Anomalies

The 200th comic by Subnormality! Take your time.

"We are looking for anomalies." This has become a staple of RPG-parlance, it basically means that the characters have a thorough look at their surroundings, trying to note everything that is peculiar, noteworthy or simply wrong, from secret compartments, a diary's pages stuffed under the carpet to a large blood spill on the ceiling. It is a way to cut to the chase if you are just tossing some guard shack, but it is a shortcut, and harms the feeling of immersion. This especially true if you are going for some period or genre feel, which in my opinion is based in large parts on the depiction of specific details: Size and make of furniture, age and disrepair of a room, traces of a personality and their role in the world etc. Of course, details take time, but the time taken to depict a search (even of some area that is not that important or special) helps to create a clearer image of a game world that exists apart from the group and the plot.

A letter from White Tower

A road leads to Atlanta! This much I always knew, but now everybody knows that a road leads back. To think of it: The Dry Place, lost for four generations, now open to us. Two unis, corporate headquarters, one of the largest airports on the continent, two army bases. Untouched. Enough loot to build a nation, if one wanted to. I didn’t think much of their chances, when the big men of White Tower started talking about an expedition into North Carolina two months ago. At the time, I heard more or less open speculation that it was the town’s way of bidding one of their longest living servants good bye with honor and dignity, together with getting rid of assorted riff raff which any town at a crossroads will collect – destitute orphans, stranded mercenaries, the lot. They were bundled into a truck left over from some kind of gambling scam and sent towards the South.

At least that’s what the town’s ancient gun seller told me over a few drinks. Few thought they’d ever see them again.

But lo and behold – a mere month after they were sent off, the brave explorers returned, and not a day later, White Tower buzzes with stories of heroic derring do, Deathdealers on the prowl, pale critters in the metro tunnels, flying monsters, feral guardians of the necropolis walking through walls, sentient black dust and other nonsense. But the truck’s chassis ran awfully close to the ground when it made its way past Lola’s Bar, the springs creaking piteously and every piece of movable equipment packed at the outside of its freight compartment. Something was taken from the dead city, something heavy, and it has made some people in White Tower quite happy. Everyone tries to keep up appearances of business as usual, but some people stopped talking to me, because I’m the nosy guy, or try to feed me bullshit. It’s a food processor. Or two tons of DVDs. Or a box filled with that sentient black dust.  It’s a change in the weather, some tell me, and I tend to agree.

No matter.

My next missive will contain as much about the route to the Dry Place as I can find out, as well as my honest attempts to separate the truth from the legends so eagerly spun around the campfires. I would advise you to get all your ducks in a row and collect a party to get there asap – second place is better than nothing, and there will still be lots of truck loads left if you hurry. You can be sure that many others now see the Dry Place in a new light, and right now they are gathering the right people for a little exploration. Be sure to gather them first.

 I remain,

L.