As
we’ve seen throughout this series, inspiration for horror roleplaying can come
from myriad different sources. It can derive from movies of the same, or
different, genre; from books; from art exhibitions – even from old knitting
patterns. Wherever you look, there are stories which can be woven together out
of the flimsiest scraps of information. Awhile back, I examined an old 70s
horror comic and demonstrated how it could be turned from a one-page diversion,
into material for a “Call of Cthulhu”
gaming session; today, I want to look at a longer piece, one which I used to
create a long “CoC” campaign, and
which I think – personally – is one of the best Cthulhoid horror tales around.
This
tale is entitled “Donald Duck in Ancient
Persia”.
I’m
not kidding. This is a rip-roaring story – in its essentials – which, itself, borrows
from a whole series of pulp-horror tropes and genres from “The Jewel of Seven Stars” to “Lost
Horizon” and, since it borrows so strongly from the roots of Lovecraft’s
storytelling nexus, it should not be surprising to learn that it can be
pillaged for a perfect “Call of Cthulhu”
campaign. I’ve done it; I see no reason why anyone else can’t do it also.
The
first thing to do, of course, is to eliminate the Disney magic. This story
involves Donald Duck and his three nephews – Huey, Dewey and Louie – and is
otherwise populated by the vaguely-animal second-string characters to which
Disney comics were heirs (I assume that everyone else in a Donald Duck comic is
supposed to be some kind of humanoid dog, much like Goofy, which explains the
weird noses that we’ll see later on). The story has ducks as the main
protagonists and deals out some wincingly-bad puns, some of the worst that
you’ll see this side of an Asterix
comic; it also bears the hallmarks of the writer and artist having done a fair
bit of research on the historical material touched upon, and we’ll go into some
detail about how to correct or rectify these - where they’re intolerable – and
where to beef things up where they aren’t.
Let’s
dive right in. The first thing to do while we’re reading here, is to
concentrate on the narrative – forget
about the Ducks and the jokes and most of the dialogue. Watch where the story goes and how it gets there.
The
first page is all about the set-up. The kids (Huey, Dewey and Louie) draw
Donald’s attention to the fact that there’s a strange character in town with
whom they have some passing familiarity (if only because he passes by their
front gate every day on the way to and from town). Keeping in mind that Donald
and the boys are our team of Investigators, then the “Mad Scientist” is quickly
established as our antagonist.
Obviously,
in the course of play, the establishment of this character needn’t be
accomplished through a single encounter as it is here; the party members of
your campaign could run into the Scientist at the post-office collecting his
parcels (“Chemicals – Do Not Drop!”), or they could encounter other NPCs of the
locale who could mutter dire observations about the shady character or his
place of chosen abode. As is usual in “CoC”
adventures, these hooks can be peppered through the course of another story
involving the group, setting up the next arc of their adventures.
Having
piqued our party’s interest in the Scientist character, the next step is to go
and check him out. Huey, Dewey and Louie do this as a direct result of
disobeying Donald’s injunction not to poke their beaks into other people’s
business but then, that’s their gestalt-character foible – to disobey
authority. How you as Keeper get your players to do this will depend upon their
characters and how they choose to behave in the face of the mystery.
Here
we have some basic investigating skills on display. The kids have already
revealed that they’ve heard where the “Mad Scientist” lives and so they hurry
there to confirm the information (hurrying, of course, because they need to get
back home for supper). Once arrived, they make an important Spot Hidden Skill check to note that the
window to the basement is the only one that has been cleaned and therefore is
the one worth investigating. They peer in through the glass and see their
quarry at work.
This
is a point where the world of children’s comics should give way to the adult
sensibilities of horror roleplaying. We learn later that the Scientist was
resurrecting a dead beetle at this point but, for all intents and purposes, he
could well be doing his laundry as far as there is anything sinister about his
actions. In converting this tale to a “CoC”
narrative, he should be doing something unsettling, certainly something that
would force him to take the boys prisoner, in order for the details of his
activities to not get out. The simple removal of the “beetle” for an Egyptian
mummy, for example, would probably make this work better.
In
the next sequence, we have a cheap scare and then a definite shock: the
branches of the bush supporting the boys as they peek through the window break,
dumping them into the long grass. As they try to climb back into position, the Scientist
grabs them and drags them inside, taking them prisoner – aghast! In altering
this action for human Investigators, the method of imprisonment should be
something more effective in trapping average humans than just glomming them
through an open window.
Of
course, the kids are prevented from showing-up for supper. Donald is annoyed
but, knowing the kids and their tendency to disobey, he knows pretty well where
they’ve gone. This can be read as a handy means of consolidating party members
in a “CoC” version – make sure that
enough of the party members know that their comrades were last seen heading to
the spooky house on the edge of town, so that they’ll all head in that
direction to seek their missing friends!
Here,
the Scientist lifts his game and plays for more dangerous stakes: at this point
we discover that he’s not just some book-bashing egghead, but that he’s an
Intrepid Adventurer as well (hinted at previously by the revolver hanging on
the wall in earlier panels). Donald is a far more hardened opponent than the
boys, so his abduction requires special treatment – dissembling and Persuasion followed by a lariat and a
blackjack. Now that the entire party is held prisoner by the Scientist, we can
draw a veil over the scene and jump forward in time.
Our
party awakens in the aeroplane, flying high above the Mediterranean, which one
of the boys identifies by making a Geography
Roll. Trapped within the cargo hold, the party can do nothing but wait for
the eventual destination.
(As
a side issue, it’s interesting that the word “airplane” in the original version
of this tale has been edited out in this Australian re-print in favour of the
English term “aeroplane”. It’s these small details in licensing and re-printing
ephemera which really melt my margarine!)
Our
journey continues and the party consolidates its information about what has
happened. While they do so, it becomes clear that the Scientist is listening in
on them and taking stock of their attitude. Any regular party of investigators
might well think of escape – it behoves the Keeper to circumvent this,
otherwise there will be no story. The characters might well be chained in the
cargo hold to prevent them poking through the supplies, or damaging the
aircraft; more evilly, they might be chained in pairs (by mean of handcuffs,
for example) but in sub-groups that cancel out their effectiveness (an Athletic
character, for instance, tied to one with a very low DEX).
The
pictures show the equipment tumbled in to the ‘plane in a very haphazard
fashion. Ignoring this, as Keeper you could choose to have everything tidily
bolted down. When the party starts to act up, have the Scientist threaten to
open the doors of the hold – he doesn’t need all the party members after all. In this way you can channel the
aeroplane scene from last year’s “The
Mummy” and have the party face explosive decompression if they don’t behave
(depending on the make of aircraft, of course).
We
arrive in a barren waste. The ‘plane lands and the Scientist and his prisoners
disembark. Here’s where your creation of the Scientist character has to prove
its worth – he’s the one with the gun (as we are shown) but he needs to back up
his dominance of the party with more than just a shooter. This guy is a cowboy
Archaeologist, like those real-life diggers who travelled out to Western China
during that county’s Republican era – they dealt with bandits, corrupt officials
and army types, as well as urban thieves and criminals; they know how to get their
own way. Underscore to the players that there’s nothing within three day’s march
of their current locale, so trying to escape into the desert is a pointless
proposition
Now
the dig begins. After some abstruse calculating, the party is set to work
shovelling sand. Of course, such activity needs to be supported by necessary
infrastructure, so those not especially suited to such hard yakka can get busy
setting up tents both for sleeping and eating, and rationing the food and
medical supplies. Make a point of telling the party that there’s no water
source nearby – all that they have is what they’ve brought with them.
Eventually,
we hit paydirt – the entrance to a buried palace is discovered!
At
this point we see that the Scientist is one of those shonky archaeologists of
the Victorian mould who barge in without taking detailed sketches or readings.
This is either a hallmark of his craziness (he does have a few kangaroos loose in his
top paddock) or it’s just a means of getting on with things. It can go either
way.
At
this point, as a Keeper, you’re going to need to pin down the extent of this
palace, creating a map and general layout to organise your players. While these
images are quite evocative (and based, obviously, on some research by the
writer/artist) there are some discrepancies – those torches and the carpets would
certainly not be there after all this time.
Some
things you’re going to have to provide. Without the torches, you’re going to
have to give the party a means of lighting up the place – generators and electric
lamps are a good alternative. The other thing that’s needed is a subterranean
water source – a buried spring at the bottom level of the palace in an adjacent
cave system would be champion. As we’ll soon see, we’re going to need a lot of
water, certainly more than what’s available on the ‘plane!
And
if we weren’t already worried about the Scientist’s sanity, he starts talking
crazy once more!
Moments
when the party members can confer about what’s happening to them are good for
both character development and for planning and evaluation. Here we see Donald
going over the events so far and coming to some conclusions. As well, we have
an insight into how the character of the Scientist can be effectively portrayed
– he has to seem capable and intelligent, but occasionally he says things that
make others around him question his state of mental health.
The
bathtub is important for the coming action. There’s a fountain of some kind in
the background of this scene, but really? If there was such a decent plumbing
network in the palace, it’s unlikely that it would have been forgotten in the
middle of this desert landscape – water is life, after all. That’s why I’d
propose a subterranean water source instead, far below the main palace rooms
where it’s likely to have been overlooked across the millennia.
And
here’s where the water should ideally be – down alongside the catacombs. The Scientist
takes Donald down here to reveal what he’s really up to – resurrecting the ancient occupants of the palace. He tells Donald about the ancient drying
process which converts people to piles of dust and shows him the vessels that
contain these mortal remains. Selecting one of these – “a king and his whole
retinue” – he returns to the now-filled bathtub and starts the revivification
process. Of course, anyone who’s read HPL’s story about Joseph Curwen and his
experiments with “essential saltes” knows exactly what kind of territory we’re
heading into…
Here
we see the Scientist at work. Obviously, through a Mythos lens, the “formulae”
which he’s applying here are not so much chemical processes as they are Mythos
Magic, so Sanity points are going to fall by the wayside. The spell is quite
simply the bog-standard Resurrection one from the rule-book – no need to go and
invent anything new for this purpose.
I
really like the fact that Donald and the boys are suddenly able to read the
cuneiform writing on the walls and understand the language of the revived
people due to “inhaling thought processes”. It’s a cute touch that facilitates
much of the action from this point on, without seeming too outrageous. It’s
also kind of creepy – the revival process is thus lent a kind of contagious effect
that might have ramifications down the line…
Suddenly
the dead people rise from the water. Here in the comic, it’s played for fun;
but in a Lovecraftian version, this scene can be as creepy as you want (certainly
worth losing a few SAN points over). We learn quite quickly that the king and
his retinue went to oblivion rather than face public disgrace after a “rascally”
prince jilted his daughter on their wedding day – it seems a bit extreme, but
there must be layers and layers of political ramification over things like
this.
There
are things to explore here and the first is the all the names that we’ve
encountered so far. First, the ancient kingdom is called “Itsa Faka” –
obviously, you‘ll want to change this to something else that’s more appropriate.
Then there’s the king’s name – “Nevvawaza” – which is trying to work a pun off a
famous name like Nebuchadnezzar – it should probably go too, along with the
daughter’s name – “Needa Bara Soapa” – and the nefarious prince “Cad ali Cad”.
In
fact, the daughter should have a complete makeover. Here in the original story,
the humour is jump-started by her being physically dumpy and unattractive.
There’s no real reason why this needs to be the case and we can surely remove
this kind of cheap-shot at laffs. There’s no reason that she can’t be a repository
for a whole range of Mythos magicks – a witch, or sorceress, if you will –
lending weight to the controversy of her being dumped at the altar (people who
have power aren’t lightly contracted into marriage, or jilted afterwards).
Here’s
where the Scientist oversteps his mark. He’s been in control all this time, but
now he’s not in the poll position. A king outranks an academic in any culture, living
or dead, and the Scientist is quickly shown the state of play. The gun at his
hip is suddenly much less effective when the rest of the king’s retinue
materialises, fully armed and armoured.
Then
the bombshell hits: one of the characters in the party is the spitting image of
the jilted daughter’s feckless betrothed! This is an old trope but perfect in
this context. Suddenly, one character is going to get hitched to an ancient
creature – possibly possessed of sanity-blasting ancient magicks – and dwell
beneath the sands forever! Suddenly, things are a lot more desperate for our
team!
It
should be heavily underscored during these events that the actual betrothed of the princess went to the “driers” rather than
face the prospect of the wedding; this should prompt the rest of the party to go
looking for his receptacle down in the catacombs. If they don’t think of it,
then the Scientist certainly will.
With
the guards, feel free to add to their number, more or less, as the strength and
wiliness of the party dictate. You can also make them more hideous by having
some of them only partially re-formed, some of their dust having gone astray
during the process!
At
this point, our story is set up to run to its conclusion. The king and his
retinue begin to organise the wedding to correct the ancient wrong done to
them; the Scientist goes off to wander the palace, trying to find the means of
drying people into dust; while the boys run to the catacombs to try and find
the dried prince and return him to life…
*****
Obviously,
as a roleplaying exercise, things can’t be expected to run along rails to a
satisfying narrative conclusion, as outlined in this piece. Things will be
tried by the players; efforts will succeed, or fail, as the dice dictate; and
things might go astray. As Keeper you’ll need to adjudicate wisely as things
happen. What happens if the evil princeling makes it out to the modern world, for example?
In
the original version of the story, as you’d expect, the prince is resurrected
and cunningly switches places with Donald in order to escape the impending
nuptials; the boys help him escape out into the open world only to realise –
too late! – that they’ve made off with the wrong groom; the wedding proceeds
back at the palace, only to be interrupted by the Scientist who finds the canister
of "radium vapour" that converts people to dust and who proceeds to use it to his
– and everybody else’s - cost. Donald survives by hiding in the bathtub of
resurrecting water while his copy, freaked out by the modern world around him,
flees back to the palace only to fall into dust as he enters. After the air
clears, the ducks are re-united and must now try to find a way back home…
As
a Lovecraftian re-think, this is a classic tale that definitely re-pays the
effort involved in re-tooling it for gaming purposes. It has resonances with a
bunch of weird fiction from “She” to “The Mummy: Ramses the Damned”, and, if
you like, you can transplant it to any other ancient civilization you prefer,
if that suits your ongoing campaign better. There’s very little here not to like.
If you’re at a loose end with your players, why not give it a shot…?
