The (former) Church of Little St Hugh, a partly Hawksmoor-designed church. (Image source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_John_Horsleydown)
A resource for Bookhounds of London, by James Haughton and Bret Kramer
Just off Charterhouse Street in Smithfield is a vacant lot adjacent to the newly built power station. There are the charred remains of a slate floor, a few cracked sandstone blocks, and a wrought iron plaque stating “Here stood the Church of Little St. Hugh, destroyed by German aerial bombardment 8 September, 1915.” A little bit behind is a locked metal grate enclosing a narrow flight of stairs. Behind this locked grate is the Crypt…
The Church of Little St Hugh was once located in Smithfields on the north side of the city, next to the meat markets and slaughteryards. The site is quite ancient, having originally been a Templar chapel dedicated to St Bartholemew, attendant upon their tourney ground and stables. The crypt contains a number of Templar graves. Following the dissolution of the Templars it was turned over to the Knights Hospitallier, who rededicated it to Little St Hugh, and then passed to the Church of England during the English reformation. The church was burned down during the Great Fire of London and was rebuilt as part of the Wren/Hawksmoor/James building effort. Hawksmoor died before the church was completed, so it was completed by John James, leading to it frequently being left off lists of “Hawksmoor” churches.
On the 8th of September, 1915, shortly after the Reverend Poole (see below) had been appointed to the parish, the church was hit by a Zeppelin bomb and burned to the ground a second time, only the underground Templar Crypt surviving. The Church was not eager to rebuild the church because with the passage of time, the expansion of the slaughteryards and the construction of the City of London Power Station next door, the area had become industrial rather than residential and there were few people residing in the parish. Furthermore, antisemitism had become a bit déclassé in reformist Church circles, and a church based upon a Blood Libel was felt to send the wrong message. The site is now bare ground (the graves having been moved to the London Necropolis) with a plaque commemorating the bombing and a locked grille leading to the old crypt.
To Reverend Poole’s muted annoyance, the peculiar history of the church has led to “Rebuild Little St Hugh’s” being taken up as a cause by quasi-respectable pro-fascist elements in Society, as a way of being covertly anti-Jewish without being overtly pro-German.
The Crypt and the “Heretic’s Library”
The site’s interest to Bookhounds lies in the contents of the Crypt. Smithfield is the traditional execution ground for heretics and traitors, and so historically, a certain amount of the vicar of Little St Hugh’s income came from giving last rites to these unfortunates and often became the receiver of the deceased’s items (as means to pay for their services). Sadly, this source of income has dried up a bit in recent centuries. However, gifts from these (usually) men as payments in kind to the vicar included a fair number of books, often concerning their odd political and religious beliefs. Generations of criminals and heretics books were disposed of in this manner; for some reason, these books were kept rather than destroyed, possibly over a centuries old dispute over the division of moneys gained between the priest of Little St Hugh and the Archbishop of London. Over time, the deposition of heretical and treasonous publications in the Church of Little St Hugh became one of those things that are done because they have always been done. This impromptu library of the unorthodox, heretical, and quite possibly valuable was stored within the Crypt, and consequently escaped destruction in the bombing.
The books, which were being surreptitiously being catalogued when the church was destroyed, are in no particular order, beyond a rough one of size, with books of like size being kept together in one box for ease of storage. An index for the books does exist, kept by Rev. Poole in a vest pocket at all times. Sadly many books are in poor condition, centuries of enclosure in damp stone having taken their toll.
The Library of Little St Hugh acts as a 2 point pool for research into heresies and treasons in English history, if Reverend Poole’s assistance and/or index is used; 1 point otherwise owing to the difficulty of finding resources within it. Although many of the books possess little resale value as collectables owing to damage from damp and mildew, enough aged endpapers and partial copies survive to make them valuable to forgers and breakers, not to mention the odd modern heretic who may care less about condition than content.
Owing to its underground location and comforting smell of mould, the library is occasionally consulted by the more literary members of London’s Ghoul colony. The Reverend Poole remains desperately, resolutely, ignorant of this fact.
The Crypt: Physical description
The only surviving portion of the Church, the cruciform vaults beneath the old church were excavated during the time of Richard de Hastyngs (c. 1165) and used as a burial site for Templars in London until the construction of the new Temple, about 1185, and from time to time thereafter, though why burials continued is unclear. Within the vault, the air is cool and stale, a result of poor circulation. The low arched ceilings suggest most of the work dates from the 12th century with a few high Gothic touches added later. Walking is possible in the center of most aisles, but one should watch their heads to avoid injury.
To the north are the remaining Templar crypts, including several carved sarcophagi depicting the resident knights. To the west have been jumbled a mound of ‘important’ stones rescued from the ruins above, including several elaborate keystones, fragments of statuary, the hastily framed remains of several stained-glass windows, and, a worn Sheela-na-gig sits on one side. Some wag has placed a packet of Pall Mall within her stony cleft.
Occupying most of the east and south ends of the vault are stacked boxes containing the old library of the Church of Little Saint Hugh.
A few modern niceties break the gloom; there are an assortment of small oil lamps for which to provide light to readers who can make use of a small table and a mismatched set of wooden chairs. Atop the table are a variety of writing supplies, several half-empty biscuit tins, and a small camp stove topped by a tea kettle.
The Reverend Oliver Garrand Llewellyn Poole, poverty-stricken guardian of Little St Hugh
Occupation: Clergy (Church of England)
Rev. Poole, as he is most generally known, is a drawn-looking man, probably in his early forties, with thinning blond-brown hair, always clad in a careworn black suit and clerical collar. He is the vicar to the (non-existent) congregation of the Church of Little St. Hugh, and the sexton of its (relocated) graveyard. Rev. Poole is responsible for the library, which he allows scholars to examine from time to time. As a result he has met a number of notable authors of esoterica, including Elliot O’Donnell, Margaret Murray, Dennis Wheatley, Rev. Montage Summers (whose claim to clerical status is even dodgier) and Augustus Darcy, whom he remembers was most unwilling to pick up the lunch tab. An air of fatigue surrounds him like a cloud of bees. He deflects any questions about why he remains the vicar of a non-existent church, hinting at family legacies, codecils and obligations. More probably, he fears that if the Church bureaucracy were to notice his existence, his meagre position would be abolished without a new one materialising.
Rev. Poole is most well-known (by those very few who know him) for his unique social habit, one borne from the necessity of having extraordinarily low wage. Normally parish vicars were paid for by their congregants. Lacking any, his income solely consists of his wages as the Sexton (less than £40 annually) and a hodgepodge of Medieval rights granted the Church in centuries past (including but not limited to as many fish as he can catch on the Fleet, a salted ox leg every Christmas, 3 inches of silver chain, a black rooster, and a pot of ink). To supplement this salary (he is apparently unwilling or unable to call upon his extended family, a well-to-do bunch from Kent) the Rev. Poole has become a serial club and society member, particularly those which provide lunch, gather over coffee, or even have a few tins of biscuits and tea. If there is a society, club, association, fanciers group, aficionado gathering, or league in or near the City (so long as its politics aren’t too extreme) Rev. Poole has attended a meeting, if not a regular attendee. Few question him, thanks to his position as a cleric (though a more than a few clubs know to hide the good edibles when he darkens the door), and he is generally regarded as harmless. In those groups where he has some actual interest (including astronomy and architecture) he is actually something approaching helpful. In any gathering, he is at least charming, even if his eyes never leave the refreshments table.
Bookhounds may be aware of his lesser-known talent regarding the procurement of small batches of blank paper, dated as per customer request, most likely taken from the Little St. Hugh library. On a handful of occasions he has provided “graveyard copies” of books from the Church library, in exchange for a cut of the sale, as well as plates from several “breakers” in the library… but only when his finances are very poor. He is, very rarely, a customer at the shop, often swapping something of his for a book. His tastes tend toward the physical sciences, history, and London architecture.
He lives in a mean cold-water flat in a building otherwise wholly populated by Indians and Arabs, causing him to sometimes given off the aroma of their sundry dubious cuisines and tobaccos.
Library Use 2
Document Analysis 1
Assess Honesty 2
Credit Rating 2 (social standing only; he’s otherwise very poor) Treat this as Social CR 3, Monetary CR 1
Auction 1 (I’ve been to a few.)
Conceal 4 (Nothing up my sleeve…)
Electrical Repair 1 (He has built a crystal radio.)
Filch 9 (Where did those biscuits go?)
Firearms 1 (Why yes, my father did like to hunt.)
First Aid 4 (Why yes, I was a terrible shot.)
Fleeing 5 (Run!)
Preparedness 3 (I do have a plumb bob, why do you ask?)
Psychoanalysis 3 (Tell me more…)
Riding 1 (And we had horses… vile creatures…)
Scuffling 2 (There were also older brothers.)
Sense Trouble 4 (He knew that enlisting in 1914 was a bad idea after all…)
Shadowing 2 (That chap has a bag simply full of sardine tins. After him!)
Stealth 2 (I swear that the vicar went into the pantry a moment ago…)
Bookhounds of London
An Ennie- and Golden Geek-award-winning supplement for Trail of Cthulhu.
These cycles of experience, of course, all stem from that worm-riddled book. I remember when I found it – in a dimly lighted place near the black, oily river where the mists always swirl.
– The Book
Bookhounds of London is a brand new campaign setting for Trail of Cthulhu, packed with period detail, where the Investigators seek out books about horror and strangeness and become, seemingly inevitably, drawn into the horror themselves. It provides in-depth material on London in the 1930s, carefully slanted towards Mythos investigators.
An Ancient City
Bookhounds’ London is a city of cinemas, electric lights, global power and the height of fashion. It’s about the horrors – the cancers – that lurk in the capital, in the very beating heart of human civilization. A Templar altar might well crouch, mostly forgotten, in the dreary Hackney Marshes, but altars to false gods tower over the metaphorical swamps of Fleet Street and Whitehall. And as for lost, prehuman ruins … who’s to say what lies under London, if you dig deep enough?
The PCs aren’t stalwart G-men or tweedy scholars exploring forbidden frontiers. Instead, they acquire maps (and maybe guidebooks) to those forbidden frontiers from fusty libraries and prestigious auction houses. They are Book-Hounds, looking for profit in mouldy vellum and leather bindings, balancing their own books by finding first editions for Satanists and would-be sorcerers. They may not quite know what they traffic in, or they may know rather better than their clientele, but needs must when the bills come in. This volume includes:
- 32 authentic full-colour maps with unique new street index of London in the 1930s, and plans of major buildings.
- A Mythos take on London in the 1930s, packed with contacts, locations and rumours.
- New abilities such as Document Analysis, Auction and Forgery, as well as new occupations and drives.
- Full statistics for a host of new and horrible Mythos creatures to pit against the Bookhounds.
- Whitechapel Black-Letter, a brand new adventure which takes Bookhounds through the bleak East End of London on the trail of a powerful 15th century grimoire.
With Bookhounds, Kenneth Hite creates a rich sandbox full of dusty tomes, crooked dealers and dark alleys, a perfect setting for any Mythos investigation.
A Detailed Guide to London in the 1930s
Bookhounds of London also features a complete, indexed street map of London, recreated and adapted from original sources, packed with over 200 locations essential to Investigators. Whatever system you play, this is an essential resource for Mythos roleplayers. The PDF version is fully cross-referenced. The cartography in Bookhounds won a silver ENnie award.
See the complete reviews to date here
Not only does Bookhounds make me want to run a game, it makes me feel confident that I could run that game well. Many supplements place the burden of extracting a game from their contents on the Keeper; this book does not. As an unconfident and less experienced Keeper, this is excellent. If you only get one supplement for Trail of Cthulhu, this should be it.
Whomever, decides to buy it will certainly get their money’s worth and more. This is a beautifully and hauntingly illustrated book, in which the graphics are not horrific but do instill a certain sense of dread. I would commend Pelgrane Press once again for creating yet another beautiful product that is both attractive, functional and serves a multitude of purposes.
I don’t think I’ve ever read a gamebook which so carefully integrated the character of the city with the character of the play. It is an imaginary London, but one vivid and playable … Bookhounds could obviously be easily used by a traditional Call of Cthulhu GM and I’d recommend they pick it up. Anyone with an interested in London or England in the first half of the 20th Century should consider it as well.
To the usual Trail mix of Pulp vanilla and Purist chocolate, we now get rainbow sherbert Arabesque, rocky road sordid, and disgustingly neon Technicolor. We can only hope that Pelgrane provides more support for this line so as to give us more of what is otherwise an impressive and inspirational book.
||Author: Kenneth Hite
||Format: 184 pg case bound with colour plates
“Look! It burns clear, but with the air around,
Its dead ingredients mingle deathliness.”
— Robert Southey, Thalaba the Destroyer, a.k.a. “The Other Other Romantic Vampire Poem, You Know, The One That Gets No Respect”
From Gerard de Nerval to Harry Potter to the pub-rockin’ Smithereens, the Hand of Glory knocks so sneakily at our culture that of course I had to let it in. Also, unkind and waspish sorts might suggest that this is yet another Thing We Left Out of the Dracula Dossier, when in fact it is of course great fun for all games of horror and creeperie but yes okay fine there’s a Hand of Glory in the Whitby Museum (DH, p. 177) so it might indeed be handy to have written up as a Director’s Handbook-style Object. But you can also use it in a properly occult Trail of Cthulhu game — the Minor Artifact version below fits right into the skeevy world of Bookhounds of London, for instance. And since it began as a cool-sounding mistranslation, it’s clearly ready for the Esoterrorists, to boot.
Quick Esoterroristic Diversion: Early modern magicians, caught in a game of one-upmanship with competing rogues and cunning-men, had to deploy ever more outré magicks to keep their clients happy. Digging through a grimoire one day (probably) in the mid-16th century, such a warlock stumbled over the Greek word mandragora, meaning mandrake-root, which brings sleep (because it’s actually the same thing as opium poppies) and grows beneath the gallows (because eww, which is to say, cool) and shines at night (see opium poppies, supra). He transliterated it into his native French as main-de-gloire, or “hand of glory.” Since that’s obviously not the same thing as a root, it had to be something else: the hand of a hanged murderer (gallows!) that you burn like a candle (shines!) to put people in a house to sleep (!) to rob them. And once warlocks started offering such things for sale, inquisitors started asking witches about them under torture and hey presto genuine occult legend is born. So thus in our early postmodern era, an eager-adopter Esoterrorist with only broken English reads about the Hand of Glory on the Internet. He (it’s always a he) decides it’s actually Hangloria, the possessed demon hand of someone who dies of autoerotic asphyxiation that glows like a computer monitor and puts your chosen stalker target into a trance. And then he tells all his Esoterrorist creepster buddies and sure enough Hanglorias come crawling out of closets all over Bangkok and Macao and Sochi.
Okay, now back to the Hand of Glory in the Whitby Museum.
Hand of Glory
Appearance: Blackish-gray mummified human right hand. Forensic Pathology types it as severed after death, likely from a working-class man given the degree and type of bone deformation and callusing. Occult Studies might twig to the weirdness of a right hand being used as a Hand of Glory when traditionally the left, or sinister, hand was preferred. Of course, other traditions considered the handedness of the hanged murderer more important: the right hand of a dextral killer would be the “murder hand,” and thus more imbued with occult evil.
Supposed History: Research can trace this Hand of Glory back to 1935, when one Joseph Ford donated it to the Whitby Museum. Ford, a local antiquary, supposedly found it inside the wall of a cottage in Castleton in Yorkshire while repairing the stonework. More generally, a Hand of Glory (Occult Studies) is a magical thieves’ tool. Cut from the wrist of a hanged murderer (or thief, ideally at midnight in total silence) the hand is pickled with niter, salt, peppers, lime or borax, and an ingredient called zimat (possibly verdigris or iron sulfate) then sun-dried or oven-dried with vervain and fern. In some traditions, the Hand is potent enough now; in others you need a candle made from the fat of a hanged man, wax, and ponie (possibly one or all of: soap, horse dung, or sesame) to activate its magic. If you have the correct ingredients and a workable recipe, you can make a Hand of Glory in 28 days (17 if making the Hand during the dog-days of July-August) and a Candle in the night of the new moon. (2-point spend for all the ingredients, etc.)
Major Artifact: When the fingers of the Hand close around the Candle and the Candle is lit, the Hand has the following powers:
- Any locked door, gate, portal, safe, etc. in the Candle light unlocks itself when the wielder spends 1 point (or 2 points for clearly impossible or advanced locks) of Stability.
- When the wielder utters an incantation (usually given as “Let all those who are asleep be asleep, and let those who are awake be awake.”) everyone asleep in the building remains completely asleep regardless of noise or even attack. A Hand more suited to the world of 24-hour security might force a Difficulty 8 Stability (or Athletics) test to remain awake, or at least allow a +3 bonus to all surprise tests against those inside.
- The Candle flares up blue in the presence of secret doors, buried treasure, etc. and its light reveals the invisible, including vampires. Vampires with Magic or Necromancy may of course be able to animate or otherwise control the Hand.
Seeing a Hand of Glory work inspires a 3-point Stability test in all witnesses, including the thieves. The Hand must be held in the wielder’s hand to activate the first two powers, although it can be set down upright and continue keeping sleepers somnolent, revealing the invisible, etc.
The Candle burns for 4-6 hours, and can only be extinguished by blood; the Hand lasts until destroyed.
Minor Artifact: To use the Hand, soak the fingertips in unguent or lighter fluid and light it up. When lit, the Hand has the following powers, depending on the number of Fingers (F; fingers including the thumb) it has remaining:
- Adds +F to all the wielder’s tests of Mechanics, Infiltration, etc. to open a lock or door. Grants the Open Sesame cherry (NBA, p. 31) regardless of wielder’s Infiltration rating. (In Trail of Cthulhu, grants +F points of Locksmith.) The exception: doors warded with owls’ blood.
- After the wielder utters the incantation, those asleep in the house remain asleep unless attacked. If someone is awake in the house, one finger goes out for each wakeful person. This does not diminish F unless the Director is feeling cruel.
- Adds +F to the wielder’s (or anyone else watching) tests of Sense Trouble, Conceal, etc. for the purpose of finding hidden treasure, secret doors, the invisible, etc. Counteracts invisibility, e.g.: an invisible vampire adds +6 to the Hit Threshold to shoot her, but with a three-fingered Hand burning, that advantage is down to +3 to Hit Threshold.
Seeing a Hand of Glory work inspires a 3-point Stability test in all witnesses, including the thieves. The Hand must be held in the wielder’s hand to activate the first two powers, although it can be set down upright and continue keeping sleepers somnolent, revealing the invisible, etc.
The Hand burns for 30 minutes per Finger remaining on the Hand, including itself. So a Hand down to one Finger burns for 30 minutes. It can be extinguished by milk or blood; when it goes out it cannot be relit. After each use, one Finger no longer lights, so each Hand has only five uses.
Telluric Artifact: The Hand must be cut from the body of someone infected by the telluric bacteria, like a vampire. (Using the hand of a Renfield is only half as effective; use half F rounded up.) The pickling, drying, etc. feeds the bacteria while (partially) shielding the wielder from infection. Until you light the Hand and inhale activated bacterial ash, of course. Its powers are the same as the Minor Artifact version, with a few tweaks:
- The bacteria heighten the wielder’s hand-eye coordination and senses of touch and hearing, improving lockpicking, etc. tests by +F but also similar abilities such as Explosive Devices at the Director’s discretion.
- The carbonized bacterial-zimat cloud puts everyone who inhales it to sleep except the quasi-infected wielder. If she has friends, they need gas masks or the equivalent to avoid the Difficulty 4+F Health test to stay awake in the same room as a burning Hand.
- The bacteria also heighten the wielder’s predatory pattern-matching skills and awareness, adding +F to her Sense Trouble, Conceal, etc., and counteracting invisible (including tellurically invisible) targets as a Minor Artifact. Add F points of Notice to the wielder’s pool.
- The bacteria also imbue the wielder with a rush of self-confidence bordering on the sociopathic. He must make an F-point Stability test to withdraw from the room, avoid touching the valuables, or generally not act like he owns the place.
Using a Hand of Glory requires an immediate 4-point Stability test.
It can be extinguished by anything that might normally put out a fire except milk or blood (or other high-protein or iron-rich fluids), which feed the bacteria and increase its effect on the wielder. (Wielder can now spend Health or Stability on any test improved by the Hand; the Stability test to resist its predator confidence is now Difficulty 4+F and costs F+2 Stability if failed.)
Fraudulent: The hand may have been mummified by actual thieves, or by a homeowner superstitiously trying to guard his cottage from thieves, or by a local antiquary who wanted his name in the paper, but it doesn’t have magic powers.
Connections: The formula for a true Hand of Glory might appear in Le Dragon Noir (DH, p. 273), or in another grimoire owned or coveted by the Bookseller (DH, p. 106). A true Hand makes an ideal target (or resource) for the Caldwell Foundation (DH, p. 160), Extraordinary Objects Department (DH, p. 161), or for the Psychic (DH, p. 96), Enigmatic Monsignor (DH, p. 114), or Online Mystic (DH, p. 126). As an early modern magician, Elizabeth Báthory (DH, p. 63) or her assets (DH, p. 135) may make use of the things. If the Sniper (DH, p. 131) has one, that could explain her ability to come and go from her hits; if Edom has one, it’s part of Pearl’s (DH, p. 52) kit. If Edom uses Minor Artifact Hands as standard field issue, that might put an intriguing spin on the origin of the term Lamplighter (DH, p. 123). In the latter case, if Pearl doesn’t keep tight hold of the stock, a Hand may turn up at Carfax (DH, p. 185) or buried inside the wall at the thieves’ target Coldfall House (DH, p. 188).
In Bram Stoker’s original Notes for Dracula, we find the following cryptic line:
Lawyer – (Sortes Virgilianae) conveyance of body
Stoker originally thought perhaps the “lawyer” character Peter Hawkins, mostly written out of the book, would perform the sortes Virgilianae, literally the “Virgilian lots,” to find out how his new client would work out. Both pagan Romans (who thought poets divinely inspired) and medieval and early modern Christians (who found a prophecy of Jesus in Virgil’s fourth Eclogue) considered Virgil a prophet. The sortes Virgilianae thus refers to a form of bibliomancy in which the querent randomly opens a copy of Virgil’s Aeneid (or sometimes the complete works of Virgil) to receive prophetic guidance on some venture.
- Sortes Virgilianae Virgilianae *INCEPTION sound*
The “conveyance of body” seems like Stoker’s legalistic joke on the dual meaning of “conveyance”: both transportation and transfer of property rights. Anyhow, the phrase points us at Book VI; line 530 of the Aeneid (Dryden’s translation):
“My boat conveys no living bodies o’er”
Which pretty neatly prefigures the doomed Demeter’s voyage from Whitby, which is why I put it right back in Dracula Unredacted.
Later on in the Notes, Stoker suggests maybe Harker performs sortes Virgilianae in Dracula’s library, or discovers that Dracula has been using this medieval magic system, or perhaps Seward does it while feeling blue and neurotic. Eventually Stoker tossed the whole idea. But you don’t have to!
The Bibliomancy Option
Either in your Dracula Dossier game or in a Bookhounds of London campaign it can be creepy fun to introduce a bibliomantic element. The trick, of course, is to pre-load the prophecy. Go to one of the many searchable Aeneids on the Internet and search for the thing you want to show up in the next session.
Gutenberg has the whole poem on one page, and you can search for word fragments (searching on “blood” finds “bloody”); Bartleby has line numbers if you value such things or want to add a numbers-code feeling, but the poem pages are broken up by books so you can use only whole-word searches from the main page.
Or genuinely randomize it: Roll a d12 to select the Book and then a d2000 (d20, d100) to pick the Line (count a 20 result on the d20 as 0). In Dryden’s translation, no Book is longer than 1400 lines, so prepare to re-roll that first die a lot. If you’re more digitally minded, John Clayton’s Two random lines from Virgil does just that, but does not yet support a search.
Then, when the characters decide to sort out a sortilege, you can spring the right creepy line on them. Or, you can read the whole poem looking for naturally awesome couplets like this (Book II; lines 212-213):
“Reveal the secrets of the guilty state,
And justly punish whom I justly hate!”
And then come up with a neat scene that tag can retrospectively be seen to have predicted. Characters that bring about or otherwise invoke that prophecy can claim an Achievement-style 3-point refresh, if you’re feeling generous.
The following perhaps-magic item can appear in either sort of campaign, but it’s written up for the Dracula Dossier.
Appearance: An copy of Virgil’s Aeneid, in Latin and Dryden’s English translation, on facing pages, with numbered lines. Octavo, bound in pale yellow buckram, published by “Faelix Press, London, 1864.” It gives every appearance of heavy use; many pages are marked with pinpricks or brownish ink checks. It is autographed on the frontispiece, “From C. to ‘Mr. P.H., the onlie begetter.’”
Supposed History: This was the copy of the Aeneid used by Peter Hawkins to cast the sortes Virgilianae during the 1894 operation. Art History suggests the inscription is a literary joke, after the dedication of Shakespeare’s Sonnets to “Mr. W.H., the onlie begetter.” The inscription implies that “P.H.” created Edom, and hints that his real initials are W.H. “C.” might be “Cyprian” Bridge, Director of Naval Intelligence, or the not yet officially on the clandestine books Captain Mansfield Smith-Cumming, or someone else entirely.
Major Item: The book allows the accurate casting of sortes Virgilianae, with a proper knife (the Jeweled Dagger (p. XX) or something from the Knife Set (p. XX) perhaps). Riffling through the book and striking a page at random reveals a line or two of Virgil that provide prophetic insight or warning into (usually) the next session’s events. (This lets the Director think a little about how best to work the prophecy in.) During that session, each forewarned agent gains 1 pool point that can be assigned retroactively to either Sense Trouble or Preparedness.
Minor Item: This is indeed Hawkins’ desk copy of Virgil, but it only provides possible leads to Hawkins’ identity or that of his mysterious supervisors in the murky prehistory of British intelligence. Whether either clue points to the current “D” or anywhere else in Edom is up to the Director.
Fraudulent: It’s an authentic 1864 edition of Virgil, but has no connection to Hawkins or to Edom.
Connections: Could turn up in the library at Ring (p. XX) or the Korea Club (p. XX), in the Exeter house (p. XX), or if meant as a clue to the real “Hawkins,” on a dead GMC, with his finger pointing to lines 870-871 of Book II:
“Make haste to save the poor remaining crew,
And give this useless corpse a long adieu.”
Player handouts for Bookhounds of London
These rumours are player knowledge: the sorts of things eager Book-Hounds are likely to hear as they wander the streets, drink a pint in the pubs, and gossip with their cronies and rivals. Their degree of truth, and their potential for danger and profit, remain in the Keeper’s hands until the Book-Hounds follow the scent to its source.
We reproduce them here as handouts to be distributed to your players. Give each Book-Hound his own “turf” worth of rumours, or let the whole party know “the word on the street” everywhere from Hammersmith to Hockney. Black out rumours you really don’t want to follow up on, and write in new ones you really do. Feel free to add more rumours as you think of them, or as your own research into London (or grimoires, or Arthur Machen, or anything else cool) turns up story hooks.
See p. 92 under “Player-Driven Adventures,” “Plot Hooks,” for how you can use these rumours to generate scenes, and eventually plot spines and whole scenarios.
The rumours can be downloaded from here.
Bookhounds of London offers three different kind of campaign settings: Arabesque, Technicolor and Sordid. This time out I’m going to go Sordid, and discuss the crime of murder.
Murder was an obsession of the Thirties. People read about them all the time – Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers made their careers out of murder – but apart from the fictional variety there were plenty of real killings to occupy headlines. Men like Doctor Crippen, who killed for money and finally fled, bloody-handed, with his lover Ethel le Neve, only to be caught on the SS Montrose while fleeing to Quebec. Or Doctor Buck Ruxton, who bludgeoned his wife and her maid, cut up the bodies, and then lied and said she’d left him. Then there’s Alfred Rouse, the blazing car killer who picked up a hitchhiker and set him on fire in an attempt to disguise Rouse’s own disappearance. Or Nurse Hopton of Gloucester, the poisoner, and any number of trunks with torsos – and other parts – shipped off to railway stations, the better to delay identification.
And when the murderer was safely arrested, there were other murderous celebrities to occupy people’s attention. Sir Bernard Spilsbury, the famous British pathologist who worked on so many bodies, was always news. Detective Chief Superintendent Edward Greeno was making a name for himself collaring some of the most notorious criminals of the age, as was Fabian of the Yard, aka Superintendent Robert Fabian whose memoirs became fodder for a BBC series in the 1950s.
We sometimes forget this, but the reason why writers like Sayers and Christie could make a living from writing crime novels was that their contemporaries were utterly obsessed with crime. It was what they saw every day in the news, which brought them stories of people – it might be your next-door neighbor – who’d sliced up their spouses, or been sliced up themselves. The criminals and those who caught them, all celebrities, clamored for attention every day. Then of course there were the trials, with their attendant photographers, reports, juicy transcripts full of gossip-fodder, and so on and on.
A truly Sordid campaign has to include murder. The Sordid London is the London of “prostitution, drugs, poverty, desperation, extortion, and cruelty”, as the rulebook puts it, and you can’t conceive of that kind of London without there being murders every day. Not the kind of killings that wind up in the comfortable stately homes of old England either; no, these are the brides in the acid bath, the abortionists with dead children in the basement, the elderly beaten to death for their jewellery and whatever cash can be looted from their bank accounts. These are the stories that will be on the front page of every newspaper, with the photo supplements that helpfully point out exactly where the body was found.
But how to introduce these murderers to the campaign? Well, there are at least two options. First, as background noise. If the Keeper is going to present a living world for the players to inhabit, that means there’s going to be a lot of things going on around them which they’re aware of, but do not necessarily directly affect the game. Income tax will be going up, up, up, for a start, and there will be rumblings of trouble in Europe. Yet another Council for Peace will try to persuade everyone to disarm or to compromise on war reparations, and be rudely told where to stick the notion. There will be roadworks and gas explosions, advertising campaigns and sermons. No doubt the Duke of Windsor is in the news again, as he and Wallis Simpson hob-nob with Hitler. All of these things will be going on all the time, and if the Keeper uses this as background then the players ought to be reminded of it all the time. Extra, extra, read all about it, the newsboys call, or perhaps the BBC drones on in their offices during the off hours. It can be something to mention at the beginning of a scene, or as part of an important moment.
Say for instance that the character is due to find something in the newspaper. Well in that event it isn’t just a newspaper, it can be something like: ‘buried on page 12, underneath a photo array showing exactly where the Battersea Torso Killer hacked up his victim, you find …’ Or alternatively something like ‘the radio announcer is describing the crowd outside Birmingham Prison, where baby killer Victor Parsons is about to be hung, as the jingle of the doorbell announces the entry of a customer.’ Yes, it’s flavor text; but it’s text of a very deliberate sort, intended to reinforce the style of campaign you intend to play.
The other way is to make the killer a customer. There are any number of chemically or medically inclined murderers of the Twenties and Thirties. Aside from the doctors and nurses there’s people like Rouse, trying to use modern methods to disguise their crimes, and Haigh wasn’t the first acid bath killer by any stretch. People like that are going to have disposable income and a desire to spend it. Some of them, no doubt, will want books. They may not be particularly interested in Mythos tomes, of course, but that does not matter. What does matter is their usefulness as NPCs, either by supplying knowledge or services that the characters do not themselves possess, or by providing a non-Mythos hook to a horror-themed scenario.
Abilities: Athletics 4, Biology 1, Bargain 4, Credit Rating 1-4 (varies), Chemistry 3, Flattery 3, Filch 6, Health 8, Law 1, Medicine 1, Oral History 3, Preparedness 6, Reassurance 4, Scuffling 9, Weapons 4
Damage: -2 (fist, kick), -1 (knife)
Special: dose of arsenic always handy by (nausea, vomiting, convulsions, coma, death); Health Difficulty 7 or suffer +1 damage for 4 rounds. There would be no treatment in the Thirties for severe arsenic poisoning.
Occupation: Lady’s Maid
Three Things: Perpetually shocked at the wickedness of the world; addicted to thrillers and crime novels of all kinds including true crime accounts; odd chemical odor seems to follow her wherever she goes.
Notes: Ethel is the guiding mind in the Pratt partnership; Mister Pratt, a habitual drunkard, is either in her good graces and therefore allowed to come near her, or driven off with curses and blows if not. Mister Pratt was once a butler in a great household, but his addiction put paid to that and all other forms of permanent employment. Ethel moves from employer to employer every six months to a year, and usually has excellent references. Some of her employers – old Miss Willets, crumbling Miss Jefferson, aged and deaf Mrs Fowlkes-Willoughby – went missing soon after Ethel went into service with them, but in each case the old ladies were without family or friends and their disappearance went unremarked. As far as the neighbors are concerned they went abroad for the good of their health, on doctor’s orders, and their loyal, helpful maid kindly stayed behind to lock the houses up. They’ve stayed locked up ever since. Were the police to check Mister Pratt’s tumbledown East End dwelling, particularly the acid-flecked drains in the yard, they would find something greatly to their interest. Ethel’s fortunes seem to flourish and die remarkably quickly; for a brief time she is flush, and goes to all the best places, but soon afterwards is stony and looking for another job. Ethel picked up some of her knowledge from her experiences as a nurse during the War, and the rest from books. She’s always keen to add to her body of knowledge, and never fails to pick up the latest crime novel.
See also: Ephemera
By Mike Drew
Given the central position Verity Dyse occupies in the events leading to Augustus Darcy’s death it is odd there is so little about her in the Guide. This article is an attempt to suggest some further background, and a possible timeline, based on the hints given by Darcy.
It is not possible to find any Dyse family in the UK Census forms in the period when Verity would have been born. However the name Dyse appears as an Anglicisation of the German Deiss. There are members of the Deiss family listed in the 1891 census – especially in Yorkshire. Some parts of Yorkshire grew fat on the wool trade in the nineteenth century so this might be the perfect place for Verity’s upbringing.
The house of Deiss started from humble origins in Switzerland and grew in importance during the medieval period, spreading out from Switzerland into Germany before splitting into various factions and cadet branches. It is possible that Sir Roland’s father came from Germany to Yorkshire at some point in the middle of the nineteenth century and entered the wool trade, breeding sheep in Yorkshire and exporting the wool to Europe using family connections. Roland entered the family business and took advantage of the movement of the Deiss family to the US to expand across the Atlantic. He built the business in power and prestige and received his K. Like a certain Royal House he changed his name during the Great War, in his case to Dyse – the American branches in addition changed their name to Dice.
Verity would have gone to a decent school, not one of the top tier perhaps, but one befitting the daughter of a rich magnate of gentle, albeit foreign, blood. I might posit Bradford Girls’ Grammar, given Bradford’s place in the wool trade of the area. BGGS students were mainly the daughters of professional men and merchant families and it fought hard to have its girls recognised as on a par with boys and to get them into Oxbridge colleges. After school she would have gone to university and I suggest Girton would have the right air of determined attitude for her as well as giving her another element of the right kind of background to attract the well-to-do and thrill seeking of 1930s London.
I must say at this point that I realise this is all total supposition and people are free to disregard it all as unconfirmed and possibly irrelevant but I think it is interesting to attempt to place Verity in her position in society to try to understand how she ended up where she did.
She must have come to London at some point and it is likely this was after Cambridge. She will have met the fast set and found that looks, money and the right sort of background fitted her very well for society. As well as this, her quest for occult knowledge would be much better served with the bookshops and libraries of the capital than those of Bradford or even York. At this point she would have been about 22. My guess is, based on Darcy’s various descriptions of her, that she is in her late 20s, early 30s at most, when he meets her for the first time. She will have been born around the start of the 20th century and her graduation would have been mid-‘20s, probably 1926 given the rest of the timeline.
At some point her reading, her membership of strange societies and her growing knowledge of the City of London make her realise something is wrong. She decides first to investigate and then attempts to make things right, coming rapidly to the conclusion that she needs further help from experts. It is at this point she goes to stay with the Dice family in California to speak to the man who wrote the book on magical cityscapes. She travels to see de Castries.
How would she know of de Castries? The most obvious answer, given her occult interest, is that she owns a copy of Megapolisomancy. If she owns a copy why might she need to see the man himself? De Castries wrote that although paramental forces give great scope for operating at distant times and localities he did not intend to fully record the method of utilising them. In other words his paranoia kept her from the details she needed. She would have to speak to him for those. As well, his destruction of his own book and the deaths of his former circle meant that she would have had trouble finding practitioners to teach her.
Verity must have gone to San Francisco after Ashton Smith as she is not mentioned in his account. I believe she was there in 1928 into 1929, a couple of years after graduating. At this point de Castries was in his paranoid final days, living in hotels and ignoring much human contact. Although Byers’ story does not mention any women in de Castries’ life Klaas does let slip that he thought de Castries occasionally hired a prostitute. This seems very unlikely. He is described as being fanatically loyal to his mistress, the Lady. Perhaps the person who Klaas saw was in fact Verity and similarly Verity was the woman who Hammett saw at de Castries’ funeral. Whilst it would seem that she would be much better known about if she were his pupil it should be remembered that de Castries regularly changed hotel by the end, and that although Klaas and Ricker were the closest thing to friends he had, they were not bosom companions. Dyse could easily have slipped through the cracks. So, what might she have been after? Whilst she could not have taken the Grand Cipher away, as it ends up in the wall of 607 Rhodes, she may have taken advantage of her proximity to make a copy.
After de Castries death in the summer of 1929 she returned to London. It is likely that she began to investigate the City Seal using de Castries’ theories. She must have noticed the Cabbalistic aspect to the City design as well as the diagonal streets – the significance of which was mentioned in Ashton Smith’s journal. This design would have led her naturally to Wren and the Royal Society’s involvement. We know she spends time in the British Museum and could have read the private papers of the Society’s founders and thus discovered Ashmole’s Dee manuscripts. If she came across Enochian workings seemingly linked to the City she will have needed someone’s help interpreting and implementing them. There is of course one man in London capable of formulating a full Enochian working. One man could take old ritual and make it modern and relevant. One man who could fuse together the Cabbalah and Angel magic. One man who we have seen crop up again and again in this investigation. The one and only Great Beast, Edward Alexander ‘Aleister’ Crowley.
Crowley’s movements in the last years of the 20s and first of the 30s are difficult to pin down at best but it does seem likely that he was in London during winter 1929-30 sorting out Mandrake Press before heading off to Berlin. It would be most likely that Verity approached him at this point. Crowley was always happy to indulge those would pay for his drinks. She would have been able to get training in Enochian magic, the Cabbalah and sex magics before he departed. At this point she began gathering her coven and planning her new expanded Seal.
Crowley leaves Germany in June 1932 and for various reasons returns to Britain. He needs to deal with his wife, now in Colney Hatch asylum. He may well have still been involved in intelligence activities. He definitely renewed his acquaintance with Nancy Cunard, and it is not impossible Verity Dyse, at this point. At this stage his fortunes were on a relatively high plane until spring 1934 when he suffered a major setback. He attempted to sue Nina Hammett for libel over her memoir, The Laughing Torso. Unfortunately for him he lost spectacularly and was plunged into bankruptcy and humiliation. This might explain why he and Verity were seen arguing. I wonder if she went to him for help and he rejected her because of his own problems?
Whatever the nature of her relationship with Crowley there is one thing we know she did around this point. She began a campaign to have the Battersea Shield and other artefacts returned to their original resting places in order to gain the benefits of their protection again. Given that the Shield came from the British Museum I would guess that the other artefacts include the Wandsworth Shield and the Waterloo Helmet. These are other votive offerings left at river crossings by Celtic inhabitants of London. Given what we now believe about Byatis and Nodens it is possible that these were put there to defend one side of the river from the other. This all fits with the theory that Dyse was working to re-seal something beneath London and was using any means she could find.
Darcy first meets Dyse at a sherry party, I think in late 1933. She mentions her desire to contact the spirit of John Dee, supposedly to find his treasure. At this point she must have decided that she needed more help. She had consulted two of the greatest living minds in magic and had followed the work of the Royal Society. She had formed a plan using megapolisomancy and Enochian aethyr. This was not enough however. She needed to go back to the original source of the plan. It may be that she told her followers there would be treasure to get them to help her, but I think her real plan was to talk to the genius behind the original Seal. We know that she did attempt the ritual, we can only assume she made contact, and I believe that what she was told led to her move to Blackheath.
The background of Blackheath has been discussed on the Limited thread. As Byatis was worshipped in the City so Nodens was, in the form of the horned god Cernunnos, under the area around Blackheath and Greenwich. When the Romans came they destroyed the worship of both entities and bound them using new temples. Over Greenwich and Blackheath a network of barrows was built using great heroes to guard the rift in death. Cernunnos returned when he was bound to the Keeper Herne at Windsor by the sorcerer Urswick, collecting the first members of his Wild Hunt. He reappeared in 1714 as Herne the Keeper at Greenwich, defiling ancient barrows weakened by remodelling of the Park. Jack Cade apparently worshipped here and offered to take London for the creature in the shadows with his rebellion. The same cavern was later fed by the mystical bridal offering of 19-year old Lucy, after the caverns had been reopened for tourists, and then by the ghoulish proclivities of degenerate pleasure seekers resurrecting dances for Freyr in The Cavern Club. Nodens has been using the weakening of the Seal to feed and regroup awaiting the chance to strike at the old foe Byatis.
Verity Dyse buys her house and sets her followers to digging – ostensibly for treasure but really to disrupt the barrow seal further – and this is the tunnelling mentioned in the Guide. She returns to Crowley for advice but he has been ruined and refuses to help, leading to their confrontation. Darcy is told by his source that the ritual took place in winter. I would take this to be the winter of 1934. Dyse and her followers take part in a mystical dance ritual (like those to Freya many centuries before) in an effort to summon up the spirit beneath. It comes. Verity is ridden, perhaps fully possessed, but maybe just energised by it. Her quest to save the City now takes a darker twist. She terrifies her followers and hunts down those who oppose her.
Darcy meets up with one of these followers before the young man’s flight to France. This must have worried Verity. She could not risk someone opposing her and likely investigated Darcy futher. Now since the Cipher was broken we know that the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh was attempting to recruit Darcy. This connection would be all the reason that Dyse/Nodens needed to strike. She could not know how involved he was and could take no risks.
The likelihood is she remembered her old teacher at this point. Megapolisomacy is described as a form of mathematics which can manipulate minds and big buildings – the ‘suicide’ of George Sterling shows the possible ends to which it could be put. Darcy’s death is described as drowning but there is little information on which to go. The thread’s belief is that Darcy committed suicide, driven to leap into the Thames by a powerful working. The Guide was published in November 1935. It will have taken time for Greville to find out about Darcy’s death and then retrieve and polish his manuscript so it is likely that his death was early 1935. With his death Verity believes she is safe to continue her working.
But is it her working? She must at least have been visited by Nodens on Blackheath. Her actions may well fit with Nodens’ desire to see Byatis chained but will the Seal have any effect on Nodens? It is unlikely that humanity will benefit from a fully unleashed god awakening in the middle of London. If the Nodens/Cernunnos/Herne connection is valid then Dyse’s lighting of this wendfire may very well release the Wild Hunt in a psychic darkness driving the inhabitants into madness. Given the previous effect of the Seal – shutting down magic and bringing in the Age of Enlightenment and Science into London – then a fully powered Seal may have the same effect again, reducing Nodens power, but with Dyse so clearly in thrall that is not something upon which anyone can rely. Perhaps the only hope now is for the IPC to take over the working, uniting it with their own, and thus ensure that both entities are returned to slumber.
This review by Matthew Pook is worth considering if only for the terrible pun of the title, Tome Team.
Given the lack of a sourcebook detailing London within the genre of Lovecraftian investigative horror, Bookhounds of London is a much, much needed resource. Although its focus is primarily the book and the booktrade, the information on outré tomes is equally as relevant to Call of-, Realms of-, and Shadows of Cthulhu as they are Trail of Cthulhu. The background to London is equally as relevant and useful to all of these games.
Bookhounds of London has won the prestigious Golden Geek Award 2011 for Best RPG Supplement. Armitage Files was a runner up against stiff competition from Jason Morningstar’s excellent Fiasco Companion.
We are very pleased to have been nominated for a second time in the Golden Geek Awards.
Ashen Stars and Bookhounds of London have been nominated for Best Artwork and Presentation, The Armitage Files and Bookhounds of London for Best Supplement.
You can vote here, but you need to be a member with Geek Gold.