Steve

HOOROR ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS - MILAN - NOTE FOR NOTE Pt.1
 
Jan 1923
 
In Which The Investigators Develop An Aversion To Smoked Herring To Go With Their Aversion To Barbeque
 
In 1923 (and for decades to come) the longest and deepest tunnel in the world is the Simplon Tunnel, which is barely short of 20 kilometers long, and is buried under 7000ft of Alpine rock. Alas, our investigators are in no mood to appreciate the engineering marvel rushing by the windows, since they’re more concerned by the military pensioner burning alive in front of them. 
 
As the burning man casts distorted flickering silhouettes upon the stone beyond the windows, Lt. Huxley is making a vain attempt to extinguish the flames with a tablecloth and Florence Braxton-Hicks, who is all too aware that it was something the Duc did that set Colonel Herring ablaze from the inside out, attempts to stab the Frenchman to death. 
 
Unfortunately, his reaction to being stabbed in the chest is not what she was hoping for.
 
Duc Jean Floressas des Esseintes: Do you mind? This shirt is silk!
 
She follows up with another frenzied stab, this time leaving the knife firmly stuck in the Duc’s heart.
 
The Duc: Monsieur Huxley, kindly control your woman!
‘Alex’ Braxton: Oooo.
Lt. Huxley: Ah, maybe we should all take a step back and calm down?
 
Fortunately Alex has dashed back from her cabin with the fake scroll and case that Edgar Wellington made. The lieutenant and the dilettante launch into an impromptu performance of ‘Convince The Duc It’s The Real Thing’.
 
Alex: I have the scroll!
Huxley: No you fool, I meant hide it!
Alex: We’ll die if we don’t give it to him!
 
The Duc does seem pleased that at least SOMEBODY is taking him seriously, but this is the point Florence throws an urn-full of fresh coffee over him. That at least seems to produce a result, scalding the Duc’s face and neck quite badly, so she tries to follow it up by beating him about the head with the silver-plated vessel. Alex and Huxley drag her off him, understandably concerned that she’ll be the next to go up in flames.
 
Huxley: Uh, Would you like me to attend to your burns?
 
But the Duc has what he thinks he wants - retrieving the fake scrollcase from the ground, standing and straightening his suit, and delivering the still rabid Florence a dire warning.
 
The Duc: You will regret that.
 
And with that he flicks a loop of horsehair rope around himself and vanishes into thin air. 
 
The Simplon-Orient staff, rushing up with the fire buckets and carafes of water for the alas very dead Colonel Herring, are also concerned with the Duc’s apparent theft of the tableware.
 
Waiter: But, what has Monsieur done with our knife?
Huxley: Blast the damn knife!
 
Alex drags Florence off to their cabin, while the staff try to calm the other passengers that were witness to the scene, and give what assistance they can to the hysterical Mrs Herring.  At least Huxley has a plausible explanation for what happened to the late Colonel, and has literature to back him up. Although it’s not exactly clear if he’s trying to convince the Swiss and Italian police, the Simplon-Orient staff, or himself. 
 
Huxley: His prodigious drinking, smoking, temper and body fat must have combined into the perfect conditions for Spontaneous Human Combustion, as described by Dickens in Bleak House.
Alex: Those must be some strong drugs.
 
Poor Mrs Huxley will have to remain here in Iselle, just within the Italian border, until suitable arrangements can be made for the late Colonel’s pre-cremated corpse. What she does after that is probably not the investigator’s concern.
 
Florence: She’ll go find some nice young man. 
GM: And what would you like to prescribe to Mrs Herring, Lieutenant?
Florence: Cognac.
 
The staff seem reluctant to even mention the Duc’s presence at the incident, but the death of Col. Herring is already going to be a blow to the company. Adding vanishing sorcerers to the police report is hardly going to help. The investigators, on the other hand, are right to be highly concerned. The Duc is going to be quite annoyed when he opens the scrollcase and finds blank parchment.  Retaliation seems certain.
 
Alex: Is there any way we can protect ourselves?
Florence: More knives
Huxley: Why would he act so overtly, and reveal himself as an abomination?
Florence: He’s a man that likes making people scared.
 
So they’ve added the Duc to a list that includes the Midnight Strangler, whoever set Professor Smith house and the Professor himself on fire (and murdered a bunch of Smith’s associates as well), the madman Sedefkar of Simulacrum fame and whoever else worships the Skinless One, and Mehmet Makryat too, because why not. 
 
Alex: I know he’s already dead, but it’s not normal to leave dead copies of yourself around London.
GM: You certainly seem to have a knack for accumulating dangerous enemies. 
Huxley: Maybe there will be infighting among our pursuers?
GM: You certainly seem to be the most optimistic member of this group. 
 
Even with the Orient Express leaving Iselle and Domodosolla almost an hour late, they reach Milan, capital of Lombardy, just a little after lunch. Plenty of time for Florence and Alex to figure out a way to get the Left Arm of the Simulacrum and the Scroll of the Head through customs. They decide to hide the latter down the front of Alex’s pants, and the former down the back of Florence’s dress. 
 
GM: You’ll be walking a little stiffly when you get off the train.
Florence: Good posture. Alex and I learned that at school.
 
Florence OoC: Alex missed my diatribe on the state of woman’s underwear in the 1920s.
 
She also points out that as rich Englishfolk, it’s practically di rigeur to go home with your luggage stuffed with priceless cultural artifacts. 
 
GM: Why are their Pyramids in Egypt?
Florence: Because they were too heavy for the English to steal.
 
Florence is sure she can get the artifacts through Customs because nobody will expect the woman to be the hardcore smugglers.
 
Florence: We are weak delicate flowers
GM: Says the woman who was trying to beat someone to death with a coffee urn earlier.
Florence: I was psychotic and can claim I was on my period.
 
It probably helps that she gets the entire party to hand over their guns, sword-canes, etc to Customs for safekeeping until they can get permits on Monday morning. 
 
Florence: You freely admit to the small stuff and they don’t even look for the big stuff.
Alex: That’s astonishingly sensible of you, cuz
Florence: It’s how you get away with the real things you’re up to. Like writing a 90 page novella in class.
 
It works, despite Florence shuffling through the station with an entire statuary arm strapped to her back. 
 
Florence OoC: They just think we have impeccable poise. You can balance an entire stack of encyclopedias on my head. My etiquette teacher would be so proud.
 
After going through all that trouble, it’s disappointing that Milan, heart of culture, fashion, and fascist culture is, well, disappointing. The Stazione Centrale looks like a bomb hit it, Il Duomo is a mass of scaffolding, and the people themselves don’t seem entirely whole either - depression, mental exhaustion, disintigrating friendships and sniggering lust seem the order of the day. Milan is a city that is sick in the soul. 
 
But at least they arrived here intact, and can get about their purpose - locating the P. Rischonti who purchased the Torso of the Sedefkar Simulacrum, and locating the opera diva Caterina Cavollaro, who has gone missing despite the fact Aida is supposed to be opening with her in the main role, tomorrow night. Catarina had instructed her manager to arrange opening night tickets, and rooms for them at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, overlooking the many shops and cafes of the famous nineteenth century shopping gallery, and indeed he had. The investigators enjoy a light lunch and make their plans. 
 
GM: Although you do wonder if it’s wise putting a full coffee urn anywhere within reach of Florence. 
 
Florence, however, is a bit put out about the meal’s server, who is openly ogling her. Italians might have a certain reputation, but such behaviour from the staff is bizarrely rude. 
 
Florence: Where’s that coffee pot.
 
And he won’t stop, either, and Florence returns to her room in disgust.
 
Florence: Men suck.
Huxley: What did I do this time?
 
Florence: I think a day to recuperate and actually plan after all the murders would be nice.
GM: AHAHAHA - yeah, good luck with that. 
 
Because if they want to find Signora Cavollaro before La Scala opens its doors tomorrow, they have a lot to do today - and Alex and Florence are feeling too burnt out to do any of it (although less burnt out than the late Colonel Herring, presumably). Also, it’s Sunday. Huxley will have to go to the central Post Office tomorrow to see if Professor Smith has sent them any telegrams. They might be a bit busy at la Scala, too, although consulting the city directory reveals that a P. Rischonti is the stage director at the opera house. VERY first, Huxley will have to run around to the diva’s townhouse to, if he’s very lucky, thank her for the tickets and accommodation, but more likely start investigating the details of her disappearance. 
 
Alex: Run along, there’s a good boy.
Huxley: Don’t go overboard if the Duc makes an appearance.
Alex: Don’t go overboard if the Duc appears in her bedroom???
Florence: I’ll only stab him a little this time.
 
GM: By the way, Brian, I’d like you to roll against your Power stat. No reason. No reason at all… 
Players: *paranoia spiking*
 
Suddenly feeling a little naked, Alex searches the suite of rooms for any weapons, just in case the Duc DOES show up. She doesn’t find anything. At least some of the papers are in English. 
 
Florence OoC: In a few years Gregory Peck will be working for one. Although in this version of reality if Audrey Hepburn stuck her hand in that thing it probably WOULD get bitten off. 
 
There’s some guidebooks to Milan, at least - one mentions a quaint superstition about la Scala - that singing along with the aria on opening night can make your fondest wish come true. That might come in handy - perhaps they can wish the Duc trips down the hill in Lausanne and breaks his neck.
 
It takes about three baths to get the smell of smoked Herring off. At least Huxley is out in the open so it’s less noticeable. Cavollaro’s maid, Ysabel, is rather upset - she hasn’t heard from her mistress since she got into a black car at the Stazione Centrale. She’s certain that somebody from the opera picked her up - she wouldn’t have got into a vehicle, even one as expensive as she describes, with just anybody. In her opinion the police have been useless, but it’s not like they’re going to go harass the wealthy patrons of la Scala.
 
Huxley: That’s a bit worrying. By the way, do you know Mr Rischonti at la Scala?
Ysabel: I don’t *know* him, but I have met him, when I serve the mistress in her room, you understan- wait, you think he is the one that has taken her? AVRÒ IL SUO SCROTO
Huxley: No no, I don’t think he’s responsible, it’s entirely unconnected… probably. 
 
Huxley decides to ask the porters at Stazione Centrale if they saw the model of car, and recognised it, and then go find out what the polizia actually know. One of the porters, busily brushing building rubble off the flowerbeds, did indeed notice the car - an Alfa Romeo RL limousine. 
 
Porter: They are a fine car, I suppose, even if they are no train. They make them here in Milan. I didn’t see who the Signora was talking to - she did not even take her luggage with her. 
 
Huxley checks the papers from anything that might be connected to opera patrons, or comes across two articles that make him uneasy.
 
A WELCOME RETURN 
 
Flavio Conti was a welcome face at last night’s party for patrons and supporters of La Scala. Mr. Conti has been unwell in recent months with some erroneous reports that he was afflicted with tuberculosis. It was clearly a much less serious complaint. Mr. Conti has made a complete recovery and was the life of the party.
 
 Also present were fellow opera patrons Mr. Nunzio Tocci, Mr. and Mrs. Matteo Sorrenti, Miss Angela Susco, Mr. Arturo Faccia, and Mrs. Serena Spagnolo. The company were entertained by selections from this week’s opera Aida, as performed by members of the cast. Rosario Sorbello accompanied on the piano. It was a most glittering occasion.
 
 
AUTOMOBILE WORKER MURDERED
 
The body of automobile worker Ennio Spinola was discovered today in a laneway off Via Tavazzano in Portello, not far from the Alfa Romeo factory where he worked. Spinola had been stabbed to death.
 
Police are pursuing enquiries among workers in the area. Spinola was an active unionist, and is reported to have been arguing about union matters with other workers in recent days.
 
Alex: ‘Stabbed to death’?
Florence: Wasn’t me.
 
The vigili are, in fact, taking the disappearance of Cavollaro seriously - it seems increasingly likely she’s been kidnapped. Huxley gives them what information he can, which isn’t much, but does enquire about a possible connection to the Alfa Romeo factory. That makes the police a little cagey - apparently Spinola’s body has yet to be returned to his family.  Not that they are particularly invested in solving the crime - after all, fascists get murdered by unionists, but unionists only get murdered by other unionists. There’s even a small protest by Spinola’s co-workers outside the police station, briefly, before the blackshirts show up. But there are few oddities about the body that Huxley offers to consult on, in his medical capacity.
 
The coroner investigating the cause of death noted the unusual nature of the stab wound and internal injuries, but of rather more concern was Spinola’s extremely advanced case of tuberculosis, revealed during the autopsy. Very odd indeed, since there’s no way he could have worked a strenuous industrial position with a case that bad. There’s also absolutely no sign that the infection had spread to his spine or other organs, and apart from the lungs the rest of his body appeared to be in rude health. 
 
Huxley, closely examining the remains, comes to a very disturbing conclusion.
 
Those aren’t his lungs. 

Oh, I should add, I have seen certain games where trying to play as a Kender (the halfling stand in for Dragonlance) is asking to be tied up, then rolled down a dungeon hallway to check for traps the hard way! 

And now I feel like a soft touch again. I actually have grown fonder of Hobbits/Halflings as I've gone older (Though I've always liked Bilbo and Samwise long before any movies)
 
While Tolkien saw them as so close to humans as to be a branch of them IIRC, the vibe I got off Hobbits was that they had a touch of Hearth sprite to them. Maybe it's all the Took talk about fae relations. 
 
Just speaking for myself- I have zero problems with them in Table top settings. They don't have the 'ancient race' angle, but have a built in underestimated underdog aspect that I like; be it pastoral rustic folk thrust into adventure, or opportunistic little guy trying to score in a big world. Sure, you can (And most do) the same with humans, but in some games Halfling is almost , if you pardon the pun, shorthand , for david in a setting of goliaths. Elves have their ancient magics and arrows, Dwarves craft weapons of legend and know how to use them. Halflings, at least most PC halflings, have moxie and the advantage that everyone, even other halflings and sometimes themselves, doesn't expect much from them.  While there is a large diversity of settings with them  (From Shire Dwellers, to Caravan nomads, to Freaking CANIBALS! (Thanks, Dark Sun)) , I think that's my basic mindset: Halfling = Underdog.
 
And because of that, I have a hard time not rooting for them.
 
YMMV

Hero's Turakian Age setting takes some interesting turns regarding Hobbits (or Halflings, for legal purposes).   They were originally widespread throughout the vast region called the Westerlands, but as the Ardunans (the dominant civilization of Men on the larger continent of Arduna) migrated into the Westerlands they pushed the hobbits out of the best areas, killing many of the smaller humanoids. The famous Hobbit stealthiness arose out of necessity to survive. Most of those Hobbits who remain live pretty much the cliche lifestyle of Hobbits and are subjects of realms of Men, with that assimilation explaining their common designation, "Halfling" (from a human perspective), and their relative lack of distinctive culture compared to other races. However, many Halflings still hold deep resentment toward Men for how their ancestors were abused.
 
The city of Aarn, largest in the world, has 7% of its population listed as Halfling, which AFAICT is the biggest population of "urban" Hobbits in TA. As a by-product of their fondness for fine food and drink, Hobbits often work in cities as cooks, bakers,  brewers, or vintners. I would expect them to be major factions in the guilds for those professions. As well, with their small size and stealthiness they should be very influential within the Thieves Guilds of Aarn and other major cities in the Westerlands. For my own games I decreed that the mysterious Lord Ebon who leads the largest thieves guild of Aarn, is actually a hobbit who maintains that front for greater intimidation than he could muster in reality.
 
On the smaller continent of Mitharia, the small kingdom of Khrisulia has a sizeable hobbit population. Khrisulia is a tough and rugged land, having attracted and bred people of similar temperament. Khrisulian hobbits call themselves "Mountain Halflings," and would make good adventuring characters who break some of the cliches.
 
The closest thing the TA hobbits have to their own country is the county of Myrwick Strand, within the human kingdom of Keldravia in the Westerlands. Although nominally independent, their count is tributary to Keldravia, and sometimes the hobbits have trouble gathering enough treasure to meet the annual tribute; a good incentive for a Myrwick hobbit to go adventuring.
 
Halflings are noted as being interfertile with Dwarves, and the product of their union are Gnomes.   However, Gnomes have proven capable of reproducing among themselves, having become a quite successful and widespread unique race, more distinctive and flexible in some ways than hobbits.

Well, hengeyokai are probably closest to the Fair Folk in how you can look at them. They can be good, neutral or evil. Kitsune, Bakeneko and other Japanese spirit races pretty much run across the moral spectrum.
 
if you don’t have it, I would suggest picking up the two Asian Bestiaries in the Hero store for many, many write-ups of such beasties. They could be easily converted to racial templates.

It's simple. Because you don't get them for free anymore.
 
Pre 6th: A Brick with 65 STR, 33 CON and 15 BODY has a starting 20 REC,  66 END and 65 STUN.
 
In 6th: Those same starting Characteristics will still leave you staring at 4 REC, 20 END and 20 STUN.
 
STR has the same price in 6th because it's still gives an attack. BODY lost it's bonus to STUN but is still useful. But CON went from "must purchase as much as I can justify" to "I'll purchase as little as I can to avoid being Stunned by typical attacks".
 
The reduction in the previously Figured Characteristics was done to keep pricing closer between editions. A direct translation of any character from 5th to 6th will be more expensive but the gap would be even greater without the price changes. 

The helmet provides flash defense.  The goggles provide telescopic vision. Also, someone tell the agent the goggles are to be worn inside the helmet, not outside of it.
 
"But it looks cooler that way."

Use Dresdenverse elves. Good take on classic Sidhe tropes moved to modern times.

I'd like to see WHC, but Christopher covers most of the above in WH.
 
Cinematic Ammo (no Charges) - although I can't locate exactly where that is right now in a quick search, it's mentioned as a toggle for a Romantic campaign. Talents - I'm always up for more Talents! 😁 Rastling and Knifefighting - either use existing MA styles from other products, or reprint them (perhaps slightly modified) Railroad Worker (including explosives expert variant) - Cowboy (ordinary cowpoke) with different Skills. Rancher - okay, I'd like to see that one.  Although using Cowboy (rannie) with more Skills would probably work fine. Riverboat Sailor - Cowboy (ordinary cowpoke) with different Skills. Traveling Entertainer and Sallon Girl/Soiled Dove - Non-combat NPCs; all you need are a few Stats, a few Skills, and a name. Have I mentioned that I'm really impressed with the job Christopher did with WH?

Horror on the Orient Express - Lausanne - Nocturne Pt. 2   Jan. 1923

In Which The Investigators Enjoy A Product Of The Swiss Pharmaceutical Industry
   
Dream Lausanne, Edgar Wellington’s hiding place from the horrors of the early 20th Century, is distinctly ‘olden times’, as he claimed. One may wonder why Edgar prefers to take that highly suspect potion just to dream of a medieval taxidermy shop, without benefit of formaldehyde or refrigeration, but every night he’s Dreaming in Dream Lausanne is a night he isn’t dreaming of the trenches of the Western Front.

Most of the pile of equipment Flo and her cousin were clutching as they went under is changing to match the tenth century aesthetic.

GM: Your flashlights aren’t flashlights, they’re torches - actual torches. And there’s also the distinctly unpleasant sensation as your clothing slithers and transmogrifies into new fabrics and configurations.

GM: Dream Lausanne is best described as Gothic Nightmare.
Florence OoC: So, corsets, black nail polish?

Happily, the crowd outside all seem to be trudging uphill towards the tolling cathedral bells, and ignoring the taxidermists. Since it seems unlikely there’s a 10th Century equivalent of the modern Swiss banks, it’s most likely Edgar hid the real Sedefkar scroll somewhere in the dream-reflection of his shop. The two women turn the place upside-down - or rather, further upside-down since somebody has already trashed the place. Picking the lock to the upstairs apartment proves unwise, and they swiftly slam the door shut on the Wellington’s living quarters when it instead reveals the nightmares of the Somme. The rest of the building isn’t much better, but at least the rotting corpses here are merely animals. Alex takes a particular note of the fully grown bear, its internal organs now reeking horror.

Alex: You know, If I wanted to hide something where nobody would look for it, I have an idea where it might be.
Florence: Oh god no.
GM: … well, I have to admit I didn’t expect you to figure it out that quickly.
Alex OoC: Thanks. I just went by the rules of crime fiction; if it's pointed out to you it's important and it was the most disgusting possibility I could come up with 🙂 I'm trained by years of gaming with Stephen Dedman.

Alex reaches into the festering offal, but it’s not just them that throws up. Florence babbles about some of her memories of growing up on a sheep farm.

Florence: -we didn’t find the ewe for a week and the insects had already started on her and the lamb was halfway out-
Alex: Could you NOT tell me about your childhood?

In Waking Lausanne Huxley is having to prop up their bodies so they don’t choke on their own vomit. And honestly the players aren’t feeling much better.

Alex: I never want to see something like that again. I’m never going hunting again

The real scroll is, indeed, hidden in a waterproof case inside the bear’s corpse. Now they just have to escape with it - if Edgar’s soul is somehow still alive in Lausanne, he’ll have to fend for himself.

But escape might be more difficult than they think - the drifting bitter ash in the blasted landscape between Dream Lausanne and the Waking World has covered their footprints. How do they return to their bodies?

Florence: *slaps Alex across the face* WAKE UP
Alex: Hey!

Huxley is monitoring their vitals when he’s distracted by a knock on the hotel room door. Apparently the police want to ask more questions about the murder and attempted murder of the Wellingtons. Just as well they didn’t come ask in person - the two unconscious women in the bed might be difficult to explain. His usual excuse about collecting replacement documents after the fire at Professor Smith's house probably wouldn’t cut it. Lorna Cambell-Barnes, one of Huxley’s antique customers and who by wild coincidence is staying at the same hotel certainly doesn’t seem to believe it. She’s a collector of illuminated European and Arabic manuscripts, and had apparently been contacted by Wellington as a potential buyer for the Sedefkar scroll. She thought he was dodgy enough to decline - wise choice. Perhaps they’ll see each other again on the train? After Huxley has finished tending to whoever it is he has in the hotel room?

After sitting for an hour in the wasteland, waiting for the drug to wear off, or Huxley to bring them around, or anything, The cousins decide that maybe they need to be closer to their bodies in Dream Lausanne? Perhaps they can find the equivalent of the hotel there. Unfortunately, navigating is easier said than done, given the steep, twisting cobbled streets, the non-stop press of the crowd, and gaping fissures blasting freezing gales. Perhaps the fissures and the decay in the Wellington’s shop is a sign that the reality of Dream Lausanne is collapsing with the death of the Dreamer? Florence and Alex decide to hurry back to the shop, and come face to face with Death.

Also an Angel, a medieval Soldier, a Lion, a Turk, an Assassin, and a Rustic Lass and Rustic Lad. They are costumed flagellants who wind in procession through the chaos, weeping tears of blood from startling, expressionless, china-blue dolls’ eyes. They chant in Latin as they move, and the reek of incense and a distant cacophony of bells entirely at odds with the bells from the cathedral follows them. As the bells reach a crescendo, the Lion figure sprouts wings and flies away, closely pursued by the Soldier. Their bloody tears fall on the investigators from above and scald them.

Florence recalls that a Winged Lion is the symbol of Venice, which surrendered to Napoleon in 1797. Evidently Alex played truant for most of their History lessons.

Huxley OoC: Note to self - buy an umbrella before we get to Venice.

Spherical bunches of tiny white flowers sprouting from thick stems, growing from cobbled streets, is another oddity. As is the street musician that loses all his limbs to an empty top hat.
And the living chessboard with murderous pawns. And the barbed wire cage festooned with scraps of flesh, that sings with Signora Cavallaro’s voice. The only person that actually talks to them is an old woman cooking something in a big black cauldron.

Highly Suspicious Crone: You two look like you need a good feed. Come, try some.
Alex & Flo: *politely NOPE*
Crone: Not going to the Jigsaw Prince’s court? He has some Englishman a prisoner, I hear. But that one has so much to say - I don’t care to listen.

By the time they make it back to the shop, their agitation is obvious enough that Huxley starts injecting a stimulant. Their first demands are a shower and alcohol. But at least they have the real scroll, and the fake, as well as an English translation of the original - something Wellington denied having. The Scroll of The Head is certainly the work of a madman, as evinced by the following excerpt.

I have seen the powers which stalk the night and strike fear into the hearts of all those who worship the false god. I know Him and I worship Him. The Skinless One has spoken to me. He whispered secret words into my heart of hearts and I know what I now must do. I have seen It in visions and It is all that my Lord said It was. In my dreams I have seen Its perfection striding above the ruins of cities. Kings and countries have fallen before It. Even gods must fall before It. I recognized it the first time I beheld It as an object of power. Power that would bring the world to its knees. It glistened like the finest pearls. It woke when I flayed alive the wretch who sought to steal my treasure from me. That night He came to me for the first time and told me what to do. I meditated before Its glory. All praise to the One without Skin. I performed the seventeen devotions and opened It for the first time. Within the artifact was soft and smooth. As I ran my hand across Its inner surface it felt like the skin of a newborn babe. I offered four children as sacrifice to my Master. Then I used It for the first time. In His wisdom the Lord of Naked Flesh had made It to my height. In all modesty I believe It was made in my image. Blessed is the chosen of the Skinless One. I have been careful to keep It untarnished. The substance is the color of purity and should not be tainted by that which is unclean.

Lt. Huxley heads off on some errands, and learns that Maximillian has been asking around for them - but not to worry, because von Wertheim is in such bad odour at the Beau-Rivage Palace that they wouldn’t have let him in even if he had actually known where the investigators were staying.

Things to do include sending a telegram to Prof. Smith and Beddows, to inform them on progress thus far.

+++ARM IN HAND+++AHEAD ON FINDING PAPERS+++

Then around to the hospital to check on the health of William Wellington - highly precarious - and then around to the police station to answer more questions, and try and explain that he and the girls really have to leave for Milan in the morning, since they have tickets for the opening of Aida. The Inspector is initially skeptical, but surprised that they haven’t heard the news - the opera star has vanished. It’s in all the papers coming up the train line from Milan.

Opera Star Missing! - Fears of Abduction
Police have expressed fears that soprano Caterina Cavollaro may have been abducted from Milan’s Stazione Centrale. The singer has not been seen since she alighted from the train from Paris yesterday at 1pm. Since then she has not returned to her apartment or attended rehearsals at La Scala, where she is due to sing the part of Aida, which opens Monday night. Arturo Toscanini, music director of La Scala, has confirmed that he has had no contact from the singer since she departed Paris.

Police request that any members of the public contact them if they have any information on the whereabouts of Signorina Cavallaro. We heartily urge all Milanese to join the search for our most beloved star.
 
Florence OoC: Have they checked Box Five?

At least they reach the train without incident in the morning, and eventually stagger down to the dining car for breakfast. Lorna Cambell-Barnes hasn’t come from her cabin yet, but they’re not the only people there, even this early in the morning. One is Colonel Herring, an obnoxious retired military man currently complaining about the food, at top volume. His wife can do little more than mutter ‘yes dear’, and ‘no dear’. Cornered, Lt. Huxley confesses that he is a former military man himself, and cautiously suggests a stomach-calming draft if the garlic is too much? Perhaps the Colonel will be disembarking at the next stop?

Col. Herring: The wife wanted to see the continent. God knows why - all Frogs, Wogs, and I-ties. They can’t even cook an egg properly, ha ha.
GM: Roll Psychology. Mrs. Herring’s expression is one of someone who has plotting murder for the last two decades. The waiter is also plotting murder, but won’t do it where it will upset the other passengers.

At least the beauty of the view out of the windows is distracting - the Alps, snow pink in the light of the rising sun. It’s so distracting that the investigators don’t realize how much danger they are in until a waiter asks “Will Monsieur be dining alone today?” and the Duc Jean des Esseintes replies. “No, I think I will eat with my friends.”

After being reseated with Huxley and the others, who are frozen in alarm, the Duc puts a small valise down, orders his meal and turns his attention to the party.

The Duc: Ladies, gentleman, if you will excuse my hurried bluntness, I will come to the point. You have in your possession an item that is rightfully mine. You will give it to me, or it is you I will destroy. Your answer promptly, please. I have little time.

Huxley, in a fit of unbridled optimism, asks if the Duc’s interest in the scroll is academic.

The Duc: Hardly, monsieur. The knowledge within belongs only to those with the will to use it, and I judge that none of you possess that strength of will.
Alex: But it’s not yours!
The Duc: Debatable. I am certain I can find witnesses who can state otherwise. And testify as to your presence in the Wellington fils shop. So unfortunate, what happened to your countrymen.

Huxley tells Alex to go fetch the scroll, and she rightly assumes he means the fake. Unfortunately, the Duc isn’t fooled for a moment, and correctly guesses they plan to thwart him.

The Duc: Do you take me for a fool, sir? I assure you that is a regrettable error - perhaps I should make an example of one of you, to prove my point?

It’s at this point that Col. Herring gets involved, since he’s been quietly eavesdropping on this whole conversation and is now purple with rage.

Col. Herring: Just who the devil do you think you are, sir?! I don’t know how they do things around here but I’ll be damned if I stand by while some bloody Frog threatens a proper Englishman!

Alex makes a run for the cabin and the fake scroll, Florence pockets one of the sharper knives on the table, Huxley stands to try and intervene between Herring and the Duc, and the Duc is merely muttering under his breath and gazing steadily at the enraged pensioner.

Who bursts into a pillar of flame.

It's my conclusion that the Champions Universe's alien Mandaarians are space Noldor, while its Malvans are space Melniboneans. Not exactly analogous, of course, but for a shorthand description that fits pretty well IMHO.

Here's the abstract for the campaign I described above, in case anybody is interested.
 
"In 2022, the shining metropolis of Millennium City stands as a beacon of determination, resilience and the power of community. Thirty years ago, the city of Detroit, Michigan stood in that same spot. But old Detroit was destroyed in the titanic clash between the most powerful supervillain who ever lived, the aptly named Doctor Destroyer, and the virtual army of heroes who stood against him. 
 
Today, Millennium City is the most technologically advanced - and many would say, most enlightened - city on Earth. It is also at the center for the superhuman community and the headquarters of many of the world's most important corporations and organizations. Millennium City is the proverbial phoenix, risen from the ashes. 
 
But that's not your city. Your city is the aged, gasping old hound that was put to sleep by the Battle of Detroit. Your city is the Detroit that grew up at the crossroads of ancient trails and far-reaching waterways, at the heart of the land that would someday be called North America. She grew up fighting for scraps as ancient peoples and mighty empires fought over her. She's been taken by one power after another for centuries, and she's been used hard until she's been all but used up.
 
Nobody's fighting over her anymore. The Arsenal of Democracy and the roaring engine of the US automobile industry is sputtering, on its last fumes. The rich and powerful climb over the less fortunate on their way out of the pit that they've dug.
But that pit is your Detroit.
 
It's the beginning of 1988 and it's the beginning of the end for Detroit. If nobody else is going to fight for this hollowed-out city of the desperate and the scavengers who feed on them, you will."

I’m talking about armor, a consideration of its interaction with Combat Luck might be valuable, especially if the campaign has set maxima on defenses for PCs.
 
For just six character points spent (five in settings like the Valdorian Age which add an additional limitation that it does not work if wearing more than 15kg of armor), a cap of 8 rDEF means that 4-5 rDEF from actual armor is all that is needed. Buy two levels, and 2 rDEF leather becomes all you can wear.
 
It’s a consideration that probably should be taken into account.

I am currently modifying an OLD Shadow World module as my home setting.  It is basically a BIG island with a few areas including a LARGE inland lake (1000 km x 700 Km), a steppes area, a highland/plateau, a grasslands and a jungle area.  So a lot of different climates, but I will go with Chain being the BEST and things like Leather and Studded being much more common.  So Shields and Combat Luck is going to be very important.  Also Normal armour will have sectional defenses and real armour limitations.  Magical armour can go past this limitation (hence why it is magical) and could go higher in defense, but is still visibly chain mail (Think the Mithril shirt Frodo had.  He survived a strike from a cave troll and the armour was unharmed so like 10/10 armour with no sectional as it always seemed any nasty strikes would hit the armour [like Red Sonya's bikini, but more believable])
 

I would say that good adventuring potential in TVA could be found in the region called Three Fingers. The land is divided among more than a dozen petty lords in an almost constant state of warfare, so there's plenty of employment for mercenary fighting men. There are also opportunities for someone to win a lordship of his/her own. Three Fingers is close to and often trades with the neighboring lands of Amyklai and Graecoria, and traders from Elweir regularly sail up the Serpentine River to call there.
 
Three Fingers is also one of several lands bordering the vast Nylsen Forest, an area ripe for development. The forest receives very little mention in TVA, other than that the bandits from Cavren's Demise have taken to lying in wait in the forest to ambush traders sailing the Serpentine River; and that a black magician once maintained a tower deep within it.

What you describe, assault, is pretty close to the magic in Jonathan Stroud's "Bartimaeus" series of YA Fantasy novels. (The Amulet of Samarkand, The Golem's Eye, Ptolemy's Gate, The Ring of Solomon.) Magicians can summon and bind spirits -- period. Magic items are magic because they have spirits bound into them. Any other powers a magician seems to have are similarly gained from spirits. Spirit summoning requires a great deal of specialized knowledge, plus special tools -- high ritual magic, all very Key of Solomon. If you make any mistake, the spirit is free to attack you... because it is an intelligent person whom you just kidnapped from its home plane and tried to bind into staying in a world where every second of existence is painful. All magic involves keeping slaves, which means that though you don't have to be an utter rat bastard to be a magician, it helps.
 
How powerful a magician is depends on the power of the spirits he can summon and bind, which in turn depends on his knowledge, intelligence, experience, and an undefinable talent -- no matter how hard a magician studies, he will almost certainly never equal legendary mages such as William Ewart Gladstone. (Yes, it's alternate history Fantasy as well.)
 
You could represent this as a Power (Summon), with various Skill Rolls. Magic items are Independent Powers. But yeah, in most cases the spirit is an NPC compelled to work the magician's will. An involuntary Follower might be the best way to represent this. Or a pool of points to represent a magician's changing roster of spirit Followers.
 
And is it really necessary to write out the Summoning Power? It might indeed be more parsimonious to just treat it as a Skill, with the Side Effect -- angry, uncontrolled spirit -- as the consequence for failure, just as the consequence for failing a Demolitions roll badly might be that you blow yourself up. All the paraphernalia of Summoning -- the magic circle, pots of incense, herbs, other stuff -- and Extra Time, Incantations, etc., are just conditions of using the Skill -- just as someone using Mechanics to fix a car needs time and tools.
 
So yes, this seems like a viable option for a certain kind of game.
 
Finally, I'll note that in the Bartimaeus series, half the chapters are first person narrations by the jinni Bartimaeus himself. He is the chief protagonist. A PC. That might also be the case in a such a Fantasy game: Each player controls a magician, and one of the spirits summoned by one of the other players.
 
Dean Shomshak

I have used the Valdorian Age for a campaign.  The low magic and limited number of "monsters" created an interesting campaign.  The players spent most of their time dealing with political intrigue, running an inn, dealing with bandits, prejudice (people in VA really hate other races - one player was playing a dwarf), crimes (including a serial killer), romance, and growing threat from a necromancer.  Most of the source material is built around Elweir.  However there is enough material for the rest of the world for a GM to fill in the gaps.
 
My old campaign can be found on the Obsidian Portal
 
I also ran a very short lived Harn Campaign using Hero.  It was short lived because we moved before it really got going.  Harn has an insane amount of background material.

Since you ask... I find Vornakkia the most appealing part of the setting. It seems the most creative and non-generic, and just plain fun. (And when I asked, Steve Long confirmed that it was the section of Amrethel he had the most fun designing. I think it shows.)
 
It seems well stocked with elements a GM could use to build wider conflicts and story arcs.
 
For adversaries, the Hargeshite Empire of Vashkhor interests me more than Kal-Turak the Generic Motiveless Dark Lord. Vashkhor has a reason for its aggression: it is righteous. It has done terrible things to impose the True Doctrine. It can do so again.
 
Mhorecia also has strong development potential. In addition to Tavrosel, it has a nice selection of fairly diverse countries, with various potentials for both hostility and cooperation, without forming blocs of simplistic Good and Evil. The inland Sea of Mhorec is especially valuable for, hm, entangling the countries around it whether they want it or not. There's enough here that I think Mhorecia doesn't really need the rest of Ambrethel: It could have made an entirely adequate setting book by itself.
 
Any further discussion should switch over to the established "The Turakian Age is Seriously Underrated" thread (see link in LL's sig).
 
Dean Shomshak
Dean Shomshak

Anthony Miller posted his thoughts on Traveller Hero here
 

Retro Ads --

I recently used Elweir in a one-shot test for a possible S&S campaign set in the Valdorian Age, and my players all enjoyed themselves a lot, so that gets it a thumbs up from the four of us.

Horror on the Orient Express - Lausanne - Nocturne Pt.1
 
Jan 1923
 
In Which The Investigators Enjoy The Sights Of Switzerland, Which Include Mountains, Lakes, & Horrible Murder
 
The investigators have reached Lausanne, where a taxidermist is selling a scroll written by a madman, and is trying to raise the price he'll get by inviting anybody that might be interested in something written on living human skin with white-hot needles. He will regret this decision.
 
The taxidermist in question is one Edgar Wellington, who had written to the Loriens in Poissy, inquiring about the Sedefkar Simulacrum. This naturally makes him a person of considerable interest to the investigators, even if Switzerland isn’t one of the places Professor Smith believes the Simulacrum was scattered to. Wellington and his brother moved to Lausanne after the War, and Wellington is happy to sell the scroll. He acquired it from a French soldier by the name of Raoul Malon during the war, and it apparently discusses the Simulacrum, although he claims he hasn’t translated much of it. He wants 250 pounds - quite the profit over the pack of cigarettes he originally paid. Unfortunately, he’s also offered the scroll to the Duc Jean Floressas des Esseintes. 
 
The Duke seems charming enough, but it’s likely he has more funds available if things escalate to a bidding war. Edgar certainly seems eager to encourage one - perhaps he needs the funds to help his mute brother William, who suffered devastating head injuries in the War. 
 
Edgar suggests the Duke show Huxley and Florence around Lausanne until they can all meet at the Black Cat Café in the evening, and arrange a blind auction - for one thing he has to retrieve the scroll from his bank, before anybody can even have a look at it. 
 
So it’s probably just as well that Alex was still nursing their hangover from all the Dreamlands wine the night before, and missed this meeting at the taxidermy shot - because Huxley is paranoid enough to have Alex stake out the shop, from a café across the road. And while the Duke is showing Huxley and Flo the sights, Edgar is seen hurrying down to the nearby stationers shop, and returning with something the size and shape of a scroll case. 
 
Huxley: The b****** is going to try and sell us a forgery.
 
Or at the very least use the party to help defraud the Duke. 
 
Florence: We were supposed to be sightseeing most of today.
Huxley: Then Huxley got distracted by books. 
 
That evening, at the Black Cat, they set Alex up in a corner to keep an eye on the meeting just in case anything happens. More strong coffee would probably be a bad idea, especially after the hangover and stake-out while hungover that morning.
 
GM: You’re practically vibrating as it is.
Alex: I’d better switch back to alcohol then.
 
But the Duke and Edgar Wellington don’t arrive - instead, one Maximillian von Wurtheim, best described as a poster boy for the SS, comes to the café, making apologies for the other two and inviting himself to the table. While Max flirts outrageously with Florence and regales them with the endless story about his family fortune, late father’s will, Max’s evil twin, etc, Huxley quietly sends Alex around to keep an eye on the Wellington’s shop. Huxley manages to escape the melodrama himself, later, and heads around to join Alex. It’s probably just as well they did, because the shop is dark, and silent, and the door ajar.
 
Alex and the lieutenant sidle into the pitch dark shop,  knocking over stuffed wildlife as they try to find the light switch.
 
Alex: Just light a match!
Huxley: I’m a non-smoker, sorry.
Alex: When we get out of this you’re taking it up.
 
Back at the Black Cat Maximillian is still talking - sure, his outrageous claims might make an interesting novel at some point, but he’s. Still. Going. 
 
Florence OoC: I’m keeping my expression polite as I imagine the ways I’m going to make the Lt. pay for this. 
Huxley OoC: I’ll bring you a nice stuffed animal from the Wellington’s shop.
Florence OoC: I like cats. If you can’t get fresh-made store-bought is fine. 
 
Eventually Flo reaches her limits.
 
Florence: I'm taking my handbag to the restroom and see if I can climb out the window. 
 
Alas, she won’t fit, and she is forced to return to the table. 
 
GM: He continues his story.
Alex: He probably hasn’t stopped.
 
But enduring this is probably preferable to what the other two find upstairs in the Wellington’s flat - William brutally stabbed and partly flayed, and Edgar killed with a massive morphine overdose in his bed. Huxley’s medical experience rouses William briefly,  just long enough to let the veteran point at a painting of a Merganser for some reason, while Alex runs across to the café to summon help.
 
William might survive, if the doctors at the local hospital are very good. The police take statements, particularly the statement that Alex and Huxley had come to the shop to see why Edgar never arrived for his meeting. They apparently suspect it might be a murder-suicide - or, as Alex overhears - ANOTHER suicide. 
 
Alex also hopes that all this doesn’t get written up in a newspaper her father actually reads.
 
Florence is not happy when the others get back to the hotel.
 
Florence: I had to listen to him talk for hours - and then HE STIFFED ME WITH THE BILL.
 
Of course Alex and Huxley are looking pretty frazzled too - the latter still has blood all over him.
 
Alex: It’s alright, it’s not his.
 
Blood isn’t the only thing he acquired however - while Alex was out getting help he also grabbed Edgar’s diary, a drug bottle of something called ‘Dream Lausanne’, and a scroll case containing what is indeed a fake scroll. 
 
Huxley: How am I going to smuggle the scroll case out of here?
GM: Just shove it down your pants and pretend violent death gives you a massive hard-on. 
 
According to the diary, Edgar has severe PTSD and a crippling morphine habit after the war, and needed to sell the scroll to provide for his brother. But it appears the Duke provided the books, morphine, and ‘the dream drug’, which contributed to Edgar’s downward spiral. The drug apparently takes Edgar to a version of Lausanne ‘from olden times’, and to which Edgar could actually take physical objects, and leave them there. He’s left the real scroll there.
 
The next morning they make full statements to the police and change hotels, to avoid Maximillian and the Duke just in case.  That’s probably just as well for Maximillian because if Florence ever sees him again she’s going to stab him with knitting needles. Unfortunately the new hotel is full to the ceiling with Turkish diplomats, which doesn’t do their paranoia any good. Nor does the news item blaming Lausanne’s massively inflated suicide rate on the psychological effects of the war. At least spending the rest of the day and night here and getting the hell out of Switzerland on the next Orient Express gives them a chance to experiment with the Dream Drug.
 
Huxley: This is balderdash! Magic potions, and, and, and - as a medical professional I cannot recommend this. 
Florence: I’m more interested in who will keep an eye on us if we all go together.
Alex: I like the phrasing there - ‘all go together’
 
Alex and Florence opt to take the drug, which Huxley identifies as a combination of at least three different herbal narcotics and god knows what else, while he monitors their vital signs and hopes they don’t choke on their own dissolving livers or something. Florence makes the good point that if a magical drug is supposed to take you to Dream Lausanne, it might be unwise to take the stuff if you’re hurtling across the landscape in a high speed train.  They decide to take as many weapons as they can hold onto, just in case. That includes Huxley’s sword-cane.
 
Huxley: An elegant weapon from a more civilised age.
Florence: The pointy end goes in the bad guy.
 
At the last moment Huxley adds the scroll case and fake scroll to the pile - as he points out, the case might be useful if they find the real thing. The two women dissolve the drug in some whiskey, throw back the shot glasses, and instantly fall into a deep sleep. They find themselves in a blasted landscape, with a freestanding door. Beyond the door is a medieval version of the Wellington’s shop - with the doors smashed in, cathedral bells tolling, and the sound of a great many people moving outside…

Yes, I backed the Kickstarter as well, so I know where you’re coming from. As it is, I use it as source material for a potential Hero campaign setting I would run.

In any campaign, I like to check if there is a form of in-universe "official" *Evil*, like hell and demons. If so, then "Evil" is merely any connection to a hell or a demon, which is a potentially still moral person/place. You are theoretically capable of finding nice, moral demons, who sense as "Evil" because they are demons. You could also find nasty and immoral angels, who sense as "Good" from their angelic divinity. You mostly find those who are neither "Evil" nor "Good" whether or not they are moral, immoral, neutral or anything else.
 
Often, however, there is no such thing as a "Detect Alignment" spell or any such thing, and the only form of evil is the regular kind with people being selfish or immoral. For a quick judgement, generally speaking, any who cause pain, sorrow, stress, and things like that, either intentionally or, to a lesser extent by simply not bothering to consider other people, is said to be an evil person.
 
People who either restrict other's freedom or their free will, and those who deny that which others need while they could give it relatively simply, are the worst sort of evil. Slavers, tyrants, merchants who're making money from droughts, plagues, and wars. 
 
Bigots, such as racists, sexists, and terfs, are not even brought up in the games I'm playing in. If they were, they'd be killed by everybody on any side, good or evil, very quickly. Which is part of why we don't use bigots as villains. They don't last long to become major plot elements, and they're unpleasant to be around while they remain.
 
If you want a pithy saying, maybe:
 
Good Guy: There is no such thing as "Evil". There is only freedom, and those who would oppose it.
 
Bad Guy: There is no such thing as "Evil". There is only power, and those too weak to take it.