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sdelmonteWhat follows is my thoughts on the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen RPG ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cadhla ran with aplomb on Wednesday night. If you intend to play this RPG when she gets back out west, or if you don't care about such things, do NOT read the cut-tagged sections.
As noted elsewhere, this game takes the premise of Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill's League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and moves it to the 1930s. Thus a team of famous and not-so-famous literary and pulp characters is gathered to save the world, just as the orignal team was.
We got to chose our characters, and I chose The Shadow. I picked him because he was around mainly in the 30s, has pulp roots but is essentially a super-hero, and is a direct and definite antecedent of Batman. He's also a character I have a familiarity with, thanks to a short-lived 1980s DC comic that starred him and his operatives. and he's easy to research on the Web.
Thing is, he's a hard character to play (think Batman crossed with Charles Foster Kane), and I struggled a bit to keep him relevant in the game. I'm not a veteran gamer by any means, and was sometimes at a loss to figure out what to do with him. Especially once supernatural elements became the crux of the game. It shouldn't have surprised me, of course, but I guess in getting into character, I got into
his mindset and feel befuddled by things he wouldn't understand.
Thus, here is a master of stealth, fighting, and intimidation, a veteran of the Great War and the War on Crime, the most feared man on the streets of New York, and he's limited to trying to make everyone see things his way while piloting the dirigible. It's not exactly what he had in mind. So I had to make myself focus on using all of the skills I felt I should have, and ultimately did play a role in the battle. It was loads of fun, but at some level frustrating. And there was simply little way to bring in any of The Shadow's operatives. I did include that as a failing, but i see that even being annoyed at his inability to bring in help is a limitation.
Clearly, if and when the chance arises to play this role again, I will have to work harder. Part of that might be finding a believable way to bridge the gap he himself forged between himself and the other LoEGers. It's funny, though, seeing how much I'm referring to him as a real person. The character is so vital, as were most of the others in the game, that i think we all got into the moment.
Oh, and I must applaud the rest of the gamers for bringing life to their own characters, and for helping to even generate a sense of tension between the characters in a way that would have right at home in the comic. At the same time, happily, we never took it too seriously and were relaxed the whole time, though our characters were certainly tense as they faced near-certain doom.
And ascamwyn has noted, sometimes a good game gets the creative juices flowing. As she was writing the diaries of Sgt. Preston, I was pondering what happened to The Shadow after the story. If you are not familair with the world of The Shadow, you might be a little confused, so I apologize and can answer questions. (Remember, there are still spoilers ahead.)
August 1936 – a hotel in London…
He lay on his bed in the faint light of London dawn. The gunshot wound was healing nicely.
He slept for three hours, more than enough for someone schooled in a myriad of meditation techniques, and pondered.
A week ago, he was satisfied with the mission in New York. Now, he knew too much to go back home with ease. He did not relish leaving the streets of the city to others to clean up. Oh, he knew that Clark Savage would fill the void and work well with his own men, but he never trusted anyone to do the job for him.
Which was why he accepted the invitation to come to England. Which was why he had to stay. The others in this so-called League of Extraordinary Gentlemen were clearly capable, but he knew much of the original League, and there was no room for weakness. Preston and Wimsey, whatever their skills, showed him that they could be weak, hiding behind civility and the law. The men and women who came before them, the revolutionary in his submarine and the brute and the unseen man – another master of stealth, or perhaps the reality compared to his own illusion? – they would not hide behind anything. He must stay to help the others see that, though he guessed that they never would.
A knock at the door, and Harry Vincent stood outside. The Shadow rose and draped himself in his cloak and hat. Even though he had let Harry know the face under the hat long ago, he felt the need to hide it.
Harry had brought his boss three new suits of clothes, along with shoes, haberdashery and coffee. All but the latter were needed to replace the tuxedo Lamont had been wearing when the dirigible landed only nights ago. The new suits were not nearly so nice, as he has specified. That Harry found them so swiftly astonished him. Apparently, the reach of his Agents exceeded even his own vision.
“Harry, I thank you I wish I could tell you more, but after today, I want you and Jericho to return to New York without me.”
“You’re staying?”
“I did not expect such a turn of events either, but the mission that brought me here is not finished. Indeed, it may carry me further away still.”
“And you’re go at it alone?”
“Your concern, and that of all the Agents you will talk to, is noted. But I will not be alone. My new colleagues, despite lacking either essential skills or the right experience, carried the day in Glasgow.”
“Are you returning there? These suits are not exactly Saville Row.”
“I cannot say where this lead us. But I suspect that for a while I must put aside the life of Cranston. There will likely be places we go where a more common face and garb will serve me as well as a martini.”
“Or a hat.”
He let himself smile. “Perhaps.
“But do not think I will be without resources. Inspector Delka, though he failed me on this occasion, will not do so twice. And I will send for Margo.”
“You’ll bring her along, when none of the rest of us will do?”
“Why, Harry, I do believe you sounded threatened.” The smile on the Shadow’s face was cold.
“Um, she is a good fighter and all, but if this case is that dangerous...”
“Oh, she’s not leaving London. She is going to be my eyes and ears here, and my liaison with the Agents. I suspect that the League has ways of keeping in touch with someone from afar, and I plan to demand use of such ways.”
“Demand?”
“Think on it, Harry. They chose me for a reason, and I could easily tell them to go to hell. If I am to stay, I need some accommodations. Now, Harry, take these to the telegraph office. We need to make our preparations.”
With that, the Shadow vanished into the water closet. Harry knew that was his cue to leave.
The first telegram sent was to Margo Lane, telling her to make arrangements to be on a ship within a week, and to bring a good deal of cash. The second was to Burbank, the radio operator who was the center of all Agent communications, informing him of the Shadow’s delay in returning and asking for a suggestion of a good amateur radio man he could trust in London. The third was to Clark Savage, and this one alone offered more detail, albeit in code. Decoded, it read:
CLARK –
IN LONDON STOP
LEAGUE OF EXTR. GENTS REAL STOP
ON MISSION WITH IT STOP
GUARD NY IN ABSENCE STOP
CONTACT BURBANK AND VINCENT STOP
MAJOR THREAT LOOMING STOP
SEEK DATA J A P SHIPPING STOP
CONTACT AUTHOR BAUM STOP
TELL HIM DOROTHY IN LONDON STOP
SEEK DATA OZ STOP
WILL BE IN TOUCH STOP
CRANSTON
Harry, of course, saw a good deal of gibberish, and did not enjoy the dirty look the telegraph operator gave him. But his calling led him to a lot of dirty looks.
When Harry returned to the hotel, he found that “Mr. Lemont” had checked, and that Jericho Druke, the huge colored man who was the other Agent along for the ride, had returned. Druke was waiting with a folder from White Star Line.
“I assume that was your assignment, those tickets.”
“Yes, Harry. We fly home tomorrow on the White Star’s finest dirigible. Still can’t figure why he brought us all this way to sit on our hands. Or who those other people were.”
“I have a guess. Ever hear of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?”
Jericho stifled a laugh. “They were characters in a penny novel I read as a kid. No way that Nemo would have ever worked for the British government. It was all a story, made up by the O’Neill fella.”
“I think the League is real, still in business, and our boss got hired by them. I did some checking, and that mountie is considered the best of the whole RCMP. Two heavy hitters flown in by dirigible from the US? At the very least, there is a lot of money being spent to make the boss happy.”
“So he’s going to stay here with this League? Doesn’t sound like him.”
“He claims something big is up. Bigger than anything we’ve gone against. In fact, he looked kind of worried.”
“You saw that too? If there really is a League, he might be out of his element. The one in the novel was mainly criminals and freaks, two things I don’t think he cares for.”
“I don’t think that’s it. I wonder just what he saw in Glasgow.”
“I’d bet it wasn’t this.” Jericho holds up a broadsheet with the headline “Glasgow Riptide Recedes – Port Reopens.”
“Nothing but a cover-up. Can’t say I’m too upset we’re not going.”
“Not yet, for me. He wants me to keep a bag packed, and to make sure that Hawkeye and Marsland do the same.”
“Makes sense, keeping the muscle and the thugs ready. Don’t envy you, though.”
“We do what we have to for the Shadow. No matter the odds, no matter the risk.”
Harry sat down and checked the tickets. At least he had a day at leisure in London and a trip home in luxury.
And behind a pillar in the lobby, a red-haired tough with a stubbly face watched, certain his men would follow orders. Craig Lemont then left, carrying an attache case full of manila file folders, an overstuffed garment bag, and a small valise. He made his way first to visit a friend at Scotland Yard, and then to a less opulent hotel, where he would spend three days reading, resting, and planning before making contact with the League’s handler. Maybe by then Savage would have reached Baum. Maybe by then, more of this would make sense.
But no matter. The threat is real, and so must be the response.
Long had the Shadow made the underworld aware that “the weed of crime bears bitter fruit.” He wondered how quickly he could teach that lesson to the web of conspirators he would soon confront.
cadhla ran with aplomb on Wednesday night. If you intend to play this RPG when she gets back out west, or if you don't care about such things, do NOT read the cut-tagged sections.As noted elsewhere, this game takes the premise of Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill's League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and moves it to the 1930s. Thus a team of famous and not-so-famous literary and pulp characters is gathered to save the world, just as the orignal team was.
We got to chose our characters, and I chose The Shadow. I picked him because he was around mainly in the 30s, has pulp roots but is essentially a super-hero, and is a direct and definite antecedent of Batman. He's also a character I have a familiarity with, thanks to a short-lived 1980s DC comic that starred him and his operatives. and he's easy to research on the Web.
Thing is, he's a hard character to play (think Batman crossed with Charles Foster Kane), and I struggled a bit to keep him relevant in the game. I'm not a veteran gamer by any means, and was sometimes at a loss to figure out what to do with him. Especially once supernatural elements became the crux of the game. It shouldn't have surprised me, of course, but I guess in getting into character, I got into
his mindset and feel befuddled by things he wouldn't understand.
Thus, here is a master of stealth, fighting, and intimidation, a veteran of the Great War and the War on Crime, the most feared man on the streets of New York, and he's limited to trying to make everyone see things his way while piloting the dirigible. It's not exactly what he had in mind. So I had to make myself focus on using all of the skills I felt I should have, and ultimately did play a role in the battle. It was loads of fun, but at some level frustrating. And there was simply little way to bring in any of The Shadow's operatives. I did include that as a failing, but i see that even being annoyed at his inability to bring in help is a limitation.
Clearly, if and when the chance arises to play this role again, I will have to work harder. Part of that might be finding a believable way to bridge the gap he himself forged between himself and the other LoEGers. It's funny, though, seeing how much I'm referring to him as a real person. The character is so vital, as were most of the others in the game, that i think we all got into the moment.
Oh, and I must applaud the rest of the gamers for bringing life to their own characters, and for helping to even generate a sense of tension between the characters in a way that would have right at home in the comic. At the same time, happily, we never took it too seriously and were relaxed the whole time, though our characters were certainly tense as they faced near-certain doom.
And as
camwyn has noted, sometimes a good game gets the creative juices flowing. As she was writing the diaries of Sgt. Preston, I was pondering what happened to The Shadow after the story. If you are not familair with the world of The Shadow, you might be a little confused, so I apologize and can answer questions. (Remember, there are still spoilers ahead.)August 1936 – a hotel in London…
He lay on his bed in the faint light of London dawn. The gunshot wound was healing nicely.
He slept for three hours, more than enough for someone schooled in a myriad of meditation techniques, and pondered.
A week ago, he was satisfied with the mission in New York. Now, he knew too much to go back home with ease. He did not relish leaving the streets of the city to others to clean up. Oh, he knew that Clark Savage would fill the void and work well with his own men, but he never trusted anyone to do the job for him.
Which was why he accepted the invitation to come to England. Which was why he had to stay. The others in this so-called League of Extraordinary Gentlemen were clearly capable, but he knew much of the original League, and there was no room for weakness. Preston and Wimsey, whatever their skills, showed him that they could be weak, hiding behind civility and the law. The men and women who came before them, the revolutionary in his submarine and the brute and the unseen man – another master of stealth, or perhaps the reality compared to his own illusion? – they would not hide behind anything. He must stay to help the others see that, though he guessed that they never would.
A knock at the door, and Harry Vincent stood outside. The Shadow rose and draped himself in his cloak and hat. Even though he had let Harry know the face under the hat long ago, he felt the need to hide it.
Harry had brought his boss three new suits of clothes, along with shoes, haberdashery and coffee. All but the latter were needed to replace the tuxedo Lamont had been wearing when the dirigible landed only nights ago. The new suits were not nearly so nice, as he has specified. That Harry found them so swiftly astonished him. Apparently, the reach of his Agents exceeded even his own vision.
“Harry, I thank you I wish I could tell you more, but after today, I want you and Jericho to return to New York without me.”
“You’re staying?”
“I did not expect such a turn of events either, but the mission that brought me here is not finished. Indeed, it may carry me further away still.”
“And you’re go at it alone?”
“Your concern, and that of all the Agents you will talk to, is noted. But I will not be alone. My new colleagues, despite lacking either essential skills or the right experience, carried the day in Glasgow.”
“Are you returning there? These suits are not exactly Saville Row.”
“I cannot say where this lead us. But I suspect that for a while I must put aside the life of Cranston. There will likely be places we go where a more common face and garb will serve me as well as a martini.”
“Or a hat.”
He let himself smile. “Perhaps.
“But do not think I will be without resources. Inspector Delka, though he failed me on this occasion, will not do so twice. And I will send for Margo.”
“You’ll bring her along, when none of the rest of us will do?”
“Why, Harry, I do believe you sounded threatened.” The smile on the Shadow’s face was cold.
“Um, she is a good fighter and all, but if this case is that dangerous...”
“Oh, she’s not leaving London. She is going to be my eyes and ears here, and my liaison with the Agents. I suspect that the League has ways of keeping in touch with someone from afar, and I plan to demand use of such ways.”
“Demand?”
“Think on it, Harry. They chose me for a reason, and I could easily tell them to go to hell. If I am to stay, I need some accommodations. Now, Harry, take these to the telegraph office. We need to make our preparations.”
With that, the Shadow vanished into the water closet. Harry knew that was his cue to leave.
The first telegram sent was to Margo Lane, telling her to make arrangements to be on a ship within a week, and to bring a good deal of cash. The second was to Burbank, the radio operator who was the center of all Agent communications, informing him of the Shadow’s delay in returning and asking for a suggestion of a good amateur radio man he could trust in London. The third was to Clark Savage, and this one alone offered more detail, albeit in code. Decoded, it read:
CLARK –
IN LONDON STOP
LEAGUE OF EXTR. GENTS REAL STOP
ON MISSION WITH IT STOP
GUARD NY IN ABSENCE STOP
CONTACT BURBANK AND VINCENT STOP
MAJOR THREAT LOOMING STOP
SEEK DATA J A P SHIPPING STOP
CONTACT AUTHOR BAUM STOP
TELL HIM DOROTHY IN LONDON STOP
SEEK DATA OZ STOP
WILL BE IN TOUCH STOP
CRANSTON
Harry, of course, saw a good deal of gibberish, and did not enjoy the dirty look the telegraph operator gave him. But his calling led him to a lot of dirty looks.
When Harry returned to the hotel, he found that “Mr. Lemont” had checked, and that Jericho Druke, the huge colored man who was the other Agent along for the ride, had returned. Druke was waiting with a folder from White Star Line.
“I assume that was your assignment, those tickets.”
“Yes, Harry. We fly home tomorrow on the White Star’s finest dirigible. Still can’t figure why he brought us all this way to sit on our hands. Or who those other people were.”
“I have a guess. Ever hear of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?”
Jericho stifled a laugh. “They were characters in a penny novel I read as a kid. No way that Nemo would have ever worked for the British government. It was all a story, made up by the O’Neill fella.”
“I think the League is real, still in business, and our boss got hired by them. I did some checking, and that mountie is considered the best of the whole RCMP. Two heavy hitters flown in by dirigible from the US? At the very least, there is a lot of money being spent to make the boss happy.”
“So he’s going to stay here with this League? Doesn’t sound like him.”
“He claims something big is up. Bigger than anything we’ve gone against. In fact, he looked kind of worried.”
“You saw that too? If there really is a League, he might be out of his element. The one in the novel was mainly criminals and freaks, two things I don’t think he cares for.”
“I don’t think that’s it. I wonder just what he saw in Glasgow.”
“I’d bet it wasn’t this.” Jericho holds up a broadsheet with the headline “Glasgow Riptide Recedes – Port Reopens.”
“Nothing but a cover-up. Can’t say I’m too upset we’re not going.”
“Not yet, for me. He wants me to keep a bag packed, and to make sure that Hawkeye and Marsland do the same.”
“Makes sense, keeping the muscle and the thugs ready. Don’t envy you, though.”
“We do what we have to for the Shadow. No matter the odds, no matter the risk.”
Harry sat down and checked the tickets. At least he had a day at leisure in London and a trip home in luxury.
And behind a pillar in the lobby, a red-haired tough with a stubbly face watched, certain his men would follow orders. Craig Lemont then left, carrying an attache case full of manila file folders, an overstuffed garment bag, and a small valise. He made his way first to visit a friend at Scotland Yard, and then to a less opulent hotel, where he would spend three days reading, resting, and planning before making contact with the League’s handler. Maybe by then Savage would have reached Baum. Maybe by then, more of this would make sense.
But no matter. The threat is real, and so must be the response.
Long had the Shadow made the underworld aware that “the weed of crime bears bitter fruit.” He wondered how quickly he could teach that lesson to the web of conspirators he would soon confront.
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(no subject)
Date: Jul. 25th, 2003 11:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jul. 25th, 2003 12:02 pm (UTC)You might have noticed, I hope, that at some point I begin to let Mary Poppins run the show. Part of that was the job Merav did, and part was deciding a woman ALWAYS leads the LoEG, but I figured that The Shadow will let someone else run the show if it's clear he or she is doing a good job. He may be a jerk, but he's not stupid.
I do hope we find a way to keep this game going. It's lots of fun.
(no subject)
Date: Jul. 25th, 2003 12:07 pm (UTC)Should I be doing a Wimsey aftermath?
/me is intimidated by the idea of following, however distantly, in Sayers' footsteps.
Mer
(no subject)
Date: Jul. 25th, 2003 12:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jul. 25th, 2003 04:07 pm (UTC)I'm working on one myself.