processes that is every bit as detailed as that provided by a destructive upload. After that, we can start copying that model into new instances.

So what happens after that?

Despite what you may have heard from other sources, your personality doesn't dissolve once you start adding extra instances through the Agoradoxy. Rather, you become what we like to call a 'distributed individual'. Each instance of your personality exists independently, with its own thoughts, observations and emotions. Because they're all connected through the same sort of implant that you'll have, though, all instances will be able to constantly share those thoughts. Although each instance has its own existence, a greater 'you' appears, who in a very real sense is in every location, thinking every thought, simultaneously.

In the same way, the other members of the Agoradoxy will be able to share their thoughts with that greater 'you'. So not only can you be everywhere your instances are, but you can be where other members are, thinking their thoughts, as well.

And you can go anywhere like this?

Of course. We place no restrictions on our members right to travel, although the memes that have spread regarding the Agoradoxy mean that many polities refuse us access.

Lightspeed delay does mean that, as an instance travels further and further, communications with the rest of the distributed individual will become subject to a lag, and that instance will send and receive impressions less frequently. In theory, the inverse square law would mean that an instance that travels far enough would be cut off from the rest of the Agoradoxy. In practice, our system of relays means that populated areas of the solar system, with the exception of Earth itself, are accessible with delays of an hour or less.

But you want members to stay on Titan?

That's true. We encourage members to have at least one instance on Titan at all times, to allow them to participate more fully in the interactions that make up Agoradox society.

And to mine H3, right?

We do encourage all members to have instances spend some time operating mining drones harvesting H3 from Saturn's atmosphere. The sale of helium to other polities to supply their energy needs generates the wealth of the Agoradoxy, which benefits all its members.

But does it benefit all members equally?

You'll find that it does. Although the human impulse towards personal possessiveness is probably so deeply ingrained as to be ineradicable, the constant interaction between the mind of one instance that values an object, the rest of the distributed individual that doesn't necessarily, and the broader Agoradoxy, which may not even be aware that the object exists, means that you will come to place significant value on only a few treasured possessions. Everything else can be comfortably shared between instances and individuals.

For the same reason, the Agoradoxy finds it easy to hold abstract wealth in common, distributing it according to the moment-to-moment needs of its members.

Will I be immortal after joining?

Nobody can guarantee immortality, even with all the technology and resources available to us today. However, members of the Agoradoxy exist in a decentralised state in which the death or disability of one instance does not remove the thoughts and memories from the distributed individual.

Even if the communications infrastructure that facilitates the Agoradoxy's existence were to be destroyed, the distributed individuals would persist, in both biological and artificial forms. For this reason, we can proudly state that nobody who has joined the Agoradoxy has ever truly died.

- extract from an interview with Infrater Mike, Agoradox diplomat-at-large

So I've finally got this entry up, way behind schedule. There may be more to come, as I flesh out more ideas.

Eclecticon's Sci-Fi Campaign III: Connectivity

Mon, 08 Oct 2007 02:22:00 GMT

Direct Brain Interface (DBI) is, by now, a proven and well-understood technology. The processes by which electrochemical brain activity are translated into electronic impulses hold no surprises. It is usually the case, however, that a well-understood technology can be put to unexpected uses.

Micro Level
One such use of the technology has been the circumventing of traditional communications media by development of a virtual telepathy. Two interface-equipped individuals can easily share data from the linguistic, sensory and even emotional centres of their brains, perceiving the shared information as if it were a product of their own thought processes.

While the implications of this may be worrying, it is important to note that there is no credible evidence to support the GHOST HACK meme (which holds that a hostile user can manipulate an individual’s memories, either selectively or wholesale, and implant subliminal urges and triggers). Neurological research points to the process of memory creation within brain tissue as being too individual and idiosyncratic to be duplicated by anything short of a dedicated system, such as that used to run the result of a destructive upload. Future research in this area is not recommended, as any reliable procedure likely to be developed is unlikely to be cost-effective compared to marionette implants and memetic dissemination.

Direct, brain-to-brain access does, however, raise additional security implications for the use of implanted (‘onboard’) computers. Where a password has been obtained, this form of access would allow its transmission to an onboard computer via the owner’s own language centres (circumventing any brain-pattern locks) and the rapid downloading of data via their interface.

Recommendation: That future onboard computers issued to Army personnel authenticate their
users via less easily-transmittable means, eg. by a series of body movements designed to
trigger specific areas of the brain or (for data requiring only sporadic access) a specific
set of sensory stimuli.

Macro Level
The perfection of DBI technology during the Memetic War allowed the Datapresence, and similar entities, to turn human followers from simple carriers of toxic memes into direct extensions of a greater individual. In fact, it has been suggested that the fracturing of the Datapresence (which ultimately enabled its defeat by the Army) was caused in part by its attempt to rapidly integrate a multitude of different minds, each with their own idiosyncrasies.

The stability of the AI loa-kings may be attributed, in part, to the temporary nature of their contact with their worshiper-subjects. While hard data on the processes involved are scarce, intelligence gathered on the CRUCIFORM loa-king during operation SPREADEAGLE suggests that the following may be taken as standard.

Worshiper-subjects of the loa-kings are fitted with interfaces at some point during childhood. Thereafter, they attend ceremonies where a phenomenon occurs similar to reports of possession in African Catholicism. Participants in the ceremonies dance until the combination of repetitive motion and fatigue brings on an ecstatic state, during which the higher, conscious brain functions are suspended. While this suspension occurs, the loa-king establishes direct contact with the individual, using their brains as additional processors. Reports from SPREADEAGLE suggest that this process also stimulates the frontal lobes of the individual, resulting in a feeling of communion with the loa-king that is remembered once the ecstatic state has passed.

The breadth of CRUCIFORM’s operations (covering most of the Australo-Javan land-mass) make identification of patterns in such ceremonies difficult. However, it is considered likely that at least one ceremony is underway at any given time, with one beginning as another, potentially thousands of kilometres away, ends. No indication has yet been received of the purpose of the extra processing power generated by the ceremonies.

Recommendation: That observation and containment of the loa-kings continue.

- excerpt from Report on Technological Trends #1103, Marshal Antoine Singawatra, Black Fist Army Memetic Health Corps

Man, did this get long! Next instalment coming soon, if William Gibson will let me stop reading his book for a few moments.

Eclecticon's Sci-Fi Campaign II: The Black Fist Army

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 03:05:36 GMT

It is said that the Black Fist Army was called into being to end the madness of the Memetic War. It arose first as loosely-connected cells working to bring stability to Earth by destroying the ability of the conflicting meme-blocs to wage war. In doing so, they were by no means above inflicting significant civillian casualties - the detonation of nuclear weapons in Mexico City and Lagos is proof of this - although the extent to which the brainwashed servants of the prophets and AIs can be regarded as 'civillians', and not simply 'materiel', continues to be debated.

Similarly debated is the Army's claim of responsibility for the final destruction of the Datapresence. Army records indicate that the Datapresence, facing slow but inevitable erosion of its terrestrial empire from memetic subversion and Army offensives, installed a complete copy of itself in a fusion torchship and launched towards deep space. The Army followed soon after, and in the cold and darkness somewhere past the orbit of Pluto-Charon, the Datapresence and the ASDV Mirror Wire met in a terrible and desperate battle. Both are recorded destroyed - the last action attributed to the Datapresence.

The gradual petering-out of the Memetic War saw the Army gain a position of significant influence on Earth, but without the key infrastructure necessary for long-term territorial control. In the face of mutual mistrust and continued low-key memetic subversion by the planet's remaining power blocs, especially the AI loa-kings, the Army has largely abandoned the surface of the planet, retreating to the orbital stations and attempting to control the planet from above. They continue to occupy surface installations at the base of the orbital elevator at Quito and the construction site of the second elevator at Nakuru, and to stage intervention missions in an attempt to maintain Earth's fragile peace, but ongoing occupation of the Planet appears to have been abandoned as a strategy.

Culturally, the Army maintains a suspicion of non-organic life to the point of biochauvanism. It is unique among contemporary advanced militaries for its complete refusal to extend membership to Uploads. For roles which would otherwise be performed by Uploads (eg. Extra-Vehicular Infantry or kill-drone piloting), the Army relies on soldiers it dubs 'explants'. The nervous systems of these individuals (and the few organs absolutely necessary for their maintenance) are removed and attached to life support for the duration of the soldiers' enlistment.  If the enlistment comes to an end, new organs are grown and a cybernetic or biological shell is provided to the soldier. Given the expense and potential for trauma involved in the explantation procedure, both the Army and the soldier usually have a lifelong commitment in mind when explantation is agreed to.

The use of explants does increase the life-support load on Army vehicles, and could potentially render an Army force inert if communication with the command centre could be severed. However, the fact that the operator of a vehicle or combat suit knows that they are some distance away from the tool they operate has resulted in Army troops displaying a disregard for potential casualties at key points in several engagements.

The biochauvanism of the Army also finds expression in other policies. For example, it categorically refuses to recognise the humanity of AIs, instead considering them alien beings (despite the humanity of their creators) to be distrusted and controlled. Hence their policy of containing the loa-kings on Earth and destroying any AI created on that planet.

Conversely, they consider bioroids to be fully human, and extend full and equal membership in the Army to any bioroid, no matter what its origins, that presents at an Army installation and requests to enlist. Rumours of the Army running smuggling operations to bring bioroids from the Chinese martian colonies (as they were then) to fill their ranks during the Memetic War are, unfortunately, unprovable thanks to the chaos of that period of history.

These policies and others are enforced in the ranks by the Memetic Health Corps. Ostensibly formed during the Memetic War to combat subversion, they now perform a dual role as a mental health service and espionage agency. Their monitoring of the loa-kings and other memetic blocs of Earth is publically acknowledged. The extent to which they do the same away from the planet is unknown.  Understandably, the popularity of the BFAMHC is mixed. Officially, soldiers are to refer to the Corps' members as 'corpsmen' and not 'commissars', but use of the latter term is so widespread that even the Army's own records automatically cross-reference the two.

Thanks no doubt to the dilligent efforts of the Memetic Health Corps, little is known for certain away from Earth of the true level of threat posed by the loa-kings. Nor, for that matter, are the Army's own intentions towards the rest of the System fully clear.
                       - Wang Fo-Hong - Scribe-in-Ordinary to the Emperor of Mars

I'm enjoying putting this stuff down. Coming up next: the AI loa-kings, then a society that lives as a hive-mind.