Tomefoolery, part seven: disposal

My last post in the series apologies for its tardiness, but that was a full year ago, so all records are now broken.

Part of a continuing series of uncertain length on Tomes of Unspeakable Evil and the PCs who love them. I've discussed how people get their hands on such books in the first place, the effects of their dreadful contents on tiny human minds and the purposes and designs of the tomes themselves, why TOUEs exist at all, the capabilities of evil books, and last time, on safely containing your TOUE.

This time: on getting rid of the damn things. This post will naturally be fairly applicable to other forms of artifact.

There are a couple of major routes to tome disposal. This depends, basically, on whether you just personally want to get shot of them, or whether you are trying to permanently destroy them. Since we're taking the approach today that you view their existence as a menace, the likely reason for taking the first option is that you simply don't have the resources or knowledge, or indeed that a book is simply indestructible.

Special Collections: A dream of the hills and the hills

I've just stuck up the third of this sporadic series on my YSDC blog, discussing some slightly unusual tomes. This one deals with realia - things that are not book nor journal, but miscellaneous artefacts. You can read it here.

Special Collections: Bemerkungen über die (Un)Logische Grundlagen der Menschenphysik

I've just stuck up the second of this sporadic series on my YSDC blog, discussing some slightly unusual tomes. This one deals with manuscripts - drafts of books that may or may not have made it into print. You can read it here.

Special Collections: On Neanderthal Survival

I've just stuck up the first of (possibly) a sporadic series on my YSDC blog, discussing some slightly unusual tomes. This one deals with offprints - reproductions of a single article or chapter from a larger volume. You can read it here.

Tomefoolery, part six: containment

Sorry this has been so long coming.

Part of a continuing series of uncertain length on Tomes of Unspeakable Evil and the PCs who love them. I've discussed how people get their hands on such books in the first place, the effects of their dreadful contents on tiny human minds and the purposes and designs of the tomes themselves, why TOUEs exist at all, and last time, the capabilities of evil books.

This time: how to care for your tome of unspeakable evil, and more importantly, how to stop it breaking free and wreaking havoc on the world (before you've had a chance to do it yourself).

There are two main aspects to containment of tomes. The first is straightforward imprisonment, the second is appeasement. Either or both may come into play with powerful tomes. Both sinister sorcerers and do-gooders may need to isolate, control or contain tomes for various reasons.

While I'm technically talking about TOUEs here, in practice most of these could be generalised to all kinds of artefacts, and in some cases to dangerous entities, undead-inclined corpses, and other evil influences too. Of course, they could also be turned around for use by just about any group to contain unwanted things, so a GM might find them handy for imprisoning benevolent entities, or for one evil force to imprison another.

Containment

There are a number of ways you might imprison or otherwise control a tome, which depend somewhat on the genre you're aiming for. Some are period-dependent, others just don't fit with a particular setting. There's also the question of which direction you want to maintain the barrier, which is likely to depend quite a lot on the owner of the tome, their purpose and the nature of the tome itself.

Mundane methods

Let's start off with a few mundane options that are fairly transferable. These need resources, but they don't need genre-specific tools.

Stone walls do not a prison make

To keep something in, or out, there are few options more tried-and-tested than dock-off blocks of stone. A tome could be locked in a tomb (which is poetically pleasing as well as narratively strong) or a similar mausoleum-like structure, where it can't get out unless some idiot breaks through the walls. Alternatively, it could be held in a secure vault or treasury, with thick doors and many locks; this allows you to monitor it and even use it, but also makes unwanted access or escape easier.

If you're not actually a monarch and have to worry what other people think, then vaults can be a problem; mobile or magical tomes might create enough stir to upset the bank, for example, and either get people asking awkward questions, or have people poking into your vault with potentially horrible consequences. This is less of a problem if tomes are known to the public and imprisoning one will be publically acclaimed, although to be honest, openly acknowledging you've got one is just likely to lead to problems: reckless idiots, covetous necromancers or rabble-raising demagogues could all take an interest. What better to attract a party of adventurers? Keeping the thing secret is probably your best bet.

In some cases, a massive iron cage or similar structure might do the job too. This allows you to keep an eye on the tome, while also preventing its escape. Also, large cages are relatively easy to get (compared to vaults, at least), and most tomes aren't physically strong enough to wrench open the bars of, say, a Rottweiler cage. However, watch out for flying tomes that could lift off, cage and all; for tomes that can dissipate into mist; for magical attack, unwanted scrutiny or strangling bookmarks; and of course for excessively widely-spaced bars. Another problem here is that other people can easily see you have a book in a cage, which is often difficult to explain - fine if you keep it somewhere secluded, though. A magical library or magical containment facility might well have cells like this for tomes, though they might prefer something more attuned to the specific capabilities of the tome.

For those not really worried about intruders or observation, who simply want to keep their book from flying away or being pilfered, then you can't go wrong with a massive chain. These allow mobile tomes to take a decent amount of healthy exercise and avoid damp or sunny spots, while keeping them roughly where you put them. They also allow tomes to spring viciously on intruders, useful for sorcerers or avatars of evil who aren't concerned that their tome will betray them. Heavy iron locks are another option, perhaps to prevent biting, speech, flight or spellcasting. This is also relevant for books with certain powers or natures; a book that traps people who touch it, displays sanity-blasting images, or can unleash the creatures illustrated within, is better off bound.

Ring of Fire

A second option is a maintained barrier; something that you can control, but that the tome can't (or won't) cross. Sticking with mundane options, your best bet is fire: keep a ring of flame around a book and it isn't going anywhere. Depending on the setting, this might be simple wood, petrol, lava, or something with a supernatural touch such as blessed candles. These may be more useful than walls for dealing with magical books, which can perhaps exert their influence through stone or spell open locks. On the downside, you need to keep that fire well-supplied. If you have an antagonistic relationship with the book, a circle of fire may be a means of forcing it to obey you, as it could be designed so that if the fire falters it will engulf the book before dying out: this helps discourage unwanted murder attempts, as with nobody to tend the fire, the tome is doomed.

Water is another option, and a moat is a good start. But why stop there? Seal your tome in a guaranteed-airtight box and leave it at the bottom of a tank, where any escape attempt will mean destruction. This is also a good way to conceal its very existence from nosy visitors: a large fish-tank is no cause for concern, whereas a basement dungeon or back-garden furnace may raise eyebrows. At the same time, it's relatively easy to retrieve the book if you need to consult it.

Depending on the nature of the book, it may be that it can be immersed directly in water to counteract its power, without active harm. Ye Tantric Booke of Sexe Magicke is notoriously kept in a vat of crushed ice, which might work for a Slaaneshi tome too. Shadow-magic and similar tomes could be imprisoned by constant light. Some of the more animalistic tomes may be contained readily by barbed wire, electricity or particular scents - incense or herbs. Perhaps salt, silver or some other substance is anathema to it? Magnetised iron (especially for fey-like books)?

Of course, you could also go with something a bit more dramatic, sealing a tome into a block of concrete or some other protective substance.

In principle, you could also set up some kind of elaborate mechanism, so that any escape attempt (or spellcasting) by the book will trigger sawblades, acid, water, paper-eating insects or some other doom. However, I think it's more difficult to make these credible than with an obviously-living prisoner. With a highly sentient book, though, it's a possibility: perhaps a candle needs regularly replacement so as not to ignite something, or a mechanism needs resetting so it never reaches a trigger-point.

In a high-technology setting, there are further interesting options available, of which radiation is the most obvious. Of course, the exact interactions between tomes and technology are too complex and variable to cover here. Similarly, it's much easier to set up monitoring and defensive equipment to watch a tome and to punish (or destroy) it for unacceptable activities.

Guards!

Simple: have some actual people keeping an eye on it. This is very suitable for Warhammer-type settings, as well as some historical ones, where the forces of good lesser evil might assign highly-trained warriors, priests or other trusted individuals to watch a dangerous artefact. Guards can keep an eye on what a tome is up to, which none of the others can, and actively intervene or adapt to thwart plans. On the downside, they're vulnerable to attack, influence or even outright corruption. Assigning multiple guards at a time, and assessing them regularly for signs of manipulation or taint, is advisable.

Overview

Books that are simply pure forces of malevolence, you're likely to want to secure thoroughly. These will rarely (if ever) need consultation, and so walling them up behind fifty feet of stone is probably the best bet. If the book is a useful tool to you, then the priorities are different: you need access to it yourself, so locked doors and cages are more likely. Some books aren't really dangerous to the owner, either because they have the same goals, because the book is fundamentally bound to the owner, or because of the owner's particular nature: in these cases you're mostly worried about escape or vandalism rather than protection, and so simple restraints should be adequate. That being said, even demon-queens may want some minimal protection to reduce the number of servants obliterated by their tome. An owner powerful enough to shrug off magic and rip apart unruly tomes has few concerns, but some tomes may still be so chaotic or plain bolshie that they need imprisoning.

You also need to consider how permanent a containment you're looking for (options for actually destroying books I'll consider another day). A library, powerful sorcerer or religious order may want to contain a tome permamently, either to make use of it or simply to contain its evil. In these cases, you want a solution that can be readily maintained; perhaps one that doesn't need expert maintenance or constant monitoring (though these are impressive for adventurers), and one that isn't likely to weaken over time. In contrast, player characters are quite likely to want to control a tome just long enough to fulfil some objective or find a means to destroy it. In these cases, something effective in the short term is appropriate, and if it's prohibitively expensive or unmanageable for longer use... well, that's their problem. Having players scramble round for oil, buy expensive herbs or rig up steel cages before stealing the sorcerer's tome can be a fun bit of preparation and a chance to show ingenuity.

Magical methods

In a setting where magic is more prevalent, or where PCs are more likely to have access to it, there are also a number of magical options to contain your tomes.

Weave a circle round him thrice

Magical wards and seals are a great option for containing tomes, or at least certain kinds of tome. There are a range of these available. Magic circles and pentagrams are one option; the book itself rests on a pedestal, or perhaps the ward is carved into a marble slab where the book lies. A sort of mobile might hang charms, spell-parchments or magical herbs all around a book, preventing it from using its powers. A book-chest or glass case might be inscribed with charms or covered in sacred wax seals.

Statues and charms are another form of warding. Perhaps statues of a powerful deity can contain the book's powers - though this doesn't necessarily have to be one you approve of. In a grey-morality setting, characters might be forced to invoke entities they dislike in order to combat those they loathe; on the other hand, a cultist might willingly call on the power of various foul entities to master the tome. Such wards might be subtle (a simple circle of statues) or dramatic (lightning or flame arcs between outstretched hands, a book floats glowing in the centre of the circle).

For a more immediate seal, tomes might be wrapped with strips of holy writ or prayers, sheathed in dragonskin or tied up with prayer beads. More dramatically, a magic sword, unicorn horn or nail from the True Cross might pin a tome down and sap its power, without destroying it.

Conversely, it may seem more appropriate to ward the entire room or building, either because it will affect everything inside, or because it keeps the tome from leaving and that's all that really matters. This may be particularly relevant with toolbooks, whose power the owner wants to draw on, as removing and redrawing wards and seals each time may be very inconvenient. In these cases, doors may be heavy and rune-carved, walls may be made of nullifying substances (see below), and ceiling and floor tiles painted with sigils.

Antimagic

Most settings with substantial magic also have some canonical magic-blocking possibilities, be it antimagic fields, psychic null-zones, octarine, slabs of lead, or divine powers (relics or shrines, perhaps) that suppress tainted magic. In such settings, these may be an obvious way to contain the more magical kinds of tome. They are, however, likely of less use in tackling other hazards: a tome in such a field may still be able to bite, speak or even absorb victims, while its malevolence remains undiminished and its contents still pose a significant danger.

Opposing influences

I mentioned anathemic substances above, and magical versions are just an extension of this idea. Most obviously, there are sacred or magical substances that may hinder a tome, ranging from holy relics to arcane powders. Another option is opposing magical types: for example, a necromantic tome might be helpless in a place redolent with nature-magic.

Guardians

While we've already discussed ordinary guards, magical settings allow for potent entities to keep a tome in check. A whole range of options is available. Mindless skeletons are hard for a tome to influence, but a necromantic tome poses obvious problems there. Paladins, sanctified sorcerers or other empowered mortals can more readily resist a tome's influence and check its schemes. Many magical creations might be suitable guards, be they golems, giant bronze serpents, or weapons imbued with magic and simple commands.

Taking a different tack, creatures might be summoned to watch over a tome, though in some cases that poses its own risks. A benevolent spirit may cheerfully (and safely) guard a tome, whereas a demon is dangerous enough to summon, let alone to leave watching an artefact of incredible vileness. More neutral entities, such as elementals or shadow-beings, may simply be vulnerable to corruption. A sphinx or similar being inclined to guardianship may be a good bet, assuming you can make a deal with it. Ideally, you'd have a powerful avatar of some opposing force to guard the tome, but for many people that isn't an option - even if they exist and the character could contact them, explaining why you've got the tome and why you need to hang onto it may be a delicate or impossible business. A cultist, in contrast, might have one or more powerful evil beings as guardians, relying simply on dominance or on differences of interest to prevent them allying with the tome against her.

Continuous suppression

All TOUEs are nasty business, but for the most potent or pernicious, constant effort may be needed to keep them in check. A constant circle of prayer might be maintained in shifts by members of a holy order, preventing the book from taking action. Wizards might need to regularly reinforce wards or suppressive spells, or psychics might maintain permanent vigil with psionic senses alert for any sinister activity. These are fundamantally a variation on the ring of fire mentioned earlier - a containment technique that calls for constant effort on the part of the warders.

Protection

In many cases, as least part of an owner's concern is going to be keeping people away from the book, rather than vice versa. Whether they're scheming rivals looking to pinch your grimoires, meddling do-gooders eager to quench your plots, sinister cultists trying to retrieve a dreadful tome, or stupid kids who could doom the entire world by their drunken antics, they must be kept away.

Many of the methods I've already mentioned function just as well for keeping out trespassers - thick walls, big spikes and powerful guardians can all be effective deterrents. Since intruders are often more immediately cunning (or unpredictable) in their efforts, having intelligent guards is often a good idea, though bear in mind that guards can be corrupted, bribed, ensorcelled or straight-up killed, while big spikes remain both big and spiky.

Of course, some methods pose problems once devious human opponents come into question. The problem with many defences is that they're obvious, and this tends to attract attention and inspire greed. A book bound tightly in iron chains is, in some people's opinion, just crying out to be read; putting a necromantic tome inside a circle of magical flame in a rune-inscribed granite-walled chamber in a rune-covered cave under a remote mountain just gets them interested. Guards make people wonder what's to be guarded, and locks and wards simply highlight the location of the coveted items.

Camouflage

If you're concerned about meddlers, you may want to look at ways of concealing tomes, disguising their nature and misleading the interlopers. This creates a tension between the desire for serious protection, and the blatancy of such methods.

One obvious option is to hide the needle in a haystack. A well-guarded library is, in some cases, an excellent way to hide a tome. Intruders aren't usually renowned for their patience, and wading through a whole library to find the tome is probably beyond them. However, certain types of tomes make this an undesirable choice, such as those that can devour or possess other books, those that will actively seek out intruders, or that make their own physical efforts to break free. It also isn't likely to work on those tomes that are vast and sinister, burn with unholy light, levitate, whisper and howl, or otherwise draw attention to themselves.

Concealment is another possibility. Confident cults may leave their books lying around on altars, but the wise wizard has spellbooks tucked away for safekeeping. Traditionally, tomes tend to be stashed in secret compartments of lecterns and statues, under large magical symbols that hint at the command word needed to reveal them, in cellars under large rugs, and other prominent locations. These are perfect for some games, but you should vary it by genre. In a light-hearted setting, the book may be hidden under someone's pillow or in a large chocolate box; in a very gritty setting, it may be in a large box-file marked "Utility Bills 2001-3", in a battered cardboard box full of genuine tedious paperwork, amongst a number of other boxes stuffed under the stairs with a stepladder carelessly laid on top of them.

Appeasement

Sometimes, imprisonment isn't on the cards. Perhaps you don't have the resources necessary to imprison a tome, or the means to do so without attracting the wrong kind of attention. If you're always on the move, then you probably can't keep your TOUE in a three-foot-thick steel cage surrounded by a fire of cedarwood and salt. Maybe the intoners' union won't accept 24-hour rotas to maintain your circle of prayer. It's also possible that a book is too powerful for you, or its influences too subtle to confine. Plus, maybe you don't want that kind of relationship: if you need to use the tome for some reason, then there may be no option but to negotiate. Maybe you're not actually working against the tome, but with it, or at least in the same sort of direction. Perhaps you're simply cacklingly evil. In these circumstances, appeasement may be the way to go. Not all tomes will agree to this, but some may be prepared to lie inactive or limit their activities, if various desires are sated.

Sacrifice

The classic option, as with any evil artefact or entity, is sacrifices. There are many kinds of sacrifice, from good old killings to life-energy, magical power or knowledge. Some tomes might drain emotions or memories, or dreams. A more corrupting choice might be allowing the tome into a victim, rather than feeding on them: the tome might be permitted to inhabit and control the victim's dreams, to possess their body for an hour a day, or to transform them into twisted minions. Those books that regenerate themselves might prefer some form of energy, while those that wish to spread evil influences prefer to infect new victims. See the post on book vampirism for more thoughts.

Sacrifices are particularly suitable for cults, especially those centred around a tome. They are also likely where the owner of a tome is largely in the tome's control, perhaps unable to resist this demand but not quite weak enough (yet) to give it entirely its own way. The main point here is that the sacrifice doesn't really get you anything except making the TOUE less likely to cause trouble. It's like feeding a captive animal or paying Danegeld.

Bargains

Sacrifices could arguably be lumped in with bargains, but I feel they're worth separating. What I'm getting at here is agreements to exchange services rendered, basically. These are likely to involve more obviously sentient TOUEs, which plan and make deals, whereas sacrifices may be more suitable for more animalistic tomes with less complex sentience.

A fun option is the favour-for-a-favour. The owner of the tome agrees to act on behalf of the tome, if only it will provide the knowledge she needs, or refrain from trying to turn Berkshire into a scorched wasteland full of the laughter of incomprehensible extradimensional beings, or simply stop invading her dreams. In some cases, doing things yourself may be preferable to doing them in your sleep and waking up bruised to see fuzzy CCTV pictures on the telly of you robbing the British Museum stark naked. At other times, the demands made may seem far less harmful than the consequences of refusal: removing that weird stone from that field, performing a little ritual here, they're certainly better than having the tome eat another neighbour. And of course, certain owners have no compunction about doing genuinely evil deeds in exchange for what they want. Sorcerers and cultists of course; but also utilitarians, despotic rulers and the desperate may see such actions as the lesser of two evils, rather than have the TOUE's power loosed upon the world. Of course, the TOUE isn't just asking this stuff for fun (okay, certain ones are); it's making a bargain because it will get something out of it, and little deeds can add up to a mountain of trouble.

Rather than actions, a TOUE may desire stuff. As mentioned previously, Pontius Glaw is a decent inspiration here. This kind of works for any sentient artefact, but especially for things that might be a shadow of their former glory. Prison books are a great option here, as the minds trapped within seek ways to influence the world. Information is a good starting-point, and a gentle way to lead PCs into gray areas - providing a little information about the outside world won't do any harm, after all... after this the TOUE may seek repair, aesthetic enhancement, mobility, special treatment, servants, and so on. If handled carefully, PCs could build up a kind of relationship with a tome and disregard its evil for a time, especially if it seems to play fair and somewhat respects them by not demanding evil deeds and being generally amicable. All the better to betray them later.

I think an important point to make here is that unlike some things I've mentioned in this series, much of this would work very well for tomes that aren't indescribably evil. A spellbook or tome of knowledge might demand particular favours to provide what the reader wants, simply out of pride or towards its own, non-evil ends. More importantly, a benevolent tome is perhaps even more likely to demand services that further its goals, and this may be a way to kick off adventures. Even selfish and mercenary characters can be prodded into doing benevolent things if it will attain their ends, and this might offer the chance for them to develop into more altruistic people - if the players want them to, of course.

Wholehearted Obedience

Don't forget that sometimes the goals of the tome and the owners will coincide perfectly. In these circumstances, just doing what the book wants can keep it perfectly contented (although of course, some contrary, malevolent or inscrutable books may still act up). Or to look at it another way, perhaps the owner's activities are entirely satisfactory, even without conscious effort to appease the tome. This is likely to be the case where books of a particular deity or alignment are owned by followers of that power, where a character has deliberately sought out a TOUE suited to their temperament, or where mysterious fates have conspired to bring together two complementary wills.

Containment in Play

So from a gaming point of view, how are these approaches likely to affect play?

Ownership costs

If a PC owns TOUEs, then there may be considerable practical and financial costs in containing them suitably. Even building a vault will take time and money - potentially quite a lot of both. Any more serious buildings, particularly if warded, may be fantastically expensive. A moat or cage will need to be inspected, just as you might with a wild animal's pen, and runic circles may need cleaning or redrawing regularly to keep them effective. For those interested in playing with such things, I picture the difficulties of maintaining a runic circle to be rather like maintaining canal banks or locks; because you're trying to contain something, you can't simply rub out the chalk and redraw it! You need something like an arcane cofferdam to let you work safely.

Such things as walls of fire or regular sacrifices have ongoing costs, require maintenance and regular inspection to make sure things are under control. If you're using esoteric substances like silver dust, phoenix feathers, blessed candles or rare herbs, it might be difficult as well as expensive to keep the barrier going (silver dust is liable to drift away over time, even if it's not being consumed). For a PC party, that's a great opportunity for some adventuring to restore their supplies. Keeping a fifty-strong choir going all day and night forever is a pretty big undertaking, and I think some serious planning can be expected. In all these cases, having PCs regularly make payments for their containment choices offers a way to make it feel significant and something more than nominal.

Many of the higher-maintenance methods may be a problem for PCs unless they have very reliable staff to help out. A deathtrap that needs resetting once an hour sounds good, but the practicalities are a real nuisance: interrupted sleep, no holidays, and what happens if you're ill? I think it's reasonable to bring these things into play if players decide to use such methods. Even on longer intervals, there are issues - if the PCs are delayed returning from a trip by a car breaking down, does the trap trigger and destroy their tome just to be on the safe side?

Staffing of any kind brings its own problems, whether you're talking about your choristers, some traditional guards, summoned beasts or even just domestic staff in the same house. Trustworthiness is a real issue, and the more staff you have, the greater the issue, not least because more people know and word is more likely to get out. There's always a risk that one of your new choristers is actually a disguised cultist, and it's made much more likely if you're trying to keep a staff of 400 choristers on the go. There's also the question of recruitment, which is not a simple matter: how do you recruit all those choristers? When do you let them in on the issue of exactly what's expected, and what do you do about the ones who don't come up to scratch or don't want anything to do with it when they learn the secret? I feel like recruiting and maintaining staff could be a fun aspect of a TOUE-based game, with opportunities for problems ranging from choosing good candidates to handling illness or stress, dealing with possible treachery, and even everyday HR matters. Sorting out pay disputes or problems in the workplace could be a diverting break.

PCs should also consider testing their protections. Guards may need regular spot inspections to make sure they're up to scratch. Over time, both PCs and hirelings may get lax in their behaviour if the TOUE shows no sign of escaping, which is something I'd take advantage of as a sentient tome. It's particularly likely, I think, with precautions that require a lot of effort. Perhaps the circle of candles isn't quite as tightly-packed as necessary, or the singing is a bit lacklustre. A cage may get rusty, or a box decay over time, or be gnawed by rats - perhaps rats summoned by a tome! You may also want to inspect guards' physical and mental health, to ensure they aren't being corrupted or harmed by the tomes they guard.

Summoned creatures offset some of these issues, but bring their own problems. Negotiating with or appeasing them can be a thorny issue. An unwilling summon might perform its job only sullenly and reluctantly, and secretly hope the tome will escape; some may cling to the letter of commands rather than the spirit. A summon may demand esoteric or vile payments in compensation for its work, while even benevolent spirits might ask for tasks to be completed. Again, these offer a good chance for further adventures while a tome backplot simmers away.

Unless PCs are careful, then many of these approaches might attract unwanted attention from neighbours, the authorities or from sinister enemies. This is particularly true if they're performing sacrifices or buying a lot of strange substances.

Overcoming protections

The other side of the coin is what happens when someone else has a tome the PCs want.

In many ways, the precautions aren't that different from ordinary anti-theft precautions, just with a slightly different focus. Walls, doors and guards are likely to work just about as well - although the locks may be on the unexpected side. Moats and walls of fire keep people out, as well as books.

Actually locating a tome is often a difficulty, and I mentioned camouflage above. However, containment can actually make a TOUE easier to track down: an owner buying lots of arcane components, sacrificed victims turning up nearby, unusually large kennels or a constant drift of cedary smoke can be a useful clue to a tome's location. Similarly, PCs may pick up on the comings and goings of guards, or even on recruitment attempts.

Some precautions don't exactly present an obstacle, but will make it fiddlier to steal or consult a tome without damaging or releasing it. This is true of underwater storage, various kinds of traps and magic circles. A careless attempt to remove the tome might trigger the trap and destroy it. On top of that, the PCs will likely need to have some way to contain it temporarily until they can get it back to their own storehouse. However, methods like the True Cross nail or dragonskin bindings are very portable.

Of course, PCs may want to destroy (or even release) a TOUE rather than steal it, and many precautious will actually make this easier. The traplike methods can be triggered by PCs, while confining a trome and stopping it from using its powers will leave it vulnerable and easy to attack. If PCs wish to release a tome (perhaps to wreak havoc on its cult), then they could interfere with sacrifices, scuff a runic circle or interrupt the supply of fuel to a ring of fire. Some of these could be done remotely, or even indirectly, making it less likely that they'll end up suffering as a result. For example, they could use commercial or logistical approaches to block the supply of cedarwood to a town, disguising it as ordinary commerce, a health and safety issue (insects in the wood?), or even a legal dispute. Within a week, the owner runs out of wood for the fires and disaster strikes - or perhaps they're driven to take some extreme action that allows the PCs to achieve another objective.

And on that last point, it's worth noting that even threatened breach of a TOUE's containment may be enough to achieve the PCs' ends, by disrupting an owner's activities, by forcing them to take illegal action and having them arrested, or simply by distracting them while you achieve your real goal.

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Okay, this has got really long and rambling now, so I'll stop, but I'd love to hear other people's suggestions and views here, particularly any ideas for containment types and how you might use them in play.

Tune in next time...

Next up I'm planning to look at actual destruction and disposal of tomes.

Tomefoolery, part five: powers

Part of a continuing series of uncertain length on Tomes of Unspeakable Evil and the PCs who love them. I've discussed how people get their hands on such books in the first place, the effects of their dreadful contents on tiny human minds and the purposes and designs of the tomes themselves, and most recently why TOUEs exist at all.

Today I want to take a more general look at the sort of powers, abilities and general properties a Tome of Unspeakable Evil might possess. I reckon the list below is a reasonable starting point.

• Gift of tongues
• Speech
• Dream-haunting
• Book possession
• Imprisonment
• Physical attack
• Flight
• Spellcasting
• Madness
• Physical transformation
• Fire resistance
• Water resistance
• Regeneration
• Meme implantation
• Domination

Okay, let's take a closer look at what I actually mean by those arbitrary bits of terminology.

The Gift of Tongues

This is hopefully pretty obvious, but I mean the language of the text changes so anyone can read it. I'm sure I've seen this before in fiction. While the stereotype of ancient tomes has people scrabbling round for ancient school Latin or long-lost Asiatic languages, it's perfectly possible to have one that's eager to be read, and able to help the readers out. Looking at the list of reasons for a TOUE to exist, this makes most sense for books designed either to spread some message, to ensnare victims, or otherwise cause damage. A mage's personal spellbook or a straightforward compendium of knowledge is much less likely to have such a property. In the former case they probably don't intend anyone else to read it - they may go so far as to use a cipher, magical writing or traps to prevent it - and in the latter authors don't necessarily have much reason to consider future readers who don't speak their language. In fact, they may see the use of some languages (say, Latin) as a way of restricting dangerous knowledge to an educated subset who can handle it.

Speech

Of course, there's no reason why a tome can't speak as well. It would be pretty in-your-face, but as long as you're happy with that. Perhaps it only starts speaking to someone once they've read it, and are beginning to fall under its spell. Perhaps it doesn't speak, but changes its text to convey new messages. Or perhaps it gloats like the worst pantomime villain, eerie voice echoing down dusty hallways. Perhaps its whispers carry across the library, always ceasing before anyone can track down the source, trying to lure potential readers towards it. I have to say, the idea of the villain always hidden in the shadow of the tall chair (or who always appears in shadows, or disappears like Batman) being a book rather appeals to me.

Regeneration

Does exactly what it says on the tin. Though it can be damaged, the book will repair itself. This might be a rapid process, with matter drawn from the air or dust around it to rebuild lost pages. On the other hand, it might require a kind of feeding, as the TOUE absorbs paper and ink from other, more innocent books to rebuild itself. It might tie in to my earlier thoughts on vampirism, with the TOUE only able to regenerate by drawing energy from a reader to fuel the process, in one way or another.

Another option would be for a less direct but more insidious regeneration. Perhaps the book, when wounded, directs vulnerable minds to start rewriting the missing sections, piecing together lost fragments, or otherwise repairing it. It may not care about maintaining its original integrity; perhaps it's perfectly happy to be a Frankenstein thing of mongrel pages and materials from across time and space, so long as its terrible contents are complete.

Perhaps the tome's malevolent magic even makes it like a starfish; every torn-out page able to regenerate itself into another copy of the book, if only it can find a suitable mind to repair it, or suitable other books to devour. In this way, innocent bibliophiles might be baffled to find this tome in their collection, where a scrap of paper used as a bookmark or bound into a flyleaf has corrupted an innocent book into a copy of itself. Evil tomes might sprout, fungoid and loathesome, in the dark and melancholy heaps of a bookseller's graveyard or the bins a library's binding room. Surely that, in itself, is a scenario waiting to be written.

Book possession

That blends nicely into the next idea, which is that the tome itself can corrupt, control or simply overwrite other books. This might only apply to other magical books, whose power it absorbs as it spreads, or it might apply to anything.

In a subtle version of this, the tome initially just influences nearby books with something of its nature, which will of course depend on the book. A heartwarming novel gains cryptic cameos from unsettling masked figures who quote lines that scratch at the reader's consciousness, and the characters seem a little deranged as the book progresses. A mathematical treatise includes unusual equations that hint at unexplained mysteries. A medical text is no more graphic, but seems to take a mocking delight in its discussion of bodily frailty and to rejoice in its lurid colour plates.

Perhaps, instead, the control is more ephemeral. The reader suddenly detects unsettling undertones in the story, or is sure they read a doom-laden and alien quote just moments ago, but on flicking back they find only harmless writing. It is only when fully engrossed in reading, the mind vulnerable, that the tome's influences rises to the surface. This power might be an interesting symptom of someone partially under the tome's power: no matter what they read, sooner or later they find the text of the tome leaking through into it...

A nice bold version, of course, is that the tome literally overwrites nearby books. Whether page by page or all at once, their contents are blotted out, replaced with the horrific contents of the tome. This is particularly useful for tomes that want to be read, either to gain slaves in the process or to spread havoc. The Revelations of Glaaki would love an ability like this.

This might tie into the regeneration (again) by providing a means of survival in extremis for the tome. Set on fire by pathetic quivering mortals? Just project your essence into a nearby book, visible only momentarily as a loathesome cloud of foulness before you find sanctuary and begin to plot again, though it might take you some time to recover your power.

Dream-haunting

Dreams are a classic of horror, of course, and it's natural for a magical book of enormous evil to strike when the mind is vulnerable in sleep. They might provide a means of communication, letting the book project suitable images to tempt someone into reading it, or guide them to its location. Alternatively, it might use this power to drive people mad with horrific images. It might project itself - or a mask, perhaps an attractive or powerful person - into dreams to actually talk to people, or grant them lucid dreams where they can converse and plan. It might grant them visions showing how to find great treasures, or give them dreams where they use its power to conquer armies, gain vengeance, or even do great deeds for the benefit of all humanity. As always, the type of dreams will vary with the book's nature and goals. A book trying to tempt people will be inclined to show them what they want to see, or rather what it thinks they will want to see - some books will be far more wily and deceptive in this than others. A book of Khorne, for example, is most likely to be very direct and unsophisticated in its attempts, but perhaps relentless and forceful, while a book of Tzeentch will probably work very slowly, patiently, and with a complex network of lies and half-truths, never giving away its true aims, even if it feigns weakness or honesty.

This sort of power can be a two-edged sword. A tome might have no control over its influence, and simply inspire nightmares or thematic dreams, which PCs could use to track it down, learn about it and destroy it. The kind of dreams inspired will give clues to the book's nature and goals (though they should be taken with a pinch of salt). Raw power might leak out into the building or district, corrupting and maddening citizens, which some books are perfectly content with. Other tomes might have perfect control, choosing specific victims through unknown means, or perhaps targeting those who have interacted with some other arcane artefact or place. For example, a book might track someone who has taken an amulet, or invoked a particular spell, or visited a sinister temple.

Physical abilities

Flying books are a pretty classic idea, with all those nice flappable pages. However, a tome might also scuttle spider-like or crab-like over the floor, with nice creepy sound effects. It could turn into a cloud of letters and dust, like the classic vampire, and whoosh away through keyholes. It could even extend legs, tendrils or wings to move around.

The extent of a tome's senses is also important. Can it see and hear, in particular? A tome that can do both has a great advantage. A hearing-only book is potentially quite fun: I'm imagining a batlike book here, which flutters about finding its way by sound and tracking down people by the noise they make. Or it could be a static, blind, speaking and hearing book, which can't tell what the reader is doing (except interacting with it) except by what they say and what it overhears, and so the readers have at least one lever of control over it by what they are willing to say. A sight-only book might be functionally deaf because it only understands the language it's written in (even if it's as common as Latin, or even French) rather than because it can't hear at all; on the other hand it might be totally dependent on what it sees and on the written word. Perhaps, like some D&D manuals, it has a single staring eye on the front cover, or perhaps any part of the book can see.

Physical attacks are potentially important, depending on genre. Biting is a pretty straightforward one, and a book might use its weight, nasty metal clasps or even grow unexpected fangs to chomp on tasty victims. A book that actually eats people (or needs feeding in general) has nice horrific potential, as Terry Pratchett already realised.

Defences

Ordinary books, of course, are often fairly vulnerable. Not so the Tome of Unspeakable Evil; well, possibly. It depends what you want from it.

Fireproofing your books can be an important decision. A tome that's vulnerable to fire has a handy weakness which players can exploit to destroy it - fire might even be the only thing that overcomes regenerative abilities or other escape routes. In a light game, this could be an easy and predictable technique which players can use to eliminate a troublesome tome with a little bit of planning.

In a heavier game, a powerful tome is likely to plan around its weakness, taking measures to protect itself. There might be magical wards that extinguish any fire brought near it, or it might simply be encased in a metal box for that bit of extra security. Moreover, such a tome may respond immediately and brutally to anyone trying to bring fire near it, without bothering to check their intentions: blasts of ice, powerful winds, mental assault, lightning bolts, summoning creatures to remove the fire... a less magically-inclined tome might instead flee the sight of fire, taking refuge in rafters or shifting itself to the body of another book at the slightest provocation. In some cases, fire might be a way to force a reluctant tome to divulge secrets or obey instructions - at least for now. The tome may be reluctant to use its full strength until it's definitely under attack, and treat the fire merely as a threat worth obeying, not wanting to really test its prowess against a determined human who has managed to impress it (by capturing it, for example). Or the book may not have abilities that let it directly confront humans.

On the other hand, a fireproof book eliminates a key weakness and forces players to look for other options to deal with the book. Certain books really should be fireproof - anything Hell-related, pyromantic or otherwise fiery in nature, for a start. Books of iron, stone, or otherworldly substances are a good bet too. The book might be completely fireproof, or simply be able to regenerate despite severe burning (though completely incineration might work). This is a sensible choice for the most powerful tomes, where a mundane solution may not fit into the feel you want, especially if you're intending to have the destruction (or otherwise disposal) of the book as a quest in itself or a long-running feature of a campaign.

Very similar issues arise with waterproofing, and to a limited extend with physical damage, though fire is really the easy get-out that needs considering most. A tome might be impaired by waterlogging, and need careful drying to restore it to full 'health', though perhaps it won't actually disintegrate as an ordinary ancient book might. Flying through the rain, for example, may not be an option, and this sort of thing could actually provide a nice check on a tome's powers.

Time

Naturally, any ancient tome is likely to be immune to the major effects of time and decay, except insofar as they make it look cool. There are a couple of exceptions, though.

The first exception is the kind of tome that's half-disintegrated, providing only bewildering fragments of information, or else a smeared and faded text that requires huge effort to make out. Such tomes may rejoice in their damage, which perhaps makes them seem less dangerous than they really are. Others simply put up with it as the price of a dangerous existence, being snatched from the burning ruins by desperate cultists. Those able to communicate might grumble about their injuries, or boast of them.

The other likely kind of damaged tome are those able to repair themselves (see Regeneration). Perhaps they simply haven't yet replenished their power enough to do so when discovered, or perhaps they use their decrepit state to draw attention, and even pity, from a scholar or bibliophile who might spend the time to restore them or to study their remains.

Reproduction and Meme Infection

One arbitrary division you can make for tomes is into unique 'individuals' who might jealously guard their status (or simply be utterly unique), and 'type specimens' that are simply one physical expression of an Ur-Tome. The Necrotelicomnicon or the Ildatch are reasonable examples of the former, while something like The Revelations of Glaaki is a good example of the latter.

The second kind are keen to reproduce themselves and spread across the world. These are likely to include books of revelation, books designed to corrupt and enslave mortals, and books whose purpose is simply general malevolence and chaos. On the other hand, books with a strong personality and sense of self may be less interested in duplicating themselves - what evil tome wants a rival, after all? On the other, other hand (the one with peculiar claws and scales you tend to keep under your jacket), the idea of a whole family of evil tomes working together as one towards joint evil goals seems pretty cool to me... In some genres you could even think of it more like a Sinister Six-type supervillain team. Of course, that sort of idea doesn't necessarily call for them to be related - or even to all be books. One member of an evil team turning out to be a sentient magic book would potentially be a pretty nice reveal.

Anyway, I was here to talk about mimetic infection. This is the idea that, as well as simply having people physically copy it, or some of the regenerative ideas I mentioned above, a TOUE might use some of its other powers to force people to rewrite it. For example, people who have read it might feel compelled to rewrite it, possessed by a fragment of the book's consciousness that wants a new body to take on and grow into its full power. Alternatively, a book might inspire even ignorant writers through dreams. In the case of revelatory books, inspiring someone to write down the message through dreams or direct dictation are established ideas, and this is precisely how texts like The Revelations of Glaaki come about.

This ability makes a single physical copy of the book more like an agent than the heart of the evil. PCs might find themselves trying to eliminate multiple copies before they can wreak havoc, or tracking down a chain of increasingly old and powerful copies of the tome (much in the vein of vampire-hunting). The books themselves might be symptoms - very dangerous symptoms - of a much more fundamental foe that needs to be dealt with, such as a powerful spirit, lich or mage whose influence reaches out to corrupt the world.

Spellcasting

Of course, a tome that doesn't have magical powers isn't much of a tome.

I've already touched on trap tomes, but of course trapping people doesn't just have to be the book's core purpose. It can be simply a tool used by the book to get its way. The book might engulf people, but it could also turn them into statues (or other books), bind them with spiderwebs, or otherwise render them helpless.

Other spells are likely to be tied into the book's specific nature. Necromantic tomes will raise the dead, perhaps control darkness and cold, implant horrific visions and drain life. Elemental tomes are simple enough. Books tied to a particular individual, on the other hand, might have very specific powers that link in with elements such as an ancestral castle or temple.

For books eager to gain temporal power, either in general or to fulfil long-term goals, then enchanting magic is a good bet, and ties in well with various kinds of mind-draining abilities I've discussed before. Some tomes might potentially have whole armies of mind-slaves; of course, cult-type books could reasonably have quite large numbers of actual acolytes, who aren't necessarily strictly enslaved.

Tomes with a heavier magical feel might want to pick up some wizardly world-shaping powers, giving them more of an archmage (or lich) vibe. Conjuring magical shackles, firing off bolts of lightning, creating portals, or even raising magical fortresses out of the very earth are all nice possibilities. Monster-summoning is always fun.

If you want to play up the "book" aspect of the entity, you could introduce themed abilities such as firing off bits of text, which might turn into razor-edged projectiles, form flaming barries, or tie people up like snakes. Perhaps a book can do different things depending which words it decides to use. Pages might detach from the book and transform into batlike spies, or even attackers - a whole flock of pages could harry a target before returning to the book (and this would provide a possible way to slowly weaken the book, by destroying pages rather than confronting the whole tome). Leather bookmarks could become tongues (again with the Pratchett). This sort of thing does carry the risk of seeming corny, cartoonish or just plain silly, and depending on the game you're running it might really mess with the mood. On the other hand, a GM might be able to take something that could seem silly and use it really effectively in a serious game.

Transforming people into other things is a nice classy move, though perhaps not suited to every kind of book. A tome might simply mutate or otherwise physically corrupt victims, particularly anyone it manages to overpower physically or mentally. This could be simply a nasty thing to do to people, ideal for books of plague-magic or raw chaos, or it could be a method of creating monstous servitors. Other tomes might go the whole hog and turn them into statues, dolls, oddly-smoking crystals, horrific living paintings, spiders or whatever you like.

The classic sort of Tomes of Darkness tend towards more gothic magic. They can slam and lock doors anywhere in a building, conjure up spiderwebs to choke and slow victims, deepen shadows and create strange noises or hallucinations. Weather is another good option for such tomes (and indeed for any tomes - weather is a really good mood device). Rather than simply conjuring straightforward monsters, such tomes might summon beings of raw shadow, or draw things from the nightmares and hidden fears of the household. Friends might be made to seem monstrous so a panicking victim will attack them, and ordinary things warped into hideousness. Madness and deception are the main focus here. Of course, you can also summon clouds of bats, grow twisted vegetation, and even warp the geography of a building so victims get hopelessly lost.

Tune in next time...

Next up I'm planning to think about what to do with a tome when you've actually got one, but we'll see.

Tomefoolery, part four: evil authorship

Part of a continuing series of uncertain length on Tomes of Unspeakable Evil and the PCs who love them. So far I've blathered about how people get their hands on such books in the first place, the effects of their dreadful contents on tiny human minds, and dread grimoires that feed on their perusers. But there's another obvious question: given these dreadful possibilities, why write an evil tome?

Why write a tome of fiendish evil?

Tomes of unspeakable evil are all very well and good, but why would anyone go writing one in the first place? Where do these gruesome grimoires spring from, to blight lives and lure reckless minds to their doom? Are they even written at all? Here's a few possibilities. Bear in mind, these ideas aren't restricted to Tomes Of Ultimate Evil alone: some would work perfectly well as tomes with fairly human personalities, as bizarre and bewildering influences that aren't strictly evil, or even as Tomes Of Great Benevolence.

• The tome is a trap, created to lure the curious to their destruction.
• The tome is a trap, created to snare and enslave the unwary into the service of dark powers.
• The tome is a trap, created to entice and destroy fools who thought they could steal your knowledge.
• The tome is a tool, dangerous only to those without the power to master it, but invaluable to those with such power.
• The tome is an accident, a collection of terrible magic that has become as malevolent as the knowledge it contains.
• The tome is an accident, a book of great power that gained sentience, and with it its own selfish desires and goals.
• The tome is a psychic imprint, tainted by the twisted mind of its writer.
• The tome is haunted, more or less - imbued with intellect, motivation, or the broken remnants of personality by the spirit of its creator.
• The tome is a prison, where entities or souls have been trapped, and these jointly or severally exert their influence on readers or their surroundings. You've played Myst, right?
• The tome is not really a tome, but a sentient being transformed into a book.
• The tome is not really a tome, but a sinister being in the guise of a book, or an extension of their self.
• The tome is a revelation of terrifying truths, beliefs, plans or possibilities written directly or inspired by a powerful entity.

If we take a functional view, there are trap-tomes, whose main purpose is to lure in and destroy victims; tool-tomes, whose malevolence is a side-effect of their usefulness; and fallout-tomes, which just happen to be malevolent.

You could also consider it from an origin point of view: some TOUEs are written as an act of malice; some are written to store and transmit knowledge; some may be written for personal catharsis or satisfaction; some are written under the influence of madness or malevolent forces that imbue the tome with power; and some are actually entities that simply appear to us as books.

The Lure of the Library

Let's take a closer look at trap-tomes, those that draw you in to certain doom. This includes guise-books that are actually a dream in the mind of dread Cthulhu and what-have-you.

One of the classic sorcerer tropes is the Faustian, Dark Side thing, where the pursuit of knowledge, then forbidden knowledge, lures would-be wizards into losing their humanity, or bargaining with terrible powers. From this, we can imagine a tome that was created by those selfsame dread powers - be they ancient vampire wizards, Sith lords, the Devil or Nyarlathotep - for the very purpose of ensnaring people. Some of them may use it to provide slaves and servants in the world. Some may use it to draw in new acolytes: anyone who studies the book deeply enough, without being repulsed or driven mad, is a suitable apprentice and will gain the knowledge to track them down. The Chaos Gods of the Warhammer universes also delight in this sort of corruption, especially when they can ensnare those who think themselves wise and alert enough to escape it.

These sorts of tomes are likely to be full of tempting knowledge and power. Often, they'll start by offering something simple and fairly harmless without much obvious cost, to get people invested: spells to defend themselves from bullies, knowledge to save their business, secrets to find sources of power. Once someone's trusted the tome that far, they slowly become more open to the more sinister knowledge it contains. From fending off bullies, to stopping them, to seeking revenge, to punishing anyone who displeases you, to tyrannical rule... From consulting spirits to guide your failing business, to invoking them to influence customers, to calling them to blight rivals, to summoning them to help run the show, to letting them feed on the more worthless of your employees... They'll also favour give-and-take, with each new bit of power coming at an incremental cost, binding you closer and closer to the dark power. This might be obvious: reveal secrets, destroy enemies, spill your own blood, or let a spirit ride in your mind. Other trades are more subtle: restore the shattered statue (so it can return to life), drink the empowering potion (which will slowly mutate you), tattoo yourself with the runes (that allow possession). Only gradually does the dark power's interest in these things become apparent, usually when it's too late.

Of course, not all dark powers have such high-mindedly constructive motives as luring souls into vile servitude. Sometimes it's just all about the lulz, the schadenfreude. Seeing innocents, or not-so-innocents, slowly descend the spiralling path to madness, atrocity, obsession and hideous death gives the dark powers a kick. Sometimes, it's even more abstract: they don't care enough about the reader to even enjoy their downfall, but they relish the chaos and horror that their actions unleash upon the mortal world. This is quite a Nyarlathotep sort of thing to do, according to the way he's commonly portrayed as an agent of chaos. Such tomes will be full of two-edged power and things that, once bound, cannot be unbound. Note that this is different from the trap books, whose sharp edge is the bargain forged between the reader and the Forces of Darkness. Here, the powers simply have unintended consequences, ideally consequences that force the reader to turn again to the TOUE for help to quell them. Think of The Sorcerer's Apprentice, only more evil. You enchant a broom to carry water from the well, and it floods the house; you chop it into pieces, and it regenerates; you call a fire-spirit to burn the brooms, and it does - but then it slinks away to start house-fires all over town.

They can also spiral in other ways. You use special mathematical secrets to cheat the markets and become rich, but soon all kinds of agencies are taking an interest in you, let alone criminals. You follow the instructions to grow strong using horsehair snuff and incantations, but find yourself feeling increasingly horsey. You learn to sense what others are thinking, but now the constant voices are driving you insane.

There are halfway houses in this setup, too. A good example would be the Revelations of Glaaki, a Lovecraftian tome. In itself, it's actually not particularly baleful, apart from the sanity-blasting Mythos content and an array of vile spells. However, it also draws the attention of Y'golonac, a horrific Great Old One who enjoys taking over human bodies. Anyone who's read the tome is liable to, at some point in the future, have their body suddenly remodelled into a headless ogre with mouths in odd places, and their soul blotted out so Y'golonac can go for a joyride.

The other kind of book in this category is the vengeance trap. A powerful necromancer, for example, may leave her spellbook riddled with deliberate errors to punish anyone foolish enough to steal it. You can raise the dead, all right, but they'll only want your life; you can conjure flame, but it will consume you. More subtly, the book may simply draw the owner to you, especially if they're now a bodiless spirit or dream-being.

Toolbooks

Many books are created as tools. They contain knowledge invaluable to a scholar, secrets to educate those inducted into a discipline, or techniques used directly for spellcasting and similar powers. Some of these, either by intention or by accident, become more than simple books, gaining supernatural influence and sometimes intellect. We're concerned here only with those that do take that step, and moreover are malevolent in some way, or at least whose influence is damaging to mortal minds.

These books are directly useful to a reader, but the knowledge inside may be very dangerous. In some cases it's intrinsically horrific, while in others it's simply easy to misuse or misunderstand. A spell that summons powerful forces is dangerous if you don't know how to bind them. The secret location of an ancient relic is dangerous if you can't master its power. The ability to predict the future is dangerous if you don't know how to deal with that knowledge. A fae lady may be perfectly able to use her library of magic without harm or difficulty, but its alien aura and psychic emanations are so dangerous to humans that it might as well be actively evil, driving them to madness and monstrosity, and wanting to turn the mortal realm into a mirror of the dreamlands of Faerie.

Some of these books will slowly evolve a dreadful sentience from their horrific contents. Their worldview and personality is built around their contents. The necromantic tome becomes a necromancer in its own right, or else relentlessly tempts others to necromancy: it seeks to raise corpse-warriors and create blasphemous kingdoms of the living dead, to corrupt sorcerers into lichdom, to draw innocents into vampirism and uncovering the sealed graves of vile powers. The tome of Tzeentch knows only sorcery and change, and brings all manner of mystical chaos for its own sake, weaving century-spanning plots. The diary of a murderous maniac or death-cultist might seek endless blood. A tome of war-lore and battle-magic might not be malevolent as such, but unable to comprehend anything but endless strife, and see everything in shades of enmity. Tomes created by, or dedicated to, particular deities or powers are likely to mimic their nature. This kind of book's aims are likely to relate directly to its contents.

Other tomes develop more subtly. They aren't intelligent manifestations of their contents, but simply gained sentience by dint of the arcane (or divine, or diabolical) power that fills them. Over time, they develop their own personalities, plans and desires, which do not necessarily relate directly to their contents. A tome of general nature magic can perfectly well have diabolical plans to rule the world, and exploit readers and magic alike to that end. Conversely, some such tomes may not be malevolent at all, but selfish, erratic, insane, icily pragmatic, childish, stupid or even benevolent. A well-meaning tome that nevertheless spreads chaos or destruction through mistakes, idiocy or simple alienness from humanity, could be quite an interesting element in a game. Think of all those misguided supercomputers working "for our own good". For these tomes, goals are more unpredictable, and the mischief they will get up to depends on their own personality.

Possessed Books

The last big category of books is those that are basically twofold: one part book, one part sentience, and the two not necessarily related. From the list I gave above, this could include books that are actually haunted, and books resonant with the pyschic influence of their creator.

A possessed book of the first two kinds is likely to be predictable in many ways. It's also likely to be quite limited in some respects.

A psychic imprint will probably have only a few ideas or emotions, and can't necessarily adapt; it's probably not intelligent in the strict sense of the word, but more like a residual aura or a discrete set of available ideas and thoughts, which it cycles through. Such a tome may be very dangerous directly, but it doesn't have the flexibility and intellect of true sentience - it's a little more like an AI, or a small child without the sophistication of experience. However, it's a very dangerous small child at that. The aura of the book may be strong enough to imprint itself directly onto readers, or to plant subtle influences that affect their behaviour. Such books are often the works of mad wizards, cultists and other deranged authors, but an arguably sane author with immense passion for their work could also leave an imprint behind. In cases like this, there's likely to be a strong connection between the book's contents and its nature: the author has left behind a part or shadow of their own psyche, most likely connected with the subject matter.

A haunted tome typically contains a trapped ghost, often that of the author. The haunted tome will be more sophisticated than a mere psychic imprint, with something approaching a real personality and sentience, but its isolation from the world (and being a book rather than a human body) means it's still likely to be erratic and perhaps mentally trapped in the past. There are as many kinds of haunted book as there are of ghost: anything from a few whispered ideas and visions, through the classic obsessive spectre trapped in the same limited loop of thoughts, to the full-blown ghost that's more or less a fully functioning human who happens to live in a book. Personalities and desires are infinitely variable, but if the tome itself is a thing of nightmare arcana, its author isn't likely to be a bastion of benevolent sanity.

In passing, Tom Riddle's diary from Harry Potter is a pretty good example of a possessed book, and the sort of manipulations it gets up to.

Prison Books

Prison books - including beings transformed into a book - are a slightly different matter. The entity trapped inside may have little or nothing to do with the book. In some cases, a powerful tome may contain a bound spirit, supernatural being or even a wizard, whose own power is used to empower the book and increase its usefulness to the original owner. While a few spirits might not object to this treatment, many will be eager to regain their freedom. Even a neutral or benevolent spirit may be driven to desperation or insanity over decades and centuries of imprisonment, and be prepared to do anything to escape. In other cases, the book is a trap, used to remove an unwanted enemy or inconvenient person from circulation - consider the books in Myst. Some such victims may be largely innocent, others utterly vile, and how hard it is to guess which!

Some prison books may contain multiple prisoners. A book might be ensorcelled so that anyone attempting a particular spell is drawn into it, never to escape. This might be a means of thwarting hubristic ambitions, or another form of the traps I discussed earlier, set by a malicious owner who delights in the schadenfreude of a thief catching herself.

The prisoners may reveal their identity, or keep it a secret; they may even strive to disguise the fact that there's anyone present at all. Some will plead with anyone who uncovers the tome, begging to be released. Others might adopt an assertive or contented air, thinking this will make the owner more likely to release them, particularly if the necessary steps can be disguised as something else. In some cases, perhaps a prisoner can only be released if someone takes their place; some prisoners will try to trick a reader into doing so, while others might try to persuade the reader to find a deserving victim for this punishment, either because they're not actually evil, or simply because they think that plan's more likely to succeed.

Imprisonment in a book could vary substantially. Some exist only as spirits within the book, and for them the time between consultations might seem like falling asleep - or being chloroformed - with long dreams in the dark times, and a period of confusion and weariness on first waking. Others might feel physical confinement, as though they're trapped between the pages, but able to perceive what's around them. Still others might exist in a pocket dimension, or even another world on the far side of the page. Some may exist in the form of text, only knowing what is written down on them, and communicating by changing their own words. Some may perceive the book as their own body, mobile or otherwise. Others may take the form of holograms or ghosts, able to manifest around the book but unable to leave it. Or they might be a poltergeist-like force with no perceptible form, but able to interact with the book's immediate environment.

A somewhat more horrific alternative is a tome modelled on the Devourer, which would devour unwary readers and imprison them as a source of monstrous fuel. As the tome draws on its power, the trapped souls are slowly obliterated. Such a tome might be a tool for an evil mage, who traps enemies or unfortunates as a source of power, and uses their spirit to fuel further misdeeds. It could be a magical tome that's gained sentience, and with it the will to feed on readers (or victims sacrificed to it) in a more literal sense. On the other hand, it might be a more independent entity, such as the creation of a dark-humoured deity. A nicely ironic twist might be a devourer-tome that uses the souls of prisoners as fuel for its master's magical deeds - right up until it exhausts its supply, and devours its current master to replace them. Tzeentch or Nyarlathotep alike would appreciate such a TOUE.

With prison books, their personality and actions would depend on a combination of things: the identity of the prisoner(s), the identity of their current owner, the nature and conditions of their imprisonment,

Tomefoolery, part three: books that read back

Part of a continuing series of uncertain length on Tomes of Unspeakable Evil and the PCs who love them. So far I've blathered about how people get their hands on such books in the first place, and the effects of their dreadful contents on tiny human minds. But sometimes it's not about what you do to evil books, but about what the evil books do to you.

Vampirism

This was the stage where I got drawn into AncientHistory's thread that started all this waffling. They suggested that an evil book would need arcane abilities, so it wasn't merely a lump of paper vulnerable to all the usual things. The one that really struck me was the idea of a vampiric book that feeds on the reader. Cool. The book would draw power from its readers to fuel whatever abilities it had. AH didn't flesh out the mechanics much, but you could model this either as being solely reliant on readers to be anything more than a bundle of paper, or as providing extra power for the nastiest of its abilities while still being a dangerous occult entity at all times. I'll get into that later.

Call of Cthulhu

As we were talking Call of Cthulhu, there seemed to be several types of vampirism available. Each will play out in a different way during games, and they'll work differently depending on whether the book's intended for PC or NPC use, and what sort of timescale you expect it to operate on.

AH's suggestion was POW drain, which is immediately nasty: POW is a crucial resource for, primarily, not going mad, but also for resisting spells (or even casting them). A character drained of POW will get progressively more suggestible, more vulnerable to insanity, and eventually become a puppet of the book, I imagine. You could model POW drain either as an ongoing thing, with an absolute cap, or with a limited rate of drain. For long-term use, a cap would allow the book to be used by Investigators throughout a campaign without crippling them; on the other hand, the crippling bargain they strike with the tome could be a key aspect of the campaign. For a shorter plot, or if it's mostly used by NPCs, the book might drain POW more rapidly and quickly turn readers into mindless drones.

A character losing POW to a book is going to feel its effects immediately, and depending on the loss, it may be obvious to others as well. In metagame terms, it's also likely to alert the players that they're messing with something very nasty, for two reasons. One is simply that books don't usually cost POW, and you can't really reduce their stats without telling them (it's practically difficult even if they'd be okay with it).

I put forward two other options: Magic Point drain and SAN drain.

Magic Point drain

MPs are a very different kettle of fish, because you regenerate MP. MP drain is an insidious threat. It would depend on the rate of drain, but it's likely to manifest as unusual tiredness, with a risk of passing out during intensive reading. The reason it's more insidious is that it's a small and even negligible up-front cost, with little immediate impact on the reader's abilities. This means that in metagame terms, it's tempting to keep reading, to go and consult the evil tome just one more time because it'll make this investigation so much easier... a slow-drip bargain that allows the book to gradually build up considerable power, while each "transaction" doesn't feel like much of a price. It's also less obvious to players that something dangerous is happening, whereas having POW drained is the sort of thing that gets people's attention; and it's a marker of very sinister activities. It would be entirely feasible to keep the players ignorant of exactly what's happening, track the MP accumulation yourself, and just report any exhaustion or fainting to the players.

In character, the effects of the drain are much less obvious than POW, so even if players are aware, the characters could plausibly ignore what's going on until the book starts actually doing something with its accumulated power. It can prey on the same people for a long time, getting them used to 'bargaining' with it and feeding off their power to gradually achieve some plot or other, especially if you have a nice long campaign planned. Again, the seeming innocuousness of the drain could persuade characters to keep using the book even if they're aware of what's going on, because it doesn't necessarily feel like anything that bad is happening. Only when the book's accumulated a lot of power do they start to realise what a bad idea it's been.

Bizarrely, I'm inspired in this by Pontius Glaw from Warhammer 40,000 - a mad Chaos-worshipper whose imprisoned soul the protagonists become reliant on as a source of information, and by bargaining for each titbit, it gradually builds up enough resources to escape.

SANivory

Feeding a book from the SAN cost it causes is more actively malevolent - the book feeds on the madness it creates, effectively. Though there are some similarities to POWvory, SANivory isn't likely to directly turn the readers into its servants, but simply drives them insane. It wants a constant source of new readers to torment, but once it's fed on them they're safe from further predations, at least in the normal rules. You could accept the initial 'price' but then the book would be effectively unable to feed on you any longer, and can be kept prisoner for consultation at your leisure. For a tome of immense power, that doesn't seem quite appropriate to me.

In this case, you might want to change the normal tome-reading rules. Perhaps it's so malevolent that each consultation costs a point of SAN even after the initial reading, just from forcing yourself to deny common sense and morality by reading the accursed thing. With this model, there's the slow drip-drip of power gained as in the MP approach, while players pay a cost that might seem low in the first place, but gradually builds up; and as their SAN drops they probably fall further under the book's influence. That doesn't necessarily mean becoming its servants, but it'd be natural for any insanities they accumulate to be vaguely aligned with the book's goals or contents.

You could also change the book's approach. Maybe it uses its power to ensure it passes from hand to hand, spreading madness and gaining power. This might be through mental manipulation, by creating cults that read it, or more directly by moving from library to library, either by physical movement or by 'possessing' other books. Again, I'll think about that later.

Other feeding

Of course, there's no reason a book needs to restrict itself to mental predations. Characters have a whole array of delicious stats to devour! A book might be able to feed on a range of them, perhaps for different purposes. If we're assigning the book some special abilities, rather than generic malevolence, then it might even gain stats by stealing them from others. These wouldn't tie into magic abilities in the way POW or MP might, but they're still fun.

An ancient tome might easily feast on the INT or EDU of readers to gain knowledge of the era around it. As readers find it increasingly difficult to reason and become forgetful, the book can exploit its new-found intellect to weave elaborate schemes. For an artful touch, perhaps the book actually gains new content as it feeds: previously-blank pages are gradually filled with shaky handwriting, or the book simply becomes fatter...

There's also the familiar idea of the occult scholar, pale and gaunt and over-aged from years of esoteric studies. Perhaps there's a more sinister reason for that physical condition than simple overwork and lack of sunlight. A book might feed, not only on mental energies, but on the very life of its readers.

If it drains CON from a victim, a book could become more resilient to all manner of damage (treating it as armour), or repair itself (think of The Mummy). Stolen STR might not be used in the same way as an animal would use it, but could allow it to exert physical force on the world - moving itself around, breaking out of locked cabinets, or used as part of a spell to attack, such as with telekinetic powers. DEX would help it to react quickly, and perhaps govern the manoeuvrability or speed of a flying book. APP is a natural way of making a book persuasive and domineering, increasing its influence over the weak-minded, and perhaps affecting the tone of its contents to be more appealing to readers.

Spell theft

Another arcane option would be for the Mythosier sort of TOUE to borrow, learn or even steal spells from a reader. In Cthulhu spells are a double-edged sword anyway, so working out how punishing those options are is going to depend on the situation and the spells in question. 'Borrowing' is probably more suitable to other systems, but a Cthulhu tome could easily acquire new spells from the brain of a reader. 'Learning' would mean simply gaining access to the spell, and perhaps adding it to its own contents. 'Stealing' would mean leaching it from the reader's brain entirely. Actually, this mechanism might be useful for non-TOUE artefacts, and could even be included as a fairly benevolent ability that helps protect people by trapping Mythos knowledge and cleansing minds of Mythos horror.

For any of these, the TOUE could simply gain the spell (or a random spell, or even all spells) automatically, or it could have to make its own spell-learning roll in the same was as Investigators do. There could also be an opposed roll to prevent the book from accessing the Investigator's arcane knowledge.

Other systems

Outside Call of Cthulhu, similar policies would apply, tweaked for the stats in use.

D20 systems

D20 games are familiar with the idea of ability loss, though in D&D at least it's typically fairly easy to restore even 'permanent' drain with 4th-level spells. This makes the cost of consulting TOUE pretty negligible. As such, you might have to model this in a different way, perhaps having an opposed caster level check to overcome the book's baleful influence before the spells work.

Most of the stats in question would work the same way as in Cthulhu, though mental stats could pose extra complications because of their importance in spellcasting. This could make psychic vampirism a no-go because spellcasters would quickly lose access to higher-level spells.

One possible option would be to vary the book's effects based on the reader: a magically-inclined reader might learn valuable secrets from the mystical contents of the book, but find it physically draining; a warrior or rogue might find it mentally exhausting to read. You could also use the fatigue and exhaustion rules, though these are also easily negated, and some characters are immune anyway.

The D&D supplements Heroes of Horror and Ravenloft introduce some handy rules for Corruption (physical perversion), Depravity (mental perversion) and Madness (mental breakdown). Some combination of these could be used as an alternative way to model the effects of TOUE and similar influences in D20 systems, if you don't mind imposing some significant changes on the party. They could be reversible, if you're feeling kind. In the right game, certainly, players could have fun trying to conceal their claw-like hands, red eyes or twisted bones from NPCs. Or reigning in their behavioural issues.

These effects might be a long-term, slow-building consequence of constant exposure to the book, perhaps voluntary, and calling for significant roleplaying. Alternatively, they could be a fairly short-lived and pulpy issue if the book is more of a short-term plot element and you don't want to dwell too much on the Price of Power and all that jazz.

Skill points could also be at risk of vampirism. Maybe the book's own skills depend largely on its readers, and it can steal a point from a random skill each time it's read, adding it to its own skill. However, this kind of vampirism may be harder to explain and justify in-game ("I just... forgot how to pick locks?"), whereas sapping life force is pretty straightforward.

Spell vampirism I've touched on already. In systems with Vancian spellcasting, it'd be fairly simple to implement 'spell borrowing', where a book gains a single use of a spell from the reader. This might be a straight gain, or it might take that use from the reader, as though they'd cast it themselves. Spell learning is also pretty simple here, but spell theft would be trickier, especially for classes like sorcerers who can't freely learn new spells.

A similar process could be applied to more esoteric special abilities. Imagine that the book's simply absorbing knowledge and experience from its reader. Bard? Hey, it gained fascinate. Rogue? Oops, now you've got a malevolent book with +3d6 backstab damage. If you're feeling cruel, the book could steal an ability from each reader, and retain it until it's destroyed.

General options

In a combat-oriented game where balance and stats are vital, and given the ease of overcoming most penalties, it might be easier not to apply the same kind of vampirism. Perhaps you simply add to a notional 'mana pool' whenever the book has the chance to affect someone.

In a similar way, you could tap other replenishable resources than Magic Points. These could include Hit Points - perhaps building up the book's own pool of health - as well as luck in games where it's a separate resource. But vampirism doesn't need to directly relate reader stats to book stats. A TOUE could perfectly well drain life energy and gain magic points, or turn any drained stat into a boost to any of its own stats.

Depending on the genre, the tone you're going for and the intended length of the TOUE plotline, you may want to have resistance rolls of some kind. If PCs have to regularly consult the book, and you're using a per-consultation drain, or if they slowly suffer effects as long as the book's in their possession, you could wear them out quickly. Also, it may be more interesting if some PCs are more vulnerable to the effects than others. On the other hand, if you're using one-off drains, this probably isn't necessary. For a short, snappy campaign, a heavier drain but with resistance rolls may be more appropriate to give it a dramatic edge.

Another possibility, slightly more arcane, is having the book exert a general 'baleful influence' that effectively produces bad luck. In some systems, there are actual Luck or Fate mechanics you could use: Cthulhu characters could suffer penalties to their Luck, Savage Worlds characters could lose bennies or have penalties to benny-based rolls, D&D has luck modifiers to die rolls. Rerolls might be limited or disallowed, or challenge thresholds increased. Die pools could be reduced whenever it seems appropriate.

Generally, I'd suggest that vampirism relate to the importance of the TOUE in the campaign, and potentially to the value of the book. It's going to depend on what sort of plot you're looking at, though. If the whole basis of the campaign is the existence of a dangerous vampiric tome, then it doesn't need to have much long-term benefit to readers, especially if it's in the hands of NPCs rather than PCs. Such a tome can simply be a baleful presence that saps the life and minds of those foolish enough to read it. On the other hand, if it's intended as a two-edged resource the PCs can use at a price, then there needs to be at least a belief on their part that it's worth keeping and reading.

Narrative vampirism

So what do the effects of vampirism look like? This is important, particularly if players won't necessarily be aware of what's happening on a metagame level.

Again, how things get described will depend on what you're doing. If the book's nature is a mystery plot point, then you may not want to make the link between reading (or being near the book) and feeling strange very obvious. However, if it's supposed to be obvious, or the players are making costly trade-offs, then emphasising their condition is more important.

Various types of drain might end up displaying some of these effects:

• Feeling tired and short of breath
• Aching muscles, as though you've been doing physical labour
• Trembling hands, legs or eyelids
• Pins and needles, or numbness
• Headrush, dizziness or a sense of being off-balance
• Nausea, or gnawing hunger
• A heavy, leaden feeling to your movements, or clumsiness
• Weakness, or discomfort when doing physically-demanding things
• Loss of coordination, tendency to drop things, spill drinks
• Slow reactions, spacing out ('brown study')
• Headrush, dizziness or a sense of being off-balance
• Blurry vision, difficulty focusing
• Slow reactions
• Dry or flaking skin
• Paleness
• Low temperature
• High temperature
• Distractedness, sense of unease, lose train of thought
• Sensitivity to light or noise
• Regular 'tip-of-the-tongue' feeling when trying to think
• Indecisiveness, impulsiveness
• Feeling low, dull, uninspired or stupid
• Nervousness, loss of confidence, stumbling speech, embarrassment, self-consciousness
• Insensitivity, obliviousness

Luck is a bit more subtle and would need to be genre- and context-appropriate: in terms of descriptive effect, it could include finding hairs in your food, bumping into people while tracking a suspect, finding the lights always against you, pens running out or leaking, never having the right change, struggling to get a taxi or a room, or equipment malfunctioning.